Dear everyone,
I'm an extrovert.
That seems to be the theme of this blog, right? Introducing yourself by whatever characteristic most defines your interest in interaction. You'd think such a loud mouth-breather like me would be all over an open platform blogging space, but no. You see, I'm more of a "failed" extrovert, if you're feeling judgmental, a "blooming" extrovert, if you're feeling giving. I am outgoing and talkative and friendly and I don't really hold things back (more on that later), but I also fail to make friends easily and I prefer a quiet evening over a club or other external event. Yes, I speak ceaselessly -- I'm even talking to myself right now. But, conversations with myself or even ThatGuyAtTheMarket aren't bridges into friendship.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm an introverted extrovert? I am always more comfortable with a companion, but I'm not looking to be overwhelmed (just a friend or two at home, please.. not the whole club on Sunset, thanks). It's those friends, though, that are the trouble. I feel as though, after having moved to the most social city in the world (did I mention I live in Hollywood?), I should be reveling in the party atmosphere and sipping from L.A.'s glorious nightlife cup. Instead, I'm spending whole weekends without leaving the house (except to visit the farmers' market, aka. LOVE OF MY LIFE), accepting friends into my quiet home-sanctum. If you routinely spent your Saturday nights in Hollywood calmly cooking, cleaning, and watching Coppola films with a neighbor, would you worry? How about feeling a little inadequate?
Aside: what a lovely way to join a blog -- angsty ruminations (chewchewchew) on inadequacy. Don't worry, I'm getting to the happy part!
After months of trying hard to fit into L.A. life -- the parties, the glamour, the $20 cover charges -- I've finally realized that L.A. is just not fit for me. And I'm not gonna fight it. So, from now on, I'll stop being merely content, but actually proud, to spend my Saturday nights baking lasagna and my Sunday nights playing board games with TheBoy and our upstairs neighbor. I will RELISH my lack of hangover and saved cover charges and not-sore feet. And, most importantly, I will stop trying to make friends with the people who love L.A. and couldn't see themselves leaving (more on that later).
I'm coming to terms with my own sort of extroversion and looking forward to where it takes me.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Untitled.
Lately I've been doing that thing again where the whole world is set to a soundtrack and everything I see is a splinteringly beautiful scene in a movie. Watching passing cars, dancing on curbs, looking at the sky, wanting to reach out and touch the friends around me but feeling I'm in a way dancing within a set, free free free but at the same time just watching.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
"What am I doing with my life?"
So, I feel a need to tell a story. I wrote a long-standing (oh whatever, one-plus-year) photography blog called Words + Images at my personal website. My family knew about it (not true of most blogging projects, including this one) and I handed out business cards with the URL. I spoke at a press conference as the writer for that blog and represented the art blogging community of Baltimore.
On top of all that, I followed a whole slew of art blogs, tried to keep up with the goings-on in Baltimore's art scene, and generally made a point of being somewhat of an expert on my subject matter.
A few months ago my life became pretty stressful. My employment situation was weird and/or uncertain, I had way too much on my shoulders at the office (notice how well those two mesh together), and I didn't do a lot of photographic work during that time either. Adding insult to injury, I had failed to create a vibrant commenting community on the blog, which I had defined as a primary goal in working so hard on it in the first place. Combine all that together and you get a whole lot of me not writing in my twice-a-week blog.
The thing is, since my family knew about this blog, I started getting questions. "Are you ever going to update your blog again?" "Well, I enjoyed reading it."
Why is it that family can mean so well, yet make you feel so much like you're not living up to your full potential? The plague of my adult life has been my consistent belief that most of what I hold in my hands is just that: potential.
Part of me wants to accept my broad spectrum of talents (i.e. lack of focus) for what it is and write a new blog about that...which is what I'm doing at the moment. The other part of me, the little voice of self-doubt, tells me I'm accepting failure. I should have persevered and kept doing something that felt like an absolute chore instead of moving on to whatever excited me at the moment. For now, though, I'm going to try embracing the fact that I'm not just a photographer, painter, writer, or musician. I identify as all of those things, and if I write a blog about my life as a creative person it needs to acknowledge who I really am. Even if I learn my destiny is to experience many things and truly excel in none of them at all, that's not something I can deny.
As always, though, I'm caught in the war between these two voices. I honestly don't know whether to accept my natural state of being or to insist upon something different, a singular focus that is both easily comprehended and readily congratulated.
On top of all that, I followed a whole slew of art blogs, tried to keep up with the goings-on in Baltimore's art scene, and generally made a point of being somewhat of an expert on my subject matter.
A few months ago my life became pretty stressful. My employment situation was weird and/or uncertain, I had way too much on my shoulders at the office (notice how well those two mesh together), and I didn't do a lot of photographic work during that time either. Adding insult to injury, I had failed to create a vibrant commenting community on the blog, which I had defined as a primary goal in working so hard on it in the first place. Combine all that together and you get a whole lot of me not writing in my twice-a-week blog.
The thing is, since my family knew about this blog, I started getting questions. "Are you ever going to update your blog again?" "Well, I enjoyed reading it."
Why is it that family can mean so well, yet make you feel so much like you're not living up to your full potential? The plague of my adult life has been my consistent belief that most of what I hold in my hands is just that: potential.
Part of me wants to accept my broad spectrum of talents (i.e. lack of focus) for what it is and write a new blog about that...which is what I'm doing at the moment. The other part of me, the little voice of self-doubt, tells me I'm accepting failure. I should have persevered and kept doing something that felt like an absolute chore instead of moving on to whatever excited me at the moment. For now, though, I'm going to try embracing the fact that I'm not just a photographer, painter, writer, or musician. I identify as all of those things, and if I write a blog about my life as a creative person it needs to acknowledge who I really am. Even if I learn my destiny is to experience many things and truly excel in none of them at all, that's not something I can deny.
As always, though, I'm caught in the war between these two voices. I honestly don't know whether to accept my natural state of being or to insist upon something different, a singular focus that is both easily comprehended and readily congratulated.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Desperation for Nothing in Particular
I liked how Jaclyn started her first post, and since at heart I'm desperately trendy, I'm going to do the same. Well, almost the same, because it's obvious to everyone now that I've ACTUALLY begun my first post with a disclaimer about how and why I'm going to begin my first post ...
I'm Tyson. And I'm an INSJ. At least I think I'm an INSJ. I always describe myself as an INSJ. Well, at least as frequently as anyone CAN describe themself using their Meyers Briggs personality. I don't literally go around meetings disclosing this information to casual observers. That would be ... well, something I would consider inappropriate.
I think the thing I really need to say is that the reason it took me so long to look at and subesquently sign up and post to this blog is that I am an introvert, like the others who have written before me, but I feel I'm in a category all my own. I am a TECHNOLOGICAL introvert. Technological introverts do all the things normal introverts do - we shun frequent and overbearing social interaction, avoid trips to bars, complain about being at BINGO at the Hippo, search desperately for a reason to cancel our Tuesday night plans, and curl up in bed at night with that special someone (or pillow) feeling like we're fulfilled. But Techtroverts, as I'd like to call us (actually I wouldn't, except that I already did ...) feel the same way about the world wide webs of the internets.
Like you, I have a Facebook page. I've tweeted. I email my mother and family once a week. I EVEN have an account on MySpace with a page I'm pretty proud of. But here's the E! True Hollywood story about the whole thing. It stresses me the fuck out. Seriously.
I keep thinking - how can any person spend so much time in contact with everyone else? My partner spends a lot of time on facebook. He posts, he does those little application things, he chats. He loves it. And sometimes I'm envious that he has such a good time. But I log in, and in five minutes I'm completely overwhelmed and log out.
Also, I honestly think I found out that one of my best friends was getting married because I saw his facebook status. That's no way to live ... right? I mean, I guess I should just be expecting an Evite to his wedding. And then I keep thinking - if I had mattered that much to him in the first place, maybe he would have chosen to tell me in some other way. Maybe I've been relegated to the dreaded status of Facebook "friends" - so that despite our long standing relationship, he can politely put me on ignore, along with Kandy from Palm Beach, with whom he only shares a passionate interest in starfish on moonlit beaches.
Where are the letters? Not that I even want letters. I don't. My mother writes me a letter every week, and it doesn't make me think our relationship is somehow intrinsically more special because we're using an outdated form of communication. I think I mean that with letters, communication was special. You'd write a letter to your friend in California and send it on the pony express, or something, and they'd wait for it. They'd ACTUALLY wait for your letter. You know, in that oh-oh-the-wells-fargo-wagon-is-a'comin'-down-the-street-oh-please-let-it-be-for-me sense. Instead of sending you an instant message, and then emailing you 45 seconds later when you don't respond, and then texting. Only to find out that you took an extended trip to the bathroom.
But I think the point of all of this is that I feel like all of this just means that, not unlike Jaclyn and her summer of exploration (for which I congratulate her), I am trying to reach out and figure out what all this means. Maybe a techtrovert (god, did I really make up that word?) can still make sense of all of this communication, and have a good time. At least I'm going to try.
I'm Tyson. And I'm an INSJ. At least I think I'm an INSJ. I always describe myself as an INSJ. Well, at least as frequently as anyone CAN describe themself using their Meyers Briggs personality. I don't literally go around meetings disclosing this information to casual observers. That would be ... well, something I would consider inappropriate.
I think the thing I really need to say is that the reason it took me so long to look at and subesquently sign up and post to this blog is that I am an introvert, like the others who have written before me, but I feel I'm in a category all my own. I am a TECHNOLOGICAL introvert. Technological introverts do all the things normal introverts do - we shun frequent and overbearing social interaction, avoid trips to bars, complain about being at BINGO at the Hippo, search desperately for a reason to cancel our Tuesday night plans, and curl up in bed at night with that special someone (or pillow) feeling like we're fulfilled. But Techtroverts, as I'd like to call us (actually I wouldn't, except that I already did ...) feel the same way about the world wide webs of the internets.
Like you, I have a Facebook page. I've tweeted. I email my mother and family once a week. I EVEN have an account on MySpace with a page I'm pretty proud of. But here's the E! True Hollywood story about the whole thing. It stresses me the fuck out. Seriously.
I keep thinking - how can any person spend so much time in contact with everyone else? My partner spends a lot of time on facebook. He posts, he does those little application things, he chats. He loves it. And sometimes I'm envious that he has such a good time. But I log in, and in five minutes I'm completely overwhelmed and log out.
Also, I honestly think I found out that one of my best friends was getting married because I saw his facebook status. That's no way to live ... right? I mean, I guess I should just be expecting an Evite to his wedding. And then I keep thinking - if I had mattered that much to him in the first place, maybe he would have chosen to tell me in some other way. Maybe I've been relegated to the dreaded status of Facebook "friends" - so that despite our long standing relationship, he can politely put me on ignore, along with Kandy from Palm Beach, with whom he only shares a passionate interest in starfish on moonlit beaches.
Where are the letters? Not that I even want letters. I don't. My mother writes me a letter every week, and it doesn't make me think our relationship is somehow intrinsically more special because we're using an outdated form of communication. I think I mean that with letters, communication was special. You'd write a letter to your friend in California and send it on the pony express, or something, and they'd wait for it. They'd ACTUALLY wait for your letter. You know, in that oh-oh-the-wells-fargo-wagon-is-a'comin'-down-the-street-oh-please-let-it-be-for-me sense. Instead of sending you an instant message, and then emailing you 45 seconds later when you don't respond, and then texting. Only to find out that you took an extended trip to the bathroom.
But I think the point of all of this is that I feel like all of this just means that, not unlike Jaclyn and her summer of exploration (for which I congratulate her), I am trying to reach out and figure out what all this means. Maybe a techtrovert (god, did I really make up that word?) can still make sense of all of this communication, and have a good time. At least I'm going to try.
So, that summer when I...
Just now I took a step back to look at myself -- currently, pacing the downstairs singing in Italian and wishing the air conditioning would hurry up and do its job -- and thought, wow, what a good summer this has been! Or rather, spring and summer.
Despite being pretty much done and over with school for quite a while, I still use seasons -- often summers -- to gauge different stages of my life. You know, there was that summer where I lived alone just to prove I could do it. Or the one where I worked 60 hour weeks to try to forget how miserable and devastated I was over a breakup. Or the one where I moved to Maryland and tried to convince myself I enjoyed living in a lonely apartment in a town I didn't like.
Winter seems to be a time for settling in, for bonding with good friends over homemade soup and cuddling under blankets to watch a movie. Summer inherently requires me to get out more, to leave the house.
This summer represents an unprecedented level of that getting out, exploring, and reaching out, and I can trace it back to the reason I'm pacing the downstairs singing in Italian. At the beginning of the summer I signed up for a group voice class, as much to practice singing in the presence of others as to shake the rust off my vocal cords. I've learned to see our classroom as a safe space where I can sing in the same way I might do alone. On the first day I had to stand up and sing a song a cappella for the group, which broke my stage fright more by force than by desire. I feel like this six-week class provides a pivotal point around which the rest of the summer's events revolve.
For example, I've invited friends to the beach, made a pact of sorts to adopt a positive attitude/demeanor, reached out to make plans for spending time with people I like, gotten a real job, and so on. Overall, I feel like I've spent the spring and summer so far challenging myself to do things that scare me but also bring me a healthy dose of joy when it's all said and done. And maybe, just maybe, if I keep tip-toeing my way outside my comfort zone, I'll take a step back and say wow, my life right now is downright enviable.
How's that for a positive demeanor, free of angst and irritability?
Despite being pretty much done and over with school for quite a while, I still use seasons -- often summers -- to gauge different stages of my life. You know, there was that summer where I lived alone just to prove I could do it. Or the one where I worked 60 hour weeks to try to forget how miserable and devastated I was over a breakup. Or the one where I moved to Maryland and tried to convince myself I enjoyed living in a lonely apartment in a town I didn't like.
Winter seems to be a time for settling in, for bonding with good friends over homemade soup and cuddling under blankets to watch a movie. Summer inherently requires me to get out more, to leave the house.
This summer represents an unprecedented level of that getting out, exploring, and reaching out, and I can trace it back to the reason I'm pacing the downstairs singing in Italian. At the beginning of the summer I signed up for a group voice class, as much to practice singing in the presence of others as to shake the rust off my vocal cords. I've learned to see our classroom as a safe space where I can sing in the same way I might do alone. On the first day I had to stand up and sing a song a cappella for the group, which broke my stage fright more by force than by desire. I feel like this six-week class provides a pivotal point around which the rest of the summer's events revolve.
For example, I've invited friends to the beach, made a pact of sorts to adopt a positive attitude/demeanor, reached out to make plans for spending time with people I like, gotten a real job, and so on. Overall, I feel like I've spent the spring and summer so far challenging myself to do things that scare me but also bring me a healthy dose of joy when it's all said and done. And maybe, just maybe, if I keep tip-toeing my way outside my comfort zone, I'll take a step back and say wow, my life right now is downright enviable.
How's that for a positive demeanor, free of angst and irritability?
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Just a Thought
Brief musings:
I may be an introvert, but I routinely fall in love with my friends. Maybe that's why I don't have a huge number of them -- I want to leave enough room for everyone. One of my biggest fears about my close friends is that I'll never convey to them how much I really do care for them (I'm no good at that). Starting new friendships is a huge deal to me, especially with people I really like.
So...yeah. Sometimes I wonder if other people are this dramatic and intense about friend relationships.
I may be an introvert, but I routinely fall in love with my friends. Maybe that's why I don't have a huge number of them -- I want to leave enough room for everyone. One of my biggest fears about my close friends is that I'll never convey to them how much I really do care for them (I'm no good at that). Starting new friendships is a huge deal to me, especially with people I really like.
So...yeah. Sometimes I wonder if other people are this dramatic and intense about friend relationships.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Reading old zines.
I was about to post something else about social interactions and the introvert/extrovert dilemma, but found this from last week and decided to change the subject (for a day or two).
During a feeble effort to sort through the pile of boxes packed away in my basement, I unearthed one labeled "zine stuff." It contained all the original flats, plus a surprising number of paper copies, for the zine I produced from ages 15-19. I find my earliest issues rather embarrassing now, but the last two were both surprising and inspiring. 19 seems forever ago, but the last hair-under-six years represent a lot of personal growth and discovery for me.
For example, I was shocked by some of the views I held about my own sexuality. How "gay" was "just another label I [didn't] believe in" and how straight folks repressing same-sex attraction led to body issues. And how I could never be labeled/self-identified as bisexual.
To which now-me, sitting on the couch and reading this through, said: "WTF!?"
Recently I was with friends late at night, talking and occasionally dozing until the morning hours. Somewhere in there we asked, what if kids were brought up to be comfortable and open with their sexuality, no matter what it was? We represent all points on the Kinsey Scale and agreed our high school experiences were...less than encouraging.
Reading this makes me wish I'd had a venue to express and explore my sexuality at a younger age. That I knew and processed the term "bisexual" at ages 17-19 is actually somewhat surprising given my high school experience. Non-straight -- and non-white, for that matter -- culture/viewpoints were simply not represented. Period. Some of the words I heard about gay people are so hurtful I rarely, rarely repeat them. I think they're made more so by the fact that at the time, they passed like water under the bridge: no reprimands or consequences from those supposedly in charge.
For those of us who could/did experience opposite-sex attraction, adopting the heterosexual label was automatic and completely natural. At least in my case, any potential same-sex attraction was manifested in other ways, most of them negative.
So it doesn't surprise me that even at 19, I was still saying "it's not natural for straight people to only find the opposite sex attractive." No one had really taught me what "natural" was. I just didn't realize it was possible for me to own an identity other than straight.
In the end, I don't want gay children. I don't want straight children. I also don't want children just like me. I just want them to grow up knowing that whoever they are is okay. They can identify (or not) with whatever label they want. But nothing they feel -- beyond the stuff we all feel as teenagers -- should make them feel afraid, angry, or ashamed. It's hard enough already to figure out who you are, right? After all, I have a whole bookshelf full of old journals documenting my struggles with just being a young adult.
During a feeble effort to sort through the pile of boxes packed away in my basement, I unearthed one labeled "zine stuff." It contained all the original flats, plus a surprising number of paper copies, for the zine I produced from ages 15-19. I find my earliest issues rather embarrassing now, but the last two were both surprising and inspiring. 19 seems forever ago, but the last hair-under-six years represent a lot of personal growth and discovery for me.
For example, I was shocked by some of the views I held about my own sexuality. How "gay" was "just another label I [didn't] believe in" and how straight folks repressing same-sex attraction led to body issues. And how I could never be labeled/self-identified as bisexual.
To which now-me, sitting on the couch and reading this through, said: "WTF!?"
Recently I was with friends late at night, talking and occasionally dozing until the morning hours. Somewhere in there we asked, what if kids were brought up to be comfortable and open with their sexuality, no matter what it was? We represent all points on the Kinsey Scale and agreed our high school experiences were...less than encouraging.
Reading this makes me wish I'd had a venue to express and explore my sexuality at a younger age. That I knew and processed the term "bisexual" at ages 17-19 is actually somewhat surprising given my high school experience. Non-straight -- and non-white, for that matter -- culture/viewpoints were simply not represented. Period. Some of the words I heard about gay people are so hurtful I rarely, rarely repeat them. I think they're made more so by the fact that at the time, they passed like water under the bridge: no reprimands or consequences from those supposedly in charge.
For those of us who could/did experience opposite-sex attraction, adopting the heterosexual label was automatic and completely natural. At least in my case, any potential same-sex attraction was manifested in other ways, most of them negative.
So it doesn't surprise me that even at 19, I was still saying "it's not natural for straight people to only find the opposite sex attractive." No one had really taught me what "natural" was. I just didn't realize it was possible for me to own an identity other than straight.
In the end, I don't want gay children. I don't want straight children. I also don't want children just like me. I just want them to grow up knowing that whoever they are is okay. They can identify (or not) with whatever label they want. But nothing they feel -- beyond the stuff we all feel as teenagers -- should make them feel afraid, angry, or ashamed. It's hard enough already to figure out who you are, right? After all, I have a whole bookshelf full of old journals documenting my struggles with just being a young adult.
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