Is people watching ethical?

This semester I have the great fortune of taking an ethics course from one of my favorite professors (and, really, people as well). A few weeks ago, we slowly started to dissect the origins and basics for various theories and we came across a certain predicament within hedonistic utilitarianism. Here, the theory states that happiness reins all and that we should maximize it no matter the costs.

As a starting point, I seemed to agree. I like happiness. I think I should be happy. I think you should be happy. Heck, I even think my obnoxious neighbor with the booming Arabian dubstep should be happy (and, yes, as I found out that is a thing). But, does a line exist? My professor brought up the shower scenario. Say that I, in all of my true-to-form glory, step out of the shower in my apartment. My neighbor (not the one with the dubstep) sees this event and continues to watch for they are gaining pleasure. From this, the hedonist would say that the neighbor’s action is morally sound because he gains pleasure and there is no adverse effect on myself. However, that makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Something doesn’t sit right.

Then, I applied this to one of my favorite past times: people watching. Here, I am gaining pleasure from analyzing the unsuspecting victims around me and they receive no adverse effects. This is oddly similar to the shower situation, yet so many of us still do this. Granted, we could take this to the extreme and say that the effects rise when stereotypes sneak into society, but let’s not go there. So, now, I am dumbfounded. Is it unethical to people watch? Should I end one of my favorite time killers? What shall I do?

The Beauty in Everything

A few weeks ago I touched down in Colorado after an adventurous five weeks in Turkey. This trip, though speckled with a tourist thing here and there, mainly served as a business venture. During my stay, I assisted in the commissioning of a geothermal power plant. I worked and lived in a country where I knew none of the language, few of the customs, and a handful of people. When I try and talk to others about the trip, I tend to over exaggerate the hard parts of the journey to make me sound impressive. But, as I reflect on some of my memories, a certain image comes to mind.

To preface this, I should talk more about what I did. Everyday I woke up around 6:30 and left the hotel for the job site around 7:30. For the next ten-and-a-half hours (minimum) I would feel the Turkish sun in the middle of a corn field. Towards the end though I did spend a lot of time battle an inner exhaustion at the control table. This continued for five weeks with only four days off. On a particular day I was, let's just say, completely done. After about three weeks in the field the thrill of telling operators to aç and kapat the valves had become pretty repetitive. It ceased to keep me awake. I stood at the OB-31 separation station and longed for my power naps on the control room's toilet. The brine rain started to fall from the silencer and I not longer cared if the pumps started or not. But, my sister tasked me with releasing the air from the emergency dump valves and it hit me. I stood on the grates of a platform and realized that beauty exists in everything.

I took this picture to remind myself:

It's not much now, but that moment reminded me to stay positive over the long journey of commissioning. Now, as I return to school, I constantly picture this moment to stay sane. The beginning-of-the-school-year stress has come into play and I am quickly remembering why I no longer have a passion for my major. But, beauty exists in everything. The equations no longer thrill me, but the implications do. I have the power to change the world with only a calculator and a G-2 pilot. As I attempt to coast through my last year and onto law school (hopefully...) I want to remember that though things really do suck, I can find the beauty in anything.

What's Next?

The A-toZ Challenge has officially ended and I keep asking myself: what's next? I want to continue on my poetic journey, but a couple of things will change.

First, I want to explore more topics. The challenge was a great start, but I not aim to explore all of my world, and not just part of my identity.

Secondly, and I think more importantly, I want to put out one solid poem at least once a week. Starting on the 10th of May, I want to publish one poem on this blog every Sunday. I am hoping this will allow me to focus on one crafted poem than spread myself across a bunch of different ones.

Someone hold me to this.

Thanks for sticking around!

Z - At-to-Z in Review

About a month ago I

began a journey to start writing, no,

creating poetry through a simply challenge.

Day after day I wrote and

erased countless words in my

faded yellow pages to try and

gather my thoughts into a few

hollowed sentences.

I challenged myself from initial

jitters to some much needed,

kind words to finish the

long journey of daily creativity.

My poetry advanced, I think, and

now I mustn’t

obsess over the small details or

quirks lining my thoughts.

Right now I don’t know where I

stand or where to go. I keep contemplating next steps or

tasks laying ahead on the

unwanted path of defeats and seldom

victories. But,

with a pen in hand and an

x before the dotted line, I’ll take

you along wherever this

zoo of a life takes me.

Y - The Missing Color

Red: passion

            The look in the eyes of the attorney

            fighting for the removal of the

            second before our citizenship.

Orange: uncomfortable

            That color too bright for average

            yet too bland to mix with others.

Green: nature

            For we are fighting to feel

            harmonized and natural

            into their world

aren’t we?

Blue: calm

            Calm before the storm.

            Ability to lean on each other.

            Survivors of suicide.

Purple: royalty

            Are we not queens?

Yellow:

            Where are you?

            I see you stitched across

            the Speedos on the nude beaches

            and three rungs down on our flag

            but where is your meaning?

X - Where's my X?

Was it in my slightly tightened jeans

or just in my general sense of style?

Could it have been my voice inflections

or maybe when I threw some shade?

Did I crook my hand a little too much

or did my hips give away my lie?

I try to hid and cover

the x

splattered across my barren chest,

yet your aim still hits

as you identify my marker as a

faggot.

W - We?

How can we fall under

the umbrella term of

community

when we can’t even

agree or settle on

minute details like

basic survival?