The phone rings and your spirits drop. I hate it when the phone becomes the bearer of bad news. There’s been a lot of bad news lately, and it seems like there’s nothing you can ever do. You’re stuck in a moment a million miles away, and it seems like nothing you can do will make any difference. And even if it did you don’t know if you’re helping or hurting, healing or harming. I hate not knowing almost as much as I hate knowing.

I dislike New Year’s resolutions and those who pretend to keep them. I think the whole idea of New Year’s resolutions is only perpetuated by the media. The only reason anyone feels the need to talk about them is because news anchors throw them into their stories around New Year’s. I think it’s a silly tradition. You don’t hear anyone in March talking about how well they’re keeping their New Year’s resolutions. And there’s definitely no talk of resolution-keeping in October. What a bunch of bunk. Let’s spare ourselves the waste and just not talk about them. If you’re going to make a resolution to do something, it’s almost a guarantee that it won’t happen.

I started writing one of those reflective pieces about graduating college the other day. I was writing about what I had learned and was trying to pass on some inspiring words, which I think is kind of like passing a gallstone. If it comes out too easily there’s just no substance to it. What I really wanted to say is what I wish I could do now that I’m graduating. I wish I could do a lot of things, of course none of them are things within the realm of remotely practical possibilities.

I wish I could take another four years of college at a state school. The few times I’ve been on university campuses they’ve seemed enormous and intimidating. They’re a culture all their own, different from my private college experience, and I think it’d be interesting to spend four years there. Partly because I’d want to experience the difference between the Christian and secular environments. I’ve truly valued my time in a Christian community, even if it has seemed like a bubble. But there are times when you need to move on. Four years ago I don’t think I would have adjusted well at a state school. It wouldn’t be a walk in the park now, but intellectually and spiritually I’m prepared for it. I’d also like to do another four years of school because I’ve fallen in love with learning. I really enjoy learning stuff. Part of the reason it’d be fun to do another four years is because in this ‘what if’ situation there wouldn’t be any pressure for grades or jobs or anything. I could just take classes and learn what I want to learn.

But that’s all idealistic and utopian. You usually don’t learn unless there’s some sort of pressure. Desire will only take you so far, and when it fails, you’ll fall into a pit of laziness. And just because I’m dreaming about continuing school doesn’t mean I’m not happy with my future. I am happy. I really don’t want to continue school, because that would mean the pressure that I’m getting pretty tired of. I’m getting sick of projects and tests and papers. I know they’ll just reappear in a different form in the workplace, but that’s a whole other world. I’m not interested in going on to graduate school or pursuing another degree. I’m just fantasizing about learning.

And I will continue to learn, but in new ways. In two weeks I’ll be finished with classes and I can curl up with a fun reading book again. I’m really looking forward to that. I have a pile of unread books I want to dig into, as well as a mental list of books I need to check out. I have a thirst for knowledge, education, learning. Maybe I can pick up some wisdom along the way.

There’s nothing better than the crunch crunch of leaves on pavement in the fall. Nothing gives me more joy than tromping along a leaf-covered sidewalk, rustling the brown and red and orange and yellow leaves and watching them fall from the increasingly bare trees. This is what fall is all about.

That’s the way it is. One day you’re three and a half, curled up in your grandfather’s lap, a moment captured on black and white film. The next thing you know you’ve got bills and rent and car payment and the alarm goes off before the sun comes up. Life.

A country’s at war and you long for the presidential statements of history, but all you get is a Texan who stutters when he thinks, repeats himself, and mispronounces common words. It’s not that he’s a bad guy, he’s been impressive the past month, but you want something more. You want speeches that go down in the history books, audio sound bytes that our children will remember. Instead you get E-raq instead of Iraq, and Is-slam instead of Islam.

Life is never as dramatic as we’d like it to be. And then sometimes it’s so much more dramatic. The tragic happens and we can only cover our mouths and gasp. We’ve been trained to look for life through the camera lens, for life through the director’s eyes. Fast, well-timed edits: shot of the gas pedal to the floor, cut to the car cruising down the street, cut to driver’s view, cut to stick shift, dropping to third, cut to pedal shot again, back to driver’s view, back to bird’s eye watch the car swerve, shot of the driver spinning the wheel, all the while the soundtrack thumping in the background. Is that what life’s supposed to be like? Bring your own soundtrack?

If your life was a soundtrack, who would be on it? If your life was a movie, who would star? If your life was a novel, who’d be the author?

Questions and answers, more questions than answers, more answers than questions. And you’re always rehashing. They say drop food not bombs, and we are–but you still can’t win. That’s the way it is.

I’m amazed at how completely inept I am at socializing. I must have been absent when they covered that in school. Last night my wife and I went to a little coffee & dessert thing at the pastor’s house as a kind of ‘meet the new people’ thing. There wasn’t any agenda to the evening, it was just couples standing around and talking all evening.

Did I mention it was a house full of couples who didn’t know each other? So every conversation was the same. Have you been coming to this church for long? What do you do? How long have you been married? Do you have any kids, or in case, when did you graduate? It was a little odd, but it’s nice to actually recognize a few faces in church.

My favorite part was when we finished one conversation and reached the socially awkward moment of having to talk to someone else. We’d stand there for a few minutes, noticing the groups of people conversing, all in little circles with their backs to you. I was not prepared for these kinds of situations in college. And they call it a liberal arts degree.

You’ve got to give it away.

—

A young woman, white, brown hair that curled at her shoulders, a peach knitted sweater that revealed her pale stomach, tight dark jeans and black boots with a clunky two inch heal. She had a square black purse slung over one shoulder and a baby strapped to her front.

The child was in a pouch like a kangaroo, sleepily clinging to his mother’s chest, face buried in breast, tiny hand clutching fistful of peach sweater. The baby pouch gave the woman a hands free way to carry her baby, and she sauntered around with a swing in her step like she wasn’t carrying an only child.

She stepped off the bus, holding a newspaper in one hand and adjusting her purse with the other. She didn’t touch the baby. Her hands reached for her purse, reaching for her need. She put a cigarette to her lips and paused in the middle of the parking lot to light up. The baby hung there like dead weight and she blew a puff of smoke into the wind and walked on.

—

Slow dancing in your underwear, turning slowly, not quite on rhythm, singing not quite off key. The darkened room, an overcast afternoon, gray light streaming in and you’ve got to hang on tight. The speakers reverberate with the vibe, you wonder if they’re blown. A revolving dance, twisting, yearning, holding–the song fades and so do you, standing in the stillness of a warm embrace.

—

A white woman striding down the sidewalk with a black toddler on her hip. She works the bus system like a pro, going three blocks up to drop off her son, then walking two blocks over to catch another bus bound for Randolph Avenue and another job.

She’s skinny, tight white jeans, a no nonsense stride, sticky bleach blonde hair that clings to her scalp in curls. Not exactly stylish, but it works.

She speaks with force, telling a stranger of her towed car and the exaggerated fees. It’s no longer worth the price. She’s found that a lot of things aren’t worth the price. So she rides the bus until she can find something better. Winter’s coming, she’ll have to, she says.

She’s made mistakes, but she lives with them. She won’t let you look down on her. She finds strength in the toddler, the one-time mistake, the former accident.

Tonight I witnessed a scene out of Jerry Springer outside my apartment building. There was screaming and shouting, irate accusations and fluid profanity. Apparently the guy had been cheating on his girlfriend, but in his defense he and this other girl weren’t having sex yet. Apparently that makes it all okay. The girlfriend kept talking about trust and her baby–to which the guy kept correcting, “Our baby!”

Perhaps this is why commitment is important. Apparently it matters who you have sex with and who you have children with. Odd that some people never realize this until they’re screaming at each other on the front porch while the neighbors gawk.

I envy people who are really friendly. There’s a guy at work who has the ability to talk with anyone and be friendly with anyone. He’s been there a third as long as I have and he knows ten times as many people at work. Being an introvert seems to hinder my ability to get to know people.

Sometimes I wonder if Jesus was an introvert. He kept to himself at times and no one really understood him. Yet he wasn’t afraid to talk to anyone, and often talked to the people no one else would talk to. It seems like it’s almost easier to be a Christian if you’re an extrovert. I wonder if anyone’s ever studied the religious beliefs of introverts versus extroverts. Something tells me more evangelists are extroverts.

It seems like a lot of the problems I see in life would be overcome if I just weren’t so introverted. If I actually learned people’s names and got to know people other than myself, I could over come the racism and classism I often complain about. But I’m sure life isn’t that easy for extroverts either. They probably have some issue that hinders them. I wonder if extroverts envy introverts.

That’s what they say when it’s late at night and hot as hell. You can feel your skin melt and your body shut down. You look to the night air for comfort but only find stifling, sweltering heat.

What does a snow leopard think of living in 95 degree summers? What does a giraffe think of living in sub-zero winters? What does the polar bear think of the preschool class that comes to watch it sit and wonder if it’s gonna drink a Coke? Does the zoo keeper think of the animals behind the bars or is the zoo keeper just entertaining the animals in front of the bars?

It’s all a zoo. Or maybe a circus.

If you want anything done right, you have to do it yourself. But you can’t conquer the world with a one-person army. Contradiction is the cradle of life.

Grassroots manipulation by a big conglomeration. Is anything for real? Or is all just a big show? I want to change the world. That’s what we all say. But some flash in the pan from east Texas writes a novel and makes it big on CNN, gets his 30 seconds sound byte and the world is a better place for having seen him come and go.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, it’s the search of today, and maybe we’ve found it and maybe we haven’t. And maybe you should just drink your Pepsi and look under the cap to see if you’re a winner.

Please try again.