Saturday night. Time to write.
I heard this quote once, from a friend in college, who read it from some philosopher dude, who poignantly proved that basically nothing is real. It goes something like:
“The only truth is doubt, because if you doubt doubt, then you still have doubt.”
It’s kinda fun to think about. Tonight I wish to use it as a springboard for this post.
I’ve been caught in a web of self-reflection lately. I think it’s because my life is really calm and uneventful currently, and it was just the opposite only a couple of months ago. It’s that moment after the dust settles that you attempt to restitch all of the events that have passed. It’s like the last bullet in a Tarantino fight scene, ya know? There’s just a shit ton of mayhem and blood and balls getting shot off and suddenly it’s quiet and Django looks around at all the smoldering corpses and thinks to himself “well shit…I ain’t a bad shot.”
In my month of thinking about the events that have led me to my present, I’ve reached some sort of enticing realization. Something I’ve been deeply aware of for the majority of my life but couldn’t quite place hammer to nailhead.
That realization is: I tend to feel like I’m very, very right.
And I fucking hate it.
I hate it because I think it’s gotten me into trouble. I think it’s the reason I’ve lost so many important people in my life. I think it’s the reason that I feel bitter in browsing social media outlets. I think it’s the sole cause for my cynicism and, in turn, has robbed me of a lot of happiness and inner peace.
I think being right is fucking wrong.
I love Gin and Tonic. I fucking love Gin and Tonic. It’s my default. I basically can’t stand any other hard liquor, except Jaegermeister, but that usually isn’t the base of any cocktail. I’ve been a G&T man since Vegas 2012, and I can’t see myself ever loving anything as much. Gin has my heart. Gin is my home.
If you were to ask me six years ago what my favorite drink was, I would have laughed. I would have looked down on you and softly spoke “I don’t drink.” I would’ve told you that I never planned to drink alcohol because I thought it was pathetic and disgusting.
Six years ago, I thought I was so indubitably right in thinking that alcohol was basically the devil.
Because of this, I never drank in high school. I never drank my freshman year of college. I never drank my sophomore year of college. Can you imagine me at parties? Can you imagine a worse college kid? Fuck man, I missed a lot. I feel it now.
It wasn’t until I really dug deep and fought my inner demons surrounding booze that doubt was able to surface. And once I let go of feeling right, I was able to feel drunk.
Shout out to anyone who has ever felt drunk. That shit is fun.
Okay. Time to get real.
I haven’t talked to my best friend in six months. I haven’t talked to him because I feel like he abandoned me to date the girl he plans to marry. I feel discarded by him and I feel worthless to him. I feel hurt and I feel rage.
What I also feel is very, very right about him. And I hate it.
The reason for our fallout is because of my relentless disapproval for the girls he has dated. I have never liked any of them. Why? I can’t tell you. I just feel right about disliking them. I feel right about the judgments I posses for them and for the desire for him to have the best. I feel right in thinking that none of the girls he has dated have been the best.
Because of this, I have lost my best friend.
And deservingly so! Who the fuck would continue to pursue friendship with someone who hates everybody with whom you’re romantically involved? What kind of friend would be such a dick to all these girls, never giving them a glimmer of a chance with the person he’s closest to? Who would enjoy or even tolerate someone like that?
Shout out to my best friend. If you’re reading this, I don’t feel sorry. I feel right. I’m sorry that I feel right. I wish I didn’t.
Why do I care so much? Why am I so protective? Why do I feel like he deserves the best, yet refuse the best when she has appeared?
Why do I feel so right about this?
And I am alone in feeling this way. I know it. There’s no doubt that I’m the only one who has always unfairly disrespected his love interests.
But I still feel right.
Okay. That was honest. Let’s keep going.
I hate the notion of god. I hate the organized church and part of me will always look down on people of faith who follow it. I have always been this way, and much like Gin & Tonic, I feel like I will never change. The reason is because I feel right in disbelieving in god.
You know what’s funny? The closest girl in my life is a devout, loving christian.
That tears me up.
But I feel so right. I feel so, so very right. I wish I could doubt myself. I wish I could explore faith, and the teachings of church, and I wish I could sanely entertain the idea of some heaven-like afterlife. But every time I do, I just feel even more right about it all. I feel that there is no way it could be true. I feel that there is no way a god could be true. And that leads to hate, and cynicism, and loss.
And because of this, I’m probably missing out. I’m probably losing a lot of potential relationships. And I’m probably losing best friends.
All because I feel right.
I guess I don’t know what to do with it. I have this realization, yet I have no idea how to cultivate doubt: the key ingredient to opening my heart and experiencing new happiness. I have no idea how to let go of the feeling, even though I know intimately its torment. I have no idea how to doubt myself.
It’s even more difficult when your conclusions originated in doubt. I was raised religious. And then I entertained doubt. And now I feel that I have explored the idea tenfold in my mind, and I have arrived at “atheism”.
I like thinking of Galileo. Of Twain. Of all the great heretics. There must have been such a burning feeling of “right” in these people. I suppose that is my only solace: that my “right” is actually right. That I simply cannot doubt myself because it’s the truth, and the church and the girls and the alcohol was a lie.
Then again, that’s what they think too.
The people of faith feel right. My best friend feels right. ISIS feels right and Obama feels right and that stoner trying to sell you books on chakras feels right too. Charles Manson feels right and Ghandi feels right and Nancy Grace and Darwin and Kanye feel so right right right. Your shitty roommate feels right and your mother feels right and the Klan feels just the same amount of right that O.J. felt when he killed his wife. Even Lucas felt right when he wrote Jar-Jar, and that was obviously fucking not right.
But I guess that’s why we’re here. Just to feel right, even though it’s wrong.