So what is success anyway? What is being "successful" in a life? Is it a highly personal status, or is there an actual sign that you have "arrived"? There's been a thought that some women sleep their way to the top--is this always literal, or is there a figurative undertone as well? What do we "sleep with" in order to become successful? Is this always the case? Do we feel successful when we feel 'full', and if that is the case, is it ever possible to be successful when we so often live in a constant search for the suspended gratification that is a life w/o any solid beliefs? Why am I asking so many damn rhetorical questions?
I do not have the energy right now to process this question, only to ask it. Maybe I'll answer it tomorrow...but tomorrow is St. Paddy's day, and if I am 'successful' in my plans, I won't really be in the shape to type. I mean seriously, it's a holiday with green beer. That's just cool, and by cool I mean totally sweet.
Yes I did just mention the need for a solid spiritual relationship and the wonders of green beer in the same blog. So what? If I am a contradiction, then I shall be a strong one...or a successful one at least.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Sunday, March 7, 2004
Fig-ure it out...
Today I shall quote shamelessly from Sylvia Plath's opus, The Bell Jar, which I think everyone should read at some point.
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From every tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a briliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above those figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Wow. I read that yesterday and almost cried; I could never articulate it like that but I feel it so!
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From every tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a briliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above those figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Wow. I read that yesterday and almost cried; I could never articulate it like that but I feel it so!
Friday, March 5, 2004
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2003
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...
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...
Sunday, November 2, 2003
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.
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