I think there’s a moment to capture.
The last few days I’ve been feeling viscerally aware of how good I have it. To be sure, I practice active appreciation for my circumstances, but I think a lightly drunk conversation with my dad, when I haven’t drank that much recently, helped nail the point in deeper. We talk a lot of politics. I often return to the idea that no matter how crazy things have gotten in the budding-fascism landscape, we’re more Huxley than Orwell in why we might be slow to react or as forcefully as required. Do I really want to die for anything on any given day? Not as much as I want to be entertained, eat, or hang out.
I feel like the story for a long portion of my life is one that was tempted to complain. I could have a lot of amazing things happening to me, and I would default to what I could criticize, fear, or be angry at. I think this was an extension of how helpless I felt, in spite of any, and often, demonstrated capacity. It’s still there, both an incredible capacity to complain and do great things. The difference in my old-enough adult mind between how they operated in the past to now is how I feel about them. The feeling informs, it doesn’t steer.
I’m what I consider to be an extremely judgemental person. Exercising judgment is a different game than weaponizing it. When you’re not in control, it’s a defensive weapon by default. You’re trying to distance yourself from all of the things to be fearful and angry about. When you are in control, you can say something like, “I find this scary, but” or “I’m filled with rage, yet.” Sentences structured like that are often red flags for diminished accountability. “I love you, but” “I know I said that, except.” When you’re stuck in your feelings, you can’t hear the contradiction. You don’t understand the disconnect between your words and actions.
I’ve gone well over the cliff of trapping myself in an environment that tries to pair my words and actions. As a result, there are literally hundreds of things I’ve written about that I’ve claimed to want, fix, or work on that are a living record/dare to test me about what I “seem” like or “what I mean.” As often as I can squeeze, it’s precisely what I do. This is also a prerequisite for getting credit for what you don’t do. How else could you determine laziness and neglect from a real choice? How big is your basket of evidence that you mean what you say? What confidence can you have in yourself that something is reasonable or “realistic?”
My extreme judgment is always going to target myself first. It’s why patience and grace are also practices. I, mostly, know about me in any given moment. Can I dig up every hidden thought and instinct? I certainly try, but no. Do I know an exacting percentage of diseased or complicated cells itching to kill me? Of course not, but I don’t feel sick. We’re invited, in what feels I suspect to most people like an endless nag, to be constantly observing ourselves. Could you ask for a better environment for creating anxiety and depression if you didn’t grasp the nature of your control? Your feelings defensively picking you apart indefinitely?
I find myself returning to the idea of “I can’t.” It’s just this persistent echo. It’s a response to the idea of complaining about “my life.” I have it so fucking good. Poor, I’m good. just-enough money, I’m good. Practicing or building something everyday or sitting around watching TV, I’m good. I’ve never been genuinely hungry a day in my life. I’ve survived every brush with death so far. I have so much stuff, and stuff that reflects my values and privilege. I don’t feel arbitrary and predatory impulses that weaponize my judgment or intelligence. I know that I want my castle built on the same foundation from which I built my shed.
Do you feel it? Do you feel like you’re in a place of perpetual potential, or surrender? Are you waiting until you hit 40, or 50, for the license? How much more do you need? Who’s going to be your sugar daddy or are you already hysterical by what has been granted from your Orange Alpha? So much of what I choose to spend my time on has been a direct repudiation of what I’m told I should feel or do, starting as reactionary spite, and then molded into deliberate practice. I had to learn what I actually preferred. I had to clock my actual energy and enthusiasm for what types of engagement and towards what things. A perspective wasn’t bestowed upon me, it had to be excavated and shaped.
And it’s ongoing work. I’m sensing an analogy when it comes to working with A.I. I’m building me-centric software to manipulate and organize media files numbering in the hundreds of thousands. I have to think methodically, notice when it’s drifting, and learn things about how I can accidentally break or undo what was working. It’s taken me 20 hours on a piece of vibes-coding software to get, maybe 20% of where I’d like to be in quickening what I’ve previously been doing manually for hours/days. It’s personally gratifying/exciting to see what I can create. When I describe my media habits to most people, you can tell I sound “weird” or “crazy” or “just why?”
I’m not otherwise distracted, so I get to drift and linger in spaces that aren’t about merely surviving into the next miserable day. I get to gamble in ways that aren’t frivolous. I get to form opinions of things I’m not immediately inclined to give a shit about. And I get to do that quasi-indefinitely, even in the midst of when practical things come calling. The way to tear my appreciation for all of that down is to think about what I don’t have, or designate an “ideal” that feels, currently, unreachable.
A couple days ago I thought about writing a “here’s everything that’s awesome about me” piece. As I thought about the awesome thing, I immediately wanted to counter it with all of the negative examples or incidents from my life. That I can or want to do either, but most importantly both at once I think is one of the most important things to protect about myself. I’m prepared to give credit where it’s due. I’m not dispositionally avoidant of what else a story or framing could mean. I’m not letting how I feel about any version of my life be the dominating factor in how I consider myself or what I choose to do next. I’m everything good, and everything bad, about me. I’m every word I’ve typed, and everything I’ve yet to access, or never will.
All things being true, at once, I chose these words. I’m choosing my coffee. I’m choosing to return to my A.I. software project soon, then it will probably be food and to play my media. I’m healthy. I’m close to the right temperature. I’m surrounded by what I’ve actualized and what remains as my potential. I’m actively contemplating and discussing other goals and collaborative projects. I’m in the recent memory wake of attending the movie theater yesterday, as well as a comedy show, and 14 concerts/performances across 3 cities over the last 3 weeks. I went to my favorite bars with my favorite people. I ate and drank heartily. I made $1,300 selling some of my Pokemon cards. I’ve cuddled with 5 cats.
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