Mindless Moments

So, here I am, after years of seeking to live in the moment, and I find myself “in a place where I don’t know where I am.” (The great American philosopher, Homer Simpson.) What happened was that, over and over again, I was pulled along by the mindless moment without my ever actually making a deliberative choice. Having been led by the moment, I’m a product of past reactions, fancies, and impulses; a jumbled up mix of incongruous beliefs, principles, and goals, many of which I am not even aware of possessing. My principles, my personality, and my beliefs about God, others, the world, and my self, have all morphed into being without my ever having much of a conscious thought on the matter.

Having been shaped by mindless moments, I am foreign to myself.

Questions like, “Who are you?” make me uncomfortable. I draw a blank … and then pop smoke with a confusing, errrr, deeeep religious metaphor or some pseudo-philosophical or psychological maxim - what was it I read in a Hallmark card the other day? – hoping that, if nothing else, the sheer volume of words will cower the questioner.

When I am asked what I believe, I share my feelings on the matter. After all, all I have are feelings, as I haven’t spent any time studying and deliberating. If the questioner is a Feeler, we’ll argue about whose feelings are morally superior, without of course any reference to facts, history, logic, or ethical standards. If, on the other hand, he asks me about the basis or rationale behind my feelings, I turn up the volume and throw a word-salad in his face. Or accuse him of having no heart.

“My philosophy of life?” I’ve found that mumbling something about “love” usually does the trick here, unless I get some wise guy who wants me to describe what love looks like in my day-to-day life. “I’m nice to every one I meet, Cretin.”

And may the gods save me from any one who wants to converse about Goodness, Truth, or Reality. What in the world does any of this have to do with my life? Damn. I hope I didn’t say this with my outside voice. I don’t want to get into an argument.

Talking about this airy-fairy stuff makes my brain hurt.

If my interrogator gets up on his high horse and pushes for answers then my go-to retort is,

“’Goodness’ is defined by culture.”

“All truth is personal truth.”

(Cue Dreamy, philosophical tone) There is no such thing as reality, only personal perceptions.”

Drop mic. Exit stage left.

Of course, I haven’t actually thought through any of this, except memorizing a few lines from quotes I found online from Postmodernism for Dummies, so at all costs avoid questions regarding classifying terms, defining words, or the like. Daaaamn youuuu Socrateeees. Ancient white-guy logic: who needs it. What matters is that I stay away from those who cause my brain to hurt and that I feel good about myself. Isn’t that what life’s all about anyway?

Wait a minute. I do have a philosophy of life!

Copyright, Monte E Wilson, 2018