Yesterday I stepped in front of a speeding car. The driver had a green light. The crosswalk was red. I had no business being in the road. I had nowhere important to be. I was just impatient. I'm lucky the driver chose to use his brakes, and I'm lucky the guy on the assembly line wasn't drunk when he installed them (must have been a Tuesday).
My life did not flash before my eyes, but this morning it occured to me what a foolish decision I'd made. And it is one that I and millions of others make each hour. Most of us frequently stepp into the road when we shouldn't and drive recklessly to destinations we don't care about. It is a problem of time. We are focused on what the clock says instead of what it means. That second hand is waving goodbye to seconds of your finite existence.
Because we don't process the clock's deeper meaning we consistently risk eternal oblivion (which last time I checked is a long time) to "save" more seconds. But we haven't saved anything at all. Those "saved" seconds do not reward us with additional life for worrying about punctuality. Compound interest isn't applicable to mortality.
When you weigh the time you spend dead vs. your concern about being on time to your dental appointment, it doesn't seem sensible to risk eternal oblivion by ricocheting through traffic to make that appointment. Yeah I know, different strokes and all that, but I have yet to meet someone who says he's always dreamed of skydiving into the Eternal Void in the name of tartar removal. Your dentist certainly wouldn't risk eternal oblivion to make sure he sees you on time.
We have phones with clocks, computers with clocks, cable boxes with clocks, microwaves with clocks, dashboards with clocks, not to mention watches and electronic devices that beep and vibrate to help us to tell time. Regretfully, these devices haven't taught us how to tell eternity.
To correct this, we should first bring back the hourglass, which offers a much starker message about the passage of time (plus you can tell women they can't spend the night until their bodies resemble the hourglass on the nightstand). Second thing we should do is change the faces on our watches. Forget about the Rolex logo (buying expensive watches doesn't buy you time). Each watch should feature a picture of a deathbed.
You shouldn't visualize those moments on your deathbed as a distant episode you can neatly control. You are on your deathbed right now. Drive carefully.
Showing posts with label to be or not to be. Show all posts
Showing posts with label to be or not to be. Show all posts
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Thought Experiment Involving Mobile, Alabama (no, really)
Everyone says money doesn't buy happiness, especially rich people concerned with sounding well rounded.
But if you were to give people the following choice: switch places with an unhappy rich person living in a mansion in Beverly Hills, or switch places with a happy person living in a trailer in Mobile, Alabama, which option do you think most people would choose? Despite all their claims to the contrary, I think the vast majority would choose Beverly Hills and unhappiness. They cannot comprehend being poor and happy in a Mobile mobile home. They prefer the appearance of "having it all" to the prospect of being content with nothing.
People will return from a vacation in a poor country and rhapsodize about "how happy everyone seemed. Maybe having a simple life makes you more grateful and happy. Maybe we don't really need all this..."
But they never move to that country or adjust their lives to mirror the simpler lives of those "happy, grateful poor people." [Sounds like an REM song. Actually, it sounds better.]
Maybe the facsimile of happiness is as close as most are likely to get to happiness.
But if you were to give people the following choice: switch places with an unhappy rich person living in a mansion in Beverly Hills, or switch places with a happy person living in a trailer in Mobile, Alabama, which option do you think most people would choose? Despite all their claims to the contrary, I think the vast majority would choose Beverly Hills and unhappiness. They cannot comprehend being poor and happy in a Mobile mobile home. They prefer the appearance of "having it all" to the prospect of being content with nothing.
People will return from a vacation in a poor country and rhapsodize about "how happy everyone seemed. Maybe having a simple life makes you more grateful and happy. Maybe we don't really need all this..."
But they never move to that country or adjust their lives to mirror the simpler lives of those "happy, grateful poor people." [Sounds like an REM song. Actually, it sounds better.]
Maybe the facsimile of happiness is as close as most are likely to get to happiness.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Am I a zero dreaming that I am a hero, or a hero dreaming that I am a zero; meditations on meditation
The noticeable retreat of traditional religion hasn't lessened people's desire to recreate many of its trappings. Today people speak about green tea the way Catholics chat about holy water. In cosmopolitan cities many residents under the age of sixty have a bullpen of fasting/"enlightened" concentration/homeopathy/organicness they phone when in need of transcendent relief. They'll grind their bicuspids about how SOCIETY NEEDS TO PUT SCIENCE BACK ON THE FRONT BURNER...right before they tell you they need to run off to work on their qi.
Atheism--which some evidently feel can be best expressed by bashing "organized religion" (facing Mecca is more sensible if done in a disorganized fashion?)--is more public than it used to be. This hasn't resulted in people finally freeing themselves from the pursuit of "enlightenment." Instead of using atheism as a backstage pass to fun and folly, many instead still seek "transcendence" through painful rituals like fasting; something the religious have done for centuries.
Unlike the Buddhist monks who often withdrew from already simple lives, today's cosmopolitan transcenders dip their pinky toenails in similar antics while living a life of nonstop stimulation. They talk a good game about hating "consumerism," but have enough electronic devices to make Batman's utility belt look like something that came with a Happy Meal. Phones that purr like kittens and apps that update you whenever your friend gains a pound do not change the fact that this life is all there is, same as it was before everyone looked like Inspector Gadget. Unsurprisingly, some people respond in much the same way as the ones who have long organized (cue Home Alone scream face) themselves into religions.
The sequence is simple. After some introspection, a would-be transcender comes to the painful realization that this is all there is. He then turns to more introspection and pain as a means of resisting the fixity of his existence. Unfortunately, attempting to overcome pain--that is to say life--by pursuing more pain is like overcoming aspirin by taking more aspirin. By fasting, you have not overcome anything. You have become hungry. You will eventually have to eat, because you are still bound to the same physical laws as all other Earthlings. You cannot meditate your way around this. Existence has no service elevator.
Many of today's capital A atheists are as judgmental of hedonism (put less scandalously: the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake) as subscribers to traditional religions. They can't believe everyone wouldn't want to "think of something greater than themselves." If this reminds you of statements you've heard from organized religion adherents, it isn't a coincidence. We cannot transcend what we are, but we can try to make ourselves feel better about it by trying anyway. All religious pursuit, organized or otherwise, could be given the same name: Placebo Effectism.
But fear not, there's no need to be so gloomy about it all. Humans want to feel they're more than a slowly sinking buoy in a sea of chaotic and indifferent energy. No problem. Here is an easy, relatively painless, (and cheap) form of "transcendence" you can try at home. Every morning when your alarm goes off, your initial urge is to go back to sleep. But instead, you get up. Why not tell yourself you have transcended sleepiness? And throughout the day, remember to pat yourself on the back for overcoming your urge to strangle your boss and seeing beyond your desire to take a six hour lunch. Everyday drudgery suddenly becomes triumphant when you feel you've walked in the bare feet of Parashurama.
And if you like your transcendence drastic, you can always go old school and set yourself on fire. Just tell everyone all that stopping, dropping, and rolling you did was just an advanced form of Bikram Yoga.
Atheism--which some evidently feel can be best expressed by bashing "organized religion" (facing Mecca is more sensible if done in a disorganized fashion?)--is more public than it used to be. This hasn't resulted in people finally freeing themselves from the pursuit of "enlightenment." Instead of using atheism as a backstage pass to fun and folly, many instead still seek "transcendence" through painful rituals like fasting; something the religious have done for centuries.
Unlike the Buddhist monks who often withdrew from already simple lives, today's cosmopolitan transcenders dip their pinky toenails in similar antics while living a life of nonstop stimulation. They talk a good game about hating "consumerism," but have enough electronic devices to make Batman's utility belt look like something that came with a Happy Meal. Phones that purr like kittens and apps that update you whenever your friend gains a pound do not change the fact that this life is all there is, same as it was before everyone looked like Inspector Gadget. Unsurprisingly, some people respond in much the same way as the ones who have long organized (cue Home Alone scream face) themselves into religions.
The sequence is simple. After some introspection, a would-be transcender comes to the painful realization that this is all there is. He then turns to more introspection and pain as a means of resisting the fixity of his existence. Unfortunately, attempting to overcome pain--that is to say life--by pursuing more pain is like overcoming aspirin by taking more aspirin. By fasting, you have not overcome anything. You have become hungry. You will eventually have to eat, because you are still bound to the same physical laws as all other Earthlings. You cannot meditate your way around this. Existence has no service elevator.
Many of today's capital A atheists are as judgmental of hedonism (put less scandalously: the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake) as subscribers to traditional religions. They can't believe everyone wouldn't want to "think of something greater than themselves." If this reminds you of statements you've heard from organized religion adherents, it isn't a coincidence. We cannot transcend what we are, but we can try to make ourselves feel better about it by trying anyway. All religious pursuit, organized or otherwise, could be given the same name: Placebo Effectism.
But fear not, there's no need to be so gloomy about it all. Humans want to feel they're more than a slowly sinking buoy in a sea of chaotic and indifferent energy. No problem. Here is an easy, relatively painless, (and cheap) form of "transcendence" you can try at home. Every morning when your alarm goes off, your initial urge is to go back to sleep. But instead, you get up. Why not tell yourself you have transcended sleepiness? And throughout the day, remember to pat yourself on the back for overcoming your urge to strangle your boss and seeing beyond your desire to take a six hour lunch. Everyday drudgery suddenly becomes triumphant when you feel you've walked in the bare feet of Parashurama.
And if you like your transcendence drastic, you can always go old school and set yourself on fire. Just tell everyone all that stopping, dropping, and rolling you did was just an advanced form of Bikram Yoga.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Public Service Annoncements for Euthanasia
I have said for years there should be Public Service Announcements promoting suicide. Many random shooters end up turning the gun on themselves anyway, so why not encourage them to cut out the middleman? A few Super Bowl commercials with this message would go a long way:
Are you a loser with a big important plan? Do you think trying to get the world's attention by killing a bunch of strangers is going to make up for all the years humanity treated you like the buzzkill you are? Well, before you turn that gun on others, think twice and turn it on yourself first. Charity begins at home.
Unfortunately, I am seldom consulted on these matters. Society is going to keep discouraging suicide, which will reinforce the anti-suicide stigma; a stigma that will probably prevent a few future random shooters from eliminating themselves before they start the shooting spree.
Oh well, we should still address of few classic anti-suicide cliches in hopes of spreading the good word:
1) When a person offs himself, sometimes family or friends will say: "It couldn't have been suicide! If he was going to kill himself, why would he do (insert normal behavior) beforehand?"
Self-preservation is the overwhelming norm in the Homo sapien world. Even the destitute and the deeply ill usually fight to extend their lives for as long as possible. Prisoners on death row fight for pardons in hopes of continuing to live, even though the rest of their lives will be spent in a ghoulish dungeon. They still prefer ghoulish dungeon to oblivion. All the evidence points to the vast majority of humans wanting to see another day.
Now along comes someone who instead chooses suicide; the most unusual and contrarian decision a person can make, and you're surprised that while making the most unusual decision available in the human experience, he exhibited a few other quirks along the way?
It's like being surprised that someone also snaps his fingers while doing a karaoke version of "My Way".
But why did he send that last rent check? Why did he clean his apartment first? Maybe he was worried about his place in the afterlife, which is why he made the "quirky" decision to tie up loose ends. Many people who are about to die of natural causes behave the same way. Folks worry about their reputations, both on Earth and wherever they think they're going to afterward.
Harakiri is the path least traveled. There is no telling what someone is going to do in that frame of mind.
2) Killing yourself is the most selfish thing you can do.
This is another blowhardy slogan that four out of five dentists recommend. Hey everyone: isn't it more selfish to ask someone to continue living in pain (emotional or physical) so that you don't have to deal with the grief of his disappearing from your life? Because you're going to miss him, he should remain alive against his will? He no longer owns his body because of his friendship with you?
It gets better. People are always stressing that mental illness is a disease like any other. Daytime talk shows regularly focus on elevating mental illness to the same status as cancer, AIDS, etc. And nowadays everyone has 85 bracelets on each arm to raise awareness of diseases of which every Earthling is already aware. We've got to bring these diseases out of the shadows.
Many advocates for euthanasia point to the pain of disease as a reason it must be legalized. You know, human mercy and all that. Great, but how about euthanasia as a response to the disease of depression? [Dial-tone] Hello? Hello? Anyone there?
So mental illness is a disease, but when someone wishes to be relieved of this disease the same way he might wish to be relieved of cancer, suddenly everyone gets on their high horse. Suddenly euthanasia is no longer merciful; it's selfish. And the people who want you to suffer on their behalf? Not selfish. OKEY DOKE...
Getting back to public service announcements: We've already seen the driving safety slogan "55 saves lives." What we need now are a few billboards that say "86ing Yourself Saves Lives." Or if billboards are too much trouble, we should at least print that slogan on every copy of the unofficial murdering losers' bible The Catcher in the Rye.
Are you a loser with a big important plan? Do you think trying to get the world's attention by killing a bunch of strangers is going to make up for all the years humanity treated you like the buzzkill you are? Well, before you turn that gun on others, think twice and turn it on yourself first. Charity begins at home.
Unfortunately, I am seldom consulted on these matters. Society is going to keep discouraging suicide, which will reinforce the anti-suicide stigma; a stigma that will probably prevent a few future random shooters from eliminating themselves before they start the shooting spree.
Oh well, we should still address of few classic anti-suicide cliches in hopes of spreading the good word:
1) When a person offs himself, sometimes family or friends will say: "It couldn't have been suicide! If he was going to kill himself, why would he do (insert normal behavior) beforehand?"
Self-preservation is the overwhelming norm in the Homo sapien world. Even the destitute and the deeply ill usually fight to extend their lives for as long as possible. Prisoners on death row fight for pardons in hopes of continuing to live, even though the rest of their lives will be spent in a ghoulish dungeon. They still prefer ghoulish dungeon to oblivion. All the evidence points to the vast majority of humans wanting to see another day.
Now along comes someone who instead chooses suicide; the most unusual and contrarian decision a person can make, and you're surprised that while making the most unusual decision available in the human experience, he exhibited a few other quirks along the way?
It's like being surprised that someone also snaps his fingers while doing a karaoke version of "My Way".
But why did he send that last rent check? Why did he clean his apartment first? Maybe he was worried about his place in the afterlife, which is why he made the "quirky" decision to tie up loose ends. Many people who are about to die of natural causes behave the same way. Folks worry about their reputations, both on Earth and wherever they think they're going to afterward.
Harakiri is the path least traveled. There is no telling what someone is going to do in that frame of mind.
2) Killing yourself is the most selfish thing you can do.
This is another blowhardy slogan that four out of five dentists recommend. Hey everyone: isn't it more selfish to ask someone to continue living in pain (emotional or physical) so that you don't have to deal with the grief of his disappearing from your life? Because you're going to miss him, he should remain alive against his will? He no longer owns his body because of his friendship with you?
It gets better. People are always stressing that mental illness is a disease like any other. Daytime talk shows regularly focus on elevating mental illness to the same status as cancer, AIDS, etc. And nowadays everyone has 85 bracelets on each arm to raise awareness of diseases of which every Earthling is already aware. We've got to bring these diseases out of the shadows.
Many advocates for euthanasia point to the pain of disease as a reason it must be legalized. You know, human mercy and all that. Great, but how about euthanasia as a response to the disease of depression? [Dial-tone] Hello? Hello? Anyone there?
So mental illness is a disease, but when someone wishes to be relieved of this disease the same way he might wish to be relieved of cancer, suddenly everyone gets on their high horse. Suddenly euthanasia is no longer merciful; it's selfish. And the people who want you to suffer on their behalf? Not selfish. OKEY DOKE...
Getting back to public service announcements: We've already seen the driving safety slogan "55 saves lives." What we need now are a few billboards that say "86ing Yourself Saves Lives." Or if billboards are too much trouble, we should at least print that slogan on every copy of the unofficial murdering losers' bible The Catcher in the Rye.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
A Merry Aside on Suicide
When someone is bemoaning existence, saying he wishes he weren't alive, often a bystander will say: Well if you hate life so much, why don't you just kill yourself?
No matter how depressed or ill you are, the process of going from living to not living is not a comfortable one. Wishing you were kaput isn't the same as having the resolve to do something about it. Plenty of people wish to be thin, but they don't wish to go through the pain of diet and exercise. Thus, they remain plump. Getting slim is rough, and I'd say the evidence shows that the desire for self-preservation (staying alive) trumps even the desire to be slim (though listening to the song "Stayin' Alive" will make killing yourself much easier).
To off yourself, you have to first overcome the psychological hurdle, which means coming to grips with ceasing to exist. Much harder than ABC, 123, or falling off a log. Yes, the universe existed for billions of years before you came along, but you had the good fortune of not being alive to know that you didn't exist. Still with me? Great. Once you are alive and conscious of it, the tendency is to try to keep living no matter what. Life has always been brutal, and not so long ago, it was a helluva lot more brutal than it is today; much more disease, much less food, much more death all around you meaning much more grief. Yet suicide remained uncommon. Obviously, the self-preservation instinct is almost indomitable, so it takes a humongous amount of will to push past it.
Assuming you can put all that aside long to enough plan an exit, you then have to face the disagreeable nuts and bolts of suicide. Talk about irksome. You have to picture yourself with your neck in the noose, hopping off the chair and being jerkily choked to death (Ask anyone who's been jerkily strangled with a rope if they enjoyed it. Rarely will they say "I can take it or leave it."). And you have to picture the potential horror of hanging there and suddenly wishing you could get your legs back to the chair. Imagine trying and failing...it is enough to turn a goth chick into a cheerleader.
Jumping off a building...also a tall order. You have to overcome the mental image of a long, agonizing freefall (picture a rollercoaster made in the Soviet Union), followed by the possibility of not immediately dying upon smacking the pavement. Jumping off the high dive scares most people. Imagine jumping from a much greater height, only in this scenario you're landing on sidewalk rather than water, and in doing so you won't be impressing any hot chicks who might sleep with you later. Advantage: high dive.
Even something which is presumed to be painless (or "instant") like a gunshot to the head requires actually putting gun to temple and having to swallow your steadfast self-preservation instinct. To do so means trying to comprehend oblivion, which is pretty much beyond comprehension. If you try to bypass this horrible inner debate by rushing the gun to your head, you may misfire and merely end up with an eyebrow trim.
Knowing how hardwired we are to try to survive at all costs, it is quite simplistic to just say, "Hey man, if you're unhappy, why don't you kill yourself then?" And considering how grisly these various suicide scenarios are, it is no wonder that most people take the easy way out (i.e., continue to live).
No matter how depressed or ill you are, the process of going from living to not living is not a comfortable one. Wishing you were kaput isn't the same as having the resolve to do something about it. Plenty of people wish to be thin, but they don't wish to go through the pain of diet and exercise. Thus, they remain plump. Getting slim is rough, and I'd say the evidence shows that the desire for self-preservation (staying alive) trumps even the desire to be slim (though listening to the song "Stayin' Alive" will make killing yourself much easier).
To off yourself, you have to first overcome the psychological hurdle, which means coming to grips with ceasing to exist. Much harder than ABC, 123, or falling off a log. Yes, the universe existed for billions of years before you came along, but you had the good fortune of not being alive to know that you didn't exist. Still with me? Great. Once you are alive and conscious of it, the tendency is to try to keep living no matter what. Life has always been brutal, and not so long ago, it was a helluva lot more brutal than it is today; much more disease, much less food, much more death all around you meaning much more grief. Yet suicide remained uncommon. Obviously, the self-preservation instinct is almost indomitable, so it takes a humongous amount of will to push past it.
Assuming you can put all that aside long to enough plan an exit, you then have to face the disagreeable nuts and bolts of suicide. Talk about irksome. You have to picture yourself with your neck in the noose, hopping off the chair and being jerkily choked to death (Ask anyone who's been jerkily strangled with a rope if they enjoyed it. Rarely will they say "I can take it or leave it."). And you have to picture the potential horror of hanging there and suddenly wishing you could get your legs back to the chair. Imagine trying and failing...it is enough to turn a goth chick into a cheerleader.
Jumping off a building...also a tall order. You have to overcome the mental image of a long, agonizing freefall (picture a rollercoaster made in the Soviet Union), followed by the possibility of not immediately dying upon smacking the pavement. Jumping off the high dive scares most people. Imagine jumping from a much greater height, only in this scenario you're landing on sidewalk rather than water, and in doing so you won't be impressing any hot chicks who might sleep with you later. Advantage: high dive.
Even something which is presumed to be painless (or "instant") like a gunshot to the head requires actually putting gun to temple and having to swallow your steadfast self-preservation instinct. To do so means trying to comprehend oblivion, which is pretty much beyond comprehension. If you try to bypass this horrible inner debate by rushing the gun to your head, you may misfire and merely end up with an eyebrow trim.
Knowing how hardwired we are to try to survive at all costs, it is quite simplistic to just say, "Hey man, if you're unhappy, why don't you kill yourself then?" And considering how grisly these various suicide scenarios are, it is no wonder that most people take the easy way out (i.e., continue to live).
Monday, February 18, 2013
Adventures in Megalomania
I knew nearly nothing about philosophy until I was in my early twenties. Of course I knew of philosophers like Plato and Aristotle, but I hadn’t read their works and was almost completely ignorant of anyone who came after them.
When I was nineteen I began writing every day. This was just before I started doing stand-up. Some of the longform thoughts I put down were eventually converted into comedy bits. Anyway, as I was writing, I began to believe I was breaking new ground. It didn't stop there. Little by little, I started to think my writings were dangerous. The public probably couldn't handle them. If these thoughts were discussed in public, parts of society might unravel. And I wasn't sure society would be better off for this unraveling.
I actually spent time wondering whether or not it would be responsible to attempt to have these dangerous thoughts published. Apparently I thought I was Copernicus or something. I even started to think it might be safer to publish posthumously. This is not an exaggeration, nor was I "in denial" (I had not a shred of doubt about the importance of my thoughts, therefore I had nothing to deny).
At age 20 I took a job at a bookstore, and by stocking shelves became aware of someone named Schopenhauer. Once I read a few of his writings, I discovered that not only had Mr. Schopenhauer already chronicled some of the IMPORTANT MIKE PAYNE THOUGHTS I thought were going to set the world on fire; he had done it far more skillfully than I ever could have. It would be difficult to communicate the shock and dislocation that followed. I would even say I grieved a bit.
Because of this, for the next few years I was ambivalent about whether it was even worth it to keep writing or doing comedy. (Looking back, I'd say it wasn't, but anyway I kept going).
I actually spent time wondering whether or not it would be responsible to attempt to have these dangerous thoughts published. Apparently I thought I was Copernicus or something. I even started to think it might be safer to publish posthumously. This is not an exaggeration, nor was I "in denial" (I had not a shred of doubt about the importance of my thoughts, therefore I had nothing to deny).
At age 20 I took a job at a bookstore, and by stocking shelves became aware of someone named Schopenhauer. Once I read a few of his writings, I discovered that not only had Mr. Schopenhauer already chronicled some of the IMPORTANT MIKE PAYNE THOUGHTS I thought were going to set the world on fire; he had done it far more skillfully than I ever could have. It would be difficult to communicate the shock and dislocation that followed. I would even say I grieved a bit.
Because of this, for the next few years I was ambivalent about whether it was even worth it to keep writing or doing comedy. (Looking back, I'd say it wasn't, but anyway I kept going).
Eventually in my late twenties I got over the fact that Schopenhauer (and many other writers I read after him) had beaten me to the punch on some of my penetrating macro insights. But then something new occurred to me: Maybe I could sketch out the political applications/implications of some of these thoughts, with examples from history*. Then I came upon Bill Bonner's Empire of Debt, and was once again hit with a shock; the man had already laid out most of what I thought I was going to say, and had done it so well there was no point in repeating it. This time around it wasn't as gutting. I'd been put in my place enough times by then.
I bring this up because not long ago I almost ran into the same thing. In recent years I've been thinking that uncertainty and doubt serve us much better that confidence and conviction. While chewing on this, I thought: But what happens when you doubt a doubt? Once again I started to wonder if I was onto something. Then I came upon a gentleman named E.M. Cioran, who arrived at it long before I did. This time I just laughed.
As Goethe once wrote: "Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to think of it again."
*The fact that I was still thinking "Oh, I'll just write a book about this" shows I still had traces of delusion. I'm not alone in this: how many times have you heard a recently unemployed person--or just some random blowhard at a party--casually talk about how now they've finally decided to put out a book...like getting your work read, published, and publicized is as simple as starting a new diet. This shows you how widespread delusions of grandeur are.
As Goethe once wrote: "Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to think of it again."
Our thoughts and experiences feel particular to us, but they are hand-me-downs. Even being shocked by Schopenhauer into feelings of inferiority is hackneyed; Jorge Luis Borges had a similar experience.
*The fact that I was still thinking "Oh, I'll just write a book about this" shows I still had traces of delusion. I'm not alone in this: how many times have you heard a recently unemployed person--or just some random blowhard at a party--casually talk about how now they've finally decided to put out a book...like getting your work read, published, and publicized is as simple as starting a new diet. This shows you how widespread delusions of grandeur are.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
The Proper Format for a Suicide Note
Dear Mr. Payne,
I have been thinking of offing myself for years, but can't go through with it until I figure out my suicide note. I keep searching Google, but can't find the proper formatting for such a document. What are the grammar and etiquette standards for a suicide note?
Sincerely,
Crying for help about my cry for help
Well CFHAMCFH, this isn't really a Miss Manners column, but I'm always happy to help those in need. Let's go through your note step-by-step.
Remember, a suicide note is intended to add some theater to your death, so it is important to strike a balance between high drama and making others feel guilty about your miserable life. After all, the point of a suicide note is to make people sorry you're gone. A haphazard note that sounds like an outtake from American Beauty is just going to make everyone happy you offed yourself (as opposed to just your exes). I think we can all agree that there is nothing worse than a suicide dilettante.
The Salutation:
Do not address the note to a specific person. We live in the era of Twitter and Facebook, so if your note goes viral, you want to make sure everyone reads it all the way through. A specific greeting at the top will alienate most of your audience right off the bat. My suggestion: go with something like "To whom it may concern (OR NOT, HENCE THE NOTE!)."
The Body (Three paragraphs only. Suicide is show biz, and you always want to leave them wanting more):
Paragraph 1
Explain how you got here. If substance abuse is your problem, cite the specific drugs or drinks. Vague terms like "Mr. Brownstone" or "the monkey on my back" are hacky and make you sound like a common, dollar-store drunk. Instead, say something like, "I'm being slowly lynched by a man from Tennessee named Jack Daniels." It will make you sound poetic and reflective in death. It may even get you a few retweets from MADD.
If it is a string of artistic failures that has driven you to suicide, allude to a dumb society that doesn't get what you do. Remember, everyone thinks their taste in art is the correct taste in art, and that any person who disagrees with it only disagrees because they are too dumb to get it. This works in your favor if you word things vaguely enough. Say something like, "In a world full of Dogs Playing Pool, I am a Van Gogh playing cornfields." Van Gogh was a tragic artist who was universally respected, while dogs playing pool is pretty much universally reviled. This will score major points with the back and front of the room. In fact, that line is so good I'm trademarking it as we speak. Don't cash it in until I've cashed your check.
Paragraph 2
Be sure to separate your exes into two distinct categories. Believe me, it is every person's dream to drive someone to suicide. I think it was Cleopatra who said: "Wow, you mean you killed yourself because you couldn't live without me? Flattery will get you everywhere!"
Announce that the people you dumped were precious jewels. And stupid you, you dumped them so you could focus on the losers who needed someone in their life, you know, because you're charitable and stuff.
And who are those losers you wasted your time trying to save? Why, the people who dumped you, of course! This approach will redeem you two ways: the people you dumped will suddenly like you again, and will no longer bash you for dumping them. In fact, they will forever go around saying that in hindsight, you were actually pretty great. Lucky you, you may even become their "one that got away."
And the ones who dumped you will not only be insulted one last time, but will also think to themselves, "Ohhh, so that's why he kept doing [insert annoying trait]. Because he wasn't really into me in the first place." Suddenly all of your obnoxious traits will be seen through the prism of "That wasn't the real him," which gets you off the hook and makes you look far better.
Their next horrible thought will be "Wait, so does that mean I'm a loser?"
C'mon, who doesn't love the thought of leaving an ex with that maddening internal monologue?
And even if the people who dumped you try to turn it around and say that you're the one who sucked, the fact that you got them first will make everyone else suspicious of their insults. Everyone will say, "Oh, they're just saying that because they were losers who needed pity sex."
Ingenious, isn't it? If you were this brilliant you probably wouldn't be killing yourself right now. But I digress...
Paragraph 3
List only two family members. Be sure to single out one relative who was helpful, so as to create tension among those still alive (it is no small feat to ruin Thanksgiving from the grave). Also reference one distant relative in an ambiguous way, so that for the rest of his life he and the rest of your kin are left confused about what kind of impact he could have had on you. This mystery (everyone loves a riddle!) will ensure that the family doesn't try to sweep your memory under the rug like they so often do with relatives who commit harakiri.
By the way, don't say things like harakiri, or else some suicide snob will read your note and say, "Well actually, harakiri is a ritualistic form of suicide. Worst note ever!"
The Closing
Just stick with Goodbye. No "Goodbye cruel world" or "See you on the other side." Those sound like bad teen poems and will cancel out all the suicide street cred you have built up to this point.
And remember, you've got all the time in the world to be dead, so by all means, take a few seconds for spell check. Unless your name is Lazarus, chances are you won't be able to return from the dead to change that "your" into a "you're."
Happy hanging!
Read my Tweets before you permanently turn off the lights: https://twitter.com/greatMikePayne
I have been thinking of offing myself for years, but can't go through with it until I figure out my suicide note. I keep searching Google, but can't find the proper formatting for such a document. What are the grammar and etiquette standards for a suicide note?
Sincerely,
Crying for help about my cry for help
Well CFHAMCFH, this isn't really a Miss Manners column, but I'm always happy to help those in need. Let's go through your note step-by-step.
Remember, a suicide note is intended to add some theater to your death, so it is important to strike a balance between high drama and making others feel guilty about your miserable life. After all, the point of a suicide note is to make people sorry you're gone. A haphazard note that sounds like an outtake from American Beauty is just going to make everyone happy you offed yourself (as opposed to just your exes). I think we can all agree that there is nothing worse than a suicide dilettante.
The Salutation:
Do not address the note to a specific person. We live in the era of Twitter and Facebook, so if your note goes viral, you want to make sure everyone reads it all the way through. A specific greeting at the top will alienate most of your audience right off the bat. My suggestion: go with something like "To whom it may concern (OR NOT, HENCE THE NOTE!)."
The Body (Three paragraphs only. Suicide is show biz, and you always want to leave them wanting more):
Paragraph 1
Explain how you got here. If substance abuse is your problem, cite the specific drugs or drinks. Vague terms like "Mr. Brownstone" or "the monkey on my back" are hacky and make you sound like a common, dollar-store drunk. Instead, say something like, "I'm being slowly lynched by a man from Tennessee named Jack Daniels." It will make you sound poetic and reflective in death. It may even get you a few retweets from MADD.
If it is a string of artistic failures that has driven you to suicide, allude to a dumb society that doesn't get what you do. Remember, everyone thinks their taste in art is the correct taste in art, and that any person who disagrees with it only disagrees because they are too dumb to get it. This works in your favor if you word things vaguely enough. Say something like, "In a world full of Dogs Playing Pool, I am a Van Gogh playing cornfields." Van Gogh was a tragic artist who was universally respected, while dogs playing pool is pretty much universally reviled. This will score major points with the back and front of the room. In fact, that line is so good I'm trademarking it as we speak. Don't cash it in until I've cashed your check.
Paragraph 2
Be sure to separate your exes into two distinct categories. Believe me, it is every person's dream to drive someone to suicide. I think it was Cleopatra who said: "Wow, you mean you killed yourself because you couldn't live without me? Flattery will get you everywhere!"
Announce that the people you dumped were precious jewels. And stupid you, you dumped them so you could focus on the losers who needed someone in their life, you know, because you're charitable and stuff.
And who are those losers you wasted your time trying to save? Why, the people who dumped you, of course! This approach will redeem you two ways: the people you dumped will suddenly like you again, and will no longer bash you for dumping them. In fact, they will forever go around saying that in hindsight, you were actually pretty great. Lucky you, you may even become their "one that got away."
And the ones who dumped you will not only be insulted one last time, but will also think to themselves, "Ohhh, so that's why he kept doing [insert annoying trait]. Because he wasn't really into me in the first place." Suddenly all of your obnoxious traits will be seen through the prism of "That wasn't the real him," which gets you off the hook and makes you look far better.
Their next horrible thought will be "Wait, so does that mean I'm a loser?"
C'mon, who doesn't love the thought of leaving an ex with that maddening internal monologue?
And even if the people who dumped you try to turn it around and say that you're the one who sucked, the fact that you got them first will make everyone else suspicious of their insults. Everyone will say, "Oh, they're just saying that because they were losers who needed pity sex."
Ingenious, isn't it? If you were this brilliant you probably wouldn't be killing yourself right now. But I digress...
Paragraph 3
List only two family members. Be sure to single out one relative who was helpful, so as to create tension among those still alive (it is no small feat to ruin Thanksgiving from the grave). Also reference one distant relative in an ambiguous way, so that for the rest of his life he and the rest of your kin are left confused about what kind of impact he could have had on you. This mystery (everyone loves a riddle!) will ensure that the family doesn't try to sweep your memory under the rug like they so often do with relatives who commit harakiri.
By the way, don't say things like harakiri, or else some suicide snob will read your note and say, "Well actually, harakiri is a ritualistic form of suicide. Worst note ever!"
The Closing
Just stick with Goodbye. No "Goodbye cruel world" or "See you on the other side." Those sound like bad teen poems and will cancel out all the suicide street cred you have built up to this point.
And remember, you've got all the time in the world to be dead, so by all means, take a few seconds for spell check. Unless your name is Lazarus, chances are you won't be able to return from the dead to change that "your" into a "you're."
Happy hanging!
Read my Tweets before you permanently turn off the lights: https://twitter.com/greatMikePayne
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Yes Virginia, You Are That Guy
As you skid into your early thirties, it is common to take a cold, hard look at your hobbies. A typical conversation among early thirtysomethings:
"Yeah, I was really getting into (insert hobby), but then I started thinking; 'Is that what I'm going to be for the rest of my life? That guy?'"
Depending on your interests, "that guy" could mean the amateur carpenter guy, the wine club guy, the too-old-to-be doing-karoake-but-still-doing-it guy. You know, that guy!
In your twenties you still believe you're one of a kind. Whatever your interests are, you're certain no one understands them like you do, and no one else likes them for the same reasons you do. And because you're a constantly improving beam of light, the interests and skills you have in your twenties are just the acorn of what will be an ever-growing oak of ability. Unlike everyone else, you are going to get better with age by continually expanding your horizons and mastering new disciplines.
By thirty you start noticing you fit a profile just like the rest of the herd. The same static slopes you have watched others luge down...you see you're on them too. You also fit a stereotype. Contrary to everything you have always thought about yourself, you realize you too can be easily stamped and labeled.
You realize your current path is pretty much going to be your path. The possibilities are not endless. You're not going to keep making new "friends" each year (in fact, you'll be lucky to keep the ones you have). You are not going to get a law degree at night and become a passionate lawyer for your pet cause. You're not going to move to Paris. You are not going to write that book. You are not going to get back to your college weight. You also won't start that interior design business. Hell, you're not even going to clean up your apartment.
I think the reason this realization is often so hard for people is that in your twenties, you think all of your interests are part of some majestic, forthcoming metamorphosis. Once you understand that glory isn't coming and that all that classic vinyl you collected was just a complicated way of learning the ins and outs of renting a storage space, a bit of melancholy is to be expected. Because once you realize there isn't some cocoon from which you're going to emerge, you finally begin to confront the chilling fact that yes, this is all there is. Whatever it is you do to divert yourself is just that; a diversion (hopefully a pleasant one) as you tick away the seconds of your life.
The process is like the end of puberty. When a teenager's bone plates harden, he stops growing. When an adult realizes that "killing time" is more than just an expression, he starts to mature from delusional paradise-chasing to just hoping for a comfortable decline.
I remember my first epiphany along these lines. At the beginning of 2010, I decided to make a list of every book I read that year. I actually kept it up all the way through the summer. Then one day I was like WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? AM I GONNA BE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE WHO GIVES HIMSELF A LIST OF FAMOUS NOVELS TO READ EACH YEAR SO HE CAN CHECK THEM OFF THE LIST? WHAT LIST? AND WHO THE HELL AM I GOING TO SHOW IT TO?! WHEN DID I BECOME THAT GUY?
Well, horrible as it is, I now concede that part of me is THAT GUY. I seem to be one of those folks who is determined--for no discernable reason--to read a variety of authors. There is no point to doing this, just as there was no point when it was done by all the people who did it before me. We just do it. Because we're that guy.
There is a plus side to this. Once you accept that you have pretty much become what you're going to be, you can start walking away from the Joneses instead of struggling to keep up with them.
"Yeah, I was really getting into (insert hobby), but then I started thinking; 'Is that what I'm going to be for the rest of my life? That guy?'"
Depending on your interests, "that guy" could mean the amateur carpenter guy, the wine club guy, the too-old-to-be doing-karoake-but-still-doing-it guy. You know, that guy!
In your twenties you still believe you're one of a kind. Whatever your interests are, you're certain no one understands them like you do, and no one else likes them for the same reasons you do. And because you're a constantly improving beam of light, the interests and skills you have in your twenties are just the acorn of what will be an ever-growing oak of ability. Unlike everyone else, you are going to get better with age by continually expanding your horizons and mastering new disciplines.
By thirty you start noticing you fit a profile just like the rest of the herd. The same static slopes you have watched others luge down...you see you're on them too. You also fit a stereotype. Contrary to everything you have always thought about yourself, you realize you too can be easily stamped and labeled.
You realize your current path is pretty much going to be your path. The possibilities are not endless. You're not going to keep making new "friends" each year (in fact, you'll be lucky to keep the ones you have). You are not going to get a law degree at night and become a passionate lawyer for your pet cause. You're not going to move to Paris. You are not going to write that book. You are not going to get back to your college weight. You also won't start that interior design business. Hell, you're not even going to clean up your apartment.
I think the reason this realization is often so hard for people is that in your twenties, you think all of your interests are part of some majestic, forthcoming metamorphosis. Once you understand that glory isn't coming and that all that classic vinyl you collected was just a complicated way of learning the ins and outs of renting a storage space, a bit of melancholy is to be expected. Because once you realize there isn't some cocoon from which you're going to emerge, you finally begin to confront the chilling fact that yes, this is all there is. Whatever it is you do to divert yourself is just that; a diversion (hopefully a pleasant one) as you tick away the seconds of your life.
The process is like the end of puberty. When a teenager's bone plates harden, he stops growing. When an adult realizes that "killing time" is more than just an expression, he starts to mature from delusional paradise-chasing to just hoping for a comfortable decline.
I remember my first epiphany along these lines. At the beginning of 2010, I decided to make a list of every book I read that year. I actually kept it up all the way through the summer. Then one day I was like WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? AM I GONNA BE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE WHO GIVES HIMSELF A LIST OF FAMOUS NOVELS TO READ EACH YEAR SO HE CAN CHECK THEM OFF THE LIST? WHAT LIST? AND WHO THE HELL AM I GOING TO SHOW IT TO?! WHEN DID I BECOME THAT GUY?
Well, horrible as it is, I now concede that part of me is THAT GUY. I seem to be one of those folks who is determined--for no discernable reason--to read a variety of authors. There is no point to doing this, just as there was no point when it was done by all the people who did it before me. We just do it. Because we're that guy.
There is a plus side to this. Once you accept that you have pretty much become what you're going to be, you can start walking away from the Joneses instead of struggling to keep up with them.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
I HATE MYSELF FOR BIRTHING YOU
Self-hate is a big problem for many people; so much so that the topic is now very much out in the open. What I find strange is when someone who struggles with self-hatred tries to remedy it by having children. Because what are your children? They’re just more of you. If you hate yourself, having kids is just expanding the problem.
My self-hatred is the reason I don’t want kids. The last thing I want is another me riding sidecar for 18 years.
If you hate yourself, there is a decent chance you hate your parents too. What better way to show your distaste for mom and dad then to discontinue your lineage. Refusing to procreate is a far deeper criticism of your parents than quitting law school to start a punk band.
Think about it; going childless means you are JUST SAYING NO to your bloodline. Picture all the folks who preceded you in your ancestry…people who battled through war, famine, floods, disease, poverty…all to help make you who you are. Telling them all “thanks for nothing” is more rebellious than an army of middle fingers (Army of Middle Fingers...not a bad name for that punk band).
Don't leave me barren on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne
My self-hatred is the reason I don’t want kids. The last thing I want is another me riding sidecar for 18 years.
If you hate yourself, there is a decent chance you hate your parents too. What better way to show your distaste for mom and dad then to discontinue your lineage. Refusing to procreate is a far deeper criticism of your parents than quitting law school to start a punk band.
Think about it; going childless means you are JUST SAYING NO to your bloodline. Picture all the folks who preceded you in your ancestry…people who battled through war, famine, floods, disease, poverty…all to help make you who you are. Telling them all “thanks for nothing” is more rebellious than an army of middle fingers (Army of Middle Fingers...not a bad name for that punk band).
Don't leave me barren on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Fortunate Departed
Whenever someone dies, observers go to great lengths to assure everyone "He's in a better place." Even the non-religious will offer statements like "Now the pain is over." So in effect they are saying the deceased is better off dead.
AND YET...had that guy killed himself rather than wait for nature to take its course, those same observers would have stood around shaking their heads saying, "Why did he do it? Why did he do it?!"
Even as they acknowledge that the corpse is better off as a corpse, most people still can't fathom the idea of inflicting your own death. They can't fathom that someone would purposefully trigger the pain-relieving oblivion they acknowledge is for the best. If you concede that someone is better off dead, why are you shocked by the thought of that person AGREEING WITH YOU so wholeheartedly that he takes his own life?
I guess this explains why there are so few entrepreneurs in the world. Too few people understand the real value of DIY. They wait around for everything, including death, to come to them.
AND YET...had that guy killed himself rather than wait for nature to take its course, those same observers would have stood around shaking their heads saying, "Why did he do it? Why did he do it?!"
Even as they acknowledge that the corpse is better off as a corpse, most people still can't fathom the idea of inflicting your own death. They can't fathom that someone would purposefully trigger the pain-relieving oblivion they acknowledge is for the best. If you concede that someone is better off dead, why are you shocked by the thought of that person AGREEING WITH YOU so wholeheartedly that he takes his own life?
I guess this explains why there are so few entrepreneurs in the world. Too few people understand the real value of DIY. They wait around for everything, including death, to come to them.
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Best Part of Waking Up
Insomnia has been with me from the start. As a kid, I was always the last one awake during sleepovers. [How awkward is that? One minute you're having an exciting conversation in the dark and the next you're alone in the gloom talking to yourself...perfect training for blogging...] I traded youthful rosy cheeks for chilly raccoon eyes.
As someone with insomnia, I detested mornings, and although I didn't go around saying "I'm not a morning person," I sympathized with those who did.
These days I prefer mornings. Morning is better because there is plenty of casual disorder to distract you from your angst. You're jumping out of bed, you're hitting the shower, you're shaving, you're brushing your teeth, you're searching for your iPhone, you're cursing your wife for living to see another day. Hardly a second to reflect on your failures.
"I'm not a morning person" is something people declare proudly. You rarely hear "I'm not an evening person." Puzzling when you consider how many songs, paintings, and stories there are about the oppressive texture of the night (including quite direct ones like "Help Me Make It Through the Night". There aren't many songs pleading, "Help Me Make It Through the Morning".
And you certainly aren't likely to hear a reference to the promise of the morning. As long as there is light there is day, and with that there is still hope of accomplishing something, and morning is where it all begins. Once night settles in, the race is over.
As evening comes the sadness of a day of letdowns wiggles in like a slug. Evening is the end of the light. Morning is the light at the end of the tunnel. I'll raise my morning cup of coffee to that.
Go to sleep reading my Twitter feed: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne
As someone with insomnia, I detested mornings, and although I didn't go around saying "I'm not a morning person," I sympathized with those who did.
These days I prefer mornings. Morning is better because there is plenty of casual disorder to distract you from your angst. You're jumping out of bed, you're hitting the shower, you're shaving, you're brushing your teeth, you're searching for your iPhone, you're cursing your wife for living to see another day. Hardly a second to reflect on your failures.
"I'm not a morning person" is something people declare proudly. You rarely hear "I'm not an evening person." Puzzling when you consider how many songs, paintings, and stories there are about the oppressive texture of the night (including quite direct ones like "Help Me Make It Through the Night". There aren't many songs pleading, "Help Me Make It Through the Morning".
And you certainly aren't likely to hear a reference to the promise of the morning. As long as there is light there is day, and with that there is still hope of accomplishing something, and morning is where it all begins. Once night settles in, the race is over.
As evening comes the sadness of a day of letdowns wiggles in like a slug. Evening is the end of the light. Morning is the light at the end of the tunnel. I'll raise my morning cup of coffee to that.
Go to sleep reading my Twitter feed: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne
Sunday, September 25, 2011
How to prevent bad suicide prevention
When an adult expresses depressed or suicidal sentiments, a common reply is: “But look at what you have; a roof over your head, food in the fridge. Millions of people would love to switch places with you.”
This is a sub-useless response. Let’s talk it out:
So SUICIDE GUY has all his material needs met, putting him in a much better position than many others, yet despite this he is still stricken with a sadness profound enough to cancel his self-preservation instinct...soooo how is this an argument for his continuing to live? If having everything he needs to survive in the face of widespread famine and squalor ain’t enough to shock him into life-loving gratitude, what else could he reasonably expect will enter his life to make him feel better? And what happens if SUICIDE GUY loses that roof and well-stocked fridge? And since when does a guilt trip make someone feel better about himself?
When a teen expresses depressed or suicidal sentiments, a common reply is: “C’mon, these are the best years of your life.”
Hard to imagine a more pro-suicide retort. If these are the best years of DEPRESSED TEEN’s life, and these years have left him suicidal, how is that an incentive to keep living? Effectively what you’re saying is: These years that have driven you to consider self-murder are the best you’ll ever have, and when they end in a few short years, according to the stats you’re looking at at least 60 more years that will make you nostalgic for this period that has given you a deathwish.
I’m not a medical professional, but it seems to me that if you encounter someone who is depressed/suicidal, it is best to leave these canned answers on the shelf. They actually strengthen the suicide's case.
All is not lost if you follow me Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne
This is a sub-useless response. Let’s talk it out:
So SUICIDE GUY has all his material needs met, putting him in a much better position than many others, yet despite this he is still stricken with a sadness profound enough to cancel his self-preservation instinct...soooo how is this an argument for his continuing to live? If having everything he needs to survive in the face of widespread famine and squalor ain’t enough to shock him into life-loving gratitude, what else could he reasonably expect will enter his life to make him feel better? And what happens if SUICIDE GUY loses that roof and well-stocked fridge? And since when does a guilt trip make someone feel better about himself?
When a teen expresses depressed or suicidal sentiments, a common reply is: “C’mon, these are the best years of your life.”
Hard to imagine a more pro-suicide retort. If these are the best years of DEPRESSED TEEN’s life, and these years have left him suicidal, how is that an incentive to keep living? Effectively what you’re saying is: These years that have driven you to consider self-murder are the best you’ll ever have, and when they end in a few short years, according to the stats you’re looking at at least 60 more years that will make you nostalgic for this period that has given you a deathwish.
I’m not a medical professional, but it seems to me that if you encounter someone who is depressed/suicidal, it is best to leave these canned answers on the shelf. They actually strengthen the suicide's case.
All is not lost if you follow me Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/greatMikePayne
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Look what the shrink dragged in
I have a lot to say about the psychiatry industry, but today I just don’t have the juice to say much of it (pass the Adderall). In the interests of conserving energy, I will say a little:
As traditional religion has been crowded out by self-help and psychotherapy, deep personal introspection is probably more talked about and accepted than ever. Many view this as a sign of progress. They think that more people asking themselves more questions will solve many of the problems of the past. Instead of seeking counsel from some superstitious religious figure, modern man will instead find long lasting peace through the cool, rational science of the psychiatrist.
All of this assumes that self-reflection is an unmitigated good. It isn’t. Not everyone has the constitution for reflection. Why? is the most remorseless question of them all. Asking why doesn’t always lead to progress and breakthroughs. Why? can just as easily lead one down the path to unrelenting nihilism.
Many just don’t have what it takes to be “self-aware” in the modern sense. Remember, Wile E. Coyote didn't plunge until he looked down. Many of us are better off running in mid-air for as long as we can.
As traditional religion has been crowded out by self-help and psychotherapy, deep personal introspection is probably more talked about and accepted than ever. Many view this as a sign of progress. They think that more people asking themselves more questions will solve many of the problems of the past. Instead of seeking counsel from some superstitious religious figure, modern man will instead find long lasting peace through the cool, rational science of the psychiatrist.
All of this assumes that self-reflection is an unmitigated good. It isn’t. Not everyone has the constitution for reflection. Why? is the most remorseless question of them all. Asking why doesn’t always lead to progress and breakthroughs. Why? can just as easily lead one down the path to unrelenting nihilism.
Many just don’t have what it takes to be “self-aware” in the modern sense. Remember, Wile E. Coyote didn't plunge until he looked down. Many of us are better off running in mid-air for as long as we can.
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Scabby Underbelly of Comforting Phrases
1) Virtue is its own reward.
Everything we do in this life we do to get noticed, and real virtue is seldom noticed, so we soothe ourselves by saying virtue is intrinsically good because it usually fails to deliver the recognition we crave.
Even more depressing is watching someone vulgarly draw attention to their virtue, which contaminates that virtue with the vice of pride. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, so if you aren’t a virtue whore, your virtue will be overlooked and your only recourse will be the sour delusion that your virtue is rewarding in and of itself (it isn’t).
2) Living well is the best revenge.
Actually, the best revenge is direct, immediate retaliation. In cases of infidelity, the best revenge is immediately shacking up with someone hotter and rubbing it in the face of the villain who cheated on you. Seducing someone hotter doesn’t bring nearly as much satisfaction if the person you are trying to hurt never knows about it.
Alas, anti-assault laws and the universe’s lack of benevolence keep us from attaining the honey-soaked bliss of physical/romantic vengeance, so we search for relief in the notion of avenging our wounds by “living well.” But living well is a crappy consolation prize. It is the dinette set on “The Price is Right.”
Moving on to a better job doesn’t unlaugh all the fake chuckles you coughed up when your former boss tried to be funny. It doesn’t restore the enamel you lost from grinding your teeth each time he forced "vis-à-vis" into a sentence in a poor attempt to sound smart. Those humiliations are forever, and leave your soul hunchbacked long before old age turns your spine into a krazy straw.
As for romantic vengeance, while it is nice to think that finding someone hotter will ease the pain of being cheated on, if it takes 5 years to find that person, those lips can’t help but taste like sour grapes. Why would it take so long? Because the devastation of being cheated on leaves you looking so haggard not even reunited hair bands will throw you a bone.
Living well is a poor stand-in for real revenge, but as it is the only realistic form of vengeance available, we call it "the best." The honest among you would do well to start saying: Living well is the only revenge.
3 The grass is always greener.
As we age (decay), life brings us diminishing returns. We get less and less of a kick from the pleasure-seeking rituals we once counted on, so we need to spin our wheels in new directions to divert our focus from the familiar agonies of existence. This means pining for new cities, new jobs, new wives, new kids...
But there is no escape. Your lawn could look like it was imported from the Emerald City and it still wouldn’t be as green as your eyes when you gaze upon your neighbor’s glistening, dew-weighted blades. And perfection is no solution either. The proof? Someone cheated on the perfect looking Elizabeth Hurley (but I'm sure she was content to know she was living well).
We are the lone inhabitants of an otherwise barren galaxy, and it still isn't enough to fill us up. What makes you think a move across the county is going to help?
Everything we do in this life we do to get noticed, and real virtue is seldom noticed, so we soothe ourselves by saying virtue is intrinsically good because it usually fails to deliver the recognition we crave.
Even more depressing is watching someone vulgarly draw attention to their virtue, which contaminates that virtue with the vice of pride. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, so if you aren’t a virtue whore, your virtue will be overlooked and your only recourse will be the sour delusion that your virtue is rewarding in and of itself (it isn’t).
2) Living well is the best revenge.
Actually, the best revenge is direct, immediate retaliation. In cases of infidelity, the best revenge is immediately shacking up with someone hotter and rubbing it in the face of the villain who cheated on you. Seducing someone hotter doesn’t bring nearly as much satisfaction if the person you are trying to hurt never knows about it.
Alas, anti-assault laws and the universe’s lack of benevolence keep us from attaining the honey-soaked bliss of physical/romantic vengeance, so we search for relief in the notion of avenging our wounds by “living well.” But living well is a crappy consolation prize. It is the dinette set on “The Price is Right.”
Moving on to a better job doesn’t unlaugh all the fake chuckles you coughed up when your former boss tried to be funny. It doesn’t restore the enamel you lost from grinding your teeth each time he forced "vis-à-vis" into a sentence in a poor attempt to sound smart. Those humiliations are forever, and leave your soul hunchbacked long before old age turns your spine into a krazy straw.
As for romantic vengeance, while it is nice to think that finding someone hotter will ease the pain of being cheated on, if it takes 5 years to find that person, those lips can’t help but taste like sour grapes. Why would it take so long? Because the devastation of being cheated on leaves you looking so haggard not even reunited hair bands will throw you a bone.
Living well is a poor stand-in for real revenge, but as it is the only realistic form of vengeance available, we call it "the best." The honest among you would do well to start saying: Living well is the only revenge.
3 The grass is always greener.
As we age (decay), life brings us diminishing returns. We get less and less of a kick from the pleasure-seeking rituals we once counted on, so we need to spin our wheels in new directions to divert our focus from the familiar agonies of existence. This means pining for new cities, new jobs, new wives, new kids...
But there is no escape. Your lawn could look like it was imported from the Emerald City and it still wouldn’t be as green as your eyes when you gaze upon your neighbor’s glistening, dew-weighted blades. And perfection is no solution either. The proof? Someone cheated on the perfect looking Elizabeth Hurley (but I'm sure she was content to know she was living well).
We are the lone inhabitants of an otherwise barren galaxy, and it still isn't enough to fill us up. What makes you think a move across the county is going to help?
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