My Roommate And I Had An Interesting Conversation A While Ago That Ive Been Ruminating Over. We Were

My roommate and I had an interesting conversation a while ago that I’ve been ruminating over. We were discussing how our brains handle stress, and I said something that threw him off guard - that I can act independently of how I’m thinking. That didn’t make sense to him; he said that he can’t do that, but he can stop the thought in question and not let it push him. I’ve been fascinated by the discussion ever since, and I think I’ve finally fleshed out my explanation enough to describe what’s going on.

It explains a lot of things.

What’s at play here is where the conscious rift between input and actions lies. Let’s say someone throws a rock at you. Why not throw the rock back? Because that’s mean, and we should be above that or something - whatever, it’s just an example. But there’s two ways of preventing it that vary from person to person:

Getting irritated and maybe wanting to throw the rock back, but choosing not to.

Choosing not to get irritated at all, and thus not wanting to throw the rock back.

The person in the first example may not be able to control their emotion, while the person in the second example may not be able to control the action following their emotion. I am the first, and my roommate is the second. It’s almost like two different kinds of consciousness.

For me, emotion and thought are undercurrents for my actions. They lead me in a particular direction if I’m not thinking about it, but I don’t have to follow it. However, I can’t control the emotion itself. It does whatever it wants to. This can be particularly bad when it is really strong, because it becomes difficult to swim against the current (to continue the analogy).

For my roommate, the emotion or thought inevitably shows in whatever actions follow. But he can choose not to feel it at all, thus preventing the action. Like with me, he can be overwhelmed by strong emotion, but it’s more like holding up the roof when it caves in.

This may seem trivial. It leads to the same end, so what’s the difference? Well, whenever I’m told to just not be stressed or to stop telling myself something, I can’t do that and it annoys the heck out of me. But it’s not meant to be mocking, that’s how the other person does it. It’s a distinct disconnect between two very different styles of handling the situation.

I may have simplified this quite a bit; there’s a huge difference between thoughts and emotions (for one), and there’s probably more ways of handling it in general that I don’t yet know of. Nevertheless, it’s very interesting to think about. It gives me a lot more respect for the different ways people think and feel.

I can’t imagine that the number of people who can do both of these is very high, but I bet they have supreme self-control and self-awareness.

Sometimes, whenever I encounter someone new, I might flip through their last few tweets/posts to catch up on them. Just a few, you know; maybe their last hundred or so. Until I get a good idea of the person, or until I get bored :P

Last night I had the drive to update a few things around my blog and such, so I decided to be narcissistic and do the same thing for myself.

Normally when I do this for other people, it's people who post things regularly - at least once a day, usually more. I could go PAGES back and still be in the same month as I started. Not so with me, as I don't really post all too often. I was expecting that, but I wasn't expecting the magnitude of it:

I had barely started before the timestamps read August 27, half a year ago.

...maybe I should post more often.

friend: i'm here for you if you ever need me!

me: *needs friend*

me: i probably shouldn't bother them

friends: *discussing music*

me: I've never heard of half this stuff, so I shouldn't say anything... besides, they probably aren't interested in what I listen to anyway

friends: So what kind of music do you like?

me: I'M GLAD YOU ASKED *produces phone and auxiliary cord from pocket*

The simultaneous "yes"

I didn't participate in a lot of events at my gifted school, mostly because they involved being "social," or "leaving" my room. I remember the dances were the most fun to stay back in the dorms for, because everyone was gone and that meant WAY better internet.

There was, however, one event I always loved to participate in: the Gold Rush, known one year as the Gem Hunt. It was organized annually (or occasionally semi-annually) by a student life advisor named Jim. He was an outdoors-y kind of person, and this was his attempt at getting us students unfused from our keyboards and into the sunshine.

He went out and hid colored rocks around the campus for the students to find. These could be traded for fancy prizes like snacks and stuff. There were a few bigger rocks that were worth a lot more, but they were much more deviously hidden; I remember one up in the nook of a tree, hidden by the leaves. But the best prize was the giant rock, which was always the central focus of the hunt - whoever found it would be granted anything - within reason, of course, which usually meant either worth ~$15, or some sort of service like "a private fire in the back for me and my significant other." In sum, it was kind of like a high-stakes Easter egg hunt.

Our campus was located on top of a college campus, and there were four major routes: two paths from each dorm to the school building, a path between the two dorms, and a path out by the lake. Each time the hunt was on, I went up and down those about ten times each looking for the rocks. Of course, I was always most interested in the big rock, because I could feasibly get a game with it.

The year of the gem hunt (the last one before I went to college), I had made my routes up and down the dorm paths, but hadn't gone out to the lake yet, so I invited one of my closest friends, Eric, to come with me. We agreed that if we found it, we'd split the prize.

The lake path is the longest by far - about half a mile. It's popular with the college students as an exercise path, both for the length and the scenic route. We started at one end and combed the whole path, finding bunches of little rocks that most others had missed. We even found some in pieces of trash, like old chip bags. But there were no large rocks, and the number of small rocks seemed to be fewer towards the end of the path. Moreover, we didn't find the largest rock.

So I convinced Eric to look with me another couple of times. All we found was more trash. I was certain it was somewhere near the lake, as I had already scoured the other paths without success. Finally, after maybe the fifth pass (without finding any more rocks), I conceded and we went back. To give an idea of the time, we started at 3PM and didn't go back until 6.

After eating dinner (and convincing ourselves someone else found it), we went to talk to Jim. I turned in my haul for some snacks and casually mentioned the large rock.

"Yeah, no one found it this time," he said. "I'm pretty proud of where I hid it." "Really?" Eric chimed in. "Can you tell us?" "It's late enough that no one's going to find it, so I suppose... Do you guys remember seeing a crushed styrofoam cup?"

What followed could have come straight out of a movie. Eric and I both turned to each other with shocked realization, then turned back and, with perfect timing, deadpanned:

"Yes."

Because out of all the litter lining the lake, there was only one small styrofoam cup, located near the beginning of the path at the lake's edge. And we had both ruled it out, because the large rock definitely couldn't fit. How could that possibly have worked out?

"There's a small gold rock in there," he explained. "I tied some fishing line to it. On the other end is a plastic bag with the big rock in it. I dropped that into the lake itself. So when someone found the small rock, they would find the large rock."

We all got a good laugh out of it. Although I was mostly laughing at the mind-reading Eric and I did. Secretly, I was screaming at Jim.

I know I’ve been talking about my social issues a lot, but that’s because it’s been a major source of stress for me in the past few weeks.

Days have been longer for me at college. I often won’t get back home from campus until dinner; my roommate drives me up, and either we’ve got an afternoon class or he’s busy doing something. As a result, I’m on campus and around people for longer - and I only have so much social energy in a day. This isn’t the fault of my roommate, mind, but by the time I get home, I’m completely exhausted, even on a good day. It’s become commonplace for me to get back, only to neglect my responsibilities (cooking, cleaning, laundry, homework) and my hobbies (gaming, designing, writing, drawing) and go directly to sleep.

When I can’t get home for some reason or other, I don’t have time to recharge my social batteries. This results in me handling social situations very poorly (since I don’t have the energy to do otherwise), and that always makes me feel worse. Often I’m exhausted all day, from the moment I wake up, yet I’m still expected to dole it out like I drank three coffees or something.

I’ve asked to be left alone before so I can recharge, but it doesn’t take. Someone always thinks I’m being rude or grouchy, when the real answer is I just can’t keep going. And then they debate the point with me, which wastes what little energy I have! I’m afraid to ask to be left alone now, because I know what the consequences will be.

It’s like my emotions and sanity are being forced to run a marathon every day. Some days I wake up supercharged and ready to go all day. Most days I’m still tired from the day before - but I can’t stop, lest the drill-sergeant-turned-instructor notices me slacking off and whips me until I get up and run again.

Oh yeah, that reminds me of the worst part: people (re: my friends) have been calling me weak for not being able to run the marathon with them.

Almost makes me want to move back on-campus. Sure, there were loud and obnoxious people there, but they were all gone during the afternoon, so I could go back and get some peace and quiet when I needed it.