I spent yesterday's drive home as I often do, thinking and reflecting. At the time I was still feeling pursued by my constant predator; anxiety. I still felt the same lack of purpose I always had. I wondered if my anxiety was driving need to define some purpose or my lack of purpose was driving my anxiety. It occurred to me to ask a different question, "What is a purpose?" Isn't purpose just a synonym for objective? I don't think my problem is a lack of objectives. I have so many strewn before me to choose from.

Objectives are nothing more than a goal and goals do little except mark the passage of time. What am I waiting for? Am I waiting for some divine purpose? Purpose is purpose regardless of source. Why would it be any different if I were given an objective by a divine entity. Objectives can be narrowed down two basic types: Those you can achieve, and those you can not. If the objective is unobtainable there would be little motivation to pursue it. If the objective is achievable then my purpose is only fulfilled until the objective is satisfied. Then what? Return for a new objective? How is this any different from own goals?

People are consumers, our economies and our governments ensure that. We create things to strive for simply for the sake of striving. If I were a believer in grand conspiracies I would surmise that the entire system is in place simply to keep us preoccupied. Take away all your wants for a moment and assume all your needs are met. You have no concept of the consumer condition, there is no bigger television, or faster car. What do you do? And thats where I am now. Its not that I have no objectives, its merely that they seemed to have diminished in importance.

Sometimes everything I do feels so insignificant in the overall tapestry of life. By in large my entire existence will go unnoticed by time. 1000 or even 100 years from now it will make no difference what my goals were or whether I obtained them. Life seems to be about doing things that hold no context outside of its own scope. If it makes no difference what I do why do I strive for anything? Because it improves my existence while I'm experiencing it? It makes no difference over the span of time.

I thought perhaps my problem was not so much a lack of purpose and more simple mortality. If my time were not finite the scope of my goals would no longer be so closely tied to time. As it is currently I feel as though every action simply acts to mark its passage. Spans of a life measured in conversations, car rides, and trips to the rest room. Already my life reminds me of the cut scene memories in a made for TV movie.

Saying all this one my surmise that I am depressed, and I must admit that without a solid conclusion it is somewhat saddening. However I do not believe I am currently depressed. There is nothing that I can do change these things, my feelings about them will not impact them. I have mentioned the Serenity Prayer before:

God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

I suppose that it applies here and now more than ever. I know the difference I simply need to accept it now. I have always had the power to define my own purpose. I have defined it before and I have little choice but continue to define it now. In the end at least I feel a little better.

I had a pretty full day the first part of yesterday. My energy level really tapered off however in the last part of the afternoon. I had just finished up with a client interview and I was heading home when I just felt so drained. I attribute it to not getting very much sleep the night previous. To be honest I didn't do anything at all with the rest of my day yesterday. I sat on the couch with my wife and watched House and Lie to me. It's funny how simple physical contact makes even the most trivial of activities seem that much more significant. In the back of my mind I worried somewhat that my lack of energy and not doing anything last night signified a crash and consequently a pause in my momentum. I want to tell myself relaxing or taking a break now and then is fine. The problem is the easiest lies to tell are the ones we tell ourselves. The justifications we make for are actions can be nothing more than a finely crafted excuse that we want to believe. For now I don't see yesterday as a negative, I need to be less "All or Nothing" about things and taking a break now and then might help things from crossing the line of dedication into obsession. I felt tired and sapped today even though I got plenty of sleep. I seem to be picking up steam as the day progresses however so I will withhold judgment until the entire day unfolds.

If my new found energy or direction does end up only being temporary perhaps I should make the best of it. I still feel generally tired or sapped, although it probably has something to do with getting very little sleep last night. Even in my drained state I still feel this drive. I have no more sense of purpose than I ever did, only a need to move forward and take control. I have wanted to re-add working out as part of my weekly routine but somehow the time for it has eluded me, or perhaps I'm making more excuses. I know there is a line between legitimate reasons for not being able to work something into a schedule and there are excuses. The problem is I never recognize the line. I have chuckled to myself on several occasions over the past week. Often times I feel as though I am a solider marching in full gear and complaining that I can't go on. Yet hours later and miles ahead I'm still marching, so obviously I could and did go on. It may seem like hell sometimes but when you reflect perhaps it wasn't as bad as you thought.

Manic Monday

Last week was productive. I've started to pull myself together and make progress on the many things I've let linger for far to long. I put aside my driving need to have things done a certain way and just got them done for now. If they really need done the way I want then I'll fix them but there is no since leaving everything a mess while I wait for one piece to come together. Perhaps that is the quality I have always lacked. The ability to keep moving forward and not get hung up. Here's a quick look back at last week.

• Cleaned up and organized the basement.
• After more than a year I did the last few items of pre-drywall work in the basement, including moving a wall.
• Scheduled and passed the pre-drywall inspection.
• Worked on finishing the garage drywall.
• Went through, reduced, and organized a LOT of paperwork.
• Worked on and published a full baseline website for the business.

I'm not sure I can pinpoint any catalyst and I am not sure when it happened, but at some point I just realized I'm still making excuses for myself. I'm always "going to do something" and yet somehow it never really gets done. I have to start simply doing and I have to stop getting hung up on things I can't control. There is a part of me that worries that this is nothing more than a mild manic episode. Experience has taught me that while these episodes can be incredibly efficient in getting things done, the energy rarely lasts and in the end you find you've once again taken on more than your capable of maintaining. Is that what the business is? Even though I've been focused I've still taken a good amount of time to relax. I played Little Big Planet with wife and Mike, watched some TV, and played some games. The fact that I was not constantly working makes me think perhaps its something longer lived than a simple burst of mania. My mind is still consumed with countless things, I've just found a stronger will to focus. Part of that will is born in the realization that my biggest excuse comes from involving others. Its not that working with other people is bad, but its easier to get tripped up and loose your momentum. In the end if its your task its your responsibility. I'm not suggesting that you shouldn't work with other people. Only that if you do, don't let their hang up become yours. Keep moving forward!

Picnic beneath the family tree

Last weekend I spent Saturday afternoon with my family (father, step mother, two brothers). I have intentionally put distance over the years between my father and I. My father was diagnosed as being bi-polar a few years ago and overall I would have to say the last 10 years in general have been a marked improvement from the first 2o years of my life. My relationship with my father has been odd for as long as I can remember. By today's standards my father would be abusive but I never remember feeling that way. He was rough and largely unstable. Often times he was just as likely to give you hug as he was to pick you up by the hair and throw you. I say that and I can imagine the reader is filled with absolute horror. I can honestly say however of all times he ever grabbed my by hair I never really remember it hurting. As I child I would have said that my father has a way of hitting you without really hitting you. He would hit, push, or throw you, but in such a way that the amount of damage was pretty controlled and there was never a mark. Always afterwards he would come back crying and apologising. I learned quickly that apologies were a double edged sword however. It was always, "I'm sorry I did that, but if you hadn't (fill in the blank)". My relationship with my father has always been a battle of wills. One of his favorite games was called "milk the mouse", in which he would take one of my fingers and fold it in and squeeze. Then he would give me commands like, "bark" or "say your name is "Quazi Moto" etc, and if you didn't he would squeeze harder. The problem was I wouldn't give in. It could last anywhere from 15 minutes to a half hour, and I would cry from the pain but I would not submit. Even as a kid somehow I understood something. The fact that I would not submit was both a source of great frustration and great pride in my father. It was almost as though his need to control and his pride in my relisience were conflicted. It is this theme that was the basis for most of our relationship and why I think it differs so much from his relationship with my brothers. Some would argue my brothers are smarter than me in that they simply gave in right at the beginning. I think thier submittal appeased his sense of control if not somewhat dissappointing his hope for a new challenge. Again, even as I recount all of this I never really thought of it as abuse. I considered it to be a right of passage almost. I think what actually bothers me the most was the mental manipulation. My father had a way of making it seem as though you were crazy. If your told enough their is something wrong with you eventually you may believe it. My father often says I am very manipulative and attributes the trait to my mother, however I believe that if the accusation holds any truth at all the roots grow closer to him than my mother. My father is not paticuarly book smart but he does have a cleverness about him and I learned very early on never to show weakness around him. He has often told me that he considers me to highly unemotional and devoid of feeling. The true comedy is that this in stark contrast to almost everyone else that has ever met me. As I have said before I never hated my father but their have been some past events that weighed heavily on my mind. A few years ago my father did something unprecedented, he admitted the things he had done, admitted they were wrong, and apologised. More than the apology the fact that he acknowledged the events of the past, events he had often changed the details of or more often simply denied entirely. In my mind it was enough to let go of what little baggage I continued to carry with me. In any case, I have only shared the previous story that you might have some understanding as to why the events of last weekend struck so deep. Perhaps it is the medicine to blame, perhaps its being bi-polar, either way sometimes the reason does nothing to help the impact. For whatever reason he was feeling rather introspective and it was is this mood that he began to ask me, "Why were you always such a disobiently child?", "You were always so contrary as a kid. Why were you like that?". Even my step mother tried to remind him that things weren't the way he was choosing to recall them and that he was a different person back then. Her hints however fell on deaf ears and he persisted. I am happy to say that kept my patience, however I would not let him simply revel in his make believe world of past events. So I told him much of what I have told you here. He never wanted my respect, he wanted my obediance. If you want obediance buy a dog. You ruled by fear and you hated my oppisition as much as you loved my spirit. You encouraged it because the challenged amused you, which is why you continue to pursue it to this day. In truth the only fool here is me. My words while perhaps comforting to me most likely had very little impact on him. There can be no real victory for me due in part to the fact that I don't think he can really understand. My mind wanders back more often since my last birthday. For my birthday my father gave a few Garbage Pail Kids cards that he picked up. He remembered that I had collected them as a child. The cards for me brought back a different memory, one that he recounted as happily someone might retell about a family outing to the zoo. I was younger, maybe 7 or 8 and among the sides for dinner that evening were a mix of lima beans, carrots, and peas, etc which like most kids I was not very interested in eating. This gave way to one of his more explosive episodes in which he ran into my bedroom and got all of my cards and began tearing them up by the handful, yelling and screaming, "I bet you'll eat now you son of bitch, yea your eating that shit now aren't you. I bet if I keep this up you'll beg me for more!". When it was all said and done only a few handfuls remained. I never really bought them that much after that. I still have them to this day in a box downstairs but truthfully they bring me no joy. I am nothing if not a thinker. It would be one thing if he had given me the cards and not remembered the events surrounding them. This is not the case however. He remembered the cards and the events. Knowing this he not only chose to give me the cards but he also alluded to event with a seeming amount of pride. I have a hard time understanding why. Why would he not feel awkward about the event. When something I have done wrong to someone in past is mentioned I usually still feel a twinge of regret, not pride. He's has acknowledged the way he was and things he did were wrong and at the same time he takes a sort of pride in it. Is it pride in being mean? I do not hate my father, but I do not feel a closeness either. Perhaps I avoid him because I don't know exactly how I feel, or perhaps its just that I don't want to put the energy into sorting it out. The past is the past and it is my hope I will carry foward the lessons I learned when I have children. Maybe once the lessons are understood its best to close the book and put it away.

I am Jack's uncontrolled anxiety

Lately I have been feeling overwhelmingly anxious for no apparent reason. I feel as though I lack any real purpose. I'm pretty sure it doesn't stem from a lack of things to do as I have a seemingly endless list of tasks at hand. All the tasks in the world just seem less significant, almost as though they were contrived simply to distract me from my own anxiety. I am reminded of a the characters on the cartoon Dragonball Z, charging up for some awesome attack. Except in my case its as though I got all charged up and forgot why and what I was going to do. I'm haunted by the same feeling that has plagued me since I was a child, the feeling that there is something important I am supposed to be doing. Something significant that I am just on the edge of remembering. I think my wife has told that I have a pattern of going through this feeling. Somehow recognizing and even acknowledging it as a cycle provides very little solace. I think the core issue really is that I lack a sense of purpose and direction. Without it the days sort of run together into a long thread of pointless milestones. I begin to question whether I am doing things just to do them or simply mark the passage of time. I am sure these feelings will pass as they always do, but I sense these ghosts from my childhood may continue to be life long companions.

9

Last Friday I went with a friend of mine to see the movie 9. I had hopes for the movie and had been looking forward to its release since I first saw the trailer. I try to avoid most movie reviews in an effort to reduce any preconceived bias toward or against the movie.

When we sat down in the theater I had a feeling the movie hadn't done well by the fact that other than us only two people occupied the seats. The previews for the movie immediately gives you the impression that you just sat down for a serious kid flick along the lines of Bambi. The first few minutes of the movie however will correct this misconception. The movie wasn't bad and does manage to hold your attention, mainly because you assume that the story is going somewhere. The movie drops little breadcrumbs of plot information you excitedly gather up along the way. The ending however is sort of a "jokes on you" for thinking that any of the details you've collected are even remotely relevant. In the end after crafting plausable reasons and likely motivations everything is simply summed up as absolute magic. The movie was not bad, but it was definately disappointing, especially coming from Mr. Burton.

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Somber

It's been a while yet again since my last post. Several times I've intended to post but it seems I always get distracted before I can get to it. I...guess I'm supposed to go to bed now...

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