balding. [trigger #232]

Since I was very young, I’ve dreaded balding. Early on I would look at my dad and see that he had a full head of hair and it would calm my anxiety. Then people told me that you should actually look at your mother’s father. I knew from that moment on that I was screwed, because grandpa not only had no hair, he also had the weirdest looking scalp in history.

I knew most of the fixes for baldness were either scams or disfiguring procedures that made things worse instead of better. My hope was that by the time I came of age and started losing my hair, science would discover a cure. They joke that all the money in research goes to meaningless issues that affect old white men, right? Well, I am embarrassed to tell you I was hoping this would be a case where that worked in my favor.

As it would turn out, balding is actually the best thing that ever happened to me. Why? Because somehow, in a bizarre mistake or mutation that doesn’t make any scientific sense, I have gained intelligence as I’ve lost my beautiful hair. Based on the testing, it seems to average out to one IQ point gained for each lost hair.

In case you don’t grasp that, it’s astronomical. I was already above average, somewhere in the 118 or 119 range. Now, after almost a decade losing my hair, I’m easily the smartest person in the world. And there is no end in sight, because I still have plenty of hair to lose. Although, it has to fall out naturally. I’ve tried plucking and that doesn’t work. Still, I’m the world’s foremost super-genius and I can look forward to the steady growth of that brilliance for the next several years at least.

In case you’re wondering why you’ve never heard of me, it’s because I realized before making any huge mistakes that anonymity would be the greatest asset to me under the circumstances. I’ve made sure to wield my staggering intellect from behind the scenes, making myself massively wealthy before quickly shifting to various forms of research and development. I usually dabble in around five fields of study a day, both because it keeps me from getting bored and because it seems to help me in terms of inspiration and energy.

I will continue to remain anonymous, for my own safety and freedom, but I wanted to let all of you out there know that help is on the way. I am the smartest man in the history of the world, and my hair is only going to keep falling out. If intelligence can solve a problem, I’ll solve it. As yet untreatable diseases? Federal and local policy theory? Strategies to end senseless wars? World hunger? Don’t worry, everyone. I’m on it!    

samurai. [trigger #231]

The vampire and the samurai. Most think of them in terms of things that do not exist. Vampires as things that have never existed. Samurai as things which once existed but do no longer. You probably believe this, too. You would scoff at the idea that both of these things exist, although samurai now exist purely as a subset of vampires. 

I see that I’m losing you. Let me explain. 

You’ve no doubt seen plenty of popular culture’s idea of what it means to be a vampire. Some are closer than others in the particulars of how vampirism works on a purely practical level, with the notable exception that most misunderstand the true relationship between vampires and daylight, but that is best left for another essay. Some of these depictions even deal well with what it means emotionally and psychologically to both crave and require human blood to survive. However, it’s rare to come across any that deal well with what it means to live for centuries. The questions about what make life worth living don’t stop just because you are immortal. They actually only get worse. Questions of meaning still plague the undead. 

All vampires are of course individuals, and so generalizations about them are as worthless as those about any other people group. Still, let me share a fairly common story arc for vampires. Early on, vampires are split into two basic groups: those who go on a bloody killing spree from the outset, and those who attempt for some time to avoid harming human beings in their quest for blood.

Those who begin killing with delighted abandon will often keep up their fervor for decades, maybe even more than a century for those with a special knack for it, but eventually killing grows old, as all things must, and these vampires are left killing for food. Their heart is no longer in it. 

Those who begin non-violently will struggle and scrape for some time. It’s a much harder life. Eventually, decades of watching humans butcher and destroy one another takes its toll, and these former vegetarians finally start feeding on living human prey. However, they are doing it out of nihilistic despair. Sure, some of the more violent sects of vampire extremists come from this group who initially were nonviolent, but most are actually unrecognizable from the previous group. Their feeding comes from resignation and depression, and thus they are merely consumers. 

Many have found various solutions to this problem. Some starve themselves to death. Some allow humans to kill them. Some become barbaric or animalistic. Some resort to vigilantism, attempting to feed only on those guilty according to a particular set of morals or laws. Religions are tried. Philosophies are tested. It is a maturational dilemma that only happens for those who have violently survived for a very, very long time. 

Of all the various attempts to make sense of the vampiric unlife, none has come close to being as beneficial as bushido. The code of the samurai offers a worldview that allows for the necessity of a life of violence, yet is tempered by grace, serenity, and honor. For the vampire, as she struggles to understand her place in the world, who in her better moments will try to improve the world instead of being merely a plague or parasite, the bushido offers answers. Bloodlust is guided by purpose, violence is wielded in wisdom, and society and community is offered to those who are often isolated and secretive. 

Yes, samurai do still exist in 2014, and every one of them is a vampire. 

7-11 on my birthday. [trigger #230]

There are three things I have to do every year.

Ever since I was seven I have gone to 7-11 every year on my birthday for a Slurpee. I don’t really like Slurpees anymore, but I do like traditions, so there you have it.

Every year since I was 16, on the anniversary of the day I got my license, I take a long drive with one person without any preordained destination in mind. The drive just has to be a minimum of one hour in each direction. I still very much love long drives.

Finally, every year since the year my dad died when I was 27, I go to his grave on his birthday and tell him all the things that happened over the year. I don’t believe he can hear me, but it still makes me feel better. 

I’ve just discovered the fourth thing I need to do annually: travel to a new city and get lost without a phone. The first time happened yesterday, quite by accident. On a last minute business trip to Portland, Oregon I left my hotel room looking for dinner after a long day in training. My phone was nearly dead and I was too hungry to wait for it to charge, so I left it behind. Normally, my phone is the primary thing I use to find my way around, to get directions as well as finding well-reviewed restaurants and bars. This felt remarkably like leaving one of my senses behind while venturing into a place I don’t know at all. Or, I imagine it felt like that, I’ve never actually left one of my senses behind so I can’t confirm that. 

Anyway, at first it was scary. I was getting hungrier, weaker, and grumpier by the minute. That’s when I resolved to walk into the next place I came across that sells food of any kind. It turned out to be a Whole Foods. I grabbed some Kind Bars and a Vitamin Water and sat on a bench outside the door eating greedily. I was laying my head down waiting for the sugar to hit my bloodstream so I felt human again when I heard a soft voice behind me. “Are you okay, Sweetie?” I looked up to see a beautiful woman covered in elaborate tattoos standing beside me. She didn’t look concerned as much as curious. 

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I just went too long without eating. Just waiting for my body to realize I just fed it.” 

She grinned. “I see. Well, what you really need is a drink. Come with me.” 

I was about to argue that this didn’t seem like the wisest idea in my current state when enough of my normal faculties must have been restored by food, because I realized how foolish it would have been to say no when a beautiful woman asked me to get a drink. She was already several steps away, apparently feeling no doubt that I would follow. I stood and walked double time to catch up with her. 

“I’m Tom, by the way.” 

“Nope,” she said. “Come up with a different one. I’ll try my best to forget the real one. This will be more fun if we skip all the factual minutia. Let’s be strangers, and enjoy the freedom to be honest about the more important things than personal details. Let’s make anonymity our friend. Call me, Christina.” 

I thought for a moment. It was odd, I was still trying to catch up with what was going on. After a minute or so of walking quietly, I realized it was the kind of odd I liked. “Okay, then. I’m Fitz.” 

“Fitz?” 

“Yup, it’s a character from a book I like. If I have to pick a name for just one night I want to pick one I wouldn’t actually pick forever.” 

She smiled more with her eyes than her mouth. I knew I was playing the game correctly now. 

**I’m out of writing time for today. However, I think I’m going to continue this one in the future.** 

a bird freed from a snare. [trigger #229]

Most folks who experience a moment of absolute certainty that they are about to die, do. It’s rare that someone becomes sure they are about to meet their demise and live to be happily wrong on that score. I am one of the few in that latter category, among those who saw my death flash before my eyes (the famous moment of life flashing never happened for me), and I survived the harrowing ordeal.

Usually, people want to hear the story of how I almost died. I’m not going to tell that story. People are wrong in thinking that how I almost died is the interesting part of the story. It isn’t even a close second. The interesting part of the story isn’t how I almost died, but how I went on living instead.

Before I almost died, I lived my days full of anxiety and panic. We all know rationally that we can never add another minute to our lives by worrying, but we live as if we can because of instinct. What almost dying did for me was show me that no matter what I do, death is coming either way. I have very little power over the fragility of my own body. Somehow, being exposed to how close death is in every moment has freed me from worrying about it. By almost dying, I realized I’d never actually been living before. I was wasting all my time worrying instead of just getting on with it and getting as much out of life as I could before the lights went out.

 

write another book.

I’m super into Robin Hobb lately (a party I should have gotten to a long time ago). Thus, I was excited that she was recently interviewed along with George R.R. Martin about writing. Each writer had lots of great stuff to say about their writing lives and how they survive being writers. 

I wanted to share my favorite bit. George R.R. Martin was talking about the tremendous lack of security for writers, how nebulous and mercurial it is as a profession, and he said, “But even when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever sell another book, I never doubted that I’d write another book.”

This strikes home with me lately as I have realized recently that even if I never get published, I’m never going to stop writing. We should all do what we love, even if we can never find a way to monetize it. It’s cliché but true that the world is quite simply a better place to live when people are doing things that they are passionate and enthusiastic about, and when they are creating things. 

You can see the rest of the highlights here. Of course, they conducted the interview on throne-like chairs, because people who work in fantasy seem intent on constantly appearing absurd. 

where to from here? [trigger #228]

“Where to from here?” she asked me. 

Based on context, many would assume she meant literally. We had a list of errands for the day, and one would make just as much sense to do next as any other. That’s not what she meant though. She was doing that thing that I loved and hated where she would drop a massively important question into a random and mundane moment. Usually these questions went right over folks’ heads when she let them fly, and when people miss her actual meaning she adds them to her mental list of folks too dull to be worth any of her real energy. I’ve always known, though. Even when she thinks I miss her, I know.

Although the wording seems ambiguous, I could still tell this question was an important one. She didn’t want me to miss her actual meaning. It was in her tone, and the stiff set of her face as she looked out the passenger window at just the right angle for me to still catch it. She was seriously considering giving up on us, another thing she probably thought I had missed but that I was well aware of. When she asked, “Where to from here?” she meant for the two of us, would we continue together or part and go our separate ways. Even after all we’d been through, I still couldn’t imagine what would make waking up worthwhile if she weren’t a part of my life. It wasn’t just me, either. She had that effect on people. She cultivated devotion in those around her, both actively and accidentally. She has a mystique. 

Part of that mystique comes from how capricious she is. One doesn’t incite worship without being unpredictable. She could leave at any moment, we all know that, and thus we perform whatever liturgies and utter whatever intonations we feel might keep her around. This temperamental nature, combined with how important this question clearly was to her in that moment, made it clear to me that a wrong answer could very well be the final mistake I was given the opportunity to make in regards to our relationship. Even though there would be the drawn out process of actually tearing out lives apart, this would be the real moment I would look back on as our last goodbye. 

All of this went through my head in a fraction of a second. One needs to think fast or be left behind with her. Thus, my response was immediate. 

“Where to from here?” she asked me. 

“I’d say we should see what tomorrow looks like. Hopefully things will be better there. I’ve always heard good things about tomorrow.”

“That’s the problem though. It never actually is tomorrow. Always just today.”

“Maybe tomorrow will actually be tomorrow, for the first time ever.”

It was the right response. It was playful, and hopeful, and nonsensical enough to keep her interested. She grinned in spite of herself, and I knew I had her for just one more day.    

 

 

sitting in the hammock smoking cigars. [trigger #227]

Most who know me would be surprised if they were to find out I am capable of deep thoughts. It’s not really what I’m known for. I am in fact quite capable of deep thought. I just don’t show it most of the time because in my experience it is better to hold your cards to your chest, then each one that you play carries more weight. Wearing your heart on your sleeve has its value, and I am glad there are people out there who live that way, but we also need people who hold their heart in secret, waiting until the moment is right, until the best possible time to reveal the true depth of themselves. For now, everyone thinks there is nothing more to me than a money grabbing businessman. Oh, and for transparency’s sake, I am one of the wealthiest people alive. 

Every day, no matter what is going on, I reserve a time to sit with my thoughts, attempting to puzzle out how to use my considerable depth and wealth to make things better. Lately, my favorite way to do this is to sit in a hammock in my back yard smoking cigars. The added bonus is that it looks indulgent, like something a wealthy man is expected to do, whereas merely meditating or sitting quietly over coffee or tea would potentially look like I am developing a conscience. I developed a conscience a long time ago, I just can’t let everyone else know that. It is why, when my time thinking has produced fruit that could actually help the world, I have used backchannels to bring that change about anonymously. People in power cannot know that I am a threat to that power, or my work will become considerably more difficult. You’d be amazed what people with power are willing to do to maintain and expand that power. I make that last statement confidently, because even if you already believe you wouldn’t be surprised by what people with power would do to maintain and expand that power, you would still be surprised by the lengths they go to, consistently, often without fully understanding why. It becomes a desperation, like a survival mechanism, their power becomes a living thing, capable of becoming a cornered animal and threatening humanity itself under the wrong circumstances.

Thus, I must be ready with the final strike before I deliver the first. The problem at the heart of the world is like a disease, and if I were to begin any kind of treatment that doesn’t eradicate the illness, the illness will adapt and become immune to the initial treatment, becoming ever more deadly and resilient. So, I have taken action to combat some of the symptoms of the world’s disease, but not the disease itself. The time is coming though, when I will figure this out. I will enact a bloodless revolution of peace and we will be able to turn our attentions to saving our planet well into the future. 

The future is what I am thinking about now, smoking a Black Dragon and enjoying the cool breeze that has been all too infrequent this summer. Part of my plan must be a way to show people they must show kindness to one another that works forward, into future potentialities. Kindness and goodness shown only to a person in the current moment is certainly good, any kindness and goodness is better than what we are usually left with in this world. Yet, it isn’t enough. If that goodness expires at the end of the moment it is too easy to discount. Too often people see their kindness repaid in cruelty. Too often goodness is subconsciously seen as weakness, and used as a weapon. We must find ways to be good to one another that has farther reaching ripples, that impacts more than just the present moment.  

explosion. [trigger #226]

His name is Cursed, although it has not always been so. Once he had a name given to him by parents who loved him, but that name has long been forgotten, perhaps even by himself. When one’s life is as long as Cursed’s has been, it is normal to go through names as some cease to fit and new ones become more appropriate. His time for changing names has passed. He knows that Cursed will be his final name, no matter how much longer his life continues, and when every moment is lived in agony life feels very long indeed. Such it is to be cursed. Cursed. Cursed the cursed. 

There was a time when it seemed to most that Cursed was not an appropriate name under the circumstances. He had after all taken on his affliction by saving every living thing that exists. Hero, or Champion, or even Sacrifice would have been more fitting. Yet, Cursed is the name that stuck, the name he accepted most willingly, and as the many long years have passed it has become clear that whatever the circumstances of his predicament’s birth, it is certainly most appropriately deemed a curse. 

It happened centuries ago, when all life was almost snuffed out like a candle. It wasn’t some great evil that actively attempted to end the world, just a foolish young man trying to make a name for himself at a small university. Against the warnings of others, this young man went too far in his magical endeavors, meddled with elements beyond his ken, or the ken of any mortal. He accidentally created what has since come to be referred to as an Instance. A singularity in time and space that acts like a black hole but in reverse, like the Big Bang. While his experiments were well beyond his skill, his skill was still considerable. He saw what was happening and was able to temporarily arrest the explosion, keep the Instance from rushing out from itself and extinguishing all existence, at least in the form we currently know it.

All knew there wasn’t much time. His halt of calamity was a temporary measure, time was dwindling quickly. A professor at the school, the Chair of Magical Theory, was the one who took action. He realized a tremendous degree of skill and vigilance would be required to keep the Instance at bay. Without consulting anyone, and using a magic none have ever fully understood, he took the Instance into himself. He took into his own being a creative force so strong that it would in its turn destroy all that currently is. Once within himself, he was able to freeze the explosion indefinitely.

The cost was immense.  

Of course, some of the pain goes without saying. It would never have been easy to constantly be racked by the pain of a thousand thousand galaxies attempting to burst forth from his chest. Yet it goes far beyond that. To freeze the explosion, it was required that he freeze a part of himself. Not in a purely physical sense, but across multiple planes and dimensions. The very fabric of his existence is stuck, locked in place. That pain goes far beyond anything conceivable by all aside from him. It is physical, emotional, philosophical, spiritual, existential, and astronomical. As perceived by a finite being, it is practically infinite.

And so his name is Cursed. No other name has ever been more fitting.  

pasta salad at 1:42am. [trigger #225]

I’m supposed to be married now. That’s what everyone expected, including myself. I had a steady boyfriend, Mike, throughout college, and for several years following. I knew we would get married, have a family. I would take time off from my career to care for our kids. We would be happy, and safe, and financially secure thanks to Mike’s prospects at the law firm of an old family friend.

That’s what I wanted. Right up until I didn’t.

One morning I woke up and had a revelation. I suddenly knew with absolute certainty that I didn’t actually know what I wanted, I was just adopting what everyone else wanted for me. My life was being lived for me by proxy. Everything had been so well planned by those around me. Not in any coercive way, my family loves me well and I am grateful for them. No one ever tried to force a typical, predictable life on me. They just took for granted that I would take certain roads toward my future, and those plans all seemed so safe and pleasant that I accepted them without much thought. Then, on that fateful morning of revelation, I changed my mind. For no reason whatsoever that I can discern, I suddenly felt claustrophobic. I needed to make actual decisions, not just concede and take the path of least resistance over and over for the rest of my boring and predictable days. I told Mike, and while he tried hard to understand, he thought it was merely a phase. I knew it wasn’t. I knew I was never going to want what I had wanted just days before ever again.

After my revelation, I basically dropped napalm on my life. I burned everything to the ground, left nothing standing, so that I could build a life that was actually mine on the rubble. That was ten years ago, and I have never regretted my decision once. Instead of being married, I’m single. Instead of working in a steady and predictable job I’ve changed career paths four times and found I am happiest working freelance in whatever field appeals to me at that moment. Instead of being where everyone wants me to be, and living life the way I was expected to, I am sitting here in my apartment, my Rottweiler on the couch with me warming my feet, while I eat pasta salad at 1:42am and watch old episodes of 30 Rock that still make me laugh even after the 15th viewing. All I can say is, “Life is good.” 

secrets. [trigger #224]

If there is a dimension in which things receive a physical size and weight to match their figurative size and weight in our lives, I believe secrets would be the largest and heaviest things there. Perhaps not all secrets. Some secrets are fun, playful, buoyant. Yet there is a darker kind of secret that weighs down the soul and mind. These are the sorts of secrets that if unearthed would undo a person. Secrets that, if discovered, would utterly change the way a person was understood and perceived by those closest to them. In that dimension where things had the physical size and weight of their figurative size and weight, a person would be ripped apart atom by atom when their secret was known by others, because everything that others thought they knew about that person, all their metaphors for who that person was, would be obliterated, vaporized. Like the victims in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they would simply cease to exist, leaving nothing but a scorched shadow on the ground in the shape of what was once substantial and tangible.

And so these secrets are a constant weight. Even when we think we are unaware of them they are still drawing part of our attention. They are the tell-tale heart, mocking us from beneath the floorboards, reminding us how flimsy our security is, how close we are to utter ruin. This is because we know that eventually, all secrets come to light. Nothing stays hidden forever.