Monday, December 31, 2012

Cold Turkey


So, I’ve been commanded to write a happy blog post. It’s been a while, I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write something a bit more joyful. It must be this Christmas spirit. The twinkle lights, the cheery faces, and the family. Such a tangible feeling of happiness.

Anyway, that’s enough gushiness for now.

I think I may actually be moving this blog into the waters it was intended for: adventure. Not that the past two years haven’t been eventful. I’ve looked back a couple times; my how things have changed. For better or for worse, I’m still not quite sure. The best part about the future is that it is unknown. I have spent the better part of my life looking to the future (not that I’ve stopped…). What are my grades going to be? What college am I going to? Which classes am I taking next semester? Always trying to craft the best possible future, even though there really isn’t anything that will determine the future except the present.

After all of this time looking into the vast emptiness, I’ve realized that it is better to worry about today. One thing that has stuck with me over the past year: Make plans, don’t plan results. I’ve spent my life envisioning the results, trying to figure out what tomorrow brings. It has been a necessity. Today, and maybe a few more todays, I’m going to worry about the present. No, not worry. I’m going to embrace the present!

So, for the great news that most of you probably know: I’m leaving for France on January 11 for a five-month study abroad in Grenoble. Yep. That sums up my life for the next semester. So. Freaking. Excited. Oh, and nervous. Did I mention that I’m nervous/anxious/apprehensive? It’s a rollercoaster of emotion, but at the end of the day I remind myself that I’m going to be doing something amazing.

Five months. Wow. I’m not sure I even comprehend how much time that really is going to be. I have friends that are off on missions for 18 months at a time, and I’m worried about a measly five months. But grief! I haven’t been out of Utah longer than 10 days at a time. I’ve lived a life safe from the world, and now I’m throwing myself into the thick of it. Quitting the safety blanket: cold turkey.

So. The plans are set. Plane tickets bought. Visa slapped into the ol’ passport. New luggage, new clothes, new power adapters. Hundreds of questions, both answered and unanswered. I’m officially walking into unknown territory in t-minus 11 days.

Wow. Yeah, if you can’t tell, I’m a bit out of my league. But, hey! I’m staying in there, I’ll keep swinging. I’ll make sure to keep everyone updated while I’m out there, off in new-to-me parts of the world. Now I can only hope that I can fit my life into a suitcase and a backpack. Minimalism to the extreme.

This is the last blog post of the year. I have less than twenty minutes of 2012 left, and my heart is pounding. What will this New Year bring? Another year has been added to my history, and a new year waits. I’m not sure if I will make a resolution. Maybe I will resolve to scare myself more. Leave the security blanket behind and live life. Maybe once I start freeing myself from the self-created restraints, I might actually be confident enough to live the life I want to live.

Wish me luck! Here’s to a new year, new experiences, a new stretch in this crazy adventure called life.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Shattered Fairytales


***Just a note: Be prepared for written confusion.***

I think it is time I realized that the fairy tales have all ended. There isn’t any point in looking back at the time of magic and wonderment, for those things have been shattered into a million little pieces. I don’t know why I held on for so many years, death grip on the illusion. Maybe I haven’t completely let go—it is my biggest security blanket, but I’ve definitely lived through the lifting of the fog. It has been too long with too much heartbreak to think that magic and wonderment don’t come without a heavy price.

It all comes down to how much you’re willing to pay. I think, for me, I would give everything I am to feel that security again, and I think that is exactly what you have to give. You have to hand over your entire being, allow it to be formed and molded and twisted, and then it will eventually be handed back—broken.

I think I speak in too many metaphors, especially when I haven’t explained myself properly. Though, in all actuality, I’m never going to really explain myself—that would be going too far. I just need to understand when and why I stopped believing in the magical moments of the world. Why have I become…not so much hopeless…but more of a cynic—a realist verging on pessimism. This seems a large evolution from the quiet optimism that I often experienced in the past.

                                                                                                *     *     *



The above portion was written some weeks previously. It didn’t seem like a topic that I could pursue, mostly because it is kind of depressing. Though after further evaluation, most of my posts are depressing. I guess that comes from the lack of people to talk to about the serious things in life (more like the lack of willingness to talk to the people in my life about the serious things).

I still believe in the quiet optimism. It is constantly there, but some days the small flame flickers in the breath of an overwhelming ache. Such an anchor, a soul smothering veil that does not want to lift, no matter how hard I tug at the threads.

Again with the metaphors—but doesn’t it make reading this much more interesting? I think that writing should be read with enthusiasm, and the only way you can read with enthusiasm is if the piece has been written with enthusiasm, no matter the topic.

Some days, when the flame grows pale and the remnants of my soul deflate and escape to the dark places of reality, I realize how truly alone you can make yourself. Not that I try to decrease contact with other people: more that I surround myself with people, and then I internally push myself away. A bad habit, I know. How does that solve the problem? How does that make me feel better? Trust me, it doesn’t. That ache gnaws away at me, clawing its way—shredding the happiness into ribbons of their previous glory.

Maybe the fact of the matter is that I was raised with such a bipolarity: the utter obsession for any shred of attention and the autonomy to take care of one’s self. Such a combination has proved to be the ruin of me. Where I thirst for a way to interact, but I know that it isn’t possible due to my awkward nature—that anti-social attitude of autonomy that does not understand social interactions.

I’m not making any sense anymore, am I?

Okay. Time to start making sense. First of all, I apologize for anyone who reads these horrible posts: they are stretched and confusing at best, I’m sure.

In the end, I need to find a way to create a cohesive self. I need to find a way of combining these two separate parts into a well-oiled mechanism. I must find a way to mesh the two, or else I fear that the problem will never be resolved.

I’m not sure whom I should talk with about creating a solid, confident person—that person that I used to be. I feel like I have been deflated, and each time I find a way to inflate the balloon—another hole appears releasing all of the confidence into the abyss.

I need to find a way to overcome the fairytale and create a reality that is more than just acceptable—a reality that is beyond the boundaries of perfection; a reality filled with imperfections that create a wondrous condition of being. I know that one day I will realize that I am living in that reality, but for now I will keep tugging at that stubborn veil, the mist in the valley of my soul. For now, I will hold on to my shattered fairytales, stitching them back together piece by piece—only to realize the pieces I have now aren’t the pieces I started with.

Monday, April 2, 2012

The Remnants of a Soul

I should be doing homework right now, but I have decided to post this poem that I wrote on March 19 of this year, sitting at a small wooden table on the second floor of Salt Lake Roasting Company. I hope you like it.

The remnants of a soul
Untold memories dashed against the wall
Crying in the corner; pleading
Wasting away into the unbroken horizon.

We wait and we watch
We hold close and run far away
We stumble and fall, fall, fall,
We rise again to face the darkness.

It fell one day; screaming—
It fell to the harshest sound,
With a face, alit with fear, eyes wide
It fell into the darkness, memories 
           banished.

Anew, it sprang forth—clambering—
We looked on with disgust, waiting—
It took its virgin steps, wavering—
We looked on with disgust, staring.

And with that, it flew,
And we were alone at last.

Anyway, take what you want from it; I’m still not sure what I was writing about. It means something, I’m sure. I just haven’t found out what exactly…

Monday, March 26, 2012

A Mile in My Shoes


I have been thinking a lot about judgment lately. Biblical, and otherwise. Not that I should worry about judgment, rather, I have to worry, but since it is a necessity I shouldn’t overly worry. Anyway, I guess the moral of this story is that I have been thinking a lot about judgment lately.

Everyone knows that judgment is a large part of life, and that there are many forms in which judgment can come in. Judgment can come in the form of common sense. Where you look both ways before crossing the street, an assumption of judgment that saves lives every day. Judgment can also come in more artistic forms, where an artist uses their best judgment; rather, they use their artistic ability to create a work that conforms to their perceptions of judgment. Others may judge, yes, the work itself, but that is solely because the judgment of the piece does not conform to the assumptions that their judgment has already made. Does this make any sense? I’ll continue anyway. Judgment can also come in a more common phrasing of the word, where you meet a person on the street and decide whether you should give them the time of day. That is the most common form of judgment, the most common form that sways our reality, shifting and shaping each day, excluding and including certain individuals throughout any given day. Finally, the judgment that I am least familiar with, moreover, that society is least familiar with: the judgment of God. For, unless you have the unfortunate circumstance bestowed upon you, you will never know the judgment of God, or rather you will not be able to relate said judgment back to the grieving  living. If you’re still interested, I’ll continue with this nearer the end.

The first two given examples of judgment are complex in their own way, but I am not here to focus on them. There are whole professions given to professional judgment, the second example. Furthermore, you are sitting at a desk/in a chair/on your bed/on a plane (etc.) reading this blog, so I can only assume that you’ve formed a partial understanding of the first example of judgment: common sense. Though common sense does deserve its own essay, I am not here to write on that subject either. My ultimate goal is to clearly describe the actions of judgment on a daily basis, the judgment that shapes our perceptions of the world, our judgment that creates unfortunate assumptions about individuals. Finally, I will finish with my limited experience of the Judgment; where we have taken over for God, ultimately using his power to judge those around us. An unfortunate happenstance, I’m sure, though I’m not sure how happy that makes God.

Each day we are creating our perception of the world. Our minds race with information, and we are constantly trying to perceive the world around us in an organized, ordered fashion. No matter how psychotic the individual, each has a perception that leads them through the world. The mind is constantly processing information, aiding with our awareness of our surroundings. We are alive, each and every one of us, because we have the power of mind to perceive our surroundings and adapt to them. This is the ultimate goal of survival, where common sense replaces instinct in a civilized society, but also where judgment helps us record and perceive danger from other individuals.

The fact that each individual human being judges others is a primal element of our genetic algorithms. We must judge others to assume safety and create trust. There is a certain abstract quality to the person who claims that they judge no one, but there is an automatic judgment made from the same individual when a masked figure advances toward them, gun raised, yelling obscenities. Said individual may have some control over the judgments they ultimately pass, but they are not free from the overwhelming urge to judge. This is where the unfortunate, almost ghastly, judgments come from: when someone cannot control the judgments they pass. One look, and they think they know exactly who the individual is. This has occurred since the beginning of organized society. Where, throughout history, the color of one’s skin or the religious markings one wore could get them killed, or worse. These markers help us create assumptions through our initial judgments that can lead to stereotyping, and even to bigotry, and ultimately to hate.

As humans, we are capable of large emotion: love, grief, resentment, melancholy, and hate. Hate. Think about the word. Take a moment. What does your judgment say about the word? What does the word make you think of? Who does the word make you think of? As you can see, as your mind jumps from one question to the next, your judgment has shaped your reality a bit more than you would have liked. As a society, though society is another beast in itself, we form judgments. As a collective these judgments pass laws, secure policies, and ultimately drive the course of the world. These judgments are harder to sway because they are the judgments of a mindless, heartless beast: the mob, of which you and I are a part. The luckiest thing about the situation we have found ourselves in, however, is that we, the we within the society—the individuals—are able to form malleable judgments that can evolve and take shape as we learn, as we love, and as we accept differences.

A friend this past week, a newer friend, struggling as we are to find out way through the world said something, not necessarily original, but very profound. He asked me, “Why don’t they try walking in the shoes of another? Of me? Why can’t they walk in my shoes for the day, to know what it is like to be me?” I did not know what to say. Nor do I have any idea what to say now because are any individuals really willing to walk in another’s shoes? The fact remains that we cannot face our judgments; we can spread our judgments, ultimately in the form of our beliefs and opinions. We may look at a person, process our impressions into judgments that we ascertain as truth, but we will never know that person’s story unless we are willing to walk in their shoes.

Maybe I do know what I’d like to say to my friend. Maybe I could just ask for a pair of shoes? Maybe I will ask for the opportunity to see into their world. Maybe I could ask them to tell me what it is like to be in their shoes. Because, sincerely, I would like to know. I want to know what it is like to be them, so that I can better understand what it is like to be myself.

This is where I come to my ultimate confusion: the Judgment of God. I will say this now; I have mixed feelings about God. I do not know Him, as many in this world do. I believe that He exists, but I do not know in what capacity. However, if you would like to quote a Bible or any text, for that matter, of who God is, that would be trifling at best. Dead words on a page of manmade paper do not interest me when it comes to such a great being. (I should add that I do believe that many portions of the Bible act as an intricate historical tale of the world. If I want to know a person, I am not going to read a biography, I would speak with the person. Though, that would lead me into the issues of prayer, and that is not what this essay is about. I do not want to discount the Bible, or the beliefs people bestow in that book. I am expressing my belief that one cannot know God by reading ancient texts that have been translated thousands of times throughout history by man. I believe that to be an impossibility. If you are focusing all of your attention on this singular paragraph then you have missed the entire point of this essay, and I suggest you start again at the top.

The Judgment of God is something that I am completely unfamiliar with, though I’m sure there are a multitude of people out there willing to sit me down and explain their believed system to me. My confusion lies with the fact that there are millions, absolutely millions of people, with the ability to cast this Divine Judgment on their fellow man. Throughout history, the word of God, God’s decisive hand, has played a role in Holy War, suffrage, slavery, and death. Though, if we look back, was it God that enslaved these people? No. Like the debate of guns and bullets, it is people that enthrall their fellow man, not God. The idea of God within the minds of the individual, that is the ultimate culprit. So in the end, the judgments that are passed are not God’s will, for we cannot know His will. The ultimate culprit is our judgment. The assumptions that we create based off of ancient words in a text, with the result of oppression for many races, sexes, and sexual tendencies. It is a sad day, to think that, in God’s name, we have decided to act with His decisive hand fist to create a world where the masses are turning away from God.

The fact remains, we must take ultimate responsibility of our judgments. There is a heavy task for humanity, for we are not always inclined for taking up responsibility. I can only hope, that before making life-changing judgments that forevermore shift your perceptions of the world, you will take the time to walk in their shoes.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Incoherence


I’m not sure what I want to say. I never am that sure what I want to say. I tend only to write when I have big emotions inside of me without any other outlet of releasing them into the world. I guess this is one of those times, but I’m not sure what I want to say.

I have strung along a few entries with the theme of “Who am I?” I think I have begun to realize that that question has no definite answer. There isn’t anything that can be said to relieve the anxiety of answering that question because it is constantly evolving. An even more anxious question would be “What if I don’t like who I am?” That didn’t occur to me before now. I was always just looking for an answer, and I was never troubled that the answer may be something that I hadn’t actually been looking for. I know that there are many people that believe that you can be whoever you want to be, but I think that is a lie. You can be who you are, or you can lie to yourself and be who you want to be.

I guess this may be shorter than I expected it to be… It has been so long since I’ve felt anything at all. I have turned into a husk of my former self. A ghost, a wisp, a disembodied spirit with “unfinished business.” I am starting to feel again, but I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know how to interpret what I’m feeling, and I just don’t know anymore.

I learned something, in the time after the breakup. I learned to talk to myself. I have never been so alone before, so it ultimately led to me talking endlessly with myself. First, just in my head, but then it started to flow into speech without me realizing the transition. Now that I know more French, I have begun to talk to myself in that language. It helps me process what I’m thinking about because I have to come up with the verbiage and vocabulary for the sentences that I’m trying to create.

It usually ends up with an incoherent stream of words that no one else understands. This is helpful because I can say whatever I want without others interfering… Qui ĂȘtes-vous? Que faites-vous? and on and on…

Anyway, I guess I’ll stop babbling on about nothing in particular. I know that hardly anyone reads this anyway, but if you are someone that looks forward to these blogs, then I’m going to try to start doing something a bit more regular (we’ll see how that goes). Whether it is posting work that I’ve done for school, or just random things I find on the Internet. I think that this will be a good outlet for my incoherence.