Sleep Dep

Here's a friendly suggestion of awesomeness to play over the post, if you so feel (word of warning: it's not traditional music, so you may not like it the first listen... but give it time):



Truth be told, it's been quite some time since I've tried to update this blog, and even longer since I've actually posted. I suppose it has something to do with not feeling that I have anything worth saying before I have done something to back it up; if there's one thing that consistently that irks me, it's empty words.

So I haven't posted. But I've been doing a lot of doing. So that's cool.

I've learned a few things, too, in the vein of things that generally suck while you go through them, but somehow look back upon as growing times. Or maybe that's what your brain does to protect you from trauma-inducing experiences. Either way is fine with me, I think.

A Brief-ish Thought About Sleep Deprivation:

For a few months there, I was pulling twenty hour work shifts, hopping back and forth between two jobs. It was typical for me to see the sunset as I left my first job, only to watch it rise the next morning as I left the second. At first, I was ecstatic that I was able to work so much; most of the time I have a lingering guilt that clouds everything that I do that doesn't contribute to a paycheck. It prompted a certain adult freedom that I hadn't ever felt before. I began to seek out the early morning haunts that no one ever knows about: the all-night coffee places and open-way-too-early-in-the-morning pancake houses that only the rare patron greets at 5am. A french bakery that wafts welcoming waves of fresh-baked, honey-drenched croissant and french-pressed coffee air that is more than enough to get your salivary glands overworked anywhere within a two mile radius. A midnight diner that boasts mountains of sausage-gravy biscuits and cheese-enrobed scrambled eggs, with enough watery, burn-flavored coffee to drown the four-hundred-pound truckers and high-powered executives that were called to by name by the sugary-sweet waitress. I had discovered an unfamiliar culture that lurked in the uber-late and wicked-early. It existed in flashes of Hunter S. Thompson-esque surrealism, the product of an enthused exhaustion: shaking streetlights that trailed through the night, menacingly unending roads with beneficent streetlights, smiling waiters extending over-sized coffee pots and impractical advice, slow-moving passenger trains that came full of people and left empty, blurry menus of swedish omelets and mushroom sauces, dark stairways paved with astro-turf, loud non sequitur fireworks breaking the night's stillness, low-slung cars burning out tires and blaring subsonic bass.

This enthusiasm of discovery lasted approximately a month. Apparently sleep is somewhat functional, in that you don't function much without it. The evil of sleep-dep is subtle. There are the obvious side-effects: a perpetual hangover that affects everything that you do, the nodding off during intense situations, the forgetting parts of the day, the blurring of days into weeks into months. The obvious ones are easy to muscle through. Sheer will power. If you made it through finals in college, you've gotten this part mastered. It's the secondary effects that are way more devious and detrimental.

Here's the thing about sleep dep: it makes you tired of being tired. Infinite regression. Once you've begun the cycle, it becomes a spinning top of weariness that only increases its rotation, fueled by its own existence. It begins to erode your mind around the edges, numbing you to most things that were once sensitive. You begin to isolate yourself. Your interests shift from many to one primary goal: sleep. Future goals? Sleep. Long term plans? Sleep.

All other decisions are trivial.

Sleep dep is evil.

Needless to say, I quit my night job.

That Single Guy at a Marriage Seminar

This is the article that I was fortunate enough to be able to publish in Elevation Church's magazine a few weeks ago. Hope you like it!
-Matt

------

Nodding heads. A disarming amount of nodding heads.

My initial interaction with the work of Dr. Emerson Eggerichs was interesting, to say the least. Many soberly nodding heads. Instant agreement. It was like a super power. Anywhere I went, I could simply rehearse the major points of any chapter from whichever Dr. Eggerichs' book that I was currently reading and skeptically petrified heads would instantly bob up and down in unison, as if they had hit a speed bump on the same mental dashboard. While it's possible that I may have abused this newly discovered power (in hindsight, the dramatic wand flourishes and black top hat may have been overkill), I was naively surprised to find that these specific (and therefore paradoxically universal) truths were impacting me just as dramatically.

I was reading Love and Respect as I prepared to interview Dr. Eggerichs for this article. He was scheduled to visit Elevation as a guest speaker and, even though I was newly a writer, I had boldly volunteered to be the literary emissary representing Elevation Magazine. But, to be honest, despite my freshman enthusiasm I was still a little skeptical about reading the book. Why? Well, for starters, I was single. For me, the idea of reading a book on marriage problems was about as appealing as running through white-hot sand without wearing any shoes; just let me get to the beach first, then we'll talk sole ointment. Secondly, I was a single guy. While a single girl might receive a good-natured ribbing for daydreaming about the future, if I was caught reading a red and white striped book called Love and Respect while there was something even remotely manly going on, I was in real danger of having a bonnet duct-taped to my head. Thirdly, I was a single guy with a girlfriend, a sister and a mom. I was convinced: if there was a way to figure out a woman, it was beyond any normal human experience.

Dr. Eggerichs has that experience. I had finished reading his work; as I spoke to him over the phone, his twenty years of experience in church-pastoring and couples-counseling flowed over the conversation and filled in the many cracks that I found I had in my reading comprehension. His message is a simple one, in the vein of simple concepts that are able to slice through misconceptions like butter and completely change the way you act and think; yet this simplicity is at once strongly compelling and inherently frustrating, in that it takes real purposefulness and discipline to engage it. Centering around what he calls “probably the greatest treatises in the New Testament on marriage,” Ephesians 5, Dr. Eggerichs goes against the modern cultural grain in his ardent exhortation of husbands and wives: the summary verse, Ephesians 5:33, says that a husband must love, and a wife must respect.

“So again I say, each man must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.” -Ephesians 5:33

Realizing that while there was no debate on the first part of the verse, Dr. Eggerichs explained to me that the idea of a wife respecting her husband simply because he is a man was one that had gone largely unexplored, despite a clear context in scripture (as you might imagine, the “patriarchal nature” of the sentiment doesn't exactly warm the cockles of most popular political persuasions). But Dr. Eggerichs argues that despite the reactive nature of the idea, this differentiation between love and respect is a key insight to the marriage relationship (and male/female relationships in general).

“A wife has one driving need – to feel loved. When that need is met, she is happy. A husband has one driving need – to feel respected. When that need is met, he is happy.”

I can hear your head nodding. Even to a single guy, it's so obvious... once you see it.

Having spent nearly twenty years as the senior pastor at Trinity Church in East Lansing, Michigan, Dr. Eggerichs counseled an innumerable amount of couples, listening closely to their issues. After identifying the love/respect difference and finding the funding for a full academic exploration of the topic to be politically verboten, he created Love and Respect Ministries as a means by which men and women can learn to “decode” one another, using the trove of stories from his experiences to poignantly illustrate the ways that every relationship (even a good one) expresses conflict. Their website, loveandrespect.com, further extends support by providing forums on which couples can have questions answered and can find personal support through difficult times.

As our conversation began to wind down, I became acutely aware of the extent to which my own perspective filtered the way that I interacted with life. I found that my own story was intertwined with the stories of thousands of other relationships around me. That maybe the beach is not the only (or best) starting point for decoding my barefoot walk of respect into one of love. That perhaps a good-natured ribbing might possibly be a transliteration of a duct tape bonnet.

I remember how blessed I am to attend a church like Elevation Church. My perspective might be (quite) limited to that of a single male, but I have constant contact with thousands of other people who have perspectives that can inform and strengthen my own, from wildly varied backgrounds and life-experiences. I have access to amazing small groups that can give me direct personal support. I can sit under wise counsel like Dr. Eggerichs and Pastor Stephen. I have a tireless church staff that is ready to give everything in order to help me figure out this love and life thing. This love and respect and life thing.

As the interview coasted to a close, I caught my reflection in a mirror and noted, with little surprise, that it was nodding, too.

sleep is a currency

sleep is a currency
whose price
fluctuates in
tender
sometimes
it is worth
the exchange rate
other times
its worth
devalues
everything else

sleep is a currency
whose pace
fluctuates in
tides
sometimes
it is deeper
than you are tall
other times
it is shallow
the enemy of
progress

sleep is a currency
whose presence
fluctuates in
time
sometimes
it is gentle
in daydreams
other times
it is indefatigable
never satisfied
with substitutes

Two Jobs: A quick update on life, May 24, 2011

"Hell isn't merely paved with good intentions; it's walled and roofed with them. Yes, and furnished too." -Aldous Huxley

Obviously I haven't been as faithful to this blog as I have been over the past few months... I had every intention of posting something at least three times a week.

Here's the deal. I have picked up a second job... a night job. I'll be able to wax verbose on the subject later. Right now, I'm just tired.

In the time since I've blogged I've written an article for the upcoming Elevation Church article, which is cool. Once it's published, I'll throw a copy of the article up so you can see the extent to which I may or may not pander to specific audiences.

I say all that to say this: I may not blog for a while. I have many ideas, but no time to really cogitate. Perhaps that will change... hopefully I'll have a day off soon. Preferably one without obligation or travel. We'll see.

But right now... bed.

Good night.

A Quick Prayer Request -- Elevation Church Interview/Article

Just a quick update and prayer request.

As of a few months ago, I've been extremely blessed to be able to write for the Elevation Church Magazine. My first article, published in the 2010 "Year in Review" edition, was a moving testimony of one of Elevation's eKidz directors and her journey of faith through a wrecked marriage and single parenthood. The next edition is coming up pretty fast, and things are starting to reach due dates... which, of course, means that stress is building.

For this upcoming edition, my article will be featuring an upcoming guest speaker at Elevation: Dr. Emerson Eggerichs. He will be capping off our "Mr. and Mrs. Betterhalf" series with a message centered around his book, Love and Respect.

On Thursday, I will be interviewing Dr. Eggerichs for the article. I ask that you would be in prayer for the interview and subsequent article-writing, that I will be able to identify and convey clearly the message that God would have to show through this specific article to Elevation Church, and that the people that read it might be helped, challenged or otherwise enlightened by any information in it.

The magazine will be read by somewhere in the neighborhood of 8-10 thousand people. I say that not to try and throw numbers around, but to show the potential impact of what I pray will be an effective article. I say that also because it kinda freaks me out that so many people will read it... one misplaced comma slipping through means ten thousand misplaced commas throughout the city. I'll stick to grammar because I don't want to think about the impact of a fumbled message...

Needless to say, your prayers would be greatly coveted.

Thank you.

-Matt

Viral 5: A Bit of Philosophy

I've run across quite a few little philosophy-related videos as of late, so I thought I might share a few of my favorites.

1. If you have no idea who Stephen Fry is... well, that is a problem that needs immediate solution. Search for "QI: Quite Interesting" on YouTube and watch all of them. Seriously, right now. If you insist on reading this second-hand blog post instead... thank you. But QI is better.




This silly little series is worth checking out... pretty much just a cheeky brit summarizing enormous philosophies in three minutes or so. But it's fun.

*Caution: Rough Language...*




This was my introduction to a now-favorite philosopher: Cornel West. I completely fell head-over-heels in love with this dude... I have a hunch that you might, too.




Another cogent Cornel West clip:




Slavoj Zizek... this guy is a trip. He was also featured in the film "The Examined Life," where I also found Cornel West. Slavoj tends to make a lot of sense... be careful following his line of thought, however... it can be quite slippery.




Subtitles... worth reading, don't worry.







And now for an after-dinner mint... a palate cleanser, if you will:

A Case for Improvisation. Prelude: "Truth Transcends"

I will be working against all of my insecurities in this post; I feel it's important to do this, if just for brevity's sake. Therefore, I will try not to qualify much of what I'm going to say with my typical cheeky little quips or excuses/justifications. I am well aware that I'm not qualified whatsoever to make these sorts of claims... I'm positive that anyone with two licks worth of higher education can disprove this in a matter of seconds, but I'm not going to let that stop me from giving it a solid go. I probably should delay this posting to update myself in epistemological philosophy, but instead I'm going to be working off the top of my head on this one... I know, ballsy. Not really... I don't get much traffic from philosophers. And most of them punch like girls.

The purpose for this inquiry is to try and build a case for the acceptance of improvisational comedy as a legitimate art form, an all-encompassing, all-inclusive creative outlet and a unique platform for intellectual inquiry. I believe it to be one of the most exciting things that we (as a society) have stumbled into, and one of the worst utilized. In the status quo, we are taking a supercomputer and using it to make cartoons. This has got to change.

It's pretty important to establish this groundwork before I continue on to some bigger, more important posts that I have in the works. And even though I'm stupidly attempting to capture something that exists somewhere outside of language, or possibly even above knowledge altogether, I hope that it makes some sort of sense, in an elemental sort of way.

I'm going to begin this line of thinking with an assumption: there is an ultimate Truth.

At a very, very basic level, this Truth underlies the nature of everything, not in a Platonic disembodied way, exactly, but in a simple, everyday kind of way... it's just there from the beginning. It's how we can conceptualize anything. In a world that's in a perpetual quantum shift, it's how we can differentiate any one thing from another, from objects, to actions, to emotions, to ideas. Without this Truth everything would be nothing at all... vague enough? Identifying Truth is, at its basic level, a recognition of differences.

I can't resist at least one attempt to clarify... I know I'm breaking my own rules, but I'm worried that I'm coming across a bit too heady so soon in. Maybe it'll help to think of Truth as something like the idea of color. Let's assume, just for the sake of the illustration, that our only sensory input is visual. If everything were the exact same color, we would be completely useless. Blind as bats, we would have no way to tell objects apart. There would be no way to measure distance or length or breadth or anything, or even conceptualize those ideas. Everything would be nothing at all; we would be utterly helpless. Because we have different colors, and shades of the same color, we can tell the difference between one thing and the next. We are freed to live. Now, I'm not saying that there are differences in Truth in the same way that there are differences in color. I'm saying that Truth is the difference between the colors.

So Truth, then, separates dots from the background.

It is this Truth that is the medium for all metaphor. A simple, usable definition of “metaphor” is “understanding one thing in terms of another.” While identifying Truth is at first a recognition of differences, it is also a comparison of the resultant similarities. It's easy enough to see that when you have specific, observable differences, you can begin to group things together. Metaphors (literally meaning “to carry between”) find objects that are inherently dissimilar and find where they are the same.

Truth connects the dots.

Here's another way that metaphor is valuable. It is difficult to identify a new point of information (let's call it a “dot”) without being told where it is. You have to experience it, and that takes a lot of time and, often, random happenstance that is outside your control. Then you have to name it and find its place in your library of references, etc., etc... It's just a lot. [The more I chew on this idea, the more I'm convinced that everything that we learn must, by necessity, be digested in terms of metaphor; meaning, we conceive every new bit of information in the light of what we have previously learned. Perhaps learning, at its heart, is a metaphorical process... which has huge implications on the use of creativity in education.] Metaphor draws lines between known dots. Both are illuminated by the light of the other; we see both in new ways. But even further, lines (by definition) are a solid sequence of dots themselves. In one fell swoop they identify an untold number of new points of information and perspectives (which, perhaps taking the geographical imagery a bit too far, you could think of as “angles of connection between two or more dots”), each which can then connect to others, and so on. A web of connection and reference, each illuminating one another.

So... we have at least two dimensions of revealed Truth established.

First, in our inherent ability to recognize the difference between two objects, actions, values, etc.

Second, in our ability to identify similarities between two seemingly different objects, actions, values, etc,... In recognizing the two things as both different and similar at the same time (but maintaining their autonomy) we find a new aspect or dimension of Truth. A little bit deeper and more profound.

I'll end on this: a third dimension in which Truth works is in our ability to observe ourselves interacting with the first two levels of Truth. We can conceptualize ourselves both inside and outside the process. Take this essay for example. It's attempting to form a connection to the actual process itself, creating all kinds of havoc. It becomes a sort of meta-critical event, somehow floating over the process and reporting on it. Really this seems like something that shouldn't be possible, but it's yet another way for us to make a connection to the over-arching Truth that defines the differentiations to begin with.

All of these facets of Truth are inherent in our nature and are able to be exercised to greater effectiveness through practice and repetition. Being inherent, they were discovered facets and not created ones.

Why do I spend so much time attempting to describe some ambiguous process of evaluation that is an inherent, taken-for-granted part of life? Because ultimately it's important. We are able to become our own metaphors and can compliment, support and illuminate each other. We can consciously take the next step.

And it's just plain awesome to see the amount of complexity in which we live on a moment-to-moment basis. Beautiful, really.

And finally... the reason all of this is here. I was working towards paving a clear-ish road to this concept, which I plan on using to support further conjecture:

If something holds a value of being true, the same structures that make it true are valuable metaphorical assets and are cross-applicable to other disciplines as either support mechanisms or foundations for new exploration.

Specific truth can be cross-applied to specific aspects of specific disciplines.

Universal truth can be cross-applied universally.

Truth transcends.

Rusty Improv

There is a possibility that I'm going to be improvising in front of a crowd tonight.

This hasn't happened for quite some time.

There is a very real possibility that I'm going to be overwhelmed with a nostalgic attack and find myself huddled in a corner, sobbing. If the show is in "the round," that will make it weird for one or two people. If it happens, I'm totally going with it.

There's also the very real possibility that I'm going to end up playing the easy jokes and flirting with the scandalous, two no-nos of improv. But that's what happens when you haven't done it.

If i don't get a chance to perform... well, that will be a shame. For me, at least. I'd hate to think what the current students at NGU would think of a large anachronism bumbling around on stage pretending to be funny.

But ultimately it boils down to a "hit it hard" moment.


I've been playing a lot of disc golf recently. So naturally I've tried to find all the help that I can get from youtube videos, pro interviews, and the rare bits of anecdotal stuff that you might run across in a Play It Again Sports or on the course. One particular piece of advice seems appropriate for the improv situation:

Always try to sink the putt.

Ok... you might be only slightly whelmed at that quote. But when you are trying to decide whether or not to lay-up in front of a basket for safety, it's better to try for the basket and deal with whatever happens when you get there.

It's better to just go for it and fail than it is to play for safety.

Game on.

Blogger Intentionality

"If you aim at nothing, you'll hit it everytime."

I don't know who originally said that. But it doesn't matter.

I've been thinking about the intentionality of this blog site. Why am I blogging? Why should you read it? Why would I want you to read it? Should I want to want you to read it?

Some days I read a lot of blogs. Other days I don't read any at all. I'm hardly a faithful follower of any in particular. So I'm not sure of all the ins and outs of an intentional blog, outside of a professional attempting to bite-size-ify their vast knowledge of something specific.

I think what I do is a little different.

Well, I hope that it is.

I tend to synthesize everything that is going on in my life, both outside and in, and present it in a way that might be interesting to read or remember. Or confirm suspicions of my lunacy. It's cool either way.

Or maybe that's all in hindsight.

I think that philosophy is mostly in hindsight.

Perhaps theology, too.

Maybe intentionality is something to be handled loosely. Like most creative things, to put too much emphasis on the overt "Message" often kills the delicate nature of any beauty it might yield.

And beauty, as we all have experienced at some point or another, often serves to magnify any "Message" tenfold.

Jesus preached outright for a while, then turned to parables.

Did his intentionality change? Hardly.

But in parables everything gets swirled around a bit, and the interplay of culture and story and character and situation reveal different and exciting parts of each other.

May that swirling be my intentionality, too.

Having locked my keys in my car again...

I'm writing this while sitting alone on the concrete steps at Baxter. I have, for the second time in two weeks, locked my keys in the car. Whenever life events precipitate inaction, I've learned to take the opportunity to mine (as in "gold mine") the situation for applicable lessons. So I'm hashing things out on my phone.

In this particular situation, I have found two truths.

The first deals with the medium used for exploring the truth. One, A: proficiency determines the extent to which the truth is explored. I type slower on this cell phone. I make many mistakes, which force me to go back and change things. I can only elaborate so much. Certain detailing is simply counterproductive. One, B. The application. Pretty obvious. I'm limited by my own inability to pursue my train of thought and document it while it is still happening.

A random note... The passing breeze is carrying the thick, heady scent of honeysuckle. it's a rather good night.

Anyway, in such a way, the method by which you limit yourself (which anything structured inherently will)informs your content.

Chris is here to help me break into my car. I need to go.

The only other thing I had to say dealt with one action limiting your ability to do anything else.

But maybe that's too obvious.

Deli Etiquette

This is just a general list of basics for engaging a grocery store deli. While you can rest assured that one out of ten people have no regard for any etiquette at all, and therefore clumsily bulldoze their way around annoying everyone, here are just a few ideas to help the process go smoothly. You might think these are obvious... believe me, not everyone shares your view.

1. The scales all read in decimal, so please don't use ounces as a unit of measurement.

2. Please know what you are ordering before engaging a deli worker. It's fine to take two hours to figure it out... just don't have the gall to keep us waiting around for you to make the decision. (This happens a LOT)

3. Stay off your cell phone.

4. Ask questions. Questions are good. We have spent a long time with the product. It's much faster.

5. If you are nice, we will be nice, too. And vice versa.

6. Specific orders are good. It's more frustrating to have someone say, “Somewhere from half to three quarters.” We know darn well you are going to follow it with, “Just a few slices more.” Maybe a couple of times. Be specific, then ask for more.

7. Waffling is always annoying and time-consuming. [Questions don't count as waffling. Ask, then let someone else go.]

8. DON'T be upset when a deli worker doesn't hit your target weight on the nose. Every product is different. Always expect a .05-.1 variance. Over that, it's fine to ask for more/less.

9. Seriously... Stay off your cell phone.

10. Saying “Perfect!” even when it isn't, is comforting. Saying “That will do,” when we skillfully hit your off-kilter order perfectly... well... we don't really like you very much.

11. There's a fine line between being a punk and letting us know you are there, but please don't just stand there expecting that we'll see you. We probably won't. Or, honestly, we may ignore you until you express your readiness. We have a lot of things to do outside of slicing.

12. Phone orders are fine, as long as you don't act like a jerk when it doesn't come out exactly as you thought. You weren't there to make sure, were you? English is a second language for most of these guys. Be patient.

13. Multiple orders are great, as long as you let us know at the start, so that we can get help. This is probably my biggest pet peeve. We can be efficient if you are.

14. STAY OFF YOUR CELL PHONE.

15. Don't walk away unless you ask if it's ok to go. You started a transaction. See it through. It's only three minutes of your day.

16. Regulars are always treated better than strangers. Always.

Now, I realize that not all delis are as busy as the one where I work, but come on... these are not revolutionary tips, people.

Just be human.

My Life as a Poe Hoe

Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio. - Seneca

"Nothing is more hateful to wisdom than excessive cleverness." Just in case you were wondering about that quote. It's my only apology for the horrific title of this post. It's also the epigraph to Poe's "The Purloined Letter." And, according to Wikipedia, Seneca probably didn't even say it. Which might be funny, in an "Edgar, you rogue," sort of way.

As you probably know, in "The Purloined Letter," *spoiler alert* Poe's Dupin solves the mystery of a hidden letter by realizing that it's sitting in the open. *end spoiler alert*

It's a perspective thing.

As usual.

"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better purpose in the dark."

"That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who had a fashion of calling every thing "odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of "oddities."

I'm hardly breaking new ground by realizing that I live too far away from where I actually am. Resting on un-gotten laurels. Searching the forgotten corners of life for a meaning. Making simplicity incredibly complicated.

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing more in the assassination way, I hope?"

"Oh no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively odd."

"Simple and odd," said Dupin.

"Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether."

"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at fault," said my friend.

"What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, laughing heartily.

"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said Dupin.

"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?"

"A little too self-evident."

"Ha! ha! ha! --ha! ha! ha! --ho! ho! ho!" --roared our visitor, profoundly amused, "oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!"

I forget that effort is not necessarily the engine for satisfaction. That trying so hard to "find the answer" often makes seeing it impossible.

Sometimes you need to relax.

Sometimes you need to have fun.

One thing is for sure: if you get too far ahead of yourself, you will end up falling two steps backwards for every forward step.

It's ok to be a farmer. Farmers have no choice but to do things in order.

Farmers deal with growing things. Growing things take time. They take work.

Farmers don't reap before it's time to harvest. They don't plow through seedlings. They don't plant one seed over another. There's an order to their work cycles.

That's not to say that the process is flat or uni-dimensional.

Farming is not boring. Good farming is diverse. While easier and potentially more lucrative, monocultures end up, ahem, putting all the eggs in one basket. But it's unwise.

I won't get too deep into it. Even though I'm sure you've figured out the obvious comparisons, I'll probably blog on monocultures more later. But for now...

1. Don't look too hard for something that may be in front of you the whole time.
1b. Don't use "exploration" when "realization" is needed.
2. Don't reorganize the cycles. They are in that order for a reason.
3. Give the plants some time to grow. Some things grow slower than others.
3b. Make sure everything is still growing. Dead things don't grow. If need be, prune that sucker.

Arcade Fire beachballs

These may be taken down in the next few days (jealous festival and all)... but watch these in order... Arcade Fire is doing some cool stuff.









http://www.thecreatorsproject.com/summerintodust

Zenitram Ttam

I've spent a lot of time alone recently. It may be because I stay up past the witching hour and sleep until I have to go to work in the darker parts of the afternoon. Or possibly because I have a long commute to work, so it just seems that I'm always in a state of mind for reflection. The scenery zipping past seems to compel me to look inward at the same rate. Regardless... as of late, reflection is the way of mirrors and Matt Martinez.

I miss my friend Matt Thomason. He would always take a mundane situation and swirl it around like so many tea leaves preparing for a reading. He often called me Zenitram Wehttam. Zenitram Ttam, for short. He would giggle, as if conjuring a new nominative attribute might endow me with the same onomatopoeic robot features that it implied.

Sometimes it did.

I'd repeat it, “Zenitram Ttam,” and do a gawky impression of the dance.

He'd laugh again.

I've grown to know Zenitram Ttam better than I probably should. He doesn't speak much. He holds eye contact for uncomfortable lengths. He doesn't seem to mind that I'm around, although he tends to back away if I do.

He thinks he has big ideas. He fancies himself creative, knowing full well that creativity implies a created object. He gets excited about things that haven't happened yet. He reads nonfiction books solely for their value as a metaphor and enjoys them greatly. He pursues a vibrant spiritual life. He's friendly and outgoing most of the time. He loves his girlfriend and tries to call every day before and after work. He has little old Italian ladies visit him at his part-time job with bags of chocolate that they hide in their purse until he gets them, “so that the other guys don't get jealous.” He has Catholic and Muslim coworkers that love him. He was deeply pleased when the Japanese sushi guy and Venezuelan cheese woman got into an argument as to whether he was a Japanese “twin brother” or Venezuelan “my boy.”

“No, baby, that's MY boy.”

He lives in the future and forgets that it takes the present to get there. He neglects friendships, perhaps mistakenly assuming that they'll be there when he finally becomes worth being friends with. He sometimes chooses to sleep rather than do important life tasks. He sometimes doesn't love his girlfriend with enthusiasm. He flirts with universalism and worries that he may slide down the slippery slope of atheism if he's not careful. He caught himself standing by his car during a break today, blinking at the sun and realizing that he really hasn't stood in sunlight for quite some time.

Zenitram Ttam changes, too. Sometimes it's hard to tell, but it happens. Subtle shifts from day to day.

I think that he looks older than he used to look.

I wonder if he thinks the same about me.

So, if I may, I'd like to list a few things that I've learned from him. They aren't profound, but I don't care. Perhaps profundity comes in the accrual of many simplicities.

The more you are alone, the more your ego grows. You can't really help it. You can't really notice it, either... until suddenly it's bumping its massive head on the ceiling and you have to deal with it. It's a result of a lack of perspective. Many perspectives balance your own limited one. Humility comes in conjunction with community, with whose “boy” you are.

If there was one piece of advice I'd dare to give anyone who comes after me, it would be that the most important choice in life is what community you allow yourself to be a part of.

One of my favorite quotes is said by the character Ender in a book by Orson Scott Card. “I find out what I really want by seeing what I do.” That idea has lodged in my head and won't shake loose. It is never more true than when you are alone... it's like the definition of character that I was taught growing up: your character is who you are when no one is looking. You find out what you really value by seeing what you do when you are alone. Just the realization of this truth is enough to help you change it. Or at least arrange it more ideally.

Some guy once said that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” That's easy to say when your life is mostly in hindsight. It's another thing altogether when you're trying to build a life from nothing. How about “the examined life takes your eyes off the road.”

There's a concept in acting that might be relevant here: dual consciousness. I was trying to explain this concept at a rehearsal for my improv small group last week. It's the idea that an actor is aware that he or she is onstage in front of an audience, but is also fully immersed into a character. It's kind of what acting is all about; you exist in the present and the future at the same time, mentally (duh). As an actor, you are constrained by what you have to do as the character. You have a mark to hit and objectives to fulfill. But you also have to position yourself to be fully visible to audience, avoid surprising your fellow actor into messing up or breaking, not knock over set pieces, remember lines... you have to maintain more than one focus, and do it believably. [For bonus points, I dare you to perform while being existential about your real life...]

It's kind of like driving a car: going forward while glancing in the rear view mirror and back up and down at the gauges and back up. With the sun in your blinking eyes.

It's kind of like living life while examining it at the same time. Without knocking over set pieces.

It's kind of like making friends with your reflection and learning from his mistakes.


Sometimes I smile at Zenitram Ttam.

Occasionally his return smile seems... ironic.

… that punk knows something that he's not telling me...

Viral 4: Listen to This, acoustic guitar edition

A few acoustic guitar songs from my favorite musicians that force me to hit the repeat button over and over.

Enjoy.

If you don't enjoy them, don't bother telling me; I'll just immediately judge that you have terrible taste in music. [I'd put an emoticon here to indicate sarcasm, but if you didn't pick up on it, you probably shouldn't be reading this blog anyway]


The Tallest Man on Earth



The moving live version is also worth checking out. As is every song he has ever sung ever.

Sam Amidon



This guy is a ball of goof. And I love him. Check out his quirks in the live version. Well worth the whistle.

The Books



Besides being a friggin' amazing concept, this song is just awesome. I'd recommend the whole album, along with their blog (as a sort of road map for its seeming randomness).


So that's all for now. Just wanted to share. Feel free to reciprocate.

Ramshackle

So we're looking at apartments, Chris and I, and the ones that are within our price range are... well, not ideal. One apartment in particular sticks out... really, the only one comfortably within our price range. It sits on Baxter Street.

Baxter Street is an anomaly. Located between Luther Street and Henley Place and right off of Queens Road, Baxter Street has all the locational pedigree one could hope for. Tree-lined roads lead through upper-upper-middle-class suburban paradise. Glimpses of the Charlotte skyline peep through, winking opulence between houses reminiscent of Italian villas and Georgian Colonial double-chimneyed mansions. Occasionally there is a name in front: The Duke Mansion stands as a cornerstone of the community, forcing cars to slow down and appreciate the grandeur through which they are privileged to be passing. And there... smack in the middle of success-ville... lies Baxter Street.

Baxter Street is obviously aspiring for something far beyond its reach. It sits ignored like a fault line between productive societies, deep enough to seem inescapable. It is the very definition of juxtaposition. It is the beach on which urban crests into suburban. Baxter Street is a tide pool.

I remember one late summer when my family went to the Jersey shore. As I recall, a storm had raged miles off the coast the night before, churning up the freezing water from deeper parts of the ocean, causing an immense amount of dense fog and a strangely cool breeze despite the time of year. Or maybe it was just Jersey, it's hard to tell. Regardless, it was cold, so although everyone had removed their footwear, no one was quite courageous enough to approach the ocean's unpredictable wave patterns. Instead, everyone played in the tide pools.

Of course, in the true spirit of family vacations, we decided that it was necessary to splash a bucket of the cold water onto Mom. I mean, come on... it was inevitable. I forget who threw it, which probably means it was me. She saw it coming and started to run away, squawking loudly. It was the running that caused the problem, as she was watching the bucket and not the beach (which is, in itself, a lesson). The water was aimed squarely below the neck when it was thrown, but, due to an unforeseen dip in the sand, it slammed heavily into the side of her head. A big bucket full of stagnant tide pool water right in the ear... needless to say, she had a massive ear infection for weeks afterward.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it was Miles who threw the water, the scamp.

Baxter Street is a tide pool and it has shocked me into sobriety.
I deserve to live on Baxter Street.
I know this.
In overly-dramatic terms, this realization is causing me a raging ear infection of the MIND (I'd make the font bigger to highlight the ridiculousness of that statement, but you get the picture)

No matter how much I can explain it away with phrases like "personal efficacy" or "cultural/societal restraints," the fact is that I haven't played the game. I've placed myself in a rich culture without concern for preparation, expecting my surroundings to influence my actions and appearance. My occupational floors are warped with the effects of extreme temperature, having neglected a central heating and air. My attitudinal stove is rusted over with poor usage. My communal wires are exposed and disconnected. My emotional storage space is so small as to be considered non-existent. Physically... well... I think I've made my point.

The funny thing is, we're probably going to live on Baxter Street, at least for a while.

It takes time and elbow-grease for restoration.

Little Distractions

I'm sure everyone goes through this. Correction: I'm sure every non-medicated person goes through this. I've never taken Ritalin, but I'm craving the idea something fierce right now.

Here's the deal: I have like thirty hours to complete my grad school application in order to be considered for a scholarship for the coming fall semester. But, in true slacker fashion, I have managed to find everything else far more interesting. Here's a quick list of some of the more interesting distractions I've managed to find over the last hour or so:

1. The new Rob Bell book controversy.
-Just a couple reflective thoughts on this one. First, I still like Rob Bell. He's been on the fringe of the Christian realm for a while now; his struggles with the established church are struggles that I share, albeit in my case on an impotently mental level. And it irks the hell out of me (see what I did there?) when the untouchable ones (Piper, Driscoll, etc) react as pompous jerks sneering off of theological high-horses. But now I'm being as judgmental as
they are... ah, the temptations to engage in the mud of church battlegrounds. I'm definitely going to read the book, though.

2. Catch up with the Oscar results, as I was busy watching "Let Me In" and "The Social Network" during the live broadcast. Both movies are amazing, just in case you wondered.

3. My favorite web comic

4. Reddit, of course... still giggling at this and this... and still kinda annoyed at this.



5. Reflect on my fear of success and fear of failure and general lack of personal efficacy, remember not to be negative about what I don't have, buckle down and attempt to finish the autobiographical section of the application... immediately get massively overwhelmed and retreat to a blog to distract myself even further.

So now, to complete the cycle, off I go to see if I can make it another round with life.

Hehe... dropped my taco...

Cowpens: February 27, 2011

its roots
silently reach
towards conversation
wet and heavy
its tides groan
beneath the gentle gravity
of palms
it soft-shoes in
selfish
hourglass sands
sometimes
it has two
left feet

two trees stand vigil
on ancient battlegrounds
freshly watered
they whisper wisdom
in the winds
I wonder if
their roots
are connected
too

we are seeds
with self-sustenance
for a brief moment
but then must grow
roots
and often bark
and sometimes leaves

some things are seasonal

i've found
i'm not
an evergreen

winter only seems
like death
but i've still got
some sap

i know i'm not poplar, birch
but
if i can
i decide you, us

Möbius Strip

I'm 26 now. Awesome.

I'm tired of prefacing things.

List:

1. Measureless goals are empty dreams.
2. Excellence and elitism hold hands.
2b. Elitism and nepotism hold hands.
3. Direction and progression are not the same.
4. Meditative, present-oriented self-actualization is useful only if you have money.
5. No one seems to differentiate between what God does and what you do under the influence of a God-flavored motivation or strategy.
5b. Are what God does and what you do under a God-flavored motivation equally important?
5c. Why do I feel tricked when I'm told that God won't work unless I do first?

I've been trying my best to lose control, but control is an onion.

Control is an onion shaped like a möbius strip; internal and external, but you still can only get to it from one side at a time.

Losing control is trickier than seizing it.

I've been thinking a lot about trying not to think about everything a lot.

Like a character in a play, only actions that arise out of necessity bring progression to the story. The absence of necessity easily facilitates the absence of action. The absence of action stops any progression, resulting in dissatisfaction. There is no story. Two roads present themselves: passivity and activity. Passivity yields to the inaction... which is an action. One road presents itself: activity, either positive or negative, internal or external. Passivity is an illusion. There is always a story. The absence of satisfaction brings action. Action easily facilitates the awareness of necessity. Like a character in a play, actions that create necessity bring direction to the story.

I've been doing a lot that seems like spinning my wheels.

Seizing control is easier than losing it, but it requires both direction and progression.

Once upon a time a farmer went to market and purchased a fox, a goose, and a bag of beans. On his way home, the farmer came to the bank of a river and hired a boat. But in crossing the river by boat, the farmer could carry only himself and a single one of his purchases - the fox, the goose, or the bag of the beans. If left alone, the fox would eat the goose, and the goose would eat the beans. The farmer's challenge was to carry himself and his purchases to the far bank of the river, leaving each purchase intact. How did he do it?

I've been trying my best to find control, but control is an onion.

Melodrama

Sometimes drama is laughable.

Thoughts on Memes: A new obvious

A significant benefit of the media age is a new appreciation for the ways ideas travel. Prior to the internet, it was obvious that ideas spread fastest and furthest by word of mouth. Why? Well, for one, it simply wasn't possible to demonstrate what you meant otherwise. Language was king. The radio, and eventually television, allowed voices to travel to corners of the world that had never been directly exposed to the concerns of the wider populace. We're just now getting accustomed to the exposure (now global), and now we're being forced deal with the fallout: communication has been pushed further than the boundaries of language itself. It has shifted from speech to demonstration.

Technology favors the meme. From cups with strings, to telegraphs, to telephones, to video chats. From oral tradition, to written word, to printed books, to blogging, to vlogging. It could be that tech trends determine the ways that memes are propagated, but it seems more likely that successful trends become successful because they make meme propagation more efficient. Perhaps we have misjudged the active player. Perhaps the meme favors technology.



The obvious has changed.

Ice

I had to get up early this morning, like before-sun-is-up early. Like punch-yourself-in-the-face early. Like fall-asleep-standing-up-in-the-shower early. Now, I knew that I was going to do this. I had thought ahead for once, and had given myself a mental pat on the back for seeing future problems and waylaying them.

It had been a southern snow day, which generally means a few inches of snow and clear roads on which not one stinking person knows how to drive. My brilliant idea was this: get a jump on the ice situation by brushing off all the snow the night before, so that when I came out the next morning my car would be pristine and I would be able to just jump in and take off down the road.

As with so many future plans, it didn't exactly work out as planned.

I stumbled out onto the icy sidewalk and looked with pride at my slick, shiny car... completely sans-snow. Woot. As I slid over the sidewalk, I hit the button in my pocket which unlocked the driver's side door. I pulled open the door. Correction: I tried to open the door. As I pulled, I realized that my journey was going to be delayed... quite delayed. After a stubbornly resistant wrenching, the half-inch of crystal-clear ice shattered from around the door frame with a loud crack, coating the inside of my car with large shards. Shards of ice and muttered choice words.

There are times in life where a new lesson is learned instantly. These lessons typically follow failure.



As I'm sure many of you have known (and have judged me for the last few paragraphs), it's not always the best idea to remove snow from your vehicle, even if you think it may save time in the long run. Or to give yourself something to do on long snow days. Because, as I learned in approximately three microseconds, it is WAY harder to remove ice from the surface of glass than it is from the surface of six inches of snow. Snow brushes away easily... glass does not. Well, it does if you break it. But it's preferable to break snow than your windshield.

Twenty minutes later, having started my car, cranked the heat and engaged any sort of thermal-related function in my Focus, I managed to chip away a weakness in the solid sheet of what might as well have been iron.

How like life.

Patience

"Knowing [this], that the trying of your faith worketh patience." -James 1:3

Ok, this one's from experience. You'll just have to trust me on this one.

Here's what you do when your patience is being stretched:

Breathe and remember that you are not in control of everything.

Seriously. Read the verse. Faith and patience are clearly linked.

BREATHE.

I'm not kidding. This is what it's all about. Perspective. Take a step back.

REMEMBER.

This includes the little things. Remember that there aren't "little things." You exist in an interconnected world. There are designs at work that are bigger than yours.

You are NOT in control of everything.

Blunt implication: Get over yourself. Patience is recognizing a higher power at work than YOU getting what YOU want, when YOU want it. You are important, it's true. You have real value. But you are also too limited to see that you are way too stupid to understand everything. Get over yourself and widen your gaze a bit.

Breathe and remember that you are not in control of everything.

"Cease striving and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." -Psalm 46:10

Patience.

Permanence v. Impermanence

In an age where digital presence is really the most far-reaching method of creative reach, what is the current value of impermanent media? Something to think about.



There's something truly profound when you find yourself caught up in something happening in front of you. You see things from your own standpoint and not one determined for you by a man dressed in black with a lensed box on his shoulder. A creative act can truly be directed AT you, because you are the one standing smack in front of it. It can be a life-changing experience. It can be something that you'll never forget. You were THERE. You FELT it.

On the other hand, permanent media (such as youtube video, dvd, recorded music, etc... you know what I'm talking about) has a much harder time directly connecting to an audience. Even a video recorded for a specific event can completely miss the mark if the atmosphere isn't right or if something is distracting, etc... it's impersonal and will barrel through even the most hostile of situations, not yielding to the moment. A steamroller whose motto is “Catch as catch can.” To be honest, it thumbs its nose at the individuals watching it, as they have no choice but to engage it on predetermined grounds or miss out on the experience, because nothing they do can change what happens. It's a one-way street.

So from an audience's standpoint, it seems as if the impermanence of an event heightens the creative potential, and often the importance. I know, not a revolutionary thought. It's easy to see how a live event (even if it's a set performance that has happened many times) has its own inherent value. It has an ephemeral quality... now it's here, now it's gone. This will never happen again in the exact way that it just happened, so pay attention. As they say, you can never step in the same river twice. And, for the most part, they are right.

But it may not be so easy an answer, this valuation of impermanence above the rest. In the case of an artist hoping to find an appropriate niche, it's certainly a difficult situation. Does one train (yes, training is an essential part of art... it doesn't just appear out of thin air, thank you) to provide an audience with fleeting art, one that is beautiful for a moment and then is gone? Because here's the deal: a portfolio is a good thing to have. To have a good amount of experience in permanence allows you to be able to provide future employers/agents/managers with evidence of capability. Audience testimony typically doesn't impress a professional. Just sayin'.

So from an artist's standpoint, it seems as if the permanence of an event provides a larger audience and proof of a job well done. The payoff seems much higher for the artist whose niche is in something that will last, meaning the creation of an event that is both reproducible and distributable. Fred is creating an artistic experience that will last longer and impact more people than, say, any artist near you.

Which brings up my final rabbit trail: cultural impact. The scope of culture has gotten too far out of hand to reign back in. The vocabulary of art is now a global one. Whereas the local artist was once able to address local issues to locals, now the global artist is the primary influence. Why? Because he or she is most likely far better as his or her craft than the local artist. And of course they are. They have to be to make it to that point. They are, by definition, better than all the other local artists... insofar as they have mass appeal. But here's the trick (brace yourself... this is a bit muddled): the tastes of the masses to whom they are appealing are now based on the features of those who have attained that mass appeal. Ok... we made it, but that was rough. I'll restate: most people now compare the art that they are viewing to a global standard. Why? Because now everyone has access to it, whether on TV or on the internet. That's all we know. We're not stupid. We want the good stuff if we can get it. But it has created a great gulf fixed between local and global art. In short, this sucks and is stupid. I could go on... there's a pretty good comparison between this and consumerism in general, and it's pretty dead-on with the idea of locally grown food versus the supermarket, but I'll spare you. Yes, yes, you're welcome.

So what should an artist strive for? It's hard to tell. Personally, I think that an impermanent event that comes organically from a community is the most powerful kind of art. It most reflects real life. It elicits the most catharsis; it evokes the greatest power. It's real. And when it can't be reproduced in the same way, there's a possessive value to it; it becomes yours to remember. However... it seems that the map has lost the territory. Culture has created a platform to display the artistic output of the global community, and in return the global artistic output has limited the language of the community to strictly global terms. To fully meet the expectations of the new techno-savvy, globally-aware audience, an artist is forced either to re-train his audience (much like an optometrist re-trains the eyes of his patients so they can see near AND far) or succumb to the new language of culture and work in a medium that is easily digestible to the audience. We're not used to making our own art. It's given to us, right? You just have to get online or turn on the TV.

It's a tricky game, this art thing.

This is a very personal subject, I realize. Some musicians are better on their albums than they are live. Some subject matters are better suited for movies than live plays. Some writers should be shot. But there needs to be a balance. It seems that we are in a time where if a piece of art can't translate to youtube, it's not going to make the rounds and be experienced by those who need it. And, yes, that's just wrong. But that also means that an artist has to think about how they come across to an audience that's used to getting their artistic references in binary.

So... what do you think? Is it worth the effort to produce art that will only be experienced as it happens? Or would that energy be better put to use in creating a permanent art that might be able to outlive the artist or... gasp... go viral?

-Matt
www.mypatchworkpants.blogspot.com

The Ache of the Artist

Yes, I realize that the economy of my words is so grossly over-inflated that it's waiting for the townspeople to rise up and rush the courthouse.

Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. -Rilke

Now I'm not going to call this is a rant, per se... More of a need to express the growing emotions that have been surging in my spirit over the last few days. Call it cathartic, I guess. I completely understand if you don't have the will or the patience to work your way through this slog of a post; to be honest, I barely have the will or the patience to write it. But write it I feel I must do... compulsory to some extent. It's all that is allowed for me to actually physically do, as recently my car's transmission gave up the ghost in front of the Total Wine as I was on my way to the Booksamillion on Harbison Blvd, keeping me from driving back to Charlotte (not that CLT is doing me any good at this point...). So I suppose this is preferable to walking a hundred miles, although my feet won't be able to do any moving and will continue to move as if I have somewhere to go.

So here's a snarky "All hope abandon blah blah blah." Fair warning. This is going to be in the typical nature of blogs, that is to say completely self-oriented and/or self-obsessed. It's the only way.

--

Marley was dead to begin with. In this particular drama, playing the part of Marley is my enthusiasm for a recent move to Charlotte, NC. This ordeal, for all those somewhat distanced from the situation (which, if you're reading this blog, hi. We should hang out.), was something of an impulse thing. I had been living in Greenville, SC long enough to really feel the smallness of the town and my own life's experiences, namely two years. The growth of the local community belied the abandonment of my own. I hadn't attended a church faithfully since... well, since recent memory. I had gotten way, way out of the habit during my undergrad years, because the traveling drama team visited a new church every week. And I suppose my standards are perhaps a bit on the impossible side, but there were no churches in the upstate South Carolina area that I felt even marginally interested in attending. That aside, my desire to be in and amongst the Church was growing at a rate proportional to my waist size. That is to say, growing quickly and unceasingly. When an opportunity appeared, I ran with it. Not in an aerobic sense, although the thrift that was thrust upon me has seen to a reducing of the aforementioned waist. And now, in the aftermath of that haste, I find myself torn.

Here's the deal. Elevation Church (the impetus for my spring from SC) is generally known to be among the most creative churches in the world. They consistently produce some of the most interesting visual content that exists in the church-at-large, and possibly anywhere outside of professional movie studios. And yet, despite their visual excellence, they tend to lack content that might provide a suitable empathetic or intellectual response that might fully complement the bravado shown by their illustrious leader, Pastor Stephen Furtick. I'm just calling it how I sees it. And that's how I sees it. Polished, yes. Pretty, yes. Innovative, sometimes. Revolutionary... almost. Not quite.

Here's where this post might take a turn for the bloggy (as if it hasn't been there for at least three hundred words). In the interest of full disclosure, I already know how unqualified I am to be saying what I'm saying. There is no reason that anyone should listen to a word that I have to say in regards to anything. And still I write. This intrigues me.

Here lies the crux of my concern. This is what I would like to explore in this wordy tub o' thought: is it appropriate or prideful to speak forcefully and honestly about matters that you only have thought-equity invested in? To rephrase: in this case, is it my RESPONSIBILITY (emphasis mine)to contribute my perspective to a church's creative leaders or simply a prideful attempt at finding my own significance, even if an unintended side-effect? ... and, depending on the answer, what's the implication on a Christian's responsibility to contribute to the body of Christ if they have no vested authority in their respective fields?

I'll even take another step back and go completely universal for a sec. What is the appropriateness for a layperson, driven though he may be, to walk into a respected place of worship and ask if he can play, too? A gray area in practicality, although on paper it sounds relatively easy. There are many factors that prevent one from walking on water: buoyancy, surface tension, salinity, etc. Not to mention that only one non-deity was documented doing it, to relatively ill-effect. And certainly it is not advisable to step into a neighbor's yard to borrow their pool for a bit while they are in the midst of a brutal water polo match. Even if you say excuse me as you take the first step.

So I move to Charlotte with the hopes of contributing my two cents. So here's derr strooggle: Which is the less-prideful decision? 1. To focus on my own relationship with Christ and with others that I come into contact with and wait patiently for opportunities to arise organically from situations (in other words, be passive), or 2. Be proactive and attempt to insert myself strategically into the workings of a powerful Christian zeitgeist-factory? Honestly, not an easy one. On one hand, all things will be on the timetable of God and his working, but then again, it's more advisable to throw your seed onto fertile soil (although this last metaphor seems a little risque, it's the best one I could think of).

I know that I'm not going to "arrive" if ever I am allowed to participate with the creative team. I just desire the opportunity to be able to even start the process of learning from hands-on experience and grow slowly into an effective artist. And so far, I've either pulled the rug out from under myself as I am engaging with the church to keep from doing it for the wrong reasons, or gotten bitter that I've ended up homeless (oh yeah, I'm def not living in my own space, but on the continuing good will of a benefactor and couch).

Perhaps I can't answer this question just yet. It's still maturing, as am I.

And I know that this issue is not as dichotomous as I'm implying. There's of course the fear of failure that is ever-present, and also a personal reaction against it. There's the resentment that I have to force myself upon someone in order to proceed with my life. There's a ridiculous quality in pursuing an artistic life in general, though I know that such a life in the church would be the only thing that would satisfy my intellectual/emotional needs. There's the time-consuming exhaustion of working a terrible job. There's no personal space for reflection.

There's the irrepressible ache for artistic outflow that remains dammed up inside and swirling as if there's a brutal water polo match raging.

It's as if my transmission has seized up in front of the Total Wine on Harbison Blvd, that I have no way of fixing it myself, grinding my forward momentum to a halt.

Not even one step.

Excuse me.