Since we live in an age where privacy is no longer valued and actively commodified, I have decided to no longer tack against the wind and instead let the mainsail billow, so to speak.
I’ve long known that a life of service is the most gratifying life one can lead. There are of course, many ways to do this. It is one of the reasons I joined the military. There is a reason why the questions, “Were you ever in the service?” or, “Where did you serve?” are used. But make no mistake, this is not the pinnacle of service. Not even close.
We put far too much emphasis on military service and not enough to civil service. Because we love the gun. That’s one reason. Very few volunteer for an all volunteer military, that is a reason as well. Another is that there are very fine qualities that the military emphasises and actively trains for. Excellence. Loyalty. Duty. Leadership. Situational awareness. The ability to discern what is called for in the moment and take the initiative in order to achieve mission success.
Even if that means falling on a hand grenade so as to save your squad.
That is what the job requires. It is what a nation requires. It is what a culture requires. Sometimes it is what love requires.
That doesn’t make it laudable. Often, the only difference between courage and stupidity is the result.
Thus enters the fool. The fool is full of potential. Is nothing but. And every wind is favorable when you don’t know where you are going. It is impossible to foil the plan that hasn’t been made.
Or is out of your hands.
For those of you who have been following along, our Hero was fated for an appointment with a nurse practitioner and their prescription pad.
It was a very pleasant appointment. I charmed the receptionist. My wife is part owner of a medical clinic. I know where the power lies. The lines of communication. The politics.
We had a substantive chat, the nurse practitioner and I. I explained my history, much as I did to you. I elucidated certain external and internal pressures, nothing that billions aren’t going through, to a greater or lesser degree.
I gave my subjective viewpoint. And I allowed that it quite possibly is one that need be questioned. I question it daily. I gave my philosophical viewpoints, including my preference for Jungian psychology as a hermeneutic where applicable. I have many hermeneutic stances.
She was intrigued. Said my case was atypical. Most people with mania (she had already jumped to that conclusion, despite my explanation) experience either depression or irritability/anger issues. I do not suffer from depression, never have. I do have anger issues. But no one would ever, and has ever, suspected this. Because I know the danger of anger. Rage. Oh. I get angry.
She still reached for her prescription pad. Lamotrigine, the 62nd most prescribed drug in America, used to treat bipolar and epileptic disorders. I was amused to learn it was first marketed in Ireland. I have a lot of Irish in me.
I am taking it. I admit, it is helping me sleep. I can feel it during the day, in an odd way. I will continue to take it.
Let’s get back to the anger. I know that when I get angry, I should pay attention. This is some sort of little monster in my basement, trying to tell me something. Something important. I listen to my little monsters.
Because monsters get bad press. The worst. Monsters, contrary to popular knowledge, are your friend. True, they do want to eat you. They do seek your destruction. For your own good.
Inner monsters only destroy you, only cause self destruction when you do not see what transmutes self destruction into self sacrifice. The only difference between self destruction and self sacrifice.
Love. Without it you get the former with it the latter. Now, one can take this too far. Especially if one has a twisted sense of love. That is why it is best to also dedicate yourself to both the true and the good.
How does all this relate to my visit with the aforementioned nurse practitioner?
Just before they reached for their prescription pad I told them this, “I am here as the consequence of an ultimatum.” This is true. I was prepared for this ultimatum and had already consigned myself to agreeing to it, if it in fact came to pass.
It did.
They said they were very sorry. And still reached for the prescription pad.
So why am I angry? By my own admission, I executed an action I thoughtfully planned out, mused over all the possibilities, mitigated variables as much as I was able, and resigned myself to accept the consequences of my action, no matter the result, seen or unforseen. Because this is what adults capable of critical analysis and moral judgment do.
I even posted a Mea Culpa, which was applicable in more ways than one. I am not angry about my action nor about the valid and much needed apology for it. I learned much from this.
No. I am angry for this reason:
I was bullied. Bullied by a power I can not fight. Forced into an action not entirely of my choosing. Ultimatums work. Robert Downey Jr famously said this.
He is right. They do work.
They also breed resentment. I hate a bully. I have been one in the past. An intellectual bully. Imagine my shame. I have gotten past this. The only crime is pride. If one is to learn, if one is to change, if one is to really achieve redemption, than one has to put aside their pride.
On matters that one ought to put aside their pride on. There is no shame in being proud of things that are worthy of pride. Being a good father. Keeping your word. Discharging your duty. Treating women with respect and honor and nobility.
My wife issued me an ultimatum. You see someone and get on medication or this marriage is over. Not only that, she referred me to the nurse practitioner in question. Got right in. That was the ultimatum. I agreed.
Swearing yourself to the service of the true, the good, and the beautiful. That is what I have done. I will not break this vow. This does not mean that I give up my autonomy. I refuse to do that.
So. My dear. If you read this, and there is no good reason you will, although others may no doubt inform you, I want you to know this:
I understand. I do. You are the victim of the hermeneutic that is central to your life. This is the way you see things. I respect your right to have your own experiences and come to your own conclusions.
But you bullied me. And you used your power as a physician and the status as my wife to do so. Tsk. Tsk. I will not forget this.
I may forgive you. May. I am still thinking on it. This is my right, to have my own experiences and come to my own conclusions. I will continue to take this medication. I will not come to any conclusions just yet.
But I’m pissed.
Not per se, no. I appreciate your offer, however, I am currently just enjoying writing. If I should require assistance, I will certainly keep you in mind. Thank you.