Oh my heart . . .
I love Forrest Gump so much. Just finished watching it. Anthony and I started it, went out for a bit tonight, and came back to find Spike had it on AGAIN, and that it was roughly at the same point as when we left. So, we finished it.
Forrest and Jenny and their story resonate so strongly in my life. Though I would be loath to equate myself entirely with Tom Hanks' character (who is far simpler and loves more freely than I think I ever shall), there is the beauty of the way he approaches the people around him that I hope I have captured a little. Jenny is always his girl, and nothing can change that. And anytime the two of them are together, it is like peas and carrots . . .
A lot of what I think I'd like to say here hasn't been expressed too openly for a long time by me, mainly because I just didn't know what I felt or, sometimes, how to feel. And I've grown up enough that I no longer wish to recreate another person's story, lovely though it may be. I'm living out a pretty amazing story of my own, complete with love, sadness, joy, sorrow, heartache, triumph, discovery, wonder, and beauty . . .
And though I am more in love with Jesus than yesterday (and hopefully will come to love him more tomorrow), there are people I miss . . . people who just get me, who know me deeply because of a shared intimacy that no one else in the world may ever comprehend. I miss my family like this . . . and I do such a horrible job of keeping in touch. Hmmm. Gonna have to change that.
There are others, who have travelled this road with me for a season, the Bubbas and Lt. Dans and others, who are missed in their own way. And there is Jenny, who, if the past provides any hope for the future, I will see again.
Life is Beautiful :)
Oh, and the foots not broken . . . that I know of. Still hurts though.
10.30.2009
10.29.2009
Days off . . .
I rarely admit boredom. But to give those of you who know me a bit of an idea of how bored I am, I started cleaning my room a few minutes ago. Thankfully, the idea of blogging came up, and so this will busy me for the forseeable future.
An injured foot sucks. Everything I enjoy doing involves my feet - drumming, basketball, not sitting on my ass all day. And I'd usually take a day like today as an opportunity to get out and see some people, but the car be dead.
So.
Rather than bitch about it, Ima start looking for opportunities here. I DID just pick up some Tolkien I've never read, and I DO need to get going on my paper for school, and I DO need to finish / start my novel.
Somehow, a banged up foot can make it hard to focus on any of those, let alone walk. Oy.
I love working. I don't really care what it is, but I love being dog tired after a day of manual labour. If I do become an addictions / marriage counsellor, I think I'm going to need a heavy dose of physical exertion weekly just so I feel good and tired at times. Sick days, injured days? Write offs . . . I'd rather have done overtime. C'est la vie.
There is something good and holy about work . . . it is deeply fulfilling, or should be, and dare I say, it is worship. God created work long before Lucifer created disobedience, and so it's not inherently bad but inherently GOOD.
I'm not sure if I have a point, and if I do, I'm not sure what it is. Also, it's time to ice the foot. Later.
An injured foot sucks. Everything I enjoy doing involves my feet - drumming, basketball, not sitting on my ass all day. And I'd usually take a day like today as an opportunity to get out and see some people, but the car be dead.
So.
Rather than bitch about it, Ima start looking for opportunities here. I DID just pick up some Tolkien I've never read, and I DO need to get going on my paper for school, and I DO need to finish / start my novel.
Somehow, a banged up foot can make it hard to focus on any of those, let alone walk. Oy.
I love working. I don't really care what it is, but I love being dog tired after a day of manual labour. If I do become an addictions / marriage counsellor, I think I'm going to need a heavy dose of physical exertion weekly just so I feel good and tired at times. Sick days, injured days? Write offs . . . I'd rather have done overtime. C'est la vie.
There is something good and holy about work . . . it is deeply fulfilling, or should be, and dare I say, it is worship. God created work long before Lucifer created disobedience, and so it's not inherently bad but inherently GOOD.
I'm not sure if I have a point, and if I do, I'm not sure what it is. Also, it's time to ice the foot. Later.
10.27.2009
Julia and the Waiting Room
I'll do one of the morals of today's story right now - don't drop heavy objects on your foot. It doesn't matter if you're wearing steel toes if the object is dropped even a mere inch behind it.
My foot might be broken - x-rays come back on friday - and until then, rest and ice are the doctor's orders. At any rate, this backdrop serves to explain how I found myself at the Glenmore Landing offices of MYK Radiology, where, as divine appointment would have it, I ran into Julia. More correctly, I was already sitting and waiting to be called when she walked in.
We've all been in waiting rooms, right? No one says boo to anyone else, you rarely establish eye contact with anyone, and it's considered rude to talk louder than a whisper . . . and you BETTER not be talking to yourself when you DO whisper.
I'm not one for societal norms. My rather loud " HI GUYS!" to the full waiting room was met with the expected quick, stern looks, followed by equally quick averting of the gaze lest my eyes burn a hole in their cranial space. Death by occular combustion. I wish I had that power. So, sensing that no one was in the talking mood, I provided ny info, took an empty seat ( THE empty seat), and proceeded to stare at the wall. I wanted to know what everyone else found so interesting.
HEre's my thing : there were about 7 of us there in this tiny waiting room, all made in the image of God, all incredibly wonderful in our own unique way, with stories of our OWN lives that would fill a few eternities each . . . and we sat there like rocks, saying nothing. In the words of BRad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds - " That, I cannot abide."
So when Julia walked in, I decided that her and I would play a game. She seemed young enough to be trusting and old enough to have sat in enough waiting rooms to be as tired as I was of this whole silent treatment.
Staring at her until I knew she knew that I KNEW she knew I was trying to say soemthing, I did.
" Wanna play a game of I Spy?"
And so began a delightful 15 minute conversation ranging from how we hurt ourselves to where we're from to our views on the rules of I spy ( she took offense to the fact that I had said "blue" and guessed my own eyes . . . apparently if you can't see it, you can't guess it. Boo.) It was fun, it was joyous . . . it was refreshingly human.
I dare anyone who reads this to start a conversation in a traditional "no conversation zone" . . . be it a doctor's waiting room, a line at a cash register or ATM, a red light while walking, or any other place where we try our best to ignore the wonderful creations beside us and focus really really hard on how impatient we are to get out of wherever we happen to be.
Take it as an opportunity to get to know someone that God loves very very much . . . maybe you'll discover what He sees in them :)
My foot might be broken - x-rays come back on friday - and until then, rest and ice are the doctor's orders. At any rate, this backdrop serves to explain how I found myself at the Glenmore Landing offices of MYK Radiology, where, as divine appointment would have it, I ran into Julia. More correctly, I was already sitting and waiting to be called when she walked in.
We've all been in waiting rooms, right? No one says boo to anyone else, you rarely establish eye contact with anyone, and it's considered rude to talk louder than a whisper . . . and you BETTER not be talking to yourself when you DO whisper.
I'm not one for societal norms. My rather loud " HI GUYS!" to the full waiting room was met with the expected quick, stern looks, followed by equally quick averting of the gaze lest my eyes burn a hole in their cranial space. Death by occular combustion. I wish I had that power. So, sensing that no one was in the talking mood, I provided ny info, took an empty seat ( THE empty seat), and proceeded to stare at the wall. I wanted to know what everyone else found so interesting.
HEre's my thing : there were about 7 of us there in this tiny waiting room, all made in the image of God, all incredibly wonderful in our own unique way, with stories of our OWN lives that would fill a few eternities each . . . and we sat there like rocks, saying nothing. In the words of BRad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds - " That, I cannot abide."
So when Julia walked in, I decided that her and I would play a game. She seemed young enough to be trusting and old enough to have sat in enough waiting rooms to be as tired as I was of this whole silent treatment.
Staring at her until I knew she knew that I KNEW she knew I was trying to say soemthing, I did.
" Wanna play a game of I Spy?"
And so began a delightful 15 minute conversation ranging from how we hurt ourselves to where we're from to our views on the rules of I spy ( she took offense to the fact that I had said "blue" and guessed my own eyes . . . apparently if you can't see it, you can't guess it. Boo.) It was fun, it was joyous . . . it was refreshingly human.
I dare anyone who reads this to start a conversation in a traditional "no conversation zone" . . . be it a doctor's waiting room, a line at a cash register or ATM, a red light while walking, or any other place where we try our best to ignore the wonderful creations beside us and focus really really hard on how impatient we are to get out of wherever we happen to be.
Take it as an opportunity to get to know someone that God loves very very much . . . maybe you'll discover what He sees in them :)
10.23.2009
Lost in a Crowd pt 2 . . . .
For as long as I can remember (which, if you're the location of my keys, isn't long at all), I have longed to not be forgotten. I have yearned to leave a legacy. I love graveyards, not because I have a morbid fascination with the dead, but because what is written on the tombstone is meant to encapsulate an entire life. It is telling to see what family has chosen to write there.
I love hearing people talk about their loved ones as well, especially in their absence. It paints quite an accurate pictuere of who that person really is. What's the saying? Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you the kind of person you are? We are known by the company we keep . . .
And yet . . .
Here it is again. No matter how deep my relationship is with anyone, it can never be as deep as what I yearn for. See, I want to be remembered, but the things I am most remembered for are not necessarily indicative of who I am, because a soul is a rather infinite thing. It's how we are made in the image of an infinite God. And that is the part of me that is most truly me, this deep part that is there behind every action I take, every word I say, every thought and emotion. It is the symphony of my life - these individual pieces coming together to create beautiful music.
Most of the time, I only catch a couple bars of someone else's song. And most of the time, I feel that's all that is caught of mine. Sometimes, though, you meet people, and it's like there song just echoes deeply with yours.
And you feel
A little
Less lost
In
The crowd.
To people who make me feel at home, thank you. You know who you are :)
I love hearing people talk about their loved ones as well, especially in their absence. It paints quite an accurate pictuere of who that person really is. What's the saying? Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you the kind of person you are? We are known by the company we keep . . .
And yet . . .
Here it is again. No matter how deep my relationship is with anyone, it can never be as deep as what I yearn for. See, I want to be remembered, but the things I am most remembered for are not necessarily indicative of who I am, because a soul is a rather infinite thing. It's how we are made in the image of an infinite God. And that is the part of me that is most truly me, this deep part that is there behind every action I take, every word I say, every thought and emotion. It is the symphony of my life - these individual pieces coming together to create beautiful music.
Most of the time, I only catch a couple bars of someone else's song. And most of the time, I feel that's all that is caught of mine. Sometimes, though, you meet people, and it's like there song just echoes deeply with yours.
And you feel
A little
Less lost
In
The crowd.
To people who make me feel at home, thank you. You know who you are :)
10.20.2009
Dear Friend, Take Care of You
You know who you are. I mean that in two ways - you know that I am addressing you right now, and no one else in the world, though they are invited to read this. And you know who YOU are - you know you are the daughter of a king, you know you are precious. Please continue to live with the weight of this knowledge guiding your steps . . .
This song is my prayer for us, no matter what. See you soon.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dohj2QAdzs&feature=related
You thought of us before the world began to breathe
You knew our names before we came to be
You saw the very day we fall away from you
and how desperately we need to be redeemed
lord jesus
come lead us
we're desperate for your touch
Oh great and mighty one
with one desire we come
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we're offering up our lives
a living sacrifice
that you would reign that you would reign in us
Spirit of the living God fall fresh again
come search our hearts and puify our lives
we need your perfect love we need your discipline
we're lost unless you guide us with your light
lord jesus
come lead us
we're desperate for your touch
Oh great and mighty one
with one desire we come
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we're offering up our lives
a living sacrifice
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we cry out for your life to revive us cry out
for your love to define us cry out
for your mercy to keep us
blameless until you return
oh great and mighty one
with one desire we come
that you would reign that you would reign in us
we're offering up our lives
a living sacrifice
that you would reign that you would reign in us
So reign please reign in us
come purify our hearts
we need your touch
come cleanse us like a flood
and set us out
so the world may know you reign you reign in us
10.18.2009
Lost in a Crowd . . . . pt 1
When I was 5 years old, my family, as they often did, went to the Paris Fair in September. Not at all unlike other fairs in SW Ontario, there were Ferris Wheels, Merry Go Rounds, Cotton Candy, Fun Houses, and other rides. I was walking along with my dad, going back to where the rest of my family was, when I got kinda distracted by the crazy mirrors just inside the Fun House. Now, if you've ever gone out in public with me, but especially at a store of any kind, you'll know I wander. I've never outgrown that . . . at any rate, there I was , wandering around. It occurred to me seconds after I tried talking to him that my dad wasn't around anymore. So I did what any knee high 5 year old would do. I cried. I remember running around, desperate to find my daddy. The whole ordeal couldn't have taken more than 3 or 4 minutes, but it was an eternity. I remember being swooped up into two of the biggest, safest arms my five year old mind could think of, and then burying my head in my dad's chest and letting the tears flow . . .
When I was 15, I started playing basketball at the high school I attended. I was a proud Norwich District High School Knight. I wasn't all that good at basketball . . . in fact, I rarely played. The two defining moments of that year for me were almost losing to a team from the elementary school . . . and , foreshadowing the rest of my extracurricular activities, waiting to be picked up. It wasn't out of the ordinary to be waiting 2 or three hours for dad . . . and pre cell phone, w no taxi service in Norwich, there wasn't another option. Also, the thought in the back of my teen aged head was - what if he comes while I'm walking home? What then?
I don't say this because I'm trying to lash out at my dad - I'm not angry or hurt about it anymore, and he's been forgiven of any wrongs. Rather, it's because memories like these, along with a number of deaths in my formative years and probably a few other things, have conspired together to create in me an acute fear of abandonment. It's probably my biggest fear, and one I don't readily acknowledge. I'm so scared that at any moment, everyone or anyone who matters to me will be gone, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Most often, I feel like I'm the cause somehow, and though this could be true in some cases, it's hardly absolute. But that knowledge does little to comfort me most times.
So, though I've been blessed with some remarkable friendships along this journey, I rarely treasure them for what they are in the moment, and spend time mourning their eventual loss even while being immersed fully in them. It's weird, I know. I write this cuz I don't think I'm the only one who does it.
It's funny - I was gonna go a whole other route with that first story. Was gonna talk about how it's like how God is always searching for us and hears our call. Funny how things work themselves out sometimes. More thoughts tomorrow . . .
10.15.2009
What is this Loneliness?
I have just said goodnight to five of my closest friends. We're small in number but big in love, and I am so blessed to know them. I have other friends that I have known longer and deeper, and perhaps am closer to, but that doesn't change how much I look forward to spending time with Josh, Mike, Krista, Dave, and Nikayla each week.
I have just said good night to them.
And I am lonely.
This is funny, because I have a roommate now - Anthony. Love that guy. The usual unease I would feel at being at my house by myself at night is gone a bit because , well, I'm not alone. But in a few short minutes, I will crawl under my covers and curl up to . . . my body pillow. I want to say good night to someone, want someone to be there at the end of the day . . . want to WAKE UP to her. And it's not that I don't say good night to God, greet Him with my morning breath each morning (than question his decision to make the imbeciles that usually populate my morning commute . . . oh patience. JK. I love all those idiot motorists. For real.)
But, well . . . you can't snuggle with God. I don't mind being really open and vulnerable about this, because for the most part, I'm fairly self sufficient. But there is this part of me that yearns for the kind of closeness I see others able to enjoy. I feel a bit unworthy of it at times - like somehow those who are married have deserved it, while I don't. There is a lot I feel that I don't deserve . . . again, this sinking feeling of having failed before being such a final thing is hard to get around. Nights like this, I feel like I've plateaued . . . that I've already hit the climax of my life, and that ultimately, there is nowhere to go but down from here. It frightens me to think that I had a shot at something great, something worthwhile . . . that vocationally and relationally, I have already experienced the best that life has to offer.
I feel like settling. I feel restless. I feel that it's hard to see the holy sometimes - it's not that i don;t think it exists, just that it's hard to see it. My past haunts me - I talked with a member of the youth group I had pastored, and it was a pleasant surprise . . . pleasant because I have and will always love this individual, and surprise because I didn't think I would talk to her again . . . I don't think I deserve it. Everything I wanted and tried to be as a pastor seems like a whole other person. Sometimes I wish I could rewind life and do things a little differently.
It feels a lot like it's going to be one of those nights that I just don't sleep . . . I don't feel like it, probably won't be able to. It's not that I don't enjoy the people I've come to met since moving here, and it's not that I don't love my life in Calgary. My life just feels so fragmented . . . so much like I humpty Dumptied it, and the pieces no longer fit.
There isn't a single person who has seen all of my life, who I have shared a significant length of time with. And when I say my life, I don't mean all 26 years . . . the first 18 are hard to decipher. Everything before my dad went to jail is a blur, like someone else lived it. It's really only the last 8 years or so that seem to matter, and even in that, there isn't a lot of chunks that have been lived with the same person or group of people.
The big things that happened when I was in New Brunswick mean nothing to all but one person I see regularly now . . . the highs of the Angelos tour are lost on those I usually talk to. If I say RIP! while driving, there are four people who will get it, and I haven't seen them for almost 18 months. Flying a kite means a lot to me and one person who peed herself laughing about it, but she's not here. And relating anything about my life in Calgary to my mom or sisters is weird because , well, they aren't here and don't get it - and i don't get most of their stories.
I feel that what i want is impossible, but that I can't stop wanting it. I don't even know how to put it into words. I want someone just to know me, and I KNOW, I KNOW, it's You . . . but You don't grace me with a physical presence. And no, the whole "my people are me with skin on" line of thought is little solace, God. I want to see You, talk to You, hold your hand . . . and not metaphorically, but ACTUALLY. Wrestle me like you wrestled the liar - he's not better than I , is he?
Though little of what I have written indicates it, I am content for right now. Just restless. Impatient. Waiting.
And a little lonely.
Good night.
I have just said good night to them.
And I am lonely.
This is funny, because I have a roommate now - Anthony. Love that guy. The usual unease I would feel at being at my house by myself at night is gone a bit because , well, I'm not alone. But in a few short minutes, I will crawl under my covers and curl up to . . . my body pillow. I want to say good night to someone, want someone to be there at the end of the day . . . want to WAKE UP to her. And it's not that I don't say good night to God, greet Him with my morning breath each morning (than question his decision to make the imbeciles that usually populate my morning commute . . . oh patience. JK. I love all those idiot motorists. For real.)
But, well . . . you can't snuggle with God. I don't mind being really open and vulnerable about this, because for the most part, I'm fairly self sufficient. But there is this part of me that yearns for the kind of closeness I see others able to enjoy. I feel a bit unworthy of it at times - like somehow those who are married have deserved it, while I don't. There is a lot I feel that I don't deserve . . . again, this sinking feeling of having failed before being such a final thing is hard to get around. Nights like this, I feel like I've plateaued . . . that I've already hit the climax of my life, and that ultimately, there is nowhere to go but down from here. It frightens me to think that I had a shot at something great, something worthwhile . . . that vocationally and relationally, I have already experienced the best that life has to offer.
I feel like settling. I feel restless. I feel that it's hard to see the holy sometimes - it's not that i don;t think it exists, just that it's hard to see it. My past haunts me - I talked with a member of the youth group I had pastored, and it was a pleasant surprise . . . pleasant because I have and will always love this individual, and surprise because I didn't think I would talk to her again . . . I don't think I deserve it. Everything I wanted and tried to be as a pastor seems like a whole other person. Sometimes I wish I could rewind life and do things a little differently.
It feels a lot like it's going to be one of those nights that I just don't sleep . . . I don't feel like it, probably won't be able to. It's not that I don't enjoy the people I've come to met since moving here, and it's not that I don't love my life in Calgary. My life just feels so fragmented . . . so much like I humpty Dumptied it, and the pieces no longer fit.
There isn't a single person who has seen all of my life, who I have shared a significant length of time with. And when I say my life, I don't mean all 26 years . . . the first 18 are hard to decipher. Everything before my dad went to jail is a blur, like someone else lived it. It's really only the last 8 years or so that seem to matter, and even in that, there isn't a lot of chunks that have been lived with the same person or group of people.
The big things that happened when I was in New Brunswick mean nothing to all but one person I see regularly now . . . the highs of the Angelos tour are lost on those I usually talk to. If I say RIP! while driving, there are four people who will get it, and I haven't seen them for almost 18 months. Flying a kite means a lot to me and one person who peed herself laughing about it, but she's not here. And relating anything about my life in Calgary to my mom or sisters is weird because , well, they aren't here and don't get it - and i don't get most of their stories.
I feel that what i want is impossible, but that I can't stop wanting it. I don't even know how to put it into words. I want someone just to know me, and I KNOW, I KNOW, it's You . . . but You don't grace me with a physical presence. And no, the whole "my people are me with skin on" line of thought is little solace, God. I want to see You, talk to You, hold your hand . . . and not metaphorically, but ACTUALLY. Wrestle me like you wrestled the liar - he's not better than I , is he?
Though little of what I have written indicates it, I am content for right now. Just restless. Impatient. Waiting.
And a little lonely.
Good night.
Living with Regrets . . . . What I Meant to Do.
Hey
If you're reading this, than you, like me, have probably done something that you regret doing. I was perusing an old friend's blog when I came across her thoughts on what she meant to say . . . and if she's reading this, perhaps she may think that I write solely to impress something on her mind. Though that isn't without merit, the truth is is that I'm so tired of living a mask. I want to be known, and there are things to know about me that aren't that pretty, but they are me, and I make no apologies for sharing them. More and more, it seems silence is the enemy.
I'm not a virgin. I'm not proud of it at all. It's a source of great shame for me, because I so desperately wanted to be a lot of things that my dad wasn't - wanted our stories to be as different as possible. What I meant to do was wait till I was married and have ridiculously awkward honeymoon sex that left us both alternately laughing, crying, and amorous. What I meant to do was never kiss a girl unless I loved her, or could at least back that kiss up with the significance of relationship that that act represented. What I meant to do was never, EVER, touch a girl anywhere I wouldn't want a guy touching my sisters. What I meant to do was to be someone who any female friend of mine could trust, knowing I'd never hurt them. What I meant to do was only have sex with one person my whole life.
Good intentions, right? Absolutely useless, though, unless lived out. There's this guy that I strongly believe I am, and he's this hodge podge mix and match of William Wallace, Luke from Gilmore Girls, Maximus from Gladiator, Creasy from Man on Fire, and the dude from Life is Beautiful, Aragorn from LOTR. I'm a fighter, and though I absolutely love wrestling and punching and being knocked out by a man I respect as a physical equal, it's more of a fighting
against hopelessness and worthlessne
ss that I find myself locked into. I'm a protector - there are precious things in this world that one does not fuck with, and woe to the one who does. I'm dependable - anytime you need help, I'm here, with whatever help I can offer. I am noble of thought and deed, an inspiration, a leader. I'm laughter and joy and love and delight personified. It's a crazy mix, and I love being me.
But
Some of my actions don't back up claiming to be this guy. And depending on who you are, maybe MOST of my actions don't look like him at all . . .
There are many things I've done that I regret, and by and large, most have to do with how I have treated women in general and one very special woman in particular. Regret is useless, however, in and of itself. I don't think it's enough to just be sorry for doing / not doing something . . . and so, I press on, shaped by but not chained to my past, until little by little, who I'm known for being looks more like who I am than who I've been.
If you're reading this, than you, like me, have probably done something that you regret doing. I was perusing an old friend's blog when I came across her thoughts on what she meant to say . . . and if she's reading this, perhaps she may think that I write solely to impress something on her mind. Though that isn't without merit, the truth is is that I'm so tired of living a mask. I want to be known, and there are things to know about me that aren't that pretty, but they are me, and I make no apologies for sharing them. More and more, it seems silence is the enemy.
I'm not a virgin. I'm not proud of it at all. It's a source of great shame for me, because I so desperately wanted to be a lot of things that my dad wasn't - wanted our stories to be as different as possible. What I meant to do was wait till I was married and have ridiculously awkward honeymoon sex that left us both alternately laughing, crying, and amorous. What I meant to do was never kiss a girl unless I loved her, or could at least back that kiss up with the significance of relationship that that act represented. What I meant to do was never, EVER, touch a girl anywhere I wouldn't want a guy touching my sisters. What I meant to do was to be someone who any female friend of mine could trust, knowing I'd never hurt them. What I meant to do was only have sex with one person my whole life.
Good intentions, right? Absolutely useless, though, unless lived out. There's this guy that I strongly believe I am, and he's this hodge podge mix and match of William Wallace, Luke from Gilmore Girls, Maximus from Gladiator, Creasy from Man on Fire, and the dude from Life is Beautiful, Aragorn from LOTR. I'm a fighter, and though I absolutely love wrestling and punching and being knocked out by a man I respect as a physical equal, it's more of a fighting
against hopelessness and worthlessne
ss that I find myself locked into. I'm a protector - there are precious things in this world that one does not fuck with, and woe to the one who does. I'm dependable - anytime you need help, I'm here, with whatever help I can offer. I am noble of thought and deed, an inspiration, a leader. I'm laughter and joy and love and delight personified. It's a crazy mix, and I love being me.
But
Some of my actions don't back up claiming to be this guy. And depending on who you are, maybe MOST of my actions don't look like him at all . . .
There are many things I've done that I regret, and by and large, most have to do with how I have treated women in general and one very special woman in particular. Regret is useless, however, in and of itself. I don't think it's enough to just be sorry for doing / not doing something . . . and so, I press on, shaped by but not chained to my past, until little by little, who I'm known for being looks more like who I am than who I've been.
10.09.2009
Oh Life . . .
I often like to think I have things figured out, or, at the very least, have a bit of an idea about what's going on around me. Gregory means watchful or observant, and for the most part, I feel like I do a decent job of cluing in to people's emotional states. Political trends, cultural phenomena and their sociological implications, blah blah blah . . . . without sounding ridiculously full of myself, I feel like I'm aware.
Now
When it comes to my own life, I'm a little blind. Blind and in the dark. Blind, in the dark, without a sense of hearing or touch. I lack perception and clarity. What I think is a good idea often turns out to be a bad one. What I thought would be the worst thing to do is often the path I should have taken. Slow learner? Perhaps. I'm more than a little stubborn, and just sure enough of myself to persuade myself that my gut instinct is the way to go.
Of course, here's where the plot thickens. Nothing is final in life, and so perhaps what now appears to be a good idea when at first I thought it was bad is in FACT a bad idea. Oy. Reminds me of that Chinese parable about the father who cautions his son not to too quickly ascribe good or evil to events. We never know how they will end.
Now
When it comes to my own life, I'm a little blind. Blind and in the dark. Blind, in the dark, without a sense of hearing or touch. I lack perception and clarity. What I think is a good idea often turns out to be a bad one. What I thought would be the worst thing to do is often the path I should have taken. Slow learner? Perhaps. I'm more than a little stubborn, and just sure enough of myself to persuade myself that my gut instinct is the way to go.
Of course, here's where the plot thickens. Nothing is final in life, and so perhaps what now appears to be a good idea when at first I thought it was bad is in FACT a bad idea. Oy. Reminds me of that Chinese parable about the father who cautions his son not to too quickly ascribe good or evil to events. We never know how they will end.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)