Resisting the Evil Driving Fantasy

 

your-hormones1I’m a fairly calm driver. Getting worked up by bad driving conditions or heavy traffic or clueless drivers only serves to gin up plenty of cortisol for the body. Cortisol bad.

Yet, certain driving behaviors still drive me batty. I usually let them slide off me. But if I don’t let it go, overly aggressive and selfish driving makes me furious. I can easily begin to loathe these drivers.

My fantasy is to become mockingly enraged at them so that they see it and know it. They will of course react. I will then become more mockingly enraged. Hand gestures will be involved. Overly theatrical swearing. Menacing tailgating or abrupt stopping.

They become even madder. They gesture back and behave even more aggressively. Then I laugh at them. I make sure they see me laughing at them. They become apoplectic. Game over. I win.

I’ve had the satisfaction of making those few minutes of their life very unpleasant. I know they can’t get that time back. I’ve taken something from them.

But that’s not the evil part of the fantasy. The evil part of the fantasy is that I know adrenalin and cortisol are coursing through their veins. I know these are poisons. I know these poisons are destroying their quality of life and shortening their life spans. I’ve taken life from them. How evil is that? Pretty evil.

But I can’t do it. Why not? It’s not that I don’t think there are certain people who deserve it. Because I do. I can’t do it because I don’t know which ones deserve it and which ones don’t, which ones are just having a bad day. And life is hard enough.

As Gandalf would say, “Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.”

So while I can allow myself to fantasize, I can’t make myself act. OK, maybe I have acted once. I’m no Gandalf, ya know.

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A Detailed Destruction: No Country For Abstract Poetry

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I’m too abstract to write poetry.

The sins I commit when I’m writing poetry are plentiful. Not specific enough. Not detailed enough. Not rhythmical enough.

My reaction to that has always been: I don’t care. But to be fair that’s my reaction to anyone who tells me what I should be doing.

I’m writing by my rules. Not yours. Why would I want to write by any rules at all? I’m not trying to repeat the past. That’s way too easy to do without any effort anyway.

That’s not to say I think my poetry is any good.  Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.  I don’t care. It’s mine. That’s what I care about.

I guess maybe I’m just defiant. I’m not interested in being told it’s too abstract or too intellectual and should be more emotional and detailed. Those things to me are all tied together. They are not separate. They are not distinct. They are one. Write what you feel. OK. I feel abstract.

I’m an abstract thinker. Abstract is not detailed. While they may not be the polar opposite, they are not exactly neighbors.

I don’t like having to pay attention to details. I don’t like reading things that are overly detailed. Why would I write that way?

Just like when I design and make furniture. No details. No intricacies. Just clean and abstract. It’s who I am. Or when I play music. Don’t like ornamentation. Keep it clean.

Or sometimes at work I’m told I’m being too abstract. I am sure it’s true. Since it’s trying to become more detailed, I usually react by using metaphors and analogies, which deflects the request for more detail and often successfully gets the point across.

Do people like my abstract interpretations and creations? I don’t know. That wasn’t the question I started with. Though there are at least a couple people who like my work. I won’t name names to protect the guilty.

I forgot the point I was making. But I’m sure it was a minor detail.  Anyway, my poetry probably won’t be developing detail anytime soon. Or anything I do for that matter.

I’ve heard God is in the details. I’ve also heard the Devil is in the details. I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to be there.

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I’m not Buying What You are Selling

More retro clipart at http://www.clipartof.com/

I’m a bit of a minimalist. I think I’ve mentioned this before. I’m a terrible consumer as well. A friend once said, you don’t even know you need things. Marketing doesn’t seem to work on me either, though the jury is still out on whether I am immune or oblivious. Don’t answer that.

Yet I find myself paying attention to the behaviors of consumerism and marketing. I think it’s because it’s foreign to me, like travelling to a new country. The psychology fascinates me, perhaps because it is so foreign. Or maybe it is more like watching a train wreck or bad behavior. Or maybe it’s voyeurism. Hmm. That would be weird.

Marketing has always struck me as the art of trying to convince me to buy something I don’t think I need. Or as a friend of mine would say: It’s just a way for them to get you to give them your money. Though Steve Jobs made a good point when he said it was about getting people to buy things they didn’t even know they needed, which I somehow find less annoying though I’m not sure why since I strongly convinced I don’t need much of anything.

I think about the blockbuster movies that come out every summer. First, I think it’s funny that they determine them to be blockbusters before they even come out. Like Disney movies that deemed classic, but that’s a whole different matter.

Blockbusters are an example of genius marketing and blind consumerism. The blockbuster movies are the same movies over and over again. Sure they change a few characters here and there but really. I saw a snippet of one of the Iron Man movies the other day. I could have sworn I was watching one of the Indiana Jones movies form 30 years before.

It’s not a question of whether the movies are good or bad. It’s that marketers are brilliant. Somehow they have convinced us that we should keep buying the same thing over and over again. And we do.

Some of us grow weary and cease to care. Sure, some of us fight back. We fight back against having our own psychologies used against us. Sometimes we find out how they are doing it because we know we are being manipulated. 

And sometimes we say no.

(Other related Post)

“Take Back Control of Your Life With Knowledge”

 

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Obscurity Rocks

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Obscurity. Working in it sucks. All the hours you put into your passion can be tough at times when you receive little recognition. Many of us are comfortable with our labors of love and the personal reward they bring. Many of us are not. Especially when we see someone else succeeding in fame or fortune.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any advice on how to gain more recognition or wealth. That is definitely not my area of expertise. Some people claim to have a formula. I am a little skeptical of formulas for such things. If there was such a formula for fame and wealth, how many more of us would have already achieved that? Exactly.

What concerns me more is how we feel about ourselves and our work whether we are toiling in obscurity or bathing in recognition. Perhaps it has to do with ego, a healthy ego, which may be related to our self-evaluation of our own self-worth. We do tend to be pretty hard on ourselves at times.

I’ve noticed that many people who work in obscurity seem to undervalue on their work because it is not known. As if quality is dependent on recognition, which is of course not true. But it’s an easy trap to fall into. Examples abound where quality was not recognized so readily.

Vincent Van Gogh is my favorite though extreme example. Worked in obscurity. You know the rest of the story. And how about the countless stories of authors whose now famous works were rejected by hundreds of experts in the world of literature. And how about all the people whose quality work has not yet been discovered and may never be?

Are you the next Vincent Van Gogh? Who knows. But every day the experts in a field pass over the next big thing, the ground breakers.

The other side of the coin is people who gain success in any endeavor tend to overvalue their work because of the recognition received. It might be really good. But then again it might not be any better than your work. Certainly understandable that one’s ego might inflate in light of much praise.

Certainly there’s no shame in being proud of your recognized work. But there’s also no shame in being proud of your unrecognized work.

We all know fame is fickle. Fame and fortune are also quite random. Assume we have both created quality products with good hard work. One of us becomes famous and one does not. Why is that?

Well, the cold answer is the outcome was random. Influenced by forces far beyond our control and understanding.  You got in the elevator one day by chance with the VP of sales and you discovered you both liked the same band and had pleasant exchange about it. Later the VP remembered that and recognized your name from a list of hundreds. The VP picked you because he had a pleasant memory of you. Awesome to be you.

 I didn’t get a chance meeting with the VP in the elevator because I dropped my phone running for the elevator and missed it when I stopped to pick up my phone. Sucks to be me.

You may not believe this. That’s OK. Though you should really go read “Black Swan” by Nassim Nicholas Taleb. He will push your buttons much better than I.

But that’s not the real point I am trying to make. I am asking you to not devalue your hard work because it lacks recognition. Should you always be looking to be better and push boundaries? Absolutely.

I am asking you to find value and pride in your work because that is what will make you feel good, that is what will give you a healthy ego. Because handing the health of your ego over to the vagaries of success is a bad idea. Embrace your obscurity.

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The Devil is in the Shoe Laces

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I haven’t resorted to wearing Velcro strap shoes yet. Apparently all the signs are there that I should.

Today I bought some new shoe laces for my boots. After struggling to get the old ratted laces out, I stared at the eyelets and tried to remember how to lace them. So I stared for a while and tried to remember the last time I had put new laces in a pair of shoes. I couldn’t remember.

I’m a problem solver so eventually deduced a way to lace the boots up. Success.

A few years ago, I relearned how to tie my shoes. My laces had been perpetually coming undone for years. I blamed the shoes, the laces, the type of work I was doing. But it wasn’t them. It was me. I was informed that I might be tying my shoes wrong. And I was.

Talk about changing a habit. For weeks I had to slowly walk through the process of tying my shoes. I can now tie them without thinking once again. Score.

Now these are two good reasons for just saying, this is too much trouble. I’ll just start wearing Velcro shoes. But I didn’t give in. I’m glad I didn’t give in. But it’s such a little thing, you say. Why the big deal?

It’s a big deal because it was an obstacle I didn’t choose to go around. The obstacle is the path. And I was staying on my path.

The victory is not that I didn’t start wearing Velcro shoes. The victory is that I didn’t start a habit of going around the obstacle, of avoiding the effort.

The effort of going through the obstacle is what makes you strong. Even in the little things. Especially in the little things. That is where the underlying strength comes to face the big obstacles.

Tie your shoes laces well. The rest will follow.

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The Passion Pitfall

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Follow your passion. A good mantra I’ve tried to follow. I think good advice I’ve given to people. Seems like a good way to lead your life.

And so it’s funny that in all the different places I’ve worked I’ve always found that being passionate about my work just got me in trouble or got me mocked.

Companies want you to be passionate about your job as long as the passion is totally in line with management expectations.  A long as the passion doesn’t question anything. As long as you don’t make the people around you uncomfortable.

That’s not passion. That’s blind acceptance. That’s a cult.

When I wasn’t being told to curb my enthusiasm, I was being questioned by coworkers as to why I cared so much. You get so worked up about these things. Like I need to be chastised by a bunch of flatliners.

I get worked up because I care. I actually want to make a difference. And since I unfortunately have to have a job, I’m going to at least make an effort. I’m going to try. And trying for me is both intellectual and emotional.

I mean, it’s not like I am some crusading jerk. I don’t take myself too seriously. I’m irreverent. I have good perspective. I understand the realities of the situation.

Passion requires optimism. And optimism in a corporate world filled with jaded and cynical minions is seen as naivete or a threat. I might be naive but if you’re feeling threatened that’s on you not me.

But guess what? I’m not going to stop being passionate. And you know what else? You should join me. Passion can become a habit.  A wonderful, enjoyable habit.  A liberation. Freedom.

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No Sneezing Matter

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I sneeze hard. Very hard. I make sure to take a deep breath and then exhale all the air out explosively. It’s always jarring. Sometimes I jump. I have no idea why I take such a deep breath. It seems counter productive. But alas, I take a deep breath.

So when it’s really jarring, I swear, especially if I sneeze more than once. I say a bad thing. As if some outside force is to blame. As if I am swearing at my arch nemesis. “Damn you, Khan!”

My friend Linda told me once that there was a study that indicated that people who dramatically sneezed were just looking for attention.

These people who did this study are obviously not dramatic sneezers. Dramatically sneezing once is bearable. But dramatically sneeze a few times in a row and you will curse just like I do.

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This doesn’t even take into account those times when I have had back or rib injuries. Dramatically sneezing at those times requires excessive cursing. Think your bad ribs hurt when you laugh? Try an explosive sneeze. No amount of pain killers will keep you off the ground.

Today I have a cold. I foresee lots of swearing. I need to take the opportunity to practice some more creative swearing. I hate to be too predictable, even if no one is around. And studies have shown that swearing can help reduce pain. (http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-we-swear/).

I wonder if creative swearing is better at reducing pain? The degree of difficulty may add to the pain relieving effects. Now this is an experiment worth pursuing.

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Leaving My Viewing Comfort Zone: Epic Fail

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We all have styles that we like. Whether in music or movies or art. We might like lots of different styles. I’ve actually ran into people who claim to like all styles of something. I think that’s a little weird and it makes me suspicious.

One style I have never been able to enjoy is the horror genre. It’s never been an artistic choice but an emotional choice. I’m a fairly sensitive person, a jumpy person and I must admit a wee bit squeamish. So watching horror movies has always been a bit rough. Or I just close my eyes a lot, which defeats the purpose of watching.

But I’m always wanting to expand my boundaries. People rave about horror movies or TV shows and I’m thinking I should try them. I finally convinced myself to watch American Horror Story, the FX television series now in its fourth season. Everybody loves it.

Netflix delivered the first disc of the season one. OK, let’s do this. I popped the DVD in and started watching.  The acting seems good. The scenery seems good. The characters are good.

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After about ten minutes I paused it. I wasn’t sure if this was for me. I paused it again. Then again. I was determined to make it through. I made it thirty five minutes before I stopped it for good. My psyche couldn’t take it. I couldn’t watch anymore. The thought of watching eleven more episodes cringing and pausing the whole way through was too much. Just stop now.

I failed. I was pushed back into my comfort zone. I don’t want to go back there, to the horror zone.

I’ll have to find a different boundary to push. Because sometimes pushing boundaries pays off. But not today. I must regroup.

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Pheromone seeks Bait and Tackle

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I told someone I wasn’t showering so I could build up my pheromones. You know, pheromones, that odorless substance that your body purportedly emits in order to trigger responses in potential sexual partners.

I was told I was confusing becoming feral with pheromone retention.

Maybe, maybe not. I figured it was worth a shot since I couldn’t afford the $100 for the bottle of pheromone additives I found on the Internet.

Yes, you can buy pheromone additives for colognes or perfumes to enhance your attractiveness to potential sexual partners.

I can’t believe I don’t get e-mail spam for this stuff. Seems perfect for that. I mean, really, it’s way more important than all those Viagra e-mails. What good is Viagra if you can’t attract anyone?

The better solution would be to market them together. They’re a natural pairing. Like bait and tackle. You need worms AND hooks, people. That’s how it works.

For now though I‘ll have to settle for what effects can be procured by being one of the unwashed masses.

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Taking Back the Shadows

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Twilight. I’ve always thought that was a captivating word. Right up there with gloaming and dusk. Maybe it’s their dark personas. Perhaps tied to my desire to disappear into the shadows. It’s a good word.

But then came this whole Twilight vampire thing. Now I hear the word and all I can see are the expressionless faces of Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart. I’m not even concerned by whether the movies or the books were good or bad. It’s those vacant faces.

They haunt me whenever I even think the word twilight. They’re not haunting because they’re haunting. They’re haunting because they are nothing. They contain nothing. They’re not even darkness. They’re a void.

But how do you take a word back from such a black hole of nothing? It’s not like I’m Justin Timberlake who can bring sexy back. I cannot bring twilight back. I can only hope the vision fades.

But maybe there’s hope. I need to find a way to attach a stronger image to twilight. If I can’t dispel the vacant faces of Pattinson and Stewart, perhaps I can be override them, like plastering a band poster over another band poster.

Where will I find such a strong image? One that won’t run from the power of their nothingness.

Scary clowns, an evil Santa, Mary Poppins, Batman, anything, anyone. Help me Obi Wan, you are my only hope.

I will take twilight back. Maybe not today, but soon and for the rest of my life. I will take it back for everyone.

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