Tag Archives: Diversity

Love and Advantage

A man came by the house today. He was a man I’ve known my entire life. And it wasn’t the first time that he’s ever showed up at the house.

He had some cards that he was wanting to know the value of. Some Yugioh, Pokemon, Magic, and some other cards that I’m not sure of. I told him that I had gotten out of cards a while back, and didn’t know how much they were worth. He then started saying some very profound things that I was not expecting.

He’s had some drug problems that I’ve known about. He was on a scooter. And I don’t recall what exactly started it, but suddenly, he started talking about religion. Unprovoked. But it was not like what you might expect when being preached at. Most of the time, when someone is preached at, they hear about how terrible they are as a human being, and all of the things they need to do to alleviate themselves from the consequences of their sin. But this conversation was nothing like that. In fact, one might say that it was the exact opposite.

He started talking about energy. He said that energy is neither created, nor destroyed, but that it just exists. That there’s no time. That there is only energy. That we are energy, and that we all share this common humanity. We all share upon this energy. And we can give good energy, or we can give bad energy. But the energy is always there, and we can’t destroy it. It reminded me very much of a Bill Hicks joke: “All my point is, all my point is is there’s a lot of ways to look at the world. You know what I’m sayin’? Why pick the way you learn over TV? Cause it’s usually wrong. You ever see a good drug story on the news? Never. News is supposed to be objective, isn’t it? Supposed to be the news. But! Every drug story is negative. Well hold it. I’ve had some killer fuckin’ times on drugs. Let’s hear the whole story. Same LSD story every time, and we’ve all heard it: ‘Young man on acid thought he could fly. Jumped out of a building. What a tragedy.’ What a dick. He thought he could fly, why didn’t he take off from the ground and check it out first? You don’t see ducks lined up to catch elevators to fly south. He’s an idiot. He’s dead. Good! You mean there’s one less moron in the world? Wow, what a fuckin’ tragedy, huh? I guess I’m one car-length up in traffic tomorrow. How about a positive LSD story? That would be newsworthy. Don’t you think? Anybody think that? Just once? To hear a positive LSD story? ‘Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration; that we are all one consciousness, experiencing itself, subjectively. There is no such thing death. Life is only a dream. And we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.’”

One connection I made between the two of them was the drugs. But I don’t know if drugs really tell the whole story. Maybe they do in Bill’s case, but I’m not sure about this guy’s. But he continued. And things got really deep.

He said he’d be sitting around, drinking and smoking a bong with some people, and they’d say to him “How can you call yourself a Christian when you do all of that?” And he said to them that they didn’t get it. He told me that he’d tell them that the Ten Commandments aren’t laws which need to be strictly obeyed, but are rather more common sensical than that. To paraphrase, he said “Think about it. ‘Obey your father and your mother.’ That’s just natural, isn’t it?” The thing that struck me about this conversation was that I’ve been thinking some of these very things myself. He continued:

Once again, to paraphrase, he said “Life isn’t about obeying the laws of God. It’s about love. It’s about all of us loving each other. It’s about giving good energy through love. We are all part of this loving energy. And it doesn’t disappear: it just gets transported somewhere else when we die.”

Here was a man I hadn’t seen in months, if not a couple of years. Who I’ve known my whole life. Who just came to my house and started telling me this stuff. He asked a couple of times if I understood what he was saying. And, to my shock, I actually did. I’ve been thinking some things lately, but they aren’t fleshed out enough for writing. But I actually did understand what he was saying. And when I told him so, he’d say “I know you do.” And I could tell that he was being genuine. That he was serious. We shared a very human moment together. I thought “You know, I know people who would’ve asked him to leave. But I’m glad I just stood here and listened to him.”

He could be pretty emotional at times. Not to the verge of tears, but just very excited. I thought about telling him to calm down because I didn’t want the neighbors to check out what was happening, but he seemed to sense it every time without me saying anything. Of course, he couldn’t contain himself at times. He wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t angry, but he was very enthusiastic. Passionate. But he felt completely genuine to me. He wasn’t putting on a show. This man was pouring out his heart. And I could feel that.

He told me some very personal things about himself that I will not ever repeat to anyone. I don’t know if he was high or not. I believe I could smell a little liquor on him. But I swear, in that moment, I think his head was more clear than it had ever been.

He said he’d talk to Biblical “scholars”, to use his term, at nearby churches. Talking to them, presumably, about some of the things he had been talking about to me. He didn’t seem to think that they actually got it. Once again, it was a miracle that I was on the same brainwave as him. Maybe my natural thought processes are just as scattered as his, but I understood what he was saying. For the most part.

There were some things about tectonic plates and volcanoes and the world opening up that I was skeptical of. But I dismissed those pretty easily, because he was back on the loving energy topic pretty quickly. I don’t know if he’s right, if he’s wrong, but I guess time will tell.

He said “I’ve never told anybody any of this stuff. I’ve rarely read any of the Bible. But something just compelled me to come here and say all of this stuff.” And I understood exactly what he meant. It was a very touching moment.

He also said some stuff about seven nations, like America, Brazil, Peru, and others being a “seven-headed beast”. That “liberty” was just a myth. That there was some volcano off of the coast of southwest Australia that was going to open up like a pit of Hell. I was a little skeptical of all of that. He started losing me there. But I agreed with him, and understood what he was saying, earlier about loving energy, so I stuck with him.

He said he loved me, and I told him I loved him too. And we hugged each other. I could tell that he was genuine. And then, he was on his way.

I thought about that moment. I thought about dwelling on it. About trying to force that moment to be meaningful every moment of my entire life from here on out. But that isn’t how moments work. Moments exist within a specific time and place. Forcing them beyond that makes them lose what made them magical in the first place. But it gave me some interesting thoughts about love, and about advantage.

The way I grew up to think about love is incorrect. I thought that one had to love everybody to the fullest extent that one could, so that the world would be a good place. So that we could all get into Heaven. But the first part of that is actually more important than the latter, believe it or not. I treated love as something to always be working toward and striving for. But not just love: perfect love. “Am I being as loving as I could be?” This question always bothered me tremendously. Religion had taught me that I should love my fellow man, but how do I know how much I need to love my fellow man? Well, this was never answered specifically, but I believed that the answer to that “amount” question was the same as other “amount” questions that religion attempts to answer: “As much as you can, but that will never be enough. But you have to struggle towards that goal, anyway.”

So I put a lot of pain upon my heart to try to love people. But it only made me resent them. It made me hate myself. It confused me. I’m introverted by nature, and my idea of “love” (such as always listening to everything someone says when they talk to you, never disagreeing with someone, never getting angry at someone, etc.) was immature and, plainly, just incorrect. My old way of thinking about love put a lot of pain upon my heart that created a lot of hatred. And I don’t think my old way of thinking about love was even correct.

I believe that guy was on to something. I believe that love is a lot deeper than that. Way deeper than that. He said that he was struggling to find the words to explain what it was that he wanted to explain, and I feel the same way at the moment. I’ll bring up a conversation that I had with my best friend recently, Devin Stevens.

I called him up one night cause I hadn’t talked to him in a while. I was thinking some things about religion, and I know he’s been thinking and writing about it for a very long time now, so I just wanted to hear some of his take on religion. I asked him some questions. And he told me some personal things that I won’t break to anyone, but he’s planning on making these public in a giant religious treatise that he’s writing, so I look forward to seeing the complete piece myself. But as we talked, I came to the conclusion that, even among Christians, each person’s faith is different from one another. Christians experience Christianity differently. That was one thing that seemed very clear to me in that conversation. And I was very relieved.

It made me think of politics. In politics, force is used to make everyone “equal”, but it destroys their humanity and makes them miserable in the process. It made sense to me that, much like humans need freedom to experience the fullness of their diverse, individualistic humanity, that this humanitarian diversity and individuality would be experienced with God as well. God has made us individual, and diverse. That’s got to mean something holy. God created the Earth, and made us out of dirt. Despite our sins, I don’t think that God hates humans, nor do I believe that He hates the Earth. He created it, after all. No, most of the things He hates are common sense, I believe, just like that guy who came by my house was talking about. Stuff that most of us just naturally hate, like murder, or theft. Basic, common sense stuff. Yes, that is the stuff that God hates. That is the stuff that a loving God hates. That’s the stuff that love hates.

My old conservative ways of thinking about love and God, I have now come to believe, were wrong. There was too much emphasis on “completeness”. Too much emphasis, in effect, on the impossible. Which led me to failure, which led me to fear. But the emotion which plagued me the most about love, the old way I thought about love, was guilt. When I was younger, if I would’ve heard a story like that man told me today, I would’ve felt extremely guilty. My life has been nothing like his. And yet, this man was showing me love, and saying that we had a common bond. I would’ve felt guilty about that when I was young. But the truth is that I’ve had a much easier life than he’s had. It does make me feel bad for him, although I hope he can turn his life around, and I hope that what he said in our meeting today continues with him throughout the rest of his life. But I didn’t feel guilty today. I didn’t feel guilty for not having the troubled experiences that he has had. I just felt lucky. I felt blessed. I didn’t feel like a “better” human being than him, but I felt absolutely blessed. I said to myself “I have been lucky. I have been advantaged.” But that didn’t make me feel any need to bring myself down to any level that he has been at. Rather, it made me realize, or rather, it made me continue to think what I’ve been thinking about for a while now, that life is about taking advantage. It isn’t about “taking advantage” of someone else, but it is about “taking advantage” of yourself. Life is about taking advantage of your natural, God-given abilities and desires. That’s how human progress moves forward. That’s how things get better. When people experience the fullness of their humanity, and become the best that they can be. Not out of fear, but out of love for the world. Striving for improvement, maximizing their natural skill-sets. Bringing other people joy. The key is to accept what you have. Accept whatever it is that you have. And the key is to eliminate false humility. The key to love is accepting it when other people give it to you, for whatever reason that they do. Accept it, and move on to the next thing in your life.

For me, I’m pretty smart. Halfway decent with words. I can’t feel guilty about these things simply because I’m smarter than someone else, or a better communicator than someone else. And that lack of guilt on my part does not mean that I don’t love someone else. Advantage and disadvantage aren’t signals of love. Guilt isn’t even love. Love was that moment when this man told me very personal things, I listened to him, and then we hugged each other. The differences in our lives, past and present, had nothing to do with love. I shouldn’t feel guilty for having a much easier life than he had, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish him the best of luck in the future, and feel sympathy for his past.

That’s the biggest thing I need to continue developing in my life: how to take advantage of myself. How to remove anxieties and guilts, and be the best goddamned Cody Alan Reel that I can fucking be, with whatever it is that I have been given.

I’m sure I’ve heard this a lot growing up, and I’m sure I’ve dismissed it frequently, but all of those phrases about “Life being about the experience”, and “Living life to the fullest”, make a lot more sense to me now. The lesson didn’t come from the church. But I’m going to continue to take full advantage of myself, and figure out how to feel emotionally about myself as I go along. There has been a large transformation on that front as the years have gone on. A complete 180. A lot of blessings, and a lot of introspection. It’s a process. It’s an odd mixture of myself and things outside of my control. I’m going to think about it and write about it as much as I can stand it. As much as it brings me satisfaction to do so. But that’s part of my individual journey here on Earth.

I wish everyone the best of luck, and I hope that everyone can take full advantage of themselves.

Sam Hyde – My Boring Story (but I gotta tell it, real illuminati story).

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Murray Rothbard, “Diversitarian”

Murray Rothbard celebrates diversity.

“If men were like ants, there would be no interest in human freedom. If individual men, like ants, were uniform, interchangeable, devoid of specific personality traits of their own, then who would care whether they were free or not? Who, indeed, would care if they lived or died? The glory of the human race is the uniqueness of each individual, the fact that every person, though similar in many ways to others, possesses a completely individuated personality of his own. It is the fact of each person’s uniqueness—the fact that no two people can be wholly interchangeable—that makes each and every man irreplaceable and that makes us care whether he lives or dies, whether he is happy or oppressed. And, finally, it is the fact that these unique personalities need freedom for their full development that constitutes one of the major arguments for a free society.”

More Murray Rothbard.

On Mental Independence

To be human is to be individual. Although all humans share a common humanity (that’s why they’re called “humans“), and this fact is used to consider individual human beings as part of a collective, the truth of the matter is that each human is an individual at the core of his or her being.

To be an “individual”, one must have a mind, which creates thoughts, desires, and plans and takes action. Among these desires is a sense of belonging among fellow humans. Humans have an intrinsic social need: a need to be accepted on some level. We are created in such a way as to need communication, both in speaking and in listening. The thoughts, desires, plans, and actions among humans differ. This is another characteristic of humanity, and a byproduct of the fact that humanity is composed of “individual” humans. If humans were not individual in nature, but were rather homogeneous, such as atoms sharing the exact same molecules and molecular structures, then concepts such as the ones mentioned above would be mute.

But, as it stands, humans are individual in nature; and individual with a desire for sociability and beloningness.

With the individual nature of the thoughts, desires, plans, and actions of humans, comes many influences. Although each person has his or her own will, that does not mean that our wills are not influenced by external forces (forces outside of our bodies). Other humans influence through their words, actions, etc. We react to each other. And we are reacted to when we react.

But despite all of this complicated interplay among humans, there is still a desire to be individual. To be independent. To be one’s own person. And this is not to say that in order for one to be an individual, one must not be influenced by outside forces. For this would be impossible. In that case, babies must not learn, because almost all of the knowledge that they obtain comes from outside forces.

And, in fact, it is impossible to not be independent. This is another aspect of our humanity: being individual in nature, we are inherently independent.

So what is all of this about?

To preface this, I would say that given all of the concepts and ideas that very intelligent people have communicated throughout mankind’s history, I have no expectations that my own ideas will have any influence that I would deem significant. Sure, if one person is influenced in a manner that we both deem positive, it could be argued that that would be “significant”, because the well-being of each and every person on the planet is important.

But you get my point.

However, for whatever reason, I have a natural desire to think and express my thoughts.

My thoughts, as are everyone else’s, are independent.

And one of my desires is to write my thoughts down.

I have no explanations as to why my thoughts may be of superior objective quality to anyone else’s thoughts, so I’m not going to attempt to argue that here.

And if you were to ask me how I could characterize my thoughts generally, I could only come up with vague descriptions such as “unique” (which isn’t very unique, by the way).

However, I have them, and I think them. And they exist.

Next, I have a natural desire to express those thoughts. I have a feeling that my thoughts have enough quality to be shared to others (and some agree with me and some disagree with me). And so, I share them. And I share them and I share them and I share them, in the hopes that someone can receive them and say “Hmm…he’s got a good point. I never thought of it that way.” Or “You know, I’ve always thought the same thing, but he elaborated upon my original thought in an effective way.”

Don’t misunderstand me here: I’m not simply looking for praise for praise’s sake. If you will recall what I stated earlier, I have thoughts which I think are worth sharing, and a desire to share them. It’s not so people can tell me how smart I am. It’s more than that. It’s just who I am. It’s just me. It is me to think, think that my thoughts are of fairly intelligent quality, and then attempt to share those thoughts with others in the hope that people can make sense of them and, even perhaps, learn something.

And, once again, this isn’t to try to “prove” to people how smart I am.

It’s just naturally who I am.

Once again, you may be asking yourself:

What is his fucking point?

I’ll try to begin explaining that to you now.

I have always struggled with being mentally independent. At least in some ways. There are some ideas that I would say I have “independently” (meaning void of any anxiety-peer pressure driven acceptance), and some that I do not. I have no way of describing any defining criteria between the two, because I’m not sure if there is any, besides just a recognition that one is one and the other is the other.

But, at least for me, it is extremely difficult to be mentally independent in a way that I would consider to be “independent”. I have always attributed this difficulty to two things: a desire to understand objective truth, and assuming that people are well-intentioned.

Let me explain what I mean a little bit further. I’ve always loved learning. I love knowing truths. I think many people share those same loves. So, I’ve always tried to absorb knowledge, from whatever I could. To be mundane, this would include anyone speaking to me (as a child: keep this in mind); basically, any form of information that I absorbed through multiple forms of media (books, magazines, etc.). And, I always assumed that people were telling the truth. Or, at least trying to. But I encountered a couple of problems along the way, which I couldn’t begin to comprehend until I got older.

The first problem that I encountered was that some people are just fucking stupid. I kind of knew this when I was younger, but I almost felt bad for knowing this truth (sympathy for them because they were stupid), so I tried to ignore this truth so that I didn’t feel like a bad person. But the truth is the truth. Acknowledging that a stupid person is stupid is simply that: an acknowledgement that a stupid person is stupid. That in and of itself is not necessarily a value judgment upon said person. It is simply an undeniable fact. This was very hard for me to accept when I was younger.

I always wanted everyone to be the best at everything, but people are just different, and differ in ability, desires, etc. I felt bad when I felt like I had an advantage in, say, intelligence, as opposed to someone else. Just a general sadness. It wasn’t fair that they were born less intelligent than I was. And I didn’t think it was fair because I knew of the advantages one would have when one is intelligent, and neither of us really had any control in our respective intelligences. We were created that way through genetics and our environment, and didn’t have much (if any) say so in the matter. That was always soul-crushing to me.

Likewise, I felt bad for people who were physically disabled. I could go on and on and on about the things that I felt sorry for.

And although I still feel that sympathy in many different respects (nowadays, it more manifests itself towards criminals), I, through what I can only attribute to age, experience, and various lessons people have tried to teach me along the way, have learned to accept (at least, more so than I used to) the differences in advantageous and disadvantageous traits and life experiences from one human being to another.

But one thing that I’m not content with my grasp on is my own personal mental, ideological independence.

I realize that, at the time of this writing, it is only 5 days until my 24th birthday (it, apparently, took me over a year to finish this). And I realize that’s a pretty young age to expect “complete mental independence” (for lack of a better phrase due to laziness). But still, one area of my life that I would like to develop is mental independence. All humans, as they age from children, to adolescence, to adulthood, wish to be mentally independent. Once again, it’s part of our nature. But I think I have a way of expressing this more effectively than most (although there are surely writers who could communicate this more effectively than I).

I realize this is a very humorous thing to say, but the thing that scares me the most about independence is the responsibility. I just don’t fucking trust myself. I know how I am. I remember my history. I remember my mistakes, and how devastating they were for me. The more I tried to control a situation, the more shitty it became. Once I “shirked responsibility”, the shit was still there. But it was more manageable. I could just ignore it until it went away. The idea of being in control never appealed to me. There were several things outside of my control (such as the relationship between my parents), and the more I tried to control something, the more shitty I felt when things didn’t go my way. So, I just accepted the shittiness. And that was really hard to do. There is nothing more devastating than feeling like you have done a good job, only to find out that you hadn’t. I feel like this was the case for me in school a lot. I was a smart student, and I wouldn’t say that this disappointment was the majority of the time, but when it happened, it seemed to cripple me. For instance, reading the wrong chapter for homework. That type of failure was always crippling to me. Why? Why couldn’t I just say “Woops”, and move on? I think a part of it had to do with always being told how smart I was by teachers, and hearing my mom talk to other people about me. I just set my own personal standards too high (especially for my age). I couldn’t tolerate mistakes. And it all ate me alive.

The carefree attitude saved me, although it also caused a lot of problems. Instead of feeling like shit for not getting the grade I wanted, or for making a mistake, I just stopped caring. I stopped caring about my grades. Luckily, I didn’t flunk everything. But straight As went to Bs and Cs really quickly. And I was content with that. I didn’t care about school anymore. The subjects were boring, and I already knew what it was like to “Ace” everything. Why did I need to continue doing that? I didn’t know. And, so, I stopped trying as much.

But even when I did try, I still made mistakes. And it made me angry. So, I “ragequit” again. That has been my modus operandi for a long time now: just quitting everything. Barely getting by. The idea of college was terrifying to me when I was in high school. “You mean I’m going to have to decide what I’m going to do with my entire life? I can’t even remember what page I was supposed to read for homework!” I had zero confidence in myself as a decision maker. I believe, knowing my history, this was justified. My “decision” was to coast, and I know I got pretty lucky along that coast. But still, I made the “decision” to coast, and it seemed to work out (in some areas). Of course, every decision will lead to mistakes somewhere, and this was certainly the case for me.

Coasting has worked out for me, but I think it is, at least to a significant degree, at its end. “The writing is on the wall.” I can see, pretty clearly, what my main option is for the future. It is in contrast with what I dream to do. I will probably have to do both simultaneously, and it is very probable that my dreams are going to be opposed to what it is that I ultimately have to do. My only option is to try to do both simultaneously until the dream can become the job, and that is uncertain (unlikely, most would say. I know I won’t succeed without optimism, however). All of my thoughts need to develop over time. I have to figure out how I want them to develop. I’m still so anxious about what it is that I want to do that this anxiety freezes me. I want to write about “big” things. And when I try to go down the path of thinking about them, I become anxious. Either because I don’t have everything that I want to say figured out, or I start thinking about after the piece becomes completed, and what is going to happen. It is hard to concentrate. In my opinion, I think this is a good thing in several ways. I am cognizant of the sands of time ticking away. I realize that the journey is long. Doing what I want to do is going to be really fucking hard. And it is all for an uncertainty. It is hard to concentrate when these factors constantly occupy your mind. The only saving grace from this as far as the work is concerned is the joy that you obtain from doing the work. But I don’t want to treat my work as digging in the sand with a stick. I treat my work as a future career. That’s my attitude. “How is it going to work?” “How can you expect to-” blah blah blah. I don’t care to listen to your concerns, regardless of your motivations.

I want to write my thoughts down. This means that they need to be developed. This just takes fucking time. Learning takes a lot of time. It takes a lot of labor. It’s just hard to learn something. It’s even harder to write about something. I think that all writers are “teachers”. When you write something, you want to impart ideas to the reader. You want these ideas to be beneficial to the reader. You don’t want to have the reader say “Yeah yeah yeah, I already know this”, and stop reading what you wrote. You want the reader to say “Huh. That’s good.” That’s hard to do. There’s so many good writers out there that the prospect of you being a good teacher is slim. But, once again, that’s where the love of the work comes into play. In a sense, it doesn’t matter how good of a teacher I am. Even if I’m a shitty teacher, I’m going to keep writing. I’ll keep getting bad reviews, but I’ll keep fucking writing. Because I love to do it. I firmly believe that persistence is what I’m going to need to succeed as much as I can succeed, whatever level that ultimately happens to be. I would encourage everyone to write about how shitty I am as a “writer” or a “teacher”. Start your own blog called “Cody Alan Reel SUCKS”, and lay forth your arguments as to why I’m a lazy fucking sexist neckbeard who lives in his mom’s basement and is going to be flipping hamburgers (1, 2) his whole life. Maybe you’ll end up being right. Don’t you want to be among the first to be able to take credit for your predictions?

Of course, if one is going to take action, one must assume responsibility. There’s always some difficulty with this. Even when one takes responsibility, there is a guilt that comes with it. Or a somberness, when facing punishment. I can’t say that I’ve ever had, nor kept, many responsibilities in my life. The fact that I’m struggling to think of them really signifies that to me. I would characterize myself as a “weasel”: I’m always able to “weasel” my way out of things. I’m thinking something like chores. I never really did them. For one, some of them didn’t make sense (and still don’t). For instance, making one’s bed, or cleaning one’s room. Making one’s bed makes zero sense to me. It gets messed up every night. It doesn’t matter how it looks in the morning. And as far as one’s room goes: well, it’s my room. Sure, my parents owned the house. But it was still my room. The toys are going to come right back out the next day. So why not just leave them out? It still doesn’t make any sense to me. Authoritarianism is not a valid argument. Why should I put the toys away? “Because I said so” should never suffice for a youngster. If you can’t explain why something needs to be done, then it doesn’t need to be done. Teach your child how to reason: not how to fear authority. I’ve weaseled my way out of many other things besides chores, but I won’t get into them all now (chores were certainly a significant part of it; especially early on in life).

I suppose I should talk about things that I was “responsible” for in the past: namely, times in which I got in trouble. There were plenty of fights with my brother that I was responsible for. But the main thing I can think of for getting in trouble and being “responsible” for is porn. I don’t recall a time where I felt like I was “in trouble” before it came to porn. Looking back on it, there was definitely an overreaction. So I drew some pictures of boobs as a kid. Why do I need to see a guidance counselor because of that? So I planned on bringing some porn over to a friend’s house. What’s wrong with that? I can’t describe the embarrassment when I was “discovered”. I can’t even remember what was said to me at the time, I was so embarrassed. All I remember was the porn fell out of my shirt, I didn’t get to go over to my friend’s house, my mom called my friend’s parents and apparently he was asked about the porn, and I don’t know what else happened. I think they really made a big stink out of nothing. Maybe that was just my young mind overreacting due to embarrassment, but it seems to have been made a bigger deal than it actually was. So I was “responsible” for drawing pictures of boobs and trying to take porn over to a guy’s house. Big deal. (I can’t remember exactly how old I was at the time. I think I was in my very early teens: maybe even 12). I think this is partly why I still have a problem with “responsibility”: inconsistent, nonsensical parenting. My mother certainly provided a lot of that, and confused the Hell out of me. Then, there was the parents fighting, pitting one against the other, then, as a kid, I had to “take sides”, yadda yadda yadda. Except it wasn’t like a regular divorce with two “normal” parents: at least one of them was insane.

I seem to be finding it harder and harder to write about anything. I would hope that I become a better reader and editor as time goes along, but I continually find that things that I wish to write about overlap so much that distinguishing between things to separate them into “pieces” becomes very difficult. It truly feels like I just want to write about my life, my one life, and it is hard to write about my “life” in separate pieces. It is hard to decide how to frame each piece, or to keep it “on track”, when I feel like there are so many things that I want to say that intertwine.

One of the hardest things for me to deal with with regards to mental independence is how to handle other people. I envision someone screaming dumb things at me an inch from my face. Or punching me in the face. I desire to express myself honestly. And I accept that there will be people that hate it. But some of those crazies will think it is a good idea to stab me in the stomach. That’s the risk you have to take when you wish to speak honestly. (Or when your sense of humor is as fucked up as mine is). But it certainly occupies a significant portion of my thinking when I desire to write something, or do something.

One good thing about getting older is that you start to learn who, in your past, was wrong. As I write this, I think of the times that I tried to write in my mid-to-late teens. Writing was so much harder back then. Who was I writing for? I didn’t know. Well, myself, obviously. But who was going to read it? I had no idea. The few that did read it made me feel very self-conscious. I don’t think the small sample size understood what I was trying to say (and clearly, my inability to articulate myself had a significant role in this). But what changed in those 9, 10 years? Why am I so much different today than I was then? It bugs me that this development is “out of my control”. It just happened. Naturally. I just naturally became a better writer because I got older (and practiced a little bit). My language skills got better just because I had more experience, my brain chemistry is different, etc. That’s such an annoying, hopeless position to be in. To just be stuck as a shitty writer, with the only “saving grace” being time. That’s so fucked up. Why can’t I be the best writer that I will ever be right now? Sure, that thought frightens me. But why can’t I be at my max level all of the time? Why must I grow? Why can’t I control my growth? That tortures me. There are some things that become worse the more that you try to control them. That is a significant theme throughout my life. I have accepted it, and have become moulded by that philosophy. And, in my opinion, it is completely justified based on my history. It is how I have found my personal level of “contentment”. But it eats me alive sometimes to have development out of my control. Sure, it isn’t completely out of my control: because I desire to write, and thus, write, it will inevitably get better over time with practice. So what I’m getting better at is within my control. But so many things aren’t. And it is those that bug me.

I deplore when I realize that I was wrong in the past. I’ve had some pretty weird viewpoints about life that are really hard to put into words. I think that is what my mission shall be: trying to explain my past ways of looking at the world. I think they’re quite interesting, and I don’t care if you disagree with me. It is really weird, the things you think when you are extremely mentally dependent. Some really fucked up things can happen very easily. It is quite frightening.

Once again, there are so many different directions that I could take this that I find it hard to decide which way to go. I had certain mindsets in my past that I maintained, even if all they produced was failure. My mind was constantly focused on Hell. And so, naturally, the thought of Hell affected almost all of my perspectives about everything. I don’t really need to lay them out here: it’s the same old suspects. But some of them truly are odd. The way it affected my overall perspective is so strange. It produced this deep skepticism that still remains to this day. It was an ethical skepticism: “Is this person a Christian? Is this person a Christian? Is this person a Christian?” The skepticism that remains today isn’t about whether or not a particular person is a Christian. But my cynicism definitely remains. And it is so odd to me. Over and over, I find people to be trustworthy. But I’m still painfully cynical. I’m content with quite a bit of my cynicism, but I find myself in situations often where I’m asking myself “Why am I being so cynical right now? What has this guy done to me?” It is a conservative hangover. It’s very fucking odd.

I am looking forward to my confidence building over time. “Coasting” has been my saving grace. I’ve been very lucky. I don’t handle failure very well. And it has always seemed like the more I have tried to fix something, the worse it made it. But my philosophy has changed over time, and I’ve “settled in” to something that works for me. That’s what we all long after: just that way of moving throughout the world that satisfies us the most. I think I’m pretty good right now with what I have. I want to explain it and elaborate on it more throughout time. And, of course, I hope to be able to write about more subjects, and just get better overall. I’m confident that it will happen with time and practice, even if there are many things that I write that I end up not happy with, for various reasons.

I love writing, and I just look forward to becoming a better thinker. I accept the fact that I’m repetitive, but I believe it is all related. In my heart, I believe that every “repetition” is a building block upon an entire life’s work. I can’t ask someone “Hey, do you think this builds upon this? Or did I just repeat myself?” I have to interpret my work how I wish. And I need to make my work fully my own, to my full potential. That’s (one of) the lifetime challenges……

I want to be a good thinker. And I want to be able to say “Hey, here are my thoughts.” I hope they can be received honestly. And that’s all that I can hope for from them (besides the dreams of them somehow paying the light bill down the road).

A Declaration of Independence.

Education.

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

Analyzing My Decision-Making.

Religio.

My poetry.

Purpose

I have a tendency to write about “human nature”, but for this piece, I will try to focus solely on myself. Sometimes, I feel brain-dead. I feel as if no stimulation is entering my brain, or that the stimulation that is still, for all intents and purposes, is not enough to alleviate my “brain-dead” status. And it isn’t anyone’s fault but my own.

It isn’t that I don’t have things to do. I have plenty of things to do. But I’ve written about this problem before. It’s partly a commitment issue. A fear issue. An independence issue. I am fully aware that my decisions now will affect me forever. And that weight often produces a crippling anxiety within me that freezes (or, at least, limits) my decision-making ability.

It isn’t that I’m not making decisions because I’m anxious. I’m just making anxiety-induced decisions. It’s a type of homeostasis: a comfort level. A security issue. This safety net conflicts me. On the one hand, I have set routines which, although not perfectly ideal, are, at least for the moment, tolerable practically. There are still bigger hopes and dreams, but the routines are tolerable. But, at the moment, I find myself asking what my purposes are. I don’t want to get caught in a routine where I don’t think about my life and what I’m doing. I don’t want to become an automaton: I want to actually think of what purpose my actions have, and what I wish for them to lead to. And the best way for me to do this is philosophically. A big part of this, I believe, are three things: independence, commitment, and acceptance.

Independence

I am becoming better at the “independence” part. I do not feel as gullible as I did when I was a child. I’m making progress. I’m writing my own independent thoughts. Trying out various things to gain internet attention. Listening to the advice that others give me, but still making decisions that I feel like are my own, whether I apply their advice or not. There’s a lot of creative independence in my life, but even this has started to become “automatic”. A large part of this has to do with how few people care about my work. I’ve already decided that I do my creative work for myself, and whatever I enjoy doing, but I still dream of making my creative endeavors a career. Laugh if you wish. Suggest all you want. But I can’t get this idea out of my head. I can’t get the thought of writing and making people laugh for money out of my head. I don’t want to know what my life would be like without these thoughts. I don’t care about making more money if it means I hate my job (there’s obviously a bare minimum amount of money which I must make to sustain my life, and if it fulfilled what I’m looking for in this piece, I obviously wouldn’t be writing this). It’s obviously “about the money” to a certain extent, as I’d like to get paid for what I like to do so that I don’t need to do anything else to sustain myself. But that figure may simply be as much as I’m currently making (which is on the low-end of five figures). So it isn’t about being rich (although who could reject that?): it’s more about the labor. Enjoying the labor. Feeling a sense of purpose with my life’s work. That’s what I’m after more than anything.

I’ve written about my lazy nature here. And it is difficult for me to feel independent when everyone gives their advice. Of course, I listen to most of it, even if I don’t take it. But it never feels like something I need to do. The problem is the uncertainty factor: the future is always uncertain, to varying degrees. Although some people are better at predicting certain things than certain others, there’s still no “perfect blueprint” that everyone must live by in order to be “best prepared for the future”. If that were the case, then we, as humans, would not feel free, but would rather feel like pawns in the “grand scheme”. We, as humans, have wills, and make decisions. This is what we do. This, indeed, is a large part of actually being human. When faced with an uncertain future, we combine our desires and our forecasting abilities to make decisions to maximize our level of happiness, and then we gauge the results as they come in. That’s all we do, every single day, for our entire lives.

Leaving “desires” aside, and not trying to say which desires are “more valuable” than others, how do we determine whose decisions are better than others? In other words, how do I know whether or not my decision-making process is better or worse than anyone else’s decision-making process? First off, I have my own desires, which I will use my decision-making ability to try to achieve. And sure, I’m sure there are people whose decision-making processes would be better suited for me to achieve my own desires than my own decision-making processes. But how do I know? How do they know, and how do I know? How do they know they are right, and how do I know they are right? How do they know I’m wrong? The only answer, in practice, is to test the hypotheses: do it my way, and do it their way.

This poses some problems, however. There’s time constraints, as using multiple complex methods to achieve complicated ends can take more than a lifetime to achieve. There are people who spend their entire lives mastering crafts and skills to achieve their goals. If they are already spending their entire lives doing this, why should they listen to anyone else, and do it their own way and the way of the one suggesting the new way? The time and effort that it would take to do this for even two different ways can take too much time and effort to do effectively. But what about the individual desires of the one acting? What if he doesn’t want to do it the other way? Why are his desires seemingly neglected in almost every single piece of advice given when it comes to making decisions, career choices, etc.?

Of course, there are many people with lots of life experience who know things that others don’t: people with skills in various industries, who have had enlightening experiences that have guided them positively throughout their entire lives, and who are simply wishing to share that positivity with others. But the point is that each decision ultimately comes down to the person making that decision, and he or she will have his or her own reasons for making that decision; indeed, each individual has their own desires, and this is the most important part. Each individual is born with desires, and these desires happen to be diverse. Therefore, there will be no “universal blueprint” to satiate the desires of everyone. So what is one to do? That is up to the individual: one must decide, for himself or herself, what he or she believes to be the best course of action for him or her.

…And that’s that. There will be regret, mistakes, triumphs, and jubilation to be had along the way, for all participants in “life”. That, I think, is the ultimate point. There will be “ups and downs”, and the point is to figure out “Why am I here? What am I doing? What is my purpose?”

That is the eternal question.

I see that I have failed in my initial goal to talk more about myself than “human nature”, so I’ll close with this: What is my purpose? Why do I feel like I am here? What do I want?

I can’t say that I know what my “purpose” is. I can give what my purpose is for particular actions, but not for my overall reason of existence. Obviously, the purpose of my actions, as stated above, is to attempt to maximize my happiness. What makes me happy? Dreaming of getting paid for what I love to do. What do I love to do? That’s a deeper question that I don’t think is completely answered yet. At the moment, I enjoy writing. Things like this. I like making myself laugh, and sharing those thoughts with others to try to make them laugh as well. How do I get paid for these things? And can I? I have no idea.

But it is my purpose to find out.

How do I know when to “quit”? How and when will I know whether or not I have “succeeded” or “failed”? Once again, I do not know. I will only know that when the time comes, and right now, my only purpose is to dream of having a career that makes me happy, do what makes me happy, and then work on making money at that by, somehow, getting people to care. It’s very tentative, as, as I’ve said, I don’t really care if people like it or not. There’s an obvious conflict: if I don’t care, then how do I expect to get paid? For one, I don’t think that me caring has anything to do with whether or not people find the work “good”: they will find it “good” or “bad” independent of how I feel about them (although perhaps if I said “I hate any fans I may have”, they may decide to hate my work from that point on). But I’m confident in my abilities to create work that people will like. What evidence do I have to justify this claim to you? My response is: I don’t care about justifying my response to you. My goal is to make it happen in order to prove to you that I can do it. I simply want to prove “everybody” wrong. More than anything, that is what I want. I want to do it simply because of the voices that tell me that I can’t, or that I won’t. They are as big of a motivating factor as any, if not more so. I want to prove everybody wrong. That is a major purpose of my work.

Obviously, I want to enjoy my work, and I want to get paid to do it. I enjoy work like this, which is simply a writing down of my thoughts, which are too complicated to organize in this piece (I can’t tell you “what my thoughts are”: you simply have to read things I have written). I enjoy making myself laugh. I suppose I’m simply looking for “like-minded individuals”. If I can’t find that, then I’ll settle for vitriol, as long as I’m known of (you can’t get paid if no one knows who you are. “You also can’t get paid if no one likes you.” See, vague phrases like that are dumb. It is very rarely that someone is universally hated. Even someone “universally hated” like Trump (Trump parody 1, Trump parody 2) is beloved by many. This is simply hateful, stupid language to use by miserable people who want to bring others down (I know this from intimate experience)). So, as I have said many times, and will say again, my purpose is to get paid for work that I enjoy doing. I enjoy writing jokes, making myself look like an idiot, and, from time to time, trying to sound intelligent (like I’m trying to sound in this article). I still have a desire to write fiction, but it is so much work that I don’t want to exhaust myself by bringing it up in this piece, so I’ll end my discussion of fiction here. I don’t know when or if I’m going to “call it quits”. I don’t know when or if I’m going to change careers. I do not know. All I know is that I want this, and I’m going to do it and see what happens.

*insert “Not everyone gets what they want”, “Sometimes, you have to compromise”, and other pieces of advice here. My secretary will be ignoring you shortly.

And, I will conclude with this: once again, who is right, who is wrong, and how do we really know without extensive experimentation that isn’t really worth carrying out in the long run?

Commitment

Commitment is very intimately related to independence. Indeed, if I commit, it will be me that does it. What am I talking about here? What am I wanting to commit to?

I’m wanting to commit to the work that makes me happy. I want to work on my projects at my own schedules, which I do. I’m typically lazy, but, as I stated above, my routines are becoming stale, and I need a change. I think this is going to involve becoming more committed to my work. My work exhausts me, and I hate that. No one cares about my work, and I hate that. But I still want to do it. It almost feels like all I want. I can’t describe the rate at which I want to work on my work: all I can say is that I don’t want the load to drive me crazy, but I also actually want to get things completed. I don’t know how to pinpoint it more than that. Most days, I don’t really want to work on it. It’s exhausting, and I think “Why would I do this right now? I won’t be getting paid for it. So why put that much effort into it?” And so, I don’t. And I consume the works of others instead. And I do this until my routines become too boring, and then, I start to write the things that are on my mind, like I’m doing here. Or, I bring that thing that made me laugh to life. And then…that’s it. Again and again, over and over. I haven’t figured out how to commit to this yet. It feels more like a hobby, when I feel like I want it to be my life. But I’m afraid of committing and later finding out that I don’t really want it anymore. That fear prevents me from committing to a lot of different decisions. I believe my raising has a lot to do with this, as my parents always told me to “do something different” than they did. I interpreted this to mean actually liking my job, even if that isn’t what they meant. And I’m going to keep this interpretation.

Although, in the previous “chapter”, I discussed how I want my own independence (and I’ve written about it here), I’m still terrified by it. The truth is, many of these routines are comforting to me, as I feel like I know what to expect, even if what I expect is less than desirable. There is something terrifying to me about committing more time and energy to writing, acting, and comedy. A large part of it is the unknown factor. And the regret factor. What if I become elderly, and regret and lament all of the years I spent doing this stuff? It’s a very complicated mess that I haven’t quite figured out, regardless of the gusto with which I wrote the first “chapter” “Independence”. I get bogged down with the amount of time and effort it takes to complete something, and then, I “take a break” (or “quit”). But then, once again, the routines bore me, and I come back.

Something that terrifies me is maybe I’m not as “committed” to all of this as I wish I was. Perhaps none of this work truly is a “life-or-death” matter. I think I wish it were; that way, I would feel more compelled to actually do it. But the truth is that the work exhausts me, and I don’t want to do it. But then I get bored, and want to do it. It frightens me that maybe I’m not truly a writer, because then, that begs the question: “What the fuck am I?!” And that triggers the immediate post-high school graduate existential crisis of “What am I going to do with my life?!”

As I’ve stated, my purpose is to make a career out of what I like to do. And I’m doing what I like to do. I like to write, make people laugh, etc., which I’ve stated ad nauseam. But how committed am I to all of this? Is this just some hobby? What is it? At the moment, it is a way for me to pass the time and not feel a crushing level of boredom. But will it ever be more than that? The lazy side of me wants to make it a career, but I don’t know if it ever will or not. But my perspective about that is that if I like doing it, then I might as well adopt the “I’m going to try to make this a career” attitude, because I’m going to do it whether or not it becomes a “career”. So, from my perspective, adopting the “I’m going to make this a career” attitude gives me nothing to lose (although, of course, people will say I could be learning a more marketable skill, etc. etc. I’ve addressed all of this above in the “Independence” “chapter”).

I’ve written an article on laziness called…”On Laziness”…, but there is another aspect of my laziness that I want to write about here. As smart economists know, being productive is not the same thing as working hard: you work harder digging with a spoon than a shovel or a bulldozer, but you aren’t as productive. And I realized that early on, working hard wasn’t really all that it was cracked up to be. This was particularly apparent to me in school, involving reading. Due in part to the fact that I was intelligent, and didn’t need to put in a lot of effort to get the answers “right”, I never really “worked hard” in school. At one point, I tried to make things harder because I was bored. But that felt stupid to me, so I stopped. But the work became so boring, and never fulfilled my “philosophical side”, that I stopped caring. I barely passed, and started to fail more. But it didn’t matter to me, because the subjects sucked. It still doesn’t matter to me. I only wish that I had been around subjects that I actually cared more about, but educational reform is a topic for another piece (and for other people). Once again, this goes back to the “desire” portion of this piece, its individualistic nature, and why or why not some desires are “more important” than others.

But why work hard on something that you don’t care about? For a long time, I didn’t really know what I cared about. I just went through the motions (as I feel like I still do most of the time). But I didn’t care, so I stopped working hard. When it was easy, I tried to make it hard. And when it actually got hard, I just stopped caring. I don’t have any regrets about this, as, as I’ve said, the subjects were boring and uninteresting to me (I know you are going to tell me how I should’ve paid attention to things I didn’t care about, but I’m going to ignore your advice by ignoring you right now, other than this small response sentence).

I don’t really know what I’ve cared about. I’ve cared deeply about philosophy. I care about economics. I care about money. And I care about being happy. I care about maximizing the time that I do things that I enjoy. Other than that (and, of course, friends, family, and a general wish for good for mankind), there isn’t much that I care about. I’m still figuring out what I like do to, and figuring out what sticks.

Acceptance

The final “chapter” of this piece is acceptance. My first thought is people saying that I need to “accept” that I’ll never become a professional writer, that I’ll never make it big on Youtube, etc. etc. But, once again, none of their alternatives make me happy, and why in the fuck would I purposefully make myself less happy than I am currently? Don’t we all live to be as happy as possible? Isn’t that what we want? Isn’t that why we work? Isn’t that why we want families? If it isn’t, then why in the fuck are we doing what we’re doing?!

I’m not so naive to suggest that absolute, complete happiness is possible. You’d be an idiot to suggest that that is my point. However, if we do not take actions to maximize our happiness, then why are we even fucking alive? What is it that we are actually doing if we aren’t trying to make ourselves happy? And what’s the point of what we are doing? Few people I’ve encountered have a satisfactory answer to those questions. Indeed, few people I’ve encountered even truly understand those questions.

So if I’m not talking about “picking a different career” acceptance, what type of acceptance am I talking about? Well, it isn’t “picking a different career” acceptance yet. The first acceptance is accepting that I am not “famous”. My work is not renowned around the world; my words are not “massively influential”. I stock groceries for a living. That is my life. (Yes, these words are coming from a grocery stocker. If that makes you more impressed, I’ll gladly reveal that to you. And even if they don’t, I may find your response entertaining, so I’ll let you know, anyway). My hobbies include watching Youtube videos, and…eating. I get too mentally exhausted to read as much as would probably be beneficial to me. Same with writing, making videos, etc. I watch content from other people that makes me laugh, post a few jokes every now and then, play some video games every once in a while, and act stupid for 10 seconds at a time in internet videos. And that has been the “routine” for a long time now. And it is becoming stale.

The solution to that, as I’ve said, is writing more like this, figuring out how to make my fiction better (on my own accord: I do not want to be “taught” from someone else), and working on making more (and funnier) funny videos. Of course, I have to accept the fact that if none of it ever goes “viral”, I will be putting a lot of time and effort into things which will never make me the money that I wish would. And I will have to decide if I will do something different, or stay the course. In my opinion, it is too early to tell. I believe very deeply that I can get people to pay attention to me. I believe that I can get people to find my words insightful, as I believe some people will find this. I believe that I can make some people laugh, through Twitter hashtags and Youtube videos. I believe these things deep down. And doing them makes me happy. So I have incentives for doing these things, even if I’m missing out on “truck driving money”, etc. I accept the fact that no one but me really cares about what I’m doing right now. I accept the fact that nothing I’m doing is making me any money. And I need to decide how much more time and effort I’m going to invest in these things that I enjoy doing. I don’t ultimately know the answer, but I want to keep doing these things if they make me happy; and the thought of seeing my creative visions come to life, and adding more and more completed visions as time passes, and thinking of the possibility that some people might actually like them, and that enough of those people will eventually give me enough money to live off of, is enough for me to keep doing it, regardless of how “realistic” any of these dreams actually are……

Highly Sensitive Mind.

Murray Rothbard.

Even more Murray Rothbard.

Diverse individuality is a beautiful thing indeed…

“Mommy? Daddy?” the little girl inquired.

Fuck me like the porn stars do.”

*SLAP!*

Diversity.

Individual.

Excerpts from “Frank and Bob”.

Louis CK learns about the Catholic church.

WC? (word choice)

Words are important, because they are used to define objective realities and to communicate them to other human beings.

And human beings must communicate with each other to be happy.

The amount of communication that makes one happy exists on a spectrum, and differs from human being to human being, however.

Writing.

Peace.

Intelligence.

Individual.