Later Than it Feels

The other day I stepped outside and it was November. The cold piercing through my grey fleece spoke of the last trip northward and the first winter after graduation - both very strong memories. Perhaps this is why I know Florida has seasons: the shift in the wind reminds me of what I know a season to be.

This morning I carried "Mr. K" down the stairs into spring. I recalled the feel of Easter Sunday as a child and let the smell of pancakes cooking in one of the neighbouring apartments carry me further away. I hope whoever was making them had company for breakfast.

For the past 15 hours my sister's beloved first pup has been enlightening me as to what it would be like if I owned a dog. It has become apparent that my fondness for the creatures exists only when our moods are aligned. When I was trying to work through my evening and morning routines as he jumped in my face and flung toys at me, it was not a good match. At the moment he's laying quietly next to my chair surveying the parking lot while I sit here to write. This is much better.

Some people like the companionship a pet offers. Some like having something to take care of - something that needs them. I have been asked on many occasions why I don't have a pet, perhaps because people think I need these things. I offer many logical reasons in return as to why one isn't in my future, however I think one of the strongest cases against it is that I know sharing my space with some animal isn't going to fill in the holes. My greatest needs can't be met by a ball of fur.

Right now, for example, what I need most is time and focus and motivation. I don't have those things. Kirby will probably get a visit to the park before his return home, and I will continue to procrastinate on studying for an exam I don't care to think about despite how rapidly Tuesday is approaching.

And somewhere in all of it my mind will still be drifting away on the Easter breeze. How this state can shift so rapidly is beyond my comprehension. I suppose others could say the same of me

Captured At:1124

My sister's living room was littered with paper where I had set up camp. She had offered space at the dining room table with her, but I didn't want to disturb the radius of debris her test preparations also required. I sat on the couch with my eyes bouncing between notes, textbook and computer screen, and all I could do was shake my head. Those lectures I sat through where my brain turned to sludge and dribbled out my ear were all coming back. Not the material, mind you. That would have been far too useful. I only relived the sensation.

Finally I looked up and shared my newest bewildered observation. "You know, I'm doing awfully well on my homework for somebody who doesn't feel like they have a clue what's going on right now."

During the hours I could endure I progressed through approximately half of the material. I felt no better prepared than when I started. At least I would have another day.

By 7am yesterday I was running laps around the park. Some trigger within the first quarter mile set me to performing a mental review of the vauge midterm checklist. It was in this tunnel of unexpected focus that I witnessed my brain unlock in the most remarkable way. After running through key points for things on the checklist I was sure I knew about, I wondered about those I hadn't given a more careful review. Mental images of my textbook appeared. Diagrams and equations I had never tried to set to memory were fuzzily hovering in my brain.

I knew what I knew. I knew what I didn't know. And I knew what I didn't know I knew.

My one concern is that yesterday morning's odd twist has given me a false confidence for tonight's challenge. I know there are pieces of data still missing. My equation sheet is not yet completed. My "describe how this works in 30 words or less" answers aren't quite polished. But at least it helped me weed out the useful from the sludge-inducing. Regardless of how I end up fairing on the exam, the brain is a truly amazing thing.

Captured At: 712

Completion of the exam in just over an hour left me with more free time than I had anticipated. Though the only feasible food waited at home it wasn't a night where I was content to remain in. This reason above all others is what motivated my attendance at the basketball game.

We were up when I left my apartment. We were up by slightly less when I arrived. And though I had initially planned to wander toward the only person I knew on the bleachers, I opted instead to take my chances on a higher view. I have always been one to seek out different perspectives. This evening was no exception.

There I was, the ghost of students past, leaning against a railing in the mezzanine where nobody nearby knew me. I soaked up the crowd and the overall feel of the gymnasium from my promontory perch. I recalled the days when I would have known many of the people walking around in black polo shirts and those times I guarded a tired mascot as he snuck into a back office for a drink of water.

And of course I watched the game, silently cheering on my team. As the lead shrunk and reversed all I could think was, "these guys have worked so hard this year; please don't put this game out of reach for them". I clung to that thought with everything I had. Finally the buzzer rang to lock in a tied score. When overtime concluded the scores had jumped several points but still remained dead even. The second overtime buzzer ended the game for good. We had lost by two points.

Disbelief circled the fans and players. The season was over. It seemed impossible.

I remained behind as the crowd emptied out. Teardown commenced with the disconnection of the A/V equipment and restacking of chairs, and concluded as the railings were pulled out of the bleachers. I thought about the team members as I watched them take pictures and talk with fans, especially the seniors who had just played for the last time. It reminded me of four years ago and how I had felt crossing "lasts" off the list as my undergrad chapter reached its final sentences.

Throughout these exercises the score remained on the board as a haunting reminder of close not being good enough. "You'd think somebody would take that off," my friend said. "We're the home team for God's sake." I couldn't disagree.

Only a handful of people remained when I slowly descended the bleachers. Courtside the coach was talking with members of the athletics staff, perhaps about the story they would later post on the website. My final glance around the room carried the same weight as many of my departures from the beach: I wanted to soak it all up as if I'd never see it again. There was no logical explanation for why. Slowly I'm learning that sometimes there isn't

Captured At:2304

To say I was nervous when I pulled up to the house would be a gross understatement. I didn't know if I was in the right place, didn't really know anybody inside. During the entire trip down the rain had screamed out in protest of my mission hoping to deter me. In part I wanted to let it. This was to be an extremely large step outside of my comfort zone and the last of a similar nature had failed in spectacular fashion.

Inside I didn't succeed at blending in. The local group thought I was a visitor, the visitors thought I was local, and most people had nothing to say to me. It was clear they were tight with their own circles and equally clear I was giving off that completely unapproachable vibe I transmit in an unknown crowd. "I'm new and I'm lost. Be patient," I said to one. I realize now that may have been a poor choice of words to use.

As usually happens in these situations, I watched a lot. I listened. And I wondered who the heck I was trying to fool that I belonged there. Again these "kids" were nothing like me. Not that I could see at least. Their goals, their motivators, their very professions were vastly different from mine. What was there for common ground?

I paid special attention when the guitars were brought out and the music started. I knew most of the words, but I didn't raise my voice to sing along with theirs. Everybody in the room connected to something during that hour; them to something far greater and me to my own insecurities and shortcomings. I wanted to run. I don't know why I stayed.

And I was overcome with a desire to do something I genuinely hate: explain myself. I just wanted somebody to know, to see, to understand what was really going on in my head and what I was fighting and why. The voice of reason that sets me apart from so many explained how this would end: the same as many times before. It had said the same about this evening, yet I had clung to some sort of foolish hope that maybe this time it would be different. Of all venues, shouldn't this have been the place for that change?

At a brief break I found the only person I could think of to tell I was leaving before slipping out a back door into the rain. On the walk to Milo I looked up into the purple sky and shook my head. "I hope you're having fun, because I just don't get it," I muttered.

Sometimes I can't help feeling like this shouldn't be so difficult. That leaves me to conclude one of two things: either it's difficult because it's completely wrong, or it's difficult because things that are truly worthwhile often are. I keep betting on the second one. I keep failing. Yet for some reason I keep at it. That has to count for something, right?

Captured At: 105

Back when I gave campus tours one of the first things I told my groups was that I knew I would be providing an incredible amount of information in a very short time. Though I didn't say so, I was also aware that the majority of it would not be retained. My own quest for a university had been a mindless search on my part. My parents would offer a suggestion, I would agree or disagree, and we would add it to the list as appropriate. I visited few schools, applied to even fewer and, aside from the guide at UNC being a total ditz and some guy in VA asking non-stop questions about food services, there's little I remember about the search.

Today some of my colleagues and I visited Full Sail University in Orlando. I'm not sure if it's the hundreds of circles as a guide around my campus or the fact that I've now been a college student, but I think I'm much more aware of the important questions to ask than I was my first time around. For example, at face value the statement "the students get to work on real world projects" sounds great. But how many actually have the opportunity to do so? That number is never as high as a university's propaganda would have you believe.

I suppose it's natural that I would make comparisons to my alma mater as we navigated this foreign campus. Student composition, placement of priorities and strategies for expansion all logged themselves as reference points. The school is younger than I am and growing at an exceptional rate. For a student interested in joining the entertainment industry it would be a very impressive and attractive option. I wondered if Florida Tech has that same feel to prospective engineers. Me? I remember thinking the campus was pretty and suspecting that was where I'd end up before I even applied. Academics and the possible futures it could offer me never entered into the equation.

Saying that forces me to realize how much bumbling through life I have done up to this point. I am amazed the utter lack of direction I display appears to have worked out so well. Perhaps the only real difference between today and 9 years ago is that I suddenly feel as if having one is a necessity. Perhaps I should reconsider.

Our purpose for visiting was to develop an understanding of the skills and capabilities available should a partnership between our organizations come to fruition. Others in the group offered several ideas. I must have been looking with the wrong eyes the entire day because I had nothing to contribute. If we give these kids work, I want it to be real - something we actually can and will use. I enjoy what I do, but I have also chased enough white rabbits to know that even the most brilliant conceptual endeavours can evaporate completely. Even attempts with my own university didn't pan out.

The "wow" factor was in full force today. I'm fairly sure the guys I carpooled with were ready to sign up for degrees in digital media or computer animation by the time we left. The only emotion stirred in me came as I looked at samples of student artwork on the walls. "I wish I had talent," I commented to one of my coworkers. He looked at me and slightly shook his head. "You have more than you think. Most people can't get past stick figures."

One question I never thought to ask was the retention rate for students going through one of Full Sail's programs. They're structured differently from traditional universities, but I suspect not everybody who starts makes it out. I knew of many "engineers" who changed their mind once they realized what they had gotten into. Even I was advised to switch my major away from computers early in the game. If it weren't for lack of direction I may have listened.

Of course I'd never tell that story to my campus tour groups. Only in hindsight can I recognize that not knowing what else I would do was probably the only thing that saved me. The kids at Full Sail seem much more settled on their path, but at a place that specialized I guess you have to be. My story is very different. Once upon a time I was clueless. Today I have no more of a clue, but now I get to go to the stars. Not bad.

Captured At:2111

Find Rest, My Soul...

It's slightly beyond my understanding that I would choose to go to church after an afternoon so tough and unproductive instead of waiting for Sunday. "I don't even really want to go," I admitted as I got ready. "I just want to run away and say 'to hell with it.'" But I didn't.

There was still sunlight when I walked out after the service. The pale orange to the west told me to go to the beach, and somewhere in this I considered that the sudden push to go to church wasn't about what I would find inside the building at all. Maybe it had just been the first step.

The scene I discovered when I arrived at the coast was nothing I could have expected. Light from the half moon in an open sky reflected off of rocks left bare by the low tide. All was soft, still, quiet and beautiful. The gentle sensation of the twilight beach reminded me of visits to the west coast of both state and country. As more memories came back I found I was able to smile softly at them instead of cry as I had hours earlier. Slowly the calm of my surroundings had seeped into me.

I admired the dimming sky. Gemini, which hovered over my right shoulder as I walked barefoot up the coast, hosted the moon. Pleiades and Taurus sat to the west, and the Big Dipper remained tilted after emptying its contents into the ocean. I watched the pair of shadows I cast: a squashed one just below me from the lunar reflection and a long one stretched toward the water by street lights. I meditated. I remembered. I sang quiet songs. I wondered where the sea gulls go at night to sleep because I didn't see a single one. Silhouettes of other admirers were also rare.

Twenty-five minutes later I paused, dropped my flip flops onto the sand and sat facing the water. I stayed just as long, motionless, blending in with the peace that surrounded me. The frustrations I had been sporadically venting since the drive went quiet. Everything in me just stopped. Quietly my memory played an earlier song back to me. "I will be still, know you are God..."

That was the message I was supposed to get. And I was on the beach - one more beautiful than I could ever have imagined - because that's the only place where it was going to register.

As I walked back I realized that nothing on the surface had changed. Those things I battled still existed and they would be waiting for me when I got home, got back to work, got around a group of people again. But watching the ocean had reminded me that I don't live on the surface. Never have, never could. Deep inside, down where who I am and the things I hold dear reside, something had frozen the chaos. It was still going to hurt and it wasn't going to be any easier than it had been, but it was going to be okay. Eventually, somehow some way, all would resolve. And in that moment this knowledge was more than enough.

At home I decided to let Saturday pass. There would be no scramble to make up for the time I had lost. There was always tomorrow. And if for some reason there wasn't, none of what I had neglected would matter anyhow. Nothing I could do was worth losing the respite I had been given.

Captured At:1610

Jack Wouldn't Stand a Chance...

I won't say I'm proud of slightly losing my temper. I won't claim any victory over the door I kicked open out of frustration after I rounded the corner. I won't make any attempt to say that my actions were right.

But I also won't pretend that what I felt was unfounded.

Part of my job is to fix things; to give them all of the time and attention necessary for completion and to force focus on the part of those avoiding the tasks. My own standards dictate that completion isn't enough. These things must also be done well.

The problem is that assignment of these responsibilities frequently comes with little else. I generally respond by using what I can of whatever I'm given and hoping for the best. In this particular case I felt like doing so was being counted against me. It seemed as if I'd somehow done wrong by trying to remain true to the scant amount of direction provided. There's only so much one person can do.

I referred to my charge as "making magic from marbles". Simply put, I'm supposed to work miracles with tiny and often useless things. "They're not even beans," I remarked. "At least beans have some life in them and can grow into something. I just get rocks."

Frustrated as I was, I slowly came to realize that this was representative of something much bigger. Making magic from marbles wasn't just my job, it was my life.

There are few moments more defeating than realizing your best isn't good enough. For me, the impact of this is doubled when I feel I've let somebody down in the process. I know most of my systems are crashing right now. The usual resources have evaporated, the support structures are gone, and I'm running nearly empty.

At the same time, I am fully aware of the expectations that exist. I'm supposed to have this vibrant and full life of success; I'm supposed to go somewhere; I'm supposed to make it (whatever that even means).

Yet I see no way to get there. How am I supposed to take these fragments - these tiny marbles of what was and is - and work the magic that lands me in the right place at the end? It just doesn't seem possible.

"But you do it," he told me. "You do make magic from marbles."

And maybe that's exactly why I get them. In the hands of others they would be completely useless. In mine they're only seemingly so. And if I can craft something usable where most would have no end product, clearly I have a heck of a lot more than marbles to work with.

Somewhere in here it stops being frustrating. The act of having to make magic from marbles can be an incredible struggle, but the ability to succeed at it is a true gift. If I have achieved a reasonable level of mastery over the unimportant things, perhaps I have a shot at the big ones after all.

Captured At:2244

When I woke up it was pouring outside. Though I had overslept slightly I felt no urge to rush in attempt to make up for it. The visitors were gone and my delayed arrival would pass without notice.

It's strange how we match up sometimes, the weather and I. The monochrome sky overhead served as an ideal mate to the atmosphere in my head less than 24 hours prior. I had precipitated more words than water and suspected - or maybe more like hoped - that the internal storm had subsided. The shower dousing the earth brought refreshment of a different variety.

On the final stretch of road peace was delivered to me intertwined with the scent of orange blossoms in the rain. I cracked my window to absorb a stronger dose and felt my eyes close as I inhaled it deeply through my nostrils. This brief pause, which could only have lasted a split second without causing me to swerve off the road, felt longer than the entire commute.

I was later able to relive this moment of zen while sitting in a coworker's office remembering the groves. I wonder if they saw the slight smile I felt...

Lately the days have seemed off, yet even in the uncertainty there has been peace. I remain thankful that I have not lost the ability to recognize it. So many times I have wished it were easier to stop my car and capture the world as it rests before me. Images can only remain fresh in the mind for so long. I don't want to forget.

For many weeks the road at the front of my building has been blocked for construction. Two men saw me standing several feet from the barricades with a camera when they left for the night. "Pictures!?" one exclaimed in shock.
"Yeah. It's pretty."
"Well, maybe the sunset is..."

True, the rest wasn't much to look at, but the illustration that would conclude my week sent a powerful message. Rebuilding is not always quick, clean, or easy. Detours are not always convenient or enjoyable. Still, there's always room for beauty among the chaos.

And sometimes you don't even have to try all that hard to find it.

Captured At:2240

And Hope Does Not Disappoint...

An inquiry about how yoga went prompted my sister to contort herself into a posture variation we had done that morning. Her husband nodded without comment as he usually does in response to demonstrations such as these. "I don't know about you, but I have a really hard time getting in touch with my inner pigeon," I told her as she rested in position. I think she may have chuckled.

Since we began taking classes last year there is only one posture I have been able to completely dissolve into with both mind and body. No other is executed with the same level of precision or sense of focus. At the first mention of its name I knew with unshakable confidence that I would be able to nail it, and all feedback from my instructor indicates that I have succeeded. The second variation has become my unchallenged favorite.

But is it really any surprise that I am deeply connected with my inner warrior? Though I may balk at the prospect of pain, the nature of a warrior - one engaged and experienced in battle - is what flows naturally within me. I have always fought, always struggled. With myself, with others, with life and the world. There is no level that has gone untouched.

Fighting is a tiring activity. Even on the occasions when I most wanted to give up, I couldn't. Slim though it may be at times, I have always had hope that if I could hold out just a little longer I would win and not have to fight anymore. I have held hope there's a reason for the battles that I might one day understand. I have held hope the pursuits are worthy. And for years I held this hope having no reason to do so. It was just there and I knew not why or from where it came.

I don't usually talk much about my faith. This is in large part because it is an area I continually struggle with. I am far from the model Christian and I don't want to further taint the perceptions people have of something I generally believe to be good. There's more than enough out there in the world to do that already.

What I will say is that when I made the choice I did the source of my hope became known. What's more, I was given reason to continue to hope. Although I may still only have a sliver to get by on at the lowest points, it's more potent now. That tiny fragment also stores five times as much as it used to.

This is what I felt most strongly reinforced while at church this morning. The words I sang as we celebrated Easter refreshed me and reminded me that even the roughest patch isn't a bad place to be. I could have faith, could continue to hope, and could have confidence in doing both. All would resolve favorably. Not necessarily how I might want or imagine, but favorably.

I then thought of the people I know who are struggling right now like I am - some on fronts more challenging or greater in number than my own - and the differences between us. We fear and question the same. We're frustrated and weary. But I look into their eyes and I know they don't have the same hope to sustain the warriors within. It seems the experience will have a negative effect regardless of outcome.

I wished I could give them some of the sense of hope I have. I wished I knew the magic key to make them understand there's another way through. I wished I knew how to show them that struggling with faith during the battle is still better than fighting without any trace of it.

Answering God was not easy. It opened another battle front my warrior must defend; one of the utmost importance. I knew going in (and still believe) that a million reasons exist for me to fail the spiritual journey and, to be quite honest, I have yet to become convinced that I'm up to the challenge. In my own strength I will lose. This is fact. Thank God impossible for me is nothing to him. If there were ever a day to remember that, I think this is it.

Captured At:1609

"Passionate" is a word others have used to describe me on countless occasions. Usually I see more than one side to any given thing and can be rational in my words and actions, but I have also come to accept that the things I do have an opinion on I feel very strongly about. I try to keep myself in check when it comes to expressing those feelings. Sometimes I succeed.

I commented today that the more I think about it the more I realize I'm not a very nice person. I have firm ideas about what's right and how things should be done, and I have almost no tolerance for things wildly off that mark. I look at this and wonder who I am that my opinion matters. I look it again and wonder if nobody being up to par is more my problem than theirs. I look at it yet another way and know my ideals are correct and people need to shape up.

The comment in return was that there's a lot of badness (the very thing I have a low tolerance for), and that to tell me to accept that or lower my expectations would be wrong.

I pointed out that another problem with knowing what I do is that I'm automatically held to a higher standard. If I do something bad because I'm flat out ignorant, it's somewhat excusable. If I know what's right and don't act accordingly, there's no excuse to be made.

What I've had to conclude is that the only way to introduce these things into the world is through my own actions. I am far from perfect, but the general belief of anyone who has truly watched, listened to and gotten to know me is that I have an inherent goodness.

So it's probably a good thing none of them live inside my head. I actually sat back and watched my worst attributes take center stage in the mental auditorium the other day. Something I never actually had and certainly didn't have my heart set on was given to somebody else. My reaction surprised even me. I remain thankful for the presence of mind to recognize what was really driving it and the effort to squeeze it out, but I wish it hadn't shown up.

That's the trouble with passion. At its best it's contagious and uplifting. At its worst it can be downright destructive.

And whichever way it falls, it is always a monster of a thing to shake.

Captured At:2037