a million monkeys typing

The Flickering of Flames

Posted November 17th, 2004 at 08:21am

I was taught an important lesson over ten years ago. While teaching in France, I gave English lessons to a Master Chef (whose humility did not permit him to speak of his hundreds of awards and distinctions) in return for getting cooking lessons. Aside from raking me over the coals many times for not having adequately memorised hundreds of herbs by smell and taste, or knowing exactly which of the hundred hanging pots would be most suitable for a certain sauce, he once became very upset with me when I suggested he give up his day job —which had nothing to do with cooking— and go to Paris to work full-time as a chef. I knew his job in the public service was mundane and quite boring, but I also knew he had received offers from some very high-class and trendy restaurants in the capital, so this didn’t seem like much of a stretch. Why was he upset? Partly because he didn’t want to sully his art, but mainly because —by turning a passion to commercial use— his love of cooking would become only a job. The flame that burned within him would be extinguished, and he could not live with himself.

I’ve always been the type to have a hundred hobbies. They’ve been ways of testing the waters of a new subject area, of dipping one toe into the stream and seeing how inviting it is. From there you can decide whether to jump in —wherein it becomes more than a hobby: it’s a career— or you can dangle the feet off the end of the pier, slosh around a little, have a stress-free day, and move on. My myriad hobbies have ranged from mineralogy to gourmet cooking, from medieval longbow archery to Victorian speculative technologies, from woodworking to herbalism. All of these things, I’ve simpled dabbled in, and attained the rank of advanced amateur, taking them no further, even though my interest in them bordered on the obsessive for periods of time. Somehow, there was always something even more exciting just around the corner, and the endless twists and turns of the journey kept me venturing forward, burning with the desire to try new things.

Not long after graduating university, the real world intervened. Having taught for a one-year contract in Newfoundland, I was a victim of a job market whose glut of teachers and dwindling student population had barred most young teachers without tenure or very specialised subjects (such as Special Education) from finding work. One of my chief hobbies during high school and university was programming and multimedia work, and this skill-set provided me the only opportunities I could find. Soon, I found plenty of work developing and managing kiosk, CD-ROM and website projects. The hobby had become a job, and the endless hours of keeping up with technology had drained any degree of enthusiasm I once had for it. The flame was extinguished.

But one of the other hobbies I had in high school was photography. It was a perfect amalgram of creativity and technical know-how. My piece-meal camera kit, along with my homegrown darkroom, allowed me endless hours of pleasure in taking and developing photographs. In university, my empty pockets meant giving up the somewhat-costly hobby, and it broke my heart. Eventually the camera broke, the darkroom was disassembled, and the world moved on.

Right now, I have almost no spare time, except for the 15 minutes or so in the morning while I eat breakfast and write in this blog. Not too long ago, my endless concentration on matters for my two jobs caused me to fear for my sanity… I was even unable to sleep, thinking unceasingly about my work and upcoming projects. I had no mental playground where I could tinker with non-work-related ideas, or subjects that I could read about to relax me before shuffling off to bed.

Then, by a fortuitous turn of events, I gained a new camera —a Canon Digital Rebel— which was by far the best camera I’ve ever owned, and a very capable manual one, at that. Suddenly, I have a hobby again, a mental break that allows me to focus on an activity that has absolutely nothing to do with my work.

I’ve finally rediscovered what my life was missing: the immersion of oneself into something non-imperative. No one will get upset with me if I take a lacklustre photograph. No one will hold each picture as a symbol of my livelihood. No one will pass me quotas, or force me to spend endless hours keeping up with all the latest advances. For once, I don’t even have to use a computer, if I don’t want to. The chains are slackened, the cage is opened.

What an amazing feeling, this newfound freedom….