April 20, 2022
Rambling again
Reading Updike is like slow suicide. Every line of "Rabbit, Run" cuts precisely into my throat, making me feel suffocated, like the fear of a plane crash before takeoff. But I am crazily obsessed with this clear and dull sense of descent, unable to stop flipping through the pages.
This addiction is like putting a piece of explosive popcorn in your mouth. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you can't help but put another piece in. It's so salty and fragrant, so crispy when you take a bite, and your mouth is filled with saliva. So many toxins are consumed, accumulating in the blood. There is a greasy feeling between the throat and teeth, and the taste buds on the tongue, once sensitive, become dull, only feeling a continuous numbness. At this moment, I hate myself, but the taste is still good.
The opinions of others and the resistance of reality don't affect me much, but a thin little book can destroy me. If Updike had only written "Rabbit, Run," then Harry, my external projection, my pursuit of personal freedom, wouldn't have become distorted.
Seeing Harry escape from his family is like Harry hearing about the Dalai Lama's escape from Tibet on a bike radio broadcast. In that instant, it felt like receiving "guidance from a lighthouse," with a religious meaning.
I don't need to know the outcome of the escape. What I want is to rationalize the act of running away, to have an instinctive impulse towards life, and to have my self-awareness confirmed. What I need is personal consciousness that can be put into action, even if it is blind. I need that kind of self-inflation, that feeling of self-existence.
"Rabbit Is Rich" tells the story of how as external conditions improve, inner life gradually deteriorates. It's like a lampshade that almost extinguished my passion for freedom and almost destroyed my motivation.
We try to redeem our freedom with the money we sell it for. The premise for this cycle to repeat is certainty. Under the certainty of wealth accumulation, our previous generation exercises self-restraint, moderation, and delayed gratification, and then uses the accumulated wealth to support the next generation's migration to more developed areas, allowing the next generation to repeat this cycle. Understanding the origins and development of the economic ship can deepen our understanding of the world, but after understanding the origins and development, whether we have the confidence to continue investing is a huge question mark.
I suddenly realized that this feeling is the eve of decline. It is an external feeling, with people around me grasping visible driftwood, the reachable and large enough driftwood. This is different from the mood of our parents' generation, hoping that the next generation can "hold onto someone's thigh."
Our country is in a crisis of confidence. Young people doubt whether "hard work creates a better future," the middle class is afraid that their comfortable lives cannot be sustained, and the elderly worry about the cost of support. Concern for national identity is a big issue in my life because it relates to my motivation for pursuing personal freedom. What could be a greater disaster than losing oneself?
I am inevitably falling into another crisis of thought, which is internally eroding my beliefs and destroying my motivation. I only have eros, not agape; I can't control myself very well, my mind is impulsive and extreme, and a bit despicable. I admit all of this. I am starting to pity the passionate ambition of Kalanick, which is destroying my eros. I am exposing the negativity of my values.
I am breaking down the fundamental aspects of myself and then comforting myself by saying, "Why question something good? Just eliminate impurities and dangerous factors from the good things, and I am eliminating worries."
I hope the rabbit, before leaving, turns back to me and says, "I can tell you, it's not bad."