Open!

There is a lot of stuff said about living life to the fullest and all that, I will succumb to my loathed cliche-ness and add my two drops to the ocean.

I first heard the statement when Angela Montenegro (a character from the TV show Bones) said, "...he lives his life wide open..." My first thought was arms wide open, like Creed (yes I like Creed!) and then my mind went on the related trail - open options, embracing chances and blah yada. Some days ago I thought of 'open throttle,' like when I borrowed my friend's Mustang once, to "open it up a little," the mechanic said. I drove 80mph for hours! Loved the accelerating bits, back on point: there is truth in both. Open options, I like. That I may decide for me who I am and discover why I am, mindful that I can always change my mind. Open throttle, I love. That I may go my way with the wind stroking each and every hair on my head and my lungs fighting the back pressure as I yell "WAHOO!" into the rushing torrent.

I played tennis with my brother and he critiqued my game, he said I need to follow through on my shots and I need to be less careful. My response was, "In tennis or the rest of my life?" He laughed. He agrees that I live tentatively, I don't enjoy it and I don't fully intend to. It is a normal state that I long to shrug off.

My parents were quite strict. I loved adventure, so I became adventurous in my own mousy way, and I got into a lot of trouble for lesser things than my peers, but trouble anyway. That would slow one down right? I was always the runt, at home, in my neighbourhood with my 'friends' (the guys who bullied me but let me play with them), and at school (boarding school too) so I think I learnt to be timid in an effort to stay off the radar. If I am quiet the bullies will not hear me, not pick on me or make fun of me.

When I felt daring I went for it, and many times I was humbled. So I stopped. I recall fighting a kid, breaking his teeth, and getting into a world of trouble. I got into another fight my parents never heard of and broke a bigger guys' teeth, but got my face busted up, was taunted until it healed because I 'lost' the fight (though I made a friend!) I played rugby well, but it was "too dangerous." I worked hard in school, but it was never good enough. I hung out with the nerds, but never brainy enough, not sporty enough for the jocks, not anything enough for anyone. Somewhere in there I adapted by not trying to be any one thing. I will be everything to anyone, and nothing to everyone.

My dissatisfaction is not that life itself is necessarily bland, I just do not taste it. I choose rather to hear from others what it tastes like so that I do not look bad when I alone sweat embarrassingly because I find it too spicy. No one tastes like I taste. No one!

It hurts me so that Christ promised "...life, and life in abundance..." John 10:10. Add it to the list of gifts I have not yet opened. If my life is 'abundance' then something is grossly amiss. I risk very little, shy from everything, try to do only that which I can make look good, maybe that every one may say, "Wow! How did you do that? You are soo cool!" Or my dad to pay his, "Good job kid!" debt. I want more than all that, to find the glitch in me, then fix it, "...'not by [my] might nor power, but my Spirit' says the Lord" Zechariah 4:6

"Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?" - Mary Oliver. Yes Mary I am, it is all I know to do.

Furry Green Christmas

My wife is in the living room watching Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the blah blah and the rest, I am in the bedroom listening to U2 a bit loud for 2152hrs on a Sunday night so that I cannot hear her treasured childhood Christmas programs. She finds this anti-social of me.

All through the year I am Oscar. I am not really grouchy. I am part emotionally repressed by design, and part intentionally, confusing. I am emotionally repressed, stop. Part of this is because I realised I was and do nothing about it, stop. The other part is because I am, hence Oscar. Compared to my happy, bubbly and (some) normal friends and family I seem grouchy. I laugh very easily, to some that is a surprise.

At Christmas time I become Grinch, (incidentally my "Peachy!" friend can make an amazing Grinch face...rabbit trail.) I am Grinch because I think the Christmas spirit, Santa, and the whole culture is a load of rubbish! There I said it. Jesus was not born in December, it is great we chose to commemorate His birth, if it is the thought that counts, but Christmas is less and less about Jesus (if it ever was). In a world were we celebrate manifold vice in place of virtue. The wicked do not cower in the shadows of their shame, there is no shame, rather it is the few that strive for righteousness who cower in the face of evil. Children dishonour parents, husbands and wives live as thought they are not, leaders are purchased puppets of those that pay their way into 'public' office, there is greed and corruption everywhere! People die of hunger in one corner, while in another we throw food away! Look at your table this Christmas! Look at it all that you have, all that you throw away and think of this; where you live, someone is hungry tonight. Where is Jesus in that picture? Let's face it, Christmas is for us! Jesus' birth is just an excuse to celebrate, we barely celebrate Him.

In addition to the filth mentioned above, at Christmas time it is fine to lie to make 'Christmas magic', make it a special time. If 'special' needs to be shined by lies, is it really special or it was base to begin with? So we lie to/deceive children, each other. At Christmas it is acceptable to be greedy, we may say greed is wrong but the whole culture begs to differ. Who cares about others when there is me to please? What did I get? I got nothing for anyone, but they should have something for me.

I try, with much groaning and effort to think of the little baby, the unwed mother and scared dad in a cold barn, who they became in many lives years after that night and I seek to pursue that. This year, since I will be at work before I go and stuff my face with my in-laws and open gifts for/with people who mostly have more than they know what to do with; that little family will be just a thought. I should do something for others. I will give my unused clothes to others, that is a start.

I may be in America, but will be Un-American at Christmas, Grinch me all you want.

Tell the Wind

We do it all the time, thank people who are not present to hear and/or respond, it makes us feel better I guess. For we really are grateful but are unable to express this sentiment to its rightful owner, so we say it to the wind. By speaking it out or writing it down, we give life; turn ideas into words that then can live and breathe, finding their way to the ears of who they are spoken to. I know...I know...

I ranted about Hot Air Aid, it is only fair I state that I received all the help I needed and more. That is how I made it here. I was tried and found wanting, and in my wanting many many people from different places and walks of life banded together unknowingly and lifted me up to my current state. I think of them individually often, only now have I looked at them as a group. If there is ever a reunion I may attend in life, it is the one where all these people are in a room together. Though I may be their host, I will surely be the littlest person in the room. All I am, and will ever be pales in comparison to who they have proven to be.

Thank you. All of you. Some of you are unnamed, so I will name none. Thank you. May all I am be pleasing to you. If any glory is given me, it is yours multiple times.

Thank you.

Empty, Caring words

My dad rarely asked for help (without doing something in return). I spent many late nights with him, his best friend and his best friend's son working on the car. In return for the son, his knowledge and tools, my dad always got a crate or more of beer. It is a wonder the car was working the next morning. That is how I was raised, we do not ask for help or favours without favour in return. We take handouts with hanging heads and shame filled hearts, love is earned. If you do a great job at school, in the garden or clean the car until it gleams, then you maaay be called 'my dear,' maybe once. No merit was undeserved, even food and clothing had to be somewhat earned.

When I left home we somewhat had a plan for my financial needs. To be honest we knew it would fail. Other kids had made it with less, we were given confidence that I would make it without trouble. Zimbos though... we were a showy people. We told of problems only after they are solved to our glory, suffering was for others. The people around us maybe, not us. "Oh ---, he went to the States. Yes, he is doing great very well indeed, he got a job, bought a car and. Oh jobs are easy to get, plentiful and very well paying. Your son will be fine, as long as he works hard. Oh yes, he should go. I will give you -----'s number so that they can keep in touch. Oh yes. Sure, sure," our mothers said to each other in the twilight hours in suburban street corners. I don't know the reality my peers faced, the ones whose numbers I was promised. I know it was not that easy for me. How do you work hard if you cannot get a job to begin with? How do you stay in school if you cannot work? But you cannot work if you are not in school! I made it though...through prayer and un-gained favour. So, really, He thought to teach me what Grace felt like.

Here I am, a grown, semi-accomplished young man and still I refuse unmerited favour. In college, people would often ask about me and my family (who are still home, in poverty and sickness.) I appreciated the concern, it hurt though, I needed immediate help that someone could start to give and all they had was, "Well I hope things work out for you." I know people cannot always help, and I do not know the intricacies of their situation. A little help though little, is help indeed. Here I am again. Friends and acquaintances ask often and all they have are words and wishes. I hope they pray, I pray they pray.

One young man impressed me just yesterday, by his calling to say, "hey, things are bad, I'm sorry. How can I help? All I can spare is a twenty every month." WOW! Good for him, GREAT for him. He will send his money to my orphaned niece, help her get to and from college. If she graduates she can better help her siblings. By helping her, at least 2 little boys have a future.

Yes, we are in unfortunate times, I do not want your pity while you stuff your faces and your lives. We need help, if all you have is just a little, that is good. Before you we did not have that little! We are better off for it, thank you. Do not care for me with your empty words, I am not impressed! I have enough of my own.

Metro

I have ridden the DC Metro, the Boston Metro and the Chicago Metro. My metropolitan travel diary is quite a swift read. I drive most places, Metro when I have to. Consider this...I set foot on a Metro station. Pick one, any one. I have a destination in mind. Out of some urgent or leisurely need, I will head to Some Place. I get on the Purple line and find my seat. There are people on board - it's the Metro. Usually they mind their own business. I do too, because of auditory and optic reflexes (that I am learning in Anatomy and Physiology) I turn when there is an unexpected sound or movement. It is always nothing, but I do anyway. I quickly turn my attention back to my book. I am driven to my destination.

I have heard it said, "If you do not make a decision, one will be made for you." We choose a path to follow in life and each stage is a different Metro line; different train, people, speed, challenges, joys...name it. The connecting thought is that I am being driven to my destination, the one I chose, yet there is a dash of chance. Where I get off and what I get onto thereafter will all factor into whether or not (and when) I get to Some Place or I end up at Some Other Place.

I have made about three or four transfers this year alone, the last one was about three weeks ago and I do not have a handle on things yet. There is some cumulative effect in there, it's still taking a while it seems. Granted, I do not know how long it usually takes me. It feels so urgent because, well it is the end of the year, end of the semester and all that.

I have a Metro Pass for my trip, we all do, with a set spending limit. We have some input to where we go and how we get there, but we can only do it in so many dollars and cents. If one takes too many side trips, the limit comes and you are not where you ought to be. You can only hope it is a place you can sit well until we settle accounts. "Have I thus chosen the most expedient route?" is ever a pressing question for me. With the breath and time afforded me, will I arrive where I need to be in a goodly state? Will I get there and be called up, to be told, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Well done!" for that is what (I think) I want for the end.

What do I want for now? Oh boy...have I chosen the best route to get to Good, Faithful Servant? Will I make it? Can I make it? I have picked up a wife, cats, hobbies, classes, work and all this blah blah, can I still make it? Is there room for all of it in my limited budget or am I squandering? Am I doing OK now? How about now?

I love getting off the Metro. Then I can walk again. The same questions rattle my mind. So what's the difference? I don't know exactly. I like to walk though. Always in a blinding hurry, but I like to walk. More than that I enjoy arriving at my destination and lastly, mostly I love getting home. They say the journey is not in the arriving. I care more for getting there than looking at the faces and the buildings in between tunnels. I just want to get there and be done with it. Maybe that is why I walk so fast, to get there sooner.

The Dreams

I hope one day to transcribe one of my recurrent college dreams. It was astonishingly clear, I remember its detail to this day. Once in a while I have 'fight dreams.' Usually in periods of stress. I had not had one for a long while, but, they are back.

I was with a female companion. Only once have I been able to identify her. Other times it has been as if several women I know are sharing a body. We are walking somewhere and for some reason someone thinks it would be cool to attack me. It is never her, she is just in their way. And she is expendable. Hereafter, this night I deviated from the norm.

I grabbed her hand and we ran. Over benches and trash cans, half walls and curbs, we ran for dear life. The city was quite empty, or people moved out of the way fast. We ran for a long time, trying to lose our pursuers. We never gained on them, they never gained on us. We were bound to run until death. Whose would be first? They look in better shape for this than she is, but what pip-squeak picks a fight with a stranger anyway? She starts to tire, I can feel her lagging more and more. This is it. Again.

We stop running, find her a place to hide and catch her breath. I will soon have them well distracted, at that point she could very well walk off into her sunset and they would not notice. They are here for me. As long as she is safe, I am not too bothered. Here we are again. They come around, all four, maybe five of them snickering like the hyenas in The Lion King. So predictable, if I could speak I would tell them to find a new style. To what end? This is not a time for words.

It is always the big ones who attack first, if they all ran this far surely the rest want to fight too. So if the big one attacks and he kills me, were is the sport for the others? The smaller giants should pounce first, that increases the chances of everyone getting a share. If I am losing they can tag each other in. If I am winning, I will tag them in! Sorry, yeah the big one, he is coming alright. Screaming like an idiot...

It is just a dream. I am up, sweaty, hot, but up. My wife is peacefully asleep. Too bad. I do feel like a fight. These days they don't come back after I have woken up. Itching for a fight here --- oh well, maybe another night.

Halloween

Today is Halloween, the day the dead come out to play. Kids and kids at heart dress up like all forms of fanciful creatures; Spongebob, Superman, some generic Roman, French maids, barely clad soldiers, cops and nurses. I heard someone say it is an excuse to wear as little clothes as possible and get away with it, "I am Eve in the Garden of Eden before the Fall of man."

I visited friends in Washington DC and being the voyeurs that we are, we roamed the streets to see what was out. It was interesting for me, (first time) my friend was not impressed. There was nothing original, nothing amazing that we found in Dupont Circle. I watched the costumes, envied the camaraderie, the carefree attitudes, carousing and all. I have said before that I have never fit into this scene and I have found no substance in it repeatedly. Yet part of me longs for such daring, honest expression of nothing (or whatever it is people are expressing). Dave Matthews borrowed from Solomon the King (in Ecclesiastes), "Eat, drink and be merry." People are making merry! I want to join the merry-makers' ranks, they look alive and for now enjoying it.

There was a lot of flesh out, the whole wear as little as possible thing. I enjoy looking at flesh, just looking for now. I hope it never evolves beyond that. All the girls in their ridiculous costumes showing off legs and breasts and...I will just watch thanks.

What about Halloween? "Let the children play," we say where I am from. Let them play. My friend asked me what I would dress up as. I could not give an answer. My time is past.

Emotions

BBC's cult TV show (who determines what is cult and what is not, and on what grounds?) Dr Who is a quirky but amazingly entertaining show about time travel, space, human-alien relations in the hope for universal "peace, love and understanding" but usually failing on all three. The Doctor has many foes, the Dalek are the most notorious, they do not die! Who/What are the Dalek; they are clones of a psychotic ugly named Davros, who is bent on world domination (even though he is eventually governed by his creations). They have been stripped of all emotion, except hate. They always sound angry, so angry your voice screeches kind of angry. And so we will add anger to the short list of Dalek-able emotions. When they have The Doctor cornered, they (and the Cyber-Men too) point out the futility of human (and other species') emotions, a quality The Doctor holds in high esteem. What they consider a flaw, he, and many others consider a gift. Not I. Not usually.

Much to my wife's exasperation I find emotions to be a waste of energy/effort. Had I been given the chance I would have picked a few and left most out. I just find them annoying, the buzzing bugs of the summers of my soul. They are probably out pollinating important flowers or some other important thing, but oh what a bother! The behavioral vacillation resulting from emotion-linked living is a major pester. There is much to be said, in my book, for consistency. Walking into my world and knowing were I stand. It helps you behave however you need to and our exchange is a lot more efficient. Flip side; throw emotions in and every meeting we have is prefaced by testing the waters to know how I am faring (emotionally) so that you can bring up this thing but save the other for a day I am more inclined to respond favourably. In short, let's dance. Step on my toes and I will bite. I don't like to dance, I wish I could. I cannot. I do not.

Anger; the downfall of many. I am terrified of mine and my loved ones' anger. I have learned it is difficult to control. It is a pressure release valve, you pull the switch and it gives all until the pressure is safe again. Do we need the pain that release causes, the shame when we have to go back and apologise for saying more than we should have? Anger is best contained, if possible never invested in. The more you love someone, the more you know their insecurities, the easier you can strike that Achilles heel in anger and cripple your opponent with one snide remark (meant or not, the damage is done to be erased with much difficulty.) I would chuck this one.

Excitement; something good is supposed to happen and I should start celebrating now? I have watched this movie before. I was so excited about it. I thought it would be all that and bag of curly fries and it wasn't. It was so far from it the memory makes me cringe. What was I excited about again? Why should I spend (cough waste) the energy, all I have are what you, me and the other person think is going to occur? We do not know anything. Why then should I rejoice over what might be? I do not get excited (not entirely true, but true enough). I am waiting to be excited when the exciting thing actually happens. Nothing so far in life has been as good or better than I have been told or led to believe. I am sad to say, absolutely nothing! Chuck this one too.

Fear; not the things that go bump in the night. This one is my friend, it is funny how assurance is not an emotion, yet its absence is. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, wait for you to catch your breath and do it again. Brace yourself, you were not meant to come out of life alive anyway, so there. I choose not to fear the travails of life, but my constant bracing is evidence to the contrary isn't it? Yet without fear what foolish things would we walk into face first? And in what state would we leave? Fear in Love preserves (Proverbs 9:10, "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight.") Pure fear cripples, it punishes, it is cruel. Once in a while, toss fear and go ahead and do something you know is going to hurt. Keeps you sharp. I ran 9 miles, for the first time, without training. Ouch!

Joy; my disappointment in spiritual life. I have not met Joy. I weep from my want of Joy. I will keep this one (when I find it).

Empathy; a good one. How can one knock empathy? I work in medicine, I have empathy. I will keep this one.

There are more. These are my favourites. I wish I were an emotional metronome, knowing how far I go on either end, but staying within my bound (and narrow) amplitude. I am not aware of how much I swing. There is a swing and it may be more to one side than another. I long for consistency.

The Dalek needed some fear with their anger and hate. I see them victorious in their conquest, but the lack of fear causes them to underestimate The Doctor and always leads to their demise. I do not like knowing that I am wired to react, makes me feel like a puppet on emotion's strings.

Anticipation

People may seem comfortable with their lives, we even give an illusion of control when the reality is this; most of us live as if our world were in a toilet bowl in constant fear of the hand that is coming to flush our 'comfortable' little world away. I know I do; I am constantly braced for a crash that never comes.

I am on my way to a new job. Had I made a few choices different about a year or two ago and taken an offer I refused - I would have ended up right here. All the other variables are external, I am convinced I would be in the same spot. There is a level of comfort in that. I am walking the Path. No one can determine the true identity of the Path, it proves itself as you walk on it.

For a long time now, roughly seven years I have had this growing sensation. Named three to four years back it is a distinct foreboding, a state of emergency in response to an event either absent or moving so slowly in slow motion it is years away, an internal bracing for impact that still has not come. Since it tarries, one would think I would/should drop my guard and relax, maybe live a little but I can never shake off! It is very convincingly imminent. In a way it is (also) as if I am ready to pounce or be pounced upon. Sometimes it feels external, as if I am the target. Yet when describing it I always end with it being internal so that I am the one set to pounce. Think Wild Kingdom, just before the lion starts the chase, he is crouching in the grass, every muscle locked and loaded ready for dinner to look away and he is onto it, now hold that moment and add to it the sensation the prey is enjoying; it knows for sure something is about to happen so it does not move. It carefully watches every corner, waiting patiently for a tell tale sign of danger that it may decide to fight or fly, if fly then which way, but it can't quite make out the danger. Sum those two up and hold for seven years! Go it?

The few bumps I've had were less than I prepared for. The crashes were not what I braced for, and even then I have landed on my feet. So what is this, what do I do in response if anything? Is this my survival instinct? Or is it mild paranoia?

Go on, flush it I will be doused and washed away no matter how hard I brace. (And suddenly I feel like I am poking a wild beast with a stick...hmm.)

Nakamura-kun

I have few friends. Depending on the day of the week and how I feel, the merit of that state varies. One of my friends came to visit a few days ago, I love this young man because he is earnest. He speaks his mind in a refreshing way that is rare, most people think him a jerk. I call him a role-model.

A polite person is enviable, one whose words are honest, appropriate, "seasoned with salt" the Bible says. The excess of politeness becomes lying and flattery. This is were I often find myself dithering in my day to day. It frustrates me somewhat, yes I do long for every woman to wish their significant other spoke to them as considerately as I do, without reaching the extents to which I wander in an effort to be 'nice'! The deficiency of politeness, on the other had, is crass. Also known as "foot-in-mouth disease." I know little of it, I have witnessed it and long to ever forget those moments for the sake of those involved.

Nakamura-kun, unlike me will say something is stupid if it is, he will as quickly (and easily) applaud something praiseworthy. The mark of a jerk in my mind is one who always picks out the negative points, one who has few or no compliments. Nakamura-kun is not that. We will sit and discuss faith (I miss that), the absence of faith and wisdom in our peers, our college experiences, the wonderful (and less than so) people we met, the idiots that we shared laughs with, differences in cultures and so forth. Our time together is very rewarding. I have not found such honesty anywhere else, especially with regards to spiritual things. It is difficult (even with fellow believers) to speak of the Way, the things we are learning, even the battles we are fighting. When we do speak, we are deficiently tentative. Without openness we may as well remain silent for little benefit comes from it.

I long to foster a culture of honesty. That people would know me to be a man of my word, a man who speaks earnestly, as it is written, "the truth with love." Maybe not so much as to spill my innards, but to say precisely what I mean at all times. Like Nakamura-kun.

Flights of Fancy

According to Aesop, in the famous fables recorded under his name, there was a stag that stood by a still lake admiring itself in the water. It spoke sweet nothings about its amazing rack of horns and its broad chest. It looked and spoke ill of its unsatisfactorily thin legs, wishing they were as amazing as it's horns. In the middle of its reverie a wolf (or was it a hound) attacked the stag and it escaped, by vitrue of its thin legs. In the semi-escape its horns were caught by, and tangled in a bush so there it stood until it was killed by that which hunted it.

I am somewhat fanciful. Since I am confessing I realised while watching Scrubs that I, like JD have an internal monologue. Note well; this is not a 'wow' moment for me. I find JD quite tedious. Back to me...fanciful, I have never been considered amazingly attractive, if I were amazingly anything I recall strange, interesting (meaning weird) and polite (meaning different). That is it. This always changed when I was dating though, at these times I had someone doting on me and telling me what other girls said about me. We move on before this gets boring...

In my flights of fancy, I desire to make whatever I do look good. I strive to be my best in all things, that an audience even if it is only in my mind will adore my part in the play. When I walk into a room, I want every man, woman and child to find one thing about me (actual or perceived) about which they say, "I wish I were..." I looked up the definition of 'vanity' and this does not fall within its range, hence my regarding it fancy. I am not vain, I just wish I were a bit of a big deal in something that will not snare me later.

So it is, even if I may not personally admit to it.

Vice

In the movie A Beautiful Mind, the main character, John Nash has been seeing people who were not there. He does not know it for the longest time. When he finally 'sees' he is quite shaken, he spends some time in a psych ward (I think), anyway it ruins his life, and it is a problem that does not go away. He works through it and wins a Nobel prize among other triumphs. At the end of this telling of his story, someone asks him if he still sees (absent) people. He admits that he does, but he states that he chooses to ignore them.

There is good and evil at work in everyone, I don't care who you are and what you believe. We are (normally) encouraged to do that which is good, but we are unfortunately inclined to firstly serve/please ourselves which tends toward doing evil. The fight begins. Paul the Apostle (of Christ) writes, (paraphrased, Letter to the Romans 7:18) "The good I want to do I do not do, rather the evil I want to refrain from is what I end up doing." I feel his pain, I want to add to that, "What is wrong with me?" It is the equivalent of trying to lift you hand and instead you shake your head! Ridiculous right? Yet, here we are, all mankind strives to do that which is right and we spend most of our time doing just the opposite. We are so defeated that we shifted the goals so that we can live with some semblance of normalcy, some feeling of victory or control. So in response to our wickedness it is fine to say things like, 'It is human nature,' 'That is just who I am,' 'Everyone is doing it' and so much more. Rarely do people earnestly admit their inherent wickedness. Despite proving ourselves wrong time and time again we still maintain that deep down we are good people. I am not a good person!

I accepted help in my struggles against my innate wickedness. And it is still a raging battle. One thing in particular I did (to quiet the baying dogs) I barely enjoyed; it left me feeling horrible as I strove with my guilt. I tried to convince myself it was human nature, remind myself how many other people were doing it too, it did not help. I still sought to be good but regularly proved otherwise and I could not stop trying to be good. When I said no, I could hold it for a few days at most. I became convinced of my pervasive wickedness. Others may say they are inherently good, I know now I am not. Help came, after many many mournful prayers over many years. I was finally able to say no and my no stood.

Here I am, months after the last feeding. They bark and howl everyday! But, like Nash I have decided (and been enabled) to turn away when my name is called. This does not make me a good person, a good person does not fight against evil, they are beyond it. It is we the wicked, that fight our demon-selves each and everyday. No I am not a good person, thank God I am able to ignore them sometimes.

Limits

I went to the doctor once, with an asthma attack. He checked my lung volume but was not happy with the results so he sent me to a respiratory lab. I was sat in a tiny plastic closet and asked to repeatedly breathe into a paper tube in many different ways. One of the exercises I had to do was exhale to the dictation of the technician. "Ok, take a deep breath. Now quickly force it all out, don't inhale keep exhaling, keep pushing, push it out...push it out...hold it hold it hold it, oook now inhale. Well done!" I had no idea how much my lungs could hold even after 'total' exhalation. Now I know, and that knowledge is mostly useless to me.

Mankind has limits. We can only run so far, so fast, live so long, climb so high, dive so deep. I have found that we, as a race, are more ambitious than our naturally prescribed limitations. Hence our desire to run as fast as a horse that we solved by taming the beast and riding it. We sought the hunting prowess of the wolf, strength of the ox, flight of birds and we found ways of attaining these attributes. We have since set our sights on the health of sharks, longevity of tortoises and the beauty of pearls with that long life. However far we go along the ladder of achievement we will continually strive for more. It is the way we are raised, maybe even the way we are wired to begin with.

In Mythology tales are told of a King Gilgamesh of Uruk who was strong, wise, good-looking and much more. In all things he was gifted and excelled above every other man of his time. One would think he would have said, "I am so blessed and this is enough", yet he sought more in order to prove himself, his epic quest was immortality and it is on this journey that he found his bounds. He was stretched to his limit and returned home a failure (in his eyes). I think he was challenged to stay awake for seven days and he slept on Day two, woke up with five loaves of bread in various stages of decay next to him. He did it all! And he did it hard, battled monsters, built a city, a civilisation, chopped trees to battle more monsters. Then he chose the battle that showed him the edges of his prowess and the hem of his potential, yet beyond it the ship of his ambition was sailing still.

I am terrified of the day I am at that place. I have always been told I can do anything. I recall once I showed my father my report card and (as usual) he was not impressed. He asked me what kind of food the top of the class ate and I looked at him baffled to eternity. He went on this enraged tirade that questioned the source of his stupid son's stupidity, who ate the same food, breathed the same air etc as the top students, yet he could not be a top student himself.

There are things I cannot do, due to absolute lack of training, equipment, even will. I however dread the day I am weighed against something I desire and am found wanting. I pray that day tarries a long long while.

Change

A favoured author Milan Kundera observes in The Book of Laughter and Forgetting that it is the people with normal, uneventful lives that feel the need to write on their bland existence. He cites as an example the population of writers in France compared to Iran. I found that astute observation funny, more so the explicit example he gives.

My thoughts and opinions on change I admit are quite run-of-the-mill. I do not like being 'normal'. Change; I have change on the mind because I applied for a new job. I only take chances were I am sure I will win. My actual win ratio is not as great as I would like, that means I can still take chances and the outcome continues to be unknown. Dribble.

I enjoy my work. I know what I am doing(took a minute to get here). I confidently walk into the workplace and am sure I can handle most of what the night throws at me. Working at night I get a lovely little pay differential, it is quiet (just a co-worker and I), I can work on school and a few other things in between sleep during the day. It is all working well for me. There is enough distance between my wife and I we love to see each other, there is no familiarity contempt. The new job would change all of this. I could get a pay hike for it, but I don't know that. My shift will change to daytime and all my night perks are gone.

It is difficult to change when one is comfortable where they are. Uncertainty weakens one's resolve to initiate change, especially performance oriented people like myself. Before something changes I want to ensure the change will increase my status, make me look amazing while in transit and will be enjoyable by me and anyone along for the ride. Life is never this good! Not ever. So I go where opportunities open. I squeeze in where I need to and sit when a seat is available. Making the most of every chance for I do not know when another will arise. I am essentially an opportunity scavenger. Pounce on what comes up in reach until I can make my own.

I am almost 30, I may not have my life figured out but I have a plan. For now.

"That'll do pig. That'll do"

Fish 'n Subs

Some fish belong to saltwater, but, they are not pre-salted on my plate. Those wonderful little Sodium-Potassium pumps! They belong in that environment yet it does not permeate their beings. I will not delve into piscean physiology because I recall very little at this point, and my understanding (when I knew a lot more) was quite muddy. I passed the class with and A so there! On the other hand submarines are aquatic, but they are foreigners. Though water is their environment, they are made to keep it away from whatever they contain.

A friend brought up something I have cradled for ages - I can sit with people and have a 'blast' yet upon observation it is mostly an act. I am in reality usually quite uninterested in the whole affair. Looking back on my social life, this has been the norm. Most of the time I have spent with my peers has been thus lukewarm. Sickening! I am hesitant to confess, therefore, that I participate in events I do not entirely agree with. I think drunkenness is foolish, dirty jokes are dirty (though rarely funny), the whole party, sex, drugs and profanity culture that is endemic to my peers is juvenile. So when I went out with my workmates, I went only because I was invited. I knew I would be bored, yet I faked enthusiasm. Yes, at times I enjoyed myself. Rarely and not enough to warrant repeated attendance. I was social because it was expected of people like me (whom other people liked), I think I wanted to know if we could relate. People find me funny, I am! So as to keep them away from me. There is no intimacy with a joker. That's why I am funny, one would think all the sarcasm were be a hint. Hmm?

There are people I find engaging, I wish there were more of them. I wish the few were geographically closer or at least able to talk a while every week or so. Our lives are so tied up elsewhere. The resulting advantage is that the times we do speak are special.

I kept away from the from-work-to-the-bar outings. I avoided all the parties and the like. Now I am not invited and part of me misses it. I am lot less chatty now, what would it be like if I went out with the crew again? Would I be the quiet snippy one on the end, or I would pick up were I left off? I have a tendency to conform to societal expectations. (I am disgusted by this too!) Unlike the fish if I were in saltwater I would be salted on the plate or drying rack, whichever came first. I assess the situation and behave 'appropriately, politely'. Why is this? Back to my friend, our question for the day could be relayed as such; "Were/What is our joy/happiness/contentment? Does it even exist?" It seems for most of our lives we have participated in many things and for some reason feigned enjoyment. Or maybe we just cannot have fun? Whatever the answer, we are horrible at being fish. If we do not fit in this aquarium, may it mean we are made/developed for another? Are we even fish?

The submarine is part of this because I desire to be in the water but away from it. In the sub I can be a sober, not laugh at your crude joke, speak "Rated E for Everyone" and be fine. I can be me, inappropriate and impolite but it is OK because by entering the sub, I have proclaimed, "I am not with you guys. I can open the air lock for you, but no fish foolishness allowed here!"

Loved and Lost

I tend to be a private person. There are thoughts, opinions and the like I keep to myself. I have enjoyed sharing such things here. When I do open up I reveal things to very few people, and to each I give a portion of me (so to speak), such that to get a full picture of me, a group of people who do not know each other, who are largely unconnected will have to find each other, sit down and share the bit they know. I don't know why.

I was speaking to a colleague at work about lost loves. They expressed that they have not gotten over their first love, this is someone who has been married (happily) for about 10 years. I wanted to laugh, not because it was funny, but because I could relate. I have never admitted before today that I am not over my first love. I wonder if it is the first lover's place to ever be on another's mind?

We met in college, on the first significant September 11th. We were familiar but had not spoken. On this solemn night we spoke and went out to buy gas. Though I am drastically different now, we were goofy together. We always played games, or rather made games of everything. She was competitive. In order to win she would change the rules. (Every woman I have ever loved changed the rules, actual and figurative). I am prone to drawn out crushes that go nowhere for fear of rejection. This would have been such a relationship, but we had our first fight which pushed me to express love for her. After 3 or so years, we broke up and fixed up and repeated several times until she finally settled for another, she strung me along until she was sure. That was her style, 3 years prior another guy was pulled along until she was definite about me. It hurt to find out. Love hurts, that was the repeat lesson. But...
she was the first to make me feel really important (drove 20 minutes just to get me a Happy Meal toy!)
I was grown up when with her, she tended to be childlike and it was a joy to witness and be part of
she made me laugh, oh how we laughed
she taught me compatibility is not necessarily similarity
I belonged, just because she was there, I belonged
she inspired me
"...you make me want to be a better man" (As Good as it Gets)
we made out, a lot, it was goood
she was fine breaking bounds
always down for doing crazy (at times cheesy) things
she too was almost deviant
she supported me during many dark dark days
she was the first woman I seriously wanted to marry and the first one I told
I am sure there is much much more.

What happened? We argued a lot, she was dissatisfied with us. My personal problems kept us on edge. Childlike carried some childish, so some of her desires I could not fulfil and still be a responsible adult. There is often a last blowout. Even though she later said all she wanted from me was an apology, my apology was not enough to fix the hurt. So she went her way with the other guy, they got married and are living. I went to another state, I could not be around her and still breathe. Every time I saw her, the pain came back, I wanted to beg and grovel. More than that I wanted to make her laugh and love me again. I left. I too am married (happily).

I still think of her. It is easier to breathe.

Thinkers

Ancient civilisations could not quite place the brain. It seemed too inert to do much. All other crucial organs were coursing with blood vessels, except this pale white, mucusy blob whose purposes were as secretive as it was, only seen post-mortem. What was the solution to its labyrinthine furrows?

We are all talented in different ways, Spartans threw sickly newborns off a cliff thus raising a kingdom of warriors, smart ones even. What was a Spartan 'high school' like? I digress. Other provinces of Greece applauded both mental and physical prowess. I do not know of any culture (of philosophers maybe) that threw their dumb-jocks away. Some people are thinkers and others are not, (don't know what to call the non-thinkers yet). And many more are in between, plying both climes successfully.

The battle for the soul is in the mind. Before we do anything for good or evil, a plan is sparked in our little brains. And there it is incubated, nourished and eventually birthed or it is starved and aborted. The less mentally apt have ways of quickly taking their battles out of the mental realm. I am not well versed with this. A weak example is my friend who has concluded that he needs to do these '15' things to keep an even keel. When anything is off kilter, he goes through his list and ensures everything is in place, and he has done well for himself. He is of a ripe age, enviably moving along in his life. I on the other hand (the weak example of a thinker) will ford my mind for reason, motive, cause, effect and so on. Everyday problem solving is a mental pursuit. Put me in my friend 'List of 15's shoes - when something is not in line I look at the situation then I trace its life to find the source of my problem. If and when the source is found I clean it up, sometimes I like the source so I prune it and try to remember to keep it up so that the problem does not persist. If it does, then I have to come up with a new plan...the point is there are rarely easy, cut and dried solutions, but rather flow diagrams, and decision trees that branch in numerous directions. It is a wonder to many how I have made it this far, yet I make it work. List of 15's methods are insane to me, to him I am just insane, forget methods.

What happens when a Thinker becomes terrified of his mind? When his element has caused him hurt and he will not venture there anymore? I have tried before to run from my mind. I have tried to stop it, to slow it down anything for a moment's quiet. I have never succeeded. It keeps going, so I removed the leash. There is pruning and killing necessary to keep a clean mind, but I have let it go. Let it run. Until the next time it causes me pain...I will shy away for a while and dive back in. It is where I live my best.

Let it run, if it is your element, it is who you are. Be.

I wonder who I would be in the village had I been born in ancient times? A mediocre mind like myself.

Passion

I watched School of Life today, instead of sleeping. It will be a long night, but that's besides the point. It is the story of a teacher who desperately wants to follow in his deceased father's footsteps (teacher of the year award for 43 years) that he loses focus on his being a teacher, father and husband. All because another teacher came in who was more popular (student vote award). SPOILER ALERT, the other teacher is dying, so he lives in the moment. When he asks, "How much time do we have?" His favoured response is, "Not a lot."

Life is not a movie, in case you missed it, life inspires movies! I like to learn from a good story, so there. When we live passionately, we excel. The people who are best at what they do for the greater part love what they do, then after that they have to pour effort in. "...but his delight is in the law of the Lord and upon His law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted beside the waters whose leaf does not whither..." The Psalms 1. A tree on a river bank does not try to grow gloriously, it just does. One plugged in to ones delights will thrive on them exceptionally.

I sleep fitfully, and when I wake up, my first thought is usually, "I cannot wait for bedtime again." I dread waking up, facing another bland, dissatisfactory day I would rather have missed. If life is a gift, I am not happy with it so far. I am not happy with this state of affairs! One should look forward to life. It should be like a drug you take a huge whiff of in the morning and you are high all day. Yeah, sometimes you will be dive bombed by a pigeon on your way to a big job interview, or worse, she leaves and takes your heart and your dog! So what? You sleep it off, wake up broke, aching and hungry (or whatever), but, ALIVE! And you take another big whiff of life, high as a kite all day again and again until there is nothing left to inhale, then you take a moment to look back and hopefully you say, "It was grand" before you exhale your last.

That is fantastical fiction. The real thing would entail being excited about life, or at least something in life. Burn for something, let something burn in you. The best people to watch have a propellant fire driving them. They sit by the river of their delights and feed from it, then unconsciously bloom and bloom passionately.

Office Space

I found delightful counterpoint in the fact that I watched Office Space before I went back to work after a 10 day vacation. Here I was, watching a movie that comes across saying, "Work sucks, either find something you love or you too will be a rat in a wheel. Running the race and getting nowhere. Braving the maze to the smell of cheese, but no actual cheese, they are testing some freeze dried pasteurised dairy product!" Office Space is one of my favourite bad movies, this means I don't comfortably enjoy it. The language is bad and I do not agree with the attitudes and behaviours portrayed, but I watched it anyway and I enjoy it.

Facing its, "I am a slacker and this is almost cool" swagger, I went to work. I admit I missed being at work. I enjoy what I do, that is it. My employer, my hours...no, not so much, but I will take what I can get. I hate sitting at home going, "What should I be doing now?" so I would rather be at work. Yet, when I get to work, I can relate to Peter Gibbons, it is usually the same old humdrum and I cannot wait to go home and sleep (to get away from life - mild insomniac, so it is a bit of a challenge!) At least at work I know what I am supposed to be doing at any point. I am not concerned about expedient time usage. How much I do and don't do is dependent on my work load, when I have no work what so ever, yes I sigh, but I have stuff to read and/or write. Stock options for productivity would be great, but it's healthcare. There is no such thing, I have no control over the number of drunken moped accidents happening on a particular night.

Peter, Milton, Micheal and Samir are not exactly motivational when it comes to going to work. They make me want to call in to stay at home and watch kung-fu. "I owe, I owe, so off to work I go."

Almost Deviant

The world has changed a lot these last three decades. Granted I have moved to the Western hemisphere, life and times move a lot faster the closer you get to MTV (geographically and otherwise). I was raised in a place and time where virtue was, well virtuous and sought after. Society was strict, right and wrong were explicit. Accordingly, deviance was frowned upon. Its presence a source of shame, and so it was kept in the shadows. I grew up and find now this was a child's eye view of my world. As one matures, one finds that "It is a grayer and more complicated world than...ever imagined" (Heaven Lake, John Dalton).

Not only have the lines between right and wrong become blurry, the times are such that deviance is a badge worn with pride. I confess, it is difficult to define what should be a source of pride and what should bring shame. So much has changed in the last century. So many norms have been challenged and refuted. It is not entirely surprising that we have come to this point. Like the squeaky wheel, the deviant's cause is at least seen, due to the way they distinguish themselves they are more visible.

What bothers me is this: I am a decent man whose mind is plagued by mischief. The complication this presents is that I do not know who I am true to. The absence of this kind of truth in my thoughts limits their efficient expression into action, hence I am wholly half-hearted. Part of me is glad I am awarded the grace to somewhat contain my darkness, yet part of me longs to let all of me hang out, to wear deviance and virtue on my sleeves and say, "Hello world. This is who I am inside and (now) out." In such a state I do not creep about, I concede to my deviance and my virtue. I think it will lead to a more honest me. That in turn I hope will produce the passion for life that I yearn. Maybe I will be able to have some fun, even say "Woohoo!" once in a while.

Christ blasted Pharisees. He likened them to white washed tombs, lovely on the outside, but inside full of corruption and uncleaness (Gospel of Matthew 23:27). I do not want to be a Pharisee, I want Christ to like me.

Growth

I like to run, just get out and run, Forrest Gump kind of like to run. I cannot go as far as Mr Gump, I have a wife, job and bills to come back to. These things demand my attention in one way or another after about an hour of running. Oh, and the next day's aches and creaks. I don't worry too much about those while I am in Gump-mode, but, I should. They always hit me hard the next day. Focus!

Why is it that when one (what if it is just me?) Why is it that when I do something I 'enjoy' there seems to be an innate (and somewhat society expectation driven) desire to excel? Expound: I like to run, when I am in my best running place, I run like Vincent in the movie Gattaca, without saving anything for the trip home. There is no concern for time, distance, pace and the like. It is me, music and the pavement. My ragged breathing factors in there, alongside my screaming muscles and the stitch in my side that accompanies at times. I can stay in this place for a couple of weeks if I am lucky. When I leave, I do not know I am leaving until long gone.

"Are you running these days?"
"Yes, I am! I ran 5 miles yesterday."
"Really, what was your time?"
"Don't know, I do not keep track."
"You should, so that you know if you are getting better or not."
"Maybe I will."

So I start watching time and distance.I start doing repeats and drills and before long it is a chore. It is a thing I have to do because I promised someone I would run a race with them and get an award like I did last year. (So you know I wasn't great last year, there were three people in my division and I got silver. Here are the times; 1st - 15:51, 2nd - 23:30, 3rd - 35:02. Is that an award for running well or just an award for running? Strictly speaking I do deserve every bit of the silver plated plastic. You run once, get an award for showing up and then you need one for every run, it's bad, it's not just me).

My point; I like to run, I hate training, yet if I run the way I like, I do not do well at races because I am unable to push myself harder to go further, faster.

"Then just run like you like and don't race," you say.
I concur, why is this easier said than done? It feels wonderful to prepare for something and see it through, however grueling. It feels good to have your name in the paper a day after you bring your someone special a cheap trophy along with your runner's funk and gag-inducing T-shirt. It feels great!

I should go and ride my bicycle instead.

Friends

I have not made many friends in my three decades of living, let me more accurately say I have not kept many friends. Here is why...

As a child, I found that people stayed close to you for how useful you were to them. My neighbours only liked me when I had new toys. They would bully me out of my possessions thereafter, their gain. I would cry home and be told to be more careful with my stuff. Kids in boarding school stuck close usually for help with homework, before the boarding school period I had friends who like me were targeted for being related to teachers, the oft seen conglomeration of the weak and oppressed! In college similar interests brought people together. I was glad that my tennis pals where pals even away from the court. This was novel to me. Sadly by college I did not have any contact with the kids I grew up with, kids I went to grade school with. Now in adult life, I find that most people already have their connections, new ones are difficult to forge. (Oh, and all my college friends are dead, to me that is). You meet people all over, but, very few are friends thereafter. At least not for those of us that prefer to be socially minuscule.

I have found peace, somewhat cynically, in the fact that people, acquaintances, friends even are seasonal. They come and go. The 'real' people in one's life will tend to stay. For those at this transient age though, we or our friends will move to other spatial locations near or far. It is at this point that I get tired and flustered - when people leave they keep in touch for some time, but, this too shall pass. They make new connections where they are, so we (the past) are less and less needed until we die a natural death. Now I must for some reason go and make new connections too? I must replace these that have left? I must go out to meet new people and hopefully mesh with one or some of the many I 'try out'? And what happens when they, or I move away? How many times do I need to repeat this? See how I get tired?

Here is how a conversation went on the subject; "Exhausting is really accurate, when you think of all the time and energy (especially for loners like us, it takes more motivation than for sociable people) invested in getting to know people. In the back of our minds, we know the majority of these people won't mean anything to us once we're removed from their presence. So why do we bother? Not to sound lazy. Do we keep up the pursuit of meeting new people in the hopes that we shall find our next true friend? Or do we continue this because it's what society expects from us...? When I move away, how many of these buds will call me to say hey, when most of what they do now is call to say, "What time?" I guess we use people for what they're good for in the time they're in our lives. We all do it..."

I wish I had a friend who knew me in diapers, or in first grade. Someone who knows all my history because they were there. I envy that were I see it, a rare thing indeed. Not all friendships are forever. Very few are actually. I try to keep all the friends I make. I do not take social interaction lightly, it is a bit of an ordeal for me. I would rather avoid the whole thing, but, alas! Try as I might to refuse, I am a pack animal. Deviant. Yes, but, pack all the same. I will not cling to people anymore, the more I cling, the more it hurts when that bond is corroded by time and distance. The few life friends I have, I hope to keep. When I die I hope some old guy will be there to tell what an idiot I was in college, and then I got my first job and became a snob and how I met my wife and she changed my life and blah blah. It may be just one guy, I hope for two or three such tales.

We need each other, I will acknowledge it, I will not strive to live by it, I will not put much effort into it.

Fun

A friend of mine advised me to let go (of some troubling issues) and have fun. I chuckled to myself because I do not think I am capable of having fun.

In my mind, having fun involves one stripping off caution, hair-ties, self consciousness and at times decorum to fully enjoy an event, be it music, a downhill bike ride, a drive, conversation, movie, you name it. Fun involves stepping away from things I cannot leave for more than half a moment. Nothing I know is fun within half a moment! By the time it starts I am back in a "No Fun Allowed" state my little hourglass is up and I am busy processing. So despite doing things I love, I can not taste them enough to go "WOOHOO!" with any gusto. I am young and sadly do not recall a carefree day in my life. In every instance I am relaying my surroundings to my mind, making sure I am looking as well as possible, getting the most (information) out of the occasion, saying the sharpest, wittiest thing and thinking of the next, adjusting my hair without being vain, sounding intelligent without being snobbish, paying attention to everyone equally, defusing any potentially injurious statements and more - so many background processes are running I am incapable of savouring this moment I am working so hard to perfect.

When was the last time you went, "Woohoo!"?

Potential

In my friend's office was a plaque that read, "There is no greater burden than a great potential." I hate that saying, because it is so true! A rant from long ago went something like this, "We are told as children (I was) to dream big, aim high and the like. By so doing we set ourselves up for displeasure because however low we aim, most of us will not hit the mark we set. Our whole life thenceforth is spent in some level of remorse. For some, years are spent wondering what they could have done better, harder, longer to be 'in a better place right now.' Others will not dream or aim at all. In a way they are better of, whatever they hit is beyond expectation, so it is an achievement. Who is the happier putter, the one who is going for a hole in one and gets it in two, or the one who just hits the ball and makes his putt in two?" Is the glass half full or half empty?

I am often informed of my great potential, many gifts and the like. It is all well and good, but, now that all these things have been noted, I am expected to live up to them. Oh the mental-teeth-gnashing! What no one sees is the rift between where my 'great potential' places me and where I actually stand.

So maybe life is getting to that high chair. What say you? "Oh blast," I say, "It will be a long, tough hike!"

Death

Yes, a morbid place to start. I think about death a lot, I look forward to the rest.

I am currently reading a book by Mary Roach entitled "Stiff." It delves into the lives of human bodies after death. There is a whole new world of possibility that opens up after one is deceased. It is unfortunate we are ignorant of the good we can do with our "tents of flesh" once we are done with them.

I was watching a TV show with my wife and we brought us the issue of dating after one of us dies (tsk tsk, the things involved in today's newlyweds' quality time leave much to be desired huh?). A co-worker took it further and we discussed body-donation, do-not-rescucitate orders and the like. How badly hurt do I want to be before I can give a DNR order? If I do not do it beforehand, it will be too late, hence defeating my whole purpose of doing so (I would like to save my wife the pain of watching or waiting for me to die and the emotional 'he's better-he's worse' yo-yo.) What should be done with my body after I die? It is never too early or late to have this hashed out. Working in medicine, I know how fragile life is.

Bad start to a blog probably, we will see how it goes.