This is a really good talk. But it’s also Jordan Peterson, so that’s no surprise.
A man came by the house today. He was a man I’ve known my entire life. And it wasn’t the first time that he’s ever showed up at the house.
He had some cards that he was wanting to know the value of. Some Yugioh, Pokemon, Magic, and some other cards that I’m not sure of. I told him that I had gotten out of cards a while back, and didn’t know how much they were worth. He then started saying some very profound things that I was not expecting.
He’s had some drug problems that I’ve known about. He was on a scooter. And I don’t recall what exactly started it, but suddenly, he started talking about religion. Unprovoked. But it was not like what you might expect when being preached at. Most of the time, when someone is preached at, they hear about how terrible they are as a human being, and all of the things they need to do to alleviate themselves from the consequences of their sin. But this conversation was nothing like that. In fact, one might say that it was the exact opposite.
He started talking about energy. He said that energy is neither created, nor destroyed, but that it just exists. That there’s no time. That there is only energy. That we are energy, and that we all share this common humanity. We all share upon this energy. And we can give good energy, or we can give bad energy. But the energy is always there, and we can’t destroy it. It reminded me very much of a Bill Hicks joke: “All my point is, all my point is is there’s a lot of ways to look at the world. You know what I’m sayin’? Why pick the way you learn over TV? Cause it’s usually wrong. You ever see a good drug story on the news? Never. News is supposed to be objective, isn’t it? Supposed to be the news. But! Every drug story is negative. Well hold it. I’ve had some killer fuckin’ times on drugs. Let’s hear the whole story. Same LSD story every time, and we’ve all heard it: ‘Young man on acid thought he could fly. Jumped out of a building. What a tragedy.’ What a dick. He thought he could fly, why didn’t he take off from the ground and check it out first? You don’t see ducks lined up to catch elevators to fly south. He’s an idiot. He’s dead. Good! You mean there’s one less moron in the world? Wow, what a fuckin’ tragedy, huh? I guess I’m one car-length up in traffic tomorrow. How about a positive LSD story? That would be newsworthy. Don’t you think? Anybody think that? Just once? To hear a positive LSD story? ‘Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration; that we are all one consciousness, experiencing itself, subjectively. There is no such thing death. Life is only a dream. And we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.’”
One connection I made between the two of them was the drugs. But I don’t know if drugs really tell the whole story. Maybe they do in Bill’s case, but I’m not sure about this guy’s. But he continued. And things got really deep.
He said he’d be sitting around, drinking and smoking a bong with some people, and they’d say to him “How can you call yourself a Christian when you do all of that?” And he said to them that they didn’t get it. He told me that he’d tell them that the Ten Commandments aren’t laws which need to be strictly obeyed, but are rather more common sensical than that. To paraphrase, he said “Think about it. ‘Obey your father and your mother.’ That’s just natural, isn’t it?” The thing that struck me about this conversation was that I’ve been thinking some of these very things myself. He continued:
Once again, to paraphrase, he said “Life isn’t about obeying the laws of God. It’s about love. It’s about all of us loving each other. It’s about giving good energy through love. We are all part of this loving energy. And it doesn’t disappear: it just gets transported somewhere else when we die.”
Here was a man I hadn’t seen in months, if not a couple of years. Who I’ve known my whole life. Who just came to my house and started telling me this stuff. He asked a couple of times if I understood what he was saying. And, to my shock, I actually did. I’ve been thinking some things lately, but they aren’t fleshed out enough for writing. But I actually did understand what he was saying. And when I told him so, he’d say “I know you do.” And I could tell that he was being genuine. That he was serious. We shared a very human moment together. I thought “You know, I know people who would’ve asked him to leave. But I’m glad I just stood here and listened to him.”
He could be pretty emotional at times. Not to the verge of tears, but just very excited. I thought about telling him to calm down because I didn’t want the neighbors to check out what was happening, but he seemed to sense it every time without me saying anything. Of course, he couldn’t contain himself at times. He wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t angry, but he was very enthusiastic. Passionate. But he felt completely genuine to me. He wasn’t putting on a show. This man was pouring out his heart. And I could feel that.
He told me some very personal things about himself that I will not ever repeat to anyone. I don’t know if he was high or not. I believe I could smell a little liquor on him. But I swear, in that moment, I think his head was more clear than it had ever been.
He said he’d talk to Biblical “scholars”, to use his term, at nearby churches. Talking to them, presumably, about some of the things he had been talking about to me. He didn’t seem to think that they actually got it. Once again, it was a miracle that I was on the same brainwave as him. Maybe my natural thought processes are just as scattered as his, but I understood what he was saying. For the most part.
There were some things about tectonic plates and volcanoes and the world opening up that I was skeptical of. But I dismissed those pretty easily, because he was back on the loving energy topic pretty quickly. I don’t know if he’s right, if he’s wrong, but I guess time will tell.
He said “I’ve never told anybody any of this stuff. I’ve rarely read any of the Bible. But something just compelled me to come here and say all of this stuff.” And I understood exactly what he meant. It was a very touching moment.
He also said some stuff about seven nations, like America, Brazil, Peru, and others being a “seven-headed beast”. That “liberty” was just a myth. That there was some volcano off of the coast of southwest Australia that was going to open up like a pit of Hell. I was a little skeptical of all of that. He started losing me there. But I agreed with him, and understood what he was saying, earlier about loving energy, so I stuck with him.
He said he loved me, and I told him I loved him too. And we hugged each other. I could tell that he was genuine. And then, he was on his way.
I thought about that moment. I thought about dwelling on it. About trying to force that moment to be meaningful every moment of my entire life from here on out. But that isn’t how moments work. Moments exist within a specific time and place. Forcing them beyond that makes them lose what made them magical in the first place. But it gave me some interesting thoughts about love, and about advantage.
The way I grew up to think about love is incorrect. I thought that one had to love everybody to the fullest extent that one could, so that the world would be a good place. So that we could all get into Heaven. But the first part of that is actually more important than the latter, believe it or not. I treated love as something to always be working toward and striving for. But not just love: perfect love. “Am I being as loving as I could be?” This question always bothered me tremendously. Religion had taught me that I should love my fellow man, but how do I know how much I need to love my fellow man? Well, this was never answered specifically, but I believed that the answer to that “amount” question was the same as other “amount” questions that religion attempts to answer: “As much as you can, but that will never be enough. But you have to struggle towards that goal, anyway.”
So I put a lot of pain upon my heart to try to love people. But it only made me resent them. It made me hate myself. It confused me. I’m introverted by nature, and my idea of “love” (such as always listening to everything someone says when they talk to you, never disagreeing with someone, never getting angry at someone, etc.) was immature and, plainly, just incorrect. My old way of thinking about love put a lot of pain upon my heart that created a lot of hatred. And I don’t think my old way of thinking about love was even correct.
I believe that guy was on to something. I believe that love is a lot deeper than that. Way deeper than that. He said that he was struggling to find the words to explain what it was that he wanted to explain, and I feel the same way at the moment. I’ll bring up a conversation that I had with my best friend recently, Devin Stevens.
I called him up one night cause I hadn’t talked to him in a while. I was thinking some things about religion, and I know he’s been thinking and writing about it for a very long time now, so I just wanted to hear some of his take on religion. I asked him some questions. And he told me some personal things that I won’t break to anyone, but he’s planning on making these public in a giant religious treatise that he’s writing, so I look forward to seeing the complete piece myself. But as we talked, I came to the conclusion that, even among Christians, each person’s faith is different from one another. Christians experience Christianity differently. That was one thing that seemed very clear to me in that conversation. And I was very relieved.
It made me think of politics. In politics, force is used to make everyone “equal”, but it destroys their humanity and makes them miserable in the process. It made sense to me that, much like humans need freedom to experience the fullness of their diverse, individualistic humanity, that this humanitarian diversity and individuality would be experienced with God as well. God has made us individual, and diverse. That’s got to mean something holy. God created the Earth, and made us out of dirt. Despite our sins, I don’t think that God hates humans, nor do I believe that He hates the Earth. He created it, after all. No, most of the things He hates are common sense, I believe, just like that guy who came by my house was talking about. Stuff that most of us just naturally hate, like murder, or theft. Basic, common sense stuff. Yes, that is the stuff that God hates. That is the stuff that a loving God hates. That’s the stuff that love hates.
My old conservative ways of thinking about love and God, I have now come to believe, were wrong. There was too much emphasis on “completeness”. Too much emphasis, in effect, on the impossible. Which led me to failure, which led me to fear. But the emotion which plagued me the most about love, the old way I thought about love, was guilt. When I was younger, if I would’ve heard a story like that man told me today, I would’ve felt extremely guilty. My life has been nothing like his. And yet, this man was showing me love, and saying that we had a common bond. I would’ve felt guilty about that when I was young. But the truth is that I’ve had a much easier life than he’s had. It does make me feel bad for him, although I hope he can turn his life around, and I hope that what he said in our meeting today continues with him throughout the rest of his life. But I didn’t feel guilty today. I didn’t feel guilty for not having the troubled experiences that he has had. I just felt lucky. I felt blessed. I didn’t feel like a “better” human being than him, but I felt absolutely blessed. I said to myself “I have been lucky. I have been advantaged.” But that didn’t make me feel any need to bring myself down to any level that he has been at. Rather, it made me realize, or rather, it made me continue to think what I’ve been thinking about for a while now, that life is about taking advantage. It isn’t about “taking advantage” of someone else, but it is about “taking advantage” of yourself. Life is about taking advantage of your natural, God-given abilities and desires. That’s how human progress moves forward. That’s how things get better. When people experience the fullness of their humanity, and become the best that they can be. Not out of fear, but out of love for the world. Striving for improvement, maximizing their natural skill-sets. Bringing other people joy. The key is to accept what you have. Accept whatever it is that you have. And the key is to eliminate false humility. The key to love is accepting it when other people give it to you, for whatever reason that they do. Accept it, and move on to the next thing in your life.
For me, I’m pretty smart. Halfway decent with words. I can’t feel guilty about these things simply because I’m smarter than someone else, or a better communicator than someone else. And that lack of guilt on my part does not mean that I don’t love someone else. Advantage and disadvantage aren’t signals of love. Guilt isn’t even love. Love was that moment when this man told me very personal things, I listened to him, and then we hugged each other. The differences in our lives, past and present, had nothing to do with love. I shouldn’t feel guilty for having a much easier life than he had, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish him the best of luck in the future, and feel sympathy for his past.
That’s the biggest thing I need to continue developing in my life: how to take advantage of myself. How to remove anxieties and guilts, and be the best goddamned Cody Alan Reel that I can fucking be, with whatever it is that I have been given.
I’m sure I’ve heard this a lot growing up, and I’m sure I’ve dismissed it frequently, but all of those phrases about “Life being about the experience”, and “Living life to the fullest”, make a lot more sense to me now. The lesson didn’t come from the church. But I’m going to continue to take full advantage of myself, and figure out how to feel emotionally about myself as I go along. There has been a large transformation on that front as the years have gone on. A complete 180. A lot of blessings, and a lot of introspection. It’s a process. It’s an odd mixture of myself and things outside of my control. I’m going to think about it and write about it as much as I can stand it. As much as it brings me satisfaction to do so. But that’s part of my individual journey here on Earth.
I wish everyone the best of luck, and I hope that everyone can take full advantage of themselves.
He sat down at his computer desk. Resilient; braced by the cold. The deadly stars signaling down upon him a hope that science couldn’t understand. Hope couldn’t be calculated numerically. But what could be measured, in a way, deadened the beauty of the firmament. Beautiful mystery became cold, deadly reality. The curiosity of childhood became the death of adulthood. Rotting in the ground. What do the dead have to live for, really?
The cold awakens a man. I could never understand, for the life of me, why anyone would want to live in the arctic or anarctic. The cold, to me, meant school. Wee hours of the morning, shaken from a warm bed, and comforting sleep. To painful fingers, sharp breaths, and crotchetiness. Or snow, which just meant more painful fingers. (“Snowmen” were always an overrated disappointment). Cold was always the enemy.
And yet, not quite. There were always the moments, before the snow would fall, which produced a magical wonder that I still can’t explain. The falling of the leaves, the sharpness of the cold, awakened the sunshine within my heart. There was just something about the fall. Movies, set during the fall, produced this same enjoyment. The cold weather, and the dead leaves, woke me. I knew that more death was coming; more dead limbs, more grass consumed by the white coffin. But that made the dying all the more precious. Those moments, before death, were beautiful. There’s always a potential for profundity during dying. Tragic are those who don’t experience that during their final moments. I pray for enlightenment for all during their final moments…
Then, things came alive, and everyone was happy. I suppose I never really complained about it. But the feeling was not the same as in autumn. It was unexplainable. Perhaps a mental disorder. More likely, just a personality quirk. But there’s no time of year quite like autumn. It makes me wish it would never end. I suppose it is like living each day as if it were your last. No one thinks about death during the spring, when everything is being born. Nor the summer, when things are being watered (if not drowned) by torrentials. They think about death in the fall, and, most of all, in the winter. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that spring and summer are more well-liked than autumn and winter. But I’m always just a little bit weird.
There’s usually a lot of good in the summer. Swimming, and camping. Ice cream, cold drinks. Flame-grilled animals wafting through the hot air; sports. Lots of fun. But there’s not the mood that autumn provides. Sure, summer produces its own mood. But autumn produces this different mood. One might call it “pure elation”. The same feeling others feel during the spring, or the summer. It isn’t about piling up leaves, and jumping in them. It’s the fact that the dead leaves exist at all. Hanging from the trees, providing the backdrop for ominous imaginings. Halloween is the time for monsters, afterall. It could be the fact that autumn is the beginning of family time. Holidays are always an excuse to get together with family, and the end of the year seems to include more family time than any other time of year (of course, there’s the 4th of July. But the “holiday season” is Halloween, but, more importantly and seriously, Thanksgiving and Christmas (important and serious simply because of the contrasting moods of Thanksgiving and Christmas as compared to Halloween. Halloween is still important)). And, as always, there’s more delicious food than any other time of year (unless you’re always around an older woman who enjoys cooking, and enjoys satisfying her family with her food). But yet, there’s something more.
Autumn is the time of year where you can be inside, or outside, and still be comfortable. The storms of the summer have long gone. No more clouds. No more thunder and lightning, or deluge. Clear skies. Clear, cold, starry skies. Comfortable inside, and out. Inside providing that warm, sleepy comfort, which becomes more pronounced when the trees are sticks, and the ground is ivory. But the outdoors become a nuisance. A hazard. Ice is the “name of the game”. And the ice can destroy your indoor comforts, until some pitiful men come and help make your inside more bearable.
But the autumn isn’t that severe. It’s cold enough to wake you up, but not cold enough to make you want to kill yourself. Not quite cold enough to get deathly ill (unless you’re stupid enough to still try to swim in the summer lakes and rivers). No, autumn is the time between awakenness and sleepiness. The time after running around, and the time before electric blankets. It is the time of laying on the grass outside, looking at the stars in the coldness, and imagining just how much colder it is up there than it is down here. Just how hot those stars really are. There’s no math, necessarily, required, to appreciate the beauty of nature. Complementary, but not comprehensive. At least not to this dreaming poet.
The time is coming for sweaters and heaters and feasts and family and presents and pine. And there’s another special time, sooner than this, where everyone pretends to be monsters, and laughs, high on chocolate, or punch. Gorging on more fictional blood than normal; a time when only the most staunch “Christians” oppose the gorefest. One would hope, and pray, that even the most Conservative among us let loose, and enjoy a bloody flick this time a year. God, I would hope so…
I know, to many, spring is their favorite time of the year, because the plants come back to life from the frost. I can only stare at a tree for so long until I get bored. “Spring” means “clean”: it’s time for the dust of winter to go. I suppose I’m much to lazy to actually enjoy cleaning. I do enjoy it when I finally feel like taking the initiative, but to do it constantly diminishes the beauty of it. I don’t want eclipses to become mundane.
To some, summer is their favorite time of the year, much for the same reason: being outdoors, grilling or swimming or camping or hiking. Connecting with nature. Some enjoy being in “summer” constantly, and wish to be there, even if they can’t. They never get enough of beaches and bikinis, and, sometimes, booze.
To some insane souls, winter is their favorite time of year. Their unholy souls are warmed by the white coffin. Perhaps they are sadists who enjoy seeing people slip upon the ice. (Some people enjoy being where winter exists year-round, to see how “tough” they really are. Admirable, but I’m much too soft for that. At least, at the moment).
But autumn is where my heart lies. Could it be because this is the time of year where the color orange boldly thrusts itself upon an unsuspecting populace? Pumpkins and Crayola drawings of leaves from children and candy corns? Orange does have a way of catching the eye. The orange of October turns into the brown of November, into the white of December. (Interesting how, in this case, white means death. Normally, black, its opposite, means death. But aren’t there some old sayings about seeing a bright white light when one dies? We pretend to know what death is in October, with black everywhere, and zombies, and actors pretending to be murderers. But December is when everything really dies. It becomes dead and blinding, almost like actually dying, according to many accounts of Christians. Could that be why many Christians hate Halloween? Not only the demons, but the fact that it is the time of pretending to be dead, instead of actually dying, which is what their entire lives revolve around?) But, oddly enough, people’s spirits come to life in the autumn. No, in truth, they never really die. Souls are alive in the spring, alive in the summer, alive in the fall, and, yes, even alive in the winter. An excuse to cuddle up with a blanket, and just be happy. Remember that? Before you had to go to school, remember how you felt when you came inside after playing outside in the snow? Remember how happy that made you? You could’ve avoided the outside altogether. But it wouldn’t have been as good. Isn’t that interesting? The cold made you happier to be warm. It provided you with a comfort that you normally didn’t feel. That you took for granted. That’s rather interesting, isn’t it?
Some of the perverted (mainly Conservatives, as it were), will use that fact to suggest that we should all stand outside in the snow, naked, catching all kinds of sicknesses, to appreciate our heaters inside. I’m not that perverted and sadistic. Rather, I’m honest enough, and good enough of a person, to merely say that I enjoy the autumn. No, I love the autumn. There’s no other time in the world like it. I don’t know how I’d feel if I ever lived in a place that didn’t have autumn. I fear it would drive me mad. I love this time of year, and I plan on enjoying it for the short time it makes a visit. I hope, maybe, if you’re one who doesn’t enjoy the changing of the season, particularly when it gets colder, that I’ve maybe caused you to reconsider your position. Take in that sharp breath of cold air, and wake up. Or go inside and have a hot drink, if you wish. I think I’ll stare at the stars for a while longer, and soak in the frozen canvas. And, besides: isn’t that what makes paintings so special? Hell, not only paintings, but photographs, and books, and movies? The fact that they are frozen in time, and constant? Never-changing? We know what to expect from them once we’ve experienced them. And that, in itself, is comforting. It’s just refreshing to be slapped in the face by cold air every once in a while, as well.
I was introduced to the concept of “evil” at a very young age. It was introduced to me through religious conservatism, as well as through television news. Both were saturated with incessant talk of evil things that people were doing all around the world. When my religion taught me that I was evil, when I watched “the news”, I equated my evil with their evil. I equated myself to the murderers on the television, even though I hadn’t killed anyone. If we’re all lost as sinners, then who cares about comparisons?
Just thinking about evil is exhausting. There is no way to create a perfect man. How do we “measure” ourselves as good? Or, better yet, is there value in measuring how “good” we are?
In the past, I would’ve said “Yes”. I measured my good (as well as the good of the whole world) to see who among us, including myself, was going to Heaven. But I never knew what that amount of good needed to get into Heaven was. But I measured away anyway, completely dissatisfied, as the only result I came up with was that “None of us are good enough.”
Well, my religious beliefs have changed over time. And so have my ideas about “good”. But evil still bugs me. I still notice it everywhere. I seem to notice it all of the time. I don’t think it is really possible to ignore it. Throughout the day, I think everyone will, at least one time throughout that day, say “Damn. That isn’t right.” Evil is simply too prevalent to ignore. Sure, when we’re playing with our kids, or reading a book, we aren’t thinking about someone getting raped or murdered in the world. But surely it’s happening. There will be no “end” to it until we die.
Since none of us are sure when we are going to die, and surely we don’t want to think about death constantly, what do we have to look forward to? Why does “looking forward” matter? What do we have but to “look forward”? We look forward as well as looking back. We pleasantly reminisce about the past, while being thankful for getting passed the negative times. We dread the future, while looking forward to what we believe we will enjoy about it. There’s no “constant settling point” with regards to the past and the future (besides the fact that we are alive in the present). There’s no “perspective” that ultimately takes precedent. The past, the present, and the future engage all of our minds. But there’s something special to be said about “moving on”. To hoping. And to just being thankful. You can’t be thankful for anything when your whole life is spent anxiously lamenting and condemning the lack of perfection in the present. Sadly, even this can be taken over by anxiety. There’s nothing that anxiety can’t ruin. It’s a shame.
I should state that, once again, I’m not against lamentation completely. Of course, I’m not completely (there’s that word again) against anxiety. Both serve important functions. But there’s a difference between compassionately bringing up a serious subject that needs attention, and being an asshole about it that no one wants to listen to (being an asshole, I should know this). The latter ultimately boils down to a fear of the lack of “perfection”. I think, ultimately, the motivation comes into play, as well as the “soundness” of one’s argument when one brings up an issue. Is it objectively an issue? That should be argued. After that, why are you bringing up the issue? That should be discussed as well. After those are discussed, it can then be determined whether or not the issue being put on the table is worth “tackling”. Even with this, there will, ultimately, be breakdowns in communication, as ends will conflict with ends, means will conflict with means, etc.
My solution to this is: do what you want. If you want to argue, then argue. If you don’t, then don’t. One can try to bring to the attention of others as many wrongdoings as one can. My measurement is “However many one wants to”. Does it bring you some sense of joy to bring a problem to light? Do you receive something from it psychologically? If so, bring it up. But if you do not gain anything from it, I think the whole situation is fruitless. The nurse that tends to others as a “duty” without getting any pleasure from caring for others is missing the point of her helping others. Of course, they are being helped. That’s important. But the issue is: why wouldn’t that bring one joy? That is the even deeper issue at hand. If one is compassionate, wouldn’t helping others out bring that person joy? (Personal Happiness as a Virtue).
I’m not being stabbed right now. That’s a good thing. I focus on doing things in the present. And that’s what we all do. We all go through our day, working our jobs, reading books, doing a whole range of actions without thinking of the people getting violently attacked throughout the world.
Many would see this as a bad thing. Many people spend their whole lives pointing out these wrongs. Indeed, I would have to say I’m included among these “Hey, this is bad” pointer-outers. Should it not be the case that each and every single one of us should point out each and every single wrongdoing that we are aware of constantly? Wouldn’t this be a good thing?
In the first place, most “moral” ideas never take into account man’s limited nature. Man has to sleep. Poop. I’m not going to be able to help a man getting stabbed while I’m asleep. Nor when I’m pooping. What if the murder is happening hundreds, if not thousands of miles away? What if I have to poop? Not only that, but even if I didn’t have to poop, am I really to fly all the way around the world, only to risk my own life to save someone else? I’d certainly find it noble if someone decided to do that themselves. But should I do it for the “overall good”?
I have reasons for not flying to Africa to help out, for example, someone getting murdered, or for not flying anywhere to help out anyone suffering any kind of injustice. Why? Well, I don’t want to spend the money on a plane ticket. Nor drive to the airport. Figure out where I’m going to stay once I got to wherever I was going. Not to mention, I’d, more than likely, be putting myself in danger. What if I, for example, get kidnapped? Who will help me? My point is that when it comes to “good” and “action”, there has to be some other way to think about it besides the “perfection” attitude: that everyone must spend all of their time and energy to combating every injustice in the world all at once until every justice is eliminated. That is impossible. But, more importantly, I don’t want to do it.
This, of course, does not mean that I am completely against helping out people in need. I, personally, am not going to go out of my way to search for people in need (I commend those that do), but if I see someone get hit by a car, I’d, of course, have no problem with dialing 911. It isn’t that I’m against any person receiving help at all, but I am against an attitude of “moral perfection”. Words like “perfect”, “complete”, etc., really can’t be applied to humans; especially when “good” is involved (this, of course, does not mean that punishment should never happen).
I learned a long time ago that nobody is perfect (I don’t think I learned it in a particularly healthy way). But I was asked “WWJD (What would Jesus do?)” I was taught that I should live a “Godly” life. I spent much of my life being worried over “doing enough.” But enough is enough.
There comes a point when we have to accept our own limitations. I certainly don’t ever think we should say “Welp, that man raped that lady and stole her purse. Oh well. What are ya gonna do.” In an immediate circumstance, when one becomes aware of a wrong, it is certainly commendable to try to “right” the wrong. And there’s various different ways to go about trying to “right a wrong”. But the key to this and what I mentioned earlier is anxiety. Anxiety relating to “perfection”. Of course, it is perfectly natural to feel anxious if one witnesses an attack. But why do you feel anxious? You feel anxious for your own safety, anxious about the health of the one attacked, anxious about the safety of anyone else that may happen to run into the attacker, etc. Anxiety isn’t the problem, but why are we anxious, and what are we anxious about?
“Moralistically”, “good” must be done because one is unsettled by the lack of perfection or perfect good. Any philosophical axiom based on “perfection” must be rejected. We are not God. We don’t have the strength of Superman, the speed of The Flash, etc. Perfection is a destructive goal. It becomes counter-productive. The purpose of doing good is that…well, it is just good. It spreads good will throughout humanity. Compassion is natural and genuine. But the idea of “perfection” waters down “compassion”. Imagine you are a nurse. There are one-hundred seriously injured people under your care, all wailing out in immense pain. “Good perfection”, besides being the case in one definition that no one would ever suffer anything negative ever, would require you to be able to at least completely alleviate the pain of all one-hundred patients instantaneously. This simply isn’t possible. The “ultimate good” would be that no one ever experience pain. The “perfectly good” action would be helping everyone at the same time. But these are, quite obviously, impossible. Striving towards an impossible goal is pointless. Life is not about “the struggle”. “The struggle” just exists: we don’t have to manufacture it. In fact, our whole lives are spent alleviating “the struggle”. If “the struggle” is such a noble idea, why do we all spend so much time trying to relieve ourselves from it? We naturally hate our human condition. Conservatives exacerbate this problem by perverting the human condition, and telling us that we must enjoy it: that God is “testing our faith”, and that we should “be thankful for it”. That our suffering gives us credit that we later redeem to God when we die to get into Heaven. (In addition, according to these same conservatives, there’s a billion little things that will take away this “credit”. I think the fact that we all naturally hate “the human condition” says a lot about these perverted conservatives). Liberals exacerbate the problem of the human condition by striving for perfection to pursue the good. They equate compassion with perfection: if we don’t spend every hour of every day fighting poverty, rape, and racism, then we aren’t doing enough good. And, once again, “enough” is only a complete elimination of poverty, rape, and racism.
The problem, once again, is one of “perfection”, or “the perfect good”. “Perfection”, “completeness”, etc., are words that should not be part of one’s ethical vocabulary. One can never be “completely good”, or “perfect”. “Good”, “helpful” action should never be based on perfection, but should rather be accepted as they are: as “good”, and as “helpful”. One man being saved from starvation is good, even if there are countless others that are, at the same time, not being saved from starvation. We must not lose sight of “the good” simply because we can never achieve “perfection”.
Of course, it is true that, in the Christian belief, perfection is required to be saved from eternal damnation. But it is also true that, in the Christian belief, Christ died as a forgiveness of sins as this perfect requirement. That is Christianity. Christianity is “Perfection is required. Welp, here you go. With love.” That’s it. That’s the “extent” of the “perfection”. A nurse can’t alleviate the severe pain of one-hundred patients simultaneously. I suppose God could. But what if He doesn’t? What is the nurse to do? Should she sit around “believing” that she can simultaneously alleviate the pain of all at once? Or should she focus on each patient, one at a time, doing what she can with compassion?
The thing “to do” is what you want. Eat what you want, read what you want, do what you want. If you want to do evil (besides the fact that you’d do it whether or not you had my approval, or anyone else’s), people are going to want to bring you to justice. I think that is the ultimate point of all of this. Expecting everyone to be a sheriff, an executioner, etc., is impossible nonsense. It is an impossible “moral” goal. Someone will want to bring murderers to justice. Someone will want to be a nurse. The key word is “want”. People’s wants will find a way to meet people’s needs; whether people “want” to get paid, or “need” medical care, things find a way to get done. Never perfectly, nor completely, but they happen enough to be significant enough to garner well-deserved positive attention.
This diversity of values truly is a testament to how peaceful coexistence can happen at all. We’ll go back and forth, arguing over how to increase “the good” and decrease “the bad”, but a perfect, complete elimination of “the bad” will never work.
True compassion does not need an anxious duty to ignite action.
“Perfect love casts out fear.”
I have always scoffed at the phrase “Life is not about the destination, but the journey.” No doubt, as is the case with everything, this was influenced by being raised in religion. I was introduced to the idea that when I die, there is a perfect place I am going to if I do x (let’s not get into what exactly x is, as its far too complicated to elaborate here, for the purpose of this piece, in my opinion). I’ve always had a destination in mind (two, in fact). My every thought, action, and feeling was weighed against these two destinations. There was not a moment in my life where these two destinations did not have a direct, powerful influence over me. I believe this “destination-mindedness” has bled over into other areas.
“I’m in a hurry to get things done. I rush and rush until life’s no fun. All I really gotta do is live and die, but I’m in a hurry and don’t know why.” The truth that everyone is going to die someday, including me, has always made me aware of the sands of time ticking away. Anxiety has been my modus operandi for my entire life. Everything I do, I just want to get over with, and just get to the end. As I wish to write, this attitude starts to creep in. I ask myself: What is the final destination with regards to writing?
I love listening to successful people (especially artists). Over and over, I’ve always heard that they are never satisfied with what they’re doing. They always want more. They always strive to get better and better. I thought that was dumb as a child. Not only did I think that rich and famous successful people were the scourge of the earth, but I thought the idea of living life without a destination was ludicrous. Why would the ambiguity of “getting better” be a more valuable “destination” than an actual concrete destination? (Measured by what, God only knows).
My destination of choice is to make a living doing a job that I love. That is my main goal in life. But as I ponder what my life would be like if I had “enough money to last a lifetime”, I think: what would I do with the rest of my life then? If I, at age 25, were an infintillionaire tomorrow, what would I do? What would my emotional state be? I would certainly feel more secure, which is a gigantic motivating factor at this point in my life. But what would I do? It is so easy for people who are having a difficult time financially to think money is “the end”. But that thought depresses me. What do you mean “the end”? Surely you aren’t going to die immediately after making such-and-such amount of money, correct? What are you going to do? What are you going to spend your money on, and when? How much? How are you going to spend your time? It is very easy for people to enviously scoff at the rich, but it is a legitimate question. It is not a 100% guarantee that any amount of money will make someone a certain “level” of happy. Of course, it’s foolish to not acknowledge the obvious benefits of money. If I had a certain level of money (which I’m not quite sure what that would be), it would certainly alleviate many of the problems that I have currently. But I am quite sure that it would not touch others. It’s easy for me to say this now, but I do not anticipate that my life would change that much from how it is now. I would imagine that I would be happier as compared to thinking about working 6 days a week, 8 hours a day, at the alternatives where I live (it also depends on what I would be doing to make that amount of money, how much I enjoyed that work, etc.). But, for the moment, I have a great deal of financial security. I realize this is limited, so I obviously think about the future. If I were to have a significant amount more money than I have now, I think I’d still be doing the same things I’m doing today. I don’t like the idea of flaunting my wealth around with expensive cars and luxury items. I’d probably fix the house up a bit, and save the rest. Maybe take a couple of trips, which would be different than I’m doing currently. But I anticipate that I’d still have the desire to write and create comedy for myself. I don’t think money would change that fact, because I’d still need something to do. Of course, I’d have more money to spend, and, thus, more options. Perhaps I can’t even conceive of what those options could be. But I want to write, and I want to create comedy. I don’t see this changing, even if I had a quadrillion dollars in the bank. I would just need something to occupy my time, and there’s little I enjoy more (productively speaking) than writing and making myself laugh through creating various things.
This has led me to the conclusion that I finally understand (at least, in my opinion) the phrase “Life is not about the destination, but the journey.” I am starting to understand the profundity of that statement. I abhor the phrase “studies have shown”, but they have that there’s a certain amount of money which produces max happiness, and going above that (especially excessively) decreases that happiness. That makes sense to me. I can see that being the case. “Nice to see that your beliefs, whatever you base them on, matches up with science, Cody.” I’m glad I could please you.
The conflict along the journey bugs me: the fact that we all naturally go from being happy to sad to angry; that our life circumstances change; that we’re stuck doing the same necessary, mundane things from day to day. These things bore me, infuriate me, and I haven’t committed myself to focusing on anything else. I think that I have not committed myself to anything else largely due to the fact that I have believed that life is about the destination, and my destination was of a religious origin (and, of course, you can’t expect a child to have his entire life planned out for himself. I’m still young). I’ve ran away from “the world” in favor of “spirituality”, but now, I’m, very slowly, learning to appreciate the world. Learning to appreciate now. Life used to be this thing that just “got in the way” of me going to Heaven. Living here on Earth, through time, was a nuisance. Not only that, but it was actively preventing me from going to Heaven. Not only in the obvious sense that being alive means that I haven’t “died” and gone to the afterlife, but life here on Earth was affecting what was going to happen to me after I died. My entire life structure was based on certain beliefs regarding what it took to go to Heaven. Most of this involved hating the Earth. But I don’t believe that anymore. Thank God.
It is going to take a lifetime to develop a philosophy regarding my life here on Earth. Undergoing a very significant change in religious philosophy starts off with getting rid of the old ideas, and replacing them with new. I have a general sense of what the new will be, and I’m working on getting rid of the old, but there’s still a lot of unknowns regarding how I feel about the journey. That is part of the journey: figuring it out, and writing about it. That feels pretty good.
Introspection helps me with a lot of problems. Many personality traits remain the same over time, but my philosophies have certainly changed over time, and I look forward to seeing what “peak” happiness is going to look like for me. At what point in my life am I going to be the “happiest”? Is it currently? What will my life circumstances be? My job? My financial situation? My hobbies? It is very interesting to me. Once again, I have an intrinsic desire to “hurry up and get there”, but “the grass could be greener on the other side” or whatever. There’s so many variables that it doesn’t really do me any good to think about the future in that regard. Although goals are definitely important, I want to relax. I want to have more of a “journey” approach than a “destination” approach. Ignoring people is very hard for me: especially if they speak confidently about something I haven’t given much thought. This is certainly the case when I hear, in my head, all of those that will tell me how the fact I’m not preparing for the future now is going to make my life suck in the future, I’m going to be saddled with an immeasurable guilt, that could’ve been avoided if I would’ve only taken step x right now-look. We both know that we don’t know shit about the future. Yeah yeah, I know. Experience. “Odds”. Blah blah blah. I have my own philosophies that I want to develop, for my own reasons. I am done uncritically accepting the “advice” of others to the detriment of myself.
The “destination” stress of a religious variety that plagued me in my youth was also of the “future here on earth” variety. I’ve written about that before.
I have always been susceptible to abandoning myself to do what others advise me to do. It is traditionally been hard for me to tell myself “No” with regards to taking actions that are suggested to me. A problem is that I haven’t been able to explain to myself the problems that I had with their suggestions. That just changes over time, with age, in my case. I feel stress when others tell me that I need to change what I’m doing, and even more stress when I try to take their advice. Something has to give. My wants matter. I’m currently not thick-skinned enough for my taste. It has been a work in progress for a long time now.
Of course, the destination that I have in mind is the same one a lot of people share: being wealthy, and relaxing in a gigantic house. Having a “permanent vacation”. Filling time with the same things I’m doing currently, but without financial anxiety. I’m not going to let anyone convince me to have a different goal. Write about the problems that you have with my philosophies among yourselves: don’t tell me, because I don’t fucking care.
I want to see how my writing develops over time. How my use of language changes, how my tone changes. I’m happy with my non-fiction up to this point, but I want to write a lot more of it. I want to get crazier, smarter, more sarcastic, and more organized with it. As my best friend has said, you have to get better at something if you do it enough. You won’t remain stagnant. I’m banking on that as far as writing is concerned. I also need to read a lot more, but that’s a whole nother story for another day. I still have a sense of hopelessness that things aren’t going to matter, anyway. No matter how many times people write about, say, how unnecessary nuclear weapons are, they’ll still be developed, and still threaten us all. I personally find it pointless to write from a “change-the-world” standpoint, because I don’t think it is going to work. That isn’t to say that words don’t have a profound impact. But, from my point of view, I accept that there are always going to be shitheads that try to fuck everything up for the rest of us, and there ain’t much I can do about it. I can whine and complain, but other than that, not much is going to happen. If someone is willing to twist my arm off, say, for something I wrote, I don’t think any amount of screaming in pain is going to change their mind. There’s certainly a certain amount of inevitability when it comes to evil, regardless of how depressing that fact is. The goal is to avoid the arm-twisting for as long as possible by as many people as possible disseminating the fact that arm-twisting is evil to as many as possible, and then, we just have to hope for the best. A fucking miracle, as it were. I don’t know if that will be enough while I’m here, but I suppose this is one instance where I think it works to be “destination-minded” as far as the afterlife is concerned. When I die, none of what happened here on Earth is going to matter to me. There’s no telling how long I’m going to have to wait to reach that point, but whenever it happens, it will last forever, so I guess there’s one thing to look forward to. The only problem is figuring out what exactly to do along the journey to getting there. It truly does take a lifetime to find out, for better or worse. That feels like such a long time to figure something out. I’m not sure how much I’m looking forward to it. I guess it all depends on what happens within it.
My overall approach to my journey is to coast. This attitude was developed over the course of my childhood, when things were beyond my control, and no matter what I did, I could not alleviate the bad. My actions did not help the circumstances surrounding me one bit. I had to accept the circumstances, and become depressed. That helped foster my apathetic attitude, which, regardless of your beliefs, really did help me out. Of course, it is tragic that it came to that, but “it is what it is”. I frequently found that the harder I tried at something, the worse I got. I didn’t have an overall philosophy that I was longing for. I was confused, and that made me miserable. Apathy helped me disconnect from negative external circumstances, and that helped me develop intrinsically as well. When I failed and failed and failed, no matter how hard I tried to succeed, I finally developed apathy. In this “moralistic cliche” world in which we live, that’s outright blasphemy. But it helped me out more than I can say. “Apathy” has been my modus operandi for a long time now, and it has helped me out tremendously. I’ve coasted, and been very lucky. But, as I’ve written about before, I’ve uncritically listened to people enough in my lifetime. It’s time to be more stubborn and judicious.
There is something about freedom that just produces happiness within oneself. Freedom just produces this happiness. This good feeling. Success, of course, produces yet more good feelings and happiness. But even separate from success, there is a happiness that just naturally comes from independence. It is so intrinsic to our very existence; makes up our core. It is the “will”, and the exercise of that will produces a natural happiness. Of course, we make mistakes, feel miserable about it, beat ourselves up about our stupidity, etc. But, still yet, there is a happiness that comes from the exercising of one’s own will. Because, as I’ve elaborated on before, who cares more about my happiness than me? Who cares about one’s happiness more so than oneself? This is where “do-gooders” will pipe up and say “Some people don’t know what is best for them”, etc. etc. And it is certainly the case that many with self-destructive lives are happy after someone intervenes. But the point is that every action taken is an attempt to achieve a greater state of happiness, even if it doesn’t work. This doesn’t mean that mistakes will not happen, but every person is always attempting to make himself happier than he is currently. When he’s hungry, he eats in an attempt to satisfy himself, even if what he eats leads him to get food poisoning, and he’s worse off than he was before he ate. The point is that every person attempts to increase their satisfaction, even if they ultimately don’t. How can anyone argue against the good of that? Not successfully, I would argue. The nature of man is to have a will and exercise it.
Humanity is so complex that writing about it is a great chore. It truly takes a special mind to do so effectively. There’s so many different paths to choose from, so many varying lengths of the different paths, and the destination is so often unknown. One can go to medical school for many years, incurring great debts, and then regret it later on in life. Someone else can consider that experience the best decision they ever made. Newborns die all the time, while some live to be 10. Others, 20. Still yet others, 30, and some even make it to be 100. We desire to make sense of this. This inequality bugs many, if not most of us. It introduces us to tragedy, and unfairness. We seek to understand it. At least, for a little bit. Then, we find other things to cheer us up. If it makes one happy to continue to ponder these tragic inequalities of the world, I would say continue to do so. But if one does not enjoy doing so, but feels obligated to do so, I would urge that individual to move on. In my opinion, “Help” really helps when the helper feels some satisfaction to do so. If an individual has a gun pointed to his head, and is required to “help” another, there’s clearly something lost in that. If we should strive towards being more “loving” people, we can’t do that by pointing guns at each other’s heads to arrive at that point. Does that mean I dislike guns? No. Defense is different from aggression. We should not be initiating violence to achieve peaceful ends. But I, personally, do not believe that one who engages in violent defense is “unethical”. Life is a balance between evil, forgiveness, and justice. This is what we have. The evil is unavoidable in a complete sense. Evil consumes us all, even when we don’t want it to, from time to time. We will all wrong other people during our lifetimes. I think it is a blessing that the degree to which we wrong others can be less severe than others. Although we are all sinners, we are not all murderers. I consider that a blessing. But when it comes to love, forgiveness, and justice, we must accept our natural humanities. Fear is natural within us as humans, it is true. But it is also true that love is greater when freely given instead of being coerced. It is always better than aggressive violence.
The harder I try not to sin, the more I’m aware of my sin. It consumes me to the point of hopelessness and depression. And anger. Why is that what God would rather have me do than enjoy the good times as they naturally occur throughout the course of my life? If God cares about me, why would He want me to torture myself? Surely there are some similarities between humans and God, if we were “made in His image”? Why would our concept of caring for someone give us a feeling of compassion, whereas when God enters that equation, it leads to misery and fear? I don’t buy it. God does not torture us because He loves us. Therefore, we should not torture ourselves just because we love God. If God has forgiven us for our transgressions, as Christians believe happened through Christ, then why can’t we forgive ourselves?
I don’t know anything more about my journey through life currently, so I’m going to end this piece here. All I hope for currently is that my pieces continue to get better, and that I’ll be able to recognize it. That’s probably the biggest step along my “journey” thus far. Is this step leading to the destination? I have no idea. But the destination makes me happy, the journey is making me happy, so that’s what I’m going to do.
(I may update this if there are any other interesting developments. I love how freedom finds a way to be productive. And the elites will have you believe that (relatively) free speech on the internet is a bad thing. I can’t wait to observe them in Hell from Heaven).
Youtube commentor “samthepoor“: “This is a metaphor for the obsession with happiness and optimism that overtook the west in the 70s and 80s (and alive now more than ever). People today are convinced that if they’re not happy, they’ve failed, which is one of the most important conditions for the vicious cycle of depression that many are stuck in today.
Ren and Stimpy was right on the money. The methodical, mathematical dancing alludes to the way in which we’re all made to conform to that standard. The part about the shooting in the song is about the psychosis that can occur when someone is stuck in the contradiction of today’s ‘happiness standards’. The painful sight of seeing Ren smash himself with a hammer is an example of the self-destructive tendencies that result from the contradiction.
These motherfuckers were smart. There’s a lot of examples from old Disney cartoons containing deep cultural commentary.
‘Mankind does not strive for happiness; only the Englishman does that.’ – Nietzsche”
Youtube commentor “Shogun Melon“: “You might be overthinking a ‘kids cartoon.'”
Youtube commentor “ZizzTheCREATOR“: “While I don’t like Neitzsche, I basically agree with your analysis…however I’m pretty sure there is no deliberate message with this cartoon since John K admitted on his blog that he’s pretty much a crass entertainer who isn’t fond of social commentary or preaching this or that through his work. Case in point, his beloved George Liquor character, a no-nonsense Bible-thumping ‘conservative’-type, isn’t made out to be a straight mockery but has a certain sympathetic quality.”
Me: “I don’t think it’s so much about being happy or striving for happiness as it is what should make one happy that is the problem. It’s the idea that regardless of what the situation is that we should be happy that is the problem. Of course, it is perfectly healthy to experience sadness, anger, and the litany of other human emotions (I would argue that experiencing those emotions are simply attempts to take unfortunate circumstances and become happy (sadness as an admittance of pain, which one must accept before one can move on and truly be happy instead of delusionally believing that there isn’t a problem at all, which only makes the matter worse internally; believing suicide to be a ‘relief’ from the pain, and an attempt to be ‘happy for once’, etc. etc.)). But happiness as an end goal isn’t the problem: indeed, I think that’s what, ultimately, motivates all human action.
But the obsession with moralistic cliches like ‘Money can’t buy happiness’, for example, makes you wonder why you hate your own poverty, and then you suffer an existential crisis: ‘If I’m not supposed to care about money, then why do I hate being poor?’ (Or you’re told what should make you happy (such as having a family, devoting yourself to God, etc. etc.), and then, when those things actually don’t make you happy, you feel flawed. That’s the problem).
And, of course, you can adapt. You can go after something which you think will make you happy, and find out that it doesn’t. That’s very common. But, in my opinion, the belief that pursuing happiness is the problem is false. I think that’s what motivates all human action, past and present. Of course, that poses problems, such as those who seem to be devoid of emotion, like serial killers (perhaps they are so lost that they genuinely can’t experience happiness, but will try anything in a desperate attempt to achieve it, like murdering someone. I don’t know. Or, of course, perhaps a murderer is genuinely happy when he or she murders). But, in my opinion, the pursuit of happiness is simply ‘human nature’, even though ‘absolute happiness’ is impossible to achieve. I personally think that’s our ‘purpose‘, but that’s a much harder belief for me to attempt to ‘prove’.
The idea that we can achieve ‘absolute happiness’ (that’s, essentially, what the culture problem we’re talking about amounts to) if only we ‘adapt our expectations’, ‘our desires‘, etc. is the problem. ‘Moralism’ is the problem: strict adherence to ‘moral’ ideas that are contrary to one’s own nature and impossible to perfectly abide by (‘stop complaining and just be thankful’, ‘look on the bright side’ (stated as a divine edict), etc. etc.). It’s the attitude of taking advice that can be sound in certain circumstances, and expecting to abide by that advice, at all times, or else you are failing (pretty much the basis for the attitudes of, specifically, much Christian theology) that is the problem.
The idea that just because a ‘work of art’ is sold as a ‘kid’s cartoon’ somehow means that its creators didn’t have intrinsic motivations separate from the ‘selling point’ of the cartoon is ludicrous, Shogun.
You gotta love Youtube, where you can have a philosophical conversation about Ren and Stimpy.”
Never before in my life have I felt more in control of my life. And never have I felt more terrified (well……maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’m sure my recollection of past anxieties is quite understated, now that I’ve given it more than five seconds of thought (it’s odd how sometimes, it’s hard to forget what you want to, then you want to remember what was previously hard to forget. Being a human is fucking weird, dude)). Due to the nature of childhood, whereby you do what you are told by guides, and due to being taught about how shitty my decisions are in the eyes of God, I’ve coasted. I’ve been very lucky in this coast thus far, but that time has come to an end. The “free ride” is over.
I finally understand that I am free. I am free from the punishment of my sins, past, present, and future. I am beginning to realize what “control” actually means. And I’m growing tired of “guidance”.
I try to write about things that bug me. Because it feels important to do so. I never feel like I have the right words to say what I want to say. I fear this struggle will stay with me forever. But I’m getting tired of common rhetoric. And I’m getting tired of trying to figure it all out.
I need a way out. I need a way out of the intellectual mire I have been in for so long. I don’t know what this way out is. Once again, it feels important for me to be mired in it to a certain extent. But I realize this is futile in many regards. But, I also realize it is valuable. I don’t have a good perspective about this at the moment, and it is bogging me down.
Why write this when no one reads it? Why write at all when there’s so much to be read? Why talk about anything when it’s been talked about countless times before? When it’s been ignored? Debated? What’s the point? I really don’t fucking know anymore. But I’m finally at that point in my life where I realize I need something. I don’t know what it is. But I need something. I need something meaningful. I need to find happiness. And I finally realize this must, ultimately, come from within.
I listen and learn as much as I can. I get frustrated, hit metaphorical walls, and distract myself from it all. I try to contribute valuable ideas. I wish I was like God. I wish I had all of the perfect answers, and that I could perfectly live by them. But I’m stuck being a human instead, where I get tired, commit wrongdoings, become a victim, etc. I also happen to be a quite stubborn one.
The point is, I want some direction. I’m not necessarily saying I want you to give me one, because I know I will reject your advice. But I feel like something large is missing in my life. I want to write about it as much as possible, to find out what that is. I think a part of it is just growing up. I’m tired of letting the misfortunes of my past define me today. I want to move on from it all. And I want to write about it all. And I’m going to dream of financial success. I’m going to write ideas that no one cares about, and dream of success. I’m a mess. My writing is a mess. My mind is a mess. My mental and physical health is a mess. Perhaps I’m becoming more mature, because all of this isn’t crippling yet. Isn’t that what being human is largely about? About coping with these sorts of things? I suppose I’m finally “inaugurated” to adulthood. But I don’t like most adults, and I don’t want to be one of them.
I have to figure out what I’m going to do, and at this point, I’m not sure what that is. My physical health will probably give out on me before I do figure it out (in which case, I won’t have to worry about it), because I can’t have the discipline to avoid a tasty taco for more than a couple of days; and then, I don’t have the discipline to avoid many of them.
I suppose I have to accept the fact that negative things are going to happen to me. Positive things, too. But the negative is here, and is coming. And I can’t figure all of this out. I want to do my best. I want to put forth effort to do something. I want to contribute something. But I’m no Messiah. Thank God. I just want to be what I want to be. I just want to be Cody. But I don’t quite know what “Cody” is yet. And, I suppose, that is what needs to be figured out.
It’s very terrifying, considering my religious background. All I hear in my head is how “bad” “Cody” is. Deep down, I understand that, despite that fact, God still loves me, and forgives me for my sins. But I think about this only from an afterlife perspective. Sure, I know I’m going to Heaven when I die. But what am I going to do while I’m here? Most of the time, I feel pretty confident in what I’m doing. But that’s until, say, my hypochondria starts to notice the wheels falling off. Is that what this is really all about? Did I have a panic attack while eating a taco and wondered if it was a heart attack? Does this have to do with thinking about politics, arguments, and history? Reading, and learning? Perspective? All of the above. I’m finally accepting that my life is my own. It’s my own to figure out. I could not have realized this without diligent studying over the past several years. But I’m truly realizing that my life is my own. And it’s fucking hard to figure it out.
I can’t even write, because I can’t explain what I’m thinking. I can’t organize it. I think about the fact that nobody reads this stuff, and wonder if I’m wasting my time, while, at the same time, realizing that I want to say it for some reason that must be important to me. I want to be informed on “issues”, but it seems pointless, as the wheels of society go round, and round, and round, to, seemingly, no conclusion. I want to write, but what? Everything I write is going to be inferior to someone else’s work. So why wouldn’t I want to read the work of others? Then, I want to do nothing. Not sure what I want to do. In some ways, it feels like I am wanting structure. But I know that as soon as I had it, I would immediately reject it and resent it. So I know that, deep down, the ultimate answer must come from within me. But I’m not informed enough yet. And I try, and I try, to make myself more informed. But it makes me more depressed. More nihilistic. And that makes me more depressed.
I wish I had everything figured out. I wish I was perfectly happy. I know these are futile. But there are aspects within these ideas that are good. I can never figure everything out, but I can learn. I can’t be happy all of the time, but this doesn’t mean that I will never be happy some of the time. And these drive me, thank God. I still have stress, and think about money, my health, my work, politics, “society”, etc. And they overtake me at times, and lead me down dark, confusing roads. But I finally understand that I don’t have to get lost down them. I am the navigator. Albeit an anxious, inexperienced one, I realize that everyone has been, and still is, to varying degrees. So, I must look forward to making my own mistakes and decisions, and look back on them with my own emotions of lamentation and fondness. I’ve got to do this on my own, even if I break into tears. I’ll probably die a penniless author due to too many cheeseburgers. But if there are no other alternatives that I’m willing to take, I must accept the results of my actions, even if I end up regretting them.
I deeply long for an escape from the evils of this world. The only permanent escape is death; but I don’t want to die yet. Does that mean I wish to reside among evil? Perhaps. This contradiction within myself bugs me. “Why would I rather live here, where I perform evil actions and have evil actions done to me, instead of killing myself and going to Heaven, where I believe I’m going?” Well, I don’t want to kill myself. But why? I think there is some uncertainty, even within my “Christian” beliefs of Heaven and Hell. I’d rather do what makes me happy (even if it kills me “in the long run”) than make a decision to end my life immediately on an unimaginably depressing level. It isn’t that I don’t want to kill myself because I think of what will happen to me when I die: it’s that I don’t want to kill myself because of everything leading up to that death. I don’t want to put myself through those moments leading up to the suicide. That isn’t worth going to Heaven sooner rather than later. I’d rather deal with the evils of this world than kill myself (of course, if I ever end up in a prison under a completely tyrannical government, or the world is on the brink of a complete nuclear war, I may reconsider my position). I realize that position sounds very strange to many, but I hope that you will ponder what I have just said and actually understand my point of view.
Finding like-minded individuals always helps with stress. You always hope that you are part of a majority, but it’s inevitable, on some level, that you will be a part of a minority. If the parts of yourself that you identify with the most are part of that minority, it can be very difficult. It can be difficult to be that isolated. It becomes downright infuriating when you feel as if you hold the ethical position to the unethical position of “the majority”. Of course, the question is begged: “What makes you think you are so much more ‘ethical’ than us?” And thus, history is introduced. The same arguments keep continuing, and, many times, the answer lies in some long-forgotten text. It feels futile to attempt to give any knowledge “to the world” because of that fact, but there’s clearly many ancient texts that are not forgotten. (Of course, for you simpletons, I’m not saying that my writing is equivalent to someone like John Locke, but clearly, as evidenced by the fact that I’m writing something, I feel as if that piece of writing has some value, and, depending on what type of writing it is, that can be intellectual value, comedic value, etc.).
Am I saying that the answer lies in books? Can the void I am experiencing be filled by literature? And, if so, why am I so hesitant to read? There’s clearly an exhaustion element to it. I guess I’m just not as smart as “avid readers” (but when I look at many popular, say, political philosophies, from “well-educated”, “well-read” and “well-published” college professors, I have to wonder how much “reading” affected their abilities to be logical thinkers (or ethical people)). When you start to go down the road of reading a book, it’s a commitment. It’s a commitment to the ideas of the author. And even if I’m interested in a book, I just get tired of going down that string of ideas for too long. I always get anxious when I’m not personally creating something (even if what I’m creating is vastly inferior to what I stop reading (or consuming in general) in order to create). I have a deep drive to be financially successful, and I can’t do that without a body of work. So I try to create works. But they’re just inferior to what they are going to be in the future by virtue of lack of experience, biological growth, practice, etc. I’m stuck in the mud, spinning my wheels. I want to go as fast as possible to get out of this mire that I’m in, but I’m going nowhere. I know that I’m not exactly going nowhere, but it’s so slow that it feels that way. I know my writing sucks, and that sucks. I compare myself to other authors because I want that stable paycheck we’re all after.
I know, I know. Don’t write for money, write for myself. I fucking hate this shit. I always write for myself. But I always want to become a professional at it. How can it be that desiring to be a professional isn’t for “me” but is only for other people? That’s idiotic.
I know, I’m delusional. I’d rather be insane at this point in my life than “sane”. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. I can’t imagine packing in my bags without giving a valiant effort, then feeling so depressed in my old (or middle) age that I never wrote as much as I wanted to. “You can still write, Cody. Just don’t think of it as a job.” I fucking hate conversation. There’s literally no downside to trying to make your passion a career. Literally zero. Damn, I could be an electrician right now. I could have a stable job right now. Learning a valuable skill. But here I am writing some shit that no one reads. What am I, insane? I sure fucking hope so, because I hate sane people. How hard is it to understand the concept that if you really love doing something, you should treat it like a career? Why do so many people disagree with that statement? I truly think they’re soulless people. I don’t want to be as unhappy as they are. (Perhaps that’s unfair of me. But I personally cannot agree with their logic. I would argue they should be more like me, but who doesn’t argue that? “Whatever floats your boat.” (“We all float down here, Richie.” Sorry. I’m recently influenced)).
I have a deeply held conviction that life is not simply about being miserable. I realize this was largely due to my youth, but I always anticipated that adulthood was where happiness came to die. Even as a kid, I always dreaded getting older. “Why do Mom and Dad work at those places if they hate their jobs?” I always wanted to escape that, and I think my parents were instrumental in fostering that desire within me. “Don’t do as I did. Go to school.” Etc. This desire got me interested in economics, and now, my worldview is completely changed. Of course, whether or not I was ever introduced to economics, my life would’ve changed from childhood to now. But economics has had a profound effect on me. I’ll never look at the world the same way again. I always wanted an answer to why they worked at jobs they hated besides the “that’s just the way it is” argument. That argument only works in very limited circumstances. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. Sometimes, I get tired of learning about a subject, and accept the bare minimum. Other times, I’m not that way. What do you fucking want from me as a fucking advice giver?; perfection?
I should state that my best friend has had a profound impact upon me as far as my “happiness philosophy” goes as well. I won’t get too religious here, as I’ve written about it separately before, and will continue to do so, but he has certainly been a key to me accepting this “happiness philosophy” for myself; and, of course, I want to share it with others in an attempt to foster happiness in others. (Yeah, I also like pissing people off from time to time. …Ok, a lot. But still, it’s for a good cause. Give me a break. I’m not God, even though, sometimes, I wish I could be. (“Didn’t Satan say that?!”)). The internal conflict could be settled if I was perfect, so I always wish that I could be, so that I could get an ultimate relief from conflict. In reality, as I said before, the only way to escape conflict completely is to die. But I don’t want to die yet. So, like everyone else, I’m stuck here on this planet with conflicts. In some ways, the conflicts feel so trivial. But, on the other hand, they’re crippling. Yet another fucking conflict…
People will think I’m crazy, but I can very vividly remember the day my life changed forever with regards to this “happiness philosophy” of mine. At the risk of repeating myself, I was finishing up community college, living with my mom. I couldn’t tell you what my future plans were during this time, because I didn’t fucking know. I played a lot of sports video games. Masturbated. And that was pretty much it. (Some things never change……). I knew I was going to need a job eventually, but I’m stubborn in that I don’t jump into something until I understand what I’m doing (is that true all of the time? Not when I really want something. Then I jump right in and figure it out later). Money was always this dirty thing to me. This is what drove people away from God. And now, you’re telling me that I need it to live? Why isn’t God providing for me instead of money? How can something evil be so necessary to life? When I asked myself that question, my life changed forever.
I remembered hearing on ABC News, when I was a kid, about the profits that CEOs made. Being religiously brainwashed (I have a lot of the blame to share with this), I thought it was evil (of course, there were people on the network outraged at the amount of money as well). I hated money. Business, corporations, etc., were evil. Money was evil. I was reminded of this when I thought about getting a job, and making money. There was an immediate contradiction that needed to be resolved. Is living evil? Is bare sustenance the work of the devil? Are poor people more moral than rich people? Up until this point, I had always said “Yes” to all of the above. But on this day, in what felt like a lightning bolt of inspiration, I realized that the answer had to be “No” if I ever were to have any chance of escaping poverty. I had to reeducate myself regarding money, corporations, jobs, etc. And now, the subject has taken over my life, and introduced a whole new set of problems (but, of course, healthy perspectives as well).
In addition to my worldview being warped as far as economics was concerned, just my worldview of people in general was severely warped. It still is, to a large extent, due to my previous religious thoughts. It’s very weird to explain. In some ways, it boils down to “Any time a group of people are happy, I’m skeptical of them.” That sounds dumb, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it is. My red-colored glasses of conservatism made everything “dumb” and weird. It’s really embarrassing, but “it is what it is”. It’s so embarrassing to admit my level of cynicism, largely influenced by religion, of all things. That sounds so fucking odd to say. But, you know: there’s goddamn sinners out there, Cody! Ya gotta watch out for them! God damn, I was stupid. I pity anyone who thinks like I used to. That level of exhaustion is just fucking beyond description.
Let’s continue along the economic-skepticism line. I’ve always been distrustful of successful people. (Let me just say that I fucking hate writing about myself (hard to believe, I know). On the one hand, I want to say that I’ve always been skeptical of people who, say, were famous, or rich. Or anyone who spoke from a position of authority. But I’ve also been very gullible. So I can’t say with certainty whether I’ve been more skeptical or gullible. This is what I hate about being a human: it’s so hard to say that I am one specific thing (which would make writing so much easier……)). As I said, I’ve always viewed successful people as evil, and it’s been hard to untrain myself from that mode of thought. I always look at “celebrities” with this sneering judgment. It’s almost instinctual. It’s because I’ve trained myself to, but now, I’m actually able to observe what I’m doing instead of actually being caught up in the moment. It has been so hard to untrain myself in this regard, and I’m still not where I would like to be completely. I’m basically having to relearn a philosophical position regarding “success”. There are countless people that have this same attitude. It’s depressing, but I wouldn’t like to talk about them too much here, because I know it isn’t really going to “solve” the problem. I’m learning that there are no ultimate resolutions to “sides”: at least not in a perfect sense. There will always be “sides”: disagreements. Conflicts. Things that always terrified me as a child, for some reason. I don’t know why that always bugged me as a kid. Could it have been that I saw “disagreements” as a sinful flaw against God’s perfect plan of peace and harmony? Perhaps. But I think a lot of it just had to do with being a naturally sensitive kid and just personally really disliking disagreements, even if I was only a third party to two other “disagreeing” parties who weren’t as troubled by the disagreement as I was (which is so weird. The best way I can think to describe myself in one word is “weird”). It’s very interesting how I’ve attempted to “toughen myself up” as I’ve gotten older, and it’s also interesting how I still have a deep soft spot within me as well. I should talk about that at a later date, when I’ve given it more thought.
I don’t want to be on any “side”. I hate “sides”. But by virtue of learning, you are put on one. I don’t think there is ever any escape from “sides”. At least not if you wish to speak. (I suppose, even if you remain silent, you take a “side”: you make choices as far as what your ethics are, etc.). Perhaps that is what I need to learn: to just keep my goddamned mouth shut. I don’t want to be in a position where I never take positions, but I also don’t want to take positions. Or, at least, I wish that I didn’t feel that it was important to take positions. I wish I lived in a situation were there were no positions to take. Or perhaps I just wish that my “position” was apathy. But that’s not how I am. I need to learn to become more apathetic in some ways, and more well-spoken in others. I fucking hate how life is such a confusing, delicate balance when it comes to the mind. You can ask someone the same question on two separate days, and get a different answer depending on their emotional state. I fucking hate that about being human. I know it’s inescapable, but I need a personal philosophy to be able to learn how to live with it. My old philosophy was that all humans are broken. My perspective began in an incredibly judgmental, unproductive way. It morphed to depression, as I paid attention to evils in the world. I finally had to turn it to humor, because the tragedies grew too great. I do get exhausted focusing on negatives so often. I need a real way out. I need to find it for myself. I don’t want some jackass self-help guru to tell me some shit that isn’t going to resonate with me; that I’ll either feel bad because there must be something wrong with me to not get what this “expert” is saying or I’ll analyze every fucking word he says and pick apart everything I see wrong with what he said (which I really don’t want to waste time doing). I’d rather just ignore the motherfucker altogether, but that’s hard for me to do. It’s just so hard for me to ignore people, and that’s what I need more than fucking anything right now. I need to ignore you cocksuckers who tell me dumb moralistic phrases like “Sometimes it’s good to listen to other people, Cody, you know.” God damn, I fucking hate you people, and I need to fucking learn how to ignore your stupid self-righteous asses. It’s so hard. Sadly, I think biology is the main key.
I have always admired people who through their sheer individualism change the world around them. I think of someone like George Carlin. Who was “instructing” George Carlin on how to live his life? What “boss” was George Carlin obeying? This was a man living individualism to the fullest. He created his own world. He made the people around him subscribe to his ideas. Of course, he had to have been influenced by others: it’s impossible to be completely uninfluenced by others (perhaps feral children are the only ones “uninfluenced” by others, but, of course, it can be argued that they are “influenced” by the parents that abandoned them if they were abandoned, etc.), but through his will alone, he changed the people around him. I can’t tell you how inspiring that is to me. I admire anyone who does that for the better. I deeply wish to emulate people like that. But when I think of how far I have to go in that regard to get to that point, it just depresses me; that, and also the uncertainty of whether it will even happen at all.
I know, I know. I’m a dumbass, grandiose little boy. Is that out of your system? Do you feel better now?
I personally have learned that, speaking for myself, it is almost always better if I make up my own mind instead of going for advice. Most of the time, when I have gone for advice, it has only made things worse. I realize that my independent mind must make decisions regarding who I listen to, the types of ideas that I believe for myself, etc. Taking those first steps toward accepting that were very hard for me. “What if I make a grave mistake?” That’s always held me back so much. But I’ve spent so much time looking for answers from others (answers which never satisfied me) that I just can’t take it anymore, goddammit. I’m making up my own mind. Creating my own thoughts and solutions. And it’d be great if those influenced other people for the better. But I’m done looking for advice. “Does that mean you’re never asking for advice ever again, Cody?” God DAMN you fucks are stupid. It feels so great to point that out. I hope you feel like shit when you read this, fucking retard.
It is so hard to be bored, and desire mental stimulation, and then constantly find problems with your source of mental stimulation. I do this constantly. I think of how I can do what the people I’m “consuming” are doing. Constantly. It’s relentless. The idea of being mentally braindead and just consuming what someone else is doing without thinking of a way to actually use it for myself terrifies me. That’s how people fail, in my opinion. I want everything I consume to be beneficial to me in some way. Just something that I can use. And when I get exhausted with that, I’ll relax, and just consume to relax (which, of course, is still “beneficial” to me). But I want to observe successful people, and try to figure out what I can take from them to make myself successful. I don’t need a fucking Mark Cuban book to figure out how to do this. Life is an independent “project”, and I want to work on it by myself, in my own way. That’s what I crave. I want people to say “Damn. I can’t believe he fucking did that. How in the fuck did he do that?!” I have a natural desire to create ideas more than consume them. But I always end up consuming more than creating. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH HEARING THE IDEAS OF OTHERS, CODY?!?!?!?!?!” You fucking retards……
The uncertainty of the future is bugging me at the moment. The restlessness. The back and forth of “common” arguments. I need a way out. Maybe that means reading more. Maybe that means reading less things on the internet. I don’t know exactly, but I’m certain that it will come with time. (It’s so weird how I can ignore my past. I have a fear of being “stuck” in the past, so I don’t think about it much. But, one day, when I’m not feeling so anxious, I really should go back and analyze my past mindset regarding “the future”. “Haven’t you been doing that in this piece, Cody? Haven’t you been talking about your religious past?” Yes, I have been. But there’s many things in my past that I haven’t written about yet, that will be very difficult to put into words. But I would like to do so sometime in the future).
It’s hard to find a way out and express yourself because other people can express themselves to your expressions. I don’t enjoy this, whether it’s praise or criticism. I just like to be left alone in general as much as possible. It’s always weird to me when people start talking to me. I do enjoy being a troll, though, so there is some enjoyment that comes from it sometimes.
In fact, I’m honestly just so fucking sick of these arguments where there’s multiple viewpoints, and “the truth” just comes down to your own personal opinions. I don’t want to discuss criticisms of my personal philosophies any longer. It’s necessary to address them every so often, because by virtue of being a communicator, you’re opening yourself up to being communicated to, but, thankfully, we’re all given wills, and that includes the will to ignore. It’s not always easy, but at least it’s there.
Literature truly is going to be an incredibly slow process over my entire lifetime. I’m not going to be the best writer I can be overnight. But whatever happens overnight is important. Perspective is a very important thing to me (I think it is to all of us, honestly, but maybe I just talk about it more so than many people I’ve been around). I’m not satisfied with what I hear. I can almost say that I never have been. I used to think this was some problem that existed within myself. I spent many years telling myself that I was somehow broken because so many things didn’t satisfy me. Those “phrases” that just exist in the world, those “words to live by”, just never did anything for me. Well, they annoyed me when they inevitably didn’t work (thanks to a process I was taught by religious conservatism). But I’ve almost never been satisfied with what I’ve heard from others. I’ve always had to create my own world. My own happiness. And it’s hard, because people get involved, and I just don’t fucking like them. I don’t care if my words don’t make sense to you, you think I’m some kind of psychopathic killer, whatever. I don’t fucking care. I don’t like you. Say whatever you want to about me, but don’t say it to me. Perhaps this is part of the reason that I hate cliches so much: they just don’t apply to me like they do to, seemingly, so many other people. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard “If you’re going to say something, say it to my face.” I don’t think that applies to me as much. I don’t want to hear what dumb shit you’re going to say about me, and I’d rather you spread unfounded rumors as to confront me about some ethical flaw that exists within my person as perceived by your mentally-impaired mind. “To each his own.”
It has always been very hard for me to ignore other people. I’ve always been painfully thin-skinned. Being as apathetic as I am (the exact measurement is questionable) has been an extremely difficult process over many years. I’m thankful for the end result, but I’m glad I don’t have to repeat the process again. Isn’t it weird how that’s how life is? We do shit that we hate so that we don’t have to do it anymore? On a philosophical level, I have to question why we’d have to do it in the first place, if we’re doing it simply to avoid it later on in the future, but I digress. “Duh, life isn’t perfect, Cody.” Sorry. I just wanted to make you sound like a fucking idiot there for a second.
I always compare a current state of being with perfection. Why do I do that, you may ask? Because I lament the original state of man. I believe that, when man was first created, we lived in a perfect paradise. And we fucked it up. I think that, deep down, I know we had perfection, and we lost it. I think this is why I naturally compare all current states of being to perfection. I accept the fact that we cannot get it back (until we die, if we are a Christian), and I think this is where I differ with a certain (seemingly large) group of people. This is an incredibly difficult topic, and I look forward to my best friend’s thoughts about this subject, as I’m sure he’s given it much thought, and he could probably shed some light on the subject. But, for example, there is a difference between helping someone who is drowning because you don’t want to see that person drown because you yourself are a human being, and don’t want to drown, so you have this almost kindred connection with that person (also known as “empathy”), and helping out the drowning person because you remember that this book you read taught you to care for other people and if you don’t do that then you’re going to burn in Hell for all eternity so you live your entire life based on trying to avoid that eternal fire. In both cases, you are helping the drowning man: a noble act. But the motivations are so different from one another that I’d consider them two separate actions. (This is where wordplay gets tricky (and why I fucking hate language): can you say they are different actions, when the act performed was the same? Surely, the intentions are different. Fuck words. Fuck semantics. I know I need to know this shit if I’m going to be a writer, but it’s so goddamn mundane that I’d rather be harvesting hay, or some other monotonous, laborious shit (well……….almost)).
I cannot explain to you the level of boredom that I’ve experienced throughout most of my life. It’s painful to think about. I wouldn’t go back to that time period for anything, because now, I have so many things to keep me busy, and I feel like I’ve never been happier. I’m convinced that a large reason why I have been so bored throughout most of my life was my early experiences with reading, that I’ve written about before. That’s quite depressing, but it is what it is. I’ve also, (like everyone else), just been weird. When I say something, people don’t understand what I’m saying. And I fucking hated explaining myself (growing up), because I just wanted someone to relate to me. But, ironically enough, as with everyone else, so few did relate to me. Isn’t that so odd? How we can all be in the same troubled boat? Why can’t it be that two people with the same problem solve each other’s problem? Humans are FUCKED up. I think this troubles me so because I’m always comparing any current situation to the Fall of Man. “Then just don’t do that, Cody.” No. “Well then, I guess you’ll just be miserable then.” I guess I will. “But is that any way to live?” Once Pandora’s Box is opened, you can’t close it. I do not want to will myself into an ignorant situation, even if it makes me feel better. “I bet you don’t think that way when you’re eating fast food, huh, Cody? Bet those health problems are just gonna sneak up on you, aren’t they, Cody?” Fuck you.
On a side note, I hate it when people try to use my words against me and fail. “Uh, Cody, you don’t want to will yourself into an ignorant situation, but you actually think you can become a professional author? What gives with that contradiction?” All I care about is waving my check in your face.
I suppose I should give thanks to all of those who have gotten me out of the mental-badminton quagmire. I hope to find more out there.
There is a beauty in life in that we exist as individuals. This means I have my life, my thoughts, and my beliefs. I have my desires, my goals, and my actions. I really think that should, ultimately, be my saving grace. When faced with the unknown, I, like probably everyone else, try to fill in the gaps. I realize just how stupid those fillings were from my childhood. Now, I was a child, but still. It’s taken me this long to realize this extent of my stupidity. I know more of it will be revealed to me as time goes by, and I just pray that it doesn’t hurt too badly. It feels great to be an individual. Over the past several years, I have surrounded myself with a philosophy that heralds individualism. I have been reconditioning my brain from the moralism of yesteryear. When I was first introduced to this “rugged individualism”, it felt refreshing, but I was still unsure of it. I was hooked, and listened to every word of those that expounded it. But I wasn’t immediately sold. I still had questions. I needed to learn more beyond the initial sales pitch. And now, I find myself as a “libertarian salesman” of sorts. I’ve been ingrained in the “libertarian philosophy” for so long now that it’s branched out into other areas of my life that it hadn’t before. Many of the questions that I had with religion were filled by libertarian (individualistic) philosophy. A lot of things are making sense now, and I’m actually feeling confident in my decisions and actions. And I have to thank libertarian thinkers such as Ron Paul, Murray Rothbard, among others, for that. They have provided me with “a way out” as much as anyone else ever has, if not more so (and that’s certainly arguable).
The evils and problems of the world will always bring me down to a certain extent. But I’m fairly certain they will never ultimately defeat me. Perhaps my way out will involve more reclusion than I ever thought myself actually comfortable with. Perhaps it will be developing thicker skin. I don’t know exactly where the end road will be, but I do imagine myself being much happier in the future as I continue to develop this mode of thinking. I don’t know exactly what “the way out” will be, and I know I will always get sucked back in, then escape, then sucked back in, in varying intervals, but I hope to keep my mind in a good place and contribute good to the world. That’s ultimately what I want. I consider myself blessed to not want to rule the world, and I pity those that do desire that. They’re missing out. They may put the bayonet to my neck, but I don’t anticipate they’ll ever have my mind, nor my spirit. I think I’m on the bottom steps of the way out. I’m in a hurry to make it to the final destination, but not enough to speed up the process any faster than biology and my lifestyle choices regarding diet and exercise will get me there.
I do not look forward to the next time I get trapped, but it is so strange how getting older makes your brain change.
It is so strange how age makes your perspective change for the better. What was once a cause of social anxiety is a source of pride. Why in the fuck couldn’t you have made me that way originally, God? I ask this at the risk of you casting me into the Lake of Fire, of course. But I think it’s a legitimate question, no? I guess this is why the last chapter of the Bible is called “Revelation”. (Go ahead and make fun of me, atheists. Once again, these debates are so petty to me. Do what you want).
So, the whole point of this is: what is the way out from this all? I know age is a huge part of it, but is there anything else? How can I escape? What is my escape? There is no complete escape, I would argue. I’m too smart: I know what is “out there”. But how can I handle it all? Will only time tell? Or is there anything else that I can do to help myself? I know my best friend will continue to help. Venting to a man with his own problems that I can’t solve. Having the willpower to just ignore the arguments in general will help immensely. Finding something to replace the nervousness when someone asks me “Don’t you care about ‘the issues’?” I need something to say to that person. I need the willpower to ignore that person. I just don’t have it now. I need a way out, but I think it’s going to take a while before I get there. That’s very sad. But “it is how it is” (oh how I hate that sentence, if only for the way it is used often).
It is so odd to me how, so often, desiring something immensely, and doing everything in your power to satiate that desire, just leads you further and further away from it. That’s so fucking weird. We’re all strapped into this ride, that sometimes has some pretty brutal bumps on it, but we keep moving forward. Life is so fucking odd to me. I don’t think that is ever going to change. I think life is just always going to be fucking weird to me. I guess it takes weird to know weird.
“…they may take our lives, but they’ll never take…OUR FREEDOM!” – Mel Gibson as William Wallace in “Braveheart”.
I look forward to seeing the day, in the future, where all of this takes me. Where will I see debating and arguing in the future? What all will I have written 20 years from now? What all will I have read? How happy will I be then? What will be the overall “state of affairs” in the world?
I don’t anticipate really wanting to talk to people. I think this format of thinking and then writing will work well enough for my purposes in the future. I can’t stop analyzing people, and regardless of what people have always told me, I personally don’t see any problem with it. That’s how I am, and I personally accept it. But because other people don’t, I just need to get away from them as much as possible. I need a way out. (You see how clever that was? It’s like the title of the piece, and I tied it all together. Aren’t I smart? Damn, I’m smart……….and funny, too. Now, if only the world noticed……………….. c’est la vie).