A Cry For Attention

I was just considering writing something on here about some philosophical thought I was having, but who cares? Sure it might be interesting, but I don't know that I should be posting my whimsical thoughts into writing. It's interesting, though, isn't it? So many people in today's world of instant connections have free reign to put their every little thought into print. As The Social Network points out, "The internet is written in ink," yet we don't hesitate to put a anything up for everyone to see. Sure there is privacy, but, the fact is, it is all still there. No matter what happens, I'll still have a tweet that says, "I have flaming diarrhea," or "Queef cheese and boner precipitation." Sure they are meant as jokes and are reminiscent of inside jokes with some friends, but still, everyone can see it. What are the implications of that? It's like our entire person is becoming virtual, but nobody knows what that looks like in real person (That might be an obscure and completely different topic). 


I know it isn't all that bad, and I realize my point has been sort of swaying from place to place, but I feel...almost, ashamed(?) that I feel the need to let every single person know exactly what I am thinking at any given moment. Somebody said about facebook statuses/blogs/tweets that everybody thinks that their thoughts are the funniest yet and that everything is worth being published, but is it really? Is posting on the internet a form of publishing? I don't know. Just 20 years ago, you had to have something worthwhile for anybody to ever consider reading something you had written. 


Blah Blah Blah, whateva. I'm going to keep more things to myself and my journal, then if I feel like something is worth sharing or I am desiring input, I might post it... but then again, I have a growing reflex to just write and write and write and write and write and
...post... 
whoops. Case-in-point.

Tommy Emmanuel, Béla Fleck and The fact I am already a Sophomore in College (Part I)

Thinking back on my first year at Kalamazoo College—well, it is very...you know, I think "very" pretty much sums it up. Okay you can stop reading, everything that follows will be inventively boring. But back to my freshman year, in some sense, I am feeling nostalgic and sentimental about the year that flew by, but also I am so pleased where I am now. Last year was huge, though. I mean crap, man. So much happened. So much, but for much of it, I had my head shoved too far up my own ass to be able to remember what happened. It is only now that I am remembering so many things.

Why have so many memories just suddenly begun to flood into my brain? That’s a good question, old boy. Ambrose—well, Moontides. Okay, it doesn’t really matter. In 1984, Béla Fleck teamed up with the New Grass Revival and released Deviation. I had never listened to Béla Fleck before some time last year, but my dad had spoken about him and I just so happen to find this CD at the Kalamazoo Public Library. In my opinion, that was one of the greatest finds, ever. (A small side note about the KPL: that library is fricking wonderful, to say the very least. It is brand new; its got several levels; there’s a used bookstore in the basement with a dismal selection of books that smell of the elderly and, my favorite, there are homeless men who pretend to read books, sprawl out on the futuristic couches and frighten library patrons with their missing eyes, dwarven beards and Liberty newspapers they sell for a dollar twent-five.)

The weekly trek Nora and I (and occasionally others) made downtown Kalamazoo was a simple 10 minute walk from campus. We loaded up on CDs walked back, winding through the downtown park as to dodge the certain molesters. Our computers would burn 10-20 CDs to the hard-drives then we would repeat. It was actually a few weeks before I gave Deviation a listen. My point here is, I was drawn to this unfamiliar artist and I suddenly fell in love with this type of jazzy bluegrass music. My headphones dug deep in my ears and the constant vibrations from Deviation shook my brain for, I believe, two months or so.

Not two days ago, one of the melodies of a song popped into my head, but I didn’t remember to listen to it until now. As I sat down at my desk around midnight to fold my laundry, I started listening to Moontides; which is a beautiful composition with the main melody written in 7/4. Back when I first got the CD, I had just taken an intro to music class so I was constantly analyzing time signatures, styles, tempos, tambres…etc. I was so excited to find a song in 7/4. I was obsessed. Anyways, as I sat here and listened to Moontides and as it flowed into the next song, Ambrose (my favorite song on the album), memories began to flood my mind. It seems as though I had been so sucked into my own cloud of self-pity, depression and pointless worrying that I had completely forgotten about how dynamic and wonderfully disconcerting my first-year experience had been. Last year was certainly a year of discomfort as much of the very fibers of my being were being pulled on.

Back in the bubble of Libertyville, Illinois, I was so sucked into my own little life, that I hadn’t spent much time recognizing the world around me. Sure, I wanted to change the world when I was in High School. I wanted to go to Africa (which in itself is a misconception since there are drastically different cultures, languages and social milieux spread all across the vast continent). I wanted to go to Africa and help them solve all their problems. How ignorant was that? I know we learned that every little bit helps, but really, to the extent that we help is disheartening.

I became pessimistic here at Kalamazoo College. I didn’t like who I was. I was a small, reclusive, and bitter Christian High School student who didn’t know why he believed what he did. I felt guilty for living my life and if I might add, it was a modest one in comparison to the greater college population. I tried to make it all work, I really did, but it was clear that the faith that I had was not the right kind. You don’t have a set of rules and disciplines to live by. I was putting my life into a context of perfection and as I have been finding out, you only set yourself up for failure when you do this. I don’t know specific verses—and this may just be implied, but maybe all I needed was to recognize that God loves me unconditionally, no matter what I do or say.Maybe I needed to actually accept that I am eternally forgiven for everything I’ve done, I am doing or what I will do. He loves everybody. At least, these are the beliefs that I hope to believe at some point.

But it is a process. Through Young Life, I blindly accepted my beliefs even though I questioned so much. I took on a role while I was in Young Life. A role, not a person. I hid from that role sometimes because it was scary and exhausting for the quiet Justin. Young Life Justin still exists today—he came out this past summer. It is simpler to be YL Justin, it is cleaner, it is wonderful. But I hate him. I don’t hate him for the person he is, but I hate him because he has caused me so much trouble. In this cloud of depression that I spoke about earlier, I battled with the different selves I put on for different groups. 

When I think about these things, somebody comes to mind. My mom gave me an article about him a few months ago and I totally understood his plight. He is considered by many to be one of the funniest comedians of the last 50 years. He has been in many movies and he is known for the goofy characters he plays. But that is not who he is. The real him is actually quiet, somber, and thoughtful. Of course, I am talking about the philosophy graduate and banjo playing Steve Martin. He has commented that the his stand-up comedy years were his hardest, which seems almost backwards. Everybody thought he was so funny, but in reality, his true self was, again, a smart, thoughtful and quiet man. My point in that short history is that I hope that I can consolidate my selves. Of course I will always have parts of me that come out in certain situations, much like Steve Martin. But the conflict arises in the line between a part of you coming out, and a part of you being hidden behind a façade that you put on for the sake of the community.  I call myself a Christian and I can act like a Christian, but I hope that sometime soon I will be able to combine my Christian endeavors with my quiet, philosophical self.

So, again, I was not happy with myself last year since I could not consolidate the two warring pieces of inside my mind. In fact, I’m not sure I realized that I had two conflicting personality traits. This issue pulled me down and shrouded me in a cloud of self-pity and depression. 

I seem to have gone off on a little bit of a tangent here and I haven’t even talked about Tommy Emmanuel yet! Jeeze louise! Well, I was going to go on to reflect on my freshman year, but I think I will save that for part deux. That is, I will reflect on my first year only if I fall back into a state of nostalgia and I feel like I need to relive the year. Also I'd need the time and energy to do so. I'm not really sure what this turned in to, but anyways, I am going to finish my laundry, then crash. Au revoir!

Rob Bell

It is interesting, isn’t it, when you meet someone who is in the public spotlight. More specifically, when you meet someone that you know so well because you have read through important parts of his life in books or because you saw him on screen all throughout High School. It's weird to meet someone that has in a sense become your representation or your thoughts of answers about religion. A few weeks ago I met Rob bell. It was strange. His face was much more vertically compact up close. It was strange to have such a familiar voice addressing me.

What do you say to somebody who you know so well, when all they know about is you is your name. I had so much to say, I wanted to word vomit all over the floor at Mars Hill. I fumbled and mumbled my way through a short conversation as if to seek answers or advice, or just something, but what can you expect when the person doesn’t know you? Before you meet someone, they are just a person you see. They are flesh; they are a face—of course you recognize that they have thoughts, emotions, friends and family, but, again, before you meet them, they are just a face. A mole to the left of her nose, one brown whisker out the side of her chin and long brown hair. Just an appearance. I wonder what Rob Bell thinks when he has people lining up to talk to him. Rob is simply a man, he is a father, a husband and a pastor of a church. Sure, he has wonderful ideas, he is a great speaker and he has been able to capture the hearts of so many dwindling Christians, but really, Rob Bell is just a man.

While walking around Kalamazoo College later that Sunday, I was thinking about the 2 minutes I got to spend talking to Rob. It was strange. I stared at the floor. I had so much to say about Rob and I would love to talk to him about everything for an extended period of time, but I just sat there and tried to blurt out what I was thinking about my faith. He had no context to understand what I wanted to say. I’m sure he has to deal with this all the time since he doubles himself as a pastor of a church and a Christian superstar, but I wonder what it is like for him. He wasn’t awkward, but I was—for sure. What is my point in this ranting? I don’t really know, but I just was so profoundly struck by the fact that Rob is just a man—a smart man, that is, but nevertheless, just a man.

I have spent much of my life seeking advice. How do I do this?...or is it okay if I do this?... or tell me what to do! I mean, come on, man! You can't even decide what to order at Noodles & co. I am scared to make decisions. Much of the time, I am scared to say yes. Why is it this way? Who knows. All I do know is that I finally feel like I am starting to see some light in my desire to become a true believer again. I went through a time of severe doubt in anything meaningful, a little depression, and a bit of self-loathing. I was upset that what I had as my faith was weighing me down. I even wrote in one of my (shitty) songs, "punching with my own religion." Why was I doing that? Religion should not be a crutch, but rather something special. After a few desperate conversations with my mom, a couple with my aunt on the phone, and one or two with my dad, I realized I had to back up and see some of my motivations and intentions behind my beliefs. There was so much that was wrong. I had to kill what was going on. That was, no doubt, the hardest time mentally that I have had to deal with in my life thus far and I am glad to begin to see the light again. 

Rob Bell spoke about Ecclesiastes--everything is just dust. Everything is meaningless. The book starts off by saying that--good start, but then there is wisdom and beauty. I am in the midst of discovering aesthetics, love, freedom, even just life. The fact that I get to be a cognitive being is freaking awesome. I am thankful. For everything. Period.

Anyways, I met Rob Bell a few weekends ago. He seems like a pretty cool guy.