Tell Me A Story

Tell me a story.

Which story should I tell?

Tell me a story about hope and love and beautiful things.

Well...

But, don't tell me a story that encourages evil. Don't tell me a story where the bad guys win. Don't tell me a story where wrongs go unpunished. Don't tell me a story that will lead me down the wrong path.

Alright...

And, don't tell me a story that hides from the truth. Don't tell me a story that simplifies the complex. Don't tell me a story that reduces a person to an idea, especially if that idea is vague and exists in a vacuum. Don't tell me a story about archetypes, because archetypes are social constructs and not trustworthy. Don't tell me a story that relegates women to a subservient role, or any role for that matter, and don't tell me a story with racial undertones that takes advantage of my fear of the Other. Don't tell me a story that turns my skin inside out with rage, or any other emotion, really. I'd rather my skin were left on the outside for now. Don't tell me a story that makes me think too hard, but don't tell me a story that makes me feel stupid. Don't tell me a story that I've heard before. Don't tell me a story that I can't connect with. Don't tell me a story that's too abstract or symbolic. And, don't use words like vitriolic, you just end up sounding like an asshole.

Um...

Most importantly, tell me a story that's totally true. Tell me a story that includes all the complexities of life, and leaves no stone unturned. Tell me this story, otherwise, you're nothing but a liar.



Tell me a story.



Tell me a story.



Tell me a story.

Snow and GrownupsWith Maybe Just a Little More Flailing Than Required

It’s not about what you’re going to do when you grow up. It’s about who you’re going to be while you grow up. I want to be mature. I want to be honest. I want to be kind. I want to be earnest. I want to be secure. I want to be reasonable. I want to be peaceful. I want to love.

It’s not about what you’re going to do when you grow up. It’s about who you’re going to be while you grow up. I am immature. I am a liar. I am cruel. I am ironic. I am neurotic. I am unreasonable. I am troubled. I am hateful.

It’s not about what you’re going to do when you grow up. It’s about who you’re going to be while you grow up. Maturity is a life-long process. Telos is eternal. There is no end point. The path is not for the destination, it’s for the journey.

Lately I’ve been feeling like a water-droplet in a world of snowflakes. “Don’t crush my crystals!” we cry, “I have rights!” I would much rather be a part of something larger, grander, more important, than have my entire identity wrapped up in my individual accomplishments and attributes. I would much rather be a face in a crowd of people, united by a common desire, drive, passion, than be a lone hero who stands monolithic in the eye of history.

Please, don’t call me a communist, or a socialist, especially if you don’t know what the words mean. You can call me a collectivist, sure, me and 2/3 of the human race.

I’ve been told my whole life that I am special, just the way I am, and nobody should ever impinge on my right to be myself. Sesame Street and Mister Rodgers told me that it was okay to be different. But, where would Ernie be without Bert? Where would Cornflake S. Pecially be without Bob Dog. Although these products of the Public Broadcasting Network were preaching a message of individuality, they were set in a community and they invited us in. “Won’t you be my neighbor?”

I think I just realized that Mister Rodgers really is dead.

Part of my definition of what it means to be a grown up is to put the wellbeing of others before my own (blame it on my Dad, that’s kind of his entire life). Indelibly tied to my concept of adulthood is a community. After all, how can I put the wellbeing of others before my own if there are no others around?

Right now, I need to focus on my studies, so that I can graduate, so that I can get a well-paying job, so that I can pay off loans, which I got so that I could go to school, so that I could graduate. There’s not a lot of room for anybody else in this vicious cycle is there?

I guess a part of the reason that I feel this pull of collectivism so strongly is that I do not view myself as reason enough to be the kind of person I want to be. Does that make sense? If it’s for my own sake, I’d rather not be mature, or kind, or loving. If it’s for my own sake, I’d rather be immature and greedy and hateful.

Quite frankly, more often than not, if it was for my own sake, I’d really rather just not be.

I know that I am not truly alone. I know that this extended-adolescent angst will end. But, right now, I am nervous. I am afraid. I do not know what is going to come next. I’m trying to be a grownup. I’m trying to be stoic and responsible, and helpful. But, strife is all around me. There is no safe ground. Everywhere is complicated. Everything comes at a cost. Will it still be worth it tomorrow morning? A week from now? Ten years?

I still believe in hope. I’m just blinded by the blizzard.