Sometimes he wondered what he was doing with his life. But, he had wondered that very thing so many times before that it was starting to become a dreary question. "What am I doing here? What's my purpose? What should I do with my life?" He was frustrated with himself for pondering the question for so long, and yet, part of the answer was missing, there was something he wished for but didn't have.
He got up from his seat and paced around the room. Pacing always helped him get the blood flowing through his brain, and he assumed that's why it helped him think.
He knew that he had to create his own purpose, to feel incredible through his own efforts. He didn't want to rely on other people for validation, success, or anything like that. No, he was to obtain it himself, through his own willpower, and the power of his mind.
Yet, what was he nagging himself to create? What did he want himself to do? Perhaps this was the correct question to ask. And, if he was honest with himself, he didn't know. He didn't know what kind of purpose to create, which feeling would suit him best. "And this," he said aloud, "is why the question torments me."
He was overly-tormented because, deep down, he knew that he created his own suffering. He knew that, ultimately, he didn't have to ponder the question of the meaning of life or to let it torment him. Wait, perhaps that was the answer! Perhaps the answer didn't lie in "what should I create," but in, "why do I let this very subject torment me?"
He felt a sudden burst of joy, but it was overcome with darkness very shortly thereafter. He sat back down, frustrated, and said, "now what" in a resentful tone. A large portion of his life had been like this, coming to a solid conclusion only to have another part of his mind tell him, "don't worry, you aren't done yet. Keep feeling bad!" He was a philosopher, after all, if anyone could find it the truth of the matter, it was him.
He decided to take the same approach to his new problem and wonder if the anger itself was the issue, not the thing he was angry at. But then, what if he was angry for a good reason? He kept both of these possibilities in mind as he - but wait, now he felt distracted, almost as if he couldn't think anything through. His head started to throb, his throat felt tense, and he felt even more black energy spring up from within his mind and consume his entire being. All he wanted to do now was distract himself from the pain… He looked at the alcohol cabinet but ultimately decided to leave it alone.
"Why? Why so much pain?" He asked himself. "Why do I produce so much negativity? It's overwhelming, it's so overwhelming that I can't even think it through."
But then another light went off in his head. "But I can think it through, can't I? And, perhaps it's because I've been around too many negative people for too long. Nay, I've allowed my mind to become influenced by their negative behavior."
He began speaking more and more enthusiastically as he kept discovering more and more things. "But I don't have to let my mind produce negativity like this. I can take control of it, of me, and rest my mind whenever I please. It seems so simple… Then why haven't my previous attempts worked? It must be because I believe I cannot do it, or that I need the negativity in my life, or both…"
He became even more excited. "Or, that's what I'm telling myself because, deep down, I have no idea why I'm in pain, and because I'm simply looking for an explanation. If so, why do I need an explanation? Well… I don't know!"
He sat back in his chair and released the need to know. He felt it leave his mind and his soul as he slumped back into his chair and relaxed in a way he had never relaxed before.
"That was it? The need to know? That seems silly to me now. Why would I ever need to know anything? Perhaps I want to learn, perhaps I enjoy learning, but do I need to? Absolutely not. At least, not anymore…
But, the need to perform. The need to do things, to be a doer, a survivalist. This belief has been given to me by my family and by my people, however, it does not suit me properly." He scoffed. "Perhaps I'm afraid to let it go because so many people believe I must be a doer, just like them. However, I'd rather live a short life that isn't in pain than a long life believing I must be something I am not."
He took a deep breath because he knew what he was about to do. He knew what he was about to change. And he was scared to do it.
"I choose to stop believing that I need to be a doer, a survivalist. I choose to discard that belief, throw it away because it no longer serves me."
He walked around the room for a while because the emotional charge the belief held was very great for him. When he sat down his sense of relaxation was even greater than before. He truly felt free from the need to do… To do what? To think, to move, to act. He felt a greater sense of power, a sense of control over his actions. He felt a lot less black energy, a lot less pressure in his neck and head. He felt as if his actions had a greater positive impact, and that many of his previous actions weren't worth as much as he thought they were.
"After all," he said to himself, "if I acted simply because I felt I needed to, then I didn't act in a regenerative emotion, but a negative one. I want to act, yet I don't mind if I do or don't. And this is the perfect start."
The one object that had plagued him all his life came into his mind. He had always associated money with negative energy, and now was the time to think it all the way through.
"If I don't need to act anymore, then what about money? Will I tell myself I need to make money? Or…"
A brilliant idea entered his mind. "Perhaps I wake up every day and I tell myself I want to earn money. Perhaps I wake up every day and I tell myself that I want to experience life to the fullest. And what if I don't want to? Then I will not. And it is simply that."
Such an interesting realization, he thought. All of his life he subconsciously suffered from the fear of what happened if he just… Stopped doing. Especially when other people expected action from him. But why? He was such a highly-developed philosopher, why did he suffer from a fear so simple and so ridiculous? Perhaps it was because other people gave it to him, and because he carried it for so many years. That was the only explanation he could think of.
"I wonder what's next," he thought to himself. He felt another fear rise within him, and it was the fear of not being able to make money doing what he loved. He wanted to write, to think, to use his intelligence in an amazing way. He sensed that he was about to think of something important, so he got out his black notebook and began taking notes.
"Perhaps," he wrote, "it will be easier now that I respect my own actions. Before I did not, I was possessed by the need to be a survivalist, to do and do with no point, no end in sight. Perhaps I'll stop trying to convert others with my writing, and I'll have faith that positive energy will carry me towards my goals. If me writing with a positive tonality does not capture the attention of others, then I'll move on to bigger and better things…"
Bigger and better things. What would that be, he asked himself in his head? Isn't writing and expressing my intelligence the greatest thing I could possibly do? Yes, but… No? It's all in my perspective. I choose what I consider to be great, and what I consider to be beneath me. Wait, I should write that down. And so he did!
A knock at the door. He was apt to receive them every now and again, but they were few and far in between. Only a few moments prior he would have told himself, "you have to answer the door," and he would have gotten up and begrudgingly done so. But now that he realized he was fully in control of his actions, he acknowledged the knock, and he consciously decided to leave his notebook to answer the door.
It was his oldest friend, Timothy. They had known each other for 30 years, and it looked like he had a check in his hand.
"Hello, Timothy!" He spoke in a bold and enthusiastic voice. His friend wasn't used to hearing him speak like this, so he was in momentary shock! He shook it off, though, and he timidly looked down at the check, then back at his friend.
"It's good to see you, Arthur! I, I have a gift from the association you're a part of. They loved your last philosophical insight, and uh, they wanted to give this to you."
He handed him the check, and it read an astonishing $20,000! They never gave this kind of money to anyone, much less himself.
"Why… Thank you. And, if you will, send them my gratitude! Are you hungry? Will you come in?"
"Actually, I… I have an outing tonight. She has taken a liking to me, and I to her… And so, we will see if we are suitable for each other!" He spoke in a nervous but curious tone, he truly wanted to see what they thought of each other!
"Well, my friend!" Arthur once again spoke in a bold voice. "I wish you the best! I will see you tomorrow, and you shall tell all that happens, yes?" Timothy nodded and promptly started walking away. Arthur closed the door and scrunched his forehead. Something about that interaction felt… Different. Off. Not quite right. But, he would save this problem for another time. He made some amazing progress tonight, and he would reward himself with a bit of television!