Holidays should never fall on Mondays.
The effort that goes into hosting, or sometimes even attending, a holiday function is so great that it requires an off day, maybe even a whole weekend, to recover from it all.
When a three-day weekend arises, we should celebrate the holiday on Friday and then give everyone their normal weekend. Thursday nights (which would be the start of the weekend under my plan) are more fun than Sunday nights anyway.
As Labor Day has come and gone, I'm reminded of exactly why holiday Mondays are such a bad idea by looking back to my Fourth of July (also a Monday), which went something like this:
8:00 a.m.: Wake up, start coffee maker. Clean grill to host monster cookout later in day.
9:00: Start preparation of burger patties and veggies for cookout.
9:02: Dang it. I'm out of seasoning for the meat and two of our ears of corn are bad. And we don't have any creamer for the coffee...
9:06: Find shoes for quick grocery store run.
9:10: Arrive at eerily empty grocery store. I guess everyone else checked their grilling supplies at least a day early. Interesting idea.
9:32: Come home, notice the grass looks kinda bad, even though I cut it last week. Lots of people coming over. It looks just bad enough. Dang it.
10:00: Grass is cut, time to shower.
10:12: Forgot about the burgers!!!!!! Begin frantic burger preparation of partially defrosted burgers for 23 person cookout. Enlist visiting friend's help to season vegetables, clean floors, dance and sing for quarters. Well, maybe not the last part. But most everything else. Make mental note to apologize later.
10:52: Food is ready for cooking. Friends stop off to bring drinks over, requiring ice chest preparation and refrigerator reconfiguration. Remember that I forgot to eat breakfast.
11:15 Fire up grill.
2:00 Guests having eaten already, I pull of the last three burgers on the grill. Remember to eat breakfast.
2:05: Settle in to eat, put away food and finally relax and enjoy my afternoon.
2:14: Phone rings. 8 more guests on the way. Pull food back out.
3:00: More guests arrive, time to play host again.
4:45: Attempt to herd people out so we can have dinner, shower and head out for fireworks show.
5:02: Still herding.
5:12: Herding momentum stalled. Publically announce intention to take shower in hopes of getting people to leave. No success.
5:13: Take shower in hopes guests will leave.
5:24: Partial Success.
5:28: Leave house, allowing guests to stay in our absence. Hopefully they will do our dishes while we're gone.
7:00: Arrive downtown and walk to friends' condo, arriving considerably late. Watch fireworks. Good time.
10:30: Head back to the car, fight monster insane traffic home.
11:30: Get home, look for guests who still might be there. Collapse in a heap in preparation for work the next day.
I realize that not every holiday is quite that crazy. Our Labor Day, for instance, was spent alone sitting on our porch. But most people end up doing something--traveling, hosting a party, drinking too much--on a holiday from which they could use a little recovery time.
That's why holidays should never fall on a Monday.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Random Thoughts: Who Dry Cleans a Shower Curtain?
My shower curtain has a tag on it that says "Do Not Dry Clean." Is that really an issue?
I understand where the word "Sunday" came from (day of sun), even though it sometimes rains. But what about Monday through Friday? What's a day of Mon? Or a day of Wednes? Who came up with these terrible names?
Rule of Life Number 189: a community that supports a Ryan's Buffet is unlikely to have a lively theatre scene.
Why is that people only report ghost sightings in old, decrepit buildings? If ghosts really exist, why wouldn't they rather live in a modern McMansion, with a nice pool and all the latest gadgets, rather than a 150-year-old two bedroom in a bad part of town. Just saying.
If you ride a horse to work and park it on a downtown street, do you still have to feed the meter?
Why is it that religion-themed roadside signs that say things like "JESUS SAVES" only appear in conservative rural areas, where most everyone is already a Christian?
Do news anchors tell bad news to their loved ones with the same plastered smile they use to give their daily crime reports?
Why is it that people who don't belive in global warming tend to also be against abortion and high taxes on the rich? Is there some hidden connection here that I'm missing?
After February, I think the worst month of the year is July. But I'd listen to arguments for January and August.
Why do coaches and players have to answer to the media after games and explain their mistakes but referees and umpires don't have to?
Why would national news outlets rather repeatedly tell me that New York City survived Hurrican Irene with no major drama than mention the devastation it rendered elsewhere?
Speaking of which, when a tropical storm hits New England, shouldn't they call it (the storm) something else?
Three-day weekends in this country always end of Monday. Would anyone complain if the celebration was Friday instead? This would work a whooooollllllllle lot better.
More on that next time...
I understand where the word "Sunday" came from (day of sun), even though it sometimes rains. But what about Monday through Friday? What's a day of Mon? Or a day of Wednes? Who came up with these terrible names?
Rule of Life Number 189: a community that supports a Ryan's Buffet is unlikely to have a lively theatre scene.
Why is that people only report ghost sightings in old, decrepit buildings? If ghosts really exist, why wouldn't they rather live in a modern McMansion, with a nice pool and all the latest gadgets, rather than a 150-year-old two bedroom in a bad part of town. Just saying.
If you ride a horse to work and park it on a downtown street, do you still have to feed the meter?
Why is it that religion-themed roadside signs that say things like "JESUS SAVES" only appear in conservative rural areas, where most everyone is already a Christian?
Do news anchors tell bad news to their loved ones with the same plastered smile they use to give their daily crime reports?
Why is it that people who don't belive in global warming tend to also be against abortion and high taxes on the rich? Is there some hidden connection here that I'm missing?
After February, I think the worst month of the year is July. But I'd listen to arguments for January and August.
Why do coaches and players have to answer to the media after games and explain their mistakes but referees and umpires don't have to?
Why would national news outlets rather repeatedly tell me that New York City survived Hurrican Irene with no major drama than mention the devastation it rendered elsewhere?
Speaking of which, when a tropical storm hits New England, shouldn't they call it (the storm) something else?
Three-day weekends in this country always end of Monday. Would anyone complain if the celebration was Friday instead? This would work a whooooollllllllle lot better.
More on that next time...
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Triumphant Return of Ask Andrew
From 2000-2002, the people of Nashville had a place to which they could turn to get insightful answers to all of life’s most unimportant questions. Few actually bothered to do so, however, so this column faded away when its author graduated law school and lost control of a published medium funded through student activity fees.
Now, thanks to the wonder of the Internets, “Ask Andrew” makes its triumphant return. Or at least its return. We don’t want to get your hopes up unrealistically.
Q: So, where have you been for the last nine years?
A: Let’s just say I’ve given a lot of thought to these questions.
Q: Really? Why start now?
A: Touche'
Q: It’s 5:50 and I’m at the airport sitting by the gate, waiting for my plane to board. Why does the screen still list my flight status as “on time” for a 5:30 departure?
A: If they told you the truth—that you are waiting for a plane stuck in Cleveland with mechanical issues that no one there is remotely qualified to remedy because the one mechanic employed by the airline is assigned to Atlanta today—you might go ahead and kill someone now. If they withhold this information until after midnight, when your flight is ultimately cancelled, you might lose your own will to live in the meantime and thus present no threat to anyone but yourself. Airlines know this.
Q: Ok, but why won’t the airline at least let me know the delay will be long enough for me leave the gate area to go use the bathroom without fear of missing the plane?
A: They don’t like you.
Q: Why don’t vending machines take pennies? Aren’t the owners just taking all the change to the bank to deposit anyway?
A: Perhaps they fear that a customer using pennies would back up the line. But when is the last time you saw a line at a vending machine?
Q: I’m the one who gets to ask the questions around here.
A: Sorry, I forgot how this works.
Q: Why does my cat’s breath smell like cat food?
A: Do I really have to answer that?
Q: I only feed him tacos.
A: You have bigger problems than I am qualified to handle.
Q: What is this Iowa Straw Poll thing I keep hearing about? Do they really vote with straw? What’s wrong with ballots?
A: This is exactly why the vote totals are so misleading. Voters cast their straw in a pile for sane, rationale (if a bit boring) candidates like John Huntsman, Tim Pawlenty or Mitt Romney, but then the straws blow in the wind over to another pile and end up being counted for Michelle Bachmann. This is how she won. Surely.
Q: I don’t like my job.
A: That’s not a question.
Q: What is the proper response when the guy beside you at the gym is lifting 20 pounds but grunting like the electricity of a small country is being provided through his decibel level alone?
A: Make an audio recording consisting of a jet airplane flying closely overhead, and the diner scene in When Harry Met Sally (“I’ll have what she’s having.”). Label it “You at the Gym” and anonymously stick it on the offender’s windshield during his next workout.
Q: Wait, didn’t you use that same “that’s not a question” joke nine years ago?
A: I’m likely to use it in 2020 as well.
Q: Please tell me that’s also the target date for the next one of these crappy columns?
A: It will either be 2020 or sometime next month. You’ll just have to wait and see.
Now, thanks to the wonder of the Internets, “Ask Andrew” makes its triumphant return. Or at least its return. We don’t want to get your hopes up unrealistically.
Q: So, where have you been for the last nine years?
A: Let’s just say I’ve given a lot of thought to these questions.
Q: Really? Why start now?
A: Touche'
Q: It’s 5:50 and I’m at the airport sitting by the gate, waiting for my plane to board. Why does the screen still list my flight status as “on time” for a 5:30 departure?
A: If they told you the truth—that you are waiting for a plane stuck in Cleveland with mechanical issues that no one there is remotely qualified to remedy because the one mechanic employed by the airline is assigned to Atlanta today—you might go ahead and kill someone now. If they withhold this information until after midnight, when your flight is ultimately cancelled, you might lose your own will to live in the meantime and thus present no threat to anyone but yourself. Airlines know this.
Q: Ok, but why won’t the airline at least let me know the delay will be long enough for me leave the gate area to go use the bathroom without fear of missing the plane?
A: They don’t like you.
Q: Why don’t vending machines take pennies? Aren’t the owners just taking all the change to the bank to deposit anyway?
A: Perhaps they fear that a customer using pennies would back up the line. But when is the last time you saw a line at a vending machine?
Q: I’m the one who gets to ask the questions around here.
A: Sorry, I forgot how this works.
Q: Why does my cat’s breath smell like cat food?
A: Do I really have to answer that?
Q: I only feed him tacos.
A: You have bigger problems than I am qualified to handle.
Q: What is this Iowa Straw Poll thing I keep hearing about? Do they really vote with straw? What’s wrong with ballots?
A: This is exactly why the vote totals are so misleading. Voters cast their straw in a pile for sane, rationale (if a bit boring) candidates like John Huntsman, Tim Pawlenty or Mitt Romney, but then the straws blow in the wind over to another pile and end up being counted for Michelle Bachmann. This is how she won. Surely.
Q: I don’t like my job.
A: That’s not a question.
Q: What is the proper response when the guy beside you at the gym is lifting 20 pounds but grunting like the electricity of a small country is being provided through his decibel level alone?
A: Make an audio recording consisting of a jet airplane flying closely overhead, and the diner scene in When Harry Met Sally (“I’ll have what she’s having.”). Label it “You at the Gym” and anonymously stick it on the offender’s windshield during his next workout.
Q: Wait, didn’t you use that same “that’s not a question” joke nine years ago?
A: I’m likely to use it in 2020 as well.
Q: Please tell me that’s also the target date for the next one of these crappy columns?
A: It will either be 2020 or sometime next month. You’ll just have to wait and see.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Life is Hard, So Go Live It
Let’s just say life has been interesting lately.
Not too long ago, an armed robber tried to break into my house.
Shortly before that, during a stretch in which I went out of town for 12 straight weeks, I was forced to spend the night in a haunted hotel in Tucson, Arizona, a city that doubles as the most Godforsaken place on earth.
When I finally came home to Nashville, it was under attack by an army of Killer Death Cicadas and the obnoxiously loud frogs in my neighbor’s unfortunate above-ground swimming pool.
We took a vacation in the Bermuda Triangle to get away from the madness at home, and immediately upon our return every single electronic or mechanical device in our possession went haywire at the same time, including our coffee maker, lawnmower, refrigerator, cable modem, computer, our brand new e-reader and even our car. Both our cars.
Basically, our house was the scene of the largest electronics revolt in history in which Will Smith didn’t play the protagonist.
Meanwhile, my mom narrowly escaped medical catastrophe, my wife’s 17-year-old niece got pregnant with twins and my brother-in-law announced an out-of-town wedding on two week’s notice, and all the while work for which I don't have the mental energy has relentlessly piled up on my desk.
It’s been a wild summer.
What have I learned from it?
Life is full of moments when things go wrong. It’s full of dashed hopes and broken coffee makers and changes that come before you’re ready for them. It’s filled with hired hands who care considerably less about your stuff than you do, and instances when you find 60 cents in your desk drawer when the vending machine requires 65.
Life is hard.
So hard that life’s frustrations can easily become the defining story of your life if you let them. If your life isn’t about something else—something bigger—its burdens can become life’s defining feature, because there just isn’t enough pleasure to go around to cancel out all the crap.
But life’s endless array of trivial problems somehow seem smaller when I realize my life is supposed to be about something bigger than my own comfort.
We weren’t made for ourselves. We all have a unique service to provide to the world. And even though it may feel like it at times, it’s not to be its garbage can.
I promise.
Everyone has a purpose in life. Even you. There’s a path you were meant to travel that leads toward some destination that will make the world a better place by your time spent upon it.
If you don’t immediately recognize one, it’s probably because you talked yourself out of it somewhere along the way. But it’s out there somewhere. There’s a person in the mirror you’d like to be. And not just because other people expect it.
Once you find it, life will still have burdens that derail your plans. But they seem less overwhelming when they are obstacles on the path to a destination instead of just a series of dead ends.
So walk your path. Take some time to refresh yourself along the way with rest, prayer and reflection, as well as some time with loved ones and a few soul-enhancing diversions.
Laugh with friends.
Read a book.
Have a glass of wine.
Make a difference in the world.
Follow your dreams.
Even if they lead somewhere scary.
After all, an uphill climb in the rain in pursuit of your dream will feel easier than a walk in the park on a path meant for someone else.
Your life is out there. Find it. Take it. Live it.
Life is too hard not to.
Not too long ago, an armed robber tried to break into my house.
Shortly before that, during a stretch in which I went out of town for 12 straight weeks, I was forced to spend the night in a haunted hotel in Tucson, Arizona, a city that doubles as the most Godforsaken place on earth.
When I finally came home to Nashville, it was under attack by an army of Killer Death Cicadas and the obnoxiously loud frogs in my neighbor’s unfortunate above-ground swimming pool.
We took a vacation in the Bermuda Triangle to get away from the madness at home, and immediately upon our return every single electronic or mechanical device in our possession went haywire at the same time, including our coffee maker, lawnmower, refrigerator, cable modem, computer, our brand new e-reader and even our car. Both our cars.
Basically, our house was the scene of the largest electronics revolt in history in which Will Smith didn’t play the protagonist.
Meanwhile, my mom narrowly escaped medical catastrophe, my wife’s 17-year-old niece got pregnant with twins and my brother-in-law announced an out-of-town wedding on two week’s notice, and all the while work for which I don't have the mental energy has relentlessly piled up on my desk.
It’s been a wild summer.
What have I learned from it?
Life is full of moments when things go wrong. It’s full of dashed hopes and broken coffee makers and changes that come before you’re ready for them. It’s filled with hired hands who care considerably less about your stuff than you do, and instances when you find 60 cents in your desk drawer when the vending machine requires 65.
Life is hard.
So hard that life’s frustrations can easily become the defining story of your life if you let them. If your life isn’t about something else—something bigger—its burdens can become life’s defining feature, because there just isn’t enough pleasure to go around to cancel out all the crap.
But life’s endless array of trivial problems somehow seem smaller when I realize my life is supposed to be about something bigger than my own comfort.
We weren’t made for ourselves. We all have a unique service to provide to the world. And even though it may feel like it at times, it’s not to be its garbage can.
I promise.
Everyone has a purpose in life. Even you. There’s a path you were meant to travel that leads toward some destination that will make the world a better place by your time spent upon it.
If you don’t immediately recognize one, it’s probably because you talked yourself out of it somewhere along the way. But it’s out there somewhere. There’s a person in the mirror you’d like to be. And not just because other people expect it.
Once you find it, life will still have burdens that derail your plans. But they seem less overwhelming when they are obstacles on the path to a destination instead of just a series of dead ends.
So walk your path. Take some time to refresh yourself along the way with rest, prayer and reflection, as well as some time with loved ones and a few soul-enhancing diversions.
Laugh with friends.
Read a book.
Have a glass of wine.
Make a difference in the world.
Follow your dreams.
Even if they lead somewhere scary.
After all, an uphill climb in the rain in pursuit of your dream will feel easier than a walk in the park on a path meant for someone else.
Your life is out there. Find it. Take it. Live it.
Life is too hard not to.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Car Salespeople Live on Planet Saturn
There are only two kinds of people in the world: car salesmen and everyone else.
My wife’s car has spent the last two months suffering through some undiagnoseable problem that four different mechanics haven’t been able to figure out. Probably, there’s nothing wrong with it at all, it just doesn’t like us and now refuses to run on our command.
Anyway, tired of the constant sputtering of the car and adrenaline flow as we put our lives in God’s hands every time we take it on the highway, Liz and I finally broke down and went car shopping last weekend.
Little did I remember that we were walking into a different dimension.
Car salespeople are not like the rest of us. I’m convinced that everyone who spends any time in the industry eventually goes nuts.
In an hour and half of dealing with these folks Friday night, we met one guy who drives around with a giant dog decal on his vehicle to signify that he is the “Car Dog,” a guy who accents his handshakes with a cheesy wink straight out of the Handbook of How to be Sleazy, and a 65-year-old slightly senile bald man whose business card identified him as “Handsome” Mr. Ransom.
In the real world, coming up with the cheesiest possible professional nickname is not considered a career achievement. Would you buy your meat from the butcher shop of Jimmy “the Cow Monger” Stevens? Would you want “Litigious Larry Long” representing you in court?
Me neither.
Why do car salespeople think these horrible nicknames gives them credibility?
People in the car industry not only have funny names. They operate in a different social reality than every other person on earth.
If I were to meet a perspective new friend for coffee, and I refused to let him leave despite the fact that we were done with our drinks and he had already told me he had somewhere else to be, that would be a recipe for ensuring that person would never want to see me again in my life. And if I then closed our coffee meeting by asking that person what it would take for us to make a long-term commitment to each other, the person wouldn’t be able to run out of the coffee shop fast enough.
But car salespeople somehow think this routine is foolproof.
Maybe this is why the automobile industry is in so much trouble.
I’m not a car person. But the one time every seven or eight years that we go car shopping, I usually get excited about the process of seeing how different cars drive and ultimately upgrading our future experience. As a lawyer, I actually even enjoy the negotiating process.
And then we go to a car dealership and I remember why I want the process to end as soon as possible.
My wife’s car has spent the last two months suffering through some undiagnoseable problem that four different mechanics haven’t been able to figure out. Probably, there’s nothing wrong with it at all, it just doesn’t like us and now refuses to run on our command.
Anyway, tired of the constant sputtering of the car and adrenaline flow as we put our lives in God’s hands every time we take it on the highway, Liz and I finally broke down and went car shopping last weekend.
Little did I remember that we were walking into a different dimension.
Car salespeople are not like the rest of us. I’m convinced that everyone who spends any time in the industry eventually goes nuts.
In an hour and half of dealing with these folks Friday night, we met one guy who drives around with a giant dog decal on his vehicle to signify that he is the “Car Dog,” a guy who accents his handshakes with a cheesy wink straight out of the Handbook of How to be Sleazy, and a 65-year-old slightly senile bald man whose business card identified him as “Handsome” Mr. Ransom.
In the real world, coming up with the cheesiest possible professional nickname is not considered a career achievement. Would you buy your meat from the butcher shop of Jimmy “the Cow Monger” Stevens? Would you want “Litigious Larry Long” representing you in court?
Me neither.
Why do car salespeople think these horrible nicknames gives them credibility?
People in the car industry not only have funny names. They operate in a different social reality than every other person on earth.
If I were to meet a perspective new friend for coffee, and I refused to let him leave despite the fact that we were done with our drinks and he had already told me he had somewhere else to be, that would be a recipe for ensuring that person would never want to see me again in my life. And if I then closed our coffee meeting by asking that person what it would take for us to make a long-term commitment to each other, the person wouldn’t be able to run out of the coffee shop fast enough.
But car salespeople somehow think this routine is foolproof.
Maybe this is why the automobile industry is in so much trouble.
I’m not a car person. But the one time every seven or eight years that we go car shopping, I usually get excited about the process of seeing how different cars drive and ultimately upgrading our future experience. As a lawyer, I actually even enjoy the negotiating process.
And then we go to a car dealership and I remember why I want the process to end as soon as possible.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
If I were...
If I were a responsible author, I would blog tonight, because I promised you a new post by Wednesday of every week, even though I'm exhuasted right now;
If I were a responsible worker, I would have spent all this week meeting deadlines three weeks in advance, even though I don't have anything pressing for the next few days;
If I were a responsible husband, I would have made my wife's lunch for tomorrow since she leaves for work earlier than I do, even though I did it yesterday;
If I were a responsible friend, I would have called my out-of-town buddy that I hope to see this weekend and lined up a plan, even though I'm not entirely sure of my schedule yet;
If I were a responsible pet owner, I would have scooped the cats' litter before coming up for bed, even though I really don't feel like it;
If I were a responsible sports writer, I would have found something new to write about this week for my website, Bleacher Report, even though its July and nothing is happening in the sports world right now;
If I were a responsible son I would have called to see how my parents are doing tonight, even though they already sent me an email;
If I were a responsible citizen, I would have already cast my ballot in Nashville's city elections and called my Senators to demand they raise the debt ceiling already, even though I know intellectually that one voice doesn't really matter;
If I were a responsible consumer, I would have already paid that bill sitting in front of me that's due in four days, even though there's still barely time to get it mail before it's late;
If I were a responsible Christian, I would have found someone who needed extra love today and gone out of my way to provide it, even though no such person magically appeared in front of me;
If I were a responsible homeowner, I would have saved money on our electric bill by insulating the attic, even though I hate that kind of thing;
If I were a responsible neighbor, I would have cut the grass about a week ago, even though it's 100 degrees outside.
But I didn't actually do any of these things today.
Truth is, I'll probably only pick the two or three most important ones on the list to attempt tomorrow. And the next day too.
They all sound good in theory, but "in theory" is a terrible place to live.
If I were a responsible person, that lack of productivity would really bother me.
Good thing I have this blog instead.
If I were a responsible worker, I would have spent all this week meeting deadlines three weeks in advance, even though I don't have anything pressing for the next few days;
If I were a responsible husband, I would have made my wife's lunch for tomorrow since she leaves for work earlier than I do, even though I did it yesterday;
If I were a responsible friend, I would have called my out-of-town buddy that I hope to see this weekend and lined up a plan, even though I'm not entirely sure of my schedule yet;
If I were a responsible pet owner, I would have scooped the cats' litter before coming up for bed, even though I really don't feel like it;
If I were a responsible sports writer, I would have found something new to write about this week for my website, Bleacher Report, even though its July and nothing is happening in the sports world right now;
If I were a responsible son I would have called to see how my parents are doing tonight, even though they already sent me an email;
If I were a responsible citizen, I would have already cast my ballot in Nashville's city elections and called my Senators to demand they raise the debt ceiling already, even though I know intellectually that one voice doesn't really matter;
If I were a responsible consumer, I would have already paid that bill sitting in front of me that's due in four days, even though there's still barely time to get it mail before it's late;
If I were a responsible Christian, I would have found someone who needed extra love today and gone out of my way to provide it, even though no such person magically appeared in front of me;
If I were a responsible homeowner, I would have saved money on our electric bill by insulating the attic, even though I hate that kind of thing;
If I were a responsible neighbor, I would have cut the grass about a week ago, even though it's 100 degrees outside.
But I didn't actually do any of these things today.
Truth is, I'll probably only pick the two or three most important ones on the list to attempt tomorrow. And the next day too.
They all sound good in theory, but "in theory" is a terrible place to live.
If I were a responsible person, that lack of productivity would really bother me.
Good thing I have this blog instead.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For
You broke the bonds and you
Loosed the chains
Carried the cross of my shame, of my shame
You know I believe it.
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
The lyrics of my favorite U2 song argue that mere intellectual belief in God doesn't, by itself, doesn't satisfy the deep longings of the human spirit. I think that's true.
But I also wonder what exactly Bono was looking for, why he hasn't found it, and whether I'm looking for the same thing.
U2 played here in Nashville last week, so I finally got to hear all their classic hits, including the song from which this post takes its title. In a way, the timing was entirely appropriate, because for as long as I can remember, I've gotten singularly depressed in July, thinking there's something else out there that I haven't found either.
I used to hear from some of my Christian friends that my annual summer troubles came because I wasn't strong enough in my faith. If only I believed more, I would hear in the fundamentalist circles in which I used to run, I would have this immutable smile plastered on my face at all times.
Like my fellow believer Bono, I don't think that's how the Christian faith actually works. My friends meant well of course, but they just didn't get it. I believe with all my soul in Him, but that doesn't meant I'm not still missing something in me.
I think we're meant to be on a journey somewhere for the duration of our lives, but I often stop at a Holiday Inn along the way and decide I don't want to leave. The continental breakfast is nice, after all.
Anyway, I don't know why, but somehow July's endless repetition of long, sweaty days, with no relief in sight, make me feel like I'm just going through life's motions.
U2 has a song with lyrics that read, "nothing changes on New Year's Day," but the truth is that nothing changes in July either. The heat stays, the days are long and indistinguishable, as one inexorably bleeds into the next. For a sports fan like me, there is no football, basketball or hockey, and the endless repetition of nightly baseball games only adds to the feeling of living in a real life version of "Groundhog Day."
I'm sure the oppressive heat doesn't help. Sometimes I can feel it literally sucking the life out of me. Today, for example, the heat index was 114. It's hard to find motivation to leave the metaphorical hotel when on the verge of melting.
But there is something more to it than that.
Humans are wired with a need for change. We have a constant need in this life to look forward to the next big thing, a need to feel a thrill of excitement as we get out of bed and think about what's in store for us each day.
This is hard for me. I hate change. I fight against it kicking and screaming, even if I know life gets stale without it. If variety is the spice of life, I usually just choose to order something bland.
I like to go to the same five restaurants and have one favorite dish at each place. I like visiting friends and family at a familiar house and having a familiar room in which to stay. On weekends, my wife and I go to one the same six places on a rotating basis, probably with one of the same four couples that we count as our close local friends.
You might have noticed that we don't have kids. That kind of change would be terrifying.
A big part of me likes life this way. There are no unpleasant surprises, at least.
I really like to comfortable. Newness is scary. Sitting on the couch and watching baseball isn't.
And that's exactly the problem.
I have a hard time putting myself in situations where I might be rejected or feel uncomfortable. And because of that, my life sometimes doesn't feel as abundant or meaningful as it feels like it should. I never trip while standing still, but I also never get anywhere.
I think that's my problem with July. The endless string of identical, long, hot days reinforces a bit too much the monotonous safety of the daily life into which I'm prone to falling.
But not this year.
This July, my life will not be boring. I will see what life looks like outside of my comfort zone. I will search for fulfillment outside my living room, rather than waiting for it to land on my coffee table.
I will invite over that couple we like who seems a little too cool to hang out with us.
I will play cards with guys I don't really know, even if I might feel awkward at first for not knowing the inside jokes or the rules of every game.
I will go to lectures that sound interesting, even if the lazy part of my brain tells me I'd rather sit home and watch mindless tv.
I already applied for that real writing job, even if I'm terrified of it.
I will do something I don't feel like doing, because deep down I know it's the right thing to do.
I will choose to live life when I'd rather choose to just be comfortable.
Because if I don't, then I'll never find what I'm looking for.
Loosed the chains
Carried the cross of my shame, of my shame
You know I believe it.
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
The lyrics of my favorite U2 song argue that mere intellectual belief in God doesn't, by itself, doesn't satisfy the deep longings of the human spirit. I think that's true.
But I also wonder what exactly Bono was looking for, why he hasn't found it, and whether I'm looking for the same thing.
U2 played here in Nashville last week, so I finally got to hear all their classic hits, including the song from which this post takes its title. In a way, the timing was entirely appropriate, because for as long as I can remember, I've gotten singularly depressed in July, thinking there's something else out there that I haven't found either.
I used to hear from some of my Christian friends that my annual summer troubles came because I wasn't strong enough in my faith. If only I believed more, I would hear in the fundamentalist circles in which I used to run, I would have this immutable smile plastered on my face at all times.
Like my fellow believer Bono, I don't think that's how the Christian faith actually works. My friends meant well of course, but they just didn't get it. I believe with all my soul in Him, but that doesn't meant I'm not still missing something in me.
I think we're meant to be on a journey somewhere for the duration of our lives, but I often stop at a Holiday Inn along the way and decide I don't want to leave. The continental breakfast is nice, after all.
Anyway, I don't know why, but somehow July's endless repetition of long, sweaty days, with no relief in sight, make me feel like I'm just going through life's motions.
U2 has a song with lyrics that read, "nothing changes on New Year's Day," but the truth is that nothing changes in July either. The heat stays, the days are long and indistinguishable, as one inexorably bleeds into the next. For a sports fan like me, there is no football, basketball or hockey, and the endless repetition of nightly baseball games only adds to the feeling of living in a real life version of "Groundhog Day."
I'm sure the oppressive heat doesn't help. Sometimes I can feel it literally sucking the life out of me. Today, for example, the heat index was 114. It's hard to find motivation to leave the metaphorical hotel when on the verge of melting.
But there is something more to it than that.
Humans are wired with a need for change. We have a constant need in this life to look forward to the next big thing, a need to feel a thrill of excitement as we get out of bed and think about what's in store for us each day.
This is hard for me. I hate change. I fight against it kicking and screaming, even if I know life gets stale without it. If variety is the spice of life, I usually just choose to order something bland.
I like to go to the same five restaurants and have one favorite dish at each place. I like visiting friends and family at a familiar house and having a familiar room in which to stay. On weekends, my wife and I go to one the same six places on a rotating basis, probably with one of the same four couples that we count as our close local friends.
You might have noticed that we don't have kids. That kind of change would be terrifying.
A big part of me likes life this way. There are no unpleasant surprises, at least.
I really like to comfortable. Newness is scary. Sitting on the couch and watching baseball isn't.
And that's exactly the problem.
I have a hard time putting myself in situations where I might be rejected or feel uncomfortable. And because of that, my life sometimes doesn't feel as abundant or meaningful as it feels like it should. I never trip while standing still, but I also never get anywhere.
I think that's my problem with July. The endless string of identical, long, hot days reinforces a bit too much the monotonous safety of the daily life into which I'm prone to falling.
But not this year.
This July, my life will not be boring. I will see what life looks like outside of my comfort zone. I will search for fulfillment outside my living room, rather than waiting for it to land on my coffee table.
I will invite over that couple we like who seems a little too cool to hang out with us.
I will play cards with guys I don't really know, even if I might feel awkward at first for not knowing the inside jokes or the rules of every game.
I will go to lectures that sound interesting, even if the lazy part of my brain tells me I'd rather sit home and watch mindless tv.
I already applied for that real writing job, even if I'm terrified of it.
I will do something I don't feel like doing, because deep down I know it's the right thing to do.
I will choose to live life when I'd rather choose to just be comfortable.
Because if I don't, then I'll never find what I'm looking for.
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