I Used To Be Confused (Now I Just Don't Know)

The Fifth of October Two Thousand and Eleven. Wednesday.

Working a quiet evening shift by my lonesome this evening. Time for a bit of philosophising and navel gazing (your opinion on this may vary).

One of the things I like about Unbreakable (we haven’t had a film recommendation for a while, have we? Let’s make this the Seventh Film Recommendation) apart from all the superhero stuff is the notion that we each have a place in the world. It’s a romantic idea, and appeals because of that. I’m not a believer in fate, or destiny, but as a shorthand for finding something that you’re good at that’s worthwhile Bruce Willis’ nagging dissatisfaction with his life until he develops superpowers and starts knocking around in a cape is a workable Hollywood metaphor. I bet director M Night Shamaylan felt he’d found his place in the grand scheme of things until he started coming up with rubbish like Signs and The Village (deffo not recommendations!). And Night, while I’m at it, what’s with the cameos? You’re not Alfred Hitchcock and you’re doing a perfectly good actor out of their bread and butter so stop it, eh? (actually, he might have stopped but I haven’t seen his last couple of films so I don’t know. Was he in The Last Airbender? (he asked, rhetorically)).

Here are some facts:

I like trains and I like riding on trains and I like working out rail routes.

I don’t like work.

Working at Scarborough Station is the only job I’ve ever had for more than two years. Apart from a one year break in 2004 I’ve done essentially the same job for 12 years.

I have no ambition to do any other rail-related job. It can be stressful dealing with people face-to-face, but maps and routes and all that nonsense is what it’s all about as far as I’m concerned. Working in an office, checking performance or delays or something like that, while nominally a higher grade job seems less interesting.

When it all comes together, when the best deal on a ticket is found, it is actually pretty satisfying.

I have no desire to work at any other station because, quite frankly, Scarborough is the best railway station in Britain. Oh yes.

So, at the end of it all, the question is, have I found my place in the world? Is this what I’m supposed to do – at least in terms of work? I’m still interested in writing, and occasionally even enjoy it. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not driven enough (and probably not good enough) to earn a living at it. In the intro to this blog I define myself as a writer and railwayman.

Why isn’t that enough?

Middle-aged angst ahoy: I’m 43 next month. I’ve (just) got more hair than Bruce Willis. I’m going to end up putting on a cape and trying to beat people up, aren’t I?

I’d better put the kettle on and quell the urge.

More soonliest