To all the world living in the hallway these days,
I think all of my life up to this time has prepared me for this moment. I think it is moments like this that I am most qualified for. I have lived in the hallway for many days, if not years, of my life. The hallway is a strange place to be in, but we must not forget that it too holds importance.
Just like any other room in the house of life, the hallway is in fact a place. Many times when we are in-between things (a job, relationship, moments of certainty or clarity, etc.) it can be difficult to focus on the here and now. I especially find this difficult. I'm not completely certain as to why this is so often the case for me, but I believe it has something to do with my understanding (or perhaps view) of time.
Oftentimes, I find myself in a place of longing. Longing to be be through with a situation, hoping to be in a better place, whether emotionally, mentally, physically, or otherwise, or perhaps it is reflecting back on a past version of myself with rose-colored glasses. A number of years ago, someone shared with me her view of these moments as "living in the hallway of life" and it really resonated with me.
You see, when we are so intently focused nostalgias of the past or dreams of the future, we can often miss the present life that is occurring around us every moment. I do not think that this feeling represents that of the minority, particularly in times of uncertainty such as the current international pandemic.
Professionals working in the helping field like myself will be very familiar with the term mindfulness. In the last few years, mindfulness has been a buzz word that has been tossed around to refer to practices such as coloring mandalas, practicing meditation, and deep breathing, among countless others. It is my view that there is a correlation between the recent emergence of mindful practices and much of society's "need" for distraction.
With all of this in mind (no pun intended), I would like to humbly offer my own brief suggestion. Before doing so, I must confess that although my life has been composed of innumerable hallway moments, I do not always succeed in embracing the hallway. So, to those of us finding ourselves living in one of life's hallway moments, may I offer a simple, though perhaps profound, piece of advice:
Look around you and recognize that life is happening today.
Yes, it is true that life happened yesterday, and of course, for many of us there will be life to live in 40 seconds, two hours, seven days, and maybe even 19 years. However, life is happening today. It's going on right now. Whether we choose to admit it or not, life is every moment, and every moment we are breathing is life. It could be argued that even when we hold our breath life continues, but I will not slide down that rabbit hole at this time.
In the end, all I am trying to say is that I hope that you (and I) can find ways to embrace the life going on at this very moment and resist the temptation to see it as something going on around us. We are not Saturn with life as our rings waiting for us to jump on board. Those rings are dusty, and so is a life lived waiting for the living to happen. There are moments in life that will feel monotonous, boring, and perhaps a sense of being stuck, however let us choose to embrace those moments as they come to us and as they are.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Do We Need Politics?
Can there be law (and order) without politics? It sure seems there could be some greater sense of order without it all. By that I mean it's pretty easy to imagine people actually getting along instead of just sitting around arguing all the time if politics were somehow eliminated from the scene. How could a republic function without politics? Or is it even possible?
It seems like a place without politics would have to be a location free from opinion. For aren't opinion and differences of perspective the parents of politics? If everyone agreed on everything what would be the need for politics (if any)? I feel that I grew up largely in a blind bubble when it comes politics. Now, mind you, this bubble is not a place where politics was nonexistent. Rather, my eyes were closed to politics and its effects both in my life and the community. It is strange to consider that reality today, but at this moment I believe that it is true.
Yes, politics stem from differences of opinion and perspective, but why are politics necessary in this 21st Century world? I understand the necessity and value of varied perspectives and a wide spectrum of tastes and interests, but politics, is that something we need? Maybe there is a different system that could work more effectively and efficiently. Perhaps something like a balanced system that swings like a pendulum when necessary. Maybe I'm a romantic idealist in all of this or maybe this is none of my business to discuss.
On a someone tangential note, has anyone every truly considered the phrase (title?) "leader of the free world"? I think it's rather interesting that we (the United States) consider the US President the "leader of the free world." This has nothing to do with the current individual holding the office, but rather the sentiment behind a statement in which a supposedly democratically elected person is the leader of all free people. I know it is a rather generalized statement, however has anyone considered that rather than the elected official being considered the leader of the free world, perhaps it is the constituents that ought to be considered the collective leader(s) of the free world?
With this thought in mind, I assert that the constituents in mind would be not only those of the United States of America, but all voting eligible people throughout the world. After all, democracy is meant to be for the people and by the people, is it not? I understand that the US is seen as the great democratic experiment, but it is not even the largest democratic nation. I also grant that the United States exercises a profound amount of influence on the geopolitical stage, however how often do we consider why this is? Is it because it is the present empire at the peak, the proverbial puppet master at this time in human history?
Who is to say that in 50 years time the president of China or its people won't be considered the new "leader of the free world"? I recognize that the previous statement may hold a lot of weight for many people for numerous reasons. To consider the leader of a Communist (or Socialist really) nation a leader of the free world may be big stretch for some when considering countless crimes against humanity the Chinese government is likely guilty of. However, can't the same be said of the United States? The US has climbed has not climbed the power ladder like an innocent child on the slide down at the local park.
Just some thoughts I had to release tonight as the new normal is baking behind the scenes, in the public eye, and quarantined with its family for who knows how many more days.
It seems like a place without politics would have to be a location free from opinion. For aren't opinion and differences of perspective the parents of politics? If everyone agreed on everything what would be the need for politics (if any)? I feel that I grew up largely in a blind bubble when it comes politics. Now, mind you, this bubble is not a place where politics was nonexistent. Rather, my eyes were closed to politics and its effects both in my life and the community. It is strange to consider that reality today, but at this moment I believe that it is true.
Yes, politics stem from differences of opinion and perspective, but why are politics necessary in this 21st Century world? I understand the necessity and value of varied perspectives and a wide spectrum of tastes and interests, but politics, is that something we need? Maybe there is a different system that could work more effectively and efficiently. Perhaps something like a balanced system that swings like a pendulum when necessary. Maybe I'm a romantic idealist in all of this or maybe this is none of my business to discuss.
On a someone tangential note, has anyone every truly considered the phrase (title?) "leader of the free world"? I think it's rather interesting that we (the United States) consider the US President the "leader of the free world." This has nothing to do with the current individual holding the office, but rather the sentiment behind a statement in which a supposedly democratically elected person is the leader of all free people. I know it is a rather generalized statement, however has anyone considered that rather than the elected official being considered the leader of the free world, perhaps it is the constituents that ought to be considered the collective leader(s) of the free world?
With this thought in mind, I assert that the constituents in mind would be not only those of the United States of America, but all voting eligible people throughout the world. After all, democracy is meant to be for the people and by the people, is it not? I understand that the US is seen as the great democratic experiment, but it is not even the largest democratic nation. I also grant that the United States exercises a profound amount of influence on the geopolitical stage, however how often do we consider why this is? Is it because it is the present empire at the peak, the proverbial puppet master at this time in human history?
Who is to say that in 50 years time the president of China or its people won't be considered the new "leader of the free world"? I recognize that the previous statement may hold a lot of weight for many people for numerous reasons. To consider the leader of a Communist (or Socialist really) nation a leader of the free world may be big stretch for some when considering countless crimes against humanity the Chinese government is likely guilty of. However, can't the same be said of the United States? The US has climbed has not climbed the power ladder like an innocent child on the slide down at the local park.
Just some thoughts I had to release tonight as the new normal is baking behind the scenes, in the public eye, and quarantined with its family for who knows how many more days.
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Some Sort of Fear
I want to write you a story but I'm afraid I'm not ready for it yet. I'm afraid I don't have all the details to explain it. And yet, I'm also afraid that if I don't get it down now that I will soon forget it, as I have so many times before.
I'm afraid of getting all the specifics wrong or not being able to round the sharp edges in the right spots and leave the biting language in others. Despite all the shoes and glasses on my shelves, I still feel lonely. Something stokes a fear in me, telling me I have to appeal to all the greater audiences. Something says, "You must write so that those with eyes and feet on their shelves will listen to you too," though I can't tell you for sure where it comes from.
These fears are like those establishments lately: one party largely won't contradict the demagogue because it's too late to turn back now, while the other seems to fear becoming the new target if they listen to the people's voice. It's hard to fully understand how we got to this reality tv show that we've got ourselves into. I don't like living in a world of polarities and increasingly fractured factions. Sure this was what our forefathers feared.
Somehow writing feels like action in some small way. Perhaps that is the appeal to these tweeters and internet trolls. Maybe they feel they can really change things (or at least the way people think - and that does change a lot, doesn't it?). I don't know. I just feel that I can't sit by on the sidelines much longer while the world burns hotter and tensions increasingly rise.
I stay inside and try on others' glasses or put on the shoe of someone who came before and it doesn't feel like enough. I read seeking community all the while knowing that when I remove my lenses, I will return to my own lonely state. I am in good company with a good book, but as I set the pages down I am left with just my mind and a chasm filled with new thoughts to share with no one. I have sometimes considered anonymity as an option so as to teach myself how I really think or to remove the fear of direct attack, a whistleblower of sorts, but those same fears seem to talk me out of it all.
I don't know. These words keep coming from somewhere. Maybe the genius or the muse beside me is fed up with all the silence from the nobility lately. Or maybe it's time for the loud minority to be shut up again. The problem (or one of them at least) is that I have no desire to close anyone's door. We all have a right to speak, free speech right? Am I naive to believe that even those that are doing so much damage to this world must be given their time? Or am I increasing their volume by not adding my voice to the conversation?
I don't know how to move forward. Many times I feel that is because i need a push. I blame everything under the sun for my own inaction, but I still do nothing about it. How do I ask for a gentle (though firm) push in the way of progress? Or maybe more appropriate, who do I ask? There must be trust in the dialogue or it will go nowhere (see again: inaction). I don't know. Maybe I'm alone in all of this and the feelings will pass. I just hope I'm not leaving others behind in my personal neglect of valuable resources.
I'm afraid of getting all the specifics wrong or not being able to round the sharp edges in the right spots and leave the biting language in others. Despite all the shoes and glasses on my shelves, I still feel lonely. Something stokes a fear in me, telling me I have to appeal to all the greater audiences. Something says, "You must write so that those with eyes and feet on their shelves will listen to you too," though I can't tell you for sure where it comes from.
These fears are like those establishments lately: one party largely won't contradict the demagogue because it's too late to turn back now, while the other seems to fear becoming the new target if they listen to the people's voice. It's hard to fully understand how we got to this reality tv show that we've got ourselves into. I don't like living in a world of polarities and increasingly fractured factions. Sure this was what our forefathers feared.
Somehow writing feels like action in some small way. Perhaps that is the appeal to these tweeters and internet trolls. Maybe they feel they can really change things (or at least the way people think - and that does change a lot, doesn't it?). I don't know. I just feel that I can't sit by on the sidelines much longer while the world burns hotter and tensions increasingly rise.
I stay inside and try on others' glasses or put on the shoe of someone who came before and it doesn't feel like enough. I read seeking community all the while knowing that when I remove my lenses, I will return to my own lonely state. I am in good company with a good book, but as I set the pages down I am left with just my mind and a chasm filled with new thoughts to share with no one. I have sometimes considered anonymity as an option so as to teach myself how I really think or to remove the fear of direct attack, a whistleblower of sorts, but those same fears seem to talk me out of it all.
I don't know. These words keep coming from somewhere. Maybe the genius or the muse beside me is fed up with all the silence from the nobility lately. Or maybe it's time for the loud minority to be shut up again. The problem (or one of them at least) is that I have no desire to close anyone's door. We all have a right to speak, free speech right? Am I naive to believe that even those that are doing so much damage to this world must be given their time? Or am I increasing their volume by not adding my voice to the conversation?
I don't know how to move forward. Many times I feel that is because i need a push. I blame everything under the sun for my own inaction, but I still do nothing about it. How do I ask for a gentle (though firm) push in the way of progress? Or maybe more appropriate, who do I ask? There must be trust in the dialogue or it will go nowhere (see again: inaction). I don't know. Maybe I'm alone in all of this and the feelings will pass. I just hope I'm not leaving others behind in my personal neglect of valuable resources.
Thursday, December 5, 2019
Monday, December 2, 2019
Cardboard Combustion
It's like walking through an empty door to a barren reflecting pool. No one is around. Only the blank space between you and your reflection will hear you scream, but you only shout inside yourself. Barely a day ago you were surrounded, though your surroundings felt foreign. You place markers on the side of the mountain with hopes of making it back up again some day, but no one responds, or if they do, their colors quickly fade again into the background.
How do you create from nothing? How do you find something where there was nothing to start? Where is the life in a ghost? Who will respond? Who will be the one I miss who misses me? Yes, alone time is good, but this continued isolation cannot be healthy for anyone. Swipe right. Swipe left. What does it matter? No one will respond anyway.
All of these cardboard cutouts won't cut it. There is something out there. There has to be. If not, then I too am fading into the background. People press their faces into smiling masks, holding onto fragile hope that happiness will save them. They hope in flashy lights and smoke machines, and when the man behind the curtain accidentally shows his face they hide their eyes. I'm not falling for it. But it's a lonely life living in the knowledge of the truth. It's a lonely life living beyond forced ignorance.
Preaching transparency and powerlessness to the masses. Beating down the flock with a cursed compliment. A subtle hint of their true worship as he nudges a ball to the side.
They say I am bold, but I just cannot stand to be lied to. I will not fall for your lies like your fallen ones. Does the wool make you itch? Does it irritate your wounds like the ones you pour salt on every day? I cannot lay down and let the smooth lies slide into my like syrup. A silk robe may be precious, but it will not hide your fangs.
No one can know any of this and so it shall go onto the public forum. Remember the ancient ones and their laws? Maybe they aren't all tombs and temples. Maybe that's just what we see today. Think of the materials we use today, how many of them would last millennia aside from the stones and the structures they hold. The rich and the elites know this and so they build their towers not just high, but strong. They build their stories (their versions of history) deep into the zeitgeist so they can cement their place in history. They leave us behind but feed us bread and entertain us with circuses so we won't notice them as they slip out the back door.
Their distraction is our destruction. Well, we've noticed. We may be late to the game, but cheaters never win and winners never cheat. Prepare for the end of your reign. Even sturdy cardboard falls.
How do you create from nothing? How do you find something where there was nothing to start? Where is the life in a ghost? Who will respond? Who will be the one I miss who misses me? Yes, alone time is good, but this continued isolation cannot be healthy for anyone. Swipe right. Swipe left. What does it matter? No one will respond anyway.
All of these cardboard cutouts won't cut it. There is something out there. There has to be. If not, then I too am fading into the background. People press their faces into smiling masks, holding onto fragile hope that happiness will save them. They hope in flashy lights and smoke machines, and when the man behind the curtain accidentally shows his face they hide their eyes. I'm not falling for it. But it's a lonely life living in the knowledge of the truth. It's a lonely life living beyond forced ignorance.
Preaching transparency and powerlessness to the masses. Beating down the flock with a cursed compliment. A subtle hint of their true worship as he nudges a ball to the side.
They say I am bold, but I just cannot stand to be lied to. I will not fall for your lies like your fallen ones. Does the wool make you itch? Does it irritate your wounds like the ones you pour salt on every day? I cannot lay down and let the smooth lies slide into my like syrup. A silk robe may be precious, but it will not hide your fangs.
No one can know any of this and so it shall go onto the public forum. Remember the ancient ones and their laws? Maybe they aren't all tombs and temples. Maybe that's just what we see today. Think of the materials we use today, how many of them would last millennia aside from the stones and the structures they hold. The rich and the elites know this and so they build their towers not just high, but strong. They build their stories (their versions of history) deep into the zeitgeist so they can cement their place in history. They leave us behind but feed us bread and entertain us with circuses so we won't notice them as they slip out the back door.
Their distraction is our destruction. Well, we've noticed. We may be late to the game, but cheaters never win and winners never cheat. Prepare for the end of your reign. Even sturdy cardboard falls.
Monday, November 18, 2019
Self-Denial/Self-Discovery
I need freedom. No, not the kind of liberty that breaks chains and opens up previously unseen worlds. No I need freedom to know who I can be and, in a way, some sort of slavery that binds me to who I am. I know it may sound absurd, but that is what I'm looking for: something tells me who I am and what my purpose is. I guess you could call it an anchor, but it has to be so much more than something that holds me down; that's not freedom. I need something that inspires me to reach out and continue to achieve more.
Burning this match at both ends creates a blinding smoke that I cannot see through, and it chokes the air from in front of me. Just tell me what to do. Tell me who I am.
Though I can already see that part of that is where the problem lies. I will not let you tell me who I am. I will not conform to your standards or expectations of who I ought to be. I will not be your marionette. All the boxes you create are confining and I don't fit. Can't you see that's why we're leaving these paradigms behind? Still, I want something that won't choke me when I am merely months in.
Something that involves storytelling. Something that lets me be myself and pushes me to discover more of who I am. Something where I am teaching but I am not a teacher. Some sort of influencer, but not the sole source. I need to be able to look up and over while talking down and out. I don't want to talk down and I'm sick of feeling down and out.
Give me a personality test, or better yet, an aptitude test. I'm inept at talking back to my reflection. What could it possibly have to say to me that I do not already know myself? How can mentor the youth and be a storyteller? How can I use my professional skills, both acquired through education and through practice? How can I open the seemingly locked windows to my secret strengths that weren't hidden in diplomas and certifications? Where can I be myself and not become so complacent as to be stagnant and die?
I want to rely on sleep for rejuvenation, not as a means to just escape into dreams. I want to find the motivation, the ganas, to work when I'm inspired. I want color flooding back into my life, not just a flash here and a flicker there. If this is me dreaming, why can I do little more than sleep when I return home? Why does the picturesque mountain village feel more like a bland desert town made for industrial, nomadic cowboys without a home? Why are the edges torn and faded and where did all of my friends go? Maybe this is just the opposite end result of some recent mania, but it keeps coming back. Why? Where did it come from? Where did I come from? And where am I going?
Everyone's leaving and entering this place, but I'm trying to find a home. And those who have only ever known this place can't wait to escape. I'm falling into their trap and fall further down Maslow's hierarchy every day. Nowhere is safe in compassion fatigue and no one will save you if you're the imagined superhero martyr. If you're swimming away from the life preserver, you cannot blame the lifeguard when he doesn't save you. If you're avoiding the hammer, you might be safe from the pain, but how effective can you be? The nail must hold the planks together and it cannot do it alone.
Alone. That's it. Maybe that's it. Alone. Take a vacuum to this clean room and suck up any semblance of life that still remains. And that is where you'll remain: alone. Complacent. Barely beyond useless. Don't blame the other for your own ability to escape the comfort of the soft cover. A softcover.
Burning this match at both ends creates a blinding smoke that I cannot see through, and it chokes the air from in front of me. Just tell me what to do. Tell me who I am.
Though I can already see that part of that is where the problem lies. I will not let you tell me who I am. I will not conform to your standards or expectations of who I ought to be. I will not be your marionette. All the boxes you create are confining and I don't fit. Can't you see that's why we're leaving these paradigms behind? Still, I want something that won't choke me when I am merely months in.
Something that involves storytelling. Something that lets me be myself and pushes me to discover more of who I am. Something where I am teaching but I am not a teacher. Some sort of influencer, but not the sole source. I need to be able to look up and over while talking down and out. I don't want to talk down and I'm sick of feeling down and out.
Give me a personality test, or better yet, an aptitude test. I'm inept at talking back to my reflection. What could it possibly have to say to me that I do not already know myself? How can mentor the youth and be a storyteller? How can I use my professional skills, both acquired through education and through practice? How can I open the seemingly locked windows to my secret strengths that weren't hidden in diplomas and certifications? Where can I be myself and not become so complacent as to be stagnant and die?
I want to rely on sleep for rejuvenation, not as a means to just escape into dreams. I want to find the motivation, the ganas, to work when I'm inspired. I want color flooding back into my life, not just a flash here and a flicker there. If this is me dreaming, why can I do little more than sleep when I return home? Why does the picturesque mountain village feel more like a bland desert town made for industrial, nomadic cowboys without a home? Why are the edges torn and faded and where did all of my friends go? Maybe this is just the opposite end result of some recent mania, but it keeps coming back. Why? Where did it come from? Where did I come from? And where am I going?
Everyone's leaving and entering this place, but I'm trying to find a home. And those who have only ever known this place can't wait to escape. I'm falling into their trap and fall further down Maslow's hierarchy every day. Nowhere is safe in compassion fatigue and no one will save you if you're the imagined superhero martyr. If you're swimming away from the life preserver, you cannot blame the lifeguard when he doesn't save you. If you're avoiding the hammer, you might be safe from the pain, but how effective can you be? The nail must hold the planks together and it cannot do it alone.
Alone. That's it. Maybe that's it. Alone. Take a vacuum to this clean room and suck up any semblance of life that still remains. And that is where you'll remain: alone. Complacent. Barely beyond useless. Don't blame the other for your own ability to escape the comfort of the soft cover. A softcover.
Thursday, October 31, 2019
Learning to start again without a proper beginning
Connecting dots. Drawing lines. No one can tell I'm going this time. I want something beyond what is here but I'm not sure how to find it, especially when I'm not sure what it is.
I'm a result, an effect. There have been so many causes to lead me to where I am, but still I feel inadequate and ill-equipped. So what do I do with these incomplete leanings? Where do I go? How do I move on? I don't know why I try to be something more when my boat is anchored to the shore. How can I expect anything more here?
I want to write a story, or maybe to be one (to be in one). I'm not sure. I want to make a difference, but it's so hard when everything is the same. I need to move my feet and not be afraid where I'll land. I don't know why I try. I don't know what for or why. Maybe some day words will align and mean more than jumbled ransom notes of words again. Maybe I'll find my voice again instead of just filling empty space. I have found something, a light, a flicker, a passion, in academia, but I want a little more, or rather a little something different. I want something with life, imagination, and creativity, not dry, clinical research.
Creatures, unfamiliar features, narratives, and plot lines. I want characters with character and places with history. I want to leave this nonsense behind to explore the rationale behind the nonsensical. Maybe this can be a month of exploration. Maybe the effect here can become something beyond the mundane for a change. Maybe something will happen if I work at it. Maybe I'll actually work at it and not beat myself down with familiar meta narratives or numbing half-truths. Maybe.
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