Fighting and kicking (so to speak) I am reconciling myself to the shame of not making good my vow of some months ago to post something here at Honey & Quinine “every day.” Word hicks should understand that this means the same as “every day of the week. ” It is a shame-thing for me. I’m w writer who enjoys writing about almost anything. It’s antithetical of me to shrink after drenching with cold circumstance. George Costanza would understand.
Four weeks ago, after spending several hours updating a web site I initiated and have since maintained for an organization I support with my services, I emailed a principle and told him of my intentions to post biographies of past performers at our concerts. He wrote back, asking me not to, that he’d send me files so I would not have to transcribe text which had appeared elsewhere in print. I finished my part of the web site renovation and e’d him it was done; that all I need is the information HE promised to send.
I would have generated more reaction whispering to the wind. Yes, he’s a busy hummin’ bean. SURPRISE: so am I.
Who is this fellow behind H&Q? I am discovering that, to too many people, I am the kid who, without being asked, comes to your house and figuratively rakes thte leaves from your front yard. People know who he is, that he’s not a danger to pets, progeny or property, and though he does not REQUIRE compensation for his initiative, still invites it AFTER his labor is done. As long as he keeps visiting the front yard, raking, mowing the front lawn, sweeping your sidewalk perhaps, that’s perfectly okay with you. You’ll tell him you appreciate his kindness, and you will keep your hands in your pockets. That’s because you share a secret known by everyone but him. And no one will tell him. You will simply wait until he goes away.
<>A gift is a gift as long as it’s unconditional. I have raked many lawns, at first because it was fun, and I learned how to efficiently rake lawns. As long as it was fun, I didn’t ask for any acknowlegement beause it didn’t matter to me. Gradually, however, the effort has become more than a gift; it has become a career objective. Like the fellow who plays guitar and begins to think about a career in music as he becomes proficient, he sets his sights higher. Raking? Hey, how about launching a lawn care service?
Why MUST the gift fall from unconditional to career mandate, conditional on the support of others for success and happiness? Because if I can’t follow my talent, or be given the opportunity to develop my proclivities in new directions, I will turn to dust.Based on the past few days, I have no reason to feel so frustrated and bereft of what I need. Though most of Thanksgiving until time to visit friends for a late afternoon feast — the best cooking I have tasted as an adult, with conversation to match — the hours preceding that bounteous encounter of the best kind were of consuming dread; not for the rest of the day, but for the rest of my life. Friday was strictly solo drenched in a feeling of peace toward friends and humanity. (Family was not a pixel in that picture.) Saturday involved another holiday meal with friends. Since Thanksgiving I have been unrelentingly productive re life at home: indexed many magazines, updated files, better arranged the aviation materials. No dread.
But no joy.
I’m backing off my high horse: no more daily postings. No more whining, and no more “what I did yesterday.” That leaves a lot of space for writing, but I don’t have anything particular left to say. We’ll just have to wait and see.
What I cannot be to anyone . . . . . I will no longer be to you.
– Job out.
“Why MUST the gift fall from unconditional to career mandate, conditional on the support of others for success and happiness?”
You think the world owes you a living.
What you see as some kind of noble leaf-raking gesture in pursuit of money laced acceptance is, in reality, an episode of “Mommy! Who is that strange man in the yard, and why is he raking our leaves!?!”
Have you ever thought about the legitimate lawn care specialist who does without butter on his table because you chased acceptance by doing the job free all over town? Consider it an act of self-proclaimed nobility, depending, of course, on your perspective.
I must admit fascination reading your blog. But there is no mystery. A paying job always finds its way to the back burner. Instead of pursuing gainful employment, you stubbornly await the day when reality hits the consumer world, and since they owe you a living, they will fill your mailbox with money. Get a grip my friend.
Get a paying job. Go to the food shelf. Get your own [rear end] up off the floor and help yourself. You’ve had plenty of time to perform and perfect the self-pity routine. Try something new for a change.
Job,
“Mister Reliable” seems a bit cold to me. I agree that the world can seem cold and uncaring at times. I have been a self published author for 14 years, so I have an idea of what you’re speaking of, the kind of resentment that a lonely writer can feel toward a world bent on bucks. But if you like your life, like yourself and like what you do, you have beaten the system. Sometimes jealousy will lead others to strange actions. Us writers must stick together. Keep being yourself, you can’t go wrong. Plug on, chap. I’ll be there for you, even if I don’t have money to offer.
RD