We all like to think that we're better.

Better than our neighbor, better than our boss, better than our friends.

On the surface, that's the secret behind oh-so-many of us holding firm in the belief we're above average.

When asked, are you above average?

Ninety-four percent of us say, yes.

Ninety-four percent of us.

Above the fifty percent line.

It's the thought, that we don't have to be the best, we just have to be doing better than most, that grants us this delusion.

Our peace of mind, rather.

There are so very few people we see that we think highly of.

Who do you admire?

Truly.

A couple, at most.

Now.

Who do you look down on?

Really.

More than a couple, at least.

Our self-reports mean nothing.

Because at our cores, we are all afraid that we mean nothing.

We all present otherwise.

Of course we all present otherwise.

What else is life other than just a grand scheme?

Posturing. Endlessly.

Have you ever met anyone who doesn't?

Our hate, struggles, and stress would consume us if we didn't.

It's how we sleep at night.

Deeper, beneath the surface of our secret, is the final realization that our hold on this belief is weak.

Because in our hearts, we don't want to be better than others.

We want to be better than the perspective we fear other people have of us.

If we're afraid we'll die alone, that we'll leave nothing behind, we all just want to live a life we're satisfied with.

And how is satisfaction measured?

Above par, I would imagine.

And where is par?

Halve the lives on this planet, and see the top half.

That's where we'd like to be.

It's not too hard to understand.

And it's easy to believe in the lies we tell ourselves.

Why not study it?

It's fascinating.

I get it.

So, ask me where I think I rank.

And, of course I will tell you, 

Above that 50% margin.

But.

We could all take a note from that lost minority.

The six percent.

When asked, where do you place yourself?

They answered, below average.

What do you think it takes to give such an answer?

Humility, sure.

Clarity, certainly.

It's the best we can all hope for.

Because the world is a harsh place. 

But instead of seeing it, and everyone in it as the enemy and yourself as somehow better, I like to think that people like the six percent, live their life seeing the world the way it's meant to be seen.

Looking everywhere they see with rose-colored glasses.

Everywhere, except the mirror. 

Seeing themselves in the mix, instead of above it.

The very thing that makes them different, the six percent, is believing that they are not.

Noble.

And freeing, living like that.

The greatest sacrifice

In my own humble opinion

Is time

Time is something that can be given

But never taken back

Once its gone

Its gone for good

There's no rewind

No pause

No stop

There's only play

And so

Time is the most precious gift

That anyone can give

Yet its rarely ever given free

Because we never think we have enough

Not for ourselves

And for others as well

Time is but

A misconstrued concept

Turned into a product

Always highly in demand

But remember...

There's always someone out there

Who needs your time more than you

©CJ

There once was a man from Legume,

Whose farts could be heard from the moon!

When least you’d expect ’em,

They roared from his rectum

And howled like a raging typhoon!

If you die, it's over.

If you commit suicide, it really is the end.

There's a very profound difference between losing your life, and taking it.

Look, I'm agnostic. I don't believe in God, but I don't discount the possibility either.

So let me tell you my reason for not choosing to die.

When the universe seemingly asks me, what the fuck are you doing, it asks me in so many ways.

Terrible ways.

Ways you might have been demanded to endure, like abuse.

Like things being stolen from you.

Like never having enough.

Like being ignored.

Like losing, and feeling lost.

Like forgetting, and blaming.

Like hurting, and being hurt.

The question runs around, in a vicious cycle, disguised as misfortune.

In its pretense, it tricks you in terms of form.

But always, the question remains the same.

What the fuck are you doing?

Questioning you, to make you question yourself.

To make you wonder, to the extent of choosing to die.

You shouldn't.

Because whatever the reason, choosing the end means becoming a part of the cycle for someone else.

A question of pain, and suffering, and uncertainty.

That is what you will be remembered for.

So remember this.

As life asks you again and again this question, this unbelievably hard, important question, remember its purpose.

And choose your own.

Whether we're here for some reason beyond us, or not, we are here.

And all we can do is try.

In the face of it all, we try.

And in that way, we kind of defy circumstance.

Saying, fuck it, or fuck you, to our pain.

Our shame.

And our loneliness.

So when life happens to ask me,

What the fuck are you doing?

I say, my best.

Because it is all I can do.

That you, or anyone can do.

Such is life.