There’s a line from Jordan Peterson that’s been in my head for the last few days. Paraphrasing, it goes, “We don’t know the upper limits of being our best selves, of persistently focusing on doing the right thing and being totally efficient.” It’s usually following a point of how real and how quick we allow things to degrade. Someone with a drug habit spirals out of control. Violence erupts and cuts irreparable holes through people’s lives. The devil is real, Christ always remains...well, floating far enough out of reach.
On the societal level, I agree with his sentiment. I’ve argued as much that “we” don’t even really exist and it’s mostly just a helpful illusion psychologically distressed people rely on to quash loneliness. Personally though? I can definitely think of instances in my life where I’ve done literally all I was capable of doing and was able to see the consequences. When I sometimes fell asleep with my guitar in my lap, I started to see my fingers flirt with those crazy speed and sweep picking videos that barely look real. When I spent every waking moment reading about how to argue with religious people, I found myself internalizing details of not just the bible, but dead languages, specific branches of biology, and concepts in physics I had no business co-opting to beat someone over the head in an “argument” with.
I’ve described myself as an all-or-nothing kind of person in the past. You don’t go from nothing to coffee shop in a few months without it. You don’t choose to approach projects I hope to see on the land if you’re anything less. You don’t watch more media than Roger Ebert before you’re thirty even without speeding up crappier things. So I at least have a glance at what happens when you’re approaching the upper limit of efficiency or mastery. And you know what happens? You get bored as fuck.
I enjoy mystery and complications. One of the reasons I’m in love with Attack on Titan is that it is so damn good at keeping the anticipation peaked in every episode. I find it absolutely fascinating when a story’s very world can build intrigue. The Man in the High Castle comes to mind. Just mysterious enough to transcend the potentially gimmicky premise. When the work is taken seriously and you feel the love the creator has for what’s happening, it tends to stick.
Hand in hand with the mystery, I like sincerity. I like seeing off-camera sexual tension play out on. I like seeing people who genuinely like each other play in their roles together. Firefly sticks out. Community without Chevy Chase being a foreseeable dick. A sincere person or story is absolutely deadly. They will rob you of your life while you are engaging with them. The question is whether or not you would have paid anyway for such a memorable experience.
So I worry about myself. I do things like put 40 or 50 articles in a folder and sit on them for a couple weeks. I have the time to read them practically and literally always. The titles at least sound interesting or it’s an author I know I like already. I’m still compiling the thousands it’ll take to demonstrate what I want with my map one day, hopefully soon. So what am I doing? Won’t there always be more articles? Just like there are 4 or 5 hundred shows I have downloaded I haven’t even watched the first episode of. I have 50 books on my Amazon wishlist I barely even order 1 at a time even when they’re four bucks.
I’m trying to avoid that bored feeling. I’m trying to not be a heartless machine watching a whir of pictures and words stream across my face without the ability to focus in or find something meaningful. When I start to read, I read everything. When I need specific information tied to a problem or argument, if the book is in front of me, it’s read. If I need to get through 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls so I can have a 7 line conversation about the new season with one of my friends right after it airs, I’m team Logan.
I’m waiting to see if I found someone who operates like me in approaching this land. And I’m genuinely scared of what might get created. At one level, I know who I am with too much money and time, but I’ve always had some very tangible poor person problem just around the corner. What am I doing when I’m totally focused and totally funded in getting my site going? What is it like to never worry about car troubles? If my life starts to look anything like how my head operates with regard to digesting, translating, and manifesting information in some form beyond blogs, what the fuck then?
The fucked part is that I still absolutely believe it. I haven’t spent a single day since I decided what I wanted believing it wouldn’t happen eventually. And if my random shots in the dark on Craigslist for someone better oriented with a broader perspective who’s equally capable and motivated as me managed to work? The fuck kind of story is that? Where do I get off getting everything I ever wanted? And if she falls off the planet and disappears, it’ll take longer, but it’s still going to happen. I feel I’m about to start the speed run portion of my life. What kind of bullshit am I going to have to deal with coming down from what’s poised to be an immeasurable high?
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100 people are likely burning to death this moment in London. I wish I was ever allowed to complain.
