Buzzer Beater

I wouldn't do very well if I were in the NBA playoffs.

There are a number of obvious reasons for this. I'm not very big. I'm not very fast. I'm not very strong. And I'm not all that good at basketball. Also, I don't have a killer instinct. That's a very important element for being a successful NBA player in the playoffs. Now that that playoffs are in full swing, I hear a lot on TV about certain players having a killer instinct--the ability to put a game away when it comes down to the wire. A player with a killer instinct isn't afraid of the spotlight. In fact, he shines in the spotlight. He plays his best when its a one-possession game and the final seconds are ticking.

But that's not me.

I used to have it, I think. I even got an award for it. Not in basketball, of course. The only award I ever got for that were the little trophies all the kids got when I played in elementary school. One year, when the coach gave me my trophy, he said my award was being "The Best Shooter in Traffic." Which I don't think meant that I was a great shooter. I figure it meant I had poor shot selection.

In any case, I did get an award for having a killer instinct when I was on my high school's newspaper staff. At the end of each semester, we had a staff party, and we would eat chips and queso, and I would flirt with all the girls, and they would shoot me down. It was a good time. Then the editors would give out awards to everyone and say something nice about them. They called the award "Warm and Fuzzies." That's what happens when you have 20 girls on the staff and only three guys.

Anyways, one year my Warm and Fuzzie was for being "The Best Under Pressure." I was pretty proud of that. When I was on the newspaper staff, I knew how to get it done. Deadline day was my day. If there was someone who was sick and hadn't written their story, I would take it. If we needed a quotation to fill out an article, I would go do an interview. I'd do whatever needed done in order to get the paper ready for printing.

I had a killer instinct. Nowadays, though, I think I've lost it. A person with a killer instinct rises to the occasion. When they are in a situation when they need to perform, they don't disappoint. These days, when I face a situation when I need to perform, I do my best to put it off. When it's crunch time and I need to have a book written for class, I figure I can find some time later. When I agonizingly finish writing a paper, I don't bother reading back over it. When the spotlight shines, I duck back behind the curtain.

Is a killer instinct instinctive? Is it an innate trait that some people have and others don't? Or is it something that can be developed?  Are there steps a person can take in order to produce when it matters most?

Dreaming Together

I'm not very good at the things I write about.

Sometimes when I'm bored, I go to my blog and read a couple old posts. Why? Because I am just that egocentric. But as I've looked over some of these old posts, I've noticed that there are a few themes that pop up pretty frequently. I suppose that's how it is for any writer--they gravitate toward certain topics. There is a problem for me, however. I normally have no idea what I'm talking about. Many of the things that I tend to write about--taking risks, relationships, increasing productivity, trusting God--these are areas of life that I'm really not that great in. I'm not very good at the things I write about.

I could write about things that I do excel in, but I don't think many people want to read blog posts about eating chicken nuggets or sleeping past your alarm.

I guess that makes me a hypocrite. I encourage others to do something but then never do it myself. But maybe I'm only a hypocrite because we've come to think of the purpose of writing in a certain way. Our world today is so pragmatic. We focus so much on learning how to do certain things. We read books that give us tidy outlines and lists of steps for improving our lives. Since this is the situation in which we live, I feel the pull to write according to that model. When I start a post, I normally only have half an idea, and when I get to the end, I think, "Well, now I need to give readers some practical advice," so I make up some nonsense that I've never tried and that I'm not even sure will work. I might as well give singing lessons to Adele.

The problem with this pragmatism is that, while we might make good doers, we don't make good thinkers. When we only read or write about what we need to do to make our lives better, our imaginations shrink, our critical thinking skills dwindle, our dreams become smaller.

I started this blog almost four years ago with the idea that life is a conversation. Navigating life is a difficult enterprise, and we would all be a little better at it if we were to listen to one another. For a while after I started writing, a lot of my good friends also started blogs, and it was great to glean from the wisdom and passions of each of them. Now most of those blogs lay dormant, which is what happens when people grow up and get married and start real jobs, I guess.

I wonder sometimes if my blog has run its course and I should stop writing. It does take up a good chunk of time, and I normally don't have enough of that as it is. (I mean, all these YouTube videos aren't going to watch themselves!) I have trouble coming up with new ideas, and I don't think any more people read this than did two years ago.

But I've kept on writing, and I plan to continue. Writing this blog helps me more than it helps anyone else, I imagine. I need the opportunity to formulate my thoughts, and I still hope that somehow, the ideas I tap out encourage or challenge others. I'm not willing to let the conversation drop, because I need it more than anyone.

If life is a conversation, and if writing is a means of contributing to that conversation, then it would make sense for a post not to end with a clear conclusion of pragmatic principles. That's not how we converse in real life. When I have a conversation with someone, I don't end each statement with ways that what I've said can be applied in everyday life. I just say what I want and leave it out there, waiting for the other person to respond by adding to it, countering it, agreeing with it, or changing topic. Conversations are open-ended. So I think it's okay for a piece of writing to be open-ended. It doesn't have to conclude with a challenge to go do something; it can simply stop when I'm doing saying what I want to say.

In writing and reading, we engage in collective dreaming. When a person writes, they don't have to just present principles for application, as if they are saying, "Here's how you can learn from me. Here's what I'm an expert in, so let me share it with you." Instead, the writer can cast a vision of what life could be and invite the reader to join in that vision. When we write, we have the power of projecting a possible world, even if we haven't really achieved the vision we describe.

That's why I can write about things I'm not good at. I might not excel in these areas, but I would like to grow in them, so I put this dream ahead of me so that I have something to move toward. When I do this, I'm not saying, "Hey, listen to all my great advice so that you can be more like me." You don't want to be more like me. I'm a pretty messed up guy. But what I am saying is, "Hey, this is how I want my life to be, and it's what I want to move toward, and I'd love it if you joined me in this."

So join in the conversation. I'm not going to get through life real well on my own.

Here's ten ways that you can do this..........

Just kidding.

Mauric Sendak, the author of the children's book Where the Wild Things Are, died today. I watched the movie adaptation of this book a while back and really liked it, even then it was really weird. If you want to see some of my thoughts on it, you can check them out here.

Confessions of a Flat Character

For a story to have a meaningful plot, there needs to be round characters.

My least favorite book that I had to read for English class in high school was Shakespeare's The Tempest (I disliked it even more than Kate Chopin's The Awakening. And that's saying something). I felt like the story had no real plot. Maybe this was because it was buried too deeply in Shakespearean language, or maybe it was because my 15-year-old mind wasn't developed enough to grasp it. Here's how I understood the storyline of The Tempest: people get shipwrecked on an island, they walk around for a while, and then they leave the island. No real conflict, and no real character development. It was lacking what I saw as round characters.

Round characters are essential to a good story. According to Brittanica's website, round characters are complex and undergo development, sometimes to sufficiently surprise the reader." This is in contrast to flat characters, who are "two-dimensional in that they are relatively uncomplicated and do not change throughout the course of a work." A round character is different by the end of the story than they were at the beginning, whereas a flat character is more or less the same.

I wonder what kind of character I would be. I look around at people around me, and I see a lot of round characters. I see people who are moving forward in their lives' stories--trying new things, building new relationships, going new places. And it's not just that others circumstances change; they change as well. It's like they, I don't know, grow up and become adults.

Then I look at myself, and it's hard to see much change. Granted, a lot of circumstances have changed for me in the last year. I'm living in a new city and going to a new school. But my own character is more or less the same. I've ordered double-decker tacos every time I've gone to Taco Bell every since they were added to the menu. I've been combing (or more accurately, not combing) my hair the same way since I was ten. I still wear a t-shirt and jeans every day. My humor is the same, my likes/dislikes are the same, the way I talk is the same.

That's not a good way to live a life, because it doesn't make a good story. At the end of my life, I don't want people to say about me, "He showed up, walked around for a while, and then died." I want my life in 20 years to be completely different than it is now because I had progressed over that time. (I still hope I'm eating double-decker tacos, though. Those things are delicious).

I'm not totally sure how a flat character becomes a round one. I imagine it involves such things as change, risk, and conflict. A good story requires these elements, because it's through them that a character develops.

In the end, then, I guess it comes down to a decision. A character can choose to remain sedentary, or he can choose to engage life in all of its fullness, with its accompanying conflict and danger. It makes for a scarier life, but a better one, I think. We weren't all meant to remain the same.

Still not throwing away my jean shorts, though.

Alexithymia

.................And we're back!

It's been a pretty long time since I've written any new blog posts. There has been a reason for this. The past several weeks have been some of the busiest of my entire academic career, and since none of my friends have been willing to quit their jobs, move to Cincinnati, and become my personal research assistant, I've had to do all the work myself. Those jerks. I'm actually still not done with all of the papers that I've been working on, and even tonight, I plan to stay up late, eating pizza rolls, drinking Cherry Coke, and writing on the book of Revelation. Ain't no thang.

However, I do feel it's necessary for me to write something new on here. If I don't write on my blog somewhat frequently, I'm afraid people will begin to think I've died. And if you're an attractive woman, I can't have you thinking I'm dead, because then you'll stop trying to marry me.

I'm not really that good at expressing myself. I've come to this realization over the last few weeks, and it's a very unfortunate problem to have. After all, communication is my business. Every Sunday morning I stand in front of a group of people and preach a message. I write numerous papers each semester. And, of course, I occassionally try to convey a few coherent thoughts right here. Words are my tools, and if I'm not able to wield them effectively in presenting ideas, then I have little else to offer.

And yet, I struggle with this. In certain areas, at least. I think I'm pretty good with concepts and ideas. Those are easy. I can draw up well-structured essays on biblical research, and I can elucidate on something I've read. Where I have problems, though, is in putting words to emotions. I think a lot of people might have the same problem. Many of us don't do well at expressing the way that we feel.

In fact, I'm not sure that it's actually possible to completely describe inner feelings through words. I can't always  understand the way I'm feeling in my own mind, so it's even more difficult to relay this to others. Language falls short. All of us have dreams, fears, yearnings, and aches within us that we have trouble putting into words. It feels that no matter what we say, others won't really understand what we're experiencing.

People who do a good job of this are extraordinarily rare. I think we call them poets. Because when we attempt to describe the garbled mess of emotions that stir within us, language meets its breaking point, and the best way to nod toward what we mean is to use metaphor and imagery.

I'm not a poet. I write and think in paragraph form: topic sentence, a few pieces of evidence or illustration, and then a fitting conclusion. The problem is that the workings of the heart don't fit into such a tidy framework. They flow like a flooding river rather than staying within the predetermined bounds of a swimming pool.

There is a condition called "alexithymia," which is a deficiency in being able to understand or express emotions. A person who consistently experiences alexithymia might have interpersonal problems because their relationships seem superficial. They feel unable to get beyond the surface because they are unable to relate to others on a deeper level. I can relate to that, and maybe you can too. In fact, I think that even people with a number of wonderful relationships can have moments of alexithymia, because even in our most intimate relationships, there is a point at which another person just can't fully understand what I'm feeling, no matter how I try to explain it.

It's so comforting, then, to know that there is one person who really does understand how I feel, even when I don't understand it myself. A couple weeks ago one of my favorite songs came across my iTunes. It's somewhat dated now, but it's still near to top of my list of favorites: "I Am Understood?" by Relient K. Here's what the chorus says:

And you looked into my life and never stopped
And you're thinking all my thoughts
Are so simple, but so beautiful
And you recite my words right back to me
Before I even speak
You let me know, I am understood


These words remind me of Psalm 139, which is one of my favorite passages of Scripture: "O Lord, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it."

I need to be reminded of those words over and over again. Because alexithymia is so frustrating. It's maddening to have something happening within you but to be unable to put the words to paper in order to make sense of it all. I don't always understand how I feel, but God does know, because he made me, and he sees my thoughts and my spirit clearly. We truly are understood.

There's Always Something

A few weeks ago, I decided to log off of Facebook for a while. This was for several reasons. Earlier this year I wrote a blog post about how social technology has a negative affect on our relationships, so I figured it would be good for me to back up my writing with my actions by taking a break. Not only that, but I also realized that I needed to be more productive with my time and that Facebook had become a major time-waster. So I've been abstaining for a time in order to boost my productivity.

What I have realized during this time, however, is that there is always something else to fill time with (besides meaningful work). The world has no shortage of distractions. In the last three weeks, I have spent much less time on Facebook, but at the same time, I have been on ESPN, Twitter, Hulu, and YouTube more than ever before.

I had thought that the ability to get work done depended on restricting external distractions. What I am learning, however, is that productivity is less a matter of these things and more a matter of internal discipline. A person who is truly productive is someone who truly wants to be so and who takes the necessary steps to do his work. This means making sacrifices in entertainment, sleep, reading dumpy blogs, and staring mindlessly into space.

I'm not totally sure how to develop this discipline. I used to be a disciplined person. It wasn't even that long ago. When I was in college, I was always in the library doing something. Yes, part of the reason was to hit on the girls who were also there, but it was also because I wanted to stay on top of my responsibilities. And I don't know what it is--living in a new place, having my own apartment, having a college degree, an overdose of frozen pizzas--but I am lazy as butt nowadays.

This needs to change soon, too. This April will not be a pleasant one for me, as I have several major papers and projects due for school, on top of all the general responsibilities of life and work. The decision I need to make is whether I should get started on some of this work, of if I should instead use the time to build a time machine and go back to Ozark David so that I can ask him how he did it.

What tends to be the biggest obstacle to your own productivity? How do you get past it?

Parts in a Machine

Last night I watched the move Hugo. It was really good, and I would highly recommend it. It has beautiful sets and camera work, and it also touches on a number of what I think are important themes--purpose, new relationships, imagination, dreams. There was one scene in the movie that I especially liked, and I'm including it here:

Machines don't come with extra parts. Each part is important and has a purpose. Without each part, the machine does not operate to its full potential. Sometimes when a machine as complex as a car breaks down, it's because the smallest part of the engine is malfunctioning. Each part is needed.

We all want to know that we have a purpose. There is perhaps no other experience that leads to despair more than the feeling that your life is meaningless. We desperately desire to feel needed and important. That's what Hugo communicates in this scene. If the world is a machine, then each person in it has something to do, some purpose to fulfill. We can't get down on ourselves, thinking that we are just an extra part, because there are no extra parts. If we begin to think like we are useless, we will in fact miss the purpose that we do have.

The apostle Paul says something similar about how all of us fit into the church, but instead of using the metaphor of a machine, he talks about the human body. In 1 Corinthians 12, he says that just as each of our bodies is made up of many body parts, Christians are each a part of the body of Christ. In this passage, he rebukes to attitudes that lay on opposite extremes. On the one hand, a person in the church could feel overly superior, thinking that they do not need anyone else. Paul counters this by pointing out that even "dishonorable parts" of the body are needed for the body to properly function. On the other hand, there are those who feel overly inferior, as though they are not necessary. Against such thoughts, Paul says that the foot cannot say "Since I'm not a hand, I don't belong to the body," and the ear cannot say, "Since I'm not an eye, I don't belong to the body." If there were no feet or ears, the body could not walk or hear. Each part is necessary.

The body of Christ doesn't contain vestigial organs.

This truth is both comforting and challenging. It is comforting to know that my life isn't purposeless. I have a role to play in the world and in the church, and I was created with that role in mind. Even when others might tell me that I don't have much to offer, I can trust that God has a reason for having made me. But at the same time, this is all so challenging because it means there is something I should be doing! If I were an unnecessary part of the machine, I could just go along for the ride and never contribute. But since I am not an extra part, I have responsibility to fulfill my purpose. In a machine where each part is needed, no wheel or cog can slack off without the machine as a whole suffering.

What's the hardest thing about fulfilling your purpose in life?

Cocoon

I'm not very good at getting out of bed in the morning.

It was easier for me when I was in college. I was forced out from under my covers by the need to get to class at 7 a.m. every morning. I had somewhere to be. But now, I rarely need to be anywhere until the afternoon, so it's much more difficult to build up the gumption go crawl out of my bed and begin my day. When my alarm goes off, I think, "Oh, I can lay here for another ten minutes...I don't have anywhere to be." And then I'll add another ten minutes, and then another, and before I know it, I've been laying there for an hour longer than I had originally meant to, and my day has already become much less productive than it would have otherwise been.

The problem is that my bed is just so nice and warm in the morning. The world outside of my bed isn't. It's cold. It's can be kind of scary. People give me the stink-eye. But while I'm laying in bed, all is well, and it takes a lot of arguing with myself inside my head to eventually evict myself from my mattress.

In that moment each morning when I'm snuggled up in my nest, debating whether or not to begin my day, it feels like I'm in my own little cocoon. When it's time for a caterpillar to become a butterfly, it builds a cocoon around itself to protect it and to take up the task of metamorphosis. It must feel nice in those cocoons. I bet they're warm.

But a caterpillar isn't meant to stay in the cocoon. It's meant to break out with butterflies' wings and go soaring through the air. It needs to get out of the comfort it enjoyed in order to live the life for which it was made. After all, everyone likes butterflies more than they like caterpillars. No one goes to a "caterpillar garden" to look at a bunch of caterpillars crawling around. But they do go to butterfly gardens so that they can see the colors and the beauty of creatures that have left behind the warmth of the cocoon in order to fly.

Some people are great at living like butterflies. They're always looking for the next challenge or for a new environment. They have no problem leaving the comfort and safety of what they already know in order to experience something fresh and exciting. But then there are people like me. I'm a caterpillar, and a hesitant one at that. I don't like to get out of bed in order to begin the day's business. I don't like to leave my cocoon in order to fly. I don't like to step out of what is familiar to me in order to grow.

And yet, I recognize that doing such things is necessary to a successful life. While routine and rhythm aren't bad things, they can easily turn into stagnation, and a stagnant life isn't an very interesting or productive one. So I'll work on hitting my snooze button a little less, and you find out what you need to do to break out of your cocoon.

If that doesn't work, I'll start drawing up plans for that caterpillar garden.