More Flight than Fight

My posts are reminicent of my life now--not steady or quasi-constant, it bubbles up occasionally, just to prove it still exists. It doesn't have much to say, except to exclaim its presence in some other realm. Well I'm bubbling up again I guess.
Today I'm thinking about commitment, and why it is completely revolting and terrifying to me right now. Like I can't even commit to a real job because I'm that paranoid. It breaks my heart, because it used to be so easy. I remember picking colleges--it was so...so clear where I was to go...I miss that clarity. Does age muddle lines, turn translucent into oblique? Or is it just the process of being burned in some form that causes a heart once willing to embrace to sieze up at the mere mention? When did I stop the fight and just automatically revert to the flight?
Today it really became clear the degree to which my aversion has spread. I had a meeting with the high school WYLD Life leaders this morning at 7am, and I was leading the meeting for some reason, with Erin and Tammi there. I can do the planning fine, but when it comes to building relationships, I attempt to flee at an alarming speed. Erin is pushing me to make up my mind in some way, and I cannot blame her...I just can't do it. Maybe it was the whole presidency thing--that was so much more than I expected, with less support than I had expected. How much more when working with kids!
I can't commit to a single job, so I dabble in multiple fields. I can't commit to a single guy, so I daydream about the unattainable or long-gone. And in so many ways I feel like I can't commit to my faith; at least not to the degree that I see around me. I want my belief and faith to be strong, but every time I get close something occurs that makes me say, "Wait, do I really want that in my life?" Can I really keep my political views and love Jesus? Can I really keep my friends and still be able to lead in some capacity? Why am I so critical of others being "real" when I am clearly not real with them?
Why am I so narcissistic?
There's my bubbling...who knows the next time I'll come up to vent.

25 cent crisis

I have been drinking wine, so if this is sort of jumbled, blame castell del remei and Seth. Here's the thought: there is more than just the midlife crisis. There's the quarter-life crisis. Around the early 20s (Say, 22 or 23) those who are college grads suddenly realize three things: (1) the real world does exist, (2) they are unwittingly a part of it, (3) the only way out of said sucky real world is to die, get rich, or go back to school. The latter two seem the only viable possibilities, since your student loans/credit card debt may be so high that you would get to heaven and the capital one guy would be standing there, making sure you don't get in until that sucker is paid off (or your parents would get the bill, see how high it is, and have heart-attacks themselves).
But seriously, where has all the motivation gone? Like there was a time when I would have 147 things to do in a day, and all would be done by 3am. Now I'll have 3 things to do, and I won't do any, but will stay up till 3am, just to make sure it still exists. It just doesn't seem worth it anymore. The only person watching is me; this is the first time in my life when the only person I really have to answer to is me. And frankly, I don't kick my own ass nearly enough. But regardless, it leaves me depressed to see how little I have accomplished in the short amount of time I've had. And what do I have on my agenda? Nothing. I got nothin'. Grrr. I guess this is the first big test of grown-up-hood: the concept of pulling yourself up by your boot-straps, merely because you know, regardless of the apathy and carelessness around you, that you can and will do bigger and greater things. Now if only I could find my boots...

Opening a Can('t) of worms

Long-term phsysical pain hits twofold: the first is the intial and obvious physical discomfort; the second is the perception of your abilities by your peers. Last night I went to a halloween party (I was Inspector Gadget, complete with the go-go-gadget arms, which were quite the hit I'll have you know) and a friend of mine, in telling a story, let it slip that she had gone kayaking the week before. Now her version of kayaking and mine are very different, but that is not the point. See, she had intentionally not told me, because she knew how much I loved the activity and how much I missed it. She also knew I was frustrated at my inability to do the activities that I love so much, so out of kindness she neglected to share with me her experience. However, her omission was double-edged. It made me feel blaringly and hopelessly handicapped; as if my disability was permanent and so the activities I may have enjoyed in my 'past life' were now unmentionables; like mentioning an upcoming marathon to a paralyzed runner. And it has made me all the more obvious of the activities I cannot do currently, and increases my dispair that I may not be able to do those things ever again. The pain will be terrible, but the limitations and perceptions may be the final blow. I don't want to walk around defeated, but I fear that's the direction my can'ts seem to be taking me.

"Do You Want to be a Polyester Bride?"

Ok so typically I wouldn't allow my blog to be a rant about anything seriously musical, because most of the time those people who do that need a good swift kick in the nuts for even delving that deeply into something, but today I feel like being that asshole so here I go.
First and foremost, I love Liz Phair. 'Exile in Guyville' is just awesome. It's not a collection of singles; it's an album. It's hard to pick out one song over another, because they all seem so connected. I mean clearly such standards as 'The Divorce Song' and 'F*ck and Run' are memorable, but it doesn't mean the rest of the album is soft. 'Whipsmart' is a decent followup with 'Supernova' and 'Cinco de Mayo' and I personally have been in love with 'Whitechocolatespaceegg' for the past few weeks for some strange reason. Anywho, being on such a Liz Phair kick, I decided to spit in the critics faces and pick up her new album. Hmm. I'm bummed. If you were to play 'find the singles' on this album, it'd be like trying to find pink Easter eggs in snow, or shooting fish in a barrel. It's that easy. Oh Liz...why? I mean seriously, do you really want to be Avril when you grow up, because the rest of the world knows it should be vice versa. You made one of the best debut albums of the past 25 years, and 10 years down the road you are working with people who call themselves 'The Matrix' making singles for pop radio stations. If it was about the money, you should have just sent a letter to previous fans that said, "Dear fans: I'm broke and if you don't' help me out, I'll release a pop-rock album like Avril." and you know what? I would have sent you my savings account. And we all know what a good songwriter you can be, you're wonderful. But this whole album is about you getting laid, trying to get laid, reminiscing about getting laid, being mad about not getting laid, having your son see you get laid, cheating on someone so that you could get laid, and anything else about getting laid that I haven't mentioned. It could have been called, "Help Liz get laid" and maybe then you could tie it in to a whole theme but come on now. At least before you could disguise it a bit. You even crossed the line into something only rappers and Craig David usually do in their songs: You mention yourself. "Your record collection don't exist/you don't even know who Liz Phair is..." Hon, THAT WAS PART OF YOUR APPEAL. You weren't as recognizable (and thus as dispensable) as the Celienes, Shanias, Sheryls (but she's another issue too), Avrils, Vanessa/Michelle Branches of the world. Of course we can't be too surprised; she did release the song, 'Shitloads of Money' on WCSE ("It's nice to be liked/but it's better by far to get paid...") so selling out did seem like the next logical step. And in her defense, Liz has never really sold herself as an ideological, indie queen a-la Ani DiFranco that she's been made out to be--she's always just been a gritty girl with guitar sorta thing.
WHY DID YOU SELL OUT LIZ, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, WHY???
See? I am that asshole. But at least I know it. Now I'm gonna go mope.

Nietzsche Must have Been a Sox Fan

So the other day I was repeating my most recent mantra, and no it's not "Anyone but the Yankees, Lord, anyone but the Yankees" but it is close. (Wait, let's dwell on that. What the crap is this? Both the Cubbies and my Sox can make it to the championship games and yet both can choke so we get 'World Series that 8 people outside of New York care about, round 42'? There is no hope for baseball. That's it, that was that aside. Expect more, I'm in a ranting mood)
Ok now my real mantra has totally been superseded by my sarcastic mantra and to really dwell on the topic I had envisioned is to need a drastic mood change. That being said, we shift. Serious faces, kiddies.
It is terribly arrogant to be angry as to where I am in my life. Think about it: If I believe that God is in control of my life (check), and if I believe that his plan will ultimately bring about the most happiness, success and joy in my life (that I do), THEN who am I to say that where he has me right now isn't just one step towards his ultimate goal in my life? Isn't it just preparing me for that next step? Shouldn't I be a bit excited to realize that I'm in prep? Well for one thing I'm happy to know if I am being prepped then I won't look like a total putz once he puts me where he'd have me go. But that kinda puts a damper on control freakishness, eh? So much for my plans. That is not to say that my reliance on the will and timing of God is to be complacent; rather it is to be sensitive to nudgings, and it is to accept those nudgings in faith, excitement and a bit of nervousness, but never fear. And also it's to have a positive and almost joyous outlook as to where God has me now; I finally understand why Paul was able to praise God while in prison: he couldn't see the whole picture of what was going to happen next but he was in a great one-on-one with the guy who could. And it's always nice to know that someone not only has your back, but your front--not just your present, but your future.
Is this bordering on cheesy faith? I dunno, but to me it seems so logical that the potential for cheesiness is totally lost. It now seems totally fine to openly admit that I do not (and never have) been able to tell my ass from my elbow and any success I have can most likely be attributed to others, to blind luck, and to my God above.

By the way: Nietzsche was the philosopher who first wrote, "God is dead" hence the title of this post. See you learn something new everyday.