Oceansong

The past couple of days I’ve been at the beach with my man. It’s been heaven, but more it’s been the juxtaposition of land and sea. We’ve gone into the water and spent hours walking up and down the shore. It’s been relaxing, invigorating, tiring, peaceful, and brilliant. The wind has roared. The waves have crashed. And one thing is certain: the oceansong is amazing.

Marchin On

Fate is such a subtle seamstress. Even when my life is unraveling down to its smallest fibers, right around the corner the loom is suddenly strung once more and everything is pulling itself back together again. In a matter of days, I had died. In a matter of minutes, hours, I had been brought back to life. I had lost both sleep and sanity last month–both responsibility and intention had vanished with the moderation of my mind. And now, now all of that has been brought back to me. Now all of that has left me overflowing with such joy I’m on the brink of tears in any given moment, simply overwhelmed with this magnificent and beautiful intensity.

Taking a look at my goals for March is depressing. It starts off on the left-hand side remarkably green, but as the weeks progress, one by one green dots turn to orange–failure. Lack of achievement. Missed accomplishment.

I could easily give up. I could easily say, like many with New Year Resolutions do, I’ve missed my mark. I have loosed my arrows and now my quiver is empty. I have nothing left to give. I shall break my bow and bow down to the powers that be, the societies and stigmas that have kept me from the success, months ago, I had dreamed of.

But I refuse to do so. I refuse to succumb to the fates that weave reality. I refuse to do it. I did not make resolutions to be broken–I made goals to be kept. My long-term goals have not changed, not changed one bit; only my short-term goals, those steps I am taking to get there, have transformed into something new, into a path with greater clarity. Every moment is a moment to learn from–and when good things come into your life, time seems to make itself. I have had my hand at failure. I will not lie and say I have only found success in my life. But to hide my failures is unbecoming; by embracing them, I can learn from them and grow into something–someone–greater.

In three words: I’m marchin on.

Age is Only a Number (But Numbers are Everything)

Exhaustion is the theme of this semester. Actually, “exhaustion” is not a theme. “Exhaustion” is a topic. It would be much more appropriate to say that “Intense schedules lead to overwhelming exhaustion” is a theme since themes must be complete sentences that communicate a message to the consumer. By “consumer,” I here mean any readers, watchers, observers, et cetera, that observe a piece wherein some creator intended some deeper meaning. That’s theme.

I mentioned in my last post that I’ve felt exhausted a lot lately. I had hoped this weekend–my second foray into the world of the National Association of Campus Activities, where I got to meet Zach Wahls (!!!), attended live group sex therapy, and had “Bazinga” airbrushed onto a hat–would rejuvenate me, but…well, at least the comedian was uplifting. Laughter does inspire. And live music is like imbibing poetry to regurgitate later. But the overall effect was not as I had hoped for.

What was worse came the morning after.

What I Sing About When I Sing About Love

I have a confession to make: I’m a complete and total sap. I turn to mush in the vicinity of someone I like. All things that make you go “Awww!” fill me with butterflies and rainbows and little puppies rolling in the grass. I love the sentimental–not sentimentality, mind you, but the sentimental–and those possessions I cherish most have the least practical use and the most emotional meaning. I’m impressed by the visual, but overwhelmed by the sensory–touch and sound and smell and taste–and if I can taste you in my breath, I am in love.

I just don’t show it very much. It’s easier around the edges to be sharper, more stoic and solid. There’s a lot inside me that I don’t show, and only part of it are vital organs that really need to stay inside. The rest of it bleeds through like ink in any manner of manifestations until, like a blood-warmed bath, it’s all leaked around me and I’m drowning in my own feeling, unable to swim to the surface and save myself.

I don’t show that much either. On the inside, it’s a steady current of chaos. Until I look at it, until I perceive what fragments are there, it’s only a seamless, stable whole. Introspection becomes the bane of my existence, and come today–come this dreaded day of hearts and roses–all my introspection turns inward on love.

The Darkest Disease

Some of my favorite artists are the Cranberries, Ingrid Michaelson, and Company of Thieves. I grew up to the tunes of Enya, Jewel, and Lisa Loeb. The edgiest thing I listened to for a long time was Alanis Morissette. It’s not much a surprise really: I’m a generally gentle guy, calm and peaceful, quiet and contemplative.

But I’m also a Gemini.

The irony is that my first love of song that breached this facade itself means to fade away–and yet they have remained a staple of my soundtrack to life ever since.

A Terrible Thing to Waste

I love music. Have I mentioned that before? It seems like no matter my mood and no matter what emotions are plaguing me, there’s a song for that. I love walking around campus with my earbuds in and my iPod on. Somehow tuning out the world to my own personal soundtrack makes the world open up: I see details I wouldn’t normally see, I get inspired in ways that wouldn’t happen if I just walked normally, listening to the wind.

Songs inspire me. They narrate my life. And occasionally I find a song that resonates with me so perfectly for a time I play it on repeat until the words are burned in my cochleas like the frozen waves of arctic oceans. What better way can I show my love and appreciation for these songs and the artists that made them than by writing about them?

That Which We Cannot Name

Yesterday I ate Christmas dinner. Twice. That itself may have been tiring, but it was the company that was most exhaustive. I’m an introvert; I can’t help but feel weighed down in large crowds.

Even if they are family.

Yet for all the anguish and agony, today I’m thankful for my family. Of course, I’m thankful for my family every day (or at least most days), but today I’m making something special of it.

Winter Fresh

Time’s gotten away from me today, hasn’t it? I got up, read a bit, did some dishes… and then played Tales for about four hours. But with all my free time, that’s alright, right? Anyways, after that I had to finish the dishes I had put on to soak. So I once more played some music, got into position, and while I was scrubbing away, I considered all the things I could be thankful for today.

Ultimately, it came down to this.

Spoken Word Syndrome

This weekend I attended the National Association of Campus Activities South conference, a weekend of educational sessions, showcases, and networking to bring activities to colleges across the South. I will no doubt draw upon this experience for a number of posts (so much happened in such a short span of time that I can easily foresee two or three other topics already), but today I’d like to talk about the end.

For all who know me, and especially for those who have just met me or don’t know me very well, it may come as a surprise to hear that I am the biggest introvert you will ever know. You may imagine me speaking in front of a group, or casually carrying on friendly a conversation, or introducing myself with poise and purpose, and surely then, surely then I must be lying.

But I’m not.

A Song for the Seige of Society

Last week left me no time, but this week has left me plenty, and I’m happy to return to this once more. I must say, though, this teaching is not only longer than usual, it appears, but also a little more challenging to decipher. Why not take a look and see what you think?

2.2 Rabban Gamliel, son of Rabbi Yehudah Ha-Nassi, taught:

The study of Torah is commendable when combined with a gainful occupation, for when a person toils in both, sin is driven out of mind. Study alone without an occupation leads to idleness, and ultimately to sin. All who serve in behalf of the community should do so for Heaven’s sake. Their work will prosper because the inherited merit of our ancestors endures forever. God will abundantly reward them as though they had achieved it all through their own efforts.

From this, after reading it nearly half a dozen times, I derive two points of inflection: The first, that knowledge without purpose is not knowledge but misdirection, and the second, that progression built upon the work of others still remains a singular endeavor.

Both of these seem straightforward enough on their own, but I feel as if a straightforward solution is sometimes the easiest to miss. It’s too simple, we think, and therefore not important enough or else not significant enough. And trust me, both of these are quite important and quite significant enough, if only–as with any lesson–you look at it deeply enough.

So read on, my friend, and let’s see if we can decipher this one together.