13 Min Read

Six years and 340 posts in, and still no book deals-ies?

Sweet White Jesus, this is getting old pretty quick for reals-ies…

“Nobody knew his secret ambition, nobody knew his claim to fame…”

You have no idea how long I’ve waited to semi-ironically quote one of the most prolific Contemporary Christian musicians ever–yes, I’m talking about the one and only Michael W. Smith.

And if you didn’t already figure it out, in his 1988 hit single Secret Ambition, thrift store George Michael was singing about the one and only White Jesus.

While I’m certainly no Caucasian Lord & Savior myself–at least that I know of–I gotta admit that kinda I identify with those lyrics. After all, they’ve been stuck in my head for the last 6 years.1Oh that’s right, I forgot to mention that I’m publishing this on the 6th anniversary of The Point of the Story’s debut. I mean, I’m sure you already new it was this blog’s birthday without having to be reminded, but certainly those are some rare souls out there who have no clue what a momentous occasion they are witnessing.

Anyways, back to the Michael W. Smith quote. My ‘secret ambition’ when I started this little project over 6 years ago2You may recall that I released The Complete First Season on August 29, 2019, but I had been working on the website and that content since June of that year. was to become a modern-day Laura Ingalls Wilder, the renowned author of her autobiographical Little House on the Prairie series of books. I’m assuming you know who I’m talking about, and if you don’t you can ask ChatGPT to fill you in. The short version is that she was really famous for…being really famous–about a century before the Kardishians, et al. came along and made that a thing.

Nothing about her life was particular notable, and in general no one should really have any motivation to read her autobiography. She was just some woman who dealt with her mid-life crisis by writing mostly-true memoirs about her childhood and young adult life in the years shortly after the end of the Civil War. You know, living in log cabins and sod houses n’ shit.

But therein lies the genius of it all: it was a glimpse into the everyday life of just a regular ol’ Joann living in those times, something that has always fascinated me. In fact, it was that exact ethos that motivated me during my first stint as a blogger when I was studying abroad in Spain back in 2003. Sure, I had some mildly interesting shenanigans (like that time I accidentally dyed my hair blue) and misadventures (like the time I broke my glasses during a monkey attack), but really my overall hope was that, given enough time, those “Spain Journals” would be seen as a valuable snapshot of a specific time and place in history (I’m going to use the third parenthetical statement in this sentence to point out that George W. declared war on Iraq while I was stranded in Muslim-majority Africa).

Ah, I digress. I think you get the idea. The point of the story is that it was that spirit that I intentionally brought to The Point of the Story all those years ago: thanks to my above average memory, a penchant for telling overly-detailed narratives, and slightly questionable judgement to keep things interesting, my hope was to produce one of the most well-documented lives of our generation. Not the wildest tales you’ll ever hear–no, plenty of people have much crazier stories than I do, I readily admit that. But at least some of them are mildly bemusing…right? I mean, the tractor story was one for the ages at least, no? And my forever-favorite story about the divinely-inspired prom theme? I mean, that one really needs to be written into a sitcom.

Sure, most likely all the potential every one saw in me in my younger heydays–the potential that no doubt inspired hope in many a Morton County resident that I would one day do something big like win a Nobel Prize or some shit and really put Rolla on the map–that potential will probably never come even remotely close to being realized. But maybe–just maybe–I can put you ----- on the map through all of my dumb stories, many of which are set in our dusty-ass, tumbleweed-ridden hometown hidden in the SW corner of Kansas.

Honestly, though, my thoughts are starting to meander, and while very much on-brand for me, is not where I was particularly going with my ramblings. So before I move on to the next nugget of wisdom I was hoping to share, I wanted to be sure to point out that we can’t forget the second part of those Michael W. Smith lyrics, because they are very, very relevant: “…nobody knew his claim to fame…“. Like, seriously, nobody knows my claim to fame. One day, just you wait, when I finally somehow figure out a way to release all the work I’ve put into this blog in the form of a published autobiography, there will be one question on everybody’s mind: “Who the ----- is this guy???”

That..um…that was a double Hamilton reference if you didn’t catch it…

“Be your own boss!” she said. “I think that’s what’s been holding you back this whole time!”

Yup, you can thank Boss Lady Matosha (BLM for short, of course)–also known as My Beautiful Bride in later posts–for the genesis of this lovely work of prose and pop-culture references that you are currently beholding. If it wasn’t for that one comment in April 2019, The Point of the Story would have come to fruition for you to enjoy.

For those of you who don’t know the back story, my position as a post-doctoral researcher was coming to a close at the end of May of that year, and I was having little luck in my job hunt. Feeling the need to beef up my street cred as a data scientist, I was on the verge of enrolling in one of those data science boot camps for the low, low price of $10,000. And when I say I was on the verge, I was literally on the verge: I was sitting on the couch with my aforementioned wife when I was attempting to finalize my enrollment in the program, and I think that I had a typo in my credit card info or something similar, and my binding down payment of a few thousand buckaroos didn’t go through on the first try. And that was just enough of a pause for us to sober up and realize that maybe that this boot camp that pretended to be associated with the esteemed University of North Carolina (but wasn’t actually) might not be the best investment of ten grand.

So the core idea was that I would take a year or two or maybe just a half-year to explore the idea of being my own boss. Whether that was me starting my own business, or taking that time to develop some passive income streams, or whatever, the hope was that it would be a launching pad for me to become untethered from the ball and chain that is your typical white-collar career–and, crucially, that the love of my life would soon be able to follow suit.

The Point of the Story was originally conceived by BLM as one of these ventures, specifically as a blog about my misadventures and successes in trying out different passive income ideas. Some of that eventually came through when I had several posts about trying to become an internet kimchi tycoon, but for the large part–and to BLM’s dismay–this blog become more about all my ----- memories and (as the subtitle of the blog so clearly advertises/warns you) copious amounts of unsolicited life advice. Not that there is not value in all that, but…well, truth be told there is almost no value in that, as it turns out. Let’s just say that what set out to be a profitable endeavor eventually evolved into a situation where I clearly ‘wasn’t doing it for the money’–and let’s leave it at that.

Now, fortunately, at the same time that particular position was winding down, another colleague proposed I stick around and work for her part time. This was a great offer–I had the chance to keep bringing in traditional income, while still having plenty of time to pursue my own stuff. It also gave me the chance to keep one foot in the world of scientific/academic research, because if there was one life lesson that I ever learned, it would be: ‘don’t burn bridges.‘ Or to frame it more positively, ‘keep your options open, kid’.

So that has been my employment situation for the last 6 or so years: ~3 days a week as a scientist and ~2 days “doing my own thang”. There have been some pros and cons to this arrangement, and I don’t really want to dive into those right now…but at least it will answer the burning question you longer-time readers might have had: how the hell did this guy get so much home remodeling done? (I don’t think I ever collated them into a curated collection, but you can check out one of the related tales here). Yeah, no one is going to tear through home projects like that with a full-time job.

And sure, all that freedom sounds nice, but…

Well, if you haven’t already figured it out, I’m taking this very special episode of The Point of the Story to do a bit o’ reflection of this journey. But, honestly, I’m tired while typing this, and so it’s taken me slightly longer than I had hoped to get to the real philosophical insights I wanted to impart to you. So, pardon me going forward as I try to cut out extraneous details and try to get to the good stuff. I hope it still makes sense, even when I inevitably leave out a key detail I would otherwise include. Now, where was I? Oh, right…

Sure it all sounds nice to not have your soul ground down by a 9-5, five days a week job. But let me tell you what I have learned from this experiment that has gone on thrice as long as it should have.

Recently, I had made some headway in a renewed job hunt, and for a moment or two, it looked like I might be landing a job that had a few critical characteristics:

  • It was in the field of renewable energy–i.e. it was something incredibly meaningful and something I cared about
  • It was very likely that if I had gotten the job, I would have retired with them–i.e. probably forever avoiding the wreckless instability in academia brought on by our current administration
  • The job was actually fairly limited in scope, i.e. I could really focus on the limited number of aspects relevant to this task instead of always trying to figure out what I should be learning about
  • The position would have been a nice amalgam of my professional experience that would make it actually seem like I had been intentionally building my career towards something meaningful, when that is very much not the case, i.e. all the effort I have put into getting my Ph.D. and the subsequent laboring away for pennies as a postdoc, etc. would not have been a depressing waste of time and effort and foregone salary
  • It would have paid handsomely, i.e. I wouldn’t have this perpetually nagging thought in the back of my mind that I needed to find a better paying job so I could properly take care of my family

I.e.–and this was the big gestalt moment for me–for the first time in my adult life, I wouldn’t have this existential churning of feeling like I should always be doing something else, something more, but never really knowing what that something else was.

In other words, for a moment there was the very real possibility of being truly happy for once.

I’ve never really considered myself depressed, but looking back I’m starting to wonder if I was a proverbial drowning man who didn’t realize he was drowning. Seriously, I’ve had a hard time truly enjoying any vacation I’ve ever taken or any hobby I’ve taken up. How the hell could I be farting around with my time when I felt deep down that I was supposed to be doing something else altogether with my life, right?

For the first time I clearly saw something about myself that hadn’t quite coalesced in my mind before: there is a substantial baseline amount of my bandwidth that has been continuously consumed by this existential churning–and I almost had a life free from that within my grasp.

I ultimately didn’t get that particular job, but I haven’t lost all hope yet–I’m still deep in the job hunt, and I’m more optimistic than ever that I fantastic opportunity that checks many of those same critical boxes will come my way. Good things can happen.

But all this overwhelming amount of personal insight has been one hell of an emotional roller coaster, to say the least.

However, I need to step back a thought and tie this into my main train of thought: the astute observer might notice that by publishing this missive, I will be ending what has been by far the longest drought of new content from me on this website. Even through the pandemic and when my remodeling projects were all-consuming, I had found a way to regularly and consistently put out content–for my pride if for nothing else. I think once or twice I had to space out my blog posts by 3 weeks rather than the current norm of every 2 weeks. Yet here we are, somewhere around 6 weeks of radio silence from me–and for the first time ever, dangerously on the cusp of having a calendar month with a big fat zero number of posts. Remember the early days when I had a couple months with 9 posts??? I have judiciously adjusted my expectations of myself over the course of the life of TPOTS, going from twice a week in the beginning, to once a week, to the more recent standard of every other week, to where we are now.

And while I have found immense joy in the process of reflecting, researching, and writing (see my latest work of art about running the good race, which ended up being a surprising treasure to produce), I have almost always had the feeling that by blogging, I was stealing time from other more important things I should be doing. Not quite a guilty feeling, but never really being able to truly relax and enjoy it.

Of course, a big part of that I can now see as–you guessed it–being due to that damned existential churning.

But really, there is one major, concrete lesson that I have learned from all this: I don’t want to be a content creator. At least not in any responsible way (i.e. rely on creating content to put food on the table).

No, my love, I don’t want to start a TikTok channel with you about relaxing videos of you painting. No, dear, I don’t want to start a YouTube channel about our ----- cats. No, honey buns, I don’t want to do any of that nonsense…though would you reconsider my idea of starting an OnlyFans for my sexy-ass calf muscles? Oh, right…we decided we wouldn’t do anything we wouldn’t want our daughters to find out about.

…but with these calves, the ‘content’ essentially creates itself–okay okay, I’ll drop the idea and never speak of it again. Sheesh.

*end of semi-fictional conversation that may or may not have occurred in my marriage*

You know what I do want though? A job that is satisfying and intellectually stimulating. A job that is demonstrably making the world a better place. A job that doesn’t strain my ADHD brain and lets me be semi-focused while other people worry about all the other details. A job with some ----- stability. A job that I can get a mortgage with (or refinance a current one) without any questions asked or hoops to jump through. A job with health insurance, so my long-suffering, bread-winning wife can have the freedom to got off the hamster wheel that has been slowly draining her soul pretty much since the first year we were married, and become the bohemian artist that she truly is. A job with, frankly speaking, a fat-ass paycheck.

I.e. I want a corporate job. There is nothing more in this world that my heart yearns for in this moment. Yeah, I know: pretty sick and twisted, right?

Now, admittedly this pretty ironic in light of one of the very first posts I wrote, Hello, World! But I’m kinda sick of this nonsense of feeling like “what the actual ----- am I doing with my life??” What I really want is to…

“Find my place in this world…MY PLACE IN THIS WORLD!”

…

…

Please laugh.

Oh, right, that reference may have [rightfully] gone over your head. You see, I started this whole blog-venture thinking Secret Ambition was my theme song, when, in a real plot twist, the true meaning is actually captured be a different Michael W. Smith hit Contemporary Christian song–his biggest one, in fact–Place In This World (which I admit that I did not realize had peaked at #6 on the MAINSTREAM Billboard Top 100, so even you ----- pagans might actually be familiar with that particular song).

Side note: thanks to my research, my YouTube algorithm is so absolutely ----- now. Or at least one would assume…wait, what’s that I hear playing now immediately after Place In This World? Is that…could it be? Surely it’s not…no, it would be impossible for it to be the most insane abuse of the linguistic concept of a portmanteau…well I will [almost assuredly] be [quite literally] damned. It is Puscifer serenading me with the sweet soothing lullaby that is Apocalyptical . And yes, that is a real band and that is their real name. Look it up.

Second side note: Despite my mockery, I’m now re-realizing that MWS was/is actually a pretty good musician. But you didn’t hear that from me.

Anyways, I want to close out this thought salad by addressing the elephant in the room for you faithful fans out there: Is this the end of the line for The Point of the Story?

That has been a question I have been very reluctantly asking myself for the last month or so. To be clear, I am definitely not out of stories to tell. I’ve got some real bangers that could very well be my best work yet. I mean, if I’m going to go out with a bang, the series finale will need to be something truly worthy…perhaps, say, the World’s Worst Wedding Gift? Even then I haven’t even touched on my summer at Snow Mountain Ranch, or My Favorite Murder, or all the other stories related to my side hustle of reselling tickets (beyond this one).

But for now, I really need to focus on making some serious cheese and gaining a previously unreached level of self-respect. Truly, if my dearly departed dad knew that I was devoting so much of my life to the art of being a blogger, he would be spinning in his grave (side note: Rest In Power, Papa Bob).

Honestly, I’m surprised that I got this epic tome out to the masses, given my current situation in which I direly need to find new employment in a timely manner.

So I can’t make any promises about the future frequency of my asinine internet scribblings. But one thing I can tell you is, as Michael W. Smith–yes, I am unabashedly achieving the trifecta of MWS references in one sitting–best put it in his 1992 hit single: “I will be here for you…”

*pats self on back*

One last quick side note before I sign off with something witty or tongue-in-cheek: it is imperative that any time you read quotes from MWS songs, you have to also mentally picture him doing that very dramatic thing which can be best described as a close-to-the-chest double fist pump. Otherwise all the irony might be lost forever.

Lastly, you may be asking how, exactly, can I promise that I will indeed be “here for you” and not just quietly stop putting out new content?

Oh, because I brought receipts to back that claim up.

Like, literal receipts:

I don’t know if you can quite make that out, but the key details are that I just paid a sh*t-ton of money to renew hosting for this black hole of a website for 3 years.

And if you know me, there’s no way in hell that I’m gonna let that money go to waste.

Now, if you excuse me, I gotta go take a shower and get the ick of all the Contemporary Christian music off of me…

*wanders off whistling Michael W. Smith’s 1990 hit single, “Go West Young Man”*

Content created on: 28/29 August 2025 (Thurs./Fri)

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