Tag Archives: Personal

Plugged in and Separated

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‘The Offspring’ with their song, “Keep ‘em Separated”, has a much deeper meaning than they may have realized when they wrote it.

One of the most searched for posts on my blog is by people who for one reason or another find themselves on the outside of their life looking in. I am guessing the reasons are as varied as the people themselves, this feeling of being lost in our life is something we share in numbers unheard of before the electronic world arrived.

I have heard the newest generation of young adults being called the, “Plugged In Generation”. Plugged into what exactly, is what I wonder when I strike up a conversation with one as we are both sitting around waiting for something. They all seem to have cell phones which double as high tech pagers, and triple as portable computers albeit with software directed towards being even more connected.

I open a conversation with a general observation, perhaps followed by another observation. Some people reply back, others pretend they did not hear me, or think I am talking to someone else even though we are the only two people present. Their conversation is stuttered, not in their speech but in managing to put together a reply that is more than the length of a quick text message.

Within a few minutes they go back to being engrossed in their cell phones, either hoping someone will text them, or texting someone with some witty overused string of words. To me they look lonely and lost. They appear to be missing some basic ideas that I always took for granted. Things like growing up in a household where there was real conversation, and not life scheduling. Family time where everyone did something together, even if that something was eating hot dogs and chips in the back yard together with no interruption.

Many people are finding themselves isolated through technology. If they are the ‘Plugged In Generation’, what exactly are they plugged into? Parents whose interaction with them is via text messaging? Friends who post inane messages on their social web site accounts, siblings who prefer the aloofness of electronic strangers, rather than the company of family members.

Living a socially satisfying life not created by electronic media is sometimes awkward. Conversations do not go as planned. Questions and answers are not crafted, drafted, and polished. Sometimes questions and answers are about two different perspectives of the same situation.

The world of the plugged in does not have to deal with these awkward moments, testy conversation, or uncomfortable moments. Everyone is their best friend, and their Parents monitor them from a distance.

The downside is their is no flesh and blood anyone to talk with, no Parent to spend time with, and no unscripted conversations.

With all this going on, it is no surprise so many people feel lost in their own lives. Look around at the artificial world we live in. Food is crafted to taste good with enough variety one rarely has to eat anything that is not the favorite food of the week. Music, and other electronic entertainment have evolved to a point where one never need listen or hear anything they do not wish to.

For all the benefit of being a part of the plugged in generation, the searches relating to being lost in life is no surprise. I understand some of what is missing in peoples lives these days. I think it was really brought to light for me when I met Helen, who I wrote about a few posts previous. Helen whose idea of ‘plugged i’n is over the air television, told me on afternoon how nice it was to find someone she could talk to about things important in her life.

It would be wonderful if each time my blog was searched by someone feeling lost in their life, I could pick up a phone, drive a car, take a flight and speak with them. One human being talking with another about the feeling of being a stranger in your own life and how to fix it. Instead I write a some words with the sincere hope that the someone on the other end, reads my words and gets enough out of my post to help them find meaning in their life. Along with making a difference in the lives of their family, friends, and better their community along the way. Instead all I can do is write. We are human beings, not advertising machines whose life is crafted funny replies to unimportant questions.

Talk face to face with your family and friends. Listen to different types of music. When you are outside let your ears hear what is happening around you. Quit living in your head, and start living in the world around you. Doing these few things, you will probably find others who feel like you do, and make real friends, have real conversations, and have awkward moments. Along the way you will become part of your live again.

For the curious, check out the Categories section to the left, there are more posts on feeling alone and lost.

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Do my memories change with time?

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There was a time when I could remember almost any day, and any conversation. At least those days and conversations that I thought were important for one reason or another. I think those days are no longer with me.

It is not that I can not remember certain days and conversations with perfect clarity. I think maybe my mind reached its capacity for in house storage, or maybe life became too busy for thoughts and such to be floating around all the time. I am not sure which, maybe it is neither.

When time is slow and I think about some event that took place, it still comes back to me, but not always as quickly as it once did. I have also noticed, and it may not be uncommon, those things I remember these days are not the same memories I would choose to remember a decade ago.

I also tend to think more about complete situations rather than just an aspect of a certain moment. I find I remember sounds, smells, or feelings that go with my memory rather than just reliving it again, as I did in the past.

Maybe it is because my life has changed so much that now when I reflect on events from my past, they are seen with how I view life now, rather than how I was when they occurred? At any rate, it is not bad, it is just different.

I also wonder during some of wanderings in my mind what I was thinking at that moment and why. I wonder if I am changing my memory to suit the present me, or I am reliving the event in my minds eye through the me that is now. Although it is also possible, I am picking and choosing filters that allow me to see something from my past the way I would have it now, rather then how I felt about it then.

On our day of judgement it has been said that we are our own judge and jury. Our fate rests in what and how we see what we did with our life and the experiences we had in it. If so that would not be a bad thing for me. Unless I go through change I can not imagine, there is not too much in my life that I would not do over or prefer never happened.

Maybe I am part of the thinking that I am all right, but I am not so sure about you. Or possibly I tend to be easier on myself, knowing that whatever decisions I made at any time in my life were the best decisions I could make at that time.

I had read somewhere that one can pass a polygraph test if enough time goes by and we convince ourselves that whatever we chose to believe is the truth. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth to find that when we pass on all our memories of ourselves were changed over the years into what we preferred them to be, rather than what they really were?

I do not imagine that would happen though, because for that to be possible, it would mean that we are all living a lie through out our lifetime and what would be the point of that…spending a lifetime creating a fantasy that never happened.

How much better it would be to look over our life and pull up a series of memories that were all about the same situation and understand how we handled each situation as we gained life experience. It would be fulfilling I think to be able to say about a situation that when I was a boy, I acted in a certain way, and over time as I understood more about life and my part in it, what I did changed for the better each time.

That is a warming feeling. I am not sure we do that when we daydream about our life, but it would be a pleasant experience. I think starting today I will try to be more conscious of my actions and whether they have changed over time. I hope I have grown.

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A few lives apart!

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It took me along time to figure out how to enjoy my life. I used to think that I had to be busy every minute, and every day should be filled with non stop events morning to night. After all that is what all the life style books, and the circuit speakers would talk about, doing what is most important each day.

They were the four windows, pyramids, and there were numerous scales where you could rank your projects, line up you meetings, your day, your life, other peoples lives. I lived in California at the time in the Sierra Nevada mountains. There was only so much to do, and I had a lot of time to read when the money ran out and I was partially homebound.

I read another version about how to live life to its fullest and to get the most out of life explained in a new way. At least if you left off the main purpose of the books and distilled what was left – that is what I came up with.

Except I did not really understand what I was reading…. How could I have a very full day generally doing nothing at all? How was it possible to get up each morning and enjoy one boring day after the next? Some years later I started understanding. I started having little short glimpses of how life is supposed to be.

I think it started with an old worn out man. An old man, and not good for much by a younger man’s standards, and pretty much a waste of space by an average teenager’s view of the world. But he had something I had never seen before. This old man who could not walk twenty feet, enjoyed going outside every day, sliding around on his butt and taking care of his yard!

An old happy man sliding around the grass digging up dandelions and tending flowers, drinking a beer, and not really caring that he could barely walk, I was curious enough to spend some time with him – an hour a week maybe spread across summer afternoons.

He used to tell me about when he was a younger man and able to do more. He said he lived pretty much the same as everyone else. He told me he thought life was okay back then, but nothing to get overly excited about. He said he drank a few beers, smoked cigarettes, and went through the motions of raising a family.

Eventually the kids grew up and started their own lives, his wife eventually took ill and died. His only boy left in town did not spend much time with him, had his own family. He figured that was pretty much the way life went.

Then he told me he became ill himself. He was in the hospital for a while, I am not sure with what, but as he lay in his bed, he started thinking about his life and how special it was even though by everyday standards it was pretty simple and common. Work, eat, sometimes sex with the wife, and sleep. Do it again, play with the kids on Saturday, and go to church on Sunday.

Somewhere in thinking about his routine he said he realized just how special those days were. He told me of those days were special, and every day was special, even if it was spent in a hospital bed. As time went on, I found a few more people like him, men and women both. Usually older, but they all understood just how precious their life was, even if it seemed dull and average looking in. It was the only life they were going to get, and they looked at the world with new eyes each day.

I know some of what they learned rubbed off on me, because eventually I too started to find life more exciting. I could even enjoy going to work most days! My life is what I choose to make of it. Once I decided to enjoy mine, time became short and precious. Now even the simplest things are more enjoyable, although my time is much more precious than I ever thought possible.

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Chance encounter…not

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I am driving to the Dallas airport at five-forty-five. The sun was not out yet, and I was looking for an IHOP I knew was close by on the left side of Belt Line Drive in Addison, Texas. There is a Denny’s up ahead on the right. I do not like Denny’s for breakfast. Generally there is too much oil (okay grease) for me. I wanted something with less fat in it.

As I drive, a need to eat at Denny’s takes hold of me. I guess Denny’s is as good as IHOP. A couple of eggs, some well cooked bacon, and toast. Before I know it, I am making a hurried right turn into the Denny’s. It’s not even six am, and I am wondering if they are open.

As I open the door, I know without a doubt I am to meet someone inside the building. There is exactly one customer sitting against the far wall, in the corner, trying to be invisible. There is no doubt in my mind I am supposed to request that I be allowed to sit at her table. Not my thoughts, but thoughts that are filling my mind. She and I have something important to talk about. What that will be, I have no idea.

I am seated two booths away in the same section. I do not have enough courage to do what I knew I was supposed to do. After a few seconds I make up my mind to ask her if I may join her at her table. I look over my left should to make eye contact with her, but she is sitting against the wall on my right. I turn around…another failed attempt, this is not easy. As I eat my breakfast, a waitress walks past me with a purpose.

An argument ensues over the food and the bill. The woman complains the there is something wrong with the food, and she could not eat it. The waitress says the food was fine and she should pay for it. I know this is not a part I am to play in this scene because I am not at her table. It ends with the woman insisting she is not paying for the meal, something is wrong with it. The waitress walks away to the kitchen. The woman in the corner booth walks by me with determination. A waiter asks if she is going to pay and she says no, she is not, but she stops. After about thirty seconds she leaves.

When he comes by with refill coffee, I tell him, I will pay for her meal. He tells me no, and says this is a common ploy of homeless people, and they see it all the time. He says there was a man with her most of the night and he left just before I walked in. (Of course, it makes sense, he was her place holder) He does not mind that they can not pay for their meal. He does mind the extra work that the situation invokes. He fills my cup and leaves. I am feeling miserable, I didn’t do what I knew I had to do.

I missed my time with this woman and now I am going to spend my day wondering what business we had, and what was my part in her life, or perhaps her part in mine. As I finish my coffee, the woman comes back in, and walks towards the bathroom. I assume she is going to hide out in a bathroom stall for a while until she is found out and is forced to leave. How can I speak to her without being a complete fool, enters my mind. I can’t knock on the door, I can’t walk in the woman’s bathroom and explain my need to talk with her. I am feeling lost, because time is getting short and I have to get to the airport.

As I pay my bill, I offer once again to pay for her meal, and I am told no. They are really adamant about this for some reason. I would say sure, it’s is seven bucks, plus a tip! As I turn around I see the woman. She is sitting on a bench by the bathroom, not hiding. It is now or never, and I have to see this compulsive feeling through or wonder forever.

I walk towards her and speak. Her eyes are stormy angry, and I can see what I said has not penetrated her anger. Suddenly her eyes grow soft and we share a moment of staring into each others eyes. I speak another few more words. She say’s, “Thank you.” As I turn away, she calls out, what is your name? I turn and say Michael…. It was the best I could do. The woman softly says, “Thank you Michael.”

A minute or so later I am on my way to the airport. I feel the power of prayer hit my heart. It feels like a very warm bath and a bright light on my heart all at one time. I know it is the woman praying about me. She knows without a doubt her prayers will always be heard, and she means well for me.

I have felt her praying or thinking about me a couple of times since then. I don’t know what part I played in her life. I had such a small part, only a few seconds, but at those moments, we are the same, and I know she is working out something she has to do. I must have changed whatever her course of action was going to be, and for that I am grateful. She will make a difference herself in someone’s life someday. I hope she has more courage than I had when her time comes.

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Enrich your life by helping another

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When we pause long enough to look back over our life, we like to assess how we think we are doing. We look at our accomplishments and satisfy ourselves that we are somebody because we have completed some number of trials and tribulations successfully over the years, while others we choose to compare ourselves to have not.

We like to prim ourselves, fluff up our feathers, push out our chest, and strut around hoping someone will notice. If no one notices that is all right too, because we at least know how good we are. We know how well we have done in the face of adversity, overcoming obstacles and proving ourselves while other watched. It really does not matter though except to us and what we think of ourselves.

I stumbled upon a good analogy of our true worth some years ago. We have all heard about how we can stick our hand in a bucket of sand or water and splash it or move it around and shape it to our liking. Of course we know when we are all done and we remove our hand, it is like we were never there to start with. My observation is from a different perspective

I was watching an ant hill a number of years ago and I saw what our real importance is through the ant colony. If you have ever watched and ant colony at work, you know they have there set trails they follow initially when leaving the ant hill. In the morning as the sun warms up the colony hundreds of ants follow trails out to some end where once upon a time a lucky ant found a food or water source.

Usually the food source has long been forgotten and once the ants reach the end of the trail they start foraging in what appears to be a wandering pattern. If they have particular destinations in mind, I have not deciphered how they work. So out away from the hill there are all these ants working away, walking all over trying to find food for the colony.

At the nest there are other ants whose job it appears to excavate new tunnels. You see them walking out one of the tunnels to somewhere at the edge of the ant hill with a tiny pebbles in their pincers, or maybe a clump of dirt. They walk out near the edge, drop whatever they are carrying, and walk back in to do it over again.

I am sure there are many more ants who each have individual jobs in the colony of which I am unaware. As the day progresses, all the ants go about their tasks and the whole colony enjoys the benefits of the communal work. As I watched the ants working away, it dawned on me that even though they were working towards a common goal, they were not in any apparent way attached to each other.

When I removed an ant from its task whether the ant was foraging, hauling tiny pebbles from far below, or smoothing the ant hill and possibly reshaping it, the loss of a single ant was not noticed, or so it seemed. In fact unless I disturbed the ground there was no notice of an ant disappearing from its appointed task.

In reality so it is with us. If something appeared and took one of us from where we were sitting reading this, not too many people would notice that we were missing. After a few hours, it would become noticeable to those close to us we were not around at that time, but for the majority of the community, the loss of a single person is really a non event.

So when we are looking back over our accomplishments, and puffing ourselves up and feeling important, we also need to take a few moments and reflect on the truth. Are our accomplishments something that really make a difference to our community, and improve the quality of life for everyone, or are our accomplishments of a singular nature, in that they only benefit us?

Hopefully by the end of our lives we will accomplished many things that stand out in our mind as something that was really worth doing, and not a something that was important only to us. If we spend our lives doing those things that are only for us, we are like the single ant I removed from the ant hill. Nobody will really notice the difference, and our feeling of self worth will feel a little hollow to us.

On the other hand, if we some memories of how we made life better for the community or someone in it, we have fueled fires that will continue to burn in peoples memory’s long after we are removed. These changes need not be something that changes the very foundation of civilization, but may be something more humble and simple. Generally the more humble and simple whatever it is we do, the more it is appreciated by those people we do it for. Making life better for others, has a bonus of enriching our own life.

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Introspection in a cold breeze

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The gates of introspection were thrown open late the other night. It was a mistake, I was not thinking, but they opened all the same. The only public item that washed up was the death of my Mother. She died a few years ago, three days before Christmas.

I took off a month of work, left my family alone, travelled across country, and stayed at her home with her in October/November. I was there twenty four hours a day seven days a week. Or most of it any way. She had told me back in July, that as the time got closer, and it looked like she did not know what she was doing, she did know what she was doing, and it was okay.

Okay, I could understand that. My father in the weeks before he went, did everything he could (or so it seemed) to help me hate him. So my Mother saying this was not something that shocked me. When I was with my Mom, after about a week, I needed a few hours to myself, time away from reality. I asked my Mom if she was okay with me leaving the house for an evening, and she said yes, she would be okay.

It was close to freezing when I left. Less than two hours later I received a phone call from a neighbor that my Mom was outside laying on the ground. They called the ambulance, I raced to the hospital. About ten days later, there was a repeat, this time she was in the back yard, the weather was still freezing. Repeat the story, a few days in the hospital, and home she came. Some days I thought she was really there, and other days I was not sure who was home, if anybody.

One afternoon she wanted to go for a ride. I helped her in the car, started driving, and she started singing. Not a song from her childhood, or a song from the romantic days of her life, but another song. This song had one line, and the same rhythm. For over two hours I drove my Mom around listening to her one line song. I want to mention first that I rarely heard my Mom use any off color language in her life. On this day for over two hours, I listened to her sing, “Thanks for being a prick.” Over and over again. The fact that she was constantly grabbing at the steering wheel trying to turn the car into the ditch was minor compared to the song. She didn’t want to go home, fwiw, so we rode around the countryside, her singing her song, and grabbing at the steering wheel now and again.

A few days later she seemed to want to talk about her life. I asked her something about my Dad. “I don’t know why I married that son-of-a-bitch”, was the only thing she had to say about him. She told me some things about a Great Aunt I never knew I had. She talked a little bit about her Dad, Sisters, and Brothers, and that was about it. End of the end of my life conversation.

Because of all the problems with her body dying, it was impossible for her to come and live with me. I live at altitude, she could not survive without oxygen, and she kept pulling it off. Want to or not, it was time for me to pack up, and go back home. Over the next few weeks, there were some phone conversations, but they were not good, they were pretty ugly actually. She called me on the fifteenth to wish me a Merry Christmas. A week went by, and the phone call came. The hospital made the call as easy as they could, and I appreciated their effort.

It was a day of introspection for me, as I went over that month in my mind. Fortunately for most of us, each day is not our last, and there is time to fix the something we did, or at least acknowledge our faults. I can not guess if that month was really a month with my Mom, or with a shell. A month where things were said, and I never knew if they were true, or even thought about.

Of course it was an hours walk today with a cold stiff breeze, thinking about those last days with my Mom to realize it does not matter. She’s gone, and I am left to walk, and wonder.

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