Befriending Strangers - Why do we inflict hurt?

I had a few bad experiences with strangers in the past 36 hours. Once trying to get a table at the bar, once at the hockey game, once walking back from the hockey game. For a moment, I started to lose faith in strangers. To say that is a big deal. Most people in this world are strangers to us.

I wonder, what dictates the way people conduct themselves to those they have little obligations to--people like strangers. What makes people act rudely, harmfully or childishly towards people they have no shared experiences with? Conversely, why do people act as such towards people they DO have shared experiences with? It seems silly. If you DON'T know them, why be a jerk? If you do you know them why be a jerk to jeopardize the relationship? Perhaps a reason to be a jerk is retribution to the way someone has treated you in the past? But if that's the case, that still doesn't explain why to be ill towards somebody else in the first place.

Briefly, there are times when I lose faith in strangers...which is to say losing faith in humanity collectively, I guess. But then, someone will be laughing. Or, a baby walks down the street, toddling along with his parents. There are times when the human spirit triumphs and goodwill towards humanity and the earth triumph over greed. Beauty happens. And then, I remember my faith again.

A young man again

What dreams may come?
As golden fields of corn
turn to ranches, then mountains, then desert.

My father and I
He a young man again
Traveling for a new life
out of circumstance, not choice.
He needs a life.

Like a younger man, again.

I see myself in the windshield.

[pause]

I am a younger man, too.

Ajoba - In Memorioum

My grandfather was a good man. I could pretend to tell you that I knew this firsthand because of some fantastic relationship we had. Maybe I could draft a narrative about some fishing trips, or how I told him about my first kiss, or about how he described my dad when he was my age. The truth is, I can't. I barely knew the guy. The truth is, I couldn't have know him. He lived halfway across the world from this place, and it's hard to travel that far. He came here once, when I was little with my grandmother. I was really small then. I only remember how funny my very Indian grandparents looked in winter caps and mismatched parkas in the bitter gully of winter. I have the picture, I guess.
Aside from that, my father and grandfather were estranged from each other for a very long time. I've only heard tidbits about my father's childhood from what my mom sneaks me in hushed tones every now and again when my dad is napping, or we're driving in the car. As a result, I haven't been very close to my fathers side of the family until recently.
I would ask my father about my grandfather sometimes. It was hard for me to get words out of my dad. It still is. But, when he actually talked about it with me, he said my grandfather was honest, and that he was stern, and that he respected him. He never said that he loved my grandfather, but I'm pretty sure he did. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't like talking about it, either.
I understand why my father and his father don't get along so much. They're very much alike. I'm like them, in some ways at least, too. They're stubborn and extremely ethical. They are hard working and driven. Neither of them are funny, but they both love laughing. Their tempers are fierce. They both hug awkwardly (though my dad is better now) and say "my son"--or its hindi translation--in mid embrace. They are so similar it doesn't surprise me that they fought. They were trying to be the same guy. It's the same reason my father and I argue.
I don't dream very often. I almost consider it a blessing when I actually remember my dreams. Usually I remember dreams about women. Other than that, I only remember nightmares. Rather, I should say that I remember one nightmare, I have one that comes back every few years. In it, my dad dies. They're the only times I every wake up crying. It took a great amount of deliberation to realize why this dream bothered me so much; I want to be my dad. Even though he has serious flaws, my dad is an amazing person. He's accomplished a tremendous amount in his life. If he had a better draw from the get go, he would be much more accomplished than he is now.
Anyway. The guy's my hero. And needless to say, the thought of losing your heroes is scary.
Anyway, back to my grandfather. I do know him in a way, because he and my father are so similar. Knowing my father, by transitivity, I know him. But also by transitivity, if I lose my grandfather, I lose part of my father. Which is the scary part. Part of my father is gone now, which will never come back. My memories won't come back, his body won't come back. All that really lives on of his is my father. And I suppose through part of me, too. I would only be so lucky though, because my grandfather was a good man.

The Killer Thrill

Thrills just need to be felt. My age cohort thrives on thrill. We learn, work, and play all in a thrilling fashion. We are addicted.

Look at the academic system for example. The system is high intensity with high-stakes and a high yield for rewards. Those who are strong push, push, and push. The ambitious ones survive and in turn seek more thrills and successes.

The same goes for the social scene: alcohol, sex, and loud music. It's rather thrilling from what i can grasp about it. I'm thrilled even when I'm in the evironment.

But, why are thrills so addicting? Could it be physiological? It must not be exclusively, because emotions/moods feel wierd when thrills are not present.

The only reason that I can imagine that thrills are so fantastic because of how controllable they are. They are pleasureable and controllable. It's a rush to feel like you are doing something...controlling something...and making progress. It's a occurence that is fleeting of tension and freeing of passion.

Why should I try to stop people from thrills? How to define the costs of a thrill? Because there are costs.

Ok, you climbed a mountain, so what?

I currently write you from Three Forks, MT. It is 11:01 Mountain time and I have to wake up in a few hours to drive the final 700 miles to Seattle. I spent much time driving through very scenic places today (the Badlands and the foothills of the Rocky Mountains) and I spent a long time thinking. For that matter, I was more like day dreaming/thinking slowly.

I was looking out the window, seeing buttes and mountains. I couldn't help but imagine climbing them. At times I wanted to stop the car on the road's shoulder and climb out into the prarie and just go--run, roll, walk, lay, bicycle, everything. The urge was barely controllable. I think climbing a mountain would be an amazing thing. Cause its, ya know, climbing a mountain. It's what adventurers dream about.

Obviously, I started to examine how I felt about climbing mountains and I immediatedly started vacillating about how good climbing a mountain actually would be. It's just like, so what, a mountain has been climbed. It has a nice view up there, and its good exercise, and its good recreaction. What does it do? Nothing. Nothing is gained, except the feeling of climbing a mountain.

But, that's precisely it. It's climbing a mountain. CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN. Why not climb a mountain, why else are they there? Since when does climbing a mountain need a positive externality anyway? Afterall, it's pretty incredible to stand atop a mountain in the first place.

[Went to bed here, it is now 7:30 AM local time the next morning]

So, climbing a mountain doesn't amount to anything, but its pretty flippin' sweet on an individual level.

But, just climbing mountains isn't enough for me I think. I don't think I'd be able to live permantly as a farmer or something. I couldn't only climb mountains. I think once we subscribe to intellect we lose the ability to only exist as natural creatures, the craving for learning is too much.

I can't imagine living in the country; I'd definitely have to have an internet connection and subscribe to various national news sources (and have a library close by).

The great expanse of western states is unimaginable and truly beautiful. But, I don't think it'll ever be big enough to satisfy the need for knowledge and global culture.

-Note: It sure is fun to explore, especially climbing things

Seattle, ho!

Souls' Speak

I believe in soulmates. For a long time I was undecided. I think I know now.

Dancing in our one room apartment, after making myself dinner, promenading across with nobody around...I didn't feel alone. I was alone, mind you.

And, I can visualize myself and my thoughts and feelings from and outside perspective, so I feel like I have a soul of some sort.

Souls speak a different language I think. They decipher meaning between the definitions of words and the melodies of music. They connect to things in ways that I cant really reason out. Have you ever sat with someone, and held their hand, looked into their eyes, and grappled and grappled to contain yourself? As if you were locked? As if you lost your body in the moment, and were on autopilot, not thinking, and feeling your surrondings without feeling your heart beat? I think that's souls touching. I think they only do it when they really want to.

I was convinced of this during an evening, eating dinner, alone...because I was pleased with myself, and even though there was nobody else around, I didn't really feel alone. Someone elses soul was visiting me tonight, I think. After it came and left, I danced. It was the first time I can remember being at peace, by myself. Wonderful.

I don't know what a soul is. I don't know who makes them. But I'm happy, because I finally believe that they exist.

Letter To My Unknown Love

I don't know how I get through days sometimes. Today wasn't a day that was particularly bad, it was actually pretty good. But I don't how I can string days together. Despite what people say about my attitude, it's not all that positive, at least on a macrolevel. I wouldn't be surprised if I was killed before I hit 40. I'm not going to die then (I keep my health too well), but a murder wouldn't surprise me. See that's what I mean, even fostering thoughts as morbid as that is bad news.

I just keep going. Pressing on, as Calvin Coolidge used to say. But I swear, pressing on isnt enough. I'm half as satisfied as I want to be. Life is becoming so hard. It is for all of us, and I can handle my affairs pretty well, but I don't want to just do pretty well. I want to do well. I don't want to be satisfied. I want to be happy.

The top of my life to-do list says: "Family. Enough said."

I don't see myself getting any closer to it. I'm whirling around like a milkshake in a blender, and not getting any closer. I often feel, physically, my chest consumed with emotion and energy...but it is never released. I can barely stand it.

I can barely stand listening to music a lot. I scroll through my MP3 player like a fiend. I'm never satisfied with what I'm listening to. There are so many songs I like, love. But I just can't bring myself to feel like listening to them.

Dear Love,
I'm writing this to you in anticipation. I miss you already, and you havent even revealed your name yet. (Look above, I can only call you "love".) You are the equivalent of sunshine, but are shrouded in shadow. Where are you. I don't ask a question, I'm trying in vain to command an answer. Why are you only a thought when I look out the window of the city bus at night by myself sitting amongst the other lonely passengers? Where are you sleeping when I look the short distance across my plaid pillowcase, expecting to see a face but only seeing a pillow?
I don't know why you don't want to be here. I'm not even saying you should come all this way by yourself, I'll send you a bus-fare. I'll send you a plane ticket. I'll come. Just stay with me. Or stay with me...someday. I'm not trying to get you to give up all your hopes and dreams. I'm not trying to make you feel like shit, or be whipped. I just want to be the same as you. Teeter-totters don't work with one person. Come home, please. Even just come here, or I'll come there, and then we'll find home and go there.
You have to be out there reading this, somewhere. You have to be. I can't even consider the possibility that you aren't. I can't consider that life can sum-up like 1+0=1. It has to be 1+1=2. Dave Matthews even says "We'll climb on 2 by 2, to be sure these days continue...". He wouldn't lie. If you aren't somewhere, most of the important things I know would be untrue.
The truth is, I don't need you now, but I want you now. Someday though, I'll need you. I'll need you to at least be out there somewhere, so there's more reason to go on than just being successful. I'm trying to focus on being successful right now, so I don't have to worry about that when I finally find you, at which time I'll only want to worry about being happy.
So Love, once you get this, hold on to it. And use it to remind me if I forget how much I love you. Don't ever let me let you go. I'm an imperfect man. I make lots of mistakes. Lots of mistakes. And keep this so once I find you, I'll know it's you. Don't give on on me either. I don't run as fast as all men, if someone else gets to your doorstep, remember that I'm coming. Remember that I love you, and you're my Love.

With love and God's speed,
Your Love