The real. the ideal. and...

I have always prided myself on being an idealist. However, the daily realities of life are beginning to suffocate and swallow whole much of my former idealisms. It's a bit discouraging, if I'm honest. Life, at least presently, is nothing I expected and everything I feared. Life just feels hard. And sadly, it's nowhere close to as hard as it could be, or as hard as it's going to get. Life also feels "realer" than it ever has, whatever than means. And I'm not sure I like real. I think I prefer ideal.

I'm wondering if this is just a season of life, or if this is "the" season of life. In that, this is simply it. Do I need to prepare for perpetual discouragement, at least from my formally idealistic standpoint, or rather do I adjust my overall paradigm of life. I think it's the latter.

Is the ideal over, or was it ever really the ideal? Have I simply been living in an illusion and have now entered into the "real world." Or have I always lived in the real world, but have just lived in a very different version than I do now? Not sure.

Life is also more "adult" now. It's responsibility. Responsibilities change everything. In many senses, I suppose I did live a bit of a "charmed existence." And for all intents and purposes, I still do, it's just a lot realer now. Maybe real is good.

I'm not sure I like adulthood, or "real life" very much But, I suppose there's no going back, is there? I can do nothing but move forward. Life doesn't work in reverse. But, I'm still not sure how I feel about completely abandoning my idealisms. I don't think I can ever fully escape them, they're part of who I am, but now it's how I meld the reality of the "real" with my former notions of the ideal. Although more importantly, it's how I become comfortable with that melding. Because it's both-the real and the ideal.

But, really, it's not about either the real or the ideal, is it? It's about something so much more basic and fundamental. It's about contentment. Truly.

Surrender and irony

"Life is seldom what you plan" -Jon Forman. It's ironic, isn't it? Life. Life is a series of unplanned and unlooked for events. And sometimes those events are painful and unpleasant. Such things cause you think, "I didn't ask for this?"

Its in those moments, when you're standing in the middle of your street, in the rain, screaming up at the great cosmos asking, "Why God?" that you really have to ask yourself, "Am I going to let the unplanned and unlooked, and often painful realities of my life-the whole 'life is seldom what you plan' thing-crush me under its great weight?" Or you can think of it not as simply being crushed, in the sense that you are resisting, but rather as simply allowing yourself to be crushed, in the sense of surrender.

We can fight all day long against the unrelenting realities of life, or we can choose to embrace them and surrender to the crushing weight, and maybe in it give up some of ourselves. Those who lose their life for My sake will find it...

Consistency

I have always striven towards consistency in my life, pattern, rhythm, routine, sameness. I don't like change, never have. I think I find comfort in the sameness of things. The same meal at a restaurant, because I know it's going to taste good. The same Christmas traditions year after year, because I know or at least hope it will produce that same childish feeling that those same traditions evoked when I was a kid.

Change as always denoted a negative in my mind, always. And yet, logically I know this to be false. Change is the only constant in the universe, or I should say one of the only constants. Yet, I still cling to the consistency of a thing, and oftentimes for mere consistency's sake. The same routine in the shower: shampoo, rinse, condition, wash the body, wash the face, rinse the conditioner, and if we're feeling lucky, a shave. Always the same. I may do it this way till I die, if I'm still taking showers by that point...

Routines for me are like slipping into an old comfy, worn our T-shirt; they're comfortable. It's the known. The expected. Yet, there is a part of my brain that likes the unexpected, or perhaps more the idea of the unexpected. I think I far too often cling to notions rather than reality, herein lies a huge rub. I cannot break from my nature of consistency, except to hope for a life of inconsistency and am ultimately left dissatisfied. Silliness.

I can't always have my sameness, I must realize this. If I cling to it too tightly I'm afraid it will be ripped from me anyway--might as well let it go gently so as not to endure the ripping. It might be time to get rid of that comfy, old T-shirt. Gosh darn it, I really liked that shirt...

Inspiration

I love the high of inspiration. It's exhilarating. People. Ideas. People and their ideas. All inspire me. A good conversation, or a an idea from a good book can impel inspiration. But, sometimes I am so consumed by the high that my over-excited thoughts cannot make sense of themselves. I have to fight and wade through the plethora of notions and concepts swimming around in my brain, in order to extract some coherent strain. It's a joy when I can.

Conversations, at least the kind of conversations I often have, contain so many tangents. Hence, why I sometimes have difficulty making clear one solid idea. My friend Kristi uses a phrase often that I think applies to how I like drawing together my inspired thoughts into one concrete concept. She refers to it as "tying the bow." She gains satisfaction from circumstances coming full circle and being completed, or "tying the bow," if you will. I gain the same joy from joining ideas. I will wrestle with an inspired thought for some time before birthing it into words or coherent thought. But, it is very satisfying to bring to fruition an idea or concept. Inspiration is rot unless given some kind of coherent birth, then bow. Both are needed.

And sadly, I'm not honestly sure if this post has the coherent birth or bow that I was hoping for--ironic--but, birthed it needed to be, and bow it will perhaps have to wait upon. Goodnight.

The sacredness of the morning

There is something extremely sacred to me about the morning. I covet it. I revel in it. It quiets my soul before the chaos of a day begins. But, I have to chase it and catch it or else it eludes me and for the rest of the day I feel its absence. It's like a refuge, or a preparation. Without the morning a day feels a bit off . It's the beautiful alcove to every good day.

It's separate; it's unique; it's sacred. It's like the world is catching its breath. It's slow to wake and stretch, giving ample space for preparation. I thought this as I sat on my back porch this morning observing the world. There was no rush, no hurry to run into the world and its problems; everything was content to simply be . The mind feels free to range and explore, contemplate and contend with its own thoughts, but the whole beauty of the morning is this-freedom. I like freedom...

Repetition

Life is constituted by repetition. We do everything again, and again. We wash ourselves, only to become dirty and then have to wash ourselves again. We eat, only to be hungry a few hours later. We wash dishes, yet only to find them dirty again. We repeat the same cycles repeatedly. The necessary repetitions of life are endless. It's madness. And monotony. Or is it?

Soloman comments upon the wearying repetitions of life in Ecclesiastes: "All things are full weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing. What has been is what will be, and what has been is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun." We are doing and living and breathing all and everything that has ever been and all that ever will be. What does one do with such unbending relentless reality...?

Longing for the eternal

I am reading through Ecclesiastes. It's not the most up-lifting read, but it is truth. It turns ones mind to contemplate the unbelievably fleeting nature of the temporal. And it is causing my mind to realize in contrast the indelible and insatiable longing we all possess for the eternal. Soloman, the greatest king of Israel, who possessed all wisdom and knowledge, pursued all means of pleasure and toil, found it all to be utterly worthless. Madness. And folly.

We are never complete, never satisfied. We always desire more than we possess, and operate under the delusion that if we attain it, we will be happy. Happy. What does it mean? It is but a "striving after wind," says Soloman. Everything is nothing.

My heart feels heavy with the weight of this reality tonight. I am burdened by the eminent emptiness of the temporal and my ever-present longing for the eternal. I feel the fissure between these two warring worlds with great keenness. Is it not all futile? Life and its pursuits? My soul knowns not. Perhaps I should keep reading Ecclesiastes...