Red Mosquito

tragabigzanda wrote:ITT we normalize therapy.

My psychotherapist and I arrived at what felt like a big insight yesterday, and that is that there are virtually no areas where I value/criticize myself that are not reliant on external validation: Whether it's money, parenting, intellect, physical looks, basically anything, my self-worth has become reliant on what I presume others are thinking of me.

Haven't engaged with the world that way since I was in high school. Not sure how it happened; probably garden variety causes like I became a dad, found a new community of adults/parents in Montana, started losing my hair, etc. etc...

It's a far cry from how I've interacted with the world for about 20 years, where I genuinely valued my experience simply for being mine. Need to get back to that viewpoint somehow...

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

I really wish my overall wellbeing didn't hinge so much on external validation. I gave a talk earlier today and it went really well; the high I got from the people who came up to me afterwards to tell me how great it was could rival any drug. Thinking on this, it might have something to do with why in the past I've been such a serial dater. That buzz of getting a new person to believe you're good and smart and funny and worth boinking makes you want to keep chasing it.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:

Dev wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:ITT we normalize therapy.

My psychotherapist and I arrived at what felt like a big insight yesterday, and that is that there are virtually no areas where I value/criticize myself that are not reliant on external validation: Whether it's money, parenting, intellect, physical looks, basically anything, my self-worth has become reliant on what I presume others are thinking of me.

Haven't engaged with the world that way since I was in high school. Not sure how it happened; probably garden variety causes like I became a dad, found a new community of adults/parents in Montana, started losing my hair, etc. etc...

It's a far cry from how I've interacted with the world for about 20 years, where I genuinely valued my experience simply for being mine. Need to get back to that viewpoint somehow...

I feel like most people with the problem you are describing would not be able to admit it. If I am understanding it right you are basically saying your self worth is based on what others think of you. I feel like one of buddies really suffers with this. In fact it seems like all he is ever thinking about. Like even when we skate around the hockey rink he is asking asking himself: how do others perceive me? rather than, what am I getting out of this? And so he literally gets no enjoyment or benefit from practicing it seems.

We have since identified a few areas where this part of my brain turns off, and they are all physical/sensory: Cooking, wrestling with my kid, skiing, b*nging with my wife, listening to music.

tragabigzanda wrote:

Dev wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:ITT we normalize therapy.

My psychotherapist and I arrived at what felt like a big insight yesterday, and that is that there are virtually no areas where I value/criticize myself that are not reliant on external validation: Whether it's money, parenting, intellect, physical looks, basically anything, my self-worth has become reliant on what I presume others are thinking of me.

Haven't engaged with the world that way since I was in high school. Not sure how it happened; probably garden variety causes like I became a dad, found a new community of adults/parents in Montana, started losing my hair, etc. etc...

It's a far cry from how I've interacted with the world for about 20 years, where I genuinely valued my experience simply for being mine. Need to get back to that viewpoint somehow...

I feel like most people with the problem you are describing would not be able to admit it. If I am understanding it right you are basically saying your self worth is based on what others think of you. I feel like one of buddies really suffers with this. In fact it seems like all he is ever thinking about. Like even when we skate around the hockey rink he is asking asking himself: how do others perceive me? rather than, what am I getting out of this? And so he literally gets no enjoyment or benefit from practicing it seems.

We have since identified a few areas where this part of my brain turns off, and they are all physical/sensory: Cooking, wrestling with my kid, skiing, b*nging with my wife, listening to music.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:Listening to a new Bill Burr interview with Terry Gross. He’s kind of blowing my mind right now. Talking about how your sense of healthy behavior is indexed to how fucked up your parents were. Like we tell ourselves we’re well adjusted because we’re 20% less broken than our dads; but the goal should be 100% less broken.

I go to a men’s group on Tuesday nights and I can’t wait to talk about this tomorrow.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

washing machine wrote:I went to therapy a lot in college to try and figure out why I never wanted to go to my classes. One session, my therapist asked if I had read Catcher in the Rye, and I admitted that I hadn't. She recommended I read it.

It took me a long time after that to actually open it up. I never actually finished it, but I think I read enough to understand that she was trying to tell me something about my attitude towards the world at the time.

BurtReynolds wrote:

washing machine wrote:I went to therapy a lot in college to try and figure out why I never wanted to go to my classes. One session, my therapist asked if I had read Catcher in the Rye, and I admitted that I hadn't. She recommended I read it.

It took me a long time after that to actually open it up. I never actually finished it, but I think I read enough to understand that she was trying to tell me something about my attitude towards the world at the time.

Were you surrounded by phonies?

tree_ wrote:oh man, thank you for the interview recommendation. this is an all-time great. highly recommend



also, lookat this thumbnail of adrian brody! does it make you hate his face less or more?

Monkey_Driven wrote:What face do you have a problem with?