observations – untitled atm

066a – daily rambles, hello november

It’s a beautiful day to write.

Why do these words ring true? I hadn’t even stopped to consider that it really is a beautiful day today. I woke up a little late today and immediately got to some of the things I try to make sure to do every morning— the routinely stuff, basically— but I think I was operating from a brain lens, not a body lens. And yet, these six words, they brought me back to the present like nothing else had, until so far.

This is the power of words. This is what I want to access more often. I write a lot lately but I know there’s a reason it’s satisfactory only like 6/10 times. Because I’m not feeling it, often. So how do I write in a more embodied way?

I’ve been having the same experience with drums. My instructor is pretty good at this, he keeps asking me to come back to present, to not “think” so much, to “feel” it. And initially, I wasn’t really getting it. I was very defensive (unintentionally). I kept claiming that no, I don’t think I’m thinking too much, and what? Of course I’m feeling it. But then, when I actually felt it, I knew what he’d been trying to say all along. And it’s been lovely. I can’t yet keep the focus active for maybe more than a third of the class, but that third is the most satisfactory.

So I imagine that’s going to be the case for writing too. So, how do I write in a more embodied way? I want to spend more time with this question. I’m running a bit late for class right now so I gotta stop. But I’m going to come back to this.

—

Alright, back at this.

Had a nice action-oriented evening.. attended drums and vocals lessons, bought some food on the way back. Shortlisted some of the poems I want to submit for a thing, resumed lessons with the other kid I’ve been teaching for a bit.

I’m trying to understand how I feel around children. Sometimes I feel really nice, sometimes I feel a bit weird. I think it’s a me problem though. I don’t know, when I’m relaxed and not too worried about my goals and “adulting problems”, I enjoy interacting with kids. But when I have all these things on my mind, it’s generally a little annoying. But I think there’s a lot to learn from them. How to take up space, for example. How to be authentic. How to connect by giving attention. Kids aren’t skilled at having equal conversations, you don’t go in expecting it to be a 50/50 exchange. You give attention without expecting much in return but then you get it eventually. But you get it back in ways you wouldn’t have been able to foresee actually. But that’s the best part.

I have a theory that most kids (hence, humans) are at least somewhat sensitive but when they’re forced to grow up (or for various other reasons like societal pressures) they numb down or dull down their sensitivity— at least a little bit. [More research on this sometime].

Got some laundry done too, I’ve been putting it off for a while.

Stepping out of the house (even for an hour or so) can have such great returns. Should make it a point to do this most days.

015a – a rainy summer San Francisco afternoon

It’s a rainy afternoon. She looks out the window towards the buildings and the skyline she’s been seeing for over a year now. She can’t help but think of how it’s only been a few months since she’s started associating them with the feeling of “home”. For the first time in months today, she sees them from a different angle. For the first time in months, they catch her eye and invoke that feeling of newness, the feeling she thinks one can only get in hotel rooms in new cities. The feeling one can get if they were to look out of windows of such hotel rooms. It’s mysterious, adventurous, inviting, all in a single frame. She thinks the mystery comes from what she’s looking at, not from where she is. It’s mysterious because she’s not there, because she can only look at it. There’s a part of her that feels anxious about stepping out of the house. She might have wanted to walk towards the buildings otherwise.

There’s one in particular that stands out among the others. Brick red in a sea of beige and grey. As the sun steps out to test the waters, her feelings fade away a little. Almost as if they don’t want to be examined in good lighting. Almost as if they’re afraid of being seen. She thinks they faded since the former gloominess had reminded her of a certain few days in Italy. A certain few days with her parents a couple years ago. It was the last time she remembers being awed by the newness of a place.

Things had changed quite a bit a few months later. She’d started feeling much more anxious much more often. She would almost always feel less present in situations. Less focused on the things around her, since a big part of her attention would almost always be on herself. It was the result of what her anxiety was centered around. Or so she thinks.

It’s still beautiful outside, yet she notices herself coming back into her own thoughts. There’s been no visible change, but she’s transitioned to a different person in a single moment. A moment ago she was fully consumed by the beauty of everything outside of herself. Now she’s only interested in everything related to herself.

She notices how her window (that she’d earlier propped fully open to capture of a picture of the said view) is now stuck and doesn’t close. She notices how she’s wishing for some food to make the observing experience better. She notices how her room’s cluttered and suddenly she’s disillusioned. Or as some would say, re-illusioned.

She feels lost in thoughts. She doesn’t feel like there’s a point to what she’s seeing or doing. She knows the feelings that had come up were precious to her, and there’s a part of her that wanted to stay in them, understand them, and maybe even share them. She wishes she could make someone else feel the same way. She thinks that’s crazy, she doesn’t think she has the skills to make that happen. But there’s something that’s not letting her move on to the next block of the day. She’s trying to write and she doesn’t want to stop, she doesn’t want to get up and order food or whatever. She wants to stay here. She wants to go back thirty minutes in time and feel all of this all over again.

She’s grateful for the circumstances that have allowed her to stay home this week. She’s grateful that her anxiety didn’t come up everyday for a whole seven days, she thinks that’s what allowed these feelings to come up at all, and for her to notice them, and for her to be able to stay with them. She’s amazed by how she’s been overwhelmed by a “positive” emotion after ages. She knows this was happiness, though she also knows that it’s gone, at least for the time-being.

She almost wishes the sky would be gloomy again.

003 – work and the “corporate world”

I’ve been feeling terribly stressed at work. It’s been a few months, and I haven’t quit yet. Multiple reasons for it of course – the pandemic, lack of a plan, visa issues, the effort of team-switching, the fear and possibility of quitting but still feeling equally bad about life and of course, sunk-cost.

As I contemplate, I of course think about what changed over the last (almost) 8 years. I’m pretty sure I never loved programming, but I never disliked it as much as I seem to be doing these days. I suppose I always saw programming as a means to an end and the ends aren’t exciting anymore.

The ends at the time were “solving cool tech problems” and maybe a “successful career in tech”, or so I told myself. But they were also

money,
prestige,
communal, societal and familial validation and
this general, vague, weird idea of success.

Well – I have those things now – so the external motivators are gone. Of course, I hope there was some sort of intrinsic motivator of wanting to be good at whatever I do, but it seems like that’s not enough (anymore).

So, the pandemic really did bring a bunch of shit to the forefront.

There’s a part of me which wonders how I ended up here. Well, my upbringing, of course. I’m sure there’s people who knew they weren’t cut out for this. But I didn’t. And maybe I could have been. But I don’t feel it anymore.

I spoke to my sister-in-law recently about all of this and as I started talking along the lines of “well I’m not sure, maybe I don’t need to derive joy out of my work?” and she, very strongly, disagreed. And I’ve been speaking to a few people about this, and I’ve received strong opinions on both sides of this, and I’m still very impressionable, so I keep swinging. (Side-rant about how kids can be so impressionable, how does one navigate the danger of imprinting a false belief in a child’s mind?)

But then I think about what else I could do instead. I’ve been playing around with the idea of writing and/or photography. Those are the two things I’ve enjoyed in the last few years as my hobbies. And I do really enjoy both the activities – of course I don’t know whether I can get paid for those or not, and I don’t know whether I have the skills to even consider those options (and here’s the funny part – i’m really scared of the answer to both of these questions being “no”). But the longer I don’t quit my current job, the longer I’m putting of really seeking the answers to these questions.

I have a few thoughts about writing. I finally started these word-vomits, just as a test to see whether I can even write. And the idea currently is that we concentrate on quantity, not quality. (Because we know that generally works). But what happens once that’s done? What happens once I do write a 100 word-vomits? I’m supposed to increase my goal. I think I’m already scared that I’m not going to want to go further. What if I’d done everything right, and still failed? What if I’d gotten that writing degree, and still failed? I guess it doesn’t matter.

People often say there is no end to introspection. If that’s the case, a 100 word-vomits should be pretty easy. If not, it’ll be cool to have gotten everything off my chest.

Just checked my word count on this. I’ve been noticing a pattern. I’m able to get to 500-600 words on pretty much anything that I care about, pretty easily. How do I get to a 1000 words though? At some point it might start feeling forced to the reader. But the whole point of this project is to not worry about the reader. I find that I’m worrying about the quality again. I guess this what they call practice? Maybe after a few of these, I’ll be able to get to 700-800 words more easily. Feeling a little bit of excitement about maybe reaching that point. But I worry – if it’s the same thing happening again. I have a goal in mind, I’m writing to get to that goal. What happens when (or if) I don’t care about that goal anymore? I suppose I have to give myself the freedom to set potentially meaningless goals, even if they don’t result in anything. That’s what’s hard about life. To come back to the present, again and again and again. It’s kind of a meditation, I suppose.

My word-count tool just told me that the reading level on this is “9th-10th grade”. Oops. Well, I should change my tool. I’m not looking for judgement yet. I only need to focus on quantity.

I find this “stream of consciousness” style of writing very interesting. I can’t think of anything else that can capture something in such a raw manner? I can’t imagine a self-portrait which captures someone clicking (or painting) that self-portrait.

I’m noticing how my mood can affect the structure of a word vomit as well. I have a couple of these that are super clear, logical and structured. And I have a couple which are pretty all over the place. Might just call them public journal entries. And maybe that’s okay, I don’t really want to think about whether these might benefit anyone else. I can just think about the benefits I might reap from these. Maybe I’ll feel interesting things at the end of a 100,000 words. Maybe I won’t.

But I am also enjoying how thinking about wanting to write a few more words does not stress me out. I am just observing. And it’s easy to observe, it’s an inbuilt ability in humans, I believe. I am an ornithologist and my thoughts are like migratory seagulls. I am a scientist and my sinking heart is Newton’s falling apple. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero.