Corn Syrup

With my new job, I'm on the road much of the time, with plenty of time in the state van by myself and plenty of time in hotels by myself, which is nice for me, because I need my introvert time just as much as the next introvert whose job requires interacting with large groups of people day in and day out. At the same time, that extra solitude also means that I spend more time thinking about things when I'm on the road than when I'm at home. It's not really soul-searching; it's more analyzing my life, because I'm the one who has to live it and I should be responsible and reasonable about it.

Even while being responsible and reasonable, I get discouraged when I don't make the changes I want to see in myself. I'm discouraged often enough that I figured it was worth thinking about. Why can't I do all the things I want to do, be the person everyone wants me to be, fix my faults and be a healthier, happier individual? I think the problem I have is that I'm stuck in a rut, but it's a more advanced rut than I've ever been stuck in before. It's a rut that fills up with water and covers you and expands so you're under an ocean of unmanageable water. But drowning in the ocean is metaphor tired with use, so this is what I came up with to explain what I feel when I'm not who I want to be:

It's like, it's like I'm in this ocean, this big pool of corn syrup, this vat of corn syrup, like all my fears and worries and problems and iniquities and doubts and faults and failures have liquefied and turned into corn syrup. And I'm swimming around, you know, and I've got this breathing apparatus and this corn syrup swimsuit that is ideally suited for living in corn syrup and, you know, I'm functioning. I just don't think about the fact that I'm in corn syrup, that it's gross and it gives me these headaches and it's not good for my body and I wasn't made to swim around in corn syrup- I was made to walk around in air. As long as I keep all those truths out of my mind, I'm OK in my corn syrup. Besides, it's what I do. I swim around in corn syrup. Anything else would be changing the status quo, doing something that has previously been undone and that's not a task I relish.

I'll look up, though, and I'll see all the things that are outside of this vat of corn syrup. There's music and books and sports and friends and people, all these people, outside of the corn syrup. And I think it'd be pretty cool to be up there, you know. I mean, the corn syrup, it's not that bad. There's the occasional piece of fruit suspended in the fluid, like with Jell-O or fruit cups, and it's pretty static, so stuff says where I left it, but the fun things, the stories and the monsters and the stars and the romances, those things are outside of the corn syrup, so I think about getting out. I even swim up to the edge, but then people come over and they see my swimsuit and my breathing apparatus and they look down on me. "We'll talk when you've changed. You'll be able to handle the adult things we deal with out here on the land then." And they walk away, so I stay in the corn syrup, embarrassed and ashamed.

But, still, all the good things are up there, out of the corn syrup, so I think harder about trying to get out. When no one's looking, I'll get right up to the edge, lift my hands out of the water, and get my arms ready to push myself out, but then I think of how hard it'll be. I mean, it'll take everything I've got just to get out of the corn syrup and then, once I'm out, it'll still be all over me. I mean, can you think of how much time it'll take to get the corn syrup off of me, out of my hair, out of my ears, out from underneath my fingernails, between my toes? I'll have to get used to breathing regular air, standing up on my own two feet under this crushing naturally-occurring gravity. I'll have to get new clothes. I don't even know where you'd get new clothes. I don't know how everyone else got what they have, I don't know how to get clean, and I don't know how to walk. I'd just look dumb if I got out. I mean, at least in the corn syrup, I can swim away from them, from the people with the cutting words and the looks that lack any kind of understanding or empathy. It really is my own little world down in the corn syrup- safe, even if it's not right. And anyway, even if I tried to ask for help getting out of the corn syrup, they wouldn't be able to understand what I'm saying- the corn syrup would distort the sound waves like water does and it'd come out in a jumble and I'd stay stuck.

Even if I did get out, I'd want someone there who'd been in the corn syrup and knew how to get out and how to get it off of me, or at least someone who'd studied corn syrup. I mean, I'd want someone who knew the exact viscosity of corn syrup so they'd know how much force I'd need to get out of the vat of corn syrup. They'd need to know the chemical composition of corn syrup so they could find the best way to clean it off of me. I mean, I guess I'd take home remedies as well, but they'd have to be proven, no old wives tales about how badgers are really good at detecting the last vestiges of corn syrup and can sniff it out of the creases in your elbows or the corners of your eyelids. I'd need someone willing to help me stand up for the first time and teach me how to walk without judgement. I'd need someone there coaching me until standing and walking were second nature. Then I'd want someone to stay beside me and help me find the right clothes so that I could fit in and figure the rest of it out, and french the llama, there better be someone there with a musical instrument and packed bookshelf, because I didn't climb out of that corn syrup for the oxygen and concrete.

And I don't think I'd go back near the corn syrup for a while. I'd probably stay away from sodas and juice and stuff too. It's not like my memories of the time swimming in and getting out of the corn syrup would disappear and memories can paralyze you, you know? Just the thought of being back in the corn syrup would be enough to keep me a touchdown away the edge of the vat for a long time, because it's so easy to picture yourself back inside. It's so easy to want to be back inside. I mean, you're supported by the corn syrup, you don't have to talk to anyone, you don't have to try to figure anything out at all- it's the apathetic atrophy of your muscles, heart, and mind and it's nice and easy. You have to fight for things out in the air that were never even a problem when you're in the corn syrup, and the promises that were made to you back in the corn syrup, the completeness that you think is out there with the people, that takes a while to actualize. Not only do you fight to stand, but you have to wait in hope. It's not easy.

That lack of ease is exactly why I would be there the next time someone swam up to the edge of the vat of corn syrup. I'd be there, fear and all, because they'd have no idea what kind of beautiful mess they were pulling themselves into.

Intentional Beginnings

(Disclaimer: I live in a world that is totally comfortable with words that that are normally bleeped out of cable TV and that, while I encourage you to click on the little blue links, that you should aware that there are people out there who make use of those little words to punctuate their sincerity and if those words aren't your thing, maybe think again about clicking on the last link.)

I spend most of my evenings having things pour into me. I check Facebook and see what people have posted, read articles, shake my head, smile, click through pictures, and respond to messages. I shudder when I look at my gmail and avoid deleting the extras among the 800 unread messages because there's a link to a new video from one of my youtube subscriptions. I catch up on videos with headphones in because only nerds subscribe to channels on youtube (nerdfighters, that is) and I have to pretend I'm not a nerd (though the word nerd is not an insult- John Green). I check Twitter and spend what must be an hour loading new tweets, clicking on content, reading articles, looking at picture sets, and following conversations down through my twitter feed. If you have the misfortune of following me while I'm watching a movie or the Friends finale, you see that I spend much of those hours tweeting quotes from what I'm watching. And if Twiiter, Facebook, TV, movies, and roommates can't feed my emptying brain enough, I'll switch over to my tumblr and reblog the first twenty awesome pictures, articles, or John Green quotes I see. Also squids. There's this girl on tumblr who's like me and is even named Addie except she has this thing for Matthew Gray Gubler and squids. Not together. That would be weird. But I'm giving squids a try because my doppelganger thinks they're cool and I like her taste.

Squids aside, I spend most of my time at my new awesome townhouse with awesome roommates doing anything except making something. And I think it's great that there's so much good content out there. There's such opportunity to make things and design things and put it out there for people to look at and evaluate and admire and ascribe importance to. I really like that there's this international underground of creativity that isn't necessarily recognized by the media powers that be. Basically, I'm an internet hipster. Like, I think etsy is an awesome idea, I think you could give some of the artists on DFTA records,  the NPR tiny desk concerts, or the free new artists list on Amazon a listen, and I think that there are beautiful and funny and insightful blogs on tumblr and other places on the internet. Even though there's a lot of pointless things out there, I think that the magical land of the internet is a sweets and joy and joyness. My only problem with the internet is that I spend more time watching than contributing. Then again, I do that in life a lot too, so I'm not sure that I'd expect anything too much different.

But making something means putting yourself out there. I mean, I had an impromptu accoustic guitar session with my roommate, whom I trust and love, and I couldn't pick a single song for us to play for fear of picking something I couldn't play at all or something that my roommate wouldn't know or like. It's one of the safest environments possible, outside of being alone, and I just had nothing to give. Or, I started organ lessons on Friday and had to stop and talk  and make a joke every single time I messed up. I'm starting to think that I contain a world of insecurities just waiting to be unleashed on people. But making something, whether it’s music or writing or other arts, means putting your talents to use and making things that are distinctly you and allowing people to take and use them however they want. It's difficult and scary and something I totally want to do right now.

I have this weird, awesome amount of confidence in things I do because I am now good at something, that something being planetarium shows. I mean, I never intended nor thought that knowing so many puns about stars and planets and stuff would give me confidence to do other things, but recognizing that feeling of accomplishment, of knowing that in a particular situation you could excel like no other, helps you recognize that feeling in other situations and helps you to be proud of yourself, to have the right kind of pride. So I'm going to run with that and take Ira Glass's advice and just continue making things. Now, I paint like a one year old (that's unfair- I draw stick figures on, like, a seventh grade level at least) and I sing like someone who deserves to have the choir hide them (also unfair- I mean, I'm only squeaky after close football games which I attended and which I think we should have won) and play guitar like a noob, but I write pretty OK, so I'm going to start intentionally writing again. It's part of an intentional series of life things I have going on right now and I figure if I can succeed at something I want to do, maybe I'll figure out how to succeed at things I have to do.

I'm drawing up a list of topics and at least weekly I'm going to write a new blog about different ideas. I recently spent a summer deeply discussing the attributes of superheroes, so maybe I'll write something smart about that. I've had a lot of questions about why we've landed a laboratory on Mars, so maybe I'll rehash that. I've thought a lot about what I think about social, economic, and religious issues, so maybe I'll muster up some courage and tackle some of those things. And I've experience a lot of funny sound bites in my recent life, so maybe I'll curate a collection of those to present to you. I mean, I totally appreciate my coming-of-age things, because I'm stuck in that phase where I'm definitely an adult but am unsure about how I feel about that, or how other people feel about that, but there's much more to me than that, and I want to express that.

So raise a glass to beginnings, to the infinite set of numbers in that terrible place between zeroand one that I'm going to brush by (Ze Frank). Let the potential for awesome thrive. 

Moving (Or, Life Confusion)

D'you know, I've spent much of the last month looking for spare seconds when I can sit down and get my thoughts together. I mean, other than that week that I didn't do much moving at all due to a fall and back injury. Can we talk about that? It's just scary that you can miss one step and end up in pain that reaches at least a 7 on a scale of 1 to Bane breaking Batman's back. And it's scarier that you could have pain like that perpetually. It's scary that there are unfixable pains out there, and that they can become realities in your life. It's scary that I can hurt like this. 

But, aside from all of that, I think the last month has been an exercise in worrying and plugging in everything I can to block out the worry- worrying that I'm an unbearable burden, worrying that I'm a frustration in other people's lives, worrying that I won't be good enough, worrying that I'll never be healthy again, worrying that things aren't going to work out, worrying that the transition from this plan to the next is going to be more than I can handle. The problem with my worries is that I don't know which ones are realistic and which ones aren't. My worries live in a mind of freedom and opportunity- they're all created equal as far as I'm concerned, and only time will tell which ones are going to grow up into big, important problems. Then again, certain worries are subsidized by the department of self-doubt, so they're probably going to succeed anyway. It's just easier to avoid all these potentials and realities and just watch Friends or go watch movies and fill up the schedule until you think you're squeezing seconds out of your day to do anything outside worrying and avoiding worry.

Along with several people in my acquaintance, I have a gap between when my lease at my old apartment ended and when the lease at my new apartment begins. For a lot of people, it's like hitchhiking through the weeks- one night here, three nights there, only staying as long as it fits in with other people's schedules and contemplating the possibility of sleeping in their car. Luckily, it's more like catching a ride with me, where I'm spending my entire time without an address at a friend's apartment in a mostly-empty room. But I can't help feeling that everyone else is just as lucky, because they're hardly a problem, a momentary obligation, rather than a perpetual burden. It's just difficult, to get used to not possessing a space after having nearly a year of a having a place that was mine. I mean, currently, I have a room to stay in, and my stuff's there, but it's not mine. This gap in housing is just something I'm dealing with, a temporary thing, like having to wear a cast on my independence until it's functional again.

When I think about all of this, though, I get a little weighed under by the nostalgia of a summer spent never owning a space and never having to move anything larger than a backpack and the thought of people who have nowhere to stay and why I had so many offers of places to sleep when others have none. It's this weird, depressing spiral where I feel guilty for my blessings, wonder why the world isn't fixed enough so that everyone can have the same things I have, and wish that this dumb idealism with which most of us post-college purported world-changers are saddled would either go away or push me enough to do something that secures good in the world outside of my own self interest. I also want to get rid of half the stuff I own and I want to be able to move at a moment's notice just by packing up my car and I want to walk lightly upon the earth and I'm so confused, because I don't know that you can live deeply and walk lightly and I think that conversations like that are best held when the day is just waking up and not many of us have the motivation to stare down the dawn and dare it to blossom into another day that will leave us with more pain than we started with. Probably.

All I want to do right now is move into the new place on Friday and Saturday and settle into a routine. I want to hold still for a few weeks before something new starts. I want someone to sit beside me and listen to me rant and ramble and then tell me how to make things happen, to push me, to send me on a mission, and to watch me while I finish it. I want to understand the length and depth and breadth of universe and then I want to tell someone else about it and call that my contribution to humanity.

So, that's all a little too much to ask, you think? Anyone want to help me move instead? I'll give you pizza and beverages and my lasting thanks. That's what I've got right now.