I think this is going to come across as
very “judge-y,” but I don't want it to. The aim is to describe
the working model of discussion that describes how we spend our time.
Also, I need to attempt to banish any guilt I have for the amount of
privilege I exhibit in my day to day existence.
How many jobs might we describe as “pointless?” I don't think there's a hard and fast ranking system, but if we attempt to make a number of comparisons, one might start to manifest. A comedian or doctor? If you had to choose, every comedian would be pointless. A lawyer or garbageman? Trick question, as both are about to be outsourced by machines here shortly. Does it sound weird to call a lawyer pointless? In a world that can produce a computer that can cite precedents and make better arguments than a human could ever manage, maybe not.
It's also important to distinguish the difference between the profession itself and the human desire or need of what it's providing. Comedy certainly isn't pointless and in fact is essential to well being and cohesiveness. Have we immediately contradicted the line of reasoning that would throw a comedian under a doctor's bus? Perhaps marginally. At the same time, it's hopefully becoming apparent how “loose” it is to talk about the merit of any one thing without a context.
A world without comedians would need one or many. A world entirely consisting of comedians would be doomed to fail. Is there a balance? Is there a compelling case for the amount of comedians we have verses doctors? Sounding like impossible questions to me. Questions that have to be approached very personally and from a kind of holistic impression. I've stated, at least, that the world doesn't need me as a comedian. I can cite dozens who are saying almost word for word the things I'd want to say. I've no desire to surpass or crowd them and will gladly share with you the joy they bring me. I'm happy to crack my own shit up or try to get friends to laugh.
The question of “pointless” activities is one that we're going to have to deal with in greater measure than I think we're even basically aware of. Of the jobs that are left not being done via modern slavery, the ones that employ the most people are rapidly changing for reasons well independent of anyone's concern for your place or title.
Anecdotally, I can describe how pointless I felt at basically every job I've been in. It's a hard illusion to see through that just because there's a structure of some sort, doesn't mean it stands for worthwhile or valuable reasons. I excelled at my jobs, either evidenced through raises, promotions, or a heaping of responsibilities. But I excelled at being pointless. School is a close analogy. I got the As and Bs. Nothing about those As and Bs meant anything to the places I ended up working for. And the tasks required of me certainly didn't lean on my capacity to “intensively write” about obscure legal questions or describe the paths of neurotransmitters.
My mind always shoots to jobs of leisure. Critics still blow my mind. Paid to love or shit on things. Have an opinion? Here's money! Sports follows in my thoughts mostly because nobody needs you to be the best (even if it means doping) more than they probably need to leave the couch more often. I think you're less often an example, more being abused as a scapegoat. Think of the amount of pride fat America is going to take from any gold medals it wins.
The more you really dig into any particular task, it feels more and more predicated on “because I can” or “because it kills time.” It becomes dignified because people tie it to the amount of money they're making or they describe it as taking care of their families or of course their amount of effort or struggle or knowledge holds some particular weight over yours. This of course is different from demeaning the amount of work or time it does in fact take to learn things or what you've personally overcome in order to do so.
I've been practicing instruments. I have so much time on my hands I can start to surprise myself with the progress I make in a relatively short amount of time. I still seem to reflexively shit on what I'm doing. I like music. I marvel at people who can do it professionally. But it still feels “pointless.” That is, I'm doing it almost like a show. When I can pick up an instrument at random and pull it off, that moment will validate the months of metronome beats in my head or canker soars. I care about music, but I can't make it “the point.” At least, not yet.
I've been watching TV. What I find I seem to insist on in any conversation about TV, is that I do it often sped up and via torrents. A 60 minute show is actually often 45 without commercials, and a 45 minute show meant to “empty-headedly entertain” is 22 minutes at twice the speed and more like 19 or less when you skip introductions, segment transitions, or musical acts you don't care about or already like. I can also practice on the drum pad, do squats, or hit the treadmill while Stephen Colbert is shitting on Hitler 2.
Mind you, I literally have nothing else to do. I don't have anywhere to be. I don't have anything that needs paid for. I'm not aware of anyone that needs my help. What the hell am I doing saving all this time, so I can have more time, to apparently complain about having too much time? It's less confusing than I've managed to phrase it there, but on its face, it seems kind of ridiculous, no?
Well, I also like to read. I also like to create software and want to build businesses. I'm also pricing land and have projects I've contacted literally every person in the state tangentially related to what I'm after. That is, I know what I wish could be “the point” at all times, happen to do everything I can in service to the point, and then am left to my own devices. I have money I know how to spend, but only have 3 or so ways I'd prefer it done so. I have time that I hope I can remain respectful of, even when I seemingly have too much of it. A sentiment I think no one over the age of 35 would ever dream of thinking was their problem.
I know what I want. My perception shows me that a lot of people, at least claim, to know what they're doing. It's anyone's guess if what they're doing matches what they want. I know what I want in conversation. I know what I want an argument to consist of. I know what I want in a partner or friend. I know what tools I want to use. I know what I want my house to be capable of. I know what I'll want to find the time to watch or play when I've finally created something that allows me to exercise “the point” instead of whatever else it is I find to do.
I also think I only ever discovered what I wanted because I gave myself all the time in the world to fall into it. I exhaustively explore what's on my mind and then consist of what's left. Hopefully, it's an informative and “wise” position. Hopefully, it allows me more opportunities to offer help instead of noise. Hopefully, it allows me to keep personal guilt levels at an appropriate place when the contrast laid bare of my life seems so strikingly different from yours.
My relative freedom is temptation. It's asking for trouble while you're waiting for things around you to catch up. Will you cope like me? Do you have a point besides waking up to take your prescription? Will the societal lid stay on the pot when huge swaths of humanity are trying to persuade themselves an “arts and leisure” existence is as worthy as the coal mine ethics they were born into? I doubt it.
Simply, I think it's important for people to face the true depths of their pointless behaviors. The hours spent in traffic listening to the same 30 songs. The hundreds of one line emails because neither of you wanted to take the elevator. The scrolling and scrolling and scrolling for any cue to smirk or like or become “outraged.” The minute to minute existence not burdened by the point because you don't have time.
In a primarily superficial sense is my life an easy place to be. I have the same luxuries as you, just the added time on top of it. A day doesn't go by where I'm not annoyed I can't “just do” the plans I have. Each comment I catch about thrown away money makes me sick; the fact that I'm reduced to my bank account. The fact that my purposeful and thoughtful self garners less attention or value from society than 30 failed presidential campaigns. The fact that there's millions of people who desperately need more attention and care than I'll ever deserve piles it on further.
We're a society of “unknown unknowns” who revel and take pride in it. For me, never will a personal story overshadow speaking and paying attention to our general health and awareness. Part of that health is taking back our time to re-learn what it is we should be focused on. It's to work it into our bones how to detect distracted from impassioned. I need to hear it in my every day speeches and interactions. I need to sense it from the average Joe. I need people to denounce, instead of actively encourage, behavior that attacks being thoughtful.
When I write, I try very hard to mean what I say. It's important for me to have a fairly prolonged defense for any lazy jabs. It means something to me, if not to you. I want to mean something to you, but won't be the whipping boy. This isn't a ramble. Your anger is unjustified. I'm not the enemy. If I were a betting man, I'd say you hate yourself for the same reasons I do. You're actively missing the point and resent the person calling you out. Learn to do it to yourself, and maybe we'll flirt with getting somewhere better together.
How many jobs might we describe as “pointless?” I don't think there's a hard and fast ranking system, but if we attempt to make a number of comparisons, one might start to manifest. A comedian or doctor? If you had to choose, every comedian would be pointless. A lawyer or garbageman? Trick question, as both are about to be outsourced by machines here shortly. Does it sound weird to call a lawyer pointless? In a world that can produce a computer that can cite precedents and make better arguments than a human could ever manage, maybe not.
It's also important to distinguish the difference between the profession itself and the human desire or need of what it's providing. Comedy certainly isn't pointless and in fact is essential to well being and cohesiveness. Have we immediately contradicted the line of reasoning that would throw a comedian under a doctor's bus? Perhaps marginally. At the same time, it's hopefully becoming apparent how “loose” it is to talk about the merit of any one thing without a context.
A world without comedians would need one or many. A world entirely consisting of comedians would be doomed to fail. Is there a balance? Is there a compelling case for the amount of comedians we have verses doctors? Sounding like impossible questions to me. Questions that have to be approached very personally and from a kind of holistic impression. I've stated, at least, that the world doesn't need me as a comedian. I can cite dozens who are saying almost word for word the things I'd want to say. I've no desire to surpass or crowd them and will gladly share with you the joy they bring me. I'm happy to crack my own shit up or try to get friends to laugh.
The question of “pointless” activities is one that we're going to have to deal with in greater measure than I think we're even basically aware of. Of the jobs that are left not being done via modern slavery, the ones that employ the most people are rapidly changing for reasons well independent of anyone's concern for your place or title.
Anecdotally, I can describe how pointless I felt at basically every job I've been in. It's a hard illusion to see through that just because there's a structure of some sort, doesn't mean it stands for worthwhile or valuable reasons. I excelled at my jobs, either evidenced through raises, promotions, or a heaping of responsibilities. But I excelled at being pointless. School is a close analogy. I got the As and Bs. Nothing about those As and Bs meant anything to the places I ended up working for. And the tasks required of me certainly didn't lean on my capacity to “intensively write” about obscure legal questions or describe the paths of neurotransmitters.
My mind always shoots to jobs of leisure. Critics still blow my mind. Paid to love or shit on things. Have an opinion? Here's money! Sports follows in my thoughts mostly because nobody needs you to be the best (even if it means doping) more than they probably need to leave the couch more often. I think you're less often an example, more being abused as a scapegoat. Think of the amount of pride fat America is going to take from any gold medals it wins.
The more you really dig into any particular task, it feels more and more predicated on “because I can” or “because it kills time.” It becomes dignified because people tie it to the amount of money they're making or they describe it as taking care of their families or of course their amount of effort or struggle or knowledge holds some particular weight over yours. This of course is different from demeaning the amount of work or time it does in fact take to learn things or what you've personally overcome in order to do so.
I've been practicing instruments. I have so much time on my hands I can start to surprise myself with the progress I make in a relatively short amount of time. I still seem to reflexively shit on what I'm doing. I like music. I marvel at people who can do it professionally. But it still feels “pointless.” That is, I'm doing it almost like a show. When I can pick up an instrument at random and pull it off, that moment will validate the months of metronome beats in my head or canker soars. I care about music, but I can't make it “the point.” At least, not yet.
I've been watching TV. What I find I seem to insist on in any conversation about TV, is that I do it often sped up and via torrents. A 60 minute show is actually often 45 without commercials, and a 45 minute show meant to “empty-headedly entertain” is 22 minutes at twice the speed and more like 19 or less when you skip introductions, segment transitions, or musical acts you don't care about or already like. I can also practice on the drum pad, do squats, or hit the treadmill while Stephen Colbert is shitting on Hitler 2.
Mind you, I literally have nothing else to do. I don't have anywhere to be. I don't have anything that needs paid for. I'm not aware of anyone that needs my help. What the hell am I doing saving all this time, so I can have more time, to apparently complain about having too much time? It's less confusing than I've managed to phrase it there, but on its face, it seems kind of ridiculous, no?
Well, I also like to read. I also like to create software and want to build businesses. I'm also pricing land and have projects I've contacted literally every person in the state tangentially related to what I'm after. That is, I know what I wish could be “the point” at all times, happen to do everything I can in service to the point, and then am left to my own devices. I have money I know how to spend, but only have 3 or so ways I'd prefer it done so. I have time that I hope I can remain respectful of, even when I seemingly have too much of it. A sentiment I think no one over the age of 35 would ever dream of thinking was their problem.
I know what I want. My perception shows me that a lot of people, at least claim, to know what they're doing. It's anyone's guess if what they're doing matches what they want. I know what I want in conversation. I know what I want an argument to consist of. I know what I want in a partner or friend. I know what tools I want to use. I know what I want my house to be capable of. I know what I'll want to find the time to watch or play when I've finally created something that allows me to exercise “the point” instead of whatever else it is I find to do.
I also think I only ever discovered what I wanted because I gave myself all the time in the world to fall into it. I exhaustively explore what's on my mind and then consist of what's left. Hopefully, it's an informative and “wise” position. Hopefully, it allows me more opportunities to offer help instead of noise. Hopefully, it allows me to keep personal guilt levels at an appropriate place when the contrast laid bare of my life seems so strikingly different from yours.
My relative freedom is temptation. It's asking for trouble while you're waiting for things around you to catch up. Will you cope like me? Do you have a point besides waking up to take your prescription? Will the societal lid stay on the pot when huge swaths of humanity are trying to persuade themselves an “arts and leisure” existence is as worthy as the coal mine ethics they were born into? I doubt it.
Simply, I think it's important for people to face the true depths of their pointless behaviors. The hours spent in traffic listening to the same 30 songs. The hundreds of one line emails because neither of you wanted to take the elevator. The scrolling and scrolling and scrolling for any cue to smirk or like or become “outraged.” The minute to minute existence not burdened by the point because you don't have time.
In a primarily superficial sense is my life an easy place to be. I have the same luxuries as you, just the added time on top of it. A day doesn't go by where I'm not annoyed I can't “just do” the plans I have. Each comment I catch about thrown away money makes me sick; the fact that I'm reduced to my bank account. The fact that my purposeful and thoughtful self garners less attention or value from society than 30 failed presidential campaigns. The fact that there's millions of people who desperately need more attention and care than I'll ever deserve piles it on further.
We're a society of “unknown unknowns” who revel and take pride in it. For me, never will a personal story overshadow speaking and paying attention to our general health and awareness. Part of that health is taking back our time to re-learn what it is we should be focused on. It's to work it into our bones how to detect distracted from impassioned. I need to hear it in my every day speeches and interactions. I need to sense it from the average Joe. I need people to denounce, instead of actively encourage, behavior that attacks being thoughtful.
When I write, I try very hard to mean what I say. It's important for me to have a fairly prolonged defense for any lazy jabs. It means something to me, if not to you. I want to mean something to you, but won't be the whipping boy. This isn't a ramble. Your anger is unjustified. I'm not the enemy. If I were a betting man, I'd say you hate yourself for the same reasons I do. You're actively missing the point and resent the person calling you out. Learn to do it to yourself, and maybe we'll flirt with getting somewhere better together.
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