fear and loving in the desert

I'm petrified.

Not because there is a monster under my bed or anything. I don't think...*peaks swiftly under the mattress*....Nope. All clear. Whew.

I'm shaking in my boots because I have the warning signs of a feeling that I have not had in quite some time. Something that wells deep within my being. Causes color to flood my face and random series of plans to intermittenly race through my now twitchy mind.

It could be sickness, because it affects my stomach. It could be the funk. Who knows.

I realized these symptoms at a show I was playing tonight. I am normally seized with some varying forms of nervousness before a show, but this was completely different. It happened immediately after a show. Typically, my nerves and whatever forms of shaking have subsided after a show. The tense feeling leaves my body. My shoulders usually relax. Not this time.

All of these symptoms happened as soon as she walked out of the shadows.

Yes, even though I am extremely hesitant to put it into words, I felt the tsunami effects of love attempt to shut down my system.

It wasn't pre-planned at all. I didn't even know she was coming. Not that I have felt this way before. I have wondered about her, but tonight was totally different.

I may have felt this way because some small part of me felt a strong sense that she might have come just to see me. Perhaps, she drove the 30 extra blocks out of her way to be there. Perhaps, it was just a happy coincidence. But, then all of this drivel would just be the random typing of a heart that has forgotten what love feels like.

I like to believe that I still remember.

The terror in all of this comes from the reality of accepting how I feel. When you admit to yourself that you are in love, it becomes real. It festers into a living, breathing entity that consumes all of you. At least the hopeless romantic in me believes this to be so.

So, world/internet/trembling soul, I am in love with her. She doesn't know it yet. I want her to know. I hope I get the chance and have the ability to tell her/show her.

She isn't what I would have outright picked for myself. Seems my tastes the past few years have been about convenience and circumstances. This feeling is the culmination of realizing that this love might actually be worth pursuing. She is worth laying my heart on the line. She is worth standing on the hood of my car, doing my best John Cusack impersonation. I know she has been hurt in the past. I can see it in her eyes. I know that she has baggage and circumstances that are not like my dreams, but all of this makes her perfect.

I hope I do it right. If my heart is speaking clearly for the first time, I am finally on the right track. I was finally in the right place. I might have found the rest of me. As heavy as that is, I am starting to believe it might be true.

I'm terrified.

substance

As trivial and weird as it may seem, I suppose that I consider myself somewhat of a writer. I grew up with delusions of writing something that would stand the test of time. My seventh grade teacher, Mrs. Britt, even wrote in my yearbook telling me that she knew that someday she would read something thatI had penned. I kind of scoff at that in some ways. I mean, I do write currently, but never have I thought of myself as having something poignant and transcendent to say.

I have been somewhat addicted to this little video of John Mark McMillan - the North Carolina songwriter who wrote "How He Loves". It is a supposed to be a story behind the song about how he was just living life and suddenly one of his friends was killed in a car accident. Being that he is a musician, he turned to music to help deal with the pain. Being a believer, these songs and lyrics were written in complete honesty. But that is not the selling point of the video to me. The part that shines is where he is looking through old lyrics that he has written and through the pain that takes over his whole being, you can tell there are pasts voicing themselves out of those pages. Within that bound book there are stories that some people will never hear or read, but they are powerful and transcendent of themselves. Music is a powerful vessel for a lot of people. Just imagine what power it holds for those who eat, sleep, cry, dream, obsess, write, create, envision, bleed it.

Over the past 12 years, I have written/tossed/obsessed over many songs. From my point of view, none of them are memorable enough. Oddly, they always have a way of dragging me back to where I was when I wrote them. I suppose I do drive myself to the brink of insanity when each one is composed. I used to worry that other people would find them poignant and expressive. I have often said that hearing people sing along with a song I wrote was one of my biggest achievements. It means that somewhere along the way I was blessed enough to compose something from the dark recesses of my brain that actually meant something to someone. That for at least a moment, we share a time and space that is immovable and powerful. We can feel each other's pain or loss or joy. There is no bond greater than the one found together in the timing and placement of a song. Sure, we all have different experiences and some things ring truer for others, but we can understand each other's pain.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this, or that I even had a direction to begin with. I had some very odd news happen to me this evening and I know that it will inevitably lead to me writing some variance of a song in the coming days. And one day, I will play this song, either in front of a crowd or on my front porch, and think back to this night where I felt lost and a little hurt, and hopefully I can look back with feelings of joy - joy that I either overcame the problems of this night or that I utilized a moment the way it was meant to be utilized. I want to make the most of my moments even if that means that in 10 or 20 years I am just being choked up while reading a book of old lyrics to myself. Maybe the transcendent part of writing is that whatever is written evokes a change in me.

empathy

Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder if the 10% principle applies to the entire world. What I mean is, within the walls of a church or non-profit organization there are generally 10% of the people who do 100% of the work. Sometimes it feels that same way in the desire to change our community...

I have become adamant about bettering Phoenix and it's community since I moved down into the Garfield district last May. It is hard for me to completely describe the allure of this evolving, dusty monster, but it tugs at my very core. Perhaps I am driven by compassion, or I am like a child with a new Lego set, hellbent on what far lands that I could contrive. One way or another, I feel a calling to help make this community like a functional family. The details and work that entail are still vague to me, but it is on the to do list.

The more and more that I enter and become enthralled in the social media network (I am by no means a guru). I have noticed though, that for all of our constant "connections", many of us seem distant and are only acquainted with our "virtual" selves. We also seem to do a lot of talking about changing stuff, like downtown, but rarely any action. Not to say that I don't do my fair share of resting on my laurels, but I think we all need a physical kick in the butt to morph the messages of our virtual selves with our physical hands.

So, all of you who complain and moan about Phoenix not being a super city like Chicago or New York (not that we ever will be, but who knows), are you buying local? Are you going to shows? Are you investing in artists and bands? All of these elements are what can help make us better. Support the things you love about a place, and get dirt under your nails trying to fix the things you don't. We are all in this together, one way or another. After all, we do reside in a place named after a mythical creature of resurrection. Out of the ashes, we will rise.

the return home

I hate flying. There, I said it. My chest can finally be rid of holding that in.

This past Sunday, I flew back to the land of my youth, Georgia, for the holidays. Interestingly, I hadn't been home in a year. So, needless to say, this journey was, and is, pretty significant. I'm realizing each day that the goal that I wanted to accomplish of becoming my own man, is becoming more of a reality every day. That is a goal that I could not have accomplished by staying here. I know that now.

The coolest part of flying out of Sky Harbor is not just being able to listen to "Goodbye Sky Harbor", it is also being able to watch as the titan, that is Phoenix and it's metro area, flicker and abruptly stop at the base of the Superstition Mountains. It is like watching the tide close in on entrenched sand castles on the shore. Aside from that imagery, I prefer to distract myself from the flight by reading. I remember wondering the whole time that I was preparing to come out here, what it would be like. Would I be sad and reflective? Or just be very thankful that I didn't stay? I'm learning that it has becoming neither.

Virtually from the moment that I landed in the flickering Christmas lights of Atlanta, I have been wined and dined like a royal dignitary. This is awesome. Every restaurant that has been etched in my mind as a monument to my youth has been visited. Every place that I had remotely hinted at being interested in visiting has been visited. In essence, this trip has been all about me. The turnabout is that I realized something very important. While I am attempting to hack out a piece of this world for myself, this world that was a part of my every day has kept on racing through it's life. My cousins that were babies are now toddlers; my aunts and uncles are duking it out for who can have more gray hairs; my parents are slowly acclimating to being empty nesters; my sister is making me an uncle.

There is so much happening and so much that I have missed and that I will miss. Honestly, it hurts. I sat very quietly this evening taking in every nuance of the evening. These are all things that I missed. Did they make me who I am? Probably to some degree. Would I be happy still living here? No. I know that I am where I am supposed to be. Unfortunately, that means I will miss some basketball games and some dance recitals, but in the end, hopefully I will have become the man I was supposed to be all along. Honestly, I feel like each time that I leave here, it makes me stronger.

Its good to know that I have a good, strong family that loves and supports me. That's more than a lot of people have in this world. I am just hoping that when I head back on Saturday and all of this that reeks of familiarity is gone, that I will hold fast to this reflection time I have had. I will remember when trying to make it gets too hard, that I have all these wondrous things going on here. Not that they are here to distract, but to remind that I am blessed. I may not have accounts loaded with moola, but I have love and support. At the end of my life, I'm certain that's all I will really be glad that I attained.

A deadly weapon am I

Beware world, I am a yellow belt.

I remember being super scared of my ju jitsu test just last week. See, I have been taking ju jitsu at church as a kind of release. At first, it seemed like something I would never do. Then, my friend Mark talked with me extensively on the subject this summer while I was at a camp. He told me that it was a rewarding experience. Something that, while challenging, would be extremely beneficial to me on several levels. I need to be challenged. I thrive in an environment where a challenge is posed and I have to use whatever is at my disposal to succeed. Yes, exactly like MacGyver. But I digress...

I started coming fairly regularly this past July. It was definitely strenuous. I took my fair share of bumps and bruises, but at the end of every night I was juiced. I would walk to my car feeling like this world contained very little that I could not do. This in no way means that I was kicking everyone's face in. Quite the contrary, I was apprehensive at times, but I was pushing myself. Every technique that hurt, I wanted to learn how to get out of it. Every move that was punishing my body, I wanted to master. It became, and still is, an addiction of sorts. Lately, my busy schedule of attempting to make my own niche in the design world has hindered my contact in the dojo. Nevertheless, I made it Tuesday night last week for my test. After coming fairly regularly for nearly 6 months, it was time to test my mettle and see if those things that I was pushing myself to do were really being carved into my laborious head.

The class began per usual, with extensive falls, rolls and streams of sweat covering my forehead. We pushed onward into "practicing" techniques. I knew it wasn't practice when I heard a whisper from sensei about my balance during one throw. Onward we pressed for what felt like hours. (I was slightly disappointed when it was mentioned we had only been at it for 15 minutes.) Finally, a break and each man/child going for a belt took their turn in front of the class. I remember wondering why I suddenly was completely relaxed. Perhaps I was too exhausted to allow myself to acknowledge any timidness. My turn came and went in what felt like seconds. Before I could collect my thoughts, I was being summoned to the front. My old belt was removed and tied in a "retired" knot. Then sensei tied on my new belt and bowed.

Sometimes this class doesn't seem like a big deal. Maybe it is because I have occasionally grabbed a beer with sensei. Or because my minster is also a sensei-in-training and we hang out. But for whatever reason, that night was filled with officialness. I'm pretty sure a small parade celebrating me played in my head. I had stuck to my guns and accomplished something. Seems easy enough. But I think this whole thing applies directly to our lives. There are definitely times that I wish my work ethic would correlate with my desire in ju jitsu. Maybe it would be easier if I got out of my own way. If, while the walls are crumbling and plans are going awry, I bowed and forgot about my heaving chest or sweaty forehead. I just need to go with the flow. I know that to some I come across as mellow or laid-back, but there is often times a storm raging in my cranium.

So, I guess I need to start working on the control of giving control. In ju jitsu, I allow myself to step back and watch. That's when I succeed. In life, I need to breathe deep and let it happen. I've heard it said many times from my Dad that a positive attitude is where it all begins. So,come on world, I am MacGyver and I only need a toothpick to take out Antarctica. Good start?

Paradise and the miles in between.....

Home. That has a funny and disconnected feel to it these days. I used to think of a gentle sloping front yard where my dad and I would play catch. A horribly wallpapered kitchen, where the smells of mom's cooking could lure just about anyone. These days, I find that a distant memory.

I guess I have realized that I am at the point in my life where my home is going to be where I start a family. Easy folks. Don't get all flustered and alarmed that there might even be the slightest chance of that beginning any time soon. Even though the terminology is normally reserved for damsels in distress and that rebellious, but amazing girl in the movies, I will use it for myself. I have yet to be swept away. No worries. I'm ready. I have so many things to do that, as overly romantic as it might sound, I will know her when she is interfering.

Phoenix is my home. This is where I want to be right now. Not that the future doesn't harbour a great, fantastical place. But, I am happy here. So, look out Phx, you are my oyster, and I am flipping hungry.

significance

Well, like I have a clue what that word means. This evening was an interesting one. Maybe one that I will need to repeat from time to time. Tonight was one of the first times ever that I went and caught a flick by myself. Now, this blog is not a pity party, or a chance to win your hearts and adoration for being the "underdog." No, it is just interesting that I have never really just gone out on my own. In normal circumstances, I am either with peeps or I don't go out. Well, this venture brought with it a new chance to just clear my head. I guess given the current climate of my life, I needed it .

I went and saw "Public Enemies", which was initially a movie that I really wanted to see, but after some less-than-glorious reviews, I left it for another day. The thing about movies is they have that amazing ability to transport you to another time. I love to get lost in a movie. New places, another life, feeling the adrenaline of some other time. All of these things just heighten my experience. But I mostly love that, when I am focusing on things other than the people I'm with or what to do afterwards, I generally learn something. Or I at least become introspective long enough to question my own current life. Watching the story of John Dillinger is eye-opening. I knew a little about the story. How Melvin Purvis was an extremely short man, and how J. Edgar Hoover was driven to the point of madness by Dillinger's popularity and fame. Plus, you can't ignore the Hotel Congress shout outs for his famous capture. Aside from all that, I was drawn to the story of how someone from a simple beginning, from a simple time, decides to step out from the norm and set themselves apart. Sure, most, if not all, of his drive was to further himself, but the story brings about a life question for me. What makes us strive to be more than the status quo? There are so many people on this earth that live each day completely consumed with tomorrow and who dream of mediocrity. The house, 2.3 kids, dog, etc. What do they all mean? At what point are we settling for a life that is less? Not that everyone should strive to be an almost infallible bank robber, or a famous something-or-other, but that we end up with settled-for dreams. When do we give up?

I suppose these questions are harsh. I mean, to be content in life is admirable. To have a family and home that you built is honorable. However, I can't sit still. I still have that feeling in my gut that I had before I left the South. An uncureable, unquenchable desire to be more than I am. A passion to change for the better, not just on a local level, but global, international. Not a change that leaves room for wanting, but one that is memorialized. I realize that all of that sounds like I have these delusions of grandeur. Perhaps I do.

Interestingly enough, the movie contained within itself an old Clark Gable flick, "Manhattan Melodrama." In fact, this is the movie that Dillinger is watching the night he is killed. Anyway, there is a quote that Gable says as he is being led to his execution in the movie, "Die the way you lived, sudden. Don't drag it out."

We are put here on this earth for reasons that we may never know, or care to know. I guess this leads me to think that we should live to the fullest. We should dream the biggest and never settle. Never ever settle. I have some good friends back home that were in a band. They wrote a song that says "Never regret living life with no regrets." I suppose this is how I choose to live. I'm not sure how I plan to do this. I am human and prone to the fancies of just existing. I believe to live a life that is beyond status quo, you must never be satisfied and always uncomfortable. So, I suppose the purpose of this post is to spur me onward to the greatest sunrise. Push me towards the horizon of greatness. Those that are referenced as "Icon" and "Legend", never settled for a dream less valiant. So, my question is, why do we?