I came to understand something recently that lent me no small amount of liberty.
(First, a quick note about liberty: I maintain that liberty is far from synonymous with freedom. Liberty is given to me; freedom, I steal if necessary. And I’ve walked that walk.)
For years, I described myself as a perfectionist and held that as a perpetual failing of my character.
I read Jean Paul Sartre’s Existentialism Is a Humanism a few months ago. Though I disagreed with much of his speech (some of the foundations of his philosophy and what he drew from them directly), one conviction of his existentialism came back to me during a recent bout of thinking. I hadn’t understood this conviction until I arrived at the conclusion myself; now it seems it will be very difficult to disprove.
Can I tell you a story?
I remember part of one day when I was small, maybe seven. We lived in the old gray house ten minutes from here. You were drinking white wine from a wine glass, and I was used to it.
Ever argued with someone who’s clearly wrong, but you couldn’t figure out exactly how to pick apart their argument? Ever used an argumentative tactic like that yourself? Here’s what may be happening:
Bear with me on this one:
The universe, the world, doesn’t give a shit about you. Most people even, simply because they don’t know you or know you well, just don’t give a shit about you. And it sounds sad, it sounds disabling, most people are terrified to face it and stare in its eyes. (I was terrified; I still am unsure what held my eyes to it and made me stare.) But seeing this will make you immediately more powerful
I mentioned in my last post something about fickle, flimsy desires. Here’s the thought of mine I was alluding to:
“I stayed up way later than I wanted to.
No. I stayed up exactly as late as I wanted to.
I stayed up way later than I originally planned. That is where my failure lies. I allowed my desires to be flimsy and fickle.”
I am tired of my ignorance. I am full of anger towards it.
I want to drag it from where it hides in the darkness in me out to the sunlight, where it will burn, shrivel, die, and scream as it goes. It will stab me, whisper seductively in my ear
Let’s get this thing started. First of all, to anyone (anyone? Hello?) reading this, I do not hold myself to any rule or schedule or commitment regarding this blog. I’m with Emerson on consistency. Lately, I’ve wanted to share my thoughts. Usually, I don’t. Enjoy, learn, go search for the impossible.
K
