[883] Bubbling

I have had about a dozen titles for this float by over the last few days. I do not believe it would be overstating that I am coming from a place of calm, deliberateness, but still acutely aware “something” need be said. I'm “procrastinating,” which might be understood as me prioritizing writing this first. I'm actively mitigating my cold house, the heater out of commission, with a plug-in blanket. My coffee is delicious. A movie I've tried to watch 3 times is paused with pre-famous Bobby Cannavale explaining to Robin Williams why he needed a break from their relationship.

Again, I feel on the cusp of greatness. The last few days I've felt my initial enthusiasm for the Sirius XM Radio stations in my loaner car wane. At the same time, I got a loaner car when my truck shit the bed. I got it from someone I actively told was not my friend after we became desk mates at my last job. This friend is also repairing my truck while navigating too many clients and attempting to get through a doctoral program. He references his culture as the source of his impulse to help. My sense of greatness is bolstered by a relationship both shaped and unshaped.

I try to set conditions. The creation of my home is arguably the largest expression of that. Whatever winds may blow, they blow against my house, not my apartment complex. Whatever broad “business” idea I want to pursue, I won't pursue it with anyone less than an Allie or Hatsam.

I think you set up the conditions in your mind and behavior, and they manifest in incalculable ways. With my friend fixing the truck, I told him we wouldn't be friends unless he affected my bank account after he, incorrectly, thought he could get me a side job with the university. It was something of a running not-actually joke for a year and half until I called him about getting hired on where I work now. They paid me, so we're friends now, and then he went and did some shit like fix my truck, and I feel the kind of enthusiastic reciprocity burden to help him insulate and pour cement in his garage.

It has been my suspicion for quite some time that “sharing” or “reciprocity” have been beaten to death culturally. Things have reduced to “me and mine” at all times. Independent of that I can think of my best friend who, over the 20+ years we've known each other were anchored by exacting dollar amounts in where we sat with each other. It's very recent memories where the impulse to reference that $3 spent at McDonald's has come due isn't the first one. I don't know what else you might expect from a couple of psychopaths, but it was a system that worked.

The concepts of what bring us together don't become so opaque without the active assault and assertion for the current cultural narratives. You're not sharing with someone you need to “capitalize” on. You're not sharing your happy moments and achievements as much as marketing your brand or providing data points to get you photographing algorithm-predicted brands next time. Our “culture” is to reflexively submit to the mercy of the various powers that be. The impulse to criticize or push for another standard or definition is punished, or you're just too tired.

For me, I can feel lighter about my impulse to better define and call-out. Did you write a polite, but direct, letter to your upper management the other day telling them to pay everyone considerably more? Do you need to? Yes. Can you afford to? Probably not. I don't like my job, but I'm not clawing my eyes out like I normally would. I can deliberately and meticulously parse out what I like, what I don't, and where it sits with me in the many contexts I exist in at once. That's psychologically regal. That I got to sleep in to 9, get up and write this, look at my bank account and see about a month's worth of similar “effort” between me and getting “even” is physically regal. The things I need are no more or less than we all need, like health insurance, so I don't take it personally like some deficit in my decision making or “simple choice” to spend obscenely for not enough.

I'm full. I'll need to eat again, and I know shit is coming, but I'm full. I get offered more food while I'm full. Whether I'm full of ideas I think more people need to share, or physically stuffed with Thanksgiving leftovers, the implication is to really or genuinely share. We all are packed with as many or more ideas about our lives, the directions we'd like to go, the things we deserve, or the ways we can help. There is no road map. You have to figure out what you're full of, and decide how it needs to be shared. You need to reverse narratives about what you are constrained by and discover what enables you to create. I create blogs. I create “pay us more” emails. I create the half of a friendship or relationship that says, “you must be this good to illicit this much in return.”

It's cold. Most people don't have the priming to hear you. Most people don't have the time. Most people don't have the disposition or the definitions to even understand, nor parrot back, what you've said or what you're doing. That doesn't erase your obligation to try. That doesn't let you off the hook for recognizing things you can be more responsible for. That doesn't unburden you from sorting out your reasons to exist each day. You can choose to respond to how you feel with another brick in your wall or with a brick thrown at your head. You can appreciate the space-heaters and warm blankets, or tell everyone what a piece of junk your air conditioner is. You can always do both, but can you feel which one your behavior is dictated by?

You don't know which part of the water is going to send up a bubble first. You can be sure it's not going to boil if the heat isn't on.