I think a lot of us are afraid.
Afraid that we won’t actually change. Won’t actually become the people we want to become.
That we’ll remain the people we were.
Make the same mistakes.
We look forward into the future. That nebulous, imaginary thing that doesn’t really exist. And we see hope and potential. We see the possibility of transition, change, growth. We see what we want to see. Who we want to be. What we want to do. But it’s far easier to imagine ourselves reliving our past. Acting out the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. The stories others have told us about ourselves, many of which have far more to do with them than they do us.
I feel it.
Even after telling two different people I love very much and know very well the following: “You don’t have to believe it’s possible in order to do it. You just have to start. And continue.”
I told them that from my perspective as an outsider. From the outside it’s clear that change is possible. They’re already on the path to becoming a different version of themselves. They’re different now than they were a month ago. We all are.
But then when it’s quiet and I’m alone and start thinking, start looking ahead, I doubt that advice for myself. I have so much evidence that I’ll continue making the same mistakes.
But you know what? Screw it.
The last time I posted here I was in the thick of it. One of the most difficult times of my life. Doubting my ability to crawl out of it. I had a need to express this, just so I didn’t feel alone in my doubt. Somehow sharing that doubt made its grip a little less powerful.
You can’t just ignore a feeling. Well you can, but it won’t help. It’s still there.
My brother is a smart guy. Better said, he’s wise. He once told me that every feeling is a gift. Cuz it gives you information about what’s alive in you right now. So welcome it. Be grateful for it. There are no bad feelings or good feelings. It’s all information.
It took me a long time to absorb what he said. Not even to believe it or begin to implement it. Just to remember what he said. Cuz it was so different from my perspective.
Pain sucks. Sadness hurts. Fear is debilitating.
I spent most of my life not having a clue how to deal with these feelings. Honestly, not even aware that they were happening.
Often, I’d vacillate between long periods of isolation and exhausting bursts of putting all my energy into something to distract me, to try to create a “good” feeling to replace the “bad” one.
But each of these feelings is an indicator of what’s important to us. Usually it’s telling us that we’re not getting something we need.
So now I’m trying to welcome them.
Truth is powerful. Honesty is important. But the most important honesty is with yourself. And the most difficult to attain. It requires a combination of quiet stillness with yourself, and brave vulnerability.
You need to spend time with yourself and your thoughts to best understand on your own what’s alive in you now. But at a certain point, it’s easy to get trapped in a loop in your own head.
You need to share with others what’s alive in you, in order to realize that you’re not alone on this crazy journey of human life, and get out of the confines of your own perspective. But you can’t rely on others to tell you who you are. And without time to yourself you won’t be grounded enough to maintain your sense of self in the context of others.
We all have different levels of each need. Some need more time with others, more external stimulation. Some need more quiet & introspection. And any one of us needs different things at different times. But I think we always need both.
So, yes, lets be afraid that things won’t really change. That fear lets us know just how important change is to us.
Let’s be sad that we didn’t do things as we might have liked in the past.
Let’s feel frustrated with our current situation.
And let’s be hopeful that things will change.
Let’s be grateful for all that we’ve learned from our unique set of experiences.
Above all, let’s try to see things as they are now, truly. And also acknowledge that the way things are is temporary. Whether excruciatingly painful, mind-numbingly boring, challenging, thrilling, fun, easy, tragic.
Cuz life is an adventure. Let’s not miss out on any part of it.
To the next thing!
- Nick
Friday, August 21, 2015
Monday, March 3, 2014
The Fall of a Psuedo-Superhero
I've been quiet for a while. It's been a helluva journey these last few months. Finally taking the time to process. Three years ago I tore my ACL and it changed the course of my life forever. An injury of this magnitude will affect anybody. But if you know me you know that I have so much energy it is actually one of my defining qualities. I was always that hyperactive, upbeat, friendly guy, constantly moving. I would work two part time jobs while rehearsing a play and taking classes. One of my favorite things to do was help people move, and I would literally run up & down the stairs carrying boxes. My energy and my ability to help, love, & support people defined me.
When I blew out my knee, my life as I knew it was over. Not only could I no longer walk without support, but I had no medical insurance. I have had countless injuries over the years (the consequence of my aforementioned hyperactivity). I know my body well, and I know beyond just basic first aid. I knew the moment I fell that it was serious. And at that moment I also knew that I had no options. I knew it would require surgery, and that wasn’t an option. I knew that somehow I would have to continue making money, but I had no idea how. I thought that I would never be able to run or jump again, and would probably walk with a limp for the rest of my life.
Now this may appear melodramatic, but you must understand the most important part of my perspective. I thought I was alone. I’m a first born son who’s father died when I was 5 years old. I was the guy who takes care of everyone else. Even though at that point I had been with my wife--a smart, compassionate woman--for 5 years, I still felt this way. We had built our relationship on a foundation of independence, so for me to all of the sudden become dependent, although she was, and still is, more than willing to take care of me), was unfathomable.
My sister told me at one point that I was a superhero. I laughed at the time, but I think that I believed it. That I’d always believed it. That I had been given these gifts: a big heart, intelligence, a super-human level of energy, and a multi-cultural background that allowed me to see life from a very wide perspective. With great power comes great responsibility. My job in life was to become as good a man as I could, and help as many people along the way as possible. To save the world. If things got hard, I would try to take carry the burden. No room in the car? I’ll walk! This thing has to get done? I’ll stay up all night!
Asking for help is hard. Somehow, expending every last drop of my emotional & physical energy helping others is easier. Probably just in the hope that I’ll be helped back. And I was. I have great friends. Friends who are Family. In every city I’ve lived. People who I haven’t seen for 5 years who will drop everything to drive 3 hours to pick me up at the airport and put me up in their house.
We need each other. We are communal creatures hardwired to live as a tribe. The problem is that modern life, especially in the US, tells us that we SHOULD be able to do it alone. We can’t. I’ve always known that. It’s why I hitchhiked and traveled for so many years. A reminder of the illusion of control we fight so hard to maintain. But when I broke my knee, all illusions vanished.
For a month, I did not know if my knee would even get diagnosed, let alone fixed. Somehow, miraculously, the public health system of Philadelphia came through. Somehow, through the miles of red tape and hours of desperately but quietly waiting, exceptions were made. The doctor at the clinic who signed off on an MRI, even though he wasn’t really supposed to. The orthopedist who said he wasn’t taking any new clients, especially via the public health system, who unfathomably called me up to schedule a surgery. The case workers at the clinic and the hospital who wrote all the right words in all the right ways to somehow get me through all the right doors.
Looking back, I still have no idea how it all came together. This post is not meant to be political. I have no interest in debates about the size of government or entitlements or any other buzzwords. Those debates always take place within such rigid confines of talking points that no true communication can occur. I only know my own experience.
Thinking I was alone and responsible for taking care of myself, but desperately wanting an interdependent community, I was somehow caught in mid-freefall by my larger community. Growing up all over the world, the cities I live in have always just been places. But through that experience I was reminded that, however isolated we are from each other, we do still care. Jerome the overworked South Philly case worker didn’t know me. The 70yr old surgeon on the cusp of retirement had nothing to gain from helping a broke (and broken) 28yr old. But they changed my life.
We’re all humans. And we are hardwired to simultaneously completely depend upon and completely support a tribe of 150-200 people. We live in huge communities now that make the level of connection we desire difficult to attain. But we still want it. And need it. Whether we realize it or not, we are looking out for each other.
I wish I could say that right after my knee was repaired I realized all this on the spot. If only… But breaking my body was only the beginning. Realizing my own dependence, my own humanity, shattered the superhero illusion under which I’d been living for so long. The physical pain was nothing. The emotional pain of isolation without distraction, of dependence without reciprocation, was too much. As soon as I could walk, I ran. I spun. I flew, full force ahead, desperately trying to recapture that illusion.
This is why many of you haven’t heard from me much in the last 3 years. I’ve just been spinning. I lost focus on what is truly important: my community. My family & friends, scattered all over the world, who would do anything for me. But only if they know what I need.
Working “freelance” means that you never have to stop working. I would awake with the urgency of trying to fix my life and help people and make everything right, diving into distraction after distraction. And then crash 18-24hours later, exhausted and still anxious. Many of these distractions were good projects with good people. And every step of the way was part of the process of my healing. But if you don’t actually confront the real issue, if you don’t take care of yourself and deal with what is truly going on under the surface, you just keep spinning.
The last 6 months I’ve been particularly quiet. After reaching, in many ways, rock bottom (read my last post), I finally took some time. To prioritize the people that I love and my values and, well, myself. I spent the holidays with family and took a trip to the MidWest to visit some of my closest friends. I started this blog. I took long walks with my wife. And I collaborated with a close friend to write & shoot a funny, heartfelt feature film.
So no more superhero Nick. Not that he ever really existed, but no more illusions. Moving forward I am just a human. Like you. So let’s laugh and play, work and pay bills, take walks and cook dinner… and tell stories.
Because we’re all in this together. I tend to forget that, so remind me.
And I promise to do the same.
When I blew out my knee, my life as I knew it was over. Not only could I no longer walk without support, but I had no medical insurance. I have had countless injuries over the years (the consequence of my aforementioned hyperactivity). I know my body well, and I know beyond just basic first aid. I knew the moment I fell that it was serious. And at that moment I also knew that I had no options. I knew it would require surgery, and that wasn’t an option. I knew that somehow I would have to continue making money, but I had no idea how. I thought that I would never be able to run or jump again, and would probably walk with a limp for the rest of my life.
Now this may appear melodramatic, but you must understand the most important part of my perspective. I thought I was alone. I’m a first born son who’s father died when I was 5 years old. I was the guy who takes care of everyone else. Even though at that point I had been with my wife--a smart, compassionate woman--for 5 years, I still felt this way. We had built our relationship on a foundation of independence, so for me to all of the sudden become dependent, although she was, and still is, more than willing to take care of me), was unfathomable.
My sister told me at one point that I was a superhero. I laughed at the time, but I think that I believed it. That I’d always believed it. That I had been given these gifts: a big heart, intelligence, a super-human level of energy, and a multi-cultural background that allowed me to see life from a very wide perspective. With great power comes great responsibility. My job in life was to become as good a man as I could, and help as many people along the way as possible. To save the world. If things got hard, I would try to take carry the burden. No room in the car? I’ll walk! This thing has to get done? I’ll stay up all night!
Asking for help is hard. Somehow, expending every last drop of my emotional & physical energy helping others is easier. Probably just in the hope that I’ll be helped back. And I was. I have great friends. Friends who are Family. In every city I’ve lived. People who I haven’t seen for 5 years who will drop everything to drive 3 hours to pick me up at the airport and put me up in their house.
We need each other. We are communal creatures hardwired to live as a tribe. The problem is that modern life, especially in the US, tells us that we SHOULD be able to do it alone. We can’t. I’ve always known that. It’s why I hitchhiked and traveled for so many years. A reminder of the illusion of control we fight so hard to maintain. But when I broke my knee, all illusions vanished.
For a month, I did not know if my knee would even get diagnosed, let alone fixed. Somehow, miraculously, the public health system of Philadelphia came through. Somehow, through the miles of red tape and hours of desperately but quietly waiting, exceptions were made. The doctor at the clinic who signed off on an MRI, even though he wasn’t really supposed to. The orthopedist who said he wasn’t taking any new clients, especially via the public health system, who unfathomably called me up to schedule a surgery. The case workers at the clinic and the hospital who wrote all the right words in all the right ways to somehow get me through all the right doors.
Looking back, I still have no idea how it all came together. This post is not meant to be political. I have no interest in debates about the size of government or entitlements or any other buzzwords. Those debates always take place within such rigid confines of talking points that no true communication can occur. I only know my own experience.
Thinking I was alone and responsible for taking care of myself, but desperately wanting an interdependent community, I was somehow caught in mid-freefall by my larger community. Growing up all over the world, the cities I live in have always just been places. But through that experience I was reminded that, however isolated we are from each other, we do still care. Jerome the overworked South Philly case worker didn’t know me. The 70yr old surgeon on the cusp of retirement had nothing to gain from helping a broke (and broken) 28yr old. But they changed my life.
We’re all humans. And we are hardwired to simultaneously completely depend upon and completely support a tribe of 150-200 people. We live in huge communities now that make the level of connection we desire difficult to attain. But we still want it. And need it. Whether we realize it or not, we are looking out for each other.
I wish I could say that right after my knee was repaired I realized all this on the spot. If only… But breaking my body was only the beginning. Realizing my own dependence, my own humanity, shattered the superhero illusion under which I’d been living for so long. The physical pain was nothing. The emotional pain of isolation without distraction, of dependence without reciprocation, was too much. As soon as I could walk, I ran. I spun. I flew, full force ahead, desperately trying to recapture that illusion.
This is why many of you haven’t heard from me much in the last 3 years. I’ve just been spinning. I lost focus on what is truly important: my community. My family & friends, scattered all over the world, who would do anything for me. But only if they know what I need.
Working “freelance” means that you never have to stop working. I would awake with the urgency of trying to fix my life and help people and make everything right, diving into distraction after distraction. And then crash 18-24hours later, exhausted and still anxious. Many of these distractions were good projects with good people. And every step of the way was part of the process of my healing. But if you don’t actually confront the real issue, if you don’t take care of yourself and deal with what is truly going on under the surface, you just keep spinning.
The last 6 months I’ve been particularly quiet. After reaching, in many ways, rock bottom (read my last post), I finally took some time. To prioritize the people that I love and my values and, well, myself. I spent the holidays with family and took a trip to the MidWest to visit some of my closest friends. I started this blog. I took long walks with my wife. And I collaborated with a close friend to write & shoot a funny, heartfelt feature film.
So no more superhero Nick. Not that he ever really existed, but no more illusions. Moving forward I am just a human. Like you. So let’s laugh and play, work and pay bills, take walks and cook dinner… and tell stories.
Because we’re all in this together. I tend to forget that, so remind me.
And I promise to do the same.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Where Are All the TED Talks by Losers?
So I’m a loser. At least societally speaking. Times are tough right now, I’m relying on people more than I have in a long time, and I’m coming to terms with the many mistakes that I’ve made over the last few years. I am more aware than ever of my failures. I’m a loser.
Temporarily, of course. It’s always temporary, right? That next great thing is always right around the corner!
I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the proverbial carrot on a stick, that’s always JUST out of reach. In fact, in many ways it was this kind of thinking that got me into my current predicament.
I’m a natural optimist. Always have been. Saw the bright side of everything. Long line? What a wonderful opportunity to learn patience! I’m gonna be a better human being thanks to this annoying grocery store! Sure, I took it to an extreme, but there are also larger forces at work here.
Some of this is generational. I’m about as old as you can be to still be considered Gen Y. Born in the early 80‘s. A lot has been written about how we are the entitled generation, how we suffer from extended adolescence, and how a childhood of our parents telling us that we can do anything with our lives followed by adulthood during the beginning of the end of America’s economic dominance has made us all unhappy. Here’s a great article on Gen Y expectations, with fun stick-figure drawings to keep you interested.
Some of it is also cultural. I’m American. Well, partly. My passport’s American, but I’ve also lived about half my life in East Africa. More on this in later posts. The last 5 years of my life have been here in the States, and so right now this is the most significant cultural force in my life. Living in a society that is a perceived meritocracy has played quite a role in my current predicament as well. We’re all familiar with the old “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” narrative. If you succeed in life, it’s thanks to your own efforts, right? The more insidious side of this, that we sometimes tend to neglect, is that if you fail, clearly this is also your fault. Author Allain de Botton goes into more depth on this subject in his excellent TED talk.
So what’s the point of all this? I’m tired of looking ahead. I’m tired of the carrot on a stick. I’m tired of putting my head down and hoping for that golden ticket. I want this blog to be a place where I can just tell the truth. Because as I expressed in my last post, we need that. We have a fundamental need to just communicate what’s going on in our heads, including the insecurities and depression and awkward confusing in-between times.
So where are all the TED talks by current losers? If you want advice, guidance, or information on bettering your situation, the resources are countless. Youtube videos, podcasts, blogs, self-help books abound. But they all seem to be authored by people who are currently successful, talking about their past failures. Some openly. Many even encourage failure, as a necessary part of the journey towards success. I’m not discounting this. A great example is Scott Adams’ recent book “How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big.”
But I also suspect that I’m not the only person who wants to simply talk openly about now. Yes, I want to improve myself. Yes, of course I want to succeed. But I also simply want to communicate. To share my thoughts and insights. To simply know that I’m not the only one in the middle of it right now. I don’t want to wait until I’ve published a book or launched a company. Partially for my own sanity & self-worth, yes, but also because I suspect I’m not alone. I suspect there are others out there who might like to see a TED talk by a current loser, not a current-millionaire former-loser. Maybe a necessary part of improvement, of success, is acknowledging and embracing current failure. Maybe you’re like me and you have a harder time hearing this from someone who’s not in the throes of it themselves.
I’ve thrown the word “loser” around a lot in this post. And I stand by it. I understand the various different lenses through which we view success. I understand that I have succeeded in many ways. I’m not invalidating that. I’ve spent my life on the cultural fringes, defining success and happiness my own way. But there is a certain degree of self-deception involved in a worldview centered around preempting rejection by yelling “You can’t fire me, I QUIT!”
I will continue to be a weirdo. I will probably remain on the fringe my entire life. And my success will almost certainly come from embracing my own unique perspective and skills. But there are also a few basic principles of good old status quo life that I could bear to learn. Maybe it’s time for a little less prophet, and a little more profit.
My last post was a call to action. To expend the extra effort to get out of your head and communicate. I guess this is the same, but more specific. Communicate the shame. Communicate the insecurity. Communicate the confusion. Not just for your own sake, but for the rest of us out there who feel like losers.
The worst part about failure is the isolation. That feeling like you’re the only one in that situation. But it’s simply not true. Let’s eradicate that myth. That's the funny thing about being a loser. As soon as you meet a few more losers, you don't really feel like losers anymore.
A little solidarity goes a long way. We’re in this together. Let’s just tell the truth.
One loser to another. ;)
Temporarily, of course. It’s always temporary, right? That next great thing is always right around the corner!
I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the proverbial carrot on a stick, that’s always JUST out of reach. In fact, in many ways it was this kind of thinking that got me into my current predicament.
I’m a natural optimist. Always have been. Saw the bright side of everything. Long line? What a wonderful opportunity to learn patience! I’m gonna be a better human being thanks to this annoying grocery store! Sure, I took it to an extreme, but there are also larger forces at work here.
Some of this is generational. I’m about as old as you can be to still be considered Gen Y. Born in the early 80‘s. A lot has been written about how we are the entitled generation, how we suffer from extended adolescence, and how a childhood of our parents telling us that we can do anything with our lives followed by adulthood during the beginning of the end of America’s economic dominance has made us all unhappy. Here’s a great article on Gen Y expectations, with fun stick-figure drawings to keep you interested.
Some of it is also cultural. I’m American. Well, partly. My passport’s American, but I’ve also lived about half my life in East Africa. More on this in later posts. The last 5 years of my life have been here in the States, and so right now this is the most significant cultural force in my life. Living in a society that is a perceived meritocracy has played quite a role in my current predicament as well. We’re all familiar with the old “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” narrative. If you succeed in life, it’s thanks to your own efforts, right? The more insidious side of this, that we sometimes tend to neglect, is that if you fail, clearly this is also your fault. Author Allain de Botton goes into more depth on this subject in his excellent TED talk.
So what’s the point of all this? I’m tired of looking ahead. I’m tired of the carrot on a stick. I’m tired of putting my head down and hoping for that golden ticket. I want this blog to be a place where I can just tell the truth. Because as I expressed in my last post, we need that. We have a fundamental need to just communicate what’s going on in our heads, including the insecurities and depression and awkward confusing in-between times.
So where are all the TED talks by current losers? If you want advice, guidance, or information on bettering your situation, the resources are countless. Youtube videos, podcasts, blogs, self-help books abound. But they all seem to be authored by people who are currently successful, talking about their past failures. Some openly. Many even encourage failure, as a necessary part of the journey towards success. I’m not discounting this. A great example is Scott Adams’ recent book “How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big.”
But I also suspect that I’m not the only person who wants to simply talk openly about now. Yes, I want to improve myself. Yes, of course I want to succeed. But I also simply want to communicate. To share my thoughts and insights. To simply know that I’m not the only one in the middle of it right now. I don’t want to wait until I’ve published a book or launched a company. Partially for my own sanity & self-worth, yes, but also because I suspect I’m not alone. I suspect there are others out there who might like to see a TED talk by a current loser, not a current-millionaire former-loser. Maybe a necessary part of improvement, of success, is acknowledging and embracing current failure. Maybe you’re like me and you have a harder time hearing this from someone who’s not in the throes of it themselves.
I’ve thrown the word “loser” around a lot in this post. And I stand by it. I understand the various different lenses through which we view success. I understand that I have succeeded in many ways. I’m not invalidating that. I’ve spent my life on the cultural fringes, defining success and happiness my own way. But there is a certain degree of self-deception involved in a worldview centered around preempting rejection by yelling “You can’t fire me, I QUIT!”
I will continue to be a weirdo. I will probably remain on the fringe my entire life. And my success will almost certainly come from embracing my own unique perspective and skills. But there are also a few basic principles of good old status quo life that I could bear to learn. Maybe it’s time for a little less prophet, and a little more profit.
My last post was a call to action. To expend the extra effort to get out of your head and communicate. I guess this is the same, but more specific. Communicate the shame. Communicate the insecurity. Communicate the confusion. Not just for your own sake, but for the rest of us out there who feel like losers.
The worst part about failure is the isolation. That feeling like you’re the only one in that situation. But it’s simply not true. Let’s eradicate that myth. That's the funny thing about being a loser. As soon as you meet a few more losers, you don't really feel like losers anymore.
A little solidarity goes a long way. We’re in this together. Let’s just tell the truth.
One loser to another. ;)
Thursday, December 5, 2013
A Post About Posting
“Posting” It’s now an utterly ubiquitous verb. Most of us do it several times a day without thinking about it. But what does it really mean? Just a few years ago, it would mean putting up a flyer on a billboard. It is one-way communication. It is a declaration. “This is something that I think people should know.” It used to be primarily used to facilitate people coming together in person. “See my play!” “Check out my band!” “Attend this rally!” An impersonal means to a more personal end.
Now it is something very different. In a lot of ways, posting has replaced in-person communication. Certainly our “friends” will comment and reply and maybe even “repost,” but this isn’t quite the same as the natural flow of conversation, when give & take blends together as one thing. Taking in another’s stories, empathizing, relating their experience to your own, disagreeing, offering an alternate perspective. Picking up on all the associated non-verbal cues that go along with a verbal statement. Having the opportunity to understand that “I got the job!” might be more of a desperate cry for validation than a celebration, or that “shut up, you big jerk” might really mean “gosh darn it I love you, you cheeky ruffian.” We miss that. We’re wired for that. It’s far more difficult to ignore someone in person, or to offer the kind of noncommittal semi-approval we now associate with the verb to “like.” (Did you picture the little thumb’s up icon in your head? I know I did).
Some people have found a way to use our new communication medium well. I certainly love to read whatever happens to be going on in the head of my extraordinarily creative friend Maximillian. (With a name like that, he was destined for creativity!) He’s started countless fun & interesting conversations this way. But for others of us, or even Max on a particular day or on a certain subject, it’s a more difficult process. For those of us naturally wired or taught by experience to listen and think and feel and consider more than we speak. Or any of us at a particularly introspective phase of our lives. For those of us who tend to overdue the input side of communication while perhaps holding back on the output, this modern communication model breaks down.
Often, the very thing that we most need to communicate is that which is most difficult to actually get out. The idea is not refined enough for 144 characters, or too personal for 679 people. We’re tribal creatures. We gather our understanding about the world around us from people and our culture and the stories we are told. But in our online world, the sample is skewed. We don’t see the silence. At a party, at work, at home, or in a dorm, we’ll notice the person silent in the corner. We might turn to them and ask their thoughts. Or perhaps catch them later in the hall and start a more intimate conversation. Or even simply feel more comfortable with our own silence, knowing we’re not alone. Online, we don’t see the silence, just the noise. And the silence is often far more telling, and certainly more interesting.
I am deeply grateful for my fb friends who consistently post interesting, challenging, engaging content that they find on the internet. We can glean a lot about people from what they do feel comfortable putting out there. But it’s not the same as really knowing them. It’s not the same as conversation and real friendship.
I’m not suggesting we all post our deepest insecurities and current life struggles for the world to read. This medium is not appropriate from that. But recognize the difference between what you want to say and what you need to say, and find a place to communicate the latter, as well as the former. And please recognize that it’s the system that’s screwed up, not you. Find a way to get your thoughts out. I suppose that’s what this blog is, in a way. A start. An attempt to rectify the too much in / not enough out communication imbalance in my own life. If you’re in a similar place just know this: It’s not you, it’s the system. Those of you who spend more time absorbing and processing information are the ones we need to hear from the most. Your perspective is incredibly valuable. Plus it’ll be good for you. It’ll make room for more processing & insight.
We’re not static creatures. We are constantly changing, growing, & learning. If we don’t deal with it, express it as well as process it, we get stuck. We get caught up in the present, trapped in our current situation. As my deeply compassionate & wise friend just told me in the midst of my own stuck-ness, “Don't let the time pull you down, you are not your circumstances.” We are not defined by where we are right now. And we’re not alone.
The thing about real community, the tribal life for which we are all wired, is that you don’t always have to initiate contact. You don’t need to have the energy to call someone when you’re depressed. People will bug you. They’re all up in your business. They know your schedule and recognize your patterns and ask what’s up when you seem out of sorts. You’re forced outside of your own head. You have plenty of in-between time to accidentally stumble upon that great conversation. Some of you might be reading this from a full-to-the-brim multigenerational home or a communal house or a small town where everybody knows your business and long for a bit of anonymity. I get it. I’ve been there. But I’m coming from and speaking to people on the other side of the spectrum. For most of us, 21st century life works against this aspect of our humanity.
So call someone. Text them. Just drop by their house when you’re in their neighborhood. Meeting for 5 minutes will make it easier to meet for an hour later. You don’t have to make an intricate plan to meet up 3 weeks from now when you’re schedules finally allow it. Write an email to a compassionate friend instead of journaling. Call me. My number is on my facebook page and on my website. But it’s also probably in your phone. I miss you. And you miss me. And your family. And your friends. We’re lonely. 21st century life is lonely. But waiting to have something uplifting to say that you feel comfortable telling 700 people is just isolating yourself right at the time when we need each other the most. Trust me, I’m saying this more to myself than anyone, but I suspect (hope?) I’m not alone in this.
*Just as I was finishing up editing this, before anything was posted, Maximillian himself gave me a call out of the blue. It’s working already. :)
Now it is something very different. In a lot of ways, posting has replaced in-person communication. Certainly our “friends” will comment and reply and maybe even “repost,” but this isn’t quite the same as the natural flow of conversation, when give & take blends together as one thing. Taking in another’s stories, empathizing, relating their experience to your own, disagreeing, offering an alternate perspective. Picking up on all the associated non-verbal cues that go along with a verbal statement. Having the opportunity to understand that “I got the job!” might be more of a desperate cry for validation than a celebration, or that “shut up, you big jerk” might really mean “gosh darn it I love you, you cheeky ruffian.” We miss that. We’re wired for that. It’s far more difficult to ignore someone in person, or to offer the kind of noncommittal semi-approval we now associate with the verb to “like.” (Did you picture the little thumb’s up icon in your head? I know I did).
Some people have found a way to use our new communication medium well. I certainly love to read whatever happens to be going on in the head of my extraordinarily creative friend Maximillian. (With a name like that, he was destined for creativity!) He’s started countless fun & interesting conversations this way. But for others of us, or even Max on a particular day or on a certain subject, it’s a more difficult process. For those of us naturally wired or taught by experience to listen and think and feel and consider more than we speak. Or any of us at a particularly introspective phase of our lives. For those of us who tend to overdue the input side of communication while perhaps holding back on the output, this modern communication model breaks down.
Often, the very thing that we most need to communicate is that which is most difficult to actually get out. The idea is not refined enough for 144 characters, or too personal for 679 people. We’re tribal creatures. We gather our understanding about the world around us from people and our culture and the stories we are told. But in our online world, the sample is skewed. We don’t see the silence. At a party, at work, at home, or in a dorm, we’ll notice the person silent in the corner. We might turn to them and ask their thoughts. Or perhaps catch them later in the hall and start a more intimate conversation. Or even simply feel more comfortable with our own silence, knowing we’re not alone. Online, we don’t see the silence, just the noise. And the silence is often far more telling, and certainly more interesting.
I am deeply grateful for my fb friends who consistently post interesting, challenging, engaging content that they find on the internet. We can glean a lot about people from what they do feel comfortable putting out there. But it’s not the same as really knowing them. It’s not the same as conversation and real friendship.
I’m not suggesting we all post our deepest insecurities and current life struggles for the world to read. This medium is not appropriate from that. But recognize the difference between what you want to say and what you need to say, and find a place to communicate the latter, as well as the former. And please recognize that it’s the system that’s screwed up, not you. Find a way to get your thoughts out. I suppose that’s what this blog is, in a way. A start. An attempt to rectify the too much in / not enough out communication imbalance in my own life. If you’re in a similar place just know this: It’s not you, it’s the system. Those of you who spend more time absorbing and processing information are the ones we need to hear from the most. Your perspective is incredibly valuable. Plus it’ll be good for you. It’ll make room for more processing & insight.
We’re not static creatures. We are constantly changing, growing, & learning. If we don’t deal with it, express it as well as process it, we get stuck. We get caught up in the present, trapped in our current situation. As my deeply compassionate & wise friend just told me in the midst of my own stuck-ness, “Don't let the time pull you down, you are not your circumstances.” We are not defined by where we are right now. And we’re not alone.
The thing about real community, the tribal life for which we are all wired, is that you don’t always have to initiate contact. You don’t need to have the energy to call someone when you’re depressed. People will bug you. They’re all up in your business. They know your schedule and recognize your patterns and ask what’s up when you seem out of sorts. You’re forced outside of your own head. You have plenty of in-between time to accidentally stumble upon that great conversation. Some of you might be reading this from a full-to-the-brim multigenerational home or a communal house or a small town where everybody knows your business and long for a bit of anonymity. I get it. I’ve been there. But I’m coming from and speaking to people on the other side of the spectrum. For most of us, 21st century life works against this aspect of our humanity.
So call someone. Text them. Just drop by their house when you’re in their neighborhood. Meeting for 5 minutes will make it easier to meet for an hour later. You don’t have to make an intricate plan to meet up 3 weeks from now when you’re schedules finally allow it. Write an email to a compassionate friend instead of journaling. Call me. My number is on my facebook page and on my website. But it’s also probably in your phone. I miss you. And you miss me. And your family. And your friends. We’re lonely. 21st century life is lonely. But waiting to have something uplifting to say that you feel comfortable telling 700 people is just isolating yourself right at the time when we need each other the most. Trust me, I’m saying this more to myself than anyone, but I suspect (hope?) I’m not alone in this.
*Just as I was finishing up editing this, before anything was posted, Maximillian himself gave me a call out of the blue. It’s working already. :)
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