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.

Las Vegas: Not Really for Lovers

I have a confession to make: I am consistently scanning the horizon for a relationship status change. I could write pages on the thesis that I am not looking for any major commitment at this point in my life. But, the primary focus would be the sappy and groan-inducing things that I miss about having around that 'special someone': someone to call on my way home from work, someone to have a certainty of Friday/Saturday plans with, spending the majority of a day watching movies/television and still feeling like you've done something moderately productive, etc.

As much as the radar is checking ring fingers and trying to catch more-than-random glances every waking hour, I've found that spending a little time in the Las Vegas airport is giving the radar operate a little R&R. We can go ahead and run at minimal power for the next hour and a half. There will be no Bastille storming anytime soon.

Las Vegas is one of those unfortunately many places on earth where you can get an overwhelming sense of the depravity of man. And, I'm not about to break into a bashing of gambling, drunkenness, or smoking. For starters, I smoked a pretty good cigar for a solid hour last night while getting slightly tipsy... and, I love a good poker night as much as the next person.

No, I'm much more of a "everything in moderation", fence-sitting kind of guys. The depravity that I'm feeling now is that sense of hopelessness and hollowness. I could very well be projecting the emotions that I am feeling when I glance upon an elderly person in a wheelchair strapped to an oxygen tank pulling rhythmically at the arms of a slot machine. They could be riding the roller coaster of life and loving every gripping minute of hoping the odds will fall in their favor. But, I doubt it.

The scary thing was sitting next to a guy on my flight down here and realizing that the main thing that separates he and I is roughly 3 decades. He wasn't on oxygen or had any noticeable disabilities, he looked like a pretty healthy 50-year-old guy. But, I was reading 'The Wild Things' by Dave Eggers, and I was falling in love with the character of Max. The character in the book is VERY similar to the kid in the movie and my first reaction to the kid on screen was 'Whoa! Slow down.' I'm no psychologist, but I was definitely leaning toward A.D.D.

And, the book paints Max in almost the same light. He has trouble focusing his thoughts at time, he is prone to episodes of acting on instinct, he's a very antsy kid. But, then it hit me, what part of being a normal 8-year-old isn't like that? Aren't kids supposed to get in a little trouble and push boundaries and confound their parents at how surprisingly simple their thought process is?

Basically, I was defending Max because I'm mostly sure that I was pretty close to that kid when I was growing up. I didn't have a lot of snow in SoCal to make a fort and have it fall on me... but, my brother and I collectively thought it was a good idea to spit on our carpool's ride. Why? Because we pretended to spit on another car on the way home, and he called us out on it. He said we pretended, so we decided to show him by actually spitting on his car.

Makes sense, right? Well, no. It's stupid. It's illogical. It's very... childish. Would I do it again today? No. Is it something I have fused in my memory and now, twenty years later, has made me a fully-functioning adult? I'm going to vote 'yes', but I understand that may be up for debate.

So, back to the guy on the plane. If I was used to be a Max and am now somewhere lost in my mid-twenties, then I am on the path to becoming the guy next to me: a wise, experienced old guy. Wise old people havent been that way their entire lives... they kinda had it formed around them.

But, there is a lot to do between now and then. And, what’s the probability that I’ll be the guy on the plane? What’s stopping me from winding up in Atlantic City with a walker and an alcohol addiction?

Not enough. I need to get out of here and get my radar going again.

Dreaming of Physics

Shoot.

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

I purchased three books yesterday. And, despite my repeated convictions to spend less money at Powells and spend more time at the library borrowing books, money is not at the center of my present worries.

Well, it is... but, that's because I am still trying to replenish my savings account after a financially devastating November and December filled with a small amount of Christmas shopping, traffic tickets, first and last month's rent, and a new TV. (Note: The last two hurt so good.)

However, my explosion of harmless expletives has roots, not in anything monetary, but in what the books mean for my future/next year/destiny.

The first one? 'The Universe in a Nutshell' by Stephen Hawking. Yawn. Is anyone really surprised? The amateur astronomer completed his collection of Hawking books? Isn't he tired of purchasing books that don't make any sense to him?

The second one? 'The Wild Things' by Dave Eggers.

Okay, so this one has little cause for alarm. Actually, I should be celebrating... And, I should have one less 'shoot'. Let's start this whole thing over:

Shoot.

Shoot. Shoot.

'The Wild Things' is Dave Egger's novel based on Maurice Sendak's 'Where the Wild Things Are'. He helped write the screenplay for the recent film adaptation. And, apparently during the process of writing the screenplay, Eggers was encouraged to put the plot into a novel, as well. As I have been rendered smitten by each of Eggers' other works, I expect his interpretation of this classic to smote me once more.

Okay, so, that was a good more. I can't consider a chain of events where I would regret purchasing this book. Even if it winds up being an unenjoyable read, the book was produced covered in fur that gives it the appearance of being its own 'wild thing'. One way or another, this guy is going on my shelf.

So, the third one? The third one isn't even a traditional book! The first was nonfiction, the second fiction... the third is a test prep book. Not bad enough? It is the test prep book for the Physics GRE.

See, I spent my Martin Luther King Jr. Day turning my life around. Remember the leaves? I was turning them. I started a blog, I dedicated myself to going to the gym before work in the morning, and I sent emails of inquiry to universities across the United States that I might apply for enrollment into their Master's of Astronomy program. The response was overwhelming:

"Well, you only have a math degree... It would be better if you had physics... The GRE will be the bar that you're measured from."

"Then I'll teach myself physics!" the Max in me proclaimed. "I've got a healthy start, just grant me six months and a few books and the laws of physics will be tucked safely under my belt!"

That was my demeanor as I drove to Powells, as I tracked down the test prep books, as I paid with a swipe of my Discover card, as I had my parking verified, as I drove home, as I climbed into bed with the book, as I blogged about how I was about to crack the book open...

But, not as I started reading. Wow. As the pages turned, my fire flickered. A grave reality set in: those who teach themselves entire subjects of academia accomplish truly great feats. Feats that are definitely not the norm.

I 'shoot' repeatedly through this bombastic musing because I ran headfirst into the realization that there is a long, strenuous road in front of me that I must intentionally take steps down every day. A long, strenuous road that I could march powerfully down and easily wind up with nothing. The odds are definitely in favor me reaching the end, taking the exam, and not scoring as well as I needed to.

So, my watered-down profanities comes from the realization that I've got to do this thing and it may not pay off. I've got to stick with it... I've got to stick with it....

I've got to.

Unlocking A Door That Should Probably Stay Closed

Day 2: So far, so good. I've got a favorite position in my bed: wrapped up to the undersides of my shoulders in two blankets with a third blanket within arm's reach, laptop sitting on those blankets right where it belongs (my lap), and... and...

Well, I guess there are only two real requirements for my new 'Blog and Bedtime Position'. But, the important part is that I am here writing, I have read a blog that is not my own, and I commented on it. I should purchase some gold stars.

And, through the course of my driving to Barnes and Noble, then Powells, and finally back home this evening, I have a schedule I am hoping to keep most nights:

10:00pm - B.B.P. Read other blogs, spend a few minutes crafting my own.

10:20pm - Bust out my new Physics GRE test prep book and try to work through at least two problems.

10:40pm - One page at a time, attempt to relocate books from the staggering 'still need to read' pile to the rather embarrassingly small 'totally owned this book'.

Somewhere around 11, 11:30 - Go to bed! Get some sleep! And, get your ass out of bed by 5:30 to go to the gym before work!

That's my current formula for success and grad school for Fall 2011. Actually, in this formula, success and grad school might be interchangeable on their side of the equation. There is a part of me that will forever tap it's foot in anticipation if I don't at least attempt to become an awkwardly social astronomer.

Oh, gosh. Awkwardly social... That might be my new favorite string of words for the next indeterminate amount of time. Albeit a short string, 'awkwardly social' so much more accurately describes my handicaps as a person. And, who I ultimately aspire to be.

Being a person so disconnected from the rules of daily interaction is a painful thing for everyone who is not the socially awkward person. When a socially awkward person becomes an element in any scenario, the rules to being socially awkward imply that the awkward person has no clue that they are the one turning the air around them palpable.

Saving Grace! I, Justin Hudec, feel the awkwardness of the situations that I find myself a part of! Does this mean that I cannot be accurately described as 'socially awkward'?! Because, more often than not, these uncomfortablilities do not arise from me being unaware of a situation or conversation happening around me. No. More often than not, I find myself in an awkward situation because of my inability to let a bad idea be a bad idea. When I feel the need to chime in, my penchant for half-backed schemes and thoughts overpowers the small, timid side of me asking, "Is that really a good idea?"

Oh, no! It is 10:30! I've passed my time for blogging and must move onto physics! It's okay, since I bought the book today I will use my time reading the introduction and "how to use this book" section. That shouldn't take too long, then I can jump back into 'Wampeters, Foma, and Granfalloons'. (Again, Google or coffee. You can probably count on a lot of references like that...)

It Would Be Greatly Appreciated If You Added This to Your Google Reader

Alright, one more fast note and then I am calling it a night. When I decided to start a new blog earlier tonight I mandated myself to use the three 'titles' I had written down in my iPod Notes as titles to individual blogs to get this thing going.

This one's title may be a stretch, but I would get it if I saw it on a track listing to a new CD.

Essentially, I wanted to say that I intend on writing on this semi-regularly. One of the things I'd like to do this year is really get into following people's blogs. I know that there is a major upheaval going on about using the internet and technology to keep in touch with people. But, I also know that a lot of people that mean a lot to me or should mean a lot to me are posting really awesome stories, adventures, and thoughts on a daily basis and I am missing out on most of them by simply not spending five minutes outside of my usual Gmail -> facebook -> Cracked.com internet path. If I were a dog, the paths between those websites would be a streak of dead grass through a backyard with how many time I go back and forth between those sites and never deviate.

So, this is my resolution: To spend more time on the internet every day.

Okay. That didn't say exactly what I wanted it to say...

My resolution is to be more intentional with the time I use on the computer by keeping tabs on other people's blogs, keeping mine fairly fresh, and live-tweeting the Bachelor when possible.