In looking for writing ideas, I came across a site that offered this question as an inspiration for high school writing students: “What if school sports were dropped?” For most teenage students, this question might elicit long diatribes on the victimization of athletes whose interests are constantly overlooked or ignored in lieu of things they don’t care about. Certainly a fair number of examples would offer some reference to being misunderstood. I expect, if I had been presented with this writing topic in high school I would have chosen any other subject I found tolerable simply to avoid letting my classmates know how I really felt.
I have few issues with sports in general. Physical activity is good for us, and I know so because smart people have told me – regardless of whether or not I follow the advice. I frequently (though irregularly) enjoy watching sports and following my favorite teams. Indeed, I attended many games in my high school days (although most were required for me as a member of the pep-band). And with that mitigating circumstance, we come to one of the many complicating elements of my childhood disdain for many things athletic.
Frequently, if not even most of the time, I find that a dislike or hatred of something is bred as a negative reaction to some related event or idea, rather than an objective and thoughtful consideration of the pros and cons of it. As many people can probably guess, and may even relate, I realize my general dislike for many things sport came as a reaction to negative feelings I associated with them. I would guess that almost exclusively, the off-putting experiences I had with my peers during my secondary school years could be somehow attributed to the “jocks” of my class.
I remember one particular event from my sixth grade year. It is surprising to me that it actually offends me more now than it did then. (Youthful ignorance is an extra-special brand of bliss.) As a means of moving up from childish games to more “mature” activities (and quite possibly as a simple attempt at acceptance, back when I still cared deeply about such things) I took up the practice of recess-time soccer. My experience was limited to whatever I had learned in P.E. over the previous five years and I was by no means better than average. I attempted to make up for my mediocrity by putting as much effort as possible into each game. I was most certainly not alone in this endeavor.
One chilly afternoon, a small core group of five or six boys, who had been playing for years after school in organized leagues and who possessed far superior skills to the rest of us, decided they didn’t want the hassle of fighting over who would team up with the lesser players (either in skill or in popularity, which I would soon find was the only thing that would matter in middle school). In a somewhat tactful way of avoiding the need to tell certain people they weren’t welcome, these boys proposed that they alone would take on the rest of us. How could we say no to that? We outnumbered them at least 3 to 1.
Naturally we crushed them. In a way, I admire their decision. It showed a certain maturity that they cared about more than simply winning. The extra challenge was certainly a chance for them to stretch their skills and improve. But now I see another side that troubles me much more now than it had back then. With all of the motives for simplicity and the nobility of being willing to lose, there stood one final truth: these boys would rather loose than play on the same team as some of the geeky, overweight, pimply, stunted, late-blooming rejects of the barely existent “perfectly-normal-in-every-way” crowd… or should that be clique?
Sixth grade was only the beginning of what would eventually become my own personal social schism from the general likes and interests of my peers. Over the next several years I would grow to reject their music, their heroes, their automatic contempt for authority, and any other distinguishing factor they would use to demonstrate how I was different. My reaction was to create my own set of interests and hobbies, most of which I tried simply because they seemed to be the opposite of what my classmates cared about, and frequently what they hated the most. Some never held, but those that did have survived with me to this day and I hold on to them with pride because I know I chose them for myself.
Earlier this year, the teachers of the Oregon Trail School District in Sandy, Oregon went on strike for sixteen days. The issues of the labor dispute are not relevant to my point, but some of the media coverage is. In between stories about each side’s position on this and that were the inevitable voices of the students. Nearly all of the interviews given by students were riddled with gripes about some sacrifice that a sports team had to make because of the walkout. I do not wish to make light of the fact that the Homecoming football game was eventually cancelled (the opposing team forfeited rather than playing a game behind a union picket line). It was a significant loss of an event, but it was not the only one. My concern was the narrow-mindedness of the students, none of which I knew, but who each reminded me of so many of the students I attended classes with inside those same walls. Rescheduling of many events was necessary. The drama department will likely be one show short of its usual three yearly productions. The winter band and choir concerts were necessarily shortened and combined. I am certain that any number of other clubs and organizations were forced to take similar actions to adjust. We heard about none of them within the mainstream coverage of the strike.
A game is much more difficult to reschedule, I realize, but that is only the beginning of my own personal list of concerns related to school sports. Sports are inherently competitive. Competition is something I tend to avoid whenever possible. Most of what I do in life falls, in my opinion, outside of the realm of competition. Nevertheless, some people seem determined to find a way of proving they are the best. But whenever there is recognition of something that is declared the best (through no small amount of subjectivity and opinion) there is the illusion of something being the worst. For sports this works well enough, but that pathology of competition and ranking has a way of bleeding into other activities, in which it does not belong.
I will use music as my primary example, as that is where I have the most experience. I grew up in Oregon public schools, which I have heard have some of the most competitive performing arts programs in the country. Attending the state choir and band contests left me with a strange feeling of disdain for other competitors. In such an environment of rankings and status, we all knew that someone else’s success could come as the result of our failure. Listening to other ensembles in a nearly empty auditorium, I was unable to appreciate what other people were doing, because acknowledging their talent and musicianship would suggest pessimism for my own ensemble’s prospects. I could do nothing but look for every fault, mistake, tuning problem, missed entrance, or “wrong” interpretation in each performance. Worst of all, I learned practically nothing.
When I moved to Washington to attend Pacific Lutheran University, I entered an entirely different musical atmosphere. There, everyone was supportive of everyone else. The large musical events I participated in, or observed, were not “competitions.” They were called “festivals.” The judges were not gone, but their roles were entirely different. Scores were given to each choir, and were not announced to the other groups; they didn’t care. More valuable and important was the verbal feedback and, frequently, one-on-one clinics with the “judges.” Most striking was the atmosphere of interaction. The auditorium was packed for the entire event, each ensemble in its own assigned space to take in and enjoy as many of the other performances as possible.
On its second year, the High School Choral Festival hosted at PLU had to be expanded to two days to accommodate the extra volume of singers that simply wouldn’t fit in the room. Family members who came to listen were turned away due to lack of seating. And when a choir gave a particularly stunning performance, the room did not exchange looks of despair, but ones of appropriate joy and appreciation. People didn’t notice when the tenor in the back row wore the wrong color pants. Soloists weren’t shaking with fear that a sour note would doom the entire ensemble. Directors never cut the music off before the end so the choir could leave the stage before their allotted time ran out, for fear of losing points (Believe me, this actually happens!)
Recently I heard talk that certain influential music directors in Oregon have made attempts to move toward a more “festival” like interaction between school bands and choirs. They want to do away with the cutthroat scoring systems and coveted rankings at the end of the day. They want their students to be able to enjoy the work of their colleagues and peers, and to succeed of their own accord. But many obstacles stand in the way of this process. If it is to succeed, it will likely do so only with the hard effort of those who wish the change to occur. The OSAA, or Oregon School Activities Association (which I now realize has a slightly ambiguous and overly general name), has said they will no longer sponsor, support, or manage musical events that do not have “competition” as one element of the proceedings. If there aren’t going to be any scores to report, they aren’t interested. It seems that those who desire this change will have to achieve it entirely on their own.
I have no finer example of the detrimental influence competitive sports has over other school activities than a memory from my days in high school choir. This particular year had been a good one for the Sandy Football team. They had their first home playoff game in many years and won it (all without the pep band, most of which was defiantly playing for the opening performance of Guys and Dolls the same night, infuriating any number of people who had never before acknowledged the significance of the band at all). The school was very excited to have a football team that was moving on to round two against Bend High School.
Sometime during the lead up to the second game, my choir happened to be attending a musical exchange that was much more of the “festival” variety. It was an independent festival run by Western Oregon University. The choirs all assembled in the auditorium (much as I would later witness at PLU) and listened to each performance, one by one. At the end, WOU’s choir treated us all to its own performance. Partway through their program, each member of the ensemble took a moment to tell us who they were and which High School they had attended. Cheers floated from various corners of the room as some of the represented schools acknowledged their alumni. It had been a blissful day of music for me and I have rarely been happier. It was partly because of that good mood that made the shock of what happened next all the more egregious to me. A member of the choir introduced herself and said she was from Bend High School. It was fortunate that people were applauding so loudly, for most people didn’t hear the wide receiver next to me call out a casual “boo.” I’m not sure what I said, or if I even said anything at all. Certainly my expression would have been enough to convey my contempt for what he had just done. If not for the embarrassment it would have brought on our choir and our school, I almost wish the room had been quiet, for all to hear his misplaced contempt for a distant representative of his future foe. This was one of the times that convinced me of how sports and athletes can take the competition far, far, far outside of its proper forum.
I don’t know what caused this misguided boy to progress beyond the desire to win, to a point where he had learned to instinctually hate “the enemy.” It is not a healthy line of thinking, and it is most certainly not advantageous for an athlete. The strong desire and determination he had been striving for would be much more effective if it resulted in more respect for the opposing team, not less. Certainly better teams than Sandy High School’s football squad have been beaten by a team they disliked so much they underestimated them. The following Monday, this boy and I shared a look that spoke volumes. I don’t know if he could tell, but I certainly hoped he knew that, for the first time, I was glad my school’s team had lost.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Friday, January 06, 2006
Which Pledge of Allegiance?
I received an email today. (Actually I have received no fewer than 10 so far.) This one was one of those cursed chain mail letters I thought went away when I stopped visiting chat rooms at the age of 16. The increased anonymity I have gained through my more hermit-like Internet behavior does not, unfortunately, protect me from people who know me. This chain mail was one of those absurd petitions people begin by signing with number 1 and passing it on to a dozen or so friends with instructions to sign under the next number and pass it on. Further instructions requested that the 2000th signer would pass the letter on to the appropriate recipient, (in this case, the President) in addition to his unsuspecting friends.
This concept of petition signing through chain letters defies logic to no end. Eventually there will be hundreds, thousands, even tens-of-thousands of permutations floating around out there, each with fewer than 2000 names, but collectively with many more than that. Once they begin to reach that 2000 mark, the common destination email box will begin to be flooded by thousands of different versions of the email with any combination of duplicated signatures. If someone were actually planning to take the letter seriously, he would have to go through the painstaking process of compiling each name and cross referencing each duplicate, to determine if there really are seventy-three George Smiths living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, or if it was the same one each time.
This letter went a step further by being ridiculously vague. I quote:
"*_PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS_**Agree or Delete: Instructions to sign are at the bottom. **PETITION FOR PRES. BUSH* *PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS: *"
On the surface, it seems quite obvious what point the signers want to make. Simplicity can be nice, but complexity is often ignored in situations when it must be at least examined.
Assuming for a second that I was in charge of this decision, I would have several responses if people came to me asking me to “reinstate [the] Pledge to the Flag in public schools[.]” (Note: I capitalized “Pledge” and “Flag” because I assume they would be referring to a specific pledge and a specific flag. One of the many consequences of writing in all caps is that such distinctions are lost. People do it to emphasize their point, and end up losing clarity, which is far more important.) My first response would be: “Which one?”
As my fifth-grade teacher would frequently say, as we finished the morning recitation of a Pledge of Allegiance: “Get out your history books.” In 1892, the U.S. was preparing for the quadricentennial of Columbus’ landing. In preparation for the celebration, a Boston based magazine called The Youth’s Companion published a pledge that was to be recited by the nation’s youth on Columbus Day. The pledge, written by a former Baptist minister by the name of Francis Bellamy, reads as follows:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Francis Bellamy had begun working for The Youth’s Companion the previous year, after being pressured to leave his church post because of his socialist sermons. He was also the chairman of a committee of state superintendents for the National Education Association. It was through this position that he prepared the children for his pledge. The pledge was based on ideas from his cousin’s socialist utopian novels Looking Backward (1888) and Equality (1897), not exactly the breeding ground of good “old fashioned” American capitalism and “values.” It is also notable that the above pledge was written, not only by a Christian, but a Christian minister, who somehow did not get the memo from above to include “under God.”
That addition was not the next one to be made either. A “to” was added before “the Republic” in October of 1892. Bellamy had considered including the word “equality” as well, but worried about his colleagues on the superintendents' board, who were opposed to equality for women and African-Americans.
Against Bellamy’s objections, the National Flag Conference changed the words “my flag” to “the flag of the United States of America” in 1923 and 1924.
In 1942 Congress officially recognized the pledge. Those not alive to witness it, might be surprised to learn that, in 1943, the Supreme Court ruled that children could not be required to recite the pledge. This, to me, is one of the best examples that our freedom exists and that it is strong. For over sixty years, the Pledge of Allegiance has been legally optional, and that hasn’t stopped anybody from saying it. Clearly a constitutional requirement is not necessary at all.
It was in 1954 that congress added the words, “under God,” creating the version we are most familiar with today. Bellamy's daughter believed that her father would have objected to this addition as well. This was not because he was no longer believed in God, but he was decidedly at odds with many of his fellow Christians; enough to bring him to stop attending church because of his church’s racial bigotry.
I am assuming the petition I received was one whose supporters were hoping to have the “under God” version be the one reinstated. The fact that I had to assume anything is not a good sign. Petitions are only effective if they are clear about their intentions. This email falls well short of that goal. It might be more appropriately called a letter, though it is a somewhat pithy one even for that. If these people want to be taken seriously, I think they should take their goals seriously and put forth the proper effort to do it right. Even if I were in agreement with the other signers, I would likely not care to add my name to such a mediocre attempt at action.
Still assuming we are talking about the “under God” pledge, I find it curious that people would be working to reinstate such a pledge by attempting to overturn a ruling made eleven years before that version even existed. Those who complain that the pledge is not being required in schools because of issues with prayer in the classroom clearly need to return to that classroom for a history and math review. Many seem to desire this change in the interests of recognizing a national tradition. It is strange that people would be so adamant to preserve a “tradition” that, in a nation even as young as the United States, still has existed for less than a quarter of our existence. In the scope of world history, I find this issue to be more of a habit than a tradition.
I am a Christian. Many people in this country are. Many people in the country are not. Many liberals might be initially shocked to hear that I do not believe the sentence: “America is a Christian nation,” is inaccurate. It is not inaccurate; it is incomplete. In a country where we supposedly value “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” we should be more keen to finish that sentence. America is a Christian nation, and a Jewish nation, and a Muslim nation, and an Agnostic nation… The list goes on and on, and we are nowhere close to being able to put a period at the end of it. I cannot, as an American, bring myself to believe that a nationally recognized pledge should be exclusive to anyone who is a rightful citizen for any reason. I cannot, therefore, in good conscience agree that the words “under God” should be a required part of the Pledge of Allegiance. I, for one, do believe that we are not only a nation under God, but also a world under God. But I don’t find that to be any less true just because the guy down the street doesn’t believe me. I also would see no problem in people adding those words on their own.
To determine a “correct” version of the Pledge of Allegiance, I believe we need to reexamine the history of the pledge in the context of national events throughout the same history. I am, usually, a purist. When somebody creates something I believe their authority is paramount above all others. Francis Bellamy disliked the change to “the Flag of the United States of America.” Further to my point that the pledge should be a personal choice, I find the words “my Flag” much more appropriate. Remember also that Bellamy considered including the word “equality.” He did not because of the state of human equality and opinion in 1892. Since then, we have fought our battles over civil rights. Positions have changed. I have no doubt that, if Bellamy were alive today, he would not hesitate for a second to include "equality". This would most likely result in this version:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with equality, liberty and justice for all.
“The flag is important, but if there weren't any, I wouldn't feel any less pride in America.” These were the words of my brother when we discussed this subject. I couldn’t really put it any better. Why pledge to a flag? It certainly has no actual power; it is merely symbolic. Should we not pledge to the country itself, with or without the flag? Would the pledge mean less without the flag? Does one need to be in a church to pray? Does a Christian, Catholic or otherwise, need to have a minister or priest present to confess his sins to God? Even if you believe it is necessary to confess to a priest, it does not mean you cannot confess at home as well. The most important words in the Pledge of Allegiance are: “allegiance,” “indivisible,” “equality,” “liberty” and “justice;” not “flag.” Some people, it seems, would knock down the White House with a wrecking ball trying to stop someone from painting it black. I don’t think the color was the important part.
With or without “under God.” I believe the Supreme Court ruling in 1943 should stand. The Pledge of Allegiance can be a profound declaration of patriotism, purpose, goals, and ideals. But it means nothing coming from someone who does not say it willingly. In fact requiring someone to say it would be to contradict the pledge itself. Anyone who is being forced to say a pledge for “liberty and justice” is pledging to rights he does not, at that moment, enjoy.
Bibliography: Baer, John. 1992, “The Pledge of Allegiance A Short History” http://history.vineyard.net/pledge.htm “The original Pledge of Allegiance” http://www.usflag.org/history/pledgeofallegiance.html
This concept of petition signing through chain letters defies logic to no end. Eventually there will be hundreds, thousands, even tens-of-thousands of permutations floating around out there, each with fewer than 2000 names, but collectively with many more than that. Once they begin to reach that 2000 mark, the common destination email box will begin to be flooded by thousands of different versions of the email with any combination of duplicated signatures. If someone were actually planning to take the letter seriously, he would have to go through the painstaking process of compiling each name and cross referencing each duplicate, to determine if there really are seventy-three George Smiths living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, or if it was the same one each time.
This letter went a step further by being ridiculously vague. I quote:
"*_PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS_**Agree or Delete: Instructions to sign are at the bottom. **PETITION FOR PRES. BUSH* *PETITION TO REINSTATE PLEDGE TO THE FLAG IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS: *"
On the surface, it seems quite obvious what point the signers want to make. Simplicity can be nice, but complexity is often ignored in situations when it must be at least examined.
Assuming for a second that I was in charge of this decision, I would have several responses if people came to me asking me to “reinstate [the] Pledge to the Flag in public schools[.]” (Note: I capitalized “Pledge” and “Flag” because I assume they would be referring to a specific pledge and a specific flag. One of the many consequences of writing in all caps is that such distinctions are lost. People do it to emphasize their point, and end up losing clarity, which is far more important.) My first response would be: “Which one?”
As my fifth-grade teacher would frequently say, as we finished the morning recitation of a Pledge of Allegiance: “Get out your history books.” In 1892, the U.S. was preparing for the quadricentennial of Columbus’ landing. In preparation for the celebration, a Boston based magazine called The Youth’s Companion published a pledge that was to be recited by the nation’s youth on Columbus Day. The pledge, written by a former Baptist minister by the name of Francis Bellamy, reads as follows:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Francis Bellamy had begun working for The Youth’s Companion the previous year, after being pressured to leave his church post because of his socialist sermons. He was also the chairman of a committee of state superintendents for the National Education Association. It was through this position that he prepared the children for his pledge. The pledge was based on ideas from his cousin’s socialist utopian novels Looking Backward (1888) and Equality (1897), not exactly the breeding ground of good “old fashioned” American capitalism and “values.” It is also notable that the above pledge was written, not only by a Christian, but a Christian minister, who somehow did not get the memo from above to include “under God.”
That addition was not the next one to be made either. A “to” was added before “the Republic” in October of 1892. Bellamy had considered including the word “equality” as well, but worried about his colleagues on the superintendents' board, who were opposed to equality for women and African-Americans.
Against Bellamy’s objections, the National Flag Conference changed the words “my flag” to “the flag of the United States of America” in 1923 and 1924.
In 1942 Congress officially recognized the pledge. Those not alive to witness it, might be surprised to learn that, in 1943, the Supreme Court ruled that children could not be required to recite the pledge. This, to me, is one of the best examples that our freedom exists and that it is strong. For over sixty years, the Pledge of Allegiance has been legally optional, and that hasn’t stopped anybody from saying it. Clearly a constitutional requirement is not necessary at all.
It was in 1954 that congress added the words, “under God,” creating the version we are most familiar with today. Bellamy's daughter believed that her father would have objected to this addition as well. This was not because he was no longer believed in God, but he was decidedly at odds with many of his fellow Christians; enough to bring him to stop attending church because of his church’s racial bigotry.
I am assuming the petition I received was one whose supporters were hoping to have the “under God” version be the one reinstated. The fact that I had to assume anything is not a good sign. Petitions are only effective if they are clear about their intentions. This email falls well short of that goal. It might be more appropriately called a letter, though it is a somewhat pithy one even for that. If these people want to be taken seriously, I think they should take their goals seriously and put forth the proper effort to do it right. Even if I were in agreement with the other signers, I would likely not care to add my name to such a mediocre attempt at action.
Still assuming we are talking about the “under God” pledge, I find it curious that people would be working to reinstate such a pledge by attempting to overturn a ruling made eleven years before that version even existed. Those who complain that the pledge is not being required in schools because of issues with prayer in the classroom clearly need to return to that classroom for a history and math review. Many seem to desire this change in the interests of recognizing a national tradition. It is strange that people would be so adamant to preserve a “tradition” that, in a nation even as young as the United States, still has existed for less than a quarter of our existence. In the scope of world history, I find this issue to be more of a habit than a tradition.
I am a Christian. Many people in this country are. Many people in the country are not. Many liberals might be initially shocked to hear that I do not believe the sentence: “America is a Christian nation,” is inaccurate. It is not inaccurate; it is incomplete. In a country where we supposedly value “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” we should be more keen to finish that sentence. America is a Christian nation, and a Jewish nation, and a Muslim nation, and an Agnostic nation… The list goes on and on, and we are nowhere close to being able to put a period at the end of it. I cannot, as an American, bring myself to believe that a nationally recognized pledge should be exclusive to anyone who is a rightful citizen for any reason. I cannot, therefore, in good conscience agree that the words “under God” should be a required part of the Pledge of Allegiance. I, for one, do believe that we are not only a nation under God, but also a world under God. But I don’t find that to be any less true just because the guy down the street doesn’t believe me. I also would see no problem in people adding those words on their own.
To determine a “correct” version of the Pledge of Allegiance, I believe we need to reexamine the history of the pledge in the context of national events throughout the same history. I am, usually, a purist. When somebody creates something I believe their authority is paramount above all others. Francis Bellamy disliked the change to “the Flag of the United States of America.” Further to my point that the pledge should be a personal choice, I find the words “my Flag” much more appropriate. Remember also that Bellamy considered including the word “equality.” He did not because of the state of human equality and opinion in 1892. Since then, we have fought our battles over civil rights. Positions have changed. I have no doubt that, if Bellamy were alive today, he would not hesitate for a second to include "equality". This would most likely result in this version:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with equality, liberty and justice for all.
“The flag is important, but if there weren't any, I wouldn't feel any less pride in America.” These were the words of my brother when we discussed this subject. I couldn’t really put it any better. Why pledge to a flag? It certainly has no actual power; it is merely symbolic. Should we not pledge to the country itself, with or without the flag? Would the pledge mean less without the flag? Does one need to be in a church to pray? Does a Christian, Catholic or otherwise, need to have a minister or priest present to confess his sins to God? Even if you believe it is necessary to confess to a priest, it does not mean you cannot confess at home as well. The most important words in the Pledge of Allegiance are: “allegiance,” “indivisible,” “equality,” “liberty” and “justice;” not “flag.” Some people, it seems, would knock down the White House with a wrecking ball trying to stop someone from painting it black. I don’t think the color was the important part.
With or without “under God.” I believe the Supreme Court ruling in 1943 should stand. The Pledge of Allegiance can be a profound declaration of patriotism, purpose, goals, and ideals. But it means nothing coming from someone who does not say it willingly. In fact requiring someone to say it would be to contradict the pledge itself. Anyone who is being forced to say a pledge for “liberty and justice” is pledging to rights he does not, at that moment, enjoy.
Bibliography: Baer, John. 1992, “The Pledge of Allegiance A Short History” http://history.vineyard.net/pledge.htm “The original Pledge of Allegiance” http://www.usflag.org/history/pledgeofallegiance.html
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Connections
Written on December 8th, 2004. See Author's follow-up in comments.
Connections: Among many various things, connections are a literary device; an art form that helps a story, or a moment, emerge absolute and complete. Great writers will delay our minds, divert our attention and distract us. And when our questions become simply unbearable, they slake us with wondrous discoveries that simultaneously close gaps and open doors to the rest of the story, past and present and future.
It is a wonderful dichotomy of human emotions. We long for knowledge of the unknown: to read the last page first. We also yearn for ignorance of the familiar: to read the last page last, for the first time again. It is the wonder of discovery and a driving force in our culture, our minds, and our spirits. Reading for the first time is enthralling. Reading for the second time is enlightening.
Two images stood out in my mind tonight as I considered a great question. I pondered the half finished puzzle on the rickety old card table: the view of an image slowly revealing itself. I simultaneously contemplated the $90 wooden frame around the $100,000 piece of paper, hanging on my wall: shining proudly and proclaiming achievement in an old but continually growing tradition. The question looms in the background of the latter, translating itself into generic terms: What is next for me? Where will I go? What will I do? What is it all for?
I am considering the chance to fulfill one of my greatest dreams in a trip to Cambridge, England (the most prominent among several destinations I would be able to cross off on my “list”) as a member of a choir I hold in high esteem both musically and personally, and whose members are more than just colleagues and mentors. This possibility presents itself as one of those opportunities that might be “too perfect.” It is a near lifelong desire that has accosted me at a time when I am not ready to pursue my greatest ambitions. In a time of my life that is as unpredictable as any will ever be; I know that little is certain. My perpetual insistence that “everything will turn out fine in the end” is being tested to its extreme limits. My insecurity eats at my insides like a gnawing guilt, or a painful loss. Yet the converse question must be asked: What if this turns out to be my last chance to fulfill that dream, or perhaps, even more?
More than one person has confronted me with the proposition that my life needs a leap of faith. What if this is that leap? What if this is my chance to break open the next door, and to help me define who I really want to be? What if diving from this precipice leads me finally, to more answers than questions? What if this, is one of those moments that gives me my own discoveries and opens my own doors, to the past, and the present, and the future?
It seems cliché that a person with so many questions at this moment in life would look for answers in a trip to Europe. It may be even more desperate considering I returned from a trip to Germany and The Netherlands not even a year ago. It was a glorious fortnight’s voyage at breakneck speed through frigid cathedrals. The tour, while thoroughly enjoyable, did not seem to answer any questions. I submit that this next trip could be quite different. If it is, I believe it would force me to offer one question’s answer I have feared I knew over a year ago.
Staring at my degree, it glaring back at me, I turned and peered at the unfinished puzzle. The cheesy comparison brought a grin to my face: “the next piece.” I remembered I was the one who identified the location pictured on the puzzle. It was one of the many canals in Amsterdam. I do not know if I believe in “signs” but if I do, this was one of them. Pondering so many questions, questioning so many dreams, a connection, perhaps to show me that this is the next step.
I do not think that my heart is really in these places nor are they where it belongs or yearns to be; home is still my best home. They are simply experiences that my life craves, to create a more complete and diverse picture of myself. As this next chapter of my life begins, my own author ponders new ideas introduced in the closing sentences of the previous one.
Life would barely be worthwhile if the second read were not more revealing than the first. Perhaps that commonly accepted final moment of life flashing before our eyes is a final gift of our earth-bound journey: the chance to read our own story again.
Connections: Among many various things, connections are a literary device; an art form that helps a story, or a moment, emerge absolute and complete. Great writers will delay our minds, divert our attention and distract us. And when our questions become simply unbearable, they slake us with wondrous discoveries that simultaneously close gaps and open doors to the rest of the story, past and present and future.
It is a wonderful dichotomy of human emotions. We long for knowledge of the unknown: to read the last page first. We also yearn for ignorance of the familiar: to read the last page last, for the first time again. It is the wonder of discovery and a driving force in our culture, our minds, and our spirits. Reading for the first time is enthralling. Reading for the second time is enlightening.
Two images stood out in my mind tonight as I considered a great question. I pondered the half finished puzzle on the rickety old card table: the view of an image slowly revealing itself. I simultaneously contemplated the $90 wooden frame around the $100,000 piece of paper, hanging on my wall: shining proudly and proclaiming achievement in an old but continually growing tradition. The question looms in the background of the latter, translating itself into generic terms: What is next for me? Where will I go? What will I do? What is it all for?
I am considering the chance to fulfill one of my greatest dreams in a trip to Cambridge, England (the most prominent among several destinations I would be able to cross off on my “list”) as a member of a choir I hold in high esteem both musically and personally, and whose members are more than just colleagues and mentors. This possibility presents itself as one of those opportunities that might be “too perfect.” It is a near lifelong desire that has accosted me at a time when I am not ready to pursue my greatest ambitions. In a time of my life that is as unpredictable as any will ever be; I know that little is certain. My perpetual insistence that “everything will turn out fine in the end” is being tested to its extreme limits. My insecurity eats at my insides like a gnawing guilt, or a painful loss. Yet the converse question must be asked: What if this turns out to be my last chance to fulfill that dream, or perhaps, even more?
More than one person has confronted me with the proposition that my life needs a leap of faith. What if this is that leap? What if this is my chance to break open the next door, and to help me define who I really want to be? What if diving from this precipice leads me finally, to more answers than questions? What if this, is one of those moments that gives me my own discoveries and opens my own doors, to the past, and the present, and the future?
It seems cliché that a person with so many questions at this moment in life would look for answers in a trip to Europe. It may be even more desperate considering I returned from a trip to Germany and The Netherlands not even a year ago. It was a glorious fortnight’s voyage at breakneck speed through frigid cathedrals. The tour, while thoroughly enjoyable, did not seem to answer any questions. I submit that this next trip could be quite different. If it is, I believe it would force me to offer one question’s answer I have feared I knew over a year ago.
Staring at my degree, it glaring back at me, I turned and peered at the unfinished puzzle. The cheesy comparison brought a grin to my face: “the next piece.” I remembered I was the one who identified the location pictured on the puzzle. It was one of the many canals in Amsterdam. I do not know if I believe in “signs” but if I do, this was one of them. Pondering so many questions, questioning so many dreams, a connection, perhaps to show me that this is the next step.
I do not think that my heart is really in these places nor are they where it belongs or yearns to be; home is still my best home. They are simply experiences that my life craves, to create a more complete and diverse picture of myself. As this next chapter of my life begins, my own author ponders new ideas introduced in the closing sentences of the previous one.
Life would barely be worthwhile if the second read were not more revealing than the first. Perhaps that commonly accepted final moment of life flashing before our eyes is a final gift of our earth-bound journey: the chance to read our own story again.
Author's Forward: Crazy and Astounding Things Happen at 5 o' clock in the Morning.
There is no doubt that most, if not all, of my best writing--verbal or otherwise--comes in the wee hours of the morning. It seems only fitting that my first post on my first blog enters cyberspace just minutes after 5 a.m. (or at least it was when I started).
Sometimes I write because I feel like writing. Sometimes I write because I can't do anything else. Sometimes I write because I can't sleep. And, thankfully, sometimes I sleep when I can no longer write: one reason that, all by itself, makes the writing worth the effort.
Those who experience this collection of writings are bound to be varied and, in the end, confused. (It's happening already, isn't it?) I hope, however, that you are in some way inspired, informed, indoctrinated, incensed, or even perhaps in awe (one can always hope). Whatever it is you take from here, I hope you enjoy reading these words as much as I enjoy rereading them. (I say "rereading" because I believe it is impossible to enjoy reading something nearly as much as writing it.)
Sometimes I write because I feel like writing. Sometimes I write because I can't do anything else. Sometimes I write because I can't sleep. And, thankfully, sometimes I sleep when I can no longer write: one reason that, all by itself, makes the writing worth the effort.
Those who experience this collection of writings are bound to be varied and, in the end, confused. (It's happening already, isn't it?) I hope, however, that you are in some way inspired, informed, indoctrinated, incensed, or even perhaps in awe (one can always hope). Whatever it is you take from here, I hope you enjoy reading these words as much as I enjoy rereading them. (I say "rereading" because I believe it is impossible to enjoy reading something nearly as much as writing it.)
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