I just ordered some pu-erh off the Internet and while I find the thought of a tea-sipping writer sitting at her desk and tapping away, probably wearing fuzzy socks and covered in dog-hair, to be almost painfully quaint, I know it's an illusion. The Autumn who sat on the dirty floor listening to goth music and drinking straight from a handle of whiskey while writing The Crooked God Machine wasn't any more authentic. I just wanted the pain to mean something, because otherwise it'd be wasted, the effort of wringing myself out one drop at a time.
If there's anything life has taught me, it's been that happiness is dangerous. Happiness is something reserved for other people, people who live in fairytales of shimmering bubbles and well adjusted parents. Books have only confirmed this - as a species, we're pretty bad at this whole happiness thing, (We were built to reproduce, after all, not achieve emotional well-being) and some writers have become so thoroughly convinced of its non-existence that they race to write about how the universe is folding up and we're all going to die. Instead of finding celebration in that - they carry around big goblets of tears, drinking to be constantly refilled.
These are the same people who will tell you love isn't real because it's "just chemicals" (Like everything else in the universe. I'd sure love to know their definition of real.) They will say the American Dream is dead! We're doomed! Fuck you! Everything is useless! They yell from the gutters and the palaces that nothing really means much of anything, so give up happiness. Give up life.
You have probably noticed that most of these people, with some exceptions, keep on living. Usually while gobbling up air to question the meaningless of life and how they want their lives to matter, unlike "those people" (Those sheep!) they want to change the world, find the key. Like it’s a video game, they’ll one day beat the final boss and their “purpose” like a shining jewel will descend from the shattered remnants of their victory for them to clutch.
They’ve failed to recognize that meaning is built into the system.
About a year ago I was hanging out with a friend in Austin’s Zilker park. As we sat in the weight of the sunlight he was telling me that he didn’t understand the point of existence, that he felt adrift, purposeless.
I didn’t have the words then - but as I looked around at all the people inside the circles of their lives, watching the blades of grass and the sky swirling, I thought “But this is it! We’re right here now! Stop wondering what the point of life is and just -look- at it! Isn’t it obvious then?”
There are more wonders in a single blade of grass than in the entire history of the human race. To think “Is this it?” isn’t just hubris, it’s purposefully closing your eyes and refusing to see.
I could spent a lifetime just understanding the intricacies of tea leaves. I just learned the other day that pu-erh is a black fermented tea and I have been on this earth for nearly thirty years!
And as I think about sipping tea, I think about how the American Dream has been battered and mocked from its inception. The death of the American Dream has been a popular subject of many pseudo-intellectuals for years, and the ignorance of the common person is an easy thing to mock to appear smarter than you actually are. You don’t want the spouse, the 2.8 kids (People always think they are clever writing the statistical average out), the house with the white picket fence (Always white!), the 9-5 job. You want the liberty to stand and mock people who listen to Top 40 Pop and have a desire for stability. You want everyone to know that you are not fooled, you are not swayed.
Yes, we know the American Dream is dead, and the man with the power-mower is dead inside, and the woman with the children going to soccer practice is dead inside, but not you! You're not dead. You see the interlocking mechanisms of everything in existence and realize that it's all a sham! We've been bamboozled! Scammed! The only way to escape the "system" is to cross your arms and mock other people's happiness. The only way to escape is to wring out the pain on display. You are so much better than those fucking schmucks who thought this was going to buy them happiness.
Well, they’re partially right. The American Dream isn’t going to make them happy. But neither is becoming an anarchist, owning a harem, freelancing, traveling the country, minimalism, becoming a hippy, strings-free sex, becoming a multi-millionaire, creating the first true AI, watching copious amounts of anime, dumpster diving to subvert the system, being really good at your job, marrying a model, writing a book, helping children in Africa, creating a non-profit, finding the cure for cancer, losing weight, being mega-hot, having a million followers on Instagram, completing your Pokemon collection, building your dream home, finding your “purpose.”
The biggest cliche is also the biggest truth: The only thing that’s going to make you happy is you.
The only thing that’s going to make you happy is understanding your place in existence.
Sometimes I sit out on the balcony with clenched toes, drinking from a giant can of beer, looking out in the yard as I take a break from writing, and I think “I need to do more.” I need to be more. It’s a heavy and unrelenting feeling. I need to stop writing and REALLY change the world. Help people. I need to throw myself into the chasm of the earth, a sacrifice, my hair a volcano and my eyelashes singed for the good of mankind. I’ve fallen victim sometimes to the idea that purpose is something monumental and grand, a discovery instead of a decision, a climactic and pivotal moment instead of a daily motion, taking what life gives to you and steering through its waves.
I forget that I just need to live, and I am under no obligation to do anything except that.
Because what do we do when we finish our life’s work? What do we do when we’ve cured cancer, solved world hunger, exposed the lies of the American Dream, made enough money, achieved immortality?
Then we live.
We just live.
The reason that we’re working so hard to uncover truths and fix the earth is so that people can live their lives the way they want, with enough freedom to make the decisions to build their own purpose.
The purpose is to live.
So stop searching for the truth right in front of you, stop waiting for a better moment, and fucking live.
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