Seriously, where did three days go?
Story time!
I learned how to add notes to photos in flickr today. Not that there's much to learn, although it was being buggy in Opera, so I ended up doing it in IE to make sure it would work right. But it's the first time I've ever actually added notes to a photo. Today's nude is a little more mundane than average, I think, but there's a neat little trick to it that wasn't actually inspired by, but perfectly mirrors in hindsight, the gimmick on the cover of Pink Floyd's experimental double album Ummagumma. I wonder how many of the few people that even see the photo will get the connection... I figured it was best to leave it a mystery and let the knowledgeable figure it out for themselves.
I know I already said that I didn't care /what/ people did as a result of seeing my nude photos, as long as it doesn't bother me - and I stand by that - but still, I'd like to hope that in the long run, my work receives more interest from artists, and actual nudists, than perverts. Not that I have a particular problem with the perverts, but it's just not the kind of people I'm looking to have a connection with. Hell, I'd love it if even just a woman got a kick out of my photos, regardless of intentions, but as far as I know (and I could be wrong), women, on average, aren't nearly as interested in seeing men naked as (straight) men are in seeing women naked. So where does that leave me? If you see naked men on the internet, what's your first assumption?
I'm 100% straight, and I'll admit I have homophobic tendencies. Though I'm straight, I'm not narrow-minded; I have no problem with other people who choose different ways to live their lives. What I /do/ have a problem with is largely a matter of image. The superficial argument goes something like this: I have enough trouble meeting girls as it is, I can't afford to let anyone have even the slightest doubt about my orientation. Then again, if you think about how much girls fawn over the gay guy, it seems like it'd be a nice way to weasel their affections, and in this bi-curious modern era, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to "suddenly" expand your horizons, fulfilling your girlfriends' forbidden dreams, which is secretly what you were trying to do in the first place!
Well, I'm not deceptive enough to try a thing like that. But furthermore, there is a more fundamental problem I have with the idea of guy-on-guy relations. Again, I make it a point not to judge others based on my own beliefs and opinions, but that sort of thing just isn't for me. Sure, I have no problem with the idea of girl-on-girl relations, but before you call me a hypocrite - the important point here is that I love women, and that I don't love men. So as long as the subject of loving is women, I'm happy, regardless of who's giving the love, and if the subject becomes men, then I'm hightailing it out of there.
Now, once upon a time, an interesting question was raised by someone in my presence. If you find yourself sexy, does that make you gay (or bi, I suppose)? My immediate answer to the question was no, of course not, that's something completely different. And that's precisely what I believe. I'll admit it, I have narcissistic tendencies. Some people dread looking at their reflection in the mirror. You know what? I actually enjoy having mirrors sitting around my room, so I can look at myself every time I cross the room and whatnot. Especially when I'm naked. I find myself to be fairly sexy. Does that mean I'm attracted to guys? No way. It's just completely different when it's yourself. When I look in the mirror, oddly, I don't see a guy, I see me.
On the one hand, I feel like this is something that's kind of hard to explain. On the other hand, I suspect that maybe other people understand and perhaps experience it themselves more than I might expect. At any rate, the bottom line is that I can enjoy looking at pictures of myself nude, but I have very little interest in looking at pictures of any other guy nude - that "little" constituting my interest in a purely artistic representation of the male body, or certain nudist pictures where the focus isn't on the body specifically, but on the /idea/ of being nude, which I can sympathize with.
As far as I am concerned with people, which isn't a whole lot, I could do without them mostly. People make me very anxious, and I would live a much more peaceful and relaxed life without them. Granted, they're pretty much essential to living a full life in this day and age, and that anxiety is one of the things I'm trying to work against. But I'm doubtful about just how much I can fix. I have a great family, and at least one of my two brothers I'm pretty close with (even though it gets frustrating sometimes). I have a better friend than I could have ever predicted that I'd have, which is great, because without him, I'd probably be a full-blown shut-in, with no contact with people whatsoever, one of those hikikomori cases you hear about in the news (if you live in Japan, I guess).
So at this stage, although I like the idea of finding people to hang out with who share my interests (especially considering that the friend I mentioned above is currently living out-of-country), I'm pretty confident that the anxiety and effort of meeting and knowing those people wouldn't be worth it, and I have little motivation to add any new people into my life. Still, I'm always looking for a potential soulmate. Even if I sincerely doubt my chances of ever finding someone who could possibly meet my standards, I'm still not about to give up. And even though I don't even meet people, and I don't hang out with people, I'm still open to the idea that some day, some way, there /could/ be a person to fill that space that I'd love to have filled.
I guess it's kind of pathetic. I mean, what are the chances of me finding someone who is both an attractive female, /and/ shares my interests? If we talk about nudism alone, most of the vocal nudist population I've been exposed to is male, and middle-aged. And nudism is only one of the interests I have that is far out of the mainstream. I can't even find a way to live in this mainstream world, I certainly can't have anything to do with mainstream people. But it's hard to find radicals. First of all, they're a minority, so there's less of them. Plus, there're so many different kinds of radicals, it's impossible to find the type you want. You find the wrong type of radical, and yeah, they might be just as anti-mainstream as you are, but they might have wild beliefs and opinions that run drastically counter to your own. And that ain't gonna work. It's like the world is saying, "step into the mold, or fend for yourself." And I couldn't fit into the mold if I wanted to try.
Well, this has been interesting. I almost dread what a certain reader might say in response. We share a lot of the same ideas about things, but our philosophies diverge considerably at some point. I feel like he's trying to push me to adopt his outlook, and it's not going to happen. Then again, I reluctantly find myself trying to force him to see some of the things I see, and that's not going to happen, either. He chooses anger; I'm content to live with sadness. That's the difference between metal and blues, anyway. I don't care if everything sucks, it's still infinity times better than nothing. And just because there's no logic in god, that doesn't mean there isn't any logic in life, or love. Maybe it is all based on gut feelings, in the end. I feel enlightened because I'm not infected with god. Maybe he feels enlightened because he's not infected with life or love, beyond what's forced upon him. Still, even though I have no love lost for god, I wouldn't give up life or love for anything in the world. And that's who I am.
This is who we are.
The time is near.
790 days remaining.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
03 March, 2008
18 February, 2008
More Fun Without Clothes
Today the weather was nice and warm, up into the 50's at least. It doesn't look like it'll last, even another day, but it was quite pleasurable to get even just a small taste of spring. I actually hadn't thought much about it, despite noticing the weather when we went out to dinner for yet another birthday celebration, but this evening, my brother came back, apparently from a walk, and informed me of the still-warm weather. It was still a bit early, but I went and checked it out. I was already undressed, and I just went out on the back porch, just outside the door, to gauge the temperature. There was a definite attractive feel to the spring-harbinging air, and it felt nice compared to the chill we've been having, but you know, it was still a bit chilly. The moon, heading towards full, was bright in the western sky, and the swatches of cloud were moving pretty quickly across the sky.
I went back in, then after awhile, I heard wind and rain. I checked again, and it was damp outside - probably better that I hadn't gone out for a walk earlier. The wind was pretty fierce for only a short moment, and I wanted to go right out, on the front porch, to experience it, but the motion-sensing light next door was flashing on and off - most likely due to the wind, but it was still too bad a sign for me to go right out. The light eventually stopped, which I take to mean that there's a decent chance somebody was up to shut it down. I waited a little bit, and it stayed dark, and then I just couldn't stay inside anymore. But I grabbed a dark blanket from my room to cover myself to be extra cautious. It's about the right size to cover me down to about my knees, when wrapped around my shoulders. It's quicker than putting on the ritual cloak, and it's also not as thick and doesn't cover as much, so it lets you feel a little bit more naked than having the huge ritual cloak wrapped around you. It's wooly, so it's pretty good for warmth, but also bad for generating my arch-nemesis, static electricity.
Anyway, I went out onto the porch, and things stayed pretty dark and quiet, so I was happy. My feet got wet right away, even just stepping onto the porch mat, but I was expecting that. I stood for awhile, taking in the atmosphere, as the wind and rain fluctuated, but generally stayed fairly calm. A couple times I stepped toward the edge of the porch, to the end of the overhang, and stuck my leg out to determine the rainfall, which I could hear, but was actually pretty light. I started getting ideas about going out into it, just for a moment. Definitely too cold for anything substantial, but looking at the few remaining patches of snow on the lawn that hadn't yet been disintegrated by the rain, I was possessed by the desire to step in one.
I've always wanted to dive into a snowdrift while naked, but as of yet I've been deterred by the thought of how cold that would be. This would at least be a small step in that direction. My feet were already pretty cold, but keeping them in the same spot on the porch mat kept them manageable. Stepping out toward the edge of the porch, the ground was colder. But I figured it wasn't too cold that I couldn't do it, even though the only snow patch large enough to step in completely was out and down the steps in the middle of the front yard, and then across the driveway, next to the basketball hoop. I knew that stepping into the snow would be really cold, but I judged that I could handle it.
A couple months ago, around Yule, I made a complete circuit around the house on a couple different nights, when the mood struck me, despite the cold. It was a chance to get outside, and going completely around the house made it significant, but it was quick enough that I could get back inside and warm up before I began to freeze. The one thing I remember most, though, is that with the ground as cold as it was (though without any snowfall), my feet got absolutely frigid by the time I made it all the way around the house. But in light of those experiences, I knew that I could handle this one - stepping into the snow.
My first instinct was to drop the blanket I had wrapped around me (well, hang it on the door knob perhaps, so it wouldn't get wet and dirty lying on the ground), so I could do it completely naked, but I was too cautious to do that. I didn't want it to get wet, but I figured the rainfall was light enough that it wouldn't be significant. So I went for it, with the blanket wrapped around me. I made the route out to the remaining snow patches, on the other side of the driveway. Stepping into the snow, it actually didn't feel too cold at first. I stomped around for a few seconds before the cold started to sink in - and it was cold! But not too cold that I couldn't keep my calm. So I considered myself victorious, and headed back to the porch. Now that my feet were freezing, I thought it was a good time to go in.
Back inside, I climbed up the steps, on my hands and knees, since I didn't really have anything to wipe my feet off with, other than the mat in front of the door. I crawled into the bathroom, and rinsed my feet off. One thing I've discovered from my experiences walking around barefoot outside, is that coming in and rinsing them off (especially with warm water when it's cold), feels great. In addition to the warmth, it makes them soft and smooth, which feels good on the carpet, just like when you come out of the shower.
To switch topics, anyone who really knew me in college knows that I used to play DDR a lot. I'm not gonna go into the whole history of that here - that'll probably turn up in one of my College Memories sometime in the future. But I will mention that I thought it was a pretty lame game, like most people, before I really got into it. Even after getting into it, there's still an inherent lameness factor, but the bottom line is, not only is it a fun game that you can play both alone and with friends, but, best of all, it's a great excuse to get exercise, in a thoroughly entertaining fashion. Although I do enjoy walking, it doesn't exactly happen everyday, and a lot less during the cold months. Although I may or may not have better instincts or base statistics than other people, the fact of the matter is, I'm not in very good shape. For the past two years, most of my days have consisted of me sitting at the computer. All. Day. Long.
Now, I'm not real concerned about losing weight. I wouldn't mind if it happened, but even now, I'd say I have healthy proportions, and I wouldn't go out of my way to get any thinner. I don't really care about muscles, either. Again, I wouldn't mind having more strength, but it's never been all that important to me, and I wouldn't go too far out of my way to bulk up (weight-lifting has never seemed all that attractive to me). The one thing I am concerned about is having a healthy heart. Having endurance. Being able to exert myself physically over a period of time without exhausting myself prematurely. It seems rather pointless right now, since I don't really do anything like that, except for walking, so it seems like I don't really *need* to be in better shape. But I like the idea of doing those sort of things, sport-like things, just for the sake of fun - because it makes you feel good. Kind of hard to do things like toss a ball around when you're on your own, I guess, but there are still things you can do without a team.
Anyway, I always come back to the idea of playing DDR to keep me in shape, since it's fun, it's something I can do by myself, and it doesn't matter what the weather's like, either. Of course, I have yet to commit myself to any kind of regular regimen. But you know, it keeps coming up in my mind. Part of the problem is that there is that lameness factor to playing DDR, making me feel silly at the thought of being caught playing it - which, really, is rather ridiculous. I happen to have some dance pads left over from my college days, which I think still work at least relatively well, if not perfectly. Pads can be a pain, since they always seem to be breaking down and responding wrong, which really throws off your game. But you know what? If you're just playing for exercise, it doesn't really matter if you use pads, because the important thing isn't to get all the notes right, but just to get yourself moving, and the game provides a pattern for you to follow. I guess the only other real potential problem is the fact that playing DDR involves jumping around a bit, and that can cause structural stress in the floors, as well as potentially cause a lot of noise, thumping around at night. But I think it's at least worth another try.
Staying within the overall topic of this blog entry, I'll obviously have to try playing DDR in the nude. Not that it would be the first time. Actually, there was a marginally-related incident that I feel kind of bad about, in hindsight. One day back in college, two of my friends were playing DDR in our dorm room. Instead of playing, I went out for a little bit. If I recall correctly, it was because the weather was nice, and I had already decided to go out with my guitar for a bit before the sun set. Although that could have been another day. But for whatever reason I left, I came back later, only to enter the room and discover to my surprise two guys practically in their underwear, dancing about, playing the game. They were obviously only trying to keep cool, but you can imagine my surprise. And I feel bad about it, because I was judging them then just the way I fear people might judge me now. But then again, context is an important factor with these sorts of things.
One other physical activity I've considered doing nude is practicing kendo. Certainly, they put on a lot of armor, and if you're actually sparring with someone, it would be immensely dangerous. But I mean just on my own, practicing forms and such. I'd have started doing it a long time ago, if it were something I could do in the privacy of my room. But alas, the confined quarters (even considering the size of my room), make swinging a sword around quite unreasonable. There's always the backyard, but the problem I've had so far with practicing kendo where someone might see me (even if dressed), is that, based on my anxiety issues, I don't feel confident about going out and swinging my sword around. I feel like I'd stick out, and people, if they saw me, would naturally focus their attention on me and maybe want to ask me questions and watch me practice, and then there would be tons of pressure on me to act like I know what I'm doing, you know? Regardless of whether the reaction is positive or negative, that kind of attention makes me uncomfortable. Even in the dead of night, when I'd love to be confident enough to go out and practice without even wearing clothes, when the weather's nice, I still can't shake those anxieties about the slim chance that someone might be awake, and they might glance out their window, and see me. And under those conditions, it'd be even worse, because swinging around a sword at night is generally suspicious, and doing so naked is even more alarming and questionable.
At any rate, I thought about finding something special to wear, that would let me blend in with the shadows better, giving me more confidence to get out there and practice. You know, something vaguely ninja-like. Skin-tight, black, covering the arms and legs. If it helps me get out there, it'd be great, but I don't know how great I feel about ordering a unitard from some dance company. But I don't want some expensive, pop culture ninja get-up, either. Just something simple and effective.
Anyway, just some things I've been thinking about.
I went back in, then after awhile, I heard wind and rain. I checked again, and it was damp outside - probably better that I hadn't gone out for a walk earlier. The wind was pretty fierce for only a short moment, and I wanted to go right out, on the front porch, to experience it, but the motion-sensing light next door was flashing on and off - most likely due to the wind, but it was still too bad a sign for me to go right out. The light eventually stopped, which I take to mean that there's a decent chance somebody was up to shut it down. I waited a little bit, and it stayed dark, and then I just couldn't stay inside anymore. But I grabbed a dark blanket from my room to cover myself to be extra cautious. It's about the right size to cover me down to about my knees, when wrapped around my shoulders. It's quicker than putting on the ritual cloak, and it's also not as thick and doesn't cover as much, so it lets you feel a little bit more naked than having the huge ritual cloak wrapped around you. It's wooly, so it's pretty good for warmth, but also bad for generating my arch-nemesis, static electricity.
Anyway, I went out onto the porch, and things stayed pretty dark and quiet, so I was happy. My feet got wet right away, even just stepping onto the porch mat, but I was expecting that. I stood for awhile, taking in the atmosphere, as the wind and rain fluctuated, but generally stayed fairly calm. A couple times I stepped toward the edge of the porch, to the end of the overhang, and stuck my leg out to determine the rainfall, which I could hear, but was actually pretty light. I started getting ideas about going out into it, just for a moment. Definitely too cold for anything substantial, but looking at the few remaining patches of snow on the lawn that hadn't yet been disintegrated by the rain, I was possessed by the desire to step in one.
I've always wanted to dive into a snowdrift while naked, but as of yet I've been deterred by the thought of how cold that would be. This would at least be a small step in that direction. My feet were already pretty cold, but keeping them in the same spot on the porch mat kept them manageable. Stepping out toward the edge of the porch, the ground was colder. But I figured it wasn't too cold that I couldn't do it, even though the only snow patch large enough to step in completely was out and down the steps in the middle of the front yard, and then across the driveway, next to the basketball hoop. I knew that stepping into the snow would be really cold, but I judged that I could handle it.
A couple months ago, around Yule, I made a complete circuit around the house on a couple different nights, when the mood struck me, despite the cold. It was a chance to get outside, and going completely around the house made it significant, but it was quick enough that I could get back inside and warm up before I began to freeze. The one thing I remember most, though, is that with the ground as cold as it was (though without any snowfall), my feet got absolutely frigid by the time I made it all the way around the house. But in light of those experiences, I knew that I could handle this one - stepping into the snow.
My first instinct was to drop the blanket I had wrapped around me (well, hang it on the door knob perhaps, so it wouldn't get wet and dirty lying on the ground), so I could do it completely naked, but I was too cautious to do that. I didn't want it to get wet, but I figured the rainfall was light enough that it wouldn't be significant. So I went for it, with the blanket wrapped around me. I made the route out to the remaining snow patches, on the other side of the driveway. Stepping into the snow, it actually didn't feel too cold at first. I stomped around for a few seconds before the cold started to sink in - and it was cold! But not too cold that I couldn't keep my calm. So I considered myself victorious, and headed back to the porch. Now that my feet were freezing, I thought it was a good time to go in.
Back inside, I climbed up the steps, on my hands and knees, since I didn't really have anything to wipe my feet off with, other than the mat in front of the door. I crawled into the bathroom, and rinsed my feet off. One thing I've discovered from my experiences walking around barefoot outside, is that coming in and rinsing them off (especially with warm water when it's cold), feels great. In addition to the warmth, it makes them soft and smooth, which feels good on the carpet, just like when you come out of the shower.
To switch topics, anyone who really knew me in college knows that I used to play DDR a lot. I'm not gonna go into the whole history of that here - that'll probably turn up in one of my College Memories sometime in the future. But I will mention that I thought it was a pretty lame game, like most people, before I really got into it. Even after getting into it, there's still an inherent lameness factor, but the bottom line is, not only is it a fun game that you can play both alone and with friends, but, best of all, it's a great excuse to get exercise, in a thoroughly entertaining fashion. Although I do enjoy walking, it doesn't exactly happen everyday, and a lot less during the cold months. Although I may or may not have better instincts or base statistics than other people, the fact of the matter is, I'm not in very good shape. For the past two years, most of my days have consisted of me sitting at the computer. All. Day. Long.
Now, I'm not real concerned about losing weight. I wouldn't mind if it happened, but even now, I'd say I have healthy proportions, and I wouldn't go out of my way to get any thinner. I don't really care about muscles, either. Again, I wouldn't mind having more strength, but it's never been all that important to me, and I wouldn't go too far out of my way to bulk up (weight-lifting has never seemed all that attractive to me). The one thing I am concerned about is having a healthy heart. Having endurance. Being able to exert myself physically over a period of time without exhausting myself prematurely. It seems rather pointless right now, since I don't really do anything like that, except for walking, so it seems like I don't really *need* to be in better shape. But I like the idea of doing those sort of things, sport-like things, just for the sake of fun - because it makes you feel good. Kind of hard to do things like toss a ball around when you're on your own, I guess, but there are still things you can do without a team.
Anyway, I always come back to the idea of playing DDR to keep me in shape, since it's fun, it's something I can do by myself, and it doesn't matter what the weather's like, either. Of course, I have yet to commit myself to any kind of regular regimen. But you know, it keeps coming up in my mind. Part of the problem is that there is that lameness factor to playing DDR, making me feel silly at the thought of being caught playing it - which, really, is rather ridiculous. I happen to have some dance pads left over from my college days, which I think still work at least relatively well, if not perfectly. Pads can be a pain, since they always seem to be breaking down and responding wrong, which really throws off your game. But you know what? If you're just playing for exercise, it doesn't really matter if you use pads, because the important thing isn't to get all the notes right, but just to get yourself moving, and the game provides a pattern for you to follow. I guess the only other real potential problem is the fact that playing DDR involves jumping around a bit, and that can cause structural stress in the floors, as well as potentially cause a lot of noise, thumping around at night. But I think it's at least worth another try.
Staying within the overall topic of this blog entry, I'll obviously have to try playing DDR in the nude. Not that it would be the first time. Actually, there was a marginally-related incident that I feel kind of bad about, in hindsight. One day back in college, two of my friends were playing DDR in our dorm room. Instead of playing, I went out for a little bit. If I recall correctly, it was because the weather was nice, and I had already decided to go out with my guitar for a bit before the sun set. Although that could have been another day. But for whatever reason I left, I came back later, only to enter the room and discover to my surprise two guys practically in their underwear, dancing about, playing the game. They were obviously only trying to keep cool, but you can imagine my surprise. And I feel bad about it, because I was judging them then just the way I fear people might judge me now. But then again, context is an important factor with these sorts of things.
One other physical activity I've considered doing nude is practicing kendo. Certainly, they put on a lot of armor, and if you're actually sparring with someone, it would be immensely dangerous. But I mean just on my own, practicing forms and such. I'd have started doing it a long time ago, if it were something I could do in the privacy of my room. But alas, the confined quarters (even considering the size of my room), make swinging a sword around quite unreasonable. There's always the backyard, but the problem I've had so far with practicing kendo where someone might see me (even if dressed), is that, based on my anxiety issues, I don't feel confident about going out and swinging my sword around. I feel like I'd stick out, and people, if they saw me, would naturally focus their attention on me and maybe want to ask me questions and watch me practice, and then there would be tons of pressure on me to act like I know what I'm doing, you know? Regardless of whether the reaction is positive or negative, that kind of attention makes me uncomfortable. Even in the dead of night, when I'd love to be confident enough to go out and practice without even wearing clothes, when the weather's nice, I still can't shake those anxieties about the slim chance that someone might be awake, and they might glance out their window, and see me. And under those conditions, it'd be even worse, because swinging around a sword at night is generally suspicious, and doing so naked is even more alarming and questionable.
At any rate, I thought about finding something special to wear, that would let me blend in with the shadows better, giving me more confidence to get out there and practice. You know, something vaguely ninja-like. Skin-tight, black, covering the arms and legs. If it helps me get out there, it'd be great, but I don't know how great I feel about ordering a unitard from some dance company. But I don't want some expensive, pop culture ninja get-up, either. Just something simple and effective.
Anyway, just some things I've been thinking about.
14 February, 2008
College Memories (2)
Initiation/Orientation
I remember sitting in the van, with everything packed up, driving out, up the street, away from the house I had lived in for 12 years or so, heading toward the interstate, unimaginably excited about the journey I was embarking on. My dad was at the wheel. We were listening to RRK, and whether by fate or irony, the song Point Of Know Return by Kansas played. I knew that I was making a huge step in my life, and that from here there'd be no turning back.
We listened to Neil Young's Decade on the trip up. I saw visions of demons and angels in my head, during the instrumental portions of Cowgirl In The Sand. When we arrived in Lewisburg, it was getting late. We checked into the hotel we were staying at overnight, before the big day, and then tried to drive in to get a glimpse of the campus. We made it to Market St., and when my dad asked the guy at La Casa De Pizza where the campus was, he said it was just another block or two in that direction. We were confused, as we didn't know the area too well, but we got some pizza and took it back to the hotel. By this time, it was full-on dark. I remember eating that pizza in the hotel room, watching some Conan The Barbarian movie on television for a little bit, then listening to the radio on my portable system, trying to find which stations were good in this town, before finally getting to sleep.
In the morning, I giddily prepared myself, and we headed towards campus. Our car was directed to the building I was to be living in - Larison Hall. As we arrived, and stopped the car in front of the building, we were immediately absorbed by a whirlwind of volunteer assistants who quite efficiently whisked all my luggage away and up to my room. I and my dad were informed that this was the chance for me to go in, get my room key from my RA, and check out my room - without my dad's assistance, a first chance at independence. We eventually met back at my room, and started to unpack some of the more important things.
I finally got to meet my would-be roommate, Brent. Ironically, he was from California, which is where my then-girlfriend had moved to attend college. He was a great guy, very friendly, although we weren't really the best match, since he was a total party guy/social butterfly. But for what it could have been, it was a pretty positive experience since I had never faced the prospect of living in close quarters with a stranger before.
I guess there were some events and things, but it came to a point where my dad was anxious to start the long trip home, and where I needed to start getting used to living on my own, away from parental guidance and protection. We parted ways in the middle of a thronging crowd assembled for some activities fair type gathering on the lawn next to the chapel, and I remember it being an incredibly bittersweet moment, filled simultaneously with fear and excitement, sadness, and vigor.
There was about a week of freshman orientation before actual classes began, where we could get used to living on campus, where to get food, become acquainted with our hall mates, attend supposedly mandatory (ha!) meetings about adapting to college life, and stuff like that. Basically, it was a lot like some kind of camp, except that we were living in buildings and not tents or huts. There were some incredibly lame festivities, where we were held captive on the field and forced to play embarrassing games with the rest of the freshman class, which really lowered my appreciation for the whole orientation program.
My hall had some pretty cool people. Of the two guys right across the hall from my room, one of them was from Pittsburgh, which was pretty cool. He was kind of a rough-and-tumble sporty type, though. Once, we got in trouble for playing the same song from each of our rooms, and adjusting the volume so that you could get a perfect equal balance from both sides by standing right in the middle of the hall between the two rooms. That was awesome. Down the hall, in the triple, there was "rock star Mike" (the Asian and the Mike that I was friends with in college would find irony in the fact that this particular Mike was Asian - and a guitarist! Premonitions?), who was a talented guitarist, and Pedro, another beginning guitarist like myself. Interestingly, we had three Laurens on our hall, and two Kates of some form. There was also a fascinating individual by the name of Whitney, who I got to know a little better later on (he spent a year backpacking in Europe, before entering college!). He started out studying Japanese right away, and though I had plans to take Japanese too as soon as I got the chance, he once told me never to take it because it was so challenging!
During one of the early festivities on campus, though it may have been after classes had started, there was a fleeting experience that burned a lasting image in my mind. I was walking through a crowd on the fields and walkways outside the upper entrance of the LC, tons of people hanging out and having a good time. Maybe there were some crafts, maybe there was some food being served. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. Anyhow, and this image may have been idealized by my emotional reaction, but I recall seeing a beautiful girl in the grass, barefoot, with flowing blonde hair. It sparked in me a visceral connection to everything I loved about the idealism of the love and peace hippie generation, and though I didn't make any kind of specific connection to the girl at the time, I took it as a symbol of how beautiful and amazing this world was that I was just entering into! The possibilities were endless!
During those early days, I also met another person that would have a hand in shaping my experience of college life. I believe I first met Paul on the bench outside our advisor's office, waiting for our very first individual meetings with him. Paul was clearly much higher up on the social ladder than I, but we shared an interest in physics and classic rock music, as well as a passion for playing the guitar, so I like to think we were able to have a pretty meaningful acquaintanceship. In addition to my intense fandom of the band he later played in on and around campus, by his connection I was introduced to a lot of scenes that I never would have experienced otherwise. Not to say that all of those scenes were necessarily scenes that I wanted to be a part of, but even so, I'm grateful for getting to see all different sides of life, even if just for comparison.
One of the major developments of that first week of living on campus was the switch from rooming in a double to rooming in a single. My roommate Brent became friends with another guy a few doors down, who also came from California, and who lived in a single. Turns out this other guy was having doubts about attending Bucknell, and before the week was out, he arranged to withdraw and transfer to UCLA. Lucky for me, Brent was the first person to act on the vacancy. He moved into the single down the hall, leaving me in my room all to myself! Some people warned that the administration would find someone else to squeeze into my room in Brent's place, but no such thing ever happened. Besides, that room was pretty cramped for two people, anyway. But it was just right for one. The extra special bonus was that, since it was outfitted as a double, I got twice the furniture! So I had an extra set of shelves, twice the closet space, one desk for school work and one desk for my computer, and a double bed! It was fantastic! Truly a dream come true! I lofted both the beds, so as not to overcrowd the space in the room, and put my computer desk in the cave underneath. It was amazing! Shangri-La!!
I remember sitting in the van, with everything packed up, driving out, up the street, away from the house I had lived in for 12 years or so, heading toward the interstate, unimaginably excited about the journey I was embarking on. My dad was at the wheel. We were listening to RRK, and whether by fate or irony, the song Point Of Know Return by Kansas played. I knew that I was making a huge step in my life, and that from here there'd be no turning back.
We listened to Neil Young's Decade on the trip up. I saw visions of demons and angels in my head, during the instrumental portions of Cowgirl In The Sand. When we arrived in Lewisburg, it was getting late. We checked into the hotel we were staying at overnight, before the big day, and then tried to drive in to get a glimpse of the campus. We made it to Market St., and when my dad asked the guy at La Casa De Pizza where the campus was, he said it was just another block or two in that direction. We were confused, as we didn't know the area too well, but we got some pizza and took it back to the hotel. By this time, it was full-on dark. I remember eating that pizza in the hotel room, watching some Conan The Barbarian movie on television for a little bit, then listening to the radio on my portable system, trying to find which stations were good in this town, before finally getting to sleep.
In the morning, I giddily prepared myself, and we headed towards campus. Our car was directed to the building I was to be living in - Larison Hall. As we arrived, and stopped the car in front of the building, we were immediately absorbed by a whirlwind of volunteer assistants who quite efficiently whisked all my luggage away and up to my room. I and my dad were informed that this was the chance for me to go in, get my room key from my RA, and check out my room - without my dad's assistance, a first chance at independence. We eventually met back at my room, and started to unpack some of the more important things.
I finally got to meet my would-be roommate, Brent. Ironically, he was from California, which is where my then-girlfriend had moved to attend college. He was a great guy, very friendly, although we weren't really the best match, since he was a total party guy/social butterfly. But for what it could have been, it was a pretty positive experience since I had never faced the prospect of living in close quarters with a stranger before.
I guess there were some events and things, but it came to a point where my dad was anxious to start the long trip home, and where I needed to start getting used to living on my own, away from parental guidance and protection. We parted ways in the middle of a thronging crowd assembled for some activities fair type gathering on the lawn next to the chapel, and I remember it being an incredibly bittersweet moment, filled simultaneously with fear and excitement, sadness, and vigor.
There was about a week of freshman orientation before actual classes began, where we could get used to living on campus, where to get food, become acquainted with our hall mates, attend supposedly mandatory (ha!) meetings about adapting to college life, and stuff like that. Basically, it was a lot like some kind of camp, except that we were living in buildings and not tents or huts. There were some incredibly lame festivities, where we were held captive on the field and forced to play embarrassing games with the rest of the freshman class, which really lowered my appreciation for the whole orientation program.
My hall had some pretty cool people. Of the two guys right across the hall from my room, one of them was from Pittsburgh, which was pretty cool. He was kind of a rough-and-tumble sporty type, though. Once, we got in trouble for playing the same song from each of our rooms, and adjusting the volume so that you could get a perfect equal balance from both sides by standing right in the middle of the hall between the two rooms. That was awesome. Down the hall, in the triple, there was "rock star Mike" (the Asian and the Mike that I was friends with in college would find irony in the fact that this particular Mike was Asian - and a guitarist! Premonitions?), who was a talented guitarist, and Pedro, another beginning guitarist like myself. Interestingly, we had three Laurens on our hall, and two Kates of some form. There was also a fascinating individual by the name of Whitney, who I got to know a little better later on (he spent a year backpacking in Europe, before entering college!). He started out studying Japanese right away, and though I had plans to take Japanese too as soon as I got the chance, he once told me never to take it because it was so challenging!
During one of the early festivities on campus, though it may have been after classes had started, there was a fleeting experience that burned a lasting image in my mind. I was walking through a crowd on the fields and walkways outside the upper entrance of the LC, tons of people hanging out and having a good time. Maybe there were some crafts, maybe there was some food being served. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. Anyhow, and this image may have been idealized by my emotional reaction, but I recall seeing a beautiful girl in the grass, barefoot, with flowing blonde hair. It sparked in me a visceral connection to everything I loved about the idealism of the love and peace hippie generation, and though I didn't make any kind of specific connection to the girl at the time, I took it as a symbol of how beautiful and amazing this world was that I was just entering into! The possibilities were endless!
During those early days, I also met another person that would have a hand in shaping my experience of college life. I believe I first met Paul on the bench outside our advisor's office, waiting for our very first individual meetings with him. Paul was clearly much higher up on the social ladder than I, but we shared an interest in physics and classic rock music, as well as a passion for playing the guitar, so I like to think we were able to have a pretty meaningful acquaintanceship. In addition to my intense fandom of the band he later played in on and around campus, by his connection I was introduced to a lot of scenes that I never would have experienced otherwise. Not to say that all of those scenes were necessarily scenes that I wanted to be a part of, but even so, I'm grateful for getting to see all different sides of life, even if just for comparison.
One of the major developments of that first week of living on campus was the switch from rooming in a double to rooming in a single. My roommate Brent became friends with another guy a few doors down, who also came from California, and who lived in a single. Turns out this other guy was having doubts about attending Bucknell, and before the week was out, he arranged to withdraw and transfer to UCLA. Lucky for me, Brent was the first person to act on the vacancy. He moved into the single down the hall, leaving me in my room all to myself! Some people warned that the administration would find someone else to squeeze into my room in Brent's place, but no such thing ever happened. Besides, that room was pretty cramped for two people, anyway. But it was just right for one. The extra special bonus was that, since it was outfitted as a double, I got twice the furniture! So I had an extra set of shelves, twice the closet space, one desk for school work and one desk for my computer, and a double bed! It was fantastic! Truly a dream come true! I lofted both the beds, so as not to overcrowd the space in the room, and put my computer desk in the cave underneath. It was amazing! Shangri-La!!
26 December, 2007
Friends
I've never considered myself that great at making or having friends. So it's pretty surprising when I look back through my life and find out just how many so-called friends I actually had. Although ultimately, I think the important point is the quality of the friendship. Having 'friends' doesn't make you a social person.
Childhood
I don't think I had much in the way of my own friends during my earlier years. I mostly just played with my older brother and tagged along with his friends. I do remember following him around with the neighborhood kids, kind of piggybacking on his playmates. I have vague recollections of a kid from either next door or a few doors down, that we may or may not have watched Barney with, and a kid over the fence at the back of our yard. But my memories of this period are hazy, so I'm not altogether certain.
First Best Friend
Going to school was traumatic for me. I remember crying my brains out the first time my mom dropped me off at pre-school and left. The two teachers tried to console me, but I was inconsolable. I guess it got to a point where I could 'handle' it, but I never really got the hang of mingling with the kids my age. I also have similar memories of some sort of daycare - traumatic memories of being left alone in a savage wilderness of strangers more or less my age.
Considering how I was, I find it absolutely unbelievable that I was able to even make a friend in first grade, let alone such a good one as I did. I remember we took some kind of writing test, possibly on learning the alphabet, or maybe vocabulary, and the teacher had some issue with the way I wrote my answers out. Like, they were sloppy or something, and I remember there was a good reason for it, but it was something I was too embarrassed to admit to, so ultimately, the teacher punished me by making me redo it, and then she made me stay inside for the first 15 minutes of recess or so. I was sitting inside waiting, and the boy in the seat next to me made himself known. I don't remember anything concrete, but we got to talking, and from then on, we became very good friends.
For the next few years, we seemed to hang out a lot, and had a lot of sleepovers at each other's places. I remember every time his mother called up our house to ask if I wanted to sleep over, I had paralyzingly conflicted feelings. I knew it would be fun, and I wanted to go, but I was always so terrified of the idea of being in an unfamiliar house for the whole night, and having to deal with another family's customs, and surviving experiences like using unfamiliar toilets (I actually had a huge problem with admitting that I had to go to the bathroom, and asking to be excused - it was terrible, and became quite embarrassing in at least one instance). So sometimes I would end up chickening out and saying that I just wasn't in the mood. Still, we did have many sleepovers. I even remember one double-sleepover, where he slept over my house one night, and then I went and slept over his house the very next night. That was something.
Most of what we did together, that I remember, consists of either fooling around playing the kind of games that kids play, terrorizing his big sister, or playing video games. And the one video game we played by far the most was Super Mario World. We must have taken to beating that game merely as an appetizer by the end of that period. I remember being uncomfortable around breakfasts, and I guess dinners, too, when those were included in the sleepover. I suppose it was a combination of (fear of) unfamiliar table habits, and unfamiliar (and possibly unappetizing) foods. I mean, what was I supposed to do when I was served something I didn't like? (And I was a *very* picky eater as a kid). I couldn't possibly just say, "I don't like this, can you make something else?" So in those cases, I had to grin and bear it, and just try to be the best and least troublesome houseguest I could be. At least, his mom seemed to genuinely like me.
I know we had a lot of fun in those few short years. I remember we had many good times at the local pool. We were also both in the Cub Scouts, so we typically tented together (and generally helped each other survive) during the annual summer camp. I remember always being kind of scared of summer camp, but I always enjoyed the experience and had mixed feelings about going home by the end of the week. I have memories of lying in the tent at night, just before going to sleep, and we would talk about random stuff through the darkness, until one of us fell asleep. He was always first. I have a good feeling that my childhood fear of being the last person awake originated from these experiences. Of course, the fear of being awake last didn't do a lot to help me fall asleep sooner...
Somewhere around third grade, as students we were given the option to start learning an instrument. I wouldn't have bothered, but my friend wanted to try it, so I agreed that we'd do it together. Turns out his mom ended up having him repeat a grade at that time, so I ended up doing the instrument thing on my own. Since I already agreed to it, I just went through with it, and that's how I started playing violin. The reason my friend repeated a grade had nothing to with academics. We were born in the same year, but while I was born in January, he was born in the following December, so we were actually almost a full year apart. He was closer in age to the students in the grade below us, and his mom felt that he would have a better school life if he was among his age group. At least that's how I understood it. I'm sorry to say that our friendship never recovered from this arrangement. Being in different grades, at that stage, really killed what connection we had. Suddenly we were parts of entirely different groups of kids.
That's not the only factor that tore us apart. I'm not sure of the reasons, but around this time, he just started acting very strangely in a lot of situations. It became gradually worse. It was harder to hang out with him, and the rest of the kids at school began reacting to that. Maybe I was imagining it, but it sort of became a stigma to hang out with him. I'm ashamed to admit it, but later on as I was transitioning from him to some new friends, I invited him to my birthday sleepover, and I was actually embarrassed to admit to the other guys that he was my friend. It eventually got to the point where we didn't even talk to each other anymore; we didn't even acknowledge each other's existence when we passed in the halls at school anymore. Whatever he was going through, the truth remains that after not having anything to do with him for a few years, in high school, he re-emerged in my consciousness, though only marginally, as he was well-known around the school as something of a queen, with a reputation embodied by the song "I Get Around". I never spoke to him or anything; we had obviously taken wildly divergent paths in our lives. But thinking back on our friendship, and how he turned out, it does make me wonder...
The Gang
Jumping back to elementary school, I'll introduce the 'new friends' that I mentioned above. This was later, like 4-6th grades, as opposed to 1-3rd. You can't understand how utterly cool it was for me to be part of this gang. And when I say gang, I mean like a group of friends, not a gang gang. Not that our gang was particularly respected or anything among our classmates, but for me, to be part of something social like this was amazing. There were four of us, all guys. We were almost like a superhero team or something. We had nicknames, and we passed each other secret notices, and we had secret meetings to discuss secret plans. Sometimes we'd meet up after school at one of our houses to hang out and play, and sometimes we'd all walk up to the pizza parlor for lunch for a special meeting (getting permission to walk to the pizza parlor for lunch, which was right up the street from the school, was always an immensely exciting privilege). I'm pretty sure we all knew each other from orchestra. This is the group that I associated with during those days, having smaller connections to their other friends, and it was those friendships that got me invited to the two Bar Mitzvah's I ever attended, which was an interesting affair, being so different to anything I was familiar with, having been raised Christian.
The highpoint of my friendship with these guys was the school field trip to Williamsburg in Junior High. The Williamsburg trip was probably the first time since scout camp that I had a chance to kind of live among peers for a few days, without parents. We stayed in a hotel, four people to a room, and we mostly stuck together while touring Williamsburg. Being that awkward-but-exciting Junior High period of life, this was the first time I really had any sort of sense of 'letting go' with friends and just having a good time. We were fooling around in the hotel room, and I got locked out for about a minute, just for fun. Unfortunately, the chaperone down the hall, watching to make sure all the kids stayed in their rooms and behaved, spotted me, and started coming in my direction by the time I was rushing back into the room. I told the other guys that the chaperone was coming, and we all freaked out, and I tried to hide, because I knew she was gonna want to have a word with me! I hid in the other room, I think I may have even crawled under the bed, and the chaperone came and knocked on the door, and she totally bitched us out. Then she left, and we all had a hell of a time making fun of her, acting like she was a fanged monster or something, considering her insufferable temper.
I also remember sleeping on the floor of the hotel room with a single pillow and no blankets. There were two beds and a foldout couch. I wasn't particularly keen on the idea of sharing, so I ended up on the floor. It was a miserable sleep, but you gotta take the bad with the good. For the rest of the trip, I made a big deal about calling the hotel the Un-Quality Suites.
After the relatively boring Williamsburg stuff, we all got to spend a day at Busch Gardens, which was a blast. At this point, I was still terrified of roller coasters, and of our group, only one other among us was also not a roller coaster rider. He was actually the one of the gang that I was closest with, and maybe that has something to do with the fact that we shared our fear of roller coasters by spending that day riding the weaker rides together. It was still a good time. I remember actually wanting to meet up with another friend that day, though. It was someone I was just getting to know, and he had said something about hanging out at Busch Gardens, but I never did find him that day. Oh well. We still became friends for a brief period, as I started to drift away from the gang.
I think the primary reason for my drifting away from the gang was the fact that I finally quit orchestra to take computer programming in 8th grade. I had been looking forward to taking that class, and as fate would have it, it was one or the other - orchestra or computer programming - that's how the schedule was set up. So I had no choice but to quit orchestra. Granted, I had been looking for an excuse to quit orchestra for awhile, so I wasn't too shaken up about it. I just wasn't any good. I really enjoyed playing the violin, but only when I could actually play something right. And I absolutely hated practicing, so I was hardly ever able to play anything right. So it was frustrating, and extremely embarrassing during tests - we had to play a passage alone, while the entire orchestra sat in silence, listening. And then we were graded on how well we played. I remember taking a re-test once, and the orchestra teacher/conductor remarked at how much better I was playing. I chocked it up to a combination of more privacy during examination (re-tests were done more or less individually, just outside the room, while everyone else was practicing or working on something else) and actually having spent some time practicing, which I hadn't gotten around to before the first testing. That was probably the first class where I really struggled and had to make an effort just to stay in the game.
(As a side note, since I'm talking about orchestra, there's a connection here to the smart girl I mentioned in my 'Girls' entry, which I forgot to discuss there. Not only was she my math rival, but she was also my violin 'rival'. Although, we were pretty close to equal in mathematical skills. I remember testing for placement in the orchestra (like first chair, second chair, etc.), and for that we'd each go in to the teacher/conductor's private office to play a piece so he could judge our abilities against those of our peers. I remember that people were saying that either I or the smart girl had nailed first chair, simply for the reason that we were the only two people that left the office smiling (obviously a sign of confidence at our playing, right?). Well, for the smart girl it was true, since she unsurprisingly got first chair, but for me, I think it was more a matter of thinking "oh god, I'm so incredibly terrible, I can't believe I'm even in this class, this is all a big joke...". Maybe that and the fact that I had (and still have, to a degree) a habit of smiling uncontrollably when people look at me and when I'm submerged in a social environment. Either way, I got last chair (I don't even remember how many there were, but I was dead last). We were seated in pairs within the orchestra so as to balance out our skills. Therefore, as last chair, I got to sit right smack next to first chair, my crush, and we shared sheet music. Great, huh? Not so much. It was completely devaluing to be sitting there, playing terribly, just emphasizing how bad I was and how much better she was. It was torture. If it's any consolation, I think I convinced the rest of the orchestra that I was second chair, my proof being the fact that I was seated right next to first chair. My friends actually seemed to believe it, but in hindsight, they must have known how the system worked, since I'm pretty sure it was the same for violas and cellos as it was for violins, so they must have known I was last chair. Well, if that's true, I guess I respect them for letting me have my little illusion...)
(As another side note relating to my 'Girls' entry, 'The One' happened to also be in this orchestra, playing viola. But I was only casually aware of her during this period.)
Anyhow, there was a point where I was already starting to feel kind of excluded from the gang, even before I specifically moved on. Maybe it was because I spent so much time to myself, and hardly ever talked to people, but I think they thought that I had other friends, or something. Before the Williamsburg trip, the students had to choose who they wanted to room with, in groups of four. Nobody asked me, and I was way too shy to ask anyone myself. I agonized over it up to the last minute, and I still had noone to room with, but the deadline was there, so I managed to get my mom to call one of my friend's moms and ask about it, and they ended up arranging for me to join their group, displacing one of their members who had some other people to room with anyway, and their excuse (which I don't have any reason to disbelieve) was that they thought I had other friends and that I was rooming with those other friends.
Orchestra concerts were always a big deal. You got dressed up, you came to the school in the evening, and you got to show off your skills and play to an audience. It was always exciting, and incredibly nerve-racking. And then there would be the after-period. People would wind down from a good show by hanging out and partying and stuff, I guess. The gang usually went to this one family-type restaurant, and always had great stories to tell about their times there, and the crazy conversations they had. I don't think they ever once invited me. And I don't consider it a malicious action, just the sad nature of our friendship. I guess I was kind of drifting away, and even in the best times, I was so distant that I probably wasn't a major fixture anyway. Ah, well.
Programming
So this new friend (the one I tried unsuccessfully to meet up with at Busch Gardens) was a guy I met in my computer programming class. We had a short friendship, that kind of developed for a bit, then sort of stopped short at one point, for some reason. In the end, I don't think we were 100% compatible. It was probably more of a hang-out-in-class-and-goof-off-while-playing-games-on-the-BBS-since-we-finished-our-program-assignments-so-fast sort of thing. Honestly, I don't even have a lot of specific memories of him, so I'm just gonna have to move on.
The Ukrainian
There was another one-off friend in Junior High. I don't even remember how I met him (probably also from computer programming), but I do know that he was in my French class at one point. I didn't know him for very long, but I feel like he had a profound effect on my life. If I believed in these sorts of things, I might be tempted to believe he was some kind of angel. I mean, even if I didn't entirely want it at that point, he actually made an effort to help me become a better person. And most people just care about themselves, right? And he wasn't too pushy about it, so it's not like his help wasn't welcome.
The thing I remember most about him is that he liked going ice skating, and he got me to join him for the casual skate every Friday night for a period of time. It was pretty cool. I had fun ice skating (I wasn't fantastic about it, but I had taken lessons at a young age, so I could get by), and it was a major experience to actually have somewhere to go out to on a Friday night, you know?
The biggest change he made in my life was forcing me to get over my fear of roller coasters. We went to the local amusement park once with a couple other guys, and he pestered me to ride the big one. I refused, and one of the other guys with us was also afraid of coasters, so I didn't feel too out of place. But he persisted. For me, just standing in line for one of those things, knowing the inevitability of being pushed closer and closer to the thing, then being strapped in and taken for a wild ride with no escape if it got too extreme...it was terrifying. But eventually, he got the other scaredy-cat to ride the coaster, and I gauged his reaction to make my own decision. He had been afraid, like I was afraid, but after riding it, he thought it was great. So I figured, I have to get over this fear, because if I can, I'm sure I'll be able to enjoy riding these things. And that's exactly what happened. I remember, after deciding, I was standing in line and I said "I can't believe I'm doing this". But I was. I rode the coaster, and it was a huge blast. From then on, it took some time to shake off that fear of standing in line, but even then, I was able to ride it out, because I knew that once I got in the seat and the ride started, I'd be having fun.
At the end of the year, during yearbook time, when everyone was filling their pages up with friendly signatures, I was once again in that mode of extreme anxiety, desiring the simple companionship of a few nice words scribbled for posterity, but paralyzed and unable to actually ask anyone to sign my book. And of course, nobody ever seemed to come to me... In French class, I made the desperate move of actually asking my friend to sign my yearbook. As he did, he told me, as if it was something very important, that this was the first thing I had ever asked of him. Like, as if, I had this problem of speaking my mind and making my thoughts and feelings and desires known to other people, that I had some kind of barrier to being who I am and getting what I want. And of course, that is all true. I've never forgotten that comment, or the keen awareness that he had of my condition. I feel like he was the only one that was ever able to see my struggle better than I could see it myself. I wish I had known him longer, so that maybe he could have helped me even more. But I think his disappearance was the result of moving back to the Ukraine.
High School
I think friendships in high school started out relatively sparse. For me, I mean. There was the whole getting used to the system, and the fearing of the upper class bullies, who made themselves particularly intimidating in gym class. Luckily, I don't think I had any serious run-ins with them. In general, I think I was the kind of kid that people thought was cool or interesting, but didn't have any particular desire to seriously befriend. Like, all different kinds of cliques might respect me and say hey, that guy's cool, but none of them would ever actually make any sort of effort to become real friends or anything. It's kind of hard to explain. You'd think that might give me an extra boost of confidence, but it never really did. Because though it might seem that I was 'in' in certain types of circumstances, I was never *actually* 'in'. Although it could have been worse.
There are a lot of people not really worth talking about here. But one person that I became relatively chummy with, was this one kid who sat next to (or near) me in homeroom. We also had some computer programming classes together, but he always resented me for my natural skills. I'd finish my programs early, and he'd be in the lab after school, just catching up. I might have helped him a bit, but I probably spent more time mocking him. That was the great thing about our friendship. We enjoyed casually insulting each other, but I don't think there was ever any honest hatred between us. It was just a refreshingly low-stress arrangement. We spent countless minutes between classes, and in homeroom in the mornings, toward the later years, discussing the merits of rock vs. rap. Neither one of us wanted to budge, but though I've never lightened up to rap, he did eventually start taking an interest in rock. I made a compilation of good rock songs for him once or twice. We also spent a lot of time discussing casual philosophical topics.
He was actually a friend of, and part of the general clique that included, 'The One'. I remember over that winter break, so much happened from the last day of school before break, to the first day after break. Coming back, he mentioned my 'hookup', saying that he thought it was such an unexpected match. He asked me "why her?", and all I could say was that it just felt natural. I found out later that he had unresolved feelings for her.
Anyhow, he was a cool guy, in his own pathetic way. He actually came up to me once and casually mentioned how he had cut himself the night before. And I don't mean accidentally. I really couldn't understand it, and it disappointed me immensely, but that's just how he was. After moving on to college, I may have seen him once or twice - he actually showed up at "the den" once and got to see me perform a couple songs (that was the night I played The Rain Song in an alternate tuning), but that's it. I haven't seen him since then, and I'm not in a hurry to resurrect anything that connects me back to high school. With the exception of 'The One', I made a point after graduation to sever my ties to the school. No old-age high school buddies for me. Even 'The One' broke away from me, despite the commitment we thought we had to one another.
But it doesn't bother me, because I made some really great friends in college. But this entry is already pretty long, so I'll have to talk about them another time. There's still also the issue of my brothers, who have unsurprisingly played a major role in my life. All in due time.
Childhood
I don't think I had much in the way of my own friends during my earlier years. I mostly just played with my older brother and tagged along with his friends. I do remember following him around with the neighborhood kids, kind of piggybacking on his playmates. I have vague recollections of a kid from either next door or a few doors down, that we may or may not have watched Barney with, and a kid over the fence at the back of our yard. But my memories of this period are hazy, so I'm not altogether certain.
First Best Friend
Going to school was traumatic for me. I remember crying my brains out the first time my mom dropped me off at pre-school and left. The two teachers tried to console me, but I was inconsolable. I guess it got to a point where I could 'handle' it, but I never really got the hang of mingling with the kids my age. I also have similar memories of some sort of daycare - traumatic memories of being left alone in a savage wilderness of strangers more or less my age.
Considering how I was, I find it absolutely unbelievable that I was able to even make a friend in first grade, let alone such a good one as I did. I remember we took some kind of writing test, possibly on learning the alphabet, or maybe vocabulary, and the teacher had some issue with the way I wrote my answers out. Like, they were sloppy or something, and I remember there was a good reason for it, but it was something I was too embarrassed to admit to, so ultimately, the teacher punished me by making me redo it, and then she made me stay inside for the first 15 minutes of recess or so. I was sitting inside waiting, and the boy in the seat next to me made himself known. I don't remember anything concrete, but we got to talking, and from then on, we became very good friends.
For the next few years, we seemed to hang out a lot, and had a lot of sleepovers at each other's places. I remember every time his mother called up our house to ask if I wanted to sleep over, I had paralyzingly conflicted feelings. I knew it would be fun, and I wanted to go, but I was always so terrified of the idea of being in an unfamiliar house for the whole night, and having to deal with another family's customs, and surviving experiences like using unfamiliar toilets (I actually had a huge problem with admitting that I had to go to the bathroom, and asking to be excused - it was terrible, and became quite embarrassing in at least one instance). So sometimes I would end up chickening out and saying that I just wasn't in the mood. Still, we did have many sleepovers. I even remember one double-sleepover, where he slept over my house one night, and then I went and slept over his house the very next night. That was something.
Most of what we did together, that I remember, consists of either fooling around playing the kind of games that kids play, terrorizing his big sister, or playing video games. And the one video game we played by far the most was Super Mario World. We must have taken to beating that game merely as an appetizer by the end of that period. I remember being uncomfortable around breakfasts, and I guess dinners, too, when those were included in the sleepover. I suppose it was a combination of (fear of) unfamiliar table habits, and unfamiliar (and possibly unappetizing) foods. I mean, what was I supposed to do when I was served something I didn't like? (And I was a *very* picky eater as a kid). I couldn't possibly just say, "I don't like this, can you make something else?" So in those cases, I had to grin and bear it, and just try to be the best and least troublesome houseguest I could be. At least, his mom seemed to genuinely like me.
I know we had a lot of fun in those few short years. I remember we had many good times at the local pool. We were also both in the Cub Scouts, so we typically tented together (and generally helped each other survive) during the annual summer camp. I remember always being kind of scared of summer camp, but I always enjoyed the experience and had mixed feelings about going home by the end of the week. I have memories of lying in the tent at night, just before going to sleep, and we would talk about random stuff through the darkness, until one of us fell asleep. He was always first. I have a good feeling that my childhood fear of being the last person awake originated from these experiences. Of course, the fear of being awake last didn't do a lot to help me fall asleep sooner...
Somewhere around third grade, as students we were given the option to start learning an instrument. I wouldn't have bothered, but my friend wanted to try it, so I agreed that we'd do it together. Turns out his mom ended up having him repeat a grade at that time, so I ended up doing the instrument thing on my own. Since I already agreed to it, I just went through with it, and that's how I started playing violin. The reason my friend repeated a grade had nothing to with academics. We were born in the same year, but while I was born in January, he was born in the following December, so we were actually almost a full year apart. He was closer in age to the students in the grade below us, and his mom felt that he would have a better school life if he was among his age group. At least that's how I understood it. I'm sorry to say that our friendship never recovered from this arrangement. Being in different grades, at that stage, really killed what connection we had. Suddenly we were parts of entirely different groups of kids.
That's not the only factor that tore us apart. I'm not sure of the reasons, but around this time, he just started acting very strangely in a lot of situations. It became gradually worse. It was harder to hang out with him, and the rest of the kids at school began reacting to that. Maybe I was imagining it, but it sort of became a stigma to hang out with him. I'm ashamed to admit it, but later on as I was transitioning from him to some new friends, I invited him to my birthday sleepover, and I was actually embarrassed to admit to the other guys that he was my friend. It eventually got to the point where we didn't even talk to each other anymore; we didn't even acknowledge each other's existence when we passed in the halls at school anymore. Whatever he was going through, the truth remains that after not having anything to do with him for a few years, in high school, he re-emerged in my consciousness, though only marginally, as he was well-known around the school as something of a queen, with a reputation embodied by the song "I Get Around". I never spoke to him or anything; we had obviously taken wildly divergent paths in our lives. But thinking back on our friendship, and how he turned out, it does make me wonder...
The Gang
Jumping back to elementary school, I'll introduce the 'new friends' that I mentioned above. This was later, like 4-6th grades, as opposed to 1-3rd. You can't understand how utterly cool it was for me to be part of this gang. And when I say gang, I mean like a group of friends, not a gang gang. Not that our gang was particularly respected or anything among our classmates, but for me, to be part of something social like this was amazing. There were four of us, all guys. We were almost like a superhero team or something. We had nicknames, and we passed each other secret notices, and we had secret meetings to discuss secret plans. Sometimes we'd meet up after school at one of our houses to hang out and play, and sometimes we'd all walk up to the pizza parlor for lunch for a special meeting (getting permission to walk to the pizza parlor for lunch, which was right up the street from the school, was always an immensely exciting privilege). I'm pretty sure we all knew each other from orchestra. This is the group that I associated with during those days, having smaller connections to their other friends, and it was those friendships that got me invited to the two Bar Mitzvah's I ever attended, which was an interesting affair, being so different to anything I was familiar with, having been raised Christian.
The highpoint of my friendship with these guys was the school field trip to Williamsburg in Junior High. The Williamsburg trip was probably the first time since scout camp that I had a chance to kind of live among peers for a few days, without parents. We stayed in a hotel, four people to a room, and we mostly stuck together while touring Williamsburg. Being that awkward-but-exciting Junior High period of life, this was the first time I really had any sort of sense of 'letting go' with friends and just having a good time. We were fooling around in the hotel room, and I got locked out for about a minute, just for fun. Unfortunately, the chaperone down the hall, watching to make sure all the kids stayed in their rooms and behaved, spotted me, and started coming in my direction by the time I was rushing back into the room. I told the other guys that the chaperone was coming, and we all freaked out, and I tried to hide, because I knew she was gonna want to have a word with me! I hid in the other room, I think I may have even crawled under the bed, and the chaperone came and knocked on the door, and she totally bitched us out. Then she left, and we all had a hell of a time making fun of her, acting like she was a fanged monster or something, considering her insufferable temper.
I also remember sleeping on the floor of the hotel room with a single pillow and no blankets. There were two beds and a foldout couch. I wasn't particularly keen on the idea of sharing, so I ended up on the floor. It was a miserable sleep, but you gotta take the bad with the good. For the rest of the trip, I made a big deal about calling the hotel the Un-Quality Suites.
After the relatively boring Williamsburg stuff, we all got to spend a day at Busch Gardens, which was a blast. At this point, I was still terrified of roller coasters, and of our group, only one other among us was also not a roller coaster rider. He was actually the one of the gang that I was closest with, and maybe that has something to do with the fact that we shared our fear of roller coasters by spending that day riding the weaker rides together. It was still a good time. I remember actually wanting to meet up with another friend that day, though. It was someone I was just getting to know, and he had said something about hanging out at Busch Gardens, but I never did find him that day. Oh well. We still became friends for a brief period, as I started to drift away from the gang.
I think the primary reason for my drifting away from the gang was the fact that I finally quit orchestra to take computer programming in 8th grade. I had been looking forward to taking that class, and as fate would have it, it was one or the other - orchestra or computer programming - that's how the schedule was set up. So I had no choice but to quit orchestra. Granted, I had been looking for an excuse to quit orchestra for awhile, so I wasn't too shaken up about it. I just wasn't any good. I really enjoyed playing the violin, but only when I could actually play something right. And I absolutely hated practicing, so I was hardly ever able to play anything right. So it was frustrating, and extremely embarrassing during tests - we had to play a passage alone, while the entire orchestra sat in silence, listening. And then we were graded on how well we played. I remember taking a re-test once, and the orchestra teacher/conductor remarked at how much better I was playing. I chocked it up to a combination of more privacy during examination (re-tests were done more or less individually, just outside the room, while everyone else was practicing or working on something else) and actually having spent some time practicing, which I hadn't gotten around to before the first testing. That was probably the first class where I really struggled and had to make an effort just to stay in the game.
(As a side note, since I'm talking about orchestra, there's a connection here to the smart girl I mentioned in my 'Girls' entry, which I forgot to discuss there. Not only was she my math rival, but she was also my violin 'rival'. Although, we were pretty close to equal in mathematical skills. I remember testing for placement in the orchestra (like first chair, second chair, etc.), and for that we'd each go in to the teacher/conductor's private office to play a piece so he could judge our abilities against those of our peers. I remember that people were saying that either I or the smart girl had nailed first chair, simply for the reason that we were the only two people that left the office smiling (obviously a sign of confidence at our playing, right?). Well, for the smart girl it was true, since she unsurprisingly got first chair, but for me, I think it was more a matter of thinking "oh god, I'm so incredibly terrible, I can't believe I'm even in this class, this is all a big joke...". Maybe that and the fact that I had (and still have, to a degree) a habit of smiling uncontrollably when people look at me and when I'm submerged in a social environment. Either way, I got last chair (I don't even remember how many there were, but I was dead last). We were seated in pairs within the orchestra so as to balance out our skills. Therefore, as last chair, I got to sit right smack next to first chair, my crush, and we shared sheet music. Great, huh? Not so much. It was completely devaluing to be sitting there, playing terribly, just emphasizing how bad I was and how much better she was. It was torture. If it's any consolation, I think I convinced the rest of the orchestra that I was second chair, my proof being the fact that I was seated right next to first chair. My friends actually seemed to believe it, but in hindsight, they must have known how the system worked, since I'm pretty sure it was the same for violas and cellos as it was for violins, so they must have known I was last chair. Well, if that's true, I guess I respect them for letting me have my little illusion...)
(As another side note relating to my 'Girls' entry, 'The One' happened to also be in this orchestra, playing viola. But I was only casually aware of her during this period.)
Anyhow, there was a point where I was already starting to feel kind of excluded from the gang, even before I specifically moved on. Maybe it was because I spent so much time to myself, and hardly ever talked to people, but I think they thought that I had other friends, or something. Before the Williamsburg trip, the students had to choose who they wanted to room with, in groups of four. Nobody asked me, and I was way too shy to ask anyone myself. I agonized over it up to the last minute, and I still had noone to room with, but the deadline was there, so I managed to get my mom to call one of my friend's moms and ask about it, and they ended up arranging for me to join their group, displacing one of their members who had some other people to room with anyway, and their excuse (which I don't have any reason to disbelieve) was that they thought I had other friends and that I was rooming with those other friends.
Orchestra concerts were always a big deal. You got dressed up, you came to the school in the evening, and you got to show off your skills and play to an audience. It was always exciting, and incredibly nerve-racking. And then there would be the after-period. People would wind down from a good show by hanging out and partying and stuff, I guess. The gang usually went to this one family-type restaurant, and always had great stories to tell about their times there, and the crazy conversations they had. I don't think they ever once invited me. And I don't consider it a malicious action, just the sad nature of our friendship. I guess I was kind of drifting away, and even in the best times, I was so distant that I probably wasn't a major fixture anyway. Ah, well.
Programming
So this new friend (the one I tried unsuccessfully to meet up with at Busch Gardens) was a guy I met in my computer programming class. We had a short friendship, that kind of developed for a bit, then sort of stopped short at one point, for some reason. In the end, I don't think we were 100% compatible. It was probably more of a hang-out-in-class-and-goof-off-while-playing-games-on-the-BBS-since-we-finished-our-program-assignments-so-fast sort of thing. Honestly, I don't even have a lot of specific memories of him, so I'm just gonna have to move on.
The Ukrainian
There was another one-off friend in Junior High. I don't even remember how I met him (probably also from computer programming), but I do know that he was in my French class at one point. I didn't know him for very long, but I feel like he had a profound effect on my life. If I believed in these sorts of things, I might be tempted to believe he was some kind of angel. I mean, even if I didn't entirely want it at that point, he actually made an effort to help me become a better person. And most people just care about themselves, right? And he wasn't too pushy about it, so it's not like his help wasn't welcome.
The thing I remember most about him is that he liked going ice skating, and he got me to join him for the casual skate every Friday night for a period of time. It was pretty cool. I had fun ice skating (I wasn't fantastic about it, but I had taken lessons at a young age, so I could get by), and it was a major experience to actually have somewhere to go out to on a Friday night, you know?
The biggest change he made in my life was forcing me to get over my fear of roller coasters. We went to the local amusement park once with a couple other guys, and he pestered me to ride the big one. I refused, and one of the other guys with us was also afraid of coasters, so I didn't feel too out of place. But he persisted. For me, just standing in line for one of those things, knowing the inevitability of being pushed closer and closer to the thing, then being strapped in and taken for a wild ride with no escape if it got too extreme...it was terrifying. But eventually, he got the other scaredy-cat to ride the coaster, and I gauged his reaction to make my own decision. He had been afraid, like I was afraid, but after riding it, he thought it was great. So I figured, I have to get over this fear, because if I can, I'm sure I'll be able to enjoy riding these things. And that's exactly what happened. I remember, after deciding, I was standing in line and I said "I can't believe I'm doing this". But I was. I rode the coaster, and it was a huge blast. From then on, it took some time to shake off that fear of standing in line, but even then, I was able to ride it out, because I knew that once I got in the seat and the ride started, I'd be having fun.
At the end of the year, during yearbook time, when everyone was filling their pages up with friendly signatures, I was once again in that mode of extreme anxiety, desiring the simple companionship of a few nice words scribbled for posterity, but paralyzed and unable to actually ask anyone to sign my book. And of course, nobody ever seemed to come to me... In French class, I made the desperate move of actually asking my friend to sign my yearbook. As he did, he told me, as if it was something very important, that this was the first thing I had ever asked of him. Like, as if, I had this problem of speaking my mind and making my thoughts and feelings and desires known to other people, that I had some kind of barrier to being who I am and getting what I want. And of course, that is all true. I've never forgotten that comment, or the keen awareness that he had of my condition. I feel like he was the only one that was ever able to see my struggle better than I could see it myself. I wish I had known him longer, so that maybe he could have helped me even more. But I think his disappearance was the result of moving back to the Ukraine.
High School
I think friendships in high school started out relatively sparse. For me, I mean. There was the whole getting used to the system, and the fearing of the upper class bullies, who made themselves particularly intimidating in gym class. Luckily, I don't think I had any serious run-ins with them. In general, I think I was the kind of kid that people thought was cool or interesting, but didn't have any particular desire to seriously befriend. Like, all different kinds of cliques might respect me and say hey, that guy's cool, but none of them would ever actually make any sort of effort to become real friends or anything. It's kind of hard to explain. You'd think that might give me an extra boost of confidence, but it never really did. Because though it might seem that I was 'in' in certain types of circumstances, I was never *actually* 'in'. Although it could have been worse.
There are a lot of people not really worth talking about here. But one person that I became relatively chummy with, was this one kid who sat next to (or near) me in homeroom. We also had some computer programming classes together, but he always resented me for my natural skills. I'd finish my programs early, and he'd be in the lab after school, just catching up. I might have helped him a bit, but I probably spent more time mocking him. That was the great thing about our friendship. We enjoyed casually insulting each other, but I don't think there was ever any honest hatred between us. It was just a refreshingly low-stress arrangement. We spent countless minutes between classes, and in homeroom in the mornings, toward the later years, discussing the merits of rock vs. rap. Neither one of us wanted to budge, but though I've never lightened up to rap, he did eventually start taking an interest in rock. I made a compilation of good rock songs for him once or twice. We also spent a lot of time discussing casual philosophical topics.
He was actually a friend of, and part of the general clique that included, 'The One'. I remember over that winter break, so much happened from the last day of school before break, to the first day after break. Coming back, he mentioned my 'hookup', saying that he thought it was such an unexpected match. He asked me "why her?", and all I could say was that it just felt natural. I found out later that he had unresolved feelings for her.
Anyhow, he was a cool guy, in his own pathetic way. He actually came up to me once and casually mentioned how he had cut himself the night before. And I don't mean accidentally. I really couldn't understand it, and it disappointed me immensely, but that's just how he was. After moving on to college, I may have seen him once or twice - he actually showed up at "the den" once and got to see me perform a couple songs (that was the night I played The Rain Song in an alternate tuning), but that's it. I haven't seen him since then, and I'm not in a hurry to resurrect anything that connects me back to high school. With the exception of 'The One', I made a point after graduation to sever my ties to the school. No old-age high school buddies for me. Even 'The One' broke away from me, despite the commitment we thought we had to one another.
But it doesn't bother me, because I made some really great friends in college. But this entry is already pretty long, so I'll have to talk about them another time. There's still also the issue of my brothers, who have unsurprisingly played a major role in my life. All in due time.
21 December, 2007
A Little Background (or How I Failed At Life)
I'm starting this blog because my two friends from college, the only friends that still play a significant role in my life (beside my brother), each started one recently, detailing their lives as working men. Even though I don't work, I thought maybe I could share some of my own experiences, to give a whole 'nother perspective on the working world.
So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?
High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).
So what happened?
I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...
Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.
My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.
Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.
"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."
One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.
So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.
And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...
If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.
So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?
High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).
So what happened?
I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...
Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.
My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.
Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.
"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."
One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.
So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.
And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...
If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.
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