if you were rich...

....would you still work? If you didn't NEED to, would you go anyway, just to have something to do? Would you know what to do with yourself? I was discussing this topic with one of my friends yesterday, and sadly had to admit that I would not. Perhaps I wouldn't keep coming in to my CURRENT job, but I would need to get out of the house and be around people, and I would need to be productive.

What gives life meaning? Is it love? God? Family? Money? Power? Entertainment? Why are we here on this Earth? Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl was required reading in my high school. Though it was a Catholic high school and the book dealt with a Jewish man's experiences in a concentration camp, there was much wisdom to be gleaned from the pages regarding God, life, and how to deal with trying circumstances with grace and dignity. I don't think I was smart enough yet to understand all the principles of the book, but a lot stayed with me over the years, one of the strongest themes being the conclusion that creation gives us meaning. If we're all created by a higher being, made in His image, we fulfill our existence, our place here, with the things we make. Whether we're building something useful, or creating works of art, or even having children, we only feel complete when our actions result in some positive effect. As a boy, whenever my mom would see me wasting time doing nothing, when I'd be wandering around bored with my toys and my books, she'd suggest I “do something constructive.” She'd later scold me when she'd catch me playing with my blocks and taking her statement literally. Her idea of doing something constructive would have been cleaning my room or making my bed, but i was too young to understand what she really was asking me to do.

As I got ready to go to Brooklyn to play in a procession in hot, humid weather this morning, I silently questioned what I was doing. I had taken the day off from my regular job only to get up at 6 AM, over an hour earlier than I normally do, and to work outside rather than in an air-conditioned office. Selfishly, I began to think of my conversation with my friend the day before, and wish I was doing something better with my day off, something lazy, relaxing and indulgent that I hadn't earned. Sometimes parents repeat things so much in our youth, that they echo in our memory long after the old folks have stopped saying those phrases. “Your father and I don't relax until we've finished all of our work!” is one of the mom-phrases bouncing around the back of my skull. I have to admit, there is more value in rest AFTER it's been earned. It's like the difference between just drinking a glass of water any time, and drinking a glass of water after sweating and toiling in the sun for three or four hours. In the second instance, the water tastes so much better.

My half-asleep shower pondering was interrupted by my dad announcing he was leaving without me. I frantically raced to get dressed as he went out and started the car, even as my mom, about as much of a morning person as I am, groggily asked me why I insist on stressing my father out when I know what time he wanted to leave. It was a little annoying since she takes a long time to get ready too, and there have been many instances of her coming to see us at a concert on her own because she wasn't ready when my dad was leaving. There was the added guilt of her reminding me of his heart condition and saying she didn't think he looked well this morning, followed by a mom-ish “You boys play nice! Have a good day!”

I felt bad the whole ride in, and though I knew this particular band leader consistently lies about the time these jobs start to make sure we're there on time, my dad still drove like a maniac and practically ran down the block when we arrived. Sure enough, we only stood around for another half hour before we actually started playing. I couldn't understand why a 75-year-old man was so driven to get somewhere by a certain time when this wasn't a job he needed, and he professes that playing music is fun for him. Retirement was hard on my dad, and he found meaning in keeping busy, whether it was taking on more musical engagements or continuing to do automobile repairs for his friends. After it was all over, I silently hoped I'd have the stamina of some of the older men in the band someday. There are guys older than my father who have been doing these jobs since they were younger than me, and I felt absolutely pummeled by the heat and walking by the time we finished around 2PM. Walking back to the car, our friend Bill, a 78-year-old trumpet player, joked with my dad that their wives would think them crazy for what they did today. On the ride home, he told my dad and I of an expression his own father used to say. He'd say that he liked hitting himself in the head with a hammer, because it felt good to stop.

How do they do it? How did these men play in bands, and work full-time jobs, and marry and raise children? I sometimes wonder why I'm so lazy, another echo of my parents' voices. When I was a kid and used to sleep until noon in the Summer, I'd sometimes wake up to hear banter between them about “who he got it from”. “I get up in the morning; he sure didn't get that from me!” One aspect of laziness may be giving in to being tired. There's no reason I can't do other things on days that I work, and I've been working on doing that more and more. At the end of the day when I'm tired and just want to go home, a few miles on the treadmill actually perks me back up, restores my energy for the rest of the day. Laziness can be psychological, a side effect of not having the right motivation. My dad had a family to feed and bills to pay. He had motivation to work hard his whole life, and it only gave him strength and endurance. I don't think the work itself gave his life meaning so much as the results of it. A roof over our heads. Dinner on the table. A car that ran properly.

If tomorrow, I learned I never had to work another day in my life, what would I do? I've seen some movies these past few days about remarkable individuals, men with lasting legacies. Ray surprised me with the darker aspects of the man's life, choices he made before I was born that presented a very different image of the man from the one I had from within my lifetime. I was fortunate enough to see him play an outdoor concert not far from my home a few years ago, and his music lingered with me long afterward. I had the same experience with the film, and I realized that this man will be remembered for great things that he contributed to this world, in spite of mistakes in his personal life. Another man who will be remembered is the real-life police officer Al Pacino played in Serpico. Another one of those historically important films that everyone has seen except me, it told the remarkable tale of an honest Italian cop who pays several prices for his ideals, yet stands by them to the very end. I didn't realize until the end that there was a REAL Serpico who had done these things, whose actions brought about lasting reform amid corrupt police departments.

If I didn't need a job, I'd still work, but I would work on something that would be remembered, that would have a positive, lasting impact on the world. I'd allow my creativity to run free, unhampered by others, and I think in that freedom I'd find the energy to overcome my laziness. Perhaps my fine art would reach new heights, or perhaps I'd try my hand at writing and get a novel or two published. Maybe I’d publish my own comic books. Maybe I'd build SOMETHING SOMEWHERE that HELPED PEOPLE. My vision and imagination break down amid the mire of reality, and I find I can only catch fleeting glimpses of the fulfillment of the hypothetical .

If you were rich, if you didn't need to work, what would you do?