At the end of 2018, I set out to write ten novels in five years. This seemed like an ambitious objective at the time, but now I'm working out the final chapters of novel number ten with most of a year to spare. It's a tremendous accomplishment, amounting to half a million words of funny science fiction. I'm proud of this achievement, but it highlights an uncomfortable incongruity in my life.
In the everyday reality of roommates and relatives, nothing I do could ever be considered important, because my status is low. Most of the people in this reality can't really see me and may never be able to. Few of them even read books. My roommates treat my oil paintings like disposable Ikea furniture. The analogy I keep coming back to in my head is a computer given to monkeys.
If you give a computer to a group of monkeys, they're probably not going to use it to compose music or make a website. Instead, they'll treat it like a stone or slab of wood, damaging it every step of the way, because the fact of it lies beyond the limits of their comprehension. Throughout my life, I've felt like such a computer most of the time, surrounded by beings who lack the basic capacity to grasp my nature.
This is a feeling that's been with me since I was a kid. My intellect isolated me from others, then chronic illnesses compounded the problem as I grew older. Eventually, I became pretty good at meeting others where they were at, although they could almost never do the same for me. So I've merely persisted, in a world that too often feels like a cage made from the bullshit of people unable to see me.
Fortunately, this is not the only reality that I inhabit. My professional connections treat me with respect and a handful of friends do understand me. In matters of crypto and art and media, my opinion is sought after and appreciated. In this reality, which is primarily online, I genuinely feel like myself. But it's sad how sharply this contrasts my offline life, wherein mediocre assholes run the show.
Recently, I had the opportunity to spend a week with the woman I love. With her, I got a glimpse of what it might be like to live in a world where I'm truly seen and accepted. With her, I feel valued and free. Although we adore each other, our situation is geographically complicated. I'm willing to do just about anything to make it work, but it'll realistically be months until we see each other again.
This beautiful woman is becoming a great cheerleader for my work. I need that and am super happy about it. But it does raise the question of why no one else in my life seems to care at all. In this moment, when I'm trying to decide how to celebrate the completion of my tenth novel, the degree to which I'm unsupported by those around me is striking. If I were to have a dinner or bookstore event in honor of the accomplishment, I doubt more than three people would show up.
So what world am I living in? My physical environment tells me that I'm a nobody living in a cage made from the limited minds of dim people. My online environment tells me that I'm a respected and accomplished author reaching a major milestone. My rational mind is bothered by the difference between these two worlds. And my heart keeps saying to prioritize love, and everything else will fall into place. So I'll probably just keep listening to my heart.
(Feature image from Pixabay.)
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