In the words of Styx, I've got (t t t t t) too much time on my hands.
For the first time in months, my day ended around six o'clock this afternoon. Most days, I finish teaching at twelve and veg for ten hours (with brief breaks for eating and running). But today, after teaching until four, I went shopping with some of my students and returned in time for dinner. Well, I didn't have time for my daily four o'clock depression, but I did think a little more than usual about my time here in China. I ended my musings with a couple of questions. I hope you will give your input.
Do you remember the glory days? Do you remember when Jonathan had a passion? I'm guessing most of you don't. I'm talking about High School. Wait, I hear you say "Jonathan considers High School his glory days?" I answer yes. When was the last time you heard someone say "Man, College was aight, but High School, man those days were fun,"? Probably never. Most people consider High School the hormone-bloated stepping-block to the beginning of life. Now that things have ended, I reflect on college as a huge step back in my life. What happened? And what made High School so fun?
Like I said, I had a passion. I had goals. I had a monster work ethic and I hardly stopped for dinner. I wanted to be an all-state Horn player. I wanted to make state in Academic Team. I realize those goals don't jolt reverence into the masses, but I worked hard. I would go to school--where I played horn for three hours--come home and practice another three hours, study my inane Literature study guides, go to bed and do it again the next day. If my parents informed me dinner was ready during my practice session, it would make me livid; I would respond with a belligerent "Eat without me!" born out of the frustration of having my focus broken (sorry bout that Mom and Dad). When was the last time you heard of a teenage boy getting angry because someone told him to eat food? Gosh I was nuts. I'm not even sure that was me. Which explains why college friends listen with polite incredulity (I've only told two or three, no one wants to hear High School stories for Pete's sake) when I tell them about my unbelievable past; they have no reason to believe the story I tell them. I usually end the conversation wanting to say "You don't understand. I worked harda than most people do in their entire lives. I had class. I was a contender. I was somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am now, " (with apologies to Marlon Brando). And then college happened...
Well, I hit a brick wall. I remember typing essays my first semester that went something like this "I worked way too hard in High School. Honestly. I'm going to enjoy college instead of rushing from place to place with only 15 minutes for supper. I don't care if it does affect my GPA." I should have shot myself in the foot instead; I burned out at the exact same time everyone else entered the "Life starts now," phase. Imagine a Red Sox fan who has given up on his team the year before they win the world series. He has been cheering for years and years, but all the Bill Buckner moments wear him down and he gives up hope. He stops caring about his team and the entire game of baseball. Of course, the minute he gives up, the BoSox turn the ship around and he watches the entire world jump on the "Reverse the Curse" band wagon, and the only think he can think is "Yea, it's cool now, but just wait until the Red Sox blow another four game lead, and then I'll these people will see what's like to put so much into something only to have disappointment." Of course, those darn Red Sox win the World Series, and all the fans (including the bandwagon newbies) revel in the camaraderie that comes with cheering for the same team. And the old Red Sox fan curses his luck at giving up one year before it paid off, and he feels like he can never go back now that he has transcended baseball. However, it turns out his transcending baseball ostracized him from the maddening crowd, and three years (and another world series later) he fumes in the corner failing to convince others that he watched every game until the 2004 season, and watching baseball is pointless, but no one listens (sorry for the long analogy, I tried to use UK basketball in some way but it didn't work).
I struggle to find a word for the mentality of the Red Sox fan. The mentality originates from the mindset that everything in life has no point, so you know, why work at it. I don't call it laziness, because, believe me, if I had a good reason to do something and I would do it. I want to call it an Ecclesiastical mentality, taken from the book of course, but that adjective means something else. I want to call it nihilism, but that's not a good word either. I don't know what to call it. I started taking up this viewpoint near the end of my Senior year of high school. About the time that food stopped tasting good and my favorite T.V. shows just weren't as funny anymore. I'm not depressed. I've been depressed, and I never want to feel that low again. I'm just, you know, meh. I'm meh. Good word. I've got the mehs. So you know, college passed on. I loafed and I blew an unlimited amount of opportunities to improve my life.
Well, acknowledging this fact has not changed my ways. I'm still the same old college Jonathan, trying to find the old self deep down inside me, but still seeing no reason to put in the effort. Yes, I had ambition in high school, but I can't get over the reasons behind the ambition. I wanted respect in high school from my peers, that's why I worked so hard, but those urges had their base in selfishness. I wanted people to listen to what I said because I was good at what I did; I wanted girls to like me for the same reason. I had a mini-enlightenment at the end of High School, and for some reason, I figured abandoning that work ethic because it was based in selfishness would make me an inherently better individual.
HECK NO! I could not have been more wrong. I should have hit cruise control on the slightly selfish-ambition and had a grand old time in college. I once devoted my life meticulous, hard-nosed practicing three hours a day; Now, I'm too lazy to read! Argh! Why didn't I stay ignorant? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?! The Jonathan of yesteryear would have said "Ten hours to myself? Now I can become great at anything." The Jonathan of today says "Wow, ten hours until this bloody thing starts over again." I enjoyed life so much more when I seized the day for all the wrong reasons. Transcending a slightly flawed work ethic ruined my life. I've been a shell for four years now.
You know, and this is the sad part, I think something started giving me the answers to my shell state before leaving the country interrupted everything. Life sucker-punched me back to age 18. I never was gung-ho about coming here, but I didn't think I needed to be. I hoped the bad vibes would evaporate once I settled. They didn't; they only got worse. And as one or two good friends will attest, I had many major fears about living here and only one didn't come true. So I have to ask why. Why?
O.k. so shopping really does give you something to write about. Is a slightly flawed work ethic better than no work ethic at at all when abandoned for higher values? Are all work ethics flawed? Is there such thing as a pure work ethic for unselfish motives? And what is the point when we all die anyway? Comfort? A higher good? Art for art's sake? Is asceticism the true meaning of life? Would I have found happiness in China if I had abandoned every pseudo-selfish wants for the sake of everyone else here? What will I do when I get back? What is the point of the game of Life when we all end up with our little blue and pink pegs in the big house at the end (really the board game Life has to be the most depressing yet, at the same time, true things ever made; go to college? Have kids? Fire Insurance? Doctor? Janitor? Try to win? Sucker, no one wins in the game of Life, the same fate awaits us all: a tiny plastic mansion)? If China was for me, why was I placed here where I would not enjoy myself? What valuable lessons will I learn from this? Will I learn any lessons? Why, for the first time in years, did life suddenly open up before I left, but come to a crashing halt when I got here (and no, it's not because China gave me something to work towards)? Why can I not break out of this laziness when I know a different life is much more fulfilling? Is this a test? Why am I so alone? Is there something wrong with coming home early? If there is, why is the alternative better? Why can't Asian women be taller? Why do I regret most of my long-term life decisions? etc.
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
p.s. despite the absurd length, I have more thoughts on all this jazz, but I either can't post them or just got tired of writing. And um, you don't have to answer all the questions.
For the first time in months, my day ended around six o'clock this afternoon. Most days, I finish teaching at twelve and veg for ten hours (with brief breaks for eating and running). But today, after teaching until four, I went shopping with some of my students and returned in time for dinner. Well, I didn't have time for my daily four o'clock depression, but I did think a little more than usual about my time here in China. I ended my musings with a couple of questions. I hope you will give your input.
Do you remember the glory days? Do you remember when Jonathan had a passion? I'm guessing most of you don't. I'm talking about High School. Wait, I hear you say "Jonathan considers High School his glory days?" I answer yes. When was the last time you heard someone say "Man, College was aight, but High School, man those days were fun,"? Probably never. Most people consider High School the hormone-bloated stepping-block to the beginning of life. Now that things have ended, I reflect on college as a huge step back in my life. What happened? And what made High School so fun?
Like I said, I had a passion. I had goals. I had a monster work ethic and I hardly stopped for dinner. I wanted to be an all-state Horn player. I wanted to make state in Academic Team. I realize those goals don't jolt reverence into the masses, but I worked hard. I would go to school--where I played horn for three hours--come home and practice another three hours, study my inane Literature study guides, go to bed and do it again the next day. If my parents informed me dinner was ready during my practice session, it would make me livid; I would respond with a belligerent "Eat without me!" born out of the frustration of having my focus broken (sorry bout that Mom and Dad). When was the last time you heard of a teenage boy getting angry because someone told him to eat food? Gosh I was nuts. I'm not even sure that was me. Which explains why college friends listen with polite incredulity (I've only told two or three, no one wants to hear High School stories for Pete's sake) when I tell them about my unbelievable past; they have no reason to believe the story I tell them. I usually end the conversation wanting to say "You don't understand. I worked harda than most people do in their entire lives. I had class. I was a contender. I was somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am now, " (with apologies to Marlon Brando). And then college happened...
Well, I hit a brick wall. I remember typing essays my first semester that went something like this "I worked way too hard in High School. Honestly. I'm going to enjoy college instead of rushing from place to place with only 15 minutes for supper. I don't care if it does affect my GPA." I should have shot myself in the foot instead; I burned out at the exact same time everyone else entered the "Life starts now," phase. Imagine a Red Sox fan who has given up on his team the year before they win the world series. He has been cheering for years and years, but all the Bill Buckner moments wear him down and he gives up hope. He stops caring about his team and the entire game of baseball. Of course, the minute he gives up, the BoSox turn the ship around and he watches the entire world jump on the "Reverse the Curse" band wagon, and the only think he can think is "Yea, it's cool now, but just wait until the Red Sox blow another four game lead, and then I'll these people will see what's like to put so much into something only to have disappointment." Of course, those darn Red Sox win the World Series, and all the fans (including the bandwagon newbies) revel in the camaraderie that comes with cheering for the same team. And the old Red Sox fan curses his luck at giving up one year before it paid off, and he feels like he can never go back now that he has transcended baseball. However, it turns out his transcending baseball ostracized him from the maddening crowd, and three years (and another world series later) he fumes in the corner failing to convince others that he watched every game until the 2004 season, and watching baseball is pointless, but no one listens (sorry for the long analogy, I tried to use UK basketball in some way but it didn't work).
I struggle to find a word for the mentality of the Red Sox fan. The mentality originates from the mindset that everything in life has no point, so you know, why work at it. I don't call it laziness, because, believe me, if I had a good reason to do something and I would do it. I want to call it an Ecclesiastical mentality, taken from the book of course, but that adjective means something else. I want to call it nihilism, but that's not a good word either. I don't know what to call it. I started taking up this viewpoint near the end of my Senior year of high school. About the time that food stopped tasting good and my favorite T.V. shows just weren't as funny anymore. I'm not depressed. I've been depressed, and I never want to feel that low again. I'm just, you know, meh. I'm meh. Good word. I've got the mehs. So you know, college passed on. I loafed and I blew an unlimited amount of opportunities to improve my life.
Well, acknowledging this fact has not changed my ways. I'm still the same old college Jonathan, trying to find the old self deep down inside me, but still seeing no reason to put in the effort. Yes, I had ambition in high school, but I can't get over the reasons behind the ambition. I wanted respect in high school from my peers, that's why I worked so hard, but those urges had their base in selfishness. I wanted people to listen to what I said because I was good at what I did; I wanted girls to like me for the same reason. I had a mini-enlightenment at the end of High School, and for some reason, I figured abandoning that work ethic because it was based in selfishness would make me an inherently better individual.
HECK NO! I could not have been more wrong. I should have hit cruise control on the slightly selfish-ambition and had a grand old time in college. I once devoted my life meticulous, hard-nosed practicing three hours a day; Now, I'm too lazy to read! Argh! Why didn't I stay ignorant? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?! The Jonathan of yesteryear would have said "Ten hours to myself? Now I can become great at anything." The Jonathan of today says "Wow, ten hours until this bloody thing starts over again." I enjoyed life so much more when I seized the day for all the wrong reasons. Transcending a slightly flawed work ethic ruined my life. I've been a shell for four years now.
You know, and this is the sad part, I think something started giving me the answers to my shell state before leaving the country interrupted everything. Life sucker-punched me back to age 18. I never was gung-ho about coming here, but I didn't think I needed to be. I hoped the bad vibes would evaporate once I settled. They didn't; they only got worse. And as one or two good friends will attest, I had many major fears about living here and only one didn't come true. So I have to ask why. Why?
O.k. so shopping really does give you something to write about. Is a slightly flawed work ethic better than no work ethic at at all when abandoned for higher values? Are all work ethics flawed? Is there such thing as a pure work ethic for unselfish motives? And what is the point when we all die anyway? Comfort? A higher good? Art for art's sake? Is asceticism the true meaning of life? Would I have found happiness in China if I had abandoned every pseudo-selfish wants for the sake of everyone else here? What will I do when I get back? What is the point of the game of Life when we all end up with our little blue and pink pegs in the big house at the end (really the board game Life has to be the most depressing yet, at the same time, true things ever made; go to college? Have kids? Fire Insurance? Doctor? Janitor? Try to win? Sucker, no one wins in the game of Life, the same fate awaits us all: a tiny plastic mansion)? If China was for me, why was I placed here where I would not enjoy myself? What valuable lessons will I learn from this? Will I learn any lessons? Why, for the first time in years, did life suddenly open up before I left, but come to a crashing halt when I got here (and no, it's not because China gave me something to work towards)? Why can I not break out of this laziness when I know a different life is much more fulfilling? Is this a test? Why am I so alone? Is there something wrong with coming home early? If there is, why is the alternative better? Why can't Asian women be taller? Why do I regret most of my long-term life decisions? etc.
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."
p.s. despite the absurd length, I have more thoughts on all this jazz, but I either can't post them or just got tired of writing. And um, you don't have to answer all the questions.
p.s.s. I bought a new coat:
5 comments:
Wow.
I could write a book in response, but instead, I'll say this - Love You Bubba!
jnn
At your age you have made very few long term life decisions. You are just on the edge ready to jump in. This experience will help you make better decisions and probably make them earlier then the rest of your friends.
By the way--Granddaddy says if you come home with that beard you will have to pay back all the money he has given you.
My heart goes out to you, Jonathan. Nothing can be more misable than not being happy with what life is handing you at the moment. Lessons that you are to take from this may be years coming, but hang in there my friend and remember JC and we love you with all of our hearts. When you get home I'll make you pancakes for breakfast and you won't even have to take a bath before Saturday!
Love you.
Ever tried yoga?
And....Joy isn't a selfish thing, it's how you find what you are supposed to do. :-)
Sounds like you better shave that beard.
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