I’m 65 years old. Sold my IT business a year and a half ago to become Boise’s #2 storyteller, wedding officiant, and mobile notary. Nobody seems to want to hear my stories, even though they’re not preachy or trying to solve anyone’s big, expensive problem. In other words, when you listen to my stories, there’s no pressure to improve yourself. All you have to do is sit there and be entertained, which is inherently low risk.
I can’t seem to get a job, either. Apple rejected me three years in a row. Starbucks kicked me to the curb twice. The credit union hired me but changed their mind a few weeks shy of the probationary period, mostly because of something I did that involved storytelling.
In other words, I’m useless, with no commercial value to anyone unwilling to figure out how exactly my wisdom and experience can help them.
I can play the harmonica, but who needs that?
My photos are pretty darn good, but again, who needs that?
People like me. So what.
My dad always knew I was a quitter, so he made me join the swim team at the age of 7. And he kept working on me till I was out of the house, and even then, he encouraged me to “always be better than average.” Not a quitter. I thought he failed, but he didn’t. Somehow, I’m no longer a quitter.
Which is a problem, now that I’m 65 years old and useless. Suicide is out of the question. I’ve thought about it many times over the years, just because that’s how my mind works, but it turns out I’m not legitimately suicidal. I once owned a gun and had motive, opportunity, and whatever the third thing is (means?). I couldn’t bring myself to do it as I sat, depressed, in that motel room. So I packed up my Smith and Wesson and went home with yet another manifestation of imposter syndrome under my belt.
Yesterday, I signed up for Social Security at my wife’s urging. She’s more survival oriented than I am. Social Security sends you just enough money to live below the anxiety line, and then you can make another $24k a year on top of that. Still below the anxiety line.
I’m not ready to give up and retire just yet, and even if I do, who’s going to put me out to pasture if I’m not willing to do it myself? We can’t just flip a switch and call it a day. We have to go through the decades long process of slow decline and hope for a sudden heart attack rather than the longer, more torturous killers like the Big C (I don’t want to spell it out, for fear of bringing it on. That’s what happens when you’re a hypochondriac).
I still think I can make it as a storyteller, even if it’s just at the Rotary Club. I could sell my car and not leave the house. At least I wouldn’t be breathing all that smoke outside.
Another way to go is to run out of money and starve to death. I know there’s a safety net, but nobody’s forcing you to take advantage of it. I think the more likely worst case scenario is that you decide not to starve to death and somehow eke out a meager living in a trailer far away from anywhere you envisioned yourself ending up. And then you take up smoking (and drinking, why not?) to accelerate the end process, which only makes you more miserable. Does thinking about bad things cause them to happen? Does thinking about pleasant things cause those to happen? Does thinking anything cause anything to happen?
Well, does it? I’m waiting for something to happen, but so far? Nothing.
Guess I’ll just keep on going till somebody else puts me out to pasture.
I’m Louis Barney Katz, Boise’s #2 storyteller, wedding officiant, and mobile notary. You can put me out to pasture by calling me at 208.805.2740 or shooting me an email at louis@lbkatz.com.