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  • One of the nice things about relatively mindless work like packing is that I can do whatever needs to be done, and still have lots of bandwidth left over for thinking. Not sure if that’s actually a good thing… but it just more or less happens by itself. It’s entirely possible that I “think too much;” at least I have been told that, from time to time. Not sure what “too much” is and not sure I’ll ever know. Or want to.

    As I folded clothes into a box, I pondered some concepts, and their interrelations:

    “Unconditional Love.”

    “Reciprocity.”

    “Expectations.”

    It seems to me that all three are related in some way, and all three are part of our daily existence, in some way.

    We strive for unconditional love (whether such a thing is truly possible, is another discussion) as some kind of “ideal” we wish for. The more idealistic our souls are, the greater our belief that it can exist.

    Reciprocity is something we want, I suppose– this sense that our connections with others involve a “give and take” dynamic… and isn’t just all “one way traffic” with one person doing all the “giving” and the other doing all the “taking.”

    Reciprocity is an “expectation,” in a way… along with a whole host of other expectations– some reasonable, some folly– that can range from “being treated with respect” to “being brought breakfast in bed, every morning.”

    But where and when do the paradoxes arrive? Is it a paradox that we believe in unconditional love, yet “expect” to be treated with kindness? If we “expect” kindness from someone, is the love truly “unconditional?” If we are critical of another’s toxic behaviors, doesn’t that preclude unconditionality? If we “expect” “reciprocity” how can we have “unconditional” love?

    And yet… if we interpret “unconditional” to mean “as is,” aren’t we agreeing to endorse and validate all manners of dysfunctionality? I remember being married, and being told in no uncertain terms that if I weren’t 100% supportive of my ex’s actions and behaviors, it was a sign that I “didn’t love her.”

    So there are limits, and boundaries… and most would agree that this is a “good” thing. So I ask, again: “Yes, but is it then truly unconditional?

    Maybe it’s in the “spirit” of the thing. The “intent.” I’m sure “unconditional love” doesn’t ask us to agree to (for example) be abused, or neglected, or manipulated in the name of giving it.

    As an idealistic soul, I’d certainly be bitterly disappointed if it did.

     

  • A semblance of fall arrived in the Southland today– this morning it was actually clear, dry and in the 60′s. I am not sure exactly by what mechanism this happens, but Labor Day often seems to be a marker of the end of the relentlessly hot summers around here.

    I am grateful, of course, as it made the job of rounding up all the crap out in the yard less of a nightmare. It always amazes me how much crap we accumulate, even when (as is the case around here) the process of shedding the excess has already been “in progress” for years. Wanna buy some used store fixtures? Got some on eBay. Otherwise, please drive by the house and pick up any of the junk out by the street… where you see the large “Free Stuff!” sign.

    Literally 100s of moving boxes have been packed. For someone who’s striving for minimalism, that might sound like a contradiction, but I’m not getting rid of the books– and they are always the culprits, when it comes to weight and volume, when I move. There’s a lot of stuff I have shed from my life, but books are generally not going to be one of them. The same goes for CDs, for that matter.

    Just a quickie, today, as I need to get back to it. I think everything’s on schedule– and there’s nothing I’dike more than to wake up with a couple of days to go… realizing that everything has already been packed and is ready.

    Yeah, I know. Fat chance.

     

  • I realized that I am actually one of the reasons I enjoy shopping at Goodwill and other thrift stores. Why would anyone every buy anything new? Over the past 3-4 days, I have hauled at least two dozen boxes of clothing, books, housewares and other stuff to Goodwill… not just “junk,” but good, workable, functional stuff. The craigslist “free stuff” area has also been a good place to get rid of certain larger items. Freecycle is a good place to do that, as well.

    Today was one of those days I had not been looking forward to. I have had multiple mini-storage spaces here, each representing different “closed chapters” of my life. This was the day I went to deal with the almost-closed chapter that represents a retail store I once owned, in another life. A substantial mess greeted me… things that had been put away, starting back in 1998… and only partially been sorted out. This 10×30′ space used to be jammed to the rafters, but most of what remains is either trash, records kept to satisfy the IRS 7-year statute of limitations, some fairly useful bookshelves, some fossilized computer equipment and some fixtures waiting to be sold.

    Some places are scary, even though the prospect of dealing with them is far more daunting than the reality. Like this house represented a link to lifestyle that’s no longer mine, the stuff in the storage space represents the underlying “engine” or “circumstance” that once drove that lifestyle. Whereas there certainly is some “physical evidence” to process, distribute and throw away, the “ghosts” in that space are much larger.

    Today, the final banishment process began.

    I have had many ghosts in my life. By ghosts (and I imagine most of you recognize this), I mean things, ideas, people, routines that are part of the past, rather than the present… yet they seem to linger on, and the task of cleaning them up feels scary. Somehow, there’s an uncomfortable psychological subtext that they will– somehow– be able to reach out from the past and exert their negative influences on my present, should I choose to do something that’s “not pleasing to their reality.” In this case, namely, finally banishing them from my existence.

    I wonder why we hang onto old “stuff,” especially when that old stuff has only unpleasant associations?

  • On Thursday, I was participant to what seemed like the world’s longest closing. It started at 10:00am, broke off because some documentation had to be redone, resumed at 1:30pm; then went on till 3:30 because a number of errors were discovered (like the survey belonging to a different house– TWICE; wrong amounts, multiple times). From what I understand, the buyers didn’t get out of the Title Company’s office till sometime around 5:30. Most of this, on account of the financing being rather… “creative” and everything having to be run by the lender every time a change was discovered. Of course, it was somewhat ironic that the lender approved the package twice, with the wrong survey in the package….

    But at least it’s a done deal; and the the “leaseback” now lasts till September 19th.

    Meanwhile, the packing continues. I more or less got my office packed today, all but a few things needed to keep my life “running” for a couple more weeks. Overall, the packing is progressing pretty well, relative to the number of days left. This doesn’t mean that I don’t run around with a certain frantic feeling and I do worry about the days when I will have to bring everything that’s in the mini-storage space back over to the house, so it can be loaded on the container.

    Moving is an expensive proposition, especially when you are going 2400 miles, across the country. A “full-service” moving company would charge on the order of $13,000-$16,000 to move a 4-bedroom house from Austin to Seattle. A so-called “box hauler” will come and dump off a trailer in the driveway, then you self-pack and load the trailer, they haul it to a terminal in Kent, WA and hold till provided a delivery time and destination… and that only costs about $4,500. It’s basically renting space on a UPS package trailer. It’s not for everyone, of course, but when economy matters, it’s a good deal… not a whole lot more than renting a truck, a trailer for the car, gas, insurance, etc.

    Just 17 more days…

  • Something unusual happened yesterday… water started coming out of the sky. Here in the parched southland where brown lawns are currently de rigeur, it was a welcome change. And this morning, the temperature was below 70 degrees for the first time since sometime back in May. No, that’s not a typo. I said May. And yes, that includes readings at 5 a.m.


    An assortment of “stuff” sits out by the street, with a large “FREE” sign next to it. It’s amazing what people will haul away when the price is FREE.


    Packing? Well, it goes. Even somewhat “on schedule.” Five rooms, the garage (Ugh!), the attic (Double ugh!)and the outdoor shed/workshop (more fubarish ugh-ness) are sorted, packed, boxed and otherwise cleaned up. I am really glad so much was slowly done in advance, over the past 18 months… meaning that the many “layers” of crap that normally go with a major move aren’t really all that many layers.


    Still, I hauled six more very large boxes to the Goodwill, on Sunday. I like the idea that old junque gets recycled, and becomes someone else’s treasure.


    I used to move a lot. In fact, I was raised as a sort of “global nomad;” my parents going from country to country… regardless of whether they were married, or not. At one point, my mom and stepdad kept separate places in Phoenix, AZ, the south of Spain and England. At a different time, it was Phoenix, Spain and South Africa.


    I like something more “stable” than that– I can totally see something like having a place in-town, and maybe a vacation cabin somewhere. But keeping three fully autonomous households, with all the attendant “stuff,” responsibility, maintenance and expenses? I don’t want it. In thinking about that, what I mostly don’t want is the phychic energy drain of having three “bouncing balls” I need to track, at all times. I don’t want to be at “Point A” and get a phone call that the roof at my “Point B” place has a plumbing leak, or my place at “Point C” has become incorporated by the city, so taxes have tripled.


    Of course, there’s something deeper here: The realization that pretty much my entire adult (and some youth) life has revolved around “disaster management,” “contingency planning” and “putting out fires.” Being at ANY place, in ANY situation, at ANY time from a position of “strength” is a completely alien concept for me. The only feeling I know is the headlong free-fall over the edge of the Cliffs of Complete Chaos.


    There’s definitely some learning I still need to do, there.


    P.S.: Sorry I haven’t been visiting your sites very much recently– my bandwidth is stretched a little….uhmmm…. “thin,” these days…


     

  • I think it was Leo Buscaglia who once speculated that if you put 1000 random strangers in a room together and left them for a while, when you returned, they would all have paired up according too their dysfunctionalities.


    Elsewhere– on several occasions– I have read and heard a piece of advice that goes something like this: If you meet someone and you share this huge instant magnetic attraction to each other, it’s a good bet that the smartest thing you can do is run in the opposite direction… because, most likely, they are your “worst poison.”


    Bits of information like these really make me wonder about the nature of attraction and love. Above all, the thought that keeps running through my mind is that if the above is true, is the underlying mechanism we (as human beings) use to select partners “broken?” As someone with a fairly idealistic mindset, I’d like to think that I am merely misinterpreting the meaning and intent behind the opening statements.


    One of my own truisms is well reflected by the statement Those who have abandoned their dreams will discourage yours.” I don’t know who said that, but I have found it to often hold true.


    One of my dubious “talents” in life seems to be the ability to “overthink” a lot of things. I used “overthinking” as my main mechanism to overcome my doubts about wanting to get married, when I was in my early 20′s. It could even be argued that I took paragraph two by the horns and convinced myself to get married to someone I was not particularly attracted to, but with whom I “made sense” on a number of levels. 13 years later, I was very tired of living with a roommate/business partner– and although there were many other “miscues” at work in the marriage, the absence of basic attraction and love was certainly one of the largest obstacles that simply couldn’t be overcome.


    As some of you might remember, I have preciously speculated on the differences between the feeling of love, and the act of love. When I read the words of messrs. Buscaglia, Gray, Hendrix and other “experts” on human relationships, I always get the sense that they feel that “romantic love” is highly overrated; and that “practical love” is what anchors people in life; in their relationships.


    And the idealist in me looks at that with sadness, and feels set adrift on an ice floe, in very cold water, very very far from dry land. Is love really just a cold practical issue, like buying a house, or a new car? Is what constitutes a “successful” relationship the ability to look back 40 years later and say “it lasted?” Like older couples I have known who “tolerated” each otherm but “made it work.” Or is the definition of a ”good” relationship ultimately as different as the people who get into them? Meaning that a large part of the reason so many people struggle in relationships is actually because they are trying to force a general set of values on their very specific needs and wants?


    Ultimately, I end up with more questions. My parents certainly just had what amounted to “a business arrangement.” So did many of my older family members. And most of them ended up divorced. Some just lived together in “quiet bitterness” till one’s demise, because they were committed to the relationship, but certainly not devoted to each other. At the same time, I have known more than a few people whose “flames of love” burned extremely brightly, but then burned out very quickly.


    So who decides what “works?” Perhaps the ultimate truth is that the “mistake” we make is trying to measure our relationships in the context of some “societal opinion,” as opposed to “our own opinion.” And the proverbial shyghte hits the proverbial fan when a pair of “romantic idealists” compare and contrast what they have with a pair of extremely “earthbound rationalists” and start wondering where (or whether) they’ve gone wrong.


    That has always been the problem with the term “normal,” for me. Just who gets to decide what constitutes normal? The countertops in my kitchen are 4″ higher than the industry “standard.” That’s not normal, but it hurts the crap out of my back to work at a “normal” height kitchen counter, because I am 6’4″. Does it, by some measure, make me dysfunctional to not want to work at “normal” height counters? Or does it make me particularly functional to create an abnormal paradigm that works for me?


    My counters work, for me.


    And so, I see that I have walked around in what constitutes most of a circle. Or maybe it’s really more of a Mobius strip, than a circle– except I am now standing on the opposite side of the ribbon, as the ultimate observer.


    ===> Perhaps the underlying truth is that the “mistake” we make is in the form of trying to measure our relationships in the context of some “societal opinion,” as opposed to “our own opinion.” <===


    And ultimately, it all begins with ourselves. The “mistake” becomes that we look for answers “without,” rather than “within.” With all due respect to the ostensible “experts,” they assume a pervasive level of “brokenness” and a lack of self-awareness. They also assume that we all want to package relating into the same “box,” the same descriptive framework.


    What completes the circle (at least for me) is that trite cliché that we must “learn to love ourselves.” Beyond that, we must learn to recognize ourselves as love. I look around me, at friends and family, and I see so much pain and suffering because I also see individuals looking to others to somehow “fix” their brokenness. I see them rely on another to be “the answer.” I see two broken people dancing the dance in the pretense that two broken halves somehow make a “whole.” And I see so many “endings” happen, simply because one person finally wakes up to the reality that they need to fix themselves, and then they end up leaving their partner behind in the process. One “more or less whole” person together with a “broken” person still does not make a “whole.”


    One of my Teachers once pointed out that you can’t truly know what you really want in your life, until you have answered the question of who you really are, on the deepest possible level. Many people, alas, try to figure out who they are through a series of sometimes wild and often random guesses at what they want. I recognize this in my own work, friendship and relationship histories, but even moreso in the histories of people I know. In the beginning, I knew neither what I wanted, nor who I was. Eventually, I “graduated” to a misinformed stage of believing that I knew what I wanted, absent knowing myself. It is not until my 40′s– following more than a decade of self-inquiry– that I have felt close enough to knowing myself to such a degree that I could realistically approach the issue of what I really want.


    There’s an interesting “fringe benefit” that comes with that knowing: People actively try to persuade me that I am “nuts” and “wrong.” Perhaps it’s because my process threatens their sense of the status quo, and brings into question whether or not they are aware of their own (note: not my) truth.


    Do you know yourself well enough to know what you really want?


     

  • Freight train


    (or… “Schopenhauer’s Porcupines,” revisited [sort of])


    Do we just all have giant “blind spots” that allow us to remain oblivious to facets of our personality that are patently obvious to others?


    My father was a profound misanthrope, whose forcefulness, frequent acidic intolerance and unpredictable rages served to perpetuate the “reality” that he was better off having nothing to do with people. He was forceful, angry, bullying. Yet, he also wore a subtext of sadness, at feeling “misunderstood” and at the fact that people– somewhat nervously– tended to get out of his way.


    My mom and I were once looking at photos, and there was one of my dad, striding through a touristy market in the Canary Islands. My mom remarked how “the seas would part” (referring to dense crowd) in front of him, when he got “that look.” He was like a freight train, cutting through a crowd of people.


    It was true.


    He “ran over” people. Especially people who saw “reality” in a way different from his own.


    But it was probably a strange dichotomy for him to live with. On some level, I think he just wanted people to meet his brusque forceful manner “head on.” To establish “boundaries” and exist at “his level.” Yet… most people did precisely what people do, when a speeding truck is heading for them: they stepped out of the way.


    I imagine my dad– and all people who are the metaphorical “Sherman tanks” of life– wanted to “connect” no more or less than any other people. It wouldn’t surprise me if the misanthropy was an “effect,” rather than a “choice;” a self-preservation move to avoid the pain of rejection that goes with feeling misunderstood. He wanted to be accepted for his “Sherman Tank-ness,” in a world that (for the most part) would rather not have that kind of heavy equipment rolling through their lives. It was a twisted version of the paradox of Schopenhauer’s Porcupines… he wanted to connect, yet people were repulsed by his approach to connecting.


    There are many ways to be a misfit. And it would have to be difficult to live a life in which what you perceive to be your “natural state” scares people and puts them off. But it also makes me wonder to what degree playing the “I can’t help it, it’s simply who I am” card remains a valid and truthful act. Or, at least, a point at which there’s a gaping chasm between your path, and the desired outcome of your life.


    Gandhi once said: “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.”


    Does that statement still hold true, when what you think, say and do frightens… or even causes suffering… in others? And can it really be “happiness,” if you’re actually sad because “your truth” doesn’t get you the share of life you hoped for?






    Meanwhile, there is packing. Five days into the process, four rooms almost completely packed and disassembled.


    The final deconstruction of a life.


    The final deconstruction of a quarter-century of existence.


    T minus 27 days, and counting.


     

  • Done Deal


    I am in the throes of insomnia, at five aye-em.


    After what seems like an eternity, the house does finally appear to be sold. At least… at midnight, the buyers’ “Nah, we’re scared and don’t want to do this, after all” option period quietly expired.


    Which means closing will take place on the 8th of September, and final departure from here will take place on the 19th.


    One month.


    It’s not the imminence of moving, or the task ahead, that stirred me from dreamland. I have done it so many times, before… and I know what needs to be done.


    What got me up (besides an ethereal “visitor” who visits me, regularly) was the imminence of change. Or rather, the idea that that this “thing” I’ve been planning since sometime before Bog invented dirt is suddenly a “reality” and not a “theory” or a “plan for the future.”


    The “rest of my life” IS about to begin.


    With all its attendant implications and complications.


    Someone once said of revolutionaries that they often fail because they are really good at “overthrowing governments” but haven’t the faintest clue about “running a country.”


    I think I have my “clues” pretty well lined up.


    But I am still awake, at 5:00 in the morning, contemplating this idea that I am “one step closer.” Because that’s what it feels like. One step closer to simplicity. One step closer to a life of my own choosing.


    One step closer to that beach. A particular beach.


    It’s exciting and unnerving, at the same time.


    At least one of you knows what I mean….


     

  • The Power of Place has always fascinated me.


    I have often been told that my attachment to the idea that “place” has a strong impact on my well-being is “nonsense,” that we all have the ability “to create happiness wherever we are.” That I am “in denial” about reality, by thinking that I would be happier in one location than in another.


    Maybe that’s true to some degree…


    Maybe it’s true to the extent that we can “make the most of” whatever situation we’re in.


    I have come to the conclusion that perhaps the people who are “in denial” are the ones who believe place does NOT influence contentment. And that denial, it strikes me, lies in their failure to accept that they have the power for positive change. They just “accept their lot” without question.


    Yeah, I know.


    It’s all a matter of perception.


    A friend of mine– more of an acquaintance, really– sent me a note this morning. Her new book is out, and she’s giving some book talks. The point is, her book talks are in Berkeley, and around the Bay Area. Her book is about introversion and she’s also a well-known writer about the enneagram.


    Places DO have power.


    People congregate around places that (on some level I can’t hope to describe) “feed” their souls.


    I am a fairly active participant in various areas of the spiritual and self-help community. I know a LOT of people in that industry.


    If “all was random,” these people would be scattered all over the place. But they are not. They are not doing book signings in Topeka, KS. They are not giving workshops in Des Moines, IA. They are not holding retreats in Birmingham, AL. Instead, they are at Berkeley, Mt. Shasta, Ashland, Sedona and Seattle. There are 60-some enneagram teachers in/around the Bay Area. There are NOT 60-some enneagram teachers in/around Buffalo, NY. I live in Austin, TX… there are more bands per square inch around here than anywhere else in the universe. If you’re a musician, singer, songwriter, producer… this is the place to be. NOT Cary, IN.


    Places have power.


    We have “L.A.Weight Loss,” not “Salt Lake City Weight Loss.”


    We have “The Sedona Method,” not “The Syracuse Method.”


    This stuff isn’t random.


    Why do people– even those who strongly feel it internally– turn their back on their sense of “belonging” to places?


    In other news… ABC News ran a piece on synaesthesia last night; I’m glad to see it get mainstream coverage… a little awareness. Synaesthesia is a sort of “dual sensory feedback” to external stimuli. For example, the letter “A” may not only appear to you as “the letter A,” but will also give you the sensory feedback of “the color blue.”


    I have “tasted shapes” since I was quite young. My first memory of it was from about age five, when my mother was trying a new brand of orange juice, and I exclaimed “Eeeew, this tastes really triangular!


    I learned something I’d never associated with synaesthesia, before. The “dancing wireframe diagrams” in my head– which “appear” anytime I am faced with a series of tasks, like a 3-D virtual reality interface– may also be a form of synaesthetic manifestation. I’d never thought of that…. I always just thought I was visually organizing information. Like this entire house sale/move process… it “lives” inside a 3-D space filled with green and red “LED-style” numbers and words, organized into tree-like directories and subdirectories that I organize and restructure as conditions change. It’s particularly handy for moving. I can walk through a household and visually process all the things that need to be moved… and in 15 seconds I have a “3-D diagram” inside my head that shows me where every single item needs to be in the moving van, to maximize space.


    There’s a weird side effect, too. I have photographic memory, with respect to things that are in the 3-D structure… but I am almost pathologically forgetful of things that aren’t part of the diagram. Which means there are areas in life where I am only “functional” thanks to endless list-making, while there are others where I intuitively know every step… even without ever having “been there” before.


    It’s going to be 105 or 106 today. I’ve about had enough of this.


     

  • “Perception” is an interesting thing.


    Maybe the only real “Truth” is that there is no truth that isn’t filtered through our individual lenses of perception. No matter how hard we try, it is all but impossible to take the role of “impartial witness” or “ultimate observer.”


    Perception dances to the forefront.


    Perception is also inconsistent, but even that inconsistency is a matter of perception.


    A person may pat me on the back for saying that I am worthy of choosing what I want, and deserving of stepping away from that which pains and causes me hardship.


    Yet, in the very next breath, that same person (when I explain that my “choice” is to deliberately step away from a $2000 a month mortgage I can’t afford, and choose a $750 rent payment I can afford) may point to (and criticize) my “avoidance” and “denial” of the “reality” of just getting a job that will pay for the $2000 mortgage.


    The same person may laud me for finding inner peace, and in the next breath proclaim the path to my inner peace a way to avoid reality.


    It’s just a case of duelling perceptions.


    For as long as I can remember, the perceptions of others have been at the root of why I question and second-guess my reality.


    Maybe this is what being human is all about. Maybe this is a reflection that we’re all different.


    I have struggled with the fact that it feels like arrogance to make the presumption (or perception thereof, anyway) that nobody else feels about life and living as I do.


    That’s a figurative statement, by the way, not a whine of self-pity.


    But it does bring me to pondering whether “authenticity” is, by definition, painful.


    The “odd example” here, is this house. This house, which many realtors declared “too different” to sell. This house, which has had in excess of 170 showings since early May… and now appears to have sold to the ONE couple who actually appreciated it “for what it was.” Typically, 20-30 showings is ample to get a contract and sale, in real estate.


    This house is an authentic representation of its inhabitants. As a result of which it has been (perception) relatively “unliked.” Or, at least, misunderstood. And hence… the question about a connection between authenticity and pain.


    Or maybe the question relates more to a connection between “Authentic Truth” and “Isolation” and “Aloneness.”


    But think about it… isn’t it nearly always true that “conformity” brings about community and connection, while “uniqueness” brings about separation and isolation?


    If authenticity is about self-knowing… and self-knowing comes through accurate definition… then (figuratively speaking) we go from merely being “red” (which is “general” and has many matches) to “deep violet-crimson” (which is “very specific” and has very few matches).


    Aloneness and Isolation are not absolutes, of course. They are more a matter of “degrees.” In a sense, “connection” is no more or less common than it ever was, but it is “perfect connection” that becomes ever more elusive.


    Yeah… allright…


    So I’ve gone a long way down the rabbit hole…


    There’s a beach I need to get back to… where part of me “lives,” and always has. The rest of me needs to go there; so an ”integration,” of sorts, of all of me can take place… in preparation for something very specific to happen….  


    Sometimes these things take a while. Fortunately, I have been blessed with the patience of a saint. Or so I have been told….


    Don’t worry, if that doesn’t make sense to you.


    If it does make sense, then you just happen to know…


    It’s really OK.


    “Sense” is also just a matter of perception, and a matter of who the perceiver is…