On Hobbies

The other thing I was thinking about while climbing and biking today was about why I have the hobbies I do. Which is a weird thing to think about, except when doing hobbies I guess. Which is what I was doing. Honestly "What hobbies do you have?" is one of the icebreaker questions I hate, which might more sense as this post evolves. I generally just mumble something about biking and climbing and then move on from the topic.

There's many reasons people have hobbies. To have fun. To meet people. Sure this applies to me too, to some extent. I do enjoy climbing and conlanging and writing and the like (not sure if I enjoy biking but I guess revealed preferences say I do. I prefer it to other forms of exercise at least). And I guess I meet people climbing and spend time with them. But is that really why I have the hobbies I do?

I have hobbies because I want to improve myself. I climb and bike and cross country ski because these are way. Climbing is strength training (for my forearms at least) in a much less boring way than lifting weights. Biking and skiing are more enjoyable cardio than running. I enjoy these and they (theoretically) make me healthier and stronger. Hopefully when I express in writing or music I find ways to work through those feelings and overcome them or at least get help. Creating a world requires me to understand the world and learn. Learn about things I might not otherwise. People ask why I know so much. I don't, I just read a lot (of wikipedia).

I have hobbies because I want a refuge of control in my life. I hate feeling like I don't have control over my own life. That's why I'm fiercely independent when it comes to transportation. It's not because I don't appreciate rides but I like having the freedom of movement for myself. Control for when I come and go. When my life is going bad, I sink myself into my hobbies (see: this past month) because at least I have some control there. A world I construct is one that I can guide into what I want it to be. I choose how long I travel and where I go. I choose what problems to work on. I choose what my instruments sound like and how they come together. I am an arranger, nay a creator in my own little space. Beyond returning to me a sense of control, my hobbies can also distract me from my thoughts. That's why this blog exists, basically. 2017, especially early 2017 was a really hard time for me so I buried myself in conlanging here and on reddit.

And yet, I have hobbies to explore the world and maybe even commune, for mere moments, with the divine. There's nothing like a quiet bike or ski trip to clear my head while enjoying nature. Or finding just the right words or right combination of sounds to sort of bring what's in my head into the world. Even something like conlanging has a discovery process. Things just click and feel right for what I'm working on. It's almost mystical in a sense, like I am uncovering esoteric knowledge rather than creating it. I remember one time on my mission, on a p-day or a little before bed (I don't remember) when it came to me that I could use reduplication for all sorts of things. It was a transcendental experience.

I have hobbies for myself and no one else. That's why I write about random topics on a blog no one reads. That's why I make music no one listens to (and I'd be kinda scared if people did listen to it). That's why I partake in the secret vice (truly the loneliest of hobbies, conlanging is). These hobbies work for me and I don't particularly like sharing them. I climb not to hang out with people, but because I like it for myself. I'll go on all sorts of ski trips or bike rides alone because they are for me. I play to no one and I like it that way. That's why I hate the hobby question (also because explaining conlanging is rarely worth the effort. "Oh you make languages? Why?").

I don't excel in many things. I'm a mediocre climber. I bike and ski slowly. My conlangs are far from award winning (though I should have gotten an award for being one of the better trolls on r/conlangs). My writing is sloppy. My music helped inspire a tumblr dedicated to bad music (one of my proudest moments, really). And I don't care because this is for me.

On Liminality

In the strictest sense, liminality refers to the state that you are in during rituals that move you from one state to the next. Or something like that, I'm not an anthropologist. In the modern world, few people encounter many of these rituals. They of course still exist (or at least in a close enough sense). Take the rituals of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (hence called Mormon because I don't have time for political correctness and you all know what I mean). I can think of two that might qualify: baptism-confirmation (the movement between outsider to member), initiatories-endowment (movement from the lower law to a higher law). I thought that sealings may count but on second thought, probably not. There's not really a point when you lose your old status. Honestly even the endowment might be stretching the definition but whatever. And yet, the actual time spent in a liminal state for each ritual is small. A child might spend mere minutes between baptism and confirmation; an adult maybe a day to a week. From initiatory to endowment (or even just from the beginning of the endowment to the end? The end of initiatory to the beginning of the endowment?) is a couple of hours. That's not a long time, since these rites of passage, these rituals are not all consuming.

But liminality in the strict sense isn't what I want to talk about. There's all sorts of times in life, in my own life for sure, where people, like myself, sit in between states, at loss of an identity. In "popular" culture there's a lot of talk about "liminal spaces" such as hallways, airports and train stations where everyone is in transit. The gaps between our destinations. They fascinate certain segments of the internet. But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about certain life stages that people may or may not reach. Aspects of progression wanted (or demanded) by culture and existing between them. It's a subjective liminality, nested liminality, relative liminality. 

Here's an example from my own life. I finished exams in early May, but graduation wasn't until the end of the month. For a few weeks, I existed in this sort of liminality. I was neither student (nothing to study for, no obligation to go to classes etc) and yet I had not yet crossed the threshold to become a graduate. I was nothing (and it felt good, fwiw).

Another example. I will finish my last class in about 6 weeks (give or take). At that point, I will not really be a phd student. However, I don't become a dissertation until I complete the arcane ritual that is the proposal defense (or quit, that's the other way to escape the liminality). Stuck in the middle, neither student nor researcher.

Singles wards are something of a liminal space (especially at universities but I digress). Composed of people who are not children (in fact, from most points of views are adults) and yet not fully entered into adult society. There's a constant churn, people moving in and out, people marrying, even people divorcing. Of course, no one is forced to go to the singles ward but even outside of it they'll always still be in that state. In this sense, the singles ward isn't the cause of the liminal state and the discomfort that comes from being in it. Rather, it is a refuge for those in liminality, those trying to find their way out of it. A place for rituals of the liminal to escape the liminal. Or not.

Life is a liminal space, from an eternal perspective. At some point we begin the ritual of exaltation by coming to Earth. With that comes the stripping away of our divine identity; the veil makes us forget all. We become nothing but the dust of the Earth. We exist in this space but eventually get our memories, our identities back. Some find it sooner than others. Some never complete the ritual. But we all exist in this space for the time being.

Death is a liminal space. Lincoln in the Bardo was a weird book that I only like 3/4 listened to but it does do some interesting things with the idea of death being a liminal space. That being said, from a Mormon perspective death is still a liminal space. You've lost your body and all the good (and bad that comes with that). In prison or paradise, you're stuck until the resurrection. Unable to fully move forward.

Liminal spaces are in liminal spaces. I've existed in liminality for 10 years, mostly but not entirely as a consequence of my choices. I could have tried harder to advance, to cross the threshold, but maybe I've been too comfortable. Maybe it simply wasn't time yet. So I've waited, I don't know for what. And waited. Stood around and waited more. Looked the threshold in the eye and then turned around (and what a good thing that was!). Waited more. Watched others cross, some quickly and some slower. Some had been there before me, some long after. Waiting and watching and waiting and watching and waiting but never crossing and rarely making movement to. Almost more a guard than a participant (or a prisoner?)

Putting all that aside, thinking about this earlier inspired a new song. i stared across the liminoid abyss but made no eye contact. I was thinking about this idea about life being a liminal space but also being full of liminal spaces. More specifically, I was thinking about thresholds we choose to cross (or not). Train stations are sort of the prototypical liminal space (and give more choice than an airport) so I decided to use waiting for a train as a metaphor here. Or more specifically, tell the story of someone waiting for a train but being unsure if they wanted to get on it. Wrote the lyrics pretty quickly and they sounded sort of morbid so I decided to give the song a ridiculously emo title (which of course has meaning on multiple levels). Of course, I had to sample "mind the gap" because it's an iconic subway feature but also because a liminal space is literally a gap and the song is about someone minding that gap, instead of crossing it.

At first I was unsure if I wanted to include this on Fishing for Birds or leave it for Doctrines of Annihilation. Doctrines of Annihilation is meant to be an album about (among other things) depression after all. But it's also about salvation and healing which isn't really whats going on in this song. Fishing for Birds doesn't have an explicit theme but looking back at the songs that have made it on, it does have this underlying idea of growing up, of moving on, of change and how some people change faster than others (and some don't change at all). In a way, the whole album is about liminality. So this song makes a lot of sense for it after all. And at this point, I really just need to finish two more songs to call it done, which is nice.

Spring Break Day 5

 So I finished up grading today (I have an unusually large number of students who's last names start with Z). Could've done it faster but I really wasn't feeling it. Too anxious? Too tired? Too done? Overall, I'd say I don't feel as good as yesterday, though still much better than say last Saturday. My appetite sort of came back though? Maybe because I've dropped a bit too much weight in the past week and really need to get that up a bit more.

Anyway, I pretty much just graded papers and went through best case and worse case scenarios before doing nothing at all. Came home, ate dinner and played some extremely frustrating rounds of smash. First time I've played video games in a while, which I guess is another point against team anhedonia. I'll beat you yet. Did not finish my CV. Did not fix my bike (I really need to do that tomorrow, next week is rainy and the spare doesn't have mud flaps). 

Got an email saying that my Monday night class will be split across two days for the next two weeks. I don't want to celebrate too much because the reason is pretty unfortunate, but I did shed a tear of joy when I realized I'd be able to go to FHE again for two weeks. I guess I didn't realize how much that was affecting me. What a sap I am. Pine sap maybe, sticky and annoying.

Speaking of pines...

Rōgbad ūsiwl afāx mā. Mōnak yūyibth yōyup-yōyōp ūmpa faūtiúj "Yān ūmicph ūsiwl afāx mā". Mōnak ūhikn lāsaxiwlaī mā. Ziūjinkuc nātaríuy rōgbad? Ūbifw ōza saxiwlaī mā ūmpa bfowiw; mocīpmā swilaíuy rōgbad mōnak jinkaī mā.

I just don't want to make the same mistakes I made almost exactly 10 years ago, but I don't trust myself. (That emphasis was entirely unintentional but I'm keeping it because it works quite well)

As a complete side note, the idea of some hypothetical reader coming in and being confused by these sentences really amuses me. Like what could be so secret, so personal that I won't openly share it on this blog, a blog where I am very open about all sorts of sordid things. The fact I drop hints just makes it worse (but funnier to me).  

1: Not sure if that's the right word to use here but whatever

2: I went back on forth on a couple causative but yes, I think in the end this one has exactly the implication I want 

3: My hatred of interrogative pronouns is gonna be the death of me 

4: Pretty happy about this coinage

Spring Break Day 4

So I've been feeling a lot better today. Still anxious (and I'm working on that/building up courage related to that) but not so depressed. We'll see what tomorrow holds. 

Anyway actually made it out of the house at 9 to go on a bike ride (I wanted to beat the rain). Spent a bit over an hour on that, came home and did laundry/lazed around a bit. Spent much of the afternoon talking to Jason (who was bored at work and also trying to get me to do something about aforementioned anxiety) and working on music. I still can't get Fishing for Birds right. I think I'm going back to an older take, but I will probably keep the motorik beat I was working on. Lyrically, I think the direction I want to take is an interplay between two singers: one describing the birds (they are a metaphor) and one describing the fish (also a metaphor). I did publish a song though. I found this old one-take piano piece I had recorded at some point (no idea when). There were already some slogans attached. So I mixed it a little bit and published it as another track to Fishing for Birds (the album, not the song). It actually fits in with the general theming of the album pretty well. It's intense and an unusual way of delivering a sort of punky, sort of anarchist message. It's almost like a bizarro version of Press Gang. Not to mention that basically everything on the album is experimental, except maybe Freedom Fighterand Grassroots Idealism. At this point I just need to finish Counting Sheeple and the title track and that album should be pretty near done.

Then I did more grading.

Spring Break Day 3

 I did not read Sickness Unto Death last night. Or today for that matter. I also didn't fix up my CV. I did manage to pull myself out of bed and go to the office to grade. I hate grading so much that you'll probably be seeing an On Grading post soon. My only pleasure is knowing that the students hate it as much as I do. Anyway after 4 hours of grading my brain was completely fried so I took a walk. I've never actually walked the area around my office so that was cool. Found a botanical garden like 3 blocks away that I had no clue about, despite being here for 2.5 years. Walked alongside the lake for a while and also tromped through the (wet and muddy) woods. So that was nice. Oh and I went up to the observatory. 

Aksīta yān wildasā lōbopāb ojūmah-ajumaíahat. Ūtiúj gundāy Wyīúu. Īn túuja āgfāt umladū. Yān gaxitpa. 

 Then I went back to my office to grade except I wrote this instead.

A brief to do list for my blog and myself:

 

• Update CV
• Finish grading
• Get data
• Respond to model questions
• Do that untranslatable words post I've been talking about for years
• Maybe write out my personal journey to where I am today (long term goal tbh)
• Figure out those songs?!?
   

Spring Break Day 2

Continuing these posts because it's a big week and the closest I'll get to keeping a journal anyway (just like how that one really angsty letter I wrote in 2017 used the idea of letterwriting as a framing device to cover what was going on in my day and the thoughts about it. No you can't see the letter).

I did get the letter sent off. Took a lot longer than I thought, not just because writing in Indonesian is hard and I wanted it to be perfect, but also because I get anxious about this sort of thing. There's no going back after you hit send and by doing so, I closed off infinite possibilities. That's angst for ya.

After that, I went on a bike ride. Turned around about half way because there was construction and I didn't want to bother going around it. Still probably did somewhere between 12 and 14 miles, which is okay. Then I moped around a bit more, took a long time to eat dinner and decided that I'm gonna try to get through Sickness Unto Death. Or at least start it since it is a notoriously dense book. A lot of my Kierkegaard study up to this point has been things from books like Fear and Trembling and Either/Or but the concept relating despair, authenticity, sin and faith is intriguing to me, especially right now. Maybe I'll blog about it later.

Tomorrow is a lot of grading and some other stuff, so we'll see how it goes. I need to update my CV too. 

On Labels

It took me a long time to realize that I have some sort of mental health problem (probably multiple sorts). The reason was that sure I felt anxious or sad much of the time. I knew that my dislike of social interactions wasn't (isn't) normal. I knew that most people aren't as moody, as difficult, as surly as I am.

But I didn't accept those labels, or rather apply them to myself because I didn't see myself as fitting close enough to the stereotypes (remember this is supposedly to be a conlanging blog so I was using that group as a reference). Sure I got sad, seemingly for no reason but not so debilitatingly as others. Even at my worse, I might only lying in bed for hours, not days. I have the control to do things I don't want to do like shower and go to class and eat. Clearly not depressed. Plus I do respond to positive stimuli, laugh and smile plenty (even in pretty depressive moods), mostly keep up my humor and so on. On the anxiety side, well yeah I get weird talking to people and push them away (especially if I like them as a friend or otherwise). But I like public speaking, hold myself well in groups and do genuinely enjoy the company of other people (in moderation of course). So clearly not actually anxious.

Building off that, feedback from other people also led to me feeling an imposter of sorts. I get a fair amount of praise from people about how I don't seem to care about others' opinions about me and one friend (when I opened up about some of my anxieties) even told me they had trouble believing it because of said nonchalance. Some of that is due to my general nonconformity but a good portion is actually because I do care a lot, so I pretend I don't to try (and fail) to trick myself. Or how I get praised for being somewhat jolly and being helpful, things not exactly associated with depression. So clearly those labels didn't apply.

Now to get to the actual title of this post. The labels don't matter. Whether or not I fit all the criteria for depression or dysthymia or cyclothymia or anxiety or whatever isn't important. What is important is the qualitatively, I feel bad. Maybe not as bad as other people but that doesn't matter. My own experiences are what matter for me. They influence my choices, my desires, my actions, my life. Labels neither define nor negate me. They're simply there. What's important is understanding what they are meant to signify. And that's what I've finally been able to do these past few months.