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- Марк Мэнсон
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- Тонкое искусство пофигизма
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- Стр. 92/115
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It
was
a
strange
life
,
replete
with
fantastic
,
horizon
-
breaching
experiences
as
well
as
superficial
highs
designed
to
numb
my
underlying
pain
.
It
seemed
both
so
profound
yet
so
meaningless
at
the
same
time
,
and
still
does
.
Some
of
my
greatest
life
lessons
and
character
-
defining
moments
came
on
the
road
during
this
period
.
But
some
of
the
biggest
wastes
of
my
time
and
energy
came
during
this
period
as
well
.
Now
I
live
in
New
York
.
I
have
a
house
and
furniture
and
an
electric
bill
and
a
wife
.
None
of
it
is
particularly
glamorous
or
exciting
.
And
I
like
it
that
way
.
Because
after
all
the
years
of
excitement
,
the
biggest
lesson
I
took
from
my
adventuring
was
this
:
absolute
freedom
,
by
itself
,
means
nothing
.
Freedom
grants
the
opportunity
for
greater
meaning
,
but
by
itself
there
is
nothing
necessarily
meaningful
about
it
.
Ultimately
,
the
only
way
to
achieve
meaning
and
a
sense
of
importance
in
one
’
s
life
is
through
a
rejection
of
alternatives
,
a
narrowing
of
freedom
,
a
choice
of
commitment
to
one
place
,
one
belief
,
or
(
gulp
)
one
person
.
This
realization
came
to
me
slowly
over
the
course
of
my
years
traveling
.
As
with
most
excesses
in
life
,
you
have
to
drown
yourself
in
them
to
realize
that
they
don
’
t
make
you
happy
.
Such
was
traveling
with
me
.
As
I
drowned
in
my
fifty
-
third
,
fifty
-
fourth
,
fifty
-
fifth
country
,
I
began
to
understand
that
while
all
of
my
experiences
were
exciting
and
great
,
few
of
them
would
have
any
lasting
significance
.
Whereas
my
friends
back
home
were
settling
down
into
marriages
,
buying
houses
,
and
giving
their
time
to
interesting
companies
or
political
causes
,
I
was
floundering
from
one
high
to
the
next
.
In
2011
,
I
traveled
to
Saint
Petersburg
,
Russia
.
The
food
sucked
.
The
weather
sucked
.
(
Snow
in
May
?
Are
you
fucking
kidding
me
?
)
My
apartment
sucked
.
Nothing
worked
.
Everything
was
overpriced
.
The
people
were
rude
and
smelled
funny
.
Nobody
smiled
and
everyone
drank
too
much
.
Yet
,
I
loved
it
.
It
was
one
of
my
favorite
trips
.
There
’
s
a
bluntness
to
Russian
culture
that
generally
rubs
Westerners
the
wrong
way
.
Gone
are
the
fake
niceties
and
verbal
webs
of
politeness
.
You
don
’
t
smile
at
strangers
or
pretend
to
like
anything
you
don
’
t
.
In
Russia
,
if
something
is
stupid
,
you
say
it
’
s
stupid
.
If
someone
is
being
an
asshole
,
you
tell
him
he
’
s
being
an
asshole
.
If
you
really
like
someone
and
are
having
a
great
time
,
you
tell
her
that
you
like
her
and
are
having
a
great
time
.
It
doesn
’
t
matter
if
this
person
is
your
friend
,
a
stranger
,
or
someone
you
met
five
minutes
ago
on
the
street
.
The
first
week
I
found
all
of
this
really
uncomfortable
.
I
went
on
a
coffee
date
with
a
Russian
girl
,
and
within
three
minutes
of
sitting
down
she
looked
at
me
funny
and
told
me
that
what
I
’
d
just
said
was
stupid
.
I
nearly
choked
on
my
drink
.
There
was
nothing
combative
about
the
way
she
said
it
;
it
was
spoken
as
if
it
were
some
mundane
fact
—
like
the
quality
of
the
weather
that
day
,
or
her
shoe
size
—
but
I
was
still
shocked
.
After
all
,
in
the
West
such
outspokenness
is
seen
as
highly
offensive
,
especially
from
someone
you
just
met
.
But
it
went
on
like
this
with
everyone
.
Everyone
came
across
as
rude
all
the
time
,
and
as
a
result
,
my
Western
-
coddled
mind
felt
attacked
on
all
sides
.
Nagging
insecurities
began
to
surface
in
situations
where
they
hadn
’
t
existed
in
years
.
But
as
the
weeks
wore
on
,
I
got
used
to
the
Russian
frankness
,
much
as
I
did
the
midnight
sunsets
and
the
vodka
that
went
down
like
ice
water
.
And
then
I
started
appreciating
it
for
what
it
really
was
:
unadulterated
expression
.
Honesty
in
the
truest
sense
of
the
word
.
Communication
with
no
conditions
,
no
strings
attached
,
no
ulterior
motive
,
no
sales
job
,
no
desperate
attempt
to
be
liked
.
Somehow
,
after
years
of
travel
,
it
was
in
perhaps
the
most
un
-
American
of
places
where
I
first
experienced
a
particular
flavor
of
freedom
:
the
ability
to
say
whatever
I
thought
or
felt
,
without
fear
of
repercussion
.
It
was
a
strange
form
of
liberation
through
accepting
rejection
.
And
as
someone
who
had
been
starved
of
this
kind
of
blunt
expression
most
of
his
life
—
first
by
an
emotionally
repressed
family
life
,
then
later
by
a
meticulously
constructed
false
display
of
confidence
—
I
got
drunk
on
it
like
,
well
,
like
it
was
the
finest
damn
vodka
I
’
d
ever
had
.
The
month
I
spent
in
Saint
Petersburg
went
by
in
a
blur
,
and
by
the
end
I
didn
’
t
want
to
leave
.
