Parasitic living

How many lives do you lead? I discovered the existence of "other" lives a long time ago, but the topic resurfaced today when I was talking to the faculty administrator. His admin job is his day job. He is, in truth, a struggling musician. It's slightly anti-climatic (at least for me) that he's not part of a garage band, but part of a chorus. They do gigs every Sunday at some church. Gigs meaning he gets paid. And he's done recordings, and live accompaniment to old silent movies in theaters. Not quite absolutely cool, but it's still something to chew on.

The man running the FACS facility writes poetry, and he's trying to work with someone else in my department who writes tunes. They have a dream -- to combine their talents and write songs that they can perform, maybe make a recording, or perhaps even make it big.

I've known people who are scientists during the week, and mountaineers on weekends. It's a great distraction. Sometimes, I envy how they lead such diverse lives. In the meantime, I continue to write.

I haven't the imagination to explore fictitious lands. I haven't experienced enough of life to write about great loves, losses and tragedies. I haven't thought deeply enough to come up with new philosophy. Everything that has crossed my mind, someone somewhere out there has already thought of it. And they have written it down with more dedication and thought that I will ever muster from me. (To truly understand dedication, check out the guy who lovingly details every burrito he's ever eaten.) Well, so be it.

It is enough to spy on the lives of others. I am a free rider of their multiplex lives. I am just a scribe, recording and hoarding to no end, for no end. Words are comforting, and that is all I hope from them.