We have reached the door through which knowledge is created. No longer are we allowed to cite secondary sources. Yes, we can read them, especially in order to gain better understanding. But we must gather, not in order to regurgitate or review or even criticize; we must gather in order to supply our own framework of knowledge, which certainly is influenced by previous knowledge, but stands apart from it. We are no longer a branch on the larger tree, we are a seedling attempting to grow in order to produce our own fruit.
I wrote the above paragraph in the summer of 2006, as I was taking a class on qualitative research at Missouri State University. It was the first semester as Missouri State University, and the transition to a research institution was, from my experience, not a smooth one. Dr. Goodwin, who may be a wonderful human being, was (and I imagine still is) a terrible teacher. He left me ill-equipped to finish my master’s. And there is the most frustrating part. I really don’t care if I finish my master’s degree, because money really isn’t a big deal to me, nor is the recognition. The problem is I would like to finish it, emphasis on the would. I do care. But I am the type of student who must be taught. I can teach myself some things, but this I cannot. I am convinced I cannot be taught this because I cannot be taught to jump through hoops or fulfill requirements simply because they are established. I have never been very good with convention. So I will try, as I have twice before. And I may fail again. But I pray and hope and dream that I will complete it. I never see myself doing it, but I hope that I can.
Anyway, as for the paragraph, it encompasses much of what I have dreamed for ever since I started reading books that actually matter. Those who write books, books that actually matter and are worth reading, contribute to the collective knowledge of those who read it. This idea of collective knowledge, always growing and changing, through the thoughts and words of writers, is what I want to add to. I know I have thoughts and ideas that could be worthwhile additions to this collective knowledge, but getting them down on paper, in a logical and engaging manner, often eludes me. But in the summer of 2006, filled with grandiose ideas in a completely useless class, I penned that corny little paragraph above. I found it written on a manila folder in which I kept all of my assignments from that class; a folder found as I clean my apartment and ready my life for a move into my first home.
I find hope in the idea that I can someday add to collective knowledge. I’m scared out of mind when it comes to thinking of owning a house, caring for a house, and paying for a house. In my imagination, those who add to collective knowledge are not burdened by paying mortgages or fixing creaky garage doors or adding insulation to their attic. But, hey, what do I know?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
reflection: part 2
We are now well into August, and I’ve been thinking for some time about whether I would continue this blog or not. I still don’t know if I will, but when I was hanging out with a friend and sharing stories about my summer travels I realized I had something in the line of a reflection.
Something happened in California, and maybe it was talking with Matt Treacy on the day of the wedding or maybe it was just hanging out with all those wonderful people. I realized that I’ve been able to experience some of what I want in life, but there is much more out there. At 28, I decided to grow up. Step 1: Buy a house. So that’s what I’ve been doing with much of my time, other than getting ready for the coming school year. I haven’t had great luck with the house hunt, but I’m believing that God has something very good for me, if not easy or simple. I’m looking at it as a great way to learn some new skills.
As I think of Step 2, I’m not sure what it is. At 28, I might guess: Get married. But I’m not sure that is it. Maybe it is: Progress at your job. Maybe it is: Find a lifelong hobby. I don’t know. I purposefully went out to Utah, to the desert there, to find solitude. My parents were constantly hassling me about how everything that I was doing was not safe, but what they didn’t open their eyes to was that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted isolation. I wanted remoteness. I wanted harsh weather. I have grown tired of insincerity. The slick rock and dust and sand were hard and unforgiving. Now that I look back, I wish that I would have spent more time out in Canyonlands, because that’s where I was most away from everything. Me, God, and nature. I had some great conversations, but not enough. Zion, although its name might be more appealing, was more crowded and not isolating enough. I met some interesting people there, but I found myself preferring to drown in a shallow pool in the Narrows than share that space with anyone other than God. Maybe that is selfish; it probably is. I guess I can justify it by claiming it is what I needed. Maybe I need more of it.
Following Utah’s isolation I went to California, where I found myself surrounded by great people. Hanging out at the Ragain’s place, with the addition of Sophie, was so cool. I can’t say enough about how cool or nice Matt and Leah are. Sophie was very hesitant at first, but she came around. Getting to see so many old friends, and make new ones at Matt Stephan’s wedding was phenomenal. From the day of the bachelor party to the night of the wedding was a blur. We never stopped going. And I was always surrounded by people. It was the antithesis of Utah. It wasn’t bad; it was really good. But so much booze and so much going going going meant that the only time I had to slow down was on the morning of the wedding, and that’s when I spent an hour or so talking to Matt Treacy. That single conversation made the drive out to California worthwhile, because we were two depressed dudes trying to find our way in the world, and just talking. That’s when I allowed life to slow down enough for God to reveal himself to me through a new friend. And I haven’t talked to that dude since, but I’ve thought a lot about that conversation, and how real God is through shared words and silence.
California ended with me bringing Elliott to the airport, and him blessing me with cash to get the oil changed in my car. I cried as I left the airport, and I’m sure the other people on the road thought I was mental, which I probably am. I don’t know if I cried because I was so thankful to Elliott for the money, or because I was so sad to be leaving California and those friends. I think it was because I was leaving those friends, and I was jealous for more time with them. I knew that I wouldn’t have anything close to that in Springfield.
Next I was driving to Prescott, Arizona to see the Simpsons. It was the hottest stretch of driving I had done the whole trip, and when I got to the Simpson’s place they weren’t home. It was cool to just walk around. The next two days I spent with a nuclear family; something I hadn’t done in a long time. Matt and Maureen have two awesome kids, and I was able to share the visit with Maureen’s sister Jillian, who was on her way to LA. Anyway, the progression from isolation in Utah, to immersion among friends in California, to a nuclear family in Arizona was interesting. It was refreshing to see a mom and dad and kids do stuff together; I wanted to stay longer just to watch time and days progress for this family, hoping that I could learn something about life and God in the process. Refreshing is the best and only way I can describe the time I spent with the Simpsons, and all I can say to them is “Thank you.” The same goes to my Creator. There was something stabilizing in that environment, and I’m pretty sure it was God; coming off of a destabilizing adventure in California, it was welcome.
After that I met my parents in Colorado for the biggest and best adventure of them all: life with my family and the conquering of a 14000 foot mountain. We got through them both, and at the top of the mountain I cried tears of joy and surprise by the fact that we had made it. I didn’t think we would; I never make it to “the top” of anything. I feel like I’ve always had to turn around before reaching “the top”, or that some obstacle always stands in my way. Maybe that’s why I am perpetually depressed. But my experiences, from desert landscape, to cement playground, to domesticated life, to mountain top were all real and all infused with God. And that, I guess, is why I keep living, and keep reciting the Shema, and why I will continue to look for Step 2, which may not be Step 2 but Step 229 or Step 451.
Something happened in California, and maybe it was talking with Matt Treacy on the day of the wedding or maybe it was just hanging out with all those wonderful people. I realized that I’ve been able to experience some of what I want in life, but there is much more out there. At 28, I decided to grow up. Step 1: Buy a house. So that’s what I’ve been doing with much of my time, other than getting ready for the coming school year. I haven’t had great luck with the house hunt, but I’m believing that God has something very good for me, if not easy or simple. I’m looking at it as a great way to learn some new skills.
As I think of Step 2, I’m not sure what it is. At 28, I might guess: Get married. But I’m not sure that is it. Maybe it is: Progress at your job. Maybe it is: Find a lifelong hobby. I don’t know. I purposefully went out to Utah, to the desert there, to find solitude. My parents were constantly hassling me about how everything that I was doing was not safe, but what they didn’t open their eyes to was that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted isolation. I wanted remoteness. I wanted harsh weather. I have grown tired of insincerity. The slick rock and dust and sand were hard and unforgiving. Now that I look back, I wish that I would have spent more time out in Canyonlands, because that’s where I was most away from everything. Me, God, and nature. I had some great conversations, but not enough. Zion, although its name might be more appealing, was more crowded and not isolating enough. I met some interesting people there, but I found myself preferring to drown in a shallow pool in the Narrows than share that space with anyone other than God. Maybe that is selfish; it probably is. I guess I can justify it by claiming it is what I needed. Maybe I need more of it.
Following Utah’s isolation I went to California, where I found myself surrounded by great people. Hanging out at the Ragain’s place, with the addition of Sophie, was so cool. I can’t say enough about how cool or nice Matt and Leah are. Sophie was very hesitant at first, but she came around. Getting to see so many old friends, and make new ones at Matt Stephan’s wedding was phenomenal. From the day of the bachelor party to the night of the wedding was a blur. We never stopped going. And I was always surrounded by people. It was the antithesis of Utah. It wasn’t bad; it was really good. But so much booze and so much going going going meant that the only time I had to slow down was on the morning of the wedding, and that’s when I spent an hour or so talking to Matt Treacy. That single conversation made the drive out to California worthwhile, because we were two depressed dudes trying to find our way in the world, and just talking. That’s when I allowed life to slow down enough for God to reveal himself to me through a new friend. And I haven’t talked to that dude since, but I’ve thought a lot about that conversation, and how real God is through shared words and silence.
California ended with me bringing Elliott to the airport, and him blessing me with cash to get the oil changed in my car. I cried as I left the airport, and I’m sure the other people on the road thought I was mental, which I probably am. I don’t know if I cried because I was so thankful to Elliott for the money, or because I was so sad to be leaving California and those friends. I think it was because I was leaving those friends, and I was jealous for more time with them. I knew that I wouldn’t have anything close to that in Springfield.
Next I was driving to Prescott, Arizona to see the Simpsons. It was the hottest stretch of driving I had done the whole trip, and when I got to the Simpson’s place they weren’t home. It was cool to just walk around. The next two days I spent with a nuclear family; something I hadn’t done in a long time. Matt and Maureen have two awesome kids, and I was able to share the visit with Maureen’s sister Jillian, who was on her way to LA. Anyway, the progression from isolation in Utah, to immersion among friends in California, to a nuclear family in Arizona was interesting. It was refreshing to see a mom and dad and kids do stuff together; I wanted to stay longer just to watch time and days progress for this family, hoping that I could learn something about life and God in the process. Refreshing is the best and only way I can describe the time I spent with the Simpsons, and all I can say to them is “Thank you.” The same goes to my Creator. There was something stabilizing in that environment, and I’m pretty sure it was God; coming off of a destabilizing adventure in California, it was welcome.
After that I met my parents in Colorado for the biggest and best adventure of them all: life with my family and the conquering of a 14000 foot mountain. We got through them both, and at the top of the mountain I cried tears of joy and surprise by the fact that we had made it. I didn’t think we would; I never make it to “the top” of anything. I feel like I’ve always had to turn around before reaching “the top”, or that some obstacle always stands in my way. Maybe that’s why I am perpetually depressed. But my experiences, from desert landscape, to cement playground, to domesticated life, to mountain top were all real and all infused with God. And that, I guess, is why I keep living, and keep reciting the Shema, and why I will continue to look for Step 2, which may not be Step 2 but Step 229 or Step 451.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
pictures are funny
I was going through more summer pictures this evening and found some really funny shots of me and the family in Colorado. Nothing really beats a Maerke face in a picture. I've come to the conclusion that I must walk around with a face that conveys the fact that I am always confused, or I've just smelled something foul. I can't seem to take a normal picture. I've posted a new album on picasa for all to check out, so please go see them. The two best are below.
I would love to see a competition on what this conversation is about.
A Maerke dinner wouldn't be complete without us laughing at Dad for some over-acting job and pronunciation. On this day it was about the "great American vacation."
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