Saturday, April 21, 2012
An Exhibition on The Anatomy of an Existential Crisis
Every possible thing that could possibly advance my life is a few months in front of me. This has led to an (un)fortunate span of time in which I could deeply think and meditate on my future, and on every possible way I could screw everything up.
This all started roughly two weeks ago.
It all started with a thought, a tiny sentence that grew into a mind-consuming behemoth:
"Can you trust the people you love?"
I shook it off at first, not wishing to dwell on it. No point in eroding my foundation, I countered. Relationships are nothing without trust, right? Not missing a beat, my overactive thought process decided to throw me another curveball:
"If something you care about can't stand up to questioning, how can you trust it? And if you aren't willing to question it, is it truly worthy of your time and trust?"
Now, that? That was a good point. But with that point, not only was my trust in my family and my future wife brought to its knees, but my very faith, the core of everything that I am was being assaulted with everything my mind could throw at it.
The questions didn't stop there.
"How are you going to provide for your fiance?"
"What happens is the Air Force doesn't take you?"
"Have you thrown away your dreams for nothing?"
"Where is this God you hold in such esteem?"
"How have you managed to squander the last six f#$^ing years of your life?"
Suddenly, I had no hope in my future. I had no hope in me. Nothing. I was nothing. I could do nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Nothing.
I couldn't hold it all up. Didn't try. Didn't want to. For the two weeks, I made no pretense of my mental collapse.
I've been a mess. To be completely honest, I'm still a mess.
But something changed in me today. I faced down each question in turn. I stared each one in the face and told it to give me its best shot.
Today I have hope.
I have hope that the God I hold so highly in esteem is more than capable of watching over me and my soon-to-be bride. I have hope that regardless of what the Air Force thinks I'm capable of, I'm still more than just a carbon-based lifeform wasting an oxygen and nitrogen mix on this rock we call Earth. I have hope that I'm no mistake. I have hope that my dreams can still be realized. I have hope that I'm meant for more than sweeping floors and cleaning meat rooms, and even if that was all I did in this world, I still have worth.
All of this possible is because I realized one simple truth:
In the act of questioning something you hold close to your heart is, in and of itself, an act of trust.
You don't trust what you don't know.
If you can't bring yourself to question something you trust, then you deny that its worthy of the trust you claim to place in it.
So today, I learned something I thought I'd learned long ago: questions aren't the enemy. Questions lead to the truth about what you trust. It's okay to not know everything, but it's not okay to sit back in and cover your ears when the questions come.
And so I trust.
In God, I trust.
In my family, I trust.
And in myself, I trust that the God I trust in is capable and willing to help me work through every question I encounter.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Insert Disk 4 of 10: It's Okay To Leave It Behind
Nostalgia is a terribly funny thing, a cruel, warped mistress that can build our memories to god-like expectations. For instance, I write this while listening to an old recording of my old band, and hearing my 18-year-old voice crack and passionately hit high notes that I had no business reaching for. But as I listen to it, I remember the feeling of being onstage, belting out words that came from my heart, the weight of a microphone in my hand and a feeling of being exactly where I belong.
Games run this same gamut with me. I’ll hop over to Good Old Games or find some Top 100 NES/SNES games, browse through the list, and upon seeing my childhood favorites, my eyes grow distant and my heart wistful. It’s like all of my friends have come together for a high-school reunion.
“Oh, Lords of the Realm II! Do you remember the good times we had sending those peasants to fill in the moat under a hail of arrows? And how you could send correspondence with the AI opponents, like sending fart jokes under the banner of a compliment? Sheesh, that was endless fun! How are you making out these days? Oh, Sierra went under? That’s too bad, man. Your third game sucked? Aw, man, I am so sorry. Hey, I’d love to stay and chat, but I see Space Quest and King’s Quest over there, and I wanted to catch up with them. Take it easy, Lords of the Realm II!”
“King’s Quest and Space Quest! Holy crap, I figured you guys had died with the rest of the adventure games in the mid-90s! I see that you’re staying alive through VGA remakes of your earlier stuff, KQ, but other than that, I haven’t seen much of you. What’s that? Telltale Games is remaking you? That’s awesome, man! How about you, SQ? Oh, that’s right, you never got past the sixth game. You deserved much better, especially after the fond memories of you getting me through the Ice Storm of ‘96.”
Silly reunion shtick aside, there’s only one reason we replay old games, and it’s not because they “don’t make ‘em like they used to” or “you gotta get back to your roots”. We don’t even play them because we seriously think that all of their mechanics are better than most of the much-improved systems of today. The number one reason we play old games is simple: we’re trying to recapture that feeling.
You know, the feeling of starting off on an adventure again. The feeling of becoming completely and utter enthralled in a universe of someone else’s creation. That, for lack of a better word, joy. We dedicate online shrines to preserving these classics, somehow hoping to encase that rush for us to enjoy again and again.
I’m sorry, but I’m going to give you a terribly bitter pill:
You will never, ever feel that exact same way again.
You will never, ever recapture that glory.
You will never, ever recreate that experience.
Nostalgia has its place in the world, and that’s seated directly in the past. Any attempt to dredge up those exact memories is only going to end in serious disappointment. At some point, we have to leave those memories behind and enjoy them as just that, memories.
By the way, in retrospect, that band I was in was absolutely terrible. But you know what? It was a blast at the time, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Just don’t expect us to ever play your bar mitzvah any time soon.
Aaron Waite would like to point out that Chrono Trigger is completely exempt from this rule of nostalgia.
Games run this same gamut with me. I’ll hop over to Good Old Games or find some Top 100 NES/SNES games, browse through the list, and upon seeing my childhood favorites, my eyes grow distant and my heart wistful. It’s like all of my friends have come together for a high-school reunion.
“Oh, Lords of the Realm II! Do you remember the good times we had sending those peasants to fill in the moat under a hail of arrows? And how you could send correspondence with the AI opponents, like sending fart jokes under the banner of a compliment? Sheesh, that was endless fun! How are you making out these days? Oh, Sierra went under? That’s too bad, man. Your third game sucked? Aw, man, I am so sorry. Hey, I’d love to stay and chat, but I see Space Quest and King’s Quest over there, and I wanted to catch up with them. Take it easy, Lords of the Realm II!”
“King’s Quest and Space Quest! Holy crap, I figured you guys had died with the rest of the adventure games in the mid-90s! I see that you’re staying alive through VGA remakes of your earlier stuff, KQ, but other than that, I haven’t seen much of you. What’s that? Telltale Games is remaking you? That’s awesome, man! How about you, SQ? Oh, that’s right, you never got past the sixth game. You deserved much better, especially after the fond memories of you getting me through the Ice Storm of ‘96.”
Silly reunion shtick aside, there’s only one reason we replay old games, and it’s not because they “don’t make ‘em like they used to” or “you gotta get back to your roots”. We don’t even play them because we seriously think that all of their mechanics are better than most of the much-improved systems of today. The number one reason we play old games is simple: we’re trying to recapture that feeling.
You know, the feeling of starting off on an adventure again. The feeling of becoming completely and utter enthralled in a universe of someone else’s creation. That, for lack of a better word, joy. We dedicate online shrines to preserving these classics, somehow hoping to encase that rush for us to enjoy again and again.
I’m sorry, but I’m going to give you a terribly bitter pill:
You will never, ever feel that exact same way again.
You will never, ever recapture that glory.
You will never, ever recreate that experience.
Nostalgia has its place in the world, and that’s seated directly in the past. Any attempt to dredge up those exact memories is only going to end in serious disappointment. At some point, we have to leave those memories behind and enjoy them as just that, memories.
By the way, in retrospect, that band I was in was absolutely terrible. But you know what? It was a blast at the time, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Just don’t expect us to ever play your bar mitzvah any time soon.
Aaron Waite would like to point out that Chrono Trigger is completely exempt from this rule of nostalgia.
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