Standing On My Feet...

And praying to God they know how to jump. (listening to "Let Go" by Frou Frou)

Here's what I'm thinking: What does it take to make something work? A recipe, an idea, a thought, a philosophy, a dinner reservation, a friendship, an assembly line, a picture frame...

motivation.

Impetus, the drive, desire, the Mojo. Something deep inside of you that forces you to re-examine everything and find purpose in an otherwise hopeless situation. I used to wonder why people let themselves get so hopelessly lost in an idea that they couldn't see the forest for the trees. How do people get so caught up in what they think they can do or find that they've totally lost sight of where they are?

And now I'm one of those people. You stand there, and you say.. "I'm only going this far, and then I'll see what really matters." And then someone comes along and draws a line in the sand saying, "Come this much farther." So you look at the line and you think, "Why not? I've come this far?" So you take that extra step, you hope that extra hope and dream that one more wish and pretty soon you look back at where you've been and all you see are lines that fade back into infinity. You don't know where you stand anymore. You don't know where you are. And whoever brought you all that way has grown bored of the game and moved on to someone else they can tempt across the line, and they forget about you except to say, "I knew them once."

I had the drive to step across that line. I knew what it took to make things work. And in my belligerence, I thought that my passion was enough. But here I stand far off my path, and all I can see are lines I've crossed... and everything I did was to try and find that one good thing. To help someone, to be someone, to provide, to care, to comfort, to love. And it's cold and lonely here on this road now. And the wind blows through the leaves and I swear I can hear:

I knew him once.

Choose.

Choice is at the center of everyone's life... and sometimes even their death. (listening to: Traffic and Nature)

This will be my second House-inspired post. This should come as no suprise to anyone who's been following my admiration of great writing and critical thinking. Here goes.
**DISCLAIMER: Those who are afraid of morally touchy issues, click here.

In this week's episode (sudden tangential random thought: If anyone thinks that using a TV show as a springboard for philosopical thought is stupid, there's the door. Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out. On second thought, go ahead. Let it.) of House, a man is given the choice: Save your wife's unborn baby, or save her. He chooses her, knowing full well that his wife's wishes are self-sacrifice to save her child. Let that be. The operation to save her life causes her to bleed internally. House now offers this guy a choice: We need to save your baby. Order the C-Section. This, by the way, his wife has NO chance of surviving. The choice, to anyone but this guy is clear: Let her go. Save the baby.

...

I don't think so. See, House says it earlier in the episode: "Tragedy happens." Losing your wife and unborn baby definately qualifies as tragedy, but ordering the death of your wife to save the baby is more than tragedy. That's being asked to choose. Now, I know that the choice here is clear. Mom's probably going to die anyway, so save what you can. But that's NOT what he's being asked. He's being asked to take a PRO-ACTIVE choice to engage in a procedure he knows will kill his wife in order to save his child. People die every day. But he's killing one to save one. THAT is NOT an easy choice. I don't care who you are.
Long story short... he saves his baby, wife dies. He made the right call. But could I have made it? I don't know. I might have, but I would have had to live with the guilt of losing the one woman I cared about more than anything in the world, and knowing that I made the decision to end her life. And I would see her face every day in my baby. My baby that I have to raise alone.

So, what does this have to do with my life? I mean.. this is my blog. Not the House, MD official fan board. Take a look at the title of my blog, folks. This is the ULTIMATE sign of life.

What does it mean to claim responsibility for a life? We see ourselves as victims or circumstance, doing what we can with the hand we're dealt in this life. We take responsibility for our actions, and do what we can with the chance cards that we draw. but what happens to those people who sack up and play boldly those garbage cards they're dealt? They're heroes, or villians, depending on a flip of the coin.

People claim responsibility for lives every day. Parents claim their children very nearly more dearly than their own lives. Doctors work themselves haggard for the life and death all around them. These people stand up to that chance card and say, "F--- off. Not this one. Not today." And me? I've looked death in the eye. And Nietzsche was right: "And when you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." (Jenseits von Gut und Boese, page unknown) To this day, I wake up at night and think about that 13 year old boy in that car. I see the car speed past me in my mind's eye, and I think, "If I could have, would I have claimed responsibility for that life? That life that ended as I dropped my Blizzard and ran towards him?"

What does that mean? How can I have claimed responsibility for a death I had nothing to do with, and did everything in my power to save? It's a meaningless question I ask myself, and yet it haunts me. Because everyone dies. And this kid didn't have the CHOICE to not get into the car with Mom's highly drunken friend. And this kid didn't get to look out the window at the young couple walking past the car going 65 on a windy road and say, "Someday, I hope I'll go for a walk past a river with my best friend." He didn't get the CHOICE to live. He's dead. And I'm alive. And the game goes on.

Strange Things

... been happening to me. (listening to "The Arrival" by Stephen Trask)

So, wow. It's been a long time since last I wrote, and before I begin, let me just give you a quick laundry list of the freaky s#!^ that I've seen lately.

item, a lethal car accident involving a 13-year old boy.
item, my former company buy out it's largest competitor after denouncing another conglomeration for doing the same.
item, myself dominating the training program at work.

So, yes. Daisy and I were eyewitnesses to a lethal accident involving a prominent member of the St. Paul, MN community and her college roommate and the roommate's children. It was a horrible, terrible experience, and I'm just now able to close my eyes and not see it in technicolor. An event like that tends to realign your perception on life, and when I think about everything that happened that night to get us there... I can't help but think that there's a design to it all. Something wanted us to be there that night, and for whatever reason that was, I'm still discovering the purpose to it.

What else is going on lately? I bought groceries for the first time on Saturday. That was awesome. I bought olive oil. God knows why, but it's damn good with herbs and bread, so I bought some of those, too. I bought a metric ton of food, and spent just under $100 for it all. I'm telling you guys, if you haven't discovered the wonders of the Market Pantry brand.. you damn well should. It's super. Like The Lizzie McGuire television show.

In related news, I know that I've talked to some of you about the acquisition of some much-needed companionship in my new place. It gets lonely here most of the time, so I've decided that I need a cat. So, I'm getting one. Plans to adopt a cat fell through, so now I must go and buy one. Which is cool, I guess. I'm prolly going to head to the Humane Shelter and get one. Here's the one I have my eye on: His new name will be Ender.



I'm tearing it up at work. I resolved my first call today, and the customer was satisfied with the answer I gave him, so I rule. My mentor at work has taken to calling me Neo, and that's alright by me.

If you seek to be released from your prison... free your mind.

Be careful what you wish for...

For you will surely get it. (listening to: "Songbird" by Eva Cassidy)

Here's something I jsut don't get, and maybe my blog community (newly expanded to fit c.wika, whose absence was inexcusable, and for which I will always owe apologies) can help me out here.

If someone tells you that they want something, not necessarily tangible, and then gets it, why is it that they are sometimes disappointed? I give you one of my amazingly detailed anecdotal examples.

Ross and Monica have been together forever. That's right. Forever. Since the dawn of time. And since the Beginning Monica has been telling Ross that the only thing she would change about him is the way he laughs. You see, Ross is a snort-laugher. And most of the time, his snort laughing makes everyone laugh harder. It's a gentle snort, certainly not the high-octane, full-blown geek snort laugh that Saved by the Bell taught us to hate. And one day, Ross goes to the doctor and has laser surgery to remove the defect in the back of his throat (turns out his hangy-ball of courage didn't quite cover the opening in his larnyx. Silly.) and his snort laugh is gone. Just like that. Ross is so happy that he was finally able to give Monica just what she wanted, that he calls her up and tells her to meet him at Central Perk for coffee. They meet for coffee, and Ross and Monica share a few laughs.

What happens, of course, is that Ross laughs snort-free, and it takes Monica a bit to realize that something is wrong. This isn't the same noise she's always heard from Ross. Something's changed, and while the snort was a bit annoying, it was who he was. And now, he's changed. Monica realizes that the snort was cute, and a little bit endearing. And now that it's gone, she certainly can't tell him that she's a little sad that it's gone.

-FIN-

This may be alittle out there for an example, but similar examples occur with frightening regularity in my life, and I just don't get it. Why is it that certain people claim to want one thing forever, and then when they get it, they seem almost sad that they got it. Was it the fight that they enjoyed? The conflict? The fact that there was something to bitch about? Please help me understand this, everyone, 'cause I'm clueless.