Ok, clarity

There are nights when I almost come apart. I shouldn't complain. I've had an easy life on the outside, while many people are starving, losing loved ones, or dying in wars or of terminal illnesses. People have to deal with hardships all the time and they generally do it with much more grace and nobility than I do. I've had it pretty hard on the inside, though, for whatever reason. Probably there IS no reason. A (biochemical or psychological) cause perhaps, but not a reason. Reasons don't really exist in a materialist/scientific view. I suppose if you believe in god then everything must have a reason. I think I prefer the randomness of a godless universe, because that way I merely feel unlucky but at least I don't feel like I'm being punished purposefully. But like I said, I really shouldn't complain. I was born into a normal family with normal health, at least physically. My body has withstood all sorts of maltreatment, and I'm not 400 lbs or in a wheelchair or pursued by terrorists or living with HIV. What do I have to complain about?

I react to situations in life by being sarcastic, arch, ironic, self-denigrating, elitist, condescending, attentive, kind, manipulative, helpless, overwhelmed, witty. Always maladaptive. Always something to cover up the fact I'm just a little boy inside still, who wants so much to be happy. For life to be simpler. To live honestly and apply myself somehow and be content with myself. I'm not really good at anything. I don't have many skills that are of use in a practical sense. I just have a lot of interests and curiosities. But you can't really be a professional collector or reader or a hobby photographer. No one's gonna pay you for sating your curiosity about how the world works or spinning your wheels wondering why it does. People want shiny objects. They want you to make something for them or to be part of the chain of people involved in that act.

I never got over the adolescent stage of wandering through art galleries, getting my lid blown off by the masters of the past, trying to fit their ideologies into mine, or rejecting them as frauds. I never ceased reading for edification instead of pure escapism. I never stopped being fascinated by the basic concepts of science, though it does lose its sheen a bit when it turns into maths or proteins. I like the gee-whiz big subjects. Most of all, I never lost my propensity for asking "why?" When most everyone I know has moved on and forgotten those heady, bohemian days of university and accepted (if not embraced) the matrix-y real world, I still live my life like a rockstar, idealistic and feeling my life must mean something, if only I could find out what it is. If only I could write my opus.

I make fun of people who are cogs in the machine; I despise that life, and yet it seems I am much less happy than many who follow that road. Our physiology seems to be set up so that if we work hard, don't think too much, eat right, and accomplish basic survival tasks, we feel good. Endorphins are released. Concrete work feels like altruism while a life of the mind seems somehow selfish and wasteful. As a rationalist I believe this is caused by our genes, which through natural selection have been honed for practical survival skills. People who build things and grant their family high status in society are more likely to pass on their genes successfully than someone who stands on bridges staring out at the water, too teary-eyed and scared to commit. Iffy when it comes to getting paid. Looking for something grand to paint or write about, burning out in that endless process of exploration.

I know there are the occasional true artists who also become financially successful. Or at least remain viable in the gene game. But I'm not talented enough to do that, and I lack the critical complementary skills that would seem to be required to make headway in the more mundane aspects of life. I don't want to be in the minority or feel isolated. I usually won't admit it but I do want to be happy and not think about things so much. I just don't know how. I don't want to call attention to myself in an effort to shore up my crumbly self-confidence. I don't want people feeling sorry for me. That's a trap that's too easy for me to willingly jump into. I have to do it on my own, or just give up. Find strength. I can't legitimately complain - we're all facing the same facts of existance. Some seem to coast through with little hardship, others with a tremendous amount. I know I'm somewhere in the middle. I know there must be a way through it all.