I have thoroughly enjoyed the last few days reading and getting into my new life. My life as an artist, writer, daygamer and seducer. I’ve been staying up later and sleeping in, so unlike me, but I have this relaxed aura around me. I feel like I am breaking free of that which I worked so hard to construct around me but also imprisoned me
I feel inadequate on lots of levels, will my game ever be as good as Ian’s? (My new wing, travelling through Brisbane). Could my writing ever be as good as Nick Krasuer or Tom Torrero?
The real questions should be: Could my game ever be good enough for me? And can my writing ever be good enough to earn me a living. $100K?
It’s really hard to let go of my old self. Let go of the identity of a business man, let go of the old to start something new. The socially acceptable thing to do is to work hard and persist as a business man, but my heart sings to be an artist, to strip the layers of shit from my life, all the pretend structures of commerce, creating something of little value to sell to a targeted group of people at a slightly higher, yet still basically valueless sum.
Valueless in terms of worth, theoretical made up numbers applying a metric to something and calling that value, that gets spent and forgotten, not to dissimilar to a meal at McDonalds. Leaving you feeling full and satisfied briefly but not offering any lasting value. The domain names, the 100 work rooms and 1000 tasks in our project management system, the layers of processes documented in a wiki and enforced by me with the cane of the headmaster. 12 email accounts and human automation making use of the disparity of wages from country to country, customer personas, brand identities, style guides, unique selling propositions.
It all made so much sense when I was creating this labyrinth of shit. When I watched the movie “Ghandi” – in his later life he spent 4 hours a day spinning wool and stated that work was important for the human condition. At the time it felt like an odd thing to say and I didn’t identify, but took enough notice to remember. Now see this maze of so meaningless, almost as meaningless as a real job. My parents wanted me to be an accountant, at least I didn’t go down that route, or maybe I would have been better off and discovered that it was all a pile of shit earlier.
I went to a psychologist once and he mentioned that some children were put under video surveillance while playing. Some of the kids looked like they were being very industrious and having a good time, but on closer inspection they were stuck in a loop to regulate their emotions, building the same thing with the blocks and taking it apart over and over again. He was a sneaky son of a bitch and I didn’t realize till months later he was talking about me.
Starting and creating businesses and then tinkering with them so I could satisfy my work ethic, on my own terms, rather than a job for someone else was me regulating my emotions. But now I realize it’s as meaningless and the building and tearing down of block castles. Granted it pays the bills but there is no soul.
And is this life really any better or is it just new and shiny and just another project for me to keep myself busy. Am I helping myself find spiritual fulfilment by taking the red pill, and I can my writing help others. Or am I just finding cheap thrills to spread my seed, and it’s no less of a bastardisation of the procreation instinct, than my building businesses is of the work instinct.