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.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
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.
- - - - -
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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