So, yeah, it's been almost seven months since the last time I posted anything on this... So this is attempt number 5,000 to actually put something up. A lot has happened since May. I left my job in Dallas to pursue my graduate studies in North Carolina at Appalachian State University. I went from Dallas, TX (population ~2.4 million) to Boone, NC (population ~13,000), and we don't even actually live in Boone, we live in Sugar Grove (population ~1,500). So that was a small transition.

In the past seven months, I've had a great deal of brain farts, too many to try and catch up on here now. One that stands out is my inability to accept the fact that I can actually do well in school. My first semester of graduate school, I came out with a 4.0. I have not received a 4.0 since I think 5th grade! Still, despite my grades, I didn't feel like I actually produced work that was worth of a 4.0. Most of my projects/papers were done last minute, and by some act of a greater being were finished in time. So after a semester, with the help of my wife, supervisor, and professors am working to acknowledge the fact that I in fact can do something well from time to time.

I've also realized what it means to live in the middle of nowhere, and the beauty of that. Leigh and I live in a cabin about twenty minutes from Boone. The closest grocery store is twenty five minutes away, gas station that takes credit cards, twenty five too. Fast food, yep, twenty five minutes away. That whole idea of grabbing food on the way home is out the window... mainly because by the time you got the food home, it would be cold. There are days out there that I feel like I am reliving World War II with all the guns going off (this is Deliverance country) from my neighbors hunting, target practice, or just bored. I've joined in from time to time in the orchestra that is gun shots with my ensemble of shotguns and rifles (something I didn't own until moving to North Carolina and everybody that owned a gun that didn't want it gave it to us).

The beauty lies in the fact that I can go outside during a full moon with no flashlight because the moon is that bright. That the closest street light is miles away, and so I can see every star that God created in the heavens. I can sit in my house and forget about the stresses from the world twenty minutes away in my school work and assistantship. It is an isolation and freedom that I have never experienced, except for maybe a few scout camp outs and hikes in my youth.

So this was my first attempt at resurrecting my blogging career. We'll see how long it takes me to come back again...

So when I started this blog... I thought it would be a great opportunity to get all these random thoughts in my head out into the open... thus freeing up a little free space in my head. Well as can be seen in the length between posts, that hasn't been the case. I really believe that I have probably spent more time working on the layout of my blog, than actually typing entries... pitiful I know.

So where is the path leading... where is my life going. Some days I think I have a clear picture, other days I feel like just throwing my hands up in the air and waiting for the dust to settle so I can see where I've been and where I am going. It's ironic that as I near the end of my time at my job, I am busier than ever. Life is accelerating, and as a result, I feel like I'm losing control.

I'm currently re-reading a book from a philosophy class I took at A&M. It is a book of essays by Immanuel Kant (you've probably heard the name but have no clue where). In his essay "What is Enlightenment" he addresses the immaturity of man, and our inability to overcome that immaturity (or ability to become "enlightened"). He states "It is so easy to be immature. If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet for me, and so on... I need not think, if only I can pay; others will readily undertake the irksome work for me."

That passage impressed me a great deal when I read it for class, as well as when I read it again. The only difference is now I have this cool blog to share my thoughts on it, rather than being the shy kid in the back of a philosophy class full of people philosophizing when really they had little clue what they were saying (I guess that's philosophy though). We live in a world where it is very easy to mature, or become enlightened. We can very easily fall into a lifestyle that is completely governed by others. As Kant states, we often are told our spiritual beliefs by a pastor parents, we are told how to live our lives by a doctor, a trainer, or a magazine/self-help book. We empower others to govern our lives, when in reality we should be taking greater ownership of ourselves, empowering ourselves to become who we want to be, not who somebody else believes we should be.

The irony of this is that the models these "professionals" base who we should be, make us even less an individual and more a clone of another. Why would I want to have abs like Kathy Ireland or thighs like Richard Simmons when I could have abs and calves like mine. Why should I eat the same diet that Lance Armstrong or a professional dancer on "Dancing With The Stars*" eats when I am not paid to be a professional cyclist or dancer. My job of sitting in a desk does not require me to eat gluten free foods or drink soy products, so why can't I justify "breaking out" a little and eating a 2 Cheeseburger value meal at McDonald's?

Too often our lives are governed by us striving to become somebody we were not meant to be. We are each individuals, created uniquely to serve in unique roles and functions. To uniquely impact the lives of others, and to be a unique piece in a puzzle that creates our society. It is this uniqueness that allows us to mature, to become enlightened. In his essay, Kant goes on to say "Do we presently live in an enlightened age? No, but we do live in an age of enlightenment." He said that in the late 1700s, I believe that still holds true now over 200 years later.

This thought process started as I rode the MS150 a couple of weeks ago. I wondered, how unique was I from the other 2,000 cyclists on the road. As I rode along with many of them, I realized... I was very unique... in a good way of course.

In the end my resolve for this week is to take more ownership of my life. To be the person I want to be. Maybe ride my bike because I want to, not because I have to. To eat healthy because it makes me feel better, not because I read an article about it online. I guess we'll see how "mature" I am next week... that is if I get around to writing again next week.

*For the record, I am a huge Dancing With The Stars fan.

**If you are seriously concerned with my lack of citations, I can send you my works cited...

So this morning on my way to work I had an interesting experience. After I got off the bus, I walk to the end of the platform and there cross a crosswalk to get to the other side of the tracks. On my way to work I go across maybe 2-3 crosswalks. Well this morning I sat and waited at a crosswalk for about 3 minutes, waiting for the Red Hand of Warning to switch to the White Walker (that has nothing to do with race) of Freedom to tell me it is ok to cross. As I stood there, from the time I got to the end of the platform, people would wait a couple seconds, see it's clear, and then cross even though the hand said "No!"

I wondered what the difference was between these people and the people that stood with me the duration of the time until the walker appeared. Is it we are so caught up in society and a sense of blind obedience that we will wait until the sign says go because that is what we are supposed to do? Do the others have a rebel personality that screams anti-conformity? Are they really in such a hurry that cannot wait or do they just not want to? Do I and others fear the 1 in a 1,000,000 chance that a police officer will be there and decide today he was handing out jaywalking tickets? Do these others have a different neurological setup that leads them to be more willing to take risk or put themselves in dangerous situations (*see this month's issue of Outside's article "This is Your Brain on Adventure")?

What I realized is this... some days I will stand there and wait for the light, others I will cross and oppose the counsel of the red hand of danger. It largely depends on how late am I for work, is everybody else crossing (yes I still often do what everybody else is doing... not quite jumping off a bridge but you get the idea), or if it's cold and windy.

Today I stood there, for 3 minutes. Why? This was my quiet before the storm. Yes there were cars driving by, people talking, but I knew once I walked into my job, it was going to be busy, probably frustrating, and I'd probably be burnt out by the end of the day (NOW! Hence why I'm writing this entry). This was my chance to appreciate the great city I work in. Get nice (not really, but at night it's a really cool shot) photos like the one above.

I feel like often in our lives we are so caught up in the world spinning around us, that we forget to stop and "smell the roses." It is cliche but it has some value. We often get so enveloped in what is going on that we fail to stop and take 3 minutes to do absolutely nothing, just stand there, waiting for the hand to magically become a walking man (or woman). In the next few months as I continue my job, I'm sure there are some days that I will cross even though I am told not to by the red hand and society. I also know though, that I will appreciate those short breaks I get from the world and can appreciate what I have been blessed with, what I have to appreciate in life, and that quietness we so often find when we stop and stand.

Astraphobia... a fear of lightning and thunder.

According to Wikipedia (yes... I figured this is the only place I would ever actually quote Wikipedia, more because I can really), lightning is "an atmospheric discharge of electricity usually accompanied by thunder..." I know, I wasn't very impressed either... maybe that's why I never use Wikipedia as a source. Well regardless, hopefully if I say lightning, you know what I'm talking about. If not, look at the picture, if you still don't know, I'm sure there's something on YouTube.

When I was younger, I was deathly afraid of lightning. I used to attribute it to the fact that I had two relatives that were struck by lightning. I remember as a kid spending nights on my parents' bedroom floor because I was afraid of the lightning. Anybody from Texas can tell you that as a kid, lightning and thunder that will shake your house can be pretty scary. I am not sure what it was about my parents' bedroom floor, but it made me feel safer. I remember some nights where all three of us younger kids in the family would be piled on the floor together.

I do not remember when exactly, I think maybe when I was about 10 or 11, my perception of lightning started to change. Part of it probably had to do with the fact that I began to not like being mocked by my father and older brother, and part of it was I began to be fascinated by the way nature could light up a whole room. My house at the time had a large game room with a cathedral ceiling. There were two large windows, and I remember sitting with members of my family with all of the lights off, watching the flashes out the windows.

One of my favorite lightning stories took place when I was a director of Fish Camp in 2006. It was my session, and as the Director of Operations and Risk Management, it was my job to go out and check the fields after a rain storm to see if we could play intramurals on them. As I was checking the field house with a co-chair, a new storm began to blow in, blowing the cups from the water cooler all over the place. We were laughing hysterically as we chased all of these paper cups in this caged field house. Then there was a crack and a boom! Lightning had hit a tree about 200 yards away from us... resulting in two grown men hitting the ground with rapid heart rates and fear that they had soiled their pants. The fear came back... but soon subsided as we began to laugh at our current state lying on our stomachs. We sat and watched the storm move in, only to soon be reminded that we were sitting inside of a large, metal field house. We retreated to a covered area to watch the rest of the storm. Like most Texas thunderstorms... it was all over in about 30 minutes.

So why am I writing about lightning? Well, in the past month I have had some pretty cool experiences with lightning that have caused me to think about my journey from fear to fascination. On my flight home from my visit to Bowling Green State in early February, my flight was delayed for an hour as we had to circle the DFW Airport while it was "pummeled" by a Texas thunderstorm. That night it was a full moon, so as we circled, I was able to sit and watch the storm from above. It was quite honestly one of the coolest things I have ever seen (also seeing another plane in the air at the same time... that was a first... and a little scary). On my trip to visit Appalachian State a couple of weeks ago, I spent an hour on the runway in Atlanta as a storm hit the airport and rocked the plane before we could take off. People on the plane were scared, nervous about flying (let me just say flying through that storm made Space Mountain at Disney World look like a kiddy ride at Chuck E' Cheese), and I was calm. I sat in fascination and watched the storm hit.

Unfortunately that same storm I was fascinated in resulted me sitting on the runway in Charlotte for 2 and a half hours while the airport was closed because of the storm. I guess everything has its down sides. Now it seems my recent over exposure to lightning is being put in check as Dallas hasn't been hit by a good storm since my flight from Detroit circled. I'm still waiting, but I am sure it will come... they always do... and usually when I'm at work in my basement office or sitting in traffic... but hey, you can't always get what you want right?

So I'm on my way home at the close of another week. The weekend was something I looked forward to each week during college. It meant sleeping in, spending time with friends, college football (or other sports), and no class. It seems as I get older/working full time, I don't look forward to the weekends as I did before. Most of the the things I listed above are still viable options of things I could do, but realistically they're not as feasible. I don't have to go to work on the weekends, but I often feel more busy on the weekends than I do during the week.

My weekends now seem to be occupied with running errands, planning lessons for church, cleaning, and going to meetings for everything but work.I don't really get to sleep in because Saturday mornings I'm usually on my bike (there's just something about being on your bike early in the morning that gets me out of bed. Sunday mornings I have church meetings early, so my sleeping in is until 9, not much sleeping in when you're up late the night before trying to get stuff done.

Now yes, could I better "time manage" my weekends... Yes. Do I want to... No, I time manage all week, and it hurts my head. The weekends are supposed to be my escape from the stresses of my job. I wish this was more true. I have a horrible tendency to check my work e-mail during the weekend. More often than not I get at least one distressed e-mail from a student and spend time brainstorming how to resolve the situation. Realistically, there is nothing because I cannot access any of the students records from home, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about it. This has been the case the last few weekends as I have dealt with a student whose Financial Aid has not processed. Nothing I can do but all I think about is this student panicking. I look forward to the day I master the art of leaving work at work.

This weekend won't be much of a weekend either. Tomorrow I'm on the bike at 8:00am with a friend. At 12:30 I fly to Detroit for my interviews with Bowling Green State (ps- it's really cold there right now... not thrilled). So tonight and tomorrow will be spent making packing lists, ironing, killing trees printing off all my confirmations for my flights, hotel, and interviews, packing, and I'm sure a good deal of stressing! I think the closest I'll get to a "weekend" is the down time I'll have at my hotel in Detroit.

Weekends are great, but they can also be stressful. Whatever your weekend holds, I hope it's good and maybe a little relaxing. I hope you don't find yourself in my common predicament of writing a close friend asking her if there's anyway I could get another day. Take care, be safe, and don't let the weekend just be an extension of the week.

When asked where home is, I often don't know where to say. The majority of my life (in terms of years) I lived in Kingwood, TX, about 45 minutes north of Houston. The majority of my life that I actually "lived" is in College Station, TX, while I was getting my degree from Texas A&M. Other places I have called home include Jubail, Saudi Arabia, Clayton, CA, and now Dallas, TX. I guess in terms of lifespan, Kingwood is home, even if the longest I lived here at one time is 4 years (we'd move back to Kingwood after our other moves).

This weekend I am in Kingwood visiting my brother, who now lives in Kingwood with his 5 children. When I arrived on Friday, I took some time to drive around Kingwood. Many of the structures are the same, the signs are the same, but it just doesn't feel the same. After my freshman year at A&M, my parents moved to London, and have never moved back since. Now I come back every few months to see my brother and his family.

Every time I drive in, it doesn't feel like home. I don't know if it's some of the memories I try to forget that overshadow some of the more fond memories. It might be the fact that in high school I was 1 of 4000+ students, and never felt like a person, just a number. Maybe it's that I haven't had a physical "home" for almost 8 years now. Whatever it is, the place I call home doesn't really feel like home at all.

Yesterday I went for a bike ride. It was a beautiful day. I rode a route I used to ride in high school. It was fun, but as I passed homes of old friends I realized that many of these old friends and their families have since moved. That if I were to go into any of these homes where some of my fondest memories growing up were made, they would look nothing like they did then. I guess this is what they call change... and the world moving on.

I often find myself jealous of friends I have who have lived in the same house all of their lives. They seem to have all these memories of their house, their neighborhood, etc. I do not really have that. I've never lived in a really close knit neighborhood where everybody knows everybody. As I look back though, I wouldn't have changed anything. Growing up, my life had its bitter moments, but those were because of me, not because of where I lived, who my neighbors were, or what school I went to. I think I began to realize this in college, and decided that the direction my life takes is decided by me. I'm glad I did, because I really see college as the turning point in my life.

So as I drove out of Kingwood, I looked back and thanked it for the many memories, good and bad, I had acquired there. Those experiences shaped me, and helped me realize who I wanted to be. I never get angry at my parents for moving us. Not many kids can say they lived in Saudi Arabia, or that by the age of 8 they had traveled through Europe and Asia during every summer and holiday break. That when they would go home for Christmas, it meant a trip to London or Singapore.

So where is home? Is it where your family is? Where the heart is? Where you are? I really don't know. I think home is where you want it to be. It is where you feel comfortable, where you can be you, it is where you feel happy. Probably the closest I've had to home would be College Station, TX. Where is home now... home is wherever my wife, my dog, and my bicycles are. :)