Call and Response

Friday night. Oh, blessed relief. The weekend is finally upon us. Those of you in America will be jealous to know that I now live in the future, and as such, I get to enjoy the weekend sooner than you do. It's like eating ice cream before it melts. Can't beat it.

Had a tough week at the office though (I've always wanted to say that). It seems like I was working and sweating all the way until time to leave. I remember when I used to twiddle my thumbs all day and surf the internet. It's a beautiful thing, to be committed to something that takes all (or at least most) of your energy. It makes you worry less, to know that you did the best you were able. Even the worst days (there have been a few) aren't so bad.

I've been listening to old school Rogue Wave a bit lately (pre Zune commercial madness). I've noticed that a lot of their music involves call and response. I like that collaboration. I used to be impressed by guitar solos, but now I like duets. I like call and response, for some reason. For those of you who can't see me as I'm writing this, you'll have to take note that I have a huge, cocky grin on my face. Perhaps at one point I will explain this reason to you, but for now, is is enough to know that I have a cocky grin and I like call and response.

I've never been a rhythmic person. I don't mean musically (though I'm sure it could be argued), but in a sense of life patterns. I've never really been able to depend on what I would be doing from one day to the next. My life didn't really follow a pattern. I used to think that made me cool, like that somehow doing the same thing over and over was boring, regardless of what that thing was. It's like if I could have a conversation with Robert Johnson, I might ask him why all he ever does is play the guitar. Perhaps he should play the piano, just so people don't think that's all he knows how to do...

I'm getting distracted.

I love getting distracted.

My life follows a pattern now because I found something that I really want to do over and over again. It's not cool doing random things, hoping one of them is going to pay off sooner or later. I've done that for far too long. Now it's time to stop trying to be everything in the world and be something I'm often afraid to be.

Myself.

And no one else.

I know that sounds cheesy, but I'm a bit in the mood for cheese, despite my occasional lactose intolerance. No more whine, but cheese is nice from time to time.

Last thought: it's November soon, and I just realized that I accomplished almost all of the goals I had for this year. I have two months two finish writing my novel and find a girlfriend. Pretty good year, all in all.

Maybe I should cut my losses...

... Maybe I should start learning some new phrases in Korean.

... for the book, of course...

After All

I've decided to start writing again. I think it might be unhealthy for me to prefer writing my personal thoughts down on some website that I made public and posted a link to on my Facebook page rather than talking to a good friend about how I feel.

I'm a bit far from a good friend right now though. All attempts to be anything to anyone right now have been thwarted, and here I am again. Some sort of socially challenged forrest creature who somehow knows how to type. I wonder, in fact, if I really am alone here. If it's quiet for real now, even for the few who read this... whatever it is. Are you out there? I think you might be. I'm waiting on a voice from somewhere, something to assure me that I am facing the right direction before I start moving again.

Life is full of good things though. There are so many reasons why it's worth it to be alive, to try, to let something real in. I have seen and heard wonderful things, and if I have no one to call at the end of my day to tell these things to, I will have to write them down, with the hope that somehow they will be heard. At least one day I will come back and hear them.

My prayer is that somehow it will be enough to justify my existence. I feel like somehow it needs to balance out. Something bigger than the sociological, ecological, temporal footprint pushed into the Earth by the verb "to be." "To be or not" was never the question. We will be. To not be was not our choice. We must trust that with all the not be that never were, we were made to be, and our being was for the right reasons. It has weight. It is the only thing that really carries any importance.

Humanity.

The mess we moved into. The mess we made. The more we pretend that it isn't ours, the less our being pulls us to the earth.

There are oceans, you know? I've seen them. They cripple buildings from their foundations, and they grind the mountains into grains of sand. We're just calcium, plasma, and water. I've seen the ocean.

It's terrifying.

It's beautiful.

The most beautiful things in life are terrifying. The Ocean. Death. Truth. That voice you hear at night before falling asleep, only before falling asleep. You are too focused the rest of the day to allow it to speak. Too busy staring at the sand spread across this vast beach saying "not me, not me," over and over again as if that is going to make it true.

Yes. You.

but it's allright.

It's okay to let the ocean take you, to spin you around and dance with you. If you fight these tides, they will fight you back, but if you let them carry you...

...my God...

You can't imagine where you end up.

It's okay. It's okay because after it all, the pain, the suffering, the loneliness, the rejection, the sheer weight of the sand in your pockets, there is some thing bigger:

This world was made by love.

That's what he said his name was.