So It Goes, Also, To Be Made Stupid for Your Own Good

Things happen. Nights happen. Conversations happen.

The most unlikely things: someone eventually bashed my dearest beliefs about the world. There was nothing to it, really, because it was I who was sad. It was I who could not let go.

I won't idealize that moment anymore than it needs to be idealized. The long and short is that happiness is a thing you have to learn to generate inside of yourself, because any other kind is fleeting, illusory, and sometimes insane.

The realization could not have come at a better time, i.e., just when I've skidded over a metaphorical existential rock-bottom. The past few weeks, you still see me walking around but I'm really just the shadow of my former care-free self.

It is a sad thing to be dead before you're really dead. It's even sadder when it's your own beliefs that are killing you. Whether or not these beliefs are idealistic balls of magma that have become your very core. It is very sobering to see that you do have to live outside of your head to get that sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, often intoxicating taste of the real world.

And so I must, again, go out and do stuff. See you around.