Herrington: Being Irrational

Chris Herrington, Contributing Writer

     Okay, so some people are a little irrational. What is a little insanity among friends? Among strangers, it can be a little disconcerting, but then, in its own way, comical. I love it when people ask us to hurry up while we are toting a double arm full of stuff.. Then there is the ever-hilarious trying to open the door with your foot and just as you barely get it ajar, some egghead comes by and slithers through the small space you’ve made, not even bothering to help you negotiate the door yourself or saying thanks as he whisks by. Tootles!

     The real irrationality is our own expectation. We expect to be heard. We expect to be listened to. We expect to be appreciated. We expect to be acknowledged. We expect respect. We expect others to appreciate our efforts. We expect them to say thanks. Oh, course, we always do those things, and it goes without saying that we meet the expectations of everyone around us. Those other people were raised by wolves, of course!

     What then is the nature of the motivation that drives us to do the things we do? Of course it is pure altruism, right? We do not do it for the pay. We don’t want any thanks. We just pull back in line and let 50 cars go in front of us because we have nowhere to go today and it does not matter if we are late or ever even get where we are going. What do we care? We are selfless and giving to a fault!

     The fault, when we finally get to it, is rage. Moral outrage! The nerve of some people; give them a mile and they take the whole beach! It is enough to make you a raving lunatic, it does. Hmmmmm. Raving lunatic you are. Given to fits of speculation and hypersensitivity!

     We want to see the logic in the world, but then we ourselves are given to fits of illogic and irrationality. What can we expect of others when they don’t follow our sage advice; we usually don’t’ take it ourselves, so what can we expect? Maybe we could do something about that, but we probably won’t. We will continue on, complaining that the world is crazy, and in the mean time we continue to drink the Kool-aide.

     Okay, so we are a little irrational sometimes, everyone is, right? What is a little insanity among friends anyways? We create entire empires in our lives to support the ideas we have concocted in order to illustrate and rationalize our emotionally charged holographic projections of reality, and yet the proof we have that these things are real and are in anyway expressive of something substantial is little more than fairy dust and wishful thinking, although we are very sure that those who disagree with us are naïve and simplistic in their own constructions.

     We spend our lives working out our truths, and yet when it comes to the advice we give, we never took it when we were young and we are totally aghast the young do not see the beauty in our understanding to clearly see the secrets of the universe. Which is perfectly in keeping with the trend that began when we were young where we had the real secrets of the universe and people told us we were too naïve to understand anything, especially what it meant to fall in love. We must have been born too late, or before our time, or in the wrong century, or just too far from the universe where our soul was formed. In any case, we know that we understand that we have analyzed what we have applied and have synthesized a prudent examination of what we need to do to evaluate what is best in the world for everyone although we never quite get the story straight for ourselves.

     Okay, so the world is irrational. What is a little insanity among friends? Okay, so we are not all friends. Well, okay, so we are not even on the same page. Okay, so no one is perfect except me and you and lately I have been very concerned about you. Really. I can see through you like I have x-ray vision. I can see your defenses, your insecurities, your obsessions, your frailties, your faults, and your fetishes. Oh, yeah. The language tells the whole story. Everything you think or even dream of is written out word by word in the essays, poems, stories, movies, and music you so addictively write, read, or listen to. You give it all away. There is no getting away from the truth of it. You tattle on yourself all the time; in fact you are doing it right now. Your thoughts reveal you. Your words decode your motives. Your methods and objectives are written on the things you surround yourself with, and your possessions tell your story. I can tell what you eat by your shopping cart at the supermarket, and just so the rest of your life lays you wide open, filleted like a fish on the open table, the intimate bits all strewn, alive and pulsing. See, I can see it in your raised brow. The smirk on your face. The gestures, the facial images, the hand strokes, the phrenology of it all. The topological and numerological expressions of your every breath. And I’m the same to you, open and without pretense or performance for those who are able to read my every signature.

     So, what is a little irrationality among the irrational? What is the point of our even trying to hide ourselves? It seems moot. Except that there is the pretense that we are getting by with it. And we do try, for a while. But it’s in the script. The cards get played. And the truth wins out. The tell all books are published. And then we will all know anyway. So, what’s the point? It’s just not rational.


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