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Archive for March, 2011

Humbug.

I can’t get my head screwed on straight in time for the quarter.

In the most accurate way I can portray it:

Ugh. Meh. Bah.

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101.

So I didn’t realize this while it was happening, but my last post was my 100th, making this one my 101st. Hence the title.

Lately, I’ve been reviewing what I want out of life: what I want to do, where I want to go, who I want to meet, etc. And then I was watching Bones — It was an episode about a kid, seventeen years old, who knew he was dying and wanted to make a difference in the world before he kicked the bucket. Sadly, he ended up being killed in the process. And then I thought to myself, “Huh. That’s really all I want out of my life, too. To make a difference before I die.”

I have no delusions about being invincible. No, those disappeared years ago. It is really as the adage goes: we are all dying. Whether it’s today or tomorrow or years down the line, everyone has to go. Call it morbid or what have you, but it’s true. This earth is not ours to keep.

But it is for others to be a part of. Future generations. Our children, their children, and so on. When we pass, we leave this earth behind for others to live on. We leave behind a legacy. Markings. Footprints. Small and big.

I don’t know what the countdown for me reads, but I do know that when I go, I want to leave behind a world made at least a little better by some decision that I’ve made. You know, maybe that’s why I don’t like to walk on grass or waste anything, because I don’t want dying patches of grass and a growing waste issue to be my legacy.

They say a mind is a terrible thing to waste, but really, it’s a life that’s a terrible thing to waste. Because minds, well, we all have them and they all have a particular biological structure with individual genetic differences and environmental factors that make them what they are, but lives… Well, lives are time, and minds can really be as limitless as they want to be, but time is always limited. Not enough hours in a day, not enough days in a week, weeks in a month, months in a year, years in a lifetime, and really, we’re lucky to have made it this far.

I used to think that the end couldn’t come soon enough, that this world wasn’t worth all of the pain, but I also had a lot to learn back then. I found God, started this blog to keep track of the journey, and 101 posts later, here I am. I’ve gone through what seem like endless stages, and you can read all about them because they’re here in electronic print. I’ve lived over a year of searching and wondering and lots of crazy, but since then, I haven’t felt like I’ve been wasting my life.

This one’s for you, my friend. I hope you’re reading. I hope you know who you are. I hope that you think to yourself, “No, it can’t be me,” so that when I say it is you (and it is), you know it to be true. I hope that you know that I thought of you today because you sneezed or something. I hope that you’re cherishing your life, because even though things seem hard sometimes (or maybe all the time), even though it doesn’t seem like it’s worth it… It is.

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What’re the odds…

… in a world of nearly 7 billion, of being born in a country with a population of 300 million, a county of almost 10 million, a city of 50 thousand?

4.286%
.143%
.000714%

That’s not even counting the chances that my parents would’ve met in the first place, and my grandparents’ meeting, and what I’m guessing is thousands and thousands of years of happenstance.

I sometimes wonder why I’ve been put where I am, why I wasn’t born somewhere else, where I’d have to work for my keep or where the rest of the world wouldn’t matter or where there’s just sunshine, fresh air, and thoughts of peace.

I look at these numbers, and I feel half fortunate and half unfortunate.

Half fortunate that I’ve been given the luxuries that I have, that I grew up somewhere safe, that I was, at birth, given a pretty damn good chance at having a higher education that I’m presently squandering in so many ways.

Half unfortunate that I have to have to know as much as I do about how much the world outside of my bubble suffers, that I will never know the bliss that is ignorance, that I’ve been given a responsibility along with my God-given blessings to seek restoration and redemption amongst the broken pieces.

In other words, if the chances were so slim, why was I chosen? I could be somewhere else, living a simpler life, looking up at the night sky to see the stars. And maybe that’s a sign that I still don’t get it. I don’t know whether to feel blessed or deprived.

But I’m not the only one who was given this chance. And I’m definitely not the one giving my best to make the most out of it.

Let’s do this.

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Losing sight.

I’m sometimes afraid of losing sight — not in the becoming blind sense, but more in the metaphysical sense. Losing sight of… purpose, a bigger picture beyond just me and my life. More than that, I’m sometimes scared of losing myself to apathy, emotionlessness, falsehoods.

It’s like being a dark room. You need a source of light, a permanent one, but no such thing is around. Only passing fancies, small bits and short moments of relief. A match, if you will. You light a match in a dark room, and for a second your heart leaps because you can see again, if only in a small space. Then slowly, but surely, the match begins to burn down towards your fingertips until you’re forced to let go or blow it out. No more light.

I’m like that these days. I put on a face, a flicker of light in an otherwise hollow form, only to realize I have to escape before I lose my grasp on it.

It bothers me that I feel like I can’t have permanent happiness, whatever that means. Or some sense of permanency in my life, really. Victories, emotions, people, even, are fleeting. God isn’t supposed to be. But it feels like He is. If he weren’t, would life be one giant sine wave? Up and down, up and down, repeating infinitely until… well, you know.

There I go, losing sight again. I know there’s a purpose to suffering, but it’s as if with each passing cycle I forget a part of it.

It’s hard to escape. It’s hard to not want to escape.

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I am…

The product of a man and a woman.
A man who failed to commit to a wife and a child.
A woman who was broken down by a life of hurt.

I am the product of years of bitterness, pent-up anger, and solitude.
Bitterness against those who’ve done me wrong.
Anger towards myself for my weakness.
Solitude in my differences from others.

I am the product of repressed memories.
Memories I’m too scared of.
Memories that give me nightmares.
Memories that I can’t talk about because I don’t know what they are.
Memories that leave me feeling hollowed out on the inside.

But that’s all they are. Memories.

I am the product of God’s good and loving grace.
I am the product of redeemed faith in a world I once hated.
I am the product of friendship and love.
I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not who I say I am.

Neither will I become who I was once expected to be.

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The sound of settling.

I appreciate friends who come watch my shows, lend me pajamas and a sleeping bag so I can sleep over in their apartment, feed me when I wake up, tell me about how their doing, process a difficult decision with me, drink tea with me in silence that is anything but awkward…

I woke up today, snoozing my alarm so I could smile to myself and think, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

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Motivations.

It’s weird to be sitting here thinking that I’ve been blogging a ton more recently than I have in a long time — all while I should be working on an assignment. But eh. Seriously. Eh. I can’t bring myself to care about school anymore, and you’d think that’s why I titled this post as such. But that’s not all this is about.

But school. Seriously. I’m finally starting to sort of get into classes where I’m learning the types of things I want to learn: why the world is the way it is. And I’m hoping as I start picking up upper division classes that’ll turn into “how we can turn this hot mess around.” But I don’t know, I’ve lost my taste for academia. There’s nothing to pursue anymore. I don’t need a degree to do what I want to do, necessarily, but that’s because I keep forgetting the bigger picture.

“I brought you into this world to bring healing. You were born to bring hope where there is none.”

Yeah, big freakin’ calling, I get it. The inconceivable part of that is the possibility of going to graduate school is becoming stronger for me. Guess I’ll have to pull those grades up, get my butt off the couch, and… go to class? There should be a book about this. “Terrible Students Who Made It As Far As They Did on Dumb Luck and Test-taking Skills.” I’d be Chapter 13.

Question: What do I want my college experience to be?
Answer: Well, at this point, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I care anymore.

There’s a timeline to this. At first I wanted to pave my way to med school. Then I decided to follow Jesus and pursue a bigger picture than just being a doctor (which, if you’re reading, don’t misinterpret — Christians are allowed to become doctors despite what the trend is. Specifically for BCF, I mean. More thoughts on this on a later date.) Then I wanted to minister to other students, peers. Then I wanted to build the strength of my relationship with God. Then I wanted to do theatre. Now I have to choose.

I mean, not everyone is called to become part of a college ministry, right? And by that, I mean doing the ministering part. But at the same time, it’s what I wanted, isn’t it? Or was it just a path set out by those who came before me, a path that I don’t have to follow? To do it, would I really have to give up something that I love as much as I love this theatre company? Does what I’ve been doing for less than a quarter mean more than something I’ve been pursuing for more than a year? Am I defining my experience of Jesus based on this?

Too many questions.

People– well, and I, have been asking what I think God wants for me. And I think, “I don’t know.” The quarter says I don’t need to be a “leader,” not in this sense, anyway. (Yes, I listen to a quarter. It’s never done me wrong, really.) The word from above — or well, in my head, at least, says the same thing. But I’m still not sure. Maybe I’m just afraid of missing out on something.

Someone else weigh in on this or something. I’m tired of thinking.

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