July 23: Slowed Much, Value the Arts, Bad Cardiologist

Santiago is injured, and the fish is slowing down . . . 

Shifting the weight of the line to his left shoulder and kneeling carefully he washed his hand in the ocean and held it there, submerged, for more than a minute watching the blood trail away and the steady movement of the water against his hand as the boat moved.

"He has slowed much," he said.

The fish is tired, and so am I.  But it's a good tired.

Currently, I'm sitting in a hotel in Calumet with my wife and son.  They are in bed, sleeping.  I got back to our room a little over an hour ago.  I was rehearsing and planning for a radio variety show I'm doing tomorrow evening at a local theatrical venue.  

On these weekends, my wife and son swim and go to restaurants.  I spend my time in Calumet working on scripts; practicing with actors and musicians; and performing.  Yes, that's right.  I am getting paid to write, sing, and act.

I live in a society that really doesn't value that arts at all.  Doctors and lawyers and engineers earn tons of money because their work is tangibly quantifiable.  The worth of poetry or painting or music or acting can't be measured in any concretely meaningful way.  That doesn't mean that these disciplines are less necessary than medicine or paved roads.  Yes, a physician can treat physical illness and sustain a person's life.  If that life is devoid of meaning and beauty, however, what is the point of living?  That's where art comes in.

Yet, poets are paid with brownies and wine.  Musicians work three or four hours per gig, earning paltry sums of money and maybe a couple free drinks, if they're lucky.  Often visual artists pay to have their paintings hung in galleries, let people enjoy their work for free.  Therein lies the problem.

I have been studying and teaching and practicing writing for almost 35 years now.  I've published a poetry collection.  Done hundreds of readings.  If I was a cardiologist who had been practicing for 35 years, I'd probably have a couple homes, one or two nice cars, and enough money to retire.  Even if I was a bad cardiologist.

I'm not a bad poet.  In fact, I think I'm pretty good.  Yet, I'm not sure how I'm going to pay for the new furnace I need in my home before the snow starts flying.  Usually, I'm just one check away from defaulting on my mortgage.  I've lived like this my whole life.

So, being in Calumet and getting paid for doing what I love to do is pretty freaking awesome.

And that is Saint Marty's blessing tonight.  Well, that and a son who makes him laugh hard.