COLUMN: Lusting after bohemian life

From Roberto Mantaro Samaniego's, "Kill the Octopus," Fall '98 From Roberto Mantaro Samaniego's, "Kill the Octopus," Fall '98 For many of us, the "ideal world" is one in which our creative skills are augmented and acknowledged. The world lauds us as the Jack Kerouac of the '90s, the Whitney Houston of sign language, the Eddie Van Halen of the tuba. Nonetheless, when you become a college senior, and the juncture at which you must make long-term career decisions approaches, I hazard that you will not choose the perilous path of your "ideal world." If you see yourself in the previous paragraph, there are a number of things you should consider. First of all, your "ideal world" may be nothing but a dream and, much as you love writing, painting or playing the tuba, chances are you don't have the talent to cut it as a professional artist or performer. Take writing as an example. If the magnetic poetry that blossoms spontaneously on my fridge is anything to go by, the vast majority of dilettante writers out there are only capable of incoherent verbiage ("gown he felt his under shine chocolate always") or have a consuming interest in pornographic literature ("she licked my luscious raw meat as I pounded his gorgeous white sausage.") Perhaps the silence of a blank refrigerator is preferable. You may, of course, be truly talented, and anyway it is not as if all successful so-called "artists" seem talented themselves. Still, there is a good reason why "starving artist" is a set phrase. There are few jobs in the Darwinian world of professional tuba playing. Aspiring actors often work as waiters or else scour ads for a TV commercial in which to make a fleeting appearance on the public stage. It's a tough life. But why all the competition? The rewards to art and performance are not pecuniary, but spiritual. Maybe you are willing to sacrifice financial stability in exchange for a chance to live your dream and earn your daily bread doing what you most enjoy. Sometimes the most unlikely projects bear fruit. Consider the guitarist of the well-known quasi-socialist band Rage Against the Machine, who graduated with honors from Harvard University in 1982. He could have enlisted in the army of bankers and consultants just as easily as any Ivy Leaguer. Yet he chose not to, and now he funnels his anger and creative energy into producing the music he loves. If you do enlist, you will find yourself coming home too late and too drained to do more than watch TV or read the latest Grisham novel. If you are committed, at least you can strive to keep your passion alive. You can sacrifice syndicated Seinfeld a few nights a week to play and caress your beloved tuba. You can find -- or even found -- a tuba club. Anton Chekhov is famous as a playwright, but during the early years of his writing career he earned a living as a doctor. And you can quit. Lu Xun discarded his medical practice altogether in order to begin his literary career, and now he is the most respected Chinese short story writer of the century. If it doesn't work out, you can always switch back. The last job an acquaintance of mine had before signing on as an investment banker was as a drummer in a punk band. And of course, there is space for your creative soul to wander in the business world -- if you mail your job applications judiciously. Positions in design, programming, marketing and sales can all make substantive use of your creative drive -- more so if you join a small company and, particularly, if you foray into entrepreneurship. Still, it won't be the same as explicitly dedicating yourself to a creative pursuit. You should vow never to forget your artistic interests, but if they are more than mere hobbies, and you understand the risks, why not try to make them the focus of your life? Self-expression is a human need and, even if society manifests its contempt for the non-materialistic by axing funding for the arts, even if the philistine masses do not appreciate your deepest feelings manifested in clay, word or music, no one can deny the personal importance of your vision. You may never get to headline at Tubapalooza, but the rest of your life will probably be far more interesting if you distance yourself from the frenzy of recruitment period and disappear into the underground electric tuba scene. The wheels of industry will keep on turning without you. There is no reason why you should be just another cog in the machine.