I frequently get the feeling that I’m in the minority amongst New Hampshire liberty activists for having a “normal” job. I define “normal” as on a schedule of Monday - Friday, 9 - 5 (officially, anyway; the reality often exceeds those boundaries). I have health insurance. I pay extra for long-term disability insurance, so that if I come down with cancer, get in a car accident, or whatever, I won’t become either destitute or a burden to others. I save for the proverbial rainy day. And I pay taxes. Boy, do I pay taxes.

I laughed, with a tinge of mania, when my annual Social “Security” Statement arrived a week ago. It informed me that I’ve already paid over $55,000 towards my retirement “benefits”, which I’m sure I’ll be able to start collecting back at age 67, right after monkeys start flying out of my butt. Until then, I’m on my own. No, scratch that; even if monkeys DO fly out of my butt, I’ll be on my own.

Some make the argument that ’tis virtuous to not “feed the system”. My taxes pay for wars. Do I lay awake at night, racked with guilt over that fact? Um, NO. No more than I’d feel racked with guilt over being mugged, repeatedly. Angry, frustrated, impotent; these things I feel. But guilt? The government is like my friendly neighborhood pimp. I sell my services in the marketplace; he pockets a percentage of my take, with the clear understanding that if I hold out on him, he’ll beat me senseless.

Anywho, I just read an old article by Murray Rothbard on this exact subject, and most unsurprisingly, he puts it far better than I ever could. Preach it, Murray:

Libertarians in a State-Run World

[note: this is the second half of a post entitled "a fable" ]

For quite some time, Jo sailed his boat alone on Lake Rika, trying to sort through the thoughts in his head and feeling increasingly frustrated and confused.  Finally, he decided to seek advice from a wise man who was rumored to live on a small island on the lake.  Jo anchored his boat off the edge of the island, swam ashore, and began hiking around searching for the legendary wise man.  As usually happens, the wise man turned out to be in the last place he looked.  The wise man was very old and thin, and wore nothing but a worn old deerskin which barely covered enough of him to be considered socially appropriate back in the village.  Clearly, the wise man wasn’t concerned with such things.  Although Jo didn’t have an invitation, the wise man greeted him warmly and seemed to have no problem with a strange villager showing up on his doorstep seeking advice.

Jo launched into a lengthy monologue about all he had been thinking about: that Sammy was not great and benevolent; that it wasn’t right to let a lake monster eat your children; that it wasn’t fair that some people were forced to feed the monster while others fed themselves out of the lake monster supplies; that it didn’t seem to make much of a difference whom exactly was on the Council of Elders at any given time.  He asked the wise man to explain a way out of this mess.  What was a simple fisherman to do?

The wise man, who had been smoking a pipe while Jo ranted, sat silently for some time.  Finally, he responded with a question:  Where do lake monsters come from?

Jo was baffled.  What did he mean, where do lake monsters come from?  They come from lakes, obviously!

“If lake monsters come from lakes, how did they survive before villagers began feeding them?”,  he asked.

Jo thought about this for a moment.  He really wasn’t sure.  Were there even any lake monsters before there were villagers?  Could Sammy have ever grown so large and powerful if not for generations of villagers tending to his diet?  This sort of chicken-and-egg question was interesting, but somewhat beside the point.  The fact is, there ARE lake monsters, and he wanted to know what to do about it.

“Alright, let me ask you another question.  How do you destroy a lake monster?”, the wise man queried.

“That’s easy!”, Jo said triumphantly. “Stop feeding it!”

“Ah!” responded the wise man.

Jo waited a moment, expecting more of a response.  But none came.  “But, of course, it’s not enough just for *me* to stop feeding the lake monster.  A number of other productive villagers need to do so as well.”

“Indeed”, mused the wise man.

Jo was getting a bit annoyed with this.  “So…… how do I convince the other villagers to stop feeding Sammy?”

“Who convinced you to stop feeding him?” responded the wise man.

Jo opened his mouth to respond, then paused.  “Well, no one, exactly. I just sort of… you know… figured it out myself. After reading several books by radical village philosophers, listening to podcasts while repairing my nets, and talking with people down at the pub.”

“Well, there you go.”  smiled the wise man.

Jo was definitely annoyed now.  “What do you mean, there you go?!  Are you saying I can’t teach anyone anything, they can only teach themselves?”

“I didn’t say anything”, said the wise man.

“That’s not an answer!!” Jo exploded, completely frustrated now.  “I can’t just let my friends and neighbors keep throwing a large portion of their crops into the lake, and watch their children get eaten.  I should be able to convince them to stop!”

“There is no “should”, my young friend.  To quote a wise man (Jo found this slightly amusing.  He wondered if the Wise Man considered himself to be a wise man; if not, did the wise man the Wise Man was about to quote consider himself to be a wise man?  Did anyone actually think of himself as wise, or was the attainment of wisdom to understand that wisdom is actually a path, rather than a destination?  He cut off this line of thinking and drew his focus back to what the Wise Man was saying): “the essence of philosophy is to accept the universe as it is, rather than try to force it into some preconceived shape.”

Jo thought about this for several moments.  Finally he said “So you mean, I can’t teach the other villagers about the true nature of the lake monster? I just have to wait and see if they figure it out for themselves?”

“I didn’t say it”, the Wise Man said again, a small smile twitching the corner of his lips.

“Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Jo asked. “I mean, other than fishing, gardening, hunting, and trying to avoid both having my fish taken for Sammy and getting thrown in the stockade?”

“When’s the last time you kissed a girl, kid?”

Jo turned beet red.  “Well, I’ve been *busy*…” he stammered.  “Fishing is a time-consuming occupation, you know! The fish don’t just leap into the nets by themselves. ”

“Uh huh” replied the old man.

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight.  What you’re basically saying is that I should just focus on being the best fisherman I can be, don’t feed lake monsters, try not to get thrown in the stockade, and find a nice girl to spend time with, hopefully one who shares my anti-lake monster sentiments?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan!” smiled the Wise Man.

Jo had a feeling that this conversation had not gone quite according to plan.  Or rather, that he seemed to now have a plan, but wasn’t quite sure where it had come from.  Oh well, this was making his head hurt.  The old man was clearly wise, and had given him a not unpleasant plan; actually, it was pretty much exactly what he would have done if there had never been a lake monster in the first place.  He swam back to his boat, hauled up the anchor, and set sail for the village.   He’d continue to hone his fishing skills, work on his garden, put away as much as he could in preparation for the dreaded “Peak Fish” scenario, and share his anti-lake monster books and podcasts with any acquaintance who seemed willing to give them a listen.  Also,  there was that cute girl he had seen at the pub, but never actually got up the nerve to speak to before.  Carpe draco pen! (This was an old villager expression that translated to “Seize the lake monster by the tail.”)

Whoa, it’s been five months since I blogged anything. I blame Facebook. I used to keep a background part of my mind subconsciously focused on noting things to blog about, but now that part is redirected towards noting things to Facebook about, in a neverending quest to amuse my friends (both of them) and serve as a lesson to others, usually on what *not* to do with your life.

At this time five years ago, I was driving across the country, en route to New Hampshire. Seems like a good time to reflect and review on where I’ve been and where I’m going.

Random thoughts on the past five years (I also blame Facebook for damaging my ability to put together a cohesive narrative; everything comes out in 400-characters-or-less bullet points now. :-\ ):

– New Hampshire is a beautiful place. I am very fortunate to live here.

– No regrets about leaving California. That said, I have observed that some wounds don’t heal with time. Or perhaps I just haven’t found the proper emotional or intellectual salves to apply to them. Also, as Jon Kabat-Zinn has noted, “Wherever you go… there you are.”

– I love my funky little log cabin in the woods. I’m utterly failing to keep it up to Middle-Class Suburban White Guy standards of decency, but then, I don’t really care about such standards.

– Clean country living, while perhaps boring to some, appears to be good for my health. I’ve lost 15 pounds, and according to my fancy-pants electrical impedance scale that does everything short of trimming your toenails while you stand on it, I’ve aged negative 3 years over the past 9 months. I haven’t had a drink in over 7 months (without the assistance of drugs or AA, I might add), which is a major accomplishment considering that A) most of the people I socialize with drink like fish and B) my God but I love to drink. We’ll see how long I can keep it up. It’s a real struggle some days.

– Two years ago, I wrote this: “I’ve been meaning to reread “1984?; it’s been many years. But IIRC, it seems like the current reality of the U.S. may actually be worse than Orwell envisioned. This is actually worse than all sorts of sci fi dystopian books/movies I’ve read/seen over the years.” Since then, I *did* reread 1984. I wouldn’t say the U.S. is worse than what Orwell envisioned, but the similarities are mind-blowingly shocking and depressing… and at the same time, difficult to focus your eyes on, seeing as how it’s the reality in which we live all day, every day, and it gets increasingly hard to remember or envision a different/better way of living, like a fish trying to imagine what it would be like to not live in cold water.

– Despite all the heinous police state stuph growing and spreading in the U.S., I’m also aware that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m incredibly fortunate to have grown up (well, as “up” as I’m ever going to get) in late 20th century America, enjoying health, wealth, freedom, recorded music, books so cheap people throw them away, the world at my fingertips via the Internet, inexpensive air travel, a huge diversity of tasty things to eat and drink (some of them even good for me), and, with statistically low exceptions, nobody trying to shoot me, bomb me, rape and pillage me, etc. When a bad day is a traffic jam on the interstate, or the expresso machine broken at Starbucks, you’re pretty lucky.

– The New Hampshire liberty movement continues to grow, and now has discrete branches espousing different strategies. One branch favors living today as if there were no coercive government. This strategy appears to me to result in frequent arrests, weeks spent in jail, pissing off one’s neighbors, hateful comments in the local paper, but hey, whatever floats your boat! See http://freekeene.com/ for more info. Another branch favors working within the political system, trying to get more pro-freedom people elected to office, ousting anti-freedom people, fighting bad laws, supporting good laws, etc. The New Hampshire Liberty Alliance, with which I got re-involved last year after a year or two of not really speaking to one another, is a leader in this department. Now, longtime readers of this blog might wonder why I’d spend time and energy on such a thing, after whining at length about my loss of faith in electoral politics, my evolution to flaming anarchist, adulation of Stefan “Big Chatty Forehead” Molyneux, etc…. well, I’ll tell you (and try to be brief about it). Basically, while I would love for there to be a Rothbardian button to push, and would gladly push it if given the opportunity, letting any ensuing chips of short-term chaos fall where they may, the sad fact is, there IS no button. There’s never going to be one (or I lack the optimism and vision to believe there will be one, I just don’t know). Even if the upcoming economic crash (which I firmly believe *is* coming) brings our current political administration to its knees, a peaceful anarchocapitalist society is not going to rise from its ashes. Far from it. We are a nation of soft, flabby, spoiled children who expect certain necessities of life to be provided to us, reliably, by government, (even some of us who shriek about wanting more freedom), and I just don’t see that system going away any time soon. Therefore, as a means of self-defense, I will do what I can to ensure that better (or at least, less bad) people get elected to local and state office, and do what I can to keep my local and state taxes from going up. On the federal level, I will do what I need to do to keep the jack-booted thugs from putting a bullet in my head. And remember: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. — Sun-tzu

– As for five years from now… well. I think our (and by “our”, I’m referring to Americans here) world is going to look quite a bit different. Many people are in for a rude awakening, economically speaking. Comparatively speaking, New Hampshire is going to be one of the better places to be in the U.S. I’m glad I’m here. And as long as you don’t push me or try to take my stuff, I’d be right glad to have you here too.