Now

I went to a show last night that was pretty amazing. Great performer, awesome energy, good people, etc. I felt alive and free and young and was grateful to be able to live a life filled with events and experiences like these. But although I had a wonderful time I noticed that throughout the evening I was picturing myself at home later remembering it all. I imagined the future shows I might see with my friend and how we’d discuss how fun this night was. I imagined looking back at my photos later and wishing I could go back.

Why would I do this? I was there wasn’t I? The moments were still unfolding as these thoughts ran through my head. Why could I not appreciate the night without the filter of it being in the past?

I notice that this is a common pattern in my life and, I suspect, the lives of others as well. For some reason being in the present moment is too uncomfortable and as a result I shy away from being present in it. I prefer to look forward to things, creating all sorts of expectations, or look back on them, analyzing them for their relative merit. I know this kind of thinking is holding me back from experiencing life more fully, but it’s very habitual nonetheless.

I was talking to a close friend of mine recently and this topic came up. Through a series of questions we tried to deconstruct why this pattern persists. What do people get out of this anyways? We decided that the present moment is scary to acknowledge. It’s scary because it’s real, with no buffer of time surrounding it in which you can make judgments. It’s important to make judgments and assessments of situations because it helps you see how they relate to you. It’s important to know how things relate to you because it feeds into you sense of identity. A-ha. That’s it then. It all comes down to the false sense of security we derive from having a solid sense of identity.

The most frightening thing it seems is to not know who you are. To not know exactly where you stand in this world. We try our best to solidify this sense of self and make many of our choices surrounding it. The tendency is also towards rejecting experiences, and even people, that don’t fit our sense of identity. Pain factors into this quite a bit as well. We claim to hate pain, will do anything to avoid it, but is that really true? Pain can give us a very strong sense of identity and thus a false sense of security. In a world that doesn’t always make sense I think it gives us a sense of order, fucked up as it may be.

I think it goes without saying that I think this is a limiting thought pattern based on fear. It doesn’t mean I’m not currently entrenched in this way of thinking, but the more I become aware of it, the more I want it to change. I don’t want to be a prisoner of my ego. I want things in my life that enrich me and change me and push me and make me understand that things are bigger than my little world. I’m never going to let these experiences in if I’m controlled by the fear of losing a logical identity.

I’m sure as with most changes it starts small and builds from there, and it seems daunting to challenge a pattern that’s so well-established and strong. But I believe more and more in taking back my power from things that will only deplete me in the end.  

“Freedom is realizing that letting go isn’t losing anything—it’s gaining everything. It’s stepping into the present moment free from limiting thoughts, beliefs, memories, fears, and judgments, to see what’s in front of us with clear eyes.”

My most sincere prayer is to make this happen.

How we are hungry

I have this reoccurring dream, maybe once a month or so. I’m in someone’s house, but they aren’t home. I’ve snuck in while they were out and I’m usually in the basement or the bedroom or the attic. I’m looking through their photo albums and boxes and books when I hear them come home. I start panicking, looking for a way out through a window or trying to come up with some explanation should they catch me. In the dream the fear and anxiety are as powerful as any nightmares. I always wake up before I’m caught.

I don’t often pay attention to my dreams or try to make sense of them but this one seems pretty obvious. I long so much to know things about people in ways that I’m willing to take risks. I always want to know about the things that make them who they are, the things they don’t want anyone else to see. 

Who do you miss? What are you sorry for? Where are you going, where have you been?

In the dream I have to sneak in to the house without their knowledge to get this information. I can’t ask for it or put myself in a position where it might be offered freely to me. The people in my dreams may or may not want me to know these intimate things, but being caught trying to steal it makes me feel afraid.

This dream always makes me laugh a little when I wake up. Am I really so blindly hungry for intimacy that my consciousness has to tell me in a dream?

Doin the right thing....

"People say 'what ever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger'. Even as people say this they must realize that the exact opposite is true. What doesn't kill you maims you, cripples you, leaves you weak, makes you whiny and full of yourself at the same time."

This sounds so harsh and negative, but I think it's pretty spot on. What doesn't kill you does make you weaker, less able to deal with your life in many cases. It can sever connections you had with people as you no longer exist in the form you used to, and it rips your heart out. Your innocence is lost a little more each time life throws you a curve ball. 



I read this today too:

"I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable."

So maybe suffering alone is what is so crippling, so devastating to us, but the way we react to it, both through our choices, but also through innate emotional processes, can bring us to a place of greater strength.

The last part speaks to me the most: remaining open and vulnerable. Life teaches us to keep our hearts closely guarded because life hurts. Life is often wonderful too, but there is inevitable pain all around us. We get pretty good at walking away from things before they get a chance to hurt us, and we miss alot as a result. It's so easy to become jaded, wearing armor of cynicism. But pain takes away this armor temporarily, and we are stripped naked whether we want to be or not. And it's then that you are completely open to others, even right in the middle of some kind of tragedy. And it's usually then that you are often the recipient of unfathomable kindness. I think kindness, though it doesn't cause us pain, is a force that makes us uncomfortable and puts us on guard, so it's only when we're vulnerable that we fully experience it.



This passage says it all:

“I was helpless in trying to return people's kindness, but also helpless to resist it. Kindness is a scarier force than cruelty, that's for sure. Cruelty isn't that hard to understand. I had no trouble comprehending why the phone company wanted to screw me over; they just wanted to steal some money, it was nothing personal. That's the way of the world. It made me mad, but it didn't make me feel stupid.  Accepting all that kindness, though, made me feel stupid. Human benevolence is totally unfair. We don't live in a kind or generous world, yet we are kind and generous. We know the universe is out to burn us, and it gets us all. We are kind people in an unkind world, to paraphrase Wallace Stevens. How do you pretend you don't know about it, after you see it? How do you go back to acting like you don't need it? How do you even the score and walk off a free man? You can't. I found myself forced to let go of all sorts of independence I thought I had, independence I had spent years trying to cultivate. That world was all gone, and now I was a supplicant, dependent on the mercy of other people's psychic hearts.

I think being forced into vulnerability by your pain, and admitting that you are in fact dependent on connections with other people, their kindness, their knowledge of intimate portions of you, is one of the greatest things suffering does for us. Building on this experience is what adds to our own humanity.

Being

Every morning for what seems like a good portion of last year I woke up with a knot in my stomach. My alarm clock went off and I curled into a ball, trying to disappear into the blankets. I hit the snooze button for as long as I possibly could before crawling out of bed to face the day. I lay there and made a mental list of why I felt so fearful of going out into the world. Some days there were realities present that made the anxiety understandable, though on a much smaller scale: a work presentation, a difficult conversation on the horizon, things that are generally unpleasant to most people. But there were no definable circumstances that explained the palpable sense of dread I so often felt, the nonspecific and diffuse uneasiness with life.

I had many options to help me cope with this all-consuming feeling of unquiet that persisted all day: therapy, pills, alcohol, vanity, sex, shopping, social activities, work, exercise, the passive consumption of media. If I engaged in enough of these things, patching them together in various ratios, I made it through the day. But just barely. I would also frequently take stock of all my accomplishments and incessantly list all the reasons I should be happy, full, satiated with the safety of knowing I’m a functioning member of society that has everything most people want. I had a solid career, a Master’s degree, artistic talents, intelligence, health and physical fitness, a car, many friends and acquaintances, an abundance of memories of travel and adventures. I counted these blessings, and acknowledged I’d done nothing special to earn them. They would momentarily reassure me but never give me lasting peace. The other available option was to numb myself to the swirling dissatisfaction with daily life by shutting down emotionally. I became very proficient in the use of this technique I’m sorry to say, spending some days on total and complete auto pilot, staring off into the distance as time passed.

Like most people I used a combination of all these things to keep the demons at bay. And needless to say it was tiring and redundant and useless. I wasn’t very good at it.

I think the anxiety came from many things: my emotional isolation, the hesitation to trust others, to connect and breathe them in, without fear of disappointment or rejection. It came from the deep sense of lack I experienced as a result of hoarding my failures and regrets and broken dreams, leaving little room for growth or joy. It sprang forth from hanging on to the past as though it had any meaning and balancing it with an obsession for what hope the future might bring. It came from the voice of self-loathing that told me who to be, and why I would never deserve good things. And this isn’t right. I know it’s not meant to be like this. 

I believe that when necessary, the universe will always bring you to a place where you have nothing left to do but accept your vulnerability……. and trust. Maybe that’s how my growth eventually started, I’m not sure. I know several people crossed my path that helped me see that the doors of my prison are all locked from the inside. But I’m learning more and more how to live like a human being in several ways.

I’ve been trying to practice the art of doing things that I would rather not do in most cases, things that go against my intuitions or my knee-jerk reactions. I’m making a more conscious effort to forgive people, and treat them as though they’ve never hurt me, starting with a clean slate. Apologizing to people, even for very old transgressions, and being honest when my intentions were less than noble. Doing things that scare me and taking risks, but also being okay when the worst outcome happens. Being more authentically myself and exposing my vulnerabilities in an effort to build a true connection to others. Giving to people and not expecting anything in return.

And doing all these things, it’s not going so badly.

I don’t wake up feeling the weight of my own mind anymore, although I still have plenty of moments of confusion and regression and doubt. But I’ve never felt more sure that I’m making progress and heading in the right direction.

I’m getting better and better at being a human and I know the universe will give me what I need to stay on this track.

Sunday

There's a totally weird expression that says "if wishes were horses then beggars would ride." I suppose it means that wishing is futile. I would mostly agree, although sometimes I think about the wishes I'd make.

I wish I didn't worry so much about everything. I worry that I'm not good enough, that I'm not on the right path (or any path at all), and I worry about not getting to do the things I want to do before it's too late. I worry its already too late for some things. I worry that I talk too much and fail people when they need me. I worry that I'm not valued by my friends. I worry that I act too tough and that people are actually fooled by it. I also worry that they're not fooled by it. I worry that I'm not special and that I push everyone away and that I'm never in the right places at the right times. I worry that people think I try too hard. I worry that I do try too hard.

I wish I didn't wear my heart on my sleeve and spill all my secrets to strangers and expect so much from people. I wish I didn't need validation from absolutely everyone, like an insecure teenage girl.

I wish some people were a bigger part of my life. I wish I was young and innocent and pretty and delicate and that someone would take care of me sometimes. I wish I loved the right people and didn't spend so much time thinking about the wrong people. I wish I didn't drink so much whiskey.

I wish I knew what some people were thinking and why they do the things they do. I wish some people hadn't treated me the way they did and I really wish I hadn't treated some people the way I did.

I wish I could let some things go. I wish my heart was bigger and I was less selfish. I wish some people felt about me the way I feel about them. I wish I was a kid again. I wish I had gotten to meet my maternal grandparents.

I wish I knew some people better. I wish I didn't always ache to know the intimate things, like who they miss and what they're sorry for, and could just appreciate my relationships for what they are. I wish I wasn't so greedy for life. 

I wish I didn't need everyone in the whole world to love me to feel okay. I wish people still made mix tapes and that I had gone on the Great America trip in 7th grade instead of staying home watching movies. I wish I spent more time with people and less in front of my computer.

I wish I knew why some things are just broken, and don't work no matter how hard you try. I wish I had gone away to school. I wish I had a really good sandwich right now.

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.”

—	C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

Love is a Mixtape

"I was helpless in trying to return people's kindness, but also helpless to resist it. Kindness is a scarier force than cruelty, that's for sure. Cruelty isn't that hard to understand. I had no trouble comprehending why the phone company wanted to screw me over; they just wanted to steal some money, it was nothing personal. That's the way of the world. It made me mad, but it didn't make me feel stupid. If anything, it flattered my intelligence. Accepting all that kindness, though, made me feel stupid.

Human benevolence is totally unfair. We don't live in a kind or generous world, yet we are kind and generous. We know the universe is out to burn us, and it gets us all the way it got Renee, but we don't burn each other, not always. We are kind people in an unkind world, to paraphrase Wallace Stevens. How do you pretend you don't know about it, after you see it? How do you go back to acting like you don't need it? How do you even the score and walk off a free man? You can't. I found myself forced to let go of all sorts of independence I thought I had, independence I had spent years trying to cultivate. That world was all gone, and now I was a supplicant, dependent on the mercy of other people's psychic hearts."

To be known and loved

It seems like I’m always writing about the complications of human connections, and maybe that’s not so strange. Maybe the topic deserves the examination I give it, heavy and central as it is to existence. I constantly fear that my ability to engage in authentic, healthy relationships with people is stunted and broken beyond repair, so it follows that the capacity of relationships themselves would occupy my head space as it does.    

I awake everyday and complete the requisite steps of a successful life, measured out in coffee spoons, and feel vaguely like pieces are missing, as pieces are missing from everyone’s life. I long to be kind and uncomplicated and untarnished by the weight of time, but mostly when I look in the mirror I see someone over whom sadness has triumphed. Sometimes I think maybe this kind of life, this person, is the only person I could have ever really been good at being and other times it seems like I’ve just given up. I know I was made for more than the life I’m living and I reconcile that reality in small ways as best I can. My turmoil is mostly standard.

I come across things sometimes that illuminate in new ways the burden I force myself to bear, the battle between sincere and deep longings and the cancerous habits I cling to.

What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? You have slid up to the person I wanted to be, the person I pretended to be. Should I show you who I am we may crumble.

I want to known and loved anyways. I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely like me. What is this great gravity that pulls us toward each other? Why do we not connect?

I will discover what I can discover of you, and though you remain a mystery, what I find I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart.

I wonder sometimes if this is all we can really hope for, that there’s nothing to do except give ourselves to each other, then do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, though we never seem to get what we need in doing so. Or what we think we need at any rate.

Giving without getting is a revolutionary idea. I’m not sure I know how to do it. But sometimes I feel like it’s the way things are meant to be. All I can do is hope that’s true.

The solitude of prime numbers.

Prime numbers are divisible only by 1 and by themselves. They hold their place in the infinite series of natural numbers, squashed, like all numbers, between two others, but one step further than the rest. They are suspicious, solitary numbers. Sometimes it seems they ended up in the sequence by mistake, that they'd been trapped, like pearls strung on a necklace. Sometimes I wonder if they would have preferred to be like all the others, just ordinary numbers, but for some reason they couldn't do it. Among prime numbers there are some that are even more special. Mathematicians call them twin primes: pairs of prime numbers that are close to each other, almost neighbors, but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from truly touching. Numbers like 11 and 13, 17 and 19, 41 and 43. If you have the patience to go on counting, you discover that these pairs gradually become rarer. You encounter increasingly isolated primes, lost in that silent, measured space made only of ciphers, and you develop a distressing presentiment that the pairs encountered up until that point were accidental, that solitude is the true density. Then, just when youre about to surrender, when you no longer have the desire to go on counting, you come across another pair of twins, clutching each other tightly. There is a common conviction among mathematicians that however far you go, there will always be another two, even if no can say where exactly, until they are discovered. Twin primes. Alone and lost, close but not close enough to really touch each other.

Thoughts on humanity

I see the homeless on the corner by my office every day. They band together in the center median to lay on the grass, and hold signs made of withered cardboard to ask motorists for money. Today I gave a woman $5 I had on my dash, change from the extravagant tradition of getting a skinny vanilla latte every day, no doubt. A friend in the car gave me a lecture on why I shouldn’t “reinforce” their begging. “They’re just going to spend it on crack or alcohol. You’re not helping anything”. In fact I don’t always give out money directly to those in need, those on the street corners or outside the grocery store, those who approach me at the gas station asking for money to make it out of town. I don’t always have it.  Sometimes I’ll give them bottled water instead.  But I get the lecture from people all the time. And here’s the thing: I know I’m not helping them get out of poverty or rebuild their lives with $1, $5, even $100. It makes no difference in the grand scheme of their life or maybe even their day. I don’t think the money always spent on drugs, although I’m sure many times it is. And I’m really not in a position to judge anyone at any rate.

I just think it’s important to acknowledge their need. To reach out and show compassion by saying: “I see that you need help, it may be woefully inadequate, but in some small way I will help you because you are a human being and we are here to help each other.” I can’t imagine all the suffering that comes with living on the streets or being a prisoner of addiction, but I have to guess that being shunned by society and looked at with contempt by everyone around you makes life seem hopeless. I can’t imagine keeping faith in humanity as you sit on the side of the road in 102-degree weather as person after person walks past you, averting their eyes, not even acknowledging that you exist. I know it still isn’t much, but in some small way, by being willing to simply stop and look them in the eye and speak kindly and respectfully, I hope I can show those in need that there is compassion and generosity out there. People have good in them and all is not hopeless. There is created in those moments just the briefest human connection, but it’s all that really matters. I don’t help others nearly as much as I wish I did, but I have never regretted it when I have. It’s what we’re here for.