wigmund:
Every time I see Ron Paul being interviewed about his views and positions, I’m terrified that there’s a congressional district that would vote for anyone that batshit insane and out of touch with reality.
So it is batshit insane to balance the budget, lower taxes, end corporate welfare, let competition increase, end pointless wars, and get government out of personal lives?
He’s out of touch with reality even though he predicted exactly how the recession would unfold and predicted the blowback that was 9/11?
I come here and I spill my soul onto the keyboard and I write words that are supposed to mean something. But allow me to state the obvious, this is just my poor attempt to reflect the wars inside me. There is no substitute for the real thing. You cannot feel what I feel and I cannot feel what you feel. Because communication will always fall short, no one will ever understand me. People can only come as close as my words will allow them to. But, the sorrow cannot be put into words. It is far beyond that. How far? I don’t know. That is exactly my point. Words cannot express anything of much significance. What I am missing doesn’t have a word that will make you feel what I am feeling. This is the true communication breakdown.
To people who say “society killed the teenager,” what exactly is “the teenager”?
I can’t save myself from looking at people with disdain. I hate how happy they are and I (probably incorrectly) assume that they really couldn’t point to an actual meaning. I look at them as if they are mindless. Not so much accepting the emptiness of their existence, but not even being aware of this emptiness. They just seem to be so concerned with their pointless lives. They work off a routine and they have grown numb to their meaninglessness. They live a shallow life with superficial joys. I wonder if they have even thought about their own existence. Maybe this is just my ego’s defense mechanism, trying to bring down their happiness because I have none. Maybe this is all just envy.
Take a moment to step back and look at the tragically large gap between a thought and an action.
It’s been a couple weeks since I last posted. I’ve still been on Tumblr but I haven’t found the will to make a post. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what defines a person’s existence. The answer to the question “Who am I?” When people often answer this question they do so in a way that seems superficial to me. Too wrapped up in the material world. They say what is important to them. What kind of person they are. How they act. Strengths and weaknesses. What is out of reach and what are they capable of. But I don’t think these define an existence. I think they are rather reflections of the existence. Characteristics and traits just describe the person. I don’t think that is finding yourself (although I’d like to know that too). Am I looking for a prescription of the person? I’m not sure. In a meaningless universe, there is no prescription. But I know I am at least looking for something deeper, more intrinsic in myself than just characteristics. I don’t really know what I’m looking for.
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Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually considered an eccentric, if not a subversive. Ambition is only understood if it’s to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success. Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a flake. A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise children is considered not to be living up to his potential-as if a job title and salary are the sole measure of human worth.
You’ll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you’ll hear about them.
To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.
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— Bill Watterson, Kenyon College Commencement Address (1990) : “SOME THOUGHTS ON THE REAL WORLD BY ONE WHO GLIMPSED IT AND FLED”
I almost went to Kenyon. As much as I adored Smith, there was some bit of me that was drawn to the trees and remote campus in Ohio. There was a lot of desperate creation in the air there, which was a bit different than any other school I visited, and I felt like I would’ve been in good company at either place. But the promise of financial aid and lots of gut feelings involving comfort levels and personal expectations and a bit of a romantic idea about East Coast colleges pushed me toward the all women’s route.
Bill Watterson is easily one of my favorite INFP siblings, and this speech is one of my favorites. I’ll feel extremely placated if I get one even slightly similar talk for my Commencement, but I’m not sure I can see one quite like this going over at Smith. I’m of two minds on it, really. I think a lot of Smithies want to hear “do what you love, but PUSH PUSH PUSH AND CLIMB THOSE LADDERS AND BE IMPRESSIVE AND SHOW THE WORLD WHAT YOU CAN DO.” Or maybe that’s just what we all think we’re supposed to want to hear? I don’t really want to hear it, but I can’t speak for the crowd.
(via coquettishrose)
Is this me? sigh.
I’m not used to being happy. I’m uncomfortable when I’m comfortable.
Whenever I’m enjoying myself, I involuntarily take a step back and remind myself that I’ll be sad again by night fall. What a cruel feeling that is.
I could title every post with a question. The post itself contains few answers and the answers that it does contain only lead to more questions and questions of higher magnitude. I have been thinking that there may be no hope. Existentialism is a philosophy where there is no meaning except the one you create for yourself. Why does that feel so strangely cruel? Of course if it is a fact of reality that there is no universal human purpose then you can’t argue with that, but still, how can I trust my self to christen my life meaningful? Am I supposed to just wait it out until I cease to exist? This philosophy just doesn’t seem appealing. Of course, again, if it is true then who cares about my feelings, right? If we have no purpose, then it’s just a fact.
Of course, I do not know whether this is fact or fiction.
It seems like “I don’t know” sums up my life.
I think it is because talkative people have this one stereotype of extremely socially anxious people. People think they know the reason why people are more reserved. They think they are annoyed by people, hate people, or wish they are not around people. This is not true in every case. I want to say most cases but then I would be falling into the same trap that people who judge shy people fell into. I myself have been asked numerous times if I am annoyed by their presence. I am not. The reason I am not so talkative is because I don’t feel comfortable with myself. That’s all. It has nothing to do with the people around me who are trying to pry me out of my shell. It’s just me. I’m not going to shoot up the school. I don’t hate any of you. I am just searching.
