I found something new that makes me horny.
This is less a trait and more like an event that gives me the same rush as being turned on. In the last two weeks, I’ve had the inklings of two new friendships.
There’s something mentally titillating about making a new friend. You’re with this new person who knows so very little about you and vice versa. There’s an unlimited amount of potential conversations. There are no preconceived notions, no assumptions, no dirty history to drag up. It’s brand new and full of possibilities.
New friends open up new worlds. Boundless conversations. New ideas. Someone else’s story, their life, their thoughts, their creativity. When I meet someone new, I can’t stop thinking about them. I want to hang out with them continuously. When I recall tidbits of our conversations, I smile. It’s like my mind is on overdrive. The fun thing is that of my two new possible friends one is a female and the other a male, so I know my excitement is not gender specific.
It’s the same exhilaration I get from learning. The idea of knowing something you didn’t, the way it changes your mind, your thought process. A new friend, to me, is a new perspective. A new pair of eyes to see life through. Someone who introduces me to a new set of paths.
My two new friends are completely different from each other. They have different pasts, different presents and most likely different futures. But they’ve both already added seeds into my life. They’re a part of my present and will affect my future in some way or another, even if they’re not physically in it. Since they help me expand my mind, I find myself horny for the mental stimulation.
Old friends, loved ones and family are indispensable. They are people who love you the way you are. They know your past, they’ve lived it with you. They have weathered the good and the bad with you. And you know they will be there no matter how far apart you might be physically. They are like a safety blanket.
New friends may come and go. They might turn into something more lasting, or they might never be more than momentary, but even that single moment leaves its traces in your life. Snippets of dialogue. Memories of a shared laugh. A new way to look at an old idea. All of these are just as indispensable.
New friends replenish my mind and revive my mood.
Previously? Satisfaction.
A person should be satisfied with his life not because he feels satisfied, but because he has good reason to be satisfied. – Bertrand Russell
I haven’t talked about the happiness class in a while. I like Bertrand Russell cause I agree with many of his thoughts and statements. Mostly because they are so common-sensical.
I haven’t read enough of him to say whether I agree with all of his thoughts or not, but I know I like the comments about satisfaction. The terrible thing about most of the people around me is that they have amazing lives and yet they are never satisfied. They live in anticipation. They keep waiting for the next step. The promotion. The raise in salary. More people reporting to them. The bonus.
There is no time to sit and ponder the current situation. There is no time to celebrate. There is no time to appreciate. Life is moving at an unbelievable speed. They need to live in anticipation of the next move. They need to worry about the next step and make sure they’re not passed up for the promotion. There is no time to be satisfied. Satisfaction requires a different point of view. It requires one to slow down and deliberate.
Even if they managed to slow down, they’d never notice the problem. Their views are too distorted. They have absolutely no concept of how much money is ‘enough.’ They don’t know what success is. They don’t understand that life is passing them by and that they’re giving up their youth to corporate America. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing with working in corporate America or making a lot of money. But there is something wrong with a twenty-some year-old who doesn’t think that 100grand is a lot of money. There’s something wrong with a kid who’s only six years out of college and doesn’t appreciate the power of having forty people report to him.
These people have long forgotten the feeling of satisfaction. Which is why I find Russell’s words sensible. It’s not about how you feel, it’s about how things are. If you can’t see it clearly, ask around. Try to remove your distorting glasses and look again. I’m not simply saying “Be glad you have arms and legs” though that’s a more valid point than most make it out to be. I’m not saying be satisfied if you don’t have a home to go to. I’m just saying that most of us have an incredible amount to be satisfied about and, for some reason, many of us can’t seem to recognize that. I think we’re so busy running around, trying to achieve the next thing that we can’t feel satisfied. Or the satisfactions are too short and in between struggles.
So maybe Russell’s right. It’s not about feeling satisfied, it’s about being satisfied because you have much reason to and maybe it’s not a good idea to involve feelings. Maybe it’s just a matter of being rational.
Previously? TV.
I watch every show on TV.
I kid you not. I’ve always been a total TV-addict. As a kid, I couldn’t do my homework unless the TV was on and in college, the first thing I did when I walked into my room was to turn on the TV. It doesn’t really matter what’s playing; I rarely watch it. I just like the background noise it provides. I know most normal people listen to music for background noise, but that distracts me much more than the TV.
With the addition of Tivo into our lives, it’s gotten even easier to watch obscene hours of TV and now, with the shows I choose. I record about five hours of TV a day on week days and two to three hours on weekends. That makes up twenty-nine hours on the recorded stuff alone. Not to mention award shows, one-time movies, etc.
I’ve met many parents who refuse to have a TV at home because they believe it’s bad for their children and that they will become antisocial, etc. I’ve heard everything from TV makes you lazy to it makes you stupid. I would personally like to be the example case for how it doesn’t necessarily do either.
We might be able to debate my level of intelligence but I’m definitely drawing the line on stupid. Or lazy. And it’s not like I watch only the science or educational shows. I watch everything. More trash than education. I don’t assume TV is there for me to learn from. It’s my noise, it’s my way to empty out my brain. Some people need a drink when they have a long day. Others exercise.
I watch TV.
I think we should do a study. Compare the kids who grew up watching TV and the ones who weren’t allowed. I bet we’d find that the kids who grew up without TV become complete zombies when in front of one. Not to mention the scars from the alienation they must have suffered, at school, when their classmates discussed last evening’s episode of a TV show. I want to know whether watching TV truly produces lazy and stupid adults. I want to see numbers. I want to see proof.
Each time I hear of a parent who claims their kids are better of without any TV, I want to remind them that bans are only made to be broken. If you tell a kid she or he can’t do something, suddenly that very thing becomes extremely enticing. I know men who only eat sugar cereal now because they never could as children. Think of all the college freshmen. Think of the alcohol. Can you really tell me that banning works?
As in almost everything, maybe moderation is the answer. I’m not saying my twenty-some hours a week would be considered moderation but then again, I never claimed I was exemplary.
I just like to watch TV.
Previously? The Power of Mundane.
Funny how one cares about these things, how desperately one wishes to make a good impression, how frightened one is of failure. It’s pure vanity of course. Or perhaps, to be kinder to oneself, professional pride. There are so many other more important things in my life to worry about, and yet what matters most to me at the moment is thinking of something clever to say at the last session tomorrow. Messenger’s the same – totally wrapped up in the conference, paying attention to every speaker, making sure everything is going smoothly, schmoozing his star speakers, keeping the TV people happy. Nobody would guess that he’s waiting for the result of a blood test that could mean the difference between life and death. I suppose it’s a blessing really, that we both have something to distract us. – David Lodge’s Thinks…
Life is defined by extreme moments, the up or down spikes that break the monotonous straight line. When I look back on my past, I always remember the spikes. Sometimes they are major events: my college acceptance, my first kiss, my sister’s wedding, my grandfather’s death. Sometimes they’re minor occurrences: a fabulous day with a good friend, a whispered secret, a broken trust. I don’t remember much about my daily life.
Yet while these major or minor events were going on, life still continues. In the last five years, I’ve had many personal struggles, but I put on a normal face and took the subway to work. I sat through meetings, fixed my code and talked to users. I might have even chuckled once or twice. Not only did I show up to work everyday, but I worried about my code, making sure it’s tested properly. I spent hours trying to solve a user’s production problem.
Tragedies happen. Even without considering the freak events like what happened over a month ago. People get old and die. People that you love let you down. People that you always thought you couldn’t live without, leave you. Most of us are emotional beings, we cannot move on in a few minutes. It takes time to develop a coping mechanism. Some recover quicker and some never really do. Regardless of your personal timetable, life continues on. In most cases, one has to report right back to work and meet deadlines. Or take midterms.
Ironically, I think it’s these small tasks that keep us alive, that keep us from falling into a deep depression. The fact that you have to go to work gives you a reason to get up and dress in the morning. Your midterms stop your mind from constantly replaying scenarios relating to your tragedy. The trivial, day-to-day activities ensure that you have at least split seconds where you’re not fully concentrating on the tragedy. I think that’s what starts the healing process. After the first week, you spend a single minute thinking of something else. But a month later, you spend a full day. A few months later, maybe you move up to a week. The misery slowly disintegrates. Sometimes it lingers for years but it’s not the debilitating emotion, it’s a whisper that’s barely audible.
I don’t mean that we should forget about our tragedies. I never do. Even if I really would like to. But life does go on and human beings have an amazing capacity for pain. And tragedies remind me how thankful I am for the mundane.
Previously? Greatness.
Jake and I have spent one day each in the last two weekends leaving the house and doing some good.
I’ve listened to many people talk about how they feel helpless and how they want to do something, which is why they buy flags, light candles, visit fire stations, donate money, etc. Many have visited ground zero to do all they can. Some, more than all they can.
Two weeks ago, I logged into my company’s volunteering site, to lookup some information for my applications. The site listed ongoing volunteer projects as well as ones coming up in the next month. As I read one after the other, I decided that’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to spend all my time volunteering. Not down in ground zero, but in the millions of other places that needed it and have been needing it for quite some time. I don’t mean to put down anyone who’s helping down by ground zero. They have all my respect and then more. I am not sure that I’m emotionally prepared to face the scene so I appreciate others who do.
I think what I like about volunteering is how little effort it takes to make a visible difference. Selfishly, I love the sense of accomplishment I get from helping others. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s the truth. Not to mention it’s loads of fun.
Last Sunday, Jake and I took a trip to Brooklyn to volunteer at BARC Shelter’s Dog Show and Festivities. We helped raise thousands of dollars for the shelter and had tons of fun watching the dogs with their tricks and costumes.
   
On Friday, we drove to Boston to spend our Saturday volunteering at City Year’s annual Serve-A-Thon. Since Jake’s an alumni of City Year, he’s gone back to Serve-A-Thon for the last ten years. I’ve joined him on the seven that he’s attended since we start dating. The Serve-A-Thon always inspires me. Seeing thousands of people up at the crack of dawn in the Boston cold, energized to make a difference would win over even the more cynical citizens, I hope. Over the years, we’ve painted, scraped, washed, weeded and always had tons of fun.
  
There are opportunities to serve every day, every minute and every second. If you don’t like animals, you can work with the elderly, the blind, children, or the sick. You can paint, read, mentor, teach, build, or simply keep someone company. I don’t do it because it sounds good, I do it cause I have fun, I meet new people, I learn and I receive just as much as I give. If not more.
Martin Luther King said, “Everyone can be great because everyone can serve.”
Don’t you want to be great?
Previously? Theory of Relativity.
The city morgue is a mere three blocks from my house.
I’ve been completely exhausted in the last two weeks. Maybe it’s because my back has been aching on and off, enough to stop me from falling asleep easily. Maybe it’s the essays I run over and over in my mind. Maybe it’s the assignments I desperately try to keep on top of. Maybe it’s the 7am meetings that go for four hours. Maybe it’s the ongoing bomb threats in the subways I take.
I am taking a graphic design course. One of the six I signed up for. I’ve always thought I’d like to learn how to design better. I understand the basic principles so I thought the class might be fun and instructional. I thought I might learn about the process of design and maybe even get some insight on how designers get their ideas or inspirations.
Not so.
Since the class began, I’ve been stressing twenty-four/seven. I can’t stop thinking about my assignments, I freak out about them a week before they’re due, and I am miserable each and every second I spend on them. I doubt myself nonstop and cause endless arguments between Jake and me.
So for the last week, since my teacher said she doesn’t like my background image, I’ve moved from just stressed out to a complete basket case. I’ve started housing others like heather, mena, rony and his wife over aim to ask for their opinions. Details. Whys? Exactly Whats? Trust me when I say these people are way too nice to still be acknowledging my presence. I spent six nights in a row obsessing about this assignment. I slept late, went to work like a zombie, came home in misery and restarted the whole routine. All this for a class where I get no credit and no grade.
Two days ago, I mailed part of my graduate school application. The part that contained my transcript, three recommendations, and some labels. The part that would be excruciatingly difficult to replace. That would be why I mailed it with overnight UPS. Because when you send it overnight, it doesn’t get lost.
Not so.
Today, I spent the entire day talking to maybe thirteen different UPS customer support people. I started scared, passed through angry, made a stop in self-pity, and ended the day completely spent. I cried. I yelled. I cursed. I begged.
Let’s just say it wasn’t my favorite day.
At 5:30, I decided I couldn’t sit at my desk any longer and left to stand at the bus stop on the corner. Since I stopped taking subways, finding a transportation alternative has been an experience. I waited in the bus station, realizing that my design assignment isn’t all that important. Relative to this missing UPS envelope, the assignment doesn’t even matter. As we cross 28th street, I see the posters of missing people covering the walls of Bellevue Hospital. Right before NYU hospital, I see the police cars and emergency people outside the morgue. I start thinking clearly for the first time in two weeks: the envelope doesn’t matter either.
Tonight, I am going to get lots of sleep and try to keep things in perspective.
Previously? Two Weeks.
The last two weeks:
Envelopes with signatures across the seal.
Hitting the submit button in a web site that might actually change my life.
A celebration for two of my favorite people deciding that they are meant for each other.
Rereading essays for the seventeenth time.
Human behavior, imitation and culture.
A red scarf, knit by yours truly, with only a few small holes.
Crossing fingers and toes for good friends trying to change or maintain their lives.
Four-hour meetings, three days in a row.
A new team member.
Learning about the writing of the constitution, Aristotle and the stoics, the history of the United Nations, scientific tidbits, and the Medicis.
A movie poster designed by me, one that’s based on wishful thinking.
Resumes, too many iterations.
Anthrax, mail, fedex, subway, bomb threats.
Reading, writing.
Black roots rejuvenated, too chicken not to stay blond.
Five less pounds. Lifetime membership.
Stress, lack of sleep, anticipation, fear, worry.
Stolen moments of desire and love.
Hope.
Previously? Heels.
I wore heels this morning.
In November of 2000, I hurt my back, in December, I found out that it was much worse than my doctor had anticipated; I had two herniated discs. In June, my neck freaked. So it had been almost a year since I wore heels. As a person who used to wear extremely high heels daily, this was quite a major change in my life. I bought four pairs of flats, two summer ones and two winter ones, and alternated between the four.
On September 17, when the employees returned back to work, my firm held a department-wide meeting and advised the women to wear flat shoes for the next few weeks. You’d be amazed at how many women were wearing heels the very next day. But not me, flats had become my new friend.
This morning, I got dressed and fetched around for a pair of shoes that would go well with my outfit. My eyes kept drifting at the heeled brown boots. I picked up the shoes and looked at the size of the heels. Pretty high. I put them on. In the last few months, I lost a lot of weight and the heels helped accentuate my body, so I decided what the hell. I knew one day wouldn’t break my already broken back any further. If it helped me feel good about myself, I would wear heels for one day.
I had a few sciatica pains early on in the day, but overall the heels were fine. By the end of the day, I even ran from one building to another so my manager could have the letterhead he needed. I felt good about wearing the heels.
Around 7pm, I walked into the subway and took a seat. Since I take the station down by Wall Street, the train was packed at that time of the night. On Tuesday, I learned how to knit, so I took out my scarf and started knitting. We passed through the Wall Street and Fulton Street stops without a problem. Halfway between Fulton and Brooklyn Bridge, the train halted. The conductor said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have been told to stop immediately. I will pass along more information as soon as I have some.”
The woman to my left held out her hand to show to her friend how it was shaking. The two of them were looking through wedding dress pictures. The guy to my right kept reading his newspaper and me, my knitting. After ten extremely long minutes, the conductor comes back on the speakerphone and says, “There is a serious situation in Astor place and we have been told to move back to Brooklyn Bridge. This train is called back to Brooklyn Bridge.” The conductor repeated this four times, by the second one, people in my car were muttering him to move it already.
We sat there for another fifteen minutes and saw the train’s operator walk from one end of the train to another. The conductor kept repeating the same announcement, but the train would not move. I don’t even want to share with you the thoughts that raced through my mind at those moments. I only stared at my red scarf and mechanically knit. Another ten minutes later, the conductor came back on the speakerphone and announced that the police had cleared Astor place and we were going to move forward after all. We waited another ten minutes as the operator moved back to the front of the train. As he passed through our car, the New Yorkers cheered. Some girl said, “Hurry, some of us have to go to the bathroom.” People laughed. That thank-God-nothing’s-wrong sort of uncomfortable laugh. The operator walked back to the front and the conductor said, “All right, partner, let’s get this thing moving.” Everyone broke into applause.
The train pulled into the 14th street station and I got off to switch to the local line. As I walked down the street towards my house, I decided I’m not taking the subway again. Not for some time. Nothing can compare to feeling trapped several feet underground.
And tomorrow, I’m wearing flat shoes.
Previously? Imitation.
Data now emerging show the fascinating and unexpected ways that genes and culture actually interact in animal mating situations. Consider the case of a fish less than an inch long: the guppy. In this species, females have an innate preference for males with lots of orange body color. Combining the importance of female mate copying with the documented genetically based preferences that female guppies exhibit for colorful males creates an ideal system in which to examine the relative importance of genetic and cultural factors in shaping mate choice. In a 1996 experiment in my lab, I did just that. Essentially I created an evolutionary soap opera. A female’s genetic disposition was “pulling” her toward a more orange male, but social cues and the potential to copy the choice of others was tugging her in the exact opposite direction – toward the drabber of the two males. When males differed by small amounts of orange, females consistently chose the less orange males. In other words, they copied the choice of a female placed near such a male. Here, culture – in this case, the tendency to copy mate choice – overrode a genetic predisposition for orange males. If, however, males differed by large amounts of orange, females ignored the choice of others and preferred the oranger males – in this case, genetic predisposition masked any cultural effects. With guppies, it is as if a threshold color difference exists between males in the eyes of female guppies. Below that threshold, cultural effects are predominant in determining female mate choice, and above that threshold genetic factors cannot be overridden – and this in fish with a brain the size of a pinhead! – Lee Alan Dugatkin in The Imitation Factor
Lee, in his book, talks about how females imitate other females when choosing partners. If a female sees a man surrounded by other women, she gets interested. So much so that she might choose that male over another, one that genetically appears more attractive to her.
Doesn’t that sound like high school? Not even a little bit?
I remember being in college and feeling amused, mostly cause I don’t want to use a worse word, about how a male would date one sorority sister and then another, until half the house dated the same man. A guy who’s dating looks appealing. Maybe cause the female thinks that since another female found him attractive of date-worthy, there must be something special about this guy. Especially, if the girl is popular or pretty.
Why is that?
Obviously, if all the women chased after the same man, there’d be one very lucky man and tons of not-so-lucky ones. So, obviously, some women choose different partners. Maybe cause they are oranger. But many women do go after the same man. Many women like to pick a man who’s desirable. The joke about how much more attractive men become when they’re wearing a wedding ring is not entirely without substance. Maybe women like the competition, the idea of having been chosen from a crowd. The idea of being the one that this desirable man picked. Or maybe it’s the safety in numbers.
Lee also talks about how young women seem to imitate more than older women. As if young guppies know that their elder equivalents must have good taste in men. I think that also has validity in its correlation to human lives. I, personally, see this competition much more in teenagers than in adults. When an adult goes after a married man or an adult pursues some other woman’s boyfriend, it’s considered somewhat immature. Like she should know better. But women of all ages seem to do it all the same.
I don’t really know the reasons for the imitation factor, but I can certainly agree with Lee that it’s a part of our society. Even if it isn’t the most desirable one.
Previously? To Have or Not to Have.
Another Monday, another happiness day.
We started the class talking about Aristotle, objectivism, stoics, and Bertrand Russell. As it’s now become foreseeable, the class started on one topic but another one took it over completely. Here’s today’s topic:
“Is it better to have had it and lost it than to have never had it at all?”
Yes, you are reading it correctly and no, I didn’t leave out the word ‘love.’ This question is meant to apply to all topics. For example: Let’s say you had an amazing job, your dream job, and then you get fired. Is it better to have had the job or do you wish you never had it? The argument against having had it says that since you now know what you could be having, you become very depressed after losing it. Whereas if you never had it, you will never know what you are missing and therefore you’ll never be that miserable. Especially since happiness and misery are relative, which is conversation for another day.
The argument for it basically says that happiness, no matter when you had it, is valuable and it’s always better to have been lucky enough to have had any happiness. A common saying does involve love. ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved.’ Or something like that. Again, the idea, I believe, is that if you’ve ever loved, you’ve been lucky enough to feel the amazing elation that comes along with love and no matter how things ended, you should feel blessed to have ever gotten to feel it.
I side with the ‘better to have had it’ people.
To me, life is all about the experience, the journey. Another gentleman in class today said he never makes specific plans because this way he doesn’t have to feel upset when he doesn’t fulfill them. He has this very general plan and takes each day as it comes. There is nothing wrong with his approach, but it’s one I strongly oppose to. I firmly believe that big risks bring big rewards. If you never put yourself out there because you’re too scared to be hurt, you will never get to live your life fully.
Yes, losing someone you love or a fantastic job might depress you thoroughly, but it also means that you had the extreme happiness of having had those. People who never try, don’t miss anything but they don’t gain anything either. They don’t get to feel the surreal happiness that comes from being loved. Or the fulfillment of a perfect job. It’s like a delicious fruit you refuse to taste just because you might not get to taste it again tomorrow.
If you never plan anything, you never get the satisfaction of having achieved it either. I guess, to me, the pursuit is just as much, if not more, fun. I like to plan. I know that I can, or even will, change my mind down the road and factor that into my plan, but I also like to have a goal. A destination. A reason for walking down the path I chose. I like the idea of committing to a path. Being madly passionate about something. Even if it crumbles to pieces, you have had an interesting, life-changing experience. Not to mention the lessons.
If you’ve never had it, it’s true that you will never lose it, but you will also never know what you missed. Sometimes a single moment is enough to fill a lifetime of memories. Memories that help you endure hard times. Memories that make you smile even after the details have blurred. Memories that you hold on to like rare treasures.
To me, it’s always better to have had. It’s always better to try to have.
Previously? Idea vs. Reality.
I firmly believe that many of my not-so-close friends like the ‘idea of me’ as opposed to the ‘reality of me’.
We all have a side that we show to the outside world. An amalgamation of our resume and the properness of being in the company of others. It’s how we act in an interview. When we meet a significant other’s parents. When we make a new friend. It’s the information our parents tell others when they want to brag. Putting on our perfect behavior.
I call that the ‘idea of me.’ To an outsider, I am an overachiever. I work at a top-notch investment bank, I volunteer six to eight hours a week, I take six classes, I have a Masters degree, I read voraciously, and I speak seven languages. To an outsider, I am intelligent, caring and inspirational. I am good at heart. A loving person. I am a collection of positive traits. To an outsider.
And then we have the side that only the really intimate see. The one that awakes with a hangover. The one who’s too lazy to replace the toilet paper roll. The one who’s clipping his toenails. The one who picks her nose in private, or when she thinks no one else is around. The one who reads an embarrassing book or is hooked on a TV program he’d never admit to in public. Those really not-so-pretty and human sides of us.
That’s what I mean when I say, the ‘reality of me.’ What the insider gets to see is that I worry too much. Sometimes the smallest decisions are the hardest to make and I need reassurance about the stupidest things. I still freak out before every exam. I am never satisfied with my results. Every achievement is replaced quickly by another goal, a harder, more complicated one. I am perfectly capable of being petty, holding a grudge, and being selfish. I don’t take care of my skin. I steal the covers. I have been known to talk and even walk in my sleep. I grind my teeth like mad. I am far from perfect. Behind the scenes.
The idea of me is wonderful. The reality, not so much so.
When I meet someone who tells me how great I am and how they like this and that about me, I automatically think that all they have is the idea of me. The surface. It’s easy to polish a wooden table so you can see your reflection on it, but it’s hard to get rid of the rotten wood inside the legs. Which is why I don’t often pay heed to compliments from people who don’t know me that well. Even my friends, not really really close friends but the acquaintance ones maybe, at times, never move past the idea of me.
The real reward comes when someone takes the time to see the reality of me. The rotten wood and all, and still chooses to have me in her or his life. I don’t have many of those in my life, but the few that I do have, I hold very dear to my heart.
The idea of me puts me on a pedestal, one I am bound to fall from. The reality of me makes it okay for me to screw up. It lets me know that I don’t have to worry about my mask falling off when I am with this person.
Because I don’t have to wear one.
Previously? Agenda.
We all have opinions. I don’t know when it begins, but we form opinions really early on in our lives. A while back, I talked about how, by the time we go to elementary school, most of us have a theory on how the world works and how teachers should not assume that students enter school with a blank slate. The same rule, I think, applies to opinions. Somewhere along the line, we hear someone else’s opinion, we read a newspaper article, we watch a TV program, or possibly an amalgamation of all three.
Depending on the issue, and how much we care about it, our opinion can be well thought out or superficial. If we’re passionate about the issue, we dig deeper. We read voraciously, we follow the progress of the subject matter and make sure our opinions are up to date and we use every opportunity to bring our opinions up in conversation. Sometimes, we argue an issue when we’re not even well educated on it, but my beef today is not with those people.
Today, I have a word or two for the people who care about an issue and have done their homework on it. People who’re thick in the mud of it. People who claim they are well acquainted and passionate about a topic. These people are intelligent. They often are passionate and care about the issue, but just as often they are so deep into their own beliefs that they have stopped listening to others long ago.
These are people who glance at a few lines of the opponents’ article just so they can lift one or two sentences and attack them. They don’t care if the sentence is taken out of context. They don’t even care if it’s an outright lie. They are only concerned with their own agenda and they use everyone and everything to further their cause.
I have absolutely no respect for such individuals.
I’ve also previously talked about people’s listening skills, or lack thereof. Most of us are busy preparing our replies before the other person even finishes his statement. This is even truer in the case of people with strong opinions or agendas, the ones I mention above. People who claim that they are speaking for women’s rights or for minority rights or any other equally ‘touchy’ subjects. Each time I hear or read about a case when a woman, claiming she’s a feminist, start berating men for being men, I cringe. I am embarrassed that such a person represents my gender and feels like she can speak on behalf of women everywhere.
Personally, she can never speak for me.
I think what matters most in life is not that we have opinions or that they are right or wrong (not that there is such a thing when we’re talking about an opinion). What matters is that we’re open-minded and that we never lose sight of the issue. We should be careful when we listen to our allies and even more careful when we listen to our opponents. I believe that the more dignified person always wins. Not that this is a race. But in the end, we only have our integrity.
Next time you disagree with someone, I recommend you listen or read twice as carefully. Who knows? You might even learn something.
Ps: Apologies for the preaching tone today, I guess I am slightly peeved.
Previously? Uninspired.
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projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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