An Essay On Young People

I'm sick of hearing that today's youth are apathetic. Beyond my initial problem of others trying to paint an entire generation with the same brush stroke, there's an inability to identify or acknowledge the underlying causes of this so-called lack of a broader conscience or awareness to think beyond the self.

It's not that young people are apathetic.  They care, and deeply.  Apathy should not be confused with helplessness.  That overwhelming and pervasive sense that positive change is beyond the capabilities of our current institutions, systems and leaders.  Social stasis is a paralysing reality.

The problem is not a lack of passion.  It's a lack of power, or the means to attain it. To wrestle it from the dinosaurs who grip on with all the strength their puny claws provide. Or, rather, hide behind the walls they've built to maintain control.

I hate binary arguments between 'old people' and 'young people', or the false equivalency between these parties and 'conservatism' and 'progressive policy'.  It's reductive and not at all useful.  I mean, if I were to engage in such petty discourse, I'd probably start saying that everybody over the age of (let's say) 50 are greedy, crotchety and past their used-by-date.  I'd say their views on social issues are archaic and inhuman, and that they're all terrible drivers.

And that just wouldn't be right at all.

The solution for young people is not easy.  How does one (or even many) confront a society that firstly vilifies them, and concurrently seeks to gather and protect the interests of those who already hold power?

The answer is to be creative.  To think of ways to engage, inspire, motivate and educate that haven't been done before, and that cannot be countered by existing measures.  The natural evolution of that thinking is the harnessing of technology and the greater sense of global community that this encourages.

And, I guess the sobering thought at the end of all of this: one day I'll be one of those dinosaurs, gripping to something I should have released long ago.  My hope is that, by then, we'll at least be moving in the right direction.  And that I don't fall into the trap of looking down on young people as anything less than the product of our society.

(Note: Political rhetoric is fun.  I enjoy engaging in hyperbole and exaggeration.)

Learning From Yourself

Wow.  It sure has been a while.

Now, before you get too excited, I want to be honest: I'm only clearing the cobwebs away for this particularly entry.  This isn't a return to routine, or the start of another 'wave' of blogging.  At least, I don't intend for it to be at this stage.  This is a one-time thing, and it starts where most of my life experiences do: me.

I've spent an evening reading over my previous blogs posted here.  And I know this might sound vain, but I loved it.  I almost felt like I was reading them for the first time, and learning about this brand new person (who was, of course, me).

It's such a huge cliche, but I'll be damned if it isn't true.  People change.  We all do.  Profoundly, I might add.  It's not something that we really notice or acknowledge, I feel.  At least not enough.

Through these blogs I talked about a huge range of topics.  Things that are really important to me, and things that probably just popped into my head as I sat at my keyboard.  Things that were seemingly meaningless and mundane became the inspiration for many hundreds of words.  Some of the things I wrote truly struck me: I can't believe I said the things I said.  Not because I don't believe them, or because my feelings have changed: I just love the way I was able to express some things.

I don't think I could do that now.

I don't feel unjustified in looking back on last year and calling it the most highly creative period of my life.  I mean, this blog is just one artefact to support that.  I felt like I had something important or interesting to say, and I found a way to express that at the time.  The 'products' of that period are things I am still proud of.  I don't look back on my work with regret or shame, but with a sentimental glimmer.

This year, my focus hasn't been on introspective creativity.  My brainpower has been applied outwardly in the form of lessons and units and teaching and learning.  And I love it: even at the worst of times I find something to grasp that just melts away the problems.  (No, that's not alcohol: it's passion).

But I guess the feeling I have right now is that all this has come at the expense of these other, more individual forms of creative expression.  The writing a stupid TV show, or Absurdist play, or monologue of a camp Jesus living on the moon.  The ridiculous (and frankly embarrassing) dabbling in photography.  And that's a little bit sad.

I know it doesn't have to be like this.  It doesn't need to be one or the other.  I can do both.  But I haven't.

So I guess, for now, I make this commitment.  It's not binding in the sense that there are measurable goals or deadlines or imperatives.  It's purposefully loose and flexible.

I'm going to remember to do things for myself.  Things that are creative, and that allow me to learn and express who I am and what I know and understand of this world.

Even if those things are research proposals...

We do change.  And quickly, I might add.  I see it everyday with the students I teach: I guess tonight was a time where I remembered that still applies for myself.

Boxes

All of my belongings are in boxes.

That's not a metaphor.  Pretty much everything I own is sitting inside a box.  Whether that box is actually a trailer, in the case of my furniture, or a proper box, such as the ones storing my DVD's.

This is such a strange feeling.  I'm currently laying on my mattress, which is on the floor of what once was my bedroom.  It will be the last thing to get loaded up tomorrow.  I'm looking up at the roof, and it just seems so far away.  And I don't know why, but that seems significant.

I don't like the idea of putting my stuff in boxes.  It just rubs me the wrong way.  It's not because I'm sad about moving, because I'm actually really excited.  It's just that there's something so... plain about a box.

These are my things.  I am attached to them, and they are significant.  Even those things which only seem functional, like bedposts and coat-hangers.  They've been packed away, like material things with no value.

I don't think I'm a hippie.  Sure, I like tie-dyed shirts and the occasional marijuana (note to current and future employers: that's a joke), but I don't think the label suits me.  But I like my stuff to be free.  Because it's a part of me, and I'm free.  So it should be too.

And so I leave tomorrow.  To take my stuff packed inside boxes... somewhere?  I don't even know.  That's probably the hardest part for my stuff.  They don't have a home yet.  I'll be fine without a home, but my stuff... my stuff needs a place to roam, a place where it belongs.  Like a platypus needs a stream, and an asteroid needs space.

Stuff needs a home.