There are many times when I will take an extended break from serious writing. Frankly, the typical reason for erratic production is a general lack of interest in my writings. Occasionally, I’ll write something that receives an unexplainable surge in interest. One such article that garnered an unusual amount of attention was one pondering the possibility of our souls having lived entire past lives, which then send echoes we can’t explain through our current lives. My idea of even having to ponder past lives has much to do with the abrupt decay of modern society.
In just the past few weeks I have watched many brand new car dealerships erected while many homes in the area are experiencing sudden breakdown, all the while with a brand new car proudly displayed in contrast to the sudden squalor created by complete apathy. The apparent lack of financial knowhow isn’t the only issue I have.
Even the food we consume, in many cases, is being poisoned out of sheer ignorance and laziness, the chemicals used to clean equipment somehow work their way into our meals, slowly sickening us, and fortunately my extremely discerning palate has prevented visits to the hospital, although satiated tummies have been relatively hard to attain in light of such food manufacturing blunders.
Perhaps the most concerning development which points to the abrupt decay of society is just who has become revered in these so-called postmodern days. What leads one to be revered is your social media presence: follower count, your subscriber count, and how many patrons you have. It also matters more than ever just how many pieces of paper from diploma mills you’ve acquired, not actual skills or experience gleaned from hands-on real world experience. After all, who wants to live in a real world like ours in a post pandemic crisis?
Everything has become a dog eat dog competition, making the long despised rat race look like a carnival act in comparison. Applying for jobs has become a three ring circus, with so many out of work, employers have a field day picking their teams and letting the losers have it with insulting diatribes and disappointment so embarrassing that it leads to inevitable suicide of one form or another for the less fortunate.
Then you have the hustlers, many of whom are well meaning, and I myself have been among their ranks until quite recently. This is not to say I don’t still hustle in my preoccupations now, but not for the same reasons I once did, which were simple survival and the chance at keeping a roof over my head. The problem is in this dog eat dog competition, there are wolves so fierce and rabid that once a territory has been claimed, you better scramble for a new place to lay your head at night, lest you find in the morning that you are now a permanent resident of the space between consciousness and eternal damnation.
So if you wake up each morning feeling like there is no reason to go on with this miserable existence, I can give you a glimmer of hope. There are millions, perhaps billions, just like you who have felt the world bear down on them so hard that it seems impossible to not crumble under the pressure. The good news is, you are not alone, and the problem is not you. It is most definitely the very fact that you aren’t playing the game, and that is a good thing.
Just do your thing. If you don’t know what it is, you better figure it out today. Then just do the thing that fuels you most, no matter what that may be, or how much hate you get for it. In fact, the more hate you get, the more you should do that thing. Guess what, it means you’re scaring the Wolves, and once you expose them for the animals they are, you grow a thick enough skin, and they won’t be able to touch you.
That’s my PSA of the day for now. While I may no longer have to hustle for my daily bread and a place to lay my head at night, it’s only because the hustle paid off. I now remain here in spirit for those who still need to hustle to make it all work. Good luck, my fellow hustlers. You still are on the right side of the game. Carry on.
~ Amelia
