Threshold of cynics...?

[Originally posted on 1:52 am, Wednesday, Nov 21, 2007]

I wonder if there's a threshold for maturity... or cynicalness in other terms.

Today I was thinking back on my past and past memories and trying to figure out when I went from naive and ignorantly innocent to the sarcastic and cynical person that I am today. I mean, if I had to pick a time when some event first hit me really hard in a negative way, I'd probably choose when I moved to Indiana from Ohio, and having to adjust to the new environment. And then from there, various prominent event just kept adding to that and leading to what I am now.

Another thing I was wondering was when did I start questioning everything in a more ambiguous fashion? I mean, I know that from the moment you are born you start wondering and questioning things; many baby toys are appealing visually, but also are educational in basic knowledge essentials: numbers, colors, etc. When I was younger, all the questions I asked myself and others had answers that you could find if you picked up a dictionary or book. Now the questions are still similar if you look at the situation from a college/career view, but when you sit down and start asking yourself questions... they become much more different, not to mention more frustrating, harder to answer, etc.

And I would assume that most everyone has these events in their lives. But there's probably also the small percentage of people that never had any significant negative memories. Are those the ones that we see constantly being ridiculously bubbly or relentlessly optimistic? Or is there a certain time where they just suddenly have this burst of maturity? I'm not sure whether to consider time or events to play the key part in that change. And when I get annoyed with ridiculously happy people, if it's because I do have some sort of subconcious jealousy. Most people would probably say that it's a mix of both time and events, but I don't know. Is there a specific defining moment of what makes us who we are?

I'm not an unhappy person by any means; I consider myself quite optimistic currently, but I definitely have a very cynical side... compared to most people at least.

I was talking with my friend Daniel a while ago and we got on the topic of web design. He stated that he did some work with it, but moved on from that, as he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in front of a computer. I still think a lot about that statement and apply it to myself. I don't mind my major, and I have no problem being happy doing computer-related projects... Photoshop is practically a religion to me. But. Am I truly using my life to its full potential? I mean if something makes you happy then you should do it, right? Then it would make sense for my to have a computer-related career the rest of my life. But moving aside from the personal view, and looking at it from a human's point of view, there's so much more that I could be doing with my life. Traveling the world and experiencing all the other cultures... becoming a doctor and helping people recover from various problems... etc. I don't know.

Along with that, is there a threshold of when you see your own parents in a more rational light? When you're a child, or at least when I was a child, the parentals were thought of as always correct, perfect, and unquestionable. Almost to an excess, I saw my mom as a God figure. But as I've aged, (and I know this oviously applies to everyone but I'm stating it for the sake of explanation) I slowly notice that my parents are, in fact, very flawed people. And the more you age you may start to realize that you are actually smarter than your parents... which, when it initially hits you, becomes somewhat of a huge realization.

Coincidentally enough, after having the above thoughts today, I was reading Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas, and came upon this:

"Can I tell you something weird?" he asked. This probably isn't a valid question, because one can never say no to such an inquiry. But this is what he asked me.

"Of course," I said in response. "Always."

"Okay, well... great. That's great."

He collected his thoughts for fourteen seconds.

"Something is happening to me," he said. "I keep thinking about something that happened to me a long time ago. Years ago. Like, this thing happened to me in eighth fucking grade. This is a situation I hadn't even thought about for probably ten or fifteen years. But then I saw a documentary that reexamined the Challenger explosion, and this particular event had happened around that same time. And what's disturbing is that -- now -- I find myself thinking about this particular afternoon constantly. I have dreams about it. Every time I get drunk or stoned, I inevitably find myself sitting in a dark room, replaying the sequence of the events of my mind, over and over again. And the details I remember from this 1986 afternoon are unfathomably intense. Nothing is missing and nothing is muddle. And I'm starting to believe -- and this, I suppose, is the weird part -- that maybe this day was the most important day of my entire life, and that everything significant about my personality was created on this one particular afternoon. I'm starting to suspect that this memory is not merely about a certain day of my life; this memory is about the day, if you get my meaning." .....

Chuck Klosterman never fails to intrigue.

Not sure how much this blog made sense. I was questioning whether to post it or not considering it was more of a personal entry than a public one... I just wanted to lay my thoughts out. Ah, whatever.

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I want to experience one of these so bad:

Isolation Tanks

For $30 an hour you get to be inside one of these tanks filled with water/epsom salt and you're completely void of all your senses. There's no sound, it's pitch black, you can't smell anything, and the water temp adjusts to your body, etc. You just float there, free with your thoughts. It'd be such an introspective experience.