I'm a big fan of searching for something deep. Rarely, if ever, do I sit down to write here with no specific purpose in mind; I find that if I force myself to write, the end product is essentially a waste of everyone's time. So, it is rare to find inspiration two evenings so close to one another as is the case tonight.

I recently discovered an artist named Joshua Radin. Some may be familiar with him, others may not be. Either way, I find his music tremendously refreshing. Simple, peaceful, serene, soft-spoken, introspective, and many other descriptive words come to mind; to put it simply, it calms me. Many of his songs concern the classic "boy-sings-about-a-girl" story line, and there is nothing wrong with that. However, one song in particular stood out to me immediately upon hearing it and beginning to soak in its words. This is the song "No Envy, No Fear." It begins with a soft guitar intro, and Radin eventually eases his voice into the mix. The lyrics are simple and direct; the chorus simply implores us to "have no envy, no fear."

How could such a simple sentence mean so much? Have no envy, no fear. From a personal perspective, I feel like these two emotions can describe me right now. Envy; longing, wishful thinking, jealousy, desperate hope for a lost cause. Fear; uncertainty about the future and where to go, who will stand with me, and who will simply fade away as time passes. Belief in God and the natural fear that brings, as it seems one can only lean so much on one who is so abstract and yet so real. Fear of self-discovery; of waking up one morning and realizing that the world you've been clinging to has disappeared, and everyone else has moved on. Have no envy? How dare it demand such a thing when I am consumed with envy for those who find that peace and serenity that life allegedly offers? How can I escape envy and fear when they drive my existence and my interaction? Perhaps it is no wonder that friends seem to disappear at my point of greatest need; maybe it is the reflection of a tumultuous interior which reminds each of them that they are no further along in life than I. Isn't fear necessary for life? If we have no fear, how will we judge what will do harm and what will bring prosperity? It seems illogical to long for the idealism of a life without envy and fear; perhaps the singer simply chose words which naturally blend together. It is true, after all, that idealism is the greatest cash cow in the history of existence. Men rise and fall on the power of their ideas, whether they hold value or not. Perhaps these worlds are meant to sell albums and nothing more.

But then I realize how simple the truth really is. As the second verse echoes softly through my speakers, it becomes a reality.

"Brother, brother, we all see,
you're hiding out so painfully.
See yourself come out to play,
a lover's rain will wash away
your envy and your fear.
Have no envy, no fear."

Read those words again; listen to them, if you wish, but do not let the guitar sway you from focusing on the words themselves and how they flow together and dance with one another. The first words are "brother, brother;" the individual in pain is not a distant acquaintance or stranger; they are a brother. No matter whom they are or where they fall, they are a brother. Again; they have an immediate blood relation to every person. You have a direct relationship with every person on the planet in need; they are your brother, and you are their best friend. The words continue, lamenting that "we all see, you're hiding out so painfully." Again, it points to those in need and addresses them directly, making it clear that we have chosen to see you in your time of need. We will not ignore you as you search for a purpose to keep you alive. We hurt because you hurt, as you are our brother. Again, it continues; "see yourself come out to play, a lover's rain will wash away." One would be hard pressed to find more perfect symbolism for what seems so complex. Please, brother, come out and play. Set aside your fear and come play with us, here, in the place where envy has no value. For a lover's rain will wash upon you and set you free from your inhibitions and challenges, and you will have no envy, and no fear.

Set aside your logic; stop reading this as an idealistic midnight sonnet by a boy who qualifies for the crown of hypocrisy by penning these words. Step back from what the world has forced down your throat and examine what you know to be true. Such words do not stir up emotion because they are revolutionary or original; on the contrary, this message is the most repeated sermon in the world and the most copyrighted chorus ever sung. "Let it be." "Dream on." "Won't get fooled again." "Stay together for the kids." "Don't stop believing." What do these songs have in common? Absolutely nothing, on first glance; there seems to be no common factor which links every single one. However, there is. Have no envy, have no fear. Do what is necessary. Live life. Take your circumstances for what they are and have an impact on those around you. Don't believe what is first presented. But above all, do not long for the success others have achieved. It should appear meaningless in your eyes, for you are responsible for your success alone. Consider this; many, including myself, have lamented about a desire to "make a difference in the world." When you consider this statement, it makes no sense. Everyone makes a difference in the world; each keystroke I have used in this entry has changed the world forever, as the plastic beneath my fingers takes beating after beating. The goal individuals refer to when they wish to change the world is that they wish to be remembered as someone who made the lives of others better. Thus, we return to the beginning. No envy, no fear. Selflessness. To believe in one's self is to live selfless; for only when you completely believe in yourself are you truly enabled to serve others.

Allow me to conclude with a personal tale. Many of you have read my story on this blog regarding my attempt at suicide when I was in high school. I have made reference to the fact that I have struggled for many years with issues of doubt and self-worth; essentially I have lived with fear of worthlessness and envy of others. I began to contemplate the possibility of suicide in the seventh grade, as many of my friends left or changed and I found myself unable to accept who I was. I accepted what others saw me as, and made that a reality, attempting to embrace the verbal harassment as attention, for perhaps it was better than being ignored completely. In eighth grade, these thoughts became so frequent that I would often sit in class and contemplate particularly shocking methods by which to end my own life, so as to be remembered by all who would ever hear the tale. Perhaps I could become somewhat of a legend, and this legend could haunt my classmates for the rest of their lives. This continued until late in the year, where one particular evening stood out in my mind. I had an award winning project in the fine arts contest; my father and I had spent hours on the display and content. I was incredibly proud of my effort, and the judges rewarded me with first place and nearly perfect scores. However, my classmates, as usual, paid no regard to my project, instead choosing to heap praise on one another as they passed me by. As I waited for my parents to finish talking that evening, I sat in a corner, simply staring into space. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and found one of the most attractive and popular girls in the class crouching next to me. She told me she had spent 10 minutes reading my project when it was stored in our classroom, and she thought it was the best one in the entire fair. She didn't linger long, and soon I was home, back to the computer screen and my own thoughts.

However, for one brief moment, I tasted something different. I had nothing to do with it, and I am almost certain this girl was not going out of her way to impact my life; she was offering genuine praise, and nothing more. She did not change my life or make me feel better about myself; my high schools years were still ahead of me, and they presented many challenges for which I was ill prepared. However, looking back upon this memory, it reminds me of Radin's words for some reason. Even someone as pathetic and fearful as myself, back before I had gained the ability to be confident and responsible, could experience a moment without envy or fear. In that moment, when the girl who may as well have been the world then, took time to speak to me, I had no envy for others and no fear of the future. I had just that moment, and just that experience, and nothing could take that from me.

I do not ask for pity; I present my life as I remember it, in order to be as authentic and realistic as possible when blending personal stories with my ridiculous ramblings (which tend to be fond of illustrious and incidentally illogical or informative alliteration). My life was not filled with horror or abuse; I simply struggled to find myself, and traveled through some very dark valleys along the way. I have the scars, although mostly faded, to prove it. I offer these thoughts for a simple purpose; consider them. I ask you to do as I am yet unable; live without envy and love without fear. Embrace the simplicity of now and the audacity of hope; regardless of whether you love our President, he is a man who lives without envy and loves without fear. If not, he does a fantastic job of pretending. My point is not political, religious, sexual, social, or philosophical; it is practical. Discover what having no envy means for you; discover what having no fear means for you. Establish these individual truths, and cling to them more than anything else. I could continue for hours, but you need not endure any more of my words. You, as yourself and you alone, contain more words than I could ever string together. Find them.

On evenings (slash mornings) such as this one, when emotions run high and strength comes and goes, I want nothing more than a thunderstorm. See, one of my favorite things to do is to go out in a thunderstorm and just envelop myself in the sheer power of it. I have absolutely no control over what that thunderstorm will do to me. It may choose to strike me dead on the spot, or it may choose to roar and bring rain, but eventually pass on to the next town. When I listen to a thunderstorm, as the wind howls, the rain beats steadily on the windows and ceiling, and the lightning occasionally slashes through the darkness and stuns the eyes, I lose myself. The magic and mystique of such a powerful and uncontrollable feat of nature is almost unbearable. A thunderstorm has so much to offer; it has power, grace, elegance, even an occasional hint of romance. I love when a thunderstorm knocks out the power, and the family huddles in the living room with the dogs, lanterns and candles out, to simply enjoy time together and marvel at the sheer awesomeness that one can't help but feel. I feel at rest with a thunderstorm; never once have I felt at risk or in danger. For eventually the storm will pass and the world will continue on. However, during those moments when the storm is at its strongest and you can do nothing except wait for it to pass, I cannot help but marvel at the tremendousness of creation and the vastness of mother nature. I long for a thunderstorm tonight; one that shakes the foundation of our home and fills the sky with bolts of lightning. Nothing man-made in this world could ever rival the sheer determination and impartiality of such storms. They do not choose their path, nor do they target their victims. They unleash their force and disappear, and it would be hard to find more perfect symbolism for life itself. I love driving in a thunderstorm, when you have to peer through the pouring rain to find your path. I remember driving home from work one evening (from Music and Arts), and being stopped at a stoplight during a strong thunderstorm. Just as the light turned green, mother nature decided to put on a little show, sending multiple bolts of shockingly bright lightning through the air just ahead. We all sat, just observing, no one paying attention to the color of the light. Once the lightning ceased we moved on, all in a hurry to get home and out of such treacherous conditions. But for a few moments, we set aside such concerns and observed as one the power and force of the storm.

Thus, tonight I wish for nothing more than a storm to join me in my insomnia-driven pursuits. Perhaps soon my wish will come true, but for tonight, I will have to settle for a quiet and peaceful darkness and the promise of a morning and a new day.

three hearty cheers for this, my lost cause
here's to the ironclad which forces the pause
as the bliss fades to brain and the brain longs for bliss
whom could ever pen words sung only for this?

when you long for the word that will only belong
to your last bit of pain, for this is only my song? (right)?
in the distance you'll hear, over shores of new lies
one last hearty cheer for the man left behind

each word touches nerves she dare has nerve to touch
and endless sonnets and love poems never amount to much
all the timeline seems fake, as i gently partake
of a serum that does nothing to soften the mind

i will even resort (my mind sharply retorts)
to such rhymes which fleetingly dash through the head
i've said all i can say and done all i can do
i wish i knew how to show weakness, it's true.

crazy words and blank thoughts? don't worry, i've got a bunch
and crazy ass foster wouldn't care for this much
"no style, it has, and it smells like fine whine"
well he may be right, but it suits me just fine

I refuse to give in.

I spun out on 197 while driving home from the Town Center; I got cut off by an SUV and had to swerve. In the process of swerving I hit a patch of ice and lost control of my car for a second. I ended up facing oncoming traffic in the merge lane for 50. Thankfully, the closest traffic was several hundred yards away and I was able to pull away slowly and continue on my way. The roads were nearly empty to begin with, so I guess I wasn't really in much danger.

For some strange reason, however, it got me thinking about how short life is. I recently served as a groomsman in the wedding of a former co-worker of mine. Both individuals are eighteen years old; barely out of high school, and they've received a lot of criticism for getting married so early in their adult lives. I won't lie; I had my doubts as well. Obviously I'm going to support my friend, as I know he would do the same for me. But one can help but wonder in a situation such as that, whether youthful enthusiasm is clouding judgement. I've come to the conclusion that there was nothing wrong with their decision, for one simple reason. Life is short. I've always been that kid who can't stop thinking about the future; who can't accept the fact that things take time and life will turn out the way God has planned, assuming that you wait for His plan to reveal itself. I believe that to be true, but I still struggle with accepting it in my life. I'll dish it out as advice, no problem, as it is much easier said than done. However, I don't deal well with waiting. But when I watched my friends dance together as husband and wife for the first time, amidst the chaos of the modern ritual that is a wedding reception, I came to the conclusion that life is too short to judge. Will it last? I believe it will, but only time will tell. That doesn't matter right now. They have time to spend with each other now; every second that passes is one second closer to the end of our life. These thirty minutes that I spend eviscerating my inner thoughts onto some semblance of a journal will be thirty minutes I won't ever experience again. Those two hours I spent watching "Epic Movie" will be two hours I could have used to experience something less painful, such as the Jonas Brothers singing the Barney theme in three-part barbershop harmony six hundred times (I'll always have my sarcasm, never fear). In all seriousness, time is precious.

I've become a big fan recently of the concept of life experiences. There are things I want to experience in life that I had never considered before. I want to drive across the country, by myself, for no apparent reason. I want to tip someone several thousand dollars one night, at a place like Denny's. I want to live, and I'm sick of people telling me that there is plenty of time. No, there isn't. If I had plenty of time left in life, I wouldn't have directed the musical at Trinity the past two years. Society said I should have focused more on school and less on such frivolous pursuits, but I now have the life experience of working with the world's most amazing youth group. I could go on and on, but I don't want to distract from the importance of my point. (By the way, when I first typed that sentence, I typed "the impotence of my point," which could be interpreted in a tremendously different way). But seriously, there isn't enough time in life to let people tell you what to do. If you love someone, marry them. If you desperately want to do something, go do it. Find a way to shape your life so you can do it. Now, don't think I've suddenly become a proponent of "the Secret" or something; life has limits, responsibilities, and constrains. But life also involves dreams; life experiences. Things you may only get to do or see once; stepping out of the box and leaving your comfort zone.

When I spun out last night, I responded almost immediately. There was no "I'm alive" moment like you see in the movies; the moment I was cut off, the adrenaline started pumping and I reacted, faster than normally possible. I was back in the correct lane, headed in the right direction, within seconds of the incident. But late last night, during my three A.M. thinking hour, this train of thought started running through me. I hate it when people say that life is too short to make mistakes; the opposite is true.

Life is too short to do everything right.

Yes we did.

I finished my last exam of the semester about an hour ago; it was my final test for my SOC-111 class. I'm incredibly excited to be done with the semester. However, there's something more important I felt compelled to write about. See, this semester was something special. When I get my grade point average tomorrow, it is going to be at the lowest a 3.0 and possibly as high as a 3.50. For some students, that would represent failure; they would be criticized by their parents for underachieving and they would feel as if they could have done better. However, I want you to understand how incredibly important this is to me. This was the first semester of school in probably seven or eight years where I applied myself. When I got an assignment, I forced myself to do it. When it got to be midnight, and all I wanted to do was play video games or waste time on Facebook, I forced myself to sit down and do my homework. Now, I wasn't perfect. I could have gotten a 4.0 this semester with a little more work; I missed a B in science by 0.6, missed an A in math by 0.9, and missed an A in health by around one point. (I'm still in the process of begging my teachers which is why I'm not sure what my final G.P.A. will be). Yes, these tiny margins are incredibly frustrating, but I'm refusing to let them get to me. Why? Because I'm taking steps. Let me explain. My first two semesters at AACC, I failed four classes. I was placed on academic probation and was forced to meet with my advisor multiple times before I could register for any other classes. I was a failure, and I lied to everyone about it. I lied to my parents, my friends, and myself. This semester marked the beginning of my transformation.

See, I'm refusing to dwell on the negatives. I got a 96 on my term paper and an 88 on the final exam in my physical science class. Let me repeat that. 96. 88. A, almost A... in science. I don't do that. I took a class that made me feel smart again; my sociology class. I understood it with almost no effort. It made me feel ambitious; it drove me and it helped me ignite a fire within myself. So next semester I'm taking 19 credits; six classes. Five days a week. I will be graduating from AACC in the spring. Absolutely nothing will stop me.

I think what I'm most proud of this semester is my mental toughness. These past few months have been rough; there's no point in pretending. A lot of things happened that made it difficult to focus on school and success, and in the past I would have pushed my classes to the side and simply decided to start my turnaround some other time. This semester, I didn't do that. I was able to set aside my emotions and exhaustion and accomplish something meaningful. Could it have been better? Yes. I would probably have a B in science if I had dragged my butt out of bed a few more times instead of sleeping in and skipping my first class. I would probably have an A in math if I had procrastinated so heavily in doing the homework assignments (hey, some things aren't going to change... ever). But I learned those things; I got a taste of success, but I also caught the whiff of the feeling of falling just short of something even bigger. Now that I've experienced that small part, I want it all. I am driven and motivated, and I am not backing down anymore. I am shedding the image of the slacker; the lazy, unmotivated smart kid who doesn't seem to care. I am moving on from my high school days, where my slothfulness served as a ploy for attention and my casual attitude towards important things continues to hurt me today. Things are different now, and I intend to keep it that way.

I'm not going to lie; since I last posted here, things haven't been wonderful. As a matter of fact, they've been downright insane. I'm not going into details, because between life, school, church, and a mass of other things, it would take me too long. And, to put it frankly, it's in the past and I don't feel like reliving it. Things are returning to normal now, and I'm beginning to believe a little bit more in myself.

However, I'm suffering this school year from something that I find difficult to admit out loud. Despite all efforts to hide it, I desperately miss my best friend. I miss Matt Norris. Now, Matt has a Xanga, but I have no idea if he will see this or not. Frankly, it doesn't matter. Matt and I met when I was a freshman, over five years ago. Although you'll often hear me joke that our friendship doesn't make any sense, the fact is that it does. Matt and I understand each other, in a way that is often unspoken and mostly expressed with our ability to spend hours together doing absolutely nothing. Recently, Matt happened to be home for a short period of time while something difficult happened to me. It made me realize that I miss my best friend more then I would ever admit to anyone. Throughout high school, when I was an awkward freshman, a depressed sophomore, a slowing-growing junior, and finally emerging as a senior, Matt and I basically spent every weekend together. We played in two bands together, spending endless hours cramming way too much equipment into not nearly enough space. We lived each other's ups and downs, sitting on Matt's porch or my driveway at random hours of the night, sometimes laughing and sometimes crying. We went on choir trips together, and we had our rough moments, as every friendship does.

When I made the decision not to do Captive Free and Matt made the decision to apply, I never really gave it a whole lot of thought. It was far away, and besides, he'd still be around a lot anyways (I hoped). Then he made it, and got assigned to the West Coast team. It was after he left, after he had a going away party while I was at the beach, that I realized that I couldn't just drive two minutes over to Matt's house anymore. He was gone. Yes, we still talked, but we aren't a phone friendship anymore. Gone are the days when we would spend hours talking on the phone; our bond as friends is deeper than that. So, we would occasionally spend a half-hour catching up every month or so, and basically went on our separate lives. Like I said, it wasn't until recently that I really realized how much I miss Matt. One of the reasons we get along so well is our understanding that the best thing we can do if one of us is at a loss for words is to play music. No matter what the issue in life may be, our language was guitar and drums, from soft ballads and worship songs to intense metal for those days when you wanted to scream at every passerby. Matt played too loud; I played too loud. We didn't care. I lived for those days, those hours spend wasting time writing foolish songs that we wouldn't remember the next morning (but can still sing bits and pieces of).

When Matt decided to return to Youth Encounter for another year and take on the additional challenge of serving on an international team, I was excited for him. It wasn't a situation where I was saying one thing and meaning another; I really was excited for him to have that opportunity. To this day, I believe it was the right choice for him. He has a powerful story to tell the world and he is an example of the love of Jesus to all he encounters; I could offer no higher praise. That doesn't change the fact that I miss the Bowie Matt. The Matt who was a reminder to me that no matter how difficult life can get, friendships formed from soul to soul won't ever disappear.

I don't know if Matt and I will ever have those close days again. When he returns next summer, I have no idea where I will be headed in life. My hope is to be headed to a four-year school with a purpose and a major, but I don't have any clue where that school will be located. We may be in different parts of the country (or the world) again; only time will tell. I'm not worried at all about losing our friendship; I think at this point, it would be impossible. I just hate not having my best friend here, where I live. I have amazing friends; Kelly is an amazing best friend; Lauren understands me like almost no one else; Brandon is like me in so many ways. These people make my life complete. But the fact remains that today, I feel a missing piece. It has been so long since Matt and I took the stage together, since we packed gear into my poor little Saturn or his dad's car with its leather interior that we had to treat like a delicate infant. It has been ages since we crammed four band mates into his studio and tried not to slam in to each other as we experienced the music and contributed our own piece of it.

I pen this as a solace; as a reminder to myself that these experiences are exactly that; experiences and memories that transcend time and distance. But there are some Friday nights when you're sitting at home, content to do so, until you realize that you really should be with your best friend tonight. I don't know where life will take me, and I don't know where life will take Matt. All I know is that I have the greatest friend in the world, and tonight... I wish he was here, and I'm not afraid to admit that anymore.

I hate the word retard.

Every time I hear someone use that word, a small part of me gets angry. When someone spots some concept or idea they happen to dislike, and they impulsively blurt out "that's retarded," I really wish they would stop and think for a second about what they are saying. Why is it that "retarded" has become an acceptable term for something we dislike or disagree with? There's a very simple answer. If I happen to be standing next to a gay person, and I express out loud how something is "gay," there is a strong chance that they will take offense to the use of that term in such a concept, and for good reason. Regardless of my personal feelings and beliefs on homosexuality and marriage, I do not have the right to use someone's personal choice as a derogatory term. However, for the most part, mentally challenged people do not have the ability to confront you and stand up for themselves. If someone with a mental disorder that impairs their ability to understand your speech is standing next to you, they will not question your choice of words.

Thus, the use of the word "retarded" is even more disgusting. It should be equated (or perhaps elevated above) the use of racial or sexual slurs; as detestable and low as words such as the "n word" or "faggot" may be, they are slurs for people who can stand up for their own dignity and demand their own respect. I understand that many people who describe things as "retarded" or people as "retards" are not making a deliberate attempt to demean mentally disabled individuals; these words have become casual slang in our culture today. Regardless of their intent, however, they are doing exactly that; they are using a word that has long since been considered inappropriate in reference to those with mental and physical difficulties, and using it to put down some person or idea. It is a simple case of thinking before you speak. Just as I, as a straight white male, would never refer to a black person using the "n word," refer to any woman as "bitch" or "woman," or a homosexual person as a "faggot," we should purge the word "retarded" from our vocabulary unless it is used within the term "mentally retarded." Even then, there are better and more acceptable phrases to use.

As a person who takes a strong stance against censorship and restrictions on freedom of speech, this is somewhat of a strange post to find myself penning. Take, however, the recent comments of talk show host Michael Savage as a perfect example of what ignorance in speech can cause. Savage recently commented on his show that autism is a "fraud" and a "racket," and added that "[i]n 99 percent of the cases, it's a brat who hasn't been told to cut the act out."

This man and his unsolicited opinions are a disgusting and poignant example of how we must police ourselves on our expressions. This should not be acceptable in any forum, let alone on a syndicated talk show. I challenge you to remove the word "retarded" from your vocabulary. You won't ever catch me using it, and ask you to do the same. It is a disgusting and demeaning term that should never have found its way into our daily slang, and it must be removed.

Well, it has been a little while. This often seems to happen, as life begins to take its twists and turns; my wonderful old Xanga is left behind for a little while. It has been an interesting few months lately, with a lot of decisions and events and amazing times spent with friends, and everything that the summer is supposed to bring. However, this post is meant specifically for two of my Xanga readers, who I believe are perceptive enough to guess who they are.

Don't throw it away so fast. I've spent the last three years getting to know both of you; as a matter of fact, it was because of one of you that I got to know the other. I, like you, have made the mistake before of allowing my pride to prevent me from fighting to keep a friendship alive. I knew I was always right, and so why should I stoop to their level and apologize? Yes, I had five years of long and detailed history with them, but who cares? I'll never see them again anyways. Well, now they're my co-worker, and I wish I had taken the time back then to talk it out.

Let me share some perspective that applies to both of you. When I met you both, I was in a rough place. Did you read my last post? That wasn't long before we starting sharing the stage and unleashing our wit (or lack there of) upon the world. You introduced me to the other one, and we quickly formed a bond that was unique and deep. To this very day, we don't need anything to talk about; we just need the time to talk, and we'll find places to let our minds wander to. One of you hurt me, the other one I sometimes find incredibly selfish in the way you put down other people's beliefs. Neither one of you is perfect. But the fact remains that in my mind, you share a special bond, and you're throwing it away. One of you may be more responsible then the other for it, but the fact remains that it takes two to be friends, and it takes two to be enemies. One thing I have learned in life is that friends don't ever truly exit your life. There is a strong chance that somewhere down the road, you will run into them again. I know for a fact that I will want both of you at my birthday party this summer, and I will be highly upset if you can't be cordial to one another.

The fact is, sometimes you disagree with people, and sometimes you act selfish. If I lost every person who I acted selfish to at one point or another, I wouldn't have any friends, I wouldn't have a girlfriend, and I wouldn't have a family. Please, give things a chance. Put down your swords, and just remember why you were friends in the first place. Not for me, not for anyone else.

For yourselves.