Is The Good Life Cucked by Neolithic Tumblr-Era Nihilism?
As the ringmaster of my thousand and one dolls, I now try to make Nietzsche and Seneca kiss!
I don't care about their inner-workings, or what their romantic good life might entail, but I think the concept is funny, so I send "hope and prayers" that they work it out.
What does it mean to not go gentle into that good life?
There's days I scroll on Tumblr—on worse ones, X—and step away for a moment to ask myself this question. The POTUS gets out another word, and the world cries wolf for the thousand and second time. These avatars of anime characters and adorable pets have solemnly missed the point.
This is to say I'm rooting for Nietzsche—little doll, there was once a day I despised you, but since then I've realized I was living in the depths of green, jealous of those who understood the world more than me. Maybe this time, I won't hide his face behind a capital H.
I like to tell myself that I refused!—They never caught me going gentle into that damn good life. As A sits across from me, he tells me how far I've come. Now, my mom could never call me a doormat.
I've come to not fear telling people to shut up—rethink their worthless Tumblr-Era sad life. Though the contrapositive of my friend has their reservations (no room for nuance, all that) I let myself smile and nod as I study for my next biology exam.
Do not go gentle into that damn good life.
Self-respect was a concept I never learned of until I was free from my mother's nest. When you rely on somebody for one thousand and three percent of what you need, you lose touch with the life awaiting your arrival and cling onto the mothership. Some leeches are even still there today.
Do not be the leech on another's damn good life.
A sits across from me three months prior, trying not to miss a beat as I sing my heart out in song. But, he poses a question: one I should be familiar with by now!
What does it mean to not go gentle into that good life?
The POTUS gets another word out, and I've regressed back to who I was. Not so unlike the twerp who threatened her for the thousand and fourth time, I let that anger surge beneath my veins. Only, this time, I'm not afraid for those I love to see what's beneath.
I now think that's a double-edged sword.
There's been too many instances as of the current day where I'm balancing the weight of who I am around different people. Inherently, this has shaped what my good life looked like from the beginning.
One thing I refuse to ever do in my life is cry to God. That's the first step in my self-respect, and I know that I can do this. But in hindsight, knowing that I've made people uncomfortable, been difficult to navigate difficult conversations with, and let my morals blind me in a way that makes me look irrational, I can't help but loathe the person I thought I could trust.
I ask A to punch me if I sound silly here, but living a life as rich and as tempting as mine has been, you'd think I would've found my path by now; you'd think I'd have reached equilibrium with the self-respect I desire and the love I have for everybody who's around me. But I haven't.
I know by now that I need to come to terms with the imperfections in the world. Unless every eight billion plus people on this planet manifest what the good life looks for them, the plants will still die. The grandmas will still mourn. And the POTUS will still gossip.
Why do I refuse to blame myself then, if I know how I've treated others is wrong? Is it protection from how God might use my good life against me, and that I'll end up in some fantastical place like Hell? The simpler answer might just be my ego: for my entire life, I've strived to diverge to uphold my certainty, and that led me to loathe this Tumblr-Era Nihilism as well. I can yell "I'll never be like them!" trying to convince A that I'm a real activist!—A real socialist!—All the while, I'm the little screw-up who doesn't even know what a Zionist is.
I now think there was no sword to hold from the start. Why would I try to weaponize that damn good life?
It only led to people I loved being hurt in the process—even if many of them don't outright say it, I can tell that the way that I interact with the world has never been healthy. I wish, as writing this, I had an answer right now, but all I can do is wallow with my guilt while listening to the sad lofi playlist I put on in the background.
After closing Tumblr, I will begin to do my homework. I will continue to flaunt my own ego, blow up who I am, and ponder the question "have you ever really been in love?"
Who could love an egocentric Tumblr-Era Nihilist?
