Life Could Be Different

 

Think Different.

That was the slogan that ran in the ads for Apple, back during the years of 1997 until 2002. 

This was the first run of ads following the return of Steve Jobs at the Apple helm. For me, it was insanely great. It gave me validation for having experienced a lifetime of thinking different. It was a beacon for those of us who found ourselves going against the grain, whether we wanted to or not. And this is what Steve was all about. Embracing the uncommon. The unexpected. Doing things in a way that has never been done before.

It proposed that humanity sometimes needed a little push forward. And that it was those that everyone called crazy, that were crazy enough to think that they could change the world.

If you have not seen the ads, I suggest you watch both versions. One was narrated by Steve Jobs, but Apple went with the one by Richard Dreyfuss.

The whole idea of Think Different is to question what everyone else is thinking. For me, this occurred naturally, if not daily. Even to this day, as I write this, I find myself questioning the things most people do and the way the world has formed.

A good example of this, is the current tendency of everyone to react to and reject anything that could potentially be seen as offensive to someone’s sensitivities. A colleague was debating whether or not to dress up as an old man, using a cane, in the spirit of a school spirit week. His fear was that he would be stereotyping old people as using canes, and that this could be offensive to old people. To me, this was insane. Have we really become to vigilant and hyper-aware of the potential offence to a specific sector of humanity that we feel the need to predict and protect their feelings?

I don’t get it.

But at the same time, I kind of do. I see a world that follows blindly, whatever is popular or trending. Everyone jumps on that bandwagon and nobody questions it. Ideas spew forth from a source, gain momentum, and everyone just nods their heads and follows suit. Not only that, but then some of those followers takes things to a new level. And what maybe started out as a good thing (in the case of being aware of sensitivities) rides a pendulum swing to the extreme.

And nobody questions any of it.

Because if you did question it, you would be received with shock and scorn, for being so offensive. Insensitive. Nobody wants THAT. So everybody just does what everybody else is doing. And that is akin to spinning our wheels; staying stuck in the same spot. No progress, and nothing new. No new thinking. No new ideas. But the Think Different ad campaign highlighted moments and individuals in history who did ‘think different’, and because of them doing so, humanity was pushed a little more forward. When Steve did it, people called it his ‘Reality Distortion Field’. He would envision something that did not exist yet, and his engineers would be dumbfounded about how to proceed, stating that what he proposed could not possibly exist, because the technology to support and develop it didn’t exist. Steve would throw a tantrum and demand they invent the technology then. And what do you know? It worked. They did and the thing he envisioned became a reality. 

And humanity was pushed, a little more forward.

The tendency with human beings tends to be to keep doing what has always been done. Because doing the unexpected can be very uncomfortable. We all want to fit in with one another. We don’t want alienation or upset. We don’t want to be singled out, scorned and bullied and mocked and diminished for saying or doing stupid things. And the consensus seems to be that if nobody has thought of it before, it must be really stupid. I mean, there is no basis for that stupid idea of yours, so how could it possibly work?

Well, I think some of us don’t have a choice, when it comes to coming up with stupid ideas.

They were born against (not born again) the grain. History has called them insane. The crazy ones. But perseverance has proven them to be geniuses. And I strongly suspect, with everything we are now learning about brain development and intelligence, that these insane geniuses were most likely on the high end of the Autism Spectrum.

At least, that is how I have come to know my own process and struggle. I did not ask to be like this. It is a difficult path. Full of resistance and rejection. And while I may present normal enough, it soon becomes clear to others that there is something different about me. It makes me wonder about why, and how this happened. I know my mother was a different thinker and feeler. She questioned things. She had unique ideas. She was a creative person. So maybe she in part imparted a lot those tendencies onto me. And maybe some was even inherited genetically.

There is a lot more to unpack and delve into around that. The entire Autism experience can be very hard to understand and define. That is why it is a spectrum. It is so vast and varied. And we are only just beginning to understand and accept it for what it is. And it seems people have a hard time with that, understanding that which doesn’t fit into their box of expectations. I believe that those on the Spectrum are a natural result of nature’s way of evolving. They come from a need for betterment. And there is great comfort and promise in that. I think we should trust the process. Learn to trust the crazy ones, a little more. Be more open to new ideas and fresh thinking. Be more open to new ideas and thinking. To do so might inspire more of the same…

And to think, life could be different.

Hug Trees and Be a Good Human

Hippies.

We’ve all seen them.

They kind of come and go. Sometimes they come when we least expect it. Sometimes we wish they would just go. They tend to have a smell about them. It’s sort of like a mixture of curry teabags and armpit onions. I guess being a hippie means not bathing. I guess it means not minding the stink.

Well, I mind the stink. I mean, I am a hippie. Or so I have been told. But I have also been told that I do not smell… except, that I smell good. I bathe every day. I wear deodorant. I take pride in my hygiene. And I hope that is a good thing. For I do not judge those that do not. I can be disgusted by the smells, which is a natural reaction I think, but it does not mean I think less of those that smell. 

I just want less to do with them.

And it’s not because they are hippies. Heck no. I actually really like the hippie vibe and culture. It fills me with a feeling of inspired belonging; of community and like-mindedness. It is a spirituality that empowers my personal religion, in lieu of me actually having one… Religion, that is. I have created my own. For I tend to create my own things. My own belief systems. I do not follow others easily. The world is confusing to me. People are confusing too. And so, I have always had my own understanding of the world. My own belief system, from the resonating pieces of other belief systems. And how I have been able to piece the puzzling parts of everything together, to make some sense of it all… that works for me.

So why do I like hippies so much? Why out of any one established ideology did I latch onto this one? Well, if you had read my first blog entry, you would understand the answer to that a little more. But there is more to it than any of that. I think the reason that identity and lifestyle ideology clicks with me so well is it aligns with core values and traits that I feel most at home with.

Specifically, I value the idea of being more natural. Of striving for world peace. Giving love to others. Listening to acoustic music. Wearing colourful clothing, or clothing made from natural fibres, imported from more spiritual regions of the planet (Tibet, Nepal, India and Thailand). I believe in freedom of spirit, the interconnectedness of things, and supporting humans over capitalism, corporate interest, commercialism and greed. Making the world safer and more sustainable, for all. But most of all… I love trees. And I love hugging them.

So I guess I fit the label right there with that, alone.

And sometimes, I do feel alone.

I feel alone in this world, in my thinking and feeling. It seems that I have a difficult time connecting with others on levels where we can mutually relate with our exchanges. I feel like people all do and say the same thing, over and over again. That there is a perceivable limit to the amount of original thought. And I am ALL ABOUT original thought. Every day I wake up with a tingle and enticement to approach the world and life a little differently. I welcome new ideas, fresh perspectives and unique concepts. To me this is creativity at its finest. And I do love to create. I paint. I draw. And as you can tell, I also write.

I am a creative problem solver. I like to analyze things and break them down into their systems, so I can understand how things connect and as such, how they can be modified and repaired, if that is what is required. I love those little life hacks that I come up with. Especially when they actually work! And when I create visual art, I like to do my own thing… with very little planning. I enjoy starting with an image or idea of images, and shaping and tweaking it as I go, depending on hat intuitively feels good or right. Or pleasing to the eye, or my emotions. Sometimes this flow can produce a positive result with very little effort and paint, and sometimes I paint over and over and over trying to get it just right.

And I am okay with this.

paintdab.ca

Because the end result is all about the process, and not the product. The product is just a consequence of the process. And if you truly appreciate a work of art, you should try to visualize the process, if you can. Imagine what the artists had to do to get there. This is why we love to watch Bob Ross paint. For he talks us through the process. And that is infinitely more beautiful than his finished painting.

I think some of my paintings are beautiful. They are also trippy. They do not fit into any ‘box’ or ‘category’. In fact, I think there is nothing more gory, than category. People ask me what things are in my paintings, or what things mean. And I instead ask them what they mean to them. I much more appreciate what someone sees or feels when they see my art. This is why I prefer to not title my paintings, lest I bias the viewer own what to expect.

So yeah, being a trippy artist I guess also gives me that sense of being a hippie.

Though I must admit, I do not like pretentious hippies. And by that, I mean those that TRY to be hippie-like. They say all the words, they spew all the ideologies, they dress and act all groovy and spacey. But to me they feel phoney as phuck. And I don’t think not bathing or using deodorant is totally cool, man.

I think it totally stinks. I think we can be more pleasantly authentic.

Just hug trees and be a good human.

The Mother Ship

 

A picture is worth a thousand words.

This picture was photographed on April 4, 2023 from the ferry between Crofton, BC and Salt Spring Island, BC. It looks upon Mount Erskine on Salt Spring, where my camper sits, and fits me in my ultimate lifestyle and in my happiest moments. Riding the ferry that day, it was one of those moments of idle thought, standing on the sunshine lit deck of the ferry, gazing out across the water, when I was struck by the stunning colours and reflections in what I saw. I took out my iPhone, and snapped this photo.

I have since been on this ferry many times, but I have never seen something quite so picturesque as this. It was a magical moment in time.

For me it represents a general sense of time and moments on Salt Spring. Things have a way of manifesting in the most meaningful ways. Always unexpected, and rarely unpleasant. It’s like the island has its own timeline and agenda. One need only immerse themselves into the flow of island vibe and time, and trust that things will work themselves out.

I have been visiting Salt Spring since 2004. That’s almost 20 years of coming to this coastal paradise. The climate is moderate. The landscape beautiful, no matter where you go. There’s hardly any bugs that bite you or make you itch. You can be outside as much as you want, in comfort, and in the nude (if you prefer).

I mean, this island is the Hippie Mother Ship, after all.

Not that I have anything against hippies. I have prided myself in being one most of my life. It all started in high school. I was 16 years old, and unsure about which category my identity fell under. I for sure wasn’t a jock. And I wasn’t a punk rocker. Or a metal head. I didn’t really click with the preppies. But I did wear clothes that were probably a little bit pretty boy. But not overly so. Rather, I just dressed normally and decently. And I drew weird crazy pictures. And listened to weird crazy music. I was also just beginning to experiment with socially encouraged influences that worked magic on my thought processes. Perhaps then being a hippie was more of a natural calling? It was definitely one that answered… especially after the New Year’s Eve party where I got bullied and beat up.

Yep. That’s right.

One of my high school friends thought it would be cool to spread rumours around this largely homophobic male gathering that I was a flaming faggot who wanted to perform oral gratification on most of its members. By the time I caught onto this, I was heavily under the influence of various brain magics, and my guard was completely down. I became fearful, and in my vulnerable state, I tried leaving the party unnoticed.

But someone alerted everyone that the faggot was making a run for it. ANd so the crowd pursued me outside and into the lane. I ran, but it was winter and icy and I slipped fell, and my attacker fell on me. He proceeded to smash my head into the icy pavement until I screamed for him to stop.

He did.

I picked myself up and walked home. I got in and my parents were there, entertaining their own NYE party with friends. I got into bed and escaped into sleep, about fifteen minutes before midnight.

The next day I reflected heavily on who I was, how this happened, and how I never wanted it to happen again. I concluded I needed to change. I threw my nice shirt out (a gift from my parents, that was the main object of the bullying and beating) and started dressing more like the 60s music, hippie culture homophobes that I had hung out with the night before. I grew my hair long. I wore peace signs. I tie dyed and I bleach blobbed my clothing. I went to peace rallies. I was playing a part. I did it with all my heart.

As it turned out, this was exactly who I was meant to be. It fit my personality. And so this identity stuck with me, through all the years. And in 2004, I made my way for the first time time to Salt Spring Island, where hippie culture seemed to have a home. And subsequently, so did I.

For I felt so much at home. I felt accepted. I felt alignment with policies and practices that revealed themselves to me, bit by bit, as I spent more and more time visiting in the following years. In 2010 I moved there with my wife and twins. Five months later we moved back. The marriage ended and I felt out of place, lost and far from my new home. I was desperate to claw my way back, any way I could. But I could not move. I had children and all the obligations of fatherhood keeping me away. I was stuck, and there was nothing I could do.

So I kept breathing. And one day the tide brought me a sail. I got an increase in my income and  as a result, qualified to get a WestJet Mastercard. With it, I could now afford to travel to the island more often. Eventually I bought a camper there. I was even closer to making more of a life for myself there. The kids were older now, in high school and headed for graduation. I started to plan my next move.

A lot of things started to happen though, that threatened to derail my plans. I had a shaky relationship rise and fall and rise and eventually fall again (several time, in fact). That could have held me back. The housing market there is outrageously expensive now (compared to when I lived there). But I am letting go of all my concerns…

And wholeheartedly trusting in the magical manifestations of the mother ship.