Haaaaaave You Met Ted?

Remember that post I wrote a few weeks ago? The one about choosing one word to describe yourself? This one here (in case you missed it). I had always used the word “eclectic”, sometimes even “eccentric”, to describe myself. In the post I also decided the word “genuine” would be a good fit. Recently, thanks to my aforementioned watching too much TV, I learned a new word that fits pretty perfectly: “anhedonic”. According to the dictionary, it means “lack of pleasure or of the capacity to experience it”. Basically, it means you’re never happy. Not necessarily in the slit-my-wrists-depressed sort of way, but in the nothingisevergoodenoughalwayssearchingformore kind of way.

an·he·do·ni·a [an-hee-doh-nee-uh]

Noun PsychologyLack of pleasure or of the capacity to experience it.
Origin:
1895–1900; < Greek an- an-1+ hēdon ( ) pleasure + -ia -ia
Related forms
an·he·don·ic [an-hee-don-ik], adjective
Example:

Ted, if you wanted to be married by now you would be but your not and you know why? Because you’re irrationally picky, you’re easily distracted, and you’re utterly anhedonic.”

That’s me!  I mentioned before my personality similarities to Dr. House, but scratch that. I am Ted Mosby. I have only just started watching How I Met Your Mother from the beginning (after a year of harping from my friends), and at least through Season One, I have found what is somewhat the story of my life. Although, if you read this blog, you would probably think that TV is the story of my life. Funny thing is– I don’t watch that much TV. 

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One Word

Everyone has been asked at some point by a college application letter or silly myspace suvey that one question: What ONE word would you choose to describe yourself?

I’ve always answered with eclectic, or eccentric (which is like eclectic with a little crazy genius thrown in).  I want to be everywhere and do everything all at once, and I want to learn and retain all of the knowledge and experiences in the process (you can see where the crazy might come in).   I have always had a wide taste in everything- music, movies, books, foods, drinks, cultures, interests.  It occured to me that some people might call this “flaky”.  It could be said that my interests change based on what’s hip or which people I hang out with.  But anyone who has known me long enough knows I have definitely never been hip or trendy.  And why yes, I do do different things based on who I am with because I like doing all these things and they might not.  So we can both be happy by doing what they want then why make anyone unhappy?

Which brings me to another word– Genuine.  I have never though of it before, but “Genuine” would be a good word to describe me.  I have a weird selection of tastes because I choose things I genuinely like, without regard to what other people think.  I do the same with people.  I choose to associate with people I genuinely like, and not with people because they might make me popular or “have connections” or whatnot.  When I interact with people, it is in a genuine manner.  Anyone who knows me well enough knows me as too nice.  I am too nice to everybody, and get taken advantage of a lot.  But I do it because I genuinely care.  Even if I know people aren’t going to tip me, I’m still nice, because I know what it’s like to barely have the money for the food let alone a tip.  But you best not be rude to me.

I don’t care if I’ve known you for five years or five seconds, I take everything personally and to heart.  If you are rude to me, I wonder what I said to make you so.  If you don’t tip me, I wonder what I forgot to do.  If you ignore me or blow me off, I wonder what I did to upset you.  If you dump me, I ask what I did wrong.  My inquisitive nature gives me the need to understand everything all the time.  I need explanations. If you are crying, I want to know why and what I can do to fix it.  If you are having a bad day or week, I want to make it better.  If you are sick I want you to get better.  And silly naive little me expects the same things from other people.

But lets face it, there are very few genuine people left in this world.  Most people are out for themselves.  Some people pretend to care about others, but only to further some agenda they have.  Meanwhile, the people who are genuine are constantly struggling.  Struggling to help everyone else, to make everything work, to care for their loved ones, to understand the cruel and ungiving world we live in.  In all my studies, I will never understand the most basic of human social concepts.  I will never understand lying and cheating and manipulating.  I will never understand the need to “fit in”, which is not the same as the human need to “belong”.  I will never understand war and violence and cruelty.  No matter how cynical and jaded and bitter I have become (which I really have, sadly), the naive little girl in me will always wish everyone could just live happily ever after.

So I challenge you, among all the other words you may be, may one day everyone be called “genuine”.

The Eccentric Me For All To See

When I first bought my car four years ago, it was newer and different from any of my other previous vehicles.  It had round vents and edges, and a center control panel instead of the usual behind the steering wheel kind.  It reminded me of a spaceship. Or rather, the old but futuristic notion in my head of what a cartoon spaceship might look like.  This association was furthered by the fact that it is blue, like the sky, which connects to space, which spaceships fly through.  It makes sense in my head (as, often, strange things do).  Ever since this time I have referred to my car as a spaceship, an assertion that often brings ridicule, however playfully it may be intended.

But, I believe, that it is such thoughts that make us unique.  For if everyone made the same connections and saw everything the exact same way, where would new ideas and inventions come from?

I mourn the death of relationships more than I mourn the death of people.  In my mind, when a person dies, your relationship with them is frozen forever in that state (which was hopefully a favourable one).  But when both parties to continue to live on, the relationship has more opportunity to fizzle and often does.  ‘Tis a much greater loss to lose all connection with a person who may still very well be right in front of you.

Sometimes reading the Bible makes me want to play Age of Empires.  An association which, again, makes sense in my head but may seem superficial or sacrilegious to others.

I have studied languages all my life but have never been able to imitate accents.  I speak every language with a horrible American accent.  But, after spending one semester in Georgia, I soon began to speak in a much more “Southern” dialect which has stuck with me to this day.  And after mere weeks of watching movies and reading Jane Austen books, I find myself writing notes as if I were writing in Victorian England (though this present post has not had much opportunity to show that).

I have been known, on more than one occasion, to dance backwards, or, more correctly, opposite the general face of the dance.  My fellow dancers may recognize this simply as a way to spice up and otherwise monotonous and over done dance.  The unknowing observer may see it as me not knowing what I’m doing, or perhaps not taking the dance seriously enough.  It is much more than either of those.  It is representative.  Dance is representative of life and all its sensibilities.  In every form of dance, as in life, there are leaders, there are followers, and there are those who stand up and proclaim that they shall be neither.  They will be neither sheep, nor shepherds, nor goats, but they will be horses – mares and stallions – who you may choose to ride beside, or stand behind in their dust.  Regardless, they will do what they must.

It’s things like this that make us unique.  Those idiosyncrasies or eccentric ideas that seem uncouth and sometimes get blurted out at inappropriate times.  Thoughts that society dictates should remain in your head and perhaps not even there.  It is for these things (unlike just about everything else) that I will NOT apologize.  For these things make me me.  And if you do not like them I suggest you take them up with my creator.  For it is they which define me.  My thoughts, my eccentricities and the way I treat the people around me.  These are the things that matter, not my job, or my possessions, or even the amount of knowledge I gain.  For what use is any of that?  The best I can ever hope to be is, well, me.

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