So after three nights in an unfamiliar single bed in Ft Lauderdale, one night in the single bed I slept the first 12 years of my life in, and a night in a hand-me-down queen bed that resides in my brother's room, last night was my first night's sleep in the bed I have come to know over the last 10 or so years. While my bed doesn't rank very high on the list of most comfortable places in the world, or my apartment, and I'm pretty sure the bed that sits nearly alone in my brother's room is far nicer to lay in, I still prefer the contours that I retire to on a nightly basis. So I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that its not how comfortable something is, but how comfortable you are with it. At least for me. And I'd imagine for some of you too.
So this little comfort thought got me thinking. How many other facets of life can this theory be applied to?
I polled 100 people on the street, asked them what is something that you find the most comfortable, even when there are other options that are supposed to be better at comfort? Survey saaaaaays:
Bed, number one answer. 65% of the answers. Second on the list, jeans. Jeans something that can easily be worn into. Number three, shoes always take on a personality of their own. Fourth on the list, significant others at 7% of the answers. And a lonely 1 person said a baseball glove.
Okay I didn't poll anyone, but those all seem like legitimate options. They all qualify as something that increases in comfort as time passes, emerging with a new identity, and ultimately satisfying your need for the safe and warm feeling that you look for. People wear their jeans from faded spots to heinous rips, attempting to sew, patch, hem, or doing anything possible to keep those blue jeans hanging off your backside. I've worn shoes for 6 years, worn off every speck of tread, parts of the spongy sole, through the sidewalls, past three shoelaces, and through two pad inserts. What? They were really comfortable and I loved the look. Sue me. Someone you're dating is a bit of a stretch, but the same idea. You try all you can, use patches, and ultimately try to salvage something because you're reluctant to find someone new. People feel more comfortable in certain people's arms. That may mean that those people are the 'ones that are supposed to be,' but it still fits the bill of something you become comfortable with after a duration of time. And of course a baseball glove. No glove feels better than the one you played in for years, spit on, hurled against a dugout, kicked through the dirt, and gloved thousands of ground balls, fly balls, and fast balls.
So what does this all mean? It means that sometimes, lying in a comfortable bed, my cat roaming around the room, window open with gorgeous 65 degree winds coming in, and the calm tapping of the rain easing my dreams, all I need is the train to go by, screeching and shaking, before I can get a good night's sleep.
What do you do when you don't have anything to write about? Does it mean that there's nothing prudent or pertinent or turbulent in my life that I can't find some relevant topic to scribble about? Or does it mean that there's so much up in the air that I can't pull something down long enough to gather my thoughts?
Neither. It means I'm generally happy right now, and I have to get ready for some dinner plans. Just wanted to check in with that.
Where does it come from, this innate experience to conjure ideas and feelings and stories and adventures in the midst of the night? Why do we dream? According to iRobot, dreaming is what separates us from machines, from inanimate objects. But that can't be the reason, just a distinction between us and those that can't think. So then what's the explanation? I have often said that the shades of the night invite demons to our minds. But that applies more to the idle wandering that your brain cycles through when you don't have something to keep it active. And besides, not all dreams are bad, so it can't be just those plaguing thoughts that linger too long into the night.
Do dreams give us a chance to play fantasies out, in hopes of experiencing some phenomenon that may or may not ever happen? Maybe my mind uses the lull that my body creates to explore things that my body will never allow me to, thus giving me the sensation of really doing it.
Do dreams just allow us to replay and reenact major scenes or life-altering occurrences from our daily lives? Maybe I cycle through these memories like paging through an old photo album, pausing and watching to relive it, feelings, sights, and notions abound.
Do dreams give us an opportunity to portray events of the future? Maybe I just started getting to know someone, and my mind wants to see how things will turn out, so it uses the information available to predict some happenings that could very well pan out. This would either guide you to reaching that outcome, or prepare you in how to react when it does come.
Do you find what you love and continue to imagine it? Do you face your fears, or simply run from them again and again? Do you dig up cherished childhood favorites or dwell on a face that passed you in the hallway?
I think dreams are amazing. They truly show the depth of our mind and how it can work. It can hypothesize and synthesize entire conversations with people we haven't spoken to in years. It can imagine an alternative world that defies the laws the define our own. It can make us fall in love with someone that doesn't exist. It can make us terrified of something that will never hurt us. It can make you physically react. Sweat. Shake. Wake up. Its wicked smart.
But how much stock do we put in these hallucinated escapes? While I would like to say that dreams are the medium that our sub-conscience uses to pass messages, I just can't buy into it. We would remember more of them if that was the case. Something else would figure it out. We wouldn't always be falling off of cliffs. So I'm going to go with a whole bunch of hogwash. That's right. Dreams are like creepy tour guides... fun to look at and they can take you crazy places, but don't you dare trust them. You can't live your life based on fiction. Find something grounded and depend on that.
Romeo:
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing!
Mercutio:
True. I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind,
I just realized why I started my last post, "Hand Up Mona Lisa's Skirt." Sometimes you don't always finish where you had planned. So let me do that now.
Do I give too much of myself away? Am I so easy to peg? This weekend, two different people sent me something that 'reminded them of me.' Reminded them of something I would say. Some way I would think. Something I would write or believe in or quote or enjoy. While the two sources of this 'reporting' were two people that at one point or another, knew me better than I know myself, it still got me thinking.
How many people out there know me so well because of how much I've given away? Has this exposure left me with no shield? Too vulnerable?
Strength, I fear, endures for only so long. Those who allow themselves to be stripped of defense get their strength tested more often than those that fly under the radar. Some would say, and I would hope, that frequent testing produces lasting reinforcement. But there's no proof. So how do I know when I will stop bouncing back?
So I kind of pride myself on having nothing to hide. This may or may not be a good thing. May or may not be encouraged. But is still something I believe in. I live my life and carry myself in a way where anyone should be able to access my thoughts and hear my reasons or my opinions. I think I can use this as a tool rather than a deficiency, obviously, or I would be dumb to keep doing it.
There are some contrasting thoughts as I continue to explore this idea. The very idea of writing this means I haven't jumped ship yet. As often as I can shed light onto a topic that some may not have considered, I also show my cards. But to move forward...
A part of me believes that the only way to win is to announce your presence, open your files, expose your secrets, and bear your arms, telling your opposition, confrontation, or any other form of interaction that you are what you are, you are not scared, and you will be strong. I know strength isn't always the preferred outcome, so I'll just say, whatever you desire, you show. This is my honest approach. This is my, you know what you're getting, no bones in my closet, with nothing hiding, nothing can come back to bite me, mentality. I like this. This makes sense to me. If you know me at all, things that make sense appeal to me.
The problem is the other side of the argument makes sense too.
"Don't get too cocky my boy. No matter how good you are don't ever let them see you coming. That's the gaffe my friend. You gotta keep yourself small. Innocuous. Be the little guy. You know, the nerd... the leper... shit-kickin' surfer. Look at me: underestimated from day one... ...I'm the hand up Mona Lisa's skirt. I'm a surprise. They don't see me coming..."
That's a quote from a great movie. But it makes my counterpoint perfectly. And I agree with it. It's hard to find a whole lot of research to back up this theory. It's hard to make a slew of scientific, hard nose points that completely convey this idea. It's not a new idea to think that the underdog has an advantage. But it should be viewed at more than just a sports theme. The underdog is also someone that keeps their hand hidden and catches people off guard. This is a strength. This is effective.
But I guess for me, the latter is a form of deception. Could be considered harmless... but I don't like to work that way. Least not often. Someone recently said that you don't have anything unless you have trust. So here I am. Uncovered and raw. Take me as you find me. I offer no less. And I hope that's enough.
"Where does it come from? This quest? This need to solve lifes mysteries when the simpliest of questions can never be answered. Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we would be better off not looking at all. Not delving. Not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference. To change the world. To dream of hope. Never knowing for certain who we'll meet along the way. Who, among the world of strangers, will hold our hand. Touch our hearts. And share the pain of trying."
So when I started this endeavor, I had great intentions. Great expectations. There didn't seem to be a lid on what I was approaching. I envisioned late nights with extravagant people and stories for days that would sell in a book, if I could remember them well enough to write them down. There was supposed to be an endless list of options that would entice even the good-natured and pure-souled.
Then it all happened. Then I moved to the loud noises and, well, the loud noises. And I was thrust into a lifestyle that doesn't give you a chance to breath, nevertheless actually live a normal life.
Hold on. The train is going by. Again.
I have been stretched to my thinnest cord and last nerve, and it's not going to stop. There is exactly 6 months left to live in this place, and I have no idea if I will be strong enough to be able to endure. I'm exhausted every day at work. I'm miserable on my way home. I'm physically deteriorated. I'm neglecting people I care about. And I'm just about done.
Just Kidding. Happy April 1st. Love the city!! SUMMMEERRRRRR
