Sunday, August 22, 2004

Yes, even more wankery! 

This is what happens when the only fiction you're reading is absurd or existentialist.

I am swamped by an “embarrassment of choice”. I am on the brink of starting on the journey of my adult life, and there is only one chance to get it right. It sounds dramatic, doesn't it, but it's so easy to stuff it all up. A full, real life takes effort. You need to have a philosophy, whether conscious or sub-conscious. There are so many ways to live, and not all of them are necessarily fulfilling.

Firstly, there is the path I have been groomed for since birth. Study hard, find a job that pays well, find a man, have babies, buy a house and things to fill it with, just look after myself and my family and let the world be. This is so deeply ingrained, I have only recently realized that it is not the only way. To be sure, the bourgeois dream is attractive. I understand the importance of stability and family. But I also have seen first-hand what happens if you pin all your hopes and sense of self on them. Families fall apart. A house full of things can still be empty. A well-paid job might be one that leaves you soulless.

Then there is the path of the activist, in my father’s footsteps. Dedicating your life to an ideal. Changing the world. This is a difficult path. It requires a certain narrow-mindedness, for how can you dedicate your life to something you’re uncertain about? And if it’s an “alternative” ideal, you need to have absolute consistency and integrity to be able to defend yourself from your critics. That’s why I both fear and admire strong Christians and lefties and others of that mould.

There is also the life of a drifter. Footloose, wandering the globe, with no home, no family, no responsibilities. An offshoot of this is a life for pleasure, like that of Meursault. Sun, sea, food, sex, beautiful things. On one hand, you experience the fullness of life and thus accumulate wisdom. But on your deathbed, you might find yourself asking what difference your life made to anyone.

My problem is that I’ve avoided making a decision because there is no right choice, everything has its advantages and disadvantages. I’ve valued open-mindedness above all. But I’m starting to realize that fence-sitting is no way to live your life. At some point, you’ll be called upon to make a choice, and even if it’s not completely right, there is infinitely more integrity in committing yourself to it and accepting your mistakes than in equivocating and withholding judgement.

Well, I’m making a start now. I’m beginning to know what I think is important, and what is not; what is worthwhile and what is ridiculous. In the “important” column are jokes, friends, honesty, love, playing games with kids, commitment/tolerance, taking pleasure in the moment, enjoying nature, creating things, sharing meals, music, sharing ideas, sex, books, ideals, authenticity, spontaneity/responsibility, taking an interest in the world, passion, beauty in small things, solidarity with fellow humans, pets, human contact, hugs, the sky and stars, healing, imagination, constant questioning, laughing at yourself, occasional indulgence, gaining wisdom, science, freedom, peace, progress.

In the “ridiculous” column are vanity, pettiness, consumerism, hypocrisy, much of TV, putting work ahead of family, dogmatism, excess ambition, snobbiness, too much time on the net, silent dinners, masks, prudishness, obsession with money, righteous indignation, killing, rushing, self-pity, rigidity, fearing the unknown, stock arguments, taking yourself too seriously, jealousy, wallowing, self-importance, politics, lies, knowledge for the sake of it, propaganda, status.

Linked to this minor existential crisis is my career crisis. Every time I think of myself as a future lawyer...I get the willies. Because lawyering, it appears to me, requires a lot of equivocating, lies, ambition to claw yourself to the top of the pack, pompousness, &c, &c. You have to lie to yourself, to some extent. Say you’re called upon to defend a serial paedophile, who admits to you in confidence that he did it. Instinctively it’s repellent; you have to justify it to yourself, so you can still go home and look your kids in the eye. Everyone’s entitled to representation. There might be mitigating factors. Citizens need to be protected from the potentially oppressive state. But in the back of your mind, your conscience is screaming, HE FUCKED LITTLE KIDS FER CHRISSAKES!

Then again, there is potential to do some good as a lawyer, I suppose. Putting the baddies in jail, if you’re a prosecutor. Defending the weak. Helping people in a really shitty time of their lives. And I do know, personally and by reputation, some really admirable lawyers. Most of the hotshot young activists in my youth ethnic forum thingy are law students. The head of VCA in Victoria, who has done heaps to help Viet refugees in the Philippines and elsewhere, is also a lawyer.

I don’t know. I really don’t know anything at this point. I don’t know my head from my ass, to be honest. And the more I learn, the less I’m sure of anything. How come my peers seem as if they have everything sorted out? Religion, politics, family, career, the lot. I’d give my toes for that kind of certainty. (Toes, because I like my arms intact, thanks).

If you haven’t noticed, this blog is a reflection of my uncertainty about everything and everything. Hence the melange of wannabe comedy, soul-searching, whinging, politics, drama, etc. I mean this post alone is stylistically schizo. Bear with me.

Yknow what? Maybe I should stop this intellectual bullshit, and just live. Let's try that.

# posted at 12:21 am

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