Thoughts on Being Cut Open

I'm taking Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close to the hospital so I can be re-introduced to my favorite character before going under the knife.

...

"I once went to report on a village in Russia, a community of artists who were forced to flee the cities! I'd heard that paintings hung everwhere! I heard you couldn't see the walls through all of the paintings! They'd painted the ceilings, the plates, the windows, the lampshades! Was it an act of rebellion! An act of expression! Were the paintings good, or was that beside the point! I needed to see it for myself, and I needed to tell the world about it! I used to live for reporting like that! Stalin found out about the community and sent his thugs in, just a few days before I got there, to break all their arms! That was worse than killing them! It was a horrible sight, Oskar: their arms in crude splints, straight in front of them like zombies! They couldn't feed themselves, because they couldnt get their hands to their mouths! So you know what they did!"

"They starved?"

"They fed each other! That's the difference between heaven and hell! In hell we starve! In heaven we feed each other!"

"I don't believe in the afterlife."

"Neither do I, but I believe in the story!"

Mr. Black is Causing Me to Stumble

I'm kind of an attention whore.

But, I think I got a little bit of an explanation as to why today. Remember that whole 'do unto others' thing?

I received an amazing bit of encouragement from the people I work with today. We had our Admissions' Winter Retreat and spent the day at Tilikum (a.k.a. Greatest Place on Earth) basically alternating between extreme silliness and intentional relationship culitvation. Despite the fact that we were on retreat for 8 solid hours I am genuinely tired.

The piece that will forever hang in my mind is when we broke into small groups to encourage one another. The process started by each person sharing a story of a time in our lives where we felt proud of who we were. Then, the other people in the group would drop three words of encouragement on the person who just shared. After I told my story, the words that fell upon me were some conglomeration of 'makes people feel important', 'willing to help', and 'listener'.

Then, as the person showered in love, we had to pick one of those ideas and introduce ourselves to the group. I tried to paraphrase a few of the thoughts and I said, "Hi, I'm Justin, and I pay attention to people."

One of the ladies I work with decided that was not good enough. "No, no, Justin. I would definitely say it is more of a valuing that happens. You value people."

Hi, I'm Justin. And, I value people.

Do unto others... Attention whore... kinda makes sense, right? Basically: show me some love. I promise I'll show it back.

Incredible. Today is the first day of Lent... I'm having reconstructive knee surgery in less than 36 hours... I turned twenty-five a week ago today... And yet, three little words are what this blog is focused around. In the end, I guess it's more important as to how you got somewhere than where you end up.

Damn, I wrote a great paper in high school about how the ends justified the means.

In related news: I'm re-reading the first book I've re-read in a long time. I don't re-read things very often. There's always so much more that I want to start that I don't want to take time to read something I've already been through once. But, there is one book that made me break that rule: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

I don't intend on breaking out into one of my many rants about how it's the greatest work of fiction every produced (but, it is). The idea that I want to focus on is that I've stalled in my re-reading. I turned a page yesterday while I was at the end of a exercise bike ride in the gym and realized that I'd finally come to the introduction of my favorite character. I wanted to give my full attention to every page that Mr. Black occupied in the novel, so I closed the book and finished my ride.

That was yesterday. I've had two or three chances since then to sit down and begin those pages (including right now, actually...) and I've not been able to do it. No time feels right. It needs to be perfect.

Am I putting off the ends? Is this part of the means? Will I ever know happiness?!

My Last Act as a Kid with an Excuse

Lying.

Sorry, Bryce. I really did have a good idea in my head when I left work earlier today. I had a title, an idea for the body; the blog had almost written itself. Then, the evening hours came.

It looked like it was going to start off well: I was walking around to meet a friend for dinner at 6pm and it was still light outside. Light. Outside. At 6pm. I half assumed that I'd need a flashlight on my way out of the gym 'cause I've just fallen into the routine of expecting it to be pitch when I leave campus after work.

That last paragraph begins like the night is about to take a turn for the worst. But, the truth of the matter is that I spent my last night as a 24 year old with one of my closest friends. We had burritos, went to a class to learn about Catholicism, and then sat in her car in my driveway as we exchanged truly meaningful inquiries and comments.

I like to think that there have been a number of good opportunities for great conversation in the last week or so. A smattering of examples that would occupy all but one finger on my counting hand immediately spring to mind.

This was deeper than that. This reminded me that I am far more than the words I speak, even far more than the thoughts I think. This reminded me that 25 is not the number after 24 or even before 26. 25 is the cumulation of 1, 2, 3, 4... et cetera.

I have doubts. I have fears. I push past the future of those on a daily basis to put on the optimism I have such complete mastery of in every moment of every day.

By doing so, I've also pushed past the events that have brought me to this place. I'm so caught up in postponing the inevitable and focusing on making the moments of today worthwhile that I've disintegrated my memory of the ways I've impacted people. Which, is funny, because the title I was going to use in my original post was going to be 'One Less 24 Year Old in the World'. That may still happen.

So, this has turned into a series of thoughts. Maybe someone would describe it as a blog. I apologize at the beginning because I was intending to produce a declaration of conquering and instead it has transpired into a treatise on hollowness.

I.

Will.

Try.

Not.

To.

Lose.

Control.