Money as Power

A man decides to walk into a Starbucks, having marveled over the desirable goods on the opposite side of the branded window. The heavy doors swing open, the baristas stand their guard and prepare to act swiftly; the visitor removes his sunglasses, straightens his spine, and smooths his step as he walks forward to speak over the lush tones of jazz in the background.

"I want this."

And he gets it. Whatever his desires may be at this time and place, they will become a reality. A drink with ingredients that are normally separated by continents? Done. A hot and tasty meal, prepared and wrapped to go in seconds? Wish granted. Not satisfied with your order? We'll replace it.

The Customer is God.

This is the power of the dollar. By even strolling into a location designated for products, it is expected that those who request an item will get it, provided they go forth to make a purchase. No money? No item.  If purchasers are treated well though, they will return, and growth for that business will ensue. And so the customer begins to develop a false sense of entitlement: if they've got money, they've got what they want.

This is why, at the most subconscious level, buying things has become an act of comfort and impulse.  We are expressing our power over individuals and whole businesses by allowing them to assume we have money.  This is why it's difficult for many of us to not be impulsive with our purchases. Even if we recognize the irresponsible nature of a  purchase down the road, the heat of the moment is often enough to overwhelm us.  It's as if we are closing in on the hunt, relishing in the glory of being active and skillful consumers, and now, we must make the kill.

"We've come to pillage your location," says the consumer, "we will be taking all we can and you will oblige us at every point along the way."

We are almost always obliged; when we are not, trouble is made, hence the glorification of customer satisfaction at nearly every retailer. And so we make purchases, we are catered to and the endorphins are sent rushing. Shopping becomes an addiction - distributors and retailers are our willful and willing dealers.  We demand, they supply, no questions asked.

It is taboo in this culture (and most cultures) to live a life without expressing yourself. The problem with this, is that as the world grows smaller and faster, we seem to run out of time to see the humanity in those around us. It is demanded that we try to make ourselves known in this world where appropriate, but without a sense of community we tend to shift the importance of expression onto our things and our purchases; our time and our money.  This becomes the most comfortable means of expression for some - they may not be able to say how they feel, but they can wear it or listen to it or consume it.

People's possessions become obsessions in the absence of community, we posit the social value of someone by their collective ownership and belongings.  Our interactions begin to mimic that which we admire most - the consumption of goods and services. Every social interaction, therefore, becomes a public process of reciprocity. This is why people who don't conform to social norms make others terribly uncomfortable. You can't just say something without someone asking for it in some way, and the same goes for business transactions.

Plain and simple, it can be near impossible to get someone to give solely for the sake of giving. We gift, but this is not always giving. We are sometimes baiting, in hopes that our favor will be reciprocated. It's a means of inflicting social manipulation.  This notion may not be comforting, but it is the underlying principle to the social construct of gift giving.

But when we shop, we're not being given or gifted anything; we're taking what we want, when we want...that's why for some of us shopping is the ultimate form of self-expression and power. We can seemingly exhibit unlimited power, anywhere we desire, with enough monetary worth.
Or so we think.

The money we earn (or rather, the time and energy we expel to earn that money) goes towards the production and distribution of goods and services. We work for various establishments, business executives, corporations, companies, tiny shops and big-box stores alike, all for the sake of making money. At the end of the day we can go forth with this money to consume and survive. Somewhere down the line though, if you're putting in hours, you're ensuring that a product or service is being replicated.   We are consuming the goods and services we helped to create, and the people running businesses enjoy that concept - to ensure their survival, they hire help.

By working for a part of the economy, we "help" the economy by the media's standards. But helping the economy is based on helping the economy grow. This is why most nations in the U.N. judge the well-being of a country based on its GDP. The economy is the foreground of modern life, but it's starting to take up so much space that there's little room for anything else. We've put so much time into it; we start to assume it must be the most important thing to us, even if there is no correlation between GDP and happiness.  This growth had become the obsession of American economists after WWII, and eventually, we all became a part of it.  We are all participants of a machine that has become self-perpetuated.  The act of one person leaving the machine is not enough to drag it to a halt or give the appearance of making a difference.

But the collective efforts of many could certainly make a difference. As a student, I know what I put my time and money into: educating myself and living a sustainable life. As a future employee, I hope that the only organizations and business I contribute to are ones which I can ethically support. If the value of my money is enough to vote for the creation of businesses and products, why earn my money (and expel energy) at a place I have no reason to support?

Many of us find ourselves in situations where we tolerate terrible employers, rationalizing our ethical poverty with the importance of money.  This does not have to be the case. If enough people refuse to work for businesses that make unethical decisions, those businesses will deteriorate and eventually implode.  If we make conscious decisions with the spending of our dollar, we support the businesses that truly need to exist in this time and place.

It's common thought in western culture that somewhere along the line, money = power.  On the most general level, this is an easy concept to grasp and become a part of.  But this is somewhat of an illusion - the social power of the dollar is only defined by the constructs we give it.  Nothing has ultimate power if we accept that everything is but space, molecules, and energy, because we are all connected. While I understand it is highly improbable to someday eradicate the social power we ascribe to the dollar, the least we can do is use that power for good.

When you buy something, when you consume a product, when you scour the internet for the right price or race to the mall to gain access to the newest sale, recognize the time and energy from around the planet that went into making the goods and services you consume.  Even if it was made down the street, or by ethical means, is it energy you're willing to represent? Is it energy you need to keep for yourself?

When voting with your dollar, ask yourself:

"Am I awake?"

_________________________________________________

Update March 22nd:


I could write loads more on this, but as usual, The "Story of Stuff" Project has done an excellent job at keeping it simple...

Don't Be a Member of a Lost Generation

http://www.elephantjournal.com/

Free Music?

I'm gonna go ahead and call the folks at Pandora Radio a bunch o' racists. At the very least, prejudiced...


I understand that no person, or any organization for that matter, could ever keep up with the exponential growth of the world of music. But while I suppose keeping on the cutting edge of music would be difficult, is it that hard to research our past? I'm a bit disappointed in Pandora (one of the most ingenious web applications ever devised due to its ease of use of non-existent price tag) for not having Fela Kuti, Bobby Benson, or any early artists from Nigeria, Ghana, and the funkiest parts of Africa. 


Where's Yoruba music, Pandora? What about Highlife and AfroBeat? You present your wonderful web application as if these genres don't exist, yet they are the source of some of the most popular music in collective world culture - without the rhythm that originated in Africa, we would have no blues, no funk, no jazz, no improvisation or flexibility in professional musicianship. The artists from the various genres of Africa are masters of their craft, yet they remain unnoticed. 


The Beatles understood this - all of their earliest endeavors were R&B, Blues, Soul, and Motown covers; if plans hadn't fallen through, Revolver would have been recorded in a Motown studio; George Harrison brought sitars and ethnic instruments to the world of pop culture - their appreciation for world music allowed them to revolutionize pop music and become the most influential artists of the 20th century. They saw it, Pandora, why can't you?


Pandora, I don't mean to be insulting, but I bet you could make some room for these artists if you got rid of a few of the fourteen holiday and Christian stations under your genre selector. People who like holiday and Christian music are the folks who are most likely to own holiday and Christian music. They probably have iTunes genius playlists inspired by Carrie Underwood, Janet Paschal, Creed, and Celine Dion - they're all set. I and the countless others whose tastes are left unrepresented by your handy invention, on the other hand, are not set. You've got a rare groove station, I'll give you that, but so much else is missing. 


I might add that all of your advertisements are geared towards Bud Light, hockey games, American apparel, indie movies and Volkswagons...


White people eat that shit up, that's all I'm saying. 





But I digress - if I can't find what I need on Pandora, I'll have to keep looking elsewhere. Our rich musical past has so much that has yet to be listened to by people of the Post-Modern era...


Folks who have no idea what I'm talking about, you may be in for a treat.  If you like what you heard from the video above, or even if you didn't, there is a whole world of music outside of American pop culture that is absolutely ripe with funk and jazz and ways of making music you've never heard before. This music has nurtured the creation of so much, including political activism in music. Check out "Best of the Black President" from Fela Kuti, or Wikipedia Yoruba music and have a field day. There's a little bit of everything for every person in the variations that grew from this genre - its finiteness and rarity are coupled with a powerhouse of authenticity from each artist within it. I particularly like early Nigerian Blues, even if it's on the outskirts of the genre, but you're likely to hear something you enjoy along the way if you spend enough time at it.


Africa is our ancestral home; the origin of our species' existence and the motherland of music to move your mind, body and soul. Don't let this aural gift remain in seclusion - seek it out and soak it in as you see fit.
___________________________________________________________


Update March 14th:


If you really have no wish to check out older music from Nigeria, at least check out K'naan, one of Somalia's more recognized hip-hop/world artists, as well as Amadou and Mariam, a wonderful duo from Mali.

Late Season's Prophecy

We are upon the dawn of a new era.
A singularity of sorts,
Where all things are connected
And society is pushed
Towards the 
Betterment
Of 
Human-
Kind.


Conflicts will dissolve;
Wisdom will be sought;
Peace will befall us 
And


The Universe will abide.


But 
Not Without
Struggle.

The Incessant Drag of Fashion

Stop caring about what people think.

The other day while stumbling the net, I read Esquire.com's "10 Essential Truths of Men's Style," and a few things in it didn't quite settle with me.  It's not all bad, but it certainly is not all good. 

Above all, the boys at Esquire (who are provided abundant funds from fashion advertisers) would like you to think that style is a realm of truth. This goes the same for women's magazines; the systematic elimination of subjectivity in what you wear, delineated each season in extravagant publications, intended to sell you "what's hot." You're either with it or not in their eyes - you fit the paradigm or you fail.  This type of thinking is not only toxic to free thought, but damaging to the human psyche. I'm all for being a gentleman, treating others with respect, and remaining noble-minded in my pursuits - this does not mean I have to wear an impeccable outfit to prove it.  

Here are some of my gripes with Esquire's "Essential Truths of Men's Style" 

For starters, we've got  the poster child of "dashing good looks":

I will hand it to Esquire, they managed to find a stereotype-busting model for this.  The trimmed porn-star mustache, the "just-woke-up" faux-hawk, the conveniently placed tat that shows the darker side of his polka-dot tie and pink pinstripes.  And yes, certainly, this man is well dressed. But at what cost? As we will find, quite a hefty one.

"Essential Truth # 1. Most people, most of the time, judge you by what you're wearing, and if you care what people think, you should care about what you wear. Life doesn't get much simpler than that."

As inquisitive beings, people are always going to think about something if you're in their field of focus. Even if you're not dead center, you're noticed. People are going to size you up, tear you down, or put you on a pedestal. And you know what? That shouldn't matter. Even in the richest of circumstances, we can never fully control the thought processes of others. Be who you are - it's your body; it's your style. Wearing one color or another, a certain thickness necktie or a certain cut suit, makes no difference to the universe. You are a part of it no matter what you do.  (This applies to all areas outside of the Jersey Shore.)

"Essential Truth # 2. If you like something, respect it. Hang your pants. Roll your ties. Put shoe trees in your shoes. Oh, and wire hangers? The instruments of Beelzebub and, coincidentally, dry cleaners. Stick with wooden ones."

While I agree with this to an extent there's no reason to live your live as if MTV Cribs (or a Macy's clerk) would waltz in at any moment. Also, if you're concerned about wire hangers, what function do any of these suggested clothes have in the natural world? I'm much more concerned about my outfits standing up against a winter freeze or the splash of a river than the damages of what it hangs on.

"Essential Truth # 3. Pull yourself together. Always. Everywhere. Whether you're going to the deli or on a date, every occasion has minimum standards. Try to meet them."

In other words, suck it up. Stop showing emotion. Conform to society, regardless of what it says. Feeling overrun? Down in the dumps? Questioning a norm? Suppress it. These words rang true in the Völkischer Beobachter, and they should ring true now. And if you live a busy, exotic life like the men of Esquire magazine, don't expect to find time to express these urges of emotion. Ever. Instead, use their comprehensive alcoholic drink library to drown out and escape. Have a smoke. Blow a line in the bathroom. After all, slowing down while sober is for sissies. Real men are alcoholics and drug addicts.

It's good to be present with yourself, to feel at ease, and to meet the minimum standards of certain functions. This does not mean that you are the subject of attention at every moment. If you have to fake it for a date, for an occasion, for anyone, you're lying to yourself and everyone around you. Follow your heart. Breathe easy.

"Essential Truth #4. People who are slaves to matching (e.g., belts to shoes, socks to trousers) are shallow and tend to lack in the friends department. Anyone points out that something doesn't match? Punch him. That'll teach him."

Or, "Follow the cult of independence. Feel secure by acting like you're a part of nothing. Insult those different from you, reciprocate insults from others with violence"

The hipster credo, at its most eloquent.

"Essential Truth #5. Learn to sew a button. It's a life-changing skill that teaches you patience and the value of self-sufficiency. We cannot say the same about knitting."

Can't complain about this one. Striving to be practical never hurts.

"Essential Truth #6. Never attempt maintenance, home improvement, house moving, or gardening in any of your best pieces of clothing. You are only asking for trouble."

This ensures that you are never associated with the dirty people you hire to do the maintenance, home improvement, house moving, and gardening for you. Why try to look good while fixing up the house when you can look great next to the underpaid immigrant doing all the work? 

"Essential Truth #7. The best way to look effortless is to work hard at it."

False; the best way to look effortless is to put zero effort into it.  This is something most college students are aware of. Don't feel like facing the day? Go effortless and walk straight to class from bed. The more eye crust, the better.  When I look at a guy who clearly spent hours getting ready for the day, with a freshly pressed sports jacket and khakis, button up and calculatedly loose tie,  $500 watch, hair done up and beard groomed, the last thing I think is "Boy does he look effortless!" It's usually more along the lines of "What's he hiding under that get-up?"

"Essential Truth #8. Your posture is half the investment in buying a new suit. If you're not going to stand up straight, you might as well wear a Hefty bag."

While I support a healthy posture (good for circulation and positive mindset) I would not condone suffocating yourself when you fail to maintain it. That Hefty bag is so last season.

The underlying issue of this "essential truth" is that you should feel required to buy a new suit. While I understand some circumstances call for nice clothing, this pointer implies that the only stylish people are ones with new suits. In other words, if you expect to be accepted, you better be willing to shell out some cash. Don't have cash? Tough cookies.  This further correlates with...

"Essential Truth #9. Fit is the other half. Money is only a minor consideration."

For me, this is the crux of the flaws of "style" in all areas. At best, second hand clothing and outerwear that is meant to weather the storm (but not necessarily society) will only yield second place. If you want the "best dressed" label, you best drop some cash. "Do you see the powerful men that command the room, who make their own lives, who have the perfect woman, who got the front cover of our magazine? You don't have that, you will never have that, but you can get damned close if you follow the wishes of our advertisers!" Hence the creation of this list. 

Some might ask, "What's the big deal? People have money to spend, why not spend it on looking good?" or "Advertisers have always been a part of the system, why pay so much attention to them?"

The answer, for me, is that the mentalities spread by these types of magazines and their advertisers distort our reality. The people in this world who are starving, on the streets, dying of AIDS or incurable diseases, fighting in wars of violence or human rights, suffering from the ailments of an unjust world, will never reach the level of expectations these magazines ascribe to society.  This is why the corporate man on Wall Street has no pity for the homeless man begging for change. "He looks dirty; he looks unkempt, why should I help him?"

The bottom line is that 'style' is a system of discrimination. It allows us to forget what it means to be human, to support grand delusions about the world, to justify the cruelties and abominations of everyday life, and to abandon our global neighbors. It allows us to become self-centered, to put on a mask (or a power tie) and establish a false sense of superiority. It pushes us closer and closer to a constant state of paranoia, developing undying anxieties about things that make no difference in the world.  It shouldn't matter what material my pants are made of; the condition of my garments is not a reflection of my character - only my budget.

Have you heard of Patrick Bateman? Charles Manson? These types of people, fictional or not, are a result of this cultural mentality - that looks dictate reality. It may not be directly correlated with men's magazines, but they certainly play a part in the equation.

Some of this is culture and some of it is unavoidable. But some of it is also self-inflicted. I don't mean to suggest that the world is one way or another; black or white. Rather, consider my argument on a spectrum of grey. You can choose to ignore it. You can also choose to ignore the world of advertisers that we are submerged in. You can choose to call me an idealist. You also can choose to consider the possibility that you are but a tiny fish in a sea of material goods. Or, like most people, you can choose somewhere in between.

Above all you should never forget 
"Essential Truth #10... Check your fly."
_______________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________


Update March 11th


A satirical take on the subjectivity of handsomeness. A rich debate in aesthetics indeed; certainly worth the watch.

Letters to myself, an afternoon with Greg Mortenson, and Squirrel Comm 101

Open Letter To Myself:

It all felt a bit conceited, preparing my outfit for a seminar that was supposed to be full of non-judging, organic friendly, meditation gurus. My hair was long enough to appear "out of step" with society, but kept clean enough to give the appearance of sanity.  My Steven Biko T-Shirt, made by a traveling artist in South Africa, would surely show my interest in philosophy or at least human rights... Should I wear the poncho? No, the poncho would be too much; the poncho would give it away. But the French-pressed, local, fair-trade coffee in a travel thermos - that was a must.

It was a Saturday, the day before my birthday, and I had wound up signing up for a "progressive thinking" seminar under the guidance of one of my professors.   There was a suggested donation, but the instructors (who personally knew my professor) assured anyone coming that the experience, not the money, was what counted.  The suggested donation was twenty-five dollars...I had ten to spend, fifteen for "laundry". I felt like such a fake.

After trudging through several dusty alleyways, running into a few early risers and a handful of typically grumpy townies, I found the place.  It was fairly unassuming location - a plaza with lawyers' offices, dental practices, physical therapy, and on the third floor, "Mindful meditation center of Keene." The eagle had landed...

The name of the seminar was "Awakening the Dreamer: Changing the Dream" and had gained some critical acclaim around the world.  I was expecting something huge: a gathering of international environmental pundits, yoga gurus, and ethical entrepreneurs perhaps, all hoping to "change my ways."  Instead, I found a room full of about ten folks in loose fitting clothing, floor mats, a projector, and endless smiles.  This was certainly different.

What unfolded was one of the most unique, restful, and inspirational experiences of my life.  Each hour of that day was full of new ideas, fun activities, and novel ways of looking at the crises that face our generation and the generations ahead of us.  Even if momentarily, it transformed a cynic into an activist, a skeptic into an optimistic go-getter. To ensure we maintained this positive state after the seminar, we were asked to write a self-addressed letter about our feelings at the end of the day.  So I wrote, and for the most part, forgot about it.  Six weeks later, a few days before the seminar would return to Keene, I got the letter in my school mail stop box.  This is what was on it:

----------------------------------------------------------

What I want to remember most 6 weeks from now:

- Hope and optimism

- I want to feel alive

- To feel healthy

- To feel comforted as I do now.

- Love is the uniting force, separation is an illusion

- "Refuse to participate" (This is in reference to mainstream corporate agendas)

- The power of eye contact

- Feeling out of step with society is a good thing, so is local food

- Don't be afraid to think with the heart

- The eagle (technology & human creativity) will soon fly together with the condor (wisdom & love)

- Bliss and connectedness can be found without mind altering substances.

- Each person has an amazing capacity to connect, share, and love with others.  We all long for that.

- "Green Media Guru" (In reference to what one of my teammates suggested I would become)

- If everything is connected, anything I do to the world I do to myself.

Kevin B. Malicki

---------------------------------------------------------

For me, this is proof that spending six hours in a meditation center with the same ten people, organic food, quiet music, and conversation is capable of yielding some interesting facets of the human subconscious.  Whether these words should be interpreted as wisdom or insanity is for you to decide, but whenever I read this letter I can't help but smile.

Greg Mortenson:

This guy wrote Three Cups of Tea, started the Pennies for Peace fund, and has done immeasurable work in the name of educating the impoverished people of the middle east and around the world.  He's built over 90 schools and raised millions in the name of global education. He spoke at our school today and if there's anything I can say about his cause, it's this:

1.) If you educate a boy, you educate and individual.  If you educate a girl, you educate a community.  Bringing equal education to women is the single most crucial element of building a healthy society.  If you want to cure hunger, help reduce disease, reduce cases of abuse, and lower population, educate the women.

2.) If the world came together and pitched in one billion dollars each year for fifteen years, global illiteracy would be completely eradicated.  If you want to help that, don't send the money to Washington, send it to NGO's that are already in the places needing help.

3.) The military is not as clueless to the middle east as media would like us to think.  In the past 15 months, General David Howell Petraeus and other leaders have been to Afghanistan over three dozen times to talk with village elders about working together.  As put by Dr. Mortenson, you don't have to like diplomacy, you just have to show up and listen.

4.) The culture in the United States is one that has abandoned its elders.  If you want to know how to change the world, if you want to go forth and make a difference, it wouldn't hurt to talk to the people who've seen two world wars, a economic fluctuation, changing times and eroding values.  American culture is one of the only cultures world wide that generally disregards the wisdom of the elderly.  This is not to say that all elderly are infallible, but they deserve a prominent role in our society.

5.) Change is possible now more than ever.  Ten years ago there were only 800,000 kids in schools in Afghanistan, most of which were boys.  After Dr. Mortenson's work, there are over 5 million, 2.4 of which are girls.  If we want progress on this planet, we need to see the humanity in other people, treat them with respect, and listen before we act.

Squirrel Communication

I've been involved in a class called "Opening to Other Ways of Knowing and Being" this semester, and it's a mind-trip.  It's integrative studies, looking at the failures of certain aspects of Western thinking, particularly our education system.  We've also worked on meditation practices, Buddhist understandings of the world, and Native American culture.  The course is jam packed with life-altering material, much too much to list all at once, but one of the more interesting aspects of the class is Native American child psychology...

It was common practice in many Native American traditions to teach children about life by making them watch a certain creature for a week.  Observe their behavior, track their movement, see how they operate in the world.  Watching different animals gave children a sense of mastery and belonging in the world, which in turn, gave insight to living sustainable lives in co-existence with nature.  In many Native American ideologies, our planet is one giant, living, breathing organism.  Everything is connected. We are all one, and each part of this planet offers something else to learn.

So today when passing a squirrel on my way to the dining commons, I just stopped.  Instead of trying to coax the squirrel over, or chase it, or catch it, I just stopped.  I stopped and watched and listened.  The squirrels are fairly tame on campus, but only within reason.  Any attempts to approach a squirrel is usually met with a burst of scurrying grey fur, up a tree, and out of sight.  Not today.

As I watched, wind blowing both my hair and the squirrel's in each direction, I waited for the squirrel to notice me.  We made eye contact, and the squirrel stopped.  Assuming it was a male, he stood up and looked at me.  We spent the remainder of that minute looking at each other, wind tugging on his tail and my hair. A part of me wondered what he was thinking. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been fear.

He inched closer to me,  lackadaisically sniffing the ground.  As soon as I inched forward he inched back.  I must appear quite big to him, I thought.  So I stepped back; he stepped back. I inched left; he inched right.  We had rotated about 45 degrees from our original position at this point - our circle-strafing had guided the squirrel to a flood lamp on the lawn, which he eagerly hopped up on.  I stood still; he stood up on his hind legs.  We stared at each other for another minute.

This nature tango went on for about 5 minutes, briefly interrupted by curious passersby, to which the squirrel responded by fetching an acorn from beneath the dirt and retreating to a birch tree.  I walked carefully to the tree, completely unconcerned with how foolish I looked.  I waited until the squirrel was on a branch just higher than my head.  I assured the squirrel that he was safely out of my reach and out of harm by bowing my head as I walked forward.  Much to my delight the squirrel sat up again, gleefully munching his acorn atop his throne of white birch and studying me.  I must have appeared quite unusual to him for a human.  We were feet apart - I could see his little pink inner cheeks working around the acorn, piece by piece, efficient as ever. I studied the subtle coloration of orange on his fur, wondering if I would spot him again.

Neither of us were sure what was to come next, and it was getting late, so I simply bowed my head and walked away.  Just before I turned the corner, I looked back to the birch tree - happy to see I was still being watched...

Twenty-One Days 'til Sunrise

I've never been one to keep a journal; at least not a successful one. And I've tried, incessantly, to start the habit each coming season. The places I sleep, study and live are packed with unwritten pages of metaphysical questionings, neurotic ramblings and seemingly mundane occurrences that I secretly hoped would become meaningful years later. Blank page after blank page, untouched journal after untouched journal, my 'memories that could have been' turn up everywhere; hidden under my bed, crammed in bookshelves, drowning between papers in my desk - all asking "why?" with each turning of crisp, blank canvas.

Some of the journals were gifts - A faux-vintage brown paper notebook, complete with decorated cover from an artistic ex-girlfriend; a pharmacy pick-up for a last minute congratulations with an eagle on the front - others were personal investments, impulse purchases, and requirements for courses spanning from elementary school to my time at Keene State.

And while not every page is untouched, I can't help but cringe at the waste of paper and possible lack of personal growth that resulted in the negligence of these notebooks.  Most of middle school was an array of bored doodles. The larger portion of my writings from high school (dotted between brief moments of eloquent teenage angst) were made while stoned or drunk, only exacerbating the level of self-inflated but equally uninteresting content on each page. My college years have been predominantly undocumented. I seem to remember more about my life by looking at these journals than actually reading them.

Why did I turn away from writing?

For one, I could never find the right voice.  When writing about life, should one use first or third person? Should the voice and resulting text assume that the audience is the author? Or, as I often found, is it safer to assume your material could be read at any moment? (The stoned-code that lines the margins my high school journals may have been a result of the latter mentality.) What details should be omitted? 

At the end of the day, what constitutes as truly important?

Now that I'm older, I've realized this didn't matter - I should have just written. But I was too busy being a perfectionist. By the time I figured out what would be written, my urge had lapsed into laziness. Most of the resulting text was incredibly angry at the world, which only meant that reading the journals later would be equally painful.  Adding to the fact that my inquisitive mother's "accidental" tour of my high school journal led to her discovery of my recreational drug use, I had developed quite an aversion to expressing myself on paper. When I did write, it was brief, frustrated, and inconsistent. 

Eventually, I lost respect for my own calligraphy, my own physical effort to cherish the present moment.  Writing in my journal(s) became a quarterly event, then semi-annual, then non-existent. I rationalized my fear to document the day with the importance of other things (namely a false sense of a superior memory) and perhaps, I often wondered, I would someday realize that obsessing over the present moment was only narcissistic, fearful, and close minded.

In the passing of my 21st birthday, with graduation lingering on the horizon and grey hairs swiftly sneaking into my scalp, I have realized that whole years will soon slip by if I'm not more careful. I have choked myself of personal expression, confining my mind the the quietest of parts, letting my mouth speak with little thought for consequence.  As a result, I have been careless.  I have been insensitive.  I have found a way to live alone in world full of friends and family.  Unnecessarily anxious, bouncing from therapist to therapist, self-medicating and self-destructing. Acing classes at the expense of sanity. Enjoying life post-haste at the expense of a focused consciousness. I have crossed the boundary of the first quarter of my life, with plenty to reflect on and little to understand. 

When does living in the moment turn to living in the mausoleum? 

There is part of me, a part in all of us, that holds an undying impulse to start anew. Today is the day I nurture that craving, in hopes that I can turn it into a deeper understanding of myself and others. I am starting fresh, to harbor a renewed sense of respect for my own life and the lives of others - after all, life doesn't have to scare us to death, it only has to lead us there, and I'd like my path along the way to be a beautiful one.

They say it takes about 21 days to start a habit.  
Sounds like a start to me.