Time to Fill

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.