Monday, December 20, 2010
Shadowfax
There was no fanfare, no ticker tape parade, no special announcement or interruption in the regularly scheduled programming. But I felt a need to celebrate when my car's odometer reached 50000 miles. My car could have theoretically circled the Earth twice, with a little mileage left over - and I know its traveled emotional miles with me as well. It seems like a car is one of the few places that I can truly feel alone anymore. You can watch as the world slips by as you travel down pavement that ribbons off into the distance. The freedom is exhilarating. On trips I always love the feeling sitting in the back of my mind, like shadows I'm scared to acknowledge for fear of them dying in the light. "Just skip your exit. Keep on driving. Explore. See where you end up. See where this road goes." I imagine myself cutting all ties with everything up to that point, and just starting over. A simple reset. That car is much more than a vehicle. It's been a bed, a dining room, a concert hall, an observatory; my silver steed. From getting me from where I am to where I want to be, here's to another 50000 miles.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Au Standard
Had this been a decade ago, he probably would started out by asking "Paper or plastic?" But I had brought the canvas bags, so there was no need. He asked if I would bag my own groceries, and said I could choose what to group together. Whatever I thought, it would help me to get back to my car, and my apartment sooner. He was an older guy, probably in his late 40s, but he seemed energetic working the check out line. He asked what I was studying. "Oh, I'm a law school student." He asked what they had us studying. "Cases, and lots of cases." He seemed surprised. He told me he thought we would spend more time looking at statutes. I explained we did that in one of the classes, but the majority of the time was spent on cases in most of my classes.
I learned that this man had represented himself in over forty lawsuits, worked for Penn State in some way regarding Physical Education, and was part of a Olympic history non-profit group (that he was currently representing in a suit against the International Olympic Committee). He got me thinking; here's a guy with an amazing life story scanning my milk and eggs. The first question one might think of is: "how many other people are there out there like him?" A think perhaps a better question is "why should it take an exceptional story to recognize someone?"
Stop and think for a second about your own life. Ever person knows their own story. Where one has been, what one has done, the struggles that one has to endure, the accomplishments, the heartbreaks, the friendships, the failures, the victories. Try to realize now that every other person has their own story. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Not just your friends and family, and the people you associate with, but every single person. The people we encounter everyday have their own stories. The postal worker who drops your mail off everyday, the barrista at the coffee shop that knows your order, the bus driver who drives the shuttle you used to stay out of the rain, the guy playing bass in the band at the bar, the girl stocking shelves, the cop sitting at the side of the road with a radar gun. Furthermore, so do the stars on tv, the politicans, the actors on the silver screen. Even the ones we will never encounter in our lifetime. From the screenwriter living in a tiny flat in London, to the ranch hand working in Argentina, to the impoverished kid running through the streets in any number of crowded, overpopulated, polluted cities that circle the globe. 6.8 Billion people.
6.8 billion people. And how many do we actually see as other people? We automatically disregard unfamiliar faces, and fail to see them as people, and treat them as they deserve. The postal worker is an idiot who doesn't know not to fold our mail, the barrista is an airhead who can't make a decent cup of coffee, the bus driver never did anything worthwhile with his life, the bass player smokes two packs a day and couldn't make it as a rock star, the girl stocking shelves is a teen mom, the cop sitting at the side of the road is an ass on a power trip. We're quick to judge. It's human nature, we say. I saw a study that shows that a person can really only really conceptualize of about 150 other people maximum. That falls far short of the amount of actual people. It's human nature.
So what? Is that supposed to be an excuse? A justification? A weak cop out is all it really is. The world could be such a better place if we could realize the simple fact that we're all people. Too often we forget this simple fact. And it really is simple. The "golden rule"; treat others as you would like to be treated. How many problems could we eliminate if we followed this in even a fraction of our lives. If we treated people like people. Perhaps, it's a matter of perception, and we simply need to realize the truth and broaden the scope of our understanding. We rarely take the time to truly understand anyone. How many people do we actually know, and how many people actually know us.
Maybe that's the beginning. If I can understand myself, I can understand others, and others can understand me. The realization of understanding can perhaps lead to a view of the bigger picture. Seeing the trees, and the forest. It could make the world a brighter place. Hold the door for someone. Smile at the person passing you on the street. Let someone merge into your lane in traffic. Hit an elevator button for someone. Treat people as people. See people as people. Understand that every single person we come across has their own story. It could turn a simple "once upon a time" into a "happily ever after".
I learned that this man had represented himself in over forty lawsuits, worked for Penn State in some way regarding Physical Education, and was part of a Olympic history non-profit group (that he was currently representing in a suit against the International Olympic Committee). He got me thinking; here's a guy with an amazing life story scanning my milk and eggs. The first question one might think of is: "how many other people are there out there like him?" A think perhaps a better question is "why should it take an exceptional story to recognize someone?"
Stop and think for a second about your own life. Ever person knows their own story. Where one has been, what one has done, the struggles that one has to endure, the accomplishments, the heartbreaks, the friendships, the failures, the victories. Try to realize now that every other person has their own story. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Not just your friends and family, and the people you associate with, but every single person. The people we encounter everyday have their own stories. The postal worker who drops your mail off everyday, the barrista at the coffee shop that knows your order, the bus driver who drives the shuttle you used to stay out of the rain, the guy playing bass in the band at the bar, the girl stocking shelves, the cop sitting at the side of the road with a radar gun. Furthermore, so do the stars on tv, the politicans, the actors on the silver screen. Even the ones we will never encounter in our lifetime. From the screenwriter living in a tiny flat in London, to the ranch hand working in Argentina, to the impoverished kid running through the streets in any number of crowded, overpopulated, polluted cities that circle the globe. 6.8 Billion people.
6.8 billion people. And how many do we actually see as other people? We automatically disregard unfamiliar faces, and fail to see them as people, and treat them as they deserve. The postal worker is an idiot who doesn't know not to fold our mail, the barrista is an airhead who can't make a decent cup of coffee, the bus driver never did anything worthwhile with his life, the bass player smokes two packs a day and couldn't make it as a rock star, the girl stocking shelves is a teen mom, the cop sitting at the side of the road is an ass on a power trip. We're quick to judge. It's human nature, we say. I saw a study that shows that a person can really only really conceptualize of about 150 other people maximum. That falls far short of the amount of actual people. It's human nature.
So what? Is that supposed to be an excuse? A justification? A weak cop out is all it really is. The world could be such a better place if we could realize the simple fact that we're all people. Too often we forget this simple fact. And it really is simple. The "golden rule"; treat others as you would like to be treated. How many problems could we eliminate if we followed this in even a fraction of our lives. If we treated people like people. Perhaps, it's a matter of perception, and we simply need to realize the truth and broaden the scope of our understanding. We rarely take the time to truly understand anyone. How many people do we actually know, and how many people actually know us.
Maybe that's the beginning. If I can understand myself, I can understand others, and others can understand me. The realization of understanding can perhaps lead to a view of the bigger picture. Seeing the trees, and the forest. It could make the world a brighter place. Hold the door for someone. Smile at the person passing you on the street. Let someone merge into your lane in traffic. Hit an elevator button for someone. Treat people as people. See people as people. Understand that every single person we come across has their own story. It could turn a simple "once upon a time" into a "happily ever after".
Monday, November 15, 2010
Pheidippides Bound
I am impatient. I have numerous projects left half finished, and have many dreams collecting dust. My father once told me that things come too naturally to me, and the contrary principle is when I encounter something that challenges me, I simply quit. It's part stubbornness, part arrogance, and partly a lack of pacing. Case in point, in the spring of 2002, I was in eight grade. It was my first year at the high school, and we had an interesting algebra teacher. He was (is?) a member of the National Guard, working as a cook. Late in the school year, we were discussing rate of change, and he used speed as an example. As he had to stay in good shape, he bet our class that he could out run the whole class in either a mile or two, I can't remember which. Considering it was a class of twenty 14 year olds against a man who has since retired from teaching, it seemed like an interesting proposal.
I still remember the morning. That third period we walked up from the back of the school to the track that had been completed a few years prior. It was a brisk morning in either late April or early May. We lined up on the starting grid. He set a stopwatch to the side, and gave us a count down. Three. I can feel the anticipation racing down my spine. Two. Here will be my chance to stun everyone. One. It will be amazing. Go. I take off in front of everyone else. I am in a full on sprint. I make it less than halfway around the oval before it feels like my lungs are going to explode.
I can't remember if I even walked a mile, my mind has sorta repressed the aftermath. I do however remember puking between classes, and feeling lightheaded for a while. I had tried sprinting in a marathon, hoping some innate talent would save me. My hopes ran thin.
Senior year, 2005. It's November, and I've recently spent the last two weeks in a frenzy of activity. Nights filled with play practice, weekends consisting of working on set pieces, time between classes spent learning a dance for senior night at the football game as well as learning a new song. I decided that the added activity was great, and started going to the after school weight lifting sessions, mostly populated by football players and the track team preparing for the upcoming season. I told myself, you'll join track. Get the months of practice in now. And for that winter, I did.
A few times a week, I'd head across the parking lot to the elementary school, with a change of clothes packed in my book bag. My lifting partner was a female friend, it made things easy because we lifted roughly the same amount, however it does become slightly awkward. We would do the lifting routine, and then do a few laps around the school in the halls. Usually with wrestlers who were bundled up in multiple jackets, trying to sweat off some pounds before weight - in. When there was no snow outside, we would head up to the track and jog there. The wind was the worst. A clearing on top a hill isn't exactly the best place for a track. In fact, one night that December a friend and I decided we would go running. It was probably 8, and the lights were on. I hadn't taken gloves or a hat, but we ran. When I got home, my grandmother was convinced I was going to catch pneumonia. The rest of the night I coughed, wheezed, and generally looked like a zombie.
My dad saw an ad for a family membership at a gym in town. He applied and I turned my attention in the nights towards that. That spring rolled around, and I was chosen for a part in the musical. There was a meeting for the track and field team, I skipped it. The coach stopped me in the hallway and asked me why I hadn't attended. "Oh, well, with the play and everything, I won't have much time, and so I thought I'd save you the trouble." He looked slightly confused, but accepted this and walked away. The time commitment wouldn't have been that big of a deal though, I think it was an excuse to give myself an easy way out. I continued working out at the gym until summer rolled around and I simply stopped.
It is now the first year of college. A friend and I have convinced ourselves that we will restart the routine of weightlifting from high school. We made our way across campus to the sports center. We went in, and decided it was going to be leg day. I went to the leg press machine. That was always my favorite. When you start lifting weights, and are doing bench press with only the bar, being able to load upwards of 300 lbs on the leg press machine and actually do it, makes you feel like you can accomplish something. We loaded it up. I was going to go first. I delocked the safety, lowered the weight and . . . got stuck. I couldn't muster the energy to get one single rep. He grabbed the weight, and helped me push it up, I locked it into place. And we laughed it off. Well, I guess that's what happens when you don't like for almost an entire year. We went to the treadmills for a bit and finished the session. I never went back to that gym.
Summer of 2008. This is the year I tell myself. You have an awesome phone that you use to track your progress and do double duty as a music player. I spend the initial part of the summer building on what I learned a few years ago. My two best friends and I decide we will jog nightly. We go one night. It is a beautiful night. The stars are putting on a grand display, and from the lofty Portage track we can see all the twinkling lights on the surrounding hills, as if some of the stars decided to take a terrestrial vacation. We finish the first lap, I can feel it building. The second lap, I really want to stop. The third lap: "Guys, I can't make it, Keep going, I'm just going to walk." I start jogging by myself a bit in the mornings, trying to catch up to what they can do. As it gets close to school, the high school football team starts their morning practices on the field. It becomes odd jogging by them, I quit.
Okay, they're in school now, you'll have the track to yourself. You got your dream schedule, you don't start until 10 any day, you can wake up early do you routine, and then get ready for class. I start researching exercise plans and decide to start HIIT. This seems like it will be an efficient way to get in shape quickly. The first week goes as expected. The second week, this is becoming tedious. I don't think I finished the third week. Around this same time, I start using various dumbbells in the garage. I make a makeshift bench by using some garden kneelers on a patio bench. My father takes note of this and decides he also will start lifting, he sees a bowflex-type machine at a local pawn shop, and purchases it, placing it in our grandmothers basement.
While I stopped the HIIT, I start lifting. For Christmas I get a proper dumbell set, and I manage to stay on plan for almost half a year. I have a dedicated schedule. Five nights a week. At 8 or 9, I walk across the street, descend the stairs to the basement, and do the day's activities. During this time, I'm cast in a show where I end up only wearing a hospital gown over a pair of underwear on stage. Thankfully for all involved I have been working out. I feel much better about my body than I have in a long time. Then summer arrives, and the structure falls apart.
January 2010. I'm cast in Jesus Christ Superstar. I find out the costuming direction: more motivation. I begin my plan again. I've tweaked it with new knowledge. Things are going good. I start out at 20 minute jogs, two months later, I've doubled that to 40 minutes. Summer arrives, I manage to stay on schedule. I go on vacation, and come back to a new job and more intense play rehearsals. Priorities change. Law school is approaching. I'll put it off until then.
It is 7:00A.M. November 15, 2010. The alarm goes off. Snooze. The alarm goes off. Snooze. The alarm goes off. Snooze. It is now 9 in the morning. Not only do you not have the time to do your morning routine, but you'll have to go into rush mode to get to class on time. You remember an article you have recently reread. Humans being are outclassed physically in every regard by other animals besides one: distance running. The human body doesn't cool itself through panting, but rather through sweating. The largest muscle in the human body, the gluteus maximus, is primarily only used in running. Narrow hips, strong knees, big Achilles tendons, all point to the same conclusion. Our body is designed for distance.
There is a principle in architecture: form follows functions. So all that's missing is a way to implement that function. Balance the key needs of meeting goals but not over exertion. Pacing. Could I hunt down a antelope on the hot African savannah? No, but I can go for more than a sixteenth of a mile without the need to vomit. In the focus on the big picture, I frequently miss the little goals that I've crossed and get frustrated. I come to a wall and quit, without realizing I've blasted through multiple ones already. Look back to 2002 and see where you come. Look forward to 2018 and imagine where you can be. Don't focus on the goal and lose sight of the journey, because you'll miss the sights, and more importantly the mile markers. It may not be an innate talent, but it's a latent skill. When it comes to matters of the mind and body, man is both the sculptor and the clay, and the sculpting process is not easy nor painless. However it is not without merit. The journey of a thousand miles, begins with a single step, and while every step seems small the all contribute to the goal. The key is patience and persistence, as Pheidippides knew well.
- - - - - - - -
Further reading: (for those interested)
Born To Run - The main article
Marathon Injuries - refers to the main article, in application to modern Marathon runners
Running and Toe Size - supplemental information about the main article
Humans designed as slow movers - A Rebuttal argument to the "Born to Run" article
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Philly
I recently heard something to the extent that "you are an average of the five people you associate with the most". And I know who has been the biggest impact upon my life. When I was growing up, I had never an idol. I never had a poster of Michael Jordan on the wall, nor were there posters of rock stars from the most current hot bands. I never needed these posters, because my support and motivation shared a room with me. My best friend. My brother. And he definitely has left his impact upon me.
Our parents like to say that we have our own language, like twins do, and this statement has some degree of truth to it. It's English, but our own shortened, mixed up form. Comprised mostly of all the random, and usually stupid, sayings that we have accumulated over the years. If I were sitting on my bed at home, I could turn over and say to him "Leaving a whole bunch of questions that don't need to be answered," and he would probably smile, knowing what I was referring to. This speaks to the fact of how much time we've spent together. In fact, we shared a room until I left home to study law.
I always took for granted the knowledge that I got to spend a sizable portion of my life with my best friend almost 24/7. Every night was like a sleepover. We would frequently go to bed at night, and have random, pointless, yet meaningful conversations that were the perfect way to close days. That's not to say we didn't have ways to irritate each other. You spend enough time with someone, and you find ways to press their buttons, and heaven only knows how much fun it was to get on each other's nerves. He probably deserves a medal for putting up with me. Being the younger brother, he always had to play second fiddle to my choices. When we went trick-or-treating on Halloween, I got to be Batman, and he was Robin. When we used to play video games as kids, before online multiplayer, or co-op became all the rage, he had to wait until I exhausted my live until it was my turn. I still remember when I was about eight when I was facing off against the end boss in Donkey Kong country. Having gotten as far through the game primarily due to luck and many restarts, I had no idea how to vanquish the foe, and ended up having to restart many times. I remember chastising him for not cheering hard enough. I'm lucky he has such a cheery disposition and would put up with up with me.
People often ask me how hard law school is. They'll ask about the upcoming finals, or the required reading, when honestly the hardest thing has been not seeing my best friend every day. Three years ago I remember dreading his graduation because I was expecting him to go away to college, and leave me an empty room. Luckily, we got another two years when he decided to commute, as I did, albeit to a different school. Now that I've left thought, I feel as though I abandoned him. It was bound to happen eventually, and it's a start to a brand new chapter of my life, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with.
While I accept that life changes, that doesn't mean I have to forget about where I came from. It's why I keep a picture of the two of us as kids in my wallet. Multiple times throughout the day I'm reminded of him. The Greek language has four words for love, which I believe is far more useful and descriptive. Philadelphia, the 'City of Brotherly Love', derives it name from one of these words if you haven't guess yet. Philia. The word mainly refers to familial love, such as the sort between brothers. All in all, I consider myself blessed to have such a great best friend, and even better brother.
Our parents like to say that we have our own language, like twins do, and this statement has some degree of truth to it. It's English, but our own shortened, mixed up form. Comprised mostly of all the random, and usually stupid, sayings that we have accumulated over the years. If I were sitting on my bed at home, I could turn over and say to him "Leaving a whole bunch of questions that don't need to be answered," and he would probably smile, knowing what I was referring to. This speaks to the fact of how much time we've spent together. In fact, we shared a room until I left home to study law.
I always took for granted the knowledge that I got to spend a sizable portion of my life with my best friend almost 24/7. Every night was like a sleepover. We would frequently go to bed at night, and have random, pointless, yet meaningful conversations that were the perfect way to close days. That's not to say we didn't have ways to irritate each other. You spend enough time with someone, and you find ways to press their buttons, and heaven only knows how much fun it was to get on each other's nerves. He probably deserves a medal for putting up with me. Being the younger brother, he always had to play second fiddle to my choices. When we went trick-or-treating on Halloween, I got to be Batman, and he was Robin. When we used to play video games as kids, before online multiplayer, or co-op became all the rage, he had to wait until I exhausted my live until it was my turn. I still remember when I was about eight when I was facing off against the end boss in Donkey Kong country. Having gotten as far through the game primarily due to luck and many restarts, I had no idea how to vanquish the foe, and ended up having to restart many times. I remember chastising him for not cheering hard enough. I'm lucky he has such a cheery disposition and would put up with up with me.
People often ask me how hard law school is. They'll ask about the upcoming finals, or the required reading, when honestly the hardest thing has been not seeing my best friend every day. Three years ago I remember dreading his graduation because I was expecting him to go away to college, and leave me an empty room. Luckily, we got another two years when he decided to commute, as I did, albeit to a different school. Now that I've left thought, I feel as though I abandoned him. It was bound to happen eventually, and it's a start to a brand new chapter of my life, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with.
While I accept that life changes, that doesn't mean I have to forget about where I came from. It's why I keep a picture of the two of us as kids in my wallet. Multiple times throughout the day I'm reminded of him. The Greek language has four words for love, which I believe is far more useful and descriptive. Philadelphia, the 'City of Brotherly Love', derives it name from one of these words if you haven't guess yet. Philia. The word mainly refers to familial love, such as the sort between brothers. All in all, I consider myself blessed to have such a great best friend, and even better brother.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
A Charge to Keep
If you were to check my wallet, you'd find the typical fare. Some wrinkled ones, a crisp twenty, a guitar pick, some change, various plastic cards, and identification. You will also find a picture and a small slip of paper. The picture is not tonight's topic, but rather that rather plain piece of paper. This is one of the heaviest things I carry. It reminds me of days unlived and in some ways sums up a great mystery of life. For all the importance I assign to it, it is fairly innocuous. It is approximately five and a half centimeters wide, by a centimeter and a half tall, with a thickness of approximately .01 centimeters (according to google). Have you guess where I obtained this slip of paper? If not, let me provide you with more information. On the back there are three lines, the bottom line supposedly lists my "Lucky Numbers". Did that tip you off? How about the first line that reads: "Learn Chinese - Strawberry" with the appropriate characters under it. This slip of paper came from a fortune cookie.
It is very heavy.
Sometimes we as people become so involved in the world, we forget who we are; how we came to be; why we are. This small paper serves as a reminder to what I could be, and is a constant reminder to strive for what I may become. The text on the front isn't particularly poetic, I could for instance imagine it in the form of a haiku, or a poem, but I feel it none the less as a brand across my spirit. It has become the fuel for my inner fire, burning with the intensity that lit up Nero's face as played his fiddle among his burning kingdom. It has become the wind that fills my sails, taking me to exotic locales. It has become the waves that crash upon the shores of my mind, both calming and frightening.
Hard work without talent is a shame, but talent without hard work is a tragedy.
Can you sum up a person in fourteen words? No. Can you capture in essence of their being in as many words? I doubt it. Can you find a phrase that reveals so much with so little? I believe so, or at least find a way to develop a greater understanding of that individual; and those words cut to the core of my being. I admit that things come to easy to me, I usually laugh and make a joke of it, but this undermines the importance of my thought. I was probably the guy in high school that you cheated off of, but I didn't care, because I wasn't having a hard time, and as long as you didn't drag me into it, I was perfectly fine with it. Or maybe I was the one that you slipped a few dollars to, and in return I'd let you look at my math project so you could see all the shortcuts in the assignment. Or maybe you borrowed my notes, copied them and realized that you could skip class and keep asking for my notes. Before you think anything else, know that I am sorry for what I allowed to happen. Maybe you squeezed out an "A" on that English exam, maybe you saved a few hours calculating the volume of various shapes, maybe you could sleep in because you didn't have to go to your 9 AM; but at what price? I cheated you out of the chance to find your potential as much as I haven't explored mine. I've had very few people call me out on this, but I thank you for when you do. You remind me to take up the challenges, and view them not as something to merely pull myself over, but to bound over, seeing how far my legs will take me. Living to my potential instead of potentially living. Remember that there are no short cuts in life, and the miracle medicine is most likely snake oil.
Why do we fear challenges? Perhaps it's the effort involved, maybe we're content to hide under the covers when the opportunity for greatness presents itself. Or maybe it's something deeper. It may be easy to live within our limits, staying away from the edges, lest we find out the size of the box within which we live. The fear of failure. Reaching a boundary that represents the edge of our potential is terrifying. This confrontation serves to mark off who we are and our dreams, from what we desire and who we can be. But even these limitations are really just travesties, marking off boundaries in our spirit. If we took the effort to reach these walls, we'd find we have the strength to scale them. Where would be if no intrepid individual decided to see what he was truly capable of? I shudder to imagine the scene.
What is true greatness? The strength to scale the wall? No, the fortitude to try and find that wall. We may recall the epics, myths, tall-tales, urban legends, plays, songs, and stories of greatness. We come to believe that it's a quality possesed by the few. Heroes that shaped the modern age through their efforts. Whether leading an ragtag army against inconceivable odds, discovering some scientific principal, or crafting a beautiful work of art, we see these people as fundamentally different from us. Perhaps they were to some degree lucky, or were shining paradigms of humanity that we could all emulate, but the fact remains that they had to take the first step towards their walls to test their ability to climb, run, and light the torch of human achievement. We shouldn't be intimidated by their achievements, but rather inspired. Rather than remain safe in the comfort of obscurity, we should find solace in the fact that their achievements can be replicated.
We all have our limitations, but the worse kind are artificially imposed. True greatness is the wholeness of being we can experience if we find our true limits and expand our spirit to fill every niche. If we learn to bridge ourselves, than we can learn to cross the supposed divide that exists between individual people. I won't pretend that this will be easy, but that's what's exciting about it. We can construct a future for ourselves that we can be proud of, not because it's perfect, but because we had the strength to take part in it.
It is very heavy.
Sometimes we as people become so involved in the world, we forget who we are; how we came to be; why we are. This small paper serves as a reminder to what I could be, and is a constant reminder to strive for what I may become. The text on the front isn't particularly poetic, I could for instance imagine it in the form of a haiku, or a poem, but I feel it none the less as a brand across my spirit. It has become the fuel for my inner fire, burning with the intensity that lit up Nero's face as played his fiddle among his burning kingdom. It has become the wind that fills my sails, taking me to exotic locales. It has become the waves that crash upon the shores of my mind, both calming and frightening.
Hard work without talent is a shame, but talent without hard work is a tragedy.
Can you sum up a person in fourteen words? No. Can you capture in essence of their being in as many words? I doubt it. Can you find a phrase that reveals so much with so little? I believe so, or at least find a way to develop a greater understanding of that individual; and those words cut to the core of my being. I admit that things come to easy to me, I usually laugh and make a joke of it, but this undermines the importance of my thought. I was probably the guy in high school that you cheated off of, but I didn't care, because I wasn't having a hard time, and as long as you didn't drag me into it, I was perfectly fine with it. Or maybe I was the one that you slipped a few dollars to, and in return I'd let you look at my math project so you could see all the shortcuts in the assignment. Or maybe you borrowed my notes, copied them and realized that you could skip class and keep asking for my notes. Before you think anything else, know that I am sorry for what I allowed to happen. Maybe you squeezed out an "A" on that English exam, maybe you saved a few hours calculating the volume of various shapes, maybe you could sleep in because you didn't have to go to your 9 AM; but at what price? I cheated you out of the chance to find your potential as much as I haven't explored mine. I've had very few people call me out on this, but I thank you for when you do. You remind me to take up the challenges, and view them not as something to merely pull myself over, but to bound over, seeing how far my legs will take me. Living to my potential instead of potentially living. Remember that there are no short cuts in life, and the miracle medicine is most likely snake oil.
Why do we fear challenges? Perhaps it's the effort involved, maybe we're content to hide under the covers when the opportunity for greatness presents itself. Or maybe it's something deeper. It may be easy to live within our limits, staying away from the edges, lest we find out the size of the box within which we live. The fear of failure. Reaching a boundary that represents the edge of our potential is terrifying. This confrontation serves to mark off who we are and our dreams, from what we desire and who we can be. But even these limitations are really just travesties, marking off boundaries in our spirit. If we took the effort to reach these walls, we'd find we have the strength to scale them. Where would be if no intrepid individual decided to see what he was truly capable of? I shudder to imagine the scene.
What is true greatness? The strength to scale the wall? No, the fortitude to try and find that wall. We may recall the epics, myths, tall-tales, urban legends, plays, songs, and stories of greatness. We come to believe that it's a quality possesed by the few. Heroes that shaped the modern age through their efforts. Whether leading an ragtag army against inconceivable odds, discovering some scientific principal, or crafting a beautiful work of art, we see these people as fundamentally different from us. Perhaps they were to some degree lucky, or were shining paradigms of humanity that we could all emulate, but the fact remains that they had to take the first step towards their walls to test their ability to climb, run, and light the torch of human achievement. We shouldn't be intimidated by their achievements, but rather inspired. Rather than remain safe in the comfort of obscurity, we should find solace in the fact that their achievements can be replicated.
We all have our limitations, but the worse kind are artificially imposed. True greatness is the wholeness of being we can experience if we find our true limits and expand our spirit to fill every niche. If we learn to bridge ourselves, than we can learn to cross the supposed divide that exists between individual people. I won't pretend that this will be easy, but that's what's exciting about it. We can construct a future for ourselves that we can be proud of, not because it's perfect, but because we had the strength to take part in it.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Of Stones and Ponds
This begins the first post of my new discourse with you, reader, whomever you happen to be. I have been an on and off blogger/journalist since 2004, and I intend to see how this work shall compare to my earlier material. The major impetus for this renewal came less than a week ago, while sitting in the woods by myself communing with nature. I would hesitate to liken myself to Thoreau, waxing eloquently about the importance and majesty of nature while sipping tea beside a lake in Massachusets, but that seems to be the partial inspiration. Another impetus is the cathartic nature of writing itself, coupled with the fact that at some point down the road, I use these memoirs as a touchstone to reorient myself to specific points in my life. Which brings me to the topic of this post's ramblings:
One's past.
I find I frequently return to this topic in many of my musings and ramblings, perhaps obsessively, but for this reintroduction it shall provide a fair topic. As beings infused with the ability to sense the three physical dimensions, the fourth dimension, or time, merely appears to pass before our consciousness (perhaps my next topic). However, at any given state in your life, you are the product of the past. Consider, without evaluating or judging, the choices you have made in your life. These choices influenced the past for you in a certain way that brought about the person you are today. As a result of this change our interaction with the world changed in some degree or another, and in some way we have interacted with our universe. Approximately five years ago I attended a concert less than miles from where I currently sit. It took about an hour and a half to get to that concert. Had you told me then that I'd be sitting at a desk reflecting upon that moment five years later, I'm not sure what I would think. Additionally had you told me that information, the world we currently live in would be quite different. Any number of factors responsible for bringing about the current state of the world would have been altered, and in some perceptible way things would most likely be different. If you don't know what I mean, go watch Back to the Future, it's alright, I'll wait.
. . . . .
You back? Okay. Where were we? Oh yes, time. The thing about time is the amazing things that can happen in such a short amount of it. Consider a typical Sunday afternoon during fall. Somewhere in the country is probably a football game, and occasionally the result of a game will come down to the leg of one man. This man will be attempting to kick a ball perhaps 40 yards or so, in an effort to win the game for his team. Maybe you have his number and decide to call him shortly before the game. Perhaps you got in an argument. Maybe that argument has him rattled. Perhaps his nerves cause him to lose his concentration, and he ends up missing the posts, and his team suffers a defeat by the narrowest of victories. As a result, bets placed on the game go one way or the other, and the world is impacted. Now, not every choice or action we take can be isolated in such a way, or indeed viewed in such a direct light. For instance, maybe the kicker had indigestion because he had a meal that was improperly prepared. But none the less, it doesn't make them any less important.
Much like a stone tossed into a pond creates ripples that spread across the surface of the water our actions spread out across the world and change the face of the future. To that end, we are reinforced by our past and continually reinventing the future in every moment. Right down to the smallest division of time, if such division is in fact possible. With so many stones being cast into the water, the placid surface of that pond is a constantly changing tumultuous pattern of interfering waves and roils. To that end, everything appears chaotic, and one loses the trees because of the advancing forest. Remember though that the trees do exist, and every moment a new one takes root in the soil.
I had hoped to keep this brief and concise and hopefully on point, but for the time being, I see this as an acceptable reintroduction. Here's to the planting another another tree, the cast of a pebble into a pond, or the conscious choice to take one path as opposed to another.
One's past.
I find I frequently return to this topic in many of my musings and ramblings, perhaps obsessively, but for this reintroduction it shall provide a fair topic. As beings infused with the ability to sense the three physical dimensions, the fourth dimension, or time, merely appears to pass before our consciousness (perhaps my next topic). However, at any given state in your life, you are the product of the past. Consider, without evaluating or judging, the choices you have made in your life. These choices influenced the past for you in a certain way that brought about the person you are today. As a result of this change our interaction with the world changed in some degree or another, and in some way we have interacted with our universe. Approximately five years ago I attended a concert less than miles from where I currently sit. It took about an hour and a half to get to that concert. Had you told me then that I'd be sitting at a desk reflecting upon that moment five years later, I'm not sure what I would think. Additionally had you told me that information, the world we currently live in would be quite different. Any number of factors responsible for bringing about the current state of the world would have been altered, and in some perceptible way things would most likely be different. If you don't know what I mean, go watch Back to the Future, it's alright, I'll wait.
. . . . .
You back? Okay. Where were we? Oh yes, time. The thing about time is the amazing things that can happen in such a short amount of it. Consider a typical Sunday afternoon during fall. Somewhere in the country is probably a football game, and occasionally the result of a game will come down to the leg of one man. This man will be attempting to kick a ball perhaps 40 yards or so, in an effort to win the game for his team. Maybe you have his number and decide to call him shortly before the game. Perhaps you got in an argument. Maybe that argument has him rattled. Perhaps his nerves cause him to lose his concentration, and he ends up missing the posts, and his team suffers a defeat by the narrowest of victories. As a result, bets placed on the game go one way or the other, and the world is impacted. Now, not every choice or action we take can be isolated in such a way, or indeed viewed in such a direct light. For instance, maybe the kicker had indigestion because he had a meal that was improperly prepared. But none the less, it doesn't make them any less important.
Much like a stone tossed into a pond creates ripples that spread across the surface of the water our actions spread out across the world and change the face of the future. To that end, we are reinforced by our past and continually reinventing the future in every moment. Right down to the smallest division of time, if such division is in fact possible. With so many stones being cast into the water, the placid surface of that pond is a constantly changing tumultuous pattern of interfering waves and roils. To that end, everything appears chaotic, and one loses the trees because of the advancing forest. Remember though that the trees do exist, and every moment a new one takes root in the soil.
I had hoped to keep this brief and concise and hopefully on point, but for the time being, I see this as an acceptable reintroduction. Here's to the planting another another tree, the cast of a pebble into a pond, or the conscious choice to take one path as opposed to another.
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