Current Obsessive Thought: Availability.
The idea that committing to plans automatically shields you from any other option, even if you realize that the plans you made were the best decision to make.
This is something that I have not been able to escape for much of my life. And it applies in almost every situation. It doesn't necessarily keep me from making my decisions or choosing a certain set of plans, but it leaves me with a helpless and restricted feeling when I do. There are a lot of obvious explanations and reactions to this, but I don't feel like I'm alone on this topic. It's so weird the way our brain makes us feel. I could make plans to watch the fire works from the top of the ferris wheel on Navy Pier, but will be jealous of those watching from the beach. This is a long-standing idea of the grass always being greener, the fear of commitment to anything, and an attempt to never feel excluded or left out. All of things I see happen in my life. But what's the solution? How do we get to a state of just being happy with where we are and what we've decided?
Apparently I recognize the problem, so there has to be more than just identifying it. What's the next step?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
"Words Fall From Your Lips...
...But never from my thoughts." (I:SCINTILLA)
I guess it's easy sometimes, as writers, and as speakers, to take for granted how your words are perceived. After all, when you say them, or type them, or however you choose to convey your point, there was probably a thought structure behind it. There was some sort of scheming or planning before you unleashed them on the world, or just to one other person. Whether these schematics were constructed out of an uninvited reaction or out of a fit of constant thoughts, there should have at least been a realization that while clear as glass inside your head, the release tends to smudge your true intentions.
It is this thought that should get you to pay a little more attention to what you communicate. If it means you pause an extra minute before you let your impulse react, or if you put yourself in someone else's shoes to receive your comments, there should always be a chance to take a step away from something you want to convey, as passionate or personal as it may be.
This is not a warning to hold back what you feel or to cover up your honesty. That would go against a lot of what I believe in. Just understand the danger of the tool you hold. You know all that sticks and stones BS. I'm not saying that calling someone a whore is going to hurt more than taking a conglomerate to the dome. But depending on the situation, a simple comment can be much more severe. So be respectful. Thoughtful. And honest. The rest will figure itself out.
I guess it's easy sometimes, as writers, and as speakers, to take for granted how your words are perceived. After all, when you say them, or type them, or however you choose to convey your point, there was probably a thought structure behind it. There was some sort of scheming or planning before you unleashed them on the world, or just to one other person. Whether these schematics were constructed out of an uninvited reaction or out of a fit of constant thoughts, there should have at least been a realization that while clear as glass inside your head, the release tends to smudge your true intentions.
It is this thought that should get you to pay a little more attention to what you communicate. If it means you pause an extra minute before you let your impulse react, or if you put yourself in someone else's shoes to receive your comments, there should always be a chance to take a step away from something you want to convey, as passionate or personal as it may be.
This is not a warning to hold back what you feel or to cover up your honesty. That would go against a lot of what I believe in. Just understand the danger of the tool you hold. You know all that sticks and stones BS. I'm not saying that calling someone a whore is going to hurt more than taking a conglomerate to the dome. But depending on the situation, a simple comment can be much more severe. So be respectful. Thoughtful. And honest. The rest will figure itself out.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Bed of Dough
Money is the currency of the world. (Sorry. Just really wanted to write that)
Money is a tricky thing to put your finger on. (This one might be full of double meanings and puns)
There have been a lot of theories and quotes and comments and ideas about money, money being evil, money not equaling happiness, money making life easier, etc. In the recently referenced movie the Pursuit of Happyness, Will Smith tells his son to 'make as much money as you can. Everything is a lot easier with money.' Money is the driving force behind our society, money is responsible for professional sports, for government. I don't even know why I gave 'examples' of what money influences when in reality, it is pretty much everything. Whether you have it or you don't, it's on your mind. The ones that don't need to find ways to get it. The ones that do need to find things to do with it. So while it may have its 'evils' and 'happiness isn't something to be purchased, this last paragraph basically states that an absolute necessity of life is the care, maintenance, and constant effort of gaining money, right?
That's what we're supposed to do. That's what we've been planted for... like a field full of crops. Born and raised for the same goal. Go to school and get good grades? Why? To prepare yourself for high school? Why? So you can do well enough to get into a good college (assuming you can afford it). Why? The better the college, the better chance at getting a good job. Why? The better the job, the more money you will make? Why? So when you have a family of your own, you can provide from them, put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Why? So you can give them the same chances that you were given. Why? Because that's our only goal. Right? That's what the instructions on the back of the box say. That's where the dotted lines lead you.
So far I have been a model of that formula. Yay.
Fergie just came on my iPod (save the comments). The song opens with 'If you ain't got no money, take your broke-ass home.' Pretty appropriate. I love when that happens.
ANYway. Money is a funny thing. And maybe my opinion of it is jaded because to this point, I have it. Well, obviously my opinion is jaded because of that. I'm living pretty much independent of outside (parental) support and have found myself nestled in pretty decent full time employment. But who's to say what is the right thing to do with our money? Some people want to buy their own place. Some people want to travel to Bermuda. Some people want to inflate their bank account. Some people want to live dime to dime and night to night, hoping things work out.
But some people want to try and not think about it. Some people want to know they have a cushion right now. But they still want to save a little. Add on a little at a time, but don't let the scare of a price tag stop you from truly enjoying something. Sometimes you just want to live like celebrities for a night, just because it seems like a reasonable thing to do on a Thursday. Sometimes you want to walk through the aisles of the grocery store, only buying things that have 'preferred savings.' Sometimes you want to buy your best friends a round of shots because you know, eventually, it will come back to you. Sometimes you want to book a flight to a city you've never been because the experience will be more valuable to your life course than the price of the ticket. And sometimes you want to deposit an entire paycheck into an account you know you won't touch. Sometimes you'll sacrifice designer jeans for $15 jobs from Old Navy, but you won't sacrifice a car that makes you enjoy driving.
I guess the point of all this 'anonymity' is to show how much gray area there really is when it comes to maintaining your money. At the end of the day, you need to be able to sleep. If you can sleep being thousands of dollars in debt, borrowing money and continuing to spend it, then for now, you're surviving. And if you can sleep because you never go out at night, knowing you funds are continuing to pile up, then for now, you're surviving. But for everyone else that bounces between the logical, safe path and the risky, careless path, you should be able to sleep because you're worn out from everything you've done, and excited for everything else that's going to happen.
Money is a tricky thing to put your finger on. (This one might be full of double meanings and puns)
There have been a lot of theories and quotes and comments and ideas about money, money being evil, money not equaling happiness, money making life easier, etc. In the recently referenced movie the Pursuit of Happyness, Will Smith tells his son to 'make as much money as you can. Everything is a lot easier with money.' Money is the driving force behind our society, money is responsible for professional sports, for government. I don't even know why I gave 'examples' of what money influences when in reality, it is pretty much everything. Whether you have it or you don't, it's on your mind. The ones that don't need to find ways to get it. The ones that do need to find things to do with it. So while it may have its 'evils' and 'happiness isn't something to be purchased, this last paragraph basically states that an absolute necessity of life is the care, maintenance, and constant effort of gaining money, right?
That's what we're supposed to do. That's what we've been planted for... like a field full of crops. Born and raised for the same goal. Go to school and get good grades? Why? To prepare yourself for high school? Why? So you can do well enough to get into a good college (assuming you can afford it). Why? The better the college, the better chance at getting a good job. Why? The better the job, the more money you will make? Why? So when you have a family of your own, you can provide from them, put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Why? So you can give them the same chances that you were given. Why? Because that's our only goal. Right? That's what the instructions on the back of the box say. That's where the dotted lines lead you.
So far I have been a model of that formula. Yay.
Fergie just came on my iPod (save the comments). The song opens with 'If you ain't got no money, take your broke-ass home.' Pretty appropriate. I love when that happens.
ANYway. Money is a funny thing. And maybe my opinion of it is jaded because to this point, I have it. Well, obviously my opinion is jaded because of that. I'm living pretty much independent of outside (parental) support and have found myself nestled in pretty decent full time employment. But who's to say what is the right thing to do with our money? Some people want to buy their own place. Some people want to travel to Bermuda. Some people want to inflate their bank account. Some people want to live dime to dime and night to night, hoping things work out.
But some people want to try and not think about it. Some people want to know they have a cushion right now. But they still want to save a little. Add on a little at a time, but don't let the scare of a price tag stop you from truly enjoying something. Sometimes you just want to live like celebrities for a night, just because it seems like a reasonable thing to do on a Thursday. Sometimes you want to walk through the aisles of the grocery store, only buying things that have 'preferred savings.' Sometimes you want to buy your best friends a round of shots because you know, eventually, it will come back to you. Sometimes you want to book a flight to a city you've never been because the experience will be more valuable to your life course than the price of the ticket. And sometimes you want to deposit an entire paycheck into an account you know you won't touch. Sometimes you'll sacrifice designer jeans for $15 jobs from Old Navy, but you won't sacrifice a car that makes you enjoy driving.
I guess the point of all this 'anonymity' is to show how much gray area there really is when it comes to maintaining your money. At the end of the day, you need to be able to sleep. If you can sleep being thousands of dollars in debt, borrowing money and continuing to spend it, then for now, you're surviving. And if you can sleep because you never go out at night, knowing you funds are continuing to pile up, then for now, you're surviving. But for everyone else that bounces between the logical, safe path and the risky, careless path, you should be able to sleep because you're worn out from everything you've done, and excited for everything else that's going to happen.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Continuing My Pursuit
"It was right then that I started thinking about Thomas Jefferson on the Declaration of Independence and the part about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And I remember thinking how did he know to put the pursuit part in there? That maybe happiness is something that we can only pursue and maybe we can actually never have it. No matter what. How did he know that?"
This was a cool thought to me. It's from The Pursuit of Happyness. The idea, though, of never actually attaining what we all desperately search for: being happy. Something in that quote and that idea draws me in. And it continues to do so until I actually think about it. That's where the rest of this goes...
First of all, there is a point in the movie where Will Smith says, "This part of my life... this part right here? This is called 'happiness.'" So disproves his own theory. But that wasn't the point of writing this.
There is some truth to the theory. It takes some distinction between ideas, but the state of being happy is not a plateau. There's never a point you can reach where you just become happy. There's no job, no spouse, no car that can bring you to stage of eternal bliss. Marrying the love of your life might be a big part of it, landing your dream job, driving your dream car, these are all very big parts. And most of us are thankful for the health we have, the friends we share, and the experiences we've come to endure that add up to equal each and every one of us. But at the end of the day, there's no achieving happiness. Why? Like Dennis Leary says, happiness comes in small doses. Happiness is a constantly revolving series of acts, thoughts, moments, and people that positively impact your life and cause you to feel some sort of appreciation for life and the way that you're living it.
And it's that idea that makes this whole topic a shade of gray. Who's to say that the pursuit of happiness isn't the part that makes you happy. Of course, that would depend on the path. Obviously, Christopher Gardner's path was one of absolute crap, and I would imagine there wasn't a lot of the no money, late payments, moving from an apartment to a hotel to a subway bathroom, the parking tickets, the sink baths and bus fares, none of it left him with a warm feeling of happiness. But for everyone who's ever heard the cliché of the destination is not important, it's the journey. The same idea applies to this happiness debate.
So no, on my journey towards unequivocal happiness, I am not 'happy' with it until you have some time to reflect. I don't wake up every day smiling to be alive. I don't fall asleep to pleasant dreams every night. I don't say hi to everyone or feel peace on my drives home from work. But at the end of it all, and the end of the years, the months, the weeks, even at the end of most days, I can look back and say that while there are parts of my life that I wish were different, where there is room for improvement, where there is room for companionship, for competitiveness, for something bigger or better than what I have now, I cannot say to anyone that my pursuit of happiness does something besides make me happy, thereby disqualifying the theory, while at the same time, keeping it alive in order to drive further pursuit.
Who says I like run-ons? 101 word sentences with 13 commas happen all the time.
This was a cool thought to me. It's from The Pursuit of Happyness. The idea, though, of never actually attaining what we all desperately search for: being happy. Something in that quote and that idea draws me in. And it continues to do so until I actually think about it. That's where the rest of this goes...
First of all, there is a point in the movie where Will Smith says, "This part of my life... this part right here? This is called 'happiness.'" So disproves his own theory. But that wasn't the point of writing this.
There is some truth to the theory. It takes some distinction between ideas, but the state of being happy is not a plateau. There's never a point you can reach where you just become happy. There's no job, no spouse, no car that can bring you to stage of eternal bliss. Marrying the love of your life might be a big part of it, landing your dream job, driving your dream car, these are all very big parts. And most of us are thankful for the health we have, the friends we share, and the experiences we've come to endure that add up to equal each and every one of us. But at the end of the day, there's no achieving happiness. Why? Like Dennis Leary says, happiness comes in small doses. Happiness is a constantly revolving series of acts, thoughts, moments, and people that positively impact your life and cause you to feel some sort of appreciation for life and the way that you're living it.
And it's that idea that makes this whole topic a shade of gray. Who's to say that the pursuit of happiness isn't the part that makes you happy. Of course, that would depend on the path. Obviously, Christopher Gardner's path was one of absolute crap, and I would imagine there wasn't a lot of the no money, late payments, moving from an apartment to a hotel to a subway bathroom, the parking tickets, the sink baths and bus fares, none of it left him with a warm feeling of happiness. But for everyone who's ever heard the cliché of the destination is not important, it's the journey. The same idea applies to this happiness debate.
So no, on my journey towards unequivocal happiness, I am not 'happy' with it until you have some time to reflect. I don't wake up every day smiling to be alive. I don't fall asleep to pleasant dreams every night. I don't say hi to everyone or feel peace on my drives home from work. But at the end of it all, and the end of the years, the months, the weeks, even at the end of most days, I can look back and say that while there are parts of my life that I wish were different, where there is room for improvement, where there is room for companionship, for competitiveness, for something bigger or better than what I have now, I cannot say to anyone that my pursuit of happiness does something besides make me happy, thereby disqualifying the theory, while at the same time, keeping it alive in order to drive further pursuit.
Who says I like run-ons? 101 word sentences with 13 commas happen all the time.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Pursuit of Happiness
You got a dream... You gotta protect it. People can't do somethin' themselves, they wanna tell you you can't do it. If you want somethin', go get it. Period.
On a similar note, I just got inspired by a Chivas Regal commercial.
I had a very slow day, thoughts are hard to come by.
On a similar note, I just got inspired by a Chivas Regal commercial.
I had a very slow day, thoughts are hard to come by.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Let's Get Introspective
This was an response to a friend that sent a very challenging email with phenomenal perspective on me and how I act. Thought I would share a little bit of self-explanation instead of sharing my thoughts on everything else, for a change...
It's taken me a long time to figure out who I am. A big turn happened junior year of college. And a lot of what was started there has culminated into who you see now, gallivanting around town and dance floors like I actually know what I'm doing. But as we all know, or should know, we can't do anything more than cast out an educated guess and hope that we stepped with the right foot. Which of course is to say, no one should be convinced that their path is made in stone. You don't pour cement for the sidewalk of your life, you just clear a trail wide enough to be changed without disturbing the environment. Since, in the end, all we're doing is guessing. It'd be foolish to put all your chips on the table for a guess. Then again, I was never much of a gambler.
in the same way that the first paragraph directly influences the direction of the rest of the essay, the grounded thoughts and morals and ideals that I pride myself on actually knowing, continually influence pretty much every decision I make. And many of these foundation bits don't necessarily directly impact my daily life, at least not obviously, there are aspects of them that lead me to a certain way of living life. And I'm pretty sure the idea of being a perfectionist lists pretty high on one of those 'how you affect my daily life' type of things my life has been constructed around.
Perfectionism should really only apply to the things I do or that affect my life, which, as you appropriately pointed out, the way you text would not fall into that category. But obviously there are more parts to this equation besides my eager desire for everything to be perfect and make sense. There is definitely an aspect of 'well, i knew this, why didn't you know this. my IQ is higher than you.' Most affectionately seen when baseball is brought up, since, and this may not be an exaggeration, even if I've been known to exaggerate as well, but I might actually know more about baseball than anyone i know, ex-coaches excluded. At least some of them. But baseball aside, I do believe that my perspectives tend to be not necessarily always right, but always considered and intelligent, or at least logical. There are very few things that I've only looked at from one angle. And I may see it as trying to help the person I'm talking to, but I'm sure they're just standing there thinking what an asshole I am because I think I know enough to run the world (I would have some good ideas though).
So I guess there is a notion of trying to help, but unless someone is willing to listen, or change, I end up just pissing people off. And there are ways to point these things out constructively, and obviously I struggle in that territory, but a part of me really doesn't have an interest in changing this habit. Bear with me... Being this way keeps me challenged. Of course I don't listen for a mistake, but I'm pretty committed to listening to everything I hear, and it keeps me sharp to hear inaccuracies and attempt to correct them. And I don't always intend to do it in a combative tone, it just comes out that way. I find myself arguing a point I don't actually believe, just to get people thinking about the other side of the argument. I play devil's advocate why? I don't know, I guess I find it fun to get engaged in persuasive conversation. (see 'Heated Argument')
So explaining all that makes sense, but looking at this as a form of a defense mechanism is also a factor. Confidence never ranked very high on the 'traits that chris lazzerini possesses' list. In fact, until very recently, I had none. Not one shred. And even now, if we're comparing this to rivers, Brad Pitt being the amazon, I'm probably like the Illinois River. Definitely not a stream anymore, but I'm not capsizing cargo ships anytime soon... So yes, I resort to humor. I resort to proving my 'quick wit' and being a little antagonistic, a little sarcastic. I want to prove myself as full proof. Impregnable. Without holes. So I fight back at any point, thinking anything less would be a chink in my armor. And as much as I don't believe that, it doesn't stop me from doing it. Trust me, I know I'm flawed. The idea of 'not trying hard' is an awesome one. And I could reel off a plethora of quotes that I try to live by. But I still fall into the same traps. While I consider myself an open book, void of secrets, the part of me I try to cover up more than anything is my past. No one wants to talk to a sad sap that spent most of his high school on aol. ...and you wonder how i got good at typing what i feel. I make people laugh because it saves me from engaging in legitimate conversation. Maybe because I divulge too much, too fast, or because if I keep talking, I'll probably just end up insulting them, or arguing with them about some trivial, I still tend to lean towards a hefty spoonful of sarcasm when put in social situations. And I've said some terrible things for the cause of a laugh, when it's not aways appropriate to be funny. And obviously I feel strain to change eeeeverything I just talked about. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't working on it. But just like in golf, you can think that everything you've learned over the last week is going to change the way you play, but once you're back on the course, your swing falls into those same habits. Why? It's natural, and it's safe, even if ineffective.
I'm a strange kid. If you hadn't already noticed. No opinion or example could ever be more halved, two-faced, di-chromatic, or whatever other dual-thinged comparison I can make, than me. And that probably isn't the best way to describe it, since I'm more than just two different things. I'm like 20 different things. I'm like a rubix cube. Lots of related colors that tend to line up, and lots of different colors that keep screwing everything up, especially when you're so close to figuring the whole thing out. And as much as this garbage pile pulls me in different directions and keeps me from fully achieving any accomplishment in one direction, I still believe that pure nature of the sum of many different parts puts together a balanced human being. Something I may have mentioned before. Sometimes I feel like I'll never truly be a part of something because there's always something pulling me in a different direction. But most of the time I feel good that there's something to keep me away from the extremes. And you know how much I hate extremes. I want to listen to country, and metal, and rap. I want to ballroom dance and play softball. I want to write a blog and watch a movie. I want to drink wine at the park and slam beers at the bar. I want to wear ripped up jeans and shirts and ties. I want to tell jokes and sad stories. I want to laugh and cry. I want to have fun and feel pain. I want to hang with the guys and chill with the girls. I want to go on vacations and enjoy my home town. I want to stay close to my friends and meet new people. I want to hook up with girls and find my true love. But the only thing I'm sure of is I want to enjoy life, get the most out of it, and bring joy to other people. Which, as of recently, I'm beginning to see the areas of my life where I can improve a little more clearly.
I challenge you to do the same thing. You never know who's life you're affecting. Strength has more faces than people realize. But real eyes need to be able to see their own strengths, and know what force they can be deployed at. Or, if they're even strengths at all. For there is nothing more dangerous that a weakness being thought of as a strength.
It's taken me a long time to figure out who I am. A big turn happened junior year of college. And a lot of what was started there has culminated into who you see now, gallivanting around town and dance floors like I actually know what I'm doing. But as we all know, or should know, we can't do anything more than cast out an educated guess and hope that we stepped with the right foot. Which of course is to say, no one should be convinced that their path is made in stone. You don't pour cement for the sidewalk of your life, you just clear a trail wide enough to be changed without disturbing the environment. Since, in the end, all we're doing is guessing. It'd be foolish to put all your chips on the table for a guess. Then again, I was never much of a gambler.
in the same way that the first paragraph directly influences the direction of the rest of the essay, the grounded thoughts and morals and ideals that I pride myself on actually knowing, continually influence pretty much every decision I make. And many of these foundation bits don't necessarily directly impact my daily life, at least not obviously, there are aspects of them that lead me to a certain way of living life. And I'm pretty sure the idea of being a perfectionist lists pretty high on one of those 'how you affect my daily life' type of things my life has been constructed around.
Perfectionism should really only apply to the things I do or that affect my life, which, as you appropriately pointed out, the way you text would not fall into that category. But obviously there are more parts to this equation besides my eager desire for everything to be perfect and make sense. There is definitely an aspect of 'well, i knew this, why didn't you know this. my IQ is higher than you.' Most affectionately seen when baseball is brought up, since, and this may not be an exaggeration, even if I've been known to exaggerate as well, but I might actually know more about baseball than anyone i know, ex-coaches excluded. At least some of them. But baseball aside, I do believe that my perspectives tend to be not necessarily always right, but always considered and intelligent, or at least logical. There are very few things that I've only looked at from one angle. And I may see it as trying to help the person I'm talking to, but I'm sure they're just standing there thinking what an asshole I am because I think I know enough to run the world (I would have some good ideas though).
So I guess there is a notion of trying to help, but unless someone is willing to listen, or change, I end up just pissing people off. And there are ways to point these things out constructively, and obviously I struggle in that territory, but a part of me really doesn't have an interest in changing this habit. Bear with me... Being this way keeps me challenged. Of course I don't listen for a mistake, but I'm pretty committed to listening to everything I hear, and it keeps me sharp to hear inaccuracies and attempt to correct them. And I don't always intend to do it in a combative tone, it just comes out that way. I find myself arguing a point I don't actually believe, just to get people thinking about the other side of the argument. I play devil's advocate why? I don't know, I guess I find it fun to get engaged in persuasive conversation. (see 'Heated Argument')
So explaining all that makes sense, but looking at this as a form of a defense mechanism is also a factor. Confidence never ranked very high on the 'traits that chris lazzerini possesses' list. In fact, until very recently, I had none. Not one shred. And even now, if we're comparing this to rivers, Brad Pitt being the amazon, I'm probably like the Illinois River. Definitely not a stream anymore, but I'm not capsizing cargo ships anytime soon... So yes, I resort to humor. I resort to proving my 'quick wit' and being a little antagonistic, a little sarcastic. I want to prove myself as full proof. Impregnable. Without holes. So I fight back at any point, thinking anything less would be a chink in my armor. And as much as I don't believe that, it doesn't stop me from doing it. Trust me, I know I'm flawed. The idea of 'not trying hard' is an awesome one. And I could reel off a plethora of quotes that I try to live by. But I still fall into the same traps. While I consider myself an open book, void of secrets, the part of me I try to cover up more than anything is my past. No one wants to talk to a sad sap that spent most of his high school on aol. ...and you wonder how i got good at typing what i feel. I make people laugh because it saves me from engaging in legitimate conversation. Maybe because I divulge too much, too fast, or because if I keep talking, I'll probably just end up insulting them, or arguing with them about some trivial, I still tend to lean towards a hefty spoonful of sarcasm when put in social situations. And I've said some terrible things for the cause of a laugh, when it's not aways appropriate to be funny. And obviously I feel strain to change eeeeverything I just talked about. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't working on it. But just like in golf, you can think that everything you've learned over the last week is going to change the way you play, but once you're back on the course, your swing falls into those same habits. Why? It's natural, and it's safe, even if ineffective.
I'm a strange kid. If you hadn't already noticed. No opinion or example could ever be more halved, two-faced, di-chromatic, or whatever other dual-thinged comparison I can make, than me. And that probably isn't the best way to describe it, since I'm more than just two different things. I'm like 20 different things. I'm like a rubix cube. Lots of related colors that tend to line up, and lots of different colors that keep screwing everything up, especially when you're so close to figuring the whole thing out. And as much as this garbage pile pulls me in different directions and keeps me from fully achieving any accomplishment in one direction, I still believe that pure nature of the sum of many different parts puts together a balanced human being. Something I may have mentioned before. Sometimes I feel like I'll never truly be a part of something because there's always something pulling me in a different direction. But most of the time I feel good that there's something to keep me away from the extremes. And you know how much I hate extremes. I want to listen to country, and metal, and rap. I want to ballroom dance and play softball. I want to write a blog and watch a movie. I want to drink wine at the park and slam beers at the bar. I want to wear ripped up jeans and shirts and ties. I want to tell jokes and sad stories. I want to laugh and cry. I want to have fun and feel pain. I want to hang with the guys and chill with the girls. I want to go on vacations and enjoy my home town. I want to stay close to my friends and meet new people. I want to hook up with girls and find my true love. But the only thing I'm sure of is I want to enjoy life, get the most out of it, and bring joy to other people. Which, as of recently, I'm beginning to see the areas of my life where I can improve a little more clearly.
I challenge you to do the same thing. You never know who's life you're affecting. Strength has more faces than people realize. But real eyes need to be able to see their own strengths, and know what force they can be deployed at. Or, if they're even strengths at all. For there is nothing more dangerous that a weakness being thought of as a strength.
Monday, June 8, 2009
America, the Beautiful
This weekend I had the privilege to attend the U.S. vs Honduras World Cup Qualifier game that was held at Soldier's Field, Chicago, IL. It's hard to contain my thoughts and emotions to a blog post. And this might have a little different tone than I'm used to. But this was one of the top 5 most memorable experiences in my life.
Some friends and I made a hefty walk from the Roosevelt EL stop to the field, over a mile in total before we got to the parking lot where the rest of my friends were. I knew there was a chance that Hondurans would be well represented to the point of possible majority, but I never thought this: Every car that was not a cab > Honking Hondurans; 90% of the people on the street > Flag-toting Hondurans in jerseys, honking back. 100% of the people in tunnels under LSD and various other bridges > Chanting Hondurans with drums and horns. 100% of the people on the steps of the Field Museum > Chanting Hondurans with a flag the size driveways.
I don't think I've ever been so outnumbered in my life, while at the same time, feeling absolutely no immediate threat. Everyone was there to support their country. It was peacefully raucous. Poetically unnerving. Epically counter intuitive. They had us outnumbered 4-1 for the 55,000 people that attended the game. Plus... the horns. They all had horns. I've been to the loudest and fastest and heaviest metal shows in arenas smaller than high school gyms, and the noise coming out of these tunnels was worse. On the verge of intolerable. But impressive.
While we meandered through appetizers and dips and grilling and bags and beers and mixed drinks and music and rain, we tailgated in a predominantly U.S. area. Masses of people marched through the aisles, chanting for their country. Flags were worn by the hundreds. But seemingly no hostility. Just excitement. And passion.
Then it was time to go into the game. We rolled to the gates with about 15 people, screaming the national anthem like we majored in being tone-deaf. Every American group of people we passed joined in our singing. We started take 2 while walking down the stairs to the lower level of the parking garage, and our voices echoed endlessly from wall to wall of the structure. I honestly cannot think of a time in my life where I have felt more American. Or, realistically, been more proud to be American.
The game itself was amazing. I spent a large majority of the fall of my senior year of high school watching my best friends play soccer, and this brought a lot of those memories back. Except I was sitting 10 rows back from the best players in my country, surrounded by 45,000 Hondurans. I screamed my lungs out for as long as I could. I yelled at Honduras dives and bad passes and every foul called. I felt like I'd been watching this team for years. And even though I hadn't, I hugged and screamed like I had been, and when the game was finally signaled over, one of the greatest moments of pure elation flooded over me. As insane as this sounds, it was almost surreal beyond explanation. The setting, the emotion, the beers... it was special. And I appreciated all I could.
I'm not sure how much you can get a picture of what it was like to be there just by reading this, but I can honestly say it was one of the best 6-7 hour spans I've had the joy of experiencing. I don't usually seep national pride, but on Saturday I was bleeding red, white, and blue, and felt very comfortable doing so. Can't wait to watch them in the World Cup next year. And am I actually considering traveling to South Africa to see them???
Some friends and I made a hefty walk from the Roosevelt EL stop to the field, over a mile in total before we got to the parking lot where the rest of my friends were. I knew there was a chance that Hondurans would be well represented to the point of possible majority, but I never thought this: Every car that was not a cab > Honking Hondurans; 90% of the people on the street > Flag-toting Hondurans in jerseys, honking back. 100% of the people in tunnels under LSD and various other bridges > Chanting Hondurans with drums and horns. 100% of the people on the steps of the Field Museum > Chanting Hondurans with a flag the size driveways.
I don't think I've ever been so outnumbered in my life, while at the same time, feeling absolutely no immediate threat. Everyone was there to support their country. It was peacefully raucous. Poetically unnerving. Epically counter intuitive. They had us outnumbered 4-1 for the 55,000 people that attended the game. Plus... the horns. They all had horns. I've been to the loudest and fastest and heaviest metal shows in arenas smaller than high school gyms, and the noise coming out of these tunnels was worse. On the verge of intolerable. But impressive.
While we meandered through appetizers and dips and grilling and bags and beers and mixed drinks and music and rain, we tailgated in a predominantly U.S. area. Masses of people marched through the aisles, chanting for their country. Flags were worn by the hundreds. But seemingly no hostility. Just excitement. And passion.
Then it was time to go into the game. We rolled to the gates with about 15 people, screaming the national anthem like we majored in being tone-deaf. Every American group of people we passed joined in our singing. We started take 2 while walking down the stairs to the lower level of the parking garage, and our voices echoed endlessly from wall to wall of the structure. I honestly cannot think of a time in my life where I have felt more American. Or, realistically, been more proud to be American.
The game itself was amazing. I spent a large majority of the fall of my senior year of high school watching my best friends play soccer, and this brought a lot of those memories back. Except I was sitting 10 rows back from the best players in my country, surrounded by 45,000 Hondurans. I screamed my lungs out for as long as I could. I yelled at Honduras dives and bad passes and every foul called. I felt like I'd been watching this team for years. And even though I hadn't, I hugged and screamed like I had been, and when the game was finally signaled over, one of the greatest moments of pure elation flooded over me. As insane as this sounds, it was almost surreal beyond explanation. The setting, the emotion, the beers... it was special. And I appreciated all I could.
I'm not sure how much you can get a picture of what it was like to be there just by reading this, but I can honestly say it was one of the best 6-7 hour spans I've had the joy of experiencing. I don't usually seep national pride, but on Saturday I was bleeding red, white, and blue, and felt very comfortable doing so. Can't wait to watch them in the World Cup next year. And am I actually considering traveling to South Africa to see them???
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
One for the Ages
Birthdays happen every day. - FACT
Over 140,000 babies are born every day around the world. - FACT
I share a birthday with Brett Favre and Mario Lopez. - FACT
My birthday changes who I am every year. - FALLACY
In the same way that Juliet frustratingly soliloquies (kinda) that a name does not define who a person is, neither does the number of years we've been alive that accompanies that name. Actually, that's not entirely true. Apparently I'm walking my balance beam a little earlier in this post than usual... Obviously there's some relevant aspect to an age. Under 18, for example. But looking past that, I'm taking this down two different, but related routes: One, the arbitrary nature of claiming an age just because you're exactly 365 days x however many years older. Two, the seemingly uncorrelated relationship with one's actions with the number of their age (not the age itself). And I already see some self-doubt forming, so let's just Dora for a while...
My first thought is aimed at people who believe the day before their birthday is somehow less significant because you don't get to say, 'I'm ____ years old,' and be completely accurate. There seems to be this idea that we're only full numbers of ages after about the age of 12, and all the stuff that falls in the middle is just the gray area before your next birthday. Why are we so caught up in living life twelve months at a time? Our lives are so broken down into organizable segments that we tend to miss transitions and phases and transformations, reflecting instead as if things happen when we're sleeping.
'Wow, I was so different when I was 21 compared to when I was 22...'
Unless you lived the 365 days after your 21st birthday in a drunken haze, and suddenly woke up on your 22nd birthday sober (which some people do...), I'm going to guess that the change was defined by blurred boundaries and fluctuating time lines. So stop referring to your life in 12 month portions and start realizing that the ebb and flow of life is as wispy as swept up clouds sneaking across a low mountain sky, not meant to be contained, straightened, or organized.
My second point is losing steam. I wanted to write about it not mattering what age you are. Your actions, your maturity levels, the way you react to situations and plan your thoughts and convey your points, all these things seem independent of age, meaning not everyone progresses at the same speed, and that you don't need a number attached to you to be able to pull off being you. I've typically been considered slightly more mature for my age, and could pass for someone 4, 5 even 6 or 7 years older than what I actually am. This would imply that while my age might have restricted me on when I could legally drive, when I could legally vote, and when I could legally drink, it did not define who I was. I lived as an independent person, void of the shackles of age. And this is a cool idea.
But to say that age has no effect on people... There are some people that wake up 30 years old and go 'shit, I need to get my ducks in a row.' There are people that wake up 40 years old and think, 'it's now or never.' There's even people that wake up 70 years old and go, 'I guess I have to start wearing a diaper.' And for these people, the age is what matters. The number is what matters. The exact timing that 30, or 40, or 70 years ago, to the day, their life began. And according to their thought structure, and their life blueprint, something needs to be happening. And at 29 and 362 days, and 29 and 363 days, and 29 and 364 days, nothing changes. But on that 365th day, boom goes the dynamite.
I'd like to hope that I will continue to live my life void of age constraints. Void of fearing a new number next to my facebook birthday. But who knows what the future will bring? All I know right now is I've thoroughly enjoyed living a portion of my life, and I hope the rest of it continues down this path.
I really struggled for an appropriate picture about age. Any suggestions?
Over 140,000 babies are born every day around the world. - FACT
I share a birthday with Brett Favre and Mario Lopez. - FACT
My birthday changes who I am every year. - FALLACY
In the same way that Juliet frustratingly soliloquies (kinda) that a name does not define who a person is, neither does the number of years we've been alive that accompanies that name. Actually, that's not entirely true. Apparently I'm walking my balance beam a little earlier in this post than usual... Obviously there's some relevant aspect to an age. Under 18, for example. But looking past that, I'm taking this down two different, but related routes: One, the arbitrary nature of claiming an age just because you're exactly 365 days x however many years older. Two, the seemingly uncorrelated relationship with one's actions with the number of their age (not the age itself). And I already see some self-doubt forming, so let's just Dora for a while...
My first thought is aimed at people who believe the day before their birthday is somehow less significant because you don't get to say, 'I'm ____ years old,' and be completely accurate. There seems to be this idea that we're only full numbers of ages after about the age of 12, and all the stuff that falls in the middle is just the gray area before your next birthday. Why are we so caught up in living life twelve months at a time? Our lives are so broken down into organizable segments that we tend to miss transitions and phases and transformations, reflecting instead as if things happen when we're sleeping.
'Wow, I was so different when I was 21 compared to when I was 22...'
Unless you lived the 365 days after your 21st birthday in a drunken haze, and suddenly woke up on your 22nd birthday sober (which some people do...), I'm going to guess that the change was defined by blurred boundaries and fluctuating time lines. So stop referring to your life in 12 month portions and start realizing that the ebb and flow of life is as wispy as swept up clouds sneaking across a low mountain sky, not meant to be contained, straightened, or organized.
My second point is losing steam. I wanted to write about it not mattering what age you are. Your actions, your maturity levels, the way you react to situations and plan your thoughts and convey your points, all these things seem independent of age, meaning not everyone progresses at the same speed, and that you don't need a number attached to you to be able to pull off being you. I've typically been considered slightly more mature for my age, and could pass for someone 4, 5 even 6 or 7 years older than what I actually am. This would imply that while my age might have restricted me on when I could legally drive, when I could legally vote, and when I could legally drink, it did not define who I was. I lived as an independent person, void of the shackles of age. And this is a cool idea.
But to say that age has no effect on people... There are some people that wake up 30 years old and go 'shit, I need to get my ducks in a row.' There are people that wake up 40 years old and think, 'it's now or never.' There's even people that wake up 70 years old and go, 'I guess I have to start wearing a diaper.' And for these people, the age is what matters. The number is what matters. The exact timing that 30, or 40, or 70 years ago, to the day, their life began. And according to their thought structure, and their life blueprint, something needs to be happening. And at 29 and 362 days, and 29 and 363 days, and 29 and 364 days, nothing changes. But on that 365th day, boom goes the dynamite.
I'd like to hope that I will continue to live my life void of age constraints. Void of fearing a new number next to my facebook birthday. But who knows what the future will bring? All I know right now is I've thoroughly enjoyed living a portion of my life, and I hope the rest of it continues down this path.
I really struggled for an appropriate picture about age. Any suggestions?
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
What Did I Ever Do To You, June?
So last night, I experienced one of the most disheartening sequence of events that I can remember. Now I'm not saying this was the worst act of human display I've ever heard of, but as far as witnessing, this might take the cake.
So after a long, tired day of work and some bad luck timing with the rain, I pulled into my parking spot under the EL, next to my building. I grabbed the ten or so plastic jewel bags of groceries out of my trunk, along with 2 pairs of shoes and my computer bag that were in my backseat. A mildly suspicious group of about 8 or 10 black high school guys were walking south down the alley, approaching my direction from the other side of Newport. Unfortunately, given the nature of the situation, I fell into a brief sate of worry, but then calmly put my car cover on and started loading up my arms to carry everything in as the kids seemed to disperse.
Well by the time I got to my stoop, every one of the kids was sitting on my front steps, completely blocking the entrance. They said hi to me, I said hi back, motioned to them I need to get in the door, and they kindly and enthusiastically got out of the way and apologized. As I was struggling to open the door and get in with everything on my arms, I heard the kids behind me make some noises. When I turned back, I saw one of the kids standing in the middle of the street, on his cell phone, starting to walk behind an older white man that was diagonally crossing the street. Once the older (maybe 45?) got to the sidewalk, I watched the kid punch the man in the back of the head, push him into the fence, knocking him to the ground. He laughs, grabs his hat, and starts walking back to his friends, who were laughing.
An older woman that also saw it started yelling at the kid, and they all ran off towards Clark. And I walked inside.
This happened at 5:30 in the evening, broad daylight. About 200 feet from a large 3-way intersection. On the 'classy' tree-lined street, nice enough looking for a movie to film there. So I guess it doesn't matter where you live. And I couldn't open my mouth. My arms were completely incapacitated. They knew where I lived. They knew where my car was parked. I was defenseless. But ignored.
And the whole situation didn't leave me scared, just sad.
Sad because I watched a young black kid punch an older white man for no reason, and he just laughed about it.
Sad because my initial 'fears' of seeing a group of black kids walking my way was more or less confirmed, and what that might say about me.
Sad because the state of our society is still this bad, even if some people want to call it 'kids being kids'
Sad because it doesn't matter where you live, what street you live on, how light it is outside, or what safety precautions you take, it can still just come down to wrong place, wrong time.
And sad because there was next to nothing that I could have done about it, as it happened.
I didn't think I needed a reminder of all those reasons to be sad, but I got one. June decided to welcome me with a giant slap in the face. Hope this isn't an indicator on how the rest of summer will go.
So after a long, tired day of work and some bad luck timing with the rain, I pulled into my parking spot under the EL, next to my building. I grabbed the ten or so plastic jewel bags of groceries out of my trunk, along with 2 pairs of shoes and my computer bag that were in my backseat. A mildly suspicious group of about 8 or 10 black high school guys were walking south down the alley, approaching my direction from the other side of Newport. Unfortunately, given the nature of the situation, I fell into a brief sate of worry, but then calmly put my car cover on and started loading up my arms to carry everything in as the kids seemed to disperse.
Well by the time I got to my stoop, every one of the kids was sitting on my front steps, completely blocking the entrance. They said hi to me, I said hi back, motioned to them I need to get in the door, and they kindly and enthusiastically got out of the way and apologized. As I was struggling to open the door and get in with everything on my arms, I heard the kids behind me make some noises. When I turned back, I saw one of the kids standing in the middle of the street, on his cell phone, starting to walk behind an older white man that was diagonally crossing the street. Once the older (maybe 45?) got to the sidewalk, I watched the kid punch the man in the back of the head, push him into the fence, knocking him to the ground. He laughs, grabs his hat, and starts walking back to his friends, who were laughing.
An older woman that also saw it started yelling at the kid, and they all ran off towards Clark. And I walked inside.
This happened at 5:30 in the evening, broad daylight. About 200 feet from a large 3-way intersection. On the 'classy' tree-lined street, nice enough looking for a movie to film there. So I guess it doesn't matter where you live. And I couldn't open my mouth. My arms were completely incapacitated. They knew where I lived. They knew where my car was parked. I was defenseless. But ignored.
And the whole situation didn't leave me scared, just sad.
Sad because I watched a young black kid punch an older white man for no reason, and he just laughed about it.
Sad because my initial 'fears' of seeing a group of black kids walking my way was more or less confirmed, and what that might say about me.
Sad because the state of our society is still this bad, even if some people want to call it 'kids being kids'
Sad because it doesn't matter where you live, what street you live on, how light it is outside, or what safety precautions you take, it can still just come down to wrong place, wrong time.
And sad because there was next to nothing that I could have done about it, as it happened.
I didn't think I needed a reminder of all those reasons to be sad, but I got one. June decided to welcome me with a giant slap in the face. Hope this isn't an indicator on how the rest of summer will go.
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