The past few years have been better than I gave them credit for. 2005 was spent breaking up with the girl I knew without a doubt was the girl I would one day, in the distant future, marry (and I suppose this is yet to be dis-proven, however it is not a thing that occupies my mind much now-a-days); it was also spent in an horribly depressed era that resulted in two admissions to a mental institution. However, I still maintain that this was a good year, because I resumed my studies of the Dharma (hence ending the relationship that was, at that time, maintained by negative motivations), and also because I found out how great life is when I respond to my calling (my first admission was due to the fact that I was entirely convinced that life could not be good; my second was due to returning from a trip to post-Katrina Mississippi, helping people in need, and realizing that life was not good, as it was).
I recognized the fact that I over-thought, over-analysed every single thing, which prevented me from acting. Ever. So, the simple solution: don't worry about thoughts & feelings--just act. November 2005 found me released, working in a job that made me miserable, and living with my ex's parents half of the time, and my own the other half. By January 2006, I had a new apartment, with two great roommates (who are thinkers that act to reach their goals/dreams), and I was re-enrolled in college.
I met and began dating a girl. This was evidence of impulsiveness: pre-2006 me would have never gone on a date with someone I hadn't known very well, or very long, or usually both. Our first date involved a lot of talking (mostly on her part, because I talk very little, and she talks very much) and getting to know each other. It also involved making out--again something I never would have considered sooner. Our second date involved sex, and pretty much every date following did as well. Keep in mind this is coming from a guy who finds the life of a monk to be his nature, and who finds a normal, every day life to feel entirely alien. I was trying to live that kind of life, but I really didn't know what I was doing. I realized that acting without thought or compassion did change my life entirely, but I also realized I was not being myself and, worse in my mind, it was not fair to the girl.
When we had our first fight (more of simply an harsh argument), it was due to me being emotionally absent (I withdrew even what emotional involvement I did have once I realized I was doing something wrong). She left, and I didn't fight it because I knew she was more right than I was. I still maintain that she was not entirely right (she said I treated her like a whore; I perceive that she treated me like one, and that I behaved like one), however I did learn from her humility enough to not presume I know what I'm talking about when it comes to the relationship between any two human beings.
Also in the early half of the year, I learned a lot about attachment and detachment. For example, when my ex left for London, when she was no longer ever-present, she did no longer dominate my life. Certainly we stayed in touch (resulting in several $100.00 phone bills), and we told each other about our new lives, and we still cared much about each other; however in a sense I did let her go entirely. Hearing from her was like receiving a post card, and calling her was like that, too--as opposed to the epic poetry (however hurt and angry) that every conversation (however brief) from 2005 had seemed to represent to me.
Other than those two, 2006 introduced many other relationship experiences. I now lived with one of my ex's best friends, and my long-time friend (who was also my college roommate from my first foray into further academia). I now had friends willing to leave their houses and hang out (seriously, most of my friends are serious homebodies--as am I, so it was nice to be persuaded to leave my own house, too).
And, I had alcohol. I drank exponentially more in 2006 than I had cumulatively 1977-2005. I drank enough to concern people, but I do not think I ever really had a problem. I would come in from work, sit down, and have a cold beer, or three, or a mixed drink. I don't think this was alcoholism; it was mimicry. I was trying to live that every-day-guy kind of life and (I imagine this is due to seeing my father in that role) that is what I imagined it required. I got drunk rarely (except at first, but that was celebratory I claim), but I drank often. [As I typed that, it felt like I was making excuses, which I would think indicated that I did have a problem, however I am referring to a phase that has passed so I don't see why I would make excuses. So for the time being, I'll still say I'm being honest, there.]
Within the latter half of the year, I began having depression issues again. The thing is, the decision to think less and act more was meant to be the means to an end--that end being accomplishment, specifically to focus on what my life worthwhile. Turns out, it wasn't school. College had been a goal, to prove that I could make something happen, and to prove to myself what little effort it required to do so. No, what makes my life worthwhile is that calling I referred to earlier. It's that monk-nature. I realized (as I had realized so long ago, and forgotten) that being myself, being open and honest, and most of all not spending time doing anything other than being myself, open and honest, is the most important thing.
For the longest time I thought I was crazy, thinking that monkhood was sensible. In fact, the only time I spent not feeling crazy was the short time that I spent in close friendship with someone who felt and thought about things in a similar manner. I would try to explain to people that I was not worth listening to, not worth getting to know, because I was defective, faulty and fractured (if not downright broken). [You may notice that my handle for everything from SG to MySpace to YouTube has always been fracturedguy.] The fact that this concept was always disputed frustrated me--how and why would anybody, much less everybody, be willing to accept a lie, my sanity, as truth? After being told repeatedly, by friends, family, therapists and acquaintances that I am not crazy, I felt like I could just not be understood, and so I stopped talking about my point of view. I became a closeted Buddhist, shutting away and denying that part of myself. I was no longer myself, open and honest, not even with myself.
In recent years, I have begun finding and cultivating friendships with other like-minded people--not people who think to be monks, so much, as people that have the same ideas and beliefs toward self- and community-improvement as I have. In the latter part of 2006, I realized that these friendships were made possible because we shared these views. I realized that I could be understood and, amazingly enough, that I was not so crazy after all.
2006 was a big year for me. 2007 will be even bigger. It's time for you to know me as a Buddhist, as a friend, as a human being. I don't have all of the answers, and within the world of monkdom I still have many decisions to face. I'm not at the pinnacle of achievement that I set out for. I'm just finally getting started.
I recognized the fact that I over-thought, over-analysed every single thing, which prevented me from acting. Ever. So, the simple solution: don't worry about thoughts & feelings--just act. November 2005 found me released, working in a job that made me miserable, and living with my ex's parents half of the time, and my own the other half. By January 2006, I had a new apartment, with two great roommates (who are thinkers that act to reach their goals/dreams), and I was re-enrolled in college.
I met and began dating a girl. This was evidence of impulsiveness: pre-2006 me would have never gone on a date with someone I hadn't known very well, or very long, or usually both. Our first date involved a lot of talking (mostly on her part, because I talk very little, and she talks very much) and getting to know each other. It also involved making out--again something I never would have considered sooner. Our second date involved sex, and pretty much every date following did as well. Keep in mind this is coming from a guy who finds the life of a monk to be his nature, and who finds a normal, every day life to feel entirely alien. I was trying to live that kind of life, but I really didn't know what I was doing. I realized that acting without thought or compassion did change my life entirely, but I also realized I was not being myself and, worse in my mind, it was not fair to the girl.
When we had our first fight (more of simply an harsh argument), it was due to me being emotionally absent (I withdrew even what emotional involvement I did have once I realized I was doing something wrong). She left, and I didn't fight it because I knew she was more right than I was. I still maintain that she was not entirely right (she said I treated her like a whore; I perceive that she treated me like one, and that I behaved like one), however I did learn from her humility enough to not presume I know what I'm talking about when it comes to the relationship between any two human beings.
Also in the early half of the year, I learned a lot about attachment and detachment. For example, when my ex left for London, when she was no longer ever-present, she did no longer dominate my life. Certainly we stayed in touch (resulting in several $100.00 phone bills), and we told each other about our new lives, and we still cared much about each other; however in a sense I did let her go entirely. Hearing from her was like receiving a post card, and calling her was like that, too--as opposed to the epic poetry (however hurt and angry) that every conversation (however brief) from 2005 had seemed to represent to me.
Other than those two, 2006 introduced many other relationship experiences. I now lived with one of my ex's best friends, and my long-time friend (who was also my college roommate from my first foray into further academia). I now had friends willing to leave their houses and hang out (seriously, most of my friends are serious homebodies--as am I, so it was nice to be persuaded to leave my own house, too).
And, I had alcohol. I drank exponentially more in 2006 than I had cumulatively 1977-2005. I drank enough to concern people, but I do not think I ever really had a problem. I would come in from work, sit down, and have a cold beer, or three, or a mixed drink. I don't think this was alcoholism; it was mimicry. I was trying to live that every-day-guy kind of life and (I imagine this is due to seeing my father in that role) that is what I imagined it required. I got drunk rarely (except at first, but that was celebratory I claim), but I drank often. [As I typed that, it felt like I was making excuses, which I would think indicated that I did have a problem, however I am referring to a phase that has passed so I don't see why I would make excuses. So for the time being, I'll still say I'm being honest, there.]
Within the latter half of the year, I began having depression issues again. The thing is, the decision to think less and act more was meant to be the means to an end--that end being accomplishment, specifically to focus on what my life worthwhile. Turns out, it wasn't school. College had been a goal, to prove that I could make something happen, and to prove to myself what little effort it required to do so. No, what makes my life worthwhile is that calling I referred to earlier. It's that monk-nature. I realized (as I had realized so long ago, and forgotten) that being myself, being open and honest, and most of all not spending time doing anything other than being myself, open and honest, is the most important thing.
For the longest time I thought I was crazy, thinking that monkhood was sensible. In fact, the only time I spent not feeling crazy was the short time that I spent in close friendship with someone who felt and thought about things in a similar manner. I would try to explain to people that I was not worth listening to, not worth getting to know, because I was defective, faulty and fractured (if not downright broken). [You may notice that my handle for everything from SG to MySpace to YouTube has always been fracturedguy.] The fact that this concept was always disputed frustrated me--how and why would anybody, much less everybody, be willing to accept a lie, my sanity, as truth? After being told repeatedly, by friends, family, therapists and acquaintances that I am not crazy, I felt like I could just not be understood, and so I stopped talking about my point of view. I became a closeted Buddhist, shutting away and denying that part of myself. I was no longer myself, open and honest, not even with myself.
In recent years, I have begun finding and cultivating friendships with other like-minded people--not people who think to be monks, so much, as people that have the same ideas and beliefs toward self- and community-improvement as I have. In the latter part of 2006, I realized that these friendships were made possible because we shared these views. I realized that I could be understood and, amazingly enough, that I was not so crazy after all.
2006 was a big year for me. 2007 will be even bigger. It's time for you to know me as a Buddhist, as a friend, as a human being. I don't have all of the answers, and within the world of monkdom I still have many decisions to face. I'm not at the pinnacle of achievement that I set out for. I'm just finally getting started.