I love birthdays and the dawning of the new year. They serve as these symbolic points of self-reflection and analysis. I am fortunate enough to have great spacing between the two. I assess my accomplishments and future goals every January and July. (Although, let's be honest, I am basically constantly evaluating my life and its direction and purpose. However, on New Year's Eve and my birthday it feels intentional and everything feels a little more possible as I put up a new calendar or have a new age to call myself.)
Anyway, in an attempt to review the year and prepare for the next I have created some lists.
List #1: A summary of the highlights of 2013, in no particular order
1. Moved to New York
2. Held three jobs (Fat Jack's, Neighborhood House, and generationOn)
3. Went on trips to New York City, Las Vegas, Moab, Atlanta and Washington D.C.
4. Hiked a couple mountains (although, not Timpanogos)
5. Saw Bob Dylan in the flesh (from quite a healthy distance)
6. In many ways,both general and specific, I learned about about love, forgiveness, life, sacrifice and that I am clearly not a sociopath because I care about things a lot.
List #2: Objectives for the New Year
1. Visit the Grand Canyon
2. Turn 26 with grace and glory
3. Have more fun
4. Learn more things
5. Love everything more recklessly
6. Hike Mt. Timp
As I marvel that I have made it from 1988 to 2014, I can't help but think of a Bob Dylan line (and he's already made one appearance in this post): "I was so much older then. I'm younger than that now." That feels so true. When I was younger, I naively thought I had answers to any question that could be posed and that I would blaze through life with as though it were a game of Candyland. I'm glad life isn't like Candyland, though, because that game is actually sort of boring. I feel younger now, in the fact that I realize how daunting--and frankly, scary--life can be. But I just want to keep turning corners and pressing forward enjoying each step.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Perfect Memory
I've been waxing nostalgic lately, and my go-to memory for a sort of satori, or to just remember complete intoxication with the joys and possibilities of life is seven and a half years old.
It was a July night. I could tell you the exact date because it was my friend Amanda's 18th birthday. I missed her party because I had just started a new job and was terrified about asking time off (I worked my own 18th birthday ten days later). By the time I made it to her house, the party that had been held was over, and only the Joshes remained (coincidentally, two of our best friends were christened with the same name. Josh must have been top of the baby name list in 1988.)
The moment I recall is the four of us laying on Amanda's front lawn in the heart of Utah Valley suburbia. We were not under the influence of any substance other than the exhilaration that comes from being the the precipice of adulthood. We were laying on the grass trying to feel the earth move. A science teacher we had had in ninth grade, who was that special combination of crazy, knowledgeable and inspiring, had said that he laid on the ground sometimes in an attempt to feel the earth rotating on its axis. And really, since the earth spins at a rate of 1,038 miles per hour, it really isn't too crazy to think that maybe if we were truly focusing on on our position in space that we could possibly feel the movement of our planet.
So there we were, all four of us, lying on the freshly cut green grass dimly lit by the pale light of the moon and stars and the glow of nearby streetlights envisioning ourselves as specks on the curved face of our spherical home as it spun madly around an invisible axis. We were so intent on our experiment, despite varying levels of skepticism existed among us regarding the plausibility of feeling anything. Nonetheless, in looking back, I feel so connected to the world and to my significant insignificance and now, in reflecting in the moment, realize the absolute necessity of good friends for the most whole, rich and fulfilling life.
Josh G. swears he felt the earth move.
After an indeterminate time, we drove to a nearby town to a Taco Bell where I forced Josh S. to donate $2 to whatever charity the business was supporting at the time in addition to buying his chalupas or whatever. Then we saw some midnight movie featuring Denzel Washington.
Now three of the four of us are married. At least one baby is on its way.
The earth has definitely kept moving.
It was a July night. I could tell you the exact date because it was my friend Amanda's 18th birthday. I missed her party because I had just started a new job and was terrified about asking time off (I worked my own 18th birthday ten days later). By the time I made it to her house, the party that had been held was over, and only the Joshes remained (coincidentally, two of our best friends were christened with the same name. Josh must have been top of the baby name list in 1988.)
The moment I recall is the four of us laying on Amanda's front lawn in the heart of Utah Valley suburbia. We were not under the influence of any substance other than the exhilaration that comes from being the the precipice of adulthood. We were laying on the grass trying to feel the earth move. A science teacher we had had in ninth grade, who was that special combination of crazy, knowledgeable and inspiring, had said that he laid on the ground sometimes in an attempt to feel the earth rotating on its axis. And really, since the earth spins at a rate of 1,038 miles per hour, it really isn't too crazy to think that maybe if we were truly focusing on on our position in space that we could possibly feel the movement of our planet.
So there we were, all four of us, lying on the freshly cut green grass dimly lit by the pale light of the moon and stars and the glow of nearby streetlights envisioning ourselves as specks on the curved face of our spherical home as it spun madly around an invisible axis. We were so intent on our experiment, despite varying levels of skepticism existed among us regarding the plausibility of feeling anything. Nonetheless, in looking back, I feel so connected to the world and to my significant insignificance and now, in reflecting in the moment, realize the absolute necessity of good friends for the most whole, rich and fulfilling life.
Josh G. swears he felt the earth move.
After an indeterminate time, we drove to a nearby town to a Taco Bell where I forced Josh S. to donate $2 to whatever charity the business was supporting at the time in addition to buying his chalupas or whatever. Then we saw some midnight movie featuring Denzel Washington.
Now three of the four of us are married. At least one baby is on its way.
The earth has definitely kept moving.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)