A Dilletante for Life

Some might say it’s a shitty thing, to dibble dabble in a bunch of shit, and not really be good at any of it. I think it’s pretty silly, not necessarily shitty. What am I dabbling in right now?


Now, if I were to pinpoint what it is that I’m doing in each of them, or where I’m going with any of them, the answer is pretty easy – I’m going nowhere. I’ll put one more in.


Now, out of all the things that I dabble in outside of work, am I going to get famous off them? Or rich? What about…can I pay my bills with them? To be honest, I don’t think so. The thing is, I am way too sensitive of a person to put myself all on the line on something and string it out as far as it will go. For example, if I tried to just play guitar and be a rocker, I know that I would end up broke, on drugs, and severely fucked up in the head. THAT IS, I would end up like that if I went through with my capacity. Luckily for me, and for your ears, I don’t want to be a rockstar anymore. Maybe I do somewhere in my hypocritical body, but my collective self, my EGO, is telling me, “No rocking for you, sucka.” And I’m listening.

Now if I wanted to be a full-time painter, I could probably swing that with a decent 30-hour a week job.

At the bottom of all of my thoughts about artsocietylife is the relationship between WORK TIME (WT) and HOME TIME (HT). WT are the hours that you devote to your employer (even if its yourself), to provide money for yourself so that you can eat, sleep under a roof, and do whatever else you want to with your remaining money. No matter what, you are going to need to eat and sleep somewhere, so most people take it upon themselves to get a job and become a (quasi) independent person.


What I was trying to say is, that it’s hard for me to find the balance between the two. For the last two years, I have been grinding at work, getting in everyday at 5 AM, and working like a total bitchboy for an asshole. My job is to make my boss more money, regardless of how much I make. That’s what we all get paid to do, to make someone or something else money, of which we get a small, and usually just, percentage.

So what the fuck about people who somehow combine the two, WT and HT, to create a different kind of lifestyles. Artists are people who combine WT and HT, and I think people on the opposite side of the spectrum do as well, ie, ridiculous Wall Streeters working 15+ hours a day. The home is the office for those guys, just as the studio is the office for the artist, just like taking shots of liquor and doing lots of drugs is the office for rockers.

For me, though, moderation is key. I have lived a very unbalanced and unstable life before, and I am still in the process of smoothing out those problems. I’m not in that much debt, but ignoring it will only make it go away. It’s hard to reach that middle ground, where your utility shit, ie your bills, are taken care of, you go to work, and you come home to do your extracurriculars in a fulfilling way. I’d like to meet someone who could say, “I am totally balanced. A, B, C, and D all point to the fact that my life is perfectly well-rounded, and my happiness is a result of my personal success.”

Is that a happy life? The middle road success, defined by exercise, eating right, going to work, saving money, and then using your FREE TIME to do what you please? And then on the other end of the spectrum, we have the people who are totally over the edge into what they are into, empty vessels and slaves to invisible forces. Think about people who have gone totally over the edge for what they do, ie all the dead rockers, ie all the CEO’s with ruined home lives, ie the artist, ie the traveling gypsy guitarist, ie “Into the Wild.”

We all the love the guy from Into the Wild. Oh wow he’s so amazing, graduated college, burned his credit cards and money, and there he goes. Oh wow he is so amazing and beautiful to sacrifice so much for what he believes in.

So what? I say. So fucking what. If I jumped in the freeway because of my principles and got run over, is that any different than him going into the woods totally unprepared and dying, not because of some ideal, but because he was too stupid to pack the correct clothes. If he walked another mile down the river, it was crossable, but he didn’t, so died. Those aren’t ideals, those are stupid fuckups.

Anyway, I don’t have a point. Just sitting here at work, writing about shit. Peace.


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