Don Quixote was published something like 400 years ago in archaic Spanish that I can only understand by looking up every other word in the Royal Academy‘s online dictionary. And yet, I find that the delusional knight is part of my daily thought and discourse. Yesterday a programmer in his blog compared his crazy project to tilting at windmills. Today someone called the development of open mobile phone software a quixotic quest. On my door is taped a copy of the lyrics of “The Impossible Dream“, which is from the musical adaptation of Don Quixote. I liken my dating escapades and debacles to the adventures of the ingenioso hidalgo. When I look at the uncontrolled explosion of books in my bedroom I wonder if I, too, live mostly in my imagination. I find it strange that a novel so seemingly irrelevant to my life would have this much of an impact upon me.
Blog
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Day of Deceit
The painfully obvious “Scientists worldwide admit global warming is a hoax” is actually pretty good. The best part:
For his part, Al Gore has owned up to duping the scientific community. In a blog post on his website, the ex-Nobel Laureate explains the genesis of his scheme, “now that the jig is up.”
As long as I can remember, my only goal in life has been to destroy free-market capitalism and replace it with global totalitarian socialism. But it seemed that traditional methods, such as guerrilla warfare, were proving unsuccessful. Then, one day in 1988, as I was strolling through the halls of my giant mansion, it hit me: carbon dioxide.
By striking at the molecule that lies at the heart of industrial civilization, I could bring the whole system to its knees and usher in a workers’ paradise.
The rest just sort of fell into place. I wrote a book, held some Congressional hearings, made a movie, dashed off a few pseudonymous journal articles on radiative forcing, and the next thing you know, I was on TV with Dave Matthews and Ludacris convincing people to purchase carbon offsets. Carbon offsets!
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When Dating Is Like Writing And One Is Prone To Writer’s Block
I date like an artist. In both works of art (especially writing) and in dating, I cannot approach the marvel in my imagination and bring it into reality without trembling with the bowel-wrenching fear of devastating failure, terror at pondering the imminent collapse of my fondest dreams. I see potential—whether it be an idea for a novel, or noticing a girl I think is a brilliant, interesting, beautiful person—and I just sit there and contemplate the possibility for a while. There it is, being full of power and capacity, but simply remaining potent, not ever becoming actual. But eventually my fear of tragic failure is overcome by my fear of never realizing any meaningful achievement in the given realm, and I try to bring the beautiful dream into reality. That’s when I put pen to page and write, or get on the phone and ask her out. Sometimes, I’m blessed with strokes of genius. Other times I bumble like a fool, words fail me, and I’m left to my uninspired self.
This is a problem, perhaps the problem. As a result, my achievements in writing and in dating are both spectacularly dismal. I can only seem to bring about things that are short in duration: a poem, a date, a short story, a conversation. But when it comes to the longer-span creations that are truly a revelation of the amazing possibility the human soul (a novel, a relationship) I fail. I have nothing. The feelings of frustration and despair at what might have been but is not are the same in each instance.
For every great artist, how many would-have-beens were there who could never approach the marvelous vision within them for fear of destroying it? For every happy relationship, how many could-have-happened are there? How many opportunities foregone because of fear of destroying the opportunities themselves? How is the gap bridged between possibility and reality?
By the way, this video is, strangely enough, what started me thinking about this. It’s only tangentially related, but it’s very much worth watching: