His Majesty the Baby

Certain aspects of the infant's psyche may be usefully examined. There are three factors which should receive mention. The first is, as Freud observed in his priceless phrase "His Majesty the Baby," that the infant is born ruler of all he surveys. He comes from the Nirvana of the womb, where he is usually the sole occupant, and he clings to that omnipotence with an innocence, yet determination, which baffles parent after parent. The second, stemming directly from the monarch within, is that the infant tolerates frustration poorly and lets the world know it readily. The third significant aspect of the child's original psyche is its tendency to do everything in a hurry. Observe youngsters on the beach: they run rather than walk. Observe them coming on a visit: the younger ones tear from the car while their elder siblings adopt a more leisurely pace. The three-year-olds, and more so the twos, cannot engage in play requiring long periods of concentration. Whatever they are doing must be done quickly. As the same children age, they gradually become able to stick to one activity for longer times.

Thus at the start of life the psyche (1) assumes its own omnipotence, (2) cannot accept frustrations and (3) functions at a tempo allegretto with a good deal of staccato and vivace thrown in.

Now the question is, "If the infantile psyche persists into adult life, how will its presence be manifested?"

In general, when infantile traits continue into adulthood, the person is spoken of as immature, a label often applied with little comprehension of the reason for its accuracy. It is necessary to link these three traits from the original psyche with immaturity and, at the same time, show how they affect the adult psyche. If this is done, not only will the correctness of the appellation "immature" be apparent but, moreover, a feeling for the nature of the unconscious underpinnings of the Ego will have been created.

Recognizing Immaturity

Two steps can aid in recognizing the relationship between immaturity and a continuance of the infantile elements. The first is, by an act of imagination, to set these original traits into an adult unconscious. The validity of this procedure is founded upon modern knowledge of the nature of the forces operating in the unconscious of people of mature age. The second step is to estimate the effect that the prolongation of these infantile qualities will have upon the adult individual.

This attempt should not strain the imagination severely. Take, for instance, the third of the qualities common to the original psychic state, namely, the tendency to act hurriedly. If that tendency prevails in the unconscious, what must the result be? The individual will certainly do everything in a hurry. He will think fast, talk fast and live fast, or he will spend an inordinate amount of time and energy holding his fast-driving proclivities in check.

Often the net result will be an oscillation between periods of speeding ahead followed by periods during which the direction of the force is reversed, the brakes (superego) being applied in equally vigorous fashion. The parallel of this in the behavior of the alcoholic will not be lost on those who have had experience with this class of patients.

Let us take the same trait of doing everything in a hurry and apply it to the word "immature." Few will deny that jumping at conclusions, doing things as speedily as possible, give evidence of immaturity. It is youth that drives fast, thinks fast, feels fast, moves fast, acts hastily in most situations. There can be little question that one of the hallmarks of the immature is the proneness to be under inner pressure for accomplishment. Big plans, big schemes, big hopes abound, unfortunately not matched by an ability to produce. But the effect upon the adult of the persisting infantile quality to do everything in less than sufficient time can now be seen in a clearer light. The adult trait is surely a survival from the original psyche of the infant.

The two other surviving qualities of the infantile psyche similarly contribute to the picture of immaturity and also, indirectly, help to clarify the nature of the Ego with a capital E. The first of these, the feeling of omnipotence, when carried over into adult life, affects the individual in ways easily anticipated. Omnipotence is, of course, associated with royalty, if not divinity. The unconscious result of the persistence of this trait is that its bearer harbors a belief of his own special role and in his own exceptional rights. Such a person finds it well-nigh impossible to function happily on

an ordinary level. Obsessed with divine afflatus, the thought of operating in the lowly and humble areas of life is most distressing to him. The very idea that such a place is all one is capable of occupying is in itself a blow to the Ego, which reacts with a sense of inferiority at its failure to fill a more distinguished position. Moreover, any success becomes merely Ego fodder, boosting the individual's rating of himself to increasingly unrealistic proportions as the king side eagerly drinks in this evidence of special worth.

The ability to administer the affairs of state, both large and small, is taken for granted. The belief that he is a natural executive placed in the wrong job merely confirms his conviction that, at best, he is the victim of lack of appreciation, and at worst, of sabotage by jealous people who set up roadblocks to his progress. The world is inhabited by selfish people, intent only on their own advancement.

The genesis of all this is beyond his perception. To tell him that his reactions spring from the demands of an inner unsatisfied king is to invite incredulity and disbelief, so far from the conscious mind are any such thoughts or feelings. People who openly continue to cling to their claims of divine prerogative usually end up in a world especially constructed for their care. In others, the omnipotence pressures are rather better buried. The individual may admit that, in many ways, he acts like a spoiled brat, but he is scarcely conscious of the extent of the tendency, nor how deeply rooted it may be. He, like most people, resolutely avoids a careful look because the recognition of any such inner attitudes is highly disturbing. The unconscious credence in one's special prerogatives savors too much of straight selfishness to be anything but unpleasant to contemplate.

And so, for the most part, people remain happily ignorant of the unconscious' drives which push them around. They may wonder why they tend to boil inside and wish they could free themselves from a constant sense of uneasiness and unsettlement. They may recognize that they seem jittery and easily excited and' long for the time when they can meet life more calmly and maturely; they may hate their tendency to become rattled. But their insight into the origin of all this is next to nothing, if not a complete blank. The king lies deep below the surface, far out of sight.

Inability to Accept Frustration

The last trait carried over from infancy is the inability to accept frustration. In an obvious sense, this inability is another aspect of the king within, since one of the prerogatives of royalty is to proceed without interruption. For the king to wait is an

affront to the royal rank, a slap at his majesty. The ramifications of this inability to endure frustration are so widespread, and the significance of much that occurs in the behavior of the alcoholic is so far-reaching, that it seems advisable to discuss this trait under a separate heading.

As already indicated, on the surface the inability of the king to accept frustration is absolutely logical. The wish of the king is the law of the land, and especially in the land of infancy. Any frustration is clearly a direct threat to the status of his majesty, whose whole being is challenged by the untoward interruption.

Even more significant is another aspect of this inner imperiousness. Behind it lies the assumption that the individual should not be stopped. Again, this is logical if one considers how an absolute monarch operates. He simply does not expect to be stopped; as he wills, so will he do. This trait, persisting in the unconscious, furnishes a constant pressure driving the individual forward. It says, in essence, "I am unstoppable!"

The unconscious which cannot be stopped views life entirely from the angle of whether or not a stopping is likely, imminent, or not at all in the picture. When a stopping is likely, there is worry and perhaps depression. When it seems imminent, there is anxiety bordering on panic, and when the threat is removed, there is relief and gaiety. Health is equated with a feeling of buoyancy and smooth sailing ahead, a sense of "I feel wonderful!" Sickness, contrariwise, means lacking vim, vigor and vitality, and is burdened with a sense of "I'm not getting anywhere." The need to "get somewhere" to "be on the go," and the consequent suffering from eternal restlessness, is still another direct effect of an inner inability to be stopped or, expressed otherwise, to accept the fact that one is limited. The king not only cannot accept the normal frustrations of life but, because of his inordinate driving ahead, is constantly creating unnecessary roadblocks by virtue of his own insistence on barging ahead, thus causing added trouble for himself.

Of course, on some occasions, the king gets stopped, and stopped totally. Illness, arrest, sometimes the rules and regulations of life, will halt him. Then he marks time, complies if need be, waiting for the return of freedom, which he celebrates in the time-honored fashion if he is an alcoholic: he gets drunk, initiating a phase when there is no stopping him.

The immaturity of such a person is readily evident. He is impatient of delay, can never let matters evolve; he must have a blueprint to follow outlining clearly a path through the jungle of life. The wisdom of the ages is merely shackling tradition which should make way for the freshness, the insouciance of youth. The value of staying where one is, and working out one's destiny in the here and now, is not suspected. The 24-hour principle would be confining for one whose inner life brooks no confinement. The unstoppable person seeks life, fun, adventure, excitement, and discovers he is on a perpetual whirligig which carries him continuously ahead but, of course, in a circle. The unstoppable person has not time for growth. He must always, inwardly, feel immature.

This, then, is how the carry-over of infantile traits affects the adult so encumbered. He is possessed by an inner king who not only must do things in a hurry, but has no capacity for taking frustration in stride. He seeks a life which will not stop him and finds himself in a ceaseless rat race.

All this is part and parcel of the big Ego. The individual has no choice. He cannot select one characteristic and hang on to that, shedding other more obviously undesirable traits. It is all or nothing. For example, the driving person usually has plenty of energy, sparkle, vivacity. He stands out as a most attractive human being. Clinging to that quality, however, merely insures the continuance of excessive drive and Ego, with all the pains attendant upon a life based on those qualities. The sacrifice of the Ego elements must be total, or they will soon regain their ascendancy.

Harry M. Tiebout, M.D.


This is Water

There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, “Morning, boys, how's the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, “What the hell is water?”

If at this moment you're worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise old fish explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don't be. I am not the wise old fish. The immediate point of the fish story is that the most obvious, ubiquitous, important realities are often the ones that are the hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude-but the fact is that, in the day-to-day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have life-or-death importance. That may sound like hyperbole, or abstract nonsense. So let's get concrete…

A huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. Here's one example of the utter wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe, the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely talk about this sort of natural, basic self centeredness, because it's so socially repulsive, but it's pretty much the same for all of us, deep down. It is our default-setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: There is no experience you've had that you were not at the absolute center of. The world as you experience it is right there in front of you, or behind you, to the left or right of you, on your TV, or your monitor, or whatever. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real-you get the idea. But please don't worry that I'm getting ready to preach to you about compassion or other-directedness or the so-called “virtues.” This is not a matter of virtue-it's a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default-setting, which is to be deeply and literally self-centered, and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self.

By way of example, let's say it's an average day, and you get up in the morning, go to your challenging job, and you work hard for nine or ten hours, and at the end of the day you're tired, and you're stressed out, and all you want is to go home and have a good supper and maybe unwind for a couple of hours and then hit the rack early because you have to get up the next day and do it all again. But then you remember there's no food at home-you haven't had time to shop this week, because of your challenging job-and so now after work you have to get in your car and drive to the supermarket. It's the end of the workday, and the traffic's very bad, so getting to the store takes way longer than it should, and when you finally get there the supermarket is very crowded, because of course it's the time of day when all the other people with jobs also try to squeeze in some grocery shopping, and the store's hideously, fluorescently lit, and infused with soul-killing Muzak or corporate pop, and it's pretty much the last place you want to be, but you can't just get in and quickly out. You have to wander all over the huge, overlit store's crowded aisles to find the stuff you want, and you have to maneuver your junky cart through all these other tired, hurried people with carts, and of course there are also the glacially slow old people and the spacey people and the ADHD kids who all block the aisle and you have to grit your teeth and try to be polite as you ask them to let you by, and eventually, finally, you get all your supper supplies, except now it turns out there aren't enough checkout lanes open even though it's the end-of-the-day rush, so the checkout line is incredibly long, which is stupid and infuriating, but you can't take your fury out on the frantic lady working the register.

Anyway, you finally get to the checkout line's front, and pay for your food, and wait to get your check or card authenticated by a machine, and then get told to “Have a nice day” in a voice that is the absolute voice of death, and then you have to take your creepy flimsy plastic bags of groceries in your cart through the crowded, bumpy, littery parking lot, and try to load the bags in your car in such a way that everything doesn't fall out of the bags and roll around in the trunk on the way home, and then you have to drive all the way home through slow, heavy, SUV- intensive rush-hour traffic, et cetera, et cetera.

The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing comes in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don't make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I'm going to be pissed and miserable every time I have to foodshop, because my natural default-setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me, about my hungriness and my fatigue and my desire to just get home, and it's going to seem, for all the world, like everybody else is just in my way, and who are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them are and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they seem here in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line, and look at how deeply unfair this is: I've worked really hard all day and I'm starved and tired and I can't even get home to eat and unwind because of all these stupid goddamn people.

Or, of course, if I'm in a more socially conscious form of my default-setting, I can spend time in the end-of-theday traffic jam being angry and disgusted at all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUVs and Hummers and V-12 pickup trucks burning their wasteful, selfish, forty-gallon tanks of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers, who are usually talking on cell phones as they cut people off in order to get just twenty stupid feet ahead in a traffic jam, and I can think about how our children's children will despise us for wasting all the future's fuel and probably screwing up the climate, and how spoiled and stupid and disgusting we all are, and how it all just sucks, and so on and so forth…

Look, if I choose to think this way, fine, lots of us do-except that thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic it doesn't have to be a choice. Thinking this way is my natural default-setting. It's the automatic, unconscious way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I'm operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the center of the world and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world's priorities. The thing is that there are obviously different ways to think about these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stuck and idling in my way: It's not impossible that some of these people in SUVs have been in horrible auto accidents in the past and now find driving so traumatic that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive; or that the Hummer that just cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he's trying to rush to the hospital, and he's in a way bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am-it is actually I who am in his way. And so on.

Again, please don't think that I'm giving you moral advice, or that I'm saying you're “supposed to” think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it, because it's hard, it takes will and mental effort, and if you're like me, some days you won't be able to do it, or you just flat-out won't want to. But most days, if you're aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-lady who just screamed at her little child in the checkout line-maybe she's not usually like this; maybe she's been up three straight nights holding the hand of her husband who's dying of bone cancer, or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the Motor Vehicles Department who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a nightmarish red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it's also not impossible-it just depends on what you want to consider. If you're automatically sure that you know what reality is and who and what is really important-if you want to operate on your default-setting-then you, like me, will not consider possibilities that aren't pointless and annoying. But if you've really learned how to think, how to pay attention, then you will know you have other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, loud, slow, consumer hell-type situation as not only meaningful but sacred, on fire with the same force that lit the stars-compassion, love, the sub-surface unity of all things. Not that that mystical stuff's necessarily true: The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're going to try to see it. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn't. You get to decide what to worship…

Because here's something else that's true. In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And an outstanding reason for choosing some sort of God or spiritual-type thing to worship-be it J.C. or Allah, be it Yahweh or the Wiccan mother-goddess or the Four Noble Truths or some infrangible set of ethical principles-is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things-if they are where you tap real meaning in life-then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. On one level, we all know this stuff already-it's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. Worship power-you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart-you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on.

Look, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful; it is that they are unconscious. They are default-settings. They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing. And the world will not discourage you from operating on your default-settings, because the world of men and money and power hums along quite nicely on the fuel of fear and contempt and frustration and craving and the worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom to be lords of our own tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talked about in the great outside world of winning and achieving and displaying. The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day. That is real freedom. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default-setting, the “rat race”-the constant gnawing sense of having had and lost some infinite thing.

I know that this stuff probably doesn't sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational. What it is, so far as I can see, is the truth with a whole lot of rhetorical bullshit pared away. Obviously, you can think of it whatever you wish. But please don't dismiss it as some finger-wagging Dr. Laura sermon. None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to thirty, or maybe fifty, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head. It is about simple awareness-awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, that we have to keep reminding ourselves, over and over: “This is water, this is water.”

It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it commences: now.

I wish you way more than luck.

Sincerely, David Foster Wallace


Skin in the Game

I have been thinking about getting older recently, how I am ultimately more out of touch with the times. I am having a harder time speaking the language of current culture.

Paradoxically there is also a stronger longing to reach the next generation, but my ideas seem too traditional, to “deep” or intellectual for the times.

I have thought of late maybe I need to eschew this way of being to have more skin in the game.

Maybe it is like that moment when God decided to descend to earth to reach humanity, in an act of great humility and humiliation.

Paul explains the act of God descending to earth as Jesus in Philippians.

5-8 Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.

9-11 Because of that obedience, God lifted him high and honored him far beyond anyone or anything, ever, so that all created beings in heaven and on earth—even those long ago dead and buried—will bow in worship before this Jesus Christ, and call out in praise that he is the Master of all, to the glorious honor of God the Father.

I think of the evangelical pastor who buys hipster jeans and fashionable clothing so the ancient message of Christ can be made known to a younger generation. Reaching the lost through whatever means.

Other things come to mind like a story about an Orthodox monastic that dispensed chocolate to young kids as a gift of love, it rotted their teeth, but it was the only way to get their attention.

Or a father who takes a job as an engineer at the refinery, really an artist at heart, he puts it aside his passions to keep his family afloat financially.

Tonight I will watch the Bachelor because it is one of the few opportunities I get to spend one on one with my wife.

What is this common idea here?

The culture of frivolousness, the vanity of vanities, used as a means to share time with one another.

Skin in the game.

Jesus could have easily presented ultimate truth in one final blow. But instead, he steeped himself in the essence of the culture, the simplistic forms of life on life’s terms.

He offered a cold glass of water to someone with a parched throat.

Broke bread and ate fish to commune with his best friend Peter.

It is like the time I offered a dirty Halls lozenge in my pocket to an elderly woman having a coughing fit at the airport.

Or when my friend who was a celebrity pastor got into a horrible car accident and was laid up in bed, unemployed and without purpose. He told me it was an agnostic heroin addict that came over consistently and played video games with him, that ultimately led to his emotional healing. His congregation flooded him with platitudes and theological propositions, but none knew how to simply pass the time with him.

It also happens to be the clearest indication of mastery for most of the great filmmakers. The aim of my greatest vocational aspirations. Concealing ultimate truth and subtext, the art of subversive communication through symbolism, metaphor and common storylines.

One could easily stand justified, separated and purified from such a lower existence, but then they might miss the connection with others.

How does one do this without becoming convoluted, trite, insincere? Corrupted by the corrosive secular materialism of our time.

Especially when the current postmodern agenda and everything 'of the moment' seems to be antithetical to God, almost apocalyptic.

Stand on the outside and throw stones? Surely as great prophets have done in the past...

But what about love, the love the meets people where they are in the mundanity of their everyday lives, the place they spend most of their time?

This is the realm of communion and connection.

People are not transformed by truth bombs, it is usually slow and nuanced, they experience healing inside of relational dynamics.

When they are being helped with simple things, frivolous things one might presume.

Today I was getting coffee at a hipster boutique intelligentsia spot. I felt like crawling out of my skin, the absurdity of it all, a whole community of people working, carrying on and dialoguing around an 8 dollar cup of caffeine. But again, it was a community of people, vibrant, connected, I was on the outside, partaking reclusively, casting stones.

This thought ultimately brings me to the connection with my own children. At the moment they are watching looney toons, Disney’s best, mindless simplistic distraction… one could argue it is their teacher in this season of life. It is essential as a father I find a way to experience what they are experiencing, to understand the stories they are absorbing. Otherwise, I will remain on the outside of their lives. I must learn the sports they love, the songs they sing and the things that keep their attention.

So I can love them fully.

So I can have skin in the game.

I still loath Disneyland but they love it.

The humility of God descending to earth as Jesus is striking.

I pray one day I might experience a peace with it.

For now I am struggling to find a way in.


Heaven bound but no Earthly good

“Do you thirst for a heavenly realm, a place beyond the hard, brutal existence of life on earth? Have you encountered glimpses of the other side through deep meditation, prayer, near-death experiences, ayahuasca, dmt, lsd or other out of body experiences? Do you assume it is a kind of 2 story universe we are living in, only passing through, heaven up there and us down here? What if you found out it was a one story universe, heaven on earth, and your unquenchable thirst for another reality was merely escapism? Would it change how you were showing up and committing your life to the relationships, responsibilities, and hardships that besiege you? After years of struggling to become more spiritual so I could transcend the material world and all of its illusions I nearly lost my marriage and my job. The disembodied experience had lead to a type of reclusive disassociation with all of reality and ultimately non-being. I was heaven bound but no longer any earthly good.” From a recovering @hyperspiritualhobo 


Intellectualization, my defense mechanism

You should see the pile of books in my garage, many only half-read. Some highlighted with pens and sharpies, mostly obsessive research down rabbit holes that lead nowhere when I was unemployed and looking for work. When my eyes were bleeding I might throw on a podcast and just let Rogan or Petersons wash over me. Only to relieve me of my powerlessness, or help me escape the season of great emotional distress. 

Like Adam in the Garden, I grabbed from that Tree of Knowledge ruthlessly, to avoid the shame, the nakedness, the vulnerability of being fully human. 

And it has come with a great cost, this defense mechanism, intellectualization.  I have missed many seasons of life, detached from the full experience, lost in my head, void of any connection to my emotional state and simply because I willed it that way. Insensately trying to get the answers and live above the fragility of my true nature. 

I don't even know where I picked it up, this way of coping, maybe it was in therapy somewhere around the age of 8 when my father had run out of ways to help me. Often my unhinging sadness, fear, and sensitivity made him nervous, that sea of emotion was overwhelming. 

Inside of therapy for many years to come, I learned that the way out was not through any of it, not to be with any of it, no it was a trick of rumination and hanging out in the loftier rational realms that allowed me a form of escape.  

Eventually, I mastered myself, until alcohol worked a little better, then obsession with women, then work and more work and workaholism and eventually I couldn't read anymore about panic attacks because the more I tried to figure them out the more they owned me. A long season of depersonalization and mental collapse lead me straight to my body where I eventually would have to surrender. All that was suppressed came up and out of me.  It was the first time I wept tears compressed from childhood. I simultaneously was able to smell and taste and feel the wind on my face for the first time, in ways I hadn't since I was a little kid. There, broken and filled with emotion, I had a type of communion with life again. I wouldn't be surprised if they eventually figure out depression is a type of response to anyone that refuses to feel their feelings. 

We all use psychic defenses when we're hurt or scared. Especially for those of us that have grown up sensitive and learned that it was weakness. Intellectualization does not mean we're smart. It means that, instead of the terrifying act of listening deeply to our own pain or fear we try to think and talk our way out of it. We therefore isolate our emotions from our intellect. It is the ultimate escape.

 

 


Suicide and Breakfast

Famous psychologist Jordan B Peterson opens up about his friend's suicide and the danger of intellectual arrogance.


By Proxy

I gave some more time to the conversation we had earlier today. My personal reflection unveiled some insight I hadn't thought about during our call. 

If you are going to tackle this issue it's important to consider the ways that perceived adjacency shapes the way a person feels about themselves. These young men don't just see their gurus as distant mentors, they start to see them as peers- especially the ones who are on podcasts. If you absorb enough content that person puts out, you start to feel like you know them, especially when it's through an informal medium like podcasts. In their own right Joe Rogan, Jordan Peterson, and others like them, have achieved huge success. They did so over long careers, they took risks, they set out to face the world. Their wisdom comes from real life experiences, real failures, and real success. Their pupils forget that wisdom comes after long careers. You can't just fast forward to the end result. 

Although it's very easy to hide from your failures behind someone else's success, or the wisdom they impart. If I fail at something, I can memorize some wisdom I heard from a respected teacher and say that I now possess the same wisdom. It shelters me from actually having to learn from that failure, from having to face it, from having to bear the humiliation of it, and from ultimately having to rebuild from that failure. At this time in my life, my biggest failure and regret is that I failed to make the best of the opportunities that I've had before me. So I try to attach myself to peers who found success because they tried. I can be a name dropper sometimes and it's a bad characteristic. Their success isn't mine, it just helps me hide from my sense of embarrassment about myself. In the same way, a lot of these other young men attach themselves to their teachers to hide from their failures or their low self-esteem. It's a success by proxy, character development by proxy, and wisdom by proxy. It's a way to experience the world without actually having the guts to step out on your own. 


No Silver Lining

I finished a long commercial project yesterday on a high note. It has been many jobs like this back to back. Crew coming up afterward expressing deep gratitude and joy, a few telling me they loved me, holding me tight before departing. It has been overwhelming the amount of positive feedback. Today as it all slowed down, finishing the race well, patting myself on the back, reflecting on the season as a whole, I watched the first edit of my commercial. Suddenly and without warning, despair sieged my soul. The mediocrity of it all just fucking sank me. It is for a financial institution, just like the last one and the one before it. Banal, vapid of anything good or worthy of attention. Something I promised myself I would never do as an emerging indie filmmaker. I sank in my chair, the warm glow of set life comradery vanished, I thought, "It might as well have been for Mc'Donalds." There is a grief I have been trying to suppress this year, hoping it would pass over me in my overworking and incessant doing. Making my family the kind of money that brings great security in a freelance, dog eat dog, race to the bottom culture. Professing to everyone that relationships are more important than achievements while battling my cognitive dissonance, realizing deep down I can not handle my own diminishing artistic achievements. It is a kind of grief I have not been able to articulate. Making the money but not the art. Being a good man of character with average abilities, having struck luck in the past, privately praying my muse might visit me again. Somewhere here in the middle of life, provider, 2 kids, a wife, a house in a homogenous suburban enclave, overpaid and overweight, with another vapid commercial under my belt. Another man coming to terms with his finitude and obsolescence, here I am. It is not easy. I called my dad tonight, he immediately started laughing. My fear of lacking cultural relevance and high art just cracked him up. "Thanks Dad, I'm serious, this shit is real." He said "let me make it easier for you son, stop right there, stop...." I was breathless trying to get it all out so he could unpack if for me and find the silver lining. He said "son, there is none. No silver lining. So stop the resistance. I'll give it to you now, now that your old enough to really hear it...you ready? It's really simple. Your life is no longer about you, it actually never really was. Go kiss your kids and a big welcome to adulthood."