"Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain." -William Faulkner
This will be my last post. Though I had entered into this blog with good intentions, through it have have hurt someone dear to me. From now on I will keep my therapeutic writings to myself. I apologize to anyone who has been bothered, annoyed, or hurt. Finally I thank those 3 people who actually took the time to read this. Fare thee well.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Borrowed Chords
"Without music, life would be a mistake" -Friedrick Nietzsche
If I manage to keep up this routine of writing, and anyone makes the effort to read more than one post they will quickly find that I temper all of my sentimentality with a double dose of cynicism. A friend once told me that it came with the territory of being a writer. That is was the result of being an idealist surviving in a depressing world. We laughed about it and then I continued to read my copy of Jude the Obscure. I thought of this today after getting into an argument with a co-worker.
The argument started with another co-worker punishing us with a putrid barrage of rap lyrics, and me making the comment to my friend that I was glad I had good taste in music. Being the idiot that my friend is, he insisted that there was no such thing as 'bad' music and that it was all about taste. I resisted the urge to punch him in the throat and instead set into the task of explaining how he was wrong. While I agreed that taste influences an individual's opinion of music, there were set ways to judge the quality of music based on lyrical and musical merit.
But there was another quality of good music that I neglected to bring up. Mostly because it could have been used to weaken my argument, but partially because I didn't feel like beating my head against the wall trying to get the point across to him any longer. The emotion that music evokes within the listener is just as important if not more important than the quality of the music itself. This finally brings me to the point of this particular anecdote. How is it that the right song at the right time can have such a profound emotional effect on us?
I didn't begin really listening to music until I graduated high school. My memories before then are dull and I find I often have a difficult time remembering what I was feeling during even the most important moments. But then my music library began to grow and certain songs tied themselves to memories. It was not something I did intentionally. It just happened that I would hear the right song and suddenly all the emotions that I was feeling. All the sorrow, despair, love, joy, hate, and pain would be forever connected to that song. Some songs that I once loved were deleted because of the pain they would bring back to the surface, while other songs that once annoyed me were listened to over and over again.
That brings me to tonight. Sitting alone listening to my iTunes as it conjures up memory after memory. Some make me want to change the world, while others remind me only of how empty I have been feeling lately. I do not know why or how music has this sort of power over me, and right now I do not care. There is a beauty to being able to live the past, and despite the dangers of getting lost it is something that I feel everyone must do now and then. Memories are the only way I know of defining who I am. They tell me where I came from, and how I got to where I am. Without them we have no way of knowing ourselves. We have no way of learning from our past, and without that ability we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes over again. And that is what this blog is about. Learning from mistakes, so that I may build a better future.
If I manage to keep up this routine of writing, and anyone makes the effort to read more than one post they will quickly find that I temper all of my sentimentality with a double dose of cynicism. A friend once told me that it came with the territory of being a writer. That is was the result of being an idealist surviving in a depressing world. We laughed about it and then I continued to read my copy of Jude the Obscure. I thought of this today after getting into an argument with a co-worker.
The argument started with another co-worker punishing us with a putrid barrage of rap lyrics, and me making the comment to my friend that I was glad I had good taste in music. Being the idiot that my friend is, he insisted that there was no such thing as 'bad' music and that it was all about taste. I resisted the urge to punch him in the throat and instead set into the task of explaining how he was wrong. While I agreed that taste influences an individual's opinion of music, there were set ways to judge the quality of music based on lyrical and musical merit.
But there was another quality of good music that I neglected to bring up. Mostly because it could have been used to weaken my argument, but partially because I didn't feel like beating my head against the wall trying to get the point across to him any longer. The emotion that music evokes within the listener is just as important if not more important than the quality of the music itself. This finally brings me to the point of this particular anecdote. How is it that the right song at the right time can have such a profound emotional effect on us?
I didn't begin really listening to music until I graduated high school. My memories before then are dull and I find I often have a difficult time remembering what I was feeling during even the most important moments. But then my music library began to grow and certain songs tied themselves to memories. It was not something I did intentionally. It just happened that I would hear the right song and suddenly all the emotions that I was feeling. All the sorrow, despair, love, joy, hate, and pain would be forever connected to that song. Some songs that I once loved were deleted because of the pain they would bring back to the surface, while other songs that once annoyed me were listened to over and over again.
That brings me to tonight. Sitting alone listening to my iTunes as it conjures up memory after memory. Some make me want to change the world, while others remind me only of how empty I have been feeling lately. I do not know why or how music has this sort of power over me, and right now I do not care. There is a beauty to being able to live the past, and despite the dangers of getting lost it is something that I feel everyone must do now and then. Memories are the only way I know of defining who I am. They tell me where I came from, and how I got to where I am. Without them we have no way of knowing ourselves. We have no way of learning from our past, and without that ability we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes over again. And that is what this blog is about. Learning from mistakes, so that I may build a better future.
White Knights and Revelations
"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." -F. Scott Fitzgerald
As far back as I can remember I have always loved the idea of the Hero. It is likely the reason I first got hooked on the fantasy, why I began playing role playing games, and why at the age of 20 I began collecting comic books and thinking about writing my own graphic novel. But I've always been very picky about my heroes. I have never liked characters like Superman who had no real weakness, because part of being a hero, to me, has been the sacrifice that one must take to stand up when needed. If the character has no reason to fear, has nothing to lose, then can their actions really be seen as heroic? I don't believe so.
I had always assumed that my obsession with heroes is what led me to lead a life of putting the needs of others ahead of myself. I had believed that my natural empathy was a gift which was best put to work healing the wounds of those that I cared about. And it is likely why every relationship I have ever been it has been with a woman who was in some way "damaged." I had taken it upon myself to protect and cure my loved ones at any cost and on at least one occasion had stayed in relationships long beyond the self-destructive point in hopes that my sacrifice would pay off in the end.
Imagine my surprise when I heard the phrase White Knight Syndrome, and out of curiosity did a Google search to figure out what it was. "Real-life white knights are men and women who enter into romantic relationships with damaged and vulnerable partners, hoping that love will transform their partner's behavior or lives; [...] Although the white knight's heroic actions may take the form of slaying her partner's metaphorical dragons, her real goal, which is often beyond her awareness, involves slaying the dragons from her own past." (The White Knight Syndrome: Rescuing Yourself from Your Need to Rescue Others, By Mary C. Lamia, Ph.D. and Marilyn J. Krieger, Ph.D.) I spent the next hour reading everything I could and in the end I was forced to the realization that I saw myself as a White Knight.
I did a great deal of self evaluation and I believe I have discovered the roots of my need to save others. And I have taken steps to forgive myself and let go of my guilt. But the question that now bothers me is how much of my life has been influenced by this "condition"? What sort of person would I have been if I hadn't made myself a White Knight, and perhaps most important, what do I do now with that part of me? I believe that my actions, though ultimately self destructive in the past, have helped others. The articles I read told me that I must learn to rescue myself first before I can find a healthy relationship. But what happens to the hero in me? By putting my own needs first I gain emotional and mental health. But what do I lose? I don't know the answer to any of these questions, and I don't know that I am willing to rescue myself if it means giving up my hero.
Is that then what it really means to be a hero, giving up happiness to perform a greater good? If that is the case then it is no wonder that there are so few heroes today.
As far back as I can remember I have always loved the idea of the Hero. It is likely the reason I first got hooked on the fantasy, why I began playing role playing games, and why at the age of 20 I began collecting comic books and thinking about writing my own graphic novel. But I've always been very picky about my heroes. I have never liked characters like Superman who had no real weakness, because part of being a hero, to me, has been the sacrifice that one must take to stand up when needed. If the character has no reason to fear, has nothing to lose, then can their actions really be seen as heroic? I don't believe so.
I had always assumed that my obsession with heroes is what led me to lead a life of putting the needs of others ahead of myself. I had believed that my natural empathy was a gift which was best put to work healing the wounds of those that I cared about. And it is likely why every relationship I have ever been it has been with a woman who was in some way "damaged." I had taken it upon myself to protect and cure my loved ones at any cost and on at least one occasion had stayed in relationships long beyond the self-destructive point in hopes that my sacrifice would pay off in the end.
Imagine my surprise when I heard the phrase White Knight Syndrome, and out of curiosity did a Google search to figure out what it was. "Real-life white knights are men and women who enter into romantic relationships with damaged and vulnerable partners, hoping that love will transform their partner's behavior or lives; [...] Although the white knight's heroic actions may take the form of slaying her partner's metaphorical dragons, her real goal, which is often beyond her awareness, involves slaying the dragons from her own past." (The White Knight Syndrome: Rescuing Yourself from Your Need to Rescue Others, By Mary C. Lamia, Ph.D. and Marilyn J. Krieger, Ph.D.) I spent the next hour reading everything I could and in the end I was forced to the realization that I saw myself as a White Knight.
I did a great deal of self evaluation and I believe I have discovered the roots of my need to save others. And I have taken steps to forgive myself and let go of my guilt. But the question that now bothers me is how much of my life has been influenced by this "condition"? What sort of person would I have been if I hadn't made myself a White Knight, and perhaps most important, what do I do now with that part of me? I believe that my actions, though ultimately self destructive in the past, have helped others. The articles I read told me that I must learn to rescue myself first before I can find a healthy relationship. But what happens to the hero in me? By putting my own needs first I gain emotional and mental health. But what do I lose? I don't know the answer to any of these questions, and I don't know that I am willing to rescue myself if it means giving up my hero.
Is that then what it really means to be a hero, giving up happiness to perform a greater good? If that is the case then it is no wonder that there are so few heroes today.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
This is how we begin
"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself." -Leo Tolstoy
Ever since I was a child I had always believed that I was special in someway. My parents were fond of telling the stories about how I always put the needs of others ahead of myself. How as a very young child I would go into the kitchen, and steal three cookies. One for myself. Two for my older brother. And perhaps I was different from most children. In a world that trains us from an early age to take what we need for ourselves, where greed is promoted as "competition" and morality is given a back seat for greater freedoms, a child such as that would certainly seem odd. And in the same way such a world certainly seemed odd to me as a child. It is little wonder of course that as I grew up I had a hard time fitting in. As I grew older and began searching for purpose in my life I felt as though I had been chosen for something far greater than anyone around me. I felt that I would someday change the world. I would heal it of the problems which plagued it. Problems which I knew were numerous but at the time could not even begin to comprehend. I am not sure exactly how it came about, but in time I decided that the only way to reach the world and affect the change that I wanted to see was to become a writer.
Time went by and I slowly became more grounded. I realized that such fantasies were egotistical and unrealistic. I came to understand that while my way of viewing the world made me happy, there were hundreds of thousands of people who would never be able to accept it. People who had come to rely on a broken system. So I put my dreams aside and focused my writing more on the story aspect. As my studies progressed I fell in love with the idea of the hero. Comic books which had been absent in the first twenty years of my life slowly began gathering on my bookshelf.
Aside from my changing tastes in literature, I was also going through other social changes. Having previously led the life of the quiet social outcast upon coming to college I quickly found myself surrounded by friends. People who were less concerned with my disdain for athletics and more interested in my unique perspective of the world. I had always held my family close, but now I found myself with friends who were just as dear to me. People whom I knew I could depend upon. I should have been happy at this point, but there was something that bothered me. I had given up my dream of changing the world in exchange for finding happiness with those around me, but in doing so I had given up my purpose.
Nearly a year after graduation, I find that I have lost most of those things that I held most dear. As life took us our separate ways I slowly lost those loved ones that I had found in college. I found work not as a writer, but at a local bar and grill. It seems that at this point in time and this point in space there is no need for special children. We find ourselves alone, lost and wondering what the hell happened to all the promises of happiness given to us by our parents and bad Disney films. At least that is where I found myself.
I grew angry and bitter. I felt myself wanting to become one of those people whom I could never understand as a child. I wanted to give up on change and embrace the system that had made me feel so hateful and alone. I do not know what stopped me. Perhaps it was a friend who reached out, and let me know that I was not as alone as I felt. Maybe it was the fear of losing everything I held dear, including my sense of morality and honor. Or perhaps it was me finally growing tired of being defeated by a sad and broken world. But I stood on the edge of that dark path and choose instead to embrace the child who believed he could fix the world.
I doubt this blog will ever be read by anyone. But if by chance it is, I hope they take one of two things from this. If they are like me, and see the world as I do, then I want them to take Hope. Hope from knowing that there are others like them who want to make a better future, and who are willing to stand up for what they believe is right. But if the reader is one who has grown comfortable with the current system I wish them to be warned. The world will change, if you wish to keep up, then be prepared to change yourself as well.
Ever since I was a child I had always believed that I was special in someway. My parents were fond of telling the stories about how I always put the needs of others ahead of myself. How as a very young child I would go into the kitchen, and steal three cookies. One for myself. Two for my older brother. And perhaps I was different from most children. In a world that trains us from an early age to take what we need for ourselves, where greed is promoted as "competition" and morality is given a back seat for greater freedoms, a child such as that would certainly seem odd. And in the same way such a world certainly seemed odd to me as a child. It is little wonder of course that as I grew up I had a hard time fitting in. As I grew older and began searching for purpose in my life I felt as though I had been chosen for something far greater than anyone around me. I felt that I would someday change the world. I would heal it of the problems which plagued it. Problems which I knew were numerous but at the time could not even begin to comprehend. I am not sure exactly how it came about, but in time I decided that the only way to reach the world and affect the change that I wanted to see was to become a writer.
Time went by and I slowly became more grounded. I realized that such fantasies were egotistical and unrealistic. I came to understand that while my way of viewing the world made me happy, there were hundreds of thousands of people who would never be able to accept it. People who had come to rely on a broken system. So I put my dreams aside and focused my writing more on the story aspect. As my studies progressed I fell in love with the idea of the hero. Comic books which had been absent in the first twenty years of my life slowly began gathering on my bookshelf.
Aside from my changing tastes in literature, I was also going through other social changes. Having previously led the life of the quiet social outcast upon coming to college I quickly found myself surrounded by friends. People who were less concerned with my disdain for athletics and more interested in my unique perspective of the world. I had always held my family close, but now I found myself with friends who were just as dear to me. People whom I knew I could depend upon. I should have been happy at this point, but there was something that bothered me. I had given up my dream of changing the world in exchange for finding happiness with those around me, but in doing so I had given up my purpose.
Nearly a year after graduation, I find that I have lost most of those things that I held most dear. As life took us our separate ways I slowly lost those loved ones that I had found in college. I found work not as a writer, but at a local bar and grill. It seems that at this point in time and this point in space there is no need for special children. We find ourselves alone, lost and wondering what the hell happened to all the promises of happiness given to us by our parents and bad Disney films. At least that is where I found myself.
I grew angry and bitter. I felt myself wanting to become one of those people whom I could never understand as a child. I wanted to give up on change and embrace the system that had made me feel so hateful and alone. I do not know what stopped me. Perhaps it was a friend who reached out, and let me know that I was not as alone as I felt. Maybe it was the fear of losing everything I held dear, including my sense of morality and honor. Or perhaps it was me finally growing tired of being defeated by a sad and broken world. But I stood on the edge of that dark path and choose instead to embrace the child who believed he could fix the world.
I doubt this blog will ever be read by anyone. But if by chance it is, I hope they take one of two things from this. If they are like me, and see the world as I do, then I want them to take Hope. Hope from knowing that there are others like them who want to make a better future, and who are willing to stand up for what they believe is right. But if the reader is one who has grown comfortable with the current system I wish them to be warned. The world will change, if you wish to keep up, then be prepared to change yourself as well.
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