Yeah, No.

by phoolishdreamer

It’s been over a month since I’ve moved to SoCal. I have gotten used to the blistering heat by staying indoors as much as possible, although the weather has cooled from its abnormal 100-degree routine. As a result, I regained my Freshman 10-15, which wasn’t bad then, but it is terrible now.

I think I finally found my rhythm for writing. It just takes about a week of binge eating sugar and candy, with some hard withdrawal, and then I’m all set to start pouring my ideas to the page. Not the best way, but it’s better than alcohol or drugs. However, I think I’m on the fast track for diabetes.

I still haven’t made many friends. I’ve networked a lot, but friends are a little hard to come by. While I would like to divulge the entirety of my life, sins and struggles and all, I don’t think very many of the people I’ve met would have the time or the effort to hear me out, even less likely to share the same faith.

On that same note, whatever Bible reading rhythm I had came to a screeching halt. I could give you reasons why, but I just erased an entire paragraph of platitudes and references that at the end of it all, I was like, “Why? Cut to the chase.” Basically, my spirit is yearning, but my flesh would rather you pass the candy corn and watch another movie.

Ironically, I can’t seem to follow advice that I gave to a friend for graduate school, one piece being to stick close to a community of believers (with the unmentioned subtext that though you may want to choke the living daylights out of a few annoying ones). Maybe it’s because I don’t have that tight-knit brotherhood readily available, or that I’m wanting things to go back to the way they were – I even considered attending a particular church because it was very much like my old one – but I can’t seem to progress as much as I desire. To be honest, I find it a little presumptuous of me to ask for help from back home, even if it is just for prayer; and in self-reflection, I realize that I’m regressing to who I once was.

I don’t want that. As I told my mentor before my leaving, I no longer wanted to be like the old me, who was a floundering, gutless piece of fluff that needed external forces to move him. No, that me was supposed die and stay buried with the other unmentionables of my past, and yet, here is Old Me, showing his ugly ass-face again (that hyphen is in the correct spot), blubbering away his problems instead of coming up with some solutions. What a sad sack of crap he was…

All self-deprecation aside, I do have some F.O.M.O. with everything going on in Seattle. My friends are having fun, enjoying life, growing spiritually, all without me. Sure, SoCal life is fun (and by fun, I just mean certain foods that are located about 45 min away), but it gets old quickly – other than the perpetual stress of trying to impress my professor and hoping I make it in the Industry. Yet, what I really want is some real talk for some real improvement.

I worry that I won’t be able to find this regularly available. That someday, I’ll be talking solely to myself, and then later diagnose myself with schizophrenia, in which I will accuse myself of bringing this upon myself. Some people have kept badgering me about going on dates, but I rather take my odds on a flaming zeppelin. Also, every time this subject comes up, it seems that I have to take up my battered turret and fend off the ridiculousness.

Additionally, I still want to adopt a shelter dog. I still want to learn how to surf. I still want to drop into a skate park bowl. I still want to do crazy things, like kicking down a door. I still want to do borderline stupid things, and not just for the stories. What I ultimately want are people to experience these things with me, so that I don’t feel like some aloof, selfish, attention-thirsty social-media-ite who subliminally doesn’t like people. (Sometimes, I do want to show my citizenship and give people the All-American Hand Sign of Peace and Courtesy.)

This was all before last Sunday.

In all these wants, I was reminded of the beginning passage of Ephesians 1 by a pastor who spoke the Word of God through all my worries. It was one of those “Harry Potter Discusses Things with Dumbledore in King’s Cross Station” or “Neo Speaks with Rama-Kandra in Mobil Avenue about Words” moments. (Pretty much any moment when Neo is speaking with someone one-on-one, because that trilogy needs so much dialogue to explain everything in it.) Everything just kind of clicked. Any worry I had melted away, and any beef I had sort of fizzled out (not quite all the way). I kind of found myself back in the new me, not so much as a starting over (again), but picking up where I left off.

Can’t say that I enjoyed wasting time to get into the groove/find myself again, but then again, when is growing up ever enjoyable, especially when you’re doing so on your own? At least it’s better together.