32. The Dude abides

This is part of the Mind Training series

32. Don't lie in ambush.

Oh, I'm so sure what the future will be like! I never leave my home without small change, my cell phone and a six pack of desiccated I-Told-You-So!™. I have no need for time to actually pass and for stuff to actually happen, thank you. I cannot be surprised, for I am a highly trained Ninja of Gloom. Watch me punch myself in the groin at the snapping of a twig!


This does not make me any happier.

This does not make it any easier for me to make others happy.

Basically, as long as Endemol doesn't want to buy my life for daytime TV, it just leaves me cranky, tired and impoverished in so many ways it's a miracle the UN do not intervene (although it's propably the Chinese veto again, defending my sovereign rights to repress my own populace).

Actually, how I end up dealing with my own preemptive angstiness is probably what decides whether I get more juvenile as I age or actually turn out, at some point, mature. Consider the following two sections the canonical continuation of Blinde Schildpads Course in Depression. I leave it up to the reader to decide which of the Legs of The Trousers of Mental Hygiene to slide down.

The Left Leg of Damnation

Okay, so you're sure your life from this point onwards will suck. You also know that this is a bovine fecal sentiment. You know this because I just told you, and, well, because you're not a retard.

But still, undeniably, you feel how you feel, even though you don't want to feel how you feel. So there's obviously something wrong with you, right? You can't stop feeling this way because you're mind is somehow broken. Kaput. Unsalvageable. Maybe you're ill. Or insane. Or evil.

So by all means, try fighting your demons. But it's no use: it becomes increasingly clear the end boss is you. At which point you have successfully general- and internalized yourself into a nice double bind.

Now sit down in a corner and wait to be right to fear the future. Because you will be.

The Right Leg of Letting Go

Okay, so you're sure your life from this point onwards will suck. You also know that this is a bovine fecal sentiment. You know this because I just told you, and, well, because you're not a retard.

But still, undeniably, you feel how you feel, even though you don't want to feel how you feel. But this is what the mind does, right? It perceives (imperfectly), interprets (imperfectly), thinks (imperfectly) and projects (whaddaya know: imperfectly). Mind is lossy.

My expectations have turned out to be right countless times before. But then again, I've been wrong at least as often. And in any case, what happened generally happened, so there's no reason to think that what will happen won't, just because I feel it might (or might not, whatever the case may be)*. All these thoughts are just part of the scenery.

Thing is, life continues and I continue with it. This is, somewhat surprisingly, a joyful thing. It means that the bad stuff will always go away and the good stuff will always come. And as long as I'm willing to deal with the insecurity of never knowing exactly where I might end up, it's at least certain that I will end up somewhere instead of remaining stuck in what I think I know.

Letting go means admitting there might not actually be anything wrong. With yourself or with the world. Or with how you feel. Even if it turns out you weren't right, either.

Now get of your ass and let the next thing happen. And the next. And the next. See if you don't smile most of the time.

*) Yes, I have been reading David Foster Wallace. Now go read that sentence again. It will make sense if you want it to.