Spirit Animal

A little while ago I was spending time with some of my closest friends and we got onto the subject of what each of our spirit animals would be.  We went around in a circle and named a spirit animal for each person.  When they got to me, they had nothing to say.  What does that mean?  I was declared complex.  I don't know that I buy that.  Everyone is complex.  Just because someone's name is "grinning fox" does not mean that person doesn't have many facets within his personality.  It just means that when you think of that person, those two descriptions pop out to you.  So what does it mean when the people closest to me can't think of a thing to describe me besides complex?  It makes me sad.  I don't want to be a mystery.

Interpret away, please.

Gratitude

I don't know exactly how to explain this part of myself, and maybe if you know me well you will understand what I mean.  I am plagued with guilt.  I see unfairness in the world and it interprets into guilt to me.  Why do I deserve to be so fortunate when innumerable others are suffering?  Many work harder for less and are happier with less.  My most common phrase is probably "I'm sorry".  And I really am.  I liken it to the cursed little girl in Eragon named Elva.  She feels the pain everyone around her will go through and therefore does everything in her power to prevent them from being hurt.  Only I don't have what it takes to prevent the pain.  So instead I feel guilt.

I know guilt is not a productive emotion, so I'm trying to change it to gratitude.  I have much to be grateful for.  I am grateful that I live in a country that makes life so easy on me.  I am grateful for my health.  I am grateful for Alex, and my family and friends, and that I have loving parents who were concerned about how I was raised.  I am grateful that education was accessible to me so that I was able to graduate college and get a good job, and I understand that there are many people out there who are smarter and harder working that just didn't have the opportunities that I had.  I am grateful for my relative intelligence.  That too, is luck.  I respect those who may not be as smart, for to those, life can be more of a struggle.  I am grateful that my troubles are trivial.

And I understand how fragile all this is.

Book Lovin'

I've been reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith.  I loved this dialogue so much I just had to share it.  I'm not very far into the book, by the way, but already it is amazing.

This is a conversation between Francie's mother, Katie, and her grandmother, Mary.  They are discussing how to raise Francie shortly after her birth.


"Mother, I know there are no ghosts or fairies.  I would be teaching the child foolish lies."

Mary spoke sharply.  "You do not know whether there are not ghosts on earth or angels in heaven."

"I know there is no Santa Claus."

"Yet you must teach the child these things are so."

"Why?  When I, myself, do not believe?"

"Because," explained Mary Rommely simply, "the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination.  The child must have a secret world in which live things that never were.  It is necessary that she believe.  She must start out by believing in things not of this world.  Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination.  I, myself, even in this day and at my age, have great need of recalling the miraculous lives of the Saints and the great miracles that have come to pass on earth.  Only by having these things in my mind can I live beyond what I have to live for."

"The child will grow up and find out things for herself.  She will know that I lied.  She will be disappointed."

"That is what is called learning the truth.  It is a good thing to learn the truth one's self.  To first believe with all your heart, then not to believe, is good too.  It fattens the emotions and makes them to stretch.  When as a woman life and people disappoint her, she will have had practice in disappointment and it will not come so hard.  In teaching your child, do not forget that suffering is good too.  It makes a person rich in character."



Ah, beautiful.

5 year anniversary

     2005

2006

     2007

2008

 2009

2010

2011

Tomorrow is our five year anniversary, and just a few days after that marks seven years since our first date.  We met when we were both 19, just kids.  When you are young, you hear people talk about how much you change and grow in your twenties, and you think, "Not me.  I know who I am and what I like.  I know best for me."  Let me just say to all you doubters out there, you don't know.  You will change and grow, and change and growth is a good thing (because we all know someone who stayed in their 19 year old way of life, and who wants to be that guy?)  I'm saying this because Alex and I have both changed.  We were fortunate enough to both change in the same direction and to love each other enough to put some work into the relationship when we met troubles.  Marriage will test everything you have, but it's also the best, most awesome experience of your life.  

Although getting married so young gave us challenges we probably wouldn't have had if we'd waited for a few more years, I wouldn't change a thing.  I love that we were able to grow up together.  I love that we failed a few classes because we didn't want to part so we just didn't go.  I love that we learned about money by spending too much, then eating ramen or PB&Js for a solid week.  I love that we have perfected our communication so much that even in an argument we can step back and say "I'm not communicating my feelings correctly, let me calm down and rephrase that".  So if you are getting a mixed message about how I feel about people getting married at a young age, it's because I have mixed feelings about it.  Just because it worked out for me doesn't mean it will work out for everyone.  I guess my advise would be (and I hate people giving advise so bear with me) to expect hard times but be confident enough in your love to work through them.  Yay for matrimony and yay for 5 years!    

Here's a little treat for you:

                        http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaFtsqU2V6U&feature=related

I Know

My 17 year old self on bullying.

I Know

Hide it.

Boast all you want, I know.

Insecurities flood your thoughts, words,

Your movement and touch.

Your boisterous laugh doesn’t cover

Your eyes.

They look around for the disapproving

Frantically, for what could be done

If you were to be pushed away?

Pushed away like the others.

You remember them.

You spat in their faces.

I know.

And to be different is to be desired.

Every one else is, and so are you.

All fighting, with black and blood and hate and gore

To be different.

So different that I can read you like a book.

Each and every one of you.

Don’t you have anything better to present me with?

Come on, laugh, I will push you away.

Like you pushed away the others.

Only my foot will cause you to trip.

Because I am different, I have achieved it.

With black and blood and hate and gore,

Different enough to follow the crowd.

The black sheep in a field of black sheep.

Isn’t it neat to be different?  Different like the rest of you?

Keep fighting to hide it.

Behind those frantic eyes

Because I know.

Love of Learning

Here's a college application essay I wrote when applying to Westminister.  It had to be 250 words or less, and somehow I have exactly 250 words here.  I remember being concerned because I was writing about an experience in kindergarten when the essay question sounded like it was looking for some big, life changing event.  They must have thought it okay because I was accepted.

During my first day in a new kindergarten class, I was handed a book and told to read it to my teacher. I was speechless, for I had never read anything before in my life and here I was in an intimidating new and accelerated school with a teacher staring expectantly at me. I knew at that moment that I had to do something, so I opened the book, looked at the first page, and started making up a story that went along with the picture. I vividly remember looking timidly up at my teacher after that first page and seeing her knowing smile. She asked me if I had ever read anything before and I shook my head. This was the moment that changed my attitude towards learning and brought me to where I am today.

Because I entered the school expected to know how to read and the other students already had this skill, I had to push myself to learn it in an efficient and effective way. I was successful. Within a week, I could read that book and I was proud. I have loved to read since the moment that I forced myself to learn. I have maintained this way of learning, by pushing myself to extremes, and surprising myself with my speed and success. Because of the lesson I learned in kindergarten, I have developed persistent motivation and a love of learning. With this knowledge, I hope to pursue the highest level of education available.

The Path

I was 15 years old when I wrote this.  It feels kinda Giver/Hunger Games-esque to me.  I'm not sure if that was what I was going for at the time.

The Path

Down a clandestine path.

Swift feet guide the sly through escapades of the kind.

Raised face welcomes the light of a full moon.

Where a racing heart speeds for a reason

Accompanied by heavy breathing,

And sudden periods of silence.

Where a watchful eye

And clever ears

Sense danger.

Rapid legs carry a life

Through thick trees and noisy brush

To a place of safety.

But eyes see no refuge.

And willpower being strong,

Takes one’s life

Knowing that another of the kind will come along

Look upon this soul,

Seek the knowledge of all that has been fought for

Also will,

Like him,

Taste freedom with the vigor of an addict.

Captured will he be, like the one before him,

And continue on this feat.

For something which does not exist.

Down a cryptic path.

The Same

Depression is something I've dealt with throughout my life, in family members, friends, and myself.  I'd like to think both age and experience have given me some valuable knowledge so that I can deal with it when it does pop up.  If anyone out there has felt it, know that although I understand it is felt differently by everyone, I can empathize with you.  When I read this last night I was taken to where I was in life at the time I wrote it.  I was 14 years old at the time.

The Same

The flame flickered and went out.

What was this life all about?

This life I lived, day after day,

The same in each and every way.

Frustration filled my every thought.

What was it that I so painfully sought?

A change from this monotony,

That devoured every part of me.

Every day a lecture from my mother

On how to treat one another.

I listen halfheartedly, for I’ve heard it all before.

I just don’t want to listen anymore.

Every day an argument with my father.

To me it is no longer a bother.

It happens so often that I don’t even try.

Sometimes I wish I could still cry.

Everything at school now sounds the same.

All kids want anyway is money and fame.

Teachers teaching the usual things,

Over and over again it seems.

Friends one day, strangers the next.

Friendships broken and friendships fixed.

But gone am I now, from their memory for good.

For what reason, I never understood.

I do not matter, I know and fear.

I’m just a whisper in someone’s ear.

Why is it that I am too quiet to be heard?

Too insignificant to be remembered.

Tears burning in my eyes, itching to be free.

These tears, I realize, resemble me.

Waiting for the chance to break loose,

Pain is tricky and easy to confuse.

Physical pain, yes, I know, is terrible,

But the pain in my heart is unbearable.

It hurts to think, it hurts to pray,

Knowing that nothing will go away.

Please thoughts, leave me be.

Leave me to die in this monotony.

I now know the truth, I realize and sigh.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I finally cry.

“So this is what sweet surrender is,” I weep.

Quit fighting, quit trying, this life is mine to keep.

I light the flame again

Only to light it again and again.

On and on it goes, repetitiously.

This is what will become of me.

I have given in, I am frail and weak.

About this I will never again speak.

See

I've been thinking about getting all my writing from my teen years off my parent's old computer for a long time now. Tackled the job and, thanks to Alex, I succeeded! Here's a little something I wrote when I was 19. I thought it would be a good way to start off the journey. I hope you are looking forward to more because I sure am.



 Title: I Wish You Could See What I See (If I could edit this now I would probably just call it See)


I wish you could see what I see.

There is beauty among the harsh, the ugly.

I wish you would look, and watch. And see.

Its all been said before. Explained away into a bland prose, a thought deadening description. Words do not do it. Millions have tried, and millions more will try, adding to the volumes in a library of lost causes.

I will not try to explain beauty. I will simply ask you to open your eyes. You feel it every day, I know you do. The mountains covered in snow, the music that consumes, activates every part of the mind. You see this beauty. Look elsewhere.

Sunlight reflecting off the spray of water as a car drives through a rain puddle. The look on a small child’s face when he learns how to do something on his own. Hell, the look on an adult’s face when he learns how to do something on his own. The feeling of lying in bed after a tiring day.

 Beauty is everywhere, in everything. You will read this and it will be meaningless to you. Trivial, I know. You will read but not think. You will glimpse and not comprehend. A small child reads a picture book aloud. Question what it was about, and he will have to go back and look at the pictures to tell you. Pay attention to words, the sentences they form, the stories they tell, if just for this one passage. See what I see.