Everything looks different when behind the glass of an aquarium. It looks different because your position doesn't change much.
I look at the tables and chairs across the way from me. I'm not at their level, nor am I at standing height, both views being the normal way that I would see them. I'm not sitting at the table, nor am I walking by; I am sitting in my office chair and seeing them persistently from a different perspective. The same is true for the walls (funny how the different tones in the wood look from here), the clutter on the walls (walking by they seem fine, but from a stationary view, the signs and postings look like clutter), and the carpet (if I view the carpet just a tad out of focus, I can find faces in it, sort of like looking at clouds). I'm sure that I would look different to my fish if they could get out the aquarium and change their angles of view by moving around. A constrained position limits vision, but it also provides a new vision when you're accustomed to less limitation.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
View from the Aquarium, 2
Where as the fish in my aquarium at home can't limit my view of them, or theirs of me, by any means other than hiding, I can close my blinds if I tire of others looking in. I rarely tire of looking out. From this view, I can see how beautiful beauty can be and how nontraditional it can be; I see expressions ranging from anger to fear to joy to confusion to distraction; I see humility and hubris, confidence and insecurity. Oh, and I see some beauty, or perhaps I already mentioned that.
For every 100 women who walk by, there are 101 who I would like to photograph; for every dozen "characters" that cross my angle of view, there are a baker's dozen I'd like to chat with, if even for only a moment. For every familiar smile offered from acquiantances, or uncertain smile returned to me from strangers, there is a feeling of momentary connectedness.
I don't think my fish have those pleasures.
For every 100 women who walk by, there are 101 who I would like to photograph; for every dozen "characters" that cross my angle of view, there are a baker's dozen I'd like to chat with, if even for only a moment. For every familiar smile offered from acquiantances, or uncertain smile returned to me from strangers, there is a feeling of momentary connectedness.
I don't think my fish have those pleasures.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
View from the Aquarium
A few months ago, my office was moved from upstairs to downstairs. I went from a "room with a view" to a "room to be viewed." Whereas I used to look out my window to watch trees, birds and the weather, I now look out onto an atrium where people come and go as they traverse the building for meetings, classes, entry or egress. I watch them, and they can watch me. I'm in an aquarium. This section of the blog represents this new world, this "view from the aquarium."
The Journey....of journeys
I'm at the confluence of three streams: reading "Blue Highways" and the lessons therein about the wisdom gained on journeys (of all kinds); attending the class at church about using one's gifts in service to God in service to His creation; and, collapsing under the weight of the burden of trying to keep everything under control (life as project management, as it were). The streams confluence has created a non-trivial disturbance that I hope will become an energy that will become a rapids of excitement and propulsion. But, for now...well, I have a crazy combination of influences coming together creating something new, and bringing me insights.
The overwhelming lesson on this part of the journey is simple: "Being confident is okay, but you gotta be humble." Yes, I believe that I'm called to do great things (greater things than simply success in the day job, or touching a few people with my presentations and imagery, etc.) and I'm committed to doing them, whatever they end up being. But....I have to continue to remind myself that no matter how powerful the call and how great the purpose, on a worldly, universal or eternal perspective....well, my work is nothing much. So much for "being all that and a bag of chips."
The streams are also carrying messages and insights that reveal and remind that most everyone wants to be recognized, affirmed and assured that what they are doing is important. Most everyone, I believe, wants to know that in at least some way, they are "all that."
So, where is the only place where everyone can (or should) be accepted as "all that" on at least one thing? The place where they are recognized as important because they are God's creation. That should be sufficient, but it requires faith, and active work and prayer to accept that the only "person" who matters---God---DOES belief you are "all that and a bag of chips." We all have a hard time believing that. We need our faith, particularly in these times, to find a place that says "you're special, you're loved and you ain't perfect...but that's okay."
The overwhelming lesson on this part of the journey is simple: "Being confident is okay, but you gotta be humble." Yes, I believe that I'm called to do great things (greater things than simply success in the day job, or touching a few people with my presentations and imagery, etc.) and I'm committed to doing them, whatever they end up being. But....I have to continue to remind myself that no matter how powerful the call and how great the purpose, on a worldly, universal or eternal perspective....well, my work is nothing much. So much for "being all that and a bag of chips."
The streams are also carrying messages and insights that reveal and remind that most everyone wants to be recognized, affirmed and assured that what they are doing is important. Most everyone, I believe, wants to know that in at least some way, they are "all that."
So, where is the only place where everyone can (or should) be accepted as "all that" on at least one thing? The place where they are recognized as important because they are God's creation. That should be sufficient, but it requires faith, and active work and prayer to accept that the only "person" who matters---God---DOES belief you are "all that and a bag of chips." We all have a hard time believing that. We need our faith, particularly in these times, to find a place that says "you're special, you're loved and you ain't perfect...but that's okay."
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Journey continues
My fiancee, Kim, and I attended the first meeting of our first church study group together. The s m a l l group topic is a book titled "If You Want to Walk On The Water You've Got to Get Out of the Boat." It is certainly a topic that both of us are interested in, and one that I find particularly compelling. For all my belief in it, I still feel like I'm not getting out of the boat. I believe this class is akin to when one opens the bible to a random page and finds something that really needed to be read/heard that day. I pray that the discussions related to the topic and book are the inspiration and support that I need to get out of the boat.
More news as this takes hold...
More and more I feel that I still haven't begun the journey; maybe I'm still simply packing my bags. Who knows.
More news as this takes hold...
More and more I feel that I still haven't begun the journey; maybe I'm still simply packing my bags. Who knows.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Rewards
REWARDS
No matter what type of drought one experiences, there will be the rewards of a harvest and plenty for those who persist.
It has been an embarrassingly long run of fishing since I have caught a reasonable number or a reasonable sized fish on excursions alone or with one of my sons. Except for a guided trip last year in which all four of us caught a number of sharks, it has been slim pickings for the past six to seven years for me. Even my youngest son said a few months ago, in a gesture of support, "Dad, I don't know if I could continue fishing as persistently as you do if I had gone so long without a good outing." He catches large bass regularly from creeks in the Friendswood area where he lives. His statement was a left-handed compliment, and he meant well by it. Of course, he is one of the reasons I persist. Our fishing time together yields stories and memories we'll pass along for decades.
About two months ago, we bought a small inflatable boat and six horsepower motor for getting out quickly, easily and quietly. This sturdy little combination has already given us the chance to tool around area waters in search of alligator gar, alligators, fish and discovery. This weekend we decided to try launching from the shore in Freeport and then motor out far enough to possibly encounter shark, trout, redfish or other interesting fish. A month ago, my youngest and one of his brothers talked about me breaking my fishing doldrums with an "old man and the sea" sort of experience. Clearly their message had a dual meaning.
We headed into the short waves about 9:30 Saturday morning and by 9:45 we were watching dolphins surface nearby, birds feeding, baitfish darting and swirls enticing us. From our position, essentially at the water's surface, we experienced fish feeding frenzies in which shark and other aggressive feeders tear into schools of baitfish while birds dive in from above to join the feast. It was quite an experience to be so close to such activity.
One such frenzy occurred quite close to us, boiling up as my bait was landing into the water. Moments later a fish and I were connected, and it peeled line off my heavy surfcasting reel as I watched. My son pulled in our makeshift anchor and, while the fish pulled us around, he started the motor and soon we were in pursuit of the fish. It zigged and zagged, catching up in the line of a woman fishing in a boat nearby and cutting her line. Soon, her leader was knotted on the end of my rod. My "guide" loosened it enough for the fight to continue. I called out to our neighbor, "We'll bring your leader back when we're done!" We also joked about being pulled to Cuba. "Old man and the sea" thoughts crossed my mind often.
Not wanting a large shark near our inflatable boat with sharp fins (or teeth!), I asked him several times, "you have your knife ready to cut the line?" This tug of war went on for quite a while until we had a jack crevalle inside the boat. About three and one-half feet long, guesstimating a weight of 15-20 pounds, this fish represented the first fish caught from our little boat, the largest fish I have ever caught, the most interesting fish adventure with any of my sons, and an outing never to be forgotten. The photo my son took with his cell phone is now the wallpaper for his phone and mine.
Neither of us are ready to turn professional now, but the weekend's adventure was beyond our wildest imagination. It was the product of never giving up. And while the fish is something to be quite proud of, the best thing it gave us was yet another story to carry for decades. Rewards come to those who persist, and usually it comes as something other than was hoped for in the first place.
No matter what type of drought one experiences, there will be the rewards of a harvest and plenty for those who persist.
It has been an embarrassingly long run of fishing since I have caught a reasonable number or a reasonable sized fish on excursions alone or with one of my sons. Except for a guided trip last year in which all four of us caught a number of sharks, it has been slim pickings for the past six to seven years for me. Even my youngest son said a few months ago, in a gesture of support, "Dad, I don't know if I could continue fishing as persistently as you do if I had gone so long without a good outing." He catches large bass regularly from creeks in the Friendswood area where he lives. His statement was a left-handed compliment, and he meant well by it. Of course, he is one of the reasons I persist. Our fishing time together yields stories and memories we'll pass along for decades.
About two months ago, we bought a small inflatable boat and six horsepower motor for getting out quickly, easily and quietly. This sturdy little combination has already given us the chance to tool around area waters in search of alligator gar, alligators, fish and discovery. This weekend we decided to try launching from the shore in Freeport and then motor out far enough to possibly encounter shark, trout, redfish or other interesting fish. A month ago, my youngest and one of his brothers talked about me breaking my fishing doldrums with an "old man and the sea" sort of experience. Clearly their message had a dual meaning.
We headed into the short waves about 9:30 Saturday morning and by 9:45 we were watching dolphins surface nearby, birds feeding, baitfish darting and swirls enticing us. From our position, essentially at the water's surface, we experienced fish feeding frenzies in which shark and other aggressive feeders tear into schools of baitfish while birds dive in from above to join the feast. It was quite an experience to be so close to such activity.
One such frenzy occurred quite close to us, boiling up as my bait was landing into the water. Moments later a fish and I were connected, and it peeled line off my heavy surfcasting reel as I watched. My son pulled in our makeshift anchor and, while the fish pulled us around, he started the motor and soon we were in pursuit of the fish. It zigged and zagged, catching up in the line of a woman fishing in a boat nearby and cutting her line. Soon, her leader was knotted on the end of my rod. My "guide" loosened it enough for the fight to continue. I called out to our neighbor, "We'll bring your leader back when we're done!" We also joked about being pulled to Cuba. "Old man and the sea" thoughts crossed my mind often.
Not wanting a large shark near our inflatable boat with sharp fins (or teeth!), I asked him several times, "you have your knife ready to cut the line?" This tug of war went on for quite a while until we had a jack crevalle inside the boat. About three and one-half feet long, guesstimating a weight of 15-20 pounds, this fish represented the first fish caught from our little boat, the largest fish I have ever caught, the most interesting fish adventure with any of my sons, and an outing never to be forgotten. The photo my son took with his cell phone is now the wallpaper for his phone and mine.
Neither of us are ready to turn professional now, but the weekend's adventure was beyond our wildest imagination. It was the product of never giving up. And while the fish is something to be quite proud of, the best thing it gave us was yet another story to carry for decades. Rewards come to those who persist, and usually it comes as something other than was hoped for in the first place.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Passing of Time
The last week or so I cited someone's comment to me that the passing of time was obviously important to me. I have considered that reality and wondered how long that has been going on. Is this a midlife matter or something that rests at a more cellular level. As I've thought about the matter, I found clues further and further in my past when I was touched or concerned about the passing of time. A poem that I wrote at age 17 about honoring an old man and wondering whether he had hard feelings of lost abilities and memories was clearly influenced by Neil Young's "Old Man." The song was influential, and I was naturally receptive.
But today, as I struggle for words with this week's Listen to Life newsletter, I select tunes that take me back to a different time and place. "Puff the Magic Dragon" plays and the answer comes clear. The reason that I still cry when I read Sly Silverstein's "The Giving Tree" is the same reason that after a few listens to "Puff" as a young kid, I could not listen to it for decades. They both to speak to the changes, the losses, and the mortality of aging, and how that changes relationships. They also speak to the permanence of love throughout.
The passing of time has always concerned and intrigued me; I've done my best to honor that through my creative outlets as an adult. I realize that this concern is nothing new that I need to re-align to forge into the future. My concern for changes manifested over time and for the lasting of love and relationships was written into my DNA. The question remains, what do I do with this? and now how can I get rid of this?
But today, as I struggle for words with this week's Listen to Life newsletter, I select tunes that take me back to a different time and place. "Puff the Magic Dragon" plays and the answer comes clear. The reason that I still cry when I read Sly Silverstein's "The Giving Tree" is the same reason that after a few listens to "Puff" as a young kid, I could not listen to it for decades. They both to speak to the changes, the losses, and the mortality of aging, and how that changes relationships. They also speak to the permanence of love throughout.
The passing of time has always concerned and intrigued me; I've done my best to honor that through my creative outlets as an adult. I realize that this concern is nothing new that I need to re-align to forge into the future. My concern for changes manifested over time and for the lasting of love and relationships was written into my DNA. The question remains, what do I do with this? and now how can I get rid of this?
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