All posts by adam@adamsatinsky.com

Lycopene

There is a wealth of information brewing inside me on the subject of love. I was wishing I could put it all into words as I perused the journal section at Barnes & Noble. A blank page is a very alluring thing to me. I of course have little formal training in the written arts, apart from a good English teacher I had in high school.
It’s an odd sensation to know you could write volumes on a subject, but then feel stuck for putting down even one coherent sentence. What occurred to me at B&N is that I cannot keep these ideas and feelings inside me for the rest of my life and expect it to have been a fruitful one. They are profuse enough that it becomes a ridiculous notion not to make some kind of use of the sum of their parts.

originally published on 10/1/07

Wearier

There’s an issue of scope. It runs from the very small to the very large. Am I supposed to focus on the moment as it is happening or see the grand scheme leading up to and coming away from the now? And where should I start and end from? I am finding my physical challenges particularly apparent right now. In what context can I place fatigue? In the moment I strive to avoid it. But as my schedule compounds and it becomes unavoidable, I see it can be an ally in enriching the music-making. It is like an athlete who reaches his peak after a good amount of time placing his body under stress. There is an arc created, but it is difficult to account for it in the present moment.

originally published on 11/29/07

Caricature

I am stubborn. But I can only see it clearly when some part of it falls away. Like my insistence that the way I like to play the cello is the only and best way, for me at least. Something happened recently, though I’m not sure what, that has changed that locked-in point of view. There are a number of possible external events which could have combined to cause it, or perhaps it’s an internal emotional or biochemical thing.
Whatever it is, I now have been granted the freedom to make headway in various areas of my playing which have been weak. What is so nice is to see the difference between stubbornness and strength of character. In my case, being stubborn prevented me from seeing options which were rather close at hand, if only I had not boxed myself into what may have been a necessary cubicle. A safety net, perhaps.

Strength of character is something very different. Maybe it’s kind of the opposite. Being able to perceive and appreciate a myriad of viewpoints. And being unstuck.

originally published on 12/27/07

Blab

If I’m not mistaken, I am afraid of perfection, or at least the attempt at it. I know some people who are afraid of emotional expression. I seem to have an irrational fear of accurate expression. It feels like my introverted version of rebellion, actually. Someone recently asked me how I rebelled as an adolescent, and I said I didn’t really. But I suppose if there’s one primary way I undermined the status quo of my life, it was laziness. I have since discovered that discipline is a choice, not just a personality trait.
One aspect of discipline is self-observation. That is how I noticed that I quite specifically move and think in ways that throw off my accuracy. So then I asked myself, are these behaviors serving any positive function? And if not, what exactly are they doing there? That’s how I arrived at the sensation of phobia. A wall. A hot spot in my psyche.

Even the non sequitur titles of these blogs could be my way of throwing or including a wrench in the consistency of the format.

originally published on 1/10/08

Circle

Nothing quite like ringing the doorbell at their homes. I remember it vividly. It got to be my honor when I was big enough. Then their embrace. Ahh. Simple joys. As simple as being alive. That’s what family means to me – some of the deepest joys I have ever known. I remember hearing about unconditional love later on. It seemed utterly redundant. I never knew another kind.
As far as I knew, all the other stuff were the inconsequential details. The soup, the candy, the music, the cards, the bed, the couch and table. They were all awash in the warmth of love around and inside me. Each relative was a new chance to experience these feelings, in their own unique flavor. I was spoiled, insofar as I was granted such affectionate abundance.

originally published on 2/20/08

Why

What made me so vulnerable in college? What makes me vulnerable now, to this day? What makes me weak, powerless to think my own thoughts and take my own steps? Isn’t there a reason why I am always second-guessing myself?
I am now coming to know the reasons. But should I tell you, o reader? Can I actually be forthcoming, if only here in this odd un-place? I would like someone to know. This seems safe on the surface.

Is it possible I have been beaten down into submission all along the way? But, of course, always with a smile, or a candy, or a dollar bill. Not in the more obviously harmful ways I was later exposed to and was by then defenseless against. Isn’t it time I told the story of how I came to be such that I am? How I ended up impotent. And speechless. And rich with melancholy.

originally published on 3/18/08

Moo

It’s all stuck inside me. I wrote for an hour last night, and I feel I just scratched the surface. It never ends. I can reread my past journals and marvel at the discoveries and openings I stepped through. But it’s as if I reset myself after a short while. It’s as if I am starting from scratch. This is why I feel I must trust the little feeling that says there is so much more yet to be unearthed.
Part of me would like to think I am 10 or 20 or 40% through after an intense venting session like last night’s. Maybe I delved into a few topics to some degree. But there are indeed umpteen more to go. I always like it when I have a direction to go in. That comes from an outside source of wisdom like a book or guru. That can be my impetus for further self-exploration.

originally published on 3/19/08

Snipets

Everything becomes a cliche. Everything already is a cliche. Would you rather be a self-aware cliche or an oblivious one?
I refuse to value myself, even just enough for basic tending to my needs. I have severe confidence, self-love issues. So isn’t it safe to say I would be hypocritical to accuse someone else of a more harmful version of the same thing? At least in anything other than a compassionate way?

I seem to have a terrible time with honesty. It eludes me when I long for it. I spend much of my time dancing around the truth. Or else I am ridiculously blunt. It’s one extreme or another. I suspect I was taught this propensity.

Interesting that lying was the one sin in our house that merited punishment. Is that to say that honesty could be forced into you? Maybe lying was an attempt at a different sort of truth-telling. One that tended to be overlooked or squelched.

I am left with a great deal of confusion regarding how to negotiate honesty in my life. Where does it come from, within or without? How do you know if you’re lying or being secretive? Stretching the truth might be between the two. Or exaggerating or filtering out elements of the total picture. It’s one thing to have some level of privacy, and another to shun truths from yourself. To suppress your own knowledge and experience from yourself doesn’t seem to help anyone. Least of all myself.

originally published on 3/23/08

Grassy

Now what was I thinking?
My deep loneliness is connected to my deep sense of shame. I cannot feel a human connectedness, which is really my birthright, due to my distrust and fear that I will be further shamed. I never figured out how to heal my initial shame, so I inadvertently locked myself up in a box of untouchability for safety’s sake. No matter how great the conversation, or how good the camaraderie, or how varied and interesting the day-to-day involvement with the outside world, it is no use. I am stuck here in my cubicle. And it’s an unpleasant cubicle. That’s why I must distract myself. A prime example is sleep time. There are no daytime distractions left to protect me from my pain and self-flagellation, so I use the eensie weensie voices on talk radio, playing nearly inaudibly. I know someone else who has a thing for radios. I do believe it would be safe to say the word shame can be applied in that person’s heart of hearts. But it is really an endearing quality from the outside, most of the time. It imbues just a touch of likable desperation. That is inevitable where shame is concerned – a compulsion to be accepted, since you have none for yourself.

originally published on 4/18/08

Betwixt

Ahh, my shame. I see I am ashamed due to my shame. Seems reasonable, huh? I end up being ashamed to be me. Thus I do what any ashamed person would do: hide in a cave or wear masks. The troubling thing about shame is that you can’t even look yourself straight in the eye. So what are your chances of letting someone else get a glimpse?
That must be my greatest fear. I hide behind the supposed fear of not liking other people, when what really concerns me is whether they are going to like what they see in me.

It seems if I can work past this underlying shame, I will be able to be more myself around others. I won’t be so constantly fearful of others’ judgment. Judgmental people tend to have a lot of sway over me. Their personalities confirm my own predilection to judge myself. People have varying degrees of judgmentalness, but almost everyone has some. I do feel it can turn in on itself quite easily, and that perhaps it starts out turned inwards, later going outwards.

When I’m working on my problems successfully, I feel different. I can be more in the moment with other people, less caught up in some neuroses or another. I am less worried about whether what I say or do will violate some law or societal norm. I feel I have calmed the bumpy waters of my soul, so I don’t constantly interrupt the flow of life, of a day, an hour, a minute. I sometimes feel that I must check myself so often, I cannot make it through any activity in some semblance of peace.

originally published on 4/23/08