Quick Takes: One Thing At A Time

I've been rather hyped-up on self-discovery and analyzation in the last two years.

So, in early 2009, I was quite excited to feel that I made some sort of breakthrough and solved a piece of my life-puzzle.

It goes like this:

A) I was feeling extremely depressed and unhappy with almost everything.
B) I wanted to find a solution to my depression.
C) The one thing I could think of that made me happy was being creative.
D) Therefore to me, being creative was akin to being happy.
E) And, therefore, I decided to do as many creative projects as possible in 2009.
F) That would solve everything and I would be happy.

Makes sense, no?

If I recall the moments in my life where I feel the most positive, it would be those moments where I am working on new music (generally for myself).

So, with that theory in mind, I set out to incorporate as many new forms of creative self-expression into my life.

I began writing more, working on humorous t-shirt ideas, coming up with web comic ideas (which have not come to light yet since lo-ku beat me to the punch!) and starting a series of new musical side projects.

Yeah! That will keep me busy. And more importantly, it will help to alleviate my crippling depression.

Right?

Wrong.

Wrong? Why?

A month or so ago, I figured out another key element to that puzzle that was out of place.

Through the process of overloading myself with as many projects as possible, I began to notice that I got less done. In fact, a lot less. My mind was scattered across multiple ideas, and had trouble focusing. I was intimidated and had trouble starting any of them.

Also, at my day job, I took on some new tasks for a while that soon proved something that I had not known about myself:

I am not a multitasker.

Nope.

After several life examples of my non-multitasking (or shite) abilities, I saw that I am at my best when I have a single goal to focus my mind on, otherwise, I get overwhelmed with options and possibilities, and then nothing gets done.

So my goal of doing as many creative projects as possible as a solution to my depression was a good one; but it left out one important discovery about the kind of person I am.

A uni-tasker.

So, are YOU really a multitasker?

Why Do Anything?

Dear god why?!

It is a simple question, but one that seems to rear its ugly head quite often these days for me, and for many of my friends.

Perhaps it may seem utterly ridiculous to you, and if so, just wait a few years until you get to enjoy one of many existential crises in which the very foundation on which you built your knowledge of who you are, and what you want, erode and crumble away beneath your size 7 Keds. (I don't wear those, in case you were wondering).

This is the real question people:

Why do anything at all?

Why?

Any and all things you want to do, or have to do, can be reduced to sub-trivial pointlessness with a series of negative and defeatist probing questions.

With myself, and so many of my friends fighting this battle of bleakness and self-sabotage, I figured it would make sense to give this concept some airing out, and maybe, just maybe, benefit some of you who may be struggling with the same jubilant thoughts.

...Well... Never mind.

After all, "What's the point?"

THE LOGICAL ENDPOINT

Over the course my recent intellectual furtherings ("furtherings" is not a word), I would often take any new philosophical idea to its logical conclusion.

Though I wish it always ended in some brilliant discovery of pure inspiration and fresh-from-the-oven genius, (and not that there isn't a moment of that along the way), it seldom does.

And what is that logical conclusion you may ask?

"So what?"

"Who cares?"

"Why bother?"

"Why even try?"

In my quest for understanding myself, and the world around me, when I peel back each layer of introspection, contemplation, revelation and totally-radical-awesomeness, I find myself at this familiar bottom layer of any idea, which seems to be the most elementary and primitive of all.

You are now on the bottom floor of the proverbial intellectual department store, with the sign reading, "Apathy, hopelessness, disillusionment, and square-tipped Italian leather douche shoes."

The depressing thing is that no matter how much I am able to convince myself of something's importance and relevance, it always ends up back at one of those self-defeating "answers".

Literally anything.

Meaning of life? "Who cares."

Relationships? "What does that matter?"

Career? "So what?"

Happiness? "Pfff... Pointless."

Let's work through some lofty goals to see how fast we get back to square zero.

WHY IS THAT VALUABLE?

My close friend Tommy suffers from the same negative mindset.

During a recent conversation, the two of us began talking about how some people become successful based off of superficial means, like their looks, or their willingness to abandon any semblance of personal, moral, or artistic integrity to make something happen.

Given that the two of us very much care about the art we create (for some reason. Pretty stupid huh?), Tommy contemplated the idea that "perhaps we should follow that path instead?"

My defense was to say that what we do requires actual skill, talent and years of work, thought and emotion to create. And in my mind, that was supposed to be positive.

His reply was simply, "Why is that valuable?"

Well, you see... because... creativity is... I mean art has a way of... well... people get affected by the... by the...

...I don't know.

I've always placed subjective value on things like music, art, creativity in general, and lately, stuffy areas like philosophy and psychology.

They feel (<---- key word) important to me.

But oh how simply they all come a-tumblin' down with the question, "why are those valuable?"

Well, why are they?

Who values them?

And why place such value on something so intangible?

Who is ever likely to experience the things we do?

And why would it matter to them?

Fuck, you're right! It's just a bunch of bullshit. In the grand scheme of things, it really doesn't seem that important.

It seems almost... *gulp*... valueless.

FOLLOW YOUR PASSION (LESSNESS)

I struggle with this devaluing-mindset-castration extremely often these days.

Finding a reason to continue doing something, damn near anything, is almost a day to day fight. And I'm not a fighter.

Which is why I figured that writing about this topic would be a good idea.

Or is it?

"So why write this article?"

Well, because it's on my mind, and it's something that I, and several of my friends deal with very often these days.

"And why does that matter?"

Well, sometimes just writing about something helps to frame the problem so that it can be worked on, and perhaps this might actually be helpful to other people.

"And you care about that why?"

I enjoy writing about this kind of stuff, and I also like to be able to offer perspectives to other that may benefit their lives.

"...and?"

What do you mean "and?"?! "AND" I get to help people. Well, maybe. Assuming anyone reads it, and connects it back to their own lives.

"How likely is that?"

I guess not very likely. Not many people read this, and some of the ones that do don't seem to understand that the point of telling these personal stories is to bring up a point about human nature, or the world, that they can apply to themselves.

"So why write this article?"

I don't know anymore. It seemed like something that would be a good idea, but maybe none of this matters.

Maybe nothing really matters.

THE ENTH DEGREE

Fun so far, eh?

No, it's not. And I am partially sorry about the gloomy nature of this essay, but it's an important road block that keeps many of us from accomplishing what we are potentially capable of.

For example, maybe you should try to get that promotion at work.

"Well, maybe, it does mean more money, BUT....

I'd probably have to work a lot more anyway, and I already don't like my job, and why would I want to try harder at something that has nothing to do with the person I am, and the things I really care about."

All right then, stay where you are at work. Perhaps you should try to meet someone new then. You know, date a little.

"Why? So I can get into a relationship? Sure it feels good at the beginning, but sooner or later, and usually sooner, one of you is going to fall out of love with the other, or you're going to get your heart broken, or one of you will die, or you'll get into a relationship that's 50 times more awful than just being alone.

No thanks!"

That's only looking at the negative, but hey, if that's how you feel.

What if you just tried to focus on being a little happier then?

"Happiness is for idiots! Only those who are truly unaware, or ignorant are happy. That would mean becoming stupider! Is THAT what you want me to do? Plus, being happy is so substanceless. It's empty."

Damn! So do something with substance then, if that's your thing.

"What's the point? So I do some art, or music, or writing, and no one knows about them, and they never go anywhere, and never affect anyone, and then I die. Sounds real important to me."

Whoa, whoa there Mr. Joyful. Fine, don't do anything then. I was just trying to help out.

"Why were you trying to help me? What does that matter to you, eh? None of the things we do here really make a difference, and if it does, it goes away within a matter of years. When we're gone, no one will care that you tried to help me, or her, or anyone. It won't make any mark. So why even do it?"

Jesus Christ man! You're just no fun to be around. I'm going home.

UNIVERSAL POINTLESSNESS

And just to make sure we cover our bases (in what, I've always wondered), the biggest and most cosmically significant perspectives for apathetic indifference to one's own existence:

DEATH

As I mentioned via use of a "character" above, one of the biggest ways to make anything seem quite meaningless is to throw in, "... and then we die."

Yes, I tell you, post death, no one will likely give two flaming shits about whatever it was that you cared about. And if someone else does care, they'll eventually die too, and then no one will remember you, or anything you did/created/thought/coughed up/ or dry humped.

Our brief stint with being conscious just takes the value out of things like work, entertainment and especially masturbatory pursuits like existential philosophy and psychoanalysis.

Who fucking cares!?

THE UNIVERSE

And if that's not enough, don't forget that even after our deaths, the Sun is going to eventually burn itself out, increase in size to engulf the whole galaxy, and then likely collapse into a black hole, sucking all matter near it into a cozy happy* singularity. (*"happy" void in Milky Way Galaxy during this time).

And if you need more global reasons for insignificance, the entire fabric of the universe itself appears to be expanding and also speeding up. Will it simply disintegrate into a fine ground powder, or will it eventually reverse and suck itself back into itself?

Who knows? Both scenarios are fairly cheery.

Either way, it kinda take the steam out of the things you care about in a given day:

"I'm going to write this book about..."

REALIZATION: You're just a blip on the universal time scale.

".... oh...." *Sadness commences*

REALIZATION: And time itself will eventually unravel.

".........." *Crushing emptiness*

THE VALUELESSNESS OF VALUE

And really, when you think about it, the strange concept that we humans have a need to apply almost anything in our lives with some made-up confines titled "meaning", "purpose", and "value", is completely pointless in itself.

Yes, that's exactly as far as I'm going with this: The idea that we even assign meaning to things is, in itself meaningless.

It's a subjective and arbitrary idea with no real grounding in anything, but it feels so important to us humans.

And it has no meaning.

Dear god man!

Why do anything!?!?

BEYOND SO WHAT

All right, all right.

So things can be examined with a very self-defeating razor, and many things we find important in our lives can be reduced to feeling pointless and worthless.

Nothing really has any meaning or value.

So, again, why do anything?

Because underneath it all we still care.

Even with a million points that tell us how it does not matter in the long run, somehow, it still does.

It's a tautology, but it's true.

We care because we care.

It matters to us, because it matters to us.

I bet that may seem too simple for some of you, but sometimes the answer is facepalmingly obvious.

Through over-analyzing anything with the sledgehammer of pessimistic apathy, we can quickly and easily reach what feels like the bottom of any argument: "So what?", "Who cares?", "What does it matter?".

But given some time to sit with that "conclusion", I often find myself still going back to the things I've written off as pointless and without meaning.

Why?

Somehow, I still care about them.

I do it because I want to.

It's as simple as that.

I keep writing essays, I keep making music, I strive to better myself, and even still search for something as silly as love.

Even though you can dissect any idea, motivation, goal, or priority in your life down to the level of "so what", over time you begin to see that that is no longer the bottom of the barrel. There is indeed another level below that murky, defeatist layer.

And that's the most basic core of desire, or want.

Accepting this premise, even though it takes time, may eventually be able to help you through your own bleak, self-sabotage, when you talk yourself out of doing something new and scary.

"Why is that important? What does that matter? What's the value in that? Who cares? So what?"

You care. That's what.

Deal with it.

Now do it.


You might also be interested in:

• Your Self Projection Has Potential!
• Outside Validation
• The Ebb And Flow... And Ebb
• In Defense Of Selfishness
• The Depression Panacea
  

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Tags: blog philosophy psychology humor sarcastic life+lessons self+help depression fear apathy who+cares so+what motivation meaning value pointless existentialism

2009: What Have We Learned?

I recapped the most horrible year of my life in a perky little blog, plainly titled, "2008: The Worst Year Of My Life".

I figured simplicity was best in that case.

I spent the beginning of that year feeling broken mentally and emotionally after the ending of a relationship, then took that energy and channeled it into my harrowing near-death due to a sudden incarcerated hernia, and finally sailed smoothly into the winter by almost going completely broke.

But other than that, it was great.

So with my 2008 being so merry and gay, how did 2009 fare for little ol' me?

Well, it just so happens that 2009 marks the first year of The King Of Deprecation, (which is obviously this ridiculous pseudo-philosohpical blog you're reading now) and therefore that makes it easy to go back in time and follow the tumultuous, tear-jearking, and sexual journey through the ups and downs of The Aftermath of 2008.

So, now comes the question.

What have we learned Charlie Brown?

EARLY 2009

The last new year started off with a bang. (silence...)

I ended 2008 by just barely scraping by, still healing physically, mentally and emotionally.

So it only makes sense to hit me again, this time with the drawn-out death of my only companion (yes, sad in itself), my cat of 15 years, Hobbes.

Not the best way to begin the year, I guess I should have planned things differently.

Without my feline friend I was now truly alone, with no one to throw my constant comments and witty asides to while working at home (I really need an Ed McMahon character that follows me around).

A month later I had my biggest set back of the whole ordeal, when I discovered that the dramatic hernia situation that had nearly claimed my life a few moths prior was back, albeit in a much less life-threatening way.

This became one of the lowest points in my entire life.

I felt that I would never escape my own bodily defects, and, though not very logical, my emotions swamped me in the fear that this was to be forever my lot in life: to be broken, and to remain that way forever. Limited, feeble, restricted in almost every aspect of life we take for granted. (All of them).

My birthday that month was slightly less than badass.

My awful outlook on life, fueled by my extreme unhappiness, gave birth to many fascinating (though I'm sure quite depressing and bleak) philosophical conversations about the nature existence.

More than ever before, my mind drifted into constant examination of myself and the world around me, and I discovered that I seemed to enjoy psychoanalyzing people.

During this ever-so-groovy period, I spent much time focusing on two main issues that were quite apparent in my (then shitty) writing.

Love and happiness.

More specifically, why each of those concepts were negative.

I had no love, and I had no happiness, and therefore I had to come up with some pretty over-the-top rationalizations of of my place in life. Not that there aren't downsides and things to take note of with those concepts, but maybe, just maybe (I don't want to jump to conclusions yet) I went a bit too far with it.

My new found outlet and interest in writing about these observations was my only real therapy. As each new idea, opinion, feeling and perspective came to mind, I channeled my miserable mood into a light edition of what some might call 'enthusiam' or 'excitement' or 'slightly-less-miserable-ness' and began to collect them in a notebook in the goal of turning many of them into poorly written blogs.

Great job!

MID 2009

Though my own bodily frailty and my bitter perspective on the world were always on my mind, as the year progressed, somehow I managed to turn my frothing, torturous self-pity into a frothing, torturous self-pity-based series of essays that showcased my personal insecurities and my need to impress others.

(Impressed with my honesty there? 'Cause, you know, that took courage to just come out and be so open about that. I mean, I would admire someone who did that... so... you know... you might... um... ).

During my lifetime, I have developed a strange skill that allows me to adapt my personal pain, hatred, and depression, and use it as a tool to help me forge my creative endeavors. In fact, I became so good at it, that any time I found myself in a new, freshly-minted (still in box) dramatic situation, within minutes I would already be thinking, "Fuck this really sucks! I can't wait to write a song with this emotion!"

And now I applied it to writing.

(See? Look at me go!!)

Though miserable, by the middle of 2009, my mind was now running at a ridiculously high RPM (which was unnecessary given the speed I was traveling at). Every day would bring a new all-consuming thought about myself or those around me, a new perspective about this grand turd we called awareness, and philosophical ramblings that led me to momentary excitement and potential brilliance, only to end up at "so what?"

My personal struggle with the concept of happiness continued, as I tried my best to demonize it (you know, since I didn't have it) in blogs like "I Resent Your Happiness". Also waged was my battle with love in general, with blogs like "(Mis)Perceptions Of Love" and others (which I perpetually shot sniper rounds at from the comfort of my lofty elitist bell tower, while shouting, "you made me play second base!!!").

Though I was really beginning to... to... "enjoy" (please apply that term loosely) writing my thoughts on things, and putting them out into the world as a form of self-reflective therapy, my emotions were building under the surface (this is the same surface, by the way, that was already obviously tormented, rage-filled, and super-depressive. One can only imagine the HIDDEN emotions under that).

The constant, and seemingly hopeless struggle with the medical system, combined with my ever more erratic emotions and über-pessimism about the futile crap-shoot of life, culminated in my darkest period of recent times.

My essay about suicide summed up my whole outlook at the time.

I enjoyed nothing. I looked forward to nothing. I was eternally unhappy.

I really felt that I genuinely had nothing at all. I had chosen the shortest straw, and I could see no good reasons to continue trudging through this pointlessness.

(You know what I should do about that? Dwell on it some more! That will help!).

LATE 2009

So, if you thought contemplating suicide was the lowest point I could get to, just wait until...

Actually, you were right, it was the lowest point.

Obviously I did not end my life, though I really don't recall why not. (There's still plenty of time for that).

Perhaps the reason, or part of it at least, was due to my obsessive focus on finishing my five-years-in-the-making 3rd album "Moira's Lake", for my personal music project Envinity.

When fully engrossed in working on something I love, though I may complain about the work, though I may be stressed out, though I may be tired, I find that I counteract all of my negative emotional mood swings (perhaps not ALL...).

Seeing this in action, I wrote about my new theory that my personal happiness, or satisfaction, is tied very closely to my creative output and productivity.

Hmmm. So is that the key to my depression?

Yeahhhhhnnnnnoooo. Sort of. One of may keys, really.

In September I finally caught a lucky break with my health problems and, after months and months of awful, annoying struggles, managed to get my surgery taken care of.

It was an amazing relief, and one less thing to add to the billion pestering thoughts that greeted me each sun-shiney day.

With that portion of my life 100% fully behind me forever and ever with literally no chance of returning in the future in any way, shape or form, (take a breath in), my mind focused back on what it does best:

Over-analyzing every god damn thing.

When I returned to my blogs, I wrestled with more heady concepts that bothered me, namely spirituality and belief in general, in cheeky essays like Gardening With God, and The Inefficacy Of Prayer.

I inadvertently improved my writing-style and storytelling skills by pushing myself to be more naked and vulnerable in my essays (like in the blog "Soul Mates"), and turned up the scrutiny and self-deprecation on myself. (How could I have turned up the "self-deprecation" on someone else?).

With my mind thoroughly engrossed in finishing my album, and writing new observations on life, I felt, for once in a long while, okay.

Not great, mind you. But "okay" was a welcomed improvement.

Say, maybe I had found the key to my own happiness...

END OF 2009

I was on fire. (FUCK!!!!)

I was monstrously productive (I did a thing), and I was busy all of the time. I would complain that there was not enough time to get every aspect of the music, graphics, writing, editing, marketing, and self-fellatio completed.

My full release came (wow, what's with all of the sudden sexual humor? What does that say about me right now?) on Halloween when, after 5 years of work, I released Moira's Lake to the world (see: a few people on the internet).

Now I could finally relax after all of that... stress... and... okay, I'm getting bored and restless already... really restless and frustrated now... nothing to work on... depression coming back... shit... I thought I had the magical cure-all???!!!!

My big projects had worked wonders to keep my mind focused, and much less likely to dwell on the negative. Now that the projects were done, my mind was free to wander back into philosophical bleakness,  and I drifted into the quite familiar emotional mire.

My "too many to count by now" existential crisis was upon me again, and wrapped me up in a flour tortilla with mixed cheese and chipotle aiole. (Mmmm... actually can I have a side of salsa with that too? Perfect. Thanks).

As I dissected myself further at the end of the year, the essays became increasingly life-focused and philosophical, dealing with the essential questions of existence: who am I? What do I want?

Understanding the nature of my priorities in life was now an important question.

My existential crisis forced me ever closer to the causes of what affects me, and how I react to them. Everyday brought with it a new way to look at myself, a new observation on my behavior, a new revelation on who I really am as a person (usually not flattering, but still fascinating).

Things came to a decidedly uncharacteristic peak when, madly pacing around my apartment one day in search of some understanding of who I am and what I want, it suddenly hit me.

I've never made "enjoying my life" a priority.

Everything up until then revolved around my creative projects, and my happiness took a back seat to the art. In fact, I seemed to sabotage my chances at happiness, just to create more pain, and then vicariously, more art.

This was the person I'd known as "Niko" for nearly half of my life.

I was almost afraid to admit to myself the treasonous thought that, "maybe I want to enjoy my life now."

What a strange notion.

And yet, I think I do.

"What? Enjoy your life? Who the hell is this person?"

At the moment, I'm not sure.

That's for 2010 to decide.

My head hurts.

ABOUT THE BLOGS THEMSELVES

In order to write this post, and also the last blog about my "best" posts of 2009, I sat myself down in front of the computer (so far sounds fairly cut and dried), and began reading through everything I've posted last year.

In my mind, this would be a fun task. I was guessing that I was going to enjoy reading about my mindset and observations during the often frustrating times of spring '09.

What I discovered upon my first few readings, was that I, the very person who wrote these blogs, was having trouble even getting to the end of some of them.

"Wow, that's kind of embarrassing," I thought out loud.

Not the feeling I was hoping for.

Sure I knew that my earlier posts would not be as good, but these were pretty unreadable.

The observation at the heart of each essay was all fine and good –points about honesty, the nature of emotion, and lust– but the writing behind it made me want to fall asleep and dream of molten river of turds.

(I can't tell if that is relaxing or not, I'll have to try it tonight).

My perspective was all off.

There was no personal connection, no emotion, no story, no real reason to care about the notion, idea, or observation contained within the big, intimidating blocks of text.

As I soldiered on, I (thankfully) slowly began developing my writing style into something more entertaining and readable (subjectively speaking of course).

Due to my insecurities as a freshly minted "writer", I felt I had to prove myself to the world by using a constant slew of big words and over-the-top, out-of-place humor. Yeah, that'll make 'em love it!!

(OMNIFUTUANT!!)

What an idiot I was.

Well, perhaps just ignorant of these concepts.

Sure I could throw out some interesting points of view on myself and others (we all have legs), but if there is no personal connection to the idea, why would you give a shit about reading it? (Answer: you didn't give a shit about reading it).

Look at a post from March '09 and then one from October through December and you'll see what I mean. The point being made is just fine, but it's just not told in an interesting way.

On second thought, just take my word for it and only read the newer stuff.

What a difference a year makes.

2009 VS 2008

So overall, how does 2009 fare when compared to 2008?

Well, considering that I was destroyed mentally, emotionally, physically and financially in 2008, losing my cat of 15 years, dealing with a second hernia, extreme bouts of depression, near suicide, and existential crises made for a much improved year!

The setbacks, and personal crises, though awful at the moment, served as a wonderful reference point to learn more about the person I have become (whoever the fuck he is), and the world around me.

I do strongly believe that pain is one of the best catalysts for change, and with that in mind, change I did.

If 2008 was the worst year of my life, than I will officially dub 2009 my year of awareness, says me.

Now the real test is to see if I can begin actually applying these observations to my life, with the goal of, dare I say, IMPROVING IT (wha??!!), and make 2010 my year of implementation.

Well, good fucking luck on that.

Anyone else learn any big lessons about themselves this past year?


You might also be interested in:

• 2008: The Worst Year Of My Life
• Hernia 2: A Love Story
• Focus On My What?
• Too Early For Suicide?
• Internal And External Priorities

Hey! If you liked reading this story, would you mind clicking on one of the social icons below, so others can find this too? My condescending thanks.

Visit the all new DeprecationWear online store! Sarcastic, self-deprecating and elitist merchandise. Click HERE to see my wares!



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Tags: blog personal+struggle philosophy psychology life+lessons humor sarcasm self+improvement

Outside Validation

Boy, we sure love to think of ourselves as self-sustaining, confident need-nothings.

It's obviously an ego-based idea, and that's why it's so common.

Sure, we can get by for a while on our own, doing our own thing, making our own way, but eventually our subconscious social nature sneaks up on us and demands attention.

You know that picture you drew? The one you spent all of that time on? The one you're really proud of? Are you really sure it's good?

You know how you like to think of yourself as a really intelligent person? Are you really sure you are?

You think you're pretty funny too, don't you? What if you aren't?

Just like most things, encouragement from an outside source can make or break our image of ourselves and inspire us to strive for more, or completely give up.

So are we really that dependent on the approval of others?

I don't know, what do you think?

...(waiting desperately).

WHERE'S DEPRECATION BEEN MAN?

I'm a pathetic whore for outside validation.

I had my sad realization that I was not the cool rebel that I thought myself to be a while ago.

As a relevant example, I'll look at this very blog. *Does*

Before I decided to really put a good deal of effort into writing my silly observations on myself and the world on a consistent basis, I was of the mind that my sporadic essays on random things we're unappreciated and unread, or even hated (that one hasn't changed).

Generally my posting frequency was about one blog every three months.

It wasn't until someone I knew directly told me that not only had he read my blogs, but he actually enjoyed what I had to say!

*spit take*

Wha?

I was honestly confused and beside myself (and confused). Someone actually read that crap, and somehow, seemed to enjoy my emotionally-laden perspectives on things?

He asked me when I was going to post again, and seemed to show genuine interest, not just that "I'm being nice to you, but I don't really want to read more of your stupid blogs" thing.

It was small, short and simple.

And that stuck with me.

Things were suddenly different. I had an audience now. Someone enjoyed what I did, and I now had new motivation to do it more often.

See?

Did I have the confidence in myself to just go for it on my own? No. It took an encouraging word from someone else to inspire me.

Thanks Edy!

FREUD SUPPORTS YOU, LITTLE FELLA

It's interesting how far of an impact not getting the approval we seek can have.

I have friends whose parents never supported them in their creative endeavors.

They (not the parents) had a talent and a passion for music, or art or something creative, and even when they (not the parents) showed great improvements and excitement for what they (not the parents) were doing, they (the parents) would not get even the slightest "That sounds/looks really good!" or "You're really improving," or the very enthusiastic, "Would you play/write/draw something for me?"

It's really quite Freudian. Constantly seeking that elusive missing validation from those you most wanted it from. In many cases, our own parents.

So what about this said impact from lack of outside validation?

Well, those very same friends who never got encouraged, yet were so full of talent, are struggling and conflicted now.

I often hear stories from these people about their previous home lives, and the lack of support their parents "showed" them regarding their hobbies, and passions. They (not the parents) want to work on their areas of talent, but it's quite apparent how much discouragement has rubbed off on them (from their parents).

Sometimes all it takes is a small word of enthusiasm and support to send someone off in a better direction.

A simple positive word for the child can go a long way towards inspiring them, just as a negative word can go a long way towards derailing them.

Does that mean there is a direct correlation between encouragement and success? Or at least encouragement and drive?

Well, it appears, in my non-scienfic studies, that there is something.

How much I'm not sure.

By the way, that picture you drew really sucks.

YOU'RE SO CONFIDENT

"I don't care what people think about me!"

I'm sure you've heard people who say such bold statements, usually loudly, and in the company of many.

Perhaps you, yourself, have said the same thing before?

As I mentioned in the preamble, it's a common thought for many of us that we're independent rebels, who need no approval or permission from anyone to do anything.

Right?

Yeah!

...man.

If you wear certain clothes, perhaps clothes that people around you do not wear, you may get a playful jab, or even a threatening insult from those who disapprove.

Most of us are quite conscious of this, and take these things to heart.

But some of us, feel compelled to respond with the ever-so-cool "I don't give a shit what others think about me! I just do my own thing."

Whoa!

Awesome!

You really are totally self-confident!

I mean, you proved me wrong man.

...Except for the fact that you are not only lying to those that overhear the statement, but to yourself as well.

Why?

Think of it this way:

If you really did not care about the opinions of others, then why did you proclaim, so loudly, in front of as many people as possible, your proud defiance of validation from your peers? Hmmm?

Could you, by chance, be seeking approval and respect for the fact that you claim to seek no approval or respect?

People could be pretty impressed by your self confidence, don't you think?

No, of course not.

My fault.

That was stupid.

You don't care what everyone else thinks of you.

(You just want their approval for appearing to not care what they think).

VALIDATING ENVINITY

One of my most vulnerable areas is also, obviously, one of my most confident areas.

My music.

Specifically my music project Envinity.

It's a strange and violent mix of emotions and perspectives that go into how I feel about what I do.

If you've read many of my recent blogs, you'll know that I talk a lot about dichotomy.

Two opposing opinions or emotions on the same topic.

And music delivers this for me in spades (straight flush bitches!).

It is within this extremely narrow niche that I am the most cocky, over-confident and powerful. When I create, I feel like a God. It's as if I will a unique universe into being with just my mind.

Oh man, it can be an amazing feeling!

And it's not just the creation.

It's music in general.

I usually feel that I know more about music composition than those around me. That I understand broader concepts about how music affects people psychologically and emotionally (hey, I told you I can be cocky here).

Now that I've got all of that out of the way, we get to the ever-popular dichotomy part.

Even though I'm able to feel so self-assured and confident in my abilities as a composer, it's also, as I said earlier, the area in which I'm most sensitive and fragile.

You'd think all of that confidence I just spoke of would allow me to remain steadfast in my opinion of my own creations, but they don't.

Any dissenting vote, or nay sayer will almost instantly cripple me emotionally, and turn me from the most cocky, arrogant person, into the most insecure, confused, and broken person.

Additionally, I never really feel that something I've done is worth a damn, until a complete stranger validates it for me.

Not a friend. Not a band member. Not family.

A complete stranger. With no reason to say anything positive, other than the fact that they truly like it.

So why can't I just stick to my guns, when I know that something I've done is good?

OUTSIDE VALIDATION AS A TOOL

Although most of this probably sounds like outside validation is some kind of weakness, or that it's a crutch for those that are not confident enough in themselves, outside validation can actually be a valuable tool, if used in the right way and with the right people.

One of my first good blogs close to my current writing style, was a blog written at the end of 2008 called, "Self Perception: What A Beautiful Thing!" In essence it was a blog written out of the then startling realization that we generally see ourselves quite inaccurately compared to the person we are in the world.

More specifically, in my view, self perception is how we would LIKE to see ourselves.

And since we cannot ever see ourselves without the bias of BEING ourselves, we need to rely on outside validation to confirm or deny our preconceptions of who we think we are.

Using outside validation in this way requires that you have a friend or family member
that you trust, and most importantly, a person who is not afraid to tell you the truth, even when they know it may not make you feel good emotionally.

Watch for other's reactions to what you do and say. Does that reflect the image you have of yourself?

How do people treat you, and what does that say about who you are, or how you act?

Were you even aware that you act that way, or say things like that?

I bet you weren't.

The never-ending quest to discover who you really are is one of the most important journeys you can ever attempt. (So says me).

And having things within yourself validated from an outside source, can help you see more accurately the person you really are.

Potentially.

THIN-SKINNED AND FRAGILE

I see now, that I am more sensitive and fragile than I previously thought.

I have a stunning track record of giving up easily in the face of opposition (in some areas, not all). The slightest negative comment sends me spinning for days, weeks, or even months (some I've held onto for years).

All this shows me, is my lack of confidence in myself. My lack of trust in my own ideas. Yes, there are times when I can exude, true or not, a sort of charismatic determination and confidence in my own ideas, but it's not the norm.

It would be nice to not be so needy of outside validation for everything I do, and everything I am.

Why do I devalue myself so?

Where does this fragility come from?

Why does my own opinion of something not suffice?

Why do I place such emphasis on a word from others?

Throughout this last year or so, my weaknesses (which are plentiful), have come welling up to the surface, ripe for self-examination.

And this is but one of them.

But is it also one of yours?

Are we really as independent, confident, and self-assured as we would like to think we are?

Perhaps you may be, but I'm definitely not.

Well, unless you think I am, because I value your opinion.


Related blogs:
Focus On My What?
Your Self Projection Had Potential!
I Resent Your Happiness
Run In With The Beautiful People
Self Perception: What A Beautiful Thing!

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The Ebb And Flow... And Ebb

And flow.

It's trite and overused (which is why I'm using it), but there is an old adage that says, "the only thing constant is change."

I think I've experienced enough of life so far to see that everything in my existence has been somehow cyclical. My emotions, perspectives, motivations, interests, even my underwear.

Only a few months back I went through one of my lowest periods ever. To mark the special occasion I wrote a blog about the idea of suicide (It's whimsical and joy-filled. I suggest you read it).

Then I found myself swept up in a sudden flurry of busyness with creative projects, and discovered that my personal satisfaction seemed to be closely tied to my personal productivity.

Now that I've just released my 3rd album, I'm again plunged back into the murky waters of aimless confusion, depression, and restlessness.

So will I forever be stuck in an extreme game of either or, one or the other? Or can a middle ground ever be found? If it can be found do I want it?

It seems that change, is indeed constant.

INPUT AND OUTPUT PHASES

One cycle that has been quite prominent in my life lately is that of the input and output phases.

At the end of 2008 I went through a huge input phase, where all I could do was read, and read some more.

One book led to three, three to five, and five to ten. I felt like a sponge for new knowledge. I watched hundreds of online documentaries and Youtube videos, and researched brand new intellectual territory for me.

It was wonderful. I felt alive. On fire.

It was like a thirst that could never be quenched.

Eventually I became so full with new ideas and information, that I needed to put some of that new found energy back out into the world.

And that's when everything flipped.

No longer did I crave new knowledge. Now all I cared about was creating something.

Again I was consumed with my own projects, driven by an unseen force, perhaps madness itself, to continually create, to channel all of this new energy into something substantial.

When I get really into an output phase, I almost shut off regular life completely. I hardly talk to friends, I almost never go out of the house, and I have no respite or relaxation (or for the kids, "chilaxation"). It's all about the project for that point in time, and nothing else.

And then the project is done.

I'm empty. I'm spent.

I can't start a new project yet until I fill up again.

But I can't fill up again until I feel the itch.

Which leaves me at the bottom of curve, with nothing.

...Except a sandwich.

EMOTIONAL HIGHS AND LOWS

I don't think anyone wants to say that they're bipolar, so I tend to describe myself as prone to intense mood swings.

Totally different.

But it does not change the fact that I'm depressed again.

Apparently that didn't take long.

My emotional high and lows are sometimes connected to my input and output phases.

But not always.

I've had great emotional highs during all-consuming input phases where I'm excited about the new things I'm learning, as well as during productive output phases where I'm creating something new, and vice versa with emotional lows. (No, it's not "vice-a versa", nor is it "ying" yang).

I have moments where I am elated and triumphant, where I feel that I can accomplish anything (which usually don't last long), and then I can plunge into the depths of depression and anger, where everything is hopeless and bleak.

Just like Colorado weather. We can have sun, rain, snow, and sun again in the same day. It makes no sense. And neither do most of my emotions (those stupid fuckers).

I should see by now that I live a life of EXTREMES DUDE!!!! (No, no, no. I'm not that cool. Just emotional extremes. But out of curiosity, did you just picture me snowboarding off of a mountain top in slow motion clutching a Mountain Dew?).

I picture my emotional path like a sine wave.

A continual up and down of experience.

And even though I have been this way since puberty, perhaps even before, I still don't feel comfortable with it.

My extreme lows still bother me greatly, and always feel so unexpected, even though, by now, they should be expected.

I'm not going to change my emotional psyche, so all I can do is learn to accept my fluctuating emotional states, and use them to my benefit when they arrive.

I'll let you know how that goes.

SOCIAL AND ANTISOCIAL

Yet another in my ebb and flow cycles.

For the most part, I've always considered myself NOT a people person.

Perhaps it is because I spend so much time alone, and that most of my real passions are 85% solitary.

Sure, that makes sense, but there's more to it. (I'm sure you saw that coming).

I have a self-perpetuation cycle of not understanding people, fearing people, not liking people, and then purposefully pushing myself away from them which causes more lack of understanding et cetera.

But even with that in mind, I am still a human being (sadly), and humans are social creatures. I can't fight it (well), it's in our brains. We crave interaction, we desire companionship.

So even though I want nothing more (sometimes) than to be completely on my own, isolated from society and looking down on everyone from my self-constructed tower of insecurity-based elitism with a burning scorn for all humanity...

... every few years I find myself in an overwhelmingly social environment.

And what's stranger is that I like it. (Well, sort of. Parts of it. For a while. Kind of).

Usually these moments of odd social cravings are linked to my input phases. And being social is essentially that, input.

My longest big social phase lasted a few years strong, as I became a regular and an employee at a series of connected goth/industrial clubs. I DJ'ed in them (for a while), I worked the door at one, and I went out on my nights off to drink and "socialize" with all of the regulars and staff.

Everyone knew me and I knew... a few of them.

It was a great emotional high (Oooo! More connections!), but like anything, and especially for me, that phase had its abrupt, dramatic and life-changing end.

I died.

(Metaphorically).

Thank god. Fuck that. I don't need people anyway. I'm self-sufficient! I have greater things to work on!

... Except that those projects are done now, and I'm starting to get that people itch again.

Wait!

No!

I don't want to!!

Shit, yes I do!

FUCK!

PROFUNDITY AND WHO CARES?

My ebb and flow across the many areas of my life even extends to philosophy.

Over the last year or so, I've been consumed with philosophy and social psychology.

Every event in my life, or events that happen to those around me, are constantly over-analyzed, and picked apart from every conceivable angle (missionary, doggy-style, etc).

For a while, the deeper I would go with an idea, peeling off layer after layer, the concept would take on greater significance and meaning (personal meaning).

Even the most mundane action, thought or observation could suddenly be extrapolated to mean something amazingly profound about existence in general, and even myself!

It is these moments that fill me full of an infectious electric optimism about my own life (don't laugh, I'm serious). Not in a new age pseudo-spiritual kind of way, but in a very practical, realistic, personal way.

That's the "flow".

And then there is the ebb.

When everything that impacted me so profoundly and so deeply suddenly takes on a new level of "deepness".

When I strip down the layers of meaning and subtlety in any conceptual idea, I find myself at the bottom of it all, which consists of the simplest and most defeatist phrase:

"So what?"

Sometimes every introspective moment brings me nothing but excitement and personal meaning, and then the coin flips and lands on "who cares". Same idea, same train of thought. Two conclusions.

Either the things I do are interesting, important and worth doing, or they are pointless and amount to nothing in the end, and if so, "who cares" right?

Damn this back and forth!

Why can't I just stay inspired?

Because what does it matter? That's why!

Inspiration?

So what!?

Who cares!?

I do! I care!

... Wait, no I don't again.

GAH!!!!!

GET USED TO IT!

There are many more aspects of my life in which this stupid ebb and flow concept rear their stupid heads stupidly (like an idiot).

My ever complicated personal perspectives on love and relationships for one (I'll save that for a whole blog of its own).

As I've said many times, I should be getting used to it by now. It's not as if this just started the other day. But, in fairness, I have only been fully conscious of it recently.

For being almost 29, I sure have not learned much.

Again, the best medicine I could possible prescribe myself is that of acceptance.

I feel that I'm constantly trying to fight who I am (in more ways than one), which as you might imagine, makes things a bit more difficult for myself (a smidgen).

If I could just accept that I will, for the foreseeable future, be forever going back and forth, fluctuating in nearly every aspect of my life, then perhaps I can control it, in a way.

But that takes time.

As with any problem to solve, awareness is the first step.

And I'm now aware that my one constant is constant change, and I'd like to change my continual inconsistencies.

Does anyone else feel subjected to these maddening cycles?



Related blogs:
Focus On My What?
The Depression Panacea
Artistic Integrity And The Dichotomy Of Success
I Resent You Happiness
Too Early For Suicide?

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Focus On My What?

No, not that.

But thanks for thinking it.

What I'm talking about here is an odd discovery about myself. Just recently, I've happened upon a strange set of buried ideologies and beliefs ingrained within me that have been hindering me my whole life.

Here I am approaching 29 years of age, and I'm only now seeing this in myself.

And what is this discovery of mine that's holding me back so?

I'm beginning to see that almost throughout my entire existence, at least my adult existence, I've never made 'enjoying my life' a priority.

It's as if I never cared, or it just didn't matter.

Isn't that weird?

What kind of a person avoids being happy in everyday life?

A broken one, that's what.

WHEN IS A HOUSE NOT A HOME?

When it's ajar...

In the nearly two years of living at my apartment, I've never taken the time, nor cared to make it my home. It's always just been "the place that I stay".

And there's quite a difference.

Why would I not want the place I spend most of my time to reflect the person I am? Why would I not want to make it a sanctuary for enjoyment and relaxation, for inspiration and social interaction?

Why indeed.

Everyone else's apartments are decorated and cozy feeling. A representation of the people they are. An inviting friendly atmosphere that says "sit down, and spend some time here".

My apartment?

"God there's a lot of shit on the ground! How long have those dishes been sitting there? This room looks like shit. Don't even see the bathroom. Get out of here as soon as you can."

And what has been the main source of the junk and space-taking in my place?

My studio stuff. Keyboards, computers, cables, mics, software boxes, etc. That's what takes up the room. Not anything resembling a traditional, welcoming home, or a place others would want to live.

No couches, no TV, nothing on my walls, nowhere to hang out, nowhere to eat.

What does that say about me?

Soon. One more story first.

THE REVERSE 90/10 PHILOSOPHY

Almost eight years ago I was in the market for a new automated transportation unit.

The car I was coming from was very me, and I loved driving it.

A dying 1984 Volkswagen Rabbit convertible, white on white. It was awesome. I really loved that car.

But now that she was on her death... bed (what do cars lay on when dying figuratively?), I needed a new A to B machine.

Instead of finding another cute, small, fun car that reflected my personality, I ended up getting a bulky, gas-guzzling Ford Explorer.

So why did I get it?

Practicality. But offset practicality, which I did not see until later.

At the time, I live in the mountains, and winters can be pretty treacherous during snow storms, so I needed a vehicle with four wheel drive.

Check.

I also was playing shows with other bands (and planning on eventually playing my own) and felt guilty that I had the most equipment to bring (drums), and had the smallest car (the Rabbit), leaving everyone else to transport my stuff.

So I also wanted something that could carry drums and amps and the like.

Check.

And these things are fine reasons to get this car... assuming I drove on ice and hauled equipment the majority of the year.

Which I didn't.

Later I realized that I was buying the car for the things I did only 10% of the time. The remaining 90% of the time the "Exploder" becomes a needless waste of materials, an armored tank that chugs fuel, takes up too much space in a parking lot, and simply gets me to my destination.

And I hate driving it. In fact, I hate driving in general. And all because of this very un-me automobile.

Perhaps I could apply this story and observation to my life in general somehow?

SO WHERE HAS THE FOCUS BEEN?

Those may seem like disparate stories of random things, but they are just two outward examples of how I've acted in regards to, and viewed my everyday life.

As I mentioned before, I place a huge emphasis on things few people seem to care about:

Creativity.

Art (in the broad sense).

Music.

Philosophy.

My personal projects have defined who I am for years now (see: "The Depression Panacea"). I don't exist outside the projects, I am the projects. All the rest of the things I do (which probably make up about 80 to 90% of my waking existence) I frown upon, as if that part is not really living. It doesn't count.

It's like I have not allowed myself to enjoy anything outside of doing my creative projects.

I'm taking the biggest chunk of my life and writing it off as irrelevant, as compared to the creation of my self-indulgent art.

And where does that leave me?

Triumphant and elated?

...Not so much.

How about unhappy. Lonely. Confused. Depressed.

I thought I was supposed to feel so fulfilled, so accomplished and so satisfied?

HOW DID I GET HERE?

Looking around me and my life as if for the first time, I wonder how I got here.

The only way it makes any sense at all is that I must have lost track of things.
Life happened to me. Generic, but that's how it feels right?

Obviously I wouldn't do this to myself on purpose right?

Well, maybe not so obviously...

Because after some thought I came to a crazy revelation:

I have intentionally created the place in life I am currently at.

What?!

Why? How? Sentence fragment?

As a teenager, being more prone to drama and flights of emotional fancy, I would imagine my life in the future with music, and myself as the biography-worthy tormented artist type.

A person who would purposely sabotage his chances for happiness so that he could be inspired to write the next amazing piece of music. A person who would literally compromise his whole life for the art.

Why?

It felt.

It had energy.

It was dramatic and interesting.

People would want to read about that character, and make movies based around him. He was a living tragedy, but one who also created many beautiful things that touched people.

At the time, that was the person I aspired to be. One who was perpetually unhappy, but used that emotion for (potentially) brilliant pieces of art and music.

And subconsciously I've held that vision intact. I have, consciously or not, followed that path to its semi-logical conclusion.

Here.

I did this.

And I'm still doing it today.

But now something's changed...

A NEW VOICE

In the last year I've been hearing faint whispers in my subconscious.

(No, don't worry, not real voices. These are metaphorical, you know, to tell a better story right now... you know? C'mon...)

In a way it's nothing new, as my inner heartbeat pulses the same self-sabotaging way it always has.

But this is different.

Something is odd.

A new inner voice has entered the stage. A strange new notion that seems almost absurd and at the same time, immensely attractive.

It runs in stark opposition to my old voice that preached the gospel of the lonely, depressed, yet creative artist persona. It's a voice that tells me that I want to...

... I want to...

...*gulp*

.... enjoy my life.

THE ROADBLOCKS OF RATIONALIZATION

"What?!? Are you insane?!?!?

You can't enjoy your life. You're incapable!

If you suddenly become happy, you'll lose all of the power and inspiration and will only be able to write stupid happy songs!!

Think of it!!

One four five chord patterns all over the place. Happy lyrics!! Just like in Kids In The Hall: Brain Candy. Do you want to write 'Happiness Pie'?

Of course you don't!

Your art will go down hill, and you will become boring, dull, and uninteresting. Everything that makes you unique will shrivel up and die!

You will become normal!

NORMAL!!"

And so goes my brain.

I've created these reasons in my mind of why I'm justified to live an unhappy existence, why I should never make my personal life a priority, why I should be alone, why I can only be a stereotypical artist, et cetera.

Are they valid?

Do they have any basis in reality?

I'm not sure.

I've always associated my personal happiness in regular life, with the death of my creative inspiration. No evidence really, only random stories I've heard about people who used to create and don't, now that they have a family or a career.

I've also felt that I don't deserve to be happy, or perhaps that I am literally incapable of achieving such a goal, as if it is not part of my neural chemistry.

But it does sound rather silly when I say it out loud. Really? I can't write anything emotional, or be creative if I enjoy more of my daily life? Despite a few examples of the negative, I actually know people directly who have a good personal life, and can still be creative just fine.

And, no, they don't only make happy things.

So does that mean that I'm just rationalizing? Is there a chance for me to WANT to be alive, and still have the inspiration to create the things I'm passionate about?

What a startling new idea!

MAKING A CHANGE

So here I am.

Going against over a decade of subconscious inner mantra that says I cannot be happy, and if I could, I shouldn't. That my creativity is more important than enjoying the one life I most likely have to exist in.

"So are you giving up on your life as a creatively focused person?"

No.

Creativity will always be a part of me, and changing my life slowly to accommodate new priorities is in no way an 'either or' switch. It's about being a little more balanced. Both can be done at the same time.

At least in theory.

And so I start out on a strange new quest in my life (well, strange for me at least).

Almost three decades into my life I've suddenly realized I want to actually enjoy things.

I'm going to try to focus on my life.
 


Related blogs:
Your Self-projection Has Potential!
Internal And External Priorities
The Depression Panacea
I Resent Your Happiness



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Your Self-Projection Has Potential!

You know that feeling you get when you first realize you have emotions for someone, in which everything about them seems perfect?

There is a moment of time when everything about that person is uncannily similar to you; their interests, their hobbies, their taste in music, films and books; their goals for their life; their political opinions; hell, even their humor is exactly the same as yours!

Right?!

I mean, how crazy is that?!

It's like, you know, perfect!

Perfect. Just like the last several people you dated. (Oh! Snap!)

In this essay, I want to explore the concepts of potential and self-projection as they relate to relationships and friendships.

Sure, when I word it that way, it probably sounds dull, after all, they are big words and heady concepts.

But it suddenly becomes important when you realize that many of the things you saw in someone may not even be there at all.

So why did you think they were there in the first place?

THE POTENTIALITY PLAGUE

I guess I have trouble seeing people for who they are in the now.

Have you ever had a friend or a lover that you thought very highly of, for instance you think of them as extremely talented, or smart, or creative, or driven etc?

I see people that way all of the time.

And I'm wrong.

Almost all of the time.

So what would make me think so highly of them to begin with?

Which brings us to concept numero uno.

Potential.

I've figured out, actually several years ago, that I seem to see people for what they COULD be, as opposed to what they actually are right now.

And the difference is huge.

When I meet someone new, someone who talks about being creative, or proclaims that she has an interest in some historical event or philosophical idea, I find myself coming to the perception that this person does, or is really passionate about all of these things. You know, face value (by Phil Collins).

Sadly most people do not actually personify the things they talk about, or think they have an interest in. This is where their own self-perception comes into play. In their mind, they think they are these things, and guess what? Therefore they are.

Even recently I've had a bad track record of seeing particular people as one thing, and only seeing much later, that they really are not, at all, that thing.

And boy does that make me feel stupid. (I'll let you put your obvious insults towards me here).

THE BIG LET DOWN (POTENTIALLY)

After I had come to realize this idea that I was only seeing people for their potential, and not who they actually were, I began to dissect it, in order to find out exactly why I was doing such a shit job at seeing the reality of that person.

A while back, I dated a girl who designed and made her own clothes.

Naturally, as a creative person myself, I really loved that aspect of her.

After a while of seeing her work, I began encouraging her to start her own online business where should could have some preset designs for girls to choose from (making it easier for her) and then she could put it together and make some money doing something she was obviously good at, and seemed to enjoy.

For whatever reason, she continually shot down any idea that dealt with her doing something real with her talent. Well not for "whatever reason". It's usually the same reason for anyone. Fear.

Point is, as time went on, I began to see that even though she had a talent for this, that she never wanted to do anything with it. Well, except here and there for herself.

Did she not want to do something more than work at her typical job, drink, and party?

This made me look at every other aspect of her with a more discerning eye.

...'Cause that's what I do. (Come to think of it, that's probably part of the reason she broke up with me).

She talked about being interested in doing something with music, maybe singing with a band for fun, but never did anything about it. She claimed to be interested in some things about history or philosophy, yet she never seemed driven enough to go and learn anything directly about them. And she obviously had a talent for designing fun clothing, but never wanted to pursue anything dealing with that.

So it's not like everything she said was a lie, because it wasn't. It's just that it became clear over time that she had a lot of potential to do some interesting things with herself and her life, her talent, and her mind, and that was about it. The potential.

Well shit. If my relationship could be built around potential, what about my friendships?

THEM TOO

To some people, saying something like, "Hey, you've got a lot of potential!" is a compliment.

They smile and feel all warm and fuzzy, and respond with enthusiastic, "thank you!"

Well, not me.

Potential has become another word in my vocabulary that carries an alternative connotation, sitting on the proverbial shelf with selfishness, hope and success.

In fact, I can now use, "you've got a lot of potential," as a hidden insult to people, as most people will take it positively, even though I secretly mean it as a jab. Get it? (Feel free to use that one).

Where was I?...

Potential and friends. Yes.

Looking back I can see how many of my friendships have been based on my seeing only potential in them.

I see the person they could be one day, the heights to which they could aspire, dream, think, create, et cetera. And this is the person I peg them to be.

Which is wrong.

It is not who they are now. It's who they could be if they cared enough to try.

In one way, you could look at it as if I'm seeing the good in people.

(Okay, you can stop laughing now.)

I don't buy that either. In reality, I'm seeing a false representation of that person, an almost idealized version of their possible future.

But whose idealized vision?

THE WANT, OR LACK THEREOF

The big problem in seeing only potential in people is that people rarely live up to their potential. (I'm sure you can relate to that).

It's hard. It requires work. Working on yourself and your talents. It requires the desire to actually do/achieve/create those things for which you have potential.

That's scary. It's overwhelming. It's daunting.

So few people do it.

And sadly, so I've found, few people even want it.

And that is kind of an important factor, wouldn't you think? Wanting it?

So I'm stuck viewing people in this stupid bubble of infinite potential, when they usually have no interest, what so ever, to work on any of the things I (potentially) admire about them.

Here's an example for you:

Have you ever had a friend that's really amazing at something, say, writing? And all you ever do is talk about that friend as if he's brilliant, and is going to be huge someday? But for some reason that "brilliant, soon to be famous" friend isn't doing anything about it?

Damn that pisses me off.

I've asked just such a person like that, the reason they are not working on their talents, or trying to get their ideas out into the world.

He was spending most of his time sitting around the house playing video games, or out drinking with friends instead of writing, which was depressing to see.

"Hey man, when are you going to finish that book you've been working on?" I asked him.

"Who knows. Someday. Maybe. I don't know," he shrugged.

"You really should, you know," I encouraged. "You're one of the best writers I've read. Honestly. Some of your stuff is really brilliant. You need to get this out there."

"Eh, whatever..."

He didn't care.

He really didn't.

His talent meant nothing to him, because it did not coincide with his interests.

So much talent, so much amazing perspective and gift for saying things in ways I would have never thought of, and yet he didn't really give two shits about it.

Yet another example of someone whose potential will forever remain just that.

Potential.

And it saddens me.

THE DAMN E WORD!

At 28 years old, I'm only starting to see that I am not very good at reading people objectively.

Sure, I can throw out the odd psychological evaluation, or random relationship/life counseling for friends and co-workers (and I do), but I've come to understand how much I cloud my own view of them.

And what, pray tell, could cloud my view?

Well, yes, we talked about potential. But we're talking about something else now.

If you've read a smattering of my previous essays you should be able to yell it out by now.

Got it?

No?

Fine. I'll just hand it to you.

Like so many other things in life, the culprit is the ever-obfuscating Emotion.

Yes emotion.

And what is exactly is going on with emotion?

Well in this particular case, the aspect of emotion that is doing most of the dirty work is a silly little fellow named Desire [Johnson].

It is desire that influences much of what we see, or more appropriately, what we think we see in others.

Which brings us to the other concept of the essay.

THE PROJECTIONIST

No. Not the guy who runs the movies.

Self-projection.

All right, personal example time.

GO!

One of the girls I've always found myself infatuated and, what I would call, "in love with" damn near half of my life (see: "Soul Mates"), has always represented the things I think I want in a female.

I always thought she was uncannily similar to me; her interests, her hobbies, her taste in music, films and books; her goals for their life; her political opinions; hell, even her humor was exactly the same as mine!

Wait, this sounds eerily familiar...

Didn't I just say this at the beginning of the essay?

(You know what that means... cyclical dichotomy time).

So she's everything I want in a person...

... Or is she?

[ENTER DESIRE JOHNSON FROM STAGE RIGHT]

Perfect timing.

Let's connect this back to the emotion of desire.

It is possible, (but hardly probable) that this girl possesses all of the these amazing qualities I saw in her. It would be rare, and the odds are against it, but it is literally possible.

But what is more likely, is that the reason I see these things in her, is because I want to see them.

Did you get that? It's important, so I'll repeat that last line for emphasis.

The reason I see these things in her is because I WANT to see them.

And I do, trust me I do. I really want to see these things in her.

I find her attractive, so naturally I would desire her to be everything I want ideally.

But just because I want to see certain things in her, does that automatically mean she has them?

Of course not.

Unfortunately for me, what I'm really doing here is projecting my own priorities, interests and desires onto her, and choosing to see these things as if they were part of her, instead of being part of me.

And we all do this (really). Sorry (well, not really). It's true (really).

We see what we want to see because we desire it. We project ourselves and our desires onto anyone we remotely like, instantly imbuing them with everything we personally hold dear. And we keep on thinking, "Wow, this person is so much like me!"

Sorry sweetie. It's YOU that's like YOU.

Combine this with the let down of potential and you have a volatile mixture, sure to destroy anyone's hope for happiness in personal relationships.

LAND OF CONFUSION

So here I'm left not knowing what to think about anyone.

Every time I meet someone new and think positively of them, I have to second guess it.

Any time I find some girl attractive and think something positively about her personality I have to second guess that too.

Does she really possess those qualities? Does she only have the potential and not the desire or interest in those qualities? Am I just projecting my own wants and priorities onto her? Is she really as smart as I think she is? Or do I just want her to be?

Wait a minute...

.... Oh shit. What about me? Do my friends and family see me as not living up to my potential, therefore disappointing them all? Are they all projecting their personal goals, wants, and priorities onto me?

Yes, they are.

Is that the only reason anyone tolerates me?

Fuck. How will I ever accurately know anyone?

Well, if they're anything like me (and I have a feeling they have the potential to be), I think we'll get along just fine.

Because that's what I desire.



Related blogs:
Internal And External Priorities
Soul Mates
In Defense Of Selfishness
The Feel Good Fix: An Observation On Wants And Needs
Self-Perception: What A Beautiful Thing!


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Tags: philosophy psychology self perception self projection potential emotion desire relationships friendships

The Depression Panacea

At the beginning of 2009, I was at the lowest spot I've ever been. The year of 2008 had destroyed me from nearly every front imaginable, and 2009 had welcomed me with the passing of my cat of fifteen years.

Needless to say I was a tad unhappy.

I blamed this feeling on the specific events of the previous year: the ending of a relationship; my body almost killing me, literally; almost going completely broke; and nothing worthwhile to show for any of it.

But the more I pondered my own mire of sorrow and desperation, I began to recall that these feelings did not start with the obvious events of the year prior.

No. In fact, even during the good moments of my last relationship, I can still remember feeling as if something was not right. Sure the relationship had its share of red flags, but at the time it was still fun and exciting.

In reality I had been on a long downward slope of unhappiness for the last several years.

So what was going on with me?

Why was I still unhappy during moments of supposed happiness?

How far back did my depression go, and what caused it?

More importantly, what actually makes me happy?

LOOKING TO THE PAST

As a young, carefree child, I spent hours drawing landscapes with colored pencils, creating elaborate death traps for skateboarding stick figures, and recording multi-hour ramblings on cassette tapes that was, in my mind, an entertaining variety radio show.

I can recall building things with Legos while laying on the floor telling myself stories, or creating an epic, and usually hyper-violent movie scenario for my action figures to play out, complete with in-depth character connections and full background histories.

I rarely played sports, and the few times I joined the neighbor kids in anything requiring some ounce of athletic skill, I reaped the chastising-based rewards of my lifelong disinterest in sports.

This only helped to turn me continually inward, relying more and more on my own imagination as the primary means of my entertainment and satisfaction.

Music was also a big part of my life at the time, and I spent many moments of my free time dreaming of becoming a famous rapper (sorry, that's what I liked at the time). I wrote down lyrics, wrote trite melodies and chord patterns (C'mon, I was a kid), and created logos and album covers for myself, which continued for several years, even as my musical tastes drifted into pop, and then rock.

Music was always a place I wanted to be, but there were so many other creative things I did at the time that there was no need to focus on just one.

"So, Niko. That's really neat that you did a bunch of stupid things as a child, but what does that have to do with your depression?"

Thanks for the sarcasm friend.

What I'm trying to illustrate is that during this time of my life, I was constantly inspired, much more positive, and had a fairly optimistic outlook on life and my future.

...And then puberty hit.

MOMMY, WOW! I'M A BIG KID NOW

My transition into adulthood (which is a constant journey, not a destination) has been a rocky and challenging path (as I imagine it is for so many of us).

Now that I was a hormone-throbbing young man, my emotions took me in stranger, and much more dramatic directions at the drop of a hat. And boy did people drop a lot of hats (clumsy fools).

In essence, the influx of new chemicals in my body plus time and experience, had changed me into a new person, far removed from the optimism of my child-like self of days gone by. I was now a brooding, overly-introspective teenager whose emotions governed and clouded his entire perspective on existence.

So, is this the source of my depression? Simple Biology?

Yes and no.

In the sense that I was now capable (as if it was intentional) of feeling super-human mood-swings, yes, it started there. But was it the source of the hollow, lackluster sadness that grew on me like a fungus in recent years? No. But it sure provides a nice canvas to paint on.

Sure I still spent many an evening curled up in the fetal position on my bed, most likely on the phone with a girl who would never love me, while somber, atmospheric music drifted out my speakers, melding perfectly with the bleak glow of my black light and lava lamp.

(Oh you poor high school kid, your life is so hard. Here, have my pretend sympathy).

But on the upside I also had plenty of creative projects to keep me busy. I was in about every possible music program in high school from marching band, to jazz band, to symphonic band (which I really loved). I also took several art classes, in the end becoming quite interested in 3D computer art (also very fun). To round it all out I took an acting class (eh...), I played in a metal band with some friends, and I continued to hone my own songwriting skills by working on long, self-involved keyboard compositions.

I led quite a busy life at the time, looking back.

Despite being melodramatic and emotional about every stupid little thing, I really had a lot going on in my life to be excited and proud of.

THE DESCENT BEGINS

The juxtaposition of my early post-high school life and the mile-a-minute marathon that was my high school routine was not immediately apparent to me.

At first I had a job working in the music department of the long-defunct Media Play (which was quite fitting). I would go clubbing twice a week ritualistically, and began playing with a little band called Dunwich Horror, a tongue-in-cheek black and death metal cover band, which featured the brothers Thomas and Daniel Drinnen (which later became Urizen).

I kept myself quite content (as much as I can be) and busy with projects, yet slowly over time, my personal outlets for self expression would begin to drop off the radar, as I became a singularly-focused person.

Around the same time of the above shenanigans, I had begun my early recording experimentation with digital music, taking songs I had been working on since I was 14 and 15 years old, and bringing them into the present with amazingly sort-of-okay results!

Omitting several important steps for you readers, this project eventually became my personal band Envinity (then called Envy).

As time progressed, I cut off the remaining avenues of creativity leaving just my personal music as my single outlet for my imagination, emotion and experiences.

Over the next several years I was lucky enough to release two albums, Sweet Painful Reality in 2002, and Empyreal Progeny in 2004. I hadn't picked up a pencil, brush or drawing program in years, (although I did started getting into Photoshop and graphics for my albums), and my toys were long since put away. Everything I did was now almost 100% focused on Envy, including the way I structured my life.

Envy (now Envinity), was all I had, and had now come to represent me as a whole.

Without really knowing it, there was no longer a separation between my art, and the person I was.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU DO

Though I'd known this for quite some time, I recently came face to face with the notion that I have trouble defining myself outside of what I do.

If I were asked to describe what makes me ME, I'd begin telling you things that I've done, created, or thought of. None of these being who I am as a human being.

Given that most of my life was spent being creative or imaginative (even if it wasn't always very good), I had built up a connection between who I am, and what I do. There was no difference. I had become the things I create. "Who is Niko?" Well, let me show you this new thing I did.

Going back to the last few depressing years in question, what was I producing at the time? What was I working on?

Well, there's the problem.

For someone who is apparently defined by what I do, I was not being very well defined.

I had the beginnings of my eventual 3rd album (coming soon), which I was very excited about, but it was far, far from completion. To further distance myself from creatively-driven actualization, it seemed at the time that the project would never see the light of day.

"Okay, so this new thing you were working on was a long way off, but weren't you still playing live shows with your band? Isn't that something tangible and creative?"

Well friend, the live version of Envinity had sadly disintegrated into a near-comical facsimile of the grand vision I had started out with, pushing me further down the path to personal depression and frustration.

If indeed Envinity was all I had, and its gains and outputs represented my gains and outputs, I had nothing. The whole thing was turning into something I hated, and therefore so was I. It had nothing new to show for itself, vicariously, neither did I.

I did not put it into focus at the time, but I recall wondering why I could feel so worthless and unhappy when I had other things in my life that should have made up for that. I had no idea why I felt so down.

I had no idea, at this time, that my creativity connects directly to my identity, and also my emotions.

THE DEPRESSION PANACEA

At the start of 2009, finally realizing this seemingly obvious connection between my moments of satisfaction and purpose in life, and my amount of personal creative output, I made a pledge. And no, not one of those flimsy new year's resolutions that no one ever remembers or follows through on.

I vowed to myself, that I would make 2009 the most creatively saturated year I'd ever experienced.

With newly ignited interest and cautious optimism, I quickly jotted down a list of every project I'd ever fantasized about doing, designing, or being a part of at any point in my lifetime. From the most grandiose, to the absolutely stupid and silly.

As I stared at the ever growing list of potential ideas, I began to see how much I had limited myself in the last several years. Here I was with the mindset that I was ONLY a musician, and yet my list told me otherwise. So I guess I'm not just a musician anymore eh? Then what am I? (Besides an occasional ass?).

As we head into the fall of '09, I'm glad to say that my personal life-experiment has showed some wonderful signs of positivity.

I'm on my way to finally finishing the project I started almost five years ago for Envinity (which is good in and of itself), but to add to that, I've also found a new interest in writing about philosophy and psychology from my sarcastic, self-deprecating perspective, which I've been fairly consistent on since April.

Not to mention my awesome T-shirt store, which is something I've talked about doing for years.

There are also a handful of other side projects which I will begin very soon, and I'm very excited about finally getting to them (as many of them were things I've wanted to do since I was a teenager, or even a small child).

Have I done everything off of my 'to do' list this year?

No.

But you know what?

It's okay.

I'm already doing more for me than I ever have, and I'm now the busiest I've been since my long gone high school days.

It's stressful, it's overwhelming, and I love it.

Honestly, I love it.

Sure, I'm not sunshine and rainbows 24/7, but that's not me regardless. However, I am more satisfied with myself, more energetic, more positive (let me stress the word MORE, meaning a matter of degree only) than at any point in my life that I can recall.

If I am a person who is truly defined by what I do, then I've embraced that understanding and have given myself ample creative outlets, both short term and long term, in order to exist through. And it is only through putting my all into something I create that I truly feel alive.

I don't know if my realizations will work for anyone else, but I can tell you this:

It feels great to be alive again.



Related blogs:
I Resent Your Happiness
Too Early For Suicide?
72 Degrees In The Head, All The Time 
2008: The Worst Year In My Life


Enjoy reading this blog? Please socially bookmark this page, or post it on your Facebook, and most of all comment with your personal stories, observations, or violent objections.

Visit the all new DeprecationWear online store! Sarcastic, self-deprecating and elitist merchandise. Click HERE to see my wares!



buy unique gifts at Zazzle

Tags: philosophy psychology life creative creativity goals self deprecating music art happiness happy depression cure