Sunday Morning Thoughts: 10.8.17

I see it there. Swaying before my eyes. As it was the day before, and before that. Always there. A different carrot sometimes, but a carrot just the same. And always the same stick.

They never mention actually reaching happiness, at least not with grand admiration. The pursuit, however, is quite the big deal. Right up there with being alive and free. To attempt to find contentment. Your own dreamt up happiness, specific or vague it may be. It is yours.

But what happens upon arrival? Or worse, what can one do upon realizing the impossibilities of that which is desired? Can such a beast live without a destination? What are we, with nothing to chase?

Of course, these are not the thoughts of a person all excited with pursuit. This is the wonder why. And if. And the subsequent confusion that can bounce around a mind aggressively and indefinitely. Bending our realities, or unbending what was previously bent. How to see what our pursuits truly are. The worth. Validity.

So, what are the empty-handed to do? Can you spare yourself misery by forsaking a particular perspective? Can one truly unwant something? Or what if you be mad enough to want the lost cause? To never admit failure even when you have failed. Hopeless, so to speak.

What we want may not be as crucial to all this as much as how we want. The harder parts to shake are always the vague ones. To want love will last longer than seeking the love of someone specific. Usually. As memories, and the fading of them, can do a lot to numb down the concise focus of the heart. But it can still go on for ages, even if the burn is dull and blurry.

That is not always the case, though. Specifics can drive at a particular brand of madness. Because adaptation runs out. And the whole climax of your accumulated intentions, resides out of your hands. Eventually. The perspective of who you seek, makes or breaks the whole bit. That is, once every effort has been exhausted by yourself, on behalf of yourself.

Which is not limited to romance. Oh, no.

What is sought and what is found are quite different throughout any category of life. Many people do not become who they thought they’d grow up to be. And many more wonder if perhaps their story is not the one of success their guidance counselor had suggested. That the underdog stays down. Or that you weren’t any of that to begin with. The thought that whilst homeless in California, maybe a return to the Midwest might be for the best. Move back in with your folks. That maybe some people were too nice, and others too mean. Or the terrifying potential fact, that you just weren’t good enough. Not at that. Not there.

And that’s not to say that is an outright failure, or that such a thing is for the worst. Los Angeles is a soulless town anyway. And it is the stumbles and slips that often times guide better than any map. You can really see the stars, after you’ve falling right on your ass and sprawled out flat upon the ground.

Things that are found when not looking tend to make quite the memory. It’s probably the same part of the brain that likes suspense in films.

But desire does not work neatly. Even at its most poetic, the human need to want is chaotic and sloppy. Hence why so many, young folks for certain, tend to want what may not be best. Or even want something bad for them. And even with that knowledge, a habit of hapless happiness does not leave quietly. As old Artie Schopenhauer suggested, our pain is pleasure and our pleasure is boring.

And perhaps that is the grandest crux. That finding contentment is boring. That it is not about the actual object of desire, it is the idea of it. And the idea of working towards something. The movement. The whole idea of being a junkie for the journey with the reaching of the destination being nothing more than standing face to face with your addiction. The intervention.

And I apologize.

To make a ramble on happiness seem anything but happy. I don’t know what it is like in anyone else’s head. Not quite. Not more than a guess, which I am often wrong.

But I am quite stuck in my own. And it is not always a place of sunshine and roses. And though that may just be the contrast needed to create, or perceive something beautiful- it is also a bit of a madhouse. Riddled with self-deprecation and doubt. And paranoia. Perhaps culminating towards a series of self-fulfilling prophesies. But I have lived long enough, and wanted hard enough to know that the very thing I have not wanted to happen, may end up happening. And if there was something that could have been done, only hindsight reveals. And sometimes, there wasn’t a thing that could be done about it anyway.

So, the only thing I see left to do is go onward. And that may only be because I’m still in the first half of life. Assuming old age is what kills me.

But I do not fear failure. Not really. I certainly don’t like it, but we’re no strangers. Almost old friends, I would even say. So I don’t fear failure. I do, however, fear not caring about failure. It matters, somehow. That if apathy totally takes control, could I even call myself alive?

And more than all of that, I fear running out of moments. Using up the way of mind that allows happiness to ever enter at all. That I will lose my ability to make a day better than the last. Make a bad morning turn around. I fear that I will turn into a dull, food processing machine, that constantly and voraciously distracts the mind of all desire by reducing itself at the most base levels. TV dinners and gameshows. And that sort of thing.

But, alas.

Off into the day I go. And another full day it is.

I spoke with a friend about that not long ago. It may be a bit of semantics, but it is the best I can do to seek a high note here.

I asked her how her day was.

She said long.

I related. My days are always long.

But then I thought for a moment or two. And in those thoughts, I found something. That calling a day long, robs it of value.

So, I suggested that we say her day was full. Not to limit the appreciation for the efforts made. In fact, it only increases them.

For a full day implies that all that could have been done, was done. And anything that wasn’t, just didn’t find room that day. And hints, that perhaps the next day, may find more towards progress.

But, pardon me. I must get going.

As I said, I have a rather full day ahead. As I had before. I aim to have a full one tomorrow, even some is filled with some gloom. Or failure.

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