The Lonliest Toddler

By this point in my life, people expect me to know what I’m doing most of the time. I’m supposed to know how to pay my taxes, keep up on my auto maintenance, and call a landlord about leaky faucets. The same can be said of romance. In the over thirty romantic arena, there are a lot of well traveled individuals. People who have dated and divorced and dated again. People who have raised children. People who have fallen into and lost love more times than I’ve lost my keys. (Incidentally, I never lose my keys, so that analogy doesn’t really work for me. But you get what I mean.)

And then you have me. I have no idea what I’m doing.

When it comes to dating, I am the equivalent of a toddler running around learning what happens when I run into things. I’m having a real good time seeing all the new and cool stuff. I really like the activity of running. And I’m terrible at it, so I keep running into walls or tables or legos. And every time I run into something, I cry and scream and act like someone is taking off my fingers one at a time. You’ve all heard this toddler scream. It’s the one where you look at a child who is convinced this is the end and say, “Oh, come on. You’re not even two feet tall. There’s no way you’re hurt that badly.” But from the point of view of the toddler, it’s the worst pain he’s ever experienced. Of course he’s going to wail about it. Nothing has ever hurt this much ever.

It does make a certain kind of sense. I thought I was tired in college, but then I got up for work at 5:30 AM for a year and a half. As a child, I thought I understood boredom...Then I worked in a call center. And I thought that stubbing my toe was painful until I smashed my thumb with a box truck. The point here is that experience lends a lot of perspective to your subsequent experiences. And if you have no prior experiences, how do you gauge the severity of a hurt?

Honestly, I don’t have an answer here. I don’t know how to judge the severity of a hurt by any measure other than saying it hurts more or less than previous pain. And of course, there is the pain scale with the faces.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about my proclivity to crush too hard in much too short a time, and the subsequent (and inevitable) crash that I always find myself in. The Format has a lyric that has always resonated with me:

“Suddenly between sheets and eyelids I am reminded why I don’t do this.
I fall in love far too quickly. I never want her to forget me…”

It’s that falling in love too quickly bit that always gets me. Now hold on to your comment horses...I know that falling in love is not what I’m doing. That takes time and work and pain and joy and lots of time and a few phone calls and probably one sassy friend. Or at least that’s what I’ve surmised from watching all those Lifetime documentaries. But that is kind of the point. I don’t know what it is to truly fall in love. I have only ever fallen into infatuation. And at my age, that starts to get weird.

As a mid-thirties male, I really ought to be able to hear “Let’s just be friends” without needing a weekend to mourn the loss of….what? My ego? What did I lose? I didn’t have anything but the future my imagination got too excited to stop creating. But the problem is that I have no context to put it into. I don’t have a failed marriage. Or a successful one either. I don’t have a long relationship to compare to. Hell, I don’t have anything. All I have are these passing crushes that end in complete normality, and I somehow turn them into the emotional distress of losing the love of my life. Because, as far as I know, it’s just about the most painful experience in a relationship.

I didn’t have a thesis here. No grand soapbox to lecture from. And really, I don’t feel there is a point to be made. I’m not wrong to feel this way, and it doesn’t make me broken. It’s just something about me that I know and work around. But I do think there is a lesson here. Perhaps it is just the lesson that I am unique and different, and the only way I can live life is from my point of view. Or maybe it is just to put this out there for another person to find and realize they aren’t the only one dealing with this particular quirk. Anyway, here it is, and I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter. 

Writing Fight (vs Emily Steinbutt)

Everything is predictable at 5:37 in the morning. Nobody goes out at that hour unless they have to. I see the same people every morning. There's Marta, going to some job that requires those black "comfy" shoes that old people always wear. Jeff arrives at 5:36 without fail. One day he was late. I could tell everyone noticed. But when he showed up with only 30 seconds to spare, nobody said anything. They just relaxed a little, tension leaving their shoulders, and sank back into the routine. It has always fascinated me that I know all these people, they see each other every day, and not one of them knows another.

There's one woman, though...she grabs my attention. I see her most days, but there's no consistent schedule. Different times of day, different days of the week. She makes a point of isolating herself. She keeps her ear-buds in. She sits small, at the back, but with her head up. Confident, but avoiding eye contact. She will never talk to anyone, but I can tell she likes to be looked at. She never sits behind anything. And she is always showing some skin. Her clothes are nice, and she's well kept; but I've never seen her actually dressed up. Always casual. I wonder what she's feeling. Intentionally alone, but so intentionally appealing. Who is she hoping to draw in?

Only a few minutes to wonder, and she's gone. I hope she's smiling next time.

Jesus, Lao Tzu, and Bill Nye walk into a bar together....

I have had some interesting conversations with a friend of mine over the last few weeks. Some of these have revolved around the conflict that the religious often have with the non-religious. Before you say I am making up this conflict, think back on how many marriages have ended due to religious differences. Or, if you don't know any, go to the exmormon subreddit and browse for a minute. You can almost always find a few stories about a marriage ending due to someone leaving the faith. And the mormons are not unique in this. A quick google search pulls up lots of results.

Anyway, we know it exists. But realizing that begs the question, why? Why does this religious conflict exist? One may as well ask why there are religious wars. You could easily answer that question with an exasperated, "God only knows." But then the other party may respond with a quip about God not existing, which starts another argument about deity...and suddenly we have an idea about how these conflicts begin.

It seems that, regardless of where you stand on the issue, you stand somewhere. Most people have some kind of opinion about God, and it isn't hard to end up in an emotionally charged discussion. Something in the human causes her to wonder about these things. At some point in our lives, we all wonder and form our own opinions. It may be in your twenties, or not until you are on your deathbed. But the questions will be asked, and the opinions will be formed.

Humans have spend much of their existence destroying someone else's gods, and replacing them with new ones they like better. Or, in the case of the Romans, they just rename the old ones and pretend it's a new pantheon. Kind of like how all the Christian sects claim they are different, and the way they worship Jesus is the best way. I'm not mocking any of these, or saying any is right or wrong. I'm just illustrating how easy it is to find this pattern in human society without even looking hard.

But why do we keep doing it? It is almost like something inside the human needs a relationship with a greater being. For some, they meet that need through a relationship with Jesus. For others, it is a relationship with The Tao. And still others will find it in science, or just the greater potential of human kind. Now, you could argue that I'm making a stretch with this. "But Dan, humanism is nothing like Catholicism!" You're right. But they both serve the purpose of giving the individual a purpose. Of providing that Greater Something that we all find so fascinating. And it is that very universality, I think, that gives us a start point in resolving the conflict.

All of us need to fins some way to fulfill this need, the same way we all need to fill the need to eat. And if we all feel it, why would I begrudge anyone their solution? As a bicyclist, I do not resent the runner for staying healthy on foot. I don't get mad at the vegetarian for not eating a hamburger. The overwhelming variety of people on this planet means that there will be an equal variety of religious preference. The Mormon who drinks caffeine and watches R movies, or the Jehovah's Witness who has a birthday party...all these people trying to meet this spiritual need produce an endless number of religious iterations. Lots of variety. Lots of potential fights.

Well, maybe Science can help. It came up with sanitation, and took us to space, so maybe it can figure out what to do with this hotbed of potential religious arguments. So far, Science has demonstrated  that we are unquestionably linked to our physical being. Everything that I am is somehow connected to my brain and my body. We can show this empirically, in a way that really can't be argued. But, this isn't the whole story. It doesn't explain why so many of us (all of us?) want to connect to some kind of Greater Being. It doesn't explain the mysticism that so often occurs in human lives. It can explain an individual experience, sure. Sometimes. But there is no explanation for the mystical predisposition so often found in people. At least, not that I am aware of.

But...

It doesn't matter.

We don't have to explain why this spiritual urge is so widely manifest in humans. Sure, it would be nice if we could. I would love to really understand it. But the fact remains that we can't. And I would posit that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter for the simple fact that it exists, and we are experiencing it. This mystical draw is a part of my human experience, and it doesn't care that I can explain it. Telling me that God is calling me has the exact same impact on my life as saying that I'm having a mini seizure in the brainocampo lobe of the brain. Both result in me feeling like God is telling me to rally the French behind King Charles VII. And in that moment when we are confronting the reality of our perception of the world. it doesn't matter why we see it that way. It matters that we do see it that way. Because that is the reality we have to operate in.

And that, I think, is the answer. All of these conflicts stem from a lack of understanding. The come about because we don't realize or have forgotten that everyone is trying to wade through the same shitty swamp we call life, and this thing they have latched onto makes it easier. And that is a beautiful thing. Personally, I don't adhere to any particular religion. I think that some of the claims they make are patently absurd. But I have friends, like my friend I mentioned at the beginning, who very sincerely believe in their faith. For her, religion is integral to her life. She uses it to cope with hard things, and lets it enhance happy things. And her faith is beautiful. I love it. I love it despite the fact that I don't believe the same thing. And I feel that way about so many different faiths. It helps you to be happy, so I love it.

That is my message, I guess. My point. These philosophical differences don't have to be sticking points of argument. They can instead be delightfully varied ideas to share with the people around you, allowing them a chance to taste life the way you experience it. And maybe in all of this sampling and sharing you'll find something new that makes your journey a little easier.

Days

Looking at a Changing Whorl

I am a fairly caring person. I have an ability to care for people and understand and accept people. This is an aspect of my personality that I value quite a lot, in part because it was lost for a time. I lost this gift when I was in the midst of my depressive period. As it turns out, it is hard to care for others when what little energy you have left is being used to wish you were dead.

However that period passed and I learned to love again. I remembered how to feel compassion. How to forgive. How to look past mistakes and see beautiful souls. And I reveled in this. I was ecstatic to have my personality back. I had worked really hard to get back to this place, and now that I was arrived I decided I was done. I had done my work, and now I was going to relax and enjoy the fruits of my labors. Then, ever so slowly, I started coming down with a case of the Fuck-its. I began to notice that I wanted to punch instead of hug. To swear instead of compliment. I was fast on my way to retracing my steps back to the self I didn't much want to be.

Now for a change of tense.

I do not want to slide back to that dark place of negativity. I am not that person. While inactivity does allow entropy to pull me back there, my natural state is much more full of love. And I have come to realize that positive energy is not something that is self-perpetuating. I am finding that I need to actively seek a persons positive qualities. Then I repeat them to myself in a what is almost a litany against hate.

I am someone trying to be happy. You are someone trying to be happy. I have much in the way of acceptance and support to offer you. You have much of life to teach me. But unless I repeat my litany against it, the entropic nature of humanity will draw me in towards the vicious and exophobic nexus of hateful oblivion. Therefore, I must actively fight against the inner decay. I will choose to list your good qualities, rather than browse instagram. I will listen to your story instead of listening to myself. I will consider your value without trying to turn it to my gain.

In short, I will love you.

That's What She Said

I haven't lived a lot of life, but I have lived more than I used to have lived. And that is more than some others have lived, while being less than many. Anyway, regardless of how much relative life I have, there are a few things I've learned. Well, not many things, really. Just a couple. Well, one thing.

Life is hard.

It's true. You know it, I know it, your mom knows it (ha...yer mom), and even Ghandi and Siddhartha knew it. That is one thing that is true for every human that has ever gasped a breath on this space orb we call Earth. Sometimes, thought, we forget this fact. We forget it because life isn't the same kind of hard for everyone. Some people struggle to simply get enough food to stay alive. Others fight depression. A lot of people have to endure racism or sexism. Some people fight poverty and some people have never worried about money. Life is hard for everyone, but it is also different for everyone. And this fact that I have learned has taught me the second thing I learned (I lied about only knowing one thing).

I don't know what your life has been.

It's true. I don't know what you have lived through. And because of that I will not judge you. I will try to understand you. I will try to help you be happy. But I will never fully comprehend the life that you have lived. And that is okay. I don't need to. I don't need to know what trials you have faced to know that life is hard. That is the crazy thing. Life will always be hard regardless of where we come from.

Wouldn't life be nicer if we could all remember that? Instead of yelling at that guy on the road, remember that he might also be in a hurry. The cashier who didn't smile back at you isn't trying to be a jerk. He just has a job he doesn't like.

I can never know what your life has been. But I can always accept who you are and treat you like a person. I can love you regardless of your behavior. I can laugh with you and help you smile. I can walk with you down this rocky road we call life.

The Almighty Should

First, let's get this out of the way. This is post number one hundred. Whoopty shit. Let the rejoicing commence.

Now, on to business.

I was recently asked by my therapist what I want. I answered the question with some bullshit about wanting to be happy or something. But before I left, he asked me to think about it. It seems he wasn't satisfied with my answer. And as it turns out, neither am I. Because saying I want to be happy is a cop out answer. It doesn't say anything. Of course I want to be happy. Who doesn't? But happiness is a result, not a goal. You don't just "get" happiness. Happiness happens when your needs and desires are fulfilled. So the answer to what I want is not just "to be happy," but to be fulfilled. All of you probably already knew this (why didn't you tell me, jerks), but I am just now realizing it. Or rather, it is just now being cognitively processed.

What do I want?

A lot of my life has been spent doing what I "should" do. ...After several tries at this sentence, it boils down to this; I have a hard time thinking of any decision I have ever made that wasn't based on some kind of "should." These "shoulds" superseded thought on my own part. I never thought about whether I agreed with what I was doing. I never thought about what I really wanted. I never thought about what goals I wanted to pursue. That isn't to say that that I would have made different decisions. Hell, I have no idea what I would have done. I may have done everything exactly the same. But the constant guidance by The Almighty Should has landed me in a place where I don't feel like I have ever been in control of my life. And at the end of the day, that is what I want.

I want to feel like I am deciding my life.

I want to think through things. I want to consider my options. I want to find out that I truly believe passionately in something, and then I want to act on it. I recoil at the idea of accepting something just because I was told. Or having an opinion that was handed to me by The Almighty Should of whatever social context I happen to be in. I want to decide for myself. I want to captain my own vessel.

But you know what?

I'm secretly terrified. What if I start choosing my own destiny and find out that I am totally shit at directions? What if I start chasing after the things I want to do, only to fail miserably?

And so I am stuck. On one hand, there is oppression by The Almighty Should. On the other, The Pit of Failure.

I guess in the end, I'd rather die flying.

_{P.S. Please click the hyperlink. Stellar work of art.}

Depression

One of the great goals of my life is to help people understand how life looks through eyes that aren't theirs. A lot of my life was (read: is) spent not realizing this and subsequently making stupid decisions. However, I do not wish to be this way. It almost always leads to someone experiencing some kind of negative emotion. Anger, sadness, sugar...and I don't like to be the cause of that. I don't like it when people look at my life through the lens of their life experiences. Well, I guess they have no other way to look at things.... I think what I meant is, I don't like when people judge me without seeing the universe that I'm looking at. And because I don't like that, I try to offer people the courtesy of acceptance. And, like a Hare Krishna, I am trying to share this thing I think is good.

In my quest to share the gospel of acceptance (or tolerance or love or whatever you want to call it) I have become rather honest. Really honest. Maybe too honest. I tend to overshare on occasion. Which likely is some sort of subconscious tactic to make my neuroses seem normal. I mean, if I casually talk about it, it isn't shameful right? Sure.

So for today's topic of conversation, we are going to talk about depression. Depression is a strange beast. It really is hard to understand without experiencing it. For most of my life, I thought depressed people were just being lazy and it was all some sort of mental bullshit and they should just zip up their man-suit and get it together. I was wrong, and I feel bad for judging people. In an effort to help someone understand how depression affects your life (spoiler: it affects everything), I am writing this post. You should also read this post. It is a very enjoyable read and nails a couple nails right on the round, flat part at the top.

I am trying to think of some good analogies to help you understand what depression is like. First thing I need to do is determine who my audience is. You probably aren't someone who used to be able to see, and is now blind. You probably aren't someone who lost the ability to fly. But are almost certainly someone who has eaten a frozen burrito, and I can work with that.

Remember that time you microwaved your burrito ninety seconds too long? Remember how you were watching some quality lunch-time programming and forgot to check if the burrito was hot? Remember how it burned the holy shit out of your tongue? Depression is like trying to taste things for the two days after that burrito. You know these cupcakes have flavor, you just can't figure out what it is, and only vaguely remember what they are supposed to taste like.

On the off chance you aren't a burrito person, I'll try another one. Find that giant scar you have. You know, the one from the war. Now poke it. Use something that isn't your finger. Use that shuriken you have lying around. Depression feels like that. You know something is poking you. You can tell that you should be feeling something, but you really don't. The only reason you didn't accidentally draw blood is the years of self-preservatory habits you have.

Now let's try to look at how this applies to a human life. Let's look at how this might change your view of someone you know, or someone you knew, or someone you might know someday. When you lose all the emotions, you lose all the reasons to do things. You lose the motivation to act. And often the motivation to live. With the will to act, the will to live and all those emotions gone, you are left with an enormous void inside of you. That void become your new resource pool. It becomes the Apathy Well. Unfortunately, this new resource pool only does two things: not care, and destroy. Not caring is a pretty obvious side effect. It is called the Apathy Well, after all. But the second side effect, the urge to destroy, is the weird one. This destructive tendency can take a lot of forms. Self-harm, other-harm, meta-harm....(I don't actually know what the last one means, but it seems bad). I have a theory about why this tendency develops.

In the mind of a depressed person, pretty much anything can become an enormous stressor. I mean, if you don't have the motivation to do anything, pretty much everything becomes an impending failure. The very act of putting on pants becomes an exercise in futility, because you weren't going to look good anyway, so fuck it...underpants all day. When everything is bound to become a failure you begin to want less everything in your life. So you destroy stuff. Jobs are just failure holes. So I'll quit going and get fired. No more job worries. College is just a formalized way to say "you aren't good enough," so if I fail out I don't have to hear that anymore. Families? Disappointment machines. Sabotage those relationships and I no longer have to hear how they wish I weren't such a waste of the family name.

Are you starting to see it?

Even if you aren't, I want to describe what I think is the weirdest thing. Now, I know everyone is different, but my depression has been very self-aware. I know exactly how stupid all of my decisions and actions are. I know that they are depressive. And I do it anyway. Because meh....it's too hard to fix it, and I'd probably fail anyway.

By every logical system I can think of, that is the worst decision making imaginable. But that doesn't make it any less real. Knowing it's stupid doesn't suddenly bring all the flavor back to life. Someone who knows they are depressed and making bad decisions is still feeling life through that scar tissue. Still tasting life with a burnt tongue. And that is a really hard way to live.

Not to say that a depressed person can't live. They can. We laugh, we dance, we sing, we live fairly normal lives.

Now, this thing that I've written isn't meant to make someone sad, or get people to bring me sympathy cookies (which you are totally welcome to do, btw). It is meant to allow a glimpse of life through someone else's eyes. Yeah, I may have gotten some things wrong. I may have written poorly. I may even have said some things that made you uncomfortable. But I hopefully made you think, too. And maybe that will give you the perspective you need to help someone someday. I know it has helped me.

Painfully Beautiful

Have you ever been talking to someone and used or heard the phrase "painfully beautiful?" Have you ever thought about it? Why would somebody say that? Isn't beauty a good thing? Isn't pain a bad thing? Why would you stick them together? Is it like when you are laughing so hard your stomach hurts? Too much of a good thing?

I don't think so.

I think I have an idea of what "painfully beautiful" means. It may not be true for you. You may not agree with me. That's okay. But hopefully by reading through my thoughts you will gain some perspective for another's life. Maybe that will help you somewhere. Or rather, maybe it will help someone else.

I really want you to understand my thoughts, so I am going to breakdown some things here so we have a platform to work from. What is something beautiful? Well, some people are beautiful. Some art works are beautiful. Sometimes Mother Gaia is beautiful. I might even say that time can be beautiful, if you only look at isolated chunks of it. Weddings? Beautiful (hopefully). First kiss? Beautiful. (Again, hopefully.) First children, graduations, jobs, promotions, new cars, new phones, great cakes....lots of moments can be beautiful. But this just leads me to ask, "What could all these disparate things possibly have in common?"

They are all good. They all bring joy to the lives they touch (Except sometimes weddings. I think I've seen a movie about that once...) And that is what makes them beautiful. The light they put into lives. The pure, undefinable goodness that we all know. All of the things I've listed are beautiful and good, but there are a few things that are exceptionally good, surpassingly beautiful, without which life feels incomplete. I hesitate to make a list here, because opinions and lives are so infinitely varied, but I'm sure you can think of a few things. Go ahead. Do it now. I'll wait.

Do you have your list? Good. Now think about everything on it. Think about each thing individually. Think about them together. Think about your life in relation to your list. Now imagine a life where you know all of these things, and you know that none of them will ever be a part of your life. Really tell yourself that you will never be loved. That you will never have children. Whatever it is you put on your list, imagine knowing that you can never have or experience it. Did you feel that? That was pain. Not because of any one thing causing you pain. A diploma can't hurt you. But you know how good it is. How beautiful the moment you when you receive it. And the pain comes from the sense of loss. Losing the beautiful, watching it disappear from your life and knowing you have to keep walking even though the light will be a little dimmer.

To me, that is "painfully beautiful."

Please, Really Look Into My Eyes.....

It is extraordinary how unintentionally selfish I can become. In my head I am a kind, caring, and selfless person. In reality, I am so focused on myself that I can't even see what people around me are experiencing and feeling. Sometimes I just need a reminder.

I didn't used to care about this. In fact, I used to make a hobby of annoying people. I was so good at it that you can unfortunately see little bits of that in my personality today. I still get a kick out of pushing people's buttons. Just ask Kara about that. Then, one day, for no reason I can explain, I decided that I didn't like it and I wanted to change. Perhaps that was the moment I started growing up. About that time, I was given this book to read. That was the book that began my journey.

Now, by saying I began a journey, I don't want you to think that I have finished it. I'm not writing to tell you about my transformation into a beautiful butterfly. No, my journey is more like a chaotic, fumbling walk through an unfamiliar house at night where the kids don't put away their Legos. Lots of stubbed toes, swearing, and tipped vases. But this journey has taught me something.

The truest thing in life is honestly connecting with people.

I wish that I had more of this connection. but I let everything distract me. I let the easy distractions that technology provides fill up my time so that I wonder what happened and why I haven't built a pottery wheel yet. I complain to myself about how nobody called me today and I'm going to die alone. I complain about this while I sit in a dark basement in front of a computer. And so I need reminders.

Tonight I watched this video again. Please watch it. It is beautiful. What she says feels so very true to me. The connections she talks about are so very real to me. And because she has reminded me, I am going to quit complaining. I am going to quit wondering why I feel lonely, and I am going to go out and see you. Really see you. I am going to do this, and I am going to be happy, and I am going to give you a little bit of my life, and you are going to give me a little bit of yours, and we are both going to be happier. Or we are going to split somebody's burden of sadness and be less sad. I am going to do this, and my life will be better.

At least until the next time I forget.

Creating a Scotch Korean

I am, like a Scotch Korean, a contradiction. I live a life in two simultaneous mental states. It could even be said that they are conflicting states. Before I explain why, I need to explain something else. I need to explain to you why I love art. And not just art, but all art. When I say art, I am speaking of painted or drawn art, sculpted art, musical art, performance art, theater arts....all kinds of art.

I love it.

Or rather, I love the idea of it. Sometimes I hate it. Most of the art that university told me was great left me feeling very meh. But that doesn't mean that the whole concept of art is meh. In fact, the concept of art blows me completely away. Why? Let me tell you.

As a species, humans have specialized in communication. It could be said that our ability to communicate is what put us so far ahead of the rest of nature. Not just that we communicate, (hell, macaques communicate) but that we can communicate complex ideas. Something beyond the basic mammalian "Shit there is a lion/tiger/dinosaur that wants to eat me!" Most mammals can do that. Many mammals can communicate all kinds of things. They can tell you where food is. They can tell you that you should make babies with them. They can tell you that you are no longer welcome with the herd. But humans...humans can discuss the feasibility of sending people to Mars. When was the last time you heard macaque talking about space? You didn't. Only humans have that level of communication.

Despite all this specialized communication and all of our fancy vocabularies, there are still some things that we are unable to discuss. One area that words fall especially short is emotions. Humans have been trying to express emotion verbally since before we invented verbs. In fact, I'm pretty sure words were invented because some cro-magnon man wanted to tell some cro-magnon lady, "Baby, I dig you!" But that hasn't stopped us from trying. Luckily, somewhere around 1800, somebody invented art. Finally, a way to convey emotion that isn't hampered by those silly words.

And because it isn't bound by vocabulary's limits, art has a remarkable power. Great art has the power to capture a particular moment in the life of the artist, folding all his emotions and thoughts into one unique creation. One frozen moment of her soul. And then she can give that moment to someone.

Now, I hesitate to post any examples of art I think is great, lest I start an argument about it's greatness and detract from my point. Art is incredible. It is powerful and unique and transcends all barriers. But what does this discussion have to do with my being Scotch Korean?

I love to create art. But I create it from my life and my experience and the moments I am living. When I am creating, I don't feel as though there is much variety happening inside me. I feel very sad/happy/depressed/frustrated, and it seems to be all that I feel. And I feel it until I am done creating. Sometimes I have to come back to the emotion three or four times, but is always the same thing for the entire creative process.

And after I have created, I look back and see contradictions. Like any good (read: not terrible) musician, I tend to write music in a state of inebriation or deep emotion. My life has a rather obvious lack of inebriation, so my music is written from emotion. And sadly, the most frequent potent emotion is bad. So I write sad songs of addiction and heartbreak and suicide. But looking back at these creations, I see a common theme: all of them have a thread of hope. Woven through the indulgent "I am so sad, so very very sad" lyrics is this weird, sometimes subtle voice that is whispering at you to look up and see the sunset behind the clouds. This is my contradiction.

But in realizing this, I think I have finally figured out why I love to create. Feeling these sad emotions sucks. It does. You know, because you've felt them. I hate feeling sad, and I hate when others feel sad. I wish so bad that I could fix them. Make them glad. Give them a reason to smile at the rain. And this is why I create art. I try to capture that moment my soul is experiencing. That moment of exquisitely meloncollie hope. I want to give that moment to someone who is feeling depressed, and maybe they will grab onto that thread of hope and decide that life is okay. Yeah, it is total shit sometimes, but maybe there are some things worth experiencing.

Right now, my life and circumstance don't allow me to get that much of my creating to other people. But there is plenty of art already created, and I can share that with people. And maybe a few friends who need it will be able to experience my art.

And maybe I will need some of the art you have created.

Scars

The more life you've lived is just more sorrow seen.
Every sadness you feel leaves a mark where it bleeds.
So old age is scars, and youth is naive.
I've seen kids of 18 so much older than me.

But youth, she is pretty, she laughs in our dreams
And try though we might, she will always retreat.
So reaching and grasping, we clutch at her feet
Until sorrow and sadness bring us to our knees.

Then sighing we stand with regret in our eyes.
Regret for the hurt, for the sin, for the lies.
But lurking respect in the back of our minds
Reminds of the wisdom we learned from the lies.

And now you admit you're no longer naive.
Your youth, she has fled, though young you may be.
And you'd never give up what you learned how to see,
Though hearts of the wise feel much deeper things.

So onward we march, all so bitter and pleased.
The mistress of youth just a faint memory.
And the scars that we wear full of pride on our sleeves
Remind us that beauty is earned before seen.

Brown Paper Bags Aren't Always Full of Poop

The thing about life is, it never stops happening. Sometimes, you want nothing more than to stop it for just a couple minutes, an hour. It might be that something wonderful is happening, and you don't want it to end. Or maybe you are having one of those days where you clean your glasses with hair spray, and you really just wish you could step out of life for a couple hours. But, like a freight train full of memories, life just keeps barreling down the tracks.

Too often, we focus on how terrifying it can be to have a train headed for us. A lot happens in life (train full of memories, remember) and it is so easy to paint our walls with the bad stuff. The bad job, the failed class, the painful breakup, the gross body.... Those are such heavy things to carry around. If those bad things are the rocks we put in our knapsack, there is no way we will get off the tracks in time.

This has happened to me many times. At any given time I could tell you probably 12 negatives I am thinking about. But I realize how bad it is. So I have taken to focusing on good things in my life. In the interest of motivating you to do likewise, I am going to share a few of my favorite things.

Rock climbing. Yes, I know this is a climbing gym. All you purists can take your pretentious opinions elsewhere. I climb in the gym, and I like it. I like the feel of moving across the wall, between the holds. I love forcing my body to do hard movements. I love feeling the power in my muscles as I pull my body higher on the wall. When I am climbing, everything else just doesn't matter. I am climbing. I'll think about life when I'm done.

Another thing I love is music. I love writing music. I love playing music. I love listening to music. At this point in my life, I am writing music with my friend Nicolle Okoren. We are actually writing some really great stuff. I'll let you know when we play a show. The music I am listening to currently is also bringing me a lot of joy. You will find a sampling below.

There really isn't a lot of terribly deep ideas in this block of text. Mostly, I just want to encourage you all to remember what is good about your life. I know that it isn't always going to be rainbows and butterflies. But sometimes it is. And those memories are what I choose to paint the room of my life. I am curious...what are your glad things? Please tell me what you love. Maybe I will too.

Just Assperimenting

I just want to see how this looks on my page, and see if it works. I did, however, make sure it is a wicked cool song for you to hear.

Sialorrhea

I'ma spit some words at you like a rapper with sialorrhea.

Google search for Thingzorz. I don't get it either.

You may or may not know me very well. So you may or may not know that I occasionally have problems with procrastination and overwhelm. I procrastinate the things until they have piled into a big mountain of THINGZORZ!!ARGH! and I am afraid to even touch it so I end up paralyzed with overwhelm and I do nothing and fail out of college.

This has understandably caused me some problems over the last 28 years (yes, even babies can procrastinate). I have struggled for some time to find a way to get things done and be effective in spite of these hurdles. And I believe I have found something that might have worked.

When I think about all that I need to do, my to-do list becomes an all consuming doom-beast and I end up cowering in fear. So, instead I absolutely refuse to think about the future. I exist now and only now. Just now. And then I pick something to do. Just one thing. I only have to do one thing. And then when I'm done with that, I relax a little. It is actually pretty nice. I'm never stressed, and I get things done. The only possible issue is that I occasionally let the relaxation sessions stretch out pretty long. But, every plan has a weakness and this one is pretty decent.

You know, there really wasn't any reason to share this with the world. But I thought it out while washing dishes this morning and I felt like writing. So, I got all sialorrhea on you guys and this is what happened.

Epitaph

Have you seen V for Vendetta? It is, after all, November 5. I imagine most of you have seen the film. Think now on the character V. And if you haven't seen the movie, think instead of Frodo or Boromir. Or, if you are unfamiliar with them, think of Batman and his battle with Gotham. If you are unfortunate enough to be ignorant of all of these, think of Nikola Tesla; a man who gave his life to science.

What do these men share in common? They are all men who accomplished. Mankind, as a whole, loves stories about men of their caliber. We love the idea of these characters. For myself, I find the concept of characters like this so fascinating that I read their story whenever I find it. What is it about these men that grabs our interest? What is it about these characters that pulls us into their story and compels us to care about them? I do not know you, so I cannot speak for you. But I can speak for myself. And so I will.

These men, these characters and their lives, are defined in my head by the same qualities. These lives that I read about are lives of purpose. They are lives of accomplishment. And they aren't just accomplishments of convenience. The stories that grip me are the stories of characters who pursue their goals with unwavering determination. They are the stories characterized by ambition and drive. By goals. By vision.

These are men who have thought long and hard about life and about the world in which they live. These are men who color their existence with vibrant hues of passion. Right or wrong, these men have determined exactly where they are going. Right or wrong, these men care so deeply, and believe so strongly, that they are willing to sacrifice everything in pursuit of their goal.

These are the qualities that I find so compelling. And I find them compelling because they are everything that I am not. They are everything that I wish to be. Where they have drive, I am lost. Where they have passion, I am listless. Where they have vision, I am confused.

These men are wearing out their lives striving to build monuments to their ambition; seeking to shape the world to their vision.

I can't help but wonder...

...what will be written on my tombstone?

Ethics. Who needs 'em....

I've got some thoughts floating around. Real good ones. Let's get started.

I think we can all agree that every person has some sense of what is right, and what is wrong. A person may have a very skewed view of right and wrong, but at least everyone has some sense of morality. And ever since humans have had these views of right and wrong, they have been arguing over who's set of rules is right. And that is why we have so many ethical systems. Let's review a couple of these.

Divine Command Theory-- This ethical theory states that right and wrong are based on what God likes and dislikes; what he commands and forbids. So, if this is true, an act is neither right nor wrong unless God has said something about it.

Individualism-- This is the idea that right and wrong is based around what any one individual decides. This one kind of sucks. But still, it's out there, and I thought I'd present it for your ridicule.

Hedonism-- The idea that right and wrong is determined by pleasure and pain. What is good, is what brings pleasure. What is bad is what causes pain. If this assumption is correct, there is a lot of discussion to be had over how to start applying it. But think on this if you want.

Utilitariansim-- With this theory, actions are right if and only if they lead to greater good for a greater number of people than any alternative action. Again, this leaves us open to lots of discussion. But, there it is.

Kant-- Not totally sure on this one, but I am pretty sure Kant believes that actions are right or wrong in and of themselves. There are rules that we must follow, and the rules must not be broken in any situation. Something like that.

Okay...there are some theories. I don't care which you chose to believe. If you don't like any of them, I can give you some more to mull over. But, having put those in your mind, I'd like to transition now into meta-ethical territory. What is good? Where does it come from? I am going to talk about a couple things now. If at any point you disagree, please put your opinion in the comments. I will read it. Also, if you are aware of any relevant research, please direct me to it.

Regardless of what moral theory you hold, you have to cede that every person on Earth learned morality from their parents and the society they were raised in. I think it is wrong to challenge you to a duel to the death. However, in the past, that was perfectly acceptable. Even encouraged, in some situations. And this is simply a product of society. Of course, not all of morality is specific to individual cultures. Much of morality overlaps across the majority of civilization and history. For example, it is almost always wrong to kill someone for no reason at all. But where does this come from?

When I look at the very root of things, I don't really find a reason why something is bad. What I end up seeing is that we don't like something, so we called it bad. Then we taught all our kids it was bad, and now the whole world thinks it is bad to disrespect your elders.

The question I want you to all think about is this: What makes something good or bad?

I know some of you are going to be divine command theorists, and tell me that God said so, and that's that. But why did God say it was wrong for me to use your femur as an axe handle? I want someone to explain to me the source of right and wrong. Is it something ephemeral that exists in dark energy of the universe? Something we tune into as we grow older? What caused that? Why are some things right, and some things wrong?

And, if you can't explain this to me, or simply don't care to, then tell me what ethical code do you adhere to? What set of rules do you use to determine the right or wrongness of your actions?

The Colors of Life

There are very few stories that have not already been told. In fact, this story differs from others you have read only in specifics of names, dates, places. But this story will be told here, and it will be told again elsewhere, because stories are more than names, places, and events. Stories are how we know we have souls. The words of a story go beyond simply being sound waves and stir something much deeper. Stories are the flaxen cords that connect our souls together and weave the grand fabric that is humanity. And though this story is written down, not all stories are. Most, in fact, are being told as you live them. The story of you. The story of how you lived, loved and eventually died. Some stories connect many souls together. This one, however, is the story of just two.

In a tree, on a hill, in a field not unlike the field you are thinking of now, there was a little boy. In this little boy's hand, there was a bird. I don't know what kind of bird it was, but I do know the little boy loved it very dearly. The boy and the bird had shared much together, and their story was beautiful.

Well before this moment in the tree, the boy was walking home from school on a very normal day. The day was very normal, like most of the days in his life. If days could be described by colors, the boys days were mostly the color of an average yard in an average suburb. Green, but not vibrant. Brown, but not dead. On this very normal day, as the boy walked home, he had an experience that was brilliantly different from every other very normal day so far. If his very normal days were greenish-brown, this moment was every color of the rainbow, swirled together with all the light the sun had ever seen fit to share with the earth. The source of this brilliant and vibrant moment was the singing of a bird in a tee nearby. The boy was entranced by the beauty of the bird's song, and he moved closer to better hear the cacophony of beautiful color that the bird was singing.

A few moments later, after singing every note in its heart, the bird stopped and looked down at the boy. The boy extended his hand and the bird saw fit to come say hello. The boy talked to the bird and tried to describe the beautiful experience the bird had given him. The bird seemed to smile kindly, but obviously did not understand how deeply the boy had been influenced. Still, the bird immediately enjoyed the boy's company. The bird decided to stay in the boy's hand all the way to his house.

The boy did everything he knew to make the bird's home perfect. He gave the bird a home, he kept it clean. He fed the bird. He talked to the bird. He gave everything he could to take care of this most beautiful thing, this bird that had come into his life. And in return, the bird sang to the boy. The bird brought this boy more happiness than anything he had ever experienced. And he in turn sought to make the bird happy.

Both were happy. The boy cared for the bird; the bird sang for the boy. But as time went on, the boy noticed that the bird seemed to carry a weight. The bird sang just as beautifully, but there was less light. The colors were all there, but not as bright. This made the boy very sad. He loved the bird. He truly did. And he wanted the bird to be happy. He thought and he thought, wondering what invisible weight was burdening the bird. And then, one day, he understood. He understood that the bird, his closest friend and dearest love, was a bird.

And that brings us back to the tree on the hill in the field. The boy had climbed the tree with the bird because birds do not belong in houses. They belong in trees. And above all, birds fly. The boy knew that for the bird to be truly happy, it would have to fly. And the boy could not fly. He was just a boy.

As he sat there in that tree, he looked at the bird. Though he held the bird in his hand, it was hard to see through the tears. He cried. He told the bird that it was time to fly. As soon as he released the bird, it was gone. High and far, the bird flew, until all the boy had left was a hint of song, floating over the field with flashes of yellow and hints of blue.

The boy went home. He was terribly sad to have lost his dear friend. But he knew that the bird was somewhere flying high in a perfect sky. He knew the bird was truly happy, and this made him smile.

Time went on, and the hurt was buried in memories of happiness. The bird was gone, but it had left the boy with memories of joy. The bird had shown the boy what true happiness is. And sometimes, as the boy walked through greenish-brown days, rays of brilliant color would float down from the sky. The bird was still singing for him. The bird did not forget the boy. And the boy loved the bird. And the bird loved the boy. But birds need to fly, and he was just a little boy...

Hello Nasty

I am currently listening to this album:

I don't know if any of you listened to this record, as a whole, but I am 98% certain that 61% of you have heard the track Intergalactic. It was a relatively successful hit in the year 1998 when I was 14 and still thought I was a bad ass rebel for buying a "rap" album. If you listen to this in its entirety you will see how uninformed I was. I did not understand what rap was. My dad's criticism, "If you want rap, why are you buying an album from three Jewish white boys?" rings a bit too true. Uninformity aside, this album had an interesting story that parallels my adolescent experience. I bought this record because I had recently seen VH1 and had the epiphany that it was bringing enlightenment to my backwater village. It just so happened that one of the videos played on that episode of the “Top 10 Countdown” was Intergalactic. So, I bought the album because TV told me it was cool. It then sat around for a couple months before I got the courage to get out an album with an “EXPLICIT LANGUAGE” sticker. Eventually, I did and I subsequently listened to this record for some months until it became apparent (or I thought it was apparent) that this album was not considered cool. Cool Beastie Boys was the 1986 album, License to Ill with the iconic track No Sleep Till Brooklyn. As it happens, I hate that song. In fact, I hated it then but could not admit that fact, lest I be ridiculed and perceived as "out of the loop." So, in a misguided effort to seem cooler, I gave my Hello Nasty album to Jordi Steenstra, presumably because he liked it. After all, he told me he did.

However, I think he was lying. A few weeks later I found the album lying in the grass of his yard, cuddling the porch like a hobo cuddles the pillars of an overpass. This album was released right around the time marketers realized they didn’t have to put all CD’s in the same crappy plastic box and could use more traditional packing materials like card stock. And I found it in the grass. Weeks without a home and the fancy new packaging fared about as well as a Hallmark card. (Are you still listening to this record?) So, I secretly rescued it, bringing it home to my bloated CD collection. Despite the case being in the early stages of decomposition the actual disc cleaned up nicely and I moved it into my regular rotation. I loved this record. In fact, I still love it. It is a funky fusion of hip hop, rap, jazz, and whatever else they feel like. And it’s good. To be fair, I am speaking only of the sounds. I have no idea what any of the lyrics are. 14 years later and I still don’t know. I may have a condition that prevents me from learning lyrics. But anyway, I was talking about how this paralleled my adolescence. But, in the interest of promoting cognitive development in our (make sure you listen to track 14, at the very least) society of lazy brained tech addicts, I am going to leave it to you to figure out how my life is like my relationship with this CD. Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below. If you do, I will send you a special gif. Thank you.

N~~~~~~e and My Brain

Let's talk a little bit about me.

Yesterday I was talking to a friend of mine about how I have nothing going on in my life. Crappy job. Failed out of school. No relationships to even joke about. In short, if you took off your shades, my future would still not be bright. Being a generally positive person, I tried to think of something that may be good about the future. I thought to myself, "Self, what are you good at? Let's maximize that potential." So, what am I good at? That's a good question. Let's break it down a bit:

1) I am good at nothing.

Now, this isn't to say I am bad at everything. I'm actually a bit better than passable at most things. However, being good enough at pretty much anything is not nearly as marketable as being very good at two things. Now, to be fair, I am damn good at listening to music. I'm also brilliant at having opinions. The problem is, I don't like contention. Therefore, I don't really argue for my opinions in most situations. (Excluding Phil Collins and Apple. I'm convinced those are two points on the trifecta of hell, mayonaise being the third point.) So, while it would seem that those two skills make me perfect for a music critic, I don't like the part where I talk things down. What else am I good at?

2) I am good at nothing.

We talked about that, remember? Quit rehashing previously discussed material. Let's ask the more pertinent question: What am I passable at? Most things, so that answer is irrelevant. The real question is, what do I like doing? That is the question for the ages. I don't have any idea.

I think I might enjoy being a writer, except that I have nothing to write about. Which brings us back to where we started, with Nikolle. Or Nickolle, or Nicolle or however you spell it. I told N~~~~~~~e that I might like to be a writer, but I dont' know what to write about. N~~~~~~~~e found this inspiring. She said she thought it was so fascinating to see what is going on in the brain of someone who is free flow writing the despairing futility purposelessness. A nice thought, don't you think? I do. But it says a lot more about N~~~~~~~e than it does about me. She is a positive, upbeat person with a uniquely inquisitive take on the world. Whereas I am just like every other 20-something, single college dude with nothing to do. I want to think that this apathetic and aimless complaining I'm doing is due to some profound journey of self-discovery. In reality, if I were to be totally honest with myself, it is more accurately just a symptom of my inability to accomplish anything. This wandering and wondering can mostly be traced back to the fact that I don't have the drive to actually do any of the things I want to do. For example:

I would love to be one of those intellectuals who can talk to you about philosophy, and has read whatever it is you're talking about. I would love to actually read those Scientific American's I am receiving instead of just piling them on the back of my toilet. I would love to be one of those people who watched Pan's Labyrinth for more than the visual effects. I didn't even know that movie had a point until I watched the commentaries. I would love to be any of those things, but I'm not. And here's the kicker; I have the time to do all that. I just don't. However, I am pretty dang good at this game.

All this rambling brings us now to the fun part of my brain slewage. What do we blame for this? I'm sure as hell not going to blame me. However, I would like to blame the fact that I have nothing to look forward to. There is nothing in my future, so there is no reason to get there. As far as I can tell, next year will be exactly like this year, but my body will have broken down a little. Which is fine. I don't really care. And there's that problem again.....

Now, I didn't write this to complain. I wrote this because these are the thoughts I am thinking, and I does me good to discuss them, even if it is just with myself. Especially if it is just with myself. After all, I am a pretty good conversationalist.




This post written while listening to this.