Brand New Day

Tonight I enjoyed a pilgrimage for peace that I've made many times. There was no intended destination; no Mecca I sought. Simply the freedom and joy that I find in the journey (more about that here, if you wish). Meandering down the moonlit road, waves crashing on crumbled stone, music resounding in time to the salty wind in my hair: this is peace. For me anyway.

As I partook of these rare moments, I released many of things that have been weighing on my mind of late. For the last 27 days I've been working on a self-improvement project that demands time daily. More than most who follow my progress would imagine. I'm suffering from much self imposed pressure to not quit, as I have so many other things in life. This pressure exists despite my enjoyment of the tasks. The fear I'll forsake my intention has caused me unrest. However I've also noticed something else. Something very good.

The goal of this undertaking is simply to become a better man. I've no archetype set in mind, just a desire to change. I grew weary of my sad existence. By this I mean no insult to my life. I was earnestly carrying less hope and more desperation than I ever had before. 2010 was unkind in most every conceivable way. Not to mention that it concluded with all of my possessions being either trashed, stolen, or made to fit in a duffel bag that as I type this am remembering I'm not it's rightful owner. (oops. sorry Janell...)

This past month of actively and daily pursuing minor goals to improve myself has already had effect, only not how anticipated. My mindset has been altering itself without my consent. I would give protest if I still held to the naivety of proposing I know best. Experience has taught me better. No, I have been been pleasantly surprised by my change of mind. The world seems somehow different; somehow fresh. The best way I know to describe this is to return to my tale of pilgrimage...

As I coursed down the lane, shifting between gears and singing to no one, I found a true appreciation for what was around me. I gazed at the moon with the awe of a child, heard the breaking of the surf anew, and laughed as if it were my first. I'm discovering myself ready to move forward from the harrowing setbacks of recent history as a different man, a new man. As such, everything is new. Everything is fresh. Everything is waiting.

---

If you've read this far, perhaps you'll be willing to humor me a few more minutes. This song has not only been an anthem of mine for a long time, but the video (which I literally just found this evening) is one of the most accurate emotional depictions of the last year of my life I can think of. The year really did start great... before all hell broke loose.

Memories - For Better or For Worse

This post is not about marriage. I've not yet found a woman who has the traits I admire AND an uncanny desire to handle my quirks. Though suggestions are welcome. No... this is about memories. A friend of mine challenged me to make a list of memories from when I was a kid. She'd recently done the same and had a lot of great childhood memories come up. What she didn't know is that most all of my good memories are overshadowed by darker ones.

To be clear, this is no attempt at melodrama. I left my emo stage back in the nineties with Seattle grunge where it belongs. The fact is that I have some really bad memories from childhood. This isn't to say that everyone else doesn't, just that as of yet I have been unable to separate the two. Like most, I need to learn to take the good with the bad, else I'll have neither.

I tell people that I don't have many memories from when I was a kid. This is not an untruth. As I've been discovering the last month or so, I have many memories that I blocked out as a child because I could not handle them. It's hard to go into detail without alienating people from my past, but I'll try to give an example or two to paint the picture. My first memory is of my mother laying in a pool of blood, a broken wooden chair on the floor next to her, her friend dialing 9-1-1, and a drunk man storming out of the small trailer we were in. I was two years old. This is really the only memory I have from before I was six or seven. A few years later I was the new target. To this day I know how to take a punch and how to get a drunk to focus on me instead of anyone else. It's easier than you might think. We also moved from place to place a lot - we didn't have a home for a long time. We subsisted on the help of friends, relatives, and cheap motels for longer than I can recall. Perhaps this is a factor of the nomadic streak I carry.

My mother is a good woman, who unfortunately made a few bad decisions that exploded in ways she never could have predicted - and they were not her fault. Sometimes things just happen. I neither blame her nor hold her in resent. Yet what happened happened. The trouble I now face is that I find difficulty looking on the past and remembering the good - but it is there. Perhaps I've developed a victim mentality. Perhaps there's just too much I've blocked out that needs to be resurfaced. Whatever the case, there is no sense ignoring the past. I may not be able to deal with everything today, but there is something to be said for remembering the good. [Some of my good memories are here]

I'm not really sure what all of this means for me at the moment. We are shaped daily by circumstance and choice into the person that we are. I see how I have allowed myself to become more of a pessimist over the years, probably as a result of not dealing with somethings from the past. This isn't who I want to be. I see it playing into my current situation. With everything that has happened this last year, I definitely got into a downward spiral for a while and saw no hope - hence the attempt to find it again. I believe that cyclical hell has been halted, but there is a long way to go to get back to good. I know it's possible for that distance to be covered quickly, but I'm not expecting it. And even in this I see the effects of pessimism..... oh boy.

Evaluation. Introspection. Decisions.

As some of you know, I've been working on a little bit of a self improvement project for my birthday. Today I began to document a portion of that, and as is often the case with what I write it began to morph into something else. Something that I'd like to share with anyone following me here.

So if you would, please feel free to check it out here: http://ninetyninegifts.blogspot.com/2011/02/10-evaluation-introspection-decisions.html

It's the Waiting that Kills Me

Discontent has been upon me for the last few days. Today I find myself downright depressed. For several weeks I've been formulating plans and it does appear circumstances will be getting better. But in the meantime I feel as if I'm literally stuck in limbo.

Classes are under way again, but that is about it. I've not been able to find a job and I don't know anyone in this city. No money and no friends leads to a pretty miserable existence. Few obligations, no time constraints, and minimal bills may sound great to a lot of people. But a life void of the benefits of stability, responsibility and security is emptier and less satisfying than most will ever know. I am aware that things will not remain in this state, yet I can't help feeling that I'm wasting time. There is a reason that this line of thinking has arisen today.

I recently decided that I want to improve myself and become a better man. I began documenting 99 Gifts that I would give to myself - small things that I could do each day to make me a better person in the 99 days leading up to my birthday. I've been having trouble coming up with things and putting it off until later in the day, making both my effort toward and documenting of the tasks suffer for it. Because of this, I decided that today's gift would be to start developing the habit of making a to do list. I started reading around online for different reasons and benefits to making these lists and was reminded of another list that many people have: things to accomplish before they turn 30. Thus was the mental low point of my day.

I am just over four years away from my 30th birthday and I feel, in a word, pathetic. I look at what so many others have accomplished by now. I thought that by the time I turned 30 I'd have been married for a few years, begun a family, and command a good job. I'm not entirely certain how much of that can be accomplished in the next few years. For those who still linger over some romantic idea of the situation I've been in, of the wandering rogue, let me spell it out for you. I am currently a homeless, unemployed college sophomore with no savings & massive school debt. I am single with no prospects and batting a thousand when it comes to rejection. I have no friends around me and pass the hours in solitude. I do not know where I will end up or what I will end up doing. I'm getting older, and I find it very difficult not to compare myself to others. To be fair, I knew what I was walking into when I packed up and left Texas. But I also knew I had no other choice. That's the bad.

Here's the good: I trust God, and I know that this is not permanent. Also: I like myself. Yes. I want money. I want friends. I want a family. I want a job. I want security. Those things are lacking now. However I know that things can change in an instant, and I'm hoping any moment now that they do.

But as I'm learning - it's the waiting that kills me.

When I Grow Up...

"What do you do?"

I despise this question. I find it misleading. The inquiry is not one of vocation but one of being: who are you? Somehow I don't feel one's job is sufficient to define them. I'm not the first to express this sentiment, nor will I be the last. Yet there it remains, and the feeling seems to run to the core of my being.

Yes, we all wrestle through the awkward years of figuring out who we are, and what we want to be. Of no assistance is society's content to allow us twenty-somethings to remain in extended moratorium, pondering courses with no impetus to act. Any time I have attempted to choose a profession anxiety and discontent envelope, as if they'd never departed. So the cycle repeats. Today I have come to a realization that I have been delaying for fear of it's implications: I abhor the concept of a career. I don't want one.

I once asked an older friend what he thought I should do. He responded by saying that time and again when he asked young men who they wanted to be, they unfailingly responded with a goal for a particular job. Unimpressed by his opening statement, I awaited his next words; expecting a list of qualities that would point toward a particular occupation. He perplexed me by saying that my career choice should be of little importance. Hold the phone - this went against all conventional wisdom! After all, a man is supposed to attend college, compete for a good job, make a name for himself, and provide for his family... that's the goal, right? More vital, he told me, is to become a good man.

There are three men I know I know that I look up to that come to mind. One of them is a pastor, amazing husband & father of eight, mentor of many, and the best man I've ever met. He has held a number of varying jobs and would do anything to provide for his family. Another is a church elder with a grown family who is very well respected in his community. He cleans carpets for a living. The last is a pastor who cares for his family, has literally moved wherever the Lord has called him, and will take any job to provide. Most recently he has been working on a farm and learning about bovine artificial insemination. These men trust God. They don't have enormous wealth saved up or prestigious positions, but when people ask about them it is not their jobs that come to mind. It is the men that they are - the entirety of the lives that they lead.

So what am I saying? I don't know what I want to do, nor am even I sure that I care. But I know who I want to be. I know the man I have always been passionate about becoming. I want to be like the men I described above. I want a wife I love and a family dedicated to God. One that I can lead and provide for in any way necessary; and I want to be a man that would do so. Whether I have a 40 year career or go from job to job, I trust God will provide. I'd prefer not to have to learn how to impregnate a cow, but I'm willing.

Proverbial Road Trip

Do you remember back before the proliferation of cell phones and GPS navigation? When I started driving, my car’s best feature was it’s intermittent ability to turn on. My mother’s old station wagon had been sitting in the driveway for two years prior to me fixing it - and it then became mine. I knew how to drive that thing, but my mechanic could make it do what he wanted it to - a distinction I was unable to make at the time.

That car died years ago. This weekend, however, I realized that over the last year and a half, God and I have been on a road trip in a car just like it. See, I got to the point where spiritually God wanted me to be in another place. Naturally I insisted on driving. Being the man I am, I wanted to drive as long as I could before relinquishing the wheel. Months, pavement, and landscape flew by as we meandered along the road. But there were a few problems. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t know where we were. I didn’t know how to find out. I didn’t ask, I figured he’d tell me.

Onward we went, I growing as silent as my passenger whom I now resented. As on any trip, disaster happens. Pot-holes. Flat tires. Snapped belts. Blown hoses. Yet still I limped this dilapidated wagon down the highway, hoping that He would tell me when we got there. Exhaustion eventually set in. I had no clue where we were going and was convinced I’d taken at least one wrong turn. No choice remained: I reluctantly surrendered the wheel and became the passenger. Night fell and I slept.

I awoke disoriented. It was still dark, but not as dark as when I fell asleep. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious or how far we had traveled. I hadn’t bothered to ask before slipping into the abandon of mere passenger. Though my driver knew I’d arisen he gave no indication of it; said no word. I was tempted to return the favor. I couldn’t quite make out the road signs. They were neither familiar nor foreign. But I knew they were right. Ashamed, I turned and told him I didn’t hold Him responsible anymore; it was not his fault I didn’t know the end destination. He simply responded: we are right where we need to be - always were. The indigo sky quickly brightened. It was then that I realized how much time had passed. I’d slept so long, thinking I was still so far from where I was intended to be. Meanwhile my driver had been faithful and brought me so much further down the road.

Turns out we were never lost. The trip just took longer than I’d anticipated. With no map, no time frame, and only a direction to go, I’d been frustrated. I felt lost. In my mind I was. Once I let God take over, I rested, and he delivered; the whole time. So often we let ourselves think our situation is much worse than it is. I’m done with that. I thought I went over a year without ‘hearing’ from God. In reality, I spent over a year learning that listening entails more than I thought.

This weekend I awoke. The night finally passed.

08 - Crossroads of an Urban Hermit

I've wondered often how long it took Mr. Frost to make his decision. I've concluded that despite the testimony of the trials of all knowing college freshman, I must agree with the poet. The influence of the path one takes is not known until 'somewhere ages and ages hence,' long after it has been traversed....

I have trapped myself under a battle. My will against my will. More precisely: the fear which my consciousness omits from acknowledgment, against the basic need to live and have relationships which risks the danger of just that. Continuing to hunker down and wishing to escape unscathed is no longer a realistic option. I alone have set myself here and must stand, must choose, in order to proceed.

Four months ago I longed for nothing more than to disappear. In many ways I've been successful. I am disconnected with most of life. I keep people in the dark, though that was not an intentional side effect. I stay in from the world. I venture out when necessary, but one would be surprised how rare necessary is when the meaning is truly understood. I stay connected to the vastness of a digital empire and get lost among the throng of others' meticulously selected snippets of reality shared; all the while contributing to the practice myself. Whether wisdom or folly, I've successfully transformed myself into an urbanized hermit and prepared for the road I thought was ahead.

I've wandered some, though not so much as I should have liked. Why? Reality rains on the romanticism of the vagabond in ways knowable only to those who have attempted the path. I say this not in arrogance but in the humility of one who has been rudely awakened to his own ignorance. The decision to set forth at the outset of my personal monsoon season has hindered me early on a lonely road. I've not yet concluded if this is a saving grace or not. But I do know this: in the attempt to leave everything I've made little effort to ensure the companionship of god. The cost of forsaking everything, including him, is simple and it is literal - a truth that all believe they know until truly tested.

And so the first major crossroad of this meandering journey is realized though I fear I've lingered too long at it's quandary; voluntarily blind to the necessity of a decision. To what degree shall I remain estranged? The quiet whispers of impossibilities and fears of irreparable alienation lie vulnerably naked next to the apprehensive drive to continually see what lies over the horizon. Do I regroup for a time and press on down this lonely road? Do I abandon it and give way to conventional "wisdom"? Part of me longs for the security of a steady job, a welcoming community, and maybe one day even a decent credit score; but I fear more the hell of complacency and settling. Part of me has a need to search, to wander; but fear it's toll on other possibilities. I, like the poet, know I will not be able to return to this junction. Even should these paths cross again, I'll not be able to acquire what lies along the untaken portion. This, then, is what I fear.

A great man, perhaps the best man I've ever known, once gave me words that will never fade:

"Your heart is not broken because God failed. Nor is it broken because you are a failure. It is broken because you are an adventurer and you took a risk. It hurts... it will hurt again. But that is what men like us do. We risk, sometimes to our own demise. Better to have lived and felt pain then to have not lived at all. God is faithful."

This, then, is what I fear: What shall I risk? What will I have to give up? And how much will it hurt? Whatever path I choose, I earnestly desire the company of the God I was once close to.

I think... I think tomorrow this urban hermit will go outside. Mayhaps it shall clear my head.