What posts in June? Oh, thooooose thirty posts in June… again. It seems that for the fourth year in a row I’ve climbed aboard the daily blogging train and continued that monumental, multi-year writing effort to string a topic or idea across the vast reaches of years. Each day a new post on a new topic, but on the same blog-per-day topic as last year, creating another set of Those 30 Posts in June. Today, that post just happens to be:
June 1st // Something You Have Decided
I’ve decided I need to stop worrying so much and just enjoy being different. I’ve decided that I need to enjoy my own personal uniqueness and individuality, embracing it even.
I get it.
But we live in this weird sort of time and place where an odd duck can get by. We are a narcissistic culture, staring down at our screens for a good portion of the day waiting to be entertained by the curiosities that are begat by the overt oddness of other people who make us feel things about ourselves by flaunting their broken existences across unimaginable digital divides.
We love and hate them because they flaunt success.
We love and hate them because they fail in public.
We love and hate them because we are glad we are not them.
We love and hate them because we strive to match their individuality.
For example, if you knew me in high school, we probably wouldn’t have been friends. I know this because almost twenty years to the day since I graduated high school I’m not in anything resembling regular contact with anyone from that span of my life (except, of course, people to whom I’m related or otherwise legally bound.) And thus, if you are reading this now (and possibly consider me a friend) and somehow curious about who I was in high school, all you need to know is that I was very different and, well… you get the idea.
I could lie to you and tell you that I’m a well-adjusted human being who embraces his oddness. But the truth is I’m usually just as insecure as any other person out there. I do what I do, write what I write, be what I need to be to validate my own narrow existence… which just happens to be weird and different and full of odd duck-type hobbies and ideas that entertain me and seem to entertain others, but often entertains in a way that I’m not always sure is equitable between the performer and the audience.
But this is a post about decisions. And decisions are curious things as well. Curious. Curious because they can be doors or paths that change the course of things or open upon new places. And while even trivial decisions themselves are never easy, epic decisions are often substantially and mind-bendingly difficult.
Decisions, some may tell you, don’t even exist. If you were a metaphysical determinist, say, you’d insist that a decision is less a calculation of free will, and rather merely a junction in the temporal course of the soul where one encounters a realization the reality of the course one has already been predestined to travel. But I, as it goes, am still undecided on the question of free will perhaps banking on the quantum indeterminacy of the universe as a loophole for hope that I still have some control over my own life. Or maybe something else, too. Who can say?
Either way the epic bend in my own path is marked by a very clear sign: that to remain uneasy about the world’s perception of me and who I am, chosen or elaborately shaped by the universe, is an obstacle I need to figure out how to avoid more often. After all…
You love and hate me because I flaunt success.
You love and hate me because I fail in public.
You love and hate me because you are glad you are not me.
You love and hate me because you strive to match this thing I call my individuality even though I’ve yet to met a person in this life who is less strange and less unique than anything I claim to be.
I’m far from perfect, and I am also very aware that deciding to change something doesn’t necessarily make it so… but this effort of validation through writing, being and performing needs to become something much different than what it is, which for now is perhaps nothing so much as proof of an odd duck existence. Or so I’ve decided.