Carousels

Isn't it funny how much we let little things bother us?  Oftentimes, we become so caught up in problems that really don't matter.  We worry, and we fret, and, then, eventually, everything works itself out in the end.  Even when things don't go our way, we pick up the pieces, and we move on.

Before I truly begin this post, allow me to divulge a brief anecdote about life when I was five.  I remember waking up early one morning before anyone else was out of bed.  I crept downstairs, undoubtedly clutching my tiger shark stuffed animal (who needs teddy bears, really?) and appreciating the rare tranquility of the household at 7:00 AM.  Rather enjoying my newfound solitude, I pulled a bowl out of the cupboard (a REAL bowl, mind you...not some plastic kiddy bowl) and poured myself some Fruit Loops.  Carefully, I added a bit of milk to the bowl and grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer.  I imagine I was quite pleased with myself at that point...but can you feel the impending disaster, ladies and gentlemen?  Yes, that's right.  As I lifted the bowl from the countertop, I felt it slide away from my fingertips (note: I really don't know how this happened...  I have freakishly bad luck with these types of things.  Just ask me how I broke my hand...except...don't...because it's an embarrassing story.).  Anyway, a veritable explosion of milk, glass, and Fruit Loops shook the entire Hart household that morning...  And with the shattering of that bowl came the shattering of my dreams.  It was the end of the world.  It really was.  I stood there, amazed that the residual splatter of the skim milk had not only soaked me from head to toe, but had also managed to coat the entire back wall of our kitchen.  And, if that wasn't bad enough, I had broken a BOWL.  Back in those days, you didn't break a bowl and live to tell the tale.  In fact, people were killed for much less.  So, tears brimming in my eyes, I began to blot up the soggy mess with some paper towels, awaiting my inevitable doom.  Sure enough, Mom entered the kitchen a few minutes later, and I knew my moment had come.  At the very least, I would be flogged with the wooden spoon (did...your parents ever hit you with a wooden spoon...?  Mine did...and it hurt.  A lot.).  But, then, a funny thing happened.  Mom knelt down beside me and started helping me clean up the mess.  Was this some sort of ploy to catch me off guard...?  Did she have the wooden spoon hidden behind her back?!  Nope.  Turns out breaking a bowl (and spilling a little milk and cereal) wasn't punishable by death after all.

So, I assume by now that you understand my point.  No?  Well, perhaps that's because I've made it wildly unclear.  Really, it's just what I stated in the opening paragraph.  Far too often, I worry about the most trivial things.  Granted, they seem important at the time--so important that I lose my focus on other much more important things.  I just really need to let go of so many problems that have been stressing me out.

More and more, I'm finding that things have a tendency to work themselves out, anyway.  Even when something blows up in my face, I usually realize later that it wasn't that bad in the end.  Even when I'm certain that nothing could be worse, I tend to look back later and wonder why I was so bothered in the first place.  Most of the time, once I finally stop worrying and just forget about my problems, they come to a resolution (note: this does not work well with exams).  It's kind of a strange cycle, really.

So, I've decided that I'm going to stop stressing out over things that I can't control, and I'm just going to be happy.  It bewilders me that it has taken me so long to come to that conclusion....because, really, what else can I do?

So, there you have it.  Today's lesson: don't cry over spilled milk...or...something similarly cliche.  Hey, whatever works, right?

Thanks for reading.

If you ever feel like something's missing
Things you'll never understand
Little white shadows
Sparkle and glisten
Part of a system, a plan.

Smoke Signals

Do you ever get that hollow, sinking feeling?  You know, the feeling that presents itself when you know you're making a huge mistake or going down the wrong path.  You can see all the red flags, you can hear all the alarms, but you just can't seem to resist pressing onward.

It's like a scene from a horror film.  The naive (and rather mindless) character is evading the bloodthirsty serial killer, only to take a reckless turn down a dark alley.  Now, the killer is no where in sight, and our hero(ine) has every opportunity to go back to the well-lit, crowded street behind him or her...  You know he or she must be thinking (if...these characters are capable of such thoughts), Okay...dumb move.  Dimly lit, unpopulated areas of the seedy underworld are NOT good safe havens.  I should head back to civilization...  But they never do.  They scurry down the alley, undoubtedly making all sorts of commotion as they stumble through the darkness.  And then...surprise!  Mr. Chainsaw pops out of a nearby dumpster (how he got there, we will never know), and...  Well, let's just say that chainsaw vs. flesh is not a very fair match-up.  We'll leave it at that.

Okay, now that we've gotten our overblown illustration out of the way, I suppose I can continue my original line of thought.

I make lots of bad decisions--maybe not even decisions really, but a lack thereof.  I can see myself heading down the same foolish path over and over again, and I rarely do anything to prevent it.  It's not that I don't know that I'm doing it, either.  I repeatedly tell myself, Don't do this, Andrew.  This is dumb.  You can see where this is headed, and you know you're going to hate yourself for it later.  But, very much like our ill-fated movie star, I turn away from all things rational, and I wander down that dark alley, fully aware of the agonizing death that awaits me.

So, what's the problem?  Why do I do that to myself time and time again?  For the most part, I think it comes down to apathy.  I know where I'm headed, and I realize that it's going to suck, but I just don't care enough to prevent it.  I allow myself to be hurt because it's easier that way--at least temporarily.

And what of the consequences?  Eh, they're still a few days away...

Now, as is often the case in these blog entries of mine, I've arrived at the point where I've confronted the problem and am in dire need of a solution.  The sad part today is that the solution is simple: care.  Recognize the warning signs and take action.  Save yourself for once.

Everything looks so clear as I'm writing this, and you're probably wondering how this is even a problem.  Essentially, I've told myself, Don't be stupid, Andrew.  That's all.  Unfortunately, I've noticed all too often that, once you've already set foot in the alley, it's easy not to look back.

And I'm not so afraid,
lost at sea,
as I should be...

L'Attente

Dans mes rêves agités,
Je vois cette ville : Colline Silencieuse.
Tu as promis que tu m’y prendrais encore un jour.
Mais tu n’as jamais fait.
Tiens, je suis là, tout seul, maintenant
--dans notre place spéciale—
Et je t’attends.

Nothing Better

Today has been an awful day.  Let's see.  In my free time, I've been exploring the wonders of Gary B. Ferngren's piece of literary genius, Science and Religion--a quality read if you're hoping to delve into the complexities of the Laplacian nebular theory of the solar system or the innumerable cosmologies that were discussed by various 16th-century philosophers.  Of course, for a large majority of the time, I've also been struggling to remain conscious, often plunging face-first into my table at the SAC (if I have a bruise on my forehead tomorrow, that's why), occasionally blurting out incoherent strings of words to those unfortunate enough to be around me.  Right now, I'm shaking from the lingering effects of a Starbucks DoubleShot, knowing full well that when I crash from this caffeine high, I'm going to crash hard.

So, like I said, today has been an awful day.  But when I think about it--when I really think about it--I realize that I don't feel awful at all.

It's hard to describe.  I'm so quick to dwell on the negative, and I worry about things all the time.  I worry about my problems.  I worry about my friends' problems.  I worry about things that aren't even problems yet.  Whenever I have an idle moment, I think about problems that should be fixed--problems that I tend to not even express--because some part of me just can't accept that things might actually going well.  I excavate some deep source of dread from the back of my mind, and I let it consume me.

So...why, then, did I just say that I don't feel awful?  It's not very complicated, actually.  Despite everything I'm thinking--despite every problem that I feel bearing down on me--I know that it's all going to be okay.  I know that everything is going to work out.  And, at the end of the day, I know that I'm truly blessed.  I'm blessed in so many ways that it's overwhelming to me--blessed with family, blessed with the most amazing friends.  When I really sit down and think about it, how could I not be happy?  Even as I write this (and as my Science and Religion textbook leers at me from just a few feet away), it's hard not to smile.  It sounds corny and horribly cliche, but...life is good.

So...careless optimism again?  Maybe.  But it gets me through the day.  

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Quand rien ne bouge...

I watch the patchwork farms'
Slow fade into the ocean's arms.
And from here, they can't see me stare,
The stale taste of recycled air.

Lately, I've come to the realization that I'm bothered when nothing is happening--when things become entirely stagnant.  I'm not talking about boredom, exactly; in fact, I think I'm fairly easily contented.  What I'm talking about is a complete stagnancy in life--a period of time when everything is just at a standstill.

Admittedly, I'm a perfectionist, so I'm always looking for things to improve, whether they be things about myself, things around me, or even problems other people are having.  I don't often feel like things in my life are entirely "settled," and that's okay.  I enjoy having something on which I can focus: something to improve.

So, whenever everything is completely at rest--at peace, even--I really don't know what to do with myself.  I feel lost when I can't satisfy these restless thoughts.  Consequently, I often have a hard time relaxing because I'm always plagued with the thought that something needs to be done.  Something needs to be improved.  I feel lazy if I'm just sitting around while opportunities for improvement are lost.  Very rarely do I actually lie back and rest--and if I do, I'm usually plagued with some degree of guilt--and, as many of you know, I'd sooner gouge out my eyes than take a nap during the day (even when functioning on frighteningly low amounts of sleep).  It's not that I'm this amazingly productive person who can't stop until every bit of work is complete.  I just feel restless.  That's all.

So, is there a solution?  Perhaps.  The solution comes in the form of "mini-projects," for lack of a better term.  Mini-projects encompass all sorts of things--from drawing a picture for someone to writing a note and sticking it in a friend's mailbox.  Mini-projects are things I can do to make other people feel good; plus, doing so simultaneously makes me feel better.  I've discovered that, if I give myself something to attend to--especially if that something involves improving someone else's day--when I really don't need to be attending to anything, I feel a whole lot better.  I feel fulfilled.

Who knew fighting restlessness and improving peoples' lives could be so easy?

Alright, enough rambling for now.  I have a small French composition to complete--something for me to improve, right?!

Ah.  Je voudrais me blesser.  :)

Please Remain Seated

All I see is a beautiful, little town in the midst of magnificent mountains--a place where people have hopes and dreams, even under the hardest conditions.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how latently optimistic I am.  Although it's a trait that I typically veil under sarcasm or cynicism, this optimism flows through my thoughts and ideas, lacing everything with a sort of misguided perfection.  When I envision a future event, I envision it to be flawless, despite the fact that I often voice some degree of negativity to the people around me.  Inwardly, though--and this is something I rarely express--I simply fail to grasp the idea that things might not go the way I've planned.  Some part of me always says, "it will work out in the end."  And it often does...  The problem is that I can't even imagine a less-than-perfect outcome.  I can't imagine it.  And that's what scares me.

Grace paused. And while she did, the clouds scattered and let the moonlight through, and Dogville underwent another of those little changes of light. It was if the light, previously so merciful and faint, finally refused to cover up for the town any longer. Suddenly you could no longer imagine a berry that would appear one day on a gooseberry bush, but only see the thorn that was there right now.

As a result of this intrinsic optimism, it often takes a lot to disillusion me; however, when the disillusionment finally hits, it hits me hard, and I can rarely pick myself back up afterward.  Consequently, I tend to shun things--and people--that have disillusioned me.  If my vacation to Florida wasn't all I hoped it would be, I'll avoid thinking about it entirely--perhaps even disregard the photos that I took during the trip.  If Jane wasn't overly enthusiastic about the gift I gave her, I'll never speak about it again...and I'll probably avoid Jane for the next few days.  In fact, I might even view Jane in a negative light for quite some time.

What's the old adage about time healing all wounds?  Personally, I've never found that to be true.  I dwell on things that bother me, and I never really let them go.  Thanks to my optimisim-disillusionment cycle, I'm constantly disappointed when things don't go quite as well as I've planned (which is usually the case); then, I distract myself with optimism about other future events until I'm inevitably let down again.  It's deranged, really, although I suppose we all do it to a certain extent.

I'm sure I've touched on this before in my various blog posts, but part of me wishes that I were just completely negative all the time.  I wish I would always expect the worst possible outcome.  After all, if someone says they're mad at you, and you expect them to destroy you and slaughter all of your kin, but then they only punch you in the face, you'll probably end up feeling a delightful sense of gratitude, right?  Well...maybe not.  But I think you see my point.

Anyway, it seems that there's no easy solution here.  The optimism feels great while it lasts, and then the disillusionment sucks.  But I guess there's a price to pay for everything, isn't there?

Building Bridges

My thoughts are a bit muddled right now, so pardon me if this post lacks any semblance of logic.  Half the time, I scarcely even know what I'm thinking (or writing, for that matter), so I doubt you'll find any large amount of insight in these blog entries.

With that said, allow me to begin my latest bout of rambling...

Have you ever noticed how powerful anticipation can be?  I'm not talking about mere expectations--certainly not in the negative sense I've displayed in my past few entries, anyway--but more of an eagerness, an excitement.  Anticipation can drive me through the week, giving me that extra bit of energy I need to survive my Science & Religion exam or my Life Science lab or even my extensive French composition (which is what I should be working on right now)!  If I'm anticipating something (something positive, mind you), I always have the strength to push through it all.

Now, this "something positive" doesn't have to be monumental.  It could be as casual as going for a walk with a friend, watching a good TV show, or just taking the time to relax.  I mean, sure, the anticipation is going to be a little stronger if, say, you know you're about to leave for a trip to Europe...but anything works, really.

There were so many times at work over the summer that I just didn't think I was going to make it through the week--so many "I. CAN'T. TAKE. THIS. ANYMORE." moments.  But--despite my frustrations--as long as I had something positive looming, even if it was several weeks away, I was totally fine.  "All I have to do is make it until..." was my motto during those times.  Certainly, anticipation has been my faithful companion through many a bleak moment.

And even better is anticipation during those wonderful, non-bleak moments--just when the anticipation is reaching its peak.  The event itself is about to occur, and I find myself happier than I ever remember being--filled with pure, untainted excitement, devoid of any thoughts of negativity or doubt.  I feel this when I'm waiting to meet a friend somewhere.  I feel it when I'm driving to someone's house to hang out.  I feel it anytime I know something good is about to happen.  It's unbelievable.

Oftentimes, I feel like anticipation can be more energizing than the realization of the event itself--especially for someone like me, who idealizes everything.  I can think of numerous occasions when I built up events so much in my mind that the reality could hardly stand up to my anticipations.  But, again, that's not the point.  The point is that, in those moments of anticipation, in that period of charged excitement, I feel great.  I feel like nothing can go wrong, and, on the off-chance that something does, it really won't matter.  I'm anticipating something amazing.

I guess I'm not exactly uncovering some great secret in this blog entry.  "Hey everyone!  Excitement is GOOD!"  Honestly, I kind of felt like my entries were leaning toward the depressing side of things, and I wanted to gush about something positive for once.  So, I decided to cling to this idea--something that has helped me to cope during all sorts of inner turmoil.

I realize that this may not have been interesting or enjoyable...or worthwhile in any way.  But it really does make me feel better to sort these things out in my head by writing them down...for all the world (i.e. maybe about five people) to see.

In short, this post has helped me to realize that, while I often feel bounded by the past and confused by the present, I would simply do better to look to the future--to the things that I'm anticipating.

Restless Dreams

I'm a mess, I guess.
It's what I've asked for,
it's what I've needed.

Sometimes, I wonder why I bog down my life with so many unattainable goals and expectations.

More and more, I'm realizing that I set a high bar for myself--perhaps too high.  I've created this idealized self-image with certain rules that I must follow at all times.  I know my personality--or at least my idealized personality--and I expect to be able to stay within the boundaries I've established.  Always.  I expect to remain constant, unwavering in the virtues that I hold so high.  And I expect to be able to cope, to be able to sustain myself through any hardships, to be able to press onward, no matter what.  I don't like showing weakness--and I'm not talking about physical or even mental weakness, mind you, but weakness of character.  I'm talking about the weakness that inevitably emerges during times of duress, when we can no longer cope--the kind of weakness that makes people think less of us.  This just doesn't fit in with the reality I've created for myself.  I want to smile, to laugh, to be "fine" at all times.  Not much to ask for, right?

Along the same vein, I idealize many of the people around me, and I set unrealistic expectations for them, as well--expectations that could not possibly be met.  It's funny (that "oh, that's actually kind of sick" type of funny).  I see myself doing this, and I remind myself that I've set my standards too high, but it doesn't matter.  I constantly find myself surprised and even hurt when people inevitably fall short of my expectations for them--not by any fault of their own, but by the loftiness of these expectations.  It's ridiculous, really...

I certainly hope this blog entry doesn't make me sound horribly arrogant (although maybe I am...who knows?).  I'm just too idealistic.  Despite the sarcasm and cynicism that I employ from time to time, I've always been inwardly optimistic.  I expect things to go well--flawlessly, even.  And they rarely do.  It's not that things are bad by any means; they're just not as good as I tend to expect, and, thus, I'm often disappointed.

It's stupid and naive, really.  I don't know why I let myself get caught up in these fantastic expectations of myself and of others.  Maybe, for a while at least, I'll try coming back down to earth.

Waiting for the rain to stop.
Destination: beautiful.
Seems that I'm still waiting for the sun.

Endurance, endurance, endurance...kids?

I can't believe I'm writing this right now.  I have a paper and a monstrous French assignment looming over me, and, yet, here I am, fulfilling my weekly blog assignment.

I am exhausted right now.  Currently, I've been awake for 45 hours straight (a number that will continue to swell until much later tonight).  As you can imagine, insightful blog entries aren't the easiest things to create when you're so tired that you can barely will your fingers to keep typing...

But let's not dwell on the negative.  There are some joyous things about sleep-deprivation, you know.  For instance, I tend to say/type extremely nonsensical things when I've been lacking sleep for long enough (and these instances make for highly enjoyable stories in the future).  So, you see?  Sleep-deprivation is fun for the whole family!  Now, if only it didn't make me want to simultaneously throw myself off a cliff...

Right now, I'm in that stage where my eyes are continually closing, and I'm mildly unaware of my surroundings.  It's quite enjoyable.  I anticipate hallucinations soon (although, typically, those don't arrive until the 70-hour mark).

Well, dear reader, my brain has not been processing coherent thoughts for the past few days, so I dare not continue this horrid blog entry (for fear that I might unleash something horribly insane).

Thanks for reading!  Sorry this was a disappointment!

Good...night...?!

Windows

Ah, yes.  I've hit the one-week deadline, and, sadly, I really have nothing to say.  I guess that means it's time to ramble mindlessly for a few paragraphs in order to meet my blog quota.  Feel free to stop reading now.  Seriously.

Anyway, sometimes, I wonder why I write.  I'm very passionate about my writing, so I suppose that should be reason enough...  But, for the sake of continuing this entry for more than five sentence, let's explore a little further.

Most obviously, I write to express myself.  I'm not terribly outspoken or opinionated, and I tend to internalize things.  In my writing, I can capsulize feelings and ideas that normally would have been suppressed.  Why do you think this blog even exists?  Certainly, I could go around screaming my blog ideas in peoples' faces (although I can see some potential awkwardness there), but I imagine that that would be fun for no one--least of all, me.  Beyond blog entries, I often create short stories to explore certain aspects of humanity that I don't see in my everyday life; these don't necessarily include things I'm thinking or feeling, but they are a part of me nonetheless.  The stories help me channel my own feelings--which, as I mentioned previously, are internalized a great deal--into something much more complex.  With the stories, I can escape my own thoughts and take part in an entirely different world--a fleeting moment in another time and place.  It's cathartic, really.

So, I droned on about self-expression for a paragraph now.  Good.  But what else?  I suppose persuasion must play a role in there somewhere.  "Hey guys, read this blog entry and listen to my thoughts and PLEASE DO EVERYTHING I SAY BECAUSE I KNOW BEST."  (That was probably one of my more subtle persuasive arguments.)  So, yes, I use writing to persuade--in varying degrees of ambiguity--and to try to solve the problems that I might normally leave untouched.

There's more to it than that, though.  One of my favorite things about writing is that it helps me capture the small, insignificant moments in life.  It helps me remember the time when my friend and I went for a walk and got caught in a thunderstorm, forcing us to sprint home through the sheets of rain and the flashes of lightning.  It reminds me of the time when we had a power outage at my house, and my family sat together and played board games.  Writing can immortalize all of those little moments: a conversation that lasts all night, a newly-developed relationship, or even just a passing comment to a friend in the hallway.  I love writing about things that can't be captured with a photograph--things that we tend to overlook in comparison to grander events in our lives.  Writing does these things justice.

So, I don't suppose I made any terribly important insights into life with this entry.  I doubt it was even worth your time, really.  It was more of a semi-coherent jumble of thoughts than it was an enlightening view of anything significant.  Fortunately, though, it helped me sort a few things out (although that might not have been particularly apparent while you were reading).  I always feel better after I write, whether or not the results are entirely successful.  So, even though you're probably shrieking with disgust (I imagine that's what your natural reaction would be...) about the distinct lack of quality in this entry, I'm satisified with it.

In short, I'm sorry if you were hoping for something shockingly insightful.  Maybe next time...

Say It's Possible

Sometimes, I wonder what's going on in peoples' minds when they say the things that they do. Why don't people think before spouting off whatever meaningless comments that pop into their heads? Is it really that difficult to weigh--however briefly--the impact of your words before you say them?

Stupid question, I suppose.

This is something that has always bothered me. At the risk of sounding like I have a superiority complex, I'd like to assert that I've always handled this issue with great care. It's a personality trait, I guess. My desire to avoid conflict has taught me to be very careful with my words, so as not to offend anyone.

Tact. What a novel concept--a concept that seems, quite sadly, to be foreign to certain people. Whether it's complete disregard for others' feelings or just simple ignorance of the gravity of their statements, many people--in my humble opinion--need to brush up on the art of being tactful.

Let's launch into a vivid, horribly exaggerated example, shall we?
Eugene: Hey guys, sorry I'm late!
Francesca: Oh, it's alright. We really didn't even notice--or CARE--that you weren't here!

Ouch. Again, I admit that that was a fairly unrealisitic bit of dialog, but it merely serves to illustrate my point. I think that tactlessness often stems from spewing out unnecessary comments. If the lovely Francesca had simply stopped speaking after "Oh, it's alright," Eugene wouldn't have been offended, and everyone would've lived happily ever after. What's that old saying...? "If you don't have anything nice to say...staple your lips together and never bother speaking again." Yeah. I think that's it.

I realize that I'm probably leaning toward the extreme side of things here. Admittedly, I tend to sugarcoat things and distort my comments to please others, perhaps sacrificing a bit of honesty in the process. Is that any better? I can't be sure, but I do know that there's a happy medium to be found here, so keep searching...

To me, it's not a difficult concept. I'm not blunt, outspoken, or very outgoing, so I tend to shy away from speaking my mind, anyway. I know that other people enjoy saying what they think, and that's fine, too. But, on occasion, just ask yourself: is it really worth saying this comment or making this joke? At the end of the day, will it really benefit you all that much? And, more importantly, will it hurt someone else?

Think about it.

Keep a tight grip like a child

Holding onto a swing set,

Waiting and hoping to find

What I can't figure out yet,

Please don't unless this is something you mean,

Another nightmare instead of a dream,

Better left alone.

Coming Up for Air

It’s nice to be needed, plain and simple. This is something I really haven’t given much thought—perhaps because it’s a bit of an intrinsic character trait—but I’ve realized lately just how much I enjoy when people depend on me. I like doing favors for my friends—even simple, unappealing tasks like taking out the trash or cleaning up a room. Obviously, I don’t love splashing around in large piles of garbage (though I assume that most people do)…but completing these chores for someone else feels very rewarding to me.

So, why is this, exactly? Well, thanks to an in-depth analysis of my personality (thank you, Myers-Briggs!), I’ve shed a bit of light on the answer:
“ISFJs [my personality type] are characterized above all by their desire to serve others, their ‘need to be needed.’ In extreme cases, this need is so strong that standard give-and-take relationships are deeply unsatisfying to them…”

I’ve never really thought that about myself before, but I think there is some truth to it. I enjoy helping other people with their problems, but I can’t stand asking for favors myself. It makes me feel selfish and lazy, even though I know I’m entitled—and always welcome—to ask for favors from my friends; however, there’s something vexing about someone wanting to pay me back or “return the favor.” It’s not that I don’t appreciate it… It’s just not something I desire.

Now, that’s not to say that I enjoy being used as a doormat, either (I assume that’s fairly obvious). As previous blog entries will tell you, I do appreciate a simple “thanks” for my efforts. But, in terms of receiving some kind of tangible means of repayment, I’d just rather not. I think people sometimes feel guilty when they ask me for things because they don’t want to take advantage of this fact, but they really shouldn’t. I don’t mind.

Perhaps I should also clarify that I’m mainly talking about my close friends in these situations—people who I trust and for whom I care. It’s not that I’m unwilling to help people I dislike or don’t know, but my friends are the ones for whom I will gladly inconvenience myself on a regular basis.

I guess what I’m trying to say, really, is “ask me for things.” Obviously, the request must be somewhat reasonable (“Hey, Andrew, I forgot my favorite shirt back at my house in California… Can you walk there and get it for me?” is not going to fly.), but I really do want to help.

Ultimately, I hope this blog entry doesn’t make me sound like I’m proclaiming, “Hey, I like to help others and I’m a great person!” That’s not what I’m saying at all. In its most basic form, perhaps this request is really quite selfish; I want to feel needed and fulfilled by helping others. In the end, maybe I’m just seeking personal satisfaction. Perhaps it’s even some sort of deranged form of masochism. Nothing would really surprise me.

Anyway, I digress.

If you want something from me, just ask. I’d be more than willing to help.

Deception as a Second Language

Isn't it funny how often we lie? Well, I suppose it's not actually funny per se, but it strikes me now how frequently we try to deceive both others and ourselves.

Now, I think you're probably pretty familiar with the concept of lying, but let's launch into a brief example, anyway.

Jill has just received the most hideous haircut on the face of this earth. Jack is her boyfriend. The following dialog ensues:
Jill: Hey, I just spent $400,000 on this haircut, and I REALLY think it was worth it! I absolutely love it! What do you think?
Jack: Actually, I think it's terrible. It kind of looks like someone placed some roadkill on your head and tried to pass it off as hair.
And, then, of course, Jill would slaughter Jack on the spot and spend the rest of her days in a dark prison cell. Plus, their relationship would be over. That would suck, wouldn't it?

If you hadn't noticed, that was a bit of an extreme example; however, basic principles still apply here. Wouldn't it have been better for Jack to have simply agreed with Jill (perhaps without her undying enthusiasm, though) and then later have suggested--quite delicately--that she try a different type of haircut? I'm not one to advocate deception, but I also think that preserving someone's feelings is important. I guess it's a tough call.

Anyway, let's move on to the subject of lying to oneself. Self-denial is probably one of my favorite forms of deception. Oftentimes, when I have some sort of huge problem, I attempt to push it from my mind and operate under the assumption that it no longer exists. What's that old adage about ignorance and bliss? I think I'd like to employ that here. I mean, honestly, you can't worry about something if you don't even acknowledge that it's a problem. And--while that might be detrimental in certain situations (i.e. ignoring the fact that you have a giant exam in two days)--isn't it better to just put your mind at ease?

Again, it probably sounds like I'm saying, "Lie to yourself and everyone around you! It's fun! It's easy! Everyone's doing it!" But, really, aren't there situations where a certain amount of deception can be beneficial? We can deceive others to spare their feelings (and to save ourselves from their wrath). We can deceive ourselves to cope with situations that might be too much for us to handle. So, isn't lying, at bottom, just a unique type of defense mechanism?

Obviously, I'm not saying, "Hey, you should go around lying all the time, and then everything will work out for you!" It won't. Still, I just can't convince myself that all forms of deception are harmful all the time.

Does that mean that I should start worrying about lying too much? Well--according to my newfound stance on self-denial--probably not.

It takes more time

Than I've ever had,

Drains the life from me,

Makes me want to forget,

As young as I was,

I felt older back then,

More disciplined,

Stronger and certain,

But I was scared to death of eternity,

I was saved by grace,

But destroyed by naivety,

So, I lied to myself,

And said it was for the best.

Maybe Tomorrow

Why do we do the things that we do? Why do we constantly seek approval, seek acceptance, seek belonging? We give someone a gift, and we eagerly await his or her reaction. We do someone a favor, and we anticipate gratitude. I suppose this shouldn’t be the case… We’re supposed to give without expecting anything in return—even a simple “thank you.” But, in all honesty, the expression of appreciation is one of the things that I value most highly. So, why is it so difficult to acquire?

Perhaps this isn’t the case. Perhaps the problem is less with appreciation and more with the communication of this appreciation. Now, I’m all for the whole “our relationship is so mature that we can read each other’s thoughts” thing. Great. But, still, isn’t it better, at least on occasion, to express what we’re really thinking? That way, if ever our powers of intuition falter from time-to-time, we can rest easy, knowing that our friends are still there for us.

Sometimes, I feel like I try so hard to please people, but it’s just never quite enough. Or maybe it is, and I just don’t realize it. Who knows? Maybe we’re all constantly sending each other “unspoken appreciation,” and I’m not quite intelligent enough to pick up on it. I imagine that it’s possible that I’m just blissfully unaware of these nonverbal messages.

“Perhaps we all give the best of our hearts uncritically—to those who hardly think about us in return.”

I just want to stress how important it is to appreciate the people around you. That probably seems fairly obvious, but, when I really think about it, I know I probably don’t express this appreciation enough, either. I think we often take our friends and family for granted, instead of taking that extra bit of time to say, “hey, thanks for being there for me.” It really does make a difference.

Well, this whole entry probably sounds a little selfish, but I suppose that’s alright. It probably is.

At the end of the day, I guess it shouldn’t really matter. I guess we should all just be secure enough with our relationships that we shouldn’t need constant support and appreciation.

But, still…wouldn’t it be nice?

“Tomorrow, we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…
And one fine morning..."

Staring at the Sun

You know how there's that one guy at work who thinks he's really funny and continues to tell the same jokes over and over again until you can recite them by heart? And you know how there's that one cashier at the grocery store who chuckles derisively whenever you drop a handful of change on the ground? And you know how there's that one person in class who--despite your meek protestations--insists on rambling about his or her amazing grade on that last exam that you absolutely bombed?

Do you ever just want to tell them to please shut up?

Now, perhaps, occasionally, you'd prefer to omit the "please" and insert a few phrases that would be decidely more explicit. And perhaps you would be justified (to a certain extent). Why is it, then, that we constantly plaster smiles on our faces and laugh weakly until that frustrating moment finally passes?

Well, I suppose I've already answered my own question. We feign joviality to get through these fleeting moments of disgust. Actually, I think I will stop using the pronoun "we" and just switch to the first-person. I do that...all the time. Sometimes, though, I wonder if it's such a good thing.

I mean, clearly, it would be unwise to throw this goodnatured behavior out the window altogether. For example, in the working environment, the following situation would occur:
"Hey, Andrew. Why did the chicken cross the--"
"SHUT. UP. I NEVER WANT TO HEAR YOUR STUPID JOKES AGAIN."
"Oh, okay... Also, you're fired."

So...bad idea, yes? I suppose that's taking it to the extreme, though. A lot of times, I'm really torn between being genuine and being kind in order to spare someone's feelings. Obviously, it's important to be genuine, and I think I am genuine most of the time; however, personally, I find that sparing others' feelings is more important. Every time. Now, I'm not saying that this is some intrisic quality that only I have discovered. Most people, I believe, would opt for the latter. But, occasionally, when I see someone "tell off" their co-worker, friend, or acquaintance, I can't help but admire them to a certain degree. Is that...sick...? Probably.

Once again, being kind to others is something that I value very highly, and I really don't think that anything tends to be accomplished by these explosive episodes of anger. With that said, I know that I would sometimes feel much better by occasionally partaking in the aforementioned explosions. But...I never do.

Honestly, I'm not even sure why I'm rambling about this. It's just something that bothers me from time to time. Does it ever pay to really let people know what you're thinking, even if it will horribly offend them? Should you put an end to their mindless chatter by telling them that you just can't take it anymore? I guess there are tactful ways to do so, but still... To "grin and bear it" has always been a favorite pastime of mine.

Well, there you have it--something else to ponder. If you happen upon any definitive conclusions, please let me know. In the meantime, I'll be here, smiling, nodding, and laughing myself into oblivion.

But I learned fast how to keep my head up 'cause I

know there is this side of me that

wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just

fly the whole mess into the sea.

Of Skeletons (and Their Closets)

And all our sins

Come back to haunt us in the end

To hang around and tap us on the shoulder,

And smile silent, it's all implied,

You'll die trying to live this down

You might as well forget it.

Lately, I've found myself delving ever deeper into the past. As I've been rummaging through the mess that has recently taken over my room (which, by the way, is currently excusable, given the fact that I'm packing for college!), I've come across a number of old photos--framed or unframed; clean, unstained or folded and torn; people smiling and posed; laughing, candid. It's not that I'm seeking out these memories. On the contrary, they're unavoidable--falling from the shelves in my closet, hidden beneath a pile of notebook paper. Some are even hanging on the wall, begging for my attention each time I enter the room.

I'll admit it. I'm a sucker for nostalgia. Whenever I stumble upon these photos, I'll pause to reflect for a moment (read: I'll use them as excuses to stop packing and/or cleaning up my room). Lately, though, the nostalgia that I've fed and nursed over the years has all but vanished. Lately, I've been glad that things in the past are...just that. In the past.

Now, I don't want you to misinterpret what I'm saying. I loved elementary school, middle school, and high school while I was in the midst of them all. I had a bunch of great friends, and we had some amazing experiences. I was relatively successful in school. Things were--and this is throwing humility out the window, I suppose--pretty great.

So, why, then, am I bothered by the past? I guess it comes down to a bleak self-comparison with the present and the future. Even though personality types seem fairly static, I know we're all constantly changing--shaped by our experiences and those around us. And I guess, looking back into the past, I just don't know how I feel about the person I was back then.

Granted, this is probably just me being overly critical of myself. It's not that I had some deep, dark secret or that I was a terrible human being. I just know that I've changed, and, in my opinion, it has been for the better. I was less confident (which...may be hard to imagine, given my admittedly low level of confidence now!), quieter (again, use your imagination), less accepting, and more of a petty person, I think. I let things bother me more easily. I've never been one to explode with anger--I internalize, which may be another issue in itself--but I would get annoyed much more often than I do now. The little things would get to me, and I had a hard time just relaxing.

Obviously I'm not saying that I'm a saint nowadays. Not by any means. But I have noticed a change. I'm a little stronger, a little more certain. It's not that I'm a great person now--just perhaps a bit better than before. College has forced me to adapt, and I think that adaptation has had a positive effect. And maybe it's mostly internal, which probably renders the majority of this post obsolete. Anyway, sometimes I wonder if--back then--I knew the people that I know now...would I have been a different person in the past? (Was that question confusing enough for you? Please, feel free to stop reading and go vomit if you feel that this post has degenerated into little more than garbage at this point. That very well might be true.)

Anyway, I guess what I'm really trying to say is "thanks." I truly believe that the people in my life at this point have greatly shaped me into a better person (perhaps unbeknownst to them), and I'm rather grateful for it.

I found a quote recently that read, "The past is like a foreign country; they do things differently there." And maybe that's all that I wanted to say in the first place. These memories I'm uncovering--however pleasant or unpleasant--feel foreign now. And perhaps it's best that way.

So we bottled and shelved all our regrets

Let them ferment and came back to our senses,

Drove back home and slept a few days,

Woke up and laughed at how stupid we used to be.

Born from a Wish

"It is only in adventure that people succeed in
knowing themselves--in finding themselves."
--Andre Gide

Have you ever found yourself in a situation that's slightly less than exciting? Stupid question, I suppose. But humor me for a minute. Perhaps a class, a meeting, or a seminar is dragging on a bit too long. You're tired--beyond tired--and you can't stop glancing at the door, willing the time to go just a bit faster. Maybe the fire alarm will go off, or maybe there will be an earthquake! You just need something--anything--to save you from the relentless droning of the speaker's voice.

Suddenly, the mahogany door splinters off its hinges, and a pack of ravenous velociraptors bursts into the room. Screams reverberate off the walls, and you feel an intoxicating dose of adrenaline surge through your body. Instinctively, you leap from your chair, barely dodging the claws of a nearby raptor. Scanning the room, you locate the shotgun that has conveniently been placed on the ground just a few yards away. Lock and load. You chamber a round and manage to fend off the onslaught of raptors, courageously saving your colleagues in the process--and all without getting a scratch on you! After you barricade the door and begin hoisting your friends up into the ventilation system (where they will, no doubt, find their way to safety), a blinding flash of light demands your attention. What is this new threat? Some sort of alien invasion, perhaps?!

Alas, it is just the flickering of the projector; a new set of notes has materialized on the screen, and you are slowly dragged back to reality.

All right, so, maybe that was a little over-the-top...but we've all been there, haven't we? Daydreaming to escape the infinite boredom of some meaningless event. But there's more to it than that, isn't there? Our thirst for adventure needs to be quelled, and daydreaming simply isn't enough. So, we go mountain climbing. Hang gliding. Skydiving.

Now, I realize that this isn't true for everyone. Frankly, with my mind-numbing fear of heights, I doubt I'll be launching myself out of a plane anytime soon. Still, there's some alluring about the call to adventure. But why? Is it just because life is...really dull?

No. Well...maybe. But there's more to be discovered than a simple cure for boredom. I believe most of us have heard the phrase "grace under fire," perhaps often enough that it has entered the realm of the cliche; even so, I've found myself pondering it lately. In some sort of extreme survival situation--"under fire"--would we not discover the true essence of our character (and, thus, whether or not we actually possess the inherent "grace")? Wouldn't we find--during the most dire of situations, in the very midst of an adventure--that our personalities have been stripped bare? Everything is simplified in that kind of scenario; you only have your instincts. I've always thought it would be an interesting test in self-discovery (albeit a difficult one). Everything insignificant would fall away, and we would delve into the cores of our personalities. And what would we find? Courage or cowardice? Perseverance or indolence? A drive for self-preservation or a willingness for self-sacrifice? I guess you could call it an "extreme personality test."

Obviously, it's not realistic. You're not going to throw yourself--and your closest friends--into a pool of sharks just so that you might discover a little bit more about yourselves. And yet, there's still something appealing about it all--not just the adrenaline rush, but the raw sense of honesty that one must pursue with oneself and with all those involved.

I once heard the expression, "There's no point in living if you can't feel alive." Somehow, I just don't buy it. Clearly, adventure is a welcome escape from our everyday lives, but we certainly can't plan our schedules around it. We've got friends, family, classes, and jobs that ground us in the real world. But still... Eventually, our minds wander, and we find ourselves craving something a little bit faster. A little bit higher. And a little bit more dangerous.

Lost and Found

It's been a long time, hasn't it? After jumping around numerous blogging sites and never really settling anywhere, I've finally landed here at blogger.com. Good.

Don't be fooled, though, dear reader. This isn't just any old blog. With this blog, I've been faced with a challenge--the challenge to write at least one time each week without fail. Of course, I've risen to the occasion, and that is why you are reading this rather dull introduction post. Anyway, feel free to tune in on a weekly basis as I (hopefully) meet the standards of said challenge. I can't guarantee that I'll have anything interesting to say, and--if I meet my typical quota of sleeplessness throughout the school year--I can't guarantee that I'll even have anything coherent to say. But, hey, maybe it's better that way, right?

Okay, that's enough monotony for one post, I think. Go ponder the meaning of life while I think of something better to say.