October 7th, 2008

It's critical to go through one's fears meticulously and sequentially in order to sort out which of them are realistic, and which ones are obscure, irrational, anti-social, and ultimately self-stifling. While it is true that it is soft and warm and comfortable to wallow in a small corner of the world and only venture out into the vast wide agoraphobia-inducing harshness of so-called "reality" to perform the bare minimum required to remain physically viable and personally entertained, it is also true that to do so is to allow one's fears to control one's life.

Is that a bad thing?

In the past, when I have used my fears to control my life, I was not miserable; I was ... something else. I was comfortable after a fashion. Relieved, even. Or maybe it was just the realisation that no matter what "hell and horror" (as I thought of it) went on out there, I had a small but well-defined—and very controllable—universe inside.

Some would call that a death. Maybe, I don't know. But I've lived in caves like that before, and those times were ... like a drug to me. A small confession: I still sometimes yearn for those days even though I know they are nothing but an illusion now. Like a memory of physical cravings. I think about them like a reformed alcoholic thinks of that last drink he had before he jumped onto the wagon.

Those people who consider themselves "the living"—that is, those people who are still vital and full of fire and initiative—harbour hostility and resentment to the people who find their shadowy corners and quietly go to sleep.

How dare you choose to lie down and die like that, when I plan to go with nothing less than several kicks and a scream?

People are drawn to their cocoons because of hurt in their lives. But, strangely, being hurt does not immediately mean that people will shrink into their shells. It is only sometimes that the damage from being more sensitive than the average person, more observant, more open and honest in a world of violence, indifference, deceit and artifice drives spikes through the heart of boldness. The blood of the adventurer is not always poisoned by the pain experienced during the adventure.

But some summon the strength to rise and overcome these painful ailments in our personalities, climbing as high as a great ruler and a leader of mythic proportion, even ... while for others the only satisfactory resolution is to either stay hidden under your bed (and is there really, truly, anything wrong with that?) or go digging through the murky muck and mire of whatever ails you, pulling the dark slimy things out into the light to get a good look at them.

There are many people—supposedly great people, hugely successful people, even apparently very happy people—who are really just rising in what they think is status in proportion to the damage in their personalities. In fact, it is probably true that the greater the pain the greater the drive to be that successful person ... which further means that the "higher" up on the "success" ladder that one observes the people, the more likely it is that one encounters hidden sorrows, and the deeper and more painful those sorrows are. Or, you might just find those people under a blanket with a TV remote or mouse in one hand, and a bag of chips in the other. They only way out of that dichotomous, yet strangely parallel life is to start dredging and shovelling until you fine the buried beasts that drive you one way or another.

These are beasts who seldom want to come out of the muck; they have to be coaxed, forced, grabbed and subdued. And to what end?

Why is a choice of lives better than the one that experience has shoe-horned you into? Maybe there are reasons. Maybe there is value in working hard to free dark ugly lurking snapping beasts in the dirt. But nothing comes for free, and if there is no perceived point to it, then there almost certainly isn't one. In fact, it wouldn't be successful, either. What is waiting at the end of that dirty dingy road? Is it worth it? Is there anything there at all? And—most important of all—is anything as wonderful in completion as it appears during goal-setting?

If so, then maybe it is worth it to climb out of the pit with bags full of demons in tow. Maybe it's time to start pulling the slime-beasts of self-protection out into the open where the direct sunshine can make them wither and die. Maybe there's value in being open, honest, and caring again, and know that all those exorcised beasts now have an open door to come galloping back in. If the mind has bruises (which mind doesn't?) and it must be cleared in anticipation of something greater in life, then the stage is set for a tooth-and-nail fight with immortal beasts. Remember these are the beasts that caused those bruises.

Be ready.

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