Truth be told, why does it even matter?

Maybe I understand where life is taking me, or maybe I don't. Maybe I'm cut out to handle this pressure, but there's a decent chance I'm not. Maybe I like you, or maybe I don't. Maybe I was in love, but I probably wasn't. Maybe we should step up and take the risk, but logic and the establishment say we shouldn't.

What is the point in waiting another second when we've got precious seconds left and it's impossible to ever figure out how many are still on the clock? There's no 24-second clock on life, where you can drop the ball but get it back half a minute later when the other team makes their shot. Does that make sense? In my mind it does, and that's the point. It makes sense, and that's why it could never work. How many times do you look at your calendar and see something two months away, and think to yourself that it will probably never come? We all do it. I'm taking the biggest risk of my life in two months and yet a part of me wonders if that's all imaginary. We create this fictitious things called days, months, years, life, death, and we tie ourselves to them like a rowboat in a hurricane. Oh, I'll do that tomorrow. But the truth is, there's no tomorrow. No, I'm not gonna quote Rent, don't worry. We all have standards. (But then again, what are standards?) The reality is that you're never, ever, in your entire life, going to get one second younger. The decision I choose to type this at five in the morning instead of enjoying a night of sleep is one I'll never get to make again. Sure, I may make the same decision at another moment that seems to mirror this one, but truth be told, there's really no similarity.

See, have you ever stopped and thought to yourself how ignorant you were when you woke up this morning, as the sun rose on a day you can now consider extinct? You had no clue what was going to happen in your life that day. Everything you just read was completely absent from your mind less than 10 minutes ago. Now take that mind-blowing concept and apply it to a week or a month. Maybe even try years, if you really want to strain yourself. See, the truth is that we create this time limits because we are linear beings who need to be able to track our own progress. It's a product of a fallen race desperately in need of a Savior that we invent these elaborate symbols and dictate our entire existence to some all-knowing square boxes in our planners and cell phones. We are a people so desperately in need of a medium for more excuses that we drown ourselves in deadlines. Stop and think about that; if a deadline really came as advertised, we'd be extinct. Think even more. If we followed our own rules, we would destroy ourselves. We declare that a certain event is going to happen on this date of this month, but in reality we have no control because if the rain decides to pour or the wind decides to howl, we can be rendered completely and utterly defenseless in a matter of milliseconds. Our inherent need for acceptance and constant motion to some silent but steady drumline wakes us in the morning, feeds us, and sends us to bed at night with no real reason for living except to make it through the next "day." Think again. Days are made of seconds, but who came up with a second? Why can't I call two seconds a second? Why can't the initial word we use to describe a solitary second be three syllables instead of one? And therein lies the irony. It is impossible to question the way we are without accepting it, as it is the only way we are wired to communicate.

If you ask me, the most beautiful word in our broken language is "unconditional." It is the anthesis of its own context because nothing in this world and nothing within ourselves is ever unconditional. We live in a giant grid; the world's largest piece of graph paper, where everything has a set value and certain things just don't make sense; right? I can't let you be unconditional, because such a sentiment can never be universal. As imperfect bodies, we are wired to hold fast to the rules of conditions. We are the ultimate barter society; when one thing is provided, another must be taken away. There is no reason to challenge such thinking, because certain things are just universal, right?

And therein lies the beauty. See, we've all admitted there's a God before. Some of us just don't know it. Don't believe me? Well answer me this, then. We've all said it before, whether it's standing in line at the supermarket or buying a new car. Nothing is free. Sure, maybe you can occasionally walk through a Metro stop and pick up a free ad booklet or grab a free sample in the meat aisle at B.J.'s, but even those aren't free. You're expected to purchase something, provide some form of acknowledgement, or take some form of action. To the degree that the item impacts you, you are expected to provide an equal and opposite force to return such an impact simply because you have the capacity, in one form or another, to do so. And yet, within that statement lies the only free thing that truly exists. We have been given, completely free, the willpower and the ability to be exactly how we are. Our minds allow us to set these standards and establish elaborate societies and rules because we are not mind-slaves to some cruel dictator who pulls our strings; we are unconditionally permitted to live within our own conditions. It is our choice as imperfect and impulsive persons to exercise the rights this freedom allows, but the only thing that is truly free is freedom. See? Freedom really is free.

But the ultimate truth is that it is free for us because it was not free for Him, and that's why all of this doesn't matter. I wouldn't ever sit here and pretend to have every answer; as a matter of fact, I don't really have any. I believe what I say and write, and yet sometimes I'm not so sure that I do. It is a beautiful irony of my freedom that I can use it to question whether it exists in the first place.

So where does it end then? I don't know if I'm the person to answer that for you, but I can tell you one thing for sure. Tomorrow will, honestly and truly, never get here. So you may as well find your own answer today. Just remember one thing. When you're digging through your thoughts at 3 am trying to sort the good ones and throw away the ones that don't make sense, stop and take several steps back. As sentient, emotional creatures, we are given an opportunity to consider matters that no other living organism on this planet can even come close to comprehending. Why is it, then, that we're like this? Why can't we just choose the right answer on the multiple choice question and just move on?

To me, it's pretty simple, and it goes along with what I've said before.

It's not about us.

I try to be open and honest here. I've talked about a lot of things; love, challenges, heartbreak, suicide, hatred, and a lot more. I have no idea who still reads it, and I don't really care.

I like to think of myself as a good person. I love my family, I try to be a good friend, I treat people with respect as much as I can, and I hold myself to a certain moral code. I try to be someone that people can look to and acknowledge that I'm a decent person to know. I've got a lot of weaknesses. I swear a lot, I laugh at jokes that really aren't that funny when you think about them a little more; I like to think that I can do a lot of things better than anyone else can. I don't always answer the phone for certain friends. I like to think that my flaws make me who I am, but tonight they just feel like neon signs reminding me who I'll never be. I'm not particularly cute or exciting; I just basically live from day to day without changing much. I don't party, I don't really enjoy crazy social gatherings, and a lot of the time I prefer the company of my dogs to the presence of people. I'm a nerd who is lousy at video games and knows nothing about cars besides how to drive one (albeit a little faster than the posted speed limit).

Yet, the beauty is this. I do love myself. There are times where I'll write a short essay; two or three paragraphs, and I'll go back a few days later to read it and realize that it's incredible. I have talents; God-given gifts that I am fully capable of using to their utmost potential because I've been doing so since before I can remember. I do not struggle with extreme self-worth questions that have in the past caused me to question whether it is really worth staying alive. I refuse, with absolutely no room for error, to allow one single solitary event, be it human or time, to set me back to the beginning. I am not a Christian who will slam you in the face with my passion because I strive to one day gain the self-control and inner wisdom to lead through my actions and not my words. It is the one thing that has never abandoned or disappointed me. I am sick of indie films and youtube videos and coffee houses and megachurches; I have my own journey and my own pilgrimage inside of my heart and I struggle each second to find a path that is barely passable.

And yet I am blessed beyond what can be expressed through words, and the knowledge of this overwhelmingly miraculous truth will sustain my energy and my fire when it is small and struggling to remain lit. Life is filled to the brim with events that can allow you to see the proper perspective on what is truly important, and it is my goal to keep my eyes open and my mind awake so I do not miss them when they choose to present themselves.

Remember. I am nothing.

Is it normal how much of a deep hatred I've developed towards the Twilight franchise? Seriously, every time I see some moronic pre-pubescent teenage girl or lonely mother start to trumpet the beauty of love that is contained within its pages, I want to shake the person and make them understand that the entire thing is a giant lie. You are not going to meet a vampire, you are not going to meet a dreamy man who will sweep you off your feet for no apparent reason, and love has absolutely NOTHING to do with destiny. Yes, it is trashy, smutty romance crap, because if two human beings talked to each other the way the hollow and laughable characters from Twilight do, we'd look at them as if they were insane.

What really upsets me is the comparisons to Harry Potter. Look, I've never made an effort to hide my obsession for Rowling's work, and I never will. The bottom line is this. Whether you like the storyline or not depends entirely on personal preference. Some people prefer adventures with wizards; others opt for adventures with vampires and wolves. But why do you think that romance novels always make up the vast majority of the books in the 10 cent pile at the used bookstores or the massive donation boxes for library sales? It's because their only value is that of a guilty pleasure. You read them some night with a glass of wine and an empty house, and then you wake up the next morning and remember again that life doesn't work the way the romance novels like to pretend it does. It's sorta like playing with your childhood toys when you're 18 and moving to college. Sure, there's a place for it. It's nice to sit down for a few hours and act like things could really be that simple. But in the end, they aren't. You have to grow up, learn how things really work, and donate your romance novel or action figures to the next unsuspecting soul.

And therein lies the problem. When something becomes an obsession, people start to believe it's real. When Bella mopes over a boy for months and essentially becomes a non-fuctional blob of week-old jello, it's only natural to assume that you can too. There is nothing brave or admirable about this girl or her friends. Guess what? When a guy leaves you, there's a whole list of recommended coping mechanisms, but jumping off a cliff is, I'm pretty positive, not one of them. The characters live in this little town in the middle of nowhere that may as well be the rotating teacups at Disneyland, because it is apparently the smallest little world out there. The combination of a trashy, poorly-written series of generic romance novels and the adoration of a decent percentage of estrogen America just makes me want to scream. Let me know when the characters from Twilight have to suffer something besides desperate longing to get laid without eating one another, and we can talk. If the series was shelved in the romance section next to the other million or so books that share its plot line and general uselessness, it would have done no wrong in my eyes. But when it becomes this massive mainstream juggernaut that it has, with midnight premiers and screaming fangirls, it gets held to a completely different standard that a standard romance series can never fulfill. It does not belong in the same room, ballpark, continent or planet with the likes of Rowling or Rice.

Two final thoughts. First of all, don't confuse a strong dislike for the series with a denouncement as some sort of pseudo-cult. I would never fall into the same trap as the uneducated degenerates who call Harry Potter the devil and Jerry Falwell their god. It is a poorly written book series--nothing more. I will defend the right of fantasy writers to pen whatever they see fit for as long as I am alive. And finally, if you happen to disagree with me on my assertions, feel free to disagree as passionately as you see fit. I will be happy to show you the error of your ways.

The spring of my junior year, I did something I had never done before. I had managed to come across some money by helping out someone at church, and so I decided to use the money to buy my mom a gift, just because I could. It wasn't much; somewhere around 50 dollars, if I remember correctly, but I had earned it and so I could spend it how I wanted. I searched for almost two weeks, venturing into candle stores, day spas, and every other place I could think of that might have the perfect gift. I rode my bike into old Bowie one afternoon and went to an antique shop, hoping the perfect gift was there waiting for me. After all that searching, I found the perfect gift in the strangest place. I was in Target one evening, picking up a few essentials, when I came across a Simon and Garfunkel concert DVD in the discount bin. To the casual observer, this probably seems like a gift with no heart to it; why would a DVD communicate the perfect message when I could hand-make a plate or find a precious antique? But trust me; that was exactly what I wanted. It had an element of her personality, it was simple and to the point, and it had an obvious significance since both she and my father love Simon and Garfunkel. I grabbed it from the bin, hastily snatched some wrapping paper on the way out, and rushed home to wrap it. She happened to be out that night and I wanted it to be ready when she got home.

I got the gift wrapped, labeled and positioned on her pillow just minutes before she walked in the door, and waited patiently. The whole thing went off without a hitch; I can only hope and pray that someday when I choose to propose to the girl of my dreams, it goes off as smoothly as this gift-giving happened. She came downstairs a few minutes after going to bed, gift in hand, and kissed me on the forehead, and then said a short prayer thanking God for a son who was capable of showing love and cared for her so much. I heard her set the DVD next to the TV before she went to bed, and I didn't give it a second thought in the morning. I figured it would take a few months but eventually I would come home one evening and she would be perched on the couch, comfortably relaxing with a cup of tea, enjoying a relaxing serenade from my gift of love. I was so wrapped up in the perfection of my selection that I barely gave it a second thought. The DVD disappeared about a week later and I figured she had just taken it upstairs to enjoy on the TV up there.

The summer crept to a close and my world was rocked by a breakup, as stunning to my senses as if someone had run a train directly down the middle of my home. After a long run through the neighborhood complete with tears and reckless emotion, I burst into my home again and began to dig through our old cabinet where videos were stored, searching for Toy Story. I could think of no better remedy for a broken heart than Woody and Buzz. At this point, my hunt for a remedy suddenly transformed into a plot straight out of the most stereotypical heart-grabbing Hollywood flicks. Buried at the bottom of a stack of assorted movies, covered in dust and still in the plastic wrapping, was the very DVD I had spent so many hours searching for. It had clearly never been watched, cared for, or even touched, since being stowed away a few days after that seemingly perfect evening of gift giving.

In the most embarrassing and humiliating display of anger I have shown to this day, I snapped. I had just been dumped, I was hot, sweaty, dehydrated, I hated my job, summer was basically over, and I had just found this gift that took me so long to find had been ignored as if I was a two-year old with a drawing of scribbled crayon that was praised until I was out of earshot. I grabbed the DVD from the stack and threw it on the ground, where I stomped on it until it cracked and the disc fell out. I snapped the disc into tiny pieces, took the whole thing, mixed with assorted photographs taken that summer, and I burned it in the front yard until there was nothing but a tiny black mark against the tan pavement. When my mom got home, I screamed at her. I told her how much of a lousy, good-for-nothing mother she was because I spent my money on that gift and she just put it away. I made sure there were tears in her eyes and then I stormed off to wallow in my teen-age angst.

I came home from Somerset a few hours later, stomped into the house, and slammed my door as loud as possible. It met the frame with a satisfying crash, and my frustration alleviated for a tiny second before it all came crashing back. I holed myself in my room for the rest of the night, alternating between angry tirades, endless tears, and posts on here. I ignored my mom every time she would gently knock on the door. Dinner? No thanks, not hungry. Dessert? Nope, don't want any. I was content with bathing myself in my own misery until I eventually fell asleep.

A little later on, another gentle knock on my door came. I ignored it, but it persisted, so I finally barked out a "what do you want?" My mom slowly opened the door, a concerned look on her face, and the clear remnants of tears in her eyes. I looked up, saw that face and the love and compassion and grace and mercy that she had for me, even in the face of everything I had said and done, and I broke into a million tiny pieces. If there is a lower and more worthless feeling on this Earth, I defy you to find it, because I was nothing but dust that night; a tiny little speck of worthless dust in the presence of trillions of others so much more worthy of her love than I. I had screamed and cursed like no person should ever allow themselves to act. My emotions, difficult as they may be, had taken ahold of me and turned me into a monster that day. If my mom had come into the room and smacked me in the head with a frying pan, she still probably would have earned several thousand more hits before the scale even moved. This woman had carried me for nine months and loved me as her firstborn son for sixteen more, and I treated her like a stranger who had wronged me.

My mother held me in her arms that evening, and my father set next to her, running his hand on my back and consoling me as I cried. I had never experienced that feeling before; I was a helpless infant, unable to survive without the unconditional love of the two people who will love me without just cause from my birth to my deathbed and into eternity. I acted without cause or justification and committed egregious acts of anger out of pure human spite that released itself in a way that shames me to this day. It is by far the single most embarrassing and pathetic thing I have ever done.

A few weeks later, I came home in the evening after staying late to help a friend at school; it was dark outside by the time we were done, so she gave me a ride home since she didn't live far away. I came inside and heard something playing in the back room, but didn't think much of it and went back into my own room to settle in and get online. A few minutes later, I ventured into the kitchen to scrounge up some food and found my mom sitting on the couch listening to music. Again, I didn't give it a second thought until she said something. "Ben, sweetheart, come in here for a second." I walked in the room and sat down next to her, and she hit play on the CD player. "I know it's not the same, but I want you to sit and enjoy this song with me." It took a few bars to register with me, but it quickly clicked; "Bridge Over Troubled Water" was gently flowing out of the speakers.

When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

And again, I sat in my mother's arms and cried, pouring everything out through my silence and her loving grasp. How could someone so wonderful love some lousy fool like me? How could anyone whom I had treated so horribly ever be my strength in times of trouble?

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

There comes a point (or many points) in each of our lives where we have to accept the fact that a certain period of existence has come and gone, and there is nothing left to do besides move on. Let's be honest here; is there anything that we as humans are worse at doing than letting go? When it gets to the end of the year, the end of the decade, the end of the millennium, etc, we spend hours and days making useless and asinine lists of the "top 10 celebrity tweets" or the "biggest ass clowns of the decade" as opposed to actually focusing on using these artificially manufactured transitional periods as a time of self-reflection. Sure, the local news does a cute feature-ette at the end of the 4 PM broadcast where they send some ill-fated intern to the area mall to ask about "New Years Resolutions," but in the end, no one really cares how much weight you say you're going to lose or how many different countries you promise to visit before you kick the bucket. The reality is that its a lot easier spending time rehashing past mistakes and prior glory days than it is to actually acknowledge the fact that life moves towards the positive numbers and time travel just can't happen.

What is a "new year" anyways? In the grand scheme of things, it means nothing. Think about it. What is the most meaningless day of the year? December 30th. New Years Eve, Eve. It's not quite to New Years Eve, but it is so incredibly on the cusp that people fluster away their waking hours with trivial discussion of the various plans they have made to create a New Years to remember (or unfortunately for my generation, a New Years so filled with alcohol in order to create a memorable evening that it typically ends in a morning where no one seems to remember anything). December 30th is a lost day. Many people take off work. Kindergartners through college students are fully engaged in winter break mode and often have no clue as to whether it is Wednesday, Sunday, or still No-Shave November. Think about it. If, for some reason, history and mankind had dictated a 364 day year, December 30th could be the greatest day of the year. Bells would ring, couples would hitch, and Dick Clark would make his annual rise from beyond the veil to serenade us in between clips of Ryan Seacrest and the Jonas Brothers. A year and all of its significant dates are completely arbitrary. It's like the concept of Valentine's Day. If you never tell someone you love them, but you always show it, it's a whole lot better than if you don't show your love but once a year you drop some cash on factory printed cards, odd-tasting chocolate and jewelry from the only place that was open until 11 the night before.

My point has nothing to do with Valentine's Day, New Years Day, Flag Day, or any other "day" of the year. It can be summed up easily. Just like these society-created holidays are trite and manufactured, so is this notion of this thing we call "the past." Sure, there's nothing wrong with some fond recollections, but by imprisoning yourself in the jail cell of what life used to be, you're allowing this popular notion of factory-generation holidays and flashback movies to dictate who you are as a person. If you want a New Years resolution, there's my suggestion for you. Swear off these ridiculous rules we've set on ourselves about time. God isn't bound by time, so why should we bind "Angels We Have Heard On High" to Christmas or "Christ The Lord Is Risen Today" to Easter? Love isn't bound by time, so why does Mom only get a gift on her birthday and "Mother's Day" (whatever the heck that means).

You see, as my best entries often are, this one contains the faintest tint (i.e. is completely full) of hypocrisy. I'm terrible at successfully carrying out everything I just said. It's part of the reason why I still slip back into old habits of remembrance and longing, even after such a significant block of time for recovery and rebuilding. Sometimes I feel like the best advice has to be hypocritical. What could be a stronger testimonial for the merits of abstaining from drug abuse than the life-long addict who knows the true pain? Sure, it may be hypocritical for him to tell you its not worth it, but you can be sure he knows what he's talking about. So I humbly present myself as a relatively parallel example to the drug addict, only in the context of being addicted to what has been and not what will be. See, there's nothing wrong with being addicted to the future; in fact, it is something to be encouraged. A healthy fear of what is to come can only bring about the positive traits of preparation and humbleness, so long as one learns to accept the fear and use it to build upon.

So when am I going to stop sounding like a Jedi and start speaking English? How about right now. This has been a year of tremendous challenges, complete with one that turned out to be a much higher mountain than I ever thought possible when I started climbing. But I've also felt myself undergo a dramatic and wonderful transformation from a lost young man to a study, confident adult who has a plan in live and a passion for living for God that has lain much too dormant for the past several years. I look forward to the challenges of this year we call 2010, and I firmly believe that at this point next year I will still be writing in this journal, penning another confusing and unnecessarily word-filled thought about what has transpired over the previous 365 days.

Until then, my New Years resolution remains the same as the one I made this past summer and have referred to on this very journal. I will continue to attempt to reach that beautiful point where I can trust myself not to trust myself; not to put my faith in my human abilities or attributes, but to the gift I have been given by You in order to become a stronger and less flawed beacon carrying a message of hope and salvation. For this I will make no apologies and offer no compromise.

So until then, as I reflect back on this decade and the fact that over half of it is chronicled here, I will remember one thing above all the rest; everything else will fade to black. As for what I'm referring to, I think it may be the one thing I'll keep between myself and my God.

Trust me though; it's not hard to figure out.

Happy New Year to all.

For the first time since it ended, for the first time since it all changed, I think I get it. I think I see the bigger picture and I think I understand why life turned the way it did. I can't pretend to understand it all or even to be completely content with everything, but something clicked tonight. I saw something; an old something, that normally eats me up and spits me out with ease, but it didn't do that this time. It made me smile; I laughed at a silly memory and a gentle spirit that held my heart together for many long nights and even longer weeks and months. I let a tiny piece of myself dip into that easy stream of consciousness where it flows like everything did, as if some odd bliss was injected in my midnight snack. This is a revelation, and there's so much more to say that I wouldn't dare let out of my brain and onto this public forum where the world can judge me at their leisure.

So many times on here I have expressed varying sentiments of hope, joy, love, hate, anger, frustration, and brokenness. If you want to understand who I am, find the first entry on here from over 5 years ago, and read until today. I'm not sure even I could explain myself better with my own words today than this journal could. It pre-dates my haircut and contains so many firsts and lasts that I would never dare to try and count them. In many ways it has become something larger than life because for so many people it exists entirely outside of their knowledge of who I am and where I've been (because rather conveniently, who I am hates who I've been). It's like a Little Mermaid song of memories. Broken promises? Yeah, I've got those. Love poems? There's a few. Tales of love built and broken? You'll find plenty. Even then, I've got more. (You can try to sing that to the tune of that Little Mermaid song... it sorta works). But finding myself making a roundabout point, there's a simple thing that all of my various recollections have in common. They are all complete and total honesty. I don't pull punches and I don't back down. If it's not appropriate to be on here, it isn't. But if I need to say something, who are you to tell me not to? This is my place of refuge, not yours, and if you don't like what I write, don't read it.

I penned a thought a few years back about the beauty of the breakdown. Basically, you can't reach the mountaintop if you don't pass through the valley first. And when you're on the mountaintop, you can see the valley far below you, and it doesn't really seem that bad anymore. Sure, you acknowledge the legitimacy of your struggles, but you don't let the memories from difficult times overcome the peace you've achieved. Smile at the good times, cry a little in memory of the bad times, but then let it all go.

I once confided in a friend of mine about a hardship, and he said something to me that has stuck with me to this day and will stay with me for the rest of my life. He said "Ben, I know exactly how you feel, and I also know how completely and utterly useless it is to hear those words." It's the truth; when someone says "I know how you feel," it does nothing. It is up to you to eventually find your way out of the valley. Sure, the true friends will be with you, guiding you in the right direction and making sacrifices to keep your head up. Friends you thought you could trust will sometimes mysteriously disappear when you need them and act as if their own struggles trump your own. It is impossible to describe the breakdown without being there; it's like a first kiss or your own death; you can hear about it, read about it, study it, and learn from it, but until you experience it, you know nothing.

So what is my point? There's a famous (and disgustingly trite) song called "I Hope You Dance," and despite the fact that it's a miserable song that I can't force myself to endure from beginning to end, the simplicity of the title does an effective job of expressing my sentiment tonight. Live, love, hate, kiss, cry, take it all in. Because, trust me, in the end, it's all worth it. That night you had a final at 8 AM and you decided to sneak over to a friend's house to watch Bring It On and eat seven bags of popcorn? Worth it. That mosh pit you dove into even though the last one resulted in a knee to the nuts? So worth it. That risk you took asking the beautiful girl across the room to dance? Worth the fear.

I didn't mention my faith throughout this post, and for a specific reason. Some have asked me before; why don't you mention God more often in your writing? It seems to be such a big part of your life. My answer is simply this. Just as He presents Himself, I am subtle in my weaving of faith, as it is so omnipresent that were I to give it the fair share of words, there would be no room for anything else. Do you really think I'd be out of the valley without faith? Absolutely not. Heck, for those loyal readers who have been there from the beginning, you understand I see my life today as a product of a faith and a God who saved me when I probably should have moved along. I am very, very slowly learning the hardest concept in the world; trust myself not to trust myself. Trust myself to hold true to the commitment that my life is not my own but merely an extension of my origin and a beauty that surpasses the most complex measurements and bland science that calls itself groundbreaking but is really just humanity floundering to find answers we are not meant to access. Government, politics, even religion are all irrelevant in the end.

What matters is not the time you spent in the valley, how you got there, or how long it took you to climb out. What matters today, tomorrow, and forever, is what rope you used to climb out of the valley. I don't judge the character of another human's heart, so I wouldn't dare speculate on where your journey may reside. However, the truth I hold to be self-evident within my own mind is that I am not here for me, but for You.

Kurt Vonnegut once said that man had managed to sum up God in five simple words; "all men are created equal." How ironic that the world's most famous humanist could summarize the plight of humanity and encapsulate such an incomprehensible reality in eight simple syllables. We are all created equal in our failure and yet we are naturally endowed with the knowledge that something beyond this life exists, whatever it may be. Men have murdered more men in the name of peace than in the name of war; such is the vast and brutal conundrum of imperfection.

So how does this come full circle?

Simple. It's not about me.

I find it funny that you can't even handle the slightest mention of my name on a forum where "they" can see it. As if some magical force exists between this part of you that once went crazy and another part that has it all together now.

Texas is incredible. Not the state, the state smells funny and loves guns, but the experience is fantastic. This is exactly what I needed after a long, hard semester and the looming of an even more difficult semester next year. I am able to stop, breathe, and remind myself that so much of life is about finding yourself in the most unexpected of places.

Now if I could just figure out one other thing, it could all fall into place.

i have no words to describe how exhausted i am tonight. the next 36 hours need to pass so i can leave town for a week and get myself back to some decent state of mind.

It has been five years since I started writing here.

A lot has changed, but out of curiosity, I went back and looked at my first few entries. Nice to see a few things haven't. Five years ago, I was:

Still shamelessly promoting my band.
Still overly prone to talking about myself.
Still a loud and proud liberal.
Still listening to Jason Mraz (that's right, BEFORE he was cool).
Still listening to Yellowcard.

My Xanga has spanned two Presidential elections, three Relient K albums, two formal bands (and God knows how many side projects), five girlfriends, two Harry Potter books and three movies, three musicals I've directed, one Mock Trial circuit championship, one White Sox world championship (!!!!!), two iPods, two iPhones, one Topanga, and countless life-changing events. But one thing has remained the same. I've been able to count on a God and a faith to strengthen me and carry me through, even when there seemed to be no possible way to get out of bed.

Thanks for all the support and commenting guys; to those who still read this, we're a shrinking breed. Stay with me, ok?

I was listening to "Smile" by Uncle Kracker tonight, and it brought back a thought that has jumped into my head more than a few times. Ever wish your life had "High School Musical" moments? Not to suggest that I would ever want my life to resemble HSM, of course. But there's this moment at the beginning of HSM 2, where they all start randomly standing around a piano, singing. Sometimes I wish I could have one of those moments, where someone randomly starts playing a song on the piano and twelve friends with singing talent randomly burst out into a generic pop song that is just cute enough to make to smile at the edge of your mouth and eventually sing along during the last chorus or two.

I feel like that would be cool.

(Then again, my life-long dream is to disembark from an airplane and be greeted by a mariachi band, so I wouldn't really put much stock in what I think is cool).