Errant Epiphany

Hope and Expectation

2011-03-19T19:32:00.000-04:00

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

In "Dante's Inferno", Dante reads this inscription at the gates of hell. Translated, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here". A bit intense (and maybe morbid) to start a blog entry, granted, but I think that at one time or another, each of us has felt so dejected that this doesn't feel too far off the mark. But classic literature is not the topic for today. Instead, I will describe what I believe to be the difference between hope and expectation.

The easiest way for me to describe the difference is by example. And, as it so often does, the topic of interpersonal relationships contains a wealth of examples to draw from. First, let's talk about expectation. Expectation, to me, is a very dangerous thing to hold. When we "expect", we rely upon something - or someone - outside of ourselves to do or be something that we believe it should do or be. We've all done this countless times, and will most likely continue to do so. It can be as harmless as "I expected you to be home by 5. Now it's 6:30, and dinner's cold!" What happened? You got angry because someone did not follow through with what you expected of them. In reality, you brought on this mental suffering you now have yourself. You really have no one else to blame for your anger than you. You made your own happiness dependent on something that you could not control - "control" being the key word here. Expectation is quite often tied with the notion of control. And believe me, you don't have as much control of things as you think you might have. The only thing you can "hope" to ever control is yourself, and that only after long, concerted effort.

A more serious example of expectation is following the prescribed steps of American adulthood. What are we taught? We should pay attention and do well in school, go directly to college, meet someone there, get married and get a job right after graduation, quickly buy a house complete with white-picket fence, and have 2.5 kids. Oh, and be a good little consumer. There. Done. Instant happiness, right? Ummm, yeah... not so much. But we followed the instructions! Shouldn't we be able to expect a perfect, happy life? Here the pitfall of expectation isn't so much about control, but more about blindly following societal norms, expecting that society will reward you with what you desire. This is rooted in ignorance, and you are still reliant on the external for your happiness rather than the internal.

And this is where hope comes in. Hope is focused on what might be, without an expectation that it's actually going to happen. If it does, great. If it doesn't, you weren't betting the farm on it to begin with. Your core, inner happiness is not dependent on it. Now I'm not saying that you can't feel sad if something you had hoped for doesn't come to fruition. Of course you can feel sad. It's a human emotion that I believe can be useful in some ways, mainly in concentration, retrospection, creation of art, and learning more about yourself and others. I can give an example of this from my own recent experience. Just last night, in fact, and one also pertaining to interpersonal relationships.

I have a friend whom I very quickly connected with, on a deep level. Among many other positive traits, she stood out because of her cautious, contemplative approach to the world around her. She concerns herself with the more difficult topics of life, unsatisfied by decreed convention, shallow endeavors, or dishonest or greedy motivation. The relationships she chooses to invest in reflect this. I consider myself privileged to count myself as one of her friends, to be "let in", and always enjoy the fulfilling conversations we have. I am forever thankful for having her in my life in this way. To be forthright, though, I will say that I had hoped for more - specifically for a more romantically intimate relationship. As it turns out, at least for the foreseeable future, that isn't going to happen. And that has made me feel sad. But the sad I'm describing isn't a sad born out of loss of something I expected I could "have". I've always had a problem with people referring to their partners in a way that implies ownership. I don't want that. Yes, I had hoped for more between her and I, but I'm not going to let that disappointment dictate whether I am happy at my core or not. It also says nothing about the worth I see in her. I am still thankful for how my life has been enriched through knowing her, I am still going to cultivate our friendship, and I am still very much dedicated to a path of self-awareness and generation of inner peace and happiness, for myself and others. I'm far from that goal, but at least I believe I'm on the right path. I know I can be happy without necessarily getting everything I had hoped for.

Speaking of "paths", I recognize that this notion of hope coming from within vs. expectation being dependent on the external probably causes a stir for those readers who ascribe to a theistic religion. A theistic religion, ultimately, dictates a reliance on an external entity for peace and happiness. This is very different from nontheistic religions, which instead focus on sharing tools for people to use in finding or creating their own happiness. I'm not going to sit here and write that one is better than the other for everyone. I can't decide for anyone other than myself. What I'm doing is pointing out that in theistic religions, there is an expectation that if you follow the rules demanded of you by your deity/deities, you will get what you want. Well, that's not my path. I've come to understand that my only hope for happiness is self-development. I can't even expect that the tools given to me by my nontheistic religion will just magically work by themselves. I have to find the ones that are best for me, and work at it. Yes, hope, like relationships, takes work. Hope without work is ridiculous, and almost always unfruitful. You have to get involved. It's like thinking you're gonna win the lottery without buying a ticket. You gotta pay to play.

Basically, you can't expect anything from anyone or anything. But you can work toward, and hope for, the best.

Alone is Okay

2010-12-09T02:02:00.002-05:00

Most every evening, I jump in my car and head for the city, looking for something to busy myself with. I have my regular haunts, and I usually know where to find my friends. This has become my routine, but it’s too much. I’ll stay out all night, and by the time I drag my sorry ass home and pull into the garage, I’m too tired to get out of the car. So sometimes I’ll just push the seat back and sleep there. Or if I make it into the house (this is out of exhaustion, mind you - not drunkenness), I’ll usually just crash on the couch. Lately the couch has been a more common sleeping location than my bed. My bed is... Well, it’s just too damn big. It reminds me of what I used to have, and how I lost it.

Yes, I recognize what I’m doing: I’m escaping. I’m trying to “fill the void” with something - anything - that will distract me from being by myself. I don’t think I’m the only one that does this, though. I think that most people are afraid to be by themselves. Or at the very least, uncomfortable with it. When we’re by ourselves, we are forced to live with our own thoughts. And for many of us, those thoughts can be rife with sadness, regret, self-degradation, and the like. The saying “we are our own worst enemy” is resoundingly true, and we prove it by letting our minds go places it shouldn’t. We think of how we’ve screwed up in the past, or things people have said, churning on these thoughts over and over again until they become bigger than they ever were in reality. We let the thoughts germinate and take root in our minds, making them all the more difficult to pull out. This torture we put ourselves through is our own doing, but we somehow fail to recognize that.

It doesn’t help that I work from home, my teammates being in other states and other countries. If I didn’t go out in the evenings or on weekends, I would literally have no contact with other human beings. Well, except electronically. And man, what a joke that is. I spend way too much time on Facebook, but really all that does is fill the gap in a different way. It just busies my mind, instead of letting my mind rest. It’s as if our minds don’t want to give us a single break. Have you ever tried driving down the road by yourself, and not turned on any music? Just the tha-thump, tha-thump of the concrete slabs, or buzz of the blacktop? Or how about just sitting in a darkened room at night (when there are less outside noises), with no music, no TV - nothing. Don’t do anything but sit there. Can you stand it? Does your mind race with thoughts of what you should be doing instead? Or maybe your mind goes back to those sad or stressful thoughts... This is where the practice of meditation can help. Learning how to sit quietly, focus on the breath, and not get stuck or obsess on the myriad of thoughts that come and go. Just be. If you’ve never tried it, you might be surprised at just how difficult it can be. I certainly haven’t mastered it, and not practicing enough hasn’t helped.

I used to think I was okay being alone. For example, going to movie theaters by myself, or on business trips going to restaurants by myself. But I wasn’t really alone. I had an “anchor” back home. I knew there was someone to return to. Now that I don’t have that, home has turned into an almost dreaded place. I don’t have much furniture anymore. The pictures are off the walls. The house echoes with my footsteps. It is stark; it is hollow; it is cold. I’m trying to sell it, but the housing market is in such shambles right now. (Let me tell you it is not a good time to be a seller.) So I’m stuck here until it sells.

What I need to realize is that being alone is okay. I know it should be okay, but I haven’t fully internalized that yet. Getting married right after college, staying together for fifteen years and having three kids doesn’t exactly give one a chance to practice being alone. In fact, when those people suddenly get taken away from you, it makes it all the more difficult. It’s like being in a warm house, then pushed outside in the middle of winter. The contrast is poignant. More recently, I ended a nine-month relationship with someone I loved deeply, but at the time believed it was the right thing to do (for reasons I won’t share here). It probably was, although in hindsight I still have my doubts. Either way, it’s too late now. She is already with someone else. I mention it here since the pain I experienced when that relationship ended was probably heightened because it - possibly subconsciously - reminded me of my previous loss. And it sent me down that same downward spiral I had experienced before.

So how can I get past this? Stop going out at night and force myself to be alone so I can acclimate to it? I dunno, that seems a bit too radical, and has the potential of making things worse. I need to find the right balance. And when I am alone, be okay with it. Maybe write more, or finish composing those songs I’ve been messing around with on guitar. I could go for walks, look at the stars, read a book. Basically, slow the "f" down. I need to have patience with myself, forgiveness and love for myself, and just enjoy the silence. Peace. With all sincerity I can say that is what I want more than anything else in this world. I want peace.

Recently a friend shared a video on Facebook (of course) that gave quite a few good ideas on things to do. It’s a poem called “How to be Alone”, written and performed by Tanya Davis. I highly recommend watching it. Don’t worry; it’s not a cheesy “Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley” type of thing. It is cute and quaint, but there is a lot of wisdom in it. One of my favorite quotes from the poem is “ ‘cause if you’re happy in your head then solitude is blessed and alone is okay.”

Maybe I just need to make my own “happy”.

The Meaning of Love

2010-09-17T16:55:00.008-04:00

I recently spent a week trying to figure out "the meaning of love". Not quite as cliché a phrase as "the meaning of life", but one I wanted to understand nonetheless. Rather, I needed to understand. I found myself in a situation where I needed to take a long, hard look at myself and make sense of my thoughts and feelings. This was very difficult for me, as those thoughts and feelings were flying around and zigzagging inside of me - colliding and sometimes conflicting to the point of "analysis paralysis". This is where the practice of meditation could have prepared me in dealing with it, had I been a faithful practitioner. Understandably, focus was hard for me to sustain. But I persisted. How do I know if I’m really, truly "in love" if I don’t have a firm grasp of what love is?

I think I was like most people, who go about their lives thinking love is that hard-to-describe feeling which we interpret as love. But being an engineer, I needed to dissect that feeling into solid assertions. This methodical approach, BTW, is common to all serious engineers (and I would assume scientists as well) - often to the annoyance of those close to them. Sometimes I can can come across as detached or distant, maybe even a bit callous. But really, I am just trying to make sense of things in the only way I know how. So, applying this methodology, I started thinking of the people in my life whom I profess to love. There were certainly commonalities, but for each of them there was also something different.

First, the commonalities. These are the things that I had for each person in my list.

Responsibility: I feel the need to "do the right thing" for that person. I strive to live up to reasonable expectations and be true to my word. If I say I’m gonna do something, I try my best to follow through.
Support: I want to "be there" for that person during his/her hard times. That person should be able to depend on me when they need it.
Dedication: I have made the decision to invest my time and energy in that person, through thick and thin. I want to be loyal. I want to be committed.
Forgiveness: Everyone fucks up. I sure have, and always feel greatly humbled when someone forgives me. I want to extend that grace as well.
Sacrifice: I am ready and willing to give up things for myself so that person can have what they need. For some of my closest people, I would even be willing to sacrifice my life, without hesitation.
Honesty: This one has been very difficult for me, as I grew up being taught how to keep secrets. I want to break that cycle, which begets nothing but pain and resentment.
Trust: This one builds on Honesty, but also includes a mutual sense of stability. I want that person to know that their investment in me is reciprocal, and that we are working together to make our bond stronger.
Companionship: I want to share my life experiences with that person, to provision for and spend quality time together.
Respect: I value that person and their beliefs, even if I don’t agree with all of them. I appreciate and validate their contributions not just to our relationship, but to others as well.
Admiration: I value that person’s qualities, even while acknowledging their faults. I accept that person for who and what they are, and see all the good inside.
Affection: I have a tenderness I want to express to that person, although the method of expression varies among types of relationships.

Now for the differences. When people say "there are different kinds of love", these are the things I bet they’re thinking of. For me, each relationship below builds on the commonalities listed above, so I won’t repeat those things here.

Love for a partner: I truly want to be a partner with this person, to the fullest extent of the term. We are on a shared path (at least with regard to our relationship), to which we have similar goals. There is a real feeling of connectedness. This connectedness can be so heightened at times that I feel our hearts are merging. This reminds me of the sexual component, which is also beautiful. For this part to be fulfilling, there has to be compatibility, but more importantly, a strong foundation of Trust, so you can feel safe to explore and express and give. It can also be very intense, for example when climaxing at the same time together while staring into each other’s eyes.
Love for a child: In my experience, there is nothing so beautiful and powerful in the entirety of human experience than to create life, hopefully conceived with a loving partner. The fact that this new being has grown from the parents - literally - and whose very DNA is fashioned from the parents is absolutely amazing. For those who adopt, there is equal gratification in the process of raising a child, teaching him/her how to be the best person he/she can be (hopefully by example). I want to do everything I possibly can to support my children. To give them whatever I can so they have the best lives they can have. To sacrifice my selfish desires to fulfill my unselfish desire for them to thrive. They are a form of reincarnation, if you think about it. We live on through them, and their children, and their children...
Love for a relative: The definition of "family" varies among people, but for each definition there is the basic notion that there is a special bond or responsibility that we are given - without asking for it. I just chuckled as that sounded pretty funny (the whole "you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family"). But in all seriousness, it brings up a very unique challenge. These (usually genetic) ties that put us together - are they binding? What investment do I really have with them? What is my contribution? What is my level of responsibility? What happens if the relationship is taken for granted or abused? Well, I have to say my standing with my relatives varies quite a bit from person to person. Some (actually, most) I’m not close with at all, others I have a strong feeling of commitment to.
Love for a friend: I count myself lucky to have what I believe to be some of the best friends in the world. They accept me for who I am, and I accept them. Of my friends, there are a couple who really stand out as true comrades. In fact, they feel like a cherished member of my family, like a sibling. I share more with them, I drop my guard with them, I let them get closer and know the real me. I feel safe to be myself.
Love for a deity: I used to think I knew what this was, but it’s been quite some time since I have felt dedicated to a metaphysical entity. I do not - and will not - deny the profound importance this has for many people, though. But I cannot express what I do not understand, so I won’t even try. I will say, however, that I have had love for some teachers in my life. For example, certain Tibetan lamas who have been able to skilfully jump-start spiritual attention and improvement in my life.
Love for self: Another cliché statement is "you can’t love others if you can’t love yourself." I always downplayed this, but it hasn’t been until recent months that I’ve come to realize the truth in this. I’ve been carrying around so much guilt for my past mistakes, not forgiving myself so I can move on. I haven’t felt that I’ve deserved others’ love, and sometimes even questioned if anybody really "deserves" anything. Through time, effort, therapy, medication and the support of others, I think I’m finally making progress here. At least that’s what I’m told. I'm still having a hard time feeling it, but at least I recognize the problem and am on a path of healing.

Well, that’s the meaning of love (at least as I understand it so far) in it’s different forms, with their commonalities and differences. Oh - there is one thing I’ve skipped over. That thing I first mentioned that goes beyond words and can’t be contained or controlled. It boggles my engineering mind, for I can’t analyze it, dissect it, put it in a petri dish and observe it, derive quantitative data from it - nothing. It is intangible and elusive, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. In fact, I’ve personally never met anyone who denies its existence. It’s that hard-to-describe feeling we have in our hearts. That invisible bond. That thing I have yet to understand, and maybe never will. What should I do about it? What can I do about it?

I think I just need to accept it, gratefully. And yes, I am in love.

Blog URL Change

2010-09-16T15:08:00.002-04:00

The new blog URL is http://blog.errantepiphany.com. The old URL of http://errantepiphany.blogspot.com will forward to it automagically.

I'm still using Google's Blogger service, however I created a CNAME record so the URL is "cooler". Yes, I'm a geek.

The Beauty that Surrounds Us

2010-02-08T14:47:00.024-05:00

Some friends of mine are planning a movie night, and the movie chosen is "American Beauty" - one of my all-time favorite films. There's a famous scene in it with a plastic bag floating around, and the character Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley) who had videotaped it says, "That's the day I realized that there was this entire life - behind things. And this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know that there was no reason to be afraid, ever." and "Sometimes there is so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in."

It's times like that when I think we get a glimpse into nirvana. When your mind is calm and focused, and you view something simply the way it is, without clouding it with preconceptions, assumptions, negativity or attachment. A time when we are open to experience "mini-epiphanies". If we could only maintain that state! That kind of mindfulness is difficult for me, but I'm trying. I'm trying to be aware of the moment, where I am, when I am, what I'm experiencing, and especially how my mind is interpreting it. I'm so easily distracted, but when I focus, a whole new world opens up. And it's beautiful.

Beauty surrounds us. We just have to apply the time and effort to notice it. Even things that can at first seem gross or unnerving can be beautiful, if you take a moment to understand what the source of your aversion is, and where that thing fits in the natural, cyclical time-line of existence (or rather, our perception of existence).

What have been the "floating plastic bags" in your life? What things made you stop and observe, to be mindful, to experience the beauty in something as it is, the way that it is? I will randomly share some of mine here, in no particular order:

My children being born, including the necessary blood, sweat and tears.
The vastness of space on a clear, starry night.
The potential of a musical instrument, as it sits waiting to be played.
My grandfather's last moments in his hospital bed.
A wide-eyed baby trying to process all the new sights and sounds.
The hustle and bustle of people in Times Square.
The pulsating energy at a techno-rave.
The wet spot on the bed sheets after sex.
A decomposing animal.
A hug from a friend who can tell you just need one, without needing to pry for details.
Accepting the pain of getting tattooed.
The soft curve of a nursing breast.
The moment just before an accident, when you don't have time to do anything to stop it.
The sunlight glistening through the trees just before sunset.
A spider wrapping a captured insect.

Several years ago I was driving to work and was listening to Coldplay's "Parachutes" album. The first track "Don't Panic" hit me unexpectedly. For whatever reason, I was open to experience something very powerful. I noticed every little detail of everything around me. I recognized each thing as it zoomed past, and then let it go without attachment. The rust on that car. The look on that driver's face. The color of the trees. The jet trail of the airplane. The dead deer by the side of the road. The bird carrying food to its young. The sun beams piercing the clouds. I was in tears, and like Ricky's, my heart did feel like it was going to cave in. "We live in a beautiful world. Yeah we do, yeah we do."

Body Modification

2009-11-24T16:45:00.012-05:00

If I remember correctly, the first big fight I had with my (soon to be) ex-wife was over a tattoo. This was probably 17 years ago, while we were dating and still in college. The tattoo was innocent enough, but the problem was more about her not having a say in me getting it than the tattoo itself. We ended up working through it, and eventually I got more and more tattoos with no issue, as did she. At the end of the day, we agreed our bodies are our own, and we can do to them as we want. That doesn't mean we won't be judged for our modifications, however...

The term "body modification" can encompass pretty much any type of physical alteration you can imagine, a large subset of which can also be called "body art". When most people think of body modification, they think of tattoos and piercings, however I tend to think more inclusively. Very common modifications, in my opinion, include makeup (temporary body art) and circumcision. I would also put breast implants and bodybuilding in the same bucket. In popular Western culture, modifications considered more "extreme" might be micro-dermal, trans-dermal and genital implants, non-ear piercings, tongue or genital splitting or cutting, binding, stretching, branding, scarring, tooth filing, ear shaping, nullification (body part removal), etc. The list goes on and on.

I recently watched the 2005 movie "Modify", and was duly impressed. It featured extremely candid footage, interviews and discussions on the topic and it's history. In my opinion, the underlying theme had as much to do with people's acceptance level and perception of body modification as it did with people's reasons for modifying themselves. I would highly recommend this movie if you are curious, although I should warn you that there are some very graphic scenes (like liposuction surgery and penis splitting). The message conveyed is that everyone has a different mental/emotional/cultural/spiritual line distinguishing what is normal or acceptable, and what is extreme or wrong - or even classified as mutilation. What is attractive to me might be considered disgusting to you. Certainly there were things in the movie which I would never consider doing to myself, but far be it for me to stop them from doing it to themselves.

My perception is that my modifications are quite tame. So far, they only include 4 ear piercings (2 on each lobe) and 8 tattoos. All my tattoos are personal to me, which I think is the best kind. I didn't go pick "tattoo #57" off a wall in a tattoo shop, and I wasn't drunk when I got them. And yes, they hurt a little, and I'm glad they did. A "rite of passage" of sorts. You have to earn your ink! My tattoos include, in reverse-chronological order:

The back of a skeleton, life size matching my shape on my entire back side (head to heals and head to finger tips). So far just the outline is completed.
My sons' names in script on my right forearm.
My daughter and ex-wife's names in script on my left forearm.
A Buddhist endless knot on my left calf.
A vine wristband around my right wrist.
A large crow carrying a Native American medicine bag with an infinity symbol on my chest.
A tribal-like arm band with a guitar in the center around my left bicep.
An accidental right thumb-stab by an India ink pen in high school art class. Yes, it's permanent, and yes, I consider it my first tattoo. ;)

I already have my next tattoo in mind after the skeleton is shaded/darkened/styled, which will probably take quite a long time. The thing about tattoos is that once you get your first (once the ink is "in your blood"), you will start craving your next, then next, then next. After that, I am seriously considering starting to get some branding done. No specific designs yet, however.

The only moral rule I have regarding body modification is that it is safely performed and ONLY at the informed choice of the person being modified. This is why I abhor things like breast ironing and female circumcision in cultures where young girls are being put through such torture. Similarly, although I am a circumcised male, my boys' mother and I chose not to circumcise them when they were born. We felt that if someday - if they choose it for themselves - they can have it done under their own free will. (We feel the same way about not forcing any particular religion on our sons and daughter. It has to be a personal choice of theirs which we will respect.)

Forced modifications aside, why do people choose to modify their bodies? For some, the response might be related to self-image or peer acceptance, for others, affiliation or identification with a group or philosophy, others, remembrance of an important person or event, still others, they find it artistically or aesthetically pleasing, and so on. But there is no one-size-fits-all answer, and I truly believe that to know for sure you're gonna have to ask the people themselves. In most cases, they will be more than happy to talk to you about it.

Surface Tension

2009-10-13T17:05:00.013-04:00

It can suck being the nice guy. How do you know you're that guy? This has happened to you, probably a few times in your life: You've gotten to know someone, even a little bit, and you connected. Beyond physical attraction, or the standard "she's smart and funny too." Beyond common interests or even opinions to some degree. We're talkin', "Wow, there's something about this person that just clicks." A compatibility. A synergy. A familiarity. "I can open up and be myself with her." Oh, now you've gone and done it: You screwed up. You are no longer attractive to her (if you ever really were). You will now be viewed as a brother, a confidant even. A shoulder, but nothing more. Congratulations, you're "the nice guy." Who is she attracted to? The bad boy. The guy who brushes her off, who disrespects her, who hurts her. He is selfish, always choosing the needs of #1 above anyone else's. Why is she attracted to him? I can't say; I just don't get it. Maybe because his "toughness" is misconstrued as strength or confidence? Maybe he reminds her of her father, or how men are "supposed" to act, or what she thinks she deserves, no matter how screwed up that is? And where does that leave you? Alone. Wondering how beautiful and rewarding it could've been for both of you if she would've dropped her guard, listened to her gut that she really does deserve something good in her life, bucked the trend, and finally given the nice guy a chance.

Maybe this all makes me sound weak, needy or (gulp) desperate. I don't care. I'm sick of all the appearances crap, trying to act like you don't care when you really do. Not calling someone because it hasn't been enough days, or maybe because it's "her turn" to make the next move. You don't want to seem too interested, after all... If you want any chance in hell of seeing her again, you have to pretend to be the bad boy, at least a little bit. You have to play the game. You know what though? The game sucks. I hate the game. I don't know how to, nor do I want to, play it. I can only be myself, which might prolong my loneliness indefinitely, but at least I'll know that if and when something happens, it will be real.

What I need - what I think everyone needs - is intimacy. Yes, even men. There, I said it. Is that our "feminine" side? No, that's our HUMAN side. It's about feeling connected, understood, accepted, safe, warm and cared for. It is a source of compassion, love and mutual respect. It is also a source of trust, which can open the door for sexual intimacy - a beautiful thing itself and not to be slighted. If you've had the experience of lying next to someone with whom you have this level of reciprocal closeness, you know what it's like to feel "one" with someone else. The phrase "you complete me" is not cheesy - it's real. Spare me the glorified "loner" persona: humans need other humans. Here I am yet again inspired by water, and the property of droplets to naturally want to attract and stick to each other. This is known as surface tension. Appropriate, I think, as it is our natural tendency as well. We want to connect. We are drawn to one another. We want to feel together. To be together.

What keeps us from intimacy? Fear, mostly. We keep our defenses up so we don't get hurt, but the act of doing so makes it difficult to accept others and ourselves. And the longer the wall stands, the harder and harder it becomes to break down. We won't let anyone in because we don't want to get hurt. Again. When my marriage was falling apart, I remember holding out my bleeding heart as the ultimate plea offering, desperate for a shred of hope that the relationship could be mended. I was wide open, exposed as anyone could ever be. But I was rejected. She did not want to accept my love. Love is the ultimate gift, and for someone to turn down that most personal of gifts is devastating. This is the kind of pain that people carry with them. We can never forget it, but maybe we can learn from it? I'm trying to learn from it, to make the changes necessary in my life to be a better person, a better human, a better being. My happiness is ultimately my responsibility, and I admit that for a long time I've had a hard time taking that responsibility on.

Dammit, I want to be happy, and I want to re-experience intimacy. But you know what? I'm gonna keep being a nice guy, 'cause that's who I am - even if it means being alone for a longer time. There is a lot of love to give, but it can wait for the right person. When that time comes, I only hope she is ready to accept it.

You Really Don't Matter

2009-09-04T14:02:00.019-04:00

One of the great things I like about living outside of the city is my relatively unadulterated view of the night sky. Even such a mundane task as putting out the garbage becomes an enjoyable experience when I stop at the end of the driveway, look up, and soak it all in. The smell of the trees, grass and water, the feel of the cool night air, the sound of the crickets and frogs, and of course: the seemingly countless stars filling my vision. But it always makes me think, "Damn I'm small."

I've blogged before about the concept of purpose. Specifically, that a man needs to feel like he has made an impact on his environment, that he can make a difference - that his life has purpose. Soberly, I know I will never come anywhere close to comparing to Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama, or the like. But even the greatest of people doing the greatest of deeds for the greatest number of beings quickly becomes insignificant in the vastness of just our known universe - or, on a much smaller scale, just the history of mankind within a short sliding window of time. Heck, it's only been less than 2,000 years since Jesus walked the Earth, and millions of people have died disagreeing about what he did or didn't say or do, or even if he was or is what he or others said he was. Even what he looked like is conjecture. (BTW, I seriously doubt he was white.)

Now think about yourself. Do you have delusions of grandeur that you actually matter? Probably. At times we all do. But if you died, what impact would that really make? Your loved ones would be sad, very much so for a period of time, and your friends and co-workers would miss you for a little while. But everyone would get by and eventually move on with their lives. I remember how sad I was when my grandfather died, but now weeks go by that I don't even think about him. I'm not proud of that, but it's the truth. Over the past year, personal events have greatly exacerbated my fight with depression. So much so that there are entire days where I can't seem to shake the thought that there's no point in me going on living, other than to provide a paycheck for those fiscally dependent on me. The only thing that short-circuits that thought is the knowledge that even though they don't live with me anymore, my children do love me, and I love them too much to completely remove myself from their lives. If it wasn't for them, I'm fairly certain I would've emptied that bottle of sleeping pills by now. Still, their importance to me or my importance to them is only a relative concept we have amongst ourselves.

A few weeks ago I was sitting outside a Rochester, NY bar (LUX), people watching. I was literally disgusted, not just with them but with myself. All these people dressed up or down, drinking their cheap beers or overpriced cocktails, chatting away about nothing. Absolutely NOTHING. What kind of life is that? Seriously? And here I am, doing it too. And I'll probably do it again. Why? Because I've got nothing better to do? Grrr. Look at that tree over there. Wow, that's a big tree. Probably a couple hundred years old. A blinking light passes by in the distance. A plane. From that distance, even the tallest redwoods aren't even a spec of peachfuzz to the naked eye. And from the moon, the largest mountains are glassy-smooth on the curvature of the seemingly perfect sphere we call Earth. To our Sun, a mere 93 million miles away, the Earth is barely a circling gnat. And there are billions of solar systems in our galaxy. The Milky Way is so huge, that at the speed of light it would take 100,000 years to cross it. And their are billions of galaxies in our perceived universe. AND, if you subscribe to the "Big Bang" theory as the origin to our universe, then it is conceivably possible that there have existed multiple "big bangs" that have originated other universes. And we're still only talking about our temporal plane of existence, our dimension of understanding. If our sun collapsed and created a black hole, and sucked us all up, the truth is that the cosmos would not even notice. Countless theoretical civilizations on unreachable worlds would never know we ever existed. Hell, if you died today I bet your neighbor one block away wouldn't know, or probably care. Does anybody under the age of 60 even read the obituaries?

But we matter to God, right? Well, first prove to me that God exists. Wait, which religion's "god" or "gods" are we talking about it? The one predominant to our culture? The one that has the most followers? The one that's been around the longest? I guess it comes down to faith, "faith" to me being a best guess or gut feel that this is the correct thing to believe. The thing that makes me comfortable not understanding everything, that makes me sleep better at night, that makes me think that I actually matter.

Sorry to break this to you, but you really don't matter. And neither do I.

50 Songs for Sadness

2009-07-14T02:55:00.024-04:00

I don't know what "most people" listen to when they're feeling down. For some, it might be happy music to try to cheer themselves up. I bet there's quite a few (if not most), however, that do what I do: they listen to music that provides a sort of soundtrack for what they're going through. Something that they can tune in to which gives their mind a point of reference and focus, as opposed to the flurry of random thoughts that might otherwise ensue. The lyrics don't necessarily need to be related; it's the feeling you associate with the music that's important.

Tonight I decided to compile a list of 10 songs that I go back to during such times, with no more than one song per artist (which sometimes made for difficult decisions). Well, the list quickly grew to 50, and I could probably get it to 100 without much more effort! I need get to bed soon, though... They are listed below, sorted alphabetically by artist name - not by preference. I will italicize my top ten, however. I am curious to hear your comments on this somewhat eclectic list, as well any additions you might propose.

Air - "All I Need"
Alice In Chains - "Down In A Hole"
Beatles - "Yesterday"
? - "Black Snake Moan" (acted by Samuel L. Jackson)
Cat Power - "Babydoll"
Chavela Vargas - "La Llorona"
Clint Mansell - "Requiem for a Tower" (from the movies "Requiem for a Dream" and "Sunshine")
Coldplay - "A Rush of Blood to the Head"
Dead Can Dance - "How Fortunate the Man With None"
Empty Grave - "Under My Skin"
Eurythmics - "Here Comes The Rain Again"
Everlast - "What It's Like"
Frou Frou - "Let Go"
Gary Jules - "Mad World" (from the movie "Donnie Darko"; original by Tears for Fears)
Gnarls Barkley - "Who's Gonna Save My Soul" (crazy video)
Gorillaz - "El Mañana"
Gustavo Santaolalla - "The Wings"
Jane's Addiction - "Three Days"
Jeff Buckley - "Halleluja"
Johnny Cash - "Hurt" (original by Nine Inch Nails)
Kansas - "Dust In The Wind"
Led Zeppelin - "The Battle of Evermore"
Lhasa de Sela - "De Cara a la Pared"
Meghan Coffee - "Nightingale"
Metallica - "Unforgiven"
Moby - "Porcelain"
Neil Young - "Old Man"
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - "Do You Love Me"
Nick Drake - "One of These Things"
Nirvana - "Something in the Way"
October Project - "Bury My Lovely"
Peter Murphy - "Keep Me From Harm"
Pink Floyd - "Comfortably Numb" (from the album/movie "The Wall")
Portishead - "Sour Times"
Radiohead - "Street Spirit (Fade Out)"
Sia - "Breathe Me" (Mylo Remix)
Sinéad O'Connor - "Troy" (almost chose "Feel So Different")
Steve Baker & Carmen Daye - "For Whom The Bells Toll" (from the movie "Donnie Darko")
Stevie Nicks / Fleetwood Mac - "Landslide" (Smashing Pumpkins does a great cover)
Sting - "Shape of my Heart" (from the movie "Léon"/"The Professional")
The Cure - "The Same Deep Water As You"
The Doors - "The End"
The Future Sound of London - "Papua New Guinea"
The Mars Volta - "The Widow"
The Smiths - "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore"
The Verve - "Bitter Sweet Symphony"
Tom Waits - "Dirt in the Ground"
Tool - "Forty Six & 2"
U2 - "Tomorrow"
Zero 7 - "In the Waiting Line"

Water

2009-06-29T17:09:00.016-04:00

It's raining outside. I love the sweet, fresh smell of it, and the sound of the raindrops hitting the trees and ground. I got to thinking about how impactful water has been - and is - to me. Beyond the obvious physical need, it has played an important role in my life, being a frequent companion of mine in the poignant highs and lows of my existence.

When I was young, water was a medium for fun and relaxation. My grandparents lived on a small lake south of my home town. They had a canoe, a sailboat and a motor boat, and some of my best memories are being out on that lake paddling through the lily pads, water-skiing with most of the men in my family, and a little bit of fishing. On the Fourth of July you would see everyone's campfires dotting the edge of the lake, and you could walk around and have s'mores with pretty much anyone, since there was a such sense of community. You could take a boat out to the middle of the lake to watch the small-scale fireworks show overhead, or just stay on shore and watch the fireflies put on their own show.

As I grew into adolescence, I starting lifeguarding and teaching swimming lessons - a natural early job considering the years of lessons and training I had taken myself, as well as my aforementioned experience in and around water. My older sister and younger brother also lifeguarded and taught; it kinda ran in the family. I remember how much I enjoyed teaching Red Cross-sponsored young childrens' swimming classes every Saturday. So much, in fact, that I think it was way back then that I actually started thinking about having my own children someday.

Of course, water activities can often bring awkwardness, especially during one's teenage years. What guy hasn't been stuck in the pool, because if he were to get out the whole world would see the boner he had after watching the girls in their bikinis? Embarrassing situations involving pools followed me to college - a strict Christian college mind you - where my future wife, best friend and I broke in and went skinny-dipping, only to be caught by the nighttime security guard. For that and other acts of indiscretion, I was suspended from college, but thankfully was able to return the following semester, when I received a 3.9 GPA - "just to prove I could if I wanted to." I didn't maintain it after that...

Getting more serious, water is not only with me during the lighter times of my life, but also the darker. Water can bring fear: ridiculous fear like stressing about sharks, possibly due to watching one too many Jaws movies as a kid (1 was awesome, 2 was okay, "3-D" was bad, and 4 was absolutely horrendous), or parental fear like worrying about my children drowning. If I was a religious person, I might be able to appreciate the symbolic meaning of water. Religion is rife with it, as it can represent a cleansing, an immersion, an act of faith and dedication, or beginning a new life. Baptism is just one example of this. But I don't ascribe to any organized religion, so I can't rely upon such positive symbolism.

Lately for me, water has become more of a channel to contemplate, or possibly escape from, my life. I have had to deal with depression throughout all my years, but it has been near-debilitating in the last 8 months or so. I have been on anti-depressants for a few months now, but honestly I can't tell if they are working. I'm afraid to stop taking them, though. Remember one of the opening scenes in American Beauty, when Kevin Spacey (whilst in mid-life crisis) is jerking off in the shower? It's not the masturbation that's noteworthy in the scene; that's normal. (Note: every guy has done that countless times in the shower; if he says he hasn't, he's lying.) What's noteworthy is that he is escaping. In the solitude and privacy of the shower, he is transporting his mind to some other place, so that he can experience some respite. I can relate to that, because almost every morning I stand in the shower and time stops. I can't focus. I can't move. I just lean up against the shower wall, with a thousand thoughts and at the same time zero thoughts assaulting me. "How can I face this day?" I shut down. Half an hour goes by and I haven't even started washing. "I really need to get going," but I can't. My mind turns to the water streaming down my face, and I look through the waterfall as a distorted lens.

Some evenings I step into the jacuzzi to relax after a tiring day. The hotter the better. It burns at first, but after my nerves give up trying to complain, I slide in the rest of the way. If I submerse my ears, I hear the soothing sound of nothingness. "Is this what it would be like to be deaf?" Sometimes I don't think I'm far off from that. It's almost like a sensory deprivation tank, like William Hurt experimented with in Altered States. Mixing that with an experimental hallucinatory drug, he was able to delve into his "altered states" of consciousness. But I don't need his drug - I have my depression. I turn over, exhale completely, and hit the bottom of the tub. "Is this what it would be like to be dead? It's not so bad. Let's see how long I can stay down here." My lungs are complaining. It doesn't take long for them to start having mini-convulsions. But I don't want to come up for air; I want to stay down in that silence. It is safe there. It is peaceful. It is my cocoon.

What is it about water that has such a powerful effect on us? Is it it's fluidity, how it can dynamically reshape itself to fill in every crevice of what it may envelop, so you can "lose yourself" weightlessly in it? Is it because we cleanse ourselves with it, both physically and often spiritually? Is it simply our natural dependence on it, being the foundation for life on this planet? Does it bring us back to the time we spent in our mothers' wombs? I don't know. All I do know is that it has always been there for me, in the good times and bad. A friend without criticism or condition. One of the few constants in my life.

How I Listen to Music

2009-05-20T02:22:00.006-04:00

I'm losing my hearing, and it sucks. It's not because I went to too many loud concerts, or spent countless hours with headphones cranked up. The doctor says that in the middle-ear of my right ear, the three little bones inside are either fusing together, or drifting apart. Only surgery (which may or may not help, or kill all hearing in that ear) would be able to expose the truth. Whichever the cause, the bones are not moving the way they should, which reduces my hearing in that ear by 70 percent - and it's getting worse. More and more I find myself asking people to repeat themselves, and it's getting frustrating to me and them. The other option beyond surgery is a hearing aid, but waddya know: insurance doesn't cover them, and they are not cheap. It's not all bad, though. I still have "normal" hearing (for my age) in my left ear - the one that does all the work these days. And if I need peace and quiet, all I have to do is lay down with my good ear on the pillow and my bad ear up, and I can't hear a damn thing.

So what does any of that have to do with the subject of this post? Well for starters, I can tell you that it makes me appreciate what I have while I have it. Listening to music is a significant aspect of my life, but how I listen to it might seem a bit strange to some readers. To me, the artist's meaning of the song usually has no bearing on the value of that song. In fact, I very rarely pay any attention to the lyrics, and often enjoy tracks without words even more (possibly explaining my gravitation to electronic music). My wife's skill at remembering lyrics back through her childhood is amazing. I can't think of one song I know every word to, but I don't care.

When I listen to music, I think I am more listening to my stirred emotions and memories more than the actual notes and chords, rhythms and layers themselves. (This coming from a guitarist and former recording studio engineer!) I'm especially not focusing on the lyrics. It doesn't matter if the artist originally intended for the song to be about death and destruction - for me it evoked feelings of persistence and self-discovery. A song written about finding love could instead be interpreted as losing it, or some other disenchantment. You see, an artist can try as hard as possible to convey his or her feelings to the observer, but invariably things transform in the transmission. The difference for me is that I don't fight it. I embrace it.

A few weeks ago I went to a reunion concert where the band consisted of old friends from my college days. It was an evening which started off as one of escape, but turned into one delivering spiritual medicine. I had been feeling at rock-bottom for so long, that I felt I needed to steal away into the night. Not to do anything bad, but to enjoy something for myself, to relax, to breathe. What I received was an infusion of musical healing. For sure, there was nostalgia at play, and hanging out with some long-lost friends was fun. But it was the music that blasted past my defenses and permeated my soul. As cheesy as that may sound, I felt awakened by the music. Energized. Healed. Open to forgiveness and reconciliation. And I don't remember any of the words.

Why Men Love Superheroes

2009-05-01T21:41:00.009-04:00

Stereotypes and generalizations can be ignorant and hurtful, however sometimes they can be useful to describe a common aspect of a populace from a sociological or psychological point of view. Take today's topic. Yes, many women love superheroes or will otherwise be able to relate to the points I will describe, just as there are many men who won't find much commonality and couldn't care less. Whatever. I am a man, I love superheroes, my boys love superheroes, and I'm sure many male readers will be able to identify with me. Let's break down this phenomenon.

First, what makes a superhero super? There is usually something special or different about him. Sometimes it takes the form of powers above and beyond that of normal human ability. For example, super strength or speed, being able to fly or create fire, being able to breathe under water, etc. These powers can be innate, like being born on an alien planet and delivered to earth (Superman), they can be introduced via a scientific experiment gone awry (Dr. Manhattan), they can can be based on genetic mutation (X-Men), or other causes. Rarely, albeit validly, the superhero is fully human, but has made himself into a superhero via physical or mental development and invention (Batman - my personal favorite).

What makes a superhero a hero? This can be just as interesting as - or more interesting than - the super abilities themselves. Personally characters like Superman are boring to me because they choose to be heroes out of some unspoken righteousness. More often there is a single, poignant, defining moment in the character's life that has molded his purpose. Peter Parker's uncle was killed by a criminal that he had the opportunity to stop but didn't, and the resultant guilt was a catalyst driving him to become the hero Spider-Man. Batman's parents were similarly killed when he was a child, and he later vowed to rid Gotham of crime and be the city's protector. Without some powerful, internal conviction, these characters would not have a reason to dedicate themselves to heroic deeds. The deeds themselves are often perilous and involve life-and-death scenarios where the hero puts the needs of others before his own personal safety.

So how does this relate to the male psyche? Why do we feel "pumped" after we leave a superhero (or most any action) movie, and for a short while daydream of being that character? Is it simply a matter of feeling strong, powerful, youthful or virile? Is that why we work out at the gym, or even why we sometimes take up a martial art or boxing? Is it all testosterone-induced ego? A little, perhaps, but I think that's short-sighted of the underlying desire.

The real reason lies behind why we put in extra hours on the job, why many of us are so focused and driven to attain perfection in a particular task or trade, and why we get frustrated when we don't feel respected by our family or friends. It's the reason several wars have been fought, but also why important advances in science and medicine have been achieved. It is, quite simply, that a man needs to feel like he has made an impact on his environment, that he can make a difference - that his life has purpose. Nothing is as depressing to a man than the thought that he does not have a purpose to exist - to not matter, to be undervalued, that the world is just going to keep on spinning and no one will remember or care whether he has ever set foot upon it.

Superheroes have a cause - a purpose for their existence and a role in society that is looked up to. They are usually admired and appreciated, but even if they are terrifying, they are still respected. They represent potency and meaning, strength and resilience. They achieve and complete, act with bravery, conviction and (usually) compassion. These are the traits that define a man's man, a "super" man. I think I will recant my previous comment on Superman and his boring righteousness. No, he is what we can only dream to become.

And our obsession with super-villains? Our attraction to the dark and unbound? Well, that can be a topic all by itself...

Guilt and Giving

2009-03-17T14:01:00.007-04:00

I shouldn't have done it. Given, that is. It all started with guilt: I had received, on a handful of occasions, a few "free" mail return address self-stick labels. They come with the hope that in return, I would donate to their cause. I don't even remember what the cause was fighting... Heart disease? Children's diabetes? Breast cancer? I dunno, but I felt bad that I had used these labels before without giving back, so I decided that okay, fine, I'd donate back to one of these causes - just one time - to make up for it. That was a mistake.

Now they won't leave me alone. I am being inundated with more and more of these things. Labels with flowers, American flags and eagles, Olympic symbols, hearts, Ziggy, aquatic scenes, Christmas ornaments, butterflies, etc. "Ding ding ding! We have a winner!" Or probably more like, "We have a sucker! This guy will pay for this type of thing." Now that I'm on the sucker list, how do I get off? There is no "opt-out". I have to just not give anymore, for some indeterminate period of time, until they get the hint. Meanwhile, they are spending more money printing and mailing these things to me - some even with a nickel attached - in hopes that I will continue to give. I feel even more guilty, because the amount I originally gave by no means covers their new expenses. But the positive feeling I first had when I gave is gone. I no longer want to give - at least not to return address label pushers! The experience has been tainted, and I am even a tad bit resentful. Surely this is not what they had hoped for.

Of course this is not the only way groups pull on our heartstrings to get us to give. Everyone has experienced those late-night television ads with the starving children, stomachs bloated and flies in their eyes in some third-world country. Or those cute little helpless puppies in the animal shelter, who have been abused and desperately need your help. You have to be a depraved individual if you don't feel sorry for these less-fortunates, right? Or maybe just desensitized by mass media and over-exposure to organizations - both commercial and charitable - who try to win your hard-earned money? After a while, they all blend together into a blurred noise, "Give, spend, spend, give." But let's skip the topic of consumerism for now; that can be left for a future post...

Now, I'm not implying that many (if not most) of these organizations are not justified in their approaches: they've found something - guilt - that works for very worthy causes, and sometimes the end does justify the means. What I'm wondering is, "Why do people give?" Is it ever a truly selfless act? One could argue that no gift is given without an expectation of something in return. That something need not be physical: it can be gratification, fulfillment, pride, or more. No one else has to know that you gave, but you know, and that gives you some sort of satisfaction. I'm not saying that's bad; I'm just saying that it's hard for me to think of a time I've given without getting something back, even if nothing was asked for or expected in return.

Why do people not give? Often greed, sometimes mistrust (of how their gift will be used or even accepted), sometimes ignorance. Logistically, it would be impossible to give to every cause - much less to every person - so we have to be judicious on how much we can give, and picky about which causes we give to. Lots of people will choose a cause based on personal experience or affiliation. For example, if you have a relative who has battled cancer, you might be more inclined to give to a related charity because you have seen how difficult it is and appreciated when people have helped. Another example, right in my own house, is my eleven year-old son, who has been pouring through books on the environment and feels strongly that it is what he wants to dedicate his efforts toward.

Finally, let's take this one step further. This post has primarily considered the topic of giving money, mostly to charities. However, my musings can be extended to any type of giving, like in interpersonal relationships. When you "give your heart" or "give your time" or "give your ear" to someone, is it likewise ever truly selfless? I believe it comes down to your intent and motivation. If your mind and heart are truly focused on benefiting that other person, then it's okay to feel good about it, to receive a kind of fulfillment in return. To be happy. The more and more I think about it, even as I type these words, I think we shouldn't let guilt get involved. It's good to have a conscience, but if you focus on the guilt of what would happen if you didn't give, you're missing the point. The focus should be on the positives of what would happen if you did give. Guilt should not be the motivation; benefiting others should be.

A Farewell Letter

2009-01-05T20:54:00.014-05:00

My grandfather's generation was at a time when there was a promise made between employee and employer, when the employee would promise the years of his life from graduation to retirement to that single employer, and the employer would, in return, promise a stable job and guaranteed benefits - even through retirement. Those days are long gone. Today, people hop from job to job with a "grass is greener" mentality because they have to get what they can get when they can get it. There is no security that an employee can keep his job or his benefits, and no security that an employer's workers will stay. The bond is broken. To that point, I found myself in late September of 2006, crafting a "farewell" letter to my fellow coworkers. Below is that farewell letter, and I share it here with you now because I have recently had a resurgence of the same feelings I had when I originally wrote it. While I do not have immediate plans to quit my current job, I can regretfully say that the hopes I had for this job have not been fulfilled. I welcome any and all comments from anyone who can relate to the thoughts in my email below:

From: Ward, David
Sent: Thursday, September 28, 2006 4:29 PM
Subject: farewell

I have worked for quite a few companies, and, as is customary when a person leaves, have decided to write a "farewell" letter. At first I didn't want to - equating it in my mind to the cheesy, rubber-stamp one or two liners that appear in high school yearbooks. Ah... but I won't let you get off that easy. Oh no, this will not be one of those "it's been great workin' with you guys, I've learned a lot, and I wish you all the best in your professional endeavors" letters. I want to make you think, but not of me or what we worked on together - that would be egotistical on my part and frankly, does not matter. Instead, I want you to reflect upon yourself and your actions, to stand back and take a third-person view of your contribution to yourself, your family, and your society. Is this too much for a "farewell" letter? Is it unprofessional? If these are your opinions, then read no further. You might be too hardwired into the machine...

Excellent; you've decided to carry on. First, let's get one thing out of the way. As you read this letter you might ask yourself, "Who does he think he is to give me advice?" You're on the right track. I want you to be critical. I want you to question everything people try to tell you. As Mary Schmich wrote in her article, "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" -

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth. (1)

Truth be told, I don't have any right to tell you what you should or should not do, or try to define what is right and wrong. In fact, I am not even trying to give you any advice, since doing so, as you will read, would be hypocritical of me. I am merely trying to share with you the thoughts that have been heavy on my mind. And who am I, anyway? Am I trying to portray myself as an example for anyone to follow? Please don't. These thoughts I describe as heavy are so because they have built up without me bringing them to personal fruition, and in that lays one of my life's deepest regrets. Sure, everyone has regrets, of things they should have done and should not have done. Most are superficial, like regretting to buy a stock when it was low, or wishing you didn't drink so much at that party last night. Others are more real, like regretting a way you hurt someone you love. Just take a minute and try to define personal maturity. I propose that a person is not truly mature without real regret. How can one consider himself mature without wisdom (wisdom in my mind being knowledge through experience)? In this case, experiencing the pain that is caused from a regretful act? Regret is a powerful teacher.

So what am I regretting in this letter? What do I think is so important as to deem it worthy of sharing with you on my last day of employment? It is, simply but potently, this: not yet finding a way to make my profession benefit society. Think about it - what do we do as software engineers? In the small, our actions are inherently insignificant; we send electrical charges across wires and magnetically "etch" little zeros and ones on spinning metal platters. In the large, our actions are more palpable; we are in the profession of creating tools that help businesses make (or should I say "get") money. I am not pointing a finger at any specific company, as it is what I have done for many companies over the course of my entire career thus far. The capitalist in you might argue that this is not wrong, as it plays an important role in keeping the wheels of modern business turning. Closer to home, you might also argue that it is not wrong to benefit financially from your professional endeavors, to enjoy the fruits of you labor. What I am personally struggling with, and am sharing with you without trying to point blame, is that I do not believe anything I have done with my career has helped anyone other than myself, my employers, or my clients. Not in a way that matters anyway. How about you? As each monotonous day drags on, don't you ever question what you are doing? Is any of it really as important is it is made out to be? Code that component. Fix that bug. Test that functionality. We're not seeing the forest for the trees. Years go by and I ask myself if I have accomplished anything of importance, anything that will have a positive, lasting effect on society. I find myself falling woefully short.

Outside of work I am, along with my exceedingly supportive and patient wife, raising a family. We try to instill in our children good values, tolerance, compassion and honesty. Yes, that task is very important, but a sobering fact is that I spend a great deal more time with my coworkers (and even more time in front of a computer screen) than with my own family. If such an imbalance is going to exist, one that is difficult to overcome in our job-oriented society, than I want to make the best of it. I want to do something with it beyond line items from a project plan. I am reminded of the opening paragraph from Octavio Paz's book, "The Labyrinth of Solitude" -

All of us, at some moment, have had a vision of our existence as something unique, untransferable and very precious. This revelation almost always takes place during adolescence. Self-discovery is above all the realization that we are alone: it is the opening of an impalpable, transparent wall - that of our consciousness - between the world and ourselves. It is true that we sense our aloneness almost as soon as we are born, but children and adults can transcend their solitude and forget themselves in games or work. The adolescent, however, vacillates between infancy and youth, halting for a moment before the infinite richness of the world. He is astonished at the fact of his being, and this astonishment leads to reflections: as he leans over the river of his consciousness, he asks himself if the face that appears there, disfigured by the water, is his own. The singularity of his being, which is pure sensation in children, becomes a problem and a question. (2)

I don't want to forget myself "in games or work" - especially in work. Think about the last time you went to a gathering of people you did not know, like at a party. Between men at least, within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone, the question that is almost always asked - as if to define us - is, "What do you do?" Now ask yourself that. What do you do? Does it define you? With a rebellious tone I'd love to shout out that "No, it doesn't define me!" Then I think about whom I am writing this letter to: my coworkers. Sadly, yes, what I do at work does define me, at least to them (you).

So, what am I going to do now? I have resigned from my current employer and contract position, and have accepted an offer from another company which requires me and my family to move to a new city. Obviously, neither of these things by themselves changes anything I have lamented about for several paragraphs. I'll still be in software development, sitting in front of a computer screen for much of the day. Why? Three reasons, the first two being embarrassingly selfish and hypocritical, yet honest. The third will hopefully (albeit only partially) reconcile the first two:

Software engineering is the only thing I know how to do that will allow me to keep my family at the standard of living we are accustomed to. Writing those words just made me sick to my stomach. It is a comfortable weakness I regret being attached to.
I enjoy the creative process involved in my work, which I believe my new employer can foster more than any employer I've ever had before. Okay, it's not wrong to enjoy an aspect of your work, but that in and of itself does not constitute a meaningful career - not to myself and definitely not as any kind of contribution to society.
I will be able to - actually expected to - work on various open source projects of my own choosing. I might even be able to head up my own projects. It is in this way that there is a faint hope to use my professional skills to create things that are helpful to others. Sure, many things I work on at my new job will be usable by businesses whose aim is profit, but they will not be the focus of my intent. Rather, I hope social organizations like non-profits, philanthropies, charities, churches, and the like will benefit.

That last faint hope is not enough, though. Not nearly enough. I cannot rationalize away the decision I have made, for I am still succumbing to that "comfort zone" that I scorn. Even if my aforementioned hope comes to fruition, I probably won't know if it ever occurred. As I sit comfortably in front of my computer screen, twice a month nice paychecks being direct-deposited into my bank account, I stay irresponsible and fat, in a socio-economic sense. I am haunted by an excerpt from "The Motorcycle Diaries" by Che Guevara, describing a visit he had with an old dying woman:

It is there, in the final moments, for people whose farthest horizon has always been tomorrow, that one comprehends the profound tragedy circumscribing the life of the proletariat the world over. In those dying eyes there is a submissive appeal for forgiveness and also, often, a desperate plea for consolation which is lost to the void, just as their body will soon be lost in the magnitude of the mystery surrounding us. How long this present order, based on an absurd idea of caste, will last is not within my means to answer, but it's time that those who govern spent less time publicizing their own virtues and more money, much more money, funding socially useful works. (3)

Is it actually possible to participate in "socially useful works" as part of one's job? Of course it is, but it seems very difficult to attain in our profession, as it is not the primary goal of the profession. What else can be done? One can donate time, which I have done, although it has proven increasingly difficult to find among work, commuting and family. One can donate money, which I also have done, although doing so feels too detached and aloof from the actual effort. Should I radically throw my current life as I know it away to join a grass-roots organization in an attempt to become socially responsible (uprooting my family in the process)? Seems rash.

So there you have it. I have elaborated - at length - the problem and the regret. There seems to be no easy answer, just a lot of questions. Again, the intent of this letter was not to tell you how to live, as obviously I have not yet figured that out myself. I merely wanted you to think about what you do, and hopefully put some serious thought into the questions I have laid out.

Oh yeah... It's been great workin' with you guys, I've learned a lot, and I wish you all the best in your professional endeavors.

Legal Disclaimer:

Please be advised that the comments of this letter reflect solely my opinion, do not reflect the opinion of past, present or future employers or clients, and are not intended to malign any past, present or future employers or clients.

References:

(1) Schmich, Mary. (1997). "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" Chicago Tribune. http://www.chicagotribune.com/...

(2) Paz, Octavio. (1961). "The Labyrinth of Solitude" Grove Press, Inc.

(3) Guevara de la Serna, Ernesto "Che". (1951-1952). "The Motorcycle Diaries: Notes on a Latin American Journey" Ocean Press, 2003.

Dealing with Dogs

2008-12-27T15:16:00.043-05:00

When I was young, my grandparents had a beautiful female dalmatian named "Buttons". She loved living by the lake, playing with us (including letting me play solitaire on her side as she slept), and was cutely afraid of thunder (she would always hide underneath my grandfather's desk - her safe place). Oh, and she was easy - or so I thought at the time. In retrospect, I'm sure I didn't have an understanding of how much work my grandfather had gone through to train her properly.

Fast forward several years... My wife and I found out that our first son had allergies to dust, cats and yes, dogs. I had to deal with the fact that we might not ever have a dog until my son went away to college. This was sad for me because of my found memories of Buttons. After some years, though, we thought we'd see if he might have more of a resistance, so we tried adopting a dog from a shelter. This didn't work out so well - not only was the (long haired) dog causing my son allergy issues, but the dog had emotional issues, and was very destructive to the house if we ever left. Probably separation anxiety. We had to return the dog, and everyone cried.

More time passed, and we felt the itch to try again. This time we decided long in advance to start giving my son allergy shots, which really seemed to help overall. We also did our research on dog breeds, and decided on a Hungarian Vizsla. They have very short hair, hardly shed at all, and only one coat (most dogs have both an under-coat and an outer-coat; Vizslas don't have under-coats). They are not hypoallergenic like Poodles (who have hair not fur), but they are low allergy dogs, and great with families. They do require lots of exercise and mental stimulation, though. No problem, right? We've got a big yard...

So one day we found an ad in the newspaper for Vizslas. Not very common, so we called the family (who lived in a town not too far from us), and quickly made a trip to pick one up. His name was Franklin (after Benjamin Franklin). He was so adorable, and everyone loved him very much. We spent lots of money on him - including building a really nice kennel attached to our garage - and dealt with lots, and lots, and lots of pee accidents. That was difficult for us, but we rolled with it. Unfortunately, his life would not last long - he died while recuperating from his neutering operation. I know that sounds strange, but it happens. The problem was that one of his testicles didn't "drop", so the vet had to perform surgery to remove one of his testicles. Franklin did actually make it through the surgery, and came to afterward, but then died. His heart stopped. The vet worked on him for 45 minutes including heart massage, etc. - but to no avail. We were absolutely devastated. It seemed that we just weren't meant to have a dog. For long anyway...

We decided to do an online search, and this time found a professional Vizsla breeder. Expensive, but we wanted a replacement for the hole in our hearts, so we put down a big chunk of cash. We had to wait several months for the mother to have her litter, then for the puppies to be old enough to leave her. During this time, something unexpected happened... the family where we got Franklin from called us. One of Franklin's litter brothers was returned, and needed a home! Now what were we going to do? We already had money down on the breeder puppy, but here was a chance to get Franklin back - sort of - by adopting his litter brother. So, we did that, and the family didn't ask for any money. We named the new dog "Benjamin" (to go with "Franklin"). Ben was a bit older by that point of course, so he was already potty-trained. Phew! Time to spend more money, including a property-encompassing invisible fence, and, of course, a slew of vet bills.

After not too long, though, it was time to pick up the breeder puppy. We never planned on having two dogs, but after a family vote we decided to pay the rest of the money and go for it. We thought it would be great for Ben to have a playmate, so we made the trip to the breeder to pick up our new Vizsla, "Alexander" (after Alexander the Great; we now call him "Zander"). Time yet again to spend more money, including an indoor garage kennel that connects via doggy-door to the outdoor kennel we already had, buying another invisible fence collar and, of course, a slew of new vet bills. (There's a pattern here someplace; I'm trying to put my finger on it...) Ben has had obedience training, and Zander will also in due time.

Not to be void of his own scary vet story, one day Zander decides to pull apart and eat a large amount of carpet we had for him to lay on. It gets stuck in his intestines, he gets lethargic, his pupils are all wacky, his gums are discolored, he's dehydrated, and he throws up whenever he tried to eat. My wife brings him to the vet, and to add insult to injury, my wife is made to feel that we are irresponsible dog owners. In the end, after some (thankfully) non-invasive vet work, a special diet and $600 spent, he pulls through. The hard lesson learned here is that we don't leave the dogs alone with anything but hard-rubber toys. Everything else is candidate for destruction and ingestion: like the dogs' bed, and the corner of the armchair, and the top of the ottoman, and the holes all over the yard, and the pond where I used to have such beautiful thick cattails, and our carpets before Zander (who is "almost" potty-trained... any day now... we hope...). The list goes on and on.

One last story will bring us up to today. In fact, it happened just today. I was just starting this very blog post, when I hear my wife scream downstairs. One thing I haven't mentioned yet is that we have chickens, and today being so warm we decided to let the roosters run free. Turns out that the dogs were out at the same time, which wasn't such a great idea. They are usually good about leaving the chickens alone, but today was different. My wife found both dogs biting at one of the roosters, who was just sitting on the ground frozen. It seems like she caught them in time, and the rooster is okay, but it was frustrating to say the least.

Now, after several paragraphs, I will finally get to the point...

Believe it or not, we love our Vizslas - even after all the horror stories I recounted above. There is a saying, "a tired dog is a good dog," and so we try to make sure that they get lots of stimulation and activity, through walks, playing, etc. We have to keep reminding ourselves that they are still puppies (Ben is not quite 1 year old and Zander is just about 6 months). Hopefully they will calm some as they get older, or at least curb their destructive tendencies. Thankfully, they have many cute and funny moments - and just like newborn human babies who cry and poop and are so much work - they are like little angels when they sleep. All snuggled up, it is their time of forgiveness, when you look at them snoring and "just can't be angry at them any more".

What I am trying to learn through all of this is patience. Ben and Zander have indeed added much more responsibility - and some stress - to our lives, but they are pure beings, and there is something to be learned there. Humans are complex: they hide their true feelings, they lie, they can be subversive, etc. Dogs, on the other hand, are much simpler to understand (although not always simple to care for). If they are happy, you know it. If they are sad, you know it. If they want something, they either beg for it or just try to take it. There is no deep interpretation necessary with dogs. Unlike cats - who tend to be a bit more mysterious - dogs wear their hearts on their sleeves. Maybe we should be more like dogs. Not the part about peeing on or eating the carpet, or the part about attacking the chicken, but about being true to - and about - ourselves. It's about living our lives without guises. As frustrating as they can be sometimes, I love them, and am certainly learning more about myself through their presence.

"Errant Epiphany"?

2008-12-24T23:09:00.016-05:00

Why have I decided to start a blog? Let me tell you it is something that I've put off (and it has "put me off") for quite some time. I never really understood why people did it. To brag maybe, to share their goings ons with their friends and family (although the advent of myspace, facebook and twitter have eclipsed that), delusions of grandeur ("Lots of people will read this! I'm gonna change the world!"), etc., etc... Well okay, I've had my guesses why people did it, but none of them seemed like good reasons. At the end of the day, the truth for 99% of bloggers is that they're doing it for themselves. Some sort of self-gratification. I'll be honest here: for me, it's no different.

To understand my blog's purpose, let's first disect the title of this blog, "Errant Epiphany". According to Merriam Webster:

errant
1: traveling or given to traveling errant
2 a: straying outside the proper path or bounds b: moving about aimlessly or irregularly c: behaving wrongly d: fallible

epiphany
1 capitalized : January 6 observed as a church festival in commemoration of the coming of the Magi as the first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles or in the Eastern Church in commemoration of the baptism of Christ
2: an appearance or manifestation especially of a divine being
3 a (1): a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2): an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3): an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure b: a revealing scene or moment

I'm going to go with errant's definition 2a or 2b (although 2c or 2d might work as well at times), and with any of epiphany's permutations under definition 3. The idea is that this blog is really about making some sense out of what I encounter in this life. Maybe, as part of the process of writing down my thoughts, I can untangle them. Sort of like meditation-while-writing. A "pensieve" for you Harry Potter fans.

Now, I'm not a writer - nor do I play one on TV - so if you decide to get your vouyeristic fix by reading my blog, you will have to be prepared for the occasional grammatical error and punctuation mistake. Proceed at your own risk. Which reminds me, I'm not just a hard-working professional who loves his wife, children and pets - I'm also a guy who has no problem admitting that swearing, drinking, enjoying sex, watching horror movies and listening to "the devil's music" are all part of his life too. For those that know me well, I can be quite blunt - sometimes to a fault - so consider yourself warned.

If you do continue on, I do sincerely hope that my musings might be of some benefit, that they might get you to think outside your normal comfort space a bit. But again, you are not the reason for this blog, and I make no promises that every entry is going to be life-changing. On the contrary, there might very well be seemingly insignificant posts like how mad I was at the store the other day. But hey, I can promise you that it will all be real.

Let's give this thing a shot.