Readers who check this space with reasonable frequency will note the large gap between my last post and this. It is not that I have nothing to say. There are actually two posts sitting in the editing queue waiting for me to wrap them up and publish. As time creeps along, however, they seem less relevant.
One spent time detailing the second night of swing dancing class. It talked about my surprise at improvements made and how I was still enjoying it. It probably wasn't that interesting, except as an illustration of what I've been doing with my time. The other was about the approach of fall, and cooler weather. As the words were coming together, however, our days returned to hot and our nights to humid. It was nothing more than premature hopes manifest as prosaic wishing.
My vacation abroad is coming up, and I've gone from feeling comfortable that everything is congealing to anxiously piecing together the final details. I am stunned by the things left undone and regret I now feel in a rush to complete. Really, I just cannot wait to get there. I also feel busier than I have in a long time, which is perhaps another symptom (in my mind still molded to the scholastic concept of semesters) of the lazy days of summer giving way to the productive months of fall and winter. I'm juggling things I feel like I haven't juggled in a while, and there's always the concern that one will get dropped. It's not an issue if the fallen object is a ball, but an egg falling is another issue entirely. It's thrilling, like overcoming one's acrophobia to jump off a cliff's edge.
Today is "Talk Like a Pirate Day". Well, okay. Despite my other dramatic talents, I don't excel at assuming the pirate persona. In the space between anticipated television premieres last night, my friends and I found little to fill the time. Because of this, we found ourselves 'hooked' by a show where families are temporarily rearranged. In last night's instance, one family was immured within the stereotypical pirate life. While I'll admit they appeared to be a fun-loving people, it seemed mostly an excuse to ignore reality and responsibility. I was interested in this backstage portrait of life lived in character. I've been to things like Medieval Times or Scarborough Faire, festivals celebrating [an interpretation of] courtly culture. Watching these "pirates" onscreen, I was struck by the parallels to those whose profession is the depiction of knights and nobles, or portrayals of minstrels, smiths, and peasants. The two are virtually the same, with one land-locked and the other in eye-patches. I think the thing I find most interesting is the speck of history hidden underneath the layers of caricature and make-believe. It's also sociologically fascinating. What in one's nature or upbringing causes one to shift from the enjoyment of something for a few hours to embedding it in one's character? Why do certain traits of personality dim and others scintillate? Is it something that just happens, or is there intentionality?
We may never know.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
burnt orange
The Bee Gees asked, "How can you mend a broken heart?" Waking from the daze that was Saturday night's OSU vs. Texas matchup, I'm asking the same question.
The hype could not have been larger. I watched as tailgaters arrived downtown on Wednesday afternoon. I witnessed the build through Friday evening, a crescendo of excitement. We talked about Texas strengths and Ohio weaknesses, about both the teams and the states. We read team analyses, predictions, statistics, opinions of various natures with zeal, not wanting to miss a word. While many colleges leave you with only four years, being a Longhorn is a life-long vocation. Supporting the team and traditions, the wearing of orange, and the enthusiastic shouts of Texas Fight! makes one aware that winning the day is not an individual effort, but is rather a culmination of energy and enthusiasm and community. It's this last that makes it so special. It is the community of which we are a part that is the most enduring, transcendent thing.
And I suppose therein lies the answer. My grandfather was a world-class checkers player, or at least this was my impression at ten. I would approach each game confident that my abilities were up to the task at hand, always thinking that this was my moment to win the board. Each time, the game would end in his favor. I don't think I ever came close to winning. After losing several games in a row, he lifted my sullen face and told me it was no shame to lose to a better player. Those words didn't help me then, and I'm not sure they're ever a good salve. However, there is a truth to it. We lost Saturday to a better player, to a team that was dominant, to a team considered best. We didn't play our best game, but there was tenacity and spirit and...community. How can there be shame in that?
I experienced the whole thing with my best friends, people with whom I've been blessed to share previous victories and the narrative of life. Paul gives this exhortation in Romans 12:15: "Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." Each one of us watched with a passion for our team, and we each hurt when the outcome was not favorable. Yet, we will watch with equal fervor next time, expecting that improvements made and lessons learned will help us win the day.
Hook 'Em Horns!
The hype could not have been larger. I watched as tailgaters arrived downtown on Wednesday afternoon. I witnessed the build through Friday evening, a crescendo of excitement. We talked about Texas strengths and Ohio weaknesses, about both the teams and the states. We read team analyses, predictions, statistics, opinions of various natures with zeal, not wanting to miss a word. While many colleges leave you with only four years, being a Longhorn is a life-long vocation. Supporting the team and traditions, the wearing of orange, and the enthusiastic shouts of Texas Fight! makes one aware that winning the day is not an individual effort, but is rather a culmination of energy and enthusiasm and community. It's this last that makes it so special. It is the community of which we are a part that is the most enduring, transcendent thing.
And I suppose therein lies the answer. My grandfather was a world-class checkers player, or at least this was my impression at ten. I would approach each game confident that my abilities were up to the task at hand, always thinking that this was my moment to win the board. Each time, the game would end in his favor. I don't think I ever came close to winning. After losing several games in a row, he lifted my sullen face and told me it was no shame to lose to a better player. Those words didn't help me then, and I'm not sure they're ever a good salve. However, there is a truth to it. We lost Saturday to a better player, to a team that was dominant, to a team considered best. We didn't play our best game, but there was tenacity and spirit and...community. How can there be shame in that?
I experienced the whole thing with my best friends, people with whom I've been blessed to share previous victories and the narrative of life. Paul gives this exhortation in Romans 12:15: "Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." Each one of us watched with a passion for our team, and we each hurt when the outcome was not favorable. Yet, we will watch with equal fervor next time, expecting that improvements made and lessons learned will help us win the day.
Hook 'Em Horns!
Thursday, September 07, 2006
swing
...or "how I learned to stop worrying and love the dance"
There was a shift in how I live my life Tuesday night as I began my first formal dance class. I am no stranger to dance lessons. A high school girlfriend took it upon herself to teach me the waltz and a basic two-step. I was an amenable pupil, if not necessarily enthusiastic. I have relied on that small bit of knowledge and my keen skills of observation to get to this point. It wasn't much of a leap to recognize the need for professional help.
My friend CJ (formerly referred to as A. on these pages), first proposed the idea back in July. Our group of friends has been frequenting a dance hall famous for its two-stepping tunes, and it was after one of these outings the idea of a more formal dance environment arose. I should be clear that I can take no credit for the germ of the idea. Swing seemed a fun complement and one of those things it might be cool to know. My immediate response was yes. Yes, as in it sounds like fun, and I just may go along if the idea holds for another few weeks. Yes, I'll think about it. Yes, let's see if you're serious enough to ask me again.
When I agreed, I did mean it. My only real reservation was the fact that there is a wealth of available partners far less frustrating and more fun than me. In truth, there are probably very few who are more fun than me, but sometimes it seems otherwise. We arrived at our class and found 22 others, evenly split guys and girls, who were eager to learn. A few minutes of wandering around, meeting a few new faces passed while we waited for the instructor. Once he arrived, he split us up into lines, guys on one side and girls on the other. The ubiquitous middle school dance image flashed through my mind. This is when I realized something that makes a tremendous amount of sense while thinking through the process, but at the time caused the first real instance of anxiety I had about the situation. We were not going to be dancing exclusively with our chosen partners, but rather would struggle with new steps, missteps, and incessant errors with total strangers. Something in my head exclaimed, "That's not in our comfort zone!". I ignored that something, and proceeded with the fun.
Once we'd covered the basic step, Madison was the first one with whom I tried out what we'd learned. A minute or two went by and we switched partners. Tasha was next, then Natalie, then Christine. A second or two to exchange names, then form up, then music, then dancing. In another two mintues, one was gone and another had come. In the interim was concentration, rhythm (or lack of it in my case), laughter, apology, instruction, encouragement, intensity, surprise, and movement.
In a couple weeks, we're supposed to take our new skills into the real world. I suppose, as with so many other things, this is where the real test lies. Regardless, this is out of the ordinary for me, and even though I didn't push for it, it is still a swing toward the "new" I've expressed in recent posts. I expect that there will be more of this to come, and I will try to keep you posted.
There was a shift in how I live my life Tuesday night as I began my first formal dance class. I am no stranger to dance lessons. A high school girlfriend took it upon herself to teach me the waltz and a basic two-step. I was an amenable pupil, if not necessarily enthusiastic. I have relied on that small bit of knowledge and my keen skills of observation to get to this point. It wasn't much of a leap to recognize the need for professional help.
My friend CJ (formerly referred to as A. on these pages), first proposed the idea back in July. Our group of friends has been frequenting a dance hall famous for its two-stepping tunes, and it was after one of these outings the idea of a more formal dance environment arose. I should be clear that I can take no credit for the germ of the idea. Swing seemed a fun complement and one of those things it might be cool to know. My immediate response was yes. Yes, as in it sounds like fun, and I just may go along if the idea holds for another few weeks. Yes, I'll think about it. Yes, let's see if you're serious enough to ask me again.
When I agreed, I did mean it. My only real reservation was the fact that there is a wealth of available partners far less frustrating and more fun than me. In truth, there are probably very few who are more fun than me, but sometimes it seems otherwise. We arrived at our class and found 22 others, evenly split guys and girls, who were eager to learn. A few minutes of wandering around, meeting a few new faces passed while we waited for the instructor. Once he arrived, he split us up into lines, guys on one side and girls on the other. The ubiquitous middle school dance image flashed through my mind. This is when I realized something that makes a tremendous amount of sense while thinking through the process, but at the time caused the first real instance of anxiety I had about the situation. We were not going to be dancing exclusively with our chosen partners, but rather would struggle with new steps, missteps, and incessant errors with total strangers. Something in my head exclaimed, "That's not in our comfort zone!". I ignored that something, and proceeded with the fun.
Once we'd covered the basic step, Madison was the first one with whom I tried out what we'd learned. A minute or two went by and we switched partners. Tasha was next, then Natalie, then Christine. A second or two to exchange names, then form up, then music, then dancing. In another two mintues, one was gone and another had come. In the interim was concentration, rhythm (or lack of it in my case), laughter, apology, instruction, encouragement, intensity, surprise, and movement.
In a couple weeks, we're supposed to take our new skills into the real world. I suppose, as with so many other things, this is where the real test lies. Regardless, this is out of the ordinary for me, and even though I didn't push for it, it is still a swing toward the "new" I've expressed in recent posts. I expect that there will be more of this to come, and I will try to keep you posted.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
seventh month
If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. -E.B. White, writer (1899-1985)
I'm always a little reluctant when it comes time for the first post of the new month. We are several days now into September. Does it feel like September to you? I was thinking about a funny encounter between friends earlier today, and realized that it had taken place in March. Of 2005. Approximately 540 days have elapsed since that moment, and yet it doesn't seem that distant.
Time passes so quickly. It will get done tomorrow, I say. If I wait a day or two more before taking that risk or undertaking that project or making that decision, what will it matter? I will be that much more informed, and more ready. After all this time, one would think that I have learned that being ready for something isn't the most important thing, and often isn't even possible. Old habits are hard to kill, and I still don't like getting hurt. To delay the inevitable is a constant temptation. Some are at war with time from the moment of the first mature thought. So many battles lost, too few won.
Another holiday has faded to black, and a weekend that looked imposing or challenging from the front view appears delightful as I watch it recede. I am glad of the experience, nostalgic for the moments I would like to have held for just a little while longer. I should write more about this.
These words of E.B. White touch something in me, which is what compels me to share this quote. There is a struggle, especially in me, to discover whether it is best to take action or to allow the flow of the river to determine my course. The right answer is often in a grey zone, blurred by historical context and analytic reasoning. It can also be a chicken/egg thing. Which comes first, the improvement of the world or the enjoyment thereof?
Until recently, I was still working from a five-year plan (loosely defined) conceived during my final years of college. I had arranged some items as successors to one particular dependency, unattained to date. I'm thinking that what comes after will be arranged with a little more wisdom.
And I've set aside the last few months of this year for that purpose. Seeking, questioning, expressing doubts and fears; these have been life-long talents. Like a director calling to his actors, I seem to be saying, "I want it bigger, more pronounced. There should be more, more, more!" It's an exploration, perhaps even an adventure.
I'm always a little reluctant when it comes time for the first post of the new month. We are several days now into September. Does it feel like September to you? I was thinking about a funny encounter between friends earlier today, and realized that it had taken place in March. Of 2005. Approximately 540 days have elapsed since that moment, and yet it doesn't seem that distant.
Time passes so quickly. It will get done tomorrow, I say. If I wait a day or two more before taking that risk or undertaking that project or making that decision, what will it matter? I will be that much more informed, and more ready. After all this time, one would think that I have learned that being ready for something isn't the most important thing, and often isn't even possible. Old habits are hard to kill, and I still don't like getting hurt. To delay the inevitable is a constant temptation. Some are at war with time from the moment of the first mature thought. So many battles lost, too few won.
Another holiday has faded to black, and a weekend that looked imposing or challenging from the front view appears delightful as I watch it recede. I am glad of the experience, nostalgic for the moments I would like to have held for just a little while longer. I should write more about this.
These words of E.B. White touch something in me, which is what compels me to share this quote. There is a struggle, especially in me, to discover whether it is best to take action or to allow the flow of the river to determine my course. The right answer is often in a grey zone, blurred by historical context and analytic reasoning. It can also be a chicken/egg thing. Which comes first, the improvement of the world or the enjoyment thereof?
Until recently, I was still working from a five-year plan (loosely defined) conceived during my final years of college. I had arranged some items as successors to one particular dependency, unattained to date. I'm thinking that what comes after will be arranged with a little more wisdom.
And I've set aside the last few months of this year for that purpose. Seeking, questioning, expressing doubts and fears; these have been life-long talents. Like a director calling to his actors, I seem to be saying, "I want it bigger, more pronounced. There should be more, more, more!" It's an exploration, perhaps even an adventure.
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