Today is Monday, December 28th, 2009.
Hm, that’s odd. This is supposed to be the best post of the year, and here I am starting it with such an ordinary statement.
My birthday came and went, this past week. So did Christmas. I was planning on writing something meaningful (for once) on one of those days, along with commemorating my 200th post. Nothing really happened. Call that my “summary of winter break”, if you will. Nothing happened.
Seeing as there is nothing to say about my winter break, perhaps it would be more entertaining to you if I spoke about something weird and philosophical. The problem is, I’m in a good mood right now, and I don’t want to think about life and the pursuit of happiness when I’m in a good mood. It’s one of those things when you’re already satisfied, you don’t need to worry about anything, but you can only reach satisfaction when you don’t have anything to worry about. So here I am in a rare moment of self-satisfaction, trying to give myself something to be unsatisfied about, so I can blog about it.
Call it pitiful if you will.
I actually do enjoy writing. Ever since preschool, I’ve always liked fantasy and science-fiction stories, and I often tried to write my own in elementary school. It’s disappointing how much high school and college counter-intuitively discourages creative writing, instead making us focus on writing about the works of others and discussing, arguing about meaningless, ambiguous topics.
I find that very few people are happy with themselves at this point in life: at 15, 16 years old. I wouldn’t go as far as to say there were none — there are always those Down syndrome people, after all. It’s interesting to witness how humans try to cope with this. This includes witnessing my own teenage, shounen struggles. Life is exciting. Life should be exciting. Perhaps you would think that the average teenager’s life is not very exciting, but the admirable protagonist who has to save the world thinks the other way, wants peace and quiet and AP Biology. So there we are, life is exciting. Exciting enough. If you’re not satisfied with that, go do drugs, drink and derive, move to Shanghai and assassinate people. Come back in a year or two and tell me how it was.
One coping mechanism seems to involve making yourself feel better about yourself by convincing yourself that others are vastly inferior. I guess this makes happiness one of those “relative” things — your happiness is how much happier you are than everyone around you. I don’t know why I’m discussing this, it has no significance at all to my life.
Maybe I should type about something cheerful and bright. It’s kind of hard when you’re surrounded by pessimists; maybe I should IM less. Maybe I should wake up at 5 am every day and jog three laps around the block. Maybe I should do 100 push-ups and sit-ups every day, and show up at school every morning with an ear-to-ear smile on my face. Wait, that would scare the wits out of all of my classmates. The only students who smile in Arcadia are the aforementioned Down syndrome kids. Must be nice being them. I envy them.
Wait, I was supposed to be self-satisfied today.
See, blogging is an interesting alternative medicine. You get to release your feelings, except you don’t, because you know that people are going to read your blog, and in the end, you still don’t remove that filter from your thoughts. Perhaps I should use the old-fashioned alternative, an actual physical diary.
It’s fun writing topic-less blog posts, though. Reading through what I’ve written so far, I started off talking about my birthday and Christmas, transitioned into how I didn’t have anything to talk about, and then I started talking about how when I’m self-satisfied I don’t have anything to talk about. And then I started making myself non-self-satisfied by talking about something. So I randomly started talking about writing, and suddenly swerved into talking about the teenage mentality. When I’m 80 and dig up my old wordpress files, I am so going to enjoy reading this.
It must be painful, living. We, we humans live life always imagining something better. No, I’m not talking about an afterlife. What I meant was, we always want to live somebody else’s life. Wouldn’t you like to have superpowers? Live in space? Invent something revolutionary, win the Nobel Prize. Be recognized by everyone, or have a partner in love. There is no way you can have everything in life, but what I’m saying is, there isn’t one person out there who is happy with him/herself as he/she is, I think. Again, barring the Down syndrome people.
So is my purported “self-satisfaction” at the beginning this passage a lie? Or am I simply lying to myself? Is my current happiness simply a façade, a curtain draped over the endless vats of depression, hopelessness, and artlessness?
My answer (the “thesis” of this whole blog post, if you will) is: life lies not in finding happiness and satisfaction. The marrow of it stems from the search for happiness. It’s not the end result that matters — tragic death, eternal romance, what-have-you — the art is in the procedure you endure to accomplish your goal. The journey yields greater than the fortune.
Something like that. ■