We do not live in happy times.
Not many times, historically, have been particularly happy. Perhaps, on the whole, humanity is wholly consigned to be unhappy- I’ve heard it said that depression is a marker of intelligence, and intelligence is by and large how humanity separates itself from most animals.
But today in particular, I feel that our world is especially unforgiving. Creativity is not sought after. Distraction is conflated with pleasure. Rationality has less place in debate than reactivity. Skepticism is considered profound. Joy is considered a privilege to be earned.
Recent events have displayed that endeavors to further the overall intellectual wealth of our species are valued lower than the financial liquidity of governing bodies and specific individuals.
Of all things, war is ever prepared for, almost coveted.
Lately, I have become rather convinced that it is the fate of mankind to perish without truly escaping the grasp of its home. Many sci-fi writers, (and a handful of philanthropists real and self-supposed,) have pictured a future for man among the stars. I cannot share their optimism. I more readily subscribe to George Orwell’s supposing that we will only ever be truly united in our envy of those we perceive to be other, in unceasing war- war that has persisted in one form or another almost uninterrupted since the idea of a soldier first formed. We are too busy screaming at one another to bother climbing beyond the bounds of gravity for more than a few moments.
What happens, I wonder, if one day we are at last united in our desire to live upon worlds other than this one, and we discover that we have not reserved enough fuel for any rocket to take a significant number of us out into the great beyond? Should we expect that only the wealthy and powerful will succeed in ascending? What shall they do if they then discover that their worldly strength vanishes without a world to foist it over?
It seems to me that the fate of man is very grim. There are a great many variables, a great many possibilities, and for the most part, our concerns are all very inward, very few. We create systems to help us be safe, to guide and direct us, to ease our progress- yet in the end, these systems have taken a curious course from guidance to control. Money, whose purpose is to lubricate the nature of trade so that work may take on an abstract value which can readily be compared and exchanged based on the value of products and services, has become an idol, a product all its own, an item whose absence is somehow pitiable and painful. Governments- meant to pool the might of many like-minded people into one vast leviathan- have become individual entities, which the masses must constantly endeavor to shape as their representative.
I’m no revolutionary. I’m only a dreamer, who finds himself always in a nightmare, and so writes foreign nightmares so as to sleep soundly. I would much rather spend my dreams out in infinite possibilities, wondering at what could come next. I’d like to be William Pène du Bois, supposing that very soon we’ll all be traveling by balloon, not particularly concerned with where we’re headed, because there’s no rush, no urgency.
Alas, we are urgent, rushed, and unhappy.
I’ve been writing, or trying to write. I’ve started a number of projects recently, and found myself unwilling to finish what I’ve started. I have enthusiasm for the endeavor, but I frequently find myself unhappy with the shape it takes, embroiled and constrained rather than broad and profound. I like profundity, it speaks to grandeur and importance.
More and more I feel that my next project must be important, grand, and world-changing. I do not desire posterity so much as success, as the knowledge that I’ve done something meaningful with my time. But maybe I feel that my work must be world-changing because I live in a world that desperately needs change. I have considered attempting dystopia fiction, since I’ve lately dabbled in reading it. Certainly, the modern dystopia novel seems more concerned with the coming-of-age story it contains than the social message it aims to produce. I mean no disrespect to the modern dystopia writer, but the fact that the blockbusters of the genre all fit into another unrelated genre disturbs me.
Now. Closing statements.
I recommend a series of books known as The Tripods Trilogy. It’s strange that I should recommend this particular series after the last point I made, and I really have no defense. At the moment, I’m quite fond of ice cream and chocolate. I’ve been struggling to stay properly hydrated, and my love of salty foods has done nothing to help the effort.
I think suffering helps carve us into more complete people, but carve enough and you’ll start losing useful material, and need to make corrections, which means more carving.
Try to appreciate the mundane in your life. Take as little for granted as possible. Drink deep of life, and prosper.
Love yourself.
