I have a friend who has a very focused interest; one could say he makes life interesting—both for himself and for others. As a geologist, he can turn an idle stroll into an earth science laboratory. A casual, fun hike with him is a virtual geology field trip—in the fun, exciting sense. I lived two decades in one area of Georgia; I learned more about my home area from him in one afternoon than all of those years living there.
I have lived in assorted places in Georgia. My friend makes Georgia stones, sluices, and sinkholes come alive with worlds of meaning. He is uncanny. And yet, not. Think of a teacher you had, or a mentor—even a transitory encounter you had with an interesting person. You see immediately that there is something special about that person’s engaging interest.
I think of Mr. Owen, who piqued my interest in guitar. He was basically a self-educated man, and something of a homespun musician. He loved guitar, and being self-taught—well before YouTube—played pretty good. His joy and interest inspired me. My own practice—and interest were less focused at the time. However, I never lost my love of the guitar and its sound. In recent years, I began to fiddle with guitar again (apologies for the wonky metaphor!) The more I became interested, the more fun I began having.
Recently I realized it was it was those years ago with Mr. Owen that held my interest in guitar; an interest that lay fallow for years. It occurred to me that it is easy to overlook early-life influence that becomes a seed of prolific growth; hobbies, careers, friendships, even romances.
Back in my young and foolish years, my disinterest caused me to miss a golden opportunity (Merriam-Webster defines disinterest as not having the mind or feelings engaged: not interested.) I was at a youth conference where one popuar session featured a speaker, who someone said is a farmer from South Georgia. “I grew up on a farm in South, Georgia,” I sniffed, “What do I need to I learn about South Georgia farming from that guy in overalls? I’ll attend a different lecture!” My disinterest caused me to miss the unique opportunity to meet, and learn at the feet of the great Clarence Jordan—the brain behind Habitat for Humanity, and the author of significant books, such as The Cotton Patch Gospels.
There is a story in the Book of Genesis, where a man, sold into slavery, chose to become interested in his new environs. He paid attention. He learned. He grew favor among his captors; all of which laid the foundation for his becoming a national leader—even though he was an immigrant. The story is in dramatic contrast to the lack of interest by Pharaoh and the focused interest Joseph had; it changed the direction of world history.
©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2023
Hello my friend