Wrote this a few weeks ago, just finished it up.

I think one of the simplest and deepest dilemmas that everybody needs to resolve is- why bother doing anything? For some people this isn’t even a question that occurs to them. Others may have really nice answers handed to them that they’re willing to swallow. For the rest of us, it’s not all that easy. Here’s sort of where I am at right now:

Life is a trip, nothing more, nothing less.

You are born- which is itself something spectacularly improbable- you live, and then you die. You’re given the most precious of gifts, but there’s no real rhyme or reason behind it. It’s just something that happened. As far as we know, it’s inevitable that life will eventually be extinguished. All the stars will eventually burn out. Everything that exists will come to an end. “You” and “me” are the briefest of illusions, a fun, odd little accident.

What is to be made of it? We’ve got tickets to this awesome show, which will eventually end.

I used to think it’s possible to come to terms with death by thinking about continuity. Life is a cosmic dance that goes on without you, so do what you can to improve the dance- to prolong it, to strengthen it. Create art that transcends you. Build mutually beneficial relationships that write in the cosmos “we were here; we lived and it was beautiful and glorious.” Live on in each other. But even that will eventually crumble to the inexorable forces of entropy. So living for others, living for the future, those things are a little incomplete.

So I think continuity can’t be the only end goal. What matters is that you have a really good time that you are personally proud of. [1] That’s really the only thing that matters.

What is a life well-lived?

Many of the most illustrious of our predecessors have come to a range of conclusions about that, and their perspectives can be helpful and enriching… but never sufficient. You need to identify what you want to do. What makes you happy. I can only speak for myself.

As a writer I write to fill a void. It’s no different from eating, masturbating, meditating or shooting heroin. Everything is done in the pursuit of pleasure, of relief. This is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.

One thing I do know- I love writing and having written more than I love not-writing and not-having-written. A day spent writing is, to me, a good day. This compounds, so a week/month/year/life spent writing is superior (for me!) to a life spent not-writing.

Is writing the only thing I want to do? Of course not. Is it the main thing I want to do? For now, yes- but I might change my mind in the future. There may be other things I find more pleasurable, that give me more joy.

The ‘Lofty Ideals’ Identity Performance Trap

What might those things be? How do I find out what they are? I was about to say “so I can suck the marrow out of life”, but I think that’s a little problematic. It’s very easy to fall into the trap of wanting to represent lofty ideals so you can communicate that to others. It’s a kind of projection, a performative construct that can be rather costly to maintain. I think I spent much of my teenage years focused on my performance. That’s where you get things like “I’m a happy-go-lucky guy” or “I’m smart but lazy” or “I didn’t do well because I didn’t study” or “I’m passionate about X.”

These are stories we tell others about ourselves, and also stories we come to believe about ourselves. We then adjust our lives- imperceptibly- to fit these narratives. We get into arguments to maintain the constructs we so meticulously build to represent us. It’s incredibly tiresome. This is why Paul Graham says to keep our identities small, why Buddha taught detachment. It allows us to serve “ourselves” rather than the second-order projected constructed that we don’t actually enjoy.

I realize that it’s very, very easy for me to get caught up in stuff that, in my opinion, doesn’t matter very much. Halfway while writing this I was tempted to check Twitter, and I had to stop because I’ve exceeded my data this month. I very easily get caught up in Facebook discussions, which is why I’ve been experimenting with deactivating my account. I deactivated completely for a few months last year, started again, deactivated again.

For a short period of time after reactivating, it all looked really silly to me- the whole mass panopticon performance. Inevitably though I’d get drawn into participating again. I would feel a little hollow afterwards, the way you might feel after eating a really unhealthy, junky meal. I go to bed with an uneasy feeling- that I had wasted my time, that I was shortchanging myself. It’s like going to a theme park and obsessively playing a little kiddy game until the park closes, and then realising that you missed the awesome ride you had actually intended to go on.

I am tired of that uneasy feeling. I have to stop playing kiddy games because it doesn’t really nourish me.

The analogy can be extended quite a bit. Most of us aren’t aware of the best rides, or we think ourselves somehow incapable or undeserving of them, or we think we wouldn’t be able to stomach it, so we stick to the kiddy rides. To some people, a life of kiddy rides is a simple pleasure, a life well lived. I don’t think that’s the case for me.

Will think more about this later.

Notes:

[1] This can justify some ugly things for people who aren’t neurotypical- what if you get pleasure from harming and exploiting others? That wouldn’t be very nice. I’m not sure how to grapple with that, and honestly I don’t think that’s a problem I’m interested in tackling. I’m unqualified to. If you get pleasure from harming and exploiting others, please seek help. Take time and energy to figure out why you do what you do, and think long and hard about it.