The end is nigh
Somewhere on the southern California coast a 30 year old Caucasian male of above average intelligence hurtles toward the eschaton.
At least, that's what it feels like. Morgan and I have been trying our best to use this last couple months that I'm in the area to "see ___(insert friend here)___ one last time." Meanwhile, I'm trying to wrap up classes, work on my rapidly expanding dissertation, complete all my hours at my clinical site, rehab my knee, learn to ride a motorcycle, etc. etc. And the beat goes on.
Where's the time for reflection? Where's the time for sacred silence? These days I just take it. For every spasmodic week's beginning there comes the inevitable Thursday power down. I begin racing between clinic and class on Monday morning and don't let up until Wednesday evening. You know you've been in grad school too long when Wednesday becomes the new Friday. But I take the down time anyway. I don't know a better way. Maybe during the next go-around in DC I'll have gotten a little better at not biting off as much. We'll see.
So here I am this Thursday evening reflecting on all the people and places I've see during what has become an epic journey west. I remember the summer before I flew out here. The dominant metaphor in my mind at the time was of the Israelites penetrating Canaan, the land of giants and over-sized fruit. That was what California was for me. At some level I think I was being called by forces unrecognized by me. I did know, however, that I needed to do something with my academic abilities. And so I did. Now I'm coming back east. California was more than I bargained for, and that is the Lord's truth.
What more can be said? California's way different from the east coast. Whereas my friends back in Atlanta were frequently caught speaking in computer code, my friends out here are frequently caught bickering about production quality or fall fashion. Now that's a big cultural gap. Back home it seemed like everyone was a programmer. Here it seems like everyone is in "THE industry." In Atlanta you're swaddled in the kudzu and oppressive wet heat, or else drenched in the coldest rain, whereas in LA you can smell that sweet dusty smell of desert everywhere, which is temporarily forgotten about during the region's two seasons--fire season and mudslide season. The desert has a beauty all it's own, and the mountains and Pacific ocean still take my breath away several years later. They're not the fall colors of the Appalachians, but they're pretty impressive!
People in Atlanta drive fairly sedately. Yeah, yeah...I know this seems a bit idyllic. But let's face it. People don't shoot each other with cross bows in an act of road rage or gun people down. In fact, whereas the nightly new disaster in the south is some kind of storm or tornado warning, the news de jour is a police pursuit of some wacko who doesn't know what a spike strip is. In Atlanta, there's a perimeter that grinds to a halt during rush hour. In LA there's a a spiderweb of undermaintained highways that grind to a parking halt at any random point in the week. (3 p.m. on a Sunday? Really?)
In the south, you visit Civil War sites. Out here you visit a game show, stand in as an extra, or take acting classes.
Hmmm...this reflection is nowhere near over...
To Be Continued...
At least, that's what it feels like. Morgan and I have been trying our best to use this last couple months that I'm in the area to "see ___(insert friend here)___ one last time." Meanwhile, I'm trying to wrap up classes, work on my rapidly expanding dissertation, complete all my hours at my clinical site, rehab my knee, learn to ride a motorcycle, etc. etc. And the beat goes on.
Where's the time for reflection? Where's the time for sacred silence? These days I just take it. For every spasmodic week's beginning there comes the inevitable Thursday power down. I begin racing between clinic and class on Monday morning and don't let up until Wednesday evening. You know you've been in grad school too long when Wednesday becomes the new Friday. But I take the down time anyway. I don't know a better way. Maybe during the next go-around in DC I'll have gotten a little better at not biting off as much. We'll see.
So here I am this Thursday evening reflecting on all the people and places I've see during what has become an epic journey west. I remember the summer before I flew out here. The dominant metaphor in my mind at the time was of the Israelites penetrating Canaan, the land of giants and over-sized fruit. That was what California was for me. At some level I think I was being called by forces unrecognized by me. I did know, however, that I needed to do something with my academic abilities. And so I did. Now I'm coming back east. California was more than I bargained for, and that is the Lord's truth.
What more can be said? California's way different from the east coast. Whereas my friends back in Atlanta were frequently caught speaking in computer code, my friends out here are frequently caught bickering about production quality or fall fashion. Now that's a big cultural gap. Back home it seemed like everyone was a programmer. Here it seems like everyone is in "THE industry." In Atlanta you're swaddled in the kudzu and oppressive wet heat, or else drenched in the coldest rain, whereas in LA you can smell that sweet dusty smell of desert everywhere, which is temporarily forgotten about during the region's two seasons--fire season and mudslide season. The desert has a beauty all it's own, and the mountains and Pacific ocean still take my breath away several years later. They're not the fall colors of the Appalachians, but they're pretty impressive!
People in Atlanta drive fairly sedately. Yeah, yeah...I know this seems a bit idyllic. But let's face it. People don't shoot each other with cross bows in an act of road rage or gun people down. In fact, whereas the nightly new disaster in the south is some kind of storm or tornado warning, the news de jour is a police pursuit of some wacko who doesn't know what a spike strip is. In Atlanta, there's a perimeter that grinds to a halt during rush hour. In LA there's a a spiderweb of undermaintained highways that grind to a parking halt at any random point in the week. (3 p.m. on a Sunday? Really?)
In the south, you visit Civil War sites. Out here you visit a game show, stand in as an extra, or take acting classes.
Hmmm...this reflection is nowhere near over...
To Be Continued...