What is success?
Dear Dale:
You’ve been doing this for a while. You must really be rolling in it.
Signed,
Looking for a loan
Dear LFAL:
I wish. I only get paid if people read my stuff. And they have to be Medium members. And even then, very little. Only about a penny per view.
So, unless you’re some sex-crazed celebrity who’s always in trouble with the police — two out of three ain’t bad — you won’t make much on Medium.
(Like a poker tournament where everyone starts out with the same amount of money but a few walk away with a big pile and the rest go home losers.)
I do have some readers. There’s a woman in India who likes me because, compared to Indian guys, I’m enlightened.
(Which tells you all you need to know about India.)
And then there’s the people who write in. They’re all ears at first. But as soon as I solve their problem, they disappear.
Sometimes even off themselves. I’ll be scrolling along when I suddenly see a memorial piece for a follower.
Well, I think, that’s another reader lost. Talk about ungrateful.
Not that it matters. I’m not doing this for the money. Or even the attention. I’m doing it to help people. Guys, mostly. Especially ones who are thinking of getting married. Someone has to set them straight.
But not everybody understands that. One guy even called me an amateur fuckwit. The fuckwit part I don’t mind but amateur? Just because I have no training or qualifications? That hurt.
So I dusted off my dictionary — yes, I have one of those — and looked the word up. Turns out it doesn’t mean “shitty” after all. It means “lover of.”
Well, I’m more than fine with that. I’ve loved lots of women. Had to pay for most of them but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable. It was still bang on, each and every time. And I’m sure the ladies felt the same way.
But it’s not just sex. It applies to everything. Painting a picture. Flying a kite. Swapping your boss’s blood pressure pills with laxatives.
If you do it for fun, it’s special, right?
Professionals, on the other hand, get paid. To them, it’s a job. So of course they hate it.
(Even porn stars probably hate their job, although it’s hard to imagine.)
And the word originally meant religious. Being a priest.
Now call me crazy but if I had to choose between being a guy who’s always getting laid and a dude who just sits around reading the Bible, I’d definitely go for the sex. Who wouldn’t?
Not only that. A few hundred years ago, a professional was someone who wrote for someone else. A speechwriter, say. Someone who made the lies of the powerful sound sweet. So naturally everyone hated them and the word had a bad meaning.
But somewhere along the way the meanings switched. Probably because of capitalism. Because, let’s face it: these days, if you can’t turn something into money, people think it’s worthless.
Don’t believe me? Take wrestling. It has a long and distinguished history. All the way back to ancient Greece. What could be more glorious than a pair of young Greeks, buck naked and greased with olive oil, grunting and groaning as they try to grab each other’s nuts? Now that’s sport.
Compare that to today, where steroid-stoned millionaires strut about stage, taunt their audience and pretend to slam chairs on their opponents’ heads — just to fill time between commercials for pet food and baldness cures.
So sure, call me an amateur. I don’t care. I enjoy giving reckless advice. It feels good to know I’m helping people avoid safe, secure, responsible lives. The modern world is full of boredom. Someone has to fight that. Might as well be me. That I get pennies for it only makes it all the more meaningful.
Life is short. Do what you enjoy. Even if you do get a disease. You’ll be glad you did. Because, in the immortal words of that feel-good band Kansas, we’re all just dust in the wind. So why not spin about a bit before you blow away? Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Dale
Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale
