Crates
New member
Hello. Before I introduce myself, I would like to preface everything with this statement: I do not believe that human beings can be happy. At least not in the popular sense of the term.
I am a twenty-one year old male living in Houston, Texas. Next semester I will complete my undergraduate degree in English literature at the University of Houston. After that I plan to earn my Master’s degree at the best school that will accept me. School has always been very important to me; I measure my worth as a person by my academic performance. Although I have tried to stop doing this, it is a difficult habit to end. When I was a young child I came to believe that my parents would only love me if I made good grades. They never seemed to love me unconditionally, no matter how much they said they did. In retrospect I realize that I probably believed this because my parents only showed me affection after I brought home a good grade. And even then only for a short while. Consequently, I grew up desperately striving to please my teachers, who I hoped would persuade my parents to love me. Parent-teacher conferences have been the happiest hours of my life. My teachers have always been my friends, but sadly, my only friends throughout my academic career. Peers have always either been indifferent toward me or outright hated me. I have never had a true friend.
In early adolescence I was viciously bullied by my elementary school classmates. The school I went to was public but recognized for its strong literary curriculum. My parents did what they could to get the school to end the bullying. They wrote letters that led to a few culprits being disciplined but also made everyone else resent me. My social experience deteriorated into virtual isolation. But this was not entirely negative. The rejection made me a stronger person. I learned to ignore my peers and dedicate myself to pleasing my parents, my only friends. In the long hours I spent alone on the playground I learned resilience. My own company became enjoyable. This inner strength has sustained me in my adulthood. Whenever I feel lonely and succumb to self-pity, I always find myself comforted by some deep sense of well-being.
In middle school and early high school I distinguished myself as an overachieving, super-committed student. My peers at both schools despised academic accomplishment. Most of them were interested in drugs and alcohol and sex. On several occasions I was told by middle school underperformers that I was nothing special. According to their logic anyone could do well if they tried, but it was not popular to try. So again I ignored my peers, who largely ignored me, except for those who bullied me. But I became the favorite of my teachers and enjoyed their praise. Although I was a model student, even the chief of the student council, I began to want friends. In my sophomore year of high school I diligently searched for a companion. My family joined a neighborhood church and I met other teenagers there. The ones my age, however, were little better than the ones at school. I spent my time there associating with guys who were almost in college. Although they appreciated my desire to do well in school, they really could not relate to me otherwise. What I really wanted was someone my one age with whom I could share common challenges. But I never met anyone like that.
High school and junior college were the most disappointing and least meaningful parts of my career. Although I worked hard throughout high school and graduated in the top five percent of my class, the accomplishment did not mean much to me. Maybe it should have. Texas students who graduate in the top ten percent of their public high school class are automatically admitted to any public state university. The prestigious University of Texas at Austin or Texas A&M University were open to me. But I was so thoroughly discouraged by my complete lack of social interaction and disappointed with the apathy of my peers, I chose to go to Houston Community College instead. The school had started an honors college recently, so I applied to that and was quickly accepted. I believed that where I went was unimportant. Everywhere was essentially the same: I always learned by myself. And learning made school tolerable. Intellectual discoveries were a joy. I spent high school mapping out a relatively comprehensive personal philosophy. Studying made life meaningful, but it disconnected me from everyone. People my age were uninterested. My parents were supportive, even of my decision to go to community college, but equally uninterested in participating in my intellectual development. So I matured alone.
And I am still maturing alone. In my junior year at the University of Houston I found myself wishing more ardently for friends. More than once I approached people, only to be flatly denied. My family had begun going to a new church five years before, and sometime between semesters I gave up on it. The college students there were completely unapproachable. Nothing I did seemed to motivate others to desire my friendship. Late in the year I joined clubs: student government and debate. Although I met people there, supposedly the intellectuals of the University, no one seemed interested in more than casual acquaintanceship. So the second semester of the year ended in failure for me. I again gave up on my peers. Yet another disappointment. But my relationships with my professors were extremely strong. One even secured a fellowship for me that summer doing research for him.
And it was in that summer that I made important discoveries about myself, the meaning of friendship, and the impossibility of happiness. I learned about personality psychology and realized that I am an introvert. Most of America is extroverted. Upon understanding the consequence of being an introvert in an extroverted culture, a lot of the persecution I had endured began to make sense. I suddenly knew that the frustration I always felt when I tried to socialize was due to my introversion. All my life I had been made to feel wrong or somehow immoral because I had no friends. My conscience tormented me because I was alone. And authority figures, all except for my parents, had always subtly hinted that I was wrong, that I needed others to somehow be complete. On a fundamental level I rejected this notion. The resilience of my playground days could not accept it. So I resolved to convince myself that being alone was okay. I told myself over and over again aloud that being alone is just as acceptable as having friends. This is an exercise that I still do, and it works for me. Loneliness is not nearly so severe when you undermine the stigma society attaches to it.
Another discovery radically changed my personal philosophy. Although I had studied Ancient Cynicism in passing while in high school, its doctrine of austerity suddenly seemed perfectly relevant to my life. I recalled the insistence of the school that man needs nothing in order to achieve virtue. Friendship is not required to be a good person. Unlike Aristotle, who insists that friendship is necessary, the Cynics maintain that it can even be a hindrance. And for me, that is exactly what it has been. I have never profited from trying to be friendly. All people have ever done is abuse or ignore me. Why should I reciprocate with increased efforts to make friends? American culture and its perverse Platonic underpinnings would insist that I have no choice. Friendship is a necessity. Without it, you cannot be happy. And there is the rub: Happiness. The Cynics believed in happiness too. They taught that it could be possessed even in the midst of abject poverty and complete friendlessness.
Everyone wants to be happy. But happiness cannot come from friendship. In fact, I believe friendship cannot even contribute to happiness. I believe that a person who is “happy” makes friends. Friendship is an effect of happiness. People want to be friends with happy people, or at least, people they perceive to be happy. What passes for happiness is often only a blind enthusiasm or purposeless zeal: it is a confidence that anyone can manufacture with practice. I do believe that people can be content with life, but this is as far as I can imagine something comparable to happiness. Hopefully what I have shared will help someone realize, as I had to, that what society promotes as the greatest good in life, happiness as the product of lots of friends and material stuff, is a false goal. It is imaginary. True “happiness” is contentment, or satisfaction. Be satisfied with what you have and what you do not have. If you do not have friends, do not think that you are missing out on something unbelievably great. That is the source of profound misery. And if you are an introvert, be proud of your introversion. Do not do things that make you uncomfortable for the sake of making friends. You will neither make friends nor be happy living that way.
Ultimately, I have learned to be content with my life. I still occasionally indulge in self-pity, but between my primitive resilience and Cynical attitude toward friendship, such indulgences are always short. I hope to meet people in the forums and learn about their experiences. I particularly wonder how others interpret these culturally ubiquitous concepts of friendship, happiness, and loneliness. Life stories fascinate me, and I do not mind reading long ones. (please excuse the length of mine.)
I am a twenty-one year old male living in Houston, Texas. Next semester I will complete my undergraduate degree in English literature at the University of Houston. After that I plan to earn my Master’s degree at the best school that will accept me. School has always been very important to me; I measure my worth as a person by my academic performance. Although I have tried to stop doing this, it is a difficult habit to end. When I was a young child I came to believe that my parents would only love me if I made good grades. They never seemed to love me unconditionally, no matter how much they said they did. In retrospect I realize that I probably believed this because my parents only showed me affection after I brought home a good grade. And even then only for a short while. Consequently, I grew up desperately striving to please my teachers, who I hoped would persuade my parents to love me. Parent-teacher conferences have been the happiest hours of my life. My teachers have always been my friends, but sadly, my only friends throughout my academic career. Peers have always either been indifferent toward me or outright hated me. I have never had a true friend.
In early adolescence I was viciously bullied by my elementary school classmates. The school I went to was public but recognized for its strong literary curriculum. My parents did what they could to get the school to end the bullying. They wrote letters that led to a few culprits being disciplined but also made everyone else resent me. My social experience deteriorated into virtual isolation. But this was not entirely negative. The rejection made me a stronger person. I learned to ignore my peers and dedicate myself to pleasing my parents, my only friends. In the long hours I spent alone on the playground I learned resilience. My own company became enjoyable. This inner strength has sustained me in my adulthood. Whenever I feel lonely and succumb to self-pity, I always find myself comforted by some deep sense of well-being.
In middle school and early high school I distinguished myself as an overachieving, super-committed student. My peers at both schools despised academic accomplishment. Most of them were interested in drugs and alcohol and sex. On several occasions I was told by middle school underperformers that I was nothing special. According to their logic anyone could do well if they tried, but it was not popular to try. So again I ignored my peers, who largely ignored me, except for those who bullied me. But I became the favorite of my teachers and enjoyed their praise. Although I was a model student, even the chief of the student council, I began to want friends. In my sophomore year of high school I diligently searched for a companion. My family joined a neighborhood church and I met other teenagers there. The ones my age, however, were little better than the ones at school. I spent my time there associating with guys who were almost in college. Although they appreciated my desire to do well in school, they really could not relate to me otherwise. What I really wanted was someone my one age with whom I could share common challenges. But I never met anyone like that.
High school and junior college were the most disappointing and least meaningful parts of my career. Although I worked hard throughout high school and graduated in the top five percent of my class, the accomplishment did not mean much to me. Maybe it should have. Texas students who graduate in the top ten percent of their public high school class are automatically admitted to any public state university. The prestigious University of Texas at Austin or Texas A&M University were open to me. But I was so thoroughly discouraged by my complete lack of social interaction and disappointed with the apathy of my peers, I chose to go to Houston Community College instead. The school had started an honors college recently, so I applied to that and was quickly accepted. I believed that where I went was unimportant. Everywhere was essentially the same: I always learned by myself. And learning made school tolerable. Intellectual discoveries were a joy. I spent high school mapping out a relatively comprehensive personal philosophy. Studying made life meaningful, but it disconnected me from everyone. People my age were uninterested. My parents were supportive, even of my decision to go to community college, but equally uninterested in participating in my intellectual development. So I matured alone.
And I am still maturing alone. In my junior year at the University of Houston I found myself wishing more ardently for friends. More than once I approached people, only to be flatly denied. My family had begun going to a new church five years before, and sometime between semesters I gave up on it. The college students there were completely unapproachable. Nothing I did seemed to motivate others to desire my friendship. Late in the year I joined clubs: student government and debate. Although I met people there, supposedly the intellectuals of the University, no one seemed interested in more than casual acquaintanceship. So the second semester of the year ended in failure for me. I again gave up on my peers. Yet another disappointment. But my relationships with my professors were extremely strong. One even secured a fellowship for me that summer doing research for him.
And it was in that summer that I made important discoveries about myself, the meaning of friendship, and the impossibility of happiness. I learned about personality psychology and realized that I am an introvert. Most of America is extroverted. Upon understanding the consequence of being an introvert in an extroverted culture, a lot of the persecution I had endured began to make sense. I suddenly knew that the frustration I always felt when I tried to socialize was due to my introversion. All my life I had been made to feel wrong or somehow immoral because I had no friends. My conscience tormented me because I was alone. And authority figures, all except for my parents, had always subtly hinted that I was wrong, that I needed others to somehow be complete. On a fundamental level I rejected this notion. The resilience of my playground days could not accept it. So I resolved to convince myself that being alone was okay. I told myself over and over again aloud that being alone is just as acceptable as having friends. This is an exercise that I still do, and it works for me. Loneliness is not nearly so severe when you undermine the stigma society attaches to it.
Another discovery radically changed my personal philosophy. Although I had studied Ancient Cynicism in passing while in high school, its doctrine of austerity suddenly seemed perfectly relevant to my life. I recalled the insistence of the school that man needs nothing in order to achieve virtue. Friendship is not required to be a good person. Unlike Aristotle, who insists that friendship is necessary, the Cynics maintain that it can even be a hindrance. And for me, that is exactly what it has been. I have never profited from trying to be friendly. All people have ever done is abuse or ignore me. Why should I reciprocate with increased efforts to make friends? American culture and its perverse Platonic underpinnings would insist that I have no choice. Friendship is a necessity. Without it, you cannot be happy. And there is the rub: Happiness. The Cynics believed in happiness too. They taught that it could be possessed even in the midst of abject poverty and complete friendlessness.
Everyone wants to be happy. But happiness cannot come from friendship. In fact, I believe friendship cannot even contribute to happiness. I believe that a person who is “happy” makes friends. Friendship is an effect of happiness. People want to be friends with happy people, or at least, people they perceive to be happy. What passes for happiness is often only a blind enthusiasm or purposeless zeal: it is a confidence that anyone can manufacture with practice. I do believe that people can be content with life, but this is as far as I can imagine something comparable to happiness. Hopefully what I have shared will help someone realize, as I had to, that what society promotes as the greatest good in life, happiness as the product of lots of friends and material stuff, is a false goal. It is imaginary. True “happiness” is contentment, or satisfaction. Be satisfied with what you have and what you do not have. If you do not have friends, do not think that you are missing out on something unbelievably great. That is the source of profound misery. And if you are an introvert, be proud of your introversion. Do not do things that make you uncomfortable for the sake of making friends. You will neither make friends nor be happy living that way.
Ultimately, I have learned to be content with my life. I still occasionally indulge in self-pity, but between my primitive resilience and Cynical attitude toward friendship, such indulgences are always short. I hope to meet people in the forums and learn about their experiences. I particularly wonder how others interpret these culturally ubiquitous concepts of friendship, happiness, and loneliness. Life stories fascinate me, and I do not mind reading long ones. (please excuse the length of mine.)
