I read this again today for some reason and it took me out.
I walk away from a day at work complaining about notes, expectations, and being screamed at and kicked, and ignored, and told that I am hated,and wondering whether I'm making things better or worse, and going in and out of quasi-clinical, spiritual, theoretical, fun, and just trying not to kill them modes, but then as I'm walking away from the House I get to see a smile and feel a hug and hear something in their voice that makes me wonder who I ever thought I was. And I come back the next day looking forward to the same thing in the morning. Every once in awhile a smile like that takes me by surprise in my most tired, frustrated, and overwhelming days and enhances the ones I'm already feeling good about.
That is here.
The last line is simple, but crushes me. I guess what I have to say about it is the same thing I wrote before, just a different day. Because like a reflex I think of Alex and I'm torn. I think about him, but haven't thought of him as a reality in awhile. I've walked into my apartment right past that device I've been trying so hard to get my hands on but still haven't raised the money for yet and this was a bit of a slap in the face. So I guess thank you. This reminds me what's important to me. The flame hasn't put me to sleep yet, but God knows I've been close.
And so I say to Robby, "What are you really doing right now?"
Friday, September 4, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Few Thoughts About Kids
Sometimes it feels like I am very lucky to be working with these kids. Other times it feels like a strange consolation and an imitation of family life that I see in my friends' lives. One that perhaps I am not prepared to consistently handle. Other times I feel I've had enough practice and that I'm turning into an old man. At all angles, I am gaining experience that helps me become a better father or father figure to someone. I also get to make detailed observations of systemic issues within families with acute symptoms, and that will prepare me for my career. Having the trust of children is a joy I can't describe. And at the end of the day I am happier for having spent my time with children who need attention and guidance. And that is very fulfilling.
Today I feel a bit deflated. I feel a bit irritable and incompetent, but renewed in spirit. Only partially though. Last week I had something else shining in me and today it feels a little dull. Maybe I'm just tired or hot, or too focused on me. That's probably what it is. I'm a little bit afraid of what comes next in my life, though I have a pretty definite plan now (sort of). My head hurts and I can't pay much attention to anything today. But I'm faintly grateful for a lot of people and a lot of things. Things as they really are.
Today I feel a bit deflated. I feel a bit irritable and incompetent, but renewed in spirit. Only partially though. Last week I had something else shining in me and today it feels a little dull. Maybe I'm just tired or hot, or too focused on me. That's probably what it is. I'm a little bit afraid of what comes next in my life, though I have a pretty definite plan now (sort of). My head hurts and I can't pay much attention to anything today. But I'm faintly grateful for a lot of people and a lot of things. Things as they really are.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Word to Your Moms, I Came to Drop Bombs
I'm so proud of my mom. And grateful. She's done so much for me and I owe her so much. Sometimes we can barely connect; I'm trying to stop the advice she's giving and she's trying to play battleship with what my problem is. But sometimes we do connect and she knows exactly what to say to make me recognize my worth as an individual and makes me feel like the impossible challenges in my life are very possible. She makes me feel less weird and more accepting of myself. When I'm crouched in the corner away from my family I lose this incredible benefit and I become this strange anomaly to myself. She reminds me of good things I've done, like she told me some things I said that I was like, "Really? I said that?" but also reminds me that I can be a jerk so I should do better. But it's not a shower of shame, it's a playful reminder. I can tell her just about anything and I probably have. She doesn't coddle me though. She softens the blows of my own self attacks, but she doesn't let me delude myself into believing that I'm a helpless victim. I don't talk to her as much as I should. Oh yeah I'm proud of her because she's doing good things for herself. When I was still living at home, I used to see how she sacrificed for us all the time to the point where she didn't take time to do the things she loved. I think she was depressed a lot. Now I kind of see how that happens. She's exercising and eating better and has a lot of energy. She is able to be present and just seems happy. And that makes me happy.
Viorica is my surrogate grandmother from Romania. She is my inspiration of faith and gentleness. She is so kind to me (as long as I don't refuse to eat!). Today I came over and saw her and we got to talk for awhile. I've never considered myself a real poet, but this is a poem I wrote about her about 2 years ago...
Bunica Mea (Feb 10, 2008)
Warm, sensuous meal;
An unsought perk with the light of eyes.
She deals me acres from her years.
I sit in silence; or grunt back feeble fumbling phrases
Glossing over wobbly points to finish half aware.
Her well worn smile moves with fragile faith.
Slows my blood, soothing as the summer sun.
These strange tastes become familiar friends
Sour, oily, delicious feast.
She is a world of wonder to me.
I laugh and shrug, we scale a wall to speak.
She refreshes my soft love for life.
And briefly today, I am her child.
It's a little bit easier to talk to her now and we laugh and can talk about serious stuff and I can almost understand it. Today I helped her fix her TV and showed her pictures of my kids and my sister on a mission and she fed me tomatoes, telemea (salty cheese) and a bologna sandwich and told me about a sacred experience she had in the temple in Frieberg, Germany. She described the spirit in a way that I hadn't heard before and she has vivid experiences and miracles that happen to her, because of her faith frequently. She often says in broken english, "Father in Heaven so good to me. Perfect Doctor." I remember feeling this intense gratitude to have her in my life. I honestly love this lady.
My bishop kept saying that one of our speakers canceled and I secretly wished he would have asked me to fill in. Some of my most salient experiences in life have been appreciating motherhood in some way. In Romania it was seeing what life was like for those without mothers. There is a whole world of emotional fragility and darkness that opens to these children and probably more so to those children who can understand it better.
At house of hope, I'm realizing how important mothers being present is. Most of the children I work with have not had their mothers consistently present. They have watched their mothers slowly come back into their lives and they crave them now. I don't know how much of this is a natural tendency, but it seems that having their mothers less present has created a love and attention hording behavior pattern. There has been some research on the subject, but I don't know how to really apply it to better my interactions with them or to comfort them. That is something that has been stripped from me in a way. I have been loaded with process information and instead of an instantaneous comforting reaction, there is a deer in the headlight analytical overload that occurs. And then I can come to the rescue. Maxwell said it like so...
A marriage counselor can become encrusted with a protective layer of clinical indifference brought on by the routine and incessant nature of his chores. If so, his techniques will never compensate for his lack of caring.
-Maxwell (Grounded, Rooted, Established, and Settled)
And I haven't even practiced or gone through grad school yet. Ergh.
I miss that reaction some, because more often than not, that is what is needed in the face of an emotional overload. Just a hug or a small touch. A kind word and a gentle tone. In trying to maximize the comfort I give, I offer none. In some ways my family (all of us do this) we've witnessed enough lashing out at attempts to comfort that we're afraid of it sometimes. We all have it in us though. We trust each other on individual levels, but there is still something withheld. I believe this sometimes, and many times it is proven wrong. When we see people have gone past the point of what we consider trivial. We're afraid of overdoing it. I'm working on it. I don't think moms get enough credit for this initial reaction to their own. The moms at house of hope struggle with this. There's no out in motherhood and this concept seems foreign to them. Or perhaps I see more into it than there really is. Like all of it.
I love my mom though.
Viorica is my surrogate grandmother from Romania. She is my inspiration of faith and gentleness. She is so kind to me (as long as I don't refuse to eat!). Today I came over and saw her and we got to talk for awhile. I've never considered myself a real poet, but this is a poem I wrote about her about 2 years ago...
Bunica Mea (Feb 10, 2008)
Warm, sensuous meal;
An unsought perk with the light of eyes.
She deals me acres from her years.
I sit in silence; or grunt back feeble fumbling phrases
Glossing over wobbly points to finish half aware.
Her well worn smile moves with fragile faith.
Slows my blood, soothing as the summer sun.
These strange tastes become familiar friends
Sour, oily, delicious feast.
She is a world of wonder to me.
I laugh and shrug, we scale a wall to speak.
She refreshes my soft love for life.
And briefly today, I am her child.
It's a little bit easier to talk to her now and we laugh and can talk about serious stuff and I can almost understand it. Today I helped her fix her TV and showed her pictures of my kids and my sister on a mission and she fed me tomatoes, telemea (salty cheese) and a bologna sandwich and told me about a sacred experience she had in the temple in Frieberg, Germany. She described the spirit in a way that I hadn't heard before and she has vivid experiences and miracles that happen to her, because of her faith frequently. She often says in broken english, "Father in Heaven so good to me. Perfect Doctor." I remember feeling this intense gratitude to have her in my life. I honestly love this lady.
My bishop kept saying that one of our speakers canceled and I secretly wished he would have asked me to fill in. Some of my most salient experiences in life have been appreciating motherhood in some way. In Romania it was seeing what life was like for those without mothers. There is a whole world of emotional fragility and darkness that opens to these children and probably more so to those children who can understand it better.
At house of hope, I'm realizing how important mothers being present is. Most of the children I work with have not had their mothers consistently present. They have watched their mothers slowly come back into their lives and they crave them now. I don't know how much of this is a natural tendency, but it seems that having their mothers less present has created a love and attention hording behavior pattern. There has been some research on the subject, but I don't know how to really apply it to better my interactions with them or to comfort them. That is something that has been stripped from me in a way. I have been loaded with process information and instead of an instantaneous comforting reaction, there is a deer in the headlight analytical overload that occurs. And then I can come to the rescue. Maxwell said it like so...
A marriage counselor can become encrusted with a protective layer of clinical indifference brought on by the routine and incessant nature of his chores. If so, his techniques will never compensate for his lack of caring.
-Maxwell (Grounded, Rooted, Established, and Settled)
And I haven't even practiced or gone through grad school yet. Ergh.
I miss that reaction some, because more often than not, that is what is needed in the face of an emotional overload. Just a hug or a small touch. A kind word and a gentle tone. In trying to maximize the comfort I give, I offer none. In some ways my family (all of us do this) we've witnessed enough lashing out at attempts to comfort that we're afraid of it sometimes. We all have it in us though. We trust each other on individual levels, but there is still something withheld. I believe this sometimes, and many times it is proven wrong. When we see people have gone past the point of what we consider trivial. We're afraid of overdoing it. I'm working on it. I don't think moms get enough credit for this initial reaction to their own. The moms at house of hope struggle with this. There's no out in motherhood and this concept seems foreign to them. Or perhaps I see more into it than there really is. Like all of it.
I love my mom though.
Downs and Ups
Today I'm sick. So I'm at home. I was playing guitar again hoping to be able to string together a few more chords. I still can't sing while I'm playing most songs except a few I've learned of other people's for fun and even then I'm usually stammering a bit. Maybe it's the futility of the activity (I'm half asleep in the process and uninspired), but I have this vivid flashback of being back in Mississippi as an elder. I can't remember the city, but I see government duplexes all around me. There's the incessant rumble of subwoofers in the background and kids passing on torn up bicycles. We are walking through an empty basketball court and the broken chain from the goal can be heard clanking in the wind. There's also a tint of darkness that isn't from the sky. Maybe it's the bleak attitudes. Or maybe it was from the sky. I think it was clouds. We're here to see a woman and we come by and she lets us in, but it is different today. She's hiding something. And then my mind splinters and it's a different woman, a different interior, and a different city probably. But it's the same pulse in that room. And it's nearly the same noise outside. We're supposed to check to see if she stopped smoking or chewing tobacco. I remember then it was such an easy thing to suggest to our strangers of hosts. And I can feel the same prayer in my heart as we walked in there. The feeling I tend to forget is the wariness and guilt that comes from wondering whether we were wasting our time there. It was something intangible we hoped for, though only slightly. Until we prayed with them and heard the sincerity of their hearts open. This varied. Rarely did someone really want what we wanted for them. And rarely did we bend our view of the gospel to promise them what they really wanted.
I don't remember a lot of details from the mission. I remember what the spirit did to me at times. After a powerful discussion once or twice I needed to just pull our bikes over and sit down. Or maybe we would ride home and I'd be completely silent. I remember the time in Bay St. Louis when 3 of our investigators who were ready for baptism turned rejecting at once. And I just started bouncing a ball off the wall over and over humming, "I saw a Mighty Angel Fly" and wondering what I did wrong.
The first, Mr. Spiller, I can never forget. His was the most powerful prayer experience I'd felt up until then and I don't think there was another more powerful afterward. He was a big ex-biker. He prided himself in being a tough guy and was into government conspiracies, but other than that he was very sane. I loved the guy and he was ready. He had some tough concerns he had to get over though. A niece of his had been molested by a bishop. We don't think that stuff happens and thankfully it is very rare, but it happened here and he was very skeptical at first. He had a good friend that we kept trying to get contact info for from the records guys in our ward there. He knew his bible and we would frequently discuss Revelation. When he got the Book of Mormon, he inhaled it. We came back for our next appointment and he had questions about Alma or Mormon (he started from the beginning). He went to conference and loved it. He told us there that he was ready to be baptized. This was immediately after the experience we had on our knees. He was praying for an answer to a question about the Book of Mormon and we helped him resolve this by suggesting prayer. I was concentrated on our recent emphasis on kneeling in prayer and so this made me feel good to know he was willing to do this. He prayed and there was a warm washing silence in the room. This intense love like feeling entered with a subtle onset but rolled like a snowball into a feeling so fragile none of us could really speak without care. And then our host held his arm out to show his goosebumps. He knew. That was the take home message. He knew and we all knew. A couple days later, just a few days before his baptism, he had a coldness in greeting us. He told us about how he finally got a hold of his friend and then brought up a lot of anti literature concerns. The thing that happened next was devastating. I could not defend against them. Neither could my companion. The man was belligerent and his eyes had completely changed. "I almost let you get my son too..." those words stung like a hot iron. And I felt powerless and flooded. I tried to bring up a few things, but I couldn't do anything. He wanted us gone and that was it. There is no ending to this story. Just a painful resignation. I gave up blaming myself or the men involved awhile ago, but it still stings to think of it. The contrast. But contrasts are what Jesus endured more than anything. I had tasted only a sample and couldn't drink anymore.
Reflecting on the mission brought a great joy to me though in the form of an electronic reunion with a child from a family we baptized. I had been trying to contact her mother off and on for years, but her phone changed and I lost touch. They were kind of my last contact with the memories of my mission. I thought, she's about 16 now (she was 9 at the time I met them) and I did one of those random facebook searches that I rarely do. I messaged her and she remembered me! I can't really say how happy I was. I'm just really excited to talk to all of them and find out how life is. It really was a miracle running into them too. It was my first door, haha really. I knock and this big black lady comes to the door and I'm like a deer in the headlights. I was way nervous. And she just looks at me with pity for a second like, "seriously?" then gives a chuckle and says come in. We teach her. She's not interested. But her sister, who lives close by is and then we start teaching her husband, and then her two kids. And a strange thing happens. We love these people. One of the best moments of the mission is the last day that we hung out with them. I've only got a couple pictures to remember it, but one of the elders in our foursome brought a guitar over and started playing some blues and we all kind of sang to it. And I started chasing the mom around with a camera cause she was like don't take my picture. And we were just playing with the kids and it was like the perfect day. They were excited about church and seemed happy and it was my first time getting transferred, but they made the mission for me. I tried to keep in contact with them, but mostly tried to keep them connected to the ward members who could love them on a regular basis. Thank God for facebook.
And of course I got to talk to Shtebbadie on the phone and that was the awesome. She's such a stellar missionary and I was excited to hear about the people she's teaching (and baptizing).
Next entry is mother's day.
I don't remember a lot of details from the mission. I remember what the spirit did to me at times. After a powerful discussion once or twice I needed to just pull our bikes over and sit down. Or maybe we would ride home and I'd be completely silent. I remember the time in Bay St. Louis when 3 of our investigators who were ready for baptism turned rejecting at once. And I just started bouncing a ball off the wall over and over humming, "I saw a Mighty Angel Fly" and wondering what I did wrong.
The first, Mr. Spiller, I can never forget. His was the most powerful prayer experience I'd felt up until then and I don't think there was another more powerful afterward. He was a big ex-biker. He prided himself in being a tough guy and was into government conspiracies, but other than that he was very sane. I loved the guy and he was ready. He had some tough concerns he had to get over though. A niece of his had been molested by a bishop. We don't think that stuff happens and thankfully it is very rare, but it happened here and he was very skeptical at first. He had a good friend that we kept trying to get contact info for from the records guys in our ward there. He knew his bible and we would frequently discuss Revelation. When he got the Book of Mormon, he inhaled it. We came back for our next appointment and he had questions about Alma or Mormon (he started from the beginning). He went to conference and loved it. He told us there that he was ready to be baptized. This was immediately after the experience we had on our knees. He was praying for an answer to a question about the Book of Mormon and we helped him resolve this by suggesting prayer. I was concentrated on our recent emphasis on kneeling in prayer and so this made me feel good to know he was willing to do this. He prayed and there was a warm washing silence in the room. This intense love like feeling entered with a subtle onset but rolled like a snowball into a feeling so fragile none of us could really speak without care. And then our host held his arm out to show his goosebumps. He knew. That was the take home message. He knew and we all knew. A couple days later, just a few days before his baptism, he had a coldness in greeting us. He told us about how he finally got a hold of his friend and then brought up a lot of anti literature concerns. The thing that happened next was devastating. I could not defend against them. Neither could my companion. The man was belligerent and his eyes had completely changed. "I almost let you get my son too..." those words stung like a hot iron. And I felt powerless and flooded. I tried to bring up a few things, but I couldn't do anything. He wanted us gone and that was it. There is no ending to this story. Just a painful resignation. I gave up blaming myself or the men involved awhile ago, but it still stings to think of it. The contrast. But contrasts are what Jesus endured more than anything. I had tasted only a sample and couldn't drink anymore.
Reflecting on the mission brought a great joy to me though in the form of an electronic reunion with a child from a family we baptized. I had been trying to contact her mother off and on for years, but her phone changed and I lost touch. They were kind of my last contact with the memories of my mission. I thought, she's about 16 now (she was 9 at the time I met them) and I did one of those random facebook searches that I rarely do. I messaged her and she remembered me! I can't really say how happy I was. I'm just really excited to talk to all of them and find out how life is. It really was a miracle running into them too. It was my first door, haha really. I knock and this big black lady comes to the door and I'm like a deer in the headlights. I was way nervous. And she just looks at me with pity for a second like, "seriously?" then gives a chuckle and says come in. We teach her. She's not interested. But her sister, who lives close by is and then we start teaching her husband, and then her two kids. And a strange thing happens. We love these people. One of the best moments of the mission is the last day that we hung out with them. I've only got a couple pictures to remember it, but one of the elders in our foursome brought a guitar over and started playing some blues and we all kind of sang to it. And I started chasing the mom around with a camera cause she was like don't take my picture. And we were just playing with the kids and it was like the perfect day. They were excited about church and seemed happy and it was my first time getting transferred, but they made the mission for me. I tried to keep in contact with them, but mostly tried to keep them connected to the ward members who could love them on a regular basis. Thank God for facebook.
And of course I got to talk to Shtebbadie on the phone and that was the awesome. She's such a stellar missionary and I was excited to hear about the people she's teaching (and baptizing).
Next entry is mother's day.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
It Feels Good Like Tony Tony Tony: An expression of gratitude.
Haven't had time to write very much, but this is what I've been feeling the last couple days. It didn't start out being a thank-you-mony but it ended up that way maybe.
I just wanted to write about yesterday, because it was like one of the most gratifying days I've ever had. I graduated. I didn't really feel any different and I didn't really feel the full weight or sense of accomplishment that should accompany that, but I felt a sense of relief, and a renewal of appreciation for the experiences I've had the last 4 years or so. Elder Nelson talked about the lesson he learned through retiring: That though we can gain some sense of pride from our occupations, they are a means to an end and not an end in themselves. I have felt profoundly despondent in the true sense of the word, because I had been in this limbo stage of uncertainty and I was doing nothing while counting my losses, reapplying self pity lotion like a hot day at the beach. But really, I couldn't let go of Romania and I kept feeling like there was nothing I could do to have a purpose. Going from seeing one of the most important people in my life lighting up when I walked in the room to coming home to an empty apartment (comfortable though it was) or many times not having a reason or desire to leave was a difficult contrast. I feel there are opportunities ahead and I know a little more how to follow after them and I have much less time or energy to contemplate what I lack emotionally.
Later the day of my first graduation, or commencement I was given the surprise of my life. A tangent fantasy conversation I had with Rachel became a reality. Instead of the plan that I had set up (dinner at an overrated italian restaurant), my dad and she conspired to throw me a graduation party at Andale's cafe. They tricked me by saying there wasn't enough time to get to the restaurant before they gave our reservation away and so Rachel and I had to go to the cafe. When we pulled up, there were two llamas in front of the cafe. Thinking of the most ridiculous thing I could say, I shouted, "You got me llamas for my graduation party?!" I knew there was no graduation party and so this was a safe and silly thing to say. But they were and there was a big picture of me hung up from when I was like 5 with a spiderman t-shirt on hanging from a jungle gym. My dad offered to park the car and I got out with Rachel we started getting to know the llamas. People kept coming up asking to take pictures with them. It was crazy. And we started making up silly stories about why we might have llamas. We are thunderously clever and so it was great fun. We took the llamas for a walk. Her llama was quite obstinate, but he was firmly and warmly disciplined. I had so much fun. And most of my best friends were there. Jimmy showed up and David was there and Andale and Brennan and Brandon were there. I was so happy. And then Brennan's band othello played and they were great. It was like something so cool. People don't throw me parties and it was really nice of my parents to do that. I think everyone secretly wants a surprise party sometime in their life and this was just great. I loved the point where I realized everyone was in on it. Everyone involved had this mischievous look and laughter. I couldn't believe it, it made me feel so happy. Everyone signed this picture of me and that meant so much to me too. It meant an incredible amount to receive such attention and appreciation and when people remember little things about me and turn them into something tangible with meaning, it just makes me feel valued and warm. (Matt. 7:11 NOT Ezekiel 16:33)
Rachel is a shot of adrenaline to my brain. She is the cocreator of a world that doesn't exist. She makes me laugh convulsively and feel like the world is full of possibilities. She is thoughtful and kind and warm. She is inalienating and has the refreshing innate ability to seek understanding. A very good friend who has taught me things I never had supposed.
Later that night, I got to spend some quality time talking with my parents. One of the better and more open talks we've ever had. They are so good to me and are incredibly supportive of the decisions I've made in my life and have given me opportunities I would not have been able to secure. Sometimes I forget that or lose sight of it or use it as a crutch and then resent it, but I have moments of reflection like this to recognize that I can be grateful and use it to give me momentum to do good things. It has taken me a long time to see my parents as real, imperfect, but good and loving people. It comes in degrees, but I am really grateful for them.
The next day, I had another graduation and I got to walk with Holly. Sometimes I get a little emo when I think about her and her influence on me. She loves the kids in Romania so much and knows the ins and outs of things so well. She is a true friend and one of the most humble and good seeking people I know. The fire can bring you to appreciate those people who are there. Landes Holbrook, I finally got to thank for how much he helped Katie and I while we were waiting in a hospital in Bucharest. I got to thank Chris Porter to his face for the class that challenged me more than any other I've taken. I got to hug Roberta and thank her for her caring so much for us students (treasure hunts and all). I even got to see Dave Shuler, Ashley, and Larry Nelson over the last couple days. Richard Miller handed me my diploma and he remembered me from his classes and addressed me with a warm tone of familiarity instead of passing disinterest. Strangely I'm going to miss a lot of the BYU faculty.
My parents and Dave were there. David is one of my best friends and has been loyal since we have met. We are a support to each other and I have seen him grow and progress so much in the last 3-4 years it is incredible. He has been there to talk to when no one else was and has helped bring me back to reality. He basically lit the fire that led to me being the musician I am now. He is the harbinger of brutal honesty and has helped me become more honest with myself.
Last night I also saw a movie that touched me a lot called the Soloist. It is about a man who is diagnosed with schizophrenia who is a phenomenal cellist. There is a writer from the L.A. times who starts writing a story about him, then starts trying to understand him, then tries to fix him/help him, then realizes that the best thing is to be his friend. It made me think of Robert and I started crying. Robert has been a real friend to me and we can talk about everything. He is one of the people I hope fervently I will be able to keep association with in the afterlife. I went through a very similar process with Robert of beginning to serve him for the personal gains of getting over some things in my life at the time. Eventually I came to see the wonderful person that he is and though at times there frustrating things about him, he is so valuable to me as a friend and I count that as something priceless.
And my father in heaven is the one before all of these people who never leaves even when I have chosen things that keep me from feeling Him. And my Savior who brings the cool water to my drying tongue and lets me back in again. The reasons that love exist. His hand in all things.
This has been mostly to document my feelings on these couple days and more fully form my gratitude for (some) of the important people in my life by expressing it and giving it a name.
I just wanted to write about yesterday, because it was like one of the most gratifying days I've ever had. I graduated. I didn't really feel any different and I didn't really feel the full weight or sense of accomplishment that should accompany that, but I felt a sense of relief, and a renewal of appreciation for the experiences I've had the last 4 years or so. Elder Nelson talked about the lesson he learned through retiring: That though we can gain some sense of pride from our occupations, they are a means to an end and not an end in themselves. I have felt profoundly despondent in the true sense of the word, because I had been in this limbo stage of uncertainty and I was doing nothing while counting my losses, reapplying self pity lotion like a hot day at the beach. But really, I couldn't let go of Romania and I kept feeling like there was nothing I could do to have a purpose. Going from seeing one of the most important people in my life lighting up when I walked in the room to coming home to an empty apartment (comfortable though it was) or many times not having a reason or desire to leave was a difficult contrast. I feel there are opportunities ahead and I know a little more how to follow after them and I have much less time or energy to contemplate what I lack emotionally.
Later the day of my first graduation, or commencement I was given the surprise of my life. A tangent fantasy conversation I had with Rachel became a reality. Instead of the plan that I had set up (dinner at an overrated italian restaurant), my dad and she conspired to throw me a graduation party at Andale's cafe. They tricked me by saying there wasn't enough time to get to the restaurant before they gave our reservation away and so Rachel and I had to go to the cafe. When we pulled up, there were two llamas in front of the cafe. Thinking of the most ridiculous thing I could say, I shouted, "You got me llamas for my graduation party?!" I knew there was no graduation party and so this was a safe and silly thing to say. But they were and there was a big picture of me hung up from when I was like 5 with a spiderman t-shirt on hanging from a jungle gym. My dad offered to park the car and I got out with Rachel we started getting to know the llamas. People kept coming up asking to take pictures with them. It was crazy. And we started making up silly stories about why we might have llamas. We are thunderously clever and so it was great fun. We took the llamas for a walk. Her llama was quite obstinate, but he was firmly and warmly disciplined. I had so much fun. And most of my best friends were there. Jimmy showed up and David was there and Andale and Brennan and Brandon were there. I was so happy. And then Brennan's band othello played and they were great. It was like something so cool. People don't throw me parties and it was really nice of my parents to do that. I think everyone secretly wants a surprise party sometime in their life and this was just great. I loved the point where I realized everyone was in on it. Everyone involved had this mischievous look and laughter. I couldn't believe it, it made me feel so happy. Everyone signed this picture of me and that meant so much to me too. It meant an incredible amount to receive such attention and appreciation and when people remember little things about me and turn them into something tangible with meaning, it just makes me feel valued and warm. (Matt. 7:11 NOT Ezekiel 16:33)
Rachel is a shot of adrenaline to my brain. She is the cocreator of a world that doesn't exist. She makes me laugh convulsively and feel like the world is full of possibilities. She is thoughtful and kind and warm. She is inalienating and has the refreshing innate ability to seek understanding. A very good friend who has taught me things I never had supposed.
Later that night, I got to spend some quality time talking with my parents. One of the better and more open talks we've ever had. They are so good to me and are incredibly supportive of the decisions I've made in my life and have given me opportunities I would not have been able to secure. Sometimes I forget that or lose sight of it or use it as a crutch and then resent it, but I have moments of reflection like this to recognize that I can be grateful and use it to give me momentum to do good things. It has taken me a long time to see my parents as real, imperfect, but good and loving people. It comes in degrees, but I am really grateful for them.
The next day, I had another graduation and I got to walk with Holly. Sometimes I get a little emo when I think about her and her influence on me. She loves the kids in Romania so much and knows the ins and outs of things so well. She is a true friend and one of the most humble and good seeking people I know. The fire can bring you to appreciate those people who are there. Landes Holbrook, I finally got to thank for how much he helped Katie and I while we were waiting in a hospital in Bucharest. I got to thank Chris Porter to his face for the class that challenged me more than any other I've taken. I got to hug Roberta and thank her for her caring so much for us students (treasure hunts and all). I even got to see Dave Shuler, Ashley, and Larry Nelson over the last couple days. Richard Miller handed me my diploma and he remembered me from his classes and addressed me with a warm tone of familiarity instead of passing disinterest. Strangely I'm going to miss a lot of the BYU faculty.
My parents and Dave were there. David is one of my best friends and has been loyal since we have met. We are a support to each other and I have seen him grow and progress so much in the last 3-4 years it is incredible. He has been there to talk to when no one else was and has helped bring me back to reality. He basically lit the fire that led to me being the musician I am now. He is the harbinger of brutal honesty and has helped me become more honest with myself.
Last night I also saw a movie that touched me a lot called the Soloist. It is about a man who is diagnosed with schizophrenia who is a phenomenal cellist. There is a writer from the L.A. times who starts writing a story about him, then starts trying to understand him, then tries to fix him/help him, then realizes that the best thing is to be his friend. It made me think of Robert and I started crying. Robert has been a real friend to me and we can talk about everything. He is one of the people I hope fervently I will be able to keep association with in the afterlife. I went through a very similar process with Robert of beginning to serve him for the personal gains of getting over some things in my life at the time. Eventually I came to see the wonderful person that he is and though at times there frustrating things about him, he is so valuable to me as a friend and I count that as something priceless.
And my father in heaven is the one before all of these people who never leaves even when I have chosen things that keep me from feeling Him. And my Savior who brings the cool water to my drying tongue and lets me back in again. The reasons that love exist. His hand in all things.
This has been mostly to document my feelings on these couple days and more fully form my gratitude for (some) of the important people in my life by expressing it and giving it a name.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My New Job
Today was my second day at house of hope. I'm really starting to love this place. House of Hope is a drug addiction treatment center for women and their children. I work in the preschool and work on developmental goals and behavior issues with the children.
I'm still in the n00b phase where I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I know I have to learn the goals of each child and start finding creative ways to help some of them develop more prosocial behaviors. I don't even really understand what meth does to kids yet. I can already see that some of the effects are probably almost no boundaries, as one child who came in yesterday acts out about just every chance she can get. It's interesting to watch what happens. It's too fast for me to make meaningful decisions about at this point. It's weird, because the first reaction and most of the time only reaction people have are for the peace to return to the system; to pacify them. I realize this is thing that needs to be done many times, but I also have a sinking feeling about that notion. It seems that the things which are resisted most frequently are the very things that the kids need help with. It takes several observations to take in and quick analysis is crucial to meaningful discipline. It makes me wonder what kind of parent I will be. It is very easy to slip into selfish responses to preserve a quiet peace that serves me. Babies perplex me more than anything. It is apparent that there are instinctual responses to their cries and I should know something about what is more appropriate than the next thing, but I'm just as vulnerable to just want the crying to stop. That's enough about that stuff.
It's interesting, because it's a lot more like section 2 than I thought it would be. There's a director who rarely shows his face, but is an awesome guy and various therapists and a psychologist who is over us workers. She's kind of a guru on child development and way cool just like Teo. There's a worker who comes in on most days who prides herself in being mean, because she sees results.
The kids are so fun when it is time to have fun. Today we played with boxes and the kids all took turns being trapped in one box two at a time. It was only me dropping a box around them and making sound effects and evil laughter, but they loved it, and so did I. We also played what time is it Mr. Wolf? I'll explain it if you ask me, but it ends with the wolf saying, "Lunch Time!!!" and running frantically after everyone else. We also played with a parachute, which is always a good time.
Today I felt so happy as I left, because I had a million (well more like 10) little kids saying, "Bye Robby!" one at a time. I'm starting to get to know all of their personalities a little better and they're so fun. It just made me feel appreciated. That's an amazing feeling to me. Anyway, I'm excited for more fun and more work with them.
I'm still in the n00b phase where I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I know I have to learn the goals of each child and start finding creative ways to help some of them develop more prosocial behaviors. I don't even really understand what meth does to kids yet. I can already see that some of the effects are probably almost no boundaries, as one child who came in yesterday acts out about just every chance she can get. It's interesting to watch what happens. It's too fast for me to make meaningful decisions about at this point. It's weird, because the first reaction and most of the time only reaction people have are for the peace to return to the system; to pacify them. I realize this is thing that needs to be done many times, but I also have a sinking feeling about that notion. It seems that the things which are resisted most frequently are the very things that the kids need help with. It takes several observations to take in and quick analysis is crucial to meaningful discipline. It makes me wonder what kind of parent I will be. It is very easy to slip into selfish responses to preserve a quiet peace that serves me. Babies perplex me more than anything. It is apparent that there are instinctual responses to their cries and I should know something about what is more appropriate than the next thing, but I'm just as vulnerable to just want the crying to stop. That's enough about that stuff.
It's interesting, because it's a lot more like section 2 than I thought it would be. There's a director who rarely shows his face, but is an awesome guy and various therapists and a psychologist who is over us workers. She's kind of a guru on child development and way cool just like Teo. There's a worker who comes in on most days who prides herself in being mean, because she sees results.
The kids are so fun when it is time to have fun. Today we played with boxes and the kids all took turns being trapped in one box two at a time. It was only me dropping a box around them and making sound effects and evil laughter, but they loved it, and so did I. We also played what time is it Mr. Wolf? I'll explain it if you ask me, but it ends with the wolf saying, "Lunch Time!!!" and running frantically after everyone else. We also played with a parachute, which is always a good time.
Today I felt so happy as I left, because I had a million (well more like 10) little kids saying, "Bye Robby!" one at a time. I'm starting to get to know all of their personalities a little better and they're so fun. It just made me feel appreciated. That's an amazing feeling to me. Anyway, I'm excited for more fun and more work with them.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Seriously Eat Here
I like food. It is good. Some food is better than other food. I went to Stoneground. It was really good. I had the Forest Mushroom and Goat Cheese with Pesto Sauce and the Great Tuna with Wasabi Mashed Potatoes. It was divine. I recommend eating there. And eating what we ate. I went with a really cool person. This person was neat. You can see this person's elbow in this picture and also a glass of water. This pizza place is great. They play lots of good music and have pool tables there. The person I went with was like totally freaking out, because they played so many songs that this person liked. I think this place is great.
Here's a picture of the food we ate in intervals between gasps of awe at the awesomeness of this great pizza place. Seriously eat here.
Here's a picture of the food we ate in intervals between gasps of awe at the awesomeness of this great pizza place. Seriously eat here.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Another Circuit to Break (1/2 depression 1/2 a week later)
The kind of cloudiness that comes from despair has no triumph in description.
Identities are meaningless, though they would tell you it’s the beginning of the solution.
To live alone is not a bitter pill or a stoic honor, but a consignment best embraced for the time.
Sometimes I am terrified of that notion, or that I have embraced it for too long.
I just am and though I have created enough weight from shame to press newspapers, it is mine to leave.
There is no trick to living; it is a simple competition against nothing.
Some are justly content with being nothing; others crave insatiably to be something which is nothing to those around them. In finding truth, the insatiable cravers seem to come out ahead in the real world. They work to forget and forgetting allows them to keep working.
In living as an escape artist, I have been able to study those who truly live. My life is not attractive to them and theirs is a mystery to me. Yet we coexist and tolerate one another. I will find life more than a terrifying set of inescapable circumstances and they will visit me on their bad days.
Someday we will both arrive at the end and realize how many tools each of us lacks. Walking into the dark and hoping to see those we found here smiling to greet us naked in the sense of facilitators to our hiding, but clothed in something we will find much more durable.
This is what we hope for and forget and cling to and forsake at trivial transactions throughout our days and nights. There is an inescapable power in this reality that is either grasped and lifts, or destroys us to degrees.
I am a fool to many things that would save me from myself. I can’t describe those things acutely, however they breeze past me overhead and on my sides and below me, but on occasion strike me with pain to the extent that I am not pliable.
So I find Someone to live for. If I forget that, I am doomed to myself. If I choose someone else, I am doomed to them. I can choose to serve others and even love them and sacrifice, but if I live for them I will die to them. That is the fear in me. That I will die and never realize what has happened until they leave. Everyone leaves someday. Perhaps that is the giving up I need to learn sometimes.
Writing this is not attractive, it’s alienating and precocious, but it’s what I have today. Not all I have though.
I have a room full of clothes and a couple boxes full of accumulated ornaments and distractions. And monuments to things I’ve learned or people I’ve loved. I have notebooks full of regrets and life longings and simple ideas that serve as mile markers to my growth from naïve to still naïve, but a smidgen more aware of the fact.
Forget those things. The inward journey quit halfway through is a diver’s nightmare. He’s seen a glinting, taunting him through the water, dimly lit by a tiny headlamp. Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.
The peaceful spirit grants me something to hold on to; a promise that it’s still down there. He lets me know that I can live a life between dives that isn’t worthless. I say I don’t know, but really it’s a gasp for air when I’ve lost sight of what I’m looking for.
And then I am released from that question. Refreshed and content without answers though I know they lie below and someday I shall see as if there were no water and I needed no air.
Identities are meaningless, though they would tell you it’s the beginning of the solution.
To live alone is not a bitter pill or a stoic honor, but a consignment best embraced for the time.
Sometimes I am terrified of that notion, or that I have embraced it for too long.
I just am and though I have created enough weight from shame to press newspapers, it is mine to leave.
There is no trick to living; it is a simple competition against nothing.
Some are justly content with being nothing; others crave insatiably to be something which is nothing to those around them. In finding truth, the insatiable cravers seem to come out ahead in the real world. They work to forget and forgetting allows them to keep working.
In living as an escape artist, I have been able to study those who truly live. My life is not attractive to them and theirs is a mystery to me. Yet we coexist and tolerate one another. I will find life more than a terrifying set of inescapable circumstances and they will visit me on their bad days.
Someday we will both arrive at the end and realize how many tools each of us lacks. Walking into the dark and hoping to see those we found here smiling to greet us naked in the sense of facilitators to our hiding, but clothed in something we will find much more durable.
This is what we hope for and forget and cling to and forsake at trivial transactions throughout our days and nights. There is an inescapable power in this reality that is either grasped and lifts, or destroys us to degrees.
I am a fool to many things that would save me from myself. I can’t describe those things acutely, however they breeze past me overhead and on my sides and below me, but on occasion strike me with pain to the extent that I am not pliable.
So I find Someone to live for. If I forget that, I am doomed to myself. If I choose someone else, I am doomed to them. I can choose to serve others and even love them and sacrifice, but if I live for them I will die to them. That is the fear in me. That I will die and never realize what has happened until they leave. Everyone leaves someday. Perhaps that is the giving up I need to learn sometimes.
Writing this is not attractive, it’s alienating and precocious, but it’s what I have today. Not all I have though.
I have a room full of clothes and a couple boxes full of accumulated ornaments and distractions. And monuments to things I’ve learned or people I’ve loved. I have notebooks full of regrets and life longings and simple ideas that serve as mile markers to my growth from naïve to still naïve, but a smidgen more aware of the fact.
Forget those things. The inward journey quit halfway through is a diver’s nightmare. He’s seen a glinting, taunting him through the water, dimly lit by a tiny headlamp. Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.
The peaceful spirit grants me something to hold on to; a promise that it’s still down there. He lets me know that I can live a life between dives that isn’t worthless. I say I don’t know, but really it’s a gasp for air when I’ve lost sight of what I’m looking for.
And then I am released from that question. Refreshed and content without answers though I know they lie below and someday I shall see as if there were no water and I needed no air.
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