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.