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I'm reading, Spent, by Geoffrey Miller. It's a book about evolutionary psychology. He explains how and why we spend. Miller discusses advertising, and how the advertisers utilize the human condition in order to sell products. It's not a book that bashes free market capitalism. It lays out what humans value based on their spending habits. It also breaks down how Homo sapiens are not unlike wolves and other pack animals. We seek status in a hierarchy. Physical displays of wealth, virility, and intelligence are the ways a human being can climb up the ranks.
I read a section that discussed narcism. Miller discusses the need for an iPod as a status purchase. These devices aren't cheap, and it also becomes a person's whole world. People have their own entertainment console calibrated to them, and only them. It's a one on one experience that only considers the individual. Everybody is lost in their phones, identity, and displaying their spirit journey for all to see. It takes a certain amount of narcism for me to have a blog, and showcase my art. Miller was describing my endeavor in a way I always acknowledged. There is something narcissistic about doing what I do, and expecting anybody to give a shit.
Yesterday, I got out of training and ended up talking to one of our white belts. He's a great guy, family man and artist. I didn't know he was an artist like I was. His art form is opera. It's how he met his wife. I often go about my day forgetting other artists walk around doing the same things I do. I don't believe he practices on the regular now. He has a lot to juggle, and work is full-time. I got his backstory after knowing him for at least a year (more or less). My scope can become terribly limited as I go about my routine of drawing, writing, reading, training and working. Sometimes, I think I'm the only one. I'm the only sad sack, the only artist, the only one who battles with existential woes. I don't believe I'm clinically a narcissist; I do spend a lot of time in my head. I also spend a lot of time in front of blank paper. A lot of introspection can happen in the void of white nothingness. . .
I got to talk to a guy who wasn't all that different from me, but I wouldn't have known it. I had a chance to talk to a man who lived as I did, and understands the path. He may be a white belt, and I may be a brown belt, but he schooled me in the ways of opening up my mind. I know I'm not special nor am I a worm. I'm a human being, and it's complicated. You're a human being too, and we're in this together.