To Be Surprised

It occurred to me that it is close to Thanksgiving. Well, despite the forged time/date stamp on this entry, it is now Thanksgiving Day. What would be more appropriate than to list off things that I'm thankful for?

God
Family
Friends
Shelter
Food
Blah
Blah
Blah

Doesn't really make for an interesting entry? Okay. I guess I'll dig a little deeper (despite the fact that I could easily fall asleep with my hands on this keyboard). Perhaps I shouldn't be lying down while writing this...

I'm going to elaborate on something I'm thankful for that's not on the list. I suppose it would be a subheading under "God" and "Friends." It's something God's changed about me that I really appreciate. I never thought I'd say that. I never thought it would change, and I never thought that I'd appreciate this particular change...but life surprises me sometimes.

I'm thankful that I've learned to be more open. Not only to be more open, but to be okay with being more open, and to see the value in being more open. I'd say it's something that changed over the course of the last year, and maybe it started over a year ago when I came to Grove City.

Now, being more open doesn't mean I go telling strangers my life story. Nor does it mean I go around telling acquaintances my life story. In fact, overall I'd say people would still consider me to be a reserved person when it comes to my thoughts and feelings. And, I suppose, compared to others, I am more reserved. It's all relative. I'm okay with that. I'm fine being reserved.

What's not okay is being shut off.
Being unwilling to open up to anyone.
Being so untrusting of every other human in the world that I refused to let them in.
Being so afraid of being misunderstood that I didn't give anyone the chance to understand.

And that's the root of why it's a problem, really. I know I've written before about how I long to be understood (I think the title of the post was "Friendship"). That, I think, is what most humans seek in their relationships--to be understood and to understand others. Up until this past year, I think I had developed a very good understanding of other people. I spent so much time observing and listening and absorbing that I'm fairly good at reading people, at understanding people, at "getting" people. That's a good skill to have, and I don't think it's bad at all. The problem, of course, is that I felt hopeless that anyone else could possibly understand me(...which proooobably sounds arrogant, but it's what I thought, so I don't care).

It occurs to me now (hindsight 20/20) that the reason people didn't understand me was because I refused to let them in. I refused to tell them what I really thought, what I really felt. Obviously when you let people know those things, you're opening yourself up to the chance of rejection and hurt. However, you're also opening yourself up to the chance of close friendship and bonding. That's not to say that I didn't have close friendships before college...just that they took a lot longer to build.

I can now honestly say that there are a handful of people who understand me. Who really understand me. And there are another handful who are on their way :)

I love them all. I do. Whether we're really close at the moment or not, I will always be thankful to have met them and to have been understood.

Like I said, I'm surprised. I would not have believed you if you told me a year and a half ago that I'd be such an open person (in my eyes).

That's something I've come to understand about life, too. No matter how much I may want to figure out my future, no matter how much I want to analyze my life and where it's been, no matter how much I plan for where things will be a year from now...the only thing I know is that I'll probably be surprised.

I'm not gonna state

Obvious observations everybody makes

But, baby, be prepared to be surprised

Better be prepared to be surprised

Baby, be prepared to be surprised

The Fight

I don't tend to think of myself as a violent person. I mean, I'm quite sure that few people would consider me docile. When I think about it, though, there are plenty of other people out there who are much, much more inclined to promote violence than I am. That said, I find the idea of hitting people very appealing sometimes. Not necessarily people I'm mad at either. Perhaps that's why I enjoy rugby so much. You might ask what has brought these thoughts to my mind.

Well, it all stems from a conversation that took place on the second floor of the Breen earlier this evening. The seating arrangements and surroundings are somewhat important to the story, so I will explain them as best I can...

Nate, Lisa, Katy and I were sitting at a normal-sized rectangular table up on the Student Life and Learning side. Our computers were all out. Other various books and papers were out on the table as well. Katy and I were sitting across from each other, against the railing (about 4 feet high). Next to Katy sat Nate and across from him, Lisa. Each of us was in a normal sitting position with our legs underneath the table. Can you picture it? I hope so.

I honestly cannot remember the particulars of how the question came about, but it came about nonetheless.

All personal feelings aside, if Lisa, Katy and I had to throw Nate over the railing and off of the second floor, could we? We would be allowed and willing to hurt each other, kill each other, etc. We would start from our current positions at the table. Nate's only goal is to keep from being thrown, and our only goal is to get him over the railing.

This question caused quite a stir at the table. Of course, we all came to quite different conclusions. Everyone seemed to think that their "side" would be victorious. Nate claimed that he could easily knock us out one by one. We claimed that we could easily overtake him, knock him unconscious and then lift his limp body over the railing.

His first move would be to grab Katy's head with his hands and slam it, full force against the corner of the wood pillar just behind her, thereby killing her or at the very least knocking her unconscious. Either way, that move would undoubtedly take her out of the picture. All four of us conceded that this was a likely first move, and would probably be feasible considering Katy's size and strength and the position of her body at the time. [As a side note, Nate claimed that had Lisa or I been sitting there, the move wouldn't have worked because...let's see, he said it so eloquently...we're "more massive."]

Once we've reached the point where Katy's been killed/maimed, we found ourselves in disagreement. You see, the amount of time it would take for him to kill Katy would give Lisa and I time to get our of our chairs and around the table to begin our assault on Nate. At this point, the scenario was changed a bit. Nate asked:

Okay, so what if there were no tables or anything and it was just you and Lisa standing about 4 feet away from me? Then do you actually think you could get me over the edge?

Yes. Yes, I believe we could.

Now keep in mind, up to this point, you've got a table of four people who have been discussing with increasing intensity and volume about bashing each others' heads into walls, killing each other, and ultimately throwing each other off of balconies. The one guy at the table has put his hands on the head of the girl next to him multiple times and slowly simulated pounding her head to a pulp.

Now realize that there is a boy sitting at the table behind us, facing us, without headphones in. He hasn't made a stir yet, and we still don't notice that he's there.

Nate, after posing this new question, suggests that his first move would be to kill me swiftly with one blow to my head with his elbow. He seemed to think that if we were both standing, his elbow would be right around the height of my temple. Of course, this isn't true and I had to prove it, so I had Nate get up out of his chair and I went to stand with him. And there we are, facing each other discussing the ways in which we would begin attacking. For example, I would tackle him, rugby-style to the ground and then Lisa could come over and begin jumping up and down on his head thereby rendering him unconscious. And at this point, I began to show Nate exactly what I meant by a rugby-style tackle.

Apparently this demonstration was a bit too much for the boy who had been creepily (and probably frightfully) observing our interactions. We explained ourselves, he agree that the girls would win and we decided that it would be best to sit down.

We continued discussing this matter for some time and realized that we would never be able to figure out for sure what the outcome would be. All of this discussion made me think, though. It made me introspective and I came to this somewhat frightening conclusion: I would like the chance to beat someone up. Even just getting one good, solid punch at someones face would be so satisfying. I would love it if there were some way that I could experience that without actually hurting someone.

It frightens me a bit that the idea of beating someone to the ground is so appealing. Lets get something straight--I would NEVER do it. NEVER. But that in and of itself is a strange thought. Most of the people I know will never know what it feels like to punch another person. And I know that that's a positive thing....I don't even know where I'm going with this. Maybe I'm insane. I wonder if anyone else is intrigued by the idea of being put in that ultimate fight, having my own life and the lives of others dependent upon my own ability to use my strength.

Yep. I sound like a nut job. I know. I sound like a violent crazy person, just waiting for someone to anger me so that I can unleash the anger within...but that's not true at all. It's all hypothetical...and will stay that way.

On a completely unrelated note, I love rugby....yeaaaah...completely unrelated.

That Warm, Fuzzy Feeling

The sky is gray. Clouds stretch on for miles and miles. The once lush and lively trees are falling to pieces along the sidewalk, their remaining leaves showing off only muted versions of their once fiery colors. The grass seems to have lost its usual green vibrancy. The air is cold and damp. The wind whips at my face, forcing me to blink excessively. A few short hours of restless sleep, and now I have to head to class. And yet...

I'm excited.

Not sarcastically excited.
Not temporarily excited.
Genuinely excited.

I spend about one sixth of the year living under the influence of this genuine excitement. It's one of the most real, tangible, long-lasting feelings I experience. And it starts on a day like this. The first snow. Some people dread it. Some people like it. Some people are indifferent. But as far as I'm concerned, it's one of the highlights of the year. It doesn't even have to stick. In fact, it usually doesn't. It usually comes on an otherwise miserable day, weather-wise. So why, then, do I experience it with such optimism? Where does that warm, fuzzy feeling come from?

Anticipation. Anticipation of one moment. The moment that I consider to be one of my favorite things. I'll set up the scenario:
On Christmas morning, my siblings and I wake up around 9 or so. We used to all wait at the top of the stairs together, until everyone was ready. Now my big brother lives in the basement, so that's not possible, but we all wait and go into the family room at the same time, regardless. And there our stockings are waiting. We wait for Scott to place all the gifts he clearly wrapped that morning under the tree, and then we all approach the stockings together, opening up various small gifts, candies and usually some flavored hot cocoa. In that moment we're still kids, all of us, from 15-25 years old...but it's not the moment.

After we've gathered all of our goodies back up into the stockings, we take a short break of sorts and head over to the living room. Usually anyone who wants coffee or a cocoa goes into the kitchen and gets a steaming mug. and then we all sit down together. The very second after we sit down the moment happens.

A large bay window looks out into our front yard, hopefully covered in a light layer of white. In front of the window, the Christmas tree is all lit up with colored lights. Our mismatched ornaments litter the tree with a variety of colors, shapes, and pictures chronicling our growth. The moving train ornament that we've enjoyed since childhood creates a small buzz, and it's the only noise in the room. My pajama-clad family surrounds me, smiles on their faces, contentment in their eyes, hot drinks grasped in their hands. I feel loved. I feel at peace. I feel at home.

That is my favorite moment of every Christmas. There are those who would argue that my perception of Christmas is off. They would argue that when people primarily associate Christmas with family togetherness and gathering together on Christmas morning, we're missing the point. They would be wrong. Don't get me wrong, the idea is something I struggle with. The issue of the commercialization of Christmas is something that's been on my mind ever since watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special oh so many years ago. But I'm not talking about the commercialization, I suppose. I'm talking about that warm, fuzzy feeling. That feeling that I consciously trace back to the moment but can actually be traced back even further.

The root of the feeling is Jesus Christ, and ultimately his birth. Without Christ, my life would be meaningless. I firmly believe that He is the reason my family is so close. I believe that He is the source of all love, and as such the source of every comfort and peace I've ever felt in my life. So when I wake up on a day like today and begrudgingly head to class, I can feel a hope that transcends my limited existence here, and that hope can carry me through with a joy and excitement that's like nothing else in this world...and like everything in the next.

One Thing

The question was posed the other night:
"What's one earthly thing you couldn't live without?"

The answer that everyone came to agree upon was human interaction. I agreed. The more I think about it, though, I would take it a step further. I would say friendship. Shallow human interaction is fine, and I might think that that is what keeps me sane, but if all I had was shallow interaction, I would still be at a loss for sanity.

I need depth. I need meaning. I need friendships, not acquaintances.

Having acquaintances is not a bad thing, mind you. I just wouldn't include them in my "one thing" description.

It's interesting (and I've written about this before) how friendship happens, how it sustains itself (or in some cases, doesn't). I don't know where I'm going with this one exactly. I suppose it's enough to say this...

I went to begin writing this entry tonight and could not think of a topic. I tend to write about things that are on my mind or things that are bothering me, but I had none worth writing about. Someone asked me if anything particularly good has happened this week, thinking that could make a good entry. Well, something very good indeed has happened this past week -- I've had friends.

We haven't done anything very out of the ordinary. We haven't had crazy-interesting adventures. I haven't really made new friends. I haven't had an incredibly moving bonding moment with my friends. I've just been with them. And they've been there for me. And it's been great.

Probably my favorite moment of the weekend was one that I'm sure wouldn't make a good story. I won't even be able to capture the exact atmosphere in writing, but I'll give it a go.

A group of us were in our friends' room just being together. It was cold outside, and the slightly opened window let in a light breeze of coolness, but the room itself stayed warm and comfortable. Some were writing. Some were playing guitar. Some were drawing. Some were playing video games. We were all listening to the same music. We would occasionally comment on whatever crossed our minds. We were often silent.

That's it. Simple, I know. Wonderful simplicity.

I'm quite fortunate to have my friends. To those friends reading this, know that I appreciate you. Know that I enjoy your company, whether or not we're actually talking or interacting. I would honestly go insane without you.

"Mind your own business!"

I'm not sure if I have a need to be right...but I certainly enjoy being right. Not necessarily at the expense of harmony or at the expense of other more important things. And perhaps more than I like to be right, I dislike it when people state things with incredibly certainty that I know are wrong.

Some of the time they say it with such certainty because they really believe it to be true. Some of the time they say it with such certainty because they think it might be true, and want to mask their uncertainty with extreme confidence, as if they are daring someone to disagree. Some of the time, they say it just to make people angry.

Now, obviously I can hardly disagree with the occurrence of the first sort. Well, I could, but that would entail requiring two scholarly and one popular source(s) [minimum] to back up each statement coming from people's mouths. Slightly ridiculous.

However, the latter two instances are pet peeves of mine [as a side note, I hate the phrase "pet peeve" and just the word "peeve" in general]. Let's examine some situations in which I've encountered these unpleasantries in the recent past:


The blatant misinforming with confidence is something that occurs frequently in my father's company. Usually in the form of mispronunciation. Annoying, but not as much as this....


Scene: A hypothetical group of students are sitting in Ket rec watching the ALCS game 7. It is currently a commercial. I am in the front row of viewers and the following conversation is hypothetically taking place behind me between two guys I don't know, who hopefully don't read my blog...I will refer to them as "1" and "2."

1: I saw the rugby world cup last weekend on TV.
2: Oh, really? That's cool.
1: *rambles on about how cool rugby is, then...* It's like a combination of soccer (he may have said football), hockey and lacrosse.
Well, sort of. maybe. I guess it's like hockey. Because both sports have players. And in both sports people get shoved around. And rugby players have sticks and glide around on ice....oh wait! That's not true at all.
2: Wow! Seriously?
No.
1: *Sounding increasingly knowledgeable on the topic*yeah...it's pretty intense. They kick the ball, and throw i--
2:*interrupting* yeah, but they can only throw backwards?
1: Well you're not allowed to throw forward. You only throw backward. But it's crazy. Not only can you run the ball in, but at any point in the game you can kick the ball through the goal posts and score a field goal.
First of all, your friend just said that they only throw backwards, which is the same as never throwing forward. Second of all, how is this idea of kicking the ball through posts a new concept? "at any point in the game" Yes. At any point where you're actually close enough to actually make the kick.
2: Is there one player who is in charge of kicking?
1: yeah, yeah...there's one position who just kicks the ball every time...it's..uh...it's called the fly-half. Yeah *fully confident, now* the fly-half.
First of all, multiple people kick the ball throughout the game. In fact, any player could kick the ball. I'll give him credit for the fact that "flyhalf" is an actual position. But they aren't even necessarily the person who ends up kicking the ball the most...

It is in times like these where I desperately want to break past the barriers of politeness. I want to chime in with my five cents...or maybe my twenty cents. I want to tell them all of the ways in which they are wrong. But there's no reason to do so. I know that. I know that telling them the rules of rugby would be rude and probably induce swearing. That's why I didn't do it. I resist this temptation a lot.

Just sitting in the SAC, overhearing pieces of conversations that are taking place around me, I hear more and more people discussing things, missing important details. Missing my opinion. Ha. I sound so arrogant. Whatever. I don't actually think that they would benefit from my input. I guess the point of this post is just to say that there are many times that I wish I could say things that would very rightly warrant a "Mind your own business, *#$(%&!"

But I don't. My life is full of small victories.

Motivation

It's remarkable that I'm actually in a good mood right now. I know that I have a horrible night ahead of me. I know that by morning I will be miserable. The beauty of this knowledge is that with it I can realize that taking the time to meet my blog quota for the week is well worth it. Don't spend too much time trying to figure out why that makes writing worth it. It's a concept that's probably well beyond the mental capacity of a normal human being. Trust me.

I suppose there's nothing left to do but plow forward fearlessly into it...

Even as I typed that, I supposed that some grand idea would pop into my head. But it hasn't come. Some days, I could write for hours on a million topics. I could ramble. I could profess. I could defend. I could reveal. Today is not one of those days.

It's just not worth writing without the motivation for it. I need passion behind my writing. I need to feel what I'm writing, not just think it, and though I may be able to call upon thoughts at a time of need, feelings are a much more fickle friend.

Motivation is a battle for the heart, not just an appeal to the mind.

Patrick Dixon

Whenever I write something of any consequence (which refers to anything written of my own free will, i.e. not for class), I reread it later. It's inevitable. I love to read what I've written. I'm not sure how I come off saying that, but I don't care. My writing comes out so close to my actual thoughts that when I reread a progression of thought in written word, I'm transferred back to that moment. That rush of feeling. That point of time in my life. The accuracy of this emotional transfer can be dangerous. It can make me relive some things I never want to remember. But it can also transport me to times that were so wonderful I thought them indescribable. And maybe I don't experience them again in their fullness, but I certainly feel the echo. The beauty of a moment is not entirely lost when I capture it in writing.

And that, as much as anything else, is why I write. I hope against hope that someone else might read my thoughts and feel the echo, too. Not as clear as my own echo (for no one understands me as well as I understand myself), but still clear enough to affect their emotions. To influence the emotions of others, not the thoughts of others, is my goal. I don't want to convince the world that what I think is correct. I want to move the world to feel what I feel, and I want to hear what they think about that feeling.

Assumptions and Intentions

It has come to my attention lately that assumptions and intentions are two things that have a huge impact on our relationships...in opposite ways.

People are unwilling to put themselves out there. We are unwilling to let ourselves be vulnerable. The Latin word vulnus means wound. Able to be wounded. Weak. And yet it is this act of appearing vulnerable that brings people together. Often people who undergo similar traumatic experiences unite and bond over that experience (knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll, for instance).

What am I getting at? You can't really be friends with people, real friends, without being willing to put yourself out there. To trust that they won't wound you...or at least be willing to take the chance that they might. This is a very uncomfortable idea, I know. And the result is that we actively seek out ways to avoid being vulnerable. We make assumptions about the way people are thinking or feeling so that we don't have to ask them. We make assumptions about the reasons people act the way they do.

Many times we know these assumptions are potentially incorrect, but they keep us from potential pain, so we continue to make them. And then because we fail to communicate, others are forced to make assumptions about us. The cycle continues on and on and on until there's nothing left but a mess of assumptions and miscommunication.

But fear not! I've also discovered the remedy...though I don't claim to always put it into practice.

The remedy I speak of is the act of being intentional. Intentional in your thoughts. Intentional in your actions. Intentional in your words. Intentional in your relationships.

If you are always being intentional with what you say, then you can never really unintentionally hurt someone. The same principle goes for most aspects of your life and actions. If your friend takes the time to write you an encouraging note or email, or calls you to see how you're doing, you can't very well assume that they don't care about you (or at least it's a lot harder to). If you intentionally communicate with your friends about how you're feeling, about how much they mean to you, about what you're thinking, then they can't assume incorrect information.

It's such a hard thing to do, to be constantly intentional. But the more we do it, the easier it gets. I'm a culprit. I get caught up in selfish motives. Caught up in a self-defense mechanism of withholding my intentions, waiting for other people to put themselves out there first...but someone has to take the first step. It might as well be me.

Narnia

Disclaimer: This post sort of jumps around, because I wrote it in a rather stream-of-consciousness manner.

Sometimes I just want to escape the reality I'm in.

I don't mean this to be depressing. I just...feel a bit out of place.

The feeling is always subtle enough that I know it's not something that's meant to be changed, really. It's not some way I'm acting that makes things uncomfortable. It's not necessarily my environment. It's not what I'm doing. It's not what I'm thinking. It just is. Maybe it's where my focus is at. But, really, I don't think it can be pegged to one thing exactly.

Ha. I don't even know why I'm tying to explain this feeling in a blog, because I know it to be indescribable by nature. The most I can say about it is that in those moments of displacement, I want to be in Narnia.

I love Narnia. I love how everything there is good or bad. I love how bright and beautiful everything is. I know, I know. I sound crazy. It's an imaginary country described in books. It's just that everyone in Narnia is so excited about what they're doing. They are purposeful...and when they aren't, they're content. I imagine that the countryside is gorgeous and I could just spend a whole afternoon lying on the side of a hill staring off into the landscape, finding animals in cloud formations.

I suppose that if I were in Narnia itself I would just long to be in Aslan's country instead.

"Oh, Aslan," said Lucy. "Will you tell us how to get into your country from our world?" — "I shall be telling you all the time," said Aslan. "But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder."

I'm content right now. Don't get me wrong. I'm blessed to be where I am, doing what I'm doing. I know that. It doesn't mean that I can't long for that more complete peace, long to be fully content and not merely complacent.

And it comes down to the same thing every time. Honestly. Every time I come to this screen and write and think and ponder and examine myself and my desires, I realize again that what I need is right in front of me. If I would just make that full and complete effort to seek out Christ in all I do, I'd be fully and completely content. The question I should be asking is what's stopping me? And then I realize that I know that too -- my own sin.

It's as simple as that. Except that that is anything but simple. Caught in a constant state of trying to break free. So I just keep singing to myself "It is well with my soul." And one day, it will be. The day I break free into the "new Narnia" where everything is brighter and better and...perfect.

"Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away amoung the mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the glass there may have been a looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different — deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked like it meant more. I can't describe it any better than that: if you ever get there you will know what I mean. It was the unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed, and then cried: "I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here."

I think that The Chronicles of Narnia is a brilliant work of literature. Few other pieces of fiction bring me such a feeling of peace, such a depth of understanding. Maybe they are for children, but if that's the case then I knowingly choose to be childish.

Perceptions

I like to think of myself as a warm person. I used to think that I come off as a warm person. Fairly outgoing, or at least friendly. Now, I'm not so sure.

I'm not a person who is naturally cheerful and gregarious and so on. I can make an effort to be these things. I often do...but when I find no reason to be particuarly charismatic, I just don't. I feel like my non-charismatic self can be seem as somewhat cold. Withdrawn. It's not true, though. I care about things, even though my expression and body language might not indicate it. When I first get thrown into a group of strangers (or a group of people including people I don't know very well), I have two different options:

1) Act outgoing, friendly and energetic.
2) Sit back, be quiet, observe.

Which of these two options I act on can depend on a variety of things. For one, my mood. If I'm in a bad mood, I will generally opt for number 2. If I don't feel like making idle chat with other people, I'm exceptionally good at making that clear. Non-verbal signals are very effective in such situations.

If I'm having a great day, I am much more likely to opt for number 1. When I am inclined to have some human interaction, I'll begin chat with aquaintances about the weather, a sarcastic comment or something similar. Usually with the purpose of amusing them or making them smile. Often it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Hopefully my mood is high enough that it won't really matter.

Another distinction that factors into my choice of action is whether I see my interaction leading to a deeper friendship, or if I expect to never see them again, or perhaps only see them in a specific, controlled environment (such as French class).

So many different distinctions could be made, but I'll stop analyzing my decisions for a moment to touch upon a slightly different aspect of this topic...

Often when I'm uncomfortable around people, or feel the need to make some small contribution to keep from being the antisocial one in the corner, I resort to sarcasm. It's funny. To me, at least. But it has occurred to me recently, that when I use sarcasm, I can come off as kind of a jerk.

I am honestly not sure how I feel about this revelation. A part of me doesn't care. A part of me wonders if there are people walking around this campus thinking that I'm a jerk because they don't get sarcasm...or because they think I'm unfeeling. Maybe sometimes I am unsensitive...but I feel like I'm sensitive to people's feelings when it really matters.

I have not come to any conclusion, so don't expect one. In fact, I think I'm going to end this here and move on to bigger and better things.

Hypocrisy?

Sometimes in life, I wish that people would say exactly what they are thinking, that people would stop trying to hide behind rhetoric, behind caution, behind others. I wish that they would tell me what's going on from their point of view so that I wouldn't have to spend so much time guessing.

It might sound a bit ridiculous. No. Scratch that. It does.

The truth of the matter is that some things are better left unsaid, I suppose. Still, the idea of a truth serum is incredibly appealing. If I could ask anyone any question and receive a complete and honest answer, it would be a miracle. I'm really not sure what I'd spend my time doing. My brain would probably collapse in on itself from boredom, no longer toiling away at uncovering the hidden messages in the actions, words and tones of others.

There is something that I find even more frustrating than having to piece together random flashes of time and form some idea of what another person is thinking or feeling -- it is when someone is so obviously thinking or feeling something, but they simply refuse to admit it, to say anything. People are so intent upon keeping up some facade that everyone can see past. It drives me nuts. Pretending. Why? Because they think it will keep things from getting messy. Because it's easier to just imply things than be blunt or bold. Because we are so intent upon giving people what we think they want to hear.

And the best part -- I do this all the time. So....good. I'm a hypocrite.

I'd better rest my eyes

'Cause I'm growing weary of

This point you've been trying to make

So rather than imply

Why don't you just verbalize

All the things that you're trying to say

Why don't you

Come right out and say it?

Even if the words are probably gonna hurt

I'd rather have the truth

Than something insincere

Why don't you

Come right out and say

What it is you're thinking

Though I'm thinking it's not what I wanna hear

I may go into this topic more later, but my thoughts are incredibly jumbled -- much like this entry.

"Calm Down"

Yes. I've hit "that point."

The point where I want to write a blog entry, but I have no idea what I want to write it about. I hate that point. But here I am. I suppose I'll just let my thoughts flow out onto the screen as they will...but I give you no guarantee that they will be coherent or fluid or interesting at all.

It's always been one of my pet peeves having someone else tell me how I'm feeling. I'll try to give a sort of example to illustrate what I mean.

I'm a passionate person. Some people mistake this "passion" for anger. In other words, when I'm discussing something passionately, they assume that I'm upset. And upon deciding that I'm upset, they feel the need to tell me to "calm down." Along with the fact that I dislike when people tell me to "calm down" when I'm actually upset, I despise when people tell me to "calm down" when I'm simply being passionate. Then I try my hardest to inform them that I am not, in fact, upset. The problem is that by this point, they've presumed to know more about my own emotions than I do, which makes me upset. It's a vicious cycle. And, even if I managed to deny the fact that I'm upset in a very calm way, they often continue on..."Yes, you are."

Excuse me? I've just told you that I'm not upset. It's not as though determining my emotions is some fun guessing game in which I'm trying to deceive those around me. To have someone tell you that they know you better than you know yourself is slightly, if not entirely, condescending.

If I tell you I'm feeling a certain way, that's how you need to assume I feel. It could be that I'm not telling you the whole truth, or that I'm disguising my feelings for a good reason, but that's very rarely the case with my close friends. If you can't trust my own opinion of how I'm feeling, then maybe I don't trust you enough to share them. If you do trust me, you'll just accept what I say...and accept that I'll tell you my full meaning when I feel comfortable. I don't set out to hide things.

This rant isn't really meant to frighten anyone from ever asking me how I feel or tell me I'm looking a little out of it. It's sort of a releasing of frustrations built up over years of people "calming me down."

Ha. This is what I meant when I said I might come off as a mean person.

Friendship

I have to admit that trying to define "friendship" is not something that plagues my thoughts. I don't usually think about it. In fact, any dictionary definition of the word would probably seem too cold for me to use. Something I have thought about, though, is why I'm friends with the people I'm friends with.

What drew us together? Why do we remain friends? Why do friendships change? Where is the line between friends and acquaintances?

The constant switching of environments and groups of people that has happened in my life over the past six months has caused me to ponder these things. Now, if I wanted to simply answer my own question and get over it, I would just say "God has placed these people in my life..." and so on and so forth. That's a perfectly fine answer, but it neither satisfies my curiosity nor makes a good blog.

The other day I was looking up C. S. Lewis quotes, because he is the man. As I glanced down the page I came across this one...and it spoke to me.

Friendship arises out of mere companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, "What? You too? I thought I was the only one."

Friends are the ones who make us realize we're not alone in the world. Levels of friendship increase the more common bonds, experiences, thoughts, feelings you share...as soon as someone understands you in a way that you thought noone could it either creates a friendship or reaffirms one you have. Now, whether that never goes beyond a polite friendship, or you become best friends forever, or are close for only a short period of time...it has significance.

Ever since I first watched Anne of Green Gables I've been on a neverending search to seek out "kindred spirits" in the world. And as I sit here typing this, I realize that I've been blessed to find so many...some in the unlikliest of places.

To be understood is a wonderful thing.

I really don't think I've answered even half of the questions I posed in this blog. That's fairly common, though. I usually have more questions than answers...and that's okay. It's how the world is supposed to be, I think.

Regret

This summer during one of the days at camp, we had some down time and we were just sort of sitting around talking and someone came up with a conversation topic: "What is the most pain you've ever been in?"

There were various answers to the question, involving broken bones, pierced skin, and my own answer -- a kidney infection. Now, I think that the question was expecting responses similar to these...full of physical pain, blood, guts. But now that the summer is over, I've come to realize that there is much worse pain than any kind of physical ailment that might befall me.

Regret.

It's honestly the most painful feeling I've ever experienced. It's just one of those feelings that's impossible to describe, too. I'm sure that anyone reading this has had the feeling at some point in their lives, though maybe not to an incredibly painful level.

God grants me forgiveness the moment I repent and ask for it. The very moment my soul seeks His forgiveness, the sin is erased in His eyes. Instantaneous. No questions asked. Amazing.

Seeking the forgiveness of those you've wronged can be humbling (and should be). It can be difficult. It can be hard. But I'm not sure I've ever asked for forgiveness from someone else and had them reject my apology.

The single hardest person to get forgiveness from is myself. That's what regret is at its most severe -- an unwillingness to forgive one's self. It's something I've been struggling with quite a bit over the past week or so. The details don't really matter. The question I have is that if the creator of the universe will forgive me and see me as holy and blameless, then why should I have such a difficult time forgiving myself?

As I was struggling with this very question, a hymn popped into my head. When I was alone I would hum or sing it to myself. In those moments when I was going through it over and over and over, I felt a peace fall over me. Then, this past Sunday while visiting a new church with some friends, I was sitting there during the service and the next thing I know, we're beginning to sing the very song I'd been repeating in my head for the past few days.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet,

though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!

My sin, not in part but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;

The trump shall resound,

and the Lord shall descend,

Even so, it is well with my soul.

I really can't say it any better than that.

Occupation

Summer's end is near, and it's time for reflection, yes...but it's also time for dreaming of what is to come. Perhaps that's why I've been so caught up with expectations in my head--because the inevitable result of seeing where you've been is wondering where you'll be a year, two years, ten years from now. This is particularly true in my own life, because I'm an idealist.

I look to the future. I have expectations. I have dreams. I have wants, needs and...I have an idea of where I want to go and what I want to do.

The most asked question this summer: "So...you're a communication major...what exactly are you planning on doing with that?"

My response: "So...you have a boring job...what exactly are you planning on doing with that?"

[hint: you can substitute any number of things into that question. Whatever applies in the given situation, but as long as you parallel theirs, it should come of as at least mildly witty]

Except that I never actually say that. Unfortunately, I'm a polite person most of the time. And most of these people asking me are really just curious, or don't know me well enough to have a meaningful conversation with me...so to respond with such an angry reply (haha, "angry comedy") would be...less than gracious.

My actual response: "I don't know. I'm not worried about it."

This is an honest answer. I don't know what I'm going to do with my degree in Communication Studies. Note that all of this is seemingly in contrast to the statement I made earlier : "I have an idea of where I want to go and what I want to do."

I know what I want to do with my life, but unfortunately, there's no real category I can name, no "occupation" that I could list, that will be able to describe it quite as eloquently as my own imagination. Not to mention the idea of making a living off of what I want to do is possibly impossible.

I'd like to help people.
reader: "really? It's my goal in life to hurt as many people as possible."

I don't have many aspirations...except that I want to save the world.
reader: "yeeeeah...that's gonna happen."

But I'd like to save it one person at a time.
reader: "Good. Even more realistic."

If I could be paid to do anything I wanted, I'd be paid to help other people reach their goals.
reader: "Uh-huh.........what?"

I know so many people who know exactly what they want to do with their lives. They know where their gifts are. They know...what their goals are. I'm not gonna lie, some of them are lofty goals. Some of them seem to be out on the edge of reality, just on the farthest tip of the reachable, just within their grasp. What an incredible journey they have ahead of them.

I know other people who have no clue what to do with their lives. I know people who are wasting all of the amazing gifts that God's given them. I know people who are using many of their gifts, but just don't see for themselves the one gift that could make all the difference. I know people who are missing the one thing in their lives that could save them for an eternity.

I want to help people reach those barely reachable goals. I want to make people's dreams come true. I want to find ways to push others to their utmost potential. I want to dig where other people are too scared to dig, to change what other people are too worried to change, to make a difference.

I want to be inspiring.

(And in my free time, I'd like to be paid to write down my thoughts. Ha.)

Who am I to say that I know what's best for these people? Why should I consider myself able to help people reach those goals? Shouldn't people be able to help themselves? What about people that don't want help?

It's a dream. Not a reality...but I refuse to dream and sit idly by while others reach for the stars.

I have a feeling that my actual career when I grow up will involve helping others (at least, I hope so...), but this desire in me to change the world...well, to change the people of the world...I think it will have to become a part of who I am, not a just part of what my job is.

Everyone wants to make a difference...and I want to help "everyone" do it.

How's that for an occupation?

Starin' down the stars
Jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly
But you're stayin' where you are
There's nothin' you can do
If you're too scared to try

Expectation

It's a dangerous word. It really is. I consider it to be my downfall.

And what's worse- it's inescapable. I'm not sure how much control we have over our own expectations, but I do know that we have no control over whether or not we have them. Some people claim to have "zero expectations." They may not realize it, but they are liars.

When you open your eyes, you expect to see. When you reach out and touch something, you expect to feel it. When you drive down the street, you expect to make it to your final destination without crashing. The truth of the matter is that you may not see, you may not feel, you may crash. Does that mean you shouldn't expect any of these things? Absolutely not. But where do you draw the line?

Perhaps if we break our expectations into categories (which we often do subconsciously) it will help us to assess the situation more clearly.

[R]ealistic Expectations versus [U]nrealistic Expectations

• When I wake up tomorrow, I will go downstairs and there will be something in the kitchen that I can eat for breakfast. [R]
• When I wake up tomorrow, the door will open and my mother will walk in with a tray of my favorite breakfast foods prepared especially for me and serve me breakfast in bed. [U]
• Before I leave for school on the 24th, I will have all of my things packed. [R]
• I will have all of my things packed at 9 p.m. on the night before I leave for school so that I might ensure that I get a full night's rest. [U]
• I will enjoy some of my classes some of the time. Others I may not enjoy at all. [R]
• I will love all of my classes, because I picked them and I heard good things about the professors. [U]
• Upon my return to Grove City, I will be reunited with friends, be on the same campus, etc, but things will be very different from last year's experience. [R]
• Upon my return to Grove City, everything I enjoyed about last year will be exactly as I remember it, and all of the downsides will be non-existent. [U]

Now. My mother could potentially burst into my room at 10 a.m. tomorrow with a tray of breakfast foods. I could end up packing ahead of time. I could end up adoring every class. My experience this year could be near perfect. But if I were a gambler, I'd stake thousands and thousands of dollars on none of that coming true.

However, the set of realistic expectations is much more vague than those that are unrealistic. And I have an overactive imagination. Despite the fact that my rational side would argue that I should accept the reality and think no more on the subject, in some cases, my brain simply won't allow it. At the same time, I know that to hope for those unrealistic expectations would just be setting myself up for failure. Failure isn't very appealing. So where does my mind go? Pessimism.

• I will be woken up early (undoubtedly by the piano being played, or the dog barking, or a neighbor's lawn mower). I will have a headache. I will trudge downstairs only to find that we're out of milk, eggs and bread. [U]
• I will be so behind in packing, that I'll rush and forget everything I meant to bring, including my contacts, glasses and all of my pants. [U]
• I will absolutely despise every class I have and fail them all. [U]
• I will return to school to find that every friend I thought I had hates me, and I hate being at college. [U]

The conclusion I've come to is that unrealistic expectations can, themselves, be divided into two different categories -- Optimism and Pessimism.

The question I have is this: Which is better?

If you're optimistic, you will have a more positive attitude. You will be encouraging to others. You will sometimes have your expectations be met, and will use that affirmation to fuel the belief in further positive (potentially unrealistic) expectations. Often your expectations will not be met, but you won't let that get you down...until it happens one too many times and you see your bubble of hope disintegrate before your eyes.

If you're pessimistic, you will have a more negative attitude. You may be called a "downer" if you express your expectations aloud. Your expectations will sometimes be met, and you will use those unpleasant outcomes to fuel your belief in further negative (potentially unrealistic) expectations. Most of the time your expectations will be surpassed, and most of the time you'll enjoy it, but continue to expect the worst...until the world hands you too many happy endings and you begin to expect a bit more.

These are extremes. More than personality types, I believe that they are attitudes. I struggle between which is better -- to feel good now and be disappointed later, or to expect less and be pleasantly surprised.

Too often I expect too much from the world. I expect too much from myself. And worst of all, I expect too much from other people.

Too often I express too much doubt. I'm too hard on myself. And worst of all, I don't trust other people.

It's a fine wire to walk. Dangerous. And after all of this contemplation and self-analysis, what end have I come to? What great truth about life have I uncovered? That I need to listen to myself much less, and God much more.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matthew 6:34

Introspection

"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what
I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear."
- Joan Didion

I'm writing for me.

I like to think. I like to write down the thoughts I have. As I write, I develop those thoughts even more. I like to think that at some point in my life, someone else will benefit from reading some of my thoughts...and I figure that the more I write, the more likely that aspiration will come true.

So. I will update this blog at least once a week. I will not be writing about my daily activities. I will not promise that it will always be thrilling to read. I will not necessarily come off as a nice person. I will not care.

Even as I write this post, I know that very few people will actually be reading it...and that's okay with me. Even this first post is written for my own benefit. I like structure, so just jumping into normal posting with no precursor would be bothersome.

If you choose to brave further posts, enjoy!