I wrote my first begging letter yesterday. Well, actually it was an email, and although plaintive in tone, it was actually a request for instruction and advice, not food and/or money.
I wrote to an instrument maker who lives and works not too far from my home. I bought one of his mandolins about ten years ago, from a shop in central London. I then had occasion to visit him a while later to have some work done on it. I was struck by what a wonderful way to earn a living it must be, to produce these lovely objects professionally. He told me that he and his wife drive to southern Spain every year for several weeks to source quality woods. They then transport it home, and he spends the rest of the year making stringed instruments of various kinds.
I want to break free of the pointless process of modern office work. One gets so little done that's of tangible benefit that it wears you down. I have an urge to be useful, and not being so is denuding my humanity. It's also making me hate myself, which leads to all sorts of unpleasant possibilities. In short I need to have a reason to get up in the mornings.
I suppose having children does this for people, but I always rather looked upon that as the quid pro quo for having basically given up on oneself. And I'm not quite at that point yet.
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