The Pleasures of the Unsuccessful
By Carl Nelson
Write about what you know.
The first thing to realize (though it took me awhile) is that life is a very competitive place. This was brought home to me while working with my wife selling copiers. Fellow salespeople were cordial enough, until we began to succeed. At first, I couldn’t understand the temperature drop. But it’s true enough everywhere. On the one hand success brings respect, while on the other, it spawns resentment. My nature is to value relationship over achievement, so that this has tended to skew my persona a bit towards the self-deferential, as a bit of self-deprecation makes people (appear to) like me – or at least, laugh. To wit, I am much more comfortable writing an essay about the lack of success than a surfeit of it. And happily enough, this scuffed shoe fits, so I wear it.
But I don’t necessarily live here. And I can flip it around, spin it for fun. Because,
“People will always treat you the way you allow them to.” – Jordan Peterson
For example, I quit medicine after receiving my M.D. But I joke that I’ve probably saved more lives by quitting medicine than a lot of doctors have by continuing. (Oddly enough, the Covid-19 experience came close to revoking the humor of that.)
On the Jungian Type test, I assay as an INFP. This is a person whose primary function is introverted feeling and whose secondary function is extroverted intuition. (Our conversation will jump around a lot.). We’re the flakes of the world: spacey, dreamy, impractical, artistic and prone to confabulate. (I hate reading about my type, and generally when I do I just shake my head and sigh.) Notions can infatuate me – for a week or so. Of the sixteen types INFPs peg the average yearly income bottom, and out of the sixteen types, we produce fully one third of all suicides. We lead the unsuccessful. We head the pack – and often right off the cliff.
Being an INFP is a little like being barefoot in a roomful of tacks. We take a lot of punching and give little back. Turning the other cheek (ignoring the slight) is our default. But we have insight, empathy, and within these strictures can strategize fairly well. This is an excellent type for a writer. We excel at words and yet are unassuming and nonthreatening. Strangers will often confide in me the most astonishing things. Crimes, rape, sodomy, hard time, felonies, arrests, relationship problems… we are people that troubled individuals will approach. I’m sort of like the stranger on the train who someone confesses to, knowing they’ll never see me again.
All Along the Watchtower
Strangers tell me things, which later
were like a fart they’d not confess,
and me like a prostitute they’d deny. Though,
I’ve never taken money! like some.
Do I tilt my head while listening,
or raise an ear?
I share a lot with my dog
I’d rather keep private.
I have no degree, authority, scheme or plan to offer
– but my confusion, which they receive smugly.
(“You’re confused now?
Wait till you hear this…”)
Though I am only listening to one person,
yet the hardest problem is not taking sides.
Like one hand clapping…
is this listening to difficulties.
Success is a slippery creature, (at least for someone like me), and something like catching a big fish. It’ll flip around and need a lot of attention. The only real way to use it is to kill it; then you eat of its flesh. At least that’s how I’ve regarded it. “What would you do if you had a ten million dollar company?”
“Well, I’d sell it.”
Success is like riding a tiger. You may not want to be there, but you’re afraid to jump off. Often success will take you where you don’t want to go, and leave you in the middle of where you don’t belong, if it hasn’t gobbled you up.
For example, I was successful in school. This will solve a lot of life’s problems when you’re growing up. But it can also gobble up a quarter of your life. It gobbled up a quarter of mine and spit me out with an MD – which I didn’t want to use. Wandering about, I met a fellow out in the desert of New Mexico living in a cave, who had spent six years getting his metallurgical degree from Stanford University – only to decide, after six months in the workaday world, to quit. I gave him some of my food, and he instructed me in throwing the I Ching, while I overnighted there in his cave. (“A bite from the younger, green scorpions will hurt like hell, but won’t kill you.”)
In my scheme of things, one of life’s possible pitfalls is to realize, when doing something you enjoy, that “a person could make some money doing this!” It’s all money left on the table, it would seem. And all one has to do is claim it. Here’s Susan Sontag’s rehash of how easy it is to get sucked in:
“Most particularly I become frightened to realize how close I came to letting myself slide into the academic life. It would have been effortless … just keep on making good grades…stayed for a master’s and a teaching assistantship, wrote a couple of papers on obscure subjects that nobody cares about, and, at the age of sixty, be ugly and respected and a full professor. Why, I was looking through the English Dept. publications in the library today — long (hundreds of pages) monographs on such subjects as: The Use of ‘Tu’ and ‘Vous’ in Voltaire; The Social Criticism of Fenimore Cooper; A Bibliography of the Writings of Bret Harte in the Magazines + Newspapers of California (1859–1891) …Jesus Christ! What did I almost submit to?!?” – Susan Sontag
A little further on – and it often isn’t that much further along – one finds that they can make a living, possibly even a good one doing this! It’s as if one has found their life’s path and with a financial security which has been established. It’s a godsend! Then, marriage and a few kids, and suddenly one discovers that they must make money doing this. Stress and tension invades the pleasure. Am I really happier now, they ponder?
This sort of evolution can occur with about anything. For example, you finally find that certain woman you want to marry and build a life with. A little later it might come to you that she is now the only woman you may build a life with. This can come as a shock to some. What were they thinking? Life is full of twists and turns, tees and y’s. They’ll come upon you no matter what. And success seems to incentivize and then lock-in our choices.
“Studying history, Madison homed in on an immutable fact of human nature – as the authors put it, “people are naturally ambitious and tend to seek power over not just their own lives but others.” – Andrew C. McCarthy reviewing “Over Ruled: The Human Toll of Too Much Law” by Neil Gorsuch & Janie Nitze
This being so, a person of my characterization finds his best defense is the burrow. And online is a virtual labyrinth of them. No one can shout you down online. All caps is not persuasive, nor threatening. You are difficult to intimidate. Your thought is difficult to eliminate. Tellingly, one of the pat putdowns of those of us who frequent online is that we are a nest of pale, flabby, introverted “losers” or trolls. Well, yes and no. I’m neither pale nor particularly flabby, but my wife does tell me that I mumble.
But not online! (Because there’s Spell-check.)
Still, off-line, a little success is required, if only to survive. An actress/playwright I saw performing her travelling one-act, did a bit about how she kept bread on the table by being a care-giver. “No one wants the jobs, and they are always looking for a body” – “Yep. You’ve got one, let’s go.” Myself, I did bus driving and telemarketing. These are jobs where you’re off in an unmarked cubicle, and can make sufficient money working part time. The world leaves you alone driving bus, and you pester the world telemarketing. So I had it going both ways. These are not plush gigs. And they don’t necessarily attract women. But even the Zen Masters had to cut wood and haul water.
And it’s comfortable to think of yourself as a freelance Zen Master or a Yoda, while pushing that mop. Most of those like me, do, I suspect. We are quiet, little introverted geniuses, like elves who appear in the night to assist the shoemaker. We often find ourselves associated with a successful person. (Example: my wife.)
The thing is to know your limitations. For the successful, say perhaps President Trump, success is not a limitation; it’s a fuel. But for someone like me, it could be a real problem.
The thinking that it takes money to do things is common – especially among people who’d rather not exert the effort. But in many ways money is an impediment to creation. For example, in the theater world where I worked for at least a decade as a playwright, no money got a lot of theater produced. As more and more money was added, less and less art was produced. In the small theater group I belonged to they produced three or four shows a year with perhaps the work of ten playwrights contributing to each show. Receipts from past shows paid the theater rental on the next. A person could literally walk in off the street (and some street people did) with a scribbled script in hand and get a staged reading (actors cast from the attendees) – that evening!
“The most outre’ ideas are tried when little is at stake, both monetarily and critically. Money starts a lot of spoons stirring which aren’t artistic, and creative work under money’s influence will often harden prematurely around whatever is there, like concrete curing.”…
“The Yale Drama Series is an annual international competition for emerging playwrights. The winner receives the David Charles Horn prize of $10,000, publication of the their manuscript by Yale University Press and a professional staged reading. Aya Akhtar is the judge for the 2018-2019 competitions.”
Over 15,400 submissions have been received and read since the competition began in 2007. They have come from 103 countries.” – (Peristalsis / The Journey of a Poet magicbeanbooks.co)
Wow! One script reading per year. What a boon to artistic development!
Where do all of our star athletes come from? Are their spectacular skills purchased by million dollar contracts, or are they developed as kids and young athletes in sandlot games?
The biggest problem with it all is that success seems to nail you down, and the bigger the success, the more securely you might find yourself nailed. A good example might be the rabbi, Nicodemus, of New Testament fame as depicted in the Netflix serial, “The Chosen”.
Nicodemus is a high ranking, venerable Pharisee, who leads the comfortable, envied existence of someone risen to the top of his profession. He has a regal wife, and envied status. Nicodemus however is a seeker of God. And he is tired and feeling hidebound by the strictures of his duties, which ostensibly are encased in scholarly descriptions of the path to God, but which he suspects, actually restrain him spiritually. When, serendipitously, he crosses paths with Jesus, and he suffers a true spiritual recognition of God in the flesh – Nicodemus is torn between his loyalty to his profession, his family, with all of its trappings, and his loyalty to God. This is a thing far too nebulous to be explained to his very practical relations and rabbinical students. Sadly, he defers Jesus’ offer of a discipleship, and stunts his life. (Perhaps even his entry into heaven.)
It’s notable that Jesus fished the unsuccessful of this world when looking for disciples. A couple bankrupt fishermen, a taxman who had no friends among the people and whose parents rebuffed him and women with sketchy pasts come to mind.
Successful people are stuck too fast to this world. Or as Jesus put it: “It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven.”
There’s a zillion of the unsuccessful, like seedlings sprinkled throughout the culture, plying our trades while living modestly, but all ready to go. We’re following our inspiration daily and heading wherever it’s brightest.
As in a Shakespearean court, it is only the Fool (the hapless) who is allowed to spout the truth. But he doesn’t try to monetize it, or to crusade about it. The Fool merely intends to charm with it. For if he can charm the court into enjoying a realization of the truth – who knows where this could trend? Christ created the Church on this rock.
Likewise, this is one of the perks of being unsuccessful. It’s expected of you to continually make ‘errors’, and to harbor illusions, spout non sequiturs and say silly things. And I love my harbored allusions. I record them in poems. And when a person enjoys the poem, I’ve opened another eyelid slightly. There’s another individual who will enjoy turning over a thought to examine the underside. There’s another lover of the hidden world. Just like anybody, I’m trying to convert others to my situation, and into a cheaper, humble, but more interesting way of living. At least that’s how I see it. It’s inexpensive work. And I’m fully prepared for you to not even notice, as I’m busy anyway.
I’ll still be here when you return.