Book Review: The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

I’ve mentioned before that I like Mark Manson.

A hugely successful blogger and author whose topics range from dating advice and travel anecdotes to psychological self-sabotage, his writing contains a common thread of self-improvement. Mark Manson wants you to be a better person – by accepting what makes you feel worse.

Think of self-help and odds are what you come up with is general optimism and upbeat advice. Think positive; focus on the good; align yourself with the universe, whatever that means. This, Manson argues, is stupid. Everyone gets stressed and depressed, and sometimes life just sucks. Forcing yourself to feel good is avoiding reality. The pursuit of happiness only reinforces that you are unhappy as you are. We rarely have a good idea of what makes us happy anyway.

In The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Manson explains that we are always, consciously or not, choosing where our focus and energies are directed; what, ahem, we are giving a fuck about. To be better people, that focus must be well-thought-out and intentional. Through entertaining examples and his own personal experience, he shows how faulty values and self-limiting beliefs blind us to what’s truly important.

That sounds bland, but trust me, it’s eye-opening. Funny too. He swears a lot.

‘People aren’t just born not giving a fuck. In fact, we’re born giving way too many fucks. Ever watch a kid cry his eyes out because his hat is the wrong shade of blue? Exactly. Fuck that kid.’

Sorry if you’re offended. I’m amused.

Admittedly, the book is aimed more towards Western society. The author, an American, rails against entitlement and first world problems. Having travelled extensively through over fifty countries worldwide, it’s clear that all those different cultures made an impact. He’s been critical of America (among other countries) in the past.  

Mark Manson’s irreverent, no-bullshit style isn’t for everyone. Go check out his blog to see if it’s for you. Also, a disclaimer: certain parts of the book are featured articles. A few chapters may sound familiar. But the book does present it all in a cohesive package.

The Subtle Art is an anti-self-help book. It doesn’t want you to feel good. It wants you to think about why you feel bad – and understand that feeling bad is a part of feeling good. Its counterintuitive notions make a lot of sense. The acceptance of a negative experience is a positive experience. Our circumstances aren’t always our fault, but they are always our responsibility. Our bleakest moments can also be the most transformational experiences of our lives.

Light and darkness. See why this book appeals to me?

I fully recommend it.

A Different Dawn

         If I lay here

                    If I just lay here                                  

                       Would you lie with me 

                                      And just forget the world?

                                                                    - 'Chasing Cars', Snow Patrol

Today I’m talking about endings.

We all have things we truly care about. Hopes, dreams, places, people. We look to them for comfort, reassurance, stability. For light, when all we can see is darkness. Is it any wonder that they come to mean so much?

That these are the people we love?

So we hold on to them, for as long as we possibly can. We hold on to hope. To the idea of them always in our lives. We want to believe in the stories we tell ourselves, about dragons slain and demons conquered. Because reality can be cruel.  Sometimes hope isn’t enough.

Sometimes dreams die.

Because that’s all they ever were. You wake up to a colder, clearer dawn. And you know things can never go back to the way they used to be.

But maybe they were never meant to be that way.

The author, Najwa Zebian, talks about building our homes in places not meant for us, in the hearts of others. When they leave we feel bereft because we built our lives around them. We need them like no one else. But in the end, the only people we truly have are ourselves.

The sun always rises. It’s the only thing we’re ever guaranteed. The world changes, people come and go, but the sun will always set on one day and rise on another. We can never go back, but we can move forwards. We can pursue new goals, new experiences, spend time on what really matters. We can build on what came before. We can find someone new. We can be our own light in the darkness.

As painful as they are, every ending is also a new beginning. Grieve for the end, but look for the dawn.

Even though you know a part of you will always remember the sunset.      

           

Dead Men Tell No Tales

No spoilers, impressions only.

Pirates of the Caribbean has been around for a while now.

The first movie, Curse of the Black Pearl, took the world by storm back in 2003. There was an ancient curse, undead pirates, swashbuckling action split between the tropics and the high seas, a pair of heroic young lovers-to-be. And it birthed one of Johnny Depp’s most famous roles: the iconic Captain Jack Sparrow.

The second and third films made an epic trilogy. The stand-alone fourth was less well-received. Now, a good six years later, the fifth instalment attempts to reinvigorate the franchise. Does it succeed?

Well, no. Not really.

It’s hard not to see Salazar’s Revenge – Dead Men Tell No Tales in North America – as a rehashing of old elements. Everything I said up top? It’s in there. Only now it all feels rather tired. Jack Sparrow used to be drunk but savvy, an unpredictable wild card. Now he’s just drunk. Mister Gibbs is still Jack’s loyal first mate, Pintel and Ragetti still the comic relief. Then there’s Barbossa. Villain, plot twist, reluctant ally, deuteragonist. Jack’s nemesis has played a lot of roles over a lot of movies. Maybe it’s the wig he’s wearing this time around, but Barbossa definitely feels old.

But let’s focus on the new faces. Salazar’s Revenge follows young Henry Turner on his quest to lift the curse of Davy Jones from his father, Will Turner. Not a spoiler, you find out within the first five minutes. Joining him is Carina Smyth, a headstrong young woman on a mission of her own. Their pairing is one of faith versus science. Henry lives and breathes myths and legends, Carina logic and rational pursuits. Henry is a generic nice guy. Carina’s condescending attitude gets old fast.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence after the last movie I saw, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 – which was excellent, I fully recommend that one. But I found it a little much that in this movie, both the hero and heroine have daddy issues.

They’re not bad, really. I just found it hard to care about them.

Captain Salazar and his merry band, on the other hand, are great. First there was Barbossa’s skeletal crew, then Davy Jones’s coral-encrusted monstrosities. This is the third set of undead pirates thus far. Yet their ghostly style feels fresh. Their ruined ship, the Silent Mary, is awesome. Salazar’s hair drifting without wind is a nice touch. The villains, at least, get points for originality.

They can’t carry the story by themselves, though.

This movie has pacing problems. The first act drags, the second fails to build momentum, and the third feels rushed as a result, as though we’ve stumbled into the climax. It was a fair ending. But despite the action, much of the first half left me bored.

The fifth instalment attempts to return to the series’ roots, while also carrying the story forwards. There are numerous throwbacks to the original trilogy. But it feels like the Pirates franchise is past its prime. Even the post-credits scene was more irritating than exciting. It’s only more of the same.

I hate to say it, but maybe it’s time the dead men stayed dead.

Salazar’s Revenge is a fair action/comedy. I’d still recommend it for pure entertainment value. Just don’t expect too much. I can’t see this being anyone’s movie of the year.