A very interesting thought was brought to my attention last night as I read the rules for a free wedding that is to be given to the most deserving military couple.
An interesting criteria was the requirement to have served in the Middle East. At first I thought nothing of it as that is probably the most frequently asked question when someone finds out you’re in the military. I feel as though in many people’s minds, this is the determining factor in them deciding if they should be grateful to you or not. As though if one hasn’t been over there one hasn’t yet served. This would make perfect sense to me if the choice of going over there was entirely up to the individual, but as I’m sure is common knowledge, joining the military is signing over your life and your rights to the government. Thus the only decision of sacrifice that faces the majority of military personnel is signing on all the lines.
Which raises my question, is it less of a sacrifice to serve your country but not spend time in the Middle East? Is the cook on the carrier in the Pacific doing less to serve his country than the cook in the Persian Gulf? Is the admin Lance Corporal in Quantico not giving as much as his counterpart in Iraq? What about those that are sent to Korea? Are they not serving? Did they not sacrifice as much?
What about the one who didn’t enlist or reenlist during a time of war. The carryover people that went to war and came back heros, even though their sole intent was an easy out option to life. That, I suggest, was less of a sacrifice. That was an obligation, nothing more than keeping the contract that had been signed. They endured, yes, but only what they had to. What happened when their term was up? Did they re-up?
What about the Private that walks into the recruiters office knowing full well that we are at war and people are dying daily. They shoulder the responsibility and muster up the courage to sacrifice their very life to fight for their country. They aren’t trying for an easy out. They’re trying to make something with their life, wanting to prove that they can make a difference. They endure the perils, they put in the time, but they don’t get the respect.
Is it less of a sacrifice? They offer themselves up, but are more needed in capacities not in the war zone. Because someone picks them to fill this job instead of that job isn’t a reflection of their commitment, or a basis on which to judge what they’ve done.
The next time you encounter one who served in the armed forces, be quicker to ask when they joined then where they served. And ask if they chose to stay even after they knew the imminent dangers that faced them.
Sacrifice isn’t about what’s taken from you.
It’s about what you offer freely.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Sincerity
So I’ve stumbled upon something that is beyond pathetic. It is perhaps the most demoralizing blow that can be dealt to someone in a wounded emotional state or difficult time.
I have no name for it, and I won’t go into depth to describe it, but perhaps this phrase will help you to understand.
Prompted sympathy.
It’s an insult.
It’s an injury all by itself.
It’s like finding someone hanging from a cliff screaming for help and doing nothing but throw rocks at them, just to show them that you’re there. They knew you were there all along, the only question was if you were there for them. Unknowingly that question is answered. Unfortunately, the results are too often tragic.
At first the response is stunned.
Then it’s the, “we never saw it coming.”
Maybe that’s because it never came.
Maybe that’s because the it was you.
I have no name for it, and I won’t go into depth to describe it, but perhaps this phrase will help you to understand.
Prompted sympathy.
It’s an insult.
It’s an injury all by itself.
It’s like finding someone hanging from a cliff screaming for help and doing nothing but throw rocks at them, just to show them that you’re there. They knew you were there all along, the only question was if you were there for them. Unknowingly that question is answered. Unfortunately, the results are too often tragic.
At first the response is stunned.
Then it’s the, “we never saw it coming.”
Maybe that’s because it never came.
Maybe that’s because the it was you.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Why?
I feel as though I’ve tried everything.
Ever since I was little I’ve been doing what I was told when I was told. I rarely complained, I rarely did anything bad, and I wouldn’t dream of hurting someone. I’ve always had the most sympathetic of hearts, seeing through people’s exteriors and looking inside of them. I never wanted to fight anyone because I always saw things from their standpoint. I feel for people. At least I did.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel as though I’ve tried everything.
I’ve listened whole heartedly to what people have said for years and applied it to my own life. I try to find the best in what everyone says and does and model myself after them.
And yet I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.
I want to be good at something. I think that’s all I’ve ever really wanted. It’s not so much a conscious desire as a welling up inside of me. Like a storm it clouds my every emotion and sends me out to sea alone to face its wrath. I try. I do try. I have tried. I don’t know how much more I can try. I feel like for someone my age I’ve tried so much and yet done so little. Rather, tried so much and been rewarded so little, or have had so little affect. Whatever it is, it’s been me trying with no results.
I’ve always felt alone. I’ve always wanted a companion. A best friend. A pal. Someone on the same level, headed in similar direction, and wanting to do things together. That has been my dream for about as long as I can remember. I’ve done so many things that I felt I was to do, and every time I somehow hoped that I would meet that person or those people that would complete me and have the other half of all my dreams. I am an incomplete person. Worse than that, I’m a conductor with no symphony hall, no orchestra, no wand, and not even a suit. Basically I’m standing in a room with no one looking at four blank walls and saying what if.
What if what? I’ve tried. I’ve tried to find people, a wand, anything. I’ve been out of the room, or so it seemed, but somehow that barren separation has always followed me. It seems as though I can be in the middle of the busiest place in the world and yet remain unnoticed. It’s as though I am someone to be left alone. I think that when people look at me they see something that they don’t want to disturb.
And so I go through life unthreatened. Unthreatened and yet alone. I would rather be threatened if it meant that I mattered.
To add to the wound and prolong its hold on me are the prevailing hopes on the wind. The whispers in the corner that feed my imagination. The word of wisdom from the occasional passerby that pauses long enough to offer up their own bit of opinion about my life.
You have potential.
You’ll be amazing.
You’re going to do so much.
You’re great.
You have so many gifts.
At first an inspiration they have now reduced themselves to more of a haunting. Or worse, a taunting of what I’m not. Before they drove me forward and now they only drive me away. I’m losing the strength to try.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried so much.
I feel bound by very nature, entangled in my own potential. It’s as though I’ve had too much medicine, and the very thing that was meant to heal has killed.
I write this not in pity. If I was to pity myself I would speak more of the pathetic nature of these thoughts. And yet, here and now, I feel that I must write.
What about I have no intent. Simply to express somehow to myself that I at least am in understanding. That at least I myself am consistent. That, at least, is a start. It’s something. It’s all I really have. I have no strength to try, and by try I don’t mean of my own. By try I mean humbling myself to any and all advice and methods that come my way. I HAVE TRIED!
Where to go from here I have no idea. I guess I’ll just continue on in my wandering to nowhere, with nothing, for no reason. Worst of all, alone. Not alone in absoluteness, as I do have a someone. Someone wonderful. Someone that is more than I could have ever hoped to come to know. She means a lot to me. So much so that it only adds to my frustration. How can I possibly give her any of the things she deserves? I feel as though I have absolutely nothing to offer her. I have myself, but that is more of a burden to carry.
And so I sit.
My job seems pointless. More of a way to waste time than an occupation. A painful waste of time at that, as in every moment there is the awareness that time which could be used for something productive is instead imprisoned by a system of darkness and death.
Then there’s my girl. My girl is half a days drive away. Were I to muster the courage to spend the time and money to drive there, her schedule would hardly allow the time for a meal and a movie. Even if time was available there is nowhere convenient to stay. Instead I must spend a small fortune each and every night to stay in a hotel that is less comfortable than the average mobile home. And so although we are within a distance that could be travelled in a feasible amount of time, we are again imprisoned by our circumstances. To add to that, the times we work are opposing in so much as the days she’s off are the days I’m on.
And so I feel torn apart. Incomplete. As though I’m not really all here anyway, so trying is hardly possible.
What else. Well, I’m really the only person I know here. Yes I have other acquaintances, but no one that will call me to be with me in a meaningful way. That’s not a surprise though. I’ve never really had that. It seems that all other relationships I’ve benefited from have been those of others around me. My family, people in proximity, situations like that.
It seems as though I myself am entirely incapable of having a relationship that has a productive end. To strive and be passionate and accomplish something in an environment of cooperation is an apparent impossibility. But why? Why can’t I work with other people? People say they like me, they say I’m this and that and the other, and yet at the end of the conversation no one wants to have anything to do with me and my ideas. Sometimes I feel like my ideas are a stench that I carry with me. Even the people that give me a chance come near me and are driven away by the smell. They’re all that I have left. They are the very root of me and the way that I think and exist. I process based off of ideas and possibilities. Theoretical situations to problems and simplified formulas.
Pointless.
They are worthless I guess.
Nothing more than a hope and a dream, something to make me vulnerable to the attack of others. My soft spot. I’ve come to grips with my own outcast self, but I’m still clinging to my ideas, hoping that someday they will be given a chance and that through them I will be acknowledged in some way.
I’ve tried.
All that’s left to me now is ultimate vulnerability.
I give what was held back so that it too can be crushed.
At least all of me will be in the same place.
Ever since I was little I’ve been doing what I was told when I was told. I rarely complained, I rarely did anything bad, and I wouldn’t dream of hurting someone. I’ve always had the most sympathetic of hearts, seeing through people’s exteriors and looking inside of them. I never wanted to fight anyone because I always saw things from their standpoint. I feel for people. At least I did.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel as though I’ve tried everything.
I’ve listened whole heartedly to what people have said for years and applied it to my own life. I try to find the best in what everyone says and does and model myself after them.
And yet I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.
I want to be good at something. I think that’s all I’ve ever really wanted. It’s not so much a conscious desire as a welling up inside of me. Like a storm it clouds my every emotion and sends me out to sea alone to face its wrath. I try. I do try. I have tried. I don’t know how much more I can try. I feel like for someone my age I’ve tried so much and yet done so little. Rather, tried so much and been rewarded so little, or have had so little affect. Whatever it is, it’s been me trying with no results.
I’ve always felt alone. I’ve always wanted a companion. A best friend. A pal. Someone on the same level, headed in similar direction, and wanting to do things together. That has been my dream for about as long as I can remember. I’ve done so many things that I felt I was to do, and every time I somehow hoped that I would meet that person or those people that would complete me and have the other half of all my dreams. I am an incomplete person. Worse than that, I’m a conductor with no symphony hall, no orchestra, no wand, and not even a suit. Basically I’m standing in a room with no one looking at four blank walls and saying what if.
What if what? I’ve tried. I’ve tried to find people, a wand, anything. I’ve been out of the room, or so it seemed, but somehow that barren separation has always followed me. It seems as though I can be in the middle of the busiest place in the world and yet remain unnoticed. It’s as though I am someone to be left alone. I think that when people look at me they see something that they don’t want to disturb.
And so I go through life unthreatened. Unthreatened and yet alone. I would rather be threatened if it meant that I mattered.
To add to the wound and prolong its hold on me are the prevailing hopes on the wind. The whispers in the corner that feed my imagination. The word of wisdom from the occasional passerby that pauses long enough to offer up their own bit of opinion about my life.
You have potential.
You’ll be amazing.
You’re going to do so much.
You’re great.
You have so many gifts.
At first an inspiration they have now reduced themselves to more of a haunting. Or worse, a taunting of what I’m not. Before they drove me forward and now they only drive me away. I’m losing the strength to try.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried so much.
I feel bound by very nature, entangled in my own potential. It’s as though I’ve had too much medicine, and the very thing that was meant to heal has killed.
I write this not in pity. If I was to pity myself I would speak more of the pathetic nature of these thoughts. And yet, here and now, I feel that I must write.
What about I have no intent. Simply to express somehow to myself that I at least am in understanding. That at least I myself am consistent. That, at least, is a start. It’s something. It’s all I really have. I have no strength to try, and by try I don’t mean of my own. By try I mean humbling myself to any and all advice and methods that come my way. I HAVE TRIED!
Where to go from here I have no idea. I guess I’ll just continue on in my wandering to nowhere, with nothing, for no reason. Worst of all, alone. Not alone in absoluteness, as I do have a someone. Someone wonderful. Someone that is more than I could have ever hoped to come to know. She means a lot to me. So much so that it only adds to my frustration. How can I possibly give her any of the things she deserves? I feel as though I have absolutely nothing to offer her. I have myself, but that is more of a burden to carry.
And so I sit.
My job seems pointless. More of a way to waste time than an occupation. A painful waste of time at that, as in every moment there is the awareness that time which could be used for something productive is instead imprisoned by a system of darkness and death.
Then there’s my girl. My girl is half a days drive away. Were I to muster the courage to spend the time and money to drive there, her schedule would hardly allow the time for a meal and a movie. Even if time was available there is nowhere convenient to stay. Instead I must spend a small fortune each and every night to stay in a hotel that is less comfortable than the average mobile home. And so although we are within a distance that could be travelled in a feasible amount of time, we are again imprisoned by our circumstances. To add to that, the times we work are opposing in so much as the days she’s off are the days I’m on.
And so I feel torn apart. Incomplete. As though I’m not really all here anyway, so trying is hardly possible.
What else. Well, I’m really the only person I know here. Yes I have other acquaintances, but no one that will call me to be with me in a meaningful way. That’s not a surprise though. I’ve never really had that. It seems that all other relationships I’ve benefited from have been those of others around me. My family, people in proximity, situations like that.
It seems as though I myself am entirely incapable of having a relationship that has a productive end. To strive and be passionate and accomplish something in an environment of cooperation is an apparent impossibility. But why? Why can’t I work with other people? People say they like me, they say I’m this and that and the other, and yet at the end of the conversation no one wants to have anything to do with me and my ideas. Sometimes I feel like my ideas are a stench that I carry with me. Even the people that give me a chance come near me and are driven away by the smell. They’re all that I have left. They are the very root of me and the way that I think and exist. I process based off of ideas and possibilities. Theoretical situations to problems and simplified formulas.
Pointless.
They are worthless I guess.
Nothing more than a hope and a dream, something to make me vulnerable to the attack of others. My soft spot. I’ve come to grips with my own outcast self, but I’m still clinging to my ideas, hoping that someday they will be given a chance and that through them I will be acknowledged in some way.
I’ve tried.
All that’s left to me now is ultimate vulnerability.
I give what was held back so that it too can be crushed.
At least all of me will be in the same place.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
What do I want?
So I have this dilemma.
What is it that I want?
Today is not that important, and tomorrow isn’t the issue either. What I’m more concerned about is the overall direction of my life. If I could see it on a map, what direction would it point? In twenty years from now, will I be in a place that I like, or will I be lost somewhere?
It’s easy to say something like follow whatever makes you happy. Happiness isn’t that simple, though maybe simple is a fast route to happiness.
I don’t even know if that’s true. I might just tell myself that because I’m afraid of the complex. I don’t want to face having to deal with life being a complicated unknown that looms darkly overhead and beckons. Is that really all that it is?
I like a lot of things. I like designing and inventing. I like being happy. I enjoy interacting with new people. I love working efficiently in a group. I love aspiring. Maybe aspiration is it. Maybe that’s what I want. But what if I never accomplish anything? Wouldn’t that be a problem?
Aspiring is fun, but shouldn’t the reward of progress or achievement be the more driving force?
And what if aspiration is it. What if that’s what I’m supposed to spend my life doing. Now what? Where does that leave me? Should I just pick random things and aspire towards them? What if I suddenly become successful, then what?
What else do I like.
I like business, but that’s just that creative, design, and aspiring thing again. I like cars, or at least think that I do. I like music and the finer things, although I can rarely relax enough to fully enjoy them. Usually I sit there and think of how amazing it is and how much I should enjoy it. And how much I would enjoy it, if only. . .
What comes next? We’re back at the dilemma.
How about money, what role does that play in all of this? Money is a factor by it’s very nature. It seems that pursuing money is an entrapment, yet ignoring it is to imprison oneself in an endless cycle of helplessness. It seems that only those with the means can make up their minds. Everyone else is bound by an invisible chain to constantly work against their will, or rather, beat their will into submission thereby instituting ones own demise.
If that isn’t a self defeating cause then I am really confused.
It seems balance is needed here. Where is balance anyway? Balance is like an older gentleman whom everyone could learn from but no one can seem to find. He comes and goes, sporadically it seems, with no apparent warning. It’s as though he seeks your utmost attention, and if you so much as glance away he disappears and is off to seek attention elsewhere. If only I could detain him for long enough to really learn something.
Although even if I did, I still wouldn’t know what I was balancing. Juggling would seem more relevant.
Yeah, that’s what it is. I’m juggling more things than my mind can keep track of, so every time something comes back I think it fell from the sky. Mindless of the very fact that I myself sent it on its trip, I admire it, ponder it, and send it off again, only to catch the next wonderful thing that is mysteriously falling from the sky.
Apparently juggling isn’t for those with whom attention to detail and focused concentration are of high importance. Maybe I’m in the wrong act. And yet, as marvelous of a realization that this may be, it still doesn’t answer the underlying question. Which act should I be in?
Finding what I’m not is a small step in increased understanding. I’ve said before that knowing what you aren’t helps you to discover what you really are. Now I wonder if that too is just an excuse. An attempt to appease. If I tried to answer a math question simply by stating all of the incorrect answers, I am assuming it would be an endless process. Quite literally infinite, as it were.
This not to say that I find it an entirely useless process. On the contrary I still think it is helpful, but only at the end of the equation when there are only a handful of solutions left.
Discussing processes isn’t helping though. I’m still where I started.
I’m still trying to elude my dilemma.
Answers maybe? I don’t think so, too finite.
Contentment? I’ve thought as much, but now I wonder. Wouldn’t contentment be after the fact?
Passion? It sounds noble. In many ways I think it is. Yet passionate would be more accurate. About what though?
Success? Yeah, that’s what I want, but that comes when the question is answered.
Back to the question.
What do I want?
Relationships? Those definitely are one of the most important things to me. There is nothing better than being with who you love, doing. . .
If only I could finish that sentence.
Sports? No, I get extremely frustrated and my body doesn’t like me for it.
Competition is good, but only in a positive and productive way. I strongly disagree with the concept that someone has to lose in order for someone else to win. If two people are competing to find the best way out of a jam, but they both reap the benefits, then who’s the loser?
I strive on that type of competition. Competing to win together. Ironic I guess, and yet delightful.
It is a start, and that is a beginning.
I want to compete to win together.
At what? How?
That brings up another dilemma. I love to compete for positive, but what am I good enough at to even be able to be a part of? I’m not an engineer, a lawyer, a designer, or even an artist. It seems as though everything is too complex for anyone to actually enjoy. The barriers to entry into every field and the demands in the fields take away any childhood perception of joy and excitement that people had to even embark on the long journey to begin with. I myself am currently in a great adventure as the saying goes. According to society, I am living a crazy and exciting life. Obviously, based on what I’m writing, it isn’t a fulfilling or enjoyable one. Time consuming though.
I am me. I want to compete. I want everyone to win. Well, not everyone. But the good people that are competing.
Ah, I have arrived at another nugget of detail.
Time.
I am not satisfied with long waiting and little input. I want to be a part of it and I want it to have feedback and results. I want it to be alive in a way, an entity that needs to be tended to. A sort of fluid and constant art form of management. Yes, that is definitely something. This is good.
Also, I love to dance. I love the elements of dance. Everything is combining and working together smoothly and the result is nothing short of excellent.
I now know that I want to compete together for a cause that benefits all that is good. I know that I want it to be steadily changing and giving feedback and reacting to input. I know that I want it to flow like a dance. A real dance.
This is good.
I want to be a conductor. Does that not exemplify all of those things? All but the competition perhaps, but that would depend on what I’m conducting.
Again I arrive at the what, but I feel closer. I’m getting excited actually. I think I’ve just learned a lot about myself. I want to be some type of conductor. I can’t even express how true this is. I love conducting. I love orchestrating.
What is it that I want?
Today is not that important, and tomorrow isn’t the issue either. What I’m more concerned about is the overall direction of my life. If I could see it on a map, what direction would it point? In twenty years from now, will I be in a place that I like, or will I be lost somewhere?
It’s easy to say something like follow whatever makes you happy. Happiness isn’t that simple, though maybe simple is a fast route to happiness.
I don’t even know if that’s true. I might just tell myself that because I’m afraid of the complex. I don’t want to face having to deal with life being a complicated unknown that looms darkly overhead and beckons. Is that really all that it is?
I like a lot of things. I like designing and inventing. I like being happy. I enjoy interacting with new people. I love working efficiently in a group. I love aspiring. Maybe aspiration is it. Maybe that’s what I want. But what if I never accomplish anything? Wouldn’t that be a problem?
Aspiring is fun, but shouldn’t the reward of progress or achievement be the more driving force?
And what if aspiration is it. What if that’s what I’m supposed to spend my life doing. Now what? Where does that leave me? Should I just pick random things and aspire towards them? What if I suddenly become successful, then what?
What else do I like.
I like business, but that’s just that creative, design, and aspiring thing again. I like cars, or at least think that I do. I like music and the finer things, although I can rarely relax enough to fully enjoy them. Usually I sit there and think of how amazing it is and how much I should enjoy it. And how much I would enjoy it, if only. . .
What comes next? We’re back at the dilemma.
How about money, what role does that play in all of this? Money is a factor by it’s very nature. It seems that pursuing money is an entrapment, yet ignoring it is to imprison oneself in an endless cycle of helplessness. It seems that only those with the means can make up their minds. Everyone else is bound by an invisible chain to constantly work against their will, or rather, beat their will into submission thereby instituting ones own demise.
If that isn’t a self defeating cause then I am really confused.
It seems balance is needed here. Where is balance anyway? Balance is like an older gentleman whom everyone could learn from but no one can seem to find. He comes and goes, sporadically it seems, with no apparent warning. It’s as though he seeks your utmost attention, and if you so much as glance away he disappears and is off to seek attention elsewhere. If only I could detain him for long enough to really learn something.
Although even if I did, I still wouldn’t know what I was balancing. Juggling would seem more relevant.
Yeah, that’s what it is. I’m juggling more things than my mind can keep track of, so every time something comes back I think it fell from the sky. Mindless of the very fact that I myself sent it on its trip, I admire it, ponder it, and send it off again, only to catch the next wonderful thing that is mysteriously falling from the sky.
Apparently juggling isn’t for those with whom attention to detail and focused concentration are of high importance. Maybe I’m in the wrong act. And yet, as marvelous of a realization that this may be, it still doesn’t answer the underlying question. Which act should I be in?
Finding what I’m not is a small step in increased understanding. I’ve said before that knowing what you aren’t helps you to discover what you really are. Now I wonder if that too is just an excuse. An attempt to appease. If I tried to answer a math question simply by stating all of the incorrect answers, I am assuming it would be an endless process. Quite literally infinite, as it were.
This not to say that I find it an entirely useless process. On the contrary I still think it is helpful, but only at the end of the equation when there are only a handful of solutions left.
Discussing processes isn’t helping though. I’m still where I started.
I’m still trying to elude my dilemma.
Answers maybe? I don’t think so, too finite.
Contentment? I’ve thought as much, but now I wonder. Wouldn’t contentment be after the fact?
Passion? It sounds noble. In many ways I think it is. Yet passionate would be more accurate. About what though?
Success? Yeah, that’s what I want, but that comes when the question is answered.
Back to the question.
What do I want?
Relationships? Those definitely are one of the most important things to me. There is nothing better than being with who you love, doing. . .
If only I could finish that sentence.
Sports? No, I get extremely frustrated and my body doesn’t like me for it.
Competition is good, but only in a positive and productive way. I strongly disagree with the concept that someone has to lose in order for someone else to win. If two people are competing to find the best way out of a jam, but they both reap the benefits, then who’s the loser?
I strive on that type of competition. Competing to win together. Ironic I guess, and yet delightful.
It is a start, and that is a beginning.
I want to compete to win together.
At what? How?
That brings up another dilemma. I love to compete for positive, but what am I good enough at to even be able to be a part of? I’m not an engineer, a lawyer, a designer, or even an artist. It seems as though everything is too complex for anyone to actually enjoy. The barriers to entry into every field and the demands in the fields take away any childhood perception of joy and excitement that people had to even embark on the long journey to begin with. I myself am currently in a great adventure as the saying goes. According to society, I am living a crazy and exciting life. Obviously, based on what I’m writing, it isn’t a fulfilling or enjoyable one. Time consuming though.
I am me. I want to compete. I want everyone to win. Well, not everyone. But the good people that are competing.
Ah, I have arrived at another nugget of detail.
Time.
I am not satisfied with long waiting and little input. I want to be a part of it and I want it to have feedback and results. I want it to be alive in a way, an entity that needs to be tended to. A sort of fluid and constant art form of management. Yes, that is definitely something. This is good.
Also, I love to dance. I love the elements of dance. Everything is combining and working together smoothly and the result is nothing short of excellent.
I now know that I want to compete together for a cause that benefits all that is good. I know that I want it to be steadily changing and giving feedback and reacting to input. I know that I want it to flow like a dance. A real dance.
This is good.
I want to be a conductor. Does that not exemplify all of those things? All but the competition perhaps, but that would depend on what I’m conducting.
Again I arrive at the what, but I feel closer. I’m getting excited actually. I think I’ve just learned a lot about myself. I want to be some type of conductor. I can’t even express how true this is. I love conducting. I love orchestrating.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Money
What if everyone only had jobs that they loved? What if no one was willing to do anything that they deemed immoral? Would this actually create a society of clean and efficient lifestyles? Would it eliminate much of the need for policy and conservation?
If no one wanted to be a garbage man, everyone would take care of their own. Responsibility would be on an individual level and many of the decisions we make would automatically stray towards the environmentally and human friendly options. If no one was willing to expose themselves to toxic chemicals in the workplace, or to the production of such, then none of us would have to be concerned about them in our homes. They simply wouldn’t exist.
This all ties into the larger issue of creating our own problems.
If no one wanted to be a garbage man, everyone would take care of their own. Responsibility would be on an individual level and many of the decisions we make would automatically stray towards the environmentally and human friendly options. If no one was willing to expose themselves to toxic chemicals in the workplace, or to the production of such, then none of us would have to be concerned about them in our homes. They simply wouldn’t exist.
This all ties into the larger issue of creating our own problems.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Abuse
Why do people always want to do the same wrongs that have been done to them? Why don’t people realize the pain that was caused to them, and decide to help others avoid the same struggle?
It’s like anyone who has power and was abused in the process of getting it feels as though they now have the right to abuse everyone else below them. Isn’t it true that the power you have is given to you by those below you? Then why not be good to those below you, increasing your power?
I don’t get it.
I hate it.
Abuse for the sake of abuse. Or is it because when people finally get the power that they struggled for they realize that it wasn’t worth it anyway, and the bitterness and anger built up from the quest combined with the poisonous treasure creates a monster who’s only reward is to inflict suffering to everyone around them.
Regardless of the reason, why are so many people oblivious to it and forced to put up with it? Is it some form of twisted idea that believes abuse is the vehicle of character? If character chooses abuse as it’s mode of transportation then why would we want character? Surely in turn it would produce the same fruit again so as to reproduce itself, in turn spreading more abuse and pain everywhere that it’s flaunted.
It’s like anyone who has power and was abused in the process of getting it feels as though they now have the right to abuse everyone else below them. Isn’t it true that the power you have is given to you by those below you? Then why not be good to those below you, increasing your power?
I don’t get it.
I hate it.
Abuse for the sake of abuse. Or is it because when people finally get the power that they struggled for they realize that it wasn’t worth it anyway, and the bitterness and anger built up from the quest combined with the poisonous treasure creates a monster who’s only reward is to inflict suffering to everyone around them.
Regardless of the reason, why are so many people oblivious to it and forced to put up with it? Is it some form of twisted idea that believes abuse is the vehicle of character? If character chooses abuse as it’s mode of transportation then why would we want character? Surely in turn it would produce the same fruit again so as to reproduce itself, in turn spreading more abuse and pain everywhere that it’s flaunted.
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