One for All

Friendship is a strange thing. Pardon the passive voice. Before I get too far ahead of myself, I just want to make clear a little tendency of mine (in response to all the requests I never get). When writing any of these pieces, I very rarely sit down and say, "Sean, write.”, and the occasions on which I do often prove disastrous mockeries of the English language. It would probably make sense if I were to say, "Sean, sit down and mindlessly hit backspace after every incomplete sentence you try to complete." Therefore, I think it's best if I let you decide which type of post this is; the sort that feels a lot like having stale bagels forced down your throat, or the sort that resembles that strange substance the dentist puts in that weird mouth-guard-type-thing to clean your teeth (and, naturally, the flavor that blurs the line between tasty and disgusting).

Sometimes life feels like nothing more than an epic conflict-resolution session. We're constantly making mistakes, and therefore our lives inherently become our search for the remedy. Some people feel the answer lies in Christ. Other people turn to drugs. Even larger (no pun intended- maybe) numbers of people let twinkies and big macs do the job. But in all seriousness, is friendship not equally as important as Jesus, doobies, and ding-dongs? I've certainly made my share of mistakes, we all have, but if we all had to wait until the end of our lives to find solace, then the average lifespan would hover around 15. Friendship is the ticket to happiness, if not relative peace of mind. Friends don't judge. Friends don't blame. Friends certainly don't turn their backs on one another. The beauty of friendship eases the pains of living.

I often wonder how useful friends would be if I never made mistakes. Well, not that often. I'm usually too busy making some sort of mistake to question my need for friendship - which leads me to my next point(!). Life is a constant series of questions and answers, mistakes and resolutions. More often than not the mistakes we make simply can't be undone, yet the presence of our friends relieves us of that bitter truth. In a certain sense we prove to be our harshest critics, overwhelming ourselves with the mistakes we've made, constantly legitimizing the need for friendship. If I solved all of my own problems, then I'd most likely spend much of my time talking to trees, not human beings. But that's the glory of living (and probably why trees can't talk). We help each other out, we listen, we emote, we care, and we realize that sometimes we just can't do it all alone.

Little epiphanies like this make life that much easier to swallow. I learn every day that I'm not going to find all the answers at once- that trial and error is the name of game. I learn that I've got friends because I've got problems, I make mistakes. But more than that, I've got friends because they do too.

Till Human Voices Wake Us

Every now and then we all need a little mindless excursion to distract us from the throes of average life. Mindlessness never seemed to be a problem when it came to this blog, but maybe this time I'll write for myself as well as all of you. I've never been a strong believer in the "ignorance is bliss" ideal, but for the sake of taking a few seconds to enjoy an otherwise depressingly dreary day I'm willing to make an exception. Hopefully you'll join me.

I'll be the first to admit that these posts might not be the most light-hearted little ditties you've ever read, although I try to maintain a sense of humor throughout it all - perhaps gallows humor at that, but humor nonetheless. With that said, I've been thinking about taking some time to just write for a while, without any particular point (much like usual), but not for the sake of stumbling onto the latest philosophical epiphany. I'm offering a simple diversion, a pleasant little trip out of the ordinary and into a realm of consciousness that doesn't focus on the questions we can't answer, but answers we don't have to question. Personally, by spending this time not writing about anything particular I can take some time to focus on absolutely nothing. It's rather joyous, actually, thinking about nothing. I like to consider it a triumphant victory over one's own willingness to focus on the negative.

Strangely enough, in the midst of my writing about writing about nothing, I've developed an idea for a piece, perhaps my next one. Times like these find me hoping I can hold everything together long enough only to drop it on the page later, not really concerning myself with the order in which it lands, but being able to hang on at all. There seems at times to be a surreal pool of topics from which to choose. Is the world full of the same problems repeating themselves, or is the number of worthy things to say simply too immense, clogging my ability to pick just one? Sometimes I'm impressed with the world's efforts in avoiding nihilistic delusions, and other times I'm upset with the world's fondness for nihilistic delusions. But, despite the mire and muck and filth and folly, the fact that I can sit here, writing for myself and the few of you out there that actually care, all the while making a conscious decision to turn my back on the world for 25 microscopic but momentous minutes, is enough to make me smile.

I apologize if the diversion doesn't meet your normal requirements. Sometimes I think it's just best we consciously not think about what it is we'd rather not think about in the first place.

Pleased to Know You

I've always hated starting off and finishing pieces with questions. More than likely, I have my seventh grade English teacher to thank for that, along with a few other select principles of the English language burned into my writing subconsciousness. If any of you had been watching me type out this piece, you'd know that there was about a ten-minute period of inactivity between the last sentence and this one. I've always felt that those temporary relapses into writer's block are the breaking points of any given article. Crazily enough, it feels incredibly like divine intervention forcing me to take a step back and evaluate what I've written thus far and where I'll be taking it. I suppose it should be disheartening that I'm already struggling for purpose after the second sentence, but I'll try not to let it get me down.

I've never considered myself a very outgoing person. By no means do I sit in front on my computer and brood all day, but you'll very rarely find me striking up conversations with random folks. With that said, sometimes a realization hits you that you just can't ignore. Looking at old pictures the other day, I noticed a friend of mine that I'd seen no more than two days prior. I'll let that sink in. I noticed them. I didn't just look, acknowledge, and turn the page on that person - I noticed them. Every so often, a situation very similar to that arises, a situation in which you finally see someone (albeit in a totally different light). Unfortunately, more often than not, such situations only force you to recognize that you really don't know that person at all. I have absolutely no idea if any of you loyal readers can relate to what I'm saying. Granted, I'm probably not epitomizing "clarity" here, but I'm trying. But, back to my scenario. A couple days before looking through old photos, I was talking with a few old friends. We had a jolly old time talking about the good old days. Old. I wonder at which point "old friend" became synonymous with "close friend". Even still, at which point did "close friend" become synonymous with understanding?

I hadn't really planned on turning this into a friendship-based post, but seeing as that I'm usually the last person to learn what I'm writing about, I'll just follow along. At some point in my life I defined friendship as the ability to accurately predict the actions and reactions of someone you know. Then, when I realized I wasn't really friends with Santa Claus, my opinions changed. In fact, they're still changing. No, not because I just recently stopped believing in Santa (which I haven't), but because I haven't found a definition of friendship that fits any experience I've had with it. It just is what it is, more or less. I don't necessarily need to understand friendship in order to know that I indeed have friends (believe it or not, I do have friends. Well, ok, friend). Nor do I need to understand Santa to know that somehow he slithers down my chimney, which doesn't have a fireplace, leaves presents, and eats my cookies all while my family sleeps. Like I said, it just is it what it is.

It's eerily unnerving, looking at a picture of someone you thought you knew very well and realizing that you had never taken to time to see them, let alone truly know them. For all intents and purposes, I might as well have been meeting that person for the first time. I can't quite decide if that's a testament to my (our) selfish inability to truly care for anyone other than myself, or a physical incapacity to do so. Perhaps that's what separates us from one another. As I said above, I'm not exactly the social butterfly other people might strive to be (I'm actually not any sort of butterfly, thank you very much), and while I have very few close friends to show for my lack of hard work, the ones I do have seemingly passed the test. Yes, knowing the way people tick, what they generally think about things, and having a shared ability to interact is important in the grand-scheme of friendship, but it makes little sense why things need to be framed within any grand scheme of anything. Apparently, grand schemes don't save me from being shocked to find that I can know someone for years and hardly ever see them for who they are. If friendship were as clear-cut as the three line definition in the dictionary would lead you to believe, then there's no reason to say I couldn't enjoy a triscuit with Santa while wedged inside the furnace.

I'm not entirely sure if I'll be looking through old albums any time soon, but I can take solace in the fact that I've learned something about myself: the fact that no matter what we've known about our friends, there's always something more to learn. Is that my bleeding-heart, weeping-in-your-latte moment for the week? It could be, although I'm not as emotionally wrecked as you may think. I am, however, rather comfortable with the fact that I've stumbled upon something we all might have already known but could never quite articulate. If this so happens to be the case, congratulations -

I'm Sean, pleased to know you.