Finding Hope In Dark Days - A Message From The Past

Four years ago today, I published an essay on finding happiness and hope in dark times. Upon re-reading it, I found it to be good advice from my younger self. It lifted my spirit. Hopefully, it can help lift yours.

This morning, I wandered home from my girlfriend’s house. I took two buses and walked a number of blocks. Without headphones, my mind was free to chew over a bunch of things. Lately, I’ve been feeling very cynical. Very scared. I’ve been looking at what’s happening throughout the world and feeling a lot of despair. That Russell Brand video echoes around my brain. Dylan Moran’s stand-up. A recent interview by Joss Whedon (wherein he claims he has no hope for humanity) has shaken me a bit.

Personally, I like to think Australia’s invigorated enthusiasm for racism, bigotry and totalitarian governments is representative of a broader global trend towards a kinder, gentler future. We’re experiencing conservatism as a cornered animal. A final pendulum swing towards savagery. I don’t think Campbell Newman/Jarrod Bleijie’s slap-dash approach to governance is really sustainable in a 24-hour news cycle. Nor Abbott’s xenophobia in an international economy. Iron Man 3 was reshot for Chinese audiences. You can’t really sustain demonising even a sector of the globe these days.

But, I’m young. I could be wrong. And it makes me sad that they’ve all gotten this far. And it makes me think humanity is not something to be particularly well-regarded. In short, it makes me look at the Russell Brands (and, while optimistic, his revolution is very much one motivated by despair) and the Dylan Morans and the Joss Whedons and think about signing up. I feel like I’m already halfway there. Whenever I feel compelled to talk about optimism or faith or gratitude, I feel apprehensive. There’s a sneer that creeps up on me. I don’t like doing it. But, then, I laugh.

It feels incredibly trite and hackneyed to say as much – but laughter is an incredible, wonderful thing. For the past six years or so, my favourite band’s been Killing Joke. One of the many explanations they’ve given as to their name has been the belief that when a man laughs, there is no fear in that man. It’s only in the past couple of days I’ve been able to appreciate that philosophy. After what feels like weeks of nervy paranoia and despair, I overheard my sister watching Dylan Moran and lines like ‘It sounds like a typewriters eating tinfoil being kicked down the stairs‘ and ‘but you wouldn’t buy a toaster when you’re drunk‘ just fill me with a silly, stupid joy.

Philosophically, I don’t really agree with much of what he says – but I don’t know if he does, either. Topically, his work speaks of despair, confusion, hopelessness and frustration. Mechanically, his work is driven by joy. A joy for language. A joy for absurdity. The sheer glee of something not making sense. You can’t argue that a man who so salaciously lingers on the details on sucking smurf cock doesn’t appreciate life’s finer details. Indeed, in spontaneous dribs and drabs, you see snatches of who Dylan Moran is beyond the stand-up. “You should be as alive as you can until you’re totally dead,” he splutters matter-of-factly between jokes.

And, with that glee spinning around my head as I wandered home from my girlfriend’s house, I found a lot in the world to appreciate. I saw a man whose body had been twisted by disease trying to sell raffle tickets in the centre of the CBD. His speech was nearly indecipherable. He was old. It was clear that, whatever charity he was championing, it wasn’t going to save his life. Still, 9am, Sunday morning, he exposes himself to the world’s cruelty and indifference in order to make an appeal. I saw hordes of people dressed in pink to raise awareness for breast cancer. I heard a young woman busking.

I had no idea what song she was playing. And her voice felt ever so slightly out of tune. And she was loud. I heard her long before I heard her guitar. And she looked scared. She stared straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge anyone. Still, Sunday, 9am, in the centre of the city, she was rocking out. Again, I hesitate to speak of gratitude. I think a lot of people think of gratitude as delusion or stupidity. If you’re appreciating the world, you’re simply too stupid to be sad. Which is, ironically, really fucking dumb. In a brief trip across the city, I saw so much to champion.

A lot of people I know like to squash this kind of sentimentality. Good people, too. On a different day, I’d probably be one of them. It’s so tempting to skew that perspective. That disabled man will not be listened to. His charity will not change anything. That young woman isn’t very good at singing. She’s just annoying people for money. Raising awareness for breast cancer is a fad. It doesn’t help anyone. Often, there’s a focus on pragmatism. Pragmatism and authenticity. Are you actually helping? Why? What are your intentions? Will you make a good woman of my charity?

I can even back up those suspicions, if you like. I didn’t participate in the breast cancer awareness rally, I gave no money to that busker and I couldn’t even approach that disabled man to buy tickets. I could give you excuses. But, frankly, I just wasn’t strong enough to be that good a person today. A lot of days, I’m simply not up to it. To some, I’m sure that makes me a hypocrite. However, I think it’s just being human. On one day, you may be strong enough to do something selfless. On another, you may not. That doesn’t make you a good or bad person. Similarly, we have joy and darkness in our world. That doesn’t mean we live in a dark or joyous world.

And that’s really what I’m taking away from my little trip across town. There are certain preoccupations that haunt us as adults. We’re encouraged to think in absolutes, for one. To think our world is bright and full of promise is, in the eyes of many, to deny that it is full of problems and hardship. To think our world is horrific is, in the eyes of others, to be a pessimist (I’ve probably been reducing many people in just that fashion throughout this entire essay). In part, I feel it’s born of fear. To avoid the inevitable pain of an unpredictable world, we galvanise ourselves into thinking we’ve got our world’s measure.

Except, our world and our lives are not defined by absolutes. In darkness, there is always joy to be found. Even in the wake of justifiable cynicism, there is joy to be embraced and laughs to be had. One could question the practical application of a handful of breast cancer awareness campaigns (and I know many men and women that do) – but that shouldn’t diminish how many people still feel a passion to help. Even if you believe they’re only feeling that passion on account of social trends, rejoice that to be seen attempting to help others is considered a populist idea in our society.

Often, people talk about this sort of thing in relation to the future or comparable circumstances. There are people starving in Africa. Soon, there’ll be no trees left. I’m not saying that. Those are valid concerns – but they’re not actually helpful. In response to what many of us feel is a horrible world, we’re reminded that it has yet to reach a critical mass of horror. So, I’m only saying seek and appreciate what joy exists today. Not because it may be gone tomorrow or because others can’t – but because it will make your life more enjoyable and life is something to be enjoyed.

Again, there’s a temptation to discuss these things in absolutes. But, I’m not going to say that life is beautiful or the world is horrible or vice versa. This isn’t about changing your life or mine. You don’t need to wake up tomorrow and be happy forever or some nonsense. Tomorrow, I may wake up and feel all the bitterness, rage and pain of being alive and be incapable of embracing any of these ideas. All I really want to do is remind some of you that laughter exists.

That, in moments of utter hopelessness and disenfranchisement, there is joy to be found and to be, well, enjoyed.