I recently became the United Way representative for the department I work for. The decision was voluntary, as many people fail to believe, and there was no guilt or coercion involved. I actually know very little about the program, and, in fact, did not even give last year. (For anyone even more unfamiliar with how United Way works than myself, the organization is a non-profit that at my place of employment takes a predetermined dollar amount out of each biweekly check for donation.) I will touch more on the many things they do another time, as I am still learning and would like to be as accurate as possible.
But United Way itself is not specifically why I titled this post the way I did. Living united is more than learning about charity and donating money. It is more than feeling bad for someone in need, or thinking that you want to do more but you are just one person. It is about doing something to improve the world, about leaving your trail cleaner than you found it. All it takes is one person. One person to make change, and one person to be changed. Giving time and money is more than charity, it is fuel for a movement; a human movement.
I have chosen to give my time to a cause I deeply believe in, and hope to educate more people so that they may feel the same. I say cause because the time may be in the name of United Way, but it is in the spirit of the people who are touched by the benefits. I choose to live united with my world, to understand that my life goes deeper than that of one individual. I choose to live united for today, tomorrow, and the future I will never see.
Living united is a lifestyle, not simply a declaration.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
I'm Going Green
I think it started when I was about 25, which makes sense. I've read from numerous sources that 25 seems to be a magical age for discovering yourself, and, in turn, discovering the world around you. I know that more marriages survive the long haul when both parties are at least that age. There seems to be a distinct separation of my life before I was 25, and after, almost like two different people. The most notable change to me is my perception of the human-planet relationship.
In the past I have written about my attempts at gardening, my feelings on our history and future, and the need for feeling good about myself. Things I have not written about (but may be coming!) include other "hippy" (as I derogatorily like to refer to environmentally friendly things as) topics, such as; switching to organic food, swearing off plastic bags, recycling everything I can get my hands on, and buying biodegradable cleaning products. Needless to say, this all happened after I turned 25. But I didn't feel these things were enough. I think that being fortunate to live in one of the richest and most powerful countries in the world also comes with a great responsibility. Having the means and opportunities doesn't give us the right to ruin it for people who don't; we should be using those means and opportunities for improvement.
To get back on topic, or to narrow down my topic, I frequently feel terrible about myself for multiple reasons revolving around the environment and how little I actually do. In comparison to others, I may be doing quite a bit, but a good friend of mine told me tonight that you can't just be happy or fulfilled by comparison, you have to feel it for yourself. So we bought a Prius! And not just any Prius, the plug-in hybrid. We traded a gas-guzzling lifted Dodge Ram, which had tons of cargo space, towing capability, and a little sense of being more powerful than other cars on the road. But, every time I looked at it or heard the engine rev up, all I could think of was foreign oil and melting ice bergs. After talking about AWDs, and MPGs, and SUVs, we spontaneously decided on a Prius.
She isn't named yet, and I don't even know if it's a she, but it is a gun metal metallic grey and dark grey interior. The technology featured in this specific Prius is the top of what Toyota offers in any of their vehicles. Blue Tooth, apps that sync with your phone, navigation, back up camera, remote keyless start, distance A/C initiation, plus about 30 different fuel monitors and settings (this is the really techy stuff), one of which is the EV mode to monitor and initiate your battery usage. It does a lot more along the lines of safety and performance, but it's like translating Greek (a little help Polly?) so you'll just have to trust me.
The Prius plug-in hybrid will not fit three dogs in the back, or two kayaks. It cannot tow a pontoon boat, or pull another vehicle out of the mud. It does not dominate the road, or let you know it's coming a mile away. But it feels good in my heart, and it's the right thing to do.
(My husband's going to get so much crap at work!)
In the past I have written about my attempts at gardening, my feelings on our history and future, and the need for feeling good about myself. Things I have not written about (but may be coming!) include other "hippy" (as I derogatorily like to refer to environmentally friendly things as) topics, such as; switching to organic food, swearing off plastic bags, recycling everything I can get my hands on, and buying biodegradable cleaning products. Needless to say, this all happened after I turned 25. But I didn't feel these things were enough. I think that being fortunate to live in one of the richest and most powerful countries in the world also comes with a great responsibility. Having the means and opportunities doesn't give us the right to ruin it for people who don't; we should be using those means and opportunities for improvement.
To get back on topic, or to narrow down my topic, I frequently feel terrible about myself for multiple reasons revolving around the environment and how little I actually do. In comparison to others, I may be doing quite a bit, but a good friend of mine told me tonight that you can't just be happy or fulfilled by comparison, you have to feel it for yourself. So we bought a Prius! And not just any Prius, the plug-in hybrid. We traded a gas-guzzling lifted Dodge Ram, which had tons of cargo space, towing capability, and a little sense of being more powerful than other cars on the road. But, every time I looked at it or heard the engine rev up, all I could think of was foreign oil and melting ice bergs. After talking about AWDs, and MPGs, and SUVs, we spontaneously decided on a Prius.
She isn't named yet, and I don't even know if it's a she, but it is a gun metal metallic grey and dark grey interior. The technology featured in this specific Prius is the top of what Toyota offers in any of their vehicles. Blue Tooth, apps that sync with your phone, navigation, back up camera, remote keyless start, distance A/C initiation, plus about 30 different fuel monitors and settings (this is the really techy stuff), one of which is the EV mode to monitor and initiate your battery usage. It does a lot more along the lines of safety and performance, but it's like translating Greek (a little help Polly?) so you'll just have to trust me.
The Prius plug-in hybrid will not fit three dogs in the back, or two kayaks. It cannot tow a pontoon boat, or pull another vehicle out of the mud. It does not dominate the road, or let you know it's coming a mile away. But it feels good in my heart, and it's the right thing to do.
(My husband's going to get so much crap at work!)
Thursday, July 19, 2012
I Have a Strange Addiction
I NEED to travel. The urge is so substantial that I don't even like to call it travel, because that makes it sound like something frivolous and of privilege. For me, it is a matter of survival and sanity. I have ignored house hold repairs, put off medical procedures, even delayed getting a puppy (doesn't sound like me does it!?) to ensure I can buy a plane ticket. I doubt it will get me on the next season of the show sharing its name with my post, but considering its abrupt beginnings and unexpected effects I do think it should qualify. I cannot remember ever having the desire or need for something as much as this addiction, and I cannot think of anything that has brought me such satisfaction and fulfillment. I have known love, comfort, happiness, excitement, and surprise. I have experienced the deep emotions evoked by sympathy, betrayal, abandonment, rejection, and anguish. But never have I felt all of those things at once; traveling does that to me.
There have been things that made me cry. Yes, literally. Seeing, and I mean really seeing, not just looking with your eyes (I understand now what they're talking about in Avatar), the towering columns of the Parthenon; touching the stone and walking over underground corridors that have been touched and walked over for thousands of years in the Colosseum; standing in castle-esque forts overlooking the ocean once manned by a king's army (dark dungeons with men's last words carved into the walls included)...these are the things of my addiction. But it is not just the monuments, not just the idea of being there, it's the reaffirmation to me that we are just one world.
There may be borders drawn on maps, taxation, embargoes, and a plethora of other man-made ideas used to separate themselves from others to gain power, freedom, money, etc., but in reality we cannot be separated. We have given ourselves certain identities to be a part of one team or another; a nationality, a name, a number, certain characteristics, a placement in the Olympics and ranks on various WHO publications. But we are all one. I have heard languages spoken in "biblical" times, nearly unchanged, long before the thought of an America or the idea of English. I have smelled and tasted food that has been grown and produced thousands of years before exportation and outsourcing. I have heard music that was being played before automatic weapons and party politics. Our history intertwines us as much as our present.
There is no difference in a hungry American child, and a hungry African child. Children are children, and being hungry feels the same no matter where you are. A raped American woman is the same as a raped Somalian woman. Women are women, and wrong is wrong no matter what your political status is. Poverty, wrongful imprisonment, disease, and oppression are not acceptable no matter what borders are crossed, people are people. One country's survival and success greatly depends on the others', we live in a global economy. One person's survival and success greatly depends on the others', we live on one Earth.
This is why I need to travel. To be humbled, and to decide how my time on that Earth with those people will be spent.
There have been things that made me cry. Yes, literally. Seeing, and I mean really seeing, not just looking with your eyes (I understand now what they're talking about in Avatar), the towering columns of the Parthenon; touching the stone and walking over underground corridors that have been touched and walked over for thousands of years in the Colosseum; standing in castle-esque forts overlooking the ocean once manned by a king's army (dark dungeons with men's last words carved into the walls included)...these are the things of my addiction. But it is not just the monuments, not just the idea of being there, it's the reaffirmation to me that we are just one world.
There may be borders drawn on maps, taxation, embargoes, and a plethora of other man-made ideas used to separate themselves from others to gain power, freedom, money, etc., but in reality we cannot be separated. We have given ourselves certain identities to be a part of one team or another; a nationality, a name, a number, certain characteristics, a placement in the Olympics and ranks on various WHO publications. But we are all one. I have heard languages spoken in "biblical" times, nearly unchanged, long before the thought of an America or the idea of English. I have smelled and tasted food that has been grown and produced thousands of years before exportation and outsourcing. I have heard music that was being played before automatic weapons and party politics. Our history intertwines us as much as our present.
There is no difference in a hungry American child, and a hungry African child. Children are children, and being hungry feels the same no matter where you are. A raped American woman is the same as a raped Somalian woman. Women are women, and wrong is wrong no matter what your political status is. Poverty, wrongful imprisonment, disease, and oppression are not acceptable no matter what borders are crossed, people are people. One country's survival and success greatly depends on the others', we live in a global economy. One person's survival and success greatly depends on the others', we live on one Earth.
This is why I need to travel. To be humbled, and to decide how my time on that Earth with those people will be spent.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Found in Translation
For many years I have been searching for something, even when I didn't think I was, there was a subconscious hunt taking place. During the time I knew I was looking, I was restless in my efforts. I read, studied maps, interviewed people, and wrote about my findings. But at the end of each book, each conversation, I was more lost than when I began my search. It would be difficult, I was learning, to find...myself.
After a long while of getting no where fast, I realized that the path I was looking for was not one I could borrow from another's experience. It didn't matter what others had written or what they told me about their own "once was lost, now am found" venture. Rather than an organized journey with set timelines and expected outcomes, it would be a haphazard exploration of the inner me, and a little bit of the world.
After escaping my shamble of a childhood, I found a lot of things that I thought would make me content, and maybe they did. But being content wasn't what I wanted. I find content being synonymous with settling. It has become my belief that people should always be striving for something, always working to make something in their life or about themselves better than before. While my life WAS better than it had been, I wasn't really happy. I never felt that I was doing a job that made a difference, or living a home life I wouldn't change for the world. I felt stuck, as I know many do, in a no where job and a no where future (a favorite mantra among community college advertisement). Then I met someone.
My husband changed my world, my vision, my life and how I wanted to live. It wasn't something he said or did exactly, although his words and actions were and are a big part of it. It was just who he is and what his vision of the future is. He opened my eyes to new places, different cultures (anyone who can learn Greek deserves applause), aspects of the planet I'd never considered before. These new things were not unknown to me in the past, they had just been unimportant (the only things I ever thought were meaningful about the Spanish language were how to get to the bano and where the fiesta was). I had been wrong, and it took Mr. Right to open my eyes. I began to understand through my own experiences that the world we live in is very intricately weaved, like a hand made organic Cotten blanket (my inner hippie loves those!). But I was saddened to see how many holes there were in it, no one can stay warm with a holey blanket, as much as they might think their section is the only one that matters. Let's face it, when your foot sticks out, the rest of your body gets cold, too.
All of these aspects of life that I have been shown make me realize there is a lot of opportunity to bid contentment farewell. With the amount of unrest and need in the world, there is no expectation of idleness in one's self, only achievement and accomplishment. A good friend of mine expressed her satisfaction and feeling of that kind of accomplishment with her career choice the other day. While I had so long only thought of her as being treated like another number, she made me see that maybe she is, but one of a very few numbers willing to give and help others like she does. She showed me that feeling of making a difference that I wanted.
After all of these events, I am still looking for myself, but now I know what I am looking for. I want to influence and be influenced, be deeply effected and do the same to others. I understand now that my world is only as strong as the outside world, I want to be a part of that. There is an entire existence outside of my own, I want them to be one in the same. When I do find myself, I want to be making a global impact, a human connection, an environmental collaboration. I don't want a job, or even a career, I want a life-long triumph over contentment.
Stay tuned for future revelations, I expect to be completely overwhelmed. And I welcome it.
After escaping my shamble of a childhood, I found a lot of things that I thought would make me content, and maybe they did. But being content wasn't what I wanted. I find content being synonymous with settling. It has become my belief that people should always be striving for something, always working to make something in their life or about themselves better than before. While my life WAS better than it had been, I wasn't really happy. I never felt that I was doing a job that made a difference, or living a home life I wouldn't change for the world. I felt stuck, as I know many do, in a no where job and a no where future (a favorite mantra among community college advertisement). Then I met someone.
My husband changed my world, my vision, my life and how I wanted to live. It wasn't something he said or did exactly, although his words and actions were and are a big part of it. It was just who he is and what his vision of the future is. He opened my eyes to new places, different cultures (anyone who can learn Greek deserves applause), aspects of the planet I'd never considered before. These new things were not unknown to me in the past, they had just been unimportant (the only things I ever thought were meaningful about the Spanish language were how to get to the bano and where the fiesta was). I had been wrong, and it took Mr. Right to open my eyes. I began to understand through my own experiences that the world we live in is very intricately weaved, like a hand made organic Cotten blanket (my inner hippie loves those!). But I was saddened to see how many holes there were in it, no one can stay warm with a holey blanket, as much as they might think their section is the only one that matters. Let's face it, when your foot sticks out, the rest of your body gets cold, too.
All of these aspects of life that I have been shown make me realize there is a lot of opportunity to bid contentment farewell. With the amount of unrest and need in the world, there is no expectation of idleness in one's self, only achievement and accomplishment. A good friend of mine expressed her satisfaction and feeling of that kind of accomplishment with her career choice the other day. While I had so long only thought of her as being treated like another number, she made me see that maybe she is, but one of a very few numbers willing to give and help others like she does. She showed me that feeling of making a difference that I wanted.
After all of these events, I am still looking for myself, but now I know what I am looking for. I want to influence and be influenced, be deeply effected and do the same to others. I understand now that my world is only as strong as the outside world, I want to be a part of that. There is an entire existence outside of my own, I want them to be one in the same. When I do find myself, I want to be making a global impact, a human connection, an environmental collaboration. I don't want a job, or even a career, I want a life-long triumph over contentment.
Stay tuned for future revelations, I expect to be completely overwhelmed. And I welcome it.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
I Love Feedback!
This is just a quick note on how to leave a comment. It can be a bit confusing, and I honestly just figured it all out myself. I would love to hear your advice, thoughts, opinions, critiques, suggestions, etc. My goal is to keep people reading, so knowing how to make that happen is important to me.
To comment, simply start typing in the open text box at the bottom of each post. You must then chose a manner of signature, or how you are posting your comment. There is a drop down bar where you need to pick an option. If you are signed in to and have Google email, you can choose that address (if you do use your email, and "subscribe by email" to the post, at the bottom of the box area, you will get my reply emailed to you). If you do not use email, or do not want me to have your email address, you can also choose Name/URL (here just enter the name you want to use, it will show in the text box). If you do not want me to know anything about you, there is an anonymous option. This one is sometimes fun as it gives me a puzzle to figure out. Ben, if you read this, I think I'm on to you!
That's all for now, I do really appreciate any feedback. Thanks!
To comment, simply start typing in the open text box at the bottom of each post. You must then chose a manner of signature, or how you are posting your comment. There is a drop down bar where you need to pick an option. If you are signed in to and have Google email, you can choose that address (if you do use your email, and "subscribe by email" to the post, at the bottom of the box area, you will get my reply emailed to you). If you do not use email, or do not want me to have your email address, you can also choose Name/URL (here just enter the name you want to use, it will show in the text box). If you do not want me to know anything about you, there is an anonymous option. This one is sometimes fun as it gives me a puzzle to figure out. Ben, if you read this, I think I'm on to you!
That's all for now, I do really appreciate any feedback. Thanks!
Monday, June 11, 2012
With Thumbs as Black as Night
Poetic as it may sound, it is sadly true. Some people who lack the "green thumbs" that skilled gardeners so often take for granted have learned to come to grips with the disability. But not I. Try as I may, try as I might...well, basically I just keep trying. And trying. Now, keep in mind that I have lived in the scorching hot and bone dry desert most of my seed bearing years. (Meaning years I've been responsible enough to take care of a potted, living thing. My doctor does, however, assure me the other ones are quite good and without plans of mass evacuation any time soon.) I used this death-bringer as a crutch for my inadequacies in the growing department for some time, until I realized that even the plants inside the house were dying. The ones in the house on the table I sit by every night were dying. The ones beside the sink I put my dishes in several times a day were dying. As I began moving all of my brown shriveled feats to the bathroom next to my toothbrush (my grandma always said to put things you need to remember on a note on the bathroom mirror, I like to improve upon advice. It's kind of like leaving the trail cleaner then you found it.), I knew it would not work.
The feeling of grief and disappointment I found in myself was profound. I had never felt anything like it. Before this, and people who know me well will say still to this day, I would tend to turn a blind eye to my own faults. Who's critical and controlling? Me? You must have me mistaken for someone else. But really, profound grief and disappointment. I had black thumbs. Not even just black, but blackest black, like the mascara. My thumbs were like calling the kettle black, black. Finally seeing this shortcoming was like seeing a little a little part of me die. Would I ever know the deep satisfaction of watching a tiny fleck of hope sprout into reality, and grow to absolution? Would I ever know the sweet taste of victory, or the real taste of something I grew with my own two hands? I told myself no. I told myself to forget it. I told myself that stuff was for trowel-toting prune-eating pruners. But there was an urge.
It persisted through day and night, through love and hate, through good and evil. And so I planted. I watched, and I waited. Waiting...waiting...waiting. Then, just as I was about to etch tortured and dying houseplants into my bathroom mirror, there it was. Life. A life I had made, nurtured, supported (it's amazing what 3 weeks of staring at something can do). At that moment it was nothing and everything all at once. Barely more than 1/8 of an inch tall, but an entire 1/8 of an inch tall! Careful not to pee my pants in the process, I placed it by the sink to let in take in its fist gulps of glorious sunlight. After several days, it had grown nearly 2 inches (so jealous!). Every time I looked at it my heart skipped a little beat. Soon it would be a beautiful tomato-bearing goddess, engulfing me in her loving leaves every time I took a bite. I imagined myself basking in her nutrient-giving fruit. Oh, the glorious times we would have together, her and I arm in arm, skipping through meadows and such. A sense of contentment spread through me. I was complete.
Tonight my husband knocked all 2 inches into the sink. My thumbs looked up at me and smiled.
The feeling of grief and disappointment I found in myself was profound. I had never felt anything like it. Before this, and people who know me well will say still to this day, I would tend to turn a blind eye to my own faults. Who's critical and controlling? Me? You must have me mistaken for someone else. But really, profound grief and disappointment. I had black thumbs. Not even just black, but blackest black, like the mascara. My thumbs were like calling the kettle black, black. Finally seeing this shortcoming was like seeing a little a little part of me die. Would I ever know the deep satisfaction of watching a tiny fleck of hope sprout into reality, and grow to absolution? Would I ever know the sweet taste of victory, or the real taste of something I grew with my own two hands? I told myself no. I told myself to forget it. I told myself that stuff was for trowel-toting prune-eating pruners. But there was an urge.
It persisted through day and night, through love and hate, through good and evil. And so I planted. I watched, and I waited. Waiting...waiting...waiting. Then, just as I was about to etch tortured and dying houseplants into my bathroom mirror, there it was. Life. A life I had made, nurtured, supported (it's amazing what 3 weeks of staring at something can do). At that moment it was nothing and everything all at once. Barely more than 1/8 of an inch tall, but an entire 1/8 of an inch tall! Careful not to pee my pants in the process, I placed it by the sink to let in take in its fist gulps of glorious sunlight. After several days, it had grown nearly 2 inches (so jealous!). Every time I looked at it my heart skipped a little beat. Soon it would be a beautiful tomato-bearing goddess, engulfing me in her loving leaves every time I took a bite. I imagined myself basking in her nutrient-giving fruit. Oh, the glorious times we would have together, her and I arm in arm, skipping through meadows and such. A sense of contentment spread through me. I was complete.
Tonight my husband knocked all 2 inches into the sink. My thumbs looked up at me and smiled.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
I Got Flowers Today
When I was least expecting it. It wasn't an "I'm sorry" move, or an "I'm about to tell you something I'll be sorry for" move (at least I don't think, I guess the later could come at any time after receipt of the gift). It was, on my best assumption, an act of kindness and a reminder of being in someone's thoughts. And, no matter what people say, it really is the thought in this type of gesture that counts. Sure, the flowers are a nice perk! And the thought part is important and meaningful mostly because it was a prelude to the gift. For instance, being told, "You were in my thoughts all day, I almost bought you flowers", is not the same. At all. In fact, the simplicity of being in ones thoughts with an afterward like that is almost a slap in the face (someone might literally get slapped in the face), rather than heartwarming.
The least expecting part is right up there with being thought of. Not to be taken as an "I was least expecting to think of you today, but I did, so here", but more on the side of the party being gifted. Expecting something is like begging for a let down. In the off chance the expectation is met, it only leads to more potential let down. This idea can be applied to many different scenarios; waiting for a proposal, planning on a raise, thinking the bathroom will be cleaned because you worked all day...you get the picture. My point is that expectation should be taken lightly, in moderation just as any other pleasing, tasty, vodka-ish, thing out there. Like I said, I wasn't counting on getting flowers today, so if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have felt any different. But it did happen, so I was that much more excited and surprised.
Now I just have to find a way to tell my husband...
The least expecting part is right up there with being thought of. Not to be taken as an "I was least expecting to think of you today, but I did, so here", but more on the side of the party being gifted. Expecting something is like begging for a let down. In the off chance the expectation is met, it only leads to more potential let down. This idea can be applied to many different scenarios; waiting for a proposal, planning on a raise, thinking the bathroom will be cleaned because you worked all day...you get the picture. My point is that expectation should be taken lightly, in moderation just as any other pleasing, tasty, vodka-ish, thing out there. Like I said, I wasn't counting on getting flowers today, so if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't have felt any different. But it did happen, so I was that much more excited and surprised.
Now I just have to find a way to tell my husband...
Saturday, May 26, 2012
I Love Me
I blog because I am selfish. It came to me on my drive home from work (yes, a lot can come to you in seven minutes), this realization. People realize things every day; that they are not good at sewing, that safety pins really do not replace buttons (hence sewing realization), maybe that trying to trim your own eyebrows with the method the barber uses on your husband is not such a good idea. Like I said, every day. But this one, being selfish, kept me intrigued until long after I had closed the garage door behind me.
For anyone who is familiar with psychological egoism, my contemplation may make sense. For anyone who is not, I will explain, so it does. Wikipedia's description: Psychological egoism is the view that humans are always motivated by self-interest, even in what seem to be acts of altruism. It claims that, when people choose to help others, they do so ultimately because of the personal benefits that they themselves expect to obtain, directly or indirectly, from doing so. Basically, it's the idea that all people are completely selfish, always. That tire you changed for the stranger on the side of the road? A selfish act of kindness because you would have been thinking about that person all day and felt terrible for not helping. Helping them made you feel good about yourself, made you feel proud, provided a fulfilment of your duty to mankind. Maybe you thought they would give you something in return. Psychological egoism. The extra work you did today even though you were suppose to be off forever ago? Doing the dishes in the sink that aren't yours even though you hate doing dishes? Picking up those papers that your coworker dropped? You get it, psychological egoism. Deep down, maybe not really that deep, we do things because there is some reward to doing so, some gain.
I am selfish because I blog. Once it can be realized (if you are past garment mending and personal hygiene disasters), it is easy to answer questions about who you are and why you do things. Try asking yourself some questions, about anything. Why do I complain about the dogs needing a bath, but never give them one myself? Why do I feel a deep urge to rid the world of plastic bags and people who don't know the difference between to, two, and too? Why do I pack a lunch for my husband every day even though I know he may not eat it? Why do I shave my legs when I plan on wearing pants all week? Because I am a selfish person. I know I am sitting at the table writing this because it makes me feel good, throws me a sense of accomplishment, gives me control of a little tiny section of the world. Yeah, I could be sorting my clothes to donate to Good Will. Sure, I could be washing cars for charity. And let's not even get started on running for the hungry. But here I am, blogging. And it feels good.
For anyone who is familiar with psychological egoism, my contemplation may make sense. For anyone who is not, I will explain, so it does. Wikipedia's description: Psychological egoism is the view that humans are always motivated by self-interest, even in what seem to be acts of altruism. It claims that, when people choose to help others, they do so ultimately because of the personal benefits that they themselves expect to obtain, directly or indirectly, from doing so. Basically, it's the idea that all people are completely selfish, always. That tire you changed for the stranger on the side of the road? A selfish act of kindness because you would have been thinking about that person all day and felt terrible for not helping. Helping them made you feel good about yourself, made you feel proud, provided a fulfilment of your duty to mankind. Maybe you thought they would give you something in return. Psychological egoism. The extra work you did today even though you were suppose to be off forever ago? Doing the dishes in the sink that aren't yours even though you hate doing dishes? Picking up those papers that your coworker dropped? You get it, psychological egoism. Deep down, maybe not really that deep, we do things because there is some reward to doing so, some gain.
I am selfish because I blog. Once it can be realized (if you are past garment mending and personal hygiene disasters), it is easy to answer questions about who you are and why you do things. Try asking yourself some questions, about anything. Why do I complain about the dogs needing a bath, but never give them one myself? Why do I feel a deep urge to rid the world of plastic bags and people who don't know the difference between to, two, and too? Why do I pack a lunch for my husband every day even though I know he may not eat it? Why do I shave my legs when I plan on wearing pants all week? Because I am a selfish person. I know I am sitting at the table writing this because it makes me feel good, throws me a sense of accomplishment, gives me control of a little tiny section of the world. Yeah, I could be sorting my clothes to donate to Good Will. Sure, I could be washing cars for charity. And let's not even get started on running for the hungry. But here I am, blogging. And it feels good.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
To Blog or Not to Blog...
While it may not be THE question, it is one I have contemplated for a while. At first is seemed like a strange idea, just writing your thoughts to write your thoughts and put them out there for the whole world to see. But, after dabbling in the idea of doing freelance work, and realizing the balance that must be kept with work, school, and family life, I decided the last thing I needed were more deadlines. I knew I was kidding myself if I thought freelancing would replace my current income, and I knew I might drive myself into the ground trying to make it do so. I chose to quit perusing monster.com and focus on the commitments I already had. While that decision seemed sound, I still had an urge to satisfy my love of writing.
Poetry was my first literary crush, and kept me grounded during a childhood that was anything but. I'm sure a psychologist would consider medication after reading some of it, but it was actually its own medicine. As I got older, I enjoyed things that had distinctive parts, cold hard facts and things you could rely on (also lacking in my life at the time). Short stories were a perfect outlet, even research reports that I did during SUMMER VACATION. What was wrong with me?! I'm still not sure that things are quite right, but what I wouldn't give now for 3 months of doing nothing. In high school I wrote for the school paper, which was satisfying enough, but left little room for my own creativity. Then...nothing. For almost 10 years. While my life careened and stabilized, I left writing behind. The one thing I always had control of, I abandoned. I don't know if I am trying to make up for lost time, or if I am looking for something life-changing in the letters on the page (screen in this case). All I know is that I answered "yes" to blogging, and here I am.
Language is the ultimate tool, and I am trying to get it back.
Poetry was my first literary crush, and kept me grounded during a childhood that was anything but. I'm sure a psychologist would consider medication after reading some of it, but it was actually its own medicine. As I got older, I enjoyed things that had distinctive parts, cold hard facts and things you could rely on (also lacking in my life at the time). Short stories were a perfect outlet, even research reports that I did during SUMMER VACATION. What was wrong with me?! I'm still not sure that things are quite right, but what I wouldn't give now for 3 months of doing nothing. In high school I wrote for the school paper, which was satisfying enough, but left little room for my own creativity. Then...nothing. For almost 10 years. While my life careened and stabilized, I left writing behind. The one thing I always had control of, I abandoned. I don't know if I am trying to make up for lost time, or if I am looking for something life-changing in the letters on the page (screen in this case). All I know is that I answered "yes" to blogging, and here I am.
Language is the ultimate tool, and I am trying to get it back.
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