What's New Is New Again

The few of you who keep stock of A.net have undoubtedly noticed how idle this place has been lately. Er, well, in general. In fact, *squints in the general direction of Oklahoma*, ONE OF YOU IN PARTICULAR has repeatedly admonished me for not updating my site.

So here we go. Here’s an honest to goodness attempt at being more active here. And hey, a new theme to boot. As Dan would say, “HUZZAH!”

Changing My Inner Hue

The sky is darkening. Clouds are rolling in. I’m idly watching the trees sway, wilder and wilder, while making a mental inventory of all the things I should have done today and did not. It is a disappointingly lengthy list, and one neglected item in particular promises to haunt me for weeks to come. I won’t mention it here. Indeed, I will blot it out of mind and try not to think about it at all. I am really good at that.

This has not been an altogether unproductive week, though. Tuesday night I finished Joseph Epstein’s novel Envy, which is one part of a series examining the seven deadly sins and one of the many philosophical books I have gathered on a wide variety of topics. I have its sister novels Greed and Wrath, but I likely won’t get around to reading those. Their respective topics do not interest me much. I am not a greedy person nor have I ever been given to intense bouts of anger. Envy, it pains me to admit, I can relate to very well.

Epstein begins his investigative journey through the jade forest with a few acknowledgments I found particularly insightful:

“Of the seven deadly sins, only envy is no fun at all. Sloth may not seem much fun, nor anger either, but giving way to deep laziness has its pleasures and the expression of anger entails a release that is not without its small delights. In recompense, envy may be the subtlest—perhaps I should say the most insidious—of the seven deadly sins. Surely it is the one that people are least likely to want to own up to, for to do so is to admit that one is probably ungenerous, mean, small-hearted.”

And so, as I read this and quietly admitted to myself that I regularly tussle with the emotion, I started questioning whether those characteristics fit me at all. Am I ungenerous, mean, and small-hearted? My initial response was an unflagging “no.” But after a few minutes of letting the question permeate I realized the more accurate answer would be “not usually.” I’m not usually small-hearted or mean, but damn if I don’t have my moments where those traits flare up like wildfires. That I am a master at hiding them is only a small consolation. They color my thoughts, if not my actions.

At any rate, you could say I pride myself on being aware of my failings. That I was already taking a renewed stock of my personality within the first chapter of Envy didn’t dispirit me too much. It is impossible to know everything about the world (or perhaps even another individual), but it has been my personal maxim that a person should strive to be as aware of one’s self as possible. That includes the good, the bad, the pretty, the very ugly and the absolutely horrendous.

But owning up to this particular “sin” isn’t something easily done, is it? I would rather be publicly defamed as slothful instead of envious (putting aside the very real possibility that I am guilty of harboring both shortcomings). After all, envy is something of a Rorschach test. What one covets of others says a lot about their character and disposition towards life, and ups the wattage in a part of one’s personality usually kept dim.

Now, if I were Christian I might adopt the mindset that, as a sin, envy is something I should strive to deracinate. St. Paul wrote, “Love does not envy.” And the bible does task us to love thy neighbor, etc etc. But according to Peter Walcott’s Envy and the Greeks, briefly quoted throughout Epstein’s own Envy, the people of ancient Athens saw the emotion as a fact of life; it was an intrinsic part of their view of human nature, a perennial weed that cropped up in relationships “among siblings, among peers, [and] between the common and the prominent citizens.” Instead of trying to suppress it they sought methods to vent it constructively and, in Walcott’s words, “make it slightly less noxious.”

I think I fall much more in line with the ancient Greek’s line of thinking, and I have set out to make this untoward (if nearly invisible) character trait less noxious, less insidious, and less damning. Because Epstein is right; it’s patently no fun being green with envy. After putting down his book I spent a few moments going through all of the things I’ve found myself wishing I possessed that belong to the various people I know, and the introspection left me with an acute awareness of just how much I feel I lack. It was sobering, slightly depressing, and threatened to paralyze me with discouragement. It surely would have a year ago. That it does not now… well, perhaps that is a positive sign I’m of stronger character?

Baby steps?

Senior benefits here I come!

It starts around 7:20am. My niece is the first, waking me up to wish me happy birthday. I can hear excitement in her voice so I mask my grogginess and annoyance and try to sound as pleasant as possible when I thank her. 10 minutes later my cell rings with the first text message of the day, but I ignore it try to go back to sleep. 3 more texts and a voicemail message follow; I put my phone on silence.

This is just the beginning, you know. Today is the sixth of March. I’ve been through this enough times now to know there’s no escaping it. I won’t bother attempting to avoid people. Besides, my sleepiness and a sore throat notwithstanding I could even risk saying I’m in a good mood this morning. I haven’t made any plans, though, and out of habit I’ll pretend today isn’t important. I guess it’s a holdover from being raised a Jehovah’s Witness, ya know?

Back in the early days the other kids always looked so bewildered when they found out I didn’t observe my birthday. They’d toss me a curious look here and maybe a snicker there; I always put on my best apathetic face and shrugged at them. “It’s any other day for me,” I’d always go. That was the line. Act like you don’t care, Aaron, act like you don’t care. Don’t let them know you secretly envy them or give them a reason to feel sorry for you.

I think I was convincing. I must have been because somewhere along the way I bought into my own story and went from secretly wishing my birthdays could be special to earnestly not giving a damn that they weren’t. I got use to the 6th being as boring and uneventful as any other day of any other week of the year. Like Christmas, you know, but without the snow and the added joy of not having to endure watching other people receive gifts while I didn’t.

I am only a little bitter. No point fretting over it, right? To my credit I’ve started to remove the stains from the silliness of my religious upbringing. Two years ago I bought my little brother from a different mother a gift for his 17th and it probably meant more to me than him thanks to it being the first time I’d ever done anything of the sort. Hey, one of these days I might even get around to singing someone a happy birthday song or go wild and buy a Christmas tree!

It’s 7:56 now. The house is silent and empty. My pillow is over my face, my cover over my pillow. I just want to go back to sleep but already the 5th text message is chiming in. This one from… my cousin. “Happy birthday, slut!” I laugh at our in-joke and saunter out of bed over to my pc. No sleep for me, I guess.

In #moap Gary and PA are talking, Eric is saying something about unemployment rates, Caleb has just left for work, and Victor is… spamming. I grin and minimize mIRC. On to my email. And look, happybirthdays from all over the inter-oceans. Happy birthday from Pizza Hut! Happy birthday from Webshots! Happy birthday from the Art and Drawing Forums, Shoryuken.com, iCoke.com! Happy birthday from Stormfront.org! I get a chuckle out of the last bit; even the white nationalists are wishing me happy birthday.

Today might not be so bad after all.