It’s fascinating how I can tell whether it’s a full moon simply by my inability
to sleep.
I’m listening to Motorpsycho’s Starmelt/Lovelight and feel
transported back to 26 years ago. More than a quarter of a century has passed
since I’ve felt I’m on something resembling a path that leads to something
worthwhile. Statistically, that’s about a third of my total lifespan. I’ve been
absent from myself for far too long.
I still have no idea where I will eventually end up. I want to trust that
whatever I do now all comes together to propel me towards where I need to be.
It’s a counter-intuitive process that involves lots of unlearning of
established patterns. All in the service to help me become the person I’m
supposed to be, that I should have been all along.
Tomorrow is my first competitive marathon run. Two years ago, this was
unthinkable. Tomorrow I’m going to do it, running just over 40 kilometres.
Somehow, it’s crazy – and it absolutely isn’t. I know I can do it. I know this
is where I need to be, what I need to do and what I want to do. Something
is going to happen. With me, through me.
The people I care most about will be there. I’ll be at the right time at the
right place. And if for some inexplicable reason it doesn’t happen for me, it
will not have been the right time or the right place. That much I know.
Everything else is yet to come. For now, I’m pretty damn sure it will.
Maybe I can get some sleep now. Good night to all.
Maybe I’m doing it wrong but the more stuff I see on any social media channel
(including Mastodon) the more exhausted I feel by having to mute and block more
and more people. I’m really not all that interested in undifferentiated and
annoyed opinions by Joe Random from Tritesville.
Maybe I’m that Joe Random to others. Maybe they are as disinterested in what I
have or want to say as I am in their ramblings. I do miss real human connection
though. Connections with vulnerable, real, complex and introspective humans –
not just some tech dudes complaining about their favourite pet peeve. That’s
boring, one-dimensional and uninteresting to me.
In-person encounters in a conducive setting have an entirely different quality
to them than meeting random online strangers. It’s a rather obvious insight, as
so many of them are. There’s a difference in understanding a concept
intellectually and experiencing it first hand though.
Sometimes I feel like wanting to reply to something someone posted on Mastodon.
When I do, I almost always come to regret it. Increasingly, I avoid engaging.
Most people don’t want to hear dissenting opinions. They don’t want new
information they didn’t explicitly request. They want to vent, for whatever
reason. They’re not looking for a conversation, despite the medium.
Maybe they are lonely. Maybe they don’t have anyone to talk to. At best they
expect their opinion to be validated, not challenged. Eventually, you learn to
ignore most people. Which is kind of the opposite that those mediums were
designed for. People are terrible online.
I used to love discussing technical topics. I spent hours upon hours obsessing
over minutiae, having repeated arguments about whose opinion was more correct.
Today, I couldn’t care less. Usually both opinions are, viewed from different
angles. And people who are fatally wrong don’t want to hear about it. Their
willingness to listen is inversely proportional to the firmness of their…
let’s call them beliefs.
In short, it’s not a nourishing use of my or anyone’s time and not fulfilling
at all. It turns out to be empty and largely pointless.
This is part of larger changes. Over time, I’ve become disillusioned with the
promise of modern tech and the global village. In some regard, I still like
computers and certain kinds of technology. I have some intuitive capability to
make sense of it that others apparently lack. I’ve also developed a fine-tuned
bullshit radar that pinged early and hard on stuff like Facebook, VR, TikTok,
blockchain and cryptocurrency whatever, the “Metaverse”, everything called “AI”
instead of machine learning – and future hollow money and power grifts the
next inevitable hype cycle undoubtedly holds in store for us all.
We, as fallible humans, are hopelessly overwhelmed with the non-stop barrage of
information from all corners of the world. We are not built for this. We need
to slow down. If we don’t, soon enough we’ll be forced to. If we persist in
stemming the tide even then, we’ll quite literally be run over. Hubris, of
course, has been a characteristic of humans ever since we deluded ourselves
into thinking we’ve conquered nature.
These days, I’m way more interested in humans than technology. Maybe there’s a
way to fuse those disparate areas, leading me to a new purpose. I don’t believe
that more people need to learn how to code or use computers or spend any more
time with technology than they already are. What we do need is more breathing
room, both literally and figuratively.
For now, I’m experimenting with personally uncharted territory: endurance
running, dancing, writing posts like this one, remaining open to whatever
unknowns are ahead of me. Trying out unfamiliar things, treading new paths.
I’ll probably be writing more on this blog, reading more long-form material and
consuming way less so-called social media channels.
If you, dear reader, have similar experiences and feel like connecting to a
fellow human being, please feel encouraged to write a couple of lines in
response. If you don’t, do it regardless. I’m always happy to hear from other
beautiful and flawed people.
How is it possible that software gets worse, not better, over time, despite
billions of dollars of R&D and rapid progress in tooling and AI? What evil
force, more powerful than Innovation and Progress, is at work here?
The ever-thoughtful Ruben Schade recently wrote about
Macroblogging and made some great
observations. In the age of Twitter-esque Microblogging, personal posts that go
beyond a couple of lines are increasingly rare. Following the lives of friends
or interesting strangers used to contain more depth. Not in a literary sense.
There used to be more of the person there.
I’m still struggling with thinking “who could ever be interested in what I
have to say?” Should those people exist, what do I even have to say?
The most popular posts this far are those with technical information and
how-tos. I don’t care all that much about popularity. Yet the general feeling
remains that personal experiences may not be what others want to read at all. I
mean, I do. I like to discover interesting snippets, thoughts and random bits
and pieces out of the lives of others. Especially when their lives are
different from mine. I find this inspirational. Sometimes it triggers a
thought, a feeling, remembering something from my own life – and I suddenly
feel connected to the experience, the person itself.
The authenticity is what makes an encounter meaningful. In a plastic world full
of fake plastic trees, we need authenticity, honesty and deliberate
vulnerability more than probably ever before.
Connection is a strong thread that runs though my life. The desire for
connection, the lack of it, shielding me against it. The rediscovery of
connection to myself, people close to me and eventually total strangers. We all
seek connection, we are social beings. Even those actively avoiding other
people feel a strong need for the presence of other humans, longing for someone
who understands them, whether they like it or not. Usually it’s the latter and
leads to more isolation and an attempt to approach life rationally, without the
need for emotions. I know. For the last 26 years, that person used to be me.
It may be a little much but I feel like sharing something. Feel free to skip
the next part, if – for any reason at all – you don’t want to read about
mental issues, depression or intensely personal experiences. Here be dragons.
About two years ago a transformation occurred. Triggered by adverse
circumstances, a major depressive episode announced itself. I could feel, taste
and smell it already. In every fibre of my being I knew that this time there
would be no emergence at the end. This was it. It went downhill fast.
Sitting in my therapist’s office I broke down within seconds and cried. I cried
and cried and then cried even more. When I had stopped crying, I sobbed and
cried again. This went on for the rest of the session. We barely spoke a word.
He suggested caring for the part of me that was crying, the infant, the sad and
confused little child that couldn’t understand why all of the sudden,
everything felt wrong, back in 1979. And that’s what I did. Back home, I
grabbed a pillow, held it in my arms and immediately started to cry again.
The connection happened almost instantaneously. I felt the sadness and abyssal
despair, the blind fear and the helplessness. I let the infant cry and held it
tenderly. I was present, fully immersed in that moment. Time was meaningless,
life outside passed by unnoticed. Nothing was more important than to be there,
for that infant, for myself, in that moment.
Eventually, it felt safe. It began to trust me. This happened quickly, a lot
quicker than I had expected. I had believed it to take weeks, months even, of
careful nurturing to slowly build trust. Instead, at one point it relaxed, felt
safe and at home. I could feel a blissful sigh echoing through every part of my
being.
“Finally…”
That’s when, for the first time, love opened up to me. More precisely, I
opened up to love. To pure, universal, all-encompassing love. Love for the
infant, love for me, love for other people, love for everything that is. I felt
thankful for all I’ve been given. I felt humble, for probably the first time in
my life. Before, the term equalled subservience, like submitting to a dogma.
Now it is closer to awe, tenderness and gratitude, to dedication and devotion.
My rage was gone. It was no longer necessary.
But all that turned out to just be the beginning of the ride. It’s a long
story. I may tell it at a different time, maybe even a different place. Who
knows. Life is full of surprises.