The Physics of Quarter-Life Crisis

August 21st, 2014

So you know how in stories, the protagonist always struggles through some terrible battle or dark valley? Then they find the light, push through, seize the day, win the game, save the world. Of course, the lesson is simple: victory is just an epiphany away, all you need is one more push.

At least, that's what I learned. But life isn't like that. Instead of doling out magic swords and great quests, the world always seems to find unexpected ways to smack you upside the head. Instead of "once upon a time" I think all stories should start with "just when I thought I had it all together…"

Several weeks ago, I got back from a month-long trip through Europe. And immediately upon arriving in the States, I felt like a deer stepping from forest onto paved road. Adventures, exotic locations, and split-second decisions that changed what country I slept in all contrasted enormously to my life back here. That shock of coming back, combined with a breakup soon after, wrought more than a few changes in my life. And I couldn't label that process until my brother - the one with a Master's in mental health - gave it a name: quarter-life crisis.

No Fair

Saturday morning, 7:33 AM, and my bloodshot eyes crack open at an explosion of sound near my door. After a long week, this my only morning to sleep in, yet the noise doesn't...stop. Experience in this host family of five children taught me to wear earplugs to bed, yet this cacophony still pierces my combination of pillows, plugs, and stubbornness. So I fall out of bed, pull myself upright on the dresser, and throw some workout shorts on. I am ready to murder the noise culprit. Door thrown open, and I see the two youngest boys at each other's throats on the floor. I try to ask "what's wrong" but it comes out more like "wzzz rnnng", so the kids ignore me. Ugh. My mind can't even think coherently, let alone verbally express my frustration at the selfishness of these little punks. They have a whole house to fight in, and they pick the one spot right in front of my door. Finally the truth comes out: "he stole my toy!" "No I didn't, it's mine anyways!" "No, not fair!" Fact: parents have to negotiate approximately 243 impromptu rulings on sibling justice every day. God bless 'em. 

So out of nowhere, the oldest brother swoops in. He snatches the toy, declares a smirking "...you have to share", and runs away. The younger brothers - understandably - join together in a chorus of "no FAAAAIR!" 

This is precisely the face the younger brothers made.

It's moments like these where kids make you simultaneously facepalm and belly laugh.

Paper Always Listens

During a recent visit to my parents, I took the opportunity to explore my old desk. This desk has a certain secret compartment, almost impossible to see...but if you know where it is, you can open it by feel. After opening it and smelling that wonderful aged wood scent - a jumble of folded papers fell out. They were old journal entries I wrote back when...well, you'll see. But upon reading, a simultaneous lightness and heaviness settled on me. The problems in my past were so short-sighted and almost funny...yet upon sobering reflection, not so different than those of today. It seemed like my past self was there, pouring his heart out, and that we connected through time. Maybe that's weird, but I thought I'd share, in hope that you might also empathize and find value in these questions and doubts.

The Star Wars Wars

Fact: in addition to its already burgeoning collection, Disney now owns Marvel, Pixar, and Star Wars. 

Oh dear.

This is terrifying. How is it wise for one kitchen to hold so many ingredients that make up the foodstuffs of our happiness? Should we anticipate or fear the inevitable heat surrounding the potential Hulk vs. Yoda battle? Will some Miley Cyrus flavor seep into the upcoming Toy Story 4? And how will this effect the tastes of an already oversatiated culture? Should we be concerned for our future children? Could there be political sway in Disney-based blackmail (lower taxes or we will put Jar Jar in the Avengers)? 

No, something is wrong here and we should do something about it. We cannot let this stand, we cannot sit idle, and we must to contact our representatives then march to - oh my gosh Avengers 2 is coming out.

Gender Holes

I lean forward in my seat, set my elbows on the table, and look at the man across from me. Fascinated with the gender roles and their impact on my life, I have finally come to the point of true learning - questions. "But Steve, if this is all true, where…what is the defining source of gender roles?" He broke into the broadest smile, then let his answer just hang over the table: "societal norms." Like a deep-sea diver's first breath at the surface, the words leave me both relieved and bewildered.

The past year has shifted my views on gender roles and relationships. Or perhaps there's a better way to summarize - that what was once ignorantly static is now excitedly dynamic. I know of few better changes to make in life.

It started with a girl. And doesn't it always? Stuck together in a year-long service program, we were practically destined to frustrate each other. This girl was (and is) a strong initiator, planner, and achiever, someone who is incredibly gifted at serving others. Along those lines, she detested when anyone would serve her in turn. In contrast, everything in my past trained me to serve women wherever possible. It was my job - no, assumption - that I should hold doors, carry heavy boxes, pay for dates, walk closest to the street, drive, and so on. We all have our sensitivities - mine happens to be women who stress themselves out trying to do and control everything. 

 You can imagine our assumption-based spats, which left both of us frustrated and angry.  Fortunately, we not only learned to understand and appreciate our differences but grew as friends through the process. And while I can’t speak for her, I do know that our conflict forced me to examine my own motives. Why do I hold doors or carry things – is it just to impress girls? Where do all of these unspoken standards in my head come from? What's the background for them in culture as a whole?  

That beginning set the stage for a slew of deep conversations with friends, challenging mentors, and surprising articles.

My Utmost Inspiration

Crouching in the corner of my college dorm room, I found myself dumbstruck by the day's devotional reading. At my father's recommendation I'd faithfully read Chamber's My Utmost for His Highest for the past year. Countless devotionals from this book rocked my world, smacked me between the eyes and felt like the breath of God, but only a couple forced me to stand up and git. That day, one of those entries found me. Prior to reading that day, I felt my thoughts and experiences all flowing together in a swell that...needed something. An outlet. I knew I should write it down, but...well, life gets in the way, I'm not sure what I would write, etc. Excuses.

Then I read this. And it is the reason for my writing anything on this site. 

How 6th-Grade Boys Became Art Snobs

You hate art. Or to be precise - you hate the idea of sitting in a museum and staring at motionless paintings for hours. Who wants to sit in silence and literally watch paint dry? No one in their right mind, for sure. I thought the same, until a certain professor in college helped me discover the depth, life, and stories hidden in art. Ever since that class I've always kept a few prints around my room, workspace, and camp cabins. I mention the latter because something incredible happened last summer while I was a camp counselor.

As I leaned back in my fold-out chair attempting to journal some thoughts, one of my 6th-graders walked over and boldly pointed at the wall. "What's that?" he asked, indicating the small print hanging there. Without looking up, I told him it was a copy of a painting and that he should hurry up and put sunscreen on before the next activity began (and you better put some behind yours ears this time or I swear I will throw you in the lake, kid). But he interrupted with me with a surprisingly sincere "but Josh, what does it mean?" Moments like that make you stop. So I cocked my head to one side and smiled, then sat the kid on the bed next to me and asked "well, what do you see?" Of course, the others wouldn't be left out, and soon the whole cabin of 6th-grade boys piled on the bed, paying rapt attention to a 19th-century painting. 

5 Reasons Why Men Should Watch Downton Abbey

You're a nice guy. So when your girl asked you to "just try" that first episode of Downton Abbey, you obliged. And why not - it would make her happy, and with all the hype you've heard about the show lately, how bad could it be?

Try really bad - bad in tuxes and dresses and servants and no action whatsoever. That was the first and last episode you'll ever watch, and now you mockingly call it Downtown Abbey, just to watch fans twitch. You're not wasting your time with this 1900s version of The Bachelor - especially considering The Walking Dead is on at the same time.

Good. If any of that fits you, you're the reason I wrote this post. Here's my take on it: Downton Abbey is an incredible show with an intricately woven plot, fantastic acting, striking sets, and integral depth which can deepen your life as a result. So here are five reasons why men should to watch Downton Abbey:

Faking It

Last week a friend and I were talking about this post, musing about life, honest struggle, etc. A few days later, the friend sent this piece to me. I read it and immediately  asked if I could share it on the blog. Permission was granted - anonymously - so here we are, the first guest post!

I don't really know where to start when it comes to sledge hammering heart walls that have been built up for years, but I'm betting prayer (knees to the ground crying out kind of prayer) is a great place to start. Beyond that I think the next step is action. I often expect my prayers to magically fix everything while I sit around and watch as if I'm not an active participant in change. That's a problem. I need to pray and act. Being idle isn't going to help. Prayer and action. Prayer and intentional reconciliation. Prayer and conversation. It's time to let go of the fear of being known. 

If I'm being honest, I can't tell the difference between real and fake in my life anymore. It's painful - to be "real". To give others the power to break you, so as a result I have become complacent. Living my life on the surface and creating relationships of convenience instead of depth. I choose safe, comfortable, and easy instead of different and potentially painful - and yet I expect to grow?

Desynchronized

This another step in the real and raw walk that is my Christianity. If Haiti was about losing control and this post on losing doubt, this is...losing my mind. There are three parts, each separated by the date it was written - read all three before asking questions.

"Do not be deceived, God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please the flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction. Whoever sows to please the spirit, from the spirit will reap eternal life." - Gal. 6:7-8

9/22/12
In living I stand at an impasse. My mind and soul have thoroughly steeped in proofs and experiences of Christianity. I've attended countless classes and retreats then examined and tried to live other worldviews.  Nothing else makes sense logically. Emotionally, everything else leaves me narcissistic and wretched or empty and hopeless. I see the Christian ideal, how it might be - fulfilling my purpose in relationship with God - and it's beautiful. Like I wrote before, I've seen, I've felt, I've tasted; I took a jump of faith, found solid rock on the other side. Revolutionary, yet nothing new for far too many. I think this entry will shake that a bit.

Like everyone, I've failed so much over the past years; so many times I've hit the snooze button through devos, so many times I did something else instead of spend time with God. So many times I've chosen games or girls, or who knows what else. And of course, I soon would find myself sorry and guilty. I'd get some time with God, and everything would be alright again. Until I messed up, then went back, and messed up, repeat ad nausem. But something's not working any more.

Nuzlocke Challenge

Sometime during my junior year of high school there was a momentous shift in my psyche. There's a moment like that for everyone - the realization of freedom when you hold your first driver's license, or the feeling of pride and responsibility at your first job. But my moment of epiphanic maturity was more unique - it was when I realized that I wanted to hang out with girls more than I wanted to play videogames. 

During freshman year of high school, kids quickly and justifiably came to call me "gameboy", as the machine was my only real friend. Even throughout middle school, my mother and I battled over the game system in a sort of nuclear arms race. I'd pretend like I was doing "homework", and she'd ground me and craftily hide the gameboy in increasingly obscure places. I in turn spared no effort in scouring the house and stealing it back - repeat ad nausem.

This was the weapon with which I saved worlds. And escaped from mine.

Sad? Perhaps. But honestly that impulse hasn't changed; it's just disguised and buried underneath layers of experience that tend to provide a fuller experience of life - like music, nature, or relationships. But the nerd inside hardly dormant - it only bides its time, awaits moments of weakness, and jumps out in random conversations. It's part of who I am, and - in case you can't tell - I relish that. While there have been drawbacks, videogames were a stepping-stone to much of the good in my life today. But that's a different story entirely, and is just a lame transition to the fact that I want to talk about Pokemon.

Solid relationship advice.

How Dance Changed the World

This was a formal paper written for a Modern Civilization class during the latter half of college. We were free to choose our topics - so on a whim I of course said "I wanna write about dance", which mutated into "dance caused WWI" which solidified into "the political impact of dance in history." And when the papers were handed back, this one had a happy "A+" scrawled across the top (that paper was 40% of the class grade too). Of course I'd just stayed up absurdly late the night before and cranked the paper out with almost no editing. My guess is that the professor loved the topic, read the first few paragraphs and slapped the grade on there. I'll take it. Reading this now, the paper should've been reorganized and better applied to politics - but hey, an A+ is an A+. 

I bolded a few cool facts and threw in some pictures to keep things interesting. 

How do you define dancing? Maybe with whirling bodies, graceful flourishes, impressive routines – but these are only pieces of dance. Exercise, competition, fun, romance – these are reasons to dance. But what is dance? Certainly, dance is a form of self-expression, taking what you hear and moving your body to it. Phrased better: dance is the synthesis of musicality, physicality, and personality. More importantly, dance is a relationship – between music and dancer, performer and audience, lead and follow. Inexorably intertwined with emotion, once these relationships are taught and replicated on a large scale, dance begins to reflect the emotions and passions of society. As such, it should be no surprise that dance historically reached into politics. Notably, in 18th-19th century Europe, dance embodied the transformative spirit of the era, generated remarkable social and political sway, and profoundly impacted the ideas, passions, and emotions of the era. 

My Son Resembles Achilles

...and that's not even the crazy part. This is a record of my experience with a Ms. Brooke Bainbridge. Things started with one email and eventually escalated to defamation and police intervention. A tenuous line is walked here between laugh-out-loud hilarity (we were evidently married on Jupiter) and a kind of scary, sober sadness. I bolded some of the more...interesting bits, and put own comments in italicized brackets. The first email was sent this past June to my joshua@simplydance.us address, and was then forwarded straight to my personal email. Oh, I should probably say this beforehand: I had no idea who this girl was, and certainly never...well, you'll see.

Joshua,

Hello. During the Spring semester of 2008 I believe we sat together at Grove City College. 

I recently found your name and information over the internet.

How to Trick Men into Dancing With You

While written about dancing, this article applies to relationships as a whole. Taken from my simplydance.us blog, written May 5th, 2011.

There aren't enough real men in the world, no news there. Just take the dance clubs — the few guys brave enough to go are either dancing with someone else, obsessively checking basketball scores on their smartphone, or gay. I apologize on behalf of my sex — if guys would quit leading girls on, say what they think and man up, things would be better. But that’s another topic, and we’re not here to whine about other people’s problems. Instead, with a little bit of male psychology, we’re going to get those guys lining up to dance with you.

1. Be Nice

This really can’t be said enough, whether in dance or life. Now I’ll assume you're a decently nice person, so I’ll clarify it further – be consciously and purposefully nice throughout the night. Why? Well…

Male Psychology Fact #1: All men have a deep-seated fear of failure and inadequacy.

You need to realize something about us. When you’re dancing with a guy…he’s scared of you, scared and constantly trying to gauge your opinion of him. We’re worried that we won’t be good enough leaders, that we’ll do something wrong, that you’ll just walk away and leave us in our failure. I’ve been dancing for years, yet still have to shove thoughts like that down (particularly with new girls). The comparison never stops – if other guys are there, we assume they’re better; in private settings, we unconsciously compare ourselves to a vague ideal of the perfect lead, the perfect dancer, and the perfect man. This impulse – that tendency towards assumption of failure – runs deep in our XY chromosome. But hey, there’s no news here – everyone needs help, right?

You can single-handedly remedy this when you’re with the guy. It’s easy – smile. Most girls mistakenly think they already do; you must be aware of your concentrating expression. I can't stress this one enough. So many times I’m genuinely surprised when a girl has thanked me after a dance; from her expression I thought I’d completely ruined her night. Use a mirror; some naturally look pleasant, others look remarkably miserable – and the former will have follow-up dates, the latter will not.

Fact: a genuine smile shines a light across the floor, a light almost irresistible to guys. So not only will smiling help you look incredibly attractive, it will draw men to you. And when guys pick up on the fact that there’s a “fun” girl in the room,  she’ll have them lining up.

In short: the guy just wants to be a good leader and for the two of you to have fun. But it’s up to you to communicate any success there — before, during, and after the dance.  Guys usually start dancing because a friend drags them in; they keep dancing depending on what the girls say. As a woman, you have unique and powerful access to his “self-esteem meter;” a few words can wreck his week or inspire him forever (Male Psychology Fact 1.a: We’re actually incredibly sensitive). So smile, relax, laugh, and take a second after to make eye contact and thank him for the dance. Do this right, and you will have effectively hacked the male psyche.

2. Be Unique

You know something that doesn't make sense to guys? That whole female herding thing. If us dudes all went to the bathroom together, you’d question our sexuality. That grouping mentality doesn’t stop with bathrooms, either – girls tend to stand together in any public setting and this terrifies men. Why?

Male Psychology Fact #2: We think like predators,  and you’re the prey.

I recently read something fascinating about this:

“When a predator sees too many targets, it often chases none. Predators are drawn to attack an animal that’s distinctive in some way…[we] found that putting paint on an animal guaranteed it would always be attacked next. That was the power of difference (source).”

The application: stand in a group, be invisible. Stand out, be noticed. Guys will bypass dozens of girls just to get to the one standing slightly to the side. Of course, don’t go to clubs alone – just don’t herd (as opposed to standing near some friends). And today girls can ask guys to dance as well -  more on that at the end. Right now we’re talking about how to get men to come to you. So on that note:

First: smile, don’t stare down, and avoid grouping – this makes you approachable. Second, stand out and be confident – this makes you noticeable. And standing out doesn't mean wear a neon green dress (though wearing red will make a positive difference, lots of psychological reasons for that). Sure, dressing like you actually care about yourself is great, but nothing will help you stand out better than raw confidence. 

And confidence does not mean knowledge – it’s how you carry yourself, how comfortable you are in your own skin and how you communicate that fact when you dance. Try to never make the mistake of cutting yourself short by nervously telling the guy “I’m sorry, I'm just awful at this.” The guy will discover your skill level soon enough; you don’t need to tell him. If he’s a pro, he knows how to deal, if he's a beginner he won't notice. And no matter what, he wants the two of you to have fun. So don't ever say that again. 

So be unique. Stand out, enjoy yourself, and dance…because that’s when the real game begins.

3. Be Realistic

Unfortunately, even after you’ve done the above to utter perfection…you still might not get asked to dance. And the reason why isn’t rocket science.

Male Psychology Fact #3: We’re easily intimidated, and it’s not personal.

I’ll tell you straight up: a woman is the most intimidating thing in the world. I’ve performed in front of countless audiences and brushed death a few too many times, yet nothing scares me more than asking a pretty girl to dance. Of course, that’s not an excuse – but you do have to be realistic about it. Sure, it’s horrible sitting and watching all the other girls get asked…but that probably says more about the quality (or quantity) of the men in the room, not about who you are and your value as a human being. Remember that.

To all the over-analyzers out there: when you do get asked…it doesn't mean anything, even if it does. Yeah, dance is hugely romantic, and maybe you've got a slight crush on that last guy. Just whatever you do, don’t waste the night staring at him and hoping he’ll walk over again. It’s the confidence thing again – there isn’t much that turns a guy off faster than a needy girl. If he is both: 1. Worth your time, and 2. Actually interested, he will make contact with you again. Otherwise, forget him. Take it for what it was –  a dance, that’s all; relax, don’t expect anything, and you will be pleasantly surprised.

The key here: know who you are; keep your hopes high and expectations low.

And a final, crucial point: ladies, you can to ask guys to dance. In fact, please do. Am I saying  that men should be passive and never pursue women? Of course not. What I'm getting at is this: I would've quit dancing if some encouraging girls hadn't pulled me out of the corner and onto the floor.   There are many nights even today when I still need someone to pull me out of myself - and I'm not unique here! In this context, initiative isn't some segregated affair: dancing is just two people enjoying a fun activity together, not a committed relationship. If you're pining away for some dude on the floor - grow up and ask him for a dance. And that's not a big deal; asking isn't hunting. All asking does is create space for two people to listen and talk, to act and react. 

So be nice because we need the affirmation. Be unique because personal confidence is intensely alluring. Finally, be realistic and take initiative yourself if you so desire – keeping expectations low and hopes high. Just enjoy who you are, where you are, and have a blast dancing a night away.

Why Dancing is the Manliest Thing Ever

Taken from my Simplydance.us blog. Written May 5th, 2011.

The Haka. Look it up.

If you’re a guy, you probably don’t like to dance. Past experience has taught you that, and honestly it wasn't that long ago I thought the same. But I can tell you now with complete conviction: dancing is the manliest thing ever. Recently, I found an article on this at askmen.com. While I can’t endorse mentality the site encourages, the post makes some great points.

“At some point in the recent past in North America, dancing started being considered a non-masculine thing to do. Men in other cultures don’t even question whether they should dance or not. We’ve gotten into the bad habit of not even trying to dance. Women hate that. They grew up loving Flashdance, Dirty Dancing, Save the Last Dance, and Step Up. Love for the man who keeps the beat is inherent in women. So, it’s time to drop the attitude and refuse to be a walking American stereotype. Junior high students sit on opposite sides of the dance floor because they’re scared of the opposite sex. So, here’s why real men dance — and you want to be a real man, don’t you?

…Because It Sucks To Watch From The Sidelines

We hate to sound like a self-help book, but doing anything from the sidelines is a waste of time. Why even go to a dance club to sit and stare at people having fun? All that does is project “stranger danger” to women. Even if you’re lucky enough to not come across as creepy, women are going to think you’re boring — if they even notice you at all. Drop your inhibitions and have the chair surgically removed from your butt.

…Because It’s A Great Icebreaker

“Why is she talking to that jerk?” No doubt that question has run through your head hundreds of times. Everyone hates jerks and women can spot them better than you think. The reason she’s talking to the “Ed Hardy” is that he gave her a reason to talk to him. He broke the ice. And there is no easier icebreaker than dancing with her. You don’t even have to have a great first line.

…Because It Projects Confidence

Confidence right there.

You don’t have to be a great dancer to dance. In fact, the worse you are proves how comfortable you are in your own skin. Doing a dance move like the Running Man over and over again shows women that you don’t care what people think. (We don’t necessarily condone the Running Man — but it’s better than nothing.) Women like a man who isn’t trying to win a popularity contest. Leave that for the junior high students. Watching the Jersey Shore guys do the lame “fist-pump” on the dance floor is laughable, but the women still flock to them.

…Because It’s Fun (Seriously)

Men have been dancing for centuries to celebrate and amuse themselves. Dancing is in your DNA. If you don’t like dancing, it’s because you’re not doing it right. Take a lesson and learn to enjoy it, and enjoy the feeling of being a real man.”

(Source)

My immediate thought after reading this: ok, so then what is a “real man”? Something pretty important was left out here: how can anything be labeled the “manliest thing ever” if we don’t first define manliness? Yeah, dance is great because it projects confidence, is fun, helps you meet women, etc. That’s all stuff men can do, but frankly it’s pathetic if picking up girls is what defines us. So then what does define us; what is a man? One of the best answers I've heard to that was given by a woman:

“A man is someone who has qualities that distinguish him from a boy: responsibility, leadership and integrity.”

Patrick Swayze took the weight of responsibility rather well.

Here's my point: dance - done right - forces boys to fulfill that all three parts of that quote and become men. In initial lessons, I tell people that if anything goes wrong, it’s the man’s fault - half joking. Why? While dancing, the man has responsibility for the girl’s safety. And to keep her safe, gentle yet clear leadership must be used. From another article on this site – sure, you can walk fine on your own two feet – but can you support someone else? Can you support a girl, lead her clearly across a floor filled with other whirling couples and be ready to catch her if she falls…and do it confidently enough so that she can relax and enjoy herself?  And finally, you have to do all that with integrity - with good and honest intentions. A good dance lead isn't pushing the girl's limits and "going for something" on the dance floor. Girls  have noses like bloodhounds for stuff like that - they'll smell it a mile off and tell all their friends about it. If you objectify women as toys for pleasure, get off the floor - you're to be pitied, as you have no concept of relational fulfillment or what love means. 

What do they say in the classic wedding vows – “…to provide and protect, to honor and to cherish.”  And that is precisely what a man does in dance – takes responsibility, and leads with integrity. He provides and protects, loves and cherishes. That’s selflessness, my friends – caring for another above yourself, whether it be in life or in dance. There are few things more attractive to a woman than a guy like that. And that’s exactly what dance forces – no, enables – you to be…a man.

Like this guy.

The Cricket Apocalypse

As I began my nightly shower a few days ago, something dark skittered across my peripherals. Without my glasses I couldn't tell what the thing was, so my brain froze and ran through the options: kill it, or die naked in the shower. I took the appropriate karate stance, then managed to squint a bit harder and saw my foe for what it was: a large cricket.

More precisely: a camel cricket, for you entomologists out there.

Immediate danger past, I splashed water at the thing in an attempt to wash it down the drain. Only it was actually too big to fit down the drain, so the two of us just ended up wet and at opposite ends of the shower, glaring at each other.

I couldn't leave and cede my territory; what man runs away from a bug? So I continued with the shower, keeping a wary eye on Jiminy; he just sat there, wet and probably half-drowned. I laughed at myself: what a first-world impasse this is - where else would killing a bug be an issue because you don't want to touch it or step out of your hot shower? And what a miserable hell for the cricket - surrounded by rising water, impassable walls, and a giant two hundred times its size.

Then I thought - I, too, am like this cricket. Do I not also jump into life full of ideals and hopes, yet without forethought and preparation? And have I not found myself stuck in many a metaphorical prison, trapped by my own choices and unable to do anything but beg for mercy as the waters of time rise? Or perhaps the cricket meant to jump in, finding his small brain pleasantly stimulated by the moisture in the bathtub. And I, too, often find myself stumbling meekly after the wafting promises of pleasure, only by grace kept from falling  where I can't clamber out.

I'm sorry, Dave. The bugs won't let you do that.

But crickets don't have a brain, so that paragraph is moot. Yet I hear some bugs do - like cockroaches - which might justify the previous paragraph if a roach was in the shower. What if a cockroach could muster thought? More importantly - what if cockroaches became aware of their potential to create panic? It'd be like the scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey when Dave realizes that HAL is not only self-aware but malevolent. Except it'd be with insects instead of computers - which is only worse. Insects not only have that robot "coldness" but also possess a natural reproductive system, with an innate creepiness as an added bonus.

Then I started thinking: what if the insect world suddenly became self-aware? My guess is that the bugs' minds would process it all quite predictably:

1. Wonder: wow, I'm a bug!
2. Deep thought: why am I a bug?
3. Depression: I'm...a bug...
4. Observation: There are other bugs.
5. Panic: THE OTHER BUGS ARE BIGGER

And as so many bugs possess incredible physical and chemical weaponry, it'd be a textbook case of Darwinistic elimination. Perhaps the smartest might get the concept of strength in numbers and organize others into bands, prompting an arms race of organization and cooperation. Soon, insect nations would rise, all with different species and views on morality. My bet is that human relations would be the hot-button issue of the bug world. Some insects would argue for isolation, others would push for co-existence and equal rights, but eventually they'd all cave in to demands for war.

The scary thing is - they'd win. Every self-respecting man knows where he'll go in a zombie apocalypse - a cave, a prison, the CDC, etc. But if bugs tried to take over? They can dig, swim, fly; there's nowhere we could run. You're in a steel bunker? There are insects that eat metal. You decide to take the offensive and become an insecticide-shooting Rambo? Due to their short life cycle, insects can and will adapt to all forms of insecticide. And then they'll strike back - just take ants. They'd become what they already are: perfect, selfless soldiers. Bullet ants alone are known for their ability to give the most painful insect stings on earth.

Zombies? They're just impractical, slow slabs of meat with no sense of self-preservation - the insect apocalypse is what we should be worried about. And now that I think of it, it's even predicted in the Bible:

"...then from the smoke came locusts on the earth, and they were given power like the power of scorpions of the earth...they were allowed to torment [mankind] for five months, but not to kill them, and their torment was like the torment of a scorpion when it stings someone. And in those days people will seek death and will not find it. They will long to die, but death will flee from them."

                   - Revelation 9:3-6, emphasis added (ESV).

Google's answer for "Revelation locust."

An insect apocalypse so bad that the entire world will beg for the sweet mercy of death? I would run to NASA right now and beg them to start funding space exploration again, if I wasn't sure insects could figure out a way to populate other planets. Oh wait, they already have.

Back in the shower. With all this running through my mind, I decided to give my cricket friend a chance. He could be the next bug Gandhi, for crying out loud! I couldn't deprive the insect kingdom of that. So I decided to give him a choice - to somehow provide the bug with a choice between life and death, that I might either be a stepping stone to its enlightened existence or kill it with a clear conscience. But how? How might I give this bug free choice? I was envious of him now, crouching in the corner of the bathtub - completely ignorant of both the mental exercise and moral dilemma his existence created.

So I grabbed a few squares of toilet paper, and tentatively extended them towards the cricket. Instantly, he gripped the edge of the paper with a voracity rarely seen in a starving panther. I had extended life to him, and he clung to it. But that's hardly a choice - I'd only given him the possibility of life, not death. So I stood and suspended him above the gaping maw of the toilet. Now, the scenario was complete: climb up, choose life. Let go, choose death.

But nothing happened. He just dangled there, clutching the toilet paper to his quivering breast, neither climbing nor letting go. I glanced discreetly around the room and...shook the toilet paper. But he clung. I shook harder, and still he hung on. My mind began to hurt from analyzing the metaphorical implications. My shoulder hurt from holding my arm out there for so long. But choice, life, the pursuit of one's own happiness - what have we become if we deprive others of these innate rights?

I dropped him in. It was a huge cricket, what did you expect me to do?

This is one of the more inane writings. STD Gun and Reverse Cookie are two other posts like that on this blog, and are both personal favorites.

Beyond Doubt

Written 8/15/12. I consider this "Part 2" of a journey that first became real in Haiti. You can read about that here.

Last night I spent some time with a friend at an impasse in life. We talked about his legalistic religious background, where everything is works-based and his family doesn't allow men to grow hair past their ears in fear of losing salvation. Yet life circumstances were forcing him to question a lot about his beliefs, convictions, and family. None of the answers were easy. Belief in a salvation of grace alone would necessitate a horrible fight and separation from his mother, his best friend and only real pillar in life. All in pursuit of a faith hardly understood and a God barely known. With his current foundation crumbling, the end question was: on what must he base his faith?

But now I stand asking the same question. I have lived in the church for twenty years and led Bible studies, boys' cabins, and men's halls towards Christ. And so much more. I’ve walked in God's presence, laughed at countless inside jokes only He and I understand, and embarrassingly wept in public over sin and grace. I’ve seen, I’ve felt, I’ve tasted, I’ve known.

So why is that not enough? During moments of spiritual intimacy, I feel this black doubt perching on the corner of my heart, driving questions into my head like "what if it's not real", "what if this is all just a waste of time", and "what if everyone else sees". To which I usually snap “shut up, I’m not supposed to be thinking that, go away”. I don't know what upsets me more - the presence of the doubt or my inability to prevent it from coming back.

On what have I based my faith?

Facts won't work. Every incontrovertible "fact" in my head - persona, experience, blessings - can be shoved and explained away by mental rushes, perception, or coincidence. Chemicals in my brain can warp perception of reality, and momentary feeling is no foundation for a world-shaking faith. 

And the past is no foundation either. Devoting yourself to something just because it makes your family happy, or because you've developed hard-to-break habits around it, is laughable. Countless people have defied family both in pursuit and hate of Christ. Habit is no indicator of truth, as neither are history or ritual.

What about creation and the universe itself? There are many claims about this planet and its origin; in deliberate avoidance of that debate I rest on two facts. First, everywhere I look I see infinitely complex systems begetting endlessly intertwined life. Second, that all of these systems seem remarkably intentional and I must assume an intentional creator. Perhaps that's the strongest yet - art denotes the existence of an artist. Yet again I trip over myself, as that sentiment is based on my own vulnerable and fickle perceptions. Observation of the natural world is a strong base, but not the final cornerstone on which to base faith.

Therefore the foundation of faith cannot be based on anything I see, feel, or know. It must be something other, something impregnably unaffected by mine or anyone else's perceptions. It must be the foundation of all foundations, something all-powerful and all-knowing. I guess we'd probably call that God. But to start to believe in any god, your brain requires reason and evidence, both of which are flawed by perception and feeling. The circle begins again.

There's an impasse here. As I know my perceptions are faulty, I cannot base my faith on anything I sense. Yet without some sensed proof there's no thought towards faith in the first place.

A leap has to happen. A leap letting go of the expectation of knowing, of proof, of quantifiable certainty; if I could quantify it I couldn't trust it anyways. It has to be a Faith rooted in faith -a leap of pure, unwavering trust that the chasm has another side. It's a letting go of what I know and just trusting that something…else is there across the gap. It's believing in the unfeelable, unseeable, and unknowable, then and letting that belief fuel everything in life.

Instantly at the thought my deathgrip grows tighter on the mental handhold of what I know, and all the "what ifs" pound into my head again. What if it's all fake, what if it's not real, what if you fall and everyone sees? But those are exactly the same questions plaguing me at the beginning. They circle around like sharks biting tail of the other, neither finding any end but their own. Futile. Unmoving. Stagnant. And I hate stagnation.

You know what, this is stupid. I'm always that guy that jumps first, the one that unthinkingly hurls himself headfirst into things. Why do I fearfully cling to the wall only here? Screw the damn doubt questions. I thirst deepest for action, for purpose, for integrity, and this is the only recourse I have for all three. I don't care if I fall. I don't care if people see. I want to find the truth and truly live, so I'm jumping.

See you on the other side.