On Writing
I like to consider myself a fairly decent writer. I’ve always earned high marks in school, and many of my friends have applauded my skills. If I have something to say, I usually have no problem expressing it. Oftentimes, however, I can’t think of anything to say. For instance, I began this very post not knowing what I was going to say–and I still don’t. Writing seems to be my most marketable skill, but words often refuse to flood from my fingertips.
Perhaps I should train my mind to think like that of a writer. Instead of being content with living out my life, I should always ask myself what could be said about whatever I’m doing. Rather than merely listening to Muddy Waters, what can I say about him? Rather than merely going on a date, what can I say about male-female psychology? The problem with all this, of course, is that I feel very out of my element. Call me a jack of all trades, master of none. What the hell can I say about Muddy Waters that hasn’t already been said?
And then there’s the idea that I could turn this blog into some kind of journal, but no one wants to read about me waking up at 2 PM, loafing away the most precious years of my life. This, of course, leads us to an even bigger problem. I know I should be out there in the real world, doing interesting things, but what is interesting? What do I like to do? I played cards the other night–a game called Tic–but who wants to read about that?! Surely the blog would be much more interesting if I were recounting details of dating supermodels and surfing in Hawaii.
Others tell me writing becomes easier as you write more. A friend of mine, who will be published in a few months, said that writing has unlocked enormous creative faculties and that the more he writes, the more he finds he can write. This no doubt explains why Stephen King (and others) can pump out books year after year, while it’s taken me six months to write fifty pages. I’m not feeling sorry for myself here; I just feel stuck. I’m young and ambitious. I should be out in the real world doing something important, dammit! Art history classes are interesting, but how are they going to buy me a BMW?
And then I wonder, are my intentions all screwed up? Should I even want a BMW? If not, what should I want? Happiness? What is that?
This is how the top spins, kiddos. An unending loops of questions that lead me back to the same point I started, if I’m lucky. Perhaps I should think less and write more. Perhaps it doesn’t matter what I say as long as I just say it. Something. Anything.
I think one of my problems is my tendency to romanticize everything. When I think how cool it’d be to be a “real writer,” I imagine myself in some trendy threads, sipping beer in some cool bar next to the beach. Absent in my thoughts are the tight deadlines and late nights and writers block. That’s the same for any possible career I think of. Being a lawyer means driving a Ferrari to court, not hustling through 80-hour workweeks. Then again, don’t all careers have their downsides? Is there any truly “perfect” job? I imagine not. Perhaps I should resign myself to slugging away at whatever I can get, hopefully for a bit more than minimum wage.
This is why people drink, right?
Fat
Why do people insist on getting so godforsaken fat? I can understand gaining a few pounds over Christmas break. Hell, sometimes I gain a few pounds over Christmas break. I can eat chips with the best of ’em. I can watch television for twelve hours at a whack. See, I’m not that different than the rest of you. I’m not. But there comes a point where I look in the mirror and realize, “Wow, I look like shit.” And then hardcore mode kicks in, and I starve myself down to some semblance of normalcy. I’m not asking you to be supermodels–just don’t balloon up like a pig. Go to the gym for once in your life and WALK on the treadmill. Lift some weights. Have some respect for yourself, or no one else is going to.
I look around and I see tons of people in their early 20s–people who should be at their physical peak–and they’re wobbling around like walking is the world’s most intense burden. Here’s my problem: I’m young, skinny, and seemingly healthy, yet I want to sleep 15 hours a day. I can’t even imagine how difficult life must be like for the slobs who waddle around, huffing and puffing, as if stepping off the elevator is a feat equivalent to scaling Everest. How do you people get out of bed in the morning? How do you look in the mirror without crying? How do live?
Evolve Your Brain
I recently finished the book Evolve Your Brain: The Science of Changing Your Mind by Joe Dispenza. The first 2/3 of the book are scientifically based. Dispenza provides a walkthrough on brain function. How neurons work, etc. It’s quite interesting if you’re into all that, but I wanted to get to the meat of the book. Like most things, the meat was at the end.
Dispenza basically postulates that we are victims of our own minds. Every day we essentially think the same thoughts over and over. A depressed person continually thinks about how shitty his or her life is, an angry person blows up at every little incident, etc. Dispenza says that over time, our neurons become “wired” to think in this way. He also uses a lot of scientific jargon to “prove” that we become addicted to these states. Not addicted in the sense that they are fun, but addicted in the sense that we can’t help ourselves. For instance, angry people need to feel angry in order to feel normal. As such, they get caught in a feedback loop and make themselves feel angry (this happens unconsciously, of course).
The author further postulates that we can use this feedback loop to our advantage. Using the Hebbian theory of learning as his basis, Dispenza contends that we can rewire ourselves to become who we truly want. According to Dispenza, all we have to do is create our “ideal self” and then spend a considerable chunk of time (he recommends a minimum of one hour per day for at least three weeks) thinking about this person. He contends that we must then act on these thoughts. A shy person cannot become a socialite simply by imagining himself as a socially adept person; he must actually start talking to people. Feedback, too, is also important. We can use it to see what we are doing right and what we need to work on.
All of this is very interesting and I plan to give it a shot. However, I can’t help but be a bit skeptical. The “imagining” step seems a bit new agey, even though Dispenza “proved” its power in the first part of the book when describing how the brain functions. After that, of course, the whole thing is kind of DUH. I mean, clearly someone who wants to become a better conversationalist can get better by, you know, having more conversations and getting feedback on his attempts. With that said, the only novel part of Dispenza’s plan is the first step, the imagining, and that’s where our journey begins.
(In Dispenza’s defense, I did imagine myself as a great writer this morning…and here I am, writing this article. Perhaps he’s right after all.)
Thoughts on Consumerism
Shopping is a disease. People think a pair of new jeans, or shoes, or whatever is going to improve their lives. They think it’s going to improve them. This isn’t the case. I don’t care how much money you spent on your purse; if you’re a fat hog, you’re a fat hog. That’s the simple truth. I used to be a hopeless idealist, thinking if I were only pure hearted enough the universe would send some good energy my way and I’d wake up a millionaire one day. This isn’t the case. The universe is cold and cruel and, if it has feelings at all, it hates you. You have to make your own luck. You have to go against the grain. You have to get out of your comfort zone. You have to go the extra mile. You have to push yourself a little harder when you’re all spent.
Are humans fundamentally good or fundamentally evil?
