Finality

It's taken me a while to finish this post. I think, now, I know why.

Have you ever felt like your life is stuck in second gear? Like it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year?

I sit here this morning [the morning I started writing this] on one of the Knoxville Trolleys with 14 homeless men on the way to my last final ad a first-semester doctoral student. Tonight, I will be "home" in Cape Girardeau for one month of holiday cheer with my family. Another year is passing. A new year is approaching. Again, I'm reminded of how much things have changed over the course of 2008.

A year ago, I deemed 2007 as "The Year it All Worked Out." I graduated with my Bachelors (finally). I had a very significant relationship with someone with whom I wanted one for a very long time. I moved into a Fraternity house-two! I was president of my fraternity. I fell in love (plutonic, of course) with my best friends. I fell in love (otherwise) a couple of times. I started going on cruises. I learned to love air-travel as well. I fell in love with my family. I lost 100 lbs., finishing off a total weight loss of 160 lbs. over four years. I started running. I started working out. I ended the year with a very big decision that took me straight into adulthood.

The next morning, I awoke to 2008. I realized that decision I made the night before was, in fact, the worst decision I had ever made. This began what would be "The Year it All Crashed and Burned." I moved back to Cape Girardeau for nine months. I struggled with loneliness. I stopped losing weight. I got angry. I received a pretty detrimental diagnosis. I learned my "most significant relationship" was nothing more than a cover-up so I could be cheated on multiple, multiple times. I learned that the person I made my ex- out to be never really existed. I moved 400 miles away from my home and 700 miles away from my heart. I moved to a place I knew no one. I was scared. I lost contact with some very good friends. I met disappointment after disappointment after disappointment.

Now I don't want to be Debby Downer and think 2008 was 'all bad' anymore than 2007 was 'all good.' But it was difficult, to say the least, to see the good through the bad.

This post has been a long time coming I think because of uncertainty. 2007 was one of the best years of my life. 2008 was one of the worst. I just don't know what 2009 brings. The uncertainty scares me.

Perhaps I'll finish this later. Or perhaps there is no ending. Perhaps there is no 'later.' Only time will tell, eh?

Sorry, Dr. Blog...

Dear Dr. Blog,

I know I've been avoiding you. It's really busy this time of year. Proctoring finals, taking my own finals, writing paper after paper (in APA style that I apparently know nothing about). Did you know only one space goes after a sentence, not two like we were taught in typing class? I'm sure you knew that. You're a piece of literary wonder, after all. Why shouldn't you know that? (Notice me practicing. ONE space. Resist the urge to double-space-bar...)

In any event, I hope my readers (all three of them) are ready for my next blog. It's going to be really b*tchy. No, don't get excited. I said b*tchy, not b*tchING. It really won't be all that thrilling. Just something I need to get off my chest. The topic? Well, I won't give away the whole topic, but I will share one detail. One of the pieces of evidence to support my next hypothesis: Fred Phelps. Anger ensues. I can see you react with rage at the sound of his name. ("And tell me, how does that make you feeeeeel.") Should be an exciting topic, eh?

The only question is, should it be a video-blog or type-script? Now before you answer, I know six-minute video blogs are difficult to watch. I don't have time to poop most days - who has time to watch someone rant about music or genetic material for six minutes? The same goes for three-page-long typed blogs. They're just too long. I receive feedback well, and I am working on this. Trust.

That being said, I want to leave this choice up to you, Dr. Blog. Video or written-word? Your choice.

Please let me know ASAP. Actually, take your time. In fact, this whole letter ploy is really just an attempt to buy me more time to write this paper. But I didn't want to leave you lonely. You are loved.

Oh, and if you want to grade these exams for me, that'd be super.

Cordially,

Dr. K.

The Algebra of Loneliness

We all think we need someone else; someone to have, someone to hold, someone to talk to. We all innately feel like a puzzle, with pieces missing.

I don't think that's how it's supposed to be:

Loneliness is sadness about being without someone.
[Loneliness=(sadness) x (me-someone else)]

To fix loneliness, we believe we must have that someone else.
[Not loneliness=(happiness) x (me+someone else)]
[Not loneliness=1/loneliness]
[Happiness=1/sadness]

So we try to find that +someone else to add. And when it doesn't happen (yet, or not soon enough) we resume being lonely.

But I propose there's another formula we have yet to consider.
[Not loneliness=(happiness) x (me-someone else)

The way to fix loneliness is not to desperately search, no matter the cost, for that "someone else." It's instead to make the choice to be happy about who we are by ourselves, without someone else added into the equation.

I used to hear this all the time, without believe it was the case for me. "I'm happy with myself!" I would say. And, for the most part, I was. But I still thought (knew) my life would be incomplete/unhappy without someone else. If that's true, if I need someone else to feel (fully) happy, I can't be happy with myself, now can I?

Fulfillment is happiness with yourself. Fulfillment is happiness with you by yourself. Whether you find someone or not is not the issue.

I now see the puzzle as finished, complete, and beautiful. There are no pieces missing. It's a masterpiece by itself.
If and when I find a "frame" to put it in, I can put it on proud display, and I will pick out that frame when the time comes. But it's not here yet. And I'm more than fine with that.

[Not loneliness=(happiness) x (me)]

Look-Alike Couples

Ever seen a couple walking down the street and you're thinking, "wow - either they're brother and sister or they REALLY look a lot alike!"?

This phenomenon, as well as my own boredom, is explored at length.
Shot on-location on the University campus.
With special guest, Amanda. :)

The sun will still rise on Wednesday

November 4 will come and go; of this I am sure.

Obama or Nobama.  McCain or McCan't.  It won't really matter in the end, I promise you this.

Sure, we have our preferences.  We all (undecideds notwithstanding) have who we would be more comfortable being President.  The results of the election will surely affect our well-being over the next four (or eight) years.  But ultimately, we'll move on.  We've endured a civil war, the alienation of rights to certain minority people groups, and an economic blackout (I'm

 referencing the Great Depression - it's nowhere near that bad now, get real);  and look how far we have come since that time.  We'll do it again.  I promise.

But what I really want - what would be reeeeally great - is if, whoever wins, we could all just get along again.  

I'm sick of people being rude to neighbors just because they don't share a political affiliation.  I'm appalled by fights being started over proposition 712123  and amendment Z.  I'm sick of my country, the most peaceful country in the world, looking like Cuba or some other political warzone.  You get your chance to speak your mind on Tuesday.  Use it, accept the results, and then shut up about it.  Agree to disagree, and move forward.

Love your neighbor - whether he wears a blue tie or a red tie.  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you - whether he has a "A vote for Prop 8 is a vote against fags!" sign in his yard or if he has the equality bumper sticker plastered all around the neighborhood.  Give a smile to a passerby - and don't judge him by his private ballot over his character.

I'm not saying you shouldn't have your political opinions.  I'm not even saying you shouldn't be extremely passionate about those opinions.  But when you start hating people because they don't share your views, and then start persecuting them for those beliefs... That's not any America I love.  That's the tumultuous middle east.  It's the former USSR.  It's the former Iraq.  It's Darfur.  Not my country.

I can't wait until we're all Americans again.  I can't wait until November 5.

The sun will still rise on Wednesday.

The Music In Me

It's time for our first face-to-face session!!!

Woohoo.  I'm excited.

My Best Friend's [Funeral]

I had a funeral last night. I was the only one in attendance. It took place in my bed. The only inspirational music was the rain falling on the mountains outside the window of my loft, and the only casket left open for viewing was a picture in my mind. I didn't wear black. My boxers were blue and white, I believe. Non-traditional, sure. But meaningful.

The deceased was my best friend. The time of death was roughly three or four months ago. I didn't find out until now. Mostly because the death was controversial. It was a motorcycle wreck. Or perhaps it was murder. Actually, I think it was a first-degree, premeditated homicidal motorcycle accident. In any event, it was a strange death.

You see, the body is still (mostly) here, roaming the earth, looking a little lost. All physical signs point to a physical life. But the soul inside this body isn't the best friend I adopted as one of my loved ones - it's someone totally different. Last night was the first time I really accepted that. Both the weight of reality and fictional pallbearers ensued not long thereafter.

Even though I didn't know about the death until last night, I think I knew subconsciously - in the very back of my mind. I could tell something was wrong. My adjustment to life here in the dirty south has been (at best) difficult. It's difficult enough for me living alone with no one to come home to everyday or at least look forward to seeing sometime that week (as I was used to). It's difficult even moreso because of the culture change (see StuffSouthernPeopleLike.com) that goes beyond fashion and attitudes toward an exclusive cliqueish-ness (must've forgotten to pick up my Hick-Rewards Card). But bothering me more than any of this "new" was the fact that the "old" had not yet gone away. I missed (and still do miss) my best friends. But the "missing" feeling I had for my Best Friend was far worse. It was a complete hole, a ulcer in my heart that just kept getting larger and larger -the acid eating away at my soul. I would have pictures in my head, memories; I would relive experiences; I would have conversations (of the way things would/should be) with my lamp. [I know, I'm the psychotherapist - so I should be sane, right?] I was miserable. And all the while, I was missing my best friend because my best friend was all the way back home. Ten hours away. The ulcer ate away faster.

But then, when I would have the (occasional) conversation with my best friend... things had changed. Immaturity. Selfishness. Self-centeredness. Irresponsibility. Judgmental and pompas attidude. Perhaps these were things that were present all the time and I just chose to ignore them. Regardless, now they were front-and-center, plaguing my perfect picture of my best friend whose faults only (previously)contributed to the appeal. But what I couldn't get over, now, was that all the good I had seen in my best friend - the kind words, the moments where I would say "wow you're so grown up!", the spontaneity - they were all gone. It just wasn't my best friend anymore.

So last night, I finally accepted that things had drastically changed. I was angry, more than anything. Angry that my best friend had been killed in a motorcycle wreck three or four months ago and no one had told me. I wasn't just mourning because it was unexpected. I was mourning because I never had a chance to mourn. I was just, suddenly, faced with reality.

The amazing thing is, I think this new realization of my Best Friend's death is a positive thing. The body of my best friend spent so much time occupying that position that it couldn't be filled with anyone new. Now that position is up for grabs, and I feel like I can finally open myself up.

I think I'll still talk to the body, occasionally. We have... well, had... a mutual friend in common, I suppose, in my best friend. I don't have anything against the Body, per se. Just another one of the survivors of my Best Friend's departure. But it won't be the same. Memories will no longer be associated with the body. There will no longer be any hope of "what could be" in the future. There won't be any plans to go see my Best Friend when I visit home. Things will certainly change, for the better, now that I know the truth of my best friend's untimely departure. It will be like visiting the gravesite. Occasionally, I'll place flowers. Or maybe a tub of Kraft Easy Mac. Or candycanes. All fitting tributes.

My best friend's dead. But it was a lovely service.

Five Things I Can Do to Make Someone's Day...

I'm sitting here at Starbucks listening to Landon Pigg's "Coffee Shop," studying before a little coffee-shop date (corny, I know... somethings never change).

The girl across from me is frantically cramming for a Monday morning exam, lost in algebra or grammatical permutations or cognates or something... Suddenly, she spazzes as if Shaggy just mentioned a Scooby Snack. She smells the sweet release of a nice tobacco - Marlboro's, no doubt. She needs a fix, too. (And it's out on the patio - so why not? [carcinogens notwithstanding])

She pats herself down like she's being self-searched for contraband. No lighter. Damn.

I should mention here the possibility of a future post, Stuff Southern People Like.com #58: Smoking. Yes. EVERYONE here looooves the tobacco. But I digress.

Now I don't smoke. Never have. Well, I did take two puffs once last fall - but that was a very bad night. But for some reason, I have a lighter in my bag. She has a need. I have what she needs. Sure, I'm contributing to her early death, but you only live once, right? I didn't mean that to sound quite so trite.

In any event, I give her the lighter and her face lights up like the fourth of July. Or like the Robinson's house from the day-after-Thanksgiving until January 2. Either metaphor works; she's happy. She thanks me from the bottom of her heart and starts to toss me back my lighter. "Nah - keep it. Looks like you'll be here a while. :)"

More brightness.

I take this moment to write down five things that I'm going to dry to do on a consistent basis in order to "make someone's day" each and every day. I figure since being kind to people gives me such a great feeling (usually), a single act of kindness can't help but benefit two people, right?

1. Go through a door, stay there a little longer than is necessary or normal, and hold it open for the next person. I'm a door holder usually, but sometimes I debate (quickly) in my head, after that all-too-familiar glance backward, if the person is close enough to the entrance to warrant my door holding or if I should let it swing shut. Usually, my own 2 seconds of freedom trumps theirs. The door swings. No more. I'm holding it open with a smile from now on.

2. (Since we're here...) Buying someone's Starbucks in the drive-up window. I've done this once, and I don't know why I don't do it more often. Probably because I rarely drive anymore, but in any event, it usually goes something like this: "Grande skinny cinnamon dolce latte, extra hot? that'll be $4.67" "What did the lady behind me order?" "Um... a tall caramel macchiato." "Great. Can you put that on my tab?" Now if the barista answers your inquiry with "25 venti white chocolate mochas for the whole office"... keep on drivin'.

3. Bring chewing gum for everyone during a very long lecture class and have it passed around the room. There are like 5-10 people in my classes, so this works well... but if you have one of those 500-person lectures... save your wallet and your reputation. "Who the heck brings a garbage bag full of bubble gum to class?!" Nobody wants to be that guy.

4. Smile and say "Hi. How are you doing today?" or "Pretty weather, today!" to a random person. Patch Adams inspired this part of me. You think you're going out on a limb. Until you see their reaction. It's... uplifting.

5. Always carry a lighter, Tylenol, an extra pen, and a Scantron sheet (if you attend UT). These are four of the top five most requested items filled in the blank for: "Excuse me, do you have ________?" Fifth was 'a problem.' Lord knows we've all got those. In that instance, keep yours to yourself, please.

That's it. Hold a door, buy someone coffee, pass out gum, greet a stranger, and carry an extra lighter.

So I continue to sit here, proud of myself for my list I've compiled - my resolve to try to make someone's day each and every day - and then, lo and behold...

Here's my chance. The guy beside me pats himself down, frantic for a light-up. Lucky him! I just happen to be a compassionate human being, just waiting to make TWO people's day in one hour! How lucky am I? It's my cue... I reach in my bag...

Absolutely nothing.

Dangit.

I glance up at the table where chain-smoking girly number one formerly sat. Empty.

Dangit again.

Edit: Keep two lighters on you at all times...

Heart for the Homeless

The last picture I added via LifeCast from my phone. Maybe you liked it, maybe you didn't. I did. None of that is the point, however.

The picture is taken on the Knoxville Downtown Trolley, which takes me from my home to campus (and back) each and every day (sometimes two, three times each day). The most interesting thing about my ride each day is not the historic sites I pass, the horizon reflected in the Sunsphere, or the sounds and comments made in busy traffic. It's my fellow riders.

Downtown Knoxville has a particularly stark division of wealth, like most inner-cities going under reconstruction. Old factories and warehouses are being converted into expensive lofts and condos by the multitude, bringing in the wealthy. The poor, however, who have always "littered the streets" (to quote verbatim one of my fellow upper-class passengers) have never left - they have no where else to go. There are these indiginous poor, and the sojourning wealthy. There is no middle class here.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't an attack on the homeless. It's just the opposite, actually. Stay with me.

Prior to the industrial revolution, all cities were based around their downtown area. It's where all the jobs were, so thus where all the commerce was. People lived where they worked. Think Downtown St. Louis, homies - Soulard. It was busy. It was noisy. It was bustling. And it was beautiful.

Then came the advent of modern, cheap transportation. And with it, the yearning to be alone. People (who could afford it) moved out of the cities, where it was quiet, quaint. They created their very own sub-cities: sub-divisions. They would commute into the inner-city to do their work among the normal people, but would live on the outskirts of town in order to get away. A little vacation everyday from 5pm-9am. It was the beginning of suburbia.

Following "the big move", capitalism got smart. Or so they say. Commerce wanted to be where the people are (think Ariel, the Little Mermaid - only suburbs and money, not land and attractive humans). It started with small convenience shops, then grocers, then strip malls, then shopping centers, then megamalls, then huge corporations. They all packed up and moved shop to the suburbs - where the people with the money lived (now). Someone (some company) would buy their old buildings and move their business to the heart of the city, right? Wrong.

What remains is the crusty sea-shell that once represented the sprawling sea-life that was the inner city; now dead and washed-up. And the homeless, without anyway out, have remained.

I think about this everyday on my ride to and from school. I'm not always so quick to defend the homeless as an entity - I know many of them have chosen that lifestyle and actually are better off having everything provided for them so that they don't have to lift a finger - just a metal cup to ask for change. I do know there are some, however - some that never would have chosen this lifestyle if presented to them. They're just graduates of the school of hard knocks, you could say. But they'll never defend themselves. They'll simply continue riding that red trolley to the Strip, and back to Downtown Knoxville. Back. And forth. Because there's nothing better to do.

Sometimes I think about their potential. Do they have it? Some of them, I'm sure. What would they be had they made (or not made) that one decision? A brilliant scientist? A professional musician? A struggling psychology doctoral student?

How many of them are me, bar one small choice?

One day, I'll get the courage to have a real conversation with them. To sit down, treat them to Starbucks, and ask the hows, whys, and whats. But, for now, I continue on my Orange Route, passing out cordial, surface conversations about the weather, Big Orange football, or the drugs kids are doing these days.

And somehow, I'll continue to feel guilty about the good choices I've made.
Or the luck I've fallen into.

Regardless, I am blessed. And I am thankful.

"It's getting cool out there. Prolly gonna rain."
"Phil Fulmer has GOT to make a change. Our secondary is amazing, but the offense is struggling."
"Yeah, bongs are back in style man. Trouble. I don't understand why kids would want to do that stuff either."
"How did you lose your last job?"
"Where's your family? Did they abandon you?"
"What's something you can do right now to make the future look better for you?"

Geolocate this post

Posted with LifeCast

Stuff Southern People Like.Com #1

Welcome to Psychologist On the Verge. I dedicate my first post to the town to which I have just moved in August of 2008. It's been a whirlwind of a month, but it's beginning to feel like home.

A few years ago, a website was launched detailing the quite absurd things that white people, in general, do to make the rest of the world crazy. The result was published into a book, enlisted a following, and ultimately all but created a national (or at least ethnic) pasttime. The premise? White people are crazy. Perhaps I should have prefaced this with the fact that I am indeed caucasian. I also agree wholeheartedly with our race's insanity - stereotypes and all. What is this standard of racial funnies, you ask? StuffWhitePeopleLike.Com

In the same vein, I want to introduce my blog with one of my favorite new topics: The weird things people do her in my new home - the South.

Not being from "dixie" originally, I've found it quite a culture shock in my first month here. Some of the things people do (say, wear, eat... need I go on?) are expected - I was not immune to the stories of "the southland" back home farther north. Other actions, however, are unanticipated, obtuse, or even quite insane (and yes, as a psychotherapist, I am licensed to use that word at will).

For this reason, and for your enjoyment, I give you StuffSouthernPeopleLike.Com's #1 entry:

1. Croakies.

Never heard of them before? No surprise here. I for one, believe there's a reason for that. This elastic piece of 1980's fashion (just like the rubber compound it's made of, you pull it away from a generation and it just SNAPS back) is attached to the ends of sunglasses and worn around the back of the neck.

Now, I don't need to ask you if they're attractive. We know the answer is a resounding 'no.' I don't even need to ask you where these come from. Slogans from fundraisers, South Carolina's tree-and-moon logo, letters of Greek affiliation, and Hick-loved outdoor shops (read: Bass Pro) logos alike adorn the sides of these contraptions, shouting out a commercial to "buy my brand of Croakie!!!" right adjacent to some dude (or lady's) backhair (hey - it's not called the dirty south for nothing).

No, the answers to all these questions seem obvious to me. What I don't understand is the point of these "croakies". If you're having trouble with your glasses slipping of your face, then get them adjusted. These don't keep them snug, they just allow them to drop between your boobs (which can be, I imagine, quite awkward). If your reasoning for their utility is that it gives you somewhere to put your glasses when they're not being used, I don't believe it. One, that's why we have cases for our sunglasses. Two, you have a head. Sunglasses were basically designed to be worn on your crown when not being utilized. Thirdly and finally... as an observation, people don't do it. I've NEVER seen anyone with their glasses hanging around their neck. They either have their glasses on their face (with said croakies attached) or they're put away neatly in their bags - croakies or not. Something about this tells me wearers know for a fact they look stupid.

I should also not that, although in my time as a Fraternity Man (just last year) we, too, had our cult followings (i.e. Campus Bar and Grill, North Face jackets), we had much better taste than... sunglass rubber-bands (reduced in nomenclature for what they really are). Fraternity boys of the south, however, clearly missed that inter-house memorandum.

The croakies' official website [sic] labels its flagship product as "The Original Neoprene Eyewear Retainer." I would love to be so lucky to wear a retainer around my neck. Where did this name even come from? Croakies? One can only hope it is representative of the frog who was wearing them and, when kissed by a unsuspecting princess, was still alone because he was caught wearing eyewear retainers. That's my story, anyway.

So this is my shout out -- nay, by repulsive rant -- about something that looks so ridiculous and has no utilitarian value whatsoever. People of the south - unite against this monstrosity and fight for all that is good an holy. They can strap neoprene bands around our necks, they can advertise around our ears as much as they want; but THEY CANNOT TAKE OUR FREEEEEEDOM!

Which makes me wonder if croakies come in tartan plaid. And if so, would William Wallace have worn them?

That's to be explored in our next session. That will be a $195 co-pay for our fifty minute session and your insurance will be billed for the remainder. Please see Alecia, the receptionist, on your way out in order to schedule your next appointment. Until then...

-The Budding Psychotherapist