As a result of my incessant bitching and seemingly unappreciative attitude toward life, I feel I must clarify the reasons for my first world anguish. Well, fuck you, because I don’t understand the source of my discontent any better than you. Back home I always have hot water, nice clothes, delicious food, unlimited entertainment, the ability to communicate instantly with friends around the world, heat when its cold, A/C when its hot, hundreds of types of good beer to get drunk from, dank weed to get high from, and with just my phone I can read nearly any fact or idea that any human has ever written or discovered about our world and Universe. And I’m a fucking white American guy. Yet too often I wake up with a heavy, hollow, useless spirit which pervades every fiber of my being. I lie in misery.
In February, I left. I rode over Poland with a window seat, a numb ass and a full bladder. The path to the toilet blocked for hours by a fat, sleeping American. Our flight continued south through Europe toward war-torn Ukraine, and then, for the final leg, flew into the coveted heavens above Iraq and Syria, right over, yet out of reach of thousands of bloodthirsty, freedom-hating, brown people.
I arrived in Kathmandu on February 9 at midnight and met my ride from the volunteer organization (the Rural Community Development Project, or R.C.D.P), outside of Tribhuvan Airport. We quickly threw my shit into the van and went flying off into the dark, weird streets of the city. The driver, Sujan, with both eyes glued to his phone, wove with maniacal ease in and out of unmarked lanes into oncoming traffic. One hand typed away furiously as the other steered casually and honked without mercy. After a harrowing 15 minute drive we veered into the tiny alley which led to our final destination, a hostel run by R.C.D.P. The next morning I woke to the sound of stray dogs fighting and old women hocking phlegm. So I made it. My journey to Nepal and into the bowels of my mind had officially begun. Time to start clawing up away from all the sorrows and bullshit. But I guess part of the cure is searching for a purpose, which is why I’m here.
I’ve also had this one thought which helps keep me moderately sane. Bear with me. Human beings are animals, built to survive. On Earth, millions of different animals have lived and died with one shared goal, survival. It took about 200,000 years for our species to figure shit out, but we human beings got really, really good at survival. Suspiciously good. For tens of thousands of years we hunted wooly mammoths, fought saber tooth tigers, and lived in the fuckin dark, but continued to thrive. Every second of human progress has built up to this day and provided us with our ridiculously lavish, modern existence. This is a day and age where I rarely have to think about actual survival. My only problems are that I’m spoiled, whiney and sad. Sometimes, however, I remind myself how ridiculously unlikely it is that I get to exist at all, much less that I get to exist NOW, in this era where knowledge, compassion and creativity are cherished on a scale never seen before on Earth. That shit blows my mind. I’m reminded that no animal in Earth's 4.5 billion year history has ever had as much potential to wake up tomorrow and go watch, listen, travel, read, feel, create, help, sing, play or love as you or I do.
So yea, I should probably quit my bitching.