The Wanton Do-Gooder
Email: [email protected]
Entry 1: An Ode to Selfish Selflessness. Newest entries below. This is a bit of an...appetizer, I guess. Introduction. Prologue. Reminder to myself of myself, which is nice sometimes. Hence the popularity of Post-Its.
I want to make a difference. Really unique, I know. But I'm different from most do-gooders: the truth is, I'm really just selfish.
I'll explain. For the last five years, I have had severely disordered eating. At the age of 15, I weighed only 85 pounds and was in danger of dying from heart failure. Today, my weight is within healthy range. But sometimes I still get scared. Sometimes I binge. Sometimes I obsess. Sometimes, I find myself miserable and alone, with no one to blame but myself. And that's where the do-goodery comes in.
You see, I've discovered something: the more I think about others, the less I think about myself, my eating, my anxiety. Suddenly, my life is light-hearted, purposeful, happy! More than that, I have an itching suspicion that I'm not the only one for whom selflessness actually creates a stronger sense of self.
So I've made it my mission to reconstruct myself by contributing to others, and hopefully I'll give a few other folks the inspiration to become WantonDoGooder[s], too.
I'll explain. For the last five years, I have had severely disordered eating. At the age of 15, I weighed only 85 pounds and was in danger of dying from heart failure. Today, my weight is within healthy range. But sometimes I still get scared. Sometimes I binge. Sometimes I obsess. Sometimes, I find myself miserable and alone, with no one to blame but myself. And that's where the do-goodery comes in.
You see, I've discovered something: the more I think about others, the less I think about myself, my eating, my anxiety. Suddenly, my life is light-hearted, purposeful, happy! More than that, I have an itching suspicion that I'm not the only one for whom selflessness actually creates a stronger sense of self.
So I've made it my mission to reconstruct myself by contributing to others, and hopefully I'll give a few other folks the inspiration to become WantonDoGooder[s], too.
Entry Two: Exercising My Do-Goodery
To start my journey, I climbed a mountain. ( < That one.)
Working out has always seemed, to me, to be a selfish activity. I saw working out as an activity to improve own's own body, self esteem, health, etc. But the truth is, when a person works out, it's not just that person's butt that reaps the rewards: friends and family benefit too. Being active lifts a person's mood and energy level, so their friend-folk don't have to put up with a sedentary-bore-fest/crab. The more you're inspired, the more you are energized, the more you can inspire and energize others. So go for it - run, jump, dance, all by yourself and all for yourself, knowing that in the end, you're really giving back.
Working out has always seemed, to me, to be a selfish activity. I saw working out as an activity to improve own's own body, self esteem, health, etc. But the truth is, when a person works out, it's not just that person's butt that reaps the rewards: friends and family benefit too. Being active lifts a person's mood and energy level, so their friend-folk don't have to put up with a sedentary-bore-fest/crab. The more you're inspired, the more you are energized, the more you can inspire and energize others. So go for it - run, jump, dance, all by yourself and all for yourself, knowing that in the end, you're really giving back.
Entry Three: Little Things on A Big Mountain
A lifestyle change, miles of running, hours of weight-lifting - that's definitely not a "little thing".
Here's what's incredible: what a person can accomplish for others in miles of exercise, they could accomplish in just a few INCHES of writing. Who hasn't turned to inspirational quotes on a difficult day? Nothing remedies a day of suck like timeless passages from the likes of Ghandi, Emily Dickinson, or Eleanor Roosevelt. The only drawback to this method? You either have to lug around a book, or access the internet, or scribble all over your necessities...and that doesn't go over too well in professional settings.
So let's just imagine some day when you're feeling crusty. Your cat peed on your sheets, you spilled coffee on your homework, and you melted your stapler with your curling iron - just before you ironed that smelly plastic into your lovely locks. Wordsworth would be a welcome pick-up at this point. Instead, you work your way to the bathroom stall and breathe. You're just beginning to settle into complacency when you notice some graffiti on the wall in front of you:
Never let life's hardships disturb you ... no one can avoid problems, not even saints or sages.
-Nichiren Daishonen
Relief. Calm. A sense of newness washes over you.
Feel that? That has to be one of the greatest gifts that could be given. Whether I'm sitting on the toilet or standing on a mountain (see above), I see any blank spot as a canvas, a possibility to do good in the world. Sharpie up a rock, dry-erase the bathroom stall - say what you would want to hear at those times when you need someone speaking in your ear. Normally, I don't double task; I'm easily distracted [is that an eyelash on my screen?]. But this one case of double-tasking I practice and highly endorse: taking a leak while changing a life.
Here's what's incredible: what a person can accomplish for others in miles of exercise, they could accomplish in just a few INCHES of writing. Who hasn't turned to inspirational quotes on a difficult day? Nothing remedies a day of suck like timeless passages from the likes of Ghandi, Emily Dickinson, or Eleanor Roosevelt. The only drawback to this method? You either have to lug around a book, or access the internet, or scribble all over your necessities...and that doesn't go over too well in professional settings.
So let's just imagine some day when you're feeling crusty. Your cat peed on your sheets, you spilled coffee on your homework, and you melted your stapler with your curling iron - just before you ironed that smelly plastic into your lovely locks. Wordsworth would be a welcome pick-up at this point. Instead, you work your way to the bathroom stall and breathe. You're just beginning to settle into complacency when you notice some graffiti on the wall in front of you:
Never let life's hardships disturb you ... no one can avoid problems, not even saints or sages.
-Nichiren Daishonen
Relief. Calm. A sense of newness washes over you.
Feel that? That has to be one of the greatest gifts that could be given. Whether I'm sitting on the toilet or standing on a mountain (see above), I see any blank spot as a canvas, a possibility to do good in the world. Sharpie up a rock, dry-erase the bathroom stall - say what you would want to hear at those times when you need someone speaking in your ear. Normally, I don't double task; I'm easily distracted [is that an eyelash on my screen?]. But this one case of double-tasking I practice and highly endorse: taking a leak while changing a life.
Entry Four: The Break Through
I realized something today. In order to help others, one must first be in working condition themselves. For me, that means getting over this eating disorder. It's about time - and I think I may have finally found the key to recovery.
I used to think that I over-ate because that was how I "fixed" my anorexia and my relationships with my family. I was wrong. Nothing was "fixed". I over-eat for the same exact reason that I under-nourished myself. It's just a coping mechanism. And it doesn't work. No matter how much ice cream I savor or chips I scarf or iced coffees I slurp down, it'll never make me feel any better. My addiction brings me nothing but sadness, isolation, and, well, pants that are two sizes bigger than they might normally be. But that's not even the point. I don't CARE about my weight. I just want to live my life in a way that makes me happy and allows me to do the things in life that I want to do! So I've found a new coping mechanism: this blog. I've long professed the healing power of words, yet I haven't used them myself. Hear this: I pledge, here and now, to use these words, my words, to work through my problems, and hopefully I can help a few of you along the way.
I used to think that I over-ate because that was how I "fixed" my anorexia and my relationships with my family. I was wrong. Nothing was "fixed". I over-eat for the same exact reason that I under-nourished myself. It's just a coping mechanism. And it doesn't work. No matter how much ice cream I savor or chips I scarf or iced coffees I slurp down, it'll never make me feel any better. My addiction brings me nothing but sadness, isolation, and, well, pants that are two sizes bigger than they might normally be. But that's not even the point. I don't CARE about my weight. I just want to live my life in a way that makes me happy and allows me to do the things in life that I want to do! So I've found a new coping mechanism: this blog. I've long professed the healing power of words, yet I haven't used them myself. Hear this: I pledge, here and now, to use these words, my words, to work through my problems, and hopefully I can help a few of you along the way.
Entry Five: Cope=Dope? (and not in the good way)
Coping mechanisms. Everybody has one. Some typical examples: housewives clean; geeks play video games; creeps spy on people (jokes). For a long time, I used food to deal with stress. When I was anorexic, obsessing over calories provided a temporary distraction from the ordeals of the day. Now, when I over-eat, every savory bite momentarily releases me from my anxiety.
When a person thinks of the phrase “coping mechanism”, it almost always is said with a negative connotation. The term too often brings to mind things like drugs that destroy the sufferers bodies and relationships, spending addictions that cost families their fortunes, and shameful shoplifting – adrenaline rushes that lift the dopamine-doper from their miseries at all-too-high a cost.
To many, coping=doping. But it shouldn't! Coping, at it's best, is productive. Musicians, artists, poets, singers – they all take part in activities that are creative AND that are proven to release stress; anyone can do it. Anyone can make the switch; all a person has to do is recognize a destructive form of coping and try out creative ones until one fits.
Like me: I used to be a wreck. A mess. A seven-out-of-ten-stress-level-type-chick. An eating disorder personified. My reward was chocolate, or ice cream, or peanut butter, perhaps all three.
Now I have a new reward. When I finish working, I don't think about some snack or sweet satisfaction. I'm contemplating life, lessons, what I can do to give back to the world that day. I am embracing a new identity: that of a writer.
And my stress? Two out of ten.
When a person thinks of the phrase “coping mechanism”, it almost always is said with a negative connotation. The term too often brings to mind things like drugs that destroy the sufferers bodies and relationships, spending addictions that cost families their fortunes, and shameful shoplifting – adrenaline rushes that lift the dopamine-doper from their miseries at all-too-high a cost.
To many, coping=doping. But it shouldn't! Coping, at it's best, is productive. Musicians, artists, poets, singers – they all take part in activities that are creative AND that are proven to release stress; anyone can do it. Anyone can make the switch; all a person has to do is recognize a destructive form of coping and try out creative ones until one fits.
Like me: I used to be a wreck. A mess. A seven-out-of-ten-stress-level-type-chick. An eating disorder personified. My reward was chocolate, or ice cream, or peanut butter, perhaps all three.
Now I have a new reward. When I finish working, I don't think about some snack or sweet satisfaction. I'm contemplating life, lessons, what I can do to give back to the world that day. I am embracing a new identity: that of a writer.
And my stress? Two out of ten.
Entry Six: Saying "I'm sorry"
Hoorah! My computer has awoken from it's lazy slumber. Now I can apologize for my lack of post in the past couple of days and, ironically, write my planned blog about none other than apologies.
So you want to cope constructively. But - you have a reputation. I guarantee that you've hurt people through your habits, directly or indirectly. An alcoholic may have become violent, or driven drunk, or said nasty things; a gambler may have skipped a momentous family event, used their children's money to fund their addiction, or subsisted on too little sleep for weeks at a time, leaving them too fatigued to give their loved one's the time and attention they deserve. And a binger? Well, I eat people's food.
After listing such harsh transgressions, my sin might seem like a drop of gray in poop-brown sea of "geez", but it's no little thing. Imagine this: You're my roommate. You leave for three hours to, joy of joys, get your wisdom removed. When you come back, you notice the following things have disappeared from your stock: a blueberry Poptart; a yogurt; half of your chips; a can of cheese dip; a piece of chocolate peanut-butter cake. Minutes later, your roommate walks in the room with a bag of groceries and an apologetic face.
That happened. And I think it would have gone better if it had only happened once, but it happened twice. Both times, I replaced the foods that had fallen victim to my gluttony...but each time I had also violated my roommate and friend's personal space and sense of privacy. Shame seeped through my pores, the fuscia of my complexion guaranteed that she would see red whether she was mad or not. Coming clean, facing her - and thereby facing my own shortcomings and vulnerability - it terrified me. But I did, as well as I and I think anyone else could without the inclusion of some luxurious forgive-me-gift. I'm sure any person you or I have wronged would ADORE a pair of brass knuckles reading: "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. Use with your personal discretion (P.S.: don't warn me - I'll flinch)". Alas, neither my wallet nor my visage could take that "hit". Instead
I apologized; I explained - but DID NOT make excuses; I described my solution/why the issue should not arise again.
She fumed, yelled, threatened. I weathered the tongue-lashing with haggard nods. After all, I'd deserved it, and she deserved an outlet. And in the end? We worked it out.
So, here is my challenge to you. Be courageous, bold, humble, humiliated, sad, sorry, relieved, and probably a bit confused by all that stuff happening at the same frickin' time. In other words: apologize. To a friend, family member, neighbor, that peer you pick on partially because he's pimply but mostly because demeaning him makes your pride perk up, or perhaps that dog you barked at on the way to work just for kicks. Okay, not that last one - but you get the idea. Admitting you have a problem is one thing; admitting it to someone else creates a support system and allows you to feel responsible for upholding your brand-new reputation. That second party has now witnessed the better self you both know you can be. You can ask them to help you live up to your potential. You can revolutionize your life. Take those first steps: recognize your problem; ask around/create a solution; and then show up stubborn 5th-grade-troublemakers across the nation by saying "I'm sorry".
So you want to cope constructively. But - you have a reputation. I guarantee that you've hurt people through your habits, directly or indirectly. An alcoholic may have become violent, or driven drunk, or said nasty things; a gambler may have skipped a momentous family event, used their children's money to fund their addiction, or subsisted on too little sleep for weeks at a time, leaving them too fatigued to give their loved one's the time and attention they deserve. And a binger? Well, I eat people's food.
After listing such harsh transgressions, my sin might seem like a drop of gray in poop-brown sea of "geez", but it's no little thing. Imagine this: You're my roommate. You leave for three hours to, joy of joys, get your wisdom removed. When you come back, you notice the following things have disappeared from your stock: a blueberry Poptart; a yogurt; half of your chips; a can of cheese dip; a piece of chocolate peanut-butter cake. Minutes later, your roommate walks in the room with a bag of groceries and an apologetic face.
That happened. And I think it would have gone better if it had only happened once, but it happened twice. Both times, I replaced the foods that had fallen victim to my gluttony...but each time I had also violated my roommate and friend's personal space and sense of privacy. Shame seeped through my pores, the fuscia of my complexion guaranteed that she would see red whether she was mad or not. Coming clean, facing her - and thereby facing my own shortcomings and vulnerability - it terrified me. But I did, as well as I and I think anyone else could without the inclusion of some luxurious forgive-me-gift. I'm sure any person you or I have wronged would ADORE a pair of brass knuckles reading: "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. Use with your personal discretion (P.S.: don't warn me - I'll flinch)". Alas, neither my wallet nor my visage could take that "hit". Instead
I apologized; I explained - but DID NOT make excuses; I described my solution/why the issue should not arise again.
She fumed, yelled, threatened. I weathered the tongue-lashing with haggard nods. After all, I'd deserved it, and she deserved an outlet. And in the end? We worked it out.
So, here is my challenge to you. Be courageous, bold, humble, humiliated, sad, sorry, relieved, and probably a bit confused by all that stuff happening at the same frickin' time. In other words: apologize. To a friend, family member, neighbor, that peer you pick on partially because he's pimply but mostly because demeaning him makes your pride perk up, or perhaps that dog you barked at on the way to work just for kicks. Okay, not that last one - but you get the idea. Admitting you have a problem is one thing; admitting it to someone else creates a support system and allows you to feel responsible for upholding your brand-new reputation. That second party has now witnessed the better self you both know you can be. You can ask them to help you live up to your potential. You can revolutionize your life. Take those first steps: recognize your problem; ask around/create a solution; and then show up stubborn 5th-grade-troublemakers across the nation by saying "I'm sorry".
Entry Seven: A few words on a few words
Someone walks towards you. Why not compliment them and make their day a little bit brighter?
Entry Eight: Teeter Totters and Mary Lou Retton
You can't be happy living entirely for yourself. You can't help others unless you are satisfied in and with yourself. It's a game of balance. And, regardless of if you're Mary Lou Retton or a badass baboon, you still can't just mosy onto one end of that teeter-totter and monkey your way to the middle; it's gotta be you on the one end and, well, "others" on the "other". So where do we start?
Let's think of this exchange as less of a balance and more of a four-step cycle.
1. You take care of yourself so that
2. ...you, now mentally and physically in "working order", can contribute to the lives of others; that way...
3. ...others will be willing and able to help you in your time of need, taking care of you until
4. You can take care of yourself [again] so that...
And so on and so forth. Now, just like any teeter totter, one side has to mount first and put in a little leg work to let the other side jump on. My advice? Help yourself out doing something that involves other people: exercise with a friend; study in a study group you've organized for your clueless chem class; diet using an online community, leaving feedback and support for those who need it; work with punctuality and a smile (your boss and your customers will take notice and appreciate the effort); tell a joke to entertain AND boost your self-esteem, making sure to warn the Asian kids in the group before you crack it so they won't have to be offended (joke). There are plenty of examples of ways to help yourself that also benefit third-person types (dry word humor is not one of them...). Feel free to share your ideas in the "Comments" section.
Finally, there is a reason I used a teeter-totter analogy rather than the usual scale comparison. On a scale, one typically wants things balanced, motionless, in limbo. This is NOT what you want. Rather, one should strive to provoke a constant give and take between "self" and "others". Why? You can't always take care of everyone; hence suburban housewives' new-found love of ADD prescriptions, that unnatural energy boost they employ in their impossible attempt to do just that. You've got to take care of yourself. You must take care of others. You can't constantly do both at the same time. It's as simple as that.
Also, bouncing on a teeter totter is WAY more fun than balancing on a scale. ;)
Let's think of this exchange as less of a balance and more of a four-step cycle.
1. You take care of yourself so that
2. ...you, now mentally and physically in "working order", can contribute to the lives of others; that way...
3. ...others will be willing and able to help you in your time of need, taking care of you until
4. You can take care of yourself [again] so that...
And so on and so forth. Now, just like any teeter totter, one side has to mount first and put in a little leg work to let the other side jump on. My advice? Help yourself out doing something that involves other people: exercise with a friend; study in a study group you've organized for your clueless chem class; diet using an online community, leaving feedback and support for those who need it; work with punctuality and a smile (your boss and your customers will take notice and appreciate the effort); tell a joke to entertain AND boost your self-esteem, making sure to warn the Asian kids in the group before you crack it so they won't have to be offended (joke). There are plenty of examples of ways to help yourself that also benefit third-person types (dry word humor is not one of them...). Feel free to share your ideas in the "Comments" section.
Finally, there is a reason I used a teeter-totter analogy rather than the usual scale comparison. On a scale, one typically wants things balanced, motionless, in limbo. This is NOT what you want. Rather, one should strive to provoke a constant give and take between "self" and "others". Why? You can't always take care of everyone; hence suburban housewives' new-found love of ADD prescriptions, that unnatural energy boost they employ in their impossible attempt to do just that. You've got to take care of yourself. You must take care of others. You can't constantly do both at the same time. It's as simple as that.
Also, bouncing on a teeter totter is WAY more fun than balancing on a scale. ;)
Entry Nine: Ugh
I've had so much homework it's been insane. And almost all of it is writing. I'll add super short bulleted updates on these days from now on.
-had a bad day, 2400 cals or so (though the mindset of "eat eat eat!!!" was what bothered me)
-new plan: combine two past plans into one diet plan; 3 meals, 500 cals each, total containing a sandwich/burrito/bagel, a bar (like an energy bar), ice cream, 2 pieces of fruit, and a plate of veggies (about 4 servings). This way, I control total calorie consumption, cover all my biggest cravings every day, AND I get to be excited about and plan specific foods. Good deal.
-had a bad day, 2400 cals or so (though the mindset of "eat eat eat!!!" was what bothered me)
-new plan: combine two past plans into one diet plan; 3 meals, 500 cals each, total containing a sandwich/burrito/bagel, a bar (like an energy bar), ice cream, 2 pieces of fruit, and a plate of veggies (about 4 servings). This way, I control total calorie consumption, cover all my biggest cravings every day, AND I get to be excited about and plan specific foods. Good deal.
Entry Ten: Passion, Love, and the In-Between
Today I witnessed pure passionate bliss in a couple sitting on the Oval lawn. They sat face to face, legs wrapped around one another, creating their own oval, dismissing the world around them. All they needed was each other.
All day, all week, all month I have been struggling with this question: What am I passionate about? What is going to sustain me through hard times?
Recently I read "Orchid Fever", an article version of the Susan Orlean novel from which "Adaptation" was, well, adapted. Despite his shady "amoral morality", his completely unbalanced lifestyle, and his probable compulsive obsessive mental disorder, I found myself enamored and strangely attracted to the main character. John Laroche did not live within the confines of normal and constructive social behavior. For example, he wrote a book about growing plants and sold it in the marijuana publication "High Times", not mentioning that his methods would never produce a crop capable of lending any THC-escape to the reader. It was and probably is his habit to find the loophole, to leech off of an unwitting victim, in short, to take advantage. In fact, "Orchid Fever" was written after Laroche was tried for illegally collecting endangered orchids, an act he claimed, in his usual style of twisted or misguided self-justification, he committed on behalf of the indigenous population. Therefore, he claimed, his alleged deviancy, just like Chief Billie's culturally-motivated slaughter of endangered panthers in State of Florida v. James E. Billie, perfectly legal.
So, what does any of this have to do with the carefree couple of this afternoon? Consider John Laroche: a user, a criminal, a self-centered git on the brink of lunacy, perhaps...but his inspirational, undying passion pushed him there, a passion so strong that it overshadows all other aspects of his life. He knows what he likes, what he wants, what to strive for and think about and love in life - how many of us can say that?
I think that couple on the Oval can. I think they can look on another in the eyes and say, "I love you", and feel those words enclosing them and stretching from now to there to forever in a blanket of warmth and the comfort of a meaningful life lived for, of, and with another.
But they'll probably break up. They're in college. Statistically, that ain't gonna last. That's the problem with the passion of "love". Possessing passion for another is like catching a snowflake in you hands: it's easy to do, and for a second you are lost in the wonder and the beauty of that eternal instant, but no matter how much you watch and protect your precious, unique gem, it disappears into nothingness. Sure, the memories are there, the recollection of that stolen joy, but empty memories, no matter how joyous, never truly satisfy: they are merely sepia-tone shadows of reality.
But the object of Laroche's passion, unlike love or people, is ever-changing yet never dies. The orchid is his lover. He discovers new things about her every day; he can touch her, interact with her, admire her beauty; he can dream and write and think about her, talk to her if he so pleases; he can care for her and know that she will almost certainly respond favorably; he can discuss her with her other lovers without the pain of jealousy.
I'm not saying "don't fall in love". By all means, drink in every moment, love as much and as often as you can with wild abandon! Just do so in the knowledge that eventually you will have to love them for the laughter and experiences they gave you and the knowledge they left to you.
And in the meantime, build up a passion like Laroche's: one that constantly changes, one that inspires you, that someone might say "pushes you to the brink of lunacy". Choose carefully and take precautions to ensure it encompasses your history, your present inclinations, and your hope for the future. That way, when you go to college, when he moves for the sake of a job, when your greatest love falls to illness you can say good-bye with a smile. You can be grateful to have had that person in your life. And later, while pursuing another horizon, you can grin in a brief moment of recollection.
All day, all week, all month I have been struggling with this question: What am I passionate about? What is going to sustain me through hard times?
Recently I read "Orchid Fever", an article version of the Susan Orlean novel from which "Adaptation" was, well, adapted. Despite his shady "amoral morality", his completely unbalanced lifestyle, and his probable compulsive obsessive mental disorder, I found myself enamored and strangely attracted to the main character. John Laroche did not live within the confines of normal and constructive social behavior. For example, he wrote a book about growing plants and sold it in the marijuana publication "High Times", not mentioning that his methods would never produce a crop capable of lending any THC-escape to the reader. It was and probably is his habit to find the loophole, to leech off of an unwitting victim, in short, to take advantage. In fact, "Orchid Fever" was written after Laroche was tried for illegally collecting endangered orchids, an act he claimed, in his usual style of twisted or misguided self-justification, he committed on behalf of the indigenous population. Therefore, he claimed, his alleged deviancy, just like Chief Billie's culturally-motivated slaughter of endangered panthers in State of Florida v. James E. Billie, perfectly legal.
So, what does any of this have to do with the carefree couple of this afternoon? Consider John Laroche: a user, a criminal, a self-centered git on the brink of lunacy, perhaps...but his inspirational, undying passion pushed him there, a passion so strong that it overshadows all other aspects of his life. He knows what he likes, what he wants, what to strive for and think about and love in life - how many of us can say that?
I think that couple on the Oval can. I think they can look on another in the eyes and say, "I love you", and feel those words enclosing them and stretching from now to there to forever in a blanket of warmth and the comfort of a meaningful life lived for, of, and with another.
But they'll probably break up. They're in college. Statistically, that ain't gonna last. That's the problem with the passion of "love". Possessing passion for another is like catching a snowflake in you hands: it's easy to do, and for a second you are lost in the wonder and the beauty of that eternal instant, but no matter how much you watch and protect your precious, unique gem, it disappears into nothingness. Sure, the memories are there, the recollection of that stolen joy, but empty memories, no matter how joyous, never truly satisfy: they are merely sepia-tone shadows of reality.
But the object of Laroche's passion, unlike love or people, is ever-changing yet never dies. The orchid is his lover. He discovers new things about her every day; he can touch her, interact with her, admire her beauty; he can dream and write and think about her, talk to her if he so pleases; he can care for her and know that she will almost certainly respond favorably; he can discuss her with her other lovers without the pain of jealousy.
I'm not saying "don't fall in love". By all means, drink in every moment, love as much and as often as you can with wild abandon! Just do so in the knowledge that eventually you will have to love them for the laughter and experiences they gave you and the knowledge they left to you.
And in the meantime, build up a passion like Laroche's: one that constantly changes, one that inspires you, that someone might say "pushes you to the brink of lunacy". Choose carefully and take precautions to ensure it encompasses your history, your present inclinations, and your hope for the future. That way, when you go to college, when he moves for the sake of a job, when your greatest love falls to illness you can say good-bye with a smile. You can be grateful to have had that person in your life. And later, while pursuing another horizon, you can grin in a brief moment of recollection.
I have been very responsible lately. I haven't been exercising, but I've eaten well, I've studied, I've done all my homework. There is always more to do, but I embrace that. I've learned to simply enjoy and embrace my responsibilities and to be myself within my social roles rather than fighting to maintain every part and activity that expresses the person I see myself as, because I've realized that it;s not what you do but how you do it. For example, I enjoy reading before bed. Normally, I would read a magazine: Vogue, The Week, etc - politics, fashion, descriptions of social tension and personal essays and award-winning photos - these things express me to the tee. But now I've begun reading Victorian poetry from my Brit Lit class before bed. By interpreting these poems according to my own experiences and feelings on their subject matter, I cans till exercise my sense of self.
My typical break from responsibility this week: watching competition reality shows, particularly America's Next Top Models and Project Runway. Actually, my viewing functions not as a breaktime but as the second half of my constant duality in existence in the universe electronic. Mind engaged, fingers attacking the keyboard, knowledge analysis whirring and whizzing round my head in madness, straining to slowly mold the right side of my screen into that much-lusted-after top 10% grade range - my eyes are the only part of my head in a stable position. They gaze evenly, calmly and with contentment at the left of my labors. There lies the six-inch screen of escape. Across it plays drama of other's lives, displayed in vibrant color for all to see in all their moments of victory and valleys of tragedy. I revel in it. And then I tear my eyes to go to class.
"Show, don't tell," says Mr. Feary, elaborating on part of the reason he doesn't approve of the award-winning David Foster Wallace's "Consider the Lobster". "How long have I told you that? I'm going to say it again. 'Show, don't tell.'" He stops and struts across the room, grooming his well-established mustache and smirking in polite acknowledgement of Woof's graceful canter around his shins, watching as the dog traipses back to her post at my desk, her eyes still firmly flued on the crows-feet-and-friendliness face of her owner. "In fact," Feary adds, "the newest thing in writing is only showing, and relying on your readers to interpret a message."
What if they don't get it? I think. It's not that I think people are dumb, they just don't like to invest thought outside of what is absolutely necessary and/or required by their occupation. Consider the reality show.
"I love 'Project Runway'!" I reveal to a friend one evening. "Really?" she replies. "I don't really like fashion, so I'm not that into it."
I am dumbstruck. You don't like fashion? First of all: You don't like fashion?? But secondly, who cares? That is sooo not the point! Sure, you can learn alot about the fashion world by watching PR. But the most important aspect of the show are teh personalities, the personal crisis, the witnessing of tragic downward spiral upon frantic downward spiral. In essence, a reality show is a :showing only" essay. A person can learn so much from ANY reality show. Elyse Sewell taught me about the aesthetic effects of high estrogen levels in prenatal development but more critically about the wisdom and long-term payoffs of remaining sincere and true to oneself. Lisa taught me about the importance of remaining respectable among one's peers. Every life lesson I've learned in real life I've seen played out on Bravo TV.
I watch reality television: as a philosopher, an artist, a media arts minor, and a psychology/sociology-enthusiast.
Interpret that as you wish - and therefore as you are.
My typical break from responsibility this week: watching competition reality shows, particularly America's Next Top Models and Project Runway. Actually, my viewing functions not as a breaktime but as the second half of my constant duality in existence in the universe electronic. Mind engaged, fingers attacking the keyboard, knowledge analysis whirring and whizzing round my head in madness, straining to slowly mold the right side of my screen into that much-lusted-after top 10% grade range - my eyes are the only part of my head in a stable position. They gaze evenly, calmly and with contentment at the left of my labors. There lies the six-inch screen of escape. Across it plays drama of other's lives, displayed in vibrant color for all to see in all their moments of victory and valleys of tragedy. I revel in it. And then I tear my eyes to go to class.
"Show, don't tell," says Mr. Feary, elaborating on part of the reason he doesn't approve of the award-winning David Foster Wallace's "Consider the Lobster". "How long have I told you that? I'm going to say it again. 'Show, don't tell.'" He stops and struts across the room, grooming his well-established mustache and smirking in polite acknowledgement of Woof's graceful canter around his shins, watching as the dog traipses back to her post at my desk, her eyes still firmly flued on the crows-feet-and-friendliness face of her owner. "In fact," Feary adds, "the newest thing in writing is only showing, and relying on your readers to interpret a message."
What if they don't get it? I think. It's not that I think people are dumb, they just don't like to invest thought outside of what is absolutely necessary and/or required by their occupation. Consider the reality show.
"I love 'Project Runway'!" I reveal to a friend one evening. "Really?" she replies. "I don't really like fashion, so I'm not that into it."
I am dumbstruck. You don't like fashion? First of all: You don't like fashion?? But secondly, who cares? That is sooo not the point! Sure, you can learn alot about the fashion world by watching PR. But the most important aspect of the show are teh personalities, the personal crisis, the witnessing of tragic downward spiral upon frantic downward spiral. In essence, a reality show is a :showing only" essay. A person can learn so much from ANY reality show. Elyse Sewell taught me about the aesthetic effects of high estrogen levels in prenatal development but more critically about the wisdom and long-term payoffs of remaining sincere and true to oneself. Lisa taught me about the importance of remaining respectable among one's peers. Every life lesson I've learned in real life I've seen played out on Bravo TV.
I watch reality television: as a philosopher, an artist, a media arts minor, and a psychology/sociology-enthusiast.
Interpret that as you wish - and therefore as you are.
On a quick personal note, I've been eating healthily and even worked out today! Plus, my roommate and I are talking and getting along much better and I've been remembering to call my mum - all in all a good couple days. And moving on...
The setting: 1 AM last night. The activity: bashing Walt Whitman, also known as essay-writing. I had been given several options for subject matter, but I didn't choose a topic, it chose me: "In 'Song of Myself', does Whitman treat men and women equally?" Ah sexism - a subject that grabs me like none-other, particularly in this case, with the opportunity to prove that a cultural icon widely considered a man of people actually an sexist in denial.
So I set about my work: I counted 150 specific notes about male characters as compared to women's 50; I noted that every time there are two gender-specific terms in a single line, the male term always comes first (except for in the line when he consciously claims that his poems are as much for "women as for men", a line which, rather than proving his anti-discriminatory practices shows that he notices the gender-order within his lines but consistently fails to be egalitarian); I pointed out that every mention of women was set in some stage of baby-making (sex, pregnancy, or child-rearing) and that only three passages showed women working in any other occupation at all; and I quoted Whitman in saying "And i say there is nothing better than the mother of men", a line which read to me "I love women - they help make baby men!"
But after all the bitterness, my conclusion ended on a different note. Because Whitman didn't try to be sexist; he had ingrained cultural and subconscious tendencies. Who am I to hold something against him that he had no control over? So he was sexist - at least he made an effort to see men and women as equals! You see, I always recognize other's flaws, but I focus on their brighter qualities. He lies - because he doesn't want to hurt his mom. She steals expensive clothes - in a misguided attempt at garnering more love. Maybe this demonstrates the naivete of my worldview, but I know for sure that it brightens my each and every day.
The setting: 1 AM last night. The activity: bashing Walt Whitman, also known as essay-writing. I had been given several options for subject matter, but I didn't choose a topic, it chose me: "In 'Song of Myself', does Whitman treat men and women equally?" Ah sexism - a subject that grabs me like none-other, particularly in this case, with the opportunity to prove that a cultural icon widely considered a man of people actually an sexist in denial.
So I set about my work: I counted 150 specific notes about male characters as compared to women's 50; I noted that every time there are two gender-specific terms in a single line, the male term always comes first (except for in the line when he consciously claims that his poems are as much for "women as for men", a line which, rather than proving his anti-discriminatory practices shows that he notices the gender-order within his lines but consistently fails to be egalitarian); I pointed out that every mention of women was set in some stage of baby-making (sex, pregnancy, or child-rearing) and that only three passages showed women working in any other occupation at all; and I quoted Whitman in saying "And i say there is nothing better than the mother of men", a line which read to me "I love women - they help make baby men!"
But after all the bitterness, my conclusion ended on a different note. Because Whitman didn't try to be sexist; he had ingrained cultural and subconscious tendencies. Who am I to hold something against him that he had no control over? So he was sexist - at least he made an effort to see men and women as equals! You see, I always recognize other's flaws, but I focus on their brighter qualities. He lies - because he doesn't want to hurt his mom. She steals expensive clothes - in a misguided attempt at garnering more love. Maybe this demonstrates the naivete of my worldview, but I know for sure that it brightens my each and every day.
Not much to say right now. it's 12:30; work was tough and I'm exhausted. But all in all I feel good. A great day by my measurement: few regrets, a few accomplishments, new knowledge, some giving and receiving of recognition, and a plan and excitement for tomorrow.
Entry 12: An Ode to Reality TV
Entry 13: Embracing Intellectualism
Elyse Sewell glares into the camera. "I am surrounded by the most vapid conversations - all the time!...Robin, I am sick of your holier-than-thou righteous attitude. Just because I'm atheist doesn't mean I don't have ethics or morals! Giselle: you are lazy. Katie: You're the most superficial, pointless, fake person I have ever met in my life..."
Life in the ANTM house effects different people in different ways. Some revel in this otherland of mirrors and eulogized vanity. Elise reacted with what is usually one of my least favorite behaviors: condescending criticism. Yet, Elise is one of my all-time favorite contestants. Why? Her thoughts and beliefs were well-developed; she had a consistent and therefore genuine personality. And as for the reprehensibility of her ill-speaking about her peers, well, she was equally harsh on herself, so it wasn't as though she was scapegoating others while ignorantly elevating herself.
Life in the ANTM house effects different people in different ways. Some revel in this otherland of mirrors and eulogized vanity. Elise reacted with what is usually one of my least favorite behaviors: condescending criticism. Yet, Elise is one of my all-time favorite contestants. Why? Her thoughts and beliefs were well-developed; she had a consistent and therefore genuine personality. And as for the reprehensibility of her ill-speaking about her peers, well, she was equally harsh on herself, so it wasn't as though she was scapegoating others while ignorantly elevating herself.
Entry 14: Quick Bit
Today: awesome. I ate well and healthily. Also, work ruled. My fellow johnnies and I had some top-notch convos and cool, humid weather kept me comfortable, I played some, the Grizzlies killed in their game, and my friends helped boost my confidence about my newly curvacious figure and my likability (which I had come to question a cause de mon colocataire (if I say it in French I feel more subtle and intellectual and less like a whiny little bitch).
An early start and a satisfying breakfast started the day out well. Jerky, apple, strawberry-flavored greek Chobani brand yogurt - scrum yum dumdidliumptuous. Then, I was early for work! Hoorah! The whole day entertained me to no end. My employees and I joked and chatted all morning; then, when the afternoon came, the deliveries came pouring in. That's how it usually pans out: those with hangovers wake around noon, so they order subs in their morning (between one and four). Because of a scheduling mistake, I got to stay over [laughs AND $$$] at Jimmy John's a full extra hour - by which time the night manager Marco had arrived. "Meta! I hear your name around - I hear you're a super star driver!" "Well, I'm definitely improving - especially since I decided to start taking heed of the cardinal directions attached to various street names," I replied casually.
Back at campus, as I dashed into my dorm hall to use the bathroom before my evening chow-fest, I ran into some friends who invited me to go to a rave called "Shine". I answered noncommitally, cracked a couple jokes, waved bye and headed on my way. I had just begun smashing feasts of food into a to-go box when another friend invited me to the same rave. "Oh, 'Shine'? I don't know yet..." "Hope to see you there if you go!" he replied. "Yeah, you, too!" I say before resuming my exercise in food-frugality.
I returned to my room, and to my surprise mon colocataire stood in the middle of the room. "So, you going to the rave tonight?" I prompted. "......Probably not."
Great. I left for more friendly waters (aka the room next door). Plopping on the ground, I joined them in watching our team kick some ass...which got boring really quickly, so we looked up our schools on wikipedia and dished on some of the scandals [recorded there and not]. Then we measured our chest-waist-hip measures, completely in a mood of jest. "this is so perfect because it's not like any of us care," said Becca. Bec was unaware that that wasn't necessarily true...yet I grinned, realizing that this moment, of all the millions of moments in the last six years, was the closest I had been to sharing her sentiments.
Another person viewing my day from the outside, might not have seen everything that made this day wonderful. MBut Marco's compliment, the friendliness of my employees, the invitations from my peers, and the smirk I made all for myself at Becca's off-hand comment - these instants will stuck with me and now I'm writing them here so that they will continue to bring me sparks of happiness for years to come, and to remind me that even small gestures can help others enormously, no matter the subtlety of the recipient's reaction.
An early start and a satisfying breakfast started the day out well. Jerky, apple, strawberry-flavored greek Chobani brand yogurt - scrum yum dumdidliumptuous. Then, I was early for work! Hoorah! The whole day entertained me to no end. My employees and I joked and chatted all morning; then, when the afternoon came, the deliveries came pouring in. That's how it usually pans out: those with hangovers wake around noon, so they order subs in their morning (between one and four). Because of a scheduling mistake, I got to stay over [laughs AND $$$] at Jimmy John's a full extra hour - by which time the night manager Marco had arrived. "Meta! I hear your name around - I hear you're a super star driver!" "Well, I'm definitely improving - especially since I decided to start taking heed of the cardinal directions attached to various street names," I replied casually.
Back at campus, as I dashed into my dorm hall to use the bathroom before my evening chow-fest, I ran into some friends who invited me to go to a rave called "Shine". I answered noncommitally, cracked a couple jokes, waved bye and headed on my way. I had just begun smashing feasts of food into a to-go box when another friend invited me to the same rave. "Oh, 'Shine'? I don't know yet..." "Hope to see you there if you go!" he replied. "Yeah, you, too!" I say before resuming my exercise in food-frugality.
I returned to my room, and to my surprise mon colocataire stood in the middle of the room. "So, you going to the rave tonight?" I prompted. "......Probably not."
Great. I left for more friendly waters (aka the room next door). Plopping on the ground, I joined them in watching our team kick some ass...which got boring really quickly, so we looked up our schools on wikipedia and dished on some of the scandals [recorded there and not]. Then we measured our chest-waist-hip measures, completely in a mood of jest. "this is so perfect because it's not like any of us care," said Becca. Bec was unaware that that wasn't necessarily true...yet I grinned, realizing that this moment, of all the millions of moments in the last six years, was the closest I had been to sharing her sentiments.
Another person viewing my day from the outside, might not have seen everything that made this day wonderful. MBut Marco's compliment, the friendliness of my employees, the invitations from my peers, and the smirk I made all for myself at Becca's off-hand comment - these instants will stuck with me and now I'm writing them here so that they will continue to bring me sparks of happiness for years to come, and to remind me that even small gestures can help others enormously, no matter the subtlety of the recipient's reaction.
Entry 15: Even Quicker Bit
Working hard. Exhausted. Love "Golden Girls", I've discovered.
Entry 16: Nihilism, as if it Matters
A summary of my latest revelation:
There was a time when I thought too much of other's opinions - so much that when I perceived them not to love me, I manifested an eating disorder and isolated myself from the world in shame. Physically, I've recovered, but mentally I still struggle with how to get by without using disordered eating as an addictive coping mechanism. For the past two years, I've been attempting to build up my self worth so that I can be content in and of myself. Thus, I would be safeguarded form the criticisms of my peers. At the end of the summer, I achieved one of my goals: I was happy. However, I had difficulty deciphering whether I had reached this state of my own accord or whether my cheerful disposition had been (dangerously) derived from other's opinions. I tested this inquiry by somewhat solating myself (not completely, just to a reasonable, healthy level). Quickly, I disintegrated into misery. And on top of that, I reached an alarming realization: "self worth" is a misnomer. Everyone's "self worth" is granted by other's approval. This epiphany terrified me. At the time, I took it to mean that I would never be truly free, free to be myself without judgment. I was devastated. I plummeted into a dark, deep pit of nihilism.
...To be continued...
There was a time when I thought too much of other's opinions - so much that when I perceived them not to love me, I manifested an eating disorder and isolated myself from the world in shame. Physically, I've recovered, but mentally I still struggle with how to get by without using disordered eating as an addictive coping mechanism. For the past two years, I've been attempting to build up my self worth so that I can be content in and of myself. Thus, I would be safeguarded form the criticisms of my peers. At the end of the summer, I achieved one of my goals: I was happy. However, I had difficulty deciphering whether I had reached this state of my own accord or whether my cheerful disposition had been (dangerously) derived from other's opinions. I tested this inquiry by somewhat solating myself (not completely, just to a reasonable, healthy level). Quickly, I disintegrated into misery. And on top of that, I reached an alarming realization: "self worth" is a misnomer. Everyone's "self worth" is granted by other's approval. This epiphany terrified me. At the time, I took it to mean that I would never be truly free, free to be myself without judgment. I was devastated. I plummeted into a dark, deep pit of nihilism.
...To be continued...
Entry 17: (...16 continued)
Based on my epiphany, someone had to like me for who I am in order for me to be happy. Someone else had to approve of everything I am: a nighttime-hiker; a Irish-punk-rock fan; a dance enthusiast; a civil-rights and animal-rights activist; the biggest fan "Chicago" (the musical); a sometimes overly-pensive philosophizer; a person who constantly desires (and often fails) to feel adequate. Fear clenched my heart. But then I stumbled across a statistic that triggered an equally perspective-altering realization: a person does not have to completely agree with every aspect of myself. In fact, it'd probably be best if they didn't. Plus, there are six billion people all over the world, and I'm already acquanited with hundreds of people with whom I'm compatible. Chances are I will be able to find someone to be my friend wherever I go. I don't have to be afraid; I don't have to anguish over inevitable loneliness and depression. I might suffer some set-backs in transitional periods, but so long as I always stay open to relationships, I will find people who support me and therefore contribute to my happiness anywhere I go.
Entry 18: Human Sexuality Class and Erik Erikson (who must have given his mother hell in labor for her to have named him as such)
Today was love and intimacy day in human sexuality class, and I learned about three scientists whom I have quickly come to respect.
The first was Erik Erikson, who proposed 7 stages of development: trust vs. mistrust; autonomy vs. doubt; initiative vs. guilt; industry vs. inferiority; identity vs. role confusion; intimacy vs. isolation; generativity vs. stagnation; ego integrity vs. despair. Anorexia disrupted my identity vs. role confusion stage, and I think that I'm somewhat unfinished in that respect. But for the most part, I believe I have entered the intimacy vs. isolation stage. We are all destined to fit one of three basic habits: intimacy, isolation, and solidarity.
The second theory we were presented was John Allen Lee's theory on love. According to an 18-question quiz, I love partially as a pragma and also as a mania; a pragma falls in love for practical reasons ("he's a great father"), whereas a mania loves madly in a head-over-heels, fast-falling, whirlwind highs and destructive rock-bottom lows kind of way.
Lastly, our professor explained Sternberg's Triangular theory of Love, in which love is composed of three qualities: intimacy, passion, and commitment (see above).
When I was young, I had a sister. Well, a friend with whhom I was so close I truly believed she was my sister. Her name was Dorie, and when my family and when I moved away my devastation destroyed my confidence for months. Though it continued to effect me for years to come, I succeeded in forging new relationships. First was Tammy, before she moved to Philly. Next was Claire. Then came Asia. After her, Jonnie swept in...and out. Then Kate. Each time,I threw myself into these friendships. They were everything: intimate, passionate, and committed, but losing all these friendships hurt me. Only recently have I recovered enough to truly involve myself with other people again, and I still know no way to love except full-out...but after everything, I've abandoned commitment. Every time I enter a relationship, I do so knowing that it - like everything in life - is temporary. I live full on. But when things become difficult or complicated, my learned fear kicks in, and I instigate "the talk": "relationships should be fun, and I think we can both feel that this is getting difficult"; "I'm only 19 - as much as I enjoy your company, I need to experience different kinds of relationships"; "I'm going to college, if we're still interested in each other, we can pick up where we left off", etc.. In my youth, I was never in charge of ending my relationships; it was always someone else's decision. Now, it's always mine. It's a precaution so that when it's over, I'm not lost. I'm don't feel confused or abandoned. I might be sad, and I might begrudge the process of recreating a supportive relationship, but for the most part I'm calm, composed. Instead of going through the whole eat-a-half-gallon-of-ice-cream-while-watching-the-notebook stage, I'm immediately resolved and reflective. I'm glad [that person] had an effect on my life. I learned [lessons]. And thank goodness we're still friends, no beef at all. Time to continue.
Thus, I really am a pragma and a mania: I fall fast and quit quickly because I love to feel wanted but cannot bear abandonment.
Thus, it seems as though I've settled on a life of solidarity.
Huh. ....To be continued.... (good thing? bad thing? both? je ne sais pas.)
The first was Erik Erikson, who proposed 7 stages of development: trust vs. mistrust; autonomy vs. doubt; initiative vs. guilt; industry vs. inferiority; identity vs. role confusion; intimacy vs. isolation; generativity vs. stagnation; ego integrity vs. despair. Anorexia disrupted my identity vs. role confusion stage, and I think that I'm somewhat unfinished in that respect. But for the most part, I believe I have entered the intimacy vs. isolation stage. We are all destined to fit one of three basic habits: intimacy, isolation, and solidarity.
The second theory we were presented was John Allen Lee's theory on love. According to an 18-question quiz, I love partially as a pragma and also as a mania; a pragma falls in love for practical reasons ("he's a great father"), whereas a mania loves madly in a head-over-heels, fast-falling, whirlwind highs and destructive rock-bottom lows kind of way.
Lastly, our professor explained Sternberg's Triangular theory of Love, in which love is composed of three qualities: intimacy, passion, and commitment (see above).
When I was young, I had a sister. Well, a friend with whhom I was so close I truly believed she was my sister. Her name was Dorie, and when my family and when I moved away my devastation destroyed my confidence for months. Though it continued to effect me for years to come, I succeeded in forging new relationships. First was Tammy, before she moved to Philly. Next was Claire. Then came Asia. After her, Jonnie swept in...and out. Then Kate. Each time,I threw myself into these friendships. They were everything: intimate, passionate, and committed, but losing all these friendships hurt me. Only recently have I recovered enough to truly involve myself with other people again, and I still know no way to love except full-out...but after everything, I've abandoned commitment. Every time I enter a relationship, I do so knowing that it - like everything in life - is temporary. I live full on. But when things become difficult or complicated, my learned fear kicks in, and I instigate "the talk": "relationships should be fun, and I think we can both feel that this is getting difficult"; "I'm only 19 - as much as I enjoy your company, I need to experience different kinds of relationships"; "I'm going to college, if we're still interested in each other, we can pick up where we left off", etc.. In my youth, I was never in charge of ending my relationships; it was always someone else's decision. Now, it's always mine. It's a precaution so that when it's over, I'm not lost. I'm don't feel confused or abandoned. I might be sad, and I might begrudge the process of recreating a supportive relationship, but for the most part I'm calm, composed. Instead of going through the whole eat-a-half-gallon-of-ice-cream-while-watching-the-notebook stage, I'm immediately resolved and reflective. I'm glad [that person] had an effect on my life. I learned [lessons]. And thank goodness we're still friends, no beef at all. Time to continue.
Thus, I really am a pragma and a mania: I fall fast and quit quickly because I love to feel wanted but cannot bear abandonment.
Thus, it seems as though I've settled on a life of solidarity.
Huh. ....To be continued.... (good thing? bad thing? both? je ne sais pas.)
Entry 19: Solidarity
The whole solidarity thing- i'll get back to that. My mind is buzzing. In a few days, once these thoughts have fully formed, I'll have some catching up to do. for right now, I'll offer this:
Have you ever seen a grieving mother? That tattered mess, alone in a crowd, smothered in emotion. What about a child in wonder? She stares in the fish tank. The curvature in the glass magnifies the intrigue in her eyes. Her face defines curiosity. And what about the couple on the bus? They sit alone, staring into the alternate plain of existence that in one another's eyes.
i love these moments - these moments of purite, these moments of unadulterated ingratiation in the life. Even more than witnessing these, i love to inspire them.
That's why I like art. A person creates art, shows it to someone, gets their initial reaction. It's the same reason I enjoy writing but have difficulty gaining satisfaction from it. Most often, one writes a piece and then lets it go. When I write something I don't get to witness the reaction. Sure, I'm a little proud of what I've done...but the thing I value most is simply to witness the reactions of others; without it my work has little long-0term meaning to me.
Thus, I've adopted a mission: find times to read my stuff to others or to watch them experience it. Once i do so , I know I will have the motivation I need to happily earn this Creative Writing degree, and maybe someday even make a career out of this.
Have you ever seen a grieving mother? That tattered mess, alone in a crowd, smothered in emotion. What about a child in wonder? She stares in the fish tank. The curvature in the glass magnifies the intrigue in her eyes. Her face defines curiosity. And what about the couple on the bus? They sit alone, staring into the alternate plain of existence that in one another's eyes.
i love these moments - these moments of purite, these moments of unadulterated ingratiation in the life. Even more than witnessing these, i love to inspire them.
That's why I like art. A person creates art, shows it to someone, gets their initial reaction. It's the same reason I enjoy writing but have difficulty gaining satisfaction from it. Most often, one writes a piece and then lets it go. When I write something I don't get to witness the reaction. Sure, I'm a little proud of what I've done...but the thing I value most is simply to witness the reactions of others; without it my work has little long-0term meaning to me.
Thus, I've adopted a mission: find times to read my stuff to others or to watch them experience it. Once i do so , I know I will have the motivation I need to happily earn this Creative Writing degree, and maybe someday even make a career out of this.
Entry 20: Self-worth, Other-worth, and being incredibly naïve about my ability to commit to a "let's do this every day!" writing plan
Haven't written in a while. Thought I was wasting my time with these...but for my own personal use? This is a fantastic diary. If I put my shit here and at fitday, I'm bound to hear about it before one of them goes under so that I can save my info.
Okay...So I've evolved a bit since last time. That whole "solidarity" thing? Extremely contradictory to the whole "the thing I value most is simply to witness the reactions of others" statement. I can't believe I reached that conclusion so long ago and haven't really adopted a more developed version of it as my personal philosophy until now.
Someday when I don't have shit loads of homework to do, I'll come back and trace my journey through each individual epiphany since I feigned to write them down in a permanent, resource-form (how many times will I learn?), but for now I HAVE to just record my conclusions:
1) There are two kingdoms of worth in a person.
a) other worth - feeling good about how others see you.
b) self worth - feeling good about how you see yourself.
Easy! Except
2) The tricky part about other and self worth, is that you have to first have self worth to have other worth, or you must have consistent other worth from which to build your self worth.
-Self worth is a misnomer, since all of our worth is, in the end, garnered from other's approval; however, it can be built upon indifferent, literary, or past opinions of others.
Ex: One often build "self worth" by engaging in activities whose virtues are touted by a reputable source. For instance, one might read in Time magazine that makeovers, organization of one's possessions, and decorating with items of nostalgia lift one's mood and self esteem. Thus, the person does these things and, having appeased a trusted supportive influence in their life, they feel proud, full of self worth, similar to the pride one feels at achieving some goal that a family member dreamed about with them.
3) The most important things in life are supportive relationships.
-Individual achievement is crucial to feeling confident, but any achievement is pointless if gone unrecognized. One needn't be patted on the back for every small gain in their life, but as far as long-term personal goals? There's no such thing.
Ex: A person decides to lose weight. Every time she steps on the scale and finds herself closer to her goal, her confidence builds. One day, she reaches her goal! She tells her friends and family. No one reacts. A couple of them, out of jealousy, sneer at her and tease. This woman has no drive to stay at a healthy weight. Instead, she receives motivation to binge in social settings. All of her hard work, having been belittled by those who should have supported her, has come to nothing, and this and future fitness goals for years to come have been annihilated.
4) The best friendships are built on:
a) recognition of strengths and acknowledgment of weaknesses
b) respect of strengths and for weaknesses
c) support for strengths and from weaknesses
d) acceptance of strengths and weaknesses -
Which thereby validate and give value to one's whole.
5) People who aren't supportive and thus aren't good friends either
a) have an inflated arrogance complex that will keep them from successful collaboration and bite them in the ass some day or
b) consciously or subconsciously view your achievements as threats to their own share of positive reinforcement within a community.
I'm not religious. These ideas make me happy, keep me whole. I think. I do not believe. And I have no need for faith, because unlike God or any other imagined truth, I see the truth in those ^
Every. Single. Day, so that, maybe not the next day, but the next week at least will always
be stronger,
be better,
be more sure than the last.
I may not share the beliefs of Frank Capra, but he got one thing right: "It IS a wonderful life", and that's never been more true than right now.
Okay...So I've evolved a bit since last time. That whole "solidarity" thing? Extremely contradictory to the whole "the thing I value most is simply to witness the reactions of others" statement. I can't believe I reached that conclusion so long ago and haven't really adopted a more developed version of it as my personal philosophy until now.
Someday when I don't have shit loads of homework to do, I'll come back and trace my journey through each individual epiphany since I feigned to write them down in a permanent, resource-form (how many times will I learn?), but for now I HAVE to just record my conclusions:
1) There are two kingdoms of worth in a person.
a) other worth - feeling good about how others see you.
b) self worth - feeling good about how you see yourself.
Easy! Except
2) The tricky part about other and self worth, is that you have to first have self worth to have other worth, or you must have consistent other worth from which to build your self worth.
-Self worth is a misnomer, since all of our worth is, in the end, garnered from other's approval; however, it can be built upon indifferent, literary, or past opinions of others.
Ex: One often build "self worth" by engaging in activities whose virtues are touted by a reputable source. For instance, one might read in Time magazine that makeovers, organization of one's possessions, and decorating with items of nostalgia lift one's mood and self esteem. Thus, the person does these things and, having appeased a trusted supportive influence in their life, they feel proud, full of self worth, similar to the pride one feels at achieving some goal that a family member dreamed about with them.
3) The most important things in life are supportive relationships.
-Individual achievement is crucial to feeling confident, but any achievement is pointless if gone unrecognized. One needn't be patted on the back for every small gain in their life, but as far as long-term personal goals? There's no such thing.
Ex: A person decides to lose weight. Every time she steps on the scale and finds herself closer to her goal, her confidence builds. One day, she reaches her goal! She tells her friends and family. No one reacts. A couple of them, out of jealousy, sneer at her and tease. This woman has no drive to stay at a healthy weight. Instead, she receives motivation to binge in social settings. All of her hard work, having been belittled by those who should have supported her, has come to nothing, and this and future fitness goals for years to come have been annihilated.
4) The best friendships are built on:
a) recognition of strengths and acknowledgment of weaknesses
b) respect of strengths and for weaknesses
c) support for strengths and from weaknesses
d) acceptance of strengths and weaknesses -
Which thereby validate and give value to one's whole.
5) People who aren't supportive and thus aren't good friends either
a) have an inflated arrogance complex that will keep them from successful collaboration and bite them in the ass some day or
b) consciously or subconsciously view your achievements as threats to their own share of positive reinforcement within a community.
I'm not religious. These ideas make me happy, keep me whole. I think. I do not believe. And I have no need for faith, because unlike God or any other imagined truth, I see the truth in those ^
Every. Single. Day, so that, maybe not the next day, but the next week at least will always
be stronger,
be better,
be more sure than the last.
I may not share the beliefs of Frank Capra, but he got one thing right: "It IS a wonderful life", and that's never been more true than right now.