May 2000
May 2, 2000
Yet another school year draws to a close. One day of class remains after this one. Two lectures, in total. I'm ready to get the heck out of here. Actually, I enjoy it here, I'm just tired of classes.
Last night as I showered, I thought of a quote I once heard. I don't remember whose it was, but it went something like, "All of human life is a search for meaning." It's true.
With almost every action we take, we affirm one thing -- We are lost and searching. We look for acceptance and something that will fill the days and void.
"Jesus answered and said to her, If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, 'Give Me a drink,' you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water."
-- John 4:10 NASB
May 4, 2000
I ought to be working, but instead I'm writing.
I used to cry a lot for myself. Every little thing that happened seemed like a tragedy. I was "bottomed out," and all my strength to resist emotional bumps and bruises was gone. I had finally reached the bottom of a well, and instead of finding a soft, comfortable floor, I found a rock hard one. It seems reasonable that there would be a way to bounce back out. You know, "The night is darknest before the dawn" and all that sort of rot. But there isn't and it's not.br>
When I finally did make it out, I knew everything would be hard for a while. Maybe even for the rest of my life. It has been. My existance is no longer defined by depression, but I still have days when I question what I'm doing.
Sometimes when I fight (spar), I just stand there and take kicks. I'm afraid of doing everything wrong. That's a deep insight into my personality, sometimes.
I've been told by a number of poeple who I trust to tell the truth and not exagerate that I am "really bright" ( or some variation of that ). I consider my intelligence to be my gift. I have no athletic ability, and I couldn't win a beauty contests, but I honestly believe that there is not a career closed to me because of a lack of mental power. I don't think that's arrogance.. I think it's true.
Despite this, I occaionsally find it likely that I am really not good enough to make through school. I'll get to a class that's too tough and I'll crack.
I believe in a personal God partially because I can't imagine there being any real meaning to life if there was not a personal God. Some say that Christians and adherents to religions in general are weak-minded and require the crutch of faith to make sense of life. Those are usually the same folks that are saying things like, "I make my own meaning." Not even they are capable of facing the starkness of a meaningless existence. Even people who claim that they believe there is no meaning fail to live as though they really believe it. They try to rationalize, but the truth is, I think nearly all of us feels in our guts that there is meaning.
I have become so difficult to get to know. I can sense that. I think I have finally figured out why. I don't want anyone finding out what I'm really like. I say things these days that aren't at all a reflection of what I am inside. One fellow always listens with a touch of a smile and says, "I know you aren't really like that." I love to hear him say that, because it's nice to be really known, but to be known in such a way that everything isn't on the table all the time. So anyway, I try to act "normal." My entire taekwondo class doesn't know me. They know a facade I've put up, an attempt to be a normal college guy that likes to kick.
Why am I so afraid to be me? I've put myself under a lot of stress by pretending to be someone I'm not a lot of the time. It doesn't make sense.
May 10, 2000
School is over. I write this from a dorm room belonging to a friend in Abilene, Texas.
I have great expectations for this summer. I'll be working a couple of jobs, hopefully doing some summer school, and reading all the books I've accumlated over the last semester.
It's also a time to think clearer thoughts. Home is good for one reason -- it's easy to concentrate and get things sorted out. And it seems that things always need sorting.
May 18, 2000
I am at home now. I have been home for a little over half a week. I saw Gladiator and U-571. I don't think I've ever been to the theater twice inside of one week. Gladiator was good, I thought. U-571 was okay, but very, very predictible (to the point of nearly becoming insulting). I'd wait until it came out on video, if I were you.
Pil Sung. That means "must win" in Korean. I think I will add it in big text on my main page.
May 24, 2000
I can imagine that one of the first things that folks wrote when they first invented writing (or at least when they thought of recording abstract concepts) had a bit in common with what I want to write.
I make an honest attempt to pass everything I feel through a filter of reason before I act on it if it seems to be very important. By important I mean those situations in which my actions would affect other people or have a lasting effect on me.
One would only hope that after the effort is made to consider the consequences and the proposed action is found improper, the heart would fall into line and accept what the intellect has to say. The heart made a suggestion, but it was vetoed with good reason. For some reason, the heart is blind and deaf to rationale, and refuses to be silenced.
It seems, in fact, to almost be mechanistic. A machine over which we excercise little control, but a machine none the less. Something stimulates it, and it reacts. It demands a good oiling or fueling. In good faith, we fuel and assume it will be silent. Anyone with a bit of experience knows, however, that the heart is insatiable. Its painful function is preformed with ever increasing exactness and determination as it is tended. The task of trying to satisfy it soon becomes all-consuming. Reason is suspended as the formulation of methods to relieve tension in the chest increases in priority.
Why?
Whatever the misery, I refuse to give in. I think. Even now, I can hear my heart's protests, its refusal to understand the clearest arguments.
May 24, 2000
Hastily drawn self portraits don't impress you
I can tell
I gulp your attention, quaff until I choke
air, sweet air
I can't believe that after all this, it's you
You won't go
I would twist your heart from your chest if allowed
watch it beat
I think I used to long for your character
Close to God
But, once again, it's really all about me
such large Me
I just need to feel you (or anyone) close
touch My soul
You are so close, I can't begin to help it
not your fault
If I hate you in proxy, ignore me
Not Your Fault
Main
Contact me: adam.stephens@ttu.edu