Month: June 2024

The Last Drops (A Meditation on Letting Go)

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I have this soap that my wife got me. It’s good-smelling soap, clean but also smelling distinctly *of* a thing (vanilla, for one, which I’m a sucker for), not that vague “clean” scent that goes with a lot of soaps. I like this soap.

And in the shower yesterday, I reached past it to use another soap, one I didn’t like as much. Why? Because the “good soap” was down to its last couple of uses, and I didn’t feel like burning them up.

On a certain level, this makes sense. Certain things are for special occasions, not for everyday use. That wasn’t how I felt about this soap for 90% of its lifespan, mind you. Up until it was almost gone, whether to use this soap or not was a decision to which I gave as much thought as which pencil I’ll use to jot this note. (The one closest to hand, please and thank you.) But toward the end, something changed and the soap became SPECIAL, it became Not To Be Wasted.

The problem, of course — and if you’re a weirdo, probably-carrying-undiagnosed-ADHD-but-coping forty-something like me, maybe you’ve already anticipated it — is that *I then fail to use it up*.

The problem becomes worse when I try not to buy boring soaps, but rather try different kinds in hopes of finding one I’ll like (and usually succeeding) — then another soap becomes The Soap Not To Be Wasted, and oh snap — now I have TWO bottles of almost-spent soap in the shower, and I *can’t* use either one TODAY, let me reach for this other one instead and SAVE THE GOOD ONES …

In other words, the bathroom is a disaster of nearly-spent bottles of soap. As it turns out, a problem like this doesn’t present in a vacuum. I do this in the kitchen too (how old is YOUR oldest jar of spices? Hmmm? Mine still has a 19 in the year, and I don’t mean 2019). And with pens. (Yeah, it’s almost out, but it’s got a LITTLE juice left.) And clothes. (Yeah, this shirt has a hole in it and I can only wear it for sleeping, but what, like THAT’S a reason to throw it out?) And …. I’ll stop there, but you can use your imagination.

Which, on a certain level, makes me a hoarder. But it’s not that I have an aversion to throwing things away generally. I LOVE throwing things away. Saying goodbye to a silly piece of junk is one among a dwindling set of Things Which Bring Joy To My Life. I SHOULD be bursting to throw these things away.

Yet I want to save them.

Upon reflection, it’s an issue of comfort, and attachment. That almost-spent thing is a tiny source of comfort. “Hey, this thing was nice, let’s keep it around just a little bit longer,” it seems to say. And after all, why not? Why not hold onto it for a little bit longer? Savor it. Keep it. For that special moment.

Then I realized I’ve done this with books I was reading, and writing projects, as well. I’ve raced through 350 pages of a 400-page novel only to slow to a crawl for the last few pages, wanting to prolong the experience even though I desperately want to know what happens. Because I don’t want to leave these characters, this story, this *experience* behind. I’ve drafted a story, done editing passes, then faltered on finishing final edits because, well, when I finish those, it’s *done*, and I can’t justify dinking around with this story anymore, I have to move on to the next thing.

In a bigger, scarier-to-think-about way, it’s a tiny way to live in the past, rather than moving on toward the future. Which is probably not a great way to live. (It’s certainly no way to keep your shower.)

In Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Kylo Ren had something to say about this. (Yes, I’m quoting TLJ on purpose because it infuriates a certain type of Star Wars fan. If this upsets you, please tell me all about it.) Rey was consumed with trying to find her parents, she had no sense of self because she had been abandoned and been waiting on them to return for so long. But Ren says, “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to.”

Nobody’s going to use that soap up for me, and my wife won’t trash it on my behalf, either. (It’s man-soap. She’s scared to touch it, lest she immediately sprout a very gruff beard, develop an interest in smoking meats, and start daydreaming about Ancient Rome.) It will sit there, on the soapy shower ledge, staring at me, judging me, as long as I let it. The only way it’s going away is if I put it out of its misery.

So will that book I’m putting off reading.

So will that story I don’t want to finish writing.

So will that (thing) I don’t want to move on from.

When we look too much backward, we cannot move forward.

I used the last of the soap this morning.

It was no big deal.

Pretty Sure My Classmates Are Robots

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So I’m working through my last few credit hours of Masters classes. (I know, my timing is awesome. Starting a new job, moving to a new state, throwing my entire life into turmoil…. why not take some post-graduate work onboard too?) And I don’t know if you’re familiar, but in the current online educational environment, *ONLINE DISCUSSIONS* are a big part of the game. That is to say, the instructor posts some topic, and you are REQUIRED to respond based on readings or your own personal experience, and sometimes to respond to your classmates’ responses as well. In short, we’re trying to replicate those conversations we might have in a real classroom, in a virtual space.

An admirable goal, if imperfect. Of course it’s good to talk these things out, and writing (don’t I know it) your thoughts down is probably the best way to straighten out your own thinking about a thing. Of course, what makes a discussion work is the real-time exchange of ideas, not to mention all the other accoutrement of face-to-face interaction (tone of voice, facial expressions, etc). With those out the window … having these “conversations” begins to feel a little more like a hoop to jump through rather than a real, organic way to learn.

Ok, so why am I on about these discussions?

Well, months ago, a colleague of mine told me that she uses AI to do these assignments. She sees no value in them (seeing them, as I do, as a hoop to jump through). So she lets the robots do the work. What’s the harm, right? It’s not like the instructor is reading back in excruciating detail to see if you actually responded and thought about what was said … it’s more like, “did they post something? Does it look like they answered what was being said? Check, move on”.

So I tried it. Obviously. And … I just can’t. I 100% agree with her, but I just can’t let something like that go out with my name on it. AI isn’t there yet, it sounds phony or wordy or just awkward in a way that humans — or at least this particular human — *don’t sound*.

But then I read the comments to my classmates’ posts. And I read what they say in response to my own. And the lizard part of my brain whispers to my subconscious, “NO REAL PERSON WROTE THIS.”

I see it everywhere. Did that person *really* need to ask that question? Was that *really* your takeaway from what was said? Do you *really* appreciate that contribution?

There’s no way to know they’re NOT taking the easy way out, and my brain is poisoned.

And they’re objectively smarter than me, because I’m still sinking in the time.

So Did I Quit or What

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I have still been writing, in one form or another, maybe not quite every day, over my entire sabbatical, here. The fact is, my writing on socials of any sort (here as much as anywhere) has always felt a little to me like chasing clicks and fostering engagement and things that, for one thing, I’m not good at, and for another, I don’t particularly enjoy. Also, it makes me feel a little dirty. So I gave it up for a while.

What I *have* been writing — and I’ve written a fair deal! — in the meantime has been private, inward-facing, reflective, sometimes ranty. I’ve filled notebook upon notebook. (I still maintain that writing by hand has a sort of *magic* to it, even though there’s nothing magical about it. The speed of thought is different when scribbling the words by hand than when clickety-clacking away. Not sure it’s better … but it’s different.) Socked away digital file upon digital file. (My favorite tool of late is Obsidian, been using it for a little over a year. Felt cute, might post about it later, idk.) Wrote a couple of fun little scenes for my own enjoyment — one or two I wrote specifically for my students to perform (and they didn’t), another couple I wrote just for fun and I didn’t think my students would enjoy them at all (and they SUPER did, and performed THOSE instead), half-wrote and failed to finish more than I care to think about.

And not once did I feel bad about not posting anything publicly.

But lately, I thought a little about this place. And I kind of miss it.

I miss writing for an audience, even if that audience is mostly silent and mostly just me and a couple of people who know me (and a handful of internet strangers who stumble in like cruise vacationers on a shore excursion in a foreign country — lost, ill-outfitted, a little dehydrated and probably slightly inebriated).

And I’m also seeing the power recently in seeing yourself represented in other places. No, I’m not talking about White Guy Representation, there’s plenty of that. Too much of that. I’m not claiming any of that that’s out there, or asking for that. I’m just talking about the sense of “oh, somebody else out there is going through that, too. Ok, I’m not a *total* weirdo.” I always tell my students, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, that “if you’re going through it, somebody else out there is *probably* going through it too.” (Depending on how much they understand my sense of humor, I will tag it with “you might as well share the pain” or “you are not special,” just to watch their faces.)

Not for nothing, I’m also starting a new job and moving soon and life is feeling a lot less certain and set these days, and I GUESS I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS ABOUT THAT. I know enough about therapy to know that it’s probably a good idea to at least talk about what I’m feeling, but I’m too much of a stubborn dummy to actually go to therapy (sorry, wife).

So I dunno, maybe I’ll make some posts here again. Maybe it’ll be fun. Maybe it’ll be dumb. (Two things can be true.)

Anyway, if you’re seeing this, thanks. I make no promises and I offer no assurances.

But I’ve learned that when you let go of expectations and stop *asking* your endeavors for things, that’s when you get the really good stuff in return.

Ok, bye.