Unburdened

Tonight I removed the final artifact of the past that I carried with me. It was a small slip of paper, that was tucked into my wallet a long time ago.

 

It has survived everything I put my wallet through, even multiple soakings. Still, the scrap of notebook paper remained. Tonight though, I released it from its' home. It now will rest among other artifacts of the past and fond memories, in a drawer that exists solely for such things. It was perhaps the final stage in what has been a long process for me. A process that saw the birth of this blog and many other things, some yet to be seen.

I feel less weighted by it all now, though I do not know if that will correlate into feel better, but what is done is done and there is no turning back now. I will continue to keep up this blog, I have grown rather fond of it, but with any luck the post will be more pleasing to read. I type this for the first time, free of anything that binds me directly to my past and perhaps the future is bright, but it is far too early to tell for certain.

Math + The Bible

I really don't have much to say tonight, it has been a rather rough week and this evening was one of the only bright spots. I am currently working on a few other writing projects and I do not want to get too distracted from those, but I did want to share this neat bit of information with everyone. Math can be fun, or at least entertaining.

The temperature of Heaven can be rather accurately computed. Our authority is Isaiah 30:26, "Moreover, the light of the Moon shall be as the light of the Sun and the light of the Sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of seven days."

Thus Heaven receives from the Moon as much radiation as we do from the Sun, and in addition 7*7 (49) times as much as the Earth does from the Sun, or 50 times in all.
The light we receive from the Moon is one 1/10,000 of the light we receive from the Sun, so we can ignore that ... The radiation falling on Heaven will heat it to the point where the heat lost by radiation is just equal to the heat received by radiation, i.e., Heaven loses 50 times as much heat as the Earth by radiation. Using the Stefan-Boltzmann law for radiation, (_ H/_ E)^4 = 50, where _ E is the absolute temperature of the earth (~300K), gives _ H as 798K (525C).

The exact temperature of Hell cannot be computed ... [However] Revelations 21:8 says "But the fearful, and unbelieving ... shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone." A lake of molten brimstone means that its temperature must be at or below the boiling point, 444.6C. We have, then, that Heaven, at 525C is hotter than Hell at 445C.

-- From "Applied Optics" vol. 11, A14, 1972

Better Made In Younger Seasons

I don't remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. Most people seem to remember the first thing they ever wanted to be when they grew up, I don't. Maybe that is a good thing, after all, most of us never reach the triumphant goals of our childhood, so by not remembering, I can't be disappointed. To that same degree though, maybe my inner child wants nothing more than for me to remember, maybe then we can start on a real path. Whatever the case may be, it doesn't change that I don't remember.

I feel like I am forgetting more and more lately and I don't like it. I realize that the memories are probably stored somewhere and all it would take is a picture or a conversation with an old friend to spark all the dormant memories, but what about the personal ones. The memories that were made in solitude. Memories that weren't shared with others or captured by cameras? How do you retrieve those? Do they just dissipate? I hope not, that would be a shame.

I remember being fifteen and walking around alone at night. Most likely doing pretty much the same things I do now 10 years later. Walking around, enjoying the peaceful night and feeling as if I am keeping an eye on the world while everyone else slept. Fifteen and feeling like I could save the world if it was truly asked of me. I remember sitting on the steps of a church, a church that would in only a few short hours serve as a bus stop for many kids of all ages. It was, in fact, the bus stop I would have been going to had I taken the bus or went to school for that matter.

Sitting on those steps, I remember feeling as if I was a part of something, a sort of oneness with everything. It seemed profound and it seemed important. The moment was very brief, almost as if it never even existed to begin with and perhaps that is what makes it stand out so much. I remember wondering if anyone else was feeling the same thing at that moment. Perhaps it was a collective experience, shared by all who were awake for it. I remember thinking that I hope that was the case, I hoped that the entire world would feel that in that brief moment. I knew that was probably not the case, it was probably just me, such profound experiences rarely seemed to also be shared experiences. Still, I remember hoping.

I don't want to forget that memory. It felt so important, but I had forgotten it. I forgot all about that night until this one. I was running and I had been pushing myself far too hard and far too fast, I needed to take a quick rest.

There was the church, my old, seldom used bus stop. I hunched over, hands on my knees, catching my breath, staring down at the steps I sat on 10 years ago. I remembered then, it all flooded back, I didn't feel the oneness, but I did feel a twinge of something. Maybe happiness, nostalgia, who knows, I wish it was the oneness again, but it wasn't. I was happy to remember it, but sad that I forgotten it in the first place. Happiness and sadness in the same moment seem to be following me around lately. I don't know if I will ever get used to that feeling, I don't know that I want to feel it enough to become used to it.

After remembering such a thing, I didn't feel like running anymore, I had pushed too hard anyway. I walked back home, legs a little sore, thinking and wondering about what else I had forgotten and when or if I will remember them. It was at that point that I realize I no longer remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I guess it isn't really important, I haven't grown up yet so I still have time, but I wonder if something will ever jog that memory. If something does, then what? I guess I'd have to cross that bridge when I came to it.

I walked home, intertwined with the happiness and sadness. An almost perfect mixture of the two, but not in the sense that they canceled each other out, but more to the effect of each one being felt perfectly simultaneously. I hoped that the rest of the world was not feeling this way, I hoped it was an isolated experience. It was not something I wished others shared with me. I just continued walking, just wanting to get back to my keyboard now, but feeling no actual rush to do so. Now is sit here typing this, knowing that in doing so, I will never forget either memory. The one of a fifteen year old who felt at one with the universe and the one of a twenty-five year old that felt completely separated from it.

I am twenty-five and I feel as if I could save the world were it truly asked of me. However, in that moment, I questioned whether I would.

That's Gonna Hurt In The Morning

I went for a run tonight, it was a really chilly night and the air felt good to breathe in. I was really in a groove, the kind of point of no return sort of scenario. My legs ached and my lungs were strained, but I felt amazing nonetheless, I guess it is called a runner's high. The trouble with the runner's high is that often everything else in the world disappears, which I suppose is normally a good thing, but tonight it added to an awful brew that nearly ended in disaster.

Now, I will be the first to say that I should not run in the road, so had I been more responsible in that aspect, no risk would have been taken at all. In any case, I was running one of my usual routes and at 1:30 a.m. I rarely worry about traffic on the suburban back roads by my home so at certain points, I find myself running in the street as opposed to the uneven sidewalk.

I was on my way home, feeling the runner's high and having the usual music blaring loudly in my ears, driving me forward and drowning out the rest of the world. Everything was perfect and I had not intentions of slowing until I reached my driveway. I did not hear a car, my music was far too loud for such a thing, but I noticed the change in lighting coming up from behind me. Whenever cars come by, it always drastically effects the shadows around me, so even when I can't hear them, I know they are there.

Tonight was no different, I acknowledge that a car was approaching from behind and I moved to the side of the road. I am not sure if it was the groove I was in or what, but for some reason I did not move to the sidewalk, I simply ran along the edge of the street. After all, I have done it countless times before with no consequence.

The music and the mood and the moment all coalesced and I am surprised I noticed anything wrong at all. I recall think that the lights seemed to be coming very quickly and at a much more erratic angle than I am used to at such an hour of the night. Most people driving at 1:30 a.m. seem to be relatively cautious, at least on the back streets it seems. Regardless, I could tell something was wrong, but whatever was wrong, I noticed far too late.

The light got very bright, I didn't turn around. In what felt like minutes, but was probably only 3 or 4 seconds, everything seemed to stop. The music kept playing but I did not hear it, my legs ached and my lungs burned, but I did not feel them. I did not look back, I simply dove into the grass to the left of me. I hit the ground, did a pseudo-somersault, landed awkwardly on my shoulder with and looked up with just enough time to see a white car speeding away in a serpentine manner. I was too shaken from the whole experience to get a plate number or anything but it seems pretty clear to me that I was nearly hit by a drunk driver.

I don't know how bad it would have been, I have survived a lot, but it was by far the closest I've come to serious injury in a while. I get really lucky and I get really lucky a lot and while I am sure my shoulder will hurt a lot tomorrow and the adrenaline from it all is keeping me rather wired tonight, everything could have been much much worse. I didn't have my phone or my wallet, nothing but my iPod, not even the Swiss Army knife I carry everywhere.

I am absolutely fine, nothing is hurt or broken, not even the iPod and oddly enough I am not even that shaken, I think I have become slightly used to the feeling of narrowly escaping severe injury. That is probably bad. In any case, I am thinking I will be running on the sidewalk now, pretty much exclusively.

Cuban B

I think anyone who has a rather large social circle has a friend like my friend B. His real name is Brennan, but those of us who are close to him simply call him B. B is loud, out spoken, not afraid to do or say anything, his confidence is through the roof. He is a good looking man and he has a sonorous voice that echoes out when he talks and laughs. Everything about B simply screams that if this guy is with you, you will have an incredible night. Also, he is Irish, so that generally means you will have an incredible night, but you will be hazy on the details come morning.

I don't see B nearly enough anymore, time seems to do that to even the best of us, and I wonder how he is doing, though I am sure a man of his resources is doing just fine. I am sure soon enough he will reappear and we will have great times again, but I write about him tonight because I finally found (and subsequently remembered) an Irish philosophy that he told me one drunken night in the past.

B was always the first to have a good toast before taken a shot and he would never hesitate to give you a quick quip of advice here and there, but for the most part he tried to stay out of profundity. It was not that he was incapable of it, merely there was no place for deep meaning when you were with B, it was all about the moment.

Every now and then however, when you found yourself out with just B, no other people to distract or entertain, B would share is own form of Irish wisdom. Of all the conversations I have ever had with B, the one that stands out the most for me came one night shortly after my most recently relationship had ended. B and I were sitting in my house, already far more intoxicated than two people should be at such and early hour of the evening. He was giving me his own brand of break-up therapy, good company and good liquor. It was just his way and him simply being there was meaningful enough. I honestly can't say I remember most of that night, I know it was a blast and I actually felt a little better the next day, but until tonight I had been struggling to piece together what B told me about life. I always remembered bits and pieces, but as always with B, the details were fuzzy.

Earlier today I found a picture and this picture is of a sign, probably in a bar somewhere, that repeats exactly what B had said to me. I know B did not come up with it, but he was the first person to ever tell me it so in my head it is cemented as his wisdom.

 

To me, that is B's legacy. I know it may seem a bit silly, but it is profound in its' own right. If I never see B again, I can at least do him the honor of passing along his unique form of wisdom.

We don't all need to be like B, hell that would make for a chaotic world, but every now and then we should all stop and look at life through the eyes of a drunken Irishman. No need to over-complicate things. No need at all.

That's Not What I Said

I recently re-learned something that I had forgotten. It was indeed a crucial mistake on my part to have forgotten such a thing, but I am happy to have been reminded of it in a joking manner as oppose to a potentially serious one. What I re-learned, was that anything, absolutely anything you say, can, if they feel so inclined, be turned around by a woman. It is almost always in a jokingly sort of manner, but the fact remains that they have an uncanny ability to twist words into insults with what seems like effortlessness.

I will start by giving you the innocent example that reminded me of this fact of life.

Me: Hey, I really like your painting, there are a lot of layers on it, you can totally tell.
Girl: Is that a bad thing that you can tell there are lots of layers?
Me: No not at all, it looks good, I was just saying you could tell it is very layered.
Girl: Are you saying my painting is bulky?
Me: Wait? What. . . No. . I just. . .
Girl: You just called my painting fat!

It was all in good fun and I knew she was just giving me a hard time, but such a series of events can easily turn on you in an instant if you do not recognize that they are simply playing, or worse yet, you assume they are, but they are actually serious.

Usually you can gauge this by how far a leap must be made to go from what you actually said, to what the woman has decided you now meant. In the above example, it took several steps to go from complimentary to insulting, which is a good indicator that the whole thing was in good fun. The most important thing however, when using this strategy, is to remember exactly what it is YOU said. If you can't recall, verbatim, what you said to initiate this string of events, you are at the mercy of said events from there on out. Now I know that as dudes, we never see these things coming so we often pay little mind to the things we say in an effort to be kind or offer opinions, but it is absolutely imperative that as men, we pay attention to the things we say.

If we can start remembering the things we say and why we said them, this amazing power women have would almost assuredly be only useful in a playful setting, which is honestly where it should be all of the time, but really nobody is perfect.

If you can remember exactly what you said, and you find yourself in one of these scenarios, make sure to repeat and explain exactly what you said, if the woman still gives you a hard time about it, or you hear sarcasm, you can pretty much safely assume the whole thing was a joke. If your reiteration then sparks an actual conversation, or serious emotion, then you know that what you said was either taken wrong or you may have actually hurt feelings. In which case, even if you don't fully understand, apologies would be in order.

As long as you see it through to the end, these situation do not usually have negative affects, but if you ignore it, or panic, or just stop the game in the middle, then problems could arise. It is all part of how people interact and if you simply don't play along and offer no explanation as to why, you can then open up a whole new can of worms. Yes, women have a special knack for twisting words and yes men often pay little attention to the things they say, but for most reasonable people, such interaction are all in good fun. If you find yourself in the word twisting game, don't panic, it is mostly harmless.

The Truth About Nice Guys

It seems like ever since I have been able to distinguish the difference between a "nice" guy and not a "nice" guy, it is always said that the "nice" guys finish last. This sentiment is ingrained in pop culture, music, social situations and many other forms of media. It is such a prevalent force, that it almost seems to be self-fulfilling because we are constantly bombarded with that expectation. I will be the first to tell you, that to some degree, that is true, especially early in life, but as with most things, it is not the whole story.

I have had the unfortunate pleasure of being a nice guy my entire life, or at least for the most part and I by no means feel as if I finish last, but then again, the race is far from over. There are very many things I have missed out on because of my alignment toward the nice side of my gender, but they always seem rather superficial and overall hollow, so in the long run I don't really miss out at all. Besides, I still take my shots when I get 'em and that is part of being a nice guy. As a good friend of mine once said. "You're an idiot if you don't dance." As a nice guy, when given the opportunity to dance, you can dance and if you end up with two left feet and fall on your face, it is perfectly fine, because as a nice guy, you can fix any damage you may have caused, not only that, you legitimately want to fix it.

If you truly consider yourself among the ranks of the nice guys, it no longer becomes about the place you finish in. Now I know that sounds like an excuse, used to make all us losers of nice guys feel better, but it is the truth. We can go for it, give it our all and get shot down, crash and burn and still get up the next day and be your friend. The race is about the people you run alongside, not who gets to the end first. Nobody ever seems to consider that maybe all the nice guys lag behind so they can help those who stumble and fall. Gathering as large a group of fellow runners as they can for the race, after all, it is supposed to be about "enjoying the ride" not trying to win.

So sure, it may be true the nice guys are destined to finish last, but when they cross that line they have the most people cheering for them and the most love and friendship as their trophy. Don't let chances pass you by, you're an idiot if you don't dance, but once you've tried, regardless of the outcome, just keep being a nice guy. Don't let hardships change you, don't let friendships fade, keep on holding the nice guy banner high, we are few and far between so let everyone know where you are and where you stand. Let all those you care for know that you are there for them and you are not going anywhere, regardless of the past, present or future, the nice guy remains steadfast.

We will never defeat the douche bags of the world, nor can we redeem our gender to all the women of the world, but those we meet along the way, we can show them how it should be. From friends to lovers and everything in between it is the nice guys that hold it all together. It is a tough life, but it is more than worth it.

Getting My Priorities Straight

Yesterday I finally finished a video project I had been working on, also I have been doing plenty of writing that is not at all blog related. Sleep is still hit or miss with me and my exhaustion is proof of that, but this morning I still cannot seem to sleep. Normally, I'd sit here and write until my eyes hurt from the screen too much and I simply could not stay awake. Tonight though, I think I ought to get my priorities straight. I have been doing good overall, most people can attest to that. Except for last Sunday night, things have been going well. I am accomplishing goals and keeping pace with writing. Because of these things, I feel as if I have earned the right to straighten my priorities for one night, so I am instead of going to sleep, going to go to New Beginnings for a delicious breakfast. Delicious omelets vs. sleep, I think I know which is more important.

Scatter Brained

As I stated before, my days have, for the most part, been going very well. The only real problems, aside from the other night, have been with sleep and focus. Sleep is certainly an issue I could force if I truly felt the need, but focus, that is much harder to come by.

Obviously, being tired and sleep deprived makes focusing far more difficult, but there is far more to focus than that. Focus is primarily about putting your mind to something and doing whatever that something is and my problem has been that most of what I have been focusing on, I cannot change. I have plenty of things to do, actually, as far as projects are concerned, I am pretty swamped, but I just can't seem to put more than 15 solid minutes into anything. It even carries over into work, but there it is far less noticeable.

People often ask God to grant them the serenity to accept the things they cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

Now, I know I have no issues with the courage part of that and I am pretty well stocked in the area of wisdom. Even serenity is something I have found at times, so again I find myself feeling as if I don't need help from a higher power, but my beef isn't with God, it is with acceptance.

Sure, there are situations where there is absolutely nothing you can do, you have to accept that, but more often than not, something can be done. Maybe you can't change things, but you can make someone feel better, you can add smiles and laughter to the world. You can encourage those who are great to see themselves as such and even though you can't actually fix or change the shit in peoples lives, to merely accept that is folly.

If anything, I say people should ask God for the strength to keep trying, to keep fighting, even if it seems nothing can be done. When all avenues have been exhausted, when there is no fight left, then ask for serenity.

I know, I absolutely know, that nearly everything that has held my focus is completely out of my power to change, but I can still do something. I can still be helpful and kind, I can listen and try even though it makes no difference. What I have to learn now, is how to get my everyday focus in order. I've got the long term goal focuses all pegged down, but it is the day to days that have been killing me.

I wonder what God has to say about that? Perhaps one would ask for patience? Patience to focus on the monotony of everyday, strength to push on, even when it seems hopeless and wisdom to know what is really important. . .Yeah, that sounds more like something God would do.

Right big guy? If you are real, you can obviously read this. Go on about your business, help some people in real trouble, I've got it nailed down over here.

Losing My Voice Finding Much More

All in all, the last 3 weeks of my life have been pretty fantastic. The general ups and downs of everyday monotony are ever-present, but so many positive things have balanced it all out, perhaps even tipped the scales toward good. Funny thing about that is how incredibly fragile it all is. It only takes one thing, one simple, small thing, to send weeks of good crashing to the ground.

I had just gotten home from a comedy show and late night food at Denny's with a bunch of friends. It was a good night, very fun, just as most of the nights before it had been. I said goodbye to my ride, stepped out of the car, hesitated, then closed the door. The sound of the door closing was much like the sound of a gong, symbolizing the beginning of a battle. I heard the door close, stepped away from the car, toward my house and in that instant I knew it was going to be "one of those nights".

If you aren't familiar with "one of those nights" then I'd say you have lived a pretty good and astoundingly lucky life. Though for me, "one of those nights" can get out of hand very very quickly.

I got inside my house and almost immediately began counter-measure to try and keep my night from spiraling down the horrible toilet of sadness that sometimes grips me. I wrote a message to a friend, often times that helps, but it only made me worry more. I did this and that, trying to stay occupied, trying to stay distracted. Nothing helped and it wasn't long before I found myself absolutely needing to get out. As of recently, I have had a partner at night to walk with, but tonight I did not and tonight I knew I would have to run. When all else fails, I run and I run and I run, until my legs give out and my lungs burn.

I found my iPod and my running shorts and I started out into the distinctively Fall feeling night. It was very cool, but I was going to be running so I didn't much mind. The music of Rise Against blasted through my earbuds, typical running music for me, high in energy and emotion. Between heavy breaths I would scream out lyrics with no regard to pitch or volume, I was determined to out run the night.

All was going well until I reached the top of a hill on a street simply called 60th. The shoes I was wearing were in no way cut out for running and as it was they were already falling apart, but they were the only pair I had so I just went with it. I did not think that after about a mile of furious running, my shoes would catastrophically fail and become little more than coverings for the tops of my feet. The soles of my shoes simply gave out and with them, it seemed, my soul gave in.

I stopped, music still booming, baffled by what had just happened. Then, all at once, it felt as if everything I had successfully outrun to that point, caught up to my and tackled me to the ground. A wave of absolute melancholy crashed upon me, I killed the music and stood silently in the dark, wondering what to do next.

I knew I had to get new shoes, that was obvious, but the obvious decision was not by any means the most important, what mattered was what I was going to do about the horrible malaise that had overwhelmed me. I started walking toward the nearest Meijer, keeping my shoes on, though they did little to actually help, it somehow felt better having them on. I felt the sadness sink deeper, past the point of being productive and into the realm of being destructive. I thought about getting a hold of my friend Julieta, but then realized that she has done far more for me than she ever needed too and I did not feel right about burdening this on her as well. I nearly called my friend Chris, my Dad and my friend David but decided against all of those for one reason or another. I kept walking, trying to keep positive and failing miserably.

As I neared the intersection of 60th and Kalamazoo, it seemed as if almost all reason had taken a backseat to raw emotion. I barely stopped myself from contacting a few people who would have been unhappy to hear from me, it was like drunk dialing except without the excuse of actually being drunk. Eventually I settled on trying to talk to my friend Hilary, but as luck would have it, she did not respond, though I honestly don't know why I thought she would have at 3 a.m.

I reached the intersection, getting colder from no longer running and getting exhausted from sheer depression. I watched the lights of intersection. RED. YELLOW. GREEN. The colors lit up the road beneath it in an almost artistic fashion. I looked both ways, more out of habit than anything else and I walked into the middle of the intersection. There I stood, beneath the changing lights, head down, only watching the road under my feet and colors that it changed to.

RED. . .
YELLOW. . .
GREEN. . .

I stood there, never looking up, never checking for cars, just watching the colors, for six entire light progressions. It sort of felt like a traffic light version of Russian Roulette, except it seemed this time, there were no bullets in the gun at all. The entire situation seemed almost surreal, but after the six progression, I thought perhaps The Universe still has use for me and I continued on.

I eventually made it to Meijer, the whole time having mixed feelings about the outcome of my little traffic light game, but when I finally entered the Meijer parking lot, I was greeted by some old friends. Now, they weren't people, nor were they even alive, but the parking lot was absolutely full of shopping carts. I had worked at Meijer for 7 years and my favorite thing to do was always cart pushing, so without a second though, I wrangled some carts together and began a cathartic release of emotion through doing something I used to love. I nearly cleaned the entire lot, not caring that my shoes were a tattered mess, then I walked into the store, feeling tired but somehow renewed.

I very quickly found some shoes I like and that fit well, then I went a bought a ten pack of brand new socks. I checked out, sat down on a bench inside the store, took of my torn shoes and ripped socks and put them into a bag. I replaced the old sock and the old shoes with the brand new sock and shoes, it did not seem symbolic at the time, but perhaps it was and I am only just now realizing it.

It felt good, I felt good, all seemed right with the world and I brought my iPod back out and walked out of the store. I pressed shuffle and let the music play, walking home with a spring in my step, from the new shoes and the new out of the blue attitude. I sang whatever song came through at the top of my lungs my entire walk home and though I can barely speak now, I feel it is a small price to pay for how I feel now.

The moral of this entire story is something that I have been saying for years, something that too many people seemed to disregard as hogwash, but I assure there is truth in this statement. No matter what is happening in your life, no matter how bad things get, everything always seems better when you put on a brand new pair of socks for the first time. There really is nothing else like it.