Jesse McCartney Was Wrong: Ugly Soul

 

People are so imperfect.  

No matter how much faith you put in them, they always seem to let you down, at least at one time or another.

 

I know.  I must sound like I’ve just gone through some terrible betrayal recently or something.  That’s not the case.  Quite the opposite actually.  I keep self-reflecting on how unreliable I, myself am at my core.

 

Well, I guess in a way I have gone through a betrayal, a self betrayal.

 

I expect others to depend on me because ‘reliable’ is a characteristic I’ve come to identify myself with, but in reality I let myself down so often that it’s a ludicrous request.  Almost like I’m setting them up for failure out of some egocentric desire to prove that I can be sure of myself at the risk of others.

 

There’s that saying that friends come and go, but family never fails, but I think that’s an exaggeration.  Even the most devoted of mothers fails her child in numerous ways throughout their life.  That’s why people love to point to their messed-up childhood, no matter how perfect, and find excuses for why they are the way they are.

 

It’s so much easier to look outward for the cause of our imperfections, to point the chocolate smeared finger in another’s direction, all the while hiding the cookie jar behind our backs. 

 

Humans are so flawed that they have given up looking inside themselves and trying to rectify what’s wrong.  Our ugly souls are too scary to look at so we give up altogether.

 

A lot of people like to point to this as a main cause of religion.  They say that we have allowed ourselves to become so weak that we like to turn to some Santa-faced deity to fix our problems for us.

 

God is a crutch, they say. 

We don’t need him and he is therefore dead, they say. 

 

But I wonder if the people who say that have ever wondered whether or not we turn to someone else because we’re not only weak, but right.  Maybe we are too messed up to fix ourselves.  Maybe we do need someone else.  And maybe that cloud gazing instinct is a result of some programmed default feature that is triggered when we have finally exhausted our energy and options.

 

People are so imperfect. 

 

Wouldn’t it be nice if there was some big, fluffy Papa in the sky to swipe away tears and reset our central processing units?  Would it really be so wrong to rely on someone who was actually reliable?  I know, I know.  There’s suffering in the world.  How can anyone view that as reliable?

 

I think an important question people forget to ask concerning the problem of suffering is who’s causing the suffering?

 

Is there a God wreaking havoc while he points and laughs?  Is there a God sitting on his divine keister, watching us like television?  Or maybe there’s a God reaching out to us in non-material ways that are so unanticipated we neglect to even acknowledge them.

 

Maybe he’s busy trying to help us fix our ugly souls. 

 

~LDA

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I Think, Therefore I Am: Jaw Troubles

There’s this really weird thing that happens to me every couple months or so where I suddenly don’t know where to place my jaw.

 

I know.  It sounds absurd, but I’ll wake up one day suddenly feeling that my jaw is out of place.  Not so much in the sense that’s it’s been dislocated or anything drastic like that.  Only that I don’t know where to put it.  It seems as though there isn’t a position that seems natural anymore.

 

I’m suddenly asking myself, “How do I usually hold my jaw?  Do I usually have the teeth on either jaw touching each other, or do I usually have my jaw in a loose position?”  And usually as a result of all this clenching and unclenching, I feel exponentially worse, my jaw have tightened into an unnatural position.

 

It’s the most confounding thing to wake up one day and find that you don’t know yourself.  I mean, it’s something that we humans pride ourselves on, right?  “I may not have a clue as to what’s going on in the world or if any of it has any meaning, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I know myself.”

 

“I think, therefore I am,” right?  It’s that one thing that the average everyman can agree with those lunatic philosophers on.  That we may not agree with all the rational nonsense that follows that premise, but we can agree that the one thing we know without a shadow of a doubt is that #1:  I exist and #2: I’m therefore the chief consultant as to all the nitty gritty details of that existence.

 

Because, well.  I’m me.  And who could know more about me than me?

 

Who could possibly know me better?

 

I’m the person most concerned with me despite what I might choose to believe about love and the nature of that loaded L-word.  There’s no one on the planet who could possibly be more obsessed about my existence and the well-being of it than the wonderful, talented, consequential, worth paying attention to, special in every way, moi.

 

And yet, there are days when we wake up, and we suddenly don’t know how our jaw is supposed to go, or if it ever went, or where it went for that matter. 

 

How can I, the one and only specialist on me, claim to know the stuff I’m made of when some days I don’t even know how to use my body.  How can I when I find myself wondering if there was ever even a set way that I held myself to begin with?

 

If I can’t even figure out how to gain control of my body, how can I ever hope to gain control of my mind, never mind my spirit, the very essence of who I am? 

 

I don’t want to act like I can speak for the rest of you, but sometimes I wake up and wonder how on Earth I got to where I am and if that even happens to be where I intended to go in  the first place.  I have these short and long term goals set for myself.  I take note of them in journals and write them on my walls in the form of handy little sticky notes.  And even whileI find myself satisfactorily check marking and taking them down from my walls, I always ultimately end up in the same place. 

 

“Wait, why am I doing this again?  This is what I intended to do and where I intended to go, right?  Have I accidentally turned down a side street and completely lost track of the main road?”

 

I always find myself questioning who I am and whether or not this is the stuff I want to choose to make myself out of.  Will I be satisfied in the end?  Will I be able to sigh a contented last breath and know that I took my freedom to think seriously?  Will I be able to look back and see footprints burnt into asphalt from the sheer decisiveness of each step that was taken?  Will the direction of those steps reflect my inner most thoughts and convictions back at me?  Will I recognize myself and the distinctive angle of my jaw?

 

I guess all I’m trying to say is, I DON’T KNOW.

 

And I like to tell myself that this is a good thing, even though it’s pretty contrary to any linear and straightforward form of logic.  Because I don’t believe in straight lines.  When I was child a visual arts student once told me, “There are no such thing as straight lines.  Only dozens and dozens of hesitant strokes that trick you into thinking they’re straight.”  And at the time that I heard this, something resembling an unanticipated breath of relief escaped my body.  Like I had been trying to conform myself to something I knew I never had been and could never become, and now I was free.

 

I didn’t know why at the time, but I believe that this revelation was one of the many beginnings of the unbelievably sketchy circle that is my life.  I believe that I discovered the secret that it’s okay not to know, or maybe even better.  If you’re constantly willing to admit that you don’t know, won’t that just keep you in check and make sure that you keep verifying whether what you think you really knew you actually know?

 

But who knows.  Maybe that’s just another thing I like to tell myself.

 

After all, I simply don’t know.

 

~LDA

 

 

Core Persona (NatureVersusNurture)

We say all the time that you should be yourself.

Don’t change for anybody or anything.

Just be yourself.

But who are we really? Aren’t we just the sum of our experiences, a conglomeration of changes we’ve made? Some conscious, some unconscious? I mean, even deciding to take your next breath is a decision you’re making, even if your body is automatically making it for you. You have the autonomy to choose otherwise.  And each breath is causing minuscule changes in your body’s chemical makeup.

Some changes sort of just happen to us more than we choose to make them happen. Like how a traumatic experience such as the loss of a loved one or an abusive experience changes who we fundamentally are. But they’re all still changes nonetheless.

So what makes some changes considered things that turn us into phonies or posers, while others are just considered personal growth or collateral damage? If a person chooses that they want to change how they manifest their personality by changing a clothing style or hanging out with an entirely different crowd, how is that different from if a person chooses to continue wearing the same clothing style or to continue taking part in a particular hobby. At what point do we identify or become ourselves?

Where does the core of our persona lie?

In some super secret sequence of our genetic code?

In the most inner reaches of what some might call the soul?

Who are we really?

Aren’t we all just constantly changing beings who are always in flux?

Or is there an essential part of us that never changes? A solid constant that we must stay true to?

Who exactly are you?  Do you know? 

 

Your Fellow Identity Crisis,

~LDA

-~- Welcome Fellow Derp

If you’ve ever had one of those moments where you realized you’d done something so stupid that you just had to laugh at yourself, you’re in the right place.

You know…

One of those moments where you had to facepalm yourself just hard enough to verify that there was actually a brain rattling around in that skull of yours.

Or maybe just one of those moments where you felt like you had something interesting to add to this conversation we call life, but were too afraid to share for fear it wouldn’t come out the way you wanted.

If you’ve at all found yourself feeling like any of the above, I think this is just the little corner of cyberspace for you.

Why did I name this blog derp2derp?

Well, in order for me to answer that question I should probably clarify the meaning of the word derp, JUST in case some of you reading this don’t already know it.

  Sooo…

What does the word derp mean? 

Here’s a couple definitions:

Courtesy of Urban Dictionary:

derpy-awkward or embarrassing, especially pertaining to a person:

“Man, that guy is so awkward!”
“Yeah, he’s really derpy.”

Courtesy of Myself

herp derp (or simply derp)-a person who is doing or has done something unusually dopey and/or laughable:

“Ouch! I just walked into the sliding door because I thought it was open.”

“Hahaha.  You’re such a herp derp.”

(the terms “herp derp” and “herpaderp” have also been known to be used in rage comics in order to substitute dialogue)

SO, WHY THE SILLY NAME derp2derp?

If we’re honest with ourselves, we all know that we have moments that bring out our inner derp and this blog is a way for me to share some of those moments with you.  I find that my inner derp surfaces quite a lot (probably more than I’d like) and I figured if I’m going to be plagued with the disease of herpaderpitis, I might as well do something productive with it.  From failing at holding simple conversations to everyday ruminations about the value of life, I’d like to give you a chance to both laugh at my silly everyday mistakes and hopefully, share some of your own derpy stories in return.  I’d also like to share my thoughts on various matters and hear what you guys think yourselves.  It doesn’t matter if you think my thoughts are off the wall bogus or genuinely interesting.  I’d like to turn this into a space where everyone is free to share their thoughts.  I’d like to hear from you.

Life’s too short to waste time being embarrassed by failure.

Why wince at failure when you can laugh?

Let’s derp it up.

~LDA