We pushed ourselves to the absolute lengths that our weary legs could take us. Whether it be by foot, or by pedal or by broken thought, we trekked until we could not trek a single inch more. That is what we lived for that summer. And we had to remember that this wasn’t like the winter weekend we spent in that summer spot. And then, every time it began to rain, we cleansed ourselves – body and mind – of the rot that had been building up for those prior weeks (two weeks, if you value perfection of detail the way that we did).
And I’ll always remember that weekend that our failed candidate endorsed the front-runner. I guess that meant that we had to ascribe ourselves to one of them. Somehow, it felt like we were choosing not only a political future, but a future for ourselves as well. And that summer seemed like it was going to be defined by the likes of Billie Holiday, Patsy Cline, Ella Fitzgerald and even Ol’ Blue Eyes himself. And, though it was never spoken, it seems we made a vow to remain thin that summer. After all, “consumption is just a vice,” I always said. Perhaps it was noble the way we stripped ourselves of vices, but new ones always came to monopolize those vacant places. Smoke in our lungs, profanities on our tongues or ire in our hearts towards those that were always to have meant the world to us.
And as far as I can tell, we will break any day now. We will meet an all new us. We will hurt those that are everything. We will abandon those past times that occupied our times in the past. This is something that I know is inevitable. Therefore, I apologize in advance. And, in advance, I accept your apologies as well. Let us put forth the effort to stay together, but we can never turn down new experiences. I have faith in this, I have faith in individuals, I have faith in solidarity. Mostly, though, I have faith in the beauty of a stranger’s face – before familiarity consumes all. That is truly the most alluring and fascinating time in the relationship between us all.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Monday, May 5, 2008
Greatness
So I guess life will always be defined, not by its achievements, but by its tragic and persistent self-loathing landfalls. This is where I am, and the anxieties and compulsive obsessions that run thick like mud through my family have once again attacked my pride and my sanity. So, now I’ve found that I must just figure out my life. Perhaps I just need to learn to live it on my own terms. I need not ascribe myself to that American dream. After all, it is no more than an available option, not the expectation.
I really pray that this is the case. And I just hope that when I am upon my death bed, I will finally sleep soundly with the person I am, the things I’ve done, and the values I’ve held.
I really pray that this is the case. And I just hope that when I am upon my death bed, I will finally sleep soundly with the person I am, the things I’ve done, and the values I’ve held.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Boldness
And as I approached those cross roads, a decision was forced upon me. Not based on preference or penchant, but upon necessity. As I could see, these roads met as if ten million cross hairs had diverged from a singular point. Not total divergence, though, as there was only a small degree of separation between each. But, the difference was that I did not have – and certainly could not afford – the luxury of aiming at the center and letting life take hold of the reigns, pulling me to a place that would probably feel like an end, but truly only materialize as a point where rest felt comforting. And, as any well-weathered traveler can tell you, rest is a dispensable commodity – an unnecessary luxury, if you will. And, as I have explained prior to this, this choice that I was forced into was not a choice of want, it was a choice of existence; to put it abruptly, an utter choice of life or death, exhaustion or rest, existing or floating, absolute freedom or absolute compliance.
At this meeting of roads, I saw a singular road sign. It did not explain or lay out where to go or what lie in each direction, but offered a simple warning. It read, “Beware, you may become weary; but be wary of natives, for they may cease your travels.” And underneath this well printed sign, a past traveler had scribbled, “Never rest your head in a familiar bed. It is strangers that keep you moving so that you may return again.” With these two messages I realized that my life could play out in an infinite number of ways, a plethora of poor finalities or the handful of seemingly correct paths.
But I also realized that, perhaps no road was a correct road. For, all roads would hold a road block of some sort – it was just about choosing the road with the least enticing road blocks and the most distant final resting point. Then, beneath the sign, etched on a scrap of paper, I saw a final simple message. “Travel through the weariness, push on forever. It is not the destination, but the scenery of the travel that makes the road worthwhile. Live simply, keep moving, experience everything.” And stapled behind this scrap of paper was a selection of Robert Frost.
And as I approached nearer to that divergence of roads, I did notice the yellow coloration of the woods surrounding me. But I can certainly say that I was not sorry that I could not follow both roads. For I knew that every road was equally beautiful in different ways, but also that each road led to places characterized by comforting senses of mild misery. And I felt confident in my choice. It was a dark road, a road of uneasiness. So I took comfort in this fact, because this road, while terrifyingly new, was a road that led to an open mind, a real life and a future of unknowing.
At this meeting of roads, I saw a singular road sign. It did not explain or lay out where to go or what lie in each direction, but offered a simple warning. It read, “Beware, you may become weary; but be wary of natives, for they may cease your travels.” And underneath this well printed sign, a past traveler had scribbled, “Never rest your head in a familiar bed. It is strangers that keep you moving so that you may return again.” With these two messages I realized that my life could play out in an infinite number of ways, a plethora of poor finalities or the handful of seemingly correct paths.
But I also realized that, perhaps no road was a correct road. For, all roads would hold a road block of some sort – it was just about choosing the road with the least enticing road blocks and the most distant final resting point. Then, beneath the sign, etched on a scrap of paper, I saw a final simple message. “Travel through the weariness, push on forever. It is not the destination, but the scenery of the travel that makes the road worthwhile. Live simply, keep moving, experience everything.” And stapled behind this scrap of paper was a selection of Robert Frost.
And as I approached nearer to that divergence of roads, I did notice the yellow coloration of the woods surrounding me. But I can certainly say that I was not sorry that I could not follow both roads. For I knew that every road was equally beautiful in different ways, but also that each road led to places characterized by comforting senses of mild misery. And I felt confident in my choice. It was a dark road, a road of uneasiness. So I took comfort in this fact, because this road, while terrifyingly new, was a road that led to an open mind, a real life and a future of unknowing.
A Hopeful Plea
My face hit the floor and it was at that moment that I realized I had jaded. Is that a reversible fate? “Once jaded, always jaded.” I think I read that somewhere – although I’m not quite sure as to what in or whom by. Prior to that point, I had grandiose dreams of graduating college, attending graduate school and making it. I wanted to make it. And now the thought of making it just makes me sick. Perhaps that is what made me so sickly in the first place – trying to make it.
Phase one in the glorious American dream – college graduate. Done; as to how successfully, though, is quite the point of personal contention. And now all I have to show for it is a degree and the fact that all my passions have become juxtaposed by stark generalized rules. Vague feelings of content have replaced passion; and passion has disappeared. Or perhaps passion has just migrated to other realms due to newly occupied feelings of boredom and apathy towards previous passions. I can assert, after obtaining a music degree, that a degree of higher learning only serves to replace enjoyment with misery in a person’s passion.
In hindsight, shouldn’t I be referring to myself not as I, but as ‘one’ – a non-descript clay model meant to represent myself, or all the rest of humanity. But I am not the rest of humanity, I am me. Why should I ascribe myself to this set of rules that turns an individual, such as myself, into something that is just a mundane, faceless, overly generalized representation of society. Am I ranting? Do the rules allow that?
Now, I am that college graduate, but with less than grandiose dreams. I am still jaded, though. I guess what I heard, wherever it was that I heard it, was correct. Jadedness is a ramp or hill or incline that, at times, may even itself out a bit; but it never seems to reverse the direction of incline. Once a person takes that first step off the even concrete into the realm of jadedness, that person just keeps rolling.
I guess becoming jaded hasn’t been all that bad, though. With jadedness comes honesty – or it seems that way. One becomes jaded by being exposed to many different things. Fortunately this also leads to an elevated sense of knowledge and honesty. But, the ultimate deliberation is whether an elevated sense of knowledge, truth, and honesty is worth the heavy heart, of sorts, that comes along with it.
It seems that the more I know about the world, the more it gets me feeling older and less hopeful. But that wisdom also breeds a more highly refined sense of hope. I know more about the bad that exists in the world, but through this can also see the holes in the world that are just waiting to be filled by good passionate well-meaning people, things, ideas, etc.
I’ve grown older, I’ve grown more experienced, and I’ve grown exceedingly more jaded since the days I looked forward to that grandiose future. But I’ve also grown wiser, more informed, and bigger as a person. Naivety was bliss, but knowing allows for change. Change, in turn, then allows for innocence to blossom hand-in-hand with knowledge. We can have a future of hope defined not by jaded experience, but by knowledge, goodness, and passion.
So, standing up with the realization of my now jaded nature, I decided that my bruises and scars from the past would not be battle wounds but pleas for advancement. From that day forth, my injuries were utilized to spread the message clearly: “Go forth – be good; do good.” And most importantly, “expose yourself to as much as possible, and take all the best out of everything you encounter.”
I can do better; you can do better; we can do better – I have hope. I have a hope. I have that hope.
Phase one in the glorious American dream – college graduate. Done; as to how successfully, though, is quite the point of personal contention. And now all I have to show for it is a degree and the fact that all my passions have become juxtaposed by stark generalized rules. Vague feelings of content have replaced passion; and passion has disappeared. Or perhaps passion has just migrated to other realms due to newly occupied feelings of boredom and apathy towards previous passions. I can assert, after obtaining a music degree, that a degree of higher learning only serves to replace enjoyment with misery in a person’s passion.
In hindsight, shouldn’t I be referring to myself not as I, but as ‘one’ – a non-descript clay model meant to represent myself, or all the rest of humanity. But I am not the rest of humanity, I am me. Why should I ascribe myself to this set of rules that turns an individual, such as myself, into something that is just a mundane, faceless, overly generalized representation of society. Am I ranting? Do the rules allow that?
Now, I am that college graduate, but with less than grandiose dreams. I am still jaded, though. I guess what I heard, wherever it was that I heard it, was correct. Jadedness is a ramp or hill or incline that, at times, may even itself out a bit; but it never seems to reverse the direction of incline. Once a person takes that first step off the even concrete into the realm of jadedness, that person just keeps rolling.
I guess becoming jaded hasn’t been all that bad, though. With jadedness comes honesty – or it seems that way. One becomes jaded by being exposed to many different things. Fortunately this also leads to an elevated sense of knowledge and honesty. But, the ultimate deliberation is whether an elevated sense of knowledge, truth, and honesty is worth the heavy heart, of sorts, that comes along with it.
It seems that the more I know about the world, the more it gets me feeling older and less hopeful. But that wisdom also breeds a more highly refined sense of hope. I know more about the bad that exists in the world, but through this can also see the holes in the world that are just waiting to be filled by good passionate well-meaning people, things, ideas, etc.
I’ve grown older, I’ve grown more experienced, and I’ve grown exceedingly more jaded since the days I looked forward to that grandiose future. But I’ve also grown wiser, more informed, and bigger as a person. Naivety was bliss, but knowing allows for change. Change, in turn, then allows for innocence to blossom hand-in-hand with knowledge. We can have a future of hope defined not by jaded experience, but by knowledge, goodness, and passion.
So, standing up with the realization of my now jaded nature, I decided that my bruises and scars from the past would not be battle wounds but pleas for advancement. From that day forth, my injuries were utilized to spread the message clearly: “Go forth – be good; do good.” And most importantly, “expose yourself to as much as possible, and take all the best out of everything you encounter.”
I can do better; you can do better; we can do better – I have hope. I have a hope. I have that hope.
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