Friday, February 9, 2007
Saturday, February 3, 2007
As my long, unwinnable, undiagnosed battle with Attention Deficit Disorder (and the accompanying insomnia it can bring to many a distractable soul) carried me into yet another late night of restless-yet-weary cognition, I was reminded of a dear friend of mine. A friend who has for years now has listened to my stories without judgement or comment, never raising a doubtful eyebrow at some ridiculous thought I might have deigned to type, never interrupting my anecdotes in order to offer an humbling one-up, nor even pretending to listen while actually going over a list of to-do's. Who this is, I scarcely need say; for here we are, once again rekindling the relationship I never know I'm missing until suddenly I'm typing. Hello, friend.
With my birthday once again on the horizon, I lay (as in "past tense of 'lie'") here tonight wondering why I never seem to have an answer for people when they ask me what I'm up to. Because, as we all know, I'm still a bloody undergrad at Baylor, the default answer ends up being, "school." This is something that has incresingly begun to weigh (not the past tense of "why") on me, as this makes me feel like a rather boring, unremarkable person. As someone who is egotistical enough to think of themselves as most certainly remarkable, this tells me that somewhere in the past year my life has taken a turn for the predictable. I go to class, I do my homework, I spend time with Julie and other friends, and I absorb pop culture. This is all I do. I haven't left the state of Texas since Christmas. I haven't been anywhere else besides Oklahoma since May (when Cozad and I took our legendary trip to Chicago). I haven't left the country since I returned from Costa Rica in March of last year. In short, my life has gone from the kind of thing that allowed me to experience new things around every corner to one that has grown stale and routine. This is no one's fault but my own. Rather than dip into my credit line in order to go snowboarding over Christmas break, I made the wise financial decision to remain in Waco to play my trumpet for money at the Baylor basketball games. This allowed me to pay rent without having to ultimately pay interest on a credit card, but it simultaneously kept me away from an annual trek that I am slowly realising has taken on significant spiritual and emotional meaning for me.
The catalyst for this post comes from I would consider an unlikey source; although I suppose upon inspection it's really not all that contrived a connection. For whatever reason, something my music history professor said in her lecture today reminded me of a quote from Calvin & Hobbes. I don't remember what she said, but it was enough to make me stop using my laptop for its legitimate classroom purpose (re: note taking) and diverting it towards a usefulness that a spiral notebook could never have afforded: Google. Thinking of the comic strip I had once treasured so dearly made me wonder what its author was up to anymore. This led me to Google Bill Watterson's name. From there, I read most everything I could no the man; interviews, speeches, a Wikipedia entry, anything the Internet could offer me. If anyone reading this is not familiar with Bill Watterson and his views on commercialism and art, they should definitey take a look at some of the stuff he's written. Because Google offers a vast library of resources for doing exactly that, I won't go into detail here; you really should read his stuff for yourself. The man is passionate, and he has maintained his integrity through battles over merchandising of his characters. He is a man lacking in greed and replete with value and love for his artform. Even if he fought a battle for an artform that neither needed nor wanted a champion, his tenacity and resilience are things I cannot help but admire. Go read his stuff.
But back from my little aside, what Watterson's battle called my attention to was the fact that I am becoming something I used to see as despicable. My conversations rarely run much deeper than what was recently on television or what so-and-so said in class the other day, my taste in music is becoming more mainstream in order to allow me to have iPod playlists people will like when I host gatherings, and I find myself succumbing to all of the things Edward Norton found himself rebelling against in Fight Club. Shopping at Ikea, drinking Starbucks coffee, and watching too much damned television. Each in and of themselves is not anything to be ashamed of, nor is there anything really wrong with any of that. It simply isn't the kind of life my personality is going to permit me to have. I require change. I need growth as a person. Quite frankly, I think I'm just due to go on an adventure. I need time alone to be me and only me; those times in my life when I have been alone in some place that is brand new to me are always the ones that inspire the stories I tell for years afterwards. Rarely is an anecdote from class worth mentioning two or three days after it has passed, but I still tell with fondness about the first time I went snowboarding alone. This is not happenstance; there is a direct and obvious correllation between these things. I need a break from the routine.
It's about time I did something new. When I do, I'll tell you about it here.
"It's a magical world, Hobbes ol buddy! Let's go exploring!" - Calvin
With my birthday once again on the horizon, I lay (as in "past tense of 'lie'") here tonight wondering why I never seem to have an answer for people when they ask me what I'm up to. Because, as we all know, I'm still a bloody undergrad at Baylor, the default answer ends up being, "school." This is something that has incresingly begun to weigh (not the past tense of "why") on me, as this makes me feel like a rather boring, unremarkable person. As someone who is egotistical enough to think of themselves as most certainly remarkable, this tells me that somewhere in the past year my life has taken a turn for the predictable. I go to class, I do my homework, I spend time with Julie and other friends, and I absorb pop culture. This is all I do. I haven't left the state of Texas since Christmas. I haven't been anywhere else besides Oklahoma since May (when Cozad and I took our legendary trip to Chicago). I haven't left the country since I returned from Costa Rica in March of last year. In short, my life has gone from the kind of thing that allowed me to experience new things around every corner to one that has grown stale and routine. This is no one's fault but my own. Rather than dip into my credit line in order to go snowboarding over Christmas break, I made the wise financial decision to remain in Waco to play my trumpet for money at the Baylor basketball games. This allowed me to pay rent without having to ultimately pay interest on a credit card, but it simultaneously kept me away from an annual trek that I am slowly realising has taken on significant spiritual and emotional meaning for me.
The catalyst for this post comes from I would consider an unlikey source; although I suppose upon inspection it's really not all that contrived a connection. For whatever reason, something my music history professor said in her lecture today reminded me of a quote from Calvin & Hobbes. I don't remember what she said, but it was enough to make me stop using my laptop for its legitimate classroom purpose (re: note taking) and diverting it towards a usefulness that a spiral notebook could never have afforded: Google. Thinking of the comic strip I had once treasured so dearly made me wonder what its author was up to anymore. This led me to Google Bill Watterson's name. From there, I read most everything I could no the man; interviews, speeches, a Wikipedia entry, anything the Internet could offer me. If anyone reading this is not familiar with Bill Watterson and his views on commercialism and art, they should definitey take a look at some of the stuff he's written. Because Google offers a vast library of resources for doing exactly that, I won't go into detail here; you really should read his stuff for yourself. The man is passionate, and he has maintained his integrity through battles over merchandising of his characters. He is a man lacking in greed and replete with value and love for his artform. Even if he fought a battle for an artform that neither needed nor wanted a champion, his tenacity and resilience are things I cannot help but admire. Go read his stuff.
But back from my little aside, what Watterson's battle called my attention to was the fact that I am becoming something I used to see as despicable. My conversations rarely run much deeper than what was recently on television or what so-and-so said in class the other day, my taste in music is becoming more mainstream in order to allow me to have iPod playlists people will like when I host gatherings, and I find myself succumbing to all of the things Edward Norton found himself rebelling against in Fight Club. Shopping at Ikea, drinking Starbucks coffee, and watching too much damned television. Each in and of themselves is not anything to be ashamed of, nor is there anything really wrong with any of that. It simply isn't the kind of life my personality is going to permit me to have. I require change. I need growth as a person. Quite frankly, I think I'm just due to go on an adventure. I need time alone to be me and only me; those times in my life when I have been alone in some place that is brand new to me are always the ones that inspire the stories I tell for years afterwards. Rarely is an anecdote from class worth mentioning two or three days after it has passed, but I still tell with fondness about the first time I went snowboarding alone. This is not happenstance; there is a direct and obvious correllation between these things. I need a break from the routine.
It's about time I did something new. When I do, I'll tell you about it here.
"It's a magical world, Hobbes ol buddy! Let's go exploring!" - Calvin
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