You owe your success to everyone else

Politics. I'm going to call it my I-think-I-like-the-world-when-it-works-like-this way of thinking. It’s not a party. It’s personal. I'm posting this to Facebook because I think I'm a genius who is wrong a lot of the time and really really right some of the time. Example? I love James Bond; James Bond is a pig.

Right now, I want people to think I’m right. It gives me a dopamine hit. I like dopamine hits.

So here’s your chance to duck out and avoid arguments about why the Raiders are better than the Cowboys, the McCoys are better than the Hatfields, or why my parents might or might not be fascists who like to cook breakfast for anyone who will eat it: black, white, brown, muslim, hindu, christian, mormon, gay, straight, trans, non-binary. They like people. They like pancakes. They like like Trump.

They’re still my parents. I don’t get to exist without them.

I’d call myself a working hippie. This idea that liberals don’t work hard is a convenient diversion. I don’t know any liberals who aren’t working their asses off in some way. They like causes, don’t you know? Small-businesses, non-profits, jobs, art, activism, evangelism, dressing up with feather boas and taking pictures. These things all take work.

On being a human lottery winner

I’m also aware that I can afford to be a working hippie.

I'm not personally affected by racism or moral violence. I mean, it makes me angry. I lose sleep over it. But I don't have to stay home after dark. I don't have to walk through a grocery store and worry about someone whispering/yelling/cowering because I look different or don’t sound like whatever it is I’m supposed to sound like to be an American.

To me, racism is more complicated than I imagined when I was young. Hate is more complicated than I imagined. I think there’s a difference between someone who is being racist and someone who is a bigot. This means that I (probably) am racist sometimes. It means that I (probably) hate someone sometimes and I think that I’m loving them.

I try to listen a lot. Bigots stop listening. They stop trying. I do my best. When I learn something new, I try to be better. Even when it means I have to admit (at least to myself) that I made a mistake. Even when I have to admit I was wrong.

Cognitive Dissonance

That’s not easy. I prefer creating a reality where I am always right. I grew up doing that. I got good at it. I’m still pretty good at it.

What do you mean Joseph Smith had sex with minors and sent men to war and then married their wives while they were away? I guess there was a good reason. David was a great man, right? God works in mysterious ways.

Or, that’s not what I meant. Faggot is a term of endearment. I’m a theater major, most my friends are gay. That means I get a pass to do something I know can be hurtful. No one knows what it really means anyway. My intentions are pure. I’m just being funny. When it comes from me, it’s a playful and innocent slap to the face.

Or, all guys who drive big trucks and haul nothing in them are assholes. Except Steve. And David. And Tyler. They have no choice. There must be something going on with money and god and an abusive father. They’re nice fellas. If they had a choice, they would drive ancient Toyota Camrys and talk openly about their concerns for the environment. I’m still right. My hypothesis still stands. I’m a genius, remember?

Etc. Etc.

This takes me to where, I think, a lot of us are today. Being wrong is not an option. Being weak is not an option. Being helpless is not an option.

No one is a self-made anything

And we’re wrong all of the time. And we’re weak all of the time. And we’re helpless all of the time.

Here’s an example:

I’m sitting at home writing this on a laptop. It smells like pumpkin spice in here. I live alone. I think pumpkin spice is a manly scent.

How many people made it possible for me to sit at home and write this on a laptop in a pumpkin-spice-scented room?

More than I can count.

Loggers, miners, builders. Planners, designers, engineers. Thousands of people built the roads and the tunnels and the cables to make this house possible. I drove a car here. Thousands and thousands of people made that possible. And their parents made them possible. And their grandparents. And their grandparents’ parents.

I have a job. That’s why I can have a house. The place I work at exits because of the internet and money and people. How many people made all of that shit happen?

And there’s everyone who taught me how to read. There’s everyone who taught me how to write.

I have a therapist. I’m alive because of my therapist. Someone taught her how to be a therapist. Someone made her clothes and her books and her fancy glasses. A whole lot of people made it possible for her to be a therapist so that I could stay alive long enough to sit at my table and write about therapists.

I’m not even going to think about the candle.

Millions of people made your moment possible

You get the point. Millions of people, who are alive right now, made this moment for me possible. They also made your moment—right now— possible. Rednecks, libtards, communists, capitalists, black people, brown people, white people, poor people, rich people. Kind people and not-so-kind people. And a whole bunch of people who don’t speak American and never will speak American and they think Americans are crazy AF. You owe your life to them.

Hell, a lot of those people made it possible for some of you to build an identity around the right to carry something that was specifically made to kill those people. Just in case the people who made the roads you drove on to go to the store to buy your guns and ammo decide that they don’t like walking around people with lots of guns and ammo.

Cold dead hands, am I right?

So this idea of a self-made, independent, did-it-all-on-my-own type of person is super confusing to me. This idea that someone is always right and doesn’t need help from anyone is absurd. We’re all short-sighted and we’re all helpless. We don’t exist without the help of millions of other people.

It’s not how I want the world to be. It’s how the world is.

In my experience, the more I try to tame all of this and control it and pretend that I have the power, the more of a mess I make. The more unhappy I am. It’s like clinging to a rock in whitewater.

I end up defensive and defiant. I fall into a trap. I think I did it all on my own. I worked so hard. I’m better at this game than you are. Don’t take my stuff. It’s my stuff because I deserve it because I got stuff from you and according to the rules, once you take stuff it’s your stuff and someone else shouldn’t take your stuff. Stay away from my stuff.

But we’re a collective by default. We’re a co-op. There’s no way around it.

There is no level playing field

So when someone says that they’re a pure capitalist or a free-market fanatic, I’m not entirely sure what they mean.

No one starts at zero. If the top is 100. Most people I know start above 90. A lot of them get pissed when someone who’s starting out at 85 wants a few extra points. And there are people all over the world who are starting out at 30 and they’re happy as shit (but I’d still love it if they got the chance to start out at 90—we would have made it to Mars by now).

I like competition. I like being creative. I like pushing myself and making money and giving back what I can to the world that supports me.

But the idea of trying to hide secrets or resources so that I can win easier is ludicrous. One, there are no winners or losers except we make it so. Two, do I really think I’ll only be healthy and happy if I hide the ways that lead to health and happiness from everyone else?

Everyone should be able to afford to be a working hippie. I think most capitalist types feel the same way. Level the playing field as much as possible, right? Then we all get a chance to be healthy and happy.

What can we do to make opportunity more inclusive?

So why do we restrict stuff like roads and mailboxes and libraries? Why do we argue about stuff like schools and clinics and hospitals? What about electricity? What about the internet? What about food and water? Are these not the things that level the playing field? Are these not the things that give everyone an equal shot at being creative and happy?

Are they not fundamental? And if they’re not, what things are? Why not try and figure it out? Why not try and see what life is like when we’re not living in a caste system?

And yes, we can afford it. We get to decide. There are no winners and losers except we make it so.

And yes, at a state, national, global level this sort of thing is basically impossible. I get to dream small and act small and work with a few dozen people who sorta see the world like I do. It doesn’t make it any less bold or kind or worthwhile.

If you’re the type of person who can see that we’re interconnected no matter what, that the beauty and happiness and joy we have in our lives comes from the work of millions of other people around the world, then we’re probably friends. We probably hang out sometimes.

If you are someone who tries to ignore this fact and tilt the tables in your favor and get defensive when you’re called out and just wish everyone would stay off your lawn and out of your businesses and out of your country because you don’t need them, then we’re probably not friends.

But you know what? We’re connected anyway.

I just ate some fries that I’m sure came from someone who thinks all liberals are part of an elaborate pedophile ring hell bent on putting people who like the Dukes of Hazard into underground bunkers so that they can make fine linen from their hair.

At least we’ve got French fries in common.