Lives of Quiet Desperation

Increasingly, there is a new concept of the good life that is taking North America by storm. The concept is minimalism.

When minimalism first took hold of the imagination 15-20 years ago, it came from the passionate philosopher, dreamer or thinker who wanted to do just that. That individual marked ‘offbeat’ . Creativity connects minimalist advocates. The cluttered and congested life of urban sprawl, 2 hour commutes, overly large cars, endless coffee, endless bills, excess food, events, and parties does not appeal to anybody who likes to move, explore and experience.

Poverty is more abundant than the ‘settled’ life. Settling means accepting that this is it.

After a few years of credit cards, shopping and those infernal suits, one can find oneself so depressed, that the thought of yet another device, another self-help book, another promotion that means doing even more work for no more time makes one impossibly miserable.

The trap of the hamster moving in the wheel of constant production of redundant goods, redundant networks and general threat of becoming redundant very fast is a nightmare.

To stay whole within the madness of capitalist consumerism takes madness, courage or extreme self awareness. To constantly look within and ask oneself, am I alive or slowly dying? to do it everyday, regardless of the compulsion to do one more task.

15 years ago I called it the American Nightmare. Nothing much changed in 15 years, except that maturity brought the acceptance that the only escape from being a cog in the wheel is to REINVENT THE WHEEL.

Great beings have crashed against the walls of limitations that is the human mind and perished either in obscure philosophy or arcane religions.

Those who survive the leap of faith into the ocean of life and actually make it to shore are gifted indeed.

“lives of quiet desperation’, Henry Thoreau called this feeling of not being whole. ‘Manufactured consent’ said Noam Chomsky.  A grave misunderstanding about the purpose of humanity, said another wise guy. But, few if ever, who swim in these oceans of pure sludge and toxic waste make it. Those who do, at least die knowing that they tried to reach for shore.

There is no greater prison, than a life not lived to its potential. Minimalism, voluntary poverty, tidying up, is a step in that direction. It is a last ditch attempt to reach for shore in an increasingly insane world of consumer traps.

There’s no point to all this stuff, if we are barely living.