Another class done. Another year done.
Looking out on everything, I guess I'm a little surprised I got to where I was. Two years ago, I couldn't imagine myself being where I am now. I've made a great many strides, along with missteps, and a lot of things in between. This class has facilitated quite a few of those, and I've learned a few things. I think here is one of the things that, if I didn't learn it from this class, the class certainly contributed.
What makes an adult?
College is, in many ways, a safety net. Another layer between childhood and adulthood, partway in between, but feeling a little too geared towards the former rather than the latter. Certainly, we're leaving home, and we have the ability to determine our fates somewhat with our choices of classes and careers, and through our grades. Yet at the same time, I live in an environment paid for ahead of time, no worries of bills or other things. I have teachers and other adults to guide me. And there's a persistent belief that College is just a gauntlet, and after coming out of the gauntlet I will have the rewards of a good job and a happy life.
But life isn't quite that simple is it?
After I get out of college, I have the job market to deal with, and in this economy that's not a comforting thought. After that, there are the numerous responsibilities I will have to face that in college I would take for granted. Little details, like washing my own dishes, not going out every night to get food or get it from a dining hall. Cleaning up my room rather than being content to leave it when the year is done for someone else to take care of. And so on. But all those things stack up.
Then there are the relationships. No more sitting in a cramped sardine full of people. Now it won't always be as simple as running into people I'm interested in. Now I'll have to go out, out of my comfort zone, into new places, and hope there are other people looking for the same things I am.
And then of course I die, eventually. Maybe not for a while, but in time that fact will become very real.
But at that point, who do I turn to? Who do I go to for advice? Who do I get to help me solve these problems? How do I even solve them?
I think adulthood is when you realize that everyone's as confused as you are.
When you realize that no one has all the answers, and that you know as much as the rest of them. When you realize that the advice is just that, advice, and that they can't take into account every outcome, every factor, that there is no certainty in the outcomes of your choices. You, like everyone else, are stepping into an uncertain future, and nothing is guaranteed.
Adulthood is when you realize that you're alone.
When you realize that there are some things where no one can help you. Questions of what to believe, of what will make you happy, and how to get there. People can give you advice, but they can't make you follow it, and they can't always make it easier. In the end, the steps towards the outcome can be made only by yourself. You will have no warm hand to hold onto leading you towards the goal. The only hands you have to hold are your own.
Adulthood is when you realize that you're not alone.
When you realize that you are not an island. There are people all around you, who care about you and want you to succeed, and whom you depend on in more ways than one. People who you can reach out to, if not for guidance than for support, something so simple yet so meaningful. When you realize that things such as love and compassion are real and existent in the world, and in ways that make the adolescent infatuations and flurry of young adult emotions pale in comparison. When you realize that you can make a meaningful difference in others lives, and that others have made a meaningful difference in your own.
Adulthood is a lot of things. Complicated things. Paradoxical things. Frightening things. And it's never an absolute. It's a process, and one I'll go back and forth on until the day I die.
But adulthood is also about knowing all that, looking at that great confusing, paradoxical, frightening mass in the eye, and saying "Yeah, I'll play along."
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Sunday, May 4, 2014
5/2/2014: "I Earned This"
"I earned this".
I heard that in class. Can't remember from whom, or exactly to what purpose. I believe they were trying to justify the work they'd done, to get the success which they had now. Perhaps they were justifying their spending habits. It's a point of pride, I suppose, to say that the rewards I got were from my own force of will, that nobody gave anything to me.
And it's a lie.
Not entirely. On a microlevel, on a level solely on what you could or could not have done, yeah you earned it. You performed the actions, you put forth the effort, and you reaped the consequences. But the world doesn't operate on a microlevel. It is a vast conglomeration of forces all interacting with one another, causing one another and being caused by one another. To say that you got to where you are solely because of what you did--and more starkly, to say you earned it--is to ignore the vastness of the world you stand on, the world of which you are a part of.
Let me give an example. I am in NYU. I got accepted to this university after the university accepted my application. They did this by looking over my essays, my grades, and my background, and depending on one's perspective, they judged either that I was worthy of going to the university, or they did a numbers calculation and decided I was likely to improve their stats. Regardless, by accepting me, they overlooked other persons who also applied. Perhaps if certain other people had applied, people with more impressive credentials or more likely to improve university stats, they would have chosen them instead of me. Perhaps if my ethnicity and class were different, they would have overlooked me for someone else.
And of course, to be accepted, I had to be in certain positions. I was dependent on my parents, both engineers, who earned money to raise me in our household, and put a substantial amount of money in my college fund, that I even come close to affording a college at NYU. I was dependent on my grandmother, and in a morbid way on my grandfather dying several years earlier, allowing my grandmother to spend money that would have been spent on him (or money that came from my Grandfather's will) to further pay for my education in high school and college.
And of course, I was dependent on my parents and how they raised me. They in turn were dependent on their parents and how they were raised, and so on. Further than that, I'm dependent on my father, who had to flee Romania after getting on the wrong side of the then-Dictator's wife, which allowed him to meet and eventually marry my mother.
But that's just on a family level. On a national level, I'm dependent on the continued economic stability of the nation, which is itself dependent on a myriad of factors: historical, social, political, spiritual, philosophical, and so on. I question, for example, if our economy would be so prosperous if we did not receive so many of our products cheaply from other countries, where the workers are paid substantially less than here, and live in far more unpleasant conditions. I question if my family would have the same house, same financial situation, if our society did not regularly discriminate against ethnic minorities, preventing them from reaching similar situations. I question similarly if the environment I grew up in were the same if there were less income inequality. Perhaps someone who is homeless right now might have, in another world, become an engineer that provided the same services my parents's company does, and my parents may have had to get a different, possibly less lucrative job.
Those are all hypotheticals, but they nonetheless service a point, which is that my current status in life is built upon all that came before me, and those factors which continue to this day. In terms of my personal successes, I feel I can comfortably say that it was through my agency that I was able to achieve them, but that is different from saying I earned anything. I don't feel I can be proud of my achievements when I know how much beyond myself went into them. Happy, sure. Satisfied, sure. But not proud. Not feel like I've earned them.
Because if I say that, I need to think about other people, people who might also have earned it, who might have worked harder than me to get what I got. But they couldn't, because their situations were such they were not given the opportunity to compete with me for my things. In that context, the swell of pride one gets from any achievement becomes a hollow feeling indeed.
I heard that in class. Can't remember from whom, or exactly to what purpose. I believe they were trying to justify the work they'd done, to get the success which they had now. Perhaps they were justifying their spending habits. It's a point of pride, I suppose, to say that the rewards I got were from my own force of will, that nobody gave anything to me.
And it's a lie.
Not entirely. On a microlevel, on a level solely on what you could or could not have done, yeah you earned it. You performed the actions, you put forth the effort, and you reaped the consequences. But the world doesn't operate on a microlevel. It is a vast conglomeration of forces all interacting with one another, causing one another and being caused by one another. To say that you got to where you are solely because of what you did--and more starkly, to say you earned it--is to ignore the vastness of the world you stand on, the world of which you are a part of.
Let me give an example. I am in NYU. I got accepted to this university after the university accepted my application. They did this by looking over my essays, my grades, and my background, and depending on one's perspective, they judged either that I was worthy of going to the university, or they did a numbers calculation and decided I was likely to improve their stats. Regardless, by accepting me, they overlooked other persons who also applied. Perhaps if certain other people had applied, people with more impressive credentials or more likely to improve university stats, they would have chosen them instead of me. Perhaps if my ethnicity and class were different, they would have overlooked me for someone else.
And of course, to be accepted, I had to be in certain positions. I was dependent on my parents, both engineers, who earned money to raise me in our household, and put a substantial amount of money in my college fund, that I even come close to affording a college at NYU. I was dependent on my grandmother, and in a morbid way on my grandfather dying several years earlier, allowing my grandmother to spend money that would have been spent on him (or money that came from my Grandfather's will) to further pay for my education in high school and college.
And of course, I was dependent on my parents and how they raised me. They in turn were dependent on their parents and how they were raised, and so on. Further than that, I'm dependent on my father, who had to flee Romania after getting on the wrong side of the then-Dictator's wife, which allowed him to meet and eventually marry my mother.
But that's just on a family level. On a national level, I'm dependent on the continued economic stability of the nation, which is itself dependent on a myriad of factors: historical, social, political, spiritual, philosophical, and so on. I question, for example, if our economy would be so prosperous if we did not receive so many of our products cheaply from other countries, where the workers are paid substantially less than here, and live in far more unpleasant conditions. I question if my family would have the same house, same financial situation, if our society did not regularly discriminate against ethnic minorities, preventing them from reaching similar situations. I question similarly if the environment I grew up in were the same if there were less income inequality. Perhaps someone who is homeless right now might have, in another world, become an engineer that provided the same services my parents's company does, and my parents may have had to get a different, possibly less lucrative job.
Those are all hypotheticals, but they nonetheless service a point, which is that my current status in life is built upon all that came before me, and those factors which continue to this day. In terms of my personal successes, I feel I can comfortably say that it was through my agency that I was able to achieve them, but that is different from saying I earned anything. I don't feel I can be proud of my achievements when I know how much beyond myself went into them. Happy, sure. Satisfied, sure. But not proud. Not feel like I've earned them.
Because if I say that, I need to think about other people, people who might also have earned it, who might have worked harder than me to get what I got. But they couldn't, because their situations were such they were not given the opportunity to compete with me for my things. In that context, the swell of pride one gets from any achievement becomes a hollow feeling indeed.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
4/19/14: Mental Illness
I was divided before going to college. One part of me was filled with an energetic anticipation of college, thinking that this was where I would go to finally resolve my personal problems. I would be in classes that engaged me, have friendships that would be fulfilling, become romantically active (sometimes I dreamed of myself as a veritable Don Juan). I knew, on a conceptual level, that there would be problems and issues, but generally speaking, I would be happy. Happier than I ever was before.
Then there was the other part of me. The frightened part. The part that feared leaving the comfort of my home, being in a world I had no experience with. The part that feared that I wouldn't know what to do, that I would be more isolated than ever, and that my hopes of friends and relationships would only ever be hopes, never fulfilled. But what I feared most of all was that this entry into college would mark another crossing point that was bringing me ever closer to what I feared was my ultimate destination--failure. Failure in job, relationships, life.
Ultimately, neither my greatest dreams nor my worst anxieties happened. No major shift occurred in either direction. I did not become a new person.
I became only myself, in a new place.
The same things I struggled with in High School I continued to struggle with in college. My anxiety and my depression did not change, though the things I worried and despaired about might have. More significantly, I did not cease to have Asperger's syndrome. I still struggled to interact with others as others could interact with others. I still was not interested in parties and other high-intensity "social" activities that my peers enjoyed, such as concerts or going to bars. I still struggled to relate to my peers and continually felt a disconnect from them.
At the same time, I began to develop further my personal skills and better learn the career I wanted to take, and begin taking the steps towards that career. I had my first relationship, and have made new friends. My grades have been generally improving. I'm away from the stifling aspects of the home life, and am in a position that has enabled me to better foster my own personal development.
Yet those were not the things I focused on. I ignored that I had not fulfilled my negative expectations, and instead focused on how short I had fallen of my positive expectations, which of course left me feeling more depressed. I still felt isolated like I did in high school. I still broke down like I did in high school. I still felt the urge to hurt myself like I did in high school. Like in High School, this was never a constant state, and it moved in and out with more positive feelings. But those feelings were still there.
I think one root for the development of mental illness in college, and my own unhappiness in college, is the failure to meet expectations.
Our culture expends a great deal of energy convincing us that college is worthwhile--more than worthwhile, that we must go to it. It does this by affecting us with wide-ranging fantasies, of career success, of finding "who we are", of achieving our career goals, finding good love and good friendships. Perhaps for some people that is true, in exactly the ways which they conceive of it. But I think for a great deal of us, those high expectations fail to be met, and we feel the frustration of having not met them. I think a lot of unhappiness arises from lack of acceptance--from our expectations being in conflict with reality. We desire to reach a point, but we do not actually reach that point, and we become sad and unhealthy at the gap between desire and reality.
Of course, this only applies to causes which are more, shall we say, psychic in nature, which is to say they have to do with our thoughts and feelings as thoughts and feelings.. Some mental illnesses develop out of neurochemical or otherwise biological causes (forms of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, for example), and all I can suggest with regards to why those occur more often in young adults is that perhaps those psychic causes become triggers leading to the development of those disorders, or that an unhealthy psychological disposition leads then to the development of psychobiological illnesses. Perhaps the neurobiological qualities of the developmental stage itself is a breeding ground for mental disorders. Ultimately, though, I don't know shit about those things, so I couldn't really say.
Regardless, I know personally at least that a great deal of my distress arises from seeing the world which I live in now, and being frustrated that it was not what I desired it to be. I look at friendships and wonder why they are not more fulfilling. I look at my classes and wonder why I do not get better grades. I look at my depression and wonder why I am not feeling happier. And all of those feelings, that constant contrast, leaves me miserable.
=====
Yet things have been changing.
Not suddenly, not dramatically, as I had envisioned they might be. But gradually, subtly. I was in a new environment. I had to learn new ways to manage my problems, to deal with classes, and a greater workload. My old means of coping were insufficient, and I needed to learn new ways. My mom saw my struggles, and found a therapist dealing especially with people with Asperger's, and with him I began to learn how to better manage not only the current issues I was struggling with, but issues that had been plaguing me for years before. We dealt with class stresses, with old regrets, with pretty much everything. What had initially been gotten just to help me deal with old stresses was creeping into far more deeply rooted problems. I began not merely to sustain, but to recover.
And it has been far from a straight road. It has been bumpy, going up and down. I've still broken down, and old issues still creep up. That is what makes recovery so challenging--that there is no clear pattern, and the future is uncertain. But as I have argued prior, I maintain that hope is not only valuable to recovery, but invaluable.
There is no final stop. There is no moment of total euphoric triumph, there is no happy ending, at least not in the sense that there won't be problems afterward. Rather, it is a dogged, constant effort, moving forward one step at a time, up a hill, in the pouring rain. Sometimes you slip and fall, and gravity pulls you down. But there's nothing else to do but to get up, wipe off the mud, and keep going. The top is so far away, and sometimes it just feels easier to lay your head against the mud and rest, but goddammit, you might just get there. And someday the rain will stop, and the ground will dry. You will get strong, and climbing the hill won't seem as hard.
Then there was the other part of me. The frightened part. The part that feared leaving the comfort of my home, being in a world I had no experience with. The part that feared that I wouldn't know what to do, that I would be more isolated than ever, and that my hopes of friends and relationships would only ever be hopes, never fulfilled. But what I feared most of all was that this entry into college would mark another crossing point that was bringing me ever closer to what I feared was my ultimate destination--failure. Failure in job, relationships, life.
Ultimately, neither my greatest dreams nor my worst anxieties happened. No major shift occurred in either direction. I did not become a new person.
I became only myself, in a new place.
The same things I struggled with in High School I continued to struggle with in college. My anxiety and my depression did not change, though the things I worried and despaired about might have. More significantly, I did not cease to have Asperger's syndrome. I still struggled to interact with others as others could interact with others. I still was not interested in parties and other high-intensity "social" activities that my peers enjoyed, such as concerts or going to bars. I still struggled to relate to my peers and continually felt a disconnect from them.
At the same time, I began to develop further my personal skills and better learn the career I wanted to take, and begin taking the steps towards that career. I had my first relationship, and have made new friends. My grades have been generally improving. I'm away from the stifling aspects of the home life, and am in a position that has enabled me to better foster my own personal development.
Yet those were not the things I focused on. I ignored that I had not fulfilled my negative expectations, and instead focused on how short I had fallen of my positive expectations, which of course left me feeling more depressed. I still felt isolated like I did in high school. I still broke down like I did in high school. I still felt the urge to hurt myself like I did in high school. Like in High School, this was never a constant state, and it moved in and out with more positive feelings. But those feelings were still there.
I think one root for the development of mental illness in college, and my own unhappiness in college, is the failure to meet expectations.
Our culture expends a great deal of energy convincing us that college is worthwhile--more than worthwhile, that we must go to it. It does this by affecting us with wide-ranging fantasies, of career success, of finding "who we are", of achieving our career goals, finding good love and good friendships. Perhaps for some people that is true, in exactly the ways which they conceive of it. But I think for a great deal of us, those high expectations fail to be met, and we feel the frustration of having not met them. I think a lot of unhappiness arises from lack of acceptance--from our expectations being in conflict with reality. We desire to reach a point, but we do not actually reach that point, and we become sad and unhealthy at the gap between desire and reality.
Of course, this only applies to causes which are more, shall we say, psychic in nature, which is to say they have to do with our thoughts and feelings as thoughts and feelings.. Some mental illnesses develop out of neurochemical or otherwise biological causes (forms of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, for example), and all I can suggest with regards to why those occur more often in young adults is that perhaps those psychic causes become triggers leading to the development of those disorders, or that an unhealthy psychological disposition leads then to the development of psychobiological illnesses. Perhaps the neurobiological qualities of the developmental stage itself is a breeding ground for mental disorders. Ultimately, though, I don't know shit about those things, so I couldn't really say.
Regardless, I know personally at least that a great deal of my distress arises from seeing the world which I live in now, and being frustrated that it was not what I desired it to be. I look at friendships and wonder why they are not more fulfilling. I look at my classes and wonder why I do not get better grades. I look at my depression and wonder why I am not feeling happier. And all of those feelings, that constant contrast, leaves me miserable.
=====
Yet things have been changing.
Not suddenly, not dramatically, as I had envisioned they might be. But gradually, subtly. I was in a new environment. I had to learn new ways to manage my problems, to deal with classes, and a greater workload. My old means of coping were insufficient, and I needed to learn new ways. My mom saw my struggles, and found a therapist dealing especially with people with Asperger's, and with him I began to learn how to better manage not only the current issues I was struggling with, but issues that had been plaguing me for years before. We dealt with class stresses, with old regrets, with pretty much everything. What had initially been gotten just to help me deal with old stresses was creeping into far more deeply rooted problems. I began not merely to sustain, but to recover.
And it has been far from a straight road. It has been bumpy, going up and down. I've still broken down, and old issues still creep up. That is what makes recovery so challenging--that there is no clear pattern, and the future is uncertain. But as I have argued prior, I maintain that hope is not only valuable to recovery, but invaluable.
There is no final stop. There is no moment of total euphoric triumph, there is no happy ending, at least not in the sense that there won't be problems afterward. Rather, it is a dogged, constant effort, moving forward one step at a time, up a hill, in the pouring rain. Sometimes you slip and fall, and gravity pulls you down. But there's nothing else to do but to get up, wipe off the mud, and keep going. The top is so far away, and sometimes it just feels easier to lay your head against the mud and rest, but goddammit, you might just get there. And someday the rain will stop, and the ground will dry. You will get strong, and climbing the hill won't seem as hard.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
4/12/14: Cynicism
In class, I saw one of my fellow students exhibiting a great deal of cynicism about her ability to change the world. I found myself getting annoyed by her, perhaps only because her opinion differed so strongly from mine, then I reflected that I've felt a lot of the same things a lot of times, sometimes confident enough to say them out loud. I wonder if people looked on what I said the same way I looked on what she said.
Cynicism is an understandable reaction. It hardens us against pain. It hardens us against disappointment, and frustration, and hurt. The onus is reduced on us to defend our beliefs, or to alter them as need be, because there is always room for thinking the worst case scenario. We can always take comfort in certainty, and the same applies for worst-case scenarios. And if we should be proven wrong in some single case, well, we are pleasantly surprised, but under no need to rethink our cynicism, for there's no guarantee the same outcome will happen again later.
The alternative to cynicism, that which requires us to have faith in others to do what we believe is right, and faith in the world or in our own abilities to enact change, is very, very difficult, especially for people who have been hurt before. It's hard to believe we can get good outcomes when so often we do not. And every time we hope for a better outcome only to receive the opposite, we open ourselves up for hurt, often quite deeply. It is hard to have hope, because the world seems determined to undermine it at every turn.
Yet the world is not a ball of sheer human misery. Sometimes good things do happen. Sometimes the world changes for the better. Consider the causes of civil rights, gay rights, and women's rights. An astounding amount of progress has been made on all of those fronts in the past hundred years alone. Does that mean it is destined to stay here forever, and that we are to continually improve? No. But it does testify that, no matter what the situation, things can improve.
Of course, the cynics may be right, and there is not much we can change about the world we live in. Certainly sometimes the cynics are right are in various matters. Yet while cynicism may be a good personal defense mechanism, and even if most of the time the cynical belief is proven right (which is a big if), it is not quite so useful for affecting change. Cynicism implies, to one degree or another, a resignation. Of course one may be cynical and still work their utmost to obtain something, but I do wonder whether, if one believes their efforts to be ultimately futile, they do not hold back, consciously or unconsciously the degree to which they will try to affect change. If we believe that we have the ability to affect change, then do we not alter our behavior to try and accommodate that, and work all the harder to our desired ends?
One may see similar arguments used here to that in my previous post where I justified my belief system, which is quite intentional. In both cases, I invest myself in the possibility of a positive outcome, not because I know it to be true, for I don't, but because it carries the capability for me to change myself and how I interact with the world. Now in the prior case with my belief system, that affects change primarily in the here and now, as I don't follow the Pascal's Wager logic that my beliefs--or anyone'--will change my ultimate destination after life. In the case of society, however, that belief carries the potential to affect quite strongly not only how I feel and act, but also possible outcomes. By believing I can enact change, I raise the possibility that I will, for I gear myself towards actions intended to produce that change.
And I believe such a belief is more than warranted. In my other blog, I made the argument that hope is necessary for recovery in mental illness. I believe the same is true here. Hope--the belief that we can make things better in some way--is instrumental, for it gives us a goal to strive towards, and the belief that we can actually reach that goal, if we should strive hard enough. And we may fail, we may fall short. But how much farther will we have gone with that hope, than we would have gone without?
We can choose to be cynical. It is undeniably the safer option, at least for ourselves. But for the world to improve, I believe we need to have a disposition of hope, and believe that we don't know if we'll succeed, but dammit, we might.
Cynicism is an understandable reaction. It hardens us against pain. It hardens us against disappointment, and frustration, and hurt. The onus is reduced on us to defend our beliefs, or to alter them as need be, because there is always room for thinking the worst case scenario. We can always take comfort in certainty, and the same applies for worst-case scenarios. And if we should be proven wrong in some single case, well, we are pleasantly surprised, but under no need to rethink our cynicism, for there's no guarantee the same outcome will happen again later.
The alternative to cynicism, that which requires us to have faith in others to do what we believe is right, and faith in the world or in our own abilities to enact change, is very, very difficult, especially for people who have been hurt before. It's hard to believe we can get good outcomes when so often we do not. And every time we hope for a better outcome only to receive the opposite, we open ourselves up for hurt, often quite deeply. It is hard to have hope, because the world seems determined to undermine it at every turn.
Yet the world is not a ball of sheer human misery. Sometimes good things do happen. Sometimes the world changes for the better. Consider the causes of civil rights, gay rights, and women's rights. An astounding amount of progress has been made on all of those fronts in the past hundred years alone. Does that mean it is destined to stay here forever, and that we are to continually improve? No. But it does testify that, no matter what the situation, things can improve.
Of course, the cynics may be right, and there is not much we can change about the world we live in. Certainly sometimes the cynics are right are in various matters. Yet while cynicism may be a good personal defense mechanism, and even if most of the time the cynical belief is proven right (which is a big if), it is not quite so useful for affecting change. Cynicism implies, to one degree or another, a resignation. Of course one may be cynical and still work their utmost to obtain something, but I do wonder whether, if one believes their efforts to be ultimately futile, they do not hold back, consciously or unconsciously the degree to which they will try to affect change. If we believe that we have the ability to affect change, then do we not alter our behavior to try and accommodate that, and work all the harder to our desired ends?
One may see similar arguments used here to that in my previous post where I justified my belief system, which is quite intentional. In both cases, I invest myself in the possibility of a positive outcome, not because I know it to be true, for I don't, but because it carries the capability for me to change myself and how I interact with the world. Now in the prior case with my belief system, that affects change primarily in the here and now, as I don't follow the Pascal's Wager logic that my beliefs--or anyone'--will change my ultimate destination after life. In the case of society, however, that belief carries the potential to affect quite strongly not only how I feel and act, but also possible outcomes. By believing I can enact change, I raise the possibility that I will, for I gear myself towards actions intended to produce that change.
And I believe such a belief is more than warranted. In my other blog, I made the argument that hope is necessary for recovery in mental illness. I believe the same is true here. Hope--the belief that we can make things better in some way--is instrumental, for it gives us a goal to strive towards, and the belief that we can actually reach that goal, if we should strive hard enough. And we may fail, we may fall short. But how much farther will we have gone with that hope, than we would have gone without?
We can choose to be cynical. It is undeniably the safer option, at least for ourselves. But for the world to improve, I believe we need to have a disposition of hope, and believe that we don't know if we'll succeed, but dammit, we might.
Friday, April 4, 2014
4/3/14: My Beliefs
Ooh boy. This is a big one, ain't it? The fate of the universe is in my hands, in a way.
I consider myself somewhere between an agnostic and a spiritual agnostic. Agnostic being "I don't know what", and spiritual agnostic being "I believe something's out there, but I don't know what."
This isn't one I came to overnight. I thought about it for many years, and even now I go back and forth. I do not have proof for my beliefs. There is nothing I can point to where I can say "This is unassailable proof." I have things that seem suggestive to me of a greater spiritual life. I am disinclined, for example, to dismiss all near-death experiences as mere biological events, or that all religious experiences were simply the result of personal delusions or primitive superstition. Others may be inclined to do so, and that is their prerogative, but it is not mine.
My life has been filled with a great deal of existential distress. It is not a pleasant experience. A lot of this I can attribute to my own issues with anxiety, where I worry about things simply because they might happen, or they might be true. I worry that my family doesn't love me because I don't know that they do. I worry I might get brain damage tomorrow because I have no way of knowing I might not. Life may be meaningless, because I have no way of knowing that it is.
These all may seem like very different issues, but they are all rooted in the same thing, and that is the fear of uncertainty. With uncertainty, my imagination takes flight, in the most unpleasant way possible. All my greatest fears and worries become equally viable, for I have no convincing reason to believe they are not.
Recently, I have begun reading a book about dealing with such anxiety. The book does not seek to allay my fears of these various uncertainties happening, for it knows it cannot do that. Rather, it asks me to accept the uncertainty, and live my life in the best way I can, right here, and right now. I suppose I have taken that as the basis for my spiritual beliefs as well.
I have no proof for my belief. I would argue that no one does. The Atheist and the Christian both have their arguments, and both can be perfectly compelling, but in the end all they are is words on a paper. Words which can carry great meaning, but even then that meaning is limited by the restrictions of our human minds. Existence being the widely complex thing that it is, I am skeptical that any of us can look at issues of metaphysics and somehow come at something that is true. Plato uses the argument of the men trapped in a cave, making their pronouncements about the world based solely on the shadows they see on the cave wall. I would argue we are in a similar situation.
Our everyday beliefs are all, at their core, uncertain. We cannot be sure that anything we feel or experience is true. We cannot be certain that we have loved ones. For all we know we may be living in a matrix-type environment where all of our relationships are artificially constructed. Perhaps our loved ones don't really love us, but merely convince us that they are. We can argue and provide reasons to argue that our loved ones love us, but in the end there is never any way to be certain. When faced with that we have two options: we can either choose to live in a fearful uncertainty, forever wondering if they love us or not. Or we can make a leap of faith and believe that they love us, though we may not be certain. We believe this not because we have compelling evidence that it is true--we will never have such evidence. Rather, we believe it because, by believing it, we inform our actions, and make our interactions with those we love all the more meaningful.
The same applies for any belief system, be it nihilism, or Christianity, or anything else. We truly don't know. We are faced with a vast, expansive universe, and our own ability to understand it is at most a pinprick to the whole of existence, if it is even that. Philosophers may debate as they have done for hundreds of years, each believing themselves to be correct. Am I to assume that all philosophers but one are deficient in some way? Or shall I assume that many different philosophers have different beliefs not because some are smarter than others, but because they all are, by virtue of their different selves, taken to believing some things are true, and other things not?
I don't know. That is the point. Life is vast and uncertain.
Life may very well be meaningless. There may be no self, no soul, and no afterlife. Love may be simply a convenient construct, and compassion a cruel illusion. None of us may have any inherent worth. We might not. But we don't know.
Similarly, life may be full of meaning. Love and beauty may not be merely concepts, but true and real things. We may all have dignity and be worthy of compassion and love, not simply because we are told that, but because it is inherent to our being. We may have purpose, and our actions in this world may mean something beyond the cruel intransience of our physical existence. We don't know. But it might.
I choose to believe that it might. Not because it is true, because as I have said, I do not know it to be true. But because it gives me life. It fills me with a sense of meaning and purpose. It makes my interactions with other human beings meaningful, and enjoyable. It makes love and compassion feel like something transcendent, and invaluable, rather than incidental. It changes myself into a better human being.
We can argue this and that for as long as we can stay awake. We have done so for the last 2000 years, and if we manage to survive another 2000, I daresay we will continue to argue these things further. But at some point, we need to stop arguing. At some point, we need to be willing to step into the world and carry a belief with us, even if the belief is simply that we cannot be certain. Not because we're necessarily right, but because at some point we need to go outside and live.
So here is what I think. If I am right, if what I believe is true, then I will live a happy and fulfilling life and move on to the next as best prepared as I can be. If I am wrong, then at the end of my life I die having lived a life as happy and fulfilling as it could be. Either way, it can provide for me happiness in this life, which nihilistic sentiments routinely fail to do.
As I write this, it is a beautiful day outside. The sky is blue, birds fly above me, and the world is set into its various rhythms. If believing what I believe makes the day that much more beautiful, and if believing otherwise makes the day less, and if I have no compelling evidence to believe one or the other, then why not believe what makes the day more beautiful?
I consider myself somewhere between an agnostic and a spiritual agnostic. Agnostic being "I don't know what", and spiritual agnostic being "I believe something's out there, but I don't know what."
This isn't one I came to overnight. I thought about it for many years, and even now I go back and forth. I do not have proof for my beliefs. There is nothing I can point to where I can say "This is unassailable proof." I have things that seem suggestive to me of a greater spiritual life. I am disinclined, for example, to dismiss all near-death experiences as mere biological events, or that all religious experiences were simply the result of personal delusions or primitive superstition. Others may be inclined to do so, and that is their prerogative, but it is not mine.
My life has been filled with a great deal of existential distress. It is not a pleasant experience. A lot of this I can attribute to my own issues with anxiety, where I worry about things simply because they might happen, or they might be true. I worry that my family doesn't love me because I don't know that they do. I worry I might get brain damage tomorrow because I have no way of knowing I might not. Life may be meaningless, because I have no way of knowing that it is.
These all may seem like very different issues, but they are all rooted in the same thing, and that is the fear of uncertainty. With uncertainty, my imagination takes flight, in the most unpleasant way possible. All my greatest fears and worries become equally viable, for I have no convincing reason to believe they are not.
Recently, I have begun reading a book about dealing with such anxiety. The book does not seek to allay my fears of these various uncertainties happening, for it knows it cannot do that. Rather, it asks me to accept the uncertainty, and live my life in the best way I can, right here, and right now. I suppose I have taken that as the basis for my spiritual beliefs as well.
I have no proof for my belief. I would argue that no one does. The Atheist and the Christian both have their arguments, and both can be perfectly compelling, but in the end all they are is words on a paper. Words which can carry great meaning, but even then that meaning is limited by the restrictions of our human minds. Existence being the widely complex thing that it is, I am skeptical that any of us can look at issues of metaphysics and somehow come at something that is true. Plato uses the argument of the men trapped in a cave, making their pronouncements about the world based solely on the shadows they see on the cave wall. I would argue we are in a similar situation.
Our everyday beliefs are all, at their core, uncertain. We cannot be sure that anything we feel or experience is true. We cannot be certain that we have loved ones. For all we know we may be living in a matrix-type environment where all of our relationships are artificially constructed. Perhaps our loved ones don't really love us, but merely convince us that they are. We can argue and provide reasons to argue that our loved ones love us, but in the end there is never any way to be certain. When faced with that we have two options: we can either choose to live in a fearful uncertainty, forever wondering if they love us or not. Or we can make a leap of faith and believe that they love us, though we may not be certain. We believe this not because we have compelling evidence that it is true--we will never have such evidence. Rather, we believe it because, by believing it, we inform our actions, and make our interactions with those we love all the more meaningful.
The same applies for any belief system, be it nihilism, or Christianity, or anything else. We truly don't know. We are faced with a vast, expansive universe, and our own ability to understand it is at most a pinprick to the whole of existence, if it is even that. Philosophers may debate as they have done for hundreds of years, each believing themselves to be correct. Am I to assume that all philosophers but one are deficient in some way? Or shall I assume that many different philosophers have different beliefs not because some are smarter than others, but because they all are, by virtue of their different selves, taken to believing some things are true, and other things not?
I don't know. That is the point. Life is vast and uncertain.
Life may very well be meaningless. There may be no self, no soul, and no afterlife. Love may be simply a convenient construct, and compassion a cruel illusion. None of us may have any inherent worth. We might not. But we don't know.
Similarly, life may be full of meaning. Love and beauty may not be merely concepts, but true and real things. We may all have dignity and be worthy of compassion and love, not simply because we are told that, but because it is inherent to our being. We may have purpose, and our actions in this world may mean something beyond the cruel intransience of our physical existence. We don't know. But it might.
I choose to believe that it might. Not because it is true, because as I have said, I do not know it to be true. But because it gives me life. It fills me with a sense of meaning and purpose. It makes my interactions with other human beings meaningful, and enjoyable. It makes love and compassion feel like something transcendent, and invaluable, rather than incidental. It changes myself into a better human being.
We can argue this and that for as long as we can stay awake. We have done so for the last 2000 years, and if we manage to survive another 2000, I daresay we will continue to argue these things further. But at some point, we need to stop arguing. At some point, we need to be willing to step into the world and carry a belief with us, even if the belief is simply that we cannot be certain. Not because we're necessarily right, but because at some point we need to go outside and live.
So here is what I think. If I am right, if what I believe is true, then I will live a happy and fulfilling life and move on to the next as best prepared as I can be. If I am wrong, then at the end of my life I die having lived a life as happy and fulfilling as it could be. Either way, it can provide for me happiness in this life, which nihilistic sentiments routinely fail to do.
As I write this, it is a beautiful day outside. The sky is blue, birds fly above me, and the world is set into its various rhythms. If believing what I believe makes the day that much more beautiful, and if believing otherwise makes the day less, and if I have no compelling evidence to believe one or the other, then why not believe what makes the day more beautiful?
Sunday, March 30, 2014
3/30/2014: The Relationship, Infatuation, and "True Love"
Well, I got a girl's number. I'm going on a date with her Tuesday.
I'm sure for a lot of people, this doesn't mean much. For a lot of people, they get numbers all the time. They seem to do these things effortlessly. They have the benefit of social instincts which I was unfortunately underdeveloped in. Obviously they're on relationships were not made effortlessly, but they certainly seem a hell of a lot easier than how I approached them.
So when I get something like this, I'm quite ecstatic.
There's a nervousness there as well. A fear of failure, of losing what might be a wonderful relationship, as has occurred in the past. It doesn't help how much I've invested myself prior in the idea of relationships. I'm working on it, always working on it, but it's still there. In lesser degrees, perhaps, but it's still there.
To some extent I think I'm influenced by the same culture that influences so many relationships, as well their unpleasant endings. We live in a culture that prizes relationships above many other things. Single individuals, or individuals who are not active sexually, are often looked on with pity, women moreso for the former, men for the latter.
For an extended of time, I and my best friend struggled with the idea of relationships together, questioning whether we were ready for relationships, whether we would be happy in them, all of those things. Then she discovered that she wanted to be in relationships, got into one, and I was left feeling a little alone. Didn't help that I had lingering attraction to her, heretofore unexpressed, that made me feel all the more uncomfortable hearing about her own relationship adventures.
When she told me about her relationship, she was giddy and ecstatic. She talked about some difficulties she was having in the relationship, but in the manner of considering them quirks, rather than problems that might develop into something greater later. Again, I run the risk of being too influenced by my own feelings, but it seems to me that a lot of the giddiness and sheer joy which she is experiencing is the result of that wonderful pain in my ass that is infatuation, that outburst of chemical reactions that make us so entranced with someone's every move an action, and which is so often short lived. I've experienced that quite a few times, raising the person to a pedestal and viewing their every action as unutterably beautiful. Unfortunately, having difficulties in other areas, that infatuation developed into anxiety and obsession, which would typically mean the end of any possible relationship. Perhaps that's why I'm so cynical about it now.
It is perhaps a little ironic that infatuation itself has been raised on such a pedestal in our society. Romantic comedies are so often built around the manic joy of infatuation, that initial ecstatic attraction that makes every moment with the other person a joy. It's interesting to note that so many romantic comedies end when the relationship has been initiated proper, both players still filled with that infatuation.
Of course, infatuation is short lived. Some estimates I've read place it at, on average, lasting between six months and a year. Infatuation leaves, and the two players (or more, I don't mean to judge) are left looking at one another in their entirety, without rose-colored glasses. That's where things get complicated. Lacking the pure euphoria of before to tide them through their relationship troubles, they're left to actually rely on one another to solve their problems, and some relationships struggle with that, and ultimately fail. With my friend and her supposed infatuation, it's up to her and her boyfriend whether it will fail after the infatuation wears off, or if it will evolve into a deeper love.
Society doesn't talk as much about that deeper love, that love forged through time and effort. Society seems a lot more content to focus on the bubbly, effortless infatuation, and then has the gall to refer to that as "true love". So many of us are unfortunately negatively impacted by that perspective. When the initial high of a relationship ends, many of us are left confused, and hurt, not knowing that such a high always ends. What happened? I thought I loved this person. What when wrong?
We see this "true love", and we come to believe that it is that "true love" which will ultimately make us happy. For a long time I (and to some extent still do) viewed relationships as being able to solve many of my problems. I've had to work, with much support from others, to disabuse myself of that notion, and to learn to solve my problems by myself, rather than looking for a relationship itself to solve them. My best friend, interestingly, said that people are attracted to other people who are self-confident, and that impacted me in more ways than I think she realized. It helped me to realize that good, healthy relationships do not develop spontaneously, but rather arise from the union of two good, healthy people, mutually building one another up.
I'm sure for a lot of people, this doesn't mean much. For a lot of people, they get numbers all the time. They seem to do these things effortlessly. They have the benefit of social instincts which I was unfortunately underdeveloped in. Obviously they're on relationships were not made effortlessly, but they certainly seem a hell of a lot easier than how I approached them.
So when I get something like this, I'm quite ecstatic.
There's a nervousness there as well. A fear of failure, of losing what might be a wonderful relationship, as has occurred in the past. It doesn't help how much I've invested myself prior in the idea of relationships. I'm working on it, always working on it, but it's still there. In lesser degrees, perhaps, but it's still there.
To some extent I think I'm influenced by the same culture that influences so many relationships, as well their unpleasant endings. We live in a culture that prizes relationships above many other things. Single individuals, or individuals who are not active sexually, are often looked on with pity, women moreso for the former, men for the latter.
For an extended of time, I and my best friend struggled with the idea of relationships together, questioning whether we were ready for relationships, whether we would be happy in them, all of those things. Then she discovered that she wanted to be in relationships, got into one, and I was left feeling a little alone. Didn't help that I had lingering attraction to her, heretofore unexpressed, that made me feel all the more uncomfortable hearing about her own relationship adventures.
When she told me about her relationship, she was giddy and ecstatic. She talked about some difficulties she was having in the relationship, but in the manner of considering them quirks, rather than problems that might develop into something greater later. Again, I run the risk of being too influenced by my own feelings, but it seems to me that a lot of the giddiness and sheer joy which she is experiencing is the result of that wonderful pain in my ass that is infatuation, that outburst of chemical reactions that make us so entranced with someone's every move an action, and which is so often short lived. I've experienced that quite a few times, raising the person to a pedestal and viewing their every action as unutterably beautiful. Unfortunately, having difficulties in other areas, that infatuation developed into anxiety and obsession, which would typically mean the end of any possible relationship. Perhaps that's why I'm so cynical about it now.
It is perhaps a little ironic that infatuation itself has been raised on such a pedestal in our society. Romantic comedies are so often built around the manic joy of infatuation, that initial ecstatic attraction that makes every moment with the other person a joy. It's interesting to note that so many romantic comedies end when the relationship has been initiated proper, both players still filled with that infatuation.
Of course, infatuation is short lived. Some estimates I've read place it at, on average, lasting between six months and a year. Infatuation leaves, and the two players (or more, I don't mean to judge) are left looking at one another in their entirety, without rose-colored glasses. That's where things get complicated. Lacking the pure euphoria of before to tide them through their relationship troubles, they're left to actually rely on one another to solve their problems, and some relationships struggle with that, and ultimately fail. With my friend and her supposed infatuation, it's up to her and her boyfriend whether it will fail after the infatuation wears off, or if it will evolve into a deeper love.
Society doesn't talk as much about that deeper love, that love forged through time and effort. Society seems a lot more content to focus on the bubbly, effortless infatuation, and then has the gall to refer to that as "true love". So many of us are unfortunately negatively impacted by that perspective. When the initial high of a relationship ends, many of us are left confused, and hurt, not knowing that such a high always ends. What happened? I thought I loved this person. What when wrong?
We see this "true love", and we come to believe that it is that "true love" which will ultimately make us happy. For a long time I (and to some extent still do) viewed relationships as being able to solve many of my problems. I've had to work, with much support from others, to disabuse myself of that notion, and to learn to solve my problems by myself, rather than looking for a relationship itself to solve them. My best friend, interestingly, said that people are attracted to other people who are self-confident, and that impacted me in more ways than I think she realized. It helped me to realize that good, healthy relationships do not develop spontaneously, but rather arise from the union of two good, healthy people, mutually building one another up.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
3/23/14: Where Do I Go?
[Note: I wrote two posts over the course of spring break. The other has been posted prior to this one]
My friend and I are in very different settings right now. I go to NYU and she's going to community college. I'm pursuing a degree in Film and Television, she's pursuing a degree in Communications. Yet we're both feeling...uncertain, I suppose is the word.
My friend and I are in very different settings right now. I go to NYU and she's going to community college. I'm pursuing a degree in Film and Television, she's pursuing a degree in Communications. Yet we're both feeling...uncertain, I suppose is the word.
There are so many career options laid out in front of us. She wants to be a teacher, but she's not sure. I'm looking into screenwriting, but I'm not sure. "Too many options" is the phrase. So many different courses to take in life, and how do we know if the one we're taking is wrong, or won't pan out?
We're both looking for something, some magical answer that will tell us exactly what we should do. This will make us happy. This will make us secure. This will be the best outcome for us.
But we're not going to find it.
That's the nature of the beast, I suppose. Uncertainty abounds. There are too many variables, too many possible ways things could go. Hell, a meteorite could come down and crush me tomorrow, and after that these career contemplations won't matter much.
The future's one big blob of "OH SHIT WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT", and I'm moving towards it at a snail's pace. Everything feels like an in-transit, between where I am and where I want to be. Maybe that's where it will always be. I'll never get to where I want to go, I'll always be going. From one point to another.
Part of me thinks I can just wait for it to come. That I don't need to change myself too much, and the changes I want will be made for me. Perhaps that's what it's like as young adults. We're standing in front of the future, and we want the future to make the first move.
But who says the move it makes will be the one we want?
There's no cure-all, whatever happens. Whatever I choose, it won't solve my problems. It won't put me in some utopic situation where I'm feeling like I'm exactly where I want to be. I'd probably be concerned for my mental health if that were the case! Any choice I take will have its share of problems, mistakes, paths rather taken. And the internal struggles I deal with now won't go away on their own
Maybe the solution isn't in what path I take. Maybe it's in how I approach the path I take. So often I've looked to external solutions to my problems, and every time I've come up short. The high school transition, the college transition, future career transitions. With each one I've looked for things to change radically, and they never have. They've changed in small, incremental ways, but never as fast as I want them to. And not always in the way I want.
Maybe I should work on changing myself first.
Maybe I should learn to accept the uncertainties of whatever path I take. Embrace that I don't know what will happen. Acknowledge that there'll be bad parts, but there will be good parts as well. My future will have its share of joys, discoveries, new parts of myself I'll be surprised to find out I have. And someday I'll get to those points, but there's also things I can do now. Little things, but they can all stack up. I can learn to make myself better, happier, more fulfilled, more ready for the future.
Earlier, I described the future as "OH SHIT WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT". My friend had a different way of looking at it. For her, it's all one big blog of "I COULD DO ANYTHING." Maybe that can be the same for me. Maybe I really could do anything. Maybe I could be a screenwriter, or a psychologist.
Maybe I could be a person happy with his life, no matter what happens.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
3/16/2014: My Mother and Anxious Attachment
It began with my mother.
What began with my mother? I don't know, a lot of things. A lot of the problems I deal with now. This post is one that deals with the past, with emotions and bad memories. Apologies if it comes out a little disconnected.
Relationships seems like a good place to start.
Perhaps I was taking a cue from my father, who would call my mother over and over again if she was gone late at night, and be angry at her when she returned. When my mom was gone for extended periods of time, I would become frightened. My mind would come up with the worst-case scenarios for what had happened--that she had died, or was kidnapped, or whatever else I could come up with. Then she would come home and, relieved, I would go back to living normally.
I've had problems with relationships. When I get infatuated, I become obsessed. Further than other people. I worry endlessly. When I'm not with them, my mind conjures up the worst-case scenarios--they hate me, I'm pushing them away, I can't have a relationship with them--and I feel the urge to check, to ask them if I did something wrong, if I've been bothering them. They'll say no, you haven't--and then I'll do it again, and they'll say no, you haven't--and then I'll do it again. In the uncertainty, my mind conjures up horrible possibilities, and the more I fear them, the more real they become.
Maybe that's just OCD, related to autism. I don't know.
My mother had a primary role in my upbringing. My father has Asperger's syndrome, and spent his younger years away from his family for long periods of time, a wound that continues to hurt him to this day. He has never been a social butterfly, and often struggles to communicate with me in ways beyond reciting pithy lectures, or repeating well-worn stories about his own upbringing. These conversations were often one-way, and after a time I became to realize I viewed him as more of a record-player than a father.
So the onus was on my mother to raise me.
I was not the most well-adjusted of children. I, like my father, had Asperger's Syndrome. From an early age I had little interest in interacting with other children; during recess, I was more content playing on my Game Boy or reading a book than playing with the other children. When I did interact with them, it was often as an outsider, and I frequently got in trouble for my behavior with them. In second grade I was suspended from school for half a day because I was frightening other students. In third grade I was given detention for a week because I choked a student I thought had called me an alien. I recall other children often drawing away from me because I was weird, and how I felt like a virus because of this.
Because I did not involve myself in any social situations, my mother took the opportunities to involve me in various extracurricular. She had me play soccer and join the Boy Scouts of America. I never wanted to do either, and often was quite bored or unhappy at the meetings, but I did it anyway, because I didn't think I had a choice in the matter. I won't say the things I obtained from them weren't helpful, but they seemed to set a precedent for my interactions with my mother for years in the future.
I'm in college now. My mom still sends me suggestions on what I should do. In Freshman year, she constantly pressured me to get a job, to join various clubs, go out to this-or-that event. When I tell her of friendships or relationships, she'll sometimes send me suggestions on things I can do with them, as though I can't come up with them myself. Sometimes if I don't do something she wants me to do, she'll continue hounding me to do it, or else send passive-aggressive comments, though she may send them either immediately, or at a later time, such as in the middle of the night, or in the next morning. Whenever she gets bothered about it, I guess.
She goes through self-help books and countless books on nutrition. She's tossed vitamins, nutritional supplements, and said self-help books at me. She's advocated high fat diets, low fat diets, mainly protein, gluten-free, soy, pescetarian, vegetarian, whatever-the-fuck-etarian. She's talked about adrenal deficiencies, thyroid diet, chi-whatever, I can't even keep track anymore, here's a picture of a fraction of the books she's bought over the years.
Whenever she suggests to me some new lifestyle thing, I do my own research to see if it's any true.
I often feel weak. I often feel like I can't do things. Whenever I go into a new direction, I ask as many people as I can for help. To some extent that's a good thing, but there are times where I feel like I can't do things unless other people say it's ok, where I can't believe things unless other people believe them, where if I feel emotions that other people feel, I'm wrong.
I've had friends and therapists alike caution me to separate my own goals from that of my mothers's. My therapist asks me sometimes if the critical thoughts I have in my head are my own or my mother's. One of my friends, who I seem to talk to more about my own problems than my own mother, has a similarly low opinion of her, such that sometimes I feel the need to defend her. Perhaps I shouldn't.
Christ.
From Ainsworth's patterns of attachment, Anxious Attachment stems from being "excessively protect towards the child, unwilling to allow independence", and results in being "clingy, unable to cope with absence of the caregiver. Seeks constant reassurances."
From Wikipedia:
What began with my mother? I don't know, a lot of things. A lot of the problems I deal with now. This post is one that deals with the past, with emotions and bad memories. Apologies if it comes out a little disconnected.
Relationships seems like a good place to start.
Perhaps I was taking a cue from my father, who would call my mother over and over again if she was gone late at night, and be angry at her when she returned. When my mom was gone for extended periods of time, I would become frightened. My mind would come up with the worst-case scenarios for what had happened--that she had died, or was kidnapped, or whatever else I could come up with. Then she would come home and, relieved, I would go back to living normally.
I've had problems with relationships. When I get infatuated, I become obsessed. Further than other people. I worry endlessly. When I'm not with them, my mind conjures up the worst-case scenarios--they hate me, I'm pushing them away, I can't have a relationship with them--and I feel the urge to check, to ask them if I did something wrong, if I've been bothering them. They'll say no, you haven't--and then I'll do it again, and they'll say no, you haven't--and then I'll do it again. In the uncertainty, my mind conjures up horrible possibilities, and the more I fear them, the more real they become.
Maybe that's just OCD, related to autism. I don't know.
My mother had a primary role in my upbringing. My father has Asperger's syndrome, and spent his younger years away from his family for long periods of time, a wound that continues to hurt him to this day. He has never been a social butterfly, and often struggles to communicate with me in ways beyond reciting pithy lectures, or repeating well-worn stories about his own upbringing. These conversations were often one-way, and after a time I became to realize I viewed him as more of a record-player than a father.
So the onus was on my mother to raise me.
I was not the most well-adjusted of children. I, like my father, had Asperger's Syndrome. From an early age I had little interest in interacting with other children; during recess, I was more content playing on my Game Boy or reading a book than playing with the other children. When I did interact with them, it was often as an outsider, and I frequently got in trouble for my behavior with them. In second grade I was suspended from school for half a day because I was frightening other students. In third grade I was given detention for a week because I choked a student I thought had called me an alien. I recall other children often drawing away from me because I was weird, and how I felt like a virus because of this.
Because I did not involve myself in any social situations, my mother took the opportunities to involve me in various extracurricular. She had me play soccer and join the Boy Scouts of America. I never wanted to do either, and often was quite bored or unhappy at the meetings, but I did it anyway, because I didn't think I had a choice in the matter. I won't say the things I obtained from them weren't helpful, but they seemed to set a precedent for my interactions with my mother for years in the future.
I'm in college now. My mom still sends me suggestions on what I should do. In Freshman year, she constantly pressured me to get a job, to join various clubs, go out to this-or-that event. When I tell her of friendships or relationships, she'll sometimes send me suggestions on things I can do with them, as though I can't come up with them myself. Sometimes if I don't do something she wants me to do, she'll continue hounding me to do it, or else send passive-aggressive comments, though she may send them either immediately, or at a later time, such as in the middle of the night, or in the next morning. Whenever she gets bothered about it, I guess.
She goes through self-help books and countless books on nutrition. She's tossed vitamins, nutritional supplements, and said self-help books at me. She's advocated high fat diets, low fat diets, mainly protein, gluten-free, soy, pescetarian, vegetarian, whatever-the-fuck-etarian. She's talked about adrenal deficiencies, thyroid diet, chi-whatever, I can't even keep track anymore, here's a picture of a fraction of the books she's bought over the years.
Whenever she suggests to me some new lifestyle thing, I do my own research to see if it's any true.
I often feel weak. I often feel like I can't do things. Whenever I go into a new direction, I ask as many people as I can for help. To some extent that's a good thing, but there are times where I feel like I can't do things unless other people say it's ok, where I can't believe things unless other people believe them, where if I feel emotions that other people feel, I'm wrong.
I've had friends and therapists alike caution me to separate my own goals from that of my mothers's. My therapist asks me sometimes if the critical thoughts I have in my head are my own or my mother's. One of my friends, who I seem to talk to more about my own problems than my own mother, has a similarly low opinion of her, such that sometimes I feel the need to defend her. Perhaps I shouldn't.
Christ.
From Ainsworth's patterns of attachment, Anxious Attachment stems from being "excessively protect towards the child, unwilling to allow independence", and results in being "clingy, unable to cope with absence of the caregiver. Seeks constant reassurances."
From Wikipedia:
People who are anxious or preoccupied with attachment tend to agree with the following statements: "I want to be completely emotionally intimate with others, but I often find that others are reluctant to get as close as I would like", and "I am uncomfortable being without close relationships, but I sometimes worry that others don't value me as much as I value them." People with this style of attachment seek high levels of intimacy, approval, and responsiveness from their partners. They sometimes value intimacy to such an extent that they become overly dependent on their partners. Compared to securely attached people, people who are anxious or preoccupied with attachment tend to have less positive views about themselves. They often doubt their worth as a partner and blame themselves for their partners' lack of responsiveness. People who are anxious or preoccupied with attachment may exhibit high levels of emotional expressiveness, worry, and impulsiveness in their relationships.Hello, me.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
3/9/2014: "Youth Is Wasted On The Young"
So many people view their younger years with a reverent nostalgia. When I hear about such people, my first thought is wondering what the hell they've confused their youth for.
I don't know about you guys, but my younger years were shit.
Not entirely, not all the time, but there was a lot of shit in there. Depression, suicidal ideation, self harm. I lost multiple relationships as a result of my tendency to, ironically, obsess over losing them. I routinely struggled to keep up with work at school and often broke down as a result, leaving school in the middle of the day and some days simply not showing up. I was not in a good place then.
Where am I now? Better. Not perfect, but I'm doing better, and that's all I can really ask for. I see a therapist, I take medication. Slowly I've begun taking more work on myself, and developing systems to keep track of things.
Yet many people view their young years as the apex of their lives. "Live fast, die young" seems to be a recurring motto: live your life while you still can, because it's all downhill from here.
I'm not going to say I don't have fear of growing old--I'm sure everyone does, in some degree, as there is a fear of most any uncertainty in our lives. There just doesn't seem to be much of an optimistic view of age in our society. As medical science improves, we're learning more about the plethora of illnesses and physical maladies that will occur in ever-greater amounts as we age, from weakening bones and muscles to more frightening neurocognitive degeneration leading to things such as strokes and Alzheimer's disease. The media takes those articles and sees fit to publish them every chance it gets, perhaps to satisfy our transgressive curiosity about our own mortality.
Add to that the fact that our media seems to avoid portraying the elderly in any form. The majority of commercials, films, and television shows rely on youthful models of an idealized society. Rarely if ever do you see 65+ people in staring roles. If you do, they normally have something to do with coming to terms with death and aging, such as in David Lynch's "The Straight Story" or Michael Haneke's "Amour". Age is often viewed as a negative, and if there are happy endings to be gotten out of it, they seem to occur despite age, and with that spectre always on the horizon.
Of course we don't want to get old when our society tells us how much it sucks.
But does it have to? Certainly our modern view of age is a far cry from more traditional views of the elderly. In olden times, elderly people were viewed as peoples experienced and hardened by the world, filled with advice to dispense to the younger peoples. They took an active, and in some cases central role in the community. Their aging was not hidden from the world, as is the case with many of our elderly shuffled off to nursing homes, but was exposed and, more importantly, embraced by the community.
Why can't we do the same thing now? Why can't we view age not as a gradual degeneration, but as an opportunity to garner ever more experiences and better ourselves? Why can't we view aging as an opportunity for us to do ever more things for the state of the world, and not simply to be a drain on worldwide resources?
As I've grown older, I've become better. I've become healthier. And I don't intend for that to stop anytime soon. My body may weaken, and so may my mind, but that doesn't mean I ever have to stop growing, stop getting better, stop being there for others and for myself.
Why can't age be a good thing?
I don't know about you guys, but my younger years were shit.
Not entirely, not all the time, but there was a lot of shit in there. Depression, suicidal ideation, self harm. I lost multiple relationships as a result of my tendency to, ironically, obsess over losing them. I routinely struggled to keep up with work at school and often broke down as a result, leaving school in the middle of the day and some days simply not showing up. I was not in a good place then.
Where am I now? Better. Not perfect, but I'm doing better, and that's all I can really ask for. I see a therapist, I take medication. Slowly I've begun taking more work on myself, and developing systems to keep track of things.
Yet many people view their young years as the apex of their lives. "Live fast, die young" seems to be a recurring motto: live your life while you still can, because it's all downhill from here.
I'm not going to say I don't have fear of growing old--I'm sure everyone does, in some degree, as there is a fear of most any uncertainty in our lives. There just doesn't seem to be much of an optimistic view of age in our society. As medical science improves, we're learning more about the plethora of illnesses and physical maladies that will occur in ever-greater amounts as we age, from weakening bones and muscles to more frightening neurocognitive degeneration leading to things such as strokes and Alzheimer's disease. The media takes those articles and sees fit to publish them every chance it gets, perhaps to satisfy our transgressive curiosity about our own mortality.
Add to that the fact that our media seems to avoid portraying the elderly in any form. The majority of commercials, films, and television shows rely on youthful models of an idealized society. Rarely if ever do you see 65+ people in staring roles. If you do, they normally have something to do with coming to terms with death and aging, such as in David Lynch's "The Straight Story" or Michael Haneke's "Amour". Age is often viewed as a negative, and if there are happy endings to be gotten out of it, they seem to occur despite age, and with that spectre always on the horizon.
Of course we don't want to get old when our society tells us how much it sucks.
But does it have to? Certainly our modern view of age is a far cry from more traditional views of the elderly. In olden times, elderly people were viewed as peoples experienced and hardened by the world, filled with advice to dispense to the younger peoples. They took an active, and in some cases central role in the community. Their aging was not hidden from the world, as is the case with many of our elderly shuffled off to nursing homes, but was exposed and, more importantly, embraced by the community.
Why can't we do the same thing now? Why can't we view age not as a gradual degeneration, but as an opportunity to garner ever more experiences and better ourselves? Why can't we view aging as an opportunity for us to do ever more things for the state of the world, and not simply to be a drain on worldwide resources?
As I've grown older, I've become better. I've become healthier. And I don't intend for that to stop anytime soon. My body may weaken, and so may my mind, but that doesn't mean I ever have to stop growing, stop getting better, stop being there for others and for myself.
Why can't age be a good thing?
Saturday, March 1, 2014
3/1/2014: The Cocoon of College
In class, I referred to the college system as a "fucking womb". In this post, I'd like to expand on that.
College is an enigmatic thing where people pay thousands of dollars to live in a mass illusion. The main problem with college is that it inures us in a cocoon of familiar faces, established routines, and guaranteed short-term future, with the promise of similarly guaranteed long term future. College does not prepare us for the outside world; it only prepares us for college.
College should, if anything, slope neatly towards involvement in the adult world, yet it doesn't. The main transition in college is from high school to campus, yet after that the system largely plateaus--we set established routines of college life, but do not set establish routines of adult life. In many cases, students can successfully navigate all four years of college without having to leave the campus environment. They need only go to classes and compete assignments on time. They do not need to go outside of campus for meals, but can attend one of the many dining halls. Often they do not need to apply for jobs, or build work contacts, or indeed have to pay their own bills. This seems a reason, then, why so many fellow students in my class feel this gnawing anxiety as the end of senior year approaches--they are used to this system, but they are not used to the outside world. They have been secure in a system they are familiar with for a number of years, and now they learn--quite intensely--how insufficient that system actually is. For an organization which is designed precisely to help us transition to adulthood, it seems to spent a lot of time delaying that very transition.
The college culture itself seems tailored to that cocooning atmosphere. In the absence of the rigors of adult life, we pass the time through other measures--through clubs and parties and university-organized events We exist in a space where thousands of young adults, and only young adults, are pressed together. Our leisure is composed of interactions within that college system and only within that college system. Very few of us make friends outside of college during this time, and thus we have few friends we can rely on for information on the adult world. No surprise, then, the insularity of so many of our problems and complaints. On my Facebook feed I often see complaints in the form of talking about how annoying the sheer amount of homework they have is, or how frustrated they are because they spilled food on their bed. Within the inuring college system, where no larger problems yet exist, such responses seem somewhat logical, but in contrast with the adult world they become hilariously petty in contrast.
There are means to better adjust oneself to the adult world, certainly. But they exist mainly in the form of part-jobs and optional lectures, classes, and events. In order to adjust ourselves to the adult world, we must put forward the effort, yet in the college culture where so much of what we need to do is directly fed to us, personal initiative is not always a strong suit among college attendees, especially when it is so much easier to reside within the comfortable confines of college for as long as one can.
One may argue, as Arnett did, that college helps to facilitate identity exploration, yet does it really? Many students, whether undecided or with a definite major--are not fully aware of other possibilities, and have not experienced those possibilities themselves. We experience only what we have already signed up for, and to actually get a sense of other possibilities, again we have to take our own initiative. As example, when I began college, I was not aware that I might be able to do a great deal in mental health advocacy. That came primarily through my therapy and my exploration of other options through my blog on Asperger's and Depression.
I don't mind that college is a safety-net--to be honest I needed it when I was transitioning to college, as I still had mental health issues that would have left me quite vulnerable in the outside world--but not enough impetus is placed upon encouraging us to break out of that safety net. It is too comfortable for our own good, and it's too easy to just relax into it now and worry about other problems when they come later.
College is an enigmatic thing where people pay thousands of dollars to live in a mass illusion. The main problem with college is that it inures us in a cocoon of familiar faces, established routines, and guaranteed short-term future, with the promise of similarly guaranteed long term future. College does not prepare us for the outside world; it only prepares us for college.
College should, if anything, slope neatly towards involvement in the adult world, yet it doesn't. The main transition in college is from high school to campus, yet after that the system largely plateaus--we set established routines of college life, but do not set establish routines of adult life. In many cases, students can successfully navigate all four years of college without having to leave the campus environment. They need only go to classes and compete assignments on time. They do not need to go outside of campus for meals, but can attend one of the many dining halls. Often they do not need to apply for jobs, or build work contacts, or indeed have to pay their own bills. This seems a reason, then, why so many fellow students in my class feel this gnawing anxiety as the end of senior year approaches--they are used to this system, but they are not used to the outside world. They have been secure in a system they are familiar with for a number of years, and now they learn--quite intensely--how insufficient that system actually is. For an organization which is designed precisely to help us transition to adulthood, it seems to spent a lot of time delaying that very transition.
The college culture itself seems tailored to that cocooning atmosphere. In the absence of the rigors of adult life, we pass the time through other measures--through clubs and parties and university-organized events We exist in a space where thousands of young adults, and only young adults, are pressed together. Our leisure is composed of interactions within that college system and only within that college system. Very few of us make friends outside of college during this time, and thus we have few friends we can rely on for information on the adult world. No surprise, then, the insularity of so many of our problems and complaints. On my Facebook feed I often see complaints in the form of talking about how annoying the sheer amount of homework they have is, or how frustrated they are because they spilled food on their bed. Within the inuring college system, where no larger problems yet exist, such responses seem somewhat logical, but in contrast with the adult world they become hilariously petty in contrast.
There are means to better adjust oneself to the adult world, certainly. But they exist mainly in the form of part-jobs and optional lectures, classes, and events. In order to adjust ourselves to the adult world, we must put forward the effort, yet in the college culture where so much of what we need to do is directly fed to us, personal initiative is not always a strong suit among college attendees, especially when it is so much easier to reside within the comfortable confines of college for as long as one can.
One may argue, as Arnett did, that college helps to facilitate identity exploration, yet does it really? Many students, whether undecided or with a definite major--are not fully aware of other possibilities, and have not experienced those possibilities themselves. We experience only what we have already signed up for, and to actually get a sense of other possibilities, again we have to take our own initiative. As example, when I began college, I was not aware that I might be able to do a great deal in mental health advocacy. That came primarily through my therapy and my exploration of other options through my blog on Asperger's and Depression.
I don't mind that college is a safety-net--to be honest I needed it when I was transitioning to college, as I still had mental health issues that would have left me quite vulnerable in the outside world--but not enough impetus is placed upon encouraging us to break out of that safety net. It is too comfortable for our own good, and it's too easy to just relax into it now and worry about other problems when they come later.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
2/22/2014: The Life Event That Did Not Change Me
In class of late we have been discussing life events and the impact they have on our life. A life event such as a promotion or bereavement can have a significant effect on us. In this post, I'd like to examine a life event which did not change me.
Several years ago, when I was still a Boy Scout, I had arranged to go on a hiking trip with my troop to Philmont, New Mexico. The trip would be over the course of two weeks and we would be hiking around a hundred miles. I had never been one for camping trips, and I certainly wasn't one for it then. Yet feeling as though I couldn't say no, I went on it.
The work was grueling. We carried 50+ pound bags on our backs hiking up and down steep terrain, from hard rocks to rain-slick slopes. The days were exhausting, and sleep was a welcome reprieve. Along with the blazing insect-filled sun, one day heavy rains came in, turning the trail to a torrent. And we had to set up camp in that weather. Needless to say, sleep was a VERY welcome reprieve that night. We ate mostly freeze-dried foods and campfire cookings. For the majority of the trip I was with only the members of my troop, and no one else.
It seemed to produce a change in me. It's hard to describe now, but at the time I felt stronger, more independent. At home I would slack off a lot. As I went through the grueling hikes I became inspired to work harder, as hard as I worked on the trail. I made plans for when I got home, to spend hours in the library, start searching for jobs, write way more than I was. I had it all planned out. It felt like when I got home, things would be really different.
And then, two days after I came back, things were as they were beforehand. I was back to the same habits and the same slacking as before I had left. And I felt no compunction to go on another hike (and still don't).
I was gone for two weeks. The environment was a radical shift from what I was familiar with. Yet that was not enough. The time was too short, and it was too easy for me to slip back into my old routines. Perhaps if I were in such an environment longer, quite a bit longer, things might have changed. I might have formed habits that would have stayed with me longer than two days. Yet in the end, that hiking trip was only an adaptation to an unfamiliar circumstance. Once the circumstances normalized, I no longer had a need to adapt, and so I didn't change.
Several years ago, when I was still a Boy Scout, I had arranged to go on a hiking trip with my troop to Philmont, New Mexico. The trip would be over the course of two weeks and we would be hiking around a hundred miles. I had never been one for camping trips, and I certainly wasn't one for it then. Yet feeling as though I couldn't say no, I went on it.
The work was grueling. We carried 50+ pound bags on our backs hiking up and down steep terrain, from hard rocks to rain-slick slopes. The days were exhausting, and sleep was a welcome reprieve. Along with the blazing insect-filled sun, one day heavy rains came in, turning the trail to a torrent. And we had to set up camp in that weather. Needless to say, sleep was a VERY welcome reprieve that night. We ate mostly freeze-dried foods and campfire cookings. For the majority of the trip I was with only the members of my troop, and no one else.
It seemed to produce a change in me. It's hard to describe now, but at the time I felt stronger, more independent. At home I would slack off a lot. As I went through the grueling hikes I became inspired to work harder, as hard as I worked on the trail. I made plans for when I got home, to spend hours in the library, start searching for jobs, write way more than I was. I had it all planned out. It felt like when I got home, things would be really different.
And then, two days after I came back, things were as they were beforehand. I was back to the same habits and the same slacking as before I had left. And I felt no compunction to go on another hike (and still don't).
I was gone for two weeks. The environment was a radical shift from what I was familiar with. Yet that was not enough. The time was too short, and it was too easy for me to slip back into my old routines. Perhaps if I were in such an environment longer, quite a bit longer, things might have changed. I might have formed habits that would have stayed with me longer than two days. Yet in the end, that hiking trip was only an adaptation to an unfamiliar circumstance. Once the circumstances normalized, I no longer had a need to adapt, and so I didn't change.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
2/15/14 Social Media Made Me Who I Am
In our last class, there was much discussion about the impact of social media and instant-gratification communication. Concerns were raised that it cheapens relationships, encourages narcissism, and leads to further social stratification as groups isolate themselves more and more from others. While my opinion is that there is truth to both the positive and negative of these statements, in class I found myself reacting very negatively and angrily to these statements, likely because of my own personal stake in the matter.
I have Asperger's Syndrome. Among the many symptoms of Asperger's syndrome, the most dominant is a difficulty acting with other people. Of that difficulty is because of atypical behavior, inability or difficulty in reading social cues, or simply a fear or reluctance to socialize. I had components of all of these things, but the point where they affected me most deeply was in High School. I attended a strongly conservative catholic high school. The students were inexperienced with opinions beside their own, and so they held their own opinions strongly, stubbornly, for in their view anyone who did not hold their views was blatantly wrong.
I was that person who did not hold their opinions. I was branded "The Liberal", and any time I spoke up, as I often did, I was met with heavy resistance. Consequent of that, and of the general clique-ish nature of the school, I did not get along with others, and felt isolated from my fellow students, and isolated in general. I often struggled to find people to eat lunch with, often eating with teachers as much as anyone else. I cannot summarize the extent of the isolation I felt in a concise blog post, but rest assured it was intense, and tremendously demoralizing. I had few friends, little to look forward to, and indeed much to look at with trepidation. I was a pariah.
Around the same time that I came into High School, I became part of a forum, and alongside that forum a group on Facebook. These were people I could relate with, far better than I could at my school. And they were not only of my own age, but of many ages, many ethnicities, many nationalities and backgrounds. My friends were from Canada to New Zealand, teenagers to people in their 20s, 30s, even forties. I knew parents and college students and athiests and pagans and gay and transgender people alike. We were vastly different, but we were all united by this same forum, this same localized space on the internet. Many of us were also experienced with being social outcasts.
These people helped me more than any friend I knew in school ever did. I bonded with them over shared interests, I was given a lens into their lives and them into mine. When I struggled, I could turn to them for help. When I suffered from depressive episodes, I went to them for advice, and their advice was useful, empathetic--these were people who suffered as I had suffered, who dealt with problems like I had, and came out the stronger and capable of sharing what they learned with me.
To be honest, I think they saved my life. With my isolation in High School came severe depression. In my senior year I had three instances of self-harm, all three of which I remember distinctly. I missed more and more days of school, and became increasingly overwhelmed with school work. It was through their advice that I was able to bear the problems in my life. It was through their advice that I would call the suicide hotline and get help with my issues before they became more serious. It was through their advice that I knew that they valued and cared for me. Had I not had those online connections, I would have been well and truly alone. I would have had few people to seek advice from, and fewer people I could consider friends. There are times where I wonder if I would have killed myself had I not had the support of my online friends.
Christ. I can still remember those messages I got, how, when I doubted my own abilities, they told me I was sweet and intelligent and funny. Many times I receive compliments and dismiss them out of hand, believing the persons simply trying to make me feel better. But these people, they didn't have any reason to lie to me. More than that, many of them were adults, experienced and mature people, and they considered me valuable. It's emotional to think about it. I was a valued member of that community. I had a place of my own. These friends I continue to hold today, even as I speak more and more rarely with students from my High School.
It is perhaps because of the sufferings and struggles I dealt with as a teenager, and to some extent still struggle with as a young adult, that I sometimes feel angry at my peers. Their ignorance, their behavior, their petty concerns sometimes come to me as an insult, as though they choose to be ignorant of suffering like my own, and of suffering much worse. When I hear some of the complaints about social media, I hear complaints about people who are in that comfortable position where they can yearn for the good old days, the days that were so much misery to me.
Many of the people in my class likely will not know of such isolation and self-devaluation as I felt. They lead privileged lives, not merely in wealth and social status, but in their own abilities. They went through high school with friends that made school bearable, I did not. Many of them did not struggle with depression or other mental illnesses, I did. They do not understand what it feels to be so alone, so isolated, so impotent. I felt as though I were a freak, deficient and broken. It was that online community that made me feel like a whole person.
So yes, maybe social media has its problems, maybe it has its concerns. But I'd much rather have it than be without it.
I have Asperger's Syndrome. Among the many symptoms of Asperger's syndrome, the most dominant is a difficulty acting with other people. Of that difficulty is because of atypical behavior, inability or difficulty in reading social cues, or simply a fear or reluctance to socialize. I had components of all of these things, but the point where they affected me most deeply was in High School. I attended a strongly conservative catholic high school. The students were inexperienced with opinions beside their own, and so they held their own opinions strongly, stubbornly, for in their view anyone who did not hold their views was blatantly wrong.
I was that person who did not hold their opinions. I was branded "The Liberal", and any time I spoke up, as I often did, I was met with heavy resistance. Consequent of that, and of the general clique-ish nature of the school, I did not get along with others, and felt isolated from my fellow students, and isolated in general. I often struggled to find people to eat lunch with, often eating with teachers as much as anyone else. I cannot summarize the extent of the isolation I felt in a concise blog post, but rest assured it was intense, and tremendously demoralizing. I had few friends, little to look forward to, and indeed much to look at with trepidation. I was a pariah.
Around the same time that I came into High School, I became part of a forum, and alongside that forum a group on Facebook. These were people I could relate with, far better than I could at my school. And they were not only of my own age, but of many ages, many ethnicities, many nationalities and backgrounds. My friends were from Canada to New Zealand, teenagers to people in their 20s, 30s, even forties. I knew parents and college students and athiests and pagans and gay and transgender people alike. We were vastly different, but we were all united by this same forum, this same localized space on the internet. Many of us were also experienced with being social outcasts.
These people helped me more than any friend I knew in school ever did. I bonded with them over shared interests, I was given a lens into their lives and them into mine. When I struggled, I could turn to them for help. When I suffered from depressive episodes, I went to them for advice, and their advice was useful, empathetic--these were people who suffered as I had suffered, who dealt with problems like I had, and came out the stronger and capable of sharing what they learned with me.
To be honest, I think they saved my life. With my isolation in High School came severe depression. In my senior year I had three instances of self-harm, all three of which I remember distinctly. I missed more and more days of school, and became increasingly overwhelmed with school work. It was through their advice that I was able to bear the problems in my life. It was through their advice that I would call the suicide hotline and get help with my issues before they became more serious. It was through their advice that I knew that they valued and cared for me. Had I not had those online connections, I would have been well and truly alone. I would have had few people to seek advice from, and fewer people I could consider friends. There are times where I wonder if I would have killed myself had I not had the support of my online friends.
Christ. I can still remember those messages I got, how, when I doubted my own abilities, they told me I was sweet and intelligent and funny. Many times I receive compliments and dismiss them out of hand, believing the persons simply trying to make me feel better. But these people, they didn't have any reason to lie to me. More than that, many of them were adults, experienced and mature people, and they considered me valuable. It's emotional to think about it. I was a valued member of that community. I had a place of my own. These friends I continue to hold today, even as I speak more and more rarely with students from my High School.
It is perhaps because of the sufferings and struggles I dealt with as a teenager, and to some extent still struggle with as a young adult, that I sometimes feel angry at my peers. Their ignorance, their behavior, their petty concerns sometimes come to me as an insult, as though they choose to be ignorant of suffering like my own, and of suffering much worse. When I hear some of the complaints about social media, I hear complaints about people who are in that comfortable position where they can yearn for the good old days, the days that were so much misery to me.
Many of the people in my class likely will not know of such isolation and self-devaluation as I felt. They lead privileged lives, not merely in wealth and social status, but in their own abilities. They went through high school with friends that made school bearable, I did not. Many of them did not struggle with depression or other mental illnesses, I did. They do not understand what it feels to be so alone, so isolated, so impotent. I felt as though I were a freak, deficient and broken. It was that online community that made me feel like a whole person.
So yes, maybe social media has its problems, maybe it has its concerns. But I'd much rather have it than be without it.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
2/8/13: The Fear Of Being Normal
 |
| From "The Apartment", Billy Wilder 1960 |
Consider the above film, "The Apartment", directed by Billy Wilder. In it, the main character is a dulled everyman in an endless office full of dulled everymen. He works nine to five and even works extra hours some days. The only thing that separates him from the countless other office drones is that he's renting out his apartment to horny office executives, but that's another story.
 |
| From "The Matrix", Andy and Lana Wachowski 1999 |
Or maybe you're more of a Matrix person. In the first film, we're introduced to Neo as yet another dulled everymen in an endless office full of dulled everymen. The only thing that separates him from the countless other office drones is that he is the cyber-messiah destined to save humanity, but that's another story.
The point being, Hollywood doesn't hold the office job in very high esteem. And why would they? They've only ever worked as screenwriters and actors and directors. Them imagining what it's like to be office workers is the same as the rest of us trying to imagine what it's like to be garbagemen, filled with terror at the endless piles of repetitive shit (literal or metaphorical) that has to be sifted through day in and day out.
So consider this 2007 Job Satisfaction survey that says that shows 60.8% of Office Supervisors are "very satisfied" with their jobs, and that the same is true for 65.4% of Security and Financial Services salespersons.
Huh. Guess Hollywood lied to us.
-----
There's a pervasive fear of normality in our culture, and especially among twentysomethings. I don't know if Hollywood influenced the culture or if the culture influenced Hollywood or if it's a combination of both. Simply put, the old 50's ideal of living a routine lifestyle in a modest suburban home is considered practically nightmarish for some. Everyone wants to be unique, everyone wants to find their dream job, everyone wants to be a genius in their field, and being normal is the worst punishment one can imagine.
No one ever defines what exactly "normal" is, it's just the bogeyman in these stories. The cloud of half-formed images that seems so real and powerful in the framework of our minds. We may define it with various markers like "holding down an office job", but it's not like everyone who has an office job is the same person. Each of the people working those jobs has their own individual personality that brings joy to their friends and family. Sure, it may not come through in their jobs, but then neither has that been the case throughout human history. There's only so many ways you can shear corn before "expressing yourself" becomes "increasing the risk that we will die of starvation in the winter". Expressing ourselves creatively through our jobs is a luxury.
It's not like these jobs were invented out of thin air to antagonize us. They need to get done. Office jobs especially are extremely necessary. We need someone to wade through the mounds of paperwork and bureaucracy that keeps this global village of ours working, yet we routinely disparage them as living dreary, soul-sucking lives. Imagine how that must make office people feel, being the butt of an entire's societies fear of their jobs.
I think part of the reason we so often antagonize those jobs is because it makes us feel better about our own decisions in contrast. Take the numerous would-be actors, dancers, and directors in our school. The performing arts are notoriously flaky and unstable, and it's hard to dismiss the fears that our dream job is untenable, that we might be wasting money for a pipe dream. To protect ourselves from that, we convince ourselves that this job, even the pursuit of it, is better than the "soul-crushing" office job, the job that so often is much more stable than the ones we pursue.
More than that, though, I think Hollywood, again, has influenced us. We live in an era of celebrities, and where seemingly anyone can become one. Viral is a household term. Celebrities are routinely celebrated and live a life the rest of us wish we could have. One of beautiful people, beautiful homes, and happiness. It's the last thing that seems the stickler. We see actors and directors on the read carpet smiling towards the camera, always smiling, and we think that we can be like that.
Never mind that celebrities are often just as unhappy as we are. The sheer amount of drug-related deaths and suicides is testament to that. What matters is that they present themselves as happy, and the camera devours that. Celebrities exist to present an ideal which the rest of us strive to achieve. They can't achieve it, and neither can we, but that doesn't stop us from wanting it.
I think part of the reason we so often antagonize those jobs is because it makes us feel better about our own decisions in contrast. Take the numerous would-be actors, dancers, and directors in our school. The performing arts are notoriously flaky and unstable, and it's hard to dismiss the fears that our dream job is untenable, that we might be wasting money for a pipe dream. To protect ourselves from that, we convince ourselves that this job, even the pursuit of it, is better than the "soul-crushing" office job, the job that so often is much more stable than the ones we pursue.
More than that, though, I think Hollywood, again, has influenced us. We live in an era of celebrities, and where seemingly anyone can become one. Viral is a household term. Celebrities are routinely celebrated and live a life the rest of us wish we could have. One of beautiful people, beautiful homes, and happiness. It's the last thing that seems the stickler. We see actors and directors on the read carpet smiling towards the camera, always smiling, and we think that we can be like that.
Never mind that celebrities are often just as unhappy as we are. The sheer amount of drug-related deaths and suicides is testament to that. What matters is that they present themselves as happy, and the camera devours that. Celebrities exist to present an ideal which the rest of us strive to achieve. They can't achieve it, and neither can we, but that doesn't stop us from wanting it.
I'll use myself as an example. For the longest time I had dreams of myself being a famous writer. I envisioned myself having interviews with news people and talking about whatever I was writing. I dreamed of writing novels that get adapted to movies. Hell, sometimes I still dream of that stuff.
Yet thinking about it, what was I looking to get from being a famous writer? Contentment? Writing isn't exactly a low-stress job, especially the more you invest yourself in it. It doesn't guarantee financial stability, God knows it doesn't. But I wasn't thinking realistically, was I? I was thinking in terms of those beautiful ideals which the celebrity industry propagates, that we can all be fabulously successful and, through that success, find happiness.
Yet thinking about it, what was I looking to get from being a famous writer? Contentment? Writing isn't exactly a low-stress job, especially the more you invest yourself in it. It doesn't guarantee financial stability, God knows it doesn't. But I wasn't thinking realistically, was I? I was thinking in terms of those beautiful ideals which the celebrity industry propagates, that we can all be fabulously successful and, through that success, find happiness.
Well here I am, two years into Film School and wondering if I really want to keep doing this. Am I really not that special? Am I really not that unique?
I certainly am unique. We are all. The problem comes when I then use this uniqueness to assume that it makes me better than other people. Which I did. A lot. I think that's what brought me to Film School. For the longest time I was told of how talented I was, how I was destined for being a successful director or whatever. Yet so was everyone else here. They were told by friends and loved ones how awesome they were, how they were one-of-a-kind. So we all go to a University where we all believe themselves to be so much better than the rest of us, that we have something others don't.
What I have is a unique perspective, a unique background, a unique person. I can share and express those, maybe not through my work, but through living. Which I do every moment, no matter what job I have, no matter what house I have. I have value by being. And maybe that's enough.
What I have is a unique perspective, a unique background, a unique person. I can share and express those, maybe not through my work, but through living. Which I do every moment, no matter what job I have, no matter what house I have. I have value by being. And maybe that's enough.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
1/30/2014: What Makes An Adult?
What exactly makes one an adult? I ask myself if I'm an adult, and the first response that comes out of my head is no, I'm not an adult, I'm simply Max. Certainly by some standards I'm an adult, by other standards I might not be. Biologically speaking I'm considered more or less at adult development, and psychologically speaking I'd like to think I've matured, but other so-called indicators of adulthood I do not have. I am not self-sufficient, I do not have a full-time job, and I have never had sex. I am certainly working towards those things, but as yet I have not reached them.
For me, adulthood is an irrelevant concept. Certainly I feel more mature now than I have in prior years, but at what point do I cross the threshhold into becoming an adult? Can we quantify exactly what I need to do in order to be an adult? Asking whether or not I'm finally an adult seems to me the wrong way to approach things, as the concept of adulthood to me implies an end of growth. Youth is associated with growth and learning, while adulthood is associated more with applying what one has learned to the world, and for some, stagnation.
I think that is the wrong way to go about things. I think it makes more sense to view oneself as, in a sense both. Constantly growing and learning, and constantly applying that. When I look at my peers and my elders, it helps me to remind myself that though they may present themselves as mature and well-composed, the truth is they are most likely the same as I am. They have their anxieties, their vulnerabilities, their hopes and fears. In a sense they are still children, as I am.
Adulthood to me implies a certain sense of control. Over oneself, and over our immediate environment. If I go by that definition, then in truth I don't think we ever stop being children. We are always in a world far larger than us, more complex than we are aware, and full of unknowns we do not and may never know. We are always full of anxieties and uncertainties and a certain sense of smallness and a dependence on others around us. The only difference is that as children, there are people larger than us, more put together than us, authority figures to keep us safe. Yet adults do not have something like that, because death tends to end that maturation quite squarely. So certainly compared to children we are stronger, but who are we compared to forty- and fifty-year olds having their mid-life crises? And who are they compared to seventy- and eighty- year olds in the twilight of their years? If we become adults at 20, well what is the rest of that time?
If adulthood is anything, it's not a single threshold we pass and are done with. Rather, it is a constant bettering, towards more self-control, towards becoming more reasoned, more thoughtful, more empathetic people. It is a path towards acknowledging and accepting our limitations, and the limitations of others, and being able to make better choices with those limitations in mind. It'll never be perfect, though. The facade breaks, we make poor choices, we lose composure and control, and sometimes we throw what is essentially the same sort of tantrums we had as children, it only looks different. And of course, in time we will get older and die, and all of us are beggars there.
For me, adulthood is an irrelevant concept. Certainly I feel more mature now than I have in prior years, but at what point do I cross the threshhold into becoming an adult? Can we quantify exactly what I need to do in order to be an adult? Asking whether or not I'm finally an adult seems to me the wrong way to approach things, as the concept of adulthood to me implies an end of growth. Youth is associated with growth and learning, while adulthood is associated more with applying what one has learned to the world, and for some, stagnation.
I think that is the wrong way to go about things. I think it makes more sense to view oneself as, in a sense both. Constantly growing and learning, and constantly applying that. When I look at my peers and my elders, it helps me to remind myself that though they may present themselves as mature and well-composed, the truth is they are most likely the same as I am. They have their anxieties, their vulnerabilities, their hopes and fears. In a sense they are still children, as I am.
Adulthood to me implies a certain sense of control. Over oneself, and over our immediate environment. If I go by that definition, then in truth I don't think we ever stop being children. We are always in a world far larger than us, more complex than we are aware, and full of unknowns we do not and may never know. We are always full of anxieties and uncertainties and a certain sense of smallness and a dependence on others around us. The only difference is that as children, there are people larger than us, more put together than us, authority figures to keep us safe. Yet adults do not have something like that, because death tends to end that maturation quite squarely. So certainly compared to children we are stronger, but who are we compared to forty- and fifty-year olds having their mid-life crises? And who are they compared to seventy- and eighty- year olds in the twilight of their years? If we become adults at 20, well what is the rest of that time?
If adulthood is anything, it's not a single threshold we pass and are done with. Rather, it is a constant bettering, towards more self-control, towards becoming more reasoned, more thoughtful, more empathetic people. It is a path towards acknowledging and accepting our limitations, and the limitations of others, and being able to make better choices with those limitations in mind. It'll never be perfect, though. The facade breaks, we make poor choices, we lose composure and control, and sometimes we throw what is essentially the same sort of tantrums we had as children, it only looks different. And of course, in time we will get older and die, and all of us are beggars there.
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