Leviathan; or, Life is Gut

I am at once a dreamer and a realist; an optimist and a pessimist.


I claim — and rather earnestly, in fact — to expect the worst out of people and yet still find myself disappointed time and again. This, I realize, is proof that I've failed in my darkest objectives.


And it is this contradiction — this duality of my nature — that led to the purchase and subsequent use of a polished metal "Life is Good" keychain.

It is small, and subtle: the brand etched on one side of the nickel-sized medallion; and a solitary daisy on the other. I have long been a customer of this brand, an admirer of the expressions and graphics that mark their attire.

I own, for example, a t-shirt with a rendering of hiking boots on the front. And underneath those: "Not all who wander are lost."

And there's the one with a rolled up sleeping bag and a campfire ("Bed and Breakfast") and another with a lone individual hiking a cartoon mountain with a sun setting behind it ("Entertainment Center").

I like these images; these expressions. I like seeing my hobbies and perceptions plastered onto a comfy t-shirt or cute (but practical) handbag. And yet: I am entirely and undeniably conflicted by the mark that defines them.

Life most certainly is not good, I think, reminded immediately of the tiger philosopher (if I may take him out of context for a moment).


Life, he said, is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."


And that, I think, is more like it.



And yet: I won't hesitate to claim that, at times, life is beautiful beyond words.



Precious, even.


And others: it is precisely as Hobbes defined it in the natural state.


It is solitary. Poor. Nasty. Brutish. And — perhaps most importantly — short.


Because no matter how difficult our lives or numerous our troubles in this world, few of us want to leave it. And not because we've just been enjoying ourselves so damn much, but because for so many the known misery is better than the unknown hereafter.


And there is always the promise of tomorrow, we think. Yes, tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll treat my family better; I'll wake up first thing and run three miles. Tomorrow I will eat healthy. Tomorrow I won't waste a second. Tomorrow I will start looking for a new job. Tomorrow I'll start my novel. Tomorrow I'll volunteer.

Tomorrow I will seize every moment, and tap to the living, breathing dance of life.


And that, I think, is the crux of our quandary. We can't stand the idea of leaving this life before we actually start living it.


But how can we, when there is traffic? When there are bills and middle fingers and scowls and unreturned phone calls?


And how, for the love of God, can we look up


where the mere force of gravity is pulling us down?



No, no. Life is not good.


But it does, I admit, have its moments. And regardless of how long I exist on this planet, the fact remains that I will never have enough of them.