Welcome to Hobbiton

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Get Personal

The most reliable form of investment is in friendship. In people. Earning trust and respect and goodwill. Making connections not just for the benefits but for the sake of the joy of it. I suspect the relationship will be more fruitful that way in the long run. 

Maintaining connections is the hard part. It’s easy to hit it off with someone and hang out a bunch or work together frequently. And then the initial excitement wears down. Eventually you get exposed to the monotony of getting paychecks to buy more paper towels and you see the same in them. But that’s where the muscle building really takes off. Where it really matters. It’s hard to know if you really don’t love something, or if it’s not worth the effort if you don’t put in enough time. 

I’ve been gardening for three years now. At least two thousand hours of work. I’m finally getting to a point where my opinion has serious weight on the design. I’ve developed a strong professional and personal relationship with a brilliant gardener. I wouldn’t continue if I couldn’t work with people like her. It’s who you work with, not where you work or what you do.   

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School is like skiing

Or snowboarding. You start at the top of a hill, a mountain. A slippery slope. And then you kick off. Slowly, but then very quickly, you go down. And down. And you hit a rock, and the world spins. You pray that your screaming doesn’t trigger an avalanche.

Eventually you get to the bottom. And you hobble awkwardly on your skis, limping. Back to the ski lift. Back up the mountain. Smiling and shaking. Ready to do it all over again.

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When to write

Akil Kumarasamy said in an interview that she liked writing at night. That she felt like she was committing an important act that needed secrecy. Something about writing when she knew that nobody else was awake.

But now on her current projects she writes in the morning, supposedly to be more productive. My friend’s dad uses the morning for the same reason. He gets up at 7 and spends at most an hour working on a play. And then does the dishes. After he comes back to his work with a fresh perspective and ideas ready to be implemented.

I’m still doing covert operations under the cover of darkness. I’m still waiting for that moment of inspiration when I write like a movie montage. Sometimes they come, in the middle of the afternoon in the quiet of my school’s library, or while I’m sitting waiting for my laundry to dry.

Hand writing my ideas first helps.

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Thanks Nike

Im proud of myself today. I set a list of things to do and I exceeded my expectations. By a wide margin. I resolved what wasn’t my own issue and did not need to distract myself. I got busy and forgot about the strain. I gave up dreading the work. I just did it. Thanks Nike, but I’ll still probably never wear your shoes.

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Reading a little bit everyday adds up. I still haven’t internalized this logic yet. But even one paragraph is more than none. It’s so easy to binge watch 8 hours of on demand tv instead. And at the end of each episode think for a second “I should stop and start reading.” But some other voice in my head, or maybe just the same voice, makes up some half-thought excuse to keep watching. And I have a strong habit of listening to that voice. It appeals to my bias, that I want to keep watching. And so I agree with it even though I know the alternative is more valuable in long term life.

I want to believe that I like to learn. I know I used to. Somewhere along the path I turned to entertainment as a whole package of pleasure that needs no mental strain to achieve.

How to practice mindfulness, not mindlessness

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Bullshit

I don’t title my writing until after I’ve finished the piece. I was going to talk about habits, but to title the piece Habits would limit my mind to just that subject in the beginning of my writing process. I rarely know where to start. Clean-cut beginnings are hard to come by. Whichever moment I choose to put words on the page does not mark the beginning of my thinking. The starts of my writing come broken off, wrung from their native context, my inner monologue, and placed into the external world. The blank space on the page is filled with my invisible mass of jumbled thoughts, manifested as light, a flickering hallucinogenic imprint. 

I was going to talk about habits, about building the discipline to develop routines, about doing a little bit everyday to avoid cramming and burning out and missing an opportunity to create great work and noticing, only when time has already passed me, the promise in the argument I’ve created. John Steinbeck talks about his own habits in Travels with Charley. He had always “lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in utter glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness” (20). I don’t think my work is glorious but my more compelling ideas do often come from those 8 hour treks through the darkness of a word document.

I fear I’m trying too hard to make my writing interesting and it ends up just sounding interesting, with lots of filler. Some may call it bullshit. 

[rmjin]

yoongi’s ideal summer package

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I love the moments when I see a post from a friend in Brazil and I can actually read most of what they wrote. Slowly but surely I am mastering português.

Vamos lá

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Reassuring Insignificance

 tToday I watched a youtube video made by RealLifeLore about the incomprehensible scale of the entire universe. If you haven’t seen this video, or haven’t seen any like it (and even if you have already I think its fun to watch them again––a good reminder), I implore you to do so. 

RealLifeLore displays a photo taken by the Voyage 1 spacecraft, an unoccupied craft launched in the 1970s that has traveled beyond the outermost planets of our solar system by this point. Along its journey, it took a photo of Earth, illuminated by a ray from the sun––a dot on the screen. 

Despite having seen the video, having seen that photo, I still think I don’t fully understand the size of Earth. RealLifeLore proceeds onward, zooming out to the entire universe––not the observable universe, but the entire universe beyond what we can ever see. I won’t even approach that topic, I don’t know what that kind of size really means. RealLifeLore uses comparisons, involving objects and phenomena that we people are familiar with, to help us think about these concepts. 

We are inside the universe. We are a part of it. And so we cannot see it from the outside. We cannot get an overhead view of what RealLifeLore is trying to communicate, and so we need these aids to make the concepts even marginally relatable. At a certain point, the huge numbers he mentions, the huge numbers that astrophysicists deal with, become meaningless to our limited capabilities. That’s not to say they aren’t useful, that they aren’t crucial to new discoveries humans may make and have made. But even for those brilliant scientist, they too still need analogs to help wrap their heads around the colossal world we live in. 

Every time I watch Star Trek, or Star Wars, or Looper, or Lost in Space, I wish I could jump through the screen into their world, into a future time where travel across the stars is possible. Imagine take a ship to Mars like you are taking a walk down your city neighborhood...Of course, cinematic depictions are heavily speculative, romanticized and construed to feed back what we as viewers want to see, but at least they give us a glimpse into what could be possible. Leaps in technology will open up doors past generations never considered, or didn’t even have the means to consider. 

I hope that human exploration into the dark expanse beyond our blue marble drives the development of a more equitable society, that has the means to distribute resources fairly. I am hopeful that everyone at some future time gets to experience the boons of human ingenuity. At a certain point, sharing instead of hoarding really will be more advantageous, or at least, hoarding will not provide any added benefit to one’s life. Amassing a great fortune will be meaningless because there will be excess for everyone. 

I’ve digressed, but this whole thing is a digression anyway. We are small. Milton’s Satan fell for nine days when God kicked him out of heaven, but even that expanse pales in comparison to how long you would “fall” through space. In fact, there is no comparison, the two are on completely different levels. 

I was going to originally talk about how even though we are tiny, we can feel relief in that minuteness, that our worries, troubles, frustrations, pains do not hold as much weight as we may experience on a daily basis. And even though I agree with that statement, those worries, troubles, frustrations and pains do not just disappear. They are real in our heads, and we deal with them, one way or another, with acceptance or with resistance. 

I would really love to ride in a space ship.

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School Presentations

This is gonna be something of a rant, so bear with me. 

Presentations have never been my strong suit. Most people probably feel the same way. I never know how much to explain, how much to leave for the audience to figure out. 

I always feel my body heat up, my palms sweat, my voice rush and stumble and stutter over the simplest words. So many eyes on me at one time, in near silence––I am not one to sit long in the spotlight. 

Nowadays though, with so many phones and computers and tablets allowed in classrooms, people don’t really pay much attention to the presenter. At least, it used to seem like people paid attention, but I guess distractions just used to be less accessible, not entirely absent. But now, if the professor doesn’t seat themselves at the back of the class, people can spend the entire presentation checking their Instagram or reading a random blog post. Of course, everyone will clap obligatory at the end, with little to no genuine appreciation for who they just ‘listened’ to. You’ll hear the same comment/compliment rephrased three times and then the professor will give a short spiel with feedback. They’ll quickly move on to the next to fit in as many people in the class time as possible, so no quality time really gets spent for each student. 

What is the point of these presentations? Is it just a requirement on the syllabus? How do we actually learn to present in front of groups for important meetings later on in life if our practice trials in school don’t have the same level of pressure/seriousness? I get it. I also text in class and check my email or whatever. But on days when you know people put in a lot of work into their assignment (or maybe they just bs’d it like most students do), it seems disrespectful, to not give the 5-10 min of your brain’s juice to recognize someone’s work. 

Nobody wants to sit through someone else’s presentation that is irrelevant to the audience’s own work/life apart from being in the same class. But maybe we can show each other a little solidarity, knowing we all don’t want to be there. Might make class time, and presentations a little more valuable, if also more stressful, since everyone’s eyes will be on you, not on their phones. 

End rant. 

Have a great day everyone

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Get Back Up On The Horse

For six years, I rode and worked at a horse farm in my hometown. It was within walking distance of my high school, and once I could drive, I would spend many days of the week there after school and on the weekend. As I go about my days in New York, I still hear my instructor’s voice in my head at crucial moments. 

“If you don’t get back up right away, you’re going to have a much harder time riding the next time you come to a lesson.” 

Kim Davis is one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, in any setting, public school, college, anywhere. She is a remarkable riding instructor, but her lessons span beyond the confines of the riding discipline. This idea, to get right back up on the horse as soon as you fall off, applies to all aspects of my life. I have fallen off horses dozens of times, and I’m lucky to have never been seriously injured. And every time, even if tears blurred my vision, I would climb right back up and circle around for another attempt at a jump, or prepare for another canter. 

Today should have been my fifth blog post since I started writing again. Instead, it’s my third. I tried to start running everyday after reading Murakami’s memoir, but after three or fours days, I missed a day, and I haven’t gone running since. The moment I lose that initial momentum, if I don’t resolve to restart immediately, the effort grows nearly insurmountable. Somehow though, this never became an issue with riding. After every fall, my excitement to keep riding grew more than it would ever diminish. 

So why do I find it so difficult to transfer this concept to other areas of my life? Certainly this ties in to my issues with not practicing. Building the habit to keep going even when sidetracked takes consistent mental focus and a conviction; the goal I set needs to matter enough to keep forging ahead when something, usually myself, throws me off course. 

I miss riding dearly. But I am grateful to have Kim’s words echo in my head when I need them. They got me to write this post today, so I can continue what I started, so I can honor my commitment. Here ends post number three on day number five. 

See you tomorrow.

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Start Anywhere

This is day two, and I have no idea where to start. So I’m going to start by writing about writing, or, more accurately, writing about not knowing what to write.

I recently read a memoir written by Haruki Murakami entitled What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. He is one of my favorite novelists, and this was the first time I’ve read his non-fiction.

Murakami started writing when he was about 30 years old, right around when he started to run habitually. Since then he has run many many marathons and triathlons, and has written many novels. He sort of just came to the conclusion one day, that he wanted to write a novel, that he could write a novel. Reading this both humbled and inspired me—he had no formal education in creative writing, but instead just 30 years of life, and the conviction that he could do it, to inform him.

I’m almost 23. I’ve noticed myself using my age as a marker of my ability, of where I should or shouldn’t be, what I should and shouldn’t have done already. I’m not Murakami. I am not Hemingway. But by reading their thoughts I have picked up slices of their attitude, perspectives I can’t unread that slowly bleed into my own words. Francine Prose writes about this process in her book Reading like a Writer. Prose says that we learn how to write from the writers we read. Whether by osmosis or by focused, intentional observation of their techniques and style, we pick up where they leave off.

If someone paid me to, I don’t think I could point to exactly where in my writing I invoke the voices of the writers I’ve read. Well, maybe I could, but it would take countless hours looking back and forth, reading my work, line by line, side by side with the dozens of authors I’ve been graced with knowing. And I really don’t care what is wholly me and what came as a result of me reading. I hope more of the latter is the case, for then my writing would carry with it the brilliance of others’ experiences.

So with that in mind, I look forward to reading more than I write, to finishing Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke and letting him influence my own sentences. Like Prose did, I too hope that he, and everyone else I read and love (and even sometimes dislike), adds something to my writing. I don’t want to be isolated from thoughts that are not mine.

[just-shower-thoughts]

The person directly in front of you also happens to be the person farthest behind you.

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#notforflatearthers

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Shitty First Drafts

For an Intro to Creative Writing class I am taking at school, my professor assigned two readings: Anne Lamott’s short essay called “Shitty First Drafts” and Natalie Goldberg’s “Writing as a Practice.” I am grateful we read them as one package, for each piece directly relates to and impacts the other; they are part of the same conversation.

Anne Lamott discusses the importance of writing without self-judgement or criticism–writing free form. She stresses putting something, anything, down on the page and then molding it into something worth your time. 

Her ideas remind me of sculpting. You start with a hunk of clay, or stone, or wood, any material–an indistinct mass. Then slowly, with patience and intention, the mass reflects a story that you tell with your hands. 

Natalie Goldberg shares her knowledge, the values of practice she has learned from personal experience. She urges people, writers–me–to fill up entire notebooks from margin to margin, not worrying about quality or focus. Write in this style before beginning a serious piece, like soccer players warming up their legs and lungs, only for you, it’s your inner tongues and hands. 

Goldberg’s ideas are not necessarily groundbreaking. Everyone needs to practice to improve; trial and error alone will lead you that conclusion. But she puts an honest part of herself into her writing that forms a connection with the reader, and also, its just good advice. True advice. So simple that we overlook it and lose sight of the process as whole. 

I’ve written one blog post before, years ago, and never opened the webpage again. I didn’t practice. I think overtime I’ve been met with the same consequences from not continuing what I start, for not being persistent and for not practicing. The beginning is exciting; it’s fresh and the first few attempts, when only your natural talent opens the way forward for as far as you can go before the tasks grow too difficult, before the first wall too high to jump with ease. I think that moment, when a skill first grows too difficult to manage without the bare minimum effort, that moment is when quitters quit. That moment is when I’ve always quit. 

I have finally grown tired of quitting. I am now curious enough to spend the time it takes to see behind that wall. Here is my first step in that challenge. Thank you for joining me along the way. Maybe I’ll see some of you on the other side. 

[emeraldjade]

Y’all this is serious! My friend’s 13 year old daughter is missing. (8/3/2016)

She was last seen yesterday wearing a grey t-shirt and a purple skirt in  Bridgeport, Connecticut . She is 5'4", slender built, with her hair twisted up into a ponytail. Her name is Ariana.

If you see her contact the police immediately. 

Please keep your eyes open and pray that she is found safe and returned to her family.

[neonlightillusion]

If there is a Moomin fandom out there, please respond!

[moominin]

Unfortunately it’s been quiet, there doesn’t seem to be that many active moomin blogs… 

Maybe when the new moomin series starts airing, the fandom here will grow?

[ourlostkingdoms]

Activists, progressive and revolutionary alike, will always respond to our critique of the social order with a demand that we articulate some sort of alternative. Let us say once and for all that we have none to offer. Faced with the system’s seamless integration of all positive projects into itself, we can’t afford to affirm or posit any more alternatives for it to consume. Rather we must realize that our task is infinite, not because we have so much to build but because we have an entire world to destroy. Our daily life is so saturated and structured by capital that it is impossible to imagine a life worth living, except one of revolt.

the anti-social turn, in baedan: journal of queer nihilism (via lavendergun)