hopelesshappiness.com

Some choices I make lead to harm. Some choices I make lead to good. Many choices I make lead to a fusion of harm and good. I work hard to minimize harm and maximize good - I am not always successful.

In art, negative space is the open area around an object that allows us to identify that object. Without negative space, chaos and anarchy would prevail. This week I have been contemplating my negative space: Is it the harm I do that defines my goodness? Or is it my goodness that pushes any harm I may do to the forefront?

It is not difficult to acknowledge the existence of negative space, but it is quite difficult to focus on and definitively interpret negative space. I believe friends and family to see any extraneous harm that I may do, (that does not directly impact them), as negative space, allowing for a generously focused interpretation of my goodness. I believe critics to see my goodness as negative space, allowing for heavy-handed disapproval and judgement. I believe that based on circumstance (when I examine myself) I tend to play both the part of friend and the part of critic. The reality is that when I vacillate between friend and critic, I am one big unidentifiable blob of goodness and harm. But blobs are not pretty. We like definition; therefore we need negative space to create a positive space that is consistent with our definition of that object. So some days I define myself as good; and some days I define myself by my failings.

When I play critic and subvert my goodness into the generic oblivion of negative space, I am not just. When I play friend and interpret weaknesses as bland inconsequentialities and banish these personal imperfections to be forever lost in negative space, I am not just. But when I play fair and work at truthfulness, I often see a giant, ugly, bubbling, molten mass of blobbyness with no negative space; and I am confused.

It appears that I need to definitively choose my primary negative space and from there work very hard on focus and interpretation, as well as on an awareness of where the boundary lies between it and my positive space.

If I were to rely on my current instincts I would choose my goodness as my primary negative space, because if I chose the opposite it would be a lie. I am an imperfect human and (these days) in more circumstance than not, I am a critic acutely aware of my flaws and defects and the dangers of delusional comfort at the expense of adversity and growth.

I need to give in to the blob and work at reshaping it: first as positive space in the form of my imperfections and the harm that results from actions that I choose; and then spread outward to the negative space of my personal goodness that does have its own form and shape, though one must squint just so, from a certain angle, in a certain light, to make it out.

It is quite difficult to focus on and definitively interpret negative space. Blobs are ugly. Negative space is not nothing. Negative space has form and shape and definition. Based on my choice above, if I want to understand my goodness, I must learn to read negative space. For circumstance when my instinct (or a friend or a family member) leads me into the role of friend, I must also learn to read that negative space in order to consistently retain an understanding of my imperfections. To add further depth and complexity, I must also learn to interpret figure-ground reversal - (where 'figure' is 'object' and 'ground' is 'negative space') - as it relates to a specific object. An example would be to misinterpret complacent comfort as goodness and/or to misinterpret the pain of adversity as harmful when in reality the former leads to stagnation and the latter to growth. As we become more adept at recognizing boundaries and reading negative space, we will become less likely to be fooled by the shape-shifting blob.

We need contrast and definition.

... ... ... ... ...

As I begin to write these words it is the first wee morning hour of a new day. In the very first minutes after midnight I was wrenched from sleep by a horrible nightmare; perhaps the worst (so far) I have ever had. I will never share with anyone the content or context of this darkest of imaginings. With considerable trepidation I am feeling my way around the edges of the negative space that define my falling-down frailty as shown to me by this dream. As a crushing weight, in the blackest relief, this dream has relevance to who I am; or at least to who I currently interpret myself to be. I am afraid to sleep again for fear that my unfettered proddings and pokings may again wake this creature. I will sit up until I work my way all the way around this dangerous, definitive, razor-sharp edge and until I am able to move safely outward into a recognizable negative space of personal goodness. I know it is there. Negative space is not nothing.

... ... ... ... ...

Even in sleep, it seems I am a critic. In the dawn of this same day, with a little distance between me and the dream, I believe it is the most horrifying nightmare I have ever had... ...So far.

... ... ... ... ...

I have applied this week's thinking to an actual nightmare that brought to the forefront a sharply focused image of my malignant humanity. By blindly feeling my way around the negative space of my goodness, instead of only being horrified by my (imagined) willingness to cause suffering, I better understand that because of my goodness I am able to be horrified. I have acknowledged and recognized my goodness and (I believe) I have strengthened that goodness with truthfulness. Make no mistake, I am still horrified at last night's hint of potential; but by consciously insisting that my flaws, fears, and failings fill the positive space, I have forced a candid personal accounting based on the greater effort required to balance my obvious imperfections and the concealed truths of furtive personal goodness.

It is nice to think that I am a good person. It is a more accurate reflection of reality to understand my human potential for harm, and demand exponentially greater effort toward goodness. I am first and foremost an imperfect individual. When seeking a deeper truth, and suddenly faced with the disorientation of shifting shapes, it is too easy to pull forth and sculpt personal goodness as positive space, and then look past the unnoticeable negative space of imperfection. Greater effort toward goodness demands that it be relegated to the negative space enabling me to also remain consistently aware of my failings which in turn will encourage an evolving lessening of harm.

I will remain a critic.

As each day passes, we are smarter. Perhaps In different ways than the previous day, but nonetheless, ...smarter.

This week I finished the book "The Better Angels of our Nature" by Steven Pinker. Keeping in mind that "by definition" the average IQ score must be 100, Pinker points out (on page 626) that to comply with this definition "the companies that sell IQ tests periodically renorm the scores." On page 627 he goes on to say:

"An average teenager today, if he or she could time-travel back to 1950, would have had an IQ of 118. If the teenager went back to 1910, he or she would have had an IQ of 130, besting 98 percent of his or her contemporaries. Yes, you read that right... ...a typical person today is smarter than 98 percent of the people in the good old days of 1910. To state it in an even more jarring way, a typical person of 1910, if time-transported forward to the present, would have a mean IQ of 70, which is at the border of mental retardation.?"

Pinker goes on to explain that the good people of 1910 were not at all mentally retarded; they were just utilizing the intelligence necessary for that time and place. Gains in intelligence over the decades since have been in areas of abstract reasoning, which I interpret as necessary for the technological advances that have created the smaller world of this time and place. It appears that within a given time and circumstance, we utilize the intellectual skills necessary for progress and adaptability. And while (for me) this is encouraging, I might also argue that many individuals, (perhaps even a majority), could (and should) put forth more effort to stay ahead of (or at least with) the leading edge of innovative thought and abstract, connective reasoning.

According to the dictionary app on my phone, stupidity is "Lacking ordinary quickness and keenness of mind." Just as the bar for 'average intelligence' has been raised since 1910, so too has the bar that measures 'ordinary quickness and keenness of mind'. I believe that 'stupidity' today is a reflection of one's inflexibility and inability to expand thought into ever-widening circles of possibility; while in 1910 stupidity might have been attributed to one who was unable to cipher with pencil and paper or recite the state capitols. To some, this contrast of intelligence and stupidity may sound harsh. To me it is simply a different phrasing of previous written thought on the dangers of certainty and the mutual beneficence of uncertainty. "So what" if your cashier at the convenience store cannot count back your change. While this lack of skill is to some a sad reflection of the times, the reality is that this skill is not necessary for these times. This ordinary convenience store clerk may very well be extraordinary in ways unheard of in 1910; and yet his incredible skills (by 1910 standards) may still translate into 'ordinary' in this time and place.

One hundred years ago our circles of influence were more tightly bound in family and community creating and allowing for a higher degree of certainty based on this smaller in-group consensus. Today, not only are our in-groups larger (up to and including all of humanity) but we as individuals are often attached to a greater number and diversity of in-groups, which in turn create uncertainty and require adaptability.

I have been on vacation this past week enjoying the company - and the technological wizardry - and the social savvy - of my three-and-a-half year old granddaughter. Living several hundred miles away, I don't see her (or my daughters) nearly as often as I would like, but when I am exposed to this youngest grand-generation, I really am encouraged. The children growing up today with the technology of today, and the more subtle advances of today, (I believe) will spend less time marveling and more time asking questions that will lead to productively beneficial solutions.

I believe that this grand-generation will adapt and learn to reject certainty and actively accept uncertainty as the new norm - and that is encouraging.

This week I have been thinking about trombones; and I would like to know how many is too many?

If they all play the same exact tune, in tune, depending on the space and audience, two trombones may be too many.

If one or two trombones play the melody and all other trombones play variations and accompaniment, then (again, depending on the space and audience) any multitude of trombones may not be too many.

If you don't like trombone music, one trombone may be too many.

If you grow weary of trombone music, one trombone may be too many.

If you prefer listening to the flute, or the trumpet, or the clarinet, or the violin, or the saxophone, instead of the trombone, then you are likely to prefer that the trombone be relegated to accompaniment only, and any volume of trombones greater than the volume of flutes, or trumpets, or clarinets, or violins, or saxophones, is too many trombones.

If you play the flute, or the trumpet, or the clarinet, or the violin, or the saxophone, and you do not play the trombone, then you cannot fully understand the trombone.

If you do not play the flute, or the trumpet, or the clarinet, or the violin, or the saxophone, or the trombone, then you cannot fully understand the necessity (or in some cases, even grasp the concept) of interdependent harmony.

If you do not play the flute, or the trumpet, or the clarinet, or the violin, or the saxophone, or the trombone, then you are more likely to gravitate toward music dominated by simple, comfortable vocals.

If you play the flute, or the trumpet, or the clarinet, or the violin, or the saxophone, or the trombone, then you learn to appreciate the steadying and stimulating influence of percussion.

So just how many trombones is too many trombones?

I believe we have too many trombones...
...and too few flutes
...and a weak drummer
...and saxophones that are out of tune
...and trumpets that hijack the melody
...and violinists trying to play fiddle
...and fiddlers trying to play violin
...and clarinets slowing down the tempo
...and vocalists stealing the spotlight
...and batonless leaders who do not play the flute, or the trumpet, or the clarinet, or the violin, or the saxophone, or the trombone.

This week I am working at sorting through my responsibilities; some of which are always at odds, and some of which have recently progressed to drawing up battle plans.

Is a personal responsibility a burden of obligation? Or is it an opportunity for reasoned growth? Perhaps it is (or should be) both.

Digging deeper, what is the difference between a 'responsibility for' and a 'responsibility to'? ... ... After some thought, I see 'a responsibility for' as involving ownership and control, whereas 'a responsibility to' would suggest the necessity of volitional action. And perhaps herein lies the conflict. Perhaps I should let go of feelings of ownership, and perhaps I should actively acknowledge the reality that control is elusive and (often) illusive. And by letting go, perhaps I can more freely focus on actions that (based on the virtue of my willingness to act) are less burdensome - actions that will advance reasoned growth.

When I first drew up the list below, (prior to the thought above), I included 'my wife and children' and 'my extended family' at the top of the list. I see now that I cannot be completely responsible 'for' another individual, but I can be responsible 'to' others through the willing actions listed below; (and I believe by working hard at these obligations, the potential influence will be greatest on those closest to me).

I have a responsibility...

• to actively care for my physical health;
• to perpetuate lifelong learning;
• to contribute productively;
• to grow spiritually;
• to question everything;
• to compassionately listen for understanding;
• to be truthful;
• to maintain a sense of humor;
• to minimize harm;
• to seek personal, familial, communal, global, and universal reconciliation.

Though I feel that (with an active awareness of the avaricious overindulgence of ownership and control) I can reduce the potential for conflict, I still have a list that has considerable potential for contentious contradiction.

These days I struggle mightily working at a balance of truthfulness and minimal harm; and I do so on many different fronts. In this struggle, according to the circumstance, I will predict the likelihood of my truthfulness being heard and understood vs. the likelihood of a greater harm, and I temper this calculation with the acknowledgement that not only is my truthfulness not a Perfect Truth, but my truthfulness (in the spirit of 'question everything') is (though truthful and confident) still inherently rife with uncertainties and doubts.

These days I struggle working at a balance of physical health and productive contribution. I have physical limitations that I work at compensating for with an effort toward serious study and lifelong learning, translated into weekly written thought. It has been observed (by myself and others) that this degree of determined focus and absorption at times results in excess stress, which in turn may impact physical health.

These days I struggle working at a balance of humor and responsibility. I take all responsibility (including my responsibility to maintain a sense of humor) seriously. To interject humor is to lubricate the gears, thus reducing the friction as I work at balancing personal responsibilities. These days I have failed to consistently interject humor as I should.

Every day I struggle working at a balance of spiritual growth and skepticism. Jules Verne said, "Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth." The same might be said for religion; but in order to advance toward spiritual Truth, one must first acknowledge the possibility of mistakes, and next acknowledge the unattainability of a Perfect Spiritual Truth. Many who claim a certainty in faith will not allow for the possibility of mistakes. Certainty in faith is a contradiction of terms. Organized religion (for me) implies indoctrination and requires a passive acceptance. Every day I work hard at questioning every thing, thereby continuously pushing spiritual comfort just out of reach. Spiritual comfort is the primary marketing strategy for organized religion. Spirituality without religion is possible; it is also more difficult, more painful, more lonely, more truthful, and (I believe, potentially) more rewarding.

These days I struggle working at a balance of lifelong learning and compassion. The more I learn (in the areas I choose to study), the higher the levels of frustration and the less the likelihood of compassionate understanding. These days I believe this to be my most urgent area of contention. While not antisocial, these days I have become more withdrawn and more adversarial.

The previously-mentioned struggle between truthfulness and minimal harm also plays into this urgent struggle between learning and compassion. One year ago in the post 'Free-Floating Happiness' I made a case for compassion. I have frequently championed truthfulness, lifelong learning, and minimal harm. But as I have consistently thrown these four obligations into the same arena I have been victimized by internally-generated philosophical fisticuffs that have forced me into a corner now uncertain whether to attack with knowledge and truthfulness, cower in fear of doing harm, or (like a wise and benevolent wizard) hide behind a curtain of compassion. This last option is phrased as such because these days, that is how any outpouring of compassion feels.

Here is an example - a friend who has his two boys for the summer was very upset the other day because his ex called and said the boys wanted to cut their time with Dad short and fly back to the coast 2 or 3 weeks early. Living several hundred miles apart, he complained - (seemingly rightfully so) - that this was his only time with the boys and he did not want it cut short. Later that day he was inviting people for a 4th of July party and telling everyone he had "shipped" his boys off to his parent's for the weekend. Additionally, when asked how he was enjoying their visit, he was overheard to say 'he had to shut himself up in his room every night to get any peace and quiet.'

Aaaarrrrgghhhhh!

Do I attack with truthfulness? Do I cower silently, fearing that I might hurt his feelings and/or lose a party invite? Or do I hide in the folds of a false compassion expressing trite sympathies for his woes? I know... a more correct answer is that I should work at easing his suffering - (though I don't know that he realizes he is suffering) - by gently (perhaps humorously) chiding him for his contradictory actions and behaviors, and if he becomes defensive or belligerent I should back off and believe that what I have said has or will reach some part of him - lead with compassionate truthfulness, then work to minimize harm and maximize learning. Nonetheless,

...Aaaarrrrgghhhhh!

Depending on circumstance (who, where, what, when), it can be very difficult to prioritize one's obligations. I am not sure if I have experienced new learning this week, though I have solidified some past learning.  I have one more day...

... ... ... ... ...

Upon reflection, I believe differentiating 'responsibility for' and 'responsibility to' is a new (or at least uncommon) personal perspective, and I believe it has helped to lighten the load and simultaneously increase potential output.

... ... ... ... ...

In these past hours, I returned to the written thought above and added the content on humor. While certainly not new knowledge, it is renewed learning. While trying to remember at what point I had banished my sense of humor, it sent word back that I did not banish it; rather it had fled a cold and lonely darkness - me - to find refuge and survive as it could. My sense of humor has survived, and though malnourished and frail it has agreed to return. And I have agreed to increase the light and warmth necessary to nurse it back to health.

These days I am learning...

I am sitting in a big comfy chair, with a nice view overlooking an expanse of landscape. The movers arrive and say they are going to take my chair but they say I will be fine because they are going to give me a smaller, less comfortable chair. This smaller, less comfortable chair is facing a wall now, with a nice picture, but no view. I complain, but it turns out that as long as I have a chair, nothing will be done. So I get up and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The first one I find, though still somewhat smaller, looks comfortable, so I sit down. I find it more dirty and worn than what it appeared from a distance, and I find the view very squalid. So I get up and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The next one I find has a nice view, but it is smaller and much less comfortable, and after sitting for a bit I find the hard, straight back and uncushioned seat with no arms to be problematically uncomfortable, and I am physically unable to continue sitting in it. So I get up and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The next one I find is not a chair at all but a steampunkish robotic contraption that I am strapped into and I am required to constantly be on the move, which isn't so bad, but it is not comfortable and the only view I have are fields of drab, institutional gray. So I unstrap myself and leave in search of a bigger, more comfortable chair. The next one I find looks comfortable and appears a little bigger, but still not as big as where I began. I sit down. It is fairly comfortable, (though not as comfortable as where I began), and it is not dirty, or too worn; but it must have been a trick of the light because it is not as big as it first appeared, and the view is not nearly as expansive. But for the moment I decide not to whine or complain. I decide to accept the hand I've been dealt. I decide to lower my expectations. I decide to stay. And I decide I will come back in the morning. It has been a long day. I go home. When I arrive at home I find the movers have arrived and been busy while I have been out searching. I find that my bed is now smaller and less comfortable. I find that my pantry is now smaller and less well-stocked. I find that my television is now smaller and less vibrant. I find that the plumbing, and the furnace, and the electricity, and the kitchen appliances are all less efficient and more difficult to contend with. I find that friends and family have moved into other neighborhoods far away from the movers. And as they are carrying off bits and pieces the movers turn their heads and they tell me that I should be grateful that I once had a big comfy chair and a nice view. And the movers tell me that I will be fine because they are going to leave me with a smaller, less comfortable Life. And when I complain, it turns out that as long as they are only taking a little bit here and a little piece there, nothing will be done.