(no subject)
Ah! I see my blogging efforts have thus far gone unappreciated. No matter. Writing has always been therapeutic for me, and on that note, here goes a whole bunch of nothing. For anyone who happens to stumble across this, sorry if it is more serious than you expect.
Somewhere along the line, I have become stuck in the middle. As a young kid, I was completely average. When I was a teenager, I was considered gifted in many ways: academics in general, social skills, prose, piano, and - my gosh - even poetry. Yet now, while I am good at many things, I am not great at anything. This has been the theme running through the past five years of my life. I almost wish it was one or the other: I could be \the common man (for how often is the completely ordinary man celebrated in fiction? Quite frequently, if you think about it) or someone extraordinary. I am neither. I guess I lie somewhere between ignorance and knowledge: I am not ignorant enough to be blissful, as they say, but not intelligent enough to amuse myself and find my direction in life.
Yet I am such a hypocrite. I treasure the lives of so many people who history books would deem inconsequential. I often marvel at the lives led by people driving by me on the street, lives so intriguing that I will never discover. I read diary entries of famous women who, in their day, were hardly considered special and I marvel at how similar their thinking is to my own. But is this enough? If everyone is special, then "no one is" - and I can't really disagree with that logic.
Two things convince me that there is something in me beyond what I can see: the first is the fact that one of the most amazing people I know - intelligent, talented, funny, kind, genuine - is in love with me. The second is not so much what I feel or can see, but what I believe: that there is a God out there who, if I was the only person alive, would still take the time to sacrifice everything for me; a God who will still listen to my selfish call even when there are three billion others crying out to Him.
Conclusions? I have none. I think I can say with certainty that I will never be anything great and some days - today - I am okay with that. I guess the goal now is to not throw in the towel.
Okay, that was a little too pessimistic, even for me. There's the half-empty part of the glass. Here is the half-full portion: we are often so much more than we can see. The sum of who we are is greater than the parts we often pick at and detest. We may never see the whole directly, but if we are lucky we can see it reflected in the eyes of those who love us.
"People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.” (St. Augustine)
RANDOM THING OF THE DAY:
I used the word "mangled" a few times this afternoon. It is a great word. Everyone should use it at least once a week.
QUOTE OF THE DAY (I think I'll apply this one to myself!):
"Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood." (Oscar Wilde)
Somewhere along the line, I have become stuck in the middle. As a young kid, I was completely average. When I was a teenager, I was considered gifted in many ways: academics in general, social skills, prose, piano, and - my gosh - even poetry. Yet now, while I am good at many things, I am not great at anything. This has been the theme running through the past five years of my life. I almost wish it was one or the other: I could be \the common man (for how often is the completely ordinary man celebrated in fiction? Quite frequently, if you think about it) or someone extraordinary. I am neither. I guess I lie somewhere between ignorance and knowledge: I am not ignorant enough to be blissful, as they say, but not intelligent enough to amuse myself and find my direction in life.
Yet I am such a hypocrite. I treasure the lives of so many people who history books would deem inconsequential. I often marvel at the lives led by people driving by me on the street, lives so intriguing that I will never discover. I read diary entries of famous women who, in their day, were hardly considered special and I marvel at how similar their thinking is to my own. But is this enough? If everyone is special, then "no one is" - and I can't really disagree with that logic.
Two things convince me that there is something in me beyond what I can see: the first is the fact that one of the most amazing people I know - intelligent, talented, funny, kind, genuine - is in love with me. The second is not so much what I feel or can see, but what I believe: that there is a God out there who, if I was the only person alive, would still take the time to sacrifice everything for me; a God who will still listen to my selfish call even when there are three billion others crying out to Him.
Conclusions? I have none. I think I can say with certainty that I will never be anything great and some days - today - I am okay with that. I guess the goal now is to not throw in the towel.
Okay, that was a little too pessimistic, even for me. There's the half-empty part of the glass. Here is the half-full portion: we are often so much more than we can see. The sum of who we are is greater than the parts we often pick at and detest. We may never see the whole directly, but if we are lucky we can see it reflected in the eyes of those who love us.
"People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.” (St. Augustine)
RANDOM THING OF THE DAY:
I used the word "mangled" a few times this afternoon. It is a great word. Everyone should use it at least once a week.
QUOTE OF THE DAY (I think I'll apply this one to myself!):
"Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood." (Oscar Wilde)