What if I am but an instrument? What if every selfish pursuit is a necessary lesson in the continuum of existence? There’s a line that’s been haunting me. “Be the hero of your own story.” It’s that I don’t know what to think or feel about it.
At first pass, it sounds insanely naively selfish. Fuck your story. Who gives a shit about your story? It’s only been in the relatively recent history of humans that “you” was more than cannon fodder or something highly likely to die before the age of 2. It seems to bump into the very fact of existing at all. “Why” as a question always seems insufficient. “That” you are here and can decide it’s about you or whatever else is what’s massively intriguing.
If you consider yourself an instrument, a product of incalculable forces, your life gets easier. You don’t feel guilty about your travels around the world peeking in on poverty and silently endorsing unfettered capitalism. You can spend as many hours as it takes behind your startup or hobby. You can freely exchange words and love like they’re of no consequence. Sure, you’re a cog, but a cog that flows. You’re a happy cog. I recently said we’re looking to be a part of almost anything. Finding your place in the machine can be immensely reassuring and life affirming.
If you’re not an instrument, you don’t get your answers to “why.” You’re left making many assumptions. You’re left leaving things up to testing and chance. In other words, when you don’t know for sure that you fit, despite your inclinations and general sense about what should be done, you’re left in a fairly dangerous spot. You can devolve into nihilism. You can act arbitrarily absurd and seek out authoritarian regimes. You can pretend like nothing is ever wrong and be the intractable hippie type I hate.
I think existence suggests orientation. That is, I think being is as much a conclusion as anything else. “Should” we exist becomes a non-starter bullshit question. Should I write this blog? Fuck you, an infinite number of forces came together consistently until I found the capacity to put words to the “page.” It’s a miracle you can read me. It’s a miracle I have the opportunity to try.
I’ve stated before that entropy is the rule. It’s also only the rule as far as we know. It’s the rule to as best as our instruments can tell. We can’t figure out quantum mechanical structures or behavior. What is the word “entropy” subjected to the statistical underpinnings of every particle in existence? An absurd question we’ll never answer.
In the meantime, we’re left doing what? Me? Writing. You? Working. Society? Denying and slowly (but not slow enough) dying. Questions require scale. They need conditions and parameters from which to understand things. I don’t reflexively call Trump a fascist. I waited till he literally parroted Hitler and Mussolini. But what else is there? What more are you to worry about than the body politick? Why shouldn’t you be overly concerned with interpersonal struggles? Why shouldn’t you campaign as ferociously for love as I try to denounce it?
I’m scared of loving what I do. Stated differently, I’m scared that the farther I disappear into my own ass the more “good” we’ll see as far as changes in society goes.
Hopefully, you’ll see immediately why. I’ve adopted a narrative about “it isn’t about me.” I’m enough for me. I believe in me. I don’t need your help or endorsement. But if I start doing well by “doing me” and in turn there’s some positive fall-out for the rest of the world, I’m provoked to endorse everyone being as selfish as I feel inclined. Is that not dangerous?
There are immediately points of contention. I consider world-class musicians and athletes. These people can be heroes for spending years focusing on a single subject. They can “inspire” youth to transcend their circumstances or live in accordance with a regimented lifestyle. At the same time, no matter how beautifully you master a piece of music nor perfect your bounce and shot, we’ll happily die and cow-tow to political forces that transcend your ability to get good at something. Sure, this is fairly linear thinking, but is it ever referenced or used in any other fashion?
I always wonder why I feel hopeless when I try to learn something like physics or a new instrument. Does the world need me to learn these things? What happens if I’m Yo-Yo Ma with all my ideas about how to help people get engaged and knowledgeable about their place on the planet? I feel like you have to hate me at that point. You have to be disgusted that I would turn on the thousands of words I’ve expressed about what seems to underlay my being. How can you give a fuck about my “passion” or “talent” when I scapegoated the larger issue to impress you with my muscle twitches?
And then what do we do with the person who feels like me about something I think is a speck? What if you’re as passionate? What if you’re as “convinced?” And now you make Michael Jordan look like a bitch. Is the world better for it? Can we be compared? Is the exercise patently futile?
It’s at the same time that I think we should all be able to find the time and inclination to learn something at the world-class level, but no-less engage in the forces that are larger. This is the problem. It’s not a comparison; it’s that we’re not comprehensive. We don’t add to a plate we pretend is too full already. We deny there’s a world beyond.
The ego of “survival of the fittest” is small-minded. The moment we could say “I” and recognized it as a part of everything, we opened up an opportunity. We suggest transcendence. We provoke a level of understanding and behavior that doesn’t even recognize the modern myopic vernacular. This is my struggle. Am I learning a new instrument for me, or to fit into a group of people that understands what music means to us all? Am I creating a website and compiling information to stroke my ego? Or do I want to stop hating the stupid ass fucking responses I get from you for why you’re not as stoked about what I’m doing as I am? Is it bask and gloat or teach and engorge?
I think when people have lofty dreams and forget it needs to be about us and not them is where you get stories of “my whole life was dedicated to this, and when it happened, I thought, fuck, that’s it?” Your life should be an example. You have to acknowledge, not concede, how integrated your being is to everything. Then you feel the rules for more than empty edicts handed down through an authority. Then you can act confidently in the face of nihilism and solipsism without fearing enduring ignorance. Take what you can be “sure enough” to be true to heart and to be true enough.
If you understand every line or none, we’re still on the same page. I’m trying. You’re trying. We’re basking in opportunity. “Potential” is the mirage you allow yourself in service to inaction.
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