A Mile in My Shoes

I have been thinking a lot about judgment lately. Biblical, and otherwise. Not that I should worry about judgment, rather, I have to worry, but since it is a necessity I shouldn’t overly worry. Anyway, I guess the moral of this story is that I have been thinking a lot about judgment lately.

Everyone knows that judgment is a large part of life, and that there are many forms in which judgment can come in. Judgment can come in the form of common sense. Where you look both ways before crossing the street, an assumption of judgment that saves lives every day. Judgment can also come in more artistic forms, where an artist uses their best judgment; rather, they use their artistic ability to create a work that conforms to their perceptions of judgment. Others may judge, yes, the work itself, but that is solely because the judgment of the piece does not conform to the assumptions that their judgment has already made. Does this make any sense? I’ll continue anyway. Judgment can also come in a more common phrasing of the word, where you meet a person on the street and decide whether you should give them the time of day. That is the most common form of judgment, the most common form that sways our reality, shifting and shaping each day, excluding and including certain individuals throughout any given day. Finally, the judgment that I am least familiar with, moreover, that society is least familiar with: the judgment of God. For, unless you have the unfortunate circumstance bestowed upon you, you will never know the judgment of God, or rather you will not be able to relate said judgment back to the grieving  living. If you’re still interested, I’ll continue with this nearer the end.

The first two given examples of judgment are complex in their own way, but I am not here to focus on them. There are whole professions given to professional judgment, the second example. Furthermore, you are sitting at a desk/in a chair/on your bed/on a plane (etc.) reading this blog, so I can only assume that you’ve formed a partial understanding of the first example of judgment: common sense. Though common sense does deserve its own essay, I am not here to write on that subject either. My ultimate goal is to clearly describe the actions of judgment on a daily basis, the judgment that shapes our perceptions of the world, our judgment that creates unfortunate assumptions about individuals. Finally, I will finish with my limited experience of the Judgment; where we have taken over for God, ultimately using his power to judge those around us. An unfortunate happenstance, I’m sure, though I’m not sure how happy that makes God.

Each day we are creating our perception of the world. Our minds race with information, and we are constantly trying to perceive the world around us in an organized, ordered fashion. No matter how psychotic the individual, each has a perception that leads them through the world. The mind is constantly processing information, aiding with our awareness of our surroundings. We are alive, each and every one of us, because we have the power of mind to perceive our surroundings and adapt to them. This is the ultimate goal of survival, where common sense replaces instinct in a civilized society, but also where judgment helps us record and perceive danger from other individuals.

The fact that each individual human being judges others is a primal element of our genetic algorithms. We must judge others to assume safety and create trust. There is a certain abstract quality to the person who claims that they judge no one, but there is an automatic judgment made from the same individual when a masked figure advances toward them, gun raised, yelling obscenities. Said individual may have some control over the judgments they ultimately pass, but they are not free from the overwhelming urge to judge. This is where the unfortunate, almost ghastly, judgments come from: when someone cannot control the judgments they pass. One look, and they think they know exactly who the individual is. This has occurred since the beginning of organized society. Where, throughout history, the color of one’s skin or the religious markings one wore could get them killed, or worse. These markers help us create assumptions through our initial judgments that can lead to stereotyping, and even to bigotry, and ultimately to hate.

As humans, we are capable of large emotion: love, grief, resentment, melancholy, and hate. Hate. Think about the word. Take a moment. What does your judgment say about the word? What does the word make you think of? Who does the word make you think of? As you can see, as your mind jumps from one question to the next, your judgment has shaped your reality a bit more than you would have liked. As a society, though society is another beast in itself, we form judgments. As a collective these judgments pass laws, secure policies, and ultimately drive the course of the world. These judgments are harder to sway because they are the judgments of a mindless, heartless beast: the mob, of which you and I are a part. The luckiest thing about the situation we have found ourselves in, however, is that we, the we within the society—the individuals—are able to form malleable judgments that can evolve and take shape as we learn, as we love, and as we accept differences.

A friend this past week, a newer friend, struggling as we are to find out way through the world said something, not necessarily original, but very profound. He asked me, “Why don’t they try walking in the shoes of another? Of me? Why can’t they walk in my shoes for the day, to know what it is like to be me?” I did not know what to say. Nor do I have any idea what to say now because are any individuals really willing to walk in another’s shoes? The fact remains that we cannot face our judgments; we can spread our judgments, ultimately in the form of our beliefs and opinions. We may look at a person, process our impressions into judgments that we ascertain as truth, but we will never know that person’s story unless we are willing to walk in their shoes.

Maybe I do know what I’d like to say to my friend. Maybe I could just ask for a pair of shoes? Maybe I will ask for the opportunity to see into their world. Maybe I could ask them to tell me what it is like to be in their shoes. Because, sincerely, I would like to know. I want to know what it is like to be them, so that I can better understand what it is like to be myself.

This is where I come to my ultimate confusion: the Judgment of God. I will say this now; I have mixed feelings about God. I do not know Him, as many in this world do. I believe that He exists, but I do not know in what capacity. However, if you would like to quote a Bible or any text, for that matter, of who God is, that would be trifling at best. Dead words on a page of manmade paper do not interest me when it comes to such a great being. (I should add that I do believe that many portions of the Bible act as an intricate historical tale of the world. If I want to know a person, I am not going to read a biography, I would speak with the person. Though, that would lead me into the issues of prayer, and that is not what this essay is about. I do not want to discount the Bible, or the beliefs people bestow in that book. I am expressing my belief that one cannot know God by reading ancient texts that have been translated thousands of times throughout history by man. I believe that to be an impossibility. If you are focusing all of your attention on this singular paragraph then you have missed the entire point of this essay, and I suggest you start again at the top.

The Judgment of God is something that I am completely unfamiliar with, though I’m sure there are a multitude of people out there willing to sit me down and explain their believed system to me. My confusion lies with the fact that there are millions, absolutely millions of people, with the ability to cast this Divine Judgment on their fellow man. Throughout history, the word of God, God’s decisive hand, has played a role in Holy War, suffrage, slavery, and death. Though, if we look back, was it God that enslaved these people? No. Like the debate of guns and bullets, it is people that enthrall their fellow man, not God. The idea of God within the minds of the individual, that is the ultimate culprit. So in the end, the judgments that are passed are not God’s will, for we cannot know His will. The ultimate culprit is our judgment. The assumptions that we create based off of ancient words in a text, with the result of oppression for many races, sexes, and sexual tendencies. It is a sad day, to think that, in God’s name, we have decided to act with His decisive hand fist to create a world where the masses are turning away from God.

The fact remains, we must take ultimate responsibility of our judgments. There is a heavy task for humanity, for we are not always inclined for taking up responsibility. I can only hope, that before making life-changing judgments that forevermore shift your perceptions of the world, you will take the time to walk in their shoes.

Incoherence

I’m not sure what I want to say. I never am that sure what I want to say. I tend only to write when I have big emotions inside of me without any other outlet of releasing them into the world. I guess this is one of those times, but I’m not sure what I want to say.

I have strung along a few entries with the theme of “Who am I?” I think I have begun to realize that that question has no definite answer. There isn’t anything that can be said to relieve the anxiety of answering that question because it is constantly evolving. An even more anxious question would be “What if I don’t like who I am?” That didn’t occur to me before now. I was always just looking for an answer, and I was never troubled that the answer may be something that I hadn’t actually been looking for. I know that there are many people that believe that you can be whoever you want to be, but I think that is a lie. You can be who you are, or you can lie to yourself and be who you want to be.

I guess this may be shorter than I expected it to be… It has been so long since I’ve felt anything at all. I have turned into a husk of my former self. A ghost, a wisp, a disembodied spirit with “unfinished business.” I am starting to feel again, but I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know how to interpret what I’m feeling, and I just don’t know anymore.

I learned something, in the time after the breakup. I learned to talk to myself. I have never been so alone before, so it ultimately led to me talking endlessly with myself. First, just in my head, but then it started to flow into speech without me realizing the transition. Now that I know more French, I have begun to talk to myself in that language. It helps me process what I’m thinking about because I have to come up with the verbiage and vocabulary for the sentences that I’m trying to create.

It usually ends up with an incoherent stream of words that no one else understands. This is helpful because I can say whatever I want without others interfering… Qui êtes-vous? Que faites-vous? and on and on…

Anyway, I guess I’ll stop babbling on about nothing in particular. I know that hardly anyone reads this anyway, but if you are someone that looks forward to these blogs, then I’m going to try to start doing something a bit more regular (we’ll see how that goes). Whether it is posting work that I’ve done for school, or just random things I find on the Internet. I think that this will be a good outlet for my incoherence. 

Something Found: Richard Feynman

All this business about finding one’s self. The never-ending story.

Anyway, I won’t get into that again. I just wanted to share a video. Quite profound, really, the words, the intonation, and the images. You have a hard time not wondering what it all means. What does this all mean? As I sit inside my empty apartment, I have to wonder to myself what this all means?

I feel an emptiness. A hole, deep down, that seems bottomless, but I have started to find things to fill in that hole. Small grains of sand brought forth to fill the abyss, but eventually (if you look hard enough) you will see that this hole is being filled with all of those small, seemingly insignificant grains of sand, and that will fill you with wonder.

Again with the tangents. I will get back to the main point of this spiel. Listen to what this man has to say. Listen to his words, listen to his amazement, and let them fill you up with wonder. Take a moment out of your busy schedule to actually wonder. Be filled with doubt. Be filled with the inexpressible emotions reserved away within. Let them wash over you, and you will know what truths lie within.

Anyway, if his words do not lead you a little closer to a light of truth, then I cannot imagine what could.

Another Day

All I really need to do is express a feeling.

Simple as that. Or so one would think.

I have a continuously growing feeling that I cannot hold back. It rears its head at me, and then it retreats. It fills me up, clouding my mind and bringing me to my knees. My brain feels like it will explode, and my eyes pain to see the world around me. Everything seems to move in slow motion, or maybe it is just me, and the world is a chaotic blur around me. I’m not sure anymore.

Where do I begin?

I feel like I have lost everything. Now there’s a pessimistic sentence… It is a chance for a new beginning. They say that change is good, and I am coming to realize this. But who really wants to experience heart-wrenching change. Who really wants to be thrown into the dark without a light to find their way? Who really wants to fall into the dead winter: cold and helpless against the frost?

No one.

Most of the time, I walk around in a haze. Surrounded by people, passing me by, laughing and smiling: oblivious. But are they the oblivious ones? Maybe it’s me. I’m the oblivious one walking through this world. Unconscious to the fact that people surround me. It seems to me that loneliness is a deeply rooted personal endeavor to keep the world out. Walls and towers are thrown up, strong against a harsh world. It isn’t even safe to peek out to look down at the world that surrounds you.

I have built the walls all of my life. Rarely do I let people in. I smile, and I laugh, but I rarely love. Some might say that it is hard to come to a conclusion like that at such an early age. I might say that they’re wrong. I know me. I am a fiercely loyal friend, if I become friends with someone. I am not the type of person that takes friendship, or love for that matter, lightly. I cannot just throw it away for something else in the world. I cannot just run from friendship and memories like they were nothing. I immerse myself in a friendship, in love, and when it disappears, I am devastated. But you would never know me to be devastated. I put up a front, the walls and towers, and no one can see inside.

That thought scares me. I remember for years that I would keep people out. Most of my life actually. No one knows, so no one has to care, so no one has to worry. Maybe it’s just a phase. Maybe I will outgrow this growing feeling. I can cover it up pretty well, I can bottle it up and put it on a shelf, I can write it down and burn it to ash. But will it disappear completely? When will I be free?

Some may say that the answer to that question is easy. You are free when you set yourself free. Maybe that is true. Maybe that is the simplest answer to the most complicated question. How do I set myself free? Free from this feeling, free from the headache of pain. (Just a side note, I mean free physically and mentally, but I really like living, so let’s not start thinking that this means anything fatal…)

Freedom. An American Privilege. But does that mean you can release yourself from the very walls that you have created to keep you safe? I want to run. I want to run away from the memories, and I want to let the pain fly away behind me like a kite. I want to close my eyes and let the sun’s warmth swallow me. I want to be able to look around and become one of the coherent humans in the world. I don’t like being oblivious, but it is the only way to live within the walls.

I have lived this way for years. Locked behind a mask. Very few have taken a peek behind the mask, but did they actually see me or was I just hiding again? I call myself a loyal friend, and maybe I am, but am I an honest friend? Do I let the people I call friends know who I really am? The only way to answer that question is to ask myself: do I really know who I am? That answer is complex.

I do no know how to know myself. They say that if you experience life, and if you live to the best of your ability you will be able to find out who you are. I look in the mirror, and I see a stranger. I do not know the person in front of me any better than anyone else does. I know this sounds all types of “complainy,” and I know that everyone has problems to equal mine, or they have problems of a magnitude that I do not even want to imagine. I commend them for their grace and elegance. They are walking around in the world, and they are living. Do they know who they are? Do they really know? It is hard to imagine, they say the human brain is a complex machine. But they also say that machines have ghosts. What ghosts are hidden from us?

Point in case, I try to remember anything before the age of five or six, and I cannot even glimpse that time. I cannot remember my life up until that point. Is that a ghost in the machine? Another example, from as far back as I can remember, I have bottled up any of my anger. I do not like to display it for the world to see, and I do not like to express it. Where does the anger go? Why did I decide that that was the best way to deal with it? Another ghost.

Some days, I just want to be able to walk out into the world and know that I am welcome. I want to know exactly who I am, and I want others to be able to know that person. I have read that until you love yourself, others cannot love you. How do you love someone that causes you so much pain? Of course, I blame myself for the wrongs in my life. It is only natural. Self-hatred is only comparable to self-destruction, but they also say that there is a fine line between love and hate.

At this point in my life, I am having a hard time finding reasons to love myself. I have read that you should wake up in the morning, look yourself in the eyes in the mirror, and say, “I love you.” Whenever I do this, it feels insincere and ungracious. A stranger on the street would not be easier to convince. But it is a stranger that lives in the mirror world. I do not know him. He does not convince me that he loves me. I can’t wake up in the morning, look myself in the eyes, and lie. That is self-destruction.

So I guess it is up to time to tell the story. I know that I must love my real self before others will be welcome, but I still have no idea who that is. I do not know who the person is in the mirror. I only know that he causes me irrevocable pain, every day. How can I trust the person in the mirror? How can I trust myself to love myself when love is so easily lost?

I know that I have friends that are by my side, and that love me. I know that I have family that loves me unconditionally. But I do not yet love myself, nor shall I love myself until I know who I am. This seems logical, until you realize that love is not bound by logic.

I guess I am walking into the dark. I am moving forward, at least, but it is not a clear future. Each step takes me closer and further away from pain. I do not know what to say to comfort anyone at this point.

All I know right now, at this minute, is this: I will wake up in the morning, glance at myself in the mirror, and then I will look away. I will go through the actions of getting myself ready, and then I will step out into the wide world. I will be surrounded by people, and still feel lonely, only occasionally taking the time to notice the people around me. I will follow these actions in a closely guarded manner, and no one will know that I feel pain with each breath I take. No one will know that I do not know who I am, and no one will know that I do not love myself: and that will be okay. Because eventually, one day, they will know. But by that time, I will know who I am, and I will love myself.

Tomorrow is another day. I might just look into the mirror and see a familiar face.

Just an addition, below you will find a video that I have taken to heart over the past week. I haven't liked a song this much in quite a while, and I think it sums things up pretty nicely.

The Art of Yard-Saling

Saturday.

The day that everyone bulldozes all of their junk from the confines of the garage, attic, or basement. After the bulldozing, they throw the junk in hodge-podge piles all over their lawn or down their driveways for early-risers to come poke through and buy at insane mark down pricing.

Of course, there is an art to “yard-saling.” Driving down the street at 40 mph, you suddenly see the handmade, fluorescent green sign marked in bold, permanent marker: “Yard Sale.” The car whizzes past the sign, and you are still craning your neck trying to see the address on the sign. Soon, you pull an illegal “U” turn and speed back toward the intersection. Hopping from street to street, you start to lose hope of ever finding the yard sale.

“Did you actually see the address on that sign?”

“Well… Kind of. I thought there would’ve been another sign by now…”

“Does it even exist?”

“It has to! Maybe just a little further.”

And there it is. You just have to have that slight sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, the one that says, “You’re not going to find it!” And that is when you see the heaping piles of children’s clothes, random kitchen utensils and dishes, unmarked cardboard boxes, and larger items: beds, washing machines, scooters, and even the occasional refrigerator. That’s when you know you’re in heaven.

Walking through the piles, you wonder what treasures might be in the cardboard boxes. I’m always searching for “vintage” items. These items were bought long ago and have sat in the attic for the past few decades. Old pill bottles, TIME Magazines from the 50’s and 60’s, glass medical containers for “Applicators” and “Gauze”; you can find all sorts of stuff.

I am always drawn to the large stacks of books. I look for the oldest covers and flip open the cover to look at the copyright date. 1903. That’s when I know I’ve found something special. When a book has survived for over 100 year, no matter the actual value, it is valuable to me. Other times it is just the old paper products in general. Today, I found Polish postcards dating from the 60’s that showed 1945 and 1963 photos of post-WWII Warsaw.

Absolutely incredible.

The addiction cannot be controlled. You are always searching. Always wondering what will be in the next box, or what will jump out at you from behind the heaps of clothing.

And it isn’t just finding a treasure, from there you have the chance to haggle and barter like there’s no tomorrow.

“So, I know you wanted $7.00 for this, but I was thinking more like $5.00.”

long pause: “Yeah… I guess I could go $5.00 for those. They are vintage, though.”

“So, $5.00, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll do $5.00.”

“Do you have change for a $10.00?”

And so on and so on until about noon. Prime time for yard sales is between 8 AM and Noon. After that, either all of the “good” items have been bought or the yard sale is being packed away into the garage until the next Saturday.

There are also fine distinctions to know which yard sale is going to be worth going to. If you ever see a sign with “Estate Sale” written on it, you must go. No matter what, turn that car around and head back. Estate sales usually have the oldest items, with the most variety. They are people cleaning out a whole lifetime’s worth of stuff, and that usually provides you with a feast for the eyes.

The next type of sale is a “Moving Sale.” These usually have some of the best prices because the people are trying to get rid of their stuff extremely fast. They need to go, and their stuff can’t come with them. They practically give their stuff away.

Finally, you have the “Garage Sales” and the “Yard Sales.” There is a fine distinction between the two that makes them categorically different. From my experience, Garage sales have a wider variety of items that aren’t clothing. From electronics to housewares to hardware and tools, you will find more practical items at garage sales. While yard sales have the same type of merchandise as garage sales, it always seems that there is an abundance of clothing and paperback books at yard sales. In my opinion, this makes yard sales the low man on the totem pole.

Next Saturday is just a week away, and I can’t wait to see what I might find. Hope to see the rest of you out there, digging and searching for a treasure.