Sense, Sensibility and a Whole Lot of Mental Clutter

I sometimes overhear parents having conversations with their children about how they can be anything and everything they want. This falls into cynical eavesdropping because though it sounds lovely, it is somewhat unrealistic.

But that last word, "unrealistic," also bothers me. Why is that I feel this way? Is it because I see and know many wonderful individuals who have oodles of talent, passion, drive and charisma and they still don't know what that "anything" is? Is it because it walls in potential and circumstance?

The more I think about it, the less clear the answer becomes. Perhaps we can be anything, but we need to narrow down that field. In a sea of endless opportunities (and by endless I of course mean there are parameters often dictated by socioeconomic conventions), where do we begin? I know what I don't like; I know what I am not the best or even good at; but, what I don't know is what I love so much and excel in to make me wholly fulfilled. I don't think there is a distinct quality that sets me apart, but I am also starting to realize that I am worth more than sometimes credited for.

Those encouraging words that first caress us are hard to find outside this family unit. Few people want to see you succeed and will support your journey to self realize, but those who do are absolutely priceless and often key pieces of an otherwise overwhelmingly confusing puzzle.

As you de-clutter through all the "right and sensible" decisions to find out what is right and sensible for you, you have to decide what anything means. Do you chase your dreams, whatever they may be, 24/7? do you balance your sensibilities with your senses in an effort to find material and spiritual wealth? what does anything look like for you? Perhaps the scariest step is seemingly the simplest: what does anything look like for you?

Sorry Janis but I Love the Rain at My Window

I really like rainy days.

I love the colours and the smell of wet pavement. I love how the greens and browns glitter with droplets. Perhaps, what I love most, is riding the train to and from work or staring out a window and creating intricate photographic scenes. Contrasts with reds, yellows and purples in umbrellas, rain coats and boots.

The promise of rain is ever so romantic. I imagine King Arthur's final moments as he heads to Avalon; Jane and Mr. Rochester as they bid each other a bitter sweet adieu; Lizel as she signs her 16 going on 17 heart out. It just adds a component of magic and wonder. A foggy film and falling crystals which make everything more beautiful and beckon interpretation. The constancy of the sound, the play of light, the smells of man made structures and nature.

Next time I'll get a sturdy umbrella and put these day dreamers into play.

Cautious Expectations

There are so rare pockets in time where harmony is achieved in almost every aspect of life. Work is bearable; your friendships are strong and uncomplicated; your relationship is totally synergetic; and, creativity is pouring. Each passing hour brings a sigh of relief because that balance continues.

Now, I could focus on the things that are wrong and could be better (I have a knack for that), but at the moment I cautiously dare to hope that the line between expectation and reality continues to converge more often than not. A tinge of optimism thrown in once in a while is a welcome change.

In Sickness and In Dreams

So this past week has week has kicked me to the curve with some type of cold / flu hybrid. Unable to eat, I have little strength and so I have napped a lot. This has led to some pretty interesting dreams, which I can't fully remember, but it has led me to believe that perhaps our dreams capture the residue of our desires. A type of liminal space where you are still you but without clearly defined boundaries.

You can explore all those secret inklings that would otherwise be frowned upon in the comfort of your bed...or coach, or dinner table (wherever you happen to fall asleep). The sweetest moment, at least for me, is the awareness of being in a dream because you can then control the situation somewhat. You can push yourself to run faster, swim deeper or fly higher. It is this type of liminal space where the heart and mind can work perfectly (or imperfectly leading to somewhat nightmare-like scenarios). Dependent and independent variables are then puppets of your subconsciousness. A type of perfect delirium and a source of inspiration.

In a round about way, being sick has forced me to rest. Rest has concluded in some odd combination of desire residue which have been, somewhat feebly, transcribed into potential short stories. And that is more rewarding than the copious amounts of chicken broth I have been consuming.

Mind my words

Though I try with great care to translate the ideas, thoughts, feelings and other abstract mind and heart matters into words (in the written or spoken form), I find there is a disconnect between the the initial concept and the final product.

Often times I feel the need to have disclaimer or post script explaining what I really meant, but the more words I tag onto this the more I believe I get away with from it. This frustration leads me to such great awe for those who capture feelings and thoughts so completely and accurately. Sometimes more is more and sometimes less is more for them. Whatever it is, they strike this balance of utter perfection and I feel that whatever tongue tied mess I can't entangle is literally ironed out and beautifully weaved onto the page, in the lyrics, on the screen and any other medium of self expression.

I appreciate all of this immensely. I revere the power of language and consider myself a disciple whose journey is perhaps longer than those I hold dear to my heart. And so, to read and to write is to breath for me. It bestows hope that each waking and dreaming moment is a summation of the potential that be.

Life is like a game OR life is a game?

We spend our childhood years building a mythology of what the "real world" is. In the real world, they tell us, deadlines are always met, dignity and respect is a code and responsibility is both thrilling and daunting.

Well, maybe the last one is a bit more on the money. After all, we make believe house, doctor, business and other "big people" responsibilities but can walk away when it's time for cookies and milk. Barbie doesn't pay bills, restart is a constant and a job is something you create as play. I remember being a spy, a vet and fashion designer within 24 hours.

I think the more I am in this "real world" the more I see that these mythologies are very ill founded. Deadlines are pushed onto others, dignity and respect are buzz words (with only a handful of people genuinely following the code) and responsibility is more daunting than thrilling (for the most part) as bills accumulate and time ticks much too quickly in the normative goal timeline.

Contradictions, pettiness, bullying and general animosity is more often the case than not. It seems the real world is a bigger sand box with much higher stakes. You have your bullies, your weird kids and the few cool cats you wouldn't mind sharing your juice box with.

If it's games we're taught to play in the cradle and then why are we dissuaded from pursuing them in preparation for the "real world"?

Think about it, our language is permeated by sport and game analogies and yet society denies this game playing. Why? perhaps because rules, team comradeship and referees are out of the picture (for the most part) as we enter this nebulous realm called the "real world." Each player is left to get to the finish line in whatever way he or she can. So fine, as they say, hate the game not the player.

Head and Heart to Paper

So I know I've been lacking disciplined in writing the blog. However, I have been thinking about multiple entries and ideas to explore. It's such a disconnect at times between my interior world and the dictates of the physical reality I inhabit on a daily basis.

Sneaking a moment to transfer thoughts to paper is proving a great challenge, but one I will not back down from. I remember meeting a Scottish Playwright at the University of Edinburgh who told us that you are a writer, even if you are only thinking about writing: you've fought half the battle. This philosophy leads me to believe that I have many halves which need to be integrated into a physical self. A paper and print self. And so, I cannot promise daily entries, but I will challenge myself to bi-weekly typing releases.

This week I was asked by a colleague how is it that my head does not explode? With all the random facts and knowledge I collect and with no outlet, she wondered this as I spoke 7 miles a minute. Perhaps the antidote to the sadness at a lack of creating and the pulsating pressure to share is to, very simply put, just write.

More than Two Cents Worth

I tend to get really irked when people tell me to "live in the moment." Isn't that exactly what I am doing by the very fact of existing within the time and space of the aforementioned moment? Sure, I have multiple thought processes taking place while experiencing the situation that make the moment a complex part of my past, present and (I usually hope) future, but I am still living in the moment, right?

However, the more I think about this advice nugget, the more I realize that perhaps it is not a criticism of my not enjoying the current "moment," but more of a warning to not let me fanciful nature extend the so called "moment" past its natural shelf life. An encounter with a stranger that leads to a wonderful conversation about books; meeting people while on a trip and sharing experiences that will, in their unique way, stay with you for years to come; a random encounter that stirs the heart and soul into long abandon, and somewhat tumultuous, territories. These are encounters, or moments, that sometimes spark inspiration, a type of internal revolution that leaves you wanting more. The effect may be long lasting, but what I am starting to realize is that the people involved are often not.

Perhaps living in the moment means taking the experience for its face-value. Taking and giving bits of yourself that make the heart and soul push for something more than rhythms we often allow ourselves to become accustomed to. A type wake-up call without a snooze function. You start your day, but the sound you wake up to is no longer ringing in your ear as the minutes trickle by.

The moment is the here and now and it is often epitomized by the person with whom the experience is shared. The trick is not to let disillusion seep in after the initial spark goes out and each of you go separate ways. We interconnect once or twice in a life-time with the faces involved in the moment, but the effect is often longer lasting than the connections made.

I often get in a funk about this, but slowly acknowledge that this is the ebb and flow of life. We collect moments shared and individually experienced and it is on a rare occasion that a collection of these moments begin to form a history: a friendship blooms from the mutual need, interest, support and love of the other. It is a multilayered and extremely complex mechanism that one cannot, or should not, expect from each individual contact.

Perhaps this annoying saying is a warning to those idealistic romantics, like me, who want to believe that the connection sparked has a longer shelf life than the explosion created. After the dust settles and our senses calm down, we walk away with the knowledge that there is more out there, but the best part, which I tend to overlook in my dismay at the loss of a potential new connection, is that we have loved ones who will most likely support and get joy out of building on these moments with you.

I Blog Therefore I Am

Blogging: an open diary? a therapeutic forum that passes no immediate judgment or praise? a tool for self-exploration and networking? The appeal of the blank page (be it web or paper) draws me in intensely, whilst simultaneously creating a huge-knot-in-my-stomach feeling at being held accountable for my thoughts and my views on life, love and literature.

But this is exactly what I seek. The blankness of a space to call my own through rants, insights and thoughts on stuff that matters me to me most. In this day an age, it is often by our digital footprints that we are remembered: our contributions tracked and measured against our google-ability. For better or worse: a marriage between our “real” and our “perceived” selves. And so, so here is a small non-facebook step towards writing a self and birthing it into this digital universe we have concocted.