Another Step

So, life update time. Thank God for times of exhaustion…they tend to make one vulnerable…at the very least, more honest. I am in Grad School. What a fascinatingly unexpected fact. Esther and I went on a journey to Chicago, then NYC, then South Dakota, to end up in Macomb, IL; where I am getting my M.F.A. in Theatre Performance. Esther’s and my summer was, other than traveling, and performing, and packing up our house and moving away from Bolivar, relatively slow. The speed of life now seems to be going at about the speed of light. I find myself having, once again, that realization of, what was I complaining about? I am really enjoying life. I am enjoying what I am doing. I am doing a lot of what I enjoy doing, and with bags under my eyes and a tired smile on my lips…I write these words. Life…how funny it is. One moment you sit in a coffee shop wondering what you’re doing with your life…the next your sitting in your Grad Office wondering what you’re doing with your life! I miss my friends. I miss being known, or at least feeling like I’m known. I miss not having to explain why I laughed at this or that comment or action. I miss genuinely laughing. It doesn’t happen often. It does happen…just not often. I find myself so full of emotion, and thought, spiritual questions, and physical movement. A part of me wants to scream out STOP! And in the same breath I am begging, NO, PLEASE DON’T STOP! I suppose this means I have achieved some sort of balance. Balance. Yeah, that’s funny. I find I am surrounded by nice people, intelligent people, smiling people. People who bow towards other people walking by, for what reason, I do not know. I’m not quick to bow, just because others do so. I don’t want to play the game. I am in the game, perhaps a pawn or other “lesser” player, but I will go as long as I can without being an active participant in the politics of the institution. What do I want? What is possible? I want to do better than what I see others doing. I want to be apart of something meaningful. I want. I want. I want. I need. I need? What do I need? I don’t know. Again, I know this is all part of the journey…the journey of this young man’s thoughts. Thoughts that, as I review what I have written, are jumbled and messy…however, Life at times can be jumbled and messy too.

Settling In

At this moment, I’m sitting in the coffee shop. It’s the second day of the new year. 2014. Many possible life altering events are on the horizon. I suppose, depending on your frame of mind, ALL events can be life altering. This very moment could be life altering…although I can’t possibly see how. If I were to put an ad in the paper of the cosmos it might look like this: Male, 23, married, actor, college graduate, believer. Looking for….something….please help. I often think of myself as a wanderer. The idea of my roots (whatever those look like) settling deep down into a town/city/place is, and I wish it weren’t, unsettling and trapping. However, on the flip side, I crave a sense of belonging. Graduating college is settling in, and I am excited that that time has come and gone, with all of its wonderful memories, and learning experiences, and people…but that’s what I’m missing more than anything. The people. That sense of family. Change is coming, more accurately, change is happening. Gosh, I hate sounding despondent, but, this is how I’m feeling. This is part of the progression of a young man’s thoughts.

Fighting for Fireflies

Life, is wonderful. Even when crazy things happen, horrible things, things you can never imagine quite recovering from…at the end of the day, Life, is a wonderful thing. I have just recently graduated college, and now find myself having the pleasure of working at a coffee shop; something I have craved to do since childhood.Lately, due to my new work environment no doubt, I have been thinking of my first cup of coffee: 3/4 c. warm milk , 1/8 c. sugar, 1/8  c. black coffee (Grandpa said it would put hair on my chest. I thought it was a worthy gamble). I drank the slightly bitter mixture without making a face; the sugar helped. I sat around the kitchen table, with the other adults, on a muggy June morning. I leaned forward on my stool, and gave my best attempt at being interested in the political discussions passing between several generations; I was seven years old. Later that day I interacted with everything differently. I specifically remember telling the dogs that I could not play in the woods with them. I was an adult now. I drank coffee. I somehow believed that adults had all the answers; that is why they acted so different than children. After all, they knew God better than I did. (At that point in life I hadn’t yet learned how untrue that was). However, as a coffee-drinking seven year old, who now knew more answers to more problems than he knew even existed, I had a keen perspective on life. “Grandpa? Life…it sure isn’t easy is it?” We sat on the porch swing; I had just finished catching lightning bugs. Grandpa chucked, making his whole body shake. He said, “No, it’s not. But it sure is wonderful.” I used to wonder what made him chuckle. As times change, I have seen the importance of catching fireflies, replaced with reaching for always out of reach promotions. The dangers of swimming in the pond, being exchanged for the dangers of navigating through life. Treasure maps handed over for bills… I think I was expecting myself to write something along the lines of, “Isn’t it funny how big things as a seven year old, aren’t really that big?” However, as I think on it, those big things as a seven year old are colossal. I woke up every day that summer, to defeat things unseen. I would venture into wildernesses unexplored, fully committed to uncovering lost treasures. I was a botanist, an astronomer, a zoologist, a philosopher, a gardener, full time, knowing that life would always be as it was that summer. How wonderful is that? Can anyone point and claim that as being unimportant? At this moment, I am filled with such nostalgia. I can’t put into words how I feel, because it’s not words that I’m experiencing. It’s smells and textures against my skin. It’s Grandma cooking breakfast, and my mother singing. It’s heaven escaped from the pearly gate and kissing my forehead. It is life… and isn’t it wonderful?

Drug-Lord-Jack

This is a short story I wrote not too long ago. I hope you enjoy.

It has been almost seven months into my first year of marriage. There are more than ten thousand things that I could write about, believe me, but for the moment I will settle on a first that my wife and I discuss often. We live next to a drug lord. This may or may not be an exaggeration. To be honest, I don’t do drugs. Esther doesn’t do drugs, either. However, we both have been known to surprise the other. Anyway, to keep things anonymous, we’ll call our neighborly drug lord, Jack. Esther and I were at one of Jack’s garage/lawn/rummage/yard sale things that he puts on every now and then. This was our first time participating in one of his sales. He had an assortment of items one might find in the discount section of any upstanding gas station. He also had three books, dress-up jewelry, and a Mickey Mouse drinking set. Nothing says let’s get drunk, like a Mickey Mouse drinking set. We, feeling that we could transform our neighborhood, decided to buy one of his books; we both have a weakness for books. We also bought a pair of ear rings that were in need of much cleaning. The total cost was three dollars. For the past two summers I have spent time in India. Jack did not know this, because it had never came up in the 1 ½ conversations I’ve had with him. Due to my travels, I began to barter. Poor man; he seemed to have no idea why I found his trinkets so dissatisfying. It wasn’t the trinkets, it was the price. That’s why most people barter. After Jack lowered his price to $1.50, Esther and I paid him. As we were heading back home, I overheard a deal going down for some prescription drugs between Jack and a client. Esther sensed my body tense a little, and asked what was wrong. I told her I would tell her at home. When we got to the house I told her about what I had heard, and summed up the conversation with, “I don’t think we should go to Jack’s yard sales anymore.” A week or so later, Esther and I were talking on our front porch. Jack, our friendly neighborhood drug lord, was higher than a skunk and drunker than a kite; he approached us carrying a vacuum cleaner. “You guys need a vacuum?” I stepped off the porch with a smile, “No thanks, Jack. We’re good.” Jack turned toward his home, “Alright. I got this one out of the dumpster back there. It’s still good. There might be another one. Goodnight.” He laughed heartily as he sang himself back to his home. I sat down next to Esther, “You know, accepting benevolence from a high or drunk person is kind of like stealing. Isn’t it?” Esther laughed and kissed my cheek. We turned in knowing that this wasn’t the last interaction we would have with drug-lord-Jack.

The journey of the beans

This year my wife, Esther, and I began roasting our own coffee. I know, how very hipster of us. We order the beans from various locations around the world. The coffee beans are green in color, and usually have a hay-like smell. I am the bean roaster of the family, while my wife mainly brews…she has the touch. Normally while I roast the beans, which takes anywhere from 10-13 minutes, I think on the journey the coffee beans have taken. Farmers, from around the world, have worked so hard for my cup of coffee. Diligently they have nurtured the coffee plants, whose seeds create the perfect start to my mornings. I wonder if these farmers ever receive a thank you. I wonder if they even know how much I enjoy the product of their work. Thinking on the journey of the beans causes me to think of all of the other things in my life that I use and purchase. Who is responsible for making these items? Who is making my clothes, my food, my conveniences? I have become more conscientious of how and where I buy things; I can always do better though. A big step for me, concerning how I buy groceries, was buying what I could at the Farmers Market. I discovered that I receive far more satisfaction buying vegetables and honey at the Farmers Market than I do at the store. I think the reason for this is because there is a face. There is a person in front of me willing  to sell me the fruits of their labor. My money isn’t being given to a man behind a curtain. The transaction is simple and honest. However, as you can imagine, I can’t get all the things I need at the Farmers Market. I don’t believe that wearing nothing but hemp is the answer either. I think the answer lies in being good stewards with what we are given. I think the answer lies in being responsible when making purchasing decisions, or any other decision for that matter. I think the answer lies in learning how to wait. At the very least, a lesson I could always revisit is to not put myself first.These are just a few thoughts that I have, when thinking on the journey of the beans.

Hello

I am a first time blogger. I’m sure you have read that phrase before; you might have even posted that phrase a time or two. That being said, this is a new world to me. I write, often. However, my writings have always been such a private, intimate thing. It has been said that for a writer, nothing is sacred.  Regardless of how hard an author attempts to hide behind their words, some part of them is exposed; naked for the world see. I am excited for this. This time of vulnerability. This place of reckoning. I thank you for walking on this journey with me, and look forward to witnessing the progression of a young man’s thoughts.