Tag: writing

Ode to the Immune System

Context: I’m sick. When I’m sick, I get bored without being able to write properly. Consequently, I tend to write shorter things, like songs. Here’s a about how certain parts of the immune system work. To the tune of “The Red Army is Strongest” AKA “Red Army, Black Baron”, AKA “That song from the Comintern faction in Hearts of Iron IV“. Enjoy.

The deadly virus and the harmful germ
Are gathering a great dark storm
But without regard for the the malady
The immune cells defend the body

So see the macrophage, begin the war to wage
Take its enemies hand to hand
Then it engulfs them with its deadly rage
As it makes the body’s first stand

Hear great cry of the brave neutrophils
As they charge forth into great trouble
As without regard for the the malady
The immune cells defend the body

So see Dendritic Cells, ring out their warning bells
Awaking the nearest lymph gland
And activating the T and B cells
As it prepares the final stand

Watch the B lymphocytes turning the tide
Making antibodies well supplied
As without regard for the the malady
The immune cells defend the body

Now the new mem’ry Cells, in the lymph nodes shall dwell
As others die by their own hand
The body stands down, as now all is well
As it survived the final stand

Facing Failure

I am in a particularly gloomy, dare I say, depressed, mood upon the eve of my writing this. Owing to the impending blizzard, United Nations Headquarters has been closed, and subsequently the events which I was to attend for the Women’s Empowerment Principles have been “postponed indefinitely”. The news reached me only minutes before I was to board the train which would have taken me into the city, where I had arranged for a hotel room overnight so as to avoid to having to travel during a blizzard.

This left me with an urgent choice: I could board the train, and spend a day trapped in a frozen city that was actively trying to dissuade people from traveling, or I could cut my losses, eat the cost of the hotel room, and return home to ride out the storm there. It probably surprises few that I chose the latter option; the option touted as the more sensible, strategically conservative, objectively correct option. Still, making this choice left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. It leaves me feeling as though I have failed.

I do not like failure.

Actually, that statement is inaccurate, or at least, misleading. I don’t merely dislike failure, in the same way that I dislike, say, sunscreen. No, I hate failure, in every sense of the word. I loathe it, detest it, and yes, I fear it.

This is not to say that I have such strong feelings toward losses. I feel this is an important distinction. Though I do have an adversity to unnecessary losses, sometimes, such sacrifices are necessary. What I hate is trying, making sacrifices, and then failing despite, or even worse, because of those efforts. The important distinction, at least in my mind, is that losses are a strategic principle, and a passing phenomenon, while failure is a state of being, whether for a few moments surrounding a particular exercise, or for a lifetime.

As one might expect, this makes me, in general, rather risk averse. Of course, this itself presents a paradox. Not taking a given risk also entails the inverse risk contained in the opportunity cost. That is to say, by not taking a given bet, you are effectively betting against it. This means that refusing to accept risks is always inherently itself a risk. So, for example, one cannot accept a zero percent chance of food poisoning without not eating altogether; and if one were to attempt to do so, they would quickly find themselves confronted by the more urgent problem of starvation.

The blizzard that closed the UN put me in a no-win situation. As a rational person, I can accept this, and act to cut my losses. Either I canceled my trip, resigned myself to staying at home, and ate the cost of my hotel reservations, or I purchased my train ticket, defied government instructions to stay home and avoid travel, put myself in danger, and spent the day trapped in a hotel room. I understand rationally why I chose as I did, and rationally, maintain that I made the correct decision. Yet I cannot escape the feeling that in choosing to abort my plans, I have failed my objective. Even if there was nothing to gain by getting on the train, I cannot suppress the feeling that my conscious choice invited some moral failing.

Some cursory research suggests that this particular feeling is not unique to myself, nor is it a new field of philosophical musings. Humans feel more emotional and moral responsibility for acts which are consciously undertaken than for merely following existing plans. This feeling is so prevalent it carries legal weight; binding contracts cannot be made by failing to decline an agreement; they require active assent. This might explain why I feel particularly upset with myself; If I had made no choice, then any perceived failure could only be an act of God, and out of my control. By making a conscious decision to cut my losses, I made that result a personal consequence, at least to my subconscious mind.

This leaves me at something of an impasse. I know why I am upset, yet can do little to console myself except to distract and reassure the nagging elements of my unconscious mind that I made the correct decision. I am left in conflict with myself, and left acutely aware of the fickleness of my own mind. While I suppose that this state of affairs is strictly preferable to feeling upset and not understanding why at all, I still cannot bring myself to feel in any meaningful way confident about myself in the present tense, particularly as these most recent reactions would seem to indicate that I might not be the single-mindedly rational being that I like to pretend that I am.

As I have indicated previously, I have very little intrinsic self confidence, at least in the manner which most people seem to expect that I ought. For whatever reason, I cannot seem to raise such self-evident feelings of self worth, and therefore, when I project such feelings, it is borne not of some internal passion, but extrinsic, statistical calculation. I base my self-assessment not on my own feelings, nor on others’ opinions, but on data and milestones. And though I feel that this generally gives me a better handle on the limits of my abilities, it also means that when I put my mind to a particular objective, and yet still fail for whatever reason, it becomes not only a momentary setback, but a point of evidence against my worth as a human being.

This can, and historically has, resulted in a mental loop whereby a temporary failure, such as a meeting which I had my aspirations set upon being cancelled by a snowstorm, leads to a general hardening of outlook, which in turn causes me to shift to the back foot, acting more conservatively, and taking fewer risky opportunities. Consequently, I wind up having fewer major victories to celebrate and reassure myself, and am instead left to reflect upon all of the opportunities which I missed. Because I was led to skip these choices by seemingly rational means, I cannot regret individual choices, but rather categorize them as mere symptoms of a general moral failing. These reflections promote further self-doubt, further strategic conservatism, and so on.

So, what can I do about it?

With the help of family and friends, I have come to realize that this is a viscous cycle that represents many of the worst and most self-destructive aspects of my personality and manner of thought. Of course, recognizing this fact consciously is the easy part. Hindsight is perfect, after all. The hard part is determining how to counter this cycle.

Historically my solution to such problems has been to throw myself into work, especially school work. This serves a dual purpose. First, if I am working hard enough, I do not have the time nor the energy to stew over my situation in more general terms. Second, it gives me a sense that I am accomplishing something. From primary through early high school, this approach has generally worked.

However, more recently, as the school has continued to demonstrate its gross incompetence in accommodating my physical disabilities, and as they have become increasingly distraught over the fact that my disability has not healed itself by magic, it has apparently occurred to the school administration that the correct way to inspire me to overcome medical impossibilities is to continually evoke shame each time my medical issues cause me to miss a deadline. Exactly what they aim to accomplish through this pestering continues to elude me. But in any case, this state of affairs means that greater effort on my part is more often scolded than rewarded. For, it seems, every time I attempt to reach out for clarification and assistance, I am subjected to a lecture on “personal responsibility”.

Because the school administration is apparently so “forward thinking”, and therefore does not believe in disability whatsoever, I am told that the fault for my failures is not, cannot, lie in my disability, but only in my personal moral failings. I am told by special education professionals that if I were truly dedicated to my academic performance, that my chronic diseases ought not have any impact on my life whatsoever. My promises that I will do my utmost given what I have to work with fall on deaf ears, because, allegedly, if I were to truly do my utmost, I would already be done on my own.

Needless to say, this experience is extremely stressful, and only deepens my sense of failure, self-hatred and anxiety. It should surprise no one that I am not terribly productive under such conditions, which only exacerbates the problem. Thus it comes to pass that throwing myself into schoolwork and attempting to prove myself wrong; to prove that I can indeed overcome opposition and be successful, only leads to more evidence that I am a failure.

I have looked, and am still looking, into various strategies to deal with this cycle moving forward. One strategy has been to write, and to post here. Another has been to give myself permission to engage in short “micro-vacations” as I call them, or “sanity-breaks” as my doctors refer to them. These short periods can last anywhere from a few hours to a few days depending on the severity of my initial state, particularly as they tend to coincide with when I am most physically fatigued*, but the important part is that they remain constrained to a specific time instead of drawing out into a general malaise. During this time, I temporarily do away with all pretense of productivity, and allow myself to engage in whatever petty amusement strikes my fancy.

*Sidenote: the overlap between physiological issues and mental symptoms is a recurring theme, making meaningful treatment for both all the more challenging. After all, is it really paranoia if your statistical chances of dying are vastly increased? The consensus thus far is that it isn’t. This is the reason why, despite having all of the symptoms, I do not technically qualify for any mental health diagnosis; because in my case, the source is obvious and completely justified.

In this respect, the fact that the same blizzard which set me on this spiral also shut down most everything in the vicinity comprises a silver lining of sorts. Obviously, there is no magic bullet for irrational feelings of failure. But perhaps that is beside the point. Perhaps the point of overcoming this feeling is not to wind up standing triumphantly atop the pile of slain emotions, but to reach a peaceful stalemate. I do not necessarily need to feel good about the fact that I could not accomplish my goals; merely be able to accept it without it destroying myself. Perhaps it might be enough to be able to calmly analyze and discuss my thoughts in writing, without necessarily having to reach a decisive conclusion.

Statistically Significant

Having my own website (something I can only now scarcely say without adding exclamation points,) has unlocked a great deal of new tools to explore. Specifically, having an operational content platform has given me access to statistics on who is reading what, who is clicking on given buttons, and where people are coming here from. It is enthralling, and terribly addictive.

Here are some initial conclusions from the statistics page:

1) There is a weak positive correlation between the days I release new content and the days we get more views. This correlation is enhanced if we stretch the definition of “day” to include proceeding twenty-four hours, rather than the remainder of the calendar day on which the content was released. This suggests that there may, in fact, be people actually reading what I write here. How exciting!

2) Most visitors register as originating from the United States. However, the script which tracks where our referrals come from paints a far more diverse picture. This could be a bug in the monitoring software, or people accessing the site from overseas could be using proxies to hide their identities.

3) The viewership of this blog is becoming larger and more international as a function of time.

4) More referrals currently come from personal one-on-one sharing (Facebook, web forums, shared links) than stumble-upon searches.

5) Constantly interrupting one’s routine to check website statistics will quickly drive on stark raving mad, as well as suck time away from writing.

These are interesting insights, and worthy of understanding for future posts. Of course, the immediate follow-up question is: What do I do with this data? How do I leverage it into more views, more engagement, and more shares? How do I convert these insights into money of fame or prestige? The idea seems to be that if a thing is being shared, there has to be some value coming back for the sharer aside from simply contributing to public discourse.

While I will not deny that I would enjoy having money, fame, and prestige, as of now, these are not my primary goals in maintaining this blog. If I do decide, as has been suggested, to follow the route of the professional sharer, soliciting donations and selling merchandise, it would not be in pursuit of Gatsbyesque money and status, but merely so that writing and not starving may not be mutually exclusive.

It is still strange to me that I have a platform. That, in the strictest sense, my writing here is a competitor of Netflix, JK Rowling, and YouTube. I am a creator. I am a website owner. I have a tendency to think of those aforementioned entities as being on a plane unto themselves, untouchable by mere mortals (or muggles, as the case may be) such as myself. And in business terms, there is some truth to this. But in terms of defining the meaning of “artist”, “creator” and “writer” in the twenty-first century, I am already on the same side of the line as them.

I suppose the heart of the matter is that, setting aside that those entities actually have professional salaries, there is no intrinsic difference between either of us. They have platforms, and I have a platform. They have an audience with certain demographics, as do I. They receive value from the distribution of their work, and I do for mine (albeit in different forms and on different orders of magnitude).

Growing up, I had this notion that adulthood conferred with it some sort of intrinsic superiority borne of moral and cognitive righteousness, and conferred upon each and every human upon reaching adulthood. I believed that the wealthy and famous had this same distinction one step above everyone else, and that those in positions of legal authority had this same distinction above all. Most of the authority figures in my life encouraged this mindset, as it legitimized their directions and orders to me.

The hardest part of growing up for me has been realizing that this mindset simply isn’t true; that adulthood is not a summary promotion by divine right, and that now that I too am a nominal adult, that no one else can truly claim to have an inherently better understanding of the world. Different minds of differing intellectual bents can come to differing conclusions, but people in power are not inherently right merely because they are in power.

I am not a better or worse human being merely because I happen to have the passwords and payment details to this domain, any more than Elon Musk is an inherently better human for having founded Tesla and Space-X. Yes, the two of us had resources, skills, and motivation to begin both of our projects, but this is as much a coincidental confluence of circumstances as a reflection on any actual prowess. Nor are we better people because we have our respective audiences.

In this day an age, there is much talk of division of people into categories. There are the creators and the consumers. The insiders and the outsiders. The elite and the commoners. The “world of success” as we have been taught to think about it, is a self-contained, closed-loop, open only to those who are worthy, and those of us who aren’t destined to be a part of it must inevitably yield to those who are. Except this plainly isn’t true. I’m not special because I have a blog, or even because I have an audience large enough to draw demographic information. There is nothing inherent that separates me from the average man, and nothing that separates both of us from those at the very top. To claim otherwise is not only dangerous to the idea of a democratic, free-market society, but is frankly a very childish way to look at the world.

Discovery, Ho!

I like the feeling of discovery. Being able to create new things is awesome, but it’s also great to find new things that other people have made. I enjoy the sense of exploration in learning about new phenomena and places. This joy of discovery is the main reason I love learning in general. Even when, for example, in the field of history, there is very little “new” to be discovered, there is still the possibility of unearthing a novel correlation or interpretation that can challenge the way we understand the world around us.

This week, my attention has fallen on the online scavenger hunt being arranged by John Green of Vlogbrothers (and many other things). The actual experience is very spoiler-heavy, and so I will do my best to avoid giving too much away for anyone who is interested on following through. The place to start is the Vlogbrothers YouTube channel. As of writing, the latest two of John’s videos (but not Hank’s, who allegedly, is just as clueless as the rest of us) are a part of the puzzle. There are plenty of hints in the comments section, but be warned, there are also spoilers.

The project is early enough that it’s not entirely clear what the endgame is here. There is much speculation, and circumstantial evidence to support it, that this whole charade is a build up to the release of a new book. Others have suggested that this is a fun side project to bring the community (known affectionately as “Nerdfighters”) closer together.

What is apparent so far is that the main nerve center appears to act as a sort of “virtual speakeasy” for dedicated followers, with the answers to the weekly riddles serving as passwords. This is a neat idea for a community as large as Nerdfighteria, as it acts as an effective barrier to spammers, trolls, and complete outsiders, while not being exclusionary to those who are genuinely interested.

Of course, debates over “spoiling” the passwords for others, particularly in the YouTube comments of the videos where the riddles are provided, have already sprung up, with strong arguments both for and against making it easier for others to find and gain access. Riddles have been criticized for being too region-specific. Current members are already looking to the future with dread as more and more Nerdfighters crack the puzzle and start pouring in.

More than anything, however, is a sense of excitement. Some are merely excited to have cracked the puzzles. Others are excited for the possible release of a new book, or else to determine where the remaining riddles, and the ongoing series of cryptic hints by John and his co-conspirators, lead. Still others, such as myself, are merely excited to be present. To take part in this massive story, wherever it leads, and to share it with like-minded community members.

The atmosphere is reminiscent of that of yesteryear’s NerdCon: Stories, arranged and attended by much the same group. Recounting that experience on this blog has been on my list, and given these new developments, will likely be moved up in my priorities. Suffice it to say, however, that the feeling is good, if somewhat strange. There are plenty of casual obscure references which I do not understand, and plenty more that I do. It is clear that, even this early, there is a solid sense of community, something which I find welcome and refreshing with all the talk of being divided going on in the world.

I do not know what will come next in this project. But I am excited to find out. In the meantime, Don’t Forget To Be Awesome.

Why I Write

It occurred to me while working on a previous speech for an event to question why I write. After all, I am not chronicling my adventures in order to sell them for a profit. I do write occasional pieces where I have a particular short-term objective to promote, but these are the exception rather than the rule.

What puzzles me further about my writing habits is that, in person, I am not terribly talkative. That is not to say that I am quiet- far from it. But I tend to keep myself fairly limited in conversation because I have noticed that in verbal form, people tend to tune out after the third paragraph or so, or else interrupt my train of thought and bring me off topic. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I have vastly more to express than I can reliably do so verbally.

This gets at part of the reason I write: I find it easier to express myself in text than by speaking. Although it loses the tone and body language, I find I have never been good at those things anyway. Aside from that, my chronic issues with sensory integration mean that I usually get to express only a fraction of what I actually have to say. This is incredibly frustrating, both in the moment, and later on when I begin to feel regret for not getting in everything I wanted.

This is one reason I feel compelled to write, and why I have a tendency to write long, largely unedited texts rather than short, fleeting social media posts. Despite my preference for privacy and seclusion, I feel deep anxiety that my story is remaining untold. Dealing with chronic disease means being constantly aware that consciousness is far from permanent. I know that any day I may be rendered incapacitated and unable to express the story of my life. Thus, I feel compelled to record what things I can express, and to share what ain’t have learned, so that whatever struggles I may endure shall not be in vain.

But more than this, I feel, in this day and age, that I, and indeed all citizens, have a responsibility to speak up. It has been suggested that among those who have traveled and experienced dislocation as children; that is, among those who identify less with a particular country or home than with abstract concepts and ideas, that there is a marked tendency to become detached. In choosing to be diplomatic and centrist we render ourselves dispassionate bystanders. In our silence, we give, if not consent, at least tacit acceptance. Such a state of affairs, while perhaps tolerable on the level of the individual, cannot be permitted to fester in a democratic society whose entire mandate to rule is based on the consent of the governed. Much as I disdain the gridlock of two-party political dynamics, a certain level of opposition is required to maintain a healthy democracy; if not to oppose the agenda of the ruling coalition outright, then at least to provide a starting point for the critical examination of both new and existing policy.

This is, in fact, the origin of the term “opposition” in the Westminster system. After several decades of rival political parties regarding and referring to each other as scarcely better than treasonous riffraff, a political editorialist coined the term “His Majesty’s most loyal opposition”, meant as a parody of the titles typically taken by government ministers. The intelligentsia of London found the term to be rather apt, seeing as the function of the opposition was mainly to question the work of government in order to ensure that it was fully thought out. It therefore behooves the citizen of the modern society to make known both their views, and the context which has compelled them to adopt such positions, so that both the ruling group, and the population at large is able to more easily come to the best policy conclusions. I have always believed in leading by example, and so I find myself writing.

Between these two reasons, I have my main cause for writing. But there is one more item which compels me to write – the joy of creation. I fundamentally enjoy building things. Whether those things are great constructions of building blocks, hand drawn sketches, board game strategies, or writing pieces, is ultimately of less relevance than the simple fact that I am making something. I am adding value to the world, and I can see the product of my work before me. This, in itself, is enough reason for me to enjoy writing, regardless of whether its perceived value to others.