Meme-mongering

My last post's rant against the viral goddess-attitude opened up a tangent that I wanted to to explore a bit more: memes.

The ephemera-oriented humanities scholar in me is fascinated by memes. They rapidly disseminate culture, they evolve quickly as they do so, and they very soon become subjects of their own discussion. They're a very relevant medium (among many others) by which we write and read culture, and for that reason alone I have always felt that it should go without saying for the literary humanities approach to encompass this kind of cultural artifact.

First, a digression is necessary to set up a bit of backstory:

Year Zero

Quite a few years ago, I had a significant passion for the then-current Nine Inch Nails Year Zero ARG that was taking shape through the combined efforts of people all over the world. The multimedia, immersive, global, self-creating nature of it was exactly the kind of thing I felt compelled to focus on in my graduate work (though that was still a few years down the road), and it felt like an exciting new direction that the humanities' literary branch (best known by restrictive terms like 'Literature' or 'English') could follow. Later, when I started to dabble in the literary-theoretical side of the more ephemeral and digital textual experiences that today's human culture is rich with, this ARG inspired the strongest scholarly passion inside me that I've ever experienced.

It was particularly captivating to my twenty-something self, highly susceptible to resentment-mongering and eager to protest against the political injustices of the oughties. Participating in the ARG was more than interacting with a textual experience: it was being part of a real movement with real objectives for achieving a better world. It became a cause that both grew and spread its message in the methodology of our time: virally. The catchphrase of the movement was "Art is Resistance," inspiring people to realize their voices could be heard, and that these voices could be powerful.

Year Zero: Art is Resistance

The indignance seemed to be about the voice and opinion of "the people" being ignored, and the movement was for taking back power, taking back the democratic voice. But the hype became more about the hype than the message, or more about the idea of a message than any actual message substance. People saw the phrase "Art is Resistance" as an epiphany-in-itself, as some great truth unlocked and now known. But the phrase was meant to inspire action, not serve as an action on its own. "You have a voice: use it, be heard." Okay... great? What's the actual message? The struggle was for the voice, but there was no message in the voice. It was a movement without awareness of its own meaning, a rallying cry without any semantic logic.

Malevolent Virus

Art is Resistance is essentially an example of a well-meaning meme with ambitions of positive social impact, that had limited success due to the very nature of memes as shallow signifiers whose meaning (if any) becomes stripped away in viral transmission.

The bitchess meme, though, has the thinnest of well-intentioned(?) disguises. Its unselfconscious fight-injustice-with-injustice approach merely replaces the perceived problem with a rephrasing/redirecting of that same problem. It's another arena where one group is elevated through degrading another—the old privilege quandary. Again, if we worked toward a society that measured the value of things objectively rather than relationally, far fewer people would be irrevocably damaged.

It's easy for causes to go viral these days thanks to the internet. But in practice, the things that are most viral become memes that are unencumbered by any real substance. Just take any meme, suppress the automatic omg-so-true response, and strip it down to its essence.

Saying that hard-to-handle women know their worth, for example, is pretty much like saying "You have worth; claim it, be respected."

And the ones demanding loyalty: "You deserve blind and unquestioning loyalty. You can do no wrong, and whatever attitudes and ideals you hold [which, incidentally, are irrelevant for some reason], all people everywhere should espouse them."

It's like a TL;DR without the TL even being offered.

The whole concept of "deserving" in these memes (which isn't explicit in the two examples I've used but certainly appears abundantly enough) is a non-sequitur. Memes have a universal appeal, but the idea of deserving is a context-dependent concept specific to the individual.  You deserve this implies that Somebody is malevolently trying to prevent you from having it. That's just not the case. There is no such thing as a unilateral interaction. Where there are humans, there are always multiple perspectives and sides.

Memes are like a virus: they replicate themselves, spread quickly, and can be more resilient than facts. Don't be that person.

Translation: Men's feelings mean nothing, women are infallible,
and the onus of making things work is purely the man's responsibility.

The Goddess's Contempt

One of the cultural tropes that inspires the most outrage inside me is the idea of the Woman as Goddess. It outrages me for two main reasons: 1) It elevates the woman to a superhuman, magical, do-no-wrong status, and 2) It strips "mortal" men and women of their rights to have human emotions and attitudes that (subjectively) negatively impact the goddess.

"I'm arbitrary and whimsical, but it's ok because #entitled#divinerightofbitchess"

The goddess's attitude is: He who does not worship Me is against Me. Everything in the universe is subservient to her magical inner world. Her opinion of others defines their objective worth, and her good opinion is a magnanimous gift that people should be grateful to obtain and desperate to keep. People who do not accord her whims the divine respect they demand find themselves the object of contempt—and the goddess is keen to make her contempt publicly and conspicuously known.

Where do I even start?

Why do I hate the idea of womanhood as something magical and idolized?

Because it is a practice of contempt, of inequality. It's a poisoned attitude, no matter how well-intentioned. It reflects the hierarchical attitude of everything-on-a-spectrum that I've written about before, and the ultimate arrogance of placing oneself at the top of that hierarchy.

"golden rulez r 4 other ppl"

This contemptuous attitude is the kind of garbage that infests online spaces. It's often met with reactions like "OMG SO TRUE," and gets interpreted as some profound epiphany. Bad enough that it exists in the first place, but the way that it's upheld as some pillar of magical truth is despicable and damaging.

It's also a hypocritical attitude, a practice of double-standards. The entitled woman can "cut people off without hesitation, no explanation, and no warning." People in her world are required to be perfect, and if they show any imperfection they have lost her good opinion irrevocably. But if she were to be in the wrong, you can be sure that she would expect to be accepted flaws and all; she would demand another chance again and again, and "anything less [would be] bullshit".

(but not anybody else's worth)

It is the most beautiful thing in the world to realize and embrace that you are human, and to live in a world connected by all kinds of people, treating one another with the equality that is fundamental to the very idea of being human. Why would you want to transcend that, and thereby break it? What is it about humanity that makes you think you're above it? What is it about yourself that makes you think your emotions and needs are more precious and valuable than those of others? What makes you deserve second chances while others don't even deserve explanation? When did the word "bitchess" become a word to own and flaunt as though it were a royal title? When did memes become the authority on acceptable social conduct, and why do we attribute so much meaning to them when they're often the thoughtless ramblings of a self-centered mind?

It's a sociopathic attitude. Setting yourself above others is an act of violence and ugliness, and extreme mistreatment of the people you emotionally affect through your contempt.

I've mentioned the ill-fated Roman triumvirate before, but it's relevant again. The triumvirate consisted of three men: one who could tolerate being paralleled, but not surpassed; one who could only tolerate being supreme and therefore unparalleled; and a third who was content to be average. The triumvirate crumbled because of the first two members' incompatible views; if it were a logical puzzle, it would have no solution.

That's what the goddess/bitchess attitude is: illogical. Incompatible in a society worth living in. Monopolizing all value, worth, and validity. Contemptuous, toxic, and emotionally abusive.

Privilege

The following story recently cropped up on my Facebook feed (see the full comic):

The Pencilsword: On a plate

I do appreciate the point that the comic makes, but there are two problems that I think are important (enough to compel me to blog about it).

Firstly, it's a work of art with an agenda to express and inspire a particular emotion/reaction. It has a clear protagonist, and focuses on detailing her life experience to the exclusion of the other life experiences in the story.  This isn't to say that the message is unimportant—but it's not the whole story. The 'antagonist' is, quite frankly, monstrous; his own humanity and feelings have been removed from him. The comic is highlighting a particular inequality between the two characters, but relies on equivocation/elision to do so. The situation it depicts does not objectively exist in the real world; there is no such thing as an antagonist, and there is no such thing as an uncomplicated or single-faceted human. Manufacturing one certainly strengthens the artist's argument, but it also strengthens a culture of comparison and disrespect for the Other. And, it's the kind of artificial tug-at-your-empathy story that feels morally right, and as such becomes cultural currency that informs how we feel it's appropriate to treat others.

Secondly, the comic's side-by-side comparative depiction goes against every anti-inequality fiber inside me, and upsets me on a fundamental level. The insinuation is that people's feelings matter in comparison to other people's feelings (or are irrelevant/unimportant by the same token). That some people's lives, troubles, triumphs, experiences, paths, and feelings are more precious and worthy than those of others. Why can't they matter in their own right, on their own merit? Why create antagonism and resentment? And why, for god's sake, are the antagonist's feelings and hard work illegitimate? (And don't make the mistake of believing the one-dimensional portrayal of his life as perfect and free of hardship.) It's nothing short of a fallacy.

Privilege is an ugly thing when it comes into focus. Nobody likes a privileged person if they flaunt that privilege gracelessly. But how often do we even realize how visible our privileges are to others?

White privilege. Thin privilege. Pretty privilege. Rich privilege. Gender privilege. Maternal privilege. Age privilege. Social privilege. Popular privilege. Academic privilege. Athletic privilege. Opportunity privilege. Language privilege. Emotional privilege. Peace privilege. Religious privilege. Connection privilege. Relationship privilege. Health privilege. Geographic privilege. Occupation privilege. Privileges we don't even think of as privileges unless we don't have them.

Nobody has a monopoly on privilege, or on hardship, or on virtue. There's not some limited reservoir of compassion, where it's necessary to divert the flow of compassion away from one person in order to receive a portion for yourself.  Compassion can only come by recognizing how very similar we are to each other, and how every struggle is real in its own right. Carving out victims and antagonists is destructive rather than productive.

Holding a person's privileges against them is akin to the thin-bashing that undermined Dove's Real Beauty movement, which manufactured its own curvy-love legitimacy by belittling skinny women as unattractive. Isn't this the nature of bullying? To gain your own sense of worth through diminishing someone else's? To measure something via comparison and establishing a hierarchy or spectrum?

The truth is, we all have some kind of privilege, and privilege by its very nature sits in our blind spot when we possess it. It's easy to see other people's privileges, and difficult to recognize our own, or its impact on our lives. We resent people who have certain things—things we want—"handed to them on a silver platter." But we don't acknowledge the things we ourselves have had handed to us, and these can take many forms (see my examples of privileges above, which excludes the ones I'm blind to myself). None of us is an island, and we are all who we are through the actions and help of other people: family, friends, strangers, predecessors, ancestors, passersby.

We all exist in our own bubbles of world-view and experience that begin to grow from the moment we're born. A lot goes into the bubble, and it informs the way we relate to the world outside for the rest of our lives. It's hard to see outside the bubble, and harder to see that other people have bubbles of their own—but they're there nonetheless. Like everyone else, I'm woefully inadequate in this respect. But human experience is one of few true passions in my life, and reading the world as if it were a textual artifact is the most important thing I gained from my brief years in academia.

What's the solution? You can change your own reactions, but you can't really change other people. It's demoralizing to cling to ideas of emotional equality when the world loves to pick sides. Ask yourself: what are my privileges? Those are the areas where you should be particularly compassionate towards others. Toward the people you resent: realize that they are human at the core, that they are just like you, that they have fears and troubles and dreams and triumphs, and that those are just as beautiful and mysterious as your own. Don't measure yourself against others; and don't measure others against yourself. Yes, recognize privilege and talk about how it affects others; but don't deny the humanity inside every person.

Dear Title

In my line of work, I get a lot of generic info-seeking emails from people around the globe. Most of them start off with the type of comical greeting that is likely perpetuated due to its not being worth the effort of correcting:

• Hello Dear
• Dear Sir
• Respected Doctor
• Most revered Professor

Salutations like these arise from the disconnect between different cultures, and carry about as much sincerity as your average "how are you." Given the choice, I forego titles altogether, though "Miss" will do in a pinch. But the one rampant appellation that bothers me is "Ms." I even hate the very sound of it, Mizz, like some lazy-tongued utterance that inevitably devours the following syllable like a frankenmoniker.

When I was growing up, "Ms" was reserved for matronly women like widows and divorcées. It was an almost pitiable label that spawned gossipy glances and hushed speculations. Although times have changed, it still seems to me to define a woman in terms of one specific prior relationship, and I would be happy to see the title diminish into the past along with the assumptions and values it represents. These days, it seems to be applied indiscriminately to any woman whose marital status is uncertain.

Sure, courtesy is admirable, and objective titles like "Dr" are another matter entirely. But in today's world where gender no longer defines worth, it seems to me that titles like Mr, Mrs, Miss, and Ms have no place. I would argue that there's much more value in stripping language of this kind of superfluity that has nothing productive to offer, in removing the rigid constructs that create division.

Titles tied to gender and relationships serve only to call attention to non-issues, and bring those non-issues into areas of life—like workplaces—where they have no place. They promote particular treatment of a person, affect interactions, and (intentionally or otherwise) establish hierarchies.

Book vs. Movie: The Eternal Struggle

This is something I've touched on before, but I wanted to devote a bit more time to rounding out my thoughts on media elitism. It also lets me foray into non-issues unrelated to relationship status, which is something I had intended for this blog right from the start.

The other day I met a book-loving friend for coffee, and conversation turned to what we were currently reading. I spent many years following my graduate degree in an anti-reading stupor, largely fueled by my graduate work on the multimedia experiences that I strongly feel constitute a modern sense of "reading." It's all about the way we consume stories and culture, after all, and the frustrating focus on beating dead books served only to alienate me from the medium. But I've recently rekindled (heh heh) my reading through the acquisition of an eReader, and happened to have cracked open The Road the morning of our coffee meeting.

"I saw the movie... I'm not so sure about the book yet," I began.

"Oh, the book is way better. The movie was pretty bad."

"Huh," I replied. "I consider movies and books to be separate textual experiences, separate textual artifacts. I really liked the movie." It was my polite way of saying that I discounted his opinion.

"Oh, well put,"—trying to recover his credibility here—"I think I just don't get film."

But the conversation continued to other "failed" movie adaptations of books. I listened as he expounded on how specific adaptations were not well done, all related in a tone of complete objectivity. I didn't bother to argue; in fact, I didn't bother to say anything, just let him ramble on while I tried to keep most of the smirk out of my smile. Yes. You do not "get" film. Your mistake is in trying to do so.

On the one hand, this is the type of unattractive attitude that reinforces my single lifestyle—but that's not what this is about. This is about that frustratingly nonsensical spectrum of enjoyability that people place things upon. The need to compare, to create a hierarchy, to weigh apples and oranges against each other and determine which is better. It is all pure illogic; that is the only objectivity that can be determined.

I love film as a medium because it plays on many senses to tell a story. A good soundtrack can manipulate my emotions like nothing else, to name just one aspect. And it does all this in a convenient allotment of time. Seeing a movie in the theatre adds the fantastic dimension of being part of a collective readership, a shared experience. What's not to love?

Let's take an example that my book-loving friend might understand. Say there's a book written in another language, and translated to English. A literal translation is not going to be enjoyable; the story has to be retold using different language conventions. In this example, we're only translating from words to other words. What can you possibly expect for a translation from written page to silver screen?

I'm not saying that movies are better, or that books are less multidimensional. I'm saying it's not a matter for comparison, and each should be considered on its own merit.

Creating Inequality

One of the things that bothers me most about single life is how accommodating you are expected to be. People don't seem to think your time is worth as much as theirs; they think that they can throw you a pittance of their time when and if they feel like it, and you should be grateful.

And you are. You're so starved for quality contact that you start to give less respect to your own time as well. You value your enjoyable moments with good friends so much that you gather the tiniest scraps of them eagerly. You keep your schedule open like a doctor on call, ready to drop your own solitary activities the moment someone can spare you a moment.

And it's not just time. You get shuffled around on flights so that couples who didn't bother to check in until the last minute can sit together. You fit yourself awkwardly at the corner of the pub table because you aren't attached to someone specific. You're served much more solemnly by waiters who cheerfully make nearby groups' experiences more enjoyable. And frustratingly, people handle you with patronizing protectiveness in a tacit assumption that you can't take care of yourself.

You feel obliged to defer to everyone around you: couples, seniors, single mothers, children. Unless you're career-driven, you probably defer to anyone you interpret as being professionally above you.

But at some point (after years of this treatment and observation of human nature), you realize that treatment is largely a matter of image. You can command more respect than society deems appropriate for your class. The catch is that you have to give up a piece of your identity to do so, but identity is evolutionary and fluid—and the happy truth is that you can stick up for your lifestyle these days.

What's an Age Worth?

My first long-term job was on the front desk of an administrative office. It was a stepping-stone kind of job, which in a perfect world I would have moved up from almost immediately. It was a good place and I didn't want more than part-time work, as I was in the middle of working on my master's degree and simultaneously trying to knock off exams for my composition ARCT.

One day the watercooler conversation turned its attention on me, and the accounting assistant learned for the first time that I was in graduate school.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were in university," she said with a superior laugh. "I was thinking high school, maybe." I knew exactly what the comment implied: I've always been on the gangly side of willowy, small-chested, deferential, quick to smile, eager to complete directives, and sporting a kind of aged-emo style. In our largely big-boned office, I was like the runt of the litter.

But I'm in the camp that wants my years in this world respected.

People seem to think they are paying you a compliment by grossly underestimating your age. The implication is that you lack life experience, that you don't have adult responsibilities or worries, that you're not independent or successful by their measure. Look a little closer. Take a look at my eyes and you'll see a world of aged pain and wisdom. Really look at my smile, and you'll see how it has etched my skin. Look at my work, and you'll see years of higher education and adult common sense.

If you really want to compliment someone, think about what you actually mean. What is it about the person that looks youthful? Pick a feature—maybe it's their smile, or the sparkle in their eyes, or (and you're walking on eggshells) their physical build—and if you still feel the need to verbalize your thoughts, try to spin it in a non-offensive way.

Lifer

Only one hairdresser ever inspired the loyalty in me to return time after time for over five years. She was a single mother of a teenaged son, a multitalented artist, and a downright beautiful and genuine human.

During one appointment, we chatted about Las Vegas, as I was looking forward to my first Vegas trip. She told me I would have a blast. "There's nothing as fun as girlfriends," she said. I didn't mention that I was traveling alone and meeting up with some people I had never met before. "One of my girlfriends is a lifer, like me," she said. "We went to Vegas and joked that we should get married. I really think platonic marriage should be a thing."

Not being very well informed on her personal life, I had to turn her words over in my mind long after I had left the salon. I was stuck on the word "lifer"—what did it mean? What former circumstances would have prompted this attitude?

Her idea of platonic marriage also intrigued me. It shouldn't be a foreign idea, but it is. You don't realize how hyper-sexualized the world is until you spend time as a single. Everything seems to be focused on romantic relationships and families: advertising, media, social activities, conversations, tv and music and art. Anything that doesn't elevate romance is only the more conspicuous for the steadfast avoidance, and comes across as the resentful thought-child of some spurned being. As a single, you feel out of place, unnatural, terribly visible, like a bright red actor in a black and white film. All this fixation on relationships and romance creates an issue in your life, where a nonissue once stood.

Maybe that's one facet of what some of us singles are—spurned beings. But if so, it's a small facet. To think that a person's life experiences doesn't make them evolve to be larger than any label or category is a rookie mistake. Experience and time will teach you otherwise. More and more, I'm getting to understand what being a 'lifer' means to me, and how it is isn't an oppressive label. Rather, it's an open door of life opportunities, and emotional and physical freedom, and optimism.

Last year, she went on sick leave and never returned. I haven't found a stylist since then who can measure up, and more importantly haven't found one with such genuine wisdom.

Elitist Garbage

My childhood best friend lived on a farm a couple miles down the road from mine. We were born during the same summer, and were friends through thick and thin right up through highschool graduation, after which we largely went our own ways in the world.

She was also good friends with a slightly younger girl even further down the road, on a farm with a few horses. They would occasionally go horseback riding together.

One year she kept a horse as well; I can't recall who it belonged to, but it was a fairly short venture. They went riding more often, and I—knowing that there must be an extra horse now that my friend had her own—asked if I could come along some time.

"You don't have a horse," she said.

Young Me was confused and hurt. We were all in the same general social circle, so the awkwardness of overlapping friend groups didn't seem to be an issue. A long-germinating seed of resentment was planted in me—not toward any person, but toward the very idea of elitism that causes some people to be excluded. The Horse Incident was just one instance in a long childhood full of brushes with exclusivity.

With the optimism of the terminally bullied, I was sure that the adult world was a place where I could find belonging. Children are ignorantly cruel, but surely that behavior wouldn't follow me past the school that spawned it.

Surprisingly, the seed has taken well over a decade to bloom into a useful fruit. The adult world has its own guidelines by which The Other is excluded. It's tough to break into any circle, even as an adult. And don't let the image fool you: circles do indeed have a hierarchy, and someone is usually only loosely attached and easily overlooked. Even the most welcoming of communities will unknowingly make somebody feel unwanted, uncomfortable, and reluctant to return.

But when you can overcome your own anxieties and accumulation of bad experiences, and actually break into a new community—well, that's one of life's triumphs. Just keep an eye toward the periphery; and if you recognize yourself in anyone lingering there, be a champion and welcome them in.

Valentine Interludes

When you're a single person, you come to expect that nothing but bad things and bad feelings will come on Valentine's Day. After all, it's dedicated to elevating romantic love above all else.

Platonic love plays a huge role in my life, but the world always cocks a skeptical eyebrow when it sees two humans together, particularly if (like me) you connect best with the opposite sex. You can't go anywhere—a restaurant, a movie, a museum—with a friend, without people assuming you're a couple and treating you accordingly. It really feels like coupledom has a monopoly on social activities. It's reinforced every day, but never more so than on Valentine's Day.

This is how it is every year for me. And so, nobody was more surprised than I was that a large part of today was perfect. It was all thanks to my very best friend who is generous with the most precious of gifts: time and kindness. He's sympathetic to my need for friendly connection, yet sensitive to society's incorrect assumptions. But social image be damned, we spent the late morning through late afternoon out and about, and my traditional Valentine's melancholy was averted.

Almost. Dinner and evening are still prime couple's time, which is simultaneously disappointing and understandable. If you've planned to spend time with a friend or two, they'll almost certainly have made additional plans for afterward, even if you envisioned that you'd be laughing and drinking into the wee hours. I think of these after-plans as the "main event," and my role as the interlude, which is something like playing second fiddle. It's like ordering a dessert so as to replace the taste of the meal on your palate. It's like you're good—maybe even great—but not sufficient. You're not the note that anybody intends to end on.

And then you're back to Baltic Avenue earlier than anticipated, wondering if that unopened bottle of Kraken will fill you with cheer or melancholy (hint: supermelancholy), while the couples take over the rest of the monopoly board outside the four walls of your apartment.

So you end up making yourself some toast for Valentine's dinner, and watching your favourite Downton Abbey rerun, trying to wring a little bit of self-pampering out of the dying day.

La Familia

For such a small month, February devotes a lot of itself to anti-single propaganda. There's the obvious source (Valentine's Day) that can seem manufactured just to cause melancholy in those of us in non-romantic situations.

Where I live, today is "Family Day," and although it doesn't carry the commercial appeal of Valentine's Day, it has the added import of being a statutory holiday. I think the idea of "family" is flexible enough these days (at least in this town) to include a range of previously excluded types:

As a rabid anti-bigot, it's a delicious privilege to live in a place where these differences of familia are becoming non-issues. But the obvious deficiency is exclusion of non-pet-owning singles. Those of us who would love to have a stable enough home to have a pet, but just don't. Those of us who, perhaps, don't like pets. Those of us who have a household consisting only of ourselves.

But even we have family: the supportive unit that we create for ourselves, carving space into our lives for people with whom we have connections akin to kinship. What bothers me is that the idea of "family" usually doesn't allow for this, and these deep connections don't get the respect that they deserve for being relationships as strong as blood or marriage.

So Happy Family Day to all the singles out there. I hope you spent it the way I did: cherishing some new moments of laughter and love with the closest beings in your world.

What's a non-issue, anyway?

If I'm completely honest, I don't really like the number 5. It's okay, but I much prefer 4 and 7. I downright dislike 3. I also kind of dislike J, but I'd still take a J over a 3.

So which do you think is better, J or 3?

That, my friends, is a Non-Issue. It's a matter of apples and oranges, and it's exactly the kind of non-issue that you encounter all the time. Maybe you've heard (or said) this sort of thing before:

"The book was great, but the movie is terrible because it's not exactly the same."
"The movie was okay, but the TV series is better."
"This dessert is okay, but not as good as the one at the other restaurant."

People invariably use the words "better" and "good" when what they mean is "I prefer" or "I like." I guess when you use the former words, you don't have to bog down your sentences with things like justification or reasons.

I'm immensely open-minded, on the verge of being rabidly anti-opinion. Certainly I've been called apathetic a good deal over the years, because of the "I don't cares" I express. But I like open-mindedness. I like approaching things without preconceptions or expectations, and derive all the goodness it has to offer. I like to enjoy things without worrying about where they fall on some giant spectrum of "goodness." Why rank things? Why let your enjoyment of a thing be impacted by the mere idea of some external thing? Even more importantly, why should your opinion of a thing impact my enjoyment of it? Arguing against somebody's likes/dislikes is generally fruitless, and invariably arrogant. It's so common, though, that I've long since ceased crediting anybody's opinions on any matter of taste.

I don't understand the obsession with ranking, with qualification. When you allow one thing to inform your enjoyment of another thing, you're robbing yourself.

The book vs movie battle, for example, always bothered me—but I couldn't place why until I took a graduate seminar on movie adaptations of books. (Okay, I dropped it after the first class; but it was an informative first class!) Books and movies are simply not the same textual experience, and each tells a story using the range of conventions peculiar to itself. Comparing them qualitatively doesn't offer anything productive, and diverts attention away from being fully present. It's like saying you didn't like a book because the soundtrack sucked.

But more importantly, all of this is subjective. It's mind-boggling how much people confuse their own subjectivity and opinions with fact.

I kind of get it. I've proclaimed myself to be anti-opinion, but even I admit to being passionate about a few things, and I understand the personal affront it can feel like when another person dismisses something you think is simply amazing. But even dismissal is preferable to the arrogance of people who actually argue with you about what you should or should not enjoy. I am staunchly anti-snob, in the sense that I don't dismiss an entire genre of anything. There are always shining examples, and life is richer for this realization. Sure I have my preferences, but I recognize them as subjective.

Allowing totally irrelevant things to inform an opinion is nothing less than a logical fallacy, a non sequitur. Where did this tendency come from, to illogically manufacture discontent?

I've been accused more than once for being apathetic, or perhaps too dense to appreciate quality. This used to seem like a fair assessment, but now I'm glad it's my way, though I'm not saying my attitude is better than anyone else's. It works for me. The fact is simply that there are a lot of things I'm largely indifferent about. I literally don't care where we go for dinner (and I'm not "one of those" who claims indifference and then complains at every option), because there's guaranteed to be something at least mildly appealing on the menu. Maybe it's not my very favourite meal, but I don't know anybody who would want to eat their favourite meal at every opportunity anyway.

Back in undergrad, Roman history class was always my favourite, though some bits are foggy after so much time has passed. I remember the prof explaining to us why one of the triumvirates had failed. One member was content to be paralleled, but not surpassed. The second member would not bear to be even paralleled. (Perhaps the third member had no strong opinion on the matter.)

Sometimes my dinner partners strike me as being the problematic triumvirate members. Rather than enjoying a given meal, they get distracted by what it could have been. Maybe the meal is fine. But is it as good as other meals they've had? And if even if that isn't enough, is it better? If other people's enjoyment seems to hinge on whether they dine at a specific subset of restaurants, why wouldn't I leave it up to them?

But the point of all of this is: there are things in this world that just are, and they should be taken as simply that. Things that don't deserve special remark. Things that do deserve to go unremarked. Things that aren't black or white, or even grey; things that can only really be what they are, if they're allowed to be without judgment or appraisal.

Being Present

As a single gal, most of my time is spent by myself. Being an introvert, this suits me pretty well, though like most people my happiest moments come during quality time with quality friends.  Most people are happy to fit you in as an interlude between other commitments, but wringing quality out of an interlude can be tricky. The trick being, of course, staying present.

One of my big peeves is when someone keeps checking their phone (usually while I'm regaling their inattentive self with a highly interesting anecdote). The impression—and almost certainly the actuality—is that they're scanning for a chat notification from somebody more fascinating. They're trying to maintain separate conversations with a variety of people, dividing their attention into tweet-lengthed blurbs rather than focusing more deeply on the present human.

Some people consider this perfectly fine; some people find it important to be accessible to everybody at all times. To me, it feels like a kick in the stomach. If somebody has put aside their time to spend with you, they deserve no less in return. Sure there are exceptions, emergencies; but it's a precious gift that should be mutually appreciated.

You never know just how important your time together might mean to the other person. Maybe you're the highlight of their day, or week. A little enthusiasm goes a long, long way; savouring the present will build the fondest memories—and isn't memory the most lasting, worthwhile possession?

I believe that nothing impacts people quite like the vibe you put out. As someone who feeds off of other people's energy and moods—both good and bad—little interactions can make or break my own mood. On the one hand, that's my problem; but on the other, positivity creates a delightful cycle that improves everybody's mood. It doesn't matter whether you generate or receive positivity, because each one will encourage the other.

The flip side, of course, is that not really being present can cause enormous disappointment. Let's say you're distracted by something external that's worrying you. Not only are you cheating yourself out of the mood-lifting that comes with appreciating the moment, but the other person might quite reasonably assume that they've caused your apparent upset. This in turn stresses them out, and pretty soon you're both unhappy.

I've always been pretty awful at staying present. In fact, the self-saboteur in me tends to manufacture reasons not to enjoy the present moment. But the great thing about slipping out from under depression's thumb is that you can finally observe your feelings from the outside. Even if you still see the same old behaviour, you can also see a more positive route.

A Little Context

“Don't laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make the faded faces beautiful.”

― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

Let me set the stage, so that you have some insight into the mind behind my ramblings.

The hardest lesson in life is that the deepest, purest feelings are sometimes un-reciprocated. Sometimes the thing that seems most meant to be—the thing that is most meant to be—just... isn't. Or maybe you held it in your hands for a moment, like a stray sunbeam, before it slipped away despite your best efforts to gently hold it close. It's one of life's illogically unfair situations, like a night of insomnia when all you want is sleep, but it doesn't want you.

Worst of all, it's not the sort of lesson that you can learn from, because it didn't arise from a mistake. It is never incorrect to follow your heart. You just can't help your feelings, you can't think your way out of them. You can hide or stifle them, but they're still there. They'll always inform your behaviour, your outlook,  your attitude, your contentment.

The hard lesson is learning that this is the case, and living a fulfilling life nonetheless. Keeping the golden memories of that handful of sunshine, knowing that you are richer for it, and trusting that more sunshine is in the forecast.

It's a hell of a way to run a railroad.

I lived with my soulmate for over 5 years when my sunbeam slipped away. The possibility of this lesson had never hit me before, and I didn't know what to make of it. It's been almost four years since then, and I'm only just starting to understand it. In the earliest days of my darkness, a very good friend gave me this advice: "Sometimes things happen that look so dreadful and isolating when you're living through them, but later in life you realize that much joy came only because they happened." It was meager consolation at the time, but stuck with me.

So, now I consider myself immensely rich. Rich because of those years when I was swept up in following my heart. Richer still because that soulmate (yes, I maintain that we are still soulmates) is now my unconditional best friend, and our friendship would never have grown so deep in that previous time. And richest of all, because even if I can't help still feeling the way I felt ten years ago, life is still beautiful—more beautiful than ever. And that's an ultimate triumph.