May. 20th, 2005

woolmyth: (Default)
I've met a woman who considers herself a fabric collector. She used to sew, but (like many of us) her stash got out of hand. Instead of feeling guilty about it, she just changed the name of her hobby. If she sews things that's fine, but in the meantime, she genuinely enjoys just collecting. Shopping for it, getting it cut, pulling out the crates and boxes and fondling her treasures. After all, coin collectors don't do anything with their collections...they simply enjoy the building of the collection, the search for the perfect piece.

I've said plenty of times before that hobbies don't just keep you busy when you have free time. They give you something to joyfully contemplate, endlessly, for hours more than you actually spend doing activity. That's the job of a hobby, to fulfill. To create joy and happiness even without completion.

We all seek joy in life. We all want meaning. Survival is no longer meaning enough. It's not hard enough or all encompassing enough any more. So we seek joy, and we have as many ways of finding it as we have people searching. That pursuit is inherently human, part of the essence of what creates us as a species.

We spend a lot of time looking down on other people's joy. My favorite example, in my own head, is the little red sports car. Fancy car, small dick. You know what I mean. Compensating. Shallow. Desperately flinging themselves through mid-life crises. Empty people who think a car can fill them up. But what if it does fill them up? What if just sitting there in their living room knowing they have a pretty red miata in the garage brings that warm glow of joy to fill them? Who are we to question their joy when we spend such effort pursing our own?

Things, though - things are inferior. Serving in the military, volunteering with the poor, being active in the PTA: those are much worthier things to be proud of, to be fulfilled by. Right? Good deeds are wonderful things, but without that warm glow of joy, of pride in yourself, of being filled - what good are they? Good for society, perhaps, but not for the Self.

Dancing fills me up. Warm glowing joy that makes everything else worthwhile. Creating with fabric fills me up. My beloveds fill me up. Power exchange, one side or the other, fills me up.

There are limits to your paths to fulfillment, of course. Harm none. I think we can all agree on that one. Going about pursuing your joy responsibly - the details of that one are a little harder.

So take joy in your little red car. In your lover, gay, straight, or multiple. Take joy in a job well done, or a walk around the park, or helping little old ladies across the street. Without joy, life is an empty shell. You're left wandering around with your feet echoing against the curving sides in a tight spiral of loss, fleshy pink smooth round empty. Empty. Go find your joy. Responsibly.

And remember that everyone else is seeking the same thing, on a different path. And let them pursue it. Tolerance. That's the point. I just hope you're happy with your little red sports car, even though sitting in it, I would still be empty.


woolmyth: (Default)

August 2010

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