On Happiness, Sour Grapes, and Other Discoveries

Flowers of Happiness - Eric Bruni

I've been noticing an interesting trend among some of my readers lately. More than a couple of them have read my things and commented on the fact that I sound happy or that I seem like a happy, centered person, in general. At first, I thought, "No, if you knew me, you'd know that's not true." But then I actually thought about it for a second and considered the possibility that they might be right. 

I'm definitely still capable of getting white-knuckle-level angry about things -- like all the stupidity going on out there in the world. For instance, I'm inwardly livid at all of these people who refuse to go get a COVID vaccine or take even the tiniest steps to take better care of the environment and make this shithole of a world a better place to be. 

And I actually feel comfortable using the word "furious" to describe how I feel about certain aspects of my personal life that truly aren't fair. I'm 45 years old and am, in many ways, still waiting to see what feels like a reasonable return on all the labor I put into my work and many of my personal relationships. I also fully get that I'm probably fighting a losing battle in at least a few of those cases. But those are situations (and in some cases people) that make me feel momentarily angry.

I realize I don't feel angry the rest of the time, so it's definitely not my default state anymore (if it ever was). I sometimes wonder how much of my tendency to self-identify as an angry, bitchy person over the years has indeed come from me at all. That's something I've usually been told by others, usually after I've just finished setting or reinforcing a boundary that should have been there all along. 

But yeah, maybe I am happy. I see too much beauty in the world around me these days not to be. This is especially the case since I've stopped drinking. I feel like my mind's reached this whole other level of clarity and sharpness that I've really been liking, especially when it comes to all my creative pursuits. 

On How Holidays Evolve Over the Years

Declaration of Independence (1818) - John Trumbull

I think I've realized a little something about Independence Day over the past week or so, planning for it and all. It's just not the same holiday to me that it used to be when I was a little girl. The majority of the reasons why are a mixture of personal and general. The rest may just be about having grown up a little bit over the years. It doesn't seem like anything much is exactly the same to me at 45 as it was when I was little or even just still young. 

To begin with, a lot of what made the 4th special is just plain off the table for us at this point for reasons beyond our control. With the way climate change has made wildfires such a massive issue in the summers here, the city doesn't do fireworks displays anymore. It's been decades since I actually went anywhere specifically to watch the fireworks, but sometimes I could still see them in the sky over the back fence. I didn't mind sitting outside with Seth a while when I was in the mood, trying to catch a glimpse of the pretty colors, smelling the cordite, and reminiscing about how magical the 4th of July seemed when I was a kid.

We almost always used to grill, but we don't even do that anymore -- also because of the fires. I used to love the smell of a barbecue grill, a wood-burning fireplace, or things burning in general. Now when I smell something -- anything -- burning, it no longer signals thoughts of coziness, fun, safety, and good times. It means danger. It makes me scared I'm going to have to spend the next week or two checking for evacuation alerts every two seconds and barely being able to see without the lights on because the sky is weird and orange in the middle of the day.

Meditations on Family and Other Conundra

Loss of Identity - Daniella Krtsch

A little while back, someone contacted me through 23andMe's relatives' network wanting to connect. According to the site's records, we are second cousins, which I've since learned means you have a set of great-grandparents in common. He really wanted to figure out how we might share such a close relationship and was hoping I could shed some light on the situation. At first, I wasn't sure I could help him, as I know so very little about my own family. But after wracking my brain a little, I realized that I probably did have a few useful tidbits to share, so I did that. 

To make a long story short, each of us had a biological grandfather whom we never knew, and we eventually figured out that they would have been brothers. My "new" cousin had really been wanting to learn more about the portion of his family he'd never met or gotten to know, and I feel good about having been able to help. Thinking about the concept of family is always a bizarre, somewhat uncomfortable activity for me, though, and I've been doing more of that than usual these past few days. My brain feels weird as a result.

At this point, I'm just used to answering casual questions people ask me about my origins by mentioning all the estrangement and leaving it at that. "No, I'm not that close with my parents." "No, I don't see my siblings. We're estranged." "No, I don't visit extended family for the holidays. I didn't grow up in a close-knit environment and don't know most of my relatives." And so forth. I don't worry as much about how that reflects on me as I used to when I was younger, but it still feels strange to get to know a new person and have to repeat that stuff all over again. 

Most of my family members seem disturbingly normal -- or at least they do on the outside. They look normal, they have normal jobs, and they seem like well-adjusted citizens for the most part. And then there is me -- Miss Eccentric Recluse Writer 2021. Compared to the rest of my family, I look and seem like the kind of person who was probably left on someone's doorstep in a basket by aliens who were just passing through. I'm also the relative on the outskirts who doesn't really vibe with everyone else, making it seem like my oddness must be the reason. But really, I'm just more comfortable with my eccentricity and wear it right out there on my sleeve.

I've Realized I'm a Happy Person at Heart

That's not something I would have been able to say about myself for most of my life. I spent years of my life thinking about what was wrong with the world, judging people who didn't live the way I thought they should and obsessing over the ways I didn't think my own life measured up to the status quo. But I've noticed things have been different for me lately.

It's not that my life changed. I still have the vast majority of the problems I had before and could well be stuck with some of them for the foreseeable future. I just have a better attitude than I used to. Some of that seemed to come with age, but the rest really was about a simple perspective change. It's a change I'm grateful for, as life is just better this way. After all, I only get one of those... a life. I don't really want to waste mine griping, complaining, and judging. 

Life's never going to be fucking perfect.

I used to think that I couldn't be happy until I got specific details of my life in line. When I was an awkward teenager, I thought being prettier would do it. Later on, I thought meeting someone would be the answer. Or finding a way to run a business out of my home so I wouldn't have to spend so much of my time at an office or behind a cash register somewhere. Then I met someone, got married, and still wasn't happy with my love life, so I got a divorce and started daydreaming about the day I'd meet someone better. Once I had a business, I wanted a better one doing more exciting work. 

There's always going to be something else -- some other part of your life that downright sucks or something monumental you finally achieve only to realize your life still isn't the way you want it. And the vast majority of those solutions you thought were going to solve all your problems come with brand new issues of their own. If you wait to allow yourself any measure of happiness or contentment until everything's perfect, you're going to be waiting until you drop dead.

On Writing About the Tough Stuff

I seem to have reached a turning point with some of my writing lately that I thought was still a few years down the line -- the point where I'm no longer just thinking about telling my more challenging stories, but actually sitting down and writing them. And then I've been going and posting them in front of actual people instead of just pouring my soul out into my journal and calling it a day. The topics are all over the place, but they include things to do with my upbringing, my complicated relationships with my parents, some of the abuse I experienced while married to my ex, and so forth. 

I've been at it here and there for a few months now, and it's been a strange experience, especially when it comes to things I'm talking about for the first time. I often wind up feeling like I picked at a freshly-formed scab or lanced an infected boil -- sort of gross at first, with a lingering feeling of just having done something I shouldn't have, but then much better afterward when the pain is gone. I think doing this has made some of these things easier to bear and continue healing from.

I feel like I need to cheer up a little bit soon, though. I don't want to develop a reputation for being someone who complains all the time and never seems to have anything positive to say. I'm a much more joyful, grateful person than I let on a lot of the time -- even on days when I'm not feeling my emotional best. But sometimes, I find it valuable and worthwhile to look at some of the more challenging aspects of my existence through my writing. Here are a few insights for those of you who may be trying to do something similar.

Start by journaling in private first.

I'm not sure exactly what I expected when I started keeping a private journal again a little over a year ago. I thought it would be fun -- a throwback to my younger years when I journaled ferociously, and I knew it would be helpful in working through things without having to bother other people for a shoulder all the time. I didn't really expect it to change much about the rest of my writing, but that's exactly what wound up happening. 

On Fiction Writing and Beauty in Middle Age

I can't believe I'm once again over here staring at the tail end of another month. I genuinely don't understand where the time goes or why it goes so quickly. Maybe it really is just something that comes along with being older. This hasn't been my most productive month for various reasons, but I'm hanging in there regardless. 

Luckily, I haven't wholly spaced Camp NaNoWriMo after deciding on a whim to give it a try at the end of last month. I really enjoyed my little journey back into the wide, wonderful world of creative writing back in November. Still, I'd been feeling pretty guilty about not having gotten around to editing any of my work yet. Camp NaNo's been great for that, though, so I'm super glad I went ahead and participated. 

Say what you will about any of the NaNo events, but I've learned not to knock them at this point in my growth as a writer. Not only are they fun and challenging, but they help you cut right through your usual collection of excuses as to why you're not making time for writing projects you say you want to complete. They've shown me what's possible when I put my mind to making it happen, even if I'm genuinely busy.

On that note, I can't seem to stop thinking of even more ideas for wonderful stories I'm sure would be a blast to write. Like NaNo, I thought creative writing was something I'd outgrown over the years and no longer truly enjoyed. This is quite simply not true, and I can tell I'm going to want to start doing it more regularly. I just wish I had somewhere to publish some of these where I could be sure they'd be read and enjoyed. 

At present, I'm playing with the idea of floating a couple out there on Medium here and there just to see how they do. I know P.S. I Love You has a Fiction Friday thing they do, so there must be someone over there who enjoys reading the occasional story along with their daily dose of self-help articles and personal essays. I'm just very excited about rediscovering this side of myself as a writer, and I'm dying to share it with the tiny handful of people who like my things. I suppose it can't hurt. You never know when something will unexpectedly find a larger audience.

On Lana Del Rey and the Beauty of Melancholy

So, Lana Del Rey dropped a new album a few days ago -- Chemtrails Over the Country Club. I've been listening to it quite a lot since, as well as revisiting some of Lana's other music. I've also been having some interesting thoughts about music in general, the role it's played throughout my life, and the effects it has on me still. 

Lana Del Rey's music occupies a strange category for me. It evokes strong feelings of nostalgia and reminds me of all kinds of things despite not also being music I grew up listening to. 

She wasn't even around as an artist when I was still growing up, as she would have been just a child herself. However, her style as an artist and much of the imagery in her music reminds me of how I felt, thought, and took up space in the world way back then. The fact that the beach and many references to life in California come up often in her music underscores all this even further.

When I was young, I had so many strong emotions. Many of them were difficult, dark, and consuming -- like longing, melancholy, and restlessness. Life was difficult for me as a young person, and it took me until I was in my 20s to start coming into my own. But I had an incredibly rich fantasy life at that age, as well. I was always obsessed with some boy I knew, or occasionally I'd construct elaborate fantasies around actors (and even fictional characters) I found objectively attractive. I'd daydream about what I'd be like when I was older -- painfully, sorrowfully beautiful and, of course, so very deep -- as well as all the tumultuous, passionate romances I was sure I would one day have. 

One of my favorite things to do was indulge in these fantasies and wonder what my life would eventually be like while listening to music. If I could be outside taking up space in some beautiful setting while I did it, so much the better. I especially loved going on long nature walks, hanging out on the beach while watching the waves, and spacing out in the passenger seat on long road trips while watching the world go by. I never felt very connected to my family, my friends, or most of the men I dated when I was in my teens and early-mid 20s, so maintaining this sort of rich inner life seemed to fulfill some of the needs those relationships didn't. 

On Independence and Self-Discovery

"Are you happy, or are you pretending to be happy?"

We watched this movie a few days ago -- Swallow. It's about a young, pregnant housewife named Hunter (Haley Bennett) who's struggling with certain feelings. This is a life she once thought she wanted, and that would make her happy, but -- as can often be the case -- the reality isn't quite measuring up to expectations. Her husband doesn't take her at all seriously and barely sees her as a person. Hunter especially doesn't seem all that thrilled to be pregnant. It's clear she feels like the walls are closing in on her and that something's got to give soon.

One day, Hunter gives in to an odd, sudden urge she has to swallow a marble. For reasons she can't quite understand, the act makes her feel empowered, possibly for the first time in her life. She eventually swallows other objects, some of them quite dangerous. Before she knows it, she has a full-fledged habit on her hands, her husband and in-laws find out, and strife ensues. From there, the film becomes about Hunter's struggle to feel like an important player in her own life and chronicles her attempts to get there. The film was really very good and gives you lots to think about.

Much about Hunter's situation reminds me of how it felt to be married to my first husband, Greg. I was very young at the time -- much younger than Greg -- and I didn't have the luxury of being a housewife (although that is something I thought I wanted.) I definitely didn't develop the urge to swallow marbles and thumbtacks. However, Hunter's feelings of inadequacy were very familiar to me. Like Hunter, I was surrounded by people who considered my feelings and needs to be unimportant compared to everyone else's. I disagreed. 

On How Retail Prepared Me for My Career as a Writer

Le Principe du Plaisir - Rene Magritte (1937)

A friend of mine was posting on her Instagram earlier all about the twisty, winding path she's taken in life to get where she currently is. Today, she has her own highly successful wedding photography business, but years ago, when I first met her, she was a waitress.

In her post, she talked a bit about why she was a waitress for so many years despite hating the job -- the easy money and the way food service requires you to "hustle" a bit for your supper. She also touched on how being a waitress back then prepared her in many ways for what she's doing now, as the two businesses are a lot more alike than they probably seem at surface value. 

It got me thinking back on the many years I spent in retail. Aside from an extremely brief period of less than a year where I worked as a vet tech, pretty much all of the traditional time clock jobs I've had were ordinary retail jobs that are a dime a dozen. Like my friend, I absolutely loathed what I was doing, and just thinking about doing it for the rest of my life depressed the shit out of me. I don't know that I'd be as good at working for myself (or at writing) as I am without that as part of my background, though.

On Being a White-Passing Black Person During a Period of Protest

My racial ambiguity means I fit into an interesting friendship niche for a lot of white people. It's relatively obvious that I'm not completely white, so folks get to pat themselves on the back for being "woke" because they're friends with me. However, I'm also white-passing enough that I don't make anyone truly uncomfortable in the way a darker-skinned black person might.

My whole life, I've been assured that this was a positive thing by black people and white people alike because I get to have it both ways. I can be proud of my blackness and claim it as part of my identity, but I can also slip into white circles without causing too much of a stir or bothering anyone.

Perhaps most importantly, I only really have to take what comes with being black when it's convenient for me. The rest of the time, I'm free to keep my mouth shut and just let people think I'm something much less threatening -- Hispanic, maybe, or Meditteranean like my ex-husband assumed I was when he first met me. And for most of my life, that's exactly what I did because it was easier for me and more comfortable for others. Who wants to make trouble for themselves when they don't have to, right?

All of the protests and riots that have been going on lately have officially found me tired of doing that though. I've always been a proud person, but that pride has officially reached a place where it extends to my racial identity as well. Yes, I'm proud to be Irish and Scottish. I'm proud to be German and to have that tiny little bit of South Asian in there too, but I'm realizing I'm just as proud to be black. I'm proud to be a part of the black story because it's my story, and I want others to know it. I especially want other black people to know I'm standing with them.

"I'll See You Again in 25 Years..."

Romy and Michelle were my spirit animals back then.

My 25-year high school reunion is apparently coming up. How that could be, I don't know. On the one hand, high school really does feel like a lifetime ago, but on the other, I truly don't feel like it's a literal quarter-century in the past. Part of me wishes I could say that I'm going, but I'm pretty realistic with myself and with others these days as far as what can be expected of me socially.

Years ago, after I'd graduated but while high school was still really fresh in my mind, I used to fantasize about going to one of these damned things at some point and just blowing everyone right the fuck away. (Think Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion, but without the best friend.) But then my 10-year rolled around at a point where, much like Romy or Michelle, I was really worried about how my life might look from the outside looking in. I looked really good and I wasn't saddled with a million kids the way so many other people from my graduating class were, but I was still working retail -- something I was very ashamed of at the time, especially considering how smart I was always considered to be. Plus I was still married to Greg, not to mention profoundly unhappy with the marriage by 2004 or so. The person that he was embarrassed me deeply, and I was ashamed of myself for settling for a relationship that didn't meet a single one of my personal needs.

I didn't want to have to face these people and tell them that. That the smart, creative "whiz kid" everyone thought was going places ultimately wound up selling shoes at Macy's and was married to some weird, boring man who was old enough to be her father. Not only did I skip the reunion entirely because of those things, but I remember living in constant fear of running into people I used to know around town, because I didn't want them to see how my life had turned out.

The Good and the Bad of Being 40-Something

I don't know if this is just part of what comes with being in my 40's now or what, but I'm morphing into one hell of a fucking grouch as I age. I've never been much of a social animal, but I'm becoming ever more reclusive and antisocial by the day, it seems. I really fucking hate people anymore, and I don't feel like I have the emotional bandwidth to deal with anyone else's bullshit at this phase in my life. It's showing in some of the decisions I've been making about my social media presence lately.

To name just one example, I just got done fiddling with my settings here to reflect my increasingly shitty attitude toward humanity in general and discarded people from my past in particular. Although I still am allowing this blog to be listed in Blogger's databases, I've decided I no longer wish to allow the search engines to index it. I've also locked down the Facebook settings on my link section -- the only place online I even list this blog -- so only non-family acquaintances and friends can even access it in the first place. 

It just occurs to me that the only people out there actively Googling for blogs I might be writing these days are people that already know damn well I want nothing to do with them. I still don't care to go back to keeping a completely locked blog like I used to on LiveJournal, as I like having something personal that Facebook friends can check out if they're interested in getting to know me better. I still don't ultimately care if any of the sad-ass stalkers I have actually find or read any of my writings here, but I figure there's no need to make it easy on them. 

On Transformations, Pride, and Self-Love

It looks like Blogger finally got around to purging the old, extraneous blogs I deleted a few months ago. I certainly wasn't planning on reviving them or anything, but it still feels a little bittersweet to actually see that they're really and truly gone. With them go the fractured little pieces of me that they contained back when I was still not really sure who I was or what I wanted to be going forward.

To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure, but I do know I no longer have the time or energy to try to be all things to all people. I like that there is really only one of me these days. I'm still the reader, and the writer, and the lover, and the passionate home cook, and the closet spiritualist. I'm just all of those things at the same time now. It feels like a right proper place to be. Grounded, stable, and lots of other words I never would have used to describe myself a few years ago.

My phone's image gallery is full of selfies these days. I don't even share most of them with anyone else, but I consider it a very good sign that I've felt moved to take them at all. Historically speaking, I photograph things I'm proud of or pleased by. If I'm taking pictures of myself, that must mean I've reached a place where I feel proud of how I look again. I'm certainly proud of how well I've been taking care myself so far this year. My fit body and my beauty were things I never fully appreciated the last time I actually had them, so it's nice to feel the way I imagine other people would feel about those things. I love the ways I've been changing and I get excited every time I realize that things will only get better from here.

Of Eclipses, Loss, and Transformation

This month has been a tad rough, spiritually speaking. We've got this massive blood moon lunar eclipse coming up in a couple of days here on the 27th and it's had me feeling some kind of way. I've definitely been having one of those months where staying upbeat and excited about life in general seems a bit harder than usual. The same sticking points and problems I always have in my life have seemed more daunting somehow and the things that normally make it better have been less effective for no real reason. Typical me when something odd is going on with the moon.

It hardly helps that a friend of mine died in a truly horrific way last Thursday night. Her name was Angela Coleman and she lived in Indianapolis. She and pretty much her entire family were involved in the Branson, Missouri duck boat accident that's been in the news lately and the great majority of them died -- 9 out of the 11 Colemans that were on the boat.

Angela was an online friend of mine, so I only knew her but so well, but we talked relatively often. I converse with so few people these days, so I think it's fair to say she was one of my closer social media friends. We shared a lot of interests, particularly food and cooking. She signed up for ButcherBox because of how excited I'd always get about receiving and cooking with the things they sent. We traded recipe ideas often and even her son, Donovan, was getting into cooking. She was also a total "take no shit" type of person just like I am, so we bonded over general life stuff a lot too. She was most certainly someone I was always excited to hear from and talk to. She'd even gotten to know Seth over the years, so he knew her as well.

On Figurative Spring Cleaning

I don't know where the time goes, but it's definitely that time of year again. Lent is over with. Easter has come and gone. The weather is warming up and Seth has officially had to add tending the lawn to his rotating to-do list again because it's green and actively growing. I'm busy managing my business as my clients begin to make their usual post-tax season plans for their content needs. Collectively, we're starting to think about the warmer months and the different possibilities they bring with them.

As far as how I'm doing personally, I'm happy to report that I'm still doing an A+ job of keeping up with the workouts I promised myself I'd stay serious about way back in January. When I first started, I don't know that I expected to see much of a difference in how I looked or felt after only three months, but I've been pleasantly surprised. I've lost a few pounds for sure. I'm also feeling stronger, healthier, and just better all around. A lot of the issues I simply blamed on getting older before have even noticeably improved (i.e. less energy, lower moods, and lower sex drive) much to my great relief. I feel a lot less "old" as a result.

I've been feeling a lot more motivated in regards to other things as well. Just knowing I'm being proactive about my health and watching my physical state start to move in the right direction as a result has helped me with my depression and made me feel more optimistic about certain things. Knowing that I'll only continue to get slimmer, and healthier, and more comfortable in my own skin has found me getting excited about maybe actually "doing things" again in the near future -- going places, working on personal projects, and -- most importantly -- actually recording my life again. My thoughts, my experiences, and my adventures.

On January and Self-Improvement

So this year I decided to give some of that "New Year, new me" thinking the old college try (instead of just making fun of other people for doing it). Surprisingly, it's actually working out so far. Sometime around Halloween, Seth and I decided we were getting really tired of being so out of shape, so we bought some exercise equipment. Nothing super fancy -- just a stationary bike, a Gazelle Edge, and a set of resistance bands to start with -- things we could realistically picture ourselves using on a regular basis. Then after New Year's, I started working out. Not just "whenever" either. I actually came up with a consistent schedule that I've been sticking to. 

Monday through Friday I've been doing 30 minutes of cardio right when I get up before work or anything else has a chance to demand my ongoing attention. In addition to that, I've been doing some very basic strength training on Tuesdays and Thursdays after my cardio. Although my eating habits have honestly been pretty decent lately, I've been more mindful in that arena as well. Just the usual things -- watching my portions, cutting back on empty calories, and eating as much fresh produce as possible. Most mornings, I've also been taking the time to eat at least a small breakfast -- usually just toast and fruit with coffee, but sometimes an egg or some deli meat and cheese on an English muffin if I'm hungrier. 

The idea wasn't to drop a million pounds as quickly as possible the way it normally is when I think about fitness, but to actually come up with something sustainable I could see sticking with permanently. I don't want to do what I've watched my mother do the entire time I've been alive -- let her health and quality of life slide downhill until she eventually reached a point where she probably couldn't do much about it even if she wanted to. When I'm her age, I want to be healthy, happy, comfortable in my own skin, and living my best life. I guess I realized that if that's going to happen, I need to get the ball rolling toward some positive change and it seems to be working so far.

On 23andMe the Strangeness of Genes

As I mentioned in a previous post, I did finally get around to doing that whole 23andMe DNA test thingamajig this summer after probably a good year of hemming and hawing about it. It's been a few weeks since I first got my results, but I've been truly fascinated by some of the things I found out, especially in regards to the ancestry side of things. 

Suffice it to say that my mixed race heritage has always defined quite a bit about my physical and biological identity whether I wanted it to or not. When I was a kid, I was a shy wallflower type that just wanted to fit in, so I used to hate being mixed because of the constant questions I always got about my ethnicity and heritage. As an adult though, I've come to realize that being different or unique isn't so bad, so I've learned to embrace it for what it is. I've even become quite curious about the bare-bones, honest details of who and what I am from a cultural heritage standpoint.

Lots of people grew up in households where cultural identity and heritage were really, seriously important things. That wasn't the case with my immediate family when I was growing up at all. I knew my dad was black and that my mom was probably mostly of Irish heritage, but that's about it. Neither of my parents seemed to consider those aspects of who they were to be terribly important. My brother and I were certainly never encouraged to really identify with anything about where we came from ethnically speaking, especially in regards to our black side. 

On Self-Knowledge and Contradictory Traits

So I took that self-knowledge questionnaire a lot of my friends have been doing lately. The results were interesting and relatively insightful. 

........

RATIONALITY

You like clarity and intelligent simplicity and you get frustrated at messy thinking. This can make you seem unreasonably pushy to some, but it is actually a virtue: you are motivated by a horror at pointless effort and a longing for precision and insight into how things and people work. Your ability to synthesise and bring order is essential in producing thinking which is truly helpful.

INDEPENDENCE

You don’t set out to be different for its own sake; you are more easily guided by what interests and moves you. You are more concerned about what is right for you than about the pressure to fit in. In sex you are more aware than others of impulses which are not entirely conventional. You know the value of selective irresponsibility, of forgetting occasionally about being ‘good’.

PLAYFULNESS

You are good at seeing what’s funny, at relaxing and finding the pleasure of the moment. Play is random, whimsical, fantasy-driven behaviour which releases internal tension. Because it is detached from some pressures it allows you to act on weirder, perhaps neglected, parts of yourself. The downside is that it is no help in sticking with things that are not much fun but which need to be addressed. So it is well complemented by its opposite, Stoicism.

........

I find it interesting that two of my most dominant traits almost contradict one another. Almost. I've always been this odd mix of rational/logic-oriented and playful/imaginative. People that don't know me well almost always know of one of those sides to my personality or the other, but not necessarily both. It's almost always the rational side, as people will notice I'm smart or detail-oriented long before they ever see the side of me that far prefers playing, joking, and laughing to working and being serious about things. I love facts, learning, and reasoning but am completely uninterested in really applying those interests in a practical way that isn't also "fun".

The only time you see both traits at the same time is in my creative work. I remember teachers I had when I was a kid commenting on how unusual a combination it was. For instance, other kids I knew would write stories about the Care Bears that followed the actual imaginary characters through imaginary events taking place in their actual imaginary world. I'd write a story where I imagined my actual stuffed Care Bear toys being sentient and going through the experience of being laundered in the washing machine, spin cycle and all. I'd make what appeared to be elaborate fantasy paintings that had to have come straight out of my child's imagination without any rhyme or reason to them, but if asked, I'd be able to explain how each little inclusion was actually symbolic of some abstract concept. 

On a somewhat related note, I personally wish we lived in a world where society makes room for playfulness and rationality in equal measure. Too often, people want to separate an artist's creativity from the random nature that makes that creativity possible in the first place... or they want to separate a thinker's genius from the eccentricity that inspires them to think outside the box. It just doesn't work like that. It'a package deal. You want one, you have to take everything that comes along with it.