Paper, What Paper?

I have five days of undergraduate work left as I write this post. One exam to take on Monday and one paper to turn in on Thursday (encouraged to be turned in earlier, but let's be honest that's never gonna happen). I take this time to write a post now because one: I'm not worried about the exam, two: I need to think about something other than this paper, and three: This is a great means of procrastination and there's no use in trying to change my study habits so late in the game. So in an effort to free my mind, momentarily, of the huge amount of work I have in the next few days, I'm writing about the huge amount of work I have in the next few days. Sure it seems counter-intuitive, and definitely counter-productive, but I think most people do this. From what I gather a lot of people like to talk about their work instead of doing it; it seems to be a stress reliever of some kind. I'd say I'm a pretty knowledgable source on the matter considering I live on a college campus, and everyone knows college students are both terrible workers and great complainers. And, for the most part we're pretty chilled out. At least that's what all those old folks say about us young whippersnappers. "Take advantage, don't know the value of a dollar, college isn't real life, blah, blah, blah." So, they might be right. But I wasn't so worried about all that. This method had carried me through so many years of school it was bound to work during my college years too. And so it did, but I'm beginning to get a little skeptical. Perhaps this method carried me through all my college years, minus one paper. And it is this fateful paper that I have left to complete before I walk across that stage and accept my $200,000 piece of paper. So basically I've got 200 grand riding on this assignment, and still I'm not really that moved to do work. There's got to be something wrong with that, right? I'm sure there is, but I can't seem to form a coherent thought about the idea. Come to think of it, my brain has not really been firing on all cylinders this week. Not the greatest news when I've got a deadline careening towards me at the speed of light (give or take a mph or two). So, I guess I'll just do what I always do. Let the adrenaline set in, hope for one more stroke of brilliance, try not to have too many typos, and pray to God that my frantic typing makes some sense. Until then, you can find me surfing the web or playing brick breaker 'cause, you know, college isn't real life.

Desperate Hope

I'm not sure I can make generalizations about the Bible at all. But, if I had to I would say that it is meant for our spiritual growth. The Sermon on the Mount is often pointed to as a premiere passage of the New Testament. At first glance this makes a lot of sense. It is a sermon on the "do's and don'ts" of Christianity. It is Christ telling the people what they must do to get to heaven. Then, you begin to realize, "No way in Hell is this happening." I mean, no way ever, not even for an hour is this possible. This is a speech of extremes. "Don't murder, and don't be angry." "Don't commit adultery, and don't lust." Yeah, ok, no problem--So much for spiritual growth. I've already ruined it four times while writing this post. This passage drives you into the ground. The more I read the more I dig my own grave. My life is over, there's no getting around this one. Sermon on the Mount--you've ended all hope in me. It's reached into my soul and shown a light on its blackness; it's personal. But Christ doesn't end with this Sermon. He offers hope outside of ourselves. The sermon is where we need to start for us to know in our hearts that it is true when he says "I do this for you, I do this for you alone." The creator of all things dies for dirty, desperate people. His best friends, the ones who we study as scripture today, were thieves, adulterers, blasphemers, and murderers. Let me say it again, these were his best friends! There must still be hope yet. The greatest followers of Christ were filth, and he taught them to love--and taught me to love them. Looking to Christ's love gives me hope, gives me love that I cannot claim as my own. And, that is spiritual growth, that is everlasting life.

.03

Well it's been quite awhile since any kind of update. When I last posted, I was in the full swing of the swim season, the spring semester had barely started, and I hadn't started any of my thesis yet (30 pages in, now, if you're wondering). Now, the swim season has been over for a couple weeks and I've been reflecting on my relatively short career as a swimmer. With only six years under my belt, it doesn't take too terribly long to think of the best and worst moments of my career. But, I can now say, without a doubt, that I know the best week of swimming I've ever had.

It began, oddly, a day after my last post--January 29th, 2011. This was our senior night and the last home meet of the season. For a little added pressure, it was against F&M--big rivals and a school we hadn't beaten in about a decade. This is a story of battle between enemies, truly epic, and for once we had a packed house to watch it. It began well for Dickinson, as we jumped to an early lead in the medley relay. About half way through the meet the 400IM comes up. This is a crucial event that F&M had an advantage in. But it was the event that changed the pace of the meet. Our top IMer came from behind on the last lap to touch out the F&M swimmer by less than two tenths of a second, putting us just slightly ahead of the other team. Throughout the rest of the meet we battled back and forth gaining and losing the lead at nearly every other event. Then comes the final break; two events left--the 100 breaststroke and the 200 free relay. We are down 7 points and need big victories to take the win. We take the 100 breaststroke in great form taking first and second. One more event, score tied at 94, and we haven't lost this event all year. Charged and ready to race, we step up to the blocks with the crowd screaming deafening cheers. Then, all at once, silence--Take your mark, the buzzer sounds and the decibels rise to a whole new level--never before have I heard it this loud. Our lead off swimmer gives us a small lead, our second swimmer keeps pace, our third swimmer extends the lead to .2 seconds. Now, I'm on the block and as I dive into the water I notice what I thought impossible. Mid-air I hear the crowd noise rise again, even louder--and I know I cannot lose; there is no way this man next to me will beat me. At the turn, I see him right next to me, gaining ground. 12 yards to go and he's got a slight edge; 5 yards it's to0 close to call. I have one last stroke to make a difference, to edge out the win. I shoot my hand to the wall, pick my head up out of the water--and there is endless silence. The times post 1:28.94 and 1:28.97. We did it, .03 ahead of F&M we made history beating our overmatched rivals, bringing victory on our last home meet ever. Shouts of joy, screams of elation--the team coming together in a mass of hysteria, nothing can be greater than this.

Except a week later, when our meet would rival the excitement of that day. Our last dual meet of the season. The last dual meet of my career, and once again I've been called to finish the meet and be the anchor of the 400 free relay. With incredible wins already on the day including a .01 win in the 200 butterfly, it had been a battle to say the least. Swarthmore College, a hated competitor and serious challenger (never before had we even come close to beating them while I've been here) was primed for the win, expecting it at the last event. We were leading the meet by a mere 6 points. Whoever won this event would leave the meet the victor. Heading in to the event, we knew we would need a lead entering in to my leg; they left their fastest for the end, we put ours in the front. By the time our third man touched the wall we had just under a second lead on Swarthmore. The 1oo freestyle is not my greatest event. Just a short 30 minutes before this race I posted a 50.8, not a great time. I knew I needed to break 50 to take the win. Swimming two laps of this event is easy, adrenaline carries you through most of it. Then you hit the third lap, and you are gasping for air, kicking with fatigued legs, and arms that are cramping and burning. At the third turn, I see him right next to me. Panic fills my whole body. He had made up the entire lead on the last three laps, and he's still got another whole lap to get ahead and win it. A new wave of adrenaline hits my body, I cannot let him win this, my last dual meet ever. Breathing furiously and often, I see the splash of his strokes, as I too am thrashing my arms using every ounce of energy and somehow finding more in me. Digging deeper than I ever have before, making up lost time in the last 5 yards I'm not sure if it's enough until I touch the wall. This time I know we've done it again. I look at the time--.03 ahead. I needed to post a time in the 100 a second and a half faster than I had swam it earlier in that very same meet to win it. The impossible was nothing, we were champions over the only two teams our senior class had never beaten, and all in the same week. We had touched out our collegiate rivals and ended the season victors and champions. It was a season of heroic swims and brotherly support. I owe this greatest week of my swimming career to my teammates for all of their support and work. What a way to go out.

Mirage

I've decided to come to terms with the idea that I have the wonderfully cynical view that my life has become something of a desert. Yes, in the middle of frigid, snow-covered Carlisle, PA I'm thinking of the achingly hot sand, boiling sun, and waves of torturous heat stretching to the horizon. So, no there isn't a nostalgic smile of warmth on my face when considering these thoughts. But as much as I hate the sun and the sand and the heat; I expect it. This is, after all, the desert. It's pretty transparent about the whole sand thing. The part that really gets me are the oases, or seeming oases, these phantoms of relief. Because what could be worse than reaching for cool water only to grab a handful of scalding sand.

After spending a good amount of time here in the desert you even come to expect these mirages. And, one would assume, with this expectation comes the loss of genuine hope. Oddly, this is not really the case. With every distant glimmer, every sparkling drop of this apparition is a fundamental, primal hope that stirs in my chest. In the most recognized place of hopelessness there still lives in me the elevated heart beat of hope that yearns for "This time, this time for sure it is real." Only to come of no avail. So the question is, when does this unceasing hope lose itself and become only crazed desperation? Am I yet a wild man staggering through the desert with outstretched arms plunging into the sand around him, searching for what is not there, what will never be there? I pray that there be something other than desperation, but with every mirage it seems unlikely. At the sight of clear refreshment I dive in, with hope perhaps, but probably desperation beating in my chest. With every glance, every step "This time , this time for sure" my heart beats, as my mind already knows "Not this one, there is no water." And so I walk endless in sun and sand, parched and waiting, hoping without hope.

What We Write About When We Write About Nothing

For some of you newer followers it may come as a bit of a surprise to you to know that I am linguistically challenged. I am not a good writer, and writing is a hard process for me. For those of you who have been reading this blog for a while, I'm sure you're all thinking to yourselves, "well at least he knows." (Thanks for hanging in there anyway). It's an endless battle for me, and even harder when I can't even think of something to write about. There is sage advice that has always been given to me when this occurs. It goes something like, "When you have writer's block the best thing to do is write about how you have nothing to write about." I haven't written here in a while because I couldn't think of anything worth writing; so, I'm following the advice of the many writers who have come before me. I've actually practiced this exercise a number of times before. This would seem to suggest that I'm pretty good at writing about nothing, that I know the ins and outs of how to get around writer's block and come up with some words of meaning, but that's not really the case. Writing about nothing has a new definition for me every time I try it, and somehow none of those definitions are 'something' of substance.

Learning how to writing about nothing for me is like trying to understand a black hole--its vacuous. Perhaps this is a part of why I'm not a great writer. Writers can make nothing look like something, but, in a sense, this is just what I do. It's avoiding the writing prompt; it's not writing about nothing, it's turning nothing into something else and getting away from the problem completely. These writers (and myself) do not know 'nothing' they fear it endlessly. True writers are capable of turning something into nothing. These men and women understand what 'nothing' really means; they know the black hole; they never have true writer's block. It is the craftsman who can turn a phrase and make characters that are so real, so personal that the words disappear, they become nothing and the story is no longer writing, but something deeper. I envy those who can turn something into nothing, who make words disappear before my very eyes. I want to know the black hole and not fear it.

Short, So Make it Sweet

The lunar eclipse is tonight and it's got me thinking about some things. The lunar eclipse fascinates me far more than the solar eclipse. And, I think that's because it shows the power of the sun. Throughout all of human history, we have built our lives around the sun. It's what makes our day a day, our night a night. It's incredible enough to think that the light emanating from the sun can actually illuminate a ball of dirt bright enough for us to see from thousands of miles away. But, now with the lunar eclipse, we see that the sun can go even further. It even affects the change of color the moon reflects. And this is all in the nature of the sun. These celestial phenomena are nothing of the sort to the sun. It is simply the sun doing what its supposed to do, and it has the whole world waiting up at night to stare at something it has done for who knows how long.

And then there's us, there's me. What will people stay up late at night to watch that I can do? How can I reflect my work and affect a change so great that it lights up the night sky? I need to make a change, I am often too afraid to make the leap. But it takes a leap to make the gap from nothing to something. You've got to be in the air, falling, hoping that you land on solid ground to have anything at all. Otherwise, you're left without exploration, without chances taken, without a life lived. This life is short, and I am too often silent. My mind screams and my mouth is sealed shut.

The sun does not run from what it was made to do. It shines brightly day and night; all know and feel its presence. It's about time I started doing what I was made to do, or at least trying to find out what that is. I know it is not sitting in silence; it's about time I picked myself up started to take action. So I ask you readers, keep me accountable, make me leap; and maybe I can give you my own lunar eclipse.

Constitution of Old

Who needs the Constitution any more. It's an old, out-dated piece of paper that only history classes are concerned with. We don't need any of those silly Articles or Amendments. Why, because We the People of the United States, in order to form a more safe union, do as we are told. At least that's what the TSA (Transportation Security Administration) is banking on.

Recently, it's come to the public's attention that airport security has gone off the deep end. There are now two options (so accommodating of them) for those of you traveling via airplane. One-go through a glorified X-ray machine that looks under your clothes and takes pictures of you (they won't get on the internet we swear!). Or, two-get a pat down from a TSA agent that's more uncomfortable than flying in the cargo section of your plane (private VIP room available if you talk to the right people!) Yes, the government's really missed the mark on this one. Whatever happened to those archaic rules about right to privacy or illegal search and seizure?

In any event, we are headed for a country that assumes its citizens guilty, until proven innocent. So, I can do nothing but commend those brave few who have done what they can to stand up against The Man. Now don't get too crazy, we Americans can't actually let go of our speedy travel; there are no train rides in the futures of many people. Instead we just start stripping. That's right, an outbreak of bathing suit wearers presenting themselves for the pat-down have popped up all over the country. You want to get all up in the American people's business, government?--well have at it; let's make those agents just as uncomfortable as us, and let them see what a violation this is.

I'll leave you begging you to remember the Constitution of Old, written out from those first Americans who felt tyranny so that the monarch could be kept a safe world power, and who spoke out vehemently against it. This is what we are born from, what our country has been called to do as, more than anything else, leaders of the Free world, not the safe one.

The Constitution of the United States Amendment IV (12/15/1791): "The right of the people to be secure in their persons [...] against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated"

And if that's not good enough for anyone out there to stand up for what is theirs let us remember one document more--

The Declaration of Independence (7/4/1775): "But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their [the people's] right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government"

All I have left to say is if I must, I will throw off my clothes, to throw off such Government, and join one more Speedo to the cause of American Freedom.