This one was inspired by a conversation I had with my roommate, David earlier this morning. He and I have been blessed with opportunities to do some bucket-list-worthy things in our lives, none of which have come to pass without the opposition from someone or something. We laughed over how we both have heard the same sort of things from people: "don't do that, it's too dangerous," or "that is not a safe country to visit," and less often "that's just stupid." Then we both agreed that we would rather die, living than die wishing we did more.
It is true that there are plenty of dumb things that people have done either in the name of adrenaline or of faith. Generally, those things involve unnecessary risk or simply an unhealthy dose of sheer stupidity. However, in order to live life we have to be comfortable with taking some risks; calculated risks. That goes for school, business, and commuting just as much as travel, adventure, or extreme sports. When David or I set out to travel, harness up, tighten our boots, or pack our backpacks we prepare for as much as we can, but recognize that we cannot prepare for everything. And that's okay, because to us experiencing the culture of another people, the thrill of climbing the face of a cliff, or the beauty of God's creation, is worth the chance that it could be our last experience. That doesn't mean we don't do everything in our power to assure that we come home safely.
The reality is, there is just as much risk at home as there is away from home. The only major difference is the level of comfort we have with our surroundings. When living in Costa Rica, I was told to watch out for people trying to pick my pocket or snatch my bag, because I and the other Americans were more of a target than the locals. But the same risk is present when I am in downtown Portland, or Seattle, or any city for that matter. It's just a good idea to be on your guard, and play it smart no matter where you are. By doing so, you eliminate a decent amount of the risk involved; never can you eliminate all of it.
David told me a story from one of his friends who was a missionary kid in Africa for a number of years. I guess safety was a main concern for the missionary families who lived over there, though his friend was one of the lucky ones whose parents allotted more freedoms than the others. The mother of one of the families had all she could take living in fear of potential danger, namely poisonous snakes that she took her family back to the States, where they could be safe. A short time after settling into a home in Arizona, their boy crawled under their porch and got bit by a poisonous snake. As his father got him in the car and was backing out of the driveway he ran into his daughter, but in his panic did not realize it until later that day when he found her dead. The boy didn't make it either. Three weeks later the mother died because of the grief she faced.
We have just as good of a chance of encountering death here at home as we do on a journey. Since that is the case, I would much rather risk death while on a journey and making the most of my life than to die living in fear, trying to protect myself with a false sense of security. I encourage you to do the same.
In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years. —Abraham Lincoln
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Monday, December 19, 2011
Ending a Chapter
I am home. Woah. These last three months of living in the beautiful country of Costa Rica seem to be nothing but a dream; a feeling I am not too fond of. That's why this next chapter of my blog will be a valiant effort to capture any fleeting memories I can before they slip away. However, in this post: current thoughts about returning to the land of the free and home of the brave.
I made it through all of the good-byes, the full day of traveling, and even the greetings of family and friends without crying. I do not pride, nor punish myself for that fact as I believe everyone processes differently, and no one way is correct. However, as I sit down to write this–in my comfy bed–a couple tears are sliding down my cheeks. I don't know how many more to expect in the coming hours, days, weeks.
Ending a chapter in life is never an easy thing to do, especially if you don't feel like it has been completely written. The people you know who have studied abroad will tell you that those three or four months is indeed a chapter of their book, not a sentence as a vacation would equate to. Yes, I did live in Costa Rica. A place with eighty degree weather on a cold day. A land with the most beautiful beaches that I have seen accompanied by bathwater to swim in. A region with incredible landscapes and tropical storms that shout of God's existence and reflect His beauty. But it was no vacation. I wasn't visiting the country; I lived there. I had to create something of a life for myself in Costa Rica with routines, schedules, entertainment, can't forget school, and friends who quickly became my family.
All this is an effort to say that returning back to the United States is not at all the same as coming back from a couple-week vacation, and a different feeling than when I left because my life in Costa Rica–aside from the family created–is not something I will have, ever again. Leaving the U.S.A. in September, I knew that I would be picking up the life I put on hold in just three short months.
Don't get me wrong, I am my fair share of excited to be home. I wrapped my arms around the love of my life for the first time in what felt like forever. She isn't just an image on a screen anymore and I love it! I had spaghetti for dinner. If you know me at all, you understand the difficulty I had being away from spaghetti for three months. Okay, I had it twice while I was there, but it just wasn't the same. Soon I will be seeing the friends I had to leave. And though I haven't just yet, but I will today.. I get to drive! Stay off the streets because I am three months out of practice and have been influenced by the Tico, driving culture. If you hear my horn, it's probably me just saying hey. If I cut you off, well I apologize. I'm just on a mission.
Hey, by the way IT'S COLD! My friends and I began to process this well in advance, but the first experience of Oregon's thirty-seven degree weather was still a shock to the system. Just a couple weeks ago, my friends and I were bundled up with hot chocolate in hand listening to an outdoor Christmas concert in sixty-five degree weather.. However, I am elated to get re-acquainted with my sweaters, wool coat, and gloves. I have missed my winter wardrobe.
Speaking of Christmas, I still haven't quite entered the holiday spirit. The cold plus Christmas decorations is helping, instead of associating them with palm trees and eighty degree days. But it still hasn't fully developed inside of me, and it's only a week away! Don't worry, I will get there.
Needless to say, my thoughts and emotions about returning cover a wide spectrum of colors. I know that I am going to miss the relationships created there more than Costa Rica itself. It's not an easy thought knowing I won't be doing life with the people I have been for the last few months. But, I am excited for this next chapter of my life as well. It holds some exciting events within its pages.
I can flush my toilet paper again!
I made it through all of the good-byes, the full day of traveling, and even the greetings of family and friends without crying. I do not pride, nor punish myself for that fact as I believe everyone processes differently, and no one way is correct. However, as I sit down to write this–in my comfy bed–a couple tears are sliding down my cheeks. I don't know how many more to expect in the coming hours, days, weeks.
Ending a chapter in life is never an easy thing to do, especially if you don't feel like it has been completely written. The people you know who have studied abroad will tell you that those three or four months is indeed a chapter of their book, not a sentence as a vacation would equate to. Yes, I did live in Costa Rica. A place with eighty degree weather on a cold day. A land with the most beautiful beaches that I have seen accompanied by bathwater to swim in. A region with incredible landscapes and tropical storms that shout of God's existence and reflect His beauty. But it was no vacation. I wasn't visiting the country; I lived there. I had to create something of a life for myself in Costa Rica with routines, schedules, entertainment, can't forget school, and friends who quickly became my family.
All this is an effort to say that returning back to the United States is not at all the same as coming back from a couple-week vacation, and a different feeling than when I left because my life in Costa Rica–aside from the family created–is not something I will have, ever again. Leaving the U.S.A. in September, I knew that I would be picking up the life I put on hold in just three short months.
Don't get me wrong, I am my fair share of excited to be home. I wrapped my arms around the love of my life for the first time in what felt like forever. She isn't just an image on a screen anymore and I love it! I had spaghetti for dinner. If you know me at all, you understand the difficulty I had being away from spaghetti for three months. Okay, I had it twice while I was there, but it just wasn't the same. Soon I will be seeing the friends I had to leave. And though I haven't just yet, but I will today.. I get to drive! Stay off the streets because I am three months out of practice and have been influenced by the Tico, driving culture. If you hear my horn, it's probably me just saying hey. If I cut you off, well I apologize. I'm just on a mission.
Hey, by the way IT'S COLD! My friends and I began to process this well in advance, but the first experience of Oregon's thirty-seven degree weather was still a shock to the system. Just a couple weeks ago, my friends and I were bundled up with hot chocolate in hand listening to an outdoor Christmas concert in sixty-five degree weather.. However, I am elated to get re-acquainted with my sweaters, wool coat, and gloves. I have missed my winter wardrobe.
Speaking of Christmas, I still haven't quite entered the holiday spirit. The cold plus Christmas decorations is helping, instead of associating them with palm trees and eighty degree days. But it still hasn't fully developed inside of me, and it's only a week away! Don't worry, I will get there.
Needless to say, my thoughts and emotions about returning cover a wide spectrum of colors. I know that I am going to miss the relationships created there more than Costa Rica itself. It's not an easy thought knowing I won't be doing life with the people I have been for the last few months. But, I am excited for this next chapter of my life as well. It holds some exciting events within its pages.
I can flush my toilet paper again!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Listen up, Ladies
That's right, this one is for you. However, all you guys should listen up as well because this has just as much to do about you, and your turn is coming soon; stay tuned. I want to hash out a rather simple problem that has been stuck in a downward cycle for quite some time. I say listen up to the ladies not because they are at solely at fault, but because they have a greater impact in this issue than I believe most realize.
The problem is the loss of masculinity in our culture. I'm not talking about the aggressive, testosterone driven, too manly to give a hug, impress other men with my muscles and how many different women I can lay, dick measuring version of masculinity our culture has come to know. That's actually the very problem I want to address. I am talking about genuine, chivalrous masculinity that was once a central part of every man's identity. The masculinity that meant opening a door for a woman, standing up in her presence, and knew how to treat her with respect rather than as an object.
Am I arguing that there aren't any of these men left? Not at all. However, they are harder to come by these days, and I believe the problem is rooted in a social misunderstanding of what masculinity is. Out of it spawns a list of issues longer than a family of seven's grocery list, but this only serves as a distraction to the central problem.
The misunderstanding is simple really. Men can't be sensitive. Not that they don't possess the power to be, but rather they shouldn't be. Men have to be strong and well, sensitivity is a sign of weakness. It's for women and for women only. The problem is, this isn't true. Sensitivity is not a woman-thing it's a human-thing. That means men can and in fact should be sensitive.
So why is it that we put men inside a box? Why do we fill it with a certain list of traits of what men should be, and when they 'accidentally' step out of that box they get stones thrown at them? Isn't it true? I see it happen often. A guy says or does something that ever-so-slightly strays away from his strict definition and he is labeled as a sissy, gay, woman, cry-baby, fag, wimp, pansy, queer to name a few. They increase in malignancy from there. Yes guys will use these names and it is offensive, but ladies I hear throwing these stones too and let me tell you that you have no idea the damage you are causing. Regardless of whether you actually mean it or are just saying it as a joke it is being interpreted the same way, and for good reason.
When you call a man one of these names–or any of the many unlisted–you are directly attacking the very core of who he is, or desires to be. It shouldn't take much to realize that is harmful. It's even more harmful when you add into the equation that the way to show a guy love is to respect him, which is the very opposite of what you are doing when you use these names. As anyone would, he puts his guard up because the last thing he wants is his vulnerability to be attacked a second time.
I don't know if you have noticed, but men also tend to have a problem with being wrong. It's a pride thing. But that means that the guy now has to prove that he isn't a wimp, pansy, or what have you by doing one, a few, or all of the things I mentioned in the second paragraph. Repeat this same instance as often as it gets repeated and you can see how it doesn't take long for the idea of masculinity to become twisted.
Though men in general punch harder, blows of this nature always hurt more when delivered by women. So ladies, I plead you to stop calling guys these names even in a joking manner and to broaden your view of what masculinity is to include all characteristics of basic, human nature. Whether they say it or not, or whether you believe it or not men will thank you for it.
The problem is the loss of masculinity in our culture. I'm not talking about the aggressive, testosterone driven, too manly to give a hug, impress other men with my muscles and how many different women I can lay, dick measuring version of masculinity our culture has come to know. That's actually the very problem I want to address. I am talking about genuine, chivalrous masculinity that was once a central part of every man's identity. The masculinity that meant opening a door for a woman, standing up in her presence, and knew how to treat her with respect rather than as an object.
Am I arguing that there aren't any of these men left? Not at all. However, they are harder to come by these days, and I believe the problem is rooted in a social misunderstanding of what masculinity is. Out of it spawns a list of issues longer than a family of seven's grocery list, but this only serves as a distraction to the central problem.
The misunderstanding is simple really. Men can't be sensitive. Not that they don't possess the power to be, but rather they shouldn't be. Men have to be strong and well, sensitivity is a sign of weakness. It's for women and for women only. The problem is, this isn't true. Sensitivity is not a woman-thing it's a human-thing. That means men can and in fact should be sensitive.
So why is it that we put men inside a box? Why do we fill it with a certain list of traits of what men should be, and when they 'accidentally' step out of that box they get stones thrown at them? Isn't it true? I see it happen often. A guy says or does something that ever-so-slightly strays away from his strict definition and he is labeled as a sissy, gay, woman, cry-baby, fag, wimp, pansy, queer to name a few. They increase in malignancy from there. Yes guys will use these names and it is offensive, but ladies I hear throwing these stones too and let me tell you that you have no idea the damage you are causing. Regardless of whether you actually mean it or are just saying it as a joke it is being interpreted the same way, and for good reason.
When you call a man one of these names–or any of the many unlisted–you are directly attacking the very core of who he is, or desires to be. It shouldn't take much to realize that is harmful. It's even more harmful when you add into the equation that the way to show a guy love is to respect him, which is the very opposite of what you are doing when you use these names. As anyone would, he puts his guard up because the last thing he wants is his vulnerability to be attacked a second time.
I don't know if you have noticed, but men also tend to have a problem with being wrong. It's a pride thing. But that means that the guy now has to prove that he isn't a wimp, pansy, or what have you by doing one, a few, or all of the things I mentioned in the second paragraph. Repeat this same instance as often as it gets repeated and you can see how it doesn't take long for the idea of masculinity to become twisted.
Though men in general punch harder, blows of this nature always hurt more when delivered by women. So ladies, I plead you to stop calling guys these names even in a joking manner and to broaden your view of what masculinity is to include all characteristics of basic, human nature. Whether they say it or not, or whether you believe it or not men will thank you for it.
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