New Site Features

There have been a few updates to the site that I would like to point out. First, I’ve updated my Gallery installation to the newly released Gallery 2. I’m really liking the new interface and features, and have migrated all users and images from the old installation into the new one. One of the nifty new features is arguably the most obscenely easy to use “image block” feature I’ve seen to date (they’ve had this feature for a while… it’s new to me, however). I’ve implemented it here on Wandering Ways, so those of you who are Feeders, swing by the main page to see what I’m talking about (it’s the nifty random image in the sidebar). The next step I plan to take is to set up a sub domain of http://gallery.criticalgames.com, simply because I think that’s a cleaner address than http://www.criticalgames.com/gallery2/. I do need to do a little digging to see how gallery-created links will handle that, though I don’t expect there will be a problem.

I haven’t forgotten about the site. I’ve just been a little scattered. I promise, a real post soon.

Stacking Saucers 1

It’s currently 75 degrees and raining large, heavy droplets here in Hanover. I’ve spent a fair amount of time the past few days hanging out here, doing a lot of thinking, and a fair bit of talking along with it. It may not all be coagulated enough to put down in written form, but I’m going to give it a shot, because it’s an important subject. Of course, the subject itself is somewhat amorphous, multifaceted, and subject to interpretation. You could call it living an authentic or genuine life, but I prefer calling it living a passionate life.

As some are aware, I define being a geek as being genuinely interested and engaged by a subject. Theater Geeks, Movie Geeks, Anime Geeks, Book Geeks, these are all valid descriptions, but likewise there are Sports Geeks, Fashion Geeks, Social Geeks (not an oxymoron!), and these are just as valid, though we generally give them other names, like “jock”, “fashion maven”, and “socialite”. It all comes down to the same thing, however: being passionate about a subject and having it interest you so much that you learn all you can about it. It becomes a part of your life. You grok your passion.

Everyone has something that they are passionate about. It can vary wildly, and can even be unexpected to those around you. I’ve met people who are fascinated by the process of sewage treatment and water purification in the same way that I might talk about games. You never know what people are passionate about, and that act of wondering is a way that we can connect with others. A case in point; yesterday, I got to rambling about this topic in front of Collis, and randomly asked the girls at a table nearby what they were passionate about. Once they decided I wasn’t a nut-job (or at least a harmless one), the results were quite fascinating. These were people I’d never spoken with before, and yet when asked to talk about their passions, their eyes lit up and the conversation became animated. That passion for a subject is infectious, it becomes interesting to those around you whether they themselves share that passion or not. This is the power of passion.

That’s all pretty straightforward. Where I get all ranty and foaming at the mouth is the question of what we do with those passions. How many people are we surrounded by who are enthralled by a subject or topic or medium, but is never willing to take the step outside the safety net to actually pursue that as a profession? We go to college because that’s what we’re supposed to do. We get jobs that we hate because that’s what we’re supposed to do. Our passions are naysayed as too difficult, unattainable, unlivable, not just by those around us, but by ourselves, because we’re so afraid of stretching ourselves outside of complacency. For the most of us, the annoyance of living in the box is outweighed by the pain and fear of breaking out, and being who we want to be. If you have a passion for writing, be a writer. Write every damn day. Read other writing, read about writing, write stories, your thoughts, how your day went, that dream you had, a story, a poem, write about writing, write about reading. Live it, breathe it, embrace your passion, and it will embrace you. If you’re worried about it not being good enough or that it’s hard, or that there isn’t enough time in the day or that you want to watch your favorite television show or you want to go to that party, then ask yourself why you’re worried, and DO something about it. Afraid of the quality? WRITE MORE. Want to watch that show? Write about it, make it a project. It’s not just writing, either, it’s ANY passion. If you want to make art, bleed ink and paint. Don’t relegate it to a wistful sigh and a hobby, MAKE ART. If you aren’t pursuing your passions, then you deserve any unhappiness you receive.

If you think that’s unfair, then I have to ask what you’re so afraid of that you would deny your passion, your potential for the delusion of safety. That’s not contentment, and it’s certainly not happiness; it’s complacency. It is one thing to let that which does not matter slide. This is not such a case, however. It matters. It’s your passion, it’s your interest, it’s a part of your LIFE, and to deny it, to relegate it to the sidelines is denying a part of yourself. I do not see how that could be driven by anything but fear, or some form of self-destruction. Complacency is the antithesis of passion. Care to see what complacency and fear do? Here’s a social experiment for you to do: sit on a bench on a street and look at people. Look them in the eye, and see the reactions. It doesn’t matter if you’re well dressed or in rags, angry looking or with a smile on your face, nine times out of ten, the other individual will look away. Some can be explained away by conversations or other distractions, but that sort of ratio is simply too large to argue away. (For the record, out of roughly 100 people I tried this with last night, only 3 actually acknowledged the eye contact, all others looked away. Your mileage may vary.)

What drives that sort of behavior, that shrinking away from the possibility of contact or acknowledgment? My belief is that we shrink away from contact because we are afraid of having our world view shaken, of being stretched beyond the bounds of whatever box we’ve chosen for ourselves. To communicate with others inherently holds the potential of being challenged, and that scares people. We mitigate this as much as we can by surrounding ourselves with the like-minded, in classes, conferences, workplaces, social gatherings. How often do we just stop and ask someone on the street how they’re doing, what they’re interested in? Why not? Are we afraid that we might be judged? Why does it matter if we are? It’s just someone on the street, there is no illusory status lost from a conversation not panning out. It is, at worst, a missed chance at enrichment and engagement. You have not LOST anything. Those who talk to strangers live the fullest lives.

Daylit Moon

The weather has finally begun to warm back up from the past week of rain and lower temperatures. The wind is calm, and the sun is setting here in Hanover, and I can see the warm evening light illuminating the building across the street from here. Above that building, the moon sits against a bright blue sky, one edge fading out — not yet full, but nearly so. The streets are busy with cars, alumni departing after reunion weekend, and the sidewalks have quieted into their summer slumber, the occasional sleepy stroller meandering from one destination to the next without the purpose and quickstep of the mid-semester streets.

I like it at this time of day, this time of year. It’s quiet and calm and drenched with life all around, muting what little traffic there is. I can hear the birds quieting for the night, singing goodnight to each other in the trees. The Green is emerald, verdant from the recent rains, crossed by sandy pebbled paths creating a patchwork of shapes and contrasts for the eye in the dwindling light.

Does this truly need any context to be placed? Is this not worthwhile on its own, sans personal reflection? Not all moments must be marred by the memories of times past. It need not be spoken to be made apparent. Nor, sometimes, should it.

Sometime Again

Looking around at various “aboriginal” cultures, I’ve noticed something: very few place much emphasis on goodbye, and some don’t even have a word for it. I remember reading in Glory Road (Heinlein), about a tribe the character visits up in Alaska, above the Arctic circle, and that the closest they came to goodbye was “sometime again.” In Hawaiian, hello and goodbye is the same word, “Aloha”.

There’s something to that, I think, something really worthwhile. Our culture is so afraid of letting go, of saying goodbye, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because the concept of goodbye is artificial, something that has grown out of a culture of possession. We say goodbye because we’re giving up the possession of someone’s time or presence. “Goodbye” is separation, it is permanence, it is loss. It completely misses the point that all things are connected, and that nothing, not even death if we’re to believe in an afterlife, is truly gone. It is simply somewhere else, and all things will reconnect in time.

The saying goes that if you stand in one place, the world will pass before you. I think it’s true, in one fashion or another. With the 7 billion people living on this planet parade in front of you? No, and that’s not to mention the animals and plants and assorted life that exists out there, either. It is a matter of interconnectedness, the holism of life, and that ultimately everything will come back around.

I don’t know why exactly I decided to write about all this. I’ve been thinking about it, thinking about the process of saying goodbye to my life as it was, and realizing that my life is still there, it’s just different. Where I go and what I do is still up to me, now more than ever. So why say goodbye? Regardless of whether it is the same, or even similar, that which matters will come back around. Instead of goodbye, “Sometime Again.”

Anniversary Day

Diving into the morass that I want to talk about, let me start by wishing my brother-in-law a happy birthday, and my cousins Ethan and Cortney a happy anniversary. I hope you all have a wonderful day with much love and happy times, only to be surpassed in the years to come.

It’s also my anniversary. Today marks two years since Mickey and I got married, on a rainy day in May at Squam. The pictures are still in the gallery, you’re welcome to look at them if you’d like. This year, however, it is sunny and hot here in Seattle, and Mickey and I are not even going to see each other today. Mickey has a busy day planned, picking up her friend Florence this afternoon, hanging out, going to the movies, and then driving down to Portland for the weekend. I won’t see her until Monday at the earliest, it seems. Instead, I’m spending time with Uri, and we’re currently over in Bellevue at Caffe Coccinella, my “regular” coffee shop out here.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve been thinking about what I want, what I need, and what I can and cannot have. I’ve been thinking about loneliness and the nature of solitude, and where I should go next. What are my goals, my dreams, my ideals; who am I, who do I want to be, who have I been in the past?

The short answer is that I don’t know.

What I want is to be loved, admired, respected. I want to get these ideas and feelings I have out into the air where they can be seen by others, and feel that connection that I keep on looking for. To whatever extent, I need this acceptance, this validation to feel good about myself. I need physical companionship in one fashion or another, which is why solitude (an inherently meditative and introspective experience) turns into loneliness (an inherently distracting and dependent experience). I’ve had that physical companionship, and I’ve been betrayed by it, rejected by it. I don’t really know if or when it will be alright again, though I hope sooner than later. Of course, I bring it upon myself, I suppose. My nature and personality is flexible and giving, which is very easily devolved into a form of co-dependence that I don’t really need or want.

So, back to the questions. Where should I go next. I’ve heard opinions ranging from “Player” to “Priest.” Neither extreme is really a solution that I’m entirely comfortable with nor desire. Opinions on where to physically go have also ranged, from staying in New England to moving back to Seattle, to going somewhere entirely new. I’ve thought about wandering off for a while and traveling to places I have not yet been before, as well as some old favorites. I’ve thought of going on a cruise, pampering myself a bit and seeing the world, I’ve thought of kayaking through the Keys, I’ve thought of backpacking through Europe, and studying Shinto in Japan. All of which have an appeal, and none of which are things I’m able to do right now, whether for financial reasons or timing reasons, or simple, pure fear of stepping back into the world without the safety net of family and friends. I am wounded, I will not argue otherwise, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to come limping out of my cave yet.

Pardon the angst-laden symbolism.

Well, what about my goals, my dreams, my ideals. My goal is to create. My dream is to do nothing, to simply exist and live and enjoy life, and create if and as I wish, when I wish. My ideal is to Never Hurry, Festina Lente (Make Haste Slowly). It’s the central philosophy of my life, the basis for how I wish to live, even if circumstances cause me to not. I have come to the conclusion that this is not something I should compromise on, and I must find someone who lives this life as well.

As for who I am: I am a talented person who is paralyzed by fear of both failure and success. It takes a lot for me to say, and not for the reasons you might think. Who I want to be is someone who is fulfilling his potential and savoring every second of life because of that. Who I have been is a bitter person, caught up on the frustrations of being alone, being depressed, and angry at himself for not being able to connect with others.

All of which brings me no closer to an answer, which is kind of the point. I simply don’t know where to go next. I have realized that I have what my brother and friend Mike call “One-itis”, namely getting enamored with someone and deciding that THEY are “the one,” instead of simply appreciating and enjoying their company for whatever it’s worth. I am a hopeless romantic, and to quote Shakespeare, I “loved not wisely, but too well.” This has always been a problem for me, and it’s time I put a stop to it. There is nothing wrong with dating someone, or even sleeping with someone that I don’t necessarily want to spend the rest of my life with, and giving my heart so freely toward that end has done nothing but hurt me in the long run. I do not wish to become a player, but a middle ground might be nice.

Quick Thoughts

Artichokes are tragic. We eat their hearts.

There is a tree just up the road from my parents house that has fallen over from its own weight and the waterlogged ground. It’s laid out down the hill, the root ball sticking into the air. It’s still alive, and the leaves are out on it.

On Being Positive

First off: Mickey gets to go see an advance screening of the Firefly movie, “Serenity” I’m damn envious, and you should be too; the trailer looks tight. Just wanted to toss that out before moving on to the main topic.

I’m in a pretty positive place right now. Given the circumstances, people are pretty surprised at how well I’m handling everything. They say that inside every dark cloud, there is a silver lining. That may be true, but that still ultimately implies that the cloud is dark. That still requires a judgement on whether an act is good or bad, instead of simply accepting the act as it is. We cannot know whether something will harm us or help us later in life, whether it will enrich our experience or hinder it, and to declare otherwise is unfair to ourselves, those around us, and the situation itself. Even in hindsight, we can only declare the impact it has had up to that point, and no farther.

That’s not to say we don’t have regrets, or wish something hadn’t happened, or miss who we were and how we lived before an event (tragic or joyous, it doesn’t matter, that once again is a judgement of an event’s worth). But this is a part of life, and need not color our outlook on life as a whole. Put simply: there is no point in being bitter or hateful, and being so is inherently selfish.

So why should I be bitter or hateful? Why shouldn’t I try to put the best spin I can on a situation that did not go as I wished? It’s not the end of the world, it’s not even the end of my life. It’s just the end of the way it was. Change is not a bad thing. It’s just different, and it’s the only way we can truly grow, evolve, and discover who we really are.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I still wish it hadn’t happened.

On New England

Because life is currently rather circular, I’m currently sitting in the Hopkins Center on Dartmouth campus. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat here, or near here, but suffice it to say that it was a mainstay of my high school and early college years. I’ve blogged probably 70 entries (out of 240ish) sitting on the wireless connection of this campus, and spent countless hours talking to my friends over a cup of coffee or tea, in particular chai.

Something is marginally different now, however. This is no longer where I live. I live three thousand miles away, and only come here once every six months. Time is relative, however, so the amount of time away is largely irrelevant. The difference is far more subtle: walking through town here, people generally don’t smile. If people know each other, they might smile briefly, they’ll say hello, and on some occasions stop to talk further. But by and large, everyone is solemn faced, if not grim. Now, Seattle has its fair share of depressed and grim people, but there is a generally acceptable mood in the population. We are not the most free-speaking area of the country, but even with that in mind, we’re lightyears ahead of New England Stoicism. It’s not that New England is dead, and in fact there is quite a bit of activity and growth occuring. But the general atmosphere is simply grim. I can’t think of any other word that would better describe it. It’s like they are industrious and unhappy about it, but don’t realize that they are unhappy about it.

There is the beginnings of an economic boom occuring the area, with several major stores moving into the area, and apparently there is even talk of a mall going in. Additionally and simultaneously, the counter-culture (people living alternative lifestyles, often artists or musicians) is also beginning to explode in the area, complete with a non-profit low-power radio station (WXND), and even a soon-to-open comic book institute. If after October I didn’t come back for several years, I honestly don’t think I would recognize much of anything but the basic layout of the roads (and maybe not even that, purportedly, they’re finally going to make modifications to Route 12A, to help clean up the traffic problem with the plazas).

Every time I come back to the Upper Valley, I realize more and more how done I am with the area. I enjoy seeing my friends and family, but as I become more acquainted with good coffee shops and places to hang out and good restaurants, I find myself less and less missing the area. That’s not to say I don’t miss Vermont, or Squam, or my friends, or my family. Far from it. It’s more that I’m trying to explain that the allure of the UV is really fading. Of course, if I won the lottery tomorrow, I’d probably buy some land up in the Northeast Kingdom and build a house up there. Not as a primary residence, but as a place to hole up and enjoy the world a bit more than cities really afford. I think it would make living in a city the rest of the time a lot more palatable to me, which I think Mickey would definitely appreciate.

I will give New England credit for one thing: history. In most other parts of the country, entire regions have been overtaken with housing developments and suburbs, cul de sacs, and factory fresh houses. New England has some of that, but you also get to see older architecture, and older town layouts where roads went somewhere and the housing was designed for a non-car centric style of life. It engendered a sense of community that has largely been killed through suburban planning in the rest of the country. It’s affected this area as well, but not as much, or at least more slowly. That is absolutely a good thing, and hopefully with the beginning realization of the need for communal interaction, it won’t lose any more (and maybe even improve).

Pavlovian Response to Crash

When I was 15 and Uri was 17, we spent two weeks in June at Squam, essentially on our own. It was the week of and the week immediately following the Laconia Biker Week, which we largely ignored. The weather was idyllic, and we cooked two or three meals a day on the new griddle that Jain had picked up for Squam that spring. We had very little money, and we cut corners and ate a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches and the like, and frankly I’ve never had any taste so good as those. For pretty close to the entirety of those two weeks, Crash by Dave Matthews Band was playing on the stereo. We only had the tape of it, which meant that halfway through the album, one of us had to get up and flip it over in the stereo.

Which we did, even at night, as more often than not, we simply crashed on the couches in the living room, the ceiling fan spinning and the evening breeze rolling through the open porch doors. We spent hours just reading and whiling away the time, and at sunset, the sun would reflect off the lake and onto the ceiling, creating this golden shimmer. And through all of it, Crash would play, with the exceptions of when we went out for groceries, or to the movies (we watched Fifth Element in an empty theatre the week after Biker Week), or to go laze about in the lake that had already warmed up enough to merit lazing about in. It was a really fantastic time, and I envy the simplicity of it.

I don’t listen to Crash much anymore, but every once in a while, a song or two ends up in my playlist, and that’s where the title of this post comes in. It’s pavlovian. My mood, my physical sensation calls back to those weeks at Squam, with the cold floor in the kitchen walking barefoot and enjoying the feeling of it, just the atmosphere around me suddenly shifts to Squam. I can’t help but think of it, it’s automatic. I’ve been conditioned.

And that’s alright.

Fresh Start

I was trying to think about how I would go about reorganizing my previous blog entries, and decided there wasn’t really a good answer. So much of the information there is outdated (dead links, outdated technical status, et cetera) that I chose to move it all to a category called “Site Archives”, and start fresh. I’ve migrated the past half dozen posts into the new categories, and the rest have gone into Site Archives (for posterity).

I’m a big fan of not getting RID of information, but sometimes it is necessary to move it around a little.