Philosophy at Ungodly Hours - I

It's one of the curiosities of life, I think: the most important things - the ones we really cannot do without at the end of the day - aren't rocket science. And because they are not rocket science, we don't know what to do about them.

Because, honestly now, who can't handle rocket science? You may know all about it, or something, or nothing at all. But even if it is devilishly complicated, it can be done. In fact, the more complicated it is, the more fascinating it must be. Simply because there is a pattern to follow, and a result to expect. You can get someone to teach you, or you can go the trial-and-error way. What do you risk, at the very most...a damaged workstation, maybe, or a laboratory that exploded in on itself?

And then there is the irony that characterises our species: we long for simplicity, but we positively adore complication. Unless something wasn't achieved in a complex, convoluted way, it simply doesn't seem worth our while. We've collectively elevated complexity to a form of art...to the extent that we are either scared of simplicity, or we simply don't understand it. There's this old adage about how we are afraid of what we don't understand, so maybe we are scared of simplicity because we just don't comprehend it anymore...not unless an electronics major puts the term into its catchphrase as part of its marketing strategy. Then, we're willing to pay a pretty penny for stuff that will uncomplicate freezing, cooking, heating, cooling and driving for us. There, we appreciate the need for simplicity, but in the things that really matter, there's only one credo: The more complex, the better!

That bear hug you crave. That friend you haven't spoken to in months and miss terribly. The high you get from listening to your favourite song in the still of the night. That long, soul-searching walk that you promised yourself ten weeks ago, and have put off every evening since. The 'I'm sorry' that will set everything right between the two of you. The spur-of-the-moment trip to the bakery. That music you've been meaning to work on. That unfinished chapter from the book you intend to publish some day. The spontaneous call to a parent or a sibling, just because. The decision to watch your favourite old comedy on late night TV, and class tests the next day be damned. The freedom to laugh out loud, right from the pit of your stomach, till your sides hurt, the way Nature intended laughter to be. The thrill of a family outing. The decision to do not that, but this, because this the kind of work you like even if it pays less and won't seem as scintillating on LinkedIn. The acknowledgement that, at the end of the day, beneath all the degrees and designations and impressions and frequent flier IDs, we're just human, and we want to be happy in whichever way we define being happy.

And that is the irony of it all. For all these things to happen is a one-step process. Just go ahead and do it. But we are strange creatures. We may acknowledge what makes us happy, but we'll never just do it. We like to complicate our relationships with mindgames; our work with an unduly strong sense of competitiveness; our lifestyles with constant comparisons with the Joneses. We delight in the hassle of being too busy, and take pride in not being carefree enough to head out for a walk, a drive or an ice cream when we feel like it. No thought that isn't accompanied by a dozen ifs and buts and whys and wherefores is considered worthy of being thought at all. Unless we make excruciatingly detailed plans, nothing is worth doing; and unless we factor twenty highly improbable scenarios into our plans, they don't deserve to be labelled 'plans'. At the end of it all, when we've covered a long, circuitous route, we're convinced that we're happy...and, what's more, that we've earned the happiness! But when we're alone, or fighting insomnia at 3 a.m., for the fifth month in a row, we think about life and how complicated it is, we miss having someone to talk to, we miss being able to do whatever we please, and then we admit to ourselves that, well, we could, maybe, be happier, or more relaxed, or simply more at peace with ourselves, the past, the present and the future.

There's a reason why there is security in rocket science. A ruined workstation or exploded laboratory can be rebuilt. There's a pre-defined method for that.  But the problem with a weary mind, bruised spirit, broken heart, arms that are too tired to be raised for a hug, or a face that has forgotten how to break into a grin is that they defy all pre-existing methods and demand that we look within, take stock, and simply do what we really, really want to. And then, faced with demands from our own hearts and souls, we are at sea.

Now if being happier were rocket science, we could all do it. Because it would please us no end to be able to whip out a lab manual and a slide rule and begin a process that requires endless measurements and immense brainwork. We're all good at rocket science, really. But there's no rule book, no measuring instruments and graph sheets for what we truly want. It's pure simplicity, and nothing else besides. And so we're foxed in our pursuit of happiness. The wiser and/or more fortunate amongst us decide to sit and do some rethinking. The less fortunate simply decide that more complex rocket science is needed, and dash off on a fresh hunt. And all the while, the little things we're looking for are sitting put in a corner, staring at us in wide-eyed astonishment, genuinely puzzled at all the frenetic activity.