So what do you do, man?

That’s the question, “What do you do?”. Mostly harmless, always vapid. It’s a conversation starter in the same category of inanity as “How’s the weather?”. The answers do not always distinguish themselves with medallions engraved with such adjectives as witty, interesting, engaging, shocking, or even plain useful. When they are not lit by any such glow, silence sits large on its throne, smirking while the conversationalists cloak themselves in uncomfortable awkwardness.

I’m neither uncomfortable nor awkward in conversation. It’s my mutant power to transfer those seamlessly and instantaneously to the other person. Well, outside of comic-book imaginings I’m thick-skinned and shamelessly full of myself. For long my first response to the headline question here has been “How much time do you have?”. Most people implicitly add the silent suffix “for a living?” when they pose to this popular opening query and I deadpan “I live.” I’m also obnoxious. And then launch into a majestic monologue (Hamlet? Othello? Pfui!) which in its concise form can last a few quarters; quarter hours, I mean. Some find it interesting, most I suspect suffer a numbing crash as in hit by a crashing bore/boar/boor.

I’ve led principally an interesting life (despite peddling cheap humour; it’s the cheapest, it’s free). Often consciously but over time that consciousness has also made it a near-spinal urge. I wouldn’t have lasted a fraction of my half a century of existence if I didn’t. That’s not because I am gifted with talent; I’m not. It’s because of the choices I’ve made and making those choices work. And thick skin.

For me it is of paramount importance that the spontaneous answer to “What do you do (for a living)?” should be “I live. I live an interesting life.”. Ideally it should also be a useful life that has a positive impact on others and the world around us. I do not know if I have done the latter but I have consciously tried. These days though, my reply is “I have retired.” It’s been that way for the last couple of years. I think it’s simpler, is not stretching the truth, and has a profundity which probably escapes everyone but me.

A conversation last evening at an informal music-listening session led me this morning to another answer: “I am waiting.”. And I realised then that I have finally made my peace with the driving force of my life; guilt that I haven’t done enough which has made sure that my reply to “What do you do?” is an ever-growing one to the point that the crash I had mentioned earlier is sure to be a colossal train-wreck. So I have retired the train parking it permanently in its shed and pre-empted the crash. I feel at peace. And somewhat empty, but that’s not a bad thing.

I only hope that for a life far from the humdrum, the end is not a boring shitshow. I am waiting. And while I wait, I sometimes click photographs like the ones in the collage at the top. Makes the wait a bit interesting, at least to me.