As a matter of fact, I rarely read.
I thought it best to get that out of the way as I wouldn't want to give you the impression that what you are about to read will be of the highest literary calibre. This is simply the musings of someone who wants to be a writer.
When I was a child and asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I would reply with great enthusiasm that I wanted to be a writer.
Later, when asked that question upon meeting someone for the first time, "What do you do?" I would respond by saying that I wanted to be a writer.
I've always hated being asked that question.
"What do you do?"
It is assumed that this question is in regards to what a person does for a living; their job. I don't feel that my job defines me. It does not describe my goals, my aspirations or even my values. It's not that my job goes against any of these things; it's just that what I do to earn a paycheck is not the most important thing to me. I guess that holds true for many people however we seem to all ask that question when we meet someone.
Do we really care what someone does for living? I usually don't....well unless a person is a lion tamer or a porn star. These people would probably have amusing stories to tell about their job. I just don't think I'd be interested in hearing about the intricacies of someone's work in statistical data analysis.
I'd much rather know about someone's interests or life goals.
"What do you do?" I'd ask.
"I collect TV Guide."
It may not be an interest I'd share but I'm fairly certain that we now at least have the basis of a decent conversation while we peruse the hors d'oeuvres table at a banquet. I personally don't collect TV Guides however I watch TV and I have read TV Guide on occasion but I think I could hold up my end of a conversation in discussing the topic.
Besides, when the conversation seems to have reached its limit for my interest, I could turn to the first person I know and say, "Oh Bob, I'd like to introduce you to Marguerite. She collects TV Guide." And thus while they shake hands and Bob smiles upon hearing this tantalizing tidbit about Marguerite, I can grab a few bacon-wrapped scallops and get the hell out of there.
I digress.
Originally written April 16, 2010
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