John: Where the Hell am I?

Wednesday, September 29, 2004 - 12:00:00 AM

   You ever get that feeling that you’re not supposed to be here?  I get that feeling all the time.  It’s not really a geographical thing either – it’s more a reality thing.  Let me explain in case you have no idea what I’m talking about.

   You might have an inkling of where I’m coming from if you have an office job and wonder why you’ve gone from a kid who liked to be at the front of the Radio Flyer wagon navigating it along treacherous sidewalks to being a gown-up surrounded by temporary shoulder-height carpeted walls, staring at a piece of back-lit glass, tapping on little square pieces of plastic.

   It’s possible that you might already have similar thoughts to mine if you stare at the TV set each night, comfortably entrenched in your living room couch, wondering how it’s possible, with 800 satellite channels, that there’s absolutely nothing on worth watching.  Luckily for some, there’s TiVo, but that’s another conversation.   

   If you are an avid reader of fiction, specifically science fiction and fantasy, then it’s likely you’ve already had these kinds of thoughts before I ever did, depending, of course, on which one of us started reading fiction first.  Ever wonder why Human’s imagination seems to be of a lot higher quality than the reality we exist in?  I do.

   Right now, the TV is on mute and Blast from the Past is on, a movie where a 35 year old guy who was born in a bomb shelter comes out to see the world for the first time.  While it might seem oddly appropriate for a journal entry such as this, I found it impossible to continue watching it after a while.  It's probably not all that bad, but it somehow irritated me, which may be why I've never seen the whole thing.  Teresa, irritable with yet another headache, is asleep on the couch, kept in an unconscious state only by the hum of the electron gun firing photons at the glass front of the television.  Muting it does not wake her, but turning it off will, no matter how deep a sleep she's in.

   Teresa wonders why I'm not romantic.  Don't worry, there's a connection to the preceding paragraphs, I promise.  Each night, we sit and watch television and that's about it.  Sure, I play video games sometimes and often visit my friends, which is fun, but there is little Teresa and I have in common as far as things we like to do when we're at the apartment.  The funny thing about her and I is that we never dated; we just kind of started being together, and that's the way it's been for around 6 years now.  There never was any romance or real courting.  She says I'm not romantic and while I believe she's right, I've not always been that way.  Once, a long time ago, when I was younger and had more idealistic views of relationships, I was romantic.

   I have always loved to read fiction, and regardless of the type of fiction, there were always wonderful relationships between the characters in the books.  From amazingly strong friendships to magical love, the realities described by the books were full of life brilliant with emotion, activity, and interest.  It seemed much more possible to me back then that these kinds of things could be possible in my reality, in my life.  It seems much less possible now.  Is this of my own making?  Possibly.  Probably.  But maybe not.   

   I sat watching the TV, Teresa peacefully sleeping across the length of the couch, frustrated.  Why the hell am I watching this stupid television?  (It's almost 1 AM and the phone just rang.  It's my friend Jeff - his clutch cable on his motorcycle just snapped and he's a bit stranded, so I'm heading out to give him a ride home.  Back in a few, and, if my mood continues, which is likely, I'll be right back at this!)  I was watching TV because I had nothing else to do.  Or maybe because it's about the only thing to do with Teresa.  Or maybe because I hope there's something on that's more interesting than what's going on around me.  Or probably all of the above.

   You can probably think of all kinds of cool things to do and you probably think that "you can do anything you put your mind to."  No, you can't.  I can't be a Knight who goes to slay a dragon and rescues the fair maiden in the tower.  Even if I lived back in the time of Knights, there were no dragons (at best I'd have been fighting another Knight for land ownership rights to yonder hill,) and the maidens were just as imperfect then as they are now.  That's not to say the Knights were perfect; men are hardly are far from perfect, and I do include myself.

   I can't fly into space or travel through star gates having amazing action-packed adventures like the people in Stargate SG-1 that Chris, Erik and I watch on DVD.  I can't find an amazing android girl in the trash that turns out to have a program that brings her and all other androids to life when she falls in love with her soul mate like in Chobits, a Japanese animation.  Neither can you do any of these things because you are here with me, in this reality.  Why do I mention these shows specifically?  There just a tiny fraction of the things I've watched that ring a bell somewhere inside me.  Why are these fictional lives so vibrant?  Why are their imagined emotions so seemingly deep and pure?  Why does life not seem like this?  I don't really have an answer.

   Some people turn to religion for an answer.  I wish I could, too, but the Bible just doesn't seem like a complete answer to me.  My old boss is still trying to convince me that I'm going to Hell while another close friend of mine is adamant that there is no Hell at all even though he believes very much in God and the generalities of the Christian religion.  Mormons that we've met are convinced that the Bible is only half of the story, so their originator wrote a second book supposedly translated directly off some golden plates that were conveniently misplaced soon after the translations were completed.  I have no compelling argument against their book.  As far as I'm concerned, there's about as much evidence for it as there is for the Bible, considering how much younger the Book of Mormon is.  Certainly there's more evidence that the Bible's been here since ancient times because it is simply that old.  Either way, we look to God for a purpose for life.  Some say that we are here simply to eek out an existence, being as good a person as we can.  Some say we're here as a test to see how well we can live life, may that be whoever collects the most toys or who helps the most in need.  I've grown up in a consumer society and now all I know what to strive for is things.  Imagination (often inspired by books and movies) has made me want to strive for experiences, adventures, action, mostly of a type not possible in this existence.

   Don't worry, I'm the least likely person to commit suicide in the world.  The only way I plan to leave here is by getting very old and dying.  Unless, of course, I can find a suitable StarGate/WormHole/Looking Glass/Teleporter/etc. and then you know I'll be out of this reality faster than you can say Um.  Sigh.  If I thought any of those things were possible, I'd dedicate my life to finding one.  But I don't.  The Mormons say we're here because, essentially, we got bored in Heaven and decided to try out some physical bodies.  We wanted the experience to be fresh, so we get our Heavenly memories blanked before we strap ourselves into our fetuses to begin the adventure.  (Disclaimer: this is my interpretation of some content I received from some Mormon guys and is based on very limited information.  In other words, I could be way off base, so don't get to nutty on me if you happen to know otherwise.)  The funny thing is that it kind of makes a bit of sense, but I don't really believe that either.

   So what's the point?  We start out as babies and grow up learning how to walk and talk, while eating and sleeping comes naturally.  We progress to becoming kids, learning how to watch TV, ride bikes, and crave material things (I think that comes back to the whole fascination with physical bodies again.)  OK, if we grow up in Ethiopia we don't watch TV or ride bikes, but since this is the only lifestyle I really know, it's about all I can talk about.  Admittedly, I realize I'm far better off than I would be had I grown up there.  Or am I?  Here, money isn't the root of all evil.  It's simply the root of all.  If you want to do anything or go anywhere you must have money.  Even the walk was really expensive.  You'd think walking from point A to point B wouldn't be such a big deal, but there's food, gadgets, mobile phones, web servers, car payments (Yep, still gotta make those payments even if you're not planning to use the vehicles for four months!) and all kinds of other expenses, not to mention the fact that you lose all the money you'd have made from the job you weren't doing.  I wonder, though, what it's like in a less industrialized country.  Granted, conditions are often harsh or even terrible, where everyone's dying of starvation.  But I'll bet that's not always the case.  In some places, people grow up, caring for themselves and those around them, living in communities where there is no such thing as money.  When you want to go somewhere, you just leave and take care of yourself along the way.  Adventure might be considered a way of life in these places.  And they don't have suburbs.

   I think I'm afraid of suburbs (you think I'm rambling, but it's connected, really!)  I think I'm afraid of them because they mean I'll have to become an adult eventually.  Maybe it's just a scary word to me, I'm not sure.  Here's another question: What is an adult?  There are definitions that answer the question, and I'm sure you can come up with a few yourself, but that's not really what I'm driving at.  I mean, when do you know you've become an adult?  Also, why do some people seem to lose their childhood entirely?  I've met very few people who seemed to still have the little kid version of themselves just below the surface while they still remained quite mature.  Most adults I meet seemed to have forgotten the original version of themselves.  Think about this for a second.  Those of you who read this probably have at least a little youth at heart (or you wouldn't be interested enough to be on this web site!)  so you may already have noticed many of these people, but these people cannot seem to notice themselves.  My dad and mom, in my opinion, still have a bit of the kid inside, and I'm glad of it.  There are other parents I know who do not, and I find it difficult to deal with, perhaps because of my immaturity, or perhaps because of some simple incompatibility.

   If adults want stability and kids want adventure, then I'm quite obviously still a kid.  I look at the suburbs with the carbon-copy subdivisions and sometimes wonder where all of the individuals went.  I now know where some live, like Curt in Wyoming, thanks to the walk.  I think he might still be a kid even though he looks like an adult on the surface.  I wonder how long I can hold out before I'm swept into a template house in the suburbs and I lose my imagination or perhaps just give up on it entirely.  Ooh, look at that new sport utility vehicle - I bet I could fit the kids, the dog and the wife into it and still look stylish.

   Where the hell did I put that wormhole generator?



P.S. One year ago today, we were in Mill City, Nevada.
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