Dabble: (v) to work at anything in an irregular or superficial manner
I would like to introduce myself.
My name is Mr. Dabble.
I can’t think of a word that more describes what I have done throughout my life than dabble.
As a teenage boy, I was interested in Southern Gospel Quartets. That particular dabbling had me doodling for a while. So if I’m ever in a gathering where such old-time music becomes a point of conversation, I can hold my own.
Then, for a long time, I was involved in the music industry in Nashville, Tennessee—at least up to my armpits, though it never quite reached my eyeballs.
I met famous people.
I recorded in famous studios.
And I appeared on stage in a variety of ways—from having my own music group to doing backup singing for a Las Vegas show.
I dabbled for a season by taking my clan on the road and having my own little Partridge Family—singing, traveling in a car, pulling a trailer, wearing colorful costumes and attempting to believe that we sounded good enough to be doing what we were doing.
I dabbled with writing novels.
I dabbled by flying coast to coast putting on shows.
I dabbled in writing classical music for a symphony we began in Tennessee.
I dabbled in screenplays. Thirteen of them turned into independent movies, which won awards at film festivals.
Why did I dabble?
Because I am a curious sort.
I have never believed that fame is possible—mainly because it is unsustainable. So the second-best option is to continue to try new things, and conquer them one by one, and have your own personal awards ceremony for your efforts. The nice thing about this is that you never come in second, but can always bestow top honors upon your performances.
The question might be asked by sane men and women everywhere:
What would have happened if you had focused, and not dabbled?
For instance, what would have been the conclusion if you had begun with screenplays and faithfully stayed with them?
I don’t know.
Because then I wouldn’t be a dabbler.
And I wouldn’t be able to write this article about my dabbling.