Crazy Existential Madness

I have no problem with crazy existential madness. Most of my favorite philosophers/thinkers have at one time or another be content with the existential label. Personally, I don't think existentialism died in the late 20th century, as some philosophy instructors would have you believe, but became part-and-parcel of everyday life to the level that it became an everyday strategy for, well, existence.

But sometimes, darn-it, crazy existential madness can give you an upset stomach and a sinking feeling in the parts behind your stomach, your chi if such a place exists. I had one of those moments earlier this evening and my chi is still doing crazy summersaults that are keeping me awake. I don't want to go into detail, but it was a familial/generational feeling that is likely to persist for quite sometime if I allow it to.

In truth, it has always been there, but it has gone unspoken for so long that, like most unspoken things, it felt as if it never really existed in the first place. Speaking it aloud gave it a life-force, an elan vital, that was as unexpected as it was uncomfortable. But it was necessary to say it aloud, just as it necessary that I now deal with it in whatever tactical ways I can.

One brilliant part of Little Miss Sunshine, which is otherwise filled with brilliant parts, is when Steve Carrell's character is talking about Proust on the dock. He says something to the effect that Proust came to realize that the best parts of his life were all the uncomfortable, agonizing parts of life. I believe in something like this myself, and hence I accept you, my crazy existential madness. I accept you, your challenges, and your rewards. I accept you. Bring it on!