[761] No Problemo

I'm looking for a problem.

Usually when I start writing, there's something pressing. My head is posing a problem. The mash-up hasn't turned into a brilliant display of abstract art only I can decode. Increasingly, I'm finding it hard to figure out what's on my mind. I'm no doubt still thinking. I'm still pressed to do certain things or maintain my principle framing of issues. But, it's changing.

My singular focus for the last 2 or 3 years has been to “settle” my land. I'm literally a few hundred dollars away, and for all intents and purposes my mind considers it done. What's my biggest indication? I've went and seen 2 concerts, went out with friends 2 weekends in a row, and didn't think twice about fixing my car at the same time I bought the supplies to finish up the bones of the house and labor. I eat out nearly every day. I'm buying things like belts without metal so they'll stop fucking with me at the detector when I go into court. I'm deferring funds to preference and prevention.

The nature of my overarching problem isn't to establish an inexpensive place to live from which to spring forth all of my creative endeavors anymore. Now I get to pick and hopefully balance. Now I get to wait for sickness or an accident to bleed me dry, except, if I can stave it off long enough, I'll also have insurance. I'm eking over the edge of “hood rich” status, after what feels like a lifetime of making the joke, and I'm looking off into the abyss.

I could try and make a problem out of my past. No old person finds you interesting when you do that, and no young person is smart enough to grasp why their current behavior will make them feel like you soon enough. I could complain about the price of equipment or paint as I refine the grounds and move from “survivable” to “humble abode.” I'm already starting to micromanage some of my social behavior. I'm realizing that 25-30 “this is my life in the service industry” crowd are very different from “I got too tired working myself to death and being pretentious so I got a 'real job'” as I've described myself. I don't actually want to smoke or snort myself to an early death or get into a slew of self-destructive flings with line cooks.

I also don't want something necessarily approaching “normal.” I'm not comfortable making the statement, “If I don't have kids by 35, I'm going to (x)” as I overheard in the office about hitting the sperm bank if not knocked up by 30. I'm not above the practical considerations with body clocks nor do I root against single moms, but the idea that a kid is simply part of the calculus instead of the ethos or opportunity kind of creeps me out. I want my house to grow to fit exactly what I'm asking of it. If that includes castle towers and a room akin to a ball pit, but with pillows, so be it. If I end up raising some exotic animal who nobody realized were doper than cats and most dog breeds combined, I'm open to the possibility. But I promise I'll be okay if I don't have a lemur at 32.

I want to believe I've sort of “wised up” in taking the Jordan Peterson advice about having something stable before you try to be all creative. I've pretty much always known I'm not the starving artist type, either because I enjoy showering or am not that creative. The idea of living in a band van for months, or with 20 hippies in shared space we shouldn't enter while Venus is at 22 degrees has never rang as particularly appealing. I've always known I could “play-along” with the “adults” and do precisely what I'm doing now. I took it for granted the people I used to cavort with knew as much about themselves as well, and didn't think basement dwelling was the long-term vision.

I think perhaps my new overarching goal is to find where things meet. First, and I hate this, it would speak to the irony wearing a yin-yang for most of your life and never finding that balanced place. You know, the eternal underlying drum beat of existence kind of irony. Second, it's something that I think manifests from throwing yourself into competing forces. What's the middle ground, in these divided times, between my liberal hippie idealism, and my deliberate move away from an ignorant caricature of my neighbors just now? Surely something to discover.

But even more than that. I liken the kind of problem I'm looking for is the one rich people have to deal with. Athletes that grew up poor are often kind of dumb, but they know they want to “give back,” but their contributions, if not personally gratifying, do little to nothing to stem the tide of systemic problems. So what's their responsibility when they can no longer play or aren't getting as much coming in as they may feel needs to go out? Using your voice and platform remain important, but practically, how do we get rid of rich people guilt? When can we agree they deserve to keep it all?

It's not precisely in money, but this is the question I ask of myself when it comes to how I feel. When do I actually feel like I deserve happiness? I mean the kind of happiness that isn't derived from me making fun of something or having a wildly good time punishing idiots. When do I just get to believe in the relationships I've made or the friendships I want to preserve without the guilt that I'm going to say or do something to fuck them up? Does it ever reach some kind of “unconditional” stage? Is it a worthwhile or tangible problem to try and adopt to tackle? Is it something I can even address individually, or as my increasingly suspicion, through some roundabout reshaping of how I conceive of myself?

Back to rich people; they get addicted and abused. They're born unhealthy and with bad philosophies. They're people, exacerbated by their wealth. The point where that wealth meets survivable existence seems to be nearly out of reach. Do we selfishly hoard what we have and try to wait out disaster? Like any group or class of people, they seems to swim together in their own fog of similar pathology. The servers all drink together after work because they're all sore and angry and been through every kitchen in town and hooked up with every waitress that would have them. The rich all drink together because nobody understands them, the degrees of their brilliance or depravity, and after all, life is short, so enjoy it.

What do I aspire to be in acting or accessing like the rich via the methods of the poor? I envy the third-world areas who are getting to build their houses out of plastic blocks made by this Spanish-speaking company that has zero interest in internationally shipping me said blocks. Talk about a freaking cost and effort saver. Would choking down the aesthetics and emulating “moderate,” by global standards, entitle me to something else? Or is that just a stupid word altogether and we're literally, at all times, deciding what our balance is? I found the company, did the work, reached out, got the land, and every other piece that would go into getting my own Lego house, what else should I expect?

That whole mechanism has been fucked with, though. I'm not talking about my new starter-house on a little acreage at 22 with my college-educated job where I made $55,000 starting out. We've instilled a “poor dad” mindset in people. Live day by day. Buy things verses invest. Don't expect your skills or interests matter for shit because you're fundamentally taken advantage of. I've clawed my way back into asserting those interests in fact do matter. I don't want to be afraid of financial ruin and be subconsciously dictated to seek out as much as I can get before it all gets swept away. I want the kind of stability that comes with building the disaster into my life. I want to be able to roll in and out of anywhere.

The problem will be keeping it together after a series of too many wins. I'm going to fall under the same delusion that genuinely thought everyone was having as much fun as me at my parties. All the while I'm working out what to do next or who to include will engender resentment and insecurity. All the potential and excitement I'll have to be the sole cheerleader for and bearer of the majority of the work and direction. I'll say a million and one times what I advocate for and who I like and what we can achieve, and I'll watch as a shadow and insular mockery subverts my best intentions. And then I'll return to the same question, is what's been created worth what's being destroyed? Does this lie at the nexus of worthwhile pursuits and insights in spite of it all?

I mean, I'd throw the parties again.