The area that I live in has been decimated by a historic arctic storm. Fifteen inches of snow was not uncommon and temperatures have been pushing ten below with a wind chill of thirty below. Getting out has been next to impossible and everyone is, more or less, stuck inside their houses.
I may not, at any given time, feel particular satisfaction in the activities that I choose or that are available for selection. However, I must have the ability to choose something if I wish. It reminds me of an old The Price Is Right game. I forget the name of it, but the idea is that you would punch out holes in a board and could take whatever prize lived inside. Rarely do any of the punches result in any meaningful gain, but depending on one’s performance in the pre-game portion, the number of punches varies. If the first punch is unacceptable, one could, in theory, punch another outlet in order to try and win a better prize. Being stuck inside makes me think of having only one such punch; I’m stuck with what I’ve got and no other option exists, even if the other, usual, options almost certainly won’t result in any more meaningful satisfaction.
I need the ability to chart my own course and to take off into the night at any given moment. Even a meaningless, hours-long drive can approximate the peace and sense of satisfaction that most activities in life cannot. Being stuck at home means that there is no ability to control my own stimulation. I do not have that option to choose another activity. It does not matter that nothing I choose will provide that silver bullet to cure my need for stimulation, but my impulsivity and a demand for control requires that I have it.
Most sociopaths are always chasing the unreachable: enduring satisfaction from an activity of their choosing. Impulsivity, a need for stimulation, and a lack of long-term goals, result in a constant big-game hunt with a 45 as the weapon of choice. However, the knowledge that we can hunt at all can be soothing in, and of, itself. Take that weapon away and leave us surrounded by all of the game we could ever want and we are left as writhing messes, condemned to the rote and uninteresting lives that we are sentenced to. Not that they are necessarily rote or uninteresting to others. To one that can never be satisfied, though…