Man's Best Friend

You were warmth.
You were comfort.
You were the epitome of content, and it was so easy to take you for granted.

You brought nothing to me, did nothing for me, never once did you serve me,
but my soul is not nourished by physical service alone.
You were the great companion, co-experiencing behind soggy eyes
with a well-earned pace of one prepared to approach the finish line.

Your existence, while brief, was that of a tissue box, a good book, a favorite sweater or a carton of ice cream: though independent from my own, your life was spent supporting me through struggles and successes. I miss that support. I miss the support that I could continue to gain. I delight in my sorrow knowing now of the love that I felt all along for the pet that stunk terribly but seldom made a sound. I wore tears as badges of pride for this love you've inspired, refusing to hide my pain but declaring in my failed stoicism my willingness to be vulnerable as you faded into a dreamless sleep.

I trust that life without death will be among the greatest gifts God has to offer. Until such a time, I mourn for that which is taken from this side of the curtain in the hopes that, if only in memory alone, those we once embraced will remain with us as we enter the unknown and share the fearful grasp of our final breath.

Goodbye Diablo, I'll carry you with me always.

You are what you wear.

Is it deceitful to emphasize social traits in oneself that are known to be well received by others? By this I mean, knowing that others seek people who are x,y, and z, emphasizing such traits in oneself as a means of receiving acceptance. I'm really not sure, as it stands, whether this is an honest practice or not. The thing which makes it difficult to discern, I suppose, would be the fact that we are so good at simplifying the identity of others into preconceived categories that we rarely allow them to be much beyond our x,y,z.

Moving beyond the abstract, for me this particular issue creeps up when the discussion veers towards the introvert/extrovert distinction. I display the traits of extravert: talkative, socially outgoing, loud, willing to share my opinions/thoughts, yet these are things I'm working hard to emphasize. Lately, I`ve noticed that when I'm not feeling 100% these things fade and I feel as though my armor is being stripped away, exposing a broken child who is filled with doubt, anxiety and insecurity. These things are like fancy clothes, donned for an occasion, imbuing me with confidence and strength. Yet, eventually they must be removed. I know it's deceitful to be someone you're not, but is it deceitful to emphasize your strengths to achieve comfortability and acceptance? Perhaps this is all we are, personalities that are socially dependent as we gauge our audience and share different pieces of our souls with those who best receive them.

In any case, this discussion is a particularly important one for me as lately I've been finding it a lot more difficult to be this guy all the time. What's worse, when everyone expects you to come to them, to join their groups, and to make yourself seen, your absence and solitude becomes viewed as a choice. It's as though people (not necessarily in ways that are their fault) assume that you're able to just hop in to social settings and since you're sitting on the outside you're where you want to be. Maybe I'm overanalyzing and nobody's taking notice at all, but I can assure you that nobody wants to be on the outside. My time spent there makes me feel as though I'm watching people live great lives from the inside of a cage.

This is where the socially adaptive nature breaks down, as acting a particular way over time gives people only a glimpse of who you are and makes it far easier for your identity to be reduced to what you've shown them. You become "the English major", "the volleyball player", "the philosopher", but no longer do you remain "the person". Your discussions, superficial or filled with depth, become one dimensional as people come to expect things of you and come to you for specific things. If you're funny, people like that and want to be around your humour, sharing in laughs and jokes, but nobody comes to you when you're not prepared to laugh. Especially not if all they know in you is that you're the funny guy. Who likes the funny guy when he's depressing? That's just awkward.

So now back to what's concrete, I'll elaborate a bit more on who I am and how I'm feeling in all this. I feel like I've always known how to socialize, not so much out of natural progression, but out of necessity. I've gone through abandonment, and it's left me extremely guarded as a person, compelling me to learn ways to be interesting and maintain interest and attention. Lately, it all feels like a lot of work. When I've dropped my guard, and just been around people, I feel so damned lonely it scares me into becoming a more social me. What's worse, when I'm not working hard at it I see so many other people like me who are trying, or giving in, as they yearn for true acceptance and embrace. I don't think people neglect or overlook people because they're insensitive, maybe just because they don't know what it's like to be in a room full of people and feel loneliness. It's not exactly easy to see the people who are hiding from themselves.

In any case, in addition to all this I'm now left wondering what makes up my identity and whether I can truly say the fancy clothes I wear are at all a part of who I am. I suppose I'll wear them as long as they fit, but it'd be nice to know that when I'm not in this outfit, people still see me as more than a restricted view of who I am. I've got to try harder to be a whole person, while balancing the desire to fit in with the desire to be genuine; this is a lot of work. Is anyone else wearing a particularly fancy self, or am I alone in all this?

Talking to myself

Hey Folks,

 It's been a while since I took some time to write, but since I'm in a proactive mood I figured I'd type away for a bit. I suppose the thought that's on my mind is that there's never enough time within these bursts of energy and activity. All the things I'd accomplish, all the goals I'd be able to have ticked off my list, everything I've ever aspired towards would be complete if not for the draw back into routine. It's strange to think that we so readily concede our place within a socially constructed world and yet cling to a sense of self that is our own little piece of selfishness. I spend countless hours in my day simply sitting around, doing nothing for anyone, just existing. Yet, these moments aren't the true me existing, they aren't spent in reflection of the inner being I've preserved, they're moments I've been crafted for, moments I've been tuned into and moments I'm being preserved in.

As I sat watching nothing upon the television, I'm not alone. I'm not isolated. I'm surrounded by the closest friends the world wants me to keep. I'm basking in comfort as my dearest buddies sell me into submission through programs and advertising. It's not that without them I'd be a selfless being, it's just that they taught me to tailor selfishness to their needs. I'm not doing nothing, you're not doing nothing, we never DO nothing, we simply ignore our actions and assume auto-piloted controls that we've been taught to overlook. I heard, the other day, a notion that I've heard many times before but yet that never looses its poignancy, "everyone wants to think that they're some how unaffected by advertising. Companies wouldn't pay millions of dollars a year for something that doesn't work." This multi-billion dollar a year industry has us so turned around, they've got us so confident in our own self sufficiency that we're as puppets on invisible strings. Anyways, I perhaps digress a bit too much. All this to say, my own time that I cherish and hold as MINE is hardly even that. If I'm going to squander my life away in moments of supposed nothingness, I should at the very least recognize it for what it is.

This brings me, of course, to the part of my reflection that asks what to do about this circumstance? It'd be naive to think that I'll escape, only to emphasize my earlier point of illusory freedom. Rather, I suppose, my time should be something that I choose to spend intentionally. I firmly believe that selflessness, as a counter-cultural virtue, is perhaps the only way to escape the disappointment that life taught me too little, and helped me accomplish what were frivolous ends. However, when the other is the project, there is no sense of guilt in the small things. If I live my life everyday with the knowledge that what I fail to accomplish is holding me back from the ideal person I'd have become, I live in perpetual disappointment. However, if I live with the goal of helping you realize the amazing person you are, or the amazing things you're capable of, or the joy that your presence brings to me and those around us, I cannot fail. The hesitation to speak, to compliment or lend a hand, to breach the gap separating my own world from that which exists beyond me, is also a worldly construct. This tension is weakened when I make a conscious effort to go outside of my own little bubble.

It's not about changing the world, that's far too overwhelming of a goal to shoot for, certain only to lead to disappointment as I reflect on my own failure. No, rather than being about changing the world, it's about changing my perception of the world. My own fears and worries turn others into monsters, and make me flee from interaction for fear of rejection. However, I only appear as absurd as I allow myself to acknowledge and personally, I feel more absurdity in this norm we all seem to accept and ignore than I do in being the man set apart.

And yet, as I type and reflect I feel more and more that I'm becoming as relevant as the Underground Man, spinning my wheels as I reflect on a world too absurd to change, acknowledging my own opposition while remaining aware of the difficulty to change. This pessimism/realism is overwhelming, and at the age of 22 I feel as though I'm getting old. Perhaps it's not that this is too complex to think about and thus ignored, but rather that thought on matters such as these afford no joy and thus are put out of mind.

I suppose I'm just in need a good chat, one of those talk-about-everything-until-time-no-longer-matters-but-to-track-the-length-of-this-amazing-conversation type chats. Why can't those be more common?

On pain

My inspiration comes from words that numb, weaving words of pain as the total sum of God's failure to reach into this world and draw out all the sickness and sin. Ironically, my spiritual filling comes in this gospel killing, heaven denouncing, emotional spilling that cannot be contained, explained or directed towards anything short of heaven's doors. In the overflow of heartbreak, as we demand reasons, we question the creator as though he delights in our misery. The universal reaches of hurt, vast as oceans are swallowed by us alone, as choking, we gasp for air and curse the very name that put us there. The roots of loss burrow into our hearts, binding that which is falling apart, keeping us together as we start to realize there's more to life while these waters dry. Uoward climb voices, as they curse or rejoice the constancy of the author of choice. With passion we scream until our lungs give out, shouting at a God whose own hurt we doubt, as if we could learn from experiencing the essence of suffering, anyways. As mankind sways, ebbing and flowing between wondering and knowing, leaning and standing strong, He who watches us wrong the world is on trial for our pain. Though we deny His very name, He becomes the source of blame when the world shakes, or hearts break as names make homes of tombstones. Still, as we look inward not upward, blinding ourselves to vision beyond our reach, it's as though while each loss He feels reveals vision beyond comprehension of sufferings unmentioned, he'll never feel what I feel.

Inner Monologue

While I find myself surrounded by others, I feel torn between a desire for isolation and the guilt of knowing I'm a social disappointment. It seems as though, with each passing day, I grow more disappointed with myself and this tension. I feel empty, in many ways, as though I'm missing out on life. It's a sinking, all consuming feeling that leaves me only desiring a further retreat from the presense of others. Throughout all this, I am only sickened by this self-pitying attitude that I gravitate towards, feeling as though there's some great separation between my true self and this negative persona inhabiting my thoughts. Truthfully I ask if integrity is of value when I feel so utterly disappointing, as if this complex problem would be solved by putting it on display. What analysis will lead to resolution? I know the answers, I feel, but it feels empty. I am vacant, with only hope that I shall soon overcome. Encouragement seems a burden, as in the light of sacrifice and grace I'm uninspired towards change.

I'll be home, in a little while, lover I'll be home.

That's my prayer.