I have wanted to look good in higher-waist skirts for as long as they came into "style." I do not have abs of steel, however, so I only look decent in those skirts at the most. When I finally did tone down (I promise there's a point to this) I was able to tuck shirts in and make a really cute outfit. I finally achieved what I waited 2 months for. Well, I didn't just wait; I had to run my ass off. I wasn't really sure why I wasn't as into that look as I thought I would be.
Fast forward.
Isn't it weird how much we really, really want something only to be amused momentarily? It's nothing less than exhilarating to work (hard?) for something important to you. The goal-acquisition process is nothing short of challenging but the whole endeavor is often a journey of its own. It's great to look back on, but once you've achieved it--what next?
Why are so many then-struggling now-famous actors and actresses boozing and coking away their lives only to end up bored and suicidal?
Are we really only attracted to the thrill of the chase and the possibility of not making it? Transitively, did that mean I was attracted to drama? It's a terrible thought because as animated as I am, I hate bringing the d-rama into everyday life, much less my closet.
[And fyi: my outfits are only filled with drama around the same time every year... factor in the days when I am pissed off or tired. I try to make it work but really, a pissy mood will ruin any outfit. I promise. You start wearing a frown and pout everywhere and nobody notices the new Via Spigas you're wearing.]
If the above were true and we are, for the most part, closet (or open) goal-oriented drama queens/kings, then how would be remotely possible to remain satisfied? If The Matrix was right and the question truly drives us, then what happens once the question has been answered? What comes after goal acquisition? Goal satisfaction? I mean, I admit, I did parade myself around in my high waist skirt outfit for a while because I really liked it. Then it got old and I no longer liked it.
I thought about two reasons: either the high waist skirt thing was just way overblown and I overexcited myself (meaning the end goal wasn't really all that and a side of fries) OR I have a seemingly chronic disatisfaction with life once I've gotten what I wanted.
Being the optimist, I chose the former. I thought about it and gave myself several other goals. I am currently happy that I was able to pair those odd giraffe-print pumps from Nine West with other human-like things from my closet. I am currently satisfied with my position as Editor in Chief. I am beyond excited about the grant I received and worked hard to get. But regarding things closer to me, I'm afraid my predicament worsens.
Why am I not happy with something that I thought would really put the icing on the cake? If I feel this weird about something I think I want, how would that translate to career aspirations and you know, that thing... the rest of my life? If I am so off the radar with what I think makes me happy (a small thing like a high waist skirt on my ever-so-small frame), how am I ever going to figure out the bigger things?
Take a womanizer: he is on edge when he is about to make a conquest, but once conquered, he feels unchallenged and unstimulated. He's bound for the next and only momentarily enjoys the last victory. How many challenges more until he's tired? Until he's satisfied? Until he develops erectile dysfunction? Is he going to go on chasing skirts? Do I go on chasing goals instead of enjoying them?
I spent a long time debating, ranting, lecturing, and arguing a perspective that I thought I would be able to maintain over time. I thought I would want something enough to ask another to work hard on it with me. But now that it's mine it suddenly feels a little tight, a little ill-fitting, and a little wrong. Sad to say but I feel like it's turned into yet another high waisted skirt.
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Sacrificial rites
I'm in no way talking about ancient rituals that require a virgin to be sacrificed to yield good corn. I'm more concentrated on the acts of sacrificing. We give certain things up because we have a particular goal in mind. In order to achieve this goal, certain things must be let go of so that we might obtain this goal as quickly/efficiently/good as possible.
Right?
Let's take losing weight as an example. I have been on this quest for as long as I can remember.
I have a goal, Z, and that is to look good in my skimpy little bikini.
The rule, X, is to lose weight. The action, Y, is to exercise and diet.
In terms of cognitive science, I am trying to obtain Goal[Z] by the application of the Action[Y] to the Rule[X]:
[Z] = [Y]X
Look good in a bikini = diet and exercise (lose weight)
To obtain my goal, however, there are certain sacrifices I must make. I have to lower my caloric intake by some ungodly proportion. I have to do more cardio (I increased my cardio to one hour five days a week). My meal frequencies also have to decrease.
Today, after I finished an hour on the cross ramp, I told myself I could go get something to eat. I allowed myself a banana, low-fat yogurt, and Tropicana's 50% less sugar pulp-free orange juice. Needless to say, I had room for some flavor.
I was walking by the convenience store, when, to my chagrin, there was a stand that had free hot cocoa and bagels... with cream cheese. Did I say free? And cream cheese? I wanted to die. But, to my surprise, my willpower was much stronger and I evaded the temptation.
I walked onward towards BSB and I remembered that UH had fantastic muffins in their cafe. I started to head in that direction. In my head I ran through all the different muffin flavors they offered. I thought, "Hmm... cranberry orange sounds good. And healthy. So does a banana walnut."
But... they were still carbs. And they were not allowed. Not yet, at least (I limited my carb intake to one serving a day... yeah, I'm desperate).
I changed directions and looked like an idiot. I decided to go to my office with OJ and yogurt in hand. I started to think: Do we all go through phases like that when we want to sacrifice something to get something better in the end? Do we all have bouts of self-doubt and flailing willpower when faced with temptation, temptation that will surely divert our attention from our ultimate goal?
With relationships, I ultimately want some big love. I was sick of Mr. Right Now and Mr. Right Here (and even worse, Mr. Right Here Will Do Then You Can Leave Thanks). And yes, they were all Mr. to me because their names were so insignificant--they might as well have been the same person in different circumstances.
If my ultimate Goal[Z] was to have a long-term relationship, then my Rule[X] would be to find a good boyfriend. My Action[Y] would entail sacrifices, among the other activities associated with dating. There are a series of Actions[Y sub-1, if you will, all the way to Y sub-n] for this Goal.
I sacrifice a nice guy who I like a little bit because I know that in the end, I'll tire of him if he doesn't spark my interest in some new way or another. I sacrifice the bad boy because, like that free bagel with cream cheese, he won't be good for me the morning after.
In the end, there are a series of computations our minds calculate before finally deciding which action would best lead us to the goal. Should we choose the action that leads us astray from our ultimate goal, it would have led us closer to another goal. If our lives are a series of rule-action-goal calculations, why is it so damn hard to stay logical?
Why can't I just avoid walking towards the free bagels and creatively flavored muffins and just fit into my swimsuit already?
Right?
Let's take losing weight as an example. I have been on this quest for as long as I can remember.
I have a goal, Z, and that is to look good in my skimpy little bikini.
The rule, X, is to lose weight. The action, Y, is to exercise and diet.
In terms of cognitive science, I am trying to obtain Goal[Z] by the application of the Action[Y] to the Rule[X]:
[Z] = [Y]X
Look good in a bikini = diet and exercise (lose weight)
To obtain my goal, however, there are certain sacrifices I must make. I have to lower my caloric intake by some ungodly proportion. I have to do more cardio (I increased my cardio to one hour five days a week). My meal frequencies also have to decrease.
Today, after I finished an hour on the cross ramp, I told myself I could go get something to eat. I allowed myself a banana, low-fat yogurt, and Tropicana's 50% less sugar pulp-free orange juice. Needless to say, I had room for some flavor.
I was walking by the convenience store, when, to my chagrin, there was a stand that had free hot cocoa and bagels... with cream cheese. Did I say free? And cream cheese? I wanted to die. But, to my surprise, my willpower was much stronger and I evaded the temptation.
I walked onward towards BSB and I remembered that UH had fantastic muffins in their cafe. I started to head in that direction. In my head I ran through all the different muffin flavors they offered. I thought, "Hmm... cranberry orange sounds good. And healthy. So does a banana walnut."
But... they were still carbs. And they were not allowed. Not yet, at least (I limited my carb intake to one serving a day... yeah, I'm desperate).
I changed directions and looked like an idiot. I decided to go to my office with OJ and yogurt in hand. I started to think: Do we all go through phases like that when we want to sacrifice something to get something better in the end? Do we all have bouts of self-doubt and flailing willpower when faced with temptation, temptation that will surely divert our attention from our ultimate goal?
With relationships, I ultimately want some big love. I was sick of Mr. Right Now and Mr. Right Here (and even worse, Mr. Right Here Will Do Then You Can Leave Thanks). And yes, they were all Mr. to me because their names were so insignificant--they might as well have been the same person in different circumstances.
If my ultimate Goal[Z] was to have a long-term relationship, then my Rule[X] would be to find a good boyfriend. My Action[Y] would entail sacrifices, among the other activities associated with dating. There are a series of Actions[Y sub-1, if you will, all the way to Y sub-n] for this Goal.
I sacrifice a nice guy who I like a little bit because I know that in the end, I'll tire of him if he doesn't spark my interest in some new way or another. I sacrifice the bad boy because, like that free bagel with cream cheese, he won't be good for me the morning after.
In the end, there are a series of computations our minds calculate before finally deciding which action would best lead us to the goal. Should we choose the action that leads us astray from our ultimate goal, it would have led us closer to another goal. If our lives are a series of rule-action-goal calculations, why is it so damn hard to stay logical?
Why can't I just avoid walking towards the free bagels and creatively flavored muffins and just fit into my swimsuit already?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Forward march
Yeah, it was a pun on the fact that it is the middle of March and I'm sure I must keep moving onward. I don't really like where I'm at, to be honest. I'm happy, I suppose, but I'm also sorely unstable. At this moment, I've heard Duffy's Rockferry play 3 times on end... I should be getting to bed soon but my fingers insist on typing this out.
After the past week of deluded infatuation I've slowly started realizing why I never liked getting too emotionally involved with people. Your feelings start to play tricks on your logic. What should sometimes be taken as matter-of-fact and face-value starts to be seen as "Oh, that's just something people say."
Yeah, something people say that they mean, right?
When badgered for an answer we do one of two things: scramble and lie, or say the thing closest to the truth. The latter might be sugar-coated or delivered bluntly, but it is said nonetheless.
I, on the other hand, sometimes refuse to talk at all. If I find a topic sensitive and uncomfortable, I blush and I am unable to make eye contact (and it's not because my eyes are small and I can't find you in my field of vision). I refuse to maintain conversation because I'm afraid of what I might say. Because when it comes down to it--who really fucking knows what they want in exact proportions at any given moment of time? I don't. Furthermore, how is what you want influenced by the timing of someone asking you such an important question? What if they NEEDED an answer right then and there and you had only seconds to say something?
I have a vague idea of what I want when it comes to relationships, when it comes to my career, but I'm also very vague about my desire for shoes or my desire for breast augmentation. Those are separate blog posts for different days (and different moods).
Scratch that... when it comes to my career, I know what I want, only the path is vague. Lo siento. Moving on.
I started to believe that maybe when he said "I don't commit," it might have been just something he says to put up a front. As the days go by and reality starts to set in I think I'm starting to realize that maybe he means it. What caught me off guard in moments of tooth-decaying sweetness I hadn't witnessed from anybody in a while had shaken bits of my loosely held logical thought processes. We say what we mean. Only in pre-divorce fits of rage and during PMS do we not really mean what we say. For the most part, our innermost and truthful thoughts pour out when we are asked to provide answers or any kind of input.
For someone to twist those answers into other interpretations is not only illogical but unwise. This is why it's also unwise to not wear rose-tinted glasses when approaching possible relationship candidates. You can't think straight and instead you decide to bask in the glow of someone caring about you instead of seeing things as they are. No, I chose to see things the way they should be.
"Serious" by Duffy
Yeah... story of my fucking life. It's either one walks out or I walk out on one because I think I'm walking into something better. No, all the doors are pretty much the same. Just a different frame.
We'll see if this one changes any of my theories or just emphasizes all of them. Left, right, left...
After the past week of deluded infatuation I've slowly started realizing why I never liked getting too emotionally involved with people. Your feelings start to play tricks on your logic. What should sometimes be taken as matter-of-fact and face-value starts to be seen as "Oh, that's just something people say."
Yeah, something people say that they mean, right?
When badgered for an answer we do one of two things: scramble and lie, or say the thing closest to the truth. The latter might be sugar-coated or delivered bluntly, but it is said nonetheless.
I, on the other hand, sometimes refuse to talk at all. If I find a topic sensitive and uncomfortable, I blush and I am unable to make eye contact (and it's not because my eyes are small and I can't find you in my field of vision). I refuse to maintain conversation because I'm afraid of what I might say. Because when it comes down to it--who really fucking knows what they want in exact proportions at any given moment of time? I don't. Furthermore, how is what you want influenced by the timing of someone asking you such an important question? What if they NEEDED an answer right then and there and you had only seconds to say something?
I have a vague idea of what I want when it comes to relationships, when it comes to my career, but I'm also very vague about my desire for shoes or my desire for breast augmentation. Those are separate blog posts for different days (and different moods).
Scratch that... when it comes to my career, I know what I want, only the path is vague. Lo siento. Moving on.
I started to believe that maybe when he said "I don't commit," it might have been just something he says to put up a front. As the days go by and reality starts to set in I think I'm starting to realize that maybe he means it. What caught me off guard in moments of tooth-decaying sweetness I hadn't witnessed from anybody in a while had shaken bits of my loosely held logical thought processes. We say what we mean. Only in pre-divorce fits of rage and during PMS do we not really mean what we say. For the most part, our innermost and truthful thoughts pour out when we are asked to provide answers or any kind of input.
For someone to twist those answers into other interpretations is not only illogical but unwise. This is why it's also unwise to not wear rose-tinted glasses when approaching possible relationship candidates. You can't think straight and instead you decide to bask in the glow of someone caring about you instead of seeing things as they are. No, I chose to see things the way they should be.
"Serious" by Duffy
Yeah... story of my fucking life. It's either one walks out or I walk out on one because I think I'm walking into something better. No, all the doors are pretty much the same. Just a different frame.
We'll see if this one changes any of my theories or just emphasizes all of them. Left, right, left...
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Repair and maintenance
I don't know what I was missing. It's like when I tell myself, "Kate, no more ice cream bars." What happens? I see Dove Triple Chocolate in the freezer and I grab one. Not because I was hungry or because I had a sweet tooth. It wasn't because the ice cream bar itself was irresistible--come on, it's not a sexy man after all. I reached out for that sinful ice cream bar because it was comfortable and it never ceased to satisfy. That sentence was so sexual but bear with me.
I spend such a tremendous amount of effort keeping myself from things that I deem unnecessary or not good for me. I spend time keeping people out and pushing them away that I forget why I wanted them so close when it all started. It's a similar concept I keep consistent with forcibly denying myself those rich, high-cholesterol comfort foods.
In the concept of socialization, however, it takes a lot of solitude and rounds of British piano rock music to remind me of the little things I loved about the people I told myself I shouldn't talk to anymore. Somewhere along the line from when I met them to when we ceased to remain in contact, I decided it was unhealthy to be involved with them. Who knows what catalyzed that event, but that's not the point of this vent. One Coldplay track after another got me to think about how small the world is at the end of the day.
When loneliness bites, I always try to repair the bridges I burned.
I know something is broken and I try to fix it,
trying to repair it any way I can.
-X&Y, Coldplay
We go back to what's comfortable. At least I do.
I don't care for what I tell myself at one point or what strong, heartfelt reasons I gave myself to persuade me into thinking that someone was not good for me. After time apart I feel this giant need to crawl into their arms for a bear hug and pacification. And guess what? It feels like home. It feels like it's all back to normal. So I do everything I can to repair whatever I broke and maintain this state of homeliness. I love staying in that mentality forever but upon reconciliation I subconsciously know that the cycle will repeat itself and I'll revert to staying health conscious.
But because this world is oh, so small, nature finds a way of taking me back to what feels viscerally good. Just like Harlow's experiment with monkeys, in times of need we will always naturally flock to what feels comfortable, nurturing, even if it serves nothing for our health.
Here's to you, Triple Chocolate Dove Bar.
I wanna love you but I don't know if I can.
I spend such a tremendous amount of effort keeping myself from things that I deem unnecessary or not good for me. I spend time keeping people out and pushing them away that I forget why I wanted them so close when it all started. It's a similar concept I keep consistent with forcibly denying myself those rich, high-cholesterol comfort foods.
In the concept of socialization, however, it takes a lot of solitude and rounds of British piano rock music to remind me of the little things I loved about the people I told myself I shouldn't talk to anymore. Somewhere along the line from when I met them to when we ceased to remain in contact, I decided it was unhealthy to be involved with them. Who knows what catalyzed that event, but that's not the point of this vent. One Coldplay track after another got me to think about how small the world is at the end of the day.
When loneliness bites, I always try to repair the bridges I burned.
I know something is broken and I try to fix it,
trying to repair it any way I can.
-X&Y, Coldplay
We go back to what's comfortable. At least I do.
I don't care for what I tell myself at one point or what strong, heartfelt reasons I gave myself to persuade me into thinking that someone was not good for me. After time apart I feel this giant need to crawl into their arms for a bear hug and pacification. And guess what? It feels like home. It feels like it's all back to normal. So I do everything I can to repair whatever I broke and maintain this state of homeliness. I love staying in that mentality forever but upon reconciliation I subconsciously know that the cycle will repeat itself and I'll revert to staying health conscious.
But because this world is oh, so small, nature finds a way of taking me back to what feels viscerally good. Just like Harlow's experiment with monkeys, in times of need we will always naturally flock to what feels comfortable, nurturing, even if it serves nothing for our health.
Here's to you, Triple Chocolate Dove Bar.
I wanna love you but I don't know if I can.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Fixed patterns
It gets a tad personal here, I guess. I want to go back home. I am homesick and irritable. I went through old photographs, old memories, and I so badly need to return. I had this hobby of bike riding every single day when I was younger.
I want to ride my bike down the old driveway and up the hill on the front yard and all around the left side of the house, past the trellis, past the backyard, and onto the driveway again. I want to do that again and again like I did when I was 8 years old. It was such a big feat then and I don't know why I grew out of it.
Britney Spears came along, I suppose. Wait, no. Spice Girls came first. Bikes were not nearly as cool after that musical revolution. I even had the Union Jack on my wall. It's still there, I believe.
I hope.
Make-believe doesn't do me much good. Unless I'm self-servicing or playing dress-up. Yes, I still play dress-up. I've got to figure out how to coordinate the new shoes I buy after all. What better way to do that than to concoct some hypothetical situation where I would need those shoes, eh?
It's 12:35am on Thursday, January 8, 2009. Eight days into the new year and I'm already regressing. It's a wonderful start. The more I reverse and remember all the little things (and I mean little things, like the colors of the pegs we'd use when we hung up the laundry on the deck or the fact that my dad finally succeeded at growing some really nice clematis flowers on the trellis), the more I want to move forward so I could go back. See, I know how to drive in circles mentally. Now, when I finally get my license, I could probably do that in the physical world quite literally.
But I do that anyway without a car.
I'm always going back and then moving on (or so I think) but only to go back to a different version of what I began with. That's a terrible way to end a sentence, so I apologize.
It's like my boyfriends. "Oy vey," I heard you say?
It's true! I don't know how to stop it. I'm serious.
Maybe it's genetic predisposition or environmental reinforcement that causes me to pick the same people over and over so that I'm inevitably stuck in the same pattern of emotion, or at the very least, action.
They're all different versions of the same guy: the ego-stroking, smooth-talking dreamer who's good between sheets. Sometimes he's smart, too. One time he played the guitar and another time he played Halo III. Other times he's not even a smooth talker. Shit.
It takes me about a month to realize I'm bored. I think for a moment. I don't understand why.
UMM: NOW I DO. They're the same fucking person.
It's like riding that damn bike around the house again and again. It's so exciting until you think you're too old for it, or you just tire of it because there's no challenge anymore. I mean, really, is there anything new I'm going to see on the other side of the house? Is there really anything new I haven't seen yet?
Sorry, but I'm bored. What's keeping me occupied is page 153 of the Handbook of Cognitive Neuroscience. This is not the first time bound worded pages has filled a void that some other "hobby" once took up. End rant: I am still homesick and I have done nil to break this pattern.
I want to ride my bike down the old driveway and up the hill on the front yard and all around the left side of the house, past the trellis, past the backyard, and onto the driveway again. I want to do that again and again like I did when I was 8 years old. It was such a big feat then and I don't know why I grew out of it.
Britney Spears came along, I suppose. Wait, no. Spice Girls came first. Bikes were not nearly as cool after that musical revolution. I even had the Union Jack on my wall. It's still there, I believe.
I hope.
Make-believe doesn't do me much good. Unless I'm self-servicing or playing dress-up. Yes, I still play dress-up. I've got to figure out how to coordinate the new shoes I buy after all. What better way to do that than to concoct some hypothetical situation where I would need those shoes, eh?
It's 12:35am on Thursday, January 8, 2009. Eight days into the new year and I'm already regressing. It's a wonderful start. The more I reverse and remember all the little things (and I mean little things, like the colors of the pegs we'd use when we hung up the laundry on the deck or the fact that my dad finally succeeded at growing some really nice clematis flowers on the trellis), the more I want to move forward so I could go back. See, I know how to drive in circles mentally. Now, when I finally get my license, I could probably do that in the physical world quite literally.
But I do that anyway without a car.
I'm always going back and then moving on (or so I think) but only to go back to a different version of what I began with. That's a terrible way to end a sentence, so I apologize.
It's like my boyfriends. "Oy vey," I heard you say?
It's true! I don't know how to stop it. I'm serious.
Maybe it's genetic predisposition or environmental reinforcement that causes me to pick the same people over and over so that I'm inevitably stuck in the same pattern of emotion, or at the very least, action.
They're all different versions of the same guy: the ego-stroking, smooth-talking dreamer who's good between sheets. Sometimes he's smart, too. One time he played the guitar and another time he played Halo III. Other times he's not even a smooth talker. Shit.
It takes me about a month to realize I'm bored. I think for a moment. I don't understand why.
UMM: NOW I DO. They're the same fucking person.
It's like riding that damn bike around the house again and again. It's so exciting until you think you're too old for it, or you just tire of it because there's no challenge anymore. I mean, really, is there anything new I'm going to see on the other side of the house? Is there really anything new I haven't seen yet?
Sorry, but I'm bored. What's keeping me occupied is page 153 of the Handbook of Cognitive Neuroscience. This is not the first time bound worded pages has filled a void that some other "hobby" once took up. End rant: I am still homesick and I have done nil to break this pattern.
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