Carl Weathers Was the Worst Mercenary

Mix for 11/04/10 - Thematic Distraction

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A friend said to me, "None of us are doing anything we're good at," a statement only slightly different than the more traditional idea that it's hard to find a job that you enjoy. But it's a fact of our lives (my friend's, my own, and those of our mutual friends) that very little of our work experience is rooted in anything that we're especially competent with or trained in, even if we're finding some margin of success. Part of this stems from how we're all largely "artists" of one form or another, a character description that has little practical application, yet it's strange to think how we've become so cut off from our primary skills.

Of course it's entirely my own fault for being a bit of a nitwit without an ounce of entrepreneurial instinct. My brief attempts at freelance show how little I enjoy the act of selling, whether an idea, object, or my identity. My current job asked that I revise my biographical blurb so that it's more appealing to the clientele, but I find myself completely incapable of abiding by their suggestions because the thought of third-person self-aggrandizement triggers acid reflux.

And so it was, when I went to pick up some photographs of mine that had been kept at my old high school, the woman at the counter asked me if this was my job (referring to the photos) and I could only shake my head and laugh. It's been almost five years since I've taken a picture, which is unbelievably discouraging. Two years ago, when I posted the image of the Daibutsu, I had no idea that I wasn't even a photographer anymore.