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.