I know you.

You're the one who was late to class because you stayed up too late reading Ender’s Game. You're the one who shows up to wedding receptions with dried paint in the wrinkles of your fingers, brighter than the pastel polish your sister told you to wear.

You're the one whose backpack, purse or desk looks like the Wreck of the Hesperus on a good day. You scorn the B- you got on your science project because at least you expressed yourself. But really, you did it last minute because you were too busy mixing paint, exploring new fonts, or perfecting that chord progression.

There will come a time, I'm sorry to say, when you'll “blinkingly step into the sun,” and realize, crap, your mom won't buy you groceries anymore. Your rent is due next week. And your car needs realigning. So grumbling, you'll fork out a week’s worth of ice-cream scooping wages to the company, the establishment, the real world that suddenly smugly sneers in your face.

The truth is, no matter how much praise your finger painting garnered at 7 years old, by the time you reach 21, ninety percent of your grubby-fingered classmates are now hunched over engineering exams, applications to business school, and other wonderfully practical, real professions.

So, what do you do? You want to write books, paint pretty pictures, or sing on stage. But it would also be nice to be able to eat and have a roof over your head. The world wants you to think that you have to choose between creativity and providing for yourself.

But here's a secret:

You don't have to choose.

There's a wonderful man named Ed Smith who said that if you want to pursue a career in writing, “Don't! If you really want to write, then do so. Just don’t view it as a prearranged career, a battle campaign to be planned. Writing isn’t like that. Perhaps you need to do something else first.”

Aghast, you say, "But I thought you said I don't have to choose!"

Yes, yes, yes. You don't have to choose one or the other indefinitely. The key is to not force yourself into your creative profession. You have to live life to the best of your abilities first.

So you have this beautiful, burning desire within you to create. That's wonderful! Don't lose it. Just put it on a shelf for a bit while you earn your bread and gasoline. (Albeit, a very obvious, nagging, smack-dab, in-your-face shelf. But a shelf nonetheless.)

Ed, for example, wanted to be a writer. But instead of agonizing over his writer’s block and how broke he was, he followed another one of his interests and became a professional cricket player. Yeah, a cricket player. And then, after an intensely busy season, he had enough time, inspiration, and life to actually write.

It may seem counterintuitive, but if you've ever had a cat, it will make perfect sense to you. Imagine your creative muse and energy to be like your favorite annoying fuzz-face. When you call him, does he come? Eh, sometimes. When you chase him around the house, does he turn around and purr? Uh, definitely not.

But if you turn your attention to cooking dinner, watching television, or pretty much anything else that doesn't involve him, he’ll come trotting up and sit his fuzzy bum in your lap.

Creativity, like a cat, is an elusive partner in life. If you're patient enough, you just might find yourself purring with the likes of Ed Smith, J.K. Rowling, and Claude Monet. Just remember: feed your creativity, leave it alone to eat, and then wait for the miracle.