Quality of life

We all want "quality" in life. We're all guilty of aspiring to the finer things in our brief, fumbling existence on this globe. Whether it's in materialistic goods (a nice car or fancy technology), or on a deeper level (meaningful relationships, finding the perfect life-partner), wanting "the best" threatens to consume us all. It blinds us to the fortunes we already possess, whatever those may be.

We all want quality living and we convince ourselves that we deserve a quality life. But are we simply deluding ourselves about what we can really attain in life? When should we "settle" with what we have? How do we reconcile ourselves in accepting that the less than desirable facets of our lives may well be the best that we'll ever get? It's not easy. It requires a re-examination of our own sense of worth and a brutal acceptance that maybe we aren't as good as we think, or that those close to us tell us that we are.

Lately I've been ruing the fact that I haven't found a quality guy. Sure I get to fuck the (very) occasional guy, but it seems all I ever get is "quantity". My definition of quantity is someone who scores less than 5 (out of 10) on the looks scale, who may not be the greatest conversationalist or thinker, and who is not overall "put together"; basically the majority of single gays in Boston. A quality guy would be the opposite of course. Wherever I turn, it seems that quality is everywhere, but nowhere around me. Of course I want the smoking hot, at least semi-intelligent, unpretentious, passionate boy who is as keen about me as I them, but maybe it's time I re-evaluate my prospects and realise that the sexy, cute boy of my dreams may never materialise in my lifetime. This mentality is not about giving up the search for a quality partner, but rather, tempering my expectations with reality.

As the big three-zero looms on the horizon, the possibility of finding the ideal soul-mate becomes a frightening prospect. Maybe it's time to settle after all...

A life of breaks

'Break' is such a useful word. I like it. It's a harsh and abrupt sounding word and not pleasant to say or hear, but still, I like it. It's short and to the point. It's a word that covers so many emotions, outcomes and actions. Look it up. Type "define: break" in Google and look at the definitions, there are many.

Even though Spring has yet to arrive temperature-wise, it's Spring break here in Boston. College students take this time to flee the months of nasty Winter by celebrating the end of class in exotic, sunny locations: Cancun, Mexico and the like. See, breaks can be good.

We all want to take, get, hope for a break in life. Breaks are the keys to success, happiness and new adventures, or so I've been told. I've had a parade of significant disappointments recently. "Give me a break" has become my new motto.

When breaks are bad, they can be devastating. To be broke, broken down on the side of the road, broken-hearted, or to have a break-up, are all very bad. The negative power of "break" is presented to us beautifully in Brokeback Mountatin, which is one of my favourite films. By telling the story of a tragic romance, the movie captures and distills the breaks, both rewarding and tragic, that we all share in life to expose some harsh realities of love and consequence.

Even in a seemingly bad context, breaks can be good. We say "Break a leg" to someone for good luck. Odd, huh?

Overall, we all cop our fair share of good and bad breaks. At the moment, I'm just hoping to break even in life.

Le Petit Prince

The Little Prince (by Antoine de Saint-Exupery) is a kids book, of sorts. The book is illustrated and easy to read, but carries a profound message about love, innocence and self-discovery. The writing is simple and elegant, and the story is childishly captivating. It's a classic piece of literature that you must read! (You can finish it in one sitting). To really appreciate the beauty of the novel and its message, check out these SparkNotes.

Read The Little Prince and maybe you'll never look at the stars the same again.

An update

Name: Ben.

Hometown: Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.

Current Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA.

Work: My project has yielded some promising results, so that's a positive. I don't find my project particularly interesting or beneficial for me career-wise, so that's a negative. Additionally, my current research isn't really that congruent with my PhD training, and it's not what I want to research in the future, score more negatives. I came to Boston to gain experience such that I could return to Sydney and consider starting my own lab. My current position isn't facilitating this ambition so I'm scoping alternate labs, with the aim of starting afresh early next year. So this work transition is totally stressing me out. Work score = 4/10

Family: My family is dysfunctional to say the least. Brother is still recovering from his psychosis and remains out of the workforce. Dad continues being a selfish asshole that makes me ashamed to be his son. Mum is overworked and always stressed due to Brother's illness and Dad's antics. Since I am the only family member she can really speak to, she misses me significantly. I'm constantly battling the feeling of guilt over leaving her (and Brother) to pursue a life on the other side of the world. Still, things on the family front aren't as volatile as they have been previously. Family score = 5/10.

Friends: Bing and Lulu continue to be my extremely compassionate guides here in Boston, I owe them a lot. They're like caring older siblings, who are wiser, reassuring and less erratic than me. I continue to talk with them extensively about my work dilemmas and Boston life in general. My two very close friends in the lab, Maestro and Ariel have been extremely considerate and are two really positive people who are fun to hang out with. I'll blog about our time together in future posts. Bay-buddy is constantly supportive and has helped me out immensely, but since he is no longer in the lab we only catch up weekly or so. Of course there's Ex-flatmate and my other long-time mates, GK, Entrepreneur, The Scotsman, Ace & Surfermate, providing essential support +61. Friends score = 9/10.

Love: My status is single. Very, very single. Sigh. I didn't blog about it, but there was an Irish guy, Sean, who I am no longer seeing, but it's OK as it never seemed to be a serious long-term relationship from the beginning. There just wasn't that 'something' between us, but we had some great times, he was charming and damn his accent was adorable (of course he said the same about my Aussie speech). I haven't been particularly proactive in finding a boyfriend recently and this is something I'm seeking to improve on in the immediate future. Love score = 3/10.

Mental health: Between my family and career, it's been a particularly uncertain and worrisome period of my life. Boston still continues to show me novel experiences that makes me feel as if I'm moving forward in my life, perhaps not always in an anticipated direction or as smoothly as expected, but still 'proceeding' nonetheless. There have been times when I've been on the precipice of slipping into depression again, but thankfully this has been avoided. A few weeks of being generally melancholic is the worst I've felt. Mental health score = 6/10.

Physical health: The gym is one of my favourite places. Maestro and I go regularly. We not only train together and motivate each other, but the gym is our place to discuss the lab and everything else in our lives. It's one of our sanctuaries away from work where we can work-out and goof around. I also feel that the exercise-induced endorphins are a key to me avoiding depression. With winter here, running outside is no longer an option, so the gym has become crucial to my mental and physical well-being. I'm definitely as fit as I've ever been, although an underwear-model-worthy six-pack still eludes me, so minus one point. Physical health score = 8/10.

Overall: It's been an emotional, life-changing year, and compared to some other awful years, 2007 ranks as a good one. My Boston life could obviously have been better work-wise (and relationship wise), but in the end this is irrelevant as it could have been much worse. It's difficult to not regret or overanalyse certain decisions I've made in, and leading up to, Boston life, but I'm trying to remain pragmatic and positive about my current situation.

With the close of another year, it's natural to take stock of our lives and resolve to improve on the less optimal parts. I'm looking forward to the challenges of next year. It's not going to be any easier that's for sure, but that as they say, is life. There's no guarantee that I'll rant any less, but I'll try to rave a bit more. My Boston adventure is just getting interesting, I feel that it's "maturing". Should be an intriguing next couple of months.

Blogging was initially designed to keep my mates up to date with my activities here, and it has also been cathartic and immensely enjoyable, I anticipate blogging through next year.

Life is always a struggle, and as one individual amongst the 6,639,361,044 current inhabitants on this world, I try to remind myself that I'm very fortunate to be in my current position. For those of us living relatively privileged lives (I'd imagine the majority reading this blog fits into this category), it's always refreshing to look outside of our daily microcosm and gain a wider perspective on the grander scheme of humanity. Considering I'm not fighting for survival in a war-torn country or suffering from a debilitating illness, it's clear that having an ideal job or being in a loving relationship, really are luxuries in life.

Of course we all know these realities, but it's not often that we actually remember them.

Having the opportunity to live abroad in a great city, getting a PhD, having a Macbook Pro to play with, hanging out with some amazing friends and having a loving (albeit messed up) family are luxuries in my life. I shouldn't complain.

Well that's my current status and the last post until I return to Boston from my European holiday (I fly out in a few hours and still have to pack, shit!). To my mates, enjoy the Sydney summer, don't go too crazy over NYE (I'm looking at you Scotsman), and if there's anything I've been reminded of from living in Boston, it's to be a little more bold and dip outside your comfort zone from time to time, who knows what you'll gain. Miss you guys immeasurably. To everyone reading this, may the New Year find you safe and well. My overall score remains = +61.

Survival of the fittest

Sometimes we are faced with a life-decision that has far-reaching implications. The consequences of this seemingly impossible choice, stuns and immobilizes the senses. The pressure to move forward in your life is immense, but over-thinking freezes all action. The pressure builds.

To overcome a personal crisis requires the discovery of undiscovered inner strength and resilience. Sometimes it takes time, boldness, and a little external support to move on. Sometimes hope will get you through. Other times, all you can do is laugh.

Survival of the Fittest.

(From the Best of Craigslist)

"Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one."

Addicted to happiness

Despite my recent negative posts, I'm glad to have moved to Boston. Would I be any happier back in Sydney? Definitely not. Am I completely happy though? Not quite, but I'm grateful that I haven't encountered my old foe that is depression.

If you haven't been depressed it's hard to fathom how depression profoundly affects your existence. Since I am no longer depressed, it's hard even for me to remember what it was really like sometimes. Depression is constantly feeling miserably lost and full of self-loathing despair. A defining feature of depression is feeling crap for days on end. This exaggerated melancholy stretched from days to months and years in my case. Looking back, I realize that my depression lasted for 6 years or so.

Depression is all-consuming. It made me...
- tired all the time.
- cry as I lay in bed craving sleep.
- constantly plan/contemplate suicide. I've written suicide letters, one to my family, and one to my mates. They've since been thrown out. The drafts remain on my computer in Sydney.
- drink too much.

Sufferers of depression are commonly prescribed a class of anti-depressants called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), such as Zoloft and Effexor-XR. During my PhD I finally saw a doctor for my depression and was prescribed first Zoloft, then Effexor. The drugs initially helped my mood dramatically, it was like a negative filter had been removed from my thought processes. I rediscovered genuine laughter and happiness again, and was amazed to find that I no longer instinctively dwelt on destructive thoughts. Life was good again.

However, the karmic balance of no longer being depressed was having to endure the drugs awful side-effects of hazy thoughts, difficulties with concentration and becoming 'emotionally disconnected' (it's hard to describe but a lot of the time I felt unemotional/neutral, unless I was truly happy).

Worse still, I developed a dependence on my medication. I was a junkie and the pharmacist my dealer. Once I had an unplanned long night in the lab and was heading to a late dinner with Lulu and Bing in the city. It was around 10 pm and we were in the car looking for a parking spot, Lulu was driving. I had been taking my evening medication at around 8 pm for a while and the withdrawal from not taking my pills already was giving me unbearable nausea and headache. I hoped that it would pass but it was too much to bear. I gave some lame excuse of suddenly not feeling well, exited the car and into a taxi and went home. My stomach was heaving, and my mouth was salivating ruthlessly as I tried not to throw up during that excruciatingly long taxi-ride. I remember getting out of the taxi at long last and dry-retching into the garden outside my apartment block before stumbling upstairs to my pills of addiction. Lesson learned, from then on, I always carried my medication to work.

Even with the anti-depressants, I gradually slipped back into my negative moods. Almost a year on medication, I realized they weren't really helping anymore and decided to stop taking them. To minimize the expected withdrawal symptoms, I started by halving my dose per day for a week, and then took half a dose every second day. I weaned myself off the pills over a fortnight. In hindsight I should have given a longer time but I was desperate to stop taking the medication and opted for an 'express' method.

Going 'clean' ranks as one of the most awful experiences I've ever had in my life. The two week detox process is painfully imprinted in my mind. Coming off Effexor led to constant nausea, headaches, cold sweats, dizziness, and a perpetual dry mouth (I carried water with me everywhere). For the minimal hours per day I spent at work, I was uselessly zombified and accomplished little. There were constant cravings for food, I binged on all kinds of junk food which I proceeded to throw up due to the nausea.

The worst symptom were these weird, very difficult to describe, 'brain shocks', which were like electrical zaps in my head. They were associated with a popping/clicking noise that I kind of 'heard'. At their peak, these jolts were completely incapacitating and had me curled up in my apartment, alone on the floor wrapped in blankets, disorientated and shivering. I lay on the lounge room floor in my own personal hell for two days. Whereas most of the other withdrawal symptoms abated a week or so after my last pill, the brain shocks persisted occasionally for at least three weeks after I ceased taking the meds.

In the weeks after coming off anti-depressants, I felt changed. Unexpectedly I felt better. Things certainly weren't rosy in my life, but I no longer suffered from extensive depressive episodes. I have no explanation for my chemically-induced 'rebirth', but depression no longer has a strangle-hold on my existence.

Depression and anti-depressant drugs have left a legacy on my psyche. They have made me...
- more reserved.
- prone to be sad, but not depressed.
- less mentally acute, and more forgetful (could be beer-related though...).
- more resilient to physical pain.

Over the years the usefulness of SSRIs in treating depression has come under scrutiny amidst concerns that SSRIs may actually increase suicidal behaviour. A detailed analysis of this ongoing controversy was published in 2006 in British Medical Journal here.

It's ironic how SSRIs helped my life, but given their horrendous side-effects and safety concerns, if you're considering embarking on a life that's dependent on anti-depressant therapy, I would advocate first exploring other means of combatting depression, such as counselling, meditation and regular exercise. Anti-depressants may not be the miracle cure that you imagine.

When depressed, reaching out to friends and family is important. It's easy to get lost in your own world of self-torture without realising that there are people who can, and want to, help you out of the seemingly perpetual sink-hole of depression. Most of all, you have to want to help yourself.

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Oscar Wilde.

One face of humanity

The following occurred the other week during a really shitty weekend spent at work. I drafted this post on the day it happened, but after forgetting about it for a while, have rediscovered and polished it for publication. Without a blog, it's no doubt that this pleasant memory would have been lost in the dark, troubled, abyss of my psyche, and for this reason I am happy to have continued blogging. Now for the story, continue on dear reader....

It was a mere 4 second observation, yet it was the highlight of my day and I've been pondering about it ever since.

I had just crossed a road on my way to work when I looked up and saw a tallish guy, head down, play-tackling with 2 kids, around 8 and 13 years old. Immediately I noticed that the guy was white and the kids black. The kids were laughing and having a great time. It was such an innocent playful gesture to witness that it instantly woke me from my iPod haze and made me smile. They were only a few metres away as I walked towards them.

Just as I passed them the guy broke the tackle and stood up straight. He was stunningly attractive, with short dark hair, fit, in his early 20's, and dressed simply in a tight white t-shirt and blue jeans: a poster image of a classic American boy. The kids were dressed like their favourite gangster rapper, in loose dark shirts and baggy pants, their black caps tilted. They continued to giggle and squeal as the poster-boy tickled them in the ribs.

The contrast of this strong, white, young man with the two small black children was striking. In the second that we crossed, I made eye-contact with the guy, and from the life in his eyes and smile on his face, it was clear he was genuinely having as much fun as the kids he was entertaining. That was perhaps the most surprising observation, as I would never have guessed that a guy like that would be so caring and paternal to such kids. I can only speculate about the relationship between the trio (neighbour, babysitter, step-father and sons?).

I don't know why, but the scene was deeply touching. It was a refreshing jolt after hearing the news that James Watson, co-discoverer of the DNA double-helix structure and Nobel Prize winner, had publicly spouted some scientifically unproven racist remark that black people were less intelligent than whites. From what I know from people who have met him or have seen him at talks, Watson has a penchant for being sexist, racist, arrogant and generally repulsive, so it was good to hear that he resigned from a high-profile post at a leading medical research institute in California.

Anyway, what I saw on my way to work was inspiring in that there was no hint of awkward racial barriers between the guy and kids, and this helped give me some hope that humanity may one day 'evolve past' racism.

Seeing the guy and kids playing made me ponder if I have profoundly affected another person in such an anonymously brief encounter? Probably not. But then again, have you?

You go squish now

You might have gathered from my previous post that things really are crap for me at the moment. Life, job, love...many things. Blogging about it is pointless so I won't. Supportive friends have cheered me up somewhat. Beer is also good, although chocolate is better. The following clip also gave me a giggle. On many different levels, it resonates with my existence at the moment.

Friday vent

The reasons are many, but lately I've been in a state of melancholy. Gripes? Factors that are particularly pissing me off? I've got plenty, here's a sample.

1. My pay, or rather, being underpaid. What do you think the salary of a postdoc in biological science should be? Keep in mind that postdocs have the highest academic qualification possible (Ph.D), are the work horses of US labs, and are doing a job to advance scientific discovery, a discovery that in the future may benefit your precious health. For example, thanks to medical science you no longer face a hideous death from smallpox, so I don't want to read any more shit about scientists being evil because we use animals in research or do things like genetic engineering. I don't want to hear people complaining that we don't have a cure for cancer already. Science is fucking hard OK?, this shit takes time so back the fuck off. If you're one of those people having a go at science and aren't a scientist or don't know a scientist, then you probably have no accurate idea what scientific research is about anyway, so in addition to fucking off, shut the fuck up. So back to my question, what's the salary of a postdoc? Well an entry level postdoc in the US gets the princely sum of around $37,000 per annum (before tax; according to government guidelines). Constantly working weekends, major job instability, the frustration of experiments constantly failing, that's the existence of a typical postdoc. All for what? not even 40-fucking K to live off. Pathetic.
   
2. Myself, for being too lazy to go to the gym this week. Plus me overall, but let's leave the self-obsessed deconstructive loathe-fest until next time shall we?
   
3. Overpriced piss-water Starbucks coffee.
   
   
   Starsucks by www.organique.com (top) and Kieron Dwyer’s take on Starbucks (bottom).
   
   
4. Cold weather.
5. The lack of hold that is provided by my hair gel and the fact that I can't find the brand I used to use in Sydney. Don't roll your eyes, I'm gay, I've got the bloody right to bitch about meaningless shit like this.
   
6. The slow death of my African violet. I water you, give you light, provide a moderate temperature, why are you dying?!
7. Having no idea what my future career will be. Do I stay in science or bail already?
8. My cell phone constantly having crappy reception. While I'm at it, a big fuck you to Verizon for making me put down a freaking $400 deposit just so I have the privilege of getting a shit-house cell phone with your glorious network. All because I don't have a credit history in the US. What bullshit. Fuckers.
   
9. Having to work out the fucking tip at bars and restaurants. I've had 8 beers already and now you're making me do fucking maths? It's insane.
   
10. American spelling, the way the day/month order is switched and the use of Imperial measurement in the US.
    
    Countries that use Imperial units of measure are in red (US, Liberia & Myanmar; the UK uses both metric and Imperial units).
    
    Seriously, why the fuck is arguably the most powerful nation on this piss-ant planet still not using the metric system? and don't spout the bullshit about it costing too much to convert the US to metric. If the US can afford $720 million per day on killing people in Iraq and Afghanistan (or half a million bucks per minute, with a projected cost of $2.4 trillion in ten years), then surely, metric conversion is attainable.
11. My constant misspelling of "Ex-flatemate" in a whole bunch of old posts, which I've now tried to correct.
    
12. This whinging nothing of a post.

Enough venting, time for me to venture into the hated outside cold to drop cash I don't have on some booze. First up, there's a battle with my hair gel I've got to see to. Fuck.

Change

I don't know if I want to continue with this blog in its current format. The original purpose of the blog was to provide a way for my mates back in Sydney to see what I've been up to in Boston. However, email, Facebook and Skype have made this blog largely redundant. Plus let's face it, no-one really gives a shit about my inane ramblings, and frankly, keeping a blog takes a crap-load of effort which I'm no longer willing to give. Yes I'm lazy.

I must admit I've enjoyed writing for this blog, it's a nice outlet and a pleasant change from the tedious scientific writing that I'm usually obligated to produce. Posting stuff online has also been strangely cathartic and personally liberating in a way, but whether I want to continue doing so is another matter. Plus I've got a shitload of other priorities than making sure my blog is up to date.

I do have a few posts that I've drafted which I will post in the future and I think I'll post randomly as the mood strikes, but I think posting regularly about my life in Boston is going to stop. So expect a bit of a change at +61.

Alarms

Every now and again, certain events trigger us to reassess the priorities and situation of our lives. Sometimes these events are cataclysmic (e.g. the loss of a loved one), but often, they are relatively minor occurrences, which serve as intermittent alarms to wake us from our day-to-day drudgery. I experienced one of these small jolts of reality last week. It came in the form of email and was from my good mate Ace. It reminded me of how much I value my friends and family, and has made my worries about having a hard-time dealing with my boss pale into a trivial annoyance in the grand scheme of things.

Ace is a police officer, and in short, he nearly died. I hope he doesn't mind, but here's a snippet of his story:

"I had a run in with a mentally ill male on Monday night. I was about 2 inches from being killed... he was armed with a massive meat cleaver which he swung at my face and neck with full force. Luckily I had taken a baton from the car on the way up to his unit*, which I used to deflect the blade".
(*unit is Aussiespeak for apartment)

It took several officers with a lot of capsicum spray to finally subdue the attacker and thankfully Ace survived the situation unharmed, but reading his words and realising the alternate outcomes of the situation made me feel sick and really homesick. We've been through so much together and I can't imagine not ever having the chance to give him a hug, share a beer, discuss cute boys passing by, or just chat and share our lives.

Ace and I shared the suffering of coming to terms with being gay, and I've always looked up to him and admired the way he dealt with the whole situation. Where I slipped into depression and senseless direction, he was positive, pro-active and infinitely braver than I in seeking to become a confident, well-adjusted gay man. I'm uncertain whether there is such a thing as 'destiny' in life, but it does feel that Ace and I were destined to meet at such a critical stage in our lives to share our experiences and support each other. The endless hours chatting about our future as gay men, how our friends would react with the news, and accepting that we were gay, seem so long ago. We have certainly seen less of each other and have drifted apart over the past few busy years, which makes me a little sad, but such is the evolution of friendship and I know that our history still binds us strongly.

It's Independence Day today in the States and I can hear the rumbling bass and sharp stabs of fireworks blasting loudly close by. The roars of fighter jets have also passed overhead tonight. The noise is at odds with the quiet rain pattering outside, and the explosions sound like a distant battle raging in the otherwise still night. I'm sitting alone in my apartment, the lights are off, Triple J radio is playing lightly from my laptop. I feel very much like a foreigner in this city tonight. I feel as if I have no right to celebrate with the rest of the population. For me, the night seems conducive to self-reflection. Thinking about one's life is futile and torturous at the best of times, but I often ponder about where and how my life has unfolded. I know I am bloody fortunate to have the opportunity to be here in Boston and Ace's story helped me remember this.

I've received a lot of much appreciated advice about my work situation since my last post and I've decided to stay in the short term and see how my project turns out. I might have already made one lousy choice in coming to Boston, so is staying here a bit longer the right choice? That's a question not worth stressing about, time will tell. Anyway, worrying about getting yelled at by the boss makes me laugh when compared to the worries about personal safety that Ace has to deal with.

Due to their inherent nature, many of the life alarms that forced me to revalue and appreciate my life have been horrible, I'm just glad that Ace's story was not in the cataclysmic category. But why wait for the next alarm to appreciate something in your life? Go and give your loved one a hug, your family a call, or arrange a catch up with a mate. Do whatever is uplifting for you. Life sucks too much to have to miss out on these simple pleasures.

"Think of all the beauty that's still left in and around you, and be happy." Anne Frank.

Reinvention

People relocate their lives for many reasons. For some, it's simply for a new job. For others, a new environment offers the chance to find an ill-defined 'something' in life that has previously eluded them: it's the opportunity to be the person you'd always wanted to be. For me, moving to the States is primarily to broaden my career, although I suspect a sprinkling of the latter is also true.

Moving abroad is an opportunity to start fresh. It's a clean slate ready to be painted in whatever shade you desire. You can reinvent how you wish to be viewed by others and leave behind tired routines and bad habits. It seems a nice romantic ideal and I wonder how much of it is true. Of course this will be true for certain people like refugees, but what about for people like me who move between first-world countries?

Although a new continent may offer the opportunity for reinvention, can one simply find the unfulfilled aspects of their life in a new city? Most probably not. I suspect it's more the case of "different shit, same smell".

At my stage in life, a persons personality is already hardwired into set patterns of thought and behaviour, and to positively change this thinking is a slow and difficult process for the most part. Living elsewhere may influence certain perceptions, but is it enough of a catalyst for the self-reinvention process such that the happiness which has eluded someone in their native country is found in their new home? I wish this was the case but I doubt it.

I've moved to Boston with few expectations. For me, it's not about reinvention, although I'm taking this period of change as a chance to re-examine the spiritual aspect of my life. No, I'm not talking about religion, but the spirituality of being at peace with yourself, being content with the past and accepting of an uncertain future.

It's not reinvention that I seek, but reinvigoration.

Star Wars

Today is 30 years after the release of Star Wars. It's one of those days where Star Wars freaks dust off their lightsabers, don their Jedi robes and try to 'out-Star Wars' every other fan with random trivia and classic quotes (*sounds of choking and a dead body hitting the floor* "Apology accepted, Captain Needa" Vader, after expressing his displeasure at the unfortunate Capt. by Force-gripping him to death).

Although I'm by no means a fanatic, I quite enjoy the Star Wars saga. I still remember coming out of the cinema after seeing Episode one: The Phantom Menace on opening night gushing like a little kid about how cool the end fight sequence was. Yes, I must confess that I actually like Episode one, even with Jar Jar Binks in it. Sure the special effects were a bit heavy handed, the acting comical at times, and the dialog cheesy, but the movie did break the 20-something year drought of Star Wars cinema.

Plus Episode one had plenty of action, we finally saw some real Jedi knights kick some ass, and for me the film cemented Obi-Wan Kenobi as the most heroic and uber-cool Jedi in the series. What about Luke Skywalker? the Star Wars purists cry out. This line "But I was going into Toshi Station to pick up some power converters..." said in an overly whiny, sulky Skywalker manner in Episode IV completely depreciated my view of Skywalker for the rest of the original trilogy. I mean come on, the best movie out of the original series was The Empire Strikes Back, when Luke was getting his butt-kicked (or should I say hand lopped off) by his Daddy.

For those fellow Star Wars enthusiasts, take some time out debating whether life is best faced with the rogue attitude of Han Solo "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side kid", or the dignified steadiness of Ben Kenobi "This [lightsaber] is the weapon of a Jedi Knight. Not as clumsy or as random as a blaster, but an elegant weapon for a more civilized age", and enjoy these entertaining clips:

Vader calls The Emperor to break the bad news of the Deathstars demise - you have to watch this, it's frickin hilarious.

Troops - a Star Wars parody of the TV show COPS, very funny. The first half is funnier than the second.

Ryan v Brandon - An award winning fan-made lightsaber duel movie. The kids who made this have talent. The acting is a bit dubious, but the special effects are top-notch (Youtube doesn't do the effects justice, sorry I couldn't find the hi-res version that I originally found some time ago). George Lucas actually hired one of these guys after seeing one of their productions.

Ryan v Dorkman 2 - Another unbelievably impressive fight scene made by the guys above, with better and more special effects. Also check out RvD 1.

Obi-Wan buys a new car - funny skit by some Brits. Don't miss the fight scene at the end!

Lego Star Wars - pretty cool clip. Vader the orchestra conductor, "impressive, most impressive".

And who would have thought that C-3PO would have one of the most philosophically memorable lines in Star Wars? Next time you're discussing philosophy, Camus or Dostoyevsky, just remember the sage words of C-3PO "We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life."

Saturn returns

“Clutch it like a cornerstone. Otherwise it all comes down.
Justify denials and grip 'em to the lonesome end.
Saturn ascends, comes round again.
Saturn ascends, the one, the ten.
Ignorant to the damage done.”
The Grudge by Tool, from the Lateralus album.

Saturn takes approximately 29.5 years to orbit the Sun. When Saturn returns to the same position as it was at the time of someones birth, astrology states that the person goes through a period of turmoil, uncertainty, change and reflection. However, it's a not just a time of great upheaval, but also of accomplishment, reflection and maturity. This phenomenon is known as the Saturn return, and from my scant knowledge of this subject, the first Return for a person occurs between the ages of 27-30. The precise timing varies for each individual.

I've never been a believer in astrology and I find horoscopes absolutely ridiculous. Yet the current period of my life fits into the notion of a Saturn return quite well. My age fits within the Return period, I've moved to the US, started a new job and will have to find a new life. All events that qualify as a period of upheaval and challenge. It has also been a period where I've seriously reconsidered the meaningfulness of everything (although I've always questioned the purpose of my existence). I'm excited, pessimistic and petrified about what a possible Saturn return has in store for me, but it should prove to be an interesting period nonetheless.

For multiple reasons, the thinking that some distant planet can influence one's life seems silly to me. Yet it is intriguing to consider our link with the stars and planets surrounding us. From the Big Bang, we are "made of stars" after all. The atoms that we're all made of were created through proton-proton fusion reactions in stars or supernova explosions. Maybe there is a link between our lives and the celestial bodies that alter our futures. However, if we are indeed influenced by our link to the stars it seems odd that we humans, who should also be linked in the same manner, can hardly relate to each other in an increasingly divided world.

Planetary Saturn (top); "Saturn" by Goya, 1820-1823 (bottom)

Regardless of ones belief in the Saturn return, the lyrics in "The Grudge" encourage a deeper and more fundamental interpretation. It's about trying to better yourself spiritually as a way to find peace in our lives. The song suggests that forgiving the insignificant grudges that we all accumulate during life and moving on will lead to the path of a higher sense of spirituality.

Hanging on to grievances and overanalysing the past is something that I'm very prone to do. I believe it has to do with me trying to understand what factors have conspired to create the undesirable parts of my personality, or those events which have corrupted the better qualities I once displayed. I miss the time when I was more tolerant, patient and less angry than I am now. Everything seemed, not easier or more carefree, but more peaceful. My hope was that by understanding how the problem came to be, this could lead to acceptance and even resolution of the problem.

But can self-enhancement, higher spirituality and inner peace arise from calculated reasoning? Perhaps the real issue stems from overthinking of the problem and maybe it's better to "let go" as the final words of the song suggest. Just let go. Such a simple command to write, but infinitely harder to accomplish. Seems like inner tranquility will remain elusive for me a while yet.

Looking on the bright side, if I don't succeed in this Saturn return, I've got another 30 or so years to prepare for the next Return. I'll just have to rely on the weekly horoscope to see what's in store for me until then.

"Give away the stone.
Let the oceans take and transmutate this cold and fated anchor.
Give away the stone.
Let the waters kiss and transmutate these leaden grudges into gold.
Let go."
The Grudge by Tool, from the Lateralus album.

Living +61

It's strange to think that one can identify with a number, especially one as innocuous as 61. Yet as an Aussie, 61 has significance to me as this is Australia's international calling code. For me, the necessity of adding 61 to an otherwise familiar phone number means the sound of a familiar accent and the reassuring words of family and friends. That simple code establishes a conduit to home and erases the isolation of distance. More importantly however, +61 shouts of travel abroad, novel experiences, and the exciting uncertainty of being far from home.

Now that I’ve moved from Australia to the US, my interpretation of +61 has altered. Plus 61 is not just about the feeling of being away from Australia, instead, it now implies living beyond Australia. I’ve come to realise that this period of my life is not just about finding a new home. It’s also about discovering what it means to me to live in this absurd world, regardless of geography.

Furthermore, my interpretation of +61 has evolved by the view that the web has largely superseded the phone as the primary form of long distance communication. This blog is my new +61.

Therefore in many aspects, living +61 seems an appropriate theme for this blog. Who knows how it’ll turn out, but I plan the blog to be an eclectic documentation of how one relocates their life to the other side of the world, random day to day observations of adjusting to a foreign city, the odd rant, and if I’m brave enough, an occasional intimate insight as I continue the philosophical journey to know myself.

I guess it comes down to necessity, but it’s still intriguing to think that the convention of an international calling code is something that the entire world agrees on. Even though it's ridiculous to think of the international calling code as some sort of a global ranking of a country, it still kinda feels that way to me. It's stupid I know, and I'm not even exactly sure what I perceive the code to rank. Liveability, economic clout, political stability and global influence maybe. I'm not saying that the US is the "best" country in the world, but doesn't it seem fitting that the US code is 1 and not 994? 994 is the code for Azerbaijan by the way. For the record, my opinion is that Australia is the best country in the world (of course), and I think Australia is suited to +61. A number that's not too high, but not completely obscure either. Sixty-one sits well for a country that's generally laid-back and comfortable in its isolated corner of the globe.

Having relocated to the east coast of the US, I've moved 60 places in the "hierarchy" of calling codes to pole position. My new international calling code is 1. Will the day come when the need to dial plus 1 invokes the same emotions of “home” that I've come to associate with plus 61? There will be plenty of time to find out.