Reminders

I've had several references during the past few days to Alice in Wonderland and Lewis Carroll; higher in frequency than I would normally notice.  The written book of Alice in Wonderland (actually called "Through the Looking-Glass" if I remember right) always reminds me of my father's best friend Bill Kruger.

Bill was a Children's Literature professor at the University of Millikan in Illinois, a private university.  I didn't get the chance to meet Bill until I was in my mid-twenties, but I'm glad I had the limited time I did have to meet him.  Bill and I turned out to be quite similar in thinking, and got along very well, often disagreeing with my father in the same ways on the same points.  But more to the point, any time I was in the area, I would stop by and visit with Bill for a few hours.  This turned out to total about 6 hours in a few less trips.  After one such visit, I returned home and received in the mail a week or so later a copy of "Through the Looking-Glass" from Bill.  He had handwritten a note to me, stating the book was well worth my time, but more importantly, that he really believed I would enjoy the book.

At the time I thought it was a children's story, though of course one that could be mined by adults for insights.  I resisted reading the book, and it sat on the shelf for years.  Bill died a year or so after that last visit, and the mailed book.  I never did get around to reading it, and I am sorry I never read it.  I would feel better about it if I had made and effort, but I actively avoided reading it.  I don't remember if he actually asked me to read it and tell him what I thought, or if my guilty mind is tacking on that admonition.  Now I feel a twinge of guilt every time I think of the book that collected dust on the shelf for so long.  I've since lost track of the book, and that adds another twinge.  I hope to find it some day, and I hope that I had the forethought to put the handwritten note into the cover of the book.

It occurs to me writing now, that this is a fairly unique experience.  How many other twenty-somethings would search out and meet with their father's best friend from another state for chats?  And if I didn't write this here, who would ever know of this experience?  Or the tasks I feel I owe Kruger?  I saw that Kruger's children had moved on; they were not close to him in later life, and I wonder how much his death really affected them.  Granted, there's no real way of me knowing, but I find the bonds of family to often be arbitrary.  As the saying goes, friends are the family you choose.  I wonder if Bill is remembered for his position as father more than his abilities and personality.  Father is fine, but it seems a sad loss to forget the other aspects of the man.  My father and Bill's other contemporaries certainly remember him as 'Bill,' or 'Kruger' rather, more than 'father.'  How long will I remember him?  How long will I feel I owe him a debt?  If memory of a man is his form of immortality, how long will Bill be remembered?  Is my memory of him the furthest reach into the future Bill will have?  Is there anyway I can pass his memory on?  Or should I look to my own legacy?

These are reasons I've tried to realize my father and other dear members of my family for who they are, not only their relation to me.  I feel it's my responsibility to remember them for who they are.  I think children often develop a deep respect for their parents as they get older, precisely because they learn to see them as the people they are in addition to the parent they were.  I count myself lucky I seemed to be ahead of the curve.

Purpose?

Is there a purpose to peoples' lives?  I've wondered this since I was a child.  Religion has one believe there is a purpose... but given the amount of people I've seen profess that life has a guided purpose and the ways those people have lived their lives, I've become very skeptical.  The most I can believe is that, if there is a creator, he has created people with potential only; aptitudes.  People have abilities, and one would believe that the purpose of those abilities is to use them, which then transfer purpose to people.  But as far as people having a purpose and a destiny... it's a good wish, I'm not seeing it though.

I feel like I've missed my purpose.  Having wanted to believe in a purpose so long, I searched for it, I looked for portents and signs, and after years of searching, I've turned up empty handed.  I don't know my purpose.  I don't know that there is one.  People tell themselves little lies to get through the day, but I'm tired of lying.  I don't even really lie to myself, I just tell myself that if such a thing exists, then I should act as if it exists, so that I may come to know it. 

I just realized the real question I have, the buried one I haven't been able to see, is, "Am I worthy of being liked, respected, and loved?"  I feel like, without knowing my purpose, I'm failing, I'm floating on a sea of Nihilism.  I believe in Existentialism, that we create our own existence, and I'm a fan of post-Existentialism, that things have meaning because we imbue them with meaning.  Without direction, without purpose of some kind, I feel like I'm some stagnant nothing. 

The question deserves an answer, and the obvious one is "yes."  But, it feels like a hollow answer.  "Yes," is the answer we desire, the answer we desperately want to believe... but do we believe it?  If you can lead a horse to water, though can't make him drink, then you can come to the correct answer without truly internalizing it and believing it.  It remains an empty answer. 

Now I'm going to try to believe it. 

New Leaves

I wonder... it is my nature....

I wonder about many things.  Sometimes it seems the possibilities that stretch out before me are too many, that I can't keep track of them all.  I always have this feeling that there is a reset button somewhere; that sometime, when I want or need it bad enough, I will be able to push it and get a "do-over."  I know somewhere in my mind that such a thing is not possible or true, but I can't shake the feeling that the button is there, waiting for when I will need it. 

Maybe it's because it's still just me.  I don't have a family of my own, I don't have a significant other or kids.  I don't have a professional job, and I haven't accomplished the things that I thought I should have accomplished before I became a "Man."  It's still just me and my thoughts, floating.  No roots, no benchmarks of achievement to tie me down... I'm still waiting for my life to start. 

I've been preparing, always preparing... waiting for my chance to accomplish something worthwhile.  I've been cautious, always thought through my decisions, always tried to act rationally and in my best interest.  I wish I could blame Asperger's Syndrome, or my nerdy tendencies for my shortcomings, but they would be excuses, while the fault is my own.  I've avoided the pitfalls of wanton living.  My biggest failing has been inaction.  It seems like most of my friends have grown up by mistake.  They bit off more than they could chew, and ended up with marriages, children, families, houses, divorces, and everything else that signifies adulthood and the real world.  I have none of those trappings, but I have none of those signifiers either.  I'm a 29 year old boy.

Self-consciousness

http://www.reference.com/browse/Self-consciousness


It's come to my attention recently how incredibly self-conscious I am.  I don't mean shy, although that does occasionally happen.  I'm talking about the self-examination, however.  In the "Psychology" section of the linked page, it states there are two distinguished facets of self-consciousness: Private Self-consciousness, and Public Self-consciousness.  I have a predilection for both, although the private variety is of a more constant manifestation than the other. 

A friend remarked recently that the only person I'm really uncomfortable to be in a room with, is myself.  I was quite surprised when he said this.  After thinking about for a while, I was even more surprised to realize he was right. 

The only way I can think to describe this situation, is to say that I am a quick study.  I learn things quickly, and I remember for a long time.  As such, I grow easily bored.  I find I constantly need something to occupy my mind, or I examine the only thing readily at hand... myself.  Those times that I feel most alive, most like a living being, are when my complete attention is required to do some activity; video games or movies are good at this, conversation is also excellent (assuming it's a good game, or an engaging conversation).  Books work as well.  But... after all of this activity, I require time to process all of the new information/stimuli.  Sleep and dreaming help, but I find if I don't have time to reflect while awake on what has happened to me... time to defragment like a computer... I become increasingly irritable and tired.  On the other hand, when I have too much time without enough activity, I tend to turn to self-examination.  It is at these times that my mood suffers, and everything I am not (goals I've not reached or desires unfulfilled) comes suddenly to haunt me.  I am aware of this when it is happening, but knowing about it doesn't help me in the least to shut it off.  Still, my private self-consciousness is fine.  I can handle that, and it rarely ruins my mood.  I see me as me, and see no reason to feel anything about myself... what I am, I am.  However, public self-consciousness... the way I believe I am perceived by others... this drives me insane.  A big part of this is I can't tell for sure what others think of me.  Kindness may be felt genuinely when a person is dealing with me.  But I'm also aware that sometimes people may act kind to me in order to avoid a confrontation for which they feel unprepared.  In fact, when I'm thinking about it, it becomes very difficult for me to accept kindness from anyone, because I'm too obsessed with "why" they are being kind. 

I'm pretty sure I have some degree of Asperger's Syndrome.  Routinely I feel like a mind operating my body from outside of my body, like I'm at the wheel controlling a human car.  I used to have much difficulty with abstract language, taking it always as literal.  Also, people and emotions are very difficult for me to understand.  I never feel emotions from another person, I have very little or no empathy.  I constantly look for signs and symbols in movement, tone, attitude, and facial expressions to tell me what a person is feeling.  It's like diagnosing a sickness sometimes... ok, this face with that vocal tone means a person is feeling sad.  Ok, why are they feeling sad?  Was I the cause?  What did I say?  I'll rewind the conversation in my head.  Ok, I don't see how I could be the cause... what fits to cause this balance of emotion in this person?  Oh, her dog died and she just looked at the road.  I wish I could feel these emotions without thinking about them... I think it somehow makes me less human and more robotic, but I don't know how to change it.  Actually, when I'm drunk, emotions become easy.  Flirting and caring become easier as well.  I assume it is because, needing to be constantly stimulated, I see so many details I can't see the big picture.  Being drunk reduces my ability... which means I miss a lot of details I would normally see, but I get the bigger picture more easily.  It also makes social interaction easier... instead of examining people, I simply interact with them.  (I examine people because it helps me to pay attention to them, otherwise, inevitably, I start to examine something else either present or in my head, and inadvertently begin to ignore whomever I'm with.  Don't ask me why... I have tried to "think less" but it's like telling your stomach to growl less when you're hungry)

And all of this relates, because I've recently had too much time.  I've started to examine myself, and I find myself wanting.  Granted, there's always room for self-improvement, but I finally have become aware of the difference between self-improvement, and detrimental self-judgment.  Still, being aware doesn't mean I'm able to turn the self-judgment off.  I usually find something else to occupy my thoughts. 

I guess that's that... I don't know what to do about it, except to maybe take with a grain of salt my judgement of all of my "failures."

I blame the transition time I'm in... little work, waiting on news of Master's Programs so that I can start the next step of my life.  This, right here, right now, is the doldrums.  I can't decide which is worse, inaction, or action in a random direction.

Nosce te ipsum

"Know Thyself"  (Latin)
Or as I prefer it, "Remember who you are," for knowing oneself is not enough.

Yes, it matches a line by Mufasa from "The Lion King."  But with a booming voice like James Earl Jones reciting the phrase, how can you help but remember it?

In any case... I've forgotten this important thing.  It seems I periodically forget important parts of myself.  Milan Kundera holds that memory is not a way to remember, but a process of forgetting.  While I don't agree with him completely, I do see his point.  And perhaps this fallacy of memory is the perfect excuse for my periodic forgetfulness.  It's a process that I recognized quite some time ago.  I remember writing a poem about it... though I don't remember it entirely at this point.  Fitting, I should think.

I've been preoccupied with other things... mostly ways in which I've failed.  Elsewhere in this blog I've mentioned what I want for my life; family, a life well lived.  If I cannot have everything, then these things will suffice.  Guilt is something that hounds me... I'm not sure if it is an emotion, but in the way I feel it, it certainly seems like an emotion.  I have a long memory, and I'm very aware of my surroundings when I choose to be.  (The show Alphas has an episode dedicated to this type of problem, as does the show Fringe)  The problem is, I don't like being so vigilant, it keeps me from enjoying life, so I shut down for a while.  Quite regularly, I realize belatedly that I've shut down too much, made some avoidable mistake.  I don't really know how to find the balance, and perhaps I never will.  For someone who tells himself he's an existentialist, I certainly have a difficult time defining my reality. 

I certainly know who I am and what I'm capable of, my problem lies in remembering who I am.  It seems quite fitting that I study history, because that's where I truly draw my strength for who I am.  It's not enough to know who I am at the present.  That's just a snapshot, completely static, which reveals nothing of my potential tomorrow, or my travails to this point.  Not that it has all been troubles and toil to this point, but the low points conquered certainly stick with a person, and provide a sense of confidence and pride. 

In remembering my past, I give it weight.  Or, rather, it's like I'm putting my weight on it, it compresses, and springs me into tomorrow.  It is said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."  I don't entirely agree, at least not in strict sense, but there is great value in remembering the past.  And if memory is a process of forgetting, it is a delayed process, and delay is all I need.  I won't live forever (likely not, anyway-- I don't know that I won't live forever though), so memory only has to last long enough to get me to the grave in a delayed way. 

A friend subtitles in her blogs, "Living for Love or the Illusion of It."  In my experience, it is only an illusion... but it's an illusion worth having.  Especially of an existentialist, since such a person creates his or her own reality.  The problem?  Illusions fade; they require constant maintenance.  And even then they may fade.  I haven't dated anyone for a while, but this doesn't mean I haven't tried.  One of the greatest problems for me is the strength of the illusion.  I've had 3 illusions of love that I'm afraid have jaded me.  If I don't see amazing potential for a relationship in short time (meaning if I don't quickly fall head over heels over the person), I tend to give up on the relationship and close myself off from it.  If I meet someone only briefly, I tend to keep the illusion alive longer... it doesn't have the influence of the enamoured to dissipate my construction.  I had a very strong illusion for the last few months... and it finally faded... or rather, it was suddenly broken.  And with it, my desire for "family happiness" as well (I am aware of the Leo Tolstoy story of the same name... it is a reference).  I don't talk about relationships... but in the last year I've turned down someone in whom I had no interest, I refrained from dating a friend's ex-girlfriend, I myself was turned down, and I had a complicated relationship with a girl in which the relationship was never defined, nor was the breakup, if it can be called such.  In the intervening months, an old flame re-sparked... and the illusion was strong... but in the end it broke.  I tried to recreate it, but to no avail.  Dead things really should be left alone, and I am no necromancer.

And in the doldrums of broken illusions, with no wind to fill my emotional sails, I felt myself adrift.  This was compounded by my plans for the future, my desire for a future in Europe, depending solely on providence, and seeming to also be failing.  While adrift and rudderless, and having no discernible destination, I found it impossible, while knowing who I was, to remember where I came from.  With nothing in the future, and nothing filling me presently, I overlooked my history.  The ship analogy still works.  Lost after a storm and adrift, with no destination and no prospects, the only thing is to remember why the ship left port.  Why was I where I was?  The past connects the dots, it shows the path taken, and offers a direction forward. 

Remember who you are.  I am me; I am my father's son.  There are values he taught me worth carrying forward to the future.  I have learned beautiful things on my own worth remembering and mentioning to others.  For now, I need to forget what I've lost, love or the illusion of it, failure in my life, panic at my age... these things aren't nearly as important as the responsibility I have to remember, or at least forget slowly, these things I have been taught or experienced.  That is the core of who I am, not my recent failures and worries.  I am complete in the fact that I am me, that I have my life up to this point to rely on.  When directionless and in doldrums, I can look back to where I've come from and see where I am to go. :)



P.S.  I remembered the poem

Occasionally, I lose who I am.
I walk and talk and realize
I've forgotten my role in life.

I spend months recovering,
reconstructing--remembering,
but I know it doesn't matter,

I will only forget again.

Preoccupation

I recently had my 29th birthday. I'm going to be 40 in 11 years... but 11 years ago, I was a senior in high school. I still feel like I just graduated high school, but I'll be "over the hill" in the same amount of time. I feel like my life is passing me by, and quickly. This feels like the transition point of my life... it also feels like my last chance to accomplish something. I'm fast becoming too old for things. There are many programs in which I have interest, for furthering education and otherwise, and I'm too old to begin them. 30 seems to be the absolute cutoff age. I keep wondering... how the hell did this happen?

And the damnedest part of it all... I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I know who I want to be... as said before, I finally know myself, my limits, my desires, etc. All of this frustrates and angers me. I find I have a preoccupation with death. I don't know if this stems from my father turning 80 soon, or if it's because I'm stuck here in my life, feeling unfulfilled. It's like I'm spinning my wheels, going nowhere fast. I hate it. I keep thinking about what a useless and wasted life I've led... I feel entirely unaccomplished. I'm still a boy waiting to grow up, and I fear I'll become an old man physically before I grow up mentally.

It's enough to make me want to scream, or claw myself out of my skin. I want a do-over. It's like life is here, and I've failed at it. I've experienced some great things, but floating here, anchorless, is a failure.

Automatons

In writing, to distinguish good writing from mediocre, we search for what is called, "a mind at work."