Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Incorruptible
So, I've had some time on my hands, and I've used the time to study up on this guy, Maximilien Robespierre. Max was an interesting fellow and an important figure during the French Revolution. His life, or at least what I read of it, has illuminated a few things for me.
One day, when our Robespierre was just 17 years of age, the newly crowned King Louis XVI was to come visit his school. Max was handpicked out of the student body (a group right around 500 students), to deliver a welcoming address to the King and Queen (that notorious Marie Antoinette). On the day of the ceremony, it was pouring rain. Dripping, so I'm told, the way that last part of an egg falls out of its shell; it was coming down hard and fast. Well, time for the show to start, but Max and his pals gotta wait, for the King and his Queen have yet to arrive. One hour goes by, then two, alas, a third hour comes and goes. Four hours late, the royal carriage comes trodding along, and when it gets to the ceremony, the King and Queen don't budge. They sit, in their carriage, out of the rain, but totally out of earshot of the ceremony being conducted in their honor. Maximilien gives his speech, a good one too (he was regarded as an exquisite orator by a slew of orators exquisite in their own right), the ceremony goes on, and as soon as it ends, the carriage carrying the crown departs, back to Versailles, the grandest palace in all of Europe. This was Robespierre's first encounter with the monarchy.
Fast forward a few years, and you'll find France on the brink of revolution. After generations of over-taxation, the commoners have grown weary of seeing the royals live in opulence while they scratch and scrimp for scraps. While a famine halts grain production (eliminating bread, the essential part of the French diet), the King and his goons eat to their hearts delight at every meal. AS the treasury diminishes, the king brings higher taxes upon the already struggling poor, while the richest in the country pay nothing. When the people have no money left to have stolen from them, the king finds himself staring into the face of financial crisis. The king calls together the estates general, the quasi-representative, parlimentaryesque part of the French government. The Estates General consisted of three parts: the first estate (the clergy), the second estate (the nobility), and the third estate (the commoners). It was a bit of a scam, as the clergy and the nobility would always vote together, overriding the wishes of the overwhelming majority, yet still calling it democratic.
Which brings us back to our friend Maximilien. Using all of his talent and ability, found a way to get himself elected to the third estate. He became leader of a group known as the Thirty Voices, a leftist, progressive faction of the estate that would not be content to be pushed to the side. He argued, with passion and vigor, for the doubling of the third estate, giving it proper place in the government. As the Enlightenment came to a crest, he fought for equality, for the rights of man, and against the oppression of corrupt oppressors. Long story short, the revolution comes to Paris, it takes over Versailles, and the people control France, with Robespierre as the unnamed leader of the mob.
He was known to his followers as The Incorruptible, the one man who could have the powers necessary for direction without being feared, as his commitment to the revolution was unflappable. He, who had once argued adamantly against the death penalty, argued for it as clemency for the King. And his new killing machine, the guillotine, would be just the thing to do the job. So the king was killed, and Robespierre said doing so would save the revolution, that killing one man, would save thousands of French voices and help maintain their fight for equality and justice. Robespierre and his friends assumed more power, more control, and soon, any and all who disagreed with them on any level were labeled as enemies of the revolution, and were sacrificed for the greater good at the mercy of the guillotine. The council of public safety was created, a sort of secret police that sought out insurrection amongst the people, bringing all those who said or stood in opposition to our old friend Max to the justice of the blade. Robespierre stood, incorrupted by money, or power, or fame; yet blinded by his own visions of revolution. He ordered the deaths of his enemies, those who argued against him, and even his friends who dared to oppose him. In the end, Maximilien himself was brought under that instrument of death which first solidified his reign of terror. He did not become what he had fought against at the start, but he was certainly no better at his death.
Here's the thing about guys like Max; they're so easy to follow in the beginning. They can rouse our hopes, diminish our fears, and speak the very words we would say ourselves if we only knew how. We will cling to their words, we will stretch out our hands for their touch, and work diligently in their service for little or nothing in return. These sorts of people speak to our hearts, they speak to our heads, and we stand with them emotionally and intellectually because of it. They don't use us, not intentionally; but we become expendable pawns in a fight for the revolution, their revolution. Incorruptible as they may be, there is no love, no grace within them.
We must fight for the revolution, but we must do so with clear heads and with pure hearts. In our fight for equality, for justice, for the end of the oppression that has plagued our friends and families, we must remember the principles of our revolution as we look toward our goals. As we seek truth, and honesty, and dignity from our governments and from our churches, we must never withhold those same things to advance what would then be a selfish cause. Our leaders must be men and women of humility and peace, souls of virtue and of courage, whose eyes are fixed on Heaven. The kinds of people that walk in grace and carry forgiveness like gold. Our revolution is a quiet one, the sort that, like the call of a cicada, agitates evil ears who for all their wealth and might, are indeed powerless to stop it. The incorruptibles make children of their revolutions, and they do their best to make them into their own images. An old friend once told me that if what we envision is truly good, it will be good whether we are part of it or not. The incorruptible cannot grasp this idea.
One day, when our Robespierre was just 17 years of age, the newly crowned King Louis XVI was to come visit his school. Max was handpicked out of the student body (a group right around 500 students), to deliver a welcoming address to the King and Queen (that notorious Marie Antoinette). On the day of the ceremony, it was pouring rain. Dripping, so I'm told, the way that last part of an egg falls out of its shell; it was coming down hard and fast. Well, time for the show to start, but Max and his pals gotta wait, for the King and his Queen have yet to arrive. One hour goes by, then two, alas, a third hour comes and goes. Four hours late, the royal carriage comes trodding along, and when it gets to the ceremony, the King and Queen don't budge. They sit, in their carriage, out of the rain, but totally out of earshot of the ceremony being conducted in their honor. Maximilien gives his speech, a good one too (he was regarded as an exquisite orator by a slew of orators exquisite in their own right), the ceremony goes on, and as soon as it ends, the carriage carrying the crown departs, back to Versailles, the grandest palace in all of Europe. This was Robespierre's first encounter with the monarchy.
Fast forward a few years, and you'll find France on the brink of revolution. After generations of over-taxation, the commoners have grown weary of seeing the royals live in opulence while they scratch and scrimp for scraps. While a famine halts grain production (eliminating bread, the essential part of the French diet), the King and his goons eat to their hearts delight at every meal. AS the treasury diminishes, the king brings higher taxes upon the already struggling poor, while the richest in the country pay nothing. When the people have no money left to have stolen from them, the king finds himself staring into the face of financial crisis. The king calls together the estates general, the quasi-representative, parlimentaryesque part of the French government. The Estates General consisted of three parts: the first estate (the clergy), the second estate (the nobility), and the third estate (the commoners). It was a bit of a scam, as the clergy and the nobility would always vote together, overriding the wishes of the overwhelming majority, yet still calling it democratic.
Which brings us back to our friend Maximilien. Using all of his talent and ability, found a way to get himself elected to the third estate. He became leader of a group known as the Thirty Voices, a leftist, progressive faction of the estate that would not be content to be pushed to the side. He argued, with passion and vigor, for the doubling of the third estate, giving it proper place in the government. As the Enlightenment came to a crest, he fought for equality, for the rights of man, and against the oppression of corrupt oppressors. Long story short, the revolution comes to Paris, it takes over Versailles, and the people control France, with Robespierre as the unnamed leader of the mob.
He was known to his followers as The Incorruptible, the one man who could have the powers necessary for direction without being feared, as his commitment to the revolution was unflappable. He, who had once argued adamantly against the death penalty, argued for it as clemency for the King. And his new killing machine, the guillotine, would be just the thing to do the job. So the king was killed, and Robespierre said doing so would save the revolution, that killing one man, would save thousands of French voices and help maintain their fight for equality and justice. Robespierre and his friends assumed more power, more control, and soon, any and all who disagreed with them on any level were labeled as enemies of the revolution, and were sacrificed for the greater good at the mercy of the guillotine. The council of public safety was created, a sort of secret police that sought out insurrection amongst the people, bringing all those who said or stood in opposition to our old friend Max to the justice of the blade. Robespierre stood, incorrupted by money, or power, or fame; yet blinded by his own visions of revolution. He ordered the deaths of his enemies, those who argued against him, and even his friends who dared to oppose him. In the end, Maximilien himself was brought under that instrument of death which first solidified his reign of terror. He did not become what he had fought against at the start, but he was certainly no better at his death.
Here's the thing about guys like Max; they're so easy to follow in the beginning. They can rouse our hopes, diminish our fears, and speak the very words we would say ourselves if we only knew how. We will cling to their words, we will stretch out our hands for their touch, and work diligently in their service for little or nothing in return. These sorts of people speak to our hearts, they speak to our heads, and we stand with them emotionally and intellectually because of it. They don't use us, not intentionally; but we become expendable pawns in a fight for the revolution, their revolution. Incorruptible as they may be, there is no love, no grace within them.
We must fight for the revolution, but we must do so with clear heads and with pure hearts. In our fight for equality, for justice, for the end of the oppression that has plagued our friends and families, we must remember the principles of our revolution as we look toward our goals. As we seek truth, and honesty, and dignity from our governments and from our churches, we must never withhold those same things to advance what would then be a selfish cause. Our leaders must be men and women of humility and peace, souls of virtue and of courage, whose eyes are fixed on Heaven. The kinds of people that walk in grace and carry forgiveness like gold. Our revolution is a quiet one, the sort that, like the call of a cicada, agitates evil ears who for all their wealth and might, are indeed powerless to stop it. The incorruptibles make children of their revolutions, and they do their best to make them into their own images. An old friend once told me that if what we envision is truly good, it will be good whether we are part of it or not. The incorruptible cannot grasp this idea.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Of Joy and Sorrow
I have long believed in the balance of all things. In moderation, in a time and place for most of what happens, in indulgence and in discipline. I believe that life, despite all of our best and worst efforts, has a way of smoothing out the edges and leveling every playing field. Part of this belief comes from my faith; both my faith in God and my faith in science. For many, the idea of science and God coexisting is about as plausible as cows on roller skates. But as for me, I believe the universe and all things in the physical world have been created to show us a deeper truth about the creator. If we choose to ignore this, we are missing out entirely. But I digress.
A few years ago, I began to think about balance and moderation in scientific terms. You know, for every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction, stuff like that. But to me, that seemed all to simplistic. I then thought about the earth and the sun. I thought to myself, the earth moves around the sun because of the conflict between gravity and inertia. There is an essential conflict in life, we all know this (however often we argue about what it may be). I have heard people refer to this conflict as the meaning of life, but again, we all know the meaning is always the conflict. That sat well for a while. I thought of life like one of those electronic graphs at a hospital that charts a patients heart beat. Bo-beep, bo-beep, bo-beep...up and down on a scale where the top never goes longer that the bottom. This told me that in life, our highs and our lows equal out. To put it more eloquently, the lower your lows, the higher the highs you can expect. This kept me grounded when things went well, and hopeful when they did not.
However, I have begun to see that I am sad much more than I am happy. I am anxious more than I am at peace. I am afraid more often than courageous, and I overflow with sorrow for every drop of joy. This shoots down my balance theory, doesn't it? Maybe it doesn't.
Here's the thing, it only takes a drop of joy to offset of well of sorrow. I know I have been happy, for I have been said for so long. Like an athlete who prepares their entire life for one competition, those who come out on top will victoriously tell whoever might listen, it was all worth it. Many things, though certainly not all, are relative to one degree or another. When you spend enough time down in the dumps of despair, rising out, if even for a fleeting moment, is better than being there all along. I know I have actually been sad, because only sadness renders such great returns on joy.
A few years ago, I began to think about balance and moderation in scientific terms. You know, for every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction, stuff like that. But to me, that seemed all to simplistic. I then thought about the earth and the sun. I thought to myself, the earth moves around the sun because of the conflict between gravity and inertia. There is an essential conflict in life, we all know this (however often we argue about what it may be). I have heard people refer to this conflict as the meaning of life, but again, we all know the meaning is always the conflict. That sat well for a while. I thought of life like one of those electronic graphs at a hospital that charts a patients heart beat. Bo-beep, bo-beep, bo-beep...up and down on a scale where the top never goes longer that the bottom. This told me that in life, our highs and our lows equal out. To put it more eloquently, the lower your lows, the higher the highs you can expect. This kept me grounded when things went well, and hopeful when they did not.
However, I have begun to see that I am sad much more than I am happy. I am anxious more than I am at peace. I am afraid more often than courageous, and I overflow with sorrow for every drop of joy. This shoots down my balance theory, doesn't it? Maybe it doesn't.
Here's the thing, it only takes a drop of joy to offset of well of sorrow. I know I have been happy, for I have been said for so long. Like an athlete who prepares their entire life for one competition, those who come out on top will victoriously tell whoever might listen, it was all worth it. Many things, though certainly not all, are relative to one degree or another. When you spend enough time down in the dumps of despair, rising out, if even for a fleeting moment, is better than being there all along. I know I have actually been sad, because only sadness renders such great returns on joy.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
So I got this new idea. But it's built on top of a bunch of old ideas.
First, the old ideas, then the new ones.
As people, we all want to be loved and accepted. We want to belong, as belonging insinuates that we are being longed for. But as people who are often (in)correctly reduced to stereotypes and blanket ideas, while on the same hand being so very different and altogether unique; we have a hard time belonging to anything. We fear the very things we hope for.
So we stick it out in friendships that make no sense, and in relationships that leave us broken and bitter. We call it loyalty and dedication, but the truth is we drilled a hole in a ship and are scooping out the water with a ladle. When we find places we belong to, we sabotage them, we vandalize them. We complain about our families and they complain about us.
But in a way, we will all one day belong to each other. We will belong in a way we will not be able to rid ourselves of, and in a place where our only complaints will be in silence. As people, we're all terrified of this ever happening, and we do whatever we can to prolong its coming inevitability.
One day we're all gonna die.
They're will be no more ingrouping and outgrouping. No more clubs to gain membership to, no more parites to doll out invites to. We'll all belong to one another and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. Our bodies will find equilibrium, and our souls will rest eternal.
So yeah, that's what I thought about just now.
First, the old ideas, then the new ones.
As people, we all want to be loved and accepted. We want to belong, as belonging insinuates that we are being longed for. But as people who are often (in)correctly reduced to stereotypes and blanket ideas, while on the same hand being so very different and altogether unique; we have a hard time belonging to anything. We fear the very things we hope for.
So we stick it out in friendships that make no sense, and in relationships that leave us broken and bitter. We call it loyalty and dedication, but the truth is we drilled a hole in a ship and are scooping out the water with a ladle. When we find places we belong to, we sabotage them, we vandalize them. We complain about our families and they complain about us.
But in a way, we will all one day belong to each other. We will belong in a way we will not be able to rid ourselves of, and in a place where our only complaints will be in silence. As people, we're all terrified of this ever happening, and we do whatever we can to prolong its coming inevitability.
One day we're all gonna die.
They're will be no more ingrouping and outgrouping. No more clubs to gain membership to, no more parites to doll out invites to. We'll all belong to one another and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. Our bodies will find equilibrium, and our souls will rest eternal.
So yeah, that's what I thought about just now.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Time and Eternity
How long is a second?
When I think about it, a second is the building block of all the rest of our time managers. One minute is sixty seconds, one hour is sixty minutes, a day is twenty four hours, a year is three hundred sixty five days, and so on and so on.
when defined, by the International System of Units, a second is...
the duration of 9 192 631 770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium 133 atom.
...which essentially means that a very complicated formula involving Mean Tropical Years, the moons position to the earth and its affect on seasons and tides, and the earth's own rotation on its axis, and early astronomical observations, gives us today the known length of a second.
I got to thinking about how long a second is after I heard a guy lecturing about Albert Einstein's theory of relativity. You know, that E = mc2 thing that showed up in more than a few Tiny Toons episodes? Essentially he explained that the faster an object is moving, the slower time is moving relative to that object, be it a life form or not. I didn't quite understand how a second, as a length of time, could move any faster or slower, so after learning what a second really is, it makes more sense (even though I don't understand 90% of what I just wrote).
So if time as we define it is only defined by our, excuse me, time on this earth, when we talk about the speed of light, or how long it takes objects to move through space, or the length of a day on Jupiter, we do so from a very egotistical perspective. Time is pretty much the one thing everyone can agree on. We may not always agree on what year or month it is (see the Hebrews or the Chinese), but basic building blocks of time, like the length of a second, those aren't really up for debate (nor does anyone want to debate them).
The essential problem with relativism, this idea that there are no absolutes, is that the very statement is a logical contradiction. So if time is relative (even though we can define it for one spot in the universe), is there really no time? Because for A to be completely relative, A cannot exist. This troubles me.
I find time fascinating. The way we want more hours in a day, the way we speed up and slow down our lives. The way time flies when you're having fun, and it drags like an anchor through a rock when you aren't. It's crazy how the breakfast I had this morning feels like ages ago, while the trip to the drive in from three years ago feels almost more present that the computer on my lap. It totally weirds me out.
What was the point of all this? Where was I going?
Ah yes...
It all comes back to our perceptions of reality. The relative reality? When time becomes something we exist with, as an object or idea unto its own, instead of something we exist within; we find that we are eternal. We live continuously in the past and the future, along with our present. It is in this way that we can grasp the idea of pure existence. We do not exist in time, we exist with time; a cosmologically indefinable concept.
Couple this finding with grace or love, and you find once more that these are not things we do; they are, like time itself, things we exist with. The nature of God, an other being who is eternal, is love, is grace; is omnipresent, omniscient, and at the very center of it all...here.
The broken world, as a place filled with despair, loneliness, misery, and injustice is a place that has forgotten the essence of eternity. We have forgotten that we are made in the image and likeness of an eternal being who calls us eternal and unto himself. We sometimes mistake our lives for ongoing movies, with characters and settings and conflicts, but most noticeably with beginnings and ends. No one remembers being born, and if you're reading this, you obviously have yet to die. In this way, we should cease to view our lives as movies, and start viewing them as lives.
When I think about it, a second is the building block of all the rest of our time managers. One minute is sixty seconds, one hour is sixty minutes, a day is twenty four hours, a year is three hundred sixty five days, and so on and so on.
when defined, by the International System of Units, a second is...
the duration of 9 192 631 770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium 133 atom.
...which essentially means that a very complicated formula involving Mean Tropical Years, the moons position to the earth and its affect on seasons and tides, and the earth's own rotation on its axis, and early astronomical observations, gives us today the known length of a second.
I got to thinking about how long a second is after I heard a guy lecturing about Albert Einstein's theory of relativity. You know, that E = mc2 thing that showed up in more than a few Tiny Toons episodes? Essentially he explained that the faster an object is moving, the slower time is moving relative to that object, be it a life form or not. I didn't quite understand how a second, as a length of time, could move any faster or slower, so after learning what a second really is, it makes more sense (even though I don't understand 90% of what I just wrote).
So if time as we define it is only defined by our, excuse me, time on this earth, when we talk about the speed of light, or how long it takes objects to move through space, or the length of a day on Jupiter, we do so from a very egotistical perspective. Time is pretty much the one thing everyone can agree on. We may not always agree on what year or month it is (see the Hebrews or the Chinese), but basic building blocks of time, like the length of a second, those aren't really up for debate (nor does anyone want to debate them).
The essential problem with relativism, this idea that there are no absolutes, is that the very statement is a logical contradiction. So if time is relative (even though we can define it for one spot in the universe), is there really no time? Because for A to be completely relative, A cannot exist. This troubles me.
I find time fascinating. The way we want more hours in a day, the way we speed up and slow down our lives. The way time flies when you're having fun, and it drags like an anchor through a rock when you aren't. It's crazy how the breakfast I had this morning feels like ages ago, while the trip to the drive in from three years ago feels almost more present that the computer on my lap. It totally weirds me out.
What was the point of all this? Where was I going?
Ah yes...
It all comes back to our perceptions of reality. The relative reality? When time becomes something we exist with, as an object or idea unto its own, instead of something we exist within; we find that we are eternal. We live continuously in the past and the future, along with our present. It is in this way that we can grasp the idea of pure existence. We do not exist in time, we exist with time; a cosmologically indefinable concept.
Couple this finding with grace or love, and you find once more that these are not things we do; they are, like time itself, things we exist with. The nature of God, an other being who is eternal, is love, is grace; is omnipresent, omniscient, and at the very center of it all...here.
The broken world, as a place filled with despair, loneliness, misery, and injustice is a place that has forgotten the essence of eternity. We have forgotten that we are made in the image and likeness of an eternal being who calls us eternal and unto himself. We sometimes mistake our lives for ongoing movies, with characters and settings and conflicts, but most noticeably with beginnings and ends. No one remembers being born, and if you're reading this, you obviously have yet to die. In this way, we should cease to view our lives as movies, and start viewing them as lives.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Trends, and our commitment to them
Earlier this month, I was listening to a panel of economists on the radio discussing whether or not we as a nation have entered into a recession. And while individually they offered up ideas and talking points, the thing that the group in its entirety agreed upon was that you can only know if you were in a recession after you come out of it. Like most bad trends. A lot of stuff is like that, when you think about it.
For instance, this was cool once...but we came out of it.
Same here,
and here,
and here. (I'm just kidding)
But then I got to thinking about the other side of all that. If on one end, you only knew what you were in after you come out, then what of those who at once find themselves in the middle of something they had never planned on?
The example that's popping into my head straightaway is commitment. People talk about it all the time, being committed to say a relationship, or a cause, or a job, or their studies, but what do we really know about it? And what then are we so afraid of? We're all committed to at least something, even if that one thing is our own happiness. (let me make a point that being committed to something does not ensure it's success) The fear of commitment baffles me, for so many of us have never been committed to a damn thing, yet at the same time, we say we are in search of new things, new experiences, and that to stay the same is to get stale. Maybe that's it right there, to commit to something, we have to stick with it for a while. And if we were to stick with anything, we'd miss out on all the rest life has to offer.
But when you think about it, how different is anything really? After a time, music is music, and clothes are clothes, and people are people. Here's an example.
When I was 16, I moved to Honduras. I really loved a lot of the people I met and had a wonderful experience, but at times I was incredibly lonely and morose. When I came home, it was a week before Christmas. I had to catch a few different planes and had an entire day of traveling ahead. When I got to Miami, I felt like I was home. Everything was written in English, the magazines I once read were on the shelves, and I couldn't hear any reggaeton music. Then I got to Chicago, were it was cold, and I once again felt like I was now home. People in coats, scarves, and hats. Then I got to Grand Rapids, to that old familiar terminal (when there are only eight, they all look familiar) and around the hall to see my parents, my sister, and my friends Matt and James waiting for me. Then I felt like I was finally home. Then after a drive through the city, back to the west suburbs, I again had that home again feeling. Sometimes I wonder that if I traveled through space for any length of time, and then got dropped off in the middle of China, would I feel that I was wonderfully back at home?
The point is, the way we perceive the world is relative to our place in it at any given moment. New things, new places, new people just haven't gotten old yet, but they're all probably old to someone else. If we think it's any different, we're just living a lie.
The reason I said that commitment is something you at once find yourself in is because I believe that to be the only way one can be actually committed. We may want to be committed to say a sport, or a girlfriend or boyfriend, but until we are, we're just trying to be. The decision is not whether we will become committed, but whether we will stay committed, keep trying to be, or quit.
For instance, this was cool once...but we came out of it.
Same here,
and here,
and here. (I'm just kidding)
But then I got to thinking about the other side of all that. If on one end, you only knew what you were in after you come out, then what of those who at once find themselves in the middle of something they had never planned on?
The example that's popping into my head straightaway is commitment. People talk about it all the time, being committed to say a relationship, or a cause, or a job, or their studies, but what do we really know about it? And what then are we so afraid of? We're all committed to at least something, even if that one thing is our own happiness. (let me make a point that being committed to something does not ensure it's success) The fear of commitment baffles me, for so many of us have never been committed to a damn thing, yet at the same time, we say we are in search of new things, new experiences, and that to stay the same is to get stale. Maybe that's it right there, to commit to something, we have to stick with it for a while. And if we were to stick with anything, we'd miss out on all the rest life has to offer.
But when you think about it, how different is anything really? After a time, music is music, and clothes are clothes, and people are people. Here's an example.
When I was 16, I moved to Honduras. I really loved a lot of the people I met and had a wonderful experience, but at times I was incredibly lonely and morose. When I came home, it was a week before Christmas. I had to catch a few different planes and had an entire day of traveling ahead. When I got to Miami, I felt like I was home. Everything was written in English, the magazines I once read were on the shelves, and I couldn't hear any reggaeton music. Then I got to Chicago, were it was cold, and I once again felt like I was now home. People in coats, scarves, and hats. Then I got to Grand Rapids, to that old familiar terminal (when there are only eight, they all look familiar) and around the hall to see my parents, my sister, and my friends Matt and James waiting for me. Then I felt like I was finally home. Then after a drive through the city, back to the west suburbs, I again had that home again feeling. Sometimes I wonder that if I traveled through space for any length of time, and then got dropped off in the middle of China, would I feel that I was wonderfully back at home?
The point is, the way we perceive the world is relative to our place in it at any given moment. New things, new places, new people just haven't gotten old yet, but they're all probably old to someone else. If we think it's any different, we're just living a lie.
The reason I said that commitment is something you at once find yourself in is because I believe that to be the only way one can be actually committed. We may want to be committed to say a sport, or a girlfriend or boyfriend, but until we are, we're just trying to be. The decision is not whether we will become committed, but whether we will stay committed, keep trying to be, or quit.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Living in the Yet.
The other day, I picked my dad up from the airport, for he needed a lift. My parent's had spent the last ten days in sunny Florida, soaking up sun and surf, coming back refreshed and rested. While there, they stayed with my grandparents, my mother's parents to be precise. Here's the thing about my grandparents: they are living large. To them, everyday is Saturday (at least that's what my grandpa says). They play golf, they play cards, they eat at the hippest establishments, they drink the finest red wines, and their winter home is hardly justified as a seasonal place. But the other thing about my grandparents is that they had it rough for an awful long time. Long story short, they were wicked smart and made some very insightful financial decisions. Whenever my parents spend time around my grandparents, a scene much like the following always happens.
So I pick my dad up (my mom had to go to Texas for work) and on the way home, he starts telling me about how my mom and him are gonna change things. They're not going to eat out anymore, waste of money. They're gonna stop drinking so much diet coke (no joke, thirty a day between them). No more impulse buys. The house is nice enough, no more painting rooms to match the painting they don't need. They're gonna make some real changes! However, my dad has been having this one-sided conversation with me since I was like eleven. And he knows what's coming, but I sure didn't.
"Dad, come one, you've been saying this stuff for years."
"Jordan, I mean it this time. Your mom and I really want to go through with it."
"Please man, just be honest about it."
"Dude, lay off. We're feeling really encouraged right now."
Encouraged? Really? I guess I can't argue with that. It sort of says, yeah, you're right, this won't stick, but don't kill my buzz man, I'm feeling really good about this. And you know what that reminds me of?
Church Camp.
You know those trips, junior high, high school, you go with your youth group, and at least two, but possibly all four of the following things (in reverse order of probability) happen.
1. A life altering prank is pulled
2. Some song you've never sang, or game you've never played becomes the most important thing ever.
3. the hook-ups. Either the one that was just waiting for this particular trip to happen, or the totally improbable, not-in-a-million-years at home hook-up.
and 4. You're relationship with God "happens".
Number four happens the most, followed closely by number three. Everybody goes to camp, or some retreat, and comes back as a prayerful, dedicated, devout, hands on, on fire, follower of Jesus (bless God, glory, hallelujah!) It tones down after a few weeks, and three months later, everyone is back where they started, stuck in the same normal rut. The same thing will happen to my parents as far as money goes. They do it with health too. Energy, dedication, passion, and romance, will soon be replaced by monotony, convenience, schedules, and routines.
But who am I to cast stones?
I know I sound like I'm ripping on my mom and dad, and I guess I am; but I am just as guilty as they are of being emotionally over-extended. I know that church camp analogy because I was that analogy for far too long. Honestly, most of my more negative ideas come from places that I helped build. My anti-church sentiments come from the horrors that I perpetuated, many times on my own accord, within the church itself. My anti-right wing feelings come from the scorn I held for all others when I was in fact, so far over on the right. Thinking about it, it is not that I feel contempt towards all these former things; I do in actuality hate the person I used to be. And I know this is true now, and I can only imagine it will be true in the future. Armed with this knowledge, I am acutely aware of the notion that I will someday hate who I am now, and this leads me to subconsciously now hate who I am.
I want to get past this, I need to get past this. I need to learn to live more in the moment. To forget some of the past, and not to, as Noah Baumbach once so eloquently wrote, become "nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday." I can't keep remembering things that haven't happened yet, if you know what I mean. I need to live more "in the yet."
Living in the Yet is an idea my buddy Caton and I thought up a few months ago, though it had been twirling around and around in our heads for some time. It is a rather abstract thing to explain, but I will give it my best shot.
Think about the word yet. What does it mean, when do you use it? It is at once a conjunction and an adverb (at times, even an idiom). Sort of like the letter Y being a vowel and a consonant. When used as a conjunction, it is bringing around the other side. Yada, yada, yada, yet... there's always something else coming around. It's either going to tell you what was really the good, or what was really the bad. Either way, it'll tell you what was really there.
If generation X was the ironic generation, then this generation is the Yet generation. We seek out the hidden, the underrated, the quiet, and distill the overexposed, the overrated, and the brash. You see it in popular culture too. Twenty years ago, everyone watched the same shows and listened to the same records. Today, webisodes last as long as our favorite bands do. We love what is here, yet we are looking for what's next. Does anyone remember that show on Comedy Central, Dr Katz? It was about a therapist and his celebrity clients. Awesome show that poked fun at all sorts of things. One of the earlier episodes featured a guy going on and on about not wanting to be first, but wanting to be next; like in a theme park line or right before a movie. That's how most of my friends and I feel today, I believe.
I love that show (good lord, I am referencing so much freaking TV!) quarterlife. There's this one part where Dylan, the main character, says that everyone in our generation was a prodigy, we were all wise beyond our years as children, precocious, talented. But no one told the adults in our lives after that. Today, we all hold onto this understanding of who were were, and who we could be. We just can't figure out who it is we are. Society has made being ourselves so easy, nothing is off limits anymore. It's so easy to be whoever we want that not many ever have to figure it out. We drift in and out of trends, superficially and on deeper levels as well, searching to be the kinds of people we ought, for when being yourself is allowed, it's no longer cool.
This generation anticipates its potential, yearning to actualize the yet. Hoping to become what it is that we were intended to be already. We go all out, yet we hold back. Uninhibited, yet so afraid. Communal, yet alone. Individuals, yet together in the same boat. We live in the yet.
So I pick my dad up (my mom had to go to Texas for work) and on the way home, he starts telling me about how my mom and him are gonna change things. They're not going to eat out anymore, waste of money. They're gonna stop drinking so much diet coke (no joke, thirty a day between them). No more impulse buys. The house is nice enough, no more painting rooms to match the painting they don't need. They're gonna make some real changes! However, my dad has been having this one-sided conversation with me since I was like eleven. And he knows what's coming, but I sure didn't.
"Dad, come one, you've been saying this stuff for years."
"Jordan, I mean it this time. Your mom and I really want to go through with it."
"Please man, just be honest about it."
"Dude, lay off. We're feeling really encouraged right now."
Encouraged? Really? I guess I can't argue with that. It sort of says, yeah, you're right, this won't stick, but don't kill my buzz man, I'm feeling really good about this. And you know what that reminds me of?
Church Camp.
You know those trips, junior high, high school, you go with your youth group, and at least two, but possibly all four of the following things (in reverse order of probability) happen.
1. A life altering prank is pulled
2. Some song you've never sang, or game you've never played becomes the most important thing ever.
3. the hook-ups. Either the one that was just waiting for this particular trip to happen, or the totally improbable, not-in-a-million-years at home hook-up.
and 4. You're relationship with God "happens".
Number four happens the most, followed closely by number three. Everybody goes to camp, or some retreat, and comes back as a prayerful, dedicated, devout, hands on, on fire, follower of Jesus (bless God, glory, hallelujah!) It tones down after a few weeks, and three months later, everyone is back where they started, stuck in the same normal rut. The same thing will happen to my parents as far as money goes. They do it with health too. Energy, dedication, passion, and romance, will soon be replaced by monotony, convenience, schedules, and routines.
But who am I to cast stones?
I know I sound like I'm ripping on my mom and dad, and I guess I am; but I am just as guilty as they are of being emotionally over-extended. I know that church camp analogy because I was that analogy for far too long. Honestly, most of my more negative ideas come from places that I helped build. My anti-church sentiments come from the horrors that I perpetuated, many times on my own accord, within the church itself. My anti-right wing feelings come from the scorn I held for all others when I was in fact, so far over on the right. Thinking about it, it is not that I feel contempt towards all these former things; I do in actuality hate the person I used to be. And I know this is true now, and I can only imagine it will be true in the future. Armed with this knowledge, I am acutely aware of the notion that I will someday hate who I am now, and this leads me to subconsciously now hate who I am.
I want to get past this, I need to get past this. I need to learn to live more in the moment. To forget some of the past, and not to, as Noah Baumbach once so eloquently wrote, become "nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday." I can't keep remembering things that haven't happened yet, if you know what I mean. I need to live more "in the yet."
Living in the Yet is an idea my buddy Caton and I thought up a few months ago, though it had been twirling around and around in our heads for some time. It is a rather abstract thing to explain, but I will give it my best shot.
Think about the word yet. What does it mean, when do you use it? It is at once a conjunction and an adverb (at times, even an idiom). Sort of like the letter Y being a vowel and a consonant. When used as a conjunction, it is bringing around the other side. Yada, yada, yada, yet... there's always something else coming around. It's either going to tell you what was really the good, or what was really the bad. Either way, it'll tell you what was really there.
If generation X was the ironic generation, then this generation is the Yet generation. We seek out the hidden, the underrated, the quiet, and distill the overexposed, the overrated, and the brash. You see it in popular culture too. Twenty years ago, everyone watched the same shows and listened to the same records. Today, webisodes last as long as our favorite bands do. We love what is here, yet we are looking for what's next. Does anyone remember that show on Comedy Central, Dr Katz? It was about a therapist and his celebrity clients. Awesome show that poked fun at all sorts of things. One of the earlier episodes featured a guy going on and on about not wanting to be first, but wanting to be next; like in a theme park line or right before a movie. That's how most of my friends and I feel today, I believe.
I love that show (good lord, I am referencing so much freaking TV!) quarterlife. There's this one part where Dylan, the main character, says that everyone in our generation was a prodigy, we were all wise beyond our years as children, precocious, talented. But no one told the adults in our lives after that. Today, we all hold onto this understanding of who were were, and who we could be. We just can't figure out who it is we are. Society has made being ourselves so easy, nothing is off limits anymore. It's so easy to be whoever we want that not many ever have to figure it out. We drift in and out of trends, superficially and on deeper levels as well, searching to be the kinds of people we ought, for when being yourself is allowed, it's no longer cool.
This generation anticipates its potential, yearning to actualize the yet. Hoping to become what it is that we were intended to be already. We go all out, yet we hold back. Uninhibited, yet so afraid. Communal, yet alone. Individuals, yet together in the same boat. We live in the yet.
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