postaweek – Page 8 – Renaissance Guy

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.

The Lego Census

So the other day I was wondering about the demographics of Lego mini figures. I’m sure we’re all at least vaguely aware of the fact that Lego minifigs tend to be, by default, adult, male, and yellow-skinned. This wasn’t terribly worthy of serious thought back when Lego had only a handful of different minifigure designs existed. Yet nowadays Lego has thousands, if not millions of different minifigure permutations. Moreover, the total number of minifigures in circulation is set to eclipse the number of living humans within a few years.

Obviously, even with a shift towards trying to be more representative, the demographics of Lego minifigures are not an accurate reflection of the demographics of humankind. But just how out of alignment are they? Or, to ask it another way, could the population of a standard Lego city exist in real life without causing an immediate demographic crisis?

This question has bugged me enough that I decided to conduct an informal study based on a portion of my Lego collection, or rather, a portion of it that I reckon is large enough to be vaguely representative of a population. I have chosen to conduct my counts based on the central district of the Lego city that exists in our family basement, on the grounds that it includes a sizable population from across a variety of different sets.

With that background in mind, I have counted roughly 154 minifigures. The area of survey is defined as the city central district, which for our purposes is defined by the largest tables with the greatest number of buildings and skyscrapers, and so presumably the highest population density.

Because Lego minifigures don’t have numerical ages attached to them, I counted ages by dividing minifigures into four categories. The categories are: Children, Young Adults, Middle Aged, and Elderly. Obviously these categories are qualitative and subject to some interpretation. Children are fairly obvious for their different sized minifigures. An example of adult categories follows.

The figure on the left would be a young adult. The one in the middle would be classified as middle aged, and the one on the right, elderly.

Breakdown by age

Children (14)
Lego children are the most distinct category because, in addition to childish facial features and clothes, they are given shorter leg pieces. This is the youngest category, as Lego doesn’t include infant Lego minifigures in their sets. I would guess that this age includes years 5-12.

Young Adults (75)
Young adults encompasses a fairly wide range, from puberty to early middle age. This group is the largest, partially because it includes the large contingent of conscripts serving in the city. An age range would be roughly 12-32.

Middle Aged (52)
Includes visibly older adults that do not meet the criteria for elderly. This group encompasses most of the city’s administration and professionals.

Elderly (13)
The elderly are those that stand out for being old, including those with features such as beards, wrinkled skin, or off-color hair.

Breakdown by industry

Second is occupations. Again, since minifigures cant exactly give their own occupations, and since most jobs happen indoors where I can’t see, I was forced to make some guesses based on outfits and group them into loose collections.

27 Military
15 Government administration
11 Entertainment
9 Law enforcement
9 Transport / Shipping
9 Aerospace industries
8 Heavy industry
6 Retail / services
5 Healthcare
5 Light Industry

An unemployment rate would be hard to gauge, because most of the time the unemployment rate is adjusted to omit those who aren’t actively seeking work, such as students, retired persons, disabled persons, homemakers, and the like. Unfortunately for our purposes, a minifigure who is transitionally unemployed looks pretty much identical to one who has decided to take an early retirement.

What we can take a stab at is a workforce participation rate. This is a measure of what percentage of the total number of people eligible to be working are doing so. So, for our purposes, this means tallying the total number of people assigned jobs and dividing by the total number of people capable of working, which we will assume means everyone except children. This gives us a ballpark of about 74%, decreasing to 68% if we exclude military to look only at the civilian economy. Either of these numbers would be somewhat high, but not unexplainably so.

Breakdown by sex

With no distinction between the physical form of Lego bodies, the differences between sexes in minifigure is based purely on cosmetic details such as hair type, the presence of eyelashes, makeup, or lipstick on a face, and dresses. This is obviously based on stereotypes, and makes it tricky to tease apart edge cases. Is the figure with poorly-detailed facial features male or female? What about that faceless conscript marching in formation with their helmet and combat armor? Does dwelling on this topic at length make me some kind of weirdo?

The fact that Lego seems to embellish characters that are female with stereotypical traits suggests that the default is male. Operating on this assumption gives you somewhere between 50 and 70 minifigures with at least one distinguishing female trait depending on how particular you get with freckles and other minute facial details.

That’s a male to female ratio somewhere between 2.08:1 and 1.2:1. The latter would be barely within the realm of ordinary populations, and even then would be highly suggestive of some kind of artificial pressure such as sex selective abortion, infanticide, widespread gender violence, a lower standard of medical care for girls, or some kind of widespread exposure, whether to pathogens or pollutants, that causes a far higher childhood fatality rate for girls than would be expected. And here you were thinking that a post about Lego minifigures was going to be a light and gentle read.

The former ratio is completely unnatural, though not completely unheard of in real life under certain contrived circumstances: certain South Asian and Middle Eastern countries have at times had male to female ratios of as high as two owing to the presence of large numbers of guest workers. In such societies, female breadwinners, let alone women traveling alone to foreign countries to send money home, is unheard of.

Such an explanation might be conceivable given a look at the lore of the city. The city is indeed a major trade port and center of commerce, with a non-negligible transient population, and also hosts a sizable military presence. By a similar token, I could simply say that there are more people that I’m not counting hiding inside all those skyscrapers that make everything come out even. Except this kind of narrative explanation dodges the question.

The strait answer is that, no, Lego cities are not particularly accurate reflections of our real life cities. This lack of absolute realism does not make Lego bad toys. Nor does it detract from their value as an artistic and storytelling medium; nor either the benefits for play therapy for patients affected with neuro-cognitive symptoms, my original reason for starting my Lego collection.

The War on Kale

I have historically been anti-kale. Not that I don’t approve of the taste of kale. I eat kale in what I would consider fairly normal amounts, and have done even while denouncing kale. My enmity towards kale is not towards the Species Brassica oleracea, Cultivar group Acephala Group. Rather, my hostility is towards that set of notions and ideas for which kale has become a symbol and shorthand for in recent years.

In the circles which I frequent, at least, insofar as kale is known of, it is known as a “superfood”, which I am to understand, means that it is exceptionally healthy. It is touted, by those who are inclined to tout their choices in vegetables, as being an exemplar of the kinds of foods that one ought to eat constantly. That is to say, it is touted as a staple for diets.

Now, just as I have nothing against kale, I also have nothing against diets in the abstract. I recognize that one’s diet is a major factor in one’s long term health, and I appreciate the value of a carefully tailored, personalized diet plan for certain medical situations as a means to an end.

In point of fact, I am on one such plan. My diet plan reflects my medical situation which seems to have the effect of keeping me always on the brink of being clinically underweight, and far below the minimum weight which my doctors believe is healthy for me. My medically-mandated diet plan calls for me to eat more wherever possible; more food, more calories, more fats, proteins, and especially carbohydrates. My diet does not restrict me from eating more, but prohibits me from eating less.

Additionally, because my metabolism and gastronomical system is so capricious as to prevent me from simply eating more of everything without becoming ill and losing more weight, my diet focuses on having me eat the highest density of calories that I can get away with. A perfect meal, according to my dietician, nutrition, endocrinologist and gastroenterologist, would be something along the lines of a massive double burger (well done, per immunologist request), packed with extra cheese, tomatoes, onions, lots of bacon, and a liberal helping of sauce, with a sizable portion of fries, and a thick chocolate malted milkshake. Ideally, I would have this at least three times a day, and preferably a couple more snacks throughout the day.

Here’s the thing: out of all the people who will eventually read this post, only a very small proportion will ever need to be on such a diet. An even smaller proportion will need to stay on this diet outside of a limited timeframe to reach a specific end, such as recovering from an acute medical issue, or bulking up for some manner of physical challenge. This is fine. I wouldn’t expect many other people to be on a diet tailored by a team of medical specialists precisely for me. Despite the overly simplistic terms used in public school health and anatomy classes, every body is subtly (or in my case, not so subtly) different, and has accordingly different needs.

Some people, such as myself, can scarf 10,000 calories a day for a week with no discernible difference in my weight from if I had eaten 2,000. Other people can scarcely eat an entire candy bar without having to answer for it at the doctor’s office six months later. Our diets will, and should, be different to reflect this fact. Moreover, the neither the composition of our respective diets, nor particularly their effectiveness, is at all indicative of some kind of moral character.

This brings me back to kale. I probably couldn’t have told you what kale was before I had fellow high schoolers getting in my face about how kale was the next great superfood, and how if only I were eating more of it, maybe I wouldn’t have so many health problems. Because obviously turning from the diet plan specifically designed by my team of accredited physicians in favor of the one tweeted out by a celebrity is the cure that centuries of research and billions in funding has failed to unlock.

What? How dare I doubt its efficacy? Well obviously it’s not going to “suppress autoimmune activation”, whatever that means, with my kind of attitude. No, of course you know what I’m talking about. Of course you know my disease better than I do. How dare I question your nonexistent credentials? Why, just last night you watched a five minute YouTube video with clip-art graphics and showing how this diet = good and others = bad. Certainly that trumps my meager experience of a combined several months of direct instruction and training from the best healthcare experts in their respective fields, followed by a decade of firsthand self-management, hundreds of hours of volunteer work, and more participation in clinical research than most graduate students. Clearly I know nothing. Besides, those doctors are in the pockets of big pharma; the ones that make those evil vaccines and mind control nanobots.

I do not begrudge those who seek to improve themselves, nor even those who wish to help others by the same means through which they have achieved success themselves. However I cannot abide with those who take their particular diet as the new gospel, and try to see it implemented as a universal morality. Nor can I stand the insistence of those with no medical qualifications telling me that the things I do to stay alive, including my diet; the things that they have the distinct privilege of choice in; are not right for me.

I try to appreciate the honest intentions here where they exist, but frankly I cannot put up with someone who had never walked in my shoes criticizing my life support routine. My medical regimen is not a lifestyle choice any more than breathing is, and I am not going to change either of those things on second-hand advice received in a yoga lesson, or a ted talk, or even a public school health class. I cannot support a movement that calls for the categorical elimination of entire food groups, nor a propaganda campaign against the type of restaurant that helps me stick to my diet, nor the taxation of precisely the kind of foodstuffs which I have been prescribed by my medical team.

With no other option, I can do nothing but vehemently oppose this set of notions pertaining to the new cult of the diet, as I have sometimes referred to it, and its most prominent and recognizable symbol: kale. Indeed, in collages and creative projects in which others have encouraged me to express myself, the phrases “down with kale” and “death to kale”, with accompanying images of scratched-out pictures of kale and other vegetables, have featured prominently. I have one such collage framed and mounted in my bedroom as a reminder of all the wrongs which I seek to right.

This is, I will concede, something of a personal prejudice. Possibly even a stereotype. The kind of people that seem most liable to pierce my bubble and confront me over my diet tend to be the self-assured, zealous sort, and so it seems quite conceivable that I may be experiencing some kind of selection bias that causes me to see only the absolute worst in my interlocutors. It is possible in my ideo-intellectual intifada against kale, that I have thrown the baby out with the bathwater. In honesty, even if this were true, I probably wouldn’t apologize, on the grounds that what I have had to endure has been so upsetting that, with the stakes being my own life and death as they are, that my reaction has been not only justified, but correct.

As a brief aside, there is, I am sure, a great analogy to be drawn here, and an even greater deal of commentary to be drawn on this last train of thought as a reflection of the larger modern socio-political situation; refusing to acknowledge wrongdoing despite being demonstrably in the wrong. Such commentary might even be more interesting and relevant than the post I am currently writing. Nevertheless such musings are outside the scope of this particular post, though I may return to them in the future.

So my position has not changed. I remain convinced that all of my actions have been completely correct. I have not, and do not plan, to renounce my views until such time as I feel I have been conclusively proven wrong, which I do not feel has happened. What has changed is I have been given a glimpse at a different perspective.

What happened is that someone close to me received a new diagnosis of a disease close in pathology to one that I have, and which I am also at higher risk for, which prevents her from eating gluten. This person, who will remain nameless for the purposes of this post, is as good as a sister to me, and the rest of her immediate family are like my own. We see each other at least as often as I see other friends or relations. Our families have gone on vacation together. We visit and dine together regularly enough that any medical issue that affects their kitchen also affects our own.

Now, I try to be an informed person, and prior to my friend’s diagnosis, I was at least peripherally aware of the condition with which she now has to deal. I could have explained the disease’s pathology, symptoms, and treatment, and I probably could have listed a few items that did and did not contain gluten, although this last one is more a consequence of gazing forlornly at the shorter lines at gluten-free buffets at the conferences which I attended than a genuine intent to learn.

What I had not come to appreciate was how difficult it was to find food that was not only free from gluten in itself, but completely safe from any trace of cross contamination, which I have learned, does make a critical difference. Many brands and restaurants offer items that are labeled as gluten free in large print, but then in smaller print immediately below disclaim all responsibility for the results of the actual assembly and preparation of the food, and indeed, for the integrity of the ingredients received from elsewhere. This is, of course, utterly useless.

Where I have found such needed assurances, however, are from those for whom this purity is a point of pride. These are the suppliers that also proudly advertise that they do not stock items containing genetically modified foodstuff, or any produce that has been exposed to chemicals. These are the people who proclaim the supremacy of organic food and vegan diets. They are scrupulous about making sure their food is free of gluten not just because it is necessary for people with certain medical conditions, but as a matter of moral integrity. To them these matters are of not only practical but ethical. In short, these are kale supporters.

This puts me in an awkward position intellectually. On the one hand, the smug superiority with which these kale supporters denounce technologies that have great potential to decrease human hardship based on pseudoscience, and out of dietary pickiness as outlined above, is grating at best. On the other hand, they are among the only people who seem to be invested in providing decent quality gluten free produce which they are willing to stand behind, and though I would trust them on few other things, I am at least willing to trust that they have been thorough in their compulsiveness.

Seeing the results of this attitude I still detest from this new angle has forced me to reconsider my continued denouncements. The presence of a niche gluten-free market, which is undoubtedly a recent development, has, alas, not been driven by increased sensitivity to those with specific medical dietary restrictions, but because in this case my friend’s medical treatment just so happens to align with a subcategory of fad diet. That this niche market exists is a good thing, and it could not exist without kale supporters. The very pickiness that I malign has paved the way for a better quality of life for my comrades who cannot afford to be otherwise. The evangelical attitude that I rage against has also successfully demanded that the food I am buying for my friend is safe for them to eat.

I do not yet think that I have horribly misjudged kale and its supporters. But regardless, I can appreciate that in this matter, they have a point. And I consider it more likely now that I may have misjudged kale supporters on a wider front, or at least, that my impression of them has been biased by my own experiences. I can appreciate that in demanding a market for their fad diets, that they have also created real value.

I am a stubborn person by nature once I have made up my mind, and so even these minor and measured concessions are rather painful. But fair is fair. Kale has proven that it does have a purpose. And to that end I think it is only fitting that I wind down my war on kale. This is not a total cessation of all military action. There are still plenty of nutritional misconceptions to dispel, and bad policies to be refuted, and besides that I am far too stubborn to even promise with a straight face that I’m not going to get into arguments about a topic that is necessarily close to my heart. But the stereotype which I drew up several years ago as a common thread between the people who would pester me about fad diets and misconceptions about my health has become outdated and unhelpful. It is, then, perhaps time to rethink it.

Technological Milestones and the Power of Mundanity

When I was fairly little, probably seven or so, I devised a short list of technologies based on what I had seen on television that I reckoned were at least plausible, and which I earmarked as milestones of sorts to measure how far human technology would progress during my lifetime. I estimated that if I was lucky, I would be able to have my hands on half of them by the time I retired. Delightfully, almost all of these have in fact already been achieved, less than fifteen years later.

Admittedly, all of these technologies that I picked were far closer than I had envisioned at the time. Living in Australia, which seemed to be the opposite side of the world from where everything happened, and living outside of the truly urban areas of Sydney which, as a consequence of international business, were kept up to date, it often seems that even though I technically grew up after the turn of the millennium, that I was raised in a place and culture that was closer to the 90s.

For example, as late as 2009, even among adults, not everyone I knew had a mobile phone. Text messaging was still “SMS”, and was generally regarded with suspicion and disdain, not least of all because not all phones were equipped to handle them, and not all phone plans included provisions for receiving them. “Smart” phones (still two words) did exist on the fringes; I know exactly one person who owned an iPhone, and two who owned a BlackBerry, at that time. But having one was still an oddity. Our public school curriculum was also notably skeptical, bordering on technophobic, about the rapid shift towards Broadband and constant connectivity, diverting much class time to decrying the evils of email and chat rooms.

These were the days when it was a moral imperative to turn off your modem at night, lest the hacker-perverts on the godless web wardial a backdoor into your computer, which weighed as much as the desk it was parked on, or your computer overheat from being left on, and catch fire (this happened to a friend of mine). Mice were wired and had little balls inside them that you could remove in order to sabotage them for the next user. Touch screens might have existed on some newer PDA models, and on some gimmicky machines in the inner city, but no one believed that they were going to replace the workstation PC.

I chose my technological milestones based on my experiences in this environment, and on television. Actually, since most of our television was the same shows that played in the United States, only a few months behind their stateside premier, they tended to be more up to date with the actual state of technology, and depictions of the near future which seemed obvious to an American audience seemed terribly optimistic and even outlandish to me at the time. So, in retrospect, it is not surprising that after I moved back to the US, I saw nearly all of my milestones commercially available within half a decade.

Tablet Computers
The idea of a single surface interface for a computer in the popular consciousness dates back almost as far as futuristic depictions of technology itself. It was an obvious technological niche that, despite numerous attempts, some semi-successful, was never truly cracked until the iPad. True, plenty of tablet computers existed before the iPad. But these were either klunky beyond use, incredibly fragile to the point of being unusable in practical circumstances, or horrifically expensive.

None of them were practical for, say, completing homework for school on, which at seven years old was kind of my litmus test for whether something was useful. I imagined that if I were lucky, I might get to go tablet shopping when it was time for me to enroll my own children. I could not imagine that affordable tablet computers would be widely available in time for me to use them for school myself. I still get a small joy every time I get to pull out my tablet in a productive niche.

Video Calling
Again, this was not a bolt from the blue. Orwell wrote about his telescreens, which amounted to two-way television, in the 1940s. By the 70s, NORAD had developed a fiber-optic based system whereby commanders could conduct video conferences during a crisis. By the time I was growing up, expensive and klunky video teleconferences were possible. But they had to be arranged and planned, and often required special equipment. Even once webcams started to appear, lessening the equipment burden, you were still often better off calling someone.

Skype and FaceTime changed that, spurred on largely by the appearance of smartphones, and later tablets, with front-facing cameras, which were designed largely for this exact purpose. Suddenly, a video call was as easy as a phone call; in some cases easier, because video calls are delivered over the Internet rather than requiring a phone line and number (something which I did not foresee).

Wearable Technology (in particular smartwatches)
This was the one that I was most skeptical of, as I got this mostly from the Jetsons, a show which isn’t exactly renowned for realism or accuracy. An argument can be made that this threshold hasn’t been fully crossed yet, since smartwatches are still niche products that haven’t caught on to the same extent as either of the previous items, and insofar as they can be used for communication like in The Jetsons, they rely on a smartphone or other device as a relay. This is a solid point, to which I have two counterarguments.

First, these are self-centered milestones. The test is not whether an average Joe can afford and use the technology, but whether it has an impact on my life. And indeed, my smart watch, which was enough and functional enough for me to use in an everyday role, does indeed have a noticeable positive impact. Second, while smartwatches may not be as ubiquitous as once portrayed, they do exist, and are commonplace enough to be largely unremarkable. The technology exists and is widely available, whether or not consumers choose to use it.

These were my three main pillars of the future. Other things which I marked down include such milestones as:

Commercial Space Travel
Sure, SpaceX and its ilk aren’t exactly the same as having shuttles to the ISS departing regularly from every major airport, with connecting service to the moon. You can’t have a romantic dinner rendezvous in orbit, gazing at the unclouded stars on one side, and the fragile planet earth on the other. But we’re remarkably close. Private sector delivery to orbit is now cheaper and more ubiquitous than public sector delivery (admittedly this has more to do with government austerity than an unexpected boom in the aerospace sector).

Large-Scale Remotely Controlled or Autonomous Vehicles
This one came from Kim Possible, and a particular episode in which our intrepid heroes got to their remote destination by a borrowed military helicopter flown remotely from a home computer. Today, we have remotely piloted military drones, and early self-driving vehicles. This one hasn’t been fully met yet, since I’ve never ridden in a self-driving vehicle myself, but it is on the horizon, and I eagerly await it.

Cyborgs
I did guess that we’d have technologically altered humans, both for medical purposes, and as part of the road to the enhanced super-humans that rule in movies and television. I never guessed at seven that in less than a decade, that I would be one of them, relying on networked machines and computer chips to keep my biological self functioning, plugging into the wall to charge my batteries when they run low, studiously avoiding magnets, EMPs, and water unless I have planned ahead and am wearing the correct configuration and armor.

This last one highlights an important factor. All of these technologies were, or at least, seemed, revolutionary. And yet today they are mundane. My tablet today is only remarkable to me because I once pegged it as a keystone of the future that I hoped would see the eradication of my then-present woes. This turned out to be overly optimistic, for two reasons.

First, it assumed that I would be happy as soon as the things that bothered me then no longer did, which is a fundamental misunderstanding of human nature. Humans do not remain happy the same way than an object in motion remains in motion until acted upon. Or perhaps it is that as creatures of constant change and reecontextualization, we are always undergoing so much change that remaining happy without constant effort is exceedingly rare. Humans always find more problems that need to be solved. On balance, this is a good thing, as it drives innovation and advancement. But it makes living life as a human rather, well, wanting.

Which lays the groundwork nicely for the second reason: novelty is necessarily fleeting. What advanced technology today marks the boundary of magic will tomorrow be a mere gimmick, and after that, a mere fact of life. Computers hundreds of millions more times more powerful than those used to wage World War II and send men to the moon are so ubiquitous that they are considered a basic necessity of modern life, like clothes, or literacy; both of which have millennia of incremental refinement and scientific striving behind them on their own.

My picture of the glorious shining future assumed that the things which seemed amazing at the time would continue to amaze once they had become commonplace. This isn’t a wholly unreasonable extrapolation on available data, even if it is childishly optimistic. Yet it is self-contradictory. The only way that such technologies could be harnessed to their full capacity would be to have them become so widely available and commonplace that it would be conceivable for product developers to integrate them into every possible facet of life. This both requires and establishes a certain level of mundanity about the technology that will eventually break the spell of novelty.

In this light, the mundanity of the technological breakthroughs that define my present life, relative to the imagined future of my past self, is not a bad thing. Disappointing, yes; and certainly it is a sobering reflection on the ungrateful character of human nature. But this very mundanity that breaks our predictions of the future (or at least, our optimistic predictions) is an integral part of the process of progress. Not only does this mundanity constantly drive us to reach for ever greater heights by making us utterly irreverent of those we have already achieved, but it allows us to keep evolving our current technologies to new applications.

Take, for example, wireless internet. I remember a time, or at least, a place, when wireless internet did not exist for practical purposes. “Wi-Fi” as a term hadn’t caught on yet; in fact, I remember the publicity campaign that was undertaken to educate our technologically backwards selves about what term meant, about how it wasn’t dangerous, and about how it would make all of our lives better, as we could connect to everything. Of course, at that time I didn’t know anyone outside of my father’s office who owned a device capable of connecting to Wi-Fi. But that was beside the point. It was the new thing. It was a shiny, exciting novelty.

And then, for a while, it was a gimmick. Newer computers began to advertise their Wi-Fi antennae, boasting that it was as good as being connected by cable. Hotels and other establishments began to advertise Wi-Fi connectivity. Phones began to connect to Wi-Fi networks, which allowed phones to truly connect to the internet even without a data plan.

Soon, Wi-Fi became not just a gimmick, but a standard. First computers, then phones, without internet began to become obsolete. Customers began to expect Wi-Fi as a standard accommodation wherever they went, for free even. Employers, teachers, and organizations began to assume that the people they were dealing with would have Wi-Fi, and therefore everyone in the house would have internet access. In ten years, the prevailing attitude around me went from “I wouldn’t feel safe having my kid playing in a building with that new Wi-Fi stuff” to “I need to make sure my kid has Wi-Fi so they can do their schoolwork”. Like television, telephones, and electricity, Wi-Fi became just another thing that needed to be had in a modern home. A mundanity.

Now, that very mundanity is driving a second wave of revolution. The “Internet of Things” as it is being called, is using the Wi-Fi networks that are already in place in every modern home to add more niche devices and appliances. We are told to expect that soon that every major device in our house will be connected to out personal network, controllable either from our mobile devices, or even by voice, and soon, gesture, if not through the devices themselves, then through artificially intelligent home assistants (Amazon echo, Google Home, and related).

It is important to realize that this second revolution could not take place while Wi-Fi was still a novelty. No one who wouldn’t otherwise buy into Wi-Fi at the beginning would have bought it because it could also control the sprinklers, or the washing machine, or what have you. Wi-Fi had to become established as a mundane building block in order to be used as the cornerstone of this latest innovation.

Research and development may be focused on the shiny and novel, but technological process on a species-wide scale depends just as much on this mundanity. Breakthroughs have to not only be helpful and exciting, but useful in everyday life, and cheap enough to be usable by everyday consumers. It is easy to get swept up in the exuberance of what is new, but the revolutionary changes happen when those new things are allowed to become mundane.

My Superpowers

So, I don’t know if I mentioned this, but I have a minor superpower. Not the cyborg stuff. That exists, but isn’t really a power so much as a bunch of gadgets I wear to keep me alive. Nor any of the intellectual or creative abilities it has been alleged that I possess, for those are both ordinary in the scope of things, and also subjective. Rather I refer to my slight clairvoyance. I can sense changes in the weather. I have had this ability referred to as “my personal barometer”, but in truth it often functions more like a “personal air-raid siren”; specifically one that can’t be shut up.

Near as I can tell, this is related to pressure changes, and happens because something, somewhere inside me, is wired wrong. I have been told that my sinuses are out of order in such a way that would make me vulnerable to comparatively minor changes such as pressure, and strong circumstantial evidence suggests damage somewhere in my nervous system, caused by childhood encephalitis, which creates the microscopic, undetectable vulnerability that manifests in my seizures and migraines, and could plausibly be exploited by other factors.

This has the effect of allowing me to feel major weather changes somewhere between six hours and a week before it appears when I am, depending on the size and speed of a shift. It starts as a mild-bout of light-headedness, the same as the rush of blood flowing away from my head when standing up after not moving for some time. If it is a relatively minor dislocation, this may be all that I feel.

It then grows into a more general feeling of flu-like malaise; the same feeling that normally tells if one is sick even if there are not any active symptoms. At this point, my cognitive function begins to seriously degrade. I start to stutter and stumble, and struggle for the words that are on the tip of my tongue. I forget things and lose track of time. I will struggle both to get to sleep, and to wake up.

Depending on the severity and duration, these symptoms may be scarcely visible, or they may have me appearing on death’s door. It is difficult to tell these symptoms apart from those of allergies, migraines, or an infection, especially once I begin to experience chills and aches. This is compounded by my immune system’s proclivity to give false negatives due to my immunodeficiency, and false positives due to my autoimmune responses, for pathology. Fortunately, the end result is mostly the same: I am advised to stay home, rest, make sure I eat and drink plenty, redouble our protective quarantine procedures, etcetera.

At its worst, these symptoms also induce a cluster migraine, which confines me to bed and limits my ability to process and respond to stimuli to a level only slightly better than comatose. At this point, my symptoms are a storm unto itself, and, short of a hurricane, I’m probably not going to be much concerned with whatever is happening outside the confines of my room, as I’ve already effectively sealed myself off from the outside world. I will remain so confined for however long it takes until my symptoms pass. This may be a few hours, or a few weeks. During these days, my cognitive ability is limited to a couple hundred words, only forty or so of which are unique.

If I am lucky, I will still have the mental faculties to passively watch videos, listen to music with words, and occasionally write a handful of sentences. I generally cannot read long tracts, as reading requires several skills simultaneously – visual focus, language processing, inner narration, and imagination of the plot – which is usually beyond my limits. I can sometimes get by with audiobooks, provided the narration is slow enough and the plot not overly complex. If I am not able to deal with words, then I am limited to passing my waking hours listening to primarily classical music. Fortunately, I also tend to sleep a great deal more in this state.

Once I have entered this state, my superpower; or perhaps it is an unsung quirk of human perception; means that I don’t really consciously recognize time passing in the normal way. Without discrete events, sensations, or thoughts to mark time, the days all kind of meld together. With my shades closed, my light permanently off, and my sleep cycle shattered, days and nights lose their meaning. Every moment is the same as every other moment.

Thus, if it takes two weeks by calendar until I am well enough to return to normal function, I may wake up with only two or three days worth of discrete memories. And so in retrospect, the time that took other people two weeks to pass took me only three days. It therefore emerges that in addition to my limited form of clairvoyance, I also possess a limited form of time travel.

Admittedly, I am not great at controlling these powers. I have virtually no control over them, except some limited ability to treat the worst of the symptoms as they come up. So perhaps it is that they are not so much my powers as they are powers that affect me. They do not control me, as I still exist, albeit diminished, independent and regardless of them. They do affect others, but only through how they affect me.

All of this to say, the storms that are presently approaching the northeastern United States are having a rather large impact on my life at present. If I were of more of a superstitious bent, I might suggest that this is meant as a way to sabotage my plans to get organized and generally rain on my parade (cue canned laughter).

There isn’t a great deal that I can do to work around this, any more than a blind man can work around a print book. The best I can hope for is that this is a “two steps forward, one step back” situation, which will also depend on how quickly this storm clears up, and on me being able to hit the ground running afterwards.

The Debriefing

Earlier this month was another disability conference. Another exchange of ideas, predictions, tips, tricks, jokes, and commiseration. Another meticulously apportioned, carb-counted buffet of food for thought, and fodder for posts.

As my comrades working on the scientific research tell me, two points of data is still just anecdotal. Even so, this is the second time out of two conferences that I’ve come back with a lot to say. Last time, these mostly revolved around a central theme of sorts, enough so that I could structure them in a sequential series. This time there were still lots of good ideas, but they’re a little more scattershot, and harder to weave into a consistent narrative. So I’m going to try something different, again.

I’m starting a new category of semi-regular posts, called “The Debriefing” (name subject to change), to be denoted with a special title, and possibly fancy graphics. These will focus on topics which were points of discussion or interest at conferences, events, and such, that aren’t part of another series, and which have managed to capture my imagination. Topics which I’m looking forward to (hopefully) exploring include things like:

– The moral hazard of hoping for a cure: how inspiring hope for a cure imminently, or at least in a patient’s lifetime, can have perverse effects on self-care

– Controversy over medical identification: the current advice on the subject, and the legal, political, social, and psychological implications of following it

– Medical disclosure solidarity: suggestions for non-disabled job applicants to help strengthen the practical rights of disabled coworkers

– The stigma of longevity: when and why the chronically ill don’t go to the doctor

– Why I speak: how I learned to stop worrying and love public speaking

At least a couple of these ideas are already in the pipe, and are coming up in the next few days. The rest, I plan to write at some point. I feel reasonably confident listing these topics, despite my mixed record on actually writing the things I say I’m going to write mostly because these are all interesting topics that keep coming up, and given that I plan to attend several more conferences and events in the near future, even if I don’t get them soon, I fully expect they will come up again.

A Book Review: Turtles All The Way Down

Recently I received a free signed copy of Turtles All The Way Down, by John Green. Well, actually, it was two weeks ago. Also actually I got more than one copy, but the second copy, which I received before I got my hands on the first copy because I got it in person on launch day, was part of the goodie bag for the book tour event that I went to. And while the book wasn’t something I purchased per se as a discrete product, I did pay for the ticket to the event. Or rather, my family paid, because this was a family outing, and so everyone came and got signed books.

All that is to say that there is now an appreciable stack of signed Turtles All The Way Down books sitting, conspicuously arranged in a sort of spiral stack (Turtles All The Way Down, all the way down), on our countertop, and that these books were acquired, depending on how you average the cost per book and whether you factor in the intangible value of the book tour event, either for free, at a very inflated price, or somewhere in between.

I was told when I was promised my free copy and asked for a shipping address that this was meant as a token. Not payment, nor tribute to curry favor, but a gift. Because I was part of a community, and had been following and involved in the book’s development, even when neither I nor anyone else knew that John was working on a book, and my participation was worth something, and that this signed copy was a token of that meaning.

Maybe I just have trouble accepting compliments and credit. It wouldn’t be the first time that this has come up. Even so, there is a sort of convention whereby if you are set a free copy of a book by an author or their publishing staff, that you will endeavor to review it (preferably with glowing praise). And while I am generally not a stickler for social convention, this one is close enough to the thing that I was going to do anyways. So here goes.

One more note before I begin: there is also a convention of referring to authors by their last name when reviewing them. I’m not going to do that for a couple of reasons. First, because John Green has a brother, Hank Green, who also writes. Second, because, as noted, receiving this book is a personal token of sorts. And while I may not be strictly on a first name basis with John Green, insofar as I do know him and have had limited contact with him, he has always been John to me. To call him otherwise would feel strange and insincere.

People with only a passing familiarity with John and his work might be surprised that I am such a staunch fan. After all, his works, and especially his previous work, The Fault In Our Stars, are often pigeonholed as stereotypical “teen-girl gushy romance novels”. Like in all stereotypes, there are some elements of truth in this, especially if one is of the inclination to consign anything containing teenage girl protagonists and a romantic arc to a lesser status.

Nevertheless I maintain that TFIOS also manages to effectively introduce several hard-hitting themes and questions. It tackles, among other things, chronic illness in a way that is, if not always perfectly realistic in the strictest academic sense, then at least realistically personal. That is to say, TFIOS tells an accurate first-person story, even if telling the story from the perspective of the protagonist makes it somewhat dubiously personal from other perspectives.

You will notice that while I talk about John’s use of themes and ideas and other English class topics, I have barely mentioned the actual plot, characters, and related. This is, at least in my interpretation, an important distinction and recurring theme. John is decent enough at plot and characters and all those other things. But this is only one element of writing, and in John’s case, I will submit, not the main event. Where John excels is at integrating themes, questions, ideas, and concepts into a digestible and empathetic narrative. And Turtles All The Way Down is John doing this at his best.

In TATWD, John discusses important questions about mental health, chronic pain, the nature of love and friendship, inequality, loss, privilege, and the philosophy of consciousness, all bound up in a nice YA novel.

The parallel I keep coming back to is George Orwell’s work. Most likely, if you’re reading, say, 1984, you’re not doing so to hear about Winston and Julia’s thrilling romantic relationship, nor to see how Winston climbs the workplace ladder at the Ministry of Truth. You’re reading to have the big ideas unpacked for you and presented in a way that you can grapple with. You’re exploring the world, and Winston just happens to be your vessel for doing so.

Sure, you could skip Animal Farm in school, and get everything you’d need to know from skimming a history textbook on the Soviet Union. But reading the story version is probably going to make it easier to understand and digest. Simply hearing that a bunch of people were shot a long time ago in a country far away, doesn’t click in the human mind the same way reading about animals you’ve come to love turn on each other does.

Similarly, you could skip Turtles All The Way Down, and go over the Wikipedia pages for OCD, Anxiety, and the philosophy of consciousness. But in addition to missing the story aspect (which is good, despite my maintaining that it takes a backseat), it’s probably not going to have the same hold on you. Humans are first-person creatures, and having something framed as a first person view is immensely powerful.

In conclusion, I think Turtles All The Way Down is a very good, very powerful book. It’s not perfect by a long shot, and I waver on whether I like it better or worse than TFIOS, which has long contended for my favorite book I have yet read. It isn’t exactly an apples to apples comparison, which will come as good news to those who felt TFIOS struck too close to the teen-girl romance stereotype. Even so, my signed copy of TATWD has earned its place in my collection next to my beloved signed copy of TFIOS, which is among the highest honors I can bestow.

Too Many Tabs Open

It occurs to me that I don’t really have a quantitative, non-subjective metric for how much stress I’m under these days. I recognize that short of filling out a daily questionnaire, I’m not going to have a truly objective assessment of how I’m doing. Even the most detailed questionnaire is limited. Even so, it would be nice to have a yardstick, so to speak, to judge against.

For most of the people I know who have such a yardstick, it tends to be some kind of addiction or vice which they fall back on in difficult times. With the possible exception of chocolate, which I do occasionally use as a pick me up, but also indulge in semi-regularly because I see no point in denying myself enjoyment in moderation, I don’t believe that I have any such addictions. Nor are any of my vices, or at least the ones that I am consciously aware of, particularly correlated with my mood. I am just as likely to buy an expensive Lego set, over-salt my food, snap at people, and become distracted by side ventures when I am happy as when I am sad.

Previously, my yardstick was how many assignments I am working on. While it was never a perfect correlation, as obviously even before I graduated, there were ample things outside of school which also brought my stress, but it was something that was easy enough to track for a ballpark view. The correlation looked something like this:

Amount of Stress versus Number of assignments.

Now, however, I have no assignments, and hence, no yardstick. This might not be a problem, except that, in my goal of continual self-improvement, it is necessary to have, if not an accurate, than at least a consistent, assessment of how I am doing relative to how I have done in the past. Thus, I have cobbled together an ad-hoc assessment which I am hoping will give me something a little more concrete to work with than my own heuristic guesses. Here’s my formula.

Add 5 points for each app running in the background
Add 5 points for each tab open in safari
Add 1 point for each of note that was edited in the last week
Add 3 additional points if any of those were edited between 1:00am and 11:00am
Add 1 point for each note that’s a blog post, project, checklist, or draft communique
Add 5 additional points for any of those that really should have been done a week ago
Subtract 3 points for each completed checklist
Subtract 3 points for each post that’s in the blog queue
Add 3 points for every post that you’ve promised to write but haven’t gotten around to
Add 1 point for every war song, video game or movie soundtrack you’ve listened to in the last 24 hours. 
Add 10 points if there’s something amiss with the medical devices

Doing this right now nets me around 240 points. I would ballpark an average day at around 120-170 points. Admittedly this isn’t exactly statistically rigorous, but it does give me a vaguely scientific way to measure a vague feeling that has been building, and which I feel has come to a head in the last few days. Not a sense of being overwhelmed per se, but rather a feeling that precedes that. A feeling that I have too many things running in tandem, all occupying mental space and resources. A feeling of having too many unfinished notes, too many works-in-progress, and too many tabs open concurrently.

You see, despite my aversion to busywork, I also enjoy the state of being busy. Having an interesting and engaging project or three to work on gives me a sense of direction and purpose (or more cynically, distracts me from all the parts of my existence that bring me misery). Having things to do, places to go, and people to see is a way for me to feel that I am contributing, that I am playing a role, and that I am important. The fact that I need to rush between places, while physiologically tiring and logistically annoying, is also an indication that my time is sufficiently valued that I need not waste it. This is a feeling that I thrive on, and have since childhood.

I am told from my high school economics class that this kind of mindset and behavior often appears in entrepreneurial figures, which I suppose is a good thing, though if this is true, it also probably increases my risk of bankruptcy and the related risks of entrepreneurship. Nevertheless, my tendency towards always trying to be doing something both productive and interesting does seem to be at least moderately effective at spawning novel ideas, and pushing me to trying them at least far enough to see whether they are workable.

It has also gotten me to a point where I have far too many topics occupying space in my mind to properly focus on any of them. Rather than wait until I am well and truly spread too thin, I have decided to try and nip this problem in the bud.

So here’s the plan:

First, I’m going to put a number of projects in stasis. This isn’t “putting them on the back burner” as in my book that usually means keeping all the files active, which means I still see them and thing about them, and the whole point of this is to make it easier to focus on the projects that I actually want to complete soon. I mean I am going to consign those plans to the archives, indefinitely, with no concrete plan to bring them back out. If they become relevant again, then I might bring them back, or start over from scratch.

Second, I’m going to push in the next few days to knock a bunch of low hanging fruit off my list. These are little things like wrapping up blog posts, finalizing my Halloween costume, and a couple other miscellaneous items. This means that there will be a flurry of posts over the next few days. Possibly even a marathon!

All of this will hopefully serve to get, or rather, to keep, things on track. October is coming to a close, and November, which has always been a historically busy month, promises to be even more exciting.

I will add one final, positive note on this subject. While I may feel somewhat overwhelmed by all of the choices I have found in my new life free of school, I am without a doubt happier, certainly than I was over the last two years, and quite possibly over the last decade. Not everything is sunshine and lollipops, obviously, and my health will fairly well make sure it never is. But I can live with that. I can live with being slightly overwhelmed, so long as the things I’m being overwhelmed with are also making me happy.

Project Crimson Update

With the end of my four month free trial looming, I am once again returning to reflecting on the successes and failures of Project Crimson, that is, my scheme to phase out buying MP3s in favor of using Google’s paid music subscription service. The rationale behind this was that it costs more to buy a single CD each month than it does to pay for a one month subscription to download however much music I feel like.

I was a bit worried that I wouldn’t actually use this on a day to day basis. I was wrong. I immensely enjoy having music to listen to while going about other tasks, and I especially enjoy having the ability to pull from a vast database in order to create a soundtrack for a specific task, such as being able to create a playlist of running cadences for my exercise routine, or what have you.

I have somewhere in the ballpark of three hundred songs currently compiled in one form or another on my various devices among the various google music applications. To claim that each of these is a song that I would otherwise purchase, and therefore another dollar saved, is slightly duplicitous, as my standards for downloading a song for free are understandably lower than my standards for spending money directly on individual songs.

As I said during the opening of this project, my purchasing of music is heavily biased towards those times when I am about to travel, because that is when I will be unable to access free online streaming, and hence when I will need to have whatever music I want to have be downloaded. At the beginning of summer I was looking at a shortlist that included somewhere in the ballpark of $100 worth of music; hence why I was willing to bend my rules against spending money on “Internet luxuries” like a premium account.

And for the record: Google’s music subscription is undoubtedly a luxury. Despite how much I have come to enjoy it, is not like paying for broadband or a cell phone, which, although strictly speaking, remain optional, are made effectively compulsory because of the way society now organizes itself. It is a luxury, like cable, or Netflix, or a newspaper subscription. All nice things to have, but also things that can, in most circumstances, be axed from a tight budget without life-changing implications.

Perhaps this is why I have such trouble coming to terms with Google’s music subscription service, even though I unreservedly enjoy it and think it improves my day to day life. I have always been taught to be scrupulous about expenses, particularly luxuries. I learnt from a young age that money is a finite and scarce resource, and squandering it is not just irresponsible, but morally repugnant.

On the other hand, I have never hesitated to spend when I felt there was an articulable need, and I have relatively few qualms about spending a little extra for a better product after I have been convinced to buy in the first place. I am content to pay extra, for example, for a better fitting or looking pair of jeans provided that they serve my purpose. At restaurants, once I have decided to eat, I am seldom bothered by the relative costs of menu items unless it comes down to a tie on taste. I am able to accept that life has expenses, and that in these expenses there are inevitable tradeoffs that involve the choice between a better experience and a better price.

Which brings me to the price point. Ten dollars a month is I think an interesting price point. It is just enough that I would consider it non-negligible. Ten dollars a month translates to a coffee every two or three weeks depending on the specifics of the order, which is just often enough that I can see it in concrete terms as a regular habit. It also translates to a hundred and twenty a year, which is just enough that I feel uncomfortable carrying around the cash in person and would probably make an extra trip to the bank, if I didn’t spend it on a nice Lego set as a Christmas gift. So, although the expense certainly doesn’t break the bank, it is just large enough to be awkward.

There is one metric I haven’t mentioned that probably plays a larger role in determining both the price offered, and whether or not individuals choose to purchase Google’s music subscription: the monetary value of my time otherwise lost to advertising. This is supposed to be the core feature of their subscription model, and I’m sure is the thing that most informs their pricing. There is a number somewhere that says how many hours of video I watch or listen (but mostly for my purposes listen), and there is a number that says exactly how many advertisements I would have been subjected to during this time. I don’t know whether it is possible for me as a consumer to find this number, at least in the United States.

In any case, using some very wild ballpark guesses, I come up with somewhere around three hours a month. This does assume that every time I could get an advertisement, I do, and that it’s one of the ones that takes up time when I’m listening rather than merely popping up somewhere on my screen. Then again, Google seems to have gotten it in their server that I’m one of those demographics that advertisers want to target, so there are times when I end up seeing more ads than video. Ten dollars to reclaim three hours of good, usable, first-world time is a shockingly good deal. It’s better than minimum wage anywhere I’ve ever lived.

Except there’s that troublesome word “usable”. The economics of opportunity cost assume that I’d be doing, or want to be doing, something else that’s worth that ten dollars. Comparing the cost per hour to minimum wage only works if I have a job that makes at least minimum wage (I don’t) and that I’d be doing it during the time saved (I wouldn’t). Moreover it assumes that these tasks are mutually exclusive. This is true sometimes, but not always, depending on precisely how annoying and distracting the advertisement is. But for the most part, I am free to work with my hands, eyes, and most of my brain on another tab on my computer while advertisements play in the background. This is, after all, what I already do with music.

Since I have already gone over most of the arguments in favor of Google’s subscription service, I will also mention one more that is somewhat compelling in my case: supporting the creative economy. For the people who make the online content, including both music and videos, that my enjoyment depends on, the new subscription model provides a boost in both income and stability that is, while not massive, certainly noticeable. It adds money to the pot. And while there are far better ways of supporting individual creators (like Patreon, hint hint), knowing that my consumer spending is economically enabling and incentivizing the kind of free, accessible, and diverse content that I most enjoy.

After all of this wavering, my inclination is to probably just keep paying for my subscription. After all, I enjoy it. I enjoy having it. I don’t have a particularly pressing need for those ten dollars a month, and I can always cancel if that changes. I am still on the fence about this conclusion. But for the time being, I have come to the tentative conclusion to keep using it.

Reflections on Contentedness

Contentedness is an underrated emotion. True, it doesn’t have the same electricity as joy, or the righteousness of anger. But it has the capability to be every bit as sublime. As an added bonus, contentedness seems to lean towards a more measured, reflective action as a result, rather than the rash impulsiveness of the ecstatic excitement of unadulterated joy, or the burning rage of properly kindled anger.

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned in the past decade has been how to appreciate being merely content instead of requiring utter and complete bliss. It is enough to sit in the park on a nice and sunny day, without having to frolic and chase the specter of absolute happiness. Because in truth, happiness is seldom something that can be chased.

Of course, contentedness also has its more vicious form if left unmoderated. Just as anger can beget wrath, and joy beget gluttony, greed, and lust, too much contentedness can bring about a state of sloth, or perhaps better put, complacency. Avoiding complacency has been a topic on my mind a great deal of late, as I have suddenly found myself with free time and energy, and wish to avoid squandering it as much as possible.

This last week saw a few different events of note in my life, which I will quickly recount here:

I received the notification of the death of an acquaintance and comrade of mine. While not out of the blue, or even particularly surprising, it did nevertheless catch me off guard. This news shook me, and indeed, if this latest post seems to contain an excess of navel-gazing ponderance, without much actual insight to match, that is why. I do have more thoughts and words on the subject, but am waiting for permission from the family before posting anything further on the subject.

The annual (insofar as having something two years in a row makes an annual tradition) company barbecue hosted at our house by my father took place. Such events are inevitably stressful for me, as they require me to exert myself physically in preparation for houseguests, and then to be present and sociable. Nevertheless, the event went on without major incident, which I suppose is a victory.

After much consternation, I finally picked up my diploma and finalized transcript from the high school, marking an anticlimactic end to the more than half-decade long struggle with my local public school to get me what is mine by legal right. In the end, it wasn’t that the school ever shaped up, decided to start following the law, and started helping me. Instead, I learned how to learn and work around them.

I made a quip or two about how, now that I can no longer be blackmailed with grades, I could publish my tell-all book. In truth, such a book will probably have to wait until after I am accepted into higher education, given that I will still have to work with the school administration through the application process.

In that respect, very little is changed by the receiving of my diploma. There was no great ceremony, nor parade, nor party in my honor. I am assured that I could yet have all such things if I were so motivated, but it seems duplicitous to compel others to celebrate me and my specific struggle, outside of the normal milestones and ceremonies which I have failed to qualify for, under the pretense that it is part of that same framework. Moreover, I hesitate to celebrate at all. This is a bittersweet occasion, and a large part of me wants nothing more than for this period of my life to be forgotten as quickly as possible.

Of course, that is impossible, for a variety of reasons. And even if it were possible, I’m not totally convinced it would be the right choice. It is not that I feel strongly that my unnecessary adversity has made me more resilient, or has become an integral part of my identity. It has, but this is a silver lining at best. Rather, it is because as much as I wish to forget the pains of the past, I wish even more strongly to avoid such pains in future. It is therefore necessary that I remember what happened, and bear it constantly in mind.

The events of this week, and the scattershot mix of implications they have for me, make it impossible for me to be unreservedly happy. Even so, being able to sit on my favorite park bench, loosen my metaphorical belt, and enjoy the nice, if unmemorable, weather, secure in the knowledge that the largest concerns of recent memory and foreseeable future are firmly behind me, does lend itself to a sort of contentedness. Given the turmoil and anguish of the last few weeks of scrambling to get schoolwork done, this is certainly a step up.

In other news, my gallery page is now operational, albeit incomplete, as I have yet to go through the full album of photographs that were taken but not posted, nor have I had the time to properly copy the relevant pages from my sketchbook. The fictional story which I continue to write is close to being available. In fact, it is technically online while I continue to preemptively hunt down bugs, it just doesn’t have anything linking to it. This coming weekend it slated to be quite busy, with me going to a conference in Virginia, followed by the Turtles All the Way Down book release party in New York City.