The Existential Tug-of-War

3.21.18 - Various Locations ~ 1:41 PM -9:10 PM MT

            I just got out of TIPS training and despite the fact that the trainer was nice, I still think that the whole thing is a racket.  That being said, it was nice to clarify the accepted Colorado truths of hospitality: that you CAN serve someone without an ID and that the police CAN lie to you to entrap you.  The process was pretty painless on the whole.

            I followed it up with fries and a beer at Fate Brewing (highly recommend!) and proceeded to run five miles and climb for an hour at Earth Treks—my stomach felt somewhere between a washing machine and a college party—nonetheless, I powered through and managed to enjoy my calorie-burning.    

            I came home to eat the leftover Blue Pan Detroit-style-pizza (I say goddamn!) and watched a leaked video of Buffalo Bills wide receiver Zay Jones who was naked, trying to jump out of a 30th floor window.  

            Here comes the cliché, “athletes and celebrities are people too” that everyone says in unison when things like his happen. It’s sad that things have to come to this for us to remember the humanity of eachother.  I think the core takeaway of what happened with Zay is that mental health is not to be taken lightly, and that we have to be careful choosing the lens in which we see the world.  Who knows the way Zay has been looking through the glass but it’s clear that he’s hit a critical breaking point.  This is just a reminder that our mental health should always come first because the human mind is too powerful to be taken lightly.

            We don’t even know the extent of the capability of our brains yet we press forward with technology as if we can handle the perilous unknown that we are creating.  There will always be nostalgia for a simpler time but the time we find ourselves in is scarily precarious.  Our psyches are bombarded with information, temptation, and subversion almost every second of every day and we’re supposed to stay sane, confident, and working towards a worthy goal in life.  Not to mention that the information we’re being fed is intelligently crafted to manipulate or affect our very sensitive psyches.  Thus, it’s not a mystery when public figures meltdowns like this—the pressure for the average 21st century individual is enough—without the eyes of the world judging you 24/7.

            For most of us in the western world we lead relatively simple lives even though we long for more. Part of it is our culture of rampant consumerism and entertainment, but the other is that the human mind seems to long for acceptance, notoriety, and accolade.  We go to school, we find a job, and we hopefully find a partner and start a family and in between all of it time passes us by.  We wind up climbing into our death beds wondering where the time went watching the reel of our regrets on repeat.  I think that the human mind is confused, caught somewhere between the comfort of the simple and the ambition for innovation, getting yanked back and forth day-in-and-day-out in some sort of existential tug-of-war. 

                                              At least that’s how I feel sometimes.

            That’s why I focus on happiness in the now, assuring that Heather and I hash out our inner workings to the best of our abilities.  Our minds can be scary places and talking to others makes our own feel less alone.  Sharing intimate stories and thoughts reveals to the world that we are alike even though our insecurities tell us that we aren't.  Sometimes we need to silence the thoughts in our heads to let the words come from our lips to make us remember that we all suffer and that misery loves company. 

            Pain is inevitable in life, but the way we process and react to it, whether we share it or lock it up can make all the difference.  The lens in which we choose to view the world determines the reality before our eyes; let it be tinted with the courage to share the pain that stirs inside you: first for the benefit of yourself; and second for the benefit of mankind. 

It is Human to Feel

2.23.18 - Bookbar ~ 3:21 PM

            Lately I’ve been having a conversation with myself about my own potential.  Perhaps its listening to Steven Pressfield’s book, The War of Art, perhaps its serendipitous timing given my current “occupational struggles.”  Why don’t I just say “I can’t get a fucking job,” rather than dress it up like some piece of watered down reality?  I guess using phrases like these is a way for our brains to navigate the pain we feel when we have to accept a harsh truth of our reality. 

            My  current reality is that I am afraid of my own potential.  I’m afraid of putting myself out there, of putting a price tag on my work.  By remaining judgment free of others, I have carved out a place for myself to be safe from judgment as well, because I guess I’d rather live in comfortable anonymity than recognized splendor—or worse—recognized failure.  I’ve rationalized to myself for years that the reason I haven’t committed to a certain work is that I have always found a reason not to do it, a caveat that renders the effort futile.  But I’m just coming to grips with the fact that if I want to be a successful writer I need to: 

a) write (duh) and;

b) Not be afraid to approach my own potential.

            Even as I sit at Bookbar on Tennyson, surrounded by the clinks and clanks of glassware, I question my happiness with getting the job at Oasis Brewery.  It's another job that doesn’t push my limits, it's an atmosphere where I'm already comfortable-- it's safe.  By my failure to dedicate myself to my work, my tendency to take what's safe, and my contentedness with what I have: I have paved myself a history of mediocrity.   Growing pains are part of the deal when you enter a new industry or part of your life and I have spent my entire adulthood avoiding difficulty.  The only time I really reached for something was bartending at Henry’s Restaurant in NYC and I achieved it and quickly became complacent.  Even there, I wasn’t really pushing myself to master a craft. 

            The only thing I’ve exercised a great deal of self-control and awareness is in understanding social interactions.  As a friendly face, I have honed the ability to make people feel comfortable and welcome to say that which makes them vulnerable.  I’ve done this with a combination of eye contact and knowledge that we’re all insecure and unsure of ourselves, and I’m just willing to be the first one to admit it in a group.  When someone is overly sure of themselves it strikes me as arrogant, and I’d rather be vulnerable than overconfident.  That’s why I’m excited to open Apollo Fields with Heather.  I know I have the ability to make all of our guests comfortable and I know Heather will execute the production side of things or die trying.  I am so lucky to have found a partner so rational and understanding. 

            Back to the conversation on my potential -- I have learned that my biggest asset in writing is my power of description.  That I can transport the reader to a place of my creation and I can have fun doing it.

           All around me BookBar is buzzing with the comfortable speed of a café on a Saturday afternoon.  The patrons around me pluck away at their computers, while people seated on leather couches laugh in the background.  Money is exchanged over the counter and “have-a-nice-days” are cheerily spoke through the barista's lips.  There’s a comfort to cafés that I wish could plop in my living room, where people talk and jest in casual business.  I didn’t think about it, but you rarely find tie-wearing businessmen conducting conversations in cafés, probably because they mean business and its too important to be said over a coffee table.  Keep an eye out for them - they tend to seem out of place. 

            But here I sit, happily plucking away, a letter at a time from my worried consciousness, conjuring up sentences from seemingly nowhere.  They say that energy is neither created nor destroyed but where does creative energy come from?  Logic says that if it isn’t created, then it must live dormant in each of us until we call it forth to our mouths or fingertips.  A reassuring thought except for the creative individual during writer’s block-- “I have it in me somewhere, it has to be here!” like they're looking for a pair of lost keys stuck between couch cushions.  What am I writing anyway?  Or more accurately, why?

            I like to investigate the human condition, getting at why we behave the way we do in social settings and how we can better understand one another.  I like (not always) to be honest with myself, engaging in these wacky conversations because running away from them makes me feel like shit.  It makes me feel like the way I used to when I would lie to avoid my harsh truths of reality.  The way of life that really came to a head in my first semester at SUNY Cortland where I avoided my problems altogether.  Everyday I woke in dread of the problems I’ve swept under the carpet the night before; and every night I went to sleep in a cannabis-induced shame.  It takes courage to have these conversations but the alternative is a tepid reality laced with indifference, envy, and personal stagnation. 

It is human to feel—to ignore this is to ignore human life itself.