Borrowing from a friend's paradigm-shifting idea...

Americans are negative by nature. (And blanket statements are never helpful! Wait a second...) Really, though - we spend most of our conversation talking about what we don't like, the things that turn us off, excuses for not doing this or that. Even when we're excited about something, it's often in comparison with something else that we're not excited about. (A new restaurant just opened that's way better than that one!)

So it tends to go in relationships as well. Among friends and family, this tends to happen often:

"Hey, Andy! How's it going?"

"Oh, you know. Just another day."

"What's wrong? You seem down."

"Nothing. Just tired/stressed/anxious [insert negative adjective of your choice here]."

What's wrong? The question assumes a lot. It assumes, first of all, there is a standard "right." It also assumes that the questionee is not meeting the criteria for what is "right." Tone of voice, body language, even the 'look in your eye' all inform us as to an individual's status on the right-wrong spectrum.

There's nothing, ahem, wrong with being concerned for people who genuinely seem down. But when you meet a friend who genuinely seems to be doing alright, how often do you ask him, "What's right?" How often do we give each other a chance to talk about the good things? How often do we invite one another to share something positive instead of inviting a complaint? I wonder how much of a difference it could make.

I hope you'll read the entry I linked you to above, comment, and accept the What's Right? challenge.

I sponsored a kid through Children's Heritage Foundation! His name is Joseph Ochola, he is 5 years old, and he likes to sing. I love this foundation for many reasons - the biggest being my friends Steve & Ali became connected with them a year ago, have now visited Uganda with them, and are hoping to be able to actually adopt their sponsored child this year! It's an incredible story that I'll write more about later... But here's Joseph, and his bio. What a cute little dude. :)

Joseph looks forward to Sunday all week long. He loves to go to church and sing with his friends. He prays for his parents to be well and misses his father very much, who recently abandoned the family. His mom supports the family selling food in a small town called Nasuti, earning about $1 per day.

Joseph loves drawing pictures in school and playing with his friends. He hopes to be able to stay in school but his mother's meager income selling pancakes is hardly enough to support Joseph and his two sisters. Joseph prays for a better future.

Apparently some of my friends get most of their news from me through this blog (because I am bad at returning calls) and so when I leave those life-is-oh-so-miserable posts up for too long, they start worrying about me. So here's a current picture, to assuage those fears that I am perpetually morose & brooding:



Ok, so maybe that isn't so reassuring. Nonetheless - know that the sunshine isn't the only things that's bright in San Diego.

(It's my perspective. My perspective is what else is bright.)

There have been trying times in recent weeks - I'm not gonna lie (about that, anyway) - but I'm reconnecting with my friends in really good ways. And I have been gifted with amazing friends. There's no better remedy.

So thanks for the concern. Sometimes this space feels like my sole outlet, and my tendency toward the dramatic (what? me?) is irresistible sometimes.

Peace.

At least I know myself. Exactly when, where, and how I'll break. Exactly how long I can hold out. Exactly how I'll come to terms with the whole thing. But it does make you wish that once, just once, you had the balls to go through with something drastic. Not so much to prove a point to anyone else. More as a way to exhale. You breathe in so much, hold in so much, that eventually it just sort of settles in there somewhere. You thought you were about to explode, thought you couldn't take it anymore, and just when you think it's about to blow, fissure and crack and explode, you manage to pack it in nicely, tidy things up, expand just enough to keep it inside.

I've got nothing to prove to anyone. It's myself that needs convincing.

Predictable as ice melting. Today is day 3, and so it's on to the feelings of loss, the sense that I'm missing out, the acknowledgment that I'm doing it to myself. The cracking of the exterior, the slow breakdown that will ultimately result in admitting my folly, admitting my mistakes and misperception, admitting to anything just to get back the thing I'm desperate not to lose.

It always starts with some sort of righteous anger - righteous, at least, from the perspective of my wounded little corner. I retreat, sure I've been living in a fairy tale, sure that I've been duped, satisfied with a pretense of love that was never actualized. "I am tired of being the first, the initiator, the one always asking and inviting and believing," I say. I want to be on the receiving end of some unsolicited message of approval, of love. Something that says, "You are a difference-maker in my world. I value you in a special way, different from how I value other things."

This something doesn't have to be words. It doesn't have to be a symbol, gift, or gesture. There are no specifications. It just has to be. That's what I think when I submit my proposal. But really, there are rules. I have to perceive it to be what I want. And my perceptions are impenetrable, even to myself.

Is it true what they say, that you can't possibly receive love until you know how to love yourself? If so, it's a lost cause.

At any rate, it's day three, and the exterior is cracking. Breakdown. Caving in. I was wrong, you are right. Please don't leave. The weakness I can't stand to witness in myself.

The temptation to be drastic - to up and leave, or to go screw anonymously - is tempered by the dread of permanently damaging something I believe I can't live without. Predictable. Day 1, righteous anger. Day 2, stubborn holdout. Day 3, cracking, lonely. Day 4, or 5, or Day Inevitable: breakdown. It doesn't matter how long. It won't last. Like ice in the sun.