Yes, it's been almost 4 years since a post. I actually have a draft of a post started in October of 2014 that I never finished; such is the craptitude of my dedication to the purpose of the reason for this blog (do people even "blog" anymore, or have we all just accepted that it's really just a digital diary located on the interwebs?). A lot has happened between then and now, so much that it would be futile to even attempt to catch up. I suppose I'll just start from here and post memories as they pertain to whatever situation I'm describing.
But that is not the real point of this particular post. The biggest thing that drew me back to the blog, which happens to be something that will hopefully drive me towards more posts in the future, is much more serious. This will be a "more about dad" post. This is, I feel, a very important post. It's not just a "Here's some things that might give you insight into why I raised you the way I did;" it's not just a "Here's a post you'll want to keep track of to give to your psychiatrist to facilitate and expedite your sessions, to help you reach a place where you know it all went wrong." This is post for posterity's sake.
At the time of this post, you're still not really old enough to know how different people can be. You're surrounded by people who love you; you're still in a stage where, even people who are "mean", you can still be friends with. So this post is somewhat to document who your dad used to be, because I truly do not who I'm going to be going forward from this day. This is very serious as I have carefully and purposefully chosen who I am/was. Most people spend so much of their life finding (or sometimes just trying to find) themselves, trying to figure out where they fit in the world, and wondering what it's all about. Somehow, pretty early in my life, I decided to define myself; I learned very early (high school -ish time) that I simply don't fit in this world; whereas I don't know what it's all about, strangely I'm perfectly content with with that fact.
But, now much of that has to change. The choices I've made in life have brought me to a point where core personality traits are conflicting. Riley (from Inside Out) was both honest and valued friendships, but sometimes those two don't work together, so you have to choose which trait wins over, "If I tell my friend the truth, they'll get so mad that they'll never be my friend anymore, or I could say what would make my friend feel better, but then I'm not being honest;" but that's just one moment, one choice. Now imagine being not in one situation, but a part of life where that conflict happens; life cannot continue without some core change.
I'm not sure what's going to happen, I'm not sure what's going to stay and what's going away. I will do my best to not simply kill any traits. I feel fairly confident that I can simply box up some traits and put them on the shelf; I think that simply having them there will be enough for me. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. Back in May of 2012, I wrote a post saying I haven't really changed who I am, but today I have to. I HAVE to remove some core traits. And in doing so, many actions will change; many manifestations of who I am will literally be boxed up.
I think I've always been a big believer in actions defining who you are. You could have the highest of ideals, but if you choices (i.e. actions) are not reflecting your beliefs, then you have a conflict; the winning aspect in that conflict between thoughts and actions is always going to be actions. At some point later in my high school days, I personally came to the realization that people mistake my words and actions... regularly; so much so, that it just become a way of life. It wasn't until sometime after 2006 that I realized that it's definitely not your thoughts that make you who you are, but it's not even your actions. You are who other people think you are; the majority of the time, you can control that through your actions, but sometimes people are going to take your actions completely different than anything you've intended. At some point you'll have to make the decision, depending on what you're core traits are: do you stick to who you are and accept the consequences, or do you change who you are?
For decades I accepted the crap my personality brought. It got the point where I could even predict the crap, but I stuck to who I was because I believed that was more important. But now I've gotten to the point where I've finally accepted that I have to change. I've made choices in my life that unexpectedly, and I personally believe couldn't have been known, brought me to a place that I have no other alternative; something's got to give.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Thursday, February 7, 2013
A bit about dad
So, part of the purpose of this blog is to also let you know about me, either in the case of my unfortunate demise or just to maybe give you insight into my insanity. So here goes.
I grew up going to Disney World 3 times a year. I whole heartily believe this contributed to my silliness and my ability to play. I suppose someone could argue that it was mainly my parents' teachings and that going to Disney World was just a manifestation of who they are. That is to say, it wasn't Disney that affected me, it was my parents, and because my parents are who they are, we just happened to go to Disney. Point is, I loved Disney because it was an escape to a magical place like no where else; it was a place where I could actually use my faculties to experience my imagination. Even after the realization that it was just people in suites, the rocks were hallow, and everything was ridiculously expensive, it was still an amazing place. Hopefully how the place has turned sour in my eyes won't affect you; I hope you can experience some magic too.
Sometimes the sea calls me. I don't know of any maritime heritage in my family. Grandpa Jerry was in the Navy four yeas, on an aircraft carrier as a weather man, but that's all I really know of. And where as I think it would be cool to be on a huge ship like a carrier, or even a submarine, there's something about seeing a ship from the 1700's on the open sees, hearing the sailors sing their shantys, the melodies, the harmonies, the accordion... sometimes it just hits me. It doesn't hit me that hard, it doesn't pull me to the ocean, but I get this inexplicable yearning.
Same thing happens for a lot of stuff that was before my time (yet further reinforcing my theory of where/when I came from), and not all from the same eras. Swing music, cobble streets, places lit with fire instead of electricity (anywhere from streets to houses to parks), certain aspects of the golden age of movies, castles, the Highlands... And it's not everything before my time. Things from the 50's, while interesting and I feel like they'd be more desirable than today, don't call me like those other things. And it's not just the romanticizing of those things either. I know things were dirty, sickness was rampant compared to today's hygienic standards, there was just as much "negativity" then as there is now. But there's a difference when I hear some chamber music from the Victorian era and I think to myself "wow, music will never be that good again" and when I hear a group of sailors harmonizing to a shanty so they can get their work done in time.
Sometimes the road calls to me. This voice is smaller than the voice that calls me to the sea, but it's more feasible too. I can say this, if something were to happen to you and your mom, becoming a truck driver is a distinct possibility.
I am a forgetful person through and through; I've been forgetful since before I was self aware. However, since moving to Colorado, it would appear it's more than that. I haven't figured out if this is new or if it's just come to light this late in my age; I don't know what caused it either, could be time, could be the change in latitude, could be the change in longitude, could be the change in altitude, could any combination of the aforementioned possibilities. Not only do I regularly forget stuff, but apparently I do the opposite, I fabricate memories. An example is, I vividly remember the time I was in Michael Jackson's presence when I worked at the Tower of Terror; I remember where I was standing, I remember who he was with, I remember making jokes about how he would scream on his way down. Now I realize, I could have made that memory up, I can't trust any of memories. Well, I shouldn't say that; so far I have no reason to believe that any memories I have that are before I moved to Colorado are at risk. I'm also not talking about mistaking or confusing memories; it's easy to have a memory of doing something with someone, but it was actually with someone else, or at a different time than you originally recall. I mean, I have vivid memories of doing something with someone, it could only be that person, but they tell me it never happened; there's no possible way I'm confusing the who or what, but they are adamant about it not happening. Now, the first few times I think to myself "Oh no, they're just forgetting," I mean, it's much more likely that someone forgets something rather than someone making up a memory. But, it's happened enough times, and from various people, that I now believe I'm making these memories up. I don't know what I can do about this, and I sincerely apologize how this may affect my raising of you.
I grew up going to Disney World 3 times a year. I whole heartily believe this contributed to my silliness and my ability to play. I suppose someone could argue that it was mainly my parents' teachings and that going to Disney World was just a manifestation of who they are. That is to say, it wasn't Disney that affected me, it was my parents, and because my parents are who they are, we just happened to go to Disney. Point is, I loved Disney because it was an escape to a magical place like no where else; it was a place where I could actually use my faculties to experience my imagination. Even after the realization that it was just people in suites, the rocks were hallow, and everything was ridiculously expensive, it was still an amazing place. Hopefully how the place has turned sour in my eyes won't affect you; I hope you can experience some magic too.
Sometimes the sea calls me. I don't know of any maritime heritage in my family. Grandpa Jerry was in the Navy four yeas, on an aircraft carrier as a weather man, but that's all I really know of. And where as I think it would be cool to be on a huge ship like a carrier, or even a submarine, there's something about seeing a ship from the 1700's on the open sees, hearing the sailors sing their shantys, the melodies, the harmonies, the accordion... sometimes it just hits me. It doesn't hit me that hard, it doesn't pull me to the ocean, but I get this inexplicable yearning.
Same thing happens for a lot of stuff that was before my time (yet further reinforcing my theory of where/when I came from), and not all from the same eras. Swing music, cobble streets, places lit with fire instead of electricity (anywhere from streets to houses to parks), certain aspects of the golden age of movies, castles, the Highlands... And it's not everything before my time. Things from the 50's, while interesting and I feel like they'd be more desirable than today, don't call me like those other things. And it's not just the romanticizing of those things either. I know things were dirty, sickness was rampant compared to today's hygienic standards, there was just as much "negativity" then as there is now. But there's a difference when I hear some chamber music from the Victorian era and I think to myself "wow, music will never be that good again" and when I hear a group of sailors harmonizing to a shanty so they can get their work done in time.
Sometimes the road calls to me. This voice is smaller than the voice that calls me to the sea, but it's more feasible too. I can say this, if something were to happen to you and your mom, becoming a truck driver is a distinct possibility.
I am a forgetful person through and through; I've been forgetful since before I was self aware. However, since moving to Colorado, it would appear it's more than that. I haven't figured out if this is new or if it's just come to light this late in my age; I don't know what caused it either, could be time, could be the change in latitude, could be the change in longitude, could be the change in altitude, could any combination of the aforementioned possibilities. Not only do I regularly forget stuff, but apparently I do the opposite, I fabricate memories. An example is, I vividly remember the time I was in Michael Jackson's presence when I worked at the Tower of Terror; I remember where I was standing, I remember who he was with, I remember making jokes about how he would scream on his way down. Now I realize, I could have made that memory up, I can't trust any of memories. Well, I shouldn't say that; so far I have no reason to believe that any memories I have that are before I moved to Colorado are at risk. I'm also not talking about mistaking or confusing memories; it's easy to have a memory of doing something with someone, but it was actually with someone else, or at a different time than you originally recall. I mean, I have vivid memories of doing something with someone, it could only be that person, but they tell me it never happened; there's no possible way I'm confusing the who or what, but they are adamant about it not happening. Now, the first few times I think to myself "Oh no, they're just forgetting," I mean, it's much more likely that someone forgets something rather than someone making up a memory. But, it's happened enough times, and from various people, that I now believe I'm making these memories up. I don't know what I can do about this, and I sincerely apologize how this may affect my raising of you.
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