"No Labels...just Life" blog: China Ends One-Child Policy - Can Population Control and other Human Behaviors be Explained (and even Changed) by the Study of Sociobiology (a.k.a. Evolutionary Psychology/Behavioral Ecology/Darwinian Anthropology)?

China Ends One-Child Policy: https://www.yahoo.com/news/china-ends-one-child-policy-xinhua-105107793.html

I was shocked (in a good way - like when you hear a choir singing a sustained high Do together, with lots of vibrato)...until I saw that they changed it to a two-child policy, and only because the guys who made the policy are now old and dying and don't have kids to help them not die.

Suckas.

Ah, sociobiology. I wonder how many humans out there are keeping an eye on how we're affecting our own evolution? I know Robert Wright is one, and I'd like to see who else is. The act of humans not letting other humans live (forced abortions...can you imagine?)...that's an interesting one to me, and it manifests in all kinds of ways. I lean towards thinking that we would want new thinkers in this world to help solve the problems we older folk have created, but, I suppose if the little ones are using up "our" resources, evolutionarily speaking, I can see why people would resort to population control. But then, why not control the way we consume our resources? Why not preserve enough resources - even add resources - so our kids aren't left with a barren planet, and we can actually let them live - and they can take care of us when we're old and dying, the way humans have done for so many years?

When our own selfishness (not judging, just using the word) and trying to survive in our youth ensures our own death as we age...it's a problem. Or is it...?

And I just realized I need to watch some Star Trek....

But first, I want to rant a little more. Or maybe a lot more (hold on there, this could be a long one).

Kids are the future...and they'll evolve to handle whatever we leave 'em with. One key difference between humans and animals is that, because of our ability to choose to live in a way that's counterproductive to our own survival (not that we always do, just that we clearly have the ability to make that choice, with suicide as the most obvious example), we can change the course of our own evolution: we can mete ourselves out via the choices we make. But isn't that the opposite of what we're "supposed" to do? Animals seem to tend to stick with the program; nature follows its course whether they want it to or not...well...because there's no "wanting" for anything other than what they've evolved to want, which is survival and procreation. But...we're different from animals...aren't we?

Before we say whether population control is "bad" or "good" (well, okay, I was leaning towards "bad," but, as a scientist, if I'm wrong, it doesn't bother me - we just like to know what "is")...let's take a look at a disclaimer that Robert Wright, author of The Moral Animal: Why We Are the Way We Are - The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology uses at the beginning of his book. Wright poses that, when speaking of evolution, first we should separate the "ought" from the "is"-- and he's using an "ought," of course, but that differentiates a human and the science that explains the human. When we begin to explain our actions as a species, sometimes it may seem that we're using that explanation to excuse our actions as a species. And this is why evolutionary psychology, or any of its interchangeable nomers used as euphemisms, has received a bad rap, from ideas like "social Darwinism" as put into practice by people like Adolf Hitler (besides also having seemingly anti-religious implications, but I'm going to have to save that for another discussion; I'm a Christian Evolutionist, and that freaks people out).

To quote Wright, "[N]ature isn't a moral authority, and we needn't adopt any 'values' that seem implicit in its workings -- such as 'might makes right.' Still, a true understanding of human nature will inevitably affect moral thought deeply and, as I will try to show, legitimately" (10). 

There's more. But speaking of evolution, typing out quotes from the book in your hand is so old-school. Evolution, technology, digital photo, *poof*...

When Robert Wright makes the case for evolutionary psychology as a legitimate science by saying, "Hey, understanding this can help us as individuals, and as a species," he's playing upon our very instinct of survival itself...and for me, it's worked. But he wasn't even the one who introduced me to the idea. My last boyfriend, who graduated with his B.A. in Psychology, gave me the book (well, let me borrow...and then broke up with me...so I'm keeping it :P) after I had presented him with my own ideas about it. The very study of evolutionary psychology, I'm convinced, is one of the things that's saving my life right now. My survival instinct is causing me to read about survival instinct. Makes sense, really. But will it work?

To what extent are humans able to change their ways? To what extent are all of our choices already governed by the laws of biology and sociobiology? 

For example, both addiction and mental illness are fascinating phenomena, especially through the lens of sociobiology (again, interchangeably, evolutionary psychology). Are some of us simply programmed to kill ourselves to carry out natural selection? And in the case of murderers and rapists - those who take the survival and procreation instincts so far beyond their (seemingly) necessary purposes - is there something in their genes that, evolutionarily speaking, just needs to be passed on? 

I began pondering the implications of evolutionary psychology and how natural selection applies to humans when I, a recovering alcoholic/addict diagnosed with borderline personality, bipolar, and anxiety disorders, experienced a 6-month suicidal depression that ended only after I was brutally bound, blindfolded, gagged and raped in April of this year when I answered a Craigslist ad that was misleading. It was supposed to be a modeling gig, and yes, maybe I should have known better, or made a better career move, but I'm less concerned with judging the whole thing as good or bad than with examining it scientifically. And maybe that's my programmed way of dealing with the trauma so I can continue to survive...unless natural selection just really has it out for me.

After the rape, I went into intensive therapy, picked up mixed martial arts, and got a job helping disabled people, all of which empowered me as a human being. And one morning while I was practicing my Kenpo, Tai Chi and Wing Chun behind my apartment complex (I did say "mixed" martial arts, lol), after I had happened to read the first few pages of Darwin's On the Origin of Species as a bedtime story the night before, I thought to myself,

"Why was my brain trying to kill me for six months? Am I not useful to the species, or something? And why did that guy have to rape me? He was certainly an alpha male...top Air Force rank...rich...Carlsbad mansion...is he just hard-wired to pass on his DNA at any cost?"

I thought of the juxtaposition between alcoholics/addicts/the mentally "ill" and rapists/murders (who should probably also be labeled "mentally ill," if you're willing to slap that label on people who don't murder and rape...just sayin'). I thought to myself, "To survive or die, to procreate or not...what if every single choice we as humans make leads to one of these ends, and what if it's all decided by natural selection?"

I meditated on it while feeling my body's fluid, slow movement, keeping every muscle in my consciousness as I held two full glasses of water in each hand, blindfolded, taking the far-reaching, balanced steps that I had learned as part of the "Kenchunchi," my thighs burning with an intensity that called for constant concentration...except my mind kept wandering.

"How are human addiction and human instinct linked? Could biological evolution be responsible for the immutable 'addictive nature' in certain humans, who are bodily and mentally different from their 'non-addicted' fellows? Might the 'addictive nature' be an adaptation or a variation working towards the aims of natural selection, either for a human's survival, or against it? Since humans have the psychological ability to make choices either aligned with or that conflict with their natural instincts, either leading to the survival of the individual and species, or, against it (leading to death), how does this ability to choose shape human evolution differently than the way adaptations, variations and natural selection shape evolution in the rest of the animal kingdom?"

I was on a sick one, lol. And I kept going...

"Does the phenomena of addiction and obsession occur only in humans, and not in the rest of the animal kingdom? What part does the variation of addiction and obsession play in natural selection among the human species? Since choices can be made to redirect addictions and obsessions (i.e. alcohol, sex, love, food, etc.) towards other 'objects' or avenues (i.e. work, spirituality, or altruism), if 'properly' redirected, can these unalterable conditions work to ensure the survival of the individual? Futhermore, could addiction, when applied to survival, then be a variation naturally selected to further the species? If so, in what ways? Or, are non-addictive/obsessive types the ones naturally selected to further the species, beyond human choice? Are addictive/obsessive types less valuable to the human race? More valuable?"

Obviously, I'm the obsessive type...obsessing about obsession...

My final question brought me full circle.

 

"What if every single choice a human being makes is pre-determined by evolutionary psychology?"

Phew. That's a big one.

I had taken up self-defense after the horrific experience of being tied up, gagged, and forced into. It was my instinctual reaction - I wanted to protect myself. After the rape, when he was letting me dress myself, before he let me go, he bragged about his upcoming orgy with 20 women and 6 men, even inviting me to come, and he showed me upwards of 15 photos on his iPad of women whom he had similarly tied up the way he did me, except a couple of them were covered in blood. My survival instinct told me not to struggle - to stay calm, to pretend like nothing was wrong; I didn't let him know he was insane, just hoping if I fooled him into thinking I was on his side and it was no big deal, I'd get out of there alive. Because look what happened to the ones who did.

 

I went to the cops, but not until the next day, when I was no longer paralyzed from the PTSD - it took everything I had, and I screamed and cried the whole way there - and they said they couldn't do anything because I didn't struggle, and, because yes, I had showered first thing when I got home - so no, they weren't going to bother. The cop was a dick to me, too...he was even hitting on me in the interrogation room. No evidence, just my word for it which apparently isn't evidence enough in this country - yay, let's protect rapists. Obviously I'm still working out my resentment from the experience. But one of the things that helps me with that is realizing that these men are propelled by instinct...and so am I.

 

But for the six months prior, I had wanted to die. So I was actually grateful that the experience brought me out of my suicidal depression. Suddenly, when faced with that real possibility of death, and the mental illnesses that had taken hold of me no longer held sway over my survival instinct, natural selection wasn't gonna take me out - not this time.

 

And I'd really, really like for it not to, if I can help it.

"No Labels...just Life" blog: My Poor Son

My son is growing up with a slurry of men in his life. I left his dad and then one, two,  three, four boyfriends later, I'm hoping that this relationship sticks. 

Maybe it's because I just say yes to whoever will have me. Actually, I think that's pretty much it.

Until I'm with a guy - then I latch on like there's no tomorrow, no yesterday...only right now, this...

My poor son.

I feel like a terrible mother.

I left.

I was the one.

I broke his father's heart.

And now his father is dying of congestive heart failure...

With a six-year old boy the only one to take care of him...

Because mom is off with her boyfriend.

"Which one is it this time?" his dad will ask.

Actually, that's a lie. His dad doesn't want to know any more. He just wants his son safe and happy.

So do I.

"No Labels...just Life" blog: Surviving Mental Illness - and the Stigma that Can Make it Even Worse

I watched an amazing show last night on TLC with my boyfriend and saw this guy who hadn't left his house in like ten years because of PTSD. (Click here for full episode.) My situation isn't as extreme as his, but, I have a lot of PTSD from my abusive childhood and the abusive relationships I've been in, and, I deal with social anxiety on a daily basis. I've also recovered from a suicidal depression that lasted from October 2014 to April 2015. I don't talk about it much because there's a huge stigma associated with mental illness. There's a tendency to blame and fear the sufferers, and there's the idea that these people are merely shells of human beings that will collapse under the weight of life at any moment, so it's best not to invest much time in them and to keep your distance. And maybe that's true, to some extent. I know I collapsed earlier this year and I've been slowly - but surely - getting back up again. 

Because of the stigma, I hid my depression from almost everyone. When I disappeared in March from family, friends, jobs, and church - changing my phone number, email addresses, and deactivating all social media - some people were angry with me, some were worried about me, some were both, and some didn't even notice. I do want to say I'm sorry to those of you who care for me and just want to see me thrive, even though my brain convinced me that I had nothing to offer this world and should just leave it. I also want to say I'm sorry to those of you from whom, even now, I try to hide my mental illness with the hope that you'll think I'm just a badass human being. Yes, there's a stigma, but letting you know about it is better than blind-siding you with it when I start experiencing symptoms, because there's no hiding it then. 

I'm doing the best I can - with lots of help - not to act on symptoms and function and thrive in society. It's been a year since my suicidal depression started and five months since it ended; I'm proof that you can survive and recover from any mental illness, no matter how you feel - even if, every single day, you don't want to exist any more, with no end in sight - you just have to hold on and get help (I promise, there's at least one person who's been through it and understands). And then that beautiful day comes, maybe after months, when you realize, "Hey, I've made it, and I have a purpose here on this Earth after all; I'm not finished yet." 

I didn't work at the restaurant today (I'm so grateful to have found a job making pizza, because it's simple, I'm great at it, and it's so perfect for someone like me). So, to continue to thrive as a human being, I updated my website: [deleted] (I'll purchase a new domain name in a few days when I get paid). It's simple for now, but I'm hoping to catch some work here and there using my many talents, like I was before the depression hit, and eventually it'll be full of all of the amazing things I'm doing. :)

For now, though, I'm going to do laundry, put clothes away, put dishes away, vacuum, clean the apartment, cook something, and make this a nice, relaxing place for my hard-working, amazing boyfriend to come home to. I can't believe I'm in a relationship with someone so spectacular - so I want to nourish that, too.

"No Labels...just Life" blog: Oh Yeah, I'm a Photographer...

Disclaimer: I'm having font issues. I think it has to do with starting these posts on Facebook on my iPhone and then editing them on my Blogger app and then editing them on the Blogger website (all using my phone). Okay, now that I've explained why there are so many different fonts intertwined (if you even see them, like I do), here's my post:

It's funny; I'll start to post on Facebook and then my status update turns into a paragraph. I'll never forget that friend who commented on a post of mine who said, if a post takes me twenty minutes to write, it belongs on a blog and not Facebook. It's not that I had to heed her criticism, but, little did she know, every status update has always taken me twenty minutes, lol. So, maybe that's not "normal" Facebook activity, and maybe she was right.

So, now that I'm transitioning from Facebook blog posts to actual blog posts, here's the Facebook status update I was writing just now, copied and pasted and edited to be even longer than the paragraph it originally was (and one of these days I'm going to have to thank her publicly for getting all this started, but, for now I'll keep her anonymous since there's clearly still some passive aggressive resentment, lol):

Days off are sometimes weird for me, if I have more days off than I've asked for, but, I'm an intelligent woman, and I understand that when business is slow, in order to stay in business (i.e. make money), the restaurant has to cut costs. Restaurants aren't places where cooks are supposed to be able to make a full-time living unless you're the manager, an assistant manager, the owner, the chef, or the sous chef. That's why, even though it freaked me out when my hours when cut at first, at this point, I don't take it personally. I love my job making pizza, and my bosses know that, so I'm no longer worried about my hours or my wage. I figure everything'll work itself out as long as I keep doing a good job. But on my days off, when it's not the day I have off to be with my son, I do get to thinking, "Hmm, so, I'm not making money right now...if I don't like that...and if I want to change that...how am I going to change that?" 

I've decided today is photography day. Yep! Many of you know I'm a photographer but stopped when I got steady work elsewhere, even though I had only just gotten started after taking photography at Cal State. It's time to pick my camera back up and start shooting again. Well...before that, it's time to pick up my Wordpress website-building skills and build myself a new website so I can market myself so I can start shooting again. :P

I'm brilliant, and I have so many talents - marketing, publicity, websites, photography, music, writing, editing - I could easily be making money with all of those when I'm not on the clock at my "real" job. All I have to do is actually do it. Maybe my letter to Work Ethic is being answered. Or, more accurately, my prayers...don't let me leave God out any more! 

I'll even say it again:

My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, both good and bad. I pray that you remove from me every single defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to You and my fellows. Grant me strength as I go out from here to do your bidding. Amen.

So...let's be useful!

"No Labels...just Life" blog: In Love

When I started working at [restaurant deleted] back in July, I fell in love. I fell in love with the people, the food, the atmosphere, the experience, the building - everything and everyone. I still feel that way. I'm telling you, it's a magical place.

But I can also tell you, the MAIN reason I fell in love is because of Chef [name deleted]. I know amazing food when I taste it, I know perfection when I experience it, and I know a hard worker when I see one. My grandfather was Chief Civil Engineer at Camp Pendleton here in Fallbrook back in 1948. He built 20 acres single-handedly off Alvarado St between Frolic Way (the road he paved and named) and Emilia Ln which are still in the family. He worked on the property morning and night in between working all day as a civil engineer, carving out reservoirs, building houses, barns and bomb shelters, planting trees and plants that grew every fruit and vegetable from A to Z. He wasn't just a hard-working man, he was a genius - brilliant - and he was my example...that this is the kind of man you want in your life, as a woman. 

And so, I don't talk about it much because [choosing a pseudonym: Bernard] is very private, and, because it's a delicate situation, working under him as a pizza cook and falling in love with him at the same time. But, that's how I fell in love - I get to make the best pizzas in town at the best restaurant in town for the best chef in town (and the best restaurant owner in town; [owner's name deleted] is another brilliant, hard-working family man, and so I have nothing but respect for him as well). Chef Bernard works six days a week, morning til night, and even goes into the restaurant on his "day off" to make sure everything's running smoothly. When he's on the job, he's executing his menu flawlessly, beautifully, and quickly, dancing to music in the kitchen and having a good time, loving what he does.

Sure, some things stress him out when they don't go the way they should, and some people get on his nerves when they don't perform at his level of expectation. But that's just because he knows exactly how things should be and how they need to be executed, and you better be on board, because he's the one steering the ship. The chef at any restaurant is never the "easiest" person to work with; my former boss at [let's say Pizza Hut], where I worked on and off for a decade, used to say, "If you don't hate me, I'm not doing my job!" It makes me laugh a little when Chef Bernard is tough on his crew and they have a hard time with it, because Bernard's not even as hardcore as that former Navy hardass, Harry Marsh, whom I used to call "Mr. Harsh" behind his back...and yet, to whom I'll always be grateful for whipping my ass into shape as one of the best pizza-makers around. 

So, speaking of gratitude, I burst at the seams with it most days at [the restaurant], thanking God for landing me there, because that place, like I said, is magical. I'm even sad any time a waitress or a cook leaves, because those crew members have become like family to me, every single one of them. When you become a cook and you're good at what you do and you have the privilege of being at the restaurant all the time, and you end up at a place like [this restaurant], you can find a hell of a lot of things to be grateful for. [This restaurant] just blows it out of the water (to continue the Navy analogies, lol).

And Chef Bernard simply blows me away, every day, and I was dying to tell the world.

"No Labels...just Life" blog: My Creator, I'm Yours

After the terrible day I had yesterday - 6 hours of waiting in San Diego at various coffee shops and driving around the city - I never did get to see Louie. 

I guess I can't entirely call it a "terrible" day. It was actually the end of a pretty hard week, and it culminated in my complete deflation and acceptance of God being in charge. Yeah - God, whom I haven't mentioned once yet on this blog besides saying I was listening to Christian radio yesterday, is really the One calling the shots, and things are much better when I let Him.

Last week was my week to work on step 7, when, after having identified which character defects stand in the way of my usefulness to God and my fellows, I ask Him to remove them and replace them with their opposites - character virtues. Really it's the 7 deadly sins and 7 heavenly virtues, by don't think for a second that this God whom I'm turning my life to is some orthodox Bible God - no, He's just a God of my own understanding, and if you were working the steps so you didn't drink and die, you'd get to choose your own concept of God, too, because that's how it works. I guess you could supposedly choose a doorknob, they say. If you do, let me know how that works for you - me, I need something a LOT bigger than me.

So, my sponsor said if I wasn't willing to let a certain defect go (mine in order of frequency are Sloth, Pride, Wrath, Lust, Envy, Greed and Gluttony), that I should embrace it and do all the things I want with it - I mean really follow the defect as far as it can go. I started the week off thinking that I was letting them go; on Sloth day, I prayed, "My Creator, I am now willing that You should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that you now remove from me every single defect of character - especially sloth - if it stands in the way of my usefulness to You and my fellows. Grant me strength - and diligence - as I go from here to do Your bidding. Amen."

I wanted sloth gone. It's really in the way; sometimes I go months without opening my mail, and my former roommate and my boyfriend can both testify to the fact that I don't do enough laundry, dishes, cooking, or other chores. At work, sometimes I get comfortable and don't work as fast as I should to get everything done. I could even be working harder as a mother; giving up custody to his dad is the easy way out. 

So, praying that prayer, I'm really asking for God to change me and make me a better person, if it be His will, and then I take actions towards that end, like opening my mail, cleaning, cooking, calling Louie and planning our visits.

Sloth day was good; then came Pride > Humility, Wrath > Patience, Lust > Love (Chastity ain't happenin', so don't even), Envy > Kindness, Greed > Generosity, and Gluttony > Temperance.

Now, apparently, and I won't go into specific details, the rest of the defects were much harder to let go of. I mean, I would do the prayer, and then throughout my day I would notice myself doing the exact opposite, and every single time, the consequences were terrible. Even yesterday, I was a bitch to Louie's dad in the morning - wrathful instead of patient - so naturally he was a jerk right back (it took my boyfriend to point this out to me - I thank God for that man). And don't even get me started on Gluttony. My best friend Jessica and my sponsor both know where that one took me, and it wasn't pretty. Greed and Envy - that one affected my work relations, as suddenly I was trying to get more hours at work or a raise and making people's lives more difficult than necessary, when really, shit, if I opened my mail on time, or shit, if I PAID the toll on those two toll roads in the first place, I wouldn't have an $80 bill that turned into a $205 bill because I didn't pay it because I didn't open my mail and because I thought I could drive on toll roads in Otay Mesa and get away with it.

After all my pondering this week on the human condition, with evolutionary psychology and all that crap, really the thing that gets me to change my ways is acting like the biggest douchebag possible and dealing with the painful consequences.

That's when I surrender to a Power greater than myself, and I really, finally, do mean it when I say:

My Creator, I am NOW willing that You should have ALL of me, good AND bad. I pray that You NOW remove from me EVERY SINGLE defect of character which STANDS IN THE WAY OF MY USEFULNESS to You AND my fellows. Grant me STRENGTH as I go out from here to do YOUR bidding. Amen!"

"No Labels...just Life" blog: Evolutionary Psychology - Discovering Why I Am the Way I Am

I have some hours to kill while waiting for my son's dad to let me pick Louie up; I was so angry, I was about to just leave San Diego after already waiting for four hours, but then, I thought, no, I'm not gonna do that to Louie, even though his dad is acting like a jerkoff. So, I'm on my second blog post at my second coffee shop today, pondering life, because I tend to do that these days, because it's not exactly the way it oughta be, in my opinion, and writing about it helps me make some sort of sense of it all, and maybe even change what I need to, rather just saying "Fuck it" like I sometimes want to, in which case it'd be me I'd be killing instead of hours. Eww.

So, here's what's happening in my life right now: my first two blog posts were attempts at saying what I wanted to say without actually saying directly what I wanted to say, which is, to state it plainly, that I haven't been "grateful enough" lately, nor have I been "working hard enough," in my opinion. But then, see, I question this by asking: by whose standards? In reality, I think I'm as grateful and work just as hard as plenty of people. But...I also happen to have extremely low self-esteem. I don't think much of myself, value myself, or have much of a sense of self-worth. I've been this way since childhood; no matter how great my achievements - and I've had some good ones - I'm never "good enough." And I feel that this "character defect," if you'll humor that term for now, affects me - and others - negatively. So, I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. I hail from a family of scientists - at least, on my dad's side - and that's what we do: we figure things out. 

To that end, I'm reading an illuminating book by Robert Wright entitled, "The Moral Animal - Why We Are the Way We Are: The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology," copyright 1994. I mistakenly thought I was onto something entirely new and revolutionary when I had begun pondering evolutionary psychology on my own after being raped in April of this year; it was a life-changing event that jolted me out of a 6-month suicidal depression that had begun in October of last year. After the rape, I went to my therapist and received multiple diagnoses for "mental illnesses": borderline personality disorder, bipolar disorder, and general anxiety disorder, all on top of my then-3-year-old self-diagnosis of being an alcoholic/addict (but 3 years sober, thanks to Bill Wilson's recovery program). 

Interestingly, felt the same sense of relief upon receiving the triple "mental illness" diagnosis as I did on January 19, 2012, the day I learned about the disease of alcoholism by reading what's adoringly dubbed by legions of grateful recovered alcoholics as "The Big Book," copyright 1934. That fateful day changed everything for me when I learned that I too was an alcoholic, and that, as such, I must stop drinking entirely unless I wanted to get progressively worse and quite possibly die (I chose to stop drinking as opposed to the alternative, with the help a sponsor, the 12 steps, and what they in recovery call "the rooms"). That began a fascinating and life-saving journey into myself, and so, figuring out "why" I am the "way" I am has become a continuing and expanding quest of mine, with, of course, the goal of changing the "way" I am, for the "better." 

For me, the phenomenon of "alcoholism" doesn't quite reach deeply enough for me as an all-encompassing explanation for my behaviors and feelings - nor does the term "mental illness" - because I feel that there has to be something to explain those, too. My post-depression/post-rape hypothesis? It's a combination of immutable genes and early individual childhood/adolescence as well as collective human experience-shaping, also known as Darwinian anthropology, social biology, or evolutionary psychology, among other nomers.

Evolutionary psychology, in my and Robert Wright's opinion (which I'm determined to find more who share), explains, quite sufficiently, why I was depressed for six months and wanted to die. It also explains why a man chose to rape me and over fifteen other women. Really, it appears to explain every single human behavior, choice, action, feeling, and thought there is, for every one.

To quote Wright: "Altruism, compassion, empathy, love, conscience, the sense of justice -- all of these things, the things that hold society together, the things that allow our species to think so highly of itself, can now be confidently said to have a firm genetic basis. That's the good news. The bad news is that, although these things are in some ways blessings for humanity as a whole, they didn't evolve for the 'good of the species' and aren't reliably employed to that end. Quite the contrary: it is now clearer than ever how (and precisely why) the moral sentiments are used with brutal flexibility, switched on and off in keeping with self-interest; and how naturally oblivious we often are to this switching. In the new view, human beings are a species splendid in their array of moral equipment, tragic in their propensity to misuse it, and pathetic in their constitutional ignorance of the misuse. The title of this book is not wholly without irony." (Pgs 12-13)

Along with my blossoming understanding of alcoholism and budding understanding of mental illness, my study of evolutionary psychology will be, I think, a survival mechanism akin to "mindfulness," the practice by which one observes oneself without judging, just noticing (some writers that educate proficiently on this particular topic include David Richo, don Miguel Ruiz, and Eckhart Tolle). As Wright explains, evolutionary psychology isn't a way to justify, condone, or judge human behaviors and feelings; it's just a way to explain them.

For example, it explains why, yesterday, when my phone was plugged into the restaurant's speakers where I work - and it began to play a Spotify song with frequently recurring usages of the F-word: "You da fuckin' best, you da fuckin' best, the best I eva' had," and so forth - I felt so sick I thought I was going to faint, throw up, or both, and finally I had to go and cry a little in the bathroom for a minute. It brought out all of my insecurities, as I'm a human being with a particularly highly-sensitive need for social approval. It also explains why, on the opposite end of the spectrum, I was so elated and giddy when, on six different occasions throughout the day, customers came up to me to tell me that I had made the best pizza they'd ever had (the achievement of gratification by way of approval).

Understanding myself and other human beings, as individuals acting on a species-wide basis, gives me an indispensable tool in dealing with the sometimes overwhelming feelings and counterproductive thoughts that occur in my body and mind, ones that could, left unchecked, unnoticed, and untranscended, detract from my success...like today and my son's dad being a total A-hole and my reactions to it - evolutionary psychology explains that, too.

I had a moment yesterday, after the F-song incident, when my brain was thinking, "You're such a failure! You suck! You're a failure as a mother, you failed as a wife, you're failing at work, just give up all ready!", my body churning from my gut to my chest to my throat, face, arms, hands and legs tingling and shaking, blood pumping faster than comfortable until I took that moment in the bathroom to regroup and recognize that these thoughts and feelings weren't "me;" they were programmed into me for some reason, a reason I'll find out more as I continue to read Wright's resonating brilliance. I'm going to stop giving those feelings and thoughts power over me.

And if you don't mind, I'll share with you what I find. :) And if you do mind, you certainly don't have to read it. :P

"No Labels...just Life" blog: A Single Mom Vents

I've been in San Diego for four hours trying to get my son's dad to let me get him and he won't let me. He's not supposed to have him as much as he does, after all his years of drinking and using drugs. But he's dying of congestive heart failure, and since he's been testing clean for the past year, despite what his mom and I thought was evidence otherwise just a few weeks ago (it was a scare, but a false alarm), I'm trying to do a good thing by giving them time together now. Originally, a year ago, I gave him weekends contingent upon him having clean drug and breathalyzer tests, but, this summer I was blessed to find an amazing place to work in town (which is REALLY hard to come by, especially something completely magical like the place I found), and Louie's dad doesn't work because he gets money from his tribe, but I, of course, need to, like most of us. So, after months of working really hard and doing the absolute best job I can, I finally feel comfortable about asking for Sundays off so I can see my son, since I know I'm a valued employee, and seeing my son on Sundays fulfills me and motivates me and keeps me pumped up for another week of working hard. But his dad's being so completely unreasonable and made this trip totally worthless, and why? "He has to finish his homework and isn't doing it, so I'm not gonna reward him by letting him see you." I'm just trying to stop crying in my car outside a coffee shop in Barrio Logan. I'm listening to Christian radio songs and that helps a little, but I'm about to come back to Fallbrook completely defeated. Someone once told me that this kind of stuff belongs on a blog, not Facebook, so that's why I started this blog in the first place. So here it is...and now I'm gonna share this on Facebook (in yo' FACE, lol).

"No Labels...just Life" blog: A Letter From May 6, 2015

I guess this is as good a way to get to know me better as any: I wrote this email back on May 6, 2015 to a guy I had met at a recovery meeting. My relationship with him has come and gone (in fact, I'm pretty sure he has me blocked now on all communication fronts).

Sup G!

I guess that should be a question mark. I chose English as the other of my double-major, in part because I loved "getting it right"... and I was "good" at it: I participated in the 4-6 grade county spelling bee when I was a third-grader; it was my 4th school that year and my family was homeless, living in tents. I continued to participate in spelling bees and get straight A's in English throughout school while living in poverty and abuse (there's significance in this juxtaposition to be analyzed another time). Of course, math would have been a more effective tool, perhaps, to allow me to get things "right"...or science, even. But I wasn't as good at getting things right in math as I was at getting things "right" in English. And with science, there's actually a lot of getting things "wrong". The scientific method aims at proving hypotheses wrong. Can you imagine always trying to prove your own ideas wrong?! It's just so...negative. :P But then again your degree is going to be in social science, so you must have abundant experience with this. I don't like the feeling of being "wrong". :P

Oh, and so also, I guess there should also be an apostrophe between the S and the u and a comma after the p.

Lol, you've introduced me or re-acquainted me to the idea that perfectionism is a "bitch", so perhaps that's enough of me commenting on my own first two words that I've written you here, the act of which may be "getting" me "nowhere" in this "conversation" so far. Then again, I'm kind of enjoying this "conversation", even though it's sort of only with myself with you as a spectator, so...perhaps I'll just continue to enjoy it, regardless of where it leads, or its "purpose", or its effect(s). ;)

N-E-WayZ...

I'm emailing you because I don't want to blow up your phone while you're at school, but I was thinking this morning about how much you and I both seem to like and want to express our selves (in terms of our thoughts, and feelings) to one another. Last night you thanked me for allowing you to express your feelings. So today I wanted to try it. But I have certain feelings about expressing myself. For me, reality just totally eludes language's attempt to represent it. We have all these words that we can use to try to express what we feel, if we can even recognize what we feel in the first place. I do have a handle on the English language and I know how to compose sentences using words. But, for me, when it comes to choosing words to express my feelings, I have a VERY hard time doing so, because, it seems that no matter what I'm feeling, the words I attempt to use to express said feelings seem to "never" be "right" or "accurate". Not only that, but my feelings change quickly after I've expressed them, and the person to whom I had expressed said feelings now has these words by which to remember the feelings I had expressed but which are now most likely no longer even true because my feelings are as fickle as time. 

Phew...

BUT...

Despite my frustrations borne by the attempt to communicate feelings in words, I still find of course that I WANT to communicate my feelings with someone else and be the recipient of such as well. When we express our feelings with another human being, and that person understands the language we are using and can therefore understand our feelings, and even feel our feelings with us, there we have a connection that fulfills a basic human need. 

But...I think I prefer music as an expression of feeling, and words as an expression of thinking (hence the double-major). On a broader scale, I prefer tangible and physical activities for the expression of feelings (including sex, lol). And I think I much prefer feeling to thinking, if you want to know the truth.

But, lol, I began this email with a certain link in mind to share with you, not just to analyze my thinking and feeling and writing as I think and feel and write. To add to this venture upon which we have embarked, of you and I getting to know each other and communicating our selves with one another, I want to share a "personology" link. A guy named Gary Goldschneider conducted a 40-year empirical study of over 20,000 people, finding things that people appear to have in common based on their birthdays. It sounds like astrology, but it's not, because it's based on actual research (woohoo!). In the link I have it set to my birthday, but plug yours in. (I keep trying to remember your birthday but can't, for the life of me! I feel like it's in September or November but there are 10 other months and 365 days in all. *sigh* My anti-memory allows me to constantly live in the Now, but, so, I don't retain the past well at all, and it does cause problems when that bothers people or myself. So, do me a favor and remind me when you're birthday is, please.) https://www.thesecretlanguage.com/report/personology/?r=19830328

Now for the next link I want to share...

When I was reintroducing myself to Saul Williams after of him you spoke (damn Last Man, lol), I stumbled upon a suggested video about education that made me feel better about not having obtained my degree in the two favorite "fields" I've chosen since I was 5 (English and Music). I don't think I told you that I dropped out of college in September when I was awarded full custody of my son. (But, I remember learning, in Modern American Lit, that so many of the great American novel writers dropped out of college, too. So, maybe I won't go back to school, after all, and I'll just write my memoir - there are lots of things I DO remember - and sing places and live off child support and a part-time meaningless job, lol.) 

I owe you an amends: When we first met I told you that I "attend" CSUSM and that I "graduate" in the fall...and potentially, I could...but I've missed two semesters and I need to find out if I can even go back without re-applying. I'm sorry to have told a lie in order to make myself "look better". I do that a lot, unfortunately. But I'm working on being more prompt with step 10. Progress not perfection. :) 

Anyway, MY parents don't give a shit about my schooling. Me not finishing wouldn't make my paternal aunt and uncle proud (they're the only "normal" family members besides my paternal grandpa who have gotten degrees...I'm not as close with my mom's side, and not at all close to my parents), but that's not enough motivation. Nowadays I find it increasingly difficult to finish classes and papers. I just don't care as much to impress people any more (that must also be a lie, lol, as I insert this parenthetical after 6 hours of editing this email). 

It appears that sobriety and the steps have been killing my former self (slowly, of course). I used to be an A student - I was accepted to the most prestigious California universities out of high school (I wanted to stay local) - and school was the means to the end of "getting out" of the abusive home situation and also "getting love" from teachers, since I received none at home. But then I got to be "taken care of" and "loved" by a man - my childhood Disney princess dream - from age 18 until I was 28. When he and I got together, he was secure financially, so I started fooling around in school and had fun with the double-major, taking all sorts of enjoyable courses that I didn't "need" (because I had security and love by other means). (And I guess I have been trying to recreate that again with another man but haven't been successful. "God's will is where your feet are" ...?) 

Anyway...all this when I really just want to show you another link, lol: http://youtu.be/y_ZmM7zPLyI

But lastly, since I brought up God in that last parenthetical, I want to talk about God some more. (Before I do, I want you to know that the following idea concerning God and you and me that popped into my head this morning and that I'm about to share could also be completely insane, so please feel free to disregard entirely.) 

I really did begin to love Jesus a short time ago, before I turned my back on Christianity, when it no longer seemed to serve me (typical rebellious alcoholic)...but what if He does exist, and what if He knows I still want to be Loved by Him, and what if He wants me to be a channel of His Love? What if I was supposed to meet you so we could help each other get back to Him, because He Loves us so much? (Look at me, expressing my feelings with words. I hate it.) Where I'm going with this is....would you be interested in checking out my church on Sunday? I know, now I'm being one of THOSE Christians, and I can't even believe it myself. But they have the BEST worship music, in my opinion, at Cross Connection Escondido...it just FEELS so GOOD to worship there! We could hit up the 11:15 service then hang out for lunch afterwards. Then next weekend, maybe I could check out your church? Qualitative research. :)

Last link, for now: http://youtu.be/OsccUg4TDd8

Sorry, I didn't mean to get all weird. But I'm weird. SO weird.

Sent from my iPhone

"No Labels...just Life" blog: A Letter to Work Ethic

Dear Work Ethic,

We used to be cool, you and I. You helped me out when I was little. Joe was kicking my mom's ass, they were drunk on Peppermint Schnapps, tweeking and trying to scratch the scabies out of their arms, but you -- you helped me read books, do my homework, and earn straight A's. I decided that you were gonna be my best friend when I was eight inside that dumpster where my brother and I were fishing for cans for Joe to cash in so he could buy beer and we could get koolaid because it made the river water taste better. Remember, because of you, I was the only 3rd-grader at the 4th through 6th Grade El Dorado County Spelling Bee, even though we were homeless and I only had one thrift store dress? Hehe, good times. :)

Then I lived with my Dad and his girlfriend Ann in high school and she was throwing plates at his face and kittens against my bedroom door and those two were, too, high on crystal meth and heroin, letting strange men go through my room using the porch -- but you helped me with my physics homework, my pre-calc, AP history, honors English, and practicing the piano, all by candlelight because we didn't have any electricity. And this is besides the point, but, shitting outside in the backyard into a hole in the dirt really was the shittiest thing ever. But you were there for me, and you helped me get a 4.0 that year. Because of you, I had a 3.8 cumulative GPA at the end of high school.

For ten years you promised you were gonna get me out. And you did.

You helped me get accepted by some of the more prestigious schools in California: UC Berkeley, UCSD, USC, UCLA. I knew I wanted to stay local because I was afraid to go off alone where I didn't know any one -- I was always a shy kid -- so I ended up picking UCSD because my (other) bff and scholarly rival chose to go there, Evelyn Ramirez. (She was the math and science nerd; I was the English geek.) You helped me get a B+ in calculus, which was freakin' hard, and of course I chose English with an emphasis in Greco-Roman Literature as my major, because I was awesome at writing and grammar but also such a dork about prefixes and suffixes and root words. Plus I loved Xena: Warrior Princess with Lucy Lawless and Hercules with Kevin Sorbo and was pretty much obsessed with Greek gods. They were badass. Then I found out how badass Plato was, and I was set.

During my third trimester at UCSD, though, that's when I left you. I threw you out -- BOOM, gone, like a beat-up old couch with dog shit and period stains all over it, hoisted over a third-story balcony and hauled away by a dump truck. And for what? For the heroin-addict who fell in love with me.

His mom found his stash taped to the inside of his dresser drawer and kicked him out, and, after a short stint with his uncle who demanded he shape up or ship out, he moved into my dorm room. Evelyn wasn't too happy about that, but, she found a nerdy Asian boyfriend to hang out with. (Oh, I'm sorry - with whom to hang out. See? I'm just not the same.) My guy, he got me put on academic probation after he was caught with a pipe while I was in my badass third-trimester Greco-Roman Lit and History class. We were finally on the Romans, dang it.

I was so used to being such a good little girl that I couldn't even handle the shame sitting in the residential dean's office, signing that acknowledgement with the list of all the things that would get me kicked out if anything else happened. I cried, of course. It was like that one time in 8th grade when Mrs. Larson put my name on the board because my friend Zephyr had said something so funny that I couldn't stop laughing. Except, this was so much worse.

You and I had been so close, you know? I had been working 33 hours a week as Assistant Manager at the La Jolla Domino's Pizza on top of taking 13 units and handling it, no problem, because of you. But, once he moved in, I spent less time with you, and I started getting C's. Then, I asked my dad for a copy of his tax return so I could get financial aid for my sophomore year, but he hadn't done his taxes - of course, he never does (I had done his taxes the year before) - and I tried to gain Independent Status, but I didn't make the deadline. I was too distracted. You had kept me on top of deadlines before, but without you, I was screwed.

So, I dropped out and moved into my boyfriend's grandma's place and started going to community college. He's an American Indian and started getting money from his tribe when he turned 21, so, suddenly I was taken care of financially. So I took "fun" classes - music, singing. Who even cared about a degree any more? You were long gone. I tried double-majoring in English and music, but I couldn't write essays after getting rid of you, so that didn't work out. Singing didn't take as much "work" as writing papers, but of course, I didn't go any where with that, either.

Look, you know why I'm writing to you. It's time: I need you again.

I never earned a degree. I became my parents. Somehow we thought we'd be good parents without you. But, nope. We had more money than my parents did, sure -- four to five grand a month was nothing to scoff at. Still, it was nothing I had earned - just like my mom's welfare checks and the money my dad borrowed from his parents. And we sure spent it just like they did: on drugs and alcohol.

And like my parents and their significant others, we fought all the time, punching holes in walls, screaming, kicking doors down, pulling knives.... Once, I had a flashback of when Joe had my mom on the kitchen floor with a knife to her throat. This was while I was pulling a knife out of the kitchen drawer before chasing my boyfriend outside with it, before his grandma told his mom and his mom called the cops on me.

But we were gonna change, we promised. Still, nope. After a couple of years with our precious little baby Louie and Child Welfare Services being frequently involved, I saw that I was putting my kid through exactly what I went through as a kid. Two years in, it was the same damn thing. So, I had to do something. I left, filed for divorce, and got into recovery.

I'm happy to say that I'll have four years of sobriety this coming March, and my son's dad has been clean for almost a year. Our son is six, now, and may be the smartest little guy on the planet. I'm finally starting to uncover the girl I used to be before all this, the one who got straight A's in school and who just wanted to do a good job -- the girl who stuck with you, Work Ethic, because she knew you were going to take her places.

I've started to catch a glimpse of you again. I'm finally working over 40 hours a week...but it's at nearly minimum wage. I'm still in poverty. Our son is wanting to spend more time with his dad, who's been diagnosed with congestive heart failure, which has scared him into taking sobriety, and parenting, seriously. So, without my son with me as much, I have a little bit of time on my hands all of a sudden, and I realize, I'm 32, and I feel like I don't even know where the past 14 years have gone. Sure, I made it "out," but I made it back "in" and I've had to make it back "out" again.

I certainly can't spend the rest of my life making hardly enough money to survive when I used to be so goddamn smart. And I need to set an example for my son. A good one.

 So whatever I have to do to get you back, I'll do it. LET'S GO.