Heroes for Ghosts.

The law of diminishing returns seem to be a plausible reason for things dwindling as we age as well, at least, it makes sense to me, because trading my heroes for ghosts happened over time; such a subtle incremental change that I hardly noticed it.  I'm not just talking about actual heroes, people---I mean, that's changed a little bit as well, but largely the idea of things that were once important drifting into the ether of time and being replaced by less substantial elements.

When I get into these modes---this existential "life is empti-ism"---my natural response is to seek something visceral and terrifying that will call back into existence the pertinent and meaningful guardians of my moral compass.  When these key directives dwindle, it's an almost innate draw to danger.

I have less clarity these days than I did when I was in my teen years, and to show how old I've grown I'll quote Don Henley in a blog intended to quote Pink Floyd:  "the more I know, the less I understand."  Part of growing older means getting answers for questions best left unanswered.  My life's path has been a lot different than most of my peers, and part of it was choice, part of it was by the universe's design and not my own.  I look back at things that I thought were my own decisions, and it's almost laughable.  As much as I hate the idea of predestination, some things do seem like they weren't up to me.

Without the typical elements that usually keep people grounded---kids, marriage---I have to create my own center.  And those "life is empty" moments are frightening without the bigger picture to create focus.  No matter how much meaning the other things have---job, friendships, passions, it all leads back to a paragraph that sent shivers down my spine when I was 16 and reading Keruoac for the first time around:  "My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it's bound to be a waste of time in the end so you might as well go mad."

So MUCH of the modern life seems like a giant goddamned waste of time.  When I think back to the most wonderful moments of my life, they were spent twisting along Beach Rd, speeding on I-10, resting with sand etched into my elbows as my best friend and hero, the long gone Rottie Circe, played at the beach.  Perhaps in the trading of my heroes for the ghosts of things that once mattered, there has been an ensuing madness.  The madness lands me here, over 30, unmarried but also never divorced, finally finished with my first book, a clear reality of "who my friends are..." and although I understand less, in general, and have to watch my demons at times...I do realize one important factor:

Some of the heroes were simply false idols, and worth the trade to ghosts, who do me no harm.

Skeptically Yours,
Bigskeptic.