A lot of times, I lament that I do not do enough with my time. I wish I was more productive. “Prolific,” I call it. After all, I’ve studied many of the classical music composer master guru guys… Mozart, Beethoven… we go way back. So when I compare my life to these geniuses, I feel terribly like I’m falling short.
No matter. My life has a different purpose. Different circumstances. Different world.
Instead of music I create… I like to think I create hope. My job as a peer specialist… it gives me an opportunity to offer compassion and understanding to people who so badly need it. The world looks on us, with mental illness disabilities, with “awkwardness.”
I truly believe that awkwardness is perhaps one of the greatest, most evil states of mind found in the 21st century.
And me… of course… my dream is to FIGHT awkwardness.
Let’s start with that three-letter word… SEX. Adolescents, coming into their own, twitter and tweet (online and off) about this new concept that they think they have discovered, the same as Columbus discovered America. They think they invented sex. Our media panders to these children, and money is made. Perhaps the biggest allure of sex, psychologically, is that it is a taboo subject. It creates “awkwardness” in adults when adolescent children begin to desire wearing more provocative clothing.
Oh how mature.
Honestly though. I remember, as a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to be more mature than my peers. I expressed this by applying myself earnestly to my studies. I focused on classical music as my discipline and future career. I was fortunate to attend a private school that had a high school of about 85 students total, which was a godsend for me. The fewer adolescent children around me, the better.
These days, I long to change the world. I’ve found my passions too: writing and mental health. I feel a certain degree of confidence and mastery in both these discipline. With music, it was always just… scraping away, horsetail against metal, bow against string, lubricated not with oil, but with chaifing, dusty, sticky rosin. The antithesis of anything remotely erotic.
I liken it to masturbating with a cactus.
The point of this blog post is that, it doesn’t really have a point. And that’s ok. I long to be prolific, but I also have to realize that the mind needs rest and rejuvenation, if it is to produce anything of true consequence. After all, Bach himself fathered 20 children. Even though he was only involved in the conception of such beings, that still indicates that he enjoyed himself somewhat.
This always baffles me. Bach was such a superb composer. He composes with the precision of a calculator, and yet he is creative. If ever artificial intelligence were to realistically materialize, it should have an operating system equivalent to… whatever Bach drew from in his own creativity.
Of course there are Bach scholars out there, who would know the answer to this question. But I prefer not to read what they have written, because wading through pages of chaff to get to what I want to read, honest-to-goodness wheat…
I mean, I don’t even eat fucking bread. I’ve removed it from my diet. And I exercise.
Musicians don’t understand this. They practice 6 hours a day. Then they clink glasses of red wine and laugh and talk in different languages… where’s the fitness? No wonder they look doughy.
So… me, saying I want to be prolific… to what end? I suppose I should not compare myself to composers or musicians, if I am to be a prolific writer. But there again, there are many prolific writers. Lately, I’ve been reading some Michael Crichton. Easy reads, yet edifying in an entertaining way.
Life is short. We stagger and stumble, and we inhale the dirt we kick up, causing us to feel winded and defeated. And as we look up from the ground, prostrate, we see Olympian runners speeding ahead of us, kicking up more dirt that we, the loser, must inhale. The winners win, and the losers not only lose, but suffer.
Perhaps this is why I want to be prolific so badly. I have felt very much glued to the floor, Olympians and amateurs alike running circles around me, kicking, kicking kicking. My attempts to get up? Impossible. I’m not only glued to the floor… I am the floor. I am the dirt.
The ability to be prolific… it is universally unfair. What makes the prolific people better than me, other than… skill? Talent? Aptitude? Discipline? Work ethic?
Those motivational types always say: “You can do whatever you put your mind to.”
Oh really. A quadrpelegic can play the piano, if she only puts her mind to it. Right.
Let’s stop with the freaking “feel-good,” warm gooey heart-warming encouragement. Those of us who have experienced depression know that it is fundamentally bullshit. Because it’s not only about putting your mind to something. It’s about what you look like. How warmly you smile. Body language. It’s about how we present ourselves, and how people around us react.
Imagine. If a person with pleasant demeanor applies herself to her studies in music, her teacher favors her and encourages her, and then due to positive encouragement, or love if you will, she becomes a very prosperous violinist. Then, perhaps the same teacher has another stuent, just as diligent, but perhaps he frowns. Or winces at his mistakes. The teacher takes less kindly to this poor sap, perhaps even comparing the boy negatively to the favored girl. The teacher doesn’t offer the same warmth, and the boy suffers. Lack of confidence… etc.
Would you say that the girl is any more motivated than the boy? Why is the girl rewarded then?
As I said, fortune favors the fortunate. Sad state of affairs.
This is why I want to do some world-changing work in mental health. Because mental health affects everyone. Almost everyone is born with a functioning brain. And almost all of those people experience what we call “feelings,” or “emotions.” We are just leaving the Dark Ages, as far as our understanding of the human psyche goes.
Now is the time, where we are starting to truly define what goes on in our brains. But in my opinion, it is not only science that should determine what we know, but something far greater.