And out of all states of mind, this one in particular bears a stingy feeling of discomfort with it. Just because of its so called destroying nature.
A sense of rejection is a state of mind that destroys hopes, aspirations and dreams. It is the grandfather of nihilism. The grieving mother that gave birth to a son it didn’t want.
There's no denying every single one of humanity has faced rejection in some way or another. And how macabre it was to experience powerlessness. Trying but not achieving. That moving forward doesn’t guarantee that desired throne we wanted to sit upon while the a warm voice is saying: “You have done your best, my child. It was enough and more than worth it.”
And we, the gods of the new world, who reign over it behind our technological innovation, seem not to have accepted the power of defeat that so mercilessly has proven its existence over and over again to us through the centuries of failing. But that's no wonder, seeing our pride.
And yet I ask you to remember, that one time in your life where you had shown the world your brilliance in the form of a talent you possess or by hard work. And how wonderful it felt to have finally talked yourself into being courageous. One final step forward and you would have reached your end.
(I realise I am intentionally enlarging the situation, but only with the purpose that it will the more relatable. These general lines of experience are what every human goes through before the final blow)
And when the rejection finally does take place, it is not just the sense of judgment laid upon your act in itself that may stir your emotions, it is all that positive buildup from beforehand that suddenly collapses all together. And it falls and it crumbles, draining every bit of confidence and courage you had in mere seconds. And what you’re left with is angst, followed by an emotionless state of mind that’s too shocked to even comprehend what just had happened.
This is rejection. So familiar and mind numbing it us. This is the grandfather of nihilism. A crusher of ideals. The stone in our path that stops us from moving forward, not being able to look into the future. Yet it makes us regret looking back and hating ever having chosen this path. Imagine this for multiple times in your life. A path that stops halfway, yet being told that if you try hard enough one day you will reach your throne and you will comfortably reign over the worries of yourself and, if you’re idealistic enough, of humanity. This lie becomes the engine of your pursuit of happiness. What you’re left with is a huge nothingness. Nothing to move forward too, but to drained to even consider another way. So you sit there in the middle of the road. Stuck between two possible extremes.
As a considerate reader you might have seen similarities to The Myth of Sysiphus by Camus, in which Sysiphus was doomed to eternally roll a rock up a mountain, just to see it tumbling down just as he reached the end. Let me elaborate on this.
“Let us imagine Sysiphus happy”, Camus said. Let us imagine he is considering rolling up the rock as a life project in which he can still realise himself in some sort of form, by which he is not doomed to emptiness. That even in the most miserable situations it is possible to idealise oneself and to try realise that goal.
Let me then pose the following contra-statement. Let us imagine, I say, that it is not a miserable place we live in, but that we are in paradise. That this society of empty consumption has realised itself into our paradise, in which we have no shortcomings. Complaining would be shushed. The habitants of paradise would be pointing at the damned burning in hell telling me: “But at least, you’re not them.” By which I would subject to this argumentum ad absurdum and nod in agreement.
Imagine in this scenario that it is us living in paradise, but we are unhappy. There is little to nothing to achieve, that truly matters to our existence in the broadest sense. Things that would truly make us worse off by missing the chase of it or understanding the meaning of the word by true experience instead of false imagery.
In this paradise everything exists before us. Clothes to the point of overproduction. Food, as much as our hearts desire to the point where obesity is our main health concern. Hostility towards our friends, because our eyes have been blinded by the bright heavenly light of wanting more and more, but not always being able to obtain it in such a human packed place.
The voices keep telling us, that there is better to obtain, that we aren’t working hard enough, desiring hard enough, buying hard enough in order to obtain the obtainable. Namely, the thrones of the gods who are sitting above us, exclaiming that we should be grateful for the purpose they have presented in front of us. The purpose of becoming them and that rejection of this means wanting to burn in hell.
The question that should be asked is this hypothetical scenario is, which of the places would I rather be? Is it paradise or hell? Paradise, where idealistic views will never be realised? Or hell, where you’re stepped upon for not ever being able to participate in this nonsensical game of so called self realisation?
Having lived in paradise, having walked against many doors with false promises, rejection after rejection after rejection, it is no wonder that there would be some among us that would choose neither.
Thus stop moving forward. Letting everything drop and sigh dissatisfied over the flaws in the so immanent perfect paradise.
Where is Sysiphus truly now that Camus has left him? Which gates have opened before him? Is Sysiphus even truly happy? But most important of all, what is he doing? Sysiphus doesn’t live in a sort of hell, pushing the rock for eternity. He’s not happy. He’s in paradise, he’s unhappy with his rock besides him, sitting, doing nothing, but contemplating his suicide.
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