Category Archives: Philosophy

Gaming And Me

Video games and I have an interesting relationship.

When I was a kid, my parents limited the amount of time I could play video games to two 30-minute sessions a day. Later I was given the option of playing for one 45 minute period instead of two half hours, but for many years I experienced the worlds of Mario, Link, and others in short spurts. I don’t begrudge my parents this restriction; it made sure I kept up with my other hobbies (like LEGO) and got outside every once in a while (even if it was merely to go read under a tree).

But as I grew older, these restrictions lifted. I think it was some time in high school, although there was never a formal discussion about it. I just gradually began to control my own timing, playing as much (or as little) as I wanted. But my previous restrictions did at least instill in me the importance of limitation, of not binging to the point of excess. I still had responsibilities, after all: homework to do, chores to complete, a part time job to keep up with.

And I think the way I approach video games even to this day is still informed by the habits I learned then. Obviously, I’m now the sole master of my schedule. I’m free of the tyranny of homework that always seemed to threaten my “free” time as a student, and I often spend my days off either on the couch or in front of my computer, chipping away at the fairly enormous backlog I’ve managed to accrue over the years. And while those days are fun, I still feel slightly guilty indulging in them.

Why, I wonder? After all, shouldn’t I be able to freely choose what to do with my free time as long as the necessities are taken care of and accounted for? Isn’t that one of the privileges of being an adult?

Growing up, video games were a treat, a novelty. Something that was purely leisure time, but not some worthy cultural pursuit like reading or going to a museum. But is this view still valid? One need only do a quick Google search to see that the “Are video games art?” discussion is alive and well. Is the time invested consuming one type of creative work (e.g., a novel) inherently better than another type (e.g., video games)? I think that I’ve internalized a sense that video games are “worth less,” somehow or other. And I’m not sure if I still agree with those implications.

I look at my backlog, and realize there’s no way I’m going to work my way through it if I continue to view video games as a way of postponing “real” work (whatever that means), or if I continue to feel guilty about my enjoyment. After all, most of the games in my collection are ones that I was interested in playing for some reason or other. Why shouldn’t I enjoy my time with them?

And that’s the crux of the matter, I think: I’ve been viewing gaming as a way of avoiding doing something else, of procrastinating. When I game it’s often because I don’t want to do the dishes or look for a job (to use completely random examples), not because I want to enjoy the artfully crafted experience of the game itself.

So maybe that’s the solution. Maybe a way I can feel less guilty about playing video games is if I’m more conscious about it. Playing video games because I want to play, not because I don’t want to [something]. It’s an interesting thought, and one I’ll have to investigate further. And what better way to do that than trying to do so on my day off tomorrow!

Day Shifting

One thing that’s interesting about working early mornings is I have a good portion of my afternoons free. Generally, I’ve used this time to decompress (read: surf the Internet and play video games). But lately, I’ve had a series of projects I’ve been working on that hasn’t let me get the downtime I usually do. I’ve been productive, but it’s left me feeling pretty exhausted. Although that might also be the seven consecutive work days I’ve put in recently.

I was thinking about how tired and drained I’ve been feeling, and actually started to feel a bit guilty. After all, most of my friends have to work until 5pm or so, while I get at least three hours of the afternoon each day to lounge about. Shouldn’t I be celebrating my good fortune? Am I completely off base with my complaints, in a way that’s not going to garner much sympathy?

So there I was, feeling guilty for feeling drained, just because I had had a few days where I wasn’t able to zone out in front of a screen. But I was missing a very important detail during the self-flagellation: when I (or my friends) had to be at work. True, being home by 2pm would be a pretty sweet deal, if it didn’t entail having to get up at 4am. It’s not that I don’t have more downtime, it’s just that my downtime tends to be in the daylight hours.

The more I toyed with this idea, the more I realized it was true. Even my own experience held up the theory. When I wasn’t working ungodly hours, I regularly stayed up past midnight, reading, playing, what have you. I could sleep in more, which meant I could stay up later. I got to mess around after dinner, rather than after lunch.

And a large part of me still thinks about my schedule that way. I’ve only been doing the early morning thing for a little over a year, which isn’t much time in the grand scheme of things. I still think of the afternoon as “work time,” regardless of whether I’m actually working or not. And if I do end up working on something, like a personal project, web design, or teaching myself how to code, I’m effectively extending my work day to over 12 hours. After which I basically have to start winding down for the night. No wonder I feel drained.

So that’s where my exhausted mind has gone lately. From feeling bad about feeling drained, to realizing that I actually do have a legitimate reason to feel that way. It just takes the right frame of reference.

Be Proud Of Your Work

I took some time today to re-paint my shields. I needed to replace the edging anyway, so I decided to touch up some of the scrapes and dings while I was at it. The summer event season is starting up, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt for my kit to be in good repair.

I don’t paint much, and luckily my device is relatively simple and geometric. But as I crouched in the back “yard” (it’s mostly gravel and concrete) I had plenty of time to think. After all, it doesn’t take much brainpower to fill in big sections with a single color, especially when you’ve taped off the borders. And as I worked, my thoughts turned to darker paths.

I started thinking about how I don’t paint much. How my skills are really rudimentary, especially compared to some of my friends. Artist friends. Friends who paint for a living. People that would put me to shame using only their off-hand pinky finger. I mean, I was just slathering paint around on with no finesse, using a cheap brush that never seemed to get fully clean. Was I just wasting my time? Was I going to embarrass myself with the crap I produced?

These thoughts bounced around my head for a few minutes, even as I continued to paint. But then I realized something. I realized that in the end, these were my shields. My equipment. As such, they should be a reflection of my work and my capabilities. Who cares if it isn’t “good?” It’s more important to me that I can look at something and say “See that? I made it myself.” That I can take pride in my craftsmanship. That I have something that is mine, that is wholly unique to me and my own experience.

Sure, you may think I may be putting too much thought into a piece of sports equipment whose sole purpose is to get hit so that I don’t. But I’ve often said that everyone hates their own work, so this epiphany was quite shocking to me. Usually I look at what I’ve done (written, drawn, built, etc.) and can’t help but see all the little mistakes, the places I could have spent a bit more time, the shortcuts and compromises. Assuming I take the time to look back at it at all.

If the only takeaway from this article is “I had a dark thought, but managed to say ‘Screw that noise,’” then I guess that’s enough. But I hope that any of you that might have similar issues of taking pride in your own work can take some solace as well. Whatever you manage to create is unique only to you, in ways you may not be able to see. And that’s awesome.

On Belts and Teachers

Even though I’ve been a martial artist since I was seven years old, I don’t take much time these days to think about the philosophy of martial arts. But a recent article by Syr Gemini called “The Black Belt Myth” got me thinking again. It’s a very interesting read, and while some of the concepts were ones I had come across before, it did help put things back into perspective.

In the article, Syr Gemini addresses the popular culture myth that a black belt is some exalted master worthy of a place amongst the greatest mountaintop sages. But rather, a black belt is someone who has achieved a “basic level of competence.” In my own martial arts experience, we were taught that a black belt is not necessarily a “master,” just a “master of the basics.”

I also appreciated the fact that he addressed the perception as black belts (or knights, or dons, or other “master”-level practitioners) as teachers. While a high rank implies a certain level of competence, it does not in and of itself instill an ability to teach or be understood. Not everyone can teach; some people just can’t break things down into easily-digestible chunks, or be critical in a productive manner while still being encouraging. I do disagree, however, with his sentiment that non-black belts (or squires, or cadets, etc.) should not be teaching. When I was practicing taekwondo, it was common for more advanced students to assist in teaching lower-ranked ones. While a black belt instructor still led the class, this was viewed as a good way to develop leadership skills, as well as gain a better understanding of the curriculum. After all, if you ever want to really make sure you understand something, try teaching it to someone else. I also think that, while not everyone is a natural teacher, most people can bring a unique perspective to things that may make more sense to some students than others.

Like I said, this article really made me think about being a black belt for the first time in a while. I was only 11 years old(!) when I tested for my first degree black belt, and I don’t think I truly understood what that meant. I continued training, and I’d like to think I gained a better understanding of that as time went on. But one thing I haven’t really done is think of knighthood (the SCA’s closest equivalent to a black belt for heavy fighting) in that context.

Knighthood, at least from my perspective from the outside, is an interesting hybrid. Of course you have the martial aspects, which correlate strongly to the black belt’s “mastery of the basics.” But there is also a cultural prestige associated with the award. Knights are viewed as leaders and teachers, upholding the ideals of chivalry and the Society itself.

I guess one thing I’ve struggled with is thinking of knighthood like I do being a black belt, especially as a “master of the basics.” I often feel I’m not “good enough” to be a knight, since there are much better fighters out there than me. After all, if it’s a martial award, shouldn’t a candidate display the proper level of marital prowess? I’ve slipped into the trap of thinking of knighthood (or being a black belt, or don, etc.) as being a “master,” rather than a “master of the basics.” And those are two very different things. Mastery implies that the journey is done, that the accomplishment has been achieved. Mastery of the basics, however, implies that the journey, rather than ending, can finally begin. And that opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

Productive Or Happy?

I really need to get my feet back under me when it comes to blogging. The past week or so, I’ve been mostly just writing filler stuff, using so many words to say “I don’t know what to write about.” I’m talking, but I don’t know if I’m saying anything interesting.

But today, oddly enough, I’m okay with that.

I have days where my lack of productivity bothers me. Where I feel the full force of internalized societal expectations. You probably know those voices. They’re the ones that call you a slacker if you sit at your computer all day. That look down their noses at you if you play video games all afternoon in your underwear. That sigh when almost two years later you’re still stuck at your “temporary” retail job. That give you grief for not “doing anything.”

And you know what? Screw those voices.

I’ll admit, I find myself listening to them more often than not. But every once in a while I find a state of mind where those concerns just wash over me. At those times I get the closest to an all-encompassing happiness that I can remember.

I sometimes wonder if my martial arts training, with its emphasis on self-control and perseverance, doesn’t sometimes work against me. Do I really need to be strong and moving forward all the time? Or is it okay every once in a while to just lay back and be a bum enjoy life? That rigor can be great as an ideal, but I’m only human.

And that’s what it boils down to, and what I have such a hard time accepting: I’m only human. I make mistakes. I have limited energy reserves. I can’t do everything.

And that needs to be okay.

I’m not there yet, at least not all the time. It’s a scary thought, admitting you’d rather be happy than “productive,” especially when you’ve been taught that being productive makes you happy. After all, I can write a statement like that, but getting my mind to understand, accept, and grok that is a wholly different challenge. One that I’m not always sure how to tackle.

But I figure enjoying my rare days of clarity is a good place to start.

Feels

You know that job application I mentioned yesterday? Yeah, turns out I got myself worked up for nothing. I called the person like they asked, and ended up leaving a voicemail with some generic message service. I didn’t have to talk to anyone. I didn’t have to seem calm, confident, and competent. I didn’t have to pace restlessly around the apartment, gesturing with one hand while the other held my phone up to my ear. Instead I left an impression of my spoken words in the care of a soulless machine, hoping that maybe next time I can rise out of the slush pile of applications and actually get somewhere.

So it goes, eh?

But I did notice something interesting. Sure, I spent most of the day thinking about the phone call, working myself up to the point I was almost too nervous to go through with it. Sure, I probably ended up procrastinating a bit despite my best efforts. Sure, leaving a message was a bit anticlimactic. But you know what? It felt so good to actually have something to do, some purpose to fulfill that was outside my normal, day-to-day routine.

I think that relief and rut-breaking effect is tied to why the possibility of an opportunity was also so painful. We humans can get to a point where nearly anything becomes habitual, for good or for ill. In the latter case, it has to be some sort of coping mechanism. It’s like a chronic injury: if you were acutely aware of the pain all the time, 24/7, you’d probably go mad. Instead the body learns to tune out certain stimuli, so you may not notice the issue until something nudges the status quo. You pick up something wrong. Or something makes you consider how less than ideal your job situation is.

Sure, it would be easier to not feel that hope/despair whiplash I talked about yesterday. But it also felt good to have some sort of purpose today. It made me feel alive in a way stocking shelves and coming home too tired to do anything but sit in front of a monitor generally doesn’t.

Am I enjoying this vague feeling of purpose? Of course. But I know that it is fleeting, and will likely fade away, like the other job opportunities I’ve applied to that never panned out. Am I going to fixate on that hope, ensuring the despair is that much more crushing when the offer never comes? Of course not. Or, I’m at least going to try. I’ll instead enjoy what sense of purpose I have at the moment, not thinking about it too hard lest it scurry away or be crushed under the weight of my scrutiny.

But it is good to feel a bit human.

99% Invisible

Despite having gone to school for architecture, I don’t get many chances to indulge the design skills and passion I paid so much money to hone. For whatever reason, moving products around on retail shelves just doesn’t hold the same cachet. But I recently discovered a podcast that allows me to feel engaged in the world of design, however fleetingly: 99% Invisible.

99% Invisible is an independent radio show/podcast about design. Not just architecture, but about everything that is designed, and how it affects in ways we may not realize. Topics can vary from the importance of reading building plaques to stories about statues that are no longer there; from how engineers reversed the Chicago River to how Warsaw almost-but-not-quite recreated their historic Old Town after World War Two. It potentially covers anything in our world with some designed aspect; that is to say, everything.

The first few episodes are short (under five minutes), but later ones, as the producers become more familiar with the podcast format, can last 15 or even 30 minutes. The wide variety of topics covered keeps things interesting, and the people working on the show obviously love what they do. I get easily annoyed by people having “high concept” conversations where they read too much into simple decisions (it seems like just so much intellectual masturbation to me), but this show manages to be educational without being preachy or out of touch with reality

So if the philosophy of design interests you, or you just want to hear some of the stories behind things we take for granted, I can highly recommend this podcast. The one piece of criticism I would offer is that it’s discouraging to listen to intelligent discourse about design while stocking shelves and moving pallets, but that’s likely a personal problem. It just throws the contrast into too sharp of a relief to be comfortable.

Sorry, didn’t mean to be a downer, there. 99% Invisible: check it out. It’s fun and educational!

Freeing Realizations

Last week, I talked about how I thought knowing the cause of certain emotions could help me work through them. This week, I was given an example of how this actually does work. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but it’s definitely something I’ll have to keep in mind for the future.

The past few days at work, I had been having real problems with depression. For whatever reason, the menial, early-morning labor seemed even more soul-crushing than usual. I was worried that I would fall into a Funk that would completely destroy my drive and productivity for the rest of the week. And I really didn’t need that right now. Well, not that I ever really need it, but you know what I mean.

So I was all but resigned to my slide into a Funk when I stopped and asked myself: “Why?” Why was I feeling so out of it? Were there instances of any of the triggers I’ve discovered? Was it from brooding too much? I hadn’t really been thinking on things too much, so probably not. Was it fatigue and lack of sleep?

Hmm.

Well, I had gotten to sleep pretty late the past couple nights. One of the downsides to having to wake up at 4am is it’s really easy to stay up too late, especially when you’re naturally inclined to be a night owl. Going to bed at 9pm? You’d better be asleep in a few minutes if you don’t want to be screwed for the rest of the work week. Decide to read a few pages before going to sleep? Watch out, or the next thing you know it might be 10h30, and then you’re doomed!

Once I realized what had happened, I found my black mood lifting slightly. I could put a name (and thus a source) to my feelings. I wasn’t really depressed, I was just exhausted. True, this realization didn’t make me feel any more awake, but it did let me salvage what enjoyment I could out of the work day. I also realized that for me, depression and fatigue are two separate emotional states. True, they often overlap, and the latter can quite often trigger the former. But just because I’m tired doesn’t automatically mean that I’ll be depressed. The two states feel similar, don’t get me wrong. But they are not the same.

What else did I learn? Well, besides the joy caused by avoiding a Funk, I got even more evidence that my depression is not necessarily tied to events or emotional states. It is irrational, and while it can be triggered, there are probably times when it is not. I guess that’s what I was trying to get at when I referred to it as Other. As a result, I shouldn’t feel bad when depression does blindside me; it’s not necessarily my “fault” or something I did that triggered it.

Identifying triggers to accept the lack of them? Convoluted, but I’ll take it.

I Want To Know

Like everyone else, I have a lot of habits. I have foods that I like and eat regularly (mmm, Nutella…). I have social activities that I participate in weekly, like SCA practices and hanging out with my friends to watch bad movies on Friday nights. I read a lot. I tend to wake up and go to bed at the same time (work notwithstanding), at which point I sleep on my usual side of the bed.

Some habits are good, like the aforementioned weekly practices; it gets me out of the house, as well as keeps me active. Some habits are inconsequential, like my tendency to give my towel a quick flick as I get out of the shower. Or the way I fold my legs up under me when sitting in a chair. And, of course, some habits are bad. Like my tendency to check email/Facebook/Tumblr whenever I sit down at my computer, no matter what I was originally intending to do. Or my tendency to brood and over-think my decisions or emotional state.

A lot of the time, I can account for these habits, appending a “why” on to the “what.” Take the towel example I mentioned earlier: my bedroom and bathroom at my parents’ house was in the basement. It was fully finished, but the occasional spider still found its way in to make itself nice and cozy in whatever dark crevice it could find, hanging bath towels included. But what really bothers me are the habits, especially the mental ones, that I can’t account for. Like brooding. Or beating myself up for needing downtime. Or feeling like I’m not “living up to my potential.”

Where did these come from? It really bothers me that I don’t know. Is it something I picked up from my parents? From the culture at large? Or did these habits and beliefs somehow develop spontaneously within my own psyche? And if the latter, how?

I guess the reason it bothers me is because of my belief that if I can just find the root cause, I’ll be well on my way to being able to exorcise (or at least account for) these bad mental habits. After all, everything needs a reason to happen, right?

Right?

I’ll admit that this belief might be a touch irrational, but it’s still there. I guess it’s a way of holding on to a sliver of hope that there might be a logical way past my own irrationalities. But mostly, I just succumb to the bad habit of having one more thing to feel guilty about.

And I’m getting sick of that. True, I have trouble accepting a simple “because” as an answer. But even given the grief it causes me I’m not likely to stop analyzing myself any time soon. I guess I’ll just have to figure out some way to live with it.

But it really does bother me, not knowing why.

Writing Up With The Joneses

Let’s get meta and blog about blogging for a bit, alright? It’s either that, or we start talking about Winter Soldier spoilers (protip: GO SEE IT).

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m not writing as much as I could. Most of my posts seem to run about 500 words, and sometimes that just doesn’t feel like enough to do a subject justice. In fact, on larger topics, I’ve been breaking up my commentary into multiple posts. And I have to wonder: is this amount too little? Am I hamstringing myself, making it difficult to get truly in-depth on any one thing? Do I need to force myself to write more?

These are the sorts of thoughts that often eat away at me from inside my mind. After all, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have something to worry and feel guilty about.

But whereas musings of inadequacy like this could turn into brooding, I realized something. I am writing a lot. I’m writing about 500 words a day. You know what else works out to be about 500 words? The standard 5-paragraph essay they had us do in school. So I’m basically writing an essay a day, something I didn’t do even when I was in college.

By my standards back then, that’s a lot of writing. Sure, I may not be writing a painstakingly-researched exposé every day like I see on big news blogs. But they’re getting paid to do that; I am not. They likely have a team of writers and researchers; I am but one person. They have readership numbers in the thousands; I have a handful.

But still I write. And while I admit it would be nice to have a ton of readers, writing was the original purpose behind this blog. I need to remember that. I also need to remember that denigrating one’s own accomplishments just because they don’t match up in scope to someone else’s is unfair. Making a slight bit of progress and throwing it away because it’s not a large amount of progress is not cool. Heck, a lot of “big name” writers out there probably got their start similarly, toiling away in anonymity. By definition we (the public) tend to only see someone who has already put in the countless hours of blood, sweat, and tears before they even got to their current place. It’s not fair to compare your own first draft to someone else’s published, illuminated manuscript.

So what have I done? Well, rather than feel inadequate given my written output, I’ve decided to say “screw that noise” and look what I’ve already been able to accomplish so far. I have a blog! It’s regularly updated! I write every day! Sure, the entries may be short, but it’s a format that comes quickly and easily to me. And I’m writing more than I was when I started this blog, maybe even throughout most of my schooling career. In other words, I’m already awesome.

Boo-yah.