Social Irresponsibility

It occurs to me that somewhere between my birth and today, I've legitimately misplaced myself.

I'm sure I'm around here somewhere. Under the laundry, maybe on that end table by the door I never use, or in that coat pocket I took off last December and haven't worn since. It doesn't really matter, though, because regardless of where I'm hidden, I'm relatively certain I'm not here.

I mean, I'm here for all intents and purposes. The body works, biology continues to tick and tock on unabated, but somewhere in the shuffle of life, I'm seem to be completely unable to do things for myself lately. Yet every time I feel like crap, I have this completely untouchable drive to do something to fix it, but as soon as I find myself finding some measure of comfort, complacency kicks in as though the drive were never there to begin with.

Given that, am I a function of that mediocrity turned complacent, or am I actually that shadow of unquenchable drive that is seeking so desperately to find the drive to do something different hindered by something I don't actually understand enough to be able to face head-on, or work around?

As it stands, I've had enough trying to feel like everything I do or say isn't a mistake, and there being some landmine that's waiting under my next step. I genuinely have no idea what to do with myself anymore, and the only thing the stress is doing is giving me headache after headache, tired nights of long sleep but no rest, and the desire to figure out if there's something more to life than this.

The worst part is I don't even know what to do in order to start finding an answer. I don't know what's making me feel so very, very tired. Is it how I comport myself to my friends and family? Is it my ethereal relationships that make me feel so disconnected? Are my nerves a function of fearing what I'm currently undergoing in life, or what I'm afraid of what will come next? Or even something that's happened in the past that I'm not over?

I don't know. I really, really don't.

All I know is that it's becoming increasingly more difficult for me to feel like anything I'm doing is being done right. Or that I should be doing anything at all. Moments like these make me come back to all the people who've simply filtered out of my life, consciously distancing me from themselves. I have to wonder what they saw then that I don't now, and worse still, if they were right.

"Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers, you cannot be successful or happy."                                   - Norman Vincent Peale 

Facing Reflections

We live in a sexualized world. The entertainment industry, even having been noted as recession-proof, has found consumers tightening their belts and holding off on certain luxuries that would otherwise be adhered to with the utmost flippancy. Conversely, Victoria's Secret has posted an increased profit both in the final quarter of the year, and the fiscal year as a whole. Historically, in 1971, Jovan Musk Oil Inc. utilized sex appeal as an advertising scheme for the first time. The resulting revenue went from $1.5 million in '71 to $77 million in '78. That's a $75.5 million gap bridged in 7 years.

"Sexy" is an adjective used to refer to a positive characteristic of an object or person. Dietary companies use "sexy" as a term to define the positive improvement of a person simply by physical appearance. We pay models not for their intelligence or keenness of character but rather by their mass sexual appeal. No matter how we pay, and no matter how much we deny it, it is true that sex sells. Perhaps it's the titillation that drives the dollar, earning everyone more "bang" for every buck.

Regardless of how it works or who looks at it, sex is a driving force in not just a global society, but even a personal one. And I freely admit that I am a pervert. It's not a hard thing to objectify the opposite sex. Anyone with a pair of eyes knows that it's socially acceptable to sexually expect men to have big muscles and women to have tiny waists. It's a resulting process of years of subtle personality shifting that affects people in ways most of us don't have enough years of research to understand.

However, the result is clear. There's an expectation for people to have certain hang-ups, and a sense of condemnation for those that don't. It could be society, monogamy is in, casual sex is out. For women to pursue lives of sexual experience isn't a mark of research, but one of poor character even in the best of cases. For men, it's often excusable, but only in the right company. Which may or may not be a fair title, as I'm not one to judge, but I do often find myself questioning my own appearance in the mirror.

A friend once defined my human existence as "I flirt, therefore I am." It's true, I'm a flirt. I find that there's no shortage of features on any one person (though biased as I am, they are primarily female) that merit compliments. I enjoy it, and very rarely have I found people to dislike it in reply. It's pretty easy to get compliments, and it feels good. Perhaps that's why I do it.

Either way, there's a meticulously thin line between being compliment-filled, and being sexist, and I'm not entirely sure where I stand on that line. Maybe I should just get a grip and assume that because I never get red-flagged then I'm not crossing any lines. But I'm unconvinced...

Missing Persons Report

Sometimes I think being a member of a community is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. I find myself looking at the wheels, the track, the engine, the body. Every single part tuned to interlink, function, and power ahead against the forces of nature. Watching communities is more fascinating than watching just about anything else, and seeing how my own interactions affect the whole is possibly even more fascinating. But as much as I'd like to claim myself a non-participant, I'm still very much a part of the whole machine.

The problem with that is I'm human. Emotional, shallow, and at times, jealous. If I find myself taking a break from this well-oiled machine, and finding a similarly-shaped cog in my place, I freak out. Sometimes, in my flailing, I'll hit the machine with a bat. The thing is, I always feel stupid and petty after I watch the machine shudder. It'll take a while, but I'll want to hit the machine with a bat again eventually. But is it really so stupid and petty?

In a lot of ways, yeah. Looking into why I do it, I'm just stamping about for attention. If I don't get enough of it, I'll throw a tantrum and storm out. Usually, without too long to wait, that tantrum will come back and bite me, and I'll feel stupid and petty. Yet, like moth and flame, I find myself wanting to do it again and again...

I can't help but feel like I should be doing something proactive about it, maybe re-identifying myself instead of sitting around in denial, trying to ignore the urge to hit things with bats and storm away whenever I feel upset. Am I really this childish sometimes? I think a more accurate answer would be I'm really this childish all the time.

Either way, I have to wonder why I stay at the Escapist at times. Not just for the childish reasons, but the actual ones. Granted, I enjoy myself most of the time, but am I really ever doing anything. I pitch one article every 20 or so issues, so it's not like I'm taking an active stance on the writing front. A lot of the writing I do ends up going unpublished (officially) or squandered away on self-referential fanfiction.

In all of my attempts, I've never figured it out. So who knows. Maybe I will figure it out one of these days. Until then, I'll keep doing what I'm doing. Maybe, with some luck, I'll end up being able to do something helpful like becoming a mod, or getting some full-time writing gig. Who knows?

The Invisible Wall

Perfect strangers are fantastic councilors. They don't have friends, vendettas, biases, or predispositions. They simply see problems from a third-person perspective, weigh the options fairly, and can produce primarily fair opinions.

Internet friends are even better. They don't see the friendships, have alliances with many or all of the parties involved, nor do they have hidden agendas or vendettas. They can observe the facts without bias, and provide solid and unbiased advice. The bonus is that they also care. They can look at their friends, and know to be kind and fair when giving advice.

The only problem with internet friends in that invisible wall. (Cue Draw With Me.) A giant, faceless, ceaseless, emotionless, and gelatinous expanse that exists between all internet friends. It's a subtle beast, who holds friends at arm's length. It separates them by time zones, internet availability, schedules, and accessibility. I have friends in many parts of the world. North America, Europe, New Zealand, Australia, and Asia. There is maybe a collective of 6 to 10 hours of the day where I can actually see some of these folks, cutting down the time I can talk or spend time with them at any given point. That's also assuming I'm free all day, and so are they.

Beyond that, that's just time to talk and converse. I can't take them out to dinner, ask them to pop off to the gym with me, go swimming with them, or anything. In most cases, without considerable driving or a plane ticket, I'll never meet these guys and girls face-to-face. Never shake their hands. Never give them a hug. Never see them. Ever.

We are the first sort of generation to do this thing, the first generation to be able to yawn, wake up in the morning, and say "howdy" to someone on the other side of the Earth. I regularly talk to people from the future, and that's something I'm almost certain my parents' generation has ever said. It's a unique thing, but one that provides little frame of reference. We're sort of alone in this venture.

Don't get me wrong, I love it. I like being able to say "One of my best friends is from a country that spells 'armor' with a superfluous U." But it can be a little alienating, can't it? To have this giant, expansive, invisible wall between us. I'll never see a movie with this guy, and barring some crazy twist of fate, I won't have the chance to shake his hand.

It's the price we pay when facing the online friend. At the end of the day, though, I wouldn't give it up for anything. (Except maybe an endless supply of plane tickets to meet these folks in person.)