My Old Religion

I was selling jewellery at a stand when an Indian auntie asked, “What do you do?”

Part of me still wants to give the conventional, respectable answer. Explain my role. Establish that I’m doing something worthwhile.

My old religion was conventional success, and it had very clear instructions.

Be the best. Be the achiever. Be successful. Be the smartest in the room.

I didn’t think of it as a belief system. It was just what I was supposed to do with my life.

Now I’m questioning those rules. I’m also noticing how easy it is to start writing another set.

Apparently I still know the old script.

But another part of me wants to make a joke and explain what I actually enjoy.

“I write things for fun,” I told her.

That’s the intention, anyway. I’ve started writing about stupidity. Philosophy, psychology, comedy. “Comedic philosophical comedy” was one attempt at explaining it, which suggests the explanation needs some work.

“But we can’t rely on that for income, so we sell jewellery.”

She laughed.

I like that as an answer. Something I enjoy, and something that helps pay for life.

I think enjoyment is a better way to describe what I do than how economically valuable I am.

What interests me? What do I like making? What do I actually want to spend time on?

Those are things I’d like to tell someone about myself.

But the respectable answer still has a pull.

When I think about school, the phrase that comes up is “nurturing excellence”.

What a fucking religion.

I absorbed an idea that being excellent was what made me worth something. Being clever. Being ahead. Somewhere in there was: if I’m not excellent, I am nothing.

That’s a lot to carry into a conversation about what I do for a living.

I feel the economic version of it too. How valuable am I? What do I earn? What position do I occupy? I feel this particularly strongly around the Indian idea of being successful.

And when somebody asks what I do, part of me still wants to produce the answer that fits.

Selling jewellery is real work. The business needs to make money. Writing something funny doesn’t automatically mean Amazon royalties are going to pay for my life.

I know that.

Apparently the things I now believe sit somewhere around existentialism, absurdism and Taoism.

I haven’t read all those philosophies in detail. Some of it is just where I seem to have landed. And to me, of course, it feels right.

I catch myself saying, “Listen to everything, believe nothing.”

There’s the first commandment.

Fuck’s sake. I’m questioning one religion and already drafting the rules for another.

I made this little story with AI.

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🦴 The Great Monkey Realisation 🐒

Caveman born.

Caveman looks around.

Other monkeys chasing shiny rocks.

Caveman thinks, “Ah. Shiny rock important.”

Caveman spends 30 years collecting shiny rocks.

Caveman gets big rock.

Caveman unhappy.

Caveman discovers philosophy.

Caveman spends 10 years studying why rocks don’t bring happiness.

Caveman now thinks other monkeys are stupid.

Caveman becomes enlightened caveman.

Caveman starts YouTube channel explaining why all other monkeys are asleep.

Other monkeys subscribe.

Caveman has invented new tribe.

Caveman makes three-hour video explaining how all monkeys are conformists.

Caveman watches own video.

Caveman realises he is also monkey.

Caveman laughs.

Caveman puts down shiny rock.

Caveman goes outside.

Sun shining. Birds singing.

Caveman scratches bum.

“Ah. Monkey business. Me monkey too. Me play.”

🤣🦴