I'm not a carpenter.

It’s a difficult place to be, taking stock in your life, knowing you’ve spent so much of your limited time in these immeasurable periods of waiting. A purgatory with no context.There would seem to be an entire decade of my life spent in waiting. I had these milestones I thought were necessary, not unlike a body grows up and out, so should there be measurable achievements in aging. For thousands of years they’ve been marriage, children, and prosperity. Now what?

And if I reject the more traditional roles and goals, then the means of production I do value - independence, art, critical thought - I should have in abundance. Shouldn’t I? Isn’t the goal always more? Aren’t there immutable ways one has value? Beauty? Skill? Health?

But here I am, the same age as Jesus. Nobody seems to ask if he was a good carpenter or not. I do. I hold no real importance to his value as a messiah since I prefer my fairytales with more whimsy. But, what if he was an excellent carpenter? It must have taken years to develop that skill, that's an impressive feat. What kind of tools did he have access to, B.C. (before, Christ!).

Is there truth in the notion that people aren’t moved by your credentials, but how they felt when they were in your presence? She was funny. She was warm. She was nice. She was well-read and interesting. She was kind to me. She saw me. She fed me cake.

I am not a carpenter. I’m employed as a graphic designer. It’s on my resume, and it’s on my current contract. It pays my bills. I spend my days doing little design work, but it’s the title attributed to me. Designer. But what of it? In our culture, we often ask what someone “does.” What we do for a living. What we do to pay the bills. Is this what I do?

40 hours a week to make a living. The rest of the week to carve out a life.

In the past, it’s been difficult to feel I was of any use. I felt so much pressure - self-imposed (?) - to be productive. Of use. Of value. I reject that now. There is a freedom in being able to go unnoticed. I do not want to be the hero of your story, I’d rather lazily stumble through mine.

What kind of world is this? So surreal in its magnitude, as in its infinite minutiae. So much matters. So little matters. Flip a coin. The micro and the macro. It depends on how much you can take in, and your ability to zoom in and out. Are you aware of your point of view? Can you change your perspective?

Looking at myself and my own life can be difficult because I’m just too close to it. On paper, things are such a way, but subtext isn’t always obvious. And whatever skill it takes for a literary mind to craft that subtext into a narrative, a similar craft is necessary in un-coding the layers of your own psyche.

If my mind is troubled with the impaction of years of soot, where do I begin?

If my feet are dirty and my hands blackened, how can I try and keep clean?

And if I reject my deep desire to understand myself and my dilemmas, how can I see outside of my ingrained constructs?

I slept for 100 years, will it all follow me?

If I woke up 100 years from now, would I feel rested?

@smeagolsfree

I COULD go on a diet. But then again, I'm an accidentally conscious animal in a chaotic, infinitely expanding universe. So...hard pass

— kid gruesome (@smeagolsfree) February 24, 2016

Creativity for dealing with existential dread.

Turns out creativity might be linked to the shedding of existential dread.

And a study published earlier this week in the Journal of Creative Behavior added another perk to the list: Creativity can be like an existential security blanket, helping those who possess it to get over their fears of their own mortality. The more creative you are, it seems, the less concerned you are about death.

I just think it's more about acceptance, really. If being creative is linked to self-reflection and exploration, then you're more likely to think about death and mortality, and as such, you're less shocked that it exists, and that it's coming for ya.

Some people are "level 1." This is a loose translation of something my friend S and I use a lot in conversation. "C'est premier niveau," means "it's on the first level." Contextually we'd use it to refer to someone who has a basic understanding of something. Like a movie, for example. A movie might be rich with symbolism and deep themes, but someone might watch it and think "it's just a movie about a guy buying an orange." Sometimes folks just see a guy buying an orange, and not a metaphor for life and death.

There's also the possible correlation that those who are more open to thinking about death, dying and fragility, are then drawn to art and creative mediums as a way to understand those notions, or in order to ease into the acceptance of the nature of existing.

The findings here are complicated but interesting: For people who prized creativity, having more creative accomplishments under their belts meant they were relatively chill about that whole death thing, even after they’d been forced to imagine themselves passing away.

Maybe that finding says more about the notion of "accomplishment." Those with creative pursuits might be more likely to feel as if they've expressed themselves, and left something behind. The researchers conclude something similar:

“The current findings support the notion that creative achievement may be an avenue for symbolic immortality, particularly among individuals who value creativity,” the researchers wrote.

I'd add that having an exploratory nature that asks questions and communicated through art means dealing with the big themes of sex, love, mortality and death. You can't navigate art without thinking about death. 

Well you can, if you're a level one type.

Early-onset existentialism.

Him: Have you ever been religious?

Me: No.

Him: Not even when you were little?

Me: No. None of it ever made any sense to me. Too many rules that were arbitrary and made no sense to me. Even very little I didn't understand why people cared if someone was gay. I took a religion class once, in third grade, and all I did was ask questions and get frustrated.

I've read a lot of books. Both in the Judeo-Christian tradition and in other cultural traditions. I've studied. I've taken classes. I've accompanied friends to bible class. I made an effort to learn, and I made an effort to be supportive of my questioning friends. It was difficult though. I don't like religious spaces. To me, they're tinged with judgement and a history of violence. I consider the spaces hostile.

Him: You never had a belief in God?

Me: Never. I wanted too, when I was really young. I'd say the words but they had no meaning to me. I knew I was pretending. If anything I had early-onset existentialism. I asked a lot of questions about life and death early on. None of it made sense to me, from the get-go.

Him: What about now?

Me: All there is, is now. And I do my best. I'm a hyper-sensitive person, always have been. I'm sensitive to others. I'm intuitive. I have strong instincts. I struggle; often. Kindness matters. Life is so brutal, and I try and warm the bubbles I inhabit. I try.

I'm an atheist. I don't believe in a God. The only religious philosophy that ever spoke to me was a Buddhist reading I did that started by stating "All Life is Suffering." It was like someone finally spoke to me in my language.

I'm not a Buddhist, but much of their philosophy is beautiful. I can appreciate the focus on the self, and how our largest struggles will always be internal.

Him: What about a moral code?

Me: I think a moral code is innate. We know what feels good. What hurts. What kindness feels like to give and receive. I think logic and empathy can dictate a more effective moral code than religion ever has.

Who gives a shit if two women are in love? What a ridiculous thing to stick on. How about wanting the best for your neighbour's happiness? What about recognizing bodily autonomy? What about disavowing all violence, not only violence you can't justify to yourself?

Morality grows out of experience. We've all tested those boundaries as children, and felt guilt. That's why the majority of us aren't socio-paths. We can make that distinction.

If a person tells me a not-so-ancient text is the only reason they don't murder, I worry about their state of mind.

Him: Can't religion be a set of guidelines, or a source of inspiration?

Me: In theory, yes. It's doctrine that frightens me. Especially since it's so indicative of a patriarchal, hetero-normative history. One that has justified slavery and almost every kind of brutality and abuse a person can think of.

Maybe the real problem is the fundamentalism of it all. The word is often used now in relation to notions of the religious fundamentalism of "others," but it's not new. It's always been here. It's fundamentalism that sources the Westboro Baptist Church and other hate groups.

Fundamentalism of any kind is dangerous. I guess I just don't associate any religion with being easy-going and open to progress. Maybe things will change. Culturally things seem to be leaning into notions of "spirituality" and often refer to more psychology-based methods of wellness. But there's fundamentalism everywhere.

When The Secret came out - you got folks going nuts over positive psychology. So if your life was shit, it was because you didn't believe enough. That's a real kick in the face to someone going through a hard time. It's patronizing and it's dangerous. It also completely wipes out the omni-importance of context.

Him: What is the secret then?

There is no fucking secret. Do the best you can.

We're all alone, together.

Quote is from my About me section, which I just wrote. If Donald Trump can run for president I can quote myself as if I'm fucking important. If people are voting for that discharge maybe I'll end up quasi-famous for some unforeseen reason. Shit happens.

Am I the fly?

So, Tuesday of this week, two days ago, I had my third session with Ranjana. It was, intense. Both of us were on point. I was open and really able to verbalize a lot of stuff, and she has a point of view and approach that is very different from what I've experienced in the past, so it allows me to be directed and questioned in ways I haven’t experienced before.

We talked a lot about shame, and guilt, and how you can be traumatized by something you want to let go of. How people are associated to these events, and you then become haunted by people that become ghosts. These ghosts, the people behind them are irrelevant, it’s the trauma of the experience that imprints on you.

I guess that’s where I'm at now. I'm trying to understand, and grow away from these imprints. I think that became clear in my session.

I got home, drained. It was raining, and I opened my patio door to let some fresh air in. My attention was drawn to a fly who kept hitting the glass pane of the sliding-door. He just doesn’t see the glass. He sees the world, he sees outside. He sees where he wants to go and just can’t comprehend this blockage - this interruption. Can he comprehend the window? Is it outside of his frame of reference?

I stared at the little fly, and became lost in thought. It’s as if I was pulled out into the sky, receding back into the universe, while asking myself if the fly and I are that different. My glass barrier is probably all internal. Maybe it’s my ego. Maybe I am completely unable of picturing it. Maybe it is beyond my comprehension.

So the fly and I were one in that nanosecond. I opened the door and let him out.

There was a melancholy in watching him fly away, because he got out, and I didn't.

“Life is tremendously sad just by being in it.”

Louis C.K and Conan O'Brien.