blueAlto

I'm actually an ENFP, even though most people would assume I am an ENTP.  No doubt you're asking yourself what the hell he's babbling about now.  A new on line fetish index perhaps?  No, not today.

Actually, what ENFP and ENTP refer to, is my result on a personality assessment, one that uses a tool called The Myers Briggs Index.  The Myers Briggs type indicator test is a personality assessment tool used to aid in career decisions, human resources, relationship counseling, and a host of other functions.  Based on the sixteen dominant archetypal traits developed by Carl Jung, it is the most commonly used personality assessment tool in North America.

Having an undergraduate degree in sports psychology, I am familiar with a wide variety of these assessment tools. Some are well formulated and based on extensive theory, and some are completely full of hooey. In critically comparing my own personality traits to the results of the Myers Briggs assessment, I have found it to be a very accurate and consistently reliable tool. In general, the test is based on how one navigates the four prominent domains of :

1)  Manifested Affect: Extroversion or Introversion

2) `Information Processing: Sensing or Intuition

3)  Decision Arrival: Thinking or Feeling

4)  Formative Structure: Judging or Perceiving

The following is a description of my Myers Briggs "type". As I indicate above, since I first took the test over eighteen years ago, it has been a very accurate assessment in so far as describing the main traits of my personality. My ranking on the tool consistently notes an extremely high affinity with the dominant ENFP type traits. In other words, I'm a "classic" ENFP. From the Myers Briggs Foundation website:

ENFP's are introspective, cooperative, informative, and expressive. They have a strong desire to make their thoughts known to the world. When ENFP's speak or write, they are often hoping to use their convictions to motivate others to participate in advocacy or they hope to reveal a hidden truth about the human experience. Greatly concerned with ethics and justice and have as trong desire to speak about current issues and events, they are the most inspiring and animated of the role variants.

ENFP's are very individualistic and they feel a need to experience significant social events, and consider intense emotional experiences to be vital to life and view the world as a drama. They are constantly seeking to learn about everything that has to advancement of good and the retreat of evil in the world.

ENFP's are keen observers of the people around them. They have exceptional intuitive abilities and are capable of intensely concentrating on a particular individual. Often able to read hidden emotions and to place significance on the actions of others, they are constantly scanning their social environment and intriguing characters are not likely to escape their attention. Their attention is usually active rather than passive. ENFP's are sensitive and alert to what is possible.

ENFP's are warm, energetic, spontaneous, positive, exuberant and dramatic. Other individuals usually find these personality qualities to be attractive and often want to be in the company of the ENFP. They usually have highly developed people skills and get along well with their colleagues.

When you have some time, why don't you take the online multiple choice assessment which will tell you which of the sixteen archetypes you are. If you decide to take the test, it is always helpful to read the background and theory on The Myers Briggs Inventory tool, at the Myers Briggs Foundation website. Let me know what you score as.

Early Saturday evening saw me contemplate a light dinner, but instead relax on the balcony, attempting unsuccessfully to finish the new Douglas Coupland novel, The Gum Thief.  Unsuccessfully, not because the book isn't up to par; it more than is. Like Hey Nostradamus, one of Couplands earlier novels, I predict this is a book that has not yet hit it's stride. So no, I couldn't blame the book for my inability to be pulled into the pages. Simply, I was restless.

This past weekend was one of those odd times when everyone; friends, strangers and others, had left town. And damn it, I wanted to do something. Weighing my options, I settle on what will be a leisurely walk to mid town, where I'll order up Jamaican food, eat in the park, and then take Singher to the bright, shiny new dog park we haven't made it to yet. The insane canine and I will make our own fun.

Literally an inch from being out the door, the phone harshly intones that annoyingly presumptive ring. A shrill, "Answer me, Answer me"!

Yes, that really is how annoying I find that ring. I reach it on the third, offering a very nonplussed and deadpan hello.

Strangely, I hear very clearly the voice of my friend, Chloe. Strangely, because there is no annoying two second intercontinental delay, and there is also no static that could wake the Gods. As was defiantly the case two months ago when I last spoke to Chloe. From Tibet.

"Hey, great to hear from you. Let me guess, you are in a yurt that has upgraded to digital phone service"? I tease.

"Well, no."

"Okay, are you in Europe for a break, where are you"?

"Well why don't you press nine and see for yourself. I'm in your lobby silly"!

The volume and strength of my "Get the fuck up here" sent Singher into barks and spastic jumps, culminating thirty seconds later with a sprint down the hall. A sprint towards the woman who hands down, in my dogs eyes, owns the title of "favorite paramedic partner". As Chloe receives big, blathering, doggy kisses, and I look at the face, and into the eyes of a woman I haven't seen in a year and a half, I realize I am with Singher on that assessment. The awareness that I have missed this person tremendously hits physically, and with full force. She is in my arms as the first tear escapes.

As I sniffle and snort into Chloes shoulder, she attempts to soothingly comfort. "Oh honey, you've had a lifetime in one short year".

And with that soothing I am immediately reminded that this is the first time I have seen my former paramedic partner since....Well, since I lost the other person I called my partner. Now, the tears flow freely; I make no attempt to contain them.

An hour later, seated on the patio at Segovia, we are tasting the first sips of what will prove to be many pitchers of Sangria, while the expertly prepared Paella Vallencia is served. Slowly, leisurely, we catch up, we laugh, we cry. I talk about losing David, she apologizes profusely for not making it back. There are more tears, tempered with smiles, when she begins to understand that I really am doing okay. And when Chloe describes the sensation of reaching the summit of Everest, I am the one who cries, as she assures me that yes, she did have it in her pocket. The worn picture of the three of us on the summit in Jasper. David was in the middle, between Chloe and I.

As she continues, the woman who has just climbed Everest is holding back tears. "It's buried on the south face, with all the other shots and Polaroids and notes of the ones that never got to make the climb".

I am reminded, rather brutally, how much this must mean to her as well. I had completely forgotten that almost fifteen years ago, after university, David had been this woman's preceptor, as Chloe first began her EMT program. He was so proud when ten years later, she (and I), graduated from the provincial critical care flight paramedic program.

Modulating just a little, as I need for the seriousness to show, I lock in on my friends eyes, and offer a thank you from the heart. Meaning it, more than I ever have before.

Throughout the night there are more memories, some laughter and a few tears. Though we smile often, and the memories feel good.

Bringing myself back to a needed reality, I ask, "So, when are you headed back"?

Chloe has recently accepted a position as senior paramedic at the Everest Base Camp.

Slowly, methodically, with a deep breath she begins. "Well..."

I really don't like the tone of that. 

"Al, I'm not going back".

Inhaling deeply, I am set to protest. But before I can, the widening smile, and a slight release of tension in the shoulders tells me all I need to know.

Slack jawed, all I can offer is, "Fuck!  So you really applied"?

"And I got in"!

Her child like sequel of an announcement manages to turn the heads of at least two surrounding tables, though we are oblivious. Instead, we pour more Sangria, and toast to my good friend and former partner Chloe. Since she is now, after me of course, the second flight paramedic from our former base to be accepted into the Master Of Fine Arts in creative writing at one of Canada's top tier schools. Funny enough, the one I just graduated from.

Beaming, unable to hide my bursting pride and joy (as this application was at great prodding from yours truly), I imagine I did a poor job of feigning annoyance, when I make the following comment.

"This better not become a trend.".

We both pretend to make a mental note telling ourselves we will do what we can to ensure this experience remains unique. After the laughter subsides, I hold the gaze of my friend and former partner for slightly longer than is necessary. Smiling, I offer congratulations to a brilliant writer. One who will only become better. The growing awareness that my very good friend is very much back in my life, slowly solidifies itself, and I smile just a bit wider.

Things, it seems, might finally be coming around.

Because you can always use irrelevant and barely interesting factual information about the mundane details of my life....I bring you the five things meme. Actually garnered and appropriated from Antonio's blog, I thought this one actually looked kind of fun.

So, without any further annoying buildup....

What were you doing five years ago?

In 2003, let's see. Professionally, I was working as a critical care flight paramedic and was considering the position in clinical research that I began in 2004. Personally, it was a year before David had the medical allergy disaster that started the downward trajectory. We had also just purchased and moved into our two bedroom condo. Times were very good.

Five Things On My To Do List For Today?

1. Pick up books at the bookstore that are in.
2. Work on a lesson plan for the Monday youth writing workshop I teach.
3. Increase my daily laps in the pool by fifteen minutes.
4. Meet Allison for Japanese (Thursday night tradition for the last year)
   
5. Schedule an annual prostate exam (there is most definitely a reason it is number five - Ick)

Five Favorite Snacks?

1. Cranberry / blueberry granola
2. Blue cheese and crusty bread
3. Pears
4. Grapes
5. Guacamole & Tortilla chips
   

 Five Things I Would Do If I Was A Billionaire?

1. Sleep, for no less than half a year.
2. Give donations in very sizable amounts to my four favorite charities ~ the SPCA, the PEN America Writing Empowerment Project (self awareness and esteem building through literacy), HIV front line care and treatment, breast cancer research.
3. Meet and spend time with every single person who has become a friend through blogging.
4. Get a beach house in the BC channel islands and write the two books that I am entertaining the idea of attempting.
5. Share the wealth generously with good friends and family.

Five Bad Habits?

1. I can sometimes be impatient.
2. I have an excessively critical streak. Though I have become better at channeling that. 
3. I carry a grudge. Manifesting in such a way that if you have screwed me, you will generally try to avoid me.
4. Sometimes out of concern I will offer help when help may not be the best thing to offer.
5. I will often go to great lengths to put off unpleasant tasks. The reason I still have to go through a few of David's closets.

What Are Five Places I Have Lived?

1. Tokyo, Japan
2. Ottawa, Canada
3. LA
4. Usinsk, Northern Russia
5. Toronto, Canada 

Five Jobs I Have Held

1. Lifeguard
2. Ski Patrol
3. Flight Paramedic
4. EMS Clinical Researcher
5. Cultural Studies Instructor 

Five Favorite Items Of Clothes (my own contribution to the meme)

1. A ten year old long sleeve cotton navy polo shirt. Cuffs are thread bare, collar is stretched and ill fitting, and it is the most comfortable shirt I own.
2. Steel blue flannel shirt that I wear as a heavy shirt or fall jacket.
3. Fifteen year old Chocolate brown leather flight jacket from Roots. A Christmas gift from my parents.
   
4. My oldest pair of button fly Levis that have a small patch on the ass made from plaid cotton boxers. Surprisingly they are the best fitting pants I have ever owned. Still!
   
5. Any of my collected or traded paramedic T shirts, or traded rugby team shirts.

Wasn't going to tag anyone, but I have a few new readers and they are the kind of people I would be interested in knowing a bit more about. So, tagging Butch, Jeff from LA, Java and Birdie.  Sorry guys....

 

Hello everyone. Yes, i am back. Things are okay. But more about that in the next day or two.

First, happy Canada Day and happy belated Pride week. As usual, Toronto ushered in gay Pride week last Monday with all the parties and fan fare one comes to expect from what is now the largest pride celebration in North America. Take that SF!

For me, pride has a history that is both celebratory as well as deeply painful. Having both the luck to know many wonderful friends, and the misfortune to see many of them die in their prime, the day that we celebrate our community resolve has always been in many ways bittersweet for me. Combine the experience with the very ironic and singular benefit of one very isolating genetic trait I recently discussed, and the reality of community loss, and I often have a difficult time enjoying the revelry around the events. Not to be a complete downer on this topic, I usually of course am able to place those emotions and enjoy what we are coming together as a community for.

My overall point here being, it is not a day on the calendar I approach with glee. Enough said. Though this year was interesting. During the week prior to the Sunday parade, a wealth of cultural and community events occur. Literally, something for everyone. As it is something that I have done since the early nineties, I make a point to attend the candle light AIDS vigil held early in the week at sundown. For the first time in a long time, I was moved and inspired by the tone of the event and the words expressed. Truly celebrating the rich and diverse lives of the men and women who had gone before, several musical selections were employed. The following, an ABBA remake from my one of my favorite Australian films, Muriel's Wedding, seems an odd choice.

I think you will be as surprised as I was, and agree that for a remembrance that is both celebratory and mournful, the choice could simply not have been better.

Song lyrics have always been a huge factor in whether or not I enjoyed a musical piece. And though I have always been quite adept at deconstructing the meanings attributed to various selections, it was in the beginning months of my MFA program that I was foolish enough to think I could actually write them.

That would have been my brief period of walking around in the decidedly anti fashion apparel of long sleeved t - shirts, faded levis and flight jackets, writing profound and arcane phrases on worn notebooks in urban coffee shops, working a good pout and thinking I was Adam Duritz. Mercifully, it was a very short lived period.

Though speaking of Adam Durtiz....this Counting Crows track, in my estimation, was / is one of the most beautifully written songs on themes of disconnection and mental illness.

For those of you just joining the series, part 1 and part 2, as well as this post, are recommended background reading.

Below is the third of four installments to my series A Clarity Filled Weekend.  A strange, surreal adventure; my first experience with the drug crystal methamphetamine. In many ways, this first time experimentation offered quite the draw for myself and my friend D. Thankfully for us, our first experience also proved to be just experimentation, with what has since become quite the gay urban menace.

At the end of the last installment, D and I were beginning our first morning of a three day teaching contract at UCLA, our alma mater for the Masters in clinical paramedicine and community health we had received two years earlier. It was an important opportunity, as visiting alumni faculty positions were soon to be offered. Both D and I were being considered for the positions, and had been told off the record that a favorable review of our teaching experience in the department would go a long way in ensuring our selection.

With that as a backdrop, on a Monday morning in July of 1998, D and I stood at the front of the lecture theater and began the introduction to Therapeutic Approaches To Behavior In Crisis, a three day crisis intervention workshop for emergency nurses, paramedics, and physicians D and I had written and published in grad school. We were tense to say the least, as the morning had seen us late, without sleep, horribly not prepared, clad in day old clothes, and shall we say, still rather buzzed from a weekend of multiple excess. We had fucked up in the extreme. Failure and humiliation were the inevitable reality which we were certain would greet us at the end of the lecture. For some strange reason, things didn't quite go as planned....

An interesting and unique dynamic with crystal methamphetamine, and one that is absent in the vast majority of other recreational drugs, is the ability to focus and motivate users during tasks which they have previously been adept at. A significant draw for many people with a competitive agenda. Though if and when meth use becomes relied upon, that specific and unique benefit, after several months, often becomes the specific factor which causes a users downfall.

In other words, a normally shy introvert, if on meth, will often become the gregarious, socially engaging life of the party. However, all good things must come to an end. Six months of continued use, and that witty, life of the party, becomes the loud, sweaty, socially inappropriate person that others cannot stand to be around.

Another common example is the ambitious young executive. Wanting more competitive advantage, the individual may use meth to get ahead. And often they will be seen as more productive, having increased energy, and projecting the exact personal deportment necessary for success. Six months later, the individuals sick time will be disastrous, their work will be unfocused and incomplete, and many will view the interactions they have with the person as bizarre and scattered. Interestingly, the demographic second only to gay men in rising crystal usage and addiction, is that of young, college educated women, often those with high profile careers in major urban settings.

This had been the first experience of meth for both D and I, and in retrospect, both of us were still completely and utterly high when we took the lead in the UCLA lecture hall. And for whatever reason, possibly the one I site above, the next two hours proved to be one of the best, and most dynamic courses we had ever taught. In speaking with the dean during the meeting where we signed our newly offered visiting instructor contracts, our new boss remarked how she had never seen evaluations which contained such consistently high marks and positive critiques.

Sitting across from the woman who had just offered us the positions that only a few short hours prior we believed we had no chance in hell of receiving, D and I could only smile, say thank you, and wish for a hasty retreat from the most awkward educational dynamic we had, up to that point, ever been involved.in.

I mention this specific example, since both D and I believe our success in the classroom that morning, ironically was the one overall factor which provided the impetus for our decision, and subsequent action of never using this drug again. Ironic in the sense that as powerful as meth was in helping us realize a very successful teaching evaluation, we both seemed to understand it would be equally powerful in it's hold over us if we ever again engaged it for a similar benefit.

However that in no way should be seen as a decision which took into account the entire flavor of our weekend experimentation. Since there were definite elements of very pleasurable experience. Specifically, sexual experiences unlike any we had known before. Though not even this experience is without some inherently troubling aspects.

In my concluding piece, I'll detail how, when using meth sexually, there often is a significant duality that is present. Beyond the intense pleasure, there seems to exist a unique, but troubling dynamic. While not attempting to speak to anyone's experience but my own, it is a dynamic I view as having significant dark, almost base elements. Elements that I enjoyed, but ultimately found very disturbing.

As I indicated in A Week From Today, this is the first of a three part series detailing my personal experience with the drug crystal methamphetamine.  It was my first, and my last experience with crystal meth. I've tried to be honest in regard to both the negative consequences, as well as the very appealing aspects of this drug. And let's face it, for this to be the problem it has currently become in our culture, there must be appealing aspects for people to return to use.

Originally published on the private site of blueAlto, I have decided to bite put my money where my mouth is and post it on the front page. Why? Because this is an issue that has for a long time needed more aggressive and consistent attention than it is currently being given. Similar to HIV, no one wants to be the one to bring this issue up, or even enter into a real discussion about it. For the sake of the community and those in it (and that would be us if you haven't guessed), we need to start.

I'll post part two next Sunday, where I'll attempt to show exactly how powerful this chemical is, in it's ability to alter perception, as well as behavior. Alterations that both surprised and scared me, ultimately forcing me take inventory of exactly what was, and what wasn't of worth in my life.

***

July, 1997

Entering the sunshine from the arrivals terminal at LAX, D and I were relieved to finally be there. A three hour wait on the tarmac in Toronto threatened to stall our plans, since we had a connection in Chicago. Lucky for us, the UA desk agent was more than helpful, getting us on the next LA bound flight, baggage surprisingly intact.

We were in Los Angeles for the National Paramedic Certification exams, held annually at UCLA for students in the final year of their BS or MS paramedical programs. As alumni of the MS program with excellent standing, D and I had been asked to instruct a two day prep session for the students taking the exams. This would mark the beginning of part time UCLA instructor status for both of us, positions which continue to this day. At the time, neither D or I realized how dangerously close we came to ensuring that those positions would never be offered.

In a way it was inevitable. Two gay men in their mid to late twenties, considered attractive by many, sexually active, with a full weekend to enjoy before a week of teaching. Not that the experience was new to us; we had lived in LA for three years during grad school in the mid nineties. What was different, was that our host for the weekend, Paul, had planned the events.

This is the part both D and I have discussed many times. We were two men with, for lack of a better term, their shit firmly together. Gainfully employed, highly educated, socially aware, active and extroverted, all peppered with a healthy dose of confidence. And with no recent, or previous history of drug use. Ever. D thinks it was curiosity. I tend to think curiosity as well, though for me it's more. Ironically, a healthy dose of skepticism. The heavily touted, "you'll have the best mind blowing sex you've ever had", was such a common line, it was fast becoming a mantra, referencing the enhancement to virility that meth was said to offer its users. I had never really believed it, instead thinking it was just another rationalization users would offer to justify their drug habit.

For whatever reason, curiosity or otherwise, it was just after seven pm when Paul, D, and myself sat down in Paul's Silverlake living room, and did several lines of meth. D and Paul went first. Having been an occasional user for some time, Paul seemed to perform this expertly. With no cough or grimace, he made it seem as if he had just pounded back a shot of tequila. D on the other hand, let out a yelp, left eye tearing up, as he repeatedly cried, "Fuck, holy FUCK"!

I waited a few moments to make sure D didn't reenact Uma Thurman's famous heroin up the nose overdose scene from Pulp Fiction, then went ahead and snorted a generous line from the table. What I recall to this day, was the white hot pain in my nostrils and behind my right eye. The same eye that moments later teared up. Then, as the pain decreased, a warm rush seemed to flow slowly from head to toe. One that felt really, really fucking good.

The only way I can describe the initial sensation, is an analogy with Christmas morning. Do you remember being nine or ten, it's six or seven on Christmas morning, and you've been awake for hours? Your parents enter the room and tell you that "it's time". That complete rush of happiness, so large you don't know whether to run, jump or scream? That was my first experience of meth. One that would be repeated many, many times that weekend.

Because I want to head into the weekend with somewhat better energy and a slightly more positive vibe than the tone of my last post suggested, I offer two selections from my retro eighties teenage years.

The first, a favorite from my days of being fascinated with David Bowie and his hair, and a great song to do that typical eighties "straight guy at a wedding" style of dancing.  Hell, that can be fun for literally hours with the right people.

The second, the theme from the 1983 movie Valley Girl, and a hit from the British import, Modern English. 

Every once in a while, probably more than I care to admit, I have the ability to shed my Gen X cynical skin, and revert to an embarrassing state of sentimentality. Today was no exception.

In my constant attempt to down size and become more echo friendly, I am slowly purging unwanted and unnecessary "stuff". Never underestimate how difficult this is for a pack rat. Going through some old papers and letters, ones that have been occupying space for longer than I care to remember, I stumbled across the following passage. It was printed on old parchment paper, worn and yellowed from decades of age. I was immediately brought back to a day a little over twenty years ago.

My Uncle Jack had always been my favorite uncle. Brilliant, engaging, in his presence I felt I could conquer the world. A tenured professor at The University Of Alberta, he possessed doctoral degrees in philosophy and anthropology, and had a voracious, almost living thirst for knowledge. Not only a respected academic, my uncle's late teen years found him defending his country in WW 2. I recall being captivated with tales of that time. Not of the war, but of meeting, and falling in love Katherine, the woman who would become his wife, then only a teenage girl living in London.

When I was fourteen Jack died after a long battle with lung cancer. This had been the first death of someone not only close to me, but one I idolized. I remember after the funeral, after the guests left the reception, my aunt Katherine pulled me aside. Through tears, she told me how, at the end of the war, Jack's Army unit was the first to arrive at Auschwitz, helping to liberate the prisoners of that horrific place.

An elderly Jewish man, gaunt and barely able to walk, handed Jack a piece of paper. Through tears he thanked my uncle, explaining he never let himself give up, even though hope often seemed too painful. The man then reached into his shirt pocket, handing Jack a worn piece of paper, explaining that without fail, the words on the worn sheet were words he read every morning of his imprisonment. When my uncle asked him why they were so important, he answered simply, "they made me remember I mattered". The man requested that Jack keep the piece of worn paper, explaining that to him and many of the other prisoners, Jack represented the hope this man had never let themselves give up on.

My uncle had never told that story to anyone but my aunt, though he faithfully kept the paper in his night stand for almost forty years. As she handed me the parchment paper, I was told Jack had planned on giving it me for my eighteenth birthday. Katherine relayed how the words had been an inspiration for Jack's many pursuits and accomplishments. He had wanted to pass it on to me, as she said I reminded him of himself. I was profoundly touched that he had wanted the same inspiration, the same opportunities for success he had been given, for me.

Before going back to join the others, my Aunt Katherine looked at me and smiled, "You know, he wanted you to have this because he was sure you wouldn't let him down. Make sure you don't".

When I look at the events in my life, the many pursuits, the more than a few failures, the many successes, that gift from my favorite uncle, and the legacy of human spirit it represents, have always played a part in my motivations. I never forgot where, at least in part, that resolve has stemmed from.

I've reprinted the words from that page below. The passage is unattributed, and is a simple but priceless message, a reminder that yes, we do in fact matter.  All of us.

Every person born into the world represents someone new, someone who never existed before, someone original and unique. It is the duty of every person of Israel to know and consider that he or she is unique in the world in his or her particular character and that there has never been anyone like him or her before, for if there had been…there would have been no need for him or her to be in the world. Every single person is a new thing in the world, and is called upon to fulfill his or her particularity to the world. That is the honor.

While the once weekly 80's gay dance fest at Zippers bar is most often tons of fun, and has become a staple event on Sunday nights for myself and several friends, sometimes the musical selections from my favorite decade are, well, let's just say, to be expected. While for the most part it's all good, there really is only so much La Ista Bonita, Girls Just Want To Have Fun, and Prince that I can take.

Having been the ultra preppy kid who listened to alternative and punk bands most of my high school life, even my favorite 80's hits are slightly alternative. So in what is a double edition of Friday videos, here are two eighties hits that need to be played more at our local Sunday night dance fest.

First up, The Cure. With the specific selection that is best danced to with that snobby attempt at a bored indifference, and a mild snarl / pout that says you really do understand what this song is about, because no one else does. So there.

  

Your bonus track today is from The Cult.  Another selection sadly missing from the Sunday night line up. Though I have heard through the grapevine that the reason this last selection is not often played, is that management didn't appreciate the faux slam dancing that ensued from a few of the more "energetic" patrons the last time. What can I say? Oops?

Was talking with a friend today, one who I haven't spoken with in a while. Brian is living in London at the moment, having taken a temporary contract. I was pleased to hear that it was something he was enjoying, and on some deeper levels, he was finding himself closer to where he wants to be in his life.

Which for a change, I was glad to hear. Very much like I am, Brian has been known to occasionally over analyze his specific situations to an unhelpful degree. The problem with that for both of us, has been an inaccurate focus given to whatever it was we were analyzing. Thus, perspective is often skewed, and often wrong. This time though, he seemed content; happy with how things had mapped out.

Our conversation eventually drifted into the idea of happiness being best achieved by a personal willingness to live a few self defined, core beliefs that we come to an awareness of on our own. Specifically self referential, the reward that may be garnered from these beliefs, comes in the ability to know a life lived with consistent principle. That's one thing I believe most of us want, and if I look at the people I respect and view as really having their "stuff" together, they all usually have that element at their core.

So branching off from that theme, here's quite the meme. What are your three major themes that you try to live your life with an awareness of. I don't mean "rules" or things with a very narrow focus, but instead ways of looking at the world and the things you view as important in it, that influence how you interact with yourself, and others?

The following are my top three.

1. What I've talked about a few times before, that being the concept of "directional flow", is something that is hugely important to me. The idea that our general intent, and our way of realizing and experiencing the world and others in it, is coming from a positive and genuine vibe, not an insincere and constructed one. Obviously there is a lot more to the concept of directional flow, but at its core it recognizes that if we act with positive intent, building up instead of tearing down, then our actions are aligned with a karmic good, and fundamentally incompatible with negative harm. Update to #1. This always has a tendency to sound similar to "we create our own reality, thus we decide what will happen". No, that is not directional flow. That is a philosophy that I don't put a lot of stock in, as ones choices and decisions are always, to some degree, dictated by circumstance. Therefore we are not always responsible for the creation of our own reality.
   
2. Having the most authentic and personally beneficial relationship with family and friends as I can. Being a good friend and family member in not only intention, but demonstrated action. As I've gotten older the number of friendships I have maintained has decreased in amount, but largely increased in quality as well as the ability to know a deeper and more authentic relationship.
3. Lastly, what has become more important the older and more mature I become, is to recognize we all arrive where we are by our own navigation, that is entirely dependent on our own timing. And that is based on a whole set of complicated experiences and life events that I, or you know nothing about as it applies to anyone but ourselves. So I really try not to judge things so harshly. Except, and this is a big one for me, except where there is damage occurring to another, there is no use or benefit in judging others experience, as they need to know the experience for what it is to them. Not what it is to me. I think in 2008, this concept is key in both a personal context, and more importantly, a societal and global one.

Not specifically tagging anyone, though if anyone does want to tackle it, I'd be really interested to know what you view as your important themes you attempt to live life by.