Saturday, January 22, 2011


First, Inception. It was a good, good movie. Reminded me of Synecdoche, NY in a lot of ways; That playful pondering of those things that are not quite possible, but close enough to matter.
Leo was inspired, and Joseph Gordon Levitt over acted a bit, but there was too much going on to really be distracted by it. Not as heavy on the special effects as I had expected, and yet they were poignant and meaningful to the movie when they came out. I loved that they hit hard on a couple of the magical aspects of dreaming. We can dream seemingly a days worth of stuff in a twenty minute nap, and I always wake up with a 'kick!' So in that way, I think it made everyone feel like they needed to pay attention.
And naturally, I experimented on Kelsey later on in the night by waking her up with my face a few inches from hers. The result was terrifying for both of us, I think. I don't know what I was expecting.

TIME! I was already a little preoccupied with the subject before I saw Inception, but that certainly fueled it a little. I have a couple of thoughts:
Firstly, I realized that for the first time in my life, I am living in a season that isn't encapsulated with a defined beginning and end. Each school year has a beginning and an end, high school had a beginning and an end, and college had a beginning and an end (although admittedly I drug my feet through that one a little bit). And really, it affected the way I lived my life during those times. There were nights where I would tell myself, "I only have two more years of this, before everything changes." And we (most of those of you around me during these times, at least) lived petty frenetic lives in lieu of these predestined finish lines.
Some of it was immaturity, or just being young, but everything happened faster. We would meet someone, fall in love, or become best friends in a few weeks. We would sleep five hours a night, fearful of missing the few things that were happening while our eyes were closed.
I did my learning in condensed, late-night hours, jamming weeks of carefully thought-out lectures into my head with music buzzing through head phones and caffeine pulsing through my veins (how that worked, or even seemed reasonable, is already completely beyond me).
I am still proud of myself in a lot of ways. I did a LOT in 5 years. I had many of life altering conversations, ideas that would have made a difference had they actually been carried out. I drank lots of soda and I exercised.
Then I graduated, moved, got married, and for the first time in my life I wasn't being told when the next checkpoint was coming. I picture it sometimes as if I am a raindrop, first hitting the ground at some high elevation, then racing purposefully through channels and down a mountain. I start out in some tiny little stream, then we join up with other streams and gain strength. We crash onward until the ground flattens out, the now half-mile wide river deltas, and I am flushed out into this enormous lake. I look around, we are all panting, high-fiving if we feel like it, but looking around a little uncertain.
There were always times when I looked forward to things slowing down. But now I feel like a sprinter trying to run a marathon. It takes so much more discipline to get anything done, to keep up on dreams and passions, to spend time with people I used to see around every corner. I sleep eight hours every night! And sometimes I find myself excited about it... ugh.
I think about trying to find a hobby, or filling up my time with more obligations, but I know that until I can figure out how to live my life with more patience those things will only be prolonging the inevitable.
Admittedly, I do see the first-fruits of allowing relationships and wisdom to grow and mature within this patience. There is more depth, longer exploration of all these things in this world that are so deserving of our attention, of our senses. Embracing a sunset, driving with the stereo off, making a meal with my wife, listening more and finding that I have less to say. All firsts, all seem like pretty good things.


  1. Your raindrop metaphor feels like a really good fit. I have just a couple thoughts to convey beyond my earnest agreement.

    We are experiencing real liberty now. In many ways, it makes me nostalgic for order. I pine for the crisp, unassailable notion of "success" towards which to labor; I think I'm in withdrawal. I also miss labor.

    It feels like our new slowness and "depth", as you put it, provides an opportunity for appreciation — a practice (and a labor?) I suspect will be essential to my contentment.


  2. You should write more. I'm into it.