Fantasy impromptu #7: If everyone were like me

I know a young woman who doesn’t like her character, her personality. Specifically, she tends to be irritable at times, intolerant and snarky, but wants to be smooth and nice. I suspect, though, that most of us are harmonious with ourselves even when we are a bit down about our flaws.

Or maybe I should just speak for myself. Here is how it would go:

If everyone were like me, people would be decent to each other but not much would get done. No buildings or skyscrapers would be built, probably just one- or two-story wooden shelters. We’d probably be back at early 1800’s technology, because no single person would have much drive to create. It would have to be sporadic spurts of slowly contagious inspiration hitting people in different places.

Society would be libertarian: There would be, in each person’s insularity, no communal assumptions such as welfare and “rights” to medical care or shelter. But we’d all want to give enough to keep unfortunate people from falling beneath the waves. Criminals would be psychotherapized to see if they’re corrigible. If not, they’d be sent far away, to an island where they could grow their own food and be messed up amongst themselves. This is because compassion would only go about as far as you can throw a softball.

There would be no people with big nonsense ideas like “women are inferior” or “God loves America” or “Islam is the motherlode of bad ideas.” These are delusory generalizations, and people would be grounded in their earliest childhood injuries and their organic feelings, so no irrational delusions would grow from them.

There would be love and love affairs, but very abortive torrid romances. Torrid romances are seemingly good-feeling neuroses coming from starved needs in childhood. People might have children: It would be a flip-of-the-coin thing.

Some scientists would be (going against my 1800’s technology idea) very gung-ho about the universe and getting to other planets and galaxies. That is because the here-and-now and lived reality would not feel satisfying and they’d want to live a dream. They’d want to go to the great mystery, hoping for answers from God, or the presence of a great father like Tom Bombadil, or a home where they are children with ice cream and fireworks and musical peace and tucked-in warm beds forever.

There would be way too much simple, pretty, diatonic harmony go-nowhere “new age”-type music, no heroic and cosmically driven or id-driven creations like Rachmaninoff or Stravinsky. Jazz wouldn’t exist as it makes not the slightest sense and comes from no authentic mood, just some faux-attitudinal pretension of coolness.

Situation comedies and dramas would last for only six or so episodes, because all the characters would just go to therapy and stop farting around.

People would crash and burn in a mood-state of utmost nihilism, then would “recover” and go on with their lives.

Late at night, every night all over the world, there’d be millions and millions of campfires and tents on front lawns and friendship circles and solitary travelers and walkers and wanderers breathing the dark and the aromas, wondering What is this?, being depressed and in love and feeling glorious and empty and wondering What have I not realized?