Dark Eyes

Brown eyes are my favorite.  The darker the better.  I have been attracted to many a person with bright eyes, but having dark eyes gives you an instant attractiveness boost in my book.
That, however, is not the subject of this post.

The center of everyone's eyes is that same unrelenting black.  Thus the minds that overflow with happiness are colored no differently than the ravaged slums of depression when considering the "windows to the soul."  Conversely, everything seems different when looked at behind different eyes.  This is where argumentation fails: it is nearly if not entirely impossible to make assumptions you don't have.  The political climate is drenched with hordes of individuals who all agree what is obviously, precisely, and impeccably clear.  While the event itself is certain and it's implications "obvious", these parties don't agree on what these implications are.  Unable to accept that the data says that the results aren't as clear as currently seen, the only other plausible situations are that the other side is completely stupid, belligerently evil, or both.  Not the best climate for effective mediation.
The same thing happens in dealing with pain.  People don't understand each other.  I'm grateful for a friend I ran into recently.  I told him some of the things I struggle with, and he simply said, "I don't understand what that's like, but I'm sorry you have to deal with it."  I didn't need him to understand, and in fact assuming that you can often backfires.  Because when you take pieces of their situation and relate them to yours, you naturally will correlate your further experiences and methods of resolving the problem to what they should do.  And as you suggest the counsel they know or suspect will fail (because certain things in their actual situation prevent the outcome you ascertained from yours), they withdraw.  Pain is enough on it's own.  Watching others try and fail to help hurts more.

I'd venture to say I see things differently than others sometimes.  And while it is not fair to them to assume that they will attempt to understand and end up failing, I have a habit of withdrawing.  I cannot see the light they bask in.  They cannot see the dark turmoil I writhe in.  In their light, they often wish to somehow thrust it upon me.  Yet I have no desire to infect them with my injury.  So while they are counseled to talk, to give, to share, and to make friends, I counsel myself to hold my tongue, to withdraw, to avoid, and to build a wall of smiles: reflecting light shone on it, but icy to the touch.

To those, I apologize.  I do wish I did see it your way.  That I could commune with you, and together we could chip away at our flaws.  That as we listen and discuss counsel given, that we would find our burdens lifted and our resolve strengthened.  That our hearts would be knit as our minds think on those we can assist.
But that it not what my tired dark eyes see.

Serendipity in Meeting Times

Do you ever have those days where you run into everybody?  You find ten different people that you never see within a half-hour, and they all seem happy to reconnect for a bit.  A very strange occurrence.

It makes me wonder, why now?  Why, at this random time, are all these people here for me?  Where were they, any one of them, when I needed them most?  Why don't they serendipitously find me when I'm lonely and unhappy?
Those times that I cried for someone, anyone, to come help.  That the spirit could prompt someone to worry about me.  That fate would have my friend accidentally dial my number.  That chance would bring my roommate home early.

Maybe it's because my broiling pit of despair should be kept away from everyone else. That in those times anyone who tries to help would only get hurt.  Maybe it's because it's supposed to be a trial I face alone. Maybe there isn't really a reason.  How often are there reasons for things NOT happening anyways?

In considering these times, my resolve falters.  The current plan is to live alone, with a cat.  I'd have some small company, and complete control over my living space.  I could still live in suburbia, and play with the neighborhood kids.  I could have a nice job, and family could visit.  I'd have lots of time for things I enjoy, like video games.  I'd have no immediate family to worry about.  I could always retreat to my solitude when needed. But... when I get sad... it would be nice to have someone around.  Someone who was going to stick with me, even though I'm a mess.  Someone who needs me too.  Someone to live a life with.
And then the thoughts about how that might come about.  That I'd happen to run into someone special somewhere.  Eventually.  Somehow. Potentially.  If...    And with hope the bright end of an angler fish, I swim back to the safety of a bachelor's life.

It's time for sleep.  Back to my single bed.

Chocolate

Sometimes things hurt.

I suppose that is neither a specific nor a novel thought.  

The thing I guess I haven't quite caught on to/accepted is that there isn't always a way out.  There's no guarantee of a reversal of fortune just around the bend.  No friend is going to spontaneously pander to your needs.  Furthermore, complaining to your friends won't make anything feel better. There isn't a greater purpose, lesson to be learned, or reward for surviving a trial.  It just stings, and nothing is going to stop it.

However, there is chocolate.  

I'm gonna go to the vending machines now.

Suckered

EFY kids are nuts.
Working at the info desk today, one of them said a quick "Hi" and hastily dropped a small piece of paper on my desk before running off.
I was slightly worried about the contents, but looked at it anyways.
It said:
"Hey!  I just wanted to let you know you're attractive!  Have a good day!  Pass this on!"

This is most likely most likely a chain that only reached me by dare, and there is absolutely no relationship potential anyways, but I still felt a little twinge while reading it.



My heart's a sitting duck for anyone who says they think I'm attractive.

Tightrope

I don't know if you've ever tried it, but walking on a tightrope is quite hard.
And if something is difficult, then it's an easy analogy to life!

So here we go:
Life it like a tightrope because...
there's that end goal that you want to get to but can never reach.
it seems like you'll be able to make it if you've got enough momentum.
balance is key.
some people seem to do it better than you ever could.
you kinda feel like a fool for trying so much
no matter how well you feel like you're doing, you're one slip away from falling.

I'd venture to say that the masters of disguise are not chameleons or octopi, but theoretical banana peels.    Because no one ever seems to see them coming on the road of life.

So You Say

People say things.
There are a lot of people.  There are a lot of things said.
No one ever agrees.

I am weak, flawed, scared.  Very scared.  Perfection looms, possibility lurks, and the demons of hope bear wicked grins. I don't know.  I don't know a lot of things.  I cannot stop.  Time will not allow it.  So I hope.

Failure.   Such a scary word, but what does it mean?
Have I failed if I don't live up to someone's expectation?
Have I failed if I don't have any expectations?  Or have too many?
Have I failed if I'm not happy? wealthy? good? right?
Can I only fail by not doing anything at all?  Is it really possible to fail?
Is it as objective as it seems to be?  Can someone be revered by all and still consider themselves a failure?  Can someone be considered failed by others but a success in their own right?

I'm a human.  Humans have a sense of desperation that works quite well in making them do things.  I fear a future in which I'm penniless. Suffering.  A drain on society. Friendless.
By the way people talk, it sounds like the job market is horrendous.  That only after months of agony can a lucky individual hope to find a minimum-wage job.  People are frightened by a 10% unemployment rate.  Which if I interpret correctly, means that 90% of people have jobs.  In truth, I'm probably not exceptional enough not to have a job.  Maybe the complaining is a result of the unrealized American dream.  People unsatisfied with their job, even though it gives them a substantial life.

I worry about grad school.  I fret about the prestigious colleges that won't accept me, and the mediocre ones that won't either.  I worry about disappointing the people who tell me I'm smart.  I'm scared by the people who tell me that graduate school isn't worth it.  That it will keep me from getting a job, or will land me in a vicious and cutthroat environment in which I'm doomed to waste friendless and stressed until I realize that I'm simply not good enough.  I'm worried about the warnings about all the things I need to be to "succeed", the equally mystic opposite of failure.  I need to be charming. I need to be brilliant.  I need to be diligent.  I need to be outgoing.  I need to be perfect.  I'm not even close.

I wish that I could see the balance.  That I could hear people talk about how they like some parts of their job, even if it's not everything they've ever dreamed of.  I wish I could hear talk about how getting a job is stressful, but not unachievable.  I want someone to talk about the craziness of getting into and through grad school, but also gratitude for how much they learned.  I want someone to tell me that people will appreciate my strengths even through my flaws, just like people do all the time for each other.  I want someone to help me know that I'll be okay.
And I'd rather that someone not be me trying to convince myself.

Laughing at the Fallen Child

I saw a little boy fall down today.

Pain not good.  No like pain.  This is a very basic and very general sentiment, and thus when we find someone else hurting, our first response is to stop the pain.  Often, this is done through sympathy.  I remember reading somewhere that when a child falls, they don't actually have a response. They mirror what their parent does.  If the parent looks worried or panicked, the child will cry.  If the parent is nonchalant or humored, the child will stand back up, completely fine.
Due to this reading, I wanted to help the child by blowing off the situation and offering to help him up. His mother came to him, so I did not interfere.

Today I also read an article that talks about the current child-rearing practice of allowing all children to believe they are above average, and protecting them from uncomfortable things.
While it is good parenting advice to store for the future, it made me think a lot about myself.  They're talking about the kids raised in my generation.  They're talking about me.
Arguably, my anxious symptoms could have been caused by too much negative stimulus as opposed to not enough, but either way the result is the same: I am slow to make decisions, avoid leadership, and cannot handle painful situations well.

So now what? The article was directed at the parents, not the children.  It was certainly no how-to guide growing up after being protected from everything.  That's something I have to figure it out on my own, but it's certainly fitting that it should happen that way.

Incalculable data shows that pain is not avoidable in life.  It simply isn't.  No matter the bubble of protection someone has, or the shelter from bad things, or luck of the irish, life is going to be unhappy sometimes.  The point, as I have come to see it, is not to do anything stupid during these times.  And maybe I'll have the best chance of making smart choices in these times if I don't hate them so much.  Maybe I won't hate them so much if I can learn to be at peace sitting with unpleasantness.  Maybe I can learn to laugh at the fallen child.  At a fallen self.