Tag Archives: Dreamer

Possibility

Inspiration often comes from the weirdest places. Tonight was a night like a lot of other nights. I was surfing the web when I heard a clap of thunder. Considering how much money I spent on my PC, I saved what I was watching (h3 interviewing Jordan Peterson) to come back to later, shut down my PC, and unplugged it. What to do now? Well, I’m a little hungry. Let’s go to Subway, like I normally do.

I stepped outside, and thought about the thunderstorm. What if I get hit by lightning? You know, many of the people who get hit by lightning are those that least expect it. Who “don’t see it coming”. As soon as I’m comfortable and confident enough to go to my car is when I’m going to get hit by lightning. So I stood there, just outside my door. Do I really want to go to Subway anyway? Am I really that hungry? What are my other options? I could read. But I’m really into what I was going before the storm came. Let’s just go to Subway and see if the storm passes by the time I get back home. I’ll eat inside (as I normally do, anyway) to kill more time, then come back home, plug my computer back up, and get back to watching videos.

And as I stood outside my door, something hit me, quite like a metaphorical bolt of lightning. I finally thought of the words to really describe something about myself that I found quite interesting. I thought of the word “possibility”. I realized that I am a man of “possibility”. There was a “possibility” that I could’ve been hit by lightning. There’s a possibility I could be bitten by a poisonous spider. But my thinking of “possibilities” aren’t all negative. For instance, there is a “possibility” that I could make money from Youtube. There is a “possibility” that I could write something that people enjoy. These possibilities motivate me at least as much, if not more than the negative possibilities.

I also realized this back when I used to play poker. It was rarely for any actual money (that’s a good thing. It’s rather humorous to think that one of the only times that I did play poker for money was in, I believe, 8th grade. I brought the cards, and we were gambling our dimes and quarters of our lunch money. We were finally caught one time, but nothing major came of it. The teacher just, a little frantically, told us to “put that up”. Funny to think of that reaction. I typically ignored “the authorities” (not necessarily cops, but just anyone “in charge” of me) so her horror of our gambling didn’t really affect me. I didn’t see any harm in it, and still don’t).

Poker is a game of probabilities. The least “likely” hands are the “strongest”. There’s certain likelihoods that specific things have taken place. You consider the “unlikelihood” of your own hand, and consider if, whether or not, your hand is “less likely” than your opponent’s. Then, you wager as much “money” (“real” or “fake”) as you think he will also wager. The “unlikeliest” hand wins all of the money: “the pot”.

I became interested in poker because of the “World Series of Poker” on ESPN (which I used to watch religiously). Many people were sitting at tables, playing Texas Hold ‘Em. I was watching ESPN all of the time. Watching football highlights, baseball highlights, and I was starting to get into both basketball and ice hockey. Poker came on, and I was intrigued. I couldn’t stop watching. It was fascinating to me. Hearing the clicks of the chips. The amount of money being bet. It was fantastic.

I tried to learn how the “odds” worked. I don’t particularly care to do math in my head. Paper and calculations are easier and more satisfactory. But one thing has always bothered me about “probabilities”. They aren’t exact. If you have a 35% chance of winning, then you only (yes, I’m using that word) have a 65% chance of losing. So what should you do? Should you always play by the numbers? I have decided “no”. For one, I don’t care about calculating the numbers that much, and, secondly, they aren’t exact. That isn’t very fun to me. Learning the numbers to play by them all of the time isn’t fun to me.

Now, of course, it wasn’t that I was completely against “odds”. I wouldn’t calculate into percentages, but I would still try to determine if my hand was stronger than my opponent’s. I have two pair. Do I really think he has a flush? Do I really think he has a straight? How is he betting? My decisions were not necessarily based on the percentage probability that my opponent had a stronger hand than I had. It was, mainly, based on the strength of my own hand, how my opponent was betting, reading body language (while doing my best to not give anything away by remaining absolutely motionless (which I was pretty good at)), and trying to play mind games with him. It wasn’t that I didn’t think about, say, how many diamonds were left in the deck. But that wasn’t the main factor behind my decision-making process. Only one factor. And other factors were, most of the time, more influential.

You win some, you lose some. A lot of it depends upon who you’re up against. I could’ve “hedged my bets” a little more, but I didn’t want to. I played for a different reason than most. Some things never change…

I’m sure if a “professional” poker player reads this, they’ll cringe. But I’m not a “professional” poker player. I played for fun, the way that I wanted to play. And I played on possibility. These last two sentences are my life motivations.

Any time that I decide to write, I have a temptation to want to address counterpoints. I don’t think there is anything “wrong” with this. In fact, I think it’s a very good thing to do. Attempting to strengthen arguments is a good thing to do. But, too often, I find myself angry, and attempting to justify myself “against the world”. I don’t really think I have much of a choice. Anyone who wishes to do anything outside of the “norm” will receive “advice” that amounts to “Nah, don’t try that. It’s really hard. Do something more ‘normal’.” I can’t take that boring advice. And why should I? Why should odds keep me from playing the poker game and enjoying it? Why should I sit at the table, miserable, and expecting to lose, instead of sitting at the table happy, and expecting to win? If it doesn’t matter to me how much money I lose, then why should I care, as long as I’m enjoying myself? And if you’re so afraid of losing money, why are you even sitting down at the table to begin with? Why are you even in the casino, observing me play poker? If you’re terrified of losing money, why are you even in the gambling building? You can’t watch me play IF YOU AREN’T IN THE BUILDING. I need to treat you as outside of the casino. I can’t hear you, and you can’t ruin my fun… (“Or save you!”, they incessantly add).

I prefer risk to boredom. Not to such an extent that I crave to “defy death”. But my “excitement” is writing, and trying to get people to pay attention to me, mainly through laughing at me, and dreaming of making people laughing at me a full-time job. That’s as “risky” as I get. I’m not getting drunk and driving 140 mph, like many of those who try to give me advice have done in the past. I’m just trying to get people to laugh at me. It’s really not as serious as the “risky” things that these “advice-givers” have done. So I’d appreciate it if they would shut the fuck up, to be frank. I could not give less of a fuck about any “odds”.

I accept that there are different types of people in the world. Some more risk-averse than others. The ways that people make decisions are varied. I fully accept that not everyone will live the way that I want to live, nor would they want to. I fully accept that. But I also accept that I am not going to be happy unless I take control of my personal life. I will not be happy unless this control factors in my nature, which includes my desire to express myself, and my desire to make myself laugh. I will not be happy unless this control factors in my imagination, and my dreams. I will not be happy if this control becomes like people who aren’t me. I will not be happy if this control does not come from me: if it does not feel like it is mine.

Because I am anticipating the “advice-givers”, I will throw them that obvious bone that they salivate after, and say “Yes, I must accept responsibility for my actions.” But I don’t understand why these “advice-givers” are more focused on my life than theirs. Are they so “risk-averse” that they run on autopilot, with no tough decisions to ever make, so they have plenty of time and energy to criticize others? Maybe you need to try something more difficult. Maybe you need a more strenuous hobby. Maybe you need to mind your own business?

No, all I need is a possibility and passion. That’s what I want. I think I can get by with that. Those two motivating factors will help me improve upon what it is that I am doing. Life is unbearably monotonous when you’re full of dread. If you don’t have anything to look forward to, and instead, ceaselessly focus on your job, and your bills, life becomes very dark. Even a man who hates his job and is in debt can look forward to that six-pack of beer when he gets home. Maybe that’s what gets him through life, and his day. Everybody’s got their “thing” that gets them through life. And these “things” are as diverse as the people who use them. Passion, for me, is the only thing that makes unavoidable monotony even the least bit bearable. And I have decided that I will not suffer, and try to live without it, for any reason: particularly to satisfy “advice-givers”.

I know that not all “advice-givers” are trying to be dissuasive. Some of them are trying to be “persuasive”. “Cody, I’m fine with you having this goal. But here’s how you can achieve it better. Just do all of these things, and stop doing all of these things that you’re actually doing, and then, you probably won’t get there, but I accept that you aren’t going to stop doing it, so here’s the best advice that I can give you.” No. My life isn’t about the destination. It’s about the journey. I’ve got a “dream” destination. But even if I don’t get there, that’s the journey I’m going to take, and I’m going to fucking enjoy it.

Enjoy your almost unbearable misery. Maybe we’ll see each other on the other side, and then, maybe, we’ll relate to each other a little more. And maybe you won’t be as miserable as you are now.

And, of course, I should also add that having a “hyper” sense of humor as I have makes this journey a helluva lot easier. I try to find humor in everything (because that’s my nature, and also, because boredom is constant with me). I want to keep developing my sense of humor. And having a sense of humor is a great way to deal with the “advice-givers”, whether they be “haters” or “justified”. Maniacally laughing to myself, just to confuse them, makes it all all-the-more worthwhile.

And, I suppose, I will conclude with the obvious message that the unlikeliest events are the strongest, most powerful ones, when they happen: whether those “events” are positive or negative. I suppose you could’ve been smart enough to draw that connection yourself, but I decided to bash you over the head with it, anyway. Let’s call it “payback”. Besides: I need to start learning to write more words, anyway. Even if they’re garbage. But that’s a tale for another time…

I could also do the same thing, beating you over the head, and say “I’ve already made it clear to you that anxiety is part of my ‘possibility’ philosophy, as evidenced by the very beginning of this. Don’t you think I’ve considered the ‘possibility’ that everything I’m working toward will be nothing, and that I’ll regret all of this? Do you really think I haven’t considered that possibility? Do you really think I’m that ignorant, ye of little faith? Do you think that I haven’t considered that at all? Or is it possible that I have considered this, and yet, for some reason that you don’t seem to understand, have still decided that it is worthwhile to pursue?”

“Cody, when are you going to stop writing about ‘possibility’? When are you going to start creating work that is actually substantial?” So naive……

“Are you saying that this piece of shit you’ve just written here is substantial?” (starts laughing)

No response.

“Wow, he actually does!” (more laughter)

No response.

Let them think what they wish.

The truth exists within the heart.

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The “Rejection Response” Poem

Reviews (my blog).

Wants (my blog).

A Memorandum on Dreams (my blog).

Source (his blog): The “Rejection Response” Poem

Wants

Ideological conflict is human nature. Us humans were given life on this planet, without a say so in the matter, and we live. Our very existence is a conflict. Within our existence, there exists “nature”. This “nature” provides us with things we need to live (air, water, etc.), and also things that can kill us (air, water, (hurricanes, etc.) etc.). This troubles me. It is often said that those things which one cannot change should not be the cause of stress, because there is nothing one can do about those things. But it is precisely the fact that I cannot do something about a thing which bothers me the most. Realizing the constant state of conflict in the world wears on my soul. It wears on all of our souls. It will always wear on all of our souls. We will be given breaks for indefinite amounts of time. But it will always wear on our souls. And that fact wears on mine.

I truly should be thankful for those times in which I live in the moment. In some ways, I think it is almost impossible not to be. Almost instinctively, we say the phrase “I am thankful.” There are often situations which are so great to us that we feel compelled to say thank you. The phrase “I am thankful” itself signifies gratitude, so there is an inherent gratitude that overwhelms us whenever we are thankful. It is in those exact moments that we are freed from the conflicts that we otherwise cannot escape.

I suppose this is a good time to bring up a specific conflict that I’ve had in mind. Quite simply, the conflict amounts to these two separate ideas: 1) that our wants do matter, and 2) that our wants do not matter. Among these, there, of course, branch off several different beliefs attached to each of these ideas.

I will approach the second idea first. The idea that our wants do not matter. This can be approached from several different standpoints. There is a religious standpoint (particularly self-defined as “Christian”) in which our wants do not matter because there is a “higher” purpose. This “higher purpose” is “God”. And I don’t want to discuss fully the idea of what “God” is in this sense, because that would take me forever to do so (and I probably would not be sufficient at doing so, anyway). The idea basically comes down to a few things: that we are sinners, and that we deserve to be punished. That we should punish ourselves for our own sin so that when we die, we may be rewarded. And it attempts to identify what is a sin (what should be avoided) and what isn’t, and, every single time, it creates anger, resentment, confusion, depression, guilt, and hopelessness upon the person weighing his own sins. His time is to be preoccupied with these emotions, and happiness just doesn’t fit into the equation. In fact, “happiness” means he is enjoying his sin. His flesh (including his mind that isn’t preoccupied with Heaven and Hell) will lead him to a path of eternal damnation; an eternal pain and suffering caused by an everlasting fire. But some mysterious spirituality residing in specific buildings will help him when he dies, say, 40 years from now. Constant guilt and beating oneself up for one’s whole life will show God that one is, in fact, holy, and worthy of being saved. The key to avoiding Hell when one dies is to not allow yourself to escape from thinking about it while here on Earth. That, in a nutshell, is the gist of the idea. It doesn’t make any sense to me (anymore), but that’s the idea.

There is also a standpoint with regards to the philosophy that our wants do not matter from a “depressed”, “defeatist” attitude. The idea that life itself does not care about our wants, because our wants are so often devastated, often horrifically, by things outside of our control. A lot of scientists and atheists take this approach. In the case of science, this “defeatist” attitude often comes from a lack of repeatable evidence. This isn’t always true, but it happens enough for there to be a noticeable “tendency”. The idea that life was an accident of nature. That everything was “just right” for life to come into existence, but without a purpose for coming into existence. The “Descartesian” approach: that reality is perceived through the senses, so all realities must be measurable by the senses in order for something to truly be a reality (even though he admits he’s a Christian in his writings. In college, my professor brought it up that he probably would’ve been tried for heresy if he hadn’t have admitted such, so that makes me “doubt” (haha) whether or not he truly identified as a Christian). “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Beliefs” cannot be seen, smelled, heard (from an outside source; they originate from “within”, and then can be talked (and, therefore, “heard”)), tasted, or touched. They are something separate from “the senses”. It is evident that beliefs are separate from the senses as someone can deny (through, say, shock) something that is seen in front of them, heard over the phone, etc. “Faith” is something that transcends the senses. It doesn’t have to be called “religious faith”.

Take, for instance, the case of a loved one dying in the hospital. No one wants to believe that the loved one is going to die. They know it is either possible or likely, but they still hope that the person lives. Knowing that they are likely to die is different than believing they are likely to die. Hope transcends the senses. Optimism, in this case, transcends the senses. The belief that the loved one will recover is an essential emotional tool. You can’t see, smell, taste, hear, or touch the recovery that you hope to happen, but truly believing that someone isn’t going to pull through is very difficult emotionally. People believe the loved one is going to make it through because it makes them feel better. There’s certainly a lot of scoffing at the idea that one would ignore a reality just because it makes one “feel” better. I’m included among these “scoffers”. But belief is an essential emotional tool for us humans. Optimism, hope, belief, and faith are essential. What makes one optimistic, or why one is hopeful, believes, etc., is up for debate. But the most obvious answer is that it makes one feel better, and this, by itself, does not disprove anything. The fact that one is hopeful that the loved one lives does not disprove that the loved one is going to live (of course, this goes without saying, that hope does not prove that the loved one will pull through, either). Hope, faith, etc. are things which cannot be measured, and are truths that exist separately from realities that are perceived through the senses. So, in conclusion, if the creation of life itself has no “purpose”, and our existence has no “purpose”, then why would our happiness have any “purpose”? If life was a happy accident, why can’t happiness be a happy accident? Why should we treat it as anything more than a “fortunate accident”? This, I think, explains, on at least some level, the noticeable depression among many “atheistic/scientific” types. This is one “atheistic/scientific” approach to “wants”. (There are, of course, atheists who believe that “purpose” is whatever we ascribe to our realities, and they aren’t particularly nihilistic. But the nihilistic atheists are worth mentioning). I should mention that I went through my own atheistic period, just to make sure the reader understands that I am not critiquing atheism because I was raised religiously and accept what I was taught uncritically.

The temperatures of space and the sun can be measured. The infinite majority of the universe is uninhabitable. There are searches for hospitable planets in the depths of space, but for every chance there may be a planet where life could exist, there are countless examples of places in space where life almost certainly cannot exist. If you very deeply value the idea of there being life outside of Earth, this fact, of course, will produce depression inherently. If you don’t care about whether or not there exists life outside of the Earth, this will not bother you. It is a matter of differences in personal values.

There are other “types” that believe that our desires to not matter from a philosophical standpoint. Unfortunate life circumstances have a tendency to make one extremely pessimistic and depressed. This will, of course, make one believe that the world doesn’t care. And that perspective certainly makes sense. “If God loves us, why does He allow for war, famine, and disease to happen?” I personally find that to be a very poignant question. A lot of Christians run from that question, for fear of angering God and suffering His wrath. But how can anyone not ask that question? It’s a very valid question. When it comes to matters of spirituality, I believe that honesty is always the best policy. Opening up your soul to The Great Beyond is always important and therapeutic. It is important to believe that one is able to do this. You can’t have peace spiritually if you are afraid. Comfort requires peace, and quiet, and poignant honesty. Admitting that you have problems with something. We, as humans, should not avoid the nature of our brains when we discuss spirituality. We can’t run from ourselves. It only makes us more miserable than we were when we first started running. And if God loves us, as Christians preach, why can’t we ask Him tough questions? Why can’t we say we have problems with Him? Why can’t we be angry at Him? Jesus Christ is said to have been God in human form. Human. It is said that we were made in God’s image. We, as humans, were made in God’s image. What does “image” mean, exactly? Well, perhaps the way we look is a part of it. I don’t know what “God” looks like, but Jesus was a human. I think it’s more than just cosmetics, however. The Bible makes it clear that God can both love and hate. Can’t we also love and hate? Of course we can. I think this is also what is meant by being made in “His image”.

So if there is, according to Christian doctrine, a strong connection between humanity and God, let’s think about some specific instances of relationships between humans. Let’s take loved ones for example. Can we not get angry at loved ones? We still love our loved ones. But can’t we get angry? Can’t we forgive our loved ones when we believe they have wronged us? I have to believe that these are also what is meant by us being made in God’s image: sharing some of His characteristics. That He can get angry at us, but also forgive us. That makes sense to me. I can’t comprehend completely the level of, say, His anger, or His forgiveness, but I can accept that He can “experience” both.

The atheists and Christians come together in their resentment of human choice. Speaking broadly, of course, the atheists’ nihilism leads people to believe that their actions have no significant influence, and the Christians’ condemnation leads people to believe that their desires are evil. Both of these stifle action. And action, of course, is driven by desire. Both the atheists and the conservatives are about creating misery. The sad thing is that they spend so much time fighting each other that they can’t see that, in that respect, they’re the same. “It doesn’t matter what you want because God isn’t real and life has no meaning and we’re all going to die” is, of course, an extremely similar message to “It doesn’t matter what you want because what you want is going to lead you to an eternity of suffering after you die.” Notice the similarity? (Hint: it isn’t just the fact that “in the long run, we’re all dead”).

This attitude of “it doesn’t matter what you want” extends beyond any religious/spiritual spheres. It’s common even among non-religious discussions. Of course, the basic fact is “You can’t always get what you want.” But there’s a certain attitude that comes with this reality that I rather despise. It, similarly, amounts to “It doesn’t matter what you desire”, which is ridiculous. Much like the hospital example I gave earlier. Does the fact that a loved one is almost certain to die mean that I should just “Get over what I want”? This attitude is extremely pervasive; not about loved ones, but desire in general. You can be that way if you wish, but I find it disgusting and repulsive.

Once again, I think this largely has to do with unfortunate life circumstances. Perhaps there’s an underlying depression that manifests itself through anger among those that so proudly declare to dreamers that “It doesn’t matter what you want” when the listener of those words is deciding upon which course of action to take in the common course of his life. It’s usually very hateful, which is a red flag to me. I’m not against hate completely, as there are many things that I “hate”. But the way that I so often hear “It doesn’t matter what you want” raises a red flag to me. It has for a very long time. I had this attitude for most of my childhood simply by observing my parents. I watched them leave for work everyday, and complain about it every single day. Of course, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this. But, to my child mind, I wanted something different (my parents certainly had a lot to do with planting this seed in my head in other, more intentional ways, as well). I grew up basically expecting that adulthood was going to suck, and that I’d never experience happiness again after childhood. It’s interesting, because that perspective influenced me in other regards as well. It basically became my overall demeanor for a long time.

It goes without saying, but several different things have affected my perspective. Religion affected my perspective; my mother abandoning me affected my perspective. The most embarrassing thing which affected my perspective in childhood was porn. I consumed porn as a child that affected my perspectives about women. Apparently, looking back on it, I must’ve been reading some dominatrix porn. At the time, I didn’t know anything about “kinks” or “normal human relationships”, so I thought this was just the way that women treated men. It made me resent them. Hey, it’s embarrassing. But honesty is therapeutic to me. (I must include that in addition to this porn, religion severely affected my perspectives about women. It made me hate the fact that they made me feel “sinful things, and made me resent them because of it. Once again, it’s embarrassing. I already know what is going to be said: “Wow, sounds like Ed Gein.” Go ahead and get that out of your system. I know you’ll feel better for hating me). But the type of porn I discovered, along with religious guilt about sexuality in general, made me want to stay as far away from women as possible. Even to this day, I do not particularly desire women. It’s no surprise why. I realize that will make many readers angry, but hey. Therapy is good.

Also, as is the case with many, if not all people, you have crushes during your childhood that lead to absolutely nothing. And it continues through your teenage years. If it happens frequently enough, and you’re emotionally sensitive enough (as I was), you put your guard up. All of these facts lead up to why I don’t particularly enjoy dating, nor sex. I try to avoid attractive women because I don’t even want the thoughts to enter my mind. I’m developing a healthier attitude towards sex due to the way my life philosophies have changed regarding happiness, but the idea of being in a relationship does not interest me in the least. Casual sex doesn’t either, honestly. Friendships, of course, are fine: provided that I don’t get too physically or romantically attracted to the friend. Then, that just leads to more complicated feelings that I wish I could rid myself of. (I should also mention that my desire to be alone also originates just from my natural demeanor, without being influenced by “outside forces”. I just naturally enjoy my alone time).

It is quite unbelievable how long I spent trying to run away from my emotions about women. Trying to run away from physical attractiveness in particular. It doesn’t surprise me that it happened, but I can’t believe how long it has taken me to say “Uh, that’s just dumb.” I’m basically having to teach myself that sexuality is ok, and that’s a really bad thing to have to do. That should be taught from the beginning. I don’t recall exactly who “taught” me otherwise (I really don’t think it was my parents. I remember them speaking to me about condoms, and I was so overwhelmed with embarrassment that I tuned them out. I think it was pastors on the radio, or something. It’s crazy how one sermon can completely change your life forever. For the worse, even). Emotional sensitivity, shyness, dominatrix literature and conservative preaching have all been factors towards my feelings about women. I don’t hate women. Women are human beings. I know this. But I prefer to be alone and guarded. I know this will change with time, but it doesn’t really bother me that I am this way. It bothers me that people are going to think the worst of me based on what I’ve said, but it doesn’t matter what you do or say, you’re always going to have people that think you are an evil person. It’s just how it is. I’ll concede that I am a stupid person, but, hopefully, you understand why I’m a stupid person. I’m working on it, slowly but surely, and a large key to this is going to be my “happiness” philosophy. I’m having to retrain myself that my wants actually matter. That my wants aren’t “evil”. And I just don’t want romance. I’m also still hesitant about being sexually attracted to women, but there’s just some things that you can’t help. THERE TRULY ARE SOME THINGS THAT YOU JUST HAVE TO “ACCEPT”. Once again, I know you’ll think I’m weird, and that’s acceptable. Because I am weird. I just hope you understand where I’m coming from, and can maybe empathize with me, is all.

So, slowly but surely, I’m learning that wants (especially sexual) are not inherently evil. Physical attraction is not evil. It makes me uncomfortable, but it isn’t evil. I can see how trust is important when it comes to relationships. Learning that trust, love, etc. are important to relationships does not occur in the way that learning to fear God through the Ten Commandments happens. A major problem I have had is hearing basic facts about the world and judging them through this “Ten Commandments” logic. “Is this sinful, or is this not? I’m going to judge this to the fullest extent of holiness to see if it stacks up to God’s plan.” Basically, it is the idea of treating, say, the fact that love is built on trust to mean that you must trust anyone you have any attraction to at any time or else you are an ethical failure with regards to trust, and I guess that means you’re going to be punished for not trusting. This, of course, is a result of being taught that lust (a.k.a., sexual desire) is unholy unless you are married to the person you sexually desire. So it isn’t surprising to believe that you must develop an intimate relationship with anyone you physically desire, but it’s excruciatingly tragic. You push your warped logic to its extreme end. Most of us are aware of “conservative crazies”, but sadly, too many of us are those “conservative crazies”. It’s really stupid and depressing. There’s many of us that understand what warped conservative ideologies say, and, thankfully, many people that are critical of it. The amount of times that I treated being attracted to a girl to mean that I had to date her is physically repulsive to me. Shitty conservative ideas: “lust” (looking at a woman with sexual attraction with no intention of “marrying” her) should be avoided at all costs, you should ask God for forgiveness, masturbating is a sin, yadda yadda yadda. It truly is emotional child torture. It is so weird how, over the course of your life, people can affect you for the worst. Some people make your life better, others make it worse. Just another inescapable fucking reality of being here on Earth.

Interestingly enough, in addition to me being a fucking retard about women, I’m also a doormat. When I was younger, I made sure not to step on anyone’s toes, and this came at the expense of me asserting myself pretty much at all. You want to date me? Sure, why not. It doesn’t matter what I want: I exist to make other people happy, because that’s a holy thing to do. Showing that I “care for others” as God commands. Jesus fucking Christ: when have I not been stupid? Time after time after time, I dated a girl simply because she wanted to, when I had no interest in doing so whatsoever. Because I’m just a pushover that couldn’t assert myself. Of course, I doubted myself because of perceived “peer pressure”: “Everyone else is fucking, man! Why don’t you care about dating?” Finally, after several years of emotionally tormenting myself, I accepted that I just wasn’t interested. I was still physically attracted (and emotionally attracted a few times), but not interested. That was a huge, great first step for me. Asserting myself. Defending myself is the next step I see, but there is a value in ignoring criticisms, whether they be just or not, and entering your own bubble. That’s blasphemous to those who aren’t being widely criticized, but privacy and solitude are beautiful blessings indeed.

The final step, at least thus far, towards my “accepting happiness as a valuable, worthy goal” philosophy was tackling religion on a different front. Not the religious ideas that I’ve already mentioned in this piece, but ideas that I’ve mentioned before in other pieces. I reached a breaking point as far as money and God were concerned. The conflict between making money on the one hand (thus, avoiding God, in my mind) or choosing God and remaining in poverty on the other proved to be my breaking point (the dichotomy, of course, existing because “this world is sinful”, etc.). By a miracle, I finally accepted that the two ideas were not mutually exclusive: they were not incompatible. The misery I experienced in my youth regarding my parents being miserable with their jobs was gone. I always ran from my desire for money by saying “Well, if my parents don’t like making it, why should I make it?” “If money is the root of all evil, why shouldn’t I avoid it?” “If CEOs are greedy, horrible people, why would I want money?” Then, of course, when I actually needed money, I faced a huge contradiction. Thankfully, this was resolved for me by realizing that I can choose both. A truly revolutionary idea that has basically zero traction in common discussion, which goes: Either we should focus on God and not care about money (because of “greed”) or we should abandon God altogether. I have not seen many connect the two dots. I have not seen many say that one can be wealthy and be a Christian. Often Biblical verses are cited to prove that one cannot be both simultaneously, but I’d have to be skeptical of this analysis from several points. On the one hand, why should poverty be something to be “helped” if wealth is also a bad thing? In other words, how can poverty and wealth both be conditions undesirable to God? What other “state” is there? Middle class? Is there a specific amount of money that God will allow? That seems ludicrous to me. Let’s say I start out at this “specific” amount of money that makes me “holy”. If I buy something, I’m “below” that monetary amount. Likewise, if I sell something, I’m “above” it. Is the amount which determines “holiness” dependent upon money, or materials? How exactly is this “value” to be measured? Once again, I consider the whole idea of God demanding a “specific” amount of money to be a Christian a ludicrous idea. I also consider the idea of there being a holy “range” of money to be just as ludicrous.

Many interpret the Bible to mean that Christ hated wealth itself. As I’ve been studying economics for quite some time now, I find this to be absurd. I have learned that wealth is created through common, beneficiary exchange. Why would God dislike humans working together to become happier? Still yet, others may say it is the wealth disparity that God hated. Once again, I don’t think this would be the case. On the free market, wealth is created through voluntary exchange, whereby individuals trade because they believe to be better off. Those that are wealthy have traded more valuable things to more people, and thus, have increased the happiness of all of those involved in the trading (of course, there is such a thing as “buyer’s remorse” and “seller’s remorse”, but one buys or sells when one believes one will be better off, more satisfied, when he or she buys or sells). Why would God be upset with the traders if they are benefiting the people around them more so than the poor? (Of course, many will say that, for example, those with disabilities can’t trade as much with others, if, in fact, at all, and thus, are at an economic advantage. Surely God cares about the disabled, correct? The argument I’m making isn’t that God hates the poor because they are poor, but that He doesn’t hate the wealthy just because they are wealthy. I don’t think He hates the wealthy simply because the poor exist. I don’t think God is a Socialist (I don’t think He has ever been accused of being an egalitarian in hardly any sense: He’s been condemned for being a “favoritist” more often)). Certainly I don’t think it is wealth that God has a problem with. I’m sure he has problems with how wealth is created (I don’t see how God can issue a commandment “Thou shalt not steal” but be ok with stealing from the rich to give to the poor (it is a commandment, afterall). But what about the murder commandment? What about “just holy wars” where people die? What about self-defense? All valid questions that I don’t have answers to), but I don’t think there is a problem with wealth per se. Wealth can do great things to people. One has to be wealthy in order to donate wealth to others. In other words, you can’t donate unless you have. Why would having be evil, while giving be praised? Once again, I think the whole idea is ludicrous. And even if a rich person spends their money “selfishly”, other people are still getting paid. Whatever the rich person buys is being given to the people involved in getting the product (or service) to the rich person, whether it be producing, distributing, storing, or whatever. The whole idea that God hates wealth is nonsense. Why would Heaven be described with “streets of gold” if gold (a symbol of wealth) is this inherently evil thing? I don’t think God is displeased with us humans because, within the past several centuries, wealth has been created for humanity on a scale never before created in humanity’s history. (This makes me think of conservatives, who lament at “the good old days”, back before people were “Godless”). I can’t believe that God has a problem with the free market, and that He has a problem with wealth. Of course, it is easy to compare the rich to the poor, but the fact that all money that is spent helps out somebody is a reality that should be understood. Whether a rich person gives it to another rich person that owns a business and employs people and gives customers goods and/or services, or gives it to a charity to help children born with life-threatening conditions, it should be understood that his wealth helps whomever he gives it to. (It should be noted that there would be no money to give to charities without profit). I do not think this means that God has a problem with saving (“hoarding”), because saving simply exists for future consumption. Everyone knows that it is dumb to, for example, be buried with your money after you die. I think that is part of the problem with wealth that God may have: stuff that is already obvious to us. I think the fact that it is obvious to us is evident that God would have a problem with it (the “human connection” between God and man).

My life changed forever on that day when I realized that God and money were not completely incompatible. I desired to learn about what money actually was, and I’ve been studying economics ever since. I’ve also, largely thanks to my best friend, been developing a “happiness” philosophy. I enjoy introspection, and unraveling why I am how I am. I’m always going to do this with my writing. This, typically, is done in retrospect. But now, I actually have a philosophy to anticipate developing in the future. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a time in my life where I actually looked forward to the future (pun unintended), at least long-term. It’s really overwhelming: I’m not quite sure what to do at times. I feel like a dog that has been abused, who, thanks to a very loving owner, wags his tail violently and jumps and runs around uncontrollably simply due to glee and relief. I love listening to my best friend talk about religion. He has taught me a lot, and I owe him a lot. His personal battles, past and present, are interesting to me, and I’m interested in seeing how God develops us over time. What will our similarities within the faith be, and what will be the differences, as I’m sure there will be? I’m very interested in finding that out.

I, also briefly, would like to mention something else regarding to my past sensitivities, morality, etc., and that is the idea of debating. I don’t really believe I was taught this, but it has just always been a natural disposition of mine. When I was younger, I never liked it when people “debated”. I hated arguments (even harmless ones), and I didn’t like loud noises. I never liked gregariousness (which explains why I spent so much time alone, away from, for example, my father). Of course, you learn, change, and grow over time. People help influence you, and I’m clearly different than I was as a child (God, I would hope so). But now, I dislike debating for other reasons. I won’t mention them all here: I’ll save them for other pieces. Change always makes me wonder why in the fuck I was ever the original way in the first place, but, at least if the change is clearly for the better, I can be thankful that it, at least, happened at all.

I’ve been influenced for the better; I’ve been influenced for the worse. I guess I’m just a human being.

I certainly understand the idea that “you can’t always get what you want”. But what I don’t understand about people who so proudly declare that “it doesn’t matter what you want” with so much sass is that everything we do is an attempt to satiate some desire that we have. What we desire drives our actions. I don’t understand why this isn’t widely believed, or, at the very least, why it isn’t widely disseminated. I am indebted to various economists I have read over the past several years for the revelation that “human beings use means to achieve ends”. This, of course, means that humans desire. Desire is what drives all economic activity: the desire to live, and to live how one wants to the best of his abilities, doing the best he can for himself because he desires what he considers to be in his best interest. So, in other words, all of those miserable people who, so proudly, declare that it doesn’t matter what you want, are, essentially, driven by their own wants. Once again, I don’t know why this isn’t widely accepted and disseminated. The conservatives want to go to Heaven, and the best way they can see to do this is by condemning the “sinful” world around them (sadly). Atheists, I suppose, want to learn sensible truths, or, at the very least, want to avoid the negativity that often comes with being religiously conservative, and want to call out those who make others purposefully feel like shit, even if for a “higher purpose”. Of course, there’s countless motivations and reasons for what people do, but the point is that they are driven by intrinsic desire to obtain their goals, and they take actions in an attempt to satisfy these goals for themselves. This, in the words of Mises’s magnum opus, is “Human Action”.

I personally refuse to accept that what I personally desire isn’t valuable: that it is a “waste of time”. I certainly reject the proposition from a Christian standpoint, which, ultimately, I believe, is the “life” standpoint. As a Christian, I refuse to believe that God loves and cares about me, but somehow doesn’t care about my happiness. Once again, if I said I care about, say, my best friend, but didn’t care about his level of happiness, can I really say that I care about him? Sure, I can rationalize and try to be “moral” and “preachy” and tell him all the reasons why what makes him happy is wrong. But the idea that being happy itself is wrong is, quite simply, just wrong to me. Incorrect.

Because, as I have said, I don’t desire debating, I’d rather not go into too much detail into what it is that I want. As I’ve said, I know I’ll get a billion different reasons as to why I shouldn’t want what I want, or why I’ll never get it, etc. etc. Of course, I write about what I want all the time, but I want to defend wanting itself in this piece.

Despite the fact it will always be the case that I will never be completely satisfied always, this does not mean that there is something wrong with wanting in general. I sincerely hope more people discuss this (I’m probably just looking in the wrong places) and understand that every thing we do is an attempt to satisfy some want. I hope more people will become more comfortable with expressing and accepting their honest feelings about wanting. While I certainly understand the phrase “You can’t always get what you want”, I reject the notion that what I want doesn’t matter. I implore everyone else to believe the same thing for themselves.

And people trying to tell you that what you want doesn’t matter or is impossible to achieve will only make the satisfaction of that desire all the more sweet. (Let’s say that what you want is impossible to achieve, and you finally realize this, and change course of action. …Who cares? Who should be the one to decide when one should change course of direction, and to which direction?) That’s a gigantic motivation for me, personally. I want to prove people wrong that say I’m never going to succeed at what I want to succeed at. More than anything. Almost more than the success itself. “What do you possibly have to offer to the world, Cody?” Let’s just wait and find out, shall we?

Life is a learning process because we aren’t omniscient. Our wills drive us. Our entire lives will be battles between satisfying our desires and the desires of others, and not satisfying our desires nor the desires of others. Human interrelations are so complex that it is seemingly impossible to discuss all of its nuances. Sometimes, we do good, and other times, we do evil. Sometimes, we helplessly make things worse, while other times, we do good accidentally. I don’t really have any good way of explaining why things are the way they are between us all. I’d be highly skeptical of the one that says he does have a good way of explaining it. When you get right down to it, ultimately, the answer to the question “Why?” does seem to come down to: “It just is.” But we should all ask “Why?” as often as we are comfortable with asking, and, for me, that’s quite a bit. Why are many people content with not doing so? Who knows. “They just are.” But if they proclaim, from a deeply philosophical sense, that my wants (or anyone else’s wants, for that matter) simply don’t matter, they are wrong from multiple standpoints. In my opinion, they are taking the easy way out because they themselves are miserable, and that’s the great tragedy behind all of this. I may not know why some men commit heinous evils while others do not, but I can be thankful that I don’t want to commit evil, and I can be thankful for the others that feel that way as well. I am thankful that we don’t all want to be evil, even though, inevitably, it will slip out from all of us, from time to time, to varying degrees. That’s the best I can hope for while I’m alive: that our evil doesn’t destroy us too much. That remains to be seen, but I’m hopeful. Of course, I’m not in a gulag, so that’s easy for me to say now. If I were, I probably wouldn’t be as hopeful. But, in the long run, maybe that’s all we have: hope. Because we want good, even when we create bad. (I reserve the right to be pessimistic, especially for comedic purposes).

Personal Happiness as a Virtue.

Insightful.

Sitting in Silence

Despite the fact that, as a writer, I wish that I spent most of my “writing” time actually physically writing, the truth is that, as I am painfully learning, that a large percentage of a writer’s time is sitting in silence, thinking. In some ways, this has always made me feel very uncomfortable. Uneasy. Although we all spend all of our time thinking about something, the truth is that, of course, there is clearly a difference when it comes to writing. Thinking about what I am going to eat for the day doesn’t take as much “effort” as thinking about a piece of fiction or non-fiction. Thank God, for if it did, I would probably starve to death.

I don’t have a lot of patience. I have a sense of urgency to always be working on something. If I’m going to succeed, I need to work now. In my head, I know that thinking about my work is a large part of my work, an essential part, but I don’t feel productive when I just sit and think. I can tell that my writing has suffered as a result. Too often, particularly with fiction (as coherency in non-fiction is easier for me), I write something just to get something down; finished. Even if it doesn’t make any sense.

As I sit here, I realize that anxiety has a lot to do with my disdain for just “sitting and thinking”, even though “sitting and thinking” is extremely necessary for writing. I love writing, perhaps more than anything in the world (I try to refrain from speaking in absolutes regarding my feelings if only because I don’t want to delve into my feelings so deeply as to give an absolute answer to someone else. Why should it matter to me that I let someone know my absolute feelings about certain things, such as whether there’s anything I love more than writing? I don’t really think that question is important enough to answer, so I answer rather ambiguously). I write the “easy” stuff to keep me from sitting and thinking too long. There is a lack of confidence on my part to speak out honestly. I’ve worked hard at changing this for the past several years, but there has been a reluctance on my part for a lot of my life to speak honestly. People think you’re weird when you speak out. Stupid. Sometimes, it’s more peaceful to just keep your mouth shut, even if the internal turmoil is great.

Thankfully, due to what I can only describe as brain chemistry, the anxieties of social judgment are fading. I think it will be the greatest thing to happen to me when it feels as if it has “completed”. Is “over”. I am confident and hopeful that that day will occur in full in the future. Peace, Heaven, and tranquility on Earth. I have practiced “speaking out” for several years now. Depending on what I’m writing, this is easy (the obviously extreme stuff, like very offensive jokes, violent fictional characters, etc. are easy). A lot of of more honest personal feelings are quite easy. But there’s still an anxiety to write at the detriment of sitting and thinking, so that the writing suffers as a result. The anxiety is often about “right and wrong”. Every thought has had to be measured against “right and wrong”. “Right and wrong” become your new thoughts. Everything is either right or wrong. If you aren’t thinking about right and wrong, then you are wrong. Is that fictional story idea you have right or wrong? Right or wrong, right or wrong, right or wrong. It pains me to remember this fact; or, rather, to realize it for the first time. Or, rather still, realizing for the first time that this is a problem. A huge fucking problem. Gargantuan. Destructive. Terrible. Never being able to admit that you fucking hate that way of thinking, but telling yourself you loved it, as if trying to keep up a facade to God, that you loved His “holy blessing” (as, clearly, choosing “right” from “wrong” was a blessing). A part of me hopes that I don’t piss any of you, the readers, off. But a part of me hopes I do. Some of you need to be pissed off, because this conservative ideology is fucking disgusting. Horrible, evil, sadistic trash. Fuck it.

The weird thing is that I haven’t thought about this stuff for years. It becomes a way of life, and you can’t see yourself from an outsider’s perspective any longer. You can’t realize there’s actually a problem. It was never introduced as a problem. It was introduced as Christianity. What’s wrong with Christianity? But it’s truly a problem. The ideas are a problem. Right and wrong, right and wrong. It’s a big fucking problem. It destroys you. Destroys peace on Earth, and then laments at the sins of others. How fucking exhausting it is. I hate it, and I wish I could single-handedly destroy it. But I can only write about my past experiences with it.

The moral battle never ends. You cannot win it. You cannot fucking win it. But you feel morally obligated to fight anyway. “I know I’m a sinner, but I’m trying.” What? What the fuck does that mean? If you accept your own sinful nature, what can you possibly do to fix it? How can a sinner live “Godly”? I don’t think “divine intervention” means what many think it means, but I’ll have to save my complete thoughts on that for another piece.

Throughout my young years, “sitting and thinking” has led to me envisioning Hellfire engulfing my bed. “Sitting and thinking”, at around eight or nine years old, led me to think about sex, and then led me to think about how bad it was to think about sex. It made me hate women. I hate admitting that, because I know how people will react to that. But it’s true. Almost all of the problems that I have with my emotions about the opposite sex stem from conservative Christianity (it’s not really “Christianity”, but I’m going to call it that simply for simplicity’s sake). This current culture is very progressive. I know what people will say as a result of what I’ve just said about women. Hell, I know it doesn’t matter what you say, people will always be outraged by it. But that has always bothered me. I’m not a bad person. I’m not a bad guy. But I’ve always felt like people perceive me to be that way, and that has always bugged me. I have finally decided to play it up, and just say “You know what, if people are going to think that anyway, I’m going to give them a reason to do so.” And so, I continue to have fun with people’s fears. I’ve tried writing honestly about these things in the past, but I didn’t have the patience and introspection to sit and think, which is what I’m attempting to do with this piece. I can’t write until I understand myself. Introspection always comes first. Introspective writing must come before any other type of writing for me, regardless of how long it fucking takes to get everything done.

It’s no wonder why I don’t like “sitting and thinking”. Honesty is scary. Tough. Social criticism is hard. “What if? What if I am a bad person? Everyone says I am. God thinks I am, and He knows eeeeeeeverything. And He’s never wrong. If I’m evil, and murder is evil, does that mean I’m capable of murder? What if I’m a liar? What if I’m evil? Just run away. Get away from it quick. Do anything else but get lost in thought. You’re going down the road of suffering and fear. Don’t think deeply. Run away. Run away.” And that’s exactly what I’ve done all this time. But I need to start thinking deeply again if I’m going to be a writer. And this means coming face-to-face with Hell again. It’s different this time, as instead of actually being in it, I’m an observer, while Hell sits behind the thick glass of God’s intervening grace. But still, I can see it. I can remember it. And it is still terrifying. A breeze compared to what it used to be, however.

It isn’t just religion that has hindered my “sitting and thinking”. I believe I have a natural disposition that tends toward anxiety. External stimuli have always affected me more than people I’ve been around. Bright lights, loud noises, etc. Of course, I’ve had to learn to accept them and ignore them. But I think it’s harder for me than a lot of people. Things have always deeply affected me. I’ll give a particularly embarrassing example of this. Once, when I was a child, taking a bath, I noticed what I thought was a cut on myself. I can’t remember if it was on my arm or leg. It didn’t actually hurt, but because I thought it was a cut, and because I thought it was going to hurt or sting, or thought it should hurt or sting because I was in the tub, I started screaming and crying. Bathwater in a cut? That has to be bad, right? So I cried and screamed. My father, bless his heart, came running in: “What’s the matter?! What’s the matter?!” I held up the “cut”. And he pulled the red string off of my arm.

Mental illness? Who knows. Clearly, insane. But is it normal? Don’t kids just do things like that from time to time? Isn’t that part of how we learn? Maybe some kids overestimate danger, some underestimate it. As embarrassing as that story was, it was real. And it was me. I’ve always been an emotionally sensitive person, and, for once, I accept that fact and am willing to freely admit it, accepting that I will be ridiculed for it (and the ridicule isn’t even completely unjustified, which is the worst part about it).

For whatever reason, anxiety has always been a part of my life. My “nature”? Environment? Genes? I just know that it has always been there. It has changed, in form and scope, but it has always been there. Fear has hindered me. Thanks, in part, to having mainly only dumb peers in my youth, I have often feared my own sanity. Saying smart things around dumb people with no other frame of reference, or check-and-balance system to bounce your ideas off of (along with the sharp judgment of the idiot your talking to), especially when you are a “highly-sensitive person”, can only make you feel stupid. Despite the fact that I’ve pretty much always known I was smart, I’ve felt stupid. I’m not even talking about times where I actually did something stupid. I’ve just always had this fear that what I say doesn’t make any sense. That I only think I’m smart, when I’m really not. This scares me as a writer. My biggest fear is that I become hugely, emotionally invested in a piece, thinking it is perfect, and, objectively, that it doesn’t make a lick of sense. That scares me. And it keeps me from sitting in silence, really thinking about any particular piece. I just write frantically in an attempt to “complete” something, even if it isn’t good. The strange irony, of course, is that my fears have actually come to life because of it. The writing actually is bad because I’m afraid of sitting and thinking about it to make it better for fear that it might actually be bad. The thought of being a bad writer angers me and scares me more than anything about this craft. It isn’t the thought of never making a living off of the writing (although that does produce its own fear). It is that I write away, feeling good, feeling like the piece is good, but it is actually fucking trash. I don’t think, at least at the current time, that my heart could take that level of dejection, especially considering the fact that I just ate a couple of slices of pizza before writing this.

You start to believe that you are what people tell you that you are, for better or worse, when you are a child. I’ve written about intelligence before, but I’ve always felt bad about being smart. But as a “young adult”, I’m very thankful that I am as smart as I am. It’s just a case now of developing more self-esteem, mental independence, and actually doing something with it, which I am trying to do. The more quiet and peaceful I feel, the more I feel a drill sergeant yelling in my face. Perhaps due to having a very chaotic, unfortunate upbringing. Clearly, experience has a lot to do with my conditioning in this regard. You can never get too happy or high without something really bad happening to you. At least, this was the case for me. My childhood was filled with tragedy. Like the childhood of so many others. It is very painful to think about when it seems as if the one who caused the pain is delusional, even though that individual had their own “Hell” growing up. Very tragic.

Tragedy motivates me more than any other emotion as a writer. It’s honestly no surprise to me now. It all makes sense, as long as I come to grips with it. As a kid, “positive thinking” didn’t help me. It didn’t matter how positive I tried to be, one particular individual in my family wasn’t coming home (at least not for very long). It didn’t matter how long I sat in the yard at night, by myself, waiting for this individual to come home, it never happened. Of course, I grew very bitter and depressed as a result. (Honestly, considering the way things were when this individual was at home, maybe it was best that this individual was gone). And this individual did not seem to acknowledge the problem for a very, very long time. I feel as if this individual greatly regrets their actions, which I’m very thankful for. They should. But tragedy moulded my mind at a very young age, and I’ve never looked back. I think I have avoided “sitting in silence” to keep this stuff from coming out, but now is as good of a time as any to write about it.

Clearly, a part of the reason I don’t sit in silence is the pain involved. If you aren’t careful, you’ll cry. And I absolutely fucking hate crying. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. Crying as a child gets you a slap in the face around these parts. Parenting in this part of the world is absolutely cringeworthy and disgusting. Dark comedy became my way of getting out of the funk. Making jokes about really horrible stuff made me happy. I wasn’t taking pleasure in the pain or misfortune of others, but making a shocking joke for the sake of catching people off guard so that they couldn’t help but laugh. “Dark stuff” became my way of dealing with the poor parenting I received from one of my parents. And I grew to love it. Of course, it has always made me “weird” to people. People think you’re a little off. Strange. They worry about you. But when you’re laughing, you really don’t care as much. It truly is beautiful, and I desire to grow more into comedy, as it makes me very happy. I scare myself, because I compare myself to Robin Williams. Although I know comedy is a common device to deal with tragedy, every time I think of my own situation, where I have taught myself to deal with tragedy in a comedic way, I always think of Robin Williams, and I get scared. Is the comedy enough to outrun the demons? I often get scared that it isn’t. But my work makes me very happy, so I hang my hat on that fact, and I don’t draw probably unfair comparisons between Robin Williams and myself.

A large reason I don’t sit in silence and write is because it becomes much more personal when I do. The shocking humor is great, because it isn’t real. I present an image to people that isn’t me, so I don’t care how they react to it (of course I’d prefer they like it, but as long as they don’t kill me, I don’t really care how they react to it). But, as I’ve said, people in the past didn’t understand what I was saying. So few have. I’ve been told that I have delusions of grandeur simply for stating that fact. There is no escaping the idiots, no matter how hard you try. You just learn how to deal with them with age, sadly. You can never escape them. They will always make their presence known, and you just have to learn to ignore them the best you can. That’s very hard for me.

People hate you for expressing things honestly. They judge you, and other stuff. And, as I said, I have worked hard on not caring about this, but I still have a lot further to go. I have always worried about being a bad person. Being an evil person. Knowing that there was evil in the world from a young age, taking it to heart, and being told that I was also an evil person through religious messaging, I have always been in fear. Fear of myself. Fear that I was going to snap. But you can’t say that, because people don’t get it. “Why would you fear snapping if you aren’t actually going to snap?” Oh, if you only knew. If you only knew the heartache that religion caused me. I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface in that regard, and I want to delay that for as long as possible, because that’s really going to hurt. It’s going to make me angry. And I want to be calm and peaceful. But I’ll have to deal with it eventually, and boy, is that going to be a bittersweet day…

I have always caved in to others. Always silenced, changed my ways to “keep the peace”. To keep the people at bay. Keep the teeth from gnashing. Even if I died a little on the inside. Despite the fact that I’ve been rebelling against this for years, the honesty is what is most difficult. It’s easy for me to write about serial killers, because I’m not a serial killer. But it’s hard for me to write about those things that are most deeply me. Like, for example, my intense fear of being a bad person. “Why are you afraid of being a bad person if you aren’t a bad person?” I fear it because, on some deep level, I understand just how “bad” bad can be. And I couldn’t live with myself if I was “bad”. I don’t want to be bad. I’m desperate to be good. I have always been told how bad I was. A sinner. Had a weird, twisted sense of humor that only a serial killer would have. A darkly fictitious mind that only a violent monster could have. And that has always eaten me alive. My own sense of morality has always eaten me alive. I have always compared my personal convictions to morals; to “good and bad”. Everything has led to the “bad”, but I don’t believe this any longer. I drove myself insane trying to prove my own “badness”. “Surely I must be evil. I must be corrupt. My sin. My perverted, fictitious mind.” I didn’t have a good frame of reference for what “good” and “bad” actually were. Sure, I knew what manners were. But what’s real good and what’s real evil? I didn’t know. I only had conservatism.

Everyone has felt “good” and everyone has felt “bad”. My own sins hurt me. Creep me out. Aside with youthful fights with my brother (“normality”), and some not-so-normal fisticuffs with my mother in my youth, I haven’t really ever been “violent” (the fisticuffs with my mother went as follows (You need to be called out on this): my mother, father, and I (and maybe my brother) were playing cards. Phase 10 or Uno, I can’t remember. My mom, smoking a cigarette, always used to (jokingly) insult my dad (I assume she was joking). I remember on one particular hand, he had a better hand than her, and she yelled “Fuck you!” in what I assumed to be a joking manner. I later said the same thing to her, and she slapped me in the face. Her hypocrisy infuriated me. The incident ended with us both on the ground, hands full of each other’s hair, yanking. She once (and still to this day, probably) lied about cutting my ear while cutting my hair. After years of being told that nothing she did was right, she couldn’t admit wrongdoing. It was too painful. I’m sure that’s what it was. I apologize if you read this, and don’t want this out, but I need this for my own sense of self-therapy (and you really don’t like to listen, anyway. We’ve tried to go down this road many times, and you just won’t)).

Come to think of it, I wonder if my parents played favorites. My brother was allowed to play football while I was not (in hindsight, I guess that does make sense. I, admittedly, have always been a delicate flower (I mean, just remember my fucking “red string” story)). My brother got to pick the color he wanted for his room, while I did not. That will never make sense to me. My brother got to select the color that he wanted his room painted, but I did not. I don’t understand that. I don’t know what I could be possibly missing from that story, but I’ll grant the benefit of the doubt and say that maybe I’m misremembering, and that he didn’t get to choose his own color. (Come to think of it, I’m starting to realize why I doubt myself so much. Why I’m so unconfident. Constantly second-guess myself. Why I feel so crazy. Sadly, it’s all coming together…). But I swear that he did. My room got painted, and his never did, which is weird. But still, I’ll never forget that. I remember him getting the color he wanted, while I did not. I don’t think I’ll ever know what actually happened in that case. She was not able to admit specific instances of her faults. Nowadays, she’ll say that she made mistakes. But how can I believe the crazy lady that wouldn’t admit them as they were occurring? I think that’s enough of that for now.

One time, my mother got pizza for my brother, me, and our two best friends at the time. If I recall correctly, half of us wanted pepperoni and half of us wanted cheese. My thought process was if you buy the pepperoni, those that want cheese can just pull the pepperoni off. But those that want pepperoni can’t add pepperoni to the cheese. I think that still logically makes sense. Sure, the pepperoni has cheese on it. So if you eat a plain cheese, you’re going to get the cheese you would get from the pepperoni pizza. But you’re not getting the pepperoni. The point was that if you bought a pepperoni pizza, half could pull their pepperonis off and have a “cheese” pizza. But she ordered the cheese pizza, I assume, just to get us to “shut up”. Her faulty logic infuriated me. I still think my instance makes more sense. I think that’s a common theme in my life: my way makes more sense, but I allow people to bulldoze me over just to “keep the peace”.

Why hold a grudge over pizza? It’s just like the cards. It’s fucking dumb. Adults are supposed to be smarter than that. Your parents are supposed to be smarter than that (or so I thought at the time). The lack of logic was unacceptable to me, and it still is. Sure, you can apologize. We can move on. But you were still wrong, and that is still unacceptable.

I’m not going any further into family history than that.

A lot of this is embarrassing, but honesty is therapeutic. Perhaps, if I ever become more “famous”, I will regret how candid I have been. But I value honesty, and I value expression. I value expressing negative emotion. I value making myself look like an idiot. Making myself look like a fool on purpose is also very therapeutic to me. There’s just something freeing about not taking myself very seriously. Laughing at myself. It makes me very happy. They say your joke isn’t very funny if you’re the only one laughing, but my response is: who fucking cares?

Sitting in silence hurts me. It really, really does. When bad things are happening to you, you don’t know when and how good things will happen. So often, when I have been depressed, I have wondered what was going to be my saving grace in that instance. I’ve never physically harmed myself, but I just sit in emotional pain, and think of things to relieve that pain. I don’t think I could ever act on them. Clearly, I’ve never been so unhappy that I’ve killed myself, as I’m alive right now, writing this. Despite how much I may think of death as a way to ease the pain, I don’t think it is in me to actually kill myself. In the past, I thought “I don’t know if I’m going to Heaven or Hell, so I might as well stay here because it might be worse when I die.” That is truly a hilarious thought to me. “I’m not going to kill myself because I might go to Hell.” You might think that is incredibly sad, but that is hilarious to me. I imagine a movie character, horrifically depressed, drunk, who has a line: “I’m not going to kill myself because I might go to Hell.” Depending on the context, that could be fucking hilarious.

I don’t talk about my history of depression very often, for obvious reasons. People feel compelled to “help” you. But I’m an introvert. I just want to be left alone. This isn’t something that I can’t fight off myself. I already have. I accept that I will have spells of depression from time to time. I think everyone does. I’m not actually going to kill myself, despite how bad I may feel in any one instance. And, especially over the past two years, I’ve learned that suicidal thoughts actually don’t help. In some ways, suicidal thoughts may help somewhat, as, clearly, sadness can feel very therapeutic. Crying helps. But, in the long run, I’ve learned it just makes you feel worse. And so I try not to do it anymore. You can say I’m mentally disordered, but I think I’m fine. I’m human. I get sad. I’ve been really sad in the past. But I’m good now. I’ve got stuff to do, things to keep me busy, goals to achieve. The past is gone. It went by like dusk to dawn.

Like I said, I have avoided writing about my past with depression for many reasons. But it feels good to write about it now. I desire introspection. And I desire to write about myself. I feel the reactions that I’m going to get. “Oh my God, are you ok?!” This is what I hate about writing. I want to write honestly, but I also want to be left alone. And I hate the fact that when I write, and share with an audience, they’re gonna tell me what they think. So many times, I don’t want to fucking hear it, for reasons that I just mentioned above.

I still have not truly figured out what I’m going to do with writing. Just recently, I was impressed with the number of articles that I currently have on my blog. It, at that current count, was 247. I was shocked at that number. Pleasantly surprised. I know that as I keep churning away, as I do here, that, eventually, I will have a massive amount of work done, and that makes me extremely happy. It encourages me to keep going. It is just a matter of getting (good) pieces done which poses the problem.

I wish that I could say, right now, exactly how I’m going to get to that point. Of course, I’ll have to read more. Practice writing more. But that feels so general to describe. This is going to take some intense, personal thought. This is going to take extreme confidence that I can write well. This is going to take a lot of isolation. A loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooot of isolation. I have always felt guilty for my desire to be left alone. Anxiety and guilt have motivated so much of my action in my life thus far that it feels weird to take any action that isn’t motivated by them. But my love for writing, and my desire to be the best at it motivate me to write. And I am extremely happy about that.

Sitting in silence, thinking of words, is going to be very hard for me. My brain has always been interrupted in the past. As I said, the more calm I feel, the more I feel like a slap in the face is about to occur. I think there is a large reason for this (multiple, obviously. I’ve discussed some of them above. But I think there’s more to it as well). I think my religious past has most to do with this feeling of getting slapped in the face when times are good.

Just yesterday, at the time of this writing, my best friend and I went out for pizza. Oh, did I feel good. I was calm, and at peace. We were on a particular stretch of road, with clouds covering the sky. An extreme feeling of deja vu overcame me. It was Sunday. And I was reminded of the past. That time when you felt free, away from church. Free from the prison. Except you were always guilty, even when freed. Regardless of your play, or whatever activity you were doing (in retrospect, I think this is why I didn’t read very much) you better be thinking about God. Are you playing in a Godly way? When you read that book, are you thinking about it Godly? Everything for me had to be through a “Christian” lens, and that’s most unfortunate. I’ve only begun to scratch the surface, but I feel it necessary to include in this piece, as it is a large reason why I have so much problem with “sitting in silence”. Fire is going to engulf my bed because I’m masturbating, and I’m never going to be more fearful than when I cum; lightning means that God is looking for me, and He’s going to take me if I don’t avoid the lightning. His lightning is saying “I see your sins. Watch out, boy. Do you see me?” Once again, I don’t want to say these things because I don’t want to hear your points of view about religion. This isn’t a debate. This is catharsis. My desire for peace was destroyed by religion, and tragedy was introduced into my life thanks to a negligent parent. Sadly, that sums me up quite a bit. Now, it isn’t completely fair. I’ve left out all of the parts that were actually good. But the bad still existed, and I felt like writing about them today.

I have been running away from my religious feelings for a long time. My best friend is inspiring me to delve into my past a little bit more than I otherwise would have. I become afraid when I go back and look at it. Not as afraid as I was back when I was actually experiencing it, but still afraid, nonetheless. There was absolutely no religious satisfaction back then. Everything was misery and terror. “And thank God for it!” The message was perverted; completely backwards. You should thank God for the peace, not the misery. When things are good, and you are happy, and genuinely thankful, that’s how you thank God. You don’t thank God by going up to the altar because you’re afraid of not thanking God. That isn’t very thankful. It’s like being a wife of an abusive husband. “Thank you, for not hitting me today, husband. I thank you for it.” What? That is what so much Christian theology teaches. If you don’t thank God, He’s going to slap you. Uh, thanks, I guess? If the only definition of love is conditional and based solely on a lack of violence when one is prone to it, then we’re missing out on peace and prosperity that love actually naturally promises us. Love is not merely “I’m not hitting you today.” Love is deeper than that. More meaningful. It is selfless, at times. It puts others before itself. It desires goodwill, and creates it. “It is patient. It is kind.” Any Christian teaching that doesn’t teach “God’s love” from this point of view is missing out on the entire point of the message. Missing out on the entirety of the “good news”, a.k.a., the “Gospel”.

It pains me to say that conservatism hindered my ability to read. It destroyed natural relationships with the opposite sex. It pretty much destroyed everything. I don’t harbor any ill-will towards any family member involved in introducing me to it. I empathize greatly with any individual desiring to get closer to God, so I don’t hate anyone who was trying to bring me closer to Him, even if it, effectively, ended up sending me in the opposite direction. But the old conservative message was deplorable at best; intolerable at worst. Sadly, so many know that religious fear all too well. I wish that I could explain it to you under the assumption that you have no idea what I’m talking about. But I know that many of you have those conservative scars from those deep psychological wounds. There, obviously, is a constant anxiety associated with religious conservatism. It is demanded by many pastors. Many pastors say that God demands this anxiety. So, of course, many, including myself, believed it. And, of course, being anxiety, it caused a host of various, intricate mental problems. Just sitting and reading a book has often proved too much for my anxiety. “I’m going to Hell; I just know it. What is the Godly way to do this thing that I want to do? What does God think about this book? Is it a sin if I read this book?” What I’m talking about is obvious, but the damage that causes does not seem to be talked about enough. Maybe I’m not looking in the right places. But the ones writing about that damage seem to be too few in number. Perhaps that’s because there can never be enough people writing about the damages of religious conservatism. (It should be mentioned that, as I stated at the very beginning, I have a natural propensity towards anxiety. So my nature, combined with my raising, and my religious upbringing, make it crystal clear to me why I’m always so anxious).

I am very thankful that the past is gone. But is it ever truly really? The events of our past shape how we are today. We may forget about what caused us to be certain ways, or influenced us, but their influence remains, for better or worse. In this case, I’m obviously referring to the worst. I long for peace, and relaxation. Anxiety consumes me, and a large reason for that is conservative religion. I would not consider myself a conservative any longer, but when you have trained yourself to do something, a part of it remains inside of you. You develop habits; certain trains of thought. You do things without even realizing that you’re doing them. But I’m thankful I’m aware of this now. I don’t know how I’m going to move past this, and be able to relax, and write. For years, I believed my honest feelings didn’t matter. God’s way was important, and what I wanted didn’t matter if it didn’t match up to “God’s way”. So, desperate to live, I tried to find out what “God’s way” was. And boy, were there people willing to tell me.

But I have rarely felt alive. I have rarely felt like my life was my own. I have been on the roller-coaster of anxiety. I haven’t even been able to walk. I could see the good times below from my roller-coaster, and I smiled at those good times. Sometimes, I even magically left that roller-coaster, in ways that I truly don’t understand. But I still rode it. Rode it for God. Rode it for Heaven. Oh, the ups and downs of life. They toughen you up. Get you ready for Heaven. What a bunch of fucking bullshit.

Despite my overwhelming desires for comedy, which have helped me conquer the tragedy in my life, the anxiety is a much tougher one. The peace and quiet of reading and writing is very hard for me to experience. I have only just begun to realize what all of this truly is. I have ran away from this anxiety for so long, despite the fact that it has desperately clung to my brain, and hasn’t really let go. I pray that one day, I can read in write in complete peace, away from conservative anxiety. I don’t want that goddamned anxiety. I don’t want the fucking conservatism. It pains me that readers of this will defend it. I wish I could explain to them why they are so tragically wrong. But at the moment, I can’t. And that really hurts me. It hurts me conservative readers won’t understand what I’m saying, and will try to defend that goddamned pain and suffering. But there’s nothing I can really do about that at the moment, except live within my own peaceful world regarding the subject, hoping that the truth is revealed to others whom are blind from it currently. The desire to respond to opposition is strong, but sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth the mental effort, and if it would just be easier to let the critics be critics, ignore them, and let them judge me. Eventually, I think it will be.

At the moment, I know that peace will help me write better. It will help me read. It will help me become better with literature. And I don’t want to hurry it along. Hurriedness makes me anxious, and that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. So that while, of course, I’m desperate to become as good of a writer as possible as soon as possible (and, now that I think of it, this explains why I do many of the things that I do, and why I’m in such a hurry to “succeed”), the key to good writing is good thoughts. And good thoughts take time, effort, and a fuckton of patience that I’m currently lacking. I desire to write, and I know that practice will help me sit in silence, and become a better writer. How I long for the day when I achieve a level of contentment in my own mind, in the deafening silence I know I need.

Let’s continue. I mentioned it briefly, but other people responding to what I say limits my desire to speak out. I speak out a lot. I’m very honest when I do so. But there are still times where I think “Is it really worth speaking out in this instance? What do I have to gain from this but a bunch of people responding?” That’s a big thing that I dread about writing. It’s not that I hate criticism (there’s such things as valid and invalid criticism). I just want to be left alone. I want to speak out, but at the same time, I want to be left alone. Read what I write, and leave me alone. I accept the fact that people will respond, give their insights, etc. I read what other people have to say. But it is very exhausting for me. Us introverts are weird; especially if we’re writers. We want to write for the world, but be left alone. Instead of trying to figure it out, like I’ve always tried to do, I think I’ll just accept it now, due to mental exhaustion (some things just aren’t worth continuing to think about any longer, thank God).

I suppose, in some ways, I speak to myself. I express myself regardless of who listens, or what they say. I can understand why people would find that odd. But at the same time, when you sit in silence for so long, absorbing the words of others, you start to make up your own mind, and naturally desire to express yourself. There is something about expressing yourself that just makes you feel good. That just makes you happy. Satisfied. It doesn’t matter who hates it, who ignores it, or even who is unaware of it. Sometimes, just expressing yourself is enough to make you happy. I find this to be the case almost constantly for me. Even though I am an introvert, I desire to express myself creatively. The most common way I desire to do this is through comedy. I don’t care if you find me humorous or not. I just desire to express what I find funny, and I desire to do this very often. And, so, I do do it very often. It makes me very happy. I’ve said this before, but I do this out of boredom. When I’m bored, I try to entertain myself. Because I’m always bored, I’m always trying to entertain myself. So I’m always telling jokes. I don’t care if you hate them, think they’re stupid, think their offensive, whatever. I don’t care what your negative opinion is of my jokes. Of course, I appreciate positive feedback. But the negative feedback isn’t going to change a thing about my comedy, and my desire to make myself laugh. It keeps me going from day to day. I think I live for it. I don’t know what I would do without it. It simply is just me. It is just simply me to try to make myself laugh all of the time. Nothing else makes me happy like making myself laugh does. So, of course, I’m going to do it as much as possible, regardless of how it annoys others, or whatever else it does to them. So why share it when people hate it? Catharsis. That’s the best answer. And self-entertainment. That’s what I care about.

One thing I’ll add is my personal financial philosophy regarding artistic expression. This desire to express myself, particularly comedically (but also through other forms as well) does not exist because I think it will make me money. It just exists. It just simply is that I desire to express myself. That I desire to make myself laugh, express what I think is funny, express articles such as this, express fiction, etc. Those just exist within me. Those are just how I am. Who I am, in fact. I do not do these things because I think they will make me money. However, if I’m going to do them without making any money, then why wouldn’t I operate under the assumption that I will make money someday? I literally have nothing to lose. In other words, if I am willing to write for free, why shouldn’t I charge for writing, even if I don’t make any money? Since I desire to write anyway, I have nothing to lose by charging for writing. In other words, I have nothing to lose by dreaming of becoming a professional writer. I’m not “wasting my time”. I’m not being “unproductive”. It wouldn’t “benefit me more to choose another line of work”. Because even though there is a monetary aspect to writing, it isn’t about the money. It’s deeper than that. It’s more than that. Despite the fact that I do desire to reach “professional” (a.k.a. “full-time” (a.k.a. “take extended vacations”)) status, that isn’t the only reason for writing. Hell, it isn’t even the main reason. I write simply because I want to. I just do. But I literally have nothing to lose by dreaming of achieving the most success possible. It makes me happy, gives me something to work for, motivates me. And I already love to write, so that might as well be my dream. Of course, I do have financial situations to deal with presently. I’m not stupid. I’m always aware of this fact, and I’ll act accordingly. But I might as well dream of being a rich, successful author. I don’t care what anyone else says about it, I don’t care how unlikely it is, how many people are like me and dream of it that never get there, none of that fucking matters. What matters is that I’m already doing it for free, I love it, I have nothing to lose, so I might as well try to become “professional” at it. I hate that so many people exist out there that will try to “convince me otherwise”, but I’ll have to deal with it. At least I’m finally able to express this, as I don’t feel like I have been able to prior to this point. I’m not going to care if I never succeed before I die. Obviously, there will be many factors that determine how happy I am financially, and that determine my financial status at any given time. I’m not stupid. I’m aware of this. But even if I never become a “professional” writer, and die without that ever happening, I still will have nothing to lose by writing, and only everything to gain. That’s what I want people to understand about my work, and my philosophy surrounding it.

For too long, I have been content. If I impressed someone, I was content with stopping there. But honestly, the writing has been very stale to me. Repetitive. I’m at the point where I just want to sit and think about what I’m writing. Now, it isn’t that I normally don’t think when I write. That would be impossible. But the key is ridding myself of this anxiety that I have discussed in this piece. I imagine that most writers are calm. When they write, they sit in peace and quiet. Nothing can disturb them from their work. And they create masterpieces. That’s what I really fucking want. Peace, and quiet. And masterpieces.

I have always taken the easy way out when it comes to writing. I hope there will be a giant shift in my writing life. I think I’ve written some smart things to this point. I’m not comparing myself to any great writers or anything (even though I believe I can be a very good writer at some point in the future). But I want my writing to be more intimate. Instead of only writing when something really bugs me, I want to write just for fun. Carefree. More relaxed. I still want to write when something bugs me, of course. But I don’t want the only time I write to be when this is the case. I want to do it more often. And I can’t do that if my brain is as disorganized as it has been. I’ve had to go through this introspection to figure out what was preventing me from doing this. And, as with most things I’ve written up to this point, I think I did a pretty good job with the introspection. It’s all going to come together. Everything I’ve written is going to come together to form a “life work”, and it will all make sense in the end. Its popularity will not determine its value. It makes me very happy. Each individual piece has meaning, and the thought of bringing them all together into one coherent “piece” or “body of work” makes me very happy indeed. Of course, I hope they are (and will be) entertaining and insightful. And, of course, I’d love to become rich through it. That dream will never die, for reasons that I’ve already stated. But the joy is what it is all about.

I really want to become a better writer. I’m going to do it my own way. No “school”. No doing it anyone else’s way but my own. Freedom is beautiful. There are problems in life that are beyond our control. Circumstances and realities that we must accept. But those instances where we are free: those are the good times. I want to grow through my writing. My career dreams. My work. My art. I want them all to grow and get better, in my own way, without “formal teaching”. I want to teach myself, through the words of others, introspection, and practice. And I want to do it at my own personal pace. So, I will. Writing, for me, is mainly about personal growth. Followed closely by money. Everything else is just an added benefit.

I need to become a bigger reader. The anxiety that I have discussed ad nauseum up to this point has been a large reason why I haven’t been a “big reader”. I enjoyed reading when I was a child. I’ve written about my own feelings about reading before. But there is a certain mindset that you have to have to be a reader. It’s a mindset that I’ve rarely had. It’s a mindset that I’ve already discussed: one of relaxation. I just have never been able to relax. For multiple reasons I’ve already discussed. But you truly have to be relaxed and calm to read a book. Well, if you want to read a book effectively. As a writer, I feel like I have a new appreciation for reading. My appreciation for other writers is growing as I write. “Hey, I like this. Aren’t there a bunch of other people out there that do this as well? Oh yeah, they write books. Those things I’m not reading.” The anxiety has a large part to do with it. Thankfully, I have been in the process of developing new personal and religious philosophies that help me relax. It’s very hard to do. It is very hard work to relax. It takes a lot of effort for me to relax. I just need a good philosophical framework (which I’m working on developing), and practice. I’m confident that I’ll get there at some point, even though, as I say that, I imagine getting shot in my 30s. This is what I’m talking about. It may ultimately be a losing battle, but I need to try to fight it regardless. I just hope it doesn’t turn out to make my writing more optimistic…

I need to practice relaxation. I need this for multiple reasons. Mental health. Becoming a better reader and writer. Just being happier. But there’s another thing that I want to touch on, even though I feel like it is a losing battle. As I sit, thinking about other authors to read, I think about ideological conflicts. “Right and wrong” again. Not only from an ethical standpoint this time, but from an objective standpoint. It gives me a headache. Sadly, there exist unethical people who are willing to compulsively lie for their own gain. And these people write books. Books on political and economic theory. These people run for office. Work in the media. Fighting against them feels futile, when there’s so few “libertarians” that exist (or, at least, that it feels that way). Fighting an uphill battle against evil is always hard. The only reason it isn’t pointless is because it is evil you’re fighting. It’s worth it, but it exhausts you. And it isn’t even guaranteed that you’re going to win.

Lamentation is a common theme in my life. Even though I don’t read very often, I wish others would. There’s a deep compassion that most of us share to make the world a better place, even if this means “polarization”. It’s very complicated. Who is right, and who is wrong? Why is this popular, and why isn’t this? I’m learning that instead of trying to “save the world”, the best you can hope for is personal contentment. I just learn for myself, write things like this from time to time, and then…that’s all I can really do. I’m only a man. I can’t ask “WWJD” as some sort of blueprint for what sort of action I should take. Age is a great guide.

I want to go on a quick tangent for a second. I’ve written about offensiveness before, but considering my love for it, I know I will have to continue writing about it in the future. I’m not completely satisfied with my original “Offend the Fuck Out of People” piece. There’s something missing, but I’m not quite sure what it is yet. Perhaps my mental skills weren’t as developed as I feel they are now (which should really indicate the poor status of my communication skills when I initially wrote it). At any rate, my offensiveness has been my way of teaching myself that things are ok. That things aren’t as bad as I may believe them to be. This stuff? This is bad: not that stuff that I used to think was bad. The “immature”, “vulgar” abrasiveness has been my way of growing up. I know I’ll be critiqued for that, but that’s how it has been. I don’t ever want that to change, but I reserve the right to do so in the future if I desire so then. There is an overreaction to portrayals of offensive things in art. Thankfully, this appears to have died down throughout the years. But has it really? Has anything really changed? Romeo and Juliet committed suicide together. That was written in 1595 (thanks, Google). But even still, there are people today that think that certain things just “shouldn’t be expressed in art”. This typically seems to happen when the medium changes, such as with video games. But I enjoy taking this hypersensitivity and offending the fuck out of it. It is important that a culture does not become antagonistic to freedom. Constantly pushing freedom to the maximum point is, my opinion, one of the best ways to keep tyranny from gaining ground. I think, deep down, that’s what motivates me the most about “offensiveness”.

Most of this has been about writing (fiction and non-fiction), but I want to address comedy for a second, because it relates. I just have a funny way of looking at the world. I crave comedy. I crave making myself laugh. I just get fucking bored easily. Always have. Comedy has been the primary way I have alleviated this boredom. No matter how much comedy I consume from others, there is always a void. It’s never enough. Or never good enough, in my opinion. Doesn’t make me laugh hard enough. So, I have to roll my sleeves up and do it myself. I don’t mind it. I love it, of course. But this means that I spend all day every day entertaining myself. Simply out of boredom. And, once again, as with the writing, why wouldn’t I “sell” my comedy? I have nothing to lose by attempting to do so, because I will do the comedy anyway. I already am. I hate that I have to spell this out for people, but I hate getting asked the question “Why do you do this when your chances of being successful are infinitesimal?” (I have one particular gentleman in mind when I write this word. He was quite fond of it. He was fond of expressing his intelligence with certain vocabulary words that he clung to. Even if he pronounced it wrong, like “infinitisimal”. But he was actually smart). It’s called “passion”. It’s called “purpose”. It makes me feel alive. Satisfies me. Drives me. That’s why I write and tell jokes and share them when no one else is listening. It’s just who I am. “So you’re that insane person that talks to himself and has delusions of grandeur?” Sure, if you want to put it that way. That’s who I am.

I don’t care if you don’t like it. In fact, that kind of feeds me to keep going. Reinforces to me that I’m not doing it just for money. I’m doing it for me. Because it makes me happy. So hatred of my work just makes me want to work all the more. Gives me all the more reason to do it. In fact, I feel like if I started making money, that I’d do less of it. But that’s easy to say when the money isn’t rolling in. I’m sure that I’d keep the moneyball rolling, but I don’t think I would sellout all of my personal convictions.

Of course, I have to prove myself. I have to prove that I can write. Create engaging stories. Tell good jokes. That’s where all of the work comes in. And the practice. Getting better. The passion. I don’t think this drive is going away any time soon. My love for comedy isn’t going away. My love for writing isn’t going away. So I’m not going away. My dream is not going away. I’m here to stay, whether I succeed within the next year, twenty years, or never.

The keys are patience and practice. Thankfully, I’m good at introspection. Then, it takes judicious practice to go from observations to change. That’s what I’m attempting to do. I’m confident that, in the end, I will have a body of work that speaks for itself, even though I will have been the one that has spoken through it.

One of these days, I’ll be “good”.

Let’s end on this note: I want to address “praise” for a second. I’ve written about this several times, but I want to add something about it here. Despite my desire for fame as a writer as a means to achieve financial security and happiness, there’s a part of me that desires privacy. Once again, as an introvert (albeit a particularly expressive one), I desire to be by myself. But at the same time, I desire fame. I desire fame solely as a means towards financial ends. And the desire for financial ends are easy to understand. Once again, why wouldn’t I choose another line of work to obtain financial ends? I’ve already discussed it in this piece. In a sense, I’m going after what I don’t desire. I desire fame, but I hate the thought of having it. It is quite confusing. But, in another way, don’t those that have already obtained wealth desire peace and quiet? Aren’t there “famous” people that avoid the limelight as much as possible? Don’t they enjoy their wealth, even though they aren’t constantly being hounded by the press?

Other People.

Writing.

Writer.

Personal Happiness as a Virtue.

Failure is Not an Option.

Narrating my life as if I’m a separate character because I’m losing my mind.

“Deep down, he had the fear. That he really didn’t care. That he cared that he didn’t care. That it would all come crashing down upon him. That everyone was right. He was wasting his time. His dreams, delusional; his actions, unproductive. His time, running out. Fearful of being crippled with inevitability. That all he had stood for up to this point was a mere facade; a way to keep from ‘growing up’. What was it about that attitude that had repulsed him so before, but which seemed inevitable now? Was it foolishness? Or the fire he needed to keep himself going? Was he crazy? Or was he right? Why was it that he had thought himself talented before? Was it justified? Or merely a childlike escapism, the only way to keep his spirit from being crushed?

Why did he spend so much time on his spirit, anyway? What was so important about it? Didn’t real life matter? What kind of point was he trying to make? What did it really matter? Was his heart yearning for something more real? Or was he lying to himself, making excuses, to keep from reading the writing on the wall? When would he know that it had been written?; or, even, if it had been written at all?

Suddenly, the life he had loathed, and tried to avoid for so long, was here. It was alluring. It was easy, even if unfulfilling. But how easy was it if it was truly unfulfilling?

The 9 to 5, and the sixpack. It was staring him cold in the face. Would the alcohol be enough to dull the lamentation from regret? Would it be enough to drown out the sorrows of natural difficulties? Would he need to ‘grow up’, or remain in his childlike construct of imagination? Would his escape be the very thing that haunted him so, but that which he desired the most?: his drive for success, and his artistic visions, despite the natural obstacles and his own limitations which got in the way of his dreams? Would he ever be as good as he hoped? As rich as he hoped? Or would he be delegated to the unknown?; Or, merely, the notoriously bad and unsuccessful?

All he knew for sure was that when the fire burned, it BURNED, and he was grateful for that. He hoped that the fire would keep him warm enough from the cold of uncertainty, and alive enough from the suicide of lazy, fearful, and ignorant, yet innocent, dejection…”

Writing.

Sanity.

Fiction.

Post-Holiday mindset.

Welp, the holidays are officially over.

Back to the daily existential crises of lethargy, dreams, dead-end shit jobs, failure, confusion, ideological opposition, advice, uncertainty, boredom, conformity, pessimism, fury, doubt, dissatisfaction, stupidity, deceit, entrapment, and all of the other beautiful fucking things on this planet that we are blessed with that are all somehow supposed to be fixed with “a wife and kids”.

What a life.

To illustrate one of my points: it’s a shame that if you say something like “I can’t wait to go to Heaven“, people worry. “Oh my God, he’s going to kill himself!” Just one of the things that I’m talking about that occur regularly that bothers the Hell out of me. I’m not saying they are completely unjustified. Context has a lot to do with it. You can see what I mean if you read suicide notes from certain people. But hearing this anxiety from so-called “Christians” after I say something like this makes me cringe, because clearly, they are more unsure of where they are going to go when they die than I am sure of where I’m going to go when I die. I know exactly where I’m going, and I can’t wait to get there. I will wait (sadly; In my opinion, although you can clearly be happy while living, compared to Heaven (or the Garden of Eden), this life can’t help but make one feel dissatisfied. I think that’s why I am dissatisfied: because I have at least some small idea of what I’m missing out on, and I actually believe I’m missing out on it, instead of simply providing “lip service” to Heaven like many other so-called “Christians”) (Personal Happiness as a Virtue)). But taking care of my health does not interest me at all. I do not want to live 80 years on this planet.

Everything involved in this “daily existential crisis” feels, ultimately, trivial to me. Sure, my life is all that I have in the moment (of which, these things are a part of). So why not make the best of it?

Firstly, I have a problem with cliches like that, and it will take me a very long time to fully “get into” why I have a problem with these cliches. I guess, to be brief, there is a moralistic attitude behind these cliches. These cliches are treated like The Ten Commandments, whereby your every breath and action should be spent towards conforming to these “life cliches”. I have tried to do this in the past, and all it does is set you up for failure. You will always fail to live by these cliches. Period. It is inhuman to attempt to make these cliches divine edicts in your life. Cliches are true through the natural process of human action: much like The Ten Comamndments are divine edicts that we can never perfectly obey, even if what is in The Ten Commandments and perfectly living by them would make us have better lives. I’ll have to further analyze my past history with these “cliches” (and larger implications regarding them) at a later date. “But Cody, you say to let the ‘natural process of human action’ take place. Isn’t that what these so-called ‘moralists’ are doing? Clearly, they are humans acting. So how can you support the ‘natural course of human action’ as opposed to what they are doing if what they are doing is also a ‘natural course of human action’?” I’ll have to elaborate on this much deeper in the future. But the main point is that what they do just doesn’t work. It conflicts with what I mention in the next paragraph.

Secondly, I have my own personal philosophies that I want to live by (largely influenced because of what I mentioned in the first part), because the philosophies of others, very rarely, make me happy. In the past, I never thought that my happiness mattered. But, thanks to a religious transformation, triggered mainly by my best friend, I think my happiness actually does matter. Not only does my happiness matter in a spiritual (after death) sense, where God sent His Son to die for my sins, forces me to believe that through love, and provides me with an eternal paradise for no other reason than His own grace and love. My happiness actually matters on this Earth. (Personal Happiness as a Virtue). That, sadly, is a very revolutionary, rare thought; and thus, my “back to the daily existential crisis” paragraph. But I think that’s why I’m so dissatisfied. I’m ready to go to Heaven. I’m not going to hurry it along, but in spirit, I’m ready to go, enjoy my paradise, and be freed from the human condition, which enslaves us to labor, heartbreak, anger, broken families, abuse, government tyranny, nuclear war, and just the difficulty in doing something so necessary as producing food. The human condition has weakened my spirit, and “a wife and kids” isn’t going to fix it. That’s only going to make it worse. I don’t want to listen to this “make the best of what you have”, “enjoy the little things”, and all of this other crap. I’m making a conscious decision to ignore this, for the “moralistic” reasons I mentioned above (it conflicts with my nature).

There is a mindset that equates “maturity” with “misery”, and I don’t believe that (much like the atheistic “misery” that is “scientific” and “inevitable” “in nature” that I no longer believe). I believe that God cares about my happiness. Indeed, we were put on this Earth in a paradise, so clearly there was some purpose to our happiness. I personally think we were created to be happy for that reason (and then we fucked it up and lost it as punishment). So, in my opinion, when we are truly happy, we are as close to God as we can be. And, to put it shortly, I, therefore, do not personally believe that, for example, murdering someone can make the murderer “truly” happy. (Can we be happy in sin? Sure. But I think it’s complicated, and I think there are miseries that come about as a result of our sins that we don’t often think of when we say “Can’t we be happy in our own sin?” It’s complicated, I grant you. I’ll have to elaborate in a future piece).

Of course, there is a certain healthy maturity in accepting what you cannot change; particularly, if what you cannot change is negative. But I think that most people’s attitudes about “maturity” is not this, although maybe I’m wrong, and will be proven so in the future (or, perhaps, I’m wrong and will never become aware of it and it will make my life more difficult. Once again, there’s so many “what-ifs” that are considered when making decisions, and I’m not going to elaborate all of them involved in my own personal decision-making processes to justify them to others. I’m simply going to live for myself, in my own way, deal with the consequences that come, and enjoy the rewards, as all of us humans do).

But it seems to me that many people equate “maturity” with giving up. I don’t think this is completely unfounded: indeed, I think it is often sage. You have to eat, you need a house, etc. And, of course, you need money to buy these things, and most people get this money by providing services to others (services that they typically hate to perform, but do because they need the money). I am perfectly aware of all of this. But I am not going to hurry the process along. My mindset is to avoid this. There is a bare minimum, of course. But the day I accept “my job” as my life, and no longer dream of turning what I naturally enjoy doing into a career, is, at least for the time being, the day that I spiritually die on this Earth (I realize that sounds drastic, but I want to do what makes me happy. This dream makes me happy, so I keep it. For the time being, I don’t see anything that could effectively replace this dream on my “happiness” scale). I will either work on writing fiction, insightful articles, dark pieces of art, making myself look like a jackass for comedy’s/satire’s sake, and financially succeed, or I will work on writing fiction, insightful articles, dark pieces of art, making myself look like a jackass for comedy’s/satire’s sake, and financially fail (such as I’m currently) doing. But clearly, either way, you see what will remain (and I might as well dream big if I’m going to do it anyway).

I’m aware that if money is an issue, I could attempt to learn a job that would give me more money. But, once again, I have to do what makes me happy, and even if it ends horribly for me in the future, I have to try. It is within me to try to make it all work. I would not be able to live with myself if I didn’t try all of this, even if it means I forego other financial opportunities, valuable experience in a skill, etc. (I’m going to write an article called “What’s the worst that could happen?” to address exactly that (I hope that I can remember to link it here)).

I want to embrace the difficulty. I want to embrace the obstacles. I want to take the valid (and unfounded) opposition head on. I want to use all of it as fuel, turn it around, and give the world a giant “I told you so.” Failure simply means that I never succeeded when I was alive. And that isn’t that bad to me (once again, I’ll write a “What’s the worst that could happen?” article later to satiate those of you eager to tell me the worst that could happen, and also as a way to fully accept it and understand it for myself). If I try to make money doing something I love to do, and never do, but instead end up working at McDonald’s in my 40s, have I failed? In some sense, yes. I didn’t succeed in making my “dream job” a reality. But I succeeded in never having to wonder “What if?”, and I think that’s one of my biggest motivators. I refuse to put myself in a position where I will ask myself, 20 years down the road, “What if I would’ve started writing in my mid-20s? What if I would’ve started to try to make people laugh regularly in my mid-20s?” Of course, you can turn it around: “But Cody, ‘What if’ you wonder, down the road, ‘what if’ you had chosen a different career path that many people told you was a better guarantee?” Once again, I’m going to make my own personal decisions because, right now, the only thing I see making me happy is enjoying my job, so I’m going to try to take what I enjoy and turn it into a job. I will have to deal with the consequences as they come.

It is about success, but it’s mainly about being satisfied in this life. As I said, there’s a lot of talk about equating “maturity” with accepting the fact that you have to work a job you hate in order to survive. Once again, I’m not saying this is invalid. But 1) I am not going to put myself in that position sooner than I have to (thankfully, I don’t have to at the moment), and 2), I do not anticipate ever adopting the “Welp, this is my job for the rest of my life” attitude, so I might as well work on my “dream jobs” NOW. Spending time and energy towards creating a career that I enjoy NOW. Even if I change my mind down the road, I need to work on this NOW, while I want to, and while it invigorates me. That’s what I want. I just want to be happy; and right now, working on this makes me happy. I think that’s, ultimately, what this comes down to (and I can’t help but think of the people that give me “advice“, and what they did at my age (drinking, partying, etc.), and feeling like I’m different than they are, so maybe my outcome will be different).

Despite the small number of “success stories” that float as an island on the ocean of failure, the exceptions speak out to me louder than “the rule”. “The rule” makes me want to drink. And I don’t want to drink. I want to work on becoming an exception, using all of the “daily existential crises of lethargy, dreams, dead-end shit jobs, failure, confusion, ideological opposition, advice, uncertainty, boredom, conformity, pessimism, fury, doubt, dissatisfaction, stupidity, deceit, entrapment, and all of the other beautiful fucking things on this planet that we are blessed with that are all somehow supposed to be fixed with ‘a wife and kids'” as fuel and motivation to succeed in my own way.

I’m not giving up. I’m either going to become an exception, doing it my own way, or I will fail my own way. But, I believe more than anything (well, aside from, maybe, the financial success that I dream of) I want to feel free. And I’m currently exercising my freedom to the best of my ability, and I feel very pleased thus far (at least in some ways. Obviously, I’d be happier if I was already successful).

At least for the time being, I anticipate that, without a job that fulfills me, regardless of the pay, I will be dissatisfied. Currently, I will not adapt to any other choice than making my passions work. Could I “learn to live” with the job, and adapt myself around it to be happier? Of course. But I do not ever want to give up on this dream, regardless of how shitty my job is. I want this dream to be the reason that I wake up in the morning. At least for the time being, I want this to be my life, because it makes me happy, and I anticipate that, even though it will be a roller coaster, it will, ultimately, make me happier than I would be without it.

A steady job (at least in another line of work), although necessary, is not the end goal for me. I want to be so committed to something that I love that I will go to my grave trying to make it happen. I think that is a purpose that will fulfill me. I don’t want to accept spiritual death, and I think that without a purpose, I will spiritually die. And, currently, the only purpose that makes me happy is trying to make a living through writing and people laughing at me. Subject to change in the future, but, currently, it makes me happier than anything else in my life. I love dreaming and working on it all. It’s been a great experience thus far, and I can’t wait to see how it all shakes out in the end (whenever “the end” is).

A Declaration of Independence.

Free Will Contradictions.

Christianity.

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

Life Direction as of 10/5/16 3:25 am

I have finally accepted, through “A Labor of Love”, that I am a lazy person. I am learning to just accept this now, instead of worrying about my future, as most say I should. And the key, for me, is to feel like I am in control of my life.

I’ve posted in “A Declaration of Independence” about how I should learn to accept responsibility for my mistakes, and learn to make my own decisions and live my own life. But it is still terrifying: namely, due to my main goal in life, which is to be lazy.

I do not want to be so lazy as to be homeless, living underneath a bridge, begging for bare sustenance. But I feel pretty close to that already, working in retail, with no other alternatives that seem appealing to me besides writing and comedy. Money is not the most important thing for me when it comes to a career. I could very easily do a different job for more money. But I don’t. Because I want an easy job. But, more than wanting an easy job, I want a fulfilling job.

Right about now is when everyone starts clamoring about how “You can’t always get what you want”, and other things. And to be honest, I don’t want to listen to any of that. And I probably won’t. It will only make me miserable. Why would I do that to myself? Why be sane and miserable when you can be insane and happy? (See: “Harvey”). Besides, deep down, I don’t really think I’m that insane. …About this topic, at least.

In some ways, what I’m currently doing is not the answer for me. And in some ways, it is. Retail (my current line of employment) is not satisfying. It has its perks, such as the ease of the work, but it comes with several nearly insufferable problems. And other “practical” solutions do not appeal to me, either. Mainly due to the repetitious factor. Here’s where you tell me that life and work are repetitive, and here is where I say “I don’t want to listen to you, so I am not going to.”

The only things that make me happy currently are writing (in the brief moments that that actually happens), but mainly comedy. And, I suppose, dreaming. I love doing things that make me laugh, or doing things that I believe others will laugh at. But the main goal of making others laugh is simply the recognition that I can make others laugh. The goal is to build a “career out of comedy”. Before you interject on how you “actually” build a career out of comedy, 1) let me state that I don’t care what you have to say, and 2) let me state how I’m going to approach this.

My happiness comes first and foremost. My happiness is the most important thing to me in my life. I want to be happy. In fact, I think that is the purpose of life, but I’ll leave that for another piece. If you aren’t happy, you’re miserable, and being miserable is no way to live. I have been subject to lapsing into misery. I did it a lot in the past, and I still do it from time to time. It’s unavoidable, many times. And, indeed, I’m very cynical and pessimistic (which provides humor that I enjoy). But sitting around thinking that life is all about doing what you don’t want to do is not life to me. It seems to be that way for many others, but not to me.

“That’s life” is a common phrase used to end conversations and make people miserable. I don’t think it’s always intended to make people miserable, but something is very disingenuous about the phrase. Most people that I know that use this phrase, in a small, Southern town, have very small worldviews. Worldviews warped by religion and envy. I know these worldviews all too well, and I know the underlying meaning behind them, as I’ve believed them myself. But there start to become too many exceptions to that rule, and I finally began questioning that belief, and developed my own personal thoughts and opinions about life. And some of them are as follows:

Do what makes you happy. You need to find something that fulfills you. Something that makes you happy. Whatever it is. Although I’m subject to this, and many other people are as well, you can’t be too fatalistic about how shitty life is. Or, at least accept what parts of life are shitty, but you need something to take your mind off of it. An escape. Everybody needs a fucking escape. And, most people do have escapes. Whether it be football, reading, drinking, what have you. And, in some ways, I think those “escapes” are some of the most important things in life. Do they put food on the table? Not necessarily. And do you need food to survive? Of course. But without sanity, what makes life worth living?

I think that, above all else, the thing that keeps me sane is dreaming. Dreaming of the future. Having dreams to work towards. Having certain principles to live by, and living them day by day. Those are some of my escapes. Dreaming of escaping menial work, avoiding difficult work, risky work, boring work: that keeps me sane. Perhaps you would call that insane, but it makes me incredibly happy while I’m “delusional”, so I dream. Will it hurt me in 5, 10, 40 years from now? It could. It probably will. But if it makes me happy, I am going to do it. As long as I can handle the consequences of it afterwards, I will be alright.

So, I’m a dreamer. What do I dream of? I dream of many people reading this, and other stuff that I write, and saying “Hmm…that was good. That was interesting. I want more.” Or reading my jokes, and laughing so hard that they cry, and needing more. I dream of creating creepy characters, and having people afraid of them and creeped out by them, but wanting more. And, of course, I dream of wealth, and a life of sloth.

Are all of these stupid, crazy, and a waste of time? Perhaps. But I think you need to define what all of these mean. What do you mean by “stupid”? “Stupid” as in I “should” be focusing more on money, and a legitimate career…driving trucks? Or something else that I will hate after a while? Is it crazy that I am “not considering the financial implications of my future”? Is it a waste of time when I could be learning a marketable skill? The idea that I have not thought of these things is nonsense. Of course I’ve thought about them. And I’m still leaning towards the creative endeavors. I’ll probably be a starving artist, flipping burgers into my 40s. But what will maximize my happiness? What line of work would bring me the most joy? I don’t care too much about the money. At least not right now. Perhaps I would start to feel a crunch later, and reevaluate my choices, and contemplate making new ones. But right now? All I can think about is my art. My comedy. My writing. It consumes me. All I want is to make people think, and laugh. That’s it. At this point in time, I can’t envision myself doing anything else. I’m going to tell so many jokes that people want to throw up. Think the hardest that I can in my articles so that I’ll be compared to 3rd graders. It consumes me. But I want it to. At least at the date and time of the title of this article, I want to become consumed by writing and comedy (and acting). I do not want a day to go by that I don’t feel committed. I want to constantly be working towards one of those three. It makes me happy, and I cannot help but dream of success. What’s the worst case scenario? 80 years old, flipping hamburgers? Thousands upon thousands of manuscripts unread? Living paycheck-to-paycheck, and possibly even being in debt? Suffering an expensive, life-threatening illness? Are any of those worth changing my life direction, and stop dreaming about writing, comedy, and acting?

No. Because the alternative is misery. The alternative is the acceptance that my life will be going nowhere, and that I have nothing to look forward to. Praying for death to escape the misery of repetitive life. For what else would I have to look forward to? Here’s where people say something like “Wife and kids”, but that’s how divorce and broken homes start. I don’t even want to address the wife and kids issue, as it really is just bullshit thrown in by people who just want to bring me down. All I want to do is write, write, write. And tell jokes. Maybe down the road, I’ll desire something different. But I hope that the desires continue and that I only get better at all of the above. But I refuse to stop working, refuse to stop dreaming, and, at least for the time being, I am going to choose to ignore most of the advice I am being given. I don’t want to listen to them anymore, and I wish I knew how to escape them…but I suppose that will be a topic for another time.

All I want is more, and to get better at it. And, of course, I want “fans”, and money, but I accept that 1) those aren’t guaranteed and 2) that it could be a very long time before either of those accumulate to a significant degree. But, thankfully, those aren’t the reasons why I create. But all I want to do is create, and improve, and if I can ignore others and accept the responsibility of my own actions, I will be able to create and improve. And I think this is my best shot at happiness, with, in my opinion, happiness being the purpose of life. But “that will be a topic for another time.”

What I Want Out of Life, as of 3/14/14.

How I feel about my work, as of 5/5/14.

What the next phase of my career is going to be, as of 9/3/14.

How I feel about my writing as of 9/11/14.

Career approach: 12/30/14 1:19 AM.

Daily routine.

The only purpose that I EVER wish to have with my work.

(It’s very interesting to go back and read some of the above links. It’s almost as if I wrote them yesterday. I take this as a sign to continue, considering the length of time between then and now, and my desires and philosophies about them).

Articles.

Personality Development.