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?"