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."

Doldrums

I've become tired of my own voice. It seems that I'm always writing motivational things here, usually aimed at myself. My life is pretty chaotic right now... I don't have a regualar sleep schedule, I don't have consistent work, and worst of all, I don't have a consistant paycheck. I'm trying to get accepted to a master's program overseas, either in Austria or Germany... but even if I do get accepted, I don't know how I'm going to pay for it. The world is one great question mark for me right now, and I have nothing tethering me to anything. I don't know how to pick a direction... right now I'm stuck in the doldrums, floating on the seas. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I certainly don't. I thought I was moving forward... but the reality is, I don't know what direction I'm going. For now I suppose I will float and hope, and maybe the right current will flow me along to the next thing.

It strikes me that I created this blog to talk about things... but all I really do is talk about myself. Maybe I'm at a transitional stage and I have to deal with this stage first... but what I really want to do is talk about interesting things. This diary type stuff, while useful in sorting my thoughts, feels far too much like a self-made pity party. Lets try for something a little more upbeat next time, shall we?

Remembrance

It's a strange thing, forgetting how to live. I wasn't aware I had forgotten, but I had. I knew something was different, that things were the same as before, that life felt different, but if you asked me to explain it I would have given a million reasons, and all of them would have been wrong.

Now... it's like my life is rolling again... the wheels are spinning, and not just in place like car tires making smoke. I sent off my first application for a master's degree. I hope I'm accepted. I don't even know how I'll pay for it... but it was a step forward. I quit, for all practical purposes, my job I've had for the last 6 years. I'm substitute teaching now... and I'm starting to get pretty full weeks. It makes a huge difference when you shower to begin your day instead of showering to wash the dirt off yourself at the end of the day. I like it. I think I'm standing straighter during the day. Life feels like me again... it feels like living. I'm no longer looking backward, or worrying about everything I've messed up... I'm looking forward to what the new possibilities are, and I'm not worrying about those either. I feel like I've finally shirked everyone else's expectations of me and my life. Now I get to live for me... and I'm pretty sure I know what I want, even if I don't know the specifics.

I'm happy again, in general... and expectant. I'm ready for tomorrow for the first time in a long time.

“In the Secular Age, there is no God; try and save yourself through love.”

I've been thinking about this quote recently. Actually, I've been thinking about a lot of things recently; it's been a whirlwind month for my mind. And I suppose over the course of the month my mind has organized my various preoccupied thoughts into two intertwining themes: Death and Love.

In the last several months three people I have known have passed away. They weren't people to whom I was particularly close, but at least two of them were people who took a little of the color of the world with the as they left.

Death, for us, normally, is something we really don't have to deal with. It is something ever-present, but not something that really affects us directly. Aside from the occasional pestering bugs we kill without a second thought, death is quite far removed from our minds; and when it isn't far from our minds, it has a tendency to be overpowering. I think we, as humans in the modern age, have become insulated from the constancy, the naturalness, of death.

In earlier times, death, especially for humans, was more prevalent. People died, often. There was no expectation of a long and happy life (at least not with the near guarantee we expect today), there was life while it lasted. The sheer consistency of death had to have assured a more tempered view of survival. In previous ages in Europe it was considered bad luck to name a child before it reached the age of two, because the chances of the child surviving so long were not that great. In fact, that is part of why it is so hard to pinpoint when certain famous people in these ages were born, and the word "circa" is used for births whereas more finite dates of death are given; if your first child, named Christopher/Christine died between the ages of two and about 8, then you, as the parents, simply named your next child Christopher/Christine. This actually makes perfect sense, since at the time, children didn't enjoy the status they have in today's world of pure beings, better than the failings learned and programmed into adults. Children, then, were considered less than human, stunted and unable to reason effectively as adults (read 'humans') did. This is much the same way we consider larvae in cocoons related to, but not, butterflies. This is actually an effective way to insulate oneself from the loss of a child, regardless of how much one may actually care for the child. In criminal psychology, this is called objectification; it occurs when a person ceases to be a person, and instead becomes an object. This, however, is only in reference to child mortality. Adult mortality was more prevalent as well, though perhaps at a lower rate than child mortality. Average life expectancies are a very concise way to look at adult mortality though. Point being, death was not a remote concept, it was a constant with which must needs be dealt.

My initial reaction to dealing with death (from the three recent deaths, and thinking about dealing with the prevalence of death in earlier times), was one of horror. I was aghast at how much death must have surrounded people on a regular basis. Even without the higher death rate of humans, people tended, much more so than today, to butcher their own animals. Nowadays we buy meat chilled and plastic wrapped; the acquisition of meat is completely divorced from the animal from which it comes. In earlier times the acquisition of meat was more visceral and real. However, I soon realized that I could not remain horrified forever, nor could the people who had lived through earlier times. I think the prevalence of death then must have created a more solemn approach to dying and loss; less horror, more determination. Also, surrounded by so much more death, my original thought was that death must become much more trivial, or at least the feelings one human had for another were more trivial. But the conviction of this answer didn't last for more than a few heartbeats. Reading past accounts, it's apparent people still loved and cared as we do, though perhaps they were more practiced at letting go. Despite this, I doubt it ever really became any easier. My final conclusion is that life, when more fragile, becomes more precious rather than more trivial. To "have not" makes one more appreciative of the things one does "have;" health, life, etc.

This is where the theme of love enters. With the fragility of life, so much more susceptible to death, because things like germs, nutrition, health, weather, and so on, were less understood, the preciousness of life must have been given more weight than we currently attribute it. I suspect I'm romanticizing the concept a bit, but imagine dealing daily with the uncertainty of tomorrow, or of next week, without our modern contrivances. Naturally I don't assume humans of earlier times thought about their demise constantly, but the appreciation for life must have been something that carried over into daily routine. I'm reminded hunter/gatherers, like the American Indian, thanking their prey for the prey's sacrifice of their life for the hunter. When was the last time you thanked the cow or the chicken for giving its life to further your own?

Relationships must have been more precious as well. even things such as arranged marriages most have possessed more connection than they currently do. With fewer choices in life, especially less social mobility (the ability to better yourself from the lot of your parents) life must have had a higher ratio of "make it work" to "what I want." The modern world is programmed with the idea of "bigger, better, faster" and this mode of thinking permeates our lives. It leaches into our relationships with others, our approach to love. In a world of programmed obsolescence; our interaction with acquaintances, friends, and lovers must absorb some portion of this mindset. How much effort do you put into maintaining old friendships that aren't convenient? How many lovers have you actually had? What kinds of judgments have you made about any and all of them? How many times have you told yourself, or had someone else tell you, that you would move on to better things? Really? Have you? Who is your "one that got away?" What is the thing you fear you will never get back? (I'm a supporter of progress, but I don't support the disposable lifestyles we've come to live. It's hard to be appreciative when you're looking for the next, better, thing. Furthermore, how can a person be happy when constantly focusing on the new thing they don't [yet] have?).

The title quote fits here. "In the Secular Age, there is no God; try and save yourself through love." In former times, religion and faith were more prevalent. Fact. With the uncertainty of everything surrounding someone, a person's faith was in God, purpose, destiny; instead of laws of thermodynamics, gravity, and the like. There was no concept of germs, bacteria, or viruses. (Although there were theories of humors and bile) Point being, religion was less iffy and more concrete, necessary, because there was so much uncertainty in other aspects of life. In general, a person believed; they didn't wonder if. There was no secularism, a world independent of a deity, with which to compete, with which to try to fit and merge into a religious view of the world. Even during the Enlightenment, the era that birthed our great ideas of science and reason, the idea of a Clockwork Universe (Simply, God created the universe so masterfully, that it could operate on it's own without his constant interference to hold it together; like a clock or watch telling time once it's wound) was prevalent. There was less wonder "is there a God" than wonder "why wasn't my prayer/offering answered?" The world was a religious one, regardless.

Existentialism, in quick terms, is the belief that the responsibility of living life is our own, beholden to no one else. We decide what in life is worth living for. This doesn't rule out God (especially since in Christianity a person, through their own choices, compiles their own burden of sin), but it doesn't provide for his existence either. God may be there, or he may not be, but the task of living your life is up to you yourself. (The early existentialists were all religious men) If you choose to live your life according to what you believe to be God's plan, you must first determine for yourself that there is a God, and then determine how to live your life in accordance; the burden of sin, misdeeds, and righteousness is yours to determine, again, in accordance with what you believe God desires of you... at least until Judgment Day, when you find out how close to right you were. And, if God is not there, then the responsibility of living your life is still entirely up to you.

I wonder if, on my deathbed as I am lying and waiting to die, I will be reconciled with the life I lived. If I die tomorrow, I will certainly die full of regrets. If two months from now, how many of those regrets will remain? Will I be living a fuller life by then, and thus be more ready to pass through death's veil into the unknown? (I know the religious faithful may take issue with this, the claiming to "know" what is beyond bodily death is actually impossible. You don't "know," can't "know," in the empirical sense of the word [that is, with evidence]. You have your strong conviction, your faith, that you know what will happen, just as I have my faith the sun will rise tomorrow. I believe it so strongly that it might as well be true, but I cannot show you proof of why it will rise tomorrow, only tell you the probability based on precedence.) And if I die 60 years from now, how many of those regrets of a life not well-lived will I have crossed off the list?

I've been thinking of what things would assuage my guilt, my fear, of dying unfulfilled, what things will console me as I fade away. Success in my endeavors and goals? A good job, money? No, they aren't so terribly important; they are things I amass and must leave behind. Fame or fortune? No. Perhaps a life lived in God's service, as many believe? Perhaps. But what constitutes such a life? Freedom from sin? Relative freedom of purposeful misdeeds? Being kind and helpful in life to others? Well, that seems like something in which a person could take some pride. Not because of the notion that good deeds buy you an entrance into Heaven, but because given the simple choice between a benevolent decision and a malicious one, who could take solace in having chosen maliciousness? I can imagine reflecting on the times I "did the right thing" and it seems to me they would have a balmy effect on a scarred soul/conscience. (And it still somehow seems ridiculous that at the end of life the kindness we've shown others should be so high amongst our concerns. Yet, it seems to be for everyone.) Admittedly, "doing the right thing" is not dependant on being a religious person (It's a very real comfort, living by your ethical code, regardless of religion or lack thereof. Integrity is universally admired.), though isn't it strange how it's an unstated assumption? (Ask for help, for real help, from a person on the street, and you assume you will be turned down... but what is your assumption when asking a church organization of strangers? Or even the same person from the street, in a church?) So it falls that living a good life, one that has helped others rather than only receive help from others, is a worthy goal. And one not necessarily tied to religion in any way. (In fact, I take solace in doing the right thing simply because it is the right thing to do. I used to think it would help me get to heaven and avoid hell... but in reality that's a terrible reason to do anything. Why should you expect rewards for doing the right thing? It smacks of bribery.)

Still, dying with only the few (or perhaps many) memories of doing right by others seems a shallow tally of the worthiness of a life lived. What of all the things I've thought of in the course of my existence? What of the things I've learned? What of the experiences I've had? All of these things a trapped within me, doomed to fade the moment I do. It occurred to me I could try writing the worthy things down, leave them in a book or two, or five, or however many. That way, at least, something could survive and contribute to world the day after I am gone. Then again, who would read it? Who would possibly be interested in the mindless drivel I deem important? Of books already written, precious few are classics, read and learned from, remembered by people... and mine would only join those ranks if I wrote a great work of fiction. What about memoirs? Who would read the memoirs of a normal guy from the Midwest? Nobody, at least, nobody who didn't know me. A thought then recurred to me, a memory I had of blowing on dandelions as a child. I asked my grandmother what purpose a dandelion had. In my child's mind I assumed everything had a purpose. Flowers existed to smell good, look pretty, and feed the insects. Insects existed to maintain the small things in the world, like pollination and making the soothing cicada buzz that lulled me to sleep at night, while humans saw to the larger things the insects and plants couldn't manage. I knew dandelions only as the feathered seeds; I didn't realize the golden flower and the ball of seeds were the same plant. Grandmother told me they existed to make seeds. I asked then what the seeds were for. To make dandelions, she told me. I was horrified and distraught to think of such an empty existence. To only grow from seed to make more seeds, the sole purpose of a life, even plant life, to merely survive and self-perpetuate? It bothered me for a long time, years in fact. To survive only long enough to pass on to another generation seemed a shallow and unworthy existence to me. It seems I can pass on to coming generations in two ways; through genetics or ideas. Passing on my genes? How would that help soothe my passing from this world? Passing on my ideas... that is something I could be proud of. But what ideas and to whom? As a person is dying and preparing to pass from this world, a person wants to believe that they are more than the gap left in a pail of water after the hand is withdrawn. I think this is why so many old men are concerned with their legacy. This legacy always seems to include children, not just in the genetic sense, but in having had an active hand in raising the progeny. Why would that be important? Well, to impart what you know of the world to them, to have raised them in your image, an image, hopefully, worthy of being passed on. People always say they wish to die surrounded by loved ones.

This is the thought that then struck me, the one that finally seemed to deliver the solace I would desire if I were soon leaving this world; family. Not the family you grew up in, but the one you create, the one in which to have the years not only to pass on worthy things from your life, but to share that life as well. And even if without children, to have at least one loved one with which to share a life, not only the life after the meeting, but the life that lead up to that meeting, must be an existence worth trying. After all, who we are is necessarily a compendium of all we have been in the past, and the experiences, the learning, we have acquired up to the present time.

So this is how my mind tied it all together, Death and Love. In a modern, existential, life, life itself is secular. As Americans, a predominantly Christian nation, we believe in the separation of church and state. In Turkey, a nation in which most of the population follows Islam, the government is secular and separate from the church. Secularism is the lowest commonality we all can agree on (almost universally the world over), what whichever religion we choose to practice, or not practice, is safe within our personal lives. So once again, "In the Secular Age, there is no God; try to save yourself through love." This suddenly makes sense to me. The modern world is a secular one. This idea of love isn't a way to replace God, it's a way to live in a secular world, the world we live in daily without religious interpretation, where the grass is green from sufficient water, nitrogen, and nutrients instead of the whim of "God's will." My end answer? Live a life worth living, and hope for the best. If he exists, you've done the right things for the right reasons, not only a chance to go to a better place than hell. And if he doesn't exist, you can at least die with the solace that your life was worth living, even if you will soon cease to exist at all.

Too Much Thinking-Time on my Hands

"In the Secular Age, there is no God; try to save yourself through love."

I've been thinking about this quote recently. Actually, I've been thinking about a lot of things recently; it's been a whirlwind month for my mind. And I suppose over the course of the month, my mind has organized my various preoccupied thoughts into two intertwining themes: Death, and Love.

In the last several months, 3 people I've know have died. They weren't people I was close to, but two of them at least were people who took a little of the color of the world with them as they left.

Death for us normally is something we don't really have to deal with. It's something that's always present, but it's not something that really affects us directly. Aside from the occasional pestering insects we kill without a second thought, death is far removed from our minds. And when it isn't far from our minds, it tends to be overpowering. I think we, as modern humans, have become insulated from the constancy, the naturalness, of death. Before, in earlier times, death, especially for humans, was more rampant. People died, all the time. There was no expectation of a long and happy life, there was life while it lasted. And although people perhaps desired a long and happy life, the sheer consistency of death must have assured a more tempered view of survival. In previous times, in Europe, it was considered bad luck to name a child before it reached the age of two, because the chances of it surviving that long were not great. In fact, that's part of why it's so hard to pinpoint when famous people were born, and the word "circa" is used for births whereas we have a (more) finite date for the death; if your first child named Christopher/Christine died before the age of two, you, as the parents, simply named your next child Christopher/Christine. This makes perfect sense, since at the time, children didn't enjoy their current status as pure beings, better than the failings learned and programmed into adults; they were considered less than human, stunted and unable to reason effectively as humans (adults) did. It's the same way we consider larvae in cocoons related to, but not, butterflies. It's an effective way to insulate yourself from the loss of a child, regardless of how much you may care for the child. In criminal psychology, it's referred to as objectification; it's when a person ceases to be a person and is considered an object. But, all of this only refers to child mortality. Adult mortality was more prevalent as well, though perhaps at a lower rate than child mortality. Average life expectancy is a very concise way of looking at it. Point being, death was not a remote concept, it was a constant with which must needs be dealt.

My initial reaction to dealing with so much death (from both the three recent deaths, and the thought paths which led me to think about the prevalence of death in earlier times) was one of horror. I was aghast at how much death must have surrounded people on a regular basis. Even without humans dying, people tended, much more than today, to butcher their own animals. Nowadays we buy meat packaged and chilled; in earlier times the acquisition of meat was more visceral and real. But, I soon realized that I could not remain horrified forever, and neither could the people who lived through earlier times. I think death must have created a more somber approach to dying and loss; less horror, more determination. Also, surrounded by so much death, my original thought was that death must have become more trivial, or at least the feelings one human had for another were more trivial. But I wasn't convinced by this answer for more than a few heartbeats. Reading past accounts, it's apparent people still cared and loved as we do, though perhaps they were more practiced at letting go. I doubt it really ever became easier however. My conclusion is that life, being more fragile, becomes more precious rather than more trivial. To "have not" makes you appreciate more the things you do "have;" health, life, etc.

This is where the theme of love enters. With the fragility of life, so much more susceptable to death because things like germs, nutrition, health, weather, and so on were less understood, the preciousness of life must have been given more weight than we currently attribute it. I suspect I'm idolizing the concept a bit, but imagine dealing daily with the uncertainty of tomorrow, of living next week. Naturally I don't assume humans from earlier times thought about their demise constantly, but the appreciation for life must have been something that carried over into daily routine. I'm reminded of hunter/gatherers thanking their prey for the prey's sacrifice of life to the hunter. When was the last time you thanked the cow or chicken for giving its life for your own? Relationships must have been more precious as well. Even things such as arranged marriages must have had more connection than they currently enjoy. With less choices in life, especially less social mobility (the ability to better yourself from the lot of your parents) life must have had a higher ratio of "make it work" to "what I want." The modern world is programmed with the idea of "Bigger, Better, Faster" and this mode of thinking permeates our lives. It leaches into our approach to love, our relationships with other people. In a world of programmed obsolescence, our interaction with friends, lovers, and acquaintances must absorb some portion of this mindset. How much effort do you put into maintaining old friendships that aren't convenient? How many lovers have you had? What kinds of judgements have you made about any and all of them; friends, lovers, and acquaintances? How many times have you told yourself, or had someone else tell you, that you'll move on to better things? Who was the one that got away?

The above quote fits here. "In the Secualar Age, there is no God; try to save yourself through love." In former times, religion was more prevalent. Fact. With the uncertainty of everything surrounding a person, our faith was in God, purpose/destiny, instead of laws of thermodynamics, gravity, and the like; no concept of germs, bacteria, viruses. Point being, religion was less iffy and more concrete necessarily because of so much uncertainty in other aspects of life. A person believed... they didn't wonder if. There was no secularism, a world independent of a deity, with which to compete, to try to fit and merge into a religious view of the world. Even in the Enlightenment, the idea of a clockwork universe arose. There was less wonder of "is there a God" than wonder "why wasn't my prayer/offering answered."

Existentialism, in terms, is the belief that the responsibility of our living our life is our own. We decide what in life is worth living for. This doesn't rule out God, but it doesn't provide for his existence either. He may be there, or he may not, the task of living your life is up to you yourself. If you choose to life your life according to what you believe to be God's plan, you must first determine for yourself that there is a God, and then determine how to live your life in accordance; the burden of sin, misdeeds, and righteousness is yours to determine, again, in accordance with what you believe God desires of you... at least until Judgement Day, when you find out how close to right you were. And, conversely, if God is not there, then the responsibility of living your life is entirely up to you. I wonder, on my deathbed, as I'm lying and waiting to die, if I will be reconciled with the life I lived. If I die tomorrow, I will die full of regrets. If two months from now, how many of those regrets will remain? Will I be living a fuller life by then, and thus be more ready to pass through the veil of death into the unknown. (I know the religious faithful may take issue with this, but claiming to "know" what is beyond bodily death is actually impossible. You don't "know" in the empirical sense of the word, that is, with evidence. You have your strong conviction, your faith, that you know what will happen, just as I have my faith the sun will rise tomorrow. I believe it so true it might as well be true, but I cannot show you proof of why it will rise tomorrow, only tell you the likelihood based on precedence) And if I die 60 years from now, how many of those regrets of a life not well-lived will I have crossed off the list?

Preparing for the End?

http://www.youtube.com/andrehendricks#p/a/u/7/zJ_RUc2ND_c

Smells like failure

I had the displeasure of going over my unofficial transcript today. I'm applying to substitute teach at my old high school... I never dreamed there would be so much paperwork and approval required. My transcript is not impressive. I have only a 2.76 GPA. If you look at my history courses, I have a 3.30. But overall... not so good. I wonder if I can even get into graduate school now? Why is my GPA in such a state? Easy. I get A's in classes I find interesting. Physics, World Masterpieces, Writing Poetry for Publication, etc., and the classes I find ridiculous and useless... I'm terrible at forcing myself to do things I hate, unless it's part of my job, or my responsibility. So, African American Women, Gender, and Girlhood... yeah, I got an F in that. History of Philosphy - A, Macro Economics - F, and so on. My transcripts looks basically each semester like, A, A, A, F for my 4 classes per semester.

Actually, I told myself I wasn't going to turn this blog into any more of a diary. Suffice to say, today I felt like a failure. Today was a day everything I've not accomplished stared at me in the face. I started worrying that I will never find a job I like, that I will not get back to Europe, that my life is stuck in a rut that I created. But, just as I was feeling sad, and low, and sorry for myself, I got angry. I don't like being judged, and I'm sick to death of having to do things to get other people to like me. I feel that's what a job interview is... trying to get people to like you. Fuck that. "Fake" is a terrible color to wear; I refuse to wear it anymore. Me. That's what people have to deal with, it's what I have to deal with. I don't like their rules. I don't fit their mold. I don't have a 3.0 GPA, I don't have a 4 year degree in 4 years... I've taken another route, and I have other skills and life experiences. I am not my transcript... and the sooner I learn to remember that, the better off I, and my life, will be.

So, I've had it. I'm not playing by their rules; this life is mine, and I'm going to have to live it myself....

Up Late... Again

I can't sleep. It's a combination of pulled muscles in my neck cramping, the pounding headache from the muscles cramping, and stress about the next step in my life (which may be why my neck has cramped; muscle tension. Also, two whiplash injuries to my neck have not helped).

I understand finally what my friends were talking about when they were trying to decide what to do after their bachelors degree, when trying to decide on a masters. It's funny, from the outside looking in, the questions seem so innocuous. I watched them make their decisions, and the answers seemed obvious. The person would make the right decision, and go on with their lives.

One chose nanotechnology (I think) in Chemistry, another chose to further her studies in Geography, and the decisions fell into place. Now though, when it is time for me to make my decision... I'm lost.

The obvious advice is, do what you're good at. For me... that's not so easy. I'm good at learning; it doesn't matter so much what I'm learning. So, am I good at everything? Anything to be learned in a book? Yes. Am I good at life? Eh, I kinda suck at life. Or, maybe where I'm living, the location is sucking the life out of me? I don't remember sucking at life in Germany. It was exciting; I felt like the captain of my own life-ship, at the helm on the currents of time. Now? I'm definitely caught in an eddy. Actually, Leeton, Missouri, is pretty much a black hole. You can run away, but it will suck you back. Time seems to slow here as well. I hate it... well, that part of it.

Once again, it's night. As I've said before, at night, the rules change. Nighttime is when fears sprout eyes; they grow teeth. You can't see them, but you know they are there, gnashing patiently in the darkness. At these times, I look at myself, I look at who I want to be-- I compare the two. It's good to have goals, but I'm afraid all I see are goals unachieved and causes left along the roadway.

Almost everyone in my life here tells me to stay here, to prepare for the recession, to get a job with my older brother and work my way to vice-president in his company. They've been telling me these things for quite some time. "Why finish getting your degree? You won't make any more money here. Might as well start working now." I didn't listen to them, I thought it was foolish to not have a degree. Like a trap. A degree was my ladder out of "the simple life." I knew they were wrong, and I went ahead, working manual labor in the sun during the day and studying for classes at night. Finally, I have my degree. Now... it seems I should get my masters. I've come too far, the simple life will never been satisfying for me now... you can't un-miss icecream once you've had it. And there is nothing wrong with the simple life... it is just not for me. I belong somewhere else. I don't know why I have such a hard time making up my mind and telling others they are wrong about what is best for my life. When it comes to something academic, I can easily tell people I think they are wrong. But when it comes to people, dealing with emotions... I guess I still want to be liked and want to get along with people more than I want to be right... even about my own life. Thankfully, the few people in my life who really know me, people whose opinions I really trust, tell me absolutely I should follow these flights of fancy and leave the Midwest. I blame the touch of Asberger's Syndrome for my weakness. Well, I would blame it, but I think that's a cop out. Adversity should be overcome, not used as an excuse. Then again, that's a philosophy so much more easily quoted than followed. This is life; it should be lived.

The Great Unknown

I was going to write here... but I realized everything I have to say I have already said. It occurs to me that I'm facing the same situation, the same problems, that I was facing a week ago.... so until something changes... I should really refrain from complaining about it further.

Then again, my mind is often full of thoughts... but I think not rambling would be a good change. Suffice to say, I don't know what tomorrow will bring; I only see a huge wash before me, like being on the vast ocean on a drifting boat. What will come? I don't know; but the question fish are swimming beneath me still.

1 Corinthians 13:11

I normally don't pay much attention to bible verses, but this one has been stuck in my head for some days.


"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I thought as a child, I reasoned as a child. Now that I become a man, I must give up childish ways."

Perhaps this best sums up where I am at in my life. I always swore I would keep some part of myself childish, I thought it was a better way to live; it seemed to be the way my father lived. So perhaps I should keep some childish ways after all... but it certainly seems I should diminish that number greatly, if not altogether.

Hmm, I'd ask for opinions... but I don't know that anyone actually reads this, or cares enough to respond. Well, what the hell? One mustn't have a response to ask a question. What do you think?

Clean my Wounds -- http://pl.st/s/407990289

I am tired, and I am angry; not in the physical sense. There are things I want in life, I've said this before, and likely again, because I'm little better than a broken record player, especially when I don't listen to the things I keep saying to myself over and over again.

I've also said before that I finally know who I am... this is true, but who I am does not fit with my surroundings. This is the area in which I grew up, these are the people around me who have known me for a long while, and while they are dear to me, they know too much of who I was to understand who I am now. This isn't a cry or declaim about how I'm misunderstood as a person, this is a statement that I am growing older, that priorities and decision making and goals are different. I am out of tune with the small town life in the middle of the Midwest. It is an ill-fit, that is all. Like clothes that have grown too tight.

There are things I expected, I've waited patiently for them, I've done the sensible thing, the right thing, more often than I care to count. I have rarely followed my passions, because I was raised that you must think before you act, and that when you want something really badly, you tend to ignore the things you don't want to hear/see, and barge ahead down toward the bad decision. This is true, and I have avoided many pitfalls which my contemporaries have not. But this cautiousness has backfired. I have developed a tendency to be apathetic, and I'm so bad at chasing my interests, I've developed such a sense of panic and guilt about chasing interests to the detriment of level-headed decision-making, and therefore chasing something into folly, that when I do chase something, I only half commit. Half commitment is a piss poor way to go through life, especially if this is the only life we have. I'm sick of it. I have prepared for a "good life." I have studied for it, I have tried to do the right things, make the right decisions, be responsible... and I have forgotten to live my life. Why the hell should I be waiting to live my life? It has cost me years, and I console myself with the fact that my family is long-lived... but that's no guarantee. I am missing something here, life. Something you can't get more of for the asking, something you can't simply hit the reset button for and try again. How much longer before I become something between a has-been or a never-was?

I am sick of it. I found the things I wanted, they were difficult to achieve, and I refused to chomp at the bit, because I have learned that fighting the current leaves you weak and defeated... unless you are a strong swimmer. I've never even attempted to be a strong swimmer... I simply thought I'd use the currents to flow more easily down the river of life... but the currents take you where they want to go, not where you want to go. Right now? This is an eddy: this place, this time, this life.

I thought if I were patient and paid attention, the answers to life's big problems would present themselves. They have not. It's like waiting for a message from God... my divination is pretty shit. People look for messages all the time, they wait for signs, messages from God, omens, karma... and when nothing happens, they look for anything they can find, and make it fit... even if the people are careful to not always make it seem like they are getting their way. It's a gigantic game of self-deception, and I did it for a long time, though I never fully committed to any of the signs I thought I might have seen. (And maybe I'm wrong, and the universe really does align for some people, people more dedicated than I am, or less frustrated) I will not be doing it any longer. Actually, I have not done it for some time, but I have not rejected it outright until now.

I hear the phrase often, "If it is meant to happen, it will happen." And while that thought may be consoling, believing there is some order and place for everyone in the Universe, I don't believe it. Things happen if you want them to happen, you affect changes, you make ripples, and if you're lucky the pond you're swimming in lets the ripples bounce back to you to carry you forward. And sometimes it's a fluke, and things just work out easily.

As of now, I'm a ball of anger and disappointment. I did my part, I saved up my life so I could invest it in something worthy... and I've reached the investment point, the investment deadline, and I see nothing to invest in. Anything worthy of investing is closed to me. It's making me look at life in general, to really examine my own life, and I find it wanting.

A friend recently asked me, "What do you want in life?" And another, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" For the longest time I didn't know what I wanted to be, but I thought I knew who I wanted to be... or at least what type of person I wanted to be. But, as it turns out, I'm not really the person I wanted to be. I am turning into a person I did not want to be. I am becoming more dismissive of other people, of their logic and ideas, of their ideas of what life should be. And maybe that's what growing up is about, becoming a fully functioning adult. And then you become the old, closed-minded fool you always hated, who wonders why the hell the younger people don't understand the way things are. Maybe that's the vicious cycle, that you eventually grow into the monster you hated. I can think of some other dynamics, but my bitterness has fastened on this one for the time being.

What do I want from life? Who do I want to be? What is my dream job? I want to be family man, I want to be brilliant and know a lot about everything, I want to figure things out faster and better than other people and have a reputation for making good decisions, but I want that ability earned through my dedication to learning, to paying attention, to examining myself to avoid pitfalls of pride and bigotry. I want to be an old man who lived a full life, who is wise and kind, who did well and created a happy family. I want big family reunions, I want to look over at an old, wrinkly, and dear woman and be able to say, "We did well. This was a life well lived. I'm proud." I've tried to be this person, and if my investment returns me nothing... I can't even finish the thought. That's what I want from life, that's who I want to be. My dream job? I want to be a father/husband who operates an Inn, they kind where my kids run around and cause mischief I must fix, but need to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the same time. And I want to blacksmith on the side. That is my dream job. Now, how do I apply for it?

Where the future and the present meet

I have spent my life preparing. I was always told, and so I always believed, that I had potential. Potential to do things wonderful and worthwhile. Now, I'm at a crossroads. I have dreams and hopes and plans, but nothing is certain. I did not grow up with desire in my heart for a job or place in life. I have never wanted to be a fireman, or an astronaut, or any of the other myriad things other boys wished to be. My destination was not a profession; above all else I yearned to be a particular type of man. That is the goal for which I prepared. I have ever wanted to be a good man, just and strong when needed, but kind and happy. Life is not worth living if it cannot be enjoyed, softened with a laugh and brightened by happiness. But life has teeth as well, and some obstacles must be met with all the strength in ones bones, all the cords of muscle that can be raised, with the mental wherewithal to stand tall and resolute through discomfort and pain. These are the things I most desired, these are the things I have tried to train myself to be. I have no idea how close or far I am from succeeding. I have no great battle, I have never been tested, most of my life has come easily and without conflict, and I hate to start conflict, because my memory is long and I hold grudges. I have no problem finishing conflict, however. In fact, I like it. I like to surprise people, I like to win, I like to have my point proven and stand gloriously justified. But these are vain exultation's, and that I enjoy them so much frightens me. The man I wish to be should have a nobler spirit. A quiet voice with the strength of iron, a laugh that causes others to join in, an apt mind that seeks out the things others miss. Most of all I wish to have a family. That is my aspiration. Not a certain job, or amount of money, but family. A life-mate to share my joys with and to help carry my sorrows, children to delight in (for children see the world more clearly, adults muddy the waters of life with expectations, and clever men lay traps for others) and to teach my secrets to (those things worth knowing).

But, right now, I am in transition from a boy to a man. I have my degree, only the 3rd child to earn a degree of 8 children. I must start living. I wish I were a white knight in shining armor, out to conquer some part of the world and sweep a deserving lady off her feet, and so start my fairytale. These are boyish dreams, and I have read too many stories. Even at University, History always seemed to me to separate to the words, "his story."

And so here I am, lying awake at night with my hopes and dreams and plans tumbling in my head, my life aspirations guiding me into who I wished to be, instead of what I wished to be. I feel time ticking away, and I feel I must soon start one foot in front of another to begin my real journey through life. Schooling is over, it is time I learned to live.

Cimmerian Shadow

The rules change by night, have you noticed?
The light melts away behind the horizon,
as darkness pools in shadows and overflows,
staining everything until the black is complete.
By night, all the certainties I know melt away,
everything I believe is questioned, and my sense
of direction for my life are as forgotten as the burning sun.
In the dark, I forget who I am,
the mirror cannot throw my image back on me,
my confines and definition are melted with the light,
and I am empty and formless as the night.
In my dreams, there is light. It is an inner light
that does not guide, but paints the great 'what if's.
As I dream, the possibilities are endless,
I am 20 different people before waking.
My love is pure, my honor untarnished,
and I am brilliant and perfect in ways I could never be.
Nothing exists but the roving voice in my head,
a voice disembodied, full of scorn and sleepy uncertainty.
I lie awake, and love, and hate, and hope, waiting
for sleep or the end of this world, or beginning of a new.
I miss you, are the only words that coalesce enough to form.
Who do I miss, or what? A person, a life, a world far away,
where the light has fled to, where other tongues talk in poems
and beautiful thoughts I can't hear and wouldn't understand.
I am left bereft, shapeless and soulless, lost,
a poorly formed hope in the back of my mind my only guide,
and the hope that I will dream of something, somewhere, someone
that will show me who I am again.

Artifice

"It was not meant to be aesthetic or to adorn the walls. It seems somehow unfair that it is so pleasing to the eye--that the photographer ordered it just right, that he captured the feeling of life within the rigid order and cleanliness."

A friend posted this tonight, and included the caption. It's not very often a picture stops me and causes me to think deeply, and in truth it has more to do with the poignancy of the caption than the picture itself. The caption tells the viewer everything the viewer should be seeing, but is likely missing. Every so often though, something grabs my attention and won't let go... this is one of those times. When someone sees something deeper in anything you've only skimmed over and neglected, it makes you feel ashamed you didn't pay attention. And if it's something hidden that you are convinced you could not have seen yourself, you are then indebted to the eyes that saw that something first. It makes you want to be a better person, more perceptive, makes you strive to be more brilliant and poignant. At least, that's what it does to me. And even more with this photo and caption, the caption expresses an opinion/perspective about the contents of the photo, which could not be more succinct or better said. It is the kind of compaction for which poetry strives. The man here is real, gritty, rough and tumble. The background shows order in steely fashion, the holes and rivets too perfect, unbending and unyielding. It shows the man in the attire of order; he is poised, hand on hip, gigantic hammer comfortably resting upon shoulder, sleeves rolled perfectly. But look at his face; his eyes. His clothes do not fit well; the rolled sleeves are too perfect, the fabric too clean. His beard is barely tamed, his forearms are full of muscle and strength. He is an animal caged in iron order, the precise holes and rivets show themselves to be artifice, as do the clothes, the pose in which he holds himself. The only thing organic and real is the man fastened in the artificial and manufactured world surrounding him. And yet for all of it, the man remains. Caged perhaps, but the spirit is not cowed; there is life in him still.

The Urge to Write

Every once in a while, the urge strikes me to write. It doesn't matter so much what I write at these times, just that I'm writing something... which really makes no sense to me. Anyway... I could write about how hot it was today, hour many hours I've been working, and how I nearly passed out in the heat today around 3 pm... but instead I'm thinking of this weekend.

I'm taking my dad, who is 79, to a family reunion. My family lives a long time, so most of my dad's 11 brothers and sisters will be there, including his two older sisters well into their 80's. I love visiting my dad's side of the family. We get together, and it's like one big family, no fighting, no drama, just like a bunch of old friends getting together. I love it. Most of all, I love hearing the stories my aunts and uncles tell of when they were kids, I love imaging my dad and his brothers and sisters getting into trouble for doing the same things I got in trouble for. It's great being around them, because they're the kind people who just make you feel good. Which really makes sense that the most popular job in my dad's family is nursing. I think at least 40% or 50% of them are nurses of some kind or another. And I never thought about it making sense until now.

Anyway, I'm glad to be taking my dad up there (Illinois). He doesn't like to travel anymore, but I know he'll be so pleased he went. It's so much trouble to travel so far, especially when you're old, but traveling always seems worth it after you get to your destination. Actually, it seems like it's usually worth it as soon as your done preparing to travel. That's the worst part, somehow full of both stress and excitement. Hopefully the excitement comes and you start traveling before the stress of it gets to you. Back to subject though, I'm looking forward to spending this time with my dad. We've had great conversations on long car rides before, but haven't been on a car ride together since... bwah... I don't know when. Maybe nearly 10 years? Wow. But, still I'm looking forward to it.

Hmmm, now I'm remembering one time at home. I don't remember if he and I were the only ones at home because we had been traveling, or if there was another reason my mom and little brother weren't at home. In any case, it was late, and I should have been in bed already, but I said I wanted a snack... which I think is kid-speak for "I really don't want to go to bed yet"... but my dad played along. We stared inside the refrigerator for a long time, and finally decided to eat the hard boiled eggs. I think I must have been about 8 years old. Dad had a few, and I had, well, I guess about 5... but it seemed like a dozen. I didn't really like the eggs so much, I just liked peeling them, and I enjoyed the time with dad. He wasn't tired that night, and he didn't have other things he needed to do, we just sat in the kitchen and peeled and ate eggs, and talked. I don't even remember what about. They weren't the normal questions you ask children to get them to talk, and then tell them how nice whatever they're talking about is. My dad asked me what I thought about things... and then he listened. Not in a cute way, waiting for me to say funny things, he listened and cared. He didn't tell me I was wrong when I was wrong about something, he just let me have my opinion, and he explained his opinion. He never told me why he was right, or that he was right, I just always assumed he was, because what he said made so much sense. It was a great time, anytime I could talk with my dad. He listened. How many adults really listen to what kids are saying? How many sit and have a conversation with kids? I sat, and peeled eggs, and ate them (after I tried giving them to dad), not because I liked them, but because I was enjoying the time. He never sent me to bed, he just waited for me to get tired, which was usually around the time I should have gone to be anyway, and then put me to bed. I may have stayed up an extra 15 minutes, but I felt like I had really gotten away with something. My dad was a great parent... I should spend more time thinking about how he raised me, so I can remember how to raise kids if and when I have children.

Also, I really like these old memories... I wonder if I am turning into an old, reminiscing man before my time?

Our feelings don't believe in each other

I've written on this subject before, but it always returns to me. When we feel a certain way, any kind of emotion, we can't really imagine feeling any other way than the way we currently feel, I think even to the point where knowing you will once again feel happy, or sad, or anything different from how you currently feel becomes only an outline of the emotion. You know you will be happy again, or sad, and that it will feel good, or heartbreaking, but to actually comprehend the feeling? I don't believe it is possible.

But to my point, not many posts ago I said a lot about what I was, how I was not a good person, how I was an angry person capable of terrible things. That is as untrue now as it was true then. I'm not a different person, not really, but my emotions are different. Perhaps who you are depends on what emotions you are feeling... and what you are capable of, your extremes of both good and bad, is just the potential of who you could be. And perhaps who you are is really the mean (frequency average) of the things you do/the emotions you are most normally at/the potential ways of acting which you most frequenty fulfill?

I've had a good month, and life has been good to live again. I'm happy. And I find it strange that I was so sure I was this person with evil potential, though now I can hardly imagine it. And of course it's simply solved, everyone always says people are capable of the most amazing and terrible things both. What I am trying to understand is nothing new... but there is a difference between knowing the truth and understanding it. I've known the truth for a long while... but I'm only now understanding it. That is why I bore you, dear reader, with telling you things you already know.


Also, I'm at a strange point in my life. I don't really have life questions anymore. Sure, there are things I don't know, but I'm not trying to figure my life out, I'm not trying to figure out who I am... I have old adages aplenty for every situation it seems. And I know how to be myself finally, it's something I can feel now, though always before it was something for which I searched. Now, I try to understand the truths that I've learned. Hmmm, maybe I am being very unclear? Think of an experiment. You do it over and over, and always get the same result... so you learn "If this .../then this" and you know the truth of it. But, understanding why this result happens... that's something completely different. I know the truth of a lot of things in my life, but now instead of searching for the truth, I'm searching for understanding. Hmmm, does that make sense?

Newness

Hmmm... I don't know where to start. I moved into an apartment with a friend. So far it's great, except for his puppy/dog (8 months old) which whines a lot... but otherwise, yeah, great. I haven't been so relaxed for at least 2 years, since I was in Germany. I'm my own person again and my time is my own. I'm sleeping great, and in the new apartment, everything is closer; stores, work, theater.... :D

I was really disappointed and then a little, well, a lot, angry about the interview for the job I didn't get. But, it may have been exactly what I needed, because now I'm focused again, and I've decided to get things done. It's my life, and I'm ready to live it again. I won't tell you about my plans, because I believe that the more you talk about something, the less likely you are to do it. So, after it is done, I will tell you. ;)

So, what does tomorrow hold? I don't know, but for the first time in a long time, I'm excited to find out. Yeah, life, right now, I'm loving it. :)

Thank you, that is all. ;)

My Account... of Myself

I reread a few blog entries. I guess this really has turned into a diary. It's odd how stupid something sounds after your mood has changed. I debated deleting those things which seem to me now foolish... but that would be most of them. Also... they are a record of who I am and the things I deal with... or rather, how I deal with them. In essense, it's me, or at least a portion of me. I feel to delete them would be to run and cower from myself. I have stupidity in myself the same way I see stupidity in others... I shouldn't imagine it's any different. If I face these things, I think I will be better off for them... so I won't delete them, no matter how foolish or what mood I was in when I wrote them. It's me. And notice the huge difference between the way people think, and how they actually behave. We don't write about the consistent traits we have, or the good traits, we tend to complain about the bad traits, and kick, scream, and yell about the unfairness of the world, vent our anger and frustration on the blank spaces. So, whatever I may declare to you, the reader, the counterpart of my consciousness as I write any of these blogs, please realize, as I have, that anything I tell you, especially about myself, must be seen to contain a certain amount of bullshit. I'm not lying... I'm just not getting the facts right... even for myself.

Rapturous?

Today is supposedly the day the Rapture was supposed to happen. Yeah, I didn't believe it either. It's also the day of my 10 year high school reunion. This I do believe in, even if I claim I can't believe it's been 10 years already.

But I'm actually less intrigued with the reunion than the Rapture. In any case, were the Rapture actually to happen today, I'm sure I would not be going. In the darkness of my heart burn a great many things for which they don't let you into heaven. I used to fret about it, now though, I just accept I won't be going. Not the least reason of which being that I don't really believe in the Rapture. But, supposing it exists... everything I know about being a good person, a person possibly worthy... I simply am not. My kindnesses hide the depths of my depravity, the ugliness of my thoughts. It's a habit, I thought if I practiced it, perhaps it would become natural; and kindness deals much better with people in general than negativity. It also makes one appear very weak. Weak, I am not. Full of indecision, perhaps, but press me in a corner and the beast before you changes. I am a base and vindictive creature for all of the lofty thoughts I may attempt. There are different levels to a person's mind, and I am not afraid to go to the lower levels. What scares me is how much I enjoy it. These types of things; the judgemental attitude, the hate I'm constantly repressing, trying to goad to go away... these are the things that would ensure I'd stay. Simple. Is there a kinder and more sophisticated, and caring, person inside me? Sure. He's been battled back since childhood though, and I no longer have a problem believing the worst in people. I maintain that I am practical, despite all of my ideals. Hmmm, I guess I'm writing this because I don't fully understand the duality of my situation. Right now the two impulses seem equally balanced, my impulse to be a person of higher thinking order, and the person that desires smashing the face of the guy wasting my time in the line in front of me.

Maybe I'm at a crossroads and trying to convince myself that I'm a good person... or maybe I'm a good person trying to convince myself I'm the poetic bad person... or maybe I'm up too late writing, and I'm really just normal but pissy. I guess the question will be answered when I'm pushed far enough in the corner.

Monoliths, Stained-glass, & Vestigial Wings

You can see him, there,

in the mirroring eyes:

the fallen seraph

hiding behind the smile.

He is umbilic-less;

he finds in the darkness,

the bright glass – solace.

It is never enough;

the subsistence continues—

for melodies persist

even as lyrics disperse

along the vaulted angles.

---

Absent the close-tucked

memories, the layered tufts—

pinioned, he stalks this world;

unbearably light.

Untethered... Hold Fast

I've spent a great deal of my time, my life in fact, debating if there is purpose to the universe, or not. If there is some divine plan with which I should have some accordance. I've doubted for a long time, but every so often something happens, and I start to believe again. It's as if the universe aligns and points me in the right direction. However, I'm very practical minded, and I always assume that the signs could just as easily be wishful thinking. That said, being existentialist by nature, I believe it could be true if you want it to be true. Normally though, if I look at the situation for a while, it turns out to be mist and tricks of the light. Ultimately intangible, and unsubstantial.

I experienced something, and I held out hope. I lacked reasons, either for or against, and I decided that some things are worth beleiving in. It turns out I was wrong... but rather than tear down everything that led me to the (incorrect) conclusion, I'm going to stand by my belief. I was wrong, or I didn't follow through well enough, but it was a worthy goal. I didn't really fail. But it didn't work out. I'm not going to say it wasn't meant to be, because I don't believe there is a meant to be (or, on the other hand, not meant to be). I don't look for signs anymore, I don't believe in them. We make our own lives. The universe bends to our will at the sub-atomic level, inviting us to make our choices and live our lives.

I guess, in the end... I just don't know. I feel untethered and floating... but I still believe there are things in life which are worth holding fast; worth holding tight.

What tomorrow will bring, I can't say... but I need to be ready to move forward. Right now? Right now I'm filled with frustration and anger... all of my plans; none of them matter. Everything is changed... I am changed. Tomorrow? Tomorrow hope is somewhere on the horizon, rising like the morning sun. I can't see it, and my imagination won't due it justice... but I beleive it will come. It must.

Catalyzer

The time has come, my Catalyst, to leave you. It is true, I owe you a great debt; I owe you my current life and my happiness, in fact. You were there at the pivotal moment I needed you; a little before, truth be told. I wasn't quite ready, but you guided me along the way, took me the two steps I needed to take, past the one step I was prepared to take, and so I can say with some certainty that if not for you, I would not have made the enlightening connections I needed had they been at another time, in another place. I don't even know if you are or were aware of your guiding actions, and it seems quite likely that you are unaware of them. Nevertheless, I owe you. But I cannot continue this life-size chess game. I can perform these Machiavellian machinations, but I require enjoyment from my life now, thanks to you, and I get no joy from the twists, plot turns, and dedication this large though subtle chessboard requires. And so, I am leaving. But I do not forget; I cannot forget. The debt is there, and I will repay it when I can, as I can.

It is time for me to run with the gift you have given me; I cannot run forward while looking back at you. I beg my leave, but give to you the solemn promise that I will return; I will be there when needed. I carry you with me wherever my feet lead, but you must have the freedom to walk on your own as well; my apologies for not realizing this sooner. Thank you for you, and safe journey until we again meet.

Perhaps?

Maybe, just maybe, there is more to life than our narrow perspectives allow us to realize. I don't mean narrow in the way that foolish and short-sighted people narrow the world around them, I mean narrow in the sense that our world isn't just objectively existing around us. We interact with the world subjectively in exactly the same way a camera is unable to remove itself from the subjective perspective which the camera operator imbues the lens. The lens itself is not biased, but to take a picture it must be guided by the picture taker, and the picture taker, by the act of taking a picture from any angle, takes the objectiveness from the picture, the camera; it is now subject to the operator's desires.

It seems most people who think about life try and try to prove that objective reality exists outside of us. I agree, I've read enough and thought about it enough that it seems it does exist outside of us, our existence, our desires, but that is only part of the whole picture. The world around us also must exist within our subjective reality. We have certain ideas, and we control and influence the world around us according to the ideas we have in our heads. To claim existence is purely objective, or purely subjective, is false. It must needs exist as both. Even in quantum mechanics, the subatomic particles behave as we believe them to behave, as we expect them to behave. Our subjective reality, our intent, influences the real world around us. Therefore our subjective reality is an integral part in the objective reality in which we exist.

And perhaps all of this explanation is unneeded; maybe everyone else has realized this before me and I'm behind the game... but it was a pretty big revelation for me. I'm again reminded of the picture of the two faces/vase. Which do you see? Which exists? A vase? Or two silhouetted faces staring at each other? Well, which do you wish to see? You must choose in order to see either. Try as I might, I can't see both at the same time.

This is where imagination is, again, so important. If the eye cannot see what the mind cannot perceive... well then lack of imagination is a terrible cosmic curse at best, and disastrous at worst. So, again... perhaps there is more to life than our narrow perspectives allow. I imagine life to be like music: a finite number of notes, but an infinite number of arrangements. Or perhaps there is also a finite number of arrangements (if one excludes infinite time), but perhaps there are an infinite number of instruments with which to alter tone, vibrato, staccato, timbre, etc..

Given a finite number of elements in our lives, in our realities, it is then tragic and a shame that we cannot live out all of the possibilities; we have just the one. (Unless you believe in something akin to Hinduism) But, how tragically and amazingly beautiful is it, that we have just these single lives to get as much right as possible, to live as best we can? Maybe I'm over-Romanticizing this all a bit too much... but what the hell? Why not? And if we are given the impossible tasks of living our lives with finite possibilities in (possibly finite) arrangements, how amazing is it that we get to cheat and influence the objective world around ourselves with only our subjective desires? It's like a cheat code for extra power. The objective world must exist while guided by our subjective wishes as well? Then life is a partnership, a dance, between what is and what we wish, clear down to the subatomic level. That must surely be a partial secret to life, that life must be lived actively, that you, the person living, must assume some kind of control of your life, because even reality itself is bending over backwards to indulge you your desires, encouraging you to live... so at the very least your wishes should be worthwhile.

What you wish for

In amazing timing, only about a day after I posted my last blog, which heavily mentioned my father and his deteriorating condition... he fell and broke his shoulder in 6 places.

He was going down the stairs to the basement to get a dish drainer (I don't know what they are actually called, but you put dishes on them to dry after washing them). I was doing the dishes in my sister's house, and asked dad if he knew if my sister had one, and if she did have one, did he know where it was? He didn't, but thought he had one of his own down in the basement. I told him not to worry about it, I would just use a towel.

Of course, as I turned back around to finish the dishes, dad left without saying anything. He needs live-in help, and is not supposed to use the stairs by himself, and he has no reason to go to the basement, since it's down another flight of steps, and he's been told by all of us, including doctors, not to use them unless he must, and when he must, to have help. (He had back surgery 6 years ago, and since then has had trouble walking) So, naturally, he goes to the basement as I'm washing dishes... and the next thing I hear is him yelling my name. "What?" I yelled back. "Come here!" And of course I walk through the house and can't find him, but finally walk down the two flights of stairs. He's at the bottom.

His feet slipped, and when he fell he landed on his right shoulder exactly on the corner of one of the stairs. The ball of the joint broke, one piece chipped off, but the rest of the ball fractured in a spiderweb of 5 other breaks. He was in a lot of pain, likely because it's not like breaking one bone, he broke the same bone 6 times, so the pain was increased. And, naturally, what did I do as I saw him lying on the stairs in pain? I turned into my typical self and started chiding him and telling him that's why he wasn't supposed to go down those stairs, especially alone, and what the hell was he thinking? I didn't know he was hurt that bad when I was saying all of this, but I still feel like an asshole for yelling at my dad as he's lying on the stairs with a severely broken shoulder.

Yeah, only a day after complaining about him... so I guess I should realize that no matter how bad you think things are, you should realize they can get worse, so stop bitching and try to enjoy your life. Then again, if you don't think things are bad, where's the motivation to make a better world for yourself and others, how do you try to improve anything and grow as a person? Still, bitching less must surely be a good thing.

I couldn't get dad up and into the car to go to the hospital, so I called 911 and they sent an ambulance. Finally we made it to the hospital, and he was x-rayed. My dad has been through a lot, and he's had a lot of pain in his life. He had a finger cut off and re-attached with fake knuckles, and when he was 12 a garbage truck hit his leg, broke it, and tore all of the skin off... he was in the hospital for 8 months recovering from that. With all of that pain, when they asked him how his pain was for his shoulder on a scale from 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst pain he'd ever felt, he said 9. My father is a man who takes potatoes out of the oven with his bare hands.

I don't know where I'm going with this... I'm pretty sure I'm rambling... so I'll stop here. I just don't like fate's sense of humor... I talk about my dad, and a day later he falls and breaks his shoulder... the "humor" bone in point of fact. What the fuck?

Quatsch

I may sit here and write these things to you in the late night or the wee hours, dear reader, but what am I trying to accomplish? For that matter, am I actually writing for you? Or is my imagination of a "reader" really the advocate for which I'm writing; is my imagination of a "reader" the other person to whom I constantly speak in my head? I suspect I know the answer, but I lack the conviction to state it.

And, while we're being semi-truthful... why am I writing? When I say the things I say here, whom am I trying to convince; you? I doubt it; that I'm trying to convince myself is more likely. So what am I doing here now? Why am I writing to you (me)? I once heard a psychologist say that we talk to them, psychologists/psychiatrists, in order to justify what we, in our minds, have already decided. Is that why I'm here? To justify myself to myself under the guise of justifying myself to you, the real or imagined reader? Again, the answer seems obvious... but I also know that this late night writing works for me; it settles my nerves and convinces me my convictions. So the more I write and attempt to sway you of something I advocate to be true, especially about myself, I'm actually not trying to convince you... I'm trying to convince myself.

Again, why am I here, now? ... I've taken care of my father for the last week. He's 79 and has Dementia. It's not always present, his particular flavor is distinguished by the fact that lucidity comes and goes. Some days he is himself... other days he may ask me the same 12 questions the entire day.

My father was always the anchor in my life. He was a very smart man, who lacked a strong education, but stuck to his convictions. He had an amazing stare, quiet but intimidating; one that never made you feel fear so much as shame. He always had good advice, and is one of the 3 people that understood the thoughts in my mind without my having to actually voice them. Insightful was a fitting word for him. I say was, because that man is gone. He's reached another stage in his life... and my anchor is suddenly missing.

Maybe that's why I'm here. I miss my anchor, the person who kept me bound to my life. I've tried to be my own anchor... I've found it very difficult... actually it's quite impossible to truly achieve. I'm searching for another anchor I guess. I've met three people who intrinsically understand me, perhaps I will meet a few more... but it seems obvious my next anchor will have to be one of these people few people who understand. Until then, the best I've decided I can do is remember who my father was, and be the best extension of him, as his son, that I can be. That's all the more anchor (the ties to my life as I am and as I wish to be) that I have. It's not enough, I think, but it must do for now. I miss my anchor, my sense of place and purpose in the world.

I recently heard a very powerful and self-made person say that it wasn't enough to believe in yourself... we simply are not that strong as people; we require that someone else also believe in us, so that our times of weakness aren't catastrophic. Maybe such is the anchor of which I speak... maybe I will find the one I need.

(God, could this get a little more sad and depressing?)

Bad Dreams and Nightmare Fish

I've stated on more than one occasion that I don't like coming here to confess. I don't mind thinking publicly, but exploring my feelings... all of the little things, the inner workings, that make me tick like some clock... I'm not comfortable with that. I like my secrets. I'm not going to list the reasons why I like my secrets... I'm not even sure I should list them all... but I will say that I have read my astrological sign. I don't really believe in Astrology... but the description of Scorpio does seem to fit me well. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, perhaps it's just dumb luck... I don't know. I just know that it seems to fit, and as the descriptions list pitfalls and strengths... well, what's wrong with trying to improve my strengths and stay away from bad habits?

In any case, I was talking recently with a close friend. We talked about how people identify themselves. It matters a great deal what one associates with oneself. My friend helped me to think through my position in life by looking at my position within my family, and the culture (small town, Midwest) in which I grew up. I judge myself as a blue-collar person, working class. In my family, we work. We work hard. And when we have free time, we rest; we lounge; we enjoy ourselves, and savor quietude. This doesn't fit in with an academic life. In your free time, you should read and learn, become more and better educated. Point being, I'm stuck between the two. On top of this conundrum, I don't have to work hard to learn... it's always come easy for me. This may sound like I'm looking for sympathy for being smart and learning quickly... I'm not. I'm saying, not working hard at studying, at least not as hard as my fellow students, undercuts my confidence in being intelligent and a functioning member of academia. I don't view myself as a person with higher education, as a person with a successful academic career. It's taken me 9 years to earn a 4 year degree. However, when I look at the things I've done, and I apply them to someone else (that is, I think of the things I've done, and imagine someone else having done them), then I see no problem with the accomplishment. I would say, if I were that person, I would be proud. So why then do I not feel the proper level of pride in myself?

My friend helped me think through this. I don't identify with this person, the higher education and degree'd person. I identify with the worker, the laborer who works hard. Sitting in an office and using one's brain instead of working outside with one's back is something I respect in others... but I don't feel myself worthy of doing that, of sitting inside and using my brain and expecting to get paid for such a job. For myself, personally, having worked manual labor most of my working life (due in no small part to my large physical size and strength), the person inside thinking is seen as lazy. In fact, working excavating, the person in the machine, who gets to sit down and use hand controls, is seen as lazy and "no good" if they want to spend a lot of time in the machine. Also, my family is mostly working class... my mother has a college degree, but in art, and not until she was in her 40s. My father started working at 15, finished high school, but found college too intimidating, although he was, and is, a very intelligent man. My family was a family of farmers, hard workers. I don't see myself as a thinker... I don't see myself as a person who deserves to be paid for work that doesn't involve physical labor. I can think about it all I want, I can understand that the piece of paper that says I have a degree in History, and training in Creative Writing and German; but it remains true that thinking something is true, and feeling something is true, are entirely different things.

Now on to my bad dream, inspired by the evil question fish. I dreamed I was being tutored by my highschool guidance counselor. There were three of us, and we were taking a quiz. I couldn't remember the answer to my first question, I knew the answer to the second question, and as she asked the third question I was uncomfortable and I shifted in my chair. As I repositioned myself I thought, "Don't look at the piece of paper in her hands that has all of the questions on it," which of course is exactly the same as saying, "Don't look down" whenever one is at a high height. She caught me looking, even though I didn't need to, and she became very upset and said, "Ah, I see you now for what you are, you cheating little boy!" And suddenly I was a kid again in school, I had been caught cheating, and everything I had earned was going to be taken away, my life and future were ruined.

I've had a lot of stress lately... I want to work in Germany, but I've never worked in Germany, I've never had a job where I had to use my mind instead of my back, I've never been graduated and not gone to school/university. I'm scared of it. This is the nightmare I had, where I found out I was not worthy of the life I want. It's made me think, and I decided there are things I must do to ensure that I am the person I need to be, that I have the right opinion of myself, that I am worthy of the life I want. It sounds like some great proverb, doesn't it? "Be worthy of the life you desire." Still, there it is, and here I am. And I guess that's that's the secret that's been gnawing at me. I'm a 28 year old boy who is scared of the next step in life. And, I guess actually, that's not such a bad thing; surely I'm not the only one. Man up, Jason... man up, and scare the question fish away.