It’s not quite politically correct to say it. I mean, we live in a world where there’s multi-billion dollar industry built almost entirely on exploiting it, and it’s the root of all sorts of psychological ills. I’m talking about Dissatisfaction. A sense that things aren’t quite right, that they could be a lot better. We’re supposed to learn to be happy and content, to appreciate what we have. That’s the solution to our problems, the magic ladder. We need to stop buying stuff, to search for salvation within ourselves rather than hope that the next purchase or conquest will deliver it to us.

But the dissatisfaction is there. I’ve spent a couple of years trying to write it off as childish angst. “Everything sucks!” is the anthem of the angry adolescent teenager, not the mature and well-adjusted adult. It is entirely true that we find happiness and joy within ourselves, and that contentment is a state worth pursuing for its own sake. But the dissatisfaction remains, and I think we need to talk honestly about it.

Personally, I’m dissatisfied with the way we do things. With the way I do things. I’m dissatisfied with my level of fitness, my habits, my productivity and my ability to express myself. I’m dissatisfied with the quality of relationships I have with other people, with the language I speak, with the city-in-my-head that I live in. (It’s the linguist, not the language. It’s the citizen, not the city.) I’m dissatisfied with my wardrobe. I’m dissatisfied with our systems- our education systems, our political systems, our conventional systems of thought, conflict-resolution. I’m dissatisfied with the status quo.

This dissatisfaction is real, and it cannot be reasoned away. The most I can do is accept it, and I’d like to think that I’ve made some progress in this regard. I no longer feel angry, upset or resentful as a consequence of my dissatisfaction. I have the honour of being able to visualise how things might be. I believe that it’s something I’ve learnt to do, rather than something that’s a natural gift (or curse) of some sorts.

But accepting my dissatisfaction doesn’t mean pretending it doesn’t exist. It does. I have learnt not dissatisfied with the things that I cannot change- I’m not dissatisfied with my skin colour, for instance, or the size of my feet. Those are things that I can accept, knowing that there’s nothing I can do about them. (Unless it’s something drastic. Perhaps that’s the litmus test- if it takes something drastic to change something, maybe then there’s a problem. I intuitively believe that all ‘good’ problems, all ‘good’ dissatisfaction can be resolved with baby steps.)

I’m dissatisfied with things that can change, but aren’t changing. I’m dissatisfied with the state of local music in Singapore. I am. That is not a bitter expression of pent-up frustration and angst. I can say it calmly, with a smile on my face, while giving credit to what we have accomplished so far. I think we can do better.

At a more personal level, I’m disappointed with the way I handle my relationships. I don’t honour my word enough. I don’t respect people’s trust enough. I say I do, of course, and I believe it too, but my actions do not yet tally with these words and thoughts. That’s something worth being dissatisfied with, and that’s something worth fighting for.

But isn’t fighting a bad thing? Well, ‘turn the other cheek’ isn’t a universal constant. Jesus preached it, but he didn’t always abide by it himself. He cleansed the Temple at Jeruselem by being an all-around badass. How do we explain that? Was Jesus a hypocrite? He wasn’t, and the Bushido of the Samurai helped me to figure it out. It insults the sword to draw it to appease one’s wounded ego, but it is equally insulting to leave it sheathed in the face of injustice. Defiance and anger is justified when it for a cause greater than yourself. (Does this justify terrorism? Not in the suicide-bomber sense. It would be the equivalent of drawing your sword to slaughter your enemy’s children. Dishonourable.)

But I digress. A question I often ask myself is- why do I write? I could say that I write because it’s a habit, or because I like to. But what’s the point of saying anything at all, when anybody else could have said the same thing, and perhaps in a better way? (This often paralyzes me.) And I had a miniature epiphany earlier, when thinking about the state of local music in Singapore, and thinking about how and why I’m starting Project Statement:  I write because nobody else is writing what I want to read. (The same way nobody is making the t-shirts I want to wear.) I mean, the world does not face a shortage of great writers, living or dead. It would be delusional to think that there are no writers worth reading. There are plenty of writers worth reading. But nobody is ever going to write that perfect novel that I am dying to read. Because nobody else sees things exactly the same way that I do, nobody has exactly the same experiences, or exactly the same interpretation of those experiences. Nobody. I think even twins differ on this regard. (Mental note to self: Ask the twins in your life about this.)

I meet great writers with wonderful, flowing language- who, in my opinion, don’t understand writing. I meet great musicians with wonderful chops- who, in my opinion, don’t understand music. This is incredibly subjective, of course. Who legislates writing, or music, or art? Everybody, and nobody. I can’t tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like. And to me, it feels like art is supposed to move you. It’s supposed to reach into the depths of your soul and squeeze that squishy part of you that you didn’t know existed. It’s supposed to change the temperature of the room you’re in. (I have to attribute that awesome image to my good friend Caleb.) It’s supposed to give you goosebumps. Karl Paulnack described musicians as spiritual chiropractors, and I think that’s a great analogy. Extending that analogy- nobody can ever quite hit the spot for you the way YOU can. And that’s what the ceaseless striving is all about. Hitting that spot.

Seth Godin described Apple as having just one customer, who passed away last year. That man embraced his dissatisfaction, and constantly sought to do something about it. And the world is much, much richer for it. And perhaps I could answer the age-old questions- “Why play music, why write, why do anything at all?” with- because I am not yet satisfied.

TL:DR;

Dissatisfaction and disappointment ain’t all that bad if we manage them effectively. I think we ought to think of them as gentle signals that guide us down a path in pursuit of what we really want, rather than to despair.

I also think it’s possible to carry that dissatisfaction with you, and yet be at peace with yourself and the world. It’s rather complex, and seemingly contradictory, but I think it can be done.