An Apology and an Explanation

One of the funniest things, and at the same time, one of the saddest things that you come across in life is the concept that people always turn into that which they hate the most. Have you heard this claim? Jung was a fairly big believer in it, albeit he had a get-out-of-jail-free card which is another post in itself.  Socrates’ claim that an unexamined life is not worth living can be viewed as this same sort of exit; Nietzsche, Kierkegaard and Dostoyevsky have a better claim, but the central part of it is that you only notice bad things about others that you fear of yourself. While I have always been an enthusiastic follower of Jung, I really don’t understand this claim fully. While there are traits in other people that I discredit them for that I am fearful exist in my own personality at some level, the things that bug me the most about some people, I have no doubt do not exist in me, nor do they have any chance of coming forward...or do they? 

Some things that I am not overly fond of in others that I do fear in myself are things like disorganisation, wasting talent and potential and the like (and yeah, I hear you say ...ooo way to really criticise yourself there Chad). I know, to be honest, there are a few things that I never thought that would ever be an issue with me that have become so lately: weight; tolerance and substances... I was always a gauntly skinny kid, never learned to watch what I ate (which was mainly bananas and wheat bix) and could run on the smell of an oiley rag. I remember stupid behaviour as a teenager, daring each other to pull the quick-release from the brakes on our bikes and go down the Toowoomba Ranges just cause we were bored on a Sunday morning. What I wouldn’t give to be fit enough to not notice coming back up the ranges (especially after a Saturday night of John Player Specials and box wine.  Now as an adult, I am fascinated by the fact that I am not that pillar of psychotic fitness that advanced my youth. I never thought I’d see myself in that light, and cringe at the constant criticism of others for this trait. 

But the people that really bug me? The people that really make me go out of my way to ruin their day are the people that I have no fear of becoming: the people that a loud and obnoxious, think that they know everything and do not listen. They’re always happy to see you, but only when you see them first. They are always at the forefront of the latest fad, but never at the actual time... you know the type dear reader. They are the catch-cries of mediocrity, wasting their time and being on shiney things . 

Perhaps this is because I have the Birthday Blues at the moment...I once talked to a pshychology academic about this (he had never heard of the term) and he believed that it was nothing more than my subconscious preparing me for an inevitable disappointment that was to come. When I was a child, my birthdays always seemed so exciting just before they happened. The expectation of a day of my own. We were always allowed to choose the breakfast cereal the week of our birthday, meaning that it was the only week of the year we didn’t have either weetbix or god-awful muesli (complete with orange peel....yeeuwwwey). It was generally a toss up between Cocoa-Pops or Fruit Loops. But the presents...the presents always brought a massive wave of joy and smiles to my face...until the actual day. I remember one day getting what I thought was a groovy, hippie, brown-checker, cloth brief-case for my birthday.  That was the biggest joy for me... the cred I would get from school would be so above anything I had known. It was exactly the kind of bag that Hendrix or Joplin would have had. 

Then I opened it.

It was a rug...

 

A brown rug.

Folded in a strange way and given to an imaginative kid.

As a result of which, apparently I get the Birthday Blues. A feeling of being down and kinda grumpy usually about two weeks or so before that day.  According to a few psychology peeps that I have spoken to, most of these types of situations are other-thought by people: the simplest explanation is usually right.  But there is another element to it: another year gone, what have I to show for it? It’s this latter part that generally is the end of all the Blues, because, like most artistic souls, I can quite happily think that, while I haven’t done enough and have wasted some time doing some dumb stuff, by and large I am grooving to the tune along and about where I want to. I haven’t finished those two books that I promised myself I’d finish by my birthday (a few years ago), but I am still working in that sort of area. I am still living, still loving, still breathing, still being. 

In that I am happy.  

But am I moving towards that person that Jung feared I would be?

I always loved the last episode of Northern Exposure for the example of this.

Yes and no – I am further along that path, but not as far as I ought to be. Birthday blues are good to reaffirm one’s commitment to a life outside the explainable.

This post’s lame joke:

Q: How many lawyer jokes are there in the world?

A: Just the one, the rest are all true.

As a side note – a big shout out to those few who have joined our merry band for nasty reasons and may well have been mislead by the title of this rant – but if you’ve read this far, that’s pretty funny. Stay around, you may just learn how to mean something.