What We Once May Have Disregarded, May Be Our Joy In The End

Christmas Day.

Family. Too much good food. Simple pleasures. Timeless simple pleasures. I am thankful for family.

I'm thankful that no matter how alone I've felt at times in my life, my fam's always been there. Even when I wasn't.

At some points I may have thought my family was dull and small minded.
What we once may have disregarded, may be our joy in the end.

Ironic.

Christmas.

TV Vs. Humanity

If TV is the easiest thing in the world to sit and watch, then writing about our most painful memories must be the hardest.

I figure because one distracts you from reality, and the other painfully reminds you of your humanity.

Watching TV isn't bad, but if we never revisit the hard truths of our past, we can become so detached from our humanity that we truly do turn into a couch potato. A bland, dry, lifeless side dish.

Life's pretty simple- eat or be eaten. You can either be useless or miserable. It's easy to pretend your happy either way (for some), but at the end of the day, when we stop pretending, and get real, who are you?

Vlogging - Narcissism or Gratitude?

I recently discovered the phenomena of vlogging.

Video logs people make of their everyday lives.

As a recovering gorilla filmmaker (is that a thing?). Vlogging instantly stole my mind, and after discovering the right vlogger, my heart.

OK, that sounds cheesy. But really, I get passionately hooked on ideas more than kids get hooked on phonix.

I think my biggest reservation against vlogging has been: is it just utter vanity? Who thinks they're worthy of randomly filming and sharing the reality of their everyday lives?

Then, I had another thought. If one films a few minutes of each day, over a 16 hour day, should there not be some highlights? Something worth sharing? Capturing ? Remembering? Teaching?

Now the questions has become, is it vain to vlog? Or is it foolish not to?

Critic

Be your own worst critic in the best of ways.

Then Who Will Be Laughing?

It's another sunny Saturday.
I'm home alone.
Esther's working.

I'm trying to write about... the way, I tend to write about... nothing.
All the time.
That is to say, how my writing tendencies always just come out-
I don't know-
like half written tales with no resolution-
Or character development-
Or much of anything that makes much sense, or is probably useful to anyone.

But I read something of such substance to someone the other day.
2 people actually.
They were both awake and listening.
Which meant I had to pause after the first sentence to let my quivering voice catch up with my fear.
And their response was actually encouraging.

They saw some type of value in the word dance of nothingness I had created.
And there's something my ego just can't let go about that notion.
Before they were even done praising me I had the book title solidified in my mind,
and how I was going to capitalize on my greatness 6 ways before Sunday.
Because, it was suddenly my duty to let the world know their meaninglessness turns out to maybe mean something after all- and that means more to me and my appetite for praise than anyone could ever know- unless your like me- and you don't know much- and most things confuse you- and you often wonder if your life is like a dog chasing its own tail and you just haven't realized it yet.

Well.
Then you know all too well.
Don't you?
And I'm sorry for that.

But then these words about nothing are for you, I suppose.
Aren't they?
They say if everyone's invited then no one is invited.
So I say, if these words are to no one, then they can just as well be for anyone.
Right?
And how beautiful is that?
And how can I help but wonder if someday you'll write some words or create some type of madness right back to me as indirectly as I have so un-specifically written these words not to you-
And then we'll just essentially be a couple dogs chasing our own tails.

Together.

Then who will be laughing?

The Meaning of it All

It's Easter weekend.
It's sunny today.
It's Saturday.
The weekend.
For some.

I'm happy I have the day off.
I'm pissed I don't have more clients keeping me busy.

I remember the sacrifice of Jesus.
I hunt relentlessly for my dreams.
For what I want.
For what I can achieve.

I am greedy.
Self focused.

I am determined.
A provider.

I am humbled by God's sacrifice.
His devotion.
His external focus, and compassion.

I've been given a life of comfort.
Luxury.
Ease.
I want more of it.

I forget his sacrifice.
I don't know how to live in his sacrifice.
Live out of his sacrifice.
How do I mirror the holiest of holies devotion?

I don't.
I meander.
I squandor.
I reap what I have not sown completely.
Barely.
Hardly.
So I give a little.
I pray a little.
I remember a little.
And I try not to be that bad.

But at the end of the day,
on every good day,
I will never stop asking myself,
what am I called to?
If I am not to be fully enveloped in my own interests.
I've always gotta ask that question.
Dream about that question.
And hold the answers above my head,
in a little more than a prayer,
and a little more than a hope,
and a little more than I could ever expect of myself.

Not that there's meaning in all of this.
Not that I don't write from sneaky shards of my own desires.
I acknowledge my weaknesses.
But more importantly, I acknowledge my place.
And my perspective.
From the confines of a comfy couch on a sunny Saturday where my debatable joy pauses long enough to know the meaning of it all.
The answer of it all- is simple.

How do you breathe, after you've asked yourself the question?

City Love

There's something about loving a city. Despite it's crime. It's pettiness. The show-offs and the have-not's. Cities are eclectic. And real. And they're hard. And dirty. And amazing. And things are always changing. And staying the same.

There's something about the place we call home. The neighbors that we know, and the spots we frequent. Our routines and the places we love with all our hearts that most people will never notice. The hole in the wall bars and taco trucks and the homeless guy whose name you know and you bought lunch that time and every time you drive by him you remember how unsettling the reality of the world is.

There's something about where we keep ourselves. From not moving from yesterday or tomorrow, the place we've placed ourselves in a certain proximity and structure, that single address where we always go back to. Cities aren't easy. But a cozy home with a locked door and full fridge can mean so much. And those without, just outside half a block away idling by the Salvation Army or Wilsons Delicatessen's. They remind us how unsettled the world is. That there is sadness. And heartbreak. And things we wish we're different.

Theres something about the shelterless sad man in the rain. He is not the problem, he just graces us with reminding ourselves that there are so many problems. So many damned problems. And in the scary city we love where we cozy up in our warm homes, we remember the distressed, and the hurt, and the sorrow of our world. And we love our broken little city for it. Cause it reminds us of reality, and every dream we've ever had.

Greif

People tell me they're sorry about my Mom's cancer. They're praying for me.

It's funny, though, because I'm so latched on to the idea of my Mom surviving and being completely OK, that my greatest prayer is that I will need no prayer.

I suppose that's what we're all praying for at the end of the day.

You Should Get Muscular

Really? Should I?

Wanting to become muscular seems a bit superficial to me. Like wanting a mansion and a Ferrari. Nothing wrong with those things, but are they really motivators of substance? I'd rather be holistically healthy with an average body, income, and car than 1 showy thing to feed my ego.

I'd rather have great relationships and an awesome quality of life than some external showy thing that will only last so long. I guess what I'm saying is is I want to be known for non-showy things. For my mind, my judgement, my abilities.

Course Correct Outrageousness

I've had this deep tension within my artistic expression... I love to write. I love to create. Art and crap.  But to do it productively you need a direction, and a focus, and blah blah blah. And nothing stunts my creativity like having to have a specific direction and focus and blah blah blah.

This is why I've suddenly gotten outrageous and already posted more blogs in the last 5 hours than I have in the last 5 weeks. I'm just letting loose. Creating what I want when I want to. Isn't that what its about if I claim to be a content artist?

My friend Luke told me just do it. Just go. Just create, you can course correct later. He's entirely right.

Memories From My 2nd Childhood

I came across this cool looking photo with writing down the middle yesterday. I loved the synergy of the text woven with the image. A type of photo poetry. I started going through my own photos and pondering little poetic lines to deface them with.

I came across this photo I took of a ripped photo sitting in my office. I've had this ripped photo sitting around for years, and it represents the memories of this crappy little apartment I lived in in Long Beach, CA in 2007-ish with my good friend, Derek. It was an interesting time in my life. And I love that a simple memento can hold the essence of a whole era of my life.

I decided to refer to this era of my life as my 2nd childhood, approximately from when I was ages 16-25. Because the reality is I was a grown up, but I had nothing but growing up left to do. So it was a really beautiful and dark time in my life. And I thank God I got to have it.

Yeshua

I referred to Jesus as Yeshua in a recent post. I wondered how confusing that would be for most people. I had never heard of the name Yeshua until a few years ago. From my understanding (which is superbly limited) the Biblical names we know are the English versions. Which seems crazy, like if your names Bob and you go to a different Country do they pronounce it as Zanzabar? Or something?

No man, his name's freaking Bob. Actually I wouldn't mind a sweet nickname while abroad, but I digress. The point is the Son of God I grew praying to named "Jesus" was apparently never his name at all. Weird right? I mean even if you're not a Jesus follower or whatever, that's just weird no matter the situation. Is it not?

It's like you hear about peoples names changing when they immigrated to America. My wife's maiden name is "Noblitt", but supposedly it was "Noblet'" (pronounced "no-blay") in it's original French origin. They just changed it to fit in, or be easier to pronounce or something along those lines. So I guess I can get that.

I'd personally prefer to know people by their real name, though. Seems pretty simple and more genuine that way.

Whats the opposite of a starving artist?

It's funny because I identify with being an artist, but because I'm no longer pursuing a specific art form to make a living at, it seems kind of weird to even refer to myself as an artist. The truth is, I absolutely love art, though. I love expressing myself in ways I would not be able to express myself otherwise. I love creating, and finding my story in a visual, or weaving my story into an experience. Blah blah blah.

I find trying to turn art into a paycheck compromises the purity of the art, though. At least for me personally. If you have to produce art to pay the bills, you have to produce art that will sell. What if I don't care if my art sells? What if I just want to crate whatever I want to create whenever I want to create it?

I guess I'm just a content artist. Not fat. Not starving. Just satisfied. And that's the way I like it.

It also doesn't hurt that being a "content" artist works as an excellent pun as well. Since content is all the rage these days in our digital age. So there you have it.

Permission granted, title claimed.

I'm a content artist.

about as inspiring as a dirty napkin behind the toilet of your favorite dive bar

You know, I've got a lot figured out. I know, b/c people I respect who are older than me have straight up confessed to me that I make them uncomfortable. "You seem to have so much figured out," they say. "It makes me uncomfortable, so I avoid you. Basically."

The ironic thing is that they have just as much different stuff figured out than me, and I think we could have learned a lot from each other. But good friendships are not 1 way streets.

So I know some things, apparently. But it would be too easy just to focus on that. No, no, no. Of course, I need to focus on the greener grasses. As my human nature and inner adventurer demand of me. What am I building? What am I standing for? What passion is going to keep me up tonight?

That's what's funny is I sleep horribly when I'm excited for something, but I hate how well I sleep when I'm excited for nothing. How's that for a paradox?

I'd rather be head over heels for life and never have a great night sleep than the converse. But you know, life comes in waves. Some things stick. Some don't. Seasons change. Blah blah blah.

I have things to be excited about. I am excited about things. But you know, there's still that question, am I doing it right? A damning question, often times. Also a damning question not to ask, often times, too.

Everything always comes back to balance. Yeshua said to be hot or cold, and I think extremes always have a place in the right ways if you can wrap your head around the un-understandable. It's all always so easy and tough to grasp, just like it should be, though, you know?

And that's the crux of it all. The absurdity and the stunning pure beauty of it all. Our questions and searches are like massages to the soul in that moment. We are contented in our discontentedness and discontent in our contentedness and were often happiest when our left hand doesn't know what our right is doing.

They say clarity attracts, and that's where I get unclear about the whole thing. How do you live in the balance of paradox and feed the urge to become a leader who can attract with clarity? I get anyone can jam the puzzle of life together as they please, but such self-assuredness turns humility into runny eggs oozing through your fingers.

Maybe I should be an anti-leader? I'll detract others with ambiguity. Sounds about as inspiring as a dirty napkin behind the toilet of your favorite dive bar. Sounds about as unexpecting as the best things in life often are.

The Recipe for Simplicity

Examine the heart of your mind regularly.