A couple of days ago, I had a realization. Not so much a new one, but the notion finally congregated into a tangible concept in my mind for the first time. I was sitting in the dining room of our house, and looking up at the trusty wall clock in the kitchen I noticed it was 5:15 in the morning, and I'd been studying for 11 hours. The next day was an exam, and I was underprepared and overwhelmed.
In situations like those it's easy to blame life, claiming some extraordinary force is influencing you in a direction you don't want to go. And a lot of people do this, whether it be blaming God or fate, luck or karma. Eventually, though, you have to wonder: What exactly was your own part in the events that precipitated this very moment or situation/circumstance? How did you, subconsciously or consciously, affect the course of your own life and the intrinsic value - good or bad - supposedly contained in the concept of fate?
My second realization this week, midterm week, was one of responsibility. I bombed a test (or two, I'll never feel comfortable admitting defeat), and the psychological aftermath was daunting. A pattern emerged, in my own life, revealing the fact that when it comes down to brass tax, when I evaluate the causes and effects leading me to the status quo, I am the only one responsible for what happens to me and for me. Sure, people might try to affect you and diverge your path in good or bad ways, but in reality the concept of choice (free will) still ends up being the deciding factor in the outcome.
As a part of this line of thought and general feeling that I am indeed my own worst enemy at this point in time, I have compiled a list of (not quite a million) ways I continuously work against myself, ways I truly self-sabotage for (as of now) unknown reasons. Enjoy, while I writhe in discomfort.
1. Convincing myself that pulling an all-night cram session before any exam will leave me more than half educated and less than fully exhausted.
2. Believing I have the superpower of accelerated learning, giving rise to the practice of only cracking the book for an exam a mere 24 hours before the actual exam.
3. Never doing the problems. This one is nonsensical, but still persists: I'm greatly allergic to homework problems, somehow believing them to take away from my free will and thus, sense of freedom. If I never do them, at least I won't feel like the problems own me (or my time).
4. Reviewing notes or reading ahead is for nerds and the 'slower' guys - CK surely doesn't need to see/hear information more than once (3 times seems like thrice the agony).
5. Believing, truly, that watching either Heroes or House will somehow transmit knowledge of medicine, a special power (to learn), or instigate incredible problem solving skills (see #3 though) simply by relaxing the brain and "taking care of myself."
6. The treacherous power of justification. Anything can be rationalized or justified if you have the right angle - adding phantom positives to something usually negative or unwise will yield a favoring of the actions themselves, even though objectively still not the best course to take. TV instead of homework anyone?
7. Socializing, since it makes me happy, surely must affect my academics positively by proxy. Let's talk about our feelings, I can do the genetics problems.. uhm.. after midnight. Right.
8. Not having time to work out stems from the imaginary enormous load of things I have to do, so as soon as I imagine taking care of those (after some Heroes, of course) I will get going on those sit-ups.
9. If I don't seriously try, the outcome doesn't reflect my ability (only the effort I put in). This means that if I never do the problems and fail a test, I'm not too stupid to understand genetics, I simply didn't try hard enough. Now the failure is a step removed, and I don't have to internalize the consequences.
10. If you can't win, don't play. This gives rise to the self-defeatist attitude that devolves into environmental blame, once again removing the quality of the outcome from my own character. Hey, the game's rigged, there's no way to win, so throwing the game makes more sense.. no?
11. Sleep is (one of) the best feelings in the world. Sleeping has a million positive effects on us, with the added bonus of making us alert and focused if enough is had. And by enough I usually mean going to bed at 3 AM and sleeping until I at least missed genetics or religion. Hey, at least I'm rested, right? That is paramount in today's overly stressed world (wait, we had a test today? Ooops).
12. It's okay to have junk food, snacks and any form of sugar when I'm doing homework, studying for a test, or generally needing the extra energy. Never mind that I'm cracked up daily anyways, plus I have an unfortunate caffeine habit, my brain biologically NEEDS the refined sugars to function, damn it!
13. The study plan I made is mostly for peace of mind, and looking at it more than once (when I type it up) is useless.. who stays organized nowadays anyhow?
14. Distractions are meant to be followed. People who are that random and that impulsive surely lead more interesting, fun lives. Never mind that I won't get my studying done - we're having popcorn during the movie! Hm.. what was I saying?
15. Schedules are for control freaks. By which I mean I might have made one (four), but that following it would be limiting myself and my freedom.
16. Doing it later means having more time right now.. to think about what to do later, do nothing, or do something fun, all of which should be repeated when it comes time to do 'it' later - which in most cases will be postponed indefinitely.
Okay. There it is. The written form of my self-accusation, put on paper (screen) to make it undeniable to myself: I'm my own worst enemy, with the potential of being my own best friend. It sounds weird, I know, but self-promotion has a long-standing tradition in this country, and those who aren't doing it fall behind.. far behind. The promotion of my own skills, potential, intelligence and acquisition of knowledge should not be a negative and chore-related concept; the fun and joy will come from the positive consequences. It's not enough to dream, as dreams without actions remain simply good intentions. And let's be honest: I'm better than that.
Seeing is believing. Yet you shouldn't believe everything you see. Crazy people know that all too well. Yet - and here comes the super-awkward segway - I see things everywhere (see, that no make the sense, yes? Anywho). And now I've decided to share these fascinations with you, again.
I love the internet, I do. When at work, I have fun in the non-work parts (anytime the phone doesn't ring, which actually happens at times) and explore all the newness happening everyday (on what my buddy Mike would call 'the interwebs,' haha..) I kid. But all joking aside; check out TechCrunch once in a while. If you love gadgets and Twitter and general Google Magic, I think you'll love that site.
That was the recommendation of the day. Check.
A place I make tons of observations, is at the gym (what else is there to do there, right?). In the US I usually work out at the local Y, where all kinds of people frequent that StairMasters and treadmills. At the Y, the common midsection (pun, get it?) of the population works out, resulting in at least my own feeling of adequacy compared to most of the grandmas, men in their midlife crises, and generally the low-on-funds obese hipsters (no stereotypes, of course). I can show up in sweats and a t-shirt, drink my water from a recycled Diet Pepsi bottle with the label torn off, and put in the miles needed for self-respect and shallow goals. People are nice, with the exception of the weight room guys grunting away and refusing to move their towels from equipment they're not using, and of course a random personal trainer or whatnot being too full of themselves. The rooms are worn down and smell faintly of old basements, but you get your squats and curls done and go home. Good enough, in other words.
My new gym is the exact opposite, and the words 'premium' and 'high-end' are used everywhere (so is the price, by the way, and the $110 a month really cuts into more than the body fat). You enter the gym, and you're greeted by former or current blond model babes of the fitness world - the kind that look like they're posing for a glam shot on the cover of Women's Health when swiping your membership card. The showers aren't showers, they're raaaaain showers (*sigh*). The changing rooms are, though, equipped with 3 different kinds of unisex saunas (can you name more than two kinds?) and a cold spring for cooling down inbetween the included pampering. The gym itself is no worse, sporting at least 4 machines in 3 different brands (ranging from fully assisted to the bar bell/weight plate type machines). Parading around in the various rooms are so-called "Motivators," whose only job is to get you re-energized and pumped for a workout, and of course the Adonis-like personal trainers who are there just to make the guys feel worse about themselves than they already do. The many classes range from fancy Yoga Karaguladingdongwhatnot to cycling/bike classes, except the latter is spelled "Xycling" and obviously the coolest class to take.
I do appreciate my new female personal trainer, though, who really seems dedicated to my fitness and achievement of my goals (plus, obviously, she ain't an uggo). My new diet, derived mostly from the incredible wealth of knowledge found in Men's Health, includes mostly veggies and tuna, whole grain pasta and fruit, and of course the daily 5 cups of coffee to handle work without ADD meds (yay). I am shaping up, though, and the definition of my muscles and midsection (I think I might see a 2-pack or a 4-pack down there somewhere, lol) is growing more apparent every time I work out. I even take my vitamins and so on, as we all like faster recuperation after an intense run/lift/whatever combo.
My best bud Mike's making his way to Viking Land in 2 weeks (more like 13 days, I'm counting), and I couldn't be more excited. The schedule, though secret until the time at which it will be executed (sounds more like a military mission, doesn't it?), is rigorous at best, and includes so much fun stuff I really can't wait. Really - I can't wait.. I'm gonna petition the Powers of Time for a slight fast forwarding of the next 2 weeks to get to the good part of this summer.
In other news, my job at One Call (cell phone company - the customer service section) has me calling myself 'Customer Care Consultant' while answering people's random and incredibly retarded phone calls. My immediate supervisor's favorite website is, not surprisingly, NotAlwaysRight.com, where all the smart stuff this breed called customers tend to say is shown off. Really hilarious, true-to-life stuff. Oh, and for my specific job, telling people what's wrong with their phone even though they could've figured it out themselves, this Flash animation should have been sent to all of them (and can be used with any random question).
That actually concludes my shift at work this great Saturday (I get paid double for working 10-2 on Saturdays, yay! That means double my hourly $23, haha) - which goes to show how much I had to do today.
I recently completed my mandatory rotation in the McKennan ER, where I usually volunteer, during which time I had the chance to sit down with patients in a different way than I usually do. One of the patients I got to talk to was a 22 year old guy, who had come in for a diffuse set of symptoms, including a headache and stomach pain. What I got to talking to him about, though, had little to do with his current ailments, and more to do with the kind of society we have become.
The guy, let's call him David, told me while waiting for the doctors to finish up their array of tests, that he'd been struggling with a general feeling of depression and unexplained sadness for the past 3 years. He had had a pretty normal childhood and adolescence, and even though his parents were divorced, he was mostly well adjusted in his various social contexts. When consulting his physician about the depression, there were no probing questions on what might have contributed to the mood disorder, what could have sparked the feelings, or any advice to try exercise or counseling. After the 10 minute consultation, David was prescribed 100 mg of Zoloft (an antidepressant) to take daily, which he had done every day since.
David told me he felt much better the very next hour after taking these new pills, and all of a sudden had a much brighter outlook on life. Gone were the feelings of sadness and anxiety, depression and irritation, and in their place a new, happier David was finally getting stuff done. He felt like a new person, and things that would usually have gotten him worried or sad would now bounce off him like a cat on a hot tin roof. He would smile for no reason, instead of cry for no reason, and could not help but to enjoy the medication he was now reliant on to function adequately.
This gave me a few things to think about, a few things to ponder if you will. The first part is the obvious one, whether or not doctors are doing too little to actually treat their patients with psychological afflictions. I think they absolutely are, and I think that the way pills are being pushed so naturally as the 'magic' solution to all our problems nowadays is borderline disgusting, and all the way saddening. The lack of appreciation for the complexity of our minds, beyond the basic and chemical, seems all too prevalent, and the easy way out of solving problems in this intricate cognitive organ we know as our brain. It is very true that the symptom of depression (or the symptom causing depression) is due to a chemical imbalance in the brain, but thanks to growing patient lists and increased time pressure docs usually don't have the time to dig much deeper than this. They opt for the easy way out, the quick fix, and parcel out pill after pill as if they were fantastic Tic-Tacs.
The solution to this problem (since I'm trying hard to be solution and not problem oriented here) is simple. Doctors don't necessarily need to spend more time with their patients, for that this health care system is too skewed and would just push those doctors out of business (because, sadly, people's health has become big business like nothing else). What physicians have forgotten is their primary responsibility to treat, and not simply mask, the patients' conditions. In 2006, an estimated 227 million antidepressant prescriptions were given out to Americans, more than any other class of meds around. This is a sign of our sad (but not antidepressant worthy) times, where pills have taken the place of psychotherapy and lifestyle changes, and where millions of Americans rely on a pharmaceutical crutch to get them through a normal day. If doctors aren't demanded to try healthier, more far-reaching and definite treatment options before throwing pills at it, and we just open our mouths and say "ah," nothing will change and we will keep hoping that what's ultimately hiding at the bottom of that pill jar is true happiness.
That brings me to the next question on my mind about David's and everyone else's story. Are our emotions really nothing more than chemicals sent over synapses in the brain? Are we defined by our serotonin? Is it really possible to change our entire view of the world by digesting a single, white pill? The last question has a verifiable answer, being yes, which would be very evident just considering how the industry of illegal drugs (think Ecstasy or Meth) is banking on this very fact. When considering the others, I am not that sure. I won't - in fact, I refuse - to believe that concepts such as love are purely due to any amount of chemicals in our brains, or that the very essence of our character and being, our soul, can be expressed in any empirical formula.
Pills with the power to alter our moods are in many ways eerie to me. They alter our moods - but do they then also in turn alter our identity, our personality, who we are? Is some little, or big, piece of us lost when we block it out with medications? I am not sure, but I definitely see that possibility. No, we shouldn't live in a sad, depressed world every day if we don't have to. But does the alteration of how we think, how we act, also in turn impact who we are as human beings? That is a heavy price to pay if that is the case, for a day of happiness.
Yeah, pills can tweak - and in some cases completely alter - our moods and mood swings for the better. I appreciate that, and think it's great that people with irremediable psychological afflictions not helped by therapy or other methods have a final, sure-fire resort. That's just it, though, it has to be the last tried alternative. Pills help us feel better for about a day, but without the pills the problems would resurface immediately. Medicine has not traditionally been about quick fixes or shortcuts, but our 'fast' food and 'fast' results driven society has regrettably been allowed to spill over into health care - fielding the advent of 'magic' pills. We're forgetting that an absence of sadness rarely constitutes happiness, which would rather come from digging deeper and resolving the actual, underlying issues. It takes time, yes, but we've got time. Especially when it comes to our own psyche.
(Before you read this, expecting stuff about my recent Miami trip, let me warn you. This is about something more abstract, but will be followed in a few days with a bigger Miami-post)
I've been thinking, and I have one big want in life. I want to be unambitious. I want whatever drives me to aspire higher and not have a regular, 9-5 life to go away. And I'd love for my ego to be fine with that. College life is so many things to people, from fun and carefree, to an everyday hassle and struggle just to keep one's head above academic water. Since I landed in SD, with the exception of that amazing Boundary Waters trip and chilling in Beresford, my life has been the latter, and it's not pleasant. As I wrote in one of my previous posts, I want my life to contain more living, and less fast-forwarding to the good parts. Making every moment, every day count for something. And that seems very hard to do nowadays. Classes have me working my tail section off for scraps (the scraps being less than stellar grades since I have 3 major science classes on my plate at the same time), and the fun times never seem to last long or even exist at times. That's not how college was intended.
I frequently hear people, older people, talk fondly about their wild and carefree college days when they never had to cook or pay bills, never had to think about much else than writing a paper now and then, before spending the weekend (or week) drinking with their friends. But they must not have been pre-med, and they can't possibly have been Augie science students. I see my own college life in contrast, and see how I go to bed at 1 am almost every day, but not because I have fun or party. I always have 146 pages to read or problems to solve, and the bad conscience that comes with letting go once in a while puts a wet blanket on any fun times that might be had. That's when I fantasize that my life minus ambition might very well be a happier one.
Ambition pushes you to do more work to attain higher goals. Reaching goals is a good thing, and makes you feel accomplished and (in theory) happy. Yet, when considering people of less ambition, lower goals, and perhaps lower aptitude, I can't help but notice that nowadays on the road to life as an adult, they're having a whole lot more fun. And they seem happier and more carefree, as well. Plus, the sad thing is, they are going to be that happy for a long while, because when your goals are low enough and you are comfortable not doing anything special or other than a 9-5 thing, you will get there, and thrive. While, paradoxically, people who strive higher and work harder to accomplish something, are less happy or content with their lives getting there.
I'd love to have both, as I usually say, and I have to find a way for that to happen. There MUST be a way to both be happy and have fun and get somewhere. I've been researching alternate majors that might still lead to the same end goal (med school), but that might still allow me more enjoyment and fun from my present-day life. My natural (sadly enough) abilities are actually more philosophy/sociology/psychology or even language based, so now my idea is to go for what I'm good at and build from there. I'd still be taking med school prerequisites like physiology and organic chemistry, but my main emphasis would be on things I naturally master. And we all know mastering something is more fun, leads to less time spent on the subject while still acing the class, and this again leads to more life to be lived. The latter is not only important, but crucial, to a happy and more carefree existence, and yes, might ultimately lead to college years I actually want to remember and re-experience.
So, we all know I work in a hospital, and maybe even that I work in the Cardiac ICU (read: heart attack central, Capital of Angina, the Ground Zero of Cardiomyopathy, or the ER's little brother). It's a reasonably stressful place to work at times, when people are on vacation and I'm left with 4 paralyzed or hemiparetic patients to care for in most imaginable ways (that is, the basic bodily functions tend to be my area of responsibility; eating, drinking, washing, defecating, urinating, exercising, plus controlling all their vitals). Even though we see our fair share of pretty critical patients, action and drama like what's seen in TV's "ER" is rarely on the menu. Yesterday, though, my medical horizon was broadened thanks to the nature of my workplace. Yesterday I met my first dead body.
Patient X was alive and well in the morning, experiencing some blunt feeling pressure and pain in his chest and left shoulder. He was 92 years old, tall and fit. Yet, without knowing it, his number was up and he was only hours away from that final farewell. Patient X felt okay considering the circumstances when arriving in the ER, so after receiving some oxygen and nitroglycerin (yay for nitro, the quick-fix), and some other vital drugs, he was wheeled up to the 3rd floor and my department, the Cardiac ICU. He was suddenly feeling dizzy and tired, and was wheeled into one of the emergency rooms. Once inside the door, the big one struck: a clot loosened off of one of his arteries, got stuck in one of the heart's own arteries, and blocked half the heart's blood flow. Patient X had coded, and before anyone could do anything, he was gone.
Considering the patient's age (92), the previous story might not have been that surprising (we all have to die from something at one point). I did, though, see the possibility of a learning experience, and volunteered to help prep the old man for his next stop (zee eerie cooler). I never actually saw the man while he was alive, but now I felt there was something to be learned from his death. The first thing that met me when I entered the emergency room where he'd been (technically his body was still there, but of course religion will explain why I don't believe he was), was the lone bed in the middle of the room, with a male body covered to his chest by a blanket in it. He was pale, very pale, and his eyes were closed. Weird thing was, as I was standing there, alone, I kept thinking this was when he'd quickly open his eyes and start screaming or moving. But, of course, that never happened. The seriousness of his situation (the whole deadness thing) really hit me when I focused on his chest, which wasn't moving or expanding. There was no visible pulse on his neck, no blinking or trembling of the eyelids, and no sound whatsoever. No breathing, no coughing, sighing, or laughing. Nothing. Just a lifeless, cold, pale body in a bed. Maybe it was the fact that I'd never seen the man alive that made it so hard to connect the shape in the bed to an actual human being, because after a while it started reminding me of those plastic ResusciAnn manikins that we use for practicing CPR, and that made it increasingly hard for me to feel anything about the soul's former vessel in the bed.
Patient X was probably a remarkable human being, a remarkable man. We all are, in some way. Knowing what TV-shows he liked and what his hobbies were would probably have added the necessary emotion to the event of his passing for me, but I think my relationship to the dead body would have remained the same. The instant we draw our last breath on this planet, our inherent union separates through a process best described as the mother of all schizophrenic episodes, leaving the water and carbon based bag of bones behind. For the few days after a death the body might serve a function as the relatives' anchor point to the person on this earth, but after this it is ultimately (and cruelly, considering how many acts of love and kindness have been conveyed through this medium) returned to the soil to start a new cycle of living things. But there is no soul in the soil. This, the actual life of our liveliness, has long since parted ways and is now comfortably finding its place above the clouds. A body is therefore just a body; no person, no life, and no personality can be found within the body's confines after its contract has been terminated. And I know you agree with me on some level, no matter what religion you belong to.
Not long to go now. A month, actually. A single month before I once again pack up my entire life, furniture, books, DVDs and all, and ship myself off to a familiar, yet unfamiliar, place. For the third time in my life I’ll fit my life into 2 overstuffed suitcases and hope that the US of A becomes my home away from home. I might not be going to the hub of civilization (or the hub of much other than corn and good manners), but South Dakota has more to offer me than you might (in your presumptive and assumptive head) think. Up until now I’ve felt that every time I answer the geographical enquiry of my destination, I’ve had to add in some form of apologetic modifier to not let the stigma of the quaint, land-locked state label me. But I’m not sorry anymore, and actually, I’m thrilled.
I have seen the scale of life play out in more than one way recently. Weighing out advantages versus disadvantages, facts versus imagination, and taking part in the decision making process that goes into making crucial life choices. Yes, I know I live in one of the richest, safest, prettiest countries in the world, and that leaving might sound as smart as the Adam and Eve exodus from Eden back in the day (which was a Wednesday, by the way. Never mind). But, just like that untimely (or maybe very timely) exit, my own sortie serves a much higher purpose. The goal justifies the means, kind of thing. No one wants to leave their comfortable lair for the vast world waiting outside, but to find food and survive, it’s necessary. My reasoning goes like this: I will be a doctor some day. To get there, I have to go to school. To go to school, I have to find an educational path that I can live with for the next (6-7) few years. I have never been as bored with school as I have been the past 2 years in Norway, and continuing here will then, of course, not be happening. This is where the life quality argument comes in. Some people are fine with being so bored with life for their entire college period that carving out their eyes with a rusty spoon sounds like a welcome and fun endeavour, since hey: you’re supposedly not meant to enjoy going to school. I have objected to this, sometimes attracting scrutiny from the Incomprehensibles, seeing as my life philosophy does not allow me to waste even a single year of living being dead inside. If you still don’t understand, take the movie “Click” (Adam Sandler) as an example. The main character uses his life remote to put his brain on pause while fast forwarding over the boring parts of life, suddenly finding himself at the end of it wondering where it all went and why his life didn’t contain more living. I couldn’t (and I refuse to) do that, and that’s why I’m willing to leave everything I know behind to pursue a more viable way of attaining my ultimate medical goal.
When life gives you lemons, you have to choice of doing that same ol’ lemonade thing, or open up your cook book on the ‘desserts’ section and get creative. Sioux Falls, South Dakota might not sound as an exciting place on paper, but the truth would surprise you. Without going into details (except for within these parentheses, where I’ll mention scenic bike trails surrounding the entire city, 3 movie theatres including one $3 one, bowling alleys, great restaurants like the HuHot Mongolian grill, the actual Sioux Falls water falls, the joyous Wal*Mart Super Center, plenty of malls for shopping, 24-hour coffee shops, and proximity to other neat cities), I can tell you it won’t be a very bohemian thing I’ll do by moving there to finish my studies. The college holds close to 2,000 students, just got a brand new library, offers plenty of on-campus dorms for that special college-life feeling, and is renowned for its science department (enter pre-med Christian). A host of appropriate and accommodating clubs, unions and other extra-curricular venues provides everything a yearning pre-med resumé might need. Next to the college two huge regional hospitals call SooFoo home, giving me exactly the range of possibilities I need. And yes, that’s what my allotted 2 years in SD is all about: possibilities. I’ll leave there well prepared for med school in some other (hopefully seaside) state, with a long list of incredible, long-lasting college memories.
So no, I’m not making a mistake. Yes, I did say I’m leaving Norway for South Dakota, USA, and yes, I’ll stay for 2 whole years. I’ll enjoy every minute, because life is too short to not make the most of your own time and place.
It's been a while (read: about 2 years) since I had one of my "metaphorical breakdowns," the ones where I frantically use metaphores to either define my circumstance through breaking it down into metaphores, or just simply break down and start writing jibberish disguised as metaphores. For some reason, the spring is the prime time for such psychological metaanalyses (yes, I just conjugated that seemlessly), with its newfound sun and optimistic greenery. You might remember (if not, here's a reminder) my post at Augie in 2006, called "My Deep Roots and Other Great Analogies," and how it dealt with both my choice of careers, the country to study in, and the university to choose. Fascinatingly, a lot has changed since then (I keep telling myself), but the feeling of indecision remains the same. So much, in fact, I debated whether or not to just call this post 'Indecision 2008' (and those of you who watch The Daily Show know where I have that title from).
2 years ago, I was wrestling with going back to Norway, going to Hawai'i or the University of Kansas, or just staying at Augie for the entire bachelor's. Back then, the first choice won, due to what I cite as family situations and a sudden regard for my financial standing. And that was fine, I'd make the same choice all over again (due to the nature of my reasons), but now the issue is back. What to do, what to do.
Let me pause this long, tedious recount of what has been, by taking the time to self-analyse. My problem seems to be a fear of letting go, and here begins my first analogy; the plunge. I have for years, since after high school, been standing at the edge of the pool of life, afraid to finally dive in and surrender myself to the whims of the waves. I have been afraid of letting go of the familiar, comfortable edge, due to the unfamiliar, perhaps cold and unwelcoming waters ahead. And, in order to actually hit the water, there'll first be a period of flying through the air, not knowing where I'll land. And that is the uncertainty I haven't felt ready to face. Yet.
I realize now that taking this plunge is inevitable if I ever want to tell my grandkids that grandpa actually started living life for real sometime. Fact is, if I don't take the plunge and fully invest myself in the present, the future will be dominated by the past. And that, my friends, is my proverbial limbo. Stuck in the past, never really living the present for fear of the future. A non-time existence, so flip-flopping and so indecisive only to keep dodging the beginnings of a future. That can't be the solution to anything.
My resolution gained from this train of thought thus has to be the opposite, e.g. decisive instead of indecisive. Breaking the limbo, taking the plunge, going for broke (and yes, that unfortunately means financially, too), and finally fully investing myself in whatever I choose. No more doing things half way because a 100% effort might actually mean furthering my own self, and lead to that menacing future. Starting now, I am serious about myself, and I'll accept whatever the fate of the future has in store. Mostly because the alternative of limbo sounds so much worse.
We're Dealing With Food, Not Missiles Here, Governor!
We ponder and talk about so many things during a week. The weather, food, travel, business, news, television, music, education, and even sex. But one sure favorite that hits home every time, because of its sheer proximity to who we are and how much time we spend on it every day, is work. We all have the perfect life carefully plotted out in our heads, or at least the qualities which to strive for, be it love or money, picket fences and dogs or visiting every one of the world's continents. And a commonality for most of us is that right now, right as we're sitting here browsing the web and reading blogs or cruisin' Facebook, is that we haven't really arrived at that 'ideal' point in our life yet. We're on our way, slowly progressing towards whatever we are sure will make us happy, whatever will complete us.
Personally I feel like I'm just getting started on that very journey towards what I want out of life. We all have to start somewhere, and that usually means getting a job which requires no real qualifications, skill, or previous experience. And if those jobs didn't exist, there wouldn't really be any place for people like me to gain that said experience most other careers have as a prerequisite. Last summer I started working for a pizza company here in Oslo, and the job turned out to be well paid too. Dolly Dimple's ("The taste that gets you hooked") Pizza is one of Norway's two big pizza distributors, and puts up a real fight in the competition for that coveted number one spot as far as quality and service goes. And service, well, that's where I come in. I work at the customer care center, and thus the phone, headset and computer are my primary tools in keeping the pizza hungry satisfied.
People are weird, weird creatures. Every, single day of our lives we stress that each and every one of us is special, equal, and that we should be treated the same way, without fault. If you are a teacher, stay at home mom, or a firefighter you're a hero, and if you happen to be a Wal-Mart clerk, a gardener, or a mechanic, you're a hard-working person just as deserving of the world's perks as anyone else. But this is where our society's bigotry and hypocrisy starts to shine through. If you ever find yourself to be working in the service industry, you might as well wear a hat saying "Lower Than Dirt" or "Kick Me in the Face, I Really Like It".
Dolly Dimple's has a lot of great customers, from all walks of life. But polite, cautious and considerate as Norwegians usually are known to be in person, they really can't handle ordering things over the phone. Like when you flip a switch, it would seem that most people think that when they dial the number to the pizza place, the person they're about to be connected to is the most lowly, abominable piece of undeserving trash they could ever find themselves having to talk to. They're sure people who work at customer care centers, people like myself, couldn't get any other job if they tried ever so hard, and that the dimwits and morons who take their pizza orders should count themselves lucky to be earning money (and not begging in the streets or selling magazines to passersby) at all.
On most days people at the very least find the decency to present themselves when connected to the customer care agent. But that's certainly not a given. Every day I get dozens of calls where all I get when saying my obligatory "Hello, you're talking to Christian" is "A huge pepperoni pizza, and I want it NOW! Get a move on!!" But that's a mild and reasonably well mannered person compared to other calls I have gotten. Consider this one, for example:
Me: Hello, you're talking to Christian. Man: Oh, yeah?! I don't give a flying f**k! I want my pizza!! Me: Okay, sir, then I'll need your phone number where you can be reached. Man: I don't wanna give you my f**king phone number! Write down my name instead! Me: That's not how it works, sir. We need a phone number in order to reach you, as well as register your order. Man: That is a F**KING LIE!! Get off your F**KING fat ass, you stupid f**k, and get your supervisor on the phone RIGHT NOW!! ME: One moment, sir.
Other examples, of course, include more extensive name calling, yelling, screaming, death threats, and even threats of violence and other charming human aggressional behaviors. But I could care less for the verbal abuse, it's actually the more subtle stuff that gets to me. People take their pizzas more seriously than anyting else, for some reason, and when considering it from the outside in it's actually immensely ridiculous. And it's the pedanticism and pettiness of it all that amazes me, and to some extent even fascinates me. Every day I (not a chef or even a deliverer) get yelled at by extremely angry people, who for some reason actually get worked up over something as trivial as not getting tomatoes or having to pick off the mushrooms themselves. Wake up and smell the coffee (or pizza) here, people!! It's JUST pizza. If I just denied you a liver transplant or amputated your legs for the kicks (no pun intended) of it, I would understand. But pizza?! Really? Could someone please realize that when people are starving to death every single second, wars are claiming lives every day, animals are going extinct, global warming will erase future generations' knowledge of snow, and women are being sexually assaulted every day, you have to be a simple-minded, egotistical, self-centered douchebag to ever throw a tantrum over not getting onions on your pizza? My goodness, have some decency. The people you're talking to are hard-working, great, clever people who try intensely to do their job and make sure you get what you ordered, and the pizza you ordered is not a new lung or anything but a simple meal. We're dealing with food, not missiles here, governor.
I'm sitting here fantastically numb. I just got done watching episode 1.18 of House MD, entitled "Babies and Bathwater". And it was sooo good!
It features some pretty gripping and heartwrenching choices having to be made by a young, married couple over their unborn child, and of course a intriguing twist that has to be handled by Dr. House and his team of specialists. If you've never had the chance to watch this amazing show before, this is your chance. Every episode is conclusive, so you might as well start out by watching one that you know is especially good. And it's good; I'm not gonna lie, I might even have become a little teary-eyed by the end of this one. Maybe it's just me, but some situations just get to me every time, and this episode featured one such plight, artfully depicted by accomplished guest actors in addition to the show's regular, genius cast. After, or before, watching this one, you should watch episode 1.21 ("Acceptance") too, as this one really shows you the funny side of the show.
As you might have heard (through the grapevine, grape juice, or otherwise), I have a minor sleep rhythm issue going on nowadays. The extreme traits of my B-personality (going to bed late/waking up late) have skewed the sleep schedule to its default position time after time, which in societies like ours is considered a problem as everything is tailored to the schedules of those who go to bed early and wake up just as early. The other day I managed to literally fall asleep during a conversation while catching up with a long lost friend of mine, Sabrin, after having stayed up for 34 hours in order for me to restore a healthier sleep pattern. And today I managed to fall asleep on the couch in the break room at work while on my five minute break, and ended up sleeping for close to 15 minutes in there, until being woken up by a co-worker.. Wow, I'm a mess. Now one of my Easter Resolutions (there is such a thing, see a later post) is to restore a 11-8 sleeping habit, and thus managing the rest of my life a little better. Sleeping at weird times gives rise to a whole host of problems, most based on the fact that the rest of my friend circle and most of society is waking up by the time I go to bed. And last time I checked, everyone still needs to interact with other people to make things happen, in one's life or just to be productive. There is, however, fortunately no effect derived from this on my body mass or weight, as it has more or less been proven that eating at night doesn't cause weight gain. One thing it does do, though, is to make me so distracted and unfocused I don't perform as well as I should at school or work, and that in and of itself is a problem to be reckoned with. It's a work in progress, but I 'm pretty confident I'll win the fight against that 'craving for moonlight', and that all I need to accomplish just that is to realize how serious the consequences of the opposite actually are.
I am, as you might have derived from this, up late yet again, and thus have some ponderings (from the previously mentioned Awareness phase, remember?) to share with you. I have grown pretty fond of the lists, and especially the ones bulleted with the circles (never mind), so I will organize my very disorganized thoughts in just that way. Some of the points will surely be revisited later, in their own posts.
I love the show House, MD. I really do. Did I maybe share that already?
I miss certain people from Augie a whole lot, and find myself smiling at some random memory almost daily. Kei Takizawa's antics and attempts to teach me Japanese, for example, and the precious coffee shop nights with the gang (Kristin, Ashley, Denise, Amber, Jennapher, Jenni, Lauren, Maren). And I miss Philosophy 110 with O'Hara, hahaha… I do!
I also miss the small things, like singing the Daphnia song with Kayla, or going to the Commons to eat in the early afternoon when it's almost empty.
Of course, I miss Alicia most of all.
I love my new apartment (pics to come), and, of course, my new room. And I love the new fabric softener I have, which makes my clothes all smell so incredibly fresh and …clean. I get carried away with the little things.
I hate doing the dishes (and by hate I mean the kind of hate I have for celery… just imagine). And I shouldn't be trusted around plants, because apparently my presence somehow kills them. Or is it my absence..?
I am somewhat worried about my future as a medical professional. The thing is, there's no way the brain can keep all the world's medically relevant facts, there must be some memory limit to things like that. Most medicine is very complex, and it's all connected to each other in specific ways, where it's all more a web of causes and effects than a clear and exclusive chain. One symptom, 100 possibilities, even more tests, and the one could be causing the other or vice versa. It's beautifully complex, that's all.
After getting my own place, the concept of shelf life has taken on a whole new meaning. Refrigerated items don't have a very long shelf life here, for some reason. In the US, refrigerated things have usually also undergone the infusion of a vaster array of chemicals than any 40 year old drug addict goes through in a lifetime, and thus keeps fresh for mysterious amounts of time. I don't want my milk to outlive me. It's just not biologically comfortable. But then again, the Norwegian stuff can't even handle a few days in the fridge before starting to go bad, and that can't be right either… There must be a middle ground?
Whistling is really fun, and I enjoy it a lot. But, when other people do it, it's so incredibly irritating. Somehow I feel that whistling invades my personal sphere or something, and it just hits me as real arrogant behavior when out in public.. Loud, high-pitched sounds like that are a way for some to show dominance over other people, and thus annoys the heck out of me if I don't know the person.. Weird, huh?
Lastly, I'm dreaming of taking a good, ol' road trip on the long and scenic US highways and byways some day. In an open convertible, roof down, sun shining.. Ah, how great wouldn't that be?
Okay, so I took the whole list thing a little too seriously, and ended up with a semi-list/semi random paragraphs thing. But, cut me some slack here. It's 4am, and I probably won't piece together more lists after this one. Next time, maybe I'll use a table?
Today's date certainly did live up to its name in so many ways. Friday the 13th. A favorite among horror flick directors, and now, not exactly a favorite of mine. Today's post is going to concern a letter I got in the mail on this day of bad luck and superstition, a letter I think is going to be a bitter landmark in my biography whenever it is published in 98 languages and outsells the Harry Potter books. I got my draft notice today, a letter telling me that I am one of the thousands of pissed youngens summoned to serve in the country's biggest playground for an entire year; the Norwegian army. Yes, you read correctly, Christian has been drafted to the military, and has thus beaten any weak story you might have had of yourself falling down and spraining your wrist on the eerie Friday 13th, missing your prom because you lacked a healthy hand to place that pink corsage on. Forget that. This, my friend, is much worse. And if being drafted when you're 21 wasn't terrible enough, I have actually been drafted to the most remote and cold place in, possibly, the world, Troms in northern Norway.
Now, let me outline for you, exactly what my problem with this whole idea is. First of all, Norway is small. Norway is tiny. And to think Norway, with its minuscule number of armed men (and some women, in all like 20,000), might ever actually carry any weight as a military power of any kind, is a foolish pursuit better left to the people who aren't all that great in neither math nor psychology. Norway is, of course, a member of NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, one of the world's most powerful defense unions. If any country was to ever attack or threaten a NATO ally, all other allies would come to the country's aid immediately. So, for the sake of this post, I will admit Norway needs a viable military force in order for it to uphold its part of the treaty and in turn be deserving of other countries' aid, but what is my problem is actually the draft itself.
An army is never stronger than its weakest link. Following this analogy, and applying it to the present-day Norwegian military, Norway couldn't even win a war with Greenland if it wanted to. The thing is, the Norwegian army uses the draft to muster up the manpower to look as if it's fulfilling its obligations as set forth by the NATO agreement, which states that all member countries must have a certain number of standing troops at all times. The problem with that is, however, that you get tens of thousands of dissatisfied, disgruntled, angry, fed up, defiant, uninterested, and most importantly unmotivated young people serving and protecting whatever brown goat cheese and lefse there is to serve and protect.
Each and every teenager who is drafted to the military nowadays has a lot of things at stake. Education and careers are finally taking off, you might just have gotten yourself a girlfriend, started to settle down, and there it comes; a letter outright ordering you to pack your bags and report to whatever place they see fit, in a matter of months. If you refuse, which is the natural reaction to being ordered to do anything once you're out of high school, the penalty can be as severe as 3 years in prison and fines so big they'll deter any runt trying to have a mind of his own and make a run for it. If you ask me, this archaic practice of drafting young hopefuls, with the threat of prison lurking in the background for anyone who's not ready to accept the ultimate power of the state over its citizens, is long overdue for a revolution. The fact is, Norway is not a communist regime. Norway is supposed, although it seems to forget this when it comes down to it, to be more like its cousin the US in the battle for a individualist society. We all agree that we should be able to make our own choices, decide the course of our own lives, and decide how to spend our time and precious years on this planet. Taking away the freedom and liberties of the citizens has conventionally been thought of as something we can only do to the criminals and wrong-doers in a society, but what we also seem to forget is that we also impose the same way on a select group of young men and women who are not guilty of anything else than bad luck and falling victim to the state's unpredictable whims. It's a severe imposition on a human being's life when forced to undergo generalized military training that is, for one, never going to be used, and, for another, the person has never volunteered to participate in. The citizens' lives aren't the whimsical pawns of any state, seeing as we are all supposed to be guaranteed freedom and certain inalienable rights, and the very fact that the armed services don't try to recruit willing, young men, and make for a more motivated and goal oriented military, is beyond me. Instead, forcing and coercing thousands of not needed others into spending an entire year of the most fruitful period of their lives somewhere they themselves haven't signed up to be, or want to be, has been the path they have chosen.
The draft is unconstitutional. Yes, the draft itself might be in the constitution and all that, but it breaches one of the more basic of acts; the society is here for the good of the people. It is here as an instrument for the individual to further his or her own dreams, and to ensure the freedom and liberties of every one of its members. The society has been given the power to punish those of its citizens that cause harm to said community or society, or its members, but that power was never meant to be used against law-abiding and innocent people. The society has no right whatsoever to force its citizens to do anything, seeing as we are individuals and are supposed to be able to govern our own lives freely. A state that takes over the control of its citizens' lives, with the threat of prison time and fines for those who don't obey, sounds eerily much like the type of societies the western world is currently waging war against. Wait… is that our own tail?
See? I keep my promises! I told you I would post something every single day for a month, and this is the second one…! I never lie (which is, by default, a lie, but nonetheless). Here goes.. hm, a slice of bread? Never mind.
I actually went to school today. Believe it or not. Me, the guy who's been having issues (multiple, I tell you) for a month now, preventing me from attending the crucial med lectures I always forget I love. First, there was the issue of being thrown out of my house, a topic which I'll surely revisit one of these days, and then, of course, there was the magic of Alicia's visit and the subsequent delightfully distracted mind. But the point is, as I'm getting to, that I indeed did go to school today, and I actually did so after staying up all -ALL- night and day before this. And I discovered that, after the sleep deprivation had made itself known and the drunk phase (yes, there is such a thing) had worn off, I actually felt more imaginative and lucid than before. During this.. let's call it Awareness phase, I did in fact make a few fascinating observations (and a few that questions my theory of a heightened awareness), that I will outline for you here.
The smell of freshly grilled chicken is amazing, and I could probably donate an appendage (take a finger, please, or better yet, the appendix) to have some if I was isolated from this delicious bird for any amount of time.
Walking around fast, in scrubs, just looking serious and like you're rushing to get somewhere important, is the coolest thing ever. (btw, I used to do that when getting lunch in the hospital cafeteria in Sioux Falls. People stopped and just gazed admiringly as I rushed past, hahaha..)
A new nickname could very easily be born whenever I become a doctor. Seeing as my blood is almost pure diet Pepsi, or Pepsi Max as Norwegians call it, some coworker should mention "Mr. Pepsi Max is coming" or something, one day. And that's when I will reply "Hey! That'll be Dr. Max to you!" and thus a new nickname will be born. Dr. Max, how cool is that?
When I don't sleep, my mind makes up connections in my head that sounds good at the time, but that any sane person would immediately dismiss as jibberish.
That was basically what I had before I ran out of steam, and got home to take a nose dive into the pillow, which will be my home until House MD (which ROOOCKS) comes on at six.
BTW: During our medical ethics lecture today, the professor had an example of tough choices made by people concerning loved ones. A girl, 8 years old, had developed kidney failure, and her parents were asked if they wanted to test if they could be possible donors. The dad agreed to be tested, and then came back to the hospital afterwards to learn the result of his tissue matching. The doctor told him he was a very good match, and that he would be a perfect candidate for donating his kidney to the sick daughter. The man, however, had declined right then and there, and refused to do it. The doctors, puzzled, asked why he then had gotten tested, and why he now didn't want to donate to save his daughter's life. The man went on explaining that he just didn't "feel comfortable" having one of his organs taken away, and that the decision had been made even before the biopsy. He just wanted the result of the match to have been negative, so he could feel better about declining any donating, a 50% chance of feeling better about the decision he was going to make anyways. Now, if you ask me, there should be a law ordering family members to undergo unharmful and unproblematic surgery if their family member is in need of a donatable organ, but no, this guy actually got away with not saving the life of his daughter when he could/should have.. That's just not ethical. If you could, you should, because family comes with a lifetime of responsibility.
Since I've been more than a little abscent from this blog lately (read: this past year), I have decided to start taking this literal vent more seriously and make myself write more. To start things off, I will take some advice from another blog I stumbled upon the other day, and sit down every single day for the next month and write up a post right here. And just so we're clear on the rules, this one will count as number one, and every post from now on containing more than a picture will be a consecutive post. Contents or length don't matter, as long as it's done every day and they contain little tidbits conveyed by the alphanumeric alphabet.
Easter came and went. This year, apart from a delicious and ooooh so bad Easter egg filled with too much (hm, lying) candy, Easter didn't get the usual significance it should have. Sure, I watched the gruesome (Easter themed) movie Passion of the Christ, but on the spiritual/religious side, that was as far as my efforts went. I didn't go to church, but then again that part of Easter isn't mandatory, and really shouldn't be either, but I somehow felt I should have. Alicia and I went to church the Sunday when she was here, which was nice, so to some extent the church-going for this year has been done, at least when excluding my Christmas visit. And sadly, the extent of my church participation is actually typical of the average Norwegian, all citing 'personal religion' and 'a personal relationship to the higher powers', and thus eliminating the need for a church to pray and worship. I'm of that opinion myself, to some extent, but when I visited the main city church with Alicia a couple of weeks ago, and when going to church with the US family in December, I definitely felt a calm, a warmth, and a peace, that I think is the reason why people do go to church. Churches have remained important to people throughout the ages, and are still so today, and logically I think there must be a reason why so-called educated and modern people seek out a building topped by a cross every Sunday, and sit there for an hour or more listening to one person. And thus I think houses of worship must serve some purpose, fill some important voids, in people's lives, that they can't have filled at home, no matter how good their relationship with the Almighty might be one-on-one at home on their bedside. I will, is what I'm trying to say, take my religion more seriously, and try to attend church more often than I have so far. Who knows, maybe I'll even enjoy it?
The main focus of my post this time wasn't really the individual's practice of religion, believe it or not, it was more my time management skills. This last break has thrown me totally off my normal schedule, and turned my day upside down. On a normal day last week, I'd wake up around 5 or 6 pm, have dinner by 10 or 11, and stay up until 7-8 am. And have I corrected this incredible, yet so comfortable schedule by now, you ask? Hardly. Actually, as we speak (and I type), it's 4:30 in the morning, and I have school at 9. I suck. The hard thing about having to change schedules like that fast is that you either have to stay up all night and all day to pull it off, or you have to accept having a 7 hour day before forcing yourself to go to bed again. And obviously none of the alternatives are very comfortable, so I have resisted until now..
Don't worry, I won't let this ruin anything big, I just enjoy imagining being on break for longer than I should sometimes.
Another summer day Has come and gone away In Paris and Rome But I wanna go home
Maybe surrounded by A million people I Still feel alone I just wanna go home Oh I miss you, you know [...]
Another aeroplane Another sunny place I'm lucky I know But I wanna go home Mmmm, I've got to go home
Let me go home I'm just too far from where you are I wanna come home
And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life It's like I just stepped outside When everything was going right And I know just why you could not Come along with me That this is not your dream But you always believed in me
- "Home" by Michael Buble.
As always, there are people who know how to put things a million times better than we can, and this time I found my issue themed so well in a song.
I talked to my dad the other day, and during our conversation I told him about my indecision, my conundrum, regarding next year's plans, and as always he wasn't of much help. It's not that he didn't try, of course, and the past few years I think I have noticed somewhat of a growth in him as well. He's grown more understanding in many ways, and actually seems to have grown right in to the patient, understanding dad-role my brother and I have always hoped would come. We had our little talk on the phone, and when I mentioned that I wasn't sure what choice, path or whatever other kind of clichee road I would choose, the aforementioned unhelpfulness became truly apparent. Deriving energy from some mysterious parent place (maybe there's a manual), he calmly told me that he would support and stand by me a hundred percent no matter what my choice is, and that he was proud of me for doing all that I have done so far anyways, that he would be immensely proud of me even if I had chosen to become a street sweeper or say, garbage man. Oh, incredibly nice, somewhat comforting, but not what I need. What I need now is for someone to take my hand and step in front of me, and lead me through the maze of doubts, fears and confusions. I am the only one who can make the call, I guess, and the road to a decision is cluttered with many thoughts, feelings and advice. My dad would love to have me back, he said, but what he found more important is what I think would be best for me..
I am on my own on this one. I must make some major, life altering decisions by myself, decisions that will impact my life and future happiness. Is that what's at stake? Sure, to my dad small decisions like ham or cheese on my shcool lunch were fine, but when it comes to the big ones I'm pretty much on my own. Not exactly what I call a picnic.
My dad seems to have developed his analogical side a bit, and used it to make an important point. He warned me of the pitfalls of taking too long to decide, in fact, he emphasized that I shouldn't let the trains of my life leave the station if there was a chance I wanted to be on one of them. I agreed, telling him that I am planning on buying tickets to all the various trains (applying to the different schools, etc, for those not following), and that I would get on the right one when I know which one it is. Now, I am procrastinatory about this decision, probably out of fear of making the wrong one and the implications of such a move, but hopefully I will know before the trains start up their engines.
Relating back to the song lyrics above, I need to emphasize the apparent importance of my roots in my life. My roots are, like many people's, my friends and family, and most of my roots are naturally back in Norway. Just like a tree cut down and shipped overseas, I imagine that I cannot live without my deep roots and that I am faced with two choices; growing new ones (which takes years and might not be possible because of the difference of the soil) or returning to my old and well grounded ones. I do indeed feel amputated without my roots, and now the question has become if I'm ready to endure this indefinetely until some new roots grow out (and the old ones wither and die).
I am at a fork in the road, one certain trail has divided into exactly four other ones, and I am stuck at the junction. I'd like time to stop, and for me to be able to put off making the decision forever, but I guess freezing time's just not in my imaginary backpack of skills. Sadly enough. Time, darn it, keeps rolling, and the hour of determination draws near. But, I will be ready. I will have an answer.
Life is weird. And sometimes, we're forced to take a closer look at just that life, and in particular, ourselves. Our personalities are certainly complex, and the factors that make up this personality even more so. "If something's not broken, don't fix it," is the ever sounding proverb of our day, and throughout my life I seem to have added to this, making it something like "If you manage to ignore something that's broken, you don't have to fix it."
I am an egg. Well, a complex egg, but it works well for my analogy. I surround myself with the always thicker shell, protecting the vulnerable soft core of my existence. People can be cruel, people don't always consider your feelings, and this especially counts for people whom you've never met. New people, thus, don't get the same Christian everyone that knows me get, they get the ridiculously shielded and guarded Christian, and this one is not a very personable character. I avoid new people's eye contact, avoid their questions by answering in short, amputated sentences to not give away anything that might have them attack or make fun of my self or appearance, and due to this Christian is an arrogant a**hole the first time they meet me. People who by nature don't give people second chances or fair shakes at a second impression then end up sticking to this feeling of CK as a bastard, a bloated idiot who thinks he's too good to even talk to them. If they just knew that just inside that hard outer shell, a scared, fluffy, considerate and friendly Christian is hidden, just waiting for that added security of a second meeting to bloom, to shed some insecurities and reveal the second layer of myself.
My egg white. My egg white's white, yes, but not in the exact angelical sense. I am in no way perfect, even though the people who brush me off after getting rejected by my hard shell might think that I think so. I know I need people around me, after all people are flock animals and thus need closeness and socialization, but I have always been highly selective when it comes to my friends. Quality over quantity, so to speak, has been my motto, and considering the fairly small number of people who choose to give me a new chance after an encounter with my arrogant casing, I'd say the people who have gathered to make up my friend circle testify to the effectiveness of this filter. It's sad though, that I reject people based on my own insecurities, and this is certainly something I'll have to work on, seeing as it also makes the number of people that dislike me bigger than the ones that like me. And that is no way to be happy. I was told today, and this is probably why I thought I'd do a post on my inner workings, that I am somewhat of a needy, pushy and intrusive person, which actually blew me away. I happen to think my good qualities outweigh my bad ones, so hearing that people I call my friends can only handle a low daily dose of Christian isn't easy to take. But I guess it makes some sense, too much of anything is bad, after all, and I realize that I can be a bit much when exposed to me for longer periods of time. The fact that my hand-picked network of good friends is small results in more time I will spend with each one, and thus a higher chance of being taken in larger, harder to swallow doses.
If my outward personality, the real outward personality, is the egg white, then what could the yolk be? Well, my soul I guess. The base of me being good or evil, or the intricate balanced gradient inbetween the two. My hopes, wishes and aspirations, my deeply rooted insecurities and the ever present history of my mess of a family, all things that will always be at the center of me together with whatever degree of selflessness, love and other good things I possess. And the many memories I have, good and bad, the memory of my grandmother and my cat King Farouk I, the memory of being bullied for being fat in school and then rising up against it one day when I chased down my oppressor and pounded him to the ground, the many times I have been ignored or looked down upon as a person just for being fat, or even the memory of my parents' happy marriage before everything was blown to pieces, are all stored in my own, deeply rooted yolk.
It's not easy being anyone, and we certainly have a million things that decide just what we think, feel or act like in any given moment, all a combination of so many factors. In order for people to understand me, which I feel is happening less and less, I felt I had to write this to have them understand what the "me" is really comprised of. And seeing as I don't even understand it, and other people obviously think they do and that what they are looking at is broken, I felt I would give my side of "me" without being told that what I think I am is incorrect. I certainly have things to work out, as do people who think they don't (and they probably more than the rest of us), but in the end all that matters is how we feel about ourselves. I might be broken, by so many standards, but inside of me I also know that there are so many things that are complete and beautiful, and I will not let a few cracks in my armor tear me apart.
Brought to you by the life philosophy part of Everwood, which I have recently come to appreciate. "Moving away isn't going to fix the things that are wrong inside." A quote that I felt hit the spot.
As I write this post, my mind keeps telling me that I shouldn't. I should, it says, instead be running from bar to bar partying it up (a little late there, mind, since it's 2:00 a.m., but nice try), studying some vague medical subject just so I'm prepared for the MCAT or whatever other important task I have to complete the next few years, or even sleeping to be able to wake up and be able to make the most out of my last 19 days and 22 hours as a teenager. That's just the thing; my birthday, my 20th birthday, the big 2-0 is coming up, and I'm basically freaking out. I keep torturing myself every free minute I have, mostly with questions like if I have made the most out of my teenage years, those precious teenage years that so many "adults" spend incredible amounts of time and money trying to revert to, and if I could have done more, or if there's something I could have done differently. I was after all given 2557 days of teenagehood, and now they are coming to and end, one second at a time. Will I be able to tell my children that yes, dad made the most out of his teenage years, partying it up and doing everything he could have done, with no regrets? Isn't that what it all comes down to? Did my teenage years just pass me by, did I just waste them all, and now suddenly waking up and realizing it in the past few weeks of it? Has my life so far just been a mockery, a bad movie, a boring C-movie that I wouldn't even want to see if given the choice? That I'm even asking these questions scares me, because I shouldn't have to. I should be able to simply state that "these were good times, I'm content with this, I did all I possibly could and now it's time to enter the more serious adulthood". But no, I can't, I'm stuck here in my uncertainty, wondering if I just screwed up the 8 years of my life that everyone who've left them seem desperate to go back to.
I hate this. I'm now down to the 19th day and 21st hour before I exit my teenage years, and I still don't know if I should cry over spilt milk or feel good about refilling my cup. Some things I do know I have done right though, and others I cannot quite decide if were either positive or negative. The first positive thing that comes to mind from my past 8 teenage years must be going on my exchange year to Arizona. It was certainly a journey I'll never regret, and that makes me feel good. I did something out of the ordinary, I broadened my horizon, and I had more fun than most typical teens do. A big point on the good side of life, which I guess means I have to balance it out with a few minor negative ones. First of all, I certainly know that I didn't spend as much time with my grandmother before she passed away as I would have liked to, and the same goes for my cat Farouk. Once in a while I still imagine him entering whatever room I'm in, just to turn and face the fact that he's not there, and never will be again. Such losses are hard to take, but are sadly enough a part of life, a part we all must experience if we are daring enough to love someone. That's the hazard, but to me the grief will never outweigh the joy of love, and thus I guess the love is worth whatever pain it will inevitably cause.
You make a lot of acquaintances in 8 years, and some you are lucky enough to make friends. I have kept mostly all the people worth keeping in my life, and that I would say I'm content with. Some are new, and others have gotten to prove themselves more long-lasting. My friend Julie and I, for example, have been friends for 6 years now, which is probably the second longest of my friendships that I currently still can say I have. But just as you keep some friends, others seem to suddenly and mysteriously count themselves out, like Thomas. I'm beginning to come to terms with it now, but that's hard too, that he's decided we're not worth his time anymore, and that he'd like it more if he could live his life without me in it. Okay, I say, I certainly did my part, and probably more than could be expected of anyone who's brushed off like that, so I actually don't regret anything when it comes to Thomas. He made his choice and stuck with it, and thus he's the one who has to live with killing a 9 year old friendship. Sad, sure, inexplicable, sure, but when he's 25 and he gets dumped by his girlfriend, he'll have to call someone else, because then I'll have other people relying on me to be there for them.
But halfway bitter remarks about past best friends aside, what else have I done with my precious years of life? I went to college, that's something, and even that's more than anyone in my family, which should be noted as an accomplishment. I have gotten a plan for the future, which is also a good thing, as well as reconnecting to and finally establishing some equal relationship to my brother. I've learned that a not so picture perfect background doesn't necessarily put any ends to the dreams you can have, and more than ever I believe that dreams that defy logic usually end up being the best realities.
So, what else should I have done? Exercised, that's one. Let's not ignore the elephant in the room (more literally than anything else), I'm not exactly an athlete, neither have been since I was like 14. But, obsessed eating out of boredom and negative feelings aside, I have wishes and visions, exemplified in the various idols I have chosen. The Smallvillian Clark Kent (including Tom Welling), for one, with his mild mannered personality and cool, athletic appearance, J.D. from "Scrubs" (also the guy who plays him, Zach Braff), for another, seeing as he's both funny, cool and profound, and even Bright (Chris Pratt) from Everwood's a person I'd like to be more like. Hopefully I'm not the only one in this world with role models to aspire to, and hopefully you don't think I'm all weird now. Anyways, I think we all need stuff to reach for, so I'll just tell you that I keep reaching every day, even though it seems to be an eternal struggle to actually find out who you are in the scheme of things.
Life is a long book, I guess (oh, Christian, that's original, did you think of that all by yourself? Amazing), and now a chapter is about to close for me. It contains many battles, some won and some lost, much love and many adventures, many times I'd love to relive and others I wish could have been taken out, many choices with uncertain outcomes, many friends and a few really good ones, more deaths of loved ones than should have been, less guilt than initially thought, and a heck of a student loan. What I can say for certain, anyways, is that I cherish where I am now, and no age can ever tell me not to be a teenager at heart. I miss a lot of things, look forward to even more, and I actually think turning 20 could become a good thing. I'll try to make sure that this next decade doesn't contain any regrets, only won battles, and more self realizing. It's time I start anew, with a blank slate and only the good luggage packed and ready to go, because future: Here I come.
Reminding you that in 19 days, 20 hours, 20 minutes, Christian will turn 20, and that's why February 11th, 2006 is a special day.
What stories make up a life? And are some stories more important than others? This fall I began a journey into the world of biology comfortably back in the US, after a year of nursing in Norway. In this blog I intend to share all the little intricacies of my life with you, and you have the option of reading it or not. But prepare to be captivated. Maybe even mesmerized.
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