A big hole and a bunch of good people

Two weeks ago I spent the weekend camping at the Grand Canyon with some really great people.

Look At Me Looking At You

Lately I’ve been noticing a particular Loma phenomenon. You know, one of those things that are typical of campus life, and yet strange and unexplainable and sometimes awkward. There are lots Loma phenomena, but I’m talking about just one. What I’ve been observing is that most people whom I don’t know personally seem very intent on not making eye contact. I’ve noticed this since freshmen year, but it’s only lately that I’ve really begun to think about it.

While walking around campus, you inevitably cross paths with people. I guess it’s just one of the laws of society that there are other people. And for some reason, there are some people on campus who seem to be set on not looking at you when you pass by. There are a few ways they accomplish such a noble feat. One of the more extreme methods is the Phone Check. This is when, just as you are approaching someone headed the other direction, they conveniently get a text from a dear friend. Of course, many people really do get texts when you’re walking by them, but sometimes, just sometimes, I think it’s a sham.

Another method, and probably the most common, is the Ground Stare. The Ground Stare, though probably self-explanatory, is when a person walking by fixes his eyes intently on the ground, as though he sees White Jesus’ face right there in the asphalt, or as if he’s reading some unknown work of Plato encoded in the concrete beneath his feet. Now, if I saw White Jesus’ face on the ground I probably wouldn’t look up either, so I can’t really blame them. But most of the time I don’t think there’s really anything interesting on the ground, I think they’re just more comfortable looking there than in the eyes of the person passing by.

I may sound bitter about Phone Checking and Ground Staring, but I’m not; it actually adds a bit of humor to most of my days. In many ways these things are sad, very sad, and not that funny, but I’ll tell you what is funny. It’s funny to look at them. You see, in light of all this, I’ve started this little personal project. My task is to look in the eyes of everyone I pass. Sometimes I fail, but most of the time I do it. A lot of people are sweet, and when you look at them, they look at you, and you both smile as if you’re both from planet Pandora and you’re telepathically saying, “I see you.”

But then there are other people, the ones who don’t look. I’ll continually glance at these people while I pass them, and somehow, as though their eyes are the golden snitch I just can’t seem to catch, they never meet my gaze. And as I pass they seem uncomfortable and stiff. There’s one person in particular that I know for doing this. I know him personally now, but before I did, he would never look me in the eyes. His was, I think, the most extreme case of Ground Staring I have encountered. Not only would he look at the ground, but he would also cock his head to the side, as if he was uncomfortable even looking at your feet. As puzzling as this was, I thought it was kind of hilarious.

When I was younger I always saw myself as being a terrific introvert. I thought I was pretty anti-social; and honestly, I kind of was, and things have changed a little bit. However, what I’ve recently come to realize is that, compared to most people, I really wasn’t as introverted as I believed. I was only introverted relative to my class-clown, extroverted high school friends. Now I realize that few people are very outgoing. Most people don’t ever want to talk to someone new, someone different. Most people don’t want to meet a stranger’s gaze in passing.

Now, I’m not exactly a baby-kissing hand-shaker, but I think we all, on some deep level, need to be acknowledged. We need to be recognized as a fellow human. So, maybe next time we pass each other, look at me, and I’ll look at you, and just for a second or two, we’ll see each other, and I’ll smile, and you’ll smile, and we’ll both feel human and alive and worth something. Unless you see White Jesus’ face on the ground, then, by all means, keep staring; just let me know what he says.

Live a Good Story

I recently read the book A Million Miles In a Thousand Years, by Donald Miller. The driving force, the thread stitched through the narrative that holds the whole thing together is the idea that life is like story. There are meaningful stories, and there are meaningless stories. There are adventurous stories, and there are dull stories.

Life is like story.

The factors that make a story good, a goal, an inciting incident, a conflict, hellish pain, relational characters, overcoming conflict and hellish pain, character transformation, etcetera, are the same factors that make a life good. Story is when a character wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. If we apply the concepts of story to our lives, it’s hard to make the same decisions we used to. It’s hard to choose the couch over the trail. It’s hard to choose the mundane mediocrity over the adventure, over the “whimsy.” It’s hard to want to live a dull story.

Life is like story.

Live a good story.

The Greatest of Trees

I ran. I slithered through the shadowed streets of town. Here and there the night’s darkness was softened by glowing lamps atop ancient posts, statuesque reminders of a land where Lion is god, and children are kings.

I ran. I huffed and puffed, but no houses collapsed, they simply slipped behind me, receding into the past. When my heart could pound no more, I stopped. I stood on Varona and saw such a sweeping spectacle. So, I smiled. I smiled at the glowing San Diego cityscape before me and said, “Thanks.”

As I stood, smiling, satisfied it occurred to me that there once was a great tree that grew from the ground where the city now lies. Many years ago, when the ground was fresh and fantastically fertile, the tree grew to such a height that was, at the time, immeasurable. As astounding as the tree, was the stature of the men who tended it. Upon it’s many green boughs and branches they hung and strung brilliant bulbs and bobbles of varied color and size.  The noble tree was dressed in such magnificence that its beauty lit the night. But in a tremendously terrible tragedy, the tree one day fell. Some thought it was the weight of its divine décor that decided its destruction. Others said the tree, knowing it had reached the limit of its beauty, was so satisfied with its stint on earth that it ended itself. No matter the cause, the tree fell, and when it fell, so did its many lights and other terrific trappings. In time, the ground devoured the tree, but even after the earth had eaten the great tree, the decorations lingered in the land. The lights still shone brightly with beautiful brilliance, and around this splayed array of a spectacular spectrum, a new people grew. As the people grew they built their city around the lights, and they forgot their past, and they knew not of the great tree. Eons have passed and nothing remains of the tree, but at night the city glows, and the lights that shine are the same that once hung in the lofty limbs of that great tree.

As quickly as this revelation came it ended, and I was once more standing, smiling, satisfied on Varona.

Together

After a day of laughter and sun, food and friends, the laughter continued with shifting firelight dancing on our faces.  We were content. Sitting around the fire with s’mores slowly sinking into the seemingly bottomless pits of our stomachs, we were content. With warm company, friends new and old, smiling and soaking in the light that radiated from one another, we were happy. With delicate and entrancing melodies filtering through the crisp night air and kindly caressing our ears, we were overjoyed. With the warmth of our fellowship being greater than that of the false fire we sat around, we were loved, and we loved. As we parted we looked to the fluid shapes of clever clouds hanging overhead and we smiled at their mysterious beauty. And we left, apart but together in this world, in this life.

Of Grief and Gratitude

There are some things that will never be, and some times these things that will never be are the very things you want most. Some are possible, but some, no matter how fervently and frequently you dream of them, will simply never be. And this pains you. And the thought of them is at once sweet and tormenting. Daydreams warm your core, but the harsh reality of their impossibility paralyzes you with terror and immense sorrow. This is human. This is as human as it gets. To be in pain and to have no apparent solution is human. Everyone has felt this. Many feel it now. In this present moment there are many who weep beneath their skin, their insides flooded with tears. For many, for now, this is reality. This is life.

            There also are those things which you long for, dream of, yearn for, and, maybe quickly, or maybe after years, receive. And there are those who feel this now, who live this now. There are some who have a smile they can’t tear from their glowing faces. There are parents with a fresh life glistening in their arms, alight under the sterile illumination of a delivery room. Tonight, there are those who lingered in the warm space of their first kiss, who spent hours basking in the overwhelmingly invigorating presence of their closest companion.  There are those who today, after pleas of desperation and prayers thought unheard, received the news they’ve been begging for.

            Today I stand with a foot in both realms. There are things my heart and mind desire with raging intensity which I will never obtain or experience. Yet also, there are things I have and things I have experienced which I do not deserve, and for which I am immensely, eternally, thankful. And this is where I dwell. This space where there is both grief and gratitude, pain and pleasure, a canvas on which a war is waged between black and white paints. This is where I dwell.

Class, That Thing We Have Together

Today you walked in, back in

And my breath caught in my throat

A silent “Oh shit” rang through the classroom

I looked, you didn’t

You walked across, sat far away

I’m sorry you feel strange

Class starts, continues

I still look, you still don’t

Papers rustle, bags are packed
It's over

I near the door, touch the handle

Our eyes meet, finally, after years

And wordlessly we leave

Separate in the same bubble

Self Portrait At Night

The Moon was incredibly bright tonight so I decided it would be a perfect opportunity to play with my camera. I ended up really liking this one; hope you do too.

This Is Not Sparta.

Last night I watched Prince of Persia. I sat there in the dark theater as Disney served up a smorgasbord of tantalizing, impressive images of Jake Gyllenhaal slaying hoards of villains, running parkour through ancient Persian cities, and, of course, winning the heart of the flawlessly beautiful Gemma Arterton. The film was enjoyable, though predictable.  However, as with almost any action or fantasy movie, it left me with some sense of dissatisfaction with my own life.

I’d like to think that my life isn’t mediocre. I am daily enthralled with the beauty of life on earth. I’ve tasted life. I’ve loved and I’ve bled and I’ve cried and I’ve lived.

 But I’ve never saved a life. I’ve never saved the world. I’ve never even saved the day. I’ve never backflipped over an eternally deep chasm. I’ve never decapitated a snake as it leapt to bite my friend. I’ve never wooed the princess of a holy city. And, I guess, neither has Jake Gyllenhaal.

Mankind aches for greatness. Our souls long for glorious victory. Our hearts beat with a fervor for grandeur. Our hands feel empty without the handle of a sword, and our legs itch to sprint into the chaos of a battlefield.

Where is glory today? Where is my sword and shield? Where are my horse and my lance? Where, even, is my enemy?

Humanity aches for greatness, but today, in the year 2010, where is greatness to be found?

Home is wherever I'm with you

It’s 5:56 am on Sunday morning. I tried desperately to fall back asleep, but to no avail. So, instead of pleasantly slumbering in my embarrassingly large bed, I decided to use this time to do that which I have been avoiding for the last week: writing.

            On Tuesday night, around 9 O’clock, my final flight from Taipei landed at LAX. Five hours later I put my key in my door, listened to the lock click, and stepped inside, home for the first time in three weeks. And, consequently, entirely alone for the first time in three weeks. The silence of my own empty home was overwhelming and strange. So I made my own noise. As I munched on oatmeal deliciously saturated with peanut butter, I turned the music all the way up and listened to the songs I had missed most. But the sound wasn’t fulfilling. It was an artificial sound, and it did nothing to warm my dark, empty, silent house.

            I’ve heard it said that home is never quite the same after you return from traveling. I believe the truth is quite the opposite. Most often, home is just as you left it, what has changed is your perspective. Your eyes don’t see quite the same, and your mind doesn’t think quite the same, and your heart doesn’t beat quite the same as the day you left. It is impossible to see the world and be unchanged, unmoved.

            So, after three weeks in Thailand, home doesn’t feel like it used to. As the days pass I will become once again acclimated to life in San Diego, and home will begin to feel more and more like home, but it will never be quite the same, and that’s just fine with me.

            As for my time in Thailand, it is challenging to put the experience to words without using blatant generalities like “good”, “amazing”, “eye-opening”, or “life-changing.” It is near impossible to convey the truth of what I felt and experienced and learned, but I believe a practical description of the trip is in order.

            Last fall I decided to sign up for Point Loma’s LoveWorks short-term missions program. Every summer, teams of about ten to fifteen Point Loma students travel to different countries and work in conjunction with Nazarene churches around the world. This year the teams went to Brazil, Congo, El Salvador, Guatemala, India, Israel, Jordan, Peru, Tanzania, and Thailand. Each trip has different work to do, and I applied for Thailand because the purpose of the trip was to work with kids.

            Fast forward six months and I’m stepping out of the Chiang Mai airport into the sweltering, humid heat of Thailand, wondering how I will survive heat stroke for three weeks. An hour drive later and we saw our first glance of where we would be spending the lion’s share of our time, the Maetang Tribal Children’s Home. In Northern Thailand there are many tribal villages in the hills far from the city. These villages are too far for students to commute to school daily, so if parents want their kids to get a quality education from the city school, they can send them to live at the Children’s Home. So, the Children’s Home is essentially a dorm for elementary and high school students.

            One of our main jobs was to teach high school English. Essentially, we were substitute teachers for two weeks. We divided into groups of three and each teaching group would have three or four classes a day. We also put on an English camp at the high school for the students who excelled in English. Two days of our second week were spent teaching the elementary school, which was an entirely different experience than the high school. Every afternoon before dinner we would hang out at the Children’s Home and play with the kids as they got back from school. I’ve never sweat more in my life. Our team got used to permanently living in sweat.

Other than teaching, we also did some fun touristy things. We went shopping in Chiang Mai twice, we went to a waterfall, we celebrated the kids’ birthdays with a pool party, and on our last day we went on an elephant ride.

            When it came time to leave, it wasn’t easy. I felt myself become attached to many of the kids, and I would have loved to spend the whole summer there, teaching high school and living at the Children’s Home. I met some truly amazing people and formed some wonderful relationships with my teammates. After living with them 24/7 for three weeks, it’s strange to be without them. You spend everyday with a group of fifteen people, and then suddenly, one day, you’re at home alone wondering what exactly happened, awake much too early in the morning, and writing about the experience without really knowing what to say.

You can have all of me, Volcom tat included.

Who am I?

I'm Denny. I once dreamed of being a writer, until I had the stark revelation that what I truly dreamed of was being published. I've been called a liar, an honest man, a thinker and a tool, a cheat, a writer, a sneak, a thief, brave, cliche, original, an idiot, a genius, Denny D-bag, fat, skinny, feminine, manly, evil, sweet, and even, as my friend Chris Evans says, "the king of fresh." I've been some of these things some of the time but never all at once, and some of them I hope to never be again.

I wouldn't feel right not mentioning that I'm a junior (as of today) at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego and that my major is entrepreneurial finance. It sounds much cooler than it is, which is precisely why I chose it. I enjoy long walks on the beach, as long as it's to get to good waves, and whenever I see a product made by Kohler, I instinctively say to myself, "The bold look of Kohler"

There's much more I could say about myself, but I don't want to be too self aggrandizing, especially this early in our relationship. At any rate, if you continue to read this you'll get to know me soon enough. Speaking of relationships, I'm single and ready to tingle, or tinkle, or mingle or whatever they say. Just kidding, but seriously. It's a challenge to tell you who I am while I'm still just figuring out myself. Some people say you find yourself in college. I say you lose yourself and find a new person to become.

Anyway, I had my last final today, which means that my sophomore year is over, half of the so called best years of my life out the window. I guess this is what it feels like to be old. In a last ditch effort to increase my chances for success on my finals, and to look BA without the repercussions of permanence, I applied a good luck, temporary Volcom tattoo to my wrist. I can tell you it did absolutely nothing to help my Management score.

Oh, and one more thing, my latest musical addiction is The Decemberists.

Here's to Summer! (imagine my arm lifted with glass in hand.) Cheers.

A Life Examined

Today a very dear friend of mine said, "Denny, have you heard of this new thing called blogging? Or maybe it's yogging? Apparently you just write what's on your mind and anyone in the world can read it. It's supposed to be wild."
With my inherent sense of curiosity, I did a little research. Apparently a blog, short for weblog, as defined by the good folks at Urban Dictionary, is "A meandering, blatantly uninteresting online diary that gives the author the illusion that people are interested in their stupid, pathetic life. Consists of such riveting entries as 'homework sucks' and 'I slept until noon today.'"
It is with this empowering inspiration in mind that I begin. In any case, as Socrates said, the unexamined life is not worth living, and, as it is the week of final exams, it seems ironically appropriate to begin this endeavor. Let the examining commence.