"So what do you do?"
Posted: Sat Mar 29, 2014 9:12 pm
A writer complained to me recently that he finds it really hard in social situations when he is asked "So what do you do?"
His problem was that his work was not his passion - his writing was his passion, but it did not earn him a living. He felt he felt it was his writing, not his work, that defined him as a human being.
Of course, I could relate to this easily. So many times over the years I've been placed in the same position, often having long conversations with strangers about my work as a doctor when all I really wanted to talk about was poetry. I've got much better at it in recent years and will often simply come out bluntly and say, "I work as a doctor, but I am also a poet." That's usually enough to get the conversation going where I want it to go.
Having a book coming out soon makes it much easier, because I can now talk immediately about that, which makes the whole notion of writing poetry somehow much more legitimate - perhaps there's a buck in it after all. I also feel an obligation to sell as many books as possible, so every new social encounter is now also seen through the prism of a potential book sale - not an ideal way to approach all new social encounters, granted, but, hey, it's not a perfect world.
I do nevertheless wonder if I could somehow lead a revolution and, instead of asking "What do you do?" as a introductory gambit in casual social situations, instead ask, "So, what is your passion?" I imagine that for every genuine, revealing response, I would get at least ten people thinking I was some kind of a nutter.
What puzzles me as much as anything is how many people just don't have a passion in their lives. It must be a terrible way to live.
Sometimes, as a doctor, I will be confronted with a patient who appears to be lacking in direction. Increasingly, as a strategy, I've been inclined to 'cut to the chase' by asking "So what were your dreams as a child?" The theory behind a question like this is that somehow this person has forgotten, or given up on, their dream, and if I can only help to remind them of it, all will be well. Sadly, it is never that simple. So often they look at me blankly when I ask them that. Either they've completely forgotten their dreams, or they never had any to begin with.
I guess that's partly why I'm drawn so much to writing for children. If we can't be inspired by life as children, what chance do we have of being inspired as adults? Of course, you don't have to be a parent to play a role in the nurturing of children. It is the responsibility of all adults, surely, to light fires in the hearts of children.
I would like to think the day will eventually come when it will be quite reasonable to ask a stranger "What is your passion in life?" rather than "What do you do?", but I'm not going to hold my breath.
His problem was that his work was not his passion - his writing was his passion, but it did not earn him a living. He felt he felt it was his writing, not his work, that defined him as a human being.
Of course, I could relate to this easily. So many times over the years I've been placed in the same position, often having long conversations with strangers about my work as a doctor when all I really wanted to talk about was poetry. I've got much better at it in recent years and will often simply come out bluntly and say, "I work as a doctor, but I am also a poet." That's usually enough to get the conversation going where I want it to go.
Having a book coming out soon makes it much easier, because I can now talk immediately about that, which makes the whole notion of writing poetry somehow much more legitimate - perhaps there's a buck in it after all. I also feel an obligation to sell as many books as possible, so every new social encounter is now also seen through the prism of a potential book sale - not an ideal way to approach all new social encounters, granted, but, hey, it's not a perfect world.
I do nevertheless wonder if I could somehow lead a revolution and, instead of asking "What do you do?" as a introductory gambit in casual social situations, instead ask, "So, what is your passion?" I imagine that for every genuine, revealing response, I would get at least ten people thinking I was some kind of a nutter.
What puzzles me as much as anything is how many people just don't have a passion in their lives. It must be a terrible way to live.
Sometimes, as a doctor, I will be confronted with a patient who appears to be lacking in direction. Increasingly, as a strategy, I've been inclined to 'cut to the chase' by asking "So what were your dreams as a child?" The theory behind a question like this is that somehow this person has forgotten, or given up on, their dream, and if I can only help to remind them of it, all will be well. Sadly, it is never that simple. So often they look at me blankly when I ask them that. Either they've completely forgotten their dreams, or they never had any to begin with.
I guess that's partly why I'm drawn so much to writing for children. If we can't be inspired by life as children, what chance do we have of being inspired as adults? Of course, you don't have to be a parent to play a role in the nurturing of children. It is the responsibility of all adults, surely, to light fires in the hearts of children.
I would like to think the day will eventually come when it will be quite reasonable to ask a stranger "What is your passion in life?" rather than "What do you do?", but I'm not going to hold my breath.
