Priceless

Last night Frank Robinson shook my hand.

Iris

What I think is that we want to be known. That what we long for, more than even forgiveness and acceptance, is for the people who are important to us to know us. It's why we dress the way we do, why we decorate the way we do, why we write, why we choose the jewelry we wear, and why it's so hard for us to shut up talking about ourselves. Ruthie and I have been talking about this a lot lately, especially as it relates to our relatives—wondering if the people who ought to know us best, our families, know us at all. Obviously there’s no general answer for some mythical monolith called, “our family,” but life is teaching us that if there were, it would be “no.” Ruthie knows me better than anyone ever has but I still become frustrated with the necessity for, and limitations of, language when trying to explain to her why West Side Story makes me tear up, or how listening to Purple Rain makes me feel. Yeah, she gets it closer than anyone else could—but she’ll never know exactly what it’s like to be me, she’ll never completely know me. Why then can it be so discouraging that people whom we see with far less frequency than we do one another know us on such a superficial and wildly inaccurate level?

Someday (and that day may never come) we’re going to find ourselves ready to brave Ken’s “tunnel of chaos” and let the truth be known—let ourselves be known. Thing about that tunnel though, is that there are no guarantees on what’s waiting at the other end. Acceptance, rejection, forgiveness where necessary, respect, anger, disappointment, pride, closeness, of the relationship—you just never know. And it’s my growing willingness to risk whatever shallow peace my relational status quos find me in that has led me to believe that it’s the knowing that we want even more than the acceptance. This is why I drink beer in public, and why it makes me feel so good to hear someone say “ass” in my living room on a Tuesday night. Because relationships (which I claim to be such a high value) which are based on a version of me that I’ve cultivated and presented intentionally to make people okay with me are relationships with a person who doesn’t exist—they’re not real, and that’s not good.

This is why it bothers me that people who haven’t taken the time to get to know me presume to know what movies I’ll like. This is why it bothers me when someone makes fun of John Lennon for wishing the world would quit shooting each other and then assumes that I’ll be right there on board with his mocking. This is also why my friendships with people who have seen me at my absolute worst and love me anyway are so satisfying and so rare. This is why I need Justin and Jared so desperately.

There’s a rep at work that my friend K doesn’t like. She says she’s okay with him until he starts with the comments and the leers and the inappropriate touches. I told her that the whole thing is a sad example of how you can be a good guy in most respects (I’ve known P for years and have some affection for him) and still let one out of control character flaw ruin you. K said that she couldn’t accept that he could be an ok guy and when I told her that I could easily have been him she didn’t want to hear it.

“You didn’t know me ten years ago,” I said.

“But he’s awful.”

“Only because he’s fed his and I’ve tried to kill mine.”

And she said, “Stop—I don’t want to think about you like that.”

She likes me too much to want to know the real me. So she never will. And we’ll continue on in a pseudo-friendship because, as unwilling as she is to hear it, I’m just that unwilling to reveal it. And my lack of honesty will keep us both from experiencing what might have been a life-changing relationship both ways. This is a big part of why God wants us to be honest people. Not because it’s some arbitrary rule, but because in honesty we find what our lives need—to be known.

There isn't any time.

Historic Free Cell Streak Ends at 47 Wins!

Highlights at 11:00

Ichiro Watch

.314 Can you say, "Crash and burn"?

By the Way

Over the past week I've won 32 consecutive games of Free Cell.

Happy to be Here

Had another of those experiences last night that you have to show up for. What I mean is that my nature is to spend my evenings at home with Ruthie and read a book or watch a movie. Goes against my grain to actually put on pants and go do something, but when it came time yesterday to clean up and head for the “Save Elizabeth” benefit in Norwood there were enough things motivating me to go that I was actually excited (maybe I’m getting better). For one thing, Justin & Tasha were going to play and we try not to miss them. For another, they were showing some Michael Wilson photography. Plus my friend Kevin was going to be there, plus it was a good cause, PLUS (and never underestimate this) Karin Bergquist was scheduled to sing. This last one alone is worth putting on pants.

So we went to this thing, which was crawling with artist-types—not our usual crowd—and it was grand. That’s a world that may never be my own, but I enjoy our little tourist excursions. Justin and Tasha were great, Michael’s stuff was breathtaking (and he’s just so much fun to be around anyway,) it was good to see Kevin (he’s been out of town,) I met some new people who had just been significant names to me until now, most of the music was very good and (and never underestimate this) Karin Bergquist sang songs. Including “Ohio.” From twenty feet away.

Sitting out on the front steps of St. Elizabeth on a perfect evening, eating spicy chicken with the best wife anyone ever had and two of our best friends, I realized that one of those people I’d recently met, who had been significantly famous enough (in that goofy not-really kind of way) that it had seemed like a big deal at the time, was sitting three feet to my left. There he was! Right there! Smoking a cigarette and talking to a friend. And I realized that I was so happy in the moment, with my wife and my friends and the perfect weather, that I wasn’t impressed with Who sat to my left, and had no compulsion to gawk at his quasi-famousness. This was a big step for me, but it didn’t keep me from getting all wiggly when, later, I asked Karin what B.P.D. stood for. She’s neat.

"But I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"

In a mood today & don’t know why. Why am in such a frustrating place in my life when nearly everything is so good? Why do I have to be so hung up on some abstract idea about how life ought to be and how that Way might or might not affect this thing we call “Church”? Why can’t I just be a good soldier and get with the program? Shouldn’t the fact that I’m in such a severe minority tell me something? Why don’t I have the courage to just live it 100%? Why can’t I figure out what that would look like? Why is it so hard to go on acting like I care about stuff at work? Why can’t I really care? Why am I so tempted to get good and drunk at the block party tonight? (Relax, I won’t.) Why can’t David Wells get anyone out anymore? How can I have been so on top of the world late Tuesday night after having been with my people and so this now? Why do I think that if I could take the time to watch one of the movies that make me cry I’d feel better? Why do I want so badly to take a fast car and keep on drivin'? Why am I so certain that everything will be fine this time tomorrow? Are you sure guys don’t PMS?