How to Fritter Your Life Away in One Easy Step

Step 1: Find a hobby that really interests you. To the point of overdoing it. Never be bored or feel unproductive again. End.

I admit, I've had those moments I hear about from others. The ones that go something like, "I don't know what I would ever do with myself if/when I retire!" Right. Sure, after my 10 hours of sleep, sometimes I have those thoughts too, but they are the product of shear slovenliness and lack of energy. Those who share my occasional weakness in this area are never the types to say that kind of treacle. As if continuing to be another corporate plow horse for decades was some sort of personally productive virtue. Those are folks who really need a hobby or two. I have more hobbies than you can shake a stick at, as some of you probably do. Practice across several musical instruments by itself could kill each and every day while I slowly sat myself into Attila the Blob. But I'd be killing it at the jam session. I'd just need someone to wheel me there and back. But it would sure suck up the rest of each day!

No, mine is a motivational issue (I'm guessing I have some company, gauging by commentary "out there"). My one virtue is that I tend towards obsession in certain areas. Obsession tends to burn the ever-dwindling hours of each day that I am not required by economic reality to roll back and forth in my corporate hamster ball. My mom calls it frittering the day away. While an amusing term, it implies the activity is somehow trivial or lacks substance. Spending all day on social media would be in that vein. But mastering a new reel on the mandolin or working towards not embarrassing yourself when the bluegrass break comes your way is absolutely not. Is it a skill to master social media? Perhaps if you are 80. But, if you are 80, I'd say that even starting a musical instrument is a good productive hobby to commence. Plenty to fill the gaps in the swirl of all that is music. Obviously a good read always makes a nice filler, if not productive in quite the same way. But unless you struggle with reading, well, productivity is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.

This brings us to the beholder. Ever notice that when you are obsessed with something, most others tend not to be? And you tend to blab on about your obsession until you see the tell-tale TEGO in your victims face (Their Eyes Glaze Over)? That's why we have to have Meetups and clubs and societies and what-not. So we don't bore our loved ones and coworkers to death, with talk about things that make life worth living for us. For those with abundant hobbies, the likelihood that your significant other is going to have a similar love of this pastime is vanishingly slim. That is why the lingering 50's idea of couple togetherness is full of crap. Sure, because you had kids to raise together. Or she did. Well, see! Even then it was a bunch of crap because even raising the kids wasn't really a shared task. It was more like a diversified business venture. Dad had his three-martini lunches and business meetings at the club while Mom wrangled the little monsters at home and maybe played bridge with the girls once a week. Or maybe it was the 70's and there were some equal opportunity ennui complete with latch key kids and economic stress. Then they wondered why they didn't really know each other after twenty years. Feminine mystique...mother's little helpers...Alice's pills... Is drinking together a hobby? But are there beer pong clubs for those over 80? I dunno. Maybe. But I'd call that a classic failure of the imagination. Plus it seems like the endurance would be a killer. A little weed enjoying the Great Outdoors in some forest seems like a wiser choice. Camping! Now there's a pastime that can really make the day fly.

Sure is hard to break all that cultural programming of togetherness though, isn't it? The standard was (still?) that one or both of you was bored to tears, made a bunch of sexist comments about whoever was getting their preferred extra curriculars and why, while the Pyrrhic victor shot eyeball darts to make sure the fun was being ruined...suspension of disbelief gone. And...scene! Good clean fun all around. And that, my friends, besides growing economic independence for women, is why the biggest growth demographic is single person households. All that forced romantic togetherness trying to come up with mutual obsessions just killed the drill.

Oh, cynic, I hear you cry! Your relationship is different. Sure. And a whole percentage of the American populace also thinks they have been abducted by aliens. I'm not saying it can't happen. Just come back and talk to me after 20 years. Tell me about your shared hobbies. The ones you obsess over. And no, your porn collection or cats don't count. I'm sure they are both lovely and give you lots of joy, but they don't tend to be a shared passion. Except at the club level. If you are one of those lucky souls, I say again: come back and talk to me in 20 years. Some things are just experiences that don't lend themselves to sharing. Or maybe I'm just a boring translator. Could be. Or maybe you are. Or maybe we were just never meant to be together because you love watching men's sports and the Transformers, and I love playing my banjo and jamming with anyone who will have me. Don't feel bad. It's not you, it's me.

Couch Surfing

Here I am again. Ensconced on the couch. It is sunny and looks a little breezy and I am full of tacos. But it is a perfectly fine way to spend the second of my two days off. I wonder if others look at their "weekends" this way? Probably not. Straight from the old contract. "Second of two days off."

Hoping I can get the motivation to pry myself up and take a ride. Oil freshly changed, chain freshly lubed and even the chain guard freshly cleaned of its accumulated gunk. That is how I spent much of my productive time yesterday (first of my two days off). It's not rocket science, but more of a meditation, I find. It's the journey, not the destination. The slow journey. I need some more stuff to make it a little less goopy on the cement outside the garage. If I could just get a few more weeds to grow into the cracks, I could always park it over them and they would catch the drippage. 'Course they also might catch fire after all that, which would be a sight indeed: a motorcycle over a hot weed fire. Not so very nice. Another perfectly good idea gone into the dumper.

This touches on the subject of "the small things in life." The "being" part (versus the "human doing", as someone said). I've been concentrating on the merits of this idea for quite a while now, as it has always suited me, but I have struggled against it for a great many years. Less stress with the "being." This translates: whatever seems good to be doing or not doing at a given moment is fine. Enjoying it? Valhalla. The should's and could's and what-not are immaterial. It's not a perfect system, of course. Ya gotta do certain things eventually. It's just that the list of "things" gets remarkably smaller and less important. Like all those appalling emails that seem to be so popular amongst older folks (65+...creeping closer and closer) that exhort one to "dust less, enjoy life more!" These are the very people, I think, that have spent most of their lives doing all those other things that "had" to be done: cleaning, fixing, straightening, doing all the kid-related stuff, appointments, and on. Especially the former: cleaning. Not like your regular cleaning, from what I have surmised, btw, but the kind that used to be the norm for your garden variety housewife of 40 years ago.

I guess if it had been me, I'd have been the recalcitrant, smoking, diazepam-taking, crabby wife whose house didn't quite make the grade, as judged by "the other wives." I never did chew all the way through the "Feminine Mystique," but the pages I did get through gave me the idea vividly enough. Not hard to figure out where the mystique came from: boredom and dying life aspirations. "What are they THINKING and what do they really WANT??" Uh, I'd like some real mental stimulation and a whole adult life. No mystery there. Unless you figured women were not really human beings in the same mental sense. I happen to know someone whose life was shaped by that bifurcated social reality. I lucked out, I suppose, between the era and my childhood. Choosing between the abundant possibilities was the more pressing concern to me. Not that it wasn't also clear that there were still "limitations," societally speaking, like funding for school sports and and who was asked to move tables and who was not (e.g. physical abilities). That would be a long diatribe whose time is gone I think.

As usual, time marches on and so does "progress." At least in that area a bit. The possibilities open more each day, I think. But, it is really what the individual conceives for herself, isn't it? That is my strong suit, though I have scaled things down a bit, just out of laziness. Laziness is a luxury, I've come to realize. This sitting on the couch stuff and pondering the stories of the day, the things I might buy to help me on my way, the discussions over motorcycle projects & plans, or just inane banter, the communication with others in email and Facebook and even a dumb game or two (yes, you, Mafia Wars).

Where is the sunshine in all this? It's not only out there, right where I can see it, through the picture window, but also as a state of mind. And that's a good way to wrap up this post.