Used to be that for me, blogging came fairly easy. I’d just sit down and one of my computers and bang away at the keyboard until enough words had appeared upon the screen that I could click post without batting an eye. But nowadays, it seems I’ve become too serious about my blog posts, too nervously reserved about my choice of topics and words, self-censoring and redacting to the point of silence.
I haven’t yet regained that old elation the freedom of unleashing my thoughts onto the world used to release within me. I haven’t yet broken completely free from the curse of she who shall not be named. Although I feel like I’ve excised that cancer, one never knows when it might once more rear its evil head and fuck up one’s life all over again. But I’m working on it and getting better every day.
I’ve been wanting to write this blog post for a couple of weeks now, but I’ve been unable to find the right words to accurately express my thoughts and feelings. Why is that? I’m sure that my new role as a literature teacher, has a great deal of influence on me. I spend a good deal of time explaining to my students that they must consider several things when writing, including their audience, the organization, and structure of their writing. When I take my own medicine, I find I hold back, censoring myself here instead of just letting the words fly.
My students know that each of their writings should have a thesis supported by paragraphs with their own main ideas and supporting information. I find when I blog, that I don’t like to follow this rule myself. I’d rather ramble on and on, following my stream of conscious awareness of my mind’s contents at that moment without forcing myself to hover over the keys while I consider the proper organization of the paragraphs. And I’ve certainly never been known to structure the information contained in my blog posts in any order of importance; no upside down pyramids here.
Which brings us to the main idea of this blog post. At the risk of oversimplification, I’d just like to point out that my life is really good. Actually, my life is great! I’ve landed on my feet with a new job in a great new city. With a lot of help, I’ve finally recovered emotionally from the train-wreck that was my marriage. I’ve been shown just how happy I can be if I let myself choose it and stop clinging to the anger and destructive regrets that had been dragging me down. Life is good because I’m ready to move on, advance, embrace happiness.
I know I’m burying the lead, but that’s just the way I roll. Life is good because I’m ready to move forward with a new mindset, a new outlook, and a very different perspective than I had before. There’s a whole world out there to explore and experience, and although I was prepared to fly solo, I now realize I don’t have to.
As I walk the busy streets of Shanghai, I often see a father walking alongside his young son, holding his hand, and I miss my son. I have to look away or risk tearing up. But then I think about the person who caused my isolation, my exile from Changsha, and I feel a deep anger well up inside me. The wetness in my eyes transforms into a bitter hatred and resentment toward the person I’ve come to despise with all my being. Once focused on my anger and regret in having wasted so much on a person so undeserving, it’s very difficult to push it out of my mind.
To this end, I’ve been listening to some “new” music because it doesn’t remind me of anything. I highly recommend Depeche Mode’s Spirit , Queens of the Stone Age’s Villains, and K. Flay’s Everywhere Is Somewhere. This is how I temporarily self-medicate and set my mind free.
I’ve been doing some very deep thinking about super heroes lately. Perhaps it has something to do with my falling in love with Wonder Woman, or it could be related to the fact that I watch all the super hero TV shows (except Agent Carter, Super Girl, and Arrow).
Most of the best super heroes weren’t born that way. Instead, they started out as normal human beings, with strengths and weaknesses, flaws, and talents. But something transformative molds them into something special; still flawed, but better and more powerful than they were before.
Peter Parker was a puny high school runt who was bitten by a radioactive spider and became Spider-Man. Steve Rogers survived Polio and became Captain America thanks to Project:Rebirth. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered right in front of him, leaving him orphaned with only billions of dollars and a massively successful company to sustain him through childhood before becoming the Batman. Kal-El (Clark Kent) had to put up with his folksy human, Smallville adoptive parents and pretended to be human, all the while hiding his super powers. Princess Diana (Prince) left an island paradise full of beautiful Amazon warriors to fight evil, all the while resisting what must be an overwhelming urge to wrap the Lasso of Hestia (Lasso of Truth) around the neck of every politician on Earth.
Suffering through adversity might be the one thing I have in common with the aforementioned super heroes, though my misfortunes have largely been of my own creation. Obviously I’m not clairvoyant. In fact, even my faculty of hindsight doesn’t rise to the level of a competency. I repeat patters and mistakes, thereby hatching new regrets and nemeses (nemesi?). Although I definitely have a a back-story to rival those of my favorite heroes, and despite the wearing of super hero T-shirts and Batman earring, it hasn’t been enough to propel my superpowers of punctuality and sarcasm into the realm of crime-prevention or world-saving.
I’m an enemy of President Trump in the sense that I’m one of the many types of people he professes to absolutely loathe (if he new the meaning of that particular word). I’m here to confess that I am indeed a leaky leaking leaker.
I’m like that package of frozen steak you take out of the freezer and set directly on the top shelf of the refrigerator to thaw overnight only to find a large pool of beef juice covering the base of everything on every shelf when you open the fridge door to get half-and-half for your coffee the next morning. Just like the steak, I need to warm up a little before releasing personal information in drips and drabs all over the surface of this here bloggy blog. Eventually, the truth will come out, making a mess and requiring some cleanup.
Unlike those leakers in the government, my information isn’t classified, and won’t land me in prison were I to be discovered. The worst thing that might happen is that more than two humans may read my words, and I think that’s the goal, if I’m being honest (which I almost always am here).
Some people like to drop the cliché “My life is an open book.” but they only leave that book open to the pages containing no sensitive, burn-after-reading content, only the sanitized, safe-for-consumption, nuggets of pyrite, washed clean and polished for all the world to be dazzled by. In contrast, my life is a package of frozen beef.
For the most part, my jet lag has improved a lot. On average, I’ve been sleeping more than 6 hours per night, so it came as a big nasty surprise when I managed to spill milk in the community refrigerator a couple of days ago.
Because I’m living in the students’ dorm while the teachers’ dorm is being remodeled, if I want my milk to be cold, I have to keep my milk in the community fridge. Perhaps I wasn’t fully awake at 5:30 AM when I carried my bowl of corn flakes down the 2nd-floor hallway and set it inside the fridge. With the door still open, I unscrewed the cap and then pulled off the tab on the new box of milk. Then I poured milk onto the cereal. Somehow, between the act of capping the milk and setting the box back into the refrigerator door, I somehow forgot the location of my cereal bowl. I instinctively closed the door, only it didn’t quite close all the way because my bowl was blocking it.
That momentary loss of concentration, that split-second gap in my awareness of what I was doing, caused the milk to slosh out of the bowl onto the shelf of the fridge for me to clean up. Yay.
Just below my window, the workers who’ve been remodeling five floors of the building across the way are finally cleaning up the debris they’ve been tossing out of windows for the past three days. My curtain is closed, but I’m aware of their presence from the rumbling bulldozer they’re using to scoop up the rubbish and dumping into the back of a dump truck. Hopefully, this is a sign that they’ll move onto working on the teachers’ dorm rooms soon. But I know it’s probably not a priority for them, and I’m not likely to move out of the students’ dorm until just before the students return.
I don’t know how I missed it before, but I finally found the Walmart located at the nearby Wanda Plaza. I guess I must have walked right passed the unmarked entrance at least twice while wandering through the mall. I suppose I wasn’t looking for it because, according to Google Maps, there isn’t supposed to be a Walmart inside Wanda Plaza, but it should be across the street, right beside Carrefour; Google Maps fail.
I felt pretty happy about finding the secret Walmart, but they didn’t have the big can of coffee I wanted to buy. Instead, I bought a medium sized jar and one of creamer. I bought white sugar and brown sugar. I bought some seaweed snacky-snacks and some strawberry cream cookies. I also bought a couple of stainless steel forks with smiley faces on them. The last thing I picked and placed in my cart was a plastic container to put either sugar or oatmeal into. I haven’t decided which. Oh, and I bought a couple of salt/pepper shakers too. I think that’s all I bought at the secret Walmart.
It’s the 10th day of my new life in Shanghai, China. Although I’ve been to Shanghai a few times, everything here is quite unfamiliar to me; new neighborhood, new people, new school.
Although I haven’t been blogging, I have been writing about my experiences every day. It’s high time I begin transferring some of those daily journal entries over here for others to read.
Mankind’s Search for Meaning
As someone who often contemplates the purposes and reasons behind everything from culture to fingernails, it’s not uncommon for me to wrestle with the meaning my own life might have, not just to me, but to the world as a whole. (I don’t shive a git about the multiverse because they don’t shive a git about me.) My conclusions range from the very selfish–ownership and enjoyment of things, to the interpersonal–making and maintaining connections with people I care about. Unfortunately, both types of meaning were first eroded and then systematically eliminated by someone who claimed to care about me back in China. So, now it’s time to slow down my mind, take a breath, and re-evaluate my life’s meaning and determine the best way forward with an emphasis on that meaning.