Maybe part of the problem is that I am producing, not creating. Nine hours a day, four days a week, seemingly lost to the fornever.
I dream to dream, but only scream in my head with balled fists, standing by the window watching the wind blow.
I say to her, "Haha, no, how silly," forcing the side of my mouth to rise in faux amusement, dead eyes betraying me. Turning back to my desk, the swear words silent and fiery.
I listen and feel the worlds and the heroes and the lessons, but never see my own. I keep telling myself they will show when the time is right and then I can leave. They are still unseen.
I learn that these things will not change. That this is simply my life. The ebb and flow of someone who will always be fine and never be well.
- - -
Sometimes, like in this moment, I fall into a sense of overwhelmedness by the simple creativity I see in others, usually from the Interwebs, sometimes in an Instagram caption, other times by a walk down a city street. Somewhere, somehow I began longing to be a part of this crowd. But just as easily I find myself longing to be part of the ambitious crowd, or the leadership crowd, or the healthy crowd. Pulled in different directions, never settling into myself. Hurting. And going back for more until I know I will never be the one to overwhelm another.
This is what it's like. Will you know it any other way someday?
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Some thoughts on Noah the film
Watched Noah today and felt like putting some thoughts down, mostly for my own sake. I'll try to avoid spoilers, but we better all know the story...
For the grand scenery shots the setting was Iceland, so it was amazegorgeous. The actors were above-par and I felt did very well. I think the scripting, too, was enough, though I imagine the writers could've done a lot more in the way of philosophical side comments or advice. I'm glad they held back though, frankly. In essence, I think this story was told from a very human perspective and expressed in a way such as to display the humanity in the story—the parts you and I can relate with. (Which didn't come as a surprise, I guess.)
God was called simply Creator and was credited with creation and as a kind of good-impulse-giver, I suppose. They acknowledged Him enough to paint Him as someone the whole earth knew about, but whom most had dismissed entirely, usually in such a way as to become vengeful toward Him, at least passive-aggressively. And the rest, i.e., Noah, looked to Him as someone who deserved respect and an attendance in time of need or decision. But there were no over-zealous pious priests with face paint, no hyper-critical God-fearers preaching and condemning, no more-righteous-than-thous—and I liked that because it seems righter than always being right. But the way the film portrays Noah and his family makes it seem like they were simply following orders and nothing else. There was no room for mercy of any kind. No one else offered salvation on the ark. (But is that even Biblical, as it were?) No righteous, no blessed, just some that were found innocent enough to not be destroyed in the deluge. And then there really wasn't much at all in the way of praise or gratitude or worship, just a kind of somber resignation to die later instead of now. And so I found myself wishing the Creator had come out more of a winner; though, again, now that I'm thinking about it did He really win anything in that tragedy? I guess not.
I read the non-spoiler first-half of a review by Orson Scott Card (a favorite author of mine...) and he talks a bit about what I'll call the fleshiness of Noah's character—how Noah (actually, I guess Card was talking about Russell Crowe really, but I think it applies to both) was fit for the heroic moment but also man (human) enough to really struggle with certain decisions he had to make and that the struggle was believable. I agreed as I watched the film. Noah (Crowe...) was someone worth following, but also someone available enough to disagree with. [possibly some spoilerish material following...] And what Aronofsky's Noah ends up being is a man who respects the Creator enough to try and verify a vague message about the world's destruction, then follow through on some more vague instructions on how to save "the innocent" (the film's phrase), and finally, accept that perhaps the Creator really did mean the destruction of all mankind—regardless of what that meant for his family. In the end, I feel like the way the film's story rolls is the decision (or maybe the understanding or realization from their point of view) by the writers/directors that humanity was preserved by humanity and that the Creator allowed it but never displayed an outright blessing on it. In other words, I feel like somehow the credit for our existence after the flood is given to a man, not his Creator. Which to me is unfortunate, but also not a deal breaker. I feel aware enough to appreciate the film and actually enjoy it, but also that that point is one I would like to remember for my sake. I believe the Creator deserves more respect than we, and I, give Him. For more than just letting us persist after the flood.
All in all it was a cool film and story. Obviously there is a lot more that could be discussed. A lot of theology that people apparently are fussing about (I'm not on Facebook, thank goodness), and I'm sure dozens of other tidbits that folks will nitpick. Which, yes, I believe for every individual can be quite literally a life or death tidbit as far as what you believe goes. But for me, the above was the main takeaway. It was neat to see an interpretation of the event, "event" being a pretty light word to use. We talked (okay, I listened to talking) about Noah and the flood at Glacier View Ranch over breakfast a couple days last fall, and that plus the movie just further the realization for me that it must've been an absolutely unbelievable event in the as-close-to-literally way possible (except that I guess qualifying its unbelievability as "absolutele" is... a problem, or whatever). I mean, so epic. And with so few words written about it in the Bible it's kind of nice to have someone do the visual imaginative work for me, although the focus was not on the actual flood itself (which was nice, probably) and so it could've been represented much more expansively had they chosen.
I feel this "review" of sorts has gotten clumpy. I just liked the movie, okay. And the story. There are so many questions about it still and if I ever know (see!?) how it went down it will be amazing, I guess. It's a hard act to swallow, that of an apparently loving Creator God completely destroying everything He had created and blessed. What was that like for Him? What was Noah like? I don't know, but now I know how Aronofsky imagines it could've been like (if he believed that sort of thing).
If anyone reads this, it'd be fun to hear your thoughts or read your own review, so... share.
PS: I guess humanity saving humanity makes sense to me coming from an athiest, especially if the flood event is accepted even if God is not. I just saw the tagline on imdb's page for Noah and it says "Rediscover the story of one man and the most remarkable event in our history." And so, if random person A is just looking back on history, sees the flood story and maybe accepts it because of the proofs there are around the world and in ancient people's histories, then portraying the story as it is done is simply portraying an ancient family's belief in a Creator of the world and then subsequent survival of a catastrophic flood (the most commonly accepted version of the story, I think). I suppose it's like basing the story on the Bible as a sort of really old history book, not as Holy Scriptures. Because really, I'd say you could pretty much take "Creator" out of the entire story portrayed in the film and it'd still be fine. Except for the Watchers maybe. Though they are credited as coming from heaven, not as being some concoction of man. Anyway, there's a lot of over-analyzing going on in my head and not enough words to accurately portray the thoughts happening, so I quit. All in all I wonder if I am putting too much credit to one man (Aronofsky). In other words, maybe I'm the secondary English teacher insisting there are dozens of meanings to some poem or short story depending on how each person looks at it, when really, if you just asked the author, he'd say he just wrote a curious story about a bird and stick, or whatever. Maybe Aronofsky just tried to put himself in the mind of a Christian or something and make a cool film out of a pretty epic story. Maybe it's really simple, I just don't know. (And maybe he talks about it in interviews!? Okay I quit.)
For the grand scenery shots the setting was Iceland, so it was amazegorgeous. The actors were above-par and I felt did very well. I think the scripting, too, was enough, though I imagine the writers could've done a lot more in the way of philosophical side comments or advice. I'm glad they held back though, frankly. In essence, I think this story was told from a very human perspective and expressed in a way such as to display the humanity in the story—the parts you and I can relate with. (Which didn't come as a surprise, I guess.)
God was called simply Creator and was credited with creation and as a kind of good-impulse-giver, I suppose. They acknowledged Him enough to paint Him as someone the whole earth knew about, but whom most had dismissed entirely, usually in such a way as to become vengeful toward Him, at least passive-aggressively. And the rest, i.e., Noah, looked to Him as someone who deserved respect and an attendance in time of need or decision. But there were no over-zealous pious priests with face paint, no hyper-critical God-fearers preaching and condemning, no more-righteous-than-thous—and I liked that because it seems righter than always being right. But the way the film portrays Noah and his family makes it seem like they were simply following orders and nothing else. There was no room for mercy of any kind. No one else offered salvation on the ark. (But is that even Biblical, as it were?) No righteous, no blessed, just some that were found innocent enough to not be destroyed in the deluge. And then there really wasn't much at all in the way of praise or gratitude or worship, just a kind of somber resignation to die later instead of now. And so I found myself wishing the Creator had come out more of a winner; though, again, now that I'm thinking about it did He really win anything in that tragedy? I guess not.
I read the non-spoiler first-half of a review by Orson Scott Card (a favorite author of mine...) and he talks a bit about what I'll call the fleshiness of Noah's character—how Noah (actually, I guess Card was talking about Russell Crowe really, but I think it applies to both) was fit for the heroic moment but also man (human) enough to really struggle with certain decisions he had to make and that the struggle was believable. I agreed as I watched the film. Noah (Crowe...) was someone worth following, but also someone available enough to disagree with. [possibly some spoilerish material following...] And what Aronofsky's Noah ends up being is a man who respects the Creator enough to try and verify a vague message about the world's destruction, then follow through on some more vague instructions on how to save "the innocent" (the film's phrase), and finally, accept that perhaps the Creator really did mean the destruction of all mankind—regardless of what that meant for his family. In the end, I feel like the way the film's story rolls is the decision (or maybe the understanding or realization from their point of view) by the writers/directors that humanity was preserved by humanity and that the Creator allowed it but never displayed an outright blessing on it. In other words, I feel like somehow the credit for our existence after the flood is given to a man, not his Creator. Which to me is unfortunate, but also not a deal breaker. I feel aware enough to appreciate the film and actually enjoy it, but also that that point is one I would like to remember for my sake. I believe the Creator deserves more respect than we, and I, give Him. For more than just letting us persist after the flood.
All in all it was a cool film and story. Obviously there is a lot more that could be discussed. A lot of theology that people apparently are fussing about (I'm not on Facebook, thank goodness), and I'm sure dozens of other tidbits that folks will nitpick. Which, yes, I believe for every individual can be quite literally a life or death tidbit as far as what you believe goes. But for me, the above was the main takeaway. It was neat to see an interpretation of the event, "event" being a pretty light word to use. We talked (okay, I listened to talking) about Noah and the flood at Glacier View Ranch over breakfast a couple days last fall, and that plus the movie just further the realization for me that it must've been an absolutely unbelievable event in the as-close-to-literally way possible (except that I guess qualifying its unbelievability as "absolutele" is... a problem, or whatever). I mean, so epic. And with so few words written about it in the Bible it's kind of nice to have someone do the visual imaginative work for me, although the focus was not on the actual flood itself (which was nice, probably) and so it could've been represented much more expansively had they chosen.
I feel this "review" of sorts has gotten clumpy. I just liked the movie, okay. And the story. There are so many questions about it still and if I ever know (see!?) how it went down it will be amazing, I guess. It's a hard act to swallow, that of an apparently loving Creator God completely destroying everything He had created and blessed. What was that like for Him? What was Noah like? I don't know, but now I know how Aronofsky imagines it could've been like (if he believed that sort of thing).
If anyone reads this, it'd be fun to hear your thoughts or read your own review, so... share.
PS: I guess humanity saving humanity makes sense to me coming from an athiest, especially if the flood event is accepted even if God is not. I just saw the tagline on imdb's page for Noah and it says "Rediscover the story of one man and the most remarkable event in our history." And so, if random person A is just looking back on history, sees the flood story and maybe accepts it because of the proofs there are around the world and in ancient people's histories, then portraying the story as it is done is simply portraying an ancient family's belief in a Creator of the world and then subsequent survival of a catastrophic flood (the most commonly accepted version of the story, I think). I suppose it's like basing the story on the Bible as a sort of really old history book, not as Holy Scriptures. Because really, I'd say you could pretty much take "Creator" out of the entire story portrayed in the film and it'd still be fine. Except for the Watchers maybe. Though they are credited as coming from heaven, not as being some concoction of man. Anyway, there's a lot of over-analyzing going on in my head and not enough words to accurately portray the thoughts happening, so I quit. All in all I wonder if I am putting too much credit to one man (Aronofsky). In other words, maybe I'm the secondary English teacher insisting there are dozens of meanings to some poem or short story depending on how each person looks at it, when really, if you just asked the author, he'd say he just wrote a curious story about a bird and stick, or whatever. Maybe Aronofsky just tried to put himself in the mind of a Christian or something and make a cool film out of a pretty epic story. Maybe it's really simple, I just don't know. (And maybe he talks about it in interviews!? Okay I quit.)
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
No reason
"Look, Franz," he said. "The fork goes on this side of the drawer, okay? People in the Southern Hemisphere may put it on that side, but that is not how it works up here."
"Fine," said Franz. "But I'm still not going to put the hand towels in that far drawer, that is just too much."
"Whatever."
"Yeah, you know it whatever."
For a brief moment the two Chinese men stared at one another. Then Franz turned and quickly left the kitchen. Brian lingered a moment, upset that the first day of class wasn't going well because his partner couldn't agree to follow instructions. But he had a hungry cat at home and brooding wasn't going to solve anything tonight. He walked to the corner and grabbed his jacket, then headed toward the door. Turning, he scanned the room for one last check of anything that might be out of place, then flipped the lights out and walked out the door.
Twenty-three seconds later, the kitchen lights snapped back on and Franz smiled to himself. He worked quickly, efficiently, just like he'd learned. Before leaving, he went back to the hand towels and placed them in the far drawer, then disappeared into the hushed streets.
The next day, reporters covering the explosion reported a crater eight feet deep and more than 100 feet in diameter. And kitchen knives lodged into buildings two blocks away.
- - -
I just had the phrase, "Look, Franz," come to mind and this is proof that I have no imagination. Maybe it will grow. Maybe, if I put together every phrase that comes to mind—which happens once or twice a month—in 47 years I'll have a little poem.
"Fine," said Franz. "But I'm still not going to put the hand towels in that far drawer, that is just too much."
"Whatever."
"Yeah, you know it whatever."
For a brief moment the two Chinese men stared at one another. Then Franz turned and quickly left the kitchen. Brian lingered a moment, upset that the first day of class wasn't going well because his partner couldn't agree to follow instructions. But he had a hungry cat at home and brooding wasn't going to solve anything tonight. He walked to the corner and grabbed his jacket, then headed toward the door. Turning, he scanned the room for one last check of anything that might be out of place, then flipped the lights out and walked out the door.
Twenty-three seconds later, the kitchen lights snapped back on and Franz smiled to himself. He worked quickly, efficiently, just like he'd learned. Before leaving, he went back to the hand towels and placed them in the far drawer, then disappeared into the hushed streets.
The next day, reporters covering the explosion reported a crater eight feet deep and more than 100 feet in diameter. And kitchen knives lodged into buildings two blocks away.
- - -
I just had the phrase, "Look, Franz," come to mind and this is proof that I have no imagination. Maybe it will grow. Maybe, if I put together every phrase that comes to mind—which happens once or twice a month—in 47 years I'll have a little poem.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Good Guy Ben
On March 9 I created a soft spot of skin, raw and tender and about the size of a quarter, on the sole of my right foot running on the trails of Knoxville. Four days later I was itching for more trails and ran 11 miles on the great trails of Collegedale. By the end, that spot burned and felt open and I was definitely favoring my left foot and figuring the next day would be a rest day. It wasn't. The next day I hit the trails again, this time with Ben, until a couple miles in I had to turn around and slowly pick my way back home.
Peeling off the socks was rough. There was a nice white layer of loose skin. I carefully cut that off and underneath there was another layer of loose skin. Apparently I had a blister inside a blister.
The next three days I walked softly. Then I had to try running, so I went to the Apison park. A few laps around the path and besides the pain I thought it must be all right. I went again the next day and figured I'd double the distance and up the pace. "Blister feels okay, but the skin cracked after yesterday's run," I logged. Which was good? because that way it was drying out? Maybe.
Several days later, after another easy trail run and confidence that it was getting quite a bit better, I did almost 15 miles on the trails again. And of course I got the regular rub spots and such, but I thought it all faired quite well. I'm good. My other foot, though, had a new patch of loose skin on the ball and up the side. It was very sensitive. But surely, surely it wasn't that bad.
After another trail run the next day, during which I complained the entire time, I sat down and with the utmost of care removed my sock. The new blister was legit. Bright red like a blood blister, the loose skin, the puss, the whole area swollen and hot. I didn't run for a week after that.
The point of this post is that I'd told Ben to remind me never to run on blisters again at some point during this whole episode and a couple days later I started to notice he'd taken request quite seriously. Good guy Ben. I think (hope) I've learned my lesson. And I hope to have passed along the message well enough to possibly spare you this misfortune for yourself.
Peeling off the socks was rough. There was a nice white layer of loose skin. I carefully cut that off and underneath there was another layer of loose skin. Apparently I had a blister inside a blister.
The next three days I walked softly. Then I had to try running, so I went to the Apison park. A few laps around the path and besides the pain I thought it must be all right. I went again the next day and figured I'd double the distance and up the pace. "Blister feels okay, but the skin cracked after yesterday's run," I logged. Which was good? because that way it was drying out? Maybe.
Several days later, after another easy trail run and confidence that it was getting quite a bit better, I did almost 15 miles on the trails again. And of course I got the regular rub spots and such, but I thought it all faired quite well. I'm good. My other foot, though, had a new patch of loose skin on the ball and up the side. It was very sensitive. But surely, surely it wasn't that bad.
After another trail run the next day, during which I complained the entire time, I sat down and with the utmost of care removed my sock. The new blister was legit. Bright red like a blood blister, the loose skin, the puss, the whole area swollen and hot. I didn't run for a week after that.
The point of this post is that I'd told Ben to remind me never to run on blisters again at some point during this whole episode and a couple days later I started to notice he'd taken request quite seriously. Good guy Ben. I think (hope) I've learned my lesson. And I hope to have passed along the message well enough to possibly spare you this misfortune for yourself.
 |
| I'm very unsure about grocery lists. |
 |
| Don't make fun of me. |
 |
| Yes, we are bachelors. Ramen and missing each other. |
 |
| I haven't done any of these things yet. I'm what the French call: lazy loser. |
 |
| All caps for remember. |
 |
| Those are the guilty trail shoes. |
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
23:23:23
The train passes by many times a day and shakes our house as it thunders past even though it is a good quarter mile away. Sometimes our neighbor across the street comes home in his motorcycle and sometimes in his car. Either way, it always sounds like someone's stopping in the middle of the road which makes me freeze, like someone might be coming to our house. This morning the garbage truck came by to retrieve our gifts.
There's a huge evergreen tree in our front yard. I'm not sure which kind, but its trunk is a couple feet in diameter and there are no branches until 20 feet up. The branches then are long and scraggly and gropey. And hauntingly hanging above our vehicles and rooms. I never am quite sure whether I'll wake up in the morning to my alarm or to a branch stuck through my skull. So far so good.
The neighbor to our back corner is fascinating to watch. He'll wander his yard at random, checking the ditch by the road, the fence on the far side of his yard, the old two-story cat shed between all the houses, and the wood pile and overgrowth to the side of our house. Sometimes he just touches our wood pile or picks up a piece and puts it on top. He's kind of older, with grey hair and country clothes and two trucks and hands clasped behind his back and a shoulderless shuffle. I watch him through our back door. Maybe I'm just as fascinating.
I'm lying on my bed, sideways, with my feet in the middle of the room and my head against the wall. The shelf full of books is directly in front of me and up. I've purchased several the past few weeks at McKays. I'm not sure that I've finished a one. There are two very large speakers on my desk lent to me by the Foote family. They provide the world of escape that a good loud song only can. They have become my friends.
I'm dreadfully thirsty. And by the time I finish this sentence it should be about 23:23:23. Nope. I finished at 23:23:13. But right NOW it was 23:23:23. This has been a Snippets of My Life. Good night.
There's a huge evergreen tree in our front yard. I'm not sure which kind, but its trunk is a couple feet in diameter and there are no branches until 20 feet up. The branches then are long and scraggly and gropey. And hauntingly hanging above our vehicles and rooms. I never am quite sure whether I'll wake up in the morning to my alarm or to a branch stuck through my skull. So far so good.
The neighbor to our back corner is fascinating to watch. He'll wander his yard at random, checking the ditch by the road, the fence on the far side of his yard, the old two-story cat shed between all the houses, and the wood pile and overgrowth to the side of our house. Sometimes he just touches our wood pile or picks up a piece and puts it on top. He's kind of older, with grey hair and country clothes and two trucks and hands clasped behind his back and a shoulderless shuffle. I watch him through our back door. Maybe I'm just as fascinating.
I'm lying on my bed, sideways, with my feet in the middle of the room and my head against the wall. The shelf full of books is directly in front of me and up. I've purchased several the past few weeks at McKays. I'm not sure that I've finished a one. There are two very large speakers on my desk lent to me by the Foote family. They provide the world of escape that a good loud song only can. They have become my friends.
I'm dreadfully thirsty. And by the time I finish this sentence it should be about 23:23:23. Nope. I finished at 23:23:13. But right NOW it was 23:23:23. This has been a Snippets of My Life. Good night.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Winning Winsdays 9
Not much this week....
m u s i c
I've been digging the bass and all the rest from Glass Animals' songs recently. Probably my favorite is Gooey.
v i d e o s
Daniel walks with a stranger. And wins. Both the walking contest, and with this video. Love it. (seen on dump.com)
- - -
I was tempted to skip this video during the first minute or so, then the next minute, and even the next. But I didn't. And taken as one entire piece it was pretty awesome. Another way of explaining light speed and the vastness of the universe. So cool. (see on dump.com)
m u s i c
I've been digging the bass and all the rest from Glass Animals' songs recently. Probably my favorite is Gooey.
v i d e o s
Daniel walks with a stranger. And wins. Both the walking contest, and with this video. Love it. (seen on dump.com)
- - -
I was tempted to skip this video during the first minute or so, then the next minute, and even the next. But I didn't. And taken as one entire piece it was pretty awesome. Another way of explaining light speed and the vastness of the universe. So cool. (see on dump.com)
Monday, March 24, 2014
Melancholy Mondays 9: Retire to a Life of Luxury
Exactly xkcd, exactly.
In my case, I'm insecure enough to just try and be realistic and predictable with my answer, but I like this approach much better.
My dream job?
Hmm... I've tried a couple attempts just now but erased them. Turns out even just letting myself be completely free to come up with anything, any dream job whatsoever, is harder than I imagined.
Does that say something? Yep: All is lost. I am doomed to forever live in the shadow of What Could Be, unable to see it for the light of everyone else's lives shining too brightly in my eyes. This is a scary place to be. It renders me useless. I sleep in. I watch tv. I watch movies. I find new music and drift along in the wake. I have temporary highs when I take showers and get dressed, thinking perhaps, perhaps there is something out there for me. Or when I go on a run that leaves my chemicals brewing and scheming with a false sense of power and potential.
In reality, what am I? I'm a 27-year-old unambitious and unimaginative, lazy, indifferent, selfish and stubborn man boy who doesn't want to grow up, who doesn't know how to work hard, and who hasn't hit any kind of rock-bottom in terms of living standards to wake him up, as they might say. But it's not a dream to wake up from. It's my reality. And it's a problem.
If I was someone in a magazine article we'd all lament at how lame our society is getting. We'd see that and say, "How aggravating! I work my butt off, pay my taxes, support my country and family, and this grown man kid watches his meager savings dwindle, can't get himself to look for and procure a job, and doesn't even care."
Maybe you've already thought that. Maybe you're a parent (yes, that's you, Mom) who could admit to thinking along these lines at some point. Or all the time?
But if you try and come to tell me all this to my face I'll charm you out of the house and then take some popcorn to my best friend's house for a pity party. That's my house, by the way. I'll numb my senses with melancholy background tunes and iPhone games until my eyes are bloodshot and my limbs are stiff. Then, since I'm already in bed, I'll reluctantly put down my phone at last and let myself slip away into deep body-tensing, fist-clenching, eyes-wide-open, mental screams, only to wake up in the morning and do it all again.
- - -
Woohoo!!! I love Melancholy Mondays. I'm so glad I figured out an excuse to post this all publicly. Go me! Life is so good. I steamed some vegetables a couple days ago and ate some leftovers of it today for lunch. Mm-mmm, so good. Yesterday we did a killer trail run, and I came across a new sensation in my legs toward the end. I was dehydrated and tired, some of my joints were starting to ache, my old blisters were flaring a bit, and my lower-back was giving out. But my legs, specifically the big muscle masses in them, I noticed suddenly were noticeably fine. It was awesome. I wondered if that's what it was like to run 50 miles. 100 miles. Maybe things start to ache. Maybe the mind is weary from the fight. But maybe, just maybe, the deep, thick muscles continue to march behind you, looking you in the eyes and saying, "Fight on, we fight for you."
That has a ring to it, doesn't it? Kind of makes you think I'm feeling positive and reinvigorated. But I'm not. Or maybe I am, but about what—getting off this chair and moving my legs? Because getting out of a chair is a victory? Okay, but it's also the end for me. It's not the means to an end. Super lame. I'm not re-motivated to get back to the phone and call a dozen different employers. Or even get online and search for a dozen potential employers. Or even think about what general areas I might want to work in. Or even figure out that dream job—something that is completely up to my own whims.
The life of someone like me means wondering when things are going to really turn south, but also knowing that someday things are going to really suck and I'd rather not think about that time. So, there are always more trails to run. Always another meal to eat. Always another movie to watch. Always another set of Instagram pictures to scroll through.
Let's be honest (say it like you're supposed to), this self-empowering, inspiring move to Tennessee hasn't produced much.
I'm the same as ever, just years older. I wonder what will change me.
In my case, I'm insecure enough to just try and be realistic and predictable with my answer, but I like this approach much better.
My dream job?
Hmm... I've tried a couple attempts just now but erased them. Turns out even just letting myself be completely free to come up with anything, any dream job whatsoever, is harder than I imagined.
Does that say something? Yep: All is lost. I am doomed to forever live in the shadow of What Could Be, unable to see it for the light of everyone else's lives shining too brightly in my eyes. This is a scary place to be. It renders me useless. I sleep in. I watch tv. I watch movies. I find new music and drift along in the wake. I have temporary highs when I take showers and get dressed, thinking perhaps, perhaps there is something out there for me. Or when I go on a run that leaves my chemicals brewing and scheming with a false sense of power and potential.
In reality, what am I? I'm a 27-year-old unambitious and unimaginative, lazy, indifferent, selfish and stubborn man boy who doesn't want to grow up, who doesn't know how to work hard, and who hasn't hit any kind of rock-bottom in terms of living standards to wake him up, as they might say. But it's not a dream to wake up from. It's my reality. And it's a problem.
If I was someone in a magazine article we'd all lament at how lame our society is getting. We'd see that and say, "How aggravating! I work my butt off, pay my taxes, support my country and family, and this grown man kid watches his meager savings dwindle, can't get himself to look for and procure a job, and doesn't even care."
Maybe you've already thought that. Maybe you're a parent (yes, that's you, Mom) who could admit to thinking along these lines at some point. Or all the time?
But if you try and come to tell me all this to my face I'll charm you out of the house and then take some popcorn to my best friend's house for a pity party. That's my house, by the way. I'll numb my senses with melancholy background tunes and iPhone games until my eyes are bloodshot and my limbs are stiff. Then, since I'm already in bed, I'll reluctantly put down my phone at last and let myself slip away into deep body-tensing, fist-clenching, eyes-wide-open, mental screams, only to wake up in the morning and do it all again.
- - -
Woohoo!!! I love Melancholy Mondays. I'm so glad I figured out an excuse to post this all publicly. Go me! Life is so good. I steamed some vegetables a couple days ago and ate some leftovers of it today for lunch. Mm-mmm, so good. Yesterday we did a killer trail run, and I came across a new sensation in my legs toward the end. I was dehydrated and tired, some of my joints were starting to ache, my old blisters were flaring a bit, and my lower-back was giving out. But my legs, specifically the big muscle masses in them, I noticed suddenly were noticeably fine. It was awesome. I wondered if that's what it was like to run 50 miles. 100 miles. Maybe things start to ache. Maybe the mind is weary from the fight. But maybe, just maybe, the deep, thick muscles continue to march behind you, looking you in the eyes and saying, "Fight on, we fight for you."
That has a ring to it, doesn't it? Kind of makes you think I'm feeling positive and reinvigorated. But I'm not. Or maybe I am, but about what—getting off this chair and moving my legs? Because getting out of a chair is a victory? Okay, but it's also the end for me. It's not the means to an end. Super lame. I'm not re-motivated to get back to the phone and call a dozen different employers. Or even get online and search for a dozen potential employers. Or even think about what general areas I might want to work in. Or even figure out that dream job—something that is completely up to my own whims.
The life of someone like me means wondering when things are going to really turn south, but also knowing that someday things are going to really suck and I'd rather not think about that time. So, there are always more trails to run. Always another meal to eat. Always another movie to watch. Always another set of Instagram pictures to scroll through.
Let's be honest (say it like you're supposed to), this self-empowering, inspiring move to Tennessee hasn't produced much.
I'm the same as ever, just years older. I wonder what will change me.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Don't Wake Up. Just Kidding Wake UP!!
This morning during the one-hour wakeup-or-not torment that is common to man I found myself in a poorly lit hallway with wooden walls and concrete floor. It was probably somewhat humid and the dim light was dehydrated-pee-yellow, coming from stale lamps on the wall.
I was walking down the hall, which wasn't too long, and then opened up a closet on the left. Akin to a janitor's closet, strewn with a variety of vague, dreamy (but not) things. I looked down and my mind was suddenly assaulted by the vision of a bipedal alien spider coming out from behind a bucket. NO.
With the rapidity of the Enterprise heading into warp speed I turned and fled the closet, rushing to the safety of... apparently a barracks room at the end of the hall, full of... dudes. Revolutionary soldiers? I don't know. But half were still asleep, the others were just sort of waking up, I think.
*Oh my word shivers found me again as I recall all this
I enter the room and flee to the middle and turn around in terror. And there it is. The running batman logo of a spider, with the two arched, but also kind of like lightning, legs of Alien heads and not really any body, now that I think of it. It paused at the door for effect, of course, and then quickly and cooly sped into the room...
And freaking latched onto my ankle!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Needless to say I stopped that dumb nightmare right there before the creepture got to crawl up my leg and decided waking to my cold room was better than being befriended by an 8-inch two-legged spider from the ice-cold emptiness of the unknown.
Just thought I'd share.
I was walking down the hall, which wasn't too long, and then opened up a closet on the left. Akin to a janitor's closet, strewn with a variety of vague, dreamy (but not) things. I looked down and my mind was suddenly assaulted by the vision of a bipedal alien spider coming out from behind a bucket. NO.
With the rapidity of the Enterprise heading into warp speed I turned and fled the closet, rushing to the safety of... apparently a barracks room at the end of the hall, full of... dudes. Revolutionary soldiers? I don't know. But half were still asleep, the others were just sort of waking up, I think.
*Oh my word shivers found me again as I recall all this
I enter the room and flee to the middle and turn around in terror. And there it is. The running batman logo of a spider, with the two arched, but also kind of like lightning, legs of Alien heads and not really any body, now that I think of it. It paused at the door for effect, of course, and then quickly and cooly sped into the room...
And freaking latched onto my ankle!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Needless to say I stopped that dumb nightmare right there before the creepture got to crawl up my leg and decided waking to my cold room was better than being befriended by an 8-inch two-legged spider from the ice-cold emptiness of the unknown.
Just thought I'd share.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Winning Winsdays 8
a r t i c l e s
Dakota Jones writes well. And he was just in Argentina and Chile for a while to race the Cuatro Refugios race, which sounds grueling. His report, I think, is well done. I think I like this guy. (Seen on his tweet about it.)
t v s h o w s
Brooklyn Nine-Nine has been thoroughly entertaining the past few days. Twenty-minute episodes, produced (and starred in) by Andy Samberg, and ridiculous children-in-adult-bodies make for stories I can handle.
v i d e o s
English spelling is silly, many people agree, but this TED-Ed video by Gina Cook showed me that the silliness often (if it said how often, I missed it) comes from very practical foundations. I appreciate that. (Saw it on thekidsshouldseethis.)
- - -
I like these drones.
(saw it on helloyoucreatives)
m u s i c
Spotify introduced me to Messages to Bears a few days ago and I've been digging it* during the past few rainy, grey days we've been having here in TN. If you want some melancholy background music, this is a good option. (*"It" happens to be one Englishman: Jerome Alexander.)
m i s c e l l a n e o u s
This photo and caption came across my feed on Instagram today and I admired it a lot because it's a mom and her kids and they were all (especially the kids) getting into reading and learning today, and I think not only is that awesome but it's awesome that the mother is cultivating that and posting about it.
Dakota Jones writes well. And he was just in Argentina and Chile for a while to race the Cuatro Refugios race, which sounds grueling. His report, I think, is well done. I think I like this guy. (Seen on his tweet about it.)
Spectacular though the view may be, my home lay far below. And, more superficially, I had a race to finish. So I ran down, down down again, all the way to the lakeside and the finish line and my friends. But my heart stayed up high. And it's still there now, moving quietly among the high rocks above Bariloche, just as it's also still on the high slopes of Mont Blanc and the crest of the Mooses Tooth in Alaska.
t v s h o w s
Brooklyn Nine-Nine has been thoroughly entertaining the past few days. Twenty-minute episodes, produced (and starred in) by Andy Samberg, and ridiculous children-in-adult-bodies make for stories I can handle.
v i d e o s
English spelling is silly, many people agree, but this TED-Ed video by Gina Cook showed me that the silliness often (if it said how often, I missed it) comes from very practical foundations. I appreciate that. (Saw it on thekidsshouldseethis.)
- - -
I like these drones.
(saw it on helloyoucreatives)
m u s i c
Spotify introduced me to Messages to Bears a few days ago and I've been digging it* during the past few rainy, grey days we've been having here in TN. If you want some melancholy background music, this is a good option. (*"It" happens to be one Englishman: Jerome Alexander.)
m i s c e l l a n e o u s
This photo and caption came across my feed on Instagram today and I admired it a lot because it's a mom and her kids and they were all (especially the kids) getting into reading and learning today, and I think not only is that awesome but it's awesome that the mother is cultivating that and posting about it.
Our school day began with my dropping a pile of long lost books on the kitchen table. I was just organizing them. Their natural curiosity drew them in and before long the two youngest were making cloud viewers and drawing and labeling the different types of clouds, the older helping the younger. This one picked up a picture book of great American women and after reading about Dolly Madison started asking questions about the War of 1812. I said, 'do we have a book about that?' She found it and has since been completely absorbed in American history. I know she is learning because she is finding answers to her own questions and she is practically vibrating with inspiration. I am learning as well. Because every few minutes she says 'Mom, listen to this...' Or 'Did you know...?' We have had discussions about politics and what it means to be a true leader and I'm just organizing books. Now she is studying the gospel and the other two are building a cardboard dollhouse. Heaven. #ilovehomeschool #turnoffthetv
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Dirty South Trail Half
This past Sunday I got up early, drove to Knoxville, and raced in Knoxville Track Club's Dirty South Half Trail race. It was awesome.
I've only done a few trail races and only one other half marathon trail race. It was a year and a half ago while I was deaning at UCA. I'd headed across the border into Idaho and bonked on the five-mile uphill at the Moscow Madness race, ending with a time of 2:09. So toeing the line in Knoxville, I certainly hoped to better that time. Secretly, I guess I thought maybe a 1:45 sounded nice? But I really don't know how to gauge trail times yet.
When I finished I decided I felt best used up as I ever have after a race. I was dead tired, but not in a bonked way. I'd held a pretty steady pace throughout and was quite proud of myself. With just more than 100 people in our race it wasn't a big one, but I hoped to have made top 20.
It was an ideal day for running. Cool and sunny, with some mist on the river if I remember correctly. The sunrise on the way up brought life to my groggy head and the trails at the Ijams Nature Center where we started and ended the race were peaceful and beautiful. The people seemed nice enough, though I didn't really talk to anyone, but I didn't get beat up or anything either so that's something. Overall it was a fun morning for me.
On Tuesday the results showed up online. I was 7th. Yessss... (They didn't have any other results indicators.) So I felt pretty good about that. My time was 1:49:44, which I also felt pretty good about. No, I should be honest: I feel really good about how that race went. I'm just satisfied with my effort, and the results are also very pleasing to me.
Things against me:
Things I did right:
I've only done a few trail races and only one other half marathon trail race. It was a year and a half ago while I was deaning at UCA. I'd headed across the border into Idaho and bonked on the five-mile uphill at the Moscow Madness race, ending with a time of 2:09. So toeing the line in Knoxville, I certainly hoped to better that time. Secretly, I guess I thought maybe a 1:45 sounded nice? But I really don't know how to gauge trail times yet.
When I finished I decided I felt best used up as I ever have after a race. I was dead tired, but not in a bonked way. I'd held a pretty steady pace throughout and was quite proud of myself. With just more than 100 people in our race it wasn't a big one, but I hoped to have made top 20.
It was an ideal day for running. Cool and sunny, with some mist on the river if I remember correctly. The sunrise on the way up brought life to my groggy head and the trails at the Ijams Nature Center where we started and ended the race were peaceful and beautiful. The people seemed nice enough, though I didn't really talk to anyone, but I didn't get beat up or anything either so that's something. Overall it was a fun morning for me.
On Tuesday the results showed up online. I was 7th. Yessss... (They didn't have any other results indicators.) So I felt pretty good about that. My time was 1:49:44, which I also felt pretty good about. No, I should be honest: I feel really good about how that race went. I'm just satisfied with my effort, and the results are also very pleasing to me.
Things against me:
- Nursing a strained achilles (my own diagnosis) for several weeks prior
- Meaning, no trails for a few weeks
- Then, only two trail runs the week prior to racing
- Which included Friday's run, the most elevation gain I've done in weeks
- Not hydrating too well week prior
- Pizza Saturday night
- Five and a half hours of sleep Saturday night thanks to daylight savings
- Sitting in car for two hours on drive up
- Starting in middle/back of pack
Things I did right:
- Oatmeal, banana, and later another banana for breakfast (plus sips of water on way up)
- Taking two pairs of shoes and then choosing the right pair for the race
- Starting in the middle/back of the pack meant starting slowly, which was good
- Once the pace settled and I'd passed many folks, I paced behind three guys for a while
- Passed them and then ran behind the next two people for a while
- Passed them and then just tried to stay steady
- I ended up passing eight people in all and none passed me (signifying steady pacing on my part, I think)
- Ran up the hills even though I really, really wanted to walk (not a bad thing, but my cadence was still faster than walking, I think)
- Only drank two small portions of water (one was actually Heed, I think; the lady told me wrong) (which may actually have been a negative as I maybe could've taken some calories early on, but it left me feeling light)
- Smiling at times throughout the race, "forcing" myself to engage intentionally in my enjoyment of it
- I started my running app and then stuck my phone in my shorts' pocket, running the entire race without any idea of pace, time, or distance. I caved and asked at the third AS, but they actually had no clue how far into the course they were. (They did not mark mileage, either.)
- Things the race did right: Having the half and full racers go opposite directions on the loop so that we crossed paths halfway. This was bad in that we had to take turns on the single track, but it was good in that we were able to encourage each other and enjoy some camaraderie.
In all I think I did pretty pretty well on race day and could've done more as far as preparation if I had really wanted to. But I didn't know whether I'd race until pretty much Sabbath, so I just enjoyed it and made the most of it. I'm happy.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Melancholy Mondays 8: Sure, I'll share
Sure, I'll tell you. No problem. I'll describe it in some detail, even. I'll brush your hand over the textures, and raise it to eye level for you to see more closely. I'll walk with you until we're far away. Then we'll turn, we'll look at the thing, and we'll see it from the distance. I'll flick the switch and we'll examine it in the dark, stroking it and weighing it in our hands. I'll let you hold it to your chest, I'll let you take it for the day. We'll put a song on, we'll just sit and stare. You'll know it soon enough, you'll see. Sure, I'll share.
But only the surface. Only the outside.
The rest, the rest is for me.
But only the surface. Only the outside.
The rest, the rest is for me.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Winning Winsdays 7
So I haven't posted anything for a while but suddenly needed to. Therefore, this is a short one, on the wrong day, and the Brightest video is much older than within-the-past-few-days.... That's all.
v i d e o s
If gratuitous animated gore will make you queasy, don't watch this. Otherwise, wear yourself out on a trail half marathon after only sleep five hours and this might be really, really funny to you. (Seen on the cadenced tumblr.)
- - -
Holy doo doo, this is another of those cliché look-how-big-the-universe-is-and-be-very-in-awe. But it's one I actually watched and it's one that has the idea that what light we're seeing from all these stars, galaxies, quasars, etc., that we can see now is actually light from billions of years ago. Which is such an interesting thought to me. (Would we see a bunch more light all of a sudden when all of the light from the ~6,000-year-old stuff suddenly started appearing to us, for those of us who believe in a 6-day creation? That'd be so cool!) Plus, the brightness of these quasars and blazars (yep) is absolutely phenomenal. So so cool. (saw this on wimp...)
Songs
I just wanted to add something besides those two videos. Have I already included this as a Winner? Whatever, it's worth twice. I really like this song: Thrive, by Switchfoot. (And only came across it relatively recently....)
v i d e o s
If gratuitous animated gore will make you queasy, don't watch this. Otherwise, wear yourself out on a trail half marathon after only sleep five hours and this might be really, really funny to you. (Seen on the cadenced tumblr.)
- - -
Holy doo doo, this is another of those cliché look-how-big-the-universe-is-and-be-very-in-awe. But it's one I actually watched and it's one that has the idea that what light we're seeing from all these stars, galaxies, quasars, etc., that we can see now is actually light from billions of years ago. Which is such an interesting thought to me. (Would we see a bunch more light all of a sudden when all of the light from the ~6,000-year-old stuff suddenly started appearing to us, for those of us who believe in a 6-day creation? That'd be so cool!) Plus, the brightness of these quasars and blazars (yep) is absolutely phenomenal. So so cool. (saw this on wimp...)
Songs
I just wanted to add something besides those two videos. Have I already included this as a Winner? Whatever, it's worth twice. I really like this song: Thrive, by Switchfoot. (And only came across it relatively recently....)
Monday, February 17, 2014
Melancholy Mondays 7
I moved into a little house with Ben a week and a half ago and we don't have Internet.
Frankly, I had withdrawals. I suspected I would. But I think they've passed now and I'm not missing it very much. Cliché. Oh, cliché again. I hate that. Oh, another cliché. Dang it.
I still can waste lots of time on my phone. Lots. But I did get to the point a handful of days ago where I rearranged my apps and "hid" my games in an effort to not repeatedly check them. Except for Jurassic Park. That's a game with long-term objectives that I need to somehow incorporate into my "real" life so it ends up being useful at least a bit. Here's an attempt. You might laugh at me. Two days ago I noticed the T Rex was on sale for half off, but it cost money, not gold, so I had to earn the money by battling dinosaurs. Well, that's a slow process, and money doesn't help too much in the game except to make things go by faster, which isn't a big deal because I've got my whole life ahead of me and can take it slow, so the point is, I was about 70 monies short of the 245 the T Rex cost. I'd been eyeing and dreaming of that Rex for a long time, so I knew this was my chance. The offer expired in two days, it said.
Challenge accepted.
I fought dinosaurs in a methodical and calculated way for two days, making sure to check on their availability for fighting every few hours so as to be efficient. By the end of yesterday at 11pm I was four monies short. I figured I had until midnight so I was going to check again just before and fight for my last four monies and get my T Rex. But I forgot. So at a quarter past midnight I thought maybe I'd lost my chance. But then I thought, maybe it's based on PST since these apps are always made in San Francisco and even if not, do they really keep track of where the player lives and close offers like that on time relative to that location? I didn't know. But who cares. My point is, I checked and it seemed to still be available. So I masterfully utilized the available dinosaurs (not many, not strong) to win those last four monies and immediately click purchase on the T Rex. As of right now it's about an hour away from hatching. I will have my T Rex before bed, folks.
That's perseverance. I don't know what you have to do in life to learn the lesson in perseverance, but I doubt you ended up with a T Rex like me. I saw an opportunity and I went for it. That's another lesson. If you see an open door, run straight at it and hopefully you get there before it starts closing and you doorline yourself in the face.
So my T Rex is just an example of why I'm keeping Jurassic Park. My overall point is that being without Internet and running out of movies on my computer means I'm back to reading during meals. High caliber things like Catching Fire. And I'm back to blogging this post on my phone. And making a list of good things about the day before going to bed. And spending hours today editing someone's paper. And reading up on the Olympics a few times a day. And helping Ben and his parents.
And basically, just checking phone things over and over instead of computer things. Let's be honest, I need to wrap this up in a pessimistic way or it won't seem to fit the melancholy theme. So I take back all of what I said. Feeling better about myself doesn't mean I'm doing better. That's ridiculous.
Just kidding. I may not know how to feel happy very well, but I do avoid feeling sad pretty well. And also, these days I've been at peace and I've enjoyed it. I'm told not to worry about tomorrow's troubles, so I'll worry that I don't know what it holds and maybe life will change for the horrible. But also it could change for even better, and that's another good point. And another is that right now is pretty good and I hope you experience that too now and then.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Winning Winsdays 6
v i d e o s
It's late and I'm easily influenced by awesomeness right now, but even so, this was awesome. I came across it on Tumblr and enjoyed it a couple times.
- - -
Emily shared a quote of Ira Glass with me and then I ended up coming across it in this illustrated/video form. It's a good thought. (via photojojo)
THE GAP by Ira Glass from frohlocke on Vimeo.
- - -
Kept my eye on this race this past Sabbath because I'm getting to know these names and there were a lot of familiar ones in it! What a cool thing. I love these races and want to be involved. Get me in them, legs! (video by Billy Yang)
It's late and I'm easily influenced by awesomeness right now, but even so, this was awesome. I came across it on Tumblr and enjoyed it a couple times.
- - -
Emily shared a quote of Ira Glass with me and then I ended up coming across it in this illustrated/video form. It's a good thought. (via photojojo)
THE GAP by Ira Glass from frohlocke on Vimeo.
- - -
Kept my eye on this race this past Sabbath because I'm getting to know these names and there were a lot of familiar ones in it! What a cool thing. I love these races and want to be involved. Get me in them, legs! (video by Billy Yang)
Monday, February 3, 2014
Melancholy Mondays 6: My Achilles Heel
Seriously though, my achilles is a bit injured. Overused, I think. The biology trails have trashed it, apparently. They are rough trails! No jokes there. No jokes. They are serious.
It means I haven't run for several days. Some might think it's easier to practice self-discipline when it comes to not running, but for many folks it's the opposite. After years of running and achieving goals, when injury stops them they don't know what to do with themselves and go a little stir-crazy for having to pause. I wouldn't say it's so difficult for me to stop, but I have found myself thinking about where I want to go running today and then remembering that I shouldn't, yet. But I'm very much looking forward to getting out again. Maybe even tomorrow.
And I find it ironic that I am being punished, as it were, for doing a good thing too much. I never felt like I was overtraining, or going too fast, or doing too many hills. That's what I mean by a good thing. If I had tried a 300-mile run out of the blue, or gone barefoot for 25 miles, or something extreme like that, then I wouldn't be considering it a good thing right now. Maybe bold, but probably more, just, stupid. But I think what I've been doing the last few weeks has been good. And so, it kind of sucks to feel sidelined for doing what has felt right.
I think there's a lot of metaphor to pull from that, so I'll let it just leave it there. To each his own.
It means I haven't run for several days. Some might think it's easier to practice self-discipline when it comes to not running, but for many folks it's the opposite. After years of running and achieving goals, when injury stops them they don't know what to do with themselves and go a little stir-crazy for having to pause. I wouldn't say it's so difficult for me to stop, but I have found myself thinking about where I want to go running today and then remembering that I shouldn't, yet. But I'm very much looking forward to getting out again. Maybe even tomorrow.
And I find it ironic that I am being punished, as it were, for doing a good thing too much. I never felt like I was overtraining, or going too fast, or doing too many hills. That's what I mean by a good thing. If I had tried a 300-mile run out of the blue, or gone barefoot for 25 miles, or something extreme like that, then I wouldn't be considering it a good thing right now. Maybe bold, but probably more, just, stupid. But I think what I've been doing the last few weeks has been good. And so, it kind of sucks to feel sidelined for doing what has felt right.
I think there's a lot of metaphor to pull from that, so I'll let it just leave it there. To each his own.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Four Years Lasts For Years
I'm currently reading through old papers of mine from my two senior years at Southern and I just had to pause and write that I'm a little scared. With nearly every piece I read, I end up crunching my eyebrows together in disbelief: Really? I wrote this and got away with it?
Not only am I seeing errors and dumb word usage that I'm surprised my sometimes agonizing editing periods didn't catch or change, some of the structure and and phrasing just seems ridiculous.
And that's why I'm scared. I could say, well, it's been about four years since you wrote that stuff, surely you've matured since then. True, I guess, but I've hardly written anything since then. I've stopped going to class and being trained since then. I've gone through some really crappy times and experienced that much time worth of memory loss. How could I possibly be better now? Which makes me also wonder: In four more years will I see blog posts like this and wonder how in the world I had the nerve to post that to the public? Yikes. Maybe I'm not what I think I am. Maybe I should stick to cleaning. (Do I suck at cleaning!?)
I'm scared. And also reminded that I'm a work in progress. Just like my thoughts; just like my writing. Keep going, Chris. At least you see now where you can improve on that past.
Not only am I seeing errors and dumb word usage that I'm surprised my sometimes agonizing editing periods didn't catch or change, some of the structure and and phrasing just seems ridiculous.
And that's why I'm scared. I could say, well, it's been about four years since you wrote that stuff, surely you've matured since then. True, I guess, but I've hardly written anything since then. I've stopped going to class and being trained since then. I've gone through some really crappy times and experienced that much time worth of memory loss. How could I possibly be better now? Which makes me also wonder: In four more years will I see blog posts like this and wonder how in the world I had the nerve to post that to the public? Yikes. Maybe I'm not what I think I am. Maybe I should stick to cleaning. (Do I suck at cleaning!?)
I'm scared. And also reminded that I'm a work in progress. Just like my thoughts; just like my writing. Keep going, Chris. At least you see now where you can improve on that past.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Winning Winsdays 5
a r t i c l e s
The Slow Route by Dakota Jones
Dakota speaks of taking the real way from point A to point B, of relishing and living in the journey, rather than hurrying it by plane. It's a nice, thoughtful piece by a young mountain-ultra-trail-runner who happens to be incredibly fast.
l i n k s
Somewhere is a cool little site that simple takes you to different places around the world by clicking its Somewhere button, and shows you a beautiful Instagram picture of the location, plus a description from wikipedia. Created by Benjamin Netter, it's a pretty fun little site to explore. Wouldn't it be cool to know how to code this kind of app or site? I'd love to know how to do that. (saw this on techcrunch via Statigram's twitter)
i d e a s
Christine is someone I don't know at all, but she runs in Boulder and I started following her on Strava because what she does amazes me and we seem to run about the same pace, which is cool to me. She runs every single day and is building up for some ultras. To me it's quite impressive. And today (Jan 25), apparently, was her birthday, and she did a really cool birthday run for herself that I think would be fun to emulate some day. Specifically, some February 25. Except, dang it, now I'm realizing I can never do exactly the same because I've already passed my 25th, duh... Nevertheless, it'd be fun to do 27 miles for my 27th, and so on, until I'm 100. Then I suppose I could quit.
p h o t o g r a p h y
Came across this photographer today, actually (via Hannah), and was intrigued by the photos. Her name is Elizabeth Gadd and she takes really lovely, peaceful shots generally with a single person somewhere in the frame that lends it extra emotion. I like them. She's also on flickr.
v i d e o s
"The Waters of Greenstone" (via thephoblographer) is a lovely landscape video by Nathan Kaso of Melbourne. It's a beautiful mix of video, time lapse, and audio. A good example of the soundtrack being well placed and the editing done well. I like it a lot.
- - - - -
Rarely has an 11-minute video gone by so quickly. I was mesmerized. Adam Magyar apparently built his own camera, which takes slo-mo video (?) in a panoramic way that he then puts together into an incredible clip. It's like watching people trying to pose, but not. It's fascinating. Especially if someone's moving an arm, or blinking, or picking their nose. Sixty seconds is enough to watch if time is short; the rest is the same, but it's worth it. (via photojojo)
Adam Magyar, Stainless - Shinjuku from Adam Magyar on Vimeo.
- - - - -
Oh Internet Explorer, you slay me. I'm reposting this because of the chili bowl. The 90s. (seen on helloyoucreatives)
The Slow Route by Dakota Jones
Dakota speaks of taking the real way from point A to point B, of relishing and living in the journey, rather than hurrying it by plane. It's a nice, thoughtful piece by a young mountain-ultra-trail-runner who happens to be incredibly fast.
l i n k s
 |
| screenshot example of Somewhere |
i d e a s
Christine is someone I don't know at all, but she runs in Boulder and I started following her on Strava because what she does amazes me and we seem to run about the same pace, which is cool to me. She runs every single day and is building up for some ultras. To me it's quite impressive. And today (Jan 25), apparently, was her birthday, and she did a really cool birthday run for herself that I think would be fun to emulate some day. Specifically, some February 25. Except, dang it, now I'm realizing I can never do exactly the same because I've already passed my 25th, duh... Nevertheless, it'd be fun to do 27 miles for my 27th, and so on, until I'm 100. Then I suppose I could quit.
p h o t o g r a p h y
Came across this photographer today, actually (via Hannah), and was intrigued by the photos. Her name is Elizabeth Gadd and she takes really lovely, peaceful shots generally with a single person somewhere in the frame that lends it extra emotion. I like them. She's also on flickr.
 |
| by Elizabeth Gadd |
v i d e o s
"The Waters of Greenstone" (via thephoblographer) is a lovely landscape video by Nathan Kaso of Melbourne. It's a beautiful mix of video, time lapse, and audio. A good example of the soundtrack being well placed and the editing done well. I like it a lot.
- - - - -
Rarely has an 11-minute video gone by so quickly. I was mesmerized. Adam Magyar apparently built his own camera, which takes slo-mo video (?) in a panoramic way that he then puts together into an incredible clip. It's like watching people trying to pose, but not. It's fascinating. Especially if someone's moving an arm, or blinking, or picking their nose. Sixty seconds is enough to watch if time is short; the rest is the same, but it's worth it. (via photojojo)
Adam Magyar, Stainless - Shinjuku from Adam Magyar on Vimeo.
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Oh Internet Explorer, you slay me. I'm reposting this because of the chili bowl. The 90s. (seen on helloyoucreatives)
Monday, January 27, 2014
Melancholy Mondays 5: Drugs
I hate it when there a ton of things I could be doing today and all I do is spend two hours on quality productivity, and the rest lamenting about how I'm not doing anything. I like to work alone, but I think I work better when I have to escape from other people. Not when I have to escape from myself.
Also, how do you make a five-year plan? Or, like I saw on someone's Instagram caption the other day, just a 90-day plan? I don't want to do it. I don't want a career. Everything everyone else does is so cool. I just want to marvel at and enjoy it all. Maybe I'll sell drugs. That seems like easy money and lots of free time. And then you never know when someone will need to kill you, so it's always exciting. Every day could be your last kind of deal. But for real this time. Not just because you're supposed to treasure every day. I mean, right? Or have I got it all wrong? That could be. I don't know much about drugs.
Also, how do you make a five-year plan? Or, like I saw on someone's Instagram caption the other day, just a 90-day plan? I don't want to do it. I don't want a career. Everything everyone else does is so cool. I just want to marvel at and enjoy it all. Maybe I'll sell drugs. That seems like easy money and lots of free time. And then you never know when someone will need to kill you, so it's always exciting. Every day could be your last kind of deal. But for real this time. Not just because you're supposed to treasure every day. I mean, right? Or have I got it all wrong? That could be. I don't know much about drugs.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Too much
This is essentially another Melancholy Mondays post, but I don't feel like reserving it for next week. This may just be one of those weeks.
I'm trying to be productive. But that basically means sorting things out on the Internet all day. Which is incredibly frustrating at times. There are a lot of details to that that I won't go into because it makes for a long story, but essentially, today was discouraging. And that's unfortunate and ironic because yesterday evening I got a very thoughtful note from Sonya that was... well, now that I'm thinking about it, I suppose it was meant for days like today.
So that pretty much kills this post.
I guess I'm going to go to bed with a brain all tied up with how much there is in this world. The Internet is a curse, no doubt about it. Not only do we waste infernal amounts of time on it, but it also reveals too much cool stuff to let one live a simple life of contentedness with what one has in one's simple life. Once you've opened that box, there is no closing it. It makes all else look as though there are too few options. Too few pretty things. Too few adventures. Too few talents and skills. Too few days, and months, and years.
And ironically, sitting here trying to extend my life by finding fulfilling work is shortening my life by ruining my body. Such is the vicious cycle of unlife.
Doesn't anyone want to start a small business with me that is guaranteed to be successful? I don't know what that business is, but surely it's out there. Right? Actually. I guess I don't want a guarantee of success. I just want a guarantee of a satisfied mind, whatever that means. I imagine working with a couple guys and gals on crafting rustic-but-probably-modernish, upcycled, sturdy and functional and beautiful furniture; or creating an enviable hideout for those who want books, magazines, computer work spaces, and probably inevitably, coffee; or filling up a small shop with grease and metal and repairing bikes; or starting up that globally recognized, but somehow still really local and small hostel network that keeps us on the go for the cheap and the safe and happy; or those two orphanages in Argentina and Norway that somehow make me a living and allow me to manage them in both countries; or can I just make a living by running cool trails every day, keeping up with Melancholy Mondays and Winning Winsdays, and posting little landscapes on Instagram? I mean, that's what will make me a great father, right? Man I hate this.
I quit until morning. Please be reading this in five years in the comfort of a life you love.
(...And now, after reading through this before posting, I realize to myself I sound a lot like a wannabe hipster from Oregon. And also, that I neglected to mention can I just write a really well-selling little novel adventure in the span of about two months that lets me relax about this who-am-I business for at least a couple weeks since I wouldn't have to feel like I needed to make money asap in order to get everyone off my back? Yeah, I forgot that one.)
Monday, January 20, 2014
Melancholy Mondays 4: I feel like a writer who doesn't write
I've never called myself a writer, because I simply don't write. I see things online all the time from the Explore Blog, for example, that talk about needing to write write write if you want to improve your writing. They also talk about reading a lot, and I rarely do that, either, it seems. And then there's the runner/writer/photographer guy that lives a few miles away from Glacier View Ranch where I was at who mentioned recently on his blog that his grandpa used to write 1,000 words a day. His grandfather. Which means no typing (or at least much more labor-intensive typing?). I haven't written in my journal for literally months. I bet I'm getting close to a year. I've thought about it several times and dragged it around with me, but apparently introspection is not something I want to record. And I've not blogged much either, let's be for real.
That said, since high school when my papers started making more sense and I started to appreciate the literatures more, I suppose I began to have the smallest wonder whether I were a writer somewhere deep inside. Sometimes I like to imagine I could've been one of those starving poet types: rather emaciated (check), rather melancholy (check), rather a loner (check), rather content to wander the woods (check), or the city (check). Sometimes I imagine the only thing holding me back from that is... that I'm not a starving poet. I don't write.
If I did, maybe I'd be on the long list of poor gaunt souls who committed suicide out of pure inability to contain their art. That's ridiculous and probably disrespectful in a lot of ways, but I said it.
There's something about the written word that is too legitimate to quitimate. And ironically, it's hard to put into words. I suppose that's part of its beauty. When we really come to appreciate some piece of literature, it's often because some dear soul was gifted or worked hard enough to arrive at a way to adhere a few of these word things into some kind of phrase, and those phrases into some kind of thought, and those thoughts into some kind of picture that now has been made into reality from ideas that were only possibilities until then. I don't know.
Relient K is a band that I have a lot of respect for because of their lyrics. I suspect a lot of people would just hear them and shrug them off as bobo and just fun lyrics, and sometimes they are. But often they're extremely well-crafted, and their playfulness is part of that genius to me. I also think of Dr. Seuss and his diligence in perfecting his phrases. I don't remember much from the research paper I did on him my freshman year (i.e., my first senior year) of communications, but that he labored over his works until he could do no more. I've rarely written a poem and gone back to it. Dr. Seuss made it happen. He knew the first time around was to release his inspiration. The rest of the times were for making history.
I guess my point is—or actually I suppose this is kind of an entirely different topic that just relates to this—is that I don't know how to make myself write more. Without forcing it. I guess one just has to flip the switch in the mind and decide. But that feels like forcing it. I want to write because I'm a writer, not become a writer because I write. (But I want to want the opposite of that. Or maybe I'm only at wanting to want to want it.)
And that, my friends, is why my work ethic is not one to emulate. Woe is me.
That said, since high school when my papers started making more sense and I started to appreciate the literatures more, I suppose I began to have the smallest wonder whether I were a writer somewhere deep inside. Sometimes I like to imagine I could've been one of those starving poet types: rather emaciated (check), rather melancholy (check), rather a loner (check), rather content to wander the woods (check), or the city (check). Sometimes I imagine the only thing holding me back from that is... that I'm not a starving poet. I don't write.
If I did, maybe I'd be on the long list of poor gaunt souls who committed suicide out of pure inability to contain their art. That's ridiculous and probably disrespectful in a lot of ways, but I said it.
There's something about the written word that is too legitimate to quitimate. And ironically, it's hard to put into words. I suppose that's part of its beauty. When we really come to appreciate some piece of literature, it's often because some dear soul was gifted or worked hard enough to arrive at a way to adhere a few of these word things into some kind of phrase, and those phrases into some kind of thought, and those thoughts into some kind of picture that now has been made into reality from ideas that were only possibilities until then. I don't know.
Relient K is a band that I have a lot of respect for because of their lyrics. I suspect a lot of people would just hear them and shrug them off as bobo and just fun lyrics, and sometimes they are. But often they're extremely well-crafted, and their playfulness is part of that genius to me. I also think of Dr. Seuss and his diligence in perfecting his phrases. I don't remember much from the research paper I did on him my freshman year (i.e., my first senior year) of communications, but that he labored over his works until he could do no more. I've rarely written a poem and gone back to it. Dr. Seuss made it happen. He knew the first time around was to release his inspiration. The rest of the times were for making history.
I guess my point is—or actually I suppose this is kind of an entirely different topic that just relates to this—is that I don't know how to make myself write more. Without forcing it. I guess one just has to flip the switch in the mind and decide. But that feels like forcing it. I want to write because I'm a writer, not become a writer because I write. (But I want to want the opposite of that. Or maybe I'm only at wanting to want to want it.)
And that, my friends, is why my work ethic is not one to emulate. Woe is me.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Staying in Town
I decided to stay in Chattanooga. Here's my attempt at why.
I was just going to stay with the grandparents a couple days, see Schnell, run with Foote, and then beat it to Colorado for the weekend group that was on its way to GVR. While visiting Schnell and his ideas Monday afternoon, a call from someone over there started changing that, because it included some information that got my wheels turning. Maybe things wouldn't be so great. Maybe Schnell's coolness and brainstorms were exciting enough to stick around for after all. Maybe Chattanooga didn't seem so bad. Maybe I wouldn't go back after all??? It was a crazy thought. But what was more crazy, was that it didn't seem crazy at all.
Needless to say, the next 30 or so hours was a game changer. Traditionally, I'm horrible at these kinds of decisions. They pickle me and sludge me into an immobility that leaves me stuck and hurting, full of self-pity and self-doubt, resignation, confusion, and hibernating hatred. It'd be fascinating to be in the minds of others, to see how they resolve conflict and view their journey's forks, but for me it seems to simply be a matter of following the easiest line. Which kills me. I follow, always follow, and never find my own way. Which is why this time feels so much different.
I could argue that I'm following—I have family and friends in this area, it's what is known to me, I grew up here. But I'm not following anything! There are—conveniently worded—no leads here. It is the hard thing. I am giving up an easy-paying, brick brain, part-time job in Colorado for a future here of... absolutely nothing right now! And that's what's exciting. I'm not even scared yet. I think that will come in time. Along with stress, frustration, doubt. But that's why I'm writing this. I want to know what I felt, why I decided, where my eyes were set.
Tuesday morning, before running 20 miles with Foote, before driving to Atlanta with grandparents, I was in bed thinking. I'll quite openly admit to not being a faithful religious Christian, but even so there lies inside knowledge of what's right, of who is right. I opened up my Bible app and found a short devotional series on Decisions. Just five days worth, a few verses in five different chapters, offering advice and solace when it's time to walk to the left or to the right. I prayed, yes, that my reading could be useful for what it was worth. I apologized for who I am. I asked again that I be someone better. And those readings, each one, made me think of different reasons I should stay in Tennessee. I was surprised, and that was the beginning—or end?—of my turn toward this direction.
Essentially, I ended up with this question in my mind: What is important to you right now? This not in the sense of what I liked or what I spend my time on, but rather what did I need; what, if I looked at myself objectively as though from someone else's eyes, would I tell myself should be important to me at this juncture of my life. What came to mind sounded pretty cliché, but it did not feel that way: aging grandparents, cousins I hardly know, old friends at fantastic times of their lives, a religious experience that enhances the spiritual, opportunity to step out alone and take a risk, patience and adventure and growth. I received none of these things in Colorado, and it is probable would still not had I returned. (I'll miss you though, Anthony, no doubt.) Reading those passages of Scripture and witnessing my mind wander to those thoughts left me somewhat satisfied, somewhat eager, somewhat curious. Like the feeling during, but especially immediately after registering for a race. Now I had a reason! Now I had to run! Time to get some. Get out of my way and get in my wake, it's happening.
There were counter-arguments the entire time, never think for a moment there weren't. They were good, too. Strong. Logical. Numerous. But not enough. In less than a full day I have made what seems to be one of the biggest decisions of my life. Maybe I don't fully realize its significance. But that just makes me feel like it's all the sweeter! I gave myself an opportunity here! Things can go south, but things can go very north! This is a chance to live life, to be in the struggle, to find trust, to write some stories. Literally! I want to write more! I want to edit everything in the world! And then, when my butt is numb, when my legs are stiff, when my eyes are shot—then I want to go run the world!
I'm Chris. I'm unemployed. I'm homeless. I'm single. But I'm also healthy, smart, contemplative, empathetic, and made powerful. And I can grow a pretty mean beard. I'm shy, introverted, and lacking in self-confidence. But in this moment I am ready for adventure, I am eyes open and heart engaged. I am war-painted and yelling. Stamping, pounding. Rushing, crashing, coursing. Powerful. Nothing. Everything. In this moment, I am free.
---
I would also like to note, while it was a little scary to call Anthony, Steve, and Dan, I did it. And I only had to sufferfest a few minutes before calling Steve, and that was it. But more importantly, their reactions were all absolutely noble and exemplary. Support, support, support. While I know there must be a little bit of disappointment deep down inside—not so much that I won't be there as much as the help won't be there, and all of a sudden, too—none of them so much as hinted at it. Sounds good, bro! We'll miss you, you've been such a help! Let me know if there's ever any way I can help! I learned that afternoon, in those short conversations, that good men are good men. They do good things. I hope to be a good man.
I was just going to stay with the grandparents a couple days, see Schnell, run with Foote, and then beat it to Colorado for the weekend group that was on its way to GVR. While visiting Schnell and his ideas Monday afternoon, a call from someone over there started changing that, because it included some information that got my wheels turning. Maybe things wouldn't be so great. Maybe Schnell's coolness and brainstorms were exciting enough to stick around for after all. Maybe Chattanooga didn't seem so bad. Maybe I wouldn't go back after all??? It was a crazy thought. But what was more crazy, was that it didn't seem crazy at all.
Needless to say, the next 30 or so hours was a game changer. Traditionally, I'm horrible at these kinds of decisions. They pickle me and sludge me into an immobility that leaves me stuck and hurting, full of self-pity and self-doubt, resignation, confusion, and hibernating hatred. It'd be fascinating to be in the minds of others, to see how they resolve conflict and view their journey's forks, but for me it seems to simply be a matter of following the easiest line. Which kills me. I follow, always follow, and never find my own way. Which is why this time feels so much different.
I could argue that I'm following—I have family and friends in this area, it's what is known to me, I grew up here. But I'm not following anything! There are—conveniently worded—no leads here. It is the hard thing. I am giving up an easy-paying, brick brain, part-time job in Colorado for a future here of... absolutely nothing right now! And that's what's exciting. I'm not even scared yet. I think that will come in time. Along with stress, frustration, doubt. But that's why I'm writing this. I want to know what I felt, why I decided, where my eyes were set.
Tuesday morning, before running 20 miles with Foote, before driving to Atlanta with grandparents, I was in bed thinking. I'll quite openly admit to not being a faithful religious Christian, but even so there lies inside knowledge of what's right, of who is right. I opened up my Bible app and found a short devotional series on Decisions. Just five days worth, a few verses in five different chapters, offering advice and solace when it's time to walk to the left or to the right. I prayed, yes, that my reading could be useful for what it was worth. I apologized for who I am. I asked again that I be someone better. And those readings, each one, made me think of different reasons I should stay in Tennessee. I was surprised, and that was the beginning—or end?—of my turn toward this direction.
Essentially, I ended up with this question in my mind: What is important to you right now? This not in the sense of what I liked or what I spend my time on, but rather what did I need; what, if I looked at myself objectively as though from someone else's eyes, would I tell myself should be important to me at this juncture of my life. What came to mind sounded pretty cliché, but it did not feel that way: aging grandparents, cousins I hardly know, old friends at fantastic times of their lives, a religious experience that enhances the spiritual, opportunity to step out alone and take a risk, patience and adventure and growth. I received none of these things in Colorado, and it is probable would still not had I returned. (I'll miss you though, Anthony, no doubt.) Reading those passages of Scripture and witnessing my mind wander to those thoughts left me somewhat satisfied, somewhat eager, somewhat curious. Like the feeling during, but especially immediately after registering for a race. Now I had a reason! Now I had to run! Time to get some. Get out of my way and get in my wake, it's happening.
There were counter-arguments the entire time, never think for a moment there weren't. They were good, too. Strong. Logical. Numerous. But not enough. In less than a full day I have made what seems to be one of the biggest decisions of my life. Maybe I don't fully realize its significance. But that just makes me feel like it's all the sweeter! I gave myself an opportunity here! Things can go south, but things can go very north! This is a chance to live life, to be in the struggle, to find trust, to write some stories. Literally! I want to write more! I want to edit everything in the world! And then, when my butt is numb, when my legs are stiff, when my eyes are shot—then I want to go run the world!
I'm Chris. I'm unemployed. I'm homeless. I'm single. But I'm also healthy, smart, contemplative, empathetic, and made powerful. And I can grow a pretty mean beard. I'm shy, introverted, and lacking in self-confidence. But in this moment I am ready for adventure, I am eyes open and heart engaged. I am war-painted and yelling. Stamping, pounding. Rushing, crashing, coursing. Powerful. Nothing. Everything. In this moment, I am free.
---
I would also like to note, while it was a little scary to call Anthony, Steve, and Dan, I did it. And I only had to sufferfest a few minutes before calling Steve, and that was it. But more importantly, their reactions were all absolutely noble and exemplary. Support, support, support. While I know there must be a little bit of disappointment deep down inside—not so much that I won't be there as much as the help won't be there, and all of a sudden, too—none of them so much as hinted at it. Sounds good, bro! We'll miss you, you've been such a help! Let me know if there's ever any way I can help! I learned that afternoon, in those short conversations, that good men are good men. They do good things. I hope to be a good man.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Winning Winsdays 4
m u s i c
Zach Sobiech wrote a song called Clouds as he was dying of cancer at the age of 18. It's really good. And whoever arranged the version they sing here at the mall did a masterful job (via wimp). He also wrote songs with his good friend Sammy Brown. Her voice is magnificent. One I listened to of theirs was Fix Me Up. Both these songs are quite moving. Okay, maybe really moving.
v i d e o s
I want a dog that runs with as much heart. (via thekidsshouldseethis)
Bryan and Kaia from Foxwood Films on Vimeo.
Zach Sobiech wrote a song called Clouds as he was dying of cancer at the age of 18. It's really good. And whoever arranged the version they sing here at the mall did a masterful job (via wimp). He also wrote songs with his good friend Sammy Brown. Her voice is magnificent. One I listened to of theirs was Fix Me Up. Both these songs are quite moving. Okay, maybe really moving.
v i d e o s
I want a dog that runs with as much heart. (via thekidsshouldseethis)
Bryan and Kaia from Foxwood Films on Vimeo.
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