Hitting bottom is an enlightened moment.
It’s one of those rare experiences that leads to holding a new type of conversation with ourselves. One that we couldn’t have had when were still punch drunk on our tasty cocktail of foolhardiness and hope.
And so, instead of our usual clinging to our vain hopes in the face of overwhelming contrary evidence, let us try feeling grateful for the hopelessness that haunts us. Let us lean into the fact that this is some crazy universe we’ve decided to live in. And let us remember that nobody is going to judge us if we want to laugh about how absurd up this all is.
Count yourselves lucky, you just got fucked by the best my friend.
Besides, the best thing about everything burning down is that we can salt the earth and see if we can do it again. It’s all just grist for the mill.
As a writer friend of mine once said, before we can reinvent ourselves, we have to believe we have nothing left to say.
If you sense a seizure of hopelessness so intense it might break your heart, maybe let it happen. Maybe crack open that hard veneer and start to feel emotions you have never let yourself feel and see what awaits you on the other side.
Koontz was right when he said that in reasonable measure, hope sustains us. But in great excess, it distorts perceptions, dulls the mind, corrupts the heart to no less an extent than does heroin. High on hope, we forget what we love and, instead, love the ideal more than the reality, which is the cause of all the misery that the human species creates for itself.
Today, let’s give hope the day off. It could use a vacation.
LET ME ASK YA THIS…
Are you spending enough time being hopeless?
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That Guy with the Nametag
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