The Fool’s Errent

Welcome to the land of the strange and the home of the odd. You’re probably here by accident, but that’s okay; nobody’s perfect. Just be ready for plenty of ranting, raving, diatribe, and other blatant misuse of the First Amendment. Oh yeah; I’m Illiolos. And don’t be frightened; I’m always this way...

Messages to Fools and attached Hangers-on (you know who you are...)

1. What does it say about my life when my only real problems are other peoples' problems? Is that a good thing?

2. Cow will be served at my place on request. Everyone is invited. Bring your own beer.

3. If you haven't read it, check out Neal Stevenson's The Big U Here.

4. You haven't sent me anything to read. I think you've mentioned that you've been writing, yes?

For you people out there who are not numbered among the Fools, most of this will mean absolutely nothing, but thats the way it is. I assure you: if you don't know already, you don't want to.

"It's you when I look in the mirror,

It's you when I don't pick up the phone.

Sometimes you can't make it

On your own."

-U2

(or until otherwise changed...)

I was never a big Freudian, but I do believe that we are very much shaped by the environment we grow up. The problems that we cope with as kids define the shortcomings that we have as adults. And as we get older and older, it become harder and harder to redefine ourselves to cope with the new situations we find ourselves in. We become less dynamic. More set in our ways. More stubborn.

At pretty much every stage of my life, I've always been surrounded with the right people. All the popular kids at school were acquaintances. Aside from the occasional football player assholes and egotistical pricks, the last time I was a social outcast was probably the fifth grade. Of course, before that time was when the "damage" was done. Before then, I spent a lot of time wishing I was stronger on the outside, so I didn't have to worry about the bullies and assholes who would be waiting for me at the school gates. Or who would be waiting for me when I got home. I also spent a lot of time wishing I was stronger on the inside, so I didn't have to worry about how lonely it was, going for days (or weeks) without talking to anyone except teachers (no, that's not exaggeration from the truth).

I imagined myself as a machine. Stronger, faster, and smarter than those around me. Not bothered by pain or emotion or loneliness.

It goes to show that we really should be careful what we wish for.

It takes a long time to get used to being alone. I mean REALLY alone. To be strong without support. To achieve as an individual what those around you are striving for in groups. Years spent with yourself, and without anyone to really intrude. Of course, friends will occasionally wander through your life. Your family will be there, at least as a presence. And there is always the fact that, like it or not, you're almost always around other people, no matter how alone you are. You would think that things like that, the comings and goings, the constant press and buzzing of the world, should make things better. Easier. But in fact, all they usually do is highlight the fact that there is no one to talk to. That's how I spent most of my childhood. I knew everyone. But I never really had friends… well… ever really. Aside from Blake, and we all know how that ended up. There were always people I knew, people I was acquainted with. A few faces here and there that were, at the very least, not overtly unfriendly. As I grew older, I had teammates as well. People with shared interests, shared goals; at least we were going in the same direction, even if it was by coincidence, rather than by mutual desire or consent. But I never really got over being alone, and – a few short periods aside – and I don't think I've ever really stopped being alone.

It turns out that the mindset of a solitary existence, while extremely difficult and painful to learn, is, once gained, an exceptionally easy way to live. Solitude is fortress of immeasurable strength, filled with all the glories and wisdom and knowledge of years of study and introspection and craft. You don't need to care about what anyone else says or thinks or feels; when crunch-time comes, you're not going to need those people, nor their opinions or thoughts or feelings, anyway. You can get through anything. You always have, and you've done it without them on the occasions that you didn't have to do it over their opposition. You are not dependent on their help or support, and your actions need not include consideration of what they will think. You live you life, and achieve your goals based solely on your own merits and efforts. It's easy to be aloof, confident, and egotistical when you KNOW that what you have, you have as a result of YOU, and that, by simple act of being you, and by playing the game better than they can, you're going to continue getting what you want. Generally, you don't even need to consider the repercussions your actions might have. You've been alone forever. Nobody around you has ever really given a shit about your thoughts or opinions or feelings, except when they wanted something from you, or when they tried to do something specifically to piss you off, or intentionally hurt your feelings (something which, aside from a few choice words that they don't know and wouldn't think to say, they won't really succeed in anyway). So who gives a fuck if they don't like you, or if they speak ill of you, or if they get their feelings hurt by some trifling act that you do as a matter of course, and have become used to having done to you as a matter of course?

It's very, very easy to sit in the high tower of solitude, comfortable with the games and books and toys you've surrounded yourself with, keeping up correspondence with others as necessary to chase whatever dream or goal or whim has struck your fancy, and simply ignoring the petty problems and trivialities that weigh down the poor dullards around you. Safe behind your indomitable walls and unassailable gates.

Of course – turning back to my own real world history - from a purely practical perspective, things got better over time, starting about the sixth grade. For a lot of years, I thought that, after that, I got back into the social mix by being more flexible, more dynamic, and by smiling and nodding a lot. I thought I became more likable. But in retrospect, the abuse might have stopped simply because I got to be impressive. And intimidating. I got bigger, to the point where I was among the tallest and most athletic of my class. Hockey honed body and reflexes. (It also gave me the confidence that goes with KNOWING that there was something I was really good at.) Intellectually, the gap grew. It was clear since the second grade that I was smarter than most of my classmates. By high school, I had neither challenges nor challengers. Especially after the move to Solvang. My SAT scores where 210 points higher than the next highest person in my class there (who ended up being co-valedictorian, incidentally).

Kind of funny, really. It's been a long time since I've wasted time worrying about any problem with my own intellect or abilities, but the idea that those things parley into something intimidating to other people never really occurred to me. I guess that's the kind of blindness caused by too much isolation and introspection; you don't get a decent cross-section of opinions when your own is the only one readily available.

I was hanging around with my mom and my (now ex-)girlfriend, and my mom was telling stories about me as a kid (as no parent will ever pass on an opportunity to embarrass their offspring).

Mom: "I was talking to your brother Justin about a party over at our place one time. He was saying 'Yeah, everybody was hanging around, having a good time. Then Matt showed up.'

Mom: "I said, 'Justin, Matt likes to have a good time too."

Mom: "And Justin said, 'Yeah, but he's so much smarter than everyone else that nobody knows what to say around him…'"

I really didn't know what to say about that. I would never imagine Justin saying something like that. But at the same time, it doesn't really surprise me. People are dumb, easily scared, easily intimidated. But by me?

This is a conclusion that's slowly, subconsciously been dawning on me: I'm intimidating. Dangerous, even. My fortress of solitude, the root and definition of my strength and confidence, is no longer a place where I shelter and hide from bullies and demons and darkness. It's become a base from which I can sally forth to conquer.

As a kid I used to be timid. I used to have nightmares. I used to be afraid of the dark. I used to need a nightlight.

Now… Well, perhaps an anecdote. Natalie and I went to Knott's Scary Farm last October. Now, ghosts and goblins haven't scared me for many years, but I would still jump when surprised, yell out when startled, things like that. Or so I thought. There was one ride in particular: the log ride. They turn it into a werewolf thing. Pretty cool actually, and a little on the creepy side. Of the ghost-and-goblin sect, werewolves are scarier to me than most things. (By all reports, they're bigger than me, faster than me, and highly resistant to things I own that have, for example, sharp edges or high muzzle velocities). In any rate, there are parts of the ride that are very dark, and the staff (dressed as werewolves) take advantage of that to perch right on the edge of the track where the guests float by, and suddenly shine a flashlight on their (masked) faces to scare the hell out of the passengers, who at that point are about a foot and a half away. I admit that it's a pretty good shocker.

But what got me thinking was, when the staffer-dressed-as-werewolf in question shined the light in his face, revealing big shiny teeth at a distance of about two feet, I didn't jump. I didn't yell. I didn't even flinch. In fact, as he appeared suddenly, it was all I could do to stop myself from reaching out, grabbing him, and gouging his eyes.

I don't have nightmares anymore, where dark things chase me. Instead, I have dreams where I hunt and kill things. Usually, I'm hunting formless dark things, but sometimes it's people. I remember the first such dream in great detail. A girl I knew led me into an ambush by three of her criminal friends. I remember being very scared, turning over my money and keys. Then I changed my mind. I decided I wasn't going to be afraid. At the end of the dream, I shot each of the three, in the chest, twice. I wasn't feeling any fear, guilt, or remorse at the time. In fact, I remember quite clearly picking them off as they reached for and/or fumbled their own guns, and checking my memories that there were, in fact, only three of them, since my Walther only holds ten rounds, and I didn't want to run out of ammo before I ran out of enemies.

I don't need or want a nightlight anymore; I want it as pitch dark as can be managed. Natalie always wanted a nightlight. She asked me once, "aren't you afraid of the dark?" Before I could think about it, I found myself saying, with a little chuckle, "No no no. I'm the thing in the dark that OTHER people are afraid of."

The loneliness and solitude that tore me up inside as a kid now form the bedrock on which my confidence is built. The pain of being alone is still present, but only as a slight buzz in my mind, which comes only when it's very late. I've become what I wished. Mentally, emotionally, physically. From the scared, lonely kid who used to cry himself to sleep, both from the pain of bruises from the bullies and – more sharply – the pain of solitude, I've become the dangerous thing that doesn't need to worry about either abuse or neglect, from anything or anyone.

The problem, of course, is that people are not built to live this way. We're not meant to be alone. And I always knew how unhealthy it was, but never really cared; the peace and safety of solitude was too alluring, to seductive, too easy to refuse. I'm not sure I care even now that I realize it, since I think it's largely moot at this point. By the time I was able to look at the situation with some perspective (right about the time I was issuing apologies a few years back), I think it was already too late to make any real changes.

Somewhere along the line, I've lost the key to open the gates of my fortress. I can still function in the wide world, as I must to chase down things that strike my fancy (to say nothing of going to watch the sun set over Red Rock). I am my own Avatar, walking the world as the effector and emissary of my own will and desires. As such, I function, and function well. But the real me, the core of what I've become, is locked inside.

I sometime worry about the Me inside the walls. But I'll be alright. I always have been, and like I said, I don't think there's a great deal that can be done about it at this point anyway. I am who I am. Things are how they are. I've lost the key, and I don't think I'm willing to tear down the gates. Of the few who might be capable of opening the gate, and either coming in or letting me out for a while, I don't think any are interested, even assuming they were aware of the ability. Haven't seen any of them for years. Everyone's gone their separate ways, or simply been driven away.

So what's the point of all this? I'm not sure there is one. In fact, I'm fairly sure that, other than being an interesting bit of introspection on my part, the is NO point to this. But I still feel better for having written it down.

Links to other sites on the Web

The Turtle Moves!
Words of Wisdom from Richard Bach.

© 2005 I am Illiolos

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