All You Wanted And More

"If she was all you wanted and herself besides," asked Rydra, her head shaking between two names on the screen, "could you love her?"

Excerpt from Babel-17
by Samuel R. Delany

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It seems to me that there are many ways of loving someone, but in my experience there are some that pop up frequently:

1. Because she's everything you wanted (or close enough)
Why else would you be with someone? Isn't this what we all strive for? The ideal? The person who treats us how we want to be treated, makes us feel better about life, is easy to look at and talk with, the best friend and lover, and the one who always has our back, no matter who else abandons us? This is the purely selfish part of love, but a necessary part. What we want matters, just as much as what the other person wants.

2. Because you understand her
Harder to express is how important it is to "get" the person you're with, whether they see it or not. To appreciate their sense of humor; to be able to make sense of their moods, their subtle facial expressions, and their words (or lack thereof); to feel a sense of enjoyment and relief because of how close this understanding makes you feel to them.

3. Because she grew on you
Despite perhaps being perplexed at first by the person you're with, their peculiarities begin to grow on you. They walk a certain way, laugh a certain way, sleep a certain way, and though you may always find these things fascinating, you eventually consider them less odd than necessary. Their way of being has grown on you to such an extent that you can't imagine not having them play a role in your life.

4. Because she's herself
Sometimes the trickiest aspect to loving someone is in doing so for whomever and whatever they are. This is where collisions happen, where personalities must navigate the same waters and find ways to moor. Accepting others when they're being themselves, and encouraging it, is in fact one kind of love, and perhaps the most difficult. It often requires giving up some of that selfishness, and just allowing yourself to adore the person you're with.

 

Such Is Life

I was wrong about nearly everything. There were things that I was right about, but my confusion muddled it all. My focus was on the muddled part, and -- because I couldn't make sense of it -- I became convinced it was wrong.

Being lost is no excuse, but it certainly has an effect. Being lost is contagious. We can't be right for anyone when we're lost, and we can't be found by anyone but ourselves.

When the right things come along, it's best to focus on them rather than the confusing bits. It's best to hold on to the things that make us happy rather than chase them away because we fear the vagaries.

Though we're all fools, it's possible (at least I hope it is) to be fools in the right ways. Life is too short to be wrong so often.

 

Let Go

There is a mindset, I've noticed, that affects people of a certain age. There is a reluctance to cut off connections to others. A reluctance to press delete, trash memories, or start over. There is a tendency to hold tight to the good things, however dainty they may be. A tendency to treasure the safety net, cling to what's already there, and settle. This is a mindset of fear. It's the easy road.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm there, too, along with the rest who've been affected. Other times, I wonder which is more difficult: holding tight or letting go. And I don't always know.

Certainly it's no simple thing to build something in life; it's much simpler to destroy it all. But the question is: why? Why am I continuing to build? Or why am I throwing it away? Is what I'm doing worth it to me? Could it be? Am I wasting my life away by doing this?

As if determining what's right for me comes down to asking the right questions. Or perhaps I figure that if I stay on a certain road long enough, then I'll forget that there were other turns, other options, and unanswered questions.

What I do know is that I don't want to live my life ignoring fears. I want to face them. And if what I'm doing is mostly out of fear for the alternatives, then it probably isn't right.

I want to hold on to the good things, of course. I just want those things to be worthwhile. I'll still be afraid, but it'll be the kind of fear that translates into courage, the kind that makes me proud. I won't be holding on because I'm afraid of something else, but because this is what I want.

And if that's not how it is, then I should just let go.

 

Getting It Right

Does it ever feel -- with all of your experiences -- that you've lived many lifetimes, but not yet the right one?

 

To Be Complete

Everyone is broken. Each of us has been shattered by life in some way or another, crushed or wounded beyond repair. A part of me is comforted by the broken parts in others. Somehow it helps to know that I'm not the only one, and I guess looking for those broken parts in others has become automatic for me. Rarely do I come across exceptions, and it's difficult to trust that it's not there in some people.

There is one couple whose broken spots I still haven't located. I've known my boss and his wife for more than eight years, for example, and they still seem complete in a way that others are not. I've seen them stressed and angry and I've seen them bicker, but they work it all out. Their lives are what normal should be. They're more normal than normal -- they're beyond normal, super-normal, perhaps. They're both funny and popular and they always turn the things they say into the right things, even when they're not. Their lives seem touched by fortune and untouched by whatever it is that breaks the rest of us. They don't let the world bother them too much. I must be missing something, though, even after all this time. I mean, is it possible for anyone to pretend that well, and for that long?

Being broken isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's just that I sometimes find myself wishing I were whole. The scars aren't what make us incomplete; it's the broken parts, the gaps and poorly glued-back-together pieces that ruin us. To be whole, I would have had to withstand the crushing forces, to beat them or, at the least, not surrender to them. I don't want to be fragmented. I want the choices I face to be clear. I want my intentions to be focused. I don't want to waver or hesitate at the precipices inside my broken self.

See, to be whole isn't to have it easier; it's to have certainty about who you are. With certainty comes a kind of power and freedom: The kind of power that allows you to be deliberate without faking it, and the kind of freedom that protects you from all of the wondering and questioning about potentials.

I imagine how much more straightforward life would be if I were whole. And then I wish there were a way to repair myself.

 

Noticing As They Go

A question that I often ask myself, and just as often fail to answer, is: What am I doing with my life? I recall that I never planned to live this way. If it was ever part of the plan, then it was supposed to be a small part, something to help get me to the place where I really wanted to be. Instead, I feel like I've fallen into the same trap that everyone falls into. I've become too comfortable with the rut that I'm in; you could even say that I'm fond of the rut.

And then I remember that this life is temporary, and it forces me to take a closer look at the rut I'm in. If I continue to cling to my current lifestyle, then the majority of my days will take the shape of the office that I sit in and the commute required for me to get there. My experiences will be mostly limited to whatever time I spend at the office desk, pounding out code fragments that are largely meaningless.

What if I were to say goodbye to this rut, though, and make drastic changes? What kinds of things would I do instead? Here are some scenarios that come to mind:

I would find myself a cheap house or cabin, a fixer-upper in a great location (on the beach, or beside a lake in a secluded spot in the mountains, etc.), something that I could buy with cash. I'd find myself some part-time work (manual labor or something creative, woodworking or farming or brewing beer) or work that I could do out of my own house. I'd write. Maybe my writing would become my work. I'd spend a lot of time outside, even if it was just reading in the hammock on my back porch. I'd swim. I'd boat, probably on something rickety and old. I'd keep a vegetable patch and maybe do some fishing. I'd mostly pretend that the rest of the world didn't exist, except for those times when I hopped in the car to take a road trip or to visit a local saloon or bookshop. Perhaps I'd occasionally teach a class at the community center, something about computers or literature. Sometimes, my road trips would have no definite end; I would just keep going from one small town to the next, stopping for a few days here and there whenever a place seemed particularly charming. Now and then, I'd drop in unexpectedly on friends and family.

Okay, honestly, I don't know if this dream scenario wouldn't end up being just another kind of rut.

I suppose the crux of the matter is that I don't want to be in a position to allow my days to slip by without my hardly noticing; I want to notice them going! I don't want to spend the majority of my life in service to something else unless it's something I care about intensely. I don't simply want to sustain my life from day to day; I want to be actively creating it! Every day.

So I guess the question is: Can I do this without making drastic changes?

 

I'd Rather Starve

Oftentimes, I wonder about the things that I settle for. Compromise is just a word for settling, right? I wonder why I accept things the way they are.

When I go out to eat and the food is hardly recognizable, I wonder why I don't go without it. When I cook a meal and fail to cook it well, I wonder why I go on eating it.

When I hang out with a friend and I'm let down by the way they've treated me, I wonder why I allow our relationship to pass as friendship. When I fail to be a good friend by own terms, I wonder why I allow anyone to go on associating with me.

When I conduct business with people who are unreliable and who are clearly unconcerned with my experience, I wonder why I continue giving them my business. When I rush through my own work as if I don't care, I wonder why anyone still does business with me.

When I read a book by someone who writes terribly, I wonder why I force myself to finish. When I write a story that doesn't even work for me, I wonder why I allow anyone to read it.

When I treat myself and the things I'm responsible for poorly, I wonder where my pride is. When I allow others to treat me poorly, I once again wonder where my pride is.

When I find myself wondering why I'm spending my time and my energy in the ways that I am, I know it's time to change something.

The truth is, I'm starving for some quality. And without a whole lot more quality, I'd rather starve. The fact that I go without it in so many ways already makes me wonder whether I have any pride left at all. There are many things that I should toss or let go. And other things need far more attention than I currently give them.

Some people think I'm too demanding. I think I'm not demanding enough. It's time for me to stop accepting things the way they are.

 

Trust As Gift

I once thought (and perhaps still do) that trust was just another word for believing in the truthfulness of someone. I've come to see that this isn't how people use the word, though.

Often for people, trust only means agreeing not to worry about the truth. Not worrying, in my mind, always means not caring. To use a writer's phrase, it means suspending your disbelief. Suspending your disbelief means allowing fiction to rule. It means being open to fantasy. In practical terms, it means acting "as if" you believe something is true.

The problem here is that people tend to forget that they're acting after a while and start to believe the act instead of the reality. On a barely-related note, the same can be said for happiness. People say: If you act happy, then you'll be happy; if you smile and laugh, then you'll feel better. I say: These are just ways of forgetting about what we really feel. We forget that we aren't happy, which is probably OK (and maybe even good enough), but the mistake is that we think we've replaced what we've forgotten with real happiness. Likewise, in the case of trust, we trade our suspension of disbelief with what we come to think of as true belief. This, also, is a mistake, I think.

When we allow ourselves to do this, trust becomes a gift. We don't get anything in return for it; in fact, we shouldn't even expect to. In this context, saying "I trust you" is like saying "I'm giving you the ability to hurt me, but I hope you won't do so." Our trust may be appreciated, but it's possible (even likely) that there is no basis for it whatsoever. A person doesn't have to earn it. Even when we have reason not to trust, we still give this gift, anyway. I don't know why. Maybe we just don't want to care. We don't want to worry. Maybe we want to suspend our disbelief. Maybe we prefer our fictionalized versions of reality.

 

Dear Self-Deluded

You think the world is neat and tidy, that human nature is plain and clear. You believe what people say; you believe that they are what they claim to be, and that what they let you see is truly who they are. You think that, for the most part, people are consistent, that they're not confused and that they, at least, know who they are. You believe that, in general, people are honest and safe. You believe that intentions are usually pure, innocent and harmless. You believe that lies and hidden agendas are far from the norm. You don't see the ugliness that exists right in front of your eyes, and, therefore, you don't believe it's there.

Sometimes, I wish I could live in your pleasant world; other times, I briefly visit it and dream about staying. But then the vacation ends, and its relegated to that drawer in my filing cabinet where I store all of the childhood ideals that I'm reluctant to shred.

And then I return to a world where the action behind the scenes is more real than the stuff we actually see. It's the place where the unsaid and the unacknowledged reign, where what you don't know may be better left that way. There's so much "wisdom" out there about how to deal with such a world, and, yet, I can't help but think sometimes that dealing with such a world at all is the same as giving it my silent approval.

I don't know whether to protect you from this world or to show it to you, thus shattering your illusions and destroying what you see. Because, really, what I'm leaning towards is somehow immigrating to your world and forgetting all about my own.

 

While We Breathe, We Hope

For the past two years, while following the election process, there has been one constant on my mind: to know all the candidates well enough to be able to see who was most thoughtful. The biggest factor for me was this: to have someone running this country who was able to act wisely, who was strong enough to question the directions others would push him towards, and smart enough to make independent decisions not based on personal beliefs but on the basic principles of freedom. I've heard it said now and then throughout the race that candidates were sometimes preferred based on how relatable they were, how much they seemed to be in tune with us, or how similar they were to us. I can't understand that. Personally, I don't want someone running this country who's like me. I want someone running this country who's better than me. And by better, I mean wiser, more careful, more purposeful, more ambitious, more sturdy. Someone who is able to maintain a healthy balance between the freedoms we deserve and the security we need. Even when I'm hiring someone at work, I want someone who knows things that I don't, someone who can succeed where I struggle. What I don't want is a mere chum whom I can admire for impractical reasons. And this just for a co-worker. For a president, my demands are far higher. I don't think it's acceptable to settle for the mediocre. We've done that too often in the past, and it makes me wonder if we really take our country seriously. I not only want someone with a wonderful attitude, but also someone whom I can trust to govern me, not because he's brave and protective and sincere, but because he has demonstrated his respect for knowledge, for learning, and for understanding. If he's going to make decisions for me, decisions that will effect my life, I want to make sure it's not only his intentions that are good. I not only want him to be well-informed, but wise and able enough to investigate all of the options, to weigh them, not flippantly but deliberately.

In other words, I have high hopes and expectations for the leader of our country. And that's as it should be. Such a role isn't to be taken lightly.

Now that the election is over, I look forward to seeing some good plans put into place. I feel like the promise in this country has been on hold for quite a while, and now I'm anticipating finally seeing some progress. And, maybe, if we're lucky, something that we can truly be proud of.

 

On The Importance Of Caring

Several years ago, I remember going through a period of apathy. I wouldn't call it depression, but I just didn't care about anything. My life was in the process of changing, but that change became the totality of my day-to-day existence. I was consumed by work. Doing a good job and completely getting rid of my debt was my focus. I didn't do much else but work.

It was a very solitary time. I was making a lot of progress. Almost everything I earned (which, for me, was a substantial amount) went towards paying off my debts. I didn't want to think about anything that I might want for myself until I was free. Freedom meant not owing anyone anything. Freedom meant enjoying my solitude. And freedom meant being able to think about what I wanted without factoring in other variables, such as my debts. I didn't even want to consider being in a relationship again until I was financially independent. Money had a horrible way of interfering with things.

Even though I was making progress towards my goals, it was such a long period of time to focus on nothing else. For three or four years, I basically did nothing but work. While I did improve my technical knowledge, I ended up destroying myself a bit in the process. My health was deteriorating. I wasn't taking care of myself. I ate horribly (and learned to cook horrible food wonderfully). I gained weight. I had begun to smoke and the habit grew on me until I was going through one or two packs of cigarettes per day.

Although I no longer have my journals, I remember them being repetitive at that time. As I recall, I didn't know what held meaning for me any more. In the evenings, I struggled to remember times from the past when I'd felt joy. And I couldn't. I couldn't remember what happiness was like. I eventually questioned my mental and emotional health. Other than work, I wasn't sure there was anything I truly cared about.

Such periods in life are odd. How can I complain about such times? I mean, I was making progress! That's a lot more than many people can say. I was making something of my life, even if I'd lost touch with what that meant to me. I was going somewhere. I was accomplishing my goals. And, yet, I felt empty.

And, lately, I feel like I did back then. I guess these periods replay themselves on occasion. People get stuck every now and then; at least, I do.

Which is why I've been thinking about that last long stretch of time I had several years ago. I'm thinking about it because I remember how I budged out of it. The memory basically defines how I view meaning in life.

There were a series of journal entries, but these ones were different. I almost wish I still had them. What I wrote was something along the lines of this, in a compressed format:

All of life comes down to what we care about. People use the phrases "I don't care" and "Who cares?" far too often. We say these things so much that we actually stop knowing what to care for. We even stop caring about ourselves. We stop thinking about what's important to us. We stop thinking, period. And we stop caring. And all the while, the truth is that there is no meaning in life unless we do care for something. Unless we truly care, how can we call anything important? If meaning is found in what we value, in what shapes us and makes a difference to us, then we have to care. After all, what value is there in anything unless we care for something first?

And so I made a pledge to myself to care more. It wasn't a new pledge, but it meant something important to me at the time. For me, caring meant being a stronger person. A better person. A healthier and smarter person. It meant responding to every utterance of "Who cares?" with an "I do." It meant pursuing my goals and not neglecting myself. It meant finding joy where I could. Because, in the end, how could I really care about anything else if I didn't also care for myself?

But I also told myself that, should I find difficulty scrounging up motivation, should I have trouble locating the meaning and the reasons to keep caring, then I needed ways to remind myself to soldier on. I needed to have that record to come back to. More than anything, I needed to care even if I couldn't muster up a reason, even if I couldn't say why I should. What I decided was that acting like I care is often the first step.

Sometimes we just don't have the feeling in us. Sometimes we just have to behave as if we do care, because, honestly, it's too easy to lose track of why we should. We forget the importance of our reasons for caring. But, in such times, even if we can't remember why our reasons matter, we should at least know what those reasons are. We should know what it is we're striving for and what it is that is important to us. When everything goes to hell and we're left in a state of being lost, when we don't seem to care for the only things that held meaning for us, then we need that direction more than ever. We need that roadmap to guide us. Knowing what our reasons are allows us to keep going the right way, despite feeling like we're lost. It's times like those when we have to act like we care. Our convictions can guide us a long way if we let them.

I've travelled some barren roads in the past. Apathy is like that. Everything looks the same after a while. No matter which way you look, there's nothing on the horizon. All directions look the same, equally unappealing. But if your life is going to hold the meaning that you want it to, if you want to maintain the direction that truly holds meaning for you, you've got to be able to stay on course. As unappealing as the road ahead looks, you've got to act as if it is. Sometimes, that's how you get there. In a meaningful life, sometimes it's important to know how to respond when there's apparent and utter lack of meaning.