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.