I Don’t Want To Write Anything, But I Kinda Do

by Griffin O'Hara


(I realize this is a terribly slow first couple of paragraphs, but bear with me)

So, I need to fill my life with more hobbies.

A while back I felt like I was either lifting weights, in front of a plate of food, or sharpening knives.  My hobbies are notoriously short-lived, though. I’ll usually stick with something until I’ve displayed a degree of proficiency, then suddenly become interested in something else.

Hobbies of mine that I can remember:

  • Footbag (I even sewed my own)
  • Devil Sticks (wow, that was short-lived)
  • Making stuff (knitting, shirts, etc)
  • Reading
  • Writing
  • Running
  • Movies
  • Beer!
  • Your momma
  • Knives
  • Weightlifting

I’d like to start meditating. But hopefully that won’t wind up as a short-lived hobby. Buddhism is pretty cool, but I feel like I’m jumping on the bandwagon when I say that.

I’ve always wanted to be a monk while growing up. I have a strong memory of telling my parents that I’d always wanted to be a monk at a truck-stop Wendy’s in Wyoming, over a baconator. I also remember being extremely disappointed by the baconator. Fast-food bacon just isn’t good bacon.

I always wanted the most meaningful life I could have, and my desire to be a monk was based off the belief that a life dedicated to faith (not necessarily religion, but to place something above myself) would  be the best, and purest life possible.

Perhaps it’s because I started off believing humans to be base, that I wanted to be the opposite. I don’t think I believe that as much anymore. I think every person tries to be the best they can be, but good decisions are relative.

I think humanity is amazing. I’m dissappointed that we’re plagued with the same issues over and over, but I think that’s intrinsic in our behavior, as to be human implies imperfection and a self-centered existence.

Growing up, I admired asceticism (yes, strangely enough, even as a younger child). The idea of denying myself temporary pleasure for a greater spiritual realization seemed to be a no-brainer (it still does).

I still wonder what it’d be like if I were a monk. But I also think I may (probably) have built up some false ideal in my mind. I realize that spiritual fulfillment is hard work. It seems to be worth the work, though.

I’m not sure where I lie in relation to these spiritual questions of mine right now. But I can’t see myself going through life and ignoring a huge part of myself.

This whole album (Screamadelica) kicks ass. Check it out if you have the time.

Primal Scream’s Loaded

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