Question
Am I an elitist to think that most people are stupid? I worked to put myself through school, became an entrepreneur, and I’m happily married, fit, and healthy. I tell people my “secret” is commitment and hard work, but they just want shortcuts.
Answer
I am going to bet that not as many people ask you "what's your secret?" as you would like. A few probably do. But more do not. Especially people you wish would ask you.
You are puzzled. Your life looks fantastic on paper. But you are not sure how you feel about it.
There's a certain bewilderment showing through in your micro-autobiography there. A certain incomprehension of your own situation, and a sense of puzzlement about whether it was REALLY worth it if there aren't admiring hordes lining up to learn at your feet.
It's an uneasy doubt lurking just below consciousness, and you suspect, to your mute horror, that the doubt is justified, but you aren't ready to acknowledge it yet. You've played the game, won the game, judged your game as you believe it ought to be judged, and concluded you've had a successful, meaningful, happy life. If the life-on-paper says so, it must be so, right?
Most days, you can firmly squash doubt with an imperious thought, "everybody else is stupid."
And yet on some days, you're not quite so sure. The great irony of life is that you need to live hard, as you have, to make something meaningful out of it. But you need to laze around, idly reflecting, to actually figure out the meaning in what you've made of your life. And since you haven't done much of that, you grope. And fail. And then you seek the dirty V-word. Validation. Tough, since you're better than the people you seek it from, right?
And so the homeless beggar on the street, who has managed to land there thanks to a wasted, lazy, drunk and delinquent life, still manages to laugh at you, the rich man, with the same breath with which he asks for a handout from you.
Us slackers, who you have beat comprehensively, haven't as much to show for our lives as you do perhaps, but thanks to the universe's grim sense of humor, we've been blessed with a lot more time to reflect idly about the meaning of the few baubles we have collected. And we find, perhaps, more consolations in our small, mostly empty lives, filled with a few baubles, than you do in your big, overflowing life, full of riches.
I am generally a lot more vicious in my writings, but even though I am in a bloody-minded mood today, I don't quite feel like making truly brutal fun of you (I am not yet destitute on the street, but don't you worry, I am headed there, and will shortly be asking you for a dollar, and I am headed to hell after).
I am pulling my punches because you, my friend, have suffered through a long period of deep poverty of the soul, and despite myself, I find my stupid, failed, impoverished self moved by your plight to some extent.
You've gone from boy to self-made man. Now do yourself a favor and go grow yourself a soul. Start here:
http://www.theatlantic.com/magaz...
Then perhaps, pick up some Dostoevsky. Given your question, I'd recommend "The Idiot." Yes, it is about a member of the class you are asking about. If you already read it in school (faster than everybody else, I am sure), try again.
Maybe try a few chapters of Nietzsche or Proust after that. Or if you want to start simpler, Alain de Botton. Yes, I am sure you took and aced philosophy in night school while growing your business. Try again.
Let the world alone to deal with its troubles. You have much to offer the rest of us, but we can wait while you go take care of yourself for a change, after a lifetime taking care of the world. Leave the sorry masses to figure themselves out as best they can for a while. Your soul needs help.
You are puzzled. Your life looks fantastic on paper. But you are not sure how you feel about it.
There's a certain bewilderment showing through in your micro-autobiography there. A certain incomprehension of your own situation, and a sense of puzzlement about whether it was REALLY worth it if there aren't admiring hordes lining up to learn at your feet.
It's an uneasy doubt lurking just below consciousness, and you suspect, to your mute horror, that the doubt is justified, but you aren't ready to acknowledge it yet. You've played the game, won the game, judged your game as you believe it ought to be judged, and concluded you've had a successful, meaningful, happy life. If the life-on-paper says so, it must be so, right?
Most days, you can firmly squash doubt with an imperious thought, "everybody else is stupid."
And yet on some days, you're not quite so sure. The great irony of life is that you need to live hard, as you have, to make something meaningful out of it. But you need to laze around, idly reflecting, to actually figure out the meaning in what you've made of your life. And since you haven't done much of that, you grope. And fail. And then you seek the dirty V-word. Validation. Tough, since you're better than the people you seek it from, right?
And so the homeless beggar on the street, who has managed to land there thanks to a wasted, lazy, drunk and delinquent life, still manages to laugh at you, the rich man, with the same breath with which he asks for a handout from you.
Us slackers, who you have beat comprehensively, haven't as much to show for our lives as you do perhaps, but thanks to the universe's grim sense of humor, we've been blessed with a lot more time to reflect idly about the meaning of the few baubles we have collected. And we find, perhaps, more consolations in our small, mostly empty lives, filled with a few baubles, than you do in your big, overflowing life, full of riches.
I am generally a lot more vicious in my writings, but even though I am in a bloody-minded mood today, I don't quite feel like making truly brutal fun of you (I am not yet destitute on the street, but don't you worry, I am headed there, and will shortly be asking you for a dollar, and I am headed to hell after).
I am pulling my punches because you, my friend, have suffered through a long period of deep poverty of the soul, and despite myself, I find my stupid, failed, impoverished self moved by your plight to some extent.
You've gone from boy to self-made man. Now do yourself a favor and go grow yourself a soul. Start here:
http://www.theatlantic.com/magaz...
Then perhaps, pick up some Dostoevsky. Given your question, I'd recommend "The Idiot." Yes, it is about a member of the class you are asking about. If you already read it in school (faster than everybody else, I am sure), try again.
Maybe try a few chapters of Nietzsche or Proust after that. Or if you want to start simpler, Alain de Botton. Yes, I am sure you took and aced philosophy in night school while growing your business. Try again.
Let the world alone to deal with its troubles. You have much to offer the rest of us, but we can wait while you go take care of yourself for a change, after a lifetime taking care of the world. Leave the sorry masses to figure themselves out as best they can for a while. Your soul needs help.