The goal of human existence is to be happy. A ragged declaration, the ultimate statement that defines our society. We have been indoctrinated, little rats to follow the siren call of the pied piper, you must obey. We will buy the big screen T.V, cover our blemishes with makeup, starve ourselves thin and if we tout the line, we will be happy. Yes sir, Yes ma’am I will do what you say, I will bend myself backwards for you. It doesn’t work. Well then I will fake it and pretend it is working and still keep trying to make myself thinner, smarter and buy even nicer things. I will tell my neighbors it is working so that by them coveting my happiness, it will make it more real for me.I will play this game as long as I can. It is still does not work. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I just be happy? Then only then, I will finally rest, be lazy, and enjoy my life.
Update, it will never work because happiness is mythical. It is only one symbol of truth in a myriad of realities. It is something that can only be defined if the opposite is also experienced. So I have to feel pain to even know how to recognize the joy. And what will happen when the stark truth of this hits and I realize that the pain and the joy are only expressions of something much bigger. There is a place beyond these emotions and that place is a bottomless chasm.
How will my own personal identity cope in the face of such unfathomable space? What am I if I am not my thoughts, my emotions, my goals, and my accomplishments?
I am stumped. I know very little about myself and I do not know myself well. I think the one self to be made up of patterns that my parents gave to me, that my culture showed me, that experiences that I have cultivated have shaped in me. There could be so much more. What if there is? How do I let that definition of self, identity and idealism collapse into itself? Where do I go from here? It is the death of parts of me. I do not like it. I resist, it is lonely and intolerable.
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