Category: Current Events (page 7 of 91)

500 Words on Time Management

Gears

There was an invasion in our apartment earlier this week. It happened without warning, and before any of us knew it, we were all in varying states of incapacitation. We felt powerless to move much, let alone be productive or get much accomplished.

I’m not sure what the bug was, but it killed my brain by way of my sinuses on around Tuesday evening.

Caught in a miasma of enzymes, pain, face drainage, and general blargitude, I struggled to hold onto what I felt was a renewed sense of productivity. Unfortunately, my body did not agree with this intention. My immune system was throwing haymakers at whatever had invaded my body, and that required copious amounts of spoons. I rode it out until around this morning, mostly gaming through it.

Incidentally, I have no idea why it took me so long to get around to finishing the Witcher games, and I haven’t even touched the Wild Hunt yet. Which is odd, considering I made it into the Gwent beta — a pretty solid game, so far.

Still, in spite of the best efforts of the bugs (remember, kids, the only good bug is a dead bugdo your part!), I was able to crank out the words. Only a few hundred a day, but considering I was huddled in my bathrobe reaching shakily for coffee treated with special chocolate syrup and frothy hemp milk, I still consider that a triumph. I made good use of my time.

Time management can be extremely problematic for creative types. A lot of my time over the past year has been taken up by the Work, especially since Starbucks and I parted ways. Getting to a place where I’ve felt comfortable carving out the space to invest myself in the words that need to be written seemed less important than unearthing and celebrating my truest Self, investing in the best alchemist I can be, on a daily basis. It was my niece’s input on the novel in progress that rekindled the fire in me to get it done, to entertain as well as inspire, to give people like my niece a protagonist who neither falls into old tropes nor bores the reader. It’s important, now more than ever.

Time management is undoubtedly an ‘adult’ skill, and by their nature, creative folks may not have the best grasp of ‘adult’ skills. There’s a reason for that: we haven’t lost our whimsy. We still want to play. We still prefer the worlds in our heads. The key is to utilize that energy, focus it into what we’ll manifest, and help others see what we see, wonder at what we wonder.

It can be difficult to feel empowerment. To let others in like that. To believe we’re worthy of the accolades and success.

It’s risky to manage your time to make that happen, rather than playing.

But the things we play with were created by people who faced the same struggle.

And we should repay them in kind.

On Fridays I write 500 words.

500 Words on 2016

Let me say this first: the marking of days, months, and years is no more or less arbitrary than marking distance. The road is the road, and the milestones along it do not change it; it is how we measure the distance we’ve covered in our journey, and what lays ahead for us. How we mark time is very similar, save for the fact that we mere mortals have no clue as to how far we have to go. But in terms of where we’ve been, it helps to have a scale along which we can track our changes, our low points, and our triumphs.

So it is with the year a good number of us call “2016”.

During this time we’ve marked, there’s been so much loss, so much hardship, so much disappointment. I’ve dealt with this on a deeply personal level, as well as the general one. It takes time to process grief, and to transition from reflection to actualization, especially in a society that is focused more on monetary profit and material gain than personal growth or societal advancement. The expectation is that we will live to work, rather than working to live, and that we will kowtow to the whims of others, instead of taking care of our Selves.

The importance of owning our mistakes & drawbacks, and using negative events & energy as fuel for moving forward, has been brought home to me in a very real, visceral way in the past year. I’ve heard years like this one past referred to as ‘burning years’. As a Fire sign and a person feeling a draw towards the transformative potential of matter as well as energy, I’ve taken this interpretation to heart. When a final metaphorical nail was driven into a past to which I was clinging, I made the conscious decision that this time, this time, I would not succumb to my head weasels and become drawn into a miasma of despair from which I might not be able to save myself.

I did not lay in my coffin to decompose. I set that motherfucker on fire.

The inferno of the past is lighting the way to the future. It’s a path I’m walking as confidently and consciously as I can.

I’m so much more aware of my surroundings, those around me, the impact I have on people. I’m regaining things I’ve lost and sowing seeds for success in soil I’d let gone to seed. And I wouldn’t be capable if I hadn’t had so much twisted and broken that I had to burn away.

Between that, and the character of those around me being truly revealed, in a way, I’m grateful for all that happened.

I look to the luminary examples of the musicians, actors, and thinkers we lost. I admonish myself to be and do as well as they would expect, to live up to their example, and perhaps, to exceed them.

I’m curious to see what I will do, and what fruit will bear, in 2017.

On Fridays I write 500 words.

A World Without Leia

So much loss has happened since the last time we celebrated a new year. So many luminaries have left us behind. But if we’re personifying the year of 2016, we can envision it holding back at least one more devastating punch to the emotional gut. And this one… this one hurts. It hurts a lot.

Carrie Fisher has died.

Putting my thoughts on this tragedy together is proving difficult. Star Wars has had a profound impact on my life. It is one of the first science fiction universes to which I was introduced, and many of its elements did and do resonate with me on a fundamental level. Princess Leia was a huge part of that from the very start. Back when the episode subtitled “A New Hope” was merely called “Star Wars,” the tall, white-robed, cinnabun-haired diplomat was a strong, defiant, patient, and even deadly character. She was, in a word, iconic.

Time did not dilute this image. While many may point to her character being forced into a position that could potentially be disempowering and humiliating, Leia rose up against her would-be master, and (bolding for emphasis here) strangled the lecherous slug to death with the very chain he was using to keep her prisoner. I cheered, as a child, when I saw this. And while, yes, as I grew there was physical appeal in the salacious nature of the outfit, I still felt more engaged and delighted by what she did while wearing it than simply seeing it on her. Leia was never an object. She was a person. And she remains so today.

Carrie Fisher managed to finish filming Leia’s scenes for Episode VIII before she left us, so we’ll be seeing her again later next year. But I am not going to let people forget that Leia is not her only legacy. Princess Leia fought Imperial forces bent on subjugating the galaxy.

Carrie Fisher fought forces within her own mind bent on controlling who she was and who she could be.

Bipolar disorder is an absolutely insidious and terrifying disease. The emotional swings and disruption to life that go along with them are devastating. It can lead to incongruous behavior. Outside observers can even attribute other disorders and explanations to what they witness during serious manic or hypomanic episodes, or disregard major depressive episodes as a form of manipulative overacting. And, in general, a huge stigma exists regarding even discussing a condition like bipolar disorder, and securing effective and proven treatment is incredibly difficult.

When she wasn’t struggling against her inner conflict, she was offering help and hope to those fighting their own. Many people see what occurs during mixed states, rapid cycles, and the extremes of the moods involved as a battleground. And navigating the trenches of said battleground is something that many people find intimidating, if not impossible. But someone who has been in those trenches, trying to navigate a minefield of awful moments and terrible choices and digging foxholes to try and escape the horrors of it all, can relate to the struggle. And Carrie Fisher did her best to do what she could for others. Just before she died, she wrote this letter to a fellow victim of the disorder.

“We have been given a challenging illness, and there is no other option than to meet those challenges,” she wrote. “Think of it as an opportunity to be heroic – not “I survived living in Mosul during an attack” heroic, but an emotional survival. An opportunity to be a good example to others who might share our disorder. That’s why it’s important to find a community — however small — of other bipolar people to share experiences and find comfort in the similarities.”

In light of her death, the way she closes the letter will give you chills: “Move through those feelings and meet me on the other side. As your bipolar sister, I’ll be watching.”

I feel that, for those of us left and still dealing with these challenges, our duty is to take up that vigil. And, for my part, we may not always be on the stable side of things. But we can always make it back there. It’s a hard road. A long one. And it’s often fraught with obstacles that we inadvertently placed in our own way. Human beings are very good at creating problems for themselves to overcome. We generate conflict on flimsy pretenses to justify our own agendas. We demonize those we see as ‘other’ in order to lionize ourselves and make ourselves the heroes in some sort of dichotomous, simplistic narrative. We’ve all done it. Some of us might even do it again.

We owe Carrie Fisher better than that.

I for one choose to keep talking about what happens in my head and my heart. I for one choose to keep telling my story, even the parts that people don’t want to hear. I for one will stand up for those too weak or scared or confused to stand on their own, and tell them — and you — that we are not alone. I for one choose to believe that light can prevail over darkness, and that whatever it is, the Force is strong with us.

We’ll miss you, Carrie. Your fight is over.

We’ll take it from here.

As Princess Leia put it, “somebody has to save our skins!”

Wednesdays are for discussing the whys and wherefores of our world.

500 Words on Family

I’m with my family for the holidays. It’s been a refreshing and recharging trip so far, mostly just me and my partner in my childhood home with my parents occasionally checking in with us at they go about their daily lives, preparing for the big events of Christmas. My sister and her family descend upon the house this afternoon, bringing a whirlwind of excited activity, barely retrained delight, exuberant emotion, and probably a tantrum or two. That’s life. That’s my family.

I know not everybody has a family like mine. I know the experience of gathering around the tree on Christmas morning in matching pajamas and watching children tear away bright paper from new toys isn’t something everyone gets. A lot of people have families who aren’t this in touch, who don’t have this connection. Some people barely talk to their families at all. Others wish they didn’t have parents. Still others wish their parents were still with us.

For me, I wish this house was big enough for me to invite everyone who may be alone or who might feel isolated this year, and have them join in this atmosphere, if they’d feel comfortable doing so.

I long ago swore that I would do two things when it comes to my family: I would not take their love, generosity, or honesty for granted, and I would do my utmost to share the gifts they continue to give me with those around me. Considering how my family continues to support me, I think I’ve got that first part pretty much nailed. As for the other… let’s just say there are times in my past when I wish I’d been better at listening, being receptive, and taking a moment to pause and reflect before choosing my response, rather than simply reacting.

At my last family reunion, I saw a lot of small humans reacting rather than responding. Upon reflection, it seems that there are some folks who never really grew out of that impulse. It took me quite a while to get to a point where I can do that semi-regularly, and I still have my share of mistakes and knee-jerk reactions. Hell, at times I wonder if a tweet I send out or a blog entry I post is too much, or goes too far, or needed to be worded better, if sent at all.

Family, at least my family, understands that. They’re good at holding space for me. They see me and all I could be, rather than what I’ve failed to be. They’re patient with me, as the parents in my family I’ve seen are patient with their children. I’ve been forced to grow up a lot in the past year. When the people I’d chose to be part of my family turned on me, I had to grow up even more. And my blood family was there for me, behind me and loving me, every step of the way.

Everybody deserves this kind of family and love.

On Fridays I write 500 words.

500 Words on Getting Better

Getting to a point where I can post here on even a semi-regular basis has been a very long road. Even before my most recent traumas, just a few months ago, I was climbing my way back to a place of relative stability from the rock bottom I’d hit last year. My focus has been sporadic, my productivity inconsistent, my motivation coming and going along with the swings of my mood. I’ve questioned my actions, doubted my sanity, and struggled to hold onto things like joy and hope.

But I’m getting better.

“That’s all everyone wants for you,” someone told me a few months ago. “We want you to get better.” I feel that they’re one of the few people who meant it. A bunch of folks paid lip service to the idea of Josh getting better; in retrospect, more than a few of them saying “We want you to get better” really meant “we want you to get lost.” Especially if the anonymous, threatening messages I got were any indication.

For a while, I was incredibly concerned about how I was being perceived and, moreover, why individuals I continued to try and imagine complexly refused to extend me the same courtesy. Instead of holding space for me and trying to understand me, I was demonized and made out to be, if not as bad as, worse than Donald Trump. “A broken stair,” said one individual. “A monster,” said an anonymous message. These aren’t people who want me to get better. These aren’t people who care about me. This was a feeding frenzy of drama. This was a mob of perverts for failure. This was gaslighting, plain and simple.

So I’m getting better.

While it was unnecessary for me to get raked over the coals in this abusive manner, the aftermath of this brutal annihilation of my Persona, as well as my social life, meant I had all the more bandwidth and capacity to step up my game in what I have come to embrace as “the Work.” Like all of us, I am a work in progress. In retrospect, a good portion of that work leading up to the gaslighting was half-done or, like the accusations of the mob, built on sand. So, I scrapped it. I started over, diving into new areas of research and growth, to get better.

In doing so, I’ve realized three things.

1. The perception of others is secondary to my perception of my Self.

2. Representing my Self as authentically as possible is the best foundation for my Persona.

3. The more I try to unearth my honest Self, the more the insecure and false will rail against me.

Even now, writing this out, part of me worries that it comes across as pretentious; you, reading this, may think I have my head up my ass. But I have worked very hard to be introspective without putting my head up my ass to look within. And I won’t stop now.

Because I am getting fucking better.

On Fridays I write 500 words.

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