"white men, with so much of license and liberty, would die of ennui"
this quote has to be wrestled out of a somewhat shady context for its truth to shine. in this case, I pulled this statement from George Fitzhugh's attack on the rich for "cannibalizing" and effectually enslaving the rest of the white population through their broken economic system--fair enough, but it's also set amid his characterization of black slavery as summer camp in comparison to the woes of the working class white. nice try, George. but I digress.
I like this particular fragment of a statement because it characterizes a bit of frustration I've had lately with life: there exists at this present age and place a glut of options.
before I go on, I should point out the irony of my complaining about having too many options. what an opportunity, what a luxury, to complain about an abundance of opportunities and luxuries!
this quote, and the malaise it references, have been on my mind because I'm struggling with reconciling my ever-expanding sense of world norms (in typical undergraduate fashion) with my current lifestyle and the paths I intend to take in the future. I suppose that's been a recurring theme in this blog.
a new realization the has been creeping on me for some time, and which I'm only beginning to reckon with, is that I am constantly feeling out norms. for almost everything. I do it the majority of the time. I am constantly asking myself how people at my age act, and should act. how people drive, and should drive, and shouldn't drive; how clean people's bikes are, or should be. how loudly I should be speaking in comparison to others, and so on. about everything, everything!
I could delve into the supposed reasons for this and psychoanalyze myself. but I'll save that for next time, because I'm already edging away from my intended topic. what was it, anyway? I've literally had this post sitting in my blogspot account for days, unsure of what I had so far and where I wanted to take it.
the topic of my neurosis with feeling out social norms is weighty, but what of my original intention--to lament on the number of options available to the average middle class American? I'd intended to really lambast this decadence, based on what I've observed in the lives of folks I know and certainly my own struggle with it.
alas, I think I've spoken to soon on both accounts. to be continued.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
on the self plagued self
my fickleness knows no bounds; I can be so indecisive and directionless at times that I'm forced to consider that it may be a symptom of an absence of some critical core. so in response I half-heartedly muse on what sort of person I would be or how my behavior would be different if I were truer to my convictions. but that requires more introspection than I'm often unprepared for--after all, looking within assumes there is something to see, and there are few things more startling than discovering just how little core there may be.
which I suppose brings me to my biggest frustration with myself, and that is my conduct around other people. kind of a biggy!
to offer some context: I spent a lot of time working with people this weekend and it gave me opportunity to observe myself. on saturday I helped my friend Greg dig out earth & clay from the foundation of a house he's building, all the while jabbering with whatever rascally neighbor-kid or adult wandered on site. this sunday afternoon was spent at an urban crop mob, surrounded by friends, acquaintances and folks very new to me.
on my way home after saturday's project, during a particularly sensitive National song and under a dimming sky (and my being utterly prone to sensory circumstance), I reflected on my impression of myself, and I didn't like it. I realized that not only was I talking during most of the work, but I did not savor the quieter moments when the neighbor kids were occupied elsewhere. Greg even commented on how quiet it was, which likely prompted me to wax on about something related to quietness. doh! in hindsight, I really would have liked to have been quieter in those moments. I love silence on my own; I actively savor it. why can't I be more attentive to it even when there are others to talk to? why can't I tune in to others' desire for silence? why must I comment on everything? oh boy. the self is daunting.
embarking on today's afternoon with folks, I tried to be mindful of what I didn't want to do. not only did I not want to jabber the whole time I was working, but I didn't want to forget names, to interrupt people, to rush to speak, to try to seem important or knowledgeable, or to shy from asking questions that are worth asking.
all of this comes down to becoming a more precise and collected person. collected. collected. I write it thrice because it's such an attractive term to me right now (and also because I love double L's).
at this point it'd be good to ask myself what my motivation is for these reformations. do I desire poise so that I seem more feminine, more lady-like--more accomplished or impressive?
do I want to seem cooler and more with-it? on the ball, spot-on, on-point?
or do I want to embrace these changes so that I may be better to people?
every time I think I have a pretty good grasp on myself, I realize (with a cringe and an ache) some areas to which I've been totally oblivious. but I do know that I have many selfish intentions, and part of that comes down to simply being a human being whose default is to worry about my own welfare and security first and foremost. what a handicap! so my intentions will always be a mixed bag. but for now i can say this: I want to want to be better at being better to people.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
on returning to a point of possibility
my self-concept seems to be transient. it returns to the same form before springing off in another direction (sometimes due to wishful thinking).
I was pretty sick for a few weeks. today is the best I've felt in ages! and I wish I could say that I used that down time for deep contemplation, but alas, most of my energy was devoted to struggling to get better and feeling sorry for myself that it was taking so long.
yet I have recently been recalling the sort of child and adolescent I was. maybe this contemplation is due to my being sick--sometimes we return to times in the past when little can be found in the present. in any case, it's been interesting and a bit surprising to remember what I used to find myself preoccupied with.
for instance, when I was seven I began designing a barn on graph paper. it was nothing special, and I think I've still got multiple sheets of paper in a yellow plastic folder somewhere. I remember agonizing over whether to make the stalls 10x12 or 12x12, and where to put the washroom and barn office. on another sheet I drew a rough sketch of the barn up in the corner with the paddock extending beyond it, as if one can plan in advance for what sort of paddock they will have before even having land. it was fairly straightforward: rectangular, with a water trough and gate near the barn, but I DID round off the corners of the fence because I knew that was oh so very important so that the horses would not get trapped.
it's interesting to recall that I did this, because these days I don't consider myself very mechanically-inclined at all. it's just not my aptitude, I've told myself. but in those days I had no reason to doubt my own abilities.
I recall sitting in my room when I was just a few years older with a great urge to build something--nothing useful, just something with levers and hinges and pieces that worked together for some purpose. I never managed, not surprisingly.
these days I have a similar urge, but it's a somewhat better informed one, having spent a little time this past year on relatively simple building projects. my few days at Love Story farm working on Christine's cob cottage, building a dry-stack stone wall as a memorial for a friend in Surry County, helping put together an earthen pizza oven at a classmates house this fall--all of it leaves me wanting more. on a very primitive level I crave the texture of a good cob mixture and the feeling in my arms of hauling a big chunk of it on to the structure being built. the same can be said for stone. indeed, the physicality of it all is perhaps the most compelling--grit on the fingers, strain in the arms and back. it's so satisfying.
but these days my desire to build goes beyond a wish for a mere feeling and desire for engagement. I want to participate in building projects with my mind, not just my body. it may seem odd to draw such a distinction but I'm the sort of person who can withdraw mentally from a process and operate on a level independent of my actions. that's great when the work is repetitive--in fact, rote work seems to promote productive thought. but an absent-minded builder is no good--if I am to learn about carpentry and building with mortar and digging good foundations than I've got to tune in and pay attention.
to really do that, I must believe that I can learn what there is to learn, or my self doubt will keep me operating at a merely experiential level. ah, how I miss the naive confidence of the untested child.
I was pretty sick for a few weeks. today is the best I've felt in ages! and I wish I could say that I used that down time for deep contemplation, but alas, most of my energy was devoted to struggling to get better and feeling sorry for myself that it was taking so long.
yet I have recently been recalling the sort of child and adolescent I was. maybe this contemplation is due to my being sick--sometimes we return to times in the past when little can be found in the present. in any case, it's been interesting and a bit surprising to remember what I used to find myself preoccupied with.
for instance, when I was seven I began designing a barn on graph paper. it was nothing special, and I think I've still got multiple sheets of paper in a yellow plastic folder somewhere. I remember agonizing over whether to make the stalls 10x12 or 12x12, and where to put the washroom and barn office. on another sheet I drew a rough sketch of the barn up in the corner with the paddock extending beyond it, as if one can plan in advance for what sort of paddock they will have before even having land. it was fairly straightforward: rectangular, with a water trough and gate near the barn, but I DID round off the corners of the fence because I knew that was oh so very important so that the horses would not get trapped.
it's interesting to recall that I did this, because these days I don't consider myself very mechanically-inclined at all. it's just not my aptitude, I've told myself. but in those days I had no reason to doubt my own abilities.
I recall sitting in my room when I was just a few years older with a great urge to build something--nothing useful, just something with levers and hinges and pieces that worked together for some purpose. I never managed, not surprisingly.
these days I have a similar urge, but it's a somewhat better informed one, having spent a little time this past year on relatively simple building projects. my few days at Love Story farm working on Christine's cob cottage, building a dry-stack stone wall as a memorial for a friend in Surry County, helping put together an earthen pizza oven at a classmates house this fall--all of it leaves me wanting more. on a very primitive level I crave the texture of a good cob mixture and the feeling in my arms of hauling a big chunk of it on to the structure being built. the same can be said for stone. indeed, the physicality of it all is perhaps the most compelling--grit on the fingers, strain in the arms and back. it's so satisfying.
but these days my desire to build goes beyond a wish for a mere feeling and desire for engagement. I want to participate in building projects with my mind, not just my body. it may seem odd to draw such a distinction but I'm the sort of person who can withdraw mentally from a process and operate on a level independent of my actions. that's great when the work is repetitive--in fact, rote work seems to promote productive thought. but an absent-minded builder is no good--if I am to learn about carpentry and building with mortar and digging good foundations than I've got to tune in and pay attention.
to really do that, I must believe that I can learn what there is to learn, or my self doubt will keep me operating at a merely experiential level. ah, how I miss the naive confidence of the untested child.
Monday, December 27, 2010
on true intentions
when making connections, when remembering names and details and paying compliments with a simper & smirk, it is critical to allow one's self to wonder why. am I merely endearing myself to people, to feel secure, to seem indispensable?
though self-absorption and utter selflessness may be two very different specimens rooted in quite different places, their fruit can bear an uncanny similarity. it's wise to be keen to such, troubling as good discernment may be.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
on moving forward and staying behind
the bitterest of self-truths can be realized through repetition: that many of my actions are selfishly motivated.
similarly, many of my greatest insecurities are diminished through a similar slow process: I have big hands, such long fingers, for a woman.
tuning in the former allows me to tune in to my true intention.
but as for the latter, the awareness alone is not sufficient--one could say that awareness if the problem. in private situations I move and use my hands freely. but in public, to do something as simple as brush my brow would seem as to brandish my hands and risk drawing attention to them. very truly, I am crippled by insecurity.
I would rather concentrate my focus on the first problem. how I interact with others matters more than my own self-concept. but I know that my physical insecurities must be addressed, to, because how can I wholly focus on others if a large part of my attention remains fixed on my own self?
similarly, many of my greatest insecurities are diminished through a similar slow process: I have big hands, such long fingers, for a woman.
tuning in the former allows me to tune in to my true intention.
but as for the latter, the awareness alone is not sufficient--one could say that awareness if the problem. in private situations I move and use my hands freely. but in public, to do something as simple as brush my brow would seem as to brandish my hands and risk drawing attention to them. very truly, I am crippled by insecurity.
I would rather concentrate my focus on the first problem. how I interact with others matters more than my own self-concept. but I know that my physical insecurities must be addressed, to, because how can I wholly focus on others if a large part of my attention remains fixed on my own self?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
on shadows on display
one who craves more from life than aimless adventure, for he knows that nothing grants more excitement and pain than living with purpose.
one who relishes more than his own firm form, or the softness of a lithe young woman. who lets poignancy sing in his heart but pursues that which lacks artistry, too, because it is good. sometimes good isn't immediately beautiful.
one who relishes more than his own firm form, or the softness of a lithe young woman. who lets poignancy sing in his heart but pursues that which lacks artistry, too, because it is good. sometimes good isn't immediately beautiful.
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