Honey

I can barely admit it, but I must. I hold on to a lot of stereotypes that distort my experience in relationship to other people. As you may have been following in the last while through my blog, I am attempting to dissect and disseminate my own “outsider syndrome” (did I just coin a phrase?) and learn all over again how to connect with people in real and meaningful ways.

I went for a walk yesterday. It was blazing hot outside, but I was in desperate need of an adventure. I packed all the water I could carry without putting too much strain on my aching knee, collared up my trusty puppy, and headed out on one of those excursions that the young folks these days call “urban hiking”. I had a few possible destinations in mind, but mainly followed the instincts inherent to the part of myself who is free and innocent and trusting. I headed south.

Miso and I kept an easy pace through the neighborhoods of Northeast Portland. I know I teased her a little by walking through Irving Park, but it wasn’t too bad, seeing as how there were no other dogs playing on the hill. We stuck to the shade where we could find it. Miso spent most of her attention on the curved base of trees while I wondered at the lush, beautiful gardens embracing old Portland homes.

When we finally reached Broadway, it was like entering a whole other place entirely. The traffic was, as it is typically, commuter centric, cars on a mission. The sidewalks widened, making room for a homeless population that I rarely see from the outside of my car. A closed-up, out of business deli stood empty beside the goodwill and the Chinese buffet. Every corner held at least two of our poorest fellow humans, old folks in older clothing, sometimes yelling but mostly just looking forlorn and drawn.

I couldn’t help it. I gave money to whomever asked. (Side note: Every time I do something like this, I think that I can never, ever tell anyone, because that would mean that my intentions weren’t pure. Maybe it doesn’t matter how “pure” my intentions happen to be at any given moment and I was just brainwashed by the Catholic Church. Hmmm.)

I went to my favorite sushi place, Yuki on Broadway and 14th. My order was a little complicated and I had to sit outside with my dog, in the sweltering heat. I asked for a pitcher of water and the server who brought the water was so confused at my need for an entire pitcher that he almost took it away. Luckily, he granted my wish when I begged him to leave it.

I made a good sized puddle out of the ice water for Miso to lay her hot body in. We sat there together, observing the constant activity. It was then, looking around at the corner and the intersection full of people that I started to see myself making assumptions about the people who walked, rode, or drove by me. I noticed that the negative assumptions were aimed at the kind of people to whom I consider myself an outsider (there’s that “outsider syndrome” I was talking about).

As you may have been gathering in this endless search I’m on to find out what’s beneath the bullshit, I am tired of feeling like an outsider. Gazing at the strange and diverse pedestrians addle by me and my dog, I wondered if perhaps a way to help me stop thinking that I am separate than other people is to seek out the goodness in others rather than seeing what I have taught myself to see.

Unfortunately, this post serves to admit, most humbly, that I am a judgmental person. Did you already know that about me?

I would love more than anything to free myself of all that cynicism and rejection I’ve felt toward other people. I want to really care about everyone, not because I have to, but because I want to. Is it possible to recognize the person in every person, the thing(s) that make us more alike than we are different? Are we doomed to continue to lose touch with helping each other and taking care of each other until we crumble under the weight of our loneliness? Or will our evolution turn us toward the love and respect that will finally heal us? I don’t usually think about this question, since in it lies the greatest sadness that we share as human beings.

Back to how I was sitting outside with my dog in 94 degree weather on Broadway in Northeast Portland. (Have I told you that I love Portland?) Once I had finished my delicious veggie tempura roll (yum) I headed north with my hot dog. I had two interactions with people that were meaningful to me on the way home. They were meaningful because I am (astonishingly) growing out of my shyness and finding ways to genuinely relate to people. I’ve been afraid of people for a very long time.

With all that and a soy dream icecream sandwich under my belt, Miso and I made our way home. I was content and satisfied with my urban adventure.

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I’m writing this from my iPhone, so I can’t link to Barney’s blog when I tell you about how Barney had a deep, philosophical thought today. Perhaps having deep, philosophical thoughts are contagious through the iPhone, since he started using one yesterday, and I just had a deep, philosophical thought of my own.

What was Barney’s thought, you might wonder. Well, perhaps he’ll post about it on the blog I can’t link to, but probably not. I can tell you that it had something to do with beer, reality, and of course, the iPhone. What else would a new owner of this miraculous little device be thinking about?

As with most of my thoughtful thoughts, I have connected two dots, or two experiences in my brain, and I wonder how a successful experiment can be extended. Usually I think, how can this new piece of information add to my quality of life?

It all begins on rollerskates.

I’m not a very good rollerskater. I don’t look very cool, and I certainly don’t have any fancy moves. This is in stark contrast to Agent, who skates like an angel, smoothly weaving in and out of unpredictable bands of people, skating forwards then backwards then forwards again. Even after years of going skating with Agent, I’m typically going slower than everyone else, my butt sticking out for balance, my arms windmilling, and my body tense and rigid.

Agent tries to help me have more fun by loosening up. “Bend your knees”, she says encouragingly. The main reason I’m so tense is because I get really nervous when I do happen to be going faster than other skaters and I can’t seem to see a way around them. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve run into, and I just feel terrible about it.

Agent’s been offering some new advice lately that seems to be helping me out a great deal. She says, if you look ahead to a spot you want to get to, you’re likely to reach that spot with little trouble. And I’ll be darned, this little piece of advice actually works! I just focus on a place on the floor I’m aiming at, and usually I’m able to get there without running into anyone and more importantly, I get there without stressing out about it.

I started using this technique on my bicycle today. I’ve never been very good at turning corners and leaning into the curve, but as soon as I applied Agent’s advice and looked at the spot I wanted to get to, it’s as though my body let go, and I was able to naturally and easily meet my own expectations.

Once I see something like this apply to at least two different scenarios in my life, I quickly attempt to align the idea with my personal philosophy. The idea I’m having actually might feel a little familiar, especially if you’ve watched or read The Secret.

Oh, you haven’t seen The Secret? Do it now! Seriously. I’d provide a link, but…

Anyway, I’m gonna get all life skills on you for a minute. The idea of looking ahead and trusting that you’ll arrive can easily be applied to all sorts of personal goals. Once you acknowledge your intention and express trust in the desired outcome, a funny thing happens. It’s almost as though something else gets to work on it for you. Perhaps your own intuition gets involved or maybe the universe is harnessed to your will. I think mostly, you allow something to happen, rather than forcing it.

So the idea is to identify the intention and then to let it go. No matter what, it’s a much less stressful way to get there.

I’ve felt like an outsider my whole life. There are many reasons, I can imagine, that I have felt that way, including the frequent moves as a young child and being without a sibling. I’m sure being queer, and gender queer at that, didn’t help anything either.

I’m attached to feeling like an outsider, because that’s what makes me feel special. The fact is, that I’m a perfectly ordinary white, middle-class, married straight guy, who gets along with everyone.

I feel like an outsider because I don’t accept myself. As long as I feel this way, I will never be satisfied with my life or anything about it. I’m not content being ordinary, so I create mini personal dramas. I’m an orphan, I’m different, I don’t fit in, I’m gay, I’m a woman, etc., etc., etc., as my girlfriend will attest.

Agent says:

A good way to combat these feelings is to do the things that actually are special to you, like how you’re a good singer and you can play the piano, which not everyone can do. Do those things more because those things make you feel good about yourself in a positive, reality-based, tangible way, rather than looking for your specialness in a way that separates you and makes you full of pity.

Today, I received an email from myself. I get so excited when I see an email in my inbox from FutureMe.org, cause I know that I wrote it and that it’s going to be good.

Twice now I have used this awesome service to send myself an email to be delivered in exactly one year. Each time, I completely forget about it and am very surprised (and elated) to see a message from myself. I always think I have an idea of what it’s going to say, but I never remember what it was really like to be me all that time ago.

Last year, I wrote myself to say that adjusting to a new life in Portland was kind of rough and I’d like it if maybe I wouldn’t move again for a long while. I also said I’d really like to rebuild my credit (check) and buy a house (check).

I think maybe this time, I’ll write myself an email to be delivered next year as well as one to be delivered in five years (I’ll still have a gmail account in 2013, right?). That might freak me out a little, who knows.

I’d highly suggest writing yourself an email in the future, though. It’s way fun.

Morality is a tricky business. I, for one, have been fed a ton of crap from all kinds of sources about what’s right and what’s absolutely wrong. I’ve done my best to make my own decisions about where I stand, but sometimes that old Catholic guilt slips in before I know it.

I get confused when I try to think about ethics. What’s right for one person could be wrong for someone else. Where and when do I draw the line and decide that something is wrong for everyone, not just me? I try to push that line out as far as I can. I’m not going to force what I think on anyone else, no matter how passionate I am about it.

That doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t get a little righteous sometimes. When I lived in San Francisco and didn’t own a vehicle, it was easy for me to think that driving was always wrong, and that there is always another option, no matter what a person’s situation. A long fall awaited me when I faced a 25 mile one-way commute and the torrential downpour of Portland. It’s easy to feel morally superior when given the privilege to practice life in a certain way.