Chess

Supposedly, chess players are good at moving forward in life, rather than continually thinking about what they should have done. I used to play chess against my iPod and computer frequently, until I learned how to beat the computer.

I'm reminded of chess because I've been thinking about the movie Spirited Away. It came up in conversation on Christmas Eve and I remembered that it had moved me in a big way, and I didn't quite remember why. Reading the plot online, I got to the very end, and as I read about a little girl walking away from a very close friend she may never see again, and being told not to look back, I remembered why I felt so strongly.

I can remember a number of walk-away moments in my life. There have been moments where I've stomped away in anger, and moments where I nearly floated away because I was so happy to leave. The walk away moments I remember most clearly are the ones that ripped my heart out so much that I don't know where my legs got the strength to take any steps at all. I imagine that's what this little girl in the movie felt as she walked away from her friend without looking back at his face.

According to the chess theory, walking away without looking back would be easier for a chess player, as they would be used to making moves and not being able to take them back, only think about the next moves forward. I don't suppose that my strength to take forward steps has much to do with my chess abilities, and I don't think little cartoon girl's did, either. Mostly, any ability I have in chess comes from picking up on patterns that the computer tends to use, and I can't really make many conjectures about a cartoon character's chess skills. 

To change the subject of this post completely, I should be quite happy today because I found a townhouse I would like to live in recently and settled on the purchase price today. People keep saying "congratulations", but I'm not quite sure why - I haven't accomplished anything special - many, many people own houses, and I don't even own this one, I just agreed to go ask the bank to help me buy it so that someday I can own it. Maybe my lack of excitement is due to the complete failure of the last condominium I was going to buy (see a post back in October for that story) and I don't see the point in getting excited about something that might not happen. Maybe I'm not excited because I'm scared I'm getting myself in way over my head with a 1200 sq ft townhouse, a garage, a basement, a deck, and a mortgage. Maybe I'm not excited because I'm afraid no one will ever come visit me, or that I will get lonely, or that I will be afraid when I'm there alone, in the dark, at night. 

Maybe, I'm just numb to any emotion at all. 

Maybe, I've had to turn around and walk away in horrible pain so many times now that I've just shut myself off. I don't feel the bad, but I don't feel the good, either. Certainly I'd remain calm, collected, and totally unaffected by a lousy chess move. I'd say "Oppps!" and keep on playing.

Maybe, I just live life like I play chess.

I Write

I don't have anything particular to say today. I don't even have any particularly entertaining stories to tell. Still, I have a desire to write. 

A few years ago I was having a rough day. I don't remember all the particular things that happened, but it was more difficult to manage than a normal day because I'd pulled a muscle in my neck and it was quite painful. After teaching a dance lesson with a friend I was more sore than before, and was discussing this with him as I walked out the door of his house. I remember that I was carrying an empty cake pan. 

Somehow, our conversation turned to something serious. This isn't surprising - we talked about anything and everything, which was, on that particular day frustrating for me. Having someone to talk to is great, but emotional intimacy often breeds deeper feelings that can be near impossible to manage in a strictly friendship setting. As my friend talked I said nothing. I had no desire to tell him that he was toying with my emotions, and so I started to cry. 

He thought I was crying because my neck hurt, so he took the cake pan out of my hands and started massaging my shoulders and neck. This didn't particularly help the situation, so I started to cry even more. He turned me around, and hugged me, and let me cry. I couldn't tell him way I was so upset, so he suggested that I write, to get it out. 

When I got home I took out paper and wrote about my day. I wrote about my sore neck, and the dance lesson, and my friend. Of course he had been right, I felt better.  

My neck isn't sore today, but I have a few other random physical ailments, and some big decisions weighing on my mind that, again, are making my days more difficult to handle than usual. This time, I write. I write because I've learned that off-loading my emotions onto another person is neither safe or fair. I've re-trained myself to desire prayer or writing over human comfort. I've learned to let me emotions go - go to God in prayer, go into music I play, go into ink on paper, or typing on a screen -  rather than just putting them in someone else's hands.