Hallobirthday

two thousand ten A.D.

you stand and watch from three years behind,

three years that often feel like thirty,

and at other times, point zero three.

from your vantage point,

it's hard not to compare yourself.

will you be as good as him at _____?

how will people see you in relation?

will you ever be as organized,

suave,

stylish,

or cool, calm, and collected?

the resounding "no" fades, thankfully,

as things change in the light of young adulthood kicking into full form.

what lies ahead

are more good times to be had,

the continued joy of having someone older and wiser [but not by too much],

and more hallobirthdays.

---

Happy 25th!

The Ticking Clock

you stand in the wooded hills of the volunteer state's second grand division

on a short respite from the daily grind

that isn't technically yours.

you weasel your way into the mix anyway.

you are surrounded by friends, new, old, in-between,

some casual, some close, others closest.

so much good, clean fun is had,

and great conversations flow in abundance.

the self machine, with all its cogs and gears and wires

begins to whir, beep, and jingle

as it calculates the remaining time you have with these people.

sirens wail and crimson warning lights flash violently

as the countdown appears on the screen.

every second that disappears is a deafening pound of a timpani.

your heart reaches out in all directions with tentacled arms in a desperate attempt

to draw these people and this place nearer and dearer.

the thought of it all ending so soon is simply indigestible.

it sits like a stone in your stomach.

the manufacturer of all of this swoops in to pacify the chaos.

he reminds you that you are not consigned to a lonely, vagabond existence,

and that there will be more seasons. new people, new places, new seeds to be sown.

the clock continues to tick,

tick,

tick,

tick,

but slowly,

with each passing tick,

you are able to bear it more and more.

Pess[t]imism

The half-empty glass.

I was explaining to a good friend last night that I always expect and assume the worst in situations so that when they turn out to be better than the horror I anticipated, I am pleasantly surprised.

"I'm pretty sure I just FAILED that test."

* * *

"Oh, a 90%. Relief."

This phenomenon most recently occurred when I got my job. I expected it to be something that I would eventually begin to dread getting up for in the morning. I expected selfish, impatient supervisors and rude, angry, disagreeable customers.

I have been so relieved to find that I actually really enjoy the work that I do. My supervisors are great, and most of the customers are pretty nice.

But, as my friend made me realize, the burden of expecting the worst is simply not worth it. Being weighed down for weeks based on [what is probably] a lie that you have told yourself is not a good way to live.

Even if the reality is that something may not be so great, I've got a source of joy and hope and freedom, and ignoring that source is not okay.

---

"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery."

-Galatians 5:1

"You are too young to be that cynical."

-Mrs. Ross, my eighth-grade social studies teacher

Hometown Glory

Whilst organizing my photos the other day, I stumbled across this picture that I took with an old cell phone at Dunnegan Park in good ol' Bolivar, Missouri a few days shy of two years ago.

Bolivar, Missouri. The bubble. The epitome of "small town." The first eighteen years of me. Where everybody knows your name, or at least your mother's name or father's name or sibling's name.

This picture got me thinking about how different my life has been post-Bolivar. Three years split unevenly between three different cities, one of them currently on a second run.

The other day, I joked with a fellow Bolivarian that my experience growing up in Bolivar lied to me about how the rest of the world functions. The reality is, it's true. I'm tempted to be really nerdy and sociological here, but I'll boil it down to the fact that the small town experience is the minority in this country.

Thus, the past three years have involved much "grown-up growing up." Meeting people from many different walks of life. Learning that not everywhere is as cozy, "safe," and sheltered as Bolivar. Seeing that my experiences don't always reflect those of many people, if not most people. It's been an enriching process, and I have really enjoyed the journey. They have been some of the best years of my life.

But, I can't say I would trade my upbringing in the 65613

for any other.