The Luv Doc: Free Will?

Dear Luv Doc:

Do we have free will? Do we carry any responsibility for having been born? Or when? If you find out, let the rest of us know! 

– Extra Old Austin Dude

Good News Extra Old Austin Dude! I am delighted to inform you that not only am I the Luv Doc, I am also the unofficial Staff Ontologist here at The Austin Chronicle … and have been since I claimed the title back in the Before Times (the historic era prior to 2020 when restaurants didn’t close at 9pm and “working from home” meant you were pretending to be sick. Yeah, those before times). Now, I know what you’re thinking: How did such a coveted, unofficial position not get snapped up shortly after the Chronicle’s inception in 1981? Here’s the short answer: I don’t know. It’s entirely possible that the earnest, hardworking folks who founded The Austin Chronicle were too busy killing themselves trying to put out a paper each week to slow down and really ponder the true nature of existence. Trees/Forest, right? (That, by the way, is an old print joke about deforestation that the Genzennials won’t even get, so savor it.) Another reason – which is also going to seem thoroughly foreign to the youth of today – is that due to its very nature, Staff Ontologist is an unpaid position. It’s basically Public Domain valuation-wise – like the original Birthday Song that restaurant employees still aren’t allowed to sing even though the copyright expired in 2016. 

Who doesn’t love a super awkward, marginally enthusiastic birthday chant? Not me. I like to lean into the suffering, and here’s the deal: I do so of my own free will. I would call it a fetish, but that implies some sort of unexplained subconscious attraction beyond my control. No sir. I actively choose to let that overly perky server drag their eye-rolling co-workers to my table to perform a birthday chant that was clearly pulled out of the ass of some wannabe Taylor Swift in the corporate marketing department even though a perfectly serviceable yet slightly rangey song written in the 19th century would have surely done the trick. It’s absolutely fucking absurd, which makes it all the more lovable.

Now, surely there are those who might say that my enthusiasm for and enjoyment of that awkward birthday chant is preordained, either by a super detail-oriented divinity or perhaps an overachieving superintelligence. That might be so. And truly, if there is a God or machine willing to get so deeply and minutely involved in my life, power to it. No, not in that Wachowski sisters Matrix-style energy farming sense, but in the “Good on ya, mate.” sense. I hold no grudges against entities that are entirely unknown to me. I say, “Let them cook.” I’m busy out here trying to hit a Loteria Supreme scratch-off, among other things. I mean, I could just give up, but what good would I be to my overly meddling, superintelligent creators?

I bet you guessed it already, but yes, I believe we have a responsibility for having been born. Our mommas didn’t split their taints just so we could go live unremarkable, uninspiring lives. I believe we owe them some goddamned gratitude. We owe them some real effort – at least a smile – even and especially when we’re really sick and tired of doing that insipid birthday chant. If nothing else, it’s a great reminder that life is not always about us and our feelings.

OK, and I have to admit you stumped me on that seeming non sequitur “Or when?” question. Are you asking me to comment on the temporality of existence? The seeming sadistic impulse of our creator(s) to snatch back their most precious gift: life itself? Yeah, that seems like a bit of a dick move, but I’m guessing if I was a superintelligent, possibly omniscient being faced with the prospect of immortality, I might want to cook up some entertainment. That said, I am satisfied I will never have to answer that question.

This article appears in May 22 • 2026.