Like guys in the penitentiary, we in the call center discuss at length ways we might one day escape. Like cons around a card table, we also sometimes place "bets" with each other.
My cell mate, er, the guy who sits across from me, has been talking about how he wishes he had taken a swing at being a party DJ, an artist or a songwriter earlier in his life, and is thinking maybe better late than never. Joining in on these chit-chats has led to me trotting out all the anecdotes you've heard here about my attempts at "making it." These sorts of discussions always get me excited and thinking, "One more time!"
So as we were leaving work the other night I told him that, with our four-day, 10-hour schedules we have 24 extra hours to make things happen that other people don't have. We should try to do something with this time off, and then when we're back at work in the slow Sunday morning hours we should compare notes on what we did. He seemed excited by the idea, and said, "I'll take that bet!" I hadn't really thought of it as a bet, but I guess in a way it is.
Well I guess I'm gonna lose the bet for this week.
Recently
William Smythe wrote about what was a good use of time, what had meaning, and what didn't, and where did his readers find their meaning? It may be telling that the only respondent was me saying I'm not sure what constitutes meaning anymore.
For instance in the case of this bet I was thinking I would compile some of my writing into a PDF and zip it with a few MP3 samples of my talk show efforts and send it out. But where am I sending this? To the radio stations that are dying out, that pay very little, that are in boondocks towns and that have probably turned me down already? Would that have meaning? How about I send some of my writing out. Where is it going? To print outlets that are fading faster than the radio stations? And if I can't gather more than five readers here, what makes me think I would gather any more for anyone else?
I could also apply to straight jobs. But have you heard about the economy? Yeah, people who were making $80,000 a year are competing with 14-year-olds for jobs handing out snocones at Six Flags, I saw on CNN. Not really a great time to send out resumes. Even when the economy was supposedly "good" I was getting no response.
Hmm...so that leaves...reading guitar forums, watching people demo different guitar pickups and effects on You Tube, or typing a depressing little piece about the futility of trying to better your situation on this here blog.
My co-workers situation also became clear away from our lofty talk. He recently got a girl knocked up and married her. So he's probably realizing that his fate is sealed, and he's wistful for the path untraveled. But perhaps he may as well realize that DJ'ing, acting, whatever, ain't gonna happen now. There are mouths to feed, and schlepping along in the call center is the means to do that.
I should've bet you would find this post a bummer. I would've won!
What I also find sad, but all-too-familiar, is your description of how you spend your time...except that rather than watching people demo musical equipment on You Tube, I'm watching Richard Dawkins videos, knowing I should be doing something different. You and I are as talented as anyone else who has "made it," Art, but we somehow just haven't pulled it off...and probably never will.
Last night I tried to figure out podcasting. Thought maybe that would add some spark to my otherwise-dreary existence.
Nah.
Had lunch (and beer after beer) with a friend yesterday, and after our discussion I'm wondering if your friend who unexpectedly became a father will be better off than any of us. He can at least pretend to have a purpose now.
I wrote a long time ago...and slurred yesterday...that humans oftentimes find "meaning" in having children. "My life has never been so fulfilled," our doe-eyed friends with kids say, "as it was the day I had my child(ren)."
But in the mind of this jaded curmudgeon, all you're doing is pawning off your lack of meaning on an innocent human who will be stuck with their own meaningless to contend with.
And thus the cycle continues.
We are, I fear, merely highly-evolved animals whose preternaturally enormous brains have given them the mistaken notion that this is all supposed to mean something.
I just wrapped up "Cat's Cradle" by Kurt Vonnegut. I found this passage very poignant:
In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness.
And God said, "Let Us make living creatures out of mud..."
...and one was man.
Man blinked. "What is the purpose of all this?" he asked politely.
"Everything must have a purpose?" asked God.
"Certainly," said man.
"Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this," said God. And He went away.
I, too, believe people often use kids to fill a vacuum in themselves. That's like the Hail Mary pass when you know your own life is going nowhere. "Well, being an exterminator and coming home smelling like 14 different toxic chemicals sure sucks, but...my children are really the light of my life." How can you tell your kids about life when you know your own existence has been a dud? "Let me tell you all about something I know nothing about, son: how to be a success."
On that happy note, check in for tomorrow's entry, where I go bi-polar on this issue.