Living Juicy

Sometimes it seems the older I get the less I know. I knew everything when I was in my early 20′s. Had it totally figured out. Who I was. Where I was going. What it all meant. Sometimes now, when I find myself spouting my take on life I mostly feel like an asshole, because the truth of it is—I know nothing.

I’m having a conversation with Larissa about suffering, love and the point of it all over on her site. Mostly, through all my general drivel about life not being fair and the only point of our being here is to suffer, I end up feeling like an asshole. Because I do believe that, for now, and it actually doesn’t make me feel like sticking my head in an oven. I actually feel blessed that I get the opportunity to live this one through. I guess I end up feeling self-righteous, because who am I to say it’s okay to suffer since I’ve done very little suffering.

This reminds me of when my best friend’s sister started to hate me. We were working together one summer at a bookstore. For me it was summer job, which I quit when school started. For her it was a livelihood. She didn’t understand why I was quitting and I explained that it was because I didn’t have to work. I could just focus on school. She said I was spoiled. I agreed but assured her I was spoiled but not a spoiled brat. I was fully aware that I was blessed. I think she was offended mostly by my glib attitude. Which I think was less glib and more matter of fact. Money has never been an issue for me. It’s not my cross to bear this time. Then again, I lived on $12,000 a year for a couple of years and I felt that I had plenty. This is just how I feel about money. It’s not that important to me but then again I’ve always had access to it—so in that way, I’m sort of an asshole to even say any thing about it.

These days I’m happy. I find much joy in a rooster crossing the road, a conversation that makes me laugh, the sun hitting the trees in just the right way, getting a late night drunken phone call from my best friend, these things make me happy, giddy in fact. And I feel like an asshole for being happy. There is so much wrong out there that I feel like I’m cheating when I smile.

My friends are all going through such horrible turmoil that I feel like a jerk for not suffering with them. I am still prone to melancholy but where depression used to settle over me like a fog for weeks at a time, now I can cry it all out in one sitting. Now, I’m simply happy. It kind of reminds me of that lyric, ‘If it take shit to make bliss, then I feel pretty blissfully.”

And I do, feel bliss, even if that makes me an asshole. Don’t mind me I’m the Cheshire cat in the corner—disappearing and reappearing at will—grinning like a fool and waiting for the world to explode. Please don’t take my attitude as glib or unsympathetic. I’m an asshole, but I’m not an indifferent asshole.