The Peak of Anthropological Perspective, or My Spiritual Journey

So, this is the kind of post I usually save for a more private blog (ha, private blog – that has got to be the greatest example of irony in the 21st century), but I have come to realize that though the words I write may feel personal to me, the experiences I describe are universal. Therefore, it is only fitting to post this into an intimate but shared public space (Public space? Success! I have incorporated anthropology and thus my 80k-over-4-years education into my life! My work here is done.).

To my children born from other fathers (and mothers, obviously):

The issues you face, the dilemmas to which you seek resolve, the questions you wish answered – they don’t stop with the end of adolescence. They continue, they deepen, they evolve. Our daily obstructions and life impediments wound and slow us down, but when we choose to battle onward, we bite them back in the ass. Hard. So, never, ever, ever, ever let your problems cloud your goals and dreams. Yes, school is rough. Yes, sometimes an essay-free world would be nice. And no kidding, a high GPA, 2200+ on the SATs, 3 Varsity letters, fifteen 5’s on the AP and a cute smile can get you far. But then again, the procreation of Einstein and Ivanka Trump’s lovechild isn’t necessary for us to find ultimate hope, love, or the cure for cancer. So yes, by all means, rejoice when you receive that fat envelope. We all love those. But when that single, tri-folded 8 ½ by 11 comes your way, don’t fall down pouting. So you had a bad day, you’re taking one down. You sing a sad song to just turn it around. Well, stop moping. Stand up, say some words (that I am unable to type publicly), tear all the college pamphlets you had, and go punch something (something, not someone). Whatever will be will be. Cry once, maybe twice, but a third time isn’t worth it. And as others say unto you, “Look, friend. [insert name of school here] didn’t deserve you anyway,” don’t continue your crying. When a problem comes along, you must whip it, whip it good (and shame on you, I allude to a song, not domestic violence or sexual fantasy). Admissions people don’t look at your pains and sorrows. It's that stupid JT-Cry-me-a-river approach: they're so overwhelmed with emotion and ex-girlfriends kissing ex-girlfriends that they just see a piece of paper and, by the nature of it all, they HAVE to judge you. Don’t let them be the reason for the teardrops on your guitar. My kids, remember this: You are precious, you are valued, you are loved. You are beautiful and amazing, and you are NOT just a test score. Stop asking why you didn’t get in to that #$*&#$ place when so-and-so was accepted. Enough proclaiming to the world that ____ didn’t deserve to get into XY&Z. You have worked too long and too hard to start beating each other down the bush for some piece of crap system invented by intellectual elitists. So I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend. Look on the bright side, you don’t live in Iowa. And if you do, keep me updated on how the 5 others living there are doing. Yeah, I bet that one stung, didn’t it?

To the rest of my loved (and not-so-loved) ones:

Remarkable how our view of life adapts so easily, isn’t it? Look how far we’ve come as a species – the retirement of Castro, the demotion of Pluto, sliced bread. ¡Qúe loco! But as we disembark on the subsequent stations of our life train, (Yeahhh boyy, you liked that metaphor, didn’t you?) we must look back to our past, no matter how painful or murky the past may seem. That is not to say that who we will become is directly affected by who we are or were. Nevertheless, realizing the success and failure of our actions is useful in gagging how far we’ve come as individuals. And so, like sand through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives (on a side note, it’s funny how Marlena has been the same age since 1965. It’s like Arthur always staying eight years old and never changing out of his trademark yellow cardigan. Silly aardvark, Trix are for kids).

Now for my spiritual journey. For those 40 days and 40 nights marked to all Catholics as Lent, I spent my time off AIM, off Facebook, Myspace, and what have you. I sipped my milk (because I gave up sodas, juices, smoothies, etc.) and wandered the psychological oasis known as the balcony of the study lounge on Cunningham’s third floor. I contemplated the meaning of life and death. I reflected upon my religious journey and the meaning of sacrifice. I mused over relationships, friendships, kinship—all kinds of ships. I even wrote a limerick or two and tried my hand in spoken word. Ha, not really. However, I did come to conclude many things about myself and others after much deliberation. I will express one thought cloud here:

I am constantly struck by incredulity each moment I spend with you. Each and every one of you.

I know people whose parents have to work three jobs to make month-to-month payments on their home. I know people who are estranged by their parents. I know people who don’t have parents. I know people who have been raped and abused and mangled by life. And these truly amazing people with their truly amazing lives aren’t adults in their 40s and 50s. I’m talking about people who are 15, 16, 17, 18 years of age, completely thrust upon the real world of lies, deception, and heartbreak. I’m talking about people who have faced horrors and disappointment well beyond their years. I’m talking about people who have real reason to hate but continue on loving; people who have learned that they can stop all their pain and suffering by the swift swipe of a blade, the inevitability that is death, but they choose to live. Let me just take this time to say I appreciate you and I appreciate what you do, and through it all, you know that I got you, babe, and there ain’t no mountain high enough to keep me from getting to you.

Then I have friends who were born rich and see their lifestyles as insufficient. I have friends who don’t have to worry about money or health or sanity. I have friends who are caught up in themselves and lack the understanding necessary to see life as it really is: a blessing and a curse. Don’t take offense if you think I’m describing you. I’m generalizing a whole population of people engrossed in their own lives, which we all are guilty of doing at one point or another.

How is it that life can be so frail and utterly magnificent yet cruel and meaningless? Why wouldn't AW want to go to rehab? I just don't get it.

*sighs*

So how is it that I can get along so well with a person who sees a revelation in recognizing that he is fucking loaded with money, and a person who has only $50 to feed his brothers and sisters for three weeks? We, as inhabitants on this earth, share a connection with one another. That connection is known as “friend of friend” on Facebook. Just kidding. But seriously, life is a precious commodity nothing short of a miracle that brings strangers together. We connect through what is termed as the “human network” a life connection previously unbeknownst to humanity. Through unified communications and VoIP phones, time and distance can no longer separate us, only our differences (man, I should totally get a raise. I bring IT marketing to a whole new level). Like Mariah duly notes, we belong together.


Now here comes the true anthropological excellence that is my creativity.

Seatbelts ready?

It was the fucking best of times. It was the fucking worst of times. It was a fucking confusing time.

What ever happens happens. And remember, through thick and thin, you can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh —whether you have 50 cents to your name, or 5 million dollars. Seriously, if you don't got no money, I promise not to ask you to take yo' broke ass home. All I ask is that you don’t take me for granted. After all, how am I supposed to breathe with no air? Yes, sure, I’ll wait for you, but I’m not gonna write you a love song just cause you asked for it, you see.

So let's take the time to give others one of those free hugs people are always talking about, and remember. OneRepublic lies. It's never too late to apologize, and when a fire burns blue, it's hotter, not cooler. C'monnn. Didn't you take high school chemistry? Eh, it's okay, we forgive you— but only because the Jabbawockeez interpreted your song so well.