Footsteps
My dad is the hardest working man I know. For two thirds of my life, his work was what defined him. He would work 14 hours a day, write a schedule at the kitchen table, sleep 5 hours, and head back to the restaurant. I witnessed him in awe, exhibiting reverence and developing a sense of hero worship. He was my definition of manhood. He was Superman.
Then ... Dad broke. His body finally crashed, long before his will or his mind showed even the faintest of cracks. His physicality destroyed, he struggled in pain for a few more years before he finally had to accept his fate. He had to abandon that which consumed so many of his waking hours.
That's when I learned who my dad was.
Dad was sad, to say the least. Crestfallen, struck down, might be better. Trapped in a neck brace, probably wrapping his head around the stark and unforgiving paradigm shift that had become his life. He was condemned to 60% mobility above the neck, nearly 100% immobility beyond the couch. Beginning high school, I was embroiled in a myriad of inconsequential teenage concerns that left me wholly insensitive to his thoughts. I saw him in passing. I regret this.
Then Dad did a miraculous thing. He became, instead of 100% confined to the couch, 100% Dad. No longer beholden to his bosses, his budgets, his restaurant, his work, he grew into something more. A man who probably would have had to work appeared at my marching band competitions. A man who probably grit his teeth at my own practicing appeared at my jazz band shows. Hell, he was home every day when school ended, no matter what.
I didn't realize the portent of this until it happened. Quite simply ... Dad came home.
I don't pretend to know how it was for him, or Mom. We don't necessarily talk like that as a family. In the Irish tradition, silent actions scream where words are not spoken. But I know who I saw, and how often I saw him, and the change was a good one. A great one.
So here I am at almost 25, and an opportunity sits in front of me. An opportunity for possible greatness, and it's my favorite kind. It's difficult, unrelenting, punishing, and most would turn it down in a heartbeat. It will drive me to my edge and demand more of me than anything I've done before. It will require of me that which anyone would be wont to give. It will require sacrifice.
Like Dad's restaurant.
A part of me wants to take this opportunity, specifically for these reasons. To build that which others would not- bear the burden as an indefatigable Atlas. To strive and cry and whine and be a martyr for having made the choice I wanted to.
And I'm happy to say ... I probably won't take it. Dad's example got me to this point. Dad showed me what work ethic was all about. Dad showed me that to stand out, you had to be exceptional. That, perhaps lacking great talent, one must place unmitigated determination in its place.
Then, a few years ago, Dad showed me what it really was to be great.
There will be more opportunities. I work hard, I strive for excellence, and fortune has been kind to me. But this time, I have a chance to be something more than a good worker. I can be a good son, a good grandson, a good brother.
I have the chance to come home.
I wonder- what would I miss more, 50 years from now, on my deathbed? The endless hours sitting in a boiler that I could choose ... or the dozen more talks with Poppop? The extra visits home? The trips to the city to see my brother and uncle?
Good thing someone showed me the answer already.
December 18, 2010
June 24, 2010
June 21, 2010
Garden, Keystone, Bluegrass, Lone Star
For the first time in my life, I stand on the precipice of moving beyond the horizon- but without some willing tie to that which I leave behind. My family is not here, my friends are scattered, and my coworkers are just that, if good ones. I have never encountered a situation such as this, where I journey onward without some heavy sense of mourning and loss.
Off to college, I left behind my first love (and didn't come back).
Off to work, I left behind my second love (and she moved on, too).
And now I sit before some intermediate but altogether major step. Will the work be good? What adventures are to be found? Whom will I meet? What good- and bad- will befall me in the coming twelve months, which I can scant but imagine right now?
In the past, I always found this type of change to be announced by some happenstance or distinct change in mood. A sudden urge to sleep outdoors as the wind changes. A chance meeting in a laundromat. A walk with a friend down an old hallway. This time there has been no vanguard to herald the arrival of another life transition. One day I will be here, the next I will be somewhere else.
So it is. Part of me misses the heavy feeling. And part of me ... feels elated. Bewildered.
Free.
For the first time in my life, I stand on the precipice of moving beyond the horizon- but without some willing tie to that which I leave behind. My family is not here, my friends are scattered, and my coworkers are just that, if good ones. I have never encountered a situation such as this, where I journey onward without some heavy sense of mourning and loss.
Off to college, I left behind my first love (and didn't come back).
Off to work, I left behind my second love (and she moved on, too).
And now I sit before some intermediate but altogether major step. Will the work be good? What adventures are to be found? Whom will I meet? What good- and bad- will befall me in the coming twelve months, which I can scant but imagine right now?
In the past, I always found this type of change to be announced by some happenstance or distinct change in mood. A sudden urge to sleep outdoors as the wind changes. A chance meeting in a laundromat. A walk with a friend down an old hallway. This time there has been no vanguard to herald the arrival of another life transition. One day I will be here, the next I will be somewhere else.
So it is. Part of me misses the heavy feeling. And part of me ... feels elated. Bewildered.
Free.
June 17, 2010
"Having tried my hand and attempted my mind at a variety of pursuits in my youth, I always found myself lacking in some capacity, either particular or generalized. Whether such deficit lay in the skill of my digits, the coordination of my muscles, the strain of my thought, the pitch of my ear, or the selection of my mind, this has ever been the case.
Initially, I reacted to these discoveries with a sense of determinism. Others could perform such acts and maneuver such invention- why couldn't I? Wasn't I, too, born with intrinsic abilities to match those of my peers? As the years passed, however, I came to understand that I would never match others in most of my endeavors. Training and practice could only take me so far.
My eyes and arms would never cooperate efficiently enough to perform with the skill of other athletes. My musical ears and breath would never react and adjust as naturally as those of other musicians. I would never be able to look at a logical problem and form a logical solution with the adeptness and speed of other intellectuals.
My thoughts and feelings eventually turned to sadness and a pointed sense of loss, then jealousy. My body and mind were a betrayal of the promise of my existence, condemning me to a life of mediocrity and struggle. To be continually outclassed and unable to retort to the powers and claims of others- what living is that?
It is consolation to know that nature abhors a vacuum; entropy and uniformity are its continual pursuit. That is to say, potential inherently desires to dissipate and flow, to bring up that which is down and vice versa. So it was in my soul. I found myself wanting, serving as a vacuum in a sea of talent and ability. Finding little to match those around me, my only recourse was to fill the gap with the means available.
What I found was an unflinching determination, an uncompromising desire to match them however I might do so. So it was: if I could not rival others in sheer skill, I should rival and surpass them in developing what skill I had. They were the masters of raw skill. I should be the master apprentice. The master student. The master of learning, training, and tutelage.
So I stand today. My skill in any given facet or craft is as minimal as ever, easily outdone by most all I encounter. What success I have found must be atrributed to the devotion with which I have confronted all that I have undertaken. Whether to run, to play music, to work, to love ... I have ever sought to fill the vacuum I sense around and within me. My nature drives me to learn and overcome those deficiencies of body and mind which may be overcome.
Let this be said of me: a patron to the art of learning, a devout parishioner at the altar of human will. Such is my nature, and I find myself happy for it."
Initially, I reacted to these discoveries with a sense of determinism. Others could perform such acts and maneuver such invention- why couldn't I? Wasn't I, too, born with intrinsic abilities to match those of my peers? As the years passed, however, I came to understand that I would never match others in most of my endeavors. Training and practice could only take me so far.
My eyes and arms would never cooperate efficiently enough to perform with the skill of other athletes. My musical ears and breath would never react and adjust as naturally as those of other musicians. I would never be able to look at a logical problem and form a logical solution with the adeptness and speed of other intellectuals.
My thoughts and feelings eventually turned to sadness and a pointed sense of loss, then jealousy. My body and mind were a betrayal of the promise of my existence, condemning me to a life of mediocrity and struggle. To be continually outclassed and unable to retort to the powers and claims of others- what living is that?
It is consolation to know that nature abhors a vacuum; entropy and uniformity are its continual pursuit. That is to say, potential inherently desires to dissipate and flow, to bring up that which is down and vice versa. So it was in my soul. I found myself wanting, serving as a vacuum in a sea of talent and ability. Finding little to match those around me, my only recourse was to fill the gap with the means available.
What I found was an unflinching determination, an uncompromising desire to match them however I might do so. So it was: if I could not rival others in sheer skill, I should rival and surpass them in developing what skill I had. They were the masters of raw skill. I should be the master apprentice. The master student. The master of learning, training, and tutelage.
So I stand today. My skill in any given facet or craft is as minimal as ever, easily outdone by most all I encounter. What success I have found must be atrributed to the devotion with which I have confronted all that I have undertaken. Whether to run, to play music, to work, to love ... I have ever sought to fill the vacuum I sense around and within me. My nature drives me to learn and overcome those deficiencies of body and mind which may be overcome.
Let this be said of me: a patron to the art of learning, a devout parishioner at the altar of human will. Such is my nature, and I find myself happy for it."
May 16, 2010
Protection
"The reason I am wary of others protecting me is that they most commonly do so by lying to me, to spare me some hardship they think I cannot or should not handle. So often, though, they are protecting me from themselves, from some unintentional misery they would create for me through their actions. The worst part is that they, being human, usually cannot withstand the misery of the lie, the action, and the ensuing guilt that accompany both, and so they eventually confess their protection of me all the same. Now I have lost two things- my happiness, and my trust in my would-be protector.
No, I do not need your protection. I need your courage. I need your trust. I need your faith in me and your faith in yourself. I need you to speak to me as a friend would- with earnest, passionate honesty. I need to know that there are those who would speak to me and tell me what I must hear from a source I would trust to say it. Otherwise the whole of my life is a lonely illusion, listening to false praise and empty banter.
Objective reasoning is the greatest of humankind's skills. Do not deprive me of mine- and therefore my ability to understand and interpret this world as I may- by withholding truth for the sake of well-meaning but ultimately dangerous intentions."
I have tried to protect others and have had others try to protect me. Both led to ruin.
I don't think of the above quote in the context of protection of innocence. There is no sense springing graphic or disturbing facts upon children, for example, who lack the understanding and experience to comprehend them intelligently. Between two adults, though ...
Maybe I will change my views on this when I have met the woman I'll marry. For right now, though, it's something to think about. As ever, the data speaks for itself. I have never come across a situation where this type of protection has improved a relationship or friendship. Most often it has been a precursor and direct contributor to some brutal and violent end, when a confession leads to long hidden truths, tears, and heartache.
"The reason I am wary of others protecting me is that they most commonly do so by lying to me, to spare me some hardship they think I cannot or should not handle. So often, though, they are protecting me from themselves, from some unintentional misery they would create for me through their actions. The worst part is that they, being human, usually cannot withstand the misery of the lie, the action, and the ensuing guilt that accompany both, and so they eventually confess their protection of me all the same. Now I have lost two things- my happiness, and my trust in my would-be protector.
No, I do not need your protection. I need your courage. I need your trust. I need your faith in me and your faith in yourself. I need you to speak to me as a friend would- with earnest, passionate honesty. I need to know that there are those who would speak to me and tell me what I must hear from a source I would trust to say it. Otherwise the whole of my life is a lonely illusion, listening to false praise and empty banter.
Objective reasoning is the greatest of humankind's skills. Do not deprive me of mine- and therefore my ability to understand and interpret this world as I may- by withholding truth for the sake of well-meaning but ultimately dangerous intentions."
I have tried to protect others and have had others try to protect me. Both led to ruin.
I don't think of the above quote in the context of protection of innocence. There is no sense springing graphic or disturbing facts upon children, for example, who lack the understanding and experience to comprehend them intelligently. Between two adults, though ...
Maybe I will change my views on this when I have met the woman I'll marry. For right now, though, it's something to think about. As ever, the data speaks for itself. I have never come across a situation where this type of protection has improved a relationship or friendship. Most often it has been a precursor and direct contributor to some brutal and violent end, when a confession leads to long hidden truths, tears, and heartache.
April 24, 2010
Profile of the Louisville Mini
Mile 0 - Noticeable increase in heartrate and pulse. I begin to grow anxious as I stand alone in the B corral waiting for the signal to start. I wonder if I'll be able to finish this thing without stopping. A cursory check of my systems says that my legs, lungs, and stomach all seem to be in good shape. Time to go.
Mile 0.25 - A sudden betrayal by my digestive tract. Where there was once peace and understanding now sits a churning whirlpool of hate and fire. An urgent, desperate calling from my lower half promises quick violence with release and prolonged agony without. I scan the roadside- there is no respite to be offered. Teeth clenched, I chug on.
Mile 0.75 - Grateful leap into line for the first grouping of port-o-johns. I wait impatiently. What is that woman doing, knitting a goddam sweater in there? She leaves; the violence is quicker than promised. I make do with the available resources and exit the facility. Free of its extra strain, my body reacts with unforeseen energy. I bound forward effortlessly, held to the earth only by my inescapable mass and mercilessly low coefficient of lift.
What a great shit.
Mile 2.00 - What was once a fun frolic amidst 15,000 companions has turned ugly once more. Whoever invented hills, especially hills in parks, can suck my dick.
Mile 2.75 - I find inspiration when I stumble upon "The Elvises." A bunch of dudes are dressed up as Elvis and push a stroller containing a boombox. The crowd sings along to "In the Ghetto," unperturbed by their predominantly Caucasian, white-collar, middle class+ standing. The irony and music push me forward.
Mile 3.5 - The top hill is crested. As others fly past me, I try to exercise the restraint advised by those who have run before. "Don't blow your load early."
Would that I could store such wisdom in jars.
Mile 5.0 - The flat section is comparatively easy, but I grow restless. The infinite line of homes and street lights on this unwavering road proves surprisingly successful in undermining my sense of distance. Only the mile markers are indicative of progress. Without them, I should not know whither I moved forward or back amidst a sea of grunting humanity.
Mile 5.5 - Orange slices! Yay!
Mile 7.0 - We enter Churchill Downs. Expecting grandiose bearings and a sense of undue wealth and propriety, I find a horse track that smells every bit as shitty as the Lancaster County farm fair. This quick visit has not enlightened me to the wonder of the Kentucky Derby. Also, the Budweiser stand is closed.
Miles 8.0 to 10.0 - Panic. As the race meanders through narrower streets and less affluent neighborhoods, it is difficult to find mile markers. Missing markers 8 and 9 consecutively, my eyes grow wild. I rely on the only information to be had to measure my progress- rumors from those about me.
"This is mile 10!"
"This is mile 8!"
Worse- "This is mile 7!"
But, but ... but ... it said that when we left Churchill Downs ... surely that must have been a half hour ago? 10 minutes ago? That could not be now? How could it be now, when it was then? What was THEN cannot be NOW.
And who are you to decry my claim that this must be mile 9? Who are you to deny my exhaustion, with your own subjective "feel" for your pace and your stupidly large plastic watch with which to quantify it?
You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you and that bitch you're running with! I will not be denied that this is mile 9 ... it, it just must be. It is. It must be. It must be because I have decided it is. You're no one and I am myself, and I WILL CLAIM THIS TO BE MILE 9 IF I HAVE TO CLUB YOU TO DEATH WITH OWN MY SNEAKER TO MAKE IT SO.
Mile 10.0 - I pass mile marker 10 and decide to call off the murder of "Big Watch Guy." He and his girlfriend actually seem pretty nice. My bad.
Mile 11.0 - The massive cramp in my left side decides to go on vacation and hops a train to my right side. Honestly, I would have missed him if he'd decided to go abroad. Good thing he stuck around.
Mile 12.0 - We enter the city district, with much taller buildings (and therefore shade) but distinctly less airflow. I find my legs offering loud warnings of impending pain. In an interesting reversal, the pain will apparently manifest when (if?) I stop running. Until then, all evidence of such pain is restricted to a clear and growing tautness in my calves and hamstrings.
I reflect on the nature of my legs. Right now they are simply parts in a moving machine. As with those of any machine, any construct of man, or any natural construct, these parts abhor change. Once brought to speed at a desirable level of functionality, their "best" future lay in the unending continuance of that speed, serving that functionality. Yes, an end lay in their future regardless ... energy and mass must inherently disperse as they are moved and exchanged over time. Entropy must increase. Maintenance must be required.
Applied to my current situation, the change will be me bringing their speed to zero. The outcome will be painful chemical buildup and cellular strain that reach critical mass due to this change. I do not look forward to it.
Mile 13.0 - The struggle has become intolerable as exhaustion takes its toll. The straight road of miles 6 through 11 has given way to a series of labrynthine twists and turns in the city district. Every new direction that fails to present a finish line elicits an angry groan from the running crowd. One turn in particular drops us in front of a steep incline not entirely unlike the hills from the park. Who the hell was in charge of that call?
Mile 13.1 - I don't realize I'm adding speed until I'm halfway between the last turn and the finish line. I'm sprinting as fast as I can. My last conscious decision is to not look at the finish line. As I run under something, it's over. I slow down to a walk.
The immediate stabs in my legs and locking of my neck muscles threaten to paralyze me. I guess I had been running with a hunched back for the last few miles? I stagger forward. A smiling man hands me a medal. I put it around my neck. I stagger further. Water is everywhere. I see someone filling the cups with a hose from an indeterminable source- I do not care. I down several cups, stagger more, and take 4 mini bottles of Powerade. I swallow two of them and finally begin to feel distention of my stomach.
The distention brings on my first smile after the race. It reminds me of San Antonio in 2005, when I guzzled a Gatorade between brass block and ensemble and then threw it up behind the stands minutes later. I recall the whole incident with no small level of fondness. Funny how that works.
All in all, it was a good race, I'm proud of my time, I'm proud of the fact I never stopped (except for that awesome, awesome shit), and I'm glad I did it. I might even do another one.
As for right now, I'm going to go drink water and fall asleep on my couch at 7 PM. Happy Saturday night.
Mile 0 - Noticeable increase in heartrate and pulse. I begin to grow anxious as I stand alone in the B corral waiting for the signal to start. I wonder if I'll be able to finish this thing without stopping. A cursory check of my systems says that my legs, lungs, and stomach all seem to be in good shape. Time to go.
Mile 0.25 - A sudden betrayal by my digestive tract. Where there was once peace and understanding now sits a churning whirlpool of hate and fire. An urgent, desperate calling from my lower half promises quick violence with release and prolonged agony without. I scan the roadside- there is no respite to be offered. Teeth clenched, I chug on.
Mile 0.75 - Grateful leap into line for the first grouping of port-o-johns. I wait impatiently. What is that woman doing, knitting a goddam sweater in there? She leaves; the violence is quicker than promised. I make do with the available resources and exit the facility. Free of its extra strain, my body reacts with unforeseen energy. I bound forward effortlessly, held to the earth only by my inescapable mass and mercilessly low coefficient of lift.
What a great shit.
Mile 2.00 - What was once a fun frolic amidst 15,000 companions has turned ugly once more. Whoever invented hills, especially hills in parks, can suck my dick.
Mile 2.75 - I find inspiration when I stumble upon "The Elvises." A bunch of dudes are dressed up as Elvis and push a stroller containing a boombox. The crowd sings along to "In the Ghetto," unperturbed by their predominantly Caucasian, white-collar, middle class+ standing. The irony and music push me forward.
Mile 3.5 - The top hill is crested. As others fly past me, I try to exercise the restraint advised by those who have run before. "Don't blow your load early."
Would that I could store such wisdom in jars.
Mile 5.0 - The flat section is comparatively easy, but I grow restless. The infinite line of homes and street lights on this unwavering road proves surprisingly successful in undermining my sense of distance. Only the mile markers are indicative of progress. Without them, I should not know whither I moved forward or back amidst a sea of grunting humanity.
Mile 5.5 - Orange slices! Yay!
Mile 7.0 - We enter Churchill Downs. Expecting grandiose bearings and a sense of undue wealth and propriety, I find a horse track that smells every bit as shitty as the Lancaster County farm fair. This quick visit has not enlightened me to the wonder of the Kentucky Derby. Also, the Budweiser stand is closed.
Miles 8.0 to 10.0 - Panic. As the race meanders through narrower streets and less affluent neighborhoods, it is difficult to find mile markers. Missing markers 8 and 9 consecutively, my eyes grow wild. I rely on the only information to be had to measure my progress- rumors from those about me.
"This is mile 10!"
"This is mile 8!"
Worse- "This is mile 7!"
But, but ... but ... it said that when we left Churchill Downs ... surely that must have been a half hour ago? 10 minutes ago? That could not be now? How could it be now, when it was then? What was THEN cannot be NOW.
And who are you to decry my claim that this must be mile 9? Who are you to deny my exhaustion, with your own subjective "feel" for your pace and your stupidly large plastic watch with which to quantify it?
You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you and that bitch you're running with! I will not be denied that this is mile 9 ... it, it just must be. It is. It must be. It must be because I have decided it is. You're no one and I am myself, and I WILL CLAIM THIS TO BE MILE 9 IF I HAVE TO CLUB YOU TO DEATH WITH OWN MY SNEAKER TO MAKE IT SO.
Mile 10.0 - I pass mile marker 10 and decide to call off the murder of "Big Watch Guy." He and his girlfriend actually seem pretty nice. My bad.
Mile 11.0 - The massive cramp in my left side decides to go on vacation and hops a train to my right side. Honestly, I would have missed him if he'd decided to go abroad. Good thing he stuck around.
Mile 12.0 - We enter the city district, with much taller buildings (and therefore shade) but distinctly less airflow. I find my legs offering loud warnings of impending pain. In an interesting reversal, the pain will apparently manifest when (if?) I stop running. Until then, all evidence of such pain is restricted to a clear and growing tautness in my calves and hamstrings.
I reflect on the nature of my legs. Right now they are simply parts in a moving machine. As with those of any machine, any construct of man, or any natural construct, these parts abhor change. Once brought to speed at a desirable level of functionality, their "best" future lay in the unending continuance of that speed, serving that functionality. Yes, an end lay in their future regardless ... energy and mass must inherently disperse as they are moved and exchanged over time. Entropy must increase. Maintenance must be required.
Applied to my current situation, the change will be me bringing their speed to zero. The outcome will be painful chemical buildup and cellular strain that reach critical mass due to this change. I do not look forward to it.
Mile 13.0 - The struggle has become intolerable as exhaustion takes its toll. The straight road of miles 6 through 11 has given way to a series of labrynthine twists and turns in the city district. Every new direction that fails to present a finish line elicits an angry groan from the running crowd. One turn in particular drops us in front of a steep incline not entirely unlike the hills from the park. Who the hell was in charge of that call?
Mile 13.1 - I don't realize I'm adding speed until I'm halfway between the last turn and the finish line. I'm sprinting as fast as I can. My last conscious decision is to not look at the finish line. As I run under something, it's over. I slow down to a walk.
The immediate stabs in my legs and locking of my neck muscles threaten to paralyze me. I guess I had been running with a hunched back for the last few miles? I stagger forward. A smiling man hands me a medal. I put it around my neck. I stagger further. Water is everywhere. I see someone filling the cups with a hose from an indeterminable source- I do not care. I down several cups, stagger more, and take 4 mini bottles of Powerade. I swallow two of them and finally begin to feel distention of my stomach.
The distention brings on my first smile after the race. It reminds me of San Antonio in 2005, when I guzzled a Gatorade between brass block and ensemble and then threw it up behind the stands minutes later. I recall the whole incident with no small level of fondness. Funny how that works.
All in all, it was a good race, I'm proud of my time, I'm proud of the fact I never stopped (except for that awesome, awesome shit), and I'm glad I did it. I might even do another one.
As for right now, I'm going to go drink water and fall asleep on my couch at 7 PM. Happy Saturday night.
April 12, 2010
Belly of the Whale
The more I think about it, the more I don't actually want to go back to the east coast yet.
As much as I complain about the differences in culture and struggle with the loneliness of it all, it feels like it's too soon to go back. It feels like going back now would be premature- almost as though I would be retreating to the safety and comfort of home. I would have come out here and learned for only nine months. I would have grown some but not enough. There just wouldn't be any real cause for celebration, no sense of glory for having accomplished something in the wilds. I would be flying, not fighting.
Houston, on the other hand, is a whole new challenge yet again. A foreign city with a brand new job and paltry contacts to speak of. The closest thing I will have experienced to Houston is St Louis. Even then, every city is different and the two are separated by 1,000 miles of distance. The brand new job will probably be the most technically difficult role I've ever attempted. The lack of contacts will be similar to what I found here but with significantly more potential to develop and flourish.
What's more, I don't think home has changed enough to my liking yet. There are still too many old acquaintances floating around the area. The roads are too similar. The shops and restaurants haven't had a chance to undergo significant changes yet. My return in July would feel like this whole excursion was some kind of extended field trip, nothing more.
No ... it is important to push on. It is important to go west, seeking my fortune on a new horizon. And it is so very important to choose the new road, the difficult road, the road that will lead to somewhere I can't see at all.
"The idea that the passage of the magical threshold is a transit into a sphere of rebirth is symbolized in the worldwide womb image of the belly of the whale. The hero, instead of conquering or conciliating the power of the threshold, is swallowed into the unknown and would appear to have died. This popular motif gives emphasis to the lesson that the passage of the threshold is a form of self-annihilation. Instead of passing outward, beyond the confines of the visible world, the hero goes inward, to be born again. ... allegorically, then, the passage into a temple and the hero-dive through the jaws of the whale are identical adventures, both denoting in picture language, the life-centering, life-renewing act."
-J. Campbell
The more I think about it, the more I don't actually want to go back to the east coast yet.
As much as I complain about the differences in culture and struggle with the loneliness of it all, it feels like it's too soon to go back. It feels like going back now would be premature- almost as though I would be retreating to the safety and comfort of home. I would have come out here and learned for only nine months. I would have grown some but not enough. There just wouldn't be any real cause for celebration, no sense of glory for having accomplished something in the wilds. I would be flying, not fighting.
Houston, on the other hand, is a whole new challenge yet again. A foreign city with a brand new job and paltry contacts to speak of. The closest thing I will have experienced to Houston is St Louis. Even then, every city is different and the two are separated by 1,000 miles of distance. The brand new job will probably be the most technically difficult role I've ever attempted. The lack of contacts will be similar to what I found here but with significantly more potential to develop and flourish.
What's more, I don't think home has changed enough to my liking yet. There are still too many old acquaintances floating around the area. The roads are too similar. The shops and restaurants haven't had a chance to undergo significant changes yet. My return in July would feel like this whole excursion was some kind of extended field trip, nothing more.
No ... it is important to push on. It is important to go west, seeking my fortune on a new horizon. And it is so very important to choose the new road, the difficult road, the road that will lead to somewhere I can't see at all.
"The idea that the passage of the magical threshold is a transit into a sphere of rebirth is symbolized in the worldwide womb image of the belly of the whale. The hero, instead of conquering or conciliating the power of the threshold, is swallowed into the unknown and would appear to have died. This popular motif gives emphasis to the lesson that the passage of the threshold is a form of self-annihilation. Instead of passing outward, beyond the confines of the visible world, the hero goes inward, to be born again. ... allegorically, then, the passage into a temple and the hero-dive through the jaws of the whale are identical adventures, both denoting in picture language, the life-centering, life-renewing act."
-J. Campbell
March 23, 2010
Quotes from Atlas
"Love is our response to our highest values."
"Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think that you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong."
Sometimes it's difficult to accept the truth if it's not something you want to know. But there's no comparison between the fallacy of joy experienced in fiction and the sincerity of joy experienced in truth. The difference is that joy stemming from truth is devoid of the paranoia, anxiety, and fear that accompany joy stemming from fiction- especially self-induced fiction.
It's right to hope for things, and it's requisite for happiness that we strive to achieve our hopes. As in any endeavor, though, one must frequently take a look at the known truths of a situation and determine the feasibility of continuing. An infinite number of conflicts will always be present, standing between yourself and the hope you seek to fulfill. It takes an objective perspective to be able to look at those conflicts and determine the best course of action to take. If the best course of action from your perspective is indeed to end an endeavor, and seek to fulfill your hopes elsewhere ... that takes ever more maturity, courage, and self-understanding.
The most successful among us will always be those who can reconcile objective understanding with passionate faith in achieving their hopes.
"Love is our response to our highest values."
"Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think that you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong."
Sometimes it's difficult to accept the truth if it's not something you want to know. But there's no comparison between the fallacy of joy experienced in fiction and the sincerity of joy experienced in truth. The difference is that joy stemming from truth is devoid of the paranoia, anxiety, and fear that accompany joy stemming from fiction- especially self-induced fiction.
It's right to hope for things, and it's requisite for happiness that we strive to achieve our hopes. As in any endeavor, though, one must frequently take a look at the known truths of a situation and determine the feasibility of continuing. An infinite number of conflicts will always be present, standing between yourself and the hope you seek to fulfill. It takes an objective perspective to be able to look at those conflicts and determine the best course of action to take. If the best course of action from your perspective is indeed to end an endeavor, and seek to fulfill your hopes elsewhere ... that takes ever more maturity, courage, and self-understanding.
The most successful among us will always be those who can reconcile objective understanding with passionate faith in achieving their hopes.
March 21, 2010
Worth
It only took five years, but I think I'm beginning to understand.
There is nothing wrong with basing your worth on achievement. As a matter of fact, it's the only way to build worth for most people. The key is to work to achieve those things which most align with your values.
I understand myself enough to know that my greatest happiness is derived from achievement, and the recognition of that achievement by others whom I respect or love. In the past I may have derided this quality, and viewed it as a weakness. But truly- where else should I have turned to find a source of self-worth?
I believe now that my mistake was not in the assignment of my source of worth, but in how narrowly I defined its terms. I felt as though something was missing because I included only academic or professional accomplishment in my definition of achievement. And while those two fields do comprise much of the achievement I've gained in my lifetime, it was immature to look only to them. I suppose they were easiest because they were the most simply quantifiable, and were the goals to which I devoted most of my time.
The last six months, though, have brought enough change to my life that I have begun to see more. I always remembered the lessons of the Cadets, but until now I don't think my perspective was broad enough to really appreciate the most important one. What Hop was always trying to say was that achievement means delivering value through excellent performance- and that's all there is to the definition. Achievement need not be restricted to how well I complete engineering calculations or how well I play my trombone. It need not and should not be restricted at all.
As seemingly obvious as this revelation may have been to everyone else, it feels like a new dawn to me. The unveiling of a truth that I have trusted enough to act upon, yet never addressed consciously. It is as though a whole new manner of thinking, previously just beyond my reasonable reach, may now be used day to day. Most importantly, the understanding I am just now chasing and trying to develop brings me to a state of the most serene confidence and joy.
There will be times in my life, right now included, where I will be sad, lonely, hurt, and nervous about the future. I am and will be scared of things. But what I can carry with me is the knowledge of who I am, and what I do.
I strive to achieve- to deliver value, excellently. Doing so brings me the greatest happiness I have known. That knowledge about myself means that, so long as I act with the broadest possible definition of achievement, I never really need fear for my future.
I will continue to work to be an excellent engineer and businessman. I will continue to learn as an excellent student, in whatever fields I may learn, for the rest of my life. More importantly than those two, I will continue to strive for excellence as a son, brother, and friend. Someday, I will work to be an excellent husband, and an excellent father. Because I know that doing well in all these roles is what will bring me happiness, I have no real need to be afraid of what the future will bring.
Whatever happens- and bad things will happen- I will fight to achieve. I will be me ... and I'm lucky to know that.
It only took five years, but I think I'm beginning to understand.
There is nothing wrong with basing your worth on achievement. As a matter of fact, it's the only way to build worth for most people. The key is to work to achieve those things which most align with your values.
I understand myself enough to know that my greatest happiness is derived from achievement, and the recognition of that achievement by others whom I respect or love. In the past I may have derided this quality, and viewed it as a weakness. But truly- where else should I have turned to find a source of self-worth?
I believe now that my mistake was not in the assignment of my source of worth, but in how narrowly I defined its terms. I felt as though something was missing because I included only academic or professional accomplishment in my definition of achievement. And while those two fields do comprise much of the achievement I've gained in my lifetime, it was immature to look only to them. I suppose they were easiest because they were the most simply quantifiable, and were the goals to which I devoted most of my time.
The last six months, though, have brought enough change to my life that I have begun to see more. I always remembered the lessons of the Cadets, but until now I don't think my perspective was broad enough to really appreciate the most important one. What Hop was always trying to say was that achievement means delivering value through excellent performance- and that's all there is to the definition. Achievement need not be restricted to how well I complete engineering calculations or how well I play my trombone. It need not and should not be restricted at all.
As seemingly obvious as this revelation may have been to everyone else, it feels like a new dawn to me. The unveiling of a truth that I have trusted enough to act upon, yet never addressed consciously. It is as though a whole new manner of thinking, previously just beyond my reasonable reach, may now be used day to day. Most importantly, the understanding I am just now chasing and trying to develop brings me to a state of the most serene confidence and joy.
There will be times in my life, right now included, where I will be sad, lonely, hurt, and nervous about the future. I am and will be scared of things. But what I can carry with me is the knowledge of who I am, and what I do.
I strive to achieve- to deliver value, excellently. Doing so brings me the greatest happiness I have known. That knowledge about myself means that, so long as I act with the broadest possible definition of achievement, I never really need fear for my future.
I will continue to work to be an excellent engineer and businessman. I will continue to learn as an excellent student, in whatever fields I may learn, for the rest of my life. More importantly than those two, I will continue to strive for excellence as a son, brother, and friend. Someday, I will work to be an excellent husband, and an excellent father. Because I know that doing well in all these roles is what will bring me happiness, I have no real need to be afraid of what the future will bring.
Whatever happens- and bad things will happen- I will fight to achieve. I will be me ... and I'm lucky to know that.
March 13, 2010
Formative
"Good morning, Cadets. Today you're in ... I don't know. It doesn't matter. Food truck is outside the main door, practice fields behind it. We're going to work. Doesn't matter where we are."
"Are you going to be legendary?"
"You gotta be broken down before you can be built into what you're supposed to be. The body wasn't made for this- so they make it for you."
"Wake up, and go to work."
"This isn't drum corps. You need to remember whom you're speaking to, and when, and what they're after. You can't address people as you would be- you need to address them as they want to be."
"Those are men out there. Men with jobs, and families, and who have worked here for 30 years. They're proud, and they know their shit, and they're scared. The front line is always scared- and you gotta remember that."
"You're not a manager until you've fired someone. Looked them in the face and said, 'No. Not you. Thank you.' And not for anything they did- for something beyond your power and theirs. I've cried with people. I've found new jobs for people. But you're not a manager until you've told someone they have to go home to their family, and have no job."
"I'm not worried about dying. I can't do anything about that. I just don't want to leave you guys behind. I've got a lot left to do."
"I got enough cream-filled donuts for both of you. Be nice and wake me at 12! Love, Mom."
"You gotta let those guys know that what they're doing is valuable. Maybe not to them ... maybe they're a contractor. What do they care? What they might care about is doing a good job if you walk away and say, 'Those were some good guys who did some good work. I'll call them next time.' That means work to them, money to them, food to them. That's value."
"If it were up to me, I'd take all that cancer out of her body. I'd eat it like candy and die tomorrow, if I knew that that meant she could watch our grandson grow up. I don't know a lot, but I know that."
"See, there were guys at school who would spend 8, 10 hours a day in the practice room. I always beat them, and I only spent 2-3 hours there per day. The trick isn't how many hours you spend doing something ... it's how many hours did you spend effectively doing something?"
"It depends on your definition of achievement. I base mine on many things. There are always kids like you- but would you say I've let you squander your drive, or your time? There's a balance, between all of you. All I hope is I've done enough for them ... and for you."
"Integrity is the key to your success."
"Learning is painful. If you think you're learning and it's not painful, then it must be your passion, or you must not be learning. And I doubt very many of you think of cost-benefit analysis as your passion."
"I wish I could have been home more. I wish I had been home more."
"Is this what you bring to me? A week of time, and you bring reasons why you didn't do what you were supposed to do? I have no time for this, or for you, now. I don't want this. I want people who bring me what I ask for. Even better- I want people who question what I ask for and make it better. But you haven't brought me anything. So what would you have me do?"
"You started out so shy, so quiet ... and you've become a showman. If I didn't know how hard you worked, I would be concerned for the decency of our institution. As it is, I'm only concerned for you."
"You're brilliant. At least I think you are. But you need to grow up."
"I love you."
"Good morning, Cadets. Today you're in ... I don't know. It doesn't matter. Food truck is outside the main door, practice fields behind it. We're going to work. Doesn't matter where we are."
"Are you going to be legendary?"
"You gotta be broken down before you can be built into what you're supposed to be. The body wasn't made for this- so they make it for you."
"Wake up, and go to work."
"This isn't drum corps. You need to remember whom you're speaking to, and when, and what they're after. You can't address people as you would be- you need to address them as they want to be."
"Those are men out there. Men with jobs, and families, and who have worked here for 30 years. They're proud, and they know their shit, and they're scared. The front line is always scared- and you gotta remember that."
"You're not a manager until you've fired someone. Looked them in the face and said, 'No. Not you. Thank you.' And not for anything they did- for something beyond your power and theirs. I've cried with people. I've found new jobs for people. But you're not a manager until you've told someone they have to go home to their family, and have no job."
"I'm not worried about dying. I can't do anything about that. I just don't want to leave you guys behind. I've got a lot left to do."
"I got enough cream-filled donuts for both of you. Be nice and wake me at 12! Love, Mom."
"You gotta let those guys know that what they're doing is valuable. Maybe not to them ... maybe they're a contractor. What do they care? What they might care about is doing a good job if you walk away and say, 'Those were some good guys who did some good work. I'll call them next time.' That means work to them, money to them, food to them. That's value."
"If it were up to me, I'd take all that cancer out of her body. I'd eat it like candy and die tomorrow, if I knew that that meant she could watch our grandson grow up. I don't know a lot, but I know that."
"See, there were guys at school who would spend 8, 10 hours a day in the practice room. I always beat them, and I only spent 2-3 hours there per day. The trick isn't how many hours you spend doing something ... it's how many hours did you spend effectively doing something?"
"It depends on your definition of achievement. I base mine on many things. There are always kids like you- but would you say I've let you squander your drive, or your time? There's a balance, between all of you. All I hope is I've done enough for them ... and for you."
"Integrity is the key to your success."
"Learning is painful. If you think you're learning and it's not painful, then it must be your passion, or you must not be learning. And I doubt very many of you think of cost-benefit analysis as your passion."
"I wish I could have been home more. I wish I had been home more."
"Is this what you bring to me? A week of time, and you bring reasons why you didn't do what you were supposed to do? I have no time for this, or for you, now. I don't want this. I want people who bring me what I ask for. Even better- I want people who question what I ask for and make it better. But you haven't brought me anything. So what would you have me do?"
"You started out so shy, so quiet ... and you've become a showman. If I didn't know how hard you worked, I would be concerned for the decency of our institution. As it is, I'm only concerned for you."
"You're brilliant. At least I think you are. But you need to grow up."
"I love you."
March 11, 2010
Cruelty
It seems like people, when acted against, respond in one of two ways. They will either become staunch opponents against such action, or apathetic proponents of such action.
As an example, I think of team meetings back in college. I did the best I could to be on time for those meetings, because people were often late and wasted my time. Others took the opposite view. If others were going to be late, why the hell shouldn't they be late, too? After all, the meeting wouldn't be starting on time anyway. Punctuality would, in their minds, have cost them time.
I stand by the notion that being acted against- intentionally or unintentionally- generates reactionary emotional response in most people. If the action is severe or frequent enough, those acted against may form new behavioral habits. They may begin to make choices that reveal their views on the action itself.
Conversely, if people are not acted against, their perspective may lack an understanding and appreciation of what it is to be acted against. They may continue acting against others without heed, simply for having never experienced the consequences of similar actions themselves. Without an emotional link to connect themselves to the action's outcome, they can remain aloof and objective enough to continue acting in the same way.
The most important thing we can do when bad things happen is to learn. "Learn why the world wags and what wags it." I myself have acted poorly- terribly- to others in the past, with guilt but without much hesitance to continue to do so as the years continued. I was selfish beyond measure, and my perspective lacked the crucial experiences that would have transformed my pity for the victims to abhorrence of the original act itself.
Well ... right now, I'm learning. I will continue to learn. And I will use this pain to push myself to being kinder. More conscientious. Less selfish. More understanding and considerate. Smarter ... and, ultimately, less cruel.
Because if I can't or won't do this, then nothing will have changed, and all of this pain would have been spent on self-pity and sadness.
What a deplorable waste that would be.
It seems like people, when acted against, respond in one of two ways. They will either become staunch opponents against such action, or apathetic proponents of such action.
As an example, I think of team meetings back in college. I did the best I could to be on time for those meetings, because people were often late and wasted my time. Others took the opposite view. If others were going to be late, why the hell shouldn't they be late, too? After all, the meeting wouldn't be starting on time anyway. Punctuality would, in their minds, have cost them time.
I stand by the notion that being acted against- intentionally or unintentionally- generates reactionary emotional response in most people. If the action is severe or frequent enough, those acted against may form new behavioral habits. They may begin to make choices that reveal their views on the action itself.
Conversely, if people are not acted against, their perspective may lack an understanding and appreciation of what it is to be acted against. They may continue acting against others without heed, simply for having never experienced the consequences of similar actions themselves. Without an emotional link to connect themselves to the action's outcome, they can remain aloof and objective enough to continue acting in the same way.
The most important thing we can do when bad things happen is to learn. "Learn why the world wags and what wags it." I myself have acted poorly- terribly- to others in the past, with guilt but without much hesitance to continue to do so as the years continued. I was selfish beyond measure, and my perspective lacked the crucial experiences that would have transformed my pity for the victims to abhorrence of the original act itself.
Well ... right now, I'm learning. I will continue to learn. And I will use this pain to push myself to being kinder. More conscientious. Less selfish. More understanding and considerate. Smarter ... and, ultimately, less cruel.
Because if I can't or won't do this, then nothing will have changed, and all of this pain would have been spent on self-pity and sadness.
What a deplorable waste that would be.
March 08, 2010
Destiny Manifest
Some nights are easier than others. So are some days.
It feels like it's been a series of rough nights and distracted days since last Wednesday. The acceptance for Houston felt spur of the moment, uncontrolled, wild ... at least, as wild as I've ever been making that kind of decision.
That acceptance also felt like the final hammerfall. I had worked hard to ensure that I would leave all paths open. Come hell or high water, I would have a viable path to go in any direction or in pursuit of any priority. I would earn what I always strive for- opportunity and choice.
In the most basic sense, at least, I succeeded. My hedging worked and I could go as I would. As of last Wednesday at 11 AM, I could have chosen east or west. Familiar or foreign. Possibly big or definitely home.
I still can't articulate what draws me to Houston. I chose Lehigh six years ago because I knew it was the best choice for my future. I choose Houston now from some indefinable sense of need. Of course part of the decision is because a door closed in the east. I could go there and succeed professionally, see old friends and family, drive roads and eat food and live a life known from having lived it. What I can't explain is my desire to ... not. And it's not a slight against those I'd be seeing, not in the least. I miss so many of them so dearly. It's just that that isn't my strongest want right now.
As an aside, part of me would still give almost anything to reopen that door. Part of me always will. It was special, and it made me so unimaginably happy that it still surprises me sometimes. Maybe it's a little worse now, because all of it is strictly in the past. From my own admission I can tell you that my memories of the past are immortalized in the most pleasing ways possible. Almost without exception, I remember the good. I remember the fun, the smiles, and the joy.
Right now I am ponderous, hurt, and lonely ... but the hard decision has been made. The next few steps of my path are set, waiting for me. And you know what? The good news is that there is never any need to wait in life. Not really. There is always progress to be made. There are miles to run, thoughts to ponder, music to play, friends to make, and loved ones to visit.
Another day, another segue.
Some nights are easier than others. So are some days.
It feels like it's been a series of rough nights and distracted days since last Wednesday. The acceptance for Houston felt spur of the moment, uncontrolled, wild ... at least, as wild as I've ever been making that kind of decision.
That acceptance also felt like the final hammerfall. I had worked hard to ensure that I would leave all paths open. Come hell or high water, I would have a viable path to go in any direction or in pursuit of any priority. I would earn what I always strive for- opportunity and choice.
In the most basic sense, at least, I succeeded. My hedging worked and I could go as I would. As of last Wednesday at 11 AM, I could have chosen east or west. Familiar or foreign. Possibly big or definitely home.
I still can't articulate what draws me to Houston. I chose Lehigh six years ago because I knew it was the best choice for my future. I choose Houston now from some indefinable sense of need. Of course part of the decision is because a door closed in the east. I could go there and succeed professionally, see old friends and family, drive roads and eat food and live a life known from having lived it. What I can't explain is my desire to ... not. And it's not a slight against those I'd be seeing, not in the least. I miss so many of them so dearly. It's just that that isn't my strongest want right now.
As an aside, part of me would still give almost anything to reopen that door. Part of me always will. It was special, and it made me so unimaginably happy that it still surprises me sometimes. Maybe it's a little worse now, because all of it is strictly in the past. From my own admission I can tell you that my memories of the past are immortalized in the most pleasing ways possible. Almost without exception, I remember the good. I remember the fun, the smiles, and the joy.
Right now I am ponderous, hurt, and lonely ... but the hard decision has been made. The next few steps of my path are set, waiting for me. And you know what? The good news is that there is never any need to wait in life. Not really. There is always progress to be made. There are miles to run, thoughts to ponder, music to play, friends to make, and loved ones to visit.
Another day, another segue.
February 19, 2010
Night 1
I wonder who this woman is. I wonder who any of these people are? All I had wanted was a couple drinks, then bed. Why am I down here in a hotel bar (and it’s not even my hotel) talking to these people? Am I getting any joy out of this?
She’s talking about what she does. Insurance. She just passed her cancer insurance exam, so she can sell cancer insurance. This woman sells the ability to pay for your eventual death early. Same as with all medical insurance sales, I guess. Maybe I’m just weirded out by the juxtaposition of their right to sell short on death and their celebration of that right. Maybe I’m drunk.
She’s still talking, now about … how her best friend was shot and died in high school. Jesus Christ, who talks about that with a stranger? She must be pretty drunk, or I guess very forthcoming. Yes, I’d like another, especially if we’re going to keep talking about how our friends got goddam shot in goddam high school.
I’m talking now, explaining what I do, where I’m going, why I’m in this exact location at this exact time. She seems oddly interested in my explanation of how I work as an engineer in what is essentially a glue factory. Ever feel yourself get bored by a story, when you’re the one telling it? You know it’s not interesting, and worse yet you know it’s not going to be interesting?
Ever get bored describing what you do every day?
I finish up, having depressed myself merely by talking about what I’m paid for. She continues talking … her friends talk … I sip … she talks.
Eventually things are quieting down, people are staggering out of the bar. She glances around, then back at me.
“Want to come up, watch some TV or something?”
No, thank you. I’ve got a flight in the morning (lie). I better get to sleep so I can make it and maybe get a little work done during my travels (lie). I’m pretty tired (misdirection).
I’m in a very bad place emotionally and would really just like to get home (truth). I’m sad and lonely and hurt and betrayed and angry and I have this sickening feeling that I’ve lost something very important (truth). Going upstairs with you would bring me no pleasure (truth). And even with all that, I still feel emasculated and embarrassed that I’m turning you down, and I’m sorry (truth).
“No, thanks- I better get to bed. Congrats, again.”
Night 2
Yup, she’s definitely asleep on the other couch. There’s something comforting in seeing a friend, or really anyone you care about, safely at home, tucked in and asleep. Not to say you were worrying about them, but now you know they’re okay. It’s a good feeling.
I didn’t like driving through the city tonight. Forget the fact there was snow on the ground, or I was in an unfamiliar car, or the GPS couldn’t get a signal. There were too many memories. I even passed the street where she dropped off her bones. Very clear images from that day splattered across the inside of my head. Paintballs exploding.
The road and street signs made me hate them because I could remember them. The distance between the feelings I had then and the ones I have now is too far. It was a bittersweet but content happiness, peppered with hope and faith. The bittersweetness was from having to leave. The happiness was from having been there. The faith was from what I thought I had read in her eyes.
None of that was left.
I woke up to my friend turning the TV off.
“Have a good night- looks like neither of us made it through the movie. I’m going to bed.”
I rolled over. There’s something comforting about a friend’s couch, too.
Night 3
I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up from drinking at a bar.
Staring down at a toilet, spitting, feeling your organs being compressed upward by the muscles in your abdomen … they’re all very distinct physical sensations. When was the last time I threw up, anyway?
I staggered back out a few minutes later when the nausea had subsided a little. I was drunk, more drunk than the two previous nights combined, and I was starting to realize I was piecing together chunks of time to form memories.
Another drink? Okay. Not a shot though.
[break]
Walking outside the bar. Cold air. Someone yelling. “Get in the car.”
[break]
Walking up to my house. Kitchen. Snacks. Txt. Txet. Tetx. Extt. Text.
[break]
The room is spinning. I have good friends. I have really good friends. I’m not even sad right now. I’m nauseous and content. I have good friends. I’m not sad at all. How could I be? I have good friends.
…
I’m alone.
I wonder who this woman is. I wonder who any of these people are? All I had wanted was a couple drinks, then bed. Why am I down here in a hotel bar (and it’s not even my hotel) talking to these people? Am I getting any joy out of this?
She’s talking about what she does. Insurance. She just passed her cancer insurance exam, so she can sell cancer insurance. This woman sells the ability to pay for your eventual death early. Same as with all medical insurance sales, I guess. Maybe I’m just weirded out by the juxtaposition of their right to sell short on death and their celebration of that right. Maybe I’m drunk.
She’s still talking, now about … how her best friend was shot and died in high school. Jesus Christ, who talks about that with a stranger? She must be pretty drunk, or I guess very forthcoming. Yes, I’d like another, especially if we’re going to keep talking about how our friends got goddam shot in goddam high school.
I’m talking now, explaining what I do, where I’m going, why I’m in this exact location at this exact time. She seems oddly interested in my explanation of how I work as an engineer in what is essentially a glue factory. Ever feel yourself get bored by a story, when you’re the one telling it? You know it’s not interesting, and worse yet you know it’s not going to be interesting?
Ever get bored describing what you do every day?
I finish up, having depressed myself merely by talking about what I’m paid for. She continues talking … her friends talk … I sip … she talks.
Eventually things are quieting down, people are staggering out of the bar. She glances around, then back at me.
“Want to come up, watch some TV or something?”
No, thank you. I’ve got a flight in the morning (lie). I better get to sleep so I can make it and maybe get a little work done during my travels (lie). I’m pretty tired (misdirection).
I’m in a very bad place emotionally and would really just like to get home (truth). I’m sad and lonely and hurt and betrayed and angry and I have this sickening feeling that I’ve lost something very important (truth). Going upstairs with you would bring me no pleasure (truth). And even with all that, I still feel emasculated and embarrassed that I’m turning you down, and I’m sorry (truth).
“No, thanks- I better get to bed. Congrats, again.”
Night 2
Yup, she’s definitely asleep on the other couch. There’s something comforting in seeing a friend, or really anyone you care about, safely at home, tucked in and asleep. Not to say you were worrying about them, but now you know they’re okay. It’s a good feeling.
I didn’t like driving through the city tonight. Forget the fact there was snow on the ground, or I was in an unfamiliar car, or the GPS couldn’t get a signal. There were too many memories. I even passed the street where she dropped off her bones. Very clear images from that day splattered across the inside of my head. Paintballs exploding.
The road and street signs made me hate them because I could remember them. The distance between the feelings I had then and the ones I have now is too far. It was a bittersweet but content happiness, peppered with hope and faith. The bittersweetness was from having to leave. The happiness was from having been there. The faith was from what I thought I had read in her eyes.
None of that was left.
I woke up to my friend turning the TV off.
“Have a good night- looks like neither of us made it through the movie. I’m going to bed.”
I rolled over. There’s something comforting about a friend’s couch, too.
Night 3
I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up from drinking at a bar.
Staring down at a toilet, spitting, feeling your organs being compressed upward by the muscles in your abdomen … they’re all very distinct physical sensations. When was the last time I threw up, anyway?
I staggered back out a few minutes later when the nausea had subsided a little. I was drunk, more drunk than the two previous nights combined, and I was starting to realize I was piecing together chunks of time to form memories.
Another drink? Okay. Not a shot though.
[break]
Walking outside the bar. Cold air. Someone yelling. “Get in the car.”
[break]
Walking up to my house. Kitchen. Snacks. Txt. Txet. Tetx. Extt. Text.
[break]
The room is spinning. I have good friends. I have really good friends. I’m not even sad right now. I’m nauseous and content. I have good friends. I’m not sad at all. How could I be? I have good friends.
…
I’m alone.
January 24, 2010
12/31/95
Things have happened. Myriads of things. There's no time to cover all that has happened now, there's been simply too much. I wouldn't want to shortchange any individual thing by leaving it out, or describing it in less detail than the thing has decidedly come to deserve. No. The things themselves shall come to reflection in time. The most important or influential of them might even pass through this long-ignored tomb of preponderance.
For now ... holy shit, what to say?
Noting that I have no children to my name and my dear family is still intact [knock on wood], the worst of my immediate fears have all played out in the last six months' time. I have been shipped to the country in the name of career advancement, a place usually reserved for good dogs to run when children are too young to understand death. I have witnessed bad things committed unto myself, vaguely similar but different from bad things I have committed unto others. I have gazed off into the distance and known that by the curvature of the earth, I had not one friend within 10 viewable distances across 10 earth curvatures.
In high school, I was afraid of college. In college, I was afraid of the working world. In relationships, I was afraid of failing and being failed. In friendships, I was again afraid of failing or losing touch. Even in music, I was afraid of missing notes, missing pitch, missing entrances, missing releases. In everything, I was afraid.
If I have learned one thing in this time, it's that facing your fears frees you. Of course there are some fears that will and should remain eternally inexorable. Losing a family member stands out for me, as an example. Parent, child, brother, grandparent- there really shouldn't be anything that can prepare you for that, or help you conjure a rationality behind it.
What I'm talking about are those recountable fears- fears that may lead to loss, to hurt, to suffering, and (most importantly) to change, but not to life-ending events. The only things that cannot be taken back in this world are death and the creation of new life (e.g. babies). Everything else is truly just a transition from one point of falsely static positioning to the next. I say "falsely static" because there is no time in your life when you're not moving, developing, or shaping yourself in some way. Even when stagnant and disheartened, we move, albeit in directions we may not have desired to move to at the start of our progress. Becoming jaded is movement, technically speaking. Becoming cynical and uncaring is movement. Learning to feign to care about yourself, or others, is indeed movement.
The reason facing your fears frees you is that, once the fears are known, there is often much less reason to fear them. What's the worst part of a roller coaster ride? The bottom of the drop? The double-helix? No. The worst part is every moment until the top of the first drop, when your momentum swings just that infinitesimal amount and you realize your fears are immediately and unmistakably going to come true. The worst part is standing in line, sitting in the car, riding the incline up ever so slowly until finally you stand at the top of the sky, look down and come to appreciate- what else?- being alive.
The working world is fine. Just like everything else, there are good days and bad. There are excellent people, and not-so-excellent people. There are an infinite number of ways of doing everything. There are opportunities that suck, and opportunities that might not suck, and opinions contrary to both on all points. To turn a Louisiana phrase, I guess you could say simply "it is what it is." And you know what? Like so many things- that's all it's ever really been, and all it's probably ever going to be.
As for everything else ... well, there's always a chance bad things might just happen. They might happen for the reasons you anticipate, or they might happen for the reasons you can't even begin to fathom. Either way, they're gonna happen. And I have to say, they did hurt. They really did. But interestingly, I haven't found myself losing faith. Not in anyone or anything. There's just too much stuff still out there for these types of fears and losses to drag anyone down forever. I'll be sad for a while- I'll be angry for a while- I'll be absolutely destroyed for a while. But you know what?
It's a magical world ... [so] let's go exploring.
Things have happened. Myriads of things. There's no time to cover all that has happened now, there's been simply too much. I wouldn't want to shortchange any individual thing by leaving it out, or describing it in less detail than the thing has decidedly come to deserve. No. The things themselves shall come to reflection in time. The most important or influential of them might even pass through this long-ignored tomb of preponderance.
For now ... holy shit, what to say?
Noting that I have no children to my name and my dear family is still intact [knock on wood], the worst of my immediate fears have all played out in the last six months' time. I have been shipped to the country in the name of career advancement, a place usually reserved for good dogs to run when children are too young to understand death. I have witnessed bad things committed unto myself, vaguely similar but different from bad things I have committed unto others. I have gazed off into the distance and known that by the curvature of the earth, I had not one friend within 10 viewable distances across 10 earth curvatures.
In high school, I was afraid of college. In college, I was afraid of the working world. In relationships, I was afraid of failing and being failed. In friendships, I was again afraid of failing or losing touch. Even in music, I was afraid of missing notes, missing pitch, missing entrances, missing releases. In everything, I was afraid.
If I have learned one thing in this time, it's that facing your fears frees you. Of course there are some fears that will and should remain eternally inexorable. Losing a family member stands out for me, as an example. Parent, child, brother, grandparent- there really shouldn't be anything that can prepare you for that, or help you conjure a rationality behind it.
What I'm talking about are those recountable fears- fears that may lead to loss, to hurt, to suffering, and (most importantly) to change, but not to life-ending events. The only things that cannot be taken back in this world are death and the creation of new life (e.g. babies). Everything else is truly just a transition from one point of falsely static positioning to the next. I say "falsely static" because there is no time in your life when you're not moving, developing, or shaping yourself in some way. Even when stagnant and disheartened, we move, albeit in directions we may not have desired to move to at the start of our progress. Becoming jaded is movement, technically speaking. Becoming cynical and uncaring is movement. Learning to feign to care about yourself, or others, is indeed movement.
The reason facing your fears frees you is that, once the fears are known, there is often much less reason to fear them. What's the worst part of a roller coaster ride? The bottom of the drop? The double-helix? No. The worst part is every moment until the top of the first drop, when your momentum swings just that infinitesimal amount and you realize your fears are immediately and unmistakably going to come true. The worst part is standing in line, sitting in the car, riding the incline up ever so slowly until finally you stand at the top of the sky, look down and come to appreciate- what else?- being alive.
The working world is fine. Just like everything else, there are good days and bad. There are excellent people, and not-so-excellent people. There are an infinite number of ways of doing everything. There are opportunities that suck, and opportunities that might not suck, and opinions contrary to both on all points. To turn a Louisiana phrase, I guess you could say simply "it is what it is." And you know what? Like so many things- that's all it's ever really been, and all it's probably ever going to be.
As for everything else ... well, there's always a chance bad things might just happen. They might happen for the reasons you anticipate, or they might happen for the reasons you can't even begin to fathom. Either way, they're gonna happen. And I have to say, they did hurt. They really did. But interestingly, I haven't found myself losing faith. Not in anyone or anything. There's just too much stuff still out there for these types of fears and losses to drag anyone down forever. I'll be sad for a while- I'll be angry for a while- I'll be absolutely destroyed for a while. But you know what?
It's a magical world ... [so] let's go exploring.
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