Starting to think

During the intermittent bouts of melancholy that arise regularly enough, I search for some way to restore some sense of order.  Or at least to distract myself for long enough for the brain chemicals to find equilibrium.

And so it is during times like these that I may be found meditating at the top of a mountain, for example.  Not for very long, admittedly, but usually for at least for as long as it takes to become distracted by itches or (mercifully unrelatedly) a need to pee.  Since this is typically of the order of seconds rather than days, it is insufficiently long to achieve orgasmic enlightenment.  But it is nevertheless enough of a break from numbed normality to achieve some form of minor epiphany.

Usually it's the same epiphany each time - namely that my internet-addled attention span is of little use for either silent-being or deep-pondering - but even this feels worthwhile.

In any case, the characteristic feeling during these times is a consuming sadness, but conspicuously not a deep depression.  Rather, I find myself curiously observing my sad thought-processes, wondering how their power might be harnessed for Good.  If they could, that might be extremely useful.  Like some kind of Personal Perpetual Motion Machine of Melancholy, which could not be stopped but shouldn't be anyway.

As this develops, I typically resolve to remain in the state of contemplation: dusting the world with a patiently light touch and gentle speech.  The sun pokes up over the horizon of the soul's dark night, and with this renewed sense of humanity burgeoning the melancholy fades.  So I start reading a book or watching TV, and eventually return to frittering away weeks pointing my head at websites I'm not even interested in reading.  A few misplaced leaden words clunk on the head of an unfortunate conversation partner, and the thought some permanent improvement might have been made falters upon a realisation of reality.

This most recent epiphanic time might be no different, and least in this regard.  But it seems at least a little different, since it has raised a question that is disinclined to leave me alone, even when I feel reasonably socially functional again.  Inconveniently.

In essence, it appears suddenly inescapable that I have somehow managed to avoid thinking for the overwhelming majority of 29 years.  And, unless I make the choice to change this, it will certainly continue this way.  Indefinitely.

Amidst the decent, evil, multicoloured and inventively moustachioed plethora of Petes to be found in this rich multiverse, there must be at least one of them living in consistency with considered moral principles.  But it has hitherto certainly not been this one.  And this I would like to change.

There are an abundance of areas in which I unquestioningly meander along  familiar paths, and an abundance of evidence that these paths are not morally right, and perhaps not even morally acceptable.  They are just broad and helpfully filled with distractions, and the evidence that speaks against them is conveniently easy to ignore.  To take three examples, at the time of writing this:

• I don't give to charity, and have never really done so in any regular, systematic or truly generous way.  A reduction in grand possessions in the present is not a particular concern, but rather having no particular clue about my future plans makes saving an attractively safe option.  And now that I live in Germany, the thought of having to figure out how to do it sensibly and jeopardise my otherwise simple tax involvement is extremely off-putting.  (I do pay church tax, a curious phenomenon, but that was not so much through conscious decision as because the lady in the Einwohnermeldeamt was much more quick-witted than I early in the morning.)

• I walk past the homeless people found on the streets of Heidelberg because I don't know what else to do.  I don't know what the consequences of stopping, giving money or talking would be, but I suspect they would feel bad - so I do nothing.  (I do actually recall one act of very minor street generosity, but it ended in the guy swearing at me.)

• I eat meat because it fits in with my three recipes and maximises the palatable options in the university canteen.  Otherwise, the main options are bread, lettuce and potatoes in some form.  (And there's no guarantee the lettuce doesn't contain some form of meatiness.)

This is not a place to proudly declare goodness, and my ethical commitments pretty much follow my inclinations, i.e. they don't tend to take the slightest additional effort.  But I am uncomfortably aware that, were I to consider these things and many others, I suspect that I would not be morally at ease with them.  Or, at least, I may be morally at ease with them, but I do not know for sure because I have avoided the awkward prospect of having to change my behaviour, simply by adopting the wimpish strategy of not considering them at all.

So this blog exists mostly as a place to think aloud.  Or written down.  Which will hopefully give me the self-discipline to stick with it, and not revert immediately back to an unexamined, socratically worthless life.  It will most likely be self-absorbed, naive and in places ultimately embarrassing.  But I trust that these are not inconsistent with it being worthwhile.