I need to write. I’ve been delaying it recently, telling myself that I need to take a break from thinking. But then I find myself in the same old, vanilla routines and I want to go on a rampage.
I have these thoughts about the world. Everything I see appears so clear, yet so distant. I can’t do anything about it.
We are consumers.
I sit around with my coworkers. They babble on about their television shows, the drama. I think about life. About their careers typing numbers, pushing data. Everything they do seems so trite and meaningless. They escape through fantasy, through Television shows and movies and celebrity drama. They identify with the shows they watch. It becomes apart of their identity. “I tried getting into Workoholics, but I’m just not into that kinda humor. I’m more of a New Girl kind of person.” They discuss their favorite musicians with such forceful passion; you’d think it actually mattered whether Radiohead was a “better” band than Michael Jackson. But the conversation seems glib and frivolous.
What is freedom? There is no freedom. Not so long as your valuations depend upon the affirmation of someone else.
Culture is an echo chamber. Words become fixed with meaning, then they spread. The rate and degree of their update depends on their utility, or their economic significance. In this culture the most “successful” people are the best imitators. The yuppies who parrot back expectations, who take the safest risks possible: bartering security for freedom. But they would tell a different story, a story of status and wealth. And somehow they believe that these are the same.
But status and wealth do not guarantee freedom, and security only guarantees bondage by securing you in place. We are evolving creatures, and so we need room to adapt, to move freely.