"The extent which our past or our genes shapes us is something I rarely think much about, mostly because of the dangers that come from the belief that behavior is caused by something other than ‘free will’ (which is another illusion, but that’s another story). Nature and nurture just provide an all too easy crutch to explain and perpetuate bad behavior: “I’m this way because of my genes and/or my childhood” could very well be true, but just because they’re true doesn’t mean they can’t be mitigated (or obliterated). And if conditioning, as an explanation for bad behavior, is part of someone’s ‘it’s just the way I am’ repertoire, how come the negative effects of current stupidity don’t perpetuate a change in behaviors?
(My advice….stop thinking about why you are the way you are and start thinking about what behavior(s) will lead to the objectives you desire. It’s an outcome-based approach to decisions and I’ve inadvertently been practicing it for longer than I can recall.)
But sometimes ‘natural’ behavior aligns with an outcome-based strategy. The threat of biological catastrophe has led me to a love of life that would have been hard to nurture otherwise. A struggle against forces opposing my existence cultivated a propensity to ‘slurp the marrow of life’. I don’t believe in supernatural forces, but the sheer litany of shit that’s come my way has made me contemplate that perhaps if there is a God, he sure as f’in hell hates me: born into a plastic bubble, suffocation, supraventricular tachycardia (WPW), 2 surgeries before 2 years, 2 drownings, 1 fractured tibia (a tree falling while I slept), broken ribs, fingernail removal (during a fall down a ditch), broken back/body cast, crushed face, crushed knuckles, hit by car, deviated septum, fractured elbow, torn esophagus (2x), all fingers broken in left hand, stress fracture right femur, brain tumor and now a new hole in the front of my head from this sinus mess. There’s lots more minor stuff like animal attacks, some minor explosions and death threats from gang members AND police (some of them don’t just pick on black guys), but the end result of all of the above—and the constant physical ‘reminders’ that it all happened, forever changed my perception on time, morality, immediacy and life.
(As a mental exercise, imagine the helpless, degrading horror of looking down at your feet, wondering, “will a nurse or someone in the morgue remove my socks tonight?” I can think of no simpler act I’ve performed that has left me grateful to merely be alive. It’s also a reminder every time I put on my socks in the morning who might be removing them in the afternoon.)
Surviving is sweet. It makes me want to live forever, to hold onto and cherish and savor every minute. And just when the poignancy begins to fade, trauma reminds me how easily it is to become terminally disorganized—that ‘what doesn’t kill you will most certainly try again.’ Despite knowing certain risks can cause what I’d best like to avoid I can’t merely sit at home hoping to survive for another 24 hours. Near-death has led to the opposing, contradictory response of more risk taking (not just the physical kind, but that, too). There’s a fine, blurry line between living life vs. preserving it. (Those who think they have a nice balance are probably erring on the side of preservation, but, all things being relative, that opinion was just written by your humble narrator who’d admit preservation as secondary.) Do I want to die in a plane crash? No. But I do admit the prospect of surviving a plane crash increases my desire to fly more than the prospect of dying in one could ever inhibit me. I love life, but not at the expense of living devoid of experience.
Most live in a way that demonstrates a confidence in longevity that doesn’t exist. When time is believed to be plentiful it’s squandered. Yet, despite the contrary evidence presented every day (gray hairs, sagging flesh, weight gain, wrinkles), most operate with a sort of obscure confidence that progress will occur and dreams will come true tomorrow, or the following day, or the day after. It’s a delusion of immortality to even believe there will be a tomorrow, yet the satisfaction of desires, for most, exists here, in a monstrously vast, nebulous, uncertain place comfortably understood as ‘the future’.
To make things worse, most rationalize that the quantity of prudence or sound judgement (otherwise known as ‘fear’) in their life is inversely proportional to longevity, that the more cautious one is, the longer one’s life will be. But a long life isn’t necessarily a better life. If, for instance, castration could increase your life expectancy by 10 years, would you sign up? Because…drumroll please…it does. You will live a longer life without your balls. True.
That’s a very stark value proposition, but it illustrates the point that none of us think longevity is our primary goal. Value and quality of life is more important than trying to postpone the day it will cease. Yet, every day most justify actions that lower the quality of their lives to do just that. In a study I’ll make up just to demonstrate my point: 80% of people devote 90 % of their waking moment on these three mental activities: Ruminating over the past; Agonizing over the present; Dreaming about the future: the first leads to regret (or nostalgia), the second to fear and the third—to optimism. Regret, Fear, Optimism: the dark triad of inactivity.
What’s the alternative? A good gauge of how you’re doing at prolonging life, at not wasting time, is completed simply by looking at your activity. Fuck making plans. Don’t look to the future and try to sequence it, you’ll only end up thinking you actually will do something. What you’ve completed last week is a better gauge of how you’re doing than what you propose to do in the upcoming one. And that’s really the secret to prolonging life: stop wasting time. The clock can’t be rolled back. Experiences can’t be recaptured. Damage can’t be undone and the only hope we have of arranging an uncertain future is action. Sure—eat your fruits and veggies and put on your gear before your ride—but take risks, go out on a limb, get scraped up and deal with what happens when it happens. Our lives are finite. Not even the endless, seemingly infinite amount of desires, memories or emotions we have can change that."
(My advice….stop thinking about why you are the way you are and start thinking about what behavior(s) will lead to the objectives you desire. It’s an outcome-based approach to decisions and I’ve inadvertently been practicing it for longer than I can recall.)
But sometimes ‘natural’ behavior aligns with an outcome-based strategy. The threat of biological catastrophe has led me to a love of life that would have been hard to nurture otherwise. A struggle against forces opposing my existence cultivated a propensity to ‘slurp the marrow of life’. I don’t believe in supernatural forces, but the sheer litany of shit that’s come my way has made me contemplate that perhaps if there is a God, he sure as f’in hell hates me: born into a plastic bubble, suffocation, supraventricular tachycardia (WPW), 2 surgeries before 2 years, 2 drownings, 1 fractured tibia (a tree falling while I slept), broken ribs, fingernail removal (during a fall down a ditch), broken back/body cast, crushed face, crushed knuckles, hit by car, deviated septum, fractured elbow, torn esophagus (2x), all fingers broken in left hand, stress fracture right femur, brain tumor and now a new hole in the front of my head from this sinus mess. There’s lots more minor stuff like animal attacks, some minor explosions and death threats from gang members AND police (some of them don’t just pick on black guys), but the end result of all of the above—and the constant physical ‘reminders’ that it all happened, forever changed my perception on time, morality, immediacy and life.
(As a mental exercise, imagine the helpless, degrading horror of looking down at your feet, wondering, “will a nurse or someone in the morgue remove my socks tonight?” I can think of no simpler act I’ve performed that has left me grateful to merely be alive. It’s also a reminder every time I put on my socks in the morning who might be removing them in the afternoon.)
Surviving is sweet. It makes me want to live forever, to hold onto and cherish and savor every minute. And just when the poignancy begins to fade, trauma reminds me how easily it is to become terminally disorganized—that ‘what doesn’t kill you will most certainly try again.’ Despite knowing certain risks can cause what I’d best like to avoid I can’t merely sit at home hoping to survive for another 24 hours. Near-death has led to the opposing, contradictory response of more risk taking (not just the physical kind, but that, too). There’s a fine, blurry line between living life vs. preserving it. (Those who think they have a nice balance are probably erring on the side of preservation, but, all things being relative, that opinion was just written by your humble narrator who’d admit preservation as secondary.) Do I want to die in a plane crash? No. But I do admit the prospect of surviving a plane crash increases my desire to fly more than the prospect of dying in one could ever inhibit me. I love life, but not at the expense of living devoid of experience.
Most live in a way that demonstrates a confidence in longevity that doesn’t exist. When time is believed to be plentiful it’s squandered. Yet, despite the contrary evidence presented every day (gray hairs, sagging flesh, weight gain, wrinkles), most operate with a sort of obscure confidence that progress will occur and dreams will come true tomorrow, or the following day, or the day after. It’s a delusion of immortality to even believe there will be a tomorrow, yet the satisfaction of desires, for most, exists here, in a monstrously vast, nebulous, uncertain place comfortably understood as ‘the future’.
To make things worse, most rationalize that the quantity of prudence or sound judgement (otherwise known as ‘fear’) in their life is inversely proportional to longevity, that the more cautious one is, the longer one’s life will be. But a long life isn’t necessarily a better life. If, for instance, castration could increase your life expectancy by 10 years, would you sign up? Because…drumroll please…it does. You will live a longer life without your balls. True.
That’s a very stark value proposition, but it illustrates the point that none of us think longevity is our primary goal. Value and quality of life is more important than trying to postpone the day it will cease. Yet, every day most justify actions that lower the quality of their lives to do just that. In a study I’ll make up just to demonstrate my point: 80% of people devote 90 % of their waking moment on these three mental activities: Ruminating over the past; Agonizing over the present; Dreaming about the future: the first leads to regret (or nostalgia), the second to fear and the third—to optimism. Regret, Fear, Optimism: the dark triad of inactivity.
What’s the alternative? A good gauge of how you’re doing at prolonging life, at not wasting time, is completed simply by looking at your activity. Fuck making plans. Don’t look to the future and try to sequence it, you’ll only end up thinking you actually will do something. What you’ve completed last week is a better gauge of how you’re doing than what you propose to do in the upcoming one. And that’s really the secret to prolonging life: stop wasting time. The clock can’t be rolled back. Experiences can’t be recaptured. Damage can’t be undone and the only hope we have of arranging an uncertain future is action. Sure—eat your fruits and veggies and put on your gear before your ride—but take risks, go out on a limb, get scraped up and deal with what happens when it happens. Our lives are finite. Not even the endless, seemingly infinite amount of desires, memories or emotions we have can change that."
-AntiHero
