If we deny our happiness and resist our satisfaction, we lessen the importance of [other’s] deprivation. We must risk delight.Jack Gilbert
I sit down to write. I tell myself hey isn’t it ridiculous how you work your arse off in the hopes of fulfilling some misbegotten false promise that one day if you accumulate enough stuff that then you’ll finally be happy?
Damn son, no one’s ever thought of that idea before I think, excitedly. I’m really on to something here! Then I proceed to pull out my imaginary whip and start jockeying for position aka punishing myself. Buoyed by the threat of physical violence I attempt to produce something worthy of a Pulitzer (and/or preferably a million of dollars or so). A man of principle until the bitter end 😛
If I’m not going to hustle which is what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it, then what? Granted hustling is productive by societal standards, within a capitalist framework, yes, bur ultimately it seems extremely unpleasant. This a new age after all! Aquarius and all that! In the end I say there’s only one real good reason to do anything…
Why write*? Not to stop world hunger. Or climate change. Or to increase my bank balance. Or to prove once and for all that I’m actually competent at some fucking thing. Or any other number of worthy causes. No. The temptation to regress back to deeply imbedded conditioning is always there to be sure, but I’m starting to listen to the voice in my head that belongs to me (there’s a lot of other ones that are louder).
Don’t hustle (too much). And have fun!
*or whatever it is that you do that has a greater chance of making you impoverished rather than filthy rich if you pursue it full time