Blog

Short blog posts, journal entries, and random thoughts. Topics include a mix of personal and the world at large.

Rejected too few

Getting rejected sucks. Even when the situation is one where I fully expect to get rejected. My particular human psychology just isn’t built-up to deal with this kind of failure. It’s as if each successive rejection is a direct reflection of my personhood, a character flaw. How can rejection affect me so adversely even with the proper amounts of anticipation? Perhaps I’m indeed too invested in what others think of me.

Yesterday I made an offer on a car at a local dealership. It was soundly rejected, obviously, which put me in a sort of funk the rest of the day. I can’t really explain it. It was textbook negotiation: two parties can only agree to move on from the table. But then why do I feel so bad? I don’t think I put undue anticipation, hopes and dreams, towards my offer being accepted. It was just taking a shot: the answer is always no if I don’t ask.

Thinking back, I’ve always had this neuroticism. Back in my schooling days, I would dread getting English papers back from the teachers. Invariably their remarks and criticism would hurt me to the core. I was rather happy to be done with English classes after freshman year of college. Instead, I do my writing here in this blog. Where it’s safe from criticism (readership is minuscule, no one comments!), and I can commit all the subject-verb tense error I am wont to do.

Moving forward I think it’s helpful to get rejected. It’s good practice, and unless I plan to stay in my hole for the rest of time, it’s going to happen anyways. I need to learn to handle the afterwards better, to be able to move on quickly. It’s a part of what I’m trying to do in 2023: live authentically, and not care about what other people think.

All in perspective

A good friend of mine had his bachelor party at the local go-karting place. To see who can go the fastest in one lap: a great way to get the competitive spirits out. It’s been a long time since I’ve last sat in a go-kart. Back then the cars were powered by gasoline lawn-mower style engines. Nowadays the karts are all electric. It’s for the better, honestly: petrol fumes are some of the worst things to breathe in.

Other than the change to electric motivation, the karts are largely the same as I remembered. No adjustments possible to the seat and wheel (I wish for a closer wheel), and purely manual steering. My arms definitely got a workout from thrashing the car through the bends. There were eight of us in the group, and I ended up placing second fastest. Even though I had a weight penalty! The smaller of the guys have a weight advantage, I would say. The person in first place is lighter than me, I am sure of it!

Jokes of a sore loser aside, it was a fun morning at the track. I did notice however that there weren’t that many people staffing the place. There were only two guys manning the whole of the track area. And from the first race onwards, I did not see them stop for one second. Federally-mandated breaks every four hours? That’s hilarious. There would be lots of impatient customers if the workers paused just to use the restroom. Would they even eat lunch at all?

It’s a hard life our there for people in the service industry. We have a duty to be kind to them, especially during this period of great staffing shortage.

It puts into perspective how grateful I am to have a job where for most part I simply sit in a front of a computer. Tapping on the keyboard is the extent of any hard labor. I can use the restroom whenever I want, and I can leisurely eat lunch with not much of a time limit. As much as it would be nice to get paid more, it’s important to keep in mind how lucky I already have it.

Boring is good

What if boring is good? What if we are not meant to strive for greatness? Surely it’s perfectly fine to be comfortable, content, and be at leisure.

I had a mini existential crisis of sorts recently. It was the weekend, the time to do the stuff I want to do. To do things that improve and better myself. Like reading a book, or study some skill. Perhaps to go outside and explorer, grab that pricey Sony camera that’s been gathering dust since the pandemic started and do something with it. Why am I not being more productive? It’s the weekend! The time I pined ever so much to have during the busy work-week.

And yet, all I wanted to do was absolutely nothing. There’s errands to run, of course, but after that, lounging around seemed like the thing to do. But guilts of unproductiveness and stagnation quickly hit me, and I would then get stuck in rut, fighting between what the two sides want.

Why do we strive for more anyways? A lot of it is novelty. We can’t bear the pain and reality of doing the same things over and over. No matter how much the pandemic have made Groundhog Day a reality for us, the taste for something new and different is always the dangling carrot in front. This is why so many people are predicting a post-vaccine boom: we are all so ready to do something other than what we’ve been doing for the past year.

Why do I study things, read books, travel to places and do photography? For the chance that it may lead to something different, something new in the future. That’s the treadmill that I didn’t know I was on, but here it is on a quiet weekend, making me restless because I can’t force myself to actually rest. What if this monotony of life is all there is? Why can’t I be okay with doing the same thing day after day, week after week? I live a comfortable life: I should be satisfied with that if this is all that ever will be.

It’s okay if life is boring.

Precious times

They say time is the most valuable asset we have, and we should try our best to not squander any of it. Sounds great on paper, but have these people ever try to get out of a warm bed in the morning? The eternal fight between the comfort and protection of the covers, and the dreadful cold of a morning bedroom. Keep the heat on during the night? I’m too Asian and not rich enough for that.

Instead of getting out of the bed promptly after wake, I waste about an hour scrolling through twitter on the phone. Having my phone within reach of the bed is probably one of my worst habits, but I simply don’t have the willpower to quit. Reading through twitter in the morning is like reading the morning newspaper for people back before the times of the Internet. It’s informational and entertainment. The real enemy is infinite scrolling: there’s no natural stopping point, unlike an actual newspaper. The dopamine drip can be as endless as your capability to stay in bed.

The productive thing to do would be to actually get out of the bed, and then check twitter on the MacBook Pro. This preserves the value of checking the news in the morning, but crucially, it also gets me out of bed. Crossing the physical barrier is what releases me from the intense hold of that warm cover. Back when I lived with my parents, feeding the cat was what got me out of bed immediately. I think I need something similar to that to serve the same purpose.

Ultimately, I can’t be wasting an hour plus stuck in the bed every morning. What’s the point of waking up so early if I’m just going to squander away those precious morning hours? Perhaps it is time: I shall charge my phone overnight on the drawer across the room. I’d have to get up and out just to turn off the alarm.

A touch of curb

It’s one of the most terrible sounds in the world: the wheel-rim of a car grinding on a sidewalk curb. Try as you may to be careful during parallel parking maneuvers, it only takes one moment of carelessness to ruin an otherwise perfect wheel. The feeling in the driver seat, the dread of getting out of the car to check damage, is uniquely dreadful to a car enthusiast.

We suffer greatly when we put too much value to things material.

It used to be that something as benign as curbing a wheel would absolutely ruin my day, though perhaps I am improving. Last Friday I had the unfortunate tragedy of tagging the M2’s right-front wheel on the curb as I was pulling off to the side to park. Thankfully, the damage isn’t too awful, but I just couldn’t help to bash myself with my own stupidity. Reality seems to always bite soon as you get too comfortable and complacent.

I quickly forgot about the transgression, however. I was on my weekly visit to see my friend’s kids. I owe it to them to give my undivided attention. Stewing over the mistake of curbing the wheel serves no purpose other than feeling bad for myself and showing a negative vibe to the kids. I was somewhat surprised then that I was indeed able to put the wheel damage behind me and devote fully to playing with the little ones.

I’ve come a long way from the intense obsessive compulsiveness vis a vis my cars that I used to have. Maybe if the actual damage was worse, I wouldn’t have been able to forget it so quickly. Either way, I’m glad I didn’t stress about something that I cannot turn back the clock to change.

I am stressed

“Is it stressful? Or do you just talk fast?”

And just like that, I regained some perspective. I was indeed stressed. A big thank you to the customer for asking. It was a packed day at work, with many items on the schedule. I felt the entire weight of it on my shoulders, that it was up to me to make sure it gets done. So perhaps I wasn’t paying full attention to each customer, merely trying to get through all of it to the end of the work day.

My reply was meek: “Probably a bit of both.” I do tend to talk quickly.

No matter how much training you do, stress can still creep up on you. No amount of sleeping the proper hours, eating the correct foods, exercising regularly, and studying philosophy, can prevent it. Doing those things only lessens the impact and severity when the stress does hit. A year ago I would surely have fallen apart.

After that interaction, I was able to slow myself down. Temporarily detaching from the situation - thanks the kindness of that customer - allowed for the realization that it has been a rather stressful day. I should have been able to see that for myself without external input. But, if it was that easy, my face wouldn’t still be breaking out in stress pimples, even as I’m well into my 30s.

Improvement comes incrementally: the ability to handle stress only comes with more doing and more experience. Unless I choose the life of an aesthetic monk living in the woods (sounds great, actually), stress is going to be a part of everyday life for the rest of time. I’ll be better at it as I go along.

How dare you pass me!

Ego is a heck of a thing.

Even as I mature into my thirties and give less and less care about what other people think; even though I drive a six-figure car that’s easily in the fastest top 1% of all the vehicles on the road - therefore no reason be self-conscious at all, certain moments can still momentarily awaken those base and rabid emotions.

Case in point this past weekend when I was doing my usual drive on the mountain roads in the GT3, going at a reasonable clip: not enough for jail time, but definitely faster than the posted speed limits. Suddenly I noticed in the back mirror two cars coming up rather quickly onto my tail, and soon I became a mobile roadblock to their desires to go faster. Had it been my younger years in a similar class of machinery (an impossibility, but indulge me), I would have eagerly taken the challenge and sped up into pseudo race against them. Me at 31, highly cognizant of my mortality, cannot be tempted such foolishness.

So I kept to my pace, and at the earliest passing opportunity (thank goodness these guys weren’t assholes who pass over a double-yellow line or in a blind corner) allowed them to by. The leading car was what looked to be highly-modified Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution X, while the follower is a current-generation Chevy Camaro. No harm no foul: if they want to go triple digits on these mountain roads, I’m not about to play citizen police. I’ve encountered those sorts of people too, and they are I would say equally as dangerous as those who overtake illegally.

I was ready to move on my merry way, but for some reason, feelings of embarrassment and anger started to well up from within. Those guys must be laughing their asses off thinking I’m some chump who can’t pilot a 911 GT3 to its best ability: “Look at this guy, all money and no skill!” (the no skill part is very true) In turn, I was seething over their audacity to pass me with their lowly cars that are not only slower on spec than the GT3, but when combined is still worth less than my German sports car.

Needless to say, my ego took over; I had brief thoughts of chasing these guy down, though thankfully those feelings were indeed fleeting, and I was able to detach from the situation and calm myself down. The fact of the matter is the two drivers wanted to go faster than me, and they passed me in an objectively very safe manner. There’s really nothing to fume about, but something about the ego’s inability to accept slights, especially those pertaining to manhood like who can go faster in a car.

I’d thought owning one of the best driver’s car ever produced would alleviate such juvenile tendencies; there’d be no need for comparisons and battles. It seems it may in fact exacerbate situations: last thing anyone wants is to look utterly stupid inside an expensive car. The ego probably wouldn’t have reared its head had I been driving a Honda Fit.

As always, a work in progress.