What makes life good?
On the good life, transitions, and curiosity
I don’t like living in an apartment in the city.
Like, I actually loathe coming home. I guess I’ve always sort of loathed coming home, though (Mom, I’m not talking about being around the family, I’m talking about being inside of a house).
I remember, in fact, when I was a kid, how much I looked forward to school—which I didn’t always think was so awesome—just so I could get out of the house (again, Mom, it wasn’t to get away from the family, just to be out and about where things are going on).
There’s just something so depressing about a house (notice, Mom, that I said “a” house, not “our” house). Other than the stifled air and artificial light, it’s the isolation from the world around.
You’re completely shut away from everything that’s going on. And this isn’t always such a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s nice to settle into a comfy corner and read a book or watch a movie alone.
But in the city, especially, it is the case that you will live, as the crow flies, within less than 50 feet of someone for years and not ever know a true thing about them.
How have humans come to this? Surely, it isn’t so natural not to interact with the primates around which you spend a great deal of your time.
A house is certainly more cheerful when it’s not so ghostly . . . When it’s not occupied by a bunch of pale-skinned vampires who loathe all things mildly uncomfortable and know to cook nothing more than that which can be warmed in a microwave.
On the good life
I’ve always known—and continue to see—that the good life is the life with the least amount of burden.
And there is a difference between burden and responsibility.
I find it fun to be responsible for things. It is fun, for example, to be the captain of the boat, to be the one in charge of figuring out what must be done.
Burden is different. Burdens are those things you must do. School, work, extracurricular commitments . . .
These burdens, these pressures, can indeed be imposed upon us, especially when we’re young; but as we grow and gain greater volition, they become more self-imposed.
In other words, we choose to let these pressures into our lives, both by taking on more things than we need and by letting ourselves be affected—as in, our perception of them—by these things we let into our lives.
In fact, it is chiefly the perception of having to do something that poses the most pressure because once you do it, whatever it is, the pressure dissipates.
Like today, I feel a pressure because I think there are certain things I should do, like make some extra cash and look for a van . . .
And since I’m writing right now, I don’t want to do those things. And so, you see, it is not the things themselves that pressure me—because they are figments of my imagination—but my perception of them.
I could, for instance, schedule a time to do something at some point in the near future and thereby feel pressure to be done doing what I’m doing right now at this cafe by that certain time, or I could not schedule anything—not tell myself there are things I must eventually do—and feel completely carefree.
And so just by not telling myself I don’t need to do anything at all, I feel far less pressure . . . And this doesn’t even mean, too, that I won’t do these things.
In fact, I probably will, and may even be more likely to, because I will, of course, run out of things to type and post, and tire of sitting in this chair, and desire to make some money, and then, after I make some money, soon wish to make some progress on my van, and perhaps even find one that I like, and then after I grow tired of looking for a van, I may want to exercise.
This way of life works far better for me. A schedule is the enemy of good. I prefer to move as I wish, when I wish, and how I wish.
I’ve always been this way. But for most of my life, I’ve been forced, in one way or another, to abide by a calendar. Classes, practices, work, Church, etc.
I thought that something was wrong with me because I felt so burdened. I’d start a season or a semester or a job off strong, and eventually, hardly ever more than a month or two in, come to see what I once took as an opportunity to be a burden merely because I had to do it.
And now I know there actually was nothing wrong with me . . . There was something wrong with the way the world went about trying to tell me what I should do, when I should do it, and how I should go about doing it.
And I guess it’s not even that there’s something necessarily wrong with that, but that it’s just not how I work. And I actually don’t think it’s how very many people work, if any at all, because we invented the clock only after many millennia of evolution.
You know, it is difficult to relinquish these pressures and burdens we place upon ourselves, but it is possible if you have patience.
Because though it is the perception that bears down upon us, the perception would be relinquished if the burden dissipated—if we found a way to objectively eradicate whatever it is we must do—be it work, or a mortgage, or a commitment to some organization.
But most people, due to the impulsive nature of the world, are entirely impatient, incapable of waiting even a few hours just to eat.
So it is no surprise, then, that they get jobs and cars and go on vacations that push the bounds of their budgets. They aren’t willing to wait ten years to build something that will give them freedom forever or, better yet, realize they could do much better on far less.
They’d rather go on two expensive vacations this year because they just need to relax, and they’ve been working hard, and they deserve it.
They don’t see that it is their perpetual desire for more rather than less that continues to weigh down upon them.
They don’t see that they are undermining their ability to enjoy each waking moment because they’re under the impression that they need to add things to their life rather than subtract them in order to attain that peace, that tranquility, that relief they so seek.
On transitions
I don’t know. I’ve been in a weird state in general these past few months. These things aren’t so simple, and they don’t come and go so quickly and smoothly.
I’m annoyed when people mark certain dates like they’re fresh starts.
They’re like, I’ve finally worked through it, or I’m done with that, or I’ve made it. What a bunch of horse shit.
These people are incapable of acknowledging the stickiness of life. . . The fact that change takes not days, nor weeks, nor even months, but years and decades. They think they will work hard for three or six or twelve months and just somehow be a different person entirely.
And they say it too. He’s changed, or I’ve changed. You fool, it’s been four months.
I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been in this transitory stage, where I’ve been trying to figure out how I want to live my life because I am indeed now done with school, and I will indeed now be much more independent in this world, capable of both adventure and utter despair, because I am not necessarily a part of anything any longer, besides perhaps certain cities, and smaller communities, like churches and gyms, and hopefully some WWOOF locations.
But I guess I’ve been scared. Because all the work I’ve done to become the writer I thought I’d be by now hasn’t necessarily paid off how I thought it would—as in, I’m still broke.
Of course, I’ve been doing it inconsistently . . . In fact, I only have 30 or so newsletters out right now, and it is shortsighted of me to expect any sort of payment from just that. And so I’ve managed to acknowledge the fact that when I look at all my work and my social media presence, it is no surprise I’ve made no money because I don’t look like a writer who makes money because all my efforts have strayed and been inconsistent.
The point is that as I’ve entered this transitory stage, I’ve really started to reflect on what I want and what matters to me because I do have some choices to make, and rather important ones at that.
And I have, for the most part, sorted these choices out already, having realized what I want, and so this statement is sort of an after-the-fact, although I’ve yet to execute on my decision, simply because my lease is not yet up.
But all this reflection has brought to my attention the fact that I want to live freely. That no matter what I do, it is the having to do something, rather than getting to do it, that makes my life miserable. And that it is in my best interest and the best interest of my loved ones that I pursue a life of freedom.
Because there are things about the way I’ve been living that I just don’t like. Namely, it is that way of being in which every action is to get to the next, and the next, and the next, until finally, you may settle down on the couch with a cookie and drown your senses in some movie or social media feed.
And though I like movies, I also like mornings, and middays, and afternoons, and evenings. And I feel like I haven’t been able to appreciate any of what life has to offer while I’ve been in school, because I’ve always had something to do, not too far in the future, usually no more than an hour or two, and so instead of doing what I so deeply desire to do, doing what my schedule requires me to do.
Instead of waking up and seeing the sunrise or going for a morning dip, I’ve hurried to make my bed and shower, and then get out of the house and then to class or work or whatever burden lies next in my order of being.
And I think the reason I spoke of what I spoke of earlier is that it isn’t so easy to come to live this life of minimal burden because some things must be taken care of. Money must somehow be made, health must somehow be managed, relationships must somehow be tended to, and so forth. And so these systems must be set in place, so they work as seamlessly as possible so as little burden as possible lies upon the day.
And so this is why discipline equals freedom, and why most people will never actually live a life of freedom . . . Because everything they do becomes a race to get to the next thing.
On curiosity
I quite like the idea of getting to do whatever the hell I want with my time. To explore and create curiously and to have the resources to do so. I really don’t know if there’s much more to the good life than this.
I mean, really, you could indeed sit under a tree all day and meditate until you blast off into space, or you could do things, ordering your life so that you make way for your young self to return and explore the world as you’re designed.