Tinker, tailor, Martian, sailor

Lucius lives an extraordinary life. He travels 3 months; then returns home, where he reads, thinks, writes, goes to theater, cinema, opera, museums, listens to the radio, and organizes his thoughts about his travels; then he travels for 3 months again.

A great life, people say. And then add: Don't you get bored?

He used to think they were simply mean; that they meant the question as a kind of attack, out of envy. After all, what is interesting about their lives (sleep, commute, work, commute, sleep)?

But today he has realized something important: that work is what makes people interesting in the minds of other people: it makes us what we are in other's estimation. (Why else would the second question posed by new acquaintances always be 'What do you do?') After all, when we meet someone who is, say, a fish monger -- or a used car dealer -- we know what we can do with him, how we can fit him into our life, how he can be useful to us. But when we meet someone who is retired; a connoisseur of art and literature; a traveler; what are we supposed to do with a man like that? We have nothing to do with him, nothing at all. He can't sell us anything at a discount, he can't write us a useful letter of recommendation, he can't advise us on where and how to submit a job application. He might as well be a Martian: 'Hi, I am from Mars.' 'How do you do?'

The interlocutors of Lucius know and understand it. They would never opt for the life he lives, even if it is interesting. They want to be useful.