My Time With Ello

A few years ago I was a member of the Ello community. You might say I was there in its infancy because when I joined it was by invite-only. I was a member there for a year or so before finally deciding that it was not for me. I don't mean I didn't like it--I did--but it eventually found its identity and evolved into a showcase for artistic people and their creativity. As time went by I felt more and more like I didn't fit in. I eventually pulled the plug and bailed out, but not before saving a few of the posts I had made. This is one of them. The topic that day was about posting a selfie from youthful happy times or something like that. I must have been having a pretty depressing day when I wrote it or something, because it's kind of a downer. Here's the post:

"I don't mind saying, this selfie Monday didn't work out so well for me. I found myself full of melancholy. The more pictures I looked through the more tears welled up in my eyes. I cried out of frustration for so many reasons. So many of the pictures reminded me of how poor we were when I was young, even though we didn't know it at the time. There were two adults and 5 children, all coexisting in a one-bedroom house. Many of the old pictures were taken after I was fitted with nerd glasses, and if that weren't enough, my new permanent front teeth came in none too gracefully. While my childhood was pretty good, I couldn't come up with any pictures that contained any "defining moments" of my childhood. Sure I was always (well, usually) smiling in them, but having a camera pointed at somebody tends to trigger that automatically. As the first-born I had more pictures taken during my childhood than any of my brothers and sisters did, and yet I still didn't see any that reminded me of anything good. Anyway, I chose this glib picture. In this shot I had just chosen some random shit to pose with because the family camera came out."

I'm a cute kid in this picture and I do like it. It's simple, has good color, and I love the way I'm dressed--dirty clothes and all. It's also shows how much I enjoyed being outside and doing boy things.

Below is another post I made when I was a member of Ello. I believe it was in the cold months of winter after the holiday season had passed.

"I feel I need to add more of Ello's many creative geniuses to my follow list just so I can get more meat on my plate when I open Ello several times each day. I know, I know--I'm as guilty as anyone. I haven't posted shit myself. Truth is, I have very little to offer the Ello community. I'm not artistic, I'm not creative, I'm not a visionary, I'm not wise, I'm not poetic, and I'm not many of the things that others on Ello are. I'll tell you what I am though: I'm a sponge. I'm a blank tape. I'm a child in a toy shop. I'm a watcher. I'm a lover. I'm a romantic. I'm enchanted by visuals, by movies, by art, by music. Many times they bring tears to my eyes. The things that people on Ello have posted have had that effect on me many times over. I wish I had more than mediocre photography to offer the community because it pays me forward with more than you can possibly imagine. I live alone, and have a very solitary type of mentality. I'm a thinker, and the people of the Ello community give me a lot to think about.
I love Ello. Thank you. Thank you all."

I still find myself checking out Ello, but there is no longer anything personal in it. The initial "Facebook feel" is no longer there, and it's now mainly like a giant artist portfolio. While their site now has more a commercial direction, it's still an amazing showcase of talent to peruse with your morning coffee.

Who Am I?

This was written a few years back, when I was living alone in my rented duplex. While most of the following is true, I'm now married, so things are very different than they were when I wrote the following:

Why? Why would anyone want to read about my life? Why would anyone want to know what makes me tick? I know more about my life than anyone else in the world does, so if anyone should write about me, it should be me.

I don't know what my earliest recollections of my childhood really are. Like most people I think I remember things from my childhood, but do I really? Do I really remember any of the stuff I think I do, or am I just repeating stories that have been told since I was tiny? When you look at the same pictures over and over for decades, and associate stories that were told repeatedly, they become the story. They become the memory.

There are many things that have shaped my life. Many experiences have shaped me into who I am today. I'm not saying I'm anything noteworthy--certainly I am not. If anything in our past--I mean anything no matter how insignificant--were to have not happened or happened differently, we would probably not be here today. We may be somewhere near, but not here. The Butterfly Effect is almost staggering with its implications. Anyone would agree that had certain traumatic or important things from their past not happened or happened differently that things would be different. The slightest little thing is all it takes. When you add the passage of time into the equation, those seemingly insignificant events are multiplied, sometimes exponentially. One teeny little thing back then could mean a huge, huge ripple in today's world. That makes me wonder about things I did when I was little. The things I did, the things I saw, the experiences that shaped me. What would my life be today if any one of those things were changed somehow? It's mind-boggling.

Sometimes I think back on things I've done, and they seem surreal. I can't place myself in the scenario now that I'm reviewing the experience later in life. I remember bits of it, but that's about all. A good example? How about inner tubing down the Euphrates River in Turkey? How many people have done that? I think, "Did I even do that? Why the fuck can't I remember anything about it? Was I stoned? Drunk? Both?" The fact is I did do it. I remember just enough to know that it really happened. I don't remember any of the logistics of it. I don't remember who went or how many of us, how we got there, where we stopped or started or anything like that. It's obvious that I was not in on the planning part of the deal or I would remember more details. But I did it, and so did my roommate, John Turcotte. I have a couple of pictures somewhere to prove it.

I sit at a computer at work all day long, staring at multiple monitors and juggling minute details of aerospace fabrication. I saw this question posed on the Internet: when you go home at the end of the day and turn off your work life what do you picture? That made me think a little bit. I treasure quiet and solitude more than I ever have. When I was looking for a house, one of the things I wanted was a good view of a sunrise or sunset. I'm not picky in that regard--either one will do. By "view" I mean I can see a fair amount of sky uninterrupted. I don't want to have to climb a tree or go to the end of the road or whatever, I want to just be able to look out the window or sit on the deck or porch and be mesmerized by the colors of Mother Nature. I think that's what I'd like when I finish my work life.

Why am I such a worry wart? Did my dad cause it? Is it a direct result of his temper? Did his beatings or his hollering and belittling make me this way? Probably yes. No, I'm sure of it. He never gave out praise--only criticism. He always had to maintain a position of superiority. God forbid you should challenge a fact in something he just shared. I think my constant ducking under the wire and fearing his wrath instilled me with a definite lack of balls. I can't ever "man up" when I want to. It has also seriously affected my social skills. I'm constantly worrying and fretting about cause and effect. I find myself not wanting to start something because my mind screams, "but what if...?" I hate that about me. I sit and take the easy way out, the coward’s way out. I avoid things "just in case" I may have some sort of crisis or conflict I have to resolve. I'm a lousy communicator. Horrible.

I've noticed that I have developed a sort of shell, a shell that you can't see, but nevertheless is there. I guess you could just call it a safety buffer. It isolates (or at least attempts to) me from things that make me uncomfortable. I can't stop looking over the news every day, but I seldom read it. Scanning would be more accurate. I read the bullet points in the form of the headlines, but I hardly ever click into a story to actually read it. If I do I try to maximize the selections that the Internet presents to me as much as I can so I can preview the story and choose the least-obtrusive and least-slanted source. When I am looking deeper into a story like that I've noticed that I get that weird feeling of dread when I have a realization that there is going to be something uncomfortable in the story. When that happens I stop reading it instantly. For some reason lately, it makes me wince when a story describes someone's suffering or outlines the things that led up to their demise. I want to put my hands up and close my eyes. I want to fly back to a moment in time before that feeling washed over me. I want to wish it away. When they say, “What has been seen cannot be un-seen” I know what they’re talking about. If I’m exposed to something uncomfortable like that it will eat away at me. I don't know why this feeling has started happening to me.

I feel a certain tendency toward hermit life that may or may not be related to it. I feel just almost as unsure and confused about my direction in life now as I probably ever did at any point. I feel sometimes like I should start seeing a shrink. Will I ever though? Probably not. I'm so wishy-washy and indecisive.

This is a tough time of year for me. When daylight savings time ends and it gets dark earlier each day… it just exacerbates how I’m already feeling because of the cold temperatures and short amount of daylight hours. It’s no wonder that there are so many people with depression issues this time of year. Take what’s already going on in your head and add a Christmas season to it. Can you cope? I have trouble sometimes. It’s no wonder it was so hard on me when I was married to Sue. Her being a Jehovah’s Witness meant there were no lights, candles, or music in the house that represented the upbeat nature of Christmas season. There was a definite void during that time. I remember the very last Christmas season we were married, she was in Kauai with her daughter and I was left more or less to myself (her son, Keith, was there of course because he lived there, but seldom showed his face). I had a sort of reawakening during that time. I experienced Christmas on more of a personal level for the first time in five years. I didn’t really care that it was missing so much during the first couple of years we were married, but I think I slowly began to notice that it was missing from my life, and maybe even a resentful of it. I needed it but didn’t know I needed it. Everyone else was experiencing it but me. Anyway, during that Christmas I took walks around the neighborhood, admiring and taking pictures of people’s light displays, feeling the crisp temperature and feeling a little more in touch with things. I was able to play Christmas music at home as I sat at my computer for the first time since before we were married. I was able to come and go on a whim, visiting other people and meeting friends at restaurants. It was a good time. I think that I need to get into things a little bit more this year to combat the feeling of depression. It feels heavy this year--much more so than last year. Last year I was still reveling in the newness of being divorced--being free to do as I chose to do. This year there is more of a feeling of solitude. Though self-imposed for the most part, it still gives me a feeling of melancholy.

Why is dating so hard for me? Why am I afraid of commitment? It occurred to me that we treat being with a woman like having a job. Think about it: people all the time are in jobs they don't like. They are constantly saying shit like, "God, I can't wait to retire" or "If only I'd win the lotto..." People will do almost anything to put up with their job because they hate looking for a new job so much. We've all done it--knocking on doors, talking to people we don't know, filling out applications with mostly accurate information, handing them a resume that makes us look like the best possible person they could ever hire. That's exactly what we do when we date. Exactly. Then all goes well and we might think, "She's not so bad... She has a lot of really great qualities" and decide to stick with her permanently. Time goes by, then you start to tire of the crap you have to put up with. You don't really see the positives any more, but the negatives just eat at you. You wish you could retire or hit the lotto. Instead, you sigh and plod onward with resignation.

I've often wondered what my favorite color is. Everybody has a favorite color. Why don't I? It's not rocket science to have a color you treasure over others, a color that you favor well enough that you would let it influence choices you might make in your life. Not me. I can't choose a favorite color. I know what my least favorite color is though: green. I hate things that are green. Plant life is excluded though--I love green living things. I just hate anything painted or colored Kelly green. I like light greens or earth tone greens that some people paint their houses, but I don't like green cars, green clothes, or pretty much anything else green. I could say I love blue, but in reality it's the sky--I love the blue of the sky. I could say yellow, but I don't think that's it either. I love yellow flowers, yellow houses (most anyway), and although I find yellow very cheerful and upbeat it's far from a favorite color. Purples? Nope, though I do love lavender flowers. Red? Huh uh. Sometimes I think my favorite color is white of all things. The color white is so perfect in its simplicity. I have always loved the sight of a lady in a white petticoat dress. While I love the look of snow, there is seldom “just” white in any given snow scene. Even when there is nothing else visible in a snow scene, snow has shadows, and snow shadows are blue. It’s different than just plain white. Even clouds--they have always got some degree of gray that is there defining them somehow. So, what is my favorite color? All of the above.

In my home everything whispers. When I want it to be, my house is completely quiet. Sometimes I want to turn up the quiet and make time stand still forever, but of course it passes. I love to shuffle around naked, feeling the various rugs between my toes as I step onto them from the bare floor. I walk carefully--almost reverently--as if I'm afraid to make a sound that might disturb the empty silence. Though I often have music playing, there are many days I don't feel like it. During those times I will just sit and listen to the sounds the refrigerator makes, lost in my own thoughts. I just feel like sitting alone. The silence during those times--sometimes deafening in its emptiness--is only broken up by the occasional sound of a rooster out back or a car driving by out front. I feel relaxed. In the early hours of a still morning I will find myself placing an item on the counter or in the sink so carefully and silently lest it break the silence with a rattle or clink. The dark hours of a sleepy morning are a slow transition into my day, and I choose to ease into it with silence.

There are many times people might ask me something like, "Who's your favorite actor or actress?" I can never remember names at the drop of a hat or when I'm under the gun, but I do have a few that pop into my head from time to time. When I choose an actress it's usually because of sex appeal, but one exception is Angelica Huston. There is something about her that captures my interest. She has a self-assurance about her that seems so genuine. Someone else I love is Charlize Theron. Besides being beautiful, I think she's a very good actress. Cate Blanchett--I love her. Another actress that has me lusting after her for some reason is Mary Steenburgen. I can’t explain it really. She’s not a particularly good actress. I think it’s her voice--it’s a voice I imagine speaking softly, privately, into my ear. Speaking of voices, I love the breaking voice of Blythe Danner.

I wish I could live life without always having to justify something. I have this splinter in my mind that is always asking, “How can you justify owning this? Are you really getting enough use out of it?” I’m constantly plagued with this kind of mental activity. No, I don’t want to justify ownership of something, I want it to be completely frivolous and impulsive! I have to keep telling myself, “No, I don’t use it very often, but when I do, it’s great to have!” My hot tub is a good example of this. A lot of people think hot tubs are a chore to maintain. They are not. They are very easy to maintain. I don’t use mine nearly often enough to “justify” ownership of it. I’m not a playboy, a thrower of parties, or any sort of socialite. Nor am I attached to anyone else that I might regularly share it with. I cannot justify owning it, but I want to own it. I tell myself that owning it is a luxury and a treat. Those times when I do use it make up for all those times I’m ignoring it and letting it sit forlornly in the back yard. No matter what I own or think of owning, that same thing echoes over and over, “How often will I use it? Can I really justify buying it?” I just wish I could adjust my mental default settings. I want to turn off notifications for justifying my choices in life. I want to be impulsive and I can’t!