“What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence – even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!”
– Friedrich Nietzsche
Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus?… Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?
When I turned 25 last year, my boyfriend at the time decided to take me out to an amazing vegan restaurant in Berkeley called Sanctuary Bistro for breakfast. (They have Kombucha on tap!) He asked me to get ready while he laid in bed playing with Chico, my cat. I remember picking out my cutest outfit and deciding to keep it simple by wearing my jean overall dress, my white doc martins, and smudgy eyeliner. As I put my outfit on, piece by piece, I continuously looked over at myself through my full-length mirror. I didn’t look 18 anymore. I started crying. My ex looked up at me because he noticed I stopped moving around and he noticed tears rolling down my face. He asked “what’s wrong?” I gathered myself and sank into bed. He kept asking me what was wrong and I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him I felt old and ugly.
I’d never felt so sad on a birthday, especially with an age-related issue. The last time I’d had an age-related crisis was when I was going to turn 18. I remember having long conversations with my mom about how afraid I was to turn 18 while she knit and I laid beside her. My entire life was ahead of me. How scary it seemed. I related it to an abyss, my anxiety of the unknown.
25 has been one the hardest years of my life. I lost Chico, my companion animal and best friend. We’d been together for 14 years. I fell into a deep depression because of this. I was also injured at my then job. I was off for 2 months straight. So financially, I was pretty fucked. My “soulmate” turned out to be an insecure, jealous asshole who wanted complete control of me.
In early February, some friends and I decided to take a trip to Lake Tahoe. I ate some shrooms with one of my closest friends. The psychedelics unveiled a thought I’d been trying to hide from myself since Chico’s death. I felt so alone but the loneliness turned into something much deeper, like there is just one ultimate self that exists and imagines everything, every creature, every event, every feeling, every piece of plastic floating in the ocean, and I continuously realized there is no point in living. There isn’t. We create meaning, it’s not out there waiting for us to find it. We imagine it, like we imagine our lives, our selves. We perceive everything and push some meaning or other onto it. The worst part is that a lot of the time it’s not even meaning we have autonomously chosen to give to existence, it is meaning that we’ve been taught to accept by the institutions within society. And because life is ultimately meaningless, I began to contemplate suicide. The worst part was that even if I did kill myself, what would that change? How would killing myself change the fact that life is meaningless? The ultimate self is an eternally recurring, eternally existing being. It can never actually die. It would not die with my death. I would be back to suffer the meaninglessness of existence all over again. I dwelled on the thought of suicide for some weeks after. It constantly dragged itself across my mind how easy it would be to just end it, but how could I end this if I knew it would simply occur again and again. There is no escape.
How could I respond to the eternal recurrence? Should I dread it or should I welcome this fact with excitement? #tosisysphus or #nottosisyphus ?
It has definitely been a year of suffering. So many of my fears actualized themselves. At the moment when all of these things were happening, I couldn’t see beyond them. I look back now and yeah, it still stings but I learned a lot. I survived. I suppose that’s what comes with age, besides the ugly, tired and old you.
I think about my life and I have come to the understanding that I am not just my body. I am my body’s experiences. And more fundamentally, I am the way I react to these events. For a long time I’ve been very angry at things, circumstances, other people’s actions, all of which I cannot control. I suppose I could allow this anger to consume me but I wouldn’t be acting autonomously or from my own will, I would simply be negatively reacting to the external things outside of my control. How I react, my will, my goals, those are mine. My daily actions are mine, this chain of existence is me.
The way I imagine the world everyday is my choice. I don’t want to be someone I didn’t look up to when I was 16. I want to try my hardest at everything I do. I want to leave my soul at the battlefield of anything that I’ve set my mind to. I want to give those I care for and the things I care about my all. I want to be grateful, humble, empathetic, and patient. I want to help those around me, and if I can’t help, then at least not bring them down or cause them more misery. I don’t want to feel contempt towards humanity, I don’t want to be angry at the world anymore. I want to inspire others to be just and to be loving.
Because of this, I want to change how I am. I am 26 now. From today, and here forth, I will be mindful, I will contemplate my thoughts, my words, and my actions. I must always choose who I am and who I want to be so that I may accept the eternal recurrence of existence with open arms.