1.29.24 Letter to my wife

I’ve been thinking as I always do. You are not in trouble if that fear gremlin is already starting to find purchase in your mind, rest easy. I was pondering the duality of my parents and how I reflect both of them in how I treat myself and to some extent how I treat others. 

You were lucky enough to meet my dad and you experienced how he was very chill and sweet man. What you may not know though, is he was very much the embodiment of the quote “It’s better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war” (The Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy, by Miyamoto Musashi). He fought in the wars in Cuba. He trained people how to fight. He was exposed to violence. I remember once he told me a story of how him and other men were so nervous standing in a field before a battle was supposed to start out, that every single one of them were compelled to take a shit. He had that level of intimate knowledge. I know it is a little strange to use the word “intimate”, normally reserved for nice things, to describe people needing to take a shit, but it does convey how close to it he was. And that was why, when he was on his deathbed, he felt it was important to let me know he never used violence on us growing up. I only ever heard him raise his voice once, and that was to break up a fight between my brother Alex, and my sister. I can’t depend on my visual memory, but I think I vaguely recall my brother had my sister pinned against the wall (he tended to leverage his size as a weapon). I don’t remember how my father stopped it (he usually wasn’t around to deal with all the fights I experienced in the house), but I do distinctly remember him yelling “I will not have violence in this house“. The point of me telling this story is relate that while my default demeanor has always been to be quiet or “chill”, I still have that part from my dad that will stand up and do something once it becomes necessary. I was reminded of my father a lot during that scene in Dune between Duke Leto Atreides and his son Paul, when the duke said “A great man doesn’t seek to lead. He’s called to it.”. When I look at a picture of that seen, I realize how similar Oscar Isaac’s eyes look to my father’s when my father was significantly younger. There is an aspect of that idea that stirs inside me when I step up and call you out on your financial struggles or other actions/inactions that run counter to where you want to be in the long term. I do struggle with walking into conflict, but in the end the part of my papa that knew it was necessary sometimes takes over. I remember my father telling me about what he appreciated about my sister’s ex-boyfriend (back when they were dating and living together). He noted how Marcello could be “hard” and that was something my sister needed. Not hard as in hyper-masculinity, but in setting boundaries and goals…his leadership qualities. Having first hand experience living with my sister these past 2 years has helped me understand a bit more about why that relationship ultimately failing (outside of my sister’s sexual identity, which I’m sure was a factor). 

I wanted to switch over to talking about my mother. All you ever got to see of her was that one video my father saved and a handful of photos. While she could be a trickster imp some days and then some days seethe with that quiet anger that I’m well known for, she was also the disciplinarian when it came to my parents. She was the fire-brand, which is a trait she got from her mother (along with the generational trauma cycle that she fought so hard to break). I think this has a large influence on my affinity towards flawed and aggressive women in stories. She could have easily been a Michelle Rodriguez, if she wasn’t so busy being a mother. When my grades started failing, she was the one that set the rule that I couldn’t play games during the week. When I got my hands on games that were over the top on violence, she was the one that forbade me from playing them (even if I was above the age for their rating…my teenage self didn’t understand why she took her actions but the adult me does now). I could be arrogant and dumb as a teenager sometimes. I have a memory I wanted to share about the one time she slapped me for saying something incredibly arrogant and ungrateful…it is still too painful to share in detail. But, I can say when I got hit, I instantly knew I was in the wrong.

I have a reason for sharing the intensity that was my mother. Whenever I was disciplined by her, no matter the method, she always let me know there was a point to it all and that she didn’t want to do these things. I have my father’s outward chillness, but buried beneath is the drive to make the changes needed to keep life moving in the right direction. My other instilled the inner discipline I needed to restrain myself from the actions and inactions that keep me from my long term goals. I just struggled taking on her ability to step into conflict. I didn’t want to get into the big fights she got into with her sons; I didn’t want to give into the violence (emotional or physical) that my father was so against. But I understand now the need to face conflict from a place of love.

All of this circles back to you and our intent to have kids. We never really discussed how we wanted to handle raising kids in terms of values. The ability to stand up when needed, the ability to face conflict, and the ability to set their own inner discipline are values I need to teach them. To that end, I need to practice the same values when it comes to you. 

I have a good idea of where you want to be, but you struggle with remembering and being consistent in the areas you need to be. I want to help you with these things, even though I know to do so runs the risk of you possibly feeling like you are being treated like a child. Channeling my father, I know it is necessary to take this step for our long term goals. But I also know that I need you to find a way to internalize the values my parents passed onto me, for someday something will happen to me and I need to know you’ll be okay. These traits kept me going through some of my darkest days. Our kids will need them too. I know it isn’t popular these days to be rigid about these things, or even to take a stand on one’s personal beliefs (unless they nicely line up with whatever echo chamber you happen to be in)…but my love for you is greater than that.

This is what I’d like to do. First, I want to calibrate on your goals. Or rather, where do you want to see yourself in terms of your health and career. Channeling my mother’s spirit, I know how to do the things that are needed to get where I want to get to. It does involve me getting into conflict, but the spirit my father lets me know that it is okay and necessary to do these things. I can help remind you to do the things (or avoid the things) you need to do, even though it risks firing off your internal ego defenses. My intention is to eventually get you back to a point where you are self-sufficient enough. I know the challenges with your sleep, work, health, and depression make it near impossible to do what is needed. So I can help you until these other factors get to a better place. Consider it like a practice for our kids. I’m going to be that father who seems really chill but takes 0 shit…hopefully our kids end up the same.

7.31.23 Morning Pages

How do I track 3 pages here? Maybe I should start in Word first? Google suggests it should be in the bottom left but that doesn’t seem to be true. Quercus is starting to chew on the bench again. And I really need to change the cat litter here ASAP. I’m going to make a real effort to get it done tonight when I get home from work. As I get older I understand the hate for tech more and more. Nothing just works straight through. There’s always an interruption to fix something that didn’t work the way it went.

This is frustrating. I still don’t see the count. I could guess by screen size or scroll bar I guess. But I’m also using a large monitor so that seems a little unfair. It isn’t a clear measurement. I tried distraction free mode as one search suggested…still nothing.

Ok finally found it. Apparently, I needed to click on the triple bar thing, then click on Outline. So how many words is 3 pages on average? A quick google search on using standard times new roman 12 pt with double spacing suggests 1000 words is equal to 4 pages…roughly. So my goal here will be 750 words. I think that is a reasonable start.

Anyway, for those random internet strangers that are wondering what the F is going on, here’s the thing. After my little journey into the infinite underneath, I decided to take another shot as reading “The Artist’s Way”. Part of my reasoning was the understanding that after the experience, brains are supposed to be a little more neuroplastic again. It seems to me it would be a great time to focus on the hobbies/personal projects I had intended to. I had the book from H for a while. I started on it, but once it started talking about having to commit to 12 weeks, with at minimum of an hour a day…I backed off as I knew I didn’t have that time. I still don’t know, which is why I’m typing this instead of writing it by hand. I tried writing by hand yesterday, and not only did it hurt my hand…it took quite a bit longer than an hour. I need to remember to check the original publish date of that much. I’m not sure there is a good reason to write that much by hand. It might have just been a product of the time. Nothing about the book so far suggests it is particularly modern. It does make mention of movies/shows in general, so it can’t be that old.

I want to make myself some food. I was thinking about doing IF today…but I’m not sure if I really want to do that. If I do IF and only eat 3 times in the day…then if I’m going to meet 180g of protein that’s like 60g per meal. While for lunch and dinner that’s fine, but I don’t want to do 60g of protein in protein whey format. Especially when I use the blend with creatine in it. That much creatine makes my stomach feel bad. So yes, right after I hit 750 words I’ll make a relatively quick breakfast.

Anyhow, back to the reason behind the madness. The Morning Pages is the idea that in order to continue working on my writing, I should write 3 pages *everyday*, first thing in the morning. I can’t exactly do the first thing in the morning since I’m doing my bootcamp/boxing sessions. So I am opting for after shower after getting home. The idea is to get over “The Censor” telling me my stuff sucks and to focus on the logical. I mean, if I were all work then I probably could focus on coding stuff (he says on WordPress, which has options for that). I might sound like a child saying this…but I don’t wanna. I spend enough time at work that I don’t like the idea of taking my personal time for it. That work/life balance is extremely important for me.

I just remembered I need to check for those Heilung tickets. I believe they are doing a north american tour again. I was thinking about getting 3 tickets. 2 for myself and my wife. The 3rd will be a floater for someone. Not sure who yet. If H were still a thing I’d invite them. I’m not sure where that’ll go. I still care about them. I just don’t understand where they are at. I know the work they do now is eating at their body and soul. I think that fellowship is a 2 year process. I’m still sad that they aren’t a presence in my life anymore. That presence kept the depression away. I know I shouldn’t put any dependencies on anyone…but it sure was nice. Okay, time to make some quick food and figure out the lunch situation. I thought about a salad, but that is a more complicated storage setup. I’ll just do some protein and frozen veggies. I can do the salad tonight when it is easier to put together. And now this doc has a greyed out “Saving” and greyed out Publish. Maybe I should stick to word.

Good thing I copied this into my clipboard. Nearly lost all of this.

7.29.23 The Trip

I tried out psilocybin this morning. I had a partner’s support and did it in the safety of my own bedroom and under close supervision. This is my attempt to capture what I saw and some of the meaning I was able to get from it.

At first, I felt tired. More so than just the relative short night would indicate. My memories are already starting to get a little hazy, like trying to capture a dream. Only this was some type of waking dream. A day dream, but only something more. The covers I was under turned into a sort of translucent space ship…space vessel? I wasn’t exactly going through space, not as pop-culture/media defines it anyway. I had the sensation I was on a journey. A guest (maybe the shrooms? Maybe something else entirely) would speak to me now and then. Short words.

Must move. Must fix. Explore. Pioneer. We fix.

But before we could truly leave, there was one hitch. My feelings around the loss of Steph came into focus. I was told I needed to let go. She was okay. She is somewhere in the place between places…where we will be going and someday you’ll cross paths again. Not in this life…or really this leg of life. I got the sensation that this reality…this timeline…is all moving in one direction. Like we’re all in our own space ships within a greater whole. Then some of us have to get off the current ride, for a bit. We float off to this side tunnel and get out. Only to get back on the great ride. We all see each other again in some form. I felt myself crying. Not that sobbing weeping crying. I don’t think anyway. I was able to move on.

I’m not sure why my trip took on this space travel trip, or relied heavily on related metaphors, but it did. I myself floating in this ship through a type of space. It wasn’t outer space, though it reminded me of it. I could see what looked like those great big nebulas and gasses in space. Only that wasn’t what they were. The entire reality was composed of sinewy like threads. It wasn’t bloody or gross. I was looking at an infrastructure. My own infrastructure. The guests in my mind were guiding me in this type of tour. I had the impression I was looking from the inside out through my own brain. The processes I was seeing was the same thing that happened every night during REM sleep. Only now, everything slowed down and I could see it all. My mind was going through a type of maintenace. All the fiberrous threads I saw were part of my reality…my memories. And they spread out infinitely. After a while of floating around this type of mother ship, I got the idea that this was the infrastructure for all of reality. The space in between, or just underneath. As my physical body moved and I felt the presence of my partner nearby (though I was blind folded, I could still “see” them as an outline in my periphreal). The process had my physical body stretch and jerk every so often. Each of those movements changed the reality around me. The music that was played in the background…soft music with choruses, also changed and directed the scene. Expansive voices would grab my reality, like hands, and spread it open more. Showing me all the infinites within the minor details of it all. This is what my brain was constantly working on. It was a miracle it worked in the first place. When the music got quiet, I could feel the space condense. I found myself in the smallest sections of whatever ship I was on. Wait here, I could feel the presence communicate with me.

All throughout this scene, I could see many colors. I could understand the joke about people “seeing colors”. My senses of touch, movement, and sound all changed what I saw. Every so often I had to go to the bathroom, which my partner helped me find. Moving around because I was blind folded wasn’t the challenge. The challenge was trying to navigate both the physical space and this mind space at the same time. There were times I could see myself from the outside. But it wasn’t me as a person. I was in this type of space suit, only the head part resembled that of a random insect. It wasn’t scary or grosteque. It just was.

My partner made mention of having epiphanies during the episode. I certainly had some. In this mindspace, I could see what felt like different dimensions. I could mainly see from one dimension, but I was aware there were more. I became aware of multiple timelines. I could not directly interact with them…but I could tap on the glass between the spaces. That tap on the glass in this reality was that 2nd guess, or gut feeling, someone else would feel in another reality. Maybe it was me reaching out to the other mes? I wasn’t sure.

My big take away was the polarity between the individual and the collective. This whole inner space I traveled in was a type of mother ship that contained all of us. Not just people mind you. All being, alive or not. A ship of our reality. It was moving somewhere as a collective. I couldn’t tell where it was going to but it seemed important. Reality as a whole was moving as a collective somewhere.  But there were always dangers on the route.  The collective could not correct by itself.  It would not.  It was in its’ nature to stay together.  Enter the individual.  The one who separates from the group.  They were the ones that would pull the collective onto the better path.  The collective fought with every ounce of its’ being.  But it was a necessary conflict.

Story tellers are those individuals. They present the other realities. The other ways. Many in our reality find that change highly threatening. But it is necessary. Not all conflict is bad. Once the individual has pulled the collective over, they again became part of the collective as it assimilated their view. The cycle would continue again and again like this.

And now this storm in the real threatens to cut off this exploration. So I’m going to take a break. I think I’ve hit the end of the trip recollection in any case.

The guest found something…fixed something within me. A connection made strong again. There are stories to tell.

6.1.22

Still fighting the battles in my mind. It probably does not help that my sleep has been sub-par. I did get in a hiit run this morning though. Nothing is as consistent at getting a high heart rate than interval sprints.

I think on Tuesdays I will build a food plan around having a full protein bar, maybe before my kenpo class. That way i can come home, do my improv class, then shower and immediately go to bed.

Just gotta stay the course. Soon I’ll get that home gym going and get back about an hour of sleep.

5-3-22 A Spark

I wanted to write down what I felt from an experience last night. It was a positive experience. I suppose that is a bit of a departure from how I’ve often used this blog to vent out difficult emotions onto a mostly unknown space on the internet. Why not do this one word files or any other number of offline solutions? I don’t know. Why hand write anything on a physical diary? It just feels like it is the thing I should do.

I listened to a podcast yesterday on an interview between Neil Gaiman and David Tennant at the suggestion of my wife. There were bits on writing that resonated with me. One of those was the experience of feeling a story inside of you that just needs to get out there. It doesn’t matter if no one ever reads it. It is just an act of creation that must happen. And so here I go, writing a sort of free-form poetry/prose about a muse I met at a bar that sparked something inside of me through a simple connection.

Borrowing on an idea from one of my favorite book series, the Dresden Files…I think I may have stumbled my way into a real life soul gaze. She was a dancer at a bar I visited as part of a bachelor party outing. There are many kinds of beauty out there, but her’s seemed to be something unique. There was something about her eyes that cut through all of the years of mental calluses built from a lifetime of people formed of false facades of spirit. I found myself smiling like it was the most effortless thing in the world. She smiled back…with her eyes. It was one of the simplest yet most profound human connections one can have, I think. It felt as if an incorporeal hand had reached into my chest and gently massaged my heart into accepting the joy that permeated this moment of time. All of my past stresses and future anxieties were put on mute for a spell and I found a rare moment of unfiltered human connection. This is a moment I hope to invoke in my future writing aspirations whenever I describe the start of the spark between two strangers.

1-11-22 A drop

Writing this stuff is an outlet for when I’m feeling down. It doesn’t mean I’m always this way. It just helps since I don’t have anyone I trust to talk about it (and getting a therapist that covers the areas I deal with isn’t an option right now).

I think I’m feeling that loneliness sensation again. Like I don’t believe I’m loved. Or perhaps that I even deserve it. I’m sure childhood trauma and depression are at play here. My only thought to keep this at bay is continue hammering down on my workouts and more importantly keeping my walking routine up. When I look back at my successful periods in terms of health (and mood, because they are absolutely linked), my step count is always high. Walking isn’t very fancy and doesn’t do a whole lot for optimal health but it sure does seem to make a difference in keeping my weight at a range I like. I’m aware of the narrative trying to decouple health and value…but fuck man that’s a hard road for me to get on. I struggle to find value in myself beyond my plain grit when it comes to that stuff. I think I struggle to see my value period. The only other thing I can look at are the couple of D&D games I run and the fact that my salary affords me the ability to keep a roof over the head of my wife, my sister, the pets, and myself.

Depressive thoughts can go fuck themselves in general.

10-13-21 Feeling More Introspective Today

I’m not going to get too deep into this right now since I should probably be doing more work stuff, but I do find my brain making some sort of connection when it comes to predicting a type of human behavior. The term “Righteous Superiority” has been bouncing around the inside of my skull lately, a term Hank Green used on a video discussing FB after it went down for a day and the issues with it and social media. Here’s the link if you, random internet person, want to look at it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJtNmd1kV44&ab_channel=vlogbrothers.

Basically, it seems that people from all the different “Tribes” have a tendency to want to shame other tribe individuals into compliance with their views. This seems to be in disregard of facts, and sometimes in direct defiance to it. This occurs on all forms of social media, as far as I can tell. But when I think back, it has really always been the human condition. It’s no wonder I get such intense anxiety around groups of people. Whether deserved or not, I’ve been subject to group hate and/or exclusion many a time growing up. And it is known that (I can find some articles to back this claim up later, remind me) being exiled from a social group hits the same path as physical pain in our brains. There’s another thread to pull on depression as a result of that, but I won’t go into that now.

Fast forward a bit and I notice my previous trainer (cool black dude originally from the ghetto, something I only bring up because of what is coming up ahead in this blog post) linked a meme regarding Chappelle’s Netflix special “The Closer”. I don’t normally keep up with these things, and it was a meme joke so I promptly forgot it. Then as I was doing some work today and opened up firefox to do admin work, I noticed an article by GQ basically trashing it. What is it they say about negative attention being just as valuable?

Moving on, I found myself compelled to give it a watch. This article by time gives a view on it that comes close to matching mine: https://time.com/6105951/dave-chappelle-netflix-controversy/. It feels less like a comedy and more like a mental challenge…and if you read this blog any, you know I’m all about that shit.

What this brought me back to, strangely enough, was the game “The Last of Us 2”. It too had the issue of not having an obvious villain, and it receives a ton of flak for it from online communities. I viewed it as an exercise in empathy while dealing with opposing viewpoints. I understand how uncomfortable that can be.

I’m seeing all of these things as connected. Shaming people into compliance doesn’t work. It never has. The only thing that seems to have a chance, but it too backfires as most people in social contexts look to posture themselves for their given tribes, is experiencing other peoples’ lives. This is why I think stories from different view points are so important.

Changing someone else’s mind rarely seems possible. They gotta change it themselves.

For the record, I’m a 2nd generation hispanic cis het guy.