The Limits of Optimism

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Those who know me- and now, thanks to a piece in Essays on Childhood, some who don’t- know that I once loved a girl. Few know that, many years later, I loved another.

 

I had loved her for years, but would scarcely have admitted this to myself. During the many years in which we saw nothing of each other, I dreamt of her, and was seemingly content to let that love exist only in my reverie. After all, we hadn’t spoken in years, and she may very well have found another, stronger love. I had never even made my feelings known. I confined our relationship to the recesses of my mind.

 

One particular day confirmed that decision. During a visit to my hometown, I tried to find her. I went to her childhood home, only to be met with its current occupants. She was nowhere to be found. I relented, content to visit the corners of my mind to which I had exiled her.

 

Years later, it so happened that our paths crossed. I was jubilant, of course, but I restrained myself. She was unavailable. Still, I needed her in my life, so I allowed a platonic relationship to grow.

 

During the next few months, we talked. What neither of us realized was that something was bubbling just beneath the surface of our rekindled friendship, something which would not be suppressed. Without ever having spoken the words, we knew. We simply knew that what we shared was love, in its purest form, and gradually, we both realized that it would not be pushed aside.

 

We succumbed. We let the love wash over us, and for a few months, both of us lived in a state of ecstasy. I endured the taunts and jeers and many of my peers. Having become known as the eternal bachelor because I had sworn off relationships years before, my relationships had always ended quickly and abruptly. Of course, none of this mattered anymore.

 

We agreed to move far away and start a new life together, but circumstances, as they often do, intervened. She and I were separated again. We haven’t spoken in four years.

 

I recently recounted this story to a friend. When I finished the story, her response was succinct:

 

“That’s so sad.”

 

I disagreed. I had known love- the ferocious, intimate, soul-quenching love that so many strive for- twice, and at a very young age. How many could say the same? If anything, the story was one of boundless optimism, since my tendency was to be thankful for having loved and lost.

 

Do not cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.

 

And so I did.

 

The day after having told this story, I made a quick trip to the grocery store. While minding my own business, relishing the way the sunlight was pouring through the branches of the trees, Bad Company’s Feel Like Makin’ Love came on the radio. I began to think of her. A particular verse struck a chord.

 

Darlin’, if I lived without you, I’d live without love.

 

Shit, I thought. That’s exactly what was happening. I had been living without love since I had been living without her.

 

For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.

 

~ Carl Sagan

 

The previous night’s concluding remark ran through my head. That’s so sad.

 

It was sad. Remarkably so, even, yet for these past few years, I had not allowed it to be sad. In my mind, I had transformed it into something wondrous. What I failed to realize was that a thing as complex, as powerful as love could be both wondrous and heart-wrenching. Had I recognized the depths of the sadness, perhaps I would not have been so quick to let her go. Perhaps I would have fought for her, for us. Instead, I had assumed that the circumstances to which we had succumbed had been insurmountable.

 

I recently read (forgive me, I don’t know where) of a ripple effect in our thinking as it concerned what we read. The conclusion was that, while we may not remember every detail of what we read, it nevertheless produces a ripple effect in our thinking, altering our perceptions forever after. So it is with everything. An experience, and our reaction to it, cannot be cast aside as a singular incident, but rather is a single thread in the tapestry of our approach to life.

 

How had the thread woven by this love affected my universe? How had my reaction?

 

Albert Camus’s The Stranger came to mind, the protagonist of which is the epitome of apathy. He feels almost nothing, and yet somehow manages to cultivate a captivating relationship with a wonderful woman. Initially, it’s difficult to see what in this story keeps the reader reading, since the main character so embodies indifference. How is that indifference not transferred to the reader? The answer, I think, is love. It is such a force that the reader cannot help but fervently wish that our subject fall deeply in love with his fiancee. It is not the presence of love in the story, but rather the faint whisper of the possibility of love that keeps us turning the page. Yes, love is that powerful.

 

Yet I had denied its force, exiling it to a remote island in the depths of my mind, using boundless optimism as an excuse to do so. We’ll meet again one day, I said, if it is meant to be.

 

In doing so, I had stripped myself of any power to change my circumstances. The conclusion of this story lies in Fate’s hands, not mine. Let the pieces fall where they may as I get on with my life.

 

Positivity is not an inherently harmful trait, of course, but the reckless use of it can easily, sneakily, distort one’s sight, leaving reality to fight for exposure in our peripheral vision. Optimism and reality can, and must, coexist, but we must be mindful of their roles, lest one or the other become the master of our Fate, leaving us to play the role of the pawn.

On Minimalism

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“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.”

~ Henry David Thoreau

A few years ago, I got caught up in the minimalist movement. It was an enlightening time- the world was being shown the effects of its almost criminal level of excess, in the midst of which came an idea: live with enough. Not too much, and not, as some thought, too little.

Initially, the idea revolved around one’s possessions. Too much “stuff” was likened to too much sugar intake: it clogged the mind as sugar clogged the arteries.

I identified with this movement because I’d always harbored the notion that we placed too much emphasis on stuff. Having found a huge group of like-minded people, I sought them out, taking in their thoughts on how many possessions was the optimal number. I embraced it. When I left Tampa, I left behind most everything I owned. I gave a huge amount of clothing to Goodwill, leaving myself with only those that I cherished. I didn’t buy stuff for the sake of buying stuff; I began making very conscious decisions before a purchase as to whether or not an object would improve my life in any way. If it didn’t, I left it.

This realm of the physical, by and large, is where those minimalism blogs left off. Some threw in a few words on the virtues of an uncluttered desktop every now and then, and some, running out of things to say, applied the approach to a nomadic lifestyle- “leave your job and bring only your laptop and I will show you how to live.” The movement went in a direction I was uncomfortable with. Like it or not, they were selling bulky ideas with the tenacity that Nike sells shoes, embodying the very consumerism they condemned.

“Buy my ebook for only $4.99. It contains the secrets you seek.”

And here was the rub: the ebook contained instructions to make and sell others an ebook for $4.99.

Personally, I wanted to go another direction. I still identified with minimalism- or, at least, what I took minimalism to be- but I didn’t think anyone had taken it far enough. Stopping at possessions or your hard drive was only scraping the surface of what the minimalism mantra could do. Why not apply it to thought itself?

It’s been said that the world is comprised only of thought- that our reality is simply a construct of the ideas that, collectively, make our world the thing we know it as today. Whether or not you consider that a stretch, one can’t deny the significance of thought on our reality. Yet we have such a difficult time with the thoughts running through our head at any given time, and so rarely do we attempt to understand them. Of course, mastery can only come through understanding. If you do not understand your thoughts, what chance have you of controlling them? The alternative is ugly, and staggeringly common: until you control your thoughts, they control you.

I once wrote of my tendency to oversimplify things, saying that I had come to embrace nuance as a dominant force against a black and white approach to the world. But even within this very battle lies a nuanced story: the ability to decipher which moments in life begged for a subtle, nuanced approach from those which were, indeed, a simple question of yes or no, of black or white. Cultivating this skill seems to me the pinnacle of wisdom.

In deciding how to teach your child how to handle bullies, or the dangers of hatred, or even in convincing them to clean their room requires a balanced and thoughtful approach. The same can be said for examining communication within a marriage and countless other circumstances.

Sometimes, though, the ability remove all extraneous information is critical.

When a man and a woman are in the throes of true love, it is imperativega to recognize that love is the apex of human existence. If extenuating circumstances stand in the way of that love, they must be cast aside. Man and woman in love trumps everything.

If you’ve debated whether to attend your daughter’s recital or miss it- just this once- to get ahead at work, your judgment has been clouded by information that is, in the truest sense of the word, unnecessary.

If you’ve woken in the morning to the thought that you loathe the idea of going to work, you’ve felt the effect of the forces of which I speak. A man, or woman, should love what they do. Truly, nothing else matters, for your contributions to the world will be infinitely greater when you’ve a passion for what you do.

If you’re in a loveless marriage, your efforts to escape may be hindered by any number of factors that, ultimately, don’t matter. Loveless marriages don’t have an inherent right to exist.

Many things can, and should, be distilled to their essence. Some should be carefully judged within the context of their circumstances. As minimalism cannot be said to be a one-size-fits-all proposition, neither is the application of it to thought or deed. Navigating the balance between these extremes, and knowing when each is called for, is the height of human achievement, and something to which, if we’re serious about living, we should all strive.

An Open Letter to my Daughter

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Hi, Peanut. It’s Daddy.

I’m writing a letter to you because you’re almost eight- which means that you’re seven, which means that you don’t listen to a word I say, generally speaking. I remember seven, vaguely. I was too busy trying to figure things out on my own to listen to any grown-ups, so I know what it’s like. I don’t blame you, but I’m circumventing the problem by writing a letter. When you write words down, they last, so you can keep them in your pocket and pull them out when the opportunity presents itself. So when you’re seventeen, and we have a rare moment of silence and reflection together, be prepared to hear these words.

Do you want to know the hardest thing about being a dad? It’s having little nuggets of wisdom tucked away from years of living. It’s waiting for the right time to pass on that wisdom, because there’s never a right time, so you tuck them all away. You keep those nuggets in your pocket, waiting. Waiting. Then it comes- you have a problem, a dilemma- and I know how to fix it!

Wait just a second- hold that thought- I have the answer right here. Just give me a minute to pour through- ahh! Here it is: Daddy’s going to fix it. All you have to do is listen.. I’m going to make you wiser, more socially savvy. You’re going to be a better person for having heard this, and I... Peanut! Where are you going? But I have the answer! I can help! Okay, I guess you can go outside and play. Are you sure you don’t want to hear my advice? It’s pretty epic. Okay. Yeah, maybe later.

See, I’ve been through all the problems that you’re facing. I’ve been there, and I have the gift of hindsight, so I have it all figured out. Well, I have seven-year-old stuff figured out, anyway.

I have to wait for you to ask, though. When you’re ready to listen, I’ll be here. In the meantime, here are some things that I’ve learned.

Self-awareness is the greatest quality you can look for in someone. Friend, boyfriend, colleague- it doesn’t matter what role they will play. If they have a self-aware bone in their body, it means that they are capable of change. Those are the people you want in your life. To be incapable of change is perhaps the most damning of fates, because the world around you will constantly change. Good people change with it. Great people initiate the change. Darwin (who we’ll talk about later) comes in handy here. He’s the guy that “discovered” evolution, and his words are often misconstrued into something like “only the strong survive.” What he actually said was that it’s not the strongest that survive; it’s the most adaptable to change. Surround yourself with people who are capable of change. Self-awareness is the Litmus test.

That’s really just the starting point, though, because self-awareness in and of itself does nothing. It simply means you are capable of looking at yourself in the mirror and asking a simple question:

How can I be a better person today than I was yesterday?

I think of nationalism when I think about this mirror. Nationalism- basically- is the belief that one nation is superior to another. We’re especially prone to it here in America, and it’s a very dangerous thing. Nations are comprised of people, and at birth, no person or people is better than another. The ideals a nation is founded upon may very well surpass the ideals of another, but the people here now didn’t found this country. So, a nation is only as good as the people in it, and people are so diverse, such a myriad of qualities, that no one can say that one nation is better than another.

But we do. We say it all the time. And make no mistake: there are plenty of people across the world who would vehemently disagree with us. Why? Because they can look at our body of work- what we do, what we say, how we behave- and reflect on those things objectively. We, as a country, can’t. Others look at the fact that, by many traditional measures, places like Finland, the Netherlands, and Sweden are the happiest countries in the world. Most Asian countries put us to shame when it comes to education. We are scarcely willing to admit that our attempt at being a country is an ever-evolving experiment, and we haven’t yet got it right. We are not at all a self-aware country.

I want you to model exactly the opposite behavior. You’re going to have flaws, sure- we all do. And those that truly love you will not only accept those flaws, but embrace them, so you need to recognize those flaws that are an inherent, indivisible part of you. Other stuff, though, you can change- things like always procrastinating, or not knowing how to cook, or constantly interrupting people when they speak. It’s simple, sweetheart, but it’s not easy. Be better tomorrow.

You’re going to screw up. A lot. I want you to know that that’s not only okay, but expected. Welcome, even. There is such a stigma on making mistakes, and few people ever really question it, but that stigma’s a very harmful one. No one is perfect. We all know that, but from birth we’re taught to avoid mistakes at all costs. Mistakes cost us a perfect score in school. They cost us relationships. But that’s okay. What no one tells you is that that’s the price of doing business- the price of life, and it’s a wonderful price to pay. People who screw up learn, and the only way to grow is to learn. To spend your life being afraid of screwing up is a horrible way to live. Imagine only ever eating mac and cheese because you’re afraid you’re going to screw up veal parmesan. You’re missing out.

I think about MySpace v Facebook when I think of this (I know you don’t know what MySpace is, so I’ll tell you). MySpace was the original Facebook. It was started by a guy named Tom Anderson who grew MySpace to be huge, then royally screwed up when he tried to monetize the site too early and neglected his users. He made millions, but now MySpace is the laughing stock of the web.

Mark Zuckerberg, on the other hand, invented Facebook when he was three years old (I think), and grew and grew and grew the site until it became what it is today (almost 15% of the planet uses it, and I think he plans to expand to Mars by 2015). He’s now a late 20-something billionaire who’s never known failure. The only thing he’s ever done is the biggest success story the digital world has ever witnessed.

Now, ask me who I’d trust more with the future of the Internet- the guy who screwed up big and faded into the woodwork, or the guy who’s basically been king of the world since he was eighteen? Yeah. You guessed it. Give me the guy who’s failed, thank you very much.

So don’t worry about mistakes, dear. Embrace them. Learn from them. Love them, even.

I suppose that’s all for now, but I may write to you some more later. And remember- whenever you’re willing to listen, Daddy’s here to impart some wisdom. It’s right here in my pocket. In the meantime, have fun being a kid, and when you scrape your knee, or someone takes your iPod on the bus, or you get caught shoveling your dinner into the trash can, don’t worry. Daddy will be here to clean it all up.

I will always be right here.

Your singing/ drawing/ dancing/ laughing/ eating/ living/ silly...

Daddy

rianvdm:

Reading and reflecting.

An Attempt at Momentum

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Two and a half weeks ago, I answered a call from a friend who needed some help. She needed some cosmetic work done on her home, so I spent the next two weeks power washing, painting, and doing a bit of yard work. My side projects went neglected during this time.

I finished up on Tuesday. Wednesday was spent doing almost nothing but laundry and resting. If I spent the day resting, I thought, I could jump right back into writing on Thursday, picking up where I left off.

Thursday morning, I went through my usual routine, culminating in my sitting down in front of a blinking cursor about thirty minutes after waking up. I opened my “box of ideas” to choose a topic. I had quite a few to choose from, but nothing decidedly struck me as something that needed to be written. Finally, I chose one, and opened my text editor.

The words didn’t come. To be fair, I usually don’t know where I’m going with something until I write it- it’s an organic experience, writing, and my “pen” usually takes me in a direction that I didn’t know existed. This time, though, the pen took me nowhere.

I stepped outside, closed my eyes, and felt the sun on my skin- usually a quick remedy. Still, nothing was there. I suppose I thought that those ideas that had been cooking, stirring in my brain for the past two weeks would just be waiting for me- that I had put them on the stove to simmer, and when I was ready to make a meal, they would anxiously jump into the pot of my choosing, begging to finally be devoured.

They did no such thing. So I spent the rest of Thursday reading, opening the floodgates to let other writers’ ideas in to mix and mingle with mine. That night, I wrote a journal entry.

The next morning, writing was a bit easier, but it wasn’t good. So I wrote the opening page to three separate short stories- bad short stories- with no intention of ever finishing them, and no expectations as to their quality. Indeed, I believe the worse they were, the better. I just needed to write.

In taking those two weeks off, I had lost all momentum. The more I wrote, the easier it became. So it is, I think, with most every endeavor. Writing is a supreme metaphor for life. It takes more devotion, more hard work than most would think, and more than most writers are willing to admit. Most of us like to encourage the belief among non-writers that we have a gift, but writers ourselves know better. We don’t have a gift. We simply work our asses off to know how to better construct a sentence.

Our actions are largely the result of the many unconscious processes going through our heads at any given time, and the momentum such processes have on our conscious actions cannot be overstated. Driving is an excellent example. If you think about steering your car from the left lane on the freeway to the right, a recent study showed the vast majority of people consider slowly turning the steering wheel to the right will accomplish the desired outcome (moving your car from the left lane to the right). That answer is incorrect, however, since doing so would take you head-on into the guard rail. After turning the wheel to the right, it must then be straightened out to put you back on the correct path. Our unconscious thought processes tell us this, yet when we think of it consciously, the methods that we ourselves employ elude us.

So it is with life. Accomplishing nearly anything requires us to turn conscious processes into unconscious habits. Writers need to write to do this. A single mother working three jobs to support her family will find it much easier to wake up in the morning than someone who’s slept in for the past three years. This piece, in fact, is simply an attempt to regain momentum.

This is nothing new, of course, but it warrants a soft reminder every now and then. Take a good look at what you want to accomplish. Then get started. Getting started is absolutely everything. Once you do, the momentum will start to build, and your unconscious mind can start to develop the patterns needed to carry you to the next level. If you want to get fit, get started, and notice how much easier it is to do so after three months of working out. If you want to learn something new, just get started. If you want to write, to cook, to be better at anything, to do anything, take the first step, and you’ll be surprised at where the momentum can take you.