Essay: Life is not a luxury

Guilty as charged: I am an arch-pessimist. 

Although I'd rather call myself an earth-pessimist, or an earthly pessimist.

And better still a culture pessimist.

Apart from that, I am overly positive, not to say manic; I am an optimistic pessimist.

I'm addicted to life, without fear of dying. Some people call me a maniac, and even a pschopath; which means non other than some path, through which my psyche travels. But that is my opinion...

In any Handbook of Psychology, you will find me probably under Bipolar Disorders, Schizophrenia, Narcissism, etcetera.

That life has not come to me for free, and the fact that I also not consider it a gift, is obvious.

Just take a look at the title of this piece.

But let's cut that crap, I hate complainers.

And I hate people who talk about themselves all the time, I always say:

Great people talk about ideas,

Average people talk about things,

Small people talk about other people,

Tiny people talk about themselves.

Now I, am not known for being a modest man; completely unjustified, I might add.

But I'd rather belong in the first category, than in the last.

Not that I usually have any breakthrough ideas, but I can tell nice stories about having them.

But enough about me, and others, there is already enough gossip around.

Now I, consider myself by no means an intellectual.

To me, that is - amongst other qualities - the true nature of intelligence.

I certainly have - some of - the required characteristics of independence, critical ability, and commitment. And I have a large brain, and also a large heart... But I am not being overly proud of this, I certainly do not belong to the intelligentsia...

From the safest places come the bravest words.