Lately, I've been thinking about a joke of Groucho's: This guy goes to a psychiatrist because his brother has a problem. He thinks he's a chicken.

The psychiatrist answers simply: "Why not tell him he's not a chicken and be done with it?" To which the man responds, "I'd like to, but we need the eggs."

That dilemma encapsulates my struggle with making a life while making a living. As my friends tell me, the "Dr. Mark" they see in me is spiritually connected to a life of service. But the "Mark Albion" in me keeps telling me I need to make more money and be a shrewder businessperson if I want to be happy.

I always wanted to be a writer, but I somehow forgot about it along the way—because of the eggs. In 1958, at the age of seven, I decided that instead of doing a paper route, I would write one to two-page stories, get them mimeographed, and sell them door-to-door: three cents for a one-page story; a nickel for a two-page story. Of course, all the neighbors bought them. And I kept writing.

But as he was growing up, "Mark Albion" heard: "How can you be a writer? Writers don't make much money." So, I put the dreams in a box—and forgot about them. That is, until I backpacked around the world after college.

My desire to write returned. I wrote a story about the impact of both religion (spirituality) and economics (business) on the people of our times. In my opinion, these were two of the three major factors determining who we are as a people. (The third, sexuality, I figured I preferred to practice rather than study and write about.)

The book really never came together. You see, in my travels I had learned two important lessons:

1. There are many ways to live a life.
2. The human spirit is incredibly resilient.