PAGODA 1976-2007

December 10, 2007 - Pagoda was struck by lightening last night where he was taken to St. Joseph's Hospital and pronounced dead on arrival. Pagoda was single with no children and leaves behind a loving family and many good friends. He spent nearly seven years marketing magazines in New York City all the while dreaming about a more purposeful and substantive existence. But in the end, he was simply a dreamer, afraid he had but one success within him and indecisive of the direction to head. A self proclaimed Pessimistic Optimist, Pagoda saw beauty in blight questioning his fortune and love as undeserving and unfair. He died with a smile and a tear. Rest in Peace Pagoda.

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This will be my last blog post. It has been nearly one year to the day that I began blogging. Looking back over the year it has seen some ups and some downs, deceptions in emotion, and friendships through comments. I appreciate everyone who visited this blog to share in my insanity. I felt a very strong bond with several of the people who have visited and commented on this blog and the belief that you understood my posts and related to them meant a lot. I learned a lot from each of you and shared in your pain, sadness, joy and experiences. I wish all of you happiness ahead and will continue following your blogs. In my departure I wish to offer only this - we often share our sadness and tribulations in these electronic journals, don't let that cloud the blue sky above. Love, Pagoda.

BEING PAGODA

She winked at me. That moment...that second in space, warmed the blood rushing through my veins. I was happy. I felt attractive. I felt desired.

I had never seen her before today. I stood above a crack in the sidewalk waiting for the light to change. I was focused, running my life through my mind like a projector on the wall. I was blindly moving forward, being herded by my fellow pedestrians into a route of no concern.

She dodged a woman with a large brimmed hat making her way hastily through the marching men. She swerved into my path, obstructing my course. I froze. She smiled. She winked as she brushed aside me on her way to a fortunate destination. I marched forward with my head titled towards the clouds.

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This particular prose didn't really happen. I mean, it probably did but I didn't have a specific experience in mind while writing this. The point of this is very relevant to what I deem an oddity of being me. For a guy who pursues his passions with an extreme determination, I am typically quite content with a smile from a woman. It's usually enough. A simple interest, even for the briefest of moments, lasts weeks within my skull. Am I afraid? Am I pathetically insecure? Why so satisfied from an expression quite mysterious? Why is that enough?

THE REAL LOVE HISTORY CLUB

Is love ever real? Is love always real?

After having consumed a few too many drinks last night, I called a friend who had likewise just arrived home from the bar. At one point the conversation turned to the confusion of love. I spoke a few posts back about a guy who had attempted suicide because his wife left him to pursue another man she had been having an affair with for several years. The suicidee decided life wasn't worth living without her love, that he would never feel so strongly for another. Three months later, after a failed attempt to end his life, he has fallen madly (maybe too correct a term) and deeply in love with a woman he dated ten years ago.

I think we've probably all been in a failed relationship at some point and seriously contemplated the odds of ever finding a connection with someone as "deep" and "real" as the prior union. Only weeks, months or years later we've met someone who elicits feelings as strong, if not stronger, than what we had previously experienced. But here is where is gets a bit confusing; when we hear from the first "love" our heart STILL skips a beat. The emotions we once poured forth for the individual stirs once again. And it always will, never fading away...maybe just fading slightly due to a dusting of cobwebs. Then we experience another failed relationship and move on to another person who simply MUST be "the one" and so we have just added a further member to our "real love" history club.

Are all of these "real" loves? Does "real" love exist at all? I think we would all agree there are levels of love. Which is that powerful "real" love?

I have no doubt that the guy who attempted suicide felt as deep a love as he could for his cheating spouse. And I don't doubt that at an earlier point in his life, prior to meeting his wife, he felt just as deeply for this woman he is currently sharing a reunion with. What I do question is this - when he was in the prime love state within his marriage, was he still thinking of the previous woman as his "real" love? No, he was in a marriage with his "real" love. So then that ended. And now he's transferred that "real" love back to a place where it originally resided. And if it doesn't work out for the two this time around, he'll either attempt to kill himself for a falsely(?)-unique desire now crippled, or transfer the "real" love to the next giddy receiver.

If the emotions are so strong for someone that you would rather die than live without them by your side...and then you replicate those thunderous emotions for someone else, it MUST be love - for what other word do we have? But is it the kind of love we all seek? Is it that love where you question anyone could possibly understand? Is it special? Was it ever?

JUST DO IT! LIKE NIKE...

Work is getting less and less thrilling each day. It's a job, I'm thankful to have it, but I feel unfulfilled. When you break down exactly what I do, it seems so unimportant, so trivial. I keep trying to tell myself that life is an enormous cycle with invisible connections between every element and that my job touches people in a positive way even if it isn't blatant. But it's a stretch...and even if true in part, it isn't enough to satisfy me.

Maybe it's because I have people close to me dealing with diseases like cancer in their lives right now that it's reinforcing the idea of just how short life is. And what is it about? I need to experience more, I need to do something positive. I need to work harder towards getting to a place where I can be proud of what I'm doing for a longer period of time each day. These eight hours of employment are really cutting into my idealist desires!

STATEMENT OF PURPOSE

I received an e-mail this afternoon from a friend of mine who requested that I edit an essay she wrote to help her get into graduate school. She entitled the project, "Statement of Purpose." Basically she listed the impactful experiences that have built who she is, what she hopes to accomplish, and how graduate school is a necessity for her to achieve her goal of bettering herself as an educator.

As I read through the essay it occurred to me that everyone should have to write a Statement of Purpose for their life. To really understand why we are pointed in the direction we are heading, what we truly hope to find at the end of the path, and what we need to get there. I'm going to give it a shot. It will probably take me awhile, but, if I'm comfortable doing so, I may post it here after it has been completed. And if anyone reading this feels compelled to do so, please send me yours at postmaster@myironicfate.com and I'll post it here.

COSTLY QUESTIONS

I'm currently reading the book, "How to Change the World - Social Entrepreneurs and the Power of New Ideas." It's a fantastic book featuring amazing people dedicating their lives to extreme causes. I admire these individuals for everything they pursue and everything they are. A social entrepreneur is someone who finds a way to achieve economic gains as a means towards bringing people together to solve social issues.

The common trait of the social entrepreneurs is their selflessness. They aren't finding ways to prosper while solving social problems, they find economic platforms as a solution to "make" other people care about the social issues. The individuals leading these efforts seldom make any money themselves. I admire it. I want to be like that. But as I'm reading this book nagging questions keeps popping into the back of my mind...how do these people make money? Without a 401k how will they retire?

I wish I didn't think like that. I wish I could give up those pragmatic thoughts and just follow a passion of compassion. But I find it very difficult.

UNDERWEAR FROM THE DOLLAR STORE

I had drinks with a co-worker last night who is interested in joining the fashion industry. I can't dress. I have absolutely no taste when it comes to clothing, and maybe that's why I've always ridiculed fashion as an arrogant, pretentious club. I never understood celebrating someone for what they wore when what it was covering up was really important.

However, the girl I went out with last night may have convinced me otherwise. She spoke of the importance of fashion in making people feel good and increasing moral. She spoke of how fashion is a badge that can unite people and make them feel less alone. She was passionate about it, and I bought it. It's hard not to believe someone when they are truly passionate in their delivery.

Her pep talk didn't educate me on how to dress properly, I'll still match colors wrong and buy from Target, but I can see a different perspective on an industry I thought contributed little to society. I'm still not a pro-fashion guy, but if more people working in the industry had the same perspective and passion for the positive that my co-worker has, then I could change my opinion quite quickly.

YOU CAN DO AS I DO AS LONG AS WHAT I DO IS SLEEP

I wanted to write a post tonight about a close friend of mine who is currently struggling with the illness of her father. I wanted to share my history with this person as she is probably as close to a confidant as I've ever had. It takes a lot to get that close to me and boy, have we ever been through a lot. She certainly paid her dues.

The reason I'm writing in past tense is because I can't write what I had initially intended. I found that I don't have the words to express my pride, respect and love for this friend. I have two people in my life (this friend being one of them) where, if I was to write honestly about them it would come across fake...when in actuality it would be nothing but sincere.

So I'm not going to attempt it. The words don't do it justice. I just hope this person knows how highly I think of them, and that I can be there for her as she deals with her father's medical problems, and as she encounters new struggles along the path of her life. It's the least I can do for the simple privilege of watching her become the person she has become. Even though we didn't meet until we were in our late teens - we grew up together.

You know the saying, "you can judge a person by the company he keeps"? Well, I could never live up to that with the company of someone like her. It pains me to see her upset, but at the same time I feel confident she will survive and use this experience in as positive a way as can be. Because that's who she is. And that's just one of the remarkable things about her - she may, like all of us, let something beat her down a bit, but she will never let anything finish her off.

My faith in the possible, or impossible, is stronger because of the example she sets. If only all of us could understand the power of being an example. If each of us tried to be the best example we could be, what kind of world would we have? A world I could be proud of.

I LURRRRRVE YOU

I've spoken often about how my writing is typically overly emotional. When I look back at my journal, or even this blog, I am immediately stricken with "red face" and my embarrassment usually leads to eyebrow raises and internal scoffing...sometimes even name calling...I can be vicious internally!

I wish I could strike a compromise between my writing and my verbalizing. I often find myself with writers block of the mouth - difficulty in describing emotions. There have been times in the past when I wanted to blurt out, "I love you," but couldn't. I couldn't summon up the strength. Yet I could create a ten-page poem dedicated to the ignorant individual within minutes of arriving home.

I haven't grown up. I'm still that young child passing notes to the cute schoolgirl nearby. Or even the brat pulling on the pigtails of his crush. It's less endearing when you're 31.

I can't really explain where my fear of verbalizing my emotions comes from but I wish my writing would offer up some encouragement.

A PIECE OF STRING IN MY BALL OF TWINE

If I look at my life through a film lens I can see the stereotypes that make up the character I am today. When I sit down to write a script I start off with the main character - what would he wear? What was his childhood like? Was he an altar boy? Did his parents divorce? etc. etc. The answer to these questions are invariably stereotypes. If my character is a disillusioned, angry youth, you dress him in grunge or punk clothing. That way, the audience, consciously or subconsciously, makes assumptions and you want those assumptions to lead them to specific place.

Looking at myself as a character is interesting - I see the stereotypes that make up who I am. For instance, up until recently I've obsessed about loneliness. I've really focused a little bit too much on forcing love to me instead of waiting patiently. When I was seven years old I told my mother I needed glasses. I didn't need glasses, at least not yet. I asked for glasses because the girl I liked in my class wore glasses. I still remember that to today. That would go into the background of the character that is me.

That's just one example. I was an altar boy, my parents are still together but endured rocky times, my father was a father too early, I'm short, I was a good athlete only because I outworked people, I fought against expectations. I could go on and on. The point is, every day is an experience that assembles the person we are becoming...or the person we are to become, depending on your point of view. If we look with an open mind I think we can see why we are the way we are...which is freaky and kind of exciting at the same time.

If I thought about this every time I had a decision to make, no matter how big or how small that decision may be, I think I'd lead a better life and be a better person.

THE STEAMROLLER

I always hoped that I was a gifted enough writer to be successful with the craft one day - whether through a screenplay, book or articles. But I constantly question it.

This weekend I was thinking about the major differences between who I am now and who I was ten years ago. I've spoken about the release of my anger, the decline in tormented confusion, the comfort in my own skin etc. One thing that has also changed is my tenacity. Maybe it directly correlates to my anger. Although I still feel as though I can accomplish anything I truly desire, I don't feel the tenacity I once did. I think tenacity may be a prerequisite for success.

I'm not saying I don't have tenacity, I'm saying it isn't as strong as it once was. I wrote about it in a post a while back where I talked about missing my anger. I think that may have been wrong - I think it was the tenacity I was missing.

ALTERING A PREDICTED FUTURE

I want to express my sorrow and sympathy over today's events in Pakistan. It is especially eerie to me considering the two postings yesterday. I hope my Pakistani friends, their family and friends, are safe and well. Please drop me a comment to let me know you are okay. Additionally, if you feel like it, I would appreciate hearing your thoughts.

May I never have to learn my world geography through another event like this; the four provinces are Balochistan, Sindh, North-West Frontier, Punjab.

I DON'T KNOW THE 4 PROVINCES :-(

I LOVE what this blog has brought to my life and continues to do so. I stopped over at my friend A. Joe's blog to see what was happening in her life - she is an amazing writer with a skill for crafting her emotions in an empathetic way.

Anyhow, I saw that she had written a post about me - it wasn't flattering BUT it was true. This is the kind of discussion that I enjoy so much because I learn. I'll play devil's advocate at times and push back on ideas even if I don't really think that way (so know that) - for some reason that greatly intensifies my learning curve. Anyhow, check out her post, I left a comment. I would like to continue the conversation so anyone else, please feel free to post a comment on her blog or my blog with your thoughts on this topic. I'd love to hear what other people in other countries, or the U.S., think of this and any solutions/thoughts/ideas you might have. Here's the link:
http://blank-face.blogspot.com/2007/10/pak-sar-zameen-shad-baad.html

THE DAY THE WORLD DIED

I was watching a show on the History Channel about ancient Mayan prophecies. One such prediction was that the world would end on December 21, 2012. IF this were somehow proven to be scientifically sound, how would your life change? What would you do differently?

I wish I had a hundred readers so I could get a wide sample of responses to this question, because my first thought is that we should live every day as if we knew the world would end on December 21, 2012. However, I suppose there is the possibility that someone would have a take that proved contrary to this assumption.

So, for my few loyal bloggies, how would your life change? What would you do different?

ROME WASN'T BUILT IN A DAY - BUT IT FELL RATHER QUICK

I've been dealing with a friend of mine who just learned that her father has cancer. The doctor has given him one month to live - it's all happening so fast. Obviously she is devastated and I want nothing more than to say something that will make her feel better. Instead I've morphed into a giant ear. No mouth is necessary, I mean, what can you say?

Her father is the same age as my parents so it has created a multitude of thoughts and fears. Something my friend said referring to her father, "he will never meet my children" has really stuck with me.

I don't think we give ourselves enough credit for being the forces in life that we are. Most people can name a handful of individuals that they would want their children to meet. Those same individuals would, most likely, be named again when asked which people have had the greatest impact in shaping who you are. Or which people most closely resemble us.

And seldom do those people in our lives understand their impact on us. Somehow it slips through the cracks. We, as individuals, have a host of powers capable of increasing the quality of life for an individual and thus the world as a whole. We are using these powers every day...and we don't even know it.

If you are spiritually inclined, or even if you have just a tiny speck of confidence in a god (or many gods for all you Romans reading this), please say a prayer for my friend, her father, and her family.

SEARCHING MY SHADOW

I have always been attracted to women that were wildly different from me. There was the hippie chick, the goth girl, the wealthy socialite, the immigrant, the promiscuous trailer-park babe...actually, I've dated two of those. I guess I kind of bought into the phrase "opposites attract."

What I THINK I've come to realize is that by choosing drastically different mates I was, in fact, searching for myself. And it turns out I'm a mix of each of them. Either I had all these elements within me grasping at the matching puzzle piece...or, through my interaction with each of them, I gathered the elements to create the puzzle. I think it's a little of both.

Now, for the first time in my life, I'm looking for someone...like me. Because now I have a better understanding of what that means. Hopefully I don't end up being insanely unique!

DECONSTRUCTNG THE RECLINER

I have been searching so hard for what it is I can put my passion fully behind. I have so much passion and compassion in me that it feels ready to burst. It seems as if it's been ages that I've been hunting this elusive path unsuccessfully.

I was watching Bill Cosby promote his new book entitled, "Come on People." The book deals with the tough issues facing African American society - particularly parenting and a social support structure. Anyhow, he is so passionate about this topic that it radiates from him. You just know that each evening he lays down to sleep he feels content with his day's activities. He may not feel accomplished but certainly he's aware of the direction he treads...and it's right.

As I watched the interview I realized that I need to stop looking and start doing. I need to volunteer more, I need to really research the topics that come to mind. I'm in a situation right now where I can forge my own path. Everything seems aligned. Instead of waiting for the man with the machete I need to grab the tool myself and start hacking away.

I'M EXPECTING YOUR BABY WILL BE TALL

I'm just going to blurt this out. I know it's crazy but it's something I need to deal with and, now that I recognize it, I mine as well write about it.

I've spoken previously about how I THINK I've subconsciously plotted to destroy every romantic relationship I've had. A close friend of mine, who pointed this out to me, asked why I feel unworthy of being with someone. I've thought about that a lot because, in a way, I think she's on the right track. But it isn't so much that I feel unworthy to be with them, instead I feel so strongly for them that I feel they deserve the best the world has to offer. I can't possibly give them what I feel they are entitled to. And I don't believe this is a self-deprecating thought, I understand what I have to offer people and I'm content with it. No, it's simply about loving someone so much that I don't want to be the roadblock to the happiness and perfection I think they deserve.

Of course I know the odds of someone being in a "perfect" relationship is pretty much nil, but I hold out hope that for this special person in my life it may be possible. And I ask them to search.

LUCIFER WAS CAST OUT OF HEAVEN

I promise an uplifting post in the coming days - I'm really rather content right now...but I've been thinking of this particular topic recently and wanted to share it.

I don't know when this started exactly, but it's been a long time. I have, for lack of a more accurate word, "enjoyed" torturing myself. I wrote a post about this earlier when I referred to myself as an emotional cutter. It's as if at some point in my youth I offended god in the worst way. As if I committed a solitary crime involving all ten commandments.

For the rest of my days I've had this subconscious desire to torment myself as a tool to make amends with the Almighty over this vicious offense of which I'm ignorant of. In doing so, I gain some sort of peace within my affliction. For many years now I've been laying myself on the altar and piercing myself with a butter knife. I say butter knife because none of the wounds have been fatal. They hurt, but they continuously miss the artery. And oddly enough after the initial stab is thrust and the post-burning sensation dims, I'm left with a sort of relief...a deep sigh of the soul. I realize that a majority of these wounds are self inflicted, that my hand alone holds the dagger (er, I mean butter knife), but I'm afraid it has become an addiction. I think I need a patch to stick on my arm that will slowly distribute a pitiful pain into my blood stream until eventually I'm weened off the effects.

I like feeling sorry for myself. I like feeling like the underdog. I like feeling unworthy. I like being my own adversary.

It's crucial that I repair this habit to lead a healthier life so that I don't wake up one morning on the altar and take a look around at the surrounding mountains, trees, and sun only to realize that the warmth from the enormous star above feels better than the burning of a wound.

I know this, yet I find myself clenching the knife all too often. The good news is that it happens far less now than in the past. Baby steps.

LIVING FOR TODAY IN FEAR OF TOMORROW

I keep telling myself that if I concentrate on being the best person I can be, I can influence the world in a positive way simply by example. The problem is that I don't know that I truly believe this, and it would be somewhat less gratifying I think.

I'm constantly trying to imagine ways I can contribute to altering society into a more positive direction - whether through a business opportunity or volunteering. But I get overwhelmed by the worlds problems and it seems almost hopeless to think any one person can make such a big difference. I know I should be pleased if I can find a way to contribute towards making ONE person's life better. I think I could find solace in that...but in all honesty I want more. I want to be a part of something that influences change in a major way. I'm greedy.

There is one thought that sits in the back of my head. I try to kill it, try to keep it buried in the dark. But it surfaces from time to time, particularly when I'm focusing on finding solutions to social problems - and in the process finding a direction and purpose in my life. The thought is - does any of it matter? If I found a way to help a million people live easier lives, and then the world ended in a ball of fire, and there was nothing waiting to embrace us after our demise...would it matter? Would any of this matter?

I think I should end this post by saying that I recognize that this is a question that is unanswerable. It has no truth of which I will ever be privy too in this life, so I shouldn't use it as an excuse to keep myself from committing to something. Having said that, I still struggle with it from time to time. I think it's some sort of defense mechanism...but I'll leave that analysis to the psychologists...

THE BAPTISM

It's 9:00pm on a Tuesday evening. My roommate is at a Bruce Springsteen concert and won't be home until well after midnight. The traffic outside my window has slowed, barely a car an hour is passing by. I finished dinner and leaned back on the couch in my apartment, when it began to rain. Not a hard rain, but a constant rain. I can hear the drops playing their pitch in nature's integrated band - the leaves, the pavement, the window shutter, the air conditioning unit. I feel at peace with the tune. It puts me at ease.

I'm not sure why the rain is so comforting, but it can lull me to sleep in an instant. It's cleansing the world and tomorrow when I awake things will shine a little bit brighter.

JEKYLL AND HYDE

Tonight was gym night, I need to get buff for the ladies ya know. Actually, funny side story - I was walking home from the gym when an overweight Hispanic woman wearing really trashy clothes passed by me on the sidewalk. She looked my up and down and then made the yummy sound. You know, "mmmmmmmm." I couldn't help but laugh the rest of the way home like a lunatic. That was too funny. I think she may have been a prostitute but I'm still taking it as a compliment damn it!

Back to the original point of the post - there I am feeling hamster-esque on the treadmill with my headphones blaring away. I fall into my typical daydream state and begin to imagine myself in all kinds of different situations. I see myself in different jobs, living in different places, all kinds of things. The one constant in this fantasy is how I see myself. I spoke in a previous post that I have dueling demeanor's. I can be an outgoing, friendly, conversation facilitator, or I can be a content, quiet observer. In my fantasy I'm always the outgoing, friendly facilitator.

I would wager that it's common sense that I would see myself this way in my dreams, who enjoys watching themselves as a corner lamp? But it begs the question, am I taking advantage of what I consider a kind of skill? Since as far back as I can remember I've been good at relating to people. I don't always enjoy playing the part of the outgoing, friendly facilitator BUT I think it's something I'm good at.

I wonder if I shouldn't reserve the corner lamp for home use only.

OKAY, GO HIDE AND I'LL COUNT TO TEN

I remember telling a friend of mine a couple of years back that I had finally accepted who I was. The implication within that statement is that I had "found myself." And to a degree I think that is true...to a degree. There is always a lot of talk about individuals needing to find themselves, particularly when someone does something wrong or gets themselves into a difficult situation. Why is finding yourself such a difficult and allusive task?

I think it's because there is no such thing as finding yourself completely. I firmly believe that life is a constant learning experience and this includes a natural evolution of self. I don't think you "find yourself" and then that's it - you are who you are and can now live a consistent life. Every day brings new experiences that can alter our perceptions, and reveal inner secrets. So if these experiences lead to constant change, how can we ever find ourselves? I mean I suppose it's possible that we can find ourselves at a given place in time - what I'm saying is that we don't have this person inside each of us that once unlocked acts as a guide for who we will be to the very day we die.

I've found certain things out about myself, some more important than others in an attempt to build a level of comfort with who I am, but I can't say I've definitively found myself. I don't think that's possible unless I become too stubborn to continue learning.

I'M OUTRAGED BY THE ROOF OVER MY HEAD

I just finished reading the book Helter Skelter. For those unfamiliar, it's the story of Charles Manson and his merry gang of murderers. I knew the basic overview of what Manson and his cult did but I had no idea just how insane the whole thing really was. It went against every rule of humanity that we've ever "learned." I had yet to be born when the trial took place.

I guess the most overwhelming part of the story isn't that someone committed murder, it's that Manson could amass a dozen (and more after his arrest) teenagers and young-adults, mostly female, to do anything he asked - including murder in the most gruesome of ways. At the age of thirty Manson had already spent a majority of his life behind bars. He was barely literate, and wasn't a terribly attractive man. How did he do it? It was Hitleresque.

I think I agree with the opinion of the author, who was the prosecuting attorney in the trial(s), that it was partly a result of social circumstance. The Vietnam War was a disaster, the Hippie era had accomplished the important goal (certainly at the time) of revolting against the previous societal norms and political power play...but eventually, and at the time of Manson's strongest influence, had spun a bit out of control, lost its focus, and, possibly, fell into a state of ambivalence - everything it previously had fought against. History has recorded the Manson guilty verdict as the official end of the 60's era.

There was a generation of people lost and wandering - searching for something, anything that felt more real than the disillusioned reality that had taken over the 60's. The ingredients were right for someone like Manson to be taken seriously. I bring this up because I feel like we aren't that far off, as a new global society, from another big revolution by a generation. I feel like the young people of today are in that ambivalent rut and it's only a matter of time and circumstance that makes them truly care...makes them begin to search. My hope is that a movement comes along that lurches society in a corrective direction...and not one that sets someone like Manson on a pedestal. My guess is that one rarely happens without the other.

When you are young and surrounded by enough of the world's comforts, it's tough to be outraged. Eventually, something happens that can override years of turning the other cheek. I can't help but imagine that we are getting closer to that inevitability each day. Does anyone agree or does this just sound like a conspiracy theory?

A BOULDER IN MY GUT

Do we control our instincts? I speak often on this blog about following my instincts. I've mentioned my strong faith in my instincts is due to a solid track record - it has seldom led me astray. But as I proved just a few posts back (the Suicide post), my instincts are certainly fallible.

I was at a friend's apartment last night and she is faced with a difficult decision: Does she stay with the man she has been dating for the past six months or return to her ex-boyfriend of over five years? The ex has confessed his love passionately and deeply regrets letting her go. The current boyfriend is good to her and she can see a possible future there as well. However, she is torn.

She asked my advice. I told her that I would recommend getting away for a weekend so she can be by herself and, hopefully, by creating some distance from the people involved, see the situation more clearly. Then I asked her what her gut said. I felt that her answer to this question would probably not only indicate which way she was leaning but also which way she SHOULD be leaning. Her answer was, "I feel absolutely nothing. I feel completely bland, blah, whatever. I don't think one decision is better than the other, nor do I feel one is worse than the other."

My suspicion is that she is doing this to herself to prolong making a decision. She is prolonging her agony, which is something I think she likes to do sometimes. She is ignoring her gut - or hiding it under a sheet of ambivalence. She then said, "I think I'm the type of person that will never be happy." I agreed. Not because she can't be, but because she doesn't want to be. It's so funny how that statement pertaining to her seems so ridiculous to me but when it pertains to me it's substantial and valid.

I'm getting a bit off track here - my question is - are our instincts spontaneous visions or are they simply a sum of the truths contained in a series of related experiences? For example, one day I had a feeling, seemingly out of nowhere, that a girlfriend had cheated on me. I called her and "bluffed" that I "knew what was going on." She confessed. Had I been sprinkled with some mystical dust that morning that revealed this hidden truth? Or had a series of previous experiences with this girl led me to an intersection where doubt met truth? And by accepting it, as opposed to ignoring it, I happened to be timely with my accusation? Is there a skill involved? Is it a natural gift? Or is it subconsciously controlled? Is the skill involved actually the discipline to accept a verdict, as opposed to a divine inspiration?

In a way it reminds me of the debate between fate and coincidence. I've always had trouble chalking things up to coincidence. To me, it was like winning the lotto way too many times. Somehow fate seems more logical - which is absolutely absurd to "intellectuals" but I feel there is a case for a strong debate there. Anyhow, I'll save that for another post.

Looking back at what I've just written I can see a biased slant to this topic. It's consistent with my overall belief structure though...so I've got that going for me...(what a strange post to end with a Caddyshack reference).

YOU CAN COME OVER BUT YOU CAN'T TALK...AND TRY NOT TO BREATH TOO LOUD

I'm extremely surprised at the length of time in which I've sought solitude. I'd estimate that it has been over seven months now. In that time I've preferred books to parties, movies to pubs, and the chirping of birds in the local park to the chirpings of a date. The longer it goes, the more I question this being a faze. I'm beginning to believe I very well could be evolving into this person.

Ever since I was a child I've enjoyed time alone - but I've always been skilled at socializing. When I'm in a situation where people are shy or having difficulty conversing, I can be that moderator. Likewise when I'm in a situation where conversation is flowing naturally, I typically sit back and enjoy the comfort of a nearby corner.

I bring this up because I was beginning to wonder if the skill of socializing could diminish. I was worried that by shunning people and parties I may forget how to relate to people. Last night I went out with co-workers to a pub and I felt as though I had made a good appearance. I didn't embarrass myself and I really enjoyed the conversation. I hope I don't become a complete hermit. I hope I remember that the most intriguing thing to me in this world is people. I hope, once I've figured out whatever I'm trying to figure out, that my current craving for silence is equal to that of companionship.

NONSENSICAL LOVE DISORIENTED

I'll make you laugh because the sound reverberates in my soul - tickling it. I'll momentarily stare into your eyes with softness, then look away - did you see it? I'll contemplate meaning and truth with you late into the night, because I respect your ideas. I'll listen with a biased heart. I'll carry your burden with an urgency. I'll tease you like a second grade crush. I'll lay my lips against your neck and regulate my breathing so our pulses are in sync. I'll listen as you shower and pretend the water lays a protective coat. I'll try to improvise perfection.

I'll seldom speak of my family, they mean so much. When I'm frustrated or angry I'll take it out on you. I'll delve into a stranger's life tale further than I do your daily dinner report, because you mean more to me than they do. I won't admit my constant, illogical, unreasonable ache because I know you'll try to share in it. I'll place unfair expectation on you that are only exceeded by those of god on us. I'll try to improvise perfection...because I love you.

TELEPATHY

I expect too much of my love. I've been told often that I need to be more open in my relationships, that the women feel held at a distance. It's tough for me to verbalize my feelings. but there is something more - I want them to "know" without me having to tell.

It's stupid right? How could someone just "know" unless I tell them? In my warped mind I desire a glance that searches my soul. I want to stare into her eyes and see her essence, and she mine. So far that hasn't happened.

I had a rocky relationship with a woman a few years ago. I felt for her deeply, and she for I...but she wasn't ready for a serious relationship so she fought against it. One evening, a few days after she broke up with me, she stopped by my apartment to explain. She said her biggest issue was that I wasn't open with her, that I seldom spoke of my family and feelings. The second issue she had was my arrogance. I can understand some random person meeting me and thinking I'm arrogant. I suppose it would depend on the topic of conversation but I can't say I would be stunned. What did stun me was that this woman I had spent so many hours conversing with would think the same. I thought she knew me on a deeper level. I thought she saw my insecurities, confusion and search for the allusive truth. She obviously didn't. A few weeks later we went out for drinks and I decided to tell her a very personal story. It was something I had never spoke of to anyone - because it makes me feel foolish, but at the same time I think it relates something about me that isn't apparent to, well...anyone. I told her the story and my emotions bubbled and bubbled until, eventually, they began to boil over. I began to cry. There were two reasons why I was upset relating the story to her: 1. It's a story that sums up everything I desire and 2. I had hoped I never had to tell the story...I hoped someone would just know.

99% DRAINED

I've been sitting here for the last five minutes staring at this blank box, trying to decide what to write about. I told myself, if the opportunity arose, I would try to post in this blog daily. But I have no idea what to say right now. Nothing pressing is on my mind. Which bothers me. Especially when you turn on the news and see the events in Burma, another missing child report, and politics...well, being politics.

There is so much going on in the world, how could I have nothing to say?

99% of what is in this blog I would never actually verbalize. I've realized that 99% of people at cocktail parties don't want to talk about philosophical ideas - and I don't blame them, they want to have fun and be happy. I have fun talking about these things but I can't say it typically brings a burst of joy to my soul.

In any case, I use this blog as an outlet. With so much to talk about, why can't I find anything to say? Sometimes I think I just bury things, block them out. Sometimes I think I let the world tire me. Sometimes I'm just too tired.

IT'S ALIVE!!!!!!!!

I was watching an interview on PBS this evening featuring Charles Simic, the new Poet Laureate of the United States. At one point during the interview the questioner asked, "why is poetry important?" Mr. Simic responded with the following (I'm paraphrasing), "While teaching one semester a student asked me that same question, I was a taken aback as the question is really quite profound. After a moment a young woman in the audience raised her hand, I asked if she would like to take a stab at it. She said poetry was important because it reminds us of our humanity. That it's raining out, or that the flowers are in bloom. That we love, or we hate. Maybe there is a god, maybe there isn't. But it reminds us that we're here."

I enjoy poetry but I'm far from an expert. Very seldom do I purchase a book of poetry or check one out of the local library. I don't construct poetry well but I've always been fascinated by it in the sense that, good poetry, always seems so emotionally pure. In being so, it's an act of baring one's soul. Which makes it powerful.

I tried thinking of other things that "remind us of our humanity." Films, like something from Ingmar Bergman maybe, or a good piece of literature can certainly do the trick. But the thing that has probably had the most humbling affect on me in my life, thus leading to a reminder of my humanity, was a personal trial or tribulation. For me, the most difficult periods in my life led to a greater understanding of myself, the people around me, and life in general. They were difficult times - of which a few I barely survived. But in the end, I not only had a fresh perspective on life, but a better grasp on what being human means. And that leads to a greater appreciation for life.

Whether watching a philosophical film, reading a thought-provoking book, or ingesting a poem, one of the key ingredients seems to be a recollection of a personal difficulty. A recollection of pain. But what I inevitably fail to see is that in itself the piece of work is as much a tale of redemption as it is a recollection of pain. Someone had to do the writing, which mean someone survived, which means someone learned. Why is it so easy to experience the pain, but so difficult to recognize the redemption? It has become an instinct. Or maybe it's always been an instinct.


Hotel Insomnia

I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.
Next door there was a piano.
A few evenings a month
a crippled old man came to play
"My Blue Heaven."

Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat
Catching his fly with a web
Of cigarette smoke and revery.
So dark,
I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.

At 5 A.M. the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,
Whose storefront is on the corner,
Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.

Charles Simic

LOSING MY EYES

When I first began this blog I wrote a lot about "love." It seemed like every post dealt with a lost love or a search for love or a desire for love or a pessimism of love. I realized that I haven't written a post about love in quite some time.

I told myself I was concentrating on my writing and social entrepreneurship ideas and putting love aside for a bit. Deep down, somewhere near my pancreas, I knew I was lying. I mean, I knew I'd TRY but that my search for love was too ingrained in me to put aside easily. To me, love symbolizes an answer to the meaning of life. How could you put that aside? But I have.

What have I done with that constant ache I've held near the center of my chest for so long? Yes, the pain would subside when I met someone that elicited hope but it would roar back with a vengeance when the relationship faltered. And if I'm honest with myself, that pain was there even when I was in my relationships - I just fought to ignore it. So here I am, living life in the same wondrous state as always, but that focus that has existed for over a decade has faded. Am I giving up? Am I supposed to?

MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL

There is a close friend of mine that recently confided in me that for the four months prior to her summer vacation she made herself vomit after every meal. She doesn't consider herself bulimic but realizes it probably isn't healthy. She is a beautiful girl but she once said to me that she saw her body in the same light as a girl strolling the sidewalk in front of us - the girl was twice her weight.

I don't know how to deal with this but I'm trying to learn as much as I can about this disease. I don't know if anything makes me more sad than when someone I love and respect sees themselves as gross.

Sometimes when I'm in a bar, and having a good time, I'll look in the mirror and think to myself, "hey, I don't look that bad tonight!" Then I'll look at the lights and the mirror itself and try to figure out where I can buy these so I can have them in my home. There are other days, and much more frequent, where I'll look in the mirror in complete disgust of my appearance. I kind of hate myself at these moments. I think my receding hairline is pathetic. I think my hairy chest is rather unappealing and my eyebrows are a few years away from taking on a life of their own. I wish my belly didn't have that bit of pudge that seems to be content to ignore my sit ups. I wish I knew how to dress better. I wish I had a bigger penis. I wish I was smarter.

But I don't do anything about it. I don't shave my chest or take the latest hair growth formula. I do exercise but that has as much to do with the internal health and keeping my energy up than anything else. Actually, that's not completely true - I really am trying to get rid of that pudge. Anyhow, my point is, I'm just stubborn enough to continue telling myself that I want people to like me because of who I am and not how I dress. In fact, I go out of my way NOT to go out of my way because of expectations or cultural norms. The question begs, why should anyone like me if I don't really like myself?

In case someone who knows me reads this and rolls their eyes, I want to point out that I have great friends and I'm not begging for people to "like me." I am begging for people to understand me though...and maybe to understand myself. Most of the time I can honestly say that I wouldn't trade lives with anyone, but at the same time I struggle with liking myself. I wish I was a better person. I'll always feel that way...I hope.

THE SUBWAY ALWAYS SEEMS TO HAVE ROOM FOR ONE MORE

Last Friday after work I was standing on a street corner in Manhattan waiting for the light to permit me to cross. I looked up towards the sky and gazed at the tops of the skyscrapers all around me. It's a view that hammers insignificance upon you. It made me feel so small.

The light changed, traffic stopped, and I crossed the street with about thirty strangers. I descended the stairs to the subway, and hopped on a train just before the doors closed. There I was shoulder to shoulder with a hundred strangers - stuffed in this silver box, like sardines. I started to think about how insignificant we all are...and at the same time, how important each of us are to so many others. It's a hard thing to organize in my head. On one hand it seems to me like any positive contribution I may be fortunate enough to make in this world would really mean very little in the big picture view of things. How so very far this world seems to need to go. But, at the same time, I realize how connected we all are and how, like domino's I could topple lives by the seemingly smallest of acts...which, again, could still be somewhat insignificant when looking at the big picture. Or maybe not. Maybe on our own we are insignificant, but when collectively assembled as a member of all things living, we become a support link, and without us, we affect many...thus making us quite significant. I kind of like that thought even though it tramples a bit on my desires for increased solitude.

THIS BLOG RESIDES IN MY COLON

I keep talking about how good this blog has been for me but it also creates a feeling of cowardice. First off, I don't use my real name - there is little risk of exposing these ideas and thoughts to people who know me on a visual level. And, more importantly, is the assumption that no one who meets me would ever know this side of me exists. No one would know how confused and generally emotional I am. No one would ever see this blog IN me. Outside of this online world I bury this blog deep down alongside memories that now act as tiny ghosts...almost invisible. It's only in this e-world that I allow it to be exposed...and even then, with precautions.

I suppose it's a step. But then again, would I ever want to be comfortable sharing these ideas with people on a daily basis? Is that a goal I'd want to achieve? I don't think so. I think I need to remember I'm built a certain way and that's okay. I've found a couple people in my life who understand that and "get me" (I think). I'll just continue to hope there are more out there...and that our paths will cross.

THE TIRE SWING

I can't stop thinking. I torment myself with echoes of questions that have buried their answers centuries past. I occupy my being with obtuse tasks in the hopes of freezing the circulating matter inside my head. I sigh a sigh that reaches the depth of my belly with the goal of easing my jaw...my shoulders...my heart. I shut my eyes and concur irrational fantasies that, for the length of my dreamworlds breath, fool me into believing their lucidity. I ponder the relevance of being me. I ponder the relevance of being. I ponder.

For a brief second I unexpectedly catch a slight scent of freshly mowed grass, and it transports me atop the tire swing behind my childhood home. The breeze refreshes, the dandelions a brilliant yellow. The half-acre clearing appears to connect the oceans. I have nowhere to go, and no desire beyond dangling my bare feet gently over the shortened blades of grass. It's lucid.

I'm back. I'm thinking. I can't stop thinking.

THE TEARS ARE STILL MOVING

Lachrimae is alive. I received a message from her this week and I can't tell you how relieved I was. I had such a disturbing feeling leading me to believe she was no longer with us.

Individuals like Lachrimae, people with such deep feelings and desires, are so important to the world. These are the catalysts for change. They foster understanding. They help people see and accept themselves. These people have a connection to the world and feel it's rotations within them. The greatest poets, authors, filmmakers, politicians and leaders of this world have been those who feel so deeply it seems a curse. They don't experience their emotions in their heart or brain...they feel them in their soul.

Inevitably pain is a bi-product of such powerful emotional relations and, by the nature of the individual, must be the toughest to control. Read the great poets and authors and it becomes apparent that pain is certainly the most consistent emotion. But it is through the caress of this hurt that the greatest achievements have been presented to humankind.

Not all people who feel intensely with their soul are going to inspire millions and lead a march to make the world a better place. But through their love, insight, sharing, and empathy they can touch someone, and that someone may touch another and that someone may touch another yet. Or maybe they just help someone live an easier life by feeling less misunderstood or different.

I firmly believe everything in the universe is connected - never underestimate the impact we can have...even in the seemingly smallest of ways.

JUST JOIN THE CIRCUS ALREADY

Is this weird? I've been thinking about taking another long trip somewhere after my job ends in January and I stumbled upon an opportunity I didn't know existed. Freighter travel. Apparently large freighters, used for shipping cargo, have up to 12 passenger rooms available for rent. These ships travel all over the world making stops in several ports to unload their cargo. The thought of being in the middle of the ocean for 30 days (and not on a luxury cruise ship) really appeals to me. No frills, no casino, no television, no bar, no mandated socializing - most of the other people on the ship will be workers. Nope, this would just be me and the ocean for 30 days, eventually landing in port somewhere - maybe Australia, or China...I'm not really sure yet. And I'd fly back home. But I have to say that "old world" travel has always interested me - I love the idea of being at sea during storms and rough weather as well as sunny, calm days. A modern day Columbus or, even cooler, a pirate! I love the idea of being somewhat alone in the middle of a vast, powerful segment of nature.

When I tell people this is something I'm considering (although I haven't really looked into it too much yet), they shake their head at the idea. "What kind of vacation is that?", I've heard from naysayers. And to be honest, as I verbalize my desire to do something like this I realize it's extremely abnormal. But I have a curiosity and a desire...

I may not actually do this trip but I'm most definitely intrigued by it.

WILL WORK FOR INSIGNIFICANCE

Today I was at the office late, trying to finish up a few projects so I'd have less to do tomorrow. As I walked out of the office I remembered all the days over the past two years that I spent working hours and hours of overtime. I was giving up years of my life to get ahead in the corporate world. I don't regret it, because I learned from it (boy is consulting a much better gig!). I'm really happy with my current situation - a job that has an end in sight, flexible hours and no commitment.

But the strangest thing happened as I walked to the subway tonight - I kind of craved getting back into that monotonous schedule that had me waking up at dawn and getting home at dark. Why would I crave that? The money? No. The status? No. The feeling of having achieved something during the day? No. I think I craved it because it keeps me from thinking. If I only have time to think about work, that's all I have to worry about.

i HOPE this isn't too depressing

Suicide has been on my mind a lot lately - but not in the way you would think. A friend of mine called me this week to tell me that her brother has attempted suicide twice in the past month. His wife told him that she has been cheating on him for two years, was leaving him, and wanted nothing to do with their two small children. That is quite a blow.

I've written in some earlier posts about how I experience really high highs and really low lows. If something like this happened to me I'm sure I would have some extreme thoughts running through my head. My friend talked about the pain it was putting the family through and the pessimistic outlook for her brother's future. No one in the family believes he'll ever be the same. They even wonder if he'll make it through this at all. My friend spoke of the complete lack of emotion or remorse in her brother and how scary it is to see someone like that. I know this all to well.

When I was 19 years old one of my best friends slit his wrists and swallowed a container of pills while washing it down with a fifth of vodka. I found him on his couch, blue in the face and waiting patiently for death. When he showed me what he had done I completely freaked out. I punched a hole in a nearby wall and screamed at him - I asked him how he could do this when so many people loved him? If I'm honest about it, I was also a little pissed off that he beat me to it. I wasn't in a good place at that time either and had contemplated it on occasion. I never went so far as to directly make an attempt on my life but I certainly tried to circumnavigate it through self-destructive behavior. In some way I hoped that would make it easier on my family.

It seems to me that most people I know characterize themselves as either having depression, having gone through depression, or suffering from sporadic bouts of depression. I'm not a doctor but I tend to think that people today are just less prepared to deal with the downs. Don't get me wrong, I believe in depression, I'm just not sure we diagnose it correctly. Kind of like how small boys are diagnosed with ADD so quickly. Whatever happened to the thought that little boys are just made to be rambunctious? When did it become a problem? We live in a world of convenience.

Back to the point of the post - I feel such deep sorrow for individuals who get to a point in life where suicide seems the best option. It's never a quick and easy decision - these people are typically going through a period of extreme anguish. It's a loss of hope...which is the worst thing I can think of. Hope pats us on the back and tells us it's all going to be okay. It whispers words of encouragement and asks us to be patient. It reminds us that we can't predict the future and any attempt to do so is a a sad form of arrogance.

I know I'll continue to go through very low periods in my life. I know I'll feel pain that makes me want to break in two. I know my hope will diminish to a speck. I just pray that I never lose hope completely as I once did. I pray no one in the world ever loses hope. Hope to me is a sunrise...a reset button. It's a bottomless barrel of second chances. You don't have to believe things will get better but we should recognize it's possible.

I have one last story to share. This blog has been very kind to me, extremely therapeutic. I've received comments from people in different places of the earth and used it as a vehicle to stay in touch with a certain two or three close friends. One day about three months ago I received a comment from a girl calling herself "lachrimae." She said, "everything you write seems like it could have come from me"...or something like that. I visited her blog and saw someone who I could relate to. She was dark and sad. She was artistic and conflicted. I enjoyed reading her poems and viewing her photography. I felt like we were similar in some ways although I wondered if she didn't have a deeper pit of despair inside her. Lachrimae sent me an e-mail message one day and we began to strike up a friendship. I referred to her as my first "bloggy friend." We began to learn more about each other although we were both a bit guarded - I can only speak from my point of view but I wasn't sure how to react to an e-relationship (and this isn't in the romantic sense). After trading e-mails for a few months I realized that lachrimae and I may have been even more alike than I could have imagined. Although it isn't a surprising concept, I was amazed that emotions, thoughts and disposition weren't hindered by borders or long stretched of wild blue ocean - Lachrimae is from Portugal. The last e-mail I received from lachrimae was about how she had a tough task of restoring a relationship and how she was battling to find a comfortable place in the world. I congratulated her on buying a home and doing well at work. We exchanged "real" names - we began to open up a bit more.

A couple months ago I went to her blog and saw this:

http://huntingdreams.blogspot.com/2007/08/thats-all-folks.html#links

It has been her last post for quite some time. The title of the post sent shivers down my spine. I HOPE I'm wrong but my instincts tell me otherwise. I've e-mailed lachrimae several time pleading for her to tell me that she was alive. I offered words of encouragement and prayed she'd find strength. I've never heard back from her. I worry she is no longer with us. I feel she isn't.

Lachrimae means "tears" which is exactly what has seeped from my soul since I lost contact with her. The world can not possibly be a better place without her. Even though we've never met face to face I feel like our e-relationship was more powerful in a way. I'm not sure either of us would have opened up as much as we did had it been face to face. We weren't made like that. Lachrimae, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't blog more often in the hope that you'd remember you weren't alone in your feelings. I'm sorry I wasn't quicker to ask all the questions I really wanted to know from you - being that it was exclusively online I was worried you would think it was creepy. I'm just not used to it. I'm sorry I didn't send you a phone number so you could have called if you needed to talk - I knew you had many struggles. I'm sorry I didn't come through for you. I felt a kinship with you and I feel like a piece of me has left with you.

Hope. I have no concrete evidence so I hope she is alive and well and working on her problems. I hope she hasn't lost hope. I hope that if, in the unfortunate event that my instincts are correct, god understands. I've always felt that the god that has pity for the poor, the ignorant, the sick, and the weak, would most certainly have pity for the soulfully inflicted.

In closing - I've characterized "hope" in a lot of ways thus far. I'll add one more - hope to me is not only a belief that the unknown future might be brighter than the past, but it is also materialized through sunrises, reflections in a pool of water, a shadow under a tree on a sweltering day, a mountaintop view, a child's laughter, a friend's warm embrace, a good book, hot chocolate, and the smell of coffee on a brisk morning. It's everything beautiful in the world, everything we need to continue to remember. There is no single event (or many for that matter) that can possibly cancel out all the beauty that life holds. We may lose something but we never know what we may gain.

ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND

I'm not sure that this post is going to make any sense really but here goes nothing:

I was going to write about how I used to be a happy-go-lucky person but how I lost that luster for life in some way over the years. I lost that carefree attitude somewhere along the way. But as I thought a bit deeper about this observation I realized it was completely false. I was never carefree and happy-go-lucky. I've always been self conscious and reflective with a deep sense of longing. I think the only difference might be that I found some self discipline. And maybe even a little hope. That combination seemed to stabilize my life a little.

Wouldn't it be nice to be carefree? To just live life with the idea that you only have so much control so don't worry about anything else. I believe that to be true but I can't seem to keep that thought in my head at all times. I wish I could. I know people who can and I'm jealous of it. Sometimes I look at these happy-go-lucky individuals as idiots in a way. I say to myself - can't they see all the ugliness in the world? But maybe I'm the idiot. They realize there is only so much they can affect. I dwell on so many things that I can't fix or contribute positively towards.

I wish I could be that guy that watches the news, shakes his head at the chaos, and turns off the television. And with that loss of electricity to the television, my mind simultaneously powers down the negativity.

HE DOESN'T RESENT HER LOVE YET

Last night I was at a going-away party for a friend who is moving back to Texas - he's sick of the noise and pace of NYC. While at this party I was talking to another friend who was describing his relationship to me. He said the following, "Unlike most people in long-term relationships I don't try to get away from her. I mean, we've been together for four years. We've lived together for two. I still truly love being with her, we have a lot of fun together. I want to be with her every moment I can."

The great part about hearing him say this is that I know for a fact that his girlfriend feels the same way. It's a moment like that which gives me hope that what I would consider a "real" love is possible. Sometimes I feel like it won't happen for me. Sometimes I feel like I may succumb to the exhaustion of searching for love, and settle. Sometimes I feel like if I don't settle it MIGHT happen for me but probably not until I'm 60 years old. But it's a moment like that conversation last night that makes me believe, even if it doesn't happen until I'm 60, and I died the day after, It'd be worth it.

WOLFGANG AMADEUS

I just finished watching the most amazing film, "Amadeus." I sat firmly upright through the two hours with a goofy smirk on my face because next to a golden sunrise nothing chills my soul, in a good way, like a masterful piece of art. Whether it's a film, music, painting, photograph, piece of architecture or sculpture, I lose my mind in a complete wonderment of the article. When I am blessed with the opportunity to experience a truly perfect work of art, I feel as though I'm seeing an inspiration unworthy of crediting the human mind. This may be because I can't fathom the idea that any human mind is capable of such a creation. I have to offer it up to divinity.

The story is about Mozart, his genius, and the bitter acknowledgment of that genius by his colleagues. It's the story of humanity. There is a moment in the movie where a composer witnesses Mozart's genius first hand and becomes enraged with jealousy. He too, offers the talent up to a divine inspiration for he isn't capable of recognizing such skill as being from the mind of man.

Sometimes I'll spend hours recording a tangent in my journal. I'll wake up the next morning and read what I had written and it will seem foreign to me. As if the thoughts didn't belong to me, I was borrowing them. I've spoken to other writers who say they experience the same thing. It's almost as if I'm a secretary taking notes for someone else. Some people would say it was my subconscious at play, some people would say it was something much larger. I recognize that my journal entries are far from a divine piece of art, but it's the only relatable thing I have in my life to a true genius' piece of work. I couldn't imagine the joy associated with looking back at a work of art and seeing perfection. And further, having others see perfection in it as well. There are people on this earth with talents that I could only dream of. Understanding this, I have accepted quite contently that simply recognizing and experiencing such talent is a blessing all on its own.

I ATE A BUTTERFLY. WILL IT DIGEST?

You know that feeling you get just before you place yourself in a situation outside of your comfort zone? A situation like approaching a person in a bar or jumping off a high-dive diving board. You get those butterflies in your stomach and your adrenaline is pumping. You tell yourself to calm down and then you concentrate really hard on putting any doubt aside...you numb your mind. It gives you just enough time to leap before the doubts return.

Well, I can feel the beginning of the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I feel a little nervous, like I'm getting closer to an inevitable fate. I feel strongly that come January 1, 2008 I will make a decision on the next big move in my life and that it will be a radical one - for me at least. I can't shake this feeling that I've already decided to do something outside my comfort zone. I don't know what it is exactly but I can tell I'm heading down that path. It's scary...and exciting. I'm interested in knowing exactly what I'll do but I know myself and I can tell that I'm preparing to make a somewhat drastic change in my life. I felt this way just before I moved to NYC from Michigan - a process that took less than 2 weeks from decision to execution.

So now I just keep my eyes and heart open and see what strikes me as the right opportunity. I'm waiting for that wave of energy to carry me away. I wonder where it'll take me?

ROSE TINTED GLASSES?

One of the things I truly enjoy in life is an in-depth conversation on the meaning of life. Inevitably a conversation on religion ensues and people always have strong opinions on this matter.

I have several friends who either characterize themselves as atheist, or simply someone with an understanding that they will never achieve an answer on whether there is a god or not so why waste time worrying about it. I have often struggled with whether I should chase answers to questions I know will never reveal the answer. I've chosen to chase...for many reasons, of which one is my enjoyment in the contemplation.

But what I wanted to write briefly about today is an aspect of my atheist friend's attitude which I wish I could duplicate in myself more often. When I ask these friends what the point of life is, the answer I receive most frequently is, "There isn't a point. It's just about enjoying life." And these friends actually live their lives that way - they see life as more of a gift than I think most religious people do. I believe in a god. And I believe religion at its core is a great manual for people to live by. I believe religion provides hope to those most in need of it...and, equally as important, a purpose in life. But I feel like sometimes the religious look to better themselves and those around them so much that they forget the gift staring them right in the face every day. The gift of opportunity. The gift of simply being.

I'm not saying atheists don't try to better themselves or society as much as the religious but there is a distinct difference in the philosophies behind it - which I would love to write more about when I have more time. I'm simply saying that at the core of an atheist belief is an outlook more focused on seeing life as a beautiful gift to us as an individual. I think this thought is also VERY present in religion but is overrun with a variety of messages, and layer of importance on them, that we would all be better served to remember that life is an amazing opportunity that we should enjoy, or understand our fortune...even through our struggles. We are either allowed to be, or just on earth being, depending on your belief. Either way, we have a lot to enjoy and be thankful for.

LOST HIGHWAY

I'm lost again. I'm at that place where I feel like I don't know what direction to head in or what path to choose. And I don't have to make a decision right now so I'm just sitting here waiting, wishing and wondering. Whatever the future has in store for me won't come without many hours of analysis and deliberation.

I am so anxious to move forward with my life but I know I need to be patient. But I can't help being antsy and feeling like every hour that goes by without a known purpose is wasted. I feel like as soon as I have a new mission in life I'll go full steam ahead and accomplish it...and I feel ready. I just haven't received the mission yet. So I feel lazy. I feel like I need to be doing SOMETHING but at the same time I know I need to get myself to a certain "place" before I can move forward.

I should be excited about the future, it's wide-open for me. I guess I'm just ready to get on with it so anxiety drowns out everything else. Patience, patience, patience - something I really need to work on.

IF STUPIDITY IS HEREDITARY I SHOULD GET MY VASECTOMY NOW

I don't know if it's an act of selfishness or just plain stupidity but I recently spoke to a close friend of mine about my reservations in confronting my friend that has been cheating on his wife (see "18-year-old strippers are hard to argue with" post).

This friend I confided in is one of only three people (or so) in my life I talk to about really personal things. The problem is that I spoke to her about how I am beginning to think that the chances are much greater that a marriage contains a cheating spouse rather than not. This friend is currently very close to becoming engaged to her long-time boyfriend and has trust issues in general. So here I am, just months before an expected proposal, talking to her about how hard marriages must be and how I think it may actually be "typical" for a spouse to cheat at some point. Today this friend e-mailed me saying she can't stop thinking about how I think cheating may be typical and how afraid she is of that happening to her. If I was playing psychologist I'd say this friend has shown throughout her past a tendency to justify relationship break-ups due to her mistrust and fear of infidelity (or maybe even just a fear of being hurt). I now feel very responsible for contributing to her doubts, which are normal I think, but don't need to have the flames fanned by me. I told her not to let fear control her emotions, which I believe is true. But I know fully well that knowing that is one thing and putting it to practice is quite another.

I was either being selfish because I needed to talk to someone and she is my standby OR I was just not thinking and should have taken her current situation into account before unloading my problems...and contributing to hers.

Relationships and love are so complicated. I'm not sure they have to be but in my world, they definitely are.

WORKING KIND OF SUX

I'm at work right now. I'm consulting for a company for 4 months on a part-time basis as I continue to search for an answer to the always allusive question - what do I want to do with my life? I've been thinking recently that after this gig is up I may look into working with a non-profit that will send me to some third-world country for a while. I think that is something I would like to do once in my life. Or I could scale it down and just go on some sort of missionary trip for a month or so. The "chicken" route...we'll see. I'm going to keep pushing myself to continue writing though. Even if I feel a diminishing confidence in ever reaching a level that would allow writing to be my career, it still acts as a great stress-breaker for me.

Here is a weird concern I have that has to do with writing: I worry that when I die and those closest to me find my journals they'll think less of me in some way. After all, even I think I'm borderline insane. Okay, maybe not medically speaking but seriously sometimes I question this! Part of me wishes there was a way for all my journals to spontaneously explode into deep-blue flames at the moment of my death, so no one will be able to read them. Then another part of me feels that people should know the real me...even if it's after I'm gone. Is that weird? That I don't care if it's after I'm gone? I mean, I feel like those closest to me would rather find out now, don't you think? But I'm not sure how to go about that. I mean if my disposition is part of the "real" me than so is my shyness to present it to the world, right? Or am I just justifying this?

Anyhow, I'm not getting paid to blog so I'd better go. Later.

18-YEAR-OLD STRIPPERS ARE HARD TO ARGUE WITH

I received a call tonight from a close friend who confided in me that he is cheating on his wife. He's been married for ten years and for the past year he's been rendezvousing with an 18-year-old stripper and a 20-year-old waitress (he's in his early 30's).

I felt sick to my stomach when he told me about his cheating. He says that he doesn't feel guilty and can't really explain why. He knows it's wrong. He talked about going to the bar with friends and having cute girls hit on him, even though they know he's married (don't get me wrong, he is the only one responsible) and how this is attention he doesn't get at home. He doesn't blame his wife though because she takes care of their child and that takes all her attention and effort. He's justifying this rather easily though.

I want to scream at this friend and tell him not to screw up his marriage and family. I want to tell him that I'm jealous of that family of his and can't stand that he's out sleeping with young women behind his wife's back. But I don't feel like it's my place...for several reasons. First off, I can't imagine how difficult it must be to be with one person for ten years. There is no doubt that the temptations and desires must be unbelievably strong. And I've never been in a relationship longer than 2 years, which is still way different than being married so...

Anyhow, this is weighing on me pretty heavy. This is a really close friend and I recently spent time with his family. I can't help but feel that this will end badly - and I think this friend is better than this. But I can't really relate to this situation. And I'm questioning whether it's my place to say something or not. Sometimes I think I get involved in things that I shouldn't, albeit with good intentions.

Anyhow, I'd say 70 percent of my married friends have at least one cheating partner. The sad thing is (and it scares me) is that I'm almost getting to a place where I think I'd be understanding of someone cheating on me. I wouldn't want it to happen of course but I think I'm almost coming to expect that it's the norm. How sad is that?

DO DRY CLEANERS ACCEPT MAN SUITS?

Have you seen the new commercials for Dial soap for men? The tag line for the advertisement is something like, "care for your man suit." Or something like that. "Man suit" makes me laugh. My "man suit" is hairy. I don't know what has happened. I woke up one day and had hair growing out of my shoulders. My shoulders! That's just not right. I'm at the point where I refuse to take my shirt off...even at the beach.

I'm not sure if this is a bi-product of it BUT I sweat a hell of a lot more now too. Which is really embarrassing at the gym. I'm the sweaty guy (sigh). By the middle of my workout I look in the mirror and see that the back of my shirt is drenched...as are these two spots under each man boob. I think it's actually the bottom of my ribcage that sticks out a bit and collects the sweat but either way it makes it look like I have two little, tiny, lactating boobs under my regular man boobs. I hate it. Most of the people in the gym look nowhere near as sweaty as I do by the end of their workout. I look like I sat in a sauna for five hours...then jumped in a pool. Why can't I be the cool looking guy at the gym? You know, the guy that uses EVERY machine and doesn't sweat a drop. Yeah, he's also the guy with the sunglasses.

Two complaints about the gym:
1. Why are you talking on your cell phone as you run? Is it that important? Do you also talk to your friends between huffs as you're having sex? This annoys me beyond words.
2. Guys - please don't wear shorts so tight that you can see your junk pile. First off, it can't be comfortable and second off, no one really wants to see that. Do girls like that? I think it looks ridiculous, completely unnatural. And if you are this guy, please don't talk to me. It makes me uncomfortable. Just as uncomfortable as the naked guy that blow dries his entire body in the middle of the locker room.

Am I being a prude American? Probably. Sorry about that. Just a few gym comments for the day.

TO CHOOSE A FAMILY AND HIGH-PAYING FUN JOB, TURN TO PAGE 112

I've spoken with several of my friends recently and heard a similar line from each, "I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up." Of course this is tongue in cheek as we are all "grown ups" but it seems to be a common feeling for most. What do we want to do with our lives?

The good news is that we live in an age where the options are nearly endless. We don't get stuck in a trade as our grandfathers did years ago - we have the opportunity to try new things. As with most things in life, this opportunity brings good and bad luggage. It's fantastic that we have these choices but it brings a lot of stress with it. When the choices are many we can create anxiety around the simple act of even making a choice. Let alone the worry that when we do make a choice it creates a roadblock on all the other paths we could have chosen. It's like a choose your own adventure book. Once you pick a route, you wonder what would have happened had you made a different choice earlier.

I feel like I'm at this stage right now. I have the opportunity to choose virtually any future direction I want. But I'm having trouble deciding which path I want to choose.

RAPING MOTHER TERESA

I was reading today about a new book coming out next month about the life of Mother Teresa. In it are letters she sent to her spiritual adviser describing her struggles in faith. They are rather dark letters where she states that she questions the existence of god. She talks about how her smile is a facade. I don't know about you but when someone like Mother Teresa struggles with faith it makes me feel a little bit better.

I really want to read the book but there is a conflict here - she wanted the letters destroyed...and here they are being printed in a book. I never read Kurt Cobain's journal for the same reason, he likened someone reading his journal to rape. So I'm not sure how I feel about being one of the people that treads on their wishes.

I haven't written much about my struggles with faith on this blog but it's at the core of my constant questioning on pretty much every issue of life.

(HEART) BREAK OUT

Alright I'm just going to say it. I've beat around the bush for too long. I've written about this topic constantly but I've been hiding something from you...and me.

I'm afraid of relationships. There. I've said it. I don't think I'm afraid of BEING in a relationship, I think I'm afraid of being WRONG about a relationship. After all, I've been wrong about every one I've been in! I really don't trust my heart and mind to work together. They don't seem very good in tandem. In fact, I think they got into a fight when I was little and have ceased communication ever since. I've been in a couple of relationships where I truly saw a long-term future. By "saw" I mean "felt", because I think a strong emotion hid whatever signs may have indicated that that emotion was unrealistic. I understand that an emotion is always true but when it leads to naive perceptions I'm not sure how to feel about that.

And as I grow older that fear grows greater. But not greater in a deeper sense. Greater in the sense that there is more of it. For instance, now I fear that I won't trust my emotion to a point that it will take relationships longer to evolve into a deeper union. This scares me more than anything. And here is where it really causes problems - women look at my lack of openness as a sign of distrust towards them (which I don't blame them), when I think the truth is that I don't trust myself. I don't trust that emotion.

I really hope that my current desire to remain single and concentrate on writing isn't a product of this fear as well. I think that would be tragic. I don't know that I'd ever forgive myself if that were deemed true. Life is too short for this shit. I'm just having trouble breaking out of it.

ANGER MANAGEMENT

I was talking to a friend of mine recently about her anger. She is 38 years old, married, with 3 children. She said, "sometimes I get so angry at my husband or the kids that I go blind. It's a near blackout and I never know what I'm going to do."

This fascinates me for several reasons. First off, I know this woman pretty well and feel strongly that this is due to a deep-seeded resentment over her missing out on her younger years (she was first pregnant at 16) and over the poor parenting she received. I'm no psychologist but this is what I would guess. Second, when I was in the late teens/early twenties I used to have a similar problem. I would never "black out" from anger but I would get so angry that I'd lose control and, yes, even my vision would be affected. Not good. Over the years this has diminished and I seldom feel that rage anymore. I think I talked about this in an earlier post as well - sometimes I even miss the rage...as odd as that may seem. None-the-less I'm aware of how much better life is without that rage. I'm not sure exactly when I lost it but I know it has subsided considerably.

I worry that this friend of mine will never lose her rage. I worry that for the rest of her life she will have this resentment that she can never fix (you can't bring back your younger years) and that's no way to live. If there is something I've learned this past year it's that you can't dwell on the past because the future is wide open. Meaning, you can make a lot of the future, almost anything, but you can't make it the past.

SUPERPERV

I went and saw the movie "Superbad" this afternoon. It had its funny moments but overall I'd say it was just okay. I think the funniest part about this movie was watching the people in the theater with me! First off, this movie is raunchy. Really raunchy. And there was this pervert sitting in the aisle with me that would say, "yeah baby" every time the movie showed a pair of tits. And I mean, EVERY TIME. And there were a lot of tits in this movie. Unbelievable. I wanted to punch the guy in the head. It would have been more endearing if he had tourettes.

And I'm so self-conscious that I kept worrying people were going to think I was saying it. Or that he was with me or something. So I totally booked out of the theater the moment it ended. What a perv.

It always disturbs me though when adults have young children at a movie like that. I saw at least two families there with children under the age of 10. Now I'm not naive, I know kids are going to encounter this stuff at some point anyhow but I can't imagine it's healthy to introduce it to them early. Likewise it wouldn't necessarily be healthy to shelter someone from it until the age of 40 either. But if I ever have a daughter I might try my best to do just that!

AM I FOOLING MYSELF?

Sorry for the delay in my posting. I've been entertaining visitors all week.

Today will be a quick post - I have written recently about how for the first time in my life I'm feeling okay with being single and the diminishing chances of having a family at some point. Of course, just to throw a wrench into my contentment I had an interesting experience this week.

One of the people visiting NYC was my brother's best friend from high school. He was here with his wife (who was taking a seminar at Columbia University) and his 7 month old daughter. His daughter was so cute and well behaved that I fell in love immediately. And she took to me right away - smiling and reaching for me. I ended up carrying her as we walked around Central Park and her father and I discussed the evolution of our lives. Instantly I felt a longing for that life which was completely opposite of mine. So here I am, once again, questioning my desires. Why did this girl have to be so damn cute?

I'M NOT UNHAPPY, I'M JUST JOY-CHALLENGED!

I don't know if this holds true for everyone but I was wondering, what makes people feel lonely or isolated? What makes us feel different? Is it because we feel misunderstood? Or maybe because we feel people can't relate to certain emotions or ideas we have?

I understand a feeling of loneliness or isolation that can come from not believing anyone else could possibly feel like you do. It's something I carry with me quite often. It's not an arrogant emotion - as if I'm special for feeling this way when others can't - it's a burdening, lack of confidence, "I don't belong" emotion.

What I can't understand is why I can't see it from a different perspective. Wouldn't it be great if you could look at yourself and instead of seeing someone "different" you see someone "unique"? Instead of seeing someone "strange" you see someone "special"? How often do you meet someone and think, "gee, that person is exactly like me in every way"? Never! Because no one (I don't think) contains the same exact bundle of attributes. That's why our DNA is completely unique. So why do I find it so hard to look at the traits that distinguish me from others as being special instead of a burden? Why do I feel different and strange instead of proudly unique? I suppose it's all in my perspective. I wish I would embrace it instead of shun it.

How we look at ourselves is one thing, but something I can't reconcile is when we feel as if no one can relate to us. Not in general really, but rather emotionally or even with very specific thoughts. Part of me tells myself that there is always someone out there that feels the same way, the world is too big. I just haven't met them yet. I use books, art and movies to act as a placeholder for my comfort. In the end we all want a human understanding.

I bet you think I got off track here, right? What I guess I'm saying is, if I could see myself as having "special" traits instead of "strange" or "different" traits I think it might go a long way towards curing my "unrelatable syndrome."

If only it was an easy fix...