The Lives of Others

I’m trying to write but these old hens are sitting here clucking about how Suzy has been, “Strutting around in her new three-hundred dollar shoes,” and, “Those tables were very poorly set and didn’t we drive such a long way to get there?”

The wonder and horror of what we may become and what we allow ourselves to be; it’s a first world problem. I want to stay positive but sometimes my culture frightens me.

If you condemn, complain and criticize you will only convert those precious minutes (life is short) into a never-ending story of negativity. Don’t wrap yourself in pain. The people around you can taste it, smell it, seeping from your pores. Somewhere else people are lamenting over spilt rice and urging their fifteen year old daughter to give handjobs to tourists for ten bucks a wank. And now the guy to my left is upset his no-fat soy mochachino isn’t thick enough.

In my home town I drove to my junior highschool to walk the grounds. I was blasted by memories of adolescense, like little happy skeletons rising from my subconscious. My first crush, my first social horrors, my insecturities and how they pushed me to learn skills like the electric guitar so I would have a sense of hope, a means of expression. We all need a way to express ourselves. It’s unfortunate that most of us will post facebook status updates instead of making short films, running a marathon or writing poetry.

I remembered discovering punk music, marijuana, and parties. I remembered my first fight, my first hangover, my first great book (1984). I’d spent so long avoiding the past, trying to be present. I’d forgotten the  utility of reflection.

How long has it been since you had a first? That’s what happens when we get old. We become comfortable–placid. That’s why memory is helpful. Try to remember.

I pulled up the feeling of wanting more, to escape, to believe I could do something great. One day, I would show them all and flee this shitty little town and become somebody. I would create my own blueprint, and it wouldn’t involve a boring job, a fat wife, a house in the burbs and kids that dissapoint.

Are men really supposed to nest? I don’t believe it. We teach our dogs not to kill intruders, sniff crotches or chase squirrels. They obey most of the time. But they’re not really dogs anymore. They’re animals forced to be human.

If you find yourself slipping into apathy, wasting your time with social media, movies, tv, video games, porn, fishing, or whatever escapisms you prefer, try to remember what if felt like to want more…to want out, away, and above. Complain quietly to yourself, about yourself. Don’t blame anything outside your own choices, there’s no point. Then move forward. Take right action.

You are doing it. You’ve done it before. Keep going. Every time you start again, you start where you left off.

Much of the pua philosophy encourages men to mask their emotions, to ignore their past, and harden their souls to become, “Alpha.” We head out into the wilderness nightlife to approach women and after several years we find self-esteem and attribute this to our philosophies. All that matters is that you did something worth doing. Your idealism is not responsible for your growth…you are.

It’s ok to peek back from time to time before moving on. You’re not that person anymore. It’s ok to be an adult. But my advice is this: Remember the feeling of excitement. Remember your sense of adventure and wonder. Remember your rebelious nature and desire. Create an extraordinary life so you don’t end up living in regret. The more you regret about your own experience, the more you will despise the experience of others. Watch these thoughts so you don’t end up a bitter old hen complaining about the lives of others.