Power Fantasies / Power Realities

(This is a 30 minute timed write, so I am sure I am going to say something wrong. Oh well. – Owen)

If I look around me at the world, both the way it is now and how it was when I was a child, I have to conclude that people want power more than anything else — more than money, more than fame, more than love, and more than safety.

Power, for most people, is the ability to get what you want. We are all born wanting what we want, and that feature of humankind doesn’t fade with age, although we get better at hiding it. We go through adolescence dreaming of a world where we have the power to do or to be what we wish — whether it be social, sexual, physical, or any other type of thing. We may be told by the adults around us that we can be anything we want to be, but most of us hit an age where we know that’s not true. So we fantasize about what having that power would be like: whether through books, movies, music, idolizing online personalities, fantasy, super-hero stories, and so on.

There has been a lot in the news about widespread abuse of power. I was going to add “lately” to that sentence, but a moment’s reflection had me remembering that abuse of power is as old as humanity itself. If I look inward, I can see that many of the bad things I have done in my life came from the fact I had the power to do them, and chose to exercise that power (and to experience the feeling that came with it) over deciding based on either moral or ethical grounds.

In other words: you can have power without abusing it, but you cannot abuse power without having it.

The other things that is hard to escape is how double-minded and self-contradictory much of our thinking around power is. As just one example, everyday popular discourse around sex is hopelessly tangled with weird power dynamics. Popular discussions around sex workers go seamlessly back and forth between seeing these professions as empowering for the people in them to exploitative by nature, and the people who think this way seem unaware of any contradiction. That would seem to be (in part at least) because one of our favorite power dynamics plays is to pretend we are winning arguments online.

Before turning 18, I routinely fantasized about the girls around me, some older and some younger than I was. Upon turning 18, I became aware that sleeping with someone younger than I was at that time was a crime. Since I wasn’t sleeping with anyone, it was kind of a moot point, but had I been more popular with girls than I was there might have been thornier issues. As it was, my appearance and personality did more to keep me out of any potential trouble than any higher considerations might have. I am pretty sure that the “desire” part of my experience was close-to-universal; the “ability” part of my experience varies widely from person-to-person. So many older boys/young men have or had problems to deal with that I didn’t.

When I got to the point where I was sexually active, I had the experience of a young woman I was dating initiating intimacy, only to draw back from it at the point of what would have been consummation. I pulled away because I didn’t want to hurt her. However, I felt terrible and unattractive and less-than because I knew that moment would come for her someday, but she didn’t want it to be me.

She remembers and is grateful to me to this day; I still feel terrible about it. But maybe sex is intrinsically connected to power dynamics.

If you gave the adolescent version of me (or almost anyone else) the power to have what we fantasize about, the world would be in absolute chaos — which it arguably already is, and kind of for that reason. We need boundaries to power, because it is the ultimate cancer: it spreads, but contributes nothing to health of the host organism, which it ultimately kills.

November Sunrise

It’s 8:45 am. I’ve been up for 5 hours.

Throughout the sixty-some-odd years that I have been alive, there has been and explosion in what might be called “substitutes”. First, it was things like margarine (substitute butter) and saccharine (substitute sugar), but it rapidly picked up the pace until we find ourselves in a world with substitute society (social media), substitute advisors (artificial intelligence) and even substitute friends and other intimate relationships.

However, there is as yet no substitute for sitting outside on a chilly hillside watching the November sun come up, which I did this morning.

There are, of course, no real substitutes for any of things I mentioned before. There are only things people want us to buy from them to use as substitutes. None of these things is better than the originals, although some of them arguably aren’t worse either; they are just new things, with new sets of tradeoffs involved. If, for instance, “social media” sites like Facebook or Instagram were still called “message boards”, their actual use would be clearer. This isn’t a new society, it’s a way of passing messages around; “society” is a much more complex thing.

I use an iPhone to take pictures of the hills. The phones of today are often people’s go-to in complaining about people’s over-reliance on technology and addiction to constant interaction (particularly among the young), and there is something in that, of course. However, constant interaction has its predecessors, like the teen of my youth who would spend hours a day on the house phone with friends, or the teen of an even earlier generation who had to constantly be at the skating rink or mall or soda shop or drive-in or wherever the teen action of that time was. The fact that young people are extremely social creatures is not new. We older people who’ve seemingly forgotten what it felt like just think it is.

None of the pictures I take are quite good enough; the one attached to this post is from a Ukrainian photographer, and is of an entirely different part of the world than I am in. This is part of the fakery of the modern age, where even when trying to tell you about something that actually happened (like watching the sunrise), there is some element of deception involved.

Being phony comes naturally to me, sadly. I didn’t need the modern age to do it, I had been doing it for some time before that. The actual me is pretty dull, and my habit of making everything I ever did sound more interesting than it actually was has been a long time in the making. It comes in handy when you have a blog, I guess; anyway, a dry recitation of what actually happened in personal situations seems beyond my ability. I embellish, therefore I am — or something.

One of the things that makes my life dull is that it is a fairly happy one. The primary source of fuel for what is interesting in modern life seems to be discontent, and I used up a good portion of mine years ago. I now have a wonderful wife, a good job, great kids, great grandkids, and a great extended family, and all of us at present are more-or-less healthy.

Poor health and death await us all of course. But this doesn’t rob life of its value, it makes the time we get that much more valuable.

One part of life that adds to overall happiness for me is sports. Or at least, it can. When my teams lose, it detracts from happiness. But that’s part of the way sports works. Learning to deal with failure has to be one of the top 3 things anyone in life can possibly learn, and probably the top thing no one ever learns to do perfectly. So there are always lessons there.

The stream pictured above is in honor of what has turned out to be a “stream-of-consciousness” essay.

Yesterday and today were the first two cold days we’ve had here in Georgia this Autumn. I enjoy cold in ways only someone from a warm climate can. People I know from cold climates get so much of the cold that they can scarcely even remember what it felt like to experience its novelty. This is kind of how I’ve become when it comes to getting excited about politics: it is very difficult for me to do, given that it seems like I’ve seen it all before about a 140,000 times.

But each of us must experience life in our own way from our own perspectives, and I understand the high feelings attendant with politics.

Another thing that has soured me on politics over the years was the dawning realization that I could barely manage my own life, and that perhaps I wasn’t the person best suited to tell everyone else how they should live. Now, people who follow politics are no more likely than average to power/control freaks, but the majority of people who actually go into politics as a profession are somewhere out there on the power/control freak spectrum. You have to believe you know better than everyone else how they other people should live — which seems messed up to me.

It is 9:45 am now, and my “timed write” is over. Happy November to all of you.

crumpled

there is a crumpled kind of peace 
we litter across dusty floors: 
half-done or quick-discarded things 
we couldn't shape or form to taste. 

and really, what is all of this? 
the photo and the blog make right 
our true, private imbalances: 
we none of us are hollywood, 

and that includes real hollywood. 
for image lies, but with great force: 
and happy accidents are those 
arranged the best to leave no trace 

of all of our great artifice. 
we throw away so rapidly 
each new impression, person, friend, 
then snatch at air, and call that life. 

so where, you ask, is crumpled peace?
it acceptance of the flaws 
not just of ours, but most of theirs: 
for life is messy-glorious, 

half-colored pictures, drawn in haste -- 
the dreams we see but can't make real -- 
the wishes stronger than the sun 
we orbit but cannot approach.

This was a 12-minute timed write. For more from other NanoPoblano bloggers, click here.

Timed Write in Blank Verse

In autumn, wind would shake the flowing trees, 
And we would turn to homework and to hope; 
Our backpacks on our stronger shoulders draped 
Through slippery and colder days and hours

Into the halls that echoed with the din 
Of morning greetings; scents of girl's perfume  
As down fluorescent hallways we would stream, 
Seeing none, yet hoping to be seen. 

And something called a "bell" would ring, although 
It was more like a firehouse alarm: 
We sank into our desks, already lost, 
Defeated by the day before it'd start, 

The bleariness of youth, still charging on. 
A type of haunted-ness under those lights, 
-- Maybe our Halloweens all started there! -- 
That so much life could feel so lost and dead. 

Yet hope, I said, was what we used for fuel: 
And so we did, at lunch or back in halls 
Where conversations spoke of our real hopes 
Whether of love or comic-books or sports 

Or maybe some of each of them. For we 
Took autumn and its rain and all its weight 
On that spare shoulder each of us had kept 
For when we could our own desires allow 

The space to run, out past the path and leaves, 
Out past the walls and classes to the fields 
Where we were meant to play, were meant to be 
And that we'd find one day, when we got out.

(10 minutes. For more Nano Poblano goodness, click here.)