Not Every Question Has An Answer

Sometimes, there will be events in your life that will unfold that you won't ever get an answer for. A sudden death in the family. Being fired from a job you spent the last 20 years working at. Earthquakes and other natural disasters. Even positive things like falling in love with a blind date or finding $20 on a park bench. The point of the matter is that sometimes, randomly, things just, well, happen. 

Change is the only constant we have in this life. We like to imagine that there's always some warning signs or things we can control how they unfold - but the fact of the matter is, sometimes fate is just that. Countless philosophers, teachers, scientists, and other learned individuals will spend years, sometimes their entire lives, finding justifications for these "acts of God". Yet, we all experience moments like these. 

Think about this: how many individuals out there are "accidents"? Meaning that their conceptions were completely unplanned. Now, an even more interesting question is how many of these "accidents" never should have happened in the first place? Ten to one, you know at least one person who shouldn't be here because one of the parents was sterile, on some form of birth control, or it was the wrong time of the month. Despite all pre-existing logic, the sperm met the egg and life began. 

Another unlikely, yet surprisingly common phenomenon are people who are just suddenly cured from cancer. They had gone through treatments that were stabilizing them without actually being the antidote - and then one day the person wakes up completely cancer free. A medical miracle that could last years, if not permanently. Occasionally, when this occurs, it makes the news, but not always. 

The point of the matter is this: as humans, it's engrained in us to find meaning in all things. Each quandary must have a solution. Each event must have a logical course of action leading up to it. "For every action, there's an opposite and equal reaction" (Newton's Third Law of Motion). To counterbalance all the chaos we see in the world, there must be some outward predisposition that led up to that point. Those who study history are the ones who spend their lives focused on searching for why were are at the point in time that we are at. We are always in pursuit of the "how" that led up to the "why".

Not every question has an answer and not every event in your life or the lives of those around you has to make sense. Sometimes things just are the way they are. What truly matters is how you approach it when it happens. Are you someone who will accept it for what it is and move on or are you someone who will be consumed by either changing the events or searching for meaning behind them. Are you someone who is going to let a random bad day turn into a bad month because you're incapable of letting go; or do you take advantage of the next dawn and turn it into a better day than the previous?

For it is how you face the questions that lead to how the answers come about. Are you going to be consumed by the things you cannot change or embrace the day for what it truly is: a chance to start again?

Purging Harvey

So, before I begin, this afternoon, I gave my depression the name Harvey. As in, the giant, invisible rabbit from the James Stewart movie. The name fits - as no one but me knows the full effect of Harvey. And no one hears Harvey but me. And, sometimes, many times, Harvey won't shut up.

The importance of this is that giving something a name gives you dominion over it. The first step a person does, psychologically, to place control over something is to name it. A nickname is a perfect example of this. People name their children and pets. I named my depression.

So, the reason I go into this is depression reared its ugly head this afternoon. I won't go into details, other than plans falling through unexpectedly and my brain taking hold of it and running hard with it. As my brain can be prone to do. Now, I will say that there were other factors involved  (especially with how stressful this week has been), but I was, unknowingly, prone for another episode. So, this one seemingly innocuous incident snowballed immediately mentally.

Now, instead of me discussing the topic further into detail, I'm going to go further into detail about me fighting it. What I'm doing when the struggle is truly real. Because, when it comes to depression (and, from what I understand about other mental illnesses) is that there's really only two options: defeating it or letting it defeat you. Again, there are days when the battle is lost before it even begins; when all you can do is ride out the storm. But even just struggling through it is a way of fighting it.

Now, each person has their own way of coping in a healthy manner. Mine is writing. I have found that, with depression, the analogy of "better out than in".  Which is what I am now passing on to you.

When sunny skies suddenly turn into a squall? Write.

When you've been faced with an overwhelming situation? Write.

When you get some bad news that comes out of nowhere? Write.

When you wake up in a funk and you have no idea why? Write.

No matter the reason, or even if there is one, the best way I have found to fight off the demon is to write.

Even if it's just screaming on a piece of paper or a Word document. No one says you have to keep what you put down. You just have to get it out so you can move on and move forward.

Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

“In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd.” -- Miguel de Cervantes.

"Alice: 'This is impossible.' The Mad Hatter: 'Only if you believe it is.'" -- Lewis Carroll (Alice In Wonderland)

We humans are far too often our own stumbling blocks. We hinder our own success based upon the limitations others put upon us; and the limitations we mentally put upon ourselves. Someone will tell us that a thing, regardless of what it is or the reason behind it, is unfathomable and we have the bizarre tendency to believe them. Most often, the limitations that hinder our own success isn't based on physics or the other terrestrial limitations of science; but solely based on the idea that a thing simply cannot be done. 

But, allow me to let you in on a little secret: Nothing is ever as impossible as it seems. 

A perfect example of this happened on July 20th,1969. Man, who had gazed upon the moon for eons and considered it far unreachable, step foot upon it. A celestial entity that had even been regarded as a deity now had human footprints on it. We conquered the span of the space itself and officially became aliens upon another piece of space rock. 

Why? Because we could. Because seven years prior, the American President told us that we should; "...not because they are easy, but because they are hard." Because we had reached a milestone in technological advancement that would allow us to break the walls of Earth's gravity and bridge the gap to our closest extraterrestrial neighbor. We did it simply because impossible was no longer a reason to stop us. 

Both personally and professionally, I have faced many an "impossible situation". When the chips were down and all odds were stacked against me, I have risen above, time and again. Why? Because I've honestly never been fond of the term impossible. Because I have the audacity to rise above, again and again. I don't like to be defeated and I do not allow myself to lay in the dust. Because I have the obstinate drive to rise and rise above. I view life the same way as the crew of the Apollo 11 viewed their mission: totally insane and worth every second. 

We as a species have taken flight. We have soared the heavens, both within our own atmosphere and far above it. We have sent satellites outside our own solar system. We have, even in centuries of old, viewed the heavens with our own eyes. Also, we have explored the depths beneath which we sail. We surpass every outrageous attempts at the limitations to which we bind ourselves in. 

Why? Simply put, because we can.

So, what impossible thing are you going to do today?

My Latest Discovery Upon the Path of Writing Certainty

Alright, my comrades, faithful friends, and those poor souls who suffer through the drudgery of my banal existence who stumble upon by most random of musings, I have news: I, yes, this guy, has come upon a typewriter.

Now, I realize I just lost you, but understand this: the typewriter, is but the Holy Grail and ultimate muse for those in the writing craft. It's like stumbling across the Sistine Chapel in its blank slate and being told "Have at it. Do what you do". The blank slate of all insane(ly brilliant) minds who have birth most, if not all, of the classics you were forced to read in high school. And, let me tell you, it's a thing of beauty.

It's manual. As Ernest Hemingway put is, you beat your heart and soul into this and a book or two comes out. You sacrifice your entire being and sanity and the most precious thing that will far outlive you will come forth. There's nothing taken for granted with this thing. It weighs like a brick. You beat all the buttons and have to physically push the bar back and forth. I have dreamt about such a masochistic piece of archaic machinery since...well, the writing bug struck me back in junior high. Since I broke out my Dad's old typewriter (which was electric, but still far from forgiving), started generating stories that were absolute rubbish, and enjoyed every facet and second of it. The sound. The smell. The effort into creating a masterpiece (which, my early works were anything but). And, above all else, the pounding of the keys. And now, waiting in an absolutely terrible second hand store, is the magnificent piece of machinery that shall become mine.

You see, while it's pen and paper that brought forth the founders of the curse, I mean blessing, of this craft that I have been born with, it was those who enslaved themselves to the beast that is the typewriter that were the ones that truly experiences the true beauty and brutality of this instrument of carnal reverence. The crafters of worlds both known and never made. Lives were birthed and died by the madmen (and women) who were possessed and did posses such a common and largely under-appreciated device.

Now, if it sounds like I'm "fan girling" (yes, it's a term, and yes, I'm using it appropriately) over this, understand something: typewriters aren't all that easy to find. Especially the manual ones. And, when you do stumble across them, they're bloody expense. I am crazy fortunate to not have either of these circumstances be the case. And, really, the fact that I seriously (not literally, though) stumbled across it makes me feel like it's a sign. Whether is actually is or not is not the question here. The point is that it is going to be mine and thus forth shall begin my cracked path towards becoming a truly published author. And, you best believe, I'm making copies upon copies before I submit anything. The last thing I need is for someone to steal the one copy I spent months, if not years, to create.

So, yes, while it is but the most mundane of news, words cannot express how genuinely pleased I am for this to enter my life.

Blurb From My First Book

"Arrested Development

Chapter One:

Everyone remembers where they were when Shane Murphy became an orphan. At 8:14 on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, James and Janet Murphy boarded United Airlines flight 175 heading home to Los Angeles. Forty-nine minutes later, they would lose their lives on live TV as their plane struck the south tower of the World Trade Center.  Three thousand miles away, on the set of Days of Our Lives, Shane watch his parents die."

Keep in mind, this is a work in progress. But here is the opening to my new book.

The Consequences of Hate.

So, this is the first chance that I've had to process what happened in Orlando over the weekend. 49 dead, multiple others wounded because a, for lack of a better word, man was so filled with hatred that he decided to walk into a crowded nightclub and purposefully take the lives of as many as he could.  I will also note that I have attempted this post multiple times, but with each start, I get crushed under the sheer weight of the tragedy. So, bear with me, here goes:

Now before I continue, I want to get something straight. This isn't a gun issue (although it is time to have a very honest conversation about automatic weapons in this country) and it's not a God issue (the shooter, last I heard, is Muslim with ties to ISIS. I'm not sure if that info is still correct). It is a 100% love verses hate issue. Let me break it down for you.

A person, regardless of whether or not they have guns and believe in a god will behave differently towards their fellow man if they are either A) loved or B) filled with hate. Now, if you think that I'm marginalizing the victims and the beliefs of the shooter, let me assure you that that is not the case at all.   What happened was a tragedy, pure and simple. The people in the club were not out to hurt anyone. They did not have an agenda. All they wanted to do was to celebrate. They were filled with love. The man who walked into the club with an assault rifle, a pistol, and a single agenda to kill as many people as he could was, without a doubt, filled with hate. He very well could have used a bomb.  It very well could have been a church. In this particular instance, however, it was some guns and a whole of of unsuspecting people who had no right to die.

Love doesn't walk into a club and open fire. Love doesn't fly planes into skyscrapers. Love doesn't burn crosses and hang innocent men, women, and children. Love doesn't blow up hospitals. Love doesn't murder children. Love doesn't starve people to death because they're not the same "tribe" as you. Love doesn't dismember and disfigure people. Love does not create orphans. Love does not torture animals. None of these are acts of love.

One of the most heart-wrenching things that I have read (and I'll share the link of the article below) was a CNN article on the "Eerie sounds of cell phones amid disaster". The piece recounts how the first responders came into a field of bodies and their phones going off from people trying to reach the dead in sheer, desperate hope that their loved one was still alive. That, that is love. The outpouring of support, not just locally with all the donated blood that went into attempts to save the victims, but outpouring of support from all over the world to show solidarity and unity towards the victims. That is love. Those who put their own prejudices aside and reached out to show that they care as well. That is love.

"There is no fear in love. But perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." (1st John 4:18). The actions that happened last weekend were the acts of fear and hate. The perpetration of rage personified. As we mourn the dead, we must also learn from them. Embrace the fragility of life and create bonds with one another. Because the true message of the Orlando shooting shouldn't be that hate still exists, but that love still trumps it.

With this, I bid you adieu once again. Take care, my dear readers. May we cross paths again at least once more.

The CNN article: http://www.cnn.com/2013/01/28/health/cell-phones-death/index.html

The Misfit Toy

So, there's a certain Christmas special that plays every year that is called Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. The premise is that there's this reindeer who's born with a glowing red nose who is immediately shunned by his peers and his own father thinks he's a disgrace. There's also an elf who is shunned because he would rather be a dentist instead of a toymaker. They meet up, become instant friends, and run away from society because they know they'll never fit in there. Along the way, they meet a gold miner who couldn't find a nugget if he was standing on it and they wind up on the Island of Misfit Toys (which, by the way, is one of the songs). There's another song that is played that is called "Why Am I Such a Misfit". Anyway, the point of all this is that tonight, as I was taking a shower, is that I am essentially a misfit toy. Hear me out.

During all of my schooling years, I had friends in all the cliques. Some of my closest friends were cheerleaders and football players; as well as theater geeks and the goths. Nobody said I couldn't make friends with a certain group, so I made friends in all the groups. It was actually quite harmonious. I personally, in high school at least, leaned heavily towards the geekier side of things - I was a library aid and theater tech for three years and on the school newspaper for two. I also took German - not the cool languages of Spanish and French. It was also in high school when I picked up my affinity for science and started playing chess with my dad. And, even though I was invited to multiple parties, I never went to anything outside of the occasional school dance. I was, for lack a better description, very happily in my own shell.

In my early twenties, as I have mentioned many times, I lost my dad. I spiraled into a vast sucking pit of depression that lasted until, to be quite honest, I moved to Texas and started my life over from scratch.  Yes, I made friends during this period of time, but I wasn't me and I certainly wasn't whole. I was, and still am to some degree, a stain glass window that's missing a few pieces. While everyone else around me seems normal, I can't help but feel a bit broken. It's just who I am.

It goes further, as well. For someone who is a self professed geek, I enjoy watching sports and playing baseball. Two of my favorite series are Firefly and Harry Potter; but I get equally excited watching the Seattle Seahawks and the San Antonio Spurs.  I can go to a comic book convention and have a blast and then go to one of my favorite craft breweries and enjoy a great beer with friends.

It goes even deeper than that. I was raised in a Christian home and my dad hosted a Bible study throughout most of my childhood. I am a Christian, as well, solely because that was my decision and my parents wanted me to choose whatever path I sought out. I am even a licensed minister. But, some of the most profound teachings I have received throughout the past year or so has been from a close friend of mine who is Wiccan and studying Buddhism. The teachings he has shared with me have been of the Buddhist variety. So, while there's zero danger of me "switching sides" so to speak, the teaching of a different belief system has helped me grow in my own. To expand upon that, I have friends that cover pretty much the entire spectrum of faiths - everyone from atheists and pagans to a couple Jews and even a high school friend who's Muslim. Not to mention fellow Christians, as well.

Politically, I also don't fit. I grew up in a pretty conservative household, but I have noticed that, within the past year or so, that I have become a lot more moderate. This honestly has everything to do with the actions of those in the Republican party and how much it conflicts with my faith. To the point where I'm fully planning and have been advocating for a self described socialist Jew. Someone who is a far from the political spectrum as anyone I would have dared considered voting for growing up.

The point of this is that I don't fit in to any mold. I am, quite simply, who I am. And, most importantly, I have zero desire to change who I am to fit into someone's concept of who I should be. Because, at the end of the day, if you can't love a misfit toy for being what it is, you have no right to play with it.