No Choice

Once upon a time, there was a monk liv­ing on a small piece of desert land in a very remote part of the earth. When asked how he liked his lit­tle lot in life he said, “It is fan­tas­tic.” When asked how he could enjoy such a grim exis­tence he said, “I have no choice.”

I often pon­der this lit­tle story. The monk had a choice. He could either be bit­ter about his sit­u­a­tion or he could cel­e­brate it. Once you look at it, only a fool would choose bit­ter­ness. Bad things may hap­pen to us, but mis­ery is self-inflicted. We are the ones that choose what­ever perspective-fork in the road we take. From the monk’s point of view, there was no real alter­na­tive. Choos­ing mis­ery would be sheer masochism.

Every so often, I ask myself if I am happy. From the back of my mind comes the echo: “I have no choice.” After a bit of strug­gling with a grim sit­u­a­tion, I will even­tu­ally come up smil­ing (with months in between some­times). From a purely ratio­nal point of view, you will come to the same con­clu­sion. It makes no sense to choose mis­ery. Chronic neg­a­tiv­ity is the ticket to para­noia. Who would want that?

Let me see…hmmm…am I going to be happy today?

It looks like I have no choice. The alter­na­tive could lead to insanity.

Oh well, I guess I will have to set­tle for happiness.