I am not special

I am an animal. Like any other, my actions have consequences. I abide by the laws that hold everything together, with no hope of contravention. I am not special—I hold this as truth.

This topic occupies my mind as I try to understand how I fit into my surroundings. Certainly, I have qualities that set me aside. What are they? Why are they important?

Defining work

I don’t see work as “work.” I think the normative understanding of “work” is a useless concept. When I wake up, I work. When I have fun, I work. When I hit another rock bottom, I work. There is no beginning or end to my work. I do not observe the sort of “work” that hard-codes material compensation as its goal.

Work, then, is a nebulous concept. In this paradigm, the maintenance and distribution of energy is the key behaviour to monitor, sharpen, and apply. Excellence or talent wither a little bit. I don’t value these concepts as much as energy management.

The Midan Metal Cane, and 10,000 hours later

In early 2016, Final Fantasy XIV patch 3.2 The Gears of Change released. This patch included the second section of the high-end raid tier Alexander, called Midas. My interest in the game had been steadily increasing, though I was an awful player.

I then saw the Midan Metal Cane. It was the White Mage cane, available as a drop from the final boss of Alexander Midas: Alexander 8 Savage - The Burden of the Son. Something in the shape, and the hanging lamp glowing a strange pink with an orange undertone, embedded itself into me.

Alexander 8 Savage was one of the hardest encounters ever added into Final Fantasy XIV. I never completed the fight in its prime form. I did, however, complete the first two encounters—Alexander 5 and 6 Savage. Then, I completed the next raid tier, Alexander: Creator.

In the years that followed, I steadily improved on a drastic curve, entering the top percentiles for the role I played. For a particular encounter, I was the top of my server for a while. I became friends with top-tier players. I got paid to pilot an account through an encounter.

This story hits its apex here, at the Unending Coils of Bahamut (Ultimate), shortened to UCOB. This encounter released in late 2017, and I thought to myself that I would not be skilled enough to complete it. I thought about quitting.

In early 2019, I completed the encounter.

Focus as ritualistic worship of persistence

I recount this story to evidence two things:

First, work does not need a material outcome. I have my Final Fantasy XIV account, along with the rewards from my efforts, but I no longer play the game. I look around me and I have nothing to show for that time period of my life.

Second, focus carried me through this journey. Focus gave me some of my most fond experiences with media. Focus delivered me to a state of persistence.

Focus and persistence, twin transformative virtues

Focus is transformative. When I began playing Final Fantasy XIV, I had a set of unchanging truths: I am not good at this sort of game, I can’t do that with my fingers.

I focused and broke the self-imposed inertia.

Persistence is also transformative, but at a different latitude. If focus was the how, persistence was the why. By maintaining persistence, “unchanging truths” became self-induced falsehoods. I started taking myself seriously by ignoring myself.

It does not matter where I start, nor do my thoughts or assessments matter. Focus and persistence will transform me I have lived through numerous translations of myself that always seemed impossible.

The prime significance of attention

Simone Weil places attention as a central concept within the thought she left behind.

Focus and persistence are both children of attention. I want to clarify what attention is. I will give two examples, one passive, and one active.

the sun

This past summer, I wore short clothing for the first time since pre-puberty. I walked to the Rideau river many times a week, and sat in the setting sun. During these evenings, I began to develop a more pointed interested in light.

I directed my attention at the feeling of the sun on my skin. I would close my eyes and try to understand what I was feeling. What is a light wave that hits my skin? How does my skin get vitamins from sunlight? How do I feel heat from a light source?

I have the answers because I can form the questions. I don’t know the answers, though.

sketches

This past summer, I began to sketch. I was inspired by one of my favourite artists, and tried to copy some of their drawings. I began with very embarrassing attempts at imitations. I always sketched ugly things—awful proportions, wonky dimensions.

I got increasingly frustrated: why can’t I just translate what I’m seeing? Why am I so unable to draw the shape of a face? What’s wrong with me?

As I would sketch, embarrassment would bubble up and distract me. I wouldn’t talk myself through a very basic question: what do I see? This is a tricky question, because the answer isn’t verbal. Sketching demands that ask that question, move your hand, assess, erase, and ask it again. It’s emotionally painful, and mentally exhausting.

I glance over at my sketchbook as I write this. It’s almost finished. I sit down, and I direct my attention at the paper, and what I see behind my eyes. I draw a circle, and I sketch the same thing over, and over, and over again. I focus, and I persist.

albertine, circles, attention

I don’t understand the sun, and I am not good at sketching. I will never understand the sun. I will never be good at sketching.

Thank god.

Contemplation and sketching are circular tasks. I start where I end. I learn many, many things.

For instance, recently I’ve come to terms with the fact that lines aren’t real. Directing my attention to lines allowed me recognize that when I look at something, I’m seeing a very complex frequency of light entering my eye. That there are lines is an illusion. I always had a sense for this, now it’s more solid.

albertine is what emerges when I am with my tools. Circles are the general shape of my thought, and my patterns. I direct attention, and I learn.

I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know how to care.

I am not special, but I am good at directing my attention. I need to believe that’s enough.

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