The Slow, Melancholy Deterioration of the Human Mind - A Love Story

In twelve days, I’ll be playing my first full set of individual music for a live crowd.

I’ve been playing guitar for about eight or nine years and been writing songs for about seven years. I’ve played shows with a band, and I’ve played open mic nights by myself. I have not yet, however, put together a full set of songs on my own, to play for about 45 minutes by myself.

Very rarely do I come up with a full song on guitar – chord progression, riffs, bridge/chorus, etc. – in one sitting, and even more infrequently is that full song generally good. At 2:15 this morning, as I walked up to bed, I saw I’d left my guitar sitting out from earlier in the day and decided to fiddle around with it. By 2:45, I had the music down.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a goddamn word to put with it.

In college, I wrote columns, blogs and other articles far more often than I wrote songs, which is odd considering how much free time I usually allotted myself. Granted, writing columns and articles was kind of my major, but still.

Now in my post-university life, I’ve found that despite my desire to re-enter the journalism/media field, I’ve written songs and lyrics far more than I’ve written blogs like this. I’m not sure if this can be attributed more to how short and simple my songs are (because don’t get me wrong, I’m not a very good musician), or how I sometimes aspire to be some sort of deep-thinking, artistically-inclined string-strummer.

Which is interesting, because often, whether it be a blog entry or a song, I find I don’t have much to say.

Not everyone is destined to spew their thoughts for the masses to see. But if you were to graph out my “inspiration to write” on a chronological chart, you would see a nice, steady decline from the day I graduated college to April 28, 2013, nearly two full years after I walked the stage, grabbed my diplo…I mean, my invitation to the Duquesne University Alumni Association, and high-tailed it out of Pittsburgh before the administration could reconsider their fateful decision.

Since that time, here are my accomplishments:

--Earned a job outside of my area of study and worked my way through to a slightly better paying job outside of my area of study at the same company.

--Moved out of my mom’s house.

--Squadoooooooooosh.

Okay, so I’ve done some other stuff. (Those dishes don’t clean themselves, thankyaverymuch). In terms of my intellectual development, though, you could say that I was humming along in a Lamorghini…

Okay, in a Ford Fiesta…

Okay, on a rusted-over Huffy bicycle…

Alright, anyway, so I was moving along quite well, and then gradually, coasted to a stop. I’ve acquired several books as gifts or as personal purchases in that time and can distinctly remember reading 1 2/3 of them: “Year of the Black Rainbow” (a book based on a Coheed and Cambria CD, which was basically the equivalent of reading a video game), and 2/3 of “Hearts inAtlantis,” which I read during jury duty. And to be honest, I had already read the first half one time before, four years ago, and decided to start again. That is an alarming lack of mental stimulation. At least I've supplemented it with plenty of other....well...yeah.

In college, though, I was force-fed great writing. .Kurt Vonnegut! T.S. Eliot! Hunter S. Thompson! E.L. James! (Okay, I’m joking…I never read T.S Eliot. That puss J. Alfred Prufrock can go right to hell)

I was forced to think because otherwise I’d fail. My economics classes taught me how to think and how to apply it to everyday life, and my writing classes taught me how to communicate what I knew effectively and, when I stumbled upon a joke or two by accident, in an entertaining manner.

I realize that last paragraph sounds like something I’d put on a resume. It sounds an awful lot like something I’d tell someone in a job interview. Thing is, I’d be outright lying if I told somebody that in an interview. Two years ago, that might have been true. Not today.

In college, “life” was studying and bettering yourself. Today, “life” for me is taking home enough money so I can pay my bills, buy food, and maybe have enough left over to hang out with my friends or go out on a date (sometimes both in the same month, if I’m lucky). My leisure time is spent eating, going to the gym, sleeping, and plucking half-heartedly at my guitar, hoping the next time I strum the strings, they’ll emit words instead of notes.

I’ll be 24 in a few months. I cannot become a hopeless nostalgic. If I want to be a better writer, a better songwriter, or for God’s sake, just a more interesting person who can talk about more than last night’s game or that hi-LAR-ious video on YouTube, it has to begin with me, and now.

Starting in May, I am resolving myself to read two books a month – one fiction and one non-fiction. It’s extremely modest, but it’s something I believe I can manage between work and social life.

I’m well aware that actions speak louder blah de blah de blah. I’m putting this here as a modification on Drew Magary’s “Public Humiliation Diet.” The premise is, you’ll be more inclined to work towards your goals if you publicize them, because that relative publicity will push you not to fail. If you keep it to yourself, the only person who knows is you. For some of us, that isn’t enough.

So I’m asking for suggestions. I’ve got a big bookshelf of potential selections, but I’d love to hear what you guys have read recently and liked. They don’t necessarily have to be the most intellectual pieces ever written, but I’d prefer they don’t involve vampires, or middle-aged mistresses, or both.

Thanks, everyone.

-Matt

And as one last shameless plug, my set at Chaplin’s in Spring City is on May 10^th. I’m playing with No Stranger and my brother Alex Kasznel from the band The BlueRoom, and it’s going to be a great time. Yes, I’ll be playing the original songs I’ve spent this post diminishing, but I’ll also mix in enough Kelly Clarkson covers to make up for it. (See, now you’ll have to show up to see if I’m kidding about the Kelly Clarkson covers)

Do What You Love, or Love What You Want, or Love Doing What You Want, or Love What you Want to Do, or...

Hey guys, it’s been like half a year, so I thought I’d come back and talk to you a little bit about Jesus.

Nah, kidding. I thought about doing that before, but decided against it for the time being. Maybe I still will. Whether it’s a blog post idea, food, a crazy stunt or a job, I usually never rule anything out.

And perhaps that’s part of my problem.

My mother is a big fan of “inspirational,” self-help books about building a better future. Most recently, she gave me a book for Valentine’s Day (along with a cubic  ton of candy that really helped me get ready for this) about how people become innovators.

A few years ago, though, she gave me a book called “Should I Do What I Love?” (Or, if you're Michael Young, "Should I Do What I Want?" The basic question of the book is whether you should pursue a career in a field you truly love, or a career that’s financially stable.

Friends, family and motivational speakers have told me regularly that if you do what you love, you won’t work a day in your life. Others say it could ruin your passion for something that is probably best relegated to hobby status. Conversely, a financially stable career could give you the means to pursue your dreams in your free time (which is totally just asrewarding), or it can cause you to act negatively in your workplace.

If there is a surefire way to determine what path to take, somebody better get me a copy of their map. (I thought that one up all on my own). Obviously, talent and knowledge of your subject is a huge determining factor – if you love taming lions but can’t tell the difference between a lionand an anteater, it probably isn’t happening for you.

The key, though, seems to be how much you’re willing to sacrifice to have even the slightest chance of doing something remotely related to your dream job.

I potentially have an opportunity for a job that would get me “in the building” (both literally and figuratively) somewhere where I could pursue my dream of working in broadcasting. It’s for a position that’s quite far removed from “radio talk show host,” and it’s no guarantee that taking it would ever lead to “radio talk show host,” but it’s something. It’s also nearly an hour and a half from where I live now and would require moving even further away from my friends and family than I already am, not to mention moving to a city that, aside from a few weekend trips, I’m basically wholly unfamiliar with.

Now that I’ve said something, I will of course not be offered said job, because that’s how life works. But regardless.

The process has made me understand the true nature of the “should you do what you love” question. It’s not necessarily whether you love something enough to make it a career; it’s whether you would rather love your work or love the things it affords you. This is something people far more intelligent than me probably worked out much earlier in life than I did. (In my defense, I spent a lot of time doing this as a kid)

Yes, I spend large chunks of time wishing I worked in radio, wondering what I could do to find a job in radio, or pretending I already do work in radio. But do I spend so much time thinking about it because I work at a job that doesn’t force me to work excruciating hours, or because I don’t have to work two jobs to support myself? If I had a ground-level job in broadcasting or journalism, would I grow to resent the job because I’d be living in a studio apartment without cable, internet or working utilities and constantly without money to go visit or hang out with friends?

I truly loved hosting my college radio show and writing for my college newspaper. (Whether I was any good at it is mostly a matter of how much you enjoy jokes at PETA’s expense). I also happened to write and broadcast with some of the best people I’ve ever met, both as friends and as journalists. Did I love being the small-time college equivalent of [insert asshole Philly sports media personality here] because I loved the field, or because I loved my friends?

Ultimately, the best way to figure that out is to see how willing you are to write, record, and spew your thoughts when your friends aren’t around and when nobody’s reading/listening. That’s why I’m giving one more crack at it. One more crack at blogging, one more crack at podcasting, one more crack at discovering whatever “magic” encouraged me to believe that I might want to make a living out of this nonsense.

It would be great if you wanted to read along. If not, that’s fine. I don’t blame you. If I were my friend, I wouldn’t have wanted to read 900 words of me trying to “find myself” or whatever. In the end, this isn’t about the people who read or don’t read. It’s about me and what I want. (And maybe my esteemed co-blogger, despite how wrong she is sometimes). After all, no matter what your friends and loved ones think of your dream, the whole point is to find what makes you happy, because the right people are going to follow you one way or another.

-Matt