500 Miles in Someone Else's Shoes

I've been hesitating on what to write about the Camino. I'd thought the lessons would all become apparent to me along the Way, but to be honest, they're only just starting to peek out of the shadows. It is like the ease with which one can solve the problems of others but not one's own: the issue has to be seen from a different perspective. Now that it has been nearly a month since I finished walking, the experience is finally folding together to the point where I can start making sense of it.

That's not to say the Camino was completely free of life lessons learned. In fact, I ran into an Italian hippie in Galicia who pointed out that the roads were paved with cow shit (I'd noticed) and said he had the realization one day that the more time he spent watching the road to avoid the cow shit, the more beautiful scenery he was missing. I agreed and added that, even if one steps in the shit, it can still be washed away. However, it was the "missing" aspect that I've only recently begun to notice.

I've been working heavily on another blog, Bill Beaver's Best Laid Plans, a travel blog. As I've been writing and incorporating pictures, I noticed how few pictures I have of some areas and how few are actually of higher quality. This may be a standard ratio among photographers, but it has only highlighted what has been missing: time.

There are ten commandments of the Camino. I have been unable to locate a full list online, only references to the list I saw but did not fully process in Castrojeríz, but one stands out right now: You shall not change your pace to match another's.

I had mapped out my Camino to start on March 3rd and conclude on April 8th. A day behind in Pamplona, I figured I would sacrifice a day in Santiago to compensate. Instead, I met two other peregrinos with whom I decided to keep pace, not the least reason of which being that one was close in age to me and attractive. I kept pace with both of them for half the Camino, hurrying through some towns I'd originally planned to explore in more depth. I caught up to my missing day and surpassed it. True, we seldom walked together for long, and by the midpoint of the Camino, both went further than they'd said, and I was left behind.

Someone wiser could have seen these two as faces who had entered and left my life, as is the natural way of things, but instead, feeling hurt and abandoned, I continued at the pace they had set. I made photographic sacrifices: it was too much of a hassle to take out the camera, and I was losing time and distance behind them. What if I didn't see them again in Santiago before they left, four days before I arrived? It became this huge, important matter that I somehow catch up with them, so much so that, even on the days where I decided to go slower, I still put in the same distances and made the same photographic sacrifices. I stopped making friends in the same way as I walked. I became hurried and impatient with people who wanted to chat. I was pushing myself to catch up with someone else's Camino and had given no more than a fleeting glance at my own Camino and what it meant to me. That, at least, has affected my journal and work afterward, especially as I read more into these places and learn more of what I missed.

Now, that being said, 480 miles is a long walk with lots to see and limited memory card space. I was subject to the complaints of my body and the more pressing matters at hand than just snapping photos, like where to rest. However, the fact remained that the complaints of my body were directly proportional to the number of kilometers walked in a given day, as set by my desire to catch up to my past friends in the future. This is a very important parallel to daily life and one that demands awareness.

I'm a people pleaser. After a year in Codependents Anonymous, this still presents a problem, especially in the way I pace my life. Right now, I am unemployed, but my biggest concern right now is not that I'm running out of money (I'm okay for a while longer); my biggest concern is that I will have to justify myself to my mother. Each time I get a text message and see it is from her, even if it's a funny picture of the dog, I immediately get ready to explain my actions in a way that she will find acceptable and thus let me off the hook. It is a mentality that regularly takes me away from what I was originally doing. I'm trying to walk her Camino.

On a project level, for the last year, I have been floundering in a field of non-creativity, owing to one of my college lessons that said something to the effect of "You only have a few years to make it in the business." This thought led me to blaze through and submit my first screenplay to multiple companies, a screenplay with which I was not personally happy but which I thought the readers needed to see soon. I jumped to match their pace and sent them inferior work. I have tried to churn out short scripts for my director friends quickly, the idea being turnover, turnover, turnover. Thus far, I have not had anything produced because the work is hurried and inferior. I'm noticing the same in my photography, ignoring lighting and rushing framing to churn out content before I'm overlooked by someone who does not exist. I am walking the Camino of the professional world.

In romance, well, hell, what haven't I already said about romance? To the present, I've operated my relationships on the idea that my date needed constant entertainment, a complete sharing of interests, and anything else they may request, as soon as they request it. Otherwise, they would leave me behind. And this was important to me. I have put down my own work, beliefs, and interests because someone else, whom I happened to find attractive, found them subpar. I have been walking the Camino of everyone I ever dated and completely lost myself in them each time.

So what now? The physical Camino is over, and now I'm almost a month back in Los Angeles. The question now floating in and out of my head is "How do I get back on my Camino?"

It's not an easy process. I've built so much of my worldview on expectation and assumption that the idea of dropping them is confusing. I've lost so much of my ideation process in the grand hurry that I now have to dig deep in order to get it back. I have to find a job that, yes, will pay the bills, but at the same time, I may also need to be a little more picky with what I choose instead of just picking something to be employed again and not have to explain. Hovering over this is the concern that, if I couldn't figure this out with all my alone time on the Camino, how could I possibly figure it out back in the big city of LA?

The process is already starting. It takes a return to the old world to see what has been picked up from the new one (or is that reversed?). Writing Bill's adventures, above all things, is highlighting how much is lost in trying to walk someone else's Camino. The point is, people will wait if they know it's worth their while, and if not, it is no catastrophe. I have walked to the End of the World, and I remember enough to know that this is not it. So the plan, as of now, is to finish the blog, to focus on writing a good book instead of a quick book, and to find a job that lends itself to both of the previous. It may take until May to accomplish; it may take longer. I have time, and I have my lessons to back me. However, I have to stay on my Camino now. The plantar fasciitis reminds me of that.

The Upcoming Year

Wow... I'm really having trouble remembering the last couple of weeks. I think that's just the nature of the year: January starts off with the slow, post-holiday hangover, continues into March's bowl of cosmic cereal, realizes it's been dawdling at about August, blazes through the rest of October and November and explodes into exhaustion at the end of December. Then the cycle starts again. Whee.

Seriously, though, the holidays were a particularly blurry blur this year, and now 2012 has begun. I sacrificed the midnight "Hurrah!" so I could see the year's first sunrise over the dunes of Death Valley. And you know? It didn't matter that I had traveled by myself. I was surrounded by similarly minded people, and the night before, I was invited to dine with a family who then purchased my dinner (part of the "New Year's Special" menu, a.k.a. the same mediocre fare for ten extra dollars). All in all, what could have been an unbearably lonely weekend turned into a lovely experience, and how ironic that it should take place in the shadow of the Valley of Death.

I'm not making as many resolutions this year. Frankly, I overburdened myself for 2011, "My Year," and I forgot 75% of them before February even hit. I believe I had intended it to be the year of the relationship, when, in fact, it turned out to be my most independent year ever. I sacrificed the late nights for the most sunrises I'd seen in years, but I also sacrificed most of my sense of belonging to anything.

For 2012, I'd like to reverse that, but not by making a checklist of all the same old friends I haven't heard from in years and painstakingly contacting all of them to rekindle something that had never ignited. My adventures in 2011 taught me that relying solely on any one person is not healthy or enjoyable for either party. The people I've met on my landmark quests, though our relationships have not endured past a conversation, have reawakened two things that had been missing during all the time and effort I'd put into maintaining crumbling relationships of the past: curiosity and joy.

A socially healthy person (at least in this society) makes new friends throughout his/her life, so attain social health, the time has come to start expanding. If I can talk to a new person every week, it would lead to the sort of breakthrough I spent the last year convincing myself was impossible. All I need are guts, practice, and a willingness to let slide. It's a big risk, but one I'm willing to take if it means being a social animal once again. Of all the people I meet for the first time, at least one has to stick around for the second. Maybe two. Maybe that will lead to a bunch. Then, perhaps, I can stop feeling like a monk outside the abbey. After all, even monks have their brothers.

One Year Since

I admit, I'm a little off on time. Technically, it should have been last Saturday that I noted the one-year milestone for this blog; however, as I was about 300 miles north without access to the internet, let alone electricity, now is as fine a time as ever to look back.

The launch of this blog was, as are many of my hare-brained ideas, met with utter ambivalence, though it did once cause a prodigious argument on my Facebook profile, back when I had one. It became utterly critical for me to keep writing and publishing, writing and publishing, always with humor at the forefront because, I figured, no one wanted to read anything else; life was depressing enough without me adding to it. It took less than a month for me to start obsessively monitoring the weekly view statistics, cranking out more entries when I didn't get enough responses on the previous ones. I wanted feedback. I wanted dialogue. I didn't get it. People were hung up on the title. Finally, that's when I realized how tired I was of the constant posting and the constant monitoring, of setting myself up to use my personal information to please other people. I was giving myself away and getting nothing in return. At least whores get money for their services.

It's taken me a year at least to realize that I don't actually have to please anyone. Mostly, this came from re-reading The Way to Love, which I don't feel obligated to chronicle chapter by chapter anymore. Check it out if you want to learn more. From it, I have learned two truths that are gut-wrenching in their difficulty, based on my ingrained habits, or programming:

1. I don't have to please anyone.
   • Pleasing another person fuels a desire for further pleasure and becomes, above all other things, a chain. Realizing this has made it so much easier to overcome my fear of talking to people. Not giving a shit what they think about me, because there is nothing they can do to ruin me, has made dealing with people so much less stressful than ever before.
2. Happiness is not a destination.
   • I devoted nine years of my life to the search for a "soulmate." In so doing, I lost a great deal of my creativity, my focus, and my self-esteem. What I learned is that the soul does not need or even have a mate. Can we call the Enlightened Ones who did not marry "incomplete?"

For the first time in recent memory, I'm finding the very thought of a relationship repulsive. To me, a new relationship, while pleasurable to the senses, would be a spawning pool for insecurity, distraction, and self-deprecation. The idea of returning to the old habits of paranoia and codependency, of making sacrifices for the personal benefit of others, makes me physically ill. When I talk about the last year of adventures that I've had, my married coworkers wag their fingers and cluck "Wait 'til you get married and have kids; then we'll see about your freedom." There is absolutely no appeal to this.

However, I do sometimes still feel alone. It's not easy converting your love for a physical human to a love for something intangible: a feeling, an idea, or a deity. Yet, I seldom feel alone when in solitude; it is when I am around people that the feeling strikes. I spent my birthday camping in northern California, alone. I had no problem driving, dining, or sleeping alone; nor did it bother me not to have a cake and presents. In fact, it was lovely all around. The trouble came at dinner time the second night, when I was camping at Mount Madonna. I was alone at my table, surrounded by people chatting with each other. Need I say more on the matter?

So, after a year of delving into the inhibitions surrounding Asperger's, I've reached the following status: I am now secure enough to choose Will over Obligation and start building my social base, but after the years of a false journey, I am disillusioned enough to see no real point in building such a base up again. People are too busy for me, and I for them. A thousand moments of solitude eventually drown out a moment of loneliness.

Though the foundation and the walls are built, there is still an empty space inside. Building on the progress of the last year, the new quest will be to find what will best fill that space.

The Way to Love (Part 2)

Moving right along, I'm a mere five pages into the book, and already I'm back at the chapter that gave me the most trouble. It starts with a quote from the book of Luke (14:26): "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple."

In my ongoing search to not just be "good" but also to be "content," I've attempted putting this into practice by itself, and it's only led me to be bitter toward my family and my friends when they don't play by my rules. "Hate them, treat them disdainfully, and you'll be free" was the philosophy. But when it comes to seeking happiness, that really doesn't work. On re-reading, the point was sort of along the lines of a superhero movie: Those people and things you hold most dear are also the most dangerous to your personal well-being. I look at the recent death of my roommate's grandfather. She and her mom spent the better part of four months living with the grandparents and their cantankerous adopted son. It challenged some relationships and ruined others because of the obligation to help those who refused to be helped. The obligation, the commitment, was for family. Now, the family principle is one that I struggle with, because in so many of the religious "guidelines" I read, the central path to God, the Dharma, or what have you, is independent of family and other earthly "ties." So this is troubling.

"Hate" is a strong word that's thrown around loosely, and it doesn't work for me. I don't hate my parents. I don't hate my life. Is this why I'm not perpetually happy? As I read on, the terminology fit my tastes a little more. De Mello suggests not that we renounce our family, our friends, our ambitions, or our possessions all at once - he points out that violently ending a tie binds it to you forever - but rather to realize that they are attachments, that they are not eternal, and that, should they go away or turn against us, we should be ready. Perhaps "ready" is too pessimistic a term, but in all actuality, nothing lasts forever. Eventually, the whole human race will go extinct, for Pete's sake. But that's beside the point.

The book suggests making a list of all one's worldly desires and, having done so, addressing each of them with the following phrase: Deep down in my heart I know that even after I have got you I will not get happiness. So let's do that.  What all do I want that's making me miserable?

• A spouse/partner
• A group of reliable friends
• Approval from:
• My parents
• My extended family
• My friends
• My acquaintances
• My employer/coworkers
• Complete fucking strangers
• My inner voice/God
• Success/Influence
• As a writer
• As an actor? Performer?
• Financial (money for travel)
• Travel (happy without?)
• The garden
• The collections

This could be interpreted rather pessimistically, but the text doesn't say that having these things will make me miserable. Rather, it is pointing out that getting any one of these things will not magically make me happy. Happiness is not a goal. Making it a goal puts it in the intangible future, like a carrot at the end of a stick. Phrases like "the good old days" or "things will get better" are distractions that, no matter how you phrase them, force you into an unhappy present. This doesn't mean you have to go around all day repeating "I am happy. I am happy. I am happy." Lying doesn't help. However, letting yourself be happy, appreciating what you have and what you gain while being open to further gain or loss, is the sort of serenity that permits happiness, whatever that may actually be.

For the majority of today, I was sitting in a beautiful place, watching bunnies and butterflies and listening to birds and distant laughter, yet part of me was horrifically worried that someone would be trying to contact me via the cell phone I had intentionally turned off and locked in the trunk. Suddenly, there was a whole explosion of unintended worries: Who could be calling? Why? What could I be getting done? Who will hold me accountable for what I'm not getting done? Are all the people here wondering why I've been sitting here so long? Do they approve? That's six thoughts desperate for approval in the span of a squirrel's hop. Thought trains like this, or rather, Big Brain Bangs (BBBs) are more frequent than I wish I had to admit. They go something like this:

The Appearance BBB

• Find defect (zit, flab, unwanted hair)
• Sign of age, wasting away
• Unattractive
• Will not attract mate
• Will live and die alone
• UNHAPPY

The Intelligence BBB

• Make a mistake (at work or in writing)
• I was careless
• I don't care - why not?
• I'm lazy and have no sense of responsibility/concentration
• I never accomplish anything of consequence
• I will live and die alone
• UNHAPPY

The Friendship BBB

• Friend cannot hang out
• Friend doesn't like me
• Friends never hang out: none like me
• People in general don't like me
• I'm an unlikable person
• I will live and die alone
• UNHAPPY

If we cut out all the extra fluff, we can pare this down to "To live and die alone is an unhappy existence." While I could point out that no one with an active imagination can truly live alone, that might defeat the purpose.  To point out that nearly everyone dies alone, or rather, not in the company of those they love, helps a little more.  What has bugged me lately is the work, which I've considered a distraction to keep me from thinking about my perceived lack of love.  The question I've never, up until this point, asked myself is, "Is this the sort of work I'm meant to do?"

As mentioned before, I'm clinging to an idea of what I should be, when the fact is, I may not be so well suited to that idea after all.  The inability to let go of that idea has brought my focus to unhappiness, but letting go brings with it the fear of "What comes next?"  There is so much fear surrounding this, which comes out of the belief that I need approval... of EVERYONE.  So maybe, this is my first thing to address.  What things are there to do, which others might not approve of, but which are good for my soul?  This can't be something that will earn me praise or a cheap thrill from another source, even myself (Yay, Kyle!), but the point is, as today demonstrated ten years ago, any day could be your last.  Why go out wishing for what you want when what you need has been there all along?  There are a lot of things I could stand, not to eliminate from my life, but to loosen the hold.  This will probably solidify better as I read on.

Little Armenia

I've moved into an interesting neighborhood. It's a lot safer than the areas I'm accustomed to inhabiting. There are no bars on the windows, and I'm the only person who still puts a security bar on his steering wheel at night. It's also very Armenian.

I have no judgments to make on Armenia or its culture, because I have never been exposed to it until now, so I have no idea what to make of it. What I have gathered from recent interactions is that it is a proud and friendly culture, notwithstanding the hell it's been through. There is one couple in particular, however, that have left me scrambling to sort out the underlying meanings of their actions, sort of how I imagine a lot of people scramble to sort out the underlying meanings of my own...

My first introduction to this couple came as a knock at my door around 8:00 at night. They're an amiable, older couple, so I wasn't immediately scared that I was about to be shot to death in my doorway (remember, this area is safer than I'm used to). The moment I opened the door, the first thing they asked me was, "Are you Armenian?" There was no "Hi, we're your neighbors, the Jonesians," or "Welcome to the complex," so all I could really say was, "No, but I'm not a bad guy. I promise." They shrugged and introduced themselves, saying in very broken English that they used to be friends with the woman who lived in the apartment before me. There was a certain humble dignity to them that I admired, but there wasn't much time to do so before they excused themselves for the night and left me thoroughly puzzled.

Yesterday, the old man walked past me while I was futzing about in my pseudo garden. We exchanged nods, and I went back to what I was doing. Two minutes later, he set three kitchen knives on the ground in front of me. I didn't even hear him coming; suddenly, there were three knives on the ground by my hand. He smiled and nodded, so I suppose he meant well by it. Still, I wasn't sure quite how to respond. Maybe this is how people feel when I give them random gifts or favors, but I'd never thought of depositing knives in front of people working in their gardens.

Now, of course, there is the question of how to respond. It would be courteous to give them something back, but I don't quite have utensils to spare. I'm sure there are all sorts of cultural do's and don't's to gift giving with Armenian folks, but I have to wonder whether the internet is 100% effective at spelling them out. I suppose I could bake them some paklava, but I have no idea if that would be appropriate or not, especially if I end up burning it. Who knows? Maybe food will transcend the cultural-linguistic boundaries. I could take pictures of the process in which I make the pastries with their knives. Then again, they might misinterpret my meaning.

Driven Duck Says: Work, Work, Work

By crikey, it's been a while since I've put a post in here. Life updates: I'm finally settled into my new apartment, still vehemently single, and still working in LP. What do all of these have in common? More alone time! Whoo hoo!

To be quite honest, the first few weeks of coming home to a quiet, ratless apartment and making real meals in my own kitchen have been quite wonderful. It's only when I go elsewhere, such as work, where this seems pathetic. All the isolation I don't feel in my quiet apartment or on my adventures alone comes up in droves when I'm at work. For instance, last Friday, one of the HR staff came over to LP to deliver invitations to a baby shower for one of the other HR folks. She wanted to make sure "the whole team" was included. She didn't even address me (actually, she averted her eyes), even though I helped out in HR through the busy holidays. I understand that the role of a temp excludes one from certain perks of being at a company, but to be excluded from "the whole team" was a jab I wasn't expecting to receive.

Let's also take yesterday, for example. We had a volunteer fair at work. I shopped around to see if I could find something meaningful to take up my time. One of the groups was handing out kids' backpacks to be filled with school supplies and returned. I asked to participate (mind you, this is a charitable cause, not for self benefit), but my request was met with, "Sorry, we don't have enough supplies for temps." I mean, I get it, but after working there for nearly a year, it feels strange to have felt like part of something only to be reminded that I'm not.

Right now, what's keeping me on edge about this job isn't that it could end soon but that it could keep going. My boss is going on maternity leave in November, which means I may be recruited to cover into next year. That's easily another six months in a position where there is literally no room to transition to part of "the team." I have really mixed feelings about this. I do get a steady paycheck; I don't get benefits of any kind. I have started to grow accustomed to the area's amenities and the people, but is it all just a grand cage?

Also in question is my trip to El Camino, which I had considered taking after my assignment expired. I don't know when or if it will expire. Some might say "Take the journey; live your dream!" while others would caution "Build your nest egg; journey later." The rumor is that I can only be a temp there for a total of 18 months, but who knows what validity lies in rumors? Either way, the state of things is that I'm getting paid to help out a team to which I don't belong, which makes me feel much lonelier among people than I do when I actually am alone. There's also the alienating issue of my coworkers assuming I'm not only straight but also a womanizer, but that's the subject of a different post altogether. In the mean time, there have been no official talks of extending my position past July 29th, only more rumors. If I have no other offers by then, I will stay; if my time is up with nowhere pressing to go, I will write for a month and walk El Camino in September, Insh'allah.

Farol Verde

I finally decided to put to use the two free AMC theatre tickets that have been hanging on my wall since November. They went toward a viewing of Green Lantern, one of the summer superhero movies on my list but predominantly the only one for which I could find a viewing buddy. As far as superhero movies are concerned, what it lacked in character development, dialogue, and continuity, it possessed in imaginative set pieces. As usual. But that's not the point of this post.

The mythos of the Green Lantern franchise is that the universe is built upon the conflict of two powerful energies: Will and Fear (think light side and dark side of the force). Those that succumb to fear are quite literally consumed by it, and the journey/wandering/stroll of our protagonist requires him to overcome such basic human fears as jumping off a towering skyscraper and facing a giant Androssian monster. While I'd love to go on about how many times I've found myself in the same situations, I'll focus a little more on something more general.

I've written about fear a lot in this blog: the fear of making eye contact, speaking out of line, being thought stupid or threatening, etc. My good friend in Germany related a story to me in which he made sustained eye contact with a guy at a bus stop, which then led to a mutual smile and a sort of rapport. Of course, I countered with the theory that, unlike Germany, America is as paranoid, if not more so, than I am. Therefore, sustained eye contact with a stranger on the street would be nicht gut. Yet he advised me to try it. Three seconds. Four, even. An eternity for me. But he presented it as a challenge. Damn it!

So, for the past week I've started to force a full second of eye contact. I've started talking to people with whom I don't normally associate, including the Adonis-type at work who may or may not have been flirting with me in February. And you know what? I get smiles out of it! People respond pleasantly. I mean, it takes quite a bit of reading to determine whether it's an appropriate time to talk to somebody, but an impromptu chat with a stranger is actually very empowering. You sustain eye contact with somebody, and suddenly, you're on their level. You no longer have to worry that your head is going to swell up like a giant tumor and your eyes glow yellow out of fear (see the movie), because in the end, to misquote Hamlet, words are just that: Words, words, words. There really is no need to look further than necessary into them.

I'm going to keep practicing eye contact. It's getting easier as I continue my adventure to see the Historical Landmarks of California and have to ask directions and information from complete strangers. Still, as of yet, these have been older, humble types, not as intimidating as the younger, firebrand sorts that breed so much insecurity in me. I'll take it one step at a time, a question here, an observation there, maybe even a compliment, troublesome though they may be. It takes time to learn how to conjure a racetrack out of pure energy, so if I keep viewing this as a journey or challenge, I just might be more enthusiastic to overcome it.

You Know... (Part Four)

You know you're giving off the wrong vibe when young, attractive, Chinese students flock to your brother and even your parents to have pictures taken with them over the course of the trip, but the only photo request you receive is from a grinning 60-year old man.

You know you're hanging with the wrong crowd when after two minutes of recounting your adventures in China, you're interrupted by a half-hour monologue on personal drama and food, and the conversation is over.

You know there's a good reason for being paranoid when your boss hides a camera on his desk, films you brushing crumbs from your shirt into the trash can, and shows the entire office how, from that angle, it looks like you're taking a piss.

Googly Eyes

So I'm back from China. Technically, it was almost a week ago, but you know how things go when you have a thousand pictures to upload, three blogs and a website to update, a full-time job, an apartment to find, and roommates to avoid. This is a comment on the latter, plus a few other things. But to preface this rather gloomy musing, watch this first. If you actually come back to the blog after watching it, well, cool!


Christopher Walken is about as awesome as it gets. When you're done reading here, go watch his dance video to the tune of "Weapon of Choice." But I digress. I'm here to talk about googly eyes. No, not quite the same googly eyes adorning cactus, shrub, and palm in this greenhouse; I mean the principle of googly eyes: inventing a way to know where you stand with people.

After three days in China, I noticed how regularly I was making fun of people, the customs, and especially my other family members. Ninety percent of my sense of humor is based on pointing out flaws in others and exploiting the shit out of those flaws. I try not to make them overtly mean-spirited, but one of the nastier parts of Asperger's, the one that has cost me a lot of friends over the years, is not recognizing when that line is crossed. That's a topic for another blog post. I want to talk about googly eyes.

Snarky remarks, showing attitude, dealing back double what's dealt unto you: these are my googly eyes. By keeping people mildly amused, annoyed, or even angry at me, I know exactly where I stand with them. My default assumption about other people is that they don't like me, even when I do nice things for them; ergo, it's become second nature to adopt behaviors that enforce their dislike so I don't have to play the guessing game. This helps me to avoid more complicated emotions like Love, Empathy, or even Like, and to keep people at a distance with the conviction that, if we were to build something great without googly eyes, I would ultimately destroy it anyway. They who hope for little are seldom disappointed. Therefore, bring on the snarkasm.

My roommates and I are finishing up our time together, and honestly, I can't wait. We were great friends for years, until last November, after an attempted favor went disastrously south, spawned a monster. Conditions were laid out before me; I had to change a number of my behaviors. Having self esteem half the size of a public school teacher's paycheck, I asked one thing in return: tell me when I do something wrong. Since then, we have sunk into a silent war over the dishwasher. I have learned, by watching them silently correct the positions of what I put in the dishwasher, how to put the glasses in correctly, load the dishes from back to front, wash all dishes by hand before putting them in the dishwasher, and avoid washing all plastic items because they'll melt.

The latter is where I'm drawing the line. There is a measuring cup and a spatula sitting in the sink as I type. They have been there for four days. The evening before they appeared, I put them in the dishwasher. Good plastic. Durable. It won't melt; I promise. Yet, after months of ignoring my one condition of verbal openness in favor of passive aggression, I've decided to leave them in the sink. They took them out of the dishwasher; they can put them back if they so desire. These are my googly eyes, and so I know at all times where I stand with them. By the time our lease runs out and I find my own place, I don't expect to see or hear from them again, but I know they will leave with a bad final impression of me.

Is it my fault? Some of it is, but for the fact that this venom has been building so steadily to the point that one roommate hasn't looked me in the eye for two or three months, there's more to this than the position of dishes. And it feeds me. And it feeds my worldview. And it lets me retain my fear of plants, er, people. And it lets me resent them for being. And it keeps me well supplied with googly eyes, for anger is something I understand, and surrounded by anger, though it fills me with endless negativity, I feel secure.

Marriage Mirage

I try not to write about other people in this blog, because eventually it will come back to bite me in the ass. However, though isolated I may be in waking, the Dreamworld is full of people influencing me in ways they would never imagine while awake. For cases like these, I must maintain anonymity. I'll refer to the persons in question as X and Y. Like the chromosomes.
Rock on.

I understand that a long dream is normally around five minutes but feels like an age. The one that concluded last night's slumber was a doozy on the sense of wellness. In it, Person Y announced his plans to marry Person X. Their relationship was widely known and supported, they had stable jobs, and they were very much meant for each other from the start. The issue was that I never saw or spoke to Person Y throughout this entire dream. My job was to go pick up the bride-to-be at a party.

When I arrived, there were about five brides-to-be, all about the same age and description. Somehow, I knew which one was the right bride, but I couldn't bring myself to approach her. How would I introduce myself? What if she was truly charming? I wanted something to be wrong with her, and she morphed through all phases of crassness. I lingered on this for a long time.

I'm at a stalemate when it comes to romance. When I see a happy couple, I'm filled with two emotions: bitterness that they've found their other halves and hubris that I am still free to do what I like without accounting to another person. These are easily the two strongest emotions I've been feeling the last few months. I know I'm unsuitable for a relationship, because of my cynicism, paranoia and need for solitude, but the longing still presents itself at times. The happiness that surrounded the prospective union of Persons X and Y left me feeling empty on awakening, though it is important to me that I not find myself entangled in another naive, possessive, loveless mockery of a "relationship." Each additional day that I've been single feels like a landmark, and truly, when I am adventuring alone, I barely miss other people at all. But it's in the planning and the aftermath, when I ponder what it could have been like with someone else, that I feel very sad.

However, because of the steps I have taken in the last few months/years, I decided I was not going to let this resurgence of self-pitying emotions spoil my day. I combined a few techniques in the shower: the feeding of the demons and the cleansing radiance. I gave the loneliness demon a morsel of my angst, and it went away. I envisioned myself as a blazing light cracking through the gunk the demon left behind, and when I got out of the shower, I felt clean in more ways than one. Nonetheless, I still wish I could find a more lasting approach to this, preferably a social one that doesn't turn the social experience into an obligation but marries the need for companionship with the desire for freedom. Maybe it will be there when I wake up next.

Practice

I spent the weekend in Spokane, watching about 1200 caps and gowns file up, across, and off stage. My grandma told me to yell for my brother when he came into view. I found that I couldn't. Seriously. I could not raise my voice.

In 2009, while doing a documentary on the placebo effect, I had my aura read by two different people in two different states. Both readers noticed my crown chakra (mental) was ablaze with energy, while my throat chakra (communication) was about the size of an amoeba or Donald Trump's charm. I've been getting steadily quieter over the years too. I sound perfectly intelligible to myself, because what I say registers clearly in my mind, but it's rare anymore that I don't have to repeat a phrase two or three times to be understood. It gets unnecessarily frustrating.

The cause is two-fold: one, I don't want to be disruptively loud as I was growing up, and two, I prefer most conversations to be private without bystanders leaping into the dialogue at the first convenience. The issue is that my concept of volume is shot to hell. As a child, I was a screamer, an exclaimer, a singer, etc. In short, I was loud all around. It drove many people nuts, particularly the adults in my life, who invariably told me to tone it down. After a while, especially during the pivotal 6th grade year, which saw the first big blow to my self-esteem, I learned that it was better to be silent, discreet, inconspicuous and therefore hidden from critical eyes.

Where this presents a problem is in real social situations, like graduation, or a sports game, or really any exchange in which more than two people are involved. I can't hold my own in these situations. I don't know how to barge in, cut people off, or make my point. I'll start to say something, but it's either too quiet or devoured by the existing momentum of another's soliloquy. I may have a very good idea in mind, but I just can't get it heard. This has been a great contributing factor to my ongoing isolation; it's not that I want to be in the spotlight all the time, but to actually be included, heard, welcomed would be so very nice. Nonetheless, this has remained elusive over the years.

A runner's legs grow thick and strong, a swimmer's arms as powerful as legs. That which is not used atrophies. Such is the case with my voice. There is this need inside me to shout, proclaim, sing, project, SPEAK for crying out loud, but my voice does not follow my heart and stays timid and weak, still afraid of sixth grade disapproval, despite the extraordinary progress I've made in other fields. I understand the mantra of "Practice, practice, practice," but I have no direction to motivate me through the mire of imagined criticism. I'm afraid to sing in my own room and car, for Pete's sake, out of fear for disturbing others with a sound not unlike a cat with its tail caught in a garden edger. Yet, I want to be loud again, badly, and I'd rather not wait until the magical age of 75 when all inhibitions go to shit and I can say and do whatever I want while people understand that I'm just old then smile and nod. Maybe I just need a better grasp of what it is I want to say. What do I want to say?

Lovely Lady Liberty

I just finished uploading my photos from the long weekend in Sequoia National Park. Lots of people were excited to see them. Of course, a fraction of those "lots" actually knew I'd been to Sequoia.

In the weeks preparing for this trip, I'd gone through a lot of internal debating (big surprise there), mainly on the subject of whom I could invite to accompany me on this trip. It had to be someone available, someone with whom I could get along for three straight days, someone who could get along with me for three straight days, and someone with whom I could feel comfortable sharing a bed for two nights. The list narrowed and narrowed and narrowed until I was left with one person: myself.

Of course, this less than ideal decision presented a number of other concerns. What if I got stranded in the snow without cell phone reception? What if I went hiking in the foothills and either fell or encountered a cougar? The thought of being alone in the wilderness frightened me; I felt it was my destiny to die out there, but I was going to go anyway.

When I actually got there, the fear melted away. The place was so beautiful. If this were my time, I'd gladly take this as my place. Over the course of the next three days, I set my own schedule, ate where I wanted, took as long as I wanted for photography, and felt wholly free to interact with everyone I met along the way, mostly travelers from Europe. I was not alone; I was not lonely. Of all the feelings I felt most strongly, freedom was the chief.

I've spent much of my life and most of my school years holding back from doing things because I wanted someone to go with me. A combination of indecision on my part and indifference on the part of others kept me indoors, on the computer, away from real experience. I loved it and hated it. It was fuel cell for my fantasy but a prison for my reality. However, since graduation, since logging off of Facebook, since ending my utter reliance on other people to have fun, I'm doing more and I'm having more real experiences.

I realize that I am failing miserably at my New Year's Resolution to make 2011 the year of the relationship, that shying away from others is contrary to the mission of this blog (to overcome the isolating symptoms of Asperger's), but to be honest, the feeling of freedom standing in the snow, surrounded by a cathedral of red trees and nothing else but the sound of silence, was supreme. I felt happy. I felt whole. I did not have to give account to anybody.

Of course, this leaves me with one final dilemma: Where is that line between freedom and loneliness? Would I have benefitted more from bringing someone along, or was this the right choice? I suppose the only way I can know is by going on more adventures, seeing who's interested in joining me, and putting forth the effort to meet new people who might be more interested. Fortunately, I still have the freedom to make those decisions.

Family Friends

There was a concept discussed in my Religions of China class during my sophomore year of college that really struck me: filial piety. Filial piety is the respect of the child for the parent, and it is one of the utmost virtues set forth by Confucius. Basically, it is the responsibility of the child to uphold the family name, honor the parents, take care of them, and ensure male heirs. I had trouble with all of these, the least reason of which being that I won't be producing any heirs in the near or even the distant future. By societal standards, since I won't be continuing my family name, I will be doing them dishonor. I took this to heart, and since that class, I've felt responsible for the emotional well-being of my parents.

While reading Boundaries has helped me draw the necessary lines and allow my parents responsibility for their own well being, a big boost came this morning over brunch at Mimi's when it finally clicked to me that my parents had a lot of friends and that they could actually go out and do things with their friends and have a lot of fun. This hadn't occurred to me when they announced their joining a wine club. This hadn't occurred to me when my dad texted me pictures from mountain running with his friend. It only occurred to me when my mom announced that she and my dad had been invited to spend some time in their friends' beach house in San Diego, just parents because none of the kids would be available.

It's kind of funny when I think about the little prison of naiveté in which I've kept myself locked for so long. I seriously believed that being an empty nester was the end of the world, and well, let's be honest here, after watching my dad fall asleep on the couch at 7:45, I'd begun to wonder. Nonetheless, the realization that both of them can still go out and have fun, even when I don't call, promises to be very liberating. They want me around; they don't need me around. If I choose not to accept an invitation home, they won't be permanently wounded. It all sounds so silly, but I'm actually excited, not because I want to see my parents less, but because I don't have to bend over backwards to keep them happy.

Gooble Gobble

I won't be offended if you don't get the title reference. That being said, I logged onto Meetup.com and joined a group for people with Asperger's Syndrome and other forms of High-Functioning Autism. I got a kick out of the symptoms list on the About page. The familiarity is frightening. Should I start going to meetups with my fellow aliens, I may have a blast or find myself amidst a great gaggle of miscommunication. In any case, pretty much all of the symptoms apply to my life, but these especially:

• People think you are an ass, and you have no idea why.
• You can't make accurate social conclusions: You can get a joke (stated conclusion), but you will not know someone is angry, or that they are angry with you (or you assume anyone angry around you is angry with you).
• Ever get these responses? "You think too much," "I have another call," "That makes my brain hurt thinking about it..."
• You can mimic/mirror people and an environment for a couple hours. You may have a "speech" mode and use tricks to get through social situations (feels like a performance).
• You do have facial expressions, they just don't always match. Your response will not always be perceived as as you expected it to. Example: You are excited about something, but people think you are angry. Same thing with voice inflection. You won't know why they think that, or what to do about it.

See Saw

My cousin sent me a text message the other day, the first I'd really heard from her in nearly two years, and that includes the times we shared Christmas Eve dinner. Apparently, she just wanted to clarify that, no matter what our grandma may have told me, she wasn't really a bitch. Small talk progressed from there, though I was able to glean that the point of contention in the conversation was myself. My cousin had brought up her current problems, and our grandma had countered by saying that I had it worse.

I continue to be astounded by how opposite my life runs to the remainder of the world. When I'm at the bottom of the world and all is doom and melancholy, everyone is suddenly busy with their own affairs, yet when I'm on top of the world and all is sunshine and peaches, I become the talk of the pity papers. It makes no sense.

It may be dependent on who gets what side of me more. I noticed the other day, as my good friend asked me to write a letter of recommendation for his marriage visa, I realized that for the last four months, the only words I'd received about his fiancé were complaints, and consequently, I felt no inspiration to write such a letter, regardless of how much my friend proclaimed his love for this person. Having received only that side of his relationship, I could not see the positive in it. I think that may be the case with how my life comes across to others.

After many years of self-loathing and fishing for compliments in the pity pool, I've found that it is much easier to change one's own attitude toward oneself than others' attitudes toward oneself. One is with oneself for every mood swing and inflection, but it is not so with others. Thus, there is a delay, and all falls to confusion when, on a bright and cheery day, you are approached with condolences. Once things are sorted out, it's hard to be certain how you felt before the conversation took place, and by the time you've convinced the other person that you were in high spirits, their negativity may very well have reversed that, putting you in a foul mood while they saunter off under the impression that you're just dandy. It's a right mess, it is.

Introduction

I've found quite a few blogs written about Asperger's Syndrome, mostly by parents of children with the disorder, but surprisingly few actually written by those with the syndrome. While this may be great for parents, it sure doesn't help one's self esteem to be the subject of scientific scrutiny. Case in point: April is National Autism Awareness Month. Asperger's is an Autism Spectrum disorder. To me, that makes April "National Kyle Jarrett's Brain Is Royally Screwed Up" Month. Then again, that just doesn't have the same ring to it.

I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome in 2004, during a private meeting with a reputable psychiatrist. It may help to point out that I was not actually a part of this meeting, and that once my mom left the room and I had my own private meeting, the same reputable psychiatrist diagnosed me with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I knew there was something fishy right away: there should be a hyphen between "Obsessive" and "Compulsive," right? In any case, it wasn't until the winter of 2008 that I finally— Obsessive─Compulsive! Ahh... Now where was I?

Asperger's Syndrome is surprisingly easy to describe to the unfamiliar. Imagine yourself at a Christmas party, and clinking around the Christmas tree is a model train. While everyone else laughs, jokes, connects, and enjoys each other's company, your attention is on that train. Observe the awesome mechanisms that move it forward. Listen to the friendly sounds it makes: Whoo whoo! Notice how you never grow tired of watching it circle around and around, because it lets you turn off your brain and avoid the insufferable mundanity of conversing about jobs, weather, and alcohol.

The problem with this scenario is that humans are social animals, and Asperger's is a social disorder. National "Kyle Jarrett's Brain Is Royally Screwed Up" Month, Q.E.D. Apart from the feelings of alienation and despair, the disorder works in both directions and consequently, has pretty much made me into an ass. I get offended by light humor, condescending toward those who don't play by (or understand) my convoluted rules, and reclusive around those who try to disrupt my compulsive routines and regimens with a little social time. How my friends have stuck with me, I'll never know.

What I do know is that I'm tired of Asperger's. In fact, I quit. If Whoopi Goldberg can conquer dyslexia, then why can't I change April to National "Kyle's Brain Is All Right" Month? I've spent so much time putting the "ass" in "Asperger's" that the time has come to work on the other half: the "burger." To do so, I will need to focus on the following seven components: Bun (Spiritual), Meat (Physical), Cheese (Social), Lettuce (Personal), Tomatoes (Professional), Onions (Emotional), Ketchup (Romantical)

This shall be my accountability blog, on which I shall face my failures and mark my successes. I make no claim of professional expertise or any pretense of family-friendly content. My language will be expressive and sometimes crass, which, if you are from Utah, will offend. In that case, I say "grow some."

Now let's flip some burgers.