Absurd: The Burden of Being Free
I find myself asking: Why am I here? And not metaphorically.
Sitting at the Tullamarine airport Mcdonald's, my copy of The Happiness Hypothesis on the counter accompanying whatever an Aussie Angus burger is, and I’m rifling McNuggets into my mouth at a breakneck pace.
Perhaps I’m facilitating a different hypothesis of happiness than the one Mr Haidt is offering.
The absurdity of the situation I find myself in is not lost on me, and to a curious or observant outsider, might look a little strange or sad. This is the first meal I’ve had in about a day and a half — and Macca’s greasy goodness brings a temporary reprieve to the numbness I’ve been experiencing in place of hunger and a little dose of happiness.
I like to think of myself as a fairly simple man; I think smoking cigarettes is sexy, and I like pursuits like wearing bandanas and growing moustaches. But the truth of the matter is (and it’s the same for all of us) that I am much more complex than what a cursory glance in my direction would suggest.
I find myself asking: Why am I here?
Not metaphorically.
A certain sense of adventure might have drawn me in and kept a grip on me, but what it has done more than anything else is expose major chinks in my armour — revealing how exposed and vulnerable I truly am. Letting slip what parts of my identity I held so dearly and took so for granted.
I am not this image that I had once concocted, up until a few short weeks ago. But without this decision to leave home, to move halfway around the world, to change nearly all of my circumstances and setting, all at once, I would not have the experience of knowing how different I am from what I thought I was. I know more now, through my intense weakness, and my intense sadness. I am more self-aware than ever before, even if I am disappointed by what it turns out that I am.
I thought of myself as more impervious to the stresses of life, and change. My cavalier attitude and approach to life were core to my identity, in my head and in how I presented myself.
These past weeks have showed me how reliant I am on my people, far more than I realized. These weeks have also introduced me to an intense sadness that I was wholly unaware of, thinking these feelings were only possible while in a state of mourning. I have nothing to grieve, though. Nothing. Just myself, or my idea of self.
Of all the beautiful people I’ve missed, my incredible partner is at the top of the list. As she wanders through South American jungles, for a time, I feel a longing to be with her more deeply than any other time before.
After two anxiety attacks over a period of five days, something’s got to give.
Writing things out helps, perhaps even sharing — although I’m not entirely sure I will.
I think I need to detach myself and take a step back. Somehow, the idea of viewing myself as interested observer, or perhaps even a subject to study, is very attractive to me.
Reading helps too. And in my current reading of Albert Camus’ extended Essay The Myth of Sisyphus, I came across an excerpt that seems particularly relevant and enlightening. As Camus explored the topic of suicide from the perspective of a social scientist and philosopher, he likened the mind state of someone who is suicidal to a foreign land, full of “odd vegetation.” Most people who visit that strange mental realm do not come back and, naturally, cannot share their experience with those social scientists and philosophers who look to understand it.
“The real effort is to stay there, rather, in so far as that is possible, and to examine closely the odd vegetation of those distant regions.”
From this perspective, Camus asserts that, if a philosopher finds themself in that headspace, it is their job not to return to a healthy headspace forthwith but, instead, to explore it. For without travelling to those distant places, how can one truly understand what it is like?
I’m certainly not suicidal — but the principle holds. My emotional trainwreck is one that I may never experience again. Of course, I aim to be anxiety free as much as the next person, but since I am not anxiety free, I should familiarize myself with it, even for no other reason than for curiosity’s sake. I might not ever be here again.
In a way, I am a traveller in a foreign land literally, and metaphorically.
I have been blessed to be relatively healthy and happy for a long time, and now that I am temporarily not, I have a choice: I can run away as fast as I can, or I can appreciate the feeling as a genuine human experience, one that I can learn from, and grow. Otherwise, what is the point? Why make this suffering for nought? Why not flip its script, make this whole thing… meaningful.
It is a refreshing thought — and I am inspired by it. Somehow, I feel a renewal of curiosity.
I’m uncomfortable, but I can surely make the discomfort work for me.
I’m also reminded that in a very real way, I have more freedom than (perhaps) ever before. I am free from all previous obligation to explore and create, and nobody here knows or expects anything from me. For the time being, I am free to roam — to do entirely as I please — and quite possibly for the last time. There is beauty in that, of that I am aware. But this point is much less comforting.
Perhaps I’m afraid of this total freedom?
If you enjoyed the read, you can buy me a coffee! Melbourne coffee is good, but expensive 😂.
