I’ve settled into a comfortable dissatisfaction as of late. I don’t really seem to enjoy anything. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m apparently stagnant by nature or if I’ve managed to wring out the last drops of fun from the activities I once held dear. I’ve seemingly lost the capacity for creative thought. It is my sincere hope that doing this, the simple act of posting something, will rekindle the interest that I once had in writing. I’ve given up on so many hobbies in my life… drawing, writing and recording music, collections of various things, writing in general… and I wish that I hadn’t. I wish that I still found time to occasionally put pencil to paper and draw. Or at least stylus to Wacom, I guess. I wish I had time to practice my guitar. I wish I had more time to write, too. I quit doing those things because the finished product in each case never came out the way I wanted it to. The way I saw it in my head. I had an idea of what it should look like, sound like, say… and when I was unable to produce that, I simply quit. I hate everything that I create, really. Except for my son, of course. He gets a pass because he’s the most beautiful child in the world. The question remains, though… is this my lot in life? To have a great imagination with no skill whatsoever to back it up? Maybe by forcing myself to blog, and to blog about this, I’ll get over this hump and the juices will start flowing again.
This is how I unwind.
Anger is a very powerful emotion. Some people think it’s part of (or even the trigger for) our fight-or-flight response. That’s something that we can’t get away from; it’s hard-wired into our brains. If things get rough, we get ready to rumble or run the hell away. Anger keeps us alive.
The problem with anger these days is that you’re not permitted to express it in a professional setting… like at your job, for example. There aren’t very many constructive ways that you can express your anger in the workplace without at least losing your job, and at most becoming familiar with your Miranda rights. Knowing that doesn’t stop you from feeling that anger, though. So what, then, are we to do?
I don’t know about you, but I kill hookers and steal cars.
Grand Theft Auto 4 is not a new game; in fact, it’s over three years old. Despite its age, lately I’ve played it every night. The freedom to run around doing whatever the hell I want is pretty nice. It’s a way for me to get some of the day’s frustrations out without doing anyone or anything harm. It’s like free therapy. Sometimes I just spawn a helicopter (spawning is making the object appear out of thin air, via the usage of cheat codes) and fly around Liberty City, which is a convincing replica of New York. I’m not shooting at anyone during that time; I’m just flying.
It’s cool to be able to go to that fictional place and do things that I’d never do in real life. It’s liberating, and it’s definitely therapeutic. As a side note, it also doesn’t make me want to go out and actually do any of the things I do in the game; I’ve played violent video games for over 20 years now, and I’m fine. That’s a post for another day, though.
What about you? What do you do to cope with stress and anger that you face in your daily life?
Time to be the Parental instead of the Content.
There’s something that you should know about me going into this, and it’s that in my daily life I use an extraordinary amount of profanity.
I mean… a lot.
To my credit, I do know when to avoid the usage of profanity so as not to lose my job, house, winning smile, civil liberties, etc… but up until recently I hadn’t really given much thought to not using profanity around Small Boy. My logic was thus: Small Boy doesn’t yet understand my words, therefore my words don’t matter to Small Boy. Seems logical, right? While that may or may not have been true initially, I’ve got the feeling that it’s rapidly becoming a moot point. The boy seems to notice everything around him. He wants to know so much already… like why daddy’s bottom lip won’t come off, despite his continued attempts to relocate it. He’s just naturally curious. For example, the first time we put him into a swing complete with little dangling animal things for him to play with, he ignored them entirely and chose instead to watch the hinges.
According to legend (read: parenting books), even if Small Boy isn’t quite sure what daddy’s saying, he’s already ingesting it. He’s incorporating it into the mixture of bits and bobs that he picks up with that incredible little brain of his, and he’s using it all to start turning into the person that he’s going to be. In four short months he’s already developed so much personality that it blows my mind. That growth led me to a realization. There’s a heavy weight placed on fathers that’s also our most tremendous gift… we are what our sons look up to and what our daughters look for. We have to be examples for them. I don’t take that lightly, and I’m striving to be the most virtuous example of a man I can be. To me, that means no more profanity around Small Boy. He’s going to grow up fast enough as it is.
Hell, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t explain to him what some of those words mean without using them in the definition, anyway.