Happiness
What is it, and what does it mean to be happy? I've spent a good part of my adult life asking myself that same question and have yet to come to a definite conclusion.
To some people, happiness is a house, two cars, 1.5 kids, and a faithful spouse. But I am not going to waste my time thinking about what makes others happy.
Moreover when I realized that I am only getting older, and that human life is so fleeting. It is almost unreal to me that there are people who I went to
high-school with who's lives have already ended, and that number will continue to climb. How long until it's my turn to take a long dirt nap?
But the thought of death or dying doesn't truly terrify as the thought of life without happiness does. So I remind myself to try to be happy in the moment.
To take every little thing as a gift.
But it's so difficult to remain cheery when I face the irrefutable truth that I am, at least a third of the time, a bought man. What have we, as men, but our time to which we can not hold on?
The hourly rate that so many of us accept as the mundane and average sum of the worth of their fleeting moments is an insult to the very state of sentience.
Be the wage meager or massive, from the CEO to the lowly employee, every man has his price, or so they say. But why do we say that?
And is it truly to be taken as such fact that all men, women, and if you ask some, child should spend their days toiling for some supposed "greater good"? I say not!
It is my assertion that these precious hours we are forced to sell to simply be members of society and provide for ourselves the most basic of necessities are more valuable than any dollar amount.
Moreover, the advancement of society as a whole does not come from mundane daily labor but from the very artistry, creativity, and ingenuity that our current structure seeks to emulate, but in so doing robs us of.
For I would simply argue that labor for the sake of survival will never be as productive as labor for the sake of fulfillment.
And so, as an extension of this logic; "work", the term so often associated with labor, is counterproductive for the simple fact that it is not fueled by inspiration but instead by the pressures placed upon us by our society.
The pressures of survival, acceptance, and ego.
So I conclude my rant with a simple message: "To sell your days is to sell your soul. We live, not knowing when the bell will toll"
