“are you going to start riding bikes again?”
“on the last dead baby ride this rook got yelled at for cutting off a tallbike”
See. This is why I’d rather build shit than be social. There is an interesing line between community and scenes. When you start having status – rooks, posers, prospets – it becomes more about your identity and belonging than building actual community.
It’s harder for me to not say how I feel than it is to say how I feel. I feel that’s the reverse of the norm. In my usual search of balance, I’ve been putting more thought it what doesn’t need to be said. Which is to say, that I have a lot to say but often it isn’t asked for, and I’ve been respecting that for what people ask it is indicative of much.
Yes, I am aware that in time, it will suck less. For now, it sucks.
This is sort of bugging me now. I’m thinking “what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger” is a better cliche than “time heals all wounds”.
Because you don’t wake up one day and everything is suddenly better, you wake up one day and realize in retrospect that life has gotten better. Little by little, by persevering, thinking, feeling, talking, living, you grow. Or maybe you don’t, if you suck. But it’s not waiting that makes it better, it’s doing those things even though it hurts to.
playing with mysql high availability is time consuming in a waiting and reading sort of way…
You know how a lightbulb turning on over your head is representative of getting something? I usually think more of an explosion coming out the side of my head, sort of like if a bullet was exiting it.
Five years ago I wrote a journal entry in which I expressed that I felt lonely. My girlfriend at the time was upset by this, and her mother agreed with her, that it presented the impression that she was a bad girlfriend because I felt lonely. Go look at that picture again to get an idea of how my brain reacted.
The point was at the time was that I felt lonely because I felt that the people I was hanging out with, my ‘friends’ weren’t really. I was disappointed by my friendships. That wasn’t conveyed, but that really wasn’t the problem. The bigger problem there, which turned out to be a trend, was that she was more concerned about how her friends might percieve her based on something I wrote in a public journal than about how I was feeling.
And sure, I’ll grant that I worry significantly less than the average about how my peer group perceives my feelings. Today I had to underscore in an email that the people that matter to me know how I feel because I’ve told them, and the people that may judge how I feel, don’t really matter to me. It really is as simple as not having the time to worry about the judgment of strangers. This isn’t really a soap box that I’ve carefully constructed out of wood of ideals. It’s how I’ve always been. Now, it is that soap box insofar as it’s been constructed from my experiences.
Which comes into an interesting rant about identity, and how it affects esteem. Which I really want to write but I don’t have the time to start.
After thinking about communication recently, I sort of have to sarcastically chuckle.
And you ask yourself
Well… how did I get here?
Context used to be a small problem, and now it is the problem. Because there’s not enough awareness to look for it, and it seems that most aren’t comfortable with how uncomfortable asking is. Maybe they simple don’t care? That is all fine, really, usually. Because for the most part people can move at their own pace, and that’s fine. The trouble is when it matters to my heart, which sometimes stomps around a little louder than I do.
The girl doesn’t exist.
She isn’t real.
She never was.
Ever wonder if Fred Gallagher has had a lot of counseling?
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
It’s interesting when a choice becomes a dichotomy between taking the high road, or turning away. You like to think that turning away is only temporary, but people change. On the chance they don’t, you have, and there is no going back. The idea that “I can’t deal with this now, but some day” really is “This is too difficult for me, and I have to pass up this opportunity”, carefully concocted into a consumable chunk.
Does time ever cure old wounds? Or do we actually always change and grow? I’m a thoughtful person, so I’m biased and can’t use myself as evidence, but I’ve deemed the expectation that time will make everything better bullshit. A coping mechanism for “replacing feelings with strippers” types.
Priorities are our choice, and you should take responsibility for your actions. Because the way things are, is the way you’ve chosen for them to be.
I’ve gotten better at recognizing situations where I have to let someone else make the next move, because so much more information about what they want comes forth in their choices than you can get by asking for it. “Actions speak louder than words”, but someone’s willingness to be vulnerable and express emotion speaks to their capabilities of handling intimacy. You simply cannot always be the one the steps forward and starts the conversation “I feel like..”
It’s a disappointing experience. We want those upon whom our affection is placed to want it. There’s a difference between waiting and being supportive. You can’t wait for something to happen, some day, living your life in the limbo of it getting better. Being supportive simply means being willing to go out of your way to help someone who asks for it. They have to ask for it themselves though. Really.
It’s worth emphasizing, perhaps because I’m in a bit of a bizarre state of possible unconsciousness at this very moment, that I mean this not in a tone of “pick yourself up an move on”.These aren’t my parting words as I go off to find a stripper. It is acknowledgement of the unfortunate reality that just as one’s goals can limit an otherwise happy relationship, one’s fear can as well.
After I spoke on this topic, and my acceptance of it, for a half hour today I was told “you seem very sad”. And I am, because it’s unfortunate. As I wrote about last night, I have something very special that I’m eager to share, but can’t find the place to set it down.
Seven years ago I drove to Defcon X in Las Vegas from Maine in an aluminum Postal Service step-van I had bought off ebay. I had two friends with me, and two of us voted that the third shouldn’t drive too much. Consequently, the remaining drivers had a lot of sleep deprived hours spent in the cab. To make matters more interesting, his girlfriend of some number of years had broken up with him, and as it turned out she had feelings for me. I was a bit surprised by this, and had very little relationship experience to boot. Struggling tremendously with my own growth, another relationship brewing, and stuck in the middle of the two of them, I suddenly found myself with fewer friends I could talk to. Once at our hotel we set up wireless in our room with an IRC server. The three of us ended up chatting with each other, while sitting with our laptops in the same room, and the topic of his ex-girlfriend came up again. When I look back at that time, I recall preferring to talk to others online and wanting to be talking over IRC. It was more natural for me at the time. I could think, respond, backspace, correct.
Years later I had a long term relationship with more downs than ups. She preferred sitting down and talking, but I preferred email because I could keep on subject and track by re-reading points. I was comfortable talking by then, but I had a really difficult time understanding where she was going. In retrospect a lot of that was because her logic was flawed and self-centered for her own survival, while simultaneously touting how self-less she was, likely as an internal diversion.
And now I find myself more eager to hold someone and talk than ever before. It’s a trend I don’t see reversing. I have so very much to say and share, but nobody special in my life to receive it. Some that I’m close to, is because we used to date and it is unfair to put them in that place. One it isn’t unfair, but they’re unwilling recipients because they aren’t comfortable to open themselves up to be that vulnerable. Another likely has no idea how much I want to share with them, but I fear it’s too inappropriate without greater context to let them know. Friends and family can listen, and we can bond, but I yearn for something more personal, perhaps, unique, and special.
So for different reasons, my heart is full of unwritten letters stamped return to sender before the ink is dry.
I’ve often been accused of coming on strongly, and personal discussions over the last month have drawn a decent circle around the cause of this. My feelings are articulated verbally in a way that is uncommon. The thing is, that at the core of this is not a beast to be burdened, but a gentle heart looking to give. That comes off a little corny, but I stand behind it. I have good things to offer, and if they’re difficult to accept, I’m more than happy to be supportive along the way.
Which is, to say, I’m here to listen, and only want those around me to find real happiness. How is it that I so often find that my supportive nature is treated like it’s veiled expectations? “What’s up?” means exactly what it sounds. One doesn’t need to read between any lines with me. One simply needs to tell me how they feel.
2 : resulting from or typical of a bashful nature
I’ve sort of failed recently at communicating effectively in a particular context, and I’ve been thinking a little bit about why.
I think when I’m full of smiles and life seems pretty good, I sort of forget that I need to do anything about it. Which is both awesome, and probably not all that effective at the same time. Because in the latter case, things that likely should be being said, or communicated, aren’t. Which isn’t to say that I should stress about communicating, but it is interesting to recall sitting with a big dumb grin on my face this weekend.
From a friend’s journal,
“Keep your eyes peeled”, I whisper, “you don’t want to miss what’s next”
On the wall of the bathroom in All City,
“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.”
I like the excitement of what’s possible. I’m excited. Isn’t that weird?
yes, I’m a dreamer.
I really don’t have time to write this right now. This needs to be conveyed though. Want to know how to change the world? Find a way to put three hundred people together in the desert for a few days, and see what new relationships and bonds get built as a result.
Oh shit, check. Way to go people, I’m proud of all of you.
xkcd’s idocracy rant (I’m a bit behind on the internet) hits an personal note. I was thinking on the bike ride to work this morning about how I’ve always been humble, but some degree of that has been a matter of esteem and embarrassment.
By the time closing remarks for ToorCamp came around, all the organizers were dead tired and a lot was falling through the cracks, including shout-outs to staff.. As we walked out, Tim and Geo apologized profusely for forgetting to mention me. Divide and Jaq told me every time they started to thank someone, they were both thinking “Bryan did that! Yay Bryan!” only to it be about someone else. Ultimately, I wish other people got more attention, because I appreciated them, which I should probably make clearer…. Alright, done. Also, other post material.
I do what I do because it makes me happy. That’s the ultimate, direct, goal. I say direct because, for example, it’s not future notoriety that makes me happy. I’m happy while doing it, and feel satisfied as a product of my accomplishments. I still like feeling appreciated, and there’s an interesting tangent in there about who I want to be appreciated by.
So I didn’t mind being spared the embarrassment of being pointed out at the closing remarks.
This morning when I was thinking about humility, I was focused on esteem. I’ve mentioned numerous times the feeling of the realization that without noticing I’ve surpassed some intangible bar of measurement that I had applied to other people.
Matt’s opening a new hacker space as a business on Capitol Hill, called Metrix Create Space or something. Using his newly acquired laser he created some special wooden coins for this space which have some fiscal value. He gave me one last week, because I “build shit.”
And it happened again. Wait, what do I build? Oh yes. All of this. I built this. Huh, funny thing there, sir.
I’m glad that in retrospect I can see that my humility has been more finely tuned over the years as a result of my desires becoming more distinct and actualized.