Husbands & Marriage

Being married makes me think back to the times before V when I pondered what marriage would be like. Going to a Christian school/church and being raised in a Christian household put me in a safe environment to hear all sorts of opinions and absorb all sorts of Biblical knowledge about marriage. But up until marriage, it's all theory. Easy to believe b/c it's "common knowledge" that you'll "just" apply it when the time comes.

Whether you're married or not, I'm sure you'll agree: easier said than done.

I've recently been pondering one particular Bible passage. I knew what it was, but couldn't quite remember the reference.

You husbands, in the same way, live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman; and show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered. - I Peter 3:7

When you break it down, it's a really packed verse. Maybe that's just b/c of my unique, married perspective. Regardless, this verse has come to mean a lot more to me these past few months.

Y'see, I'm a very straight-and-narrow thinker. Most of the time, my way is the straight-and-narrow, and I make Veronica feel it in more ways than one. Most of the time, that's not right. And even if it was, I certainly shouldn't make her feel bad about it. But there are other times where I truly believe that what I think really is the right thing and V is genuinely mistaken. Of course, she doesn't really take that too well. (If our position's were reversed, I doubt I would either). It often frustrates me when V seems incapable of accepting a clearly logical, rational, or just plain better line of reasoning, decision, etc. I'm not saying she's incapable of complex thought or lacks impeccable analytic skills - it's just that I don't always see that.

As I've written in the past, I like to strive for what's best. Optimal. Most agreeable. It's just built into me. I go into fix-it mode all too often; I only later will realize that's not what V needed at the time. Or even worse, I'll end up w/ egg on my face when I realize that I was wrong and a total douche all along. In both cases, I'd hope you could at least understand my position.

It was thoughts like these that led me to start pondering the meaning of the verse. Up until now, I had gone the "easy route" in understanding this verse by attributing the word "weak" literally - weak in body, decision making power, authority, etc. And while that may be true, I've come to think that's not the thrust of the verse. Because, indeed, the word "weak" has popped in my mind many times when I try and put a word to how I feel towards V's actions.

Maybe there was a reason Paul chose that word to write to Christian husbands. B/c we'd need to hear it. B/c he, through God, knew the frustrations I'd go through; he knew the thing I'd need to hear most was how I ought to treat, love, and respect V. Perhaps, in God's infinite wisdom, "weak" means more than just lack of strength. Take note of what the verse says:

...live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker...

"Understanding" is akin to tolerant in my mind, which fits part of the definition I have for love: accepting someone's differences/peculiarities as something worth dealing w/ on your own. It doesn't mean you ignore them. You work with them. You understand them; think about why they do what they do in order to quell your frustration. Empathize w/ them.

Perhaps (and please take this with a grain of salt, as I'm no authoritative Biblical scholar), that "weakness" can apply to perceived weakness on my part. When I feel V is "weak" in some situation (decision, work, life, you name it), maybe I'm called to see that as natural and ok. Not shameful. Not diminutive. Different, yes. Not what I'd do, probably. But not wrong. Not worthy or blame or derision or harsh criticism.

I don't believe men and woman have equal roles in life. They have equal value, of course, but not roles. Woman are better than man in certain areas; men more than woman in others. I'm better than V w/ some things; she's better at others. There's nothing "wrong" w/ that distinction - that's perfectly natural. It's how God made us. I think that's alright. (Feminists can go to town w/ that. I don't care). What is wrong is for me to see V as "weak" b/c she doesn't measure up to the standard I hold myself to and live by. It's unfair b/c she's not me. She's V. She's my wife. She's a woman. I am to be understanding of her, despite what I may perceive to be weakness on her part.

God calls husbands to honor and respect their wives because - I can testify to this - it can get in the way of your Christianity. It disrupts my and V's relationship w/ each other and w/ God. To not take this verse to heart - to not respect and love V in an understanding way, realizing and adapting to the differences and "weaknesses" she has - is folly on my part.

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The Vow I Promise to Keep

This post was written several days before the weddings (Sunday prior, I believe). I wished to post it after the wedding so as to not spoil the wedding itself. Enjoy.

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I was on the phone the other night w/ V. With the wedding only 6 days away, it was primarily wedding events that were on our mind. We're both very excited for them and, barring any sudden revelations that would dissuade us, the wedding is gonna' happen. But despite the proximity of our knot-day, neither of us fully has our wedding vows fleshed out. Sure, we've both got a real vague of what to say. But on the whole - at least for me - the real details need a lot more attention.

It feels like it did back when I set out to scour the internet for the perfect engagement ring for V. Whenever I set out to start, I faced an insurmountable level of apathy towards completing the task. So it is with my wedding vows. Of course, it isn't that I'm afraid of promising things to V on our wedding day - I doubt any argument questioning my commitment would hold much water. Nevertheless, the last few days have been plagued with the apathetic pattern of trying and failing to muster the words for my wedding vows.

The traditional wedding vows are more of a formality w/ no real meaning, which is why we decided to go with our own, personal promises. But, what would I promise that I haven't already said or demonstrated in the 4.75 years of our non-marital relationship?

But then I got to thinking: I don't always tell people things b/c they don't know them. Sometimes - esp. in my relationship with V - I say things b/c I know they should be said; someone needs to hear them. And perhaps it is thusly with wedding vows. As a public declaration of our love and commitment, a little repetition and thoroughness could be appropriate to affirm our relationship before the dozens of people in attendance.

So, I wonder, what is it that I know V needs and wants to hear? What promises do my vows need to express my sentiments.

Of my many qualities and skills, none has ever been so strong as my ability to screw up and make an ass of myself. My opinionated nature makes it hard for me to slow down and see what V needs, sometimes. So, I suppose my first promise to V would be short and simple:

To learn.

To learn more about her, b/c it would be foolish to assume that I will ever fully understand all that she is. Learn her needs. Learn what makes her tick. What bothers her. What she enjoys. Learn how I can best acquit myself to serve her.

To learn to change myself. Not b/c I cannot be myself around her, but b/c I know that the person I am now cannot cope with the requirements the future holds for us/me. I will need to grow, change, and become a more Godly man if I am to love and support V in the way a biblical husband is called. Change is difficult for me, b/c we all know I'm always right. What makes it harder is that V's always right too. And while I can't give on moral or ethical points, there's not a whole lot else I can dogmatically defend w/o a guilty conscience. And so, rather than always arguing or always agreeing, I promise to learn to talk. Discuss. To have rational conversations when they need to be had, not when I want them to happen. To always work to build her up, rather than tear her down.

To learn to be not what I want, but what she needs.

This would, I suppose, lead to another important point. I promise to [try to] live up to the standard set forth in the Bible for Christian husbands.

...love with your wives in an understanding way, I Peter 3:11 says, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman.

Before the femitheist comes to do horrible things to me, a moment: while it is the general rule that woman are less physically robust than men, I don't think this verse is talking strictly about musculature. In being with V all these years, there have been many times where my assumptions about what was "just fine" turned out to be wrong. V is fundamentally different from me and, while that sounds obvious, the nuances of its implications are far less so. I can't make the insensitive assertions, assumptions, and decisions I'm used to making on my own. She sees things in a complete different light and, if I'm not sensitive to that, I'm liable to hurt her and damage our relationship.

Paul writes in Colossians 4:18 ...love your wives and do not be embittered against them.

With the previous verse, this becomes more important. Maybe it's b/c I'm a software engineer, like to argue, or a combination of other, related qualities: thinking someone's wrong can set me against them if I'm not careful. It can happen for stupid reasons - not washing dishes, not cleaning a room, consistently forgetting simple responsibilities. And every time, those feelings are quelled when I hear the other side of the story.

Bitterness is like rot: it takes a lot time to show any real signs, but its progress is inexorable and ingrained. Like a little yeast in bread, it doesn't take much resentment to poison friendship. And I don't want to be in a toxic relationship.

I promise to lead. In whatever way that means. I promise to wear the pants. To take responsibility. To bear the burden and honor of leading our family, whatever size it may be. Like any good leader, I promise to look for advise. To defer to and honor V's judgement when she is more informed than I. I promise to define leadership to be more than having final say to pretend that I'm "right".

I promise to be a man of honor. To reflect my respect for her in my decisions every day; to protect V's integrity by being a man of integrity myself. By never compromising. By never taking her devotion and respect for granted when she's not around.

I promise to never leave. Divorce, estrangement, separate houses, etc - they're not an option.

V and I have weathered quite a few tumultuous times through the years. Sometimes, I think the only reason we stayed together is b/c we were committed. Nothing but that sheer, disembodied goal kept me together sometimes. And sometimes, that dogmatic devotion to each other taught me how to love V even when I had no inclination, present or future, to do so. Maybe that doesn't make sense, and I'm sorry I can't explain it any other way. But I'm getting married to this woman: there is on way on God's green earth I will ever go back on the word I give on that day, August 11, 2012.

And so it will be on that day, 5 days from now, that some of you will hear the condensed, equally poignant version of this post cross my lips and become etched into the ineffable journal of the Past. However, some of you may not be there. Some of you may forget. Some of me may someday forget. It is for this reason that, despite my reservations at posting something so personal, I present this to you all. Like baptism, my wedding to V is a public declaration of commitment.

Everything here should be expected of me.

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Thanks For Asking

Regardless of the company I'm keeping at the time, if the subject of beer should come up, I will invariably declare my love of the aforementioned substance. The more I've done this, the more I've realized that I probably come off as some kind of lush. My emphasis on my Irish heritage and association w/ Guinness doesn't help my cause either. But I can't just stop talking about beer. I feel it's important to let people know that I like beer. I like good beer. And you should too.

In order to successfully defend my position of partaking of the heavenly nectar, I'd like to put this to you in the best context I can: an anecdote.

A month or two back, I was hanging out at a friend's house for a Friday evening of tasty barbecue. It had been a very long day, which had only extended how long my very long week had felt. I was indescribably relieved to be hangin' at his house and enjoying Friday night the way it should be enjoyed. We were kibitzing in his kitchen while we prepared our food, and he off-handedly inquired, "Would you like a beer"?

Never had such sweeter words graced mine ears.

Y'see, beer's not just some depressant I use whenever I want to get schnockered. I don't get drunk as a matter of course. Rather, beer is to me on a Friday evening after a long day's work what soft piano melodies are at dinner for two at a quiet Italian restaurant. Beer is one of the many pieces I like to use to build a relaxing, fun evening. I do not use it to unlock some hidden social potential that only alcohol can release. (If anything, I don't always realize when I'm being an ass). I do not obsessively drink it as part of an unhealthy diet. It is not part of a daily routine. I refuse to drink before noon.

Drinking, partaking - communing w/ beer is the best description for my beer-drinking process. If you've ever seen me crack a Guinness on a "it's-a-good-day-for-a-Guinness" day, you know what I mean: enjoying a beer is a ritual for me. Like hipsters meditating or listening to indie music, politicians raising taxes, or dancers thinking of nothing but where they're gonna' get their next "fix": beer goes hand-in hand with relaxing.

My good, soon-to-be-back-from-Uganda friend Kev described the following scene. I relate it - plus embellishment - for you.

You're sitting out back on the lawn next to a friend. You're both reclining in some form of lawn chair. The sun is setting; the temperature of the air is warm, but cooling mildly; the hot summer day is drifting calmly into a smooth summer evening. In your hand is an ice-cold, utterly-refreshing beer-of-your-choice. Together, you watch the sun set. Maybe you talk. Maybe you don't. It doesn't really matter. It's the camaraderie of that moment - watching the end of a hard day together; silently empathizing with each other - that's the lynch pin.

In my mind, this scene just isn't complete w/o the beer. You...you've just got to have the beer. What else would you have? Water? Milk? Ovaltine? A shot of vodka? No way! Nothing fits that scene like a beer, and you know it.

Those Corona adds (the real ones, not those stupid "find your beach" commercials) were actually onto something. Really, that's all I want. You want to hang? To chat? To come over to my level? You don't even need to have any beer yourself: just sit w/ me and be part of my "ritual".

There's something I find very masculine about beer. (To my female readership, I say this w/o intent to offend. I am not insinuating that to drink beer is to mar your femininity. To you guys who don't prefer beer, more power to you. I'm not sayin' I'm more manly: just that my flavor of manliness identifies well w/ beer). There's nothing quite so manly as a strong, dark, stout beer. Or a light, refreshing beer. Or an amber, rich, flavorful beer. Or whatever beer you fancy. Think about it - what scene seems more fitting: guys sitting around a table drinking beer, or ladies sitting around a table drinking beer? You're right - the guys.

In my own way, I suppose drinking beer's one of the "manly" things I do next to making bad decisions, measuring things, and wearing "the pants".

To those of you who do understand, or to those of you who wish to, remember this story. Remember what it means to me. When you offer me a beer, you're not just giving me a refreshment. You're giving me a good time. Not a drunk time of debauchery. A good time. You're telling me you'd like me to make myself at home; to relax. You're saying "I know how much this means to you, Eric - to have someone offer you a beer. In their home and out of the goodness of their heart."

My hat's off to the you's with beer, and it's even off to the you's w/o it.

Cheers.

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Engineering a Friend

Please bear w/ the anecdotal background which follows. In fact, if you'll just bear w/ me for a moment...

Harkening back to the days of yore, the lonely and shunned of the human community have devoted themselves to this purpose; defining the salient steps necessary to codify a satisfying, mutually beneficial social coupling. Being lonely sucks, and such forlorn circumstances can spur one to take action. There's a wealth of samples out in the world: you can't turn around w/o finding two people getting along. Surely, with such an abundance of information, a solution can be found.

See, people like me can't help but break things down into a series of steps. With rare exception, everything follows some kind of pattern. As a software engineer, the bulk of my job is to identify common patterns and write code which satisfies a broad set of terms: this is possible primarily b/c everything has patterns, and these patterns can be massaged into general formats applicable to many scenarios. Relationships are no exception.

Take a common course you'd take in college - one with a standard class size of ~30. No doubt, you'll make the acquaintance of a few tolerable people in the class. Gradually, this acquaintance will become more of a class-friendship: you'll say "hi" to each other outside of class, but the bulk of your interaction revolves around some kind of class activity. Yet, in some rare cases, you'll find you enjoy the company of a given person - say, person X. You and X might hang out outside of class. You learn more about each other - the quirks, eccentricities, and the things you enjoy doing together. Whether it be the gym, video games, crafting, etc., the company of X is one you enjoy. Before long, their name will be inadvertently merged into the list of names you default on inviting to hang-outs. And so, in the matter of just a few short months, you have what we call a "friend".

Of course, you're never conscious of this process. At least, not in the moment. Looking back, it's easy to see the steps. Hindsight, we all know, is 20/20. (Me and Vince do that all the time, as the story of our friendship is a good one). But I can't leave it there. I want to study that process; define the outline; highlight the key moments that were the "turning points"; see the general pattern.

I can't help it. It's part of who I am and how I see this world.

At my church, I'm faced w/ a social conundrum. I have a 9-to-6 job, after which I've gotta' come home and eat. For most people my age, hangin' between the hours of 7p and 11p is perfectly acceptable. But for the high school students at my church, that's just not possible - I don't expect it to be. But I need to develop relationships w/ the kids in the youth group if I want to have any kind of positive impact on them; if I want to be a part of the important things in their life that I know I can speak into.

I'm deprived of my main source of developing friendships: extended time investments and one-on-one interaction. So I must rise to the challenge, and rise I try. My solution? Break down a relationship into the high-level events that define the skeleton of a friendship. If I could just get that, I could spend time later to fill in the body. I just need that friendship frame in place.

Think of it like optimized friend-making. Sounds good on paper, at least to me. Not so much in practice.

Because I'm not a part of these kids' everyday lives, I'm not privvy to the high's and low's they go through. I don't weather the crap they endure. Part of a being a friend is taking someone else's mental baggage on yourself. For everything that leaves a mark on them, there should be a mark on you. Not the same, maybe, but certainly correlated. Without that, my empathy is stretched to the max to try and relate to these kids. I've gotta' "meta" my way into understanding them - analyze what they're saying and how they're acting and guess at the person behind it that drives them. Inevitably, I'll get it wrong. Or I won't fully grasp the depth (or lack thereof) of something they say.

I can't know them, y'know? There's just too much in people's lives that I can't control. My ploy to define the blueprint to a friendship just doesn't encompass everything. At least, not in a detailed scope that's helpful.

Time. Time is the deepest I can drill into this problem. Spend time. Lots of time. Like a panicked me in the kitchen, just throw thyme at the problem. Beyond that, it just has to "click". I don't know what makes that happen - what that crucial "catch" is. Maybe that's b/c it can't be defined. Perhaps my efforts to streamline this process are for naught. Yes, the pattern's still there - I've defined it and understood it. But that's not really...helpful.

I guess this is something I'll have to keep struggling with. It could be that it'll take more time than I've already invested. Perhaps the ratio of time-lived to time-spent-with-these-kids isn't as high as college, so it'll take more time-lived to achieve what I need.

Damn, I wish my foresight were as good as my hindsight is.

A Little Paranoia

"Paranoids are people, too; they have their own problems. It's easy to criticize, but if everybody hated you, you'd be paranoid too. - D.J. Hicks".

While silly, it makes sense in the same way that crazy people never think they're crazy. You see, I too carry a little paranoia around, useful for the times where I don't feel like being completely rational. These times include the moments just after a zombie flick, where I must thoroughly sweep the house for signs of the undead. (So far, I've found nothing). The one I bring before you today is that of using the bathroom, especially when in someone else's home.

Just the thought of being disturbed whilst amidst mine private business is a horrifying eventuality. Can you imagine the embarrassment?! Sure you can. There's been at least one time where that door at least rattled while someone tried to get in, and you freaked out. Probably felt like your heart might explode. Really, there's nothing you can do in that scenario. You'd be caught, quite literally, with your britches down (or at least partly, depending). So, b/c this scenario is so unbearable, I've tried to prepare myself for such a day by guarding against the mistakes that could be my undoing.

Now before I begin, a nod to my female compatriots. I realize that my concerns and safeguards are of no use to your kind, as you've been cursed w/ a lack of..."mobility" when it comes to relieving oneself. Please understand that I do not take my blessings for granted.

As with the zombies, I am ever-vigilant in my ablutions. When in public restroom stalls, I'll triple-check the door's latch to be sure that, short of some maniac hell-bent on using my stall, the door will hold fast. When at a friend's house, I'll make sure the lock works. But my approach takes a more reactive stance. B/c the one time someone tries the door I know is locked is the one time that lock will fail. I must be ready for the worst-case scenario. The Day After Tomorrow or 2012 of bathroom contingencies, if you will.

When standing and while using someone's restroom, I do my best to face away from the door. That way, even if interrupted, I'm protected from the prying eyes of whatever dummy thought it was ok to barge into an occupied bathroom. It's a little weird getting at the toilet from a side-angle, but I've managed it over the years.

In smaller bathrooms where the toilet's right next to the door, I'll take a wide stance and wedge the side of my shoe against the door. Earlier in life, I discovered that shoe's make an excellent doorstop, particularly when all my 155 lbs. is backing it up. Sure, if somebody body-slammed the door it might put a small glitch into my targeting system, but that's a fair risk compared to the horrors of being discovered mid-stream. Besides, there're always cleaning products under bathroom sinks; I could deal w/ the aftermath in a sterile manner.

But what takes the cake is a true feat in male resourcefulness already championed by man's best friend, the dog. For yes indeed, I have practiced for the day when I forget my prior precautions, being perhaps preoccupied with emptying a too-full bladder. When that dark day comes, there will be no more protection for me than what I can do in the blink of an eye - raise a leg to shield what counts. That's right: I've practiced peeing while balancing on one leg. The going's been tough; I can't say I enjoy the challenge. But necessity is the mother of invention, and this skill is one of the more-pregnant mother's of an idea I've ever had.

I might look weird to whoever walked in on me, but what're they gonna' say? Who do you think'd come out on top in that conversation?

THEM: "...why are you peeing on one leg?!"

YOU: "'Cause you're watching." OR "Why are you watching?" OR "Why aren't you?"

THEM: "..." OR "..." OR "..."

There's another scenario I fear in the bathroom - ladies, I believe we can empathize with each other here: Realizing there's no toilet paper after it's, well...too late. In the privacy of your own, empty home, this isn't the worst problem. You may look ridiculous, but hobbling over to a nearby closet is certainly better than doing so before an unprepared audience (or any audience, for that matter). Heaven forbid there's no TP in the whole house. But even then, you could make a call if you had too. Maybe grab some napkins or other soft, paper good.

But think about the alternative. What's worse than no TP? No TP in a public restroom. Yeah, I hear you. Exactly. You're up a creek (literally). I'm not gonna' lie: If I'm in a public restroom and have just sat down and realized there's nothing in the dispenser, I'm gonna' rocket off'a that seat like a bat out of hell. I do not want that problem, and neither do you.

Call me paranoid if you like; I certainly do. But I can sleep better at night and stand confidently in front of my toilet b/c I know that I'm safe. My paranoia, however unorthodox, protects me.

The Office of Best Friend

Over the past few months, the phrase "so-and-so's best friend" has come my way, reminding me of times long past where it was such a big deal to be someone's best friend. There're different terms for it now - things like BF's or BFF's and such - but those are used in an informal, often joking or offhanded fashion. To be a "best friend" is to be set aside; a cut above. You know what I'm talkin' about b/c, when someone goes around calling everyone his best friend, you feel that the term is being used incorrectly.

I'm sure it has something to do with how I grew up in elementary school: the cliques and drama that best-friendship elicited from me and the kids I went to school with. Looking back, it all seems so petty. Inevitably, if you're not the best friend, you must ponder the question of why: why aren't you the best friend? And while I'm sure you've got a good head on your shoulders, playing w/ that question must be done w/ care. Taken too far, feelings of inferiority, bitterness, and frustration could manifest in ways you never wanted and that aren't needed. To flip things around, if you are the best friend, you know there's something about you that must set you apart. Makes you different. Better. It's probably not anything to put a "hitch in yer get-a-long", but you know it's there.

It is for this reason that I don't like being someone's best friend. Not that I don't appreciate and respect the reasons why someone might say "you're my best friend" or "you're his best friend" - I get it. But I feel a kind'f pressure when you say that, probably b/c I don't adhere to the best friend paradigm. So when you throw "best friend" at me, I don't know how to reciprocate. Or how much. Or if it's even necessary. Should I just keep doin' what I'm doin'?

Of course, these are silly questions. Friendships aren't supposed to be complicated like that. At least, not ideally. I'll give you that; I'm being a little paranoid.

But I don't like it.

I don't like the distinction it creates. The divide it puts between other friends, even if no one talks about it. Even barring all that, it makes me uncomfortable to select or be selected for best-friend presidency. I don't want that pressure. I don't want to screw it up, I'll admit. Losing that nice title and fancy "best friend" name tag: that hurts.

Choosing a best man for the wedding was difficult for me. Sure, I knew who it'd be. It wasn't the figuring-it-out that stood in my way, but the fact that I's setting someone apart from the rest. My decision wavered every now and then, weighing and measuring the merits of each guy I knew'd be in the wedding party. Who was the best of them all? I'm comfortable w/ my decision, but it was...an awkward experience to go through.

No. Best friends aren't for me. Good friends are. Close friends. You can have bunches of those, and they can come and go as time goes by in your life. You'll know the good ones b/c, when the time comes after you've drifted apart, the bonds you made w/ each other will be strong enough to renew a friendship after an arbitrary dry spell. I can share different things w/ close friends - w/ each one of them. They're each close to me for different reasons, and I can see and appreciate that.

Why must you choose? Who says you can't have a couple dear friends, all kept at the same distance but at different points around you?

My friendships have more "give" to them, I think. It's easier to cultivate these kinds of friends b/c I'm not being so selective: I can surround myself w/ a larger (though not huge) group of people who I know care about me. To put it in perspective: I could have a cozy dinner in my apartment w/ these people and it wouldn't get too stuffy. Each of them touches a different, equally-important-to-me aspect of my life; having all of them around me gives a very well-rounded feel to my social circle.

If you have read this and suddenly feel guilty for having glom'd me into some "best friend" category, don't. Really. This is not an indictment against your choices and where you've placed me in the hierarchy of your life. As I said earlier, I still respect and deeply appreciate being whatever friend you've decided I can be to you. This has been more about how I see my friends and an explanation, if you've ever wondered, of why I refrain from giving the office of best friend away.

The Needs of the Many

It is a generally accepted, utilitarian ideal: the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or, in my case, the one. And so it's been that, when given an opportunity, I go above and beyond to try and meet the needs of others around me, often w/o regard for myself. This isn't some play for sympathy or a dose of Jewish Guilt. I do not profess to consider others above myself, nor is addressing someone's needs my only calling in life. Rather, I just felt like sharing this. (That's what a blog's for, right?).

Somewhere along the line in college, I decided I wanted to be a "good listener". This stemmed out of a desire to acquire all those nice, Christian qualities that all the good kids have. If I could do one thing right, I wanted to be able to listen. Or, more generically, to see what someone needed and allow them the space and grace to get it. A lot of the time, I see people with an overabundant need to talk. About their life, their stress, their problems - you'd surprise yourself if you stopped to notice how much people need to just talk. By "talk", I don't really mean an equally-two-way conversation. At least, not in this context. There are times when people just need another, friendly human being to bounce their thoughts off of.

With my knowledge came the realization that I wasn't half-bad at shutting up. I really, sincerely enjoy being available for other people. It's something I can do to serve my friends and V. So I learned to listen. To see someone in the middle of verbally processing through "something" and to get out of the way. To be quite.

To be still.

But while working on that, there came a cost. An imperfection to my strategy, if you will. In learning to address the needs of others, I developed feelings of guilt for speaking up. For voicing my opinion. For asserting that, for once, I needed to talk. Not rant, argue, or yell. Just...talk. But b/c I's trying to be so attentive to the people around me, it seemed wrong to inject myself into the equation like that.

When I'm hanging out w/ friends, if I talk too much or otherwise dominate our current social interaction, I feel guilty. Like Vince, I feel a nearly insurmountable desire to apologize for hogging..."it". For implying that I somehow deserved to take up people's time so selfishly.

I s'pose it's like what a lot of people feel about telling other people about their problems. It's easier to let somebody else confide in you than vice-versa. You're less vulnerable that way. Less needy. Less of a burden. And above all else, nobody wants to be a burden. And justifiably so. In general, we don't want to be the kind of person who drags others down. (At least, I don't).

Sometimes, I need to talk. A lot. To just say stuff. Anything, really. But those urges - needs - come at the most inopportune and inconvenient times: when it's most difficult to speak up, or when I'm in the middle of listening to somebody else go through the same thing. I feel bad for wanting to be served; for thinking that I "deserve" thought and consideration from those around me. What's it matter? Shouldn't I just fine w/o it, in spite of the fact that I willingly render such services on a daily basis?

What's really frustrating is when I don't know what I want to say. When there's this great desire to speak, but the words won't come. It's the most frustrating illustration of my lack of adequate communication skills.

I guess it comes down to the age old problem I have w/ letting others into the stuff in my life. I don't want to be someone else's problem, especially because I'm so much better at taking on everyone else's. They've got enough to deal with, right? But after a while, it wears me down. And I've no one willing to share the load. No one who'll volunteer, anyway. Sure, there're people who'll listen. But no one who'll do it of their on volition: I'm the proactive one in these interactions. That, in and of itself, is its own weight on my shoulders.

Life's Inexorable Train

Analogies aren't always easy to cook up. This topic has been mulling around in my head all week, and a recent conversation I had helped to bring out the heart of my thoughts. To relate how I feel, I'd like to pose the question: how hard do you think it'd be to stop a train? It's impossible! Even other trains struggle with it! Such mass and speed isn't stopped; you work around it. You stand on the side and watch the thing barrel by. Even if the monolith-on-wheels is racing a toddler down the tracks, you couldn't stop it.

Like a train, I feel like my life has moved forward w/o my consent or even an nod of acknowledgement in my direction. Though, to make the comparison more appropriate, I s'pose I'd be on the train; I get to watch the things around me flip by, b/c there's no way I can stop.

I first got to thinking about this on my most recent visit to SLO. It wasn't a purely leisure trip as some of my other southerly sojourns: I spent all of Friday working from home in V's condo. The following day I ran around w/ Mom scouting out stuff for the wedding. But despite the hustle and bustle, I tried to make time to hang out w/ my friends. I was doing what I'm learning to do best: to live in the margins.

But at a lunch I had w/ two particular friends, it became apparent to me that my efforts were but toothpicks before the inexorable pace that my life has taken.

Back in my 3rd year of college, I had to bid [a temporary] farewell to my friend Bobby. Bobby meant a lot to me, and it was difficult and new to adjust to living college w/o his input into my life. But for the first couple of months afterwards, he made a couple trips down to SLO to visit. To reconnect w/ the friends he still had in the area. And while I never got that much of his attention (a lot of people tend to pull at you when you go back), it was always nice to see him. I knew it wasn't meant to last, but I couldn't help but entertain the thought. Y'know what I'm talking about:

"They'll come down every now and then. At least on a semi-regular basis. I'll still see him/her. Not everything will change. I can still keep the familiar."

But you know that's not the truth. And sure enough, after about 6 months, we didn't hear much more from Bobby. The guy bought a house up in the Bay, had a killer job as a software engineer, and attended a stellar church in the Bay. It was to be expected, and I didn't feel at all slighted when we fell out of touch.

In my mind, I didn't want that to happen. When I graduated, I wanted to maintain the relationships that mattered to me. Make the calls. Put out the effort. Not lose what was important to me: my friends. You see, I don't have much of a "family". I have a Mom, and that's about it. The rest are socially or geographically distant. While some of them are really great people, I never grew up with them: I have no real background w/ which to base a long-standing relationship. But my friends - they're what I hold onto. They've weathered life with me. They're where I invest. Where I pour my attention, concern, and gifts. Without my friends, I'm just...alone.

Thusly situated 200+ miles away from SLO, I geared up to keep in touch. I could feel this urge to try and go deep with my friends: to spend the brainpower w/ them that school and projects didn't allow. And for a while, it worked. It really did. When I reached out, they responded. When we talked, we talked long; we shared lots. When I completed another week of work, I could look back and remember the "check-ins" I'd made - the points of contact with my former life that comforted me; kept me grounded.

Chugga-chugga-chugga

At that lunch, life's train seemed to be going faster than I expected. Instead of picking things up where we left up, there was just...well, nothing to touch on. We just...sat. Removed as I am from their lives, I couldn't connect with them. I can't connect with them. At least, not like I'm used to.

I realized just how much my life up here has taken root, and how much I've left behind in SLO. I work 9a-6p (sometimes 7p or 8p), Mon-Fri. I come home. I eat. I sleep. I start over. My life isn't chalk-full of the eccentricities and spontaneity that their college-life provides. The battle to keep up with them is an uphill battle fought backwards, in the rain, at night, blindfolded. And I know I'm losing ground.

Maintaining relationships from distance puts strain on the relationship. I've noticed the burden it puts on me and V: I need to see her. To be able to communicate w/ her in more ways than just a digital signal. With my friends, I've lost the commonality with which we built our interactions.

Without realizing it, I've "moved on". The next "stage" is here, and I had to take care of it. It was meant to happen and natural, just like when Bobby faded away. For me, it just didn't feel like a fade. I'd fallen asleep on the train and a sudden bump in the clickity-clack of those steel wheels on polished rails had jolted me awake to find myself 200 miles away from where I'd fallen asleep.

Perhaps the take away is to rely more on God to provide the stability in my life that I need. After all, it's a great illustration of how life can get away from me, how I'm not in control, and how it's very easy for my environment to change and I have to adjust to something new. God's not gonna' go anywhere, right? He's always right where I need Him; right next to me. Maybe that's where the investment really needs to go.

Cue TFK.

Craving Organization

In writing this blog, I realized how difficult it's becoming for me to decide what "label" should go with a particular blog post. "Is this post really about me, or zombies," I ask myself. "What about meta-zombies"?

I'm big into organization. Everything around me needs to have some "place" it belongs to. That's where my computer goes; where my laundry goes; where all my files go; how my finances are to be organized. Even clothes, the more "messy" things in life, have a "spot" I throw them to. Back in college, it was the foot of my bed and the couch. (Vince and Kev would remember). It might have looked disorderly, but there was an organization and cleanliness to it that worked quite well. Jackets tended to pile up on the couch, where they could be easily grabbed while you were walking out the door. Pants and shirts accumulated on the bed, which made it easy to grab them when I went to take my morning shower. The system worked.

This is one of the reasons why I hardly ever decorate. Room/wall accessories have no real...place. They're supposed to be arbitrarily cutesy by some standard unknown to me. You should've seen my room in PCV my sophomore year. Four white walls. All bare and devoid of decor or color. Trust me, it looked pretty depressing. Of course, I didn't mind, but I totally understood V when she decried my lack of taste in room accommodations.

I guess decorating just isn't my thing. 

But organization sure is. It got to the point where someone asked what race I was. Yes, really. It happened while I's running tech for IV, where everything has to be done/wrapped/turned on just right or something will break. The conversation was:

"What race are you?"

"Uh...white?"

"Oh. No, I mean...well, it's just that some cultures really value organization and stuff."

Now, I'm not the most knowledgeable guy when it comes to culture, society, and race. But...a race that's known for its organizational skills? Really? Wouldn't I have noticed how one particular race happened to have all the secretary jobs. 

Maybe it's because the Jewish side of me is also Russian, and Tetris was originally a Russian puzzle game. Man, I'm a whiz at that. And even when I have my bad days in-game, I'll never be beat when it comes to packing a car. Back when I worked at VONS, I was in my prime. I's burnin' it up. I knew exactly how many paper-in-plastic "units" could fit in a single cart. When I saw groceries comin' down the conveyor belt, I managed a storm of questions in my head about what should go with what. (In general, don't put the Drano w/ the bad seal in w/ the baby formula). I rejoiced at the chance to help customers to their car; I reveled in the skill it took to bend space-time to get all those groceries in one trunk. 

I am an organizational god. 

Sometimes, whilst coding, I'll hit the programmer's equivalent to writers block. Why? Because I can't get around this problem: "This shouldn't go here, but it's an exponentially larger amount of work to fix it. I don't have the time to refactor it, but I don't want to perpetuate poor coding standards." It's a terrible dilemma. I'm just glad most of the world doesn't have to carry the burdens we software engineers do.

When I reorganized my music collection, there was no other compelling reason than "It's not as organized as I want it." (To be fair, my music was a mess. I'd been tossing all sorts of files, all w/ terribly encoded meta data, into one folder. It was terrible to look at). So I kicked down that door and laid down the law. Now - you guessed it - I've got a program to do it for me. Whenever I drop new music into the folder, it can kick into gear and put my songs exactly where I want them. Every time. No worrying. 

People who read this probably didn't know me in high school. But those in college know how I spiked my hair for many years. That came out of a long-standing tradition I started all the way back in 5th grade. Vince will agree with me on the reason why: b/c I wanted my hair to look exactly the way I wanted it to, and I wanted it to stay that way all day. Ever notice how spiked-hair-people don't want you touching their head? And when you try and sneak up on them to do it, it's almost like they can sense you coming? Yeah, that's organization at work. They've got it just right. Just the way they want it. We don't want you and your hands comin' in and mussing things up. 

But, you might note that I no longer spike my hair. Where is my precious organization. Fair point. Now, I just shave it all off. It's all the control of spiking my hair without the product, time in the morning, and...well, hair. (But at least V is more at peace w/ it than my spikes. She might now admit it, but she did not like my pointy head). 

So there's no excuse any more. You know someone who can organize anything. Rooms, cars, desks, relationships: you name it, I can be sure to rip it apart and put it back better. 

I Was Wrong

To those people who know me: No, that title is not just a ploy to get you to read this and boost my blog's stats. (Though, I s'pose it worked). To those of you who don't get it: I'm "never" wrong. Thus, the title of this post would seem very ironic. 

But I'd like to be practical and honest right now. I'm only human, and I do make mistakes. Lots of them. My hope is not to remove all trace of mistakes in my life, but to have a collection of experiences from which I can grow and learn. And with each misstep I take, I want to be able to say "I learned from that, and this is how I've changed to make myself better". Here's to hoping. 

Just this evening, I had a lengthy conversation w/ V about life, work, and wedding-related things. There came a point where she asked me for input on something she's dealing w/. This happens all the time, and I appreciate the fact that V shares these parts of her life with me. I s'pose she'll "have" to do that when we're married, but I like that we're practicing for that now. It's good that she feels safe enough to ask for my opinion or input when she's confused or just wants a sounding board for her ideas. However, I'm prone to serious fits of chauvinistic stubborness; I can't help but sometimes think "That's really dumb. If I'd had a say, it'd've turned out way better." Overall, I'm pretty good at silencing that arrogant voice in my head, but not always. 

Suffice to say, that little voice said a few choice words which really hurt V. She responded in kind w/ some hurtful and frustrating things of her own - our words are powerful. We were quiet for a long time after that, but I wasn't worried. This time, I knew I was right. A lot of the time, my conversations w/ V end in some kind of [deserved] apology on my part. I'm a dude, and an insensitive one at that. I'm just thankful that I've the wherewithal to see my mistakes for what they are. But not this time. Oh no. I even thought to myself: 

"Aw yeah. Not this time, bro. No. This time, you got it. Hold your ground. You are not apologizing."

Seriously, I had this one. There was no way V had the philosophical high ground. She'd crossed a line, and I let her know it. She didn't even argue the point. What more of a flawless victory could I have?

The catch: My qualm w/ V and her spiteful backlash at me weren't on the same page. V lashed out at me in frustration. Me? I'd acted out b/c I felt that her situation was her problem and "dumb"; she'd gotten herself into this mess; she could get herself out. The situation worsened when we both got mad at each other, at which point I's just content to let her stew. But as I lay on my bed - stubborn silence stretching tenuously betwixt our phones - I remembered something I'd once said to V (and have since continued to tell her). 

In comforting V, I've always told her that I'd support her. But everybody says that, right? I meant those words as a life-partner would mean them: I'd always have her back. No matter what happened, no matter what problem she was dealing with - no matter how dumb I thought it was - I would be there to help her through it. It didn't mean I'd say she was always right; that's not helpful. But I would be there to talk w/ her, comfort her, and let her feel safe when she felt that nothing or no one else could. That was my promise to her. 

There's a saying I heard a while ago. It goes "Be careful what words you say. If you forget them they may return to you in different clothes and you will have to buy them." While it made sense to me when I'd first heard it, this was the first time I'd really experienced it firsthand. 

This was exactly the situation I'd vowed to guard her against. Instead of coming alongside her, I was standing on "the other side" criticizing her situation and washing my hands of it. Why? B/c I thought it was dumb and thus I didn't have to involve myself. After all, I didn't do this. If only she were more like me, she wouldn't be in this mess. Why was she so worked up, anyhow? It's not like these people were so important that they warranted such attention. She hardly sees them; why can't she just let them go? I wouldn't be so bent out of shape over this. 

I wasn't prepared for these pitfalls. Never before had my desire to be right, combined w/ frustration and arrogance, built so solid a wall of hostility as a wedge between us. Criticizing her put distance between me and what I felt was a bad situation. It felt like helping her would be endorsing bad behavior. Really, I just wasn't looking at things the right way.

As it turns out, I was Johnny-On-The-Spot: V hadn't figured out what bothered her so much about this situation. I had to apologize to her and explain the mistake I'd made. I confessed that I'd done exactly what I'd promised I wouldn't, and we both realized that's what upset her so much. 

I'm not sure what the take-away is for this. Obviously, I'm fallible. But more than that, I've come to a better understanding of what loving Veronica really means. There's a level of self-sacrifice to giving up my own opinions for her sake; putting her needs - to feel safe from personal attack - above my desire to highlight her mistake. That's what a relationship w/ someone means. (I speak here of a romantic relationship, but I believe close, platonic ones could stand to try this too). 

That's what I want for me and V.