A man

There are moments in my life when I feel like a man. They seem exclusive to the minutes after a shower where I get dressed up-- a crisp pair of blue jeans, a cream flannel, and a spritz of fragrance. Nothing gets by me and I'm already on to the fact that a modest amount of cologne and a wrist-watch is what makes the man.

I shouldn't be surprised then if I feel over dressed for bed. Well, I think to myself, maybe a man is supposed to sleep as if his future wife may knock on his bedroom door anytime past midnight. More perturbing things have occurred before.

After a shower is when the mirror is kindest t0 me. It's like one of those friends who round up their calculations when you ask them how you look. Bless them. My mirror never stops to think that it might be hurting me more than helping me when it reflects on a curve and I go out into public thinking I'm 20% more handsome than I actually am.

I'm spoiling myself, I know I am. I know this life doesn't belong to me. The cooking, the reading, the thinking quietly to myself about my own good and bad habits. I'm just borrowing them for the moment, a sort of meantime while I await the upcoming semester. If I am going to use my time wisely, it would be devoted to figuring out how to be this cute between the first day of classes and the last exam. Like a physician trying to save the life of a patient he's fallen in love with, I just mutter that "there must be a way" under my breath desperately.

Furthermore, there is more that I need to figure out. It's been too long since I reevaluated my long term goals. That may be more on purpose than I let on, as all of my long term goals have been neglected in the past 5 months save the law school thing. Good for me... the law school thing. I ought to finish up Japanese once and for all and move onto another language. Easier said than done, of course.

In the end I still can't but feel that I'm missing the point. Like my priorities aren't aligned with what they ought to be, like I'm not on my path. I suppose it's difficult to feel like a man when you're living off of loans. I'm sure there is much confidence to come by way of an income and a healthy savings account. But I'm sure once I have that I'll find there is yet something else. Waiting for clarity doesn't seem to help, so I surmise that it is up to me to find the answer. But what could it be?

A Decisive Battle Won

I wonder how much longer until my roommate finds out I’ve been stealing sugar from him. I ran out weeks ago and haven’t brought myself to buy some more. This whole situation isn’t good for me, the sugar is white.

I’ve finally grown accustomed to my new life. I know where all the dishes are in my cupboards, I know which trains to take where, and I know that if I don’t pick up my laundry from the basement by ten, I will not get it that night. It feels good to feel oriented to my environment again.

Now that I have settled down, there is time to the survey the damage I’ve done to my life in my panic. I haven’t been eating properly, I relapsed and picked up my smoking habit again, I haven’t been working out consistently, I haven’t been sleeping enough, I spent most of my time either thinking longingly about my past or anxiously about my future, and I’ve been complaining the whole time with a victim’s mentality. Nice.

So we know what the problem is…

I can’t say that I watched idly as this all happened. I didn’t watch. My mind was elsewhere, certainly not on my own self improvement and mental, physical, and spiritual health. Of course everything that happens to us is the best possible thing that has ever happened to us if we believe it. So it’s up to me to turn this seemingly unsavory situation into my own personal victory. All of those terrible symptoms share the same catalyst. That catalyst is success.

Success, success, success.

That perfectionist and competitive thing I have going on is driving me into the ground here. I am sacrificing everything to do well. The sick thing about it is, I make very little progress because I spend all my time nervous, and worried, and fearing failure. It’s the same old story. Well I’m finally able to let go of that now.

I can sense that I’m getting stronger even if on the surface it seem like I’m regressing. I’ve started to feel more comfortable with the thought of not being the best in school and work. The very thought a while back would have sickened me. Back then I could not tell the difference between not trying to be the best and giving up. I figured if I didn’t do everything in my power to do well then I wouldn’t do well. If I wasn’t thinking about the goal day and night I would not fulfill it. That’s a child’s mentality.

I’m going to let go of trying to force the outcome that I want and start living in the present, doing my best in faith that I will be rewarded for my effort. It may not be in the way I expect but in one form or another, and it will be the best the outcome for me. Oh I feel so emancipated just thinking about it.

With my mind free and clear of anxiety and perpetual thoughts of me face down in a gutter because I didn’t study an additional hour I can go back to taking care of myself. And as I have already mentioned, there is quite a bit to care for.

I’ll start doing this today and get back on track to becoming a great person.

Magic

I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to lean in close to someone and whisper into their ear, “Do you believe in magic?” The opportunity has never come.

Sometimes I have to fight off the thought that everything will be alright if I turn my focus to the more important things in life like courage and love. Whenever those kinds of thoughts infiltrate to the front of my mind, I do whatever it takes to ward them off. I try to distract myself with other things, take a cold shower, whatever it takes.

What nonsense.

But still, the thought always come back. Sometimes I do feel like my steps are directed, like everything is coming together. Which is weird seeing on how at the same time I always feel like something bad is going to happen to me if I don’t stay vigilantly watchful. The two states of mind are at direct competition with each other.

I think it’s a part of growing up. One day you wake up and you’re like, “You know what? Screw it, I’m going to have a good day today. I’m going to take whatever I have and make the best of it and just freakin’ have a good freakin’ day”

I get the fuzzies just thinking about it. I’m so tired of being all tense and thinking, oh what’s going to happen? What if this? What if that? No—how about I go work out instead. How about I read a book. Watch a movie. Anything.

But what if the worst happens?

Hmm I don’t know. That’s where the magic comes in, I guess. Maybe the worst will never happen. Maybe by letting go, you get it all. Here let me lay it all out so it makes sense.

What does a life sound like with no pressure? You simply do your best and you accept the result. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. But that’s not the focus. The real focus is on you. You learn more about yourself and even others. You try to improve yourself, you set goals and you innocently work towards them. No pressure.

My challenge for the upcoming year is to chill out, but to still work hard. At the rate that your hero is going his mind will melt into gelatin. This is a big deal. One year ago I would never even have entertained such a thought, but I think I’m finally ready to just relax.

Law School Exams and I

I think that when it comes to personal blogs, blogs such as mine, there is a stream of evolution. I think when one starts out there is a confession to any possible reader, that you don’t mean for your blog to be read by others, and if it so happens that another reads it, they are welcome to, but that isn’t your intention in writing it. This of course is said, tongue in cheek, because you do want others to read it and talk to you about it and comment on it. That’s why a writer would go through the trouble of editing and inserting well thought out witticisms and banter.

At a certain point, however, I think the curve inverts and the topics become less entertaining and more serious, less meant for entertainment and more meant for introspection. At that point, the writer becomes a little more weary of others reading his or her writing. Life is ironic, and thus this is exactly the point where others actually become interested in reading the entries.

Surely I have reached the point where I find that I turn to my blog more to wonder out loud, and the entries become less structured and more a stream of thought, documented, so that I may look back later on.

I have never been so unsure of things in my entire life. Nothing seems to make sense and I find that I am just waiting to be given my worth and placed in my slot in life. These days I feel as if one wrong move will be a regret for all of eternity. With exams and job applications and interviews coming up, it feels like it is finally time for the powers that be to decide my worth. I am helpless to affect the outcome besides following the golden advice to “do well”

Of course advice to “do well” is at heart of the problem. Because the only way anyone will interpret that is “do well on your exams”, of course by now we can all have a good laugh at that, though we took the advice seriously when we first heard it coming in. As if we had any control on how we do! Where “do well” once meant, “memorize that history” or “know the formulas” or “know what we taught you”. Here it means absolutely nothing. The words “do well” do nothing more than raise an already heightened anxiety level, and leads the student to believe that they ought to get even less sleep, feel even more guilty that they can’t seem to memorize every rule and apply it to every fact pattern off the top of their head, and constantly panic as they were not able to think of the answer to the professor's question as quickly as the person who was on call did. Thanks for the advice. I’ll be sure to “do well” on the exam.

Somehow everything is connected: grades with jobs, jobs with success, and success with happiness. All humans’ one goal is to be happy. So our grades are somehow connected to our life’s mission. When exam time roles around we will all sit in front of our computers and draft a case for why we deserve contentment. Until then, we desperately try to understand how to write that essay. Meanwhile, there is no such thing as confidence. That privilege is saved for those who are to take exams with objective answer and formulas. There can be no such confidence when the topic has no answers and every answer at the same time.

I don’t do poorly because I have learned that exceptional performance is a function of time spent preparing. That’s what got me to law school in the first place. Curiously, that formula has no meaning here either. Good old fashioned hard work will not necessarily pay off and best efforts today can equate to no effort on a piece of paper months later. Life truly is not “fair” in that sense. Those who get “it”, get it, whether with monumental effort or little effort at all, and those who don’t, well, they don’t, notwithstanding sacrificing their health and personal life in pursuit of understanding.

To be sure, no one who gets it knew that they would, and those who didn’t get it feared that they wouldn’t the whole time—again, despite the same amount of effort, or even more than those who did get “it”. Do you see the problem?

Well this is the new problem set that life has presented me with. The scope of the problem is viral to most accurately put it. In other words, the problem is a problem in itself, but it is also a problem that spreads to every other area of one’s life. One’s perception in his own capabilities, one’s perception of how others see him, one’s perception of life’s fairness, ones perception of his future, these are all affected.

I think I’m awesome. There, I said it. But lately I question that. Am I really as intelligent as I thought I was? Am I really as analytical? Creative? Or is it that what I thought was intelligent was nothing special? It’s true that I worked hard in undergrad and did well. But does that mean I’m smart at all? Or does that mean I’m just a good test taker, or that my professors didn’t grade me rigorously. If I were to not get good grades, what does that mean? Am I failure? Am I stupid? Or, am I just the least intelligent among actual intelligent people? Does it mean I didn’t work hard enough? Does it mean I’m not cut out for a career in law?

What would my friends think? What would my family think? Would they think that I didn’t work hard enough, that I wasn’t serious about doing well. Or would they think I tried my best, but alas, I’m not as smart as the caliber of students at these sorts of institutions. Would they think less of me? I’ve always prided myself on how well I do in school, and then to be congratulated and ushered off to the Ivy League only to come back the bottom of my class, does that mean I failed? Will I be a failure?

Furthermore, what does it mean for my future? What will my employers think when they see my record? Will they think that I’m unintelligent? If I’m not capable of doing well here, am I capable of doing well on the job? Will I find myself in a position where I’m working hard, I want to do well, and yet, like here, I’m still not exactly sure what I’m doing?

I’m not saying I will not do well. Like I said, there is no way of knowing. And my chances of doing well are my chances of not doing well at all, which are also my chances of falling in the middle. But I have not met one person in this school that isn’t working as hard as possible to do well, and we’re graded on a curve so, like musical chairs, someone will end up with out a seat at the table. Someone must be at the bottom. It will never be fair.

And so I come to this question. How do I react to this problem? I think the logical thing would be to do my best and leave it at that. Of course the term “best” can mean a range of things, but I’ll assume that it is what I deem a fair amount of work for someone who is trying to do well in their discipline, and is only responsible for learning at this time of their life.

Now in the case that my best gets me good grades, that is great. But what if I were to do my best and nevertheless fall short? I will be at a disadvantage at getting a job, I will feel inferior to all of my classmates, and I will feel like a failure in something I decided to do. Those are all realities that I will face.

I’ve given this a good deal of thought. And no matter how I look at it, the answer remains the same.

It doesn’t matter.

That’s it. Do well, it doesn’t matter. Do terrible, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, to not do well doesn’t just have to do with job prospects, but also on how you see yourself, and how you feel others will see you. In fact, the whole job thing is the least that someone is worried about when it comes to not doing well.

Between networking, personality, and being realistic, even someone who graduates at the bottom of their class has a more than substantial opportunity of getting a job they will be happy with. Seriously. The real sting lies within how personally we take our performance.

With absolutely no feedback in law school besides an exposing and awkward cold calling session, no one knows how well they are doing. To then, go four months with no idea how you are doing in classes, let alone, how you will do as a lawyer and then get back poor results on your exams is mortifying. It will always be a surprise, whether you do well or not. And if you don’t, then these letters are all you have to justify the past half year of your life and for a lot of people, the past 4 or 5 years as they worked hard to get here.

Well isn’t that an adorable position to be in life. One can never feel more alive. If you find out you didn’t do well, it is almost more than devastating. Screw jobs, and law review, and honor roll—no, you have to answer to something much more terrifying—yourself. You, yourself, has let yourself down. You blew it. Because you, more than anyone, will know that you put your all into doing well. You did everything you knew to do to do well, and you still couldn’t do it. And you have 2 and half more years of this left with crushing debt as a result. Besides creditors camped outside of the auditorium on graduation day, there are other problems. Like, what are you if you can’t even do well at something that you have been putting all of yourself into for four months?

And that’s precisely why these grades don't matter. Because it simply isn’t fair, "prima facie". There is nothing equitable or fair about them. And if ever someone built up the courage to question someone in charge as to why we're graded this way, they will be met with every response but a good one. Everyone deserves an A. Everyone deserves the honor roll, and everyone deserves a job offer. They, for whatever reason, have set up this arbitrary system to grade us. But those grades don’t mean anything. What matters is how hard we tried. What matters is that we know that at the end of the day we understood a good amount of what they attempted to teach us. What matters is that no matter what grade we received we didn’t give up and we continued to give it our best as if we got perfect marks.

It surely is a lesson many will be forced to learn if they want to see it through to the end. And since I'm a sucker for a "man's romance" I can't helped to be allured to thetheme myself. To continue to honestly try your best despite negative feedback and the odds building up against you, it's inspiring. Much easier to say of course. And one would much rather not be in that position. But if one is forced into that position, there is no use looking back.

It would be best for one to find something solid to anchor their confidence in now so that no matter what happens they can say, "I'm doing wonderful.", "It may not look like it here, but I know that I've been really learning". It isn't just saying it to feel better or to lie to oneself, but to remind oneself of the truth.

When it is all said and done, I would rather be a person with that attitude and character at the bottom of the class, than someone who stressed out, and clings to their grades at the top of the class.

I’ve already made the decision, that I don’t see these grades as any indicator of how well I have done here so far, and how well I will do in the future. And no matter what, I will end up right where I want to be. So allow me to just put my name on the exam “as a mere formality”.

Montage

Dear Future me,

I spend my days bouncing between apathy and enthusiasm. It would seem like my terrible 22’s have boiled over a year, as I’m often grumpy, moody, and demanding my own way in life. I try to order around my books and papers to work themselves out as I just want to be left to my own devices. When I leave them, expecting that when I return I would find the paper to have written itself and the notes to be neatly compiled on my desk, I’m grimly disappointed to find everything right where I left it with the deadline hours away.

I throw a tantrum.

Maybe I was born a diva. Even I’m startled by these passionate fits of frustration and disappointment. I thought I wanted to grow, I thought I wanted to become stronger, but when it comes time learn my mind violently rebels, proclaiming to anyone who would listen that it would rather be anywhere but here, doing anything but this. I’ve lost all control.

I try to be mentally healthy by telling myself that this is a sign that I’m close to the next stage of personal growth, that my inner child is making one last stand in the name of selfishness and hedonism, fighting with all its got. Then I’m strong.

Of course my cute little war is coming at a terrible time as I’m supposed to be Mr. Ultra-focused-on-his-goals-getting-A’s-and-taking-names. Instead I lie in bed in the morning searching with everything in me for one incentive to get up and start “studying”. The best I can usually come up with is the sooner I get out of bed, the sooner I can get back in when the day is over.

I don’t want to hear anything about “I thought you wanted to go to law school”, “It will all pay off”, “Just focus, that’s what you’re there for” No—it’s real. The hours and hours and hours of “learning”, of reading, of lecture—it’s numbing, it’s cold.

Where is a montage when you need one?

Let me make this perfectly clear to my future self. Here lies the most boring, monotonous, tedious time in your life thus far. No love, no inspiration, no stimulation, no wonder, no awe—nothing. Just reading, just deadlines.

I know, I know, you’re probably like, “that’s right let it all out.” Well, I’m not complaining, this is just how it is. And I say it unapologetically. I’m not in love with “law”, hanging off of every word my professors say, dreamily envisioning my closing arguments during my first case. No, I have no passion for “due process” or the constitution. I don’t want go to a public interest luncheon or a governmental policies seminar. All I want is a hug and time to myself.

Joy

It couldn’t be helped, I would have to warm up more sake. It’s a laborious process, it involves boiling water and slowly instilling heat into the porcelain container until just a hint of steam can be spied rising from the surface of the liquid. It can’t be microwaved, that sort of method will scare away the spirit of the alcohol, leaving it stale.

I returned to my room, anxious for a refill. That's when I first began to feel it.

Smooth indie music seeped into the room like an aroma from all 5 speakers—we were surrounded, but at a volume that could only be described as flirtatious. I tried my best to not be seduced, but the better part of me kept saying, “just let it happen.”

I had company, as rare as that is. She was the centerpiece, though I never knew my room to be missing something. Somehow it seemed as if there was never a rush, and there never would be again. I felt sane in believing that I had casually stepped outside of the continual flow of time. I stepped out of time and the only thing I brought with me was alcohol. Good alcohol, I had to use my card. I couldn’t allow myself to become too relaxed as it would interfere with the conversation. But she was beautiful and my eyes couldn't look away. Of course, I was going to lose this battle; all of my senses were engaged. I cooly accepted that fact. The fresh spring breeze, still chilled, liberally helped itself into my room. The stage was set. How is it that everything seemed so perfect?

I couldn’t waste anymore time. I would have to burn this moment into my memory. I had to remember what this felt like. When it was over, I would have to be able to find my way back. I’m so happy. I’m so happy, I’ve never felt like this. I didn’t know that I could feel like this.

When a person attains this level of contentment, something strange happens. All of nature is reversed. A once realistic, mildly pessimistic attitude becomes a sort of gracious optimism. Fatigue turns to a passionate energy. A bland pointless existence becomes so meaningful that tears begin to well up in the eyes, ready to fall like impatient children pushing each other down the slide at a park. And nothing is dramatic, no amount of praise or animated description can be construed as too much, at most merely adequate.

Clarity, most of all there is clarity. One can finally see how everything fits together to make a perfect life. A perfect life that seems so fantastical on an ordinary day. But nevertheless, right now, there it is, almost in arms reach. What were once ideals become a simple to-do list. Yes, one can see how they can have it all. There, that’s where belief in God goes, and here, here--true love. There, a family and friends. Oh, and success, there is still room for success, and there--health, and right here, hobbies and all the while personal growth intertwines between them all. Yet one can still see some cracks. They are to be filled with music and cooking and art and reading and culture and nature and laughter. I don’t know why, but at this moment it all feels possible. No, it doesn’t just feel possible—it feels like the only way. Why else would this moment feel so right if it weren’t attainable? Why else would it exist if it could not be enjoyed again?

I’m no longer so naïve as to say that I was falling in love. No, this was bigger than that. It was more than just her, it was the moment. It came all at once like an epiphany, as if it were programmed that on that day at that time, I would experience contentment in its purest form. Of course I still had responsibilities, and worries, and deadlines, but I couldn't remember or else they didn't matter. I couldn't feel anxious if I wanted to. Everything would be alright. Everything was taken care of. All that was required of me was to take it all in. And everything seemed crushing, powerful, like being alive.

I didn’t want to think anymore. My senses were overwhelmed; the music’s toxins had finally penetrated my ears, I could hear nothing, only sound. Sake entered my mouth, cold, but only because it didn’t know me yet, it warmed up to me once I swallowed and marched cheerfully into my stomach with purpose. I took a full breath, filled with perfume and cologne and cold air. It was all too much, and I became drunk with the feeling. At one time I could see all of her, now I was so close I could only see into her eyes. I closed mine, and fell forward.

I haven’t felt that way since.

Towards my final days in college I still had no idea what to expect from life, from the "rest of my life". What would I fill it with? I had some ideas, but they were less than ideals they were pure fantasy and they consisted of a conclusion-- me with it all. Upon entering "the real world" the state it's in is worse than I had feared. And now that I'm an adult I don't have the privilege of blindly believing in the wisdom and honesty of my elders. Now I am horrified to see that no one knows what they're doing. Everyone is always in a panic; there is always a crisis. And there is a certain order to things that, if one is not vigilant in resisting, will suck every last hope and dream out of him and leave him cynical and jaded with the only things on his mind being basic survival for most and money and reputation for the selected few. So this is what they call the real world.

All of the depression, disappointment, and monotony of life slowly eat away at my spirit. The news, the celebrity gossip, politics, and the trivial things that are made into a huge deal—they desensitize me. I don’t feel like I have any part in any of it. It’s more that I don’t care. Day in and day out spending precious moments of life just working, working at something that has nothing to do with you as a person, to the extent that you wonder if there is no purpose. Is it just work, survive as long as you can, and die? All the while, mocked by sayings that go “enjoy the little things” and “find beauty in life.”-- sayings that don’t take into account that there is little time for such pleasantries.

Every so often I feel like giving up. Letting the world take my mind and personality and becoming part of “society”, allowing myself to come second to the demands of the external world and being grateful for the fleeting moments where I feel like my needs are ushered to the front because I have been momentarily overlooked by everything that has a demand of me: Quickly! take a nap, read a book, look at a sunset, now back to your clients. To get a job and have some money, it seems like that's as good as it gets.

But what about that night? I know it was real. That moment in which time stopped and I was allowed to feel like I was being taken care of, that period of time in which I felt I could finally lay down my concerns, rest, and just be a human-- no demands, no responsibilities, no worries, just alive.

Before that night, up until that point, I always had a feeling of mild dissatisfaction. Never truly fulfilled, though I tried to be. And I had no reason not to be. But I was always longing for something more. Now I know that it was that feeling that I was longing for. Since then, I go through the days doing my best to simulate that feeling, laughing, joking, drinking, eating my favorite foods, watching my favorite shows-- anything that will make me feel glad to be alive, but none of it comes close. I'm still left longing for that distinct feeling again, a feeling that was more than happy, more than glad.

A feeling I've only experienced once.

My Drug Addiction Reprise: Again from the top, this time, with feeling.

I think that in life you really have to be thrifty. You have to learn to take what looks like useless things and make them work for you. You also have to really look hard for the bargains, for the lessons, for the hints, and for the help. Perception and understanding is what I currently spend my time thinking about. How can I solve this problem? Am I being completely realistic and honest with myself about the issue? Am I blocking out the real solution because of other motives? At my new age I’ve leveled up and gained some wonderful insight into life. The new wisdom that we’re blessed with from year to year could potentially hold the key to solving problems we thought impossible to solve before. Like the realization that there is certainly not one person out there for any individual but any number of matches and the success of any of those relationships doesn’t depend on how capable the other person is at making you happy, but rather the depth of you and your beloved’s commitment to each other’s spiritual growth. It turns out that the secret to a successful relationship is not inextinguishable feelings of being in love-- blessed by fate-- and being blown ever gentle kisses from the stars, who can only be jealous of “what you two have”—no, such things are best left in the hands of Walt Disney and Pixar. Though it lacks in “charm and magic”, a mature choice to pick someone to be with and the even more mature choice to actively love them day in and day out (action not feeling) is really love. And when you perceive someone doing this for you, I’m confident that the tears will be just as real as if you thought that “wishes really do come true.” When that rings true with you, it’s like—duuuh. And all of a sudden you are able to let go of all the jealousy, and self-doubt, and toxic relationships that you dealt with before you truly understood that little blessing in the form of sound logic.

These insights, these hints for a successful life come in many forms, from clichés to stuffed somewhere within our parents’ monologues and rants. We may hear them a hundred times and often times we flat out reject them—No, so-and-so is the one for me. It’s in the stars. I feel it. We can make it work if he/she would just try. No one understands, this is real. *tear* But when we are ready to learn, usually when we are pushed to the brink of insanity by our issues, we then understand something, so simple and so true, that it changes everything. We incorporate this new gift into our lives and voila—we grow.

Dying of lung cancer isn’t as glamorous as strapping young cowboys make it seem in black and white movies, blood isn’t as easily romanticized in living color—a vivid, pure red. Blood is something that if it were personified, it would be like the Boogieman or Candyman—if you can see him, you’re in trouble. Bloody Mary, indeed. From what I understand, dying of lung cancer is actually quite painful and difficult to observe, let alone experience. But for most smokers the threat of dying from cancer is as much a deterrent from smoking, as the threat of cleaning dirty diapers and putting aside money in a quaint college fund is a deterrent from unprotected sex between two uncommitted lovers with no condom after a night of drinking and verbal mutual admiration. Consequences— Yes, they can happen. And yes, they have happened before. But they certainly can’t happen to me.

Much like with religion, if you really want to become a believer you’ve got to do better than vague threats, you’ve got to go deeper. The strongest Christians, for example, are not so much the Christians that fear an eternity in hell the most, no, no, the strongest Christians are the Christians that fully understand what they are doing, why they are doing it, and can truly embrace their purpose for being Christians. Indeed, the real Christians are the ones who are consciously aware of what they are doing. They can feel it so much so that everyday life with its constant barrage of doubts and temptations can hardly manage to move them. To bring this back to me and smoking, after a long, tiring, guilt-ridden battle to quit I had almost given up trying for good. I didn’t understand why this was so hard. If I wanted to quit, in theory, all that was required of me was to not smoke. Simply not do it. No one was forcing me to so after making the decision not to, it should have ended there. But as I illustrated earlier, as long as Q has a say in the matter, it will never be simple.

At the same time I was having so much success in the other areas of my life, and I wondered what the difference was. It occurred to me that I was so passionate about the other areas of my life that I didn’t just have goals on a piece of paper—no, I had a whole story in mind. The reasons for being successful in those arenas spanned much larger than myself and I felt like I was not only succeeding for myself but for others, and I guess it’s my love for those other people that make what should be challenges in those areas crumble at my feet. I didn’t just have some arbitrary reasons for doing well, no, I could freaking feel the purpose, and failure just simply isn’t an option. For those reasons, when it comes to something like academics or friendship, Q— I can’t hear him.

We find hidden underneath some old refurbished lessons I learned a long time ago, the answer to one of my biggest problems. It quickly becomes apparent to me that there was truth to what Q was telling me, I really don’t have a reason to quit. The most I could muster was an ambiguous “it’s not good for me” When I really thought of all the reasons I should quit, almost effortlessly reasons came racing to the top of my head. I recalled with huge remorse all of the people that I had smoked with, some who themselves were trying to quit, and by me smoking with them I was part of their problem. Their Q could use me, well Mark Morrison smokes and he’s doing well for himself. My stomach sank at the thought of finding out someone I defended smoking to, in order protect my ego, got sick because I spread propaganda that it “isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be”. And in my experience, to smoke in the presence of most people who aren’t already fervent in their disapproval of it, and to at the same time warn them not to, is almost like daring them to. It’s effectively saying, “I can handle this, it’s not the sort of business someone like you would want to get mixed up in.” Now you’ve inadvertently aggrivted their curiosity. I felt all the more alarmed at the thought of just how many people I have influenced to smoke, even if I was just a small push among many. If I continued, how many more people could possibly contract this habit from me?

I also thought about all the things I want to accomplish in my future, and suddenly cancer became very relevant. I thought of how regretful I would be if I had gotten so far and it was all cut short by a problem I never took care of. I thought about the huge risk it would be to my children if they found out I smoked, it would give them a free pass to. And even if I tried to hide it from them, I would be so ashamed of myself. How could I ever talk to them about being healthy, making good decisions, and confronting their problems?

Even now, how could I give my friends advice about overcoming challenges, and being strong, when they know that I have been harboring a problem for so long? Even if they wanted to believe me they would always doubt that I knew what I was talking about. I can’t let that happen. I don’t want to inhibit their growth either.

If my addiction were some sort of beast, then the reasons to quit were like chains. I needed to make sure it could never move, it could never attack me. In essence I needed to restrain my addiction and all of the feelings it exposed me to with feelings, ideas, and emotions far stronger than it. Take someone who really appreciates their parents for example, at a certain level of maturity, the reason one is able to overcome a good amount of the questionable things their parents forbade them from doing is not out of fear of their parents, but rather respect for their parents. Their love for their parents is sufficient to overcome moments of extreme weakness. And the reason they are able to do so well at something or another is to make a parent proud, whereas at one time they would have had no motivation at all in regards to that same level of achievement.

And finally, where did my own resolve go? I’m bigger than this. I’m going to have to be ready to face a lot tougher challenges in life than to quit a dirty habit. It’s time I calmed down, and really make this decision. Yes, even in my moments of weakness and amidst Q’s PowerPoint presentations, these ideas and these potential regrets, they are strong enough to elicit such a powerful feeling of purpose, of duty that smoking simply won’t be an option. I’m really sorry for all of the friends I have been a bad influence over…

…let me show you something.

My Drug Addiction

I’m damaged goods. And I’m the kind of guy who gets off to being honest about himself. I find it empowering, like I imagine a woman must find keeping her maiden name after marriage to be. Yes, I could keep quiet and pretend that I’m perfect but in the face of the obvious truth, it’s much more humiliating than admitting that in some areas of my life, I’m not doing too well.

I started smoking tobacco when it was still cool. But I guess it got away from me. Now I’m at an age where it isn’t so cool and though I acknowledge it, it is still terribly difficult to stop. I think this is what they call addiction. Whenever I think of admitting addiction to something, I think of being 5 years old again, and doing something that incites the universal and dreaded “ooooooooooo” from a chorus of my peers as they simultaneously wag their hands in the air, eyes wandering around the playground in search of teacher—someone has broken the rules. That’s usually everyone’s first taste of societal conviction. Break a vase—“oooooooooooo”, skip in line “oooooooooo” , make someone cry—“oooooooooo”, drugs-- “ooooooooo”. These days whenever I have a smoke I can hear the “ooooooooooo” of doctors, athletes, and positive role models, as they wag their hands and frantically search for the teacher-- I’m in trouble.

Tattle-tales-- I really don’t care…

The first time I attempted to quit was casual, not unlike an everyday decision, I didn’t expect much resistance. At my inability to follow through, I felt somewhat frustrated with myself and blamed it on a lack of focus and decided I’d try harder. A few attempts after that, obviously flustered, I tried even “harder” to no success. And finally, in a panic I made rushed, careless ultimatums with myself “if I can’t quit, then I’m weak and I don’t deserve to achieve anything.” It didn’t work.

I denied having a problem for a long time. I remember explaining to anyone who would listen how stressed I was, how I only smoked at Starbucks or on a Wednesday nights or when I go out for drinks, and how I would quit after college [at the mention of law school by the listener, I always seemed to have a sudden and acute build-up of ear wax that temporarily inhibited my hearing. It conveniently subsided at the ringing in of a new subject]. It wasn’t until after my secret dry runs at quitting that I knew something was wrong. It was horrible. I used to blissfully enjoy a cigarette or cigar, relishing every drag, taking the time as an opportunity to sort through and organize my thoughts for the day—the honeymoon was over. I knew too much and I couldn’t be comforted by the smoker’s mantra, I can quit whenever I feel like it—I felt like it! Intellectually I was ready to stop, but I couldn’t.

And here we are at new material, students. A good deal of stress stems from new experiences and first encounters in life. To my knowledge I have never been addicted to anything prior to smoking, not food, not sweets, not TV, not alcohol, nothing. In fact I never gave too much thought to addiction because I considered myself too strong for such nonsense, and envisioned addiction a problem for people of substantially weaker spirit than my own.

They got my ass.

I’m sure it works a bit differently for everybody, but it is both my own character strengths and weakness that make it hard to quit. My strength of logic and reason coupled with my weakness to feel sorry for myself, and rationalize bad decisions. Here is an illustration. After making the firm decision that I have to quit (which actually took a couple of weeks of false declarations) I would go several days without smoking. But it is never too long before my resolve is tested, perhaps I’m hanging out with a friend who is smoking, out having a few drinks, in a setting or thoughtful state of mind which triggers an intense craving—an urge, a desire. It’s the worst. The feeling is very much like when one is starving and must have something to eat, coupled with the persistent conviction that this would be the perfect time to eat. Now imagine that though this person is perfectly capable of quenching that desire and enjoying a meal, they are using their will power alone to stop themselves. Their will power, usually based on nothing more than the words “I mustn’t”, is all they can do to keep themselves from buying something to eat which they could easily do at any moment, without anyone stopping them. Now imagine that person being in a setting in which a good deal of other people are enjoying meals right in front of him. He’s starv—oh no, he let his guard down and imagined how good the food would be going down. His body’s hunger becomes violent. Before he can stop himself, he remembers the unparallel satisfaction of a meal past, the one he enjoyed with some friends on a road trip up north (The meals always seem all the more satisfying when its cold). As he races around, frustrated with himself in his head, the worst possible thing to happen occurs, someone eating next to him is like,

“hey do you want a bite?”

Welcome to a quitter’s nightmare. Any bar, pub, coffee house patio, or front steps of any Language Arts department at any university.

Maybe he could resist all of that if his mind created a united front against the attacks, but that ain’t interesting—in life, there is always “one more complication”, in this case—a traitor, enter Q. I introduced Q a few entries ago in my Dreamer’s entry, basically Q is the part of a person’s consciousness that will always stand in the way of that person’s spiritual growth. He or she exists only to talk you out of good decisions and keep you as far away from progress in life as possible. The fact that there exists a part of us that’s only purpose is to sabotage us is very interesting. Of course Q is only the name I use to identify this thing in every one of us, and it is far more complex than I care to try and explain with my limited knowledge. Where it comes from and why it exists is also beyond me to explain and would differ with whom you talk to. But the main point is it is a very disturbing thing, especially when you yourself are trying so hard to overcome a personal challenge, and you yourself are also trying so hard to stop you. If a girl has ever told herself that she’s unattractive, or a guy who wants to ask a girl out convinces himself she wouldn’t be into him-- Q. For someone who has ever gone out on a limb to pursuit an opportunity and didn’t get it, then they hear, “I knew it. I’ll never…” There are enough people tearing us down on the outside, why in the world would we want to say such things to ourselves? The truth is that to a certain extent we can’t control it.

My Q is scary. He knows everything. He knows where my faith is weakest and he knows where my shell is softest. He’s so damned persuasive too. He knows just what to say. In my hour of temptation, he shows up to give me the final push.

Its okay, you deserve it. How long have you gone? It’s fine to have one now, it’s not like you’re buying a pack—this is life, one now and then is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Remember, you’re in control.

He’s smart. He uses power words like “moderation” and “once-in-a-while” a lot. I try to shake it off and put it out of my mind, reminding myself, “I can have a good time tonight without smoking a cigarette”, but he comes back. Are you serious right now? You know a black [Black and Mild] would be perfect right now. It would be so relaxing. It…

No—no I’m done.

It turns ugly.

Do you really think that’s it? You need to be honest with yourself; do you really think that you will go through the rest of your life without ever smoking again?

I begin to imagine the various times in life that I would want to smoke the most, I couldn’t imagine not having at least one more smoke at some point in life. Damn, He’s got a point.

If you know that you’re going to smoke again at some point in the future, then why not have—just one-- tonight. There’s no difference, it’s not a big deal.

By now I’m already disappointed in myself that the dialogue in my head has gotten this far. I feel like I’ve already been defeated. I can’t stop.

No you can’t. And seriously, why would you? What are you trying to prove? You don’t smoke nearly enough to worry about any medical problems—that’s for people who go through packs a day. You want to; it makes you happy, so just do it. Who is stopping you? So-and-so has been smoking a lot longer and a lot more than you, and look, their doing great.

That’s true; So-and-so has never had a problem with it.

It’s stupid to have all these restrictions for yourself. You want to and it’s there. Don’t be so hard on yourself; you work hard enough to deserve a treat. Just do it.

Even if I somehow resist tonight, it takes so much effort, I can’t seriously resist every time after this anyway.

Even if you somehow resist tonight, it takes so much effort, you can’t seriously resist every time after this anyway.

Face it, you’re a smoker. That’s just who you are.

I lose.

“Excuse me, is it cool if I bum a cigarette off of you…”

I did not exaggerate, that is very similar to the dialogue that goes on in my head right before I succumb. After losing a crucial battle like that, I slip back into my old habits. Discouraged with my weak will and broken promise to myself, I truly believe that it’s above me, that it’s beyond me to stop. My life is difficult enough without me making a war out of one of the few pleasures I have in life. I decided that it was stupid of me to try and quit on the basis that I don’t really smoke that much to begin with, and that life’s too short [that’s irony in case you’re wondering], I would continue to smoke, though always at the back of my mind knowing that I’m better than this. I know there is a life in which I’m free from the habit, because as much as I’d like to think that smoking is my decision the truth is I’ve become the habit’s slave. And where as there was once glamorous nights of smoking at what I could only describe to be “just the right times”, these days I would be smoking for no reason whatsoever. That’s right. Despite a sore throat, and a slight headache, like ritual I would smoke. I would smoke even when I didn’t enjoy it. And if a certain amount of time passed and I hadn’t smoked, I would get up and smoke.

I saw what I was doing and I was so overwhelmed by what was happening to me, that I actively took a stand in ignoring it. The problem was getting worse. But I was afraid that if I tried to quit again, I would fail and lose even more respect for myself. It wasn’t fair! I was just starting to love myself and then I find out I have this to deal with, like a family moving into their dream home only to learn weeks later that they have a termite problem. And every time I did muster the resolve to quit, I would go a week, maybe 2, before I found myself in a critical moment of temptation and our good friend Q would show up with his big words and reassurances and I would start the process all over, each time I grew a little less confident and more resigned to my fate to die a smoker.

Of course there was still a little voice saying, it’s not over yet.

The Night's Sky Line

I asked Ashley what she thought of friendship. I admit now that it was a vague question and maybe I thought that I was emitting a deep and thoughtful aura that would give her the specifics of the question. She asked what I meant. We were lying on the roof of an 18 story New York High rise. The Empire State Building loomed stoically behind us, actually that’s an insult to the building itself. With red, yellow and blue lights illuminating its crest, I could tell it was going more for playful and relevant. Now let me try this again: The Empire State Building loomed playfully and timely behind us, so close that I felt that I could fog the windows with every exhale. I waited for the breeze to finish its therapy and clarified. I asked her what she thought of friendship. The reason being that at that time I was thinking of all the people I would consider important to me. The people I befriended at various times in my life as well as my family and extended family.

Someone important-- I spend a good amount of time thinking about someone important to me whether it be a friend or relative. Lately, those people have been more supportive than ever. And though I’ve practiced to become less obvious, those people can read me like an open book. The truth is that I’ve gotten everything I sought out for. And now I am mere weeks away from starting my law education at one of the most prestigious Ivy League schools in the country. Oh, I got exactly what I sought for. And now that my attention isn’t consumed with trying to get in, I am able to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what I am about to embark on. Columbia is huge and the City of New York is still grander and I feel overwhelmed. It’s like I’m standing alone in a vast darkness. I’m afraid and I’m not sure why. My anxious expressions and nervous eyes betray me every time as someone’s cue for a word of comfort. “You’re going to do fine” I smile, they smile. Time and time again my confidence and I stop talking and it leaves me. Those important to me act as intercessors between the two of us and once they get done with us I can feel my confidence return to me again.

My friends and family have hijacked my life. They’ve taken hostages. They approached innocent and harmless enough but at the appointed hour they took my affinity for them hostage and started making demands. They demanded that I not give up; they demanded that I continue to grow; they demanded that I believe in myself, and they demanded that I be happy. It happened too fast for me to form any sort of a resistance. When I was younger the idea that my friends or family believed in me was non-existent, it’s not to say that they didn’t, rather it wasn’t apparent to me. But now they yell their demands from a loud speaker making it so I can’t ignore it. They insist that I understand that they will not tolerate any second guessing myself, they will not tolerate low self esteem or a victim’s mentality, and they will not tolerate mediocrity from me. Not me. The hijackers, they have no connections to each other, some have known me my whole life and others for much shorter a time. They are of all races and live all over the world. They have different political and religious beliefs but they all come together with the same message: We’re proud of you-- those terrorists.

I love them. I love them for their violent seizure of my ambition. I love them for their ceremonial execution of the doubts I have in myself. I love them for their unreasonable, selfless demands of me. Where it started as Mark’s ambition for a successful and fruitful life it has become our ambition for Mark’s successful and fruitful life. And where as I started my life out as child running a lemonade stand, at first I simply wanted to make a few dollars to spend on pop and movies, now the business has gone public. There are people who have bought stock in it, they have proclaimed that this business will thrive and they have the utmost faith in its CEO. I can feel their belief in me and it manifests itself into my own confidence and motivation. And it’s obvious to me now why it is significant to always encourage others. And I don’t mean significant as in “do it because you’re a good person” I mean significant as in “do it and it will help others become great people.”

If there were ever a time in the future that I was going to be pushed to the brink of giving up, the people important to me serve as insurance that that can no longer happen. Certainly when I feel that I can’t go any further, and turn around to retreat back to comfort and safety, I will find that I wasn’t walking the path alone but my family and friends were right behind me. And once again they will encourage me “You’re doing fine. Keep going.”

Breathtaking-- this view, I can see most of Manhattan from up here. Amidst the night’s darkness, the buildings spring up like flowers from dark concrete. The lights shine through the windows carelessly like the sun’s light reflecting off the dew that relax on yielding petals in the early morning. That’s quite like what important people do in our lives. They are everywhere making what should be darkness into something more like beauty. They are our own little skyline. As long as those lights remain shining through the window there is comfort that we are certainly not alone in our lives.

This has to be shared. This has to be contagious. Precisely because I know the remarkable affects that an important person can have on my life it makes me want to be a better son, brother, cousin and friend to those who consider me important and let them know that I am behind them, that I’ve invested my faith into their business.

Life seems to become more enriched the older I get and even friends that I thought I had grown apart from selflessly come back with an interest in my well being. It’s so beautiful. If I were to tell any of the important people to me how afraid and uncertain I am and how dark the city felt to me, I would be told to stop being ridiculous and take a good look around. I’m surprised that even in the middle of the night all I can see are lights. And I have to laugh; another light turned on in a building downtown, and the city seemed a little brighter.