It’s been a hell of a week. I made a promise to myself to take a true “day of rest” this Sunday.
Did a middling job catching up on correspondence, but am feeling better about the universe overall.
I really need some vacation; may try to take a three day weekend for Rest purposes before Burning Man at the end of the month.
Gyarrr! My own site just ate my post! Time for an overhaul…
Well, that annoyance aside, my point was going to be that things are looking up. I have Moamar back, and with a brand shiny new engine that aught to be good for as long as I want to drive it. I also got a fresh drivers license (lost that too) from the DMV, and overall my mood pendulum has swung back.
My schedule is still fucked — spent all saturday working on TODOs that emerged from our work retreat, which went swimmingly; did not make it up to Pickathon — but it’s a joyous kind of struggle. I’m anxious to round out my life a bit more, but for now it’s good to feel that all the hard labor is adding up to something great. It helps. Whistle while you work.
It’s always moved in waves. Two steps forward, one step back. April and May were very much on the upswing, June and July not so much. It feels like things are turning right now, so perhaps the late summer will be a burst of awesomeness. It would be nice to start putting together some winning streaks soon.
Things are churning here. The Netroots Nation scene continues to evolve. It’s a younger crowd every year it seems, though still wonky and sometimes a bit paranoid (the cute blond girl I chatted with complained of accusations of being a Republican plant), but overall everyone looks good. People have lost weight and look healthy; they know they’re winning, even if the win is questionable and the progress seems too slow.
A great find has been hanging w/the coolkids behind Music For Democracy, which is shockingly familiar, and fun. I also got to play Phil Donahue — microphone man — in a nice little “Dean to Obama” session. You might have seen my somewhat poofy hair on C-Span there.
It all makes me consider my own future. This world is one I’ve grown ever more distant from over the past four years, and a world in which I feel like I’ve let a lot of people down, or at least not realized the great expectations that I and others helped to engender. For instance, we evangelized Drupal as a platform technology which helped break up the DC tech oligarchy and drive “the .org boom,” but ultimately that promise remains unfulfilled, and our personal interests become diffused, focused on other things. The technology is better than ever, but our crucial human energy is missing, and so the value remains undelivered.
As I said before, it feels like my immediate first-degree network is coming up in the world, starting families, careers, etc. As I said before, it’s a wonderful thing, but I feel the spread, the phenomena of “continental drift” as my Pa used to say.
I realize the impossibility of holding on to the past. In truth there are more people I love and cherish that could ever be knit together directly. I just worry that in the midst of everything everyone will just slip slide away, that I’ll say stuck where I am and the distances will continue to grow.
It’s been an interesting couple years. It’ll be interesting times ahead I’m sure. What’s next is unclear beyond the frenzy of the moment, but looking out over the hot Texas plains lit up with ghosts of past and future, my feet itch to move again.
And that’s the rub. I can’t ramble forever, and there are more people hitched to my waggon than ever before. I’ve done a lot of things, but I’ve yet to sense that anything’s really been accomplished. In some dark, low, hungover moments it feels like failure, but in better times it feels like mountains beyond mountains. Not to compare myself to Paul Farmer, but the capital-t Truth is that there’s always work to be done, and songs to be finished (and it keeps coming until the day it stops).
Anyway, existential ennui aside, good BBQ is a blessing, and even though there are lame-ass hipsters who stand around cross-armed at the late-night psychedelic pop show (though they get physically confrontational in defense of their posture, which is interesting and I back down), Austin is an awesome city. I wish I could spend a week or two here.
It’s time for a good old fashioned post, like back in the day. Contrary to what you might think, literary exhibitionism and all, I do all this first and foremost for myself, as way of processing my life. In the 21st Century, blogging is the fist draft of history, and doing ones own autobio in real-time is a powerful way of controlling and making sense of the personal narrative. I’m glad if it brings some light into the reader’s world, but the main thing for me is pursuing my life goals; truth, presence, appreciation, flow.
Today was my first day working in our brand-spankin’ new Humboldt County office, located in Old Town Eureka. It’s going to be good, a really nice feeling. Currently it’s somewhat empty as a space, but the potential is palpable. It feels like the beginning, pun intended, of a new chapter.
My life for the past few months has been — more than my life already was — consumed by my job. Workaholism runs in my blood, and it really does have all the lovely features of addiction. Patterns, void-filling, debilitation of other life-aspects, the whole gamut. If I really were a devotee of the bottle, say like Charles Bukowski (we should be so lucky), this would be the part where I’m haunting some seedy bar where I get a few pints for free in the morning, and the bartender lets me sleep away the afternoons on a pile of cardboard boxes in the alley out back.
But I’m not writing epics of the lush life, and so the outcomes are different. Arguably favorable. And yet I wonder where this leads. Conventional career success feels more and more like a potential bait-and-switch. As the hippy engineer used to say, “don’t get a job, get a life.”
That’s not necessarily the case with my scene now: the suit isn’t really growing around me, and as the extreme compression of the last few months begins to lift I’m sure that better perspectives will prevail. Still, I miss being footloose, a ramblin’ man. There are so many parts of me that have been boxed in storage, I start to wonder if they’re really any good anymore, and what else might emerge instead.
I look around and it feels lately like my cohort is on the rise. Partners, children, careers, creations; the people I know and love are kicking ass and taking names. It’s great, but some part of me is unnerved by the way our momentum is carrying us in separate individualistic directions. I’ve had more than one conversation lately about how nobody wants to end up hunkered down in the suburbs, but sometimes it feels like in absence of some better plan, that might be where we’re headed. Not to the white picket fence necessarily, but definitely into something differently settled, and a far sight from various bohemian ideals.
Not sure whether there’s really anything to be done here. One of the downsides of living life in the long tail is the lack of collectively-binding causes, passions, pursuits or beliefs. Friends have things in common, shared history and compatible nature, but in a world of easily-maintained loose ties, making strong connections work seems not only hard, but also somewhat passe, embarrassing.
This morning the sunlight was dark and golden, filtered through smoke from the inland wildfires blowing out to sea. Good sunsets too, Southern Californian. It’s a very summery kind of light, a changed atmosphere, watching the highway lines tick away behind me in the convex blind-spot side-mirror of my beleaguered little pickup. It feels good, and also a little lonesome. I’m not in my nature a solitary man, but the house is kind of empty these days, so I find myself talking to the dogs a lot. You don’t have such great conversations with dogs, worthy and lovable distractions though they may be.
So I washed my car, got some slices of pizza, took a stroll and drank a beer on the beach.
I suppose I am kinda lonely, but I don’t feel like complaining. It’s my own little nest I’ve built over the past couple years, the home-base I came out here wanting, and when I really let myself reflect, I’m proud of that. Soon again I’ll be venturing out, both in world-wise travel (planned) and in coming-out-of-shell personal growth and exploration (hoped for). With any luck, having a solid base will be a source of power, greater freedom.
It takes time, space and energy. Life is holy and every moment precious, and I need to start listening to the universe again, looking people in the eye, hearing music, finding the moments to start unpacking those boxes, unwrap the sweet-smelling mothballed passions of yesteryear and maybe even discover something new in the offing.
For now I’m bittersweet happy, content to wonder what will happen next and secure enough in all my good luck so far that no matter what it can’t be all that bad. I’ve got a life-item todo list a mile long, and I intend to continue getting out from under the weight.
Tom Jefferson ten days before the 50th 4th, and his own death, too sick to join the party:
I should, indeed, with peculiar delight, have met and exchanged there congratulations personally with the small band, the remnant of that host of worthies, who joined with us on that day, in the bold and doubtful election we were to make for our country, between submission or the sword; and to have enjoyed with them the consolatory fact, that our fellow citizens, after half a century of experience and prosperity, continue to approve the choice we made.May it be to the world, what I believe it will be, (to some parts sooner, to others later, but finally to all,) the Signal of arousing men to burst the chains, under which monkish ignorance and superstition had persuaded them to bind themselves, and to assume the blessings & security of self-government. That form which we have substituted, restores the free right to the unbounded exercise of reason and freedom of opinion. All eyes are opened, or opening, to the rights of man.
The general spread of the light of science has already laid open to every view the palpable truth, that the mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately, by the grace of god. These are grounds of hope for others. For ourselves, let the annual return of this day forever refresh our recollections of these rights, and an undiminished devotion to them.
I added paragraphs and capitalized sentences for readability. Nice sentiment.
I’m my own quest for self-governance, I’ve gotten spread too thin again. The muscles on the lower half of my right eye socket are now twitching off and on — a few weeks ago it was the other side — which I take to be a bad sign. But there’s light at the end of this tunnel, and a baseball game this evening.
Better days ahead.
It sort of boggles my mind that getting 36 free hours can have such a restorative effect on my psyche.
Of course it’s not just that I got a little time off, it’s also that I got to see my family (blood and otherwise) and see that Life Is Still Good outside my hexagram of stress. It’s easy to lose oneself in the whirl of Important Things, projects and deadlines and commitments and responsibilities. It’s easy to bite off more than you can chew; what happens then? Choking, usually.
The feeling of choking is a kind of panic, a freakout. Even if all that’s happening is you’ve got a popcorn kernel down the wrong pipe, the lower reptilian brain will reach up and start strangling higher consciousness. Under pressure to survive, to breathe, everything else falls away. Welcome back to the base level of Maslow’s Pyramid of Human Needs. This is why people who are drowning often drag would-be rescuers along with them. This is why waterboarding is an effective form of torture.
This same phenomena is operative at higher orders of consciousness as well. Intense and seemingly overwhelming pressure can come from peer-acceptance, from a loved one, or even from one’s normally wholesome source of spiritual light and guidance. Luckily, the further you get away from bare physical survival purposes, the more likely this pressure can be dealt with via a quick bit of social or mental judo. Abusive relationships can be escaped or even mended, truly loved ones communicated with, etc.
Even better, if you’re getting all fouled up at the highest levels — which is to say confused or upset about purpose and meaning, as I have been — resolution is just a matter of perception, perspective, organization, reclaiming the dignity of your own experience. Not that this is ever easy, mind, but it’s more within my power than overcoming a physical lack of oxygen, or the like.
To wit, lately I’ve been taking on too much. It started out as a conscious choice, a big push, and in the way of things gradually took on a life of its own. There’s only so much that any one person can carry, and beyond overtaxing my hours-in-a-day resources I more debilitatingly took on too much psychic weight.
This is part and parcel with my big personal growth challenge of figuring out how to lead through mentoring, organization and management rather than by inspirational example, heroic effort and personal charisma. It’s very different, and figuring out just how much responsibility for other people to take on is something I’m only beginning to learn to gauge.
It’s also very different for me to have to watch more carefully for appearances. Like any good human I’ve got my fair share of Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt, but of late I haven’t had many outlets for expressing these things, or many peers to share it with. Being able to vent to my mom was great, restorative, cathartic. Mom is good for that, even if it probably does give her an unrealistically negative view of my life. Thanks.
Anyway, as someone who’s been generally dismissive of tact, personal stage-management and the general social obsession with impressions — but who conversely is professionally trained in the fine art of acting — it’s been difficult having this stuff bottled up inside. Doubts are like that: they tend to get stronger when they’re kept inside. Once you share them, even if they’re well-founded, they become much more manageable. At least for me.
So what have we learned?
Yeah, so it feels good. Summer is upon us.
Very good times here in Portland. Only way it would be better is if I was actually on some kind of vacation now and could stick around for a few days and see the people (e.g. I don’t even get to visit w/my dang sister, let alone any of the ultrahot girls I not-so-secretly admire up this way). It is the way of these things for the time to be compressed, for a half-hour stomping around a gravel yard and bonfire screaming along with The Eastern — a.k.a. our lovely friend Jess and her giant tattoodled marmite-savoring redbeard hombre Adam from New Zeland — serving in place of lengthy dinner conversation.
This is human, to engage in such rituals. We are all here together. It’s a celebration of life.
Sadly the sun also rises, and yesterday was spent mostly fighting off the blood-thirsty death-panther hangover and then putting in a mild six-hour workday trying to scramble back in front of some deadlines. I assume at some point my life will return to a more equalized state, but for now chugging away the afternoon in Beulahland ain’t so bad.
And so I’ve gotta roll, waiting now for my ride to tearass through town from Tacoma. It’s another insane week ahead. I’m planning to make it back here in August, work and time and transport permitting. That’ll be good. For now there is but one thing to do: ride the fuckin’ lightning, bitches.
There’s this concept in my mental toolbox called Dunbar’s number (wikipedia), which comes from the research of an anthropologist named Robin Dunbar. Basically his idea is that there’s a limit to the number of social connections that can be meaningfully maintained. The rough estimate is about 150.
I generally feel like I’m pushing the envelope there, and I’m starting to drop packets. Lots of social grooming is going undone; emails not returned, events missed, plans left in limbo, etc. If you’re one of the unfortunately many folks who I haven’t been in touch with, I’m sorry.
The past couple months have been intense. I’ve logged 534 hours, which is 60 a week. Considering all the hours that get worked that aren’t in the log, the lost sleep, etc, that’s a pretty heavy load.
I was doing pretty good on the extra-effort front for most of may and the beginning of June, but the past couple weeks I’ve started wearing down. It’s most difficult when I start losing sight of what it’s all about. There have been times when it felt overwhelming, like I couldn’t do it. Those moments are few and generally pass. It’s the “what the hell is this all about” parts that are hard. Tonight I feel like I’m seeing the light again. There’s still a hard row to hoe ahead, but I feel confident about it, and I know what it’s for.
I’ve often played with the idea of charting these kinds of feelings, like some kind of spiritual stock-ticker. Maybe there’s some correlation with a behavior I can tune. Gotta have data for that.
Tomorrow I’ll head up to Oregon. There’s a wedding, dinner w/my mom, a birthday party, a run to Tacoma to pick up a new car from Alaska for Marcus Gravy, hopefully a visit w/my sister and some other friends, and then back to home base to close the deal on a Eureka office space and get a shit-ton of work done next week. Hoorah!
And there will be much better days ahead. Things will decompress in the next month, and we’ll have a chance to get set and start in on Q4 with gusto and poise.
Beyond work there hasn’t been much. Summer is breaking here, and it makes me wish I could get out there more. I’m getting the swing of how the household is with just me and Kellymundo, a feel for what the Humboldt future might be like. It’s good, but I can’t help thinking about being able to roam a bit more, travel the world, get back to NYC for a bit.
Sometimes I wonder where all this is headed. Worldly success seems to breed more commitments, more stress, more responsibility. My man the Girth is kicking Public Defense ass, and as a result soon he’ll get called up to the show, working felonies. Where does it go? What kind of life do we want to lead?
There’s an inflection point somewhere here, some catalytic threshold. It feels like we’re rising, but the question is whether we’ll really make it to the Next Level. Don’t know what that is precisely, but hopefully it’s real. I’m sort of exhausted at the moment, but I’ve got a lot of wild chi bottled up inside me, and it’ll be fun to let that out.
So here’s to driving music and moonlight, back massages and delicious food, to sweaty exercise and living free. Life is a gift. Don’t forget to use it.
So the other day I’m down in the little cafe in the basement of the converted warehouse complex where our office is in SF, and I end up doing my cream and sugar right next to this tallish girl who works on the same floor as us. I’ve seen her around a few times. Once we were alone in the elevator for a floor and a half and her nipples got hard. We smile at one another in the hallway, but have never spoken. I don’t know her name.
Getting cream and sugar nothing of consequence transpires, but it’s an interesting moment. For me, at least. Charged.
I’ve come to trust, at this late date, that when I feel like something is going on in that way, it’s quite likely that the other person in question feels the same. Just tonight having a little nerd-bike schmooze at Zeitgeist this was incontrovertibly proven — she doesn’t say hi kind of sheepishly on her way out the door unless she really was looking back while you were having that loud conversation. Drupal set message: trust your first impression.
Aaaaaway, the impetus to write is that the whole concept/phenomena of lust is one that’s been under wraps for some time. Sublimated and maybe a bit suppressed. It’s been a much-lamented state of affairs, as everyone knows. Feels like a change is gonna come, and this is good, but it’s also a trip, re-realizing how sex can throw you for a loop, scramble yr brain.
Lust. There’s no real containing this feeling, which is probably why it’s conventionally considered sinful. It’s like fire — contagious, consumptive, hot, hungry, often destructive, and absolutely uncontrollable once initiated. One can steer clear of the whole situation for a time, but inevitably it feels like a huge part of the human condition is being missed. Zombie life. This is often how it is with powerful deep dark parts of the psyche not traditionally endorsed by society: the nether-world slides by beneath the realm of workaday consciousness, alluring and clandestine. You can live clean in black and white, or risk the depths and bathe in technicolor.
For me the real embodiment of this feeling is in many ways tangential to sex, a jumping off point for broader hunger, for the infinite potential of human coupling, for larger ambitions that are symbolically captured in romantic pursuits. Or maybe that’s too small an idea of sex. Put it this way: fucking is subset of that which makes me lusty. Credit the waning influence of adolescent hormones or my crazy schedule, but really I see a larger dance, one with many anticipations, satisfactions, stimuli, tension and release.
But even considering this, allowing it into my mind, is a new-new thing. Heretofore it’s simply been off the table. That seems to be shifting, which I like. But is also unpredictable, and therefore kindof scary.
Scary in a good way? Maybe. Being open the the universe is always good, and this is really really a part of who I am… I think time will tell.
So tonight among other things I half-watched two sequels: Rambo II and Lethal Weapon Dos. Both feature plot turns where the primary (male) character’s (re-awakening) love interest is killed by the bad guys. I guess that’s how Hollywood rolled in those days.
It’s an interesting romantic trope: ultimate possibility (slain interest) coupled with revenge fantasy. “I could have been happy if only…”
Here in the real world, for my part I got in a solid days labor, and am hoping for the same tomorrow. It’s not glamorous or the most fun, but it’s what needs doing for the moment, and I can live with that.
It was a lovely day though, and being around drinking my coffee as the sun slanted in from the east made me think of Jodie’s and Eggs Royston (which no one seems to review, suckas). Overall I might like more excitement and zazz in my average weekend, but I also recognize the sometime necessity of occasionally buckling down and doing Teh Work.
