Your Love is Strong. #30

There's this chamber in my heart that always remains vacant. No matter who or what else may enter there appears to be inaccessibility to this one corner. It makes me understand why when people lose loved ones they leave their room the same, bed still prepped and ready, clothes folded in drawers and hung in closets. It's as if the room remains untouched it will once again be occupied.

This chamber is a room for you. I pray that on Christmas it fills with child-like life and people wish to make sugar cookies quite as badly as you did and that they stress the great importance of dedicated nights to decorate evergreens or watch classic movies together. It's for endless enjoyment of turquoise waters and iced tea...

The toughest thing as an adult is not knowing what our relationship would've been like. I was a teen when you went away, still in my own world incomprehensible to the values of family. Would you share the same taste in movies? What would it be like now to enjoy the books you enjoyed? In what way would you guide me now? I'll never know...

This void, this chamber echoes somedays; Like this morning. This morning is peaceful and good. As I anticipate what is to come, I savour my coffee and enjoy a new artist. I feel calm and content, and then I hear an echo that reminds me that you will never know how much I've grown to love coffee like dad. And with that I instantly wish you were alive and present.

I don't fully know why, but I miss you more than usual today.

Much love, Nicky.

** If there is someone you love so strongly, perhaps today is a great day to do something out of the ordinary to express that. Life's little romances truly are remarkable.

Nineohfiveeightsevixnitwone.

Since the creation of the phone, people have been forced to memorize a series of numbers that identify their household, work, friends, cells, pizzerias and so on. No one who uses the phone has been spared the requirement of remembering at least one number to give out to people. That reason alone, it bewilders me that there are people who still rattle off their phone number like a four year old who drank two litre of Coca Cola and downed a few dozen pixie sticks. This is a matter of intelligence; they either haven't caught on yet that it takes time to write it all down or they feel empowered when people fall cannot follow what they are saying.

I believe it to be a combo of the two... Because they don't have anything else they could say to get people thinking they slur their number into one audible mess to boggle their victims' minds.

The only thing worst than someone who speeds through their numbers is a person who gets impatient when you ask them to repeat it. If you only divulged the information correctly the first time you would have saved yourself a good 15 seconds...

Certainty.

It took me a little over a year to own my faith. Even then, it wasn't as evident to my character as my everyday styled bed-head. I would acknowledge it when it was safe to do so or in a like-minded group, but intimidation would hit when I felt being Christian wasn't the popular thing to be.

Yet it has been less than two years and I declare it pretty confidentially. I'm still a baby, still learning, but I own it. Not shyly, nor apologetically. I am ignited with amazement and hunger to learn and grow. Prior to being baptized I used to think it too dangerous to have a cemented faith, as if someone would come along and destroy the foundation my life was built on. Tetertottering on the unknown was a sign of intelligence and a safe guard. My naive arrogance has since been humbled.

I had the pleasure of bumping into an old teacher of mine who help shape my outgoing nature and love for the arts through musical theatre. We ran into each other at my church. In addition to learning that I was five weeks away from marrying the sweetest girl alive, she also found out that my life took a turn from a love of filmmaking to filmmaking and storytelling for He who is love. She grew teary eyed and up until tonight I didn't know why...

My love for storytelling is a mirror of the story God has written for me; journeying me through art and theatre to writing and movies to Him being in all the aforementioned and more. I may have only allowed Him a part of my life a year and ten months ago, but He has always been involved. As she left me Sunday morning she repeated twice, "God is good". And He is.

I envision friends from high school reading this and getting freaked out. This coming from the kid who loved to shock everyone by crossing the line, I now do so in a very socially dangerous way. Sadly, a part of me wishes to keep my past and my present separate to avoid awkward run-ins and quiet murmurings, but that intimidation dwindles day by day. It dwindles because it has to.

I had a great conversation back in the day due to confrontation of past and present. An old friend challenged "this Christian business". I love this friend and I was able to share. As I did so his eyes may have glossed over and he looked at me as if he lost a friend, but in that conversation I wasn't afraid to own it. I hope that showed more respect to our friendship than pretending to be something I am not. Loving people is easier the more your get to know what is on their heart; the joys and the sorrows.

People fear the unknown, but when I was agnostic I was far more bewildered by those who aligned themselves with a set of beliefs. Their certainty glimmered with some craziness. In a broken world, people love to hold the power in their life, believing they know what is best for them. I've discovered the opposite, my life has been liberated since accepting that the more power I let go, the more beautiful my life becomes.

Mental Pushups.

I realized the downfall of not being in school anymore: My brain seems to be progressively coming at a halt. I try to indulge in regular reading, but my ability to just focus on text seems weak. My mind used to be sharper, both in absorbing teachings and creating answers, but now it is primarily occupied with simple decisions or my chaotic scheduling of where to go next.

I hesitate to think if it's my inability to sit still that is hindering my brain from performing at a higher efficiency. The last time I did a puzzle was a month ago, attempting to teach a coworker how to play sudoku. This was the most engaging activity I've done in a while because not only did I need to recall my own understanding of the numbers game, but describe it step by step so that someone else could understand. I used to read the math lessons before hand for fun. It gave me a cheap thrill to be able to know what the teacher was talking about before anyone else. At the same time, I would cut out any math questions that I rendered too easy to perform. It was arrogant, it was lazy, and at the same time it was engaging; If I was put on a spot about a math question, 95% of the time I could answer.

Fast forward to today, it took me a minute to remember how to carry a one during a subtraction question. I don't think the brain degrades quite as much as we forget to engage it into daily excercise.

I have a sick confession. Sometimes I read a book quickly primarily to say that I've read that book. It's an intangible collection; I love checklists. As I commit this sin, I don't absorb quite as much of it as I would like to. School had it right by reading only a chapter or two at a time, and then quiz you on it. It requires you to deepen your memory of the book, to hold it to heart, to talk about the effects it may have on you, the reader. It builds meaning. A friend of mine used to make fun of symbolism. He felt it was the teachers way of trying to create something that wasn't there.

The beauty of books are that they are the only form of art that we cannot absentmindedly enjoy. Movies, music, art... These are beautiful mediums, that experts and enthusiasts could talk about for hours, but still are capable of looking at it and forgetting, turning your brain off to watch another Vin Deisel movie or bop your head to the latest Lady Gaga hit. A literary work of art demands your attention, demands you to visualize for yourself, given the criteria the author provides, what the protagonists looks like as he walks down a deserted street. Books require you to look within yourself and identify with first person narrative. It's an emotional journey and that's where aspects such as symbolism are quintessential to an english classroom. They engage the student to find meaning or at least create it. Own it.

Gym class would do wonders for me now too come to think of it...

Never when I was a student did an adult explain to me why I would miss school. I was warned that I would, but I didn't believe it then. Any high school attendee who would read this, probably wouldn't believe it, but there is luxury in spending so many hours a week simply working on your mind, engaging in topical conversation beyond the weather, the latest movie or your line of work.

Maybe piecing a puzzle over a matecinno latte will be of some assistance...

Consciousness of Breath.

It was 11pm by the time I breathed today. My power walk came to a halt mid stride as I made my way home from the parking lot. There was no urgency to get indoors. The moon cast a beautiful scene as it peered through the skeletal branches and hide behind the clouds. Every possible noise stopped for a simple, graceful minute of peacefulness: cars whispered by and barking dogs rested. Even the cold seemed refreshing on my skin and lungs, like a dip in an August pool.

I stood there watching my exhale float into the night as I soaked up the first actual, peaceful moment of the day, astonished that I failed to realize before then that I was alive and involved in a world outside of my mind.

Will it be the days of inability to look beyond my thoughts that I will end up regretting? Or will the minutes in the middle of empty streets overthrow them, truly unveiling God's hope for conscious living?

A Day Without.

Some days life's plan feels hindered by daily requirements, creating a barrier against the needs of the heart. This rang true for today. The morning seemed inexplicably desolate, much like an unpopulated town I passed through and stopped in for gas. This could have been a result of an inconsistent sleep; Despite getting to bed before midnight it was plagued by a restless mind.

The mind didn't shut up. He rambled on about family, about togetherness and the heart of God. Questioned the definition of community and the thoughtfulness of donation. He dissected love and friendship and career and motivation... He weighed heavily on everything so much, that my eyes began to hurt from concentration. The entire morning I was playing into the mind's demanding needs and as such my heart grew heavy. These thoughts were profound and poetic, like a Ben Gibbard lyric, and frustration pressed on my temples as I felt the four walls of responsibility restricting any creative outlet or indulgence in the mind's musings.

Then, reflecting on the restless sleep, I realized that today was void of something else: my morning coffee. As the cup was slowly emptied, the thoughts became sparse and less overwhelming, the eyes began to relax and today seemed less vital to the existence of man than the previous hour. Turns out my body just needs caffeine or sleep to make living bearable...

I Put the Pro in Procrastination.

If death was knowingly around the corner I would be kicking myself with frustration due to the extent I allowed procrastination to rule my everyday. Sadly, this is not a new thought. It's a habitual thought, much like going to the internet to waste time or snacking as a hobby or peeing because of over consumption of water. Quite frankly, I am getting to the point where I worry that procrastination will always be my mistress and my out of shape, underachieving, "jack of all trades-master of none" self will be the trophy venereal disease of our never ending love affair.

God, give me a constructive kick in the ass...