On insidiously changing courses

My mother tells me that my father chose my name mostly for the way it looks. This may be a difficult concept for Westerners to fully understand, accustomed as we are to a phonetic alphabet that places less emphasis on aesthetic appearance, but in China, with our pictographic characters, the notion is more common than naming a child after his grandparents.

My name in Chinese consists of three characters - my family name (Zhang), and the two characters of my given name (Ying, and Zhi). Of the two in my given name, Ying is arguably the prettier. It's a character of interesting complexity, stitched together using five simpler words, and at sixteen strokes to complete is one of the "longer" characters in common usage. It's a weighty word, a dense word both to look at and to contemplate, meaning roughly "to win," and in this manner it assumes a certain prestige as well. Its appearance brings to mind lofty towers and pagodas, places at once of wealth and contemplation, worthy of both great consideration and great respect.

The other character in my name, Zhi, is startling by sheer contrast. Weighing in at a mere two strokes, it's one of the LEAST complex words in the Chinese language. Where Ying has density and weight, a sense of stolid purpose, Zhi is airy and meandering, like the path a leaf might make as it drifts to earth upon swirling eddies. The word is, for lack of a better term, a preposition, in certain phrases may also be used in a form approximated by the word "which," and by itself very roughly translates into, "everything." It is thus, in its own way, both extremely powerful and extremely flexible - something belied by its simple appearance.

I don't know if my father had all this in mind when he picked those words - the peculiar balance between weight and weightlessness, between grounded solidarity and meandering flexibility, between having purpose and seeking it, and between two words that, at a glance, sit at opposite poles. I certainly doubt he thought that my personality and my life would become defined, in its way, by these dual modes, this peculiar balance between active participation and passive observation. It's not hard, however to infer what he wanted: the combination of the two words becomes a phrase that roughly translates into "Conqueror of All." Whatever ambitions he may have had for his own life, what he had for mine is obvious.

To my father's eternal dismay, I haven't been nearly as ambitious as he would have liked. I wonder how many children really are. Although it was arguably ambitious to decide on medicine as a career, I suspect that was just a way I sought to win his approval, and through it a certain sense of pride for myself as well. At some point in high school, rather typically, I guess I decided that my sense of self-worth wasn't dependent upon my parents' approval. Since then, even though I was very firm about my decision to go into acting, I think my life has actually followed a meandering sort of path. Even when I thought I had a set destination, I was really just following where unseen currents were pushing me. The search for meaning in a possibly absurd universe is like that, I suppose.

And now, now I'm finding myself directionless for the first time. I'm no longer sure that acting is for me, but I don't know that I want to go back to engineering either. Worse still, I'm not even sure that writing is necessarily my future, despite its ubiquitous presence in my life up to this point. This lack of focus is starting to taint all the other aspects of my life, and it's driving me to distraction. We'll note here that even my writing is losing its natural spark, that shimmering sheen of sly, understated humor that makes it such a pleasure for everyone to read.

I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads, and every part of my life is on hold until I can decide which fork I want to take. A pessimist would argue that it doesn't really matter - they all lead to the same place in the end, right? That's true enough, but some roads are arguably more scenic and interesting than others, and I'd like to be able to look back on my meandering path through Destiny's garden and claim that I lived a life worth the prodigious gifts given to me. I'm actually only half-joking there. If I weren't so damn smart, I'd probably be happy doing menial labor for the rest of my life. I think I'd be fine with whatever the world puts right in front of me, and even if I weren't fine I certainly wouldn't be inclined to examine it too closely. Or from too great a distance, rather, as I reconcile my sense of self-worth with the notion that there may not be a big picture after all. Unfortunately, I AM a goddamn borderline genius, and with that intelligence comes the certainty that I'm meant to do more with my life. And also the nagging fear that I might be smart enough to recognize the problem, but not smart enough to really do anything worthwhile about it.

Ha. I guess I do have that ambition after all. I'd like to make a lasting impact, intellectual and emotional, on people. On numerous people. Millions, in fact. I just don't know that I'm smart or creative or talented enough to do so. I think I am, in fact, afraid to even really try.

Aha! And here we discover the true nature of this existential crisis I've been having for the past month or so, and, with the aid of much self-indulgent whining, decide to do something about it. Although I feel like we've visited this topic before...you'd think it would get tedious by now, these iterations of my inanity.

On a dearth of amenities

I've made no mention of the fact, but my computer abruptly died about a month ago, which has contributed a great deal not only to my recent absence of posts, but also to my inability to finish uploading the rest of my travelogue and the pictures I took while in Venice.

You'd think that I'd be in a rush to get my computer repaired as soon as possible, as losing the use of the computer, for a technology nerd like me, is somewhat akin to getting my right arm cut off. Well, as it turns out, losing this particular computer is less like losing a limb and more like losing my left testicle. It was exceedingly painful at the time, but over the course of a few weeks it's become more of an annoyance than a real handicap. I haven't been able to watch my Naruto, so downloading a whole host of them when I finally do get my computer back up will be sort of irritating. I also haven't been able to write via computer, but I have no lack of paper or use of my hands. Other than those, it hasn't been as utterly agonizing as one would imagine.

Of course, it helps that I can sort of steal Kevin's computer for use at any given time, and that I have a certain degree of computer access at work. Even so, I'm finding it quite refreshing to learn that I'm not as utterly dependent upon my computer as I led myself to believe some years ago. It's almost like discovering my moorings have been cut, but rather than panicking at being castaway I'm enjoying the freedom of being able to sail away.

I take an aside to note that a life-and-death sailing metaphor is probably not entirely appropriate for a computer mishap.

Anyway, I'll probably endeavor to enact repairs at some point, but I'm finding it increasingly likely that I'll just assemble a new one. This old computer was about five years old, which any geek can tell you is positively ancient by computing standards, and with the release of Intel's new Core i7 I'm finding a certain amount of glee at the proposition of a computing powerhouse with six gigs of memory.

That's right, gentlemen. We can rebuild him. Faster, stronger, smarter. We have this capability.

Just maybe not QUITE the money right now.

On bittersweet moments

I imagine there are a gazillion of these out there, but I'm going to jump on the bandwagon and express the sheer elation I felt last night when I realized that Barack Obama had won the presidency. I had just gotten out of dinner with some friends and was making my way toward a friend's bar when I heard the cheers ringing up and down the streets, the cars honking their horns, the music suddenly blaring from open windows, and I felt a surge of sheer joy like nothing I've experienced in months. Possibly years. XES was utterly packed when I went inside, and although crowds like that usually make me intensely uncomfortable I felt utterly at home, bathed in the electrifying sense of enthusiasm and optimism. Hope. I've never cheered for something as much or as loudly as I did when Obama made his speech, and when he was done half the bar was misty-eyed or outright crying.

After such an evening, only a cynic would wake up thinking that good things only happen in isolation. Well, I've certainly been telling my friends that living in New York is slowly but surely turning my heart into a shriveled plum of bitterness. When I woke up this morning, despite all my hopes the previous evening, I had this horrifying certainty that Proposition 8 would pass. Thus, when I learned that it had, it felt less like a punch in the face than a screwdriver twisting just a few more turns in my gut. The Lord giveth with one hand and taketh away with the other, as they say.

As disheartened as I am about Proposition 8, however, I find myself unwilling to condemn the people who voted yes for it. I'm frustrated and a bit heartsick, but not despairing, because I believe the people who voted to deny us this equal right did so from a place of fear. Fear that we, somehow, represent a threat to their own security, to the things that they themselves hold dear, to their families and their loved ones. The majority of them don't act out of malice, but out of ignorance, insecurity, and even misguided good intent. That fear can be alleviated by understanding, and I honestly believe that with time and effort understanding can come to even the most bull-headed of men.

As disheartened as I am about Proposition 8, I continue to believe in the progress we're making. California had banned gay marriage with an overwhelming majority vote a scant 8 years ago - less than a third my current lifespan. Today, it managed to do it again only by a scant 2% margin. What will the social climate be in eight more years, I wonder? What further progress will we have made? What effect will Barack Obama's presidency have had in those eight years? The Bush administration has made a ruin of our country, and still we manage to move from a landslide victory for intolerance to Proposition 8 barely squeaking by. If Obama proves to be the harbinger for change, the spearhead of hope that he has made himself out to be, what can we expect from the next eight years?

That, I think, is the true reason Barack Obama has so impressed upon me. I'm as aware as anyone that he is a politician, that he is not in support of gay marriage, that he isn't some paragon of perfection here to lead us to some mythic golden age. He has given us some grand promises, and I am perfectly aware that he probably won't be able to follow up on them all. I believe that he will try, however. I believe that he will make every effort to make good on his promises. In short, I believe that under all the politics he is a truly good man. And in my belief in him, I have found strength, hope, and a willingness to get out of my chair and work for that beautiful tomorrow. That is his gift, the gift of any great leader: the ability to inspire others to become more than they are.

He's inspired me. That is enough.

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(As a post-script...I am never going to get the last of this goddamn travelogue transcribed!)