The Oscars and Vulnerability

I think I am very much like a computer in some regards. When there is too much going on, too many processes happening, too many systems running, I freeze and shut down.

And like a computer, I have a limited ability to help myself. I can defragment my mind, move everything to the proper shelf. Sometimes though, the problems are too deep for a simple reboot to solve, and I need external help.

I don't like external help.

It makes me feel vulnerable.

Vulnerability makes me want to throw up. Not that I think it's disgusting, but when I realize I'm in a vulnerable position, I feel the bile waiting for an opportunity to race up my throat and out my mouth, as if to punish it for making me vulnerable.

Vulnerability and vomit. So alliterate.

I put myself in a vulnerable position this weekend, and I'm still not sure why. I also was experiencing a system overload, so the two compounded have made for an interesting emotional cocktail.

I'm not sure how this fits in with the Academy Awards. I think they're just symbolic of the crowning achievements of escapism. The entire concept is actually a bit inane.

"Oh, lets give statues and prestige to people for doing something well."

That part makes sense.

"Lets broadcast it internationally because it will impact the lives of millions who are watching."

Wait, what?

There really is no reason to watch the Oscars, let alone cheer when a movie you like wins something, but still, we do.

I'm not even saying it's bad. Its just rather weird, all things considered.

Actually, considering that all things cannot be thought of, let alone thought about, it's probably not that weird.

I'm not sure where the point of this went.

I need a new OS.

23

Man:

"I felt for sure last night
At once we said goodbye
No one else will know these lonely dreams
No one else will know that part of me
Im still driving away
And Im sorry every day
I wont always love these selfish things
I wont always live...
Stop it...

It was my turn to decide
I knew this was our time
No one else will have me like you do
No one else will have me, only you"

God:

"Youll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
Im here and now Im ready
Holding on tight
Dont give away the end
The one thing that stays mine"

Man:

"Amazing still it seems
Ill be 23
I wont always love what Ill never have
I wont always live in my regrets"

God: "

Youll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
Im here and now Im ready
Holding on tight
Dont give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

Youll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
Im here and now Im ready
Holding on tight
Dont give away the end
The one thing that stays mine... "

I was driving home today, and I put this song on because it sounds pretty, but I was listening to the lyrics and things kept standing out. I decided I might be able to commandeer it into a good worship song. I got home and looked up the full lyrics and was floored. These lines:

Im here and now Im ready
Holding on tight

just hit me so hard. It portrays the sheer tenderness that God has for us. This idea came up in a book called Abba's Child by Brennan Manning, and it talks about how God is tender for us. Manning uses the example of a child who brings their mother a bouquet of dandelions: Even though the gift is actually worthless, the parent adores it because of who it's from and what it represents.

I just love that so much. The best we can bring God is wilted dandelions, but he loves it and us.

mind. blown.

Cookies and Earth Tones

A friend wrote a guitar lick, so I wrote these lyrics to accompany it.

They don't fit the guitar line at all, but I like them so here they are:

I want the maps’ to the synapse between the wires in your brain

Because the way that you look is, well it’s really quite nice

And it’s making me mad, no not steaming,

I’m as cool as snow But your face really touched my heart,

I thought that you should know

Da da da

But can we take this back a few steps

Where you walked in the house, let me recount what happened next

See, time is relative, but it’s not my father, no it’s not my mum

It’s a brother teasing me when I just want to have fun

And I’d have like to have stared for as long as I could

But you just breezed to the bookshelf and left me by myself

Da da da

And while you stared at Wilde my mind was thinking thoughts

That I ought not to have thought, but you’re just too magical

So while I reigned in my desires, you walked away to another room

And I just followed at a distance wishing you’d turn around

But then you did and I made this sound

Uuuuuuuuh

You gave me a funny look and continued on your way

And I went back to my friends and there’s not much more to say

Some people just look too good to be true

But I’m still glad that I almost met you

Da da da

Da da da

Da da

The Call To Create

I've always considered myself an artist on some level. The sheer joy i get out of the creative process seemed like a strong enough indicator that it was something I should pursue.

Now I'm not so sure.

I have a friend who will remain nameless like all other friends on this blog. He has this really honest way about him, where spending time with him makes you like him, just because he's so thoroughly not under-handed. His honesty is also a touch annoying, because he sincerely thinks that he isn't talented at writing. His first attempts at songwriting blew mine out of the water.

And it makes me wonder: what if writing isn't my thing?

I was reading Great House by Nicole Krauss last night, and I was moved so very heavily, and I realized that there is no way I could ever move anyone that much with something I've written.

Recently I've been praying a lot about denying self and pride, and I'm starting to look at my motivations for wanting to create, and the more I look into it the more I realize it's about pride. I want affirmation, I want to be held in people's eyes as 'the artist,' or 'the writer.' And honestly, I'm sick of it. I want to find a way where what I make is made for the beauty of it.

But again, why make something slightly good with much effort when people can make excellent things with no effort?

I also guess I shouldn't be comparing myself to others and basing my decisions off their abilities, but it seems so apparent that some people just have natural abilities to do things with such grace and ease, whereas others are at their best, not very good.

I really don't know what conclusion I've reached. I'm not writing this as some self-pitying plea, hoping that people will tell me that I really am a good writer, because I realize I can write with some proficiency. But that's from years of writing and reading and immersing myself in this world. Others can just pick up a pen and craft things that people relate to at a gut level.

I need clarity. And Nutella. And milk.