Chicago was a blast! Once we actually caught the train from Joliet (some ridiculous form of miscommunication combined with the dynamics of group accountability would have it that we stood on the platform and watched our 10:24am train leave without us onboard. But spontanaity took us on a ride through Joliet where "if it's fun, it must be [there]"... we had lunch at a cool local coffee house, Jeff and I played a game of chess (he won) and caught the 12:24 train out), we were on our way to a day of adventure in the city!
We spent most of the day on Madison Avenue, hitting up the trendy urban shops and walking around in the snow. Big fluffly flakes were part of the weather pattern on and off all day, and they were beautiful to watch floating through the city. It was cold and slushy, but an average Chicago winter day... so we got a good taste of the city's culture. On the subway to Bellmont, we met a friend wearing a stylish plaid coat and he hung out with us for the rest of our evening. We parted ways on our way back to Madison street, but "Chris, good luck with performance school!". Our last hour or so was spent in the warmth of Barnes and Nobel (mmm Books), and then we wound our way back to the Metra station we started from earlier that day. Tired from walking all day, we were a bit part slap happy and just sat... staring and mumbling a bits of conversation here and there... always a good test of a day well spent/used.
04 March 2009
24 February 2009
And So it Began
When big plans are made and their completion is pursued, I'm always wary of a rocky start. I had spent all night, and the majority of the early morning hours packing and re-packing my life into a backpack and a carry on. I'd gone over and over everything that I was brining and was sure I had it all. And I did, well sort of, the only thing I forgot was my brain. My early AM flight came around, we threw my cement packed bags in the van and drove to the airport. Dad dropped Mom, Ariel and I off in front of Frontier Airlines so he could park the car. When he met us inside, we were moving from the Frontier counter to the US airways counter, apparently I wasn't in the right system. Confident I booked my Boise to Chicago ticket on my favorite airline, I was skeptical upon approaching the US Airways desk with my memorized itinerary. Sure enough, they sent me back to Frontier, at which point my heart was drooping with the anxiety of missing my flight. Mom pulled out the itinerary she had me send her the week or so before, and my heart skipped a beat in panic. I already missed my flight! My memorized schedule was off by a day, it was the 20th and my booking was for the 19th. Where my brain was while I checked the itinerary, or disgarded the idea of printing even the flight number or even in my months of preperation for this trip, I couln't tell you. And so I re-approached the Frontier counter, my words all a blubber, and tried to explain my absense of thought. I don't know the agents name, but before I could even ask if there was anything they could do, she was booking me on standby. I was fortunate enough to have such an early flight that standbys were no issue at all, and I made my connecting flight in Denver with no problem as well. While a seedy start may make me anxious adn doubt the security of the rest of the plans, in this instance, I like to think of it as the first of many adventures. (I've already double and tripple ckecked my coming flight itineraries and I'm keeping a close eye on my passport. :)
Once in Midway Airport, I wandered out of the terminal to claim my checked bag, and then proceeded to the CTA station. The Orange loop took about half an hour in which I enjoyed the sights of South Chicago's brick suburbia, as well as the company and conversation of a local Boise(ian) (what a small world). His last words to me were "Get a move on" or something to that effect as I raced the subway's closing doors and jumped out onto the platform of Quincy Station. With my soccer-bag hung over my right shoulder, backpack layered on top of that and my sweatshift sleeves rolled up, I looked around at where I was and contmeplated where I needed to go. Counting it better safe than sorry, and taking advantage of no language barrier, I asked two business men the way to Union Station. They pointed me towards the stairs with the revolving floor-to-ceiling exit gate. I thanked them and smiled as I thought about the sceen I was about to create. Yes, I got stuck, but only briefly, and I was on my way again. I only had to walk three blocks west, and I was at the station. By chance I choose the right tunnels and was sitting, waiting and relaxing for an hour before my Amtrak train departed for Bloomington. During my wait, I conversed about travel, train travel, plane travel, foot travel, bike travel, car travel, maybe even boat travel with an old man whose name I didn't catch. He was going back up North after having visited his daughter for the weekend. He had a rugged, worn complexion, was not a dentist (not probably friends with too many) and smelled more than slightly of alcohol. It's intersting the people that God has us meet, and even if we did have little in common to share, I still smile at our conversation. He bid me a good trip as I left for the line with a grin and a "Later Baby", which didn't creep me out as much as other such fare-wells may have.
I was one of the first on the train, so I piled my stuff under my feet and cuddled up to the seat to catch some lacking Z's. I don't remember how long I was asleep for, but when I woke up, I caught the reflection in my window of a little girl looking back at me from the seat behind me. We exchanged hello's and for the rest of the train ride, she left me little more than 10 seconds of no conversation. Her name was something cute and unique to match her, and I remember her favorite food is strawberries and bubble gum. And while she doesn't like sea-food, she likes shrimp, and crab, and fish :) (you think sea-food is just one of those names we're trained not to like? Kinda like lima beans or brussle sprouts? When in all reality, we may really love them if they were just given a new, fresh name?). When I told her my friend was picking me up from the station, and then described to her what she looked like, she was sure my friend was the same girl that sat next to her on the train last time she rode it (I guess all white people really do look alike). I was once again happy with the conversation I was able to share with a simple aquaintance, and will remember the joy at hearing her little city accent as we chatted on the train.
Caitlan picked me up at the station right as I got off the train. We split a plate of Chinese food (always a good way to start off a sleepover) and went back to her dorm to plan Saturday's "inditastic" adventure in Chicago.
Once in Midway Airport, I wandered out of the terminal to claim my checked bag, and then proceeded to the CTA station. The Orange loop took about half an hour in which I enjoyed the sights of South Chicago's brick suburbia, as well as the company and conversation of a local Boise(ian) (what a small world). His last words to me were "Get a move on" or something to that effect as I raced the subway's closing doors and jumped out onto the platform of Quincy Station. With my soccer-bag hung over my right shoulder, backpack layered on top of that and my sweatshift sleeves rolled up, I looked around at where I was and contmeplated where I needed to go. Counting it better safe than sorry, and taking advantage of no language barrier, I asked two business men the way to Union Station. They pointed me towards the stairs with the revolving floor-to-ceiling exit gate. I thanked them and smiled as I thought about the sceen I was about to create. Yes, I got stuck, but only briefly, and I was on my way again. I only had to walk three blocks west, and I was at the station. By chance I choose the right tunnels and was sitting, waiting and relaxing for an hour before my Amtrak train departed for Bloomington. During my wait, I conversed about travel, train travel, plane travel, foot travel, bike travel, car travel, maybe even boat travel with an old man whose name I didn't catch. He was going back up North after having visited his daughter for the weekend. He had a rugged, worn complexion, was not a dentist (not probably friends with too many) and smelled more than slightly of alcohol. It's intersting the people that God has us meet, and even if we did have little in common to share, I still smile at our conversation. He bid me a good trip as I left for the line with a grin and a "Later Baby", which didn't creep me out as much as other such fare-wells may have.
I was one of the first on the train, so I piled my stuff under my feet and cuddled up to the seat to catch some lacking Z's. I don't remember how long I was asleep for, but when I woke up, I caught the reflection in my window of a little girl looking back at me from the seat behind me. We exchanged hello's and for the rest of the train ride, she left me little more than 10 seconds of no conversation. Her name was something cute and unique to match her, and I remember her favorite food is strawberries and bubble gum. And while she doesn't like sea-food, she likes shrimp, and crab, and fish :) (you think sea-food is just one of those names we're trained not to like? Kinda like lima beans or brussle sprouts? When in all reality, we may really love them if they were just given a new, fresh name?). When I told her my friend was picking me up from the station, and then described to her what she looked like, she was sure my friend was the same girl that sat next to her on the train last time she rode it (I guess all white people really do look alike). I was once again happy with the conversation I was able to share with a simple aquaintance, and will remember the joy at hearing her little city accent as we chatted on the train.
Caitlan picked me up at the station right as I got off the train. We split a plate of Chinese food (always a good way to start off a sleepover) and went back to her dorm to plan Saturday's "inditastic" adventure in Chicago.
Procrastination
It would appear that I am a professional procrastinator. Whether I continue to put myself under the false impression of limitless time, or my subconscious holds it all off till the end because I work best under pressure, I couldn't tell you. But here I am with a week left in Idaho and the last two months worth of work left to do. Oops. While I'm not worried about getting everything done, I do regret my last few days at home being stressful, rather than blissful time with family and friends. However, economics and I are tight like spandex, so what more do I need? Ha, this extremely extended time of rest and relaxation has given me the chance to be reflective and think… more than I usually do about the deep ponderings.
I have come to grasp more completly my identity in Christ. More often than not, I have defined myself by the world's standards rather than God's. I degrade myself by assigning my worth to what I can do in comparison to the rest of the world. In my time of solitude and activity confinement, I've found a peace I've been lacking in my pursuit for such worldly gain. While mediocrity will continue to be absent from my self-describing vocabulary, I will no longer let society's definition of the word be my guide.
(This post was started two weeks ago, I just finished it today. Procrastination?)
I have come to grasp more completly my identity in Christ. More often than not, I have defined myself by the world's standards rather than God's. I degrade myself by assigning my worth to what I can do in comparison to the rest of the world. In my time of solitude and activity confinement, I've found a peace I've been lacking in my pursuit for such worldly gain. While mediocrity will continue to be absent from my self-describing vocabulary, I will no longer let society's definition of the word be my guide.
(This post was started two weeks ago, I just finished it today. Procrastination?)
15 January 2009
Minds Compass
This entry is to relate to those of you whom have ever had the impression that your mind is a maze, one that even you yourself have to use a compass to navigate through.
More often than not, my thoughts are better sorted and expressed through written words than the splatter effect they tend to have when I speak out loud. How often I dream of being able to articulate my verbatim as care free and easily as my mind would have me believe I process and think my thoughts. You don’t have to trust that they’re brilliant. But, as it stands (since it’s my own imaginary world) I will continue in my state of disillusionment. And in this state, to believe that the raw inter-workings of my intellect do make sense, though their articulation be ill-represented. My wish-full hope is that someday we will be able to read them in a biography God writes for each of us, or perhaps watch them played out on His big screen (in a plot that actually makes some sense). It would make it commonsensical for those not in my mind (that is, everyone besides myself) but a pure sanity test for myself. Like a revelation of, “oh yea, it did make sense after all. I see it now.”
I fear that even this depiction of my desire to convey my frequent frustration at lack of perfect communication is simply another unclear thought that I can’t quite accurately illustrate. How does one begin to try describing how their own mind works to another whose mind functions so completely uniquely different? Or does it really think and process as diversely as I would believe we all do. Have you ever had the sensation that you are the only one that thinks just the way that you think? That you’re completely alone in the imaginations you conjure up? Like, what if the color I saw as red , was the same color you saw as blue? But since, for each of us, that’s what we’ve always seen the color as, we can really be seeing each other’s red as blue and blue as red and still agree that it’s the same color. When in reality, where no one but God sees things as they really are, our perceptions of colors are completely off base from one another. Did that make sense? This question completely boggles my mind, and the harder I try to think about it (or any other similar question my psyche toddles with) the more my mind seems to twist, turn and spin within the confines of my skull. As if, if it could break free from the bone barriers of my human structure it could grasp the concept it’s trying so hard to understand. My questions continue to trail on. How if my mind is so perplexing to me, can I ever hope to transport even the slightest hint of what I’m really thinking through our means of communication? Why was telepathy not given as a spiritual gift?
Tell me, those of you that are reading this, what your impressions are. Perhaps we’ll understand each other. But then again, maybe we won’t, not even in the slightest.
More often than not, my thoughts are better sorted and expressed through written words than the splatter effect they tend to have when I speak out loud. How often I dream of being able to articulate my verbatim as care free and easily as my mind would have me believe I process and think my thoughts. You don’t have to trust that they’re brilliant. But, as it stands (since it’s my own imaginary world) I will continue in my state of disillusionment. And in this state, to believe that the raw inter-workings of my intellect do make sense, though their articulation be ill-represented. My wish-full hope is that someday we will be able to read them in a biography God writes for each of us, or perhaps watch them played out on His big screen (in a plot that actually makes some sense). It would make it commonsensical for those not in my mind (that is, everyone besides myself) but a pure sanity test for myself. Like a revelation of, “oh yea, it did make sense after all. I see it now.”
I fear that even this depiction of my desire to convey my frequent frustration at lack of perfect communication is simply another unclear thought that I can’t quite accurately illustrate. How does one begin to try describing how their own mind works to another whose mind functions so completely uniquely different? Or does it really think and process as diversely as I would believe we all do. Have you ever had the sensation that you are the only one that thinks just the way that you think? That you’re completely alone in the imaginations you conjure up? Like, what if the color I saw as red , was the same color you saw as blue? But since, for each of us, that’s what we’ve always seen the color as, we can really be seeing each other’s red as blue and blue as red and still agree that it’s the same color. When in reality, where no one but God sees things as they really are, our perceptions of colors are completely off base from one another. Did that make sense? This question completely boggles my mind, and the harder I try to think about it (or any other similar question my psyche toddles with) the more my mind seems to twist, turn and spin within the confines of my skull. As if, if it could break free from the bone barriers of my human structure it could grasp the concept it’s trying so hard to understand. My questions continue to trail on. How if my mind is so perplexing to me, can I ever hope to transport even the slightest hint of what I’m really thinking through our means of communication? Why was telepathy not given as a spiritual gift?
Tell me, those of you that are reading this, what your impressions are. Perhaps we’ll understand each other. But then again, maybe we won’t, not even in the slightest.
10 January 2009
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Three weeks is the longest chunk of time I've been home in over a year. Being new to the independence of college, it still catches me off guard when I think about the long absences from my family. When August hit in 2007, I was off and running. Well, sprinting more like, and I never slowed down. From one extreme to another, having family rules to basically no rules, or relaxing after a day at high school to having no end to college activities, the adjustment just happened all too naturally. However, my momentum has caught up with me and the break has been much needed and well used. Thoroughly enjoying the time to relax, recoup, and rejuvenate, I don’t want it to end.
I am looking forward to the next two months of self-study and complete flexibility of time. Goals range from habituating myself with healthy ideals to disciplining myself in studies. It’s proving more difficult than I expected, and easier for me to think up excuses not to do my course work. However, I am excited to study my subjects and have more time spend on them. I’ll be giving more details as they come together.
08 January 2009
The Bergining
I shiver at the idea of scribing out my thoughts for others to read. Perhaps it’s the semi-permanence of my words being posted for others to reference that makes my mind a little queasy. For alas, now, I have more than my own mind to hold accountable the crazy brainchilds of thought I scheme up. Like doodling thoughts in a diary, as time goes on I'll reminisce on the beliefs, opinions, and judgments of such epochs in my life, and smile at the very least. However, this is public. So please, laugh with me :).
I aspire to share my life with whom and what I love, to live unconditionally for a life of purpose, making the most of every opportunity and holding no regrets. I see no other ends to this means than through a surrendered heart, mind and soul to Christ. So please join me, and share with me the experiences I encounter as I thrive in this gift of existence.
I aspire to share my life with whom and what I love, to live unconditionally for a life of purpose, making the most of every opportunity and holding no regrets. I see no other ends to this means than through a surrendered heart, mind and soul to Christ. So please join me, and share with me the experiences I encounter as I thrive in this gift of existence.
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