This is a continuation of yesterday’s post, shamelessly split in two in an attempt to build up a buffer.
The second issue I had, and one that was hard to articulate (politely, at least) while at school, is that a lot of architects seem to be really full of themselves.
What do I mean by that? The answer is multifaceted, and a lot of it has to do with why I don’t like literary analysis. But before we dig into it, here’s a picture of Le Corbusier with Albert Einstein:
As many of you probably know, I graduated with a degree in architecture last year. As you may also know (or at least been able to figure out), I am not working in my “chosen field.” Instead, I spent a couple months unemployed immediately following graduation, and then managed to find a basic retail job, which I have been at since. I have looked for jobs in architecture, but the sea of “entry level” internships asking (and getting) 3-5 years’ experience was discouraging, to say the least. But one nice thing about a mind-numbing job is it gives you plenty of time to think.
And I’m starting to wonder if architecture is really what I want to do after all.
One of the perks of being an introvert and spending so much (read: too much) time in one’s own head, is that you can’t help but end up with some semblance of self-awareness. This, coupled with my goal of writing every day (and thus having to find subjects to talk about), has kept me thinking. Especially about my Funks. In fact, I may have discovered one of my triggers.
About a week and a half ago, while assailed by a Funk, I wrote about all the things I felt I didn’t have time to do, and how that was stressing me out. Now that I have clawed my way free of that Funk (realizing how silly you’re being works!), I can approach things a bit more rationally. Obviously, not all of the things I listed were “projects” in the sense that they have a deadline, or even a possible end. But I was not thinking straight, and could only see how much I “had” to do, in contrast with how little time or energy I had to do it (at that moment).
But now that I’m out of that Funk, I’ve started thinking about some of those things, primarily my teaching efforts in the SCA. I realized that I had lumped together two different projects, both with the potential to be quite large, and at very different stages of progress.
Getting fencing drills back up and running is something I’ve been thinking about for quite a while. It’s taken me at least this long to get comfortable with the new style, and I’ve been brainstorming curriculum for about a month. It’s gotten to a point where I feel I can do some beta testing with small groups, and responses seem to be good so far. Case in point: last week I was planning on leading drills for a few people, around three. Eight ended up showing up. Even the week before, when I had just been testing the drills with my girlfriend (to make sure they made sense to someone other than me), I ended up talking with other people about them. I’ve gotten some good feedback, and hope to start “official” drills next week/month (tell your friends!).
Heavy, on the other hand, is in a different place. The (current) drive for these drills seems to largely have been sparked by the Oplomachia seminar last month. And while it was awesome, Oplomachia is effectively a new fighting style, similar but not identical to what has developed locally. As a result, I found myself in a position of having to rush to learn things enough to be comfortable teaching them. That hasn’t really happened; I know enough to realize how much I don’t know, and I feel it would be unprofessional to lead people astray through uninformed but well-intentioned instruction on my part.
To prepare two wholly separate curricula would be difficult at the best of times, let alone when you’re still in the process of learning one yourself. So I think I would be doing both efforts a disservice if I continued both efforts equally. As such, I feel I need to step back from the development of heavy drills and concentrate on the fencing ones, since those were farther along to start.
That is not to say I won’t be doing and facilitating drills in heavy, just that I don’t feel comfortable at this point leading them. For my own peace of mind, I need to let things stew and develop a bit more. Maybe in a few month’s time I’ll have enough experience that my feelings will change, but for the time being I feel I need to be a student more than a teacher. Luckily there are other experienced fighters (my knight included) that want to see more training and drilling happen that there is already enough impetus to make sure these things happen.
So in summary: I will continue to lead fencing drills, and will participate (but not necessarily direct) in heavy drills for the foreseeable future.
Hope to see you there!
You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. —Tyler Durden
Today’s quote is a little bit different than yesterday’s, but speaks to another issue I have.
You are not your job.
I have a strong innate tendency to define myself by what I do for a living, both internally and the way I present myself to others. When I was in school, I was obviously a student. When I worked at DU after graduation, I was an A/V technician. I’ve even been a martial arts instructor.
But now?
Now I work retail.
I think it goes without saying that my current job is not one I dreamed about growing up. Somehow, I ended up with a stigma attached to menial, low-end jobs, and having to take one really did a number on my self-confidence and self-image. Did I really want to think of myself as a cart pusher? As a warehouse stocker? As a retail grunt?
That’s when I realized: I am not my job. If I let what I “do for a living” define me, I am limiting myself, putting myself in someone else’s nice, convenient box. And that is no way to achieve fulfillment, or even adequacy. I can be so much more that a retail grunt in a dead end job, but if I limit myself to that mental box there is no way I’m going to be happy. When in the box, any free time or energy gets directed towards inner escapism, to dull the pain the cramped quarters of the box enforce.
I’ve heard it said that our habit of breaking the conversational ice by asking something along the lines of “What do you do for a living?” is a uniquely American question. We, as a culture, derive so much of our self-worth from what we “do for a living,” how we make our money, to buy our things, to escape our dull, meaningless jobs. I’m guilty of this myself, both the self-definition and asking that question; it provides an easy opener to find some common ground.
But why does it have to be that way? One thing being in the SCA has taught (and is teaching) me is how little that mundane, day-to-day life has to matter. In the SCA, you have rocket scientists sitting next to truck drivers, discussing the best way to hit a man in the head, while a scary biker dune (who might be a middle school teacher) knits a cap for one of the children running around. Heck, I have friends in the SCA that I have no idea what they do for a living! It’s of that little importance!
So yeah, I stock shelves. But I am also a martial artist, a writer, a gamer, and might just have a small LEGO problem. I am not my job.
And neither are you.
You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. —Tyler Durden
Today’s quote is a little bit different than yesterday’s, but speaks to another issue I have.
You are not your job.
I have a strong innate tendency to define myself by what I do for a living, both internally and the way I present myself to others. When I was in school, I was obviously a student. When I worked at DU after graduation, I was an A/V technician. I’ve even been a martial arts instructor.
But now?
Now I work retail.
I think it goes without saying that my current job is not one I dreamed about growing up. Somehow, I ended up with a stigma attached to menial, low-end jobs, and having to take one really did a number on my self-confidence and self-image. Did I really want to think of myself as a cart pusher? As a warehouse stocker? As a retail grunt?
That’s when I realized: I am not my job. If I let what I “do for a living” define me, I am limiting myself, putting myself in someone else’s nice, convenient box. And that is no way to achieve fulfillment, or even adequacy. I can be so much more that a retail grunt in a dead end job, but if I limit myself to that mental box there is no way I’m going to be happy. When in the box, any free time or energy gets directed towards inner escapism, to dull the pain the cramped quarters of the box enforce.
I’ve heard it said that our habit of breaking the conversational ice by asking something along the lines of “What do you do for a living?” is a uniquely American question. We, as a culture, derive so much of our self-worth from what we “do for a living,” how we make our money, to buy our things, to escape our dull, meaningless jobs. I’m guilty of this myself, both the self-definition and asking that question; it provides an easy opener to find some common ground.
But why does it have to be that way? One thing being in the SCA has taught (and is teaching) me is how little that mundane, day-to-day life has to matter. In the SCA, you have rocket scientists sitting next to truck drivers, discussing the best way to hit a man in the head, while a scary biker dune (who might be a middle school teacher) knits a cap for one of the children running around. Heck, I have friends in the SCA that I have no idea what they do for a living! It’s of that little importance!
So yeah, I stock shelves. But I am also a martial artist, a writer, a gamer, and might just have a small LEGO problem. I am not my job.
And neither are you.
“The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel. —Steven Furtick
That one simple quote sums up a lot of what I’ve been trying to say recently, and a lot of what I’ve been dealing with.
I don’t know about you, but I spend a lot of time in my own head. I think about what to say, what I have said, what I could have said, what I should have said, etc. To say nothing about what I “should” do or haven’t done. I spend enough time there that I know (no pretense of rationality for this next bit) just how ramshackle my veneer of competence really is. I live with me, warts and all. And because I am so reflective, I tend to go over and over the same things time and again until the ruts start to deepen and I’m stuck brooding.
When I look at other people, of course, I don’t see that brooding and double thinking; how could I? Unless they share their thoughts (which we are most definitely socially programmed to avoid), I am forced to take things as I see them. Which is of course distorted by my own skewed brooding.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: everyone has issues. We just usually don’t see someone else’s as clearly as we see our own. They have the option of editing and choosing what mask to present to the world, whereas it is hard to truly hide anything from ourselves (not impossible, but the road of denial and self-delusion is a slippery one).
Through this blog, I have lifted the veil ever so slightly to let you see behind my scenes. Perhaps a bit too much. But I am starting to realize that my view of myself is really quite skewed. I’ve been critiquing myself and my rough drafts (of writing, of decisions, of anything) with others’ final, production-grade work. After all, most of the work that goes into things is invisible. In this light, it’s inevitable that one would feel inadequate.
It’s not going to be easy, to change the way I think about myself. In fact, I expect I will fail repeatedly, losing perspective. But I plan to keep on trying, keep on remembering that just because I’m closer to my own issues doesn’t mean they’re actually any bigger. But I will remember to try to keep things in perspective. And if when I need a kick in the pants, I’ll count on my friends to give it to me.
Literally or figuratively. It’s your choice.
I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been kind of a downer lately, both on this blog and in person. But I’m starting to become amused with the ridiculousness of my angsty state of mind, and I take that as a good sign. One that means I’m once again coming out of a Funk.
Sure, my life isn’t ideal. I have a lame job that barely pays the bills, which leaves me too tired to do anything productive. I’m struggling to get ahead on the credit card debt I have, and I’ve got a whole bunch of student loans that at the current rate won’t be paid off for at least several decades. The free time I do manage to eke out is spent either in a mindless haze or falling behind on the myriad projects I have up in the air, ones that are mostly just good for feeling guilty about neglecting. I’ve got a host of psychological issues and hangups, more than I let on even on this blog or to my girlfriend.
It’s enough to make one want to curl up in a ball and ignore the outside world.
But you know what? Screw that noise. Even though I know the moment won’t last, I’m fed up with feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I’m not perfect. Yeah, I could be doing more to better my situation. But all thoughts like that do is make me feel like a failure, and for what? Someone’s idealized view of “who you’re supposed to be?” I don’t know where this baggage came from (we can probably blame society), but I’m sick of it. And I’m sick of not being able to get rid of it.
I’ve noticed that my writing here has a tendency to reinforce whatever mood I’m in. In other words, if I’m depressed and turn to writing to vent, I just get more depressed. I originally thought that writing might help me move through emotions, but that’s not the case for now. So, I’m going to make a declaration. I will most likely fall short, but I want to try to keep the “poor me” entries to a minimum. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop writing about my issues (people did seem to respond well to my sharing), but I will attempt to do so with a more objective detachment.
So yeah, my situation sucks, and life is pain (anyone who says differently is selling something). So what? The least I can do is try to be happy by my own standards.
Consider this entry a Public Service Announcement, as well as a rant about First World Problems.
A few weeks ago, my oh-so-high-tech flip phone started acting up. When opened, the screen would be distorted and filled with all manner of glitchy colors. The first time this happened I thought nothing of it. Even the second time, I was able to rationalize it away. After all, it had only happened at work, and could usually be fixed with a quick Open-Close-Open sequence. Maybe if I ignored the problem, it would go away.
But of course, it didn’t go away. In fact, it started to worsen. The screen started glitching while I was at home, and eventually I had to turn it off and on again to be able to see anything. After a while, even that stopped working; now, when I flip open my phone, all I see is a bright white screen.
Long story short, my phone is borked. It’s probably a problem with the screen connection, and given that I have a 4-year-old flip phone, that’s not exactly unexpected. And since my cell phone is the only phone I have, this has the potential to be a serious issue. Luckily, it still makes and receives calls. But since I can’t use the screen, I can’t exactly read or reply to any texts, which have become a surprisingly handy means of communication for me, given the awkward input of a numpad.
I repeat: any texts you send me will go unread and unanswered.
I suppose I’ve been talking about upgrading to a smartphone for a while, and this would be a great opportunity to do so. The problem is, I can’t afford it. I’m still on my family’s calling plan, which was great while in grad school. But I’ve wanted to get my own plan for a while, mostly for my own peace of mind. The problem with that is there’s a significant jump in monthly fees if I go solo, even for basic calling plans. And with a budget already stretched tight by underemployment, credit card bills, and student loan payments, that’s just not realistic. Plus, I’m not sure I would want to sign a two-year contract for a basic phone; I’d like to think that my financial situation will improve, and I can get a smartphone to tinker with in the not-too-distant future.
So where does that leave me? Well, I could find a used phone on Craigslist or eBay and activate that. I could also look at one of the “alternative” carriers that offer prepaid service at a steep discount. I hear it’s pretty easy to transfer your number these days. There’s even some unique companies out there, like Republic Wireless, which offers smartphone plans on the cheap with the expectation that you spend most of your time on wifi. Interesting concept, but I’m not sure if it would be too much of a compromise. That, and I don’t like making decisions.
So yeah. Does anyone have any experience with any of the smaller carriers, like Boost, Cricket, Straight Talk, etc.? Or even (I kinda hate to ask) an old Verizon phone they’re no longer using?
Hey, guess what? I actually had the weekend off work! Sure, I had to request it, but I managed to get both days even though I only requested the one. That probably makes me happier than it should, but as a result, I was able to go to MileHiCon.
MileHiCon is an annual science fiction convention in Denver (the “Mile High City.” Get it?) in late October. There’s usually a weekend’s worth of programming, from panels about various nerdy interests (one this year was about J.J. Abrams and his effect on Star Trek and Star Wars, or as I called it, “Nerd Rage Cricle-Jerk), to tips and tricks for burgeoning writers and costumers. And like any event filled with cool stuff, there are inevitably multiple interesting things to go to in one time slot.
I’ve gone to several MileHiCons at this point, and have had fun at each one. Especially fun has been going in costume; although MileHiCon isn’t a big one for hall costumes, you still see a few interesting ones around. This year, for instance, I went as a steampunk mad scientist à la Doctor Steel or Doctor Horrible. Fun fact: I made the costume myself! The coat was originally a pattern for a priest’s cassock, and the goggles are actually paper and cardboard tubes. But what’s really awesome is the working iris, also made out of paper!
Tasty Ice Cream… FOR SCIENCE!
So Saturday, I and my group of friends went in costume. We ended up getting stopped for photos quite often, but that’s part of the experience of going to cons in costumes. I only made it to a few panels (one tends to get talking to friends for long stretches of time), but I did get to a fun one about mad scientists and what makes them mad rather than just frustrated or miffed. One of the panelists had quite the plan to destroy the earth. You should probably keep your vaccinations current (not that it would help). All in all, it was a fun day hanging out with my friends.
But Sunday was really fun. I hadn’t been to MileHiCon more than one day in the past, mostly because the programming seemed more sparse, and on a student’s budget (both time and money) things added up quickly. The main feature is the Critter Crunch, a long-running robot competition in the vein of BattleBots.
It. Was. Awesome.
We watched both tournaments: the 2-lb and the 20-lb divisions. I wish I remembered more details, but it was really fun watching remote control machines thrash about trying to knock each other out of the ring. By the end, we were even critiquing design decisions and fighting philosophies: fast, light and agile; or slow, heavy, and stable. Both had advantages and disadvantages, and there were a lot of interesting battles that didn’t go the way I would have expected. It was so awesome, in fact, it got me and my engineer friends itching to try it for ourselves. After all, we all need another expensive, time-consuming hobby.
I know this entry is really short, and ended up glossing over a lot of the things I wanted to talk about, but it’s my blog, so deal with it. Just know that I had a really good time at MileHiCon, and if you didn’t make it, you really missed out. Especially the Critter Crunch.
I’m starting to realize that the majority of my psychological hangups result from the dissonance between who I am and who I (for some reason) think I should be. I’m not sure where these unrealistic expectations come from; the are likely self-imposed, but why? And is the assumption they’re self-imposed itself irrational? I feel like if I could know where these problems come from I could take steps to eradicate them. But since I don’t know where to start looking, and since I know I am somewhat biased when it comes to looking at myself (whether positively or negatively is left as an exercise for the reader), this is problematic.
Some issues are easy to articulate. For instance: I seem to lack a certain level of self-discipline, one which for some reason I feel like I should have achieved somewhere along the line during my years of martial arts training. I tend to hang out and socialize with people older than me, and often feel guilty that I haven’t “gotten as far” as they have (completely discounting their head start). Others are more arcane, like the feeling that I’m merely spinning my wheels on the path of life, or the guilt associated with doing something that isn’t “productive.”
Now, I am not saying that these hangups are rational. Intellectually, I understand that pretty much everyone else is floundering around as helplessly as I feel I am. But getting those nagging voices inside your head to shut up because of that is easier said than done.
The past few days (since I ranted about having too much to do) have been good, and I’ve been feeling better. I’m working to accept the fact that I don’t always have to be “productive,” and that my definition of “productive” likely needs to change. Does it make me happy? Does it fulfill one of my needs or wants? Then those activities should be considered just as productive as writing an essay. I’m also trying to curtail my perfectionism, which exacerbates all the issues outlined above (as well as others). It’s a slow journey, as the discouraging Funk waiting below whispers in my voice.
But The Funk lies. It is a part of me, true, just as it is a part of every human. But it does not need to be Me. It does not need to drive, or dictate policies that have no rational basis in reality. Even if attempts to silence the voice ring hollow, the effort must be made.
Hi, my name is Josh, and I am messed up human.