I'm lazy

I'll not only admit it, I'm proud of it. I'll put in only whatever effort is required to get what I need/want.
But, I'm also realistic. I painted houses with my dad in the scorching, brutal, summers of Southern Oregon, so I could earn enough money to take flying lessons. I liked to fly.
I was a good house painter. I didn't like it though. It was hard, boring, dirty, and sometimes cliff hanging work from inadequate ladders. Before they invented water based paints, it was also dangerous from the turpentine, chemicals, lead dust, and creosote. The work was unsteady, with too hot a summer and too cold a winter. Didn't know if the work would provide enough for college... or flying lessons.
It now appears I could have stayed in Oregon and earned a fair living painting. My sister did, after she came back from the Haight-Ashbury district in 1969.
But I liked airplanes and rockets. So, I painted a lot more houses just to go to engineering school and learn to build airplanes.

After enlisting in the aerospace industry I learned it has its own physical dangers; loud noises, hazardous chemicals, and job instability. I followed the government contracts all over the country... frequently. But the cash was enough to finish my flying lessons.
With a good job, I also discovered there were other things besides airplanes... girls, and a house, and kids, and cars, and beer.
Thank goodness I was still realistic. Only one serious girl, at a time. One house, at a time. And for a while, only one job, at a time. Then along came three kids, spaced out a bit, not quite one at a time.
It's been a good career, enough pay for my toys and other responsibilities.

Now retired, I'm looking to slow down more. What would be easier... just write.
I went to the 603: Writers' Conference "The Art Of Storytelling" this week end. Full of writers, authors, editors and wanna-bes.
But they all work too hard. Worried about agents, publishers, marketing, publicity... all the administrative baloney I avoided in engineering.
I saw that they are all too serious about this 'making a living' thing. Maybe my sister's attitude, from her beatnik friends in San Francisco, was right all along.