Those of you know me know that I am a compassionate and considerate person; always seeking to help out someone in need. I wasn’t always that way. I realized long ago that people will unfortunately take advantage of you if you care about their predicament. They use you and leave you when they are done. So I closed up and became extremely guarded. The past couple years have rekindled a love for my fellow man. Still a guarded love, but one not lacking in compassion for those I see truly need help and will appreciate it. I’m careful who I help and really expect nothing more than a thank you. I don’t need to be paid back if I loan money, I don’t need the favor reciprocated. If I can help ease someone’s troubles (whether it be by listening, giving advice, or loaning money) my mission is accomplished. It makes me feel good to help people.
But I wonder why are so many people apprehensive to show thanks? Pride could be one answer. Pride is our personal arrogance but also a healthy dose of self esteem. It’s a truly interesting contradictory animal (one that warrants a future note?). It’s intriguing that people ask for help, but are often embarrassed by the mere thought of asking. There have only been a few times when I have been too prideful to ask. If you don’t ask, you don’t learn and learning is a life long lesson. But when someone asks for help and help is received, they should appreciate it and offer up their thanks. If no thanks is received or if no perception that the helper’s actions are appreciated, the helper may feel used. Sometimes just a twinkle in an eye or a simple showing of trust (i.e. sharing something not many people know) may be enough to show appreciation. It doesn’t need to be verbal communication.
Another form of appreciation is showing that although those in need are going through a hardship, they strive to better themself if possible. While not always a possibility especially in poverty-stricken areas and among the uneducated, if those in a position to improve should attempt to improve. With some support they can achieve this even though it may be difficult. While some people appreciate support, others just seem apathetic. I think it’s so sad that there are people who just seemingly don’t care about those who rely on them. They don’t care that their wife and children may leave them to find “bigger and better” things. They don’t care about their job, and don’t realize how lucky they are to actually have one. They laugh and scoff at the thought of being fired as they simultaneously complain that their children and wife don’t have enough to eat and they can’t afford gas for their vehicle. What the hell is wrong with this picture? Do some people expect someone to be their maternal figure their whole lives; someone to hold their hand and feed them when they don’t feel like going on? Lack of responsibility.
Responsibility for actions. Don’t get me wrong I feel bad that people face these situations on a daily basis and I will continue to help, but if I perceive that my help is being used as a means to simply lessen their responsibility, my help will be discontinued. I will continue to pray for them, but physically and maybe even mentally helping them may cease. If someone cannot be responsible for things they have done/are doing in their life, why should I accept responsibility for them? There are those with mental disabilities that are incapable of being fully responsible and yes they should be helped in anyway they can, without denying them their individuality.
It’s a precarious situation; that of helping people out. I will continue to help out my fellow man, but I find it hard to help those who cannot and do not accept responsibility for their own actions.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Solitary (Originally written 8/18/2007)
Solitary. Introvert. Aloof. Withdrawn. Loner. How do these words make you feel? What is your perception of someone who is bears these characteristics? Afraid? Apprehensive? What about John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Humphrey Bogart, Johnny Depp, Harrison Ford or Robert DeNiro? They all specialized in playing loner personalities in many, many movies. They played heroes and the quiet (but tough) man that always won the girl’s hearts. What about Superman, Spider-Man, Wolverine and Forrest Gump? They were all loners and heroes(Gump was more of friendly type). What about Michelangelo, Isaac Newton, Emily Dickinson and Franz Kafka? All loners, with brilliant minds and creative ideas. It’s sad that a personality trait has been labeled as a curse.
Our society has made it a sin to be considered any one of the monikers I mentioned at the beginning. Why is this? Much of it is probably left over Sigmund Freud philosophy. He mentioned that people that like to be alone have something mentally wrong them. I think someone took it further by thinking, “Hmmm. One man just shot a bunch of people, he didn’t have many friends, so why not call him a loner?” A misjudgement. Maybe it is an easy word to use to describe someone in this situation. But a real loner could care less about what society thinks. They yearn to be different. They enjoy the company of themselves. Pseudoloners (as Anneli Rufus calls them) search for ways to become accepted, and if they don’t succeed they mentally break and decide that they need revenge on the society that shunned them. They are conditioned by society to be afraid and believe they are noone’s friend and are worthless.
If you research serial killers, mass murderers, etc. they are almost always described as a loner, or a solitary gunman/bomber/terrorist. Many times these pseudoloners are outcasts in society. They are either brilliant and not recognized as such (the case of Kaczinski), made fun of excessively, and/or degraded by someone. They take these comments personally and try to connect with society and be a part of society but they could never “make” themselves socially acceptable. Their attitudes have been created by society, not by God. A true introvert (which only constitute about 25% of the population) or loner enjoys and treasures time alone. They often use this time to recharge or create new ideas or works of art. They enjoy this quiet time alone, but they may also treasure time with others, depending on their personality. They do not find awkward silences awkward at all, they are merely a time to refresh. There doesn’t need to be conversation each and every minute of consciousness.
The introvert has also been the subject of social conditioning. Since our extroverted society glorifies any fast-paced individual who can engage in small talk and be the life of the party, we are all lead to believe that this is the way we should all live. I like this Anneli Rufus quote:
“For fear of raising little killers, parents persuade little loners to play volleyball.” (Party of One, pg. 254)
We believe that because a child is somewhat withdrawn, or quiet at a young age he will become our worst fear. While some attention should be given to children, forcing them into highly sociable activities may not be good for each child. We are all created a certain way for a reason. Some children prefer to play in groups, others prefer one-on-one playtime or even alone play time. These were always my favorite experiences, wandering into the woods or backyard and creating my own world. Many times my world was an ideal world, one where I could get away and let my imagination run free without interruption or commentary from others who sought to change my world view. A loner in my own world.
Why do we find it necessary to change a child’s personality? Why do we find it necessary to negatively stereotype loners, introverts, and solitary persona’s, yet glorify them on-screen and in books? Probably because imaginary figures are intangible. We stereotype those around us out of fear. We have created the profile of a loner and an introvert as someone who has no friends, kills without remorse, and is mentally disturbed. While this may sometimes be the case, more often it is the result of social rejection and/or social unacceptance. I am not saying that all of society is this way, but it does go on all the time. We should all embrace each other for who we are, try not to demean each other for who they are. Even if some people seem lost in their own little introspective world.
Note: I am not glorifying serial killers, mass murderers, bombers or what they did or who they became, but to shed light on true loners. True introverts/loners are nothing to be afraid of, but actually to be celebrated. Many works of art can be attributed to them. Thanks for reading.
Our society has made it a sin to be considered any one of the monikers I mentioned at the beginning. Why is this? Much of it is probably left over Sigmund Freud philosophy. He mentioned that people that like to be alone have something mentally wrong them. I think someone took it further by thinking, “Hmmm. One man just shot a bunch of people, he didn’t have many friends, so why not call him a loner?” A misjudgement. Maybe it is an easy word to use to describe someone in this situation. But a real loner could care less about what society thinks. They yearn to be different. They enjoy the company of themselves. Pseudoloners (as Anneli Rufus calls them) search for ways to become accepted, and if they don’t succeed they mentally break and decide that they need revenge on the society that shunned them. They are conditioned by society to be afraid and believe they are noone’s friend and are worthless.
If you research serial killers, mass murderers, etc. they are almost always described as a loner, or a solitary gunman/bomber/terrorist. Many times these pseudoloners are outcasts in society. They are either brilliant and not recognized as such (the case of Kaczinski), made fun of excessively, and/or degraded by someone. They take these comments personally and try to connect with society and be a part of society but they could never “make” themselves socially acceptable. Their attitudes have been created by society, not by God. A true introvert (which only constitute about 25% of the population) or loner enjoys and treasures time alone. They often use this time to recharge or create new ideas or works of art. They enjoy this quiet time alone, but they may also treasure time with others, depending on their personality. They do not find awkward silences awkward at all, they are merely a time to refresh. There doesn’t need to be conversation each and every minute of consciousness.
The introvert has also been the subject of social conditioning. Since our extroverted society glorifies any fast-paced individual who can engage in small talk and be the life of the party, we are all lead to believe that this is the way we should all live. I like this Anneli Rufus quote:
“For fear of raising little killers, parents persuade little loners to play volleyball.” (Party of One, pg. 254)
We believe that because a child is somewhat withdrawn, or quiet at a young age he will become our worst fear. While some attention should be given to children, forcing them into highly sociable activities may not be good for each child. We are all created a certain way for a reason. Some children prefer to play in groups, others prefer one-on-one playtime or even alone play time. These were always my favorite experiences, wandering into the woods or backyard and creating my own world. Many times my world was an ideal world, one where I could get away and let my imagination run free without interruption or commentary from others who sought to change my world view. A loner in my own world.
Why do we find it necessary to change a child’s personality? Why do we find it necessary to negatively stereotype loners, introverts, and solitary persona’s, yet glorify them on-screen and in books? Probably because imaginary figures are intangible. We stereotype those around us out of fear. We have created the profile of a loner and an introvert as someone who has no friends, kills without remorse, and is mentally disturbed. While this may sometimes be the case, more often it is the result of social rejection and/or social unacceptance. I am not saying that all of society is this way, but it does go on all the time. We should all embrace each other for who we are, try not to demean each other for who they are. Even if some people seem lost in their own little introspective world.
Note: I am not glorifying serial killers, mass murderers, bombers or what they did or who they became, but to shed light on true loners. True introverts/loners are nothing to be afraid of, but actually to be celebrated. Many works of art can be attributed to them. Thanks for reading.
Response to Rebel by Albert Camus (Originally Written 9/23/07)
“What is a rebel? A man who says no, but whose refusal does not imply a renunciation. He is also a man who says yes, from the moment he makes his first gesture of rebellion. . .With rebellion awareness is born (Camus 13 - 15).”
These are the words of Albert Camus. His idea of the rebel embraced a metaphysical rebellion, that is, a movement by man that protests his very condition and creation. Camus claims that a rebel is essentially striving to become God, to create their own laws and in so doing become completely free. While I agree with his definition of a rebel, I do not agree that a rebel wants to play God.
A man/woman truly becomes aware when there is something not right with the world in their view, some injustice, unfair treatment, segregation. Rebellion is awareness. Awareness of a need to be free, a need to prevail over evil. History has provided us with a who’s who of rebels throughout history, every culture has an example. Rebellion is a human condition. A human reaction. A rebel will question why, act on his proposed ideas, die for them if need be, and finally if his ideas can be related to others, a rebellion or even revolution may occur. Men would die for his cause and they too would become rebels, by their action. Their death signifies the rebel’s death, a martyr for a cause that will better society in their eyes. So how is this a metaphysical rebellion?
It is true that a rebel will rebel against his condition. It is true that not every man will be satisfied with his place in the world, there will always be something that’s worth rebelling against in someone’s eyes. A rebel’s goals will be to change the condition and nature of whatever injustice he sees happening; to defeat oppression, to overthrow tyranny. But the rebel’s goals may be relatively insignificant in the big picture (rebellion against a small institution) or it may have large implications and go from a rebellion to a revolution (the American Revolution). The goals achieved may not be the goals intended, for once the rebel steps out there with his ideas, someone else may grasp them and call them their own (The Crusades, perhaps? Is killing for religion something Jesus [the greatest rebel of all time] would have condoned?). When this happens the rebel may find it necessary to rebel against the very cause he was rebelling for. And the cycle continues.
A rebel does not always find it necessary to create their own laws or government, at least not in every case. They seek a change of ways. I think Camus is taking some liberties here and trying to work in his belief in atheism. To play God would mean that the rebel wanted complete control and domination of others, and is that always the case? Of course not. Often a rebel simply wants more freedom to do as he pleases, not instituting his own laws against others. For if he did that, he should expect a rebellion rise against him and should realize that. A rebel believes his cause will benefit himself and others, not restrict.
A rebellion is not always a revolution, but a revolution almost always starts out as a rebellion. And this begs the question, what is the difference between a rebellion and a revolution? A rebellion is defined by Webster’s Dictionary as “resistance to authority; esp: defiance against a government through an uprising or revolt.” A revolution is defined as “a sudden, radical, or complete change: the overthrow or renunciation of one ruler or government and substitution or another by the governed.” Therefore, a rebellion is a simple act of defiance boycotting, protesting, and in situations that warrant it, revolt. And this revolt, if effective, leads to a revolution.
“In order to exist, man must rebel, but rebellion must respect the limit it discovers in itself – a limit where minds meet and, in meeting, begin to exist (Camus 22).” A rebellion must not forget its true cause. Maybe Camus is trying to say that rebellion has the potential to go awry and lead to tyranny. But that is only if, the rebellion does not respect its limits. Once those limits are breached the rebel will in essence be playing God. But a rebel does not seek this, he seeks justice and reform, existence and freedom, not tyranny and chaos.
Camus, Albert. The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt, Vintage International, 1991. Pages 13-15, 22.
These are the words of Albert Camus. His idea of the rebel embraced a metaphysical rebellion, that is, a movement by man that protests his very condition and creation. Camus claims that a rebel is essentially striving to become God, to create their own laws and in so doing become completely free. While I agree with his definition of a rebel, I do not agree that a rebel wants to play God.
A man/woman truly becomes aware when there is something not right with the world in their view, some injustice, unfair treatment, segregation. Rebellion is awareness. Awareness of a need to be free, a need to prevail over evil. History has provided us with a who’s who of rebels throughout history, every culture has an example. Rebellion is a human condition. A human reaction. A rebel will question why, act on his proposed ideas, die for them if need be, and finally if his ideas can be related to others, a rebellion or even revolution may occur. Men would die for his cause and they too would become rebels, by their action. Their death signifies the rebel’s death, a martyr for a cause that will better society in their eyes. So how is this a metaphysical rebellion?
It is true that a rebel will rebel against his condition. It is true that not every man will be satisfied with his place in the world, there will always be something that’s worth rebelling against in someone’s eyes. A rebel’s goals will be to change the condition and nature of whatever injustice he sees happening; to defeat oppression, to overthrow tyranny. But the rebel’s goals may be relatively insignificant in the big picture (rebellion against a small institution) or it may have large implications and go from a rebellion to a revolution (the American Revolution). The goals achieved may not be the goals intended, for once the rebel steps out there with his ideas, someone else may grasp them and call them their own (The Crusades, perhaps? Is killing for religion something Jesus [the greatest rebel of all time] would have condoned?). When this happens the rebel may find it necessary to rebel against the very cause he was rebelling for. And the cycle continues.
A rebel does not always find it necessary to create their own laws or government, at least not in every case. They seek a change of ways. I think Camus is taking some liberties here and trying to work in his belief in atheism. To play God would mean that the rebel wanted complete control and domination of others, and is that always the case? Of course not. Often a rebel simply wants more freedom to do as he pleases, not instituting his own laws against others. For if he did that, he should expect a rebellion rise against him and should realize that. A rebel believes his cause will benefit himself and others, not restrict.
A rebellion is not always a revolution, but a revolution almost always starts out as a rebellion. And this begs the question, what is the difference between a rebellion and a revolution? A rebellion is defined by Webster’s Dictionary as “resistance to authority; esp: defiance against a government through an uprising or revolt.” A revolution is defined as “a sudden, radical, or complete change: the overthrow or renunciation of one ruler or government and substitution or another by the governed.” Therefore, a rebellion is a simple act of defiance boycotting, protesting, and in situations that warrant it, revolt. And this revolt, if effective, leads to a revolution.
“In order to exist, man must rebel, but rebellion must respect the limit it discovers in itself – a limit where minds meet and, in meeting, begin to exist (Camus 22).” A rebellion must not forget its true cause. Maybe Camus is trying to say that rebellion has the potential to go awry and lead to tyranny. But that is only if, the rebellion does not respect its limits. Once those limits are breached the rebel will in essence be playing God. But a rebel does not seek this, he seeks justice and reform, existence and freedom, not tyranny and chaos.
Camus, Albert. The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt, Vintage International, 1991. Pages 13-15, 22.
Ghetto of Unknown Dreams (Originally Written 9/9/07)
I’m not sure what this is; some kind of personal poetic story about the struggle within I suppose. I was thinking rather deeply tonight. I went to an Irish folk concert by myself, which I mind not at all, yet at the same time it bothers me. It bothers me because it is ingrained within us at an early age that you must always have someone there. If you are alone you are loner, and loners kill people. It is the same inner voice that tells us that we must fill in silence with words. Silence is uncomfortable. I thought all this as I sat down on the grass. I noticed the perfume of insect repellent. I began wondering what our ancestors would think about us spraying chemicals on our body. I’m sure they would think we were crazy. It just seems a bit odd doesn’t it?
In a soft act of defiance, that no one else probably noticed (but others emulated), I sat down on the ground no blanket or chair. I just sat on the grass and spent the next two hours in intimate contact with the grass and chiggers. As I waited for the concert to begin I looked at the Capitol. It was an image all to familiar to me, perhaps one I take for granted. I noticed Ceres standing atop the dome, her head touching heavens. I noticed the intricate designs, the instructive and judgmental ghost white Greek figures carved into the stone, the large unending columns, the huge condescending statue of Thomas Jefferson, and the eternal staircase that seems as much a part of the landscape as the gruff grass upon which I was sitting. I wondered how proud the ancient Greeks would be that we still worshiped them and their architecture and their politics. I wondered about how we still embrace democracy after the Greek’s popularized it over 2500 years ago. An ideology that is believed to be the greatest form of government in the history of mankind. Everything is put high upon a pedestal much like Ceres in her peplos with her basket of produce.
As the concert started I was enjoying the music, but about halfway through my mind started wondering which always happens if there are distractions. I was distracted by a bat that flew in front of me. I followed him as he flew to the top of the Capitol, watching the dim light accenting its wings with a yellowish glow. It fluttered across the sky in an eccentric zig-zag pattern capturing mosquitos, a savior to many people there (but how many even noticed his presence among us?). I wondered how wonderful it must be to fly. Feel the wind in your face catch some food, and fly just to fly only returning to your home to sleep and perhaps talk to a couple friends. How wonderful it must be to experience nature’s freedom with very small worry of predation. To be able to fly, to explore the world from above, diving down briefly to inspect the finer details. How spectacular it must be.
My attention flickered like a dying bulb between these thoughts and the wonderful music being played. The last song was played, the band left the stage, the announcer thanked the sponsors, and I stood there frozen on the grass. People were walking around me, walking in front of me, and I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the outer limits of our world, the stars spoke to me in a silent language I did not understand, the pale illumination against the Capitol made it even more surreal. My eyes came back down to my horizon and my feet began walking towards my car. I noticed couple upon couple walking hand in hand, arm in arm. They went their separate ways and I was left alone walking toward my car. My footsteps echoed in my head, the solitude of the street lamps my only companion. Shadows engulfed me and I felt as if I were marching to my death. At the same time I felt a strange comfort that I cannot really explain, the comfort of being alone. The independence I suppose of my own shadow stalking my every step. I felt as if the echoes of my footsteps were my own shadows steps. The solitude I found assuring yet haunting. I approached my car, who was itself encroached in darkness and solitude. It sat alone under a burnt out street lamp. A sign of my own impending loneliness perhaps. I wondered if it was some kind of sign. A sign that my life was empty and unfulfilled.
How can it be that once I have figure out who I was that I don’t feel as if I belong anywhere? An odd irony that follows my shadow with footsteps of silence into the ghetto of unknown dreams.
In a soft act of defiance, that no one else probably noticed (but others emulated), I sat down on the ground no blanket or chair. I just sat on the grass and spent the next two hours in intimate contact with the grass and chiggers. As I waited for the concert to begin I looked at the Capitol. It was an image all to familiar to me, perhaps one I take for granted. I noticed Ceres standing atop the dome, her head touching heavens. I noticed the intricate designs, the instructive and judgmental ghost white Greek figures carved into the stone, the large unending columns, the huge condescending statue of Thomas Jefferson, and the eternal staircase that seems as much a part of the landscape as the gruff grass upon which I was sitting. I wondered how proud the ancient Greeks would be that we still worshiped them and their architecture and their politics. I wondered about how we still embrace democracy after the Greek’s popularized it over 2500 years ago. An ideology that is believed to be the greatest form of government in the history of mankind. Everything is put high upon a pedestal much like Ceres in her peplos with her basket of produce.
As the concert started I was enjoying the music, but about halfway through my mind started wondering which always happens if there are distractions. I was distracted by a bat that flew in front of me. I followed him as he flew to the top of the Capitol, watching the dim light accenting its wings with a yellowish glow. It fluttered across the sky in an eccentric zig-zag pattern capturing mosquitos, a savior to many people there (but how many even noticed his presence among us?). I wondered how wonderful it must be to fly. Feel the wind in your face catch some food, and fly just to fly only returning to your home to sleep and perhaps talk to a couple friends. How wonderful it must be to experience nature’s freedom with very small worry of predation. To be able to fly, to explore the world from above, diving down briefly to inspect the finer details. How spectacular it must be.
My attention flickered like a dying bulb between these thoughts and the wonderful music being played. The last song was played, the band left the stage, the announcer thanked the sponsors, and I stood there frozen on the grass. People were walking around me, walking in front of me, and I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the outer limits of our world, the stars spoke to me in a silent language I did not understand, the pale illumination against the Capitol made it even more surreal. My eyes came back down to my horizon and my feet began walking towards my car. I noticed couple upon couple walking hand in hand, arm in arm. They went their separate ways and I was left alone walking toward my car. My footsteps echoed in my head, the solitude of the street lamps my only companion. Shadows engulfed me and I felt as if I were marching to my death. At the same time I felt a strange comfort that I cannot really explain, the comfort of being alone. The independence I suppose of my own shadow stalking my every step. I felt as if the echoes of my footsteps were my own shadows steps. The solitude I found assuring yet haunting. I approached my car, who was itself encroached in darkness and solitude. It sat alone under a burnt out street lamp. A sign of my own impending loneliness perhaps. I wondered if it was some kind of sign. A sign that my life was empty and unfulfilled.
How can it be that once I have figure out who I was that I don’t feel as if I belong anywhere? An odd irony that follows my shadow with footsteps of silence into the ghetto of unknown dreams.
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