Happiness for A**Holes

Chapter One: I Accidentally Invented Buddhism

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I Accidentally Invented Buddhism

Others have said to me, "You should be famous," throughout my entire life. My talents were obvious from the start when I portrayed little baby Jesus in a transcendent church performance.

Seriously, I was spellbinding.

Alright, I was an infant and don't remotely remember of course. My mom says I cried through the whole thing. The point is, I've never not been on a stage. I starred in all the school plays. Ran for class president just so I could get up and give a clever speech. I remember telling my grandmother, upon asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up, that I would be a rockstar.

And I meant that shit.

After graduating with a college degree in theatre (the most practical of degrees), I toured with a band for years. Eventually we won the elusive record deal and big cash advance before it all crashed and burned Behind the Music style.

That didn't stop me. Hell, it only momentarily phased me. You see, I was born to do this and, as those around me began to point out with admiration, I had ambition.

I moved to Los Angeles and began to study stand up comedy. I won a high profile comedy contest, and the Hollywood scene started to crack open--- even landed an agent who booked me in theaters all across the country.Ladies and gentlemen, I had arrived.

I worked in this format for nearly three years, often performing to sold-out venues. Although artistically satisfying, it got increasingly lonelier. For a few hours each week I took the stage and loved it. The rest of the time I was by myself in a hotel room, often drinking myself to sleep---becoming the cliché sad and isolated entertainer. As my list of accomplishments grew more impressive, I began to feel more hollow---sustained by the promise of getting that big breakout moment---when the money and recognition would finally compensate for all this loneliness.

Late one night during a revealing conversation, I was telling a friend about a fantasy I've had for quite a while. In the fantasy, I sell all my earthly possessions and disappear into South America with nothing more than a backpack. Permanently.

"Why is that so appealing to you?" he asked. "It's a little extreme."

A revelation came to me. The fantasy thrilled me because it would mean existing quite differently. Living out the rest of my days in such a scenario would force me to leave behind all my ambitions.

"I think my ambition is making me miserable," I confessed.

"That's Buddhism," he responded.

"What is?"

"The ambition thing. One of Buddhism's foundations. Desire is the beginning of suffering. Or something like that."

"Huh. I guess I just accidentally invented Buddhism." I was joking, but my brain exploded with thought.

In our culture, ambition is an ideal to be admired. It's impressive and brave. If you don't have it, you are perceived as pathetic.

But this---the idea that the "go get what you want at all costs" attitude might actually cost something too great---this was a completely fresh idea to me.

Now, the ensuing pages are not rehashed Buddhism, and I'm certainly not going to advise you to abandon dreams. I'm actually not going to tell you to do anything. You make and follow your own rules. Or not. It's none of my biz.

What I am going to tell you are the concepts on which I've been exerting excessive brain power for the past few years while sitting alone in hotel rooms across the country. I've lived a very different kind of life, and it has given me a very different perspective.

I hope to express this in a way you haven't read before. As I was researching these ideas in current books about happiness I often found myself laughing out loud. Even if the concepts were profoundly true, why did it all have to be packaged in crystals and incense? Not my style. Or worse yet, dressed up in khakis at a convention center with words like "Inspire" and "Revolution" on a Power Point presentation. Am I getting sucked into Scientology? No thanks.

How about amazing life ideas for normal people? Or even cynical people? Or bitter people who have given up? Let's go to the extreme and call it "Happiness for A**holes." (I'm saying "a**holes" instead of "assholes" not in a prudish way, but after spending the last several months on this project the word "assholes" was starting to gross me out. So... A**holes.)

Now, there are some people out there in terrible scenarios. Life can be a cruel son-of-a-bitch. For you, I hope brighter days in the near future. However, this book isn't for you. If you have a terminal illness or you have been sold into white slavery, I'm truly sorry. Those are big challenges and I don't really have any recommendations. Maybe someday I will write "Happiness for Dying Assholes" or "Happiness for Assholes Regretting That Trip to Bangkok." But for now, this book is for us privileged Western worlders without too many devastating problems.

You hate your job. You are drowning in debt. For you the American dream is more of a nightmare. Or perhaps you simply feel sort of blasé about your job and daily life. Maybe you are like me and have

been tirelessly in pursuit of something that doesn't seem to be paying off like you imagined.

You can't find contentment.

You are not alone.

"Inside every cynical person is a disappointed idealist." -George Carlin