bloody marty mix
121/365: 2002-2003
Wednesday, 24 September 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 35: 2002-2003
C. and I continued to see each other when we were able. I could not afford to travel regularly, but C. could, so we decided to try to commit to seeing each other once a month. It seemed feasible and reasonable. In December, however, feasible and reasonable came to a crashing halt. C.'s company downsized two weeks before Christmas, and he went from a comfortable six-figure income to no income, and only a modest severance package. He decided to take this sudden change in his career course as a sign that it was time to pursue a start-up business venture he'd been thinking of for awhile, and so his meager funds were redirected into developing his own company. It was an extremely risky move for him, and he was both nervous and excited. He was also no longer able to travel.
The next several months were a turbulent and intense time for us. We struggled with the absolute impossibility of our relationship, and with the absolute impossibility of giving each other up. Neither of us could travel, and so we had to rely on phone calls and e-mails, both of which were a poor substitute for touch. We agreed to maintain an open relationship, both acknowledging each other's need for physical closeness, but we worried about what that would mean if we weren't able to occasionally come back to each other for comfort and closeness. We had decided that we would be together in the same place someday, but we had no idea how or when that would happen. I was beginning to be open to the idea of leaving Chicago, but even if I had been eager to go, neither of us would have been able to afford it. We were stuck in a seemingly impossible situation. We were determined, though, and I set my mind on the idea that someday soon I'd be packing up my things and leaving Chicago.
C. and I shared a love of politics, and we eagerly watched Gov. Howard Dean's improbable run for the Presidency. We began to consider him in the spring, and by June, we were both fully on-board. We spent many of our conversations discussing the state of the race and of the electorate, and playing out electoral scenarios in our heads. When I wasn't working or talking to C., I was hanging out on the blogs, discussing politics with like-minded people, all of whom seemed to share my excitement and hope that maybe things were about to change, and that maybe we peasants might finally be able to give them a push. I went to all the meetings, and volunteered to do the gruntwork. I wrote as eloquently as I knew how about the campaign, and the election, and posted the essays online. If I could sway one person to consider the candidate, it would all be worth it. I was swept up in civic-mindedness, and in the idea that it was actually in my power to make a real difference in the world. All of the time that lay empty before me without C.'s presence, I filled with politics.
The loneliness crept in slowly at first. I didn't really notice. I stopped going out, and my laptop and my bedroom became my whole world. I began to withdraw from my friends, and from my life in Chicago. My head was already elsewhere.
Who am I?
I am a believer in online communities.
I've been online since long before most people knew there was an online. I worked for the student computing center in college, and fell right into the world of online conversation. I started with Bitnet Relay, and proc name wars on the VAX, and moved into Usenet, which I would consider my online home for many years. When Bitnet Relay grew cumbersome, along came IRC, and I wasted many hours exchanging hilarious jokes and strings of over-the-top expletive-laced rants with people all over the world. Eventually, blogs appeared on the scene, and they seemed tailor made for my desire to write endless screeds about this or that thing that was bugging/inspiring me that day.
Along the way, I developed some very close friendships, and watched others do the same. The online communities I was a part of acted as a support structure for their members, witnessing births and deaths, joys and sorrows. When one member was down, others would prop him or her up, regardless of whatever hot and angry words they may have exchanged the day before. Many of these online communities began to seem more like family than friends, and certainly more than a bunch of strangers scattered across the globe. Popular media still likes to portray online communities as a gathering of geeky kids in their pajamas, but the reality is much more complex.
[ view previous | view next ]
121/365: 2002-2003
Wednesday, 24 September 2008.
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 35: 2002-2003
C. and I continued to see each other when we were able. I could not afford to travel regularly, but C. could, so we decided to try to commit to seeing each other once a month. It seemed feasible and reasonable. In December, however, feasible and reasonable came to a crashing halt. C.'s company downsized two weeks before Christmas, and he went from a comfortable six-figure income to no income, and only a modest severance package. He decided to take this sudden change in his career course as a sign that it was time to pursue a start-up business venture he'd been thinking of for awhile, and so his meager funds were redirected into developing his own company. It was an extremely risky move for him, and he was both nervous and excited. He was also no longer able to travel.
The next several months were a turbulent and intense time for us. We struggled with the absolute impossibility of our relationship, and with the absolute impossibility of giving each other up. Neither of us could travel, and so we had to rely on phone calls and e-mails, both of which were a poor substitute for touch. We agreed to maintain an open relationship, both acknowledging each other's need for physical closeness, but we worried about what that would mean if we weren't able to occasionally come back to each other for comfort and closeness. We had decided that we would be together in the same place someday, but we had no idea how or when that would happen. I was beginning to be open to the idea of leaving Chicago, but even if I had been eager to go, neither of us would have been able to afford it. We were stuck in a seemingly impossible situation. We were determined, though, and I set my mind on the idea that someday soon I'd be packing up my things and leaving Chicago.
C. and I shared a love of politics, and we eagerly watched Gov. Howard Dean's improbable run for the Presidency. We began to consider him in the spring, and by June, we were both fully on-board. We spent many of our conversations discussing the state of the race and of the electorate, and playing out electoral scenarios in our heads. When I wasn't working or talking to C., I was hanging out on the blogs, discussing politics with like-minded people, all of whom seemed to share my excitement and hope that maybe things were about to change, and that maybe we peasants might finally be able to give them a push. I went to all the meetings, and volunteered to do the gruntwork. I wrote as eloquently as I knew how about the campaign, and the election, and posted the essays online. If I could sway one person to consider the candidate, it would all be worth it. I was swept up in civic-mindedness, and in the idea that it was actually in my power to make a real difference in the world. All of the time that lay empty before me without C.'s presence, I filled with politics.
The loneliness crept in slowly at first. I didn't really notice. I stopped going out, and my laptop and my bedroom became my whole world. I began to withdraw from my friends, and from my life in Chicago. My head was already elsewhere.
Who am I?
I am a believer in online communities.
I've been online since long before most people knew there was an online. I worked for the student computing center in college, and fell right into the world of online conversation. I started with Bitnet Relay, and proc name wars on the VAX, and moved into Usenet, which I would consider my online home for many years. When Bitnet Relay grew cumbersome, along came IRC, and I wasted many hours exchanging hilarious jokes and strings of over-the-top expletive-laced rants with people all over the world. Eventually, blogs appeared on the scene, and they seemed tailor made for my desire to write endless screeds about this or that thing that was bugging/inspiring me that day.
Along the way, I developed some very close friendships, and watched others do the same. The online communities I was a part of acted as a support structure for their members, witnessing births and deaths, joys and sorrows. When one member was down, others would prop him or her up, regardless of whatever hot and angry words they may have exchanged the day before. Many of these online communities began to seem more like family than friends, and certainly more than a bunch of strangers scattered across the globe. Popular media still likes to portray online communities as a gathering of geeky kids in their pajamas, but the reality is much more complex.
[ view previous | view next ]