I think this'll be one of those blogs that I've tried to write for so long, and tested so many ways to start, it's going to feel several degrees of disjointed, but I'm tired of not writing and want to get the word vomit out.
I think the word “progressive” is presumptuous. Progress describes the pieces of a story or process that start and eventually end with something that's taken for granted as worthwhile. “Progressives” imagine a series of social policies that are meant to speak towards equal opportunity or the staying of disenfranchising history. Progress is thought simultaneously with “gain.” The people involved picked up perspectives or relationships. “The real treasure was what we learned along the way.” Progress, as conceived of as the “positive” or “affirmative” carries an undue nobility or incivility for things that don't feel as though they are aiding you on your quest. The realities of those things often get ignored instead of incorporated or wrestled and contained.
A few things have reminded me of how to continue thinking sideways instead of up. At work, positions open often enough for a mildly different job with about the same pay. The State doesn't cultivate and harvest leaders or visionaries. The State walks you right up the line you can tolerate, and then offers to walk you down it until the scenery of something new keeps you chugging along another 6 months or year. As you “progress” through your career, they tell you to be excited at the opportunity to learn different aspects and “take something away” from your time there. Is it a very personal lesson regarding your emotional turmoil or an indomitable will instead of enough money? Always.
I think about myself in charge of my modest, but successful, entrepreneurial entity. When I have my dozen employees and niche blogs want to “hear my story.” I did an AMA on reddit once while I was working the coffee shop. I spent several hours tearing through the idea that anyone can just do something like that without people giving them money and trusting and relying on them in spite of a system designed for you to fail. Whatever I create in the future, no manual for how you can do it too should include, “get lucky on Craigslist and find x, y, or z” or “sell your body, save, and get real lonely and tolerant of rural living surprises.” I think it was Robert Rodriquez who said on Bill Maher he did a drug study to fund his first movie, so the sentiment would always reduce to “be infinitely creative, and stay healthy.”
Would I have “progressed” in my, very lazily conceived, goal of “retiring by 30?” I didn't even imagine a life past the age of 30 because I was sure I would pretty much have gotten whatever I was aiming for. At 31, technically, it's taken me like 9 years to get the kind of smoke and rumbles of the ability to keep playing the experimental business game. I've had the land for almost 3, a livable house for less than 6 months, the shed 2 years ago, and I've already got the paycheck en route to confidently say I'm no more than a month and a half from getting out of debt that matters. You know, when I type what my life has looked like out like this, it's occurring to me the severity of my compulsion to get what I think I want. I've spent blips of time securing my future. There's a version of this paragraph where 34 or 37 step in for 31 and anyone who reads is going to find me an impossible cunt in my casual reference to what I have, as though what I have right now isn't appreciable enough.
I remember thinking as a kid that I would be “properly successful” when I could afford a big screen TV. I idolized TV, and it was the “cool parents” or rich person in movies who always had one. I obviously had no idea the degree in which TV technology would progress, and could have a dozen of those TVs for the price of what one 65” big black box would have cost back then. Once I got my first big TV, I felt great. I found it for free, and got it repaired for like $100 bucks. I still enjoy it, and my other one I got at Wal-Mart. I like all of my toys and electronics on down the line. The wants didn't stop. The desire multiplier is always in play.
Can you “progress” in such accumulation? Many books and philosophies on that have soundly landed on “no.” Owning isn't appreciating. One of my TVs is quite heavy. It feels like less of a gift when you can't get it moved in, or even across the room, by yourself. A giant organization or a ton of money in and of itself aren't going to do it for me. I have too much stuff already that I've found for free that waits to be put into circulation. I've had considerably more money and did precisely nothing with it until I found the land. I will always find it wildly instructive to consider what I did with my in-class Star-bucks, give them away, when I had accumulated too much and had nothing left to buy. It's not enough to have the money, you have to know how to use it. It's not enough to have the idea, you have to see evidence of you working it. It's the process, not progress. It's the journey, not the destination.
There's probably no greater testament to my underlying obsessive tendencies than when I play video games. A “challenge” section in Spider-Man I'll replay a hundred times for several hours trying to crack how to get ranked at the top. I have to come in first in racing games, marathon races with a slip-up at the end are no exception. There's a zone of “do it, do it, do it” that provokes severe headaches that get ignored, reactive explosions of swearing or hitting things, and just a general “nothing outside of this matters” feeling. It's possible. It's just a bunch of code that wants to be appeased, and there's only so many ways you can continue to fuck up or time you can inhabit the incorrect mental space before you get there.
A similar sensation, though more dreadful, takes place when it comes to doing other work I don't particularly enjoy. At least the video game, I picked it. Paperwork or asshole parent and perpetrator interviews? I have to get paid. A degree of civility and trampling over what my body conceives of as the best time to sleep? There’s a persistent force working against my intention and what I'd like to try and control for. I excel at getting things done or achieving not because I want to. I have to. The alternative is a black abyss of spiraling self-loathing and other not-so broad abstractions of accepted shit into your life.
I have a coworker who has anxiety attacks. She's traced it back to when she had to ensure her sick step-father got his medication several times a day. If he didn't take them at the right times, he could get much sicker or die. So the same sense of “I have to pay attention, I have to get this right” is embedded in her. It was traumatizing to be her age and thinking about being responsible for maybe getting someone killed by not doing what she needed to.
Her story got me thinking about my relationship to school and trying to get approval. My mom was less of a bitch when I got good grades or would read a book. It only occurred to me much later in life how many parents get off on the idea of their smart kids, especially if they don't have to spend countless hours going over the work with them or paying for extra help. Being exceptional at school or a kind of perfect working choir boy kept me safe. So much so, I remember a dinner once where I was trying to tell my mom about a book I read, and she was either tired or had a bad day at work, and was so dismissive of my story, I'm talking about it 20 years later. The only thing she seemed to consistently like about me, being smart and engaged, she dismissed.
Joss Whedon posted an article talking about 5 lies we tell ourselves about trauma. It's a pretty on-the-nose kind of thing about downplaying and making unfair comparisons. It's the fake aspiration that things will get better without change or acceptance. The line that I've thought most about is the idea of control. The people who wrote the article became unbearable in the amount of things they felt the need to control for. Control became “safety and security.” They were told by a therapist that in reality, they only control about 3% of their daily lives, midnight stomps through the house on patrol be damned.
3%? It's hard to say how the therapist arrived at this number, but I got to thinking. I don't control whether or not I get sick. I don't control the bugs that get into the house. I don't control the consistency of the water in my well or the size of the outside water bin I need trucked in. I don't control when the power goes out or whether a signal gets through to my phone. I definitely don't control any of the people I talk to or the various circumstances under which they are or aren't hurting their children. I don't control how much I get paid, and I even barely control what I eat given the practical reality of pain or exhaustion in not doing so, and being situated next to things that are convenient and taste good, which I also had no control over.
What do you control? How you talk about your circumstances. Sentences are control, even if I can't control if or how they'll hit. You can control how you'll react to your reaction, or if you're really good and paying attention, you'll have allowed yourself to not react until necessary. You control your orientation. You control how to understand your actions in a sea of lateral and superficially unequal circumstances. I can be down about not reaching my poorly understood goals, or I can feel a sense of awe that I find myself doing what I'd otherwise need and prefer to be doing, any time I'm doing it, and it's still happening in spite of the unending amount of words I routinely use to ridicule my experience of the world or air my frustrations. I control whether or not I restart the failed challenge in the video game.
I don't hear a lot about what people feel like they can do. I hear endlessly about “how things are” or how difficult or next to impossible they can be to achieve. I hear about “the pace of the State.” I hear about monsters on “the other side” that need to be de-platformed, vanquished, or otherwise shamed into obscurity. But I don't meet people who feel like they can do anything about it. I feel people who are given a set of instructions or directives and can read and follow, but it's not control. I think I understand religious people a little better now. Belief is control. God will sort it out. He wills, as theirs can't be found.
I can control scanning and sorting books. I can control the next sentence. I can control my legs to take me to my car to go get food. I can't ride a bike with no handlebars, but I can practice. I can make it about the process until it manifests as more resembling the skill I want to have or thing I want to see. I can understand my simplest forms of trauma for the power and resolve they lend themselves to, and I can continue to pick to keep my eye on the larger holistic goals that provoke anxiety and guessing and risk and hope-adjacent or the reason to bother getting up again.
I think the word “progressive” is presumptuous. Progress describes the pieces of a story or process that start and eventually end with something that's taken for granted as worthwhile. “Progressives” imagine a series of social policies that are meant to speak towards equal opportunity or the staying of disenfranchising history. Progress is thought simultaneously with “gain.” The people involved picked up perspectives or relationships. “The real treasure was what we learned along the way.” Progress, as conceived of as the “positive” or “affirmative” carries an undue nobility or incivility for things that don't feel as though they are aiding you on your quest. The realities of those things often get ignored instead of incorporated or wrestled and contained.
A few things have reminded me of how to continue thinking sideways instead of up. At work, positions open often enough for a mildly different job with about the same pay. The State doesn't cultivate and harvest leaders or visionaries. The State walks you right up the line you can tolerate, and then offers to walk you down it until the scenery of something new keeps you chugging along another 6 months or year. As you “progress” through your career, they tell you to be excited at the opportunity to learn different aspects and “take something away” from your time there. Is it a very personal lesson regarding your emotional turmoil or an indomitable will instead of enough money? Always.
I think about myself in charge of my modest, but successful, entrepreneurial entity. When I have my dozen employees and niche blogs want to “hear my story.” I did an AMA on reddit once while I was working the coffee shop. I spent several hours tearing through the idea that anyone can just do something like that without people giving them money and trusting and relying on them in spite of a system designed for you to fail. Whatever I create in the future, no manual for how you can do it too should include, “get lucky on Craigslist and find x, y, or z” or “sell your body, save, and get real lonely and tolerant of rural living surprises.” I think it was Robert Rodriquez who said on Bill Maher he did a drug study to fund his first movie, so the sentiment would always reduce to “be infinitely creative, and stay healthy.”
Would I have “progressed” in my, very lazily conceived, goal of “retiring by 30?” I didn't even imagine a life past the age of 30 because I was sure I would pretty much have gotten whatever I was aiming for. At 31, technically, it's taken me like 9 years to get the kind of smoke and rumbles of the ability to keep playing the experimental business game. I've had the land for almost 3, a livable house for less than 6 months, the shed 2 years ago, and I've already got the paycheck en route to confidently say I'm no more than a month and a half from getting out of debt that matters. You know, when I type what my life has looked like out like this, it's occurring to me the severity of my compulsion to get what I think I want. I've spent blips of time securing my future. There's a version of this paragraph where 34 or 37 step in for 31 and anyone who reads is going to find me an impossible cunt in my casual reference to what I have, as though what I have right now isn't appreciable enough.
I remember thinking as a kid that I would be “properly successful” when I could afford a big screen TV. I idolized TV, and it was the “cool parents” or rich person in movies who always had one. I obviously had no idea the degree in which TV technology would progress, and could have a dozen of those TVs for the price of what one 65” big black box would have cost back then. Once I got my first big TV, I felt great. I found it for free, and got it repaired for like $100 bucks. I still enjoy it, and my other one I got at Wal-Mart. I like all of my toys and electronics on down the line. The wants didn't stop. The desire multiplier is always in play.
Can you “progress” in such accumulation? Many books and philosophies on that have soundly landed on “no.” Owning isn't appreciating. One of my TVs is quite heavy. It feels like less of a gift when you can't get it moved in, or even across the room, by yourself. A giant organization or a ton of money in and of itself aren't going to do it for me. I have too much stuff already that I've found for free that waits to be put into circulation. I've had considerably more money and did precisely nothing with it until I found the land. I will always find it wildly instructive to consider what I did with my in-class Star-bucks, give them away, when I had accumulated too much and had nothing left to buy. It's not enough to have the money, you have to know how to use it. It's not enough to have the idea, you have to see evidence of you working it. It's the process, not progress. It's the journey, not the destination.
There's probably no greater testament to my underlying obsessive tendencies than when I play video games. A “challenge” section in Spider-Man I'll replay a hundred times for several hours trying to crack how to get ranked at the top. I have to come in first in racing games, marathon races with a slip-up at the end are no exception. There's a zone of “do it, do it, do it” that provokes severe headaches that get ignored, reactive explosions of swearing or hitting things, and just a general “nothing outside of this matters” feeling. It's possible. It's just a bunch of code that wants to be appeased, and there's only so many ways you can continue to fuck up or time you can inhabit the incorrect mental space before you get there.
A similar sensation, though more dreadful, takes place when it comes to doing other work I don't particularly enjoy. At least the video game, I picked it. Paperwork or asshole parent and perpetrator interviews? I have to get paid. A degree of civility and trampling over what my body conceives of as the best time to sleep? There’s a persistent force working against my intention and what I'd like to try and control for. I excel at getting things done or achieving not because I want to. I have to. The alternative is a black abyss of spiraling self-loathing and other not-so broad abstractions of accepted shit into your life.
I have a coworker who has anxiety attacks. She's traced it back to when she had to ensure her sick step-father got his medication several times a day. If he didn't take them at the right times, he could get much sicker or die. So the same sense of “I have to pay attention, I have to get this right” is embedded in her. It was traumatizing to be her age and thinking about being responsible for maybe getting someone killed by not doing what she needed to.
Her story got me thinking about my relationship to school and trying to get approval. My mom was less of a bitch when I got good grades or would read a book. It only occurred to me much later in life how many parents get off on the idea of their smart kids, especially if they don't have to spend countless hours going over the work with them or paying for extra help. Being exceptional at school or a kind of perfect working choir boy kept me safe. So much so, I remember a dinner once where I was trying to tell my mom about a book I read, and she was either tired or had a bad day at work, and was so dismissive of my story, I'm talking about it 20 years later. The only thing she seemed to consistently like about me, being smart and engaged, she dismissed.
Joss Whedon posted an article talking about 5 lies we tell ourselves about trauma. It's a pretty on-the-nose kind of thing about downplaying and making unfair comparisons. It's the fake aspiration that things will get better without change or acceptance. The line that I've thought most about is the idea of control. The people who wrote the article became unbearable in the amount of things they felt the need to control for. Control became “safety and security.” They were told by a therapist that in reality, they only control about 3% of their daily lives, midnight stomps through the house on patrol be damned.
3%? It's hard to say how the therapist arrived at this number, but I got to thinking. I don't control whether or not I get sick. I don't control the bugs that get into the house. I don't control the consistency of the water in my well or the size of the outside water bin I need trucked in. I don't control when the power goes out or whether a signal gets through to my phone. I definitely don't control any of the people I talk to or the various circumstances under which they are or aren't hurting their children. I don't control how much I get paid, and I even barely control what I eat given the practical reality of pain or exhaustion in not doing so, and being situated next to things that are convenient and taste good, which I also had no control over.
What do you control? How you talk about your circumstances. Sentences are control, even if I can't control if or how they'll hit. You can control how you'll react to your reaction, or if you're really good and paying attention, you'll have allowed yourself to not react until necessary. You control your orientation. You control how to understand your actions in a sea of lateral and superficially unequal circumstances. I can be down about not reaching my poorly understood goals, or I can feel a sense of awe that I find myself doing what I'd otherwise need and prefer to be doing, any time I'm doing it, and it's still happening in spite of the unending amount of words I routinely use to ridicule my experience of the world or air my frustrations. I control whether or not I restart the failed challenge in the video game.
I don't hear a lot about what people feel like they can do. I hear endlessly about “how things are” or how difficult or next to impossible they can be to achieve. I hear about “the pace of the State.” I hear about monsters on “the other side” that need to be de-platformed, vanquished, or otherwise shamed into obscurity. But I don't meet people who feel like they can do anything about it. I feel people who are given a set of instructions or directives and can read and follow, but it's not control. I think I understand religious people a little better now. Belief is control. God will sort it out. He wills, as theirs can't be found.
I can control scanning and sorting books. I can control the next sentence. I can control my legs to take me to my car to go get food. I can't ride a bike with no handlebars, but I can practice. I can make it about the process until it manifests as more resembling the skill I want to have or thing I want to see. I can understand my simplest forms of trauma for the power and resolve they lend themselves to, and I can continue to pick to keep my eye on the larger holistic goals that provoke anxiety and guessing and risk and hope-adjacent or the reason to bother getting up again.
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