Ugh.
Let's start by trying to remember and paraphrase something I heard in an article about Sad Radicals. (Never mind, I'll just quote it.)
[The paradigm of suspicion leaves the radical exhausted and misanthropic, because any action or statement can be shown with sufficient effort to hide privilege, a microaggression, or unconscious bias. Quoted in JM, the anarchist professor Richard Day proposes “infinite responsibility”: “we can never allow ourselves to think that we are ‘done,’ that we have identified all of the sites, structures, and processes of oppression ‘out there’ or ‘in here,’ inside our own individual and group identities.” Infinite responsibility means infinite guilt, a kind of Christianity without salvation: to see power in every interaction is to see sin in every interaction. All that the activist can offer to absolve herself is Sisyphean effort until burnout. Eady’s summarization is simpler: “Everything is problematic.”]
This got me thinking about the ideas I've used to exhaust myself. I don't belabor nonsense about insufficient power or feel more than perpetually incidentally victimized by way of general life as it were, but feeling “infinite responsibility” is definitely something I've felt and talked about. I don't feel done. I don't really relax. I take a good majority of superficially good or reliable things and look for ways to poke holes or reimagine as accidental blips of good in an otherwise sea of shit.
What's my salvation? How ideologically driven am I? The irony of the ideologue is to maintain no inroads into thinking they're wrong. It's my general view that most people maintain at least one or a dozen Big Lies at the heart of their being that would more or less constitute the kind of irrational radicalism that keeps them chugging along. I think my only saving grace is the ability to be of two minds perpetually. It is all shit. It is all as good as anyone could ever dream of.
When it continues into guilt, I start to get curious. Guilt isn't really something I think I do well. As in, I don't often experience it anymore. I felt guilt when I was a kid. I didn't know why I was doing things and had little context. The more you own your behavior and speak your mind (or “truth” as people who phrase things ickily might opt for), there's little room to beat yourself up or require and seek salvation. I own my “fuck yous” as closely as I do my praise and enjoyment. When I feel evil and mean, I believe me, and maintain the conversation about the dangers of enjoying the destruction by occupying that place for too long or in questionable scenarios.
Interestingly enough, when you look at the Wikipedia page for guilt, you find:
[Guilt is a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person believes or realizes—accurately or not—that they have compromised their own standards of conduct or have violated universal moral standards and bear significant responsibility for that violation. Guilt is closely related to the concept of remorse. Guilt is an important factor in perpetuating obsessive–compulsive disorder symptoms.]
So maybe I'm massively wrong. Maybe my compulsions are driven by a guilt inaccurately conceived in youth, and my standards are not my own, and the responsibility lies elsewhere. I mean, it'd be nice to pawn most if not everything off on childhood trauma, but I made the mistake of writing a lot. There's only so many times you can reference your crazy mother and get away with it. As well, my compulsions, so-labeled by me and not diagnosed or properly interfering with my ability to handle business, are of the variety that annoy people with the real problem of obsessive-compulsive disorder. I have the counting, tapping, making things “even” boutique problem.
There's certainly always a veil of “all I haven't done” or generalized fear response for things I assume I've done wrong which absolutely ties in neatly with my childhood. I didn't do drugs on vacation and I don't hit on people at work, but when HR calls wanting me to screen, I assume the worst. The more I read this Wikipedia page, you could say I've a Freudian, more than an existential, form of guilt, were I in need of claiming it.
But back to the original quoted paragraph. Seeing sin in every interaction is a good one. I've been there. I still see enough disconcerting and dispiriting things constantly, but I'm more resolved to people's overt hopelessness, uselessness, ignorance, or naive selfishness more than maliciousness. The image of pushing a boulder up a hill comes to my mind often and has been considered as a tattoo.
Let's start by trying to remember and paraphrase something I heard in an article about Sad Radicals. (Never mind, I'll just quote it.)
[The paradigm of suspicion leaves the radical exhausted and misanthropic, because any action or statement can be shown with sufficient effort to hide privilege, a microaggression, or unconscious bias. Quoted in JM, the anarchist professor Richard Day proposes “infinite responsibility”: “we can never allow ourselves to think that we are ‘done,’ that we have identified all of the sites, structures, and processes of oppression ‘out there’ or ‘in here,’ inside our own individual and group identities.” Infinite responsibility means infinite guilt, a kind of Christianity without salvation: to see power in every interaction is to see sin in every interaction. All that the activist can offer to absolve herself is Sisyphean effort until burnout. Eady’s summarization is simpler: “Everything is problematic.”]
This got me thinking about the ideas I've used to exhaust myself. I don't belabor nonsense about insufficient power or feel more than perpetually incidentally victimized by way of general life as it were, but feeling “infinite responsibility” is definitely something I've felt and talked about. I don't feel done. I don't really relax. I take a good majority of superficially good or reliable things and look for ways to poke holes or reimagine as accidental blips of good in an otherwise sea of shit.
What's my salvation? How ideologically driven am I? The irony of the ideologue is to maintain no inroads into thinking they're wrong. It's my general view that most people maintain at least one or a dozen Big Lies at the heart of their being that would more or less constitute the kind of irrational radicalism that keeps them chugging along. I think my only saving grace is the ability to be of two minds perpetually. It is all shit. It is all as good as anyone could ever dream of.
When it continues into guilt, I start to get curious. Guilt isn't really something I think I do well. As in, I don't often experience it anymore. I felt guilt when I was a kid. I didn't know why I was doing things and had little context. The more you own your behavior and speak your mind (or “truth” as people who phrase things ickily might opt for), there's little room to beat yourself up or require and seek salvation. I own my “fuck yous” as closely as I do my praise and enjoyment. When I feel evil and mean, I believe me, and maintain the conversation about the dangers of enjoying the destruction by occupying that place for too long or in questionable scenarios.
Interestingly enough, when you look at the Wikipedia page for guilt, you find:
[Guilt is a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person believes or realizes—accurately or not—that they have compromised their own standards of conduct or have violated universal moral standards and bear significant responsibility for that violation. Guilt is closely related to the concept of remorse. Guilt is an important factor in perpetuating obsessive–compulsive disorder symptoms.]
So maybe I'm massively wrong. Maybe my compulsions are driven by a guilt inaccurately conceived in youth, and my standards are not my own, and the responsibility lies elsewhere. I mean, it'd be nice to pawn most if not everything off on childhood trauma, but I made the mistake of writing a lot. There's only so many times you can reference your crazy mother and get away with it. As well, my compulsions, so-labeled by me and not diagnosed or properly interfering with my ability to handle business, are of the variety that annoy people with the real problem of obsessive-compulsive disorder. I have the counting, tapping, making things “even” boutique problem.
There's certainly always a veil of “all I haven't done” or generalized fear response for things I assume I've done wrong which absolutely ties in neatly with my childhood. I didn't do drugs on vacation and I don't hit on people at work, but when HR calls wanting me to screen, I assume the worst. The more I read this Wikipedia page, you could say I've a Freudian, more than an existential, form of guilt, were I in need of claiming it.
But back to the original quoted paragraph. Seeing sin in every interaction is a good one. I've been there. I still see enough disconcerting and dispiriting things constantly, but I'm more resolved to people's overt hopelessness, uselessness, ignorance, or naive selfishness more than maliciousness. The image of pushing a boulder up a hill comes to my mind often and has been considered as a tattoo.
Work feels like that. I'm not getting anywhere but onto the next not-quite disaster. The same tired lines, waiting for you to stop crying, emails with no or bad answers. There's no growth, nothing changing. People just default to cliches. You'd think something as theoretically dynamic as individuals and how they manage to hurt and neglect each other...well, let me stop myself, I said “individuals.” I'm just dealing with people. People stopped being interesting well before I got this job.
I want to take a break. I want to feel like I can take back more of my time without delving into spite. I want the prospect of typing the same stupid lines the same stupid ways to not provoke sheer exhaustion and the impulse to start acting weird.
I talked to the head of the agency on Monday. We sat down for lunch for a little over an hour. We discussed race, day-to-day office interactions, big-picture software and organization dynamics. We're both readers and constant thinkers so it went smooth and didn't show any obvious major failings but for all the things I must assume she thought about a few of my choice phrasings. On the drive back and in these following days, it's only sinking in further that there is no “top” person of any consequence that can move pieces any faster than one pawn at a time. I'm not under the illusion that the bluster of legislation is the hot ticket to be of influence either. Even when you buy your legislators, there's no guarantees. And with all the money in the world, you still die of colon cancer.
It all, always, resolves to you as an individual. You have to cross thicker lines when the otherwise adopted boundaries become too restrictive. That is, if you can't detach or negotiate, which I'm proving to myself I can't or would be unwise. Guilt in this train of thought would serve as a restrictive agent and as empathy for the hapless souls feeling as desperate around you. Good thing I'm still not prepared to claim it.
I want to take a break. I want to feel like I can take back more of my time without delving into spite. I want the prospect of typing the same stupid lines the same stupid ways to not provoke sheer exhaustion and the impulse to start acting weird.
I talked to the head of the agency on Monday. We sat down for lunch for a little over an hour. We discussed race, day-to-day office interactions, big-picture software and organization dynamics. We're both readers and constant thinkers so it went smooth and didn't show any obvious major failings but for all the things I must assume she thought about a few of my choice phrasings. On the drive back and in these following days, it's only sinking in further that there is no “top” person of any consequence that can move pieces any faster than one pawn at a time. I'm not under the illusion that the bluster of legislation is the hot ticket to be of influence either. Even when you buy your legislators, there's no guarantees. And with all the money in the world, you still die of colon cancer.
It all, always, resolves to you as an individual. You have to cross thicker lines when the otherwise adopted boundaries become too restrictive. That is, if you can't detach or negotiate, which I'm proving to myself I can't or would be unwise. Guilt in this train of thought would serve as a restrictive agent and as empathy for the hapless souls feeling as desperate around you. Good thing I'm still not prepared to claim it.
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