Thursday, April 16, 2015
Death to the dilettante! Or...
I really like sweet potatoes.
The third conditional tense is probably the most difficult grammatical structure to explain to ESL students. Nevertheless, I was standing in front of my TESOL classmates, pretend teaching the structure, which is an if-then statement for something that didn't happen. As an example:
"If I had won the lottery, then I would have bought a Porsche instead of a Toyota"
And I would have. While the other students were explaining past perfect tenses, or the simple future, I was trying to deconstruct a very difficult verb tense most native English speakers don't even know exists. The reason the form is important is that it's so useful in story telling, explaining hypothetical situations, and injecting humor in one's communication. It also cost me hours in study time trying to word my lesson. So why did I chose it? The first is that, as a dilettante, I studied the (life) lessons of one English Teacher X, who lamented the student who believes he's a grammarian and tries to take over a classroom. The means you will need to explain arcane English rules, no matter what the level. If I could properly explain this structure to my classmates, then I could explain any rule to any class. I didn't want to get caught off guard. Second, I'm a show off. The looks of puzzlement on everyone's faces were priceless. By choosing the hardest thing I could find, I tested myself, and the positive feedback I received gave a huge boost of confidence.
I thought about all this while in the depths of my ennui. wondering how, exactly, I was to "take action." The only thing I could think of was to start something, anything, no matter how small or the odds of success. I needed to get over the fear of failure, just as I had done with the TESOL program, which almost gave me a nervous breakdown - twice. I just didn't know what that would be. I found the answer sitting at my desk with my Kindle (during my lunch hour - Scout's honor!), reading from Green Wizardry by John Michael Greer. It's an excellent starting point for someone looking to be more independent of our petroleum-based system, kind of a "Surviving Peak Oil for Dummies," but well written, and much more holistic and philosophical than the average primer tome. The best part of the book is that anything proscribed is something the author has already done, either presently or in the 70's, when the appropriate tech movement was at it's peak. In one section, he was explaining that some staple crops aren't grown from seeds like corn or strawberries, but from root pieces, such as tuber crops. This triggered a thought, and I finally got around to using the Mother Earth News archive parked in my USB port. I'm not a fan of regular potatoes, but I love sweet potatoes. The process for growing a tuber is simple: cut one in half, suspend the cut end in water with toothpicks on a jar, and eyes will develop over two or three weeks; when these shoots are past a certain length, put them in soil and water your new planting.
Armed with enough information to start, on the way home I drove to Mrs. Green's grocery to buy two medium organic sweet potatoes, one for dinner, and one for my experiment. As per my research, going organic produce was needed because sweet potatoes are often chemically treated so they won't form eyes. Of course I forgot to get toothpicks, and I had none at my place. I snipped the heads off wooden matches, normally used to light my stove when it's uncooperative, and of course cigars, along with the scented candles needed to mask said tobacco products. The two halves are in water right now, sitting on the windowsill, getting warmth from the radiator below and the afternoon sun.
The final reason I chose the conditional tense is the same reason I chose sweet potatoes: I'm a glutton for punishment. Of all the things I could have chosen to teach or grow, I chose the two hardest things I could find. Yams are a Southern crop, needing both sandy soil and many long hot days to thrive. I have answer for that requirement, but as I mentioned above, the results are secondary to the process of getting over my fear of failure and paralysis. On the other hand, eating homegrown sweet potato pie (made with Stevia, 'natch) at Thanksgiving would be kind of cool. I'm also inspired to take other steps to learn small scale intensive gardening, to the extent my patio allows. Now I need to search my archive for window box plants that don't need too much sun. Let's get to work.
The third conditional tense is probably the most difficult grammatical structure to explain to ESL students. Nevertheless, I was standing in front of my TESOL classmates, pretend teaching the structure, which is an if-then statement for something that didn't happen. As an example:
"If I had won the lottery, then I would have bought a Porsche instead of a Toyota"
And I would have. While the other students were explaining past perfect tenses, or the simple future, I was trying to deconstruct a very difficult verb tense most native English speakers don't even know exists. The reason the form is important is that it's so useful in story telling, explaining hypothetical situations, and injecting humor in one's communication. It also cost me hours in study time trying to word my lesson. So why did I chose it? The first is that, as a dilettante, I studied the (life) lessons of one English Teacher X, who lamented the student who believes he's a grammarian and tries to take over a classroom. The means you will need to explain arcane English rules, no matter what the level. If I could properly explain this structure to my classmates, then I could explain any rule to any class. I didn't want to get caught off guard. Second, I'm a show off. The looks of puzzlement on everyone's faces were priceless. By choosing the hardest thing I could find, I tested myself, and the positive feedback I received gave a huge boost of confidence.
I thought about all this while in the depths of my ennui. wondering how, exactly, I was to "take action." The only thing I could think of was to start something, anything, no matter how small or the odds of success. I needed to get over the fear of failure, just as I had done with the TESOL program, which almost gave me a nervous breakdown - twice. I just didn't know what that would be. I found the answer sitting at my desk with my Kindle (during my lunch hour - Scout's honor!), reading from Green Wizardry by John Michael Greer. It's an excellent starting point for someone looking to be more independent of our petroleum-based system, kind of a "Surviving Peak Oil for Dummies," but well written, and much more holistic and philosophical than the average primer tome. The best part of the book is that anything proscribed is something the author has already done, either presently or in the 70's, when the appropriate tech movement was at it's peak. In one section, he was explaining that some staple crops aren't grown from seeds like corn or strawberries, but from root pieces, such as tuber crops. This triggered a thought, and I finally got around to using the Mother Earth News archive parked in my USB port. I'm not a fan of regular potatoes, but I love sweet potatoes. The process for growing a tuber is simple: cut one in half, suspend the cut end in water with toothpicks on a jar, and eyes will develop over two or three weeks; when these shoots are past a certain length, put them in soil and water your new planting.
Armed with enough information to start, on the way home I drove to Mrs. Green's grocery to buy two medium organic sweet potatoes, one for dinner, and one for my experiment. As per my research, going organic produce was needed because sweet potatoes are often chemically treated so they won't form eyes. Of course I forgot to get toothpicks, and I had none at my place. I snipped the heads off wooden matches, normally used to light my stove when it's uncooperative, and of course cigars, along with the scented candles needed to mask said tobacco products. The two halves are in water right now, sitting on the windowsill, getting warmth from the radiator below and the afternoon sun.
The final reason I chose the conditional tense is the same reason I chose sweet potatoes: I'm a glutton for punishment. Of all the things I could have chosen to teach or grow, I chose the two hardest things I could find. Yams are a Southern crop, needing both sandy soil and many long hot days to thrive. I have answer for that requirement, but as I mentioned above, the results are secondary to the process of getting over my fear of failure and paralysis. On the other hand, eating homegrown sweet potato pie (made with Stevia, 'natch) at Thanksgiving would be kind of cool. I'm also inspired to take other steps to learn small scale intensive gardening, to the extent my patio allows. Now I need to search my archive for window box plants that don't need too much sun. Let's get to work.
Monday, April 13, 2015
Requiem for a daydream, or...
Enough was enough.
I'm not supposed to be here at Panera's in Yorktown, blogging and cursing their anemic WiFi. I wasn't supposed to be basking in the afterglow of a new relationship with a beautiful, adult, available (though understandably guarded) woman. I wasn't supposed to be playing mini-golf with her yesterday afternoon, nor taking her to a cozy Italian place in Beacon last night where we talked, held hands, ate mussels, and wondered how we'd treat my hay fever. We weren't supposed to be snuggling and discussing this blog and my relationship with Anya. We shouldn't have been meeting up this morning, eating breakfast and running errands and walking her dog like a normal couple. Nevertheless, these things happened, and are happening as I type. No, I was scheduled to be in Asheville, NC this weekend, learning all about solar power, homesteading, building electric cars and motorcycles, and meeting like minded folks there for the same reason. Preparing for the crash, The Mother Earth News fair was my destination, but here I sit. What happened?
It began with my post about Cabaret. My identification with Cliff Bradshaw, and the serious dislike of him even as I saw myself within, caused some serious soul-searching. You'd think that writing as much as I did would have covered the subject, but I knew there was a greater truth I just couldn't reach at the time. The trail was there, however. I just needed the courage to follow it. At the end of the breadcrumbs I came to the realization I was (and am) the worst kind of pseudo-intellectual: a dabbler, someone who merely skims a topic, someone lacking any really experience and devoid of commitment, in other words, a dilettante.
It was a single word in that earlier post: "dilettante." Ten letters was all it took for me to understand. An attribute I assigned to Cliff and Sally Bowles, it's a damning proclamation. Using only the data provided by the play, I can't even say it was warranted. Yes, these two characters were flailing about as writers and singers, and Cliff was an itinerant English teacher and read Mein Kampf, which seemingly gave him the knowledge needed to judge all Germans (like I've said: douche), but we really don't know much else. No, when I used that word, I was really speaking about myself.
An additional synonym listed is telling: poser.
The realization came slowly. I planned this trip a while ago, and I've been exposed to Mother Earth
News since I was little. My dad either subscribed or regularly bought the magazine, and I loved reading about homesteading, growing food, and leaving the system for a better and simpler life. I can't say if the articles caused my insecurities and lack of faith in the idea of suburban utopia or kindled something that was already there, but I do know that I was a child who could get lost in his own head for hours, days, even weeks. Give me a book and I could hide within it for ages. The thought of cozy farm house with animals, plants, and a roaring fire seemed so enticing. The reality would have been very different of course, but to an unhappy boy whose daydreaming was sometimes all he had, you couldn't have told me any different. I missed the Fair that was held in Pennsylvania last year, so one in Asheville seemed perfect. I ordered my tickets, paying $52 for two tickets and the archive of all articles from 1970 to 2014 on a thumb drive. I also reserved my room, eventually settling on a Econolodge near the site, as well as paying for a room for tonight in Winchester, VA using Hotels.com. Tapping into a voucher from the website, this room only cost me $6.53 out of pocket. My skin in the game was minimal.
As the day of the trip crept closer, two things happened. First, I received a reminder that my New York State tax bill was due April 15th, for the sum of $752. Ouch. The trip and the tax bill would come out of the same check, and thanks to my attempting to pay all my bills early, I had no excess cash. It's my fault for not just paying the my taxes in February, but whatever the case, paying the rest of my common charges on the Mancave, the tax bill, and Asheville would have been difficult. The money really wasn't the issue, however, nor was it the related fact that I hadn't spent much. The small fortune I spent on the trip to Thailand didn't stop me from cancelling, though if I was unable to get back the miles I spent for the airfare, I probably would have gone. I did get the videos, and there's another one in October, but if I needed further proof of my pretender status, not only haven't I used the info in the videos, I've never even watched them. I keep telling myself I'm not ready for the advanced material they cover.
Second, I found out that I'm not the only one who feels this way about themselves. I had a long lunch with a coworker from the college, a plan two months overdue. Meeting in Yorktown, we sat at a typical gourmet grocery store so common in Westchester and talked about nearly everything: our dating statuses (I had met someone; she was in a long distance relationship), family drama (plenty for both), and what we wanted to do with our lives beyond our jobs. She revealed to me how lost she felt, and how alone. This meant she had no room for error, no support if things went wrong. I told her I understood completely. That insecurity creates a fear that paralyzes you, and taking risks in all but impossible. It's funny; I always thought she was so much more capable than I, and I still feel that way, but I had no idea she felt so trapped. She was saying the words (nearly verbatim) I say to my therapist, close friends, and my program associates. The hard truth is that we're both afraid, and we both have very low positive expectations. Cynicism, a defense mechanism so fashionable to those in my age group, is really a corrosive, low-grade nihilism, ever assuming the worst in situations, people, and outcomes. Why bother doing anything? It's doomed to failure. I reminded my friend of her accomplishments, and how well she's done, and continues to do. With that, we changed the subject to her experiences with a man who used yoga classes to pick up women, and how she blew up his spot. That was the humorous grace note we needed to end lunch, promising to pick up the conversation later. She left saying I needed to take care of this one, meaning the lady I'd started seeing, ironic detachment be damned. I knew what she meant.
The conversation made me examine something I'd been avoiding, another trip that was adding to my anxiety on the subject: Simon Black's next conference. As the last one forever altered my view of the world permanently, I knew I'd be going - and I still am. Well, the trip is in 10 days, and although I'm excited beyond description, I'm also a little ashamed. I met some very nice people there, and they may be attending again. Did I do anything I said I'd do? Yes, I got my ESL certification, but I've never used it. Every other thing I'd said I'd do never transpired. Could I face these people, who offered me help that I never took? I didn't know. I only knew that my life was littered with false starts and abandoned dreams, some realistic, some pie in the sky. I actually tried to get my sailing certification in Florida whilst visiting Scott, though I didn't have the time.
All of these stressors resulted in a moment of clarity. I knew the trip to Asheville would have been interesting, educational, and distracting. In other words, it would have resulted in nothing of value and another small sum of money wasted. I might have learned something, true, and I probably would have grabbed some plants for my small patio, but was that enough? Between the money crunch and my own despair, the answer was no. Better that I stay home, enjoy the long weekend, and spend time with my lady, than to drive to dip my toe into another pursuit I won't follow. Absent any concrete follow-up on my part, there's no reason to go anywhere. As such, I cancelled my hotel reservation and ate the money already spent. It wasn't that much to begin with, and the archive would have been $25. It's worth noting I haven't really used the archive anyway, save for a few inquiries. In fact, it's in my office right now, and I haven't been at work since Thursday. All of this won't stop me from going to Cancun, of course. The bragging rights alone make the trip worthwhile. Also, I have a plan and a purpose to be accomplished while I'm there: open an off-shore bank account, and begin my Panamanian residency process. I have the paperwork needed and the money for it as well.
The only thing left to do was tell the three people who would understand the situation: my therapist, my friend Mickey, and my boss. My director, a woman much smarter and wiser than I, agreed with my assessment. In fact, she was kind of shocked I figured it out, and was even more surprised when she found out the reason I'd arrived at that conclusion. My therapist had a similar reaction, also surprised that attending a Broadway play on a whim would have such a profound effect on my self-image, although the conversations afterward were naturally very different. Anita marveled at how I was maturing by leaps and bounds, doing and thinking adult things. Don was wondering how to break me out of such a frustrating pattern of behavior, and I told him I used even Google, asking (begging!) the Internet how one stops being a dilettante. He wanted to know the response: it's take action. Thanks World Wide Web; that isn't reductionist at all. Mickey was happy to hear what I said, of course, but he was far more interested in how I was doing with my girlfriend. I was happy to oblige; it's a much cheerier topic. I haven't told this to my other friends, Scott included, because they already knew. I understood why no one took me seriously; I wasn't doing anything I said was important.
Not having my friends and family take me seriously isn't the worst part of be being a dilettante. No, the worst part of being this kind of person is that you can actually learn stuff. Skimming through Marvel comics to better understand Thor 2 is harmless and fun. You won't be completely lost during the movie, and you'll probably better enjoy discussing it afterwards with your friends. Reading Zero Hedge and James Howard Kunstler is a little different; add checking out The Archdruid Report every week as well as attending Simon Black's Chile extravaganza, and all of this will have profound effects in how you see the world, both good and bad. To have even some knowledge of what's coming, but not really doing anything about it, isn't the greatest way to manage your life. So what do I do? Well, the Beneficent World Wide Web already gave me the answer: take action. More of that in part 2.
I'm not supposed to be here at Panera's in Yorktown, blogging and cursing their anemic WiFi. I wasn't supposed to be basking in the afterglow of a new relationship with a beautiful, adult, available (though understandably guarded) woman. I wasn't supposed to be playing mini-golf with her yesterday afternoon, nor taking her to a cozy Italian place in Beacon last night where we talked, held hands, ate mussels, and wondered how we'd treat my hay fever. We weren't supposed to be snuggling and discussing this blog and my relationship with Anya. We shouldn't have been meeting up this morning, eating breakfast and running errands and walking her dog like a normal couple. Nevertheless, these things happened, and are happening as I type. No, I was scheduled to be in Asheville, NC this weekend, learning all about solar power, homesteading, building electric cars and motorcycles, and meeting like minded folks there for the same reason. Preparing for the crash, The Mother Earth News fair was my destination, but here I sit. What happened?
It began with my post about Cabaret. My identification with Cliff Bradshaw, and the serious dislike of him even as I saw myself within, caused some serious soul-searching. You'd think that writing as much as I did would have covered the subject, but I knew there was a greater truth I just couldn't reach at the time. The trail was there, however. I just needed the courage to follow it. At the end of the breadcrumbs I came to the realization I was (and am) the worst kind of pseudo-intellectual: a dabbler, someone who merely skims a topic, someone lacking any really experience and devoid of commitment, in other words, a dilettante.
It was a single word in that earlier post: "dilettante." Ten letters was all it took for me to understand. An attribute I assigned to Cliff and Sally Bowles, it's a damning proclamation. Using only the data provided by the play, I can't even say it was warranted. Yes, these two characters were flailing about as writers and singers, and Cliff was an itinerant English teacher and read Mein Kampf, which seemingly gave him the knowledge needed to judge all Germans (like I've said: douche), but we really don't know much else. No, when I used that word, I was really speaking about myself.
So what, exactly, is a dilettante? Using Merriam-Webster:
Dilettante:noun dil·et·tante \ˈdi-lə-ˌtänt, -ˌtant/: a person whose interest in an art or in an area of knowledge is not very deep or serious.
That's a perfectly usable definition, but I feel it doesn't really capture the breadth and depth of the word. Originally it just meant it was someone who casually studied art. Let's use Urbandictionary.com instead:
Dilettante: A person prone to become mildly involved with or superficially
interested in various subjects instead of developing any specific skill
or knowledge to its fullest. Often used to describe amateur or wanna-be
artists.
John, a dilettante who played seven musical instruments, couldn't get a
spot in the school band because he didn't play any single instrument
well.
An additional synonym listed is telling: poser.
In other words, a dilettante is not someone you can take seriously; someone who studies non-stop, someone who can speak on a subject superficially, but starts or accomplishes nothing; i.e., a dilettante is... me.
The realization came slowly. I planned this trip a while ago, and I've been exposed to Mother Earth
News since I was little. My dad either subscribed or regularly bought the magazine, and I loved reading about homesteading, growing food, and leaving the system for a better and simpler life. I can't say if the articles caused my insecurities and lack of faith in the idea of suburban utopia or kindled something that was already there, but I do know that I was a child who could get lost in his own head for hours, days, even weeks. Give me a book and I could hide within it for ages. The thought of cozy farm house with animals, plants, and a roaring fire seemed so enticing. The reality would have been very different of course, but to an unhappy boy whose daydreaming was sometimes all he had, you couldn't have told me any different. I missed the Fair that was held in Pennsylvania last year, so one in Asheville seemed perfect. I ordered my tickets, paying $52 for two tickets and the archive of all articles from 1970 to 2014 on a thumb drive. I also reserved my room, eventually settling on a Econolodge near the site, as well as paying for a room for tonight in Winchester, VA using Hotels.com. Tapping into a voucher from the website, this room only cost me $6.53 out of pocket. My skin in the game was minimal.
As the day of the trip crept closer, two things happened. First, I received a reminder that my New York State tax bill was due April 15th, for the sum of $752. Ouch. The trip and the tax bill would come out of the same check, and thanks to my attempting to pay all my bills early, I had no excess cash. It's my fault for not just paying the my taxes in February, but whatever the case, paying the rest of my common charges on the Mancave, the tax bill, and Asheville would have been difficult. The money really wasn't the issue, however, nor was it the related fact that I hadn't spent much. The small fortune I spent on the trip to Thailand didn't stop me from cancelling, though if I was unable to get back the miles I spent for the airfare, I probably would have gone. I did get the videos, and there's another one in October, but if I needed further proof of my pretender status, not only haven't I used the info in the videos, I've never even watched them. I keep telling myself I'm not ready for the advanced material they cover.
Second, I found out that I'm not the only one who feels this way about themselves. I had a long lunch with a coworker from the college, a plan two months overdue. Meeting in Yorktown, we sat at a typical gourmet grocery store so common in Westchester and talked about nearly everything: our dating statuses (I had met someone; she was in a long distance relationship), family drama (plenty for both), and what we wanted to do with our lives beyond our jobs. She revealed to me how lost she felt, and how alone. This meant she had no room for error, no support if things went wrong. I told her I understood completely. That insecurity creates a fear that paralyzes you, and taking risks in all but impossible. It's funny; I always thought she was so much more capable than I, and I still feel that way, but I had no idea she felt so trapped. She was saying the words (nearly verbatim) I say to my therapist, close friends, and my program associates. The hard truth is that we're both afraid, and we both have very low positive expectations. Cynicism, a defense mechanism so fashionable to those in my age group, is really a corrosive, low-grade nihilism, ever assuming the worst in situations, people, and outcomes. Why bother doing anything? It's doomed to failure. I reminded my friend of her accomplishments, and how well she's done, and continues to do. With that, we changed the subject to her experiences with a man who used yoga classes to pick up women, and how she blew up his spot. That was the humorous grace note we needed to end lunch, promising to pick up the conversation later. She left saying I needed to take care of this one, meaning the lady I'd started seeing, ironic detachment be damned. I knew what she meant.
The conversation made me examine something I'd been avoiding, another trip that was adding to my anxiety on the subject: Simon Black's next conference. As the last one forever altered my view of the world permanently, I knew I'd be going - and I still am. Well, the trip is in 10 days, and although I'm excited beyond description, I'm also a little ashamed. I met some very nice people there, and they may be attending again. Did I do anything I said I'd do? Yes, I got my ESL certification, but I've never used it. Every other thing I'd said I'd do never transpired. Could I face these people, who offered me help that I never took? I didn't know. I only knew that my life was littered with false starts and abandoned dreams, some realistic, some pie in the sky. I actually tried to get my sailing certification in Florida whilst visiting Scott, though I didn't have the time.
All of these stressors resulted in a moment of clarity. I knew the trip to Asheville would have been interesting, educational, and distracting. In other words, it would have resulted in nothing of value and another small sum of money wasted. I might have learned something, true, and I probably would have grabbed some plants for my small patio, but was that enough? Between the money crunch and my own despair, the answer was no. Better that I stay home, enjoy the long weekend, and spend time with my lady, than to drive to dip my toe into another pursuit I won't follow. Absent any concrete follow-up on my part, there's no reason to go anywhere. As such, I cancelled my hotel reservation and ate the money already spent. It wasn't that much to begin with, and the archive would have been $25. It's worth noting I haven't really used the archive anyway, save for a few inquiries. In fact, it's in my office right now, and I haven't been at work since Thursday. All of this won't stop me from going to Cancun, of course. The bragging rights alone make the trip worthwhile. Also, I have a plan and a purpose to be accomplished while I'm there: open an off-shore bank account, and begin my Panamanian residency process. I have the paperwork needed and the money for it as well.
The only thing left to do was tell the three people who would understand the situation: my therapist, my friend Mickey, and my boss. My director, a woman much smarter and wiser than I, agreed with my assessment. In fact, she was kind of shocked I figured it out, and was even more surprised when she found out the reason I'd arrived at that conclusion. My therapist had a similar reaction, also surprised that attending a Broadway play on a whim would have such a profound effect on my self-image, although the conversations afterward were naturally very different. Anita marveled at how I was maturing by leaps and bounds, doing and thinking adult things. Don was wondering how to break me out of such a frustrating pattern of behavior, and I told him I used even Google, asking (begging!) the Internet how one stops being a dilettante. He wanted to know the response: it's take action. Thanks World Wide Web; that isn't reductionist at all. Mickey was happy to hear what I said, of course, but he was far more interested in how I was doing with my girlfriend. I was happy to oblige; it's a much cheerier topic. I haven't told this to my other friends, Scott included, because they already knew. I understood why no one took me seriously; I wasn't doing anything I said was important.
Not having my friends and family take me seriously isn't the worst part of be being a dilettante. No, the worst part of being this kind of person is that you can actually learn stuff. Skimming through Marvel comics to better understand Thor 2 is harmless and fun. You won't be completely lost during the movie, and you'll probably better enjoy discussing it afterwards with your friends. Reading Zero Hedge and James Howard Kunstler is a little different; add checking out The Archdruid Report every week as well as attending Simon Black's Chile extravaganza, and all of this will have profound effects in how you see the world, both good and bad. To have even some knowledge of what's coming, but not really doing anything about it, isn't the greatest way to manage your life. So what do I do? Well, the Beneficent World Wide Web already gave me the answer: take action. More of that in part 2.
