$2.15 and No Cream

Just now the girl told me how many dollars I owed, and asked if I wanted room for cream. I reached into my wallet and paused.. left her for a moment in expectant and confused silence. Don't know why, but I was suddenly inundated with thoughts of how quickly my perspective on life changes. I re-focused momentarily to tell her ‘no,’ but sitting here now I’m trying to grasp the impermanence of my views. I’m a fickle being; I can dance between optimism and lackluster indifference within a matter of hours.

I wish I was better at creating visual representations of my thoughts.

Because I’m wondering what would happen if I were able to take the way I feel right now about myself and my future and translate it into an image on a transparent sheet, and then tomorrow do it again, and then next week do it again… and so on and so on, until 40 years from now I would have stacks of transparencies filled with myriad designs. And I could lay them all on top of each other to see the lines of doubt and optimism bleed into each other. Splotches of discouragement and drops of apathy could seep into the curves of hope. And I think that’d be nice to see.

Many people think that each phase of life contributes something to the ‘big picture;’ that every experience and relationship holds some kind of significance, whether or not we understand it. But individually, a moment feels like just one moment, and sentiment for the current experience is isolated.

But imagine seeing all of it together in one comprehensive image- a glimpse of how even the ugliest and most pessimistic of days contributed to the stunning final piece. I imagine I'd be wonderfully shocked at how instrumental each ordinary moment really was..

to the tired but hopeful one.

I’ve been away for a while. I could say it’s because of magic vacations, or the excessive weights of work, or crazy days and crazier nights….
But no, it’s been lazy-on-myself-ness, that has kept me in the dark. And I have been,
In the dark,
Quite so.

I don’t know when it got to this. I think somewhere along the way it became a process of forgetting that the choices I make today, are the choices I make for life. I’ve become a master of projecting into the future the goals of today.
“Ooooh I’ll be like this tomorrow. And I’ll do that next week! And when things really change, I’ll say this and that, and I’ll be the girl who chooses this not that…”

I forget that what I do today, who I am to you today, is who I am for life. Because today is life.

Where on earth did I get the notion that the current moment is somehow exempt from the responsibility it takes to change?? As if discussing the noble call to shed an old skin for the likes of a new one does anything to actually move us forward. As if talking about sacrifice, is really giving anything up at all. If I am not willing right now to do what it takes to change, how can I expect to be willing tomorrow?

Humans and the world have taught me, that you can say whatever you want.

And as it turns out, saying things and not doing things has become too easy for me, a detrimental easy. I speak the things of fantasy.. things that are neither impossible nor free of demands. Change begs discomfort of us, much. But mostly, I think one thing that change could give a shit about, is words.

I’ve been one to confuse admiration with envy. I’ve been through that forest of confusion and I still go back from time to time.. And beware! It’ll catch you, twist, sit you down and pull you back, behind the face of what you’d like to be. Alternatively- let yourself be inspired by others’ success and exotic adventures, not diminished by your envious gaze.

I’ve become too good at giving up on the day, letting it just be- bland, vanilla, decent (gag). Unwilling to give what it takes to become something better, to produce something fruitful, to be made new again and again. I’ve lately given in to a so-called ‘lack of energy;’ which is, in fact, one of the many masks that a non-committal heart likes to wear.

But don’t fret, I literally said out loud to myself in the mirror this afternoon.. you’re ok.
A creative dry spell (or any other kind of internal obstacle or battle for this matter) can only go as far as your accommodations for it last. And I choose for this one’s stay to end with me now.

No, struggles won't just disappear on a dime. They undoubtedly reside, but I've found it matters a great deal how hospitable we are to our weaknesses; and let's say I've been putting mints on the pillows, serving continental breakfast and the whole nine...

Choosing (making) better for yourself seems so simple, yet can prove difficult as hell, for some odd reason. But when you do, it carries a certain clarity: one that reminds me of thanksgiving day, or the air after rain, or the breath you can see on that annual cold morning before the sun’s grand entrance, on the mountain called Helix overlooking southern San Diego....

To be honest- sometimes I wish that art and poems and literature would stop. Hold on, even back up.. and just let me freaking catch up.

 

But then I realize, ohhhh right.. that’s the absolute perfection of it all- it will never end and I will never have seen it all.

another response to a response

So perhaps it would have been good to preface the previous entry with some parameters, something like the following:

As alex mentions, it’s certainly true that not all circumstances allow for interpretation. Many situations are objectively unfortunate in a way no one could contest. No matter the perspective, regardless of attitude, opinion, or background, some things are just factually difficult. So what should have been prefaced was that this whole thing about choosing the tone (or ‘song’) to which you move through your life is necessarily directed at, and in fact limited to, those that have ‘options,’ those who are fortunate not to find themselves in circumstances for which positivity is irrelevant.

By no means are we able to change the actual reality which we’ve been dealt. But to elaborate on the childish proverb “when life hands you lemons….” I do believe it matters significantly the stance we choose to take in moving forward with our lives.

Life happens- we can’t change that.
Life’s significant events stick with us- we can't avoid that.
We have to move forward (if nothing else)- Here we have a choice. [enter perspective]

Alex I’ll expand using your 'singing together' analogy; I think my previous entry was meant to complement this concept rather than overlook it. I agree that it can be too easy for us to base our perspectives on narrow worldviews, failing to acknowledge the songs of others. By living with intentional perspective when possible [i.e. situations that foster interpretation] we deliberately choose to open ourselves to the reality that there is a world bigger than ourselves, than the narrow playing field we actually see from day to day.

The previous was written upon recognizing a struggle within myself, and feeling that I could gain something more if I simply shifted my outlook- ditch the ‘woe is me’ frame of mind and move forward- new lesson learned, and a world to keep facing that’s full of much more than my own strife. This is not to minimize the healthy process of facing the shit life throws our way, but rather addresses the moment that follows- the crossroads of moving on. It seems the self-focused nature of personal struggle often causes failure to attend to the rest of the world. In other words, you aint singin with nobody else if you’re locked in your room cryin about your life. You cannot recognize the songs of others, let alone sing with them, if you haven’t taken initiative to move forward with your own life. Stagnancy with oneself inhibits connection with others.

So I’d never claim that struggles are comparable, because they’re all relative, always. It’s just a human fact that we are incapable of knowing anything beyond what we’ve faced thus far. But at least being open to that surprise ‘interlude,’ or ‘someone else’s song’ we can ensure that when another comes along, we will be ready to harmonize. It’s like walking with one headphone in as we walk down the street- playing the song we choose to walk to. But always leaving one headphone out, an ear left open to the other songs passing by…

There will always be great things and terrible things and fun things and not-so-fun things and hard things and new things and surprises and plans and changes in life. Of course, it matters a great deal how we responsd to our world.. but it's critical to recognize how we perceive and process the events of our lives before we respond. Perspective changes everything, I mean every. thing. I see perspective as the music you choose to play in the background of your life.. it may change to reflect different seasons or circumstances, but ultimately.. what theme songs have you adopted? Do they promote openness, or prejudice? Do they compel you to grow, or dwell in the past?

...what perspectives have you been operating with, and is it perhaps time to change the station and find a different tune?

I wish that i talked less. and walked more.

very literally.

and very figuratively.

Word Salad

“Word Salad” is a phrase used to describe a common symptom among schizophrenics- muttering a series of jumbled, illogical words, strung together in a manner that’s often as incoherent for the mentally ill speaker as for the listener. Often, the only connection is rhyme or similar sound among the otherwise disconnected words. It’s peculiar.. I’ve sat and listened to bouts of genuine word salad before. And I wondered at myself, why I would listen attentively to something so blatantly incomprehensible? I think it’s because- Some definitions of word salad mention “seemingly meaningful words that together, mean nothing.” But I consider- what if it could be that in certain instances, it’s the other way around, that seemingly meaningless singular words, when strung together, mean everything? Like there are fragments of truth so small that independently strike no harps, turn on no light bulbs, lead to no epiphanies.. but when joined by a precision so rare that it could only be by accident, they could break down walls and build up confident armies of revelation.

I would imagine that this concept I am pondering is the foundation on which many cultures have based their belief that the mentally ill are actually the most valuable in society, like shamans, deserving the highest place of honor for their power to deliver spiritual enlightenment. Now I’m not suggesting the same extreme- that the mentally ill are like gods- but just that perhaps they are not what our western culture has come to label them..

Those dealing with a mental illness are no doubt dis-eased. But how much of that is due to the actual disease, and how much is due to their treatment by the outside world?

Being simply categorized on the sidelines of mainstream ‘normality’ is one thing, because in the end why should we give a shit what Joe Shmo thinks of us anyhow? But as social ‘placement’ in our culture has come to usher harsh and broad-sweeping stigmas, the impact on those being marginalized has grown: these aren’t just internal thoughts some may hold about ‘the other,’ but instead a projected and felt behavior which tangibly affects the life of that person so different from what’s comfortably acceptable.

Ray McDermott and Herve Varenne wrote an article about the need for change in the mental health system, and in it they highlight that Western society, over time, has developed an extreme emphasis on single-mindedness, focus and hard-work, environmental mastery to achieve success. They bring to light the irony that a culture so set on enabling success, has become a powerfully disabling institution.

I can feel the vigor of my sociology seminar class arguments on social justice brewing back up, so I’ll step back for now.. (My ramblings can tend to get passionately disjointed when not kept in check)
It’s just that I began ruminating all this because I’m reading a book on a paranoid schizophrenic who frequently tosses word salad. And it occurred to me how shockingly poetic it is at times.. and poetry, to me, always has the potential to be a conduit of great truth.

So I can't help but wonder if wisdom surprises could rise from a sea of chaotic babbling, about the workings of the world, or about something bigger..

if mental illness could foster unwitting revelations of light..

if truth leaks from unquiet minds..

Question mark.