Rails, Ride

Found a DVD copy of Linklater’s “Before Sunrise”. Watched it the other night and fell in love again.

Takes me back to the summer of ’95. College. My friend Pam called me up one night (along with my girlfriend-at-the-time Donna) to come over to hang out, have snacks, and watch this movie. It was always good to hang out with Pam; among my friends, she was one of the few who had the light on inside, which was endearing and fascinating.

As we watched the movie unfold, I fell in love. I — along with every 20-something boy who watched that film — wanted to go to Europe, ride the Eurail, and unexpectedly find someone special. I was certain of it (yeah, I was 23, full of bright ideas and misguided dreams, so spare me the headshaking).

What the movie did was put me into a space outside myself, looking in, and it beamed a bright light on just where I was at that moment: sitting in a house with a friend that I adored, with my actual girlfriend sitting in front of me leaning back against my legs, and me on the couch, transfixed by a gorgeous French actress and an all-American everyman actor having a fictional romance in a foreign land. The conversation they had on screen was the end product of months of dreaming, thinking, discussing, planning, writing, and distilling every idea down into 100 minutes of finely-crafted dialogue. Actual conversations, especially among the newly-met, will never, ever reach that level of sophistication or interest because we don’t have the luxury of a creative team doing all the planning beforehand; we must talk in real-time by the power of our own mettle. Real conversations pale in comparison.

But there I was, feeling uncomfortable in the sudden recognition of the little hungers pulling inside of me. I felt that no matter which direction won the tug-of-war, there would be new experiences and new possibilities, yes, and that I would be in the middle of wherever I happened to move into (what I eventually went with was none of those directions, which is how I got to where I am now). But I felt a bit disingenuous and shameful, like I had a dirty little secret, that I should be so bold to consider anything other than staying with the one I was with. The struggle between going steady and being ready is one I am typically not willing to fight.

This serves to highlight a maleficent part of my modus operandi, which is to lay low, not be too hasty in making a decision, not being quick to move, because some day, by god, I just might miss out on whatever great thing/person/event I will be missing out on if I made the move too soon. The untold futures! The doors closed once entered! The lost chances!

To that end, I’m glad Linklater went on to make “Before Sunset”, which kind of discusses the ugly back end of missed opportunities. Life has to go on; if you don’t make the moves, it will move for you (and will likely do it without you) in ways you may not find profitable. I’m old enough to look back, and it’s sobering to count the unused years.

So much squandered potential; is there enough left?

1984 Versus 2001

Needed something to explain the odd juxtaposition of possible futures and actual outcomes. Came up with this.

Because in 1984, we were worried about George Orwell’s warnings of the impending arrival of Big Brother and endless war (“Ingsoc is at war with Oceania. Ingsoc has always been at war with Oceania.”), yet our space program was running strong and, with Arthur C. Clarke’s vision, we were able to dream beyond our world toward living in space. In 2001, endless war arrived in the form of the War on Terror, and by now our space-fairing capability is all but scrapped while we wait on the private sector to catch up.

Interesting swapparoo, don’t you think?

For the Schwinn

Hacking a computer is a lot like riding a bicycle.

Let’s say, for instance, that you give a kid a 10-speed bike. If the kid’s stupid, he’ll hop on and try pedaling like they do on TV. He might fall off because he doesn’t know how to ride it. Eventually, he gets the hang of it, but notices it’s really, really hard to go up hills. If he’s really stupid, he’ll keep pushing harder on the pedals, maybe wear himself out, maybe give up saying “well, they just don’t want me to use this stupid thing! They should just make it work!” But if he’s smart, he’ll overcome his fear of possibly damaging the bike from making changes from the default settings and will start moving the gear levers to see what happens. And it’s through that defiant act of making a small change to notice any big benefits that he eventually learns his bicycle and finds it his most useful tool for getting where he wants to go.

That is hacking.

Ugly Face

I shouldn’t do visualization exercises during yoga. Just shouldn’t.

Today we did a five-armed blessing thing, more like a guided meditation. Silently, we’d visualize someone, and then silently give them our blessing. “_____, I wish for you to be happy, healthy, and wise.” Innocuous, and is supposed to help us extend compassion to others. The list of five “people” is as follows:

  1. Myself
  2. Someone I love
  3. Someone I barely know (an acquaintance)
  4. Someone who is a “challenge” to me (difficult, enemy)
  5. Everyone I’ve ever come into contact with (the world)

First part was easy. Ridiculously easy. Of course I’m going to be self-serving enough to wish myself health, happiness, and wisdom. Easy.

Second: someone I love. I thought hard about this. Who did I come up with? My mother. My own mother. That’s it? That’s all I got? My mom? What am I, a 4-year-old? I’m 40. I should have lots of people I love. But I don’t. I have no one. I love nobody. I’m not even partially fascinated with anybody. That’s it. That’s all I could come up with. And I half did it because, c’mon, how are you able to not love your mother? It’s like hating puppies and rainbows. Who doesn’t love their mother? I’m embarrassed, and ashamed. This activity has failed beyond imagination. I have nobody.

Third: someone I barely know, an acquaintance. Which one? Everybody I know is only an acquaintance. There are no friends among them. They’re just people I know. You’re just people I know. That’s all.

Fourth: someone who challenges me. Again, that’s everybody. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a positive hand on my shoulder, so this puts everybody in the challenge category. You’re right, I’m wrong, and that’s the end of it.

Fifth: everybody I’ve encountered in my life. Same. Same as third. Same as fourth. It’s me, and then where I come from, and then the rest of you. That’s all I got.

In an exercise that was supposed to make me feel good about myself and my place in the world, I met my true self. The pain of being so alone is the sharpest, the weight the heaviest. I am that guy who has nobody to put down on the dotted line as a contact in case of emergency. I am that man who can walk into the cafe full of people he knows, sit alone, and leave when I’m done without breathing a greeting. This is my pitiful, shameful, true self, the inevitable fruit of wanting to be left alone.

Bent Up

Agitated beyond need.

They tell me to be kind, forgiving, compassionate to myself. That sounds nice. Pretty words. But tonight’s yoga practice has left me agitated, unwilling to stop feeling embarrassed for not getting it, for not understanding, for not having any sense of what to do with my body. I have just enough awareness that the first half of the class is okay, but the advanced asanas are beyond my comprehension. I am a 5’8″ thumb, and I’m feeling pretty dumb about myself.

I want to keep trying. I want to succeed, to see what I’m doing, to know what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll get better, they’ll say. I’ll get better, I’ll say. Practice makes perfect, we all say. But I’m a thumb.

I shouldn’t sit at the front of the studio. The class is looking at my back. I don’t think they’re watching me, judging. No. I feel it, but c’mon, I’m not that stupid. It’s just when the class zigs and I zag, I want to know it, I want to not be that guy. I need a frame of reference that’s not the perfect body and form of the teacher, or the wall behind her. I need to know my place, not fear my place.

I could ask her for help, and she may genuinely care about my involvement, but she cannot invest any care or attention unless I make a business arrangement for private sessions. I have nothing to say in the public class that’s not personal, not embarrassing, not an admission of being substandard. I mean, dammit, I know that’s what class is for, but the tough front, y’know?

Shouldn’t be leaving yoga more agitated, embarrassed, and negative than I arrived. Just shouldn’t.