Finding Happiness in a World of Unlimited Wants

Last week’s Poop Scoop made an argument for pursuing your wants. It claimed that in the pursuit of happiness, your wants are just as important as your needs. I stand by my argument. HOWEVER…

The human condition leaves us with potentially unlimited wants. This is problematic. With unlimited wants comes the reality that our universe has limited resources. Many of our wants cannot be filled. It is the classic problem of economics.

But I’m not here to discuss economics. I’m here to discuss happiness, and the danger that unlimited wants poses to its pursuit. If we can’t fulfill our wants, we may never be happy!

For example, the following is an incomplete list stuff I would like to get out of life:

• Share a bottle of 50 year Macallan Scotch with family and close friends
• Go back in time and follow Iron Maiden’s Beast on the Road Tour; get hammered with Steve Harris backstage.
• Arrange a three-way, pay-per-view cage match between Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Clarence Thomas, and the reanimated corpse of Antonin Scalia. Share a beer with Ginsburg after she wins.
• Marry Taylor Swift.
• Successfully hunt a bull elk, caribou, and moose. Bonus: have a beer with the boys after the hunt.
• Total 1700 pounds raw in the Squat, Bench, and Deadlift.
• Make a pilgrimage to the holy land (Scotland) and give homage to the distilleries. This will include a side-trip to Bushmills in Northern Ireland.
• Go to the top of the mountain from Rocky IV and scream “DRAGO!!!!” Record and post it to Instagram.

It should be obvious that some of these are unattainable. Others require participants that may be unwilling to go along. Even the reasonable ones, like marrying Taylor Swift, would still be challenging.

In a world of unlimited wants, what are we to do about the pursuit of happiness? Even if all our wishes come true, newer, bolder desires will be just around the corner.

I am not the first person to think about this problem. It is a theme in Homer’s Iliad. Socrates discusses this, among other things, in his dialogue with Gorgias. Even the eastern traditions discuss it in The Bhagavad Gita and The Dhammapada, albeit with less logical rigor.

Upon both reading these discussions (or using your intuition), we know that limited resources will always be an issue. We also know that humans will never cease in desiring people, places, or things. The only readily available solution is to place reasonable limits on our wants, and take great pleasure in the ones we can obtain. This is how we prevent us from losing ourselves in the pursuit of happiness.

For example, I know that liquidating in my Roth IRA for a 50 year Macallan is completely out of the question. However, I can still take great pleasure in enjoying the lesser whiskies with family and friends. I may also never get the chance to hunt moose, elk, or caribou, but I can still take great pleasure in hunting deer and elephants. Taylor Swift may divorce me in the end, but it would be a great 6 months, and there are more fish in the sea.

In the end, we cannot obtain everything we want. But we can choose a limited number of worthwhile wants and lose ourselves in their pursuit. In the end, we may end up content with life.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Lessons in Film: Risky Business

My dad asked me a question recently:

“How do you know a great film is a great film?”

Damned if I knew. I can tell you that The Big Lebowski is the greatest comedy of all time, and that Legends of the Fall might objectively be the best film ever made. Millions of Citizen Kane fans just cried blasphemy, but don’t expect me to change my heretical views. That being said, these are strong opinions for a guy who can’t say what makes a film truly great.

Luckily my dad had an answer:

You know a film is a great film, because after viewing it, you walk out of the theatre, and the world looks different to you.

For my father, Gone with the Wind was that film. For me, the list is quite long. The world definitely looked different after Citizen Kane, so I’ll admit that it is a great film. But using this logic as a qualifier, there are a few titles that I put ahead of it:  To Kill a Mockingbird, Paths of Glory, High Noon, Seven Samurai, Caddyshack, and even Animal House significantly affected both how I view the world, and how I view myself.

I can name dozens more of such influential films. But when it comes to films that made the world look different to me, Risky Business tops them all. In fact, it changed my life more than any other film, book, or play.

This should ring alarm bells in anyone who has seen Risky Business. After all, the plot revolves around Tom Cruise sinking his dad’s Porsche in Lake Michigan, turning his parent’s home into a brothel, using prostitutes to earn favors with the Princeton admissions committee, and banging one of said-prostitutes on Chicago’s L-train.

I know what you’re thinking: what is a learned man like Sam learning from such debauchery? How does such a film change a young man’s worldview more than Lawrence of Arabia or Shakespeare’s Henriad trilogy?

I’ll start with the following quote:

“Sometimes, you gotta say, ‘what the fuck,’ make your move…saying ‘what the fuck’ brings freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.”

At the beginning of Risky Business, an immature teenager says this to 18-year-old Joel Goodson (what a fitting last name), played by Tom Cruise. The plot sees Joel transform from a neurotic, self-conscious, risk-averse teenager into a hot-blooded, cold-hearted, winner-take-all entrepreneur. He says “what the fuck,” makes his move, and learns the joys of unregulated, free-market capitalism.

Watching this at the ripe age of 15 loosened many a gear in my brain. It may not be healthy to take advice from a film with so many vices, but this is America, and I get to choose my path to wisdom. Prior to seeing this film, I was incredibly neurotic and risk-averse. In fact, I still am. But with the words and images of Risky Business stewing in my brain, I started to say “what the fuck” from time to time, leading to many high-payoff risks.

The first big risk was my foray into theatre. I auditioned for a production of Footloose a few months after seeing the film. Despite having not sung a note in four years, and possessing the dancing prowess of a vacuum cleaner, I was optimistic. I ended up playing the part of Reverend Moore, as well as other great roles in the next few years. More importantly, I made some awesome friends and learned quite a bit about myself.

Another big risk I took was West Point. It was the only school to which I sent a completed application. That was a risky move, but I never looked back, and it turned out to be the greatest decision of my life. If I had to do it over again, I would do so without hesitation.

I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I hadn’t seen Risky Business years ago. Although my Catholic mother cringes at this fact, I feel no shame. It is by-far the most influential film I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend you do so.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Risky Business. Brickman, Paul. Warner Brothers, 1983.

Fortune Favors the Bold

Many of my friends have heard me say “fortune favors the bold.” This quote, attributed to Virgil’s Aeneid, has been my response to many stupid challenges, from killing bottles of bourbon, going all-in on games of poker, or trying to write my honors thesis on senior year’s spring break. Even more ridiculous is the fact that I’ve never read any of Virgil’s work. I just saw the quote on the internet and started using it like the little shit that I am. Below is a great story of its use.

(Although unfamiliar with Virgil, I am well-versed in Homer. 20th Century Fox, 1989)

My yuk (sophomore) year at West Point, everybody had to take two semesters of physics. I did well the first semester, as it was basically calculus with word problems. On the other hand, second semester was an acid trip. It had to do with waves, light, and electromagnetic bullshit that I really don’t understand. The course was mandatory, however, and we had no say in the matter. To quote Mick Jagger, “you can’t always get what you want.”

The course’s capstone project required groups of four or five to plan a renewable energy project. It was for some big city in Arizona that I don’t remember. The prompt provided information about the capabilities and costs of both solar and wind, as well as population-growth information. We had to figure out how big of a solar or wind farm was needed to meet growing demand over the next 30 years. We also had to find a space large enough to build it and plan a power line system. Making this matter more complicated is the resistance in electrical wires. The farther away the power source, the more energy we needed to create. Figuring it out with pen and paper was a real pain in the ass.

Luckily, we had a physics major in our group. We soon found out how many square feet of solar panels, or how many wind turbines, our project required. It was astronomical, costing by our estimate (if memory serves) well over 400 million dollars for either choice. Building the power lines greatly increased the cost of the project, and the amount we needed to charge per kilowatt hour of electricity was ridiculous. We felt like idiotic bureaucrats, and as future Army officers, that wasn’t far from the truth.

Then our physics major brought up an idea:  geothermal. It was a renewable energy source; it didn’t require a massive footprint; and it wasn’t subject to the weather. Yes please. We researched geothermal power plants of the required scale and studied geothermal hot spots in the area. To our delight, there was a big hotspot just outside the city. We could provide all the necessary power, and more, for 30 years of estimated population growth. The project was relatively cheap, too. If I remember correctly, it cost about 85 percent less than a solar or wind farm would. We had our winner.

We hashed out the details, wrote up our plan, and rehearsed the presentation. On the big day, we spoke like experts, being sure to describe the cost differences between solar, wind, and geothermal. At the end, we smugly asked if there were any questions. We had anticipated many, but we did NOT expect the first one. It came from our professor, an Army Major who appreciated discipline. I don’t recall his response word for word, but this is pretty close:

“So…the project prompt explicitly states that you will analyze the costs and benefits of both solar and wind, choose what you think is the better option, and present your findings. Instead, you choose to not follow instructions, picking an energy source outside your scope, without so much as asking approval, and have the gall to present this to both me and your class anyway. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

I was floored. This is what happens when you don’t read the instructions thoroughly. The air was so tense that we were physically choking, and we had officially lost control of the presentation. But when backed in to a corner, the only way out is to double-down and fight through. Without skipping a beat, I shot back confidently:

“Fortune favors the bold, sir.”

When you pull a reply out of your ass, don’t be surprised if the result is shit. Sometimes, however, you strike gold. You won’t know until you get a response. My group members just stared at me. The class kept looking back from me to our professor. The professor just stared at me, trying to process my reply. After an agonizing silence, he chuckled:

“Good response.”

He then proceeded to ask very detailed questions about our project. He actually knew a lot about geothermal, and was even familiar with the land we proposed using. We were all a bit shaken by his initial reply, but managed to stay cool and answer to the best of our knowledge. After finishing the Q/A, we thanked the class and our professor, and took our seats for the next group. A few days later, we got our grade:  A-. Not bad.

Sometimes we make mistakes. Not following instructions in this professor’s course was a big mistake (the project mentioned was worth a big chunk of our grade that semester). But sometimes one must be bold and just talk out of their ass. Military officers do it every day.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Arrogance and Humility

I’m going to share an amusing story. The events herein occurred last summer at Barnes Field House on Fort Huachuca. It was a mediocre weight room, but there were some strong dudes who lifted there. Four or five of them were capable of squatting over 500 pounds, one of them could deadlift over 600, and one guy I knew benched 315 pounds for 15 strict reps, no bounce off his chest. There was also a lady who competed in raw powerlifting at the international level, despite the fact that she was going through cancer treatment. I was not yet on these folks’ level, but it was a good environment for getting strong.

Before going further, I need to make a confession:  I am one of the most arrogant people you will ever meet. Some of those knowing me will nod their head judiciously in agreement. Others will be more surprised. The truth is, I am incredibly judgmental of people, but experience taught me early-on to keep my mouth shut. (I can picture a few of my friends thinking:  “Sam? Keep his mouth shut? What a f—ing joke”).

I learned at a young age to keep my mouth shut, but only after being put in my place by people or challenges beyond my ability. Most of us will learn that there is always someone in the world better than you. Even if you are the best out of billions, you will grow old, die, and another will take your place. America taught this lesson to the rest of the world last century, and we still haven’t shut up about it (not that I think we should stop).

Back to the story. It was a Thursday, about 6:30 pm, and I’d just finished a hard set of squats. My training log says it was 405×5. Not exactly an easy day for me. The fun of it was, I still had a heavy set of deadlifts to complete. Such is the road to strength.

Now, being in a weight room that frequently saw people much stronger than me, I knew that my abilities were grossly mediocre. But on this day, a new guy to our gym learned that he wasn’t Samson reincarnate; he was just another gym bro. To that effect, I will derisively refer to him as Broski from here on out (I’m not just arrogant; I’m also an asshole).

As I was warming up my deadlifts, I couldn’t help but watch as Broski started his squat sets (he came to the gym after I’d finished mine). It wasn’t because Broski was particularly good, but because there was a great deal of drama involved. He eventually worked up to a couple of single-rep sets at 335. That makes him stronger than 99.9% of the world population. In here, however, he wasn’t special. Because of his inexperience with our gym, Broski made a huge deal out of his accomplishment. There are gym grunts, and then there is screaming like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. That was Broski. He also needed a great deal of hype and three spotters to get his work done. Again, not inherently a faux pas, but you don’t need to whip out a NASCAR pit crew to change the tires on your Camry.

(Artist rendering of Broski. Credit:  Dodgeball:  A True Underdog Story. Red Hour Films, 2004.)

After finishing his top set, Broski sauntered over to my deadlift setup. I had finally finished my warm ups, and was about to start my work set. Then Broski pipes up, “your set up is off a bit man.” Dude was loud. Being taller and more muscular than I was (and with better hair, that bastard!), he made quite a presence. Broski went on to critique my deadlift for a good five minutes, even pointing out apparent “defects” in my wonderful custom-made power belt. As he continued on, a few onlookers gathered to “learn,” or something. Trying not to be an asshole, I kept my mouth shut while “listening” to Broski. But then something happened where I could not resist.

Basking in the onlooker attention, Broski finished with “here, let me show you.” That was something I did not expect. Based off his squat, it didn’t look like he could deadlift my work set for one rep, let alone without warming up the movement.

Intrigued, I step back. Broski postures his way on to the deadlift platform. He sets up his body, pulls on the bar, and nothing. He pulls again, and nothing. Broski stands up, confused. He looks at the two plates on each end of the bar, scratches his head, and says sheepishly, “oh…those are hundreds.”

“You didn’t know?” I reply with a shit-eating grin (told you I’m an asshole).

Broski had thought there were 225 pounds on the bar. And thinking that I was a noob, he thought he could show everybody how a real lifter does it. Not the case. He stepped away from the platform with his tail between his legs, watching as I pulled 445 for five reps with little drama. After that set, I put my weights away, chugged a quart of chocolate milk, and went home. Broski couldn’t even look at me after that set.

I trained at Barnes Field House for about another month. Broski never managed to approach me again. I never even learned his name. I guess he was too embarrassed by this little incident, which is sad. I didn’t have anything against the guy, and getting put in your place like that, on your first day in a new gym, can’t be easy. It must have been even more humbling on other days, watching the truly strong guys squat 550 without a spotter or a grunt.

At some point, we all learn that someone is better than us. Usually, we learn that there are many, many people better than us. This is a good thing. It keeps arrogant guys like me and Broski from being bigger assholes than we otherwise would be. Hopefully I never forget this lesson.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.