Tag: holidays

Decade in Review

Yes, I know, it’s been a while since I posted. There are reasons, most of them summarized in the sentiment that I didn’t have the time and energy to finish any of the draft posts that I started. I’m hoping to turn this around in the new year, but no promises. Truth be told, I still don’t have a complete set of thoughts. I’ve spent so long concentrating on writing for schoolwork that all I have left in me is half-formed introductions. And that simply won’t do. Nevertheless it behooves me to keep this place in order. Thus, this post. 

In any case, I received a prompt from a friend to try and pick the best, or at least, my favorite, memories of the preceding decade. This is difficult, for a few reasons. I was a very different person in 2010, with a wildly different idea of who I would become. Frankly, if you told me where I would wind up, I would have been disappointed. And the real process of getting front here to here has accordingly been filled with similar disappointments and setbacks. I’ve overcome them, but by and large, these weren’t triumphant victories, so much as bittersweet milestones. 

So I don’t really have a whole lot of moments that are resoundingly happy, and also of great and inimitable significance. My graduation from high school and getting into college, things one might expect to be crowning moments of glory, were more quiet moments of sober reflection. I took longer to graduate than I thought I ought have, and I didn’t get into the school I thought I deserved, and as a result I hated myself deeply during that period. Those moments were certainly necessary progress in my life, but I hated them. They were meaningful, but not happy; certainly not bests or favorites,

This isn’t to imply that my life was all dark clouds and sad-faces over the past decade. On the contrary, I had a lot of good experiences as well. A lot of these were vacations, typically big, expensive getaways. And though it may sound shallow, these did make me happy. But for the most part that happiness was bought. I don’t think that means it doesn’t count, but I’m going to make the arbitrary ruling that anything in the running for best or favorite should be meaningful as well as happy. This narrows down the field considerably. 

New Years 2014/15 was a rare event where these two themes converged. I was on a cruise vacation, which turned out to be exactly what I needed at that time, to get away from the site of my troubles and see new places in the controlled environment of a cruise. On the cruise, I met a group of kids who likewise felt themselves misfits, who convinced me that I wasn’t too far gone to get along with “cool kids”, and also helped illustrate that it’s perfectly possible to be happy without being perfect. I remember distinctly the scene of staring out on the ocean at night, taking in the endless black horizon interrupted only by the occasional glimmer of light from a nearby ship. I remember thinking how people were like ships: isolated, yes, and frequently scared, but so long as there is the light of another in sight, we need not feel truly alone. 

It then occurred to me that the other kids about whom I was being anxious at hanging out with, most certainly did not care about my grades. School was far away, for all of us. They only cared whether I was a light for them, and whether I was there in the same sea. This sounds obvious to state, but it was the beginning of a major breakthrough that allowed me to emerge from the consummate dumpster fire that was my high school experience. So I decided to be there, and to be a shining light rather than wallowing in the darkness. If I hadn’t come to that realization when I did, it probably would’ve been a far more boring New Year’s. 

Another similar event was my trip to San Diego in August of 2016. After being asked to give some impromptu remarks regarding my perspective on using the Nightscout Project, I was asked to help represent the Nightscout Foundation at a prominent medical conference. I expected I would be completely out of my depth at this conference. After all, I was just some kid. I couldn’t even really call myself “some guy” with a straight face, because I was still stuck in high school. This was in sharp contrast to the people with whom I was expected to interact, to whom I was ostensibly there to provide information and teach. Some of these people were students, but most were professionals. Doctors, nurses, specialists, researchers; qualified, competent, people, who out of everyone in society are probably least likely to learn something from just some kid.

Well, I can’t say for sure if anyone learned anything from me, but lots of people wanted to talk to me, and seemed to listen to what I had to say. I was indeed out of my depth; I didn’t know the latest jargon, and I was out of the loop on what had been published in the journals, on account of academic journal pricing being highway robbery for the average kid.but on the topics I was familiar with, namely the practical effects of living with the technologies being discussed, and the patient perspective on the current standard of care, I knew my stuff, and I could show it. I was able to contribute, even if I wasn’t necessarily qualified to do so on paper.
 
As an aside, if you’re looking to help tear down the walls between the public and academia, and make good, peer reviewed science a larger part of the average citizen’s consideration, making access to academic literature free, or at minimum ensuring every public school, library, and civic center has open subscriptions for all of their patrons, is a good opener. Making the arcane art of translating academic literature standard curriculum, or at minimum funding media sources that do this effectively instead of turning marginal results into clickbait, would also be a good idea. But I digress.

I like to believe that my presence and actions at that conference helped to make a positive difference, demystifying new technologies to older practitioners, and bringing newly minted professionals into the fold of what it means to live with a condition, not just understand it from a textbook. I spoke with clinicians who had traveled from developing countries hoping to bring their clinics up to modern western standards, listing some ideas how they could adapt the technologies to fit their capabilities without having to pay someone to do build it for them. I discussed the hopes and fears of patients with regulators, whose decisions drive the reality we have to live with. I saw an old friend and industry contact, a former high government official, who said that it was obvious that I was going above and beyond to make a difference, and as long as I kept it up, I would have a bright future ahead of me, whatever I wound up doing.

In addition to being a generally life-affirming set of interactions, in a beautiful city amid perfect weather, this taught me two important lessons. First, it confirmed a growing suspicion that competence and qualification are not necessarily inextricable. The fact that I didn’t have a diploma to show for it didn’t mean I wasn’t clever, or that I had nothing to say to people who had degrees, and it wasn’t just me who recognized this. And second, I was able to help, because out of all of the equally or more qualified people in the world, I was the one who took action, and that made all the difference. There’s an old quote, attributed to Napoleon, that goes: Ten people who speak make more noise than ten thousand who are silent. This was my proof of that. I could speak. I could make the difference. 

There are more good and important moments, but most of them are too specific. Little things that I can barely even describe, that nevertheless stuck with me. A scene, a smile and an embrace, or a turn of phrase that lodged itself in my brain. Or else, things that are personal and private. Lessons that only I needed to learn, or else are so important to me that I’m not comfortable sharing. What interests me is that virtually none of these issues happened when I was alone, and most of them took place with friends as well as family. Which actually surprised me, given that I fashion myself as an introvert who prefers the company of myself, or else a very short list of contacts. 

I guess if I had to round out these nuggets with a third, that’s the theme I’d pick: though you certainly don’t have to live by or for others, neither is the quest for meaning and happiness necessarily a solitary endeavor. I don’t know what the next decade will bring, but I do take solace in the notion that I shan’t be alone for it.

Picture Postcard Perfect

The Holiday Stroll is my favorite event in town. Basically, the town where I live, which is at this point a suburb of the expanded New York City metropolitan area, pretends to be an independent village, so that the old money, Ivy League denizens can feel good about themselves living in a small town. This is a town with more millionaires per square mile than homeless. This is a town which, in the six years of my attendance, had exactly two African American students in a school of 4000. This is a town in which it is a routine occurrence for friends to invite each other to Paris for the weekend. After all, what good is a private jet if it just sits on the tarmac? This is a town where the beginning of the top tax bracket is considered poor.

Of course, not everyone who lives in town is wealthy. But regardless of the statistical breakdown, it is very much a wealthy town. Moreover, it is old money. Tom and Daisy Buchanan would fit right in here. The mansion they had in the most recent movie adaptation wouldn’t even be the most impressive of ostentatious house I’ve seen in town.

The town also isn’t without its problems. On the contrary, it has a noticeably higher rate of drug abuse than surrounding towns, despite a lower official crime and arrest rate. Alcohol abuse, especially among teens, is well known to be endemic, but never acknowledged aloud. The public high school continues to pay out millions in lawsuit settlements for discrimination against students, and rates of suicide are alarmingly high.

But these problems are well hidden. The streets are safe and well kept (at least the ones downtown are). Home prices and property values are kept high by refusing to allow rehabilitation clinics or public transport to sully our streets. Schools have exceedingly low dropout rates, and standardized test scores are consistently above average.

The town is really quite good at burying its problems and making everything seem peachy. With just over three hundred years of practice, the town is adept at playing the part of a sleepy New England village. In summer, rows of flags and bunting line the streets. In the fall, vivid foliage distracts the mind and spirit from myriad woes. In winter, the businesses on Main Street string up lights and garlands in order to create the setting of a Christmas special, or else replicate a model train village. So convincing is the transformation that the town is occasionally used as a setting for Christmas movies.

The highlight of all this decorating is the Holiday Stroll. Businesses stay open late, charitable groups host bake sales up and down the street, organizations give out free popcorn and cocoa. Ice carvers create vignettes around the shops with Holiday motifs. Choral groups roam the street singing carols, and people dress up in holiday garb, whether that be woolen sweaters and Santa hats, top hat and coattails, or over the top getups wrapped in tinsel garlands and battery powered lights. Policemen direct traffic to accommodate horse drawn carriages, while Santa takes wishes from children at town hall.

It’s a show that the whole town is in on. It’s beautiful and magical in a way that seems to be, momentarily, perfect. And you forget that this is a town where multiple people have been indicted by the FBI for financial crimes, where husbands commit suicide because they can’t provide the level of luxury expected by the local culture, and where the public schools have made civil rights lawsuit settlements the largest recurring expense in the budget, because they have come to the conclusion that paying off those who don’t fit the mould to attend private school somewhere else is preferable to reforming the system. It leaves me with a kind of Canto Bite feeling- I wish I could put my fist through this whole lousy, beautiful town.

I don’t know whether other towns without all of the baggage and what I am inclined to see as moral corruption have something similar to the Holiday Stroll. I hope so, because it means there’s hope for keeping what I like about my town while excising the bad parts. But I don’t know whether that’s possible. I know part of what gives the Holiday Stroll its peculiar magic is the sense of authenticity. Hallmark holiday specials choose our town as the location where handsome and rich protagonists must overcome upperclass upbringing to see the true meaning of Christmas and family for a reason. People wear fancy sweaters and top hats to drink fancy liquor served chilled through ice sculptures at the jewelry store’s open house because that’s what this town is.

Thanksgivings

So Australia, where I did most of my growing up, doesn’t have a thanksgiving holiday. Not even like Canada, where it’s on a different day. Arbor Day was a bigger deal at my school than American thanksgiving. My family tried to celebrate, but between school schedules that didn’t recognize our traditions, time differences that made watching the Macy’s parade and football game on the day impossible, and a general lack of turkey and pumpkin pie in stores, the effect was that we didn’t really have thanksgiving in the same way it is portrayed.

This is also at least part of the reason that I have none of the compunctions of my neighbors about commencing Christmas decorations, nor wearing holiday apparel. as soon as the leaves start to change in September. Thanksgiving is barely a real holiday, and Halloween was something people barely decorated for, so neither of those things acted as boundaries for the celebration of Christmas, which in contrast to the other two, was heavily celebrated and became an integral part of my cultural identity.

As a result, I don’t trace our thanksgiving traditions back hundreds of years, up the family tree through my mother’s side to our ancestor who signed the Mayflower Compact, and whose name has been passed down through the ages to my brother. Rather, I trace our traditions back less than a decade to my first year in American public school, when my teacher made out class go through a number of stereotypical traditions like making paper turkeys by tracing our hands, and writing down things we were thankful for. Hence: what I’m thankful for this year.

First, as always, I am thankful to be alive. This sounds tacky and cheap, I know, so let me clarify. I am thankful to be alive despite my body which does not keep itself alive. I am thankful to have been lucky enough to have beaten the odds for another year. I am acutely aware that things could have quite easily gone the other way.

Perhaps it is a sad reflection that my greatest joy of this year is to have merely gotten through it. Maybe. But I cannot change the facts of my situation. I cannot change the odds I face. I can only celebrate overcoming them. This victory of staying alive is the one on which all others depend. I could not have other triumphs, let alone celebrate and be thankful for them without first being sufficiently not-dead to achieve and enjoy them.

I’m thankful to be done with school. I’m glad to have it behind me. While it would be disingenuous to say that high school represented the darkest period in my life; partly because it is too soon to say, but mostly because those top few spots are generally dominated by the times I nearly died, was in the ICU, etcetera; there can be no denying that I hated high school. Not just the actual building, or having to go there; I hated my life as a high school student. I didn’t quite realize the depths of by unhappiness until I was done, and realized that I actually didn’t hate my life as a default. So I am thankful to be done and over with that.

I am thankful that I have the resources to write and take care of myself without also having to struggle to pay for the things I need to live. I am immensely thankful that I am able to sequester myself and treat my illnesses without having to think about what I am missing. In other words, I am thankful for being able to be unable to work. I am thankful that I have enough money, power, and privilege to stand up for myself, and to have others stand up for me. I am aware that I am lucky not only to be alive, but I to have access to a standard of care that makes my life worth living. I know that this is an advantage that is far from universal, even in my own country. I cannot really apologize for this, as, without these advantages, it is quite likely that I would be dead, or in such constant agony and anguish that I would wish I was. I am thankful that I am neither of those things.

I am thankful that these days, I am mostly on the giving end of the charitable endeavors that I have recently been involved in. For I have been on the receiving end before. I have been the simultaneously heartbreaking and heartwarming image of the poor, pitiful child, smiling despite barely clinging to life, surrounded by the prayer blankets, get well cards, books, and other care package staples that my friends and relations were able to muster, rush-shipped because it was unclear whether they would arrive “in time” otherwise. I defied the stereotype only insofar as I got better. I am doubly thankful, first that I am no longer in that unenviable position, and second, that I am well enough to begin to pay back that debt.

A Hodgepodge Post

This post is a bit of a hodgepodge hot mess, because after three days of intense writers’ block, I realized at 10:00pm, that there were a number of things that, in fact, I really did need to address today, and that being timely in this case was more important than being perfectly organized in presentation.

First, Happy Esther Day. For those not well versed on internet age holidays, Esther Day, August 3rd, so chosen by the late Esther Earl (who one may know as the dedicatee of and partial inspiration for the book The Fault In Our Stars), is a day on which to recognize all the people one loves in a non-romantic way. This includes family, but also friends, teachers, mentors, doctors, and the like; basically it is a day to recognize all important relationships not covered by Valentine’s Day.

I certainly have my work cut out for me, given that I have received a great deal of love and compassion throughout my life, and especially during my darker hours. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that on several occasions, I would not have survived but for the love of those around me.

Of course, it’s been oft-noted that, particularly in our western culture, this holiday creates all manner of awkward moments, especially where it involves gender. A man is expected not to talk at great length about his feelings in general, and trying to tell one of the opposite gender that one loves the other either creates all sort of unhelpful ambiguity from a romantic perspective, or, if clarified, opens up a whole can of worms involving relationship stereotypes that no one, least of all a socially awkward writer like myself, wants to touch with a thirty nine and a half foot pole. So I won’t.

I do still want to participate in Esther Day, as uncomfortable as the execution makes me, because I believe in its message, and I believe in the legacy that Esther Earl left us. So, to people who read this, and participate in this blog by enjoying it, especially those who have gotten in touch specifically to say so, know this; to those of you who I have had the pleasure of meeting in person, and to those who I’ve never met but by proxy: I love you. You are an important part of my life, and the value you (hopefully) get from being here adds value to my life.

In tangentially related news…

Earlier this week this blog passed an important milestone: We witnessed the first crisis that required me to summon technical support. I had known that this day would eventually come, though I did not expect it so soon, nor to happen the way it did.

The proximal cause of this minor disaster was apparently a fault in an outdated third-party plugin I had foolishly installed and activated some six weeks ago, because it promised to enable certain features which would have made the rollout of a few of my ongoing projects for this place easier and cleaner. In my defense, the reviews prior to 2012, when the code author apparently abandoned the plugin, were all positive, and the ones after were scarce enough that I reckoned the chances of such a problem occurring to me were acceptably low.

Also, for the record, when I cautiously activated the plugin some six weeks ago during a time of day when visitors are relatively few and far between, it did seem to work fine. Indeed, it did work perfectly fine, right up until Monday, when it suddenly didn’t. Exactly what caused the crash to happen precisely then and not earlier (or never) wasn’t explained to me, presumably because it involves far greater in depth understanding of the inner workings of the internet than I am able to parse at this time.

The distal cause of this whole affair is that, with computers as with many aspects of my life, I am just savvy enough to get myself into trouble, without having the education nor the training to get myself out of it. This is a recurring theme in my life, to a point where it has become a default comment by teachers on my report cards. Unfortunately, being aware of this phenomenon does little to help me avoid it. Which is to say, I expect that similar server problems for related issues are probably also in the future, at least until such time as I actually get around to taking courses in coding, or find a way to hire someone to write code for me.

On the subject of milestones and absurdly optimistic plans: after much waffling back and forth, culminating in an outright dare from my close friends, I launched an official patreon page for this blog. Patreon, for those not well acquainted with the evolving economics of online content creation, is a service which allows creators (such as myself) to accept monthly contributions from supporters. I have added a new page to the sidebar explaining this in more detail.

I do not expect that I shall make a living off this. In point of fact, I will be pleasantly surprised if the site hosting pays for itself. I am mostly setting this up now so that it exists in the future on the off chance that some future post of mine is mentioned somewhere prominent, attracting overnight popularity. Also, I like having a claim, however tenuous, to being a professional writer like Shakespeare or Machiavelli.

Neither of these announcements changes anything substantial on this website. Everything will continue to be published on the same (non-)schedule, and will continue to be publicly accessible as before. Think of the Patreon page like a tip jar; if you like my stuff and want to indulge me, you can, but you’re under no obligation.

There is one thing that will be changing soon. I intend to begin publishing some of my fictional works in addition to my regular nonfiction commentary. Similar to the mindset behind my writing blog posts in the first place, this is partially at the behest of those close to me, and partially out of a Pascal’s Wager type logic that, even if only one person enjoys what I publish, with no real downside to publishing, that in itself makes the utilitarian calculation worth it.

Though I don’t have a planned release date or schedule for this venture, I want to put it out as something I’m planning to move forward with, both in order to nail my colors to the mast to motivate myself, and also to help contextualize the Patreon launch.

The first fictional venture will be a serial story, which is the kind of venture that having a Patreon page already set up is useful for, since serial stories can be discovered partway through and gain mass support overnight more so than blogs usually do. Again, I don’t expect fame and fortune to follow my first venture into serial fiction. But I am willing to leave the door open for them going forward.