Whether it’s porn, alcohol, or drugs the cycle of abuse is the same.
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/addiction. Below is a hand drawn cycle of my daily to do list, and diagram.
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Career Paper
7/19/2020
After much contemplation I have decided on one decision. My career will be centered around the field of Educational Psychology, working to improve the lives of others. I have made mistakes and I owe the world an apology by being a better version of myself. My trials of drinking, and impulse control – which I now admit have reached critical mass. I must take action and do the right thing. I will continue to learn.
Specifically, with an emphasis in counselling, and coaching I have not specifically decided what area of focus I may be most readily accessible, but I know that special health, and alcohol abuse counselling in conjunction with truth will be where I’m needed most. I do believe that this is an area of focus moving forward and will be the type of future needed for rehabilitation. This emphasized furthermore in the work of Graneveeter who seeks to understand the socio-economic need for work in the economy at large. I continue to work relentlessly in my pursuit of my education, and understand the relative necessity of helping others through substances. My work will be in conjunction with others who have worked towards Granovetter’s notion of open communication as it is resolved through opening a dialogue — what he describes as “face-to-face communication” (Granovetter, 109).
In Mark Gronevetter’s book Getting a Job, Granovetter talks about the basis of his approach to make sure to find a job he mentions as the importance of maintaining contacts. One such area of influence where Gronevetter emphasizes this is in the nature of establishing contacts for the workforce at large – specific to “young workers” (Granovetter, 42). This is even more important when considering the nature of the workforce and the law of interpersonal relationships. When we dare to consider the nature of life and the interpersonal nature of these interactions, we come to the conclusion of understanding of the importance of the causal connections associated with them.
These causal relationships can inhabit what are described as “nodes.” In Networks, Crowds, and Markets the social network analysis serves points of communicating as a mediation for another’s interpersonal experiences. Easley, and Kleinberg go further on to mention the aspects of networks and how “the social, economic, and technological worlds are connected” (Easely and Kleinberg, 1). One such thing that is mentioned by Granovetter, is the nature of which things must be reassessed. Including interpersonal relationships. This sense of interpersonality is mentioned by Granovetter in his ideology towards causal models.
He notes,
“A first temptation is to conclude that the quality of education received in better colleges makes one more desirable afterwards; it is also possible that is that those attending is that those attending better schools are pre-selected, regardless of educational quality of those schools.so that they would be more likely to be sought out after” (Granovetter, 32). This type of “temptation,” that Granovetter speaks of is in direct correlation with the ideology that education received from what is regarded as more secularly reputable can give one the needed impetus in one’s career goal. An example of this is a reception of a degree from a notable institution, such as any one of the excelled, and reputable Ivy League institutions prevalent throughout the world today. An example of Ivy League colleges may be Brown, or Harvard. However, the point that Granovetter makes here is that despite the erroneous idea that people from these institutions are more “sought out after,” they are truthfully better fit around “the right” people — characterized by the social web of their immediate influence during their time here (Granovetter, 227).
Furthermore, an understanding of these interpersonal relationships can result in a better understanding of the career goal as a work from which there are others in the field. This is also an exemplification of the viability for understanding the correct form of communication. Reinforcing this form of communication is better exemplified in the work of Granovetter’s work who mentions the importance of necessary job function in the type of communications. Communication is therefore better exemplified in the kind of career choice one chooses for themselves. It is better exemplified in the utterance of knowledge, through which one decides to make amends. In The Peacemaker, Ken Sande makes this very point in his chapter on conflict management under the subhead ‘Stewarding Conflict” (Sande, 38). The point he makes is that it is not a question of whether or not to avoid conflict, but rather it is a question of utilizing more moral ends to amend the sources of conflict. These will undoubtedly create a better sense of understanding for both parties involved. Under this vice, it will be easier to understand the source of conflict imbued.
As an elaboration of the conflict received, there appears to be a better understanding with Sande’s work, and my relative career goals. I believe that through a shared understanding of these beliefs that there will be a more formal understanding of my choice to maintain peace, serenity and calm in the workplace. While my end goal is to remain around the field of educational psychology in the long run, the goal that I currently have is to resolve any interpersonal sense of conflict in conjunction with Sande’s work. This will further my job market availability as it works in conjunction with the work necessary in my current field as was manifest in the airline industry. The main importance is the emphasis on peace here, and Sande’s work is a reminder of such.
Sande’s work, as well as books like the Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield, have touched upon this very point. The importance of which has definitely been a difficult tangent to understand is the importance of an awakening to an understanding that is beyond the previous understanding. While I cannot quote James Redfield as a reputable source of factual information, his work has forwarded my current understanding of the importance of the need to awaken to the current job market, as Granovetter describes.
Furthermore, to be more specific with my thesis of helping others through the field of Educational psychology, I will be putting the work of Granovetter, and that of others in my understanding of the current field at large. This will be a re-awakening process for me, and I must do everything in accord with what is necessary in order to maintain a more rich and fulfilling life. In Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, Susan Cain mentions the individuality of introverts and extroverts in leadership roles. Her emphasis is on the power that introverts possess. Moving forward in my career goals, Cain’s work will be more than useful for its truth, and lack of bias. One such passage, I found that enlightened me was the notion of leadership from that of the vantagepoint of introversion. Cain quotes Farrall and Konberg in Leadership Development for the Gifted and Talented when she says, “While extroverts tend to attain leadership in public domains, introverts tend to attain leadership in theoretical and aesthetic fields” (Cain, 78). Furthermore Rana Foroohar mentions one incredulous point, “Without the right story of what went wrong, we won’t fix what needs to be fixed” (Foroohar, 60). This exemplifies the need for a better understanding of the story as is imposed through helping others understand their own through counselling, and assistance of choice.
In conclusion, my job, though it has not been exemplified yet through the current job market will revolve around educational psychology, paving the way for others along the path of navigation through wanton addictions, and re-manifesting their ability to change and do better for themselves. John C. Maxwell further notes the importance of leadership in his book Developing the Leaders Around You, when he mentions “leaders express feelings that other leaders sense” (Maxwell, 9). This is especially poignant when we begin to discern the leadership prevalent in the pioneering work of educational psychology, already made manifest through voices such as Brene Brown, and Cheryl Strayed. In Brown’s work Daring Leadership, Brown describes a leader as someone who “takes responsibility for finding the potential in people and processes, and who has the courage to develop that potential” (Brown, 4). The work made manifest throughout these processes currently being pioneered through Brown and others really stand as a stalwart manifestation of the current field of Educational Psychology made truthfully manifest through the world of publication and self-care through individualized personal means. It is my intention to continue the work of these women, through a pioneering effort of bettering others by first bettering myself. Only through this work, may I show others the better way.
Annotated Bibliography
Cain, Susan. Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can’t Stop Talking. New York : Crown Publishers, 2012. Print.
Ritzer, George. The McDonaldization of Society: An Investigation Into the Changing Character of Contemporary Social Life. Newbury Park, Calif.: Pine Forge Press, 1993.
New World Bible Translation Committee. New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures With References, Rendered From the Original Languages. Rev. 1984. Brooklyn, N.Y.: Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York, 1984.
Sande, Ken. The Peacemaker: A Biblical Guide to Resolving Personal Conflict. Grand Rapids, Mich: Baker Book House, 1991. Print.
Farrell, J., & Kronborg, L. G. (1996). Leadership Development for the Gifted and Talented. In M. McCann, & F. Southern (Eds.), Fusing Talent. Giftedness in Australian Classrooms (pp. 87 – 103). The Australian Association of Mathematics Teachers (AAMT) Inc..
Foroohar, Rana. 2016. Makers and Takers: The Rise of Finance and the Fall of American Business. New York: Crown Business.
Redfield, James. The Celestine Prophecy: An Adventure. New York, NY : Warner Books, 1994. Print.
Maxwell, John C. Developing the Leader Within You. Nashville: T. Nelson, 1993.
-
English is not my first language. Yet, I believe that is why I must major in it. This is why.
Before becoming a Hugo, and Nebula Award winning novelist, Octavia E. Butler was discouraged by her aunt, who said, “Negroes can’t be writers.” As a dyslexic teenager, in the 1960’s Butler could have taken this claim to heart as an irrefutable fact.
Butler could have decided to put her pen down, but she didn’t.
Choosing to ignore her aunt’s advice, Butler became the literary stalwart of her generation. Years later, she published her book, “Kindred” – which remains popular until this day. Her Xenogenesis series continues to shape, and mold the conventions of an era previously dominated by white men.
Her essay, “Furor Scribendi,” (translated in latin as the “The Anger of Writing”) exhorts all aspiring writers to bury themselves into the psychological limerence of deep work, writing constantly despite the contagion of complacency. It is an admonition to all who wish to write, and I have decided to heed that call through a self-driven education.
A decade after her death, I found a copy of Kindred. She was the first female African-American, science-fiction novelist I had ever read, and I regarded her as my literary mother.
Thus, began my discovery of literature pertinent to Butler’s genre, and that of the whole world of literature.
In college, I started reading her work, after her death. In her work I found an identity. I began searching for her influences and steeped myself in literature.
In the Spring of 2017, my biological mother fell ill with cancer.
That event caused a shift in me that I was unable to process positively. As a result, my grades plummeted. During this time, my mother, with Stage IV ovarian cancer remained in her nursing program at UW – Madison – studying in between her chemotherapy sessions.
That event, and her determination have spurred me onward to this day. Her spirit for success has imparted me with the diligence, and humility necessary for re-admission to the institution.
There is no doubt that I will succeed, as that is my only option.
As far as college essay applications go, this is the most difficult to write because it is the most honest. Perhaps, I should spare the details of my life as a millennial immigrant for another work in the future. Yet, an even greater voice impels me to tell my story.
That is the obligation of a writer.
My family hails from the Ivory Coast. We flew here when I was one. My father came here with the illusory enchantments of his age: namely, a life outside Abidjan with a dream to one day own his own business. My mother, a nurse came from a family of teachers in Bouake, a rural town not far from Yamoussoukro.
I was born in Abidjan, Côte D’Ivoire. Though I have little memory of my initial years, I have heard our stories.
The stories that pass down from my homeland are alive. They must have mediums to contain them. The people through which the story imbues its essence are called griots.
In my tribe, the Baoule, the griots are the storytellers, who beat the drums, and teach the young men of the villages. There are not many left. By all my reckoning my father, and his father were unofficial griots. They could tell a story – a fantastical folklore – and imbue it with the life of its lesson.
In the summer of 1992 my father bought an international lottery ticket. The ticket, he said, was a random draw. He’d bought it at the booth of a souvenir dealer. The odds, he knew, were astronomically low. The probability of winning, he negated by prayer.
Whoever won it, he said, would come to America.
Three months later his prayers were answered. He had won the ticket.
*
When we moved to North Dakota, that story kept us warm. We shared those stories, as self-proclaimed griots. As the world outside froze, our togetherness became our solace. We stoked our inner fires.
We learned that camaraderie, and hospitality were reverred qualities in either cultures. And we learned the topography of the world through the stories we told.
Of course, I enjoyed fantastical stories. Throughout this time, I began reading Uwem Akpan, and Amy Tan. I decided to meet Neil Gaiman, and Trevor Noah. Ursula K. Le Guin, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Harlan Ellison, and more of Octavia E. Butler. And then, I began the work of Gene Wolfe, who has grandfathered many through a prestigious tomes of spell-binding fantasy, and science fiction.
That all led me to Viktor Frankl’s work, “Man’s Search for Meaning,”
On reading Frankl’s work, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” I was struck with a quote. Frankl, a survivor of the Holocaust writes about his experience in the following way:
“The prisoner who had lost faith in the future—his future —was doomed. With his
loss of belief in the future…Usually this happened quite suddenly, in the form of a crisis, the symptoms of which were familiar to the experienced camp inmate” (Frankl, 82).
Furthermore, on the duror of his trials, Frankl writes, “The angels are lost in a perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.”
The way, I saw it I had two options:
I could decide to be like Octavia E. Butler, and my mother and continue my studies despite the disparaging situation, or I could remain like the prisoner’s of Frankl’s mental incarceration.
I choose the latter, and seek to go back to school for what I love.
For me, literature has been and always will be a form of perpetual contemplation. It is a conversation from eras past with writers as heralds. To delve into the mind of an individual of whom one has never met, but identifies with is nothing short of a miracle. To me, reading and writing is a sanctuary.
In a certain way, we all exist between two worlds: that of our reality, and that of our reveries. In so doing, Campbell’s Hero’s Journey resonates with us all.
My mother, whose cancer is in remission abides by this subconsciously. Octavia lived by it.
It is true. My previous transcripts have reflected a significant academic decline
Yet, that was a time in which I felt that nothing good could come out of my current situation with a defeatist mentality. I lost the vision my family has.
The specific error of my academic past was dual-fold.
The first was a youthful, unrealistic expectation of myself, as it pertains to the invincibility principle. The environmental factors that led to my academic probation were many throughout the semesters I was in school at UW-Milwaukee, and UW – Green Bay. My mother’s cancer at the time, my disfellowshipping from the Jehovah’s Witness religion, and my grandmother’s immigration to America were undeniable stressors, but my grades were the symptoms of a greater ill. I denied the destitution I felt, and that was my downfall. Namely, I lacked a spiritual outlet, and regaining that literary spring has made all the difference.
To regain it, I read Milton, and Hume throughout this time. Their philosophies imparted me with a knowledge outside myself, namely that the suffering of religious ostracism from my family was temporary.
The second error of my past, was an unprecedented, atavistic response to the social change in my environment.
In order to grow, a plant must have suitable conditions (i.e. soil, water, sunlight) from which to propagate. If that environment changes, the shock is such that it can harm the plant.
Previously, in my past life as a Jehovah’s Witness I had only associated with people inside the religion. The Watchtower literature was highly regulated, and research outside was strongly discouraged. Fraternizing with anybody outside was forbidden. And so, moving to Milwaukee with a new job, and new circles made me feel like my roots were exposed. I felt the susceptibility of that plant, and the shock of the environment was something I truly was not prepared for.
After reassessing the events in my life, I thought it better to move back with family, and find a licensed therapist for my disfellowshipping from Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Though I am no longer a part of the religion, I believe moving back was what I needed to help me continue my degree. Thus, this is the prime trajectory for re-entrance into school, and the aim of my vector from cult exclusion to autonomy.
In effect, I took Education courses seeking to help others when I needed to help myself. I have shifted my focus to English with a track onto Literature and Cultural Theory. Once completed, I would like to go into teaching. However, I must learn of others like myself first familiarize myself with the ethnic voices of change.
As an Ivorian-American, I wish to tell our stories to the world. Literary voices such as Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Chris Cleave have yet to reach the heartstrings of a millennial audience. I seek to hear that ever resounding timbre of story. I wish to see the fulfillment of these cultural stories, weaved in the social fabric for all.
The plight of the immigrant is not an easy one. But it can be made easier through the accounts we tell. We educate through stories.
That, is why I must continue to study literature. That is why I must write.
-
English is not my first language. Yet, I believe that is why I must major in it. This is why.
Before becoming a Hugo, and Nebula Award winning novelist, Octavia E. Butler was discouraged by her aunt, who said, “Negroes can’t be writers.” As a dyslexic teenager, in the 1960’s Butler could have taken this claim to heart as an irrefutable fact.
Butler could have decided to put her pen down, but she didn’t.
Choosing to ignore her aunt’s advice, Butler became the literary stalwart of her generation. Years later, she published her book, “Kindred” – which remains popular until this day. Her Xenogenesis series continues to shape, and mold the conventions of an era previously dominated by white men.
Her essay, “Furor Scribendi,” (translated in latin as the “The Anger of Writing”) exhorts all aspiring writers to bury themselves into the psychological limerence of deep work, writing constantly despite the contagion of complacency. It is an admonition to all who wish to write, and I have decided to heed that call through a self-driven education.
A decade after her death, I found a copy of Kindred. She was the first female African-American, science-fiction novelist I had ever read, and I regarded her as my literary mother.
Thus, began my discovery of literature pertinent Butler’s genre, and that of the world of literature.
In college, I started reading her work, after her death. In her work I found an identity. I began searching for her influences and steeped myself in literature.
In the Spring of 2017, my biological mother fell ill with cancer.
That event caused a shift in me that I was unable to process positively. As a result, my grades plummeted. During this time, my mother, with Stage IV ovarian cancer remained in her nursing program at UW – Madison – studying in between her chemotherapy sessions.
That event, and her determination have spurred me onward to this day. Her spirit for success has imparted me with the diligence, and humility necessary for re-admission to the institution.
There is no doubt that I will succeed, as that is my only option.
As far as college essay applications go, this is the most difficult to write because it is the most honest. Perhaps, I should spare the details of my life as a millennial immigrant for another work in the future. Yet, an even greater voice impels me to tell my story.
That is the obligation of a writer.
My family hails from the Ivory Coast. We flew here when I was one. My father came here with the illusory enchantments of his age: namely, a life outside Abidjan with a dream to one day own his own business. My mother, a nurse came from a family of teachers in Bouake, a rural town not far from Yamoussoukro.
I was born in Abidjan, Côte D’Ivoire. Though I have little memory of my initial years, I have heard our stories.
The stories that pass down from my homeland are alive. They must have mediums to contain them. The people through which the story imbues its essence are called griots.
In my tribe, the Baoule, the griots are the storytellers, who beat the drums, and teach the young men of the villages. There are not many left. By all my reckoning my father, and his father were unofficial griots. They could tell a story – a fantastical folklore – and imbue it with the life of its lesson.
In the summer of 1992 my father bought an international lottery ticket. The ticket, he said, was a random draw. He’d bought it at the booth of a souvenir dealer. The odds, he knew, were astronomically low. The probability of winning, he negated by prayer.
Whoever won it, he said, would come to America.
Three months later his prayers were answered. He had won the ticket.
*
When we moved to North Dakota, that story kept us warm. We shared those stories, as self-proclaimed griots. As the world outside froze, our togetherness became our solace. We stoked our inner fires.
We learned that camaraderie, and hospitality were reverred qualities in either cultures. And we learned the topography of the world through the stories we told.
Of course, I enjoyed fantastical stories. Throughout this time, I began reading Uwem Akpan, and Amy Tan. I decided to meet Neil Gaiman, and Trevor Noah. Ursula K. Le Guin, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Harlan Ellison, and more of Octavia E. Butler. And then, I began the work of Gene Wolfe, who has grandfathered many through a prestigious tomes of spell-binding fantasy, and science fiction.
That all led me to Viktor Frankl’s work, “Man’s Search for Meaning,”
On reading Frankl’s work, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” I was struck with a quote. Frankl, a survivor of the Holocaust writes about his experience in the following way:
“The prisoner who had lost faith in the future—his future —was doomed. With his
loss of belief in the future…Usually this happened quite suddenly, in the form of a crisis, the symptoms of which were familiar to the experienced camp inmate” (Frankl, 82).
Furthermore, on the duror of his trials, Frankl writes, “The angels are lost in a perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.”
The way, I saw it I had two options:
I could decide to be like Octavia E. Butler, and my mother and continue my studies despite the disparaging situation, or I could remain like the prisoner’s of Frankl’s mental incarceration.
I choose the latter, and seek to go back to school for what I love.
For me, literature has been and always will be a form of perpetual contemplation. It is a conversation from eras past with writers as heralds. To delve into the mind of an individual of whom one has never met, but identifies with is nothing short of a miracle. To me, reading and writing is a sanctuary.
In a certain way, we all exist between two worlds: that of our reality, and that of our reveries. In so doing, Campbell’s Hero’s Journey resonates with us all.
My mother, whose cancer is in remission abides by this subconsciously. Octavia lived by it.
It is true. My previous transcripts have reflected a significant academic decline
Yet, that was a time in which I felt that nothing good could come out of my current situation with a defeatist mentality. I lost the vision my family has.
The specific error of my academic past was dual-fold.
The first was a youthful, unrealistic expectation of myself, as it pertains to the invincibility principle. The environmental factors that led to my academic probation were many throughout the semesters I was in school at UW-Milwaukee, and UW – Green Bay. My mother’s cancer at the time, my disfellowshipping from the Jehovah’s Witness religion, and my grandmother’s immigration to America were undeniable stressors, but my grades were the symptoms of a greater ill. I denied the destitution I felt, and that was my downfall. Namely, I lacked a spiritual outlet, and regaining that literary spring has made all the difference.
To regain it, I read Milton, and Hume throughout this time. Their philosophies imparted me with a knowledge outside myself, namely that the suffering of religious ostracism from my family was temporary.
The second error of my past, was an unprecedented, atavistic response to the social change in my environment.
In order to grow, a plant must have suitable conditions (i.e. soil, water, sunlight) from which to propagate. If that environment changes, the shock is such that it can harm the plant.
Previously, in my past life as a Jehovah’s Witness I had only associated with people inside the religion. The Watchtower literature was highly regulated, and research outside was strongly discouraged. Fraternizing with anybody outside was forbidden. And so, moving to Milwaukee with a new job, and new circles made me feel like my roots were exposed. I felt the susceptibility of that plant, and the shock of the environment was something I truly was not prepared for.
After reassessing the events in my life, I thought it better to move back with family, and find a licensed therapist for my disfellowshipping from Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Though I am no longer a part of the religion, I believe moving back was what I needed to help me continue my degree. Thus, this is the prime trajectory for re-entrance into school, and the aim of my vector from cult exclusion to autonomy.
In effect, I took Education courses seeking to help others when I needed to help myself. I have shifted my focus to English with a track onto Literature and Cultural Theory. Once completed, I would like to go into teaching. However, I must learn of others like myself first familiarize myself with the ethnic voices of change.
As an Ivorian-American, I wish to tell our stories to the world. Literary voices such as Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Chris Cleave have yet to reach the heartstrings of a millennial audience. I seek to hear that ever resounding timbre of story. I wish to see the fulfillment of these cultural stories, weaved in the social fabric for all.
The plight of the immigrant is not an easy one. But it can be made easier through the accounts we tell. We educate through stories.
That, is why I must continue to study literature. That is why I must write.
-
Dear Lindsey,
I wanted to write you a personal letter preceding this article. Don’t get me wrong: this is not meant to disavow myself of hurting you, to play the victim, or a plea to take me back. It is to say I’m sorry, and to detail my recovery. Understandably, you may not want to read the truth of why I cheated. You may not want to hear about my inner self. And that’s okay.
All I want you to know is that the motivating force behind my actions had nothing to do with you. Rather, they pertained to the structural foundation of my internal person. I wanted to write this article, because I needed to understand that person, and why I did it. I wrote to understand what extent my actions impacted you. Above all, I wrote to give you the most sincere apology I’m capable of giving.
Below is the article. I get that the subject matter may be too fresh and intense for you, so you don’t have to read it now, or ever. An incredible amount of introspection, and vulnerability went into writing this. I read countless scholarly articles on psychology, and books to get here. Coupled with my own experience, I know it isn’t much, but I just wanted you to know. For what it’s worth, maybe it’ll help others.
Lastly, I want to apologize for how my actions discounted the great individual you are. My cheating tarnished what we had, and I’m sorry for that.
You are and will always be a jewel to me.
I wish you everything (including a life after love),
Eric
*
This article is for my ex-girlfriend, Lindsey. She was my world, and I lost her because I cheated. My initial intent was to explain to her why I did it. That aim was selfish, and a vein attempt to redeem myself. The more I wrote, the more I discovered this wasn’t about her, but a distorted projection of myself.
Quite frankly I’m deeply ashamed, and disappointed with myself. To come clean, I suppose I am writing this article for myself. As selfish as that sounds, writing helps me understand the difference between my inner self and the world without self-destruction. It is where I can transcribe my rumination, and make rational sense of it. Writing is my terra firma where I excavate, and my site for learning and change.
Lastly, I want to make amends by helping others. I want to give you, the reader, a set of warning signs through personal experience. Then, preemptively you may choose to avoid them — because at the end of the day our Little Choices impact the Big Ones.
I want you to avoid the Big One, which is betraying someone you love. Let me be clear. Cheating is a terrible act that robs the other person of their self-worth, and dignity. It is an insult, of their mark upon you and themselves, of the life you lived, and of their future.
But it too, is a selfish accretion, stemming from self denial.
As atrocious as that sounds, I believe it can happen to anyone. In fact, from personal experience, if you think you’re special, you’re amongst the most susceptible.
I want everyone to avoid the pain of cheating before it sets in, because once you have – there’s little you can take back.
*
It was my Junior year of college studying for my degree in English Education when I happened to have met Lindsey: a tall, intelligent Caucasian woman in her late twenties. At twenty five, I was still a kid.
We’d matched online, and decided to meet at an Indian restaurant on Milwaukee’s west side. Coming late from work, I noticed her in the window. She was wearing a black and white sundress.
This was the woman I’d been looking for. She was smart, with a distinct and subtle dark sense of humor, which I liked. I noted an introspection to her calmly thought out sentences. Her introversion, coupled with her maturity made me fawn.
We connected over dinner, and grabbed drinks shortly afterward. I was over eager to show her my world, and ask her about hers. Then, the romance began.
Throughout the span of seven months we travelled, and went on weekly dates. Even when I moved back to Madison with my family, I’d drive an hour and a half to see her. Never once during the initial months could I see myself with another person. Never could I see myself as unfaithful.
But in those latter months, despite not being able to admit to myself I most definitely was a cheater.
Infidelity. I will call it by its true name: disloyalty, better known as cheating.
I choose to call it by its name to derail its power from me, as a clear delineation between myself and the moral code I failed to uphold.
I believe that ousting that demon is a key step to recovery. It is calling the truth for what it is.
Infidelity is a hot topic: from Meg Ryan, Neil Strauss, Jay Z, to Ben Affleck. It’s run a shit storm in the news.
Society hates cheating. We hate it because it is an infraction of a promise made to another person: to share our sacred space with them, and them alone.
What I refused to acknowledge was this:
Love is a sanctuary we must be prepared to foster, as well as give. Our emotional maturity dictates the strength of the foundation.
Yet the question pervades. So, cheating. Why did I do it?
In short, I wasn’t prepared to uphold the standard, I had set out for myself through personal development: namely self love, self discipline, and self control.
Mistake 1: Admittance
It was 2 a.m. on a Sunday morning when my ex, and I broke up. We had just come from my best friend’s Halloween party dressed up as Salt, and Pepper.
We were lying in bed, when the fight began.
“Can I see your phone?”
“My phone?” I said, “Why do you want to see my phone? Are you being needy again?”
“Please, give me your phone.”
“No,” I said.
Still she insisted, tugging at my hand which held the phone to find the inevitable, heart-wrenching truth.
“Download Tinder,” she said sternly.
I sighed deeply. I’d been caught.
When the fire emblem popped up, my heart sank.
“Open up the app,” she said.
Weakly, I tapped the application, and entered my credentials.
“Now give it here.”
I shuttered thinking of the flirtatious conversations I’d been having with numerous women. The numbers, the projected dates. All of it was right there for her to read.
As she scrolled through my phone, inspecting the contents of each conversation, I could feel her hurt. I could feel her sting. And it was all because of me.
That sting hadn’t registered until she rolled over in bed, sat up and looked at me. The reality that this action of mine had personal consequences punched me in the gut.
Idiot, I thought.
Why wasn’t reality hitting me now? Why hadn’t it hit me before the thought came across my mind?
As the wave hit us both like a train, I saw the bright life behind her green eyes dim. Like jade they lost their luster for me, and my being.
Then the fight ensued, and the questioning. “How long has this been going on? Was this for sex? How many women were there? Is this because I’m not beautiful enough to you?”
The questioning continued, so fast I couldn’t even answer them. So fast I couldn’t acknowledge the extent of hurt she felt.
Screw what I felt.
My experience paled in significance to her own trial, to her own infinitesimal grief.
In that moment, I wanted to die.
I will never forget the hurt I saw in her eyes.
After getting her an Uber to a friends, she left the AirBnB. That night, I could hardly sleep.In the morning, I walked four and half miles to my car, because I didn’t have enough money in my account for a cab. This is the financial effect cheating had on me.
It was then, walking alone in the brisk morning that I felt enough to register the reality of the situation. I’m single, and wandering around on East Washington Avenue.
In hindsight although, I didn’t have sex with other women, I still cheated on my girlfriend Lindsey by chatting online. But it began before then, when I broke the pact with myself to uphold my moral standard.
This was hard to admit to myself, because it detracted from the image I had of myself.
I had a confirmation bias that I was good man, because my desire was to better myself. I had an ambition to become a teacher, a mission to help others, a point to prove, a lesson to teach.
I wanted to become the living incarnation of my values — as if they were concrete and could walk, and talk.
Holding on to this confirmation bias, was deleterious to my psyche.
In the words of writer Richard Matheson, “I nip the brew” that fed me – rationalizing against my better nature with disjointed actions that did not indicate my internal nature.
On the inside, my internal nature was fierce. I had left the Jehovah’s Witness religion without constructing a personal set of ideals to follow, drank to relieve this looming fear, and chatted with women to distract myself
I feared that by acting as I felt it would distance those I loved, and those I cared about.
In fact, the opposite was true.
I was a marionette pulled on strings by the whim of others, never once questioning what I truly wanted in order to make others happy.
This twisted act permitted me to lie to myself, while making promises to others. Thus, I began acting on impulses that were not consistent with my current level of emotional progress. I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it; thinking that the facade or rouse was strength.
In short, I wanted to prove to myself that I was mature enough to uphold societal standards of being exceptional – but I could not prove it to myself.
Corrupt? Yes.
Mistake 2: Failure to Ask the Tough Questions: How? And Why?
What people don’t tell you is that cheating can begin slowly. I wonder if most people know that the seed may begin very slowly, with its roots in childhood.
Don’t get me wrong. I am NOT condoning cheating by any stretch of the imagination. Neither do I claim upbringing as the sole factor as apart from will.
But for me, I must acknowledge that it surely did. One rationalizes that they are a good person a.k.a. a person who upholds The Moral Standard.
One prides themselves on being transparent, on being kind, helpful, or nice. Constantly affirming a defined altruism for themselves.
On a basal level, so many of us want to be these things. We die for these values.
However, this standard – in which we perceive a person to be the sole vessel for absolute goodness does not exist in reality. This is a legends, a myth, and a lie.
What pervade are the undying principles prevalent in these stories. We laud celebrities as the living embodiment of these principles incarnate. People like Gandhi, Martin Luther King, or Siddhartha Gautama lived good lives as models for others to follow.
When celebrities transgress we slander them with hate speech, with mockery, and a bemusement at their fall. We demonize their character as a reflection of their person, because it is easier in our own minds to distance ourselves from this one simple truth: such people are only men.
They are only men which we cannot ascribe the public’s intents, and wishes upon. They are men and women who are susceptible to greed, and corruption. And like men they will heed their own ultimatum, and their own agenda to make sense of themselves as apart from the collective. Whether or not they utilize this knowledge to benefit themselves, or destroy others is another matter entirely.
Mistake 3 : A False Start – Making a Genuine Change Through Action
Do not accept your morally subjective confirmation bias in favor of glorifying your own self image.
Honorable people do not do this. They take the facts distinct from reality, and asses the better choice for themselves, and others. They choose these based on an intrinsic love for themselves, and the wellbeing of others.
I was dishonorable, because I did not love myself. And because I did not love myself, I wanted others to fill that void. So, I chose to wear society’s statutes upon me like a mask, thinking this would displace my own insecurity.
The end result was a lie incarnate. I became that lie. I walked and talked it. Then, I let my pride blockade me from acknowledging it to myself.
This is not what my ex girlfriend deserved. In fact, this is not what anyone deserves.
Even before the lying, I knew there was something intrinsically wrong with my character.
Was it me, or the relationship? I couldn’t hone which one it was, because I did not want to admit that I was lying to myself.
It’s easy to take an external force, such as a relationship and pinpoint its errors. But it’s even harder to look at yourself – plain and simple – and acknowledge the problem is within yourself.
I chose not to look at my my emotional state, because I feared it would tarnish the image I would have of myself. That selfishness impacted my external rouse of a reality, and that’s my personal journey.
I now seek to face my own hypocrisy. And uphold my moral code through truth in the little actions I make. I seek to make a distinction between my Id’s desire’s, and express them in constructive ways.
Unless you internalize your error, by admitting that which you’ve done and acting upon it, you will always find ruin. Self-destruction through lying is the enemy of happiness.
Mistake 4: Choosing the Little Choices over the Big Ones
I am so far from perfect. So far.
Could it be that perfection is the constant strive for being better? Could it be that through little steps in judgement you will make better ones?
The Little Ones vs. Big Ones, is a silly concept I made up for myself. But it works for me, and here’s why.
In every moment of our lives we make small decisions that lead up to big decisions. We choose what time we’ll wake up, for what job we want; what clothes to wear, at what place we attend; when attend; what food to eat to get the body we want; to attract the partner we want.
Notice there’s an order here to personal development that requires adequate action that dictates the next choice. Those decisions are the Little Ones. Pick a card, any card.
The Big Ones pertain to our individual moral code. It is why we pick the specific Little decisions that will further us in life. That is to say, the unyielding decisions we must make to acquire self love, and fulfillment. They compel us to choose the vegetables over the steak, going to the gym over sitting at home, wearing a dress, and going on that date.
If we want a material incarnation of our internal happiness we must seek first to understand what our Big One is.
The Big One has two components. The two choices are: The Self, or the Other.
The Self is comprised of two components. The Inner, and Outer Person. The goal is to seek cohesion between the two in our words, thoughts, and actions.
The Other is composed of the same elements that compose the Self.
Understanding that our reality is dependent on our internal state of affairs is the first step in ousting that demon of misguided truth.
Once the Inner Person is acknowledged, then the Outer Person is free to exist without reins. Once the Outer Person is free to exist then the The Self understands the him or herself as apart from the external forces which dictate the Other.
Understanding the delineation between you and the world is integral to understanding what makes you happy.
Mistake 5: Denying Yourself Acceptance
The only caveat is that we must maintain our sense of self even when the Other changes to retain autonomy of ourselves.
I failed to retain the autonomy of my true self, because I wanted to be accepted by this Other. In doing so, I feared internalizing the discrepancy of that difference, thus lying to myself in the process.
The end result was a self deception, and a blatant attempt at deception to the Other.
In short, I hadn’t grown enough to accept my current state of maturation was not willing to admit to myself that I did not have my shit together. Because, telling myself that would cause me to question my worth in deserving my ex, who upholds my standard of a good person.
But the question remains. Why did I do it?
I lost sight of the Big decisions, by seeking the Little Ones (my ex) as a means to an end. This instrumentalization led to the erroneous belief that I could validate an unstable image of myself as a person.
I did that because I was selfish. And I did that because I was too afraid to be a man, and face myself or her with my concerns in development.
I was not right with my own moral values first before finding love. I did affix them like concrete to my person. And I broke that promise.
I will forever regret how my decision to cheat impacted my ex. I also see, that it is the small decisions, and the pacts we make with our internal self that dictate our progression in this world.
I now promise to myself, that I will not forsake the Little decisions in favor of the Big ones, and stop hurting those nearest to me. If you did what I did, I want you to accept that you deserve to lose that person.
Choose to envision the cold consequence of life without that person. Choose to be loyal.
Finally, I wish you the ability to find yourself, without tarnishing your own self-worth and that of others by the betrayal of cheating.
Because that my friend, is trash. It is a death by a thousand cuts.
Always learning,
The Worldly African
-
I had a dream about Denzel Washington.
Not a homo-erotic dream, but one of those weird ones that stick out to you, because of their merit. There are several kinds of dreams. Some we ascribe more sentiment to than they’re worth. Yet, others encourage us to change.
This is what happened:
I was loading trucks at UPS, and felt like a hamster on a wheel. I thought, “What is the point of all this?” Then Denzel, being Denzel, hopped out of a UPS truck trench coat and all. He looked like he’d hopped off the set of training day. He was chewing gum. He grinned and took off his sunglasses.
“How you doing?”
“Alright,” I said. I dropped the package I was carrying.
“What you doing man?” He sat on the loading dock. “Come on down here. Sit by me.”
So I did.
“What I mean is how are you really doing?” Denzel said. He put an arm around me.
“Broke, and tired,” I said. He looked at me then, and I could sense he felt my weariness.
“I should get back to work,” I said.
“Hold on now,” he said. “Just for a minute. You aren’t doin’ fine.”
He clicked his tongue. Squinting he looked away from me. He gazed at the factory: the workers straining to lift heavy cardboard boxes. He looked at the conveyor belts. Then the bell rang.
“I should really be getting to work,” I said.
“Boy, don’t worry about them. They can’t see us right now.”
I laughed. “What you mean they can’t see us?”
“Exactly that.” Denzel stretched out his hand. “Look at here.” My supervisor was walking down the sorting aisle. Denzel whistled, but he kept walking on by. Denzel stood up, and I could see he through him, as if he were a ghost.
“Look at your hand” I too was dissappearing, like watercolor on a browning canvas.
“You ever been in the rain?” Denzel said.
“Of course.”
“No not that rain, but The Rain. The Red Rain – when it pours and it pours, and all you see is blood.”
“No,” I said. “I’ve never been rain…er bled on.”
“Well it’s happening now.” He beckoned towards the loading dock where a thick, congealed mess of blood had settled into a puddle.
“That’s what your in: where you feel like you’re running and you’re running but you can’t quite get out of it, and all you’ve got is your art to keep you from drowning. That’s called the Red Rain.”I woke up then, and haven’t forgotten that dream since then. Whenever I feel like giving up, I like to think that a part of Denzel’s consciousness tapped mine when I felt hopeless. It drives me on, because my pursuit of being an educator and a writer is what keeps me afloat.
-
In the winter of 2016, I stumbled upon the audiobook, “Unleash The Power 2,” by Tony Robbins at my neighborhood library. I had just moved to Milwaukee, Wisconsin for work and school when my mother was diagnosed with Stage IV ovarian cancer. My friends were an hour away, and I’d been dumped by my long-distance girlfriend.
So, I felt like a mess.
Like most twenty-somethings, I was at a crossroads. I found that binging on self-help CDs helped me find a certain solace. The meditation they induced postponed my indecision in life. I listened to the CDs in my car, on my way to work, in the garage, and during errands. I listened to educators of the prolific variety: Stephen Covey, Dale Carnegie, David Brooks, and Ronda Byrne.
I’d heard of Robbins through Susan Caine’s book, “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking.” Trusting Caine’s taste I picked “Unleash the Power 2” with an optimistic disdain that can only be characterized by a teetering nihilist. Yes, I was skeptical of Tony Robbins. I didn’t want to be preached to. I’d already done enough of that in my prior life as a zealous Jehovah’s Witness.
But something stuck.
I stared at the cover of the audio-book. Robbin’s had a gregarious grin. I envisioned his charisma, as Caine noted. This made me even more weary. I dismissed it as disingenuous, and put it back on the shelf. Something brought me back But I kept an open mind: accepting free, subjective advice, and checked it out.
The audio-book was the second in an installment, with twenty CDs and a lavish 90’s cover. Completing it would be a challenge, but I decided to stuck to my guns…
As I placed CD one of twenty, into my car’s player, I cringed. The music was awfully reminiscent of Brian Eno’s endeavors in the eighties. And Robbins’ initial demeanor reminded me of a salesman. Drat. The dreaded solicitor.
In my earlier exploits, I listened to dating guru Ross Jeffries with a sense of awe. I enforced his methods in my travels. I “stupefied” beautiful women with charm. But after several heartbreaks, I recognized that his tactics on Nero-linguistic programming were manipulative, and incurred more harm than good.
So back to my faith I went. Only to leave, yet again and be shunned.
Born in a strict non-denominational-apocalyptic-Christian household (that’s the best way I can describe it) , I was accustomed to greeting people in passing. My move to a new city, was difficult. Without friends I felt a cold isolation through the virtual window of social media. But most of all, I felt like a fraud, because I covered my abysmal depression, with a smile. I never broke character. My colleagues know me as a fun-loving guy, and I sustained this false image for a time, but all I wanted to do was to be by myself. The discord between my outward disposition, and my internal one brought me to a point where I’d sit on my bed in a nostalgic stupor.
Looking back, one reason for my troubles was my inability to accept change. I would cling to the past, without heeding any call to my future. Essentially, I wore lead shoes, and wondered why I fell.
My answer to these “adverse” changes was to lock myself away in the most compartmentalized space I knew: my Nest. (As an avid bird enthusiast mind you, I took much time in procuring it.)
My Toyota Corolla served two purposes. Obviously, one was transport. The other was compartmentalizing my stressors and emotions into one space I called the Nest.
The Nest was my lazy, slovenly sphere where I went to ruminate. It was my sanctuary from the outside world where I could read, and write with the heater blasting, as my Iphone played CCR, Gnarls Barkley. Here, I played my CDs amidst trash stuffed cup holders, gum wrappers, empty McDonald’s paper bags, extension chords, and dirty clothes. The backseat was a piteous expanse.
Because this state was embarrassing, I cleaned it on occasion. But when I lost motivation, the Nest came back with a vengeance.
And so went the rebellious cycle. I enacted my own advice half-assedly, of course.
The sad bit was that I felt like my armor was replete. Tucked away from the outside world, I felt a sense of solace in being by myself. I didn’t have to face any insults, or any false friendships. Here, I could subdue my anger with Enya. (Yes, I’ve sustained my boyhood crush.)
But Enya, regardless of her New Age Enchantment couldn’t solve what I lacked. The shear discomfort of my environment began to take a toll. It wasn’t long before I realized I was my only companion. It was then, that I began to face a hard, crude fact.
I became comfortable listening to a one-sided conversation. Because I resigned myself to being both the encoder and decoder of a lecture. I slowly lost my ability to sustain meaningful chitchat with real people. Avoiding them, blunted my charisma. My usual skill of reportage waned, and I stuttered when I spoke. I felt the calamitous pang of small-talk. Because I avoided what scared, or angered me I couldn’t progress. So back to the Nest I went. This cycle continued until December 10, 2016 when I resolved that the Nest was not my friend.
Until this point nobody knew this inner turmoil. I acted courageous in front of coworkers, and in front of acquaintances. I liked making people laugh, and that helped ease my social discomfort for a bit. Why? Because I would avoid the issue at hand. After the laughs, I retreated because I could not accept this intricate part of myself.
I’m awkward.
As a self-professed social heathen it took a while to admit this. It was difficult, because the label of weird is synonymous with craziness, thus indicative of mental illness. And as my fellow heathens can attest, depression is a topic not readily discussed in society. We put it on the back burner, because it makes the bourgeoisie uncomfortable. But as I failed to address the issue, it grew, and grew…
Why am I socially awkward, you ask? Because I suppress it. I didn’t want to accept that I was in the midst of conflict, in the throes of change–and because I tried to be everything but myself I lost myself. Truthfully, I may have done this to gain “friends.”
What’s funny about that is these so-called friends I procured, became aloof. As soon as I presented my true self, they dispersed. Beware of the Crazy African. He’s cuckoo, as well as foreign.
I don’t attribute it to any one cause. Pinpointing my upbringing is cliche, but when you’re born in a cult everything is fair game. As part of said cult, practitioners conformed to be accepted. We withheld our inclinations of expressions (notably anger, and bravado) to stay in. And because, we knew no one else outside of said cult, our friendships were conditional.
Let’s just say a cerebral cocktail of antidepressants, and alcohol didn’t help as a coping mechanism. Neither did slumping around in my Nest, or ignoring my alarm clock on my days off.
The true reason, and this is the one I couldn’t come to terms with, was because I kept my Nest…
From my meager twenty-three years of experience, I have found taking pleasure in personal suffering is a “sin” onto the self. It’s not like we try to enjoy it, but milling around after the stupor of our the emotion compounds it. Strengthens it.
(I’m going to get a lot of backlash from this statement, so let me explain it better. Hopefully it riles you up. No apologies)
Ok, I get it. You love the fast food, taking solace in the woe of self-deprecation, and flotsam of despair. This is a familiar space for us, and the real world kind of freaks us out. We say yes to our own flogging, and chastise ourselves for past events we cannot change.
In short we fail to observe the brightness of the future, because we allow past events to shroud our light. So, we quite literally roost in the dark.
It really took a paradigm shift for me to begin seeing my sense of self-loathing. I know I needed to impart kinetic energy into my new ideals, and values so that they could become a reality.
So I began to write down the things I would change for this upcoming New Year. I would activate four facets for myself: my spirituality, my physical well-being, my mental well-being, and my social well-being. I’m keeping them simple:
1.) Read. at least one chapter a day. (If unable: watch a film)
2.) Write a page a day.(Hence this blog)
3.) Socialize in a group setting without alcohol (I started comedy college. Yay)
4.) Run 3 miles a week. (I’ve also started boxing)
Starting early helped to prime myself for the New Year. The conditioning is brutal. Granted, I can’t profess that Robbins’ approach is a one size fits all. There are elements that are grueling, even inconvenient but practicing some of it helps somewhat.
Anyways that’s my schpeel. I wish you peace, Wonderful People.
-Eric
The Traveling African
The Nebuchadnezzar magazine 