Checkmate

I have never been much of a player when it comes to chess.

In fact, I rather suck at it.

I don't say that to cast aspersions on myself. It's just what it is. When I was a kid, I learned how to play. Learned how each piece moved and how the ultimate goal is to simultaneously claim your opponent's king while protecting your own.

Chess is also similar to poker in that the best players learn not to play the pieces on the board, but the person sitting across from them. You have to be strategic and learn to anticipate where they will move so you can counter with the right defense.

While I was tucked away out of circulation, many moons ago, I remember watching some of my compatriots play chess and wanted to really learn. I played a couple of games, but ultimately never cultivated an education in it. What I also failed to really understand until just recently is that even though I haven't sat at a board in nearly 20 years, I've actually been playing a different version of it in my head against everyone I know for at least that long.

What I developed was a means by which I could anticipate actions that would lead to potentially negative consequences for me, without forcing myself into a gambit and sacrificing any piece of mine. This means always trying to keep two or three moves ahead at all times, even if that meant dictating what those closest to me did.

Because my goal's always been the same. How do I make sure I can never get hurt?

That requires not only a rather manic need to maintain control over my sphere of influence at all times, but also a willingness to be manipulative in achieving the anticipated outcome and a rather ridiculous amount of mental energy and stamina.

Trying to figure people out by thinking two or three moves ahead at all times is damn exhausting, which makes me wonder both how and why I've done it this long.

I know the why. It is purely a defense mechanism and a means by which for me to feel clever by thinking I know someone so well that I can react to whatever they do even before they think about doing it. Only it's all complete guesswork generated by the very large clump of fear and insecurity which has influenced a great many things I've both done and not done.

It's the how that honestly boggles my mind, because it totally bucks any concept of common sense. How I ever thought that this was the best way to shield myself from the risk of relationships and being a social animal, I have no idea.

It also makes stepping away from such a practice hard to do, though, because of how familiar with it that I am. To me, it feels so natural at this point that turning it off is going to take a lot of work.

But as the philosopher Joshua once observed, "A strange game. The only winning move is not to play."

Onto the Carpet

Nobody ever likes to be called out for anything.

Earlier today, I got asked three questions that are all valid and worth answering. I said at the time I was asked they were worth giving some thought to and I didn't want to respond with simple explanations because they are not simple questions.

Question One: When you ask for help, what is it that you actually want?

This might be the hardest one to answer because asking anyone for help is not something I really know how to do. I'm so used to the shoe being on the other foot and having both people ask me and me offering my help to the people that matter.

Because of that, trying to condense it down to a singular thing seems a lot harder than it probably is, but I'll give it a shot.

My friend Amber pointed out the other day that I'm always the person to come in and rescue someone if they need it, but when they try to repay in kind, I won't accept it out of a warped sense of self-worth. I'm more content to be the martyr as it seems more fitting of someone with a life like mine.

I would like to think that those I care about know if they needed me to, there is no limit that I wouldn't go to help them. I do that for two reasons. One, is because I love them and two is because I know how much it hurts when all you want is to be rescued and are ignored.

So what do I want?

I want to know in my mind, truly know that the people who offer that help aren't going to turn around and bolt when things inevitably get real messy during this process. I want to know that I won't be ignored or marginalized and that what's going on isn't a figment of my imagination as it's been in the past.

It's not up to them either. It's up to me convincing myself that I don't have to question anyone's motives anymore. The only way I'm going to be able to do that is by letting my guard down enough to accept their help, whatever that may be.

Question Two: How many times do I have to be told I'm cared about before I will actually believe it?

The answer for this obviously ties into my first one. I've had people tell me my whole life how much I'm cared about and I've believed it. Then those people left and I've felt like a complete imbecile for doing so.

As a result, I accept affection like I accept compliments. Tentatively, at best. I brush it aside and minimize it as much as I can, but never let myself just take it for what it was.

Example: Four hours ago, I had someone say they still wanted to help me, even though I had hurt her once quite badly.

"Because you matter," she said.

And all I wanted was to argue back and demand to know how she can possibly look at me that way after what we've gone through together, even though it would be pointless to do so.

Being loved or cared for by someone else brings an element of very real fear that I didn't always have. As a result, my baseline has been that I care about someone more then they could possibly begin to about me. I also simply feel like I don't deserve the adoration as my self-worth has continued to wallow. Part of that comes from being rejected early and often and part of it is the sheer intensity of what I actually feel.

That's not to say I don't want someone to love me, nor do I not want people to care. It's when they stop loving me or I have to stop feeling the same way that it becomes very painful and I become even more reluctant to try repeating the process.

Question Three: Can I act like I care about other people instead of just brushing off the hate I feel?

I make no bones about the fact that the dominant aspect of my personality is based in all the anger I've hung onto for the majority of my life. And while I've tried very hard to not let it bleed off into the friendships and impact the people I know who never did anything to warrant being treated as such, it's gotten easier for me to lash out when it wasn't warranted.

As I've said before, I come from a family where having addictive and volatile personalities isn't uncommon. I'm not using that as an excuse, but where my father was also a really angry guy who'd just get drunk or stoned every chance he got, I get angry and then live on the emotional and psychological high I get from it. Like it or not, there are genetic and hereditary correlations when it comes to mental illness issues like depression that can be further exacerbated as we develop. Such things are decided by people with a lot more degrees and work in a higher pay-grade than I'm likely to hit in this life.

It will probably sound relatively insane, but I prefer being angry to being calm, because the anger provides the boost I need to actually get shit done or say the things I otherwise would be too timid to say. In that aspect, I am complete junkie and wholly dependent on getting really pissed off during the day to motivate me in doing anything. And if that means I have to bite back at someone in the process, then I could always justify it by saying at least I'm not sitting on my butt feeling sorry for myself.

It's also because of that dependency that I have such an incredibly hard time letting it go. It's not that I like conflict or being so wound up that I could knock someone through a wall. To be honest, coming down from that every day sucks. It's being so uncomfortable with being calm or at any measure of peace and/or relaxation that is the struggle.

Being able to care about someone is a calming action. It's soothing, and I do like it a lot. But when you're essentially pre-programmed to react to something with hostility, even if it's someone offering the love or affection you so desperately want or need, overcoming that can be truly very hard. That doesn't mean it can't be done, though.

It's just another thing I'm going to have to deal with the further down this road I go.

Restlessness

For a while now, I've understood that one of the biggest impediments in keeping me from getting noticeably better is how little sleep I get. So about six months ago, I started changing my routine so I could make sure I was in bed at a reasonable time and getting at least seven solid hours of sleep every night.

I especially took advantage of the past three-day weekend and with my alarm off, tried to let myself absorb as much unadulterated rest as I could.

I didn't get out of bed until about 10 a.m. yesterday and by about 3 p.m. or so, I was so tired, I think I could've fallen back to sleep for another 5-6 hours.

Now if I'd gone and run a couple miles or did some heavy labor, or spent all day getting a million things done, I suppose that would make sense. But all I did yesterday was go down the street to get some work done on my car, take a 30-minute walk in that interim, come back home, sit on my couch and pretty much just putz around.

I got into bed at about 9:45 last night, read for about an hour or so, then fell right to sleep with my alarm set to go off at 6:30 this morning. I woke up even before it went off, then went back and forth, in and out of sleep until it finally did. I then slapped the almighty SNOOZE button until I finally pulled myself out of bed at 7:30.

Based on how I'm feeling, this means that by the time this afternoon rolls around, I'm going to be rather wiped out, and this is pretty much par for the course for me.

It's a weird place to be, knowing that if I really don't want to sleep, I can make it so I don't have to. But also knowing that if I want to rest, for some reason, I can't seem to bring myself to do it.

And I do want to rest, because I am tired. My friends have been telling me that for months now.

"Dev, I see how exhausted you are. This is killing you," said one the other day, actually.

To be fair, it's not that I haven't tried things to help me get better sleep. I used to take melatonin pills when I needed to, but the side effects were pretty nasty because they either wouldn't work, or I wouldn't reach REM sleep, so I wouldn't dream.

I also know that not being able to get that sort of rest is a big part of what is going on in my head. This has been a problem for a long time, dating back to when I was barely a teenager, and has gone relatively unchecked.

My life has always been about trying to do more with less and making the most of my time, even if it meant I wouldn't sleep for a prolonged span of time. As a country and a species, I've heard no end of the stupid cliche', "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Well, I am dead.

I feel dead, and the only way I know that is going to start changing is if I can get some much-needed rest.

Century Mark

I've been writing this blog for 100 posts now.

A hundred posts in a little over four months. In the grand scheme of things, I guess that means I've had a lot on my mind and almost as much to say.

In the last few weeks, for every instance I feel compelled to finally get in front of all the things that are still holding me back, I've had these equally long spells where I get that all-too-familiar feeling.

That I can't beat this thing. This Yang. This part of me that my friends have called a "a monster that's blacker than black."

I hate admitting when I can't do something. It's a combination of all the anger I've hung onto and the pride of fighting as hard as I have to get even this far that keeps me from saying it.

Truth is, though, that I can't beat it. I really can't.

It's not an admission of defeat as much as it is simply realizing that I'm trying to get by something that knows me better than I know myself. It can anticipate my moves, understands my strengths and how to exploit my weaknesses. And it's at its most dangerous in convincing me that every friend is an enemy and every enemy is a greater enemy. It understands that the more isolated I am, the easier it is for me to feel more beaten and that this is all I am ever going to be.

I know I can't beat it because I don't know how. I've thrown everything I have at it. Every trick. Every weapon. I can make dents in it. I can get it off me for a little while, but it always comes back. Sometimes in weeks, sometimes in minutes.

That doesn't mean it can't be beaten. It just means I know it can't and won't as long as it's just me standing in front of it.

So, if I am going to take that horrifying First Step, then this is the way I know it's going to have to start.

If you're reading this, and if you care about me at all, then I am asking you...

It's not going to be easy. It won't be pretty, and there will be days where I will fight back at you because that is my defense mechanism against getting away from the dependency I have for all that anger and stubbornness.

but I am asking you...PLEASE...

Help me beat this damn thing, once and for all.

No Confidence

There is a classic Chinese proverb that states, "A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."

Over the weekend, I got into another heated discussion with a friend about my inability and unwillingness to get past the stasis I've remained in.

"I know you've been really beaten down and I know it's a terrifying idea, but I promise you, if you can get moving again, it'll be worth it," she said. "And you don't have to do it alone."

In the interest of context, it should be noted that I told my friend the exact same thing repetitively over the last year or so, as she had sworn off the idea of forming new relationships herself. In the last three weeks, however, she allowed herself to meet someone and things appear to be heading in a more positive direction.

"You kept telling me to do it and you see what's happened," she said. "So why shouldn't you be able to have the same thing?"

The short answer is that's not how the world works.

The long answer is because I don't deserve it, because being able to take that first step means putting a certain level of trust and faith both in the world to not let me fall again, and in myself that I know which direction to go.

Having been dropped several times now, I'm not willing to put my faith in this world to support me anymore.

And I have no faith, absolutely none, in myself. I never have. Not in a single damn thing I do.

From the time I get out of bed in the morning to the time I get back into it at night, I anticipate that I'm going to fail at something. I'm not going to say the right thing, or perform a task to the level of expectations that those around me and oversee my life have. It's been that way for I don't know how long, but the simple reality I grapple with every day is that I'm just not good enough. Not for my job, not for my friends, and definitely not for anything resembling a love life.

Such is what comes with having people tell me they'll, "always be there," then running away when times get really tough. And before you start with the tired cliche' of, To err is human, I don't care.

I don't care because that mindset got hammered out of me over a very long period of time. I don't get to be just human. I HAVE to be better. I have to be both smarter and stronger than all of you and don't get the luxury of fallibility. It is a privilege that I lost along with a great many other things, and I honestly have no idea if I can ever have it back, no matter what I do from here.

Do I want to remain stationary forever? Of course not. Being like this for this long has been bad enough. But whereas it's so much easier for other people to look to the horizon and think of how they can get past it, that's not what I see any more.

All I see is a very thin sheet of hope separating me from that hole I've fallen into and climbed out of more times than I ever wanted to.

And I also know if I take that step, and it gives way, I won't survive another impact.

Fortifications

This week, I've had two conversations with two separate friends who live on opposing sides of the state and don't know each other at all, but they both said the same thing.

"Dev, you have so many walls up that you refuse to let anyone see who you are and can be," they said. "I understand why because you've been through so much and got hurt so badly, but you've walked around for most of your life practically dead and closed off."

While I smiled and nodded and meekly agreed, my Yang was screaming at me with a very blunt response to their observations.

This is really a surprise?!

If our experiences shape both who we are and who we will become, I figured out at an early age the only way I was going to get this far was to make sure I was as insulated as possible from the things that are most potentially hurtful. In that respect, I can't think I'm any different than anyone else.

Admittedly, I've taken it to an extreme because I felt I had no choice.

As I explained to one of my friends last night, I've understood that my purpose in most people's lives is to be a fixer or a caretaker. If someone has a problem, they come to me. If a substitute or a stand-in is needed, they come to me. I fill the role or do the work, and then when it's done, I'm discarded. With incredibly rare exception, I feel like I am both expendable and/or disposable while I hold those I care most about so close, that I can't bring myself to let them go.

"You can't have the sort of relationships you want if you don't let someone in," she countered.

What I don't like admitting, to myself or anyone else, is I've grown very used to being this way. After all, this is work I started when I wasn't even 10-years-old, building layer upon layer of defenses until I have what's around me now, and the few times I've dared step out from behind them resulted in me getting completely and utterly crushed.

So what makes you think I'd be willing to step out from behind them now?

It may be lonely at the center of all these walls and traps, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm safe here.

You can't break my heart if I don't give you a clear shot at it.

Persona Non Grata

Call me weird, but the best stories I've ever related to are the ones which illustrate the constant duality of good and evil which exists inside the human mind.

I am so enamored with it, in fact, that I'm eighteen chapters into writing my own novel that deals with both it and society's views of how we apply those definitions.

Just what is it that makes us go one way or the other? If you say it's the result of social constructs like family and school, or the everyday exposure to media (both real and fictitious), then the influence can be seen as external. If, on the other hand, it's the result of our own physical and psychological development and our choices and actions based on that and our processing of that external stimulus, then the influence can be seen internal.

We've been trying to figure it out since the beginning of recorded time, and with respect to Jung, Freud and the other great analyzers of the human mind, I think we've only scratched the surface of what truly makes us tick.

I'd like to tell you that my fascination with our psychological makeup is purely because I read too many Sherlock Holmes books as a kid or tried to figure out the plot to every episode of Law & Order ever made.

*Editorial Note - I am guilty of both counts, actually, but everybody's got to have a hobby, I suppose.

It's because I've been trying to figure out my own psychology and which side of the line I actually fall upon.

In my life, I've been called both an angel and Satan, and I've never understood the logic behind either. I am far from a righteous, incorruptible man and my conscience is such that it's truly not in my nature to behave like a psychopath or even a sociopath. And yet, my experience has shown me that as a culture, we're content to slap someone with such labels all the time.

The one constant I've heard through the years in both mass media and my own bubble is the notion that once a person commits a crime, that's all they are capable of doing and that is all they'll ever be. Rehabilitation and reform are myths and pipe dreams, and therefore the only logical conclusion is indefinite, passive-aggressive punishment.

Now don't mistake me. There are some people who are indeed psychopathic, sociopathic, sadistic, or predatory and are fully aware of what their actions will result in. I've never subscribed to the concept that a true utopia is possible in this world because there will always be a percentage of humanity that simply doesn't care to follow the rules and laws laid down by civilized society. They just don't, and for whatever justification they come up with, they'd rather commit brutal atrocities at the expense of their fellow neighbors. But they are also a much smaller percentage of the population than we ever like to admit.

In many ways, we glamorize evil because it seems more attractive than being the proverbial starched-shirt, straight-backed Dudley-Do-Right. We recognize that aspect of human nature and romanticize it because we find our own darker impulses and potential intriguing. The darker and more diabolical we can make a character, the more exciting and appealing they become to us.

As much as we condemn Dahmer, Bundy, Lanza, Loughner, Pol Pot, Stalin, Hitler and the other historical evil figures, we also clamor for stories of characters like Hannibal Lecter, Michael Myers, Professor Moriarty, Leatherface, Norman Bates and other personifications of the very evil we've tried to eradicate for millennia.

The dichotomy will always exist, because we'll always want to know what makes supposedly "evil" people do what they do. We'll always want to study them because in doing so, we hopefully will learn more about ourselves and what we can do to evolve into something better than what we are now.

Lightweight

I was sitting at work the other day when a friend linked to an article called "22 reasons to start enjoying whiskey," and for whatever reason, it peaked my attention.

By the time the day was over, as I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some other stuff, I was perusing the liquor aisles, looking for one in particular and wondering if it was as good as it sounded.

And that worried me.

I've never been much of a drinker to begin with. In my time as a legal-age consumer of alcohol, I can proudly say I've never been drunk once, nor do I intend to be any time soon. The reason is not because I think myself superior than anyone else or somehow beyond the idea of sitting down with a drink and enjoying myself.

I just don't like the act of throwing up under any circumstances and having that accompany the debilitating effects of a hangover has never struck me as a productive way to spend my time.

Call me a square all you want, but there it is.

The other reason why I've always been more than a little hesitant about letting myself dive into my cups is quite simple. I am from a family of alcoholics. My father is and was an admitted drunk when I was a kid and my mother has used quite a bit in her younger days as well. My aunt was nearly killed when, after a night of heavy drinking with my mom, she drove home drunk and slammed into a tree. Her husband, my Uncle Mike, was also a longtime drunk and fought it for most of his adult life.

*Editorial Note - Both my father and uncle have been sober for a great many years now and I'm very proud of them both.

I lost a cousin who got drunk one night and fell asleep at the wheel, also hitting a tree head-on. I was four when that happened, but I still remember the impact it had on everyone he knew.

My first stepfather was also a pretty consistent drinker and his liquor of choice was Jack Daniels. Considering how he treated me even when he hadn't had a nip or two, the realization I made even before I was a teenager was this:

If I start drinking, there was a very realistic possibility that I could never stop. And if I started drinking whiskey, I'd end up becoming an abusive, belligerent prick. 

So as I got older, I kept finding excuses for why I wouldn't drink. I didn't think it would be accepted by my friends if I just said I didn't want to risk becoming another alcoholic in my family. The best one I came up with is that I was allergic to alcohol because of something in the fermenting process was an issue for my system.

It may have been a stretch, but it worked, and so I didn't take my first drink until I was about 25.

When I started, it was with wine and over the years, I've finally taken a liking for beer. I also developed a taste for sake as well, but hard liquor was always something I figured I was okay living without.

So when I suddenly found myself thinking about buying a bottle of whiskey because it sounded very appealing, it was a scary realization. Do I think that I'm immediately going to crack it open and get bombed out of my tree? No, but I'd be lying if the thought didn't cross my mind every time I took a drink of what if this might be when I suddenly didn't want to stop.

The thing I figured out early on was to establish and know my limits, and that they were okay. I could go have a drink with my friends and be coherent enough to drive myself home without being a danger to anyone. I could have a glass of wine with my dinner and it didn't mean I'm an alcoholic.

I make no apologies for being a lightweight. Considering what my family's history is, I'd rather be that than the alternative any day.

Exclusion

I remember when I was a kid, being in P.E. classes in school, and how much I dreaded them every week. It wasn't only because I was the prototypical 98 lb. weakling, but also because most activities were predicated on the idea of picking teams.

Despite my ability to run fairly fast, be somewhat elusive in traffic, and hit a ball pretty damn far, I could always count on being the last man to go to a given side, and also being received without much fanfare.

I'd like to say that was the only time when such a thing happened, but unfortunately, it wasn't. There's been many other times in my life, at many social levels, where I've felt both out of place and unwelcome.

Like many other things, I got used to it after a couple years. It became just another thing I grew relatively numb to. Where it didn't bother me as much because it became an expectation more than a surprise.

What I never understood, however, was why me? What was it about me that made it so difficult to just blend into the crowds I wanted so badly to be a part of?

In lieu of an answer, the only logical conclusion was it was because I was just different than everyone else. As a result, I just wasn't going to ever be inside the same spheres of the people I cared about or were interested in. That was the conclusion I reached even before I was 16, and not much in the years since have changed my perspective.

It also made it so hard for me to disregard the people in my own sphere, no matter the things they may do to hurt me, or the trouble I caused them in return. I gave second chances, even if they weren't always deserved, because I always wanted the same thing for myself.

Being out on the fringes most of the time isn't always fun. As much as I found the privacy of being left out to be occasionally refreshing as I didn't have to be part of the usual drama or other things I wanted no part of, the older I've gotten, the more I've still wanted to belong to something or someone.

The difficulty lies in trying to find that something, whatever it is.

Lone Wolf

I must have been about eight years-old when I became fascinated with the idea of spies.

Spies, and espionage as a trade, was always something romanticized in fiction. After all, James Bond has been around for 50 years now, through six different incarnations, and I don't see our fascination with his world slowing down anytime soon.

About 15 years ago, I got the idea of trying to create my own spy story. A huge, sweeping epic through which I could, as Fleming did, channel both my boyish fantasies and also address my underlying inner daemons through a prism that could also provide some form of entertainment.

It was in the formative world-building stages of this endeavor that I came to understand why it is I relate to such characters on the level I'm accustomed to. Spies, like assassins, mercenaries, and all other classic anti-heroes, prefer to work in the shadows. Their existence is only known to a select few and while their actions are often the stuff of legend and usually end with the preservation of the world as we know it, they are also loners, and not always by choice.

Their purpose in life, the reason they are who they are, is conducive to having as few attachments as possible, keeping everyone they covertly care for at arm's length. It's as much to protect those people as it is to protect them. We can't let them in because not only would add complicated things like emotions and connections to the equation, but it would also make the loner have to be human rather than a blunt instrument.

The moment we allow ourselves to become more than a mechanism is when we open ourselves up to getting hurt. The armor gets stripped away and we are left wholly and completely vulnerable, and for someone who is unused to such a position, that can be unbearably horrifying.

People who operate in this environment aren't and often can't be labeled under the broad banner of "normal" because of what they carry with them. Some have seen too many wars, too many battlefields, and some have seen too many casualties as the result of that. So the best thing for it, really, is to warden off that section of yourself and just soldier on in the name of the greater good.

The burdens they carry, and the scars that come with them, aren't always meant to be shared.

This is how I've operated for the better part of the last three years, trying to remain at a equilateral distance, shielding myself in a bubble so no one can get through. From my perspective, it's been as much for their own good as it was mine. My experience following my breakdown hammered home something that my parents had told me, in their own way, a long time ago.

"You get yourself into that sort of trouble, Dev, you get yourself out."

Now that I've been away from the proverbial pack for so long, the idea of coming back into the fold is more than a little frightening because I'm not entirely sure how to act or even who to be. I'm not sure if the people I encounter can't see everything I've been trying to discard or if there's some label I'm wearing that's invisible only to me saying, "Here stands a once broken man held back together with only duct tape, chewing gum and silly string."

I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, if I can help it. The problem, at this moment, is that I find myself feeling completely unsure of the idea of living any other way.

Breaking Orbit

This is going to undoubtedly date me as an "old man," but so be it.

I'm old enough to remember the days before both the internet and social media, and while I enjoy the former, I am growing more disillusioned with the latter.

So much so, in fact, that when my brother announced his intention to quit Facebook at the end of the month, I was both highly jealous and highly cynical of his decision.

I also wasn't a big fan of how that felt, because the first big question I asked myself was, "Why the hell can't I do that?"

I'd like to think I'm no different than anyone else in having been drawn into the world of social media when Facebook exploded a few years ago. After all, it was cool. We got to connect with one another in a way previously delegated to more archaic means like Trillian or YahooChat or even AOL (remember those days of yore?!) MySpace even seemed like cuneiform by comparison to what Facebook has become, but in the last few years, there's also seemed to be a growing and previously unforeseen drawback.

Facebook, and all other "social" or "public" media, is a black hole.

I never really "got" Twitter, though as a journalist, I understand its benefits as a news-generating mechanism. But a few years ago, my best college friend introduced me to another public media website that's basically Twitter for introverts. At first, I liked it a lot because it was a secluded place for me to get all the random, nagging things in my head out. Seemed simple enough, putting those things away in little boxes so I didn't have to either think about or look at them anymore.

It turned out to be a complete disaster, because what I didn't realize then and ultimately discovered too late, was that such places are breeding grounds for disinformation, misconceptions, presumptions, and assumptions and was a significant factor in my relationship with that same friend completely disintegrating for the better part of two years.

Why? Because instead of actually being human beings and talking to one another about the things we needed to discuss, I felt it was easier to just take those things and dump them somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind, and it ended up taking her out of my life because I saw the things she'd post and a solid 80-90% of the time, I drew the completely wrong conclusion.

Now don't mistake me, I understand the value of social media. It connects us no matter where we are in the world and that is not a bad thing. The bad thing is when it becomes a replacement for the aspect of our lives it sought to enhance: Communication.

When the world was pre-internet, if I wanted to talk to someone, I either picked up my phone or I actually got in the same room and we talked. Even in the early days of email, if some form of correspondence was needed, I had time to sit down, think about what I wanted to say, and construct a letter that reflected those things. It wasn't such a rapid-fire transition of discourse without having time to really process what the other person was actually saying.

Chats, I have found, are also lacking in emotion. In order to convey that I'm not being snarky or offended by a comment, I have to attach an emoticon to pretty much everything I post these days. To me, it's actually simpler to actually converse with another person so we can both process our emotional tones and inflections by the words we say and how we say them. Sure it might be antiquated by modern standards, but the old ways aren't always the worst ways.

You may think it's hyperbole for me to call it a black hole, but it doesn't change the fact that Facebook especially, is a ginormous gravity well of a time sink.

If someone were to do an analysis of how much I've truly wasted on Facebook and other social media, playing games, digesting other peoples' posts, waiting for someone to show up so I can chat (as opposed to just going to see them or calling them), or worst of all, being both bitterly envious and living vicariously through the lives of the friends I was linked to, I think it would far surpass even my own lofty estimates.

"Why go out and live my own damn live when I can sit in my apartment and just watch everyone else do it for me?!" I decided.

The time I spent online was hours upon hours I could've been invested in getting my books done, learning new things, seeing new things, meeting people, exercising, traveling, enjoying my passions, and most importantly, healing  and otherwise being a part of the human race again.

I retreated into Facebook and social media because it provided an escape from reality. And now I need to escape from it because reality is more vital to my long-term survival.

So does that mean I'm shutting my Facebook page down and quitting cold turkey? No. As a journalist, being plugged in is part of my job description going forward, like it or not. I also have people that I won't be able to contact without it, so in that respect, I don't see it as a drawback.

What it does mean though is that I am going to start limiting my access time so I can get onto more constructive things. I won't be online as much as I used to and trust me, it's for the best. Facebook won't write my books for me. I can and will post pictures from time to time, but I want to be the person to take them, not see someone else do it and then be jealous of them for doing so.

The thing about getting out of orbit is it can't be done without achieving the necessary escape velocity first. I've been rotating around this thing long enough that my momentum should be strong enough.

Time for me to get back out into the cosmos and do some stargazing.

Downshifting

So I'm a week into 2014 and with the hullaballoo of the holidays behind me, it gives me time to sit down for a moment, breathe a little, and relax.

Except there's one slight problem. I seem to have forgotten how to do that. Or at least, I've fallen out of practice with it.

One of the many things on my agenda for the new year is to finally conquer my guitar and I decided to start on New Year's Day. I sat down, plugged it in, loaded up Rocksmith 2014 on my PS3 (Don't laugh, we all gotta learn some way) and got to work.

At the moment, I'm going through the "Lessons" part of the game and am doing the repetitive exercises associated with learning the absolute basics of the instrument. It's not rocket science, but I figure starting there is better than jumping into the songs I don't even know how to play yet. The first exercise was pretty easy and I found myself enjoying the process. The second one, though, involved learning how to make slide notes, and that was much more frustrating.

It was frustrating because one of my biggest problems in playing the guitar is when I go to hit the A string, I actually hit the E string. Or I go to hit the E string and somehow hit the D string for some stupid reason. Now I know why. My brain knows what it wants to do, but because my fingers haven't developed any familiarity with the layout of the strings, confusion is in the cards.

And confusion is antithetical to relaxation.

A couple days later, I was playing one of my favorite driving games, Gran Turismo 6, and decided to do a little go-karting. Now the thing about this game is that the developers try like hell to achieve total "realism," so Mario Kart, this ain't.

I started out thinking, because I've been both driving a real car and playing such games for over a decade, that this would be pretty simple. It kicked my ass, repetitively, and the more I tried, the more upset I got. I now am in need of a new PS3 controller, which also means I have to wait to get back to work on my guitar too.

The noted Conservative columnist and devout baseball purist (two perspectives which are not mutually exclusive, btw) George Will once said that Ty Cobb was an anomaly among great athletes because he played his entire career in a constant state of a white-knuckle grip and clenched teeth, and you can't really do anything that way. In order to operate at peak efficiency and reach its full potential in any endeavor, the body and mind must be allowed to relax and just do what is asked of it.

When I really think about it, I don't think I've ever really been good at downshifting out of the overdrive I prefer to operate in at all times. If I do something, I go full out, balls-to-the-wall, and I expect that I will accomplish the same results at all times. And when I don't, it just amps up the tension I've established within myself, which makes becoming more volatile that much easier.

A big part of that stems from the wicked competitive streak I developed from when I was just eight or nine years-old. The other part is the amount of pressure I place on myself to simply just get it right the first time, whatever it is. If I can't get it right out the chute, then that's it, I'm both a failure and a loser.

And yet, when I'm in my car and trying to get up a hill, the machine can't always do it in fifth gear. It's more efficient to drop down to third or fourth and not overstress the engine.

Time get myself to do the same thing.