All the world is moved by pretty girls.
I met another one last night. Another one of those smiles that I could fall in love with. Eyes that distract you from really seeing anything else.
I first noticed her when she asked if I wanted my "usual" at Starbucks. 4 pump, no water, chai tea latte. It wasn't until a few visits later that I realized that she was the same barista that I had given money to, to randomly purchase someone else's drink. But I did realize right away when she changed her hair. Her co-workers didn't, she joked.
I went in yesterday evening, to spend some time alone lost in people with a drink I enjoy and a book that makes me smile. She was at the till. That was unexpected. I thought she worked mornings. She volunteered that it was one of her last shifts as a barista: she wasn't doing so well in school, and either her job or her social life had to go. The job never had a chance. I told her I was devastated and asked what she was taking. International Relations. We swapped a couple of niceties about the program. I swiped my debit card.
I never learned her name.
My friends often joke that if it were not for the natural motivation of pretty girls, nothing would have gotten done in our male-dominated history. It's always pleasantly world-altering to meet another one.
The other night I had a dream. A real dream, not an ideological dream. I was enrolled in school. It was the first day. I was taking a bus tour around the campus. It was a tour geared towards all the first years, and I was new, but I already knew my way around. I was restarting.
The dream jumped to my being in a car, just finding a parking spot. I jumped out quickly, with a few of my friends. The sun was shining, and the pavement had that expensive, rarely-driven-on look. I could smell the lifestyle. I was exceptionally happy. I was a first year something, in a new school, in a new place, and I felt relaxed in who I was. This was what I wanted.
When my dream looks through the looking glass, it finds itself no less warped than Alice does. In real life, I've often thought about re-starting. Never has the "I wish I could re-do it" feeling been so strong as it has been for me, about school, over the past couple of years. But school was merely the localized target of a larger, grand-scale desire for a do-over. Over the past couple months, I've been reading through a lot of high school notes from family and friends telling me about how the sky's the limit for me. I've been reconnecting with old friends who express that old understanding that I've got potential. And yet when I tell myself that old "world's my oyster" cliché, in any kind of mirror, I no longer believe it.
And I'd like to believe it again, even though I've said it to myself a thousand times and never followed through, I'd like to act on it again. In light of the paradox, re-doing it all is the only answer my melancholy mind appreciates.
Socrates is famously quoted for claiming that he was the wisest person in the world - the Oracle at Delphi helped him to understand that he was the wisest because he knew that he didn't know anything.
I don't know how to fix a car.
Don't know how to take beautiful pictures.
I haven't the foggiest understanding of how to buy a house. Or start my own company.
And don't even think about putting me in a room with a real philosophy student.
I'm terrified that my experiences might not have taught me anything. My waking nightmare includes feeling like everything I've worked for, and other people have contributed to, has not produced anything of value. Sometimes it feels like it never will.
See, I like to build. I like to imagine myself as one big bucket of accumulating experiences, and that with every drop that goes in, I become a better, more full person. That list of "I don't"s gets smaller. But these past years feel like the bucket leaks faster than it fills. It feels like Sisyphus' rock beats Nietzsche’s will to power paper every time. That's just not fair.
I don't know how to be properly impassioned.
I don't know where I buried that confidence I used to have.
I don't know what will bring me sustainable joy.
But I suppose, technically speaking, neither did Socrates. Accepting that worked out pretty well for him. I could handle being in that company.
I may pass on the hemlock though.
Even though Socrates found out at Delphi that all his work and understanding was worthless, Socrates rejoiced, and redoubled his honest inquiry and legitimate pursuit of the good. For him, it was one of the best things that had ever happened. Restarting made him into one of the most well known philosophers of all time. And more importantly, restarting helped him to be happy with who he was.
I don't know her name. Probably never will.
- Z
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
You Don't Ever Stop.
Hello. How are you?
Just before I sat down to write this blog entry, I read a friend's blog. She had written, word for word, the sentiment that had inspired my day-by-day survival a couple of years ago. None of us are so very far away from one another, I think, even in the times that it feels like we are miles apart.
I think I've told this story before, but I'm going to tell it again. I actually really like it. A long time ago, I wrote a fictional letter inspired by a non-fictional event. It was supposed to be from one ex-lover to another who had long since parted ways and not spoken for some time. The writer did not know if the intended recipient would ever read it, or if it would have any impact, but it didn't matter. The point was the writing of it.
Privately, though perhaps transparently, it contained my every hope for my own, real life, future.
I was taught through careful eavesdropping that an artist ought to write what they know. So, I poured all of my own hopes and dreams into this creation, first imagining a place where the moon shone, the evening fire was warm and everything in my life was under my control. And then, my imagination complete, I put fingertips to keyboard and started typing.
It began:
~~~
My Beloved,
I hope you are well.
I wish there was a way to stress those words, but I must confess I cannot italicize my written word without making it utterly illegible. Of course, in and of itself, merely altering the text would not – just as putting it first and foremost does not – properly include the importance of the expression. It contains more of my heart than any other thing that you will hereafter endure.
~~~
The letter went on, but its beginning, flowing quickly and easily from my mind, taught me something about myself that I have yet to forget.
I suppose, on this traditional Turkey Day, I should be thankful for all the traditional things. I should be thankful for my family and friends, as well as my health and having the good fortune to live in a country where my health has not bankrupt me or the above mentioned family and friends. I should be thankful for all of the things I've survived through in the past. I should be thankful for all of the things that I have the potential to experience in the future.
But I think that the Old Testament God had things a little confused. I'm not sure we can truly praise that which we fear. Because, in truth, I'm more afraid of these things than thankful for them. Since my heart has been fixed, all I can think of is how much I fear my body breaking down slowly, over the next 70-80 years. I have had friends support me, and all I continually feel faced with is the inevitable, temporary nature and impotence of friends. I live where fortune smiles, and I am reminded that everywhere else it does not, and I'm much too big a coward to do anything about that.
So I can't bring myself to expound upon the virtues of my traditionally thankful topics. The clichés only sound like clichés this year. Honestly, I can feel the sneer creep up my throat as I try to utter them.
But I do hope you're well.
That's what it's all about, isn't it? No matter what we put in between "hello" and "goodbye" to try to express ourselves, doesn't it amount to our longing for the best? Most of the time we ask the standard question - how are you? - dismiss it quickly, and then get into the nitty gritty details of our coffee gossip. But there is a hidden gem there that the evolution of our language has hidden. Much like "bitch" once legitimately meant female dog instead of vindictive woman, "how are you?" once was a legitimate inquiry into the emotional and physical state of another individual, instead of a colloquial greeting.
Since writing that fictional non-fiction, I have come to appreciate the meaning of the saying "I hope you are well." It has a texture, and it has a taste. It's slightly different and unique every time. And in all my texting, and emailing, and talking, it's the one phrase that I always hear my heart chiming in on, and the harmony sounds beautiful. When I put it in question form, I've never been afraid that I might get a real answer. I can be thankful for that.
That doesn't mean I'll always get a real answer, of course. Sometimes I over-play my desire to be a "knight in shining armour" and ask too much. Sometimes people don't want to share. And sometimes I couldn't care less, so I don't ask. No one's perfect.
But when I say it, I mean it. Everything I am is put into it, and time stops while I write/ask/type/text/speak it. We could spend all day there, if you'd like.
It won't disappear once it hits the air. It won't scab or scare. And it certainly won't be lost underneath any other mountain of words or feelings, even if it is sometimes buried. It will not stop.
Hello. How are you?
Happy Thanksgiving,
- Z
Just before I sat down to write this blog entry, I read a friend's blog. She had written, word for word, the sentiment that had inspired my day-by-day survival a couple of years ago. None of us are so very far away from one another, I think, even in the times that it feels like we are miles apart.
I think I've told this story before, but I'm going to tell it again. I actually really like it. A long time ago, I wrote a fictional letter inspired by a non-fictional event. It was supposed to be from one ex-lover to another who had long since parted ways and not spoken for some time. The writer did not know if the intended recipient would ever read it, or if it would have any impact, but it didn't matter. The point was the writing of it.
Privately, though perhaps transparently, it contained my every hope for my own, real life, future.
I was taught through careful eavesdropping that an artist ought to write what they know. So, I poured all of my own hopes and dreams into this creation, first imagining a place where the moon shone, the evening fire was warm and everything in my life was under my control. And then, my imagination complete, I put fingertips to keyboard and started typing.
It began:
~~~
My Beloved,
I hope you are well.
I wish there was a way to stress those words, but I must confess I cannot italicize my written word without making it utterly illegible. Of course, in and of itself, merely altering the text would not – just as putting it first and foremost does not – properly include the importance of the expression. It contains more of my heart than any other thing that you will hereafter endure.
~~~
The letter went on, but its beginning, flowing quickly and easily from my mind, taught me something about myself that I have yet to forget.
I suppose, on this traditional Turkey Day, I should be thankful for all the traditional things. I should be thankful for my family and friends, as well as my health and having the good fortune to live in a country where my health has not bankrupt me or the above mentioned family and friends. I should be thankful for all of the things I've survived through in the past. I should be thankful for all of the things that I have the potential to experience in the future.
But I think that the Old Testament God had things a little confused. I'm not sure we can truly praise that which we fear. Because, in truth, I'm more afraid of these things than thankful for them. Since my heart has been fixed, all I can think of is how much I fear my body breaking down slowly, over the next 70-80 years. I have had friends support me, and all I continually feel faced with is the inevitable, temporary nature and impotence of friends. I live where fortune smiles, and I am reminded that everywhere else it does not, and I'm much too big a coward to do anything about that.
So I can't bring myself to expound upon the virtues of my traditionally thankful topics. The clichés only sound like clichés this year. Honestly, I can feel the sneer creep up my throat as I try to utter them.
But I do hope you're well.
That's what it's all about, isn't it? No matter what we put in between "hello" and "goodbye" to try to express ourselves, doesn't it amount to our longing for the best? Most of the time we ask the standard question - how are you? - dismiss it quickly, and then get into the nitty gritty details of our coffee gossip. But there is a hidden gem there that the evolution of our language has hidden. Much like "bitch" once legitimately meant female dog instead of vindictive woman, "how are you?" once was a legitimate inquiry into the emotional and physical state of another individual, instead of a colloquial greeting.
Since writing that fictional non-fiction, I have come to appreciate the meaning of the saying "I hope you are well." It has a texture, and it has a taste. It's slightly different and unique every time. And in all my texting, and emailing, and talking, it's the one phrase that I always hear my heart chiming in on, and the harmony sounds beautiful. When I put it in question form, I've never been afraid that I might get a real answer. I can be thankful for that.
That doesn't mean I'll always get a real answer, of course. Sometimes I over-play my desire to be a "knight in shining armour" and ask too much. Sometimes people don't want to share. And sometimes I couldn't care less, so I don't ask. No one's perfect.
But when I say it, I mean it. Everything I am is put into it, and time stops while I write/ask/type/text/speak it. We could spend all day there, if you'd like.
It won't disappear once it hits the air. It won't scab or scare. And it certainly won't be lost underneath any other mountain of words or feelings, even if it is sometimes buried. It will not stop.
Hello. How are you?
Happy Thanksgiving,
- Z
Monday, October 5, 2009
Waving Hello
Just the other day, my sister asked me about my love life.
There's something in the brisk autumn air these days. It's not romance, but romance certainly has a lot to do with it. Romance, baby making, adventure finding, family building, getting old, they're all symptoms of a time where we are finding our rightful place.
5 or 6 months ago, my sister would not have outright, out of the blue, asked about my relationships with women. She certainly would not have phrased it "how's your love life?" Maybe a poking or a prodding about a girl I had been mentioning a lot. Or she might give me one of those looks when I drop a feminine name. Sometimes, she'd reciprocate, when I asked her. But this making-it-a-subject was new.
5 or 6 months ago, I was telling a friend of mine (one of those feminine names I dropped), that I felt like the world followed one of those fancy math wave functions. The ones that go up and down and up and down. That is to say, the world went from a place of change, to a place of stagnation, and then back to a place of change, etc etc. She asked me to clarify - if I meant my world, or what. I replied that I meant the whole world. Everyone does. 6 degrees of separation, if you're familiar with it, must also link us to being influenced similarly by the world. What happens to any of us is only 6 degrees away from affecting all of us.
At the time, I believed I felt that the world was entering a new stage of change. A period of stagnation was ending. I cited my proofs for her: the economy was entering or in the middle of a recession, people were quitting, new policies had just finished being enacted at work, I had surgery around the corner, my friends had kids on the way, some friends had just broken up or were about to get together.
I don't like to brag, but I was right. Take a look at the last year, and tell me it wasn't so for you or for someone you know.
And I think it's coming to an end. Our parents teach us that the world is not black and white. They are right at least with regard to this - change will not suddenly cease, just as it did not suddenly appear. There is no starting line, and no ending line. So, while I suggest to you that a period of stagnation is coming, that doesn't mean that I think, in a few weeks, we'll all settle down. It means, I think things are resolving, and will continue to resolve into the intangible future. We'll know it's happened when we wake up one day, and things are again changing for us - changing in that strange fundamental way that we notice.
I see my friends with their children in hands, their onward journey to creating a family well underway. I hear that acquaintances have finally acquired that job they wanted. Others are booking plane tickets. Buying houses. Going to school. Getting married. These are things that require diligence to a particular lifestyle.
Stagnation is a terrible word. It makes it sound like a deplorable fate - the "down" of the up-down-up-down of the world. But I don't think it has to be. Just like there is good and bad change, there is good and bad stagnation. And, as I've listed above, there's a lot of good things that have happened. I honestly get the feeling that this next period of our lives will be dominated by the cultivating of those lifestyles, and not the changing of them.
So, when my sister asks me about my love life, my first thoughts are not about explaining to her my views on being single-by-choice and what I would require from a partner. They're about the change in what's just happened between us. Her asking earnestly about me and love, my giving her honest discussion about guys and commitment... that's a lifestyle change that I want to cultivate.
They say in the big, blue, standardized heart-surgery booklet that after a big operation a patient often re-evaluates their life and makes significant changes. Anyone who watches Hollywood movies can tell you that. But when I got back to my apartment, I have to say, I discovered the cliché had things a little backwards. I didn't suddenly notice all the things in my life I wanted to change. I noticed what had already changed. Life doesn't stop, and so with my changed circumstances and return, I noticed how life had re-evaluated me.
Most changes I adore - and I hope that in their upcoming period of cultivation, I continue to get to play the role I do. I certainly intend to, with glee. And the changes I don't like, and can’t do anything about, I will stoically accept. Because it feels like the world is almost finished hitting the "reset" button, and is at a new starting line.
My sister and I are certainly getting ready for this race. We Websters are particularly good at it. And friends, I've got a feeling about this one.
- Z
There's something in the brisk autumn air these days. It's not romance, but romance certainly has a lot to do with it. Romance, baby making, adventure finding, family building, getting old, they're all symptoms of a time where we are finding our rightful place.
5 or 6 months ago, my sister would not have outright, out of the blue, asked about my relationships with women. She certainly would not have phrased it "how's your love life?" Maybe a poking or a prodding about a girl I had been mentioning a lot. Or she might give me one of those looks when I drop a feminine name. Sometimes, she'd reciprocate, when I asked her. But this making-it-a-subject was new.
5 or 6 months ago, I was telling a friend of mine (one of those feminine names I dropped), that I felt like the world followed one of those fancy math wave functions. The ones that go up and down and up and down. That is to say, the world went from a place of change, to a place of stagnation, and then back to a place of change, etc etc. She asked me to clarify - if I meant my world, or what. I replied that I meant the whole world. Everyone does. 6 degrees of separation, if you're familiar with it, must also link us to being influenced similarly by the world. What happens to any of us is only 6 degrees away from affecting all of us.
At the time, I believed I felt that the world was entering a new stage of change. A period of stagnation was ending. I cited my proofs for her: the economy was entering or in the middle of a recession, people were quitting, new policies had just finished being enacted at work, I had surgery around the corner, my friends had kids on the way, some friends had just broken up or were about to get together.
I don't like to brag, but I was right. Take a look at the last year, and tell me it wasn't so for you or for someone you know.
And I think it's coming to an end. Our parents teach us that the world is not black and white. They are right at least with regard to this - change will not suddenly cease, just as it did not suddenly appear. There is no starting line, and no ending line. So, while I suggest to you that a period of stagnation is coming, that doesn't mean that I think, in a few weeks, we'll all settle down. It means, I think things are resolving, and will continue to resolve into the intangible future. We'll know it's happened when we wake up one day, and things are again changing for us - changing in that strange fundamental way that we notice.
I see my friends with their children in hands, their onward journey to creating a family well underway. I hear that acquaintances have finally acquired that job they wanted. Others are booking plane tickets. Buying houses. Going to school. Getting married. These are things that require diligence to a particular lifestyle.
Stagnation is a terrible word. It makes it sound like a deplorable fate - the "down" of the up-down-up-down of the world. But I don't think it has to be. Just like there is good and bad change, there is good and bad stagnation. And, as I've listed above, there's a lot of good things that have happened. I honestly get the feeling that this next period of our lives will be dominated by the cultivating of those lifestyles, and not the changing of them.
So, when my sister asks me about my love life, my first thoughts are not about explaining to her my views on being single-by-choice and what I would require from a partner. They're about the change in what's just happened between us. Her asking earnestly about me and love, my giving her honest discussion about guys and commitment... that's a lifestyle change that I want to cultivate.
They say in the big, blue, standardized heart-surgery booklet that after a big operation a patient often re-evaluates their life and makes significant changes. Anyone who watches Hollywood movies can tell you that. But when I got back to my apartment, I have to say, I discovered the cliché had things a little backwards. I didn't suddenly notice all the things in my life I wanted to change. I noticed what had already changed. Life doesn't stop, and so with my changed circumstances and return, I noticed how life had re-evaluated me.
Most changes I adore - and I hope that in their upcoming period of cultivation, I continue to get to play the role I do. I certainly intend to, with glee. And the changes I don't like, and can’t do anything about, I will stoically accept. Because it feels like the world is almost finished hitting the "reset" button, and is at a new starting line.
My sister and I are certainly getting ready for this race. We Websters are particularly good at it. And friends, I've got a feeling about this one.
- Z
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