Watch and Learn

Imagine an artist. 

He sits on a bench in a courtyard. He doesn't move, he doesn't speak. He simply watches. The sky, the birds, the flowers, dogs barking, people walking, cars driving, trains moving. He just watches.

And then he goes home. He takes all that he's seen and heard and tasted and felt with him back to his workshop. He clears the table and prepares his tools, arming himself with a new canvas, a fresh brush and a clear mind. A clean slate. He constructs an image, a replication of these things that he observed from his day, from his point of view. This image, this representation of his experie
nce from that day or sometimes from previous days, this creation draws out the often overlooked beauty of the mundane, the routine, the ordinary. This image--part reality, part personality--exposes the viewer to wonders previously unseen and never before considered and invites the viewer to participate in the artist's experience.

Oftentimes the artist is credited with skill in painting or drawing or sculpting. While this is usually true, this is not his primary strength. His strength is in his eyes, his ears, his feelings. His thoughts. His perception. He sees what you don't. He sees what you won't.

This is what I try to do. I observe. I think. I write. This is my canvas.

This sitting back and watching thing.. It's a double-edged sword. It's good to be able to observe things and see the beauty in simplicity and discover things that other people miss. It's also terrible because this also tends to be my approach for the rest of my life: sit back, watch it happen and hope for the best. I like blame this on my reserved personality but in reality it's just a bad habit that I've accepted as part of who I am. 

Right now I'm taking a class on article writing, and this class is pushing me to step outside of that "observing from afar" deal that I'm comfortable with and take steps be proactive and actually "get a story." I can look at something and make observations about it; that's easy. For example, have you ever noticed the way a person walks? Even if it's not a pronounced gait or limp? I pride myself on being able to pick out a friend in a crowd simply by the way they walk. I've seen enough people walking in my life and paid attention enough to recognize a certain stride and pace when I see it, even from a distance. That's just me observing. However, going out and engaging with people and 'making' a story is a whole new ballgame for me. It's still observing and writing, it's just more involving and engaging. This casual observation versus active participation in observation is sort of a personality clash for me. "It's not who I am." And it doesn't have to be. I can live with that.

It's a skill worth learning. And I intend on learning this skill, expanding horizons and broadening my experiences. At the end of the day, it still comes down to seeing, hearing, thinking, and then writing. That's what I want to do, that's what I like to do. And the more mediums I get to do that in, the better.

The perceptive artist in his workshop, the seasoned journalist in the field, the ambitious college student writing and producing from his garage. It's all art. Expression. Observation.

Gotta start somewhere.

How to Do Mostly Nothing for Twenty Years

"Comfortable misery." Oxymoron right? How is it possible to be comfortable (something most people want and strive for) yet miserable or uncomfortable (something most people try to avoid) at the same time?

"It is like old, comfortable shoes. They are not attractive, but you keep wearing them out of habit. If you bought new ones, you would have to break them in. What if they pinched? What if they hurt? What if you didn’t like them? Better to just stay with what you have. Why take a chance?"

Think about it. How many times have I been okay and familiar with surroundings or circumstances or people or habits but wasn't nearly happy about it or simply hated it? Worst part - because I was 'comfortable' with it, I was in no hurry to take the necessary steps to change something.

Why do I do this? Why do I insist on being comfortably miserable? Why am I okay with being unhappy in my own little bubble when I can enjoy life if I just step outside its walls? Why am I okay to surrender to my fears and doubts? Why do I choose to live in this cage? Why do you?

Misery loves company, yes? Who wants to be unhappy by themselves? It's much easier to be unhappy with other people who feel the same or circumstances that never change. I can be miserable and unhappy right where I am and hold on to these certain things that make me unhappy because I know they're not going anywhere anytime soon.. because I'm not about to do anything to change it. If I had to write a book about my life up to this point, my autobiography would be titled something like "How to Do Mostly Nothing for Twenty Years." A fairly accurate title unfortunately. What would the title of your autobiography be?

The few times I have been willing to burst my own bubble and step out of my comfort zone has been so worth it, every single time. I took a huge step out of my comfort-zone this summer and absolutely loved it. This fear of change, of something different and unknown (especially for us reserved, less-adventures types) holds us back and ties us down. Unhappy enough to want change, but not enough discomfort to do anything about it. That's a terrible way to live really. Yet I do it. Many of us do.

I'm not here to solve problems or deliver answers. Those don't come to me right away. Sometimes simply raising the question is enough. "Why do I do what I do?" I've put a bit of thought into these here questions. I hope you do too.

Consistency

Definition

1) steadfast adherence to the same principles, course, form

2) agreement, harmony, or uniformity among the parts of a complex thing

Something that I've noticed about myself that needs to change. I am an erratic person. I'm not consistent. I'm not consistent in my personality, my emotions, my habits, my work ethic.. It's not good. Being two different people is not only hard to do, it's very taxing. I can't do it and I shouldn't be doing it at all. My inconsistency includes small things like feeling great one day and awful the next, to the two very different sides of myself, to the drastic fluctuation of my level of productivity, depending on the setting.

Example: At school, I'm not a great student. I put in the work, I study, I do my homework just like everybody else. I get decent grades, nothing special; I do what I have to do. At home, exact opposite. There's nothing due so I do nothing. Eat, sleep and video games. I don't do squat. And it's awful. Partly because I'm exhausted when I get home and partly because I'm really good at doing nothing. 

Character should not be swayed by circumstances or situation. Situations will always change, but I should not. My surroundings should not determine or sway the way I act or how I feel. Self-improvement, self-discipline, excellence, integrity - these aren't things you do for one day and then call it a night; it's continuous, ongoing, a part of who you are. To be successful, I must be consistent; to achieve goals, I must be consistent; to better myself, I must be consistent; to be happy, I must be consistent. I want to be one person, the same person, no matter what goes down. That's the goal.

Baby steps.

Ten things about consistency:

1. Consistency creates momentum.
2. Consistency is a habit that can be practiced and learnt.
3. Consistency breeds credibility.
4. The person who takes action every single day toward the attainment of their goal will always triumph over those who do it every once in a while. Always.
5. Many think consistency is purely a matter of willpower, and that people who are consistent have some kind of special ability to endure. Not true.
6. Surprisingly, doing something every day or nearly every day is actually far easier to sustain than doing it once in awhile.
7. Motivation is not enough. A person waiting for inspiration limits achievement to times when conditions are desirable. And conditions are rarely always desirable. 
8. Creating healthy rituals will take you further than desires and passions.
9. Consistency will induce failure at some stage, which in turn provides valuable feedback, which ultimately leads to better results.
10. Consistency is more about sustainability than it is about speed.

An Attempt at Poetry

When the party's over and the music drops
When your friends go home and the drinking stops
When things fall apart and your plans all flop
When emptiness is all you know
And the smiles you make are just for show
When it's all you can do not to sit and cry
And it seems the entire world has passed you by
It's only then do you know who you really are
True colors revealed when faced with fire
Only then will you understand what it truly means to be a man
To face yourself and question why
How you became an ugly lie
Filled with doubts and regret each day
Maybe these feelings have come to stay
But it's how you persevere that matters most
And how you press on after you've given up the ghost
You already have what it takes within
Go wash your face and repent of your sins
Look in the mirror and face your fears
Growth is not instant; it usually takes years
But if you really try to live each day
As if everything you have could be taken away
Then you'll appreciate what you have and know
Being content is a good way to grow
Having doubts or fears isn't necessarily wrong
It's how you survive them that makes you strong
Always strive to confront your fears
And those crippling doubts will start to disappear
Just be who you are and do your best
Tackle goals, chase dreams and never rest
Not every dream will pan out and come true
But at least you gave it a shot and did it while being you
Live a life worth living and never forget
The hand you've been dealt is the one you get

Divided and Conquered

They told me I had to leave him behind. They told me I couldn't bring him with me. I didn't care. I brought him with me anyway.

He lived in my closet; I fed him secretly. At first, he only came out at night; almost every night he would work his magic, do his thing, just like he used to in the glory days. But as the days wore on, the days got busier and the nights grew colder. Things got more complicated and he wasn't able to go out as often. Days, weeks, months went by without him working, practicing, performing. He grew sluggish, unresponsive, weak. They chained him to a chair, made him sit behind a desk and told him to study, learn, grow up, be responsible, make decisions. He stopped going out altogether.

When I brought him back, he was changed. Different. The things he used to do that were second nature before felt strange and foreign to him. He felt awkward and out of place in the space he used to call home. He wasn’t the same. He was worthless. I considered abandoning him, I told him to give up; it wasn’t worth it anymore. He had had a good run but maybe now it was time to call it quits. I argued and fought with him. I gave him until the end of summer to retire, to forget the dream, to look in the mirror and come back to reality.

It was that time. Summer was over. They told me I had to leave him behind. I considered it. And then I smuggled him with me again.

This time he was bolder, showing himself during the day. He was still weak and out of practice, but he was determined to regain what he had lost. In one week, he had made good progress. And then injury.

He was devastated. I had given him a second chance, a chance to prove himself and regain my trust, and the worst had happened. He could not go on. He had to stop, recover, start over. I shoved him back into the closet, angry and upset. Every week I would check on him to see if he was ready to return. Every week the answer was the same. He remained in the closet.

I went home to see my family. I brought him with me. Everyone was happy to see him, but he was only a shadow of his former self, it was plain to see. Nothing was the same.

I was leaving home again. They told me I had to leave him behind. So I did.

Broken Mirrors

Cold, white, plastic. Rosy cheeks, a painted smile on the lips, two holes for the eyes. The mask lay on the bed. He eyed it cautiously, not wanting to make prolonged eye contact with the endless darkness in its eyes, but he knew would have to face the music. What if he didn't wear it this time? Unthinkable at first. He had worn it for so long he had forgotten would it was like to be bare-faced in public. But the more he thought about it, the more it became a possibility. A small seed of hope grew into a monster that he could not shake.

Could he do it? Was he willing to step outside and face the mob without protection? Was he really  ready to brave the harsh world outside with the angry scars that distorted his face?

Scars.

It hurt to think about it. The burn marks on his face still hurt, after all these years. He reached up to touch his face and then thought better of it. He knew what they looked like. He had tried to forget many times. The mirror that used to hang on the wall now lay smashed and shattered on the floor for a reason.

School.
Crowded halls, noisy, public, exposed. Surrounded and alone. The cold plastic chaffed his wounds. He tried to make his voice sound cheery to match the painted smile that covered his lips. Short and brief in all he said, afraid if he spoke too much, his plastic falsity would become apparent. Eyes on the floor, avoiding conversation and interaction at all costs, slipping away as soon as the introductory small-talk had been exhausted.
"Hey bro, how you doin'?"
"I'm good."
"You sure? How are things?"

Smile, eyes up, fight the tears, don't let your voice break. "Everything's good."

Drained and exhausted but he knew the end of the day brought a false hope. Home was no better.

The mirror still lay in pieces on the floor. Ten million shards of glass and tears. The countless pieces scattered across floor. Each one a memory. Each one a fault. Each one a monster. Pain, fears, nightmares; they all came flooding back. His wounds burned as the tears began to flow. Fight the tears. Stop it before it erupts. Cover your mouth. Calm down, relax, breathe; drown them quickly, quickly. Recover. Deep breath.

He had put it off as long as he could but it was time to leave. The mask lay on the bed. The bus was pulling up outside. With trembling hands, he donned the smile. He knew why he had to wear the mask.

"I'd seen that look on your face before. It's the same one I taught myself.. I figured it out too late. You gotta learn to hide the pain, and practice smiling in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask."