I'm not sure if anyone agrees with me, but I have found that I have a hard time doing things for myself that are necessities or that make me happy. Take making dinner for example. I have a hard time motivating myself to make dinner for myself when it was just me in Tampa over the summer, but I'll do it in a heartbeat for April if she's had hard day and needs some time off her feet. The Gym is another example. When I went to the gym, I couldn't go on my own accord, but rather only if I was meeting a friend there--it was the thought of someone meeting me and I didn't want to flake on them that got me out of bed.
Why is this? Anyone out there that know me well enough to address this, tell me why I can't help myself and be contented with that aspect of my life? I mean, I am happy. I am happy with the situation I'm in: I have a beautiful-smart-lovely fiancee, a job that pays my bills, a car that gets me there. I am happy with my life. My question is why can't I be happy doing for myself?
Any ideas?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Never-Never Land Complex...
My brother came to Florida this past weekend, and one of the evenings we had a brother-to-brother expose of Southern California society. Upon explaining his frustration with the women and men of the popular "party scene" (as he has personal ties to some of them), I found myself thinking about how these individuals share many commonalities with the famed Never-Never Landers. The following is a stream of consciousness aiming to incubate this theoretical egg further.
It seems that many people in So. Cal (though they exist in many other metropolitan cities) act along the same lines: all play, little responsibility, immature, they only care about themselves and having fun--even at the expense of others. Drinking is often a necessary necessity to these Peter Pans and Tinker Bells, mainly because they find that distraction from either working life or they like life better under a drunken haze. I have found that, many people within this group simply want to eat, drink, be merry, and think happy thoughts only to fly away from the thought that they are getting holder and thus, should be more responsible for themselves, sympathetic towards others, and mature, than simply engaging in debauchery every weekend.
The temptation is out there to engage the Never-Never Land complex. It is easier to run from maturity than embrace it. Ask anyone who has gone through an experience where they had to "grow up", and they will tell you it was a very stressful, sometimes painful experience. Much like growing physically, growing emotionally requires some pain at times. The only difference is unlike puberty, we have a choice on whether or not we wish to embrace the pain and grow from it or remain infantile.
What many in this land fail to recognize is that we continue to age, and there can be much more long term reward to embracing the pain and growing as it happens. How many have seen reality TV shows where there is a grown man or woman who is acting like a complete child? How likely are you to want to get to know that person?
It could be that those who grow up find more fulfilling lives as they discover themselves finding hope in the future based on the character built from suffering. If we run from suffering and life's trials in general, then we have no basis of comparison on which to substantiate hope when those trials do strike, and thus find ourselves in a state of panic, anxiety, and stress--sounds like more growing up. The only difference lies in who is around to help support you through it; I just hope those friends around out partying--a voice mail isn't as comforting.
It's said 30 is the new "20"; I say that's denial--only appropriate it came out of L.A.
It seems that many people in So. Cal (though they exist in many other metropolitan cities) act along the same lines: all play, little responsibility, immature, they only care about themselves and having fun--even at the expense of others. Drinking is often a necessary necessity to these Peter Pans and Tinker Bells, mainly because they find that distraction from either working life or they like life better under a drunken haze. I have found that, many people within this group simply want to eat, drink, be merry, and think happy thoughts only to fly away from the thought that they are getting holder and thus, should be more responsible for themselves, sympathetic towards others, and mature, than simply engaging in debauchery every weekend.
The temptation is out there to engage the Never-Never Land complex. It is easier to run from maturity than embrace it. Ask anyone who has gone through an experience where they had to "grow up", and they will tell you it was a very stressful, sometimes painful experience. Much like growing physically, growing emotionally requires some pain at times. The only difference is unlike puberty, we have a choice on whether or not we wish to embrace the pain and grow from it or remain infantile.
What many in this land fail to recognize is that we continue to age, and there can be much more long term reward to embracing the pain and growing as it happens. How many have seen reality TV shows where there is a grown man or woman who is acting like a complete child? How likely are you to want to get to know that person?
It could be that those who grow up find more fulfilling lives as they discover themselves finding hope in the future based on the character built from suffering. If we run from suffering and life's trials in general, then we have no basis of comparison on which to substantiate hope when those trials do strike, and thus find ourselves in a state of panic, anxiety, and stress--sounds like more growing up. The only difference lies in who is around to help support you through it; I just hope those friends around out partying--a voice mail isn't as comforting.
It's said 30 is the new "20"; I say that's denial--only appropriate it came out of L.A.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Departure...
April left early this morning to start a ten-week stint in DC for an internship. Letting her go (and her leaving me) was the most difficult thing for either of us to do. We sat in the terminal just holding each other. As Time's message that it will not stop, not for us or anyone else, we saw the constant flow of people boarding the tram to take them to their departure flights; We said, "see you soon" surely not to utter "good-bye", and she told me that she will not be looking back. I knew what she meant: if she looked back and saw me standing there, as I was when she was walking through the first security ID checkpoint before the trams, she may not have left.
So, we she got up gave me one last hug, kiss, and a "see you soon", turned around, and walked onward. I was walking backward, but could not bring myself to turn my back on her as long as she was in sight. Soon, I watched her begin to meld with the crowd of travelers, and before I knew it, she was gone, only to be known as a voice on a phone and a picture on a screen. As I looked down, I noticed I was standing upon the decorative compass rose that was printed into the carpet of the commuters terminal, and I was its needle; this makes sense as April is my North Pole.
I am now counting down the days until I can fly up there for a couple days at least. In the meantime, I guess I'll be working on making a life for myself independent of April. This will be good so when she gets back, I can have some (hopefully) routines that will allow her to have some alone time that she often needs for herself. As much as this time apart is painful, leaving both of us longing, it is healthy; at least that's what I keep telling myself.
I love you April, and I miss you.
So, we she got up gave me one last hug, kiss, and a "see you soon", turned around, and walked onward. I was walking backward, but could not bring myself to turn my back on her as long as she was in sight. Soon, I watched her begin to meld with the crowd of travelers, and before I knew it, she was gone, only to be known as a voice on a phone and a picture on a screen. As I looked down, I noticed I was standing upon the decorative compass rose that was printed into the carpet of the commuters terminal, and I was its needle; this makes sense as April is my North Pole.
I am now counting down the days until I can fly up there for a couple days at least. In the meantime, I guess I'll be working on making a life for myself independent of April. This will be good so when she gets back, I can have some (hopefully) routines that will allow her to have some alone time that she often needs for herself. As much as this time apart is painful, leaving both of us longing, it is healthy; at least that's what I keep telling myself.
I love you April, and I miss you.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Black Hypocracy
Yes, I know, it's surprising: black women are hypocritical too. Specifically, I'm talking about the blatant, unkind, and complete hypocrisy of the Queen of Media, the Empress of the Contemporary Black Movement: Oprah Winfrey.
On April 12, 2007, Oprah covered the Imus scandal, interviewing the players of the Rutgers women's basketball team. Reviewing the egregious racial comments made by shock jock, Don Imus, referring to the all-women's team as "nappy headed hoes" on his radio show. Oprah continued on to rail Imus for his comments as racial and sexist--which they were; everything Imus said on his show was racially charged. In the history of this show, He did not discriminate in his slanderous remarks.
Now, fast forward to the end of Oprah's show, where Oprah was hosting hip-hop dance lessons (by a black woman instructor) and then offhandedly commented how there is always some "white man" in the room who "can't dance". Now, by no means do I mean to equate dancing with promiscuity, that's not the point. The point is racism and sexism. So when it comes to racism or sexist comments, Oprah doesn't have a stone to cast.
This sheds a light on a larger issue. Is there such a thing as degrees of racism or sexism? There is not. There is no "racist and sexist meter" at the FCC. If there were, Howard Stern would have been gone long ago.
Racism, pardon me, is a black and white issue. A comment is either racist or not, there is no middle ground. The difference, it seems, is tolarence. Could it be that blacks are simply less tolerant than Jews, Whites, Asians, American Indians, Hispanics, and every other minority? I will leave the answer of that question to recent history: Don Imus slandared many, if not all, of these groups; a black, sexist comment got him fired.
Perhaps, it wasn't the minority crack, but the sexist one. If so, then according to Oprah, it's ok to say a sexist comment about men, but not one about women. Again, I am not making distinctions about what was said, but the nature of the comment. Saying that men, "white men" at that, can't dance is racist AND sexist.
Oprah, I want an apology.
On April 12, 2007, Oprah covered the Imus scandal, interviewing the players of the Rutgers women's basketball team. Reviewing the egregious racial comments made by shock jock, Don Imus, referring to the all-women's team as "nappy headed hoes" on his radio show. Oprah continued on to rail Imus for his comments as racial and sexist--which they were; everything Imus said on his show was racially charged. In the history of this show, He did not discriminate in his slanderous remarks.
Now, fast forward to the end of Oprah's show, where Oprah was hosting hip-hop dance lessons (by a black woman instructor) and then offhandedly commented how there is always some "white man" in the room who "can't dance". Now, by no means do I mean to equate dancing with promiscuity, that's not the point. The point is racism and sexism. So when it comes to racism or sexist comments, Oprah doesn't have a stone to cast.
This sheds a light on a larger issue. Is there such a thing as degrees of racism or sexism? There is not. There is no "racist and sexist meter" at the FCC. If there were, Howard Stern would have been gone long ago.
Racism, pardon me, is a black and white issue. A comment is either racist or not, there is no middle ground. The difference, it seems, is tolarence. Could it be that blacks are simply less tolerant than Jews, Whites, Asians, American Indians, Hispanics, and every other minority? I will leave the answer of that question to recent history: Don Imus slandared many, if not all, of these groups; a black, sexist comment got him fired.
Perhaps, it wasn't the minority crack, but the sexist one. If so, then according to Oprah, it's ok to say a sexist comment about men, but not one about women. Again, I am not making distinctions about what was said, but the nature of the comment. Saying that men, "white men" at that, can't dance is racist AND sexist.
Oprah, I want an apology.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Laugh Often...
We've all heard the adage: love much, laugh often, etc. How often do we really laugh in this responsibility laden world ? Here's a startling statistic I heard in a relaxation techniques class a couple years ago: A child laughs on average 450 times a day while the average adult laughs a bountiful four times a day. What is wrong with this picture?
I have found with my ever-growing responsibilities that proliferate exponentially with every year that passes, I am laughing less. The stress of this world anchors my spirits ever so slightly. So, here is my question: how do we still stay in touch with that inner-child and laugh (thus releaving stress) without loosing touch with those adult qualities? How do we keep childHOOD alive without seeming childISH to others?
I would first say that we should look at the root of the problem: stress. Notice that the more stress and anxiety we hang on to, the harder it takes for the blimp of bliss to take off. So how do we let go of stress? Is it a conscious decision? Do we decide at a whim to say "fuck it" and laugh it off? Yet, it seems to me that in order to "let go" one needs to laugh, and in order to laugh, one has to let go. How do we escape this happiness paradox?
Through my past experiences, I would say that for those who have a large sense of Faith, its easier (at least theoretically) to let things go. "Let go and let god" the Bible says. Albeit easier said than done, there is some truth to this.
I have found the more I let go of my stresses, the more I am likely to discover they are out of my hands for the most part, the easier it is for me lighten my spirits and re-acquaint myself with those things that I've found in my childhood that made me laugh and all around feel good. I have re-introduced myself to Miles Davis, to jazz in general, to impersonations, to puns and pun-making, to dancing in the car, and to singing out loud in the car and letting people see me have a good time.
If people see me having a good time, it gives them permission to have a good time too. So spread a little laughter and good times. It's the best countermeasure to the stress of adulthood.
~~~~~~
P.S. Having a life partner who is as dedicated to laughter as you are doesn't hurt either. Thanks, April for all the laughs--here's to a lifetime more. :D
I have found with my ever-growing responsibilities that proliferate exponentially with every year that passes, I am laughing less. The stress of this world anchors my spirits ever so slightly. So, here is my question: how do we still stay in touch with that inner-child and laugh (thus releaving stress) without loosing touch with those adult qualities? How do we keep childHOOD alive without seeming childISH to others?
I would first say that we should look at the root of the problem: stress. Notice that the more stress and anxiety we hang on to, the harder it takes for the blimp of bliss to take off. So how do we let go of stress? Is it a conscious decision? Do we decide at a whim to say "fuck it" and laugh it off? Yet, it seems to me that in order to "let go" one needs to laugh, and in order to laugh, one has to let go. How do we escape this happiness paradox?
Through my past experiences, I would say that for those who have a large sense of Faith, its easier (at least theoretically) to let things go. "Let go and let god" the Bible says. Albeit easier said than done, there is some truth to this.
I have found the more I let go of my stresses, the more I am likely to discover they are out of my hands for the most part, the easier it is for me lighten my spirits and re-acquaint myself with those things that I've found in my childhood that made me laugh and all around feel good. I have re-introduced myself to Miles Davis, to jazz in general, to impersonations, to puns and pun-making, to dancing in the car, and to singing out loud in the car and letting people see me have a good time.
If people see me having a good time, it gives them permission to have a good time too. So spread a little laughter and good times. It's the best countermeasure to the stress of adulthood.
~~~~~~
P.S. Having a life partner who is as dedicated to laughter as you are doesn't hurt either. Thanks, April for all the laughs--here's to a lifetime more. :D
Saturday, March 03, 2007
I miss acting..
I miss Acting.
It's an interesting revelation. I mean, I don't miss it enough to give everything I've worked for and starve for the rest of my life for the sake of it. I miss the comradery. I miss theatre people. If you were in theatre you'd know the type: outgoing, non-judgemental, unassuming, loving, kind-spirited... These are the people that are in it for the love of the craft, not self-celebration.
I miss the production. I miss the team work. I miss putting in endless hours of work that builds up to one cressendo. I miss watching the preverbial dominos fall as the doors of opening night open. I miss the bitter-sweetness of curtain-call closing night.
I miss utilizing talents and instincts that I spent a long time honing to communicate a story. I miss the charge one gets when they can hold the emotions of an audience in the palm of their hand and take them for a ride they can talk about later over coffee. I miss story telling. I miss playing a villian, a concerned friend, or a persecuted protagonist.
I miss acting; but I don't miss the pay.
It's an interesting revelation. I mean, I don't miss it enough to give everything I've worked for and starve for the rest of my life for the sake of it. I miss the comradery. I miss theatre people. If you were in theatre you'd know the type: outgoing, non-judgemental, unassuming, loving, kind-spirited... These are the people that are in it for the love of the craft, not self-celebration.
I miss the production. I miss the team work. I miss putting in endless hours of work that builds up to one cressendo. I miss watching the preverbial dominos fall as the doors of opening night open. I miss the bitter-sweetness of curtain-call closing night.
I miss utilizing talents and instincts that I spent a long time honing to communicate a story. I miss the charge one gets when they can hold the emotions of an audience in the palm of their hand and take them for a ride they can talk about later over coffee. I miss story telling. I miss playing a villian, a concerned friend, or a persecuted protagonist.
I miss acting; but I don't miss the pay.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Learning to Walk on Water
If it is one thing I have learned in these past few months of joy, struggle, anguish, and pure happiness, facing adversity, and learning to flex my faith, it is learning how to study the Bible, its teachings, and applying them to my life; one particular lesson sticks out in my head: learning to walk on water. No, I'm not saying I've mastered the elements, but rather I am learning to walk on the waters of life.
For those unfamiliar to the elements of this teaching, Peter and his colleagues are out to sea when Christ, finished with his evening prayer, walks on the water out to meet his disciples. Frightened by the sight of a man walking on the water, the disciples grew afraid, calling the figure a ghost. Peter (admittedly my favorite of the disciples, for various reasons) calls out to Him saying "if you are the Christ, call me out to you." Jesus does so, and for a short time Peter walks on the water to Him. However, when taking a moment to look around him, feeling the winds pick up, he grows afraid. As Christ pulls him out of his sinking situation, he utters the words: "oh ye of little faith." Had Peter simply kept his sights upon Christ--had he stayed focused, ignoring the worldly winds around him--he would have continued to walk on water.
Thinking about my life now, I am in the midst of "walking on water". Allow me to explain. My life now, I have a beautiful girlfriend whom I plan to marry soon, a job with the federal government (which in itself was a God send, but that's another blog), and I'm back to school a year or so early, pursuing my masters degree. All of this started through meeting April; I met her on myspace of all places (the odds of which were unbelievable), dated her long distance and was crazy enough for her that I moved out here to be close to her, allowing these other aspects of life to come to fruition. I truly believe April was the first of many answered prayers regarding a variety of aspects of my life. "Ask and ye shall receive," right?
Yet, there are times of weakness (likely in times of fatigue) where I will think about the sheer odds of all of this coming to pass. Just as Peter did out on the sea that faithful evening, it becomes easy to tramp in the improbability of it all and doubt a bit. Yet, I have learned, that if I keep my focus upon God and His plan for me, the love I have for April, all my prayers will be answered in His time. I must not "lean upon my own understanding" as it is written, but rather sit back, and enjoy the ride. (Which is definitely easier said than done.)
So long as I keep my attention on Him who brought me here as part of answered prayers, I too am learning to walk on water.
For those unfamiliar to the elements of this teaching, Peter and his colleagues are out to sea when Christ, finished with his evening prayer, walks on the water out to meet his disciples. Frightened by the sight of a man walking on the water, the disciples grew afraid, calling the figure a ghost. Peter (admittedly my favorite of the disciples, for various reasons) calls out to Him saying "if you are the Christ, call me out to you." Jesus does so, and for a short time Peter walks on the water to Him. However, when taking a moment to look around him, feeling the winds pick up, he grows afraid. As Christ pulls him out of his sinking situation, he utters the words: "oh ye of little faith." Had Peter simply kept his sights upon Christ--had he stayed focused, ignoring the worldly winds around him--he would have continued to walk on water.
Thinking about my life now, I am in the midst of "walking on water". Allow me to explain. My life now, I have a beautiful girlfriend whom I plan to marry soon, a job with the federal government (which in itself was a God send, but that's another blog), and I'm back to school a year or so early, pursuing my masters degree. All of this started through meeting April; I met her on myspace of all places (the odds of which were unbelievable), dated her long distance and was crazy enough for her that I moved out here to be close to her, allowing these other aspects of life to come to fruition. I truly believe April was the first of many answered prayers regarding a variety of aspects of my life. "Ask and ye shall receive," right?
Yet, there are times of weakness (likely in times of fatigue) where I will think about the sheer odds of all of this coming to pass. Just as Peter did out on the sea that faithful evening, it becomes easy to tramp in the improbability of it all and doubt a bit. Yet, I have learned, that if I keep my focus upon God and His plan for me, the love I have for April, all my prayers will be answered in His time. I must not "lean upon my own understanding" as it is written, but rather sit back, and enjoy the ride. (Which is definitely easier said than done.)
So long as I keep my attention on Him who brought me here as part of answered prayers, I too am learning to walk on water.
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