The American Fear

To be correct, the Pursuit of Happiness ...and the Pursuit of the American Dream are not the same thing. That is the one gripe I have about the Chris Gardner biography. The premise is based on that quotable quote from the Declaration of Independence: "Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." Interestingly enough, Thomas Jefferson had originally written: "Life, liberty, and property" which was later edited by Ben Franklin into the ever so catchy phrase we like to spit out every chance we get.

Maybe since I wasn't born and raised an American, I have trouble grasping the way the illusive "American Dream" resonates within society. Just like how I sometimes question whether I fully understand the catchphrase "working for the man." Or like how I know for sure an 80s song doesn't play the same to me as it does to someone who grew up singing along to it in the car with their parents on road trips. Ahh, dreaded family vacations, that's one concept I fully understand too well. So to me, technically, happiness is an emotion triggered by a combination of different neurological functions, involving dopamine and a shitload of MDMA. Ha. While it CAN be triggered by achieving one's goals and economic prosperity, it is altogether possible that someone can experience happiness without being fulfilled in those ways at all. Arguably, a successful career and excellent finances can lead to a fairly empty existence. We really need all that money to buy all that stuff which sets our feet in stone and our minds on cruise control? It's like we're all in a fucking treasure cave as it's about to collapse and we're so ladened by the gold chalets and whatever valuables we could stuff in our garments and limbs that we forget the most important thing is having an escape route. The trappings of the rich they say. Fear of challenging the status quo I say. But hey, we're all gonna die someday.

Here's the part that has me scared shitless. It is entirely possible for me to live in PA for the rest of my life, spend my days shopping and feeding my fashion addiction, dine in fine global cuisines, return to my lifeless job day after redundant day which will have inevitably earned me a condo somewhere in rittenhouse, all the while lamenting my biggest concern: how my skin will look as age slowly sneaks up on me, or maybe not so slowly--who knows. Or I can have minimal possessions, live in the remote suburbs where the air isn't slowly polluting my lungs, spend my days reading, writing, working, loving, who knows what. Or I could go broke, trying to make it from one day to the next, desperately wanting all that stuff I had to begin with. One of many different permutations and combinations, but all possible, with no real judge of right or wrong. I used to think I would feel it if something wasn't right--but things got complicated when I realized there are drugs for that sort of thing. So I can't trust my feelings? What now?

The only thing that keeps coming to mind is that only when you have nothing (amend to very little), then will you understand everything (amend to a lot more).

Artificial Stimulation

Another summer, another apartment, another roommate.

God Jamie has been such a necessary addition to my life --A friendship formed in that great way one neither initially expects nor realizes, but resulted in a marvelous bond nonetheless. And in the same way we were so arbitrarily fused together, chance would have us separate a year later, spanning the distance between two different time zones. (Although a 1 hour difference might paint a rather dramatic picture, we're still talking different time zones here) My new found ability to hold such relationships makes me feel more mature, or some fun version of that. And try as I may, I have yet to think of a more meaningful feat than two completely different individuals forging such a strong connection. What's that saying--scarce as hen's teeth?

It's funny how you can plan life as much as you want to, but it's the unexpected turns that deliver the biggest punches. Maybe it's the element of surprise, maybe it's getting something for having expended almost no effort, or maybe it restores your faith in the unknown a little, but life does unfold on its own. With no perceivable or intelligible algorithm. With no warning. And certainly with no airbags. Great outcomes can make you and horrible outcomes can break you, either way these are the moments that truly take your breath away, especially when it feels like a sucker punch to the stomach. And like the intelligent beings that we are, we take great lengths to develop intricate strategies so that we can maximize the upside and minimize the downside. We fabricate models and feed it our risk tolerances, our minimally accepted level of return, our past experiences based on historical data. All attempts to recreate what life does so naturally. Yet when we are successful, we are hungry still because we've grown desensitized to such stimuli. The current motto of 21st century humans might as well be: "we make life happen." But at what cost?