Having completed “Right Thing, Right Now” by Ryan Holiday (Amazon), I want to highlight a chapter that stood out: “You Just Have to Be Kind”
As Kurt Vonnegut said, “There’s only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you’ve got to be kind.””
Be kind.
To the ones who serve you.
To the ones who frustrate you.
To those who falter, those who fall.
To the ones who follow you and the ones who came before.
To the ones you may never meet.
The history is filled with brilliant and successful people. You’ve probably encountered plenty. But how many truly kind people have you met? When we look back, one thing that never ages well is a lack of kindness.
The cruelty of mobs. The selfishness of leaders. The way whole groups of people were dismissed, diminished, denied their humanity.
It’s true: There is no leader who has not faced frustration. There is no wise person who has not endured foolishness. There is no good person who has not been wronged.
This is the way of the world.
But it is our strength, our wisdom, our decency that obligates us to be kind anyway.
You never know what someone is carrying. You never know how far a small kindness might ripple. But that’s not why we do it.
We do it because as Vonnegut puts it, it’s the only goddamn rule there is.
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Before we talk about Black Museum, let’s flashback to when this episode was first released: Dec 29, 2017.
In 2017, the rise of dark tourism—traveling to sites tied to death, tragedy, or the macabre—became a notable cultural trend, with locations like Mexico’s Island of the Dolls, abandoned abandoned hospitals and prisons drawing attention. Specifically, Chernobyl saw a dramatic increase in tourists, with around 70,000 visitors in 2017, a sharp rise from just 15,000 in 2010. This influx of visitors contributed approximately $7 million to Ukraine’s economy.
Meanwhile, in 2017, the EV revolution was picking up speed. Tesla, once a trailblazer now a company run by a power-hungry maniac, launched the more affordable Model 3.
2017 also marked a legal dispute between Hologram USA and Whitney Houston’s estate. The planned hologram tour, aimed at digitally resurrecting the iconic singer for live performances, led to legal battles over the hologram’s quality. Despite the challenges, the project was eventually revived, premiering as An Evening with Whitney: The Whitney Houston Hologram Tour in 2020.
At the same time, Chicago’s use of AI and surveillance technologies, specifically through the Strategic Subject List (SSL) predictive policing program, sparked widespread controversy. The program used historical crime data to predict violent crimes and identify high-risk individuals, but it raised significant concerns about racial bias and privacy.
And that brings us to this episode of Black Mirror, Episode 6 of Season 4: Black Museum. Inspired by Penn Jillette’s story The Pain Addict, which grew out of the magician’s own experience in a Spanish welfare hospital, the episode delves into a twisted reality where technology allows doctors to feel their patients’ pain.
Set in a disturbing museum, this episode confronts us with pressing questions: When does the pursuit of knowledge become an addiction to suffering? What happens when we blur the line between human dignity and the technological advancements meant to heal? And what price do we pay when we try to bring people back from the dead?
In this video, we’ll explore the themes of Black Museum and examine whether these events have happened in the real world—and if not, whether or not it is plausible. Let’s go!
Pain for Pleasure
As Rolo Haynes guides Nish through the exhibits in the Black Museum, he begins with the story of Dr. Peter Dawson. Dawson, a physician, tested a neural implant designed to let him feel his patients’ pain, helping him understand their symptoms and provide a diagnosis. What started as a medical breakthrough quickly spiraled into an addiction.
Meanwhile, in the real world, scientists have been making their own leaps into the mysteries of the brain. In 2013, University of Washington researchers successfully connected the brains of two rats using implanted electrodes. One rat performed a task while its neural activity was recorded and transmitted to the second rat, influencing its behavior. Fast forward to 2019, when researchers linked three human brains using a brain-to-brain interface (BBI), allowing two participants to transmit instructions directly into a third person’s brain using magnetic stimulation—enabling them to collaborate on a video game without speaking.
Beyond mind control, neurotech has made it possible to simulate pain and pleasure without physical harm. Techniques like Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) and Brain-Computer Interfaces (BCIs) let researchers manipulate neural activity for medical treatment.
AI is actively working to decode the complexities of the human brain. At Stanford, researchers have used fMRI data to identify distinct “pain signatures,” unique neural patterns that correlate with physical discomfort. This approach could provide a more objective measure of pain levels and potentially reduce reliance on self-reported symptoms, which can be subjective and inconsistent.
Much like Dr. Dawson’s neural implant aimed to bridge the gap between doctor and patient, modern AI researchers are developing ways to interpret and even visualize human thought.
Of course, with all this innovation comes a darker side.
In 2022, Neuralink, Elon Musk’s brain-implant company, came under federal investigation for potential violations of the Animal Welfare Act. Internal documents and employee interviews suggest that Musk’s demand for rapid progress led to botched experiments. As a result, many tests had to be repeated, increasing the number of animal deaths. Since 2018, an estimated 1,500 animals have been killed, including more than 280 sheep, pigs, and monkeys.
When Dr. Dawson pushed the limits, and ended up experiencing the death of the patient, his neural implant was rewired in the process, blurring the line between pain and pleasure.
At present, there’s no known way to directly simulate physical death in the sense of replicating the actual biological process of dying without causing real harm.
However, Shaun Gladwell, an Australian artist known for his innovative use of technology in art, has created a virtual reality death simulation. It is on display at the Melbourne Now event in Australia. The experience immerses users in the dying process—from cardiac failure to brain death—offering a glimpse into their final moments. By simulating death in a controlled virtual environment, the project aims to help participants confront their fears of the afterlife and better understand the emotional aspects of mortality.
This episode of Black Mirror reminds us that the quest for understanding the mind might offer enlightenment, but it also carries the risk of unraveling the very fabric of what makes us human.
In the end, the future may not lie in simply experiencing death, but in learning to live with the knowledge that we are always on the cusp of the unknown.
Backseat Driver
In the second part of Black Museum, Rolo recounts his involvement in a controversial experiment. After an accident, Rolo helped Jack transfer his comatose wife Carrie’s consciousness into his brain. This let Carrie feel what Jack felt and communicate with him. In essence, this kept Carrie alive. However, the arrangement caused strain—Jack struggled with the lack of privacy, while Carrie grew frustrated by her lack of control—ultimately putting the saying “’til death do you part” to the test.
The concept of embedding human consciousness into another medium remains the realm of fiction, but neurotechnology is inching closer to mind-machine integration.
In 2016, Ian Burkhart, a 24-year-old quadriplegic patient, made history using the NeuroLife system. A microelectrode chip implanted in Burkhart’s brain allowed him to regain movement through sheer thought. Machine-learning algorithms decoded his brain signals, bypassing his injured spinal cord and transmitting commands to a specialized sleeve on his forearm—stimulating his muscles to control his arm, hand, and fingers. This allowed him to grasp objects and even play Guitar Hero.
Another leap in brain-tech comes from Synchron’s Stentrode, a device that bypasses traditional brain surgery by implanting through blood vessels. In 2021, Philip O’Keefe, living with ALS, became the first person to compose a tweet using only his mind. The message? A simple yet groundbreaking “Hello, World.”
Imagine being able to say what’s on your mind—without saying a word. That’s exactly what Blink-To-Live makes possible. Designed for people with speech impairments, Blink-To-Live tracks eye movements via a phone camera to communicate over 60 commands using four gestures: Left, Right, Up, and Blink. The system translates these gestures into sentences displayed on the screen and read aloud.
Technology is constantly evolving to give people with impairments the tools to live more independently, but relying on it too much can sometimes mean sacrificing privacy, autonomy, or even a sense of human connection.
When Jack met Emily, he was relieved to experience a sense of normalcy again. She was understanding at first, but everything changed when she learned about Carrie—the backseat driver and ex-lover living in Jack’s mind. Emily’s patience wore thin, and she insisted that Carrie be removed. Eventually, Rolo helped Jack find a solution by transferring Carrie’s consciousness into a toy monkey.
Initially, Jack’s son loved the monkey. But over time, the novelty faded. The monkey wasn’t really Carrie. She couldn’t hold real conversations anymore. She couldn’t express her thoughts beyond those two phrases. And therefore, like many toys, it was left forgotten.
This raises an intriguing question: Could consciousness, like Carrie’s, ever be transferred and preserved in an inanimate object?
Dr. Ariel Zeleznikow-Johnston, a neuroscientist at Monash University, has an interesting theory. He believes that if we can fully map the human connectome—the complex network of neural connections—we might one day be able to preserve and even revive consciousness. His book, The Future Loves You, explores whether personal identity could be stored digitally, effectively challenging death itself. While current techniques can preserve brain tissue, the actual resurrection of consciousness remains speculative.
This means that if you want to transfer your loved ones’ consciousness into a toy monkey’s body, you’ll have to wait, but the legal systems are already grappling with these possibilities.
In 2017, the European Parliament debated granting “electronic personhood” to advanced AI, a move that could set a precedent for digital consciousness. Would an uploaded mind have rights? Could it be imprisoned? Deleted? As AI-driven personalities become more lifelike—whether in chatbots, digital clones, or neural interfaces—the debate over their status in society is only just beginning.
At this point, Carrie’s story is purely fictional. But if the line between human, machine, and cute little toy monkeys blurs further, we may need to redefine what it truly means to be alive.
Not Dead but Hardly Alive
In the third and final tale of Black Museum, Rolo Haynes transforms human suffering into a literal sideshow. His latest exhibit? A holographic re-creation of a convicted murderer, trapped in an endless loop of execution for paying visitors to experience.
What starts as a morbid fascination quickly reveals the depths of Rolo’s cruelty—using digital resurrection not for justice, but for profit.
The concept of resurrecting the dead in digital form is not so far-fetch. In 2020, the company StoryFile introduced interactive holograms of deceased individuals, allowing loved ones to engage with digital avatars capable of responding to pre-recorded questions. This technology has been used to preserve the voices of Holocaust survivors, enabling them to share their stories for future generations.
But here’s the question: Who controls a person’s digital afterlife? And where do we draw the line between honoring the dead and commodifying them?
Hollywood has already ventured into the business of resurrecting the dead. After Carrie Fisher’s passing, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker repurposed unused footage and CGI to keep Princess Leia in the story.
The show must go on, and many fans preferred not to see Carrie Fisher recast. But should production companies have control over an actor’s likeness after they’ve passed?
Celebrities such as Robin Williams took preemptive legal action, restricting the use of his image for 25 years after his death. The line between tribute and exploitation has become increasingly thin. If a deceased person’s digital avatar can act, speak, or even endorse products, who decides what they would have wanted?
In the realm of intimacy, AI-driven experiences are reshaping relationships. Take Cybrothel, a Berlin brothel that markets AI-powered sex dolls capable of learning and adapting to user preferences. As AI entities simulate emotions, personalities, and desires, and as people form deep attachments to digital partners, it will significantly alter our understanding of relationships and consent.
Humans often become slaves to their fetishes, driven by impulses that can lead them to make choices that harm both themselves and others. But what if the others are digital beings?
If digital consciousness can feel pain, can it also demand justice? If so, then Nish’s father wasn’t just a relic on display—he was trapped, suffering, a mind imprisoned in endless agony for the amusement of strangers. She couldn’t let it stand. Playing along until the perfect moment, she turned Rolo’s own twisted technology against him. In freeing her father’s hologram, she made sure Rolo’s cruelty ended with him.
The idea of AI having rights may sound like a distant concern, but real-world controversies suggest otherwise.
In 2021, the documentary Roadrunner used AI to replicate Anthony Bourdain’s voice for quotes he never spoke aloud. Similarly, in 2020, Kanye West gifted Kim Kardashian a hologram of her late father Robert Kardashian. These two notable events sparked backlash over putting words into a deceased person’s mouth.
While society has largely moved beyond public executions, technology is creating new avenues to fulfill human fantasies. AI, deepfake simulations, and VR experiences could bring execution-themed entertainment back in a digital form, forcing us to reconsider the ethics of virtual suffering.
As resurrected personalities and simulated consciousness become more advanced, we will inevitably face the question: Should these digital beings be treated with dignity? If a hologram can beg for mercy, if an AI can express fear, do we have a responsibility to listen?
While the events of Black Museum have not happened yet and may still be a long way off, the first steps toward that reality are already being taken. Advances in AI, neural mapping, and digital consciousness hint at a future where identities can be preserved, replicated, or even exploited beyond death.
Perhaps that’s the real warning of Black Museum: even when the human body perishes, reducing the mind to data does not make it free. And if we are not careful, the future may remember us not for our progress, but for the prisons we built—displayed like artifacts in a museum.
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Show up. … when you’re tired. … when you don’t have to. … even when you have an excuse. … even if you’re busy. … even if no one will notice. … even if it’s beating you down.
Once you start, you can build on it. Once you act, momentum can grow. Showing up is the key—because when you show up, you can do.
Over a nearly 60-year career, Joyce Carol Oates wrote novels, stories, poetry, plays — millions of words. If she can show up every day, you can get on the treadmill. Pick up the violin. Answer emails. Write a scene. Lift some weights. Cross one thing off your list.
It doesn’t matter what it is—all aspects of life improve when you work on them daily.
The Greeks have a word for this: philoponia—a love of hard work.
So, show up. Do the work. Not for perfection, but for progress. The grind pays off.
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“Go for the hard problems, the ambitious projects.
Start small… on something big.
Begin with petites actions but on your magnum opus.
Eliminate one problem. Move things one iota. Write one sentence. Send one letter. Make a mark.
We can figure out what’s next after that.”
I find the analogy of headlights illuminating a dark road particularly inspiring. This gentle glow may only reveal a short distance ahead, but little by little, even in pitch darkness, you can reach your destination this way.
It’s tempting to hold out for the perfect moment to write, the ideal concept, or the right conditions. Yet, what truly matters is building momentum, cultivating confidence, and checking off those small tasks. This is how you train, practice, and grow.
Don’t hesitate. Begin now. Do what you can, where you are, with what you have. Write. Create. It all adds up.
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Imagine you’re working on a novel that just isn’t coming together. You’ve invested years into making it perfect —or at least presentable—but it still feels off. The feedback you’ve received points out flaws: one-dimensional characters, awkward dialogue, a meandering plot. You’re frustrated and tempted to give up.
But instead of quitting, you decide to push through. You might think, “It doesn’t matter if the characters seem flat or the dialogue is stiff. Maybe things will improve if I keep going.” And somehow, you continue working on it.
Have you ever had a similar experience? Then you might have experienced a sense of optimistic nihilism.
I’m currently reworking my entire project that I began 4 years ago, and at times, it feels incredibly demoralizing—like being sent to prison, getting released for good behavior, and then immediately committing another crime to be sent back.
I’m essentially redoing everything from scratch, revising scenes, reworking characters, and rethinking the plot. But instead of seeing this as a setback, I’m trying to view it as an opportunity. Every rewrite, every change is part of the creative journey. The novel’s transformation mirrors my growth as a writer. It’s not just about fixing flaws but about embracing the process of evolving and refining my work.
I know I sound delusional, and maybe that’s kind of what optimistic nihilism is about.
In practical terms, optimistic nihilism helps keep you moving forward, especially in creative work. It’s easy to doubt whether your efforts will pay off or if anyone will even notice. It’s like a tree producing apples that might fall and rot without being tasted. Does it matter if the apples are sweet if no one eats them?
From an optimistic nihilist perspective, the rotting apples are part of the process. They had their moment, and that’s valuable in itself. This mindset helps me see that the act of creating is worthwhile, regardless of the outcome.
You see, my goal is to write and create for as long as possible. To be a tree to bear fruit, regardless of the taste. Regardless of being planted in a spot where someone will come and pick them. Writing is the thing I want to do hopefully for the rest of my life, whether anyone will read my work or not. That’s the purpose I’m establishing for myself.
Optimistic nihilism supports the idea that I can create my own meaning, which helps me reframe my project. Every day that I continue to work on it, despite setbacks, brings me a sense of empowerment as I shape my life according to my values and interests. Not someone else’s, not some higher power. Simply put, I’m someone who is finding time to do what he loves.
You might find yourself in a similar situation someday, where all your hard work seems futile and you begin to question whether it’s worth continuing. Viewing it through the lens of optimistic nihilism can help. Stay hopeful that you’ll eventually reach your goals, and find peace in the understanding that, in the grand scheme of the universe, it may not ultimately matter.
Want to learn more about optimistic nihilism and creativity, check out this video right here.
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Okay… let’s go there right away: What is the meaning of life?
Is it to multiple? Is it to find happiness? Is it to save people from an eternity in hell?
For many of us, the answer is to be creative. To make something, leave it behind, and be remembered for it.
But look around you. Hear all the music. Read all the books. Watch all the videos. You can spend the rest of your life consuming other people’s creations and not even come close to enjoying it all. There is so much out there that it calls into the question our answer to the meaning of life: to create… for who? Who will see this? Who will remember this?
We now know how unlikely it is for us — regardless of talent — to have our creative works enshrined in a pantheon for all of history. There is too much out there! There are too many different tastes, genres, languages, cultures, and traditions. The only hope for you is to pave your own path and be the first or get lucky and hit the market at the perfect time. But there’s still hope.
However, know this: regardless of what you make, how great it is, how wealthy you become, how revered you are by your contemporary — none of it matters.
As Conan O’Brien recalled from a conversation he had with Albert Brooks, where the late-night host lamented to the filmmaker that movies have the sustainability to last forever, while his late-night shows are forgotten and never seen again. To which, Albert Brooks responded:
“What are you talking about? None of it matters.” None of it matters? No, that’s the secret. In 1940, people said Clark Gable is the face of the 20th Century. Who [expletive] thinks about Clark Gable? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be forgotten. I’ll be forgotten. We’ll all be forgotten.”
As a creative, it’s helpful to be an optimistic nihilist. I remind myself that there is no meaning. There’s no great thing that I need to create — and in the meaninglessness — I’m free. I look around and see all these people moving purposely as if they know the answer. There is no answer, except the story we tell ourselves. Their creative stories are as valid as mine — they might not be writing, drawing, or making music, but their creativity might be raising a family, starting a business, or traveling the world. Everyone is creative; a creator of experiences. Everyone’s choices are valid. And it’s because of all these experiences spinning in all directions, hitting off of each other that new stories and new creations are generated. Surely if there was a meaning to this life, and we know it, there would be some order by now.
When we think of nihilists, we think of cynical assholes or depressed alcoholics, and while there are some, those who are nihilistic have found an escape from the pressure of existence. Sure, some people thrive under pressure. Some people sell big businesses, some people hit home runs, and some people launch bombs at civilians. However, for many of us, the pressures are fabricated for ourselves by ourselves as guidelines to follow.
We are supposed to graduate, get a job, get married, have a family, and retire. We are supposed to pass on traditions. But why? No, there is nothing wrong with those pursuits, inherently, but those are not necessarily the only pursuits worthy. In fact, there are no pursuits worthy.
We can be vegetarian. We can travel to space. We can have children. All of these are worthwhile but none of it will change the outcome of the universe. This is doubly true for the novel you’re writing. This is doubly true for the movie you’re making. This is doubly true for the painting you’re painting. Don’t do these things to alter the universe. Do these things for yourself. Do these things for those who are present. Don’t worry about legacies. Now is the only moment there is. Creativity is a small acknowledgment of this moment. To set something in a time and place. To merely wave back at the abyss.
Optimistic nihilism is the hopefulness that you can make a difference and it’s the knowledge that it doesn’t matter. Life is an exhibition game. And while we’re keeping score. It’s not going to count for anything other than our participation. Go for it. Write that story… make that video… paint that painting, because as Albert Brook said, “Who [expletive] thinks about Clark Gable? It doesn’t matter.”
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John is a best selling author on tour for his latest story about Dinosaurs. He had written many stories before, stories about Aliens, stories about Monsters, and even stories about Lovers. Yet, it was the Dinosaur story that really caught fire and launched him into stardom. Book tours, movie options, and adoring fans. John had made it.
At a Q&A, a boy stands up and asks John, “You’ve written many books, many of which were flops. Now that the Dinosaur book is so well received and you’re getting new fans, are you embarrassed about everything you’ve written before? If you could go back in time, would you not write them and just write the Dinosaur story?”
John knew the Alien story was bad, the Monster story was unoriginal, and the story about Lovers was honestly just therapy for a break up. The boy was worried on John’s behalf that his new fans would recognize his name, read his old work, and be disappointed. Or perhaps John would’ve fast tracked his career by prioritizing the Dinosaur story before all the others.
“No…” John said, “Because when I read my old work, I’m transported to a moment in my past. I believe in the Butterfly Effect. If I was to go back and change anything, like writing the Dinosaur story first, and it was a failure, then I might have quit writing there. This book only exists because I’ve written all those others. Those books represented a phase I was in. Each idea, only when completed, branches off into others. My books are all part of a family tree, I gave life to them, I gave my life to them, even if the stories are different. They’re my family. In a way, the Dinosaur book is the latest generation and it exists only because of its ancestors. My previous books were all training. I wasn’t ready yet, and the audience wasn’t ready yet. I hope those who read it today can see the improvements I’ve made along the way. I wouldn’t have thought to write the Dinosaur book first, and if I did, who’s to say it wouldn’t be the Alien book that would become popular? It’s not the idea really, it’s the experience.”
“We always have to keep writing forward and not regret what we created in the past. Learn from it for sure, just like how we should learn from history, but we shouldn’t waste the present trying to change the past. A lot of the stuff we make won’t meet our standards. We might never meet that standard, even if we receive the approval of others. I’m being celebrated, but I know I can do better. We cannot regret what we’ve made in the past, even if people go back and judge us for it. We cannot control the response of the external world. I’m merely a passenger on this journey as much as you are. If I went back in time and even wrote one single word differently, I would’ve killed a butterfly, and everything would be different. I might not be standing here today. Heck, you might not even exist. We have to live with the work we’ve created, as imperfect as they are. But without them, we wouldn’t have this moment now, so no, I wouldn’t do anything different.”
The boy raised his hand up again. “Do you wish to edit those books now that you’re a better writer?”
“If you make writing a part of your life, then you’ll know that one word will come after the next. I keep moving forward with my work, because there are new interesting things I’d like to write about. I can’t do that if I keep going back to edit my old pieces and try making them better. If I do that, then I will never finish another story. And there is no saying I would make it better. The Alien story is what it is, and I love it for that. I had a great experience writing it and I was very proud when I was done. I don’t wish to tarnish that experience. I don’t even want to read it really. Only in comparison with the Dinosaur book in terms of sales do I feel shameful about it, but otherwise, I’m grateful for it. If I go back to edit the Alien story, I might be messing with what was meant to be. I’m focusing on what I’m interested in writing next, my next project.”
The boy’s hand shot up again. “And that will be another Dinosaur book?”
John simpered and said, “Only time will tell…”
How do you feel about the Butterfly Effect of writing? Let me know in the comments below. And if you are thinking about revisiting an old project? Maybe it’s not a terrible idea. Check out this article about the 4 reasons to revisit old work.
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Watching my dog during the course of a day and we begin to understand what motivates him. Dogs aren’t pretending. They aren’t acting. There’s no mask or false facade.
Michael is a Boston terrier. He reminds me a lot about myself, as different as we are. I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that I raised him like this or if he developed his little idiosyncratic traits on his own. He can be stubborn, needy, but he is also full of wisdom.
I often look at my dog and wonder if he is living a happy life. Sometimes he looks at me with those sad puppy eyes.
What’s a good life for a dog? And if Michael could teach me something about living, what would he teach me?
Patience
Perhaps he wants to teach me to be patient. How complicated is it for a human to have a conversation with another human? It takes years before we could go beyond crying and screaming to get what we need. To think that we have to communicate with an animal… How do we do it, except to be patient? We are learning a language of our own. A language that involves words and bodies. It’s more a conversation of emotions than it is of context. A dog doesn’t know I’m late for an appointment or that I have a very important presentation coming up. All he knows is that I’m stressed.
How do I get this dog to eat his dog food? Is it the food he doesn’t like? Is he not hungry? Or does it simply want it in another vessel? Like speaking, we begin to form messages through patterns. The word “Treat” has somehow resonated with Michael. The same way I perk up whenever I hear someone talking about burgers. He’s good with “sit” too. “Come” is a little harder to understand. But be patient, Michael would tell me and don’t get frustrated when we start speaking in different languages.
Legacy
Michael doesn’t worry about his legacy. I try not to either. But I catch myself often wondering: What great works and ideas will I pass onto the next generation? I feel that thinking of the future in this way motivates me. But perhaps it causes me more stress than necessary. Why should I feel as though the future should be my responsibility? Why can’t I simply be this little bit of wonder that blinked briefly in time only greatly affecting those people closest to me? Can’t my legacy simply be like Michael’s to make those lives closest to his better?
There is a certain expectation for humans to contribute. As we’re now standing on the shoulder of giants of the past, we’re expected to lift up the next generation. However, it would be just as fine for me to make my primary goal to be good to those directly in my orbit as opposed to thinking of how I can greatly impact the whole universe.
Routines
When I was a kid, I dreamed of a life where every day would be unique. Every day full of new adventures. Such a life would never get boring. But that’s not a real life… that’s a storybook life, where all the dull bits are edited out. It is our routines that make up our lives — and so does a dog’s. All Michael wants is to have a routine that he enjoys and repeat it consistently for the rest of his life.
If you want to teach a dog tricks, you need to repeat it. You need to make learning a part of his routine. And so routines are the same for us. Yes, the dog may choose comfort but we can choose another objective for our routines. The key is that we must stick to it. What we choose for our routine is what makes up our lives.
Comfort
What’s most interesting about Michael is how he takes up space. He always seems to find the most comfortable spot, it’s an amazing skill. As pleasure seeking animals, it’s easy to understand the appeal of comfort. There is this epicurean concept of necessary desire and unnecessary desire. Michael best represents what it means to be happy by chasing the right desires. My dog focuses on treats he likes and comfy spots to sleep in, but he doesn’t get caught up with the desires that curse humans.
He doesn’t get caught in the need to rise in social class or make more money to impress friends. There is no status he wants aside from reaching a certain level of comfortable. If nothing is causing him physical pain, he’s as happy as a nugget.
Michael doesn’t consider some invisible objective, he lives in the physical realm, where all that matters is whether he wants to be on pillows or stretch out on the entire bed. I try to be like him and live parts of my day in the present world — I think the best way to accomplish this is to take a nap. That’s how you fully indulge in it. To simply take up space in the physical world.
When you find it hard to be understood, when you are thinking too far into the future, and when you are getting too worried about something you want and don’t need — think of Michael and remember that while you are freaking out. He’s taking a nap.
Maybe you can use a nap as well.
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If you like this article, you might consider buying me a mocha, it’s a nice treat when writing.
Elliot Chan 