Labeled

It's the age old question, is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable. This discussion can go on by most anyone arguing both sides of the coin. And really it's a toss up, but it seems that most people will engage in the trivial debate. I think that it is a love of labels that drives it. It would seem that we are all constantly looking to label everything around us.

In the past few days I've been aware of labels. I'm not sure what started me thinking about it, perhaps just something sparked my curiosity. What I'm beginning to notice is that the label seems to give the importance rather that the thing being labeled. The easiest example to see this in is clothing. We see certain brands of clothing to be better than others. Tommy Hilfiger making a hat and putting his name on it will draw much more money and prestige than a hat of the same material branded by JC Penny. What kills me is that the price changes because of how it's perceived not for any physical difference. People pay more because they in turn want people to think that they are more valuable or sophisticated. It just seems wrong and materialistic. And I know I play into this system as well, though I fight with it in my mind.

But really the labels are everywhere. I think that where I'm most disturbed by them is where it comes to people. It seems far to easy to label someone in my mind before I know much about them. And the labels have a huge range: old, clingy, woman, sassy, straight, bitchy, friendly, cute, shy, indian,  funny, annoying, gross, black, gay, bitter, queeny, stupid.... the list goes on. It's not a conscious choice it's almost instant somewhere in the back of my head. How do I not do that? It's amazing that it happens. And I am objective about it. I am aware of it and so I can look at that label that pops up and say to myself, "that's not necessarily true. You don't know anything about them so you can't decide that." And it helps me be open and realize that for all I know the pissy person I just met was just laid off and has a right to be upset. But I don't like the labels.

I don't like the labels because I don't like to be labeled. I can fit into dozens of labels I'm sure. And yes they may apply to me in some ways but I don't want to be defined by any one of these labels. I am not just a teacher. I am not just a man. I am not just gay. There is so much more to me and I'm always afraid that people won't get to know me as a whole because of a label that they have stuck on me. I think that this fear of someone trying to wrap me up in a box is why I don't like to label others. Why do they need to have those tags stuck on them? Cant' they just be a person? Why is it tough to just get to know Douglas or Sue without looking them over and having a bunch of labels get printed in my head about them?

I hope that I'm not the only one that struggles with this. I know that being aware of the fact that I do allows me to be objective. But is it possible not to think these things though? Is it possible not to try categorize everything and just experience it in the moments for what it is? How do you get to know people without the labels that seem to dominate the mind?

Does it matter if the tomato is a fruit or a vegetable? Will knowing this definitively make the world a better place?

Note: even as I'm writing this post I have a box constantly beckoning to me at the bottom of the blog to type in words with which to "Label" the post.

"Everyone's a little bit racist today.

So everyone's a little bit racist ok.

Look around and you will find, 

no one's really color blind,

maybe it's a fact we all should face....."

-Avenue Q

Still

Not much to write about today. My mind has been calm and still. Perhaps after the last few days it was time for it to take a day off. Funny how after all the noise that thoughts can make in your head you can miss it when there is a calm. I'm settling into some routines now with my exercise and that is good. I think overall I feel more in touch with myself and more able to encourage myself to do things that are good for me. This is something that I think I've been trying to figure out for a long time. I think it's been to easy to put myself to the side and not worry about me. Perhaps that's why at times I feel down on myself for not taking care of my surroundings. Perhaps this is the journey that I've been needing to take.

So with a rather empty head and three fantastic cats that want attention I'm going to go and lay in the quiet of the night, let the sound of the wind fill my ears and allow the darkness to take me.

Tatts

Really it's branding. Let's call it what it is. Sure there is ink and sometimes color involved but when it all comes down to it we are branding our skin. I noticed several tattoos this evening and for each one I wanted to know more. What is so personal to you that you are willing to wear it forever for the world to see (and sometimes judge)?

I have two tattoos and I have a third that is designed. I don't take the process lightly. I know what I am getting into by going under the needle. I know that it is something that is going to be permanently a part of me. This is the reason that I don't go into it haphazardly. The tattoos that I have each has meaning to me as I know that all tattoos have meaning to people. Sure some people don't really think about their tattoos all that much. They walk into a tattoo parlor, point to the "cool looking" tribal design or some other shit on the wall and tell the guy, "I want that one." But I think even this sort of lackadaisical selection speaks volumes about those that get them. There is something behind it even if it is impulse rather than thought driven. (Note that I didn't reference the person doing the tattoo as an artist. I wouldn't give them that title because the true tattoo artists that I met don't like rushing into doing a tattoo either. It means a lot to them as well.) So what do tattoos say. What do mine say..

I have a band on my arm that is a nice tribal design. To the casual observer it is just that and not all that interesting. However, if someone were to take the time to ask they would find out so much more. They would discover that I designed it. It is created, abstractly, out of the numbers 180 which can be seen though they don't stand next to each other as text. The design is a turning point in my life where I was taking control of myself and starting to find my own direction. The tattoo is a reminder of that turning point so that I can continue forward. Or, to the casual eye, it's a nice tribal design. I created this tattoo and kept it close to myself for over six months to be sure it was indeed something that I wanted.

My second tattoo was done in Hawaii. It is as close to spontaneous that I think I will ever come with a tattoo. I have always liked tattoos on the back of a guys calf and had been thinking about designing one. While in Hawaii with friends I found myself alone a lot. I was not there with any specific person but had met with a group of friends many of whom were coupled. Over the week I found strength in that solitude and I wanted to remember it. I decided to create a design that would remind me of that feeling of self so that I could take it with me and keep it going. The design was also influenced by Hawaii, Maui to be specific so that too became part of the design. In the end what I created was a single line that traced the outline of the island of Maui. One line to represent the solitude and self. The line also resembles a wave which I chose because a great deal of my time was spent going with the flow as it were. And so when I see it I remember that I am important. I need to rely on myself.

The third, unwritten tattoo is one that is close to me. It took a long time to design and while it is close to being finished it still needs some small changes. The tattoo is one that represents my philosophy of life (and a catchy slogan for a clothes line lol). Life is Good. I have many iterations of the design but the one that I am close to completing incorporates the ankh, a symbol for life with a tribal design much like my arm band. I know that I will at some point, when the time is right, get branded with this symbol. After all it is important to me and I like the visual reminder.

As I write this long post I think that there are many that judge the tattoos. Some that look at them and just think that it is ugly, or that it will be ugly when it fades, that they are dirty, that the person has no taste. I challenge those people not to judge but to ask. I rarely find anyone that won't discuss the tattoos and what they mean if sincerely asked. I've not often been told there is no meaning behind a tattoo. I think that it's one more opportunity to be open to other people's lives and experiences.

Besides... frequently the tattoos look hot!

Slap

I was with friends at the festival and the guy singing was not all that great. It's loud and hot and I'm not altogether with it but it is good to be out. I feel a tap from my friend..
"... weh bwoen aopweor over there?" He's pointing and his voice is getting drowned out by the crowd and singer.
I look and I don't see anything in the direction that looks interesting to warrant this so I look back at him with a confused face. 
"Isn't that Jeff?"
I look back confused.. Who? I don't know who I'm looking for. There are crowds of people and no one that seems familiar. So I look more and still feel confused so I look back.
"Who?"
"JEFF! Over near that trash can."
I look back, "who's....
---
------
And it hit. Reeling like I had been struck by someone in the chest. It was surreal. The universe slapped me hard and I felt everything intensify. I'm sure it all happened in a split second but it seemed to take an eternity. I stared back to see my ex Jeff. My ex who had inadvertently broken my heart. I say inadvertently because he didn't seem to be a willing participant and yet it was because of his choice. And he didn't see me...and I didn't think I wanted him to. All these feelings of anxiety, fear, and hurt came back. And I was instantly sad and lonely all at once. It was almost as if the world had disolved, the music, the crowd, my friends, everything. And then the crowd came back into my ears and I pulled my eyes away. I was trying to decide how I should be reacting to my friend that had pointed him out. I was at a loss and I looked back and watched him walk down the street.

The short "interaction" with a ghost left me retreating into my head. I wasn't really sure what to do. Part of me wanted to go say hello to him but I was sure that the conversation would be superficial and unfulfilling. What could be said that hadn't already. What was it I could talk to him about?

He had broken me. He had made me dig deep inside of myself to find strength to let go of love. No one should ever be forced to do that. It was one of my biggest trials in this life. I'd like to say that I won the battle and yet I'm the one that got hurt. I don't know if he ever felt the loss or pain that I did. I don't doubt that he loved me, at least at one point, but did he feel the pain?

 Addiction is a strong force and I learned a lot about it in the year and a half that I was with him. I was so happy to have found such an amazing man and I enjoyed getting to know him. I did learn early on that he was a recovering addict. Aren't we supposed to forgive people's pasts and not judge them for it? And so I continued to fall in love with him. Over time he learned to love his drugs again, though I suspect he never really stopped loving them, and I learned to be codependent and try and bandage the gaping wounds he was forging in our lives. I spent a year pretending things were better than they were; convincing myself that I was only going to make it worse if I left; doing my best to create the facade because things would get better... wouldn't' they?

I know that it could have been much worse had I stayed, but leaving? Do the experts and counselors understand what it means to leave? Do they know that it's not the addict at that point that gets hurt. Do they realize how tough it truely is for those of us that love the addict and want them to be the person that they are when they are/were sober? Really I think that one of my biggest problems with the end of the relationship was that I was the one that was hurt and he got to go on in blissful ignorance induced by his drug filled stupor. I had to reach in and pull my still loving, beating heart out and leave him. And he asked me not to go. He said he would stop. And I had heard that before. I finally accepted that I was defeated and the drug had so much more power than I ever could. And I left, but I didn't feel good about it. I didn't FEEL like I was doing the right thing. This was not fair! FUCK HIM!

Pain

Unbelievable pain.

In the aftermath I felt cold hearted. I felt mean. I felt like I was the one that was the asshole and not him. Isn't that ironic? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't cause this damned problem and I couldn't fix it! Why couldn't I fix it.

....And so I stood there on the street with all of this pain resurfacing. All the hopes for the man I loved resurfacing. All the pain.... Part of me wanted to go over and kick the shit out of him for the pain that he's caused me. And another part, perhaps codependent or the love, thinks that it was the drug induced stupor and it wasn't that he was choosing the drugs over me but the drugs were choosing him.

As ghosts do, real or imagined, I watched him disappear into the crowd. I looked for him for the rest of the day not sure what I would do if I saw him. And then he appeared again on the other side of the street. Maybe I should say hello... Maybe I should..  He isn't the person now that I was in love with. People shouldn't talk to ghosts. It's not good for them. Let the past go. There are unresolved thoughts and questions but he can't answer them. No one can. And so I caught myself walking forward towards him. Let him go, my heart screamed. And so I did. Again.

Pain.

Makeup

I was driving in my car and stopped at a light the other morning. It's funny how everyone in their car is in their own little world. Sometime I think we all forget that it is glass around us instead of solid walls. I know that I have been caught singing along to a song I love on the radio, checking out the pimple on the side of my cheek that just popped up, or even clipping my nails. Not all of these things are bad per se, but they aren't exactly activities that I think about people watching me do. And yet sitting in my car I will do them because I'm in my own little bubble.

As I was peering around at all the other drivers on their way to work or wherever I noticed the lady in the car behind me. She was sitting their with her visor down and was going what could only be described as a ritual of applying her makeup. I watched, much like a voyeur, interested to see how intense she was with the application. I'm sure that there was a difference as she covered each part of her face with the makeup but there was no noticeable difference to me. She was so intent on covering it all and it didn't seem to look any different. What is the point of this ritual. Why is there the need to put on the makeup just to look like you aren't wearing any makeup.

For that matter why is it accepted that women should or can wear makeup where it is greatly discouraged for guys. Are guys not supposed to look flawless? Are we supposed to have the nick and blemishes to show that we are manly? Please don't get me wrong. I have no desire to be covered up with makeup like a mask but I am curious how these makeup rules came into being.

Thinking about it over the past couple of days I've come to have more questions than not. I have to wonder why we need to make ourselves appear flawless to people rather than celebrate our imperfections. I think everyone finds some way to distract from flaws whether it be through makeup, or the gym, or facial hair, or clothes. And again I wonder why it is that this practice of makeup is one that men are not made to partake in. Why do we expect women to wear the makeup. Is it just ingrained by society? Do women do it to feel pretty? And if that's the case do they know that they are still pretty without it?

Who is it that makes up the strange rules in society that we all follow?

Silence

Sometimes I notice that silence seems to have a sound. It's odd really. But sometimes the silence seems to have a pressure to it. It sort of weighs on my ears, my skin, and becomes solid. It pushes into my head like a soft pillow and I can feel the weight of it. I notice it most when my mind is not active. No troubling thoughts to keep it racing. No problems to keep it wandering. Just here, just now. And there is such a peace and relaxation to it.

Normally I feel that there is so much going on in my head that I forget I don't need all the jabber. I keep the engine turning to solve problems or think about tomorrow. I keep my mind working all the time. And then, sometimes, I put out the thought patterns one by one. I tell my brain I'm done, and I don't need to think anymore. Tomorrow will come. Problems will be solved in due time. And what's amazing is that I listen to myself. The my mind calms and when it does the silence is as enjoyable as anything can be. Soothing, enveloping.

I wonder why it's so hard sometimes to sit with other people in silence. Do they know what's going on in my head? Are they able to see how messed up I am in there? I almost feel like they are intruding on the silence and my thoughts. Can I turn on the radio so that I don't have to think or be alone with them with my thoughts? And it's funny because usually I don't wonder what it is that they are thinking about. I'm not reading their thoughts but I'm sure that they are reading mine and I feel exposed.

And then there are those that I am open to. Those that could ask me a question and I would tell them anything because I know they won't judge me. These are the people that I can sit with in silence. Friends, not in the loose sense of the word. These are the people that see past every facade and know me. Perhaps it's not the silence that is uncomfortable with other people, but rather all that is unsaid that could be said. Perhaps it's understanding that they don't know me better in the silence; this is the discomfort.

Thank you to the few that I can bare my soul to and I can sit in silence with. Thank you for sharing yourself and your quiet with me.

Discipline

Another good day today. I'm enjoying the routines that I'm creating for myself. I know that I have to keep on myself though because for some reason the habits that are best for me seem the most difficult to continue. I find myself trying to find reasons to not carry out my schedule or tasks and I don't know why.

Running for example is something that is great for me. I know that many people just don't want to run for anything and yet I've found that I really enjoy it. Sure there is some discomfort at the beginning of the run until I get into the rhythm of it but that is part of the experience. And as I get into the rhythm I love that as I run my mind processes things. I feel energized by the run at the end even when I'm physically tired. And the benefits are there long after, I sleep better and I have more energy. I also find that I have less hunger (weird huh) after the workout. So with all of these positives why is it that I don't want to do it. I mentally wrestle with myself right up to the moment that I'm getting out the door. And it's amazing the rationale that my mind comes up with.

Running isn't the only time that I do this with myself. And yet I don't know why. It's a good habit. I know that it takes something like 2 months to create a habit and yet I've done it longer than that. As in the past I know that if I have a week where something comes up it is all too easy to let the running go. And then, it's almost shocking how quickly, a year has gone by with no running. I have to believe that other people have this same issue in their life. I start on a path to better myself and I sabotage myself in any way possible.

I find that I keep telling myself that I need to be disciplined. It's funny that this word seems to have a negative connotation to it. As a kid you are disciplined when you are bad and yet it is a good quality that everyone should possess.  I remind myself that I need to be disciplined in some things. I need to take control and push myself farther. And no, this isn't being a taskmaster, it's most often in the little choices; not letting myself stop in the middle of cleaning the house, making the meal I planned to rather than just picking up some fast food, or finishing the lap I'm walking/running instead of cutting out early. I think that there is an ego boost every time I am disciplined since it proves to me that I can conquer that little part in my head that tells me it would rather be lazy. I am in charge of me!

Perhaps if I can figure out the discipline thing I can actually keep the habit. Maybe my trouble is that I'm lazy at heart? Who can know.

dis·ci·pline  (ds-pln)

n.

1. Training expected to produce a specific character or pattern of behavior, especially training that produces moral or mental improvement.

2. Controlled behavior resulting from disciplinary training; self-control.

From thefreedictionary.com