Building a Life While the World Burns

I have tried. Genuinely.

When I first left for college, I could have known better for myself. I could have paid more attention to the world, and I could have been more engaged with the goings on. That wasn’t really going to happen. I was a kid, and a super starry-eyed one at that. I spent most of my time with my head in the clouds — I still do.

Picture from an exhibit done by artists Mickaël Martins Afonso & Caroline Escaffre-Faure

As a result, I’ve certainly struggled to build a typically successful life like many of my peers have. I don’t make much money. I don’t travel a lot or go to concerts and festivals. I’ve got too much stuff, though — that’s a start. All of that said, my life is pretty good. My home is lived in, and my wants and needs are almost always met. I have my complaints; I feel starkly lonely most of the time.

But that’s just most of the time.

Lately, a thought has popped up a lot. Within, and without me. Many of my friends over the past several months have adopted a soft “the sky is falling” stance and with it has come an expository wave of nihilism. I’m no stranger to that feeling toward the world, but I’ve also played with it enough to know that absurdism is just around the corner. The simplest way I’ve managed to describe the difference (and short distance) between nihilism and absurdism is a simple adjustment from a “why bother” mindset to one of “why not?” If truly truly nothing matters, what not follow whatever moment you’re in to its natural conclusion. Let immediacy and impulse takeover and pursue something like hedonism.

I wonder what the world is like when everyone is a devout absurdist. Would people still have any sense of obligation to their needs or the needs of others?

Probably. Humans are a social animal. I digress.

Nihilistically, things do look pretty bad. The climate crisis isn’t even looming any more, and most of our world’s major efforts still seem to prioritize the goals of a minor wealthy elite. There are big problems with the people, big problems with the climate, and hey — let’s assume this pandemic isn’t going anywhere.

This isn’t new. There have been — and always will be — problems far too large and well outside any individual’s control. As a tween, the start of the Iraq War didn’t seem world-ending like the climate crisis feels at times, but it was certainly not my problem. All the same, I had to detach from the news at the time because I couldn’t help but internalize it. I felt so powerless and hopeless bearing witness to something so big and awful that I could do *nothing* about.

A “fun”, decent analogy for a sense of learned helplessness I developed paying attention to the news.

I digress.

Big problems. Really big problems, and I can’t control them. I can’t solve them, and even if “we” could it may be too late to implement a solution.

When a dear friend of mine reached out recently with a heft of ennui and a resulting sense of nihilism he said something like, “I don’t know how to care about something I know to be terminal.”

It was always terminal. I don’t mean it coldly.

Just, the facts haven’t changed.

You don’t have to change, just because you’re going to die. You don’t have to change even if our world is going to end.

You can change knowing you’re going to die, and knowing that even if our world doesn’t end we are likely to lose *a lot* in the coming decade or so.

I’m reminded a bit of what I wrote about this time last year — how I’d examined my life looking for holes. In the face of a large scale existential crisis I can take a similar approach with a very different question to start?

“What life do I want to end?”

I think enough about what’s missing in my life; I can crisply describe the negative space. I can confidently say that any attempt to fill that void will be imperfect. There will always be something for which I’m wanting. Sitting with catastrophe in sight, I need to shit or get off the pot. I need to accept that the life I’ll end won’t be complete, or perfect. I won’t have no regrets, and I won’t have everything I ever wanted. But I can move where I am for now, while the world burns.

Still Peter Mohrbacher. Still one of my favorite pieces. Itme.

It’s not really about lessening the depression, or giving up on saving the world. I still value the latter quite highly. I will die — if I’m not going to do that now, what am I going to do?

1. Consider the void(s) in my life.
2. Give them an arbitrary hierarchy (and trust my gut in doing so).
3. Act to fill them.

I personally struggle most with the last one. I’m not impulsive and I’m human-ly resistant to throwing away stability for the odd chance at satisfaction. In my discussions with others, I have found that most people struggle a lot with the first one, and many struggle with the second one. They’re all skills. We can practice, and we can help one another.

Before I go, I do want to note that this process sounds inherently selfish. Living (or rather surviving) is an inherently selfish act; there is always someone else who could use your resources. We can become excessively selfish for sure, but that’s more to do with one’s priorities and voids. If you — like me — have a void that is filled by selflessness, selfishness will only be a tool toward that.

Best of luck. I’m here.