A Looking Glass

“My father always used to say, you know…‘mind the gap.’”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just the distance between life as you dream it...and…life as it is.”

Let me just begin this blog entry by stating that I should not be writing this right now. I woke up this morning with the full intention of reading countless pages of my Spec Mind book…but, hey, I’m already over a week behind on that. What’s one more day, really? Also, I have a French quiz tomorrow…but this is vastly more important than simple French phonetics, I’m sure. Ha.

Alright. Now that I’ve shed my guilt about shirking various responsibilities, I suppose I can truly begin.

I’m certain I’ve written before about optimism and pessimism, along with their corresponding advantages and disadvantages. (If you don’t believe, check the dreaded blog archive…or, worse yet, wander over to my old MySpace blog.) I’m also certain I never came to a firm conclusion on the matter. Is it best to be boundlessly optimistic and risk disillusionment from a harsh reality, or should we exhibit a guarded pessimism, giving reality a chance to outshine our initial expectations? It’s a matter of personal preference, I suppose…but, recently, I’ve given the subject a little more thought.

As you might recall from previous entries (and also from actually knowing me on a personal level), I’m an optimist at heart. Oftentimes, I display a certain amount of cynicism on the outside, but, inwardly, I expect the best in every situation. I’m an idealist through and through.

For example, I completed an internship in the public relations department at Light of Life Rescue Mission this past summer. When school let out in mid-May, I had a very distinct vision of my job: I would spend the summer using my writing skills to benefit the organization, and I would constantly be busy with new assignments—creating brochures, taking pictures, interviewing clients, writing press releases—which would make the time pass very quickly. I would truly be helping people, and my overall experience would be extremely rewarding.

Poor, naïve Andrew. My experience was…not that…at all. Not only was I very rarely “busy,” but to say that the time passed slowly would be like saying that a gunshot to the face “stings a little.” Not exactly what I envisioned, needless to say.

Now, before I go on a rant about how Light of Life stocks “rotating knife machines” in their kitchen (No lie; I took inventory for about a week, and I found many horrifying contraptions), let me try to make my point. Certainly, my experience was nothing like I had expected; I wasn’t running around, creating publications left and right, holding photo shoots, or even interacting with the clients very much. It wasn’t the “dream job” I had imagined from the get-go. In fact, it was rather awful.

Sometimes, though, I wonder if I simply drifted into the “this sucks” mindset too quickly. I wonder if my experience was somehow lessened by the fact that my lofty expectations hadn’t been met.

Now, perhaps my internship at LOL (ha) isn’t the best example…but I think you see what I’m trying to say, anyway (unless I’ve been even less coherent than usual). I set expectations all the time—we all do, I’m sure. We expect certain things each day and each night—during classes, when we’re with our friends, and even at meals (but I wouldn’t set your expectations too high if you’re dining in Hicks Cafeteria).

So, we’re back to square one, aren’t we? We set expectations, and we’re disappointed if they aren’t fulfilled. But the problem, really, might not be the expectations themselves. Lately, I’ve been trying to tell myself that—even if everything doesn’t go exactly how I imagined—things are probably just fine. More than fine, actually. Things are probably great, and I just fail to realize it sometimes because I’m so focused on what might have been.

Again, it’s a simple concept, and I’m astonished that it always takes me so long to work these things out. So, maybe I didn’t get the highest grade possible on my exam, and maybe I’m not feeling 100% well, and maybe my day wasn’t quite as magnificent as I dreamt it would be…but things are still—more than likely—pretty great.

So, what’s my conclusion? Things are pretty great. Period.

Thanks. That’s all.

Return to Sender

Downtown, in certain areas of Pittsburgh (and possibly elsewhere, I suspect), there exists a powerful entity, who I have dubbed “the rose man.” I have encountered the rose man on several occasions, and each experience has been a bit more unnerving than the last. Usually, our meetings go a little something like this: I am walking down the street with my sister, and the rose man materializes a few feet away, clutching an armful of roses.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady? It’s free,” he croons, beckoning me to take one of his precious roses to give to my sister.

Typically, at this point, I notice the sinister glint in his eye and simply decline his cunning offer. It’s much safer this way; however, on one fateful occasion, I decided to accept his “gift.” I mean, it was a free ROSE, people. I’m sure my sister was just dying to have one. And, really, what harm could it do? (Ha. I was once a fool.) Squealing with glee (well…perhaps not squealing, per se…but you get the point), the rose man placed a bright red rose in my hand and told me how beautiful my sister was and how she deserved an equally beautiful rose (of course, by now, my sister--being the more intelligent of the Hart children--had already ducked into a nearby bookstore). I’m fairly certain that I chuckled nervously at this point and started to move in the opposite direction, mumbling my thanks, when he placed an arm around my shoulder.

“Now, how about donating some money to _________ organization?” he rasped in my ear. Sadly, upon hearing that I was, in fact, a poor college student who had no cash, he plucked the rose out of my hands, snarling something about how nothing’s really free and how, if my sister really meant a lot to me, I would have coughed up some money.

A pleasant experience overall, I’d say.

Now, I didn’t disclose the tale of the rose man merely to warn you never to accept flowers—or candy, for that matter—from strangers (although…come to think of it, that’s probably a decent lesson to learn, as well). I was just pondering the complexities of life (or something similarly vague), and I realized how rarely we give without expecting anything in return.

Please understand; I’m not saying that the world would be a better place if hundreds of rose men peppered the streets, hurling flowers at everyone just for the joy of giving. That…would actually be immensely frightening, I think. But it occurred to me (and I’m sure many of you have already thought about this before) how easy it is to simply give, but how difficult it is to give without receiving any sort of praise or reward in return. I’ll admit that, even while I might believe that I’m giving selflessly, I still often expect some sort of acknowledgement for my efforts—even if it’s just a simple “thank you.” Is that inherently bad? Probably not… I mean, it’s nice to be appreciated, certainly. But that’s not the point of giving.

So, what’s the solution? I’ve often thought about how much better it would be to give anonymously—to do something kind for a friend without letting him or her know that I was even involved in the act. In essence, this would benefit the person just the same, without allowing any unnecessary praise for me…because, really, it’s God who should be glorified for our acts of kindness—not us. And that’s what really needs to shine through in my life, I think.

I guess the whole “giving anonymously” isn’t practical in every situation. I mean, I’m not going to buy a birthday present for someone and then leave it on his or her doorstep, unsigned…encouraging him or her to think that I forgot about his or her (note: I am thoroughly SICK of this singular pronoun agreement...) birthday entirely. Nor would it be possible to, say, help someone with his or her homework anonymously (unless you left a series of post-it notes all over his or her desk, detailing how to complete the assignment…but…somehow, I doubt that that would be very highly appreciated) or hold the door for someone anonymously… Still, it’s a challenging thought—difficult to put into practice. It’s something that I want to work on.

Well, I'm sorry that this post has been bogged down with so many disjointed thoughts...and no real conclusion. I think I’m still getting back into gear with the whole “blog every week” thing. Oh well. Just beware: the next time I hold a door for you, I might flee the scene before you can see me, thus…allowing the door to swing shut…in your face. Giving…anonymously…right? Hmmm…I suppose I need to work out that plan a little better, don’t I?

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Daylight

Lately, I'm alright.

And, lately, I'm not scared...

So, it's been an eternity since my last post. I know. I've been meaning to write something for a while, actually, but I just haven't had anything insightful to say. My thoughts have been muddled lately, and I suppose my writing has suffered as a result.

Anyway, today, I decided that enough was enough. I’ve been throwing around some ideas for a new short story, but I thought that blogging would be a bit easier for now. So, I sat down a little while ago, determined to write a new entry. I wanted to expound upon some deep, psychological issue--something dark, something complex, something different. Nothing came to mind. Longing for some sort of inspiration, I moved into the living room and gazed out the window for a while. I didn’t see anything particularly interesting or thought-provoking, save for a monstrous child in a snowsuit chasing his little brother around the yard. I thought about informing the local authorities, but, soon enough, the kids had disappeared around the back of their house, so I assumed I was too late to prevent any real damage, anyway.

After a few more minutes, I gave up and decided to empty the dishwasher, instead. That’s when everything just kind of clicked. I don’t know how to explain it, really, but perhaps you know what I mean, nonetheless. I was just kind of struck by how good life can be—by how many blessings I have. The timing of this little epiphany didn’t make a whole lot of sense… I mean, it’s not like emptying the dishwasher brought me any sort of great joy or that I saw a particularly shiny dish that brightened my day. Nothing had changed, really, except my outlook.

So, yes, this is going to be another sunny, “don’t get mad, get glad!” (err…that’s something else entirely, isn’t it?) entry. If you’ve had just about enough of those, then I suppose this is where you should stop reading.

It’s not that life isn’t bleak sometimes…or…even most of the time. Perhaps the amount of bad news even greatly surpasses the amount of good. But I’ve noticed just how powerful good things can be—even if (or perhaps especially if) they’re surrounded by the worst problems imaginable.

I’ll insert an unnecessary (and overly simplified) anecdote here to illustrate my point.

Long ago, when I was a child, I went into work with my mom. While she was busying herself with things around the office, I decided to explore the kitchen in the back of the building. I found a number of dirty dishes sitting by the sink, so I thought it would be appropriate to use the ancient, rusted dishwasher in order to tidy things up a bit. So, I loaded it up with dishes, squirted an entire bottle of detergent inside (wait…you mean that’s not what you’re supposed to do?), and pressed “START.” A few minutes passed (the calm before the storm, I suppose), and I was extremely pleased that I had been able to help out around the office. That’s when I heard an eerie rumbling coming from the dishwasher. Seconds later, bubbles began to erupt from all sides of the machine, and the rumbling turned into a sort of guttural shriek as the dishwasher slowly died in front of me. Meanwhile, the bubbles seemed to become sentient creatures that consumed everything in their paths. The kitchen had vanished, and all that remained was a soapy winter wonderland—not exactly what I had envisioned. At this point, my mom rushed into the kitchen (probably to verify for her co-workers whether or not the building was being bombed) and caught a glimpse of my handiwork. I’m fairly certain that she wasn’t pleased, and I’m fairly certain that I was punished; however, as we were cleaning up the soapy mess, my mom smiled at me and said, “Well, the kitchen needed a good cleaning, anyway.” And that’s all I remember. I don’t recall the harsh words or the whippings (kidding!) that undoubtedly followed because that one, little comment was enough to negate any ill feelings I had had.

So, maybe that story just illustrates the fact that I wasn’t the brightest youth in the world…but it’s just amazing to me how powerful something small—a simple smile from a friend or an encouraging e-mail, for example—can be. In the midst of so much darkness, the tiniest bit of joy can turn my entire day around. How incredible is that?

In short, I’ve concluded that my blog entries are becoming increasingly corny…but I don’t really mind. I need to let my inner optimist shine through more often, and I suppose this is a good place to do that. I doubt I’ve said anything that you haven’t heard before or that you haven’t thought of yourself…but, still, I’ve found that it’s nice to be reminded of these things.
So, that’s it, I suppose. Nothing overly complex or deep. I’ve just decided that I’m going to focus on the blessings in my life—even as I blow up dishwashers or clean up cat vomit or deal with the bleakness that life so often throws in our faces—because, at the end of the day, those blessings are what really matter.

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.