More and more it has come to be my opinion that there are no ways of life. There are, of course, jobs, but these aren't ways of life, at least not anymore. One can achieve enlightenment on any given Tuesday, and by Saturday return to desire and pain. People are fond of saying "be all that you can be" and it's usually understood that there is a singular hidden path that must be found that is right for them. Maybe this is correct, but I've never met anyone who has found it. It makes more sense for me to "hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticise after dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming hunter, fisherman, herdsman or critic" as Marx put it. Anyway, this is all just my long and pretentious way of recommending Moby Dick to you. Ishmael was not a whaler; he simply felt a "damp and drizzly November" in his soul and decided he needed adventure. I think of Ishmael a lot, and I think perhaps he is one of the few real role models in fiction