A Drop of Ink in the Snow Globe

I was, and may still be addicted to chaos. That is to say, calm, steady, measured periods of time lasting more than about a year just seem to ruin my---leaning forward into this life with all the fight in my heart and head, adrenaline riddled, narrow-eyed, bring the war posture, which I used think of as my defining characteristic. That, you say, may be a good thing and I say you would be right. The disclaimer is this; I loose my way without some level of maniacal drive, craven blood-lust and sheer excitement and when I loose my way the fear that I manage to keep at bay by remaining in this teeth-nashing and frothy state catches up to me. A little at first like slowing down in a sail boat with a dingy in tow, the dingy bumps against the hull but then it starts to chafe, scratching the paint a nick becomes a gouge and eventually a hole, filling everything inside it capsizes and goes under.

That is what fear will do to me if I idle for too long—truly the devil’s tools. When the fear starts to set in my first reaction is to create chaos. It should also be understood that chaos is just drama, only it sounds manlier. It is not. It is however often more destructive if only because men are basically destructive. So I want chaos, why, because it fills the void, it distracts the fear, but more importantly it allows me to put myself squarely in the middle of disaster, disaster that I design—which puts me in control of everything around me. In the best cases I put everything back in order orchestrating my salvation. I am my savior. Yes, I want to dangle myself over the fires just so I can pull myself away. Actually, I want to find the kindling, gather the hardwood, start the fire—take it in for a moment-assess it’s blaze worthiness-then douse it with a thousand gallons of jet fuel. Then and only then when I am sure I have saturated everything flammable with as much accelerant as I can, I throw myself atop the pyre in order to design a brilliant extraction plan for myself.

Self-destructive, oh yes. Insane, perhaps but maybe not so much as it seems. If you learn to understand your place in the world by being in control, in an excited state, in the middle of the action where you are the most important component that connects everything else. If that is how you know you are safe and have value in a world that is almost entirely out of your control then it starts to be a coping mechanism. Albeit a kind of retarded one but an extremely effective way to assuage all that assails us upon the realization that we are alone in a hostel world. It is like using noise to cancel noise or detonating an explosive device in order to extinguish a raging chemical fire. See, maybe not so nuts after all.

The problem arises when you start to build a world where all the stuff is in the right place. You have rescued and reinvented yourself enough times to have created a life that makes sense. In other words a lot of the stuff that you used to need to create the chaos to avoid dealing with or feeling has been dealt with—it's just you now—well, you and those feelings: self-doubt, insecurity, inadequacy—which are just different shades of fear anyway. So now chaos really looks, well, chaotic and it becomes unacceptable as a coping device and that becomes a problem. You are missing the excitement of conducting your symphony that puts you squarely in control--godlike.

You are suffering from the, “Geez, my life is really great; got the job, spouse, money, house….this is great but kinda boring and I am a little nervous and afraid…hmmm….what to do, what to do… I know, I will burn this life to the motherfucking ground,” syndrome.

But, you're older now; you don’t get another do over. This is it, the scorched earth policy is not a viable protocol anymore. You burn this one down and living under a bridge drinking Listerine eating stale bread with packets of ketchup and duck sauce is the next stop. It is not cute anymore, remember this existential crisis is just teen angst plus time and economics. So, no affairs, no embezzling, and certainly no being a little bitch and giving your pistol a blowjob. Nope, you gotta make something else happen....you gotta make this work. And you gotta get OK with the fact that this really is it, more importantly that you are OK and being just OK is OK-at least sometimes. I haven’t got an answer but I know it requires being still with no chaos canceling chaos initiatives for long enough that you move through some of the stuff that wakes you up at 3:23 in the morning.

Oh yes, you will be one twitchy kitty cat while you sit still. On the other hand fucking your son’s third grade teacher and moving to Australia to wildcat for shale oil deposits in search of fortune is not acceptable. At 24 sure, 34 maybe but probably an asshole move, 44 no fucking way, 54 you are seriously retarded.

Don't put ink in the snow globe.

That is how I have always envisioned it. Life is chaos-like a snow globe, all can be beautiful and suddenly a magnitude 8.8 tremor comes along and rocks your world and the sky really is falling. Your natural impulse is to create chaos you can control in response to chaos you can’t. You put a drop of ink in the snow globe and like a black jellyfish it slowly descends and envelops everything. The snow alone is going to settle-like most situations in life, but the ink you added requires an entirely different clean-up and it lingers, it never really gets clean, just less dirty and then you start to get used to it. Don’t get used to it.

No one gets out of this life clean, no one, no matter what. So try, just try...not to put ink in the snow globe.