The Power of the Unposted "Post"

This entry seems ironic, but it isn't.

There are things that should be posted, and things that shouldn't. A post about not posting things is a thing that should be posted.

The world of social media may have us believe that this concept is unnecessary, especially since it is a widespread idea that the world should be the stage for everything that one produces. From baby pictures, to complaints, to cat memes to bragging rights, the idea that we need to share with the world every minute detail of our life has taken firm hold in modern day psyche.

Not everyone though. One of my roles at work is to design and install building-wide wifi in our low income apartment complexes. I remember doing a job in Soldier's Grove, Wisconsin, population 552 and sinking. One senior man came up to me, and asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he huffed and said, "Nobody around here uses that stuff." This somewhat shocking statement made me think that in some ways they were the lucky ones.

After all, if the social media world is a stage, we are the actors tied to the roles the world wants us to see. Diversion from it means a dearth of likes, shares, et cetera. The result is a world full of people putting off their genuine natures.

I believe that we all have beliefs that are not popular or politically correct. If we do not take the time to properly express these, we are being dishonest with ourselves.

Of course, choosing one's audience is important. It does no good to incite a social feed riot over a certain issue - rather the opposite. We must strive to be wise enough to know when to express certain thoughts to close or trusted friends, or in some cases, keep it to ourselves. There is no perfect formula to this, but putting attention to it will improve matters over time.

It is, however, important to express it somewhere. It could be an email that is sent to no one or to one's self, or in a journal, or in a document in a private folder.

I have done this before, and it helps assuage the angst I am feeling about particular matters, especially ones that are unpopular. I have also shared my most private beliefs, beliefs which I'm sure would incite riots, with my wife. Even though she has not agreed with some of them, she has heard me out, perhaps pointed out flaws in my reasoning, and never loved me less because of them. When you are writing or posting or sharing to no one, or to your most trusted friends, you do not need to put on the proper filters to protect you from the lynch mobs, and it is cleansing.

A few weeks ago, a co-worker and I got on the subject of babies. He has none; I have done the baby thing twice so far. He does, however, have several nieces and nephews. At one point, he got a little quieter, and more timid and expressed to me in more roundabout language that he didn't really like the babies, or feel love for them until they were several months old. I doubt he told this to the mother on delivery day. I laughed, however, and told him that I'd heard several fathers, let alone uncles, say the same thing about their children, always in hushed tones, because it seems inappropriate.

To his point, how many people can say they love acquaintances at first sight? And babies personalities do not come out right away, and they brainwash you with their 24 hour schedule, ear splitting screams and constant defecation. Yet this newborn post got 163 likes and 33 comments, many of which calling him cute and beautiful, and so on. I love him so much more than I did on this day, but it really should be like that, shouldn't it?

Reading Deliberately

I have recently been listening to an audio book version of Walden, by Henry David Thoreau. Walden, in short, is an account of a two-year practical and philosophical experiment by the transcendentalist author. Thoreau went into the woods, built a cabin, and lived off both the land and a small garden for two years. The idea was to focus in on the very basics of life, to simplify and weed out all the unnecessary efforts, that had crept into society. He states that he really only needed to work six weeks out of the year to survive. The rest could be spent in experiencing nature and books and people and other of his interests. He calls this living deliberately.

While listening to these profound and prophetic words, I found myself disobeying his direction, while at the same time, believing the ideas stated. This hypocrisy was more practical than anything. I was listening to the book while driving for work - how I consume the vast majority of my literature these days, because that is my most lengthy, uninterrupted "dead time". But I realized that I was breezing through these chapters at a pace in which I could not properly consume and digest the ideas.

Some books should not be listened to while driving. They are too intoxicating. Ideally, one would get as cheap a paperback as possible, and read with a pencil and journal, underlining, annotating, rereading passages with the newly gained perspective, in essence "sucking the marrow" out of the binding.

Walden was probably one of the first self-help books, but it cannot help when being read like a spy or romance novel.

Reading deliberately does not just apply to a book devoted to deliberate living. Most Christian sects emphasize lifelong study of the holy scriptures, though a casual pace could get one through the Bible in under a year. But deliberate reading is even worthwhile with fiction. Take, for example, Beartown, by Fredrik Backman.

Immediately after I finished this book, I began rereading it. Only then did I catch the significance of some of the first lines, chapters, and storytelling style. Like a coach, viewing tape after a game, I had the context of the end to add meaning to all parts. The result was a richer experience of consuming a beautifully crafted story. It is a habit I hope I have the energy to keep up.

Walk in the Woods - A Spiritual-esque journey

You'd really have to be there.

The walk was about 90 minutes, which would equate to about 7.8 gigabytes of low res video, had I attempted to capture the entire experience for you all. But even this would barely touch the value of the trip, which was seen and heard in the panoramic ultra high definition of the eyes and ears.

Not to mention . . .

The tart burst-and-splash of wild raspberries in the mouth

       

The gentle immersion of forest humidity.

The microscopic tug on my skin from spider strands spanning the trail

The waves of oxygen-infused, temperate forest scents, interrupted once with an errant burst of citrus.

The dull poke of rocks beneath my shoes, expressed in the hard packed dirt.


It's a sensory overload, but nothing like a sweaty arcade or amusement park.  The forest doesn't come at you all at once. There are long moments where everything blends together. No acute observation comes, even for a botanist, for most of the plants are common, most of the trees look like the others, the bird calls are familiar, and the trail feels the same.

But this is okay. This homogeneity seeps into you over the span of your journey to paint a grand collage in your soul, leaving you invigorated by the end.

And there's something about the forest that pulls a man out of the illusion that he maintains full control over his existence. There are thousands of trip hazards, a thunderstorm forecast that could swell up and strike early, not to mention this three lobed rascal, hugging almost the entire trail:

I could break an ankle, catch a rash, be attacked by a swarm of Africanized bees, or more likely a swarm of mosquitoes. The forest could fold me into its life cycle and not blink. After all, it fells its own great hardwoods, and covers them in fungi until they disintegrate into the soil, and become food for the ground cover.

But it doesn't. Two mosquito bites in an hour and a half, and persistent gnats drawn toward my eyes. It's a small price to pay. That does not break my reverence, nor make me believe myself invincible. I stick to the well worn trails, and would not have even taken this one, if it hadn't shown up on Google Maps:

I've made that mistake before, on the proximate mountainside trails of my college days. A promising path would draw me away, then abandon me on the side of cliff.  That's another story of another life.

This one today was a homage to the millions of individual stories of the plants growing and dying, the insects scampering, the raptors gliding, and the squirrels gathering.  It's a reminder of my insignificance. A celebration of the wild, untamed, organic, beautiful.

Raw Questions of Humanity

I woke up with some raw questions pulsing at my mind. Questions that step away from the normal Google inquiries we speak or type into our devices. Questions that Siri or Alexa or Cortana cannot answer.  Here are some of them:

WHAT IS ONE ASPECT OF YOUR CHILDHOOD YOU WISH YOU COULD RE-ADOPT?

WHAT DO YOU HOPE PEOPLE SAY ABOUT YOU?

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE?

WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU BELIEVED?

WHAT IS ONE HABIT YOU REGRET HAVING?

WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING?


These are largely private questions. Though there is nothing wrong with sharing their answers, they are largely for private reflection. I'll offer my answer to the first question just as fuel for your thoughts:

This is a picture of the Supermoon, rising over Lake Michigan on New Year's Day of this year. I couldn't remember the last time I had stared at the moon for so long, but am sure it was when I was a kid. Every once in a while, my own kids will point out the moon or the stars, or the shape of a cloud, and reflect the wonder I remember having. Then I'll look at it and realize the wonder is still there.

But schedules, obligations, worries, and tasks often cut it short.

I wish I took more time to stare at the sky, just like when I was a kid.

Love is Like Climbing a Mountain

It was almost five years ago that my wife and I took a trip down to Ecuador. One of our favorite memories, shown below, was hiking up to the glacier on the Cotopaxi Volcano, which was at about 16,000 feet. It's the highest I've ever been (other than a plane) and let me tell you, your body feels different up there. Every step was a chore, and we had to rest after every 20 or so steps.

Since then, we have had two kids, achieved one Master's Degree, and bought a house. It's amazing how time does that to you. But I look at these pictures, and although we look younger, our love for each other is even more solidly established.

I've decided that love is much like climbing a mountain.

Many people try to define what love is, at what point they fall in love, and how to stay in love. I think "fall" is the wrong word because it implies something that happens by some outside force that acts upon you. I'd say that's true for attraction, or chemistry, but love is much more than that. Love is deliberate. Perhaps that misconception is why love eludes so many people.

"Climb" is a much more appropriate word.  Love is a choice, made day after day, in little steps, staring at the trail, or our feet, or our companion near us. It can seem ordinary and tiring. After all, when climbing up a mountain, especially at 16,000, every step takes conscious exertion.

But you recognize your progress in those moments when you pause, and you both turn back and look at the panorama that suddenly comes into view. You stand, arm in arm, witnessing your journey together in full view. It is breathtaking. You feel like rulers, or even creators, of a world, and you complete forget about your fatigue.

Of course, you cannot spend all of your time in this state of elation. I think some couples try to do this, and you know what? They never progress any further up the mountain, and their view remains infantile. To make love grow, you have to turn around and fix your focus back on the trail ahead of you. Love grows with the passage of time, and you have to keep putting in the effort to achieve that.

If you do, even greater heights and vistas await.

Gather the Stones

For the one and a half of you who read this blog, you may be wondering what happened to my upcoming book, Gather the Stones.  Well, since March of 2016, I have spoken with four different agents, one of them suggesting that the book should be YA, due to the age of its protagonist.  I took that to heart and essentially re-wrote the whole book.  It is the 2017 winner the University of Wisconsin Writers Institute Young Adult First Page Contest.

The following is the synopsis, which I will be officially querying to these, as well as other agents.  In the mean time, I am making the full manuscript, in its latest draft form, available for your reading.  I would appreciate any general feedback (in other words, how you feel about the characters, conflict, plot, ending, etc).  Either comment in the comments section of this post or email me directly at staymark@gmail.com

SYNOPSIS

GATHER THE STONES is a contemporary YA novel set in Harmondale, Wisconsin, population 9,142.  17-year-old Jack Turner is the center of it.  He’s the mayor’s son, the varsity quarterback, and boyfriend to the hottest girl in school.  His life is worlds away from that of Chuck Fredrickson, the town’s foraging recluse suspected of committing a serious crime 20 years ago.  That all changes Homecoming night, during the storm of the century, when Jack saves Chuck from drowning in a flash flood.

Neither his father, who demands a proper face be worn at all times, nor his friends, whose priorities are in partying and hooking up, would suspect that Jack would ever think of Chuck again.  But through subsequent interaction, Jack realizes that the stories behind the accused but never convicted pack rat are either exaggerated or untrue altogether.  Upon that, Chuck has a secret past, full of notoriety, love, and tragedy.  This friendship causes Jack a second look at the superficial, hypocritical nature of his lifestyle, his friendships, and even his family.  And the people of Harmondale, especially his father, refuse to accept that.

So when scandals arise with his now ex-girlfriend, Jack and finds himself alongside Chuck before the social execution squad, and must reconcile his own newfound beliefs with the world he lives in, especially when his father is the first in line to cast a stone.

On Ambition

My 2 year old son is at the age where he has discovered that he can have independent thoughts.  That, coupled with independent locomotion, has turned him into an avid climber.  Despite our repeated corrective comments regarding climbing, whether it be up the refrigerator door, or up the basement door, or up the counter, he has a hard time listening.  I think he has inherited the ambitious gene from both sides of his family.

Unfortunately, he has not quite grasped the concept of the idea that even if he can do something, doesn't mean he should do something.  But I shouldn't be so hard on him.  This is a concept to which most of us adults don't even adhere.

We seem to have this drive marinated into us to rise to the top of our careers, to be the best we can be at our work.  Our society has this sort of giddy school girl adoration for such people.  Take, for example, two cyber-security conferences I have been to, both of which former FBI cybercrime professionals headlined.  They were introduced, including all of their years of experience in fighting crime, as well as their notoriety as speakers.  We all gawked at their stories, as well as their skills in hacking into "secure" systems even as they presented.

However, I noticed one very subtle thing about both of them.  Neither of them wore wedding rings.  Perhaps this was a choice, perhaps they never had interest in marriage and family.  But perhaps their story was one of two other scenarios.  The first being that they had always wanted to have a family, but their career was taking off, they were spending lots of time at the office, and the opportunities kept slipping away from them until they got fewer and rarer.  The second scenario would be much more tragic, that they already had a marriage and possibly even kids, but that they never had enough time for both them and work, and the wife, overwhelmed and disheartened by the reality of an absentee husband, decided she and the kids would be better off on their own, or take their chances in possibly finding another whose priorities were more in line with theirs.

I thought to myself that no matter how sexy their job seemed, rising to that prominence was not for me.  It did not fall in line with my priorities of having time at the end of the day, and on weekends for those I love, as well as the other passions and hobbies I have (like writing). :-)  That is me, of course.  I know that it's very possible that this type of life was maybe all they ever wanted.  And in that case, they can consider themselves successful.

But I would say that this sort of self-success mirror of world success is more elusive than we care to think.  The world may care about seeing certain things out of people and making judgments based upon that, but it is only a spectator for the "best of" moments of that person's life.  That person, on the other hand must live every moment of their own life, including the holes that that pinnacle they have built has created.  They therefore should take actions because they want them, and because those actions lead to consequences complementary to their values.  It's a hard thing to sort out, and no one is perfect at it, but I hope that those who have forgone ambition for the sake of the less showcase-able aspects of life do not let their satisfaction be squelched by some outside voice saying they could have done better.