Conservatism as a Disposition

"A conservative is someone who stands athwart history yelling Stop."
--William F. Buckley

I'm really not writing today about politics in this entry, but feel free to make a political interpretation if you like. What I'd like to take some time to explain is how the conservative temperament operates, and maybe from there you can see how that leads to a political disposition. It runs something like this: some folks are not comfortable with change. Some of this discomfort is based on fear or mistrust, true; however, some resist change because the lifestyle, rules, or processes they grew up with work, or they have experienced negative consequences from making sudden or unplanned change.

A conservative seeks stability and comfort. Going with the flow--i.e., the rules received from parents, grandparents, ancestors, etc.--is the path of most comfort and least resistance. Said conservative accepts the guidelines laid down before they were born with the assumption that a) authority figures know what they're doing or b) there had to be good reasons for why the rules exist. The more inquiring will ask why things are the way they are. If living with the rules becomes more problematic than not doing so, then they'll consider changing their behavior or the rules.

I had a friend in high school who had no interest in traveling more than five miles from our home town. Moving beyond the Western Suburbs of Chicago was just not something that made her comfortable. Perhaps that's an extreme example, but I'm certain she was not unusual.

When people in the West lived in villages in ancient and medieval times, aside from occasional raids by bandits or neighboring countries, they accepted that the ebb and flow of life was more or less static and cyclical. The disruptive influences of the Renaissance were merchants, who dared to challenge the wealth of the Crown and the authority of the Church. Merchants--budding capitalists--believed that the world could be improved and changed, that people could become wealthier, wiser, and more knowledgeable than their ancestors. The Crown and the Church pushed back, but change happened anyway. And while Western Civilization faced several setbacks--the Napoleonic Wars, World War I, and World War II--that philosophy of affluence, scientific inquiry, and technological advance has continued up to the present.

Some people are still not comfortable with all this change. One typical conservative sentiment is, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." That could apply to anything from manners to business processes to technology. In fact, I butted heads with a gung-ho fellow cast member when I worked at Disney because she was trying to push through a bunch of changes to how our department was conducting business. I finally had to draw her aside and say, "Look, I know you have a lot of great ideas, but you have to understand that not everyone wants to change. You need to provide them reasons for why they should do things your way."

Conservatives--again, speaking of people with a conservative temperament, not necessarily a conservative political affiliation--are not just anti-change or pro-comfort to be difficult or selfish. There are times when change IS disruptive and DOES have harmful side-effects. There are financial, personal, and resource costs to change. Example: "Hey, why don't you move to Washington, DC? You'll make more money. You'll be closer to me, and others." I hear this one occasionally. However, I moved there before and didn't like it. I didn't fit in with the "political" culture, as I found it focused on manipulating and gaining power over others--I'm not interested in either. That's a social and personal cost. My bills were much higher in DC/Northern Virginia, and I don't have a bunch of money to pay for another move. Those are financial costs. I could put myself into further debt or I could stay where I am in Orlando, warm and happy. Or there's my pal who suggested we run in the Disney Half-Marathon next year. Could I do that? Possibly. Might I get into better shape? Probably, but will there be costs? Yes: the entry fee, for one. But more importantly there would be a physical cost to me because I have bad knees.

If there's one mistake that people who have a more change-oriented disposition make when dealing with personal conservatives, it's their dismissal of the real costs of change, whatever they might be. They always have an answer to any objection, assuming that the conservative wants to change but they just haven't thought through the details yet. Much like extroverts who think that introverts really want to go out and socialize in large groups, they just haven't been invited to the right group yet. Sorry, no. It doesn't work that way. Sometimes a conservative says no for a good reason. They have thought things through and have decided that the costs of some change in their life are not worth the advertised benefits. And if they don't say yes to a particular change, the result will turn out just fine.

Christmas for Me, You, and Everybody

For the last few years (4? 5?), my Christmas "tradition" has been to fly to Orlando, spend a few days visiting my dad and stepmom, catching up with Disney friends if possible, going into one of the theme parks, and staying at The Peabody on International Drive. Following the advice of my father, a former Eastern Airlines sales rep, I'd try to pick the least-busy holiday travel inbound and outbound to avoid unnecessary crowds. As it happens, one of the least busy days to fly is Christmas Day, so I've spent several December 25s in airports and airplanes, heading away from Orlando to somewhere colder. Last year, I was on the verge of unemployment. I knew it was where I wanted to be, and made the plan to return to Florida. I've spent a year living in other people's homes, scrounging for work, but in the end, I got to a place where I think I can support myself, live in my own apartment, and (huzzah!) spend Christmas in Orlando. No idea what I'll be doing that day--dinner with Dad is the 23rd ("because Bart always leaves on Christmas Day"--ouch). However, I'll be in a warm place, near people and places I love and within electronic and telephone contract of those not so nearby. I consider that a holiday well spent.

I couldn't rightly say where my faith is at this moment, but Christmas has always been a special time for me. I love Luke Chapter 2. I love Perry Como, Bing Crosby, and the rest on the radio. I love the trees and the lights. I love gathering together with family and friends. It's always been a time to feel and spread goodwill, and that's what I try to do.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, I hope you find this season a warm time of good fellowship. Merry Christmas, one and all.

45

Once a year I get seriously self-indulgent on this blog and reflect on where I am in my life. There are worse things I could do with my time.

So: 45 years old today. I guess one of my b-day cards got it right: you know you're getting old when you start getting old-age jokes on your birthday cards. The grey hair remains grey--though, remarkably, it hasn't retreated too far up the forehead yet. The weight is down through a random, solemn decision to eat and treat myself better. I'm avoiding fried foods as a lifestyle choice. I'm snacking on things that are recognizably natural foods. I walk more.

And my oh my, is my professional life different from where it was a year ago! This time last year, I was still in Huntsville, Alabama, gainfully employed with a space/technology-focused small business. This year, courtesy of some government budget-cutting, I now AM a small business, back in the city I love, Orlando, Florida. I struggle here and there with finding business and paying bills, but thanks to the kindness of friends, I've been able to house-sit in genteel poverty, an arrangement that will continue through early November. I've had the breathing space to find and build clientele, for which I'm duly grateful.

Having come close to the bottom of my reserves in late spring, I'm now on a path to steady bill paying and taking steps toward improving my ability to expand my line of work (taking a grant-writing class, getting help from a coach, getting in touch with local friends to find new opportunities). Progress!

And here's the thing about freelancing that I'm coming to realize: I have no problem supporting customers, it's bosses I don't deal with well. I'm always willing to help or answer to a customer. A customer has come to me voluntarily, seeking my services. A manager, however benevolent, is there to tell me what to do. I don't mind that most of the time, it's a fact of life; however, the fewer layers I have above me, usually the better I'm able to function. I'm picking the type of work I do, the workload, and my hours of operation. I probably could and should have gone freelance earlier in life, but better late than never, I suppose.

*

Do I have any deep, new wisdom at the ripe old age of 45? Just one thing: the most important thing I've learned to do this past year is be me happily, with all the good, bad, and weird that entails. I...

• Wear Hawaiian shirts and shorts for my standard "work clothes."
• Try to stick with aerospace work because that is what I love to do and am passionate about doing. 
• Take a lot of the low-key, low-visibility jobs with the Science Cheerleaders because I'm not particularly gung-ho to get on stage. 
• Can speak on stage (if I must) without much fear or trepidation. 
• Am blatantly geeky about some things, blandly conformist or mainstream about others. 
• Am mildly to terribly conceited, and a linguistic snob. 
• Am back to being a libertarian (with a conservative flavor).
• Have a taste for philosophy, science fiction, history, and terrible puns. 
• Cannot shut up on Facebook. 
• Walk around theme parks, play John Williams soundtracks, and light up aromatherapy candles to relax. 
• Read self-help books because I want to make myself a better person. 
• Live and travel alone because I recognize my social strengths and limitations. 
• Am an introvert with extroverted moments. 
• Have a list of things I want to do, and I take steps to make them happen. 
• Am not in any big rush to change the world or to boss around others. 
• Love Orlando's afternoon thunderstorms and lack of snow. 
• Don't share secrets, am not particularly interested in learning the secrets of others, nor do I wish to share whatever secrets I have with everyone I know. 

It's not a perfect life, by any wild stretch, but I prefer the problems I have to any others. My willingness to be honest with myself about myself allows me to be honest with others--as much as I think they can stand--and that's not so bad for 45. I'm pretty happy being Bart.

Again, better late than never.

Doing What's Important

It seems to be human nature that, as long as things are going well or predictably, we don't think too much about what we're doing with our lives. Are we doing the right things? Are we focusing on what's important? Et cetera. Usually it takes a crisis for someone to get off their duff and to do something important or constructive or meaningful with his/her life.

Luckily, in my case, no crisis was needed. I had the first adult conversation with myself when I was around 25. I was writing an "alternate history" in which I tried to imagine what my life would have been like if my parents hadn't divorced, and how it would have been better had they not. It was a faintly ridiculous exercise, and I realized--even as and after I wrote it--that I did not believe the premise. All the life circumstances I'd described in the story were relatively achievable, I realized, if I just did something. The reason I call this my first "adult" conversation was that this was the first time I stopped asking, "Why me?" and started asking, "What do you want to do about it?" The specific question I asked--jeez, 20 years ago now--was, "What do you want to do with your life?" And a scared but determined little voice in the back of my mind said, "I want to go into space."

So what this answer led to was a simple question and a few realizations. The question was, "So what are you going to do about it?" From there arose the following realizations:

• My life wasn't going to get better waiting for some magical thing to just happen to me.
• I could change my life's narrative.
• I could take constructive steps on my own behalf to live the sort of life I wanted and make the sort of world I wanted to have happen.

That was some heady stuff at 25. I still need occasional reminders at 45 that this is what I'm doing. But at 25, that meant changing my attitude for the better at work (I did); getting smarter about space (which I did, first in the form of reading a lot of the eminent books on the subject, later through formal schooling); and trying to figure out what sort of career I could have to make "space" a reality. Eventually I became a space advocate, got myself a better degree, and developed a daily habit of doing something constructive every single day. That last habit continues. Mind you, it took about 15 years to realize that going into space might not be the best career choice for me, given my biological susceptibilities to claustrophobia, motion sickness, and fear of heights. But I'm still working in the space business. I can't help it. It's what's important to me.

Why?

Funny thing, that. From a very young age, I've just always believed that going into space was fundamentally a good thing. Call it an article of faith, if you like. The words coalesced around that kernel of faith later, but here they are: If human beings are out in space, they're expanding their literal and figurative horizons. They're looking outward, trying to understand the universe and gaining knowledge for themselves rather than looking inward and meddling in the lives of their neighbors. They don't see life as a zero-sum game. They have an expansive view of themselves and their place in the universe. They believe that they have the abilities necessary to learn what's out there and how to survive in it. A society that's going into space believes that it's worthwhile to do so because it believes that it's worth expanding; that their way of life is worth replicating on other worlds; that it has confidence; and that is worth emulating, and worth duplicating on other worlds.

My way of supporting that cause is to write. In my case, writing takes on many forms: some glorious, some complicated, some mundane. I write outreach materials for NASA. I write technical documents and proposals for organizations that do aerospace work. I write policy papers and manifestos. I create documents and processes so Science Cheerleaders can go out and get kids excited about science.

So that's what motivates me. Your mileage might vary. In any case, I'm living my life in line with and in support of my ideals. I am not waiting for some major catastrophe to rip me out of my world and ask, "What have I been doing with my life?"

The Pains and Joys of Consulting

Many of you have heard more than you need to about my wild and crazy life (not) as a consultant. This has been a simultaneous blessing and curse. On the one hand, I've been free to pursue whatever work I want to do (a lesson learned from Jason Hundley); on the other hand, I've been living with major ups and downs in my work load and income, with mostly downs on the latter. So I've got maximum freedom coupled with maximum uncertainty. Since leaving larger corporate environments, I've learned to enjoy the freedom of small business life, and I want to hold onto that. If I want to keep the consultant lifestyle, I'm going to have to work for it. The uncertainty can only be overcome by getting out there and hustling for more work to keep the bills paid. No, that's not my favorite thing in the world--I'm getting more introverted as I get older--but if it means I get to run my work life the way I want it, including wearing Hawaiian shirts and shorts while working from home, that's a goal that's worth enduring a little social discomfort. It also might mean a little less time on Facebook (maybe). Starting today, I'll be trying to get smarter about this career thing. That'll mean pushing myself harder and in different directions than I've tried before. The support of my friends and family means a lot, so thanks to one and all for your help.

And, seriously, if you know someone who needs a technical writer--in Florida or via internet--you know where to point them. I specialize in translating engineering language about new technologies into words other people can understand.

Bart D. Leahy
Writer
http://heroictechwriting.wordpress.com/
http://www.zeropointfrontiers.com/
http://www.linkedin.com/in/bartleahy2007
http://vizualize.me/ZPGopher#

and 

Event Manager
http://ScienceCheerleader.com 

The Subject of Courage, Reconsidered

"I hate the British. You are defeated, but you have no shame. You are stubborn, but have no pride. You endure, but you have no courage."
--Colonel Saito, The Bridge on the River Kwai

"Everyone considered him the coward of the county
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong"
--Kenny Rogers

"I thought I was defending your honor, and I never run away from a fight!"
"Yes, you do. You do all the time!"
--Mal and Inara, Firefly

"Listen, you promise me something, OK? Just if you're ever in trouble, don't be brave. You just run, OK? Just run away."
--Jenny Curran, Forrest Gump

A few years back, when I was still living in DC, some idiot left her bag on the Metro. This was in the wake of the Madrid train bombing in 2004, and people were obviously a little tense. And by "people," I mean me. I was getting off at the next stop anyway, but I eased my way toward the other end of the car before the train came to the station. Not like it would've mattered, but still. As I was exiting the station, I saw some lady taking the bag to the station ticket seller to report the bag to lost and found. I thought long and hard about that episode for the rest of that day, and obviously it's still a sore spot. I remember thinking at the time, "Jeez, that was stupid!" but I couldn't recall at the time if I was thinking about my behavior or that lady's. Obviously I pointed the accusatory finger at myself. A braver man would have assumed it was a bomb and taken it off the train anyway.


There are men who would sooner admit to having parts missing than admit to being scared. Good for them. The best I can manage is calm or hysterical humor in moments of high anxiety (tornadoes, hurricanes, etc.). I call it "laughter from the brink." But yes, there are parts of America--specifically the South--where bravery is at the very heart of being a man. Of course with that bravery can come some other traits, such as touchiness, machismo, and a willingness to employ violence. Far be it for me to complain. A lot of our military comes from the Southern U.S., and that job requires a bravery most civilians cannot imagine because it's not required of them.

Even in social situations, moral courage is not considered a particularly popular virtue. Two of the most popular Christian aphorisms out there are "Judge not, lest ye be judged" and "Turn the other cheek." I've employed both over the course of nearly 44 years on this Earth. Part of that seemed to be required, as I was a small, frail child, and didn't reach a respectable (among males) height until I was nearly 20. A "late bloomer" was the polite term. "Wimp" would have been another one.

I spent the worst year of my life in seventh grade. Word got around (thanks to my grade school peers, but also thanks to the guys I'd played little league with a couple years earlier) that I was a weakling and a wimp--easily hurt, easily upset. It became a game to see who could get Leahy to cry first. Not being a fan of exercise, I had to get incredibly desperate to try karate as a means of regaining some self respect. If anything, I realized that I at least needed to understand the rudiments of fighting so I wouldn't get my ass kicked every time I was within one mile of school. Naturally, word of my effort got around, and one kid simply could not wait to test my new-found fighting prowess. So one month after I'd started--still clumsily trying to keep up with the calisthenics and learn the proper fighting stances--one of the bullies decided to test me out. Needless to say, I ran, and when the kid finally caught me, he clocked me a few times before deciding he'd made his point.

That was the episode that caused a much tougher friend to tell the rest of the toughs to leave me alone, and that sufficed to stop the physical beatings. The episodes of people following me home continued here and there, engendering a certain paranoia, but the bruises stopped multiplying. I got about as far as yellow belt before deciding I'd had enough karate. The next level up was blue belt, which included weapons training, and I wanted nothing to do with those. I'd gotten enough self confidence at any rate to learn how to change my social behavior and not act like a terrified victim.

But my experiences in childhood taught me this lesson: if you're smaller, weaker, and slower than someone, it's probably a good idea not to provoke them. Of course some people don't require an excuse for abusive behavior. I know of several folks who considered my very willingness to be friendly and agreeable contemptible and worthy of a beating, so you can't please everyone (you can, however, keep your distance).

Another thing I learned over the succeeding 20 years is that the larger the social group you belong to, the more likely you are to say something to offend others. There are two approaches to this sort of problem: not to give a damn what other people think or to make a conscious effort to be inoffensive and to apologize for any offense (my chosen route). None of this requires a great deal of courage, merely verbal cleverness and a trained sixth sense that avoids pushing anyone's buttons. So I steer clear of politics. I don't push my religion. At church, I don't argue with doctrines that bother me. In most personal relationships, I let things that bother me slide to avoid arguments. Part of this is just a general distaste for conflict, part of it stems from not allowing every little thing bug me anymore, but part of it is the opposite of courage (which I defined previously as a willingness to take action even when the outcome is in doubt).

The behaviors above make me welcome among a wider variety of people than I might associate with otherwise. I've got a very diverse circle of friends, with any number of personal opinions, political affiliations, and personal lifestyle choices that don't match mine at all. I'm probably better off for holding my fire in certain circumstances, but at what point do I assert my own views? At what point do I test the patience and tolerance of my friends? Agreeableness only goes so far before I lose my own voice, my own thoughts. If I allow the opinions of others to completely overwhelm my own, who will know what I stand for, or if I stand for anything at all? That is where a man proves his courage, is it not?

In the last essay of this series, I'll talk about where I've tried to exercise courage in my life. It probably won't surprise you to learn that I do so through my writing career. You've got to start somewhere, right?

This is part 2 of three essays on this subject. Part 1 can be found here, Part 3 here.

The Vice of Courage

Most civilization is based on cowardice. It's so easy to civilize by teaching cowardice. You water down the standards which would lead to bravery. You restrain the will. You regulate the appetites. You fence in the horizons. You make a law for every movement. You deny the existence of chaos. You teach even the children to breathe slowly. You tame.

--Frank Herbert, God Emperor of Dune

The great thing is not to lose your nerve.

--Jerry Pournelle

Yes, but these are not times for extraordinary men. Business is not war. Heroics are unseemly. They complicate. 

--Adlai Niska, Firefly

"Come on! Show a little backbone, willya?"

--Raiders of the Lost Ark

A coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero dies but once.

--Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare

 *

We don't talk much about courage these days, unless perhaps it's related to disasters or wars. Soldiers can be admired for their courageousness, but are just as likely to be denounced for being brutes or pitied as "victims of war." Firemen and policemen can be admired for rushing into the World Trade Center--and were--but the nation wants to abandon the war and forget 9/11 ever happened.

Oh, there are still moments where courage is called for today--in the face of social oppression, for example--though we live in a comparatively free society. There are moments like home invasions that call for personal courage, and some people test their courage on purpose through extreme sports or find themselves tested against their will through cancer or some other awful disease.

Yet where does that leave courage at home, in the human heart, in the workings of our daily lives? And what, exactly, do I mean by courage, and why do I feel its lack?

I suppose my personal definition of courage (composed during a five-mile walk this afternoon) boils down to this: courage is the willingness to take action even when you doubt that the outcome will be successful. It's not a virtue I was brought up with, cultivated in myself, or was expected to display. I find this lack unfortunate.

I also like John Wayne's definition of courage: "Real courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway." Unfortunately, John Wayne was not a welcome presence in my household. In addition to courage, you see, Wayne had machismo, swagger, male ego, the aura of a tough guy--and that sort of stuff just wasn't wanted in a home run by a soft-spoken single mother. I don't blame Mom, but I'm learning in retrospect that it had long-term effects on how I faced the world, especially the world of my male peers.

It took me years to learn to stand up for myself. It wasn't like Mom told me to run away from a fight, but she had no advice to offer when it came to standing up for myself. As a result, I took a beating--several, in fact--until a tougher friend basically told most of the bullies to leave little Leahy alone. I finally got an opportunity to thank him through the miracle of Facebook a year or so ago, and it was a thank-you that was a long time coming. But behind gratitude lies that inevitable male resentment: if I'd had a set, the theory goes, I wouldn't have needed that help. But the absence of courage in my youthful training led me to doubt my ability to defend myself. This led to backing down from many a fight.

The funny thing is, Mom herself has noticed a lack in my behavior, but has been unable to quantify it precisely. Instead, she put it this way: "When I told you 'no,' you accepted it. When I told your sister 'no,' she kept trying." Now you can chalk this up to any number of personality traits: politeness, unwillingness to offend an authority figure, passivity, introversion, what have you. But it happens in my social dealings with other people as well. Told "no" by a woman that she is not interested, I accept it (albeit not always gracefully), and quit. Society has made this more problematic, as the line between "determined suitor" and "stalker" has become increasingly (and deliberately) vague. My history and behavior being what they are, though, I err on the side of caution and back off. Yet how many romance books or plays or romantic comedies have been about some guy (or gal) going to extraordinary lengths to win the love of the object of their affections? Sorry, that's art. We didn't really mean it...so I take no for an answer.

In social settings, if I sense that I am not accepted by a particular group, I tend to withdraw and find another group rather than fight to prove my worthiness. I justify it by saying that if people can't accept me as I am, then to hell with them. But how hard did I really try?

And how many "adventures" do I bypass (physical, social) because I doubt my ability to meet the challenge or fit in? Again, it might be a socially acceptable answer to say, "That (skiing, snowboarding, wilderness camp, speed dating, softball, volleyball, political rally) doesn't interest me." And 9 times out of 10, that's probably my actual answer. But there are times when I am interested but decide not to attend for fear of embarrassing myself, getting hurt (physically or otherwise), not fitting in, or not being liked. Yet there's no social sanction against social restraint. Occasionally you hear the phrase, "Man up!" but that's rare. 

Perhaps it's a factor of my age. I'm nearly out of the demographic that reads Maxim magazine, where kicking ass and getting laid are the number one priorities, but I wasn't like that even in my 20s. How much of that is a factor of being an "INFJ" or a "sensitive soul" and how much of it is just the result of being a plain old coward? I don't know. But somehow it has always been easy to take the easy way out and not try (to ask someone out, to tell someone to go the hell away, to punch someone who desperately deserved it). Society, for the most part, has given me a pass when it might have been better for me to take a risk. We don't do that sort of thing, anymore, do we?

So let's say I decide to find some social or personal courage. What would it look like, what would change? Maybe I'd stop caring so much about others' opinions of me. Maybe I'd date more, have more breakups, and get into more fights. Would that matter? Would my life be better somehow? I can't say. In my professional life, I've displayed a lot more gumption and willingness to take chances, though I stopped writing fiction or expressing political opinions years ago--in part, because I wished to avoid giving offense with some of my philosophical asides. How healthy is this? Do they even teach fortitude and moral strength to males anymore, or are those behaviors considered (as noted above) unseemly? 

I feel that the social backbone--the willingness to stand up for oneself, fight for what one believes--is born through the cultivation of courage. Going back to my earlier definition, I realize that, all too often, when I doubt the outcome of an action, I won't take it, preferring a sin of omission to one of commission, and yet something inside me feels that Shakespearean admonition of "a thousand deaths." Without becoming some extreme sports nut or volunteering for the armed services, how does one cultivate a courageous life at this age? In this time? What do I need to be courageous about, anyway, and how would my life be different if I embraced that virtue that others think is a vice? 

Welcome to my mind.

*

This is the first of three essays on this subject. Part 2 can be found here, Part 3 here. 

In Honor of National Poetry Month...

I don't write poetry often, but I had a moment, so here ya go. My apologies in advance for any hyperlinks added by Blogger. The original had none, and I'm not sure what to do to eliminate them.


Internet

Across the world
Across the wires,
We speak it all
And never tire
Of jokes and jabs
And jibes and jerks,
Of subtle knives
To do the work

We read each other’s
Thoughts to sleep
While others try
To stalk and creep.
To hide our thoughts
The only way
Is shut things down
And never play.

Yes, we’re social
True enough
But somehow empty
Too bad, that’s tough.
We want to know
What others think
But when we learn
We want to drink

Silly species,
The human race:
Machines advance
We don’t keep pace.

/b
4/14/13

The Enticement of What is Forbidden

Over the years, I've heard a lot about how we shouldn't try to prevent kids from watching violent movies, having sex, or taking drugs because--human nature being what it is--kids will be more enticed to do something just because it's forbidden. I find it curious, then, that some folks react with such shock, anger, and dismay when similar bans are put on the purchase of personal weapons.

Let me start by laying out my experience with or interest in guns: up until a few hours ago, it was zero. I hadn't fired anything more vicious than a pump-action BB gun when I was 17 and the occasional Nerf dart gun up until, say, last week. but handguns of the made-to-kill variety? Never touched the stuff. Rifles, shotguns, repeating rifles? Likewise. Wasn't interested.

Then the government and some activists started getting a little too aggressive about wanting to curtail a clearly stated right in the U.S. Constitution. And yes, I'm one of those people who will act contrarily, just because because I don't like to be pushed or nagged, even if it's for my own good. Think on that, anti-gun fans. Your very vehemence--your pushiness, your meddlesome behavior, and your desire to tell me what to do--got me irritated enough to ask a friend to introduce me to a gun range and firing a handgun.

So there I was: I listened seriously and carefully through my ear and eye protection to the safety briefing from the gun range supervisor. I took what pointers he could offer, and asked what questions I needed to before I picked up the heavy black metal thing and fired 50 feet down a shell-littered concrete floor at a piece of paper mounted to an adjustable cardboard target. My hands shook so badly through the first magazine that if half my bullets hit the 7X9" paper, I'd be most surprised (nervousness combined with an essential tremor--a great combination). Even through the thick ear protection, I was startled by the noise and explosive force of the weapon (I'd rented a Glock .45 automatic). Nevertheless, after the first magazine, I understood more or less what I was doing, and started hitting the target often enough not to feel too embarrassed.

You professionals, go ahead and laugh. This was a first-time outing by a 43-year-old with glasses and shaky hands. Let me also point out that I was not the first one to fire at the cardboard--it had been there a while. I fired about three magazines' worth--36-42 bullets, depending on how well I shoved in the casings, which wasn't that efficiently.

I also fired my friend's 1911 Model .45 pistol and the six of us (the outing increased in size as word got around) took turns firing a rented Beretta at extreme range. Eventually I steadied down a bit and was able to understand what I was doing, even if I wasn't particularly skilled at doing it.

Here's what I came away with after that 90 minutes at the range:

• While I'm not enough of an expert to understand what exactly makes a good weapon, the easiest to handle and fire was the 1911 Model .45. It wasn't quite as heavy as the Glock and the trigger was tight enough that there wasn't any guessing or surprise as to when the weapon would discharge. The Beretta was the worst in that regard, the Glock about the middle--again, based on my very amateur standards.
• I finally understood the psychology of Frodo Baggins. I felt myself surrounded by terrible destructive power, and I felt the immense paranoia of being responsible for it--as well as feeling the very great wish that such power was not available to anyone and should be destroyed. Another new gun user in my group said, "After being in that place, I understand the need for more gun control!" That isn't quite the same thing I felt, but we shared a common dismay at the massive power of the weapons we fired. 
• And yet despite my above feelings, I didn't change my mind about buying a weapon (mind you,  a little more training might be in order). Skip Frodo for a moment, and consider Peter Parker (a.k.a., Spider-Man), who noted that "With great power comes great responsibility." Do I want only other people, some of whom might be terribly irresponsible (or evil), to have the power to wield such things? No. Am I eager to run out and fire such weapons with impunity? Absolutely not. The idea is horrific.

So there you go: I tried something dangerous and new, not because I particularly wanted to, but simply because some people wanted to take away my ability to even make the choice.

Neil Armstrong, 1930-2012

The first human being to walk on another world has passed away today. He was a quiet man, a solid test pilot, an accomplished astronaut, and a man of few words, before and after his famous flight. However, he did manage to misspeak a few words that will outlive us all, outlive this century, and I think live last as long as human beings have a history worth writing as he set foot on the Moon: "That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind." As a friend put it, the world is now poorer without him. His family's statement speaks of his modesty and dedication to public service and hard work, suggesting that those serve as his legacy as a man, not just the moon landing. I concur.

I first heard the words when I was seven years old, maybe younger. The words moved me in a way that was deep for a kid, combining in one moment a supreme act of achievement, exploration, and patriotism that still thrills me when I hear them. I didn't get inspired to become an astronaut or become a scientist, or even a pilot. Nevertheless, the words spoke to me, telling me space exploration was something great, something worth doing. I wanted to hear more words like that. For those words, I will forever thank Neil Armstrong. Rest in peace, sir. You will forever be a part of history.

Ray Bradbury

Normally, if I write about writers, I'd post it on this blog. However, this evening, I'm putting something personal on the Heroic Tech Writing blog. Click here, read on, and think about a writer who inspires you.

Extremes

We are a curious species. Given a particular attribute in our lives, we have a habit of running it into the ground.
Give us desire, we find lust.
Give us temperance, and we find gluttony.
Give us want, and we find greed.
Give us righteous indignation, and we find wrath.
Give us self-esteem, and we find wanton pride.
Give us achievement, and we find vainglory.
Give us beauty, and we pursue vanity.
Give us power, and we pursue overreach.
Give us a cause, and we pursue fanaticism.

And so forth. Whatever we don't have we spend our lives pursuing. Whatever we have that we want we want more of. Whatever we have that we don't want we spend a lifetime trying to avoid. Are we just restless by nature, or do we pursue single, specific things so that our lives make sense?
I'd guess that this is why the ancients (Aristotle, I believe) preached "everything in moderation," not just the foods we consume, but the ideas. I can sense times when I have taken my life too far in one direction, and I usually find myself backing away soon thereafter. If anything, extremism bores me. Too much time on one topic, and my mind wanders. Not everyone feels that way. I read somewhere that Americans feel "too much is just right." Is that, in fact, the case, or is personal extremism merely pursued in different ways outside of this rambunctious country?

And yes, this is a perfectly normal train of thought for me at 6:41 on a Saturday night. There are worse ways to spend my time, right?

So What Would Make You Happy?

I'm not going to kid you: I've been grumpy the last few months. A few things have fueled this state of mind, but that's not the point of this post. I hate being grumpy, so this morning I started scribbling a list of what would make me happy. Your list might differ, but I offer the following as a starting point:

• Travel
• Reading
• Education
• Career change
• Location change
• New activities/hobbies
• Writing
• Walking/hiking
• Eating/drinking somewhere new
• Napping

Okay, so some of those are more easily done than others. For instance, I took a two-hour nap today, and it was frickin' brilliant! However, a new career or moving to another city would take more thought. I've done all that I wanted to do through my childhood, adolescence, and even early adulthood: worked for Disney? Check. Worked for the military? Check. Worked for the space business? Check. Now what? I have no idea what to do next, so I stick with what I know.

Education? I could take a class, but in what? I just paid off my credit card, which had just crossed five figures, so now I need to live more within my means. And what sort of thing(s) do I want to learn? Academic subjects? Mechanical? Artistic? I have no idea. But I'll give the matter some thought while I research the possibilities.

Travel? I'm giving the matter some serious thought, but again, I need to set some money aside first. I'm considering renting a boat and cruising one of the rivers of Europe. You know: for fun. Also on the long-term list: New Zealand, Great Britain, Ireland, southern France, Portland, Alaska, Hawaii, Australia...who knows where else? I need to see new places to keep myself sane. Not sure why.

Writing? This is a bit frustrating, because I really have nothing concrete to "say" right now. Something will come to me eventually, but for now...no. Sorry.

Walking/hiking? I need to get off my tuckus and walk some more. I've been on a diet for the past two months, and that has been productive to some extent (I won't bore you with the details), but exercise also would help. Hiking is about the only exercise I do enjoy, so if I'm going to focus, it might as well be there. But where? I get bored easily, so I need to walk somewhere else for variety.

Reading? I've got a large pile of books to finish, covering subjects that range from political science to screenwriting to the history of Woodstock. I "hid" my books on the bookshelves so I wouldn't be discouraged by how behind I've gotten in my reading. But new reading might fuel new writing, so all of it is useful eventually.

New activities or hobbies? I've given some thought to painting or sculpture. Maybe sculpture. The local painting classes seem to be inhabited exclusively by women. A more mixed environment seems better; otherwise, I'll end up being the only guy in the room, and that's not always a great thing. Anyhow, if I can't find an artistic outlet through clay, I might just break down and buy some more Legos. :-)

At any rate, I'm at least thinking about things to do to improve my mood. What are you doing, Dear Reader?

Closure Exercise

Recently a friend attended a discussion that talked about things family or friends should do with or for the eventually-to-be-departed. The basic notion was that people should have some deep conversations with their loved ones about the end of their lives: not just medical, financial, or funeral arrangements, but closing out more personal business.

For instance: if you knew you were to die in the next year, month, week, or day, and you still had your wits about you, what would you want to share with them about what your life meant? What lessons would you want to pass on? What advice would you give? Orson Scott Card had something like this in his Ender series, a "Speaker for the Dead," who would try to sum up what a person's life and death meant, to themselves and others. However, instead of having some third party guess, why not have the person sum things up themselves rather than leave others to weep, lament, or guess because they didn't get that oh-so-psychobabbly world, "closure?"

Personally, I think (and said as much to my friend) that this sort of "closure" exercise has become more necessary because people have less faith in an afterlife and seeing their relatives therein. After all, if you know you're going to heaven, you can rest assured in the knowledge that you will "see you real soon." I was told that my attitude was "very male." I would've gone with Christian or Stoic, but whatever.

So as a follow-up, I said, "Tell ya what: when I get home tonight, I'll share my summation of my life on my blog so there won't be any doubts." Understand, then, that what follows is an honest attempt to answer a friend's question, not because I anticipate my imminent demise. Lacking a smoking habit or an extreme-sports kind of lifestyle, I'm looking to be around longer than some people would prefer. Nevertheless, this is a summation, or an attempt at one. Subject to revision, addition, or subtraction in the future, as my mood suits me.

What I've Learned, What I Think My Life Has Meant, and Other Thoughts

Bart D. Leahy
I have been incredibly blessed, whether by God or random circumstances. I had a painful childhood and adolescence that I didn't enjoy a lot of the time, and if I ever had to live it all over again, I'd say "No thank you, I don't need to experience that more than once." Nevertheless, however painful my childhood (and I don't pretend it was anything other than petty evils, occasional thrashings on the playground, or ugly moments on the way home from school that hurt me), that was not so important as overcoming those things and becoming a man I could look in the mirror with some justified pride.

I always had my eye on the future, on what I was going to be when I grew up, under a naive but persistent belief that I'll learn more and the future will be better. That belief did not come naturally. I have a certain Irish tendency to tragedy that has always warred with my learned American optimism. I sometimes cling to that optimism more than is wise because I worked so hard to achieve it.

I had a lot of dreams as a kid, and I wrote about them in fictional form well into my twenties. I wanted to be a writer. I am one. I wanted to live in Orlando and work for Walt Disney World. I did those things for 12 years. I wanted to work for the military in some form. While an Army recruiter refused to take me, I did get a chance to be a writer for a defense contractor. That contractor designed, built, and maintained petroleum, water, and truck systems for the Army, including armor kits that protected soldiers in Iraq. In some way, then, I got to help. I also wanted to work for the space business--NASA in particular. I've been a space advocate for 15 years and a NASA contractor for nearly six. Those dreams were achieved through a belief that they were worth pursuing in the real world, and by putting in the hard work to make them a reality.

The Science Cheerleader activity has been a complete fluke to me. If you had told my 20-year-old self that I would be working with professional cheerleaders with science and technology degrees, I'd have laughed in your face; nevertheless, here I am. It's not like I sought out this sort of adventure for myself. A friend connected me to Darlene, and I found that I believed in her multi-layered cause:

• She wants cheerleaders and women taken seriously as contributors to the science community.
• She wants to make science and technology outreach fun and to break up some stereotypes.
• She wants more American citizens to be science/technology-literate.
• She wants broader public involvement in science and technology issues.

I can get behind all that. I didn't require a lot of persuading or "attitude adjustment" to get behind the cause. Mind you, I've had to learn how to behave appropriately, but that's a whole 'nother story.

At this point in my life, I can look back on my career with pride and few regrets except that I didn't take more chances on my calling sooner.

My dreams have been pursued out of love of the work, not for love of money. Money has come, bit by bit, but that money has gone to other things I love: books, travel, meals and beverages with family and friends, as well as institutions that I respect such as my church and the USO. If I love what I am doing, no reasonable amount of money will lure me away from it; likewise, if I do not love what I'm doing and a lower-paying job is offered that does allow me to do what I love, the money will lose. I follow my heart in professional matters, and it has rarely led me astray.

In relationships I have not been so lucky, and my heart has led me down some dark, ignorant, and foolish paths. I have given my trust and affections to women who, quite frankly, weren't as interested in me, or who abused my tolerance or trust. I have hurt some unjustly for superficial or self-serving reasons, or because someone hurt me or I could not see myself spending the rest of my life with that particular person. My formative experience with adult relationships was my parents' divorce. Through that, I learned about hurt and broken families, but I also learned about resilience, rebuilding, and independence. My father remarried, and mother did not. I took my mother's path: focusing on taking care of my duties (work) and functioning without a partner. As a regularly ostracized or picked-on youth, I was not particularly in demand as a dating partner. Eventually, I learned to make a virtue of necessity and am now happier single. I regret more things I've done in my dating life than things I haven't done. All this adds up to a life that will be spent traveling and living alone. It is part of who I am.

What else would someone want to know from me? What has my life meant to others? I cannot always speak to what others think, but I gather I've added good doses of humor and occasional deep thought to some lives. I have tried to be a good friend and a doer of good deeds when no one is looking. I have been nicer on occasion than people might have known and there have been occasions when I've been a bigger bastard than anyone thought possible. I won't name names on this blog, but if I've hurt you in this life and you're reading this, I'm truly sorry for any damage I've done. That's not the same as wishing I'd never done some of the harsh things in my life, but it's as close as this flawed individual is likely to come to it--I'll have to answer to God for the evil I've done.

What do I think my life has meant to myself? I can only describe things this way: I have tried to be the best Bart Leahy that I can, in my own goofy way. This has meant reading a lot of philosophy and religion; refraining from sins even if they might've resulted in some long-term benefit; trying to be "nice," and learning what I can about the world and the universe in which it moves. If there has been one constant to my life of mind, it has been that I have sought wisdom, wherever it might be found. Some of this learning has been concentrated on myself as well--long hours, days, or years alone with my thoughts--trying to sort out why I'm here, why I do what I do, and what I need to do in the future. I am unlikely to fully succeed in this venture, as I learn greatly and fail grandly. I suppose this is why I alternate between idealism, pragmatism, and cynicism. I am an idealist to the extent that I believe some things can be made better if people of good will apply enough intellect, wisdom, or hard work to them. I am a pragmatist because I often absorb ideas that appear useful to me and because I am not a political revolutionary by any wild stretch--I strive to work with people and the world as I see them to be rather than as I might wish them to be. I am a cynic when my efforts at idealism or pragmatism fail.

Why do I think I've been here? Since I was about 27 or so, I've had some handle on what my skills were and how I could tie my interests to my abilities to become a useful citizen. I am a technical writer because I love explaining technical subjects in simple, clear, and correct words. Perhaps that is not the same as finding the meaning of life, but it has been my goal, career, and purpose for getting up in the morning for 15 years now. And along the way, I've chosen to try to pursue the good as I see it: be a law-abiding citizen; follow the rules of the society around me, however confused or contradictory; speak my mind and speak the truth when asked--and sometimes even if I'm not asked; don't be evil or rude unnecessarily; be harder on myself than others (since I have more say over what I do); don't force my opinions or will on others; try to be a defender of women and children even if I'm not a husband or father; and be a good man. I suppose I'm the only one besides God who will ever know the whole story about whether I got things right. And like I said earlier, I have a lot of years ahead of me to find out, as He wills.

What advice would I offer to others? Sheesh, follow whatever dream(s) bring out the best in you. If you're a fisherman, be a fisherman. If you're an expert hair cutter, be a stylist. If you're a natural healer, be a doctor. If you have found the love of your life, connect with him/her. Life is too damned short. That amounts to "follow your heart," which also isn't bad advice because as long as you are doing something to which you are emotionally committed, you are likely to put more effort and (theoretically) more success out of it. No guarantees, of course.

What else? Be a good friend, day in, day out. Don't be a jerk unnecessarily. It has been my privilege and burden to work in the company of some very bright people, and I can say with relatively little controversy that not all of them have the nicest demeanors. There are some really brilliant ideas in these people's heads that will never be accepted by the bulk of humanity simply because the people holding them have been such asses to the people around them. "Nice" is a skill, too, and it's a good one to learn for those days when you can't manage "competent."

Also, don't spend your life worrying about or hating the people who hurt you in the past. You could not and cannot change who they were or what they did. Happiness really is an inside job. And if you can't manage it yourself, get help--from a professional, from clergy, from dear friends or a caring stranger. There is God, too: up there, listening, waiting to offer help if we'll let Him.

Keep a sense of humor about yourself. It's easy to do if you start out with the realization that you are not, and never will be, perfect. I have no idea if my humor will turn out to be my saving grace, but it has kept me from going bonkers on occasion.

I have a standing set of political rules that I work from: don't believe your own BS; however, if you DO start believing it, don't take undue advantage of the power that your BS gives you; and if, God help you, you have taken excessive advantage of said power, never forget that there are others who have more power than you.

And, as I noted earlier: try to be the best you that you can be. Only you truly know what your capabilities and strengths are. Only you know what errors and weaknesses you have and what resources you can call upon to overcome them.

*

No doubt there are other "closure" items that I would need to address with individual friends or family members, but the above is for anyone who cares to know. If you understand that my "prime directive" has been simple, constant self-improvement, the rest becomes easy to follow. Do you know why you do what you do? Do you think your family members will understand you after you were gone? If not, maybe it's time for one of these "closure exercises." They might learn things that are never too late to learn, and so might you.

Why I Don't Write Fiction for Pay

I have several perfectly decent rationalizations for why I don't write fiction for pay:

• No time.
• No ideas.
• Too tired from the day-job writing.

In the end, though, a lot of why I stopped writing fiction for fun and/or profit is simply a lack of confidence. I have no problem writing articles of fact that are based on some living reality generated or observed by others--or articles of opinion, which are simply my critical or snarky thoughts as I examine a given topic. Writing fiction, though, is hard work. It's very much an art, not a science. Even if you follow Aristotle's Poetics, you can still end up with a story that's better off lining a birdcage than on the printed page.

Fiction writing is more of a risk than nonfiction writing because it's intensely personal and subjective. You're creating a world, more or less (if you're writing science fiction or fantasy, this really is the case), and it's a world drawn from your experiences and outlook. You're putting yourself out there and saying, "This is how I see things; like it or lump it!" Problem is, if enough people lump it, it's really d@mned difficult to collect any money. Plus, it can make you a bit skittish about offering up more.

Case in point: I horsewhipped myself through the National Novel Writing Month process back in November, kicking out 59,770 words in 29 days; however, I now have little interest in following through with editing it. Heck, I haven't even READ the whole thing since its completion. It was an experiment to see if I could write a novel. I have. And, in the opinion of its author, it needs to be thrown away with great force. I can write other stories, but this one is just not wowing me. Problem is, I still get people asking me, "So how's the novel going?" My standard answer is that I've finished the first draft and am having trouble editing, which is the truth.

The usual thing I hear from friends is, "You're being too hard on yourself." Yeah, okay, but I read enough bad writing elsewhere to know when I'm guilty of it. So then the question becomes: do I care enough to fix it, or do I just let it rot on my hard drive? Right now I'm partial to rot, but if anyone who's a writer has suggestions on how to get me to like a story that I don't think is particularly good, I'm willing to read them.

Loved This

Found by my buddy Angel. Just beautiful.



The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore from Moonbot Studios on Vimeo.

Travels with Friends and Family

I've had a bit of an extravagant December/January. My original plan was to go to Orlando to spend Christmas with Father Dan and Marilyn. Then my sister and mom--who usually do a January trip with the kids--decided to invite me and my brother-in-law. Then someone got the notion to do a reunion for Disney's Dixie Landings Resort (now Port Orleans Riverside) because we were coming up on the 20th anniversary of the hotel opening February 2, 1992. So I've had a trip to Orlando every two weeks since late December. I could get used to this, but it does make me to move back there. Difficult to do when there aren't a lot of jobs for whatever my particularly odd skill set. Anyhow, this blog is just a rundown of my most recent journey, the Dixie reunion. Enjoy or not, as you see fit.


Dixie Landings Reunion Weekend
This was one reunion I didn't mind or dread attending (unlike, say, my high school reunion five years ago). I was happy in Orlando. Okay, I hated the front desk job, as I began to learn after several months of dealing with the public that I was less extroverted than I thought. But once I allowed myself to get to know my peers on the job, I found that I really liked them. We were all in our early to mid-20s, enjoying the benefits of being Disney Cast Members, and (oh yes) drinking and partying quite a bit. We hung out quite a bit after work, if only to vent about the guests--Cast Members are not robots, after all, and people on vacation can get a little demanding. 

I wasn't much better at socializing then than I am now. Maybe a little more fearless about introducing myself, but even back then I'd reach a magical limit, usually about two hours, and then I'd have enough socializing at a party or whatever and skedaddle. Anyhow, when someone decided that a Dixie Landings Front Desk (hereafter DLFD) reunion would be a good idea, I didn't hesitate to sign up, even though it meant a third Orlando trip within six weeks. (Orlando? In January? Ooo, twist my arm.) We did a happy hour Friday and a larger gathering on Saturday.

I think the reason we all grew so close was that we suffer--er, served together. You learn to get along pretty quickly in an environment where you could average 700 check-ins and 700 check-outs in a day for a 2,048-room Disney hotel (worst day I can recall: 1,200 checkouts, 800 check-ins). The alternative is to have some serious shouting matches, which happened occasionally as well. We learned to find our own ways to cope with a high-volume guest service environment where the expectations were high, and everyone had to be treated the "Disney way."

So what's it like to hang out with these people 20 years later? Again, contrasting it with a high school reunion, it was just much more comfortable. It wasn't formal, we gathered in a couple bars--for happy hour, at the Dixie lobby bar; for the reunion, at a saloon owned by a couple of former Dixie bellmen. Dress was casual, and so was the conversation. A lot of us noted that the gatherings weren't very different from any of the parties we had while working together. Conversation came easy, mostly catching up on what everyone had been doing. There wasn't all the posing or proving-something that I seemed to be doing at my high school reunion. Just a bunch of friends hanging out. Perfect.

We even had a few of the managers show up. Again, it was a team. As a friend who was not there (but who was getting regular picture updates as the weekend progressed), "we're all a little grayer, fuller, wrinklier." I certainly felt that way, but a couple peers said, that I "looked like a grownup," which I suppose is a good thing. I had a much more youthful face and much darker hair, as well as quite a bit less mass. But I didn't feel exceptionally self-conscious about it. I was there to find out how people were doing, not how they looked. Of course, that said, that doesn't mean I recognized everyone. If I didn't, it was mostly because I didn't work with the person that much.

The only challenge with large events like this is that you don't get a lot of one-on-one time asking detailed or personal questions than you might ask in a general gathering. I'll probably have more people to follow up with or visit next time I go down to O-town. And another "challenge" for me is that my introvert's aversion to crowds means that I come out of these gatherings very tired. I did get some side time with my closest friends--the ones I've stayed in contact with more regularly over the last 20 years, but I could only see so many people before I found the urge to take a drive or a walk somewhere quiet. 

For instance, the happy hour at the Dixie bar was fine for me until the nightly entertainer guy showed up, over-the-top loud and very into audience participation: anathema to the introvert. When I finally hit my limit, I went to the bar, ordered a drink, and took a walk. When the bartender pointed out that our table had a server, I said, "Look, I'm not trying to stiff the server, I just needed to get away from that d@mned noise." I'm fun/fine in a group setting, up to a point, but when it's time to go, it's time to go, and I won't be terribly apologetic about defending my desire for quiet. That's something I learned while working at Dixie: how to take care of myself socially, as an adult. I grew up a lot and learned a lot with this group of people, and it was a pleasure to see them again. I didn't mind them seeing who I'd become.

Title Change

My title at Science Cheerleader has changed from "Cheer Operations Ninja" to "Event Manager." That's a little less whimsical, perhaps, but it better describes my duties. Mind you, I still do a lot of stuff for SciCheer that no one ever sees, so my ninja cred is still good. First rule of ninjas is that you don't talk about being a ninja, right? Something like that.

And please take a moment today to reflect on Martin Luther King, Jr., in whose honor many folks are allowed a day off. His career is a testament to many things, including the motivating powers of freedom, equality under the law, and (my favorite) rhetoric. The man's speeches remain among the best in American history, both for their content and delivery. Words can change the world, so it's best to choose the good ones.

Awesome

Just got a request from Karla Kitalong, my M.A. thesis advisor, to use some of my professional blog posts for one of her tech writing classes at Michigan Tech University. Have a look if you're interested in what I have to say about my day job...note that I'm talking about the writing aspects here, not the actual space content. That's a whole 'nother thing.

Normal

Geordi LaForge: "What's normal?"
Soren: "'What's normal?' Well, that's a good question. Normal is what everyone else is and you are not."
--Star Trek: Generations

Many decades ago, a suburban couple was concerned about their infant son. For the first eleven months of his life, the child had not grown much at all, had not sat up, rolled over, stood on his own power, or any of the usual things that children do within the usual months of birth. It wasn't right, it wasn't normal, and so they took the boy to the hospital for what became a long battery of medical tests to find out what was wrong.

They were fortunate that they lived near a hospital that specialized in endocrinology, which happened to be where the boy's problems existed. The tests revealed that the boy had a problem called hypothyroidism, which had inhibited his body's uptake and processing of proteins. Thus the lack of growth, the lack of movement. It turned out that there was a simple fix to the problem as well: a single, small pill, which the child would have to take for the rest of his life. But with the pills, the child's body started receiving nourishment again, began to grow. If he could not walk by his first birthday, he could definitely walk by his second.

There would be side-effects, of course: the boy was short and thin for his age, and would remain so until well into his late teens. The lack of any muscle development meant that the boy was clumsy, barely able to walk without tripping over his own feet. He spent his first five years of elementary school in the Learning Disabilities (LD) program, learning to walk, run, jump, and exercise like a normal kid. It was a little humiliating at times, having to learn how to do things that most kids his age took for granted. His penmanship, of course, was a mess, and he remained in a category suburban boys dislike greatly because it showed painfully one's social status, "picked last for kickball."

On the flip side of all this physical drama, the boy also had a brighter than average mind. Quite a bit above average, in fact. This, too, presented difficulties and set the boy apart from his peers, as it put him in the "gifted" program to facilitate his accelerated learning curve. Not too surprisingly, the boy could read before he could walk, and it was his reading and writing that provided him with a sense of sanity and security, as he visited imaginary worlds made by others and by those he himself invented. His vocabulary, expanded by books that were several years above his assumed reading age, made him sound "snooty" to his peers, resulting in shovings or beatings against which he had little to no defense.

If there was anywhere the boy placed his hope for survival, it was in friendship, and his ability to establish it. Given his lack of physical defenses, all he had were his words. Supranormal in intellect, subnormal in physicality, the boy had only his relationships with people to make him feel "normal," and thus any failure there wounded deeply because it was only through others that the boy could define himself in terms "normal" people could understand.

By his 20s, the boy--now becoming a man--finally reached a point where he could consider himself physically "normal." He was able to play team sports without making a complete embarrassment of himself, and his weight fell into line with his height. He could finally give his body a rest and simply be the intellectual he had always wanted to be. Then, too, he'd finally gotten out of the school environment, where differences were more often settled by physical violence. He was able to live in what he thought of as a predator-free environment.

He learned a few things along the way to manhood. He learned that others struggled in their minds as he struggled in his body, and he learned not to speak with scorn toward those less gifted. He even learned how to appreciate and value the physical abilities of his athletic superiors. Not able to keep up, nor interested in doing so, he at least learned to admire them and wish them well. Perhaps he even learned some philosophy or politics in his struggles, for he learned that all people were deserving of equal respect, even if they were not literally "created equal," as his nation's founding document said. The boy who became a man could not rightly say what "normal" is, any more than a certain Star Trek character, but he at least learned to find what was normal for him, and that was a thing worth knowing.

Author's note: If you guessed that this was me, you are correct. Even if you hadn't, the story is still worth reading.