Life

Reblog: For the Child I Will Never Have

I found this heartfelt and touching poem by Amie Chadwick yesterday and instantly knew I wanted to share it. I’ve been involved in making the same decision, once upon a time, and this poem speaks to me.

Please understand that this is in no way meant to pass judgement on those who have made the choice, or haven’t made it, nor is it meant to influence those who are struggling with making their own choice – it was shared in empathy and compassion for those in the same situation, and as a reminder that no matter which choice is ultimately made, there are long term consequences. If you read the poem, please take the time to read her closing thoughts on it as well. Thank you.

A warning, though – this may be an emotional trigger for those who have had, or have strong feelings about, abortion.

Normal?

“Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.”
—Vincent van Gogh

Inverse

What is ‘normal’ anyway?

When I was young, one of my biggest fears was being stuck in a ‘normal’ life, being a ‘normal’ person. I’ve often been – and mostly seen myself as – an outcast and something of a loner. Despite this didn’t use to see my life as especially different or abnormal. Sure, I’ve been viewed as a bit weird and eccentric – but that was just me, not the life I lived. It was basically dull, normal, doing mostly what everyone else did. I went through school with fairly average grades, spent some time unemployed and jumping between different jobs before sticking with one in commuter traffic. My spare time was divided between nerdier activities – games, comics, literature, culture – and social activities like going to clubs and parties. I made friends, went through a series of failed relationships, went on trips. Nothing major.

The first time I really started reflecting on my life was when a colleague and I was out drinking, talking about our past. He was multilingual and had lived in several corners of the world as a child, and I thought it must’ve been exciting and different. We traded experiences, and about half-way through the evening he was sitting slack-jawed, shaking his head and told me “you should write a book about this!”. I kind of laughed it off, saying it was the life that was normal to me and it wasn’t all that. We kept talking and when we parted ways he put his hand on my shoulder, looked into my eyes and said:

“I’m serious Thomas, you should write that book.”

For a long time after that I thought about my life and my experiences, trying to see what he saw. Other people came into my life, making similar comments, and I started thinking that maybe there was actually something to their comments. Often I shook, my head, thinking that it was just because it was different from their lives, not because it was special at all. I trudged on through the ups and downs of my life, finding comfort and recognition in books and movies and television. Further encouragement from friends had me making notes about my life, making me realize that I have been living several fairly different lives simultaneously, and that not even my closest friends had the full story.’

Recently – for the past three years or so – I’ve done a lot of soul searching, trying to figure out where I want my life to go. In the midst of all this I’ve come to realize that the view I’ve had of myself might not be what other people see. Dear Reader, I’ve had three moments of epiphany during this time. One was in dating a woman, quite a colorful character at that, who told me that I was ‘so different and exciting’; one was describing a scene from Californication to a friend, where I saw characters and events I could relate to and he saw unreal and weird. The third was doing a stupid internet test where I had to say what role I filled in the circle of my closest friends, and finding that the only role I could realistically choose was ‘the party animal’. Me! That is pretty much the opposite of what I’ve seen myself as. I thought I was a loner and book-worm. I’m not.

Normal is only that which we are used to.

My life seems dull and normal compared the more extreme characters I’ve known throughout my life (and there’s been a few…), but comparing to how most people live their lives mine has been anything but. So, you may ask, will I ever write the book my friend told me to? Maybe. I’m just not sure how to do it without stepping on toes, embarrassing people, and raising all kinds of questions from those who know me.

I’m not sure I’m ready to expose myself and those I care about like that – yet…

The best laid plans…

”We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
—Joseph Campbell

SpikeSmallLife has a tendency to happen to us while we are busy making other plans.

This past week was supposed to be a vacation from my day job and a chance to really get a boost in my creativity – to write, specifically. My goal for the week was to finalize and send off the story I wrote last month, write a brand new short story, edit an old one or two from my pile of hand written manuscripts, get at least one blog post down and do some drawing. As you might have guessed Dear Reader, that did not quite happen. Instead I have spent the week tip-toeing around excruciating pain. You see, on Monday I had an unlucky fall which caused some temporary but debilitating problems with the sciatic nerve on my left side. Now, five days later, I can walk unaided without pain but shifting in my seat or in my bed still brings severe discomfort. So instead of spending the week out and about, writing and being inspired, I’ve been a prisoner in my own body. Despite spending hours upon hours alone in front of the computer or at my desk I haven’t gotten much done at all.

Pain, lack of sleep and boredom make terrible muses, or so it seems.

That said, I have still managed to be somewhat creative: I’m halfway through editing a brief short story and I have done some minor sketching and drawing (like the little guy above – Spike – who might feature in some future endeavors I am planning).

My body is not so subtly telling me I’ve been sitting here too long, though – I shall leave you with some recommendations, and a warm welcome to those of you who just started following my insanity after last weeks post about Neil Gaiman. I am humbled by your appreciation – thank you!

 

  • Read – Ocean At the End of the Lane; Neil Gaiman
  • Watch – Mirrormask; Dave McKean & Neil Gaiman
  • Listen – My Shit’s Fucked Up; Warren Zevon

Life and Death

”If we are not careful, we end up asking what life tasted like.”
—Jonathan Carroll

How would you live your life if you found out that you were going to die?

This question has kept confronting me in various ways the past few years, but life has had a tendency to interrupt and shift my thoughts to more trivial, short term problems. This week, the question was posed to me again, and I started to really think. I think I have an idea now of how I would want to live if my days were numbered – and I’m lucky enough to live a life that is already part-way there. I would want to spend more time creating tings – paint, write, sculpt, design, draw – and spend time with those people I love who make my days happier. I’d want to read more and learn more and possibly travel. Travel always comes up as a thing that people want to do before it is too late, but when I really thought about it I realized that it isn’t really true for me. I’d love to travel to meet friends, but traveling to see sights and experience other cultures isn’t high on my list. The wonders of literature and modern technology give me the key points and knowledge that previously required extensive travel, the internet lets you see the wonders (albeit a poor version of experiencing them first hand), and in the end: no matter where you go there you are. It’d be nice, yes – but loved ones, art and study take precedence.

But what would you do – how would you live if you were nearing the end of your life? Would you stay at your current job, working the same hours; would you stay with your current partner; would you do the same things in your spare time? What would you want to do more of and what would you want to experience before it is too late? What dreams and longing would you want to fulfill?

Think about it for awhile. What is it that matters most to you and how would that affect the way you live if you knew you were going to lose those things? Have you got an idea?

Now, I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you: you are going to die.

Slowly or quickly, silently or in pain, with a bang or with a whimper – the details are irrelevant. Every breath leaves you one less to your last. It is an inevitable, irrefutable fact. We are all going to die, so why do we put off that which we really want to do other things? Why compromise with the precious years we have left just because we do not know how numerous they are?

Start living like you were dying because – really – you are.

Life

  • Read – Cloud Atlas; David Mitchell
  • Watch – The Fountain; Darren Aronofsky
  • Listen – Pull Me Under; Dream Theater

Memories…

”Something lives only as long as the last person who remembers it.”
—Navajo proverb

 

I should be doing all kinds of creative, useful or productive things right now – instead, I am reminiscing about times both good and bad, reflecting on the qualities and uncertainties of the human memory. Our memory is a very fickle, unreliable thing. We can rarely be sure that what we remember is the truth, and who knows how much of our lives have been lost to us because it is unremembered?

Memory is like a muscle – it needs to be exercised and it can be trained and built up. Our capacity for remembering is really quite extraordinary, but most of us only use a fraction of our full potential. Of course, few of us have the need to memorize long poems, strings of numbers, or the order of a deck of cards or ten, but be honest – aren’t there things you wished you could remember better? Sure, there are things we want to forget, but there are techniques for changing bad memories into better ones as well. I think we owe it to our future selves to take better care of our memory – nurse it, work with it, pamper it a bit – and in return, hopefully, it will take care of us and let us remember the best of our short lives.

Rest assured, the best parts  will not always be the good, happy, easy moments of life; the best parts can just as well be dark, painful and sad. Lessons learned, farewells spoken, hearts broken – these can be some of the most valuable moments of our existence. As I sit here and think back on the brightest days and the darkest nights of my life, my only regret is that I do not remember everything as well as I want to. There are things lost to me, and memories that stay just at the very edge of my reach, their details elusive even though I know the broad strokes. I m who I am today thanks to my memory. It’s the thing that builds me and creates me. Without it, what would I be? Still myself in a way, I’m sure – but less. I like who I am and where I am, but I think I shall make an effort to be more; remember more. Live more.

After all, shouldn’t we be living a life worth remembering?

Rememberance

  • Read – The Dice Man; Luke Rhinehart
  • Watch – Californication; Tom Kapinos
  • Listen – Don’t Let Us Get Sick; Warren Zevon