Sometimes I like to look at my archive list, click a month at random, and read all the entries. Because I am somewhat obsessed with the chronology of my experience, I can usually figure out what was really going on in my life at the time, what had led up to the events I was describing, and what events followed that particular point. Tonight, I clicked February 2005.
It didn't take me long to notice a few things: Maybe it's just because I'm the one who wrote it (and therefore share the author's humor), but I think I'm sort of funny. Also, it was clear to me that I was going through a phase of some serious introspection. There is a sort of buzz of anticipation that floats around so much of what I wrote.
It wasn't until I got to the halfway point in the month that I caught on: That was the month that I decided to go to Spain for the summer. While the study abroad experience itself definitely influenced my subsequent perspective, it was the actual decision to turn in my KIIS application that was what they like to call life-changing.
I often look back on that time in my life and accuse it of being a signifcant series of steps that had led me to now. I know; people get sick of hearing about it. But who knew that I actually had an inkling about the importance of those days at the time? To quote myself directly from February 20, 2005:
The past facilitates the future. There would be no present without the past. There would be no future without the present.
...
There are so many aspects of my life that wouldn't be existent if a chunk out of the middle of my past hadn't occurred.
...
Looking back and seeing each slat of the bridge that would carry me across fall into place is easy. Yet another version of "hindsight is 20/20," no doubt. But waiting for that next foothold to come is not easy. And sometimes, it's tempting to believe that it will never come and you'll just have to jump from where you are--no matter how far you are from the other side. But what I'm learning is this: That foothold will come. The best thing for me to do is enjoy the view from where I am until it does.
...
By no means have I met the greatest obstacles of my life or taken the most fearful steps of the journey, but maybe I've learned enough to keep my eyes open a little more.
I surely hope so.
Showing posts with label quotations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quotations. Show all posts
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Saturday, December 29, 2007
All pretenses but living itself have long since vanished
I am not sure how a twenty-four year old, single, unemployed person such as myself can accumulate so much stuff. But I did. In three and a half years, I've managed to acquire enough belongings to fill a standard-sized horse trailer -- and then some.
When I lived at Southwood for a month in the summer of 2004, I barely had enough to make a sub-leased room with a borrowed bed feel like home. I was able to carry the entirety of my book collection in one box -- the box my Tiffany lamp, which I bought solely for the sake of that room, came in. This weekend, I found that box -- labeled "BOOKS" -- and filled it with books again. Except, this time, I labeled it something like "Literature A-Cisneros" or "Spanish Language and Culture." See, I'm estimating twenty boxes of books that we packed into the corner of the horse trailer. The books, though, serve only as one fossil of this era.
When I first shifted my little pile of stuff from Southwood to Brentwood, my new apartment was still relatively empty. After hanging a freshly purchased shower curtain and feeling accomplished, I selected an English class literature anthology from my little bookshelf and sat in the floor, in the corner of the living room where the monstrous bookcase eventually stood. I read, from beginning to end, the Lorraine Hansberry play "A Raisin in the Sun" in one anticipatory afternoon.
I can't believe my apartment is almost as empty again as it was that day. It's not nearly as clean, though. I've still got that to do. But once I've collected the last evidences of my residence and once I've exterminated all the dust rodents, I think I'll have a seat in that corner again and read something. Of course, I would punctuate the chapters of my existence with literature.
But what should I read? Too bad all the books have been packed and taken away.
When I lived at Southwood for a month in the summer of 2004, I barely had enough to make a sub-leased room with a borrowed bed feel like home. I was able to carry the entirety of my book collection in one box -- the box my Tiffany lamp, which I bought solely for the sake of that room, came in. This weekend, I found that box -- labeled "BOOKS" -- and filled it with books again. Except, this time, I labeled it something like "Literature A-Cisneros" or "Spanish Language and Culture." See, I'm estimating twenty boxes of books that we packed into the corner of the horse trailer. The books, though, serve only as one fossil of this era.
When I first shifted my little pile of stuff from Southwood to Brentwood, my new apartment was still relatively empty. After hanging a freshly purchased shower curtain and feeling accomplished, I selected an English class literature anthology from my little bookshelf and sat in the floor, in the corner of the living room where the monstrous bookcase eventually stood. I read, from beginning to end, the Lorraine Hansberry play "A Raisin in the Sun" in one anticipatory afternoon.
I can't believe my apartment is almost as empty again as it was that day. It's not nearly as clean, though. I've still got that to do. But once I've collected the last evidences of my residence and once I've exterminated all the dust rodents, I think I'll have a seat in that corner again and read something. Of course, I would punctuate the chapters of my existence with literature.
But what should I read? Too bad all the books have been packed and taken away.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The scientific method
I was really proud of myself the day I told my third block English class that they had to have the foresight to see the hindsight. I was hoping there was someone with ink and quill somewhere to jot down this line into a tome of timeless quotes, my name now among Abraham Lincoln and Confucius. I don't even remember the topic of that day's discussion, but I was giving some pseudo-sage advice about making wise decisions -- about considering the consequences of actions. Hindsight, we all know, is 20/20. So we have to look forward and consider what that hindsight will reveal to us. This is the simple and infallible key to decision-making.
It is also complete crap.
Anyone who knows me at all knows that I cannot make decisions. I cower at questions and flee from responsibility. I don't know, maybe someday an editor of Bartlett's will include me, but only by mistake. Or only because of the cute parallelism of the sentence: We must have the foresight to see the hindsight.
As it turns out, this is a rule that I've been imposing upon myself for a very long time, but I didn't realize it until today. Let's face it, I'm drowning in a sea of decisions that need to be made. Or so it seems. They range from small (What am I going to teach tomorrow?) to larger (What am I going to do after I graduate? With my life?). And I get the distinct feeling that these are all connected. Like I can't answer one question unless I've answer the others. A circular puzzle. A dog chasing its tail, for sure. But nevertheless, I have been sorting out my thoughts in an attempt at answering the larger questions. The answers, though, don't come.
That's what I have been expecting for as long as I have had a concept of The Future. That life, its questions, and its answers come to me as they will, and I will be prepared to go with that flow as it drifts by. Recently, though -- and I am using a lose definition of the adverb "recently" -- I am realizing that passivity isn't exactly the best way of handling life. Yes, there are factors that we cannot control -- circumstances that present themselves, and the best we can hope for is to roll with the punches. But really, we have to be active, to be intentional, to take initiative. I realize this.
The problem is, though, that I don't take iniative. That requires making a decision. It requires, so I thought, the foresight to see the hindsight. It sounds noble, doesn't it? It's impossible, though. How can we possibly ever see the future?
I don't purport to have all the answers, but I think I've found one. I've looked at the decisions I've made, including some very pronounced indecision, and at the crises that surrounded those decisions. Then, I solved for x. Okay, it was more of a guess-and-hope strategy, but when I plugged "fear of regret" into all the equations, they balanced.
I have been operating on the principle that I should know how everything will turn out. Somewhere along the timeline, I got the idea that looking at all the possibilities of cause and effect was healthy. And I don't know, maybe it is. But what happens is that I try to channel my future hindsight, and as soon as I detect the possibility of regret, I melt down.
I know the what-if game is supposed to be pointless. But I always thought of that in the context of looking at the past. Somehow I have excused it by looking to the future -- unforeseeable as it may be -- and playing the what-if game with decisions that haven't even been made yet.
I'm afraid I'll make the wrong decision. It's that simple.
The question remains, though, what exactly is it that I am afraid of? How bad is a bad decision? Obviously, there are some decisions that are just plain bad, but what about the ones that are more nebulous? It's like forcing gray to be either black or white.
What ever convinced me that I wouldn't be able to recover from a mistake? Who ever told me that once I'm in a dreadful situation I wouldn't be able to get out of it?
There was a student in the same third block class who once encouraged me with a quote after I had attempted to conduct an activity that had not worked at all. In disgust at my own choice of instruction and at the group's failure to cooperate, I said something about it having been an experiment that had completely failed. He raised his hand and said, "No experiment is a failure." I responded, "Why? Because we learn from it?" He nodded his head affirmatively.
We can hypothesize all we want, but we never know what results an experiment will yield until we have actually carried out the process. Maybe life is just an exercise in trial-and-error, in guess-and-hope. Or maybe there are scientific proofs and mathemathical equations we can use to predict everything and to avoid hardships, but something tells me that there aren't.
All I know is that when I'm trying to make a decision, all I can see is the possibility that, no matter what I choose, it all might go disastrously wrong. I forget that it all might go miraculously right. I just never know.
It is also complete crap.
Anyone who knows me at all knows that I cannot make decisions. I cower at questions and flee from responsibility. I don't know, maybe someday an editor of Bartlett's will include me, but only by mistake. Or only because of the cute parallelism of the sentence: We must have the foresight to see the hindsight.
As it turns out, this is a rule that I've been imposing upon myself for a very long time, but I didn't realize it until today. Let's face it, I'm drowning in a sea of decisions that need to be made. Or so it seems. They range from small (What am I going to teach tomorrow?) to larger (What am I going to do after I graduate? With my life?). And I get the distinct feeling that these are all connected. Like I can't answer one question unless I've answer the others. A circular puzzle. A dog chasing its tail, for sure. But nevertheless, I have been sorting out my thoughts in an attempt at answering the larger questions. The answers, though, don't come.
That's what I have been expecting for as long as I have had a concept of The Future. That life, its questions, and its answers come to me as they will, and I will be prepared to go with that flow as it drifts by. Recently, though -- and I am using a lose definition of the adverb "recently" -- I am realizing that passivity isn't exactly the best way of handling life. Yes, there are factors that we cannot control -- circumstances that present themselves, and the best we can hope for is to roll with the punches. But really, we have to be active, to be intentional, to take initiative. I realize this.
The problem is, though, that I don't take iniative. That requires making a decision. It requires, so I thought, the foresight to see the hindsight. It sounds noble, doesn't it? It's impossible, though. How can we possibly ever see the future?
I don't purport to have all the answers, but I think I've found one. I've looked at the decisions I've made, including some very pronounced indecision, and at the crises that surrounded those decisions. Then, I solved for x. Okay, it was more of a guess-and-hope strategy, but when I plugged "fear of regret" into all the equations, they balanced.
I have been operating on the principle that I should know how everything will turn out. Somewhere along the timeline, I got the idea that looking at all the possibilities of cause and effect was healthy. And I don't know, maybe it is. But what happens is that I try to channel my future hindsight, and as soon as I detect the possibility of regret, I melt down.
I know the what-if game is supposed to be pointless. But I always thought of that in the context of looking at the past. Somehow I have excused it by looking to the future -- unforeseeable as it may be -- and playing the what-if game with decisions that haven't even been made yet.
I'm afraid I'll make the wrong decision. It's that simple.
The question remains, though, what exactly is it that I am afraid of? How bad is a bad decision? Obviously, there are some decisions that are just plain bad, but what about the ones that are more nebulous? It's like forcing gray to be either black or white.
What ever convinced me that I wouldn't be able to recover from a mistake? Who ever told me that once I'm in a dreadful situation I wouldn't be able to get out of it?
There was a student in the same third block class who once encouraged me with a quote after I had attempted to conduct an activity that had not worked at all. In disgust at my own choice of instruction and at the group's failure to cooperate, I said something about it having been an experiment that had completely failed. He raised his hand and said, "No experiment is a failure." I responded, "Why? Because we learn from it?" He nodded his head affirmatively.
We can hypothesize all we want, but we never know what results an experiment will yield until we have actually carried out the process. Maybe life is just an exercise in trial-and-error, in guess-and-hope. Or maybe there are scientific proofs and mathemathical equations we can use to predict everything and to avoid hardships, but something tells me that there aren't.
All I know is that when I'm trying to make a decision, all I can see is the possibility that, no matter what I choose, it all might go disastrously wrong. I forget that it all might go miraculously right. I just never know.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
This silence is so loud.
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket -- safe, dark, motionless, airless -- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves
C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
This ain't no time for that ball and chain.
Ray LaMontagne's 2004 Trouble is the one of the best album's I have come across in a long time. Yes, my interest was piqued when Taylor Hicks sang the title track on American Idol, but the countless number of Soul Patrollers who recommend this CD know what they are talking about.
While I really enjoyed Taylor's version of "Trouble," that rendition was no indication of what this record would be like. I was actually a bit shocked when I listened to the thirty-second preview on iTunes and it sounded nothing like what I'd heard on television. But I listened to the other previews, and I liked the sound of this guy's voice. It was unique. He doesn't sound exactly like anyone else, but I would say his voice is unique in the same was that Ben Harper's voice is unique.
I read customer reviews. People were fawning all over the album. When I saw that iTunes listed Iron & Wine as one of Ray's few contemporaries, I knew I was onto something. But I still needed to give him the final test. Lyrics. If I look up the lyrics of an artist I'm considering and the words don't do anything for me, I drop them. I know lyrics by themselves aren't much without the music around them, but you know, even some of the best music has a hard time carrying a crap lyric. So I looked ol' Ray LaMontagne up on Let's Sing It, and I wasn't disappointed. Don't know why, but a line from "Hold You In My Arms" did it for me:
"When you kissed my lips with my mouth so full of questions"
It's a nicely turned line, true, but it's not the only one. There are all these people these days and their socially aware songs, and this artist has his, too. And it is quite thought-provoking. It's called "How Come."
"Love can be a liar / And justice can be a thief / And freedom can be an empty cup / From which everybody want to drink"
Yeah, check out that nice way of not ending a sentence with a preposition -- and then the big ol' subject-verb disagreement. Okay, despite all the grammar incongruencies, he's speaking some interesting truth there.
Also, the song "All the Wild Horses" reminds me so much of the score of Brokeback Mountain, I can't convince myself it didn't make a sneak appearance on the soundtrack.
Anyway, every song on this album is good. Right now, I am sort of partial to "Forever My Friend" and "Hold You in My Arms," but I do not dislike any of the songs. I bought the album Thursday afternoon before I went home. I put the songs on my iPod and played straight through to Calvert City. This is profound, you know. I get impatient with new albums with which I am not familiar, but every song held my attention. I even restarted a couple songs to get another go 'round.
Yesterday afternoon, I tried to take a nap, letting this music to put me to sleep 'cause it's that type. Soft, folky, and a little solemn. But I could not get a wink of sleep until I had heard the whole album. It was too good to sleep through.
Also, thanks to Gray Charles, you can download Ray's version of "Crazy" (think Gnarls, not Patsy) here. Yeah, he might sound like he's gotten a shot of novacaine in the tongue every now and then, but what great singer doesn't slur a bit?
So here's the point. I haven't totally absorbed this album yet, but I have enough faith in it to recommend it to you. Plus, "Ray LaMontagne" is a really fun name to say.
Monday, October 17, 2005
One-and-twenty: In Memoriam
On my way to class on Thursday, Ms. Catlett came back to haunt me (as she sometimes does) in the form of the day that she recited A. E. Housman's "When I was one-and-twenty" in senior English.
And so, between classes, I snuck down to the modern languages lab and printed me off a copy. I'm not sure I really live up to the wisdom and experience of it all yet. But what's better to mark a passing of a year than a poem? Right, right. Nothing, of course.
I really don't know where twenty-one went. So many things marked the year as special. (Warning: Faint whisperings of pseudo-moral haughtiness ahead.) Though it wasn't a big deal, legal alcohol consumption, the automatic presumed glory of twentyoneness, was enjoyable. I wasn't like aaaah, finally, but you know.
But really, twenty-one was about striking out into new territory, literal and figurative.
This whole year was lived "on my own," one could say, in an apartment by my own little self. Though that hasn't necessarily meant that I've grown up (though I have), it's at least been something drastically different. Through the experience thus far, I've learned volumes about decisions, relationships, and myself.
Journey, in its most literal sense, took form when I went to Spain this summer. I physically left everything known and went into the unknown for five weeks. Okay, it's not as if I went on an intergalactic quest without another soul within contact, but close. Leaving the homeland for a period of time (preferably extended) is a noble pursuit that everyone must chase. Fits nicely with twenty-one, I think. Not that I meant for it to work out that way. It just did.
Oh, and as a grand finale, I semi-sorta committed myself to following through with Spanish education. (I should be ironing things out with Dr. Bodevin this week.) Okay, so it's a bit weak for a grand finale, but it has some serious implications. Lots of extra schoolin'. Lots of extra opportunities. It is a venture that makes me apprehensive but excited, daunted but hopeful. I think those are the good ones.
I think we (or at least I) try to put heavy significance on every year, every chapter of our lives. This one was pivotal because... I'll never be the same after... But years and dates and birthdays and numbers are all so arbitrary. As much as I want to think that it's depressing that no one will ever remember how old I am again until I turn forty, it doesn't matter. Every bit of our lives is important. No matter how signficant or insignifcant something, some period of our lives feels, it all has equal impact on us. We are always a culmination of what we've been and what we are.
Today, I am twenty-two.
But twenty-one is not lost, for in addition to twenty-two, I also am twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, and everything that went before.
I like how Donald Miller puts it in the introduction to Through Painted Deserts:
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
`Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
`The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
And so, between classes, I snuck down to the modern languages lab and printed me off a copy. I'm not sure I really live up to the wisdom and experience of it all yet. But what's better to mark a passing of a year than a poem? Right, right. Nothing, of course.
I really don't know where twenty-one went. So many things marked the year as special. (Warning: Faint whisperings of pseudo-moral haughtiness ahead.) Though it wasn't a big deal, legal alcohol consumption, the automatic presumed glory of twentyoneness, was enjoyable. I wasn't like aaaah, finally, but you know.
But really, twenty-one was about striking out into new territory, literal and figurative.
This whole year was lived "on my own," one could say, in an apartment by my own little self. Though that hasn't necessarily meant that I've grown up (though I have), it's at least been something drastically different. Through the experience thus far, I've learned volumes about decisions, relationships, and myself.
Journey, in its most literal sense, took form when I went to Spain this summer. I physically left everything known and went into the unknown for five weeks. Okay, it's not as if I went on an intergalactic quest without another soul within contact, but close. Leaving the homeland for a period of time (preferably extended) is a noble pursuit that everyone must chase. Fits nicely with twenty-one, I think. Not that I meant for it to work out that way. It just did.
Oh, and as a grand finale, I semi-sorta committed myself to following through with Spanish education. (I should be ironing things out with Dr. Bodevin this week.) Okay, so it's a bit weak for a grand finale, but it has some serious implications. Lots of extra schoolin'. Lots of extra opportunities. It is a venture that makes me apprehensive but excited, daunted but hopeful. I think those are the good ones.
I think we (or at least I) try to put heavy significance on every year, every chapter of our lives. This one was pivotal because... I'll never be the same after... But years and dates and birthdays and numbers are all so arbitrary. As much as I want to think that it's depressing that no one will ever remember how old I am again until I turn forty, it doesn't matter. Every bit of our lives is important. No matter how signficant or insignifcant something, some period of our lives feels, it all has equal impact on us. We are always a culmination of what we've been and what we are.
Today, I am twenty-two.
But twenty-one is not lost, for in addition to twenty-two, I also am twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, and everything that went before.
I like how Donald Miller puts it in the introduction to Through Painted Deserts:
And the closest thing I can liken life to is a book, the way it stretches out on paper, page after page, as if to trick the mind into thinking it isn't all happening at once.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Refresh
The remainder of my weekend was good. Holly, Jenny, and I had great times at Adrienne's. There's nothing like playing all sixteen possible rounds of Scattergories with people who give answers like "Mussolini," showing their intelligence, and "Teeky Teeky" (I'm sure I didn't spell that as it should have been, but it can only be appreciated as it is spoken, anyway.), showing their, um, creativity. Holly and I have this uncanny ability to give the same random answers, which, amusing as it is, docks us both points. But never fear. She usually comes out on top, and I, well, very much lost. Good times, nevertheless.
Sunday was laid back. Did some reading and watched Mrs. Doubtfire. Did the Sunday WalMart ritual.
Today has been okay. Much colder than anticipated. I might've enjoyed it much more had I layered. Can't believe it layering season. Anyway, Spanish was quite fun. I even found out I got a 100 on some things, including a presentation. Promptly after Dr. Bodevin gave me compliments on improvising my speech with little use of notes, I made an extremely elementary blunder in front of the class. Eh, keeps one humble, I s'pose.
So. I want to go to the Jars of Clay concert on November 19, namely because Donald Miller of Blue Like Jazz fame is speaking. I'm feeling very conflicted because that is the night I was going to see Goblet of Fire. A dilemma, indeed. I need to figure out what to do. Might have to finagle a Sunday showing of the movie. Eh, it's over a month away. But I am thinking of going ahead and buying my concert ticket. Oh, despair.
In Spanish, we've been discussing an article about happiness, and at the end, there is a Rita Hayworth quote that would be translated like this:
The two attributes that marked my happiness are good health and bad memory.
Hmm.
Sunday was laid back. Did some reading and watched Mrs. Doubtfire. Did the Sunday WalMart ritual.
Today has been okay. Much colder than anticipated. I might've enjoyed it much more had I layered. Can't believe it layering season. Anyway, Spanish was quite fun. I even found out I got a 100 on some things, including a presentation. Promptly after Dr. Bodevin gave me compliments on improvising my speech with little use of notes, I made an extremely elementary blunder in front of the class. Eh, keeps one humble, I s'pose.
So. I want to go to the Jars of Clay concert on November 19, namely because Donald Miller of Blue Like Jazz fame is speaking. I'm feeling very conflicted because that is the night I was going to see Goblet of Fire. A dilemma, indeed. I need to figure out what to do. Might have to finagle a Sunday showing of the movie. Eh, it's over a month away. But I am thinking of going ahead and buying my concert ticket. Oh, despair.
In Spanish, we've been discussing an article about happiness, and at the end, there is a Rita Hayworth quote that would be translated like this:
The two attributes that marked my happiness are good health and bad memory.
Hmm.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
for the moments i feel faint
"Progress is the life-style of man. The general life of the human race is called Progress, and so is its collective march. Progress advances, it makes the great human and earthly journey towards what is heavenly and divine; it has its pauses, when it rallies the stragglers, its stopping places when it meditates, contemplating some new and splendid promised land that has suddenly appeared on its horizon. It has its nights of slumber; and it is one of the poignant anxieties of the thinker to see the human spirit lost in shadow, and to grope in the darkness without being able to awake sleeping progress." Victor Hugo, Les Misérables
Call it lay philosophy if you wish. You may also want to stamp a big "COMMON SENSE" on it with red ink. Either way, I think it's a concept worth consideration.
The past facilitates the future. There would be no present without the past. There would be no future without the present.
Bold statements, indeed. And there is probably some failing logic in there. But let me talk this out.
I didn't begin this because I had some grandiose revelation that deserved to be chiseled into the immortal walls of cyberspace. I just happened to reflect on the past and how it has led to the present. There are so many aspects of my life that wouldn't be existent if a chunk out of the middle of my past hadn't occurred.
I have a recurring fear of the future. (I believe I've told this before, but I'll tell it again.) I know when it began. It was the summer before freshman year of high school. I had just gotten back from a trip to Florida. And I don't remember the reason, but I was sleeping in the living room floor that night. And right there on that hardwood floor as I tried to get comfortable that four years from then, I would be getting ready to go to college. The mere thought of it scared me to tears. How ridiculous that seems now, right? Because there was still a future to come that would prepare me. But I couldn't see that future. How was I to know that four years from that night I would be a completely different person who was (at least more) ready to take that next step. I was trying to get from one cliff of the Grand Canyon to the other in a babystep. No wonder I cried myself to sleep.
Looking back and seeing each slat of the bridge that would carry me across fall into place is easy. Yet another version of "hindsight is 20/20," no doubt. But waiting for that next foothold to come is not easy. And sometimes, it's tempting to believe that it will never come and you'll just have to jump from where you are--no matter how far you are from the other side. But what I'm learning is this: That foothold will come. The best thing for me to do is enjoy the view from where I am until it does.
Life is that cliché journey. You can't get from one place to another without actually traveling the road. It is so simple, but so often, I forget.
In light of this, I'd like to note that on December 21, 2003, I made a list of my fears. I looked back on them just now, and I can say that, though I'm not a fearless person by any means, I'm much less afraid of these than I used to be. It wouldn't be accurate to go through and bold the ones that I've conquered. It's not that clear cut. It's not a checklist. But I can say that I've made at least some progress in all of these and great progress in many.
"I'm afraid of commitment.
I'm afraid of responsibility.
I'm afraid of having an opinion.
I'm afraid of making decisions.
I'm afraid of being vulnerable.
I'm afraid of being alone.
I'm afraid of change.
I'm afraid of rejection.
I'm afraid of failure.
I'm afraid of audiences.
I'm afraid of saying goodbye.
I'm afraid of being first.
I'm afraid of growing up.
I'm afraid of reality.
I'm afraid of the future."
12.31.03
My fears didn't disappear over night. It was a matter of journeying, taking an uneasy step across a rickety bridge, even though I didn't fully trust it. There have been lots of me tightly closing my eyes and holding on for dear life while tip-toeing along only to open my eyes, see that I hadn't plummeted to my demise, and let out a most relieving sigh.
By no means have I met the greatest obstacles of my life or taken the most fearful steps of the journey, but maybe I've learned enough to keep my eyes open a little more.
Seeing as I've plastered it all over everthing I can, it's probably clear that this lyric has had profound meaning for me lately.
"Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fears." Relient K, "For the Moments I Feel Faint"
Call it lay philosophy if you wish. You may also want to stamp a big "COMMON SENSE" on it with red ink. Either way, I think it's a concept worth consideration.
The past facilitates the future. There would be no present without the past. There would be no future without the present.
Bold statements, indeed. And there is probably some failing logic in there. But let me talk this out.
I didn't begin this because I had some grandiose revelation that deserved to be chiseled into the immortal walls of cyberspace. I just happened to reflect on the past and how it has led to the present. There are so many aspects of my life that wouldn't be existent if a chunk out of the middle of my past hadn't occurred.
I have a recurring fear of the future. (I believe I've told this before, but I'll tell it again.) I know when it began. It was the summer before freshman year of high school. I had just gotten back from a trip to Florida. And I don't remember the reason, but I was sleeping in the living room floor that night. And right there on that hardwood floor as I tried to get comfortable that four years from then, I would be getting ready to go to college. The mere thought of it scared me to tears. How ridiculous that seems now, right? Because there was still a future to come that would prepare me. But I couldn't see that future. How was I to know that four years from that night I would be a completely different person who was (at least more) ready to take that next step. I was trying to get from one cliff of the Grand Canyon to the other in a babystep. No wonder I cried myself to sleep.
Looking back and seeing each slat of the bridge that would carry me across fall into place is easy. Yet another version of "hindsight is 20/20," no doubt. But waiting for that next foothold to come is not easy. And sometimes, it's tempting to believe that it will never come and you'll just have to jump from where you are--no matter how far you are from the other side. But what I'm learning is this: That foothold will come. The best thing for me to do is enjoy the view from where I am until it does.
Life is that cliché journey. You can't get from one place to another without actually traveling the road. It is so simple, but so often, I forget.
In light of this, I'd like to note that on December 21, 2003, I made a list of my fears. I looked back on them just now, and I can say that, though I'm not a fearless person by any means, I'm much less afraid of these than I used to be. It wouldn't be accurate to go through and bold the ones that I've conquered. It's not that clear cut. It's not a checklist. But I can say that I've made at least some progress in all of these and great progress in many.
"I'm afraid of commitment.
I'm afraid of responsibility.
I'm afraid of having an opinion.
I'm afraid of making decisions.
I'm afraid of being vulnerable.
I'm afraid of being alone.
I'm afraid of change.
I'm afraid of rejection.
I'm afraid of failure.
I'm afraid of audiences.
I'm afraid of saying goodbye.
I'm afraid of being first.
I'm afraid of growing up.
I'm afraid of reality.
I'm afraid of the future."
12.31.03
My fears didn't disappear over night. It was a matter of journeying, taking an uneasy step across a rickety bridge, even though I didn't fully trust it. There have been lots of me tightly closing my eyes and holding on for dear life while tip-toeing along only to open my eyes, see that I hadn't plummeted to my demise, and let out a most relieving sigh.
By no means have I met the greatest obstacles of my life or taken the most fearful steps of the journey, but maybe I've learned enough to keep my eyes open a little more.
Seeing as I've plastered it all over everthing I can, it's probably clear that this lyric has had profound meaning for me lately.
"Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fears." Relient K, "For the Moments I Feel Faint"
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
a better point-of-view
Today. Hmm. How 'bout it. It has been rough. Nothing very detrimental has happened, but my spirits have been torn down repeatedly. But you know what, I'm tired of the rollercoaster. I don't want to want anymore. I want to be content with the way things are. And I should be, but instead, I find that loose end of everything and get tripped up by it. I just want to see the good in things. Because it's there, and I know it. But I fail to have a calm vision -- that calm, steady vision that doesn't go blind simply because the scene changes for the seemingly better or worse. It just keeps seeing.
On a lighter note, I bought myself a thirty-dollar Korg guitar tuner this evening. I got it to accompany the new-to-me Yamaha acoustic guitar that Mom and Dad bought off Arenda's friend. It was sorely out of tune, and so was the Washburn. My other tuners have crashed and burned, and today, with the help a little emotional money-spending, I got everything tuned up. I ran through my routine of songs. You know, I don't know much, so I just play the ones I know in rotation. But it serves its purpose -- whatever that might be. I think it's normally a stress-reliever, as it was today. But I tell you what. Those strings might be even easier, if it's possible, to hold down than those on the other guitar, but they hurt the heck out of my fingertips. Maybe it's because I haven't played in a while, but this feels like it did the first time I laid hands on a guitar. Painful stuff. Beautifully and painfully familiar.
"How You Love Me" -- Bebo Norman
Hope came home, home to me today
And fear has run the other way
Words are weak, they don’t know how to say
You know I still believe in you
And should my dreams fall through
I will be safe with you
So with every breath I can breathe
I’ll sing about how you love me
I’ll sing about how you love me
On a lighter note, I bought myself a thirty-dollar Korg guitar tuner this evening. I got it to accompany the new-to-me Yamaha acoustic guitar that Mom and Dad bought off Arenda's friend. It was sorely out of tune, and so was the Washburn. My other tuners have crashed and burned, and today, with the help a little emotional money-spending, I got everything tuned up. I ran through my routine of songs. You know, I don't know much, so I just play the ones I know in rotation. But it serves its purpose -- whatever that might be. I think it's normally a stress-reliever, as it was today. But I tell you what. Those strings might be even easier, if it's possible, to hold down than those on the other guitar, but they hurt the heck out of my fingertips. Maybe it's because I haven't played in a while, but this feels like it did the first time I laid hands on a guitar. Painful stuff. Beautifully and painfully familiar.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
tomahawks
Well, that was very magical, indeed. I was typing along, a paragraph or two into what was going to be this post, when I apparently swept my thumb across the mousepad of this laptop, highlighted everything, and deleted it. All at once. All before my eyes, but if I had've blinked, I would've missed it.
I was just saying how I've begun the write-the-paper-the-day-it-is-due routine. I have a 750-word first draft of a personal narrative due today. That's not such a big deal. But tonight (or when I get finished with my narrative), I have to write my first draft of the BarbCobb paper. That is a big deal. I finally got an okay on my thesis, but it looks more like a thesis paragraph rather than a thesis statement. I'm not even sure I remember what my original intent was.
There's nothing quite so exciting as talk of a book club. And there has been talk. And the first title is 1984, which I've not read and would like to. But when? When on earth will I be able to do it? I can barely get through what I've got as it is. This is a sad situation, ladies.
Okay, so I'm not really sure how, but I just found a pretty funny website. It's called Am I Right, and there is a section of misheard lyrics of songs. Of course, I went straight to John Mayer, and the first one I read had me doing that unstoppable-laugh-that-you-laugh-when-you're-not-supposed-to-be-laughing. The real lyric from "83" is "Oh make me a red cape / I wanna be Superman," but the person heard "Oh make me a rat cage / I wanna be Superman." That struck me as so hilarious--and still does as I write it. And the funny part is that it is very likely that that person thought he was saying that. You can't half understand what he's saying if you don't already know the lyrics. And so I felt it was only right to submit the two misheard John Mayer lyrics that came to mind.
I honestly thought this is what he said:
"Now we're tired by the fire" for "Now we're tired, battered fighters" - "Split-Screen Sadness"
And there is nothing quite like Lesli's:
"Your footsteps are tomahawks" for "Your footsteps are down the hall" - "Come Back to Bed"
Lesli's need to go ahead and make up the lyrics she doesn't know reminded me of the "Miss Independent" situation where she said "No longer need to be the misses" for "No longer need to be defensive." So I went to see if that lyric had been misheard, and indeed, it had. The best one that made me laugh as much as the rat cage was "No longer need to be the biscuit."
Sorry, sorry. I will quit boring you with all this. I'm just trying to avoid working on my narrative.
I was just saying how I've begun the write-the-paper-the-day-it-is-due routine. I have a 750-word first draft of a personal narrative due today. That's not such a big deal. But tonight (or when I get finished with my narrative), I have to write my first draft of the BarbCobb paper. That is a big deal. I finally got an okay on my thesis, but it looks more like a thesis paragraph rather than a thesis statement. I'm not even sure I remember what my original intent was.
There's nothing quite so exciting as talk of a book club. And there has been talk. And the first title is 1984, which I've not read and would like to. But when? When on earth will I be able to do it? I can barely get through what I've got as it is. This is a sad situation, ladies.
Okay, so I'm not really sure how, but I just found a pretty funny website. It's called Am I Right, and there is a section of misheard lyrics of songs. Of course, I went straight to John Mayer, and the first one I read had me doing that unstoppable-laugh-that-you-laugh-when-you're-not-supposed-to-be-laughing. The real lyric from "83" is "Oh make me a red cape / I wanna be Superman," but the person heard "Oh make me a rat cage / I wanna be Superman." That struck me as so hilarious--and still does as I write it. And the funny part is that it is very likely that that person thought he was saying that. You can't half understand what he's saying if you don't already know the lyrics. And so I felt it was only right to submit the two misheard John Mayer lyrics that came to mind.
I honestly thought this is what he said:
"Now we're tired by the fire" for "Now we're tired, battered fighters" - "Split-Screen Sadness"
And there is nothing quite like Lesli's:
"Your footsteps are tomahawks" for "Your footsteps are down the hall" - "Come Back to Bed"
Lesli's need to go ahead and make up the lyrics she doesn't know reminded me of the "Miss Independent" situation where she said "No longer need to be the misses" for "No longer need to be defensive." So I went to see if that lyric had been misheard, and indeed, it had. The best one that made me laugh as much as the rat cage was "No longer need to be the biscuit."
Sorry, sorry. I will quit boring you with all this. I'm just trying to avoid working on my narrative.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
real quick here
I've just a few minutes before -- No, I lie. I don't have a few minutes of anything. I have class at 5:00. Tessa wants to go by the coffee shop beforehand, so that means we're leaving at 4:30. And it's 4:00ish now. And I still have to look over and sort out some stuff for class. What on earth am I doing?
I guess I just wanted to say that today has been better than yesterday. And yesterday didn't end up so bad.
Last night before I went to bed, I made that thing that you might have seen if you checked my blog anywhere between 11:45 last night and, I don't know, 10:00 this morning. I tried to be all creative with the quote that's on Into the Wardrobe again. It didn't work out so good. But I really like the quote. It's from The Screwtape Letters. Mind you, this is a senior demon that advises his nephew on the tricks of the winning-souls-for-satan trade talking here. "Our Enemy" is God.
"Be not deceived, Wormwood, our case is never more in jeopardy than when a human, no longer desiring but still intending to do Our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe where every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."
I guess I just wanted to say that today has been better than yesterday. And yesterday didn't end up so bad.
Last night before I went to bed, I made that thing that you might have seen if you checked my blog anywhere between 11:45 last night and, I don't know, 10:00 this morning. I tried to be all creative with the quote that's on Into the Wardrobe again. It didn't work out so good. But I really like the quote. It's from The Screwtape Letters. Mind you, this is a senior demon that advises his nephew on the tricks of the winning-souls-for-satan trade talking here. "Our Enemy" is God.
"Be not deceived, Wormwood, our case is never more in jeopardy than when a human, no longer desiring but still intending to do Our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe where every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."
Screwtape, The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis
Saturday, February 05, 2005
new deep
"Stop trying to figure it out / Deep will only bring you down"
I don't like to admit when I have questions of faith. I feel like whatever I say might do something to disprove the God I believe in. But that's something I can't do: disprove God. But lately, some beliefs, supposedly Christian beliefs, have seemed to disprove God to me. Seemed. They haven't, but they sure have set me off into a whirlwind of questioning.
Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living for the human being." For the most part, I believe this is true. How can we believe those things on which we stake our lives without even considering their validity? But what I don't believe is that we must be determined to find every answer to every question. Some questions, we just can't answer. That's not to say they are unanswerable.
Faith, belief, and knowing are different from understanding. I believe that God is fully wise, even if I don't understand it. I don't have to. And so much of what has had me confused is people trying to make answers to questions they don't even understand, questions that really make no difference. And maybe that's an immature statement, and I'm willing to grow out of it. But there's no sense in stunting my growth.
"We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shine bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!"
John Mayer, Heavier Things, "New Deep"
"Trust God from the bottom of your heart;
don't try to figure out everything on your own.
don't try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
he's the one who will keep you on track.
Don't assume that you know it all.
Run to God! Run from evil!"
Proverbs 3:5-7, The Message
"Don't be lured away from him by the latest speculations about him. The grace of Christ is the only good ground for life. Products named after Christ don't seem to do much for those who buy them."
Hebrews 13:9, The Message
I don't like to admit when I have questions of faith. I feel like whatever I say might do something to disprove the God I believe in. But that's something I can't do: disprove God. But lately, some beliefs, supposedly Christian beliefs, have seemed to disprove God to me. Seemed. They haven't, but they sure have set me off into a whirlwind of questioning.
Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living for the human being." For the most part, I believe this is true. How can we believe those things on which we stake our lives without even considering their validity? But what I don't believe is that we must be determined to find every answer to every question. Some questions, we just can't answer. That's not to say they are unanswerable.
Faith, belief, and knowing are different from understanding. I believe that God is fully wise, even if I don't understand it. I don't have to. And so much of what has had me confused is people trying to make answers to questions they don't even understand, questions that really make no difference. And maybe that's an immature statement, and I'm willing to grow out of it. But there's no sense in stunting my growth.
"We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shine bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!"
1 Corinthians 13:12, The Message
Friday, February 04, 2005
bottom of the barrel
So I was weaving my way through a series of blogs, linked by association, and I found one I rather enjoy. There was a subtitle of sorts that went like this: There is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious.
After reading through the blog for a while and moving on to others, I recalled that line and realized how true and beautifully articulated it is. But I remembered that there was no attribution. Though the author of this blog seems to be very insightful, I couldn't quite conceive that he penned it. So I took to the search engine. I was and was not surprised to learn that this was written by C. S. Lewis. What did indeed throw me off was that I've read it. In The Last Battle in The Chronicles of Narnia.
It took a lot of frustrating searching and skimming, but I finally found the context of it, which I felt was necessary for my own benefit. I learned a lesson through this process: It is very helpful for people looking for the origin of a quote to not only name the work from which it came, but also to guide, at least loosely, them to the location. So for anyone looking for the place where this quote can be found through a search engine, as I just did for far too long, and having stumbled upon this page:
Okay, I just felt like I owed that to the internet.
I find myself in the midst of a terrible mess. In the wake of the first three weeks of school and being sick, this place has collapsed in on itself. Or something like that. So much laundry needs to be done. So many dishes need to be done. (I need someone to train my incompetent self in the skills of dishwasher-using. Sad, I know.) I haven't straightened the couch up since Dale left last Saturday. And books. Sweet mother at the books. Strung from one end to the other. It's driving me insane, but all I really want to do is sleep. Yes, yes. I know this sounds much like the symptoms of depression. I don't think that's it. Though I am not sure what it is. Laziness, maybe? But I feel that it's possible that I am on the cusp of a cleaning spree. Might I add that the word cusp disgusts me?
So, uh, I have a new guitar. Yeah, I know. A friend of my cousin's was selling it for $50, and my cousin thought I might want it so she told my Mom. Well, they bought it sight-unseen. I don't need it, but hey, it won't hurt to have another, right? It's an acoustic Yamaha. That's all I know. Oh, and it came with the case. Mom has it at home. I guess I'll eventually get it. But right now, what I need is a tuner.
Um. Yeah. I'm out of boring things to talk about. How's that for the bottom of the barrel?
After reading through the blog for a while and moving on to others, I recalled that line and realized how true and beautifully articulated it is. But I remembered that there was no attribution. Though the author of this blog seems to be very insightful, I couldn't quite conceive that he penned it. So I took to the search engine. I was and was not surprised to learn that this was written by C. S. Lewis. What did indeed throw me off was that I've read it. In The Last Battle in The Chronicles of Narnia.
It took a lot of frustrating searching and skimming, but I finally found the context of it, which I felt was necessary for my own benefit. I learned a lesson through this process: It is very helpful for people looking for the origin of a quote to not only name the work from which it came, but also to guide, at least loosely, them to the location. So for anyone looking for the place where this quote can be found through a search engine, as I just did for far too long, and having stumbled upon this page:
"[T]here is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious."
C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle, near the end of "Further Up and Further In"
Okay, I just felt like I owed that to the internet.
I find myself in the midst of a terrible mess. In the wake of the first three weeks of school and being sick, this place has collapsed in on itself. Or something like that. So much laundry needs to be done. So many dishes need to be done. (I need someone to train my incompetent self in the skills of dishwasher-using. Sad, I know.) I haven't straightened the couch up since Dale left last Saturday. And books. Sweet mother at the books. Strung from one end to the other. It's driving me insane, but all I really want to do is sleep. Yes, yes. I know this sounds much like the symptoms of depression. I don't think that's it. Though I am not sure what it is. Laziness, maybe? But I feel that it's possible that I am on the cusp of a cleaning spree. Might I add that the word cusp disgusts me?
So, uh, I have a new guitar. Yeah, I know. A friend of my cousin's was selling it for $50, and my cousin thought I might want it so she told my Mom. Well, they bought it sight-unseen. I don't need it, but hey, it won't hurt to have another, right? It's an acoustic Yamaha. That's all I know. Oh, and it came with the case. Mom has it at home. I guess I'll eventually get it. But right now, what I need is a tuner.
Um. Yeah. I'm out of boring things to talk about. How's that for the bottom of the barrel?
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