Project 35

I really need to tell them. I sat down to type this and the washer and dryer were going full speed and were LOUD. Goodness they were loud. When I …

I really need to tell them. I sat down to type this and the washer and dryer were going full speed and were LOUD. Goodness they were loud. When I came downstairs, my mom knew that I was going downstairs and knew I was recording something but I haven’t told them what I’m working on yet. And I notice that as I was about to start, I felt frustrated that the machines were on, that they didn’t know that I needed it quiet at 9am, 1pm, and 5pm everyday. But they don’t know because I haven’t told them.

How often does this happen in life, where we get frustrated at someone else for doing something that interferes with our plans, without telling them what our plans are? Why don’t we just tell them? Perhaps we want to keep the plans a secret, perhaps we’re afraid of what they’ll say, maybe we don’t have the confidence to know what we will say.

I think sometimes I hide things because I’m afraid of the reaction; I’m afraid I’ll be told, “Wow, why are you wasting your time.” Or worse, people won’t say that but they’ll imply it with their silence.

Maybe this is compounded by it being quarantine. I’m already feeling overexposed, overly raw and vulnerable just by being in my house with the same two people for over one month straight, spending almost all waking hours together. Maybe I’m just trying to carve out some me-time, in a way, not wanting everything I do subject to visibility by the people I can’t really hide from.

I don’t know if many, if any, of us are used to such constant contact with the people in our lives. Most of the time, if we feel overexposed, we’ll head to the bar, the store, the park, the friend’s house, the road, or really, the wherever, just to give us that space to process or to avoid. Nowadays, very few of us have that option. While I say this, I also recognize that I’m one of the luckier ones—our house is big enough that I can go downstairs, go to my room, or even go outside for a walk/run, whereas many people in the city or smaller homes don’t have these options.

However, it’s not just because of the quarantine, I might do this anyway. As much as I talk about being open, I often lead a very private life, or, let’s say, a compartmentalized life. My friends don’t really know my other friends, even if they live in the same city. I rarely post to the internet about people in my life, or about the things that I do. Maybe the internet feels like quarantine: if I post too much and become too vulnerable, it’s hard for me to run away to find privacy. It’s like one house jam-packed with billions of people and I won’t be able to find myself again.

Perhaps that’s not true. Perhaps I could still run from Facebook to Hacker News to other virtual spaces on the internet. Perhaps I could still maintain distance while having closeness.

I’m noticing that in the mornings, I’m tending to write about what it’s like to wake up in the mornings—more about what’s going on with me internally than what’s going …

I’m noticing that in the mornings, I’m tending to write about what it’s like to wake up in the mornings—more about what’s going on with me internally than what’s going on in the outside world.

I think that’s because for the whole night, while sleeping, I’ve just been subject to my own environment: no TV on, just dreams in my head, the sights, sounds, touches, smells, and other environmental cues in my immediate surroundings. Basically, I only absorb what’s already in my head or just around me.

However, throughout the day, I start looking at my phone, watching TV, and talking to other people, and in this process, receive input from so many people. This input can be new ideas, new thoughts, and more often than not, new emotions. I receive how other people are feeling and that mixes with how I’m feeling, and often seems to trump it (as a side note, it amazes me how hesitant I am to use the word “trump” now that Trump is in office).

This emotional reception has been one of the reasons that I’ll sometimes turn my phone off throughout the day—I may just want to sit with my own emotions without absorbing those of others. This relates to watching the video yesterday of the political commentator—as I watched, I could feel myself absorbing the anger and frustration, and, if I don’t process it, could leave feeling more angry and frustrated than when I began. On the contrary, watching a Global Citizen concert last night organized by Lady Gaga, in which many world-famous musicians performed, I repeatedly found myself brought to tears, filled with a sadness, a hope, and a joy that probably would not have come to me just in my household environment.

As I type this, I start to question how I will often use my phone immediately after waking up. It’s almost as if each day is a blank slate, starting with just “my” emotions (if there are owned emotions)—more like starting with just X emotions—and then when I grab my phone, I insert Y, Z, Q, and all these other emotions into the mix.

Maybe I’ll try to refrain tomorrow from the phone.

Logic doesn’t seem to be working. I converse with people and see how they’re saying one thing and doing another and I try to show that to them, and ooooo …

Logic doesn’t seem to be working. I converse with people and see how they’re saying one thing and doing another and I try to show that to them, and ooooo boy, that seems to start or escalate a fight.

A friend of mine has been asking me for a few days to watch a video by a political commentator on the internet and I had avoided it until now. When I first tried to watch it, the guy’s voice turned me away; not so much his voice itself, but the sarcasm and anger he seemed to carry in it.

I just finished watching about 80% of it. In it, he talks about how the mainstream media tries to manipulate people, how they can’t be trusted, and how they are trying to split people into different teams. I mean, for me, this is perspective and opinion, not really any fact, so I can’t argue much on this. He also says that Governor Cuomo and President Trump are saying the same thing when they say to reopen the economy, and seems to get angry at the mainstream media for not getting angry at Cuomo but lashing into Trump. You know, I thought this was going to be another fact, but again, maybe it’s just perspective, or rather, the facts that we notice and to which we pay attention. While they both said to reopen the economy, Cuomo seemed to express it with more uncertainty on how to do it, also expressing a strong need for testing as a requirement if we are to do it—and asking the federal government for help with testing, saying he cannot do it without federal assistance. Trump also said to reopen the economy and said that it is the governors’ decisions when to do it—and then went on Twitter and put out three tweets telling the states of Michigan, I think Wisconsin, and Virginia to “liberate,” even saying that Virginia was “under siege.”

To me, I don’t believe they’re saying the same thing. To the guy speaking in the video, he seems to think they are saying the same thing. Perhaps I’m missing some of the things they said, or finding more differences than there were. Perhaps he’s missing things they said and is finding more similarities than there were. Probably it’s both.

Maybe this is the challenge with trying to argue with someone over the “facts.” There are too many facts in almost any conversation, and it’s not just the facts, but how we see all these things related.

Another example from the video: Cuomo said they didn’t get enough ventilators for New York, Trump said they asked for too many. I imagine Cuomo was believing that they didn’t get enough because, in a crisis, having extra is the smarter strategy, like having life preservers on a boat: if you need them, they’re there, and if you don’t, well, at least you had them. Perhaps Trump was thinking more from an efficiency standpoint, or even from the end result, not the process.

Regardless, even in this article, I get swept up in the “facts” instead of how people might be feeling. We have lots of feelings and different views. Maybe that matters more. No?

Love scares the hell outta me. I’ve seen it hurt me and hurt many others. Maybe it’s not the love that hurt, but how quickly the love went from intense …

Love scares the hell outta me. I’ve seen it hurt me and hurt many others. Maybe it’s not the love that hurt, but how quickly the love went from intense closeness to intense distance.

I’ve said that my work is about love, about feeling deeply connected to others. I’ve also been reticent to dive into it. Why? Why do I keep avoiding what I claim to be preaching?

I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because I believe love can be really intense, and therefore risky. Almost like a spring that is compressed too tightly, love can immediately explode, pushing the two sides to the opposite ends of the room. I’ve experienced this explosion many times. People opening up to me really deeply about their life and then going, “Oh, I can’t believe I opened up that much,” and going quiet. Or worse, the ones who may realize that, not say it outlaid, and then quietly avoid my calls, messages, and attempts for contact. I’ve also had one woman say to me that she doesn’t know anyone like me in her life, that I bring a unique perspective that she’s never encountered, challenging her in ways that she really appreciates—and then a few weeks later tell me that I bring nothing to her life, that my way of seeing the world brings nothing to her, that I should stop sending her messages.

I struggle with this. In conversations with people, I often won’t connect with them, maybe out of fear, and then will try to help them resolve their conflict through “teaching” them skills, except that may not want to be taught those things. It often leads to mutual frustration, anger, and increasing distance. I almost know in my head the “answer” is to not try to fix them or change their behaviors, but to really connect with them emotionally. And yet, even though I know it’s the answer, I mostly refrain from doing so. Am I afraid fo the tears? Am I afraid of the lack of privacy that comes with that, and therefore a fear of losing control? Am I afraid they may become obsessed with me? Am I afraid they may feel too exposed and blame me for “forcing” them to open up?

Perhaps it’s natural to fear love—it does seem like one of the most powerful forces in the human world. So maybe love and emotional connection is not so much about “not being afraid” and more about being courageous. Having the courage to be present with the person, knowing that this high-speed ride may quickly veer off the tracks, leaving many of us bloody. But, it may also be the thrill of our lives.

Last night, I told myself to start moving slowly. To intentionally slow down when walking, speaking, moving, breathing, looking, and even singing that song in my head. Trying to take …

Last night, I told myself to start moving slowly. To intentionally slow down when walking, speaking, moving, breathing, looking, and even singing that song in my head. Trying to take my own advice from a few days ago, I wanted to sleep well.

Surprisingly, it seemed to have worked.

But, actually, I’m not surprised. I have been giving this advice to myself on and off for at least 3 years. Almost every time that I listen, it works. So why do I keep not listening to it?

I think about watching a documentary about Pope Francis. It began with him speaking very slowly and me thinking very quickly. I could feel myself trying to rush him to the next word—“OK OK, I get your point, move on.” I think it was sometime, maybe 20 minutes in, when I finally started to relax into the rhythm.

This has happened many times, especially with some of the speakers I admire the most. Not only Pope Francis, but Mr. Rogers and Martin Luther King, Jr. They speak at a pace much slower than I normally would and I feel myself trying to rush them along. Hell, this happens with friends and family all the time. I will know which point they’re going to make and if not physically moving my hands in a circular motion to speed up, I will mentally do it.

And it can make me feel miserable.

It’s this conundrum I face and I’m sure I’m not alone: I feel relaxed and very present when I move slowly, and then I get angry at myself for being relaxed (because things need to happen!) and for being present (because the future!). However, at the same time, I feel really annoyed when someone pushes me to go faster than I want to go, especially when I’m trying to move slowly. I can recall working on weeklong training projects in Germany and my roommate storming into the room at 7am with a speed that shook my existence—the quick stomping of the feet, the rushed look for items, and the swift closing (slamming) of the door.

One thing I noticed by slowing down last night is that the night seemed to last longer. When I woke up, it seemed as if I had slept longer even though the time was the same. Maybe Einstein was right in that time is relative. When I slow down, the world seems to slow down and maybe this is the easiest trick to extending our lives. Live longer by living more slowly because we think we’re living longer.

I don’t know but it’s worth a try.