On Selfishness and Problem-Solving

I just sat in the library for an hour after doing linguistics homework not doing anything in particular.  I stared aimlessly at my surroundings and not thinking much of them.  I was really just pondering about life.  Y’know, the typical stuff… what am I doing, where am I headed, what the fuck is wrong with me… same old, same old.  Everyone thinks about that shit.  I’m at a point where I am completely uncertain about everything, I feel like I have accomplished not even a single damn thing, and nothing is seeming to work out.  My life problems are impeding my judgment, and I really was paralyzed by the thought of my existence.  Basically, a whole bunch of philosophical bullshit.

Concurrently, I can bet that there’s a man across the world in Japan who has no idea where his family is.  He sees that his house has no remnants whatsoever of what it used to be.  He is thinking about what he could have possibly have done to have changed his fate.  He has no idea how he’s going to feed himself tomorrow, let alone whether or not he’s going to have the capacity to even bear living another day with all the grief, guilt, and sadness.

Reading that, you’re probably thinking, “Clearly, Paul’s problems are completely insignificant to that dude in Japan.  C’mon, that guy’s life is in shambles.  Now Paul’s gonna write about how you should feel bad for that Japanese guy and that you need to stop thinking about yourself for once.”

You see, a paragraph ago, that’s probably what I would have done.  Not amymore.

Now this may sound a little selfish, but who’s to say whose problems matter more?  Honestly, I think my problems are pretty damn important.  Does that mean that people should pool their resources and help me out instead of the other guy?  I’m not saying that you all should do that, but clearly, my problems are more important to me because they are what’s plaguing me at the moment.  Do I have to consider the other guy’s life in trying to solve what ails me?  Yes, I acknowledge that this Japanese guy’s life is currently miserable.  I have no idea what I would be doing in his situation.  But what does he have to do with me?

I feel like people want to stone me right about now for saying that my problems are more important.  We all know I’m the queen of wanting to help people.  I’m hoping to dedicate my life to helping African children, for Christ’s sake.  And we all know that one of the concepts that I live by is that each person on this world affects each other person for the rest of eternity (I know, it’s fucking daunting, isn’t it?).  However, don’t act like you have never thought that your problems are the only thing in the world that matters.  If that weren’t the case, you would never get anything done, and you’d be absolutely selfless.  Which you aren’t.  Don’t try and pretend that there was never a time where you didn’t give a fuck about anyone else, and you did what you wanted to do.  Just admit it, already.  You’re a little selfish.  But you have to be in order to survive.

But also remember, that you and your choices are part of a larger scheme of life.  What you do and how you solve your problems is ultimately going to affect the next person in line.  It is bound to create a dilemma for someone else, and for that person, it will become the most important thing in the world.  It’s like passing a baton of shittiness in the relay race that is called life.

I don’t necessarily know where I’m going with this at all.  Maybe what I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to be just a little bit selfish.  Not all the time, though.  That’s not good either.  You just have to keep a balance, I suppose.  And take that as you will.  Do what’s good for you.  But do what’s good for everyone else, too.  In an ideal world, those would sync up, and the world will be jolly, and unicorns would fly alongside all the rainbows.  But it just doesn’t work out that way.

Goddamn.  I’m at a loss of words.

I’m going to sleep now.  Sorry, I just abruptly ended my thoughts, but I can’t fathom thinking anymore.

Control

A lot of things have been on my mind recently.  And thinking hurts.  It’s pretty damn stressful, really.

What work is due when I get back to school? When will I finish this study abroad application?  What do I want to eat?  How am I getting back to Rochester?  Why was this Venti Soy Chai so damn expensive?  Did I ever get vaccinated for yellow fever?  What am I doing with my life?  Why am I so lonely?  Am I even lonely?  Am I chilling with Erica tomorrow?  What can I do about global health equity?  Do I have enough money to buy a new pair of jeans?  Do I have to completely change my major when I return to school?  Why is Tony Bennett playing in Starbucks and not Sarah McLachlan?  How the hell does Tumblr work?  Am I gonna have a job this summer?  Why does this man sitting next to me look so dirty? 

Yeah.  The questions don’t stop.

So I wanted to sit in Starbucks for some Paul time, and so began my search for a seat.

I went to the immediate Starbucks in my neighborhood, and as always, the tables were filled with people.  Note that I said that the tables were filled, not the seats.  There were plenty of empty seats.  People were sitting alone at tables set for two or three.  Either way, I couldn’t sit there because it would be awkward if I just went up to a stranger, sat there, and took up all the table space with my cumbersome computer.  So the search continued.

I thought of just giving up and going back home, but I wasn’t that faint of heart.  I kept going.  I thought about taking to the bus to the only other Starbucks that I knew of in the Bronx, but I realized that the weekly unlimited Metrocard in my wallet would take me anywhere I wanted to go in this godforsaken city, so might as well get on the train and just go.

So I did.

I always talk about this freedom one has to explore in the city, especially with little resources.  All I need is $2.25, and I can go wherever I want and just walk around (I was gonna say $2.00 because I keep forgetting that the price changed a while ago).  In Rochester, I can’t say the same.  “Hey friend, wanna drive me to so-and-so place?  No?  Well, I’m shit out of luck.”

Anyway, like clockwork, I got on the 1 train and got off where it was second nature to get off: 66^th St- Lincoln Center.  Every time (or, at least most of the time) I pass this stop on the train, I think about my morning commutes to high school, and I think of a memory of those four years, and then the train keeps moving, and I think of something else.

I’m almost pretty much over reminiscing about high school at this point.  I’m almost in a sort of denial that it even happened.  Don’t get me wrong, going to LaGuardia High School was a magnificent, life-changing experience (yeah, but what isn’t?), and I’m glad it happened.  However, I would never consider in a million years going back.  It was great while it lasted, and it’s not like I dread the experience, but I would never re-live it knowing what I know now.  Yeah, it’s been two years.  How much could I have learned?  A lot, mi amigo.  I’m pretty damn different (and a hell-of-a-lot weirder), and I’m pretty lost.  I can’t really say I like it, but I’m better off now than I used to be.  I was so sure of myself, or as sure of myself as a seventeen-year-old could have been, and now I realize the naïveté of being sure of anything.  I would hate to think that those were the glory days because who says the glory days can’t be today?  Thinking about the past as something for which to yearn comes with the notion that today isn’t good enough.  In other words, you better step your game up, and make your today better than yesterday.

So once I got off the train, I gravitated towards the fountain in the middle of Lincoln Center.  I sat on the marble base (or whatever the hell that thing is made of), and just looked around.  I noticed teenagers who probably went to LaGuardia.  A few people going into the Opera House.  A crapload of tourists.  And another kindred soul sitting cross-legged on the fountain staring straight into it as if some kind of sign would appear out of the water.  I saw a family taking a group photo on the other side of the fountain with the Metropolitan Opera House as its backdrop, and I wonder what my unintentional photobomb looked like on camera.  My dumbfounded face looking at this woman staring straight into the fountain.

I began to stare at the water, too.  And I think she realized that I was following her lead.  We sat there together staring at the fountain.  I listened to the splashes, and it was very serene.  It sounded like nature.  Yeah, it was in the middle of the city, and this was, in fact, a manmade structure, but it was the closest to nature I’ve felt in a while.  A minute later, I looked over, and I realized she was gone.

I looked around a little disoriented.  I forgot where I was for a second.  I forgot everything for a little bit.  And it was refreshing.  I wasn’t thinking about high school anymore.  I wasn’t thinking about college work anymore.  I was thinking about the sound of the water, and how cool it looked, how much I wanted to jump in it, and how quickly a security guard would come to escort me out of it if I did.  I was thinking about what was right in front of me.  And ultimately, I realized that it’s the only thing that was truly in my control.  I can’t change the past.  It happened already.  And the future is totally unknown, and I just have to roll with it.  I can’t meticulously plan for something that nobody knows is certain.  So I sat there staring at the water.  I was perched in a place where I can bet that a bajillion other people would give an arm or a leg to sit.  And I was just happy.

NOW BACK TO REALITY, BITCHES.