tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51845732024-03-05T16:45:54.486-08:00Zhaf and the CellarLife explorations of a middle-aged man searching through the meanings and expectations of what could have been and what still might be.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comBlogger388125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-3667818904913856732022-04-11T20:02:00.001-07:002022-04-11T20:02:13.518-07:00Cassandra's Worries for the Future<p> </p><p>It's been five years, maybe? Not sure. But, maybe that doesn't
matter. What is time when everything is uncertain? It used to be that I
had a plan for the future, a design on which skills I could gain, which
path I could take, in order to bring myself closer to an ideal
circumstance, but the only things that seem certain are difficulty and
challenge. I am not looking forward to living life alone on my own
terms. Right now, I do not have the financial means to support myself,
and it doesn't look like I will for a long time. No retirements for me,
no inheritances, no windfalls—just continued poverty as old age creeps
around the edges of my life. I worry about homelessness, but I know I
also make moral choices to support the people already in my life, and
maybe that means they get more money and attention than I do. <br /></p><p>I've
been a little charmed (perhaps beguiled is the right word) by the
overly sunny video blogs about the vanlifers, the people decades younger
than me having grand outdoor adventures in vans that cost as much as a
house did when my parents bought one. Like some people who imagine what
they would do with lotto winnings, I sometimes imagine what it would be
like to live long term in a van. Somehow, that seems more obtainable
than owning a home, retiring with a significant savings, and providing a
meager support for my family and friends. I have no illusions. I know
this is all social media where the ugly parts are hidden, the hidden
supports are concealed, and the 'facts' are only true in terms of
entertainment. Still, it feels emotionally relaxing to consider this as a
possibility, even if I acknowledge that, intellectually, it is a
fantasy. </p><p>Note for the net: I am still exercising my esperanto
language skills with web apps. Youtube doesn't have as much videos as
the used to, which is a shame. I have also started to learn clawhammer
banjo. I am getting better with my rhythm hand, but I tend to play the
same five or six chords in the same tuning. Should I put more effort
into it? I hope I become a superlative banjo playing with the grace of
God. With the same fervor, I hope that I can increase in personal
virtue, wisdom, and knowledge to accept the unseen challenges of the
future with the aplomb and dignity I wish. </p><p>In a strange way, I am
thinking a lot about the Harold and Maude movie from the early 70s. In a
weird way, maybe I want to be a male maude, a vibrant, almost
emotionally exuberant person celebrating every inch of life with the
wisdom of a lived experience. I'm not a libertine like her character
was, and I will not cause conflict and contention if I can help it, but I
am thinking about conscious spirituality in the face of a world intent
on descending into horrors and cruelty that people can't envision at the
moment. </p><p>How did Cassandra, from ancient Greece, and who was
cursed to know the troubles of the future but also not to have anyone
believe her or listen to her admonitions, not go insane with worry,
frustration, and anger at the willful blindness that absolutely
surrounded her. The answer seems to be a radical detachment from the
outside world, and a powerful connection to the inside font of
spirituality that directs her steps.<br /></p>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-3168782049841504522018-09-14T20:17:00.001-07:002018-09-14T20:17:04.073-07:00Reaching for Reason and HopeMost of my posts seem to be me exploring my inner emotional life in
one way or another, and that exploration, in some form or another ends
up with depression. I wish I could say "most of my posts lately...", but
that is not the case. It now seems to be a permanent facet of my adult
emotional life. Of course I worry that is had been so long that it is
more of a habit than a reality, but I am not sure that is the case.<br />
<br />
I
feel anger slipping out every once and again. When I think on something
that concerns me, something that seems amiss, I worry it like a stone
in my pocket, until I find myself having angry conversations with
imaginary people in my head. Not the schizophrenic conversations, as in
hearing voices, just the everyday scenarios people play in their heads
about what should have been done or said or felt, etc.<br />
<br />
At
the root of it now, all of it, all of the depression, worry, anger and
whatnot seems to be frustration with the course of my life and my
feeling of helplessness over things and upcoming issues that I do not
think I will be able to prevent. Imagine a ship's cabin standing on a
bridge and seeing an iceberg slowly approaching—one that will definitely
sink the ship. It's too late to change course, the engine room isn't
responding to directions, you're just drifting to disaster, unable to
stop it. That's a pretty good metaphor for much of what I think I am
experiencing.<br />
<br />
We live in interesting times where chaos
and contention seems to be a rule. Everyone and everything is caught in
a whirlpool of anger where they project their fears and concerns into a
ball of concentrated hatred. You see it happening all around you. You
know it's wrong, but you can't seem to be able to stop it. No one
listens to you. They're so wrapped up in their fears that nothing breaks
through the cocoon.Sometimes, I am the same way. Except that I refuse
to hate anyone else except sometimes myself.<br />
<br />
And that
might probably be the root of most of my trouble. Part of my own
frustrations, angers, etc. is my belief, as solid as any, that I am not
worthy of acceptance or praise. I feel like I have tried my best and
lost. I was naive and let opportunities fly by thinking that I had an
unending series of chances. Frustrated then, I fought against what I
thought were injustices or unfair circumstances, only to make choices
that did actual harm instead choosing to let those imaginary harms go.<br />
<br />
The
thought I have in my best moments is essentially this: if I nurture
positive, humble beliefs about myself, maybe I can forgive my own
mistakes, learn to be detached from the imaginary outrages that seem so
real, and be the man of virtue I wish to be. Easier said than done, of
course. It seems that this is a daily battle. And one thing about my
personality that is a long-standing issue is that I easily give up when I
perceive I have failed, when all my negative biases about myself are
confirmed, and then, feeling like I have slipped back to the beginning,
have even less resolve to continue to fight against bad habits, negative
thoughts, less motivation to make good choices based on reason and
hope, rather than fear and anger. <br />
<br />
z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-36181957539332033682018-08-23T17:44:00.001-07:002018-09-14T19:57:57.605-07:00Fires Continue to BurnThe fires in the Northwest continue to burn making most of the valley smell like a campfire, or the inside of a barbecue pit. The weather apps on ones pocket phone notifies us of "smoke" as our local weather. Not "Cloudy." Not "Chance of Rain." Not "Freezing Fog." But, "Smoke." That's a new one for me.<br />
<br />
It also happens that just as these fires pour out the ash into the atmosphere, fires that are hundreds of miles away and largely unseen except for dusty atmosphere along the horizon, I have been thinking about my own life and how it feels that something hidden in me is on fire somewhere, pouring out the haze of smoke into my thinking, clouding the normal hopes with a dusky uncertainty about whether or not I can overcome the challenges I perceive.<br />
<br />
Therefore, I have been thinking hard about the many choices that we make, how despair is the paralysis of the spirit, and that keeping oneself healthy emotionally and mentally better equips us to face the difficulties that we encounter each day.<br />
<br />
Another thought. Today, I was trying to think of a metaphor. For example, a man may be such an expert at building a house that there is nothing he does not know about the subject, and there is nothing he is not capable of doing in regards to houses. He may have all of the money and tools he needs to accomplish the task. Every material may be laying at his feet. There is nothing stopping him from building a house. But if he doesn't want to do it, he doesn't start. Then, imagine him standing there, a time passes.Then a day, then a week. After a time, guilt and worry about not doing something he could actually do sets in. The worry and guilt build, and the task which could have been simple, seems harder than every. Eventually, the worry and the guilt are replaced by shame as he tries to hide from himself. The job becomes a reminder of his failure. Then, that shame and failure becomes despair, and he is spiritually paralyzed by the whole affair. Maybe even lost.<br />
<br />
Of course, one who is healthy, and not haunted by those inner weaknesses wonders why he did not just do it. It was a simple matter in the beginning after all. But, life presents us with problems and challenges before we are even clear on what those problems are.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-63772966291778187322018-08-09T23:27:00.001-07:002018-08-09T23:27:08.920-07:00End of HistoryYesterday, I had the strong feeling like I was living at the end of history. The red sun because of the haze from the fires in California, the bizarre news stories and contentiousness on the television, the heat of the day (hotter than it has been), and all of the artificial ways we use to mitigate the heat with air conditioners, and avoid the conflicts on television with denial, gave me this odd feeling. I know every society on earth has believed themselves to be the pinnacle of history and development, and for a time, they were. The 1100's, 1762, the middle 1830, 1982 - each were the most advanced for their day, and had difficulty imagining what was the come.<br />
<br />
And here we are, living in this science fiction reality, where the earth seems to be burning up with either fire, heat, or anger.<br />
<br />
My realization that I cannot prevent any of this societal drifting into trauma is humbling and sobering. My life of insignificance and wasted chances make the same thought utterly laughable.<br />
<br />
It really does feel that we're out to sea, the waves are tossing back and forth, land is out of sight, and all we can do is keep floating, sailing, fighting to remain upright as we are tossed back and forth. <br />
<br />z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-56280983315298912342018-07-29T20:49:00.001-07:002018-07-29T20:50:32.884-07:00A Meditation on FailureThe past three days has me trying to think deeply, often when I am in the car, about all of the ways things do not go the way we intellectually intend them to go. I really chew on some of these thoughts trying to pin the thought thread down as best I can, but the markers will only go so far until I have to retrace the thread back, repeating the thoughts again, trying to push them farther. Writing them down is better because I can follow the breadcrumbs so to speak. I still have not trained my mind enough to think solidly alone like I want (or seem to want to.)<br />
<br />
Right now, today, considering the past three difficult days, I've been thinking about illness as a metaphor for some spiritual maladies. I know that, physically, one can come down with a minor cold or a terminal disease. Everyone, no matter how long they live, is bound to have at least one illness in their life. Yet, if they care for their physical condition, they can usually avoid the most serious illnesses and diseases. However, if a person actively seeks out unhealthy conditions, lives in mold or is always covered in dirt, eats the wrong things, and never exerts themselves, they will more easily ruin their health and maybe end their life.<br />
<br />
It seems to me that this is a metaphor for our spiritual difficulties. Everyone, no matter how long we live, will experience a problem or a moral dilemma in their life at least once. My biggest ones so far came in my late twenties and all of my thirties. Perhaps, if one is of a mind to care for themselves spiritually, they might be able to recognize the spiritual principle at work, or discover the missing virtue and try to remedy the problem. Maybe the practice of meditation is necessary to help recognize these problems, or to reinforce the healthier thoughts. However, it also seems clear that chronic neglect of spiritual health can lead to more serious trouble, or maybe even spiritual death. How else could one describe a person who is consumed by selfishness, bad behavior, and things such as causal lying if not as a person who is gravely ill spiritually? A chronic lack of compassion or self-awareness might even lead to a permanent state of spiritual death? Is that how far this metaphor goes?<br />
<br />
Could someone, gravely ill in this way, find remedy and recovery? It would seem that if we use life as model, then the answer could be also yes, but it also suggests the seriousness and the difficulty. Such remedies often need careful, regular, and determined treatment. Bones need to be set for casts. Surgery scheduled to remove a cancerous growth. Sometimes, it also means a new diet. Sometimes, it means better exercise.<br />
<br />
But then, sometimes a person afflicted by spiritually illness lacks the means to heal themselves. An unconscious, physically ill person isn't really able to eat or swallow a pill by themselves. I suppose this would mean that, in some cases, it is necessary to reach out to the spiritually ill and help them find the strength to recover, advise a course of treatment.<br />
<br />
I often lose hope when I find that I have not lived up to the standards I have set for myself. Mom has told me in the past that I am too hard on myself. I cannot believe that. If anything, I have been lax in some of the things I know I need to do. Many times, I turn to the family trait of psychological denial. If I pretend there isn't a problem, maybe it will go away. Also, if I know that I have failed in some regard, I lose the necessary motivation to continue forward in my efforts to counter the behavior or impulse, lose the will to change. Of course, perhaps it is a sort of arrogance to assume that I can know when all is truly lost when the standards for judging are not up to me. Although I may know myself best among my fellow human beings, I am not the Divine Judge. I have to consider that thought more closely. God knows that we fail. Otherwise, why would their be a need for prayer, healing, or redemption? Why would we need to be forgiven? Ideally, we would carefully protect ourselves spiritually by heeding the Divine counsels and advice and not need to be forgiven. But then consequences are educational are they not? A loving punishment is a punishment that is meant to instruct a being on the seriousness of the error and reinforce the will not to recommit it. A cruel punishment, which God by definition would not do, would punish only to increase suffering. <br />
<br />
I have a hard time separating the suspicion or the feeling of being condemned from knowing that I need to persevere in my spiritual health efforts. For example, perhaps my already low-self esteem falsely tells me that there is no hope, then assuming that I can know for certain there is no hope, I lose motivation to continue, which reinforces my conviction that all is lost because I no longer try as hard. Thus, I add the early "<i>feeling</i>"<i> </i>of failure to the actual reality of failure when I let things go through lack of effort, when I do not do what I know I should or what is right. Then, knowing I have actually failed, I add that knowledge to the early feeling and feel even worse. Which in turn, leads to a sapping of motivation, which strengthens and amplifies the distress, and weakens the desire to try. It is a vicious cycle.<br />
<br />
Can I really know that I would be damned, condemned, or beyond help? Perhaps no. Based on my reading of spiritual texts, even the most condemned on Earth still had the opportunity to repent and atone (at least to some degree) while they lived. Of some, that knowledge of opportunity to atone accompanied the knowledge that the person in question never would. However, theoretically, the chance was still there. Therefore, if I want to transform into a better person, I should not dwell on the past that cannot be change, but focus on the future for hope of change.<br />
<br />
Other thoughts along these lines: the reality of having a human body, with its capacity of being bored, tired, angry, or having any other animal emotions, complicates the noble desire to be a good person who always acts correctly or transform into a better person. I usually frame this problem in terms of will-power. I tell myself that, in occasions where I am bored, tired, angry, etc, I need to suppress the urge, sometimes shockingly sudden and unconscious, from doing things like yelling at the blameless, or taking it out myself or on someone else. But also, even IF another person yells at me unjustly, I should resist the urge to respond in a similar unkind or unjust manner. Stopping myself from responding in equal unkindness is frighteningly difficult.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, it is always easy to be and do good when we're happy and relatively content, but it becomes frustrating difficult when we're not.<br />
<br />
I think that the solution, in light of some of these thoughts, might be to try to practice the habit of happiness and contentment, even in difficult circumstances. This provides the natural resiliency of spiritual health in the face of difficult problems.<br />
<br />
If I am not entirely wrong, I think I should believe that Happiness and Contentment should not rely on ones outward circumstances. All of humanity's best spiritual literature seems to tell us this. Happiness and Contentment are not merely passive gifts of God (although they are that). Instead, human persons should consider them as skills to practice. (If light can be both a particle and a wave, according to science, then virtues can be both a gift and a skill.) My challenge then, as a person with a cultural background that tends to see things materially and not spiritually, is to try and recognize how to practice Happiness and Contentment. I think Plato touches on a similar thought about virtue: how some are passive traits, but others are actively practiced. Justice is not justice until one performs a just act. In my life, filled as it is—as everyone's is—with an occasional angry person, minor injustice, unfair circumstance, or outward unhappiness, this challenge looms large. How, do I inoculate myself against these triggers no matter how difficult they may seem, how angry another person might be? (I think of our modern day news reporters who seem to struggle with maintaining inner composure when they ask a person in authority a question, and the authority responds with a lie, attack, or similar unkindness. I want even more than they would "spiritual unflappability.")<br />
<br />
This is one of the things I have been thinking on the edge of my life that I suspect I must reinforce: how most of the change I want, changes based on my reading of spiritual texts, is often just a change of perspective: a constant, daily awareness of the real (spiritual) things in life. How do I always remember to carry Happiness and Contentment with me when faced with difficult problems, like where do I live in the next ten years, how do I feed myself, how to I cope with health that is not the best. Yes, there are also practical steps I need to take, and I should think about those, implement them as best I can, but above those two things, I need to have the perspective of happy person working contentedly to becoming a better person, who perseveres through trouble, no matter how bad it is. Who is not unsettled by any event, no matter how large the storm on the horizon, no matter how terrible the lightening bolts are. I know that grief chills hope and effort, even grief about one's frailties and weaknesses. But every step forward ultimately brings us closer to what we want or need. In the world of time, in which our physical lives ultimately appear so short, taking no step at all is the same as falling back.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-28945357397369353832018-07-27T20:44:00.002-07:002018-07-27T20:44:22.810-07:00Gardens and AirportsSpent most of the day in the car. Dad was in Florida for most of the
week at a science conference for work. My mother, aging, and not as able
to take care of herself as before, needed my help for most of the week.
She was sad and depressed most of the time he was gone. Today was the
day that he came back.<br />
<br />
I had to be at the shop at
around 9:00 am, so we could leave at 10:00 am. I ate a terrible
breakfast at McDonald's consuming way more calories than I should have. I
am having a difficult time figuring out how to do the basics of caring
for myself in an appropriate way. I eat too much, eat the wrong things,
don't sleep well, and hardly ever exercise. Now, in my forties, I am
paying the price for years of bad habits. I know I need to change, but I
am way less certain about what those changes are. How should I go about
fixing things when I don't know which path will take me to where I want
to go. Life and its demands, does not seem to provide easy answers, and
our society is very dis-inclined to provide any for free.<br />
<br />
The
drive up to the airport, about a two hour drive with traffic, was
pleasant enough. Mom and I spoke about history. Family history, history
of the nation, and the various calamities the world is afflicted by and,
like me, does not seem to know what the cause of the trouble is, or how
to go about fixing it. Mom was tired. Worn out by her week without Dad.
She insisted on accompanying me on the journey, when I could have very
well done it by myself. Initially, she intended to have lunch along the
way, but as traffic increasingly became heavier, she decided it was
better to have lunch at the airport.<br />
<br />
Finally, we made it,
and I made sure that we used the terminal's short term parking. The day
was bright, warm, and gradually becoming hotter. The airport terminal
was cool enough though. Mom was in her grandmother's wheelchair, so I
wheeled her over to the big electronic screens announcing the arrivals
and departures. Dad was scheduled to arrive in less than an hour. She
was hungry for lunch, and most of the restaurants weren't not suitable
to her. She didn't like "Beaches," nor the Bar & Grill on the other
side of the vendor area. We settled on Panda Express, cheap Chinese
style fast food. I wheeled Mom through the line while she made her
choices, and then, for convenience sake, I paid for everything.<br />
<br />
We
were surrounded by people everywhere. It was interesting to see the mix
of people passing by, young and old, tall and short, fat, skinny, rich,
poor, in every human shape and color. Mostly, I was focused on Mom. I
was having the kind of quality time with Mom that I am afraid of one day
not having any more. Again, always at the back of my mind, I am
conscious of being on a type of life precipice, slipping towards the
edge of a disaster, I do not know how I will cope with when it comes.
And yet, every human life will one day have to face a challenge like
this. We cannot avoid the harsh realities of life. Perhaps, if more of
us were committed to exercising more compassion towards one another, the
harshness of life could be lessened. Giant societal changes aimed at
softening the hard blows life aims at our hearts, chilling us, wounding
us to our deep hurt. Homelessness, Lovelessness, Compassionlessness,
Callousness: all of the ills that afflict a human soul.<br />
<br />
One
of the things I regret about being poor, having financially ruined my
own life, is my inability to make my parents life easier. They have much
and would not accept too much help from me in any case. They have
helped me beyond any ability I could have ever have to repay it. I know
this. Feel this deeply. It makes these moments where Mom has been so sad
and depressed this week, tired out from her knees hurting, unable to
walk for very long, difficult for me to endure when I think of what
could have been had I more money to alleviate some of the trouble, or
make them pass a bit more smoothly.<br />
<br />
Lunch passed
pleasantly, and it was time to wait for Dad. The TSA had taken over a
significant portion of the airport since I had last been there, and the
waiting areas had changed. As Dad had flown on Delta, we had to wait by
the Delta ticket areas, in a make-shift waiting area by the windows,
under the afternoon sun. I spoke with Mom a little about the people
passing by, about how nice it will be to see Dad, and wondered with her
about the various facets of his trip. <br />
<br />
He texted her
when he landed, so we moved up closer to the aisle where people were
arriving from their planes. I lined Mom up in her wheelchair to a
prominent corner waiting for the moment when he showed up. When he did
minutes later, he was already on top of us. I did not see him pass
through the doors, and only noticed him when he was feet from us. Mom
and Dad hugged, and we made our way back across the airport, stopping at
the restrooms first before leaving.<br />
<br />
The traffic back
was horrendous. Various bridge and freeway work had made travel through
the city achingly slow. Most of our trip on the highway that skirted
most of the city went along at ten miles an hour or so. There was not
many moments where the speed got above that. Questioning Dad, I
discovered that he had not actually had lunch on the plane like Mom had
thought. Therefore, I took mom and dad through a detour to McDonalds for
a hamburger. Dad also ordered a chocolate shake. I ordered an Iced
Tea.<br />
<br />
The rest of the trip home was mostly uneventful.
There were various things that I had to do later that day. Deliver
something to one sister, take another sister downtown to the city
festival, close up the shop and turn off the water. But none of it was
important enough to really remember or note.<br />
<br />
Mom and
Dad had determined to go to bed early. Dad to catch up on sleep from his
jet lag, Mom to catch up sleep from her difficult sleep this past week
without Dad. I left town again for an evening obligation to draw (a
regular Friday habit to try and improve my life), perhaps my last
drawing event for awhile. My mind was still pondering my struggles with
trying to transform my life, and the impermanence of the future, and the
finality of the past. The worst thing about human life, for me, for my
thoughts right now, is how every mistake is firmly locked in the past.
How things I did or failed to do are locked into an unchangeable past,
and seem to me like streaks of india ink spilled onto a beautiful
carpet. I have tried to scrub out the worst of it, but it refuses to
fade or go away. I often pray to God to help me transform and become the
person that I consciously want to be: to be more worthy, to be good, to
be useful and help people make the world easier and better for those
who struggle.I often fear that I will be locked into habits that will
not change, impulses that will not fade and die away. After much
thinking, I believe that the best I can do is have hope for the future,
to persevere. Even if I do or did bad, I will only truly and finally
fail if I give up and stop trying to make it better. Please God, help me
become a true, worthy human being, and not just a physical creature
afflicted by fears and failures, seeking only to satisfy my impulses and
selfishness, but instead to become a spiritual being moved by
heavenly-gifted virtues that serve to make the world better, to become a
fragrant flower of divine attributes, lending my uniqueness, whatever
that might be, to the flourishing garden of a better humanity. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-31059098561098062992018-07-20T00:04:00.001-07:002018-07-20T00:11:58.445-07:00 The Uncertain Not-YetHad an existential crisis today. A minor one. The thought hit me about 8 p.m. that my life, such that it is, will not likely improve in the direction I would like it to. My finances are ruined; my social life is dead; my work is such that nothing I do can bring to it any more meaning than it has. I do know I am serving my family to a degree, that I am helping other non-family member employees to continue to have an income and provide for their own families, but I worry about the future. No one plans very hard for it in my family. Maybe there is a sort of rescue in store somewhere veiled in the mysterious mists of the uncertain not-yet, but I don't see it as very likely. I expect shock. The terrible, unfixable mistakes we blithely wander into because we were not diligent enough to work to achieve something better. Being lost is upsetting not because you do not recognize where you already are, but because you do not know how to get where you want to go. <br />
<br />
I've also been chewing on the idea that our physical life in this 'contingent' world is so impermanent. I know this. You know this. But, as I get older, as I mull over my past mistakes, chewing on them as a dog would an old bone, I begin to see how one hundred years—the most time anyone could reasonably, honestly hope for—is so frighteningly short. How do you fix something locked in the past? Atone for the opportunities that have escaped you? But those thoughts are not as worrisome as the one that, in my present, I may be headed to a worse future without knowing how or what I can do to prevent it. I feel uneasy, trying to cope with these emotional fears.<br />
<br />
But I am in my forties, so I know that, rather than give into the fear, I have to steel myself to accept the consequences, come what may. I have lived through terrible before. Because I am stronger than some, I know I can live through terrible again. I'd rather not have to, of course, but it's the ignorance, the not-knowing, that has me concerned that I can't avoid the consequences of ignorance and paralyzed effort.<br />
<br />
We're, all of us living, sitting on the edge of forever, all of the time. Not quite on either side of it. As I had been hundreds of millions of years unborn in the past, I will be eons after-life in the future. One hundred years, which I will almost certainly not have quite so much, seems so shockingly short. Most of my time on the planet is a journey to something, and as the next something happens to be forever, whatever that forever is, it has to be the most important of the two existences, right?<br />
<br />
Maybe these thoughts wouldn't be so difficult to grapple with if I could see the meaningfulness of the present more often. Perhaps there is an infinite ocean of meaningfulness in front of my face that I can not yet perceive. I hope to see more of that in my personal life, in the choices I make, the paths I take. The answer, most wise-men have said, is service to others. Maybe if I start by changing my perspective from one of self-fulfillment to service, that would a good start. But, what actual service do I follow it up with? I did not know. Still don't.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, lonely and worried, I shut the shop down for the night, turning off the water valve, and stood by the back door in the softening light of the setting summer sun. I took a few deep breaths, and tested the lock, not trying to listen to the people still at the back doors of the other businesses along the alley. I stood on the sidewalk, looking over the tall bushes on the edge of the parking lot, up into the high clouds of a darkening blue sky. I had the urge to flee to somewhere, but did not know where. It was too late for most coffee shops, most of which, the decent ones anyway, were in other cities. Instead, I drove to the authentic Mexican Fast Food restaurant and had a 'Jamaica' tea with a couple of churros. When I get depressed, I tend to eat a lot of sugar. I rounded out the night, by driving home to do my laundry, later looking for things to distract myself with, and finding them (which only half-worked) in simple computer games and television. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-45017092549105486642018-07-16T21:52:00.001-07:002018-07-16T21:52:30.741-07:00I Do Not Like That MachineWoke up with a worrying physical problem to add to the mix of the
emotional mix of the emotional ones: woke up dizzy. I do not think I
have insurance any longer, so I am avoiding going to the doctor to have
it checked out. Mom suggested it could have something to do with blood
pressure, but I seriously doubt that. I think it is either one of two
things. Either it is low blood sugar due to not having had anything to
eat for awhile, and going low over night. Or, it is simply that I have
not had the rest I need. The sleep apnea
machine (which I hate) has a heated hose. The weather has been in the
80s and 90s, so maybe, I think to myself, the extra heat from the hose
is too much. Yes, dear reader, I know what you are likely thinking: that
is crazy to heat a hose when you don't need it. You're either damaging
yourself or your machine or both. Valid criticism. I think the reason I
have not turned it off yet is because the mechanism for doing so is
rather unintuitive. Which is probably another indicator of how much I
dislike this machine and my need for it.<br />
<br />
When I first got the sleep apnea
machine, I weighed my heaviest. A long term lack of sleep and
depression, combined with my carelessness with calories really packed
the pounds on. The weight causes the problem and necessitates the
machine, and perhaps a significant weight loss would mean that I could
give it up. I do not want to become attached to it, to rely it on it for
such a basic human function, that emotionally I have been keeping my
distance, trying to interact with it as little as possible. Not rational
of course, but it is what it is. Combine that approach with my first
introduction with the machine a couple of years ago. The supplier of the
machine, as well as the supplies for it, was not very good. The
technicians were competent, but the whole store eventually began to feel
like a giant cash grab. Everyone there seemed to be doing the bare
minimum to qualify for the insurance payouts, for which they charged as
much as possible. It was not a good feeling I had of the place. Maybe
they needed to charge as much as they did, but a little research
uncovered multiple issues others had with them, as well as some better
alternative suppliers. Therefore, I switched. Still the emotional
reluctance remains. I hate the machine. I hope to lose a lot of weight
to be able to stop using it and still sleep well. We shall see.<br />
<br />
As
for this morning's dizziness, I am currently not sure what to do. Dad
has told me that there is a letter from my insurance company at home for
me. If it indicates that I have insurance still, and if I feel dizzy in
the morning, I will make an appointment to figure out what is wrong.
Aside from blood sugar or physical exhaustion, I suppose it could be
something weird like pneumonia, but I dislike doctors too. Not for any
serious reason for who they are or what they do, but because of the
simple knowledge that I cannot afford them. Sometimes I think that, had I
been born in a different western nation, my greatest expenses and
debts: college and health care, would not even exist.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-33013622510328484232018-07-15T17:44:00.001-07:002018-07-15T17:44:05.097-07:00A Person Who Likes a PlanPart of me, the part that sits in the shadows of worry, and feeds like a beast on dark prospects of ruined hope, is afraid that I have broken myself in a way that I cannot repair. Almost every morning when I wake up, I sense that I could have had something better, could have fit my life in a neat niche of spiritual success, but I am confronted with the sense of loss. I struggle, I think to myself, because I have wandered too far in the path of error to return. It's not a clear sense of what is wrong, just a worry that I fear is nibbling on the truth.<br />
<br />
Here is a dream from last night I had: I am in a government building of some kind. I have a strong sense of justice, and what needs to happen. At the same time, there is a child who is intent on doing all of the wrong things. He persists in upsetting everyone around him. He's no more than nine. He enjoys spreading unhappiness to others. He does not care because he does not expect any consequences. I find him in this building, after he has upset some people, including fellow children, and I see him standing in front of a video game arcade cabinet. He is blithely playing a game, oblivious to the hurt around him. I come up behind him, intent on delivering him to justice, and grab him by the arm. Suddenly, now faced with the fear of being caught, of having to pay a price for disobedience, his manner has changed. He is fearful and in tears. I remove his protective helmet, and he is revealed to be a giant insect. He does not want to be squashed. With a voice filled with power and determination, I say calmly and firmly: "Let him feel the fear of consequences." And then, I wake up.<br />
<br />
I do not sleep as long as I need to. I have been trying to readjust my diet so that I can lose weight. More healthier foods, less calories overall. Unfortunately, not sleeping through the night fights against weight loss. The doctors have told me that most of one's calories are lost in respiration. You literally breathe out your spent calories. When you do not sleep well, this does not happen. Your body, lacking oxygen, is out of a kind of balance. I know this is not uncommon among people my age. I can see it every time I am out and about in society. The perfect bodies without illness, weight, or ugliness exist in the young or, more often, in the media. I always wonder how they do it. If maybe the perfect vision of health is the result of unhealthiness like starvation, tempting kidney failure, or some other bodily malady.<br />
<br />
All thoughts which bring me back to the central problem of my life during these last few years. I do not know what to do.<br />
<br />
Every aspect of my life feeds directly back into this ignorance. For example, I know what I need to do spiritually: morning prayers, reading sacred texts, a little meditation, and talking with others. The question in that regard is not the "what," but the "how." Am I reading enough? Should I read other things more regularly. Which prayers should I say, and how should I work on my virtues?<br />
<br />
Regarding my career and interests: it used to be that, when I was younger, I thought vainly that perhaps I would like to be a successful artist. But why? And for what reason? All of the silly things that I admired in my youth have largely been forgotten. I see other people a bit younger than me obsessed with certain movie franchises, cartoons, or TV shows, and their art, much more accomplished than what I could do, feels hollow. Did I want to draw an homage to an 80s TV show? What point would that serve? How would that help anyone?<br />
<br />
I guess part of the whole issue of not knowing what or how to do something is my search for personal meaning. I do not want my life to be filled with vain pursuits of my own interests, most of which can be easily focused on media creations and products. But, I do not know how else to go about life and how to cut through all of that. Retiring to a cave and begging for food is out of the question. How does one be in life and not "of" life, especially when culture, family, and the whole outside world is largely in a stage of development where only the bodily comforts and pursuits are sought after.<br />
<br />
I am the kind of person who likes a plan, even if it turns out not to be workable. At least a plan is a position to work from, even if it takes you somewhere else. I am going to continue to think about this. I hope God will help me discover a plan that can carry me forward in that positive path to personal meaning. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-24388922582211776142018-07-12T23:18:00.001-07:002018-07-12T23:19:36.213-07:00Aging DisappointmentsTrying right now not too feel demoralized about life's
disappointments. As my body ages, gets heavier, and slowly breaks down
in ways not easily fixed, I find that I am having to confront the end of
my life with increasing seriousness. Of course, I do not expect it to
end anytime in the next thirty years. Still, life's realities make one
pensive.<br />
<br />
The thing about aging that I haven't fully
grappled with is how some problems are permanent with no easy solutions.
For example, my biological father seems intent on getting caught in
phone and mail scams which no amount of logic, no amount of talking, can
convince him to abandon them. His dreams of wealth, which is where he
has placed a good deal of self-esteem, has him trapped. Speaking with
him, trying to avoid making promises to help him, which in reality are
promises to help him become fully entangled in problems, is depressing.
He can't understand how he is being taking advantage of rationally, and
for some reason, views anyone with money as possessing a magical secret
that he is being kept from, the secret of financial wealth. He is a
gambler who tells me of his frequent successes at the dice tables. There
is not a good way to dissuade him from the danger he leaps at
surrounding himself with. How do you prevent a moth from burning up in a
campfire. The light, too alluring to be ignored, seduces it to painful
destruction.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-54473986678034487732018-07-07T00:32:00.001-07:002018-07-07T00:32:42.839-07:00A Mundane SummerAgain, I got very little sleep initially last night. Went to bed
around midnight, woke up around 4:30 a.m. and couldn't fall back asleep.
I surfed a lot on my phone, which may have been a poor use of my time,
but what else is there to do at that time of day? I guess I could try to
write or meditate or something.<br />
<br />
I did, in fact, say
my morning prayers, and then I "woke up" officially by going in the
house fifteen minutes before my parents had to leave for work. I spoke
with them about the day's plans, listened the news, and ended up arguing
with my mom briefly, but really, I think I was trying to defend myself.
She does not "do well" in the morning, and it is a challenge to talk to
her amiably at this time of day. Still, I think we avoided an actual
argument, which is progress for both of us.<br />
<br />
Then, I was
at the house by myself. I still didn't feel very tired. After feeding
the outdoor cats, I decided to pick some cherries for dad. The cherries
on the tree were ripe, the morning, while light, was still cool, so it
seemed like a good idea. I know that dad had hoped to make a pie out of
them this season. I figured I could try to help out.<br />
<br />
Really,
I have been grappling with trying to figure out how to make my life
more meaningful. I am desperately poor, locked into certain
circumstances of my own choosing/creating, and do not have much of an
idea on how to change for the better. I don't really know what 'better'
looks like from where I am at. It would be nice to see a step or two
ahead, but I can't. I figured picking cherries would help me think about
it.<br />
<br />
Then I made breakfast, picked the stems off the
cherries I picked, and sooner than later, went back to bed. I ended up
sleeping until 1:30 am in the afternoon. Mom had told me that Dad had
heard me snoring. That might mean, that in addition to not getting
enough sleep, the sleep I did get was not restful. Perhaps the sleep
mask is not working. Perhaps my difficulty in losing weight is due to
not getting the rest and oxygen I need. Unfortunately, when I wrote down
my meals for the day, I had to acknowledge that I went over my calorie
budget again. I guess I am not yet comfortable with feeling hungry. I
need to invest time in preparing meals. Spend less time on the
computer.<br />
<br />
I opted not to have a shower today in order
to get to work at a decent hour. Work was light, which was sort of bad
because I need to have a firmer and clearer direction concerning the
work that needs doing. I can do a lot of things there that other people
can't, but when I am caught up on some things, I struggle to find
positive ways to keep occupied. On the plus side, before leaving for the
night, I did the work dishes: cleaned the coffee mugs, wiped down the
counter, put the silverware away.<br />
<br />
I would have gone
into the cafe tonight, but skipped it because tonight they were charging
an eight dollar cover charge. That, plus the money I would have to
spend on gas, seemed too much for me. I contemplated going to a cafe in
another city, but when I finally was ready to leave work at 7:30, it
would be too late to spend any kind of meaningful time there. I would
have an hour at most. Instead, I bought a sandwich at Subway, and went
home to eat it. By 8pm, I was in bed playing video games on my computer
and watching television.<br />
<br />
I know this all feels like a
waste of time, but I am not sure how to fix it. In some ways, I feel
paralyzed by my choices, and the recognition I tend to make bad ones.
We'll see how I might be able to fix this in the future. <br />
<br />
<br />z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-76896496045598126482018-07-06T08:31:00.001-07:002018-07-06T08:31:47.192-07:00Four Hours a NightMaybe I might have more time in the day and actually lose some weight if
I could just manage to sleep more than four hours a night. Mom told me
that Dad heard me snoring again. Is the sleep mask (which I hate) not
working? I am using the thing in good faith. <br />z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-3015756165196651802018-07-05T20:55:00.001-07:002018-07-05T21:03:31.067-07:00Stumbling in the DarkOne of my secret thoughts, which is not so secret, is that I should
try to write a book. I am among thousands upon thousands of people who
have had a similar idea, but unlike many of those, I am largely afraid
that I can't really do it. I reinforce my negative feelings regarding
writing a book with negative thoughts about why I can't and why it would
probably be impossible.<br />
<br />
First, among the bad thoughts
and feelings, I doubt that I am up to it. Having been an English Major,
learning about the dramatic curve, remembering some of the mechanics of
a novel, and having read the stories of the authors who have gone
before, the worries all pile up before me and congeal into a big black
ball of fear.<br />
<br />
A fear of failure. Which, frankly, is a
sticky nebulous fear that never seems to go away, and often shows up in
many places in my life that has nothing to do with writing. Most of the
time that fear is not entirely rational, but some places, it actually is
warranted. Fear is healthy when it prevents you from injuries,
emotional or otherwise. Fear, on the plus side, can be an internal
safeguard against danger. However, I have also heard that some people in
the health professions will develop a compulsive habit of washing their
hands all of the time, beyond what is healthy or normal. Since they
know all the horror stories of infections, germs, bacteria, and
diseases, they wash their hands all of the time, all to avoid suffering
from an illness that was very likely all too rare to begin with. I think
this fear of writing is something like that. Maybe I know too much
about literature in general to feel safe with the possibility of
success, which then freezes my motivation to even try. Of course, the
answer to "what if I fail?," is "what if I succeed?" I know that.
However, emotions are not rational creatures. They take hold of your
heart even while your brain is shouting at you to ignore them.<br />
<br />
The
second problem is time and regularity. Speaking in specific terms now, I
personally find it hard to develop of the habit of doing what I want in
a given day or week, and then moving in a direction that I feel I
should. There is only so much time in one's life, and no one knows how
much time is left. Perhaps everyone dies having a plan or two for the
future, even if it is as mundane as having breakfast the next morning. I
still struggle with developing a routine for self-care. I need to wash
my clothes, cook myself healthy meals, find time for regular exercise to
become fit, without slacking on the time for my job and other pressing
obligations. Even now, in my middle forties, that is a challenge I have
yet to overcome. My family has some demands on my time. And, when my
health is not 100%, I find it hard to even do the basics.<br />
<br />
I
think to myself that what I need to do is work out a schedule on paper
and then try to follow it as close as possible. Making a plan, even if
you don't end up sticking to it, is a good place to start. For some
reason though, I haven't made any plans. Most mornings, I wake up
knowing that I need to go to work, but not knowing when or where I will
have breakfast, eat lunch, or go home for the day. Will I go into to
town and do some art? Is that self-indulgent? Should I have a better
plan? A plan for making the world a better place, for teaching, for
doing something really sacrificial? Most of my art plans, writing or
otherwise, seems to be a form of narcissism. Am I trying to puff up my
self-conception by trying to make my indulgences seem virtuous? Am I
trying to use virtue to snare my vanity?<br />
<br />
This is where
my thoughts usually end up. I come up with a conception or a plan of
action, which upon some reflection, seems vain in some way, and then I
wind up not doing anything.<br />
<br />
Is self-improvement vanity?
Is working on things that I am interested in vain? Admittedly, some of
my early life and earlier desires to be "good," were vain to a degree. I
do not think I could help it. I was buried under some unconscious
assumptions that my culture gave me as a birthright. It seems our
contemporary culture encourages us to indulge our vanities, telling us
that the highest virtue is self-actualization rather than service. Even
if we acquire knowledge, our culture only expects it to benefit
ourselves. We are oriented to self-profit, even with things that should
be considered non-material, like love or the other virtues. The more
"things" we accumulate to ourselves, and only ourselves, the better as
far as society is concerned. Even if service is ostensibly part of a
person's behavior, the real goal (in our society's view) is so a
particular person/individual can feel selfless and noble, an act that
is not focused on the act itself, but on the person who performs it.
What is real service, real sacrifice, and real selflessness? What does
it look like, and how it is performed? I wish I knew. <br />
<br />
In
the meantime, in the middle of not really knowing for sure what to do
or how to do it. I think that I should try to find regular days in the
week where I can focus on one thing. For example, with my art, I have
chosen Friday to come to the cafe and draw. Not that I do that, or
intend to do that, every Friday. Just that Friday is the day most often
chosen for that. Exercise, something that I am not currently doing, is
something that I think I should find regular times for. This might be
vain to a degree, but I think that, with regard to investing in my
health to prolong my life and thereby be able to serve those around me,
this plan has more support for that virtuous life I aim at than my art
project does. Three times a week for walking seems reasonable, and
walking for at least twenty minutes each time is not unreasonable
either. But I have yet to commit to a plan. I have thought of doing it
after work, but I am reluctant because I do not want to appear as "the
fat guy" walking around the block. I guess having typed that out, it is
plain that my vanity is keeping me from doing the right thing for the
right reason. (I'll have to remember this.)<br />
<br />
Now, we
come to my language plans. I am already devoting a small part of each
day, usually the morning to learning more words, listening to people
speak it on youtube, and reading it, but maybe this is all vanity. It is
not a language that many people speak, and there is a stereotype of
people my age and gender speaking it. Again, most people in my society,
even people who are friendly in their interactions with me, think it is
sort of pointless.<br />
<br />
Finally, the writing: I am doing it
now. But, I mostly use this blog to explore my thoughts and emotions
more than anything. Writing fiction, or even essays, is a different
skill altogether. I may be too old to do either well.<br />
<br />
I
don't want to reach the end of my life still aiming at something that is
essentially vain. It would be nice to find a meaningful work that will
sustain my spirit, even if the jobs and hobbies, and other silly
occupations I may find do not, or cannot, provide it. I guess that is at
the heart of all of this: finding personal meaning. I do think that,
more than most, due to my morning prayer, meditation, and reading habit,
I have some of the tools. Now, I must figure out how to use those tools
to build meaning in my own life for the benefit of others. An attitude
of service and transformation seems key, but translating these esoteric
ideas into a practical plan of action, into an engine of motivation,
seems difficult. I am still reaching out into the darkness and trying to
stumble my way into the light of understanding and knowledge. May God
help me. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-83127371232338940662018-07-02T21:24:00.001-07:002018-07-02T21:38:34.841-07:00Confidence in Printing and SanityToday, I feel like I may have earned some right to the internal title
of designer. Like most human beings on the planet, I sometimes deal
with insecurities about who I am and what I am doing. Readers may know
(because I can't ever seem to stop talking about it in one form or
another) how my earlier failures were a severe blow to my confidence and
self-esteem. In an effort to repair my life, and at least get my
financial life back in order, during the last several years I managed to
get an associates degree in graphic design. It was an attempt at
gaining a skill that could at least help me find a way to earn my daily
bread. Being a teacher is a profession that requires the training that
escaped me, maybe learning the design trade could help me salvage some
self-respect and help me earn a dollar or two. (The student loan debt I
have is outrageous, so I will probably be condemned to poverty for the
remainder of my life. The worst thing about poverty, at least in regards
to how I view it, is that I do not have the monetary means to support
my family and friends in the way I would like. I likely will never be
able to buy my parents something they need, help them out of a jam, loan
my sisters a few hundred dollars, etc.) Anyhow, it is funny to say that
my insecurity in my personal and design abilities makes me secure in
the knowledge that I won't be the best designer on the planet.<br />
<br />
However,
today, I may have earned a little more right to the title. After a
breakfast, a little television, and a shower, I drove to work and
completed the recipe
cards that my mother needed printed for her next monthly project. There
were a few minor typos that needed fixing before printing the whole
block of them. They're on cardstock, and initially, I couldn't figure
out why they weren't printing front and back. It turns out the
"reloaded" setting on the paper selection for the copier prevents the
program itself from printing front and back. Once I had changed it from
"cardstock reloaded" to just "cardstock," the problem was resolved.<br />
<br />
Then,
I drove into the neighboring town and talked with downtown printer
that I was familiar with. They seem knowledgeable and talented, but
their prices also reflect it. I needed some size #6 catalog style
enveloped, which is a size above 6x9 and below 9x12. Catalog style is a
bit stronger than booklet style, and because our mail order department
crams our product into envelopes almost near to bursting, I figured we needed it. Catalog style
was the way to go. For those envelopes, there is a seam down the
middle, and the envelope opens on the shortest end. Booklet style envelope opens
on the longest side.<br />
<br />
I told them that I had the
original
file as well as the PDF. They told me that the original file is
essentially worthless if the links and the fonts are not also embedded.
They
said that, for it to be useful, it had to be "packaged." I knew that
from school training,
but like a dope, forgot. I manually included the link to the image file
in a separate folder, but it did not have the typefaces. Fortunately,
the PDF saved my bacon. They even had me come around their front counter
to look at it on their computer screen to ensure that it looked the way
that I
needed it to. It did. (For some reason, salesman at the counter assumed
that the copier error where the ink had not fully printed the logo was
intentional. I assured him it was not.)<br />
<br />
Satisfied the job was going to be done, I then drove out to
the next printer to have them print the 9x12 envelopes that I needed.
They are about fifty dollars cheaper than the downtown printer. The one
worry that I still had was wondering if the first printer I visited will use the
second one to print the job I gave them, and then charge me extra for handling. Was
there a chance that the poor slob who operates the press will see
a job with the same logo on two different sized envelopes for two different
clients? Will it matter? Will there be any embarrassment for me or the
printer if they find out that I used two different printers for
essentially the same work? Maybe there might some embarrassment at a
professional faux pas, but I guess I am prepared to deal with it and
face the fallout if need be.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, arriving to the
printers, I was immediately greeted by two medium to large sized dogs
Clearly, this was a more relaxed style of business where the owner had
decided that dogs were okay. I am always initially weirded out about businesses
that have pets, but really, I guess I don't mind if the animals are
friendly enough. The dogs sniffed my shoe rather heavily before being
called back to someone's desk.<br />
<br />
I asked to speak to
someone about a quote, which they gave me, and was really nice. I hope
that the job turns out as well as I hope because you can't beat their
price. I had discovered this print shop when I had gone to a portfolio
show and discovered that a former classmate had worked there. I figured,
"why not?" This is the sort of networking that is supposed to pay off,
right?<br />
<br />
Then I returned back to work and continued to work
on the booklet that needs to be completed in a couple of days. There are
a few articles that the boss needs to send me, but it looks like it
will get done on time, even if I have to work over the holiday.<br />
<br />
I
signed out at 5pm, which is normal for me. I wasn't going to do much
overtime today because I felt like I had already done enough, and a good
job at that. Unfortunately, our work culture seems to run on stress and
frustration. If someone is not constantly complaining about being
over-worked, over-tired, or having too much with not enough time to do
it, then we really are in trouble. That sort of environment seems to
work when it comes to getting the jobs done, but at a personal and
emotional cost to the people there. It is a fraying of nerves that
slowly come undone a strand at a time. Maybe this sort of environment is
part of why I feel anxious most of the time. As if the only solution to
problems is to worry about what is not getting done, because formally
coming up with practical solutions or organizing a plan is apparently
too much or out of the question.<br />
<br />
I was glad work was
done.About an hour later, I was making plans for my monday night. Monday
night is my night to go to the center and says prayers or offer
devotions. Tonight, a homeless gentleman who may or may not have
schizophrenia, was there. It has sort of become my default job to be
there and help the ladies feel comfortable about this unpredictable
element of a man with a mental health issue. I try to engage the man
positively on his terms and help him to feel as comfortable as possible.
It is not always possible to hold his attention the entire time, and he
whispers and laughs to himself a lot, so there is no telling what he is
thinking about in any given instance.<br />
<br />
Still, I have
to believe that his presence there might be helping him keep a hold on
some part of sanity—a reassurance that society still is willing to
engage with him. He is not a non-person. People still look at him,
engage with him, and offer some small amount of help that they might
have. Unlike last time, no-one offered him any protein bars, nuts, or
other kind of food, but I noted that he had a plastic bag full of pizza
slices. I do not know where or how he may have gotten them, but I
imagine that a sympathetic worker at a local pizza place may have given
him the left-over slices from a days work. Seeing a bag filled with food
like that is a sobering reminder about how much the homeless have to
think about the basic necessities of life during a given day. If I am
ever homeless, I wonder how I might cope with the lack of food?<br />
<br />
His
situation is really tough, and unfortunately in our society, apparently
common. He is clearly grappling with a mental heath condition that
prevents him from acting in his own best interests to get off the
streets (if there is a way to do that). He imagines gods and goddesses
(literally) are talking to him. They give him warnings or guidance that
directly tell him to do something. Of course, a person in that condition
is not going to take medication that forces them back into a healthy
reality. And, other people he meets in society cannot force him to do
it, even as the government won't do it. A family member, might, if they
could fight through the bureaucracy, have him institutionalized. But
that is assuming that the family members is around or wants to get
involved. I don't know this man's last name, so I do not have a clue if
he has family or not. I have heard the older folks say that people like
him used to be put into institutions where doctors and nurses monitored
them and helped them take their medications, something that the
government paid for. But that is no longer the case, people in his
condition, too far removed from reality wind up on the streets or in
jail. Fortunately, for this man in particular, he seems too nice to do
anything violent, but I guess that is only as long as his illness
doesn't progress or go any further,<br />
<br />
As far as
devotions at the center went, I hope that they were beneficial to those
who were there. It is hard to know. I feel slightly sad knowing that the
amount of people who attend seems unusually small. More people could
(and probably should) attend, but for one reason or another, they don't.
I have tried to make it my Monday priority. It is one of my methods
being sane and healthy myself. An investment in the things in life that,
hopefully, really matter. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-22731209292717187282018-07-01T14:36:00.002-07:002018-07-01T14:36:29.393-07:00Anxiety over an Uncertain Future continued. Okay, the last post was a bit over the top, but the fear is real. I
am definitely worried about an uncertain future, and while I feel
trapped as it steadily creeps up on me, I am really feeling the
realization that only I can fix it. It will not go away, and no one else
is going to rescue me from it.I have to recuse myself.<br />
<br />
Of
course, the thing I am talking about—the thing from which I need
rescue—is an undefined worry about a disastrous future, which is another
way of saying (when you really think hard about it) "I am afraid of
myself." I am afraid that I will not be able to change the course of
things in time, that I will not be able to establish a foundation for a
reasonably stable future, that I will not be able to support myself,
that I will slip into homelessness because I did not exert myself
enough, did not work hard enough to overcome and eliminate my personal
flaws, did not establish routine, healthy, patterns of behavior. I have
tried to fix this in the past by re-orienting my thoughts, but maybe not
enough energy was put into re-orienting my behavior. <br />
<br />
Some
of this worry seems to be based on some solid evidence. For example,
last night I read over the early posts on this blog from about thirteen
years ago, and while my circumstances were different, most of my fears
were the same. And, really, the future disaster is the same as the past
disaster—my girlfriend leaving me, and the end of my graduate school
career. I am still coping with some of the fallout from those old
failures. The emotional turbulence of the past is still causing ripples
into the present. The pain is not as intense, but it still aches, with
the added realization that time is shorter. So, in some ways, the thing I
am afraid of is already happening. It is just an extension of something
that I failed to stop or fix, except now the consequences could
intensify and morph into something new. I imagine it is like being
injured in a battle, having a serious leg wound, and rather than
properly have it seen to by a doctor and treated, you ignore it and
allow it to bleed. The bleeding from my earlier problems has not yet
fully stopped.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Last
week, I found myself in town purchasing yet another notebook. The idea
was that I would be able to identify my goals, the life-changes I needed
to make, and then write out a plan of action, forming a schedule and
noting which days would be spent working to achieve my goals. I had
already done this to some extent.<br />
<br />
For example, for what
ever reason, a couple of years ago, (during my blog hiatus) I decided
that each Friday night, I would go to the local cafe and draw pictures
of the bands that played that night. The intention was: 1) to get out of
the house and not be so isolated and lonely, 2) practice my drawing
ability and keep whatever skills I had up, 3) do something that was just
for myself, a thing that had nothing to do with my birth-family and had
nothing to do with work. Just for me. It seems to have stuck. I have
not done it every Friday since I begun, but I have done it most Fridays
for at least two years solid.<br />
<br />
Recognizing that as
something as an emotional success, I thought to myself that maybe I
could try to extend that daily task idea to something else. Maybe if I
chose a day for writing, a separate one for cooking, another for
cleaning, for exercise, and so on, I would be able to pile up some
measure of success or personal improvement. If I thought of it as an
'investment,' and easy enough idea in a materialistic society, I could
eventually accumulate some reward through persistent effort. Right now,
in my middle forties, I still think that. The note book was the first
step in developing a plan.<br />
<br />
And yet, I was slightly
disheartened to read in my reviewing of early blog posts, that I had a
similar idea: "Develop a plan of action for change, execute the plan,
reap the reward." Again, the problems are the same, the circumstances
and consequences are different.<br />
<br />
I suppose that is why
the idea of child-rearing for virtues, the virtue training of children,
is so important: a stronger character early in life is the foundation
for future success and the coping with life's inevitable set-backs.
Although I feel that I am more resilient than I ever have been, each of
my set-backs has a tendency to send me crashing down into depression and
inaction. I tend to throw up my hands when I perceive I have failed in
some way.<br />
<br />
Maybe this time will be different though. I
have to have hope that I have improved over the last ten years, even if
all I can see is how far I have left to go, and how the time to get
there continues to shrink.<br />
<br />
If I am 100% honest with my
past life changes, I think my daily morning prayers has been my biggest
success and has probably helped me to stop sliding further into despair.
I have managed to keep this habit going mostly on track for at least
the last several years, much longer than my drawing project. I am hoping
that if I continue pray with sincerity, with an eye to developing
virtue and change, petitioning for help with past mistakes, then by the
grace of God, I might be guided to what I need most. If I can conquer
the fear of being alone and unaided in my quest to be a better person
with the ability to be self-supporting, then maybe I will succeed in the
way I want to. At least, I sure hope so. <br />
<br />
<br />z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-47634234856111795612018-07-01T14:35:00.000-07:002018-07-01T14:35:16.024-07:00Anxiety Burning on the HorizonMy life has ground to a halt on the inside somehow. My emotions are
like books that have spilled off a high shelf and lie broken, scattered,
and askew on the floor. I feel I am caught in a trap of not knowing how
best to pull myself together and move forward with confidence and
aplomb I want to feel. Anxiety regarding my future is again creeping up
on me, and reading the tea leaves of an unpleasant future, I fear it may
already be too late to fix things. <br />
<br />
For example, I
know I need to repair my health, lose weight, and get off the sleep
apnea machine (which I really dislike), but I do not know where or how
to start, especially since other concerns take up more time. Doing
laundry, having a day off for chores, fixing meals is a hassle that
takes up so much time and energy. There isn't time or energy left for
exercise. Then, a slimy edge of hopelessness accumulates on all my
random thoughts during the day, never too conscious to be examined
directly, just a thin film of unease that you suddenly aware of but
can't formulate a way to describe it, even to yourself. <br />
<br />
I
used to feel like I was making progress to things. When I was in
college, I was trying to head for a career that was satisfying and could
help me afford a decent life-style. That fell apart spectacularly. When
I was in a relationship, I was heading toward a family and a satisfying
emotional bond with a loving partner. That fell apart. But more
accurately, it probably was never what I thought it was in the first
place. Youth made it seem like the future was matter of choosing a
handful of the best options from a world of possibility, a world of
potential benefits that could be enjoyed like biting into a ripe, sweet,
summer fruit. Late middle-age has clarified the reality that time is
not an infinite resource and that some opportunities will only come once
or twice. Coping with loss, and trying not to feel like a failure is
hard.<br />
<br />
I spend a lot of time praying, hoping to
recapture the feeling of security that came from a hopeful future.
Trying not to be de-moralized in a world hurting from its own poor
choices and disregard for the inherent dignity of mankind. May God
please guide me to my best possible future. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-25759860422045610362014-09-25T12:05:00.001-07:002014-09-25T12:05:44.853-07:00Flying Saucer DreamI had a dream last night. Aliens had invaded and people were completely overwhelmed. Every time a treaty was going to be signed, there was a betrayal. The scenes I remember are as follows. I was in a large museum type of building. Lots of political officials had surrounded the president (He was sort of non-descript looking, and certainly did not look like the man in office today.) They were panicking in a sort of half-controlled manner, pleading with him to do one thing or another. The only choice that seemed clear to them was that the president should retreat to his underground bunker, which was accessed through the fake presidential oval office, which was in the theatre auditorium. Me and a handful of other tourists, naturally couldn't follow.<br /><br />
Just as he and his men and officials disappeared behind some stage props, the aliens marched into building from every side. They were menacing in their troop formations but they did not attack. Escape seemed impossible. Speaking in an incomprehensible manner, they pointed this way and that, before laughing and leaving behind a small white safe on a dolly. A smarter man among us, a professor of some kind, with his glasses askew on his face, realized it was a bomb. He lay over the bomb, frantically working at the combination before it exploded. Even though he died in the resulting explosion, his heroic act saved at least half of the people in the museum, including myself.<br /><br />
I rushed outside, only to see the havoc of flying saucers everywhere shooting laser beams at a panicking crowd. A police officer, helping to get people out of the back of a station wagon, was caught in the beam and turned into ash. I rushed around him into the street. And then I woke up.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-38504433871160908962014-09-20T23:28:00.001-07:002014-09-20T23:28:09.419-07:00A Good Enough DayToday, I was wakened by the sound of dad shooting water into a metal barrel for the chickens to drink. I was groggy, and took about half and hour to become fully awake. However, for a change, I was glad I was up. I needed to be in Salem for the service I had planned on attending. I am not sure if it happens to most men my age and circumstance, but I find I need this sort of thing as a hope life line that my life has not completely gone off of the rails. Even if I am judged to be unsuccessful in my public life, at least I can try to be a good person in my personal life: develop virtue and all of that.<br /><br />
I was the last person in the building after it was over, and was politely ushered out. I hadn't realized that I was keeping the gentleman who was tasked with locking the building away from the rest of his day. I had been in the library selecting a book that I thought might help me get my daily life in order.<br /><br />
At this point, I drove downtown and after depositing my check for two weeks work, went looking for a place to take lunch. The exercise from walking was sorely needed, but I didn't find a suitable place. The new place did not have the menu items I wanted to eat, and the prices were too high. I figured that my best course of action was to eat lunch in a coffee shop, where I had the most delicious bagel sandwich and a hibiscus iced tea. I should have had it lightly sweetened, but as it was, it was a much better meal than I had hoped for. I considered working on personal projects, like organizing healthy meals for the week, but instead I watched videos on my laptop and glanced occasionally at the youthful, energetic people coming and going trying not to feel too envious. It is, admittedly, a bigger struggle than I would like. I could write essays of regret, but I am choosing not to indulge in too many negative reinforcements on my attitude. Like I said, it's a stuggle.<br /><br />
I had planned on going to the shop and working on my video projects, but the combination of the sun, food, and poor sleep made me feel very tired, so I drove home for a three hour nap. I didn't necessarily want to sleep for that long, but I think I needed it. I am developing a problem with my breathing while I sleep. I suspect sleep apnea, which means that I really need to get my health in control before I suffer greater consequences. I am working on it.<br /><br />
Night brought a trip to walmart (an accomplishment for me) so I could purchase some much needed sheets. I also bought cat food for the cat, and contemplated buying more junk food, but talked myself out of it. I met my biological father there. He's nearly completely deaf, so I listened and pantomimed responses that I hoped were understood, but I suspect weren't. I think he could probably use a hearing aid, but I don't think his pride will let him. I do not know how to feel about him, since I do not really know him very well. What I do know of his beliefs and opinions, I likely disagree, but I give him respect and attention. It seems right to do so. I then spent the rest of the evening at the shop watching videos, and playing video games. The one bright spot of accomplishment came with some figure sketching that I did. I want to keep up on my art as best as I am able. I am hoping it will help.<br /><br />
Now, I must leave for a trip to the grocery store to buy some breakfast items, and then I will watch a little TV at home before returning to bed. I think I did okay for this day doing some of the things that needed doing. Perhaps I could have worked on more necessary items more, and not indulged in too much distractions, but I am not going to call this a bad day. It was a good day. A stepping stone on the path of doing better.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-60943924642620403182014-09-19T01:28:00.001-07:002014-09-19T01:28:54.816-07:00Restlessly WorryingOne of these days I going to change the layout of this blog. It is not abandoned as much as it is neglected. I hope to write more and communicate more of what I am thinking with this silly thing, but tonight is not the the night. It seems that I need to have an outlet, even if it is online for to everyone to scrutinize. We'll see what the future holds with this thing.<br /><br />
Briefly, and with some specifics, I am up late. I do not sleep as well as I used to do. Thoughts about my youth tinged with melancholy occur more frequently than I would like. My future seems to be cramped because of my previous bad decisions combined with a growing awareness of my own limited opportunities. Part of me wishes I had made more of life by now, but another part of me sees I didn't have as much as a chance as I thought I did. I should have gotten my Master's Degree. One thing is excruciatingly true right now: it is 1:30 a.m., dark, and quiet. I need to go home and sleep, but feel anxious and restless. I'm avoiding doing it for some reason. I wish I had a clearer idea about what I wanted out of life, and where I want to take it from here, but all I know now is that, now, I need to stop writing. I will go home and sleep, but mostly because I don't know what else to do.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-46448083855536915612014-02-16T14:01:00.001-08:002014-02-16T14:01:57.355-08:00Coming to the pointThere is an idea floating through our contemporary world, of which most who are not scientists don't fully understand, myself included. However, the idea posits (as near as I can grasp the current cultural zeitgeist of it) that time may not actually exist as we understand it. In brief, Time is an illusion of perspective. Of course, my personal experience (or perspective, if you will) of time is that I can accrete experience so that my experience grows and I become a slightly different person, either good or bad. In the objective sense, if I learn math or another language, I can use that learning at a later period.<br /><br />
However, the accumulation of experience and its ability to coalesce into learning, is something that I think about in the philosophical sense. Do I, or can I, become a better person by struggling with experiences that are difficult. Pain, as a physical mechanism, teaches us to avoid things that are harmful to us. However, pain also occurs when we have experienced damage to our systems. Is there a point in which damage has occurred, causes pain, and repair is no possible. Is there a difficult experience that damages us as people rather than teaches us how to become better by avoiding that damage in the first place? I am not sure.<br /><br />
It's been too long since I have written here. Seven months? I am no longer in the depths of despair about my being, but I do feel damaged in a way—like my difficult experiences of the recent past will have consequences that extend beyond my time to try and repair the damage, considering that repair may not even be possible. I have hope that I can be guided to a better path, but I feel a lot of regret for not managing my time better in the past. There were so many lost opportunities for something else that it is challenging for me to try and not dwell on them. Part of me feels like I have ignored some internal warnings much to my own peril.<br /><br />
From here on out, I think that what I will be trying to concentrate on is accumulating the virtues that I feel I should acquire, and trying to endure the experiences that are left to me, ones that I do not want, cannot avoid, but will be forced to face regardless of anything I could do to mitigate them. Yes, I will face difficult experiences ahead, but my focus is no longer on making all of the "right" moves to avoid those experiences, but on making the right changes in attitude and behavior to be able to withstand what I cannot avoid and to adapt to the things as best I can.<br /><br />
I have felt attached to someone specific for a very long period of time. Someone with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Someone with whom I wanted to build a future with. However, she does not really want to be with me, even with (or because of) our past together. We have been interacting with each other, with degrees of intensity, for over ten years. Recently (like a few days), I have come to feel that it never be possible to repair that relationship, and not because I haven't tried. I am a man of many faults, but now I fully understand some of our obstacles were not ones I placed in our path. I have tremendous sympathy for the challenges that we faced, and intellectually, I place blame with no-one. Emotionally, I feel burned by the differences in our beings that made reconciliation impossible. I have been sad, seeking a compromise along any route that would not require me to abandon my healthy sense of self. I may have been able to make it work for awhile longer if I forced myself to accept the notion that I was the center of all our problems, that I was focus of all the blame, that my choices alone forced us down this road. But, even after seriously searching long and hard for a way to accept all of the mistakes, I found I could not do it. I may experience bouts of low self-esteem, but at least intellectually, I know while I accept responsibility for my previous poor choices, I cannot accept blame for things that I did not cause, nor endure the misery of anger that I am not the source of. It is possible for someone to be unconsciously affected by tragedy, and for the effects of that to spill out into other areas of their lives without them recognizing that source. In essence, another person's actions have traveled through time to disrupt my attempts at closeness. The person I was seeking to make a life with is still echoing the earthquake of pain that another person caused.<br /><br />
Of course, to be truly honest, I believe that if she could heal from all of that, I might have a chance at building that life with her. The change this time is that I do not have much hope of that happening anymore. My cajoling, attempts to seek closeness, efforts at being sensitive and communicative were all rejected. I have done all I know how to do.<br /><br />
Now, I face a future that no longer includes her. I experience regret and remorse for that loss of a potential relationship. Perhaps I always will. But, I now know that I cannot be chained to a future that may not be. I have to move on and try and be a better person in the future.<br /><br />
z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-39666578507277515342013-06-19T01:40:00.003-07:002013-06-19T01:40:45.114-07:00Trying to Lift My VisionAnother late night: almost 1:00 am now. The issue with today was that I slept for a couple of hours in the middle of the evening (6–9pm), which made trying to go to sleep at a decent hour pretty much impossible. I hardly got any sleep the night before, and my head has throbbed with a sort of pressure headache. I've interacted with everyone politely, even amiably, just as they may have avoided me due to a subtle vibe of alienation that radiates away from me like a silent radio signal.<br /><br />
I continue to wrangle with my negative emotions as much as always, but I think I have been dealing with them a bit better today. Even though today was a short workday, I got a few projects done and feel pretty good about catching up on them by the end of the week. I still have two projects for other people that I must complete very soon, but they can wait for the time being. The summer is my busiest as far as work goes. I grapple with motivation when it comes to my individual designs. That will be my next career/personal challenge.<br /><br />
And, speaking more broadly about how I feel about life and my place in it, I think I can see a certain kind of emotional acceptance about my current situation that makes the inevitability of the future more easy to grapple with. Poverty and struggle may be my lot in life, despite my ambitions for more outward successes. These last few years have really clarified for me how focusing on my inward successes, and trying to develop into a better person, is my true and most important goal anyway. The outer successes would have been nice, but I always knew that it wasn't the most important. And as the prospect for that outward acclaim or achievement falls away, the inward self-directed enrichment process gains some momentum. Of course, I truly hope that no one thinks that I am saying I am perfect, or even that I am a slightly better person than most.<br /><br />
In fact, most of the intense depression that I felt these last few months has arisen out of a painful recognition that, even a year ago, I was a better person than I am now. Through a combination of actions and inactions, I have fallen backwards into a trap that holds me tight within the frozen grip of regret and churned up frustrations. All my good intentions were transmuted into foolishness, and even then, I ignored most of what I should have been doing in the search of another distraction. I have learned the hard lessons of dissipations and lethargy. I still try to come to terms with compromises that have cost me more than I would have wanted them to.<br /><br />
Of course, there are all sorts of signs and signifiers during the day that leads me to one of these thoughts or another, and I realize that it all sounds so very vague. So, I will leave it for now to discuss my day.<br /><br />
Like I said earlier, I had not gotten much sleep. After informing my "boss" that I was tired and that I may not be in to work right away, I ate a small bowl of cereal and went back to bed. I probably dreamed about something, which was frightening in its limitations, but I do not remember it. I do not have nightmares in the traditional sense. My nightmares arise out of the limitations that the dreams show me, out of the possibility of a life circumscribed by poverty, chance, and fate bought through earlier actions. I wish I could tell you how I am haunted by some of them, but most people wouldn't understand the implications. And, honestly, I am glad that I dreaming again. My dreams had left me for a few weeks, and it scared me in the way that adults can be scared without showing it on their surfaces.<br /><br />
I approached work in a workman way and probably did more than I thought I would get done. I feel a little wistful frustration about this job because there are always deadlines that are too close to do any real research or exploration of the themes, symbols, or possibilities. But, I don't dare feel too much frustration because I recognize that I have much more flexibility in this job than I would have anywhere else. I am lucky to have this job, and I know it. In the back of my mind, I am deeply worried that I may lose it in the future, but I do not think that it will be something that I have caused. I feel relatively assured that I did the best I could to prevent that outcome.<br /><br />
After work, I went home and had dinner with my parents before drifting off in that nap. When I awoke at 8:30ish, I talked with them briefly, and discovered that my sister had asked my Dad to purchase her something from the store that she claimed she needed. Perhaps she does, but her needs are always immediate and transcendent above everyone else's. It would be easy to tell another person no, but my sister cannot help who she is or how she thinks. And so the order of the day is compassion.<br /><br />
I drove into town and went to Walmart. I called my parents on my cell phone, and asked them what kind of thing it was that my sister needed. My dad told me, but I couldn't find it there. Therefore, I went to Safeway, and after a lot of searching found, it.<br /><br />
I went back to work and made another gameplay movie for youtube, but I think my heart is going out of it. It takes a lot of work, and the initial returns that I imagined I might be able to achieve appear as elusive as ever. I could do more research over the issue, but that would require even more work.<br /><br />
I've been thinking that I need to return to all of the other interests that I have fostered throughout my life, and continue to develop those. I could go back to writing and drawing. I could read more, take time for myself and photography. Worry less, and allow other people to take personal responsibility for their own lives. I may be an irrelevant person in the grand scheme of history, and I may have harmed inner and outer self and damaged both, but I still have time left. Perhaps, through perseverance and more effort, there is a chance to claim some small amount of personal dignity so I can arise as a person who was given wisdom through some occasional and self-inflicted hard knocks. I wish to hear the voice of wisdom speaking to me, and guiding me through a life of difficulty. To feel the rays of the sun of wisdom and assurance shining on me once more. To be washed in the seas of forgiveness for those actions and inactions. And, to ascend to a wholesome place of truth, insulated from the cold winds of sorrows and pains that are always reflected in the downward glances towards an earthly life. I want to lift my vision towards a broad and warm horizon of better internal possibilities and confirmations that I can personally achieve.<br /><br /> z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-62334926734150592992013-06-17T02:11:00.001-07:002013-06-17T02:11:51.299-07:00Uncertain about WritingI am really uncertain about whether or not I should write a book. It seems like it is something that I have put off for a very long time. There has always been an internal prompting for me to write one. However, as I get older, I think to myself that almost everything I thought was important really is not. Every pop-culture reference, joke, effort to improve myself, vocation, avocation, etc. was simply another distraction away from something else I should have been focused on. Maybe that other thing was to express myself and my views with a novel, especially since my writing is one of the few things that I have gotten the most positive feedback from other people about, but then again, maybe not. All I know for sure is that the "one thing" that I should be working for always seems to escape me. I know it is there, but I don't know what it is.<br /><br />
I'll be really honest at the moment. I am solidly middle-aged. I have no money for retirement, a part-time job that I can barely do regularly and probably should have been fired from a year ago, and tens of thousands of dollars in student debt. I never managed to find a companion to share my life with despite my efforts to try, and I have no tangible assets like a house of my own, savings, or a decent car. It is hard not to feel like the world's biggest failure.<br /><br />
I wish there was another word for jealousy. Jealousy implies that there is a passion inside the person afflicted with it, a drive that keeps the fires of emotion burning hot. The jealousy I feel is very cold. It is a sad recognition that many things that I dared to hope for are somehow impossible, so daring to hope feels dangerous. If I had allowed myself to feel the hot jealousy for the average achievements of a common person (ie. a steady and successful job, a loving family, a pleasant relationship with a wife, etc.) then I would be consumed by pain. Instead, whenever I feel the first twinge of wanting more than I can apparently achieve, I avert my inner and outer gaze as quickly as possible. Too much focus on those things will be dangerous. I can't do it. <br /><br />
I keep hearing from everyone around me that the economy really is difficult right now, but I have to say that, when looked at globally, it hardly seems like our economic problems will be solved soon enough for me to benefit from. I need about a hundred miracles for these troubles to go away, but I doubt they'll be arriving any time soon. I don't want to sound so negative, but I have to say that the whole world is in a real fix, and that, while I didn't personally cause the troubles it has, they will affect me more than I would like and more than I can change. Writing, a broad and non-specific avenue towards a fantasy of redemption, whispers into my heart and suggests that it is the only hope I would ever have at climbing out of my current mess. It has been done before, but I also know I'd have to be very lucky and have a better plan than I do now.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-628818883712397922013-05-28T00:55:00.002-07:002013-05-28T00:55:55.897-07:00Grinding my way towards DisciplineI still end up hurting myself in these weird internal ways that I feel that I should be better able to control. It's those small moments of choice, where the gust of a impulse or whim blows quickly upon you, and then, ignoring a reflective thought, you allow yourself to be pushed in a direction you would rather not go. It's the later recognition of these small moments that grind on me more than I want.<br /><br />
Is it in my personality to foster discipline, to choose the more difficult paths, to accept the many failures and move forward towards hope? I believe, when I am truly honest with myself, the answer is yes. But, I am equally bewildered when I try to describe how I might go about acquiring that discipline—the regulatory control over my choices brought about by detachment—and applying it to my life.<br /><br />
My inner voice says, "I know I can do this. It is within my ability. I must persevere. I must continue despite the emotional consequence of actions or inactions." I know that voice is right. The only path is the path forward. Still, the difficulty that this internal project holds disturbs me in a powerful way.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-4637977571179489922013-05-16T01:39:00.001-07:002013-05-16T01:40:39.750-07:00FunctionalityIt seems like everytime that I come to this journal lately, it is to write about how difficult life seems. I think I will just accept that. I know that it doesn't endear one to other people to continually discuss all of the problems that life has in store for us as we wend our way awkwardly through it, but this journal is more for me than it is for anything else. It is a place to grasp a few thoughts I have at these writing moments, and fix them in place. The hope is that, by capturing thoughts, they can be examined a bit more objectively in the future, but I would have to develop more of the habit of reading what I have written. Aside from a glance at the most recent previous posts, it is rare that I go back over much of what I have said. I also know that a lot of what I have already said, I have said before.<br /><br />
It is true that my previous post discussed an event that will have (and probably has had) a profound impact on my future and my future plans. Yes. It was one of the worst moments of my recent life, and definitely the worst all year. I cannot help but end up using at as a jigsaw puzzle piece in a metaphorical narrative about my life. Unfortunately, as that awful piece slides into place, the larger story the picture reveals isn't pretty. Perhaps I have the piece in the wrong place, or perhaps it is not a piece to the puzzle I am trying to solve. However, if I place it where it seems to fit, then the story told by all of these little events is ultimately one of failure. Of course, it is difficult to know how much of this failure is under my control. Yes, I have made some bad choices, but then again, perhaps previous experience has made some of these bad choices more inevitable than they would have otherwise.<br /><br />
I suppose I could look at it like this: Through no fault of your own, someone steals the keys to your car. With you keys missing, it is more likely that you will be late for work. Once late for work, you miss an appointment to discuss a new client account, and due to an argument the client had with his children that morning, he is in a bad mood and decides to cancel the order. It would be very human for the person who had their keys stolen to feel frustrated, to feel as if there was something in their control that they missed, to feel like the bad results of the day were their fault. And yet, it wasn't. It was the bad intention of the thief and the bad mood of the client that led to those places.<br /><br />
So, it follows that, due to no fault of one's own, a poor economy could lead to poor job prospects, poor jobs prospects means a financial tightening of the belt, which leads to poor diet, which leads to poor health and frustration, which leads to even further difficulty. It is easy for the people suffering from economic forces beyond their control to feel like a failure for not having done more, for not being super-human enough to transcend those problems. And yet, looked at objectively, they, as one individual, have little effect on a economy that is created by thousands, or millions.<br /><br />
This is where I suspect I am at. I have a narrative about my life that seems to fit. I have missed chances and opportunities everywhere I turn. I see some of the challenges I have had to deal with, especially ones that I know others do not have. But, eventually, I am uncertain. Maybe some of that bad feeling comes from a real tangible force that I have little or no awareness of. I could be grappling with something that isn't entirely my fault.<br /><br />
But, of course, even with all of our challenges that we face, we are responsible for engaging with life as it presents itself to us. We must figure out a way forward, even if there is something pulling us back. After all, I am best able to measure my own intentions and efforts than anyone. And, even after working at this problem for a long time, I keep coming up short. I keep thinking about how I should have known better, should have worked harder, should have dedicated myself to make a more genuine effort. I do feel blessed that, among the people living today, I have a slightly better insight into the kinds of behavior that are more likely to lead to a better place. This knowledge has prevented me from making even larger mistakes with even greater consequences. Still, if there was an objective third person listening to all of my thoughts, watching all of my actions, then I am not so sure I would fall into a positive light.<br /><br />
I do not want to feel like everything important I have reached for has escaped me. I do not want to feel like I have failed at all of the big things in life. However, after petty arguments with people who cannot be expected to be any more heroic or long-suffering than me (and I am light-years away from either condition), I feel like a tremendous failure. I am not responsible for anyone's choices other than my own. I desperately desire, but do not know how to transcend the emotional toll that bad experiences, or my own inability to live up to my high expectations, has on me. I would like to be able to float above some of the petty difficulties that, intellectually, I know do not matter. However, it is too easy for me to feel hurt and frustrated by poor choices I have made that lead me to even more disappointments.<br /><br />
It must be said that the crack of uncertainty about any of this grows larger when I admit that depression could be coloring all of my so-called objectivity. It is hard to judge my best moments and far to easy to condemn my worst. Still, every slip on the razor's path increases my fears that I have not exerted the right type or amount of effort to be a happier person who is functional enough to live life as an independent adult. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5184573.post-25200509631318329052013-05-02T00:39:00.001-07:002013-05-02T00:42:00.457-07:00Difficult to SaySunday was one of the worst days I have had in a year or so. Life seems to hold so many mysteries for me, and lately, most of them have been unpleasant at least on the surface.<br /><br />
Of course, I understand that unpleasant experiences are not always harmful, or exclusively harmful. I'm sure we often learn more about ourselves and each other on our worst days than we do on our good ones, as long as we commit to learning how not to end up hurting ourselves (or others). The bad helps us avoid similar experiences in the future, or acts as a practice when we try to handle them differently. Those awful moments can have benefit, even when you are overwhelmed by strong and and poisonously enervating emotions of frustration or depression.<br /><br />
These difficult experiences, combined with my age, is helping me to realize, in a tangible way, that I will not experience many things in life I have been exposed to. I will never travel around the world seeing its many wonders. Now, I understand that I will probably not have a family of my own, or a house, or a well-paying career that would be emotionally or financially fulfilling and provide me with a positive sense of purpose.<br /><br />
These handful of moments, these light sketches on the pages of life, are ephemeral. Everything is washed out by a greater unveiling of lights where it suddenly takes on a new or changed appearance.<br /><br />
I am not sorrowful that I will not experience them before growing old. No, the challenge for me is to try and not feel sad about not being able to share all of those experiences with the people who I have grown to love throughout my lengthening years. Things don't matter, neither does a new or exciting experience, unless there is someone whom you care for (and care for you) to share it with.<br /><br />z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com