The Great Filter

On faithful ignorance

The secret to life is to live each second as if it’s all going to be okay. Because when you believe it’s all going to be okay, you grant yourself the freedom to bask in the present.

I realize intermittently—the most recent time being two nights ago, which is why I’m writing this now—that I worry too much. I let myself become way too stressed in my day-to-day. I care far too much about little things that don’t really matter.

And that’s not to say that little things don’t matter, because they do, but that some other little things don’t. Some other little things, almost all of them, inevitably work themselves out.

But how do I, and you, make the distinction between what to concern ourselves with and what to let be? What’s the Great Filter?

Isn’t it obvious? It’s God.

One of my biggest problems all this time, all these years, has been the fact that every time I get discombobulated, every time something disturbs me, every time I feel something is out of order, I try to think my way out of it. I try to intellect my way through whatever problem I am facing, and then solve it on my own through a series of obscure and ineffective action steps.

But I cannot intellect my way through these problems. Because the problem isn’t the problem that I’m attempting to solve. Sometimes the problem I’m attempting to solve isn’t even a problem.

The problem is the fact that I buy into my ego and mistakenly think I am in control, and that it is good for me to try and solve the problem—and, indeed, to forthrightly declare it is a problem that needs to be solved—on my own.

But it is not good.

Because whenever I try and intellect my way through whatever’s disturbing me at the moment, I only become more lost. In fact, the more on-scent I think I am, the further I stray, because the more I think I am in control, and the more I buy into the fact, subsequently, that I ought to try and control everything—further distancing myself from God, the Great Filter, the Bestower of Missions.

The older I get—the more mistakes I make, and the more my faith grows—the more I realize (it’s cyclical) that the only way out of whatever small problem or existential crisis I’m facing is through God.

What exactly do I mean by this? What do people mean when they say things like this?

It is something I say, something a lot of us believers say, when we want to convey the idea of letting go and giving it up to forces greater than ourselves.

It is this belief that through faith in and, more importantly, a relationship with the supernatural—that which created the natural order of things—it, or He, will make things be according to what’s best for us.

It is this weird sort of determinism mixed with free will, an acknowledgment of one’s unique individuality, coupled with the awareness that we are mostly a piece of wood drifting down a river.

I’ve long noticed that people who don’t give a fuck live seemingly happier lives than people who do. Not that these people are necessarily of faith, so to speak, and not that they objectively live better lives (I’m not advocating for carelessness) . . .

But I’ve always not been a part of this camp. I’ve been in the camp of people who give a fuck, who just can’t let go and give it up. I’m not exactly sure how I ended up here (I mean, I’m the older brother, so I think it’s only natural), though I was always happy—despite how miserable I sometimes made myself—to be a part of it because I saw how much of a mess (that’s what it looked like to me) the other camp made.

I can’t help but think of Adam and Eve—Eve eating of the forbidden fruit, this sinful key to awareness of oneself.

Obviously, that’s not the entire story.

Nevertheless, there is something to be said, some very important key I’ve been missing in my day-to-day, in regards to this whole control thing. It’s like I’ve been supplementing my faith with an incessant need for hyper-awareness and the subsequent, near-psychotic urge to do something about it—to be certain I’m not caught naked.

Not everyone is like this, of course. But some people are . . . thinker-types deeply aware of who and what they are. And we pride ourselves on it.

And it makes us miserable. It holds us back from doing and being what we’re designed to do and be. It holds us back from a relationship with God, or with the way of life that’s better for us.

I get like this a lot. I think. I probe for things to worry about. To occupy myself with. To torture myself with. I think I’ve got to get it all done, or else I won’t be worthy and deserving.

I try to make sure I’ve got everything under control, and that nothing is going to slip my awareness, and that I’ll always be able to bask in the pride of knowing all of my shit is in order.

But this is not a high quality of life. It is not a high quality of life to concern oneself each and every day with making sure they check off every box, and that if they don’t, then they failed that day, and that they’ve just got to wake up the next day and try and do it again.

It is not a high quality of life to be concerned every second with tasks, these mundane things that, for one reason or another, mistakenly lead us to believe we’ll be more complete after having gotten them done.

Every time I start to think this way, all I’ve done is dig myself deeper and deeper into it. I bought into the lie. I’ve thought I just need to control harder, and move faster, and waste less.

I’ve thought I’ve had to be the best version of myself every single day—which, for some reason, meant doing a whole bunch of different things in the name of something like productivity—if I wanted to live the best life possible.

But this is a form of active blasphemy. It is a way of saying, back up, I’ve got this.

Anytime someone says back up, I’ve got this, they usually flop. It’s not the I’ve got this part that leads to the flop. It’s the back up part. As in, I don’t need your help.

The fact of the matter is that something happens when I think about God. When I hold Him in the forefront of my awareness. Yeah, sure, call it a delusion if you’d like. And perhaps God has no intention of me feeling joy when I think about Him. Perhaps I’m living with a misconception.

But no other frame of mind lifts the weight off my shoulders like God does. Because when you walk around with God at the top of your mind—this idea that nothing you face is greater than what, or Who, you’re living for—you become untouchable. You rejoice in simplicity. You’re unwavering. Because you know what’s best will transpire, and Who’s guiding you will lead you to what’s best.

In a way, I am saying that I’d like to be a little more ignorant. I am saying that I’d like to stop worrying so much about certain things. That I’d like to stop living as if I’m teetering on the edge of destruction—as if my failing to check off certain boxes will result in a catastrophic demise—and start living like it’s going to be okay, and that there is good, and that I have nobody to prove myself to.

It’s hard as you get older to let go of these things, when your responsibilities—the number of things you must concern yourself with on a daily basis in order to “stay afloat”—only seem to be growing in quantity. But I think it’s supposed to be like that.

It’s supposed to be like a test. A yes, we’re carrying more cargo than we’ve ever carried before, but this boat ain’t gonna sink.

The how will always work itself out. It’s the why, the for what you need to concern yourself with.