The change

 After yesterday, all that busking, I guess I felt like taking it easy and I didn't go out at all. 

I've been thinking a lot about how my mind changed when Biden stepped down and Harris became the Democratic presidential candidate. I felt I was quite loyal to Biden, and was not too crazy about Harris. When the change-over happened, I felt unexpectedly happy and optimistic. Where did that come from? 

This has been nagging me because in 2003 when I tried moving back to Hawaii, I ended up really hating the place. Mainly because solving the financial situation I was in would have involved living on very, very little, single rented room, no car, etc. I was not able to make that big a drop in lifestyle and ended up with a large-ish apartment and a car, and no way to sustain that without using Ebay. 

I was very angry at the people there, as all the memories of being a 2nd class citizen for being white-appearing came back. It was like a monster inside me because I said things I still regret. Even now, I've come to realize that a lot of the things  I dreamed of doing if I go back there like gathering shells, are perfectly OK if you're brown and not OK if you're not brown enough. The best one can possibly hope for its to be tolerated. Not liked, not welcome, merely tolerated. And as South Park so comically illustrated, a ton of the gate keeping is from transplant haoles, trying to direct hate away from themselves. 

For those of pale pursuation, there are only three ways to go: Become wealthy enough to live in a bubble where you avoid the realities of the place. Or become at least as thuggish as a local and live like one, stepping in dog shit and hitting your kids and drinking lots of beer that come in green bottles and cursing "the fuckin' haoles". I've actually seen this. Or the third, getting out of there. 

So there are these sometimes unexpected frames of mind that lurk below the surface and stay hidden, most of the time. It's like there's a layer of logic on top, and then the actual deep feelings and beliefs below. 

I think a classic example of this is the times I've convinced myself that I ought to play the clarinet. It's got a ton of usable range. It's smaller and easier to carry. Artie Shaw played clarinet. So did Benny Goodman. It's used in klezmer music. And on and on. And so I'd go and get a clarinet, and mess with it a bit, and I just can't stay interested. It's like I really like the trumpet best and feel it's for me, but somehow can't admit it to myself consciously. I simply have concluded that it chose me and leave it at that.