This new blog is a treatment on how
to spend time. All of us has habits that
form into routines that become a structure that orients the direction of our
lives. The unfortunate part of this
equation is that we are a forward-looking species with a penchant for instant
gratification. We must remind ourselves
to remain in the present, especially when we’re just okay, or even bored. In a greater sense, this blog is an analysis
of the evasion of boredom and how we spend our time.
There’s a general question we ask
of each other, and that’s: What do you
do? From my experience, this question is
answered in the form of occupation such as, I’m a nurse, or I’m a manager. The shorter the answer, the more assured the
person is of his or her occupation. I
have never been extremely comfortable with my position, so when I’m asked this
question, I say: I just wait tables… for
now. And then I may embark on a lengthy
explanation of, first, what this job enables me to do and, secondly, what I
would rather be doing.
The focus of the occupation question
is borne from societal status and the relentless pressure to rise above your
ranks. We are taught this from an early
age when our kindergarten teachers ask us what we want to be when we grow
up. I remember wanting to be a
professional basketball player. I doubt
any of my classmates wanted to be waiters, mechanics, infantrymen, or drug
addicts, but that’s where many of us are right now. It’s easier to feed children dreams rather
than prepare them for the possibility of failure. But, then again, failure may not be such a bad thing if it makes you realize what you really want.
In our culture, doctors mean more
than waiters. Once you become a doctor
or a baseball player or an accountant with a big firm, I imagine people stop
asking you what you’re going to do with your life. To the people asking the questions, you’ve
made it. But what about the rest of us
in the working class? The assumption is
we want to ascend, but what if we want to take things in a different
direction? I'm not saying I'm perfectly content with performing manual labor for the rest of my life. Even if this happens to be the case, there are worse fates to have. All I want to suggest is that we use a different scale by which to measure success.
My goal is to become an English professor. I imagine myself satisfied with pontificating in an academic environment. The schedule seems ideal with weekends and summers off. And I'm sure the money can accommodate a comfortable lifestyle. But I have side missions, too. I want to visit every country in Europe and every national park in the US and Canada. I want to be a great three-point shooter, even if it means making a lot of shots by myself at the gym. I want to become a better cook even if I never get paid to do it in a restaurant. I want to write a screenplay, and I want to become completely fluent in French, and I want to read serious fiction that alters my perspective, feeds my curiosity, and fulfills my desire to discuss the intangible issues. If I accomplish all of this while waiting tables, should I consider my life a failure because I haven't obtained my dream job?
This is an exploration of the
alternative courses a life can take. Here
is my situation: Around the first of
November, I finished an eight month season waiting tables at Bryce Canyon
National Park, where I saved up a bit of money.
I’m currently unemployed and living at my aunt’s house in the suburbs of
San Antonio, Texas. She is generous in
that she is not charging me for food, utilities, or rent in exchange for
performing chores, doing handiwork, and cooking dinner. Since I’m a seasonal employee, I qualify for
unemployment benefits for four months. I’m
not required to search for a job, but I must stay within the country and file a
weekly claim that proves my ability to go back to work. With those requirements met, I get $464 per
week funneled into my bank account.
I imagine the most reasonable
reactions to this: I’m mooching off
family. I’m being lazy and selfish. I’m
going to get bored. A functional member of society such as myself should be
working. Let me start by stating that
the company I work for is paying my unemployment, and that many of my coworkers
choose this option as well. When you
work eight months seasonally, you really cram in about ten months of work due
to the extreme demand we must meet. It
is not always a comfortable existence. I
had no kitchen. My diet was dictated by
others, and the food was hit-or-miss. Cell
service is minimal. Every movie I watched
on Netflix buffered at least five times before I could finish it. I know that’s definitely a first-world
problem and barely worth mentioning due to its embarrassing nature, but the
truth is we seek comfort in nearly every decision we make.
This is exactly why I decided to not work and get paid for doing
absolutely nothing. I have a few months
to spend my time however I choose. I’ve
already decided that I will often sleep in until noon and binge watch The Wire. But I don’t want to waste this opportunity
hopping from one pleasurable vice to the next.
I want to be productive and improve myself. All of us probably has a list of things we
never got around to doing like learning Spanish or reading Moby Dick. This is the time
to check off those kinds of goals.
My plan is to collect unemployment
for the months of December and January.
Then I will travel in Eastern Europe by train for the entire month of
February until returning to work in March.
I made this decision yesterday and immediately became attached to this
projected future, which forced me to realize that my life is structured around
chasing unexpected dreams that weasel into my mind and ferment until I can no
longer imagine an alternative future.
Since I graduated from college three years ago, I have packed the few
possessions I own and dove into some foreign destination simply because I was
curious as to what I would find there.
Now I am back in familiar
territory: a house with central heat and
air, reliable insulation, firm ground under the foundation, a refrigerator stuffed with my favorite foods, and a private bathroom
where I can brush my teeth without a man shaving in the sink next to me while another man sits in the stall behind me.
I have everything I need here, except, of course, that is never
enough.
