Friday Pragmatism | Evolution

My how things change.

This week I’ve been reflecting on the way my thoughts have been shaped throughout the turbulence of my illness over the years. So many things have undergone numerous evolutions, sometimes even violent changes. Some things become easier, others more difficult, some things shift sideways into realms neither easier nor more trying, yet somehow displaced from where they once were.

I am still very paranoid of religious gatherings and hospitals, those two places being rather central to one of the most turbulent times of my life. It has indeed been difficult to train myself not to make snap judgements about people who wear their beliefs on their sleeves; it has been a point of great discipline for me on which I still often fail, but perhaps these days not as hard as I once did, and certainly not as often. Habits formed in ignorance can be easier to dissolve, but things that began as survival-skills associated with direct threat can be more difficult to combat. This means I sometimes fight as much with myself as I do with those things I perceive as being a threat to me. It’s not easy, but as with all lessons, I’m growing to appreciate and ultimately enjoy the rigours and rewards of my progress.

Hospitals are something else.
I’m not entirely sure I will ever get over my paranoia of hospitals. Right now, as I sit at my desk and write, I understand that my paranoia is unreasonable. Trauma however is an extremely powerful thing, leaving its mark on the mind deeply. Wounds always heal but a scar will always remain. There are times when I can enter a hospital to visit someone else with my full wits about me, however if I’m in a bad way, the paranoia can be overwhelming. There have been times when I think I’ve had to be more disciplined in my behaviour when in a hospital than ever I’ve had to be in a church since my worst episodes.

It’s not all trauma though.
Perceptions of many commonplace experiences also change.
It’s been a long time now since I’ve been upset about being held up in a massive traffic jam. There is a practical understanding of the situation, that no amount of anger or worry will make the traffic go any faster, but there is also an acceptance and embrasure of the immediate experience. Sitting motionless in traffic affords me the privilege of observing environments that I would almost always see at speed. I observe the people, the other cars, form and function, accidental beauty, the frustrated weaving of drivers desperate to navigate the gridlock and the resignation in the faces of people given up on expedience. I examine the tall streetlight made temporarily redundant by the sun, reflect on the people who are lifted in cherry-pickers to maintain them, what they must look like up-close. The barriers held together by welds and bolts, that someone at some stage knelt on the road, assembled and fastened these fabricated steel and concrete structures.

I may have mentioned this story before here, it can be hard sometimes to distinguish my memories and thoughts from one-another. Someone at work once asked me why I fill and boil the kettle for my tea when we have an instant hot-water service. I said to them that I enjoy the ritual; to fill the electric jug, set it down, depress the switch and then simply stand and wait. Expedience is not always appropriate, and indeed often is inappropriate. Coffee and tea will always be about ritual for me. If I do not have the time to fill my tea-ball or prepare my teapot, sit and draw, or grind and prepare my coffee, then I simply do not have time for the beverage. There is something to this slowness, this patience, an appreciation of small progress and reward that I enjoy so much. In some small way, I see it as a good abstract for non-verbal language, communicating only in gestures, facial expressions and the emitting of simple tones from the mouth. Ritual is an art, particularly simple, everyday rituals. Convenience is not necessarily made evil by this, it is simply acknowledge as appropriate for certain things and not for others.

My co-workers have associated me with these things. The person who shares one of the desks adjacent to mine commented that I always buzz-in and open the door a certain way, that simply by the sound she can identify my presence. I also have bells that hang from my car-keys which immediately announce my presence should I have them in my hand, and it’s become a constant in our lives in the office. I enjoy speaking to people briefly while preparing and drawing my tea or coffee in the kitchenette where once upon a time I would have despised such alleged small-talk. Perhaps I’ve been here long enough now, grown to know a little about these people and they about me, not at all to any degree of intimacy, but at least in what I’m appreciating now as a very subtle, casual and mutual warmth shared between people who at the end of the day are forced to work together by necessity.

One of the other things I reflect upon from my youth was a general distaste for mall-shopping. There were philosophical reasons, psychological reasons, reasons driven by paranoia, mania and hallucination, however as I grow, the very things that drove those thoughts now drive others. I thoroughly enjoy shopping, including mall shopping. I am no longer concerned about what other people think of the space or the activity, and have finally matured to a point where I isolate my own experiences and divorce them from any common perception. Culture at this point is irrelevant. I enjoy being in spaces that facilitate expenditure, that the more modern the mall, the more empty space and sunlight it will have engineered into its design. I love that there has been born a recent trend in dimly lit stores, often associated with strong fragrances and scents. I enjoy the reverberations and endless aural reflections born of the meters and meters of hard surfaces. Shopping during school-holidays or around such events as Christmas are not as enjoyable, but during any other time of the year, I simply enjoy being in those spaces. In the past I have grown to enjoy shopping with my partners, and now enjoy shopping with my colleagues and friends of both genders for any length of time, regardless of whether any purchases are made. Something that became more evident when I last travelled overseas in Japan, I now thoroughly enjoy being amongst people but not directly interacting with them; simply observing and being in the same space.

I’ve spoken before about not perceiving dense cities as fast places, that I never feel any pressure to rush as people seem to. Cities have always been places where I’ve found it easy to center myself, acknowledge my own space, move at my own pace and be at peace. So too when I drive, so too when I walk, wherever I walk.

Perhaps the most challenging thing nowadays in particular when it comes to dear friends, is the emergence of two powerful yet conflicting desires; the desire to speak endlessly of my thoughts, and the desire to think slow and not speak at all. With most of my friends, our discussions are quite natural and I find it easy to do both at the same time, but there have been interesting moments where I’ve had much to say and simply held my tongue, or started off slowly only to continue for hours. Luckily for me, most of my dear friends are similarly inclined and that’s perhaps why they are my closest companions; they are some of the very few people who can speak to a level of detail and enthusiasm sufficient enough for me to happily shut-up and listen.

I delight in these things.
Even the most difficult and perplexing of them, I enjoy.
Even those things made more taxing by association with trauma, so too I enjoy being challenged by them and observing my behaviour that is more subject to instinct than cognisance.
I celebrate my missteps as much as my triumphs and bear no expectation for any degree of perceived success; only that I will always be fortunate and agile enough to observe my own behaviour and be gratified by its complexity.