Tea and Zen

Hello, blog…my old friend. Hello WORLD! Hello Barack Obama, John McCain and President Sarkozy, as well as all the rest of my regular readers! I’m sitting here drinking oolong tea with ginseng (Blue People) and feeling very “Zen” about the whole morning. I’ve stopped drinking coffee in the morning and only occasionally do I get a cup during the day when I am tired at work. I think it’s better for me. It’s a lovely morning here in Portland, if a bit chilly at a current temperature of 60° Fahrenheit according to The Weather Channel, but they expect a high of 79° F. That will be nice.

There’s no music on in the house and I think I’m the only one here right now. The outside world isn’t being intrusive, either. There are no loud blue-jays squawking, not too many cars, no neighbors mowing their lawns or drug dealers in the street hollering back and forth. Things on my mental to-do list are calling to me: I have a stack of mail (mostly junk) that has accumulated on my desk and in a box for months that needs to be sorted through; I need to find my sleeping bag downstairs and wash or at least air it out, as well as anything else I might need for a little camping on the coast this weekend; my body would probably like it if I did yoga, but it might also be happy to just rest for today–it can’t decide. For now I am ignoring all of these things, tempted even to close the laptop and just sit on the couch in the sun with my eyes closed or read a book. I am writing here because it is meditative to me, and I felt compelled to do so rather than just write in my journal.

Life is good right now. I have new tasks at work and I am getting paid more, I have friends, school starts in a few weeks, the weather is nice and I am healthy. What more could one ask for? As an aside, if any of you are regular coffee drinkers I suggest switching to tea for a while. I don’t get as jumpy and anxious, but maybe coffee just affects me in a stronger way than it does for most. It has an affect on my emotional and mental status, and not just making me more alert. I’ve been surprised that my withdrawals from coffee weren’t that severe–only a slight headache for a day or two. Of course I am still getting caffeine, but it’s different (I think) and not as concentrated. If you try it, make sure you get high-quality loose-leaf tea from someplace that knows what they’re doing. I got mine at a great place in Seattle, but there are definitely locations in Portland and I’m sure the rest of the world, as well. Cheers, to your health and to being more “Zen”.

Random blog entry #774

The following was written with the idea that I would go over it later, editing and refining it, maybe making it less stream-of-consciousness. But I didn’t. So it should be like most everything I’ve ever written here. I just wanted to add a disclaimer to say that.

 

I don’t know if I can write fiction right now. That’s the feeling that I have, that I can’t craft something appealing and meaningful while still keeping it distant and not too personal. The last point isn’t a requirement, of course, but currently I don’t feel like exposing myself more than I already have. Too many people (like two or three) that I know personally and talk to occasionally may read what I write, and my social structure is fragile enough right now that I don’t want to damage it. That’s the thought in my head, I can tell, even though I know that there hasn’t been damage done in the past when I’ve been open and vulnerable. If anything, sometimes it is better. But that doesn’t mean that the perception isn’t still there, and I just feel like whatever I wrote would boil down to being whining, needy and desperate. So I’ll just put it here instead, where some may still read it but it’s not “fiction” and I’m pretty sure at least one person won’t read it because I don’t think they know about it. Such a scared little boy…

The weird thing is, that’s complete bullshit. I’m hardly a scared little boy. I’ll kick your ass…and yours…yeah, you too. C’mon; bring it on. So maybe this has nothing to do with writing. Writing is the scapegoat. Using it as my topic allows me to introduce a notion which you probably don’t get yet, and which I’m not going to explain to you, but it’s something constantly swimming around in my psyche and my retort to it is: Fuck you! Okay, so what it is … it’s a cloak I hide behind. It’s a habit. It’s something I’ve always done. It’s saying “I don’t know” and then continuing on to answer or state something, showing that I do actually know, but somehow the disclaimer beforehand release me from all liability if you don’t like what I’m saying. I fucking well do know. And some people get to see that in me, and once in a while I do.

I want to blame our society. I want to say that it’s what we learn growing up: that some things are good and some things are bad; that we should do certain things to be successful and if we don’t then we are achieving less than we could, than we should; and maybe there’s a personality or character underneath that we’re born with or we somehow develop, I don’t know, that gets this framework built by society laid on top of it, and that framework ends up fettering us and keeping us from behaving as we would naturally. I started all of this out by saying “I want to…” which is another disclaimer, a way of making what I say less harsh somehow.

The funny thing is, I have this idea about natural behavior, survival of the fittest, and the way some of the ancient Greeks used to think about the strong taking what is theirs. I don’t like that type of behavior. I see it in modern times as an integral part of our corporate, capitalist structure, and the attitude that lead so many to despise the rich, the politicians, the greedy crooks of Enron and others who just haven’t been caught. So I don’t believe in what Ayn Rand wrote about in Atlas Shrugged. Anyway, what is the real value of gaining power, of being driven and successful, of being a mover and a shaker? I guess you could take the question to the next level and ask what really brings people happiness, what is “worth it” in this life, and if there is anything after it.

I don’t know if any of this will make sense to anyone else, or even to me later on. It may not be cohesive enough, but I’ve written plenty here that isn’t. The funny thing is, I could be a hell of a mover and a shaker if I chose to. I’d be a terror. But I’ve never had the inclination. Sure, I used to think I wanted to be rich and be able to afford all sorts of fast cars, but I realize that doesn’t really matter anymore. One thing that always comes up in my brain, though, is that maybe I really am ruthless, amoral, and a perfect match for the type of person I describe (at least in my head), but I’m just too scared or timid or something to let it show. My ex saw it in me and liked it, but she’s a lot more one of those people than I appear to be. It does feel good to wear the clothes, though–to step into that role once in a while, as needed, and have the power to own a situation, to take control. Yet I rebel against it so…

Happy Tuna

The world spins, yet somehow we don’t fall off. Everything around me spins, but I won’t fall off. This is a new departure. In the past it’s been typical for me to fall off, the merry-go-round still merrily going ’round, it’s happy horses with their maniacal grins continuing onward, inward. It seems like in that context falling off would be a good thing. Hmm… Maybe the merry-go round is the world and falling off isn’t a literal thing (of course … what where you thinking it would be?) but it means that suddenly one is flung off, outward, and loses contact with all of the things of the world. Outside of the spinning disc all is inky blackness, and it’s sticky, like the tar pits. Yeah … the pits.

I set myself up for a fall. I intentionally elicit a response akin to being slapped in the face with a partially-frozen tuna–albacore or yellow fin, it doesn’t really matter. And I did it, no one else. But it was a ghost fish. I’m the only one who can give it a tangible quality, make it so the impact has an effect. I got myself nailed by a couple of fish last night, and I was feeling it earlier. I felt like maybe I was sliding to the edge of the spinning disc, out there where it gets harder and harder to hold on as the pull increases. I thought I was already off, but as I sit here I realize I’m not.

Thank you, M, for being honest with me. Don’t change or hold back for anything. Like you said, changing patterns of behavior, response. I didn’t even know this one was changing, was worried about myself, but evidently work has already begun on a new pathway.

UPDATE: I fell off.

Yesterday’s Adventure

Hi there. I don’t know if anyone reads this except maybe my ex-fiancee and random people off the street because nobody responded to my call-out. If my ex is reading, she should probably stop. It would probably be better for her. Anyway, I wanted to post a link to the other blog I started recently where I’m posting . . . well, you should just check it out and see. I called it Your Daily Adventure and the idea was that I would write about funny stuff I see every day. I haven’t been doing it as much as I intended and the focus is sort of shifting, but it’s still fun. It’s now a side-project for my writing class, my contribution to our shared literary culture as the teacher put it. I’ll add a link for it to the side of this blog somewhere.

I haven’t been writing here because I’ve been busy working on other stuff including the other blog. Not only that but the only known audience I have for this crap is my ex and I thought maybe I would just let it die and not write anymore. I’m also sometimes hesitant to write about certain things based on that knowledge of my audience, but fuck it, eh? God, I drone on sometimes . . .

I went for a kick-ass ride the other day and then again yesterday. Kick-ass because I’ve been able to ride for a couple of hours without being completely dead at the end and because I can feel that I’m getting stronger when I climb hills or accelerate. Yesterday was especially kick-ass because all sorts of crazy, funny things happened. It was a typical spring day in Portland, sometimes warm and sunny, sometimes cold and rainy. I have fenders on my road bike now and I got rained on before recently so it’s no big deal. I headed out with a plan to do a new route. In the process, I got rained on, pulled on my rain jacket, then it stopped so I took it off, then it rained some more, put it on, stopped . . . Typical. Something about inclement weather makes me smile when I’m out working in it or working out. I like feeling tough, I guess.

So there was the weather, and I almost made myself crash when my rain jacket hooked onto my handlebars while I was putting it on with no hands on the bars, then I got lost when there was a detour on the route I had planned, my bike got filthy from the rain and muck, and I ripped my rain jacket. But none of it mattered. I kept shaking my head and cursing under my breath, but I was smiling the whole time. It was one of those things where shit happens and sometimes you just have to laugh. It helps that I was feeling good on the bike, even though I’m getting over a cold that knocked me out for a few days. The things that happened are all typical of being a cyclist, too. It reminded me of plenty of other times getting lost by myself or with a riding partner, and strange weather always gets you at some time. There’s no use getting mad or feeling sorry for yourself. Instead, it becomes fun. I’ve always had that mentality and it served me well in the Army because I didn’t whine and complain when the going got tough, I just kept going.

I got home after my ride and I probably had a big shit-eating grin on my face when I told my roommate about it and how much fun it was, regardless of all the “setbacks” and that’s when I found out my jacket had ripped, but I just said, “Oh, well,” and kept telling my story. Maybe sometimes it’s better to keep the good vibrations to yourself. He interrupted me and said, “Stop! Can you hear yourself right now?” I kind of knew what he was saying, but I made him spell it out. He said something to the effect that my perspective was positive and that I wasn’t letting any of the stuff that had happened get to me, and that usually my perspective wasn’t so positive and I was a bit more pessimistic. Or something like that . . . Geez. I appreciate the thought, but don’t interrupt a guy when he’s feeling good to grab the Good and point at it, saying, “Look! Look! You normally suck, but this is Good!”

So he interrupted my flow, how I was feeling good, but I blew it off and kept on feeling it. I also thought that he didn’t really know me that well. Those “setbacks” are exactly the kind of thing that make me smile and shrug, and that combined with feeling good on the bike and enjoying riding again were responsible for the good feeling. He also doesn’t realize that deep down I am a happy person. I slip into melancholy and depression quite easily, especially for the last, I don’t know, at least five years of my life, probably more. But things are changing and I’m recognizing some of the old feelings again. It’s really good. I talked about it with my mom and she agreed, too. I’m a happy, joyful person. I love to be in the moment, to make people laugh, to make myself laugh with silly things. There has just been a lot of funkiness in my life lately, but I’m movin’ on and it feels good.

See-through me

I must be fairly transparent. It seems like people can see into the heart of me, through whatever walls I’ve built or the defenses I have. Maybe it’s because I’m being more myself, more comfortable, and it lets the sentries on top of the walls and men manning the defenses relax. Several times in the last month or so it has happened.

I bumped into my neighbor on the bus. I was on my way out of town, taking the bus to the Max, the Max to the airport, the rental car from the airport to Idaho and Utah. We talked for a little while and she got off the bus with me and walked over to the Max station. Along the way she told me that she sees me as a poet. Not that I write or speak in rhyme, but that I have a sensitive soul. Something about the way that she said it made me feel exposed and vulnerable, like she really was seeing my soul.

I talked to a woman in my class who shares her name with a famous city in Egypt. It was part of an exercise: we were supposed to interview each other and come up with a description of the other, especially one thing about them that we thought was a telling detail in that it revealed something about them which they didn’t explicitly say. I don’t remember what she said, but something to the effect that I am a sensitive soul, have a gentle heart and love to give. Something like that. She said that in class and I didn’t know what to think or do or say, so I didn’t do anything. But I did feel outed, somehow.

I met my roommate’s mom the other night. It was very brief. He had just picked her up at the airport and knocked on my door to introduce me. I said hi, we both remarked that we had heard a lot about the other and that was it. The next morning I was milling around the house and getting ready for school when she came into the living room and we started chatting. Right off, she seemed to have a sense of me, and more than that I have a big heart or anything like that, but like she had a complete picture. She knew about where I’d been, in a way, and who I was. She said many complimentary things about me and told me she saw me as a writer, or maybe on the radio or in commercials because of my voice. It was incredible and came at just the right time when I needed to hear something nice about myself. My one regret is that I can’t adequately explain what happened or what she said.

Somehow there is a connection between all of us. I think most of us aren’t aware of it the majority of the time, and if we were I can imagine it being like cords tying all of us together which we’d constantly trip over or not be able to move at all. But it’s there and when we’re open to it there can be a flicker and a connection in an instant between relative strangers and somehow we get a sense of one another and there’s a small exchange, even if only for the briefest moment. Then it’s gone and we go on about our day in the same way we always do, the same colors we see, the same feelings and things happening, but at least we can carry the memory of that connection with us and hang onto it until it happens again.

Calling out and Change

My attempt in a previous post to call out any readers of this blog failed miserably. I ask myself, What do you expect? Do you really think badgering the witness is going to get you the response you hope for? Instead, I suppose the correct technique is to write gorgeous prose or political statements about something people are interested in. Write about what people believe or want to. Write a post full of tags that people might search for on the internet so they find your blog (kidding).

I haven’t written much here because I’ve been too preoccupied with reading and writing elsewhere. I think I mentioned before that I’m in a writing class. The largest task so far has been constructing a short story but I did it, it’s been critiqued by the instructor and my peers, and now it’s time to go over it and make revisions to turn in a second draft in a couple of weeks. I also need to work on a second story that will go through the same process and be turned in as the final. Been reading lots of good stuff, too. Not so much the works of my classmates (although they all have redeeming qualities and some are quite good), but the short stories that are assigned for class or the novel I chose to read for class or the stuff I’ve been reading on the side.

Life is good. I’m back to being myself more often and being okay. I’m fairly busy and that’s been good for me. My own philosophy of life is bubbling back to the surface and it feels like I’ve repressed it for so long. Portland helps draw it out. Meeting new people helps the experience as well, and the combination of this city and my desire to reach out has made it so I’m having some good interactions.

That’s all I’m really going to say for now. I have a new blog project that I started, but I will wait a little while before I make it public here for any random souls passing through to find and look at. I guess in a way it’s good that I don’t know whether I have any readers or not. It frees me to write whatever gobblydeegook I want and not be concerned about the content or writing for a specific audience. It’s just for me. ‘Til next time…

The Life Stage

Sometimes things just come together and make you smile. Today was not one of those days. I’ve been pretty miserable, close to tears at times, trying to drown my sorrows in alcohol most nights the past few weeks. This morning wasn’t any better; if anything, it was worse. But then I talked to a friend I love and a sister I also love and respect. I did a little bit of thinking. Felt a little better. Then, Life conspired to show me something.

I drove the minivan to get coffee, iPod plugged into the stereo. Happened to be playing “Truckin’” by the Grateful Dead. I like that song. Then I got coffee, and the kids working behind the bar seemed cool, had a good vibe. A cute girl smiled at me. The day seemed nice as a I left, even though it is definitely still winter here in SLC and it was gray and not sunny at the time. Coffee in hand, I went to the supermarket. I grabbed something extra that I saw my sister needed at her house, waited in line behind an older lady, watched the interaction between her and the clerk. Another cute girl walked by. Then I was paying and leaving the store after my exchange with the clerk, a nice woman who was envious of my coffee, and something caught my eye.

One of the bag-boys was wearing a hoodie sweatshirt with some writing on the back. It was in the style of those No Fear shirts, but I don’t think the saying on the shirt was really their style. It said, “If All the World is a Stage, I Want to be the Trap Door.” I had to smile as I realised that is the way I feel sometimes, but not right now. I usually enjoy people, and share the belief that people are generally good, like my sister expressed the other day. It’s nice to remember that, to feel that way again. I’m sure I won’t always, but it helps to try and remember it when Life has shifted your focus to other areas, away from the player in the spotlight, center stage, toward something or someone creeping in the darkness, just outside of the light, something that makes it hard to focus on the figure bathed in brilliant spotlights, even though the thing in the darkness is nothing more than a notion, a mist, undefinable, just a suggestion of something there, yet we can’t take our eyes off of it for trying to figure out just what that is, in the dark.

Good to be back

Ah, Portland. It’s good to be back. I wouldn’t have said that a day or two ago. My homecoming was not the most exciting return ever. I was wearing jeans, flip-flops, a short-sleeve shirt and a light jacket as I walked out of Portland International Airport into the gray, steady drizzle that IS Portland. I’ve been freezing my ass off since. I don’t know if it’s because I spent three months in the desert, avoiding the cold weather of a North North American winter, if I just haven’t dressed properly or what. But the cold temperature and high humidity has been killing me. I thought about moving to Tuscon.

Add in jet-lag and a general feeling of “What the hell do I do now?” and you get the idea. But today the sun was shining. That’s happy moment #1. I had some more good coffee, produced by my own hand and 40 pounds of gleaming stainless steel. (Not the first time since I’ve been back, so I guess there were happy moments yesterday–every time I made coffee and felt the rush of making and consuming it cut through the gloom and doom of GRAY and “liquid sunshine.”) So happy moment #2 of the day. And then I decided to go for a bike ride.

There’s something very comfortable about familiar routines, right? We all know it. We’re creatures of habit. It was nice to experience the familiar sensation of getting ready for a ride. I pulled my bike down from the rack, made sure the tires were pumped up and the chain lubed, wiped her down with a rag to clean off the dust, pulled on my undershirt, tights, warm winter jersey and arm warmers. Thin skull cap to keep in the heat and cover my ears. Warm gloves. Shoe covers. Helmet. Glasses. Money and a jacket in the back pocket, along with my cell phone to call for help. This is nice. #3.

And then I hit the road. I decided to do a loop, longer than I probably should after no riding for months and not much physical activity, but I’m always a glutton for punishment on the bike. It feels good. Natural. Like riding a bike. Something you never forget. And it’s a special bike, at least to me. Smooth. I used to race. Everything just feels right. A little discomfort, but nothing I can’t handle. A ride. Happy Moment Number Four. Ahhh.

Riding through familiar neighborhoods, seeing some of the landmarks of Portland, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, the Columbia River, the Willamette, the St. Johns bridge, Broadway, downtown. And these people. The familiar wave from certain motorists who recognize cyclists on the streets and accommodate them. The people wearing funky jackets, boots, hair. “Keep Portland Weird” is a popular bumper sticker. There are rugged individualists, hippies, writers, artists, cyclists, coffee geeks, beer geeks, friendly faces. It’s a city where it’s easy to connect with strangers. I’m waiting at a stop sign for the cross traffic to thin out, next to a woman waiting to turn left in her car. One of the cars crossing the intersection has a window rolled down, the female driver looking around, not sure where to go, I think, talking to her passenger loud enough that I can hear but not tell what is being said. She suddenly decides she needs to turn right halfway through the intersection, still talking, looks to her left at me and the cars that are waiting. It’s humorous to watch so I smile. She laughs a little and smiles back. Little human interactions like that happen all the time, and they’re priceless. Happy moments #5,6,7,8…

It’s good to be back.

Wuv, twue wuv!

I’m a guy who likes chick flicks. I always have. It started by watching old movies when I was young. Movies like “Philadelphia Story”, “Father Goose”, “My Fair Lady” and “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. You could probably blame my mom, but I don’t know if it was her influence or if I’ve always been so romantic. It’s not dead, you see? Romance. Even if it’s misguided or delusional, it’s not dead!

Reading a lot of books probably didn’t help, either. I guess a lot of writers–at least the ones I’ve read–are romantics at heart. How many stories, including screenplays, end up with some kind of happy ending? There’s a reason the “Hollywood ending” is a thing. I suppose you could place some blame on the director or the producers for movies, but it exists in literature too.

I guess there’s a part in all of us that really hopes that true love and “happily ever after” exist. It’s one of the things that can give meaning to our lives: a kiss from a loved one, a hug from a child, knowing you have an influence on someone else’s life and they want you in it.

I saw a movie called “27 Dresses” yesterday. I don’t know if I should admit that. It was fine, it really was. It had a few handsome Hollywood faces in it that belong to actors that probably have real talent. It didn’t seem too cheesy or cornball. In fact, now that I think of it, maybe they did a better job avoiding that with this movie than most romantic comedies. But even if it had been done differently, I would probably still fall for the idea of love. Even though you can see the ending coming from the start and predict almost every turn, it’s still an enjoyable ride for me. I thought the guy was hot, the girl was lovely and it ends happily ever after. THE END

On pleasure (then it rambles on from there…)

I take great satisfaction in getting things just right. If I’m writing, I really enjoy making a sentence just so or making sure an idea comes across in just such a way. When I make coffee, I strive for perfection every time. I don’t get there that often, but I feel so good when I get a really good shot of espresso. It’s that much better if I get a good shot of espresso AND I’m able to froth the milk just so and get a near-perfect cappuccino. Continuing with the coffee them, it’s the same if I get a really good cup from my french press, vacuum pot or aeropress, nicely balanced, not bitter or underextracted. As silly as it seems, I really get off on getting in the groove if I am playing Gran Turismo. I believe it’s realistic enough that it takes some skill to drive well, and I’ve always considered myself a driver, anyway. I like cars, love to drive, wish I could race for real and test myself. I love it when I’m in good shape and riding my bike is the same way. I have the strength and energy to charge up hills, maintain a high speed for a long time or keep a good pace up a protracted climb.

So there are these things, and I’ve always been into things like this. Maybe it’s just a guy thing. But there are these things that I am (or have been) passionate about: cars, motorcycles, bicycles, coffee, airplanes. And I really enjoy the skills that are required for the craft: driving fast, riding smoothly, racing, winning, making great coffee. I guess I’m a person who gets a lot of satisfaction from tactile sensations.

Does this realization mean that I really should devote myself to one of these passions as my profession? Is that where I would be the happiest? There’s really only one option right now when it comes to that: coffee. I’ve given up on being a professional driver. It takes too much money to get into racing and I’m already past the age when you should begin. I never really wanted to be a professional pilot for an airline. I wanted to fly fighter jets, or something like that. Hell, crop-dusting might be cool! And I’m not going to become a professional cyclist.

When I first got the idea of getting into the specialty coffee industry, I was really excited. I’ve always thought I would love to do something I’m really passionate about for work. I’ve done plenty of jobs that are just jobs, and they’re fine. You get money, you do the other stuff you really enjoy doing in your time off. Currently there’s a drive in my head to get a degree and do something with it in the professional world. I want it to be something that I am passionate about, too, but there isn’t anything big on the radar for me that says, “Pick me! Pick me!” I did feel that way about coffee for a little while, though. People that I knew thought it was a great idea because I was already a geek about coffee and knew more about it than all of them.

I always overanalyze. Right now I’m thinking about the limitations to giving up on school and getting into coffee, and wondering if it’s realistic or smart. I do the same thing about almost everything in my life recently. I’ve become much more hesitant to do things. I guess I’m not so young and gung-ho anymore. I think learning I had diabetes and the way I’ve chosen to deal with it has something to do with that. Feeling like I’m getting older and have less options does, too. And I’ve started thinking about when I’m old, my future. That’s weird for me. I never used to worry about health insurance, 401k retirement plans, making enough money, etc. I guess that was before I got “sick”, before I realized I’m in a lot of debt and started feeling more pressure to make something of myself.

I guess that last bit all comes down to the big question: where do I fit? What is my place in this world? There’s so much to think about, to worry over, obsess over. Sometimes I feel like there aren’t as many choices, and in fact maybe there’s only one correct path to lifelong happiness and doing what’s right for me. That makes it very difficult to decide anything. What if it’s the wrong choice? And then there are times I say, bah, it’s all bullshit, and tell myself to just get over it and get a move on! I will try to do that more, because what’s a life if it’s lived in fear?