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That which is Not Quite Homesickness.
It occurs to me to wonder whether it is, in fact, a legitimate thing to say that one misses places one has never actually been.
In a phone call with Wayne she made the comment that the sense of dissatisfaction with life she and I have both on occasion experienced could be traced back to being a Precocious Reader (PR) and that if one "started too early" it would lead to problems later in life. Wayne spoke of the sensation that she is "waiting for the old man to come in and tell me where to go." I have to say, I think she might be on to something.
Bear, too, has mentioned a similar sentiment. "I want to save the world and almost die, but make it." My sister's observation differs in the sense that she makes specific mention of wanting to "save the world," but otherwise she agrees in every way with a theory Wayne and I developed some time ago.
The Fast Door Theory (FDT) holds that should any of us ever be able to open a solid, at least mostly opaque, door quickly enough we would not necessarily find that the door opened onto the corresponding portion of reality. All things become possible through these means, and while it is remarkably similar to the Wrong Door Theory (WDT), FDT is grounded in the fact that the door opener would have to be making a concerted effort to open the door with the required speed for a temporal shift to take place. The WDT finds its basis in chance, since one would never be able to know or guess when one might open a door at random and find that the room or location on the other side is not the one to which the door had opened in the past.
Whichever theory you subscribe to, both serve as the stepping stone to Great Adventure. Which is what I think I'm missing.
Far too many mornings begin with my opening my eyes, struggling not to throw off the grogginess of sleep, but rather the sensation that I have woken up in the wrong place. Certainly we all have dreams in which we return to places from our childhood, or spots we visited once, but I speak of the overriding sense that the home, the bed you have just opened your eyes to is wrong.
This disconcerting experience can most often be combatted by the judicious application of Escapist Media, whether in print of or photographic form. On occasion though, the usual means of Grounding does nothing to help, and does, in fact, make the situation worse. It's at these times that PRs will find themselves considering, with actual seriousness, either the FDT or WDT, or both. The question then becomes what to do to cure this particular malady, and whether or not it is, in fact, something that needs curing.
Trying to explain that should thirteen small men be waiting for me in my apartment this evening when I get home because they need a fourteenth I would be totally unsurprised, is rather harder than one might imagine. Because, I'm not, for all that it sounds like I am, crazy. I don't see little people, or hear voices. Animals don't talk to me, and I have yet to accidentally set a snake on anyone I know. What I actually believe is that, despite all that I've done and all that I've lived through, none of my experiences have succeeded in completely smothering the small part of me that Believes In Things. And it is from this Belief that theories like FDT and WDT spring-- all of them standing as stepping stones to the unquenchable desire for Adventure.
It's something that could probably be very easily mistaken for homesickness, but the lack of any concrete place in which to ground the sense of longing. It's here that the actual ability to explain the situation breaks down. Because, sure, most individuals can understand the desire to save the world, or be a super hero, but it's something they experience in passing, a fancy attributed to childhood and then left there. How do you tell someone that you would actually be thrilled to have your closet door open to another world? That, your overriding emotion in that moment would not be "wow" so much as "I knew it!"
Read too many books and you realize that just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it isn't out there. The coming of your twenty-fifth becomes, if only peripherally, slightly nerve racking for being a number when Things Happen. Whether it's hope or fear, the feeling remains, a hole in the fabric of your life you stuff with papers and photos and the occasional slip of someone else's experience. But none of this can be tested on a small scale. Some theories take a lifetime to prove or disavow and as someone who's hardly on the brink of things, I've come to a decision.
January 2011, I'm leaving for a year long trip around the world.
In the mean time I'm going to find an apartment with a lot more closets and doors.
In a phone call with Wayne she made the comment that the sense of dissatisfaction with life she and I have both on occasion experienced could be traced back to being a Precocious Reader (PR) and that if one "started too early" it would lead to problems later in life. Wayne spoke of the sensation that she is "waiting for the old man to come in and tell me where to go." I have to say, I think she might be on to something.
Bear, too, has mentioned a similar sentiment. "I want to save the world and almost die, but make it." My sister's observation differs in the sense that she makes specific mention of wanting to "save the world," but otherwise she agrees in every way with a theory Wayne and I developed some time ago.
The Fast Door Theory (FDT) holds that should any of us ever be able to open a solid, at least mostly opaque, door quickly enough we would not necessarily find that the door opened onto the corresponding portion of reality. All things become possible through these means, and while it is remarkably similar to the Wrong Door Theory (WDT), FDT is grounded in the fact that the door opener would have to be making a concerted effort to open the door with the required speed for a temporal shift to take place. The WDT finds its basis in chance, since one would never be able to know or guess when one might open a door at random and find that the room or location on the other side is not the one to which the door had opened in the past.
Whichever theory you subscribe to, both serve as the stepping stone to Great Adventure. Which is what I think I'm missing.
Far too many mornings begin with my opening my eyes, struggling not to throw off the grogginess of sleep, but rather the sensation that I have woken up in the wrong place. Certainly we all have dreams in which we return to places from our childhood, or spots we visited once, but I speak of the overriding sense that the home, the bed you have just opened your eyes to is wrong.
This disconcerting experience can most often be combatted by the judicious application of Escapist Media, whether in print of or photographic form. On occasion though, the usual means of Grounding does nothing to help, and does, in fact, make the situation worse. It's at these times that PRs will find themselves considering, with actual seriousness, either the FDT or WDT, or both. The question then becomes what to do to cure this particular malady, and whether or not it is, in fact, something that needs curing.
Trying to explain that should thirteen small men be waiting for me in my apartment this evening when I get home because they need a fourteenth I would be totally unsurprised, is rather harder than one might imagine. Because, I'm not, for all that it sounds like I am, crazy. I don't see little people, or hear voices. Animals don't talk to me, and I have yet to accidentally set a snake on anyone I know. What I actually believe is that, despite all that I've done and all that I've lived through, none of my experiences have succeeded in completely smothering the small part of me that Believes In Things. And it is from this Belief that theories like FDT and WDT spring-- all of them standing as stepping stones to the unquenchable desire for Adventure.
It's something that could probably be very easily mistaken for homesickness, but the lack of any concrete place in which to ground the sense of longing. It's here that the actual ability to explain the situation breaks down. Because, sure, most individuals can understand the desire to save the world, or be a super hero, but it's something they experience in passing, a fancy attributed to childhood and then left there. How do you tell someone that you would actually be thrilled to have your closet door open to another world? That, your overriding emotion in that moment would not be "wow" so much as "I knew it!"
Read too many books and you realize that just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it isn't out there. The coming of your twenty-fifth becomes, if only peripherally, slightly nerve racking for being a number when Things Happen. Whether it's hope or fear, the feeling remains, a hole in the fabric of your life you stuff with papers and photos and the occasional slip of someone else's experience. But none of this can be tested on a small scale. Some theories take a lifetime to prove or disavow and as someone who's hardly on the brink of things, I've come to a decision.
January 2011, I'm leaving for a year long trip around the world.
In the mean time I'm going to find an apartment with a lot more closets and doors.