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DenmarkGuy
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Name: Peter
Country: United States
State: Washington
Metro: Seattle
Birthday: 8/30/1960
Gender: Male
Interests: Writing, reading, nature photography, peoplewatching, web design, travel, cooking, "collecting" friends, psychology, enneagram.
Expertise: Jack of many trades, master of none.
Occupation: Computer related (Internet)
Industry: Computers (Internet)
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  denmarkguy
Yahoo:  peterinfj
Member Since:
11/24/2003
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| The Human Behind The Words |
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The site owner is a 46-year old Danish national living in the Pacific Northwest. Although he still calls himself Danish, he actually lived in Texas (25 years) longer than anywhere else. In September 2006 he finally left the physical, political and psychic climates of Texas behind and moved to a greener and cooler life in Port Townsend, Washington, where he lives close to the ocean and mountains.
He has already had his mid-life crisis, although he thinks of it more as a "mid-life epiphany." It seems that society likes to label anyone who "reinvents" themselves as "a person with a crisis." Society also thinks it's a "crisis" when someone's primary focus shifts from one of "living to please the world" to one of "living to please ourselves." At the same time, the world tells us it's "bad" to be stuck in a rut. Well, WHICH IS IT?
He has tried being married. He has experienced dysfunctionality-- up close, as well as from a distance. He has tried working in the mainstream of life. Had he been young today, he'd probably have been one of the kids school psychologists freak out over after finding condoms, a dead piranha and diskettes with bomb-making instructions in his backpack. What those "experts" wouldn't realize is that he wouldn't have been building a bomb, but learning how to disarm one, just in case.
He has tried being in business and he has tried being broke. He didn't really like either. These days he's a writer, beachcomber, business coach and consultant, psychographic trend observer, psychologist and student of-- and commentator on-- the human condition. Special interests include the psychology of marketing and economics, adult giftedness, Love, human relationships, highly sensitive people, the enneagram, nonduality, as well as general weirdness. He makes ends meet by peddling words, unsolicited advice, friendship, collectibles and other odds'n'ends.
On a daily basis, he continues to struggle with the idea that natural talent doesn't have a damn thing to do with being able to make a living. Someone once said: "Do what you love, the money will follow." He has been watching the rear-view mirror for many years, but usually the only thing he finds there are bill collectors, friends and relatives asking for help and handouts-- perhaps because he's a helper, empath and healer by nature, providing calm and rest to people in anguish and distress. He's not entirely broke, doesn't "mooch" off others, and he doesn't give a rat's patootie about "keeping up with the Joneses." He eats red meat, but has never met the Sasquatch. He loves autumn leaves, quiet rain, the ocean, mountains, mist, making out and strong coffee. He doesn't like "group think." In fact, he generally rejects it. He wears his "Creative Slacker" button with pride, and is now creating a reality that involves making a living through walking on the beach for many hours, every day. He likes cats. They like him. They have a symbiotic relationship that involves hairballs, litter boxes, photography and relaxation.
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| The Anger IssueWhy are so many people angry?
I'm not talking about "the cat shredded the blinds, I feel angry" anger or "I'm so pissed because I spilled coffee on my new jeans" anger, I'm talking about those whose lives seem to revolve around a constant undercurrent of barely contained rage... that often expresses itself as an (or at least that's how it feels to me) unwarranted explosion when two drops of coffee spill on the floor, or someone within a three mile radius expressed an opinion that was just 0.01% different from the rageful person's perception of reality.
 What sometimes troubles me-- and perhaps troubles me more than any other thing-- is that these folks seem really adept at "being angry" without ever pausing to examine the roots of that anger, nor dealing with it. It almost feels like their "comfort zone" is a perpetual state of rage. If ever questioned, they'll typically dismiss the inquiry with a statement like "Too bad. That's just the way I AM. You have a problem with that?" The statement almost comes out as a challenge.
I've been told a million times that when I have a "problem" with something in someone else's behavior, it's usually a case of it really being about something in my own behavior; something I don't like about myself. In other words... projection. There are some areas in which I really struggle with that theory... especially when we are talking about destructive behaviors. You know, like (to take an extreme case) my having an issue with physically violent people and bullies is really "my" problem, not "theirs?" I'm sorry, but that just reeks of "blame the victim," to me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not necessarily some kind of eternal pacifist, or someone who pretends to never get angry about anything. Sometimes
"psychobabble" goes a little overboard, for my liking. People get so
gosh-darned involved in the whole "I am one with the Universe, nothing
affects me" trip... even though it comes across as nothing more than
the 180-degree opposite from knee-jerk reactivity to everything.
But I also think there's something called a "proportional response." Sure, someone may have had a "bad" day, causing them to snap... but when every day becomes "a bad day, causing them to snap," there's a problem. I also do recognize that I am really sensitive to "short fuses," because my dad had one, and it was like a constant process of "walking on eggshells," because nobody ever knew what would set him off. In later years, I have learned that much of what set him off was the dynamic between he and my mother... his fiery temper simmered down considerably after they divorced, and he was with someone else.
Balance. Finding the middle way. Now that's the real challenge.
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| Back from the world, once again...I guess it's time to confess that I feel like I have somewhat been abandoning this blog, for the past year or so. It hasn't really been anything very conscious... more a combination of "life getting in the way," and a sense that a lot of my old friends from here are-- in a similar fashion-- not contributing the way they used to.
It's not really that I don't want to be here, it's more a lingering feeling of "been there, done that" arising, almost every time I sit down to write.
I was traveling again, this month. I barely got back from the family visit in Spain before turning right around and heading out for a week to a retreat in northern California. In between, I had to make time to "make a living," which is something I have been trying to give priority to, this year. Or, at least, it's something I have been trying to "take seriously," this year. Now that I am back, I once again have to give priority to "making a living." It's just one of those things, when you're self-employed.
One of the things I noticed at the retreat is the degree to which people-- on a very broad scale-- get trapped in a pattern of "complaining about life." I recognize that pattern-- as well as the fact that when I spent a lot more time writing on this site, it was usually because I was bellyaching about something, and trying to work my way through some "issue." It also seems to hold true that my inclination to keep up with my blogs has declined, as I have moved more towards a phase of life where I feel like I am merely "living," rather than at odds with my environment, and the greater circle of life.
This morning-- as I was waiting for the coffee to kick in-- I ended up contemplating the "how" of writing, and the broader mechanics of how human beings relate to each other. And I recognized just how much writing is about "problems" and "problem solving." And it really applies-- if you think about it-- to a HUGE range of writing, from the Bible, to paparazzi scandal news. It applies to how we relate. We connect over what shitty weather we're having, and over the state of the economy, and hating the government, and Bob losing his job. And those who speak mostly to "beauty and good" quickly get labeled as "Pollyannas" and are told they'd just better be prepared for the other shoe to drop.
What I find funny (and perhaps a little ironic) is that everyone seems to be in pursuit of the Holy Grail of happiness, yet "good news doesn't sell." We're quick to forget someone's good fortune, and quick to pounce on anyone's MISfortune. We read about people's trials and tribulations on the path to self-awareness, but hear little or nothing from the people who "got there." Maybe they are too busy being happy to tell us about it... OR they are afraid they'll have their hard-earned contentment "stolen" by those envious of their progress.
And I'm not holding myself above reproach, here, by the way. After all-- (in the words of Simon Cowell) "when I have to be completely honest" about it-- when I am not writing here, much, it's often because I don't have anything to complain about. AND... on some secondary level... because I find that I "devalue" the importance of the positive... saying to myself "nobody's going to want to hear about that," if I'm not penning some kind of lament.
Much has been written about how great poetry, song lyrics and literature is born out of the writer's pain and suffering. And I have previously pondered the question of whether or not it is possible to "write well" when your life is in balance and harmony.
Beats me.
I do know that I love to write, yet struggle to get the words out, absent a "challenge" or "problem."
Where the hell IS everybody, anyway?
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| Back From The WhirledI move slowly, these days.
Well, at least it appears that way.
I came back from the parental visit about a week ago, but I have been moving slowly. At least that's how it may look to those on the outside, looking in.
But it's really a matter of priorities. And I guess that's what much of this tumultuous year has been about: examining my priorities and restating my assumptions.
I won't go into detail, for now...
Anywaze... I went to Spain, to visit my mother. We hadn't seen each other in four years, which is really a pretty long time. The long break wasn't really a plan, or a procrastination-- more to do with timing, my moving across the country, and financial issues.
Getting there... kinda strange. I used to live in a smaller "regional" city, now I live fairly close to a major international airport with direct flights to Kingdom Come and back-- and yet it still takes a couple of days to get there.
 My mother lives on the Mediterranean coast, near Gibraltar. As I mentioned in a previous post, Gibraltar has this strange little airport; starts and ends in the sea, the terminal is smaller than most Greyhound bus stations. One moment you're sitting with your arse in the water, wondering if the pilot is going to set everyone down in the drink, next moment the plane slams down on the runway. "The Rock" doesn't look like much till you get close... and notice that it's actually a 1400-foot mountain. Those two tiny little "needles" up on top? 150-foot microwave relay towers. See the stripy bits crossing the runway, and going off between the red & white barriers? That's the main road between Spain and Gibraltar. And in a strange throwback to another era, you get off the plane and walk across the parking apron to the terminal building.
She lives in a part of Spain that's not really Spain. It's a strangely surreal and artificial community of people who are not Spanish. While I was there, I read the regional newsrag, and learned a few things. First of all the English-language version now has a higher circulation than the Spanish version-- that oughta tell you something, right there. One of the articles said that more than one MILLION properties in the area are now owned by foreigners. Given that the permanent population of the two two principal provinces making up this stretch of coast is only 2.5 million, that's.... strange.
And it's also part of what adds a depressingly surreal quality to the place. Just take the condo development where my mother lives, for example. There are 108 units, but at the moment only 8-9 are occupied. Something similar applies to houses and other kinds of foreign-owned properties, as well... the vast majority of them stand empty, save for a few weeks/months out of the year... creating a strange atmosphere of perfectly maintained abandonment. I remember this strange atmosphere from growing up there (ages 12-19, sortof, with breaks); 30 years later it has changed very little.
 Before I left, I commented here on how the 'rents live in "another world." This truly struck home, once I sat and considered that one would be hard pressed to find a place to live there for less than a half-million dollars. If you actually wanted a house, a million-plus would be more realistic. I really spin my wheels, trying to comprehend how I once "belonged" to this place... or maybe that's the whole point-- I never did "belong."
My mother is 86. My stepdad just rounded 90. All things considered, they are older, but remain remarkably capable. When I consider them, in the context of how I have always perceived life, I'm prompted to think "90 is the new 70." Or something like that.
So how was the visit? Pleasant enough-- my mother and I have certain areas in which we share common ground. Food, cooking and working in the kitchen would be one of them. She was very determined that she wasn't going to "raise some helpless man," and I am very grateful for that. So we spent a lot of time planning meals, shopping for meals, preparing meals and cleaning up after meals-- and that part was really good. My stepdad is-- and almost always was-- mostly a "background figure;" sitting in a chair, reading a book. That's still what he likes to do.
Naturally, there were the obligatory "social functions." My mother was always an extremely social person. Fortunately, I learned what "proper behavior" looked like, from a very young age... I "clean up well," and know how to comport myself in most situations life throws my way.
The visit was noteworthy in the sense that it was the first time in my adult life that I spent time with them without regressing to the range of age 8-12, while I was there. That makes a difference, in how you perceive a situation; your parents... as well as providing insights you perhaps didn't have before. For me, there was a lot of new understanding of how I became the young adult I was, and why I went about completely "renovating" my paradigm, between ages 20 and... well, the project continues.
Suffice it to say that parents with a strong attachment to raising their children as "mini me's" (no matter how well-intentioned) can easily cause a huge amount of collateral damage. Maybe it "works," if the child has the same (general) temperament and personality as the parents... but when the two are radically different, it becomes a whole other kettle of fish.
 So now I am back home, and still "digesting" the trip. Maybe I think too much, maybe I assign too much lasting relevance to events and incidents that were no more "formative" than merely "an event." Analysis and self-understanding is-- however-- at the core of who I am, so I don't really fight it, anymore. In fact, there is very little I "fight" anymore. And perhaps there's something "there, " both in relation to my parents, and in relation to the world in which I live. Of the two primary life strategies humans employ, I am ultimately a "cooperator," not a "competitor." In a greater global context, that means I am part of a minority of about 15-20% of the population... that's merely a point of understanding, not a lament or complaint.
My family were almost all "competitors," and I understand my own sense of feeling "shoved aside," as I grew up. And I understand my own natural inclination to "connect," rather than push people out of the way. I also understand dynamics from my past relationships-- why they often felt more like "territorial battles" than connections. And why-- on some very deep visceral level-- it felt all "wrong." And why "mainstream work" has always felt "wrong." I'm not complaining. It's each and every one of ours' responsibility to find what works for us.
As I sit here, I'm highly aware that I am a very different person than I was, four years ago. More than anything, I am pretty much at peace with myself, and the Universe. I have always seemed unnflappable and calm to people around me, but it feels like I finally am unflappable and calm.
I won't be home for long. On the 18th I'm off to California for a retreat for about a week-- one of the "HSP Gatherings" I periodically mention, on these pages. It's an interesting contrast to my trip to Europe... a sense of "biological family" vs. "chosen family." Hard to put my finger on, but there it is.
Stay tuned....
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| Readiness?I should be packing.
Tomorrow at around 1:45, I get on the airport shuttle to SeaTac and start my journey to the south of Spain to go see The Parental Unit, aka my mother.
It's a long trip, from my little corner of the world... a 3-hour bus-ferry-bus ride to the airport, then a several hour wait, then an overnight flight from Seattle to London Heathrow where I arrive 2:00pm Monday, followed by a 75-minute bus ride to London Gatwick, an overnight stay at an airport hotel that's actually connected to the airport terminal, then up at oh-dark-thirty on Tuesday to check in at 5:20am(!) for the flight to Gibraltar where I'll arrive at about 11:00am. Then I get my bags, walk outside, cross the border into Spain and take a cab the 15-odd miles to my mother's place.
Gibraltar has a funny little airport. The entire airport terminal is not a lot bigger than your average Greyhound bus terminal... when you walk outside, you can go left to get into the town of Gibraltar, or turn right and walk across the border to Spain, about 100 yards away. It's the only airport I know of that actually has taxi stands in TWO countries.
I should be packing, but instead I am sitting at the computer, writing assorted email, putting vacation notices on my business web sites and writing blog entries.
I grew up "in a suitcase." I guess I got so used to the whole routine that I'm far beyond stressing over "getting ready." I have a mental list of exactly what needs to be packed, and exactly how long it will take to get it done.
When it comes to travel, I almost enjoy the "getting from point A to point B" part more than the actual being at some destination. I actually like airports-- well, I like large international airports where the people-watching can be fascinating; listening to all the different languages never ceases to be interesting to me.
I am sure my mother is "aflutter" by now. As I wrote a while back, my coming for a visit is as much about "being presented" at a long string of luncheons, dinners and cocktail parties, as it is about actually visiting. Everyone is coming out to "see the giraffe" (old Danish saying-- I would be "the giraffe," in this context), and I will really get to sharpen my polite conversation skills about... nothing in particular. These are people who really understand how to use a lot of words without saying anything...
I should go mow the lawn... if I don't, it'll be awfully shaggy by the time I get back.
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| Setbacks, and what we do with themIt has always fascinated me how differently people deal with setbacks.
Take writers, for example. Actually, take two people who are equally good at writing, but who are not yet "writers," in the published sense of the world. Both send in their equally good manuscripts, and both get back a rejection slip.
For one, it is the end of their writing "career," as the rejection slip represents a blatant and obvious public declaration that they are no good, as a writer. For the other, the rejection slip results in a "bummer, dude," after which the manuscript goes off to another publisher. Or forty-two. Eventually, they become published.
In short, the latter becomes "a writer," the former does not.
And yet... they are equally talented, and where their paths take them has little to do with writing skills, and everything to do with their approach to life.
When I was in college, taking creative writing classes, one of the professors upset many of the "aspiring Hemingways" in the class by stating that-- in most cases-- what makes someone a published author is not great ideas or literary prowess, but the sticktoitiveness to churn out 100,000 words of prose and submit it over and over till someone finally publishes it.
Come to think of it, several of the "Young Hemingways" were SO upset by the professor's words they actually dropped the class.
The question that sometimes comes to my mind is whether people sometimes become so attached to the illusion of reality that is themselves/life that they become incapable of functioning within the piece of three-dimensional space that happens to contain what many think of as "reality?"
I've been called a pessimist, and a "glass-half-empty-guy," because I figure it's pretty much a given that life is going to kick my arse, pretty much all the time. In between, there will be "sunbreaks." But... if I work hard, and play my cards well, I might be able to create some pretty decent shyte for myself, in spite of it all. I recognize that life is pretty tough, but I seldom get depressed over it.
Seems a lot of life is more about "expectations," and how we deal with them being met/not met, than about the actual situations and content we face. And it seems much harder for those who "expect" to succeed at something, and then suffer a setback, than it does for those who think there's a chance they might succeed. Note that I didn't include those who "expect to fail," as I believe you can alsmo create that reality, through your approach. And I recognize that it's all in "the approach."
Once again, I have been reminded of the value of "the middle way."
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