There are some people I've met or know of whom I'd love to get to know. I think we have a lot in common and could become great friends. But, whether it's social status, age, location or whatever, there are certain factors that prevent it from happening. Sometimes life is stupid, and these instances are great examples. What's worse is when you can tell that the other person is interested in you, too. It's so frustrating!
My question is, then, is there nothing we can do? Can I visit one of my professors at his office just to talk, or is that too socially inappropriate? Does it even matter if we'd both enjoy each other's company? Can I say hi to someone on the other side of the country without seeming like a total creep? I feel like there are so many potential relationships and friendships out there that are suppressed by social stigmas and calumnies. It's very perturbing, and if anyone reading this feels that way about me, that they want to say hello but can't because of some bogus reason, please do. I will not think you're a creep or stalker or weirdo or anything other than a normal human being. In fact, the odds are that I've probably wanted to talk to you, too.
4/27/09
4/26/09
Coming to Terms
I've accepted my vain attempts at being intellectual as futile and inadequate. I am wholly dissatisfied with anything I write about; I am not smart enough to compete. Instead, I am going to speak from the heart and try not to care.
4/20/09
The Elitism of Absolutism
Some growing issues I must address:
1) Just recently, whenever I find myself engaged in an intellectual conversation, whether it fall under either of the voluminous categories of philosophy or theology, and unless I know the person is either on or above my level, I can't help but assume a pretentious, regnant position. I take on this elitist attitude and talk down to whoever's with me. This happens often in Bible studies when I interpret the given scripture radically different than anyone else. I see myself as really getting to the core of the passage, while everyone else just gets the gist of it or, sometimes, even misinterprets it. Sometimes I don't realize it's happening until it's too late, other times, when I catch myself, it prevents me from saying a word. I don't want to argue if it's just going to feed my ego or possibly patronize someone, but I do want to share my thoughts with people and receive feedback. It's creating a sort of Catch-22 that needs to stop.
2) Closely related to the first issue, I am struggling with the futility of non-Christian thought, specifically concerning morality and ethics. Is there any worth to it? How am I going to treat my array of non-Christian friends this summer? I fear the same elitist, absolutist condition will haunt me in the inevitable ideological culture clashes between myself and my old friends. I don't want to appear a close-minded, bombastic highbrow to them. I want to embrace my old community with love, concern and appreciation. I am hoping, God willing, to be a light unto them, but I fear this will not happen if I can't get rid of my intellectual pretensions.
I need a remedy for this. I don't know how to prevent myself from feeling like such an intellectual vigilante, but, like I said, it needs to stop.
1) Just recently, whenever I find myself engaged in an intellectual conversation, whether it fall under either of the voluminous categories of philosophy or theology, and unless I know the person is either on or above my level, I can't help but assume a pretentious, regnant position. I take on this elitist attitude and talk down to whoever's with me. This happens often in Bible studies when I interpret the given scripture radically different than anyone else. I see myself as really getting to the core of the passage, while everyone else just gets the gist of it or, sometimes, even misinterprets it. Sometimes I don't realize it's happening until it's too late, other times, when I catch myself, it prevents me from saying a word. I don't want to argue if it's just going to feed my ego or possibly patronize someone, but I do want to share my thoughts with people and receive feedback. It's creating a sort of Catch-22 that needs to stop.
2) Closely related to the first issue, I am struggling with the futility of non-Christian thought, specifically concerning morality and ethics. Is there any worth to it? How am I going to treat my array of non-Christian friends this summer? I fear the same elitist, absolutist condition will haunt me in the inevitable ideological culture clashes between myself and my old friends. I don't want to appear a close-minded, bombastic highbrow to them. I want to embrace my old community with love, concern and appreciation. I am hoping, God willing, to be a light unto them, but I fear this will not happen if I can't get rid of my intellectual pretensions.
I need a remedy for this. I don't know how to prevent myself from feeling like such an intellectual vigilante, but, like I said, it needs to stop.
4/18/09
The Distance
A brilliant blue made room for Roquentin's Nausea in the dimly lit pub, cool sand shifting about my feet. An eerie ocean wind pitched a perfect withdrawal into his world, but the foreigners held me back. A French party of no less than eight had settled merely a yard or two above my head, the elderly and infants residing near the towels while two older children and their parents did their best to emulate a game of American football on the capacious shoal beneath me.
I couldn't focus. My eyes were transfixed on the off-white pages, but the rest of my head was stuck to the beach, tied down by immaculate French and severed English.
--
I can't write anymore. What I want to describe has struck without notice. The only way to overcome it is to embrace it - entwine it with my words - watch my fingers exhaust themselves. My vision keeps going blurry. I can control it, but I don't.
...that's it! Embrace it! In the words of Roquentin himself, "What is there to fear in such a regular world? I think I am cured."
--
I gave up. There was no hope in breaching the reality mes amis had delivered. I lowered my book and arched my neck forward to loll and mind the game. That's when it returned. I was no stranger to it, I knew it well, in fact, but it had never felt so real, so palpable, so intrinsic to the human mode of perception. I suddenly had no presence, no substance; I was a simple vantage point. It seems existence really does precede essence.
What was I seeing? It felt like The Sims - a quirky, four person family vacationing at the beach. I managed to follow the dialogue only by recognizing certain words and phrases I had experienced in their appropriate contexts countless times before (this was the French!). The Sims cast and caught the ball so gawkily, just as they always do. A touchdown was followed by a victory dance so outrageous; if I wasn't sure it was a video game, I never would have believed it. The pixels were perturbing - I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there! I was an inherent panorama of a seamless dreamworld. I had no control, no power, no authority. I was there to watch.
This "distance" haunts me almost daily. I can't elude it. Though routinely ephemeral, it takes its toll. It usually comes when I'm alone, devoid of anything amiable, any camaraderie. It's not as if I'm going mad, but fading away, dispersing through the rifts of physical space. I can't feel during the spell, and that's what hurts the most - I don't know if it's good or bad.
I couldn't focus. My eyes were transfixed on the off-white pages, but the rest of my head was stuck to the beach, tied down by immaculate French and severed English.
--
I can't write anymore. What I want to describe has struck without notice. The only way to overcome it is to embrace it - entwine it with my words - watch my fingers exhaust themselves. My vision keeps going blurry. I can control it, but I don't.
...that's it! Embrace it! In the words of Roquentin himself, "What is there to fear in such a regular world? I think I am cured."
--
I gave up. There was no hope in breaching the reality mes amis had delivered. I lowered my book and arched my neck forward to loll and mind the game. That's when it returned. I was no stranger to it, I knew it well, in fact, but it had never felt so real, so palpable, so intrinsic to the human mode of perception. I suddenly had no presence, no substance; I was a simple vantage point. It seems existence really does precede essence.
What was I seeing? It felt like The Sims - a quirky, four person family vacationing at the beach. I managed to follow the dialogue only by recognizing certain words and phrases I had experienced in their appropriate contexts countless times before (this was the French!). The Sims cast and caught the ball so gawkily, just as they always do. A touchdown was followed by a victory dance so outrageous; if I wasn't sure it was a video game, I never would have believed it. The pixels were perturbing - I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there! I was an inherent panorama of a seamless dreamworld. I had no control, no power, no authority. I was there to watch.
This "distance" haunts me almost daily. I can't elude it. Though routinely ephemeral, it takes its toll. It usually comes when I'm alone, devoid of anything amiable, any camaraderie. It's not as if I'm going mad, but fading away, dispersing through the rifts of physical space. I can't feel during the spell, and that's what hurts the most - I don't know if it's good or bad.
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