Early in the morning

The disparity between what I have and where I'm at in the timeline of life and what and where others have and are is a source of shame and injustice for me. The absence of physical possessions, the non-existence of relationships, the failure of achievement, and the razor-thin margin between financial and emotional stability and chaos and the flimsy lie I live under that I have any control over descending INTO the chaos are a few of the teensy, usually unconscious reasons I am embarrassed to more fully participate in the terrifying flow of society.

I was raised to believe a certain creed and lifestyle would certainly bring happiness AND success, but they have not. While I have moments of real, moving pleasure, even happiness, I am viscerally NOT happy. And after my good faith effort to believe and follow and do as I was taught, that's not fair.

So I ask, every moment of every day, "What do I do now?"

Tasty video nuggets

How many times have we all set an ambitious goal to do some specific, productive thing every day and then failed? Other than eating, sleeping, and spending special time alone in the water closet, I can't think of anything I'm disciplined enough to do every day.

I recently threatened an overwrought, well-meaning aunt I'd create a new blog to hide my cries for help. You know, so nobody would hear my cries for help.

It's complicated.

To create an artificial sense of accomplishment and to at least satisfy the desire to create a new blog, I created a new blog.

The new blog is a place to post a new, fun video clip every day.

Ahhhh....that's a nice, artificial sense of accomplishment.

Now, can I actually do it every day? I've got two remaining fingers on my left hand to count how many things I do every day, so I says, I say, "Yes!"

If a tree falls in a forest

In the fall of 2002, I read an article about blogging in an English language newspaper in Chuncheon, South Korea. After six months of living abroad, this new technology appealed to me as a way of sharing my experiences with my family and friends. I signed up for a Blogger account and started writing.

For a while, writing and learning Blogger was enough, but I soon tried to share my blog with others. Few people seemed to grasp the concept of a blog though, and my social networking efforts fizzled after several impassioned rounds of invitations and silence. I kept writing, though irregularly.

All this space and time later, I chuckle at the contrast between that time when I agonized because no one would read my blog posts and now when I agonize that someone might actually read what I write. I'll admit I sort of miss my once lonely anonymity.

One of the reasons I still choose this forum to write is for the challenge of articulating my thoughts and feelings in such a way that they might appeal to individual, if not mass, consumption. Although I remain a mostly private person, I have this nagging strain of honesty that compels me, when I write, to reveal my real feelings. In a healthy way, I think I'm moving past the point of modesty where I care what others might think or say about what I think or say.

The past three days have been difficult, and I do not anticipate a change for eleven more. Even then I don't suppose the relief will be any better than the temporary surcease of pain an aspirin brings to a headache until the underlying cause of the headache is addressed. Headaches often heighten our awareness of other ailments and that, figuratively speaking, is what made the past 72 hours worse than they might have otherwise been.

The outpouring of concern, so immediate and well written, has eased my anxiety, and for that I am grateful. And not to belie my sincere expression of real pain, but sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

I was OK, and I am OK.

Empty

We enter and leave this world empty-handed, but the hard times are the moments in-between when you also have nothing.

Whether nothing includes worldly possessions, the means to obtain worldly possessions, or relationship ties of every stripe, the absence of some or more of these things can be the worst kind of pain.

Walk empty-handed alone and self-doubt, self-loathing, and clear remembrances of your failures and shortcomings threaten to destroy you.

I have no use for stories of footprints or reminders of love.

Where are they now?

That's right.

I am empty-handed now and the difference between perception and reality is irrelevant.

What I think, is.

Is will-power alone enough to save?

Perhaps.

The immediacy of this will pass soon enough, I suppose, and I won't be without for too much longer, but what will be the condition of my soul?

Not good, I suppose again, but then how will that differ from where I am now?

No words

Nostalgia

One day after I'm gone, I hope to better understand emotions. Happiness and sadness are pretty obvious, though I'd like to know them better. Anger is familiar, though I'd like to know where it comes from. And faith, while not strictly an emotion, used to be a more regular bedfellow, and I'd like to learn the secret to recalling it at will. In fact, the thing I more specifically long for now is an understanding of and the ability to call on ANY emotion at will.

Haeundae Beach with Yoon (Busan)

Last night, I was transported back to 2002 (via pictures and Picasa) to the historic cites of Busan and Gyeongju in South Korea. My first year of teaching abroad was nearing an end, and my dear friend Yoon wanted to show me his hometown, Gyeongju. We hooked up in Busan where we spent a day, after which we traveled by train (or was it bus?) to Gyeongju. A few months earlier, immediately before my first trip to China, I'd bought my first digital camera, so I was camera-trigger happy. These seven years later, I'm grateful for the pictures, the memories, the experiences.

At the base of Busan Tower

These twenty four hours later though, I'm left with feelings of happiness, pride, loneliness, and regret. Happiness for the memories and the self-confirmation of having friends; pride for the satisfaction of doing something unique and uncommon; loneliness that, though I might be surrounded my hundreds of friends, I reminisce alone. Sift them together with regret and you have the beginnings of nostalgia.

The view from the top of Busan Tower

Regret is the leavening agent, of course. It binds and flavors nostalgia. I regret I didn't take more pictures. I regret I didn't have and still lack a more perfect appreciation of the historical sites I visited. I regret a friendship has withered. I regret I can't overcome time and space.

The Emille Bell (Gyeongju)

We delude ourselves into believing we can create or control emotions. Desirable emotions, like happiness and peace, are elusive and random. Painful emotions, like sadness and anger, are intrusive and sticky. Nostalgia is a mixture of both: it's pleasurable and reassuring; it's disruptive and taunting. It reminds me what I had in contrast with what I have, and it reminds me I'm powerless. Like some house guests, I welcome it for a time, then I want it to leave.

Some children we met on our hike to Seokguram, the "famed Buddhist shrine." (Gyeongju)

I hear my teachers and "loved ones" arguing against my cynicism. It doesn't matter. Any control we may feel or feel obligated to teach is no more true to me or honest than voodoo, astrology, or the Obama stimulus plan. We are victims of our emotions, and like the weather, we can only cope with them as they come; we can not guarantee them

On a Silla Dynasty burial mound (Gyeongju)

Until that one day when I'm gone, and my better understanding of emotions comes, I'll rely on my memories in pictures for what comfort they bring until the pain that accompanies them becomes too much to bear.

MANtage

YouTube was made for Barats and Bereta.

Get inspired

I can't decide if this two minute video montage of 40 inspirational movie clips is more inspirational or humorous. Whatever it is, it's short and fun to guess which movies the clips come from and whether or not you've seen them.

The editor shares his story and transcript here.

Kermit and Joey

Over the past two years I've been surprised to discover how Sesame Street is no longer the universal part of childhood it used to be. Whenever I find a reason, cultural, educational, or otherwise, to reference the iconic show to my students, I get dumb, blank stares.

Unable to connect with my students over MY favorite childhood TV show, I've taken to scouring YouTube for memorable Sesame Street clips. This first clip is my favorite. Of course, the Cookie Monster gimmick is cute, but the final seconds where Kermit and Joey kiss and make up is endearing.



Two is better than one, so I present another classic Kermit and Joey clip. As they count their way to 20, it's especially cute how Joey tries to change the subject by commenting on Kermit's eyes. In the words of one YouTube commenter, it's like she's stalling because she can't remember what number comes next.

Feliz Cumpleaños

Originally uploaded by digitalnut One day a couple of weeks ago, while waiting for the lunch bell, I asked my 3rd grade class if they'd like to learn how to say anything in any language. New to my games, their answers were a blend of yeses, nos, and uncertainty. Perfect.

I said, "Ask me how to say anything in any language."

They said, "How do you say anything in any language?"

I said, "Anything in any language," and waited.

Some got it, but most did not. Before everyone caught up, I said, "OK, this is real. Now I'll teach you how to say, oh, happy birthday in Spanish."

I said, "Ask me how to say happy birthday in Spanish."

They said, "How do you say happy birthday in Spanish?"

I said, "Happy birthday in Spanish."

Most everyone got it by now, and there was laughter all around. As we waited for the lunch bell, we practiced other random phrases in random languages. Their eyes lit up with mischievous glee when I suggested that they wow their parents with their new found skill. I've been amused to hear, with varying degrees of success, how their own stunts went.

Fast forward to last Thursday when I was sitting in restaurant recounting this tale to a friend, also a teacher. At the very moment when I said, "How do you say happy birthday in Spanish," an old woman carrying a baby walked by our booth. I believe she was Mexican.

Overhearing but misunderstanding the context of my question, she paused and turned to us and sweetly interjected, "Happy birthday in Spanish is Feliz Cumpleaños," and then walked away.

I love helpful people.