The Colonial Capitalistic Hangover

"We live in a culture that celebrates activity. We collapse our sense of who we are into what we do for a living. The public performance of busyness is how we demonstrate to one another that we are important. The more people see us as tired, exhausted, over-stretched, the more they think we must be somehow. indispensable. That we matter." - Omid Safi

Do you know the story of Tantalus? 

Tantalus was a king. He was loved not only by the people, but also by Zeus and many of the gods. In fact, they would often invite him over to dinner on Mount Olympus, like all the time. Tantalus was a fun guy, a real crowd pleaser. 

But every time he was there, he felt unappreciated; he felt like Cousin Greg in Succession. He felt like he deserved more. You see, there was one caveat to having dinner with the gods: They would allow you to partake in everything but ambrosia and nectar, godly food and godly drink.

So, one evening while having dinner with the gods, Tantalus gets itchy and decides to steal some of this ambrosia and nectar. He steals and takes it back to his mortal friends. Starts walking around the city like, “Yo, my people, look what I got! Fresh ambrosia and nectar!”

But that’s not enough—he can’t stop there. This isn’t a one-and-done type of thing. He also steals one of Zeus’s favorite pets, a golden dog. Like, bro, did you think we wouldn’t notice a golden dog gone missing?

Anyway, here’s this king who has everything he needs and everything is good with him, and then he goes and commits all these crimes against the gods. Why wasn’t what he had enough? Why wasn’t the invitation to dinner good enough?

So, for his crimes against the gods, Zeus punished Tantalus by consigning him to an eternity of lack and desperation. This fallen king who wanted so badly to be like the gods, as close to the gods as he could be, to have what they had, to be more than what he was, was made to stand in a pool of cool, refreshing water, thirsty as all hell—but as soon as he went to take a drink of the water, it would vanish, leaving him nothing. Forever thirsty.

Tantalus was also wildly ravenous, and there was a fruit tree nearby. The branches were heavy with delicious fruit, but the fruit wasn’t close enough—or rather, it was wildly close, but just out of his grasp. Forever hungry. 

What was Tantalus supposed to do? The gods rubbed their success, wealth, and lavish amber-nectar golden-dog lifestyle in his face. And when he tried to get a piece of that life, this was what he got.

These days, we use the word tantalizing to describe something that is desired but remains out of reach. Desired because I’m aware of its existence, aware that someone holds it, but out of reach because it isn’t yet mine to have.

Tantalizing are the days when I could fall asleep anywhere, I’m telling you.