For every 100 people who introduce themselves at cocktail parties as "a writer," maybe 3 of them actually make a living doing it. I could say I'm a writer, I guess, but I really make my living at my day job, in marketing (my fiance still likes to tell people I'm a writer because it sounds sexier, though).
Even people who have found a way to make writing their actual profession—working at magazines and newspapers—typically end up being editors, while freelance hacks grind out the actual articles editors assign to them. Ask someone who holds an editor title what they miss the most and they'll all say, "I miss writing."
And look, it's hard being a writer. If you're a novelist, you have to create something from literally nothing. If you're a reporter, you have to make people's lives and shitty quotes sound interesting and compelling. If you're a blogger, you have to find a way to make someone click on an article about gravy boats. It's hard.
Know a writer? Get them this Writer's Tears Whiskey ($102, Masters of Malt) and laugh and laugh as they pretend that they didn't dream of a different life for themselves, one where their manuscript wasn't rejected by 30 different publishers. Pour one out.