The natural reflex of the author is to apologise for addressing the subject of much hyperbole and warmfuzziness. Remarkably, in an astounding display of much ironwilled stubbornness, no such apology is forthcoming. Rather, he will attempt to highlight certain facets of the subject’s vast entirety as they are presently of particular importance to him, and will cease speaking of himself in the third person forthwith.
[Remember, gentle reader, that this blog is a simple while sometimes satirically journalistic outlet for items of random topical interest. To be precise, my random topical interest. And I’m a self-confessed romantic at heart. Enjoy it, or build a bridge.]
Romantic love is complex, and that’s not what I’m on about [yet]. Think instead [first] about the way you love your friends, of the same and/or the other gender. How is that expressed? Now what about the way you love your siblings? Rinse, repeat. What about your parents?
If I were a parent, what kind of love from my child[ren] would I appreciate the most? I have reflected on this for many, erm, minutes, and have decided that that thing would be gratitude. Be aware that I am of the belief that, since parents cause their child to become at all, they are obligated to bear the responsibility for the child’s continued wellbeing until such time as the child desires and can facilitate absolute independence. Still, good manners and any modicum of insightful perception would provide the impetus for expressed appreciation.
Ouch. That last sentence is convicting in its own right.
But as far as love goes, I dunno. My parents continually express love for me, either in actions or words. The parent to child bond is indeed a unique one. Ideally it should be the actualisation of the deep unity of two people, thus bringing about parental joy and ultimate satisfaction as well as the continuation of the species. Parents would do well to remember the “parental joy” bit once the kids continue to cry, demand, argue, bicker, nitpick, deviate or individualise. It’s all part of the deal – you sign up for the child, you get the whole package.
Tangent; back on track. The semi-dependent part of the parent-child relationship is an interesting one when considered from the vantage point of love. That’s where I’m at, what I call semi-dependent. I live here, in the house my parents have worked for 20 years to justify. My parents feed me whenever I’m home for dinner. We have broadband internet and a dishwasher. All in all, my board is a token. So it’s a good deal (but do offset the “good deal” with the thrust of the third-previous paragraph). I have a significant social calendar which keeps me away from home somewhat more than I/they like. I like semi-dependence and I’m glad that I can break free a little bit. Still, I’m happy to be here and cared for. Seems the best way to acknowledge that is to communicate clearly about all the stuff in my life I think is trivial, and to contribute to the daily operation of this house which is a fantastic home.
What I truly and intensely value to a greater extent, however, is the time I spend with close friends. That’s a different kind of love again. Chapman referred to it as the love language of quality time. It’s energising, rewarding, uplifting and exciting. Quality time is my primary love language, according to the survey. The book is great, highly recommended.
Which makes me wonder just how amazing it must be to spend time with that one special significant other. But that’s the romantic love topic, to which I’ve hinted many a time already in the previous editions of this blog, and which will remain blissfully if still undesirably distant, as if obscured by an equivalently romantic mist on a crisp Autumn morning.
crystallised random thought which would normally be partially entitled with a humourous arbitrary number
“Tomorrow” doesn’t conceptually begin until an intervening sleep period has been undertaken. You still say “See you tomorrow” if you’re farewelling someone at 2am…
There are times that I feel like hitting the pause button. Right now it would be nice to pause the world and walk around among the resulting inanimates, for the single purpose of observing all that is happening and being able to focus deep within. Everything’s moving normally, things in motion as they should be. Seconds turning into minutes turning into hours and days. Each breath, though, moves me infinitesimally closer to … what?
Life is excellent right now. Each day, by virtue of humanity’s activity, in and of itself, holds an innumerable set of fascinating possibilities. It’s remarkable, then, how easy it is to become mired in the mundane. To be exquisitely vague and yet equally if self-confessÃ¨dly profound: if x is a desired outcome or object, the x one has [is less than] the x one deals with [is also less than] the x one would like. It’s also remarkable how easily simple idle time can become complex by the increased mental burden of added responsibility. This needs planning. That requires x hours’ work at $y per hour, costing me z minutes’ relaxation. The other hasn’t happened because someone else hasn’t borne the responsibility properly. Yeah, my mental vocalisation of responsibilities can become heated at times.
What is the value in conflict? We should be following the adage and selecting our battles deftly. Only that which matters should be conflicted openly, and even then it should be done in the most amiable fashion. Note to self: Self, remember to conflict amiably. Bickering is unproductive, wasteful and can cause pain. It’s silly.
Contentment. Bring it on.
[Alright, fully two weeks since the last post. Randomness at its best.]
The randomness of the last fortnight has been extreme and at times, bizarre. So much of interest has happened among relatively less of non-interest that I’m cruising through the journey of life with plenty to ponder.
Communication, for example. That’s the context of this entry’s title. I am communicating to you now, and hopefully communicating with you as well. [That is, provided that you are actually reading this… Because otherwise I’m just speaking to the void, or worse, myself.] See, the random events in the last fortnight have much to do with communication. If you can clearly impart what you mean with the perfect intonation, deft wit, gentle tact and cunning humour, you’ve got it made. However, if you miss the mark, even just a little bit, you end up offending people, getting them offside, or find yourself with an awkward hiatus and some poorly veiled uncomfortable glances.
It’s tough sometimes, to tread the fine lines in life. How tolerant should you be when communicating issues of passion, conviction or personal importance, particularly in a society that loves postmodernism yet will not be postmodern about its postmodernity? How bad should you feel, for example, when deciding not to actually go out your way to visit a mere acquaintance when the visit becomes both unneccessary and excessively inconvenient? Here’s a hint: people don’t generally welcome a guilt trip.
It’s difficult sometimes, to say “no” to something in order to say “yes” to a more philosophically grand life concept which may need no real immediacy or critical urgency. Especially when it seems like letting down the people you value; you could do it, you are able to do it, but you won’t, for no other reason than that you perceive a need for x hours’ more #1 time.
All that sounds rather negative, though. There is so much going on which is positively positive! When you mop up a communication faux pas with a new friend, for example, the world seems so much brighter. When you decide that life is worth far more than the momentary stresses and inhale deeply, savour and exhale the crisp Autumn air to expunge the feelings of self-imposed stressful claustrophobia from your being. When the movie/show/article/conversation you’re experiencing contains pithy wisdom so close to being clichÃ©d that it attempts to sneak into blissful oblivion and yet arrests your thinking so instantaneously that you gasp sharply and your pulse quickens. Do take time for yourself. Do breathe deeply. Do smell the [insert rose substitute]s. Do feel free to just be.
When life cannot get any better, and it does.
Many of us fully intend to discover the one special significant other who gazes into your soul, colours a dark dreary Monday morning with the sound of their voice, transfixes with their smile and plainly makes you almost burst with nothing more than purest contentment. I am no different to many of us, in my own completely unbiased opinion. If you happen to be waiting for me or someone, be safe, well and happy. The time will come when it will come (how unfortunately and yet romantically imprecise!). I’m waiting…
Farewell for another random period, gentle reader. Be random.
Have you ever deliberately taken time to just sit and look? It’s like smelling the roses, except there don’t have to be any roses and you’re not focusing on olfactory stimulation…
Uni started back this week for me (as if I’m a 3rd-year Uni student already), so there have been a number of times when there really was nothing going on. I sat myself down in The Circle on campus a couple of times this week, just watching the worlds of so many people go by, taking in a tiny snippet of everybody else’s life. A random fixation on random encounters with people who don’t even know I’m randomly encountering them!
The Circle is a large, paved … circle, which is bang in the middle of the central outdoor flight of stairs at my Uni. Heaps of people go through there every day. Students dashing through on their own at 13 minutes past the hour, late for lectures/tutes/yoga. Old ladies from the bowls club with Pookie or Esmerelda in tow. Larger mobs of people of whatever affiliation you can dream up: ethnicity, fashion, faculty, faith, hobby, boredom.
Having been on campus for 2 full years already has its advantages. You know where most things are, have a better-than-vague idea where to head for quick shelter or warmth when it rains/hails/snows, and have worked out where the best places to eat or sleep are. It’s about now that I realise, just sitting, watching, that I’ve made a large number of contacts while at Uni – more than I had imagined.
First impressions count, despite the clichÃ©, and particularly so with people. There are those you meet who could slip away into the crowd and be obliterated instantly by banality. There are, on the other hand, those people you meet who you can tell instantly will be great value and valued greatly. I’ve experienced both of these extremes recently, and while I strive to remember all the names for faces I know, the “high value” people are simply exciting. They’re the kind of people you anticipate meeting again, looking forward to an undefined occasion sometime in the future which is certain to add something purely wonderful to life’s memories.
And “in closing”, something I found quite profound. If you knew you’d never see someone ever again, how would that change the way you say goodbye?
Why should a normal goodbye be any different?