Three to a seat.
I've been playing a strange game with myself, something of a wild rodeo contest between my sensibilities and my inner brat; thoughtfulness and impulse. It happens that in the intervals between my doing things, there's always a moment's balance on a precipice of decision-making where I steer myself towards my next activity. Traditionally, my capricious, gluttonous, immediate-gratification side gets to determine what that next activity is going to be, and as I might expect, it typically demands whatever its limited imagination determines to be the most rapid route to instantaneous and bombastic sensory pleasure.
This really isn't wholesome; it just leaves me spinning in an animalistic cycle of ridiculous, mechanical hedonism. So lately I've been sparring with my inner brat. It's a game where there's never any clear winner, only momentary dominance of one side over the other. It goes like this:
I'm bored. I want to play a video game! Okay, let's do some homework then.
I'm hungry. I want a cookie! Time to get the salad bowl out, I see.
I'm restless. I want to waste time on the internet! I'm feeling a little cloudy; maybe some meditation will clear things up.
There are distinct phases in the warfare. First we start where we've always been, in a no-man's-land of infantile self-service. At the point of being disgusted with myself, I introduce the disciplinarian, and for a time I can maintain the dominance of that side of me, fueled by the novelty of the situation and the actualizing thrill of the prospect of self-improvement (this is why people feel better going on diets as disparate as vegan and Atkins - in all cases they "know" they're doing themselves good, and they can draw themselves through the hunger pangs and cravings, fueled by that self-denying altruism). I can maintain for a few days my power over impulse, living intentionally and clearly, actually thinking for a time of what needs to be done, and then doing it, as simple as that. It's a marvelous feeling, in between the meditation and the quiet busywork and the thoughtful chewing of vegetables, discovering yourself intact at the end of an ages-long maelstrom of torrid thoughts, out into a clear and calm space where you have control of yourself for the first time in a very long time. Or perhaps like recovering from an arduously long seizure.
But eventually the rush of autonomy that self-denial creates wanes with its novelty, and all the time the spoiled brat that I've gagged and bound has been building up steam, taking greater and greater offense as temptations come into view and are exorcised by the better angel of my nature rather than taken full, salacious advantage as they ought (to him) to be. Eventually I begin to wonder what all this peace and quiet in my life is moving me towards; it feels nice, it feels right, but it doesn't press my buttons the way I've been so used to getting them pressed for so long. The brat eventually deposes my sensible side, breaks free of his bonds. Sugar! /b/! Stumbleupon! Aimless pleasure seeking! A mindless orgy of dopaminergic diversions. And so it goes back to square one, and so a time passes when my inner ascetic takes to the background to restore his strength, before the next round begins.
Is this struggle better than surrendering myself entirely to the whims and stupid desires of my animal brain? Logic says it's got to be better than nothing, but it feels as if I've just traded one sort of stagnancy for another, slightly more elaborate than the original but in no way more useful, or purposeful, or driven by any higher teleology.
This really isn't wholesome; it just leaves me spinning in an animalistic cycle of ridiculous, mechanical hedonism. So lately I've been sparring with my inner brat. It's a game where there's never any clear winner, only momentary dominance of one side over the other. It goes like this:
I'm bored. I want to play a video game! Okay, let's do some homework then.
I'm hungry. I want a cookie! Time to get the salad bowl out, I see.
I'm restless. I want to waste time on the internet! I'm feeling a little cloudy; maybe some meditation will clear things up.
There are distinct phases in the warfare. First we start where we've always been, in a no-man's-land of infantile self-service. At the point of being disgusted with myself, I introduce the disciplinarian, and for a time I can maintain the dominance of that side of me, fueled by the novelty of the situation and the actualizing thrill of the prospect of self-improvement (this is why people feel better going on diets as disparate as vegan and Atkins - in all cases they "know" they're doing themselves good, and they can draw themselves through the hunger pangs and cravings, fueled by that self-denying altruism). I can maintain for a few days my power over impulse, living intentionally and clearly, actually thinking for a time of what needs to be done, and then doing it, as simple as that. It's a marvelous feeling, in between the meditation and the quiet busywork and the thoughtful chewing of vegetables, discovering yourself intact at the end of an ages-long maelstrom of torrid thoughts, out into a clear and calm space where you have control of yourself for the first time in a very long time. Or perhaps like recovering from an arduously long seizure.
But eventually the rush of autonomy that self-denial creates wanes with its novelty, and all the time the spoiled brat that I've gagged and bound has been building up steam, taking greater and greater offense as temptations come into view and are exorcised by the better angel of my nature rather than taken full, salacious advantage as they ought (to him) to be. Eventually I begin to wonder what all this peace and quiet in my life is moving me towards; it feels nice, it feels right, but it doesn't press my buttons the way I've been so used to getting them pressed for so long. The brat eventually deposes my sensible side, breaks free of his bonds. Sugar! /b/! Stumbleupon! Aimless pleasure seeking! A mindless orgy of dopaminergic diversions. And so it goes back to square one, and so a time passes when my inner ascetic takes to the background to restore his strength, before the next round begins.
Is this struggle better than surrendering myself entirely to the whims and stupid desires of my animal brain? Logic says it's got to be better than nothing, but it feels as if I've just traded one sort of stagnancy for another, slightly more elaborate than the original but in no way more useful, or purposeful, or driven by any higher teleology.