Category Archives: personal

personal

On Checking Out (and In)

When I take a vacation, I do my best to distance myself from my normal habits. That means no email checking, no cellphone carrying, and certainly no blogging

I’ve always, since I started the policy about four years ago, found this surprisingly easy. I say that it is surprising because when I think about doing this same thing indefinitely, it scares me. But then perhaps it is easy because I know that the break will soon end.

Now this checking out from my everyday life doesn’t prevent me from learning any news about the world, but it certainly creates an enormous filter through which only a few things make it.

For example, I did hear about the Minneapolis bridge collapse. But I had no idea that Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen both became Celtics. The notable difference in importance of the events is probable the cause of my knowledge of one and ignorance of the other.

Aside from this metaphorically isolation from the world, I did see a few family members, see a few sights, and even get called a “commie treehugger” by an uncle.

I was reminded primarily that my life is not the same as family members is different places, of different ages, and with different parents. And that even though there are superficial difference between us, the fact that we are related by blood is absolutely meaningless (not where you thought I’d go, huh?).

It was a strange experience. Exactly as it was every other time it happened and yet remarkably different.

Standard
personal

Taking A Break

I-80, c/o Western FolklifeToday, I’m doing something all Americans have done, or think they should have. It’s that time of the summer.

That’s right, time for the family road-trip.

I am, for probably the last time, riding in a car with my parents and two of my sisters along I-80 going east. And as we pass through Cheyenne, western Nebraska, Lincoln, Omaha, Des Moines, the Quad Cities, and Chicago, I’ll be thinking about all the times we did it before.

Almost annually, we would venture east, to Michigan, where both my parents were born and raised. We’d head back and make the rounds to the homes of all relations still living there around Flint, MI.

I tell this not to be chastised for wasting gas and not to be envied for having the time. I merely endeavor to explain why new material will be absent or at best unlikely until August 8.

Standard
big ideas, personal, ruminations

I, like you, do the best I can

That title has been my About Me section on Facebook for some time. I wrote it almost without thought; it sounded nice. But when I reread it I liked it more than I had when I thought of it. I liked it more than I thought I could like anything I’d ever written.

What I liked most about it was the belief behind it. The belief that the world is not underperforming on our expectations, but is instead filled with people trying as hard as they can to do the best they know how.

That’s a key point for me. That the world is filled with people trying as hard as they can to do the best they know how. I struggle with this point a lot.

I, and I doubt I am alone here, find it easy to believe that I am doing my best. Of course I do the best I can, but I often struggle to allow that that fact is probably true of most others as well. That they think they are doing the best they know how.

There are a lot of people in this world that, at least at first glance, seem not to be trying very hard. You know, the kid down the hall at university who mostly just played video games and smoked weed. He was a slacker and you probably had various reasons for disliking him.

But, the more I thought about that kid, the more I realized he probably didn’t know all he could do. Sure, he could do better, but I doubt if anyone ever showed him how. His parents were probably distant and more involved with their futures than his. His teachers probably didn’t make sure he learned much; as long as he wasn’t failing they were happy. His friends were probably much like himself, well off and unaware of their advantages. Unaware of what advantages are.

And certainly he wasn’t doing much to make the world a better place, in whatever way I thought he should. But I find it hard to believe that he was earnestly and intentionally wasting time that he was aware could be spent doing other more useful things.

This little phrase reminds me that not everyone has had the advantages that I have had. That by virtue of the color of my skin, my state and country of residence, my parents, and my environment, I’ve been given a great deal more than most other people have ever gotten. And I’ve not had to work too exceptionally hard to get it.

These are things that may change what I think is the best I can do, but they don’t change the fact that you’re probably doing your best as well.

And even if you can’t actually believe that everyone around you is doing the best they can, there is another reason to use this phrase. It’s aspirational.

It’s useful to believe that others are doing the best they can, and that you can do it too. Maybe you doubt that fact, but wouldn’t it be more productive to assume that they are doing their best and act accordingly? To try to match yourself with your own high expectations, and not wait for the world to prove to you that it’s really good enough for you?

I think it’s more useful to believe the best and fear the worst than to believe the worst and hope for (or is it fear?) the best. It’s more useful for our own mental state to see the best rather than the worst in people. To watch for their success rather than where they falter.

And though I don’t alway succeed in that quest for the best, I’m willing and ready to try.

Standard
personal, ruminations

On Writer’s Block, Procrastination, and a Solution

Writer’s block is a funny thing. When you don’t have it, you tend to wonder what everyone is so upset about. When you do have it you wonder how you ever managed to write anything.

There are certainly a number of possible causes for the disease. The most likely, if you want my opinion, is that it is caused by lack of confidence. Doubt about the quality of the writing you will manage to tap out, doubt about the quality of the writing you have managed to tap out, and doubt that you will ever manage to tap anything out again.

For me, this seems to be the cause. When I know I have a strong topic to write about, I’m often eager to do the work to put out a solid piece of writing. The issue comes with the fact that this is not so easy as I might like it to be.

Sometimes I’ll worry that what I thought was a great idea yesterday really isn’t so today. Sometimes I’ll worry that I won’t be able to do justice to this great idea. Sometimes I just can’t seem to make a single sentence that seems coherent when read.

I can’t escape the feeling that writer’s block is a natural part of the process. I doubt that you could find a person in the world who hasn’t at one time or another suffered from writer’s block, or it’s good friend procrastination.

For me, and many others as well, procrastination is engendered by fear that what will actually be produced won’t be worth the time that has been spent on it. For that reason, I tend to hold off as long as possible–that way any perceived lack of quality can be justified by an artificial lack of time.

Few things cure either writer’s block or procrastination better than deadlines. The trouble is, they have to be substantial and useful deadline. They have to be deadlines that you as the procrastinator actually are concerned by. An artificial deadline that you create, one that you know to be artificial will never work.

What’s needed is a deadline enforcement system. A service that will hold you to your deadlines. When you fail them you will begin losing things that are valuable to you. Maybe they could begin to drain your savings account. Maybe that could rough you up. Maybe they could just be really disappointed in you.

I don’t know why such a service doesn’t exist. Perhaps I’ll make it.The trouble is I have to create it. Creating an anti-procrastination service without an anti-procrastination service? This may be the most difficult test a procrastinator could ever undertake.

Standard
personal, ruminations

The Lives of Dogs

I will admit it: I am not the world’s best dog owner. In an average week, Lucky probably goes on no more than four walks. Surely this record isn’t atrocious enough to merit calling the local humane society, but it’s not too good either.

And I get the impression from Lucky that it’s abysmal. When it’s been more than 24 hours, he starts to follow me around, getting in my way and generally doing all he can to make sure I notice him. When I walk around the house, he runs ahead of me rather than ambling after me.

Generally, Lucky’s a pretty mellow dog. He doesn’t hate lying around on his giant pillow. But when he knows he’s going for a walk, he is probably the single most excitable dog on earth. I’ve never considered this more than a funny problem, after all, Lucky doesn’t weight much more than 20 pounds fully grown.

Where a bigger dog could pull you down the street with his excitement, Lucky is only able to make it clear that he’d like to go a little faster, or that he’d like a little more time to investigate this smell. If I disagree with his request, we still do what I want.

But it’s his excitement about getting a walk that sometimes makes me wonder. After all, the only other high point in the day of an average dog is when he gets fed. I would guess that he enjoys it when people pet him, but I’ve never been able to shake the possibility that he allows that out some feeling of obligation.

Some would argue that he must enjoy it, after all, he often takes the opportunity to show his appreciation by licking any accessible human flesh. But I can’t shake the feeling that he just likes the taste. Maybe that’s why he lets me pet him, so he can lick my arm or face as I do it.

I find it moderately disturbing, this dependence. The dog’s whole life depends on me. He has few joys that I don’t bring him, few disappointments that I don’t cause–usually by accidentally saying the world “walk” when I don’t mean it.

This dependence is even stranger in its reflection not on the dogs, but on dog owners. After all, we owners of animals chose to get them, from the Humane Society or the pet store; these animals make no choice of us.

So what is it? Why do we own dogs? Have cats? I can’t avoid the feeling that we like to be depended upon. After all, even when no one seems to care where you are, your pet has to. His or her existence depends upon yours. And the contingent nature of his existence helps to make your life more important.

I suppose this is why we fear the “cat lady,” why we fear becoming her. She has to reassure herself of her worth because no other human would. No one called to check up on her. Wondered where she had gone.

Or maybe she just likes cats. Maybe I just like my dog.

Standard
personal

The Yellowest Sun

Yesterday was the Fourth of July. Today, the Fifth of July, I’m remembering the best part of that Wednesday. And though it came around dusk, it was not fireworks. Loud man-made explosions are interesting, yes, but rarely so beautiful as the things we can’t control.

Yesterday, as it got toward dusk, cloud seemed to flood the sky. And though it looked a fair bit like rain, none fell.

But the colors you get on clouds over Colorado at sunset are truly breathtaking. Yesterday was no exception.

I stood outside on the driveway to see. To the far left the sky was a late afternoon shade of blue. A little to the right, the first clouds I could see were only a shade darker. But as we swept toward the middle of the frame, the sky hit a deep and vibrant purple. Purple of a color you love to see in the sky, where it clearly doesn’t belong.

Further on, the purple faded to a light shade of pink. Salmon colored.

Further on, as we got as far right as we could see, the sky was yellower than it’s ever been. And I say this knowing that the yellow of last night was oranger than most yellows, but brighter and more vibrant than I’d ever seen.

I felt certain, though I couldn’t see him, that behind these clouds the sun was smiling. He was smiling, content that he’d made something so beautiful. That the clouds had been there to help.

Such events can lead a man to ask questions. Who can I thank for this? How can I deserve this? Is someone making this? Is pollution making these colors so bright?

But mostly, it just leaves us rapt in awe. And there are few better states than that.

I assure you, Texas doesn’t come close.

Standard
big ideas, personal, USA

Happy Wednesday!

Holidays should never be recognized by anything but the day of the week on which they fall. This way, we give the day no credence beyond it’s own merit as a day of the week.

We can know that today is supposed to be Independence Day, which of late has come to mean little more than grilling, fireworks and alcohol. But we cannot tell others that we know this fact. We can only tell them that this is a good Wednesday.

They will think we are odd for telling them this. But we will know that some Wednesdays are good. And some Wednesdays are bad. Some Wednesdays are just average. Wednesdays tend to vary in this manner. There is no way to impose order on our Wednesdays.

Sometimes the Wednesdays that others think are truly special turn out not to be. Sometimes Wednesdays that no one else thinks are special really are.

We tell them “Happy Wednesday!” because we know this is true.

They laugh at us because they have forgotten this truth.

Standard
big ideas, personal

On Time

If there’s one thing I wish for, it would be a pause button. I wouldn’t have exclusive control. But it would be a pause button that would allow myself, and everyone else in the world, time for some serious contemplation and soul-searching with no remorse over the time we’re not spending on other things. I think I, and probably others as well, need to spend more unfettered time doing things that should be done and not worrying about all the things that we don’t really need to do.

I often feel, and I doubt I am alone on this, that if I take a week, or even a day, to just pause away from everything and try to figure it all out, that I am by my inaction harming my own future, or those of others. That by my contemplative inaction I am somehow failing my own potential.

I have to say that when I am fully alone, I am less acutely aware of this feeling of waste than when I am with others. Others who are by day or night doing things. It doesn’t much matter to me what those things are, but I regret my not doing them. Whether that is a reflection of some facet of myself, the others, or a combination of the two is something I will have to leave for another time.

The real crux of this issue is that there is so much I don’t know that could influence how I would act in the coming day if I only knew it. If I better knew how other people had made a positive impact on the world I would be better able to make one myself. If I better knew how people got the job I want, I could take the steps necessary to get it. Rather, I am stuck in the predicament of feeling like I am dallying if I do the research I think could help the process, and feeling like I’m rushing into the field without adequate preparation if I am acting.

I have to admit that though it is not a feeling that only I have, the solution will not cannot come from outside. For until, and possibly even after, scientists discover a way to make our bodies need less sleep, I can say with nearly complete certainty that we’ll always have this feeling when I feel the need to spend some time just thinking.

The fact is that we can’t stop. The world will not stop cold simply so that we can have the time to learn all it’s facets. Our lives will not stop cold simply because we desire them to. We have no choice but to move forward. Doing what we can along the way to assure that we are doing it the best way we can.

That is reality. Like it or not, there’s no way to change it.

Standard
lists, personal

Tagged! or Eight Things about Me

Glendon, of The Flying Trilobite, was kind enough to invite me to play a little game of tag. Believing that we should play as many games as possible, I’m going to play. But I’ll follow the rules only by half. I am too lazy to ever follow rules exactly.

So, here are the rules, as I read them.

  1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
  2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
  3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
  4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
  5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Before I begin, I have to call to mind a quote which seems terribly relevant:

We confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no large ones. — Francois de La Rochefoucauld

And now, eight things. About my childhood and the animals we had.

  1. I am a twin. A fraternal twin. My twin sister is named Julie. No, we do not look the same. Yes we are the same age. I am one minute older, at least according to all I’ve been told.
  2. In the seventh grade I bought a budgie. His name was Petey. He died this past year, and I have to admit to a degree of neglect in his care. We were never very close.
  3. When I was five, my guinea pig died. Because there were a number of other kids in the room when I discovered this fact, my mother told me that he was just sleeping. For better or worse, believing her made it harder when I learned the truth.
  4. In the third grade, I was (de)pan(t)sed (PS: what a strange word…). An older kid told me that he could make me feel like I was flying if I closed my eyes and stuck out my arms. I believed him. And found my pants at my ankles.
  5. We had a turtle once. A red-eared slider. Named Michaelangelo. After the Ninja Turtle, not the painter. We didn’t really care for him well so my parents gave him to some family friends who seemed to be more interested in him.
  6. I lived in Ann Arbor, Michigan for one year. While I was in first grade. I had glasses for as long as we were there. No one I knew then knows that I don’t wear glasses. No one in my hometown ever knew I wore them.
  7. We used to have a rather large bird. He was bigger than a budgie, but I’ve forgotten what the species was called. He was green. He used to like the Beach Boys’ song, “Barbara Anne,” or was we knew it “bob bobber an.” He’d pump his head up and down whenever we played it for him. So would we.
  8. We used to have goldfish. Every year, we’d go to the school’s fair and get new ones. And every year, there was one big fish. And he’d always seem to last longer than the new ones. We suspected he intimidated them, maybe even attacked them. When he died we didn’t get any more fish.
Standard
personal

From the Past: To My Teachers, Thank You

I wrote this thank you letter soon after I graduated from high school is 2004. It’s interesting to me again as I’ve been thinking back over my now finished education. I’m not too happy that I never to sent the letter to all my teachers; I had a list drawn up but I never got to it. My only hope is that one day find the energy to send them all, or that one day they find this page.

An open letter to all who have been a part of my education:

I know I was never the most attentive student, or the most open, but have no doubt that in looking back, I am extremely grateful. Further, I know that I wasn’t always the most able pupil, though some of you were kind enough to think otherwise. For this too, I am thankful.

I’ve learned a lot from you. And I hope to continue to learn, for the rest of my life. I hope you will all take pride in any of my successes. As for my failures, don’t hesitate to blame them on my (many) personal flaws. I hope, more than anything, that you realize the supreme positive impact that you have had on me, and all other students whose lives you have touched.

Once again, thank you all for tolerating my foolish little games. Thank you for your patience in dealing with a sometimes uninterested and disruptive student. Thank you for deciding to dedicate your life to educating young people. For this, the world is forever in your debt.

With Admiration,

David Hayes

Standard