My sister has been on a journey. Every day, well every week day and most weekends, for the past two years she has woken up to go to school. She is a non-traditional student. After working for five or six years to spend 2.5 years and change in Africa she realized a passion for photography, more accurately she realized that she could help tell an entire story with a single picture. She freezes time in shuttered moments through the lens of a camera. It's pretty impressive, the way she tells stories. She left behind the comfort of other jobs to pursue something that she deemed worthy and has yet to look back.
My Brother-In-Law has been on a journey. Every day, well every week day and most weekends, for the past two years he has woken up to work on school. He is a non-traditional student. After working for five or six years to spend 2.5 years and change in Africa he realized a passion for drawing, more accurately he realized he could make drawings come alive with a leaded pencil. He creates an image that tells a story in the white pages that elegantly fill the pad of his sketch book with life like art. He left behind the comfort of other jobs to pursue something that he deemed worthy and has yet to look back.
In an otherwise safe world, a world that often beckons for traditional routes toward vocations, they took the road less traveled. They gave up their cars and comforts to follow their passions. As my sister walked the carpet leading to the stage, graduating with a hand shake and a wave she simultaneously closed and opened chapters of her dreams. She worked toward the dream of what she felt her heart desired and dared to go for it, with out a safety net. It was not easy, but she made it. They made it.
Today they head off, across country back into the unknown. The road is open. The road is free. They are headed west, and who knows where they will end up.
My girlfriend and I are on a journey, as my car turned from 79,999 to 80,000 I celebrated another 10,000 miles. This celebration was different. My girlfriend had been next to me when my car turned from 69,999 to 70,000. We've been adventuring together for 10,000 miles; finding our passions in the seeing of a sunset, the feeling of the wind in the face with windows down, the view of mountains and waterfalls, the emotion of peace, love, and scenic views.
We've been on a journey. And while my adventure currently keeps me in my current city and my sister and brother-in-law's takes them to another part of the country, we are all taking the road less traveled. We are pursuing and finding the passions that lead to the freedom for which our souls long. We are inspiring and inspirations to each other. So here's to 10,000 miles on the road less traveled and to the hope of ten thousands more.
Way to go Jeff and Adraine!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Life as an Artist
Standing with my right shoulder behind the groomsman in front of me blocked my view of the groom. I could see the bride's face, full of electric excitement, every word she spoke through her beaming mouth accentuated the gleam in her eyes as she waited for the pastor to get to the part of the kiss and the announcement of her name. I stood there thinking about how this is art. This is a masterpiece, a wedding in a beautiful setting of a white building with a perfectly crafted wooden vaulted ceiling and blue stained glass windows; music containing a harpist, people sitting, standing, gathering for a moment all captured with a photographer's lens. This is art. This moment is artistic, it is beauty far beyond my sometimes simplistic view on beauty.
A couple days later I was playing a soccer game. The rain poured down on us for seven and a half minutes at a time. The players ran back and forth, chasing a ball that did not feel the kick we gave it. There was a fire in one individual's eyes, he was alive as he ran up the field carrying the ball off the ground in a majestic motion that made it appear as though the ball and him were connected at the foot. All was right in that moment. His movements were crisp, yet improvised. He body seemed to know what his brain had yet to think of, as he moved in not all together overly complicated, yet poetically perfect motions. A song to the rhythm of the rain, to the fall of his feet, to the sway of the trees, to the where the ball and feet meet played a simple and elegant symphony. It was art. This was artistic.
In every sport I play, in everything which I participate I want to see the art. I love sports in part because to those who are incredible at those sports there is an artistic beauty in the way the carry themselves, in the way play the game. It is beautiful to watch an athlete who is really "on" and wonderful to be involved in a moment when you witness something truly amazing, truly beautiful, truly memorable. It is interesting because those in the that moment rarely seem to realize that they are truly creating something beautiful, they are just acting in the moment that is but a brushstroke in the midst of other moments. But for those of us watching we feel, we think, we act as though we are part of something truly remarkable and indeed usually we are.
I think one of the things that drives me to be better is that I want to feel that art as I move. I want to be a part of that artistic moment. I want to understand so much what I am seeing, to experience that moment that it causes me to push myself. In this sense I try to seek to understand any sport that someone loves so that I can see the beauty of it; or learn to play it myself so that I can experience the beauty first hand; or see the pure beauty in two people's lives come together as partnering puzzle pieces of individuals interlock to create something better than the single incomplete picture.
At the end of the my life I want to have created a masterpiece. Every moment I want to be a brush stroke toward something bigger than myself. I look at the world and I think sometimes we've lost the view of artists. We have lost the grace of the moment, the flow of freedom, and the heart of humanity. The interesting thing about this is that a masterpiece, whether in art or writing, is not created by a single word or brushstroke. The masterpiece is created by the putting together of several beautiful and sometimes mundane individual moments culminating in a finished breathtaking product.
When I finish with this world, when I finish with this day, when I finish with this moment in eternity, when my blimp on the history line of humanity is over I hope to have left a little masterpiece that perhaps someone would have picked up, added on, and offered their take on in order to better their work of life. At the end of today, I hope to have added to the painting.
A couple days later I was playing a soccer game. The rain poured down on us for seven and a half minutes at a time. The players ran back and forth, chasing a ball that did not feel the kick we gave it. There was a fire in one individual's eyes, he was alive as he ran up the field carrying the ball off the ground in a majestic motion that made it appear as though the ball and him were connected at the foot. All was right in that moment. His movements were crisp, yet improvised. He body seemed to know what his brain had yet to think of, as he moved in not all together overly complicated, yet poetically perfect motions. A song to the rhythm of the rain, to the fall of his feet, to the sway of the trees, to the where the ball and feet meet played a simple and elegant symphony. It was art. This was artistic.
In every sport I play, in everything which I participate I want to see the art. I love sports in part because to those who are incredible at those sports there is an artistic beauty in the way the carry themselves, in the way play the game. It is beautiful to watch an athlete who is really "on" and wonderful to be involved in a moment when you witness something truly amazing, truly beautiful, truly memorable. It is interesting because those in the that moment rarely seem to realize that they are truly creating something beautiful, they are just acting in the moment that is but a brushstroke in the midst of other moments. But for those of us watching we feel, we think, we act as though we are part of something truly remarkable and indeed usually we are.
I think one of the things that drives me to be better is that I want to feel that art as I move. I want to be a part of that artistic moment. I want to understand so much what I am seeing, to experience that moment that it causes me to push myself. In this sense I try to seek to understand any sport that someone loves so that I can see the beauty of it; or learn to play it myself so that I can experience the beauty first hand; or see the pure beauty in two people's lives come together as partnering puzzle pieces of individuals interlock to create something better than the single incomplete picture.
At the end of the my life I want to have created a masterpiece. Every moment I want to be a brush stroke toward something bigger than myself. I look at the world and I think sometimes we've lost the view of artists. We have lost the grace of the moment, the flow of freedom, and the heart of humanity. The interesting thing about this is that a masterpiece, whether in art or writing, is not created by a single word or brushstroke. The masterpiece is created by the putting together of several beautiful and sometimes mundane individual moments culminating in a finished breathtaking product.
When I finish with this world, when I finish with this day, when I finish with this moment in eternity, when my blimp on the history line of humanity is over I hope to have left a little masterpiece that perhaps someone would have picked up, added on, and offered their take on in order to better their work of life. At the end of today, I hope to have added to the painting.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Life ADHD and Creating
I admit that I am reader of comments. I love reading an online news article just to read the comments others write at the bottom in response to the article. I especially love the irony of people call others intolerant or idiots, morons or complete crack pots and as the one person calls the other an idiot. I can sit back and correct the commenter’s spelling, grammar, punctuation, or sentence structure. I always find it easier to be the critiquer than the creator.
It’s easy for me to critique a story, a person, or a view. It’s much harder to put a logical idea, or well written story out there for others to critique, read, talk about, or share. The irony in all of this is that the point of telling my story, or writing a book is to tell people that we can all help one another in small ways and in doing so can make a real impact and positive change in the world around us. This means that people will talk about, critique my story, my writing, my views. I run the risk of being called everything from a moron to a semi-intelligent individual, an attention hog, self-involved, narcissistic (I mean I’m writing a blog about myself and my writing).
Lately I’ve paused writing to make sure I’m doing it all for the right reasons. I want to be sure that while this is my story, the purpose, the tone, the motive is right. I have also paused writing because the weather has gotten nice and I joined a soccer league and I have Life ADHD. I run around looking at everything I could do and then investigate twenty five different ideas all at once (twenty-five is only a slight exaggeration). Let me give you an example. In one month (not this month, just a past month a while ago), I applied to be in the Peace Corps, the CIA, a USAID job, a teaching position in Spain, three jobs in three different cities in the US, and was writing my book, investigated how to do Teach for America, and America Corps, took the ASVAB to see what I could do in the military, looked at how to apply for PH.D. programs, and researched how to start a non-profit foundation to raise money for scholarships for students who age out of foster care.
Out of those things, I got accepted into the Peace Corps, but my application was put on hold until I removed my application from the CIA (as a member of the Peace Corps you cannot work for any intelligence agency), learned that Ph.d. programs require the GRE, which costs too much money for me right now, and that Teach For America doesn’t accept applications until August, and I accepted the job I currently work in, and have made some good progress in starting a non-profit (that is still a fairly young idea, but if my book does well I need a business to put the money into and I would rather travel and speak to raise money for scholarships than to just line my own pockets, this actually makes a lot of sense even if I’m not explaining it well).
So what’s my point? My point is that sometimes I get so caught up in the comments that I forget to be the creator. Sometimes the comments give good ideas, sometimes the commentary strikes true and causes you to intrinsically reflect on who you are and what you are about. And sometimes, for freshness sake it is good to take a break, collect and check myself to make sure that I am not just rotely going through the motions of something I am not passionate about. I’ve realized that writing and helping others is not a job it’s a passion and it’s something I want people to see, read, experience how it impacts those around them. In that sense I am doing what I love, spending time creating what others read and what others experience, for I don’t want to spend my life reading what others create. I want to spend my life creating what others read and experience.
What are you creating?
It’s easy for me to critique a story, a person, or a view. It’s much harder to put a logical idea, or well written story out there for others to critique, read, talk about, or share. The irony in all of this is that the point of telling my story, or writing a book is to tell people that we can all help one another in small ways and in doing so can make a real impact and positive change in the world around us. This means that people will talk about, critique my story, my writing, my views. I run the risk of being called everything from a moron to a semi-intelligent individual, an attention hog, self-involved, narcissistic (I mean I’m writing a blog about myself and my writing).
Lately I’ve paused writing to make sure I’m doing it all for the right reasons. I want to be sure that while this is my story, the purpose, the tone, the motive is right. I have also paused writing because the weather has gotten nice and I joined a soccer league and I have Life ADHD. I run around looking at everything I could do and then investigate twenty five different ideas all at once (twenty-five is only a slight exaggeration). Let me give you an example. In one month (not this month, just a past month a while ago), I applied to be in the Peace Corps, the CIA, a USAID job, a teaching position in Spain, three jobs in three different cities in the US, and was writing my book, investigated how to do Teach for America, and America Corps, took the ASVAB to see what I could do in the military, looked at how to apply for PH.D. programs, and researched how to start a non-profit foundation to raise money for scholarships for students who age out of foster care.
Out of those things, I got accepted into the Peace Corps, but my application was put on hold until I removed my application from the CIA (as a member of the Peace Corps you cannot work for any intelligence agency), learned that Ph.d. programs require the GRE, which costs too much money for me right now, and that Teach For America doesn’t accept applications until August, and I accepted the job I currently work in, and have made some good progress in starting a non-profit (that is still a fairly young idea, but if my book does well I need a business to put the money into and I would rather travel and speak to raise money for scholarships than to just line my own pockets, this actually makes a lot of sense even if I’m not explaining it well).
So what’s my point? My point is that sometimes I get so caught up in the comments that I forget to be the creator. Sometimes the comments give good ideas, sometimes the commentary strikes true and causes you to intrinsically reflect on who you are and what you are about. And sometimes, for freshness sake it is good to take a break, collect and check myself to make sure that I am not just rotely going through the motions of something I am not passionate about. I’ve realized that writing and helping others is not a job it’s a passion and it’s something I want people to see, read, experience how it impacts those around them. In that sense I am doing what I love, spending time creating what others read and what others experience, for I don’t want to spend my life reading what others create. I want to spend my life creating what others read and experience.
What are you creating?
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