We can’t hold onto anything, and yet, we hold onto everything
the time is gone before we know it
and our lives are over
nobody cares, long-term
and the pursuit of pleasure is totally meaningless
yet, it consumes all the in-between moments
in-between what? Because life is so much more than peak experiences
We’ve been told to just be ourselves, but who are we, really?
We are different, everywhere we go
So, how should we live?
We can live for an ideal
We can live for a belief in God
We can live according to our values
We can live for others
We can live for ourselves
or perhaps… we can live according to our fantasies.
I’ve always wanted to be James Bond or perhaps Ian Fleming, because he was a writer.
I wouldn’t kill people, but adventure is something I’ve always wanted
It would probably shorten my life
but life is short, anyway.
I would need to try scuba diving, traveling, sky diving, shooting, womanizing, golfing (which I do), motoring, and writing (which I do)
Why is this life more glamorous than my own?
The world is a tricky place, especially when we ask ourselves Why? Why do I want to be a writer?
I can answer that. I was disillusioned. I was lost. I didn’t fit in, and it wasn’t god who saved me, but Bukowski—a drunk, a nobody, someone who believed in putting down the word, one line at a time. People with true belief are rare and it doesn’t have to be a belief in God. Cynics will try to nibble away at belief, and when it proves inedible, it becomes powerful. It only feeds you and nobody else.
So, why do beliefs exist? It may be self-deception, even seeking the truth may be a deception.
But it does offer us something beyond our day to day existence.
We have the satisfaction of knowing things different from the crowd. It is like having a secret, that you want to tell, but while you hold onto it, it’s intensely pleasurable, right before you give it up. This is akin to bodily functions. Before any purge, and I won’t go into details, we feel delight. This is similar to the evangelical who discovers God for the first time. The spirit stays in his heart until he can’t wait to share it. Once the secret is out, there is satisfaction, but after he tells someone about his secret, it ceases to be secret, and it loses its specialness.
Being unknown is a great desire of mine and being understood is just as great. I cannot have both, but they are both intensely pleasurable. The worst is in the middle, where people don’t care, they don’t listen, they control, and they misunderstand. Most of the world does this, and I’m not sure why. It lacks any real curiosity outside of what it wants, and it doesn’t even know why it wants what it wants.