Quixotic More Than Curmudgeonly

Anyone who's meandered through my meanderings must have gleaned that the only real thread is that the author is at odds with the world. Whether it's a matter of being an anachronism or simply never having the basic skills and sense to navigate society in all its minefield glory, I am a metaphorical square peg. But this is not all bad. Yes, I am more challenged than most when presented with new tech or some shift in contemporary jargon, but this has been the conundrum for anyone who's ever lived to a certain age. As someone who never imagined making it to 30, the ways life surprises me are many. At the same time, I think I provide an interesting reference point for those who are actually in the flow of things. I'm sort of a window into another time, another way of thinking and of doing things. Also my inability to assimilate smoothly or quickly is pretty amusing from the outside. I'm cool with that.

But I'm reasonably intelligent and am surrounded by many who are far more adept at making their way in the 21st century. Why am I not joining their ranks?

Because I don't want to.

The world is moving faster than it ever has. Technology is obsolete in weeks or sometimes months where it was once in place for years. Our paradigms for most everything are in flux. Language is becoming clusters of consonants interspersed with emojis. A smart phone is all but de rigeur at this point in history. We have access to all literature, science and history but are far more interested in creating the ideal selfie.

I'm not standing in judgment even if the language of that last paragraph reads that I am. Really.

So why don't I want to keep up? What possible reasoning could there be for choosing not to be a part of the mainstream? Am I just watching the world go by?

It's simple: I'm a romantic.

I love so many things left in the dust of wild advancement. I write with a pen. I can appreciate that people love taking pictures of their food, but I would rather relish in everything it is then step away fro my enjoyment to capture its image and post that to social media. But that's me.

Infatuation. Flirtation. Taking the time to get to know someone, even if that means having phone conversations and writing letters. I love the immediacy of texting and nudes as much as anyone, but there's something about a slow burn seduction that's just delicious to me. Caressing someone's brain with just words is an art form that seems nearly extinct. As I'm closer to extinction by the minute, this makes sense. But, as someone I know likes to put it, I ain't dead yet.

This is not a lament and it is not harping on things being better in some bygone time. That's horse shit. The world has always been a struggle for the thinking and feeling. And society has always marched unrelentingly forward. That's how things are. I'm fine letting the advancements happen, they just have less and less relevance for me.

Each new device I'm convinced to get has a shorter lifespan than the one it replaces. For this old brain all the convenience of new functionality makes less sense on an intuitive level. We used to joke about owners manuals for the things we bought. Now they don't exist. Where customer support was once something everyone looked upon with chagrin, it's all but gone. I could relay incidents from the last years of my trying to get assistance from one company or another, but it's pretty evident from all I say and do that I'm from another era. And it may be an era that never happened.

I have watched the weird twisting of inspiring to inspirational and tone into tonality. I have been given phone numbers that I'm told never to call. I watch world leaders daily who have no idea what diplomacy is. And this is fine. My bafflement is fine. And so is my solitude. Stepping out of the current of life around me is really what allows me to enjoy those things I'm able to savor. And I revel. I'm a creature of the senses. Give me a great view, wonderful aromas, the tactile glory of something exquisitely sculpted. Let me look into a lover's eyes for hours, let me kiss for days.

But in a world where everything's in motion, faster and faster all the time, I'll stand away a bit and delight in some stillness. A friend has taken to calling me Zarathustra. It's a compliment I hardly deserve but infinitely preferable to the far more common Unabomber comparison. I'm not truly a hermit although I am definitely reclusive. My life was so accessible for so long that I am really easing happily into anonymity.

As I've written loads,  I'm difficult. It isn't that I'm complex or complicated, but I am obstinate as hell. It isn't that I think my way is right, but it works for me. No one else needs to believe in the same kind of love I do or harbor sentiment the way I choose, but why is it so many want me to let these things go. Yes, I have had unrealistic ideas of a lot of things for most of my life, but that kind of view also allowed for a kind of magic in the world. I'm not opposed to tech, but as an artist I need magic. Need it.

In a world that seeks to reduce everything to sound bytes and memes, I'm writing an epic novel that's equal parts adventure and philosophy. Not to publish or to convince anyone that I'm valid, that my viewpoint is (likely it and I are both obsolete), but because this gives me a world where I can understand something. It's no ideal reality, but the conflicts and struggles are those that resonate with my skewed take on things. It's not a noble pursuit so much as an endeavor to challenge me cerebrally and aesthetically.

So yeah, I'm that guy living in a forest on a mountain, the same one who's not jumping into conversations. But don't take the wry smile on my face as condescension. And please don't assume that my confusion over something said to me is simply the reaction of a doddering old dude (although it may be). It could simply be that I'm observing the way things are to throw it into contrast somewhere in my writing or music.

I Am Not Here. You Do Not See This.

So why am I writing again after posting I was done? Seriously, what is wrong with me?

These are probably questions no one will ever be able to answer and I really hope that no one's concerned enough to pursue their resolution. Yet here I am and perhaps there is a you out there reading this. If not, life goes on and none's the pity.

Don't worry, there's nothing appearing below that will change the shape of the universe or mold your aesthetic into something new. It's just more meandering and, I hope, blather without morose carping. If any carp manifest, obviously I should not be writing at all.

The months since June have been interesting. Friends and heroes have died, time has marched on unrelentingly and I am going more invisible with each passing moment. These are all just symptoms of living. With all of it, some clarity has come. Not much, but some.

I doubt it will surprise anyone who's read any of these posts that the one thing of which I've become keenly aware is my own sadness. Not that huge self-esteem crushing, paradigm shifting stuff, but much smaller yet fiercely tenacious sorrow. Some of it is due to what I see in the world around me (see any of the previous posts for examples), but much of it is due to the fact that what was once a freakishly connected life is now floating through the ether all but completely untethered.

Side note: this will not be kvetching nor will it be laying blame. Really.

One of the side effects of living is, if one's lucky or focused, having a life. This means gaining a certain momentum and having some things sort of spin free of one's metaphoric/metaphysical gravitational field. If the life is having a family and/or having a career, it means that some of what's thrown out of orbit is individuals.

That is some powerfully awkward grammar, but I think (hope) you get what I meant.

My trajectory was very public for a long time and it was glorious. But then things changed dramatically and little has been the same since. This is no one's fault but circumstances changed and I have done what I could to keep pace with things.

I have failed.

People have told me that my solitude and isolation are easily remedied and they are right to a degree, but there is much that people can't, won't or don't see. First, no one is me so no one truly has my perspective. The facts are easy to review, but without having my mind and life experience that's like equating data with wisdom. Fallacious. Given my circumstances and how they changed, many people would respond differently. But this is the point: I'm me and no one else.

I do not blame Mother Nature for weather, nor do I hold people with different views than mine in contempt. I sometimes wonder why it is that few attempt to see another's perspective but I doubt I'll ever understand that. Again, this is life.

But the events that redirected the trajectory of my life had a powerful impact on me as a person. I became more closed off and jumped less frequently into things head first. This was both a result of fear and a desire for self-preservation. I don't expect anyone to understand that, including those who have been through similar things, but what's happened to me since has also sealed my decision to stay on this path at least for now.

It isn't that I don't want to take chances, but I am tired of being hurt and abandoned without explanation. I think these are things most can grasp. Please if you're reading this and riled because of what I've written, don't tell me to buck up or pull myself up by the bootstraps. I have done this. It's why I'm alive. But over the last decade or a little more, it's become clear that I am just not that twenty-first century. This is not bad, it's just a matter of having an outlook that doesn't line up with most of those around me.

Part of that is a result of getting older, but it's also due to that same foolishness of me being me. You see, my views have never made a lot of sense to those around me. They're romantic and I've traditionally held myself to a fairly high ethical standard. I don't expect the same from others, but I have hoped that the people who choose to be in my life will accept these things about me and not make fun of me for them... too much or too often.

If I haven't written before about my realization about quality of life, maybe I'll make that a future installment. And if I have written about it then I'll try not to repeat myself. But what it all boils down to -- for me and probably for me alone -- is that it makes more sense to be away from the world for a number of reasons. I get to deal with less random hostility. I'm much less caught up in drama that has nothing to do with me. And I get to be the architect of my life, free of the concerns of dragging anyone else along for the ride.

I am still not opposed to a relationship. And if one comes along that proves substantial, obviously I will amend the way I live now. But I stopped holding out hope for one and making the rest of my life contingent upon that possibility some time ago. I will always love women. Always. Now I just understand that I've gone into so many relationships with ridiculous expectations that there's no way any of them could have worked out. Yes, I absolutely own that. Do I wish any of them could have worked out? Hell yes! But the person I was then made it unlikely at the very best. I salute anyone who tried being with me.

As I sit here, I realize I could write much, much more. But considering I hadn't intended to post even this much, maybe I'll just post again.

Maybe not.

Either way, have a great weekend and take care of yourself!

Commit This to the Void with a Glad Heart/See Ya

One final ramble for anyone who might peruse this speed bump in the ether. No whinging about vexation or musing about the ghost of love. No trying to understand the mores of the twenty first century western world. No life advice or attempts to amuse. Just a last meander before diving back into the real world.

Much has changed since I posted last, and really not a lot at all. Circumstance, other than the inevitability of biologic change, is much as it was on this side of the keyboard. But the reality of my inner world has shifted. I've dived into the book with enthusiasm and am enjoying the unspooling of the thing that's been in my head for years onto the page. The sprawl of it is in some flux, meaning I could make it comparatively short or let it unfurl into its full weirdness across a series of books. I doubt any attempt will be made to publish and it's unlikely I'll share excerpts. Not because of any personal judgment on the quality or nature of the work, but because I don't think this is a time when people read.

Since my last installment here, life has been about making peace, letting go and working to shift my perspective and allow beauty back in since it is literally and figuratively all around me. Walking through my days bitching and moaning rather than being able to appreciate all I can has been at odds with what I believe. And since I haven't been able to practice what I preach, much of these months has been spent silent and melancholy if not outright sad. Or angry. What's the expression? Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die? It isn't that I've held a grudge, but I've clung tenaciously to so much that hurts in some strange hope that the universe would intercede and essentially tell me that I was wrong and things will be fine.

But it doesn't work like that. Anyone with a brain will tell you words like 'right' and 'fair' don't figure into adult existence. However I know from first hand experience that it is possible to live a good, fulfilling life without much in terms of material goods or resources. Here in America there are so very many people who don't see all they do have and spend most of their energy on accruing more stuff for which they will also not be grateful.

I'll add that I'm not better than anyone else, more compassionate or more evolved. In fact it's my own shortcomings that pushed me to put this blog online. At the same time I've reviewed a lot of what's here and found it -- and me -- powerfully lacking. Not, as my mother would have put it, particularly good grist. In fact I'm coming to accept that the last woman I dated was right: I'm not a real person.

But that frees me to live in a way that makes more sense to me. Whether one chooses to call me recluse, hermit or anything else is irrelevant. It's become painfully obvious that I fit in this era about as well as a fish on a bicycle.

Happenstance: the tune "Survive" by Bill Connors started playing as I wrote that last sentence.

Does any of this mean a thing? Nope. Just the opposite. I've come to realize that I want to put good into the world, but I think I've been going about it all wrong. I'll leave the grand gestures and true moving/shaking to the brilliant while I work in the small, subtle ways to which I'm better suited.

Who knows what's ahead? I mean seconds from now, not years. As a friend sings in a wonderful tune, this is not a trial run. We're in it. And it's fleeting. To sit and wait for good to come is a dangerous approach. Certainly it's possible but I don't know how likely it is, particularly as one gets older. Obsolescence and anonymity are more probable.

These are funny words coming from someone who's rankled at pep talks and motivational speakers. But that's the nature of subjective creatures and shifting perspective. Nothing comes easy (guilt and grief excepted) and it takes work to bring and keep the good in one's life. Humans don't like work. We're just a mass of contradictions.

Anyway, this is spiraling fast into nothing and its being written at all is a pretty silly gesture so I'll just thank those who've slogged through what I've scrawled and wish you all the best. Life really isn't all doom and gloom. Go out and find what makes you happy, cherish it and understand that it's not likely to be with you long.

Take care, everyone. See you in the funny pages.