Belief is Scary

So something I've kind of fibbed about is my comfort in my beliefs. I guess it's more of a fib of omission. You see, I'd been worried for a long time that despite my honesty with myself and what it is that I fundamentally believe in (the "what" at least; I'm still working on the "why"), there has been a terrifying thought in the back of my head that this is all a form of escapism. I worry that I have retreated from God and Society under a false pretense of enlightenment or a phoney spiritual pride that makes it OK to ignore the responsibilities of adulthood.

It's occurred to me that these fears are not unfounded. I believe that I am quite guilty of escapism in a few ways, but maybe not the ones I expected.

It hit me when I spotted something I disagreed with from one of my favourite philosophers, and was very distraught. Trying to justify it or figure out what it was he meant, because I must have been misunderstanding him. I was scared that I hadn't found the answer after all, after having come so far. I had also begun to worry about money yet again. After all that mental conditioning I've put myself through, after telling myself that it's all going to be OK, I still freak out and have panic attacks. All that work for nothing, it would seem.

Of course, the very same philosopher (once again, Alan MF-ing Watts makes another appearance in my ramblings) said, "To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float."

Herein lies the answer to those that accuse the "take the path of least resistance" approach as escapism. The mistake that is usually made is the misinterpretation that it means to give up, or be lazy. It is, in fact, escapism to not take that approach because to open yourself up to possibilities, to the harshness of life, and to the fact that no matter how much you learn, to matter how much you deliberate and contemplate, there is always the possibility that you are mistaken; it requires a commendable about of courage. What a terrifying beast doubt can be, and yet it's so fundamentally important to the search for truth. It is when doubt instead becomes this kind of faith that peace can be found, I think. Of course, that's something I still violently struggle with and it's a source of great frustration for me. It's hard to hold on to faith. Everybody knows that.

I had nearly forgotten that this faith is what pulled me out of that self-destructive mindset in the first place. How hilarious is it that it's the same thing that is now a new source of anxiety? The excitement of thinking about things from a new angle has worn off, meditation has become a routine (which I guess it's supposed to be) rather than a new and exciting exercise, and my beliefs are becoming just that: beliefs. Faith brings liberation, but beliefs become ingrained into your very being and eventually confusion when confronted by that faith you had at the beginning.

So, doubt became faith, which became belief, which became doubt again, and now I guess after this self-revelation I'm at the faith stage again. So how does one stop this strangling cycle and stay at the faith part? I wish I could be like the axle of a wheel; fixed in place and part of a whole, but unstuck to the machinations around it.

Then There's THIS Guy

I didn't really get to know my Dad's Dad (something I sincerely regret to this day) nor did I ever get the chance to meet his Mother. My fondest memory of my Grandad was perhaps the only chance I got to really see what part he played in turning Dad into who he is today (I don't claim to know what did it for sure, I wasn't around then but I'm hazarding a few guesses here); it was when he came to visit us on Kelly Island, shortly after we had moved to Southern Ontario. He sat down at our little electric organ and played Barnacle Bill the Sailor, singing in a deep bass voice. Suddenly this serious, ex-military, and as far as I was concerned phenomenally old man was a weird, bouncy thing. There was a spring in his rhythm and a spark in his eyes, and I remember thinking, "This is where my father came from."

My Dad is a poet, although I had no idea until I was a teenager.

My Dad is an artist, although I had no idea how much of it he had put aside for his family.

My Dad is a man of nature, although I had a difficult time understanding what that meant.

My Dad is inquisitive, and by God I'm glad he passed that on to his children.

You see, we all used to poke fun at him for reading every plaque he crossed, or sometimes we would be on vacation and he'd be struck by a certain type of tree and he would ask the locals what it was called. This sometimes embarrassed us, but it was usually just an "Oh, Daaaaad," moment. Now that I'm grown (more or less), I find myself walking through the Mount Pleasant park/graveyard, struck dumb by the Red Japanese Maple trees there, and being driven to find other interesting things and find out what they are. It suddenly dawned on me that were it not for my father, I might not be experiencing the joy of nature and discovery. My Dad taught me many things, but the biggest, most important thing was how to look (and I'm not just talking about nature anymore). How to really see things. How to let myself be mystified.

After having studied Zen for a while, I've been getting obsessed with trying to spot people's true selves (counter-productive if you know anything about Zen, but shut up, it's interesting), and whenever I see my Father laugh it is, without a doubt, Who He Really Is. It's one, loud guffaw. A "HAH!" followed by several, much quieter guffaws. Whenever he laughs I have to restrain myself from saying "There you are!" When I come home to visit, no matter what troubles he is having, his face will always light up. I believe he sees something in his family that few others can see.This photo is a picture of eyes that, whether they know it or not, see God in everything.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thank you.

I'm Not a Doctor, But...

I'm here today to talk about something I know nothing about so that I can draw a parallel to the rest of life and come to my own conclusions. So, this entry is really just like any other. Except I'll be talking about ADD/ADHD. No, no, put down your medical journals and baseball bats, I'll try not to make any sweeping generalizations. At least, none that I don't think aren't true.

There's kind of a split of opinions on the topic. Some people think it's a serious condition that needs special care and attention and some others think it's imaginary or a way to excuse medication that makes your kids shut the hell up and sit down. Most of the people of the former opinion are doctors and scientists so I, for one, am inclined to agree with them for the most part. However, there is one other school of thought on the subject: it's both. I came across that article while trying to look up studies and symptoms of ADHD for an online conversation I was having on the subject. It struck a chord with me because it kind of touched on a few undeveloped, abstract thoughts I've had on mental "disorders." Let me make it clear that I'm not talking about severe mental illnesses or psychosis here. I'm talking mainly about ADD/ADHD, and to a lesser extent, things like dysthymia, Aspergers, and high-function autism.

First off, I've never been diagnosed with ADD or ADHD but it has been suggested by a professional that I get checked out for adult ADHD. (I never bothered, I kept forgetting. What's that tell you?) I have, however, met several people with it and with similar problems. Conditions that don't stop them from living, communicating and interacting with other people like any normal person, but every once in a while you see a little bit of the anguish they're in bubble up when they're trying to concentrate, or when they have a seeming inability to empathize with people, or even doing something simple, like packing a box of stuff when they are moving to another apartment. There are some things they just can't do. That's fine, right? Nobody can do everything. Well, what if these are things necessary to living properly in modern life? Well, I'm beginning to think that a huge reason, if not the only reason, that these people are in so much pain is because we haven't made any room for them.

There's one thing I've noticed about people with ADHD: they're often way more interesting than other people. Sorry if I seem to be trivialising it, but it's almost more of a charming personality quirk than a damaging mental illness to me. Dampening the penchant for energy and jumping from subject to subject is almost tragic to me. Of course, there are extreme cases where the person can't function. I obviously understand the necessity of curbing and strengthening the attention span; but what about a bit of change in our world as well? Wouldn't it make more sense to meet half-way and figure out what it is these kids are good at, rather than label their personalities as handicaps and fill them with ritalin (which has fantastic uses, I know) and call it a day? I can say with both anecdotal and scientific-ish evidence that kids with ADHD are good at and enjoy sports and games and that they can even help treat the condition, even if they suffer academically.

Unfortunately, in most schools you have to do well academically to stay on the sports team or in the chess club. You fail history, you're off the football team. Well, what if football is your life's dream and you think history is bullshit? You shouldn't be required to give a damn about every single subject just so you can do what you love. In the first article I mentioned, in a hunter-gatherer society, ADHD would be an actual advantage, which is why it would have been preserved in evolution. Yet, now that things have changed, it's a burden on your shoulders and there's no place for you unless you play by our rules.

What I'm ultimately trying to say is, in the words of Bruce Banner when he had to deliberately turn into the Hulk to save the day, "We can't control it, but maybe we can sort of aim it."

Stop calling it a problem and start working with it. Even the greats had their issues to tangle with, but it's what made them great. I knew one artist who had ADD and instead of taking medication, he used his art as therapy and eventually became an incredible cartoonist and one of my biggest influences. Because of his short attention span, he'd draw fast, flowing but twisted and anarchic sketches. In fact, he inspired me to deal with my own lack of an attention span in a similar way. You see? We can even learn how to deal with our own, non-diagnosed problems in the same way.

I acknowledge that sometimes medication is necessary or at least preferable, but the ruling thought behind it is not always admirable. I'd love for people to stop trying to help these people fit into a world where there's no room for them by changing or fixing their problems. Rather, it would bring me great joy to see people turn their "problems" into something that changes and fixes the world.

That's what life's all about, after all; taking what you've been given and carving something out for yourself.