Comfortable

When asked questions, or when we describe ourselves, we are rarely truthful. We are rarely honest. And we are rarely real. Especially when we meet someone new.

It seems that we build these walls around ourselves, only to tear off the walls layer by layer, day by day. We never let people see the real us at first meeting. It takes time to deconstruct our walls. Why is that?

Why do we think it is so necessary to not be open with people? For fear of being disregarded and made fun of? For the plain fear of rejection? Why?

Because, it is comfortable. It is comfortable when we are uncomfortable. We are comfortable behind our self created walls. We like their protection, and we fear their destruction. We like the warmth they give, and crave protection when we expose what is truly behind the walls.

But it is something beautiful to see what is truly behind the walls. When, in a relationship (intimate or a friendship) we tear off a layer, we find something beautiful. We find the truth. We find what is real, and that realness will either draw you in close to that person, or inevitably push you away.

After all the walls have crumbled and fallen, and you stand there this barren piece of rubble, then you are real--you are exposed, you are comfortable, and you are not lying to others and more importantly, to yourself. You and whoever is near you can marvel in the beautiful piles of rubble that you both are.

Drive

I am in need of a drive.

I have just spent two hours studying Spanish. Now, that may not sound too bad, but trust me...it is. I just don't get it. I feel that there is nothing that I can do, to learn this fast and crazy language any more than I already am. This language frustrates me. It drives me crazy, and it makes me want to rip the little hairs from my head.

However, I am determined to learn this blasted language. Not to be fluent, but to be proficient. I enjoy making progress, and I get an overwhelming sense of accomplishment when I get something right in class. So despite the hell that I go through while learning it, I am determined and would like to persevere.

I can only hope that Spanish speakers get this frustrated when they are attempting to learn English.

We are even.

Anyway, back to driving.

There is something about driving that frees the soul. Maybe it is the feeling of going fast, maybe it is the feeling of having control over your final destination, maybe I enjoy driving because I can go wherever I would like. (You could place a contradiction in right here about rising gas prices, which inevitably would reduce excursions in the car.)

When I drive I get lost in my thoughts, maybe you do the same. I have experienced a strange feeling while driving before. It is the feeling that you get when you start thinking about something: the past, the future, girls, music, god; something occupies your mind. If the thought is intense enough you can become consumed by it, and then driving becomes so passive. In your deep intensive thought, that seems brief and fleeting, you look at the clock and realize that an hour has passed. Have you ever experienced that? I enjoy that feeling. I guess it is dangerous in a way though--becoming so passive that you neglect to acknowledge the fact that you are in charge of a 1000lb machine. Better watch out.

Luckily for me I will be driving tomorrow. Just a short trip, about two hours in length. However, that is more than enough time for my soul to feel rested, revitalized, and rekindled.

Here's to the open road.

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The Start

I am hesitant to start a blog. I am hesitant for the fact that I am catorgorizing myself, I am subjecting myself to judgements and condemnations, and the ridicules of others. I know that ridicules could come from my incompitence on the spelling of words, or the usage of correct gramatical language. Despite my hesitation, I am also excited to start this internet diary. I will enjoy having somewhere to go and write--it will be a good venue to expand and relay thoughts. It will be a constructive place to share insights and meanderings.

I think that is what writing is: meanderings. In this path of life we constantly are meandering and searching for truth. Not fully knowing what that truth is and where we find it, we still search, and along this search we meander. And writing is a reflection of the meandering.

In the meandering we stumble upon things that bring you joy and things that bring you disappointment and sadness--however, you are still meandering, and still ambling.

Continue to meander.
Cheers.