Robert Frost’s Bill
I like to consider myself an expert generalist. Not necessarily because I am one, mostly because, as a generalist, I rarely obtain the rank of “expert.” Still, pop science says that 10,000 hours instills expertise, and I’ve certainly spent more than that on the path of Jack – the man of all trades.
I was born this way. I tried to specialize, I really did, but there was always something shiny on the top of the adjacent hill and I had to go looking. Upon picking up and analyzing the bobble, I’d more often than not find a connection to the other areas. With that kind of evidence, it only made sense to continue accumulating interests.
Even in my youth, though, I realized the cruelty of a limited human existence. It’s funny to think about it, since I still struggle with this reality today, but you can’t know everything. You can’t be and do everything. I believe that I could be an aerospace engineer, painter, surgeon, dog trainer, senator, even a birth or death dula if I dedicated myself to the specialization, but not all of them.
And there’s the rub. If everything is on the table, what do you eat?
I chose the path that all the screaming voices of reality were pointing to and stuck with academics and business. There’s no need to denigrate the knowledge and experience I gained while learning economics and finance. They’re interesting topics, but, as usual, I’d hit a certain point where they were outshone by another just over the horizon.
I ended up working as a personal banker after college. When I say working, I’m using the weakest version of the word. In reality I was learning about quantum mechanics.
No joke, I spent a good 80% of my day reading about quantum mechanics – which is one of the more humorous ways I’ve lost a job. In my defense, there was no one else in the building so what was I supposed to do?
If any of you comment “if you can lean you can clean,” my wave function will collapse.
The deepest secrets of the universe lost their shine too, eventually. I wondered what the life of a physicist would look like and, upon picturing the constant studying of a computer screen, decided against it.
For a few years I had barely any time to explore hobbies or interests. This was during my time as a logistics manager and if I wasn’t asleep or panicking, then I was actively kicking asses. Eventually, though, I got operations under control and I found more time.
But what to do with it? At that point, I was beginning to feel the relentless passage of time. It pushed me to do something valuable – fiscally valuable. Still, monetary pursuits didn’t seem to have brought much fulfillment.
And that’s the trouble – opportunity cost, Robert Frost’s bill, the sacrifice of what cannot be perused such that something else can.
Maybe that’s why, in my youth, I had such jealousy for those with passion. I don’t mean the theatrical version, I mean the real thing – a love for something, or a knowledge that feels like it’s yours. The question doesn’t seem to enter their mind. They’re driven to excel by something more than logic or money. I’ve tried on passions like jeans at Target, and much like said jeans, none were worth the price tag. Hell, I would have settled for ambition. I discovered neither, and whether my ADHD or my sentiments were to blame, I may never know.
Instead, I experienced analysis paralysis when spinning my mental rolodex in search of a new topic of interest. In a state of mild panic, I chose to visit a bookstore. While I didn’t read much at the time, there has always been something about a bookstore that calms me – maybe the quiet or the book smell. I picked up a Vonnegut title off the shelf, The Sirens of Titan, and ended up taking it home with me.
From there, I began reading fiction for the first time since I was a kid. Every morning, first thing after coffee, I’d sit outside and read for a good hour or more. Reading isn’t as specific an interest as economics or quantum mechanics. Believe it or not, I had read in the pursuit of both those topics. Still, fiction has this way of giving us access to other perspectives.
In stories, we see thousands of lives we haven’t lived, many of which we couldn’t (I don’t know about you, but I don’t live in a post-apocalyptic wasteland or a dragon infested fantasy world). We gain access to what could have been and what could be, in some small way.
I can be an astronaut in that brief moment they see Earth smaller than a dime through thick glass. I can be a father, pulling my wife and children behind me as we flee our home country in the slim hope that my child might live a better life. I can cast spells, win F1 races, fight dragons, and perform the most amazing heist mankind has ever known.
If only for a short time, I can savor a world without opportunity cost.
From the Rift,
Thanks for Reading
Prefer to listen? Subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or using the RSS feed
