Regarding Overheard: Physicians Heal Thy Image

I recently overheard a doctor( or nurse?) complain/worry about a patient( high-strung, rigid, & social anxiety, from the sound of it) who was refusing to reschedule a surgery after the surgeon had to cancel the initial date 36 hours prior: “I'm at my wits' end with this patient: she'll die if nothing is done, and he's the only surgeon within a thousand miles who can perform the operation.” The person the doctor was talking to first asked whether [name] “had to cancel because of his mother's funeral?”, and, after confirmation thereof, “Did anyone tell her[ the patient, I presume] that?”, to which the doctor's response, so immediate it sounded as though he was conditioned, was “He doesn't owe her an explanation. He's the expert.” as if that should have been obvious. The other person chose not to press that point, and pivoted to discussing other options; thereafter it was mostly the doctor wondering if he should order a mandatory psychiatric evaluation to force the patient into the hospital, and trying to justify it while the other recommended against it with increasing distress.

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what yet and they got off the train before I could spin that thought out into something comprehensible. But I did eventually, and since I wrote it out in a Reddit comment tonight, here it is:

I get where the idea came from: it's a little bit of worrying about liability, combined with a massively maladroit attempt to address the troubling trend that recent generations have been less willing to trust experts, both in medical practice and in other science-based professions( and lately, even in history). The notion of countering it that way seems to have originally come from out-of-touch former researchers and practitioners who became lecturers and hospital administrators, mostly Boomers who were disgruntled about what they saw as disrespect from Generation X and Millennials, compared to the awe they felt of their own lionized forerunners that were seen as pioneers of human understanding, uniformly celebrated by the media in their day. They conflated the 'problem' of unquestioning belief fading away with the genuine issue regarding the modern lack of confidence in expertise, and something figured the solution was a return to seeing scientists as larger-than-life figures.

But the truth is that those things were never really linked; instead, shocking revelations about environmental and ethical disasters shook the foundationsm of expert ‘giant-hood’ in the 1970s, with the subsequent end of the Cold War propaganda about how ‘our scientists are the best', every generation after X has been raised to be cautious and open-minded, which has unfortunately become ‘doubtful of whether any academic question is ever really settled'; and a college or even post-graduate education just isn't as rare these days, especially when you compare educational content from the past and present—frankly, I learned science concepts in 1990s elementary school that my parents, born in the 1940s, had never even heard of until college, if at all. By middle school, ALL of my social studies and science homework was, without exaggeration, completely beyond the scope of their entire education—except for anatomy, that my mother knew as an R.N.( and frankly she learned a lot about revisions in medical understanding that had come to pass after she transitioned to a clinical nurse specialty in psychotherapy).

So what I'm saying is, I'm aware that the modern standard in many fields is that you should never say anything about your personal life to patients(/clients/investors) because “anything that humanizes you in their eyes undermines your credibility”; ignoring the hard reality that most people in the Western world younger than 35–40 never saw scientists, doctors, or other experts as superhuman in the first place. I also know that lots of highly-educated people get told in college nowadays that “Professionals shouldn't make excuses.”, but you know what?

1. The latter is NOT supposed to mean you don't say anything when you let someone down, it's supposed to mean you tell the truth and help other people set more realistic expectations of you; and

2. the former is just total bull crap, at least for healthcare workers: if you have a death in the family or your kid breaks a limb at school, you should say so, otherwise people are naturally going to feel disrespected. Why? Because when you don't say anything, it seems like whatever you were prioritizing that caused you to cancel or be late( at their expense) isn't even important enough to mention, or they're not important enough to mention it to—either notion belittles the patient, thus doing far more damage than you're preventing. So

3. thinking that, taken together, those ‘standards’ mean that offering no explanation for failure is better than admitting it's your fault( or even just acknowledging that you're equally susceptible to the whims of fate) is just absolute, gross, nasty, bull DIARRHEA, especially for those working in healthcare.

So no matter what your professor or grad school advisor said about so-called "oversharing", a 'clinical'/'professional' distance is NOT a workable solution to the ‘expert credibility crisis’—especially not for doctors, nor any scientific consultant interacting one-on-one with a layperson. Because society is different now, and people are more educated overall, in the present day what you leave unsaid & unknown doesn't create nor maintain any kind of awe-inspiring mystique about you—it just makes you look unreliable for no clear reason at best, and inflames a generalized suspicion( in the vein of "What is it [you]'re not saying and why are [you] hiding it?") of experts at worst.

Proof: Got a Problem? No Big Deal, Monty Hall

I recently listened to a podcast on which they talked about the Monty Hall problem, in which legendary game show host Monty Hall lets you choose between 3 doors, one of which has a car behind it, while the other two each conceal a goat. He then opens one of the two doors you haven't chosen, and lets you stick with your original choice, or change to the remaining unselected door. After your 2nd choice, the door you've now picked is opened and if the car is behind it, you win( presumably, the car). In the standard version of the problem, he always shows you a goat( because if he revealed the car behind a door you didn't choose, you'd know you lost since your first choice was a goat and your 2nd choice would be moot as picking). So after the reveal, what's the probability that you win by switching in your second round?

Most people learn about the problem, note that two doors remain, one of which is a winner and one a loser, and so they rashly assume that there are two possibilities with one winner, OR they see it as two of four chances to win—two scenarios, each with two possible outcomes: if you picked right the first time, you win sticking to your choice and lose by switching; if you picked a goat, you lose by sticking and win by switching; 1/2 = 2/4 = 50% chance of victory with either strategy( stick vs. switch). Both of those constitute serious oversimplification of the problem, however, which to a mathematician means they're wrong, because of regardless of whether you arrived at the correct solution, you didn't prove anything because your methodology was invalid.

Mathematicians and noted intellectuals frequently recognize three possible scenarios, rather than two, and thus six possible outcomes rather than four; and they count it as 2/6 = ⅓ outcomes in which sticking wins, ⅔ in which switching wins. They note that the opening of a losing door adds NO relevant information for the contestant, it only tells you that you would NOT have won by initially choosing that door, AFTER the possibility of your doing so has already been precluded. So they focus on the relationship of the initial choice( between 3 doors, with 1 being correct) to the second choice( stick or switch before learning whether first choice was correct). Because there are 2 goats and only 1 car, they recognize the 6 possibilities as:

• Stick( to car); outcome: win. (×1)

• Stick( to goat); outcome: lose. (×2)

• Switch( from car to goat); outcome: lose. (×1)

• Switch( from goat to car); outcome: win. (×2)

...but here's a twist: that's actually wrong, despite some of the smartest people in the world insisting on it. I call this, “The ‘Monty Hall Problem’ Problem”, and I have both a simple solution and some possible explanations for how so many geniuses keep getting it wrong.

It's true, as the mathematicians say, that there are 3 initial possibilities for the condition of the system after the first choice: 2 in which the contestant chose a goat door and 1 in which the contestant chose the door hiding the car. It's ALSO true that Monty showing a goat between the contestant's choices doesn't change the winning strategy, which is based on whether the initial choice was correct. What they should have known better is that it DOES still matter that Monty shows a goat, because it adds a conditional variable to the sequence of events when the contestant's first choice is correct, meaning that the overall state of the system is NOT still limited to 3 possibilities immediately before the final choice.

It took me a minute to figure it out, but I realized the correct answer by imagining the 2 goats as different colors, grey vs. brown; I think that's also the easiest way to explain the truth. The mathematician-accepted answer makes the same type of reductive mistake as those mathematicians criticize, and my differently-pigmented goats lay it bare: there are three possibilities immediately after the first choice, but actually FOUR possible scenarios immediately before the second choice, meaning EIGHT possible outcomes depending on the final decision, i.e.:

Scenario A: Chose grey goat door, Monty reveals brown goat:

• Choice 1: Stick( to grey goat); outcome: lose.

• Choice 2: Switch( to car); outcome: win.

Scenario B: Chose brown goat door, Monty reveals grey goat:

• Choice 3: Stick( to brown goat); outcome: lose.

• Choice 4: Switch( to car); outcome: win.

Scenario C: Chose car door, Monty reveals brown goat:

• Choice 5: Stick( to car); outcome: win.

• Choice 6: Switch( to grey goat); outcome: lose.

Scenario D: Chose car door, Monty reveals grey goat:

• Choice 7: Stick( to car); outcome: win.

• Choice 8: Switch( to brown goat); outcome: lose.

…all of which still preserves the direct, unchanging relationship between the first choice and the correct final answer. So why would so many smart people make this mistake? That question actually needs to be broken down further:

• Why do they bypass the right answer?

As to WHY they have trouble seeing/accepting the correct answer, I think it's because so many people arrive at the right answer( equal probability) in a way that is obviously wrong to some people( including mathematicians). Those who think it's a question of two possibilities with one being a win are wrong, as are those who think it's a question of two chances to win out of four possible scenarios. Those people calculate a 50/50 chance of winning regardless of strategy, but they’re basing it on an incomplete mathematical model of the system described in the word problem.

So when educated people who know better subsequently calculate the same answer correctly, they likely experience an unpleasant sensation known as cognitive dissonance, which arises from trying to believe two conflicting things simultaneously. So they then fall victim to a nigh-uncontrollable neuro-cognitive phenomenon which drives most humans suffering cognitive dissonance to misapply logic, misremember facts, and essentially make any excuse to justify resolving the related issue in a way that seems emotionally acceptable, as quickly as possible—then never think of or reconsider it ever again. I've been unable to find an official medical/scientific term differentiating the sensation of cognitive dissonance from the reaction, so I've taken to calling the latter “the reflexive reaction to cognitive dissonance”, or r.r.c.d.. Because of r.r.c.d., when they get the same answer as the people who did the problem in a way they knew to be wrong, smart, well-educated people find a way to twist the problem so they get a different answer. Even Marilyn vos Savant( her real name!), who held the Guinness record for highest IQ ever recorded( before the category was retired), correctly identified a common mistake that people answering the problem make—but failed to correctly apply her own observation.

• Why do they come up with the same wrong answer?

As for why they got the SAME wrong answer, perhaps it comes down to the existence of valid math describing the scenario incorrectly. The easiest way to illustrate this is to strip the values of 'win' and 'lose' from the outcomes, and the identities 'car' and 'goat(s)' from the door contents. Instead, we'll call the objects behind the doors x, y, and z; and from there we can lay out all possible versions of what was behind the first door chosen, what Monty revealed behind one of the 2 remaining doors, and whether the contestant chose to stick or switch; plus what was subsequently revealed behind their final choice( the outcome).

Sequence: 1st chosen, revealed, 2nd choice; outcome

• A: x, y, stick; x

• B: x, y, switch; z

• C: x, z, stick; x

• D: x, z, switch; y

• E: y, x, stick; y

• F: y, x, switch; z

• G: y, z, stick; y

• H: y, z, switch; x

• I: z, x, stick; z

• J: z, x, switch; y

• K: z, y, stick; z

• L: z, y, switch; x

As we can see, there are 12 possible sequences of events, out of which the final door opens on any particular contents in 4 of them, or ⅓ of the time. So, if only one possibility is a winner, that's the chance of winning and the chance of losing is ⅔. However, as Marilyn vos Savant pointed out, in the real-world scenario, Monty Hall knew which door the car was behind, and reasonably would never open that door, thus the four possibilities wherein Monty's reveal is the designated winning choice don't actually come into play.*

Here's where the simplified table above is handy, because it allows us to quickly see that, for example, if x is the winning outcome, Monty's insider info will preclude four sequences: half of those in which the initial choice concealed y( E & F) and half in which the initial choice concealed z( I & J). When the initial choice by the contestant is wrong, only possibilities in which Monty opens the other wrong door( G, H, K, & L) are valid, BUT all of the sequences in which the initial choice concealed x( A, B, C, & D) will remain, because in that case Monty might open either of the other two doors. Thus we can see that eight sequences remain, half win, half lose; and half of the wins are stick( as are half of the losses), while the other half are switch.

The tricky thing here is understanding that the loss outcomes are non-fungible and must always be counted separately( e.g., by thinking of them as grey goat vs. brown goat instead of just a goat and another goat), not because losing over a particular goat makes any difference to the contestant or to the impact of their second-round choice( it doesn't), but rather because, despite being irrelevant to the final answer, giving Monty a choice when the contestant's first door is correct, that he doesn't have if it's incorrect, doubles the incidence of the former within the set of possible event sequences leading up to the second choice.

So the experts are wrong, there really is an equal chance regardless of strategy; BUT you were also wrong if you arrived at that 50% value via 1/2 doors winning or 2/4 sequences in which the final answer is right, because it's actually 4/8 sequences( since 4 of the 12 total permutations would include Monty opening the winning door and are thus not actual possibilities).( Props to vos Savant for recognizing where the error arises, despite committing a very similar one there herself.)

—D.R.T.Y. whiz E.M.

*this might be where MvS made her mistake: since Monty always has a choice of 2 doors to open, and never opens the door with the car, her r.r.c.d.-stricken brain may've fudged that that as eliminating half of the 12 permutations—in fact, it only eliminates half of the possibilities in which the door with the car wasn't initially chosen, but since the car was chosen in one-third of them, only half of the other two-thirds are eliminated, NOT half of all permutations… then she could have combined her misunderstanding of this fact with her determination that 50% was a wrong answer and focused on the 3 initial choices to work out a way in which ⅔ vs. ⅓ seemed to be correct, all because of r.r.c.d.

Verbatim

I have a large vocabulary, and I tend to use a lot of carefully chosen words. This isn't about “looking smart” or “looking educated” and it certainly not about how I, as a person, compare to anyone else in any way. It's about trying to express myself very specifically to reduce the chances of being understood. Especially in today's world when a growing portion of the population seems to suffer from alexithymia. I believe imprecise words selection is part of the signal conflict that has led to some common confusion over certain feelings. I'd like to clear up a few of those, if I could, by explaining various concepts and suggesting the precise terminology that could help to keep them clear:

Love is NOT indemnity, nor is it obedience, nor is it obligation; and it's certainly not permission nor any kind of blank cheque.

Gratitude is also not obedience, nor is it a debt incurred, nor any other transaction.

Just as apology is not restitution, forgiveness is not absolution.

Resentment is the opposite of gratitude, and hatred the opposite of respect; neither constitutes an opposite to love.

Modesty is bullshit, humility is essential.

We all have to make sacrifices, but no one should ever be sacrificed.

Needs of many outweigh needs of few or of one; but a need, even of only one, outweighs even unanimous desire.

THE ONLY WAY TO WIN IS AL[L]TOGETHER.

Happy Pride

Frankly, this "straight pride" hullabaloo here in Boston is a blessing in disguise, especially happening now, on the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots! As the millennial generation rises and post-millenial Gen Z comes of age, what Pride is and isn't is really unclear to a lot of baby gays—let alone their straight, cisgender classmates and other contemporaries. This is a chance to help understanding blossom, for them and everyone who's too young to remember things older generations can never forget—not only Stonewall, but Matthew Shepard. A chance to clue in those born into a world where Pulse made major news as a mass shooting but not by forcing a taboo subject to every front page & making us understand why we can't afford to be silent, about what Pride means.

A chance to explain: that the Gay Pride celebration tradition is VERY gay, but it's not at all about being gay. It's about being a diverse, vibrant community of good folks, that for 50 years now, has stood up and fought back against an age-old prejudice that has no basis in reality now that humanity has gone from small dwindling tribes to nearly overloading the carrying capacity of Earth.

Being gay isn't an achievement, but being a community of individuals thriving in the face of persecution is.

If you want to have your own pride, how about poor people pride? Poor people go through a lot of shit too and don't really get recognition or time to celebrate what makes the economic working-class so special in constant endurance and rising triumph. Unlike this prospective Straight Pride, Poor People Pride would actually be a worthwhile event/recognition festival.

Cracks in the Ice

About 9 months after my friend Sean passed away, I started to watch the videos I took at his memorial service... I watched Susan, and was a little taken aback to find the story she'd told was different from my vivid memory of what she'd said that day( the type of Mexican facility in question and mode of boarding the truck in which he crossed the border stand out as drastic changes); then I skipped forward to watch myself, and had to stop, feeling suddenly ill at what I heard.

 I had never realized that, because of the particular wording, all the things I said( link) in trying to convey that I was in awe of him, *could* be read in another, self-aggrandizing way to belittle him. But that pompous, mocking interpretation is undeniably what I watched “myself” doing in the video... for about 20 seconds. Over the course of a few more tries, I was too overwhelmed to get through it, but I did comfort myself remembering how afterwards, his friends treated me with a level of kindness I very much doubt they'd have been able to muster if I'd really sounded like that on that day.

  But what, then, is this video? It’s real. It's here on my hard drive; if you know me in person, just ask and I'll show you. It's like a funhouse mirror nightmare. To start out, the “me” on camera snaps at the woman standing next to him to hold the device with a vague, rude imperative bark of the noun, followed by an annoyed re-iteration at her confusion. Actual me had asked her ahead of time between two prior speakers, since I was the only one recording it.

  He… I… then proceed(s) to make myself sound like I think I'm the best thing that ever happened to Sean, which I doubt anyone except Sean himself ever said, nor do I think anyone ever believed it( he said it in a spirit of something akin to affectionate exaggeration). “My” reading in the video almost comes across more like an audition monologue to play Mitt Romney or Donald Trump than as any kind of heartfelt personal remembrance.

  It was another 4 years before I finally managed to MAKE myself power through the whole thing. I did so whilst rereading it aloud as intended, in counterpoint to that somehow-parodized delivery—to prevent myself from crying in horror & shame & a sense of failing my friend; instead my tears were hot and angry. I had to pause the video and breathe a few times because, as much as I didn't want it to sink in, I couldn't sustain letting it all pile up.

  I don't understand how or why this was done, but although my two mutual acquaintances with him( one who'd joined us on a particularly lazy afternoon, the other being the one who alerted me to his passing & got me into the habit of referring to him by his surname) both flaked on the day of the memorial, I'm confident that the available recording could not, as I mentioned earlier, be a representation of the actual events: it would have never even permitted the sympathy & warmth shown to me after, much less encouraged the lovely conversations. But... where did this version come from, then? How?

I Use

New poem. As with most of my non-musical verse, it's screaming uselessly for my father to hear me, as even that cursory regard seems to fade. See if you can spot allusions to the other two I have up in this blog.

I Use[ sic]

I used to think a lot of things, I guess I know better now;

I used to think you'd always hold the sky up; wondered how

you stood with all that weight.

I used to think a lot of things, knew/was so little then;

I used to think the world & I could live as honest men,

but who even believes?

I used to think I'd never see from a vantage good as you'd;

I used to think that'd be worth it, that you held what was true.

You had never even found it.

I used to think we could punctuate to bring about proper ends;

I never thought I'd be destroyed by all my oldest friends.

Just so you know: I didn't[/don't]

But

For those who aren’t aware, I am not just a writer of prose & poetry, I also compose music and write songs, and I have a pet project I call Love! The Musical based on all the things I have learned about human relationships. Today one of my songs, tentatively titled “But”, is particularly on my mind, & I thought I would share some lyrics:

[Verse:]
You might be right about
the rain in Spain and whether it stays mainly in the plain;
you might be right about
how to balance work and fun.
You might be right about
the weather, and everything under the sun.
You might be right about
how I should live my life,
but...

[Refrain:]
You see, that determination
is not for you to make,
it’s not for YOU to make,
NOT for you to make.

There’s a bullshit to your logic
I’m not prepared to take,
that I’m not gonna take;
no, I’m not gonna take!

No more flying off the handle( handle),
no more waging wars at home, for goddness’ sake;
’cuz that determination
is not for you to make,
not for you to make;
it’s NOT for YOU to make!

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

UberCOOL

Tonight was the first time that I used UberPOOL, the random carpooling option for cheaper rides from smartphone-centric hired car service Uber, and actually ended up paired with other riders. On my first ride, driver Jeremy took us over to Brookline to pick up Alex. I introduced myself and struck up a conversation.

  “My late friend Sean would love this.” I said. “His dream was to build a connected transportation network, help people easily get where they were going while maximizing the use of resources. Stuff like this, ride sharing... well, I can just see how he would smile. And strangers making a deal to more efficiently get where they’re going.. Well that’s the sort of thing I'm all about.”

  “What do you do?”... I have yet to understand why NTs are obsessed with this question, because as lovely as it would be, we don’t yet live in a society where one’s profession really reflects one’s personality and situations accurately. “I’m a blogger. Well, getting back into it after a while. Which for now means that I’m dependent and I spend a lot of time thinking.” “Oh, what do you write about?”

  Alex, who wasn’t originally from this country, was fascinated. He had a lot of good commentary and questions, too. It seems he’s in medicine, and he was curious about some of the differences in growing up with autism here vs. elsewhere. I acknowledged that there are a lot of accommodations and improvements here now, but mention that I missed them myself having grown up in the 1990s when we first started to understand.

  I don’t know why people say Boston is an unfriendly city. I think they just let themselves get like that and they’re too scared to say hi.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

Around the Sun

Dear Sean,

  Today is the day we’ve been around the sun without you, according to the date on your... Perish. Still makes me chuckle. A year after I knew is still weeks out, but a year ago today I’d been weak, exhausted, for no reason that I was aware of.

  Around the sun. I see the date & that’s all I can think about. Not that I can see the sun... you should see the snow! I would go out to the tree they planted for you on the Hill, but it’s a mess; so am I. Just like the winter days when we used to hole up &... ;-) I so wish you were here. Not just, like that, I...I think you would be... proud isn’t the right word.
…impressed? Heh, I knew how to make an impression with you already. I unburdened myself & I feel lighter than air; even with trouble incoming( you would like Google’s other suggestion for my dictation there), & it’s not because there’s Trouble here already.
…inspired? :-p I forgot you used to say that. Inspiration. You & whatshisface. Shameful confession: I totally missed that pun at the time; until after the expiration.

  I get it, finally. That critical moment, catching fire after smoldering for so long. Of all the things you could have meant when you’d thank me for setting you free... It was because you could do this already by then.
…incited? But to maintain it would be inhumanly stressful. So I see, pressure valve & fuel exchange.

  Even with just the tree, I guess a wall this time, I always could count on you as a resource for sorting out. Count on sorting myself out using you, if that phrasing would tickle your fancy or whatever else.
…excited? If I had this context when you were here I would tell you to turn the heat down, that making a flame that intense was dangerous & you’d run out of gas before you knew it. 

  But I guess you knew it, like you knew everything, & that’s why you told me that...
  Oh! Ready; that's the word for what you'd be: if you could see me now, you would be ready. There would be that little moment of annoyance when I realized you’d been waiting at the finish line before I left the gate. Like always. But I’d get there eventually. I was always surprised when that was good enough for you; and that I was hood enough for you to bother, when everyone but you knew you were too good for us all.

  A year ago, I was weak & didn’t know why. Today I am strong & wish I had you to tell me how. On these days I miss you. It’s a cold day. And you’re not here to shine. I’ll blaze bright.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

own wings

I feel so... Yesterday, we laid to rest( or something, she was not so big on rest, really) my younger cousin, Rebecca Serkey. There was quite a lot of fuss about it, and I seemed to be among the very few family members( & non-work friends) entirely unsurprised by the amount of activity & attention; I’d always had an impression of a great deal of fraternity amongst first responders, & known her to charm the masses with her bluntness & understated good looks–I was among those who taught her to deal with people, after all. At one point, the driver my uncle hired for the event found me standing aside, the only one not looking desperately sad, & asked, “Just who is this person in your family that died?” with a note of awe in his voice; he’d initially thought the legions of uniformed officers might be for a recently-slain state trooper whose funeral could have preceded hers.
  Her peers & colleagues came from all over the country. There was a helicopter flyby with a call that went out on the radio, calling for the last time for her to come in.( Someone who had worked on the planning said with embarrassment that they wanted to have 3 choppers for her but were stymied by the short notice, as we weren’t sure when NTSB would release the remains, but her mother’s Jewish tradition demanded we inter them immediately.) The massive police escort closed off roads for the funeral procession to pass unhindered, including the George Washington Bridge & an expanse of the Long Island Expressway( crossing NYC without facing traffic was a little surreal, even to me) to her final resting place( under the circumstances, perhaps it’s best that her body was incinerated in the explosion; I’m not sure her body would have been permitted burial in a Jewish cemetary had it been examined intact). Color guards from many cities including Boston honored her, and her mother was presented with an American flag & the thanks of a grateful nation.
  At the burial site, I spoke, told them: alis volat propriis( that’s a link to my remarks), and was relieved to feel I had done right by her, lived up to her example in giving what I could for those she loved.

  When I went to clean up & post my final draft of those remarks to my blog this morning, I began crying and I have hardly stopped, but it is not a miserable sadness. I wondered why now, after feeling, well, nothing but a desire to take care of others upon getting the news, satisfaction at the proceedings as she was memorialized... I think I have identified 2 reasons:
  1) Having seen who she was to the world, I had to explore & explain who she was to me, & who I felt I was to her; in order to know what existed, so as to discover what was lost & what can never be gone. This is as much about me as about her, & would thus not have been a point she nor I would consider appropriate to harp on at the funeral.
  2) I had to be past the point of delivering that remembrance to her mother, father, or the friends who grew up with her essentially as sisters; before saying that(, whatever she might have thought of me), in my mind, my heart, she was very much a brother( yes :-p) & a daughter to me.

  So having said that stuff at the burial for the mourners, I’ll add the following for me:
  With my special gift & our strange bond(/strange gift & special bond?), I got to see, every step of the way, not just who she was but who she tried to be; in any moment encountering her, I saw what emotions drove her forward or held her back. The girl who always smiled never could & thus never had to hide from me her unhappiness or longing–she didn’t ever have to spare me details either, & she never doubted that if she chose to share them(, or if I should figure them out), I got it completely.( Admittedly, she was not always thrilled with the idea.)
  She thus came to understand( & occasionally complain), long before anyone else did, that I am damn stubborn & proud of it; there is precious little point in attempting to deceive me, silence me, or change my mind without changing my perspective(–even for my own or good or someone else’s). She trusted that I knew what I was doing when I said so, & just as importantly, she came to trust that if I said I didn’t know what I was doing she’d better handle it unless she was content to waste a lot of time.( Ha! I’m kidding, she would never be... really, I think when I started not knowing it was a relief for her, but she never rubbed my nose in it.)
  From our earliest days, I complimented her on her own stubbornness( rarely even dressing it up as resolve) & she pushed it beyond mine, to its very limits. I have been so very proud of her–& so very worried. I saw her make mistakes, many of which I made & am only learning now to fix, but for all her stubbornness grew alarmingly greater, I’d forgotten her speed did too. She found freedom faster, & in finding wisdom she accepted truth in the relative blink of an eye. I am so very relieved.
  So I know why I have smiled, why I have cried, & why now I’m doing both: my feelings are parental, are fraternal, are friendly, are rivalrous, are grateful for her admiration & admiring of her in all ways. Not long ago, I lost someone I had not thought of as close to me, & the evidence, that there was more than expected to what I had with him, has left me reeling. Now I lose someone whom I have never doubted was close to me, & I haven’t needed any evidence thereof to stay solid.
  I can’t cry for the loss of her, or for anything she’s lost from me, because we know we gave each other everything we needed, & who that ever loved could ever ask for more? So I smile. I cry only to think that the world around us isn’t all that way, & she must’ve had more pressing business than to heal it... but I can no longer watch after her. I can only say: “Good luck, kiddo. I’m rooting for you.”.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

alis propriis volat

It’s Latin. It means “One is flying on its own wings.”, substitute pronouns to taste. Today we buried my baby cousin, a few months shy of her 30th birthday. As usual( I have a usual for funerals, burials, & memorials now... that makes me feel old), I had quite a bit to say. Here it is, plus some notes in brackets to cover things the mourners would have known that general readers would not.

“So here we are, assembled in the strangeness of this moment. Where we all must go, my baby cousin has flown on ahead into the distance.
  I remember when our grandparents died, our fathers’ parents, I spoke and she thanked me after; that I spoke, she said, for them. She did not give thanks or praise to me easily... So when I received a call–news of a helicopter explosion? And the unthinkable[, a flight paramedic killed in the crash with her crewmates]... I wondered what I could say to pay her the same tribute. To speak for a life that spoke for itself so clearly.
  I realized that I can speak of quiet times, maybe not so in their intensity, but quieter in the world; those moments only we had known.

  Rebecca is in so many of my earliest memories, and no doubt I remained in hers. I don’t know how many role models she took on before me, but I may have been among her first bad influences.[ grin] The best of friends we were, in those times–and co-conspirators.
  Watching videos, playing games, & always plotting little rebellions against our parents around the corners, behind the doors, under the tables. Although not related by blood to our parents, the fathers who connected us, we had in us many similar streaks to each other. In hushed tones we praised each other’s dads & situations; and we sought freedom from the lives we led, to escape those finite worlds with their bounded edges. Always I was wiser, and often quicker, but although I was first to jump off walls & climb on ledges, she was ever bolder–not that I let her know it. I watched to guard her from what dangers I could, though she was headstrong and liked to show off.

  As we grew older, friendship turned to rivalry. I remember a time when she would test me on school subjects, ask for my grades. When I became disinterested, first in such pursuits as quiz questions, later in schoolwork altogether, she professed confusion. “Well what’s it for?”, I asked. She told me I was crazy and walked away. She returned to add “and lucky.”. She came at me with another quiz a bit later; I answered perfectly–such things came too easy for me.
  She barely said a friendly word for years thereafter, doubled down on her work, became even more incredibly accomplished. “Cool.”, I said, when she told me of some accolade she had earned. “Must be a lot of fun.”. Always oblivious, I didn’t quite get why a friend had to hold her back from clawing out my throat.
  But whether it impressed me or not, Rebecca still had a great love of doing, as others have said, just about everything–and she excelled at it. Even while she revered & then resented me, I always found her fierceness fascinating.
  I remember hanging out with Rebecca &[ her step-brother, when her father remarried,] Jakub. In my mid-late teens, I came out as gay & was diagnosed with an autistic spectrum disorder. She never blinked. She smiled, they asked questions and for once I felt happy to talk. Maybe the most in my life until then, happy to talk. About my theatre stuff, about boys, about being different. After that, she always seemed not to be looking towards me, but into some unknown horizon.

  She let me know in no uncertain terms when she was a young woman who no longer needed protecting. I made a point of protectively threatening her boyfriend anyway. Some time later, after they broke up, she hollered at me for it–then burst out laughing.
  When she first began to pursue her eventual career path, I told her it was an impressive one, but tough. She explained that she needed to learn more about who she was, and she knew that best in a crunch; plus she loved the idea of making a difference, a tangible difference that she could see in front of her & touch with her hands. I have heard the story of that first call[ when she handed off her patient to a flight medic crew], the dream of the sky that drove her thereafter.
  Our grandparents passed, and I remember, as she spoke, the point when she was overcome. As she fell, I rose to catch her. I held her for a long moment as she sobbed, and we were young again, on the playground, with them watching us.

  As adults, we did not often speak. Sometimes she was impatient, could not sit as I did, to just be; other times I could not get myself worked up as she did, to go, or to do. We occasionally celebrated things together, holidays & foreign visitors, talked about deeper matters only twice that I can recall.[ Of all we talked about] I remember what she told me[ about herself on those occasions]. The one time, that she wanted to be her own woman, not her father’s baby girl; I told her that she had shown herself to be that woman already–but she was still my baby cousin Worm anyway. She slugged me, then hugged me. The other time, as she sought to become a paramedic, she told me that she wanted to make her parents proud, but do it in a way that could let her feel proud of herself on her own terms; I told her that I could offer no more advice, as I’d stalled out & she had long since passed me on her way to living that life–she was now my role model & inspiration. Her eyes gleamed for a moment, then she nodded. Her gaze wandered far again, became steel.
   I worried, that in her frantic life she never took the time to appreciate herself, to come to terms with the past, to forgive. But who was I, now, tell her what to do? Still, we were always solid to call on each other... we knew it, though we never found occasion. Even when we were frustrated with each other, trust was in it too.

  When the news came, I thought I was in shock[, as I had so little sadness in me]. This was my precious friend & rival, follower & companion. I had not protected nor saved her. But, no, I gradually grew to feel certain she was at peace & I could be. Now I only wondered how.
  Slowly at first, the pieces came together. The simple reality with which she responded when a New Jersey friend suggested she come home[ to where she had grown up in NJ] in response to frustration–days before her death, she firmly answered that she was home[ in New Mexico]. It soon came to my knowledge that her mother was to have visited[ would have been there on the funeral date]. [Her boyfriend Brandon’s] children were coming to stay[ in NM, to live & attend school there,] soon. Brandon was planning to propose[ at a renaissance fair; she had loved such events]. She had truly found her heart & her home in the west, in Brandon, in the desert, in the kids, in the sky. By the time she turned 30, she would have it for everyone to see, everyone who had doubted her, everyone who had supported her; for herself to see, and for God to see her.
  Finally, I heard a story. At the last exchange between her & our other cousin, on the weekend before Rebecca’s death, she had been dejected over missing an intubation, her last perfect record blown after a dozen years. A few days before she died, they talked as cousins do, as pros do. Rebecca fretted, and Nicki reminded her that we are not machines. That Rebecca was human, & incredible either way. That high standards were good, but it was what she had done, not what she hadn’t done, that would remain & stand testament to her existence. Rebecca thanked her and began to work at getting over it. In the end, Rebecca had everything, including self-honesty, wanted for nothing, nor self-acceptance.
  The night before she died, I found the Christmas card she had sent me, and thought about what I might say if I called her. I like to say, nowadays, and wanted to tell her–in explaining me, explaining our past, and to help her secure her future–that we all have strengths & weaknesses, so everyone deserves to have his or her unique strengths recognized & relied upon, and his or her weaknesses known & covered without hesitation. The outpouring of grief on faces here shows she was loved. The gratitude expressed shows she was relied on; her strength was recognized, no doubt. But it’s when I hear about how she & Nicki would talk, when I see Brandon & his family–her family, now ours too–that I know her weakness had a home too, & that she was covered. I am so immensely grateful for that; and that we can all rely on & cover each other in this difficult time.

  She wanted more than anything to share that life she built with her loved ones, she & I did not have to talk for me to know that. I say a lot with language, but I have always loved best they to whom I could speak without saying a word.
  Sometimes the first instinct is best... so to all of you, I offer the part of her life that was mine. To her, again, the first thing I wrote to her on Facebook when I knew she was gone: ‘[O]ne day short of 5 months after hearing about my friend Bender, I am painfully reminded yet again to never wait to speak one’s heart. I kept thinking of you, found your Xmas card just last night, but said nothing, & now no words are enough, Worm–no, wait; you’ll always be my baby cousin in my mind, but no more teasing... Flyin’ Lion: I salute you, & love you always. Glad you went out on top, living the life you wanted. We should all be so blessed & so accomplished. Peace be with you in the next life.’

  One last thing, now, that came[ into the conversation] from another friend of hers on Facebook. This I find most appropriate for such a Lion Heart, one that strove so hard to be free & came free at last in binding herself, beyond words & beyond life, to purpose, to sky, and to all of us:

alis propriis ea volat–“[on] her own wings, she flies.”

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

To Love & be Loved like Lucy

Although I typify High-Functioning Autism in many ways, I also possess the unusual ability & marked tendency to interact extensively with other people, including strangers, in spite of my disability, & to rarely let my condition be obvious unless I choose to. For those of us who are autistic but also gifted with great intelligence or skill, it is often almost as if, early on, we pick a major in life the way other people may pick a major in college, a single area of interest to learn & engage with(, or a few, for the exceptionally talented); this specialization often persists throughout our lives, & it is very difficult for us to change focus( near-impossible to do so intentionally). The complementary advantage is that we typically achieve hard-to-match expertise in our chosen concentration–but no other, meaning that if our extensive competence is narrow in scope, we often are unable to get related degrees or find related work. This is seen in a particularly dramatic manner in savantism, a related condition; perhaps 10% of those with moderately or very severe autism are known as savants & display extreme abilities relating to memory & cognition, especially artistic or mathematical, despite heavy impairment otherwise.
  I was often terrified as a child by the prospect of interacting with strangers( meaning anyone but my parents or other daily acquaintances) & potentially making a mistake. In spite of that terror, or perhaps because of it, I have had a deep fascination with people, communication, & relationships for most of my life. While most with an ASD decide after a few failed interactions & relationships that people just don’t make sense & never will, consequently giving up on social behavior quite young, it has become my specialty. Given that most of living in society entails dealing with people( or with objects & ideas they have produced), anticipating & reacting to their intentions & actions, I think it was a good( if unconscious) choice; understanding them has provided me a basis for learning nearly anything else I might encounter in day-to-day suburban or urban existence–similar to Latin being a good choice for a first foreign language to study, as it aids in learning various other languages descended from it. My years of observation & analysis, along with 30–80 hours a week of processing, planning, & practice, enable me to roughly emulate neurotypical behavior, & to make observations about it from a unique perspective.

  My mother, a psychotherapist, has pointed out several times that while I often credit my interest in people to my parents( my father is an attorney, who witnesses & assists people in their relationships with businesses, governments, & society through legal procedures), & my learning about them to her specifically( in her profession, my mother witnesses & assists people in their relationships with themselves & each other through counseling); she also sees it as a result of me watching old situation comedies extensively as a child: I Love Lucy, Dick Van Dyke, Mary Tyler Moore & its various spin-offs. She credits Lucy in particular, & I have said that what makes Lucille Ball’s humor timelessly classic & widely-appreciated, if not universally, is that it rarely if ever relied on people tearing down others to build themselves up( successfully, at least; those who tried usually got their comeuppance). When celebrities were criticized, it was usually in good fun & they played themselves. Because the humor in some older shows like that is mostly about the central characters themselves, & not about politics or pop culture, nor how much better or worse overall they were than the viewer, famous folks, or anyone else, it doesn’t suffer too much from cultural shifts that have occurred between the era in which they were made & the present.

  Recently, I made a connection for the 1st time between that & my oft-repeated commentary regarding modern Hollywood & television over the past three decades: Eschewing valuable humanity in favor of glamour, a huge proportion of successful mainstream media( especially aimed at kids) from the ’80s, ’90s, & ’00s often teaches all sorts of terrible life lessons: about taking advantage, about vengeance, about the little guy screwing “the man” before “the man” screws him(/ again); & even(, insidiously,) worse, about discarding all the elements of one’s life that one is not happy with, pursuit of glory, attaining perfection, & resolving all one's problems neatly & permanently. Many Saturday morning cartoons from my childhood shared that message; others were about never-ending conflict & struggle–but nearly always against oppression or evil. All too rarely did fiction, especially media for children until late in that period, deal primarily with struggle against oneself, &/or resolutions that involve indefinitely continuing effort–let alone explicitly.
(  Significant improvements gathered steam from the late ’90s on & have intensified in the last decade, examples include TV’s The Big Bang Theory &( mostly) the movie Frozen.)

  In contrast, the older stuff that I also used to watch usually derived drama & comedy from several very clearly & openly flawed people dealing with each other’s outrageous misbehavior in a loving way. Much of the conflict & dramatic tension in each episode came down to the same basic issues that recurred time & again, because they were born of inconvenient personality traits that endured over time & through various circumstances( which provided slightly different window dressing to showcase them without becoming stale & tedious).
  In I Love Lucy, the stories revolve around the titular screwball & her loving husband Ricky Ricardo, who are played off each other & close friends Fred & Ethel Mertz. That’s 3 people with very strong personalities, & 1 who exemplified their shared trait of being relatable & rational( in varying degrees), but easily carried away by extreme ideas & actions from the others. The humor arose from letting their exaggerated characteristics bounce off each other, often in response to one or more particular flaws becoming exacerbated by circumstance. The plot would then follow along as good intentions & misunderstanding between such very different folks quickly devolved into absolute chaos.
  In the end, though, however much of a mess any one, pair, group, or the lot of them made, they would all usually be forced to apologize & come clean about everything they had done wrong, in misunderstanding or selfishness, & to recognize( often explicitly, now I think of it) that they all loved each other. Friendship & partnership were more important than anything else; no matter how angry they became or how much time/effort they had to expend mitigating the impact of each others’ fiascos. And then the whole thing would start again the next week.

  I suppose that displaying such extreme levels of patience & forgiveness on a regular basis might strike one as inhuman; even the lives of the actors who played those characters seem to bear that out. I’m not the first to recognize that, nowadays, the Ricardos & the Mertzes would probably all be labeled codependent & mutually enabling. Lots of people in today’s world fret that whenever folks rely on each other or make allowances in return, they are being codependent. Me, though... I like to say that the rarely-recognized element that distinguishes any unhealthy relationship, such as codependency( parasitic in both directions), from every truly healthy adult relationship, like its counterpart interdependence( reinforcing in both directions), is at once subtle, clear, & unimaginably profound: unflinchingly honest communication.
   Loving, penetrating, intense(, & occasionally painful) honesty, expressed openly about both self & others, allows those in interdependent relationships to correctly anticipate( & thus plan for) what they can reasonably expect from partners & friends, vs. what they must do for themselves or in compensation for others’ deficits, as well as what others are willing to do to compensate for theirs.
  In codependency, on the other hand, people who fail to interact with each other in an unguarded, constructive, discerning, & appropriately self-critical manner are constantly drained by attempting to live up to unanticipated or inappropriate expectations from others, & by having to to handle( at the last moment) various concerns that they incorrectly anticipated others taking on( or to cope with the fallout of such things that have gone unaddressed).
  Of course, although by no means easy or comfortable, abiding acceptance & self-honesty are prerequisite to maintaining real honesty between people...
  So, while some might say that, in real life, such a foursome as the characters in I Love Lucy would be fools to never insist that the others change their ways, or for never escaping from each other to break the cycle; I say they avoided the most devastating & foolish mistake of all: denial. For all their weaknesses(, & unlike, say, the Seinfeld protagonists), they never gave in( for long) to denial about their vanity, denial of their selfishness, of their flaws, of their fallibility or their mistakes–or denial of the essential truth that people who truly love each other should always do what it takes to stick together( except in cases of abuse, which is tragic).

  To know perfect love, the only true perfection humans can experience in this world, we must overcome fear of failure, of toil, & of pain, so as to freely recognize & accommodate grave imperfection in ourselves & others; because no matter how difficult standing by each other may sometimes be, those of us who love truly & deeply can never be separated from the ones we love without grievous & lasting trauma.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M

Listen: A Poem...

Back entry added: Listen: A Poem...

Mirror Day

WARNING: I am not a doctor or professional researcher of any kind. I have not undertaken recent or significant formal study in the fields of psychology, sociology, medicine, or philosophy. Despite my enviable observational skill & breadth of experience/knowledge, I am not an accredited expert or authority on any subject unless specified, & may potentially be even more prone to errors than they usually are.
Some terminology may be my own, either invented or used differently than by other sources. There is a glossary of terms for you to peruse( also includes notes on idiosyncratic punctuation).
All opinons are solely my own unless otherwise noted. All assertions regarding mental health, disorders, & behaviors should be taken only as opinions, or as my own personal experiences & fallible derived understanding. If you have a reason to believe I’m wrong, please e-mail me or post a comment.( NOT just over your own gut feeling or something a shrink/parent/teacher said; when it’s opinion vs. opinion, I’m obviously more likely to trust my own.) If you can provide a reliable, publicly-available free resource that contradicts my understanding as expressed in a given entry, & I can read & understand it, I will post a correction–so include how you want to be credited.

A defining aspect of autism & autistic spectrum disorders (ASDs) is the social impairment stemming from poor theory of mind. This means that, on a fundamental level, humans with ASDs lack a neurotypical( NT) person’s core understanding of the conceptual boundary between ourselves and the rest of the world. I am not automatically able( although part of what makes me high-functioning is the ability to compensate) to differentiate which things I should think of as parts of “me” vs. “not me” objects & concepts that may or may not affect me, or even to fully grasp the concept of something being not part what affects me, let alone another person different from myself having thoughts & feelings completely unrelated to mine. I think this may be related to the common difficulty individuals on the spectrum have with spatial awareness, and especially proprioception( the awareness of our own bodies including relative position of our body parts); although even if that were so, I have no guess as to which is cause vs. which is effect.
  The difficulty typically increases when in the presence of others, this may stem from having to keep track of the separation between oneself and other similar yet entirely isolated dynamic constructs. If we consider Gray’s biopsychological theory of personality, we can see how, when the pressure becomes too great, the autistic individual may perceive the growing discomfort as a signal of imminent danger and trip the behavioral inhibitory system (BIS), which responds by prioritizing the appropriate reflexive or conditioned response for the threat in question and limiting other actions–thus leading to complete breakdown of the conscious or semiconscious coping mechanisms that someone with autism uses to simulate natural self-awareness & theory of mind aptitude.
  Theory of mind may also be viewed as a complementary way of looking at self-awareness, which is recognized using the mirror test; testing whether an animal recognizes that its reflection is an image of itself rather than another animal or part of the environment. Self-awareness is of vital importance in understanding the cause-effect relationships of past & present events, and forming expectations of what will happen in the future–especially with regard to how others will behave. The more severe the difficulty in separating oneself from the rest of the world conceptually, the more disabled a person is... usually.

  Autism is seen as a spectrum; my ASD was believed to be fairly mild, yet I stalled out in life disproportionately, particularly when considering that I am obviously quite gifted. For a lot of my life, especially adult life, I just couldn’t seem to get tasks done when left on my own, & I would have no idea where the time went. Everyone would assume I was goofing off, reading, watching TV, playing games, the many ways in which I do like to procrastinate; but I would typically have no memory of any such thing, which was troubling to me and to the few people who actually believed me.
  A couple years ago, I made a joke that I may look almost normal and just slightly off, but I’m actually a total nutjob coping really well. I started gradually exploring this idea with more seriousness, noting that it was a frequently a better fit for the way things played out, especially where our notion of me doing the same self-care as others came in, despite my desperate with to stop depending on others. About 6 months after first saying that, I was home alone, and I caught myself–in a mirror, ironically–practicing multiple versions of a conversation I wouldn’t need to have for quite some time, if ever.
  “Why?” I asked myself, thinking about it the rehearsing consciously for the first time in maybe 15 years.
  “Because this is how I get ready.”
  “Ready for?”
  “For whatever might happen.”
I became slighty dizzy in the rush that followed.
  “Normal people don’t do that.”
  “Did you ever ask?”
  “No, but... characters on TV only do it for high-stakes conversations, & in real life I never see anyone do it.”
  “So they do it alone.
  “But for everything?”
  “...”
  “Have I done this before?”
  “Duh.”
  “O.K., right, I sit on the couch, or I pace, or I do it in the shower...”
  “Lying in bed, starting at the ceiling, sitting at a desk, walking or biking places...”
  “When was that?”
  “All those times...”.
This, of course, was the larger part of what I had been doing in the time gaps, for decades, at least. Unless I am actively concentrating on something else(, which tends to become impossible when I haven’t done sufficient planning to feel ready for upcoming situation), I do it to some degree in just about every moment when I am alone, & sometimes when I am not. It’s why even small changes can knock me for a loop, & why I may home in on certain details in a conversation that others don’t consider important: I’m constantly working to see everything in relationship to everything else. People constantly criticize this, telling me that I can’t do that, I’m overthinking, that it just leads to bad assumptions–well that is easy to say when the meaning of others’ communication & appropriate reactions are there for them like magic. Not so for me.

  It took a couple weeks for it to really sink in, but for over 2 years now, I have been able to rapidly change & expand the ways I think about & interact with the world in response to new information. More than ever now, I can quickly assess a problem or situation that doesn’t involve me with accuracy over 85%,( based on confirmation from those who know, & success rates the admittedly-limited times my suggestions are actually accepted & engaged accuracy), even scenarios in context I am learning for the first time); & events that do involve me with over 55%( which is not bad, given we all suffer from bias in subjective situations). I would be nowhere near that if I had not seen myself in the right mirror in the right place at the right time

  Rehearsal of various possibilities, a technique known as situational planning, is in fact sometimes taught to relatively high-functioning ASD patients, & seems to be the only technique able to directly impact the ability to cope with social situations( I suppose because as long as there is a plan for what’s happening, the person won’t feel threatened & the BID won’t cause a meltdown); however, it cannot be taught at my level.
  Neurotypical people are entirely unaware of most of the things going on around them, even a large number of the things they do themselves. The most common thing I say to people on the spectrum when ‘translating’ is “Oh, I get it; you’re reacting to [some typical enty behavior; e.g., all the lying]–NTs aren’t aware of that unless you point it out.”. It took about 20 minutes to convince one guy his boyfriend & I were not playing a practical joke.

  But, hey, that’s part of why I do this; to give everyone  a chance to recognize themselves in the right mirror.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

Smoke through a Cracked Glass

[Continued from Shadows through a Cracked Glass.]

  The last entry became a jumping-off point; conversations with an insightful friend & some of Sean’s loved ones followed. I have a tendency to see the world in a very self-oriented way. My enormous ego aside, this probably stems from the ASD issue of theory of mind. That said, I am fortunate to have more than just my own malleable memories to go on, & archived chats across a nice array of sites show clearly that there was a depth to our interaction that I missed.
  I think maybe he did too, although I’m pretty sure he’d caught on by the time he left Boston, as that would explain why he summoned me in person for some very awkward conversations despite normally avoiding such things like the plague. For him to recognize the need means he knew how important he was to me before I did. For him to go to the lengths he did in the middle of all he had to get done is a pretty good sign that it mattered to him what happened to me.

  For all that, though, there were lines he chose not to cross for me, or to let me cross, during his life. Introductions not made, fleetingly but resignedly regretted once our courses were set in different directions. For all his openness, there were things he hid from people, people he hid from each other... I think there was some sense of keeping everyone’s life simple, including his own. I do kind of have a knack for complicating things, though. & running my mouth(/fingers).
  He shared pretty deeply with his best friend ( who’s shrewd enough to know more than what he told her), & there was a great deal of his history I never fully got; after all, we never really set out to become more than casually acquainted. It was just that we could talk & talk & even talk over each other without missing a beat. Hours or even days straight on art, technology, politics, ethics, sociology, education, science, psychology, metaphysics... All way outside & beyond our original reasons for crossing paths.
  One day, I was stuck at his house with rain pouring & cabs just not showing up. His roommate came home & he made up a quick’n’dirty lie about my identity & purpose. This despite the guy having heard stories of me, albeit not by name; despite that it was Sean’s place; despite the lack of any threat to even their already-souring relationship from my presence. That’s when I knew some things had to change, & I changed them. Glad I did. Should have sooner.
  Now that I’m conversing with others he was close to, I must admit that a lot of the gaps in what he told various people make sense given what I knew about, but him a few leave me puzzled as to just what he was aiming for or avoiding.

  I want to honor the respect he had for those he loved & tried to protect; I don’t want to hurt anyone by creating doubt or distance in the face of what he left unknown. I don’t want Sean to be seen as two-faced; some people hide behind a multitude of shifting façades but in reality resemble none, he was more like the sum of the many things he could be to all manner of different people. Or, I guess, even to the same individual in different contexts.
  I know he had his reasons for the things he kept separate, but the stuff that I was privy to that he held back from most people... The things I taught him, those I learned by teaching him, the things we shared with each other & set out to find in others... It leaves me feeling awkwardly like the secret mistress( well, but I’m male so rather, secret… ;-p) of the man who was known for being shameless & without secrets. There are others who know as much as he felt safe to share, but figuring out who knows what, and who will be O.K. learning more of what he hid, is tough; & of course I have to bear in mind that I am one of the people his boundaries were mean to protect.
  As I learn more myself, who will be here to keep me safe? Only myself, he is not here to rely on anymore.

  From his beloved stepmother’s account of it, though, it sounds like the end came with a huge pileup of everything he had been hiding. He must have known that would happen, or even planned it to some degree. His rebel heart would revel in the chaos, I’m sure. There was the side of him that once said to me “It won’t matter because I’ll be dead.”. I am sure there were some people he explicitly meant to punish. Mischief-maker, yes, but the humble & pragmatic problemsolver was just as much who he was also; the one who put so much care into saving us from worry & trying to help us find roads that might lead onward in the right direction.
 The mess & mystery that he, the master planner, nonetheless left for his friends & loved one as well as his enemies & acquaintances is baffling. And it’s bewildering to realize that, although we were never central figures in each other’s lives, & there were so many answers I never got, there are other answers that seem to have been given to only me.

Secrets are lonely.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M

Regarding Overheard: Throwing Stones

I’m hardly without sin myself, and I might not live in a shatterproof domicile, but, screw it.

  Recently, I was sitting eating lunch in a mall food court. A pretty young latina in her 20s, maybe, was at the next table, making extremely opinionated comments about various acquaintances rather loudly to a middle-aged black lady, all in front of her even-prettier young daughter( perhaps 5 years old).
  Growing more & more disgusted by what she was saying feet away from an impressionable mind, I decided, as she was getting up to leave, to speak my mind. “For the 15 minutes that I have been sitting here,” I said, “you have been talking shit about people. You really seem like a very small-minded & judgmental woman.”. I must admit I enjoyed the look of confusion that flitted across her face, but she recovered quickly.
  “You don’t know me.” she informed me, as though I had been unaware of this fact, “You don’t know my life. I’m not talking shit; what I am doing here is supporting people. So you really need to get to know me before jumping into my conversations.”.
  Wishing I had a dictionary so that I could double-check the meaning of the verb ‘support’, I smiled broadly, told her she was right so I would love to get to know her, & asked if she would like my e-mail address. I truly enjoy meeting new people, after all, & I was feeling perhaps a little hypocritical after calling a stranger judgmental. While she took a moment to attempt to process what had just happened, I also assured her that I'm gay & was not hitting on her. Without another word, she turned to see if her daughter was ready to go.

  As they walked away, her friend hung back a moment, & after checking to be sure the young “lady” was out of earshot, smiled & told me “You know, you really was right about what you said.”, then laughed softly & perhaps a little sadly before departing.

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.

P.S.: That pretty much made my day. X·D

A Fine Romance

What is love?

  Baby, don’t hurt me; don’t hurt me no more.( Sorry, couldn’t resist. ;-p)
  Getting serious, though, let me start out by saying that relationships are completely irrelevant to my definition of love. One person may love another without having a relationship at all, & people can have a relationship without really loving.
  I particularly tend to avoid the term “in love” but for a few specific circumstances, because what people really mean by it is that they’re romantically infatuated. Literally–do you know the old definition of romance?

  A romance is a story( i.e., a fiction; or, by some overly-strict standards, a lie) in which an idealized version of something is related. At one point, it referred to tales of adventure featuring fantastic situations & idealized heroes who overcame the seemingly-insurmountable odds to win the day. Eventually, this gave way to “romances of love”; tales in which, rather than the heroic figure, it was an idealized passion( sometimes still involving a similar figure, now the “knight in shining armor” or “prince charming” archetypes) that would “conquer all”; either uniting lovers when the world endeavored to keep them apart, or otherwise allowing them to accomplish, together( or “for” one another), feats that had been thought impossible by those who had previously tried & failed( either alone or bolstered by a passion that was somehow less than the “true love” of the heroes).
  So now, with this idealized “love” firmly implanted in our cultural awareness, is it any wonder that people who fall “in love” & have a “fairytale romance” are disillusioned when reality sets in? They really shouldn’t be so surprised.

 Sometimes, to say one is “in love” can be justified, when there’s more to it than just the romance; but “True Love” as we now see it in fiction, then, would be the rare-in-real-life case in which two( or more?) people not only develop a mutual romantic infatuation, and real love, but also manage to maintain that romantic interest, preferably expressed as a domestic/sexual partnership, perhaps a marriage, for the rest of their natural lives( or at least until robbed of parts of their personalities by brain damage/dysfunction) & beyond. “True Love” is a misnomer for this sequence of events; “Happily Ever After” is a better label.
  (One popular culture phenomenon which completely subverts this misunderstanding of love is the excellent Disney animated film Frozen. If you haven’t seen it because you have some preconceived notion about Disney or musicals or Idina Menzel or animation or whatever, you are doing yourself a great disservice. It gives the impression of being overhyped, but this is actually due to it being so excellent that it naturally makes people enthusiastic. It is one of the best films I have ever seen, because it conveys a lot of hard-but-necessary truths about relationships in an easy-to-swallow manner that even kids can understand, running counter to the usual crap with which Hollywood fills our heads.)
  I definitely believe in Happily Ever After as a phenomenon, I know couples who have been that to each other... but I think that a lot of people pursue H.A.E. so single-mindedly that they miss out on opportunities to both discover other real loves, & to attain fulfillment through a variety of more temporary domestic/sexual partnerships.
  Love, even real & mutual love, provides no guarantee that people are suited to live H.A.E.; it’s not even a guarantee that they won’t hurt each other badly.( We’ll deal with abusive relationships in a future entry. For now, I’ll just say that the love can be real, but that doesn’t justify staying together when dysfunction in expressing it becomes dangerous.)

  So then, what is love? Here’s my definition:
  “I usually define love, at least as far as love for another person goes, as an intense certainty, beyond reason, & beyond any other emotion; that for at least a single critical instant one’s life was better, or the universe as a whole was greater, or something was just *right* that would have otherwise been wrong; simply because that person, just as s/he was, with all his/her strengths & weaknesses, all his/her flaws & paradoxical perfection, existed & was right there in that moment, to make all the difference; either by luck when no one & nothing else available would have sufficed, or because the person in question had another choice yet chose to be there instead–especially if others who could have been chose not to.
  Love for another, then, is nothing more or less than the unqualified belief that if one had never crossed paths with that person, one’s world would be poorer for it.”
  I’ll have more to say in a future post.

With love,

–D.R.T.Y.boi E.M.