I had one of these, just this past week. It was during my qualifying exam. I got to the last question for the morning session and then panicked. The question was different from the one I was lead to believe was going to be on the exam and the prospect of reconstructing an answer with the amount of time left on the clock was overwhelming.
I say near failure, but there is a very real chance I will fail on this question. After the time was up and the immediate panic subsided, embarrassment and doubt crept in. I felt as if everyone else close to me has found their niche and are slowly but surely moving toward recognition and meaning while I stumble from project to project like a frightened animal attempting to escape its enclosure only to realize that there is always another barrier to go through. There is no freedom outside these enclosures; the only freedom to be had is found within the place I am in—whichever place it is I decide to stop running. Escape is not only useless it is unnecessary for freedom.
I can’t believe that I have turned out to be one of those people—a mundane, track-house residing commuter who believes his life holds greater meaning than the brand of furniture he is able to buy. So I never think I’ll be good enough, I don’t feel loved, my past failures continue to haunt me and I am afraid of commitment. It all been said before, this pathetically hackneyed dribble. I am ashamed of myself; it has to my perception which is flawed because I’ve tried to better myself, take more degrees, professionally manage my money, even to the point of perfecting a firmer handshake and the confident look in the eye when I meet people, but none of this is leading anywhere. It’s me who is the problem and the only way to avoid the problem is to avoid being me. A very real part of being me is being continually mired in these thoughts and conditions.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Life Coach Or Life Saver
It is true that I can't feel, but I am unaware of my lack of feeling. It is a start. At least I am not oblivious to my indifference. But it's not really indifference as much as it is numbness. There is an intentionality about indifference; whereas numbness is seemingly beyond one's control.
I did feel a flash of discomfort last night when Jeremy pointed out an article in the local newspaper about Frank's church. The picture on the front page must have been 4x6, taking up most of the space beneath the header. It was a photograph of the side of the church, the one that faces the highway. Draped next to the church's name was a banner depicting some feet poking out from beneath a sheet along with the head of child. The caption read, "ourrottensex.com." The article went on to explain that Pastor Jones believes that God wants us to have a great sex life and that although this could deemed a risque or inappropriate topic to discuss from the pulpit, for him, it held great significance.
I was not surprised or appalled by write up, those emotions have long since become redundant in regards to Frank's church but I was still a bit amazed. Out of all the stories in the Old Testament detailing dedication and sacrifice, out of all the teachings of Jesus in the gospels regarding sin and commitment and out of all the exhortations from the Pauline, Petrine and Johannine epistles regarding holiness and servanthood and Brian chooses one of the most narcissist topics for this campaign.
Arguably it is shocking, but I venture to guess that it would have been even more shocking to proclaim that Christ does promise you a better life. Not only would it be scandalous but I think it would come as a surprise to many in the pews. It was not what they were lead to believe when they received that postcard in the mail, or saw that commercial on cable or even when their friend invited them to see the band on Sunday morning. No, God is there to help us organize our lives, entertain our kids and find us parking spaces near the mall entrance on rainy days. As it turns out, He's more a life coach than a life saver.
I know it's silly but this makes me think of that bumper sticker you see sometimes, mostly in the parking lots of fundamentalist churches that read, "if God is your co-pilot, switch seats." But it does make you think, following seems to imply that your will is subjugated to His; He calls the shots and determines the path forward not you.
I did feel a flash of discomfort last night when Jeremy pointed out an article in the local newspaper about Frank's church. The picture on the front page must have been 4x6, taking up most of the space beneath the header. It was a photograph of the side of the church, the one that faces the highway. Draped next to the church's name was a banner depicting some feet poking out from beneath a sheet along with the head of child. The caption read, "ourrottensex.com." The article went on to explain that Pastor Jones believes that God wants us to have a great sex life and that although this could deemed a risque or inappropriate topic to discuss from the pulpit, for him, it held great significance.
I was not surprised or appalled by write up, those emotions have long since become redundant in regards to Frank's church but I was still a bit amazed. Out of all the stories in the Old Testament detailing dedication and sacrifice, out of all the teachings of Jesus in the gospels regarding sin and commitment and out of all the exhortations from the Pauline, Petrine and Johannine epistles regarding holiness and servanthood and Brian chooses one of the most narcissist topics for this campaign.
Arguably it is shocking, but I venture to guess that it would have been even more shocking to proclaim that Christ does promise you a better life. Not only would it be scandalous but I think it would come as a surprise to many in the pews. It was not what they were lead to believe when they received that postcard in the mail, or saw that commercial on cable or even when their friend invited them to see the band on Sunday morning. No, God is there to help us organize our lives, entertain our kids and find us parking spaces near the mall entrance on rainy days. As it turns out, He's more a life coach than a life saver.
I know it's silly but this makes me think of that bumper sticker you see sometimes, mostly in the parking lots of fundamentalist churches that read, "if God is your co-pilot, switch seats." But it does make you think, following seems to imply that your will is subjugated to His; He calls the shots and determines the path forward not you.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Reduced From A Torrent To A Tickle
I passed by the nursing home again today and felt nothing. What is happening to me? Is the power of distraction that potent? I was sure that this was not a passing phase; well, I claimed it was but I thought I was just in denial. Surely the pull was too great. For weeks, even months I felt dogged by this relentless nagging, this tugging on my pant leg to turn back or at least stop moving. And then, just like a near miss with a car on a dark road, it is gone and with it all the passion, pain and insight into my condition. I looked around for any trace that it every happened but it was all a faded my memory. A memory upon which everyday experience heaps piles of meaningless instances onto so as to completely obscure its fleeting moments of clarity. I am numb...worse, I am distracted. I have slipped back into my stupor, barely taking notice of the road signs.
What more is there to say. I feel as if this is my only memento of that experience. To let it end, to peter out like a half hearted ovation, would be to completely resign myself to its falsity and with it the adventure of life. The truth is that I loved the pain, the disquiet; for in it and through it I felt something which meant that I could feel. Feeling allows us to experience life beyond the senses beyond the confines of observable truth.
But now I am in the dessert or more accurately, a tepid pool of water. No more raging seas and harrowing waves on the horizon just an imperceptible grey. In light of this, drowning is conceivable a more acceptable risk when one is dying of thirst. But what if one only has an annoying tickle in the throat?
What more is there to say. I feel as if this is my only memento of that experience. To let it end, to peter out like a half hearted ovation, would be to completely resign myself to its falsity and with it the adventure of life. The truth is that I loved the pain, the disquiet; for in it and through it I felt something which meant that I could feel. Feeling allows us to experience life beyond the senses beyond the confines of observable truth.
But now I am in the dessert or more accurately, a tepid pool of water. No more raging seas and harrowing waves on the horizon just an imperceptible grey. In light of this, drowning is conceivable a more acceptable risk when one is dying of thirst. But what if one only has an annoying tickle in the throat?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
