In Search Of

I have a growing realization that no matter what I do with my life, it will never be enough.

I know that I will never be a huge success, I will never make it as a film composer, and I will never be recognized for much at all. But I am driven by the need to make the most of my existence. I’m a man of action--I must be doing things in order to be anywhere above the level of abject self-loathing. That is a good trait for any creative type, I think.

I am also driven by the desire to “feel alive” as much as possible. I am not talking about climbing mountains or skydiving, but something more abstract. Perhaps it is just being constantly on the move, doing things out of the norm, trying to outrun the pernicious predator known as Complacency.

Because to me, falling into the American lifestyle of the Mundane is the worst possible fate imaginable. Working an uninteresting, unfulfilling job like the one I had, going home to distract oneself with DVDs and video games, spending Saturdays doing “fun things” that really serve only to take your mind off of the pain until Monday, only to wake up at age 60 and realize what? That you were a consumer and nothing more?

I can’t explain what I mean by “feeling alive,” but it has to do with being spontaneous and surprising yourself, preferably by going on brief sojourns with like-minded companions. Escaping the mundane, exploring what’s out there. Or, at the very least, having some sort of periodic “victory” to work towards.

Also there’s the obvious and innate human desire to be remembered, to make a difference in some form. All artists want immortality; I am not about to deny it.

By the way, I’ve got news for you: everything from college was small potatoes. How many people attended your recital, how well-received your piece was, how disappointing a recording turned out, how much you interacted with a guest composer from Scotland—none of that matters. Me composing three CDs of Mantra score to post on a personal website to launch my low-level “career” of hypothetical commissions… it doesn’t matter. Importance is a delusion.

My “professional” life is a dry well. I’m getting tired of the inflammatory accusation that I feel like I’m “too good” for a job just because I have a Master’s degree. Nay, it’s not a matter of haughtiness; I have a responsibility to myself and to society to use my “higher education” to pursue a more successful path than selling cigarettes. It’s not a matter of disrespect to any profession (I haven’t been in Johnson County that long). I need to start thinking long-term, with regards to finance, stepping stones, and geographical commitment. I’m not “too good” to do anything, I just think I have a responsibility to do better than just “get by.” But I am really not “qualified” to do much at all, sadly. Maybe I can get a dollar every time I use “quotations” or something.

Job-hunting sucks. I have a feeling that whatever I do next will be starting from scratch.

Clouded this boy’s future is.