Happiness Cubed
the freedom to do as I please

“What will happen if I climb that ladder? Oh, hello there!”
Today in my journal I was telling Bob, my imaginary friend, how happy I feel. Then I started worrying that if I had been born in Syria, or some other war torn place, it would be impossible to find happiness. Before I finished writing that thought, I could already hear Bob’s answer in my head.
Bob: And do you believe I wouldn’t be there, to show you how to harvest the blessings in those pits of despair as well?
Of course not. I know you would be there. And now I’m scared I wouldn’t remember you there. (Imagining myself living in another lifetime.)
Bob: Suicide is always an option.
So if I can’t find hope, I exit.
Bob: Always an option. Reboot.
Do you see why I’m glad I have Bob, and not a religious figure, as my inner teacher? Nothing is off limits. Why is suicide illegal in both church and state? It seems crazy!
Bob: Not as crazy as it seems, because the prohibitions against suicide encourage people to seek for other ways of easing their pain, and make it more likely that someone might discover that they have a ready helper in their brain. Suicide is just starting all over, nothing wrong with that, but why waste time? The answers are here now.
Well, the idea of suicide has been very useful to me. It has served as an escape hatch that I kept in my back pocket in case my experiments failed horribly. Since I’m not afraid of death, I didn’t need other insurance policies, and I felt free to try anything I wanted. It doesn’t seem like I’m ever going to need that escape hatch though.
Bob: You tried some crazy things.
I know! But since I found you, they have all worked out! Every single one turned into a blessing. Today I’m using that fucking word that I couldn’t stand yesterday: Blessing, blessing, blessing! It’s all been a blessing! Go down into the scary hole and come back up with a golden ring. Every single fucking time. (Bob loves the word fucking.)
Bob: I do not.
Well, you don’t care if I use it. You don’t insist that everything is a blessing. There’s nothing worse than a fake feckin’ blessing. Disaster is not a blessing, war is not a blessing, and what you “learn” from a disaster is not a blessing either. Unless what you learn makes you happy, unless the lesson really and truly frees you from your fear, not momentarily, but for all time, just gone, it is not a blessing. Learning how to be more cautious is not a blessing. Freedom from fear is the blessing.
Bob: Today you said that blogging has cured you of your fear of embarrassment and your fear of censure.
Not sure I’m completely cured, but I’ve come a long way. I thought I was blogging to become a better writer. And maybe I have improved, maybe not. But the main event so far is a new sense of freedom that was not even on my radar, not at all what I expected, or hoped, to find. In fact, in these experiments, and by “experiment” I just mean doing as I please, which I am totally addicted to now, I never get what I expect. You know, a contract to publish a book, or being noticed by somebody “important” — hasn’t happened.
Bob: There’s no one more important than you.
I thought you were going to say “than me,” meaning Bob.
Bob: What if your therapist is right? What if I’m nothing but a part of you?
I’m not ready to go there. It feels lonely. I like you better as extra company, best friend.
Bob: As you wish.
To learn about the origins of my imaginary friend Bob, see Bob is a Zero, and How to Acquire a Bob. For more of my adventures with Bob, see the My Bob tag.
