Self-reflection in a lazy river

Graduation. Supposedly some life-changing event. Some recognizable feat. Something to be congratulated. Something to give you that added significance to your life and your title. Why yes, I am a Bachelor of Science. At some point within the next decade of my life I’ll be a Master or a Doctor. Fancy. In truth, nothing will really change in my life except the titles. I’ll go from single-student-part-time office assistant-researcher-TA to single-unemployed-college graduate. Excuse me, single-unemployed-Bachelor of Science.

Graduating should be exciting right? I mean this is the sitcom period of life: going to clubs, dating tons of people, having a job that’s rarely portrayed on screen and goofing off the rest of the time, hanging out with strange but somehow loveable friends in some big city… all conveniently set at prime time getting the viewership of 20-30 year olds in “similar” situations… except by similar I mean quite a bit less hilarious, with little to no satisfying wrap-ups after a half hour conflict, and the added bonus of the sorrow, loneliness, and pain of real life. I mean I often find my life hilarious and fun, in an unscripted, sarcastic, exaggerated, audacious, and reckless sort of way. But it's a lot more than that. Not usually like a sitcom.

Anyway, I’ll still be in Provo, the place I was planning on leaving as soon as I could. I’ll still be in student housing, which I also planned on leaving ASAP. I’ll still be car-less, though I’m coming to the realization more and more that a bike simply won’t cut it for real employment so that will have to change. (Sorry, William. You are the most wonderful and reliable of my possessions and I’m still amazed that your non-professional grade frame has taken me hundreds of miles). People I love are still leaving. I’ll still have the same problems and worries and misunderstandings and far-off hopes that may never come to fruition. To me, graduation has been a long, drawn out settling in of disillusionment.

I meet people who have these plans and have been places, traveled the world, done things and I wonder, why isn’t that me? Why didn’t I do that? Why don’t I do that right now? I mean I’m graduating… I can do that stuff now, right? I’ve scrambled through the memories of the last few years of my life, desperately looking for something I must have missed. I mean I had plans and options before… Peace Corps, move to LA, Teach for America, etc etc etc. There was supposed to be a clear SOMETHING to do after school I thought… I mean what was the point of all that? To get a piece of paper? To get a job? To what? Did I not do something right? The only clear place I know I’ve royally screwed up and missed things is in my relationships, romantic and otherwise. That in itself has been the biggest and most influential trial I’ve been through my whole life really. But even in that realization and working hard to mend things that have been broken, I’ve found little solace. That journey at least I know is bigger and meant to fill my whole life, unlike the others meant for these few years. So where am I supposed to go?

No matter how many times I learn or realize that life is never about the outcome, I somehow always get sucked into that way of thinking. I mean I’ve been rearing at the reigns this whole time to go do something with my life and now that I’m free, nothing. I feel no pull or purpose. It's like I need something to fight or to push me in my life. The beautiful thing about school for me was working relentlessly towards a goal and loving the challenge and the things I learned. But now I’m at the end. I’m at the completion of this journey and I feel utterly lost, burnt out, and strangely stuck. The plans I make and the things I want are falling through. I’ve been desperately holding on to potential hopes and reasons for me to be here, when I should be letting go. I’m not good at letting go. It feels wrong and illogical. And so the process of disentangling me from my ideals and letting them float away has become what feels like cutting off life vests and buoys to save myself from drowning. Not seemingly practical or advisable.

The funny thing is, when really looking at the big picture, I think I’m trying to save myself from drowning in a 3 foot deep lazy river. Probably the only reason I’m not moving is because I’ve completely entrapped myself with the inner tubers and floaties of my ideals so as not to die. In consequence I have created an plastic, air-filled blockage in the vascular theme park ride that is my life. Some hypothetical life guards are probably at this moment telling me that only one inner tube is allowed per guest in the lazy river due to safety reasons. In addition, I also have this wonderful disposition where everything in life is part of some deep, existential essence and thus any ephemeral crisis is a meaningful and agonizing death. Though the richness of success is also fully experienced and profoundly beautiful, the somewhat ridiculousness of the way I feel things is always at the back of my mind. It’s not that what I feel is wrong, it’s just not lighthearted by any means. I’m pretty sure studies have suggested that this kind of feeling leads to increased risks of heart attacks and other such things that I really have no clue about. Heart attack from fighting everything has been added to the list of likely ways I will die (right after skin cancer and before reckless endangerment).

Others have learned the art of living freely, without fighting, and I guess, really, that’s what I’m probably supposed to get out of this. That nothing is ever really in my hands, yet it all is. It’s mine to act WITH but not ON. It’s mine to be with but not mine to control. I think that might be freedom. Finding the balance of accepting the world for what it is and relinquishing my ever-futile hold on it, while existing purposefully and honestly. Because, though there is a potential of really getting hurt and dying and tons of horrible things happening, those things are going to happen whether or not I'm desperately trying to control them. I'm too busy trying to not drown that I forget I can swim.

Now to find a job I suppose. That’s what single-unemployed-Bachelors of Science adults do, right?

Life isn't fair

Life isn’t fair.

I remember my dad saying this to me in the middle of a fight. I don’t remember what we were fighting about, I just remember screaming “it’s not fair!” thinking maybe if I said it loud enough, whoever was in control of such things would magically make it fair.  At my father’s retort, I cleverly suggested “well shouldn’t we be trying to make it as fair as possible?”

My answer is no, 15 year old Liz. Sorry I betrayed you.

I’ve always considered myself a hard worker. If I want something, I will put everything I have on the line for it. I believe in a good, honest day’s work. I believe in working for what I want. At first glance, it seems I hold the traditional American values: work hard and climb to top, because, by golly, if you work hard, you deserve the top, you will achieve your dreams, and you will be successful. But I think this mindset is precisely the problem. The problem with capitalism, socialism, and all the other isms you can think of. The problem with our generation. The problem with me.

Working hard isn’t the problem. Doing what you want isn’t the problem. The problem is the step taken after. The idea that after all the hard work, the world owes me.  I deserve the outcome that I’ve worked for. Hard work becomes a means to an end. I will get A’s in all my classes to get a degree to get a job to go to grad school to get a PhD to publish papers to… I will do whatever it takes to get what I want because it’s the end result that matters, not the in-between.

But what happens when the outcome isn’t delivered? When, even after all the hard work and the grade-A effort, you fail. What if after putting it all on the line, the result isn’t what you intended. Truth be told, this happens the all the time. People fail. I fail. People fail me. The system fails me. It all together doesn’t work, despite my best efforts. The world still owes me, damn it! I don’t deserve this result! Where is what I’m looking for and where are you, God?

Here are some common themes in the answers that run through my head:

“Just trying a couple times isn’t going to cut it, you need to persevere! It’ll come eventually”

“God knows best. It just isn’t time for you to get what you want yet”

“You must have done something wrong. The system works, you just don’t work correctly in it”

“Outcome X probably isn’t good for you anyway. It’s not your fate. Your failure is a sign.”

The replies are plenty, but they never really cut at the heart of reality. The fact of the matter is, the outcome was NEVER the point. Because the truth, at least the truth as I’ve come to realize, is that all the important things in life can never be earned. They have to be given.

Because how, ever, could I earn my life? How could I ever earn someone’s love? How could I ever earn the feeling of someone wrapping their arms around me? How can new parents earn the feeling of holding a newborn child? How could any of us earn forgiveness, especially after terribly hurting someone? How can we earn those moments that stick with us because they’re simply too big to forget? They all have to be given. There is no system, or formula, or rule book, or whatever, for these things, no matter how hard we try to reduce it.

For the entitled, the “given” is an easy escape from trying. Because if it doesn’t matter what work I do or don’t if I’m given everything, why should I work? To them I say the same thing: the point is NEVER the outcome. The point was never to “get”, whether or not you work for it.

The point is to be. Here and now, regardless of what happens tomorrow, we are alive. And while receiving those important things - those things we want so badly - is completely out of our hands, we have every opportunity to put them in someone else’s. We have the opportunity to give to someone else. Working hard does not have to be some cost-benefit analysis focused on the end result. Instead, it can be an expression of love. Because that work means something. Because it is something you believe in. Because that work signifies that even though the result may not be the desired, you were genuine in your effort. It is an expression of love for all that has been given you.

Has it not been said “…Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body more than raiment?...For [it is known] that ye have need of all these things… take no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself”. Applied here, regardless of tomorrow, we can live today. We are more than the things we want or even what we need.

So, no. Life isn’t fair. It wasn’t ever meant to be. 

I swam in this lake

I swam in this lake. On top of a mountain. 

Life is damn good. Life is so damn good.

Do you ever have those moments where you just feel so alive, you can’t quite be contained? Like the air is filled with electricity and every breathe is just this call to go and do and belong to something? Like nothing can stop you, like anything you want is at your fingertips, like where you are is exactly where you need to be? Like even though things aren’t exactly what you thought they would be, they are perfect and beautiful and vibrant and fill your whole being with purpose and acceptance…

I know I write about a lot of more difficult topics and maybe it seems that I focus on the negative too much, but there is a reason for that focus. I believe that finding those truly pure, beautiful moments in life requires an acceptance of it’s exact opposite. Not only an acceptance, but a willingness to throw oneself into the possibility that the situation might turn out either way and there’s no way to control the outcome. Difficult situations are important. And wonderful, pleasing moments are important too. But you can’t have one without the possibility of the other..

I don’t want to run away from painful things because I don’t want to run away from wonderful things. I don’t want a dichotomy in my life that isn’t real. Because it all can be beautiful and I don’t ever want to limit myself or deny myself the possibility of feeling and experiencing what life throws at me. Or what I throw myself into. Life is too short for me to live like that.

The two times I’ve climbed Mount Timpanogos, this concept has been very clear to me. And it was clear to me as I crossed the finish line of my first 100 mile bike ride. And after I finished biking up Squaw Peak. And as I’ve sat in silence with people I love. After I’ve spoken my mind even though I could lose everything. After I’ve sincerely been with another person as they’ve shared some of the toughest things they’ve been through. After I’ve asked for forgiveness. After I’ve granted forgiveness. After I’ve said I love you. After I’ve lost and after I’ve won… I just feel so… full. So vibrant. So confident. So at one with everything around me, to the point where it’s not about me at all, yet I am completely me. Like I am exactly where I want to be and it’s perfectly ok to be where I am. Part of the innermost magnificence of our existence. Part of the ultimate heart of hearts.

And in those times, and other times as I’ve allowed myself to feel, life is so damn good. Life is so perfect in it’s incomplete, messy, inconsistency. Life is glorious. Though everything seems to be out of place to my rational mind, I’ve come to realize, I’ve never known what it means for things to be in place. And that very thought, the fact that I think I know the why’s and how’s of what my life is supposed to be, is the one that stops me from seeing how truly exquisite life is. But it’s there. It’s all there. Just there waiting to be seen and felt and heard. Just waiting to let you in on its secrets.

Life is so damn good. 

Some thoughts on hunger

Hi my name is Liz and I want things. I want a lot of things that I often don’t get. I feel like wanting is bad for me. Every time I don’t get what I want I get sad and I just want more. It’s a never ending cycle of want. I’ve tried to stop wanting multiple times. I just think that if I could stop wanting or stop caring then I’d be happier. I’d live a better life maybe. If I could just figure out how to stop it, it would all be better. Or if I could just satisfy this unending want maybe it would stop. Forever. The things I want control me.

Hunger. When I’m hungry I should eat, then I won’t be hungry. Right? That’s how it works right? But sometimes I’m not allowed to eat. Like when I’m at work. Or when I forget my wallet and can’t buy lunch. Or sometimes I really just want a chocolate cake but I simply do not have the means to get it. So I think about chocolate cake. And I keep thinking about it. And I try eating chocolate chips in the hopes that they satisfy me and they do for a while but inevitably, the chocolate cake comes back. I still want it, till finally I bike to Smith’s and I peruse the cakes, or the donuts or whatever I want so badly, and I buy one. And I take it home and I eat that damn cake that vexed me for all that time. And it’s satisfying.

And then a week or a month or even a year later, I want chocolate cake. Again.

Is it wrong to want chocolate cake? No. Chocolate cake is delicious. It can be a really beautiful thing. Is it wrong to eat chocolate cake? Not inherently so, no. I mean people will tell you not to eat in excess because you’ll get fat and die or something. It’s ok in moderation. That’s the word we use right? Moderation. Or it’s ok on special occasions like birthday parties or other cake eating events. It’s ok at the right time and it’s ok as long as you don’t get carried away. But what if I want to eat that whole chocolate cake? What if I want to eat 12 chocolate cakes? And just eat them one after the other. Just stuff them in my mouth. Even if I puke. Even if it makes me terribly ill. Even if I get fat and die. What if I want those cakes so badly I buy one everyday and just relish eating it? And get frosting all over my face and hands just gouging out handfuls of this cake….cake everywhere….

But that’s just crazy. And disgusting. I mean, who really eats 12 cakes right? Pffft ridiculous. Even if I wanted to, the consequences are just too dire. I mean, I don’t want to get fat and die. And I don’t want everyone to think I’m a fatty or obsessed with cake. I mean jeez Liz. Control yourself. You’re better than that. You’re better than that chocolate cake. And you’re only going to buy healthy foods and eat those instead of cake. And avoid the bakery section of Smith’s and avoid birthday parties lest you fall to temptation. I mean one bite of that cake and it’s all over… deliciously over… everything you’ve worked for gone down the drain. You will get fat and die…. Just don’t think about the cake… Don’t think about how the creamy frosting lingers in your mouth…. How the rich almost brownie-like pieces almost melt at contact with your lips… pure flavor… that you absolutely CANNOT have. Ever. Don’t eat the cake… no cake. No more cake. Never. Don’t think about the cake. The cake the cake thecakethecakecakecakecakecakecakecake….

CAKE. I still always want it. No matter what I do, the cake is always there, just bringing me misery. If I could just get rid of this hunger, my life would be better. Or if people would just effing stop making cakes  I wouldn’t be plagued by the cake. It wouldn’t even matter!! How I wish it wouldn’t matter. Cakecakecakecakecake.

But what if I buy the cake. And I eat it slowly, savoring every bite. What if I consider every crumb and ask it, “are you what I really want?” What if I was open to the idea that maybe that cake is just a cake. Or that maybe, the cake isn’t what I really want. Or maybe it is. But am I open to it being either? Am I open to throwing the cake in the trash if it’s not really what I want/ Am I open to really considering that I’m filling a void for something else?

What if I do really just want cake and that’s all there is to it… What then? Well… do I have to eat the cake? Is it forcing me to eat it? Will I die? Will I die if I don’t get what I want? What if it was ok to be hungry. Do I have to eat when I’m hungry? Do I have to play this game? What if I could look square at that cake say and say “I want you” and know that if I don’t buy it, I will be ok. Because I’m a cake loving monster and I don’t care who knows it! I love chocolate cake! But I can leave that cake behind and save it for when I truly want it. And even if I never get even the smallest piece of cake ever again, my life will not be over. Because it was never about the cake at all.

It is ok to be hungry.

And it’s ok to eat cake.

Squaw Peak

I love biking.

About a month and a half ago I decided to bike up Squaw Peak. I figured it would be a good ride,   I’d never done it before, and I love exploring up in Provo canyon. And I mean maybe I’d meet some hot biker guy and we’d race to the top and then make out and then we’d get married after biking across America together and then...

It’s probably bad that I am frequently boarding this train of thought.

Annnnnyway. I thought it would be a good ride. I had no idea what I was getting into. So I packed up my camelback, donned my shortest spandex in hopes of getting a tan and left. After the 8 miles of steady incline to get to Squaw Peak road, I started the climb. I learned later that the climb consisted of 4 miles of switch-backs and unrelenting hills with literally no flat sections. I also learned later that at 2 in the afternoon when I attempted the climb it was about 95 degrees outside. I’m not sure what I expected to be honest with you. I mean, I was attempting to bike up a mountain in the middle of June. And I didn’t even have my cool clip-in pedals so I didn’t have nearly enough power as I do now.

The first 2 switch-backs were bad, I was already in my lowest gears and I realized I needed to adjust my seat. So I pulled over and watched as several muscular men with calves as big as their thighs passed me, asking if I was ok. I just nodded, slightly ashamed. I had no idea.

It was good I didn’t ask them how much farther it would be to the top of the mountain because I probably would have given up right then. But I decided as I mounted again that I didn’t care what I had to do to get to the top – I would get there even if I had to crawl.

I couldn’t handle more than one switch-back at a time biking so I alternated walking and riding. Several times I broke down and cried and every time I wiped my tears away quickly as another biker passed me. I wasn’t even sure what were tears and what was sweat.

I couldn’t help but think I wasn’t good enough or strong enough or fit enough or legitimate enough. I couldn’t help but hate my inferior bike and how I ran out of water about half way up. Or how unprepared I was. The hills just never stopped. There was never a moment of respite. Some cars that passed me were clearly struggling up the incline. I had no idea how hard it was going to be.

When I finally reached the top, slightly delirious from dehydration and sunburn, I fell to the ground and didn’t move for a good 20 minutes. Crying. My legs were Jell-O. I felt like I was going to die. I lost everything I had eaten that day. I was a mess. And I’m pretty sure I made the couple who was up there taking romantic pictures worry a little bit. But whatever. All I could think was “Why God? Why was that so hard? Why did you make it so hard?”

Except it was after I thought these things (and done my share of cursing at the universe out loud) that I clearly remember thinking (hearing?), “Liz, you did this to yourself”, in one of the clearest, most comforting realizations I’d been given in a long time.

I had no idea how hard Squaw Peak would be. No one asked me to do it. Yet I’ve always been one to learn the hard way… I did what I wanted and I have so much trouble giving up what I want. That mountain was there, sure, but I didn’t have to climb it. Not that it was inherently a bad thing to climb it – it’s a perfectly worthy endeavor. But I wasn’t ready for it. It was I who jumped in, in all my naivety. I overestimated myself and it was I who thought God was out to get me. But really He was the only way I could find relief.

So there at the top of the mountain, I saw where I had came from and where I’d chosen to be. And even though I didn’t even bike the whole way, even though I felt like it was too much, it never was. And even though I blamed God and the universe for beating me down, I realized who was really responsible and I finally felt accepted for who I am and I acknowledged who I am – a child who the universe loves regardless of which mountains I choose to climb and what mistakes I make along the way. I felt loved.

The kicker was I didn’t get what I had originally wanted and I wasn’t who I thought I was. But that was ok.

I tried to climb Squaw Peak again today. With my new clip-in pedals and shoes, twice the amount of water, and with a different attitude. I still didn’t make it. And that was ok. 

Some thought on what it means to be honest

"Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality" -Viktor Frankl

Being honest… is not as simple as it sounds. It’s not just being able to say “yes Roommate, I ate your pizza rolls” when she asks angrily. It’s not just telling someone what you think in the moment. It’s not just not lying. It’s feeling. It’s expressing what you feel.  Even when it may hurt you or the other person. Even when you might lose something.

Being truly honest requires an acknowledgement of the fact we have no control. That even with our best efforts, we might still lose what we are desperately trying to keep. It also requires knowing that pain isn’t inherently a bad thing and in fact might be one of the greatest gifts we can give.

I see this – I feel this – a lot in relationships. Especially romantic ones. I mean we have all these “rules” right? Like don’t be the one to text first, don’t act too clingy, if he does ____  it means ____ etc etc etc. Even if you don’t believe in rules, it’s hard not to get sucked into patterns of behavior or states of mind in a relationship. Suddenly when you feel everything start to fall apart it becomes a game of should have’s and keeping quiet. I shouldn’t have done ____ , If only I had ____, I can’t say the wrong thing or I might drive so-and-so away, what will he think if I do ____, I don’t want to seem too clingy or like I’m invested more in this than so-and-so….

These are surface-y examples but even in deeper into relationships we feel the need to protect and to hide in order not to hurt the other person.  I frequently hear people say “I just don’t want to hurt anyone”. So it’s a game of trying to guess what other people want to hear and hiding what’s inside. On the surface, it’s a noble thought but ultimately it blocks any potential of being genuine and hurts much more than it would if the truth were on the table

What do we think we can do by protecting people or following the rules? I think I can control the situation. I think that if I do “X” I’ll get “Y”. While this may be true on some occasions, when we expect a “Y” from another human being, we assume we can control them or manipulate them to get what we want. Does this seem a little wrong to you? It does to me…  but feeling like I have some control is so much easier and less painful than feeling like I don’t… and it’s not vulnerable. Maybe people won’t leave me if I do X. Maybe I can avoid conflict altogether. My feelings don’t matter that much anyway right? What I’m feeling is stupid. I’ll get over it. It won’t matter in the long run anyway. It’s ok if people don’t know what I really think or feel…

But what happens when I'm not honest? I live a lie. Seems logical: if I'm not honest, I'm lying. But what does that really mean? What does it mean to lie to people and what kind of implications does this have? I lie to people all the time. I lie and say I'm good when people ask how my day is. I lie when I'm really annoyed with someone but don't want to tell them because it might cause a "problem". I lie when I'm angry at people for the same reason. I lie when people hurt me because I don't want them to hurt too. I lie when I'm trying to get something and do things I don't agree with. I lie when I am only the empathetic listener in all of my relationships but never share what I really feel. I live a lie. And what happens? No one ever knows me. I shut people out. I treat people like they are something to be controlled. I lose the opportunity to have genuine interactions with people - to express my hurt, and to let them do the same. I would even go as far as to say I lose a a part of my humanity... because I'm no longer allowed to be me and no longer allowed to feel and express what humans feel: hurt, anger, sadness, etc.   

The sad thing is, I would give a lot to know what people thought about me or what they feel when I’m around. I would give a lot for someone to call me out on this crap. I would give a lot for someone to yell at me and make me engage with them honestly. I would give a lot if someone would give up their own fear and BE with me in the moment. For someone to be themselves and give me permission to be me as well. And I want to be brave enough to do the same. I guess the way I see it is being honest is akin to giving another person everything I have. I think that’s the greatest gift anyone can give. It’s how we can grow, it’s how we can acknowledge our faults and our strengths, and it’s how we can give another important gifts and insights into their own self as well as figuring out our own. It’s how we can love. Truly love. Without expectation. Without idealization. Being and the giving someone else the opportunity to know you and choose to leave or stay on their own right. I mean, that’s one of the most beautiful things about love, right? When someone can see all of me and still accept me for exactly what I am and what I am becoming. To have all my flaws and strengths on the table, open and still have someone say they want to be with me. Yes, there is the potential of losing everything and some, maybe even most, people will walk away. And that hurts. A lot. But the possibility to be more is there. To truly love. Being honest is loving and inviting others to love.

Fear

“I must learn to love the fool in me--the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of my human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my Fool.” ― Theodore Isaac Rubin

Why hello people who read my blog. It’s been a long time. I haven’t wanted to write. And I’ve been a little too busy with some…. interesting struggles... to write. Let me elaborate a little.

I’m not afraid of loneliness, yet I claim it’s my deepest fear. When struck with the possibility that my plans won’t work out, thinking I might forever be lonely is just walking back to a place I know very well. It’s a dark place that smells melancholy and houses the Liz’s I never want to be. They sit there forlornly playing their regular games and uttering habitual conversation. Though it is an unhappy place, it is familiar. It doesn’t change. It is expected. It is dependable. Though it is a hopeless place, it is safe and I can lock everyone else out. Loneliness does not scare me, it is only an extension of what I’ve acknowledged as a solution before. Whenever fallen, it is automatically the answer. Whenever lost, I can always go back here.

What is really frightening is the unfamiliar. Venturing into a place full of hope for something more is something I have only begun to try. There is no door except the one you step out of. It is a vulnerable place. It is a place with no promise of something better, but holds every possibility. Bright and wild, it takes my breathe away… not as a tax like loneliness does, but as participation in life, as a tribute.  Breathing is a burden in loneliness. It is a labor, a struggle, a constant unnecessary “why?”. Breathing in a place where hope resides is liberating, vital, and purposeful, yet terrifying. Because while it is great to be alive, I never know which breathe will be my last.

This is analogous of course. I’m not literally dying or choosing to be alive in the physical sense. But in an existential sense, this is all very real. Death is bigger than simply being buried in the ground, it is the essence of why we – why I – am afraid. I’m afraid of losing the future. The death of the future. I’m afraid of losing relationships. The death of relationships. I’m afraid of losing the safety I’ve built for myself. The death of a Liz I’ve come to know well. I don’t know which breath will be my last.

Yet, my future was never guaranteed. My relationships are not completely in my hands. I cannot help but change as I continue to live. I have no control. And that’s terrifying. So I run away and hide and pretend I do have control. And to some degree I do: I can choose to venture forward into the unknown and be who I am regardless of outcome and have the possibility of the one thing I want most, or, I can hide and imprison myself in perpetual loneliness where no one can come in.

Seems like an easy choice, but surprise, surprise, changing who I’ve been basically my whole life is effing hard.

That’s why I haven’t wanted to write. I have about a dozen half finished blog posts all about things that I am only beginning to understand. All not finished because feeling can be really hard and lately my life has been hard and this huge change has been hard and I’m scared of letting everyone know. Everyone meaning the 3 people that read this anyway haha.

I’m done being afraid. 

Speed Limit Enforced By Aircraft

I love lying to people.

That's not true.

I love making up stories and trying to get people to believe absolutely ridiculous explanations for very regular phenomena.  I'm not sure why I do this or why I think it's so amusing, but it is. Most of my humor is very sarcastic and hyperbolic and the funny thing is, I'm pretty successful at getting people to believe what I'm saying. Like the time I convinced my brother that frog-eye salad is really made from frog eyes leading him to exclaim, "that's a lot of frogs!". Or when I convinced him that pasta grows from trees that originated in a pasta forest in Italy. Or that time when I convinced my other brother that a piece of wood was organic chicken and actually got him to eat it. Many of my lies are about food...

So I was in California a couple of weekends ago, and I'm always amused on my drive there because of these:

Really? Enforced by aircraft? Like California really has money to spend on jet fuel for planes to enforce the speed limit on I-15. That's not expensive or anything... So I did some EXTENSIVE research on the topic (i.e. I googled it). According to various, sketchy open internet forums full of apparent experts on speed limit enforcement, the topic is quite controversial. Some people claim to have been caught speeding by aircrafts who use little white flags on the highway to judge the speed of vehicles. When an aircraft identifies the offending vehicle they radio it in to a state trooper. Other people say, these signs were put up in the 90's when people thought aircraft enforcement would be economical. It wasn't, and it wasn't economical to take all the signs down either, so speed on. And still others say it's simply a psychological trick to make people think they're being watched so they obey the law.

So what's the real reason? What do these signs really mean?

There is surprisingly little, credible information on these signs, which led me to ask, "why is there so little credible information on these signs?" The answer is obvious. If we, as humans with little funds for such endeavors, were to enforce speed limits by aircraft, we would be wasting tons of money and time. Something bigger is afoot. Something bigger than a psychological trick to get us to obey the law. Maybe there's no information because it's kept secret and because no one who knows more has lived to tell the tale.

Speed enforced by aircraft means one thing: aliens. In the 1990's when these signs first appeared, the government was working on an intergalactic treaty with an alien life form. These aliens, being highly intelligent and way more advanced than us humans, were threatening to destroy the earth and use us as slaves for their own technological advancement. However, these aliens were surprised by our intelligence, not because it was anywhere close to their own, but because humans were intelligent enough to be protected by their ethical code for preserving intelligent life. But they still needed us for their own gain and were power-hungry enough to threaten world leaders, so they demanded a small portion of the human population as payment for not destroying Earth. After careful deliberation, alien experts and world leaders decided the most effective way to do this would be to have the aliens abduct people who break the law, namely, people who speed. All people who speed in designated areas are no longer protected by human, earthly laws but are under the jurisdiction of alien life forms who have free reign to do whatever they want with them. These areas would be well marked by signs saying "Speed enforced by aircraft" in order to warn those traveling to reduce their speed but not let on that other life-forms exist; secrecy was key because as soon as people began to catch on, the aliens might retract their agreement and destroy Earth anyway. And so it began. Since then, anyone caught speeding by the aliens has been beamed up into a spaceship and probably experimented upon, eaten, or cloned for slave labor. That's why no one knows what these signs mean.

Don't ever speed on I-15.

By the way, these are the same aliens depicted in the movie Cowboys and Aliens. This movie was only a flop because the government got wind of how accurate and awesome it was turning out to be and didn't want the Earth to be destroyed because of it. So they demanded that Jon Favreau and the writers of the movie make it slightly less awesome, and demanded that Harrison Ford not be an amazing actor in order to save the human race. It's ok Harrison, we know what really happened there and thanks for saving the world like you always do.

Something Greater

In 10^th grade during a free day in chemistry class, we watched a documentary. For those who don’t know, “documentary” is pronounced with the “ary” at the end, not a “tree”. Document-ARY. Yeah. Anyway, so this documentary was about these two French volcanologists (volcano scientists. Cool right?) who met in college, got married and became pioneers in filming volcanic eruptions. They traveled the world together, taking video and pictures of the world’s most active volcanoes. Nothing like this had ever really been done before. They wrote books together. They literally saved lives by showing footage of a volcano that was about to erupt to the president of Columbia who then ordered an evacuation. But in 1991, while scaling the side of an active volcano, they miscalculated the weak side of the mountain, the volcano erupted and they were killed instantly.

I remember sitting next to a friend of mine, who, after the film ended, said “Wow. That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Studying volcanoes is a stupid thing to do”. I was completely baffled by his response... because here I was thinking that the story of Katia and Maurice Krafft was one of the most beautiful, tragic, inspiring stories I’d ever heard.  That what they had is the only thing I want.  Not that I want to die in a volcanic eruption (even though that would be pretty epic) or that it’s a good thing they died prematurely, but they had something that so rarely is so explicit. They had passion.

Not only passion for each other, but passion for something greater than them both. I don't remember the quote exactly but Katia said of their relationship that they loved volcanoes, and they loved each other, and ultimately their love could not exist without volcanoes because that's what brought them together. They were a team. Not only with each other but with the volcanoes they studied. Maurice called the volcanoes their "friends" because they had built a relationship with them. They committed themselves to each other and to geology. They committed to walk where no one else was brave enough to walk. Am I the only one who sees how absolutely amazing they were? How brave and bold and how alive they were? They expressed volcanoes never scared them. Coincidentally, Maurice said the day before they died "I am never afraid because I have seen so much eruptions in 23 years that even if I die tomorrow, I don't care". They were that committed...

Then they died together, by the very thing that brought them together. They had accepted death long before this moment, and accepted the power volcanoes had, and how they could never control what would happen to them. They were not afraid to live, to pursue, to love, even though they knew of the potential to get hurt, to die even, Yet they didn't ignore the possibility of pain, they accepted it and respected it.They were submissive, yet bold. They accepted fate, and forged ahead anyway. And they did so together, in pursuit of the truth. How honorable and fitting is it that they died together, with the very things they loved? What more could we ask for than a life filled with passion and love and purpose? What more could we ask for than a life committed to something greater?

Now obviously, I don't know Katia and Maurice. I don't know how their lives really were... I only know what I've read and what I've seen and the impact they had on the world. I don't know if their relationship was perfect, in fact, I doubt it was. I don't know if everything presented to me was truth. But regardless of  what I don't know, I do know that if I had the love they had, I wouldn't be afraid either. Even though most of us aren't going to find true love by studying volcanoes, maybe their story is representative of what we all can have by loving others and committing to something greater.

What I do at the mall

 Malls are fun. There's fun things to try on and never buy, really greasy food, and, most importantly, dozens of people to watch. Normal people, weird people, tired people, efficient people, people with relationship problems, rebels without a cause, bored cashiers, people trying to sell you things.... the list goes on and on. And the stuff you can do while people watching is endless.

Typically when I go to the mall, I'm the one watching other people but today, I was the weird person at the mall. I was the person people were watching, trying to figure out my motives. I even caught the gaze of people who were not invested in people watching.

See, for my sociology project I have to take pictures of commodified space, like a mall for instance. This mall in particular is structured to make you feel like you're outdoors, using natural lighting, real trees, and store fronts made to look like buildings, etc. Anyway, since I don't have a car I had to bike there and of course I dressed in my biking spandex which makes me look like a lame superhero. And I kept my helmet on because I didn't want to lose it. So there I was, in the mall, dressed head to toe in spandex, wearing a helmet and taking pictures of store fronts and the ceiling.

It was after catching a confused look from a couple who had been previously been making out that I decided to have a little fun. Instead of casually taking pictures like a person asked to do so for a research paper, I went undercover, hiding behind plants and dashing to and from hiding spots like a spy or an undercover agent or a private eye or a very childish college student wearing spandex.

What did I accomplish from my endeavors? I got plenty of stellar pictures (and plenty of blurry ones as I tried to take them mid-sprint), made a couple people laugh (including a pretty hot kiosk guy that was selling remote control helicopters) and I accidentally broke the lens protector off my camera. Was it worth it? That has yet to be decided by figuring out how long the warranty lasts on my camera. But other than that, it totally was!

Contrast

I’ve been writing little pieces of this idea for a long time and have mentioned it several times in previous posts. It’s certainly not a new idea by any means and it’s been written about before by many, many people and I’ve read many of these works myself. But there’s something about trying to formulate an idea for yourself that makes everything mean so much more… So here it is. It all makes sense in my head so I hope it can be bloggified in a way that isn’t totally confusing. I just don’t feel like putting a ton of effort into this. And by that, I mean I don’t want to have to worry about trying to make it so everyone understands what I’m saying because that’s really hard to do and I don’t feel like defending my thoughts. I'm a lazy pretend philosopher when it comes to blogging.

Anyway, so contrast. Here’s what I’m thinking.

Some of the greatest stories of love and forgiveness, of achievement, or simply of being an exceptional human being, come in the light of extreme sorrow, suffering and adversity. Why then are we so opposed to adversity? Why then do we try so hard to get rid of sorrow or depression or hate? We automatically assume that these things are inherently bad. But what if they’re not? What if they are opportunity for something greater? What if they are simply part of the experience? To be acknowledged and felt and accounted for? Not to be whisked away because they're uncomfortable. What if it’s only through this contrast that we are able to feel otherwise? Hate could never exist if there was nothing to love. And I don’t believe you could ever truly love if there was never any risk of losing it, or of hating your beloved, or of suffering to the extent that you love.  They give rise to each other.

Take for example the story of Corrie Ten Boom: survivor of the holocaust after hiding Jews in her house. After experiencing the horror of multiple concentration camps, after losing hope multiple times, after losing her sister, she still persevered. If that wasn’t incredible enough, she talks about her experience with a former Nazi guard that asked her to forgive him for the things he had done to her. And she said that in her mind she couldn’t forgive him and she hated him and there was no way she could ever see him as a human being. And yet, out of her hate and out of her faith and with God, she was able to do it. How remarkable is that? Yet, if she had never experienced what she had, this could have never happened. If she had not hated, she could have never forgiven. One cannot exist without the other. Here, Corrie was given an opportunity through her hate and through her experience to rise above and feel and give one of the greatest gifts we could ever ask for.

I mean, this kind of dialectic is found everywhere… In our understanding of good and evil, of right and wrong, of true and false. These kind of dichotomies are a world view that we have adopted. And they aren’t necessarily true or a good way of classifying the world because we need the wrong to know what the right is or the evil to know what the good is… Or think of colors. You could never know what white is, if there was no black.

But here’s where the problem with this idea come for me. If we cannot have joy without suffering, should we ever try to get rid of suffering? Think of social work policy for example. I think everyone agrees that preventing child abuse is a good thing. I certainly do! But what does that mean for this idea of contrast? If suffering is an opportunity, then should we ever try to take that away from someone else? Or should we just say, “hey yeah I know you’re being abused and it sucks but this is a great opportunity for you!”…. yeah, that’s not working for me. And what does it mean for other, bigger conflicts? When people are ravaged by war, or poverty, or whatever, should we stop it? Or is that the opportunity to do good? By stopping it?

My worry is that, especially in social policy, we try too hard to reach a stasis, or place where suffering and bad things can’t happen to people and everyone has the services they need and don’t have to worry or go through really bad things. It makes logical sense that we would want to do that but I don’t believe that’s even feasible or a good thing. But, implicitly, that’s what programs are aimed at. What does stasis mean? It means there is no contrast… That there is no possibility to feel happy because there is no possibility to feel bad. Are we then taking away the opportunity to live a richer life?

This is obviously over-simplified and generalized and I’m sure I’m missing something… I’m just not sure what that something is yet or how to find it… And I'm simultaneously picking apart everything I wrote because it's not a sound argument and has plenty of holes and places to be filled in. But, on a less serious note, today I made two pieces of toast. The first one I left in the toaster too long and it burned really badly but since I hate wasting food I tried to convince myself it wouldn’t be that bad. But it WAS that bad. It was disgusting. So I had to make another piece and let me tell you... that second piece was the most delicious piece of toast I’ve ever tasted…

Welcome to my brain, internet. Haha.

Some chocolate covered delicacies and some unclear philosophy

I’ve felt for a long time that I’ve been on the brink of something big. Something important… like a serious change or some random event like winning the lottery. I don’t know what this something is or if there even is a something…. But I feel a something. Whatever that means.

I’ve expressed before how I feel like two people. Like I’m one person on the outside and totally different on the inside. Like a chocolate covered cherry… except I don’t think I’m that delicious. Maybe more like… a chocolate covered bug. Because they seem pretty normal from the outside but only people with a select palate actually like eating them.  And I’m perfectly ok with being a bug because I would totally eat a chocolate covered bug. Heck, I’ve eaten several non-chocolate bugs largely due to my tendency to never back down on a challenge or my willingness to weird things for a small sum of money. No prostitute jokes please.

Anyway, this two person thing is like I’m this chocolate covered bug on a plate of chocolate covered cherries. I’m just pretending to be a cherry and for all intents and purposes I am a cherry: I look like a chocolate covered cherry, I’m with chocolate covered cherries, I act like a chocolate covered cherry, and sometimes I actually believe I’m a chocolate covered cherry. That is, until someone tries to eat me, then, unless they like tasting bug guts instead of the cherry they were expecting, the game is up. And suddenly I’m confronted with the gap between what I wanted be and what I actually am. A big, terrifying gap that really shouldn’t be there.

Once in a while, when I’m feeling brave, I’ll acknowledge the gap. I’ll consider building a bridge over it or sewing it together or go exploring down it. But I only go as far as I don’t get hurt. At the first sign of the acknowledgement being difficult or unsure in anyway I abandon the project and continue pretending to be a chocolate covered cherry.

But this time, I don’t think I’m going to abandon it. For the first time in literally years I’ve really felt what I feel. I’ve been afraid of it, frustrated by it, hurt by it. This whole process is like stepping into the dark and all I have to hold onto is faith that this will end up ok. That by stepping into the gap, even though I can’t see the bottom, I won’t literally die. I might figuratively die but I think that would be ok. 

I can’t really explain how lost I feel and yet how utterly found I am. Lost because I’ve abandoned control (which I endlessly covet) and found because whether this is good or not, it’s where I need to be. Found because as I’ve stepped into the void, all I’ve had is faith to keep from turning around. Faith that I’m doing what I’ve been asked to do.

It’s so much easier to deny the existence of something that hurts you than to acknowledge it and accept it and welcome it. It’s easy to avoid feeling pain in order to save oneself. But in the process we deny the experience of it and we deny the meaning of it and we deny ourselves the possibility to feel anything other than an emptiness. I don’t think we can ever really understand the meaning of anything good in the world without accepting and even embracing its contrast.

I think for the first time, I’m actually understanding what I’ve known in my mind is true, because I’m coming to know it in my heart. And it hurts. It hurts a lot. Like when your hands have gone numb from the cold for a really long time and they start to thaw. Sometimes it’s really tempting to stay outside because you know how bad it will hurt to come back in. But I don’t think I can be outside any longer. Just like I can’t pretend to be a chocolate covered cherry any longer.

....

I’m really tempted to abandon this chocolate covered cherry analogy because it assumes people can’t change who they are and I whole-heartedly don’t agree with that idea. And I’m disappointed I don’t have any chocolate covered cherries to eat right now because they always sound delicious. That's all I have to say.

Vegas and some other thoughts

This is a very informal commentary of some of my thoughts while I was in Las Vegas. **Disclaimer: I’m making some broad statements and arguments that are based off of first impressions and not deeply researched. **

I’m also not sure why I included a disclaimer as this is an informal blog… It’s probably the academic in me screaming to put some citations in here to make my point seem legitimate. It’s also the academic in me that’s telling me not to post this as it’s poorly written and does not have a clear theme and could argued much better. Funny how that is.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about contrast… like right and wrong, good and evil, suffering and joy, true and false. And with that I’ve come to some interesting ideas that I hadn’t ever really considered before or am very sure about now. I hope to follow this post with a clearer explanation of what I mean but that may prove difficult as I'm not really sure what I mean.  Anyway, I went to Vegas to present a study at a conference and I was with some truly great people and could’t have asked for a better experience. Except, it would have been better if I was 21. No, not so I could gamble, but simply for my pride’s sake because the running gag of the trip was how I was too young to be there and needed to be babysat. For the record, I am an adult.

Though slightly annoying at times, I was grateful for my older more experienced counterparts for being able to show me the really awesome parts of Vegas. While we exploring the strip, I was struck by the beauty of some of the structures there. The architecture of the casinos was truly incredible… as were the gardens, and the fountains, and the sculptures, and the food.  The Venetian, the Bellagio, Caesars: all costing billions of dollars to create and maintain. I found them breathtaking and was truly impressed by what man could create.  It was the epitome of commodified space. Everything created there was intended to make people feel a certain way. To make people feel as if they had no limits and like they could live life like a king or queen.  Every earthly pleasure could be provided. It’s obvious the problems that kind of promise would create but at the same time here was the fulfillment of the promise…. For some.  

While standing in some of the most expensive buildings I’ve ever been in and in awe of how much it must have took to create them, literally feet away from me were people who had no homes… People who had no place to stay at night. And lining the street were the “clickers” (named for the clicking sound they made to attract attention) handing out flyers of naked women offering their services. While at first I was disgusted by what they were promoting, it quickly became apparent that my first impression was false. It’s not that these people believed in prostitution and were promoting the trade as part of a sick obsession. It’s not that they were out to exploit people or to make money...  I mean someone somewhere was, but these were not them. It was they who were exploited. My best guess (and a pretty reasonable one) is that they were illegal immigrants and this was the only job they could get. And here they were, right in the shadow of some of the grandest buildings I’ve ever seen. In the shadow of people here to spend ridiculous sums of money to live the “high life”.

And it’s not only the homeless, it’s the waiters, it’s the street cleaners, it’s the card dealers, it’s the performers. Here, where the promise is perfection, the question is perfection for whom? And at what cost?  

I’m not going to lie… it sickened me... And presented me with a conflict.

Here I was, myself poor and in Vegas for educational purposes, looking to have a great time in the limited time I had. And I thought it was beautiful and I was – I am – impressed by what people can create. Yet, I can’t help but ask myself, is it ok to create when the price is this high? When the price is the lives and well-being of other people? Is it ok for me to support that?

Looking at the “wonders of the world” or some of the truly great pieces of art and architecture, this has been a long standing question… Great cathedrals, pyramids, castles, empires…  When were these things made? Many, if not all, were created in times of great inequality with a high cost from the lower classes. We admire these creations and hold them in high esteem and yet do not consider why and how they got there. Is the achievement of man-kind greatness or is it exploitation?

I realize I’m making some broad assumptions and that my argument could be researched and analyzed in a scholarly way. I realize there are many other factors that play a part in the phenomena I’m discussing. I realize that there are other reasons for such inequality. But to be fair, while the limos drive by and men in tuxes gamble away thousands, win big and buy expensive food, right outside the door there are those who have nothing.

Is that ok?

How I did not find love in the tunnel to hell

When I was a freshman, I was in love with a boy. And by that I mean, he was really hot, I knew nothing about him, and I would do anything to impress him.

One night I was on a walk with him and a group of friends down a local trail. It was a very romantic evening. Calm, with a soothing, warm breeze playing in the air... if only me and boy-I-was-in-love-with were alone. It was as I foolishly wished this that boy-I-was-in-love-with turned to me and said very seriously "I've always wanted to go in one of those". He was pointing at a storm drain that look something like this:

 

I knew then what I had to do. I put both hands on his shoulders, looked him squarely in the eye, and said "Let's do this" with a determination Indiana Jones would be impressed with. Boy-I-was-in-love-with was surprised. Looking back, I don't think he ever really wanted to crawl through a storm drain, but at the time, this seemed like a brilliant idea. My enthusiasm, the late hour, and the naiveity of our freshman souls made the rest of the group easy to convince. And so we donned gloves and other adventure gear to make the perilous trek through what may have been a tunnel to hell. 

There are many things I could say about the tunnel to hell. I could talk about it was really hard to breathe because it was filled with dirt that we kicked up while crawling. I could talk about how every sound we made was a million times amplified. I could talk about how there were a million things on the bottom of the tunnel that were poky and might have been human bones or tetanus-filled metal objects. I could talk about how I was shaking out of excitement because of my stupid spontaneity. I could talk about how multiple people in our group voiced concern but I told them to stop being pansies and grow a pair. But in reality, a large portion of my brain was devoted to figuring out the odds of water suddenly rushing down the tunnel, drowning us all and making it so no one would ever find us. While logic told me not to be stupid as this would probably not happen, fear told me logic had failed from the beginning because I was crawling through the tunnel to hell which was certainly not logical.

Over time, as the oxygen seemed to decrease and I started drooling from holding a flashlight in my mouth, I reached a point where my fear subsided and I was calm. If I died, it would be ok because I was being adventurous. I was facing fear and spitting in its face. I was on a quest for true love! And if I paid the ultimate price, then so be it!

It was as I reached this mindset that I heard a troubling noise: no noise. My group had evidently stopped and I had not. As quick as a sloth, I turned around and crawled desperately towards the entrance. I don't believe my knees have ever recovered from the ferocity of my crawling. Adventurer I may be, but there was no way I was going to crawl to hell by myself. 

I finally reached the beginning of the tunnel. Evidently a girl in our group had become too frightened and had to turn around... And to my dismay, it was boy-I-was-in-love-with who was comforting her. It was also boy-I-was-in-love-with who gave her a piggy-back ride home and it was also boy-I-was-in-love-with who took her on a date and now boy-I-was-in-love-with is going to marry this girl. 

Apparently, being spontaneous and courageous and adventurous and daring and stupid and trying to fulfill and life-long wish, is not the way to get a guy. Apparently, being afraid, is. Apparently, crawling down a tunnel that probably led to hell or at least to a sewer is not very romantic, but needing a piggy-back ride home is. Apparently, being me was not the right call. I should have been this other girl.  This is why the name of boy-I-was-in-love-with has a "was" in his name. 

I will probably never understand men. 

No, not the city, the commune... and some utopian rope sandals

This is a commune. 

http://www.eastwind.org/

It's pretty cool. I especially like this line in its description:

“East Wind may not be Utopia yet, but we’re getting closer”

They’re probably near utopian status because of the peanut butter they make. It is so delicious. Or maybe it’s the Utopian rope sandals made from leftover rope from their hammocks that make it utopian. Or maybe because it’s a clothing optional, organic commune that’s dedicated to nonviolence and a peaceable, connected, meaningful lifestyle. Probably the peanut butter.

For my Urban Sociology class we had to research a commune and write about it because communes are the anti-city. Classic sociological literature by Tonnies and Simmel on the city says the city is bad for the human soul. Basically, the city creates amoral, unemotional, disconnected society where we all are cogs in the industrial machine called capitalism. The meaning of life is destroyed by us favoring science over religion, and our heads over our heart, and by turning the world into a giant arithmetic problem to be solved. We erase the possibility for intimate relationships by concerning ourselves only with the unmerciless question of “how much?” and feeding off the blasé touch-and-go atmosphere of city life. None of us matter to each other.

This is some pretty heavy stuff.

So communes are supposed to be bring us out of this kind of life. To put us back in touch with nature and our true selves. To move us back to intimate, small town communities. To help us live in balance with others and with ourselves. No longer will we be controlled by a higher power, but we will live meaningful, dedicated lives because we do our work for ourselves and we live to bring help and uplift each other.

Sounds pretty great right? I thought so. I thought, and still think, it would be awesome to visit a commune. Who doesn’t like nut butters and rope sandals? The only problem is that the philosophy behind the creation of communes is completely anti-everything I believe in. And by that I mean, the premise is behaviorism.

The communes created in the 60’s and 70’s are all based off of B.F. Skinner’s book Walden Two where he purports the way to create perfect people is to create the perfect environment. For those of you unfamiliar with Skinner, he is a radical behaviorist. I.e. he believes a person’s behavior can be controlled by controlling the stimuli in his environment. This is a pretty accepted idea in our culture as seen by our love of giving people rewards for doing what we want and punishing those who don’t do what we want, but ultimately it’s a problem.

The problem with this deterministic view of humanity and a problem with the ideals of an intentional community like East Wind, is the issue of meaning. If the idea is to create an environment where peaceable, egalitarian, and conscious behavior can be induced, how is it that this lifestyle is any more or less meaningful than the capitalistic rat race? Either way, whether a person is raised in a commune or a city, their behavior is not their choice but a product of the environment. Without choice, there is no meaning because there is no alternative behavior to reject or free will to reject it. Though the attempt to create a utopian society is a rejection of the ideals of capitalism, ultimately each individual’s behavior is induced or constrained by his or her environment and there is no free-will as people are simply cogs in a different machine. It could be argued that regardless of the issue of free-will, living in a society like East Wind is simply better than that of a city. However, if people are equally determined by their environment in both settings, how can one be more meaningful than the other? Even if the ideals of a commune are “better” than those of the city, couldn’t it be argued that we only think so because of our environment and the values our environment upholds?

Though the philosophical flaw is not a direct problem that communes face, the effects of it are. People in communities striving for utopia still experience problems of meaninglessness. Some still desire something better and some simply cannot or do not want to live up to the standards of the society even though it is the “ideal”. Some still feel trapped and do not have anywhere to go and there are disagreements. Furthermore, though East Wind works hard at being self-sufficient and separate from the capitalistic world, the fact of the matter is, they’re not. In order to stay afloat financially and provide a comfortable lifestyle for its members, they have their own factory to produce nut butter and rely on outside vendors for supplies. They buy clothes from stores outside of their community and they sell their products to the outside world. Yes, they are natural, organic products, but they are products that are sold to make money for their own cause like any other capitalistic business: they just fill a different niche. In the words of Georg Simmel, “Money is concerned only with what is common to all… it reduces all quality and individualism to the question: How much?”. Ultimately, East Wind has not been able to escape the rest of the world, and is in fact dependent on it.

This is not necessarily a bad thing however. Even though East Wind faces the same kind of problems those of us in the capitalistic world face, those who are committed to the work and their values find it meaningful, much like we, who are supposedly constrained by society, find our lives meaningful. Though radical behaviorism is the premise for their attempt at a utopian society and though is fundamentally flawed, when considering what it means to live a “meaningful” life, some members of the society have managed to find what they were looking for: the makings of an earth-friendly, nonviolent, and accepting community that provides a full and significant lifestyle that Tonnies and Simmel would approve of.

So what's my point? I don't know... I have too much to say on the matter. I like peanut butter, and I like sandals, and non-violence and I like that people have found meaning in their lives. And I'm immensely curious about what it's like to live at East Wind. I also like cities. And I dislike behaviorism. And I don't believe in utopia. 

But if you offered me free peanut for the rest of my life, consider me B.F. Skinner's greatest fan and sign me up for a commune.

This is going to be legen - wait for it - DARY!

I am jobless.

And it's driving me insane.

I have this beautiful block of time every morning that would be perfect for a job and I've applied numerous places but I strike out every time.  I don't know what it is... am I ugly? Do we not have the same interests? I'm looking for a long-term thing here not some one-semester stand where I never call again... Maybe it's because I just got out of my last long term job. Can they tell I'm still not over the Cannon Center? It was a hard relationship toward the end there, but I'm still a capable lover, er, worker! For the record, I broke up with the Cannon Center. They still wanted me! I can't even seem to score an early morning custodial position... and those are like the whores of on-campus jobs. They'll literally take anyone. I just don't understand.

Because I've been jobless, I've spent a lot of time watching How I Met Your Mother (which I now believe may be the best show in existence) and living vicariously through the characters. It was while I was doing this in the wee hours of this morning that I had an epiphany. Why not use Barney Stinson's tactics to hook up with girls as a strategy to get a job???? It's perfect! Seriously. This is how I imagine it's done:

1) Suit up

This is a no brainer obviously. Look nice all the time. Unfortunately for me, this requires a dramatic change inn wardrobe as I typically wear jeans and a generic black t-shirt. But here's the thing: Everyone loves a suit. Everyone. “Suits are full of joy. They’re the sartorial equivalent of a baby’s smaile”. True story. So look good all the time, just in case. Even when you go to bed, it’s a good idea to wear suit pajamas.

2) Be awesome

Talk about yourself. A lot. Tell everyone how awesome you clearly are. No questions about it. Be shameless about it. Even lie about it because it increases your awesomeness. “In my body, where the shame gland should be, there is a second awesome gland. True story.” Replace your shame gland with pure awesome. Have a job interview? Be confident and talk about how awesome you are in your awesome suit with awesome past experience in the jobs you’ve never before that you’re lying about to be even more awesome. Yeah. Do it. 

3) Try

The truth is, Barney Stinson fails a lot. But, he makes up for it by scoring more than any human should. Because the fact of the matter is, the more you try, the more successes you'll have. I think it's season four episode 22 when they calculate Barney's "batting average" and find out only about 1.2% of the women he hits on actually sleep with him. Yet he's slept with over 200 women. Yes. Over 200. How is that possible? He hits on a ton of women. So. Moral of the story, apply everywhere and someone will eventually sleep with you. Or offer you a job.

4) Find the desperate ones

Barney typically talks about how he tries to score women with low self-esteem and daddy issues. If you're looking for a part-time, student job, this translates to something with a high turn-over rate. They are desperate for employees. Jobs like this are call centers and the like. The thing is, they usually pay above minimum wage and will take just about everyone who applies. I.e. they are hot and easy. If you're looking for something better however, the real rule here is to be exactly what your prospective employer wants. Find their implicit ideals and milk them dry. Do they want someone dependable? Do they want someone who's really intelligent and a problem solver? Solve their problems dependably and talk about how awesome you are at doing it.

5) Manipulation

Manipulate people. Use your charm, creativity, and all-around sexiness to seduce anyone into doing what you want them to do. Pretty straightforward. 

6) Make a video resume

This one is applied directly to jobs. Barney has a video resume which scored him many important, affluent, corporate jobs. It does not say anything about his skills, it just talks about how awesome he is and shows very attractive shots of him doing strange things. This is clearly gold.

7) Acquire unique skills

Barney is an illusionist, speaks Ukraine, Mandarin and Korean, can run a marathon without training, plays piano, can stay under water for 12 minutes, can punch through walls, is adept at juggling knives, is champion at laser tag, is a master of disguise, can guess any price on the Price is Right, always looks good in pictures, and is an elaborate prank creator. All of these things add to your awesomeness and will help you manipulate any situation to your advantage. 

8) Follow the Play Book and The Bro Code. 

For more information, visit http://www.barneystinsonblog.com/category/my-blog/

9) Challenge yourself

Barney frequently takes up challenges presented to him. Typically they involve near-impossible ways to pick up women. Like dressing up like an old man to pick up a woman or wearing overalls to pick up a woman. The point is, challenge yourself. It makes everything much more fun.

Although I am a firm believer in being genuine in everything you do, being as awesome definitely has it's perks and gets you what you want. It is doubtful, achieving that level of awesomeness Barney has achieved is even possible... regardless, as far as the job search has gone, being myself has not panned out. Therefore, I will go buy some some suits and pretend to be thoroughly awesome. 

I think these wise words from Barney pretty much sums it up:

“Okay, pep talk! You can do this, but to be more accurate, you probably can’t. You’re way out of practice and she’s way too hot for you. So, remember, it’s not about scoring. It’s about believing you can do it, even though you probably can’t. Go get ‘em tiger!”

no, not the city, the state

I am from a very small town in upstate New York. For those of you not from New York, "upstate" means everything that's not NYC... so basically the whole state. I've provided some helpful images to make this clearer. But somehow, even though NYC is only 3% of the square mileage of New York state, somehow whenever I say I'm from New York, it is most often assumed I am from the city. It's probably because I look like I'm from the city slums or like I'm part of a gang. Or because of my obnoxious New York City accent. Or because I'm always in a rush and I'm snobby and think I'm better than everyone else. Or because I think New York is better than every other state.

Yes I just spouted out a ton of stereotypes. No, I am not any of them. Also, in the ONE time I've been to the city, I did not find any of these stereotypes to be the case. I did see a rat though. Just sayin.

Then again, I am kind of snobby when it comes to pizza. New York pizza is the best. No question. I dare you to disagree with me.

Anyway. No I'm not from the city, but somehow, people think I am. Here's how a typical conversation usually goes:

NYC lover #1: where are you from?
Me: upstate New York
NYC lover #!: Oh I love it there! I went to Times Square last year! NYC is awesome.
Me: ...yeah I bet it was cool. I'm not from the city. I'm from a tiny town surrounded by dairy farms...
NYC lover #2: oh...

Or...

NYC lover #2: where are you from?
Me: upstate New York
NYC lover #2: Oh I've been there loads of times! I saw The Lion King on Broadway last year!
Me: cool. I've only been to NYC once.
NYC lover #2: wait... what?

Or...

Empathetic NY "expert": where are you from?
Me: upstate New York
Empathetic NY "expert": Oh... I bet Provo is way too small for a city slicker like you. It must be hard being away from the city.
Me: If by too small you mean I find it slightly suffocating and wish I could walk down the street and see some cows, then yes... it is way too small. I'm glad you understand.

For those of you who did not know, New York is not one giant city. Just thought I'd make that clear.

Then there's those who have been upstate or have a distant cousin who's hairdresser lived in Rochester or something. They always ask "oh what part of New York are you from?". This is a difficult question to answer as you only have a few seconds to assess the questioner's knowledge of places in upstate New York. I am terrible at choosing the most understandable description of my town but I have an arsenal of options that I usually spew out at the unsuspecting questioner hoping one hits something that sounds familiar to them. Usually I stutter an "uhh, um... how much do you know about New York?" then I cycle through the following:

"It's near Binghamton... and Ithaca.... and Elmira.... sort of... you know, like where the Express was set?"
"It's right on the border of Pennsylvania and the Susquehanna river"
"It's like 2 hours south of (choose one of the following: Rochester, Palmyra, Buffalo, Syracuse, etc)
"It's like 4 hours from the city"
"There's a nudist colony like 40 minutes away"
"If you find yourself in a flood zone, you're pretty much there"
"It's literally 10 minutes away from the coolest small town in America. It's a legitimate title."
"It's southeast of the finger lakes"
"Yeah... It's a really small town... you've probably never heard of it"

My favorite is when people ask what the name of my hometown is, to which I reply:

"It's called Nichols. It used to be called Dimes but then the recession hit"

Bahahaha. Yes. I do make this joke.

At any rate, upstate New York is awesome. Here's about 1% of the reasons why:

1. Spiedies
2. The best pizza in the world
3. The best wings in the world
4. The best apples
5. The Adirondack mountains, which is the largest protected park in the United States. Take that, Yellowstone
6. It is the second cloudiest part of the country. And I love clouds.
7. Awesome sunsets
8. Rolling hills covered in trees that are amazing in the fall.
9. A hill about 5 minutes away from my house is "famous" because it almost literally doesn't get any sunlight on one side so this very rare form of lichen grows on it. Cool right?
10. You can find trilobite fossils everywhere! the geography is so old!
11. The New York State Fair. There's always a butter sculpture. A SCULPTURE made of BUTTER.
12. My dog is there. My dog is the best.
13. Niagra Falls
14. The New York Mets
15. Rye bread
16. The Erie Canal
17. Jimmer Fredette
18. Mark Twain
19. It's a Wonderful Life
20: Fireflies

I could keep going but I don't want to overwhelm everyone with the pure awesomeness of New York. It can be pretty hard to handle. Because my state could definitely beat up your state. With it's eyes closed using only one finger lake.You just wish you had a New York state of mind. Where was my state last night? At your mom's house. My state is just that awesome. Your state just wishes it was as popular as mine.

Ok, so maybe one of the NYC stereotypes is true. I just can't help that I'm from the best state ever...