paralysis.

I met a girl last night, a new server.  After a few passing words, we recognized a bit of sameness, although, to the eye, we could not be more different.  

It's funny how touching on a few topics can spark a friendship where, too often, there would be only thinly veiled distaste.  

I felt lucky.  So, it turns out, did she.

Our common ground?  Philosophy.  Eastern religions.  A general distaste for people who assume they know.  An extreme discomfort with an all-too-common insistence upon rendering greys in black and white.

It got me thinking about how many people in 'menial' or 'low' jobs are actual quite smart.  And how surprised we are when we find out that the dishwasher has a degree in environmental engineering, that the barista is a nearly flawless opera singer, that the cook is a philosopher.  

Of course, then I go upstairs and find that a former classmate just landed a tenure track professorship, and I get all fucked up because I'm wasting my life.  

I need to undo this knot in my head that has deemed certain careers 'worthy' and others, somehow, not. I never thought I had that in me, but as I move in this odd side-step, I find that I have this fear of not doing enough--whatever that may mean.  

 The academic track doesn't come easily to me.  It's quite tortuous.  In part, this is because I'm a perfectionist, but more, because I'm always afraid of offending and, simultaneously, of being misunderstood.  I'm also afraid because so much of higher level education is based on indoctrination.  I'm spending so much effort trying to figure out how I think....the thought of doing that at the same time as I try to figure out how a whole field functions seems impossible.  I couldn't imagine doing the work to become a bona fide philosopher, because how could I weed out the theories and philosophies that seem valid and those that don't?  I can't even pin down the tenets of my own ideas about the world and how it works yet.  I think it's why I'm caught in this frenetic non-movement, this paradoxical paralysis, where I'm spinning...spinning...trying to catch a glimpse of what I believe so that I can take the next step, but ultimately, I'm not moving at all. 

Aaannnnddd....back to angry.

L likes to watch talent shows.  Likes seeing the weird acts, cringes at the bad ones, sort of revels in it, in her way.

I hate them.

I've never been able to really express why, but they always end up making me kind of upset, vaguely.

Today, we watched America's Got Talent.  Lots of actually really incredible pieces--unique, somewhat inspiring, even.  Impressive.

The last two acts were singers, and it reminded me, or perhaps...got me a bit closer to those things that make me feel squishly and gross about talent shows.

It's a trite, petty thing to complain about, but as a former performer, I'm just going to say it.   Why the fuck are male singers strong, forceful, and brilliant, while female singers are beautiful, angels, and ethereal?  Do you know what that does to those of us who do not fit into this mold?

I never sang to be beautiful.  I never played music to be angelic.  I did it because it communicated something I could not in any other way.  It was meant to be raw, human, strong, authentic.  But it seems that not falling into the beautiful/ethereal category is an automatic out.

I suppose....music to me is so pure, the visual aesthetic shouldn't matter.  If the song touches you, that's what matters.  Not the visual aesthetic of the person putting it out there.

Grrrrrr.  I'm going to stare off the deck now, and get back to my happy place.

::something profound::

So it's been awhile, again.  I moved.  I tried to start another blog, this one in response to a friend of mine who turned out to be....not so much a friend.   

There doesn't seem much of a point to finishing it.

The move I made...the physical one, that is...is making me....still.  Quiet.   I keep listening to the trees, marveling at the thunderstorm's we've had over the past few days, watching more birds and butterflies than I've ever seen before.

Everything I've been so angry about seems so far away.  And so very, very, petty.

I run, I have run, on anger for so long that I sometimes forget there's another way to function.  I forget that cynicism doesn't make you smarter, it just kills you faster.  I forgot, wholly, that my quest for knowledge begins with accepting that there are things you don't know.  It was just attack attack attack all the time.

There's nothing to fight here, and I think that's why I like it.  We're still working on catching up, financially, but by the end of the month, we'll be in surplus.  Virtually debtless.  Able to save.   Able to give.  

I'm unsure of what to do with myself in the absence of financial struggle.  In much the same way, I'm trying to figure out who to be in the absence of social drama. 

Quiet.  

I'm finding joy in cooking for people, something I always had, but now is actually appreciated on a larger level.  I'm finding that the thought of beginning the struggle of putting words to "paper"(or whatever), might not be worth it after all.  Honestly, do I really have anything more profound to say than anything that's been said before?  Is anything I think going to change the world?

I'm not so sure anymore.  The trappings of that academic world simply aren't as enticing from up here.  Perhaps I'm not so much the intellectual as everyone thought I was.  Perhaps I'm not as brave, either; I'd rather step down than step up.  I don't want my life to be a fight, and the things I want to say seem to either cause confusion or anger.  It seems a pity to spend a life only to elicit that kind of reaction.  Instead, I can make a beautiful, decadent plate of food for someone, and they walk away feeling cared for.  

Which is the higher calling?

In so many ways, the kitchen is a step down, unless one aspires to be the next Bobby Flay.

I have no such aspirations, and so perhaps I should do as my former friend suggested and give up the academic work and do something humble.  

His argument was that my thinking was childish, an embarrassment.  But maybe he was on to something else that he can't even see.  Maybe the whole conversation is childish and embarrassing, and maybe it's time we devoted ourselves to the business of nurturing.  Maybe the sociopolitical dialogue is what's wrong, and the lack of time spent together lingering over a good bottle of wine or fine desert (sans diet or guilt talk, of course) is what we should be devoted to?

I'm not sure anything wholly good came out of a good old fashioned debate about racism, but I know if you took those same folks and sat them around a table with some killer food, a lot more connection would happen.  

And if that's not the point, please...what is?

Trayvon.

My facebook is blowing up with feelings about this trial.  Mostly disgust, peppered with some "woohoos!" and "See, there? Not guilty!!"    I was refraining from comment, mostly because I think the whole thing's bullshit.  I eventually caved and wrote this in response to a friend's post.

Am I horribly naive in thinking that there needed to be something *other* than a trial here? That this should've somehow opened up a lot of things for serious discussion--*outside* of currently accepted forums--to re-evaluate some things we take for granted, possibly without even know that we do so? That maybe, in the same way that Boston shut down after the marathon bombings, we all needed a minute to do the same--to shut down, to cease movement, to examine what really lay at the heart of this? 

A conservative friend posted that Zimmerman said something to the effect of "There are no winners here; this is still a tragedy." Part of me bristles at this; for someone thrilled at the outcome, that's a hollow concession. But a part of me wants to scream that that's exactly right. That putting this through a justice system that we already *know* is corrupt is missing the point: that the event, in itself, is telling enough. That nothing new will come from filtering it through a biased system. That at some point, we're going to need to address the why and not just the outcomes.

I don't know. I suppose I'm just disheartened by seeing the same thing go down with the same responses...over and over and over again. I guess I thought it was time for something....else. Something honest. Something even *remotely* self reflective.

Then:

The thing that the sixties did was allow us (The general "us", the country of "us") to believe that equality is something that can be legislated, that once it's 'on the books', there's no further need for discussion. But the experiences of individuals is what creates any 'ism', and you simply can't legislate that. 

So yeah, for what....40 years? There's been a story, a myth, that because of the 60s, racism does not operate in America. Even when literally thousands of stories can be found to contradict this. We put so much energy into these myths that all the things that add up to disprove them cannot be seen....it's too scary to think that we have so far to go, especially after so much went into something that appeared to be a solution.

I honestly think that all of these issues that have been coming up lately: the apparent war on women's reproductive health, queer rights, and racism, of course--they all deserve some serious sit-down time. Which will never happen. The people who believe in the system do so whole-heartedly, and in my experience, react to any request for discussion that threaten to dismantle by completely shutting down, by reverting to the adult equivalent of sticking their fingers in their ears and chanting "I can't hear you!" And we on the other side do the same, unfortunately, when our rage reaches a point where we can't see how we demonize and "one-dimensionalize" those we disagree with. 

I've been trying to figure out how to instigate real conversation between people who use not only completely different language, but are working with completely different sets of concepts around these issues with no luck. Hannah, this seems like what you do....any thoughts? I'm so close to just deeming it impossible and trying to find a nice, cool place to hang out with Liz and my dog and let my writing be found posthumously.

It just seems pointless to continue pretending that any of this is doing any good.  All of the commentary, all of the debate....it doesn't get us anywhere because it's all avoidant of the issues that lie at the heart of all this, which is something like....I don't know.  Our fear of differences? The ease of stereotyping?  (Dare I say, the neurobiological predisposition to do so?) The refusal to allow ourselves to live in complexity?

This was not a simple "racial" case--so much was at work here.  Much of it, yes, stems from racial beliefs, but where do those come from?  And can we honestly believe that we can simply ignore those roots?

Too frustrated and too sick to write more.  Time to cuddle with Dog.

Risk

For the longest time, I kept my mouth shut about the things that I thought.  When I realized that there was only like....one thing....that I could honestly see doing with my life, I also realized that, unfortunately, I'd have to stop doing that.  This thing....these questions I've been asking for more than half my life now, they don't go away.  They stay with me, and when I think I've found some diversion, some project that might take the place of them, they come back harder, louder, more impossible to ignore.

When I think about pursuing an advanced degree in philosophy, the thing that scares me the most is that  I'll have to defend this position, these beliefs I have, that are so damned unpopular.  I never feel smart enough, fast enough.  I don't want to be famous, I don't want notoriety.  I just want to figure this damned thing out.

But I know that that requires a certain degree of challenge.  It requires discussion, rebuttal. As much as it scares me, it requires discourse.

So I tried.  

Not in the best way, I'll admit, but I tried to point out some of the logical inconsistencies I saw in  groups that I would otherwise agree with.  Anarchists, say, who call for the banning of teaching creationism.  

I dared to say that possibly, there was a problem with simply banning an idea because you disagree with it.  And I lost a friend because of it.

And you know?

It wasn't as bad as I thought.

I was hurt, yes. Confused.  But instead of making me stop, it made me want to go further, to clarify this position so that the next time, maybe I can get through before the door gets slammed in my face.

I don't care if you don't agree with me, I just want to be able to have the discussion, because we have so fucking much to learn from each other.

hey, jealousy...

So I was at work today, pissed-offedly trying to play catch up from the shitshow of last week, and I started thinking about people who I used to work with, who I used to go to school with.  I tried to fight it; this is never a good topic for the ol' brain to land on.

Everyone I know, seemingly, is doing fucking amazing shit.  Going to med school, already pediatric RNs saving babies with cancer, lawyers, getting their Ph.d in education, their MA in education, in sustainable agriculture, in social work, in whatever....

And I know I should be proud of them, but damn.  I just get angry.  Jealous.  Angry and jealous...what the hell is that about?  My life has not been a smooth ride.  I thought I had it figured out...I had been reading psychology texts since I was 11...it only made sense that that's where I would end up, right?

Yeah.

I learned this lesson that it seems like no one else learned in college.  I learned that success was about toeing a philosophical/political line.  I learned that psychology, as a field, was about falling into lockstep with theories and treatments that were sanctioned by those on high, and much less about helping people actually overcome these mental issues that paralyzed them.

It all seemed like bullshit.

And so I dropped out.  At first, it was more of a mental checkout.  I let myself get distracted by music, by lovers, by social crap.  And then, of course, I was "asked to leave" because my grades were so bad. One year left, and I just couldn't do it.

So I left.  I worked shit jobs, found and lost a career, worked more crap jobs.  And in all of this, where it seems that everyone else found answers, I found more questions.

I don't know how people land on careers.  How do you accept all the crap?  How do you wade through the politics, the obvious compromising of your own values, to find success?  I can't do it.

And so I'm jealous.  I want to feel fucking successful.  I want to be comfortable, financially.  I wish I could just...fucking do it.  I just can't seem to get out of my own way, and I suppose, that's the worst part of this mind-numbing jealousy.  It's jealousy, but then it's also self-loathing, frustration.  Blah blah blah.

I'm sorry.   It seems that everything I write here is so depressing.  I'm working on turning it around.  I need to figure out a way to see my path more clearly, there's just so much crap in the way that I have to clear out first.   How did you find yours?   How did you know?  How do you stay on it?

::sigh::

I haven't been around much lately.   (She said aloud to no one in particular.)

All sorts of opportunities have presented themselves and shown themselves to be...well...bullshit.  One opportunity was taken and has proven to be of the utmost level of bullshit, to the point where mere survival is threatened.  Which makes other opportunities very appealing in a desperate kind of way.  Which leads to a much greater danger of poor decision making.

Ughhhhh.

I dunno, man.  I keep trying to hold on to this idea that something good is going to happen any day now, and I keep having this feeling that that's true.  But the stress of it is honestly killing me.  I'm exhausted.  I can't concentrate.  I've had so much to write about for weeks now, and I sit down to write and the ideas just disappear.  I fall back into that desperate, wordless, back brain frustration.  Here, there is no cognition.  There is no logic.  There's just this frenetic, impossible to direct energy.

So much doesn't make sense.  

I never really bought into the idea that somehow attaining a degree would open some magical door to success or at least security....at least...I thought I didn't buy into it.  But apparently...apparently some part of me did expect some change, some opportunity that hadn't previously been attainable.    The past year has been so anticlimactic in that way.  After the years of being hounded by my family, of feeling like a disappointment to myself and to everyone else, after finally getting that damned piece of paper (which is now a $300K piece of paper on my wall)...there's just....nothing.  There are still no jobs.  There is still nothing I can do, seemingly, to improve my life.

We're looking at a somewhat big move to the city....somewhere that might afford both of us some more opportunities.   We're not asking for a lot.  Just enough to pay the bills and save some....maybe enough so that we could take a vacation once in awhile.  Maybe  just enough that there's something to look forward to a few times a year.  Maybe just enough to feel like we're living, not just surviving.   Maybe.