On why choosing music might be the same as making friends

In the mid-nineties, I discovered Crowded House. Right off the bat, I fell in love with them. Their tunes were catchy, their lyrics light and all in all, I was hooked. It was back in the days when if you wanted music you had three options;

1)  Buy the tape;
2)  Buy the CD;
3) Wait for a song to come on radio and tape it on your cassette player, all the while hoping that the stupid DJ didn't interrupt the song.

I was fortunate enough to be earning a wage at that point so I opted for the expensive choice and bought their CD.

It was absolutely fantastic and for a week I was in seventh heaven. Crowded House and I were on to a good thing. However, as quickly as it had started, my love affair with the band died. To this day I hate the lyrics, 'There's a small boat made of china, going nowhere on the mantle piece...' blah blah... Who cares whether you always take the weather with you? Certainly not me!
I think I gave the CD away and to this day believe that my life is all the richer for having done so.

Now at about the same time, a friend of mine was raging on about a band called Pink Floyd. I had no idea who these fellows were. So off I went to my local music store, found the CD and asked the sales guy to let me listen to it. I think he was a Satanist. He wore docs and had pierced a heck of a lot of his face. His lip, tongue, eyebrows and ears were all studded with a lot of earrings, and I do mean a lot. He also sported an assortment of tattoos. Over and above this, he had a very big pentagram on his black t-shirt. For all of this he was soft spoken and friendly. I had no idea that Satanists were so polite.

In any event, I remember him nodding his approval at my choice and naturally I felt apprehensive. However, it's not every day that one get's to impress a devil worshiper and so I let him play it for me.

What was strange was that I remember not really enjoying the music but, and it is a very big BUT, I thought that it had potential. So completely out of a desire to impress the servant of the dark lord I bought the album.

Some fifteen years later, I still listen to the, 'Division Bell' and I swear that as the years go by, my appreciation for the music grows. Subsequent to this, I have used the exact same technique to purchase all of my music. If I love it, I will not buy it. Instead I will wait for radio to kill it for me. But... if I don't really like it, yet get the feeling that it may grow on me, I buy it without a second thought.

This strategy has served me very well. I am happy to say that the music collection I own, although clearly not everyone's cup of tea is, in my opinion, second to none. I listen to all of my music on a regular basis and as the years go by, I develop a deeper appreciation for it.

So what is the point?
I think the point is that sometimes things and people just need to be given time to grow on you. We are all finite beings and can expect to die. Our desire for instant and lasting gratification is completely understandable. I mean, if I only have seventy years to live, well then let the good times roll and let them roll quickly please.

But what if we don't have to always choose that which has the greatest appeal? What if, like my music collection, we allow people who don't immediately please, but who have potential to grow on us, into our lives? What if we exchanged instant gratification for lasting and increasing contentment?

Now I am not blind to the fact that the relationship between me and my music collection and relationships between two or more humans are not in the same ball park. Heck, it's not even the same game. But what I'm suggesting is using a somewhat variant mental process to give those we normally wouldn't, a chance to build a relationships with us.

Who knows, maybe the album that goes platinum is waiting for you, dressed in docs and sporting a large pentagram on a black t-shirt...

On quitting my job

So I resigned from my job yesterday!

It has been on my mind for some time now but for some odd reason, I have just not had the courage to knock on my boss's door and tell him I'm leaving. Who knows how long this state of affairs would have lasted, but for an impromptu meeting with my directors yesterday. No doubt I would have left there some thirty years hence with a gold watch and a wasted life!!

It was so liberating saying the words, 'I'm handing in my resignation', which got me to thinking as to why it has been so difficult to leave a place that makes me miserable for eight hours every single day. I mean, it should be a no brainer, right? Coming here every day makes me nauseous, being here makes me unhappy and the best part of my day is when I leave this dungeon... Indeed, when you find yourself waking up disappointed because you are not feeling ill and hence have no legitimate excuse to stay home, it's time to leave...right?

Sadly, for the most part, the answer to that question, in this instance and for me, has been no. It is certainly not the first job I have hated and not the first job I have resigned from either. I have walked out of a number of jobs only to embark on projects of my own. So I certainly know that it isn't fear of the unknown that has kept me bound to this bleak island of despair for so long. I guess, this time things have been different because this was supposed to be THE JOB. The one I studied five years for, the one I did two years of slave labour (in the form of articles) for, it is the one I wrote four gruelling board exams for. Over and above this, I landed a place in a very respectable firm and was told by the directors that I have a future there, who knows, perhaps even a place amongst the top vultures in due course. Maybe therein lies the problem. For the past year or so, I have felt trapped and stupid at the same time. I mean, by all counts I'm on to a good thing, a steady pay cheque, a respectable job blah blah blah... The reasonable man would count his blessings and stick it out.

And yet... despite putting a brave face on it, in the quiet of night, whilst alone, I have known, just known in the depths of my being that I am not in the right place. What does one do when trapped, a closet career hater, scared to death of what society, your family and friends will say if you give it all up, come out and say, "I hate my job and I am going to leave"?

I tell you what you do my friend, you quit the freaking job, sell your bakkie (the doors of which cannot be locked), publish your little fantasy novel, do a bit of legal work on the side and then you go on a six month tour through Spain, Greece and Turkey... And that gentle reader is exactly what this irresponsible blogger intends on doing!!

On why I don't think it's a good idea to lock car doors...

I distinctly remember the telephone call. My Dad had locked the keys in the bakkie and between him and a very good friend of mine, (whom we shall have to call "Bob") they proceeded to completely dismantle the locking mechanism of the drivers side door. The vehicle had originally had an immobiliser, a gear lock and two functioning locks fitted to each door. The immobiliser had, had to be dismantled (at my cost, I might add) since my father had supposedly lost the keys that had the mechanism which allowed you to start the car. Then the gear lock had been destroyed by a locksmith after Bob had lost the other set of keys, which contained the key to open said gear lock. Naturally, his children took the blame and though it was them who had sinned, in a gesture worthy of the noblest of gods Bob paid for half of the locksmith's fees. I, of course, paid the other half. In a bizarre twist of fate, soon thereafter both my Dad and Bob found the keys which they swore had been lost. To this day, however, they vehemently blame each other for messing up the car door lock.

Be this as it may, the truth of it was that I was no longer able to lock the bakkie and so the situation remained for two and a half years thereafter. Part of the problem was that in a gesture of extreme goodwill my Dad had used steel putty to glue the window winder to the little thingy that it turns when the window goes up or down. This, of course made taking the door panel off to fix the lock impossible because let me assure you, steel putty live up to its' name.

It was against this backdrop, then, that my adventure unfolded. My work as an articled clerk took me to some of Johannesburg's dingiest spots. At least two or three times a week I would have to attend at the Johannesburg Magistrates Court and/or the High Court, where I would be obliged to park on the street. Now for those of you who have never visited either of those grand bastions of justice, I can assure you that they are not housed in the type of areas where one would feel safe raising a family. Also being somewhat of a cheap fellow and a very poorly paid one, the R10.00 parking areas were never an option. That then, is how I began and continued parking the van on the side of the road, unlocked, at every single destination I visited, for two and a half years. I would simply close the door, say a prayer and go about my business.

I will admit that it was incredibly liberating. The bitter yolk of suspicion and fear which almost every South African is forced to carry on a daily basis was dealt a grievous blow. You see, I had come to terms with the fact that the vehicle was as good as stolen and that being the case, why worry about the inevitable. Every time I returned to the car, I would think, 'Well at least today I get to drive myself home and not walk.' I often left the car windows open at night and more often than you would believe possible I would forget the keys in the ignition too! Yup, I'd get back to the vehicle, open the door and there they would be hanging. It became a joking point amongst my friends and passengers would stare aghast as I simply closed the door, and with a shrug of my shoulders explain that I never locked my door.

I have been held up at gun point, my life has been threatened more than once and I have been at the receiving end of more than my fair share of petty crime. Indeed, I am not blind to the fact that crime is a painfully real phenomenon in South Africa. Why then, such apparent folly in the face of this great threat? It is simple, I agree with the hypothesis proposed by the great Dr Viktor Frankl. Mankind's ultimate freedom lies in our ability to choose. I have no power over the choices other people exercise. I will not choose for others nor will I allow them to choose for me. God respects all free will and so will I. If someone has decided that they will steal my property or cause harm to my physical being, then that is a decision they have made and there is not too much I can do about that. High walls and locks do about as much to deter a criminal as a wrapper around a chocolate deters a hungry snacker.

I will use my freedom to choose a life of open doors, carefree living and walking with that cheeky little swagger that comes with knowing I am not scared to be stolen from. Since, if you do, I will simply forgive you for having done so. If the price of that comes at losing my stuff, then so be it! I will gladly wager every possession I own against enjoying an existence without fear and though it cost me all I have, I know that having enjoyed this freedom, I am receiving the better deal.