Time Keeps on Ticking, Ticking, Ticking

I collect clocks. And I know what you're thinking: how the heck am I so cool? Well, I'll let you know my secrets at some other time. But anyway, I am forever hung up on clocks, forever fixated on the fanciful world that exists within a unique, classic, weird, and timeless clock. My wall is literally plastered with them, and I have come to find a great deal of solace in the midst of their monotonous drones and tickings. A click here, a pendulum swing there, a steady tap-tap of a second hand in its perpetual effort to play metronome. And it all got me thinking about time. And how overrated time is. It runs our lives, and while I totally understand that time and punctuality and all that jazz are necessities for order and business and such, far too much power has been bestowed upon time. Essentially, we are consistently and most likely unintentionally giving time a big head, making time feel like a big shot. And I'm not a fan of this at all.

Now, when I've collected enough clocks, I hope to be able to hang them all up together on some monstrous wall and set each one of them to a different time zone. At first, I had no real reason behind this idea other than, "Wow, that would be really neat and different and exciting." And while this is still a part of my decision to continue to expand and diversify my clock collection, the actual reasoning has managed to deepen and mature slightly along the way. You see, I like this idea of having clocks set to all different time zones because it's my way of laughing at time and kind of insulting its power. I love the irony of the whole concept, that with the onslaught of more and more times, time's grasp can actually be loosened and altogether weakened. Because I am able to see that time isn't the end-all, be-all. I'm able to see that time is but a number, and it's merely relative. It's not some universal, binding authority. It varies; it's fickle. So why on earth would I let something as untrustworthy and self-absorbed as time run my life? I cannot even begin to feign an answer.

And while I'm on this subject of time, I might as well just run with it. Twice in this past week, I've been reminded that the future is indeed just the future, and an unquenchable desire to be anywhere but in the now, surprisingly, actually takes some of the beauty out of the now. So yes; I get that the future is an exciting place to be, a storehouse of promise and expectations and allure like none other. But don't lose sight of the now. Because that's what happens when we rely too heavily on time. We are on an arbitrary journey toward the day when the stress of time will subside. But the sad truth is that this day will never come here on earth. So, sometimes, it's okay to let time just be a number. To rest steady in the moment. To be able to utter the paradox of the century: "I can't wait 'til right now."

Gatsby, the Greatest of the Great

Some time early last year, my brother, an avid reader, was raving about The Great Gatsby and was also quite stoked about the promise that the film adaptation of this classic was rumored to be just around the corner. Turns out, he was right in two regards. First of all, this book is pure gold, undoubtedly rave-worthy. Seriously, I feel as though I am one of the wealthiest people on the face of the earth for having simply read this gem. And second of all, because the film was - and is - indeed just around the corner, and it is my undying - and probably overly-obsessive - pleasure to say that the premiere is but a few short weeks away. Holy cow; I honestly don't know what to do with myself.

Originally, I had planned to write this blog post on May 3rd, a week before the premiere, as a sort of kick-off to the duly extraordinary festivities that would surely accompany such an anticipation-saturated week, but then I thought, "Nah, I think I've got a better idea." And here it is. Now, I totally understand how the trailer alone is enough to elicit excitement and allure beyond belief, but I just think the experience holds even more value for those who have actually read the story for themselves, struck up friendships with the characters, journeyed with these same characters via narrative, familiarized themselves with the intoxicating atmosphere of a Jay Gatsby kind of party, and whole-heartedly delved into a vast new world and a whole different time. It is for that very reason that I decided to write this just a little bit earlier, to give everyone one last chance to read the book before the movie comes out, because I promise you that you will not regret it.

But if this still doesn't appeal to you, then well, I suppose that's okay too. Not really, but we'll pretend it is. I still highly recommend going to see The Great Gatsby in theaters because I just have a really good feeling about this one. Such a classic tale of love - both enduring and unrequited - and hope and devotion and loss and scandal and adventure and devastation. Oh. And some killer parties. Wow. Plus, if I'm being honest here, I don't think I could have conjured up a better Gatsby if I tried. Leonardo DiCaprio will forever be a winner. So get pumped. Get ready to be simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life. Prepare to immerse yourself in the sort of intimacy that only large parties can offer. Get ready to forever question whether or not you can repeat the past. And learn wonders from a troubled man who somehow manages to always look so cool.

Ah. Magic.

P.S. F. Scott Fitzgerald is and always will be the man. Not often do you find a guy who's a genius when it comes to words and a genius when it comes to life. Nice.

Forgiveness

Such a brilliant title, am I right? Okay, so it's not. But forgiveness is such a huge topic to explore, a world in and of itself, forever the most rejuvenating gift to receive and the most relieving gift to impart. Forgiveness. Man, it's such powerful thing, so much so that I'm not entirely certain where to start out here. So I'm just going to let the words flow and pray that you'll forgive me if it ends up a tad bit jumbled.

Now, I am baffled by the fact that it is feasible for me to be so frustrated by something, yet so undeniably intrigued by its beauty and the freedom which resides in its very utterance. And that's forgiveness for you. I have always been one of those people who has lofty plans to hold a well-executed grudge from time to time and really stick it to a person good. On the contrary, I also happen to be one of those people who almost can't function if I'm not on good terms with every single person around me. So here's how it usually goes. A promise is broken or rash words are spoken or I feel like I'm being taken advantage of, and I say to myself, "Oh my gosh, I'm such a pushover; I'll never let this happen again. I'm just not going to talk to him or her or them for a week, and we'll see how they feel. Yeah, that'll get 'em." And then about five minutes later, I start to feel really bad and I give in and I crumble and everything is back to normal. And this used to make me so furious and agitated.

But then I thought about it. And frankly, I wasn't upset by it anymore. I'm starting to see that the inability to hold a grudge or withhold forgiveness is actually more of an ability. Now, I have yet to master the mammoth concept of forgiveness, and in reality, I'm pretty far from that aforesaid mastery. But I have discovered quite a bit through all of my failed attempts to hold onto things that don't need to be held on to. And here's what I've got:

Forgiveness is perhaps the most freeing undertaking one will ever encounter. Nevertheless, we are so quick to avoid it all costs, to do anything BUT forgive, to dwell on the past, to tarry amidst former pains or wrongdoings and quickly wear out our welcome. And I get that. I get that people have been hurt and used and abused and exploited and betrayed and ostracized in ways that I cannot even begin to contrive. And it is an absolute shame. Whatever the hurt was, I concur that it was not right; it was not okay; it was not shrug off-able. It stung, and it probably stayed. So how do you justify that? How do you forgive, and perhaps more importantly, press onward? And why?

Well, because forgiveness is a pivotal part of the journey commonly referred to as life. Because it allows us to take a sweet, peace-ridden breath when we've gone months without. Because it prompts us to move on. Because it causes us to be made new. Because it causes all our relationships to be made new. Because Jesus Christ did it for us, and who the heck are we to not do the same?

I'm starting to believe that forgiveness and freedom truly are synonymous. You see, freedom isn't free, and neither is forgiveness. Both come at a cost; both require a whole lot of courage and depth and maybe even a little soul-searching. And both take time. If we could snap our fingers and have all the pain and the loss be gone, the story would probably be a little bit different. But we can't. We have to make the decision to say, "Yeah, I have been wronged, and it was not okay. But I also know how necessary and life-giving forgiveness is, even for the seemingly unforgivable. It's time to address it, to be the person I know I am capable being. I'm letting it go. And I'm liberated."

I hope your heart's feeling a little lighter already.

Not all who wander are lost

You know what I wish? I wish that a plane ticket to anywhere was like ten dollars, or better yet, free. I know it's not possible, but then again, how often are my reveries on here possible? And can you imagine how unbelievable that would be? Ah, such a stunning concept. And maybe I am just so enamored with this concept because I have always been a believer in the idea that this world is gorgeous and intricate and peculiar and so gosh darn monstrous that it almost demands to be traveled, to be tread upon, to be visited and happened upon and sought and seized and digested. To be wandered. I mean, that's what traveling's all about.

But so many people these days are surprisingly - and sadly - far too keen on the idea of hovering, of lingering, of being poised in all the wrong ways. Oh, what a travesty! Perhaps it's because we're too wrapped up in our own agendas, perhaps it's because we have this grossly evident love affair with all things lazy, perhaps it's because we've become so entranced by our false perceptions of reality, dependent upon the world that resides within our laptops and smart phones and tv screens. Because seeing a picture of a place on the internet or the travel channel is the rough equivalent of seeing it in person, right? Wait. Nope. This has got to change.

Oh man, I wish with all my heart that everyone had the means to get up and go. To see places that startle them. To meet people who change them. To climb mountains that take their breath away, both literally and figuratively I suppose. To breathe in the air of every major city. To eat foods that frighten them. To touch down in a place where no one knows their name. To soak in a scene that will forever change their perspective. To be made new by a place of old. To be thrown and tossed and immersed and wisped and battered and denatured and floored and awed and bewildered and inspired. To become a rambler of the world.

Wow. That sounds nice.