Change — the only thing constant

Short little post here and I apologize for its likely rolling hill quality and lack of continuity. Especially after such a lapse since the last. Some discontinuous musings.

The constancy of change. The merciless march of time. The more I know, the less I understand.

I am voracious in my hunger to understand people and this world we live in. I have been trying to absorb as much as I can. I don’t always understand less. There are moments of increased clarity. But they seem few and far between.

These past few months of my life have been a wild ride of ups and downs. Some clarity. Some more confusion. And thank goodness for therapy! I have been working very hard to understand myself better. Much of that, I believe, focuses on being honest with myself, first and foremost. I have worked hard to increase my honesty with others as well. But the honesty-with-self seems the first and most important step. After that, the scary step of being brave enough to be honest with honors.

A little more on change. One characteristic of the past couple months is how slowly time has passed. By the time each weekend has rolled around it’s very hard to believe it’s only been a week since the last. I think that has to do with the volume of change that has occurred from week to week. Whether it be revelations in therapy, revelations with old friends renewed, or revelations with new friends. My perspective on the world has changed much.

While I think this is mostly great, I remain wary to a degree. I find it prudent to be cautious of the change, to reflect on it a little more than normal for understanding it in context and in the greater scheme. Though change in general is constant, change within oneself tends to occur slowly, if at all, so a seeming lot of change quickly is potentially suspect as to the true nature of what is occurring.

I remain excited and eager for the change. And keeping my eyes open as wide as possible.

Rigidity — a questionable approach to activity

I am a fascinating bundle of contradictions. I try to live fully, to embrace as much as possible in this world. (But let’s be honest—I’m sure I do a terrible job at that. Go easy on me and let me hold on to my delusion a little longer.) Despite my “openness” to experience the world, and here’s where some contradiction comes in, I have a pretty rigid way of participating in activities.

How so? Well, I like to do things the way I like to do them. I like my way. I enjoy activities my way. “But what if that’s not MY way of doing that? Can’t you compromise a little? Won’t you still enjoy this, especially since we’re doing this together?” Well, honestly? Not really.

Rigidity.

To be fair, this is mostly true with physical endeavors. I am a reasonably fit dude. Which is to say, a 16 mile hike in 5 or 6 hours is no big deal. I could bike a 100 miles in 7 hours tomorrow and not think too much of it. But I tend not to know too many folks that either want to hike 16 miles or bike 100 miles at all or could do those in similar time frames. (And that’s not even to go near whether or not I would actually WANT to spend that much time with a person that could.)

“Do you want to go for a hike? I was thinking maybe 5 miles, it’ll probably take 2 hours or so.” “Uh, yeah, sure, that sounds nice.”
[Hiking ensues]
“That was a great hike! Wasn’t it?” “Yes, yes, sure, it was good.”

What am I really thinking? “Yes, I enjoyed the walk and spending time with you. It was a crappy hike. I didn’t sweat at all and got no exercise.”
Harsh, huh? But there you go. So, I can do a physical endeavor with a good friend, but most of the time I need to mentally shift what the activity is. I enjoyed spending time with my friend, and we happened to be on bikes or we happened to be walking through the woods. I will almost always tell the little white lie and feign having enjoyed a bike ride or a hike. Trying to lay this theory out on the table seems like overkill when the little white lie can get us through the conversation.

And this isn’t just true with physical endeavors. Take Scrabble. I’m not good, but I’m decent, and have a few of those obscure “q” words in my belt for tricky situations and will take advantage of “el,” “em,” and “en” as words. Will I enjoy a game of Scrabble against a bad Scrabble player? No. I can enjoy the company, but again, it’s a crappy game of scrabble. I will play for the sake of my friend, but I won’t enjoy the game itself. Now, if my opponent were interested in learning Scrabble strategy, that could be fun, trying to improve a friend’s Scrabble skill in the effort to create a better opponent. But a lousy player makes for a bad game of Scrabble.

I’ve long been conflicted by my approach to enjoying activities. In more forgiving moments I think, “Hey, that’s just me. That’s the way I is.” In my more critical moments, “Boy, I’m an asshole.”

And this is where the rigidity and the desire for experience contradict each other. If I am truly open to experience, shouldn’t I be more fluid in being able to enjoy activities in different ways? Is my mental shift to enjoying a modest hike with a friend as time spent with a friend while walking evidence of some kind of fluidity to being open to different experiences? At the least some kind of effort to enjoy the time, even if not in my ideal way?
Perhaps.
But particularly with physical endeavors, if I really want to go for a hike or a bike ride, but there’s no one to keep up with me? Well, I appreciate the offer for company, but I’d really rather you stayed home and I’ll go alone. I can enjoy the hike or ride plenty well on my own and you’ll just slow me down and that’ll piss me off.
See? Again with the harshness.

As it is, I usually compromise some, in that I’ll do some things on my own the way I want to do them and some things with company and enjoy the company and do my best to enjoy the activity.
And that’s all well and good. And maybe that’s a pretty good method.

But deep down? Shit, yeah, I’d love to have someone be there with me lock-step. AND have good conversation along the way. Still looking for that.

And I worry that my rigid thinking keeps me on my own. But the rigidity doesn’t seem to be something that is likely to change
Ah, but then, only time will tell!

The cycle — a spirit of travel

Good evening, world of blogging and Interwebs!

I wish to write tonight, and despite the 8 draft titles I have on the plate to prepare, the topics are serious and heavy and at least modestly draining.

So…

To the Bat Cycle!

Okay, not really. Just to my motorcycle. My 2001 Honda Shadow Spirit 1100 in Pearl Blue. I have written before of motorcycling in general. And this post would be true regardless of my steed. But for over 40,000 miles, my Shadow has been loyal and true. So when I think of travels via motorcycle, it is my Shadow that comes to mind.

2001 Honda Shadow Spirit 1100 with over 41,000 miles. Sigh.

The snapshot to the left is dawn of two thousand and twelve in Ocean City, Maryland. 7:29am, January 1, 2012.

At times I question my love for my Shadow. But my Shadow has never let me down. And I can’t say the same for the majority of people in my life. Ah, but that’s a post of another topic!

The dream. What is the dream? The dream is the ideal motorcycle trip. Who knows if the “ideal” is in practice as it is one’s imagination. And I’m sure my version of “ideal” is very different than many other motorcyclists’. It goes something like this.

There is a beauty beginning the day with no knowledge or understanding of where the day may lead and where the day may end. I have a vague awareness that this concept is unsettling to many. Yet I have no empathy.

The world is infinite. We have no hope or chance or fleeting opportunity to meld with the infinite. But I feel the closest we can come, our best instant with the infinite, can come when we relinquish ourselves to that which is greater than us. To give oneself over to that of which we have no understanding, but reaches into us and cradles our soul.

I dare not suggest that this is easy. I admit that I am terrified by it. But I see it, I see in this surrender a path, perhaps THE pathway, to peace.

I have been indoctrinated in countless ways to take control of my life. To create a life of my design and my choosing. Yet I question this. I have little confidence this strategy will lead me to peace. A seed has been growing in me—its message one of surrender. Surrender to the infinite. I cannot know the path. I must feel the path. I must give myself over and when I do, the path will unfold before me.

Each morning I would swing my leg over my Shadow, the engine would roar to life, and I would ease out the clutch and roll forward. Follow the road. Each intersection a choice, but no cause for concern. I need but pause, survey from left to right, and let instinct guide me. Over and over. When hunger calls, nourishment will present itself. When the tank is low on gas, a filling station will present itself. When the sun sinks low and evening looms, a refuge will present itself.

Some 70,000 miles I’ve ridden motorcycles, likely over 1500 hours, over 60 days in the saddle. I have not failed.

The ideal motorcycle trip? Wake up, go where the road takes me, stop when it’s time to stop, sleep. Repeat. Let the infinite be my guide, my protector, and perhaps even my savior.

Blogging — One title away

I have much in my head. So much that it is impossible to keep track of all that is in there—ideas-wise. I don’t know about others, but I often find it very difficult to hold an idea in my head long enough until I can express it in words. Usually the ideas zip in and out so quickly in a mere few seconds the idea has blossomed, but like a dandelion, its fruits carried off by the wind, leaving me grasping in the air, turning my head searching, “What was that idea? Where did it go? Dang it!” Many of these ideas make return performances, but come and go in the same manner.

Over the years I have attempted different strategies to hang on to these ideas. In the early days of PDAs (Personal Digital Assistants), I would create Notes with the content of these fleeting inspirations. This worked well—when I happened to have my PDA with me. This was a decent amount of the time, but the entry wasn’t super quick, and combined with the lack of all-the-time availability, wasn’t able to stick as a habit.

With the advent of the ever-connected smartphone that can synchronize in multiple locations, my phone has become a successful venue for capturing more of my ramblings. In addition, I could even post directly to this blog from my phone. (It is a crazy world!) Another strategy that I’ve begun to employ: write the title and move on. Chances are decent that when a nugget of thought has infiltrated my brain, I need only the essence of it to inspire that train of thought again. Capturing the essence, or close to it, of the thought in a title seems effective to preserve that dandelion before the wind carries it away.

“Maury” — a distasteful human circus

It happened recently that I was in the presence of “Maury”, Maury Povich’s daytime “talk show” a la Gerry Springer. Having watched a little of these types of daytime shows over the years, I witnessed the usual “We gave Sherry a lie detector test and asked her if she had ever slept with Michael, Mary’s boyfriend, and what we found…” Tears streaming down Sherry’s face, Michael slumped in his chair largely impassive, Mary looks ready to rip someone’s head off.

Many years it’s been since I’ve seen this sort of TV drama. In the past I remembered always finding it depressing. Others often reported feeling better about themselves watching such drama knowing that at least their lives weren’t that chaotic. I lamented the fact that such behavior existed at all and feared for the viability of human society. Why are humans so awful to each other? Yikes…

Witnessing Sherry’s, Michael’s, and Mary’s woes recently struck me much differently than in years past.
I was disgusted.
Not in the trio’s behavior. By the circus of human emotion “Maury” put on display.

“Maury” created a cage, shoved in three people raw with emotion, and tossed in some proverbial steaks for Sherry, Michael, and Mary to scrap over. On the periphery to the center spectacle is added an audience for cheers and jeers, doubling as jury to sentence Michael to social purgatory.
And all for our entertainment.

The spectacle of judging really made my skin crawl.

Over the past few years I have listened to a couple hundred hours of “The Savage Lovecast”, Dan Savage’s once a week out loud version of his sex advice column. In those hours I have heard an incredibly extensive variety of romantic and sexual entanglements that people get themselves into. Dan can be quite harsh at times with his advice: “No, he’s just an asshole. DTMFA.” (That’s Dump the Mother Fucker Already in Dan’s parlance.) I have also heard Dan empathize with an emotional caller, hearing in Dan’s voice his desire to reach through the phone and hug the caller to ease the caller’s pain. Mostly, Dan is straightforward, a strong advocate for us to own our wants and desires, and to stand up for our right to be satisfied emotionally and sexually—despite what that may look like. Huh?
Happiness may mean one partner, who ties you up 10 hours a day. It could mean two partners, one each on both coasts of different sexes. It could mean one partner with an occasional third (and fourth?). It could mean one partner but who is no longer capable of sex, and so there’s a little side-action on the sly to maintain the able-bodied’s sanity. Because the able-bodied truly loves the partner and their children and their life, but to ask the able-bodied to forego sex for decades is just plain absurd, cruel even.
This is not to say that Dan approves of cheating. He doesn’t. For a gay man with a husband and their son, Dan is largely traditional in his beliefs. He champions honesty as much as possible in all situations. Provided there is honesty between people, Dan approves of most arrangements that are agreed upon between knowing, consenting, and capable adults. However, sometimes a situation may mean that maintaining sanity requires some deception, that some sex on the side may likely allow a good but sexless marriage to succeed and that this deception is likely better than the chaos caused by divorce, especially when children are involved.

Where does that leave us with Sherry, Michael, and Mary?
We don’t know anything about them. We don’t know their situation at all. Yet they are put on this raised platform, ripped open, their guts spilling all over the stage, the crowd hungry for the gore and ready to judge from the guts alone without any knowledge of how the guts came to look how they do.
In writing this, I solidify that I find the judging reprehensible. Yet I realize that just as reprehensible is the spectacle made of the three individuals. There are more factors even. Looking at the situation more holistically, the fact that the situation is occurring at all indicates that the organizers and crowd feel entitled—entitled to create and witness the circus AND judge the chaos being instigated. I’m seeing that I SHOULD be depressed by “Maury” and similar shows. But likely not by the carnage on stage (this is not to give the three a pass, but if anything, we should offer therapy not a lynching). I should be depressed that the show exists at all. It’s a modern version of gladiator combat.

After two thousand years we still shove humans into a circus ring for combat as entertainment. But in two thousand years we have evolved our tastes from humans ripping each other to shreds physically to humans ripping each other to shreds emotionally.

Regret — a treatise on the failure of inaction

Regret. Inaction.

Is it not the things in this life I have not done that I regret?
The inaction, the lost and missed opportunities. The moments not seized.

These are the splinters in my mind that push me towards insanity. The what ifs.

It is true that the actions taken cannot be undone. But consequences can be managed. An action not taken is an alternate pathway forever into the ether of the universe, the road untraveled, never realized.
There is no consequence to manage, just a fantasy that resides forever in the mind, ebbing and flowing, a void that occupies space, but it is not completely empty, like a balloon filled with air, there is something inside, but it lacks originality, yet in this lacking of specific form the balloon can be altered, manipulated into any shape of the owner’s desire, shifted this way and that, all the possible outcomes played out—over and over and over again with subtle nuances, but the possibilities are endless, the replay infinite. Like the proverbial snowball rolling downhill, this void can gain momentum, grow in size, and very easily start hurtling out of control, becoming so unwieldy that it starts to affect more of the mind, directing the course of other thinking, and dominating the consciousness, holding it hostage, a tyrannical dictator merciless to the greater needs and desires of the person. Such is the course of the action not taken.

Apologies can be offered, forgiveness given, feelings and wounds mending with time.

But the void endures, that potential, festering, lurking, ever in danger of spawning the merciless dictator bringing the mind to its knees.

The Every Day Rule — an uncomplicated guide to healthy living

The Every Day Rule

Any activity which is done every day that is not eating, sleeping, or going to the bathroom, deserves special scrutiny as to the possibility of that activity being an addictive behavior.

Corollary: Eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom also deserve special scrutiny from time to time since despite their being daily requirements of life, changes in their patterns can point to potential physiological and/or psychological problems that may be negatively affecting one’s overall health.

What, you may ask, caused me to come to such a rule? After a couple years of being in the working world I was getting laid off from my first job. I had a friend who had been struggling with the ups and downs of life. After my job had ended and I had more free time to spend with friends than usual, it was becoming clear to me that this one friend was regularly drinking alcohol as a way to diffuse his struggles.

It happened that as my job ended a very serious relationship also ended. The ending of the relationship was vastly more traumatic than the ending of the job. After my relationship ended, I was in limbo, trying to reconnect with the world in some way that made sense. My relationship had been all-consuming. As many moments in the day that I could devote to the relationship I did. Sacrificing every other component of my life: friends, family, and quality of work.
It occurred to me that my relationship had not been all that different from my friend’s drinking: an escape from dealing with the world.

There is more to the story of how I came to this realization.
In college I exercised a lot. I mean, a lot. I was a varsity athlete. My dedication to my sport bordered on the fanatical. I routinely did workouts in excess of our practices. For better and worse, those workouts paid off. Those workouts allowed me to excel and obtain premier spots on the team. Some of my additional workouts were sport specific. Some were not.
During college I discovered a passion: road cycling. I would thrash on my road bike for an hour before two hour practices. Sundays, my one day off from my college sport, gave me the opportunity for longer bike rides without the additional sport commitment. I was exercising 2 to 4 hours a day, 7 days a week.
My varsity sport also had a weight requirement. One that I could barely make. I monitored and regulated my food and drink intake to a point where I could not normally function in social interactions. I couldn’t attend events where I knew there would be food as I knew I could not control myself when faced with something I craved so desperately: to feel full, satisfied. In moments of weakness I would binge, gorging myself on food and experiencing moments of ecstasy while simultaneously overcome with self-loathing of failure, of knowledge of the time it would take to burn off the calories I was ingesting, and feeling incontrovertibly incapable to stop myself from eating.
If you’ve never been there, it’s a particularly fascinating situation to simultaneously experience ecstasy and absolute self-loathing in the same moment.

The denial of something so essential and so strongly desired is enough to cause a mental break of sorts, a cognitive dissonance.

The relationship I had been in also created a similar cognitive dissonance—and numerous moments of ecstasy and self-loathing. For a year and a half every fibre of my being had been focused on this woman: this married woman. Married. This didn’t stop us from our torrid affair with Everest-level heights and core-of-the-earth lows.
No, the affair didn’t stop. But neither did my continued self-loathing. Day after day after day after day after day.
I escaped. And mostly in one piece. Roughly a dozen self-inflicted knife wounds scarred my body, but the scars on my soul may go forever unhealed.

During the first year of work out of college I found myself exercising less. It disturbed me a bit, particularly given my heavy focus on exercise during college. I found myself reflecting, “Why don’t I need to exercise as much?”
And at some point I was struck by the use of the word “need”. It occurred to me wholly unnatural to express the concept of “needing” to exercise. And I came to the realization that in college I had been using exercise the same as any heroin addict: a symptom of a deeper problem of avoiding one’s problems in the world.
Some escaped from their problems with heroin. I escaped with exercise.

Out of college I was able to manage life much more effectively. I still enjoyed exercise to be sure, but I didn’t need the escape from life as I had in college, and so I exercised less. I exercised for the enjoyment of the activity instead of as an escape mechanism.

At the time my relationship was ending, I saw love functioning as a similar escape mechanism. Love was just another form of heroin.
In either case, the junkie jittering until that next hit.

I perceived the love from the affair that I engaged in every day as an unhealthy escape from my day-to-day life. And this is how I survived that rejection in the months that post-ceded getting dumped. I had amazing family and friends that supported me through thick and thin. I had more love in my life than the majority of humans would ever experience. How insultingly selfish could I be to remain ungrateful about my life in the face of such unconditional love? I could not reconcile that and so was able to carry on with life knowing that romantic love was but a small piece in the puzzle of life’s happiness.

Alcohol, heroin, love, exercise. All potential escape mechanisms to avoid the difficult journey of finding happiness, of finding contentment within ourselves in this life.

So what? So, beyond the realm of eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom, if you do it every day? Take a moment to pause now and again: “Am I doing this every day because I truly love it? Or am I doing it every day because I’m trying to avoid something else?”
Give it at least a few moments of pause, of reflection. You owe it to yourself.

And even when it comes to eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom, consider “You know, I’ve been sleeping a lot more than usual.” or “I have diarrhea a few times a week, and that just doesn’t seem normal.” or “I’ve lost 10 pounds in the last couple months because the thought of food is nauseating.” You might be perfectly healthy, or you might be sick, or you might be depressed. Again, you owe it to yourself to step back and look at your life from a different perspective than usual.

You know why?

You. Are. Worth. It.

Think about it.