9/
New job. I'll write about that later. Instead, as I have been getting complaints about not writing often enough (which I admittedly don't) I have an extra long diatribe about what it should be like to almost die. You asked for it, you got it, both barrels.
So Jim, Doug and I got caught out on a jetti and almost died. Difinitively, we all went through hypothermia, as the water surface temperature was at 36 degrees and the air was barely above that. Now, the story of that is interesting, but it's better told in person, preferably with all of us there, as all good stories are. So I'm not going to try and recount it. That'd be silly. What I find more interesting is the reaction; the world's, Jim's, and of course my own. Unfortunately, the last of those still remains vacant, and so I'm here.
First off, I am amazed to find that no one cared (and when I say no one, mean anyone I have yet to hear from, since, for example, I'm rather sure my mother would gush and worry at the danger, which is probably the reason I haven't told her). To come through an ordeal of that sort and find the world completely unsimpathetic seems to be counter-intuitive to the whole damn scheme of things. Sure, we were stupid and shouldn't have been out there and we definately should have watched the tide closer and we shouldn't have been doing drugs and we could have called for help and when it's all said and done, it was all our fault. But that's not the point. The bottom line, from a participant perspective, is: we. almost. died. There is no other way to cut it. There is no rationalizing or blame placing. We almost died. If you're religious (and for some this kind of event traditionally brings it out), we almost met our maker. If you're kinda organic, mother nature showed us her awsome might. If you're in the wash of seething, indefinite masses with the rest of us there is only "almost died", but that is no paultry phrase either. Yet no one gives a damn. This to me is weird.
The first excuse I can revel for the incompassionate is "Well, they weren't there so they don't really understand". So let me dismiss that right off. It's complete rationalizing bullshit. No, of course they weren't there, but that's a lame cop-out as most people are rarely at the actual place of the event for which they are mustering compassion. This is a weak habit we have all become accostomed to because we are ashamed to be incompetant at telling the story in a manner which deserves compassion. Well, this one's simple. We almost died. No one disputes this. We can use terms like "hypothermia" to amp it up, but really the only important element for the listener is the word "died". People muster feelings for animals when they look sad, all we want is recognition of the importance carried by an elementary word. So all "you had to be there" arguments are out.
Then I thought "Well, they probably don't care, we made it out after all". Mmmm... this one feels good. It's so easy. We are safe (And happy!) and we'll go on living our crazy lives with crazy adventure. Hell, we already shared a few good laughs over the whole thing. The cynic in me loves this one. Bullshit. No forgiveness on round two. Here's the thing: In the same way that only black people can safely use any term to define their race and alcoholics have support groups. While they may not have to be there, and because they weren't there, Ithink they ought show some respect. Only we can laugh at this without displaying any other emotions. Dispite my condemnation of the "you had to be there" ideal, it is also a joke to believe that because we're alive in front of them, that they too are granted the priveledges of cheating death. Death is (perhaps) the last great unknown, and the answer to many questions that plague us throughout life. No one gets to laugh it off immediately. We forged the waters, so we get our laugh. I can't speak for the other two, but I had my reckoning and showed my respect when the water reached about chest deep. No one I tell this story acctually did it, so my argument follows that they also don't reap the benefits. It seems to me that the listener should pay repect to death, acknowledge we almost died, and then laugh over a beer. When the laughing comes first, it makes my 4 foot deep epiphany seem a little trite. The laughing seems to say "Dumbass, you were going to make it anyway" or worse "I am already okay with death, it's hard to believe it took hypothermia for you to come to terms". This, of course, plays perfectly with the lack of other emotions I mentioned. People think they're going with the flow. Well, stop. Respect death. Pay your due dilligence. Fuck, if they can't access it directly, throw in a story about how they almost died, anything to clue us in that they've been there and they know. Talk, then laugh, chastise, ignore or whatever their bent for dealing with post-humous crisis may be. We went through our rainbow of feelings all on our own, in freezing water, without the guarentee we would get to recount them. So number two is out, because it's just downright inconsiderate. No one is above an "oh my gosh" to show us you get the severity. Otherwise, it looks like they don't believe us or they don't care, whichever is worse.
Then I decided to swallow my own medicine and have some compassion for the unsympathetic. I'll stop this line of argument right here because there is no sense in excusing people for being heartless and weak. Compassion is not a large request.
So what's left? I don't know. Those seem to be a pretty comprehensive set of excuses to cut up for an angry man. Yet I am forgetting the one that plagues me most: What if it really didn't matter? Which brings me to Jim's reaction. Jim handled the whole thing differently than I did and I can't say I really know what was or is going though his head. However, I do know (since he's told me) that this notion bothers him too. What's interesting is that Jim's issue was not (like mine) based in outrage at the world's complete damn ignorance of what happened and how it should be handled. Jim instead, worried about himself. It is not uncommon when people have near death experiences (and allow me to interject that Jim went through shock as well, a step of trauma Doug and I some how evaded) that once through their ordeal they find God. Now, I'm not pretending that Jim found God or even, for that matter, was looking for God. However, he got absolutely nothing. No revelation, no God, no repurposing of life, or clearer priorities. He doesn't love his girlfriend any more, he doesn't work harder, he doesn't hold a new respect for life. Aside from perhaps a keener eye for tide tables Jim on the whole remained relatively unchanged with one exception: He couldn't figure out why nothing change. When he mentioned this to me, I immediately saw his point. Nothing did change, hell, I coudn't even get a smack of awe let alone a concern for my almost vanished life or (dare I hope) a little notice for heroism in the face of danger. But Jim didn't care about that, so I shut up. Jim worried about the implications of cheating death and finding nothing. He wanted to know what happens when one is forced to tangibly concieve death and comes to no real conclusion. What does it mean to NOT find God?
On this note, I took the idea of taking stock of one's life. What realizing death did to me, and I believe does to many, is force you to reconsider your life. People always talk about how they go through mid-life crises or they find religion or suddenly have an undying respect for the simple pleasures in life. So I told Jim, when he took a long hard look at himself, he didn't have any qualms. In all honesty, I didn't find God either, so in a way I was speaking for myself more than for him, but I think the point stands. In fact, though unsatisfying, we had the perfect response. It just turns out that the world at large is a little fucked up (or at least refuses to notice their fucked up-edness) and when they take stock of their lives they find they need major revisions. So society taught Jim and I to look for moments when we get to make drastic changes. It's like a get out of jail free card, when you almost die you get to start over and these cards (apparently) are not handed out often. They seem to consist of major event's like weddings and graduations and then sporadic ones like mid-life crisies and near death experiences. Otherwise, the world kinda wants you to stick with the plan and save your revisions. Turns out, we don't have to do either.
Wait wait, here's another excuse: People expect it from us. I love this one in the way that I love dead baby jokes. It makes me laugh that sinister uncontrollable laugh because I feel like it lets me have it both ways. Here's what I mean: On one hand, I get to be cool, because crap like this is only nothing to someone who can do it any time or all the time. So they automatically project cool on to me, which is nice. Then, I also get to keep my indignant attitude that everyone has shunned the importance of what happened, because being cool is not synonymous with being understood. In fact, it's probably more to the other end. In fact, it's way to the other end. I'll stick my neck out there and challenge anyone to argue someone they know really well is cool to them. The reason I say this is because cool is an alienating category. You might respect someone, find them funny, think they dress well, dig their music, but as soon as you get that one dirty secret nailed to the floor, they will never be cool again. Hell, it doesn't even have to be dirty. The first time you see someone asleep, use the bathroom, or do any of the other mundane "one-leg-at-a-time" things that everone does, they are no longer cool. They can still be a plethora of great adjectives, but cool demands a certain amount of distance, which is why this excuse is also faulty. People who nearly die aren't looking to be cool. No one tries to almost die so they can improve their street cred (that may not be entirely true, but I think we can safely discount the lunatics who do). Instead, the expectation that we always make it through this kind of harrowing experience only serves to rob us of the uniqueness inherent to the event. It makes death like shopping, and we all know it's not. It's like taxes.
So Jim, Doug and I got caught out on a jetti and almost died. Difinitively, we all went through hypothermia, as the water surface temperature was at 36 degrees and the air was barely above that. Now, the story of that is interesting, but it's better told in person, preferably with all of us there, as all good stories are. So I'm not going to try and recount it. That'd be silly. What I find more interesting is the reaction; the world's, Jim's, and of course my own. Unfortunately, the last of those still remains vacant, and so I'm here.
First off, I am amazed to find that no one cared (and when I say no one, mean anyone I have yet to hear from, since, for example, I'm rather sure my mother would gush and worry at the danger, which is probably the reason I haven't told her). To come through an ordeal of that sort and find the world completely unsimpathetic seems to be counter-intuitive to the whole damn scheme of things. Sure, we were stupid and shouldn't have been out there and we definately should have watched the tide closer and we shouldn't have been doing drugs and we could have called for help and when it's all said and done, it was all our fault. But that's not the point. The bottom line, from a participant perspective, is: we. almost. died. There is no other way to cut it. There is no rationalizing or blame placing. We almost died. If you're religious (and for some this kind of event traditionally brings it out), we almost met our maker. If you're kinda organic, mother nature showed us her awsome might. If you're in the wash of seething, indefinite masses with the rest of us there is only "almost died", but that is no paultry phrase either. Yet no one gives a damn. This to me is weird.
The first excuse I can revel for the incompassionate is "Well, they weren't there so they don't really understand". So let me dismiss that right off. It's complete rationalizing bullshit. No, of course they weren't there, but that's a lame cop-out as most people are rarely at the actual place of the event for which they are mustering compassion. This is a weak habit we have all become accostomed to because we are ashamed to be incompetant at telling the story in a manner which deserves compassion. Well, this one's simple. We almost died. No one disputes this. We can use terms like "hypothermia" to amp it up, but really the only important element for the listener is the word "died". People muster feelings for animals when they look sad, all we want is recognition of the importance carried by an elementary word. So all "you had to be there" arguments are out.
Then I thought "Well, they probably don't care, we made it out after all". Mmmm... this one feels good. It's so easy. We are safe (And happy!) and we'll go on living our crazy lives with crazy adventure. Hell, we already shared a few good laughs over the whole thing. The cynic in me loves this one. Bullshit. No forgiveness on round two. Here's the thing: In the same way that only black people can safely use any term to define their race and alcoholics have support groups. While they may not have to be there, and because they weren't there, Ithink they ought show some respect. Only we can laugh at this without displaying any other emotions. Dispite my condemnation of the "you had to be there" ideal, it is also a joke to believe that because we're alive in front of them, that they too are granted the priveledges of cheating death. Death is (perhaps) the last great unknown, and the answer to many questions that plague us throughout life. No one gets to laugh it off immediately. We forged the waters, so we get our laugh. I can't speak for the other two, but I had my reckoning and showed my respect when the water reached about chest deep. No one I tell this story acctually did it, so my argument follows that they also don't reap the benefits. It seems to me that the listener should pay repect to death, acknowledge we almost died, and then laugh over a beer. When the laughing comes first, it makes my 4 foot deep epiphany seem a little trite. The laughing seems to say "Dumbass, you were going to make it anyway" or worse "I am already okay with death, it's hard to believe it took hypothermia for you to come to terms". This, of course, plays perfectly with the lack of other emotions I mentioned. People think they're going with the flow. Well, stop. Respect death. Pay your due dilligence. Fuck, if they can't access it directly, throw in a story about how they almost died, anything to clue us in that they've been there and they know. Talk, then laugh, chastise, ignore or whatever their bent for dealing with post-humous crisis may be. We went through our rainbow of feelings all on our own, in freezing water, without the guarentee we would get to recount them. So number two is out, because it's just downright inconsiderate. No one is above an "oh my gosh" to show us you get the severity. Otherwise, it looks like they don't believe us or they don't care, whichever is worse.
Then I decided to swallow my own medicine and have some compassion for the unsympathetic. I'll stop this line of argument right here because there is no sense in excusing people for being heartless and weak. Compassion is not a large request.
So what's left? I don't know. Those seem to be a pretty comprehensive set of excuses to cut up for an angry man. Yet I am forgetting the one that plagues me most: What if it really didn't matter? Which brings me to Jim's reaction. Jim handled the whole thing differently than I did and I can't say I really know what was or is going though his head. However, I do know (since he's told me) that this notion bothers him too. What's interesting is that Jim's issue was not (like mine) based in outrage at the world's complete damn ignorance of what happened and how it should be handled. Jim instead, worried about himself. It is not uncommon when people have near death experiences (and allow me to interject that Jim went through shock as well, a step of trauma Doug and I some how evaded) that once through their ordeal they find God. Now, I'm not pretending that Jim found God or even, for that matter, was looking for God. However, he got absolutely nothing. No revelation, no God, no repurposing of life, or clearer priorities. He doesn't love his girlfriend any more, he doesn't work harder, he doesn't hold a new respect for life. Aside from perhaps a keener eye for tide tables Jim on the whole remained relatively unchanged with one exception: He couldn't figure out why nothing change. When he mentioned this to me, I immediately saw his point. Nothing did change, hell, I coudn't even get a smack of awe let alone a concern for my almost vanished life or (dare I hope) a little notice for heroism in the face of danger. But Jim didn't care about that, so I shut up. Jim worried about the implications of cheating death and finding nothing. He wanted to know what happens when one is forced to tangibly concieve death and comes to no real conclusion. What does it mean to NOT find God?
On this note, I took the idea of taking stock of one's life. What realizing death did to me, and I believe does to many, is force you to reconsider your life. People always talk about how they go through mid-life crises or they find religion or suddenly have an undying respect for the simple pleasures in life. So I told Jim, when he took a long hard look at himself, he didn't have any qualms. In all honesty, I didn't find God either, so in a way I was speaking for myself more than for him, but I think the point stands. In fact, though unsatisfying, we had the perfect response. It just turns out that the world at large is a little fucked up (or at least refuses to notice their fucked up-edness) and when they take stock of their lives they find they need major revisions. So society taught Jim and I to look for moments when we get to make drastic changes. It's like a get out of jail free card, when you almost die you get to start over and these cards (apparently) are not handed out often. They seem to consist of major event's like weddings and graduations and then sporadic ones like mid-life crisies and near death experiences. Otherwise, the world kinda wants you to stick with the plan and save your revisions. Turns out, we don't have to do either.
Wait wait, here's another excuse: People expect it from us. I love this one in the way that I love dead baby jokes. It makes me laugh that sinister uncontrollable laugh because I feel like it lets me have it both ways. Here's what I mean: On one hand, I get to be cool, because crap like this is only nothing to someone who can do it any time or all the time. So they automatically project cool on to me, which is nice. Then, I also get to keep my indignant attitude that everyone has shunned the importance of what happened, because being cool is not synonymous with being understood. In fact, it's probably more to the other end. In fact, it's way to the other end. I'll stick my neck out there and challenge anyone to argue someone they know really well is cool to them. The reason I say this is because cool is an alienating category. You might respect someone, find them funny, think they dress well, dig their music, but as soon as you get that one dirty secret nailed to the floor, they will never be cool again. Hell, it doesn't even have to be dirty. The first time you see someone asleep, use the bathroom, or do any of the other mundane "one-leg-at-a-time" things that everone does, they are no longer cool. They can still be a plethora of great adjectives, but cool demands a certain amount of distance, which is why this excuse is also faulty. People who nearly die aren't looking to be cool. No one tries to almost die so they can improve their street cred (that may not be entirely true, but I think we can safely discount the lunatics who do). Instead, the expectation that we always make it through this kind of harrowing experience only serves to rob us of the uniqueness inherent to the event. It makes death like shopping, and we all know it's not. It's like taxes.
posted by IndelibleMind at 6:49 PM
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