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.

 

Sometimes It's Best To Hide Away

I was shuffling along the streets of downtown Seattle, lost in thought and, except for the cracks in the sidewalk passing beneath my feet, unaware of the rest of the world. It's possible that I was sighing heavily and frequently, but I didn't think it was any reason to take notice of me. Perhaps it was enough, however, because suddenly I was being yelled at by a stranger on the street.

"Hey buddy!" he called. "Cheer up, will you? You're depressing the hell out of me!"

Ugh. I didn't realize I was having such an effect on others.

 

Happiness In Another Universe

I've just finished reading an immense novel by Neal Stephenson called Anathem. It's an interesting story that takes place in an alternate cosmos with characters who use words not known in our own cosmos (if I ever find myself in that particular universe, I am now fluent in their language). In addition to science fiction, there's a lot of philosophy in the story dealing with things such as knowledge and where it comes from, as well as how the acquisition of knowledge may alter everything else. And something I particularly liked about the story was the existence of secluded places (like convents minus the religion) where characters spent their entire lives largely devoted to the study of science, math and philosophy. I wouldn't mind living like that, I think.

There were also repeating themes in the story related to various methods for finding happiness. As an example, there's a chemical called "allswell" which, if you ingest it and have enough of it in your system, will make you feel good in general. In my mind, I equated this made-up chemical with real-world habits like drugs, television and fast food. It wasn't a huge leap to make -- in the story, characters referred to the difference between working for your happiness and obtaining it the easy way, i.e., by some type of shortcut. Here's a snippet found early in the novel:

We moved on across the pavement slab. "Look," I said, "it's been understood at least since the Praxic Age that if you have enough allswell floating around in your bloodstream, your brain will tell you in a hundred different ways that everything is all right --"

"And if you don't, you end up like you and me," he said.

I tried to become angry, then surrendered with a laugh. "All right," I said, "let's go with that. A minute ago, we passed a stand of blithe in the median strip --"

"I saw it too, and the one by the pre-owned-pornography store."

"That one looked fresher. We could go pick it and eat it, and eventually the level of allswell in our blood would go up and we could eventually live out here, or anywhere, and feel happy. Or we could go back to the concent and try to come by our happiness honestly."

Sounds like happiness in an alternate cosmos is not much different from happiness here. If only for the fact that the story dealt with matters like these, I would say that I enjoyed the book (although, because of the length of the novel, I do wonder whether the author was using some sort of allswell himself). Still, it was a thought-provoking story all around.

 

On Being Lost

Have you ever felt like you've lost something important? Not your keys, or your wallet. Not even a work of art you've been slaving over for years. I mean something important: Something inside of you.

Some days, I feel like I've lost bits and pieces of myself somewhere along the way. I wish I could follow the crumbs I've been losing and trace my path back to where I once was. Back to some place where, even if I didn't know who I was, then, at the least, I could feel like myself.

I know it's not uncommon to be untrue to oneself at times. We say things and do things that don't match up to the types of people we envision ourselves being. But I think I've surpassed this. I feel unrecognizable to myself much of the time. I don't know where I'm headed, and, perhaps worse, I don't know why I'm headed there. If I could summon up a version of myself from many years ago, I'm not sure he would approve of my current situation and/or condition. I suspect he would lecture me about the folly of losing one's way. He would likely demand reparations.

If he were here, then I'd be able to see where I went astray. Then I could draw a straight line from me to him and guide myself back. That line would often intersect the route that I took to get here, which, plotted, would probably look like a tangled ball of yarn. A route whose heading no one could guess.

But I doubt going back is an option. And unravelling my route to determine where I'm headed seems equally improbable. Still, I'll have to figure this out, because one thing that I do know is that staying lost indefinitely isn't what I want. There is no meaning in being lost.

 

Of Shunning Men And Women

Of 'shunning men and women', -- they talk of hallowed things, aloud, and embarrass my dog.

Emily Dickinson

Amen, sister.

 

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.

 

Even If They Don't Know It

Sometimes I wonder if the people around me have a better idea of how to live than I ever will. I see people who have smiles on their faces every day and I wonder: Are they happier than the rest of us? I hear snatches of conversation and listen as people laugh heartily at what seems to be the silliest things and I wonder: Are they soaking up more enjoyment out of life than the rest of us? I notice those who are seemingly unconcerned about appearance and uninhibited with what they say or do, and I wonder: Are they more in tune with what's important and what's not?

Maybe life doesn't have to be as meaningful as I'd like it to be, and maybe I'm missing out by trying to create and look for meaning in it. Maybe it's better not to complicate life any more than I have to. Maybe others have it right, even if they don't know it.

 

On Wasting Time

... Everybody wastes time. A little here, a little there. You wake up in the morning, it's all bright and shiny, you get out of bed and say to yourself, Today is the day! Today I'm going to be a great man. Then you look out the window, you see a pretty girl on the sidewalk -- zoom, into the pants, into the shirt, downstairs, 'Hello, did you drop this?' And you say to yourself, All right, so tomorrow I'll be a great man. Who ever got anywhere by rushing? Tomorrow positively, Thursday for sure ...

... So let's say you marry this girl. All right, you can still be a great man. Look at all the great men who had wives. Go ahead, be a great man, don't let me stop you. Only first you should stop by the grocer and pick up something for the dog. Also for the baby, soft, because he's getting his teeth. To do this, you have to have a job five days a week, you can be a great man on week ends ...

Excerpt from A Fine & Private Place
by Peter S. Beagle

 

On Spring & Where To Be Happiest

Excerpt from "A Moveable Feast", by Ernest Hemingway:

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.

I don't think I'm one of the few who is good as spring itself, but I hope not to be a limiter, either. Also, I like this imagery of too many happy choices. Isn't that like any new beginning?

Happy Spring!

Some Questions Are Heavy Wrenches

For lunch yesterday, I ate a Reuben sandwich on dark rye at a favorite place in the nearby Pike Place Market. I was sitting at a counter, oblivious to the customers seated beside me, when one of the sandwich makers confronted all of us with a question.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

I looked up at him. While I was rationally aware that his query was meant to be a simple one, applicable only to the product he'd made for us, my mind still fumbled for a few moments in search of an honest answer. It's a big question that gets tossed around as if it's not, and my reaction to it - almost every single time - is like having a motor wrenched to a temporary halt. Seriously, if you ever fight me in hand-to-hand combat and you want to buy yourself a few moments of time, just distract me with this question. There are very few times when I've ever been able to answer this question without hesitation - with a simple "yes" or "no" - and yesterday was not one of those times.

In the end, I simply answered the question by nodding; after all, I didn't feel comfortable engaging in a long and deeply personal conversation with the lad. But, for the rest of the day, I heard the echo of that wrenched motor and wondered what form an honest answer might have taken.

People should be more careful with their questions.

On "Enjoying the Day-to-Day Normalcy of Things"

She had always felt that the essence of human experience lay not primarily in the peak experiences, the wedding days and triumphs which stood out in the memory like dates circled in red on calendars, but, rather, in the unselfconscious flow of little things - the weekend afternoon with each member of the family engaged in his or her own pursuit, their crossings and connections casual, dialogues imminently forgettable, but the sum of such hours creating a synergy which was important and eternal.

Excerpt from Hyperion by Dan Simmons

Who Am I?

While I'm here, for now and for the foreseeable future, I am Zeri Kyd.

Cheers