One of my problems, or virtues, depending upon how one looks at it, is my tendency to become completely immersed in intellectual work, whether it be writing, programming, or web design. Tunnel-vision results. I examine things so closely and intently that not much escapes me in the end. I see all, or close to all at least, although there are certain limitations relating to my skills and preferences.
I would say I'm a hard worker, because I'd rather work on what I consider to be meaningful projects than play games, read books, or watch television. I prefer active over passive entertainment much of the time. If I am not writing or coding, then I feel as though I am wasting time.
And I hate wasting time. What I fear most of all is not death. I fear the void: the emptiness, guilt and dread that comes from accomplishing nothing at all. The thought that I have wasted this existence. To exit this world without leaving any trace at all is my fear. If there is something in me, however trivial, that I think can be applied for the cause of good, then I want to apply it to its maximum potential.
I feel an urge to be productive, to excel, to do well, to make a good impression on others. Sometimes, I succeed in doing so. Occasionally I do fail. Sometimes results are mixed, and I am uncertain as to my evaluation. But I always try. And I keep at my work in isolation, even unpaid, without any encouragement, or with the thinnest token of appreciation. Maybe that means I'm a fool, a worker bee, a hack, a grind, and an overachiever, as others have called me. Who can be other than what they are? And what is the alternative? To do nothing? To idle away the hours in front of a video game or television set? What sort of existence is that? I prefer to create things, even if the creations are humble. I could not procreate, so I create in other ways to justify this existence. Otherwise, where is the meaning in life? To eat and sleep only? That is not meaningful.
I find myself falling into the same old traps, though. Sometimes I become too focused upon projects that no one else seems to care about. I am made to feel like Don Quixote by those who attach little or no importance to the projects. There are web sites I have worked on night and day. Sometimes I wonder if the effort is misspent or if it matters at all to anyone else besides myself. Perhaps it doesn't. I could be mistaken, a victim of tunnel-vision, failing to see the big picture because I am focused upon a thousand small details.
All may be vanity, but if so, there are many souls in the world engaged in similar occupations. I am not the only victim of make-work. Is it realistic to expect any appreciation or recognition at all in any of one's endeavors? How often does that happen? The billions of people in the world are all creating something, all working toward some end, and most labor without any feedback, or even in the face of blistering criticism, because it is their destiny. Because there is no "because." Life happens because it must. The universe happens because it must. How are human activities different from the interactions between oxygen and hydrogen? I think that everything is predictable, if one knows enough.
We are all slaves to one thing or another. Every one of us. I do not know anyone who is not a slave to something. Even those who number among my enemies, they too are slaves. It is because of the mortal existence. Life desires. What life desires varies, but it craves food and water, and at a higher level, power and prestige. Only the dead know perfect freedom, because they desire nothing. Life trades the freedom of nonexistence for slavery to the desires, which permit survival and thriving. We the living become slaves because we must in order to survive and thrive.
I sometimes find it difficult to disengage myself from a project, because work becomes a passion for me, an addiction. The government should ban work. There should be a Work Enforcement Agency to stamp out everything that leads to work, because it is more addictive than any drug. I suppose the government is doing its best in that regard. The unemployment rate is, after all, much higher now than when I graduated college.
I would like to have been a part of a team, at some point in my life, of people with a similar ideological and philosophical cast, who were trustworthy, honest and forthright. Instead, I found myself in various teams where cutthroat was the name of the game. No one trusted anyone else. I was amused by the paranoia I observed in others, until I felt it residing in myself. It is difficult to resist a prevailing meme for a long period of time. Complacency was rewarded, curiosity and innovation stifled. We engaged upon tasks that benefited no one save the shareholders, and only in the short-term, even in that narrow perspective. This is a common fate.
I think only in the distant future, if that, will it be possible for human beings to come together as teams where cooperation and cohesion is possible, rather than just hypothetical. Whether there will be a distant future for H. Sapiens is another question, and I haven't been optimistic about the answer. Although the Pax Americana has been surprising and encouraging, I don't know how much longer it can endure, with our economy and manufacturing sector in decline. American workers have footed the bill for worldwide security for decades, but such a high rate of expenditure cannot continue indefinitely.
I do resolve to improve in the art of disengagement. For me, all that is required is finding another project, preferably a better one. One must look for greener pastures. I don't kid myself that I can be without a project of any kind. I need something to ply my skills upon. My task involves finding a better project more suitable for me.
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