Category: Existentialism

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Memories 01

It had snowed.  Enough to cover the grass.  It never snowed that much in Lubbock.  I was privy to the scene first, as for reasons that still escape me, thawing the family rabbits’ water bottles in the pre-dawn days of winter was my job alone.  And in order to be ready for school on time, I had to rise before my sisters.

After the completion of the chore, I admired the rare moment of scenic beauty.  It almost seemed a tragedy to walk through it, so I made some snowballs at the lawn’s periphery.  The snow packed well, as it was barely below freezing.  I rolled some larger snowballs.

But there wasn’t sufficient time to build.  I needed to get ready for school.

The snow would be long-since melted by the time school let out.  So I did what I often longed for whenever I saw movies with snow in them.  I walked across the lawn.  It was my first recollection of such an experience, and for that momentary transit, I felt like I was truly in the wilderness.

Then I saw my sister’s judging stare from the window, obviously displeased that I had destroyed the perfection.  But it was jealousy.  She didn’t wake up early enough to have time to play in the snow, so instead she channeled her disappointment at me, for having the audacity to ruin the one way she was able to enjoy the snow: from the window.

It was my snow and I didn’t have to share it.  It was my moment.  It was my experience.

I smiled knowingly, and mockingly, back at her.

And the snow was gone by the time school let out.

–Simon

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Memories 00

I had an idea.

If the summation of life’s experiences determines the uniqueness of the individual, then that individual is essentially defined by fragmented recollection of chance events.  And if the mind degrades with time, those records are obviously misconstrued, which means my ego is based upon…corrupted and incomplete data?

Anyway, I thought I’d write some of those mental images down, for if those brief experiences are still remembered from the lengthy chronological stream of my consciousness, they must have had a strong emotional influence at the time.

Let’s explore that!

–Simon

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Family Project Management

As the only one of my family (my childhood family, to be clear) with a humanities degree, and the only one in a business management position, family conversations can be a little stilted.  General banal discussion is normal enough, provided everyone agrees on the political/ethical stance of the topic, but informational discussions take a somewhat different direction, however predictable.  I’ll explain:

With so many scientists available in a group chat, I would be remiss to not tap that collective knowledge.  But as they’re family, it’s a no-holds-barred bargain.  Here’s the typical discussion format:

Me:  “Hello family, I have a science question about [insert something science-y].  Could one of you provide some information on said topic of interest?”

First Person to Respond: “Of course, the information is simply [page 1 Google search results answer, which I’ve already read].”  Condescending inferences to my poor judgment in academic/career choices may follow.

Next Person to Respond: [Directed at First Person to Respond] “I concur.  Let us now wax scientific in a mutual ego-stroking session, lauding our superior academic/career choices, yet making sure that Simon stays present in the conversation so he can bask in our greatness.”

Third Person to Respond [only if a Parent]: “Well, you know how bad Simon is at math.”  [This comment occurs regardless of mathematical relevance to the initial question]

So why would I subject myself to this?  That’s a good question.  Here’s the answer:

  • I already know the scientific information.  I either knew it previously, or looked it up prior to my query submission.  I then usually read a sampling of articles to make sure I’m avoiding unqualified internet drivel.
  • I then compare this information to the information my family provides.  At this point, I either find affirmation, additional information, inconsistencies, or contradiction.  It most cases it’s the former two scenarios.
  • If my family reveals additional information, inconsistencies, or contradiction; my search for further knowledge continues.  This may result in me pressing the dialog, but generally speaking, when I do, the motivation of my interlocutors seems to have run dry (as ego-stroking and condescension have at this point run their course) and I don’t glean anything else.  In any case, I know to continue my research.
  • Final point: I don’t let on that I probably already know the answer.  This is because I have experience in project management.  The manager avoids introducing a question with such annotations in order to avoid bias and influencing others’ opinions prior to answering.  That way, he gets information which is a direct result of the speaker’s knowledge and feelings on that knowledge, and isn’t altered by prompting.

It is an effective tactic, but comes with a price.  It reinforces my family’s belief that I’m an idiot who made bad life choices, as well as reinforcing their own arrogance, all the while giving the false impression that anyone not in the sciences knows nothing of the natural world they inhabit.  A bargain with the devil, I suppose.

(Also: why always the math thing?  I struggled with Calculus, but I had a 80-something percentile on my GRE math score.  I knew math better than the vast majority of graduates taking the test over a 3-year period, regardless of major.  Does anyone remember that?)

Information might have been democratized, but that doesn’t stop people from feeling smug about what they know.

–Simon

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Kópsimodendroacrophobia

The fear of cutting wood at heights

Also: Phobia Quotient!

The neighbors rented a boom.

(A tangent here–I don’t think I’ve ever created a name for these neighbors, probably because they’re nice and reasonably normal.  I’ve just called them by their first names: Brian and Kelly.  Let’s change that now.  I shall call them the Busybees.  Because they’re always rather busy.)

Anyway, they hate trees.  Well, to be fair, all Ohioans hate trees.  Almost as much as they hate dressing appropriately for the weather.  Liz is a prime example.  She also hates trees.  Here’s a typical conversation:

Statement: “This tree looks a little brown.”

Response: “Cut it down!”

Statement: “This branch looks dead.”

Response: “Cut it down!”

Statement: “This tree isn’t perfectly erect.”

Response: “‘Erect’…*teehee….Cut it down!”

But this year the trees in question really did look dead, and so I agreed after much insistence to cut them down.  Liz, the Ohioan, had already been convinced.

Cut it down!

So after this roundabout lengthy preamble, I arrive at the point of my post: I don’t like heights.  Never did.  Figured those who do are idiots or showoffs.  Of course, in my youthful egocentric stubbornness, I forced myself to endure them.  Indoor rock climbing, rappelling, mountain hiking, amusement parks–been there; done that.  And while being young grants a greater allowance for risk in the face of death, probably due to the amount of testosterone that was oozing out of my every orifice, approaching middle age has forced a more practical approach to death–like fearing things that cause it.

Consequently, my parasympathetic nervous system now strongly advises me that death should be avoided and doing certain things increases its risk potential.

But damned if I didn’t try.  I went up there twice and cut branches, though in the end, Liz did the bulk of the work.

So this got me thinking.  Is my phobia truly debilitating, or just a common healthy fear of death, albeit somewhat too strong?  Internet time!

I didn’t vet this information at all, but it seems sound.  Let’s see how I stack up:

  1. Snakes?  Some Indiana Jones shit right there.  But they do have a creepy shape and are among the few large terrestrial animals that are venomous, so I get it.  I do not have this fear.  Pass.
  2. Heights.  Already discussed.  Good to know this is #2.  Fail.
  3. Public Speaking.  I don’t really think this is a phobia.  It’s anxiety over social acceptance, not a life or death scenario, unless you consider the tribal fear of being banished which might lead to death.  Exempted.
  4. Spiders.  See #2, though they’re smaller.  I like spiders.  Pass.
  5. Claustrophobia.  I don’t like being restrained, probably from childhood memories.  My parents thought it was funny to sit on me for extended lengths of time.  Sick Boomer humor.  But small places don’t bother me.  Pass.
  6. Airplanes.  Nah.  I hate them more than fear them.  Smell farts for hours, get felt up by security, then packed in like an Amazon warehouse.  But not fear.  Pass.
  7. Mice?  No.  Pass.
  8. Needles.  I hate getting poked.  Triggers a primal fear, though I don’t have a panic attack from it.  Pass.
  9. Crowds.  Nah.  Just an inconvenience.  Pass.
  10. Darkness?  Only after watching Alien or Jurassic Park.  Pass.
  11. Blood?  Only my own.  Pass.
  12. Dogs.  I love dogs.  Pass.
  13. Clowns?  I hate them, but it’s not fear.  Sort of like cats.  Shoot them for entertainment, but that’s it.  Pass.

My total score: 1/12.  But, these are weighted based on commonality, so I will use sketchy math to quantify this.

I’ll take the inverse of each item (only counting the “very afraid” numbers, because really, most of us are probably “a little afraid” of many of these, which does not a phobia make), multiplying by 100, and excluding #3, the total equals 169.9.  This is the total max sissy quotient, which I’ll set as the baseline of 100% total sissy.

I posses #2, inverse of which is 4.2.  Then to scale it with the baseline, that’ll be 4.2*100/169.9, which equals 2.5%.  I am a 2.5% sissy.

But where is the median sissy?  I really don’t know, because I don’t see these as cumulative probability, so let’s take a nice midpoint in the range: 5+((32-5)/2)=18.5.  1/18.5*100=5.4.  5.4*100/169.9=3.2% sissy.  So I’m lower than baseline, according to my questionable math from unvetted sources.

I guess I’m pretty normal after all.

But you’re a total sissy if you fear blood.

–Simon