Addicted to Like
5/8/2015
Might as well face it, you're addicted to like." ~Robert Palmer & Jason Wise Hi. My name is Jason Wise and I'm a likeaholic. With my addiction, likes come in two forms.
There's the digital Facebook kind of like. This one is pretty basic - the excessive liking of posts, the posts seemingly crafted to generate likes, and that saccharine high you feel when you get a lot of attention on something you share. We've all seen it. We've all been there. But there's also a more anthropological type of like. It comes from the comradery of our shared experience. Not just liking something yourself, but liking something together. And by sharing that moment with someone you actually end up liking that person even more. This is the basis of friendship. It's a way we bond with one another. As social beings, it's part of our DNA. It's why we created language. It's why Facebook became a thing. Yesterday I arrived at my first #journeyman destination: Zion National Park. I set up camp in the morning and quickly hit the trails. Out there in nature I saw so many beautiful things. 10,000 beautiful things to be precise (a reference within a reference from Wild by Cheryl Strayed, which I'm currently reading). Every time I saw a beautiful thing I smiled. I mean, how could you not? But now and then, one of those beautiful things was more than just beautiful, it was spectacular. It was awesome, like I'm literally in awe. I tried to take pictures, but when I look at the picture on my phone I scoff, because it's not quite the same. It's like those old ditto copies we had in elementary school: faded, blurry, distorted. No matter how many filters or boosts I use, it doesn't capture it. It can't be captured. So I put down my phone and just marvel. I'm feeling all the feels and it feels wonderful, but in a flash my next thought is...I wish I could share this with someone. Not with an Instagram post, not even in a text, but share it for real, in person. Sure there are other people on the trail. Friendly chatty people, way-too-slow people, smelly German people, feeding the aggressive squirrels people. But I miss having someone I know. I'm miss sharing that view with a friend. I knew going on a solo journey would be lonely. That was one of the reasons I did it. We as a society, and I myself, are so used to leaning on the kind shoulder and shared experience of others. That's good and bad - good because sometimes you need that shoulder to lean on, and bad because sometimes you need to stand on your own. As I stood gazing at the stunning Angels Landing tower in Zion (seriously, Google it) I felt a wave of melancholy. I realized I couldn't nudge a friend next to me and say, "wtf, do you see that amazingness?!" I realized I could never share that particular experience. So you see, this is my affliction. I'm addicted. I've been conditioned to need the attention, the connection, the comradery. I get a little hit when you double tap on my Instagram pic. It feels so good when you like my Facebook mood. But the real good stuff, the sticky-icky, that's when we hang in person, I get a hug, and we clink a beer. This was my first day out on a hike alone, so these are withdrawals. It was tough at times but I made it through. I'm already getting better. Day-one likers anonymous chip in the pocket. I'm learning that I can't share everything with everyone. Some things are for me and me alone. And that's OK. The Hardest Goodbye
5/6/2015
The hardest goodbye isn't enforced.
It isn't expected or coerced. Its not like the end of high school, Where the path's been chosen for you. It's nothing like leaving your family home, When you're longing to be on your own. No, the hardest goodbye comes by choice. When you need to go find your voice. When you're leaving something you enjoy. When you know goodbye will disappoint. You leave because staying is dishonest. You leave even though it's totally the harshest. The hardest goodbye is what you have to do When standing still keeps you too... Too complacent. Too cautioned. Too despondent. Path's insolvent. Never reaching. Rarely seeking. Always waiting. Sitting, hoping... Hoping it'll all just come to you. Now it's time to see a different view. With the pain of goodbye comes redemption. Starting anew, a mini rebellion. Leaving is an act of bravery, Because it's not safe to be, Never alone with only me. Even though it feels like hell, When I say goodbye I'll find myself. By return I know I'll have harnessed, All the reasons that home is the fondest. The hardest goodbye is a choice I've made. But let's stay strong, 'cause the hello's gonna be great. Interrupt Anxiety with Gratitude
5/5/2015
I'm feeling pretty anxious lately about the unknowns of my upcoming path, but I'm interrupting that anxiety right now to talk about the many people for which I'm grateful.
I have my dog...he's entirely stubborn and bossy, but his zeal, his unconditional love, his simplicity, and his life lived in the moment all help me get out of my head. I have friends...they've counseled me, given me job advice, loaned me camping supplies for my journey, recommended books, offered a shoulder to lean on, and made me laugh when I was over-thinking it. I have my mother...she's always been my biggest fan, cheering and encouraging me along through every step in life. And she's helped me prepare for this trip by being my voice of reason and caution (as every good mother should). I have my boo...he's my partner, my fiance, my rock through all the ups and downs, and my best friend. For over 12 years now, he’s pushed me towards my better self. He has made me more confident in my decisions by getting me to take the extra time to really think through them. And even now as I leave him for an entirely selfish endeavor alone in the woods, he has supported me, loved me, encouraged me, provided for me, and hugged me. In my mind I can run through a million different scenarios of how terrible my future might be. How risky it is to quit my job. How dangerous it could be to hike and camp alone. How lonely being alone just might feel. I can allow my mind to be overrun with anxiety about the future...doubt over my decisions...predictions of impending regret. Or I can interrupt that anxiety with gratitude. I remember that I have so many people to be grateful for. I remember that I’m blessed. I remember that no matter what happens, no matter where my path takes me, it's all going to be OK...because of all of them. Life has a way of taking you in unexpected directions. My path is about to take a sharp left turn.
We all have different and very personal journeys in life. Sometimes you push yourself along, controlling your direction by sheer force of will. That is the road you choose. Sometimes you're slowly pulled into unknown and uncharted territory by a strange gravitational force. That is the road that chooses you. In both cases, you either move or your heart aches, knowing that there might something else out there—something more. I just quit my job of 5 1/2 years. It's the first time I've ever quit without having something else lined up, be it work or school. I know it's risky. I'm used to having a paycheck and a daily schedule. I'm used to the comfort and stability that brings. I'm used to having an answer to the proverbial question, "what do you do?" I'm used to the comfortable persona I've created through my answer. I know it's risky to leave my job, but I also know it's right. This wasn't a decision made lightly. I worked at AIDS Project Los Angeles. There I advocated with government and the community to end LGBT stigma and to combat the health disparities that put my community and my friends at risk. It's a wonderful organization, there are amazing people who work there, and I know for a fact that they do great things and help lots of people. I've truly appreciated every second of my time there. But for the last few years I've felt a shift. Something deep inside me wanted to explore, to take a step in a new direction. A strange gravitational force was pulling me away into uncharted territory, and I finally obliged. During this same period I discovered mindfulness—how to chill and be present instead of worrying about the endless and unknowable possibilities of the road ahead. But being mindful in the present doesn't mean you give up all your hopes for the future, it means you live in every moment as another step towards that future. I'm living those moments now. So I took a leap of faith—a simultaneously frightening and exhilarating leap. The next step I'm taking is perhaps even riskier. I'm leaving home to spend 3 weeks in the woods...alone. This is something I've thought about for years and I know it isn't all that groundbreaking. There are hundreds of books, new and old, on the topic. Native American tribesman did it as a coming of age ritual. There are even major motion pictures depicting it. But every time I've read about it, or saw it on a screen, or imagined myself doing it, I knew. Even though it would be difficult, physically and emotionally, I knew. Even if it would be nearly impossible to explain to colleagues, friends, my mom, and especially to my partner, I just knew. From childhood until now, my passion for the environment has been a guiding force—I was fascinated with Walden in 7th grade and my masters degree was focused on environmental policy. In the last few years my relationship to nature became even more personal. Beyond my drive to protect the planet through everyday decisions and advocacy, the earth has also become my teacher, my friend, and my mindfulness guru. So I'm taking another leap of faith—a revelatory, mildly dangerous, and possibly selfish leap. I'm leaving the city to go wild and commune with nature, to camp without modern distractions, to hike and explore our National Forests, to read books about discovery, self-reliance, and overcoming fear, and to write pages and pages of inspired Mindfulness Now posts (you've been warned). I'm leaving my man, my dog, and my home behind for this experiment, and that has been the biggest struggle of all. I'm leaving all the things that give me comfort in life so I can really understand what it feels like to get out of my comfort zone. I can't predict the outcome of all this. Ideally I'll rediscover myself, figure out my next step in life, write amazingly insightful blog posts, and set a solid foundation of inspiration to guide me into the future. Or maybe, after a few weeks of sleeping in a tent, hiking in the woods, and taking some pretty pictures for Instagram, I'll still have no clue what to do with myself. And that would be ok. Really. A journey isn't about expectation, it's about discovery. The trail ahead may not be clear, but I'm ready for this hike. I've taken one step by leaving my job. Soon I'll take another next step by going wild. It may end up easy, with the trail coming into focus as everything falls into place as I walk ahead confidently. I'll learn from that. It may end up arduous, with cliffs, loose footing, and more questions than answers. I'll learn from that too. Either way, I'm ready to walk down this path. Hopefully it leads me to myself... |
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blog searchauthorMy name is Jason Wise. Life's all about the journey, man. Find me on Instagram and Facebook. archives
May 2020
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