Talking to myself

Hey Folks,

 It's been a while since I took some time to write, but since I'm in a proactive mood I figured I'd type away for a bit. I suppose the thought that's on my mind is that there's never enough time within these bursts of energy and activity. All the things I'd accomplish, all the goals I'd be able to have ticked off my list, everything I've ever aspired towards would be complete if not for the draw back into routine. It's strange to think that we so readily concede our place within a socially constructed world and yet cling to a sense of self that is our own little piece of selfishness. I spend countless hours in my day simply sitting around, doing nothing for anyone, just existing. Yet, these moments aren't the true me existing, they aren't spent in reflection of the inner being I've preserved, they're moments I've been crafted for, moments I've been tuned into and moments I'm being preserved in.

As I sat watching nothing upon the television, I'm not alone. I'm not isolated. I'm surrounded by the closest friends the world wants me to keep. I'm basking in comfort as my dearest buddies sell me into submission through programs and advertising. It's not that without them I'd be a selfless being, it's just that they taught me to tailor selfishness to their needs. I'm not doing nothing, you're not doing nothing, we never DO nothing, we simply ignore our actions and assume auto-piloted controls that we've been taught to overlook. I heard, the other day, a notion that I've heard many times before but yet that never looses its poignancy, "everyone wants to think that they're some how unaffected by advertising. Companies wouldn't pay millions of dollars a year for something that doesn't work." This multi-billion dollar a year industry has us so turned around, they've got us so confident in our own self sufficiency that we're as puppets on invisible strings. Anyways, I perhaps digress a bit too much. All this to say, my own time that I cherish and hold as MINE is hardly even that. If I'm going to squander my life away in moments of supposed nothingness, I should at the very least recognize it for what it is.

This brings me, of course, to the part of my reflection that asks what to do about this circumstance? It'd be naive to think that I'll escape, only to emphasize my earlier point of illusory freedom. Rather, I suppose, my time should be something that I choose to spend intentionally. I firmly believe that selflessness, as a counter-cultural virtue, is perhaps the only way to escape the disappointment that life taught me too little, and helped me accomplish what were frivolous ends. However, when the other is the project, there is no sense of guilt in the small things. If I live my life everyday with the knowledge that what I fail to accomplish is holding me back from the ideal person I'd have become, I live in perpetual disappointment. However, if I live with the goal of helping you realize the amazing person you are, or the amazing things you're capable of, or the joy that your presence brings to me and those around us, I cannot fail. The hesitation to speak, to compliment or lend a hand, to breach the gap separating my own world from that which exists beyond me, is also a worldly construct. This tension is weakened when I make a conscious effort to go outside of my own little bubble.

It's not about changing the world, that's far too overwhelming of a goal to shoot for, certain only to lead to disappointment as I reflect on my own failure. No, rather than being about changing the world, it's about changing my perception of the world. My own fears and worries turn others into monsters, and make me flee from interaction for fear of rejection. However, I only appear as absurd as I allow myself to acknowledge and personally, I feel more absurdity in this norm we all seem to accept and ignore than I do in being the man set apart.

And yet, as I type and reflect I feel more and more that I'm becoming as relevant as the Underground Man, spinning my wheels as I reflect on a world too absurd to change, acknowledging my own opposition while remaining aware of the difficulty to change. This pessimism/realism is overwhelming, and at the age of 22 I feel as though I'm getting old. Perhaps it's not that this is too complex to think about and thus ignored, but rather that thought on matters such as these afford no joy and thus are put out of mind.

I suppose I'm just in need a good chat, one of those talk-about-everything-until-time-no-longer-matters-but-to-track-the-length-of-this-amazing-conversation type chats. Why can't those be more common?