I just scrolled down the blog and found last year's December 31st post... it couldn't get any worse, right? Right?
Wow, how optimistic and excited we all were about 2010 in the hours leading up to New Years Eve dinner... and how HORRIBLE the night turned out after that. We waited literally for hours after our reservation to be seated to dinner, and in the meantime had to endure the crush of New Years Eve bar mobs. When we were finally seated at 11:30pm, the service was attrocious and I believe we were finally served food after midnight (the kitchen staff were pressed into service for additional time). It was amazing foreshadowing of 2010... gritting teeth trying to hold back supremely self-righteous anger.
2010 will join 2009 on the reject page, at least for awhile. Some great things did happen--I got my professional license, I got to fall in love, I got to be a part of important groups with significant connections... The roots are pushing through the pine straw and thin gravel to find the soil. It's sad that my brain can take those amazing things and just bury them. That's Psychology 101, though--people feel loss more severely than gain. I am people. I just tend to dwell on stuff much longer than most. Every injustice is a personal trauma. Every wrong must be righted.
2011, be good to me and I'll be good to you. Don't be like your older siblings and I won't roll my eyes at you when I see you on the gas pump. Let me tell my grandkids how 2011 was the watershed year that stopped this hideous decade--The Shitties--in its tracks. The economy grew! Unemployment sank! Wars concluded! The check engine light turned off by itself! We all fell in love and it was a GOOD thing! Someone invented a calorie-free Krispe Kreme donut! Be THAT year, 2011--be cool, and I'll catch up with you and be cool too. Mmmkay?
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Who am I? Why am I here?
Poor Admiral Stockdale. At his debut vice presidential debate opening in 1992, he said those seven words that, the following morning, would be used as evidence of his senility. Little did he know that 18 years later, his geriatric croak would resonate in my head during every drought of confidence--"who am I? why am I here?"
I've heard people say that you are who you are. Your personality is as much a part of your being as your brown eyes or your hairy chest. Sure, you can always wear colored contacts or wax your chest, but in the end, you're just a brown-eyed person with colored contacts or a hairy person who's been harvested and is waiting for the new crop to grow in. And so with your personality; changes are either pharmacologically-inspired or based on good acting skills. You are who you are.
So what happens if I don't like who I am? Physically, a person can go so far as to change their sex, but are they ever anything more than a post-op transgender? Does anyone really believe that, beneath her many layers of facial plastic, Joan Rivers is ACTUALLY good looking (or for that matter, above her many layers of facial plastic?). So if I'm profoundly unsatisfied with my personality and emotional outlook, am I stuck? I may find a pill that makes me awesome, or I may be able to project an air of awesomeness. In the end, am I just a "modified" unawesome person?
My Lost Autumn of 2010 has gotten me to reflect on who I am, which is all the more difficult because I've been on psychological medications since... high school? Without my meds and strong desire to win people's affections, I can only imagine the pile of couch-sprawling spasmodic goo I would be right now--is that me? Is that the unadulterated Paul Lipchak? Is that the are that I are? Have my achievements, successes, relationships, and fuck-ups over the past 15 years been some sort of artificial affectation fueled by body chemicals reacting with out-of-body chemicals in an environment of high social pressure?
There are things I want to change about my personality. Things that are obstacles to happiness, success, satisfaction... I want to be more easy-going. I want to have more self-confidence. Be riskier. More spontaneous. I want to be less intense. Less cynical. Less shy. Content. Fulfilled. Grateful. Charitable. For real. Not post-op happy. Real happy.
Is it too late to become who I want to be?
I've heard people say that you are who you are. Your personality is as much a part of your being as your brown eyes or your hairy chest. Sure, you can always wear colored contacts or wax your chest, but in the end, you're just a brown-eyed person with colored contacts or a hairy person who's been harvested and is waiting for the new crop to grow in. And so with your personality; changes are either pharmacologically-inspired or based on good acting skills. You are who you are.
So what happens if I don't like who I am? Physically, a person can go so far as to change their sex, but are they ever anything more than a post-op transgender? Does anyone really believe that, beneath her many layers of facial plastic, Joan Rivers is ACTUALLY good looking (or for that matter, above her many layers of facial plastic?). So if I'm profoundly unsatisfied with my personality and emotional outlook, am I stuck? I may find a pill that makes me awesome, or I may be able to project an air of awesomeness. In the end, am I just a "modified" unawesome person?
My Lost Autumn of 2010 has gotten me to reflect on who I am, which is all the more difficult because I've been on psychological medications since... high school? Without my meds and strong desire to win people's affections, I can only imagine the pile of couch-sprawling spasmodic goo I would be right now--is that me? Is that the unadulterated Paul Lipchak? Is that the are that I are? Have my achievements, successes, relationships, and fuck-ups over the past 15 years been some sort of artificial affectation fueled by body chemicals reacting with out-of-body chemicals in an environment of high social pressure?
There are things I want to change about my personality. Things that are obstacles to happiness, success, satisfaction... I want to be more easy-going. I want to have more self-confidence. Be riskier. More spontaneous. I want to be less intense. Less cynical. Less shy. Content. Fulfilled. Grateful. Charitable. For real. Not post-op happy. Real happy.
Is it too late to become who I want to be?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Back for More
It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my home town... no, wait, that's not me...
It's funny to look back and see that July 3 was my last post, because it was only the next day that life here in the New Colony took a pretty dramatic step in a new direction. Since the night of Independence Day I've been at both the highest and lowest since first recovering from the anxiety of moving my life to North Carolina. I've realized a fantasy and nearly immediately fumbled it, tragically. I've gone from the relative comfort of consistent but fairly easy-going work to staring down a potential layoff through 55-hour weeks. I've learned a lot about myself in the process but found many aspects of my personality that just can't continue unchecked.
The height I reached was fleeting but amazing. Being loved, admired, and adored by someone for which I had such intense reciprocal feelings was my fantasy come true. I had been single much too long by the beginning of the summer, without any of the feelings of liberation that most bachelors enjoy. I was blessed to find a woman to share my time, and for once I made a conscious effort to pay attention to the great times we had in the moment. At the closing of past relationships, I was haunted by the loss of memories of fun and love--they were overwhelmed by the strain of separation, of having tried so hard to be the right guy and missed the mark. This time, no good memories were taken for granted.
The dissolution of the relationship, however, was a mess in its own right. My psyche had been changing, exaggerating my obsessive, paranoid, jealous, and tempermental side. It was a transition I had not noticed--certainly not soon enough--and that I now link to a concurrent change in my anxiety medication. It feels unrighteous to lay the full responsibility for my "descent" on chemicals, so I sidestep the actual symptoms and take responsibility instead for a complete lack of awareness of my behavior despite a number of obvious clues. When your girlfriend says that you're always angry, and that you're not the same person she started dating, you need to pay attention. When you start getting comments on your attitude from coworkers who are themselves notoriously ill-mannered, you should take a hint. When your sleeping and eating patterns change dramatically in the span of a few weeks, you need to be asking questions about yourself.
Through the month of October and into November, my emotions and behaviors became completely undocked from my thinking. Yes, I know that emotions and behaviors operate differently than reason and intellect, but usually your mind has the ability to square them up--I acted this way because of this belief, I had this emotion because of this expectation, etc. For several weeks, my emotions and their resultant behaviors were unsquarable with what I was thinking. Perspective and proportionality were lost. A minor issue would become an outrage. A snub would become a melodrama. A mere task would become an ordeal. And all the while I was not able to see how different this was from normal or feel how it might be affecting other people.
It took lying in bed awake one night, staring at the ceiling, for my intellect to put the pieces together... I'm thinking one way, but my emotions are off on their own. This may be normal for a short duration, but not for almost two months. What changed in September? In the end, I was lucky to hit upon something--a solid, plausible reason--to help draw the pieces together. Whether or not it is truly a factor, linking my increased anxiety meds (possible side effects include hostility and aggression) to what was happening gave me focus. I regained perspective. And initiative. I resolved to address these issues, not just pharmaceutically but also through counseling.
The pressure isn't off. I hang by a thread in a number of ways, personally and professionally. Stress at work has not abated but rather has just been lengthened for more weeks. When this project has finally been pushed out to sea, there's no guaranty another one is waiting at the dock. But in general, I feel hopeful about the future in a way I haven't in some time. I will get better, and I will find a way to get happiness back in my life.
It's funny to look back and see that July 3 was my last post, because it was only the next day that life here in the New Colony took a pretty dramatic step in a new direction. Since the night of Independence Day I've been at both the highest and lowest since first recovering from the anxiety of moving my life to North Carolina. I've realized a fantasy and nearly immediately fumbled it, tragically. I've gone from the relative comfort of consistent but fairly easy-going work to staring down a potential layoff through 55-hour weeks. I've learned a lot about myself in the process but found many aspects of my personality that just can't continue unchecked.
The height I reached was fleeting but amazing. Being loved, admired, and adored by someone for which I had such intense reciprocal feelings was my fantasy come true. I had been single much too long by the beginning of the summer, without any of the feelings of liberation that most bachelors enjoy. I was blessed to find a woman to share my time, and for once I made a conscious effort to pay attention to the great times we had in the moment. At the closing of past relationships, I was haunted by the loss of memories of fun and love--they were overwhelmed by the strain of separation, of having tried so hard to be the right guy and missed the mark. This time, no good memories were taken for granted.
The dissolution of the relationship, however, was a mess in its own right. My psyche had been changing, exaggerating my obsessive, paranoid, jealous, and tempermental side. It was a transition I had not noticed--certainly not soon enough--and that I now link to a concurrent change in my anxiety medication. It feels unrighteous to lay the full responsibility for my "descent" on chemicals, so I sidestep the actual symptoms and take responsibility instead for a complete lack of awareness of my behavior despite a number of obvious clues. When your girlfriend says that you're always angry, and that you're not the same person she started dating, you need to pay attention. When you start getting comments on your attitude from coworkers who are themselves notoriously ill-mannered, you should take a hint. When your sleeping and eating patterns change dramatically in the span of a few weeks, you need to be asking questions about yourself.
Through the month of October and into November, my emotions and behaviors became completely undocked from my thinking. Yes, I know that emotions and behaviors operate differently than reason and intellect, but usually your mind has the ability to square them up--I acted this way because of this belief, I had this emotion because of this expectation, etc. For several weeks, my emotions and their resultant behaviors were unsquarable with what I was thinking. Perspective and proportionality were lost. A minor issue would become an outrage. A snub would become a melodrama. A mere task would become an ordeal. And all the while I was not able to see how different this was from normal or feel how it might be affecting other people.
It took lying in bed awake one night, staring at the ceiling, for my intellect to put the pieces together... I'm thinking one way, but my emotions are off on their own. This may be normal for a short duration, but not for almost two months. What changed in September? In the end, I was lucky to hit upon something--a solid, plausible reason--to help draw the pieces together. Whether or not it is truly a factor, linking my increased anxiety meds (possible side effects include hostility and aggression) to what was happening gave me focus. I regained perspective. And initiative. I resolved to address these issues, not just pharmaceutically but also through counseling.
The pressure isn't off. I hang by a thread in a number of ways, personally and professionally. Stress at work has not abated but rather has just been lengthened for more weeks. When this project has finally been pushed out to sea, there's no guaranty another one is waiting at the dock. But in general, I feel hopeful about the future in a way I haven't in some time. I will get better, and I will find a way to get happiness back in my life.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Two Years in a New Colony
Once again it's time to commemorate an anniversary of Southern living. Three years ago tomorrow was the first time I visited Raleigh, and a year later I was in a car with my tranquilized cat heading south on I-95 for my new home. Today I sit in my Raleigh ITB apartment with the french doors wide open to the much maligned Juliet balcony while an improbably comfortable and dry July 3rd graces the courtyard below. Free tickets to the Durham Bulls game tonight thanks to Freelon, some understated celebrating tomorrow with friends, road trip to the beach next weekend with other friends... if complaining wasn't a biological imperative of every cell of my body, I'd be an idiot to start now.
I still get surprised looks when I tell people that I simply chose to live in Raleigh without any ulterior motives. Work did not bring me here, nor a spouse or family. I set out my desires and criteria and found a match that made my Excel spreadsheet happy. After all, if you only went places you knew intimately, you'd never be able to go anywhere. So there were no guarantees of a successful match, and to be honest, there are often times that I agree with the bewilderment of my colleagues. Raleigh is not a glamorous place. All of North Carolina is not a glamorous place. It is not at the end of any roads, it is not a frontier, not a center of great wealth or political power, and although naturally beautiful, it has neither the best beaches nor the grandest mountains on the East Coast. Aside from some notable exceptions--banks in Charlotte, technology in RTP, and college basketball--North Carolina seems almost devoid of superlatives. North Carolina is that girl in high school that was pleasant and everyone could be friends with, but was not the valedictorian, cheerleading captain, track star, French Club president... just a good decent friend who you had to look up in the yearbook decades later because you could never quite remember her name.
North Carolina lacks a compelling story. And Raleigh, as its capital, fares no better. But the reason why I continue to find this place attractive is because of the narrative that is as latent as the humidity--there is a story emerging here. Today the story lacks definition and it suffers from the obscurity of the people and places that contribute to it. But every day it seems to come closer to the surface, becoming more organized and more accessible. Much as California captures the imagination of the world today as both utopia and dystopia, North Carolina is in the process of becoming the next crucible for America's dream. Imagine moving to the empty and hot Los Angeles basin before it became America's western metropolis, and that is the feeling that keeps me here in Raleigh today. Things will happen here, ideas will be tested, mistakes will be made, and ultimately this place will be a completely different heaven or hell than the purgatory it is today. As long as I keep feeling that potential energy coursing through this place, I'll be here watching it.
I still get surprised looks when I tell people that I simply chose to live in Raleigh without any ulterior motives. Work did not bring me here, nor a spouse or family. I set out my desires and criteria and found a match that made my Excel spreadsheet happy. After all, if you only went places you knew intimately, you'd never be able to go anywhere. So there were no guarantees of a successful match, and to be honest, there are often times that I agree with the bewilderment of my colleagues. Raleigh is not a glamorous place. All of North Carolina is not a glamorous place. It is not at the end of any roads, it is not a frontier, not a center of great wealth or political power, and although naturally beautiful, it has neither the best beaches nor the grandest mountains on the East Coast. Aside from some notable exceptions--banks in Charlotte, technology in RTP, and college basketball--North Carolina seems almost devoid of superlatives. North Carolina is that girl in high school that was pleasant and everyone could be friends with, but was not the valedictorian, cheerleading captain, track star, French Club president... just a good decent friend who you had to look up in the yearbook decades later because you could never quite remember her name.
North Carolina lacks a compelling story. And Raleigh, as its capital, fares no better. But the reason why I continue to find this place attractive is because of the narrative that is as latent as the humidity--there is a story emerging here. Today the story lacks definition and it suffers from the obscurity of the people and places that contribute to it. But every day it seems to come closer to the surface, becoming more organized and more accessible. Much as California captures the imagination of the world today as both utopia and dystopia, North Carolina is in the process of becoming the next crucible for America's dream. Imagine moving to the empty and hot Los Angeles basin before it became America's western metropolis, and that is the feeling that keeps me here in Raleigh today. Things will happen here, ideas will be tested, mistakes will be made, and ultimately this place will be a completely different heaven or hell than the purgatory it is today. As long as I keep feeling that potential energy coursing through this place, I'll be here watching it.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
What was my password again?
As a testament to my blog neglect, it took me about ten tries and two Recaptchas just to log in with the correct e-mail address/password combination. Considering I have four addresses and three passwords I use consistently, I guess ten tries still beats the odds. No, wait. It doesn't. Math.
I've fallen victim to the blog paradox; when life is full of stuff worth writing about, it's too full to blog about it. This is my first Sunday in a while that I don't have better things going (by choice), so now I can recap the last two months:
Took final Architecture Registration Exam March 15 --> Found out I passed April 1 --> Final application for registration approved by the State April 9 --> was upgraded to Architect membership by professional organization April 11 --> received single lump-sum bonus from work April 30.
Was told by landlord that the condo I rented was being put on the market January 2 or so --> Got fed up with landlord's and Realtor's lack of respect for my privacy and possessions and bitched about it continuously through January and February --> was given 60-day notice late February --> Found nearly reasonable rent at Oberlin Court in early March --> moved March 27 --> got full security deposit returned April 27 --> landlord's condo still on the market today.
Started working on psychiatric hospital project at work in early December --> 50% DD deadline in... late February? --> work like gangbusters for last two weeks to make 100% DD deadline --> DD deadline pushed off at (literally) last minute --> ???
played volleyball Tuesday nights at Y and some additional nights indoors or outdoors --> still going
Christmas with Mom & Steve in the keys --> visit to Virginia family early February --> visit from Benj's family late February --> visit from Agurkis family late April --> meet up with Dad & Maryann in Virginia literally the next day --> heading back to Mass for a Memorial Day visit and meeting first step-nephew Owen
There's been other things--mentoring at NCSU, students' ULI competition team winning the national award, a few First Fridays, lots of drinking, AIA committee stuff, etc. etc. But let's consider ourselves sufficiently caught up and go from here, mmkay?
I've fallen victim to the blog paradox; when life is full of stuff worth writing about, it's too full to blog about it. This is my first Sunday in a while that I don't have better things going (by choice), so now I can recap the last two months:
Took final Architecture Registration Exam March 15 --> Found out I passed April 1 --> Final application for registration approved by the State April 9 --> was upgraded to Architect membership by professional organization April 11 --> received single lump-sum bonus from work April 30.
Was told by landlord that the condo I rented was being put on the market January 2 or so --> Got fed up with landlord's and Realtor's lack of respect for my privacy and possessions and bitched about it continuously through January and February --> was given 60-day notice late February --> Found nearly reasonable rent at Oberlin Court in early March --> moved March 27 --> got full security deposit returned April 27 --> landlord's condo still on the market today.
Started working on psychiatric hospital project at work in early December --> 50% DD deadline in... late February? --> work like gangbusters for last two weeks to make 100% DD deadline --> DD deadline pushed off at (literally) last minute --> ???
played volleyball Tuesday nights at Y and some additional nights indoors or outdoors --> still going
Christmas with Mom & Steve in the keys --> visit to Virginia family early February --> visit from Benj's family late February --> visit from Agurkis family late April --> meet up with Dad & Maryann in Virginia literally the next day --> heading back to Mass for a Memorial Day visit and meeting first step-nephew Owen
There's been other things--mentoring at NCSU, students' ULI competition team winning the national award, a few First Fridays, lots of drinking, AIA committee stuff, etc. etc. But let's consider ourselves sufficiently caught up and go from here, mmkay?
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Obligatory status update
This is surprisingly my first post in 2010, even though the year is already over 12% complete. It's been... that kind of busy that happens when you're not really busy in retrospect, but feel caught up in the flow while it's happening.
Right now I'm feeling stomach-turning anxiety about choosing a new apartment to live in; on one hand, there's the hip, expensive, trendy place with loads of hot women, a big pool, its own restaurants... this is meant for cool people. I can just afford the cheapest, smallest apartment. On the other hand, there's a quiet, 2-story, old (for raleigh) condo townhouse right next to the shopping area. Nothing special, about as expensive as what I have now, kinda worn and charming... very me. Very unspectacular. And now choosing an apartment has become a self-referendum for my identity. Am I hip? Can I pull off cool and energetic and perky? Or would I be the lame older single guy that lurks around 20-somethings in the hopes of some second-hand fun? Is that worse than just turning into a hermit?
Well, at least I've claimed to the realtor that I will be bringing in an application and checks tomorrow afternoon for the boring, if charming, townhouse. If it's like most of the other places I've lived, I'll be mildly disappointed with it up until about a month away from moving out of it. Maybe Fenway will like it.
Right now I'm feeling stomach-turning anxiety about choosing a new apartment to live in; on one hand, there's the hip, expensive, trendy place with loads of hot women, a big pool, its own restaurants... this is meant for cool people. I can just afford the cheapest, smallest apartment. On the other hand, there's a quiet, 2-story, old (for raleigh) condo townhouse right next to the shopping area. Nothing special, about as expensive as what I have now, kinda worn and charming... very me. Very unspectacular. And now choosing an apartment has become a self-referendum for my identity. Am I hip? Can I pull off cool and energetic and perky? Or would I be the lame older single guy that lurks around 20-somethings in the hopes of some second-hand fun? Is that worse than just turning into a hermit?
Well, at least I've claimed to the realtor that I will be bringing in an application and checks tomorrow afternoon for the boring, if charming, townhouse. If it's like most of the other places I've lived, I'll be mildly disappointed with it up until about a month away from moving out of it. Maybe Fenway will like it.
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