Define me

We stumble trough your lives, our eyes closed tight, begging – guide me, describe me, define me.
Define me! It’s complete and utter madness. We read horoscopes. We go to psychoanalysts. We read books. We watch movies about people like us, or about the people we wish to be. We listen real hard when our friends are talking about us.
Define me! It’s not even mad. It’s plain stupid. How can anyone else know you better then you know yourself? You are the one that has been there every hour of your life. You have seen every single thing you have done, you have witnessed every thought you have ever had, you have tasted all your tears, you have smiled all our smiles.
And yet you will come up to a total stranger and beg: Define me. Why? Why can’t you do it yourself? The only answer that comes to mind is that you have tried it, and deep down inside you already know yourself better that anyone else is ever going to know you, and you don’t like what you know.
That makes sense. You have witnessed every stupid remark you have ever made, every dirty little thought that crawled up from your subconsciousness into the back of your head. You have seen yourself in the mirror at 6 am trying to look human and not succeeding. You have witnessed every weak, and mean, and stupid, and ugly thing you have ever done. It is normal that it’s hard to like yourself.
The trick is to just relax and accept it. You have got to get up the strength to stand up and say: Yes, I can be stupid! I can be cruel. I am selfish. I am weak. I am afraid. Because, you most likely are. We all are. We just have to face it, we have to accept it, and we have to learn to love it. It’s all you. It’s all me. Take away all the clothes, and the money, and the attitude and crap, and we are all pretty much the same. Weak, and selfish, and afraid.And it’s OK. Perfection is boring anyway.

Think, God damn it! Think!

Our world seems to work on the twisted principle of precedents. If the same thing happens a large number of times, it becomes normal. It even becomes good. If not good, than not bad. That is simply sick.
For example: millions of people are doing jobs they don’t like. We all know it. We think it’s sad, but we won’t do anything to stop it. It’s sad, but it is normal.
It’s not. It’s not normal. It’s not even sad. It’s sick. It’s at least eight hours a day, every day of your life. Eight hours is a half of your waking life. Take away commuting, and showers, and eating and it’s more than a half. And you are spending it doing something you don’t like. And you really think that’s normal? No you don’t. You just don’t think. You simply take it head on.
But let’s look at another example – the other side of the not thinking medal. The things that really piss you off. Like that little bimbo who just flashes her legs every once in a while, and gets a paycheck way bigger then yours, and you are working your ass of while she just smiles at clients. It’s just killing you. It’s normal that it’s killing you.
Why? Why is it normal? Why do you want a bigger salary? So you could by a bigger TV? A faster car? A smaller cell phone? A bigger house? Do you really need that crap? Of course you don’t. You know that you don’t.
But you’ll say that’s not the real problem, the real problem is the leggy bimbo whose paycheck is as fat as you are. Why in the world is that your problem? Is she hurting you? What is she going to do with the extra money? Get more short skirts? More plastic surgery? More makeup? Go to the Bahamas? Adopt a child? Why in the world would you mind that?
Because it isn’t fair? Fair? What’s fair? You spending forty hours a week working a job you don’t like, so you could by crap you don’t need? Getting more and more bitter with every breath you take? Losing faith? Losing hope? Being constantly afraid of everything and everyone? Forgetting how to really talk to people? Being pushed around? Pushing other people around? Having nightmares, and waking up and wishing you stayed asleep with the bogyman? Is that fair? Is that fair?
Think about it. Think. You are doing all this to yourself, simply because you are too lazy, or too scared to stop and think every once in a while. I bet that if you didn’t get yourself into this kind of crap, the leggy blond wouldn’t be such a big deal problem.
So think. What is the worst thing that can happen if you do the things you’ve always wanted to do? What if you quit your job? Will you really starve to death? What if you do? That isn’t much worse than slowly dieing every second you spend at the office.
Think. The next time you reach for your little plastic card, think about the crap you are piling up and stop buying. Are you really ready to work 500 hours for a new car? 5000 hours for a new house? 50000 hours for ten years of comfortable, consumer driven life? Do you really love that stuff that much?
Think. The next time a bully pushes you around, think about the worst thing that can happen if you fight back. A black eye? A broken nose? A night in jail? Is that really too big a price for growing a spine?
Think. The next time you feel afraid, or stressed out just think. What is the worst thing that can happen? It’s usually way better than what you are feeling right there and than.