“Moments of Being”

How do we decide what is a significant moment?

When my boyfriend asks me how my day was I usually answer with a long and detailed run-down of everything I did that day. “I did some writing and then a bunch of reading then I went to the grocery store because we needed spinach but they didn’t have the big packages of spinach so I only got a small one sorry about that I guess I’ll have to go back tomorrow and then on the way home I was listening to this CD that my friend gave me and there’s this great song on it that got me thinking about…” I sometimes feel like I never stop talking. It must be incredibly boring for him but I keep going anyway. It’s a compulsion I have to share everything.

But I don’t actually tell him everything. To recount every single moment of a day would take another whole day. I’m selective about what I share, even if I feel like I’m not. I’m interested in how I choose those moments. What makes one moment significant enough to share and another insignificant enough to completely forget once it’s passed by? I wonder about this with things like Twitter and Facebook Status updates. Why do we share updates on what we’re eating for dinner but not on the day’s other minutiae? Do I choose an update because it’s somehow a significant moment, or because it just happens to be the content of a moment in which I’m trying to kill some time or reconnect with the world?

Virginia Woolf has a theory about “moments of being” – moments when we become completely conscious of our being and of the patterns underlying the everyday. These moments can be marked by traumatic or significant events, or they can be inspired by seemingly insignificant events. The content of the moment isn’t important – it’s the transcendence of that content towards a universal truth that makes it a “moment of being.” It’s an interesting theory but I can’t help but take issue with it’s metaphysicality. Why do we have to rise above  the everyday minutiae to experience a more authentic state of being? Doesn’t the actual content of the moment shape our experience of our real, material, social lives, and thus our being?

Epiphany of the Day

Today I realized something very important about myself. I can forgive all kinds of character flaws in people. I don’t necessarily allow glaring issues to deter me from having someone in my life. What I have a hard time letting go of is when someone’s everyday habits don’t mesh with mine. It’s the littlest things that drive me up the wall. Maybe it’s just where I’m at in my life now, maybe it’s the way I’ve always been and always will be, I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I like things in my day-to-day routine to be done my way. That might be selfish but, you know, fuck it.

Change

Every cell in your body is constantly regenerating, your cells crave oxygen. With every breath you can literally recreate yourself.

Isn’t that a nice thought?

At the risk of writing something really trite…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that all-consuming human concern, love. That’s right, I’ve been thinking about love. What does it mean? How does it work? How do you really know when you’re in love?

I’ve been in love several times and sometimes I feel like I fall in love far too easily and far too frequently — which always makes me question whether or not it’s the real deal. At times I’ve thought that love is not so much an emotion but something you do. But it seems to me now that there is a definite feeling that goes along with it too. People describe it sometimes as butterflies in your stomach, or excitement about being with someone, or the will to do anything for someone. I was watching the TV show Flight of the Conchords the other night and one of the characters had written a love song for his girlfriend. He was singing about climbing the highest mountain, walking across the globe, and various other hyperbolized clichés that you hear in love songs. His friend then asked him if those were things he would actually do, and when he replied that he wouldn’t his friend suggested that he might be better off not lying to her. So he re-wrote the song and called it “If You’re Into It.” It went something like this:

If you want me to, I can hang around with you
If I only knew that’s what you’re into

…

And if you want me to, I will take off all my clothes for you
I’ll take off all my clothes for you, if that’s what you’re into

…

If it’s cool with you, I’ll get you naked too
It could be a dream come true, providing that’s what you’re into

From there the song gets a little dirtier, but I won’t reprint the rest, despite how funny it was. Point being, I found it very charming. It was so simple and honest in expressing the desire to just be with someone. It got me thinking about what it’s like too be close to someone you’re into. I sometimes get this feeling when I’m hugging someone I’m with that my heart is literally opening up to them and pulling them in — and not metaphorically, but viscerally. My chest gets all warm and I get this feeling like I just can’t contain all the wonder inside. And I wonder, is that feeling “love”? It certainly feels like it, but I would hate to put it to words and then discover that I was wrong.

The Great Masquerade

Let’s be honest here. Though we feel that we have a core, a someone who we really are deep down, who we really are in the world actually depends on what we do. Right? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, wondering just how different people’s perception of me is from my own perception of myself. Surely, I sometimes do things and I think to myself that they are out of character for me. But the rest of the world doesn’t see my inner dialogue, my intentions, my feelings. All they see is what I do. So isn’t that what I am? We are social beings, our lives are fully defined by our place in the world. That is, after all, what civilization is built on. It’s what separates us from animals.

The upside of all this is that a person can really be whomever they would like to be. I’m not saying we don’t have individual personalities — sure, we are probably pre-disposed to certain behaviours, and whether or not that’s nature or nurture doesn’t matter so much. The point is that it is there. But we still have control over our actions and we can hopefully act in a way that feels real and honest. That’s what the concept of integrity is all about. The downside is that sometimes the performance doesn’t match up with whatever is going on inside. Or sometimes the performances contradict each other. I’ve long known that I am an inconsistent person and I have largely accepted it. But there are certain hypocrisies about my life that truly bother me.

I have all kinds of political and social ideals. I think about them, I talk about them (though uncommittedly), and I sometimes even begrudge people who I feel are acting socially irresponsible (though not always outwardly). Yet a friend pointedly reminded me the other day that I was carrying a Prada purse and wearing diamond earrings. And I just bought a new iPod, even though I really don’t need one. I am such a slave to commodities and I’m really ashamed of it. My ex used to say that it was okay — at least I’m aware of the reality and that is what is most important. But it’s not! I was reading Slavoj Žižek the other day, The Sublime Object of Ideology, and the first chapter is called “How Did Marx Invent the Symptom?” It’s such a great book and it hit home for me in a really big way. He talks about how, in earlier stages of capitalism, ideological critique provided sufficient resistance. The idea was that, once you knew how exploitative the hegemony was, once you could see its inner workings for what they were, then you were equipped to act otherwise. The problem though is that now we almost all know it but we still act as if we don’t. We know that global warming is going to destroy the earth and our civilization along with it, yet we still contribute to it. We know that when we buy something from Nike it was probably made by a 10 year old kid in a third world country who got paid 5 cents for his labour, yet we still buy it. We know that when we pay 10 times more for a product than it is actually worth simply because it is the hottest new thing we are contributing to the alienation of modern society and lining some fat cat’s capitalist pockets, yet we still buy it. Like me. I do all of these things. And I really do hate myself for it. But at the same time, I don’t feel ready to fully give it up. For Žižek, the fantasy isn’t ideological anymore, it is located on a practical, material level. It doesn’t matter what we think or say, what counts is what we do. So until I stop behaving in this way I can hardly believe that I am a socialist, or that I am eco-friendly, or that I am socially responsible.

What to do?

Am I Crazy?

I might be crazy but I’m actually kind of stoked about turning 30. Maybe it’s because I’ve been mentally preparing for it for awhile now and I’d like to just get it over with so I can move on. Or maybe it’s because I realize 30 is not that old. Or maybe it’s because I’ve had a pretty full 30 years. Okay, putting it that way makes me feel a bit old.

If I were going to take stock though I could say I’ve lived on three different continents, I’ve worked in many different industries, I’ve travelled and made friends all over the world, I’m educated (in theory) and well on my way to becoming a Doctor of Philosophy, for whatever that’s worth. I’m doing alright I think. Granted, I am single, and to many women turning 30 and being single is a genuine heart-break and confidence shaker. Me, I’m kind of glad that I’m at a point in my life now where that doesn’t bother me. In fact it feels quite good to be standing on my own. I don’t have to subscribe to that rhetoric that says a woman is somehow incomplete or defective if she doesn’t have a man to prop her up. Cry feminism all you want, many if not most women still feel that way even if they would never publicly admit it.

So people always say “30 is the new 20″ to make themselves feel better about aging. My mom recently turned 50 and she told me that she thinks 50 is the new 30, 40 is the new 20. I had a chat with some girlfriends about that and one of them responded, “so does that make 30 the new 10?” If that’s the case I feel like I should be planning a party at the local swimming pool or something. But seriously, absurd as it sounds, there’s something there. I’ll be the first to admit that I went through all kinds of hell in my 20s. Lots of great experiences too, but lots of hell. I’m only now starting to feel like I’m evening out a bit. Maybe once all the hell of becoming an adult subsides, and we’re able to just accept we’re grown up, maybe then are we able to reclaim some of the joy of being younger again. That may not make sense to you, but it makes sense to me in a way that I can’t quite explain right now.

That said, I think I’m going to get out of here and make the most of the last day of my twenties.

Insomnia

Insomnia: Inability to sleep; sleeplessness.

From the French insomnie, in turn from the Latin insomnis — in-, negation or privation; somnus, sleep — meaning no sleep. Sleepless.

Insomniacs should most definitely avoid the following things: Caffeine in the evening; getting into a serious relationship with someone who snores; getting into or out of a relationship at all; studying philosophy or critical theory late at night; scary movies; and, believe it or not, sleeping in.

If you have an insomniac in your life, be nice to them. Give them a nice warm cup of milk, a pair of high-quality earplugs, and a bottle of Melatonin. They will thank you in about a week.

Alone Time

When you’re the kind of person who isn’t very good at being alone, driving 1000 km by yourself is quite the experience.

It started 3 days ago. Things were a little bit rough at home and my best friend, who I was leaning quite heavily on, suddenly had to relocate to Texas. Feeling a little lost and out of sorts, having just thrown my everyday life into complete upheaval, I felt this incredible need for familiarity, comfort. And then it occurred to me, why not just go home? It has been many years since I moved to the coast and since my whole family also relocated I immediately felt I was at home there. Calgary became a past life for me. It was something I had experienced, but as if it had happened to someone else. The me who grew up there was like a specter, something that lingered in my memory but wasn’t very real anymore.

But then here I was, in my car, alone, and headed East. I now understand the expression “emotional roller coaster” in a completely different way. I started out my journey in good spirits. Music blaring, singing along without abandon, excited to be on the open road again. I thought about so many things, from the mundane to the philosophical. I thought about Douglas Coupland’s book Souvenir of Canada, where he talks about driving the Trans-Canada Highway and how he had always wondered why there were so many unravelled cassette tapes on the shoulder of the road. But once he had driven across the whole country and had become tired, irrate, and annoyed with the road trip mix tape he had been playing on repeat the whole way, he lost his patience and hurled it out the window. It all made sense. I thought of this about 6 hours before I had completely worn out my Jurassic 5 CD from over-listening. I thought about the vastness of the Canadian landscape and how it shapes who we are. I’ve been asked so many times what makes Canadians culturally distinct from the rest of the English-speaking world and I always found it a difficult question to answer. But it seems to me now that having that open mass of land, that giant and powerful wilderness, hovering over us must have a tremendous impact on the psyche of the Canadian people. I don’t quite understand what the result of that is yet, but I really believe it shapes us as people somehow. I thought about the time I did this same drive when I was about 19 years old and my friend and I drove right through the night, chain-smoking and reminiscing about past stuff good and bad. After driving all night I was pulled over for speeding in Golden, right near the BC/Alberta border, and had my car impounded because it turned out my insurance had expired 6 months prior and I hadn’t noticed yet. As I snickered to myself about it I realized that I hadn’t actually put my new insurance stickers on my license plate yet and, once again, ten years later, I was driving through Golden with outdated plates.

I’d been consumed lately by this feeling of urgency, like I needed to keep moving, keep doing, like I was full of anxiety and I didn’t know how to make it stop. Driving took care of that. But it was a strange solution because I was moving, the feeling of urgency was gone, but the rest of the feelings were still there and all I had there was myself. I went from feeling free and excited to feeling alone and afraid and frustrated and lost and around Revelstoke I had no choice but to pull over and have a long overdue emotional breakdown. It’s a strange feeling to face yourself after so many years of focusing on others. I’ve know for quite some time that I’ve lost sight of some part of me, but what that is exactly, I don’t know yet. All I knew for sure on that drive was that I needed to be in a city that knows me, a city that raised me, with people who remember the me I’ve always been.

Last night I sat up all night with a couple of childhood friends and read notes we passed back and forth in High School. Some of it was funny, some was heart-breaking, and much of it was embarassing. But it was real. And that was just what I needed. Maybe all the bits and pieces of myself I’ve dropped along the way will slowly start to come back, now that it’s just me. Maybe being alone is alright for awhile.

Life Lessons

When times get tough I like to believe that I am learning something from it all. About life, about myself, about others, anything to make it seem necessary to go through pain. But this weekend I’m not too sure what I’ve learned of value. Maybe it’s too early yet to understand or maybe it was just one of those bleak moments in my life that I’m not meant to gain anything from but cynicism. The only three things that seem clear to me are that I have an awful lot of clothes, even more pairs of shoes, and the next time I want to move in with someone I will consider it with great reservation because moving out is one of the most traumatic relationship experiences I have ever had.

My Issue With Time Travel

This has been bothering me for a few days now…

Time travel. I know it’s not possible, not yet anyway, so you’ll have to just go with me on this one and suspend your disbelief for a few moments. Let’s say a character in a movie or a tv show or a book travels back in time to stop some horrible event from happening — a narrative that we have seen many times. And let’s say the hero succeeds in changing the future. So if there is no horrible event to stop anymore, then the hero doesn’t need to go back again, thus he would not have been present in the past to change it. Are you still with me? What I’m trying to say is that, logically, the whole system breaks down.

I saw the movie Deja Vu last week (it was horrible, don’t ask me why I watched it) and was struck by the logical impossibility of the conclusion. Denzel Washington goes back in time to stop a terrorist bombing and save a woman’s life. Of course, he and the woman fall in love but he dies while saving the day. Keep in mind that this is Future Denzel operating in the past. At the end, after Future Denzel has died, the woman meets Present Denzel and is oh so relieved. They live happily ever after. The thing is, because the bombing was stopped and the woman was saved, Present Denzel has no idea of this alternate progression of events. So of course, he won’t be going back into the past to stop these things that never happened. But if he doesn’t go back, he won’t be there to stop them from happening. You feeling me? It doesn’t work.

There is a similar logical gap in so many of our time travel stories. What about Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure? Don’t you think if Freud had been picked up by two guys in a phone booth and transported through time that his later works would have been much different? Then why weren’t Bill and Ted up on stage talking about Freud’s contributions to the science of time travel?

Everything falls apart.

Let’s hope we never actually make time travel possible. The whole world would just implode.