Down and out in Rotterdam

Ideas, meaning and a mind in motion

Tag: Writing

  • A Window Opened

    A Window Opened

    The last couple of days have been hard. I am simultaneously trying to tackle different aspects of my life. I assumed writing would offer the perfect outlet. But I did set the bar too high.

    I discovered I can’t deliver a steady output of well-thought-out stories and reflections that feel both well constructed and alive. But these days of struggling creatively did teach me some valuable insights into how my ADHD brain works.

    The reason I assumed I might actually pull off my ambitious writing goals was my steady flow of ideas. I produce ideas by the dozen. Thinking through ideas is second nature to me. No matter what I do, I have a constant flow of ideas running in the background, occasionally interrupted by an immediate task at hand.

    But having ideas and keeping them is a different matter.

    I never really recognized myself in the textbook inattentive ADHD type. The person constantly losing keys or missing appointments, forgetting to do a task or getting distracted mid-task. No ‘hey, look a squirrel’ for me. I pay attention and can sit quietly at my desk for hours. I did not have inattentive ADHD.

    Or so I thought. My renewed attempts at writing coupled with the knowledge of my recent combined ADHD diagnosis helped me discover something at the age of 45. It always starts with a spark. An idea can pop up spontaneously, or it can be triggered by a WhatsApp message, or an article, or the news, or something I read in a book. But not just any idea will do. It is often linked to a problem, a frustration or an irritation. Something that just doesn’t seem right or doesn’t make sense. From that initial spark, ideas and connections start to form. In my head I construct a constellation of ideas and associations that can become quite elaborate as long as it feels urgent and more importantly, as long as I can keep it ordered in my working memory.

    All is well when I am just thinking for the fun of it and just dream a little while doing a boring administrative task at my day job. Sometimes I share the idea with a friend, sometimes I just go on with my day and forget about it. Not urgent.

    But recently I set myself the task to put my ideas and thoughts on paper. To share them with the world. I want to practice preserving my insights. I want a record of my thoughts. To have something tangible to look back on. That’s when I am confronted with my inattentive ADHD. I need to act fast. I need to hold the whole picture or structure and save it in a document before I lose focus and the structure falls apart. Any slight loss of focus and I lose an idea, or an aspect of an idea. If I have a whole train of thought – A, B, C, D and E – and I get stuck on B, I might lose C, D and E. If I run out of battery or urgency after 30 minutes I lose everything.

    The ideas never disappear completely, but my access to them is severed. Only a new spark, a new trigger can start the process anew. This spark might not come any time soon. I have no control over the doors or windows. And every day I start with an empty working memory. All doors are closed, until a door opens. I can go through that door, but I can’t be sure what I will find behind that door.

    Building a daily routine works much the same way. Every day you have to consciously focus on the thing you try to make a routine. Every day feels like the first day of your life. But apparently the same holds for ideas. At least that’s how it works for me.

    Still, this post was written almost in one go, in a café on my new Chromebook. After days of closed doors, struggle and unused ideas, a window opened.

    I just don’t yet know how.

  • After the breakthrough

    Writing my first post in years last sunday felt like a huge breakthrough, I was so convinced of recovering my voice. I had big plans for this blog. Since sunday I was confident I had recovered something essential. Something sustainable. A never ending source of sustenance and accomplishment.

    The start of the week was hectic, I had no time to sit down a second time, but I was confident I could. Then this morning happened. I woke up with a brain fog. I had big plans for a healthy breakfast. I had prepared the groceries, I had the clean pans. But I just couldn’t put myself to do it. I settled for a bowl of Skyr and walnuts. Less friction.

    I logged in for work on my home computer, but all I could do was check the news, sip my coffee and stare out of the window. It was a gray and wet morning. I had to do something to get started. My medication wouldn’t kick in for at least two hours. I had to warm up my brain.

    So I did what I often do when I am stuck, I discuss ideas with ChatGPT. That’s my go to selfregulation method; thinking out loud, testing ideas, and trying to understand my state of mind in real time. Creative and analytical thinking is my most readily available method for jumpstarting my brain.

    As I warmed up I forgot about the failed attempt at cooking my breakfast. I could forgive myself for wasting two hours sitting at my desk doing nothing and I actually felt that this day might yet work out after all and I had some new ideas for a second blogpost.

    Fast forward to this evening. I decided it was time to deliver on my morning promise to publish a new post. Only to immediately lose focus as I wandered into my unpublished drafts. Over the years I had many of those. I opened one, I opened a second, I opened a third. And down went my mood and with it my courage.

    This post is not what I had in mind for my second attempt. It is however a good snapshot of how my day went. Living with ADHD means that even after a breakthrough, the next moment can feel completely different. It is so easy to get disheartened.

    Yet this is it. This is my second post. I sat down and I persevered and I pressed publish.

  • Late-Diagnosed ADHD, or 2.0 me.

    My last published blogpost was from 2022. Even then my creative well was already long dried up. Since then four years have passed. I am a 46 year old bachelor.

    My last decade was a long decade of stagnation in a time in life when you’re supposed to make serious steps in creating a life. Important years to build a career and cash in on your Academic achievement. A period to find a partner and create a home. A period also to live and make the most of your relative health and youth, but with hopefully a bit more spemding power.

    I did none of that. I struggled most of that decade just barely hanging on. I dated occasionally, I had employment most of the time, a roof over my head, physical health (God bless), but I was surviving and struggling getting to grips with myself. Many moments I just assumed I was depressed. I took antidepressants. I did some therapy and they assumed I had a personality disorder. I almost believed they were right. Almost.

    Luckily I couldn’t accept my life as it was and didn’t want to give up trying. This was not how I wanted to waste my years. I took up therapy one last time, a hail mary before resigning myself definitely to my fate. That’s how I discovered I have lived 45 years with untreated ADHD.

    There is much more to write about the whole experience and I will in future posts. But what I will share now is that the diagnosis fits. Initial healthy doubts slowly faded away and since I started on lisdexamfetamine medication I am absolutely certain.

    So here I am, after an initial adjustment period in which the medication mostly helped me relax and recover from years of fatigue, the stimulant is stimulating. And so after 11 years of draught the well is ready to spill over. I am thrilled and excited and I will share my late diagnosed ADHD story. If only for my own catharsis. And hopefully maybe it will find a few fellow ADHDers and help them too.

    God bless

  • The 6th of December

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    Winter has started and I am busy with my favorite pastime, a long sit in an espresso bar, anonymous among the crowd, observing, thinking, writing and being. I’ve got Lana del Rey on repeat, and I can hear the stir of the many people around me. I can quietly observe as I am seated in a comfortable brown leather armchair with my back to the wall, facing the crowd.

    I’ve been sitting like this for a while, initially busy with an attempt to write a review of Isaiah Berlin’s essays on Russia in the penguin classic edition ‘Russian Thinkers’, but as all to often happens, I lost my concentration, train of thought and general courage halfway.

    Again my thoughts are scattered and it annoys me that I can hardly keep any of them together for a sufficient amount of time. So I am writing this post instead. A general autobiographical post is better served by scattered thoughts than a serious review on a serious thinker like Isaiah Berlin, who I am glad to have discovered.

    Across from me I see many people busy on their laptops. One guy is seemingly busy designing some architectural plans on his. I am just pretending to be busy. How I sometimes wish I had learned some practical trade…

    And I see women. Always the main object of my desire, apart from books. Winter is no season to be single. Spring and summer are the seasons best suited for a single life, not winter. Winter is meant to be spent inside, huddled together under a blanket with a hot beverage and romantic thoughts and family.

    It’s no shame to admit these thoughts and feelings. I never particularly felt this way when I was younger. I had no fond memories of our own winter family holidays and I couldn’t understand those memories of others. But I guess that’s what getting older does to you. Life is not to be lived out alone, and winter is harsh on lonely people; my heart goes out to them this winter.

    Then Robert Walser’s short story ‘The walk’ came to mind. I just finished reading his little gem. Robert Walser was lonely most of his life. From his short bio on the back of the book;

    Robert Walser (1878-1956) lived his life in small rooms and stayed his final 23 years in a psych ward. He liked going on long walks and writing and despised fame.

    ‘The walk’ is just that, a description of one of his many walks, his thoughts and the people and scenes he encounters. Most memorable to me are the final pages which I want to translate and share (however crudely) when on the end of his walk he lies down and watches the sky;

    Watching earth, sky and heaven I was overwhelmed by a saddening, uncontrollable thought that made me convince myself that I was a poor prisoner caught between heaven and earth, that we were all miserably caught this way, that no other way existed for all of us to another world except the one that leads to that deep dark pit, the grave.

    And with these dark thoughts finally comes his remorse for a chance missed;

    …I might have been able to convince her that I had her best interest in mind. I should have told her in time that my affection was completely honest. It would have been simple and truly correct if I had openly confessed: ‘I love you. All your affairs are to me just as important as my own affairs. For many kind, beautiful reasons it is of utmost importance to me to make you happy.’ But she left, because I didn’t make any effort… I raised myself up to go home because it was late and everything was dark.

    With that I end this post. It’s also dark outside of the espresso bar. Time to go home.

  • What I talk about on a date

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    When dating women, I often come to think of myself as a rather boring person with nothing meaningful to say. I don’t have a job right now so that topic is of the table, but even if I had a job I don’t think I would like to talk about it at length.

    So what do I reply when asked ‘What do you do?’ Usually I start by saying that I read a lot, and then there is a slight pause. What dó I do? I mostly read and think. And sometimes I write. When I add  ‘I also write, I have a blog’, she will naturally ask what about. I cringe from the question even-though I have had plenty of practice answering, but the question always catches me off guard. ‘Ehm, autobiographical stuff, observations, reflections, ideas.’ Embarrassed I add that it’s nothing special, or serious and just for fun. So yes, what do I do? Mostly reading, thinking and writing.

    But of course I do experience a lot just by reading. I recently finished Kotkin’s excellent first volume of three about Stalin; ‘Stalin: Volume I: Paradoxes of Power, 1878-1928’ which more than just offering insights into the life and character of Stalin offers a well written overview of the revolution and its key personalities and historical events all factors contributing to his rise to power. It ends (spoiler alert) with a discussion and conclusion that without Stalin the revolution and Leninism would have died, because from all the heirs of Lenin he was the only man orthodox and ruthless enough to be able to collectivize the peasantry – making an end to the compromise NEP policy – no matter what the cost of human life.

    Right now I am really thoroughly enjoying ‘A Guide to the Good Life {the ancient art of stoic joy} by William B. Irvine, about living the good life with Stoïc philosophy as a practical guide (on which I will definitely write a blog, as to me Stoïcism might be an easier alternative to Zen Buddhism, but with the shared benefits for living the good life.)

    Anyhow; I find it hard to converse with people with little to no interest in history or literature or philosophy but (this is no judgement) few people nowadays do. Inside of me there exists a vast world of ideas, topics and opinions, and yet I seem to find few people that can relate. While most people can go on for hours about their travels and travel destinations, most popular destinations are of little interest to me. I want to visit the Ukraine to discover the historical locations of my ancestors and the battlefields that changed the 20th century. I want to visit the places Hemingway visited, and experience Europe, because I am an European and have little feeling for Asian territories no matter how picturesque on film or photos. And when people tell me that travel enlightens I always reply that the Buddha mostly sat underneath his tree. I maintain that one travels farther in literature and the imagination than in miles by airplane. I know I learned more about India by reading Kipling’s ‘Kim’ and E.M. Foresters ‘A passage to India’ than a few weeks of physical presence in India would have taught me. And of-course in literature there is the added dimension of travelling in time and in the thoughts of characters. But I digress…

    Sometimes I try to discuss my spiritual growth as a person, and my philosophical outlook on life and with it (how else) my doubts. But often expressing doubt invites some to think you don’t know and are looking for answers, answers which then are promptly offered, often with little regard to the Original problems posed. So sooner or later you choose to reveal less and you stop expressing your doubts out loud because your doubts are only just that; doubts, contrary ideas long thought through inside -sometimes for years- and they wouldn’t be doubts if any easy answer would do. They might well remain doubts forever. There are no easy answers, but sometimes you just want to share those doubts nonetheless, but soon you become careful expressing them.

    So what remains? You end up talking about the weather and about some silly item in the news, you ask ‘How was last weekend’, about the bills, about the general mood; ‘I am fine thank you’, and on you go until hopefully, finally you will find the girl who goes week in the knees when you tell her about Stalin or Zeno of Citium.

  • Writing my first novel with NANOWRIMO

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    It is with great joy that I can update this blog with an uplifting post and the news that I am well on my way with writing my first novel (20.000 words and counting) and I couldn’t have done it without ‘nanowrimo’, the national novel writing month event which supports and motivates writers.

    To be honest many work has been done before november started, but it stagnated and it is with nanowrimo backing me that I am finally pushing myself further than I ever did, regularly updating my word count and seeing my novel grow day by day.

    I had an aborted attempt on a novel last year when I discovered nanowrimo for the first time. That time I had an idea for a coming-of-age novel based on actual biographical events during my exploratory years as a undergrad and graduate student in Leiden featuring many of my ex-girlfriends, friends, lost dreams, failures and successes and still remains shelved for a future attempt.

    No, this time my first 50.000 word draft will precede the Leiden years, and it will be more fundamental and dramatic and deal with my years in Israel. Talk – again – about coming of age. It was more falling from grace, or waking up from a pleasant dream after a car crash. Well that’s a bit over dramatic. The words are coming, it’s biography, fiction and non fiction all in one. I had the opportunity of growing up in Israel during the roaring ’90’s, roaring meaning a decade combining hope, peace, assassinations and suicide attacks. These roaring 90’s will provide the background to my personal story and army experiences.

    For now I have no illusion of publishing it. It’s foremost a personal story, but it has an ambitious scope. It starts with a foreword about my Jewish ancestors and their Zionism which led them to leave Europe for Palestine, and an afterword/conclusion about my experience and the future of Zionism in general based on my growing political thoughts about the matter and my experiences post-Israel, ever since I’ve come back to live in Europe, and witnessing Europe changed and ever changing and with it the European views on Israel.

    I discovered a great novel writing tool which has a free 30 day trial period for the nanowrimo period of november, which I will definitely purchase afterwards because it has already been of great help, it’s called ‘Scrivener’. It helped me bring structure into my story, which helps me focus on specific parts of the story I want to have told.

    The writing is keeping the creative juices flowing that much that I felt like posting this update on my blog. I had to take a pause from my novel for a moment seeing I was writing about the murder of Jitzhak Rabin (1 march 1922 – 4 november 1995) which was probably the single biggest tragedy I experienced growing up in those years.

    But writing is always therapeutic and thank god I am writing!

    This novel will be the novel for which I can use my favorite Hemingway quote as an opening motto;

    Let those who want to save the world if you can get to see it clear and as a whole. Then any part you make will represent the whole if it’s made truly. The thing to do is work and learn to make it.

  • How I wept and why I write

    424552_10150642580756098_1718214860_nAs a teenager growing up in Israel I had it hard. I felt isolated and lonely and I didn’t belong. I felt trapped with nowhere to run or hide. And after high-school I got enlisted in the army when I wasn’t up for it.

    The worst part was the frustration of lacking a means to express myself. All I had going for me in those days was a terrible anger. You can ask my parents.

    I can remember how I longed for a means to release my anger. I was without talent for music, I didn’t play an instrument and all I could do was listen to other peoples music; angry music, sad music, teenage music. ‘If I could only play the guitar’ I thought. Listening to other people expressing themselves didn’t help. Besides, the same music was often the soundtrack to parties to which I felt an uninvited guest. It made me feel even more inadequate. I hated sports because before I enlisted I didn’t have the physique so I hated the guts of those who had, because it got them girls.

    Had I then known the comfort of reading, it might have spared me a lot of sorrow. But I didn’t read and when I tried to write it was immature and angry and full of cliché’s, so much I understood.

    —

    It was sometime during my early twenties – back in Holland with Israel behind me – when I first read Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and I remember immediately rereading it for a second and third time. It was an immense experience. I carried the book with me for days as a close friend. I felt deeply for the main protagonist Holden Caulfield. Holden was from a wealthy family living in Manhattan and couldn’t have been farther away from my family background, but it felt as if I understood him completely. It felt as if I wandered with him through Manhattan with no place to go like the ducks in Central Park during the winter. His little sister Phoebe was like my twin sisters, young and untarnished and with a bond which was unconditional.

    I long wondered about my connection with Holden. I knew I was one of many millions who felt the same. Yet the feeling was sincere and immediate. Then I thought that what we shared was an anger and frustration and difficulty coping with the real world. I shared his concern with phonies and hypocrisy. I shared his concern with change. I didn’t think him crazy. The thought never once occurred to me. Was anger and dissatisfaction with the world the reason I felt so close to Holden? It sounded like an awful cliché, not that I cared, he was my friend.

    It was only much later that I read Salinger’s other works and it was only when I read Kenneth Slawenski’s biography about the writer J.D. Salinger that many pieces fell together. I learned to appreciate the man who created Holden. I learned about his life and what an extraordinary talented person he was. And I learned about his role in WWII. I discovered that the man who gave life to Holden was a sensitive and fragile man scarred by terrible experiences. When he couldn’t handle the fame after publishing ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ he retreated from society and lived the remainder of his life as a recluse. It left me with a tremendous admiration for the person that was J.D. Salinger.

    It was when I read his latest biography by David Shields and Shane Salerno (2013) that I found the answer to my question about what I shared with Holden. It was in a chapter titled ‘Is the Kid in this book Crazy?’. Here the biographers quote writer Andy Rogers who offers his theory about ‘The Catcher’. According to Rogers it was a war novel:

    Holden Caulfield, has more in common with a traumatized soldier than an alienated teenager. His prematurely gray hair serves as fodder for teasing and insecurity, but it also symbolizes something rather obvious: Holden is an old man in a young man’s body. This places Holden in an estimable literary lineage of characters who feel that their youth has been lost in the war.

    and further on:

    Salinger will never be the boy who went to prep school again, thus Holden is Salinger and the Salinger who will never be again.

    It hit me. Holden was angry and seemed frustrated and misunderstood and I felt the same. But what we really shared and what I recognized was the underlying trauma. The anger and frustration was just a result of the trauma, a cover for the pain and sadness. Suddenly I wept.

    And it was then that I made the decision to write no matter what. The biographers quoted psychologist Jay Martin:

    One of the processes we see in creativity is that the creative person solves a problem, That is, he’s depressed, he’s anxious, he’s uncertain, he’s mourning, he’s grieving. He writes, and in the process of writing, he doesn’t necessarily cure himself, but he gets some perspective by writing. By putting one sentence down after another, you get a perspective on your own disorder… I would guess that if Salinger was depressed, he found a way to rid himself of his depression by giving it to someone else. It’s almost like black magic, in which you put your anger or hatred into a character and discharge it there.

    It really does help.