[1005] Hush Hush, Eye To Eye

I’ve just completed an old episode of Vice Investigates where the founder of #metoo says, “Once you shine a light on something, you can’t unsee it.”

I work as a counselor. I habitually prompt people to, in their own words, start explicating things in their lives that are routinely under-illuminated. We might talk about how you constantly interrupt your spouse. What, precisely, any given person “sees” during or after that discussion is seemingly a large contributor as to why they can or can’t be bothered to change their behavior.

The boring, yet universal and infinitely impactful, truth about whatever it is you think is in the spotlight is that it is incomplete and perhaps wholly unknowable in a manner that will be emotionally salient. One person interviewed about her…4 years of discomfort…working for a restaurant owner had her explicitly state that it was unfortunate that he just couldn’t disappear and there was nothing in her imagination that would speak to forgiveness. Do you think she really sees the locus of her discomfort if it’s localized so viscerally in him?

It’s human nature to turn whatever we shine a light on into a fairy tale that helps us sleep at night. It’s just as much in our nature to turn the story into a nightmare. I’ve tried to spend less time bemoaning my experiences, negative as they register and perpetually uncomfortable, as though they’re only and forever my most damning indictments of how ambivalent and fucked life is. I invite layers of discomfort into my experience, be it in people who are miserable communicators, activities with endless questions I never quite find great answers to, or jumps into roles and responsibilities that no one beyond my ambition is asking me to take - if you don’t count the imploring screams of negligence.

Part of me is incredibly angry at people who allow themselves to be victimized by themselves. I’m not criticizing mental health or where you might be on your journey through trauma. But I’m incredibly put-off and almost insulted on behalf of every…child whose died via something preventable? Victim of a genocide? Anyone who’s ceaselessly punished for their existence, yet manages to dictate for themselves why they stay alive? People experience all sorts of crazy traumatizing things, big and small, and with some regularity. Creepy managers or crude commentary are not the bar to hang yourself over. It feels gross, entitled, and pretentious.

I’m absolutely fascinated that it has seemed to take years for us to culturally digest the idea that masculinity is not “toxic” by default. We are still reckoning with “competitions” between some of the dumbest and craziest people on the planet getting the keys to power. And we haven’t quite connected just how aggressively we attacked the foundation of how humanity rose in evolution through it’s interplay and connected dynamic. We’ve threatened something wholly foundational so aggressively we’re literally willing to forgo all semblance of reason to destroy the prospect of solving problems in a democratic way.

It’s the attitude. It’s the lack of expectations or end game. It’s not the “best” or “smartest” people who beat the addiction to their own bullshit. It’s people who keep their light trained on the next logical step for them to improve how they feel. When you’re entitled to your feelings and aggressively asserting the impact of “harm,” there is no indication that you have anything to contribute or anything to change. You just chant until the trance takes hold and carries you past any checks or balances.

I suppose after enough attempts to succeed at difficult things, whilst simultaneously watching dozens of failures every week, I see two dramatically different habits and patterns that distinguish people. Do you know how many times I’ve been “too busy” to do anything I want? I haven’t been. It’s a shitty excuse. I read about people who are actually busy doing huge things who still cut out time for their mental health. You, resident of Bedford, have the time. Do you know who gets all caught up in their feelings to the point it threatens not only their life, but of the people they care most about? People who tell you, automatically, every time, “I’m fine.” They lie, often, always, until they die.

We should be asking ourselves how many lies does it take to create the story that allows me to live with myself? Do I have to say I’m prettier than I am? Do I have to say I love my family until I’m blue in the face? Do I have to overlook a list of red flags about my partner that’s longer than any I’ve written for groceries? Could I recognize how dumb I was even if I asked the question? Can I reckon with my lonliness? Are my daily affirmations not juicing me like they used to? Did I live up to even 2% of what I imagined for my future as I was growing up?

We are a violent, ignorant, incredibly lucky species, and we carry on as though we’re all just trading answer keys to different tests. We are all trash, sniffing farts, and looking for the next excuse to crack the facade, en masse, so we don’t have to personally feel responsible for our behavior. Is my culture sick? Who cares, it lets me get away with countless lies about the state of my country, town, or capacity to change anything. I don’t need to shine a light on the gratifying feeling, in fact, it makes me shine so bright, it’s curious how many people can’t seem to see me. Even as I smear shit on walls, attempt to instantiate fascism, or couch my existence in an endless stream of infotainment memes.

You know I want a lot of money so I can run, right? I want backup plans. I want secured locations. I want to make my feeble attempts to build a better culture from somewhere safe. I’m trying to pull out. I’m trying to manage. I don’t have a living memory of feeling like I’m surrounded by adults who are in charge. I was in 6th and 7th grade when Bush was elected and found myself utterly confused that such a fuckwit could be put in charge, then teabaggers and Sarah Palin happened and it’s felt like the proverbial death by a thousand cuts right up until today.

I’m a victim too. I can still access incredibly low and dark spaces when I reflect on the examples that were set, on me, as to how to deal with innocence, ignorance, and vulnerability. Except, every time I shine a light on what’s happened to me or remind myself what I’m capable of, I also acknowledge the choice. Do I repeat the story to myself and make the feelings get more intense? Do I find myself trying to justify a lack of remorse and moves to exploit? Do I choose what I feel to be the wrong thing because it will be briefly gratifying? That’s what happened during my blow-up fight with my ex. I chose to chuck garbage cans, and yell and scream, and fuck her up mentally because she did not expect me to throw her the fuck out, and I knew calling that bluff would hurt as bad or worse than she had been making me feel.

Should I stay smug and entitled to how I felt leading up to that? During? What if I noticed I started taking pride in it? I’d be fucking sick. I would need guidance. I would need someone to hold me accountable if I was unable to do so for myself. I don’t want my amplified feelings dictating the rules. I don’t want the story of our dynamic to be of the inoperable discomfort where I’d start wishing she disappeared and that I’d never bothered. But this is what we’re currently doing, like, wholly trying to burn everything down and pretend we don’t exist in a larger context with greater ideals or hopes and prospects to do better. We don’t expect anything, let alone something remotely positive, to come from the larger experiment. And the day-to-day civility feels fragile and insincere.

I get criticized routinely for what I would describe as having standards. I need you looking forward. I need you to recognize and state what you need and share it honestly. I need you to incorporate perspectives that don’t agree with yours. I need you paying attention and trying. I need these things selfishly. I need to exist around people who are demonstrating and practicing the things that I must in order to remain oriented and healthy. I can’t be engulfed in your universe if it swirls with shitty excuses and the infinite void is utilized to dodge ever landing on a planet worth terraforming. I need you to say, “Yes, that thing is bad, and here’s what I’m doing about it, or deliberately not doing what would make it worse.”

I have a lot of ideas on how to personally survive in my own little bubble or chosen trajectory. I don’t know what “we” have going for us as wholly dependent on each other as we are. I feel empty and angry when I think about relying on you to speak, vote, work, or do anything but abuse your substance of choice, the narrative that keeps you precisely where you are. I’m hostile to the idea of collaboration. The way the world has trended suggests in my bid for more control or influence, I will court a new disaster in nearly every mind I try to incorporate. The unyielding pulse of existence will press me to seek control over cultivation. Will I be smart enough to devise a way around this? Will I choose a dozen tiny points of corruption until the driving ethos and mission statement transcend mockery? Either way, I’m keeping the light on the choice. Where’s yours pointed?

[810] Scratch N Sniff

Where's the 'ol mind headed this morning? I've been scrolling through the approximately 2000 movies I've downloaded, sprawled them across my hyper-defined television screen so I can see hundreds at a time. I started saving larger file sizes as I've grown less concerned about saving hard drive space. I've gone through and edited every one to just display the name (maybe in its native tongue in parentheses) and year. Today was otherwise me blowing a hole in the idea of spending very little money this pay cycle because, not just with insurance, but my plate registration has ballooned. I watched Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, bought some tools online that will help me lay linoleum, and spent too much money eating out. Yesterday I bought tires, almost wholly paid for by $150 I got through my work health program for doing a screening and taking a survey. I've cut out a very comfortable, practical, kind of existence where, even if debt remains, it's reasonable to think it will be gone in months, as always.

I'm still fighting the desire to trot faster as I approach that evenly-broke home, not unlike what I'm told horses do when they return to familiar surroundings. I can taste the liberation that paying the internet bill for a year will feel like. I can see the foundation for the next room of my house. I can taste the needlessly expensive drink after I've dragged myself out to a bar, alone, and slowly digest my deliberately expensive meal. I'm old enough that 3 months doesn't feel like 3 years, but I'm mentally arrested by the notion that even a day is too long! When I lay off even the hum of urgency, I just feel broken, old, and tired. Like, I don't know if it's psychological, but the random pains and weird little spells, like I almost passed out doing yard work the other day, that shit is real.

During the movie, there were a lot of scenes where this relatively famous movie star was alone, singing to himself, rehearsing lines, or otherwise working through his brand of existential crisis. He marries a trophy wife seemingly on a whim. His best friend is his stunt guy who he seems to show just-not-quite enough respect sometimes, but you're confident both men know who they are to each other and themselves. I saw myself there. Too much money and time to worry about things that aren't worth worrying about. Getting into arbitrarily dangerous situations and wishing nothing more than to ingratiate myself to a neighbor with something I want. It didn't look bad, but it didn't look good.

I'm finding myself asking more about what it is I want. I think fundamentally I want to dick around. I want things to be fun and creative. I've been thinking about the kinds of excuses I've used to not do things. Why don't I write music? I don't want it to suck. Why don't I do stand-up? There's so many voices out there already. Why don't I just read or watch at least x amount each day? I hate splitting my attention. All of it comes with the presumed idea that with focus and time, I'd readily dedicate enough of myself to any one of those endeavors to make a respectable stab. More simply, I just feel like what I want to do when I do it, and don't when I don't. I don't really need a reason or excuse beyond that. I don't know why I want one.

I want reasons, right? I don't want to be a mindless mass of impressions thinking my first idea is my best and most convincing idea because it's first. I want to dig out a beating heart that will go right along pumping the reality of my how and why even when I'm not looking. I want to continue to tie together the long story of my actions into the kind of future I imagine. It's a future I'm starting to live in already. I need so little to keep me on track too. Let me get my floor done, and I'll spend 2 days riding that high. Let me get the grass mowed and things will really seem to be picking up around here! Let me get things a little better organized or cataloged.
So much of my time I feel is sucked up by “transitional” periods. Can't just wake up and do anything strenuous. Can't just be done with work without the drive home. Can't clean and organize without adding to the trash yet to be burned and laundry still needing to be done in town. That is, my experience is still mostly dictated by things that have to be done more than I've chosen to do them. They eat time and mental resources. They cost money. They leave me talking about them at 1:21 AM, instead of going right to sleep or discussing some new interesting thing I've explored or built. The movie tonight was a reimagining of the past. I merely rehash the present.

I think about the notion of “everyone being a critic.” It's why I'm not actually worried if music I create sucks, or it takes me longer than I believe it should to get a laugh trying stand-up. I watched some writers pick apart a book which they loved, but they had to voice how it seemed to short-change black women, maybe. One of the critics is like 300 pounds and looks like an overstuffed prize at a haunted carnival. Was she moving the needle for the broader culture forward because she appeared on VICE and offered her salient opinion? How is anything that anyone says in criticizing art valuable? I don't mean you can't question norms or ideologies, more than, what has it ever served to talk about the, literally everything, any single piece of work can't or didn't do? I've honestly never understood that as a criticism. “That's a great song! But not enough bass...” “I kept wanting to read more and more, couldn't put it down! But did he have to be so cliché?” Umm, hello, there are cliché people and perhaps the masterful dose of them is why you kept devouring.

Sometimes artists have reasons, sometimes they write parody songs. They're all driven to create in the face of their hits and misses and the millions that have come before. That's what I want to focus on. Whatever the medium, I don't want to stop desiring seeing the world around me change or watching my ability increase. Even if it's just recognition, oddly enough, as I promise you being open to watching everything does not mean there was anything that stuck. There's certainly irony in the fact that I wish to be saying something in the things I create, but I'm willing to accept impressions from everything until something arrests my focus. I think it's a testament to a few things. One, there's only so much you can really focus on even if you have myriad interests. Two, a lot of shit really isn't worth that much time and attention, and sped up is going to give you the same takeaway. Three, it's comforting to think that most people, most of the time, are going to have as nothing an attitude about me and impression of what I create as I have with them. If my recent lesson in celebrity and sordid past of making people hate me very hard are any indication, I'm going to call the third one aspirational for anyone who shares the language.

I know I've been too comfortable for too long. I'm out of practice in being hyper-vigilant and motivated and accountable. My day job lets me be lazy. My transitional time was influenced hard enough by my general flighty thought and action patterns before life's obligations. If it were up to me, I'd get done writing this, spend the next few hours playing guitar and watching something, sleep in, and try to make some headway on taking inventory. But nonsense safety staffing and mandatory training beckon. I get things delivered to the office because the self-imposed surcharge to persuade the mailman to come to the house until I can build a large enough box annoys me. I've signed up for some 30 hours of sitting around a smelly ward for those with developmental disabilities in what some might describe as a cynical cash grab as I'm not paid enough to “entertain” the kid who seems to only get in trouble when he's bored. Yeah? Well, take a number.

[724] Dent

Midway through a “Vice News Tonight” episode talking about kids born with deficiencies due to Zika, I had a thought. Well, there were several.

Initially, I thought about winning the genetic lottery. I've alluded to my general good health, size, looks, brain etc. that I enjoy or have used well-enough in life. I don't really struggle to learn or remember things, at least when I care about them. I don't have some deformity to hide or that I'm particularly insecure about. I'm not bleeding money on hospital bills. And despite my capacity to describe an ongoing crisis that is the set of my various neuroses, there's hardly a day I'm not laughing, lounging, or otherwise throwing things into my life that I enjoy.

The point is that I have it good. I have it really good. I suspect many people don't believe they have it as good as I do. And I think this lack of belief in themselves is why I find myself relatively alone in what I choose to worry about or try to fix. If you're not “the problem,” something external needs to be. That isn't to say you aren't a problem or won't become one, but it does mean your perspective on how those problems are nested and where your attention can go are different.

I don't need to be entertained, for example. I'm not craving vacation or my next day off. As I've gotten to know more “regular” people, each moment off seems like a craving and clawing. They're consumed by what they think they should be worried about, and then nothing else gets in. By the time there's room to look up or breath, they're literally desperate for air. If all of your brainpower is spent fretting over shitty software, corruption in the system, and the inescapable hole modernity has born you into, every new issue makes the flashing lights and noises all the more chaotic.

That's how you get selfish. Each escape has to trump the last period of desperation. Say you're worried about being single or dying alone. Say you hold that worry for years. Then here comes a chance to get married! Is marriage right for you? Who cares! Fantasy time. Well-wishing and professional pictures abound. The driver of your decision can get ignored, or worse, celebrated as of course I was afraid, but no more! That is to say, were you healthy, good looking, and smart before you got married? Your mind can zero in on some glaring presumed hole and block out what else you've been doing or what you might instead.

I see many different futures for myself. I believe they're as attainable as anything because I've done the math or prepared the floor to allow me to fuck up in forward motion as often as it will take. But that's sort of like my dream wedding. I read stories of Elon Musk sleeping on the shop floor and get jealous. He gets to work himself to death on something important and what's genuinely the best there is to offer. I want that. If I didn't, I never would have ran up and down theater aisles like cleaning up popcorn was the most important thing in the world. I wouldn't be able to have zero guilt about starting the coffee shop because every second of it was exactly me and what I wanted to do. I keep tasting appetizers of my ideal meal.

The problem I have is being unable to know what to do with myself with all this “belief.” Maybe it's like being an earnest disciple on a planet where everyone's already been converted, just not to believe in what you do. One of the things I think made me so angry about my friend group in college was that we all seemed to have the same “problem.” All were as smart or smarter. All looked good. All could figure out one thing or another to keep floating on by or achieve some goal. So I didn't understand why that goal wouldn't be the world. 

I don't know why I'm not comfortable living out of a van traveling between national parks. I don't know why it seemed the exact opposite thing to do to lean into ideas of monogamous relationships and middle-class comforts. I don't know why I couldn't maintain the idea of a “real job” after getting an advanced degree and paying back debts for years. I don't know why it always feels like there's more to sacrifice, and it's worthwhile to do so, in order to achieve otherwise dreamlike ends. I can watch so many lives running in parallel that feel familiar or safe. How could a set of my equals not feel like it's all a little too easy? Where's the guilt?

With my non-physically-presenting brain conditions, I do my exhaustive pursuing of things, adopt “your” shitty real-world jobs, fight for every inch of progress on some big dream, write, watch, read, and think incredibly hard about working out regularly. I've got a month and a half to blame youthful indiscretions on my 20's. I don't have a lot of money, but I also never planned to have a lot of money, because nothing I ever read suggested I should expect to find said money. And I still feel there's so much to do moving forward. I still think tomorrow could be the day some friend of a friend here's about me or some random Craigslist person turns out not to be shit and we work together to build something real.

That's a word that gets shot to hell when you're in the fog of day to day existence. Real? Well, I'm here, aren't I? I showed up. I answered your email. I feel the weight of busywork and the humidity. But what about the dark matter? What about the indefinite future your particles could arrive in, or indeed are already inhabiting, just less and less so with each new concession? Real means something. Like we all do when we break statistics and trends and create the conditions to capitalize on luck. We don't live in an environment where we can take anything for granted. But every day, all I see is people who do. Plans and meetings months in advance. Dream partners one day or exes coming back. The party neatly scheduled between 8:30pm and 11:00pm, because you don't want to get home too late before work the next morning.

I haven't felt real in a very long time. I'm not excited to meet each day. I don't know quite if I'll be able to persuade myself against doing something stupid “because” and “why not.” I don't have much focus beyond the haze of failed attempts to get things done I've trained myself to never expect will happen anymore. They won't without a hundred more phone calls, dozens of online posts, hundreds or thousands of wasted dollars, and a hundred more blogs decrying the same problem in slightly different ways. No one wants to help. No one believes. They're comfortable doing whatever it is they do. They don't even want to TALK about it because, well, you'll rub off on them in guilt-inducing and embarrassing ways, and haven't you made enough people resent you already?

It's still right now is the point. You're still young enough. You've got time to fail. You've got as many hats to wear as you can reach for. I may have squandered my shot at ever getting a six pack before I turned 30, but you don't have to say you were too afraid or lazy to indulge your idealism. You don't have a brain deficiency. You're not hungry. You've got more money than you'd like to admit, and you might not appreciate the nature of the sacrifices you'd have to make. But there's worse things. You could be old and have the same problems. You could die an old cliché. You could be hungry and alone or have your own sick kid. Think those will feel like the times to do something more or different?