Escaping the Trap of Resentment and Hedonism

I'd never read Augusten Burroughs; his books burst onto the scene in the 90s, when I was working at a book-and-music behemoth chain. I tended to be wary of wildly popular books, and his appeared to be such. Even to this day when I see the cover of Running With Scissors I hear snatches of tunes by Vertical Horizon and Savage Garden in my head.

I'm getting to where I try to determine whether to read a book or not based on its content, rather than its popularity. When I heard good things about Burroughs's latest book, This Is How, and read an excerpt online, I decided to give it a try. I loved it, and wolfed it down in a day. In fact, I intend to return to it time and again to recall its insights. He doesn't pull punches, or try to sugarcoat reality. I don't agree with everything he says, but I suspect if more of us took to heart and manifested some of his ideas, we'd get along a lot better in the world.

 He points out that life is inherently unfair, and that almost all of us are shortchanged in some area or another: looks, opportunities, intelligence, family situation, etc. It's very easy to let this sense of the unfairness fester into resentment. After all, if life is unfair, we feel like those who brought on the unfairness–parents, schoolmates, clergy, politicians, society at large, or even the Universe itself–owes us some payback, or at least an apology.

But no one is going to pay us back for the unfairness we've suffered, and even if we could get that preacher whose fire-and-brimstone sermon sent us into years of torment, or that boss who screwed us over, or whomever—even if we could get that person to apologize for what they did, how would that make our lives better?

The only way to make my life better is to do the work myself. No one can do it for me. I must take responsibility for my life, regardless of who fucked it up and how much, and make it better, if I want it to be better. Analysis into the whys of the fucked-up-ness will only get me so far. The better path is to try to find out how to make it better. And dwelling in resentment is the worst possible thing I can do.

Resentment is a sweet trap. It fuels righteous indignation. I get to feel holy because others have done me wrong. I get to feel righteous because I'm the victim. But it's a place of stagnation, even of deterioration. I cannot let myself get trapped in the cycle of resentment. The world may be unfair, and others, even the universe, may indeed 'owe' me. But they're not going to pay up, and the trap of victimhood and resentment is a terrible place to dwell.

I think resentment is the reason why gay culture turned to hedonism in the 1970s, and despite the devastation of the AIDS epidemic, never really got out of that mindset. If you feel like the universe has been especially harsh to you (by having you be born gay in a very homophobic culture, for example) you might feel that if you can't get payback you can at least get as much pleasure out of life as possible. So gay people turned to extremely casual sex and high levels of chemical abuse in an attempt to pursue pleasure as its own end.

I've been reading a series of columns by Nicholas Benton in which he highlights the hedonism of gay culture and contrasts it with gay life in other ages. I don't agree with a lot of what he says (for instance, I cannot find any proof that gays are inherently, congenitally different in their 'spirit' than straight people), but he brings home the cost that four decades of hedonism have exacted on gay culture.

The fact is that many of us simply refuse to grow up. And in not growing up we stagnate and become more of a burden than a benefit to ourselves, our friends and our community. If we've reached midlife and yet we're stuck in an adolescent mindset, it becomes more and more difficult to find and/or maintain long-term relationships. A lot of us cannot even imagine partnering with someone of our age cohort, finding our own and our peers' bodies too repellent to take pleasure in.

It is very difficult to seize the reins and force oneself to grow up, especially when there is very little in one's culture that would encourage one to do so. I have to do it, to escape the trap of resentment, to become a benefit again, and to make meaning for my life—but again I feel like a trailblazer, making and faking my way through a wilderness no one has bothered to explore.

Three Books

Sometimes I read one book at a time, and sometimes I read several at once. These days I'm actively in the middle of three books.

I'm reading George Eliot's Middlemarch. Ever since Ta-Nehisi Coates mentioned he was reading this novel as part of his own personal studies of the literary canon, I've been intrigued. Then when I found out that Virginia Woolf considered it one of the few adult novels in the English language, I was even more intrigued. The fact is, until now I've never enjoyed Eliot that much, and I think that I've never really been mature enough to read her for her art.

I'm also reading Thomas Vennum's American Indian Lacrosse: Little Brother of War. This is the second book by Vennum I've read. In addition to being a thoroughgoing researcher, he writes very well. My interest in lacrosse springs not only from the grace and brutality that the game mixes together, but also the history and culture. Lacrosse is the oldest team sport in North America. It's the Creator's game.

Finally, I decided to start reading Plotinus. This is the culmination of my readings in Classical European philosophy. Once I finish Plotinus, there are so many different directions I can go in: Medieval European philosophy; Islamic philosophy; Islamic mysticism; Christian mysticism; Kabbalah; even Indian philosophy. I haven't decided yet which comes after Plotinus. Rest assured I have a ton of books in all those categories.

Γνῶθι Σεαυτόν

I was sick all weekend. A very bad chest cold. It felt as if my lungs had been onstage throughout the Kids Choice Awards. I wasn't running a fever, however. I treat colds by the dictum, "Feed a cold." Especially food that has chicken in it. Since I wasn't very picky, I at a lot of crap, and now I feel all bloated. It's time to get back to the paleo-diet.

The major cause of my cold was the extreme jumps in temperature. My body has no way to adjust to 30-40°(F) changes in temperature, and lately the temps in DC have been pogoing like a kid doped up on Pop Rocks and Coca-Cola and listening to House of Pain. Mother Nature has been dicking me around.

Being cooped up at home led to a lot of self-examination. I won't go into all the boring and/or excessively revealing details here. Let's just say I intend some reformation in my life. My mental and physical health, which are really one big ball of wax called "Health", has suffered in recent weeks, and daddy is back in charge.

Another useful dictum for me is, "Moderation in all things." So I'll be altering the way I use food and alcohol, not to mention television and the internet. I'll be feeding my mind with better wisdom, and I'll work harder to balance my alone time and my social time.

Life's not over, and I have much to do.

Three Quick Notes

• Sunday I went running for the first time in years. I did a simple walk-run workout, i.e., I walked for 2 minutes, then ran for 2 minutes, then back to walking, alternating each for a total of 22 minutes. I covered 1.7 miles (2.7 kilometers). I found out the way I had been taught to run in college was all wrong, and I'm re-learning how to run, so it will be slow going for a while.
  
• I finished Gordon Marino's excellent anthology Basic Writings of Existentialism, and I recommend it. As any really good anthology does, the book has me wanting to read more by some of the authors represented, especially Kierkegaard and Camus. Also, the excerpt from Sartre's essay "Existentialism Is a Humanism" is the best summary of Sartre I've ever read. I wish I read this essay before reading Being and Nothingness.
  
• That being said, I can say affirmatively that I am not an atheist, and am only an agnostic in the strictest, most limited definition of the word, namely, that I don't "know" that God exists. I believe God exists, not out of some logical proof, but because I need to believe God exists. It is a matter of faith, and a matter of acknowledging, like Douglas Coupland's narrator in Life After God that:

  "I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love."

Favorite Quote, XII: "Dismiss Whatever Insults Your Soul"

This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

—Walt Whitman

Have You Heard This? V: Pierce the Veil, "Caraphernelia"

This is one of Pierce the Veil's best songs/videos. It features the guest raw vocals of Jeremy McKinnon.* As is usual for PTV, the song is all about the anguish of love. I've often wondered: if Vic Fuentes ever were to have a happy, fulfilling love relationship, would Pierce the Veil stop making music?

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*Whom you will remember from here.

Johnny Cash is a Sufi Saint

"Johnny Cash rules the world."

—Jehangir Tabari, The Taqwacores (film, 2010).

I grew up with Johnny Cash. My maternal grandfather, the grandparent whom I most resemble in personality and appearance*, was a big fan of country music, and Johnny Cash was one of the musicians he sang along with. Johnny Cash had an iconic status which I did not entirely understand at the time. I grew up to realize that his rebellion appealed to people least likely to rebel: the folks who only wanted to work, earn the fruits of their labors, and go to church on Sundays to praise the Lord. Most rebels were seen as trying to destroy the culture; he was trying to redeem it by re-infusing compassion for the common man into its heart.

A couple of years ago I read A Heartbeat and a Guitar: Johnny Cash and the Making of Bitter Tears by Antonino D'Ambrosio. The book relates the social milieu in which Johnny Cash chose to write and have produced Bitter Tears, an album entirely dedicated to the situation of indigenous North Americans, their strength, their betrayal by the US government, and their endurance. Finding myself with a free hour one afternoon this week I went to the NMAI, and bought a copy of Bitter Tears in the shop. I listened to it on my commute in this morning, and laughed out loud at the lyrics to "Custer". It's a really good album.

I've heard hiphop artists refer to Johnny Cash as an "original gangsta"; punk rockers praise him for being proto-punk. The man transcended his genre. In the film The Taqwacores, Muslim punk Jehangir Tabari goes on about how amazing Johnny Cash was, and how Jehangir wishes he could be Johnny Cash, but didn't feel adequate. Jehangir felt small in comparison to the man he admired, but didn't consider that Johnny Cash too had once been a frustrated, troubled 'punk' who'd found a way to move forward.

Johnny Cash lived hard, sinned greatly, prayed fervently, changed his life, loved deeply, and cared immensely for people, both those who were his friends, and human beings in general. He had a great heart. In his autobiography, he recounts how at the lowest point in his life he went deep inside a cave near his home and essentially asked God to end his life; and yet he survived, emerged and moved forward. The story haunts me still.

Johnny Cash transcended religious dogma. He was about love, forgiveness and justice. He had vision.

His cover of Trent Reznor's "Hurt" reveals this. I read that when the video was finished, his producers sent a copy to Trent Reznor for him to review. Reznor happened to be in the studio with Zack de la Rocha (of Rage Against the Machine fame), and they played it. When the video was done, moist-eyed and speechless, the two of them silently went outside for a smoke break. He had taken Reznor's song and elevated it to a higher plain.

Johnny Cash rules the world.

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*Although I freely admit I exhibit personality traits of all my grandparents, e.g., maternal grandmother, a tendency to cry over anything sad and/or sweet, even if it's on tv; paternal grandmother, a tendency to talk to myself when working alone, so I can order my thoughts and processes; maternal grandfather, a love of telling stories and of chatting with animals directly; and paternal grandfather, a tendency to put a stoic, wry face on when confronted with human absurdity.