Category: Post Untitled, volume three

FRIDAY, 3 APRIL 2009

Motivation is, for me, a complex animal. Every day has its stories, its angles, its ideas, its visions, verbalisations, lists of things to do.

This morning’s story was as follows: I leave for Bronkhorstspruit on June 1st and return on August 31st – not a plan, mind you, just a story on the way to the supermarket. The idea is to do research for three months, walk around, read magazines and newspapers, socialise, and sit under a tree and think and write. That would give me two months to save some money, but more importantly, to get sources of income going from which I can withdraw money while I am in Bronkhorstspruit.

A few hours later, on my bicycle on the way back from an errand, I expressed the opinion that it is “quite doable”. I am, indeed, convinced that something of this sort can be embarked on and brought to a successful conclusion. I also know that I probably wouldn’t be able to carry out the necessary steps within two months. “Why the heck not?” someone might ask. Because, so I reckon, I would need a special kind of motivation to succeed with such an undertaking, and three months in Bronkhorstspruit isn’t enough of a motivation.

I believe in the concept of Super Motivation, an almost magical power that spurs you to action and doesn’t allow you to rest until you’re able to clutch the prize to your chest. Super Motivation – like in the story of the mother of three children in the book, The One Minute Millionaire, who had to earn a million dollars within a month otherwise she would lose her children, forever.

The image of the mother, the thirty days and the one million has been sticking to the inside of my skull since late 2003 like one of the post-it notes on my kitchen wall. I have believed for quite some time that if you are motivated enough, you can do anything. Whether the story in the book is based on a real person or not, I have no doubt that large amounts of money can flow in your direction if you take enough of the right actions; and if you are super motivated, you do have enough of the right things. You do not rest until you are satisfied that you have done everything possible to achieve your goal.

Since 2006, and especially since I realised it might take longer than thirty days to make my first dollar on the Internet, I have been wondering what motivates me to want to make more money. Initially, it was to make up for classes that got cancelled while I was on holiday that April of 2006. Two-thousand-and-seven came and went, and my promises of visiting my family in April, or July, or September – or December! – got postponed or cancelled one after another. So, by 2008 going to South Africa and seeing my family again had become the Grand Prize, the pot of gold at the other side of the muddy field where the rainbow drilled into the soft earth. I launched new attacks like a desperate general in the First World War, trying fresh strategies and new ideas every few weeks. Money was supposed to start streaming in, and I was supposed to book my plane ticket, pay it in full, and on the scheduled date actually go on that trip.

A trip to South Africa to see my family as prize. A trip to South Africa to see my family as motivation. A trip to South Africa to see my family as fire fuelling my actions every day. But deep inside I know a visit to see my family is a double-edged sword. You arrive home; everyone is happy to see each other; after a day or two you’re used to the new landscape, and everyone is accustomed to you being part of the landscape that is their daily lives. Then, after a dozen visits to the local supermarket and half a dozen visits to the local bakery and confectionery store, you pull your suitcases from under the bed again, pack your clothes and a few copies of your favourite local magazines and an ornament or two and a few other items, lament the fact that your luggage is going to be overweight again and you may have to fork over more than R1000 at the airport for the extra weight, and then after three more days … two more days … last day, time again for emotional embraces, vague promises, and then you disappear again into the foggy skies over the Indian Ocean.

Vacation – long-awaited visit “home” – as prize. To see my family again, and within two or three weeks to say goodbye again, as motivation, the reason why I do what I do every day.

———–

Let me stop right here before June knocks on the door with me still getting sentimental about the old days, with one paragraph after another regurgitating old ideas about packing it all in and returning to South Africa for good, like casting old bones back on the fire to see if there is still a speck of flesh on them, or a little marrow I can cook soft enough to suck out. Point is, if I were still feverishly planning on returning to South Africa for good, the motivation issue might have been a beast of a different colour.

Where does this leave me? What am I supposed to do without the sweet voice of the Marvellous Motivator to spur me on?

It leaves me with a simple undertaking to do my best. For that I can motivate myself – without expecting any miracles. To get up every day, eat breakfast, and work to the best of my ability. And as I learned again recently, that does not necessarily mean to work hard for the sake of working hard. It means working smart. I shouldn’t spend eight hours driving in screws with my thumbnail if I can spend ten minutes doing it with a screwdriver. And I also shouldn’t feel I do not deserve the advantages of the screws wherever I drove them in because I only spent ten minutes driving them in instead of the eight hours I had initially expected it would take. My goodness, I really, desperately, need to stop over-complicating things.

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THURSDAY, 12 FEBRUARY 2009

Left to my own devices, I am good for a few things. I can make notes until the pen dries up, or edit material as if I have nine lifetimes to spend on it. I am also good at research. I can find dozens of PDFs from the most obscure sources, and it’s not like I just leave the documents in some dark corner of my hard drive and forget about them. I can thoroughly immerse myself in sorting out information and categorising it into different topics.

And before I know what’s going on, another five weeks have gone by. Whatever.

To make money on the Internet you are taught to do specific things in specific ways, and you should do them regularly enough, and enough of them. Does this make-money-on-the-Internet business actually work, or is it just a scam? Is it all just stories so-called Internet marketers spin to rob you of your hard earned cash in broad daylight?

In my experience, the possibility is real enough. The fact that I survived almost the whole of January – the fact that I could eat breakfast and dinner, buy toothpaste and tea and go to coffee shops with Natasja and even have a snack with my coffee, and that I could afford all the other items and activities that make one’s life ordinary – was due to a few dollars that I had made because I had done a few things in a particular way, and did it often enough at some point, and did enough of it.

(To be continued …)

MONDAY, 30 MARCH 2009

Six weeks and four days later. (To be continued) was supposed to end with, “I need a manager because I am like a rock band that can write good music when they are left on their own, but the rock band needs a manager to get gigs and arrange transportation, and get the band at the airport or bus station or train station so they can go to some or other town, city or country to perform and make money.

(Twenty minutes later)

I feel like I am walking around with a secret, a personal secret that I have always feared would be discovered by someone else. Only difference is, I am burning to blurt out the secret myself.

Saturday afternoon I collapsed for a moment into the cane chair in the kitchen, thinking, “I should’ve rolled in the money by now considering everything I know, and everything that I have learned to do.”

The reason, I thought, why I am not yet rolling around in cash bills of various colours and denominations is because I am not able to sell myself. I can’t do it. Or, I can, but it chafes against me to such an extent that I will probably always subconsciously undermine the process.

What do I mean by “sell myself”? I mean looking at myself, my interests, my natural abilities, my acquired skills, and then looking at the open labour market to consider where and how I can offer my services for a fee; how I can place on the table my labour and the value it may have for any prospective buyer in the hope and expectation of reasonable compensation.

Now, that is in a way exactly what I did when I came to Northeast Asia – but because language centres in countries like Korea and Taiwan are so eager to hire educated Westerners almost at first sight, to install him or her in a classroom and pay them quite handsomely for their effort, I have never had to try very hard to sell myself. I was also fortunate enough in the past to be offered enough classes to fill up my schedule. There were a few instances when I responded to advertised offers of work – Korea 1996, and a school in Kaohsiung that had advertised in the local newspaper in the summer of 2001. All the other teaching jobs that I have had over the years were offered to me personally. I would usually receive a phone call from someone who got my number from someone else, and they would explain that they urgently needed an English teacher, preferably from a foreign country. My internal response was always, “Damn it! Why now?” But, I am a reasonable person. I know I need money, so in most cases I would start with the new job within a few days. And of course, after the first few weeks I would eagerly take ownership of the cash that would come my way as a reward for my labour, and for my free time that I had given up.

Some of the work that I have done over the years, and that I am still doing, is boring. Sometimes I think it is beneath me. But I do it, because of the compensation. And if my phone rang at this very moment, with a voice on the other side offering me a job that I’d think will be boring and possibly at times beneath me, I would most likely once again accept the job. Because I need the extra money. And because I am a reasonable man. I do sometimes think I am special, but not so special that I will spurn an opportunity to sell some of my time for some much-needed hard currency.

Willingness to do certain jobs is one thing. The problem is, I cannot bring myself to advertise myself. I am skilled in a few areas. There are individuals and businesses that can make a profit out of me, or make things more convenient for themselves, or improve their own situations by making use of my knowledge or labour. And they will compensate me adequately – if they only knew that my knowledge and my labour were available.

This brings me to the secret I carry within me, the secret that is burning to be shared with all for whom it will matter. I don’t think my financial situation is going to improve in the next few weeks. I also don’t think my financial situation is going to look much better in two or three months’ time. Perhaps by the end of June? July? September? December? Next year? 2011? I can keep throwing out numbers and months, hopeful that I’d be doing better by that month, or by the middle of another year, than I have been doing until now. But my opinion will remain the same.

If I were feeling discouraged right now, or if I were being influenced by a state of mind that I would previously have associated with a Sunday night, or a Monday, or the month of March, I could write this note off as the result of emotion and chuck it in with old telephone bills like a poorly written poem. The fact of the matter is, I am not discouraged, and I am not suffering from a lack of faith or enthusiasm. If I did not deem it necessary to write this note to myself at this very minute, I could have been working on any of a half dozen projects.

That I do not believe that my financial situation will improve over the next two to three decades is a calculated opinion. I believe it will remain exactly as it is right now, until some or other crisis throws the story on its head. Then I’ll kick and scream and plead and cajole just to have it as good again as I have it now. Because better it is not going to get.

Must it necessarily be so?

The temptation is there to say: Yes. Brand Smit has done his best. He has reached the end of his natural talents. It is like driving on the open road and then you get to a point where the road simply ends, in the middle of nowhere. Or it is like someone asking you in Kazakh to answer a complex scientific question. All you can do is smile awkwardly, because the question is in a language you do not speak – and even if you could speak broken Kazakh, you wouldn’t know how to answer the question because you don’t know enough science. In short, checkmate.

But then, the faint, sometimes annoying voice of reason: Is it checkmate? Why is it checkmate? What can be done to avert the impending crisis? Can anything be done to avert the impending crisis?

1. The crisis would have been given a fatal shot a long time ago if I had only known myself better. (And I hear the author of “Personal Agenda” choke on his popcorn and tea.)

2. There would not be a crisis if I could work with other people – no, if I could approach other people and persuade them to work with me.

3. The crisis feeds on itself. If I did not have to change my focus every now and then to something that could make money “quicker”, I could have made more money a long time ago. Or maybe not – but it’s possible.

4. I will probably stay poor for the rest of my life, and forever be known to myself and others as Almost Man. Years from now I will say, “If only I …” – which will give me the alternative title of, If Only I Man, which may come in handy when Almost Man gets boring.

———–

Enough funny business. Fact is, I am going to stay poor until I can make more money than I currently do, and more often than is now the case. There are other ways I can express this, but it has always come down to the same thing.

Poor, until then
Your faithful servant
Almost Man

______________________

FRIDAY, 2 JANUARY 2009

Smoking cigarettes: addiction to the toxic fumes of burning leaves.

If it weren’t for smart packaging (until recently), smart marketing (until a decade ago), identity-related brands, social acceptability (in decline) and the wide availability and relatively low cost, only a fraction of people who currently smoke would actually have started smoking in the first place. How cigarettes are presented, and how people think about smoking cigarettes, change everything.

* * *

Sniffing glue has a reputation as the first drug of choice for street children, poor teens and other people who are not positive about life but who do not have money for a better narcotic. To smoke tobacco – daily, as a matter of routine – is seen by smokers as in an entirely different class as glue sniffing.

Here is what I think: smoking tobacco doesn’t make you stupid, but think about it for a second: you roll dry leaves in a piece of paper, set the whole business on fire and suck the smoke into your lungs. Granted, it’s not the same as sniffing glue, but it is also not exactly the result of a brilliant thought process.

MONDAY, 5 JANUARY 2009

You can justify and rationalise the most criminal behaviour. What you need is the ability to honestly criticise yourself, to question your own behaviour and choices, and to reconsider them in a critical fashion.

MONDAY, 12 JANUARY 2009

Here is my advice to other people who want to write: write your ass off about everything that bothers you and everything that makes you happy. Write as if you’re fucked in the head; edit later. And be modest. Opinions about your own importance, that the world won’t function without you, that you possess knowledge and understanding that nobody else possesses, fade as the years go by, and guess what: there you are again, sitting on a rock next to a dirt road, forced to again draw your own map with a blunt pencil on an old discarded piece of newspaper, stuffing your bag full of dirt and grass and a bottle filled with watered-down cola in the hope that everything will turn into something better if you sit on it for long enough.

Life is a journey. Never take anything for granted. Struggle on.

And to think it’s only Monday today. In January.

SUNDAY, 18 JANUARY 2009

Exactly one decade after I arrived in Taiwan.

Crossroads, again: I can either sputter out a few final sparks like a wet firecracker, or I can again flame up for five … or just maybe, another ten years.

MONDAY, 19 JANUARY 2009

Discouragement is a monster who will wrap its trembling fingers around your throat and strangle the life right out of you – unless you intentionally sidestep it, every day, and actively oppose and undermine its repeated efforts.

TUESDAY, 20 JANUARY 2009

Myth 1: Poor people who struggle for survival and who take nothing for granted never get bored. Boredom is the exclusive right of the bourgeoisie.

Myth 2: Happiness is a luxury that you can only afford if you are rich, or if you’re stupid and you don’t know any better.

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THURSDAY, 25 DECEMBER 2008

One of the reasons why many smokers find it difficult to quit is because they think they will never again have a certain experience they associate with smoking. I subscribe to the idea that it is not about you never again doing or experiencing something; it is about breaking a habit.

The smoker who is seriously considering breaking the habit should think about it in this way: that they will eventually smoke another cigarette, or another cigar, but then it will not be as part of a habit connected to an addiction; it will not be as part of a routine ruination of their health.

———–

Note on Thursday, 26 May 2016

The above was not the first note I had written over the years on the topic of quitting the habit of smoking cigarettes. What was unique was that Christmas Day 2008 saw my final and ultimately successful attempt to break the habit.

How did I do it?

That night, after having stubbed out my last cigarette, I gathered everything in my apartment that had any connection to smoking and chucked it in an old book bag – ashtrays, lighters, pipes, Rizla papers and rolling machine, and of course the box with a few remaining cigarettes. The next day I took the bag to Natasja’s apartment and buried it deep inside a closet. I made a deal with myself that I could take it out again in two weeks’ time to smoke two cigarettes. That is exactly what I did, after which I again closeted the bag, with the idea that I would again allow myself one cigarette two weeks after that. By the end of January, I thought I could push things a little further.

Months later, September 2009, I decided I again felt like having a cigarette. Natasja and I went out with friends that night, several of whom were smokers, and we decided we would buy a pack of pipe tobacco cigarettes. I ended up smoking two or three cigarettes that evening. Then came the big test: Will I smoke one final cigarette when we get home, as I always did in the past, on the balcony, while staring out into the night? No, I decided – no cigarettes at home.

And so it remained for the next few years. When we went out, we would take our packet of smokes out of the fridge – we bought a fresh pack every few months, smoke our few cigarettes outside a pub or restaurant with friends, and back home put the packet back in the fridge.

Then, about two years ago, just before going out one night, I realised that I had absolutely no desire to smoke a cigarette. The smell on my fingers, the taste in my mouth, the possibility that I might get a head rush from the sudden nicotine injection were all simply not worth the experience – something which I had previously enjoyed so much on a daily basis.

It was then that I realised my attempt that I had started on Christmas Day 2008 had reached its ideal point: I could walk down to the convenience store, buy a pack of cigarettes and have a smoke on the balcony, if I wanted to – but, as it turns out, I do not crave the experience anymore.

______________________

MONDAY, 3 NOVEMBER 2008

Susceptibility to fantastic claims and to results that look incredibly promising is not affected so much by how reasonable or how rational you are (or think you are), but by how desperate you are for the type of success and the associated rewards of success that are promised.

I regret

1. that I have been so receptive in the past almost three years to promises and stories of great wealth in a relatively short time;

2. that I always shared my naïve expectations with people close to me, and in the process undermined my credibility in their eyes;

3. that I continued to make promises of visits to family – by “April, or maybe June” followed by “September … or maybe by Christmas”;

4. that I did not put more effort, starting in May 2006, into making sure I never earned less than NT$30,000 per month from teaching English; fact is, my income dropped far below that level quite some time ago, and I have been suffering the consequences ever since.

WEDNESDAY, 5 NOVEMBER 2008

I recently had the insight that I have taken actions and started projects since February 2006 like one who has discovered a new religion: the religion of Making Money from Home.

I still believe in the possibility, but I would be dishonest if I did not admit that I have made mistakes. I was desperate and stupid, and this has been a combination that has left me without much to show for the past thirty months.

I end this note with a thought from last night: I am close, and I do not mean Moses-on-the-mountain-that-will-never-enter-the-Promised-Land type of close; I am close, and I will enter the Promised Land.

FRIDAY, 7 NOVEMBER 2008

It sometimes feels like I am still fighting for the privilege to write, as if I should justify the value I attach to my writing to people close to me who want to say, “How can you talk about writing if you’re not making money?”

Or, am I finding it hard to justify the value I place on my writing to myself while I am struggling to keep my head above water?

TUESDAY, 25 NOVEMBER 2008

Saw some young gang members on their scooters again this evening – flinging their scooters around the corner with some well-practised swagger. All of them sporting cheap white helmets, and matching fashionable outfits.

I made my usual remarks about people who find strength in the group, people who are willing to wear the exact same white headgear as badges of membership versus the competent, intelligent man or woman standing alone, who does not need group membership, or the rules or approval of the group.

A short distance down the road later, I wondered: What is my problem with these youths? They generally leave me alone, and I leave them alone. They don’t look for trouble with me, and I do not look for trouble with them.

Then I realised: I envy them. I envy them the friendship, the brotherhood, the camaraderie they enjoy with others like them. I desire what they have, and because I do not have it, I always have a comment to make.

Wow. A breakthrough.

SATURDAY, 6 DECEMBER 2008

The mistakes we make on any regular day in any normal waking hour repeat dozens or even hundreds of times to put us in a situation we wish was different. And we believe ourselves time and again when we tell ourselves and others that we just made “this one mistake”.

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