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.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
"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.
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.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
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