I've been on my own for over a month now. Looking back, I realize just how much of that time I've spent alone. With the exception of three people and a few scattered nights at the bars, I have kept very much to myself. I have felt no lasting need to build any social bonds. I did welcome and very much enjoy the company of those I spent time with; however, I can't say that I felt much of a void when I found myself alone again. If anything, I'm gradually getting more comfortable in my solitude. I'm not particularly motivated to go out, partially because the cost of booze is so high relative to everything else. And when it's not, you can count on spending the next day with a migraine. Maybe I'm just getting old. Ha. Obviously. You can't very well get young.
During the day, I tend more to preoccupy myself with books and this blog, and the occasional emails. I take breaks to eat and pee, and to make observations from my perch. Isolation inevitably leads to self reflection, which in turn, effectively keeps me reading and writing. I'm not a complete drone yet; I do get random urges to stretch, and be active, and talk some, but they are easily satisfied. In the end, my thoughts rein victorious and carry me away. I don't expect this to always be the case, but for now it feels like what I need.
This post is a compilation of some of my thoughts. They may seem slightly scattered but the dots should connect to form a rough outline of me. Rough, not for lack of clarity, but because I am actually rough around the edges! Seriously though, these ramblings might be boring so grab a tasty beverage and turn this post into a drinking game! Go on, I'll wait.
Now, take a drink every time I say the word "blog." Yes, of course that counts. If at any point you realize that you missed one, stop. Take it from the top.
Alright, blog, I finished my forth book of the trip today. I mentioned in other posts that I was reading the first two of the Ender's Game series. Despite feeling the need to diversify out of principle, I went on to read the third and the forth. As a whole, these books carry enough moral and ethical value based on spiritual, yet logical standards, to serve perfectly as guidelines for a happy, healthy lifestyle. I certainly prefer them to any religious doctrine, as I have read them all. They manage to put the human condition into perspective, and have inspired in me the constructive situation analysis that is the basis for many of my blog posts. The key to good writing seems to lie in how effectively you get readers to relate to what you convey. Orson Scott Card is brilliant at this.
I've been through similar phases before in my life, where I feel antisocial. The first I remember of this is when I was 10. I spent the bulk of that summer, and the three summers after it, alone on the cliffs of Meschers, France, near our house. I had no blog or friends to speak of, aside from my cousins who came around every so often. I hadn't yet learned to be outwardly social so I never felt the need to be. I was simply absorbed in the challenge of catching whatever I could. Fish, and shrimp, and crab, and blog, and whatever else could be found. I didn't even like seafood, but my family did. That was just an added benefit though. In high school, I went through several antisocial phases, the first of which was a period of nearly fatal depression at the end of my freshman year. I feel lucky to have escaped that one. A long time passed before I talked much with anyone after that. It wasn't for lack of desire though, I had always been envious of the way my brother so effortlessly engaged with whomever he wanted. I just hadn't figured out how to do it myself. It still doesn't always come easy. Finally, my junior year, on a trip to West Palm Beach with my dad for Spring break, I decided to go out on my own. I convinced myself to grow a pair and talk to everybody I felt like being in a conversation with, even if I had absolutely nothing to say. The logic was that I was so far away from home that there was no chance of running into any of these people again. Therefore, the risk of embarrassment carried no weight. I learned a lot that week, and overcame a couple useless fears.
I've thought a bit about that week on this trip, especially in Chiang Mai. I toyed with idea of shamelessly engaging with everyone just to see what trouble I could get myself into. In the end though, I always shied away. I know what fun it can lead to, but connecting with myself seemed more important. And so I've read, and I've written. I have connected with myself, and with people back home. In part, because of people back home. I would never have guessed when I left the people that I have remained in touch with. And many whom I expected to hear from have been nonexistent. It's perfect though, because nobody needs all of their friends all of the time. I've cycled through friends my entire life. The good ones stick around, or come back, and are there when I need them. If they are not there, it's either because it's actually their absence that I need, or because they don't need me in that moment, which amounts to the same thing. I measure the quality of my friendships not by the amount time spent together or in communication, but rather by joy of those moments when we are.
We all manifest our own destiny by living in the reality that is most logical to us at any given moment. And since truth is really only what you believe enough to act upon, the key is to find a justification of what makes you happy that makes enough sense to you to believe it in that way. It all relates back to that elusive sense of purpose.
During the day, I tend more to preoccupy myself with books and this blog, and the occasional emails. I take breaks to eat and pee, and to make observations from my perch. Isolation inevitably leads to self reflection, which in turn, effectively keeps me reading and writing. I'm not a complete drone yet; I do get random urges to stretch, and be active, and talk some, but they are easily satisfied. In the end, my thoughts rein victorious and carry me away. I don't expect this to always be the case, but for now it feels like what I need.
This post is a compilation of some of my thoughts. They may seem slightly scattered but the dots should connect to form a rough outline of me. Rough, not for lack of clarity, but because I am actually rough around the edges! Seriously though, these ramblings might be boring so grab a tasty beverage and turn this post into a drinking game! Go on, I'll wait.
Now, take a drink every time I say the word "blog." Yes, of course that counts. If at any point you realize that you missed one, stop. Take it from the top.
Alright, blog, I finished my forth book of the trip today. I mentioned in other posts that I was reading the first two of the Ender's Game series. Despite feeling the need to diversify out of principle, I went on to read the third and the forth. As a whole, these books carry enough moral and ethical value based on spiritual, yet logical standards, to serve perfectly as guidelines for a happy, healthy lifestyle. I certainly prefer them to any religious doctrine, as I have read them all. They manage to put the human condition into perspective, and have inspired in me the constructive situation analysis that is the basis for many of my blog posts. The key to good writing seems to lie in how effectively you get readers to relate to what you convey. Orson Scott Card is brilliant at this.
I've been through similar phases before in my life, where I feel antisocial. The first I remember of this is when I was 10. I spent the bulk of that summer, and the three summers after it, alone on the cliffs of Meschers, France, near our house. I had no blog or friends to speak of, aside from my cousins who came around every so often. I hadn't yet learned to be outwardly social so I never felt the need to be. I was simply absorbed in the challenge of catching whatever I could. Fish, and shrimp, and crab, and blog, and whatever else could be found. I didn't even like seafood, but my family did. That was just an added benefit though. In high school, I went through several antisocial phases, the first of which was a period of nearly fatal depression at the end of my freshman year. I feel lucky to have escaped that one. A long time passed before I talked much with anyone after that. It wasn't for lack of desire though, I had always been envious of the way my brother so effortlessly engaged with whomever he wanted. I just hadn't figured out how to do it myself. It still doesn't always come easy. Finally, my junior year, on a trip to West Palm Beach with my dad for Spring break, I decided to go out on my own. I convinced myself to grow a pair and talk to everybody I felt like being in a conversation with, even if I had absolutely nothing to say. The logic was that I was so far away from home that there was no chance of running into any of these people again. Therefore, the risk of embarrassment carried no weight. I learned a lot that week, and overcame a couple useless fears.
I've thought a bit about that week on this trip, especially in Chiang Mai. I toyed with idea of shamelessly engaging with everyone just to see what trouble I could get myself into. In the end though, I always shied away. I know what fun it can lead to, but connecting with myself seemed more important. And so I've read, and I've written. I have connected with myself, and with people back home. In part, because of people back home. I would never have guessed when I left the people that I have remained in touch with. And many whom I expected to hear from have been nonexistent. It's perfect though, because nobody needs all of their friends all of the time. I've cycled through friends my entire life. The good ones stick around, or come back, and are there when I need them. If they are not there, it's either because it's actually their absence that I need, or because they don't need me in that moment, which amounts to the same thing. I measure the quality of my friendships not by the amount time spent together or in communication, but rather by joy of those moments when we are.
We all manifest our own destiny by living in the reality that is most logical to us at any given moment. And since truth is really only what you believe enough to act upon, the key is to find a justification of what makes you happy that makes enough sense to you to believe it in that way. It all relates back to that elusive sense of purpose.
Out here, my greatest sense of purpose comes from this blog, both from writing it and from the response I get. No matter where I am in the world, I can make you laugh, think, feel, drink, blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog, etc, as if I were right there with you. The only thing I resent about the blog is the time that it takes for me to write. And I hate to spend time doing anything right now that I could be doing at home. But what I could do at home and what I would do have proven to be two entirely different things. With all the distractions of habit at home, I would likely not have found the stimulation or had the clarity of mind to write what I have here.
I have questioned my attachment to my electronic devices. I had originally envisioned this trip as a chance to break free of materialistic tendencies. In the weeks leading up to my departure, I nearly cut my material possessions in half, letting go of many things I thought I needed. I wanted to make sure that when I go back home, it's for the right reasons. However, in my last minute decision to create and maintain this blog, I bought this tablet, giving up many of the freedoms I had hoped for. What I've gained in their place, is arguably more valuable. It's difficult though, to weigh the value of what I could be doing against something I take so much pride in.
Having committed to this blog, the real question became about how much to include in it. How much of my personal experience is appropriate to share with absolutely everybody? I've struggled with this until just recently, and after a drawn out internal debate over the matter, I came up with this: Nothing I should, in my opinion, be doing right now would need to be withheld from anyone. And naturally, anything I would do could only contribute to the demystification of me, and therefore should not be excluded. So, if the information contained in my blog, in its truth, serves to push anyone away, then logic would have it that these people, in their inability to accept who I am, should join the ranks of those who are clearly not worth my time associating closely with. As long as I stay true to myself and this blog, it will serve as a self-regulating function of my life.
Blog.
People are more interesting and relatable when they are honest. This is your disclaimer post, now just be free. I always tell myself, if I write a post, feel good about posting it, and feel vulnerable about it later, it was still true in my life (even for just those moments) and that will mean all the more when you revisit them and see how you have grown and changed. If you are not writing openly, then you will read it later, and it will not resonate as well, because it was not honest anyway. I never want to think, "I said this, but that is not how I really felt." We all do it, but why waste your time these days :)
ReplyDeleteAmen!
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