I am flying.
I have spread my wings and I am flying. One of the oldest human dreams, besides riches or glory or Cleopatra and her sister. I am not flying like you, that would be a painful experience. Spend one hour squeezed in the bus between sweaty people with fat suitcases. Hoping to make it two hours in advance to the airport. Because you need time for the security queues. Go through the detector, thank all your deities for not triggering the beep after you were stripped off your watch, glasses, wallet, phone, belt, shoes, socks, and dignity. And any liquids, sir? And of course, going again through the detector, and waiting to be swabbed for explosives because the beard qualifies you for the random check. Sometimes men get away with it. Women, less often. You, never. Then passport control queues, with rushed people cutting through because they're running late. Late for overpriced alcohol, and oversized Toblerones, as you see 20 minutes later in the duty-free. And maybe some perfume, too, if it's on sale. How else could they make sure they hoard all the space in the overhead compartment? Well, at least there's the consolation of smashing through their bags, hoping to crush the chocolate boxes when you try to squeeze your backpack in. No? You do not do that? Well...
Well, back to my story. This time it is not crowded, there are no queues. Nobody is rushing anywhere. There is nobody in here. I am flying alone through giant, rustling trees in this quiet forest that stretches as far as my eyes can see. The moon and the stars are painting shimmering pale contours on deep blue trees, and I am swirling and swooshing through the moving shapes. All other beings are asleep, hidden beneath the branches and the leaves and the steely darkness. I am a majestic owl and the forest and the night are mine.
I am flying for hours and now I am hovering over a big city. I see tall buildings and big roads dividing them. I see people on the sidewalks, walking lost in shiny screens glowing in the dark and bumping into each other. I see cars, small and big, with even more people in them. I am thinking some of these people are going to airports so they can fly, too. But not like me, not like here. They squeeze and struggle and suffer, and when they finally get in the air they go too high over the clouds and miss all the beauty from below. I can see everything and hear everything. Which reminds me to drop a little souvenir on that car blaring noises from its speakers and its unpleasant driver. I am a majestic little crow in this big city. The big city is mine, too. But unlike the forest, it is making me tired quickly.
As the dawn breaks I am now out of the city and out of the little crow feathers. The sun is rising now, and I am an eagle above these beautiful green hills, scattered with flowers as colorful as I could have never imagined, painting a scenery as picturesque as in the most beautiful books... just like you can read about in books. For some time, I play trying to fly above a slow, playful shadow drawn below by a cloud from above. Then I notice two hares steadily running across a hill. They are gray and one of them has black and yellow spots on its back and head. The spotted one is bigger, he must be the male. He looks so sweet, I chose him to also be my breeaaaakfaaaast! I swiftly plunge towards him, grasp with my claws, and soar back towards the cloud while the other one is running desperately for the lair. I circle for a few minutes and land in a nice, private spot with the gray and spotted one. Actually, it is rather crimson by now but I was never one to judge other by colour. I feast on its delicious flesh and innards, picking and gnawing through the juicy morsels. Mhhmm, delicious fresh flesh, I cannot comprehend how others can complain about fast food. Come to think of it, it was not that fast. And not that big, either. All that remains is a piece of leg. Maybe the fox that thinks it's sneaking unnoticed in the grass will use it for good luck. It sure did not bring much luck to this unfortunate previous owner. I guess it is time for a quick digestive glide now anyway.
As I go higher I notice the sun is getting stronger and stronger, beaming blindingly into my eyes. And strangely, I also hear voices coming from behind the sun. They are asking me if I know who modified the presentation this morning, there are two graphs missing. How could I know? I never do. But I do know that is not the sun. That is the projector. And somebody fiddling with it whilst trying to connect their stupid adapter is pointing it straight into my eyes in the process. Time to get back on land, wake up and crawl dreadingly through the stinking mud of yet another pointless status report meeting. As Andy takes care of lying about our team progress I figure it is time to take out my little shiny screen and sling some birds in the sky unnoticed for the next 45 minutes.
12 July, 2017
Not out, but not quite in, either (Part VIII)
Dear sender,
Starting next Monday my manager is going on vacation for three weeks. However, I will still be in the office so this does not qualify as an out-of-office auto-reply. Nevertheless, please expect anyway delayed responses or no responses at all during this time-frame.
I plan to leave on vacation, too, but a bit later; most likely 1 or 2 days before her return, thus making sure to avoid potentially uncomfortable overlapping attendance during which the status of how things have been going on while she was gone might be checked upon and making sure that somebody else will have to take care of your inquiry or request if you insist on following up or even calling at the office.
So please do follow up in 2 to 4 weeks to ensure a reassignment and speedier resolution of whatever your problem was as well as clean backlog for me when I return.
Starting next Monday my manager is going on vacation for three weeks. However, I will still be in the office so this does not qualify as an out-of-office auto-reply. Nevertheless, please expect anyway delayed responses or no responses at all during this time-frame.
I plan to leave on vacation, too, but a bit later; most likely 1 or 2 days before her return, thus making sure to avoid potentially uncomfortable overlapping attendance during which the status of how things have been going on while she was gone might be checked upon and making sure that somebody else will have to take care of your inquiry or request if you insist on following up or even calling at the office.
So please do follow up in 2 to 4 weeks to ensure a reassignment and speedier resolution of whatever your problem was as well as clean backlog for me when I return.
18 June, 2017
A useless guide to a politically correct updated version of a classic story featuring three little pigs.
At some point before the story even begins, the compliance lady officer quickly took notice the three little pigs were all rosy white males, sending a wrong message to children that only privileged pigs could get stalked, assaulted, maimed, and eventually killed.
One email later, a committee followed. After which twenty meetings and a significant budget followed. After which a policy followed, which stated at least one should be a sow. Or a gilt, we're not judging. Even better if there's also a minority. Preferably not Arab or Jewish, for the sake of simplicity (and because other reasons are not very easy to explain). Also for the sake of simplicity (and copyright and licensing reasons), it was agreed to call them 3 little pigs, collectively. With a disclaimer on page two that at least one of them is indeed minority. And with the risk of ruining the end of the story, we'll write there that no animal was harm during the writing of this book.
So, the updated story begins one sunny day with three -compliantly represented- little pigs. They had become metaphorically fed up with the fact that they were being literally fed up and cared for by a farmer and ran to live on their own in the woods. As there is not too much sun in the wood, and with winter also approaching, one pig suggested they should build a shelter to protect them from the bad weather. Everyone agreed and a committee was assembled. Then, due to disagreement on budget, building materials and aesthetic aspects related to the project, it quickly disassembled. The common shelter had become three separate houses.
One pig built a house from straw. For the second, wood was used. And the third one built his (or hers; it's not important which did which because they are all equal, but it was suggested that it is important to state that it's not important) from bricks, concrete, and slate shingles. This is a modern story, and asbestos was out of the question.
We're not going to get bogged down in details about how hoofed mammals with not a great reputation for handling tools and heavy construction materials did it, but in the end the houses were ready before winter. Not by much, though: the house made of wood took a long time to complete. The building phase was, in fact, significantly shorter from for the other two, as construction material was nearby in abundant quantities. However, additional time was required to make sure the rules of Feng-shui were followed at every step, that the appropriate furniture, rugs, paintings, and other decorations were bought, that they matched and gave it a warm, welcoming vibe and so on.
In the end, they were all happy in their houses and spent each night visiting each other, discussing over a glass of wine the advantages of each construction choice and concluding every time that the house made of wood was the most beautiful after his (or her) owner began to oink and cry whenever the other two would dare to suggest otherwise for even the tiniest details. For instance, the fact that the brick house also had a heating system and excellent thermal insulation for the upcoming winter.
Until one day...
On this one day, the proverbial big bad wolf was walking through the part of wood where the houses were built. Somehow the wolf managed to ignore the noise and ruckus from three construction sites in a place famous for being dead quiet, save only for the rustling leaves in the gentle wind. Unlikely for a predatory animal famous for its excellent senses on which its survival depended across millennia, but hey, in stories anything is possible. Also, we are going to assume the wolf had probably missed the town meetings where the new dwelling projects were discussed before being evaluated and approved. It is important for children to know that abiding the law and regulations are important. It is also important for them to know that it is okay to assume bad things about aspects of life we don't agree with, no matter how unlikely. Such as a wolf being a senseless, irresponsible citizen of the forest. Or other predatory animals for whom the pigs would be food for their cubs, ensuring the survival of their species. And all that on top of their careless acceptance of the drastic impact of construction sites in a delicate ecosystem of a forest. While everybody else was contented to dwell in burrows improvised in caves, trees or even underground.
Anyway, the wolf noticed the houses and went to check things out. The pigs managed to see the wolf first, despite having less developed sense of vision or smell, and quickly locked themselves in the house made of straw. Ignoring the futility of a latch mounted on such flimsy material, the wolf took a deep breath and blew the walls and roof away. The pig who owned the straw house was devastated that it was once again homeless and that the other two could see where he (or she) hid the stash of naughty magazines that would keep him (or her) warm during the cold and lonely winter. However, the adrenaline pump pushed him (or her) to drag the other two into the wooden house while the wolf struggled to catch its breath.
The wolf followed them to the wooden house but this time he couldn't blow the walls. He tried and tried, but to no avail. At this point it was not only a matter of hunger, but rather one of ego. So, he quickly glanced around and saw some tools left outside and started to hack and saw away at the walls. You see, children, this is why mommy and daddy say it is important to keep your things in order and not leave your toys all over the house. Order and cleanliness can save your life one day. They can also prevent uncle Harris from yelling at night when he steps on a piece of Lego while searching his way to the bathroom in the dark because that aunt Susanne makes a scene if he turns on the light and wakes her up. And you should keep order every day, not only when we have guests that stay overnight. Anyway, while the wolf hacked and sawed and puffed away the pigs used the back door to escape to the brick house. They had to move swiftly but quietly, which prompted the owner of the wooden house to ask them to take their dirty shoes off while crossing the house and put them back on when they reached the patio. To avoid making noise on the creaking wooden floor, of course.
As the wolf managed to cut his way into the wooden house, the three pigs found their escape into the solid brick house. The wolf blew and he hacked and he sawed, but he could not enter. The pigs were safe and sound, finally.
Or so they thought. Because you see, children, while the wolf could not get in this meant the three pigs could not go out, either. And they would run out of food and water soon. Hydration is important, you know. This is why your parents make sure you drink your water or milk or fruit juice at each meal. And one day, when you grow up, you will be able to have a beer, too. But in moderation, because alcohol is only good in moderation. Otherwise you'll need to go to the bathroom at night, like uncle Harris. And there might be other complications, too.
The wolf knew all that. Except for uncle Harris' drinking habit. Patiently, he waited. He made sure all the doors were locked and the pigs could not go out like they did at the wooden house. After that, he made a quick run to the ruins of the straw house and took the magazines to pass the time. Although for different reasons, the graphical depictions of revealing and provoking pigs were of great interest to the hungry wolf, too.
Inside, the pigs were waiting, too. For a miracle. And since this is a children story, the miracle arrived right when they would get desperate and start to lose hope.
Worried about the missing pigs, their owner had been looking for them. With the winter closing in, the farmer was growing impatient, too. One day, you'll understand why. Or maybe you know already from aunt Susanne, who goes on and on about how meat is murder and everybody should turn vegetarian like she did three weeks ago.
Long story short, because daddy has an important presentation to do review tonight, the farmer chase the wolf away and rescued the pigs who lived happy ever after. Why are you crying? What? What do you mean brick and tiles are the most polluting materials, while straw and wood are sustainable? You know what, that Susanne is a hippie cow. Yes, Timmy, she probably is worse than the wolf. But don't tell your mom. No, that wouldn't mean lying. It would be like our secret. If daddy knows, it's enough. Good ni... What now? Yes, if the pigs had gone to the brick house first, the other two houses would have survived. And the wolf would have gotten bored and left the pigs alone eventually. And yes, in the end it's not that important that one of the pigs is a lady pig. But yes, anything could happen. For instance, your biscuits might disappear by morning. Yes, again. No, I'm not eating them sometimes. No, no. No, you've seen wrong. It's probably aunt Susanne. She only had a salad this evening, she might get hungry during the night. Don't go to hide them now, you go to bed. It's late. Yes, daddy's taking care. Sure, I promise, why not. You go to bed now, I will protect the biscuits. But you don't tell mom what we talked about aunt Susanne. You know how she gets upset. Good night. Good night!
One email later, a committee followed. After which twenty meetings and a significant budget followed. After which a policy followed, which stated at least one should be a sow. Or a gilt, we're not judging. Even better if there's also a minority. Preferably not Arab or Jewish, for the sake of simplicity (and because other reasons are not very easy to explain). Also for the sake of simplicity (and copyright and licensing reasons), it was agreed to call them 3 little pigs, collectively. With a disclaimer on page two that at least one of them is indeed minority. And with the risk of ruining the end of the story, we'll write there that no animal was harm during the writing of this book.
So, the updated story begins one sunny day with three -compliantly represented- little pigs. They had become metaphorically fed up with the fact that they were being literally fed up and cared for by a farmer and ran to live on their own in the woods. As there is not too much sun in the wood, and with winter also approaching, one pig suggested they should build a shelter to protect them from the bad weather. Everyone agreed and a committee was assembled. Then, due to disagreement on budget, building materials and aesthetic aspects related to the project, it quickly disassembled. The common shelter had become three separate houses.
One pig built a house from straw. For the second, wood was used. And the third one built his (or hers; it's not important which did which because they are all equal, but it was suggested that it is important to state that it's not important) from bricks, concrete, and slate shingles. This is a modern story, and asbestos was out of the question.
We're not going to get bogged down in details about how hoofed mammals with not a great reputation for handling tools and heavy construction materials did it, but in the end the houses were ready before winter. Not by much, though: the house made of wood took a long time to complete. The building phase was, in fact, significantly shorter from for the other two, as construction material was nearby in abundant quantities. However, additional time was required to make sure the rules of Feng-shui were followed at every step, that the appropriate furniture, rugs, paintings, and other decorations were bought, that they matched and gave it a warm, welcoming vibe and so on.
In the end, they were all happy in their houses and spent each night visiting each other, discussing over a glass of wine the advantages of each construction choice and concluding every time that the house made of wood was the most beautiful after his (or her) owner began to oink and cry whenever the other two would dare to suggest otherwise for even the tiniest details. For instance, the fact that the brick house also had a heating system and excellent thermal insulation for the upcoming winter.
Until one day...
On this one day, the proverbial big bad wolf was walking through the part of wood where the houses were built. Somehow the wolf managed to ignore the noise and ruckus from three construction sites in a place famous for being dead quiet, save only for the rustling leaves in the gentle wind. Unlikely for a predatory animal famous for its excellent senses on which its survival depended across millennia, but hey, in stories anything is possible. Also, we are going to assume the wolf had probably missed the town meetings where the new dwelling projects were discussed before being evaluated and approved. It is important for children to know that abiding the law and regulations are important. It is also important for them to know that it is okay to assume bad things about aspects of life we don't agree with, no matter how unlikely. Such as a wolf being a senseless, irresponsible citizen of the forest. Or other predatory animals for whom the pigs would be food for their cubs, ensuring the survival of their species. And all that on top of their careless acceptance of the drastic impact of construction sites in a delicate ecosystem of a forest. While everybody else was contented to dwell in burrows improvised in caves, trees or even underground.
Anyway, the wolf noticed the houses and went to check things out. The pigs managed to see the wolf first, despite having less developed sense of vision or smell, and quickly locked themselves in the house made of straw. Ignoring the futility of a latch mounted on such flimsy material, the wolf took a deep breath and blew the walls and roof away. The pig who owned the straw house was devastated that it was once again homeless and that the other two could see where he (or she) hid the stash of naughty magazines that would keep him (or her) warm during the cold and lonely winter. However, the adrenaline pump pushed him (or her) to drag the other two into the wooden house while the wolf struggled to catch its breath.
The wolf followed them to the wooden house but this time he couldn't blow the walls. He tried and tried, but to no avail. At this point it was not only a matter of hunger, but rather one of ego. So, he quickly glanced around and saw some tools left outside and started to hack and saw away at the walls. You see, children, this is why mommy and daddy say it is important to keep your things in order and not leave your toys all over the house. Order and cleanliness can save your life one day. They can also prevent uncle Harris from yelling at night when he steps on a piece of Lego while searching his way to the bathroom in the dark because that aunt Susanne makes a scene if he turns on the light and wakes her up. And you should keep order every day, not only when we have guests that stay overnight. Anyway, while the wolf hacked and sawed and puffed away the pigs used the back door to escape to the brick house. They had to move swiftly but quietly, which prompted the owner of the wooden house to ask them to take their dirty shoes off while crossing the house and put them back on when they reached the patio. To avoid making noise on the creaking wooden floor, of course.
As the wolf managed to cut his way into the wooden house, the three pigs found their escape into the solid brick house. The wolf blew and he hacked and he sawed, but he could not enter. The pigs were safe and sound, finally.
Or so they thought. Because you see, children, while the wolf could not get in this meant the three pigs could not go out, either. And they would run out of food and water soon. Hydration is important, you know. This is why your parents make sure you drink your water or milk or fruit juice at each meal. And one day, when you grow up, you will be able to have a beer, too. But in moderation, because alcohol is only good in moderation. Otherwise you'll need to go to the bathroom at night, like uncle Harris. And there might be other complications, too.
The wolf knew all that. Except for uncle Harris' drinking habit. Patiently, he waited. He made sure all the doors were locked and the pigs could not go out like they did at the wooden house. After that, he made a quick run to the ruins of the straw house and took the magazines to pass the time. Although for different reasons, the graphical depictions of revealing and provoking pigs were of great interest to the hungry wolf, too.
Inside, the pigs were waiting, too. For a miracle. And since this is a children story, the miracle arrived right when they would get desperate and start to lose hope.
Worried about the missing pigs, their owner had been looking for them. With the winter closing in, the farmer was growing impatient, too. One day, you'll understand why. Or maybe you know already from aunt Susanne, who goes on and on about how meat is murder and everybody should turn vegetarian like she did three weeks ago.
Long story short, because daddy has an important presentation to do review tonight, the farmer chase the wolf away and rescued the pigs who lived happy ever after. Why are you crying? What? What do you mean brick and tiles are the most polluting materials, while straw and wood are sustainable? You know what, that Susanne is a hippie cow. Yes, Timmy, she probably is worse than the wolf. But don't tell your mom. No, that wouldn't mean lying. It would be like our secret. If daddy knows, it's enough. Good ni... What now? Yes, if the pigs had gone to the brick house first, the other two houses would have survived. And the wolf would have gotten bored and left the pigs alone eventually. And yes, in the end it's not that important that one of the pigs is a lady pig. But yes, anything could happen. For instance, your biscuits might disappear by morning. Yes, again. No, I'm not eating them sometimes. No, no. No, you've seen wrong. It's probably aunt Susanne. She only had a salad this evening, she might get hungry during the night. Don't go to hide them now, you go to bed. It's late. Yes, daddy's taking care. Sure, I promise, why not. You go to bed now, I will protect the biscuits. But you don't tell mom what we talked about aunt Susanne. You know how she gets upset. Good night. Good night!
18 January, 2017
A useless guide to minimalism
Modern minimalism is generating quite some buzz these days, and what better time to explain it a bit than when I'm at work and supposed to do some report I don't want to do? My manager is sitting next to me and my clickety thrumming seems to keep him quiet and hopeful I'll do the report after all. Let's dig in, then.
First of all, this isn't something new; we all have a dose of minimalism within ourselves and employ it in day-to-day activities and interactions, to a certain extent. It is not a recent discovery, unless for the uneducated and irrational that waste paper and screen estate with their copious gushing. It is nothing more than common sense that helps with self-preservation and avoiding the unnecessary. For instance, you may wish to manifest it when you're supposed to chip in for a gift for a person you don't really like. I choose to employ it whenever boring tasks are being assigned. Or any task that doesn't involve eating some cake. In reasonable amounts, it makes life better and comfortable. Take it to extreme, though, and it ends up doing more harm than good. Just like anything in excess (except for that caramel cake you thought you'd hidden in the back of the fridge behind Janet's salad box before leaving for meetings).
With the risk of sounding like Deepak Chopra, modern minimalists are people for whom enough is not enough, but the other way around. They're boring wasteful nihilist narcissists lacking the afore-mentioned common sense.
Here's how to become one.
Throw away anything that does not bring you joy (their advice). Start with one unnecessary object. Today. Continue with two objects tomorrow. And so on. You get it. For lack of inspiration, start with your boss' umbrella (my advice). Tomorrow chuck one of his gloves and that book you said you'd start reading two years ago. In a four weeks, your life will be less cluttered and you will be happy. If you're married, make it a seven months. Of course, if you were slightly organized when you began you could end up homeless and naked, too. Crass generalization aside, I find some issues with this "logic". It is a narrow view that can only suit people with more money and useless stuff than common sense.
Sooner or later, this approach will incur additional costs.
There are objects that do not bring joy but you should not throw away, for obvious reasons. The snow shovel, for example. It brings me no joy when I use it to clear the driveway and its contribution to the aesthetic outlook of the shed is rather negligible. It beats being hungry and snowed in at home, though. It could even bring some satisfaction, however, if I used to beat the pompous pricks who find it smarter to pay someone else an amount of money to shovel their snow while they're shaking their ass at the gym because they cannot imagine another way to work out a bit. I could also use it to beat the inconsiderate minimalists that find it pointless to spend money on headphones and listen to crap music on the phone speaker on the subway near me. Come to think of it, a shovel would bring me a lot of joy in a lot of scenarios.
Another great example that quickly comes to mind is the toolbox. I sure as hell wouldn't keep it for the joy it brings, save for beating minimalists with a hammer when the shovel is broken. But without it, how could I fix a shelf that's come loose? If it's the shelf where I keep the toolbox, where would I keep the toolbox then?
This is not a very exhaustive list by far, but I hope it helps you understand. Besides, my manager has left for lunch and I can shift my focus away from the keyboard, to the dark quiet conference room I booked for a minimalist afternoon nap.
But before I turn in I would like to end on an optimistic note. Because minimalism is a good thing, that helps you spend less time cleaning up. And if baristas practiced it to get rid of all the joy-killing clutter, the coffee-shops would be more enjoyable without teenagers sporting truck tyre earrings and indoor fake fur jackets whilst hogging the tables all day long with their MacBooks and a coffee with 8 words in the title. And there would be no coffees with 8 words in the title on the menu, either.
First of all, this isn't something new; we all have a dose of minimalism within ourselves and employ it in day-to-day activities and interactions, to a certain extent. It is not a recent discovery, unless for the uneducated and irrational that waste paper and screen estate with their copious gushing. It is nothing more than common sense that helps with self-preservation and avoiding the unnecessary. For instance, you may wish to manifest it when you're supposed to chip in for a gift for a person you don't really like. I choose to employ it whenever boring tasks are being assigned. Or any task that doesn't involve eating some cake. In reasonable amounts, it makes life better and comfortable. Take it to extreme, though, and it ends up doing more harm than good. Just like anything in excess (except for that caramel cake you thought you'd hidden in the back of the fridge behind Janet's salad box before leaving for meetings).
With the risk of sounding like Deepak Chopra, modern minimalists are people for whom enough is not enough, but the other way around. They're boring wasteful nihilist narcissists lacking the afore-mentioned common sense.
Here's how to become one.
Throw away anything that does not bring you joy (their advice). Start with one unnecessary object. Today. Continue with two objects tomorrow. And so on. You get it. For lack of inspiration, start with your boss' umbrella (my advice). Tomorrow chuck one of his gloves and that book you said you'd start reading two years ago. In a four weeks, your life will be less cluttered and you will be happy. If you're married, make it a seven months. Of course, if you were slightly organized when you began you could end up homeless and naked, too. Crass generalization aside, I find some issues with this "logic". It is a narrow view that can only suit people with more money and useless stuff than common sense.
Sooner or later, this approach will incur additional costs.
There are objects that do not bring joy but you should not throw away, for obvious reasons. The snow shovel, for example. It brings me no joy when I use it to clear the driveway and its contribution to the aesthetic outlook of the shed is rather negligible. It beats being hungry and snowed in at home, though. It could even bring some satisfaction, however, if I used to beat the pompous pricks who find it smarter to pay someone else an amount of money to shovel their snow while they're shaking their ass at the gym because they cannot imagine another way to work out a bit. I could also use it to beat the inconsiderate minimalists that find it pointless to spend money on headphones and listen to crap music on the phone speaker on the subway near me. Come to think of it, a shovel would bring me a lot of joy in a lot of scenarios.
Another great example that quickly comes to mind is the toolbox. I sure as hell wouldn't keep it for the joy it brings, save for beating minimalists with a hammer when the shovel is broken. But without it, how could I fix a shelf that's come loose? If it's the shelf where I keep the toolbox, where would I keep the toolbox then?
This is not a very exhaustive list by far, but I hope it helps you understand. Besides, my manager has left for lunch and I can shift my focus away from the keyboard, to the dark quiet conference room I booked for a minimalist afternoon nap.
But before I turn in I would like to end on an optimistic note. Because minimalism is a good thing, that helps you spend less time cleaning up. And if baristas practiced it to get rid of all the joy-killing clutter, the coffee-shops would be more enjoyable without teenagers sporting truck tyre earrings and indoor fake fur jackets whilst hogging the tables all day long with their MacBooks and a coffee with 8 words in the title. And there would be no coffees with 8 words in the title on the menu, either.
04 January, 2017
Struggle
This is serious. You do not know it yet, but it is.
You do not even know what it is when you find it. It just is. Right there, with you. It was an accident, new and confusing. It felt good, though. You want to understand it. You want it to happen again.
But how?
You cannot ask your parents about it. Nor anyone else that could guide you through the maze. You are at a point in life when so many things are happening, but you cannot tell them about a kiss, let alone this. You would not even trust your best friends with such secret. But you do ask, eventually. And they are just as clueless as you are. Some may have done it already, too. For some, that time has not come yet. Regardless, no one is the wiser. Some pretend to.
They aren't.
It is all right, it is not yet the time for you to know. Nor them. You have barely escaped your cocoon and walked a few steps in the dark. Enlightenment is still far. True knowledge is not here for now. It comes later in life. And even then, it is too fragile. Too volatile to put your finger on it and say "there it is".
But then, it happens. Again. When you least expect it. Always caught by surprise. But it does not matter. All that matters is that it is here with you. All you know is that it feels good. It does not matter you still can not fully grasp it. You are on top of the world and enjoying every moment of it. No time to spend on thinking of consequences. You do not even fathom the possibility. You only know it is getting better and better.
You are getting better and better.
And then, you plateau. You still want it, of course. But... Maybe, just maybe, a smidge less? Maybe it is the novelty that has worn off. But then, as time goes by, sometimes you almost feel like you had enough for now. Maybe later. Maybe another day.
Until one day...
That cursed day. The day when you lose control. When it all falls apart. Suddenly, the beautiful universe collapses. You have lost control. And this time it is not like in the beginning. It is no longer something that secret only you knew and cherished. Now you feel exposed. You feel like everybody knows your secret. And nobody can understand your pain and the shame. Fear settles in. You are struggling for a catch of breath. You clench every fiber of every muscle in your body. With surgical precision, you are struggling to fill the void. To avoid the unavoidable. But it is too late now.
You are suffocating.
But it is not too late. Tomorrow is another day, and you are still alive. Yesterday's memory still hurts, but not as much. As time goes by, it becomes bearable. It fades away. And while you never forget it, you learn to live with it.
You even get the courage to try again.
From the moment when you caught that first glimpse of joy to the darkest hour, the blessed of us have been there, too. We got drunk in the blissful moments and fought through the darker ones.
From the first time. To the last. And all the times in between. Basking in the warm, mysterious, light or drowning in the dark unknown.
But no matter where you were, the answer was always there with you.
Grapes and yogurt.
You do not even know what it is when you find it. It just is. Right there, with you. It was an accident, new and confusing. It felt good, though. You want to understand it. You want it to happen again.
But how?
You cannot ask your parents about it. Nor anyone else that could guide you through the maze. You are at a point in life when so many things are happening, but you cannot tell them about a kiss, let alone this. You would not even trust your best friends with such secret. But you do ask, eventually. And they are just as clueless as you are. Some may have done it already, too. For some, that time has not come yet. Regardless, no one is the wiser. Some pretend to.
They aren't.
It is all right, it is not yet the time for you to know. Nor them. You have barely escaped your cocoon and walked a few steps in the dark. Enlightenment is still far. True knowledge is not here for now. It comes later in life. And even then, it is too fragile. Too volatile to put your finger on it and say "there it is".
But then, it happens. Again. When you least expect it. Always caught by surprise. But it does not matter. All that matters is that it is here with you. All you know is that it feels good. It does not matter you still can not fully grasp it. You are on top of the world and enjoying every moment of it. No time to spend on thinking of consequences. You do not even fathom the possibility. You only know it is getting better and better.
You are getting better and better.
And then, you plateau. You still want it, of course. But... Maybe, just maybe, a smidge less? Maybe it is the novelty that has worn off. But then, as time goes by, sometimes you almost feel like you had enough for now. Maybe later. Maybe another day.
Until one day...
That cursed day. The day when you lose control. When it all falls apart. Suddenly, the beautiful universe collapses. You have lost control. And this time it is not like in the beginning. It is no longer something that secret only you knew and cherished. Now you feel exposed. You feel like everybody knows your secret. And nobody can understand your pain and the shame. Fear settles in. You are struggling for a catch of breath. You clench every fiber of every muscle in your body. With surgical precision, you are struggling to fill the void. To avoid the unavoidable. But it is too late now.
You are suffocating.
But it is not too late. Tomorrow is another day, and you are still alive. Yesterday's memory still hurts, but not as much. As time goes by, it becomes bearable. It fades away. And while you never forget it, you learn to live with it.
You even get the courage to try again.
From the moment when you caught that first glimpse of joy to the darkest hour, the blessed of us have been there, too. We got drunk in the blissful moments and fought through the darker ones.
From the first time. To the last. And all the times in between. Basking in the warm, mysterious, light or drowning in the dark unknown.
But no matter where you were, the answer was always there with you.
Grapes and yogurt.
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