We'll call her Helena, after Shakespeare's play. Helena and I agreed over tea that we dislike this American mentality of becoming your career, of being validated by what you "do" or how you make your money. It's especially evident how this mentality fuels the workaholic habits of this country here in Los Angeles, where the first question someone asks when they meet someone new is "what do you do?"
I usually answer: I am an artist. I am a renaissance woman. I am an actor. I am a citizen of the world.
This never fares well and I get asked "But what do you do for money?"
As if it's any of their business. I am who I am, and how I get by, well who cares. I manage. The point is I live my life as an artist, a lover of nature, a person. Right?
Or is it more important what I produce and how much it's worth by the amount I am paid.
Both Helena's father and my father taught us to live life doing what we love, knowing that is success, and that is how I live, but it this country I constantly come face to face with people telling me otherwise. It reminded me of living in Spain, where the butcher was as important as the banker because they contributed to the community. Reminded me how the quality of one's life was more important than how much one makes. How if someone wanted to work in manual labor because they liked to get their hands dirty, they did.
Granted, there are so many opportunities this country offers that aren't available elsewhere, but perhaps that's why I plan to move back to Europe once I've siezed those. Perhaps I'll move to a Vineyard and write.
However much money I make or dont, I want to end up like "Crazy Robertson." Well somewhat. Everytime I drived down Robertson Blvd in Beverly Hills I see the same old guy in the same spot....dancing. This man, who looks homeless, wears spandex, no shirt, a fanny pack, sneakers, and a headband. Nearby he is play a boombox. Everyday he stands on the sidewalk dancing to his own music regardless of the playing beat and sometimes I get the urge to join him.
Tonight I mentioned the guy to Helena's boyfriend. Turns out everyone knows about this crazy guy on Robertson. Apparently he's a millionaire. What do you do when you have so much money and don't know what to do? Buy dead shark art like Saatchi? Drink and Drive and go to Jail like Paris? Nah, I want to dance like Crazy Robertson.

