Struggling with Circumstances 7

. . . "For as we behave in the matter of hypothetical arguments, so ought we to do in life. 'Suppose it to be night.' I suppose that it is night. 'Well then; is it day?' No, for I admitted the hypothesis that it was night. 'Suppose that you think that it is night?' Suppose that I do. 'But also think that it is actually night.' That is not consistent with the hypothesis.

"So in this case also: 'Suppose that you are unfortunate.' Well, suppose so. 'Are you then unhappy?' Yes. 'Well, then, are you troubled with an unfavorable demon?' Yes. 'But think also that you are actually in misery.' This is not consistent with the hypothesis; and Another forbids me to think so." . .

Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

For good or for ill, I listened to quite a bit of dark and depressing music in my younger days. I honestly still have a soft spot for various forms of goth, new wave, alternative, and soul-crushing neo-progressive rock. Add to that my love of heart-wrenching Country music and morbid Celtic ballads, and you have a man who knows his grief.

At the tender age of fifteen, I would regularly ponder the immortal words of The Smiths, from the song "How Soon is Now?":

"I am the son and the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.
I am the son and heir of nothing in particular.

"You shut your mouth
How can you say I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does.

"There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you.
So you go and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home and you cry and you want to die.

"When you say 'it's gonna happen now'
When exactly do you mean?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone."

There is a certain emotional satisfaction in bemoaning our fate, and I don't deny it to anyone. We all, I think, need to struggle through that stage, at any age.  

This is exactly what Epictetus addresses.  Could I be be unhappy? Of course. Am I unhappy? That's a different question altogether. The hypothetical and the actual are two very different realms of living.

I can think of thousands of ways my life could be very different. I can imagine a world where I didn't fall for false imaginings, or a world where I didn't take a tight hold on what was real. That I wasted years of my life on vanity could have been changed by not sitting next to someone at a party. That I found honest friendship and companionship could have been changed by a single stroke on a keyboard. 

Yet these are all the 'could-have-beens'. They are not real, but just hypothetical. I worry far too much about the 'what if?' questions. I should worry far more about the 'what is' reality that is before me. 

There all sorts of reasons out there to be miserable. I find that I have little, if not absolutely nothing, in common with the values of those around me. I have walked the streets of many cities, and I see greed, hate, or just plain indifference. I see the clash of ideologies and politics that have nothing to do with my sense of a true human dignity. I see business based upon profit for the few, not for the benefit of the many. I see a professional world more like the strutting of peacocks than the peace of the lambs.

Now I could give up. But none of these things are up to me. Who I am, and how I live, is up to me. 

We'd all like to build bonfires, and call the masses to us. That would make us important. Maybe I'll just light a single match, for but a moment, and cast that little light. 

Nature, and Nature's God, tell me I must live my best as I am. We are sorely mistaken if we think that what 'could have been' is what defines us. 

Let us define ourselves not by what has happened, or even by what is happening. 

Let us define ourselves not by what we could have done, or by what we are now doing. 

Let us define ourselves by what we will choose, in this very next moment, right here and right now, to make our own lives better, and to love our neighbors.

I still love that Smiths song, but I also understand that it isn't about what happens. It isn't about needing love, it's about needing to love.

Written in 7/2005

Image: Dorothea Lange, Migrant Mother (1936)