I know I typically don't talk about the casual things in life, like work, but today I'm making an exception because I have a few things I feel need to be said.
I work at a bit above minimum wage at a common chain store that almost everyone has shopped at, one time of another, and because of their prices, most people in lower income brackets shop there all the time. I've worked there for four and a half years, while I'm finishing college, and so I've seen quite a few things. Some absurd, some angering, some good things. But the thing that stands out to me most out of that, is how rude, entitled, and mean spirited many of the people who shop there actually are.
I try to be nice to everyone, which doesn't come easy to me. I really don't like people all that much. But I'm polite, and I try to help anyone who asks find what they're looking for, and help answer any questions they might have. But when you yell at me because prices have gone up by twelve cents, it makes me want to take a baseball bat to your face.
Look, in chain stores, no one working there controls the prices even slightly. All the prices come from corporate, and we have to put the prices out there. Don't blame us if a shortage in sweet potato crop because of rain has caused it to make an apparently massive jump from 34 cents a pound to 42 cents a pound. We have nothing to do with it. It bothers us more than it bothers you, because not only do we have deal with your ridiculous complaints, but we also shop there, because we can't afford to shop anywhere else.
How much did you make last year? 30,000? 40? Maybe you're down on the lower scale and made 25,000. But I know you make more than me. You know why? Because no one who makes my pay range yells at me about prices. Why is that? I make around 10,000 a year. In case you're not aware, that is less than most people on welfare and disability make. So it'd actually be a better career choice for me not to work at all. I'd make more money. So why is it that the people who make around 10,000 a year don't complain about prices, even though a price spike of a few cents means we might not be able to buy it, but the people who make 4 and 5 times that complain about it like it's the end of the world?\
It's because people who make my pay grade are in jobs where they constantly have to deal with people like you too, and so they understand what it's like to get yelled at for something that you have absolutely no control over in any way, and not be able to defend yourself. That's right by the way. At my job, if I talk back to a customer, or act in any way that might imply that he/she is an entitled prat instead of a shining cloud-wreathed god in the sky, I get fired. Dignity's all well and good, but it won't pay for food. So I have to keep my mouth shut and smile, and say thank you for your comments, and all that other crap, because I can't afford to not. People who make decent have a few weeks of leeway where if they get fired they have a bit of time to find a job. Not me. If I get fired, I have to start working the next day, or else I'll sink.
So for God's sake be a decent human being to the minimum wage slaves.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Tears of Love Lost In The Days Gone By
Frailty.
What does that word bring up in your mind? Perhaps you're like me. You see someone old, broken down, barely alive anymore. Or perhaps you see a wilted plant of some sort, clinging to life, about to let the last of its leaves fall. I had an old dog once. She had been in my family for 14 years, and by the end, she was so broken down and decrepit, a far cry from the puppy we had 14 years before. Frail. Weak. Falling apart. Sick.
Whatever comes up, I'm sure it isn't yourself. You probably don't associate the word with yourself in any shape, form, or fashion. I know on a day to day basis I don't. It is a fault of the age I find myself at, to feel that you are invincible. I know I am not, and yet the feeling remains.
But today I have heard many tales of death. Of lives snuffed out before their time, like a candle wick, tossed by an errant breeze, and put out without intention. Three stories I've heard today. Each one was young, around my age or younger. Each one had a significant other who was depending on this person to be with them to walk through life's trials for the rest of their lives. And each died tragically, in a manner that they had no control over, no expectations for. Just like that, they were gone. And whether or not they had religion, whether or not they had money, or plans, or knew how to defend themselves, whether or not they had a clean bill of health, or had kept their bodies pure of influences, they died.
Human beings are so incredibly frail. A small amount of pressure here, a foreign object inserted there, and it's all over. As simple as a distracted driver, or a loose bolt, it could end. Those who seem neurotic and paranoid, afraid of every little thing to the point of insanity, are seemingly the sanest among us. They're right. Just about anything can kill a human. There are cases of people being killed by paper cuts. People falling three feet off a ladder and being paralyzed for life. The simplest introduction of chaos into our systems and we fall apart.
And that's not to mention all the many diseases that cause our bodies to turn on themselves. Those that turn the immune system against the internal organs, the virus that causes a fever so hot the brain can boil, pain so great that the mind can simply break and leave a body empty of anything resembling consciousness. We are a walking time bomb of death. And everything around us is in a hurry to accelerate the process.
And yet somehow, we carry on. We push and we strive and we accomplish great things, in spite of all our weaknesses, in spite of the fact that death surrounds us everywhere. We go out every day, and risk our lives, simply on the basis that we have to make money in order to provide ourselves with entertainment. By rights, we should be locked up in a bomb shelter somewhere, trying not to touch anything sharp. But we strap ourselves into what amounts to 2,000 pound guided missiles powered by explosions every day, drive to buildings that are powered by harnessed lightning and held together with small bits of metal, and do things that deliberately place us in harms way constantly. For what? To simply improve our lives. A normal human would not think of running and hiding in a shelter for their lives, simply because it'd be boring. Can you imagine that? A species that endangers its existence, simply because it would be a bit dull otherwise. Its ridiculous and beautiful all at the same time.
And, by God, it works. Look at our cities. Look at the monuments to ourselves we have built. More importantly, look at the inventions we have made. We invented a metal case, once again, powered by explosions, that flies, because the guided missiles on the ground didn't get us there fast enough. What sort of creature would dare look up at the sky, in all its infinite glory, and say to themselves, "I want to go there"? We did. And we continue to push our boundaries, no matter the cost or danger. We run into danger, because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.
To do otherwise, would be inhuman.
What does that word bring up in your mind? Perhaps you're like me. You see someone old, broken down, barely alive anymore. Or perhaps you see a wilted plant of some sort, clinging to life, about to let the last of its leaves fall. I had an old dog once. She had been in my family for 14 years, and by the end, she was so broken down and decrepit, a far cry from the puppy we had 14 years before. Frail. Weak. Falling apart. Sick.
Whatever comes up, I'm sure it isn't yourself. You probably don't associate the word with yourself in any shape, form, or fashion. I know on a day to day basis I don't. It is a fault of the age I find myself at, to feel that you are invincible. I know I am not, and yet the feeling remains.
But today I have heard many tales of death. Of lives snuffed out before their time, like a candle wick, tossed by an errant breeze, and put out without intention. Three stories I've heard today. Each one was young, around my age or younger. Each one had a significant other who was depending on this person to be with them to walk through life's trials for the rest of their lives. And each died tragically, in a manner that they had no control over, no expectations for. Just like that, they were gone. And whether or not they had religion, whether or not they had money, or plans, or knew how to defend themselves, whether or not they had a clean bill of health, or had kept their bodies pure of influences, they died.
Human beings are so incredibly frail. A small amount of pressure here, a foreign object inserted there, and it's all over. As simple as a distracted driver, or a loose bolt, it could end. Those who seem neurotic and paranoid, afraid of every little thing to the point of insanity, are seemingly the sanest among us. They're right. Just about anything can kill a human. There are cases of people being killed by paper cuts. People falling three feet off a ladder and being paralyzed for life. The simplest introduction of chaos into our systems and we fall apart.
And that's not to mention all the many diseases that cause our bodies to turn on themselves. Those that turn the immune system against the internal organs, the virus that causes a fever so hot the brain can boil, pain so great that the mind can simply break and leave a body empty of anything resembling consciousness. We are a walking time bomb of death. And everything around us is in a hurry to accelerate the process.
And yet somehow, we carry on. We push and we strive and we accomplish great things, in spite of all our weaknesses, in spite of the fact that death surrounds us everywhere. We go out every day, and risk our lives, simply on the basis that we have to make money in order to provide ourselves with entertainment. By rights, we should be locked up in a bomb shelter somewhere, trying not to touch anything sharp. But we strap ourselves into what amounts to 2,000 pound guided missiles powered by explosions every day, drive to buildings that are powered by harnessed lightning and held together with small bits of metal, and do things that deliberately place us in harms way constantly. For what? To simply improve our lives. A normal human would not think of running and hiding in a shelter for their lives, simply because it'd be boring. Can you imagine that? A species that endangers its existence, simply because it would be a bit dull otherwise. Its ridiculous and beautiful all at the same time.
And, by God, it works. Look at our cities. Look at the monuments to ourselves we have built. More importantly, look at the inventions we have made. We invented a metal case, once again, powered by explosions, that flies, because the guided missiles on the ground didn't get us there fast enough. What sort of creature would dare look up at the sky, in all its infinite glory, and say to themselves, "I want to go there"? We did. And we continue to push our boundaries, no matter the cost or danger. We run into danger, because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.
To do otherwise, would be inhuman.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Who Will Save Tomorrow?
Where are the heroes?
I understand some of you will take exception to that, and believe me, I completely support the troops. I believe there are cases of heroics there, every day and everything. But 50 years ago, you saw example after example of famous heroes. Heroes we could all admire and look up to, who embodied the very ideals of our countries, day after day.
Now we're left with super heroes in movies, action stars and muscle bound psychopaths, drenching their environs in blood and piles of spent brass. We spend time idolizing those, and yet, when it comes to it, what are they truly worth? How is your life better for having admired those people, following a script on screen? Not to mention the fact that many of them are hypocritical about the roles they take, being completely anti-violence and anti-guns in real life.
The real life heroes, meanwhile, in the military, are stuck fighting pointless wars, attempting to force our way of life onto countries that have existed before we were even thought about. Again, I support the troops themselves, but I do not and will not give support for a war that can never be won, not if a thousand years were to pass and the sun were to go out and the sky shine with different stars in the night. War is such a political game now. There is no glory to be had. And I suppose it's a good thing that our soldiers can sit safe in a base a hundred miles away and still accomplish things, but I believe in heroic symbolism.
Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that there is much that is glorious about a battlefield. All the blood and guts and excrement and screaming and gnashing, never ending. But there is something glorious about the men who come back. Those who, although they saw all that, come back and raise their families, and live among you and me, like normal people, when they know they can never be that.
There is something more to be said in dying for what you believe in, in a battle far away. A glory that is innate to the ultimate sacrifice. But that's precisely the problem. How can you believe in an utterly pointless cause? There's nothing to be gained, nothing to be won, by striving in the desert day after day, just sorrow and death and scars, both mental and physical.
It is unfortunate.
The time of heroes has past, and we are left all the worse for it.
I understand some of you will take exception to that, and believe me, I completely support the troops. I believe there are cases of heroics there, every day and everything. But 50 years ago, you saw example after example of famous heroes. Heroes we could all admire and look up to, who embodied the very ideals of our countries, day after day.
Now we're left with super heroes in movies, action stars and muscle bound psychopaths, drenching their environs in blood and piles of spent brass. We spend time idolizing those, and yet, when it comes to it, what are they truly worth? How is your life better for having admired those people, following a script on screen? Not to mention the fact that many of them are hypocritical about the roles they take, being completely anti-violence and anti-guns in real life.
The real life heroes, meanwhile, in the military, are stuck fighting pointless wars, attempting to force our way of life onto countries that have existed before we were even thought about. Again, I support the troops themselves, but I do not and will not give support for a war that can never be won, not if a thousand years were to pass and the sun were to go out and the sky shine with different stars in the night. War is such a political game now. There is no glory to be had. And I suppose it's a good thing that our soldiers can sit safe in a base a hundred miles away and still accomplish things, but I believe in heroic symbolism.
Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that there is much that is glorious about a battlefield. All the blood and guts and excrement and screaming and gnashing, never ending. But there is something glorious about the men who come back. Those who, although they saw all that, come back and raise their families, and live among you and me, like normal people, when they know they can never be that.
There is something more to be said in dying for what you believe in, in a battle far away. A glory that is innate to the ultimate sacrifice. But that's precisely the problem. How can you believe in an utterly pointless cause? There's nothing to be gained, nothing to be won, by striving in the desert day after day, just sorrow and death and scars, both mental and physical.
It is unfortunate.
The time of heroes has past, and we are left all the worse for it.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
What's Your Vice and Wish?
There are many things that I am cynical about. Religion, familial relationships, mainstream culture, weathermen. I sort of enjoy it in a way. A sort of pathetic pride, verging on sad, that I think slightly different from other people. But then there's weddings.
I find myself fully in support of weddings, without a truly bad or sarcastic thing to say about them. I suppose it has a lot to do with being happy with who I married. Going on 3 years now, and I love her more than I ever have. Our wedding was beautiful, simple, and dare I say it, classy. But it's more than that.
I was at a friend of my wife's wedding last night, and during the first dance, I found myself choked up a bit. This is unusual for me. I don't really cry. When my father passed was really about the last time I cried. I don't enjoy doing it and I don't feel like it really accomplishes anything. But this came out of a single thought.
This is humanity at its finest.
That sounds a bit pat, I suppose, but really think about it. Everyone, from every culture, from every religion, every race, every nation, everywhere, believes in marriage on some level or another. Even those who do not believe in a deity of any sort, believe in marriage. Marriage is the purest expression of love that we can have here on Earth. We don't need a god for it, we don't need the government or permission from someone else. In marriage, we find ourselves truly independent from everything except for the person at the other end of the aisle. And in an instant, in the pronouncement, we find ourselves with our world changed, relying entirely on that person.
And thus we dance. Not because of the sexuality or the alcohol. But because of the celebration of human life at the highest point that we can ever hope to attain. We dance, and we scream, and we shout to the stars and the planets and the universe that we are human, we are filled with love, and by that we are free!
It is absolutely beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. It is a time when the boundaries between this world and others are thinnest, a time of beginnings and endings, and there the two are, together, at the center of this mighty flux of power, this true expression and celebration and veneration of the purest part of human nature.
Weddings... a summation of us at our best.
I find myself fully in support of weddings, without a truly bad or sarcastic thing to say about them. I suppose it has a lot to do with being happy with who I married. Going on 3 years now, and I love her more than I ever have. Our wedding was beautiful, simple, and dare I say it, classy. But it's more than that.
I was at a friend of my wife's wedding last night, and during the first dance, I found myself choked up a bit. This is unusual for me. I don't really cry. When my father passed was really about the last time I cried. I don't enjoy doing it and I don't feel like it really accomplishes anything. But this came out of a single thought.
This is humanity at its finest.
That sounds a bit pat, I suppose, but really think about it. Everyone, from every culture, from every religion, every race, every nation, everywhere, believes in marriage on some level or another. Even those who do not believe in a deity of any sort, believe in marriage. Marriage is the purest expression of love that we can have here on Earth. We don't need a god for it, we don't need the government or permission from someone else. In marriage, we find ourselves truly independent from everything except for the person at the other end of the aisle. And in an instant, in the pronouncement, we find ourselves with our world changed, relying entirely on that person.
And thus we dance. Not because of the sexuality or the alcohol. But because of the celebration of human life at the highest point that we can ever hope to attain. We dance, and we scream, and we shout to the stars and the planets and the universe that we are human, we are filled with love, and by that we are free!
It is absolutely beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. It is a time when the boundaries between this world and others are thinnest, a time of beginnings and endings, and there the two are, together, at the center of this mighty flux of power, this true expression and celebration and veneration of the purest part of human nature.
Weddings... a summation of us at our best.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Face is Cracked From Smiling
Fear. Such a primal emotion. Plays on our evolutionary triggers, to the extent that I'm not actually sure it's fully an emotion. More of a chemical reaction intended to protect us from predators that used to be higher up on the food chain. Honestly though, I think that's a bit of an oversimplification.
What is that feeling, when you're lying safe in your bed at night, doors locked, windows bolted, gun on your side table, and yet you can't help but feel that something is waiting for you, out in the darkness? Something that you can't stop? Why is it that we fear darkness? Not outdoor darkness, that's understandable; it's a survival instinct. But tame, indoor darkness, darkness that we choose to be in, to sleep in, to spend eight hours out of every 24 in. Why do we fear it? Is it the same evolutionary trigger that makes us fear the outdoor darkness? The fear that there's something out there, unseen, that could possibly eat us? Is it really that simple? Or is it something worse, something more ancient perhaps, from the mythological mists of time, before our written records, just an unspoken dread that all humans carry in their hearts? I'm not sure, and that in itself is a bit scary to me. Not being able to fully analyze myself is a strange phenomenon that I'm not entirely comfortable with.
I know that animals have fear built in on a low level. Perhaps, humans, at a higher state of evolution, or creation, or whatever, over think a basic instinct. Because when an animal fears something, it walks away, or attacks. When a human fears something, it thinks about it a good bit. It's the reason for the phenomenon in horror movies, when the oversexed teenager hears a strange noise from the area that the killer was just in, and decides to go check it out, when clearly the smart thing to do would be to get out as fast as you could.
While I'm on the subject, why is it that humans are the only species to willingly experience things that scare them, such as horror movies, scary TV shows, haunted houses? What is this obsession with experiencing fear? If one of my dogs sees something that scares them, they walk away from it. They don't try to stand there for the adrenaline rush. Why do we insist on sitting through these tortures to our instincts, when really all they do is condition us to numb our natural reflexes?
Perhaps it's the intensity of the adrenaline rush. Most rushes we have a measure of control over. Sex, fighting, speed. All with a measure of control, the ability to slow down. But fear, fear is another story entirely. We have a certain lack of control from fear. We can't just slow down or stop being afraid of something. So the rush deepens, to the extent that you hear your blood roaring in your ears, and the slightest movement of anything will cause you to attack or run, just like the basest of animals.
Fear is yet another driving force for humanity. Fear of darkness drove us into light. Fear of exposure forced us to build shelter. Fear of loneliness causes us to seek that special someone. Fear of pain and death drove us to discover medicines and medical treatments. Fear of stagnation, of never being anything, drives us to do great and wonderful things. But I believe the worst and most intense of all higher fears, is the fear of being forgotten. Of passing from this world and no one noticing or caring, or even if they do, they quit caring about it as soon as the funeral is over. That's part of the reason for the funeral home and gravestone industries. What is a gravestone, if not a big sign that screams out "Remember me? I existed!"? What is a funeral, if not some last desperate attempt by the deceased to make an impression? You see, even the poorest of people try to make sure they have arrangements made for a decent funeral.
All the men and women who have done great works of art, architecture, technology, engineering, all those who have left their mark on the world, have done so, so that they are not forgotten. They may not think so. They may give reasons, such as progress, altruism, even money. But what they truly want is to simply be remembered. That's why fame is such an attraction. Because if you get famous enough, you will always be remembered.
Fear, darkness, and madness... Whispered furtively in the night, in case they are listening.
What is that feeling, when you're lying safe in your bed at night, doors locked, windows bolted, gun on your side table, and yet you can't help but feel that something is waiting for you, out in the darkness? Something that you can't stop? Why is it that we fear darkness? Not outdoor darkness, that's understandable; it's a survival instinct. But tame, indoor darkness, darkness that we choose to be in, to sleep in, to spend eight hours out of every 24 in. Why do we fear it? Is it the same evolutionary trigger that makes us fear the outdoor darkness? The fear that there's something out there, unseen, that could possibly eat us? Is it really that simple? Or is it something worse, something more ancient perhaps, from the mythological mists of time, before our written records, just an unspoken dread that all humans carry in their hearts? I'm not sure, and that in itself is a bit scary to me. Not being able to fully analyze myself is a strange phenomenon that I'm not entirely comfortable with.
I know that animals have fear built in on a low level. Perhaps, humans, at a higher state of evolution, or creation, or whatever, over think a basic instinct. Because when an animal fears something, it walks away, or attacks. When a human fears something, it thinks about it a good bit. It's the reason for the phenomenon in horror movies, when the oversexed teenager hears a strange noise from the area that the killer was just in, and decides to go check it out, when clearly the smart thing to do would be to get out as fast as you could.
While I'm on the subject, why is it that humans are the only species to willingly experience things that scare them, such as horror movies, scary TV shows, haunted houses? What is this obsession with experiencing fear? If one of my dogs sees something that scares them, they walk away from it. They don't try to stand there for the adrenaline rush. Why do we insist on sitting through these tortures to our instincts, when really all they do is condition us to numb our natural reflexes?
Perhaps it's the intensity of the adrenaline rush. Most rushes we have a measure of control over. Sex, fighting, speed. All with a measure of control, the ability to slow down. But fear, fear is another story entirely. We have a certain lack of control from fear. We can't just slow down or stop being afraid of something. So the rush deepens, to the extent that you hear your blood roaring in your ears, and the slightest movement of anything will cause you to attack or run, just like the basest of animals.
Fear is yet another driving force for humanity. Fear of darkness drove us into light. Fear of exposure forced us to build shelter. Fear of loneliness causes us to seek that special someone. Fear of pain and death drove us to discover medicines and medical treatments. Fear of stagnation, of never being anything, drives us to do great and wonderful things. But I believe the worst and most intense of all higher fears, is the fear of being forgotten. Of passing from this world and no one noticing or caring, or even if they do, they quit caring about it as soon as the funeral is over. That's part of the reason for the funeral home and gravestone industries. What is a gravestone, if not a big sign that screams out "Remember me? I existed!"? What is a funeral, if not some last desperate attempt by the deceased to make an impression? You see, even the poorest of people try to make sure they have arrangements made for a decent funeral.
All the men and women who have done great works of art, architecture, technology, engineering, all those who have left their mark on the world, have done so, so that they are not forgotten. They may not think so. They may give reasons, such as progress, altruism, even money. But what they truly want is to simply be remembered. That's why fame is such an attraction. Because if you get famous enough, you will always be remembered.
Fear, darkness, and madness... Whispered furtively in the night, in case they are listening.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Can't See the Open Road
So here's something I have found to be true in 99% of cases. It will make me sound uncaring of other people's problems I suppose, but then again we all have problems, and what I'm about to say is related only to sort of pathetic problems.
Ready? This may blow some of your minds, and will definitely anger some of you. Here goes though... If everyone out there thinks there's something wrong with you, if everyone disagrees with you, it's not that they don't understand you or they don't accept you. They're right. You're the one who's wrong.
Let me clarify a bit here. I'm not talking about those of you in high school. If you have half a brain, in a few years you'll realize that nothing that happens in those stupid high school social cliques is important. So I'm not talking about people who make fun of you at school.
Mainly I'm talking about the 25 or older single people living in their parents basement, refusing to bathe properly, refusing to do anything to better their situation, refusing to simply go out there and have a social interaction, and yet who, for some reason, claim it's the rest of the world who's got the problem, not them. Let me let you in on a little secret. You're not some special little flower that, with a little understanding, would bring joy to everyone you meet. No, you're the same collection of raw materials all of us are made of. I'm not sure that you've noticed, but if you look outside of that little box you consider your life, you'll realize that there are people out there, made the exact same way you were, who live their lives and get out and meet people and improve their lot in life every day.
The self esteem movement was one of the worst catastrophes of last century. Even the psychologists who preached it have realized now that it ruined entire generations. Do you know why? Because when you hand a child a trophy just for participating in something, to keep his or her self esteem up, they learn something awful. Something that hinders them. It teaches them that it doesn't really matter how hard you try, it'll all work out anyway. So forget about going out and getting a job at 16, if you wait around long enough, something will fall into your lap. If you get a job, forget about working hard and driving yourself, those promotions will just stack up. They'll just throw money at you, simply for showing up! This sort of thinking is a disease. My entire generation is affected with it. Entitled, the whole lot of them, except for the few who were raised just a bit differently. Who raise themselves up by the skin of their teeth. Who don't rely on Mommy and Daddy to pay for school, who work every day, studying, working, earning money and knowledge by the sweat of their brow. That is the path to success. This world has no time for those who refuse to have ambition. They are the grit in the gears of success.
Stop expecting things to fall into place for you. As far as that part of your life goes, there is no destiny. You're the same as the rest of us. Go out and become something, do something with your life. Quit feeling entitled. Choose a goal and stick to it. No, you know what? Pick two goals, and stick to them. One to change your life, to improve your lot, and one to make you more interesting. Pick something to learn, something that makes you a better person. Learn an instrument, a second language, take night classes to learn a trade, anything that makes you better. As far as the life changing one goes, strive for a promotion at work, finally get serious about having a real relationship, or at the very least, get your own place.
You are a collection of atoms, a petri dish of genetic material, a blank slate. Your genetics tell you how intelligent, good looking, and healthy you will be to a certain extent, but that's about all you're entitled to. And don't give me that whole "way I was raised" excuse; plenty of people have risen above a horrible upbringing. What this all means, though, is that we, as humans, are defined simply by the things we do. We are not defined by what might have been, what should have been. We are defined by what is, what we accomplish. That's terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. That means, if your life is going nowhere, it's your fault. Not anyone else's. Yours. But there's a flipside to that. Once you realize this, that you can change who you are for the better, then you can improve your entire life. You can have a successful existence.
I'm not saying have a lot of money or business success. I'm saying become truly happy within yourself. Cut your hair, take a shower, slap on some cologne or perfume, smear on some zit cream, wash your clothes, iron your clothes, quit writing fan fiction and get out and make something of yourself. Just be a successful human being. That's the key to true high self esteem. Being satisfied with who you are. Truly satisfied. Not just the lie about being happy so you can keep from hurting yourself. Become a full person, and you won't need the false accolades and the approval of the world. You provide your own self esteem. Hence "self".
"They don't understand me"... Four of the most problematic words in the world.
Ready? This may blow some of your minds, and will definitely anger some of you. Here goes though... If everyone out there thinks there's something wrong with you, if everyone disagrees with you, it's not that they don't understand you or they don't accept you. They're right. You're the one who's wrong.
Let me clarify a bit here. I'm not talking about those of you in high school. If you have half a brain, in a few years you'll realize that nothing that happens in those stupid high school social cliques is important. So I'm not talking about people who make fun of you at school.
Mainly I'm talking about the 25 or older single people living in their parents basement, refusing to bathe properly, refusing to do anything to better their situation, refusing to simply go out there and have a social interaction, and yet who, for some reason, claim it's the rest of the world who's got the problem, not them. Let me let you in on a little secret. You're not some special little flower that, with a little understanding, would bring joy to everyone you meet. No, you're the same collection of raw materials all of us are made of. I'm not sure that you've noticed, but if you look outside of that little box you consider your life, you'll realize that there are people out there, made the exact same way you were, who live their lives and get out and meet people and improve their lot in life every day.
The self esteem movement was one of the worst catastrophes of last century. Even the psychologists who preached it have realized now that it ruined entire generations. Do you know why? Because when you hand a child a trophy just for participating in something, to keep his or her self esteem up, they learn something awful. Something that hinders them. It teaches them that it doesn't really matter how hard you try, it'll all work out anyway. So forget about going out and getting a job at 16, if you wait around long enough, something will fall into your lap. If you get a job, forget about working hard and driving yourself, those promotions will just stack up. They'll just throw money at you, simply for showing up! This sort of thinking is a disease. My entire generation is affected with it. Entitled, the whole lot of them, except for the few who were raised just a bit differently. Who raise themselves up by the skin of their teeth. Who don't rely on Mommy and Daddy to pay for school, who work every day, studying, working, earning money and knowledge by the sweat of their brow. That is the path to success. This world has no time for those who refuse to have ambition. They are the grit in the gears of success.
Stop expecting things to fall into place for you. As far as that part of your life goes, there is no destiny. You're the same as the rest of us. Go out and become something, do something with your life. Quit feeling entitled. Choose a goal and stick to it. No, you know what? Pick two goals, and stick to them. One to change your life, to improve your lot, and one to make you more interesting. Pick something to learn, something that makes you a better person. Learn an instrument, a second language, take night classes to learn a trade, anything that makes you better. As far as the life changing one goes, strive for a promotion at work, finally get serious about having a real relationship, or at the very least, get your own place.
You are a collection of atoms, a petri dish of genetic material, a blank slate. Your genetics tell you how intelligent, good looking, and healthy you will be to a certain extent, but that's about all you're entitled to. And don't give me that whole "way I was raised" excuse; plenty of people have risen above a horrible upbringing. What this all means, though, is that we, as humans, are defined simply by the things we do. We are not defined by what might have been, what should have been. We are defined by what is, what we accomplish. That's terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. That means, if your life is going nowhere, it's your fault. Not anyone else's. Yours. But there's a flipside to that. Once you realize this, that you can change who you are for the better, then you can improve your entire life. You can have a successful existence.
I'm not saying have a lot of money or business success. I'm saying become truly happy within yourself. Cut your hair, take a shower, slap on some cologne or perfume, smear on some zit cream, wash your clothes, iron your clothes, quit writing fan fiction and get out and make something of yourself. Just be a successful human being. That's the key to true high self esteem. Being satisfied with who you are. Truly satisfied. Not just the lie about being happy so you can keep from hurting yourself. Become a full person, and you won't need the false accolades and the approval of the world. You provide your own self esteem. Hence "self".
"They don't understand me"... Four of the most problematic words in the world.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Same in a Relative Way, But Older
Time changes our perception of things. Things we used to believe, the way we used to behave, to think, to live, all different with the passing of time. If a person is encountered who does not change, then that person is barely a person at all, but a beast, stuck walking the same path around its life, like a wolf stuck in a cage at a zoo. Change, the ability to adapt to it, to redefine who we are, is what makes us human.
I look back at myself, at my life thus far, at the age of 23. I see how I used to be. Starting out for quite a long time of my younger life, innocent, God-fearing, morally upright. Shy, but not unfriendly. The type who would lead if given the chance, but would follow as well. It was all the same to that boy. No cares, no worries, other than those pertaining to the afterlife, and the worry of my destination after death. Not such an innocent thing, but that's the way I was raised.
Then, I became increasingly introspective, spending days at a time in books, inside the house, or out in the woods, it didn't matter which. Just me and the pages. I loved that. There's something to be said for the beauty of the printed page, all environmental concerns aside. The smell of paper, the crinkle of the leaves being turned, and the suspense of a page turning to reveal what the next plot point was. I never had much truck with non-fiction in those days. No, I wanted nothing but fuel for my imagination, which at the time was filled with friendly dragons, tame sword fights, and peaceful voyages across the stars.
This continued until I got my first real, taxable income, job. I was so shy and quiet that I don't believe anyone got two words out of me for the first month I worked there. People made it their mission to get me to come out of my shell, to talk to them. That was also where I met my wife. She was especially responsible for pulling me out of myself and making me into a person who could actually participate in a social setting.
I'm not sure when the rage began. Looking back now, it's all cloudy. Dusty, like furniture stored in an attic and never used. There's nothing sinister there I'm sure of it, and yet somehow I know that between the ages of about 13 and 16 I was filled with an unquenchable anger at everything. I've written of this before. Mostly I believe it to be righteous anger, rage at the inequities inherent in our world, but there is a darker side as well. A side that simply revels in blood lust and violence.
I began to fight. I had always fought a bit. My parents, believing that a person should know how to defend themselves, enrolled me in martial arts at a very young age, and I attained my black belt in Tae Kwon Do when I was 15. I enjoyed the fighting though. More than the discipline or the exercise or the camaraderie, I craved the rush of the fight. It became my driving urge. For a few years that's all I wanted.
I look back at that person now. Relatively it was a short time ago. Was it really me who destroyed friendships simply because of a desire to be the strongest man in the room? Me, who punched someone so hard they threw up, simply because they had dared to make fun of me? Me, who believed that any conflict, either personal, national, or worldwide, could and should be solved with the proper amount of violence? It was pathetic. I remember what I did and who I was now, and I find myself embarrassed. Angry with my younger self, for acting like such a fool. For throwing away all the discipline and mental fortitude, for a cheap high off of adrenaline, at the cost of my reputation among my friends. It is a completely different person I look at from then to now.
I am more cynical now as well. I no longer believe that my country is the shining white light of the world that I thought it was at that age. I no longer hold to the exact same religious beliefs that those before me followed without question. I no longer believe in the innate goodness of humankind, nor do I believe that we are inherently evil. I have found that no one in our government is worth putting my faith in to fix our country, and I believe that, were I in that situation, I would not do any better either. I have no truly pure untainted views anymore. I look at the young boy without a care in the world and think, was I really that naive at some point?
My imagination, while still filled with the dragons and swords and space trips, is no longer so innocent, as all these things are tainted by the anger and the blood lust that I hold at bay.
But you know what's really strange? I mean, what really takes the cake here?
I love who I am. I love the cynicism, the complicated belief systems, the suspicion of our leaders. I love my imagination and my anger and yes, even the blood lust. I do not regret who I have become. I am not evil, or holy. Not good or bad. I just am. I exist, and because I exist, I can love. I can love and I can hate and I can feel and I can give praise and I can deride. I can despair and I can rejoice and I can run and jump and breathe and imagine.
And once I accepted that? Well... the rush from the fighting doesn't hold a candle to the rush from simply knowing that you are alive.
I look back at myself, at my life thus far, at the age of 23. I see how I used to be. Starting out for quite a long time of my younger life, innocent, God-fearing, morally upright. Shy, but not unfriendly. The type who would lead if given the chance, but would follow as well. It was all the same to that boy. No cares, no worries, other than those pertaining to the afterlife, and the worry of my destination after death. Not such an innocent thing, but that's the way I was raised.
Then, I became increasingly introspective, spending days at a time in books, inside the house, or out in the woods, it didn't matter which. Just me and the pages. I loved that. There's something to be said for the beauty of the printed page, all environmental concerns aside. The smell of paper, the crinkle of the leaves being turned, and the suspense of a page turning to reveal what the next plot point was. I never had much truck with non-fiction in those days. No, I wanted nothing but fuel for my imagination, which at the time was filled with friendly dragons, tame sword fights, and peaceful voyages across the stars.
This continued until I got my first real, taxable income, job. I was so shy and quiet that I don't believe anyone got two words out of me for the first month I worked there. People made it their mission to get me to come out of my shell, to talk to them. That was also where I met my wife. She was especially responsible for pulling me out of myself and making me into a person who could actually participate in a social setting.
I'm not sure when the rage began. Looking back now, it's all cloudy. Dusty, like furniture stored in an attic and never used. There's nothing sinister there I'm sure of it, and yet somehow I know that between the ages of about 13 and 16 I was filled with an unquenchable anger at everything. I've written of this before. Mostly I believe it to be righteous anger, rage at the inequities inherent in our world, but there is a darker side as well. A side that simply revels in blood lust and violence.
I began to fight. I had always fought a bit. My parents, believing that a person should know how to defend themselves, enrolled me in martial arts at a very young age, and I attained my black belt in Tae Kwon Do when I was 15. I enjoyed the fighting though. More than the discipline or the exercise or the camaraderie, I craved the rush of the fight. It became my driving urge. For a few years that's all I wanted.
I look back at that person now. Relatively it was a short time ago. Was it really me who destroyed friendships simply because of a desire to be the strongest man in the room? Me, who punched someone so hard they threw up, simply because they had dared to make fun of me? Me, who believed that any conflict, either personal, national, or worldwide, could and should be solved with the proper amount of violence? It was pathetic. I remember what I did and who I was now, and I find myself embarrassed. Angry with my younger self, for acting like such a fool. For throwing away all the discipline and mental fortitude, for a cheap high off of adrenaline, at the cost of my reputation among my friends. It is a completely different person I look at from then to now.
I am more cynical now as well. I no longer believe that my country is the shining white light of the world that I thought it was at that age. I no longer hold to the exact same religious beliefs that those before me followed without question. I no longer believe in the innate goodness of humankind, nor do I believe that we are inherently evil. I have found that no one in our government is worth putting my faith in to fix our country, and I believe that, were I in that situation, I would not do any better either. I have no truly pure untainted views anymore. I look at the young boy without a care in the world and think, was I really that naive at some point?
My imagination, while still filled with the dragons and swords and space trips, is no longer so innocent, as all these things are tainted by the anger and the blood lust that I hold at bay.
But you know what's really strange? I mean, what really takes the cake here?
I love who I am. I love the cynicism, the complicated belief systems, the suspicion of our leaders. I love my imagination and my anger and yes, even the blood lust. I do not regret who I have become. I am not evil, or holy. Not good or bad. I just am. I exist, and because I exist, I can love. I can love and I can hate and I can feel and I can give praise and I can deride. I can despair and I can rejoice and I can run and jump and breathe and imagine.
And once I accepted that? Well... the rush from the fighting doesn't hold a candle to the rush from simply knowing that you are alive.
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