My third summer at Camp HASC is coming to a close.
Soon, I won't be dancing with campers at concerts. No more hugs or high-fives, just because we feel like it. When people see me, their faces may not light up like the sun. Life will become “normal”.
The truth is, “normal” is a funny word to use here. When people use that word, they usually mean to describe their immediate world. It's the friends you make, or your job, or even the radio station that you always listen to on your way to work.
Sadness. It surrounds our thoughts and emotions. We want to the believe this emotion doesn't exist, let alone affect us. But it's always there. It watches from the rafters, and it pulls us elsewhere – not exactly down, and not upwards either. Sadness is a cat, and we are mice. And happiness is the mousetrap.
Happiness is the delusion of perfection. What we truly seek is balance. Balance keeps your ice cream cone from falling apart again. It cannot remove the scrape from your knee, but it can give you a bandage. A kiss goodnight will not scare away any monsters, and still your bed will become safe for sleeping. You will have learned nothing, because you have plenty of wisdom already.
Let yourself grow taller. Plants need water and sunlight, but you are not a plant. Only fools set limits; the wise use guidelines. Run down the trail, even as you stay on the path. When the road splits, go left. Or right, it makes no difference. Momentum is a precious thing, and choices are all too common.
“Silence is Golden”, they say. They're right, of course. Silence is the key to every problem, as well as to every proposed solution. Arguing won't solve problems; not directly, anyhow. So what will? Listen, you say. And you yell, a long, painful moan. I sit, and you scream. I listen while you lament. It's a powerful dynamic, this. I learn your hardships, and you- well, I don't know what you do, but it's dramatic. You shout, and I sympathize. You accuse, and I admit. Is it my turn yet?
Finally, you come to the end of your conversation. A question burns in my belly, though I dare not ask it. You leave, and take with you a bundle of anger. I leave too, adding yours to my collection. May I talk now? No, not yet. You see, to talk I need a listener. My door is open; you may vent any time you please. Perhaps, one day, you will open yours.
Recently, I came upon the realization that there are a couple of reasons why I should leave my computer more often.
Firstly, talking with someone on Discord or Telegram will not produce the same human relationship as talking in real-life would. I don’t see facial expressions or body language. If it’s simply text, without voice, I can’t even detect tones-of-voice.
Staying on the computer also creates the fallacy that I’m being productive. Sometimes, checking email, Twitter, Facebook and GitHub in a loop is not accomplishing anything. Granted, I can be productive online, but I can also fool myself into feeling productive while I’m wasting time. In the long run, this doesn’t make me feel more productive at all.
Lastly, I miss out on so much. The world is full of sunshine, whereas screens don’t usually work well in the sunlight. They force me to stay inside, in my room, just talking to Alexa. So I go to the coffee shop and work there.
And so, a message for Elon Musk: Create a computer that loves parks and birds. Make a machine that moves with music and whets you with waves of water.