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Weekly Post-Ed #68

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

THE WEEK AFTER

It’s been 10 days since I graduated Grand Valley State University with a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature. Where I thought the preceding week would feel like a triumph, it’s felt more like the fallout of a relationship. I’ve been walking around in a stupor, going through a mental checklist that no longer exists. What’s the next upcoming class? The next test? There’s nothing there—just a void of who I used to be just a fortnight ago. Being in college has defined my life for the past 18 months. And now…nothing.

I’m not longer ‘Robert Hyma-in-pursuit-of-his-BA.’

Today, I’m ‘Robert Hyma-Ok-I-have-my-BA-now-what?’

The plan was to immediately transition into a tenacious job-hunt the day after graduation, which has happened. I’ve compiled a newly printed resumé, updated LinkedIn, and have set up profiles on Indeed and ZipRecruitor (as well as GVSU’s Handshake networking system) to begin the journey to finding a career.

The problem, as some of you are spotting immediately, is that this process is coming a tad late in the game. Most of my classmates have filled their summer schedules with unpaid internships (modern day indentured servitude—but with a maybe/sorta reward of a resumé bullet point afterwards). Maybe I resisted this path because I’ve had a sorta/kinda career path before resuming college, but I assumed a degree would grant instant entry into the jobs I was not qualified for previously. I just needed a piece of university stationary that said I was now qualified for a more enticing career.

Right?

Yes and no. The path to any career is mysterious, often defined by a mixture of the type of person, the era, the culture, and valued skillset. Still, stupid is stupid, and I may have made life more tedious than it needed to be by focusing on my studies so intensely.

The real trick of college is to have one foot in and out the door: Excelling in coursework while simultaneously leveraging this achievement into the working world.

And it all sounds like a great plan until reality sets in—college students are merely human beings. I’ve often been amazed by my classmates who have worked menially paying part-time jobs, coming into young adulthood and confronting identity with new groups of people, how to date and find love (if at all), combatting a hyper-aware society forever wired into the age of the internet, prone to constant comparison, success in every aspect of life a requirement for happiness, pride, wealth, and then to somehow find the clarity of a career path that begins IMMEDIATELY after being handed a diploma placeholder at Graduation.

In other words, there’s a strange dissonance with everyone graduating college: “I’m an adult now, why am I not successful yet?”

***

GRAD REBOUNDING

I’m finding it difficult to cut the cord of the past 18 months. Perhaps I’m alone, but the adrenaline of graduation has worn off and now I’m facing a new frontier with new landmarks and people with blurred faces. Everything is new, which is both exciting and terrifying, but it doesn’t discount the old. When I think about graduating college and moving on, it feels like trying to find a rebound after going through a breakup. 

I had this discussion with a classmate the day before graduation took place:

ME: “Are you walking this weekend?”

HER: “No. My boyfriend did last year, and we waited two hours to hear his name. And then he walked across the stage in about four seconds. It’s a huge waste of time. I’m not walking. Are you?”

ME: “Yeah. I’ve never walked before.”

HER: “Good luck. I’m ready to be done with this place. I could care less about walking. I’m ready to move on.”

There it is: “I’m ready to move on.” She’s been emotionally done with college for a while. Most seniors in college are. Attending classes, taking exams—it’s all rote and mechanical procedure in the weeks before graduation. Why can’t life just be all the things we’ve been preparing for?

While I understand this logic, I think it’s important to attend a ceremony at the start and end of things. The Olympics has its Opening and Closing Ceremonies, marriage its wedding and divorce proceedings, and college has its convocation and graduation. There’s something necessary in attending the start and close of a journey.

Most of my classmates were packing in a hurry to get on with “living”. But what has the past four years of college been if not a significant growth spurt? In that time, most students start in their teens, age into young adulthood, experience sex and alcohol on a consistent basis, and somehow develop an independence that is (hopefully) means not returning to the way things were before arriving on campus. Why does living take place only after the journey ends when so much living has taken place the entirety of an undergraduate degree? Blame it on age, but I disagree that college is a ceaselessly tiring and punishing gauntlet that must be endured in order to “get on with life”. In the aftermath of graduation, I think the past ten days have been necessary to process what the hell has taken place.

That’s my clouded and congested conclusion at this juncture: I’ve been lost and adrift not as a reflection of my inability to cope and move on to a new era, but as a meditation about the old one. 

This is what it means to move on in a healthy way.

Just, try not to eat meals with serving sizes befitting a roaming buffalo or binge watch the entirety of Netflix’s “for you” category as a way of numbing out. 

It’s better to feel the listlessness in the aftermath of graduation than run from it. The point is to feel all the things you must right now.

Otherwise, it’s a rebound into something else.

Might as well have applied for internships, then.

***

PARTING KNOWLEDGE

Before my final exams, I made a point to ask my professors what advice they would give their younger selves if they could. More specifically, I asked:

“What do you know now that you didn’t when you were younger?”

Here are two noteworthy responses from my professors:

First Professor:

“I once had a therapist that said, ‘It’s like you’re hauling around an extension ladder’. By that, she meant that I was looking far ahead into the future, while reaching way back into my past. If you’ve ever carried an extension ladder before, you know how awkward it is to walk around with. But that’s how it feels to think so much about the future and constantly dig through the past—there’s no pivoting without knocking into something you didn’t need to.

“So, I asked the therapist, ‘What do I do about the ladder?’ and she said, ‘Carry a smaller one.’ Since then, I understood how unimportant it was to worry about the future and the past. None of that defines you. What matters is keeping versatile in the present. That’s where everything is happening anyways. And with a smaller ladder, you can still get up and down when you need to, just with manageable heights. It’s much more useful, I’ve found.”

Second Professor:

“I once took such pride in being introverted, until I realized it was largely an excuse to protect myself. I loved to go off by myself and think, or write, or do whatever, but always at the expense of talking with anyone. As you get older, you find the reasons you do things are not practical so much as practiced. I wanted to be an introvert more than I ever was one. And ever since I gave up on the label, I’ve been much more willing to have conversations with anyone and everyone. It hasn’t left me tired and exhausted but inspired. I have so many more good people in my life because I gave up on the illusion of introversion as an identity.

“So I would say: Rethink what you cling to for identity. Often, it’s just a way of protecting yourself instead of being open to new things and people.”

***

Lastly, if you haven’t checked out the recent playlist from Quarter One of this year, I highly recommend it. There’s something there for everyone. Feel free to list your most noteworthy songs of the past while in the comments below!

Robert Hyma’s Q1 – 2024 Playlist

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #66

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

A NEW GAME TO PLAY

Over the past two weeks, I’ve been cold-approaching women in public. Cold-approaching is a term used in the pickup artist community; it means to go up to a person and begin a conversation. Ever since I started reading Neil Strauss’s The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists, I’ve been fascinated with all the things I never knew about being social (as opposed to the psychological toolkit proffered by pickup artists to optimally seduce women).

Courtesy of Amazon

I don’t fancy myself as someone who wishes to seduce (or could pull off the sorts of magic tricks, blatant techniques offered in the book).

But the social-skill aspect of approaching people…That has been fascinating to experiment with.

Some background: I wouldn’t call myself socially inept. I’m not clueless with how to speak to others, even women. Like many creative types, I’m predisposed to an introvert’s lifestyle, finding pleasure in time alone with hobbies/projects than seeking the battery refill of social interaction. That being said, when it comes to speaking to others, I have a fairly rote set of skills that aren’t up-to-date. Much of what I learned involves asking open-ended questions and keeping someone else talking. This is fine if my intention was small talk, or a polite conversation with a stranger, but when it comes to a more meaningful connection, asking questions is like a table with only three legs—it can stand upright but, you know, just barely.

The problem with wanting to test new social skills as someone older is there isn’t a steady place to practice. In my situation, I happen to have a burgeoning college campus full of students just waiting to be spoken with. So, setting out to try a few lessons from Neil Strauss’s book, I set out to test my skills this past week.

***

THE TOOLKIT

The first step was to apply a few useful tips from Strauss’s book. In no particular order, I sought to do the following:

Have an Opener: Really, just a rehearsed scenario that I could begin a conversation with. Here’s what I used:

“Hi, let me get your opinion on this. My sister’s birthday is coming up and I’m buying her a shirt she’s been wanting. I’m not sure if she’s a small or a medium, which size should I go with?”

It’s a solid opener because it invites a casual response (something that isn’t too difficult to have an opinion about) and appears harmless. It’s disarming and allows me to convey confidence in approaching a perfect stranger about this dilemma.

Set a Time Frame: Don’t just approach someone and gab on about something you’d like their opinion on. Most likely, a stranger is thinking two things when you approach: What does this person want, and how long are they staying around? So, to mitigate one of these concerns, it’s a good idea to disarm the concern that you’re not about to leave with a statement of how long you intend to stick around.

I used this one since I was on campus: “I only have a few minutes and then I have to get to my next class.”

I was skeptical that this would be so impactful, but I could see the tension drop away. A time frame was relieving. Who knew?

Don’t be Results Dependent: A huge problem with my previous social interactions has been expecting a certain result: exchanging phone numbers, assurance of a followup interection, acknowledgment that I was the most perfect man and how could I have not come along sooner…

(You can see some of the psychology for why it’s been a struggle. I haven’t, as Esther Peral famously prescribed, “calibrated expectations”.

With strangers, frankly anyone, I wanted to be the most likeable person who could win their affections. If you’ve tried this before, the results are obvious: If you’re desperate to be liked, not only do you appear disingenuous, but will fail miserably. Desperation is potent like Body Odor or blood in the water—people have a sense for it and it isn’t desired. Not socially, at least.

Letting go of results also takes away the pressure of approaching others—simply saying a few lines, playing with the conversation, and then saying, “Thanks. Nice to meet you,” are all acceptable ways of ending things if it isn’t going well.

And many times, things going poorly is as much about luck and chemistry as it is about social prowess.

Speak in Statements: Statements are the language of intimacy, I’ve come to realize. Statements take a stand. Friends talk to each other in statements. In fact, I’d wager the reason we love and care for our favorite heroes in stories is because they mostly speak in statements. It’s simply the door opening to the soul.

Questions are interrogative, like being on a job interview. I’m a great listener and question asker, which isn’t surprising—the writer in me is a natural investigative journalist. But being a great question-asker also means I don’t participate in conversation. Asking questions, I’ve realized, means I’m not offering anything to the conversation about myself. Essentially, I’m hiding behind the lopsided expectation that others should speak and I can sit back and watch them—like an audience. Is it surprising, then, that I’m the one to fall in love with others instead of their falling in love with me?

Of course: They’ve been making statements and have demonstrated character, while I’ve been most often anonymous and asking questions.

With this toolkit memorized, I set out to talk to women on campus.

***

IN THE FIELD

If the pieces of advice I listed above seemed intuitive enough, putting them into practice was a completely different experience. For example, I had not taken into account the entire lifetime of built up social fears and belief systems that made it impossible not to flounder on the first few approaches.

My first approach was with a fashion designer at a coffee shop. She had been reading a book about entrepreneurship and I started with a question, “What are you reading?”

She answered. I couldn’t recall what she said because I was petrified. Up close, she was prettier than I had anticipated. Everything I had coached myself to try had gone out the window. So, I reverted to my default social ability: I asked interview questions.

“Are you looking to start a business?”

“What other things have you designed?”

“Is this for college?”

On and on and on about her fashion dreams. And me? Nothing to report—I didn’t say anything about myself. I could have been an undercover IRS agent for all she knew, which is about how she looked at me after the fifth or sixth question. To my credit, though, I recognized the conversation wasn’t going well—certainly not organically—so I thanked her for her time and said it was nice to meet her.

A class crash and burn, but also a start of something. Where I might have just walked past this person’s table, I stopped and attempted a conversation. So, at least a passing grade with a first attempt.

Partial credit is better than none.

The second interaction this past week was on campus. Spotting a girl sitting in the warm sunlight outside of the library, I approached with an opener I had been turning over in my head. I mustered up the courage and then approached to say:

“Hi, I could really use your opinion on this. My friend was dumped by his girlfriend a few weeks ago, and he keeps texting me that he needs closure in order to move on. Should he text her about what happened?”

Ok, maybe a little too autobiographical for complete comfort, but it worked. She told me that it was never a good idea to try to get back or ask for closure with an ex (a sensible and correct answer). I asked if she’s ever had guys try to contact her after a breakup. She said no and that her mother always steered her right on these matters.

“Help my friend out,” I said, feeling more confident after sensing things were going well. “If you’re being approached by a guy, how should he come up to you?”

She thought for a moment and said, “Not like this. If I’m at a library, I’m working on something. At a coffee house, I’m just trying to get away and have a cup of coffee, maybe read.. If I want to meet a guy, I’ll go to a bar or to a club and go dancing. It makes sense to come up to me there. Anywhere else and it isn’t organic.”

I was surprised by her answer, organic. “You wouldn’t want to be approached at the library? Even if it was Downey Jr. coming up to you?”

She smiled. “Well, that’s different.”

I laughed. “Ok. So, at a bar or a club. Is that where you meet guys?”

She dropped her smile. “Oh, I’m not 21. But, yeah, that’s how I would want to meet guys.”

Ouch, that age difference between her and I. Yes, it was time for me to leave. “Well, I have to run to class, but thank you—I’ll tell my friend what you said.”

“Hey, what class are you going to?”

I smiled. Yes, the hook; the point where she’s interested and asks a question about me. I hadn’t expected this moment, but was flattered that it had come. Too bad the age gap between us was about 13-14 years—something I’m not willing to pursue. I said a class, the lie was white and innocent, and I took my leave.

And gave myself full credit as I walked on.

***

DRUNK TESTING

Whether cold-approaching does anything for my social life, the jury is still out. It’s true that I have more confidence since trying some of the approaches from Neil Strauss’s book, but this could also be an uptick in confidence due to experience. I’m not convinced that any of these prescribed techniques works for me specifically, but I am also at a crossroads in life and trying something new is entirely worthwhile.

The process of cold-approaching, like anything that’s been worth doing in my life, has been the most fun anyways.

Over the weekend, I travelled to Detroit to visit a few friends. I talked about cold-approaching at an Irish pub, and after a few Guinness’s each, we each took turns pretending to cold-approach the table as though we were striking up a conversation with a bunch of strangers. Each attempt was more ridiculous than the last, and we never were convincing to one another. It didn’t matter—after every try, we all sat down to laugh at how ridiculous we looked and sounded. It was great fun.

I realized on the drive back to my friends’ apartment that the fun rested entirely in the aftermath of any of this cold-approaching business. It was never about being successful with women or being considered a social darling—it was all about the fun of having an experience and sharing it with some close friends. We were all drunk, having a great time, and there wasn’t much else that mattered (besides getting home safe).

I’ll have to test some more in the coming weeks, but I did discover a new technique for mitigating the anxiety of approaching others: When one is hungover with blistering headache, there isn’t much energy left to care about how socially graceful you are.

So cheers to me and you, my friend: To more adventures, wherever they may be.

***

Justin Timberlake’s “Everything I Ever Thought It Was” album, courtesy of Spotify

Justin Timberlake’s new album “Everything I Ever Thought It Was” album released over the past week. It’s wonderful. Everyone should have a listen. I’ll listen the three tracks I’ve had on repeat, but the album is truly a work of renown.

In a sweeping series of promotions, Justin Timberlake also featured on NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert series, reprising some golden favorites. It’s a fantastic use of 25-minutes of your life to give it a watch. I’ll include a link.

  1. “No Angels”
  2. “Sanctified (feat. Toby Nwigwe)”
  3. “Selfish”

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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Weekly Post-Ed #63

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

SOME PRACTICAL ADVICE

Breakups are terrible. No matter how many times I go through one, they are just as painful and mysterious even after a catalogue of past experiences to compare them with. Over the past two months, I’ve been going through the process of moving on from a serious romantic relationship. And while I’ve assumed my usual role of private detective revisiting the scene of the crime in order to solve just what murdered love this time around, I also understand the relationship is dead and that there was no saving it. Since the breakup, I’ve read everything I could get my hands on that offers advice—some things have worked, others haven’t.

What’s fascinating about breakups is that we often find our own methods for soothing and moving on. I’ve found things that have worked that I’ve never found anywhere else. So, in case anyone finds this useful, I’d like to share the THREE THINGS that helped me move on from this past relationship.

***

YOU CAN ADMIT ALL OF THIS IS A LITTLE FUNNY

I remember distinctly the last time I saw my ex-girlfriend. I was driving to her house and had an existential moment of humor: Everything was so ridiculously wrong in that moment that it made me laugh. Everything felt wrong—from the strange distance growing between us, the unreasonable expectations and judgments (that I levied as well, I suppose), nothing felt organic. It was to be our last time seeing one another and I wondered why we were going through with it, honestly.

I’ve heard that there is a moment of understanding right before one dies, as though there’s a recognition that death is imminent and all becomes soberingly clear. I believe the same moment exists in romantic relationships bound to fail. And my advice for if you ever find yourself in that nebulous space is to laugh at it.

It’s ok to admit that what’s happening is funny.

Perhaps recognizing the absurdity of my dying relationship was why I handled the following evening so well.

I was broken up over a text message…after 8 months of being with someone.

I’m already laughing as I reflect writing this. In the world of relationships, you don’t get to break up with a text message after 8 months. To be clear, those 8 months included: exchanging “I love yous”, meeting family, spending nights and weekends together, and even mowing each other’s lawns (well, I mowed hers—which is a whole other story). Given that backstory, it doesn’t follow that a relationship like that should end with a SINGLE text message informing that things are over.

She sent it late at night: 

“Robert, I’ve been sorting through my feelings about our relationship the past few months and now I know that I don’t want this. Sorry it took me so long to process.” 

Ok: abrupt, a little remorseless, but not unfathomable—it’s not like we were a great couple. But still, breaking up over a text message?

It gets better. She added:

“Don’t call me, I won’t pick up. I’ll call you tomorrow or Monday if you want to talk about it.”

That’s when I laughed. 

Really hard.

Because until that moment, I didn’t know you could do that: Schedule a breakup in advance.

To her credit, it took the sting of the breakup away initially. The notion that you can break up with someone and then schedule to talk about it later is hilarious to me. It defies the act entirely: 

You’re breaking up RIGHT NOW.

It’s not worth bringing up the cowardice of ending things over a text message (which is also indicative of so much else that was wrong with the relationship), nor all the negative attributes of that moment that aren’t worth elaborating on either. What I will say, in hindsight, I am grateful that things ended so absurdly. There were tears when it happened, but mostly from laughter. It’s hard to completely fault someone else for at least ending things on a joke—even though it was at her expense.

Real tears were to follow, of course—I did love her—but this part was funny and worth laughing about. It was a good start to a long breakup process, really, which helped in the long run.

***

IT’S OK TO COMPARE PAST BREAKUPS

Another surprising strategy that has helped is comparing past breakups. The added benefit of having gone through many breakups is recognizing that some were better than others. In many cases, I started to think fondly of past relationships that ended in a way that was – for a lack of a better term – classy.

No one likes a breakup because it means something wasn’t working, but there is a sense of integrity in finding a fitting ending. I’ve found that those who breakup with a polite and professional message are the ones doing it right. For example, I once hated receiving the rejected job application breakup:

“Hey, sorry to do this, but I don’t think we’re clicking. While I think you’re a terrific candidate and will make some other employer extremely happy in the future, it just wasn’t the right fit for me or my company. I’ve decided to go in another direction at this time. Thanks for applying and I wish you the best going forward.”

It still hurts, and is inhumanly sterile in warmth or tone, but it is a nice sentiment compared to other ways people choose to breakup.

*cough* Like a text message that attempts to schedule an explanation a day or two later. *cough*

I have never appreciated ex-girlfriends like I have from this previous breakup. While those breakups felt cruel and unreasonable at the time, I now see that they also showed a maturity in recognizing the relationship wasn’t going to work and how best to approach its end. Perhaps it is the writer in me, but I always appreciate those who put effort into the endings of things. It isn’t necessary to have total understanding or closure from a relationship (because no explanation erases the reality that the relationship failed; and most often, seeking closure morphs into something unhealthy such as keeping the door open a crack just in case both want to try – and fail – again).

In many ways, I feel better about my other breakups. They seem nicer now, somehow.

***

WHEN IN DOUBT, IMAGINE WHAT YOUR HEROES WOULD SAY

One of the most useful techniques I’ve discovered is to imagine you are telling the story of your relationship to one of your heroes. If I were to honestly tell the story of what happened, how would they respond? Here are what a few of my heroes would have to say:

Colin Jost: “Her brother wore a gun on holster on his chest when meeting you? In his own home? Did he offer to chest bump you to make the gun go off? What a great way of getting away with murder for someone with a severe insecurity complex. “Chest bump with the safety off, bro!” C’mon, even in westerns the cowboys take off their guns in their own homes!”

Craig Mazin: “No. Just, no. You should have left when she said that her “true self” was someone selfish, blunt, crass, and mean. Here’s some advice: when someone says, ‘Oh, here’s who I really am’ and gets VERY specific about the terrible qualities they possess, you BELIEVE THEM. Get away. Get far, far away.”

Neil Gaiman: “You know, when I was writing Coraline, I had an idea to make the little doorway to the other world have a guillotine blade that would shutter down if one wasn’t looking carefully enough, cutting off a finger or an arm. But I found it didn’t work because – and I think this is much like what you were telling me about your ex-girlfriend who believes in conspiracy theories – it was a bit TOO much of the wrong thing.”

Lori Gotlieb: “She wanted to stop saying ‘I love you’ months after you both had declared love for one another, and this was because she didn’t want to say it in case the relationship wouldn’t last? I’m not sure you can preorder a breakup in a relationship, but I think that’s what she was doing there. And you must ask yourself: Does that quality make for a good partner? I think you already know the answer to that.”

***

CAST FOR SANITY

At this point in my life, I don’t know what makes for a healthy relationship because – honestly – I’ve never had one. However, I can imagine what it feels like to enjoy a healthy romantic relationship. I won’t constantly wonder if someone wants to build something with me or not. I don’t think there will be family members or a roommate constantly gossiping about what a wrong fit I am, even though they never asked much about me. Nor will there be constant judgment and seeking out all my faults because I wasn’t, suddenly, impressive anymore (8 months into a relationship, ain’t NO ONE impressive any longer).

In short: it just shouldn’t be so goddam hard.

The director Judd Apatow has said that when he casts actors for his movies, he first and foremost casts for sanity. 

Ultimately, I think this is the best advice for choosing a romantic partner. And it is casting: you are being selective about who earns the role of being in your life (just remember that you are also auditioning for theirs).

So, just remember: When the next audition shows up and says they found Jesus Christ at 4-years-old, has a sibling that is convinced you are a communist because IT WAS A THOUGHT THAT CAME INTO HIS BRAIN FOR NO REASON, and claims that a clinically obsessive roommate’s 20-30 texts in a row are because she’s “just looking out for me.”

You can pass.

Even better: You should laugh, think fondly about past auditions that weren’t so bad in hindsight (but that you wouldn’t cast, either), and that everyone around you – whom is reasonable and wise –  suggests you see other auditions.

Because there’s still a line of people waiting to read for the part outside.

And don’t worry: It’s a great movie. We all believe in it. And the right cast will make it even better.

Until then, you can tell the person in front of you with a smile and polite dismissal, “Thanks, I think we got it. We’ll let you know.” 

***

I have one song only to recommend this week and it is the new Justin Timberlake track “Sanctify” that debuted on Saturday Night Live this past weekend. I’ve had it on repeat the past few days and, for the first time, can confidently admit that I’m looking forward to JT’s new album dropping in March. Here’s the performance from SNL, it’s worth a watch:

https://youtu.be/zLC8XiBxV1k?si=cll-mC_-yBNYWN0Q

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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Weekly Post-Ed #60

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

GIFT HORSES

There’s an idiom that baffles me:

“Don’t go looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

If you knew nothing about this phrase, two things come to mind when hearing it for the first time:

  1. What the fuck is a gift horse?
  2. Why am I not supposed to look in its mouth?

The phrase is wisdom wrapped as a riddle. It means to be grateful for what you’ve just received. After all, it was so kind of someone to gift a horse (hence the term “gift horse”), and who are you to inspect this newly acquired animal for gum disease and tooth decay to check if the mangy thing might die in the next hour?

In other words: “It’s a horse! Oh my gosh, what a great gift! You should be grateful.”

It’s worth noting that “Don’t go looking a gift horse in the mouth” is a phrase that isn’t in rotation much anymore. First of all, it’s downright confusing: Was there a time in history when horses were gifted at a rate that called for the invention of the term “gift horse”? On what occasions did people receive horses? And even if a horse was gifted to someone who, logically, made sense to receive one – say: a little girl who dreams of being an equestrian – was she supposed to happily take ANY horse as a gift?

***

COMPLETELY OPTIONAL SIDENOTE

Sidenote: If I’m given a horse as a gift, I’m absolutely going to inspect it. Supposing I wanted a horse at all, I don’t just want any horse—I would want one that might be useful.

Sidenote to the Sidenote: Who has spare horses to give away? No one that I know. And where does the guy giving away horses take any responsibility? What’s his motive? Not generosity, that’s for certain. Why give away a horse? The horse is probably decrepit and about to die; it’s no longer any use to this guy. Otherwise he’d KEEP THE F%&$ING HORSE!! So, instead, this stranger gifts a horse away to someone else instead of retiring it?? 

(Read: euthanize—which sounds cruel, but so is this practice of gifting away livestock, don’t you think?)

I could keep going, but I digress.

Of course, I’m complicating the intention of the idiom. The message is simply this: Don’t immediately inspect a gift for quality. It’s rude.

I mention the phrase because I think it holds up. We should be better Gift Receivers: practicing gratitude and grace when someone goes through the trouble of giving a gift.

Admittedly, it is tough to receive gifts gracefully today. Most people are not gifted gift-givers, and those that are talented at observing the hobbies and purchasing trends of others tend to receive mediocre responses for their thoughtful gifts.

There’s a reason for this, I think. Perhaps it is the current absence of horses as commonly exchanged goods, but the conundrum for why it is so hard to pick out gifts for others is precisely because of this overpopulation of Bad Gift Receivers.

Which, I’m convinced, all started with rectangular giftboxes of clothes.

***

GROWING INTO IT

My nephew is the best to buy gifts for. He’s 3, going on 4, and has so many loves: dinosaurs, Spider-Man, fishing poles, blocks and puzzles. The list keeps growing. Each birthday, holiday, what-have-you, is easy to come up with gift ideas for. I just think of what would add to his already bourgeoning imaginative world.

We all started at this way, with loves of superheroes, unicorns, racecars, and magical lands.

What happened?

It all started with a rectangular box unwrapped at holidays and birthday parties. These mysteriously wrapped presents was large enough to draw excitement at first, but once unwrapped became a symbol for disappointment. What was inside was never inspiring, never any fun.

Just the opposite: It was disgustingly practical. Useful, even.

Ick.

Have you ever seen more a defeated look on a child’s face than when they open up a box of clothes?

That’s because children, even without consciously understanding it, know that the gift of clothes is about forward planning. A child thinks, “How are clothes supposed to help beat the bad guy?” or, “This box could have been filled with LEGOs—why waste it on a winter coat that I didn’t even want!”

As the years go by, more rectangular boxes infiltrate the cache of gifts loved ones purchase.

“I found this on sale,” says a relative at a birthday, “and I know you’re outgrowing your dress clothes. You’ll need these for when you go to a wedding or a funeral. It’s a little big, but you’ll grow into it.”

“I found this sweater on the bargain rack a few weeks ago,” says a delusional aunt with an impaired fashion sense. “It’s 1,004% wool, but it’s a trending right now. You’ll grow into it.”

Years pass by and the clothes keep coming. Soon, you’re the one asking for clothes.

“Mom, I need a pea coat for this winter. Yeah, I don’t really play outside anymore, and all my friends are wearing pea coats now.”

Fast forward another ten years and you get a new sweater. That you bought yourself. To open at Christmas. As a gift that is technically from a relative who couldn’t figure out what to give you.

“There we go,” you say, extracting the sweater from the rectangular box. “1,004% wool. Everyone at work is wearing them. Thanks Dad, you know me so well.”

Who would have thought all of our childhood dreams could be neatly packed and forgotten into such rectangular boxes?

***

GIFT RECEIPTS

One Christmas, I unwrapped a special hardcover edition of Douglas Adams’ The Complete Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I already had the novels, and despite the glossy cover art, this was the same thing I already currently owned.

I didn’t take this gift well.

Image curtesy of thriftbooks.com

I smiled politely, mentioned that I had already read the books, loved them, and that, although this was a different printing, wondered if I could have the receipt to exchange it for something else.

What has always perplexed me about this gift is that I never exchanged it. The edition I received is still on my bookshelf, in its original packaging. Perhaps I unconsciously took it as a symbol: I remember the disappointment from those who knew of my love for Douglas Adams, had remembered that I mentioned those stories as influential for my own writings, and went through the trouble of picking out a rather expensive copy of all his collected works.

But instead, I took my gift horse and inspected every inch of its mouth with a flashlight, prodding and poking its gums with a pick, and had found it a mangy creature.

I have no recollection of what else I opened as a gift that Christmas. But I remember the edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

I remember throwing away the gift receipt, eventually.

***

GIFTING HORSES

Our philosophy of gift-giving mutates for those we love. 

It begins simply, joyfully: “What is this person into that would add to that world?”

And, yet, we somehow morph into this: “What makes the most practical sense to give someone that is practical and useful?”

Through this metamorphosis, we turn our loved ones into Bad Gift Receivers: Those who only measure the practicality of the gifts they receive. 

Is it any wonder, then, that the most common gift for adults is either cash, check, or gift cards? 

Money, uninspiringly, is the most practical gift of all—and also completely bereft of anything meaningful.

Today, the currency has changed. We don’t gift in horses anymore. What would we ever do with a horse, anyway?

I’m not sure, but it would be a gift to remember. Maybe.

Next time, I’ll take the horse as is.

***

  1. “Sleepwalkin’ – Daydreamin’ Version” by Better Oblivion Community Center, Pheobe Bridgers, Conor Oberst
  2. “Sit Right” by HONEYMOAN
  3. “Not A Go” by foamboy

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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Weekly Post-Ed #53

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

THE MOST VALUABLE SKILL

A text message came early on in the week. A friend asked: “Which are the most valuable skills to have in life?”

At 33, I have a different relationship with the notion of “success” than I did when I was in my twenties and the world appeared full of potential. In my twenties, I might have answered something like: “Develop a skill, make it as good as you can get it, move to a place where someone values that skill, and then things will likely work out.” 

Which, isn’t bad advice. Many a YouTube guru would gladly make a motivational video about it.

Except, I’m skeptical of such advice now, even if it proves practical. I’m older, full of experiences to the contrary, and am aware that the complexities of career success are beyond how talented or hard working one is. Plus, there are years and years of learned behaviors such as poor relationships, recovering from divorce, and social factors like the Covid-19 pandemic and a world increasingly growing pessimistic and fearful from an overexposure to media of every variety.

In short—it’s much harder to pinpoint which advice applies the most when the floor is constantly shifting underneath.

All of this isn’t to say I’ve grown negative or unhopeful. To the contrary, I feel optimistic about my future and everyone else’s. Having said that, I wouldn’t give the usual American “work hard and your dreams will come true” pathos.

So, I took a night and thought about how I would answer my friend. The next morning, this is what I texted back:

“Honestly, I think my official answer is, ‘I don’t know’. At 33, my best guess is critical thinking, some basic reading and writing, and emotional intelligence. Throw in boundary setting as a bonus. By far, I think the best skill ever is to be naturally lucky.”

It’s been a few days since I sent that text. When I reread it now, I shrug. It’s a typical “I’m nearing my mid-thirties and I’m unsure why things aren’t going better” response. Deductively, this exact line of reasoning is likely why my friend asked me his question in the first place.

And after writing this Weekly Post-Ed, I shrug again. Not from my answer, but because I find the question of essential skills less interesting the older I get. I’m sure the constant hustle and clawing for success matters to some, and power to anyone attempting to climb up their respective hierarchical ladders, but I’ve resigned myself to playing the hand I’ve been dealt.

And like the games of solitaire I play at my desk, I hope to get lucky with the next hand or two. It’s not the most inspiring way to play (or even sell this metaphor), but it keeps me playing the next round without expecting so much, which, by the way, is another great skill to have handy.

Maybe I should have said that in my reply to my friend instead. Oops.

I’ll leave it open for all of you: What do you all feel are the best skills to have in life?

***

  1. “Our Wasted Hours” by Clean Cut Kid
  2. “Northern Lights” by Oliver Harzard
  3. “Them Jeans” by Joe Hertler and the Rainbow Seekers

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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Weekly Post-Ed #16

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

PRIMED AND READY

           Some housecleaning items to start with: the website has undergone another visual overhaul, this time in the guise of the Metroid series. In anticipation of Metroid Dread launching October 8th on Nintendo Switch, I’m celebrating the series with a few new illustrations. The main logo is a homage to Metroid Prime, one of my favorite games from the Gamecube era. The background behind my picture is a flat-art interpretation of the key-art to Metroid Dread, featuring the E.M.M.I. robot ready to strike a badass-looking Samus Aran in the foreground. Lastly, the background is a criss-cross of Samus’s morph ball transformation from two games: the power suit variants from Metroid Prime (on the left) and Metroid: Samus Returns (on the right).

            The Metroid series was a big influence growing up and has entered back into my adult life in a big way: from watching speedrunners beat the game in record time during many GDQ finales, and the recent release of Metroid: Samus Returns and being a favorite in every Super Smash Bros. game since the beginning. With Metroid Dread on the horizon for Nintendo Switch, I’ll be looking forward to revisiting another world with Samus Aran in the coming weeks and await the slick gameplay that awaits.

            Get hype!

            The New Illustrations are posted a gallery below:

***

MEGAMAN’S BEST SYMPHONY

            I watch quite a few video game symphonies (soundtracks not withstanding—they are all beautiful), and the reason I do is because, like all live music, there’s an energy that goes along with being there, hearing the music in person. With medleys, there comes the added depth of juxtaposition. A symphony isn’t just a greatest hits compilation. Along with musical selection comes the power of narrative, to tell a story through a collection of pieces that makes something arguably more compelling than the source material it came from—all the while adding the allure of nostalgia to sell the script.

            There’s one symphony I’ve rewatched on repeat this past week and  it’s The Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of the “Megaman Suite”. Not only does it include some of the series’ finest hits, but the tempo and flow of the medley is downright moving. It triumphantly begins with the introduction to Megaman 3, transitioning to the adventurous and frenzied tracks of “Flashman Stage” and “Topman Stage”, and turning dark and sinister with a duo of Wily Stage themes, all the while building towards a finale that speaks to the heroic robot at odds against a metal vision of the future.

            A symphony like this isn’t just a homage to video game music – which certainly catches the attention of orchestra conductors around the world – but exists because there is something in the story of the music that pulls us all in. Though this recording was done a few years ago, I only pine for the next big-time symphony to take a stab at some of video game’s greatest musical iterations—perhaps an homage to Donkey Kong Country is long overdue?

            You can find the video of the “Megaman Suite” below:

***

ABOUT THAT SUMMER PROJECT…

            Elephant in the room: all those weekly updates and essays that were promised are officially delayed (after being two months late already? Shocking news, I know). When it came to writing up the project, I realized that it was more extensive than I had previously planned. Essays and other pieces are well underway, but as of this writing, I’m not ready to announce a delivery date. Until then, plan on some unique pieces showing up every once in a while until the big reveal.

            It will be worthwhile; I promise you that.

            Stay tuned….

***

A NEW SHORT STORY APPROACHES!

            It’s been nearly four months since I’ve posted a short story…*sigh*. I’ve been editing a few over the past couple months and one is nearly ready. I won’t say much about it other than the length being short and sweet. As a teaser, here’s the cover art below:

            The story will be posted sometime this week, so keep an eye out. 

***

***

Wishing everyone as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there,

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Weekly Post-Ed #12

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

Rogue Planets

            Want to know my biggest fear? It used to be bees. Whenever one buzzed around my ears, I ran away like a bombing raid was sounded and I needed to hide. I suppose this is because I’ve never been stung, nor do I intend to be. It seems that the things that haven’t happened scare me the most.

            Most of my fears are celestial. A beam of gamma rays from a quasar finally reaching the earth and cooking it alive is terrifying to think about. Solar flares, storms on our sun that could flicker the atmosphere, that could fry protective layers of oxygen and nitrogen…yeah, that s*$% is scary.

            All of these fears are unlikely to occur in the grand scheme of things. But along with basic insecurities (“Did I say the wrong thing? Why don’t these people like me?”), the unlikely things are what keep me up at night.

            My biggest and most real fear, by far, is something hidden in the darkness. A rogue planet, soaring through the solar system unannounced and undetected. Why? Because these star-less worlds are out there, in the pitch of the cosmos, soaring through the dust and debris of space. Should one of these planets collide with one in our solar system, the entire balance would be disrupted. Orbits rely on the gravitational hold of our sun, but also other planetary bodies. This disruption, this slow receding from orbit, being kicked out of the solar system…

            Yup, this is my biggest fear.

            And never mind a planet! What about a star racing through our celestial neighborhood? The star doesn’t have to make contact with anything, just pass by close enough to pull on the planets with its gravitational influence. The result would be a slow and imminent trip away from the sun as our orbit widened and the earth slipped further and further into the greater cosmos.

            Terrifying, right?

            That’s why I love thinking about my fears. They are exciting stories with gripping narratives. Why do you think so many stories are written about zombies, world-wide destruction, horror, and grand governmental catastrophes? One of the best stories anyone could write is the thing that horrifies them the most. 

            Like rogue planets and stars.

            There happens to be a wonderful video that explores the circumstances of a receding earth done by the team at Kurzgesagt. Along with cosmological concerns, Kurzgesagt posts all kinds of videos ranging from nuclear winters, mental health, and the safety of drinking milk (to name but a fraction of their content).

            Check out the video below to see my greatest fear illustrated with bright and cheerful animation. 

***

Literary Revue

Muskegon Community College’s Literary Publication

            At a coffee shop in Grand Haven, I flipped through my local community college’s literary publication that was available for purchase at the counter. It’s a yearly collection of essays, poems, and short stories. I paged through the selection of stories, reading quickly, and was immediately bored. 

            I couldn’t figure out why.

            These stories likely weren’t bad or in poor taste, just not resonating with me. In this way, I’m reminded that short stories really are like songs; you either like them or you don’t. Maybe there was nothing wrong with what I was reading, or I was reading writers who took too long to get to the point. Some were too emotionally explorative, like the writers’ feelings were mannequins that stood in place of characters and events in the story. Some paragraphs had startling disconnects between the narrative and what a character was physically doing.

            For example (not from the literary publication, of course):

“Samson felt a blackness, a feeling of nowhere, and the universe itself could not combine any array, any pattern of atoms to make him whole again. This spatial divide was all-consuming, and the further his mind raced away from the present, the deeper the pitch became. He was errant, alone, and mortified at his existence…

So, he bought an ice cream cone. It was tasty. He liked the sprinkles the most…

            Perhaps not as erudite an example, but how does buying an ice cream cone resolve or continue with what we’ve just read? Does it continue the theme of losing one’s soul? Does an ice cream cone denote that only the lost buy those sorts of treats?

            Perhaps ones with sprinkles. I don’t know.

            Either way, I wasn’t connecting with the story and this bothered me. I wanted to champion these stories, to see the building blocks to something greater for young writers.

            But instead, I was left wondering this: who am I to judge these stories?

            Whenever I have criticisms of other writers, I turn the argument back on myself; what do I really know? Maybe what I write is just as trite, or that someone else would think so of my work. I can easily believe that. I like my stories, but who is to say I’m not delusional or oblivious to why they are just as bad? Maybe I like what I write and that’s all I know.

            Never mind that, look at pedigree. Have I really earned the right to say I’m a published author, here’s my advice, and all should listen to it? No, of course not! I would never impose my experiences as anything to follow. All I do is post stories on a personal website on the internet, something anyone with a blog and completed draft of a story could do. There’s no gatekeeping system, no one to flag what I write and say, “Hey, how about rewriting this section…” The only standard I adhere to is my own—and, hopefully, it’s high enough to challenge the writing process with every new thing that’s written. 

            That’s all I have to go on.

            So, while it’s easy to pick up a yearly literary collection (and a college one at that, written by young people; because who is proudest of their writing when they were younger?) and start nitpicking, I don’t really know what I’m talking about. I just know how to write like I write. By claiming that I know something else, something more, I’m trying to justify that all the years of built-up experience, all the writing that is done through instinct alone, must mean more than the other guy.

            Which is ridiculous.

            I only know how to do as I do things.

            That is the essence of anyone’s craft.

            And it’s also why I generally keep my mouth shut when I have criticisms.

            Like Socrates, I also know that I don’t really know.

***

***

Wishing everyone as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there,

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Weekly Post-Ed #5

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

Like Straightening Trumpets Out Now!

            Like Straightening Trumpets is out today, which you can click on below:

            I wish I had better commentary on this story other than to say I sat down, wrote a title, and this is what came out. I enjoyed writing it even though I’m no trumpeter, nor have any insights into military life. This story does make me feel things, though, which is what I go with as a writer.

            As one of my favorite authors, Salman Rushdie, once said, “If you’re lucky, you can imagine the truth.”

***

My Good Cop, Bad Cop of Sleeplessness

            I haven’t slept well for the past seven days. This has been a recurrent thing in my life; I can go a month straight sleeping 8-hours per night, and then comes a week where I cannot get to sleep whatsoever.

            And when I can’t sleep, there’s a space between being fully awake and trying to slip off into REM where I lose control over my thoughts and they won’t shut up. Sometimes they are humorous, other times pondering story ideas…

            But most of the time, I’m the key suspect being interrogated by my own past.

            “Where were you the night of 28th, three years ago!”

(This voice doesn’t have a face, but I imagine he’s the BAD COP with one foot planted on a steel folding chair, a pistol sling harnessed a little too tightly, and wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses. He also has a thick, rugged mustache that somehow works outside of the 90’s.

BAD COP: “Let’s get this straight. You went to Brooklyn Bagels yesterday, ordered a Bomber with sauce on the side, and added the corporate lunch combo. Is that all?”

ME [Sheepishly, unsure]: “Yes?”

BAD COP: “Well why didn’t you fill the silence after you were done giving your order and the cashier was punching it in? Why didn’t you ask about how her day was going?”

ME: [a shrug, helpless] “It just didn’t come up.”

BAD COP [Taking his foot off the folding chair, disgusted]: “Of course it didn’t. Because you’re only focused on yourself. What are you, some kind of Solipsist? Nothing else exists because it’s an extension of yourself?”

ME: [Scrambling to account for any of this]

GOOD COP: “Hey, hey, take it easy. It’s not like this cashier struck up a conversation with him, either.”

[I sigh in relief, but only sort of. The GOOD COP has always been on my side, but I don’t like him as much. His long beard and ponytail, combined with overtly soft speaking voice, makes him gentle in a way that’s somehow more demeaning, like I’m a fluffball that needs to be coddled.]

GOOD COP: [cont’d]: Maybe this cashier should notice other people having a hard day. Isn’t she in the service industry? She should be of service, right guys?”

BAD COP: [disgusted]: “Of course you’re blaming the cashier, giving him an out. Well the world isn’t butterflies and rainbows, and if you want to make a positive difference in people’s lives, you have to step up and be a beacon! But I don’t see that with this punk. I just see a laundry list of missed opportunities and a lack of effort.”

ME: [confused by BAD COP’s vernacular] “Butterflies and rainbows?”

BAD COP: [Slams the table with a heavy fist] “Don’t try to write your way out of this bit! If you want to be a good person in this world, you have to show it! You can’t expect other people to be empathetic and observant like you are!”

ME: “Sorry.”

GOOD COP: “What my colleague is trying to say is that you’re doing just fine. We hope you enjoyed the sandwich.”

BAD COP: [a scoff] “That’s not what I’m saying at all, but a Bomber is a great sandwich.”

ME: “Yeah, it really is. Can I go to sleep now?”

BAD COP/GOOD COP: “No!” “We’re just getting started with your case file!”

**

            And that was over a sandwich. Imagine what happens when ruminating over more serious problems.

            Justice never sleeps, I suppose.

***

Sony Buys EVO

            The biggest fighting game tournament in the world is the Evolution series. Held in Las Vegas every summer, players from all over the world compete to be crowned the world’s best at their favorite fighting games: Tekken, Guilty Gear, Street Fighter, Killer Instinct, and so much more. With COVID on the rise last summer, the yearly tournament was canceled and was to re-introduced as an Online only event until players could meet in person again in the coming years.

            This was hard enough for tournament organizers until an even bigger scandal hit. One of the founders of Evolution had been outed with a series of hazing incidents that eventually shut down all EVO’s online events. Top rank players said they would not compete if this individual was still part of the organization’s team. Because of the outrage (justifiably) the tournament was shut down.

            And it would be rebranded going forward.

            Enter Sony this week who announced that they had just bought EVO.

            Some feel this means many games not part of Sony’s library won’t receive prime-time treatment (like Microsoft and Nintendo) and won’t be featured at EVO. I’m not so sure; I think Sony will play ball with whomever wants to show up to showcase their games.

            Where I think this deal is effective is the backend of things in terms of marketing and putting together an internal team with more resources and a renewed identity that is about the future of competitive gaming. I think Sony could be a big help, but I just want to see a day when the world’s best are brought together again.

            With decent netcode in the meantime.

*Icy stares at Tekken, Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, and other Bandai Namco games*.

***

Wishing everyone as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there.

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Weekly Post-Ed #3

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

Dolphin Pregnancy Test

            A friend of mine said she went swimming with dolphins in Mexico as a teenager. She was with her parents in the boat and accompanied by a married couple on their honeymoon. My friend frolicked in the water, the dolphins swimming near, playfully prodding her with their noses.

            You know, as dolphins do.

            When the bride dove in the water, the dolphins scattered. She asked why since the dolphins bailed like children in the pool that absolutely KNOW a kid peed in the shallow end. The instructor said, “Are you by chance pregnant?”

            The bride said, “Yes, we just found out before flying out here.”

            “I see. Yeah, the dolphins won’t come near you. They can sense when a human is pregnant and don’t want to harm the child.”

            My teenage friend was stunned.

            I was stunned, too, because there was obviously a great idea borne then: why aren’t dolphins utilized as pregnancy tests?

            Well, it isn’t humane, you might argue. It’s just another Sea Life Labor Dispute, one only eclipsed by the orca whales in that documentary whose title eludes me.

            And, you’re probably right, dolphins in place of pregnancy tests (where available) would be a terrible idea.

            But, in sea world, if there’s any wonder why the dolphins gravitate towards the far end of the pool, it’s probably because there are too many pregnant women there that day.

            Or a kid peed.

            Either/or.

***

Smile, Sisyphus

            I haven’t finished a book in two weeks. Nor watched the new Brian Regan stand up special on Netflix or seen a new movie. I haven’t cooked a new dish, found the means to workout, or start on a children’s book I’d like to illustrate throughout the year.

            It hasn’t gone according to plan.

            There just isn’t enough time.

            Have you considered the math of how much free time one has? At the beginning of the year, foolishly, I came up with a schedule for writing, posting on this website, and all the side projects I wanted to complete. All my goals were compiled into neat, monthly squares, and I would simply make a little progress here, fit in a little bit there until, inevitably, a Trickle-Down Effect of completed projects would shower over my self-esteem.

            Three months into the year and I’m finding this “Trickling Down Effect” was just as ineffective and stupid as any economic policy it might be based on, and my plans have blown up like Nuremberg instead.

            So, I redid the math on how much time I have.

In a week, there are 168 hours. Here are the basic building blocks:

  • 8 hours per night for sleep.
  • 10-hour workdays, four days a week.

Ok, that accounts for 104 of those hours. That’s the major stuff. Then there’s:

  • One hour per day for showering, brushing teeth, face cleansing, bathroom use, etc…
  • One hour per day for driving (to work, finding food, heading home for the day, etc).

Right, that’s another 14 hours, which adds up to 118 hours. Anything else?

  • 1.5 hours per day for eating dinner with family, making meals, etc.
  • I play hockey, which is twice a week, averaging to 3 hours per session.

Add that up and we’re at 134.5 hours.

            Theoretically, I could devote 33.5 hours per week to anything creative, which is about 4.7 hours per day for all the self-fulfilling things I’ve been missing out on: watching Stand-Up specials, podcasts, SNL sketches on YouTube, reading, etc.

Wait, but there’s more. Here are my secondary responsibilities:

  • I write in a journal for an hour every day.
  • I write and edit short stories, producing several new drafts, which equals (I’d average) about 3 hours per week.
  • Graphics and illustrations, depending on how many, equals 4-5 hours per finished project.
  • Then there’s writing a novel on the side, which feels like an incalculable amount of time spent.
    • However, I’ll put a number on it: an hour per day.

            So, that’s another 22 hours used up. That means the total hours spent on necessary items during the week (for me) amounts to 156.5 out of 168 hours. That’s roughly 11.5 hours per week for anything else, or 1.62 hours per day.

Seems like a luxurious amount, doesn’t it?

Well, supposing you’re not a human being who:

  • Needs time to wind down for the evening,
    • Needs exercise and fresh air,
    • Needs to spend time on a hobby for fun,
    • Needs time away from family and friends and work, to be alone for a while,
    • To do something monotonous and un-meaningful for your own psychological wellbeing,

            1.6 hours per day isn’t a lot to work with. I don’t know about you, but strictly scheduling downtime has never been effective. That’s because I never know much I’ll really need. Some weeks are worse than others, either emotionally or physically—which is really the same thing.

            And think about this (since many of you might have come to this conclusion already about my lifestyle):

            I’m single, in my thirties, without children, and without any responsibilities other than the ones I choose take on for myself. My story isn’t the norm. Most people have kids, have appointments, have therapy and doctor visits, car repairs, baseball practices, weekend excursions, family visits, and million other interruptions to a life already jam packed full of stuff.

            Never mind the emotional toll of trying to keep it all together.

            So, when I start to feel guilty about all the extracurricular and soul-enriching things I’m missing out on (like reading a book, watching a new movie, traveling), I wonder how anyone in this world without the means and power to say ‘No’ actually lives this life.

            It’s an uphill battle; how does anyone expect to do it all?

            I guess like this:

            Smile, Sisyphus.

***

New Short Story Coming Soon

            I’m working on a new short story that should be posted sometime this week. Here’s a preview:

Wishing everyone as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there,

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