To say that I know what this blog entry is about at this time would be a lie. In fact, the only word I’ve written preceding these first two sentences is “Reflect”—mainly because I thought it would be enough of a sweepingly vauge term to grant permission for any incidental text that may follow.
The external conditions are right for the reflective nature of my current biostatus. It’s the holiday season, on my first year away from home or school. It’s the first time that going to my parents house for the holidays will certainly not be a trip home. It’s also the first time that my winter vacation owes its existence to one of my newly found, non-renewable, ultra limited resources: the vacation day. And however vain or pathetic this may appear, finishing the appendix to the “Return of the King – Extended Edition” DVD, has only helped to escalate an already contemplative state.
When I was young, Christmas was on the brain from September until the 25th of December. My parents and other influences would remind me of its approach throughout the entirety of those gateway months. Of course as a child, the prospect of a newly attained stock pile of material wealth could only have helped to make that special day all that much more momentous. Perhaps it is the rose colored (like Adam Curry’s glasses) tint of those fading experiences that allow me to believe I was actually excited for some of the less tangible presents Christmas had to offer. It meant an increased period of social activity—friends were off for the holidays, meaning increased hours of sled riding and video games (the perfect juxtaposition). It meant an increased period of togetherness for the family—Mom and Dad would take time off, and whether it was building a snowman or just watching T.V. past 9 p.m. as a family, it was a special event.
This year has kind of locked in something that I learn every year at this time. Christmas slowly becomes more and more of a day that surprises me when it comes and I forget about when it has passed. When I was young, I got to live and create memories in a life that was created for me. They were shaped mostly by the choices of my parents and other adults. As it stands now, I’m the only one responsible for creating memorable occasions. It’s become increasingly difficult to do so, as family moves far away, good friends slowly become involved in serious relationships or move away in pursuit of a vocation, and my grasping attempts to recreate some of those original bonds in alien settings turn up empty handed. I imagine this is what so many people my age are going through at this very moment, though I don’t have much hard evidence.
As mentioned before, I just finished the appendix to the ROTK DVD. It was filled with goodbyes. I didn’t need very much help growing teary-eyed during it’s premiere, and even the DVD extras seemed to have a sentimental effect on me. Perhaps you’re thinking, “this man has such an empty reality that watching a stupid fantasy film can throw him in to a pensive tizzy?” Well, either you’re right or there’s something more to it. I will argue the latter. This whole trilogy of movies kind of outlines an era of my life, starting my freshman year of college, and apparently ending now. Before FoTR was released in theatres, several of my good friends and I began to encourage each other to (re)read Tolkien’s classic trilogy. We spent a good deal of time talking to each other about the themes, the stories, and just hyping each other up in general. Each 17th of December, we’d have an excuse to wait in line at the theatre, along with a host of other geeks, and stand in awe of Peter Jackson’s masterfully crafted recreation. It was very much a social thing for me.
One last thing which has had a sobering effect on me recently is Barry Schwartz’s talk, “Less Is More,” which was podcast on I.T. Conversations this past week. Over the past couple years, I suppose you could say I have been becoming more and more libertarian, like any good technologist by trade. Barry’s talk was all about how the curve representing happiness as a function of choice is not monotonically increasing. In other words, having more options does not always make a person happier. He claims that in today’s society, we are presented with more choices than ever before—from religion, to potential mates, to brand of peanut butter, and that these increasingly complex choices are at the heart of our aggregate depression. He says we are actually desperate to find things to limit our choice set, especially in the form of restrictive relationships. Intimate relationships are restrictive, not liberating. I think to view restrictive as a bad thing, in this context, would be short sighted and inhumane. I had so many questions when he finished his talk that I really wished the podcasting disucssion was much less drawn out and distributed, and more chatty.
I actually have a bunch more random “reflective” things to talk about, but I’ll save my breath for now ;) Oh, and sorry for the lack of links on this one. When in doubt, try Google.