(Phaysis)

Who’s the sad sack sitting in front of his laptop at the coffeeshop? That’s right.

I shouldn’t complain, though. At least I’m not sitting in front of my computer at home.

2011 was supposed to be better than 2010. It wasn’t.

2010 was supposed to be better than 2009. It wasn’t.

2009 was supposed to be better than 2008. It wasn’t.

Ad infinitum.

The problem with the “growth” thinking of “we must get better and better” is that it blindly ignores the fact that over a span of time, the good and bad stuff averages out to a flat gray. If you take any negative moment and view that as the death of all that is good in the world, then you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Bad stuff happens. Good stuff happens. That’s life.

My hope for 2012 is that I learn to accept the average, that I get comfortable with the baseline, and that I pick up the slack and do something that’s worth it. Cheers.

“You are responsible for your own experience.”

From what I’ve been told, this statement is posted at the front gate of any Burning Man event. It is supposed to be an admonition to seize your own destiny and craft the kind of life you want to lead.

To me, it feels like an after-the-fact, regret-filled I-told-you-so. If I am not living as I had hoped, then the burden of blame is laid squarely on my own shoulders. I mean, by this logic, who else can possibly be at fault?

If my own nature casts me as happiest when I am alone, but my desire leaves me unhappy at being alone, then how am I to reconcile this inherent disconnect between nature and desire? Which of them should I lose if they can’t be made whole? Who am I if I can’t rise above this struggle and do something about it?

Back in Austin after a few days in my hometown. Managed to sleep more than 6 hours this morning, and took my time getting out of bed and cleaned up. My coat still smells like cigarette smoke, and before I went to bed I had to clean my CPAP hoses and mask because they reeked of Pall Malls. Still need to do a load of laundry to clean the fur and smoke off of all the clothing I wore on my trip.

Trying to get my head together and decide what to do with my time. It should go without saying that I live my life in little epochs separated by events. A holiday trip home certainly classifies. I had my concerns and projects and threads of thought before the trip, but after coming back, I have to wonder which ones I want to carry forward into this next epoch. All the concerns of the world will come at me before I’m ready, so I’m not too interested in accelerating their return. Work resumes tomorrow, laundry resumes today, and I went grocering last night. Life continues on, I guess. Decide what baggage to leave behind.

I’ve been doing it all wrong for the past 10 years.

The coffeeshop is not the destination. It is the journey, the waystation, the pit stop. It is the refreshment break on the way to somewhere else where I’m actually doing something with my life. I should’ve picked up on this years ago, but I didn’t, and I’m a stupid dumbass for not seeing it. Most of the people I know through hanging out at coffeeshops have actually gone on to do great and interesting things. Yet I am still here, bored, alone, and unfulfilled. Continue reading

It’s a late Friday night alone, and my demons are talking at me. They’re telling me that since I am alone, late on a Friday night, that I obviously must have done something wrong with my life. That there had to be one missed opportunity, one blind moment, one bad mistake early on in my adulthood to begin a chain of events, decisions, and lost potential that lead up to yet another night alone. I can’t deny that our lives are more than the sum of our choices, but our choices nonetheless impinge on our lives and hammer us into the shape we are at the present.

I just cannot see where I may have turned wrong. Was it my volition (or lack thereof), or was it outside forces beyond my control (or lack of willpower)? Did I get too greedy? Did I not get bold enough? Did I not answer my hunger when the bounty was rich? I simply do not know, and even with counsel, I never will.

One event is all it takes to initiate a reverberating series of fumbles, misteps, and stutters. I want to recover.