Nietzsche argues we ought to die proudly and before our lives get too pathetic. I wish I could take his advice, but I am unfortunately a fighter. Well, when I make the choice I’m a fighter. A lot of times I fall into the category of the people doing that third thing. The people who just let things happen to them. The people who see the planet burning, but don’t seem to care or wonder what they could do about it. The fire is headed straight for your house, babe, don’t you think you should jump into the bucket brigade?
Becoming a fighter is acknowledging you’re probably going to get hurt and knowing you are going to hurt others. The firefighters will kill the fire. The researcher will give the rat cancer. You’ll have to fall in love again and again, not because your life is full of love, but because love keeps leaving your life. Fighting isn’t pretty, and for better or worse I love it when people call me pretty.
Last night at a Christmas party, a woman started critiquing my outfit with veiled compliments. Flight has its place too. Not every evil deserves to be hit.
Everything in my body except my brain is telling me to fight right now. Everything in my body is telling me to buy the organic produce. My brain knows I can’t afford it. It’s a reoccurring source of frustration and failure for me. We know what to do, but it’s not gonna feel right. It’s gonna feel uncomfortable like a missed opportunity, a crime, or something weirdly sexual on the internet. What do I do with that? How do I act morally when immorality is so easy to slip into and feels so good?
I am a fighter, he writes on his blog to manifest into truth. Now is now. Later will be different, but who cares about later?
Only fight what and who is in front of you.
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