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?