Have you ever just sat down, cleared your mind, opened your head, and tried to remember all of the moments in your life you told yourself to remember everything that was happening? Did you ever a make a pact with yourself to get tattoos to preserve the parts of yourself and the feelings you had forever on your body? The most important desires I’ve ever had in my life were felt through emotion and a feeling of being understood; of feeling connected. A full penetration of my heart and spirit. That doesn’t happen as often these days.
There’s a severe malfunction between the expectations of who I should be and the person longing to be released. It’s a situation impossible to avoid without severe depression or escape from those around me; those who use me more as a dependable comfort rather than an individual who deserves appreciation for providing camaraderie. For too long, I set the bar for women very high. So high, that I overvalued certain qualities and disregarded others in a romantic naivety, a perspective I held all too dear to my heart. I thought this to be an admirable quality. I thought that my obsessive idealism was attractive and sought after, only to flip-flop and embrace existential insignificance after multiple encounters of failure.
I once read this quote by Michael Jordan, that summarized his career as a multitude of failures and setbacks. He very succinctly informs you that he has lost more games than he has won, but because of that, he has won. The whole point is that he was playing the game the entire time and we only remember him for the incredible things he has done. We don’t care that he may have lost 80 games by missing the last shot. He won a national championship by making the last shot with three seconds left on the clock… that’s what people remember.
I remember a time of unadulterated thought. My imagination and my intellect competed for dominance, only to realize they were both functioning components of this warped reality. Now, rather than using intellect or imagination, I embrace practicality like it’s a fucking Truth. It’s so irritating that I can’t at least cling to intellect, or even imagination for that matter. They’re so interdependent, that once one is removed, the other follows like an 87-year-old woman who dies five days after her husband’s funeral.
Things aren’t always black and white. I won’t always be able to be a romantic or charming or loyal or dedicated or vulnerable. I won’t always have the luxury to know a good thing when I see it. I won’t always be brave enough to stick things out when they’re bad… and that’s my fault. Fucking idealism man. It implants a Utopian expectation for human connection and disregards the real functions of human beings. I’m so fucking dumb sometimes, I swear. To be honest, though, sometimes I’m so fucking self-righteous that I truly forget that the world doesn’t revolve around me.
And sometimes, I feel so ashamed to show my true feelings, that I forget crying and openness are human qualities that we all share.
I don’t know.
I used to not like when people admired me for my writing or judged their perception of me based off what I had produced. I used to think, “They don’t really know me or what I’m actually saying.” When really my writing is who I am. It’s what makes me tick. It’s the one title I would like others to identify me as. It might sound shameless, but it makes me happy. Writer. It just sounds so nice. It sound a lot better than “asshole” or “boring.”
The ultimate self-reminder is telling everyone, everything. That way, you have no excuses for not living.
If you don’t want a man unhappy politically, don’t give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none.
Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so full of ‘facts’ they feel stuffed, but absolutely ‘brilliant’ with information. Then they’ll feel they’re thinking, they’ll get a sense of motion without moving. And they’ll be happy, because the facts of that sort don’t change."
Camping for a couple of days and being away from my normal life of work and getting on the computer has sincerely invigorated me. My heart feels fuller and my eyes feel less tired. A deeper part of myself has reemerged. This makes me feel worthwhile.
The problem with human beings is that we rely too much on language to describe how we are feeling, when in reality, some feelings are too complex to be put into words. This creates an uneasy frustration which may result in anger, confusion, or depression. Many of these ineffable feelings arise from the new technologies we have created and the new order and manner in which we conduct or society. The only solution to these woes is to venture out into nature for an expended period of time. The uneasiness of day-to-day subsides, and one can experience what it means to truly be autonomous and human.