Addictions and my Experience with Computer Games

I have long struggled with a tendency to get easily addicted to computer games. To the point where I'd spend days just sitting at the computer and lose all sense of anything else I needed to do or any of my other hobbies, and have severe withdrawals any time I managed to actually wrench myself away for a few minutes. And it could happen with any kind of game really. It could even be something as simple as Tetris. The sad thing is, I'd begin by genuinely enjoying the game. Then I'd start to get bored with it, but be even more highly addicted. After a few days, I'd turn into an empty husk, gaining nothing from the game yet feeling even more worthless and depressed whenever I'd stop and inevitably reflect on the manner in which I'd spent my time. It's not a fun place to be.

I've experimented with various different methods of control over the years. For whatever reason, it's been a pretty complex issue for me. The simplest approach I've found for dealing with addiction is simply to quit cold turkey. For example, I did this with fast food beginning in the summer of 2010:

First, I looked at the cons of eating fast food, from the amount of money I spent on it to the health issues to the way it made my body feel. While most the time I felt fine, if I went a month without eating it then tried it again, my stomach would react almost violently to the grease. Next, I looked at the extent to which I relied on fast food as a crutch. I tended to go through a drive through several times a week and felt strong cravings on the days I didn't go. Various factors played into this, from the addictiveness of the food itself to the convenience and relative cheapness compared with eating at a restaurant, to the fact that my mom was also addicted to fast food and more than happy to suggest it and drive me there.

Finally, I considered what I would lose if I never ate fast food again for the rest of my life. Certainly I would miss the taste for a while, I thought, but there are plenty of other foods that taste good. I might miss out on some convenience, particularly if my friends really want to hang out at a fast food place, but this is unlikely and I could always plan ahead to eat something else and then hang out with them without eating there myself. Overall, I realized that if I never ate fast food again, I would truly not be missing out on anything essential or even important. So, I wrote out a list of fast food places I would never eat at again. Listing the specific places was important for me, as this way I couldn't rationalize my way out of my promise ("well, it doesn't exactly count as a fast food place...") I would also be clear on the places that I would allow myself to go to. If, at a later time, I deemed an additional place unhealthy and addictive for me, I could always add it to the "never list".


For many years I took a similar approach to computer games. While I hadn't strictly ruled them out, I simply avoided them altogether. Still, in many ways I missed the positive aspects and felt a sense of loss when I'd see others enjoying video games or computer games. Similarly, if I added all of my potential addictions to a "never list", I would very quickly wind up painting myself into a corner. At the very least, I deemed it worthwhile to try and see if I could find some other way to moderate my game usage.

One idea was to limit the amount of time I could play a game per day. In theory this was a simple, logical idea. In practice, it was extremely difficult for me to maintain. I would start out strict with myself, wrenching myself away from the screen painfully as the timer I set would go off. This never worked for more than two or three days, and even when it did I experienced intense withdrawal symptoms.

After a while I started to wonder if the problem had to do with playing games that were meant to be played for several hours at a time, drawing the player in. So I tried picking games that were simpler and could be paused easily at any point. I figured maybe I'd get bored with them easier. The results? I would indeed get bored with them sooner. The problem is, I would still get addicted incredibly quickly. And being addicted to a game I wasn't even interested in was even more irritating.

One day, after weeks of being hooked on a game I initially didn't think would hold any long term interest, I started to wonder if there were some underlying needs of mine getting indirectly fulfilled by playing various games. I thought that a need was probably getting met even by the more boring games, and the convenient and familiar method is what made it continue to be addictive even after the need was no longer getting met as efficiently. I began to analyse what the appeal of each game was (for example I enjoyed a game called Terraria because I could explore and find lots of different items that could be combined in interesting combinations to build new things, which reflected my values of curiosity and creativity). This understanding changed the way I played games, helping me get more out of them in less time by disregarding activities that weren't as fun wherever possible. Unfortunately, while I became more efficient in extracting value from my game play, I was still left with an addiction. Dropping games once I lost a sense of joy in playing them worked with a bit of attention and effort, but I would still be drawn to the next game.

Now while I obviously recognized the problem with excess and how depressed the resulting guilt and self loathing made me feel, I also felt pretty depressed and bad about myself when I denied myself all activities that weren't strictly productive; reducing life to "worthwhile" and "worthless" activities made everything feel flat, cynical and empty to me. In addition, even if I cut out computer games, there were an infinite number of known and unknown potential addictions waiting for me and I still had no reliable method of curbing them without rendering myself frozen by restrictions. And so, I continued to experiment on myself from time to time with the familiar medium.

One of my more recent experiences was getting addicted to a very, very simple puzzle game akin to Candy Crush for over a month. And I had planned on deleting it after a couple hours. Now, on the plus side, I had limited myself to fifteen minutes per day, an unusually low time limit, and I managed to stick to this limit for all but the last week I was addicted. The benefit of this small time limit combined with the simplicity of the game seemed to be that I didn't have time to get too deeply involved mentally, so it was easier to stop when the timer went off.

Unfortunately, the game also slowly evolved from being something I could easily recognize as a meaningless distraction to relax on occasion to a central part of my daily routine. Oddly, even with such a small amount of time, my sense of worth started to get attached to my increasing mastery of this silly little game while motivation in other areas of my life decreased noticeably. And, of course, the time limit eventually started slipping and I had to delete it.


This particular experience gave me a new idea: maybe part of the problem was that I had to fight my addiction on a daily basis instead of just every once in a while. Plus I would constantly feel like I hadn't played as long as I really wanted to. These two things would tend to reinforce any withdrawal symptoms. Worst of all, I had far too many chances to fail in keeping my word to myself, especially as the inevitable stresses of daily life began to set in. And once I had failed in my self moderation attempt, the depression would start to set in, making it easier to fail each consecutive time, to greater and greater degrees until I would finally hit a "rock bottom" point and ban myself from the game.

So, I thought, perhaps I could allow myself an entire day of shame free gaming. But only one predesignated day out of each month. This would give me a clearly defined limit, but one that was long enough to let me really get into the game and enjoy myself. I gave it a try and was amazed at the results; for the first time in over a decade, I spent all day playing a game (Nethack, something I greatly missed from my childhood), and I did not openly or secretly hate myself. Not even a little bit. Not even in the back of my head. Not even when it was time to stop and go to bed and I could clearly see that I had "accomplished" absolutely nothing that day. I would even go so far as to say that my self worth improved from the experience.

And was I tempted to play again the next day and just keep going and going indefinitely? Did I experience intense withdrawal symptoms? Yes. But I felt no need to act on these feelings. I simply looked forward to the next game day, clearly marked on my calendar. Why was this method so effective? I believe the primary reason is because it allowed me to feel good about myself. I gave myself permission to enjoy the day, embracing it wholeheartedly. I set clear limits. I didn't set myself up to fail with a situation where I'd be repeatedly tempted.

Most importantly, having experienced the joy and positivity resulting from that "shame-free" label, I became intrinsically motivated to maintain that highly valuable label at all costs. If I gave in after one day, or indeed any day before the next designated game day, I would destroy it. Gaming would be depressing for me again. And the joy would be far more difficult to get back than it was to destroy. While thoughts about the game continued to pop up randomly in my head for a few days, they gradually became less frequent and the painful urgency dissipated rapidly. What was left was a feeling of contentment, and a level of confidence in my abilities I was unaccustomed to.

While I still need to see what the long term results of this method will be, I am optimistic that I may have found a viable way to self moderate most potentially addicting interests and behaviours that may develop in the future.

Mental Trick for Changing One's Personal Story

You may have heard the trick of imagining your ideal self and then imagining you are already that person (or thinking of your goal and then visualizing having it). This has to do with the idea that we are "talking to ourselves" all day in our heads, and that what we say to ourselves reflects our view of ourselves and what we're capable of - our personal stories. Rather than trying to change individual behaviours with a brute force method, we could instead change the internal story which led to the behaviours in the first place.

Unfortunately I have found that it often doesn't work to simply tell myself that I am the person I want to be. Perhaps this is because if I tell myself that, for example, I am someone who is always considerate and acts accordingly, this works right up until I do something from long standing habit which does not "fit" this model. Then the illusion is shattered and I fall back into my old story.

Perhaps I need to adjust the story of who I want to be such that it is compatible with the transition. In other words, make the goal not just some static standard of perfection, but an ideal process. So instead of, "I want to be someone who is always considerate", it would be more like, "I want to be someone who strives to be considerate, and when she does something inconsiderate takes the necessary action to learn from it and make things right." Notice that the former statement is unobtainable, and that the latter statement is completely doable.


There's a big issue of guilt in my personal stories. It seems I tell myself something like, "I want to be someone who never does anything she should feel guilty for". I describe the details of what I would do rather than state it this way, but that appears to be the underlying nature of the sentiment. Really, it is built upon the foundation of the concept of blame. If this concept is accepted, then I would always have to strive to be someone who acts in a blameless fashion. That is the supposed function of blame after all; to scare people into doing "the right thing" in order to avoid feeling guilty. Since there will always be people who blame even without good reason, avoiding it would be essentially impossible. My only alternatives would be to surround myself with a sufficient number of people who find me blameless in order to counteract this effect or to isolate myself from those who would blame me by labelling them as unreasonable or blameworthy themselves. These are common strategies, but short term solutions at best.

On a conscious level I choose to reject the blame/guilt model altogether. Guilt and self blame are not useful. They are counterproductive. They keep me stuck. I know this. Yet it appears to be the most difficult of all my thought patterns to break. There is an alternative world view; nobody is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is what we do after we make a mistake. Very cliche sounding, but how often do these concepts actually sink in? This view requires abstaining from blaming altogether, self and others. I can get quite far with not blaming others, but the circuit never quite completes itself when it comes to not blaming myself.


Doing something different and acknowledging something I regret seem to be... uncomfortable tasks at best. Unthinkable at worst. Why? If a person regrets what they did, wouldn't it be quite natural to state that something went wrong, why, and then implement a solution after the completion of their analysis? This would not require self hatred. It would not require unshakable guilt. It would simply require seeing that something went differently from the way one hoped, finding out why, and then looking for potential methods of improvement. Once again, the old blame model is standing in the way. But why is it so hard to shake, even conceptually?

One thing I find problematic is that, while internally the two perspectives could not be more different, externally I haven't figured out how to differentiate between them. I may design an action that I intend to take out of guiltless regret, no blame, just attempting to fix the miscommunication or poor technique. But this very action fits too easily into the blame model as well. My fear seems to be that it will look as though I have accepted the blame and the underlying assumptions; that I am a bad person, incompetent, irrational etc. The fear is that this will put me in a poor position in the future, as someone easily dismissed or looked down upon. Or others will think that by considering their needs so openly, I have decided to sacrifice my own, as would be dictated by the blame model.

(Note: there is likely something else at play as well which catapults me back into the blame model, as I often find self loathing springing up the instant I start actually considering the most logical mitigating action.)

So it appears I need a personal story that not only works for the transition process, but which also works for interfacing between the blame model that others might retain and my desired, guiltless regret model. That is, I need my new story to work without requiring others to accept the idea that blame is counterproductive and destructive and that change can be motivated quite easily without it.


I focused on one example in this post (overcoming guilt as an obstacle to becoming more considerate), but I'm sure the concept could be applied to just about any goal. The theory that seems to be emerging is that, when attempting to change one's personal story, the new story should meet a few requirements:
1) The goal should be realistically obtainable.

2) The new story needs to allow for a transition from the old story.

3) The new story needs to be compatible with other people's reactions and other effects.

The Checklists of Life

Many of us seem to think of happiness as a mental checklist, where once you have checked off each item on the list you will have achieved total happiness. Common, cliché items on the list include finding the right spouse, having children, getting a car and house of your own, having a successful career,  retiring to Florida or wherever... I think most people are actually quite conscious of the checklist at this level. Some may chose to aim for completing the entire deal, whereas others may pick and choose which items they'll aspire to and dig their heels in against the rest.

But what wasn't immediately apparent to me is that there are checklists within each of these larger items. For example, the checklist for a romantic relationship. There are some of the more obvious clichés to choose from (eg. “a first date involves going out to dinner and a movie, or perhaps just coffee or a beer”), then there are much more subtle ones; details that at first glance appear to give meaning to a relationship, but on closer inspection are really just common themes in the stories we watch, read, and tell ourselves and each other.

Personally, such checklists have a nasty tendency to upset me. I've never been entirely sure whether it's because I'm so much further behind in checking things off than my peers or if it's because I can't quite seem to bring myself to accept these happiness lists as my own. In theory, I should be able to compile my own checklist for happiness, then follow that.

Easier said than done. From all my personal experiences of true happiness, there is no item I can pinpoint and say, “That's the key right there!” and then expect the feeling to happen in a predictable or permanent way. In reality, there is so much richness to life, so much variation and depth of meaning to be found from the smallest blade of grass to peace between nations, that no checklist could ever be long or precise enough to guide an individual to the purpose behind living.

In my experience, happiness is not something to be acquired at the completion of some task or the acquiring of some goal. It is a state of mind. It is lost and reborn in every moment of its existence. Every instance of happiness differs from the last from the subtlest of ways to the most definable. Environment and circumstance may help determine the tendency towards or away from happiness, but ultimately it is a matter of perception. Those able to see the good, even in the presence of the bad, will be much more likely to feel good about life.

While I might not be able to provide specific directions for being happy, I have been trying to form a rough idea. Here's my “checklist” of ingredients for happiness:
_The absence of perceived judgment from others and any other obstacles to being true to oneself.
_Mind focused on the present (no anxiety for the future or guilt from the past).
_Any reason, large or small, for life to be seen as beautiful and meaningful, even if “this is all there is”.

Talking about Problems Vs. Talking about Solutions

For anyone who has ever realized how messed up the world is and that reality hardly seems to live up to ideals they grew up believing in, it's only natural for their first reaction to be to wonder why on Earth no one seems to see these horrible problems very clearly. Why don't more people care? Why don't more people do something? Do people really want to live like this? These are the questions that plagued my mind when I first started to truly, deeply question the culture I've lived in all my life. I had doubts before, but it was too terrifying to look at them closely. Because it goes without saying that changing the world is more than a one-person task. I eventually chose to look at the world's issues despite my fear because the world's problems are my problems; they affect the choices I make and the quality of my life... and everyone else's.

So for years I questioned my preconceptions, started looking at life from as many different perspectives as I could think of. And as of late I've even started to whole-heartedly believe that a more humane, meaningful and connected life and community is possible. However, one thing I haven't done much of is act. Action towards forming a new kind of culture or community requires not feeling alone. Not feeling alone requires seeking out others who are also willing to look at and question the world's problems. And here's the important point, the thing which has thus far kept me from action: many of the people I personally encounter who are willing to look at problems are like me; wondering why other people aren't waking up.

The thing is, amazingly, I never consciously realized (or perhaps admitted) just how many other people are “awake”. It's more than a case of chronic preaching to the choir; it's not even being aware that you have a choir, and a large one at that. Granted, they may not be singing in the same key, but that's not the point. The Occupy movement, for example, has been one of the most beautiful affirmations of humanity I have ever witnessed. And it has certainly redefined my conception of how many people are not only conscious of a broken system, but willing to speak openly about it.

Continuing with the “waking up” metaphor, I'm starting to think that maybe it's not so much that more of us need to wake up, but that more of us need to get out of bed, walk out our front doors and say hi to our neighbors. (It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to do this literally, either.) So here's what I intend to do: stop feeling so alone and give people more credit. The number of conscious but lost humans will always be underestimated simply because we assume we're more alone in our fears and goals than we really are.

Perhaps convincing everyone there is a problem is not a required first step. Perhaps all the resources needed to make a change are already in place. Perhaps we can start right in on talking about and finding solutions. After all, “the masses” may be much more willing to wake up and join in if they see something beautiful being created. Rather than someone bludgeoning them over the head with guilt trips and horror stories. It's like waking up to the morning sun peaking through the window, the sound of chirping birds and the faint smell of someone making coffee and maybe some bacon... instead the incessant racket of a blaring alarm that just makes you want to hit the snooze button repeatedly or possibly have done with it already and smash the blasted electronic contraption to smithereens.

In conclusion, I'm going to stop beating my head against a brick wall, go find others who are currently beating their heads against brick walls and suggest an alternative :)

Giving and Receiving

There seems to be some confusion about giving and it's moral value. It is no secret that giving something to another person, be it a gift, a compliment, or help, can be extremely rewarding. I'm sure most people have some personal experience that confirms this. The confusion comes in when one is offered these same things by others. For those who have become convinced that giving is the way to go, they may become reluctant, even afraid, to take very much from those around them. I know I was.

Really, it wasn't until I wanted to give more than I had in the past, until I started encountering people that weren't willing to accept what I was trying to give them, that I realized where the error in my logic was. If everyone is trying to give, but unwilling to receive, then no one will get anywhere. A gift is not complete until it's been accepted by the other person. What I realized then was that I was actually doing other people a disservice by shying away from compliments or feeling guilty about taking "too much" help.

I remembered how frustrated I felt those times when I wasn't able to give what I wanted to, how natural it was for me to want to do something good, and how hurt I was when friends seemed to doubt the sincerity of my offer. Was I making other people feel that way by feeling too guilty to accept things from them, or being reluctant about it?

I came to the conclusion that the better thing to do would be to accept what was offered to me. If someone gives me a compliment now, I fight the initial urge to deny it or slink off and simply say "thank you". I try to say it with as much sincerity as the person who gave the compliment, because that way I might give them some small amount of happiness back. You can learn pretty quickly how to tell when someone truly wants to offer you something or is just being polite. Once you get to that point, it becomes much easier to distinguish between "taking" and "accepting".

The acceptance of another person's offer is, in itself, a gift of gratitude.

Myers-Briggs Test Results

I took the Myers-Briggs test today. I was a solid INTP for many years, then in the past few years my results have been fluctuating quite a lot. This doesn't really surprise me. Right now I came out as an INFP, but last year I was an INFJ (still fairly close to the middle on the J).

Apart from the test results, however, I noticed something quite interesting when taking the test; for the questions on socializing, a lot of my preferences are shifting towards wanting to be around people, but my actions are that of keeping to myself. For the questions on thinking/feeling, I have a much higher value on feeling than I used to (that was the shift from T to F), but my actions are based on logical reasoning. I dislike too much order (it's starting to make me feel more trapped than supported), but I tend to plan everything out before acting.

Seeing a pattern here? My inner motivations are changing long before my actions can. After a life spent keeping to myself, it's hard learning how to interact with people more, even if I have had a major shift in value towards wanting to. That's something I knew already, but it just made it even more clear to me that I'm changing in a lot of different areas internally.

On the one hand, I'm going through a rather confusing and challenging time, since my internal values are not matching up with my ability to express them or my actions. On the other hand, my shift in values is growing stronger, not weaker, meaning I'm not going to give up until they start to show through.


One last thing I'd like to talk about is my belief about change: I don't think one personality type is better than another. In fact, I was very happy, even proud, of being an INTP. But I've been getting this strong urge to explore... everything. Thoughts, feelings, ideas, the world around me, the world within me, and all the ways they can come together.

One of my current goals may be to become more social, but that doesn't mean I want to replace my old personality; rather, I'd like to have the ability to be both. I'd like to be able to change labels whenever I feel like it, to be unafraid of new things, to understand different ways of thinking and perceiving, and to continue to change even after achieving whatever the most recent goal may have been.

"I Am a Rock"

A couple months ago I rediscovered the Simon and Garfunkel song, "I Am a Rock", and it led me to a new realization. See, there are some very interesting lyrics to this song. They aren't what one would expect. For example, "I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain. I am a rock, I am an island."

Something about this song resonates with me. I can understand it, I've felt this way. It's those times when you're left forgotten by those around you. When you realize that others don't care about their connection with you the way you thought they did, the way you care about them. Those times when you feel alone in a crowd, surrounded by people laughing and loving each other.

Yes, I've felt this way. And it's so hard not to, at times. And so often I would just blame myself for feeling so bitter. At the same time a part of me would want to mindlessly embrace the words of the song, to find relief from the pain of lack of connection by not needing it in the first place.

And yet, I've never been dedicated enough to this view to actually believe it fully. After all, friendship doesn't always cause pain. It's only when you lose it that it hurts. And then I think, if I only knew how to keep such connections, it wouldn't be so bad, would it?

"I am a rock, I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries." That's the goal of a person with this view, isn't it? Those last words? But at the same time, it's those last words that show so clearly where error is: isolating yourself doesn't protect you from pain, it just protects you from pain caused by other people.


One day I was feeling the bitter loneliness, listening to that song and trying to decipher my confused emotions. I'd been doing so well socially, at the time, but I still wound up with one of those days when my connections felt... devalued.

Then the realization hit me: what if others were feeling just as lonely as I was and I didn't know it? What if it wasn't even the type of thing that could be seen just by looking at someone? They could seem fine, happy even, have people they talk to, and yet they could still be feeling like others don't value a true connection with them.

In fact, I reasoned, with over six billion people in the world, there absolutely has to be people who feel the same. Duh. How could I have been so willfully blind? Here I was feeling alone and there are all these other people feeling just the same.

I began to wonder how many people there are like this, separated only by their own protective walls. I began to wonder if I knew any, if it is even possible to tell who they are without really, truly getting to know them. I even began to wonder how many people are silently in love with each other, seeing each other every day but never daring to say a word about the way they feel, convinced the other couldn't possibly feel the same.

Does it sound depressing? I don't think so. It made me realize I have to keep trying to connect with people. Because sooner or later I'll find people who need me as much as I need them. If I haven't found them already. Whenever I find myself beginning to pull away because it seems the less painful route, I remember that I have to keep trying, for there are others who need the love just as badly.


Thank you Simon and Garfunkel! You've led me to a discovery.

Courage and Social Interactions

Courage does not mean being fearless, but being able to face your fears. This may sound familiar to you, but for me it didn't mean much until I began to have experiences that backed the idea up.

There are a few mild examples from when I was younger, such as overcoming arachnophobia. First, I stopped being mindlessly afraid and tried to analyse why. I convinced myself that I wasn't really afraid of spiders, I just didn't want to hurt them. Whether this was the real reason or not, the change in my thought pattern did wonders.

Now I'm intrigued by spiders and the information I read about them. When I find one inside, I'll usually try to capture it. I'm still nervous doing this and don't want them to get too close, so I only have about a 70% success rate. But hey, better than calling for my dad to deal it. For the most part, however, growing up I was...well...a wimp. Whenever I was afraid of something, I would figure out every possible way of avoiding the situation.

Again, I want to talk about social situations with strangers, one of my biggest fears. Growing up, if I started talking to someone and I said something really stupid or careless, I would do the only thing I could think of to avoid ever being that embarrassed again; talk as little as possible. As a result, I rarely saw others as sources of light hearted conversation, but instead as potential witnesses to my own idiocy if I didn't carefully construct every statement.

I wasn't aware of my own tactics at the time because I didn't realize the full extent of my fear. After all, I had effectively avoided the situations that caused the fear. My new fear is of not being able to say anything at all when I'm trying to talk with someone. So why didn't I have that second fear before, the one about not being able to communicate? Because social situations with strangers were rare for me. I had managed to avoid most of those to begin with by not having any real interest in initiating contact with new people (unless they made me feel completely safe first).

A few years ago, when I began consciously seeking out new acquaintances, I was at a loss as to why I was still having trouble with conversations. It's because I have to go a level deeper; I stopped avoiding social situations (somewhat), but I haven't stopped censoring myself. It's a very ingrained habit that will take time to change. But I know my next step will be to face my fear of saying something idiotic.

Perhaps the way to do this would be to go ahead and let stupid things slip out every once in a while, and learn not to care so much. I doubt I'll turn into someone who has no filter between my brain and my mouth, but I think it's high time I changed the type of filter.

Social Fears

Sometimes I wonder why I find it so hard to connect with people. Well, that's not completely true. I always have a small circle of friends that I'm very close to. But up until about three years ago, I was never even aware of just how much I depended upon other people being the ones to initiate things. Everything from eye contact, to conversations, to friendships.

I'd say I make a decent friend, but I sure didn't used to make it easy for people to get there :P Maybe that's why my small selection of friends have always been such loyal, amazing people; they were those rare few who were willing to put in the effort of getting to know me, someone who didn't give the usual outward signs of a person seeking out company. No doubt, the occasional bit of luck helped too.

Well, these past few years I've been changing, slowly but surely. I've made a conscious decision to face my social fears and take risks, at least every once in a while. I've gone through phases where I'm making lots of progress, and other phases where I retreat back into the safety of my shell.

At my best, I start conversations with the people sitting next to me in class, go up to the people sitting by themselves at parties, talk to the bus drivers, and even smile at passerby. At other times, I'm perfectly content to ignore the outside world, save for my support system of friends and family who I wouldn't trade for the world. Really, even when I'm at my most extroverted, I never forget that those are the people that truly matter to me.

So what makes me so determined to be more social? Well, one reason is that there are some people who I simply would never meet if I didn't open up first. People with insight and many interesting qualities. Potential friends. In short, people that are just the way I used to be; waiting for someone else to start the conversation. But of course I realize that it's the rare conversation that will turn into a friendship spanning several decades.

I think I'm at the point where I can appreciate a conversation for the sake of a conversation. I used to scoff at small talk, but I can see now that even small talk has it's place. It's a way of connecting with people. Never mind that it's not necessarily a deep, lasting connection, it's a start. It's a way of putting things into perspective. I think if you have that consistent interaction with acquaintances, you can understand humanity better. At least in a basic, rather simple way.

And then there's always the confidence issue. I simply don't want to have a fear of social situations. And I'm becoming a strong believer in facing fears being the best way to resolve them. I'm only beginning to realize just how strong my social fears are. It usually takes a burst of confidence and/or some mental tricks in order for me to start up conversations with people I don't know, and often even people I sort of know already. Sometimes I feel absolutely incapable of it.

It's actually rather hard for me to conceive that this type of thing comes naturally to some people. But I know that it will get easier with practice, and I think it's a worthwhile, long-term endeavour. Well, more details on this topic later. I hope my observations will eventually be of use to others on similar paths.

Regrets

I'm thinking about old friends. An old friend I let down once. Don't know that I'll ever see him again, and it gets me wondering if he's all right now. If the world's been kind since the cruelty of childhood. If he knows I wished to have done better. If things are going to turn out all right after all the pains of the past... I just hope things are different now.

And then I wonder; should I try to contact him, or would that be self interest? A need to ease the guilt and regret? Could I undo the wrongs of before by being the friend now that I always meant to be? Or should I just...let it all go. Do better next time. Well yes, I'll do better next time, but what about the past, is it really gone? I don't know. What I do know is that I'm never going to lose my friends of now like that. No matter what the circumstances, I'll find a way to be there for them. Somehow, I will learn.

Life is such an odd sensation, isn't it? This bunch of memories, sometimes lurking in the back of your mind, jumping out at you in your dreams when you least expect them. Why? Life is so strange. Regrets right alongside the desperate hopes which feel much the same. No time like the present, they say. I have to agree.