Change is Everything

Adjusting to the new conditions that I am faced with once again, (a new family; again), and a new job, and many new prospects waving hello to me right now in life; I have been faced with change so often, I find it almost normal for some routine that I've become accustomed to, to change. Sometimes, I find people think that change is difficult to handle, because it brings about new challenges and new obstacles. But, I suppose I embrace challenges and hardships better than some, because I enjoy change, actually I look forward to it. That may very well change someday (how ironic), because everyday things change slightly; we move forward each and every minute of our lives, and therefore change may very well take over my very being, and no longer have that connotation of positive and enjoyable. I find it rather funny that many students nowadays, are either very much adaptable to change, and actually find it boring sans-change, or they are the exact opposite: they enjoy falling into a pattern and doing the same thing everyday, so that no new hardships come their way. Actually, just today, I was in church, and the pastor spoke about inmates not wanting to embrace the change of being let out of the prison. So here's my quick question: is change a prison, in which we fear something becoming different and accelerating pain and suffering (or even the possibility of joy and happiness), or is it a paradise of sorts to where we can depart from the norm, and come to a new way of living or being?

A World That's Tired of Waking Up

Listening to a song on the radio and waking up every morning to a dark bedroom and the sound of cars on the highway outside got me thinking: isn't it tiring have to wake up every morning at a prescribed time? I suppose I understand why we have a certain time-clock, although unlike during the late 19th century, we needed a timed schedule for trains, nowadays, the only reason I see we needing times is for school and work, and who says we absolutely need those times to be the way they are? I've always loved the romanticized idea of what my dad says they do (or at least used to) in Africa. When the village had a town meeting, they would all meet somewhere, and everyone would come from their little houses or huts (or whatever they are in Africa, I'm none the wiser), but here's the catch: say they wanted to start the meeting at mid-day (note here that there isn't an exact time), each person, depending on how far away he lived from the meeting place, would leave his hut/house and start walking. They would all start walking, until they all met in the same place. Doesn't this sound like a much better system of meeting people? Well, maybe in a perfect world, we'd all live ten minutes away and could meet a little earlier. But is that necessarily a perfect world? Wake up people! It's not! "I've been sleeping in for days, 'cause when I am awake, I will have to face my life..." That's a line from one of my favorite songs, and it describes exactly what I feel every time I wake up. What I wouldn't give to get up at 6am, not to go to school or some robotronic workplace, but just to see the sunrise and watch as the day unfolds. Too bad I live in a world that's too tired to wake up.

Story of My Life

Often times when I'm working hard on homework I have, my dad will ask "Homework? Story of your life, eh?" This is quite comical to me, because I see everything as a story, and enjoy stories immensely. When I listen to a song, I don't care so much about the beat as much as I do about the message, the lyrical content. The mystery and depth of words, happenings, and emotions intrigue me more than anything else. I love how things seem to come together somehow when I read a story, especially a mystery or suspense/thriller novel. It fascinates me that we are all living our own story; we each have our own destiny and legacy, and each thing we encounter, each person we meet, is another character or event in the great "story of our lives." I've always thought I was a little odd, a little different, because I see things this way, but I suppose I'm just observant in my own quirky way. But doesn't it seem monumental that we can write our own story by all the things we do? All the choices we make? I'm sure excited! So, start writing your story (well, continue doing it) today, and even though that sounds totally cliche, it is very much happening all around us, and we must be the author of our lives, even if we believe in a divine author.

Master's Craft

A day to remember, is a day of the master's craft, when finally the beauty is bestowed upon the image; the flourishing splendor of color or music or talent is burst out into the world. When finally the master and his artwork may be reunited, and the music or artistry is revealed, both master and instrument may be at ease. Such as is a violin's player, or a novel's writer; everything goes together just perfectly to begin the chain of art in that which we call music or literature, theater or sport, entertainment or leisure. I've found that the master who knows his craft may be impressive to others around him, and the knowledge that the master has obtained or obtains, whether massive or measly, makes their craft even more renowned and revered. Seeing the delight and determination of a musician on stage lights a certain fire in an enthusiast, such as myself, and the audience holds onto the animated face of the master. I have found myself marveling at the very tethers of music and art, and wish to know more, no matter how much information I may already have under my belt. My one question is, if a master has his craft, and knows that, what should he do to make it his own, and what exactly can a "craft" be described as?

All in a Line

I noticed just last night that the way certain people organize things is rather funny. Glasses in three straight lines like Terra-Cotta warriors ready for battle (or thirst-quenching); long lines of people, slightly zigzagged in formation, but nonetheless organized; and the organization of we, the people. It's funny to think that we live so much in lines, whether they be straight, curvy, dashed, or broken, but when you think about it, lines are everywhere. So what does a line really represent? A prescribed path that we must follow, or a way we may go, that we may choose? Sometimes it seems that the lines are blurry, and we must splay our hands in front of us to try to "see" through the fog. But no matter what kind of lines we face, we are parallel on one thing that is certain: they are everywhere, so get in line.

In the Quiet

As I sit here alone in my dining room, I start to realize just what is going on around me. Being an inherently quiet individual, I tend to notice sounds and objects sometimes better than most; such as in a hushed environment, with the sound of a clicked mouse reverberating around the walls, shattering the simple silence that once rent the air. I come to realize that each key that surrenders to the weight of my fingers causes a tension to be released in the heavy, silent atmosphere. Why do I notice this just now? Because, it is at times like these where I find myself wondering why all of my inner dialogue stays inside my head. What I have to say may not always be accepted, but many a person has come out and said something, was not accepted for it, and yet made history. Take Rosa Parks: she spoke up for her color, and was thrown off the bus for it. But what that bus driver failed to realize was that she was about to make history, by standing up to society's order. So, maybe that's just what I need to do. Stand up to the order of how things seem to be prescribed for us nowadays. Muddle it over in your brain, or toss it away, but the idea that we should take a stand for the things we believe in isn't just a one-time question on a test or a simple, trivial answer. It is who we are as a people and what we believe in. And thus, I will do my best to struggle to my feet and speak up, be heard. Will you?