Broconian Law

     Recently, I was asked to elaborate upon the rules of conduct men follow when interacting with each other. Simply put, I was asked to explain the "Bro Code." As I sat, struggling to come up with a response that adequately encapsulated the governing dynamics of male relationships, I was forced to acknowledge that I knew very little about the particulars of the Code beyond hypothetical scenarios I'd discussed with my friends in the past. Later, asking around for the opinions of both men and women (sometimes, an outsider's perspective can be very illuminating), I realized that not one person shared the exact same opinion as to the requirements of the Code when faced with a difficult ethical decision.
     After a good bit of research and opinion-hunting, I've come to the conclusion that the Bro Code is little more than the Superego with a penis. Men half-joke at times, about how there are certain things one man does not do to another. For example, "Do not try to date a woman that a male friend has declared their interest in." This leads to competition between friends, which can become bitter enmity lasting several years depending on the outcome. Another example is "Do not date your best friend's sister." This is a conflict of interest for the best friend and for you, as any difficulties arising within the relationship immediately become the purview of your entire social circle, rather than a private matter.
     Despite how seemingly black-and-white the above examples may seem to be, there are countless more possible choices which fall into an obfuscated area where decisions become a scaled system weighing potential outcomes against anticipated consequences. Here is where individual opinions begin to vary, where lines in the sand are drawn at different points. Every man is different, has unique opinions and boundaries. How then, can any Code of Laws, brotherly or otherwise, truly govern the actions of an entire gender? In short, they can't and don't. Although groups of men may choose similarly when faced with an identical ethical quandry, the responses to situations testing the Bro Code are overall impossible to predetermine. Some men do not care about the consequences of their actions and will not hesitate to sleep with their best friend's sister, or cut their friend out of a potential romance if opportunity presents itself. Those who choose such a path are often maligned by their male peers and, in some cases, ostracized. But, the question then must be asked, "Is such a choice the wrong one?"
     Every person, man or woman, has the right to make their own decisions. Often, we worry about how our choices will affect others, about the ripples we might make in the water. Because of that fear, either indecision is born, allowing for the situation to fester and become a larger problem, or we make the choice that causes us pain, but is the more "noble" from a group perspective. This, then, is the purpose of the Bro Code: To act as a system of checks and balances for men in order to preserve the unity of a social group where it is more important to maintain civility than to risk a collapse of the interpersonal infrastructure.
     I do not mean to imply from my earlier question that I disagree with the importance of the Bro Code's function. I do, however, believe that an inordinate amount of importance is granted to potentially biased interpretations of what is right or wrong between same-sex groups (Aside: Women have their own variant of the Bro Code, colloquially known as the Chick Code. From what I heard and read, infractions are treated much more harshly by women within their own social groups than men do in theirs.) Here then, I return to discussing that "gray area" between an obviously poor choice and an obviously good one. Sure, it's easy to recognize that sleeping with your friend's sister is wrong, but what if you're genuinely attracted to her and (in a perfect world) she feels the same way toward you? Is it worth the risk and the momentous transfiguration of group politics for the chance to have a genuinely fulfilling relationship? In my opinion, I'd say that it is, but that the man interested in the sister should talk to his friend/her brother first, give a little forewarning and maybe warm him up to the idea first.
     Moving even further into the nebulous area between right and wrong, the rules change dramatically when the proximity between two or more men is removed. In essence, when two men from different social circles (perhaps distantly connected through a third or even a fourth party) come into a situation requiring a close examination of the Bro Code for guidance...the Code fails to deliver. There is no clear answer at all, simply the opinions of those involved. The outcome then is decided more by personal morality than by social obligation. The logic sounds cold, but truthfully, any enmity created in situations such as these is far less problematic to handle than an equal measure of ire from a much closer friend. That logic applies beyond the Bro Code's purview to any situation involving social difficulties between individuals or groups.
    As I said, opinions on the gray areas can be incredibly biased. Reaching into my bag of personal experiences, my first real relationship was with a girl who both my best friend and myself were attracted to. As there were only three of us in our little group at the time, this was a big deal. For over a year, I remained quiet while he pursued a romance and was repeatedly denied the opportunity. Finally, it came to light that not only was I interested in her, but the reverse was true as well. Unfortunately, this information came out publicly...with my best friend in the room. (Second aside: This is also the reason I try very hard to avoid ever playing the game Truth or Dare, and if I do, I always choose Dare. Dare is safer, believe me.) I remember how awkward it was, he and I riding back to his house afterward, how when he thought I was asleep he prayed to God and told Him that he hated Him. *Apologies if the pronouns became confusing to follow* My friend and I were not comfortable with each other for the next three years. So, I ask, did I violate the Bro Code? Did I breach etiquette when I took my chance after knowing that my friend had had his? I know that I started off following the Code, but after so long, knowing all that I did, was I in the wrong? Personally, I don't have a damn clue. Thankfully, that time is years and miles away.

The Mandala and the Riddle of Worry

     I consider myself a fairly level-headed individual, but sometimes, I catch my fears sending my thoughts to places I'd rather they left alone. Worries are like stones. Wear away at them long enough and you always find a deeper layer of concern, some personal issue or trouble that you spend most hours of the day subconsciously filing away under the "Shit I Can't Let Affect Me" category. Some problems, that's how you have to address them; push the nagging doubts further down, relax the icy knot in your stomach and keep moving forward.
     Over the years, I've learned to trust my instincts in most cases. Intuition is the greatest provider of common sense that I know of, as long as you're willing to accept the truth of a given situation. Especially when talking with people, it's my intuition that clues me in when there's something truly important to be discussed. Hearing between the lines, I guess you could call it. And there is a part of me that longs to tear apart the obligations of formality and call people out when I can tell there is something on their mind that they're not saying. With my temperament, I'm more inclined to appreciate blunt honesty than any attempt at rhetoric.
     I've gone far enough in trusting my instinct that my own inner monologue has split to represent two distinct aspects of my personality. In my head, when working through a problem or trying to understand another person's perspective (how they might be feeling, how they might react in a situation, the likelihood of particular events occurring, etc.), I can hear my mind as if on autopilot, reading off cues and molding pieces together to arrive at a conclusion which fits the scenario. There is a measure of empathy involved in this; life is not a cold equation.
     The problem I'm getting at, however, is that my judgment is not infallible in these cases, particularly when the charnel house that is my subconscious throws open its doors and all my self-doubt and fears spill out to fight my rational mind for dominance. The intuitive leaps of logic normally made and proven correct when focused on others I am less emotionally attached to become stumbling blocks when amalgamated to my "Expect the worst, hope for the best" outlook. For the people closest to me, the ones I am invested in, this can be a matter of great stress. I have, in the past, convinced myself that my own worst fears were, in fact, reality, by using my instincts to find ways to support my expectations rather than relaxing and accepting that some answers would be uncertain without asking that the truth be given to me by my friends (which complicates the problem when I start relying on that external input as an emotional panacea).
     The term mandala is a Sanskrit word meaning "circle." To give credit where it's due, I ripped that line almost verbatim from Wikipedia for the sake of expediency.  Applied to rational-vs.-irrational thought, I think the mandala is an appropriate representation for the way my (and most) mind snags itself when caught in the gravitas of a worry that has no easy solution. Again, life is not a cold equation (I use that term in reference to a Tom Godwin short story from the mid-1950's. Highly recommended!), yet people-because I'm not the only one who does this-plug their own interpretations, expectations and cues in together as if their problems are mathematical in nature. But the problem with handling worries in that manner is, not only can we not be sure how to find the solution to every problem, but we can't even be confident in knowing every variable well enough to be sure the answers we do settle for are correct.
     Sometimes, it feels like my emotions are the hands shaking the Etch-a-Sketch showing me the whole picture.
     Another interpretation of the mandala is one of a spiraling circle. In true Buddhist fashion, following the path of that circle is meant to lead to deeper understanding. The purpose for my writing of this post tonight was to emotionally purge myself after several hours of co-mingling doubt and rationalization took me down that path, starting from my concerns over the well-being or activities of friends and family, ending finally with my being forced to acknowledge a lingering sense of worry as to my place in the world at the time of this writing. My final thought on the matter before turning to this site was "I am not where I want to be. I am not who I should be." Common enough thoughts, right? Like I said before, these are usually kept in a tightly locked part of my brain with a seal reading "Shit I Can't Let Affect Me."
     In the end, the only answer to the Riddle of Worry is found in waiting. Having patience, realistic expectations and the knowledge that nothing is certain until it's either confirmed by all parties involved, or mentioned on Facebook. The (mutilated) phrase "The journey not the destination" applies here also. In looking for the truth, putting our minds to the metaphorical grindstone and following the mandala's path, we learn to filter out the white noise created when our emotions try to rule our hearts and minds.

Hobbyists

I've always been bothered by people who talk about wanting to learn a new skill, or start a new hobby...and then quit after a short time when they lose interest. For a few days, maybe even a few weeks, people throw themselves into new and fresh activities, always talking to their friends and their families about how invigorating and important their new foci are. The problem with being the person who hears about all this is (and I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way), there's only so far I can go with the conversation before I start thinking "Okay man, let's change the subject here." I can respect the initial enthusiasm and making the attempt to practice new skills. That's what life's all about: opening new doors and cultivating knowledge (at least, that's how I see it). But it gets to a point where the zeal I respect changes into a cloying presence, like having an elephant in the room that won't shut the fuck up. First, I hear things like "You should join up," or "We could do  this together." And even that, I'm okay with. I understand that having similar interests is important in any social group-relationships, friends, etc. But the suggestion grows over time to a grating cacophony. I don't like people telling me how to spend my money or my time, and if I can respect your appreciation of learning, then I'd appreciate that courtesy being returned.

My real problem with hobbyists isn't so much the vacillating on activity planning--sampling, if you will-but just the incessant hype which people surround themselves with when they first begin learning something. Life places demands on our time, on our resources, and we do our best to fit our hobbies and interests in where we can. Odds are, most of the things we-and yes, I sample as well-pick up will be dropped in short order, since once the initial charm wears off and the real work of learning begins, life has a way of re-assigning it on our list of priorities.

Part of me despises hearing hobbyists talk because I recognize my own abortive attempts to become a modern Renaissance Man every single time I witness the early stages of the hobbyist-cycle, before one's mettle is tested.

There is a moment in every new life-altering choice where we must decide whether to continue in our studies or to let the first hurdles we encounter dismay us enough to let go of the passion we started with. We don't see growth in our own capabilities, giving time to the activity becomes draining rather than fulfilling, or life hits us in ways we don't expect, knocks the proverbial wind out of us and we have to reset to get our lives under any semblance of control again. There are a million reasons people find to quit, but  more often than not, it is a slow, creeping lethargy which unravels us. Practicing every day becomes practicing every other day, becomes practicing occasionally, becomes another memory collecting dust, one which you polish from time to time, only long enough to realize that you vaguely regret giving up in the first place, and tell yourself that you'll pick your old hobby back up again just as soon as you have enough free time...sound familiar?

In the past year, I have purchased an acoustic guitar, signed up for martial arts lessons, begun learning how to salsa dance and thrown myself into a self-planned exercise and nutritional program to get in some semblance of physical fitness. My guitar has gone unused for the last ten months, the martial arts classes turned out to be over-priced and uninformative (in this category, I have been studying off and on for years, when instruction was available to me), and because of dental surgery to remove my upper wisdom teeth, I failed to uphold the demands of my healthy lifestyle. All the gains I made over two months of regular and consistent dieting and exercise have been lost in the last month alone. So, of the four big activities that I "devoted" myself to in the last year alone, only one (and the most recently added, for the record) is still part of my weekly agenda.

I think we expect too much of ourselves in too short a time. Either we jump into a multitude of activities and hope to be masters in our fields within a few weeks, or we pick a small number of activities and expect to be able to plan out our own rate of progression in those activities. That's never how things are going to go and to demand anything beyond the natural rate of learning (different for every person) is to invite disappointment and bitterness. And I think part of that bitterness stems from the fact that we advertise our intentions to others before we're ready. We tell our friends "I'm going to learn to do this and by next year, I'll be this good at it." Never place that kind of stress on yourself. There's no reason to do that unless you're an emotional masochist.

Those who dedicate themselves to a particular craft, whether it's martial arts, music, or any of a myriad of other interests showcase their talents as a  means of perpetuating the skills they've cultivated, of spreading the value of what they've learned to others(or just plain showing off). And, of course, there is a great deal of pleasure taken in performing one's trade with some measure of finesse. I think there is a turning point reached, when the early hurdles are cleared and a novice at a skill becomes a regular practitioner honing their abilities. Then a simple hobby becomes a true art. That art is recognized when the practitioner forgets to worry about the obstacles he's overcome already, discards any lingering self-doubts and just gives into the passion they've nurtured to get as far as they have.

At the same time I decided to teach myself to play the guitar, a coworker and friend of mine was also becoming interested and purchased his own instrument. Earlier today, he spoke to me of the satisfaction he took in playing for his first audience. And you know what? The way he spoke, not trying to sway me on any argument, but of the sense of fulfillment he described, that made me want to take my guitar out of my closet and pluck a few notes, maybe pick up my old hobby again. Who knows if I'll stay with it this go around, but I'll take things one day at a time and make sure to just enjoy myself along the way.

Manjuries

So, for the last few days, my neck has felt terrible and trying to write my last post while ignoring how it felt led me to think about my topic for this post. There is an image most men work to publicly maintain about how our injuries either do not affect us in any way, are unnoticed entirely, or are minor "nuisances." Short of extreme or unexpected harm, we menfolk will pretend nothing is amiss and continue with our normal routines. Only in private does this facade break (wherein we can be found curled into a fetal ball waiting for the worst to pass).

This is not to say that women are, by any means, less durable or iron-willed when it comes to ignoring physical discomfort. There are legends in certain cultures of women giving birth on the battlefield and immediately returning to the murder-make. For the sake of comparison, the thought of kidney or gall stones will make any man inwardly cringe just to think about.

I am going to break an unspoken law of men now, and offer a rudimentary translation guide for the varying levels of injuries that can befall a man. Following that will be an example of his reaction to this injury and an explanation of what the man is really trying to say.

Level One: The Stubbed Toe
Man's Reaction: "Ow!" (More often, a loud expletive is uttered in the moment of shock immediately following the injury.)
What He Means: "This isn't worth the effort of hiding, and you've already heard me yell, so I might as well threaten the inanimate object I hurt myself on in a playful way and let the moment pass."

Level Two: The Low Blow
Man's Reaction(Barring immediate physical retaliatory action): "Really? That's it?" *Chuckle*
What He Means: "Oh, God, it's broken! I can feel them in my stomach! Must...turn...whimper of agony...into humorous retort... (Men laughing at such an occurrence do so as a means of masking their attempt to shake their genitals loose of their lower abdomen.)

Level Three: Broken Bones
Man's Reaction: "Hey, check this out!"
What He Means: "By the time the endorphins wear off, I better be at a hospital pumped full of morphine or I will kill someone! Is that...Is that a fucking bone sticking out right there!?"

Level Four: Knife and Bullet Wounds
Man's Reaction: "Oh, this is gonna make an awesome story! I'm just like .50 Cent now!"
What He Means: "Christ, I'm like an extra on the set of 'OZ.' I'll be dead in ten minutes!"

Level Five: Death
Man's Reaction: "Give me a minute. Just need to catch my breath."
What He Means: *Scientific testing has yet to verify the exact meaning of the male reaction to being deceased.

Final Thoughts: What's interesting to note is that the severity of the injury is inversely proportional to the amount of bravado found in the male response to physical injury. Further testing will offer greater insight into this phenomenon.

Rinse and Repeat

I've been thinking yet again about trying to live more conscientiously toward the environment and my impact on it. While taking a shower the other day, I read on the back of my conditioner bottle that turning off the water while letting the conditioner set could save approximately 3000 gallons of water over the course of a single year. Being fairly good at any math that's not calculus (I run screaming from any equation that has more letters than numbers involved in finding the answer), I realized that if one person could save 3000 gallons of water in one year, then two hundred-plus million people (a rough guesstimate on my part since I don't know the exact population of the United States, nor how many people within that group regularly bathe...) would save six hundred billion gallons of water in the same time. Being conservative in my estimates, that's enough water to fill one million Olympic swimming pools. Go, Michael Phelps! Go! Put another way, that much water could power the entire country for three days.

So why haven't I started sooner?

I've always been interested in the idea of "living green," but in practical application, my motivation would run out before I'd even really started. What if I change and no one else does?" I'd ask myself. I'd answer that my own contributions wouldn't make a difference, then let my own enjoyment of creature comforts convince me to let my showers run until the hot water was gone. I decided not to separate my trash into recyclable materials and non-recyclable on the basis that getting what I could to a recycling center would cost me more money than was worth the effort. In short, I dissembled the reasons for not going out of my way just a little to help something bigger than myself.

Planning long-term is the easy part. It's following through that's the real challenge, being certain that somehow effort begets benefit, even if the rewards of our labors can't be seen. I've known many people who claimed to enjoy "working with their hands," especially when it came to farm work, or construction. Being able to visualize something in a unique way is what makes statistics so effective; maybe keeping one more statistic in mind will help me stay motivated this time. The amount of water each person would save in a single shower is roughly equivalent to the amount of water they need to drink over the course of ten days.