#8: Money, art and love — the way out?

So, a few theories have been brewing in my head on dealing with my existential crisis. I will share them here, but first, a peek into my state of mind.

Yesterday was brilliant. I went to Dhan Mill, my favourite new place in Delhi. Quick Brown Fox serves damn good coffee. The food is pricey, but it's good, too. My friend joined me, meaning he heard my existential angst and I heard his dating dilemmas.

Then we went to the Nature Morte art gallery where a beautiful exhibition was displayed. Later in the evening, we attended a classical music performance which felt other-worldly — especially so because it had a very intimate setting, just 30 people or so. Then we thought we'd drive around for a bit and went to Qutub Minar, but it was shut, and nothing was visible, so he dropped me at the metro, and an hour later, I was home. I had a good sleep, and then woke up again, with all the existentially dysfunctional thoughts.

I did the mandatory work stuff: edited a story, spoke on a call, and I've become such a good actor that everyone who speaks with me just can't know that I really don't care about anything I am doing. I am just doing the things I'm supposed to do because not doing so would not be nice.

Meanwhile, I tried flirting with this woman — the ultimate Sisyphean task — and I do this despite knowing nothing would happen. And heck, I don't even know how to flirt. Which basically explains the non-existence of my dating life. LOL. All playful stuff only—nothing to worry about.

Onto my theories. I'll again start with stating the problem and then propose what seem like possible ways to think to get through this:

One: Imagine a stage. That stage is called life. On that stage, everyone is an actor. That's living humans. If you're not on the stage, you're dead. Meaning you either act on the stage or you die. And because I just feel like living is fundamentally better than dying, the only option I have is to participate in this stage play.

It would have been amazing had there been no acting—and everyone was just existing as they are. So I wouldn't have to confront this existential burden. But I was born in 1993—by the time modern civilisation was already in place. So I don't really have a choice here. It is what it is.

So I've got to choose a role to play. I have to be on the stage, and if it really gets to that, I can choose to just stand in the corner, like a tree, and just be, without actively doing much in the world. It will feel odd because most people are spread across the stage, doing things. So I'll feel standing in the corner may not be right. But that's also a choice. The thing is, a choice has to be made. There is no other option.

Two: The problem is that I can't make a choice now. And that's because I have absolutely no basis to figure how one choice compares with another. No benchmarks. This is the cost of being an atheist (so no higher order) and an existentialist (life has no meaning; everyone creates their own meaning). So I can't compare what is a better life if I were given two options. In other philosophies, you can often find some guidance about the "right thing" or "how to be" in the world. Nothing in my worldview. Like, I had this really insane thought today that there's no difference between a guy who is working hard to find a cure for cancer and the guy in Punjabi Bagh who just runs his family business and eats Chole Bhature. Who is one to say one life is better than another? On what basis?

The paralysis stems from the fact that the very foundations of my beliefs, values, and understandings that gave my life meaning or structure are now all up for questioning. I am kind of disillusioned.

I mean...the day before yesterday, the government raided houses of some journalists in Delhi on some flimsy basis, and my colleagues were outraging and calling out the government. Yesterday, there was a protest march in Delhi. A few months ago, I would have definitely gone to this protest and posted on my Insta something like "free press matters" or something. Yesterday, I didn't. I actually felt nothing. I'm not feeling anything now. (What kind of person have I become?)

Note: As I've said before, I'm doing okay, just openly processing and sharing thoughts, but there's some nauseating sense that just doesn't leave me. So I need to do something. Amid all this, I observed what were the things that make sense.

One: If nothing makes any sense, why don't I just write code, build some great asset that makes me damn good money? Trust me when I say this: money has never been a driving force for things I do. It was always some other thing that pushed me. But because now everything feels meaningless, I got this thought, why don't I just make money for now?

I also have a product idea—which I can code and run all by myself, and I don't even need to raise any money. I can code it in my writing room in the mountains. It can help me in two ways.

First, code means staying away from people—how amazing, find refuge in code! Second, if I can pull this off, then I'll have the money to do what I feel like doing when I'm out of this crisis phase.

I'm pretty sure I'll exit, and I'll be better off for having considered my values and priorities in life, and then, perhaps, I may also have the finances to do whatever I want. Just a dream scenario. But quite actionable. Six hours of focused coding every day. Let me think about it more.

Two: Yesterday, when I was at the art gallery and at the music performance, in those moments, I didn't have any existential thoughts. I just loved the art—it just does something to me, though I don't understand what. I do know that consuming more art makes life so much richer. And when I consume art—and this includes great literature and great movies—I'm not thinking about stuff like what's the purpose of it all. I just get lost in them and see what the artist is trying to say. Or just enjoy the aesthetics of it. I need more art in my life.

Three: Perhaps, I need a life filled with more love. And no, I don't just mean romantic love. I think about love from friends, love for my readers, and love for even strangers. I know so much ink has been spilled on what love is, and I don't really understand what it is, but my current understanding is that love is kindness. Love, of all forms, requires you to think about more than yourself. It's a really beautiful feeling.

Every time I feel I'm in crisis mode, and someone messages me or emails me saying my writing spoke to them, and how touched they felt or useful they found it, I just suddenly feel alive—like damn, there are people in this world who feel that my existence means something for them, however temporarily?

And I feel the same when I make sure I am available for people in my life when they need me. I don't have to force it, and I don't ask "what is the purpose of doing this"—I just do it. It's innate. So maybe more of this.

Sometimes, I have this feeling that all of us—members of the human race—are at some level asking some of these deep questions, and we have no one else to turn to. We are here for each other, sharing the existential burden, and we should make each other feel that there is no burden. We will go through this together and do something that adds collective meaning to our lives.

So yeah: more money, more art, and more love—maybe, just maybe, more of this will help me exit the meaninglessness phase.