May 27th, 2009 | link
Going back home to Fort Wayne for a few days.
I love both homes.
What I want to say…
May 27th, 2009 | link
What I want to say is that you have today. Maybe there will be a tomorrow, or a year from now, but you simply do not know. You do know that you have right now.
What I want to say is that we absolutely have to laugh at ourselves. There is no other way to survive life.
What I want to say is don’t hide forever. Hide now if you must, protect yourself at all costs if you have no other choice, but when choice resurfaces once again, resurface with it.
What I want to say is read Calvin & Hobbes every day.
What I want to say is say what you don’t want to say.
What I want to say is take notes. Scribble down everything you can. Buy little notebooks, the sorts that are sensible and not $12.99 apiece, and write it all down. Quotes. Thoughts. Feelings. Lists. If you’ve experienced it, it’s important and worth noting.
What I want to say is “The flowers are still standing!”
What I want to say is fight for yourself, even when, especially when, it means fighting with another.
What I want to say is that which you fear the most might be what you want to do the most, or possibly what you were made to do.
What I want to say is listen to Patty Griffin often, but not too often.
What I want to say is buy good coffee, or good tea, or good whiskey, and savor.
What I want to say is don’t be afraid of your own anger. Be afraid of cynicism, but not anger. There is no movement in cynicism, but there is movement in anger. Anger alludes to a longing for something more.
What I want to say is that I have no idea what healthy means. But I do know about healing.
What I want to say is print your photographs and put them on your walls. Surround yourself with images of people and places that you love.
What I want to say is celebrate often and grieve well.
What I want to say is read Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies. I will likely never stop recommending this book to everyone I know.
What I want to say is, in the words of the aforementioned writer, should is a terrible reason to do anything.
What I want to say is that I love watching television, and I’m finally at a place where I can admit that. Let’s take some E!
What I want to say eat really, really good food. There are times to eat beans and rice, but there must be a time to spend all you can afford on Alaskan King Crab legs or a filet or lamb.
What I want to say is let silence surround you like a blanket when words simply will not soothe.
What I want to say is: relax.
What I want to say is love and be loved. If nothing else, love deeply.
May 19th, 2009 | link
This summer night is brought to you by the ping pong table we got on Craigslist for $70, PBR & Pacifico, Weber Grills, 70º in Seattle, neighbors who put up with us, Stuart’s masterful grilling, Stuart’s tank top, Stella taking poops where we stand to play ping pong, sarcasm, Rachael’s stories of Oklahoma tornadoes, Pinot Evil boxed wine, and hours of laughter. Also, Stuart still hasn’t won a game. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.
May 14th, 2009 | link
Snapshots taken on the bus. Polarize is currently my favorite iPhone camera app.
Advértisémént
May 13th, 2009 | link
Josué is someone that I want to do work with for the rest of my life. He was one of the first people I met when I came to Mars Hill Graduate School and has remained one of my best friends since. He has an incredible eye for beauty. He can spot it in an instant, and you’d know this the minute you saw his and Nicole’s apartment. Layout is of divine importance to them both, from their food to their theologies to their sofa. How can theology have a layout? Maybe you should come to Mars Hill PLUG. Royalties, MHGS. Royalties. Say 5% of incoming student’s tuition payments? Handshake and agreed.
About a month ago, before I began writing on my blog again, Josué asked me if I’d help him in making an advertisement for our school that would go in Relevant Magazine. Any chance I get to create with Josué I take immediately. You should not read that last sentence in the context of procreation. That would be a poor reading on your part.
So we went to Zoka and a few hours later, me writing and Josué designing using some of my photographs, we came away with what is below. Also, I’m not nearly as angry as I look in the little photograph.
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The word blog is incredibly nuanced in my opinion. It doesn’t hold a single meaning, but rather layers upon layers of meaning, all depending on the content. Food blogs. Celebrity blogs. Dog blogs. Stop blogging about your dog. No but really. Stop it. Ending personal angst: now. Mom blogs. Art blogs. Travel blogs. Gossip blogs. If you can think of it, there’s a blog dedicated to it somewhere.
But my favorite blogs have little to do with content; it’s almost always the context to which I’m drawn. It’s when the writer shows up, when he brings himself. It’s when I can sense her sitting behind her computer somewhere, allowing herself to be fully present in her words. If authenticity seeps from every letter, then I’m hooked. Maybe he’s writing about preparing his favorite curry dish, the detail of each ingredient, the colors and how the smells take him back to that day particular day when he was 15, and his mother was teaching him how to get a feel for just the right amount of spice. Or maybe she’s telling a story about when she was driving up Highway 101 on the coast, taking in the breeze, stopping every few hours to take snapshots of the ocean. And she knew that the photographs couldn’t capture what was happening at that exact moment, but they would always stir up the memory, and that’s what she wanted to preserve as much as possible.
I’m a sucker for a good story, and even more so if the author is present in his or her words. Likewise, if the author seems absent, or if the words feel contrived, then I become absent as a reader. But if she flows authentically through her words, then it doesn’t matter what she writes about. I want to read it. It’s through other’s experiences that I often learn about my own experiences. As a human, I have a deep need to relate, to feel another’s presence. I want to know that I’m not alone in this, that other’s are in it as well, even if their it is very different from my own it.
Mars Hill Graduate School has taught me what it means to be fully present, or maybe more honestly, what it means to take steps towards true presence. Yes, I’ve written papers, read books, and given presentations in the hopes of getting a degree, but what I hope for from all of those things is to become a better man, to have meaningful relationships, and to love well.
It’s been the students, my friends and peers, that have taught me the most. They’ve inspired me to strive to be authentic in every endeavor, whether it’s blogging, graduate school, or having a good conversation with a friend over a good cup of Seattle coffee. I am learning to be comfortable with myself, to be honest and vulnerable, and to value others more and more as my time at this school goes on. I am here for a degree, but I am here for so much more than that.
55 Miles
May 10th, 2009 | link
The trail has a lure like no other. It calls my name, beckons me to walk its worn paths hiked by the countless others whose stories are unknown and yet felt with every step. The trees canvas the sky. The air is crisp, pure, untouched by industry. The mountains say Come, stay awhile. Let our expanse fill your soul with mysteries of hidden things.
In my 3rd year of college, spring of 2005, I took my spring break to hike a 55 mile section of the Appalachian Trail in Virginia. I had no idea what I wanted to do for spring break in the weeks leading up to it. There was pressure in my mind to do something grandiose with friends for my last spring break ever, like go to Cancun. Isn’t that what college kids do for spring break? MTV SPRING BREAK ‘99! Look how much I can drink at one time! I hope my parents don’t see this!
Alas, I am not that man. I love the beach and tropical climates, but large crowds make me feel uneasy. I’m not a recluse, but the words “Let’s go to a club!” don’t exactly stir up much in me except a little vomit.
I had recently finished reading A Walk Across America by Peter Jenkins, and his honesty and adventurous soul stirred my own at just the right time. I remember finishing the book, laying in my bed the week before spring break began, and deciding there that I would spend the week alone on the trail. Just me & the AT.
What is it about putting everything you need to sustain yourself on your back and setting off on an adventure? Is it the unknown? The lack of agenda? There is a pull not unlike gravity, except it pulls you forward and not down.
My friend Andrew agreed to follow me in his car as I drove to the point where I wanted to end my hike, 55 miles north of Buena Vista. I dropped off my car in a small parking lot, made sure it was empty and locked, and then Andrew drove me back south and dropped me off at the trailhead where my walk would begin. He took this photo of me that morning before I set off.
Hiking for 55 miles isn’t exactly a feat of super human strength, but those miles were incredibly meaningful miles in my life. I have friends who have hiked the entire 2,170 mile Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, the 2,650 mile Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada, and countless other long hikes that make 55 miles seem almost unmentionable. And yet it is not unmentionable, because our own stories, our life experiences, are important in their own ways, be they large or small.
I hiked for three and a half days from shelter to shelter, mountain to mountain, pass to pass. I met thru-hikers, day hikers, men and women who lived near the trail, a med student at UVA, boy scouts, bear hunters, and a lot of squirrels. Squirrels, in my experience, each have a tremendous capacity to hold meaningful conversations.
When you’re alone for a few days, the silence becomes deafening at times. There is an awareness that sets in of how much noise exists around us day to day. Cars. Microwaves. Kids playing in the street. Airplanes. Radios. Conversations overheard. In the woods, these disappear, and silence becomes one’s close companion. And companionship with anyone or any thing brings with it both beauty and fear. Silence is no different.
If I can summarize my thoughts from those days into a few words, if that is possible, it would be that I have an intrinsic need for others. As nomadic as I wish I could be, and as attractive as becoming a recluse often sounds, again, it is not the man that I am. I am constantly drawn to others, from the moment I wake up to when I lie down at day’s end. And isn’t the hope that even a bed can be shared with another? That we would be able to experience sleep and rest with someone close by our side?
Like Chris Supertramp McCandless once wrote, happiness is only real when shared.
Three and a half days later, after nights in shelters and hours of being alone, I climbed in my car parked at a trailhead hotel, smelly and tired, and immediately drove 10 hours back home to Indiana to see my family for the remainder of the week. This was the most natural thing I could do.