It’s not you, it’s me. Actually sometimes it is you. For better or worse I’ve come to realise lately that I’m not the only person on the planet with ‘issues.’ Reassuring on some levels, frustrating on others. But I guess what I want to muse over tonight is the moment at which two forces intercept. As soon as I type that visions of high school economics classes pop into my head, ‘Supply’ and ‘Demand’ intercepting somewhere to give us the market value. But what if there is a contraction in supply? Well, actually, while it’s obviously more difficult to quantity this kind of theory as it relates to human relationships I want to suggest that the principles are still fairly sound. If somebody dies or enters the Witness Protection Program it probably won’t matter how much I desire their company I am not likely to get it.

We make judgments about people all of the time. We make them instinctively. But how do we make sure they are informed? If I see you standing on a street corner how do I decide if you’re a friendly face or Jack the Ripper? It’s even more difficult online – not because the Internet is, as is sometimes suggested by the media, a breeding ground for the latter – because you often don’t have access to factors like body language, vocal intonation and emphasis and eye contact (or lackthereof).

But even in face-to-face communications what often isn’t immediately obvious is what lurks beneath the surface, the emotional turmoil that exists underneath a particular facade. Somebody blew up at me earlier this week and while it was disconcerting in the moment the more I thought about it the more apparent it became to me that it probably didn’t have anything to do with me. Though it was directed firmly at me. The language used seemed to imply that I was somehow the problem. It hardly seemed to matter that this person had got the wrong end of a very long stick.

Understanding this helped me. But the whole situation has made me reticent to interact with people I don’t already have a relationship with. I mean, potentially any combination of words, emoticons, even an arched eyebrow can be misconstrued. They might think I hate them – or that I like them. [And perversely it was the latter that proved problematic this week. lol]

I used to think there was something scary or risky about being misunderstood in the process of creating art, but actually that seems like a walk in the park by comparison. Well I mean that’s not always the case. I am no doubt helped by the fact that the world at large is mostly indifferent to the things I create so the whole issue is moot. [As an aside I used to think people were being unduly critical and intolerant of Cat Stevens once he became a devout Muslim and changed his name to Yusuf Islam. But there's one thing I cannot resolve - and that is his role as one of the major proponents of the case for a fatwa against Salman Rushdie for penning The Satanic Verses. Where was Stevens' Peace Train then?] Clearly being misunderstood in art is a problem for many, and sometimes the consequences are quite serious. As Julia Cameron notes people often shoot the messenger.

So… how do you do it? How do you decide who to befriend and when and why and how?

As I sit in my hotel room in Brisbane on my last night here I reflect. And somehow it is not about this place. This trip was never about this city, or attractions to be found within. It was always about people. But in ways that are complicated. I suppose all relationships are complicated. You know how they say on Facebook “it’s complicated.”

But all jokes aside, I wonder about this stuff. The differentiation between “IRL” (in real life) and Internet friendships. I wonder about the ties that bond and the ties that disintegrate into nothingness.

In truth the impetus for the trip was a romantic entanglement whose thread was so thin as to disintegrate long before it was even time to board a plane. But I decided to board that plane anyway. I wanted to put on a brave face. I wanted to see other people too. I wanted… a lot of things, I suppose. I don’t know what I was looking for but I know what I found.

There are the – at times, quite disembodied – sense of online selves. There are living, breathing people presented “in the flesh.” And then there are the entirely abstract ideas of friends and friendships. I wonder why I feel like I can be myself with some people and not with others. I wonder why sometimes thoughts manifest themselves as vocal noises and other times as words to be written or typed. I wonder why some thoughts and feelings are expressed easily and others I suppress with considerable effort.

I was disappointed and disillusioned that the romance fizzled. I was angry. I kept telling myself, “it’s okay.” But it didn’t feel okay. I kept telling myself that you can’t control who you have feelings for and who you don’t. I kept telling myself it was completely unreasonable to expect anyone to commit to a long distance relationship. And actually I believe these things are true and valid. But I still don’t appreciate being ignored for extended period of times. I didn’t appreciate being treated like yet another casual acquaintance. But I was scared to express any of these things. I was scared that if I gave my rage an outlet I had no idea where it would take me. And besides I wanted to match the indifference I was getting. I wanted to pretend I was okay. My pride felt like the only consolation I had left so I was determined to put on a good performance.

But my role in this facade was foolish. Even more foolish than I felt about the whole relationship, about coming to this city for something that wasn’t real. And if there is any ‘take home’ from this whole experience it is probably that all such falsehoods are foolish. From the big emotional ‘stuff’ to just not being yourself, not speaking your mind, in much less grandiose circumstances. It extends to putting yourself in situations where you know you won’t feel comfortable. It includes going against your own values to avoid ‘making waves.’ It is about anything that mutes your truth – whatever that may be – that propels fictions ahead of personal realities.

It’s late and this feels lofty and airy-fairy. But it’s all I have. So I’ll honour it on that level.

I had something of an emotional breakdown earlier in the week. For anyone who follows me on Twitter, the breaking point was probably fairly self-evident. Actually I had been exclaiming crazy sentiments for days, if not weeks. I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their patience and support. A lot of things just came together all at once and I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. I was so despondent. I can’t even find the words. And I don’t want to dwell upon that too much lest I get sucked back in.

In high school I used to groan everytime a teacher would present yet another trite cliched “coming of age” novel for our assessment. But that’s essentially where I am now. I am trying to figure out who I am. I am trying to figure out why I am alive, why I – in particular – am here and breathing the air, drinking the water. Religion was a profound and confusing dead end when it came to my search for meaning. I don’t really know what I want to do with my life. I don’t know what I want to do for a living. I just have these vague inklings as to things that appeal to me. I don’t want another “job” – I want a career. I want a purpose. I want meaning. (I probably want too much.)

And then there are all these relationships in my life. Parents. Family. Friends. I wonder who they think I am. (There’s a bit of a joke on Twitter about exactly what I ‘do’. I listed a handful of hobbies on there and people have made whatever assumptions they want to make. I might as well tell you. I don’t really “do” anything. I made a conscious decision to take time off after working at the same place for four years.) There is so much “stuff” that happens and doesn’t happens, that is articulated or skimmed over. There are expectations. My expectations, their expectations. My absolute need to please other people, my absolute fear of confrontation and abandoment.

Something in particular had been weighing on my mind and I was talking to my friend Joel about it. Joel, true to typical form, retorted with all these funny sarcastic and ironic comments as I fumbled my way through my thoughts. And it was funny, because he is funny, but I left that conversation thinking, “But not everyone is so enlightened.” It was like watching an old sitcom without the laughter track, without the comic timing. All the funny tongue-in-cheek gags replayed in my head with a disconcerting deadpan delivery. And it was like I was looking for approval from everybody in the world – which is crazy, I know that is crazy. But when you reach that point where the well is completely empty, where you have no reserve of self-esteem left, how do you refill it?

And later that day I just… lost it.

I broke down. I wept. I sang. I wrote. It was pathetic.

One Tweet kind of said it all:

in hindsight being angry was a lot easier than being this sad.

I’m sure I was hysterical. I admitted to another friend that while I didn’t believe in God at all I was convinced ‘he’ (or whomever) was punishing me. That somehow it only just started to rain at that point because I was going mad from cabin fever and wanted to go for a walk. And this friend walked me through every crazy thing I said. He made me check the weather forecast. He gave me examples that were contrary to the madness spewing from my mind. I don’t think I have ever needed someone handy to deconstruct my thoughts as much as I did in the moment. And I admitted that I was fearful, and I admitted that I wished I could be anyone else except me and how I wanted to just run away from everything.

It was a breakthrough as much as a breakdown. It was about articulating those fears I never dared speak aloud. It was about getting those emotions – that ‘stuff’ – out of my body. It was about release. And the rain stopped, both literally and metaphorically. Conversations that were overdue finally took place. A dear friend whom I had not communicated with in about a week magic materialised.

And then I looked outside my window and it was raining again, only it didn’t feel like the end of the world.

“I dont know why I did the things I did
I dont know why I said the things I said
Prides like a knife, it can cut deep inside
Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes”
- If I Could Turn Back Time, Cher.

It is one of those pop songs that, like Rihanna’s Umbrella, is probably remembered more for its provocative film clip than its lyrical content (I mean, if Cher could turn back time… she wouldn’t bare her ass to the entire US Navy?) but I found the lyric popped into my head earlier today. Specifically that one line: Words are like weapons they wound sometimes.

I found myself talking to a friend and all of a sudden their thoughts just trailed off into very strange territory. And I was listening to what they were saying and being struck by how offensive it seemed. And I was thinking this is really very offensive but it seemed particularly offensive being expressed in my presence (for reasons I don’t care to disclose). It was as if they hadn’t connected the dots in their mind or even realised who they were talking to; indeed the very implications it had to the person it was being expressed to.

I suggested perhaps it was a discussion that was best taken up with someone else. And they seemed to sense my reservations. They apologised, but even the apology seemed to make matters worse. It was okay because they didn’t think of me ‘like that.’ Suddenly even my own personal identity became oddly malleable. It didn’t seem to matter who I was so much as what their personal ‘concept’ of me was – that’s what they were working with, that’s ‘who’ they were relating to.

And actually, in the moment, I said, “It’s okay.”

But frankly it wasn’t and that wasn’t even what I meant to convey. These sentiments weren’t okay with me. What I meant to say was, “I know you well enough to know that you didn’t mean any offense by the remarks and that you don’t mean me any harm.”

And it was resolved… I guess. Or rather the tension was diffused. But for me it wasn’t about making this person ‘wrong,’ because actually I have a great affection for this individual. But it wasn’t about just ‘making nice’ in the iterim either. I really wanted them to think about the words they use, because words really are like weapons. Sometimes they can wound unintentionally and there is little comfort to be had even in that knowledge.

I am trying to be less reactive though. I am trying to cultivate a greater patience for people. I understand that sometimes the first thoughts out of someone’s mouth are not always their most formed or their most personally representative. I realise, in a curious fashion, that my very existence is deeply problematic for a lot of people – even people who do actually love me. I feel that we’ll get there in the end.

Random things stick out in my mind. No, really. I realise if I constructed the narrative of my life it wouldn’t be an accurate record of what actually happened but rather the key clutch moments that were important enough to me to commit to memory. Though my memory is far from reliable. My mind filters and stores information based on how it relates to earlier experiences and other personal prejudices.

Somebody asked me a really innocent question recently. At the time I sort of smiled politely and gave an official-sounding somewhat defensive response. Our conversation ended and we went our separate ways. And suddenly I was filled with such resentment and anger. How dare they ask such a question?! What are they insinuating?! Were they just trying to bait me?!

I lost sleep over it at the time. I sent this person a handful of lines expressing my anger. The particular technology I employed allowed me to delete those same lines the next day before they were viewed by the recipient. The truth was by this stage I was beginning to understand why I was so angry and it had surprisingly little to do with the question or the person who asked it or even the person the question pertained to. It did have a lot to do with my fears and a few negative experiences from my past. And the more I thought about it the more I had to admit that there were a few negative experiences that I haven’t made peace with.

I came clean with the person who posed the question. I told them pretty much everything. I admitted that I had a fear that people were making really unkind assumptions about me based on a little information and a lot of prejudice. And the experience that kept coming to mind was not the most offensive demonstration of a particular prejudice but it was the one that affected me the most. It was a very long time ago in the scheme of things. The person who said those things and I talked extensively about it the time. It should be water under the proverbial bridge. But as I told the person who posed the question, ‘It happened a lifetime ago but it still burns like it happened thirty seconds ago.’

But what does this mean? I mean, the person who said the things that are etched into my brain weren’t addressing me individually, they were just expressing a theological disposition they had. They were quite upset that I had been hurt by the remarks. They went to great lengths to discuss what they meant exclusively for my benefit. They meant me no harm then and they still do not. Even at the time random third parties were talking to me on the sidelines seemingly dumbfounded at the problems I had with the content. This did my head in, actually. I felt blindsighted. I didn’t see this coming and then BAM! There it was. This diatribe about some aspect of my being. And I wonder, who else feels this way? How many other people are smiling and talking to me and then going home and thinking these sorts of things about me and other people I care about?!

Wild insecure baseless speculations aside, I don’t expect a lot of people I consider friends do actually share these opinions. At least, intellectually. There are still moments when I seem to lash out at people and exclaim things like, “But, of course, THIS is what you really mean… right?!” I guess I’m just scared. I learnt that a lot of people were actually quite fickle and I decided to be as open and transparent as I could be at the start of a relationship so if it was a problem it would at least be a problem before I felt emotionally invested. I just want to know the people who are around me are people who love me and will support me. Is that so much to ask? Probably not. And yet that is only part of the overall equation. It isn’t just about having these people in your corner, it’s also about choosing to believe that they are in your corner. This is the other dimension of faith; the part that doesn’t relate to the paranormal or the religious. It is the collection of smaller assumptions you embrace about your daily life. Its choosing to believe that if you drive on a road that the cars going in the opposite direction will stick to their side of the road. Its choosing to believe that if you leave your home today that an acorn or the sky or an atomic bomb won’t fall on your head. Because at the moment I am not being critcised or chastized by my friends, I am just plagued by this anxiety that it could happen. I am waiting for some unseen axe to drop.

And this is actually something the new age and self-help literature understands quite well. You choose to believe good things will happen not because they necessarily will (you’re probably not clairvoyant) but because this will have a bearing on how you feel, and this will in turn affect how you act. You make different choices when you’re feeling optimistic than you do when you’re feeling anxious. You react differently. You are more resourceful.

So this is something I have to work on. It is something that I am working on. I thank you all for your patience and support and love.

“Playing Giana Sisters keeps me young!” I was sure I was being flippant when I said it, but afterward I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps I do have a bit of a Peter Pan complex? I mean I quit my “day job” to play computer games and write articles for online publications. I spend most of my time talking to my friends (many of whom are almost ten years younger than I am). I bought Dunlop Volleys for the first time as a twenty five year old.

The truth is I was in a real hurry to ‘grow up.’ I stopped reading fiction at a very young age, convinced at the time I should pour all my energy into reading things that would help ‘my career.’ Primarily computer programming books. I really did spend all my time either writing or reading or programming. I was a nerd. I still am a nerd, I confess. I love Giana Sisters because, honestly, it was my favourite game as a kid. A true Commodore 64 classic. It is pure nostalgia.

I was a really serious, uptight kid too. And if I’m being honest I still am a fairly serious, uptight person. Younger people know things about fun that I, in my rush to ‘grow up,’ never took the time to learn. Just by hanging around them I get a new lease on life.

But by the same token there are other things from my earlier, more serious, life that I need to draw on now too. Like discipline and dedication. I have several projects that require my attention right now or they won’t get done. The truth is some days it is too easy to be distracted. And I haven’t been helped this week by inexplicable sleeping patterns and illness. So now more than ever I need to stop and focus and regroup.

I am excited about these projects. But also a little unnerved. I’ve envisaged some of these things for a really long time and now they are finally coming together. I sent several e-mails to perspective collaborators and was actually shocked to see they were interested. I got a little scared when they did accept. That sounds ridiculous; indeed it feels that way too. I had a friend who long suspected she had a fear of success. At the time the idea seemed ridiculous, but within the last few days I think I finally understand what she meant.

I won’t be defeated, though. In fact I have always worked well within small frameworks of time. This is exciting. Stick with me. All will be revealed in time.

Wasn’t I a cute kid?

I recently found myself internet-less for a few days. It wasn’t the end of the world. Actually at first it was great; I found myself doing chores and other useful things. I started watching television again. I started reading again. I had lunch by the river, and scribbled notes for articles at Get A Web Start.

By the end of day two, though, I missed the interaction so much I used what little bandwidth my ISP would afford me to check my twitter messages (waiting up to 10 minutes for a single page to load).

Without the internet, without the blogs, without the videos, without the podcasts, I felt so intellectually starved. I found myself driving to my local library thirty minutes before its closing time on a Friday night just to get some mental stimulation.

And on my return to internet access I felt compelled to seek out new blogs and bloggers. The truth is i don’t know many bloggers. Most of the people I know are youtubers. Some of them also have a blog, though it serves as little more than a forum to showcase their videos. (There are exceptions though: notably QiRanger, RiverBasil and RoboFillet.)

But more than that, I felt this need to seek out Australian bloggers. One of the things I have always appreciated about this medium is its ability to connect people with common interests and values, irrespective of their geographical location. When faced with Internet Connection Deprivation (ICD) I came to a realisation. My ability to connect with the people in my ‘extended network’ (yes, we have been reduced to MySpace parallels) is only as strong as my ability to connect to my Internet Service Provider.

Suddenly geographical location took on a whole new significance.

In my efforts to connect with Australian Bloggers I joined Aussie Bloggers – a community with a fairly self-explanatory title.

Within minutes of posting a short introduction I discovered there were bloggers living as close to me as Albion Park (about a 45 minute drive) and that there was going to be a “Blogging Event” there on Sunday! Clearly, it’s a small world after all. (Happy Birthday Snoskred!)

This made me feel really good.

Having a shared interest in something was cool, but having just heard the same song at the same time on the same radio station… that’s something else entirely.

I spent the whole week thinking about making this video. Although when I came to make it, I realised I didn’t really have any particular strategic in mind. Honestly when I went to film I become a bit anxious because I worried it wouldn’t be good enough. How do you begin to thank a friend so wonderful? But by any rate, I scripted a little something… and fumbled my way through it as best as I could.

Reading the comment on the video made it all worthwhile.

eldaveed (3 hours ago)
Awh Johny, that made me smile so much
Yeah, I was just studying some maths when you sent me this link. I will make you learn all my maths eventually!!
United and City are in direct competition, they also use opposite colours (well, considered opposite now, red and blue).
So what if I’m a clean person, I would have a field day in your room to be fair, wouldn’t I?
BLONDE HEDGEHOG FTW … just need to watch out for the cars Nice try with the hair anyway

Love ya Johny xxx <3

I also sent him a Manchester City towel with a special message on it. Gah, what am I going to do in the off season without my beloved CITY? lol

But yes, I couldn’t have said it better myself: BLONDE HEDGEHOG FTW!