The other guy

1. In any like terms, wherein meaning is subjectively applied, of what worth is my ability to perform?

In an audience of one, applause roars as I roll out of bed and let out a lion-like yawn. "Sensational form" remarks the voice echoing in the halls of my mind. Further cheers and encouragements come as I sit writing reflections, penning ponderings of prose and philosophy, frantically filling folds of loose-leaf. Feeling 20 feet tall, proud of all gifts bestowed upon me, thoroughly thankful for their source, I mirror all praises showered upon me by my audience upward to my maker. I am man, made to praise and rejoice in all that I do. Thanks spouts freely from my lips as I'm forever reminded of Your work in me.

Suddenly, appearing in the distance, I see the fuzzy outline of one just like me; one who stands on two legs, one with two arms, one who looks capable of performing my specialties: the yawn, the stretch, the roll out of bed, even the thinking part! This can't be good. Does this one know what I'm capable of? Soon, with much curiosity do I learn of this one. He writes. He writes well. He writes of his maker, he writes of his feelings, he writes thoughts in such ways I've never considered. Suddenly, the applause comes to a halt and I put down my pen, never to lift it again. I forget my purpose and ignore my gifts. In light of this other, I let myself abandon my purpose.

A voice fills my head, the voice I'd once let cheer me to exciting new heights. Reluctantly, I let it speak and listen as it fills me with hope.

"I gave you talents for your use, for you to apply, to change and encourage change around you. This place is his alone, as yours is only fit for you. I miss your writing; it hurts me to see you discard your talents for want of what he has. The world needs you both, not to compete, but to enrich it. Pick up your pen, become the man you're made to be."

So I did.

So this is where these tactics come from...

While I was hard at work procrastinating studying, I found this little video about American political jeers. Enjoy!

Love might look something like this

No titles come to mind as I frantically type all that passes through my mind. It's been too long. I think it's a good feeling to return to my blog with the excitement of encountering an old friend that I need to fill in with more than what happens to me. This is the essence. In the moments of deliberation, contemplation and realization the true self is shared.

Ever get the desire to go against the grain? Counter-will, I believe Mel calls it. Anyways, every time I am asked whether I'm an introvert or an extravert, I generally find that an honest answer is both. Maybe I feel that it's a cop out, so I say extravert, because the presence of others influences me to feel social. Yet, in the quiet of the night, with nothing but some music and my thoughts, I feel really comfortable. Solitude is maddening when it's all one knows, yet as an option it's the freedom to realize your thoughts can run their own course. Further maddening is it to realize you're thinking and doing exactly what the world wants of you, without intervention or choice.

I write as I think, which is why I don't edit my posts. I spell check, of course, because an English major like myself can't be caught making mistakes, but I like the flow of chaos. It's garbage to read, at times, but it is so much more real than a polished entry of thought. Who thinks with such structure? Certainly not myself.

In a post that began with such promise, I've neglected much substance. Here we go (I seem to favour that phrase). Sorry folks, I've been sitting here all of 5 minutes (sounds like less time than it feels like when you're keeping track) and I've been unable to think of anything but my fiancé. Scratch that, I'm not sorry. You know what people ask you all about when you're engaged? Yes you do, don't you? That's right, the wedding. To be honest, I don't know much about the wedding. To be entirely honest, I don't care much about the wedding. I care about the bride, I care about the groom (good fellow, he is) and I care about the marriage. Anticipation is jealous of my excitement as the day approaches that Leah and I are unified under God. With tremendously hyperbolic understatement, so greatly down-played do I tell you that excitement such as this only comes for truly wondrous things.

All the joy, peace, calm, and love in the world do I want for her. Tonight I could barely bear to leave her and get to my homework. I felt overcome with the spirit. I felt confirmed. I feel confirmed. Man is it ever a great feeling. So yes, please do ask. Ask all you're willing to hear about; as I could speak 10,000 words of what I feel for her. I could share in great depth, with huge emphasis and marvellous emotion, speaking till my voice dries up or your ears begin to filter my utterances as white noise. But, please don't expect such a response to your questions of the wedding. I will refer you to Leah/give an uncertain response. My thoughts are tied up with the musings of my heart.

Filled With Purpose

I was struck by this concept in my final reading of the semester that is worthy of some deep reflection. Annnd since you know I'm all about the deep reflection, here we go. The idea is that we both praise and fear the individual. On one hand, their individuality, their independence, their ability to live outside of conventions is admirable. The way they are able to stand up for their beliefs, speak out when they feel attacked, start conversations and seek social interaction in a genuine way, these are all desirable qualities worthy of recognition. They are what most people wish they could be. They are what I wish I could be.

Yet, while we admire their characteristics, we avoid and reject their advances. We want them to do their thing, just not around us. They stand out, and we make sure they know it by the way we chose not to acknowledge them.

"It's cool that people are able to talk and interact with strangers, just not with me."

"What will other people think if they see me talking to this guy?"

"What does he want from me? Whatever it is, I'll just ignore him until he gets the message."

As beings that are social in nature and necessity we are disgustingly antisocial in practice, depriving ourselves of nourishment and the opportunity for growth at the cost of (anti)social conventions. For me, it is nervous, anxious fear. Paralysis. This is a powerful adversary. We teach our kids to fear strangers out of our own fear. How can I love the neighbour I'm supposed to be afraid of? In all truth, I am excessively afraid.

Will I ever be like the people I'm afraid of? In the hopes that I may show the world what we are needlessly afraid of, I hope so. I need to become fearless of the unconventional, and fearful of the ever-present paralysis silencing my heart and mechanically powering the limited motions of my body. This is a worthwhile struggle.

Of the extremely few things I hate, I do hate small-talk. The bridge to my goal, shaky and full of painful memories, must be crossed and not looked back upon. It starts with an unfamiliar handshake and becomes a loving embrace. I AM a social being, being isolated is not an option. Silence is crippling and loneliness is death. As a man surrounded by water, refusing to drink, I am depriving myself of life. The chance to be refreshed and renewed should be endlessly pursued. I shall forever drink my fill.

And when I have no strength or will to drink, I will again find myself afloat in a river of life, drowning by my own stubborn, selfish-born fears. Solitude is my weakness, community my purpose, selfless love, my motivation. Finally, community is not an achievement. It is not fulfilled, completed, or brought to an end. I must not allow myself to stop, to grow complacent or comfortable with my work. Only is the end a time for reflection. Life requires endless effort, cessation is surrender. My life is not mine alone, and shall never be lived as though it were.

Mirrorly sharing my thoughts.

Why do some of the simplest things feel so difficult? It's as though there's this constant inner struggle going on, a battle of wills, in which what should happen, and what is happening are at odds. I know how to act, I know what to do, I know what I should be doing, and yet here I am in the moment of struggle, here I am in the time of turmoil; here I am in a self-decided isolation. The choices I make are but a drop in a bucket to me, and yet from an outside perspective, all that's visible are the ripples of my decisions. Each second that passes, a wave of judgement strikes on every possible choice. Not only are my choices scrutinized, but my methods, my attitude, my whole physical representation. This is the unseen reaction to each and every act I do. Not only me, but for everyone around me. When I look upon you, without speaking or even making eye contact, I begin this process. Since it's unacknowledged, I suppose it can be easily denied, but I'm not going to deny it. Where do I go from here, though? What do I do once I'm aware of the influence of the insignificancies? If my hair, clothes, and musical preference is being judged, what does that say about the depth of judgement my character receives?

Now this is where I deviate from current themes in my writing, as this isn't something limited to people with a religion or set of beliefs. Those who hold their beliefs close may feel this struggle pull a little tighter as they are reminded of how to be universally accepting, but nobody is free of error. Here's my ideal; my personal epitome of universal acceptance, and my image of what an accepting life needs to look like. I want to live in a world without mirrors.

Yeah, you heard me, no mirrors. Where might this get us? Well, for starters, we'd probably have a lot more car accidents and food in our teeth. But hey, I mean, the world can't be PERFECT. If you've taken my consideration to heart, and began thinking of the other absurd flaws that this world might bring with it, toss that to the side for a second. We rely on the mirror. Why? "I need to look perfect". I think it, would never dare say it, but I think it.

I double-triple-quadruple check before leaving the house, and in doing so spend more time fixing my hair than repairing the broken relationships I live with. I run by my family as I speed out of the house, (late), thinking not of how I shouldn't have said those horrible things, but instead of that piece of hair that wouldn't fall properly.

I arrive at my destination extremely conscious of the presence of mirrors all around me. My reflection is painstakingly crafted, yet picked apart in seconds by its presence in the eyes of my peers. Without uttering a word, their stares tell me everything I'm doing wrong, and all the ways I'll never be able to fix it. Their appearances, behaviours, words, and gestures reflect nothing of my personage and I am made blatantly aware of how horribly I stick out. That one piece of hair that wouldn't go down.

I wander about feeling smaller and smaller until I find a way to look more like the mirrors around me, and less like myself. I change, I adapt. In doing this, everything about me becomes lost, as I finally manage to get that bit of hair to come down. However, in doing so, I become more of a mirror through which other's find their flaws. I stop focussing on my values and greater beliefs as I become an object in this perpetual game of judgement. At least among a room of mirrors and surface appearances I don't stand out, not anymore. Plus, a mirror can't reflect the stuff that doesn't show, so what importance can it really have anyways? If I throw it aside, I can become more like the rest of them, and I can fit in.

This scenario, I would say with confidence, is somewhat like what I've gone through in school. Man, I knew what everyone else liked more than I knew what I liked. I wasn't mean, not in any direct way, but I had such a potential to be nice. Philosophy, for me, was a giant hammer, smashing mirrors all around me and waking me up to what really mattered. But regardless of how I broke out of the cycle, one thing I learned was that in a room full of mirrors, there's no place for self-reflection. (Awww yeah, wicked pun). But seriously, those mirrors just got in the way. So now and for as long as I live, I hope to live in a world without mirrors. I'll replace them with the people around me, and stare deeply into the needs of others, devoting my time to something much deeper than appearances.

So what are you waiting for? Grab a hammer...

Happy (upcoming) Christmas, leave a comment if you feel like letting me know you've stopped by, it's always nice to know who's sharing my thoughts. That's not too needy-sounding is it? Cause I scratched out my original I need love slogan. Ha, cheers.