Mt. Rainier

I went on a day hike on Mt. Rainier with some friends on Wednesday. Our plan was to snowshoe around the ranger station, but our adventurous side got the better of us and we decided to attempt a trek up to Camp Muir, the high camp that serves as the launching pad for summit attempts.



Just a month ago, 3 guys like us were hiking to the camp when a blizzard moved in without warning. Apparently, the were caught in a white out and couldn't see more than 10 feet in front of them. After several hours of stumbling in circles, they hunkered down and tried to wait it out. By the time the storm cleared and rescue workers reached them, one of the guys had died.
And I was hearing this from the ranger right before we started off up the trail...

Some pics from the first 2 1/2 miles of intermediate level hiking:

Eventually, we stopped for lunch, spotted a ridge up the mountain, and decided to reach it before calling it quits and heading home. (The ridge was the snow line on the right edge of the picture below).


The ridge didn't seem far away, but after 2 continuous hours of hiking straight up the snowfield (there are no switchbacks to ease the effort out there!), we realized that we severely underestimated the difference - because of the vast expanse of the mountainside, there was nothing familiar to use as a distance-perception measuring tool. We thought it was "just right there" when in reality, it was over 2 miles, 2 hours, and 3000 feet of elevation increase away. But we kept thinking, "We've gone this far; we can't turn back now!"

But the views along the way were well worth the effort:

Mt. Adams in the distance; and I love that lone hiker climbing up the snowfield.

Our first sighting of the camp; the trail of hikers is heading right towards it.

By the time we reached camp, I was exhausted. The altitude, thinning air, depleting supply of water, and several hours of constant exertion were taking their toll, not to mention the thrumming drumbeat of blood pounding in my head. But those unpleasantries subside next to the euphoria of reaching a goal, especially a goal with views as spectacular as we had. From this high, we could even see Mt. Hood down south in Oregon!

Mt. Adams and Mt. St. Helens are the two mountains on the opposite edges of the horizon in this picture.

Camp Muir

Inside Camp Muir

I love being above (or in) the clouds.

Now, my enthusiasm for one day reaching the summit has peaked. From camp, the summit is a mere 4-5 hour climb away! I just need to pick up some crampons, an ice ax, and someone who has a clue what they're doing, and I'll be set to go!

I almost died laughing...

Ashley and I recently returned from our Southern Caribbean cruise with the Benedict family, and now I'm obsessed with cruises - great sights, great food, great service. There's nothing like being pampered for seven days as you sail through clear waters and enjoy the beautiful island scenery.

However, this great food does not always come without a price - and the price for me almost cost me my life.

On Wednesday evening, the family sat down for another remarkable dinner. We ordered several starters (as our custom had become), and I ordered 2 entrees (all the food is completely free, so why not?!). We enjoyed the food, we retold stories of the day, and of course, we were incessantly entertained by Ashley's brother Austin, who possesses rare comedic talent.

As the meal drew to an end, I placed the last bit of my salmon fillet in my mouth, and I began to move a small, neatly-tied bundle of green beans towards the near edge of my plate. Ashley curiously noticed the unique presentation of my bundled green beans and wryly remarked, "Why, you have a f*got of green beans on your plate!"

The wit of the remark, coupled with its unexpected nature brought a fit of laughter.

Unfortunately, it is not a good idea to mingle laughter with chewing, and without any warning, my laughter turned into a fit of coughing. After several violent coughs, I lifted up my head - it was then I realized something was wrong.

The entire family stared at me, waiting for me to say, "I'm fine. No problem. Wow, that was a vicious cough!"

But I could do no such thing. I could barely speak, and I also noticed that I could barely breathe. My past experiences with asthma assisted my mental state so that I did not panic. I slowly, yet excruciatingly attempted to draw in oxygen, but the supply was severely limited.

"Can you breathe?" "Are you Ok?" "I think he's choking" "Give him room." "Who knows the heimlich?" I could hear everything, yet it all seemed distant. For me, my unmitigated focus remained on the slow, strained breaths I was forced to suffer.

Within moments, my brother-in-law Brad, a dental student at the University of North Carolina, had moved around the table, was standing behind me, and had me on my feet with his arms wrapped around my chest.

This sort of commotion does not go unnoticed in a fine-dining establishment, and I was well-aware that all eyes were on me. I'll never know how I became aware of my embarrassment in those moments, but I know I wanted to hide.

One, two, three! The count preceded the first forceful tug underneath my sternum and into my rib cage. I doubled over and gagged. No air still.

One, two, three! Again, the discomfort of a fist lunging into my chest cavity resulted in me forcefully retching. Only this time, a little more air found a path into my lungs. Relief! It was so close at hand. I could think a little more clearly. The panic was subsiding. I stood for a brief moment and then motioned for Brad to follow me out of the restaurant. Something was still caught, and I did not want to vomit all over the table. The scene from "Stand By Me" replayed in my head, and I wanted no part of an infectious puking episode.

Once outside, we found a restroom where he performed the heimlich two more times. At some point, the salmon dislodged and air began to freely flow again. Our two waiters, the maitre d', my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and Brad all stood by with both panic, concern, and an evolving expression of relief on their faces. We waited for the ship doctor, who promptly arrived and pronounced that I should be fine - that Brad did everything he should have done. My throat was scratchy, which she said was normal due to the fact that a foreign object had been forcefully pushed through, but she assured me it would feel better by the next morning.

Brad was still concerned that the salmon may have fallen into my lungs, especially since nothing shot out of my mouth. But he considered the possibility that it came up and went down the correct pipe without me realizing it...How could I tell? Well, he said I'd probably develop pneumonia or something....

So far, I've felt normal again, so I'm assuming that salmon swam up the right stream afterall.

Mars Hill articles

This last week, 2 area newspapers wrote articles on Mars Hill.

The first is from the Belltown Messenger, a local neighborhood paper that is a little less than "traditional." Belltown is a few blocks north of the downtown city center, and it's the home of Mars Hill (it's also where Ashley and I used to live). From the article, it doesn't take long to realize what kind of neighborhood Mars Hill is situated in, which makes the content of this article so encouraging/exciting. When an agnostic/atheist writes an article like this, it makes me proud of my school.

WARNING: the paper and neighborhood have some rough edges, which are apparent in this article - some content could be offensive:
http://belltownmessenger.com/062008/062008-044-feature.html

The second is from the Post-Intelligencer, one of Seattle's main papers - similar to the Columbus Dispatch. This article is much more traditional:
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/365217_faith31.html

Summer Reading

My summer reading for 3 classes:
7 books.
1,783 pages.
15 days.

I've got a schedule, and I made it through day one...fourteen more to go...

Why kids shouldn't play with action figures.

My version of "Car Talk"

This is a CV (constant velocity) Joint.

A good CV joint should look something like this.

A bad CV joint will look something like the one on my '98 Infinity.

I love taking my car in for a routine oil-change and then being told I have a major problem - a problem that if not corrected will cause my front axels to break, leaving me stranded on the road.

...when will I learn that irritating creaking-noises may be a hint that something could be wrong...

It's Celebration Time

What's better than finishing up spring term by turning in my last paper on Cinco de Mayo?!

Finally.

It's been 3 years, but the house is finally gone. I wish I could celebrate, but it's difficult to be excited about losing so much money.
Relief on the other hand, is definitely in order. Now, we can finally start over and move on with our lives.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to all of you who have prayed for us! And thank you also to those of you who lent a hand!
I don't know where we would be without all of you.

Our new place

Here's a picture of our new place from the outside.
As for the inside, my windows of opportunity for finding the place clean are minimal - with 4 people, it can get cluttered pretty quickly...

Because of a tight, winding stairwell, our furniture would not go to the 2nd story. So, we hoisted the couch and oversized chair up to the small overhang and moved it in through the window! We had about one inch of clearance on every side of the couch - talk about fitting perfectly!

there will be blood

Another movie must be added to the list below - "there will be blood"

Occasionally, I watch a movie and it stays with me for days. For one reason or another, I won't be able to get it out of my head.
"there will be blood" is the latest movie to consume me.

It's driving me crazy trying to figure out the movie and the main character, Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis), but it's not a movie that you "get." It's complex, it's mysterious. The film touches on capitalism, religion, and the depravity of human nature, and then it leaves you - no finality, no resolution, no meaning. You're left with only a haunting disturbance...

Without doubt, the best aspect of the movie is Daniel Day-Lewis' performance - He is reason enough to watch the movie.

Of course, it can be a rough movie to watch, and knowing many of the reader's of my blog, I throw a word of caution out there. But if you have a higher tolerance for disturbing content (it's more the nature of the film rather than the content), I highly recommend carving out 158 minutes to experience this film.


Also, here's an interesting commentary about the dark nature of several recent movies that have come out. It's short, but I thought it was interesting.
http://jviz.blogspot.com/2008/04/dark-movies.html

Troy's favorite movies of the last several months

I feel like I've seen a number of really good movies over the last few months. It's difficult to remember some of them, but here's a few that I won't forget watching:

- Into the Wild - loved it. Definitely up there in my all-time favorites list.***

- Juno - best original screenplay Oscar winner. I definitely agree.

- Lars and the Real Girl - The fall favorite at Mars Hill.

- Once - small independent film. Not your typical hollywood blockbuster, but it's a beautiful film (and it won the Oscar for best song!)

- No Country for Old Men - those Coen brothers never cease to amaze***

- Darjeeling Limited - Wes Anderson - he too never ceases to amaze. I would love to know more about this guy's life. It seems painfully obvious that he's been in therapy for awhile now.

- Gone Baby Gone - Ashley and I had no idea what this was about before we saw it (from the title, I actually thought it was about baseball). I won't give it away, but it was intense.***

- King of California - maybe not the best picture out there, but I loved it. It's simple and Michael Douglas was terrific.

- Fracture - Anthony Hopkins, Ryan Gosling - this has been out for awhile. I don't know how it flew under the radar.

***If you're concerned about content, these films could definitely be offensive.

papers, papers, papers

This afternoon, I turned in my fifth of seven papers due this month. It's been exhausting, and I'm ready for a break...but I'm now over the hump!! I'll finish up a group project tonight, and then I only have 2 papers and one test remaining (which all happen to be in the same class - 60% of the grade comes in the last two weeks!)

It's crazy that I've almost finished my second term. Man, it's gone fast.

Abraham and Isaac

What is the deal with God telling Abraham to sacrifice Isaac?

Is this story severely disturbing to anyone else?

Abraham is a freak. Yet, we say he was faithful.
How could a father ever conceive of sacrificing his son?

Yes, God himself sacrificed his son, but Jesus himself had a say in that matter. Okay, some scholars think Isaac was a grown man and went willingly (but the narrative sure doesn't read like this). Besides, if Isaac went willingly, wouldn't he be the faithful one rather than Abraham? Kind of defeats the meaning of the whole story...

I don't even care that God never intended for Abraham to kill Isaac. This is an alarming command to even toy with.

For one thing, it's Isaac's life!!! It is not up to Abraham to decide what to do!!

Seriously, for one moment, put yourself in this situation...

There is not one possible way for me to look at this story that I know of that makes any sense. It is simply becoming a disturbing story.

Oh I get it...so now God knows that Abraham fears him. Well, isn't that wonderful. What a great man Abraham must be.
What a great man?? I think he's deranged!! He would be in our day, wouldn't he?

Imagine Abraham on the courthouse steps on the evening news. "I understand the laws of the country. I must go to jail. But I only tried to sacrifice my son because God told me to do it."

Wow. This would not go over very well.

I really just don't get it.

A little stress-relief activity

(Be sure to pause the music to the right before watching the video!)



I saw a video like this of some dude that had taken one picture every day for several years. He flipped through the pictures really quickly and it looked lke he was morphing.
I thought it would be cool to watch a beard grow, but I wasn't consistent enough with the pictures - didn't pan out like I intended, but it was fun messing with the editing software.

bike commuting

I always enjoy assimilating into the culture. There's something unique and beautiful about different people and different ways of living, and it's fun to try out a new way of life. Language, music, art, style, and values are some of these cultural features, but an oft-forgotten aspect is transportation.

While in Arkansas, I purchased an '89 Ford F-150 to tool around town. I felt like a down-home ol' country boy hanging my arm out the window (well, I would have hung it outside if the window had worked), and I was proud to drive down the street with a load full of house remodeling trash piled in the bed. I'd throw on my old ballcap and smile the whole time.

But, I've now left that life and that truck in Arkansas, and I've journeyed to the west coast - a land of liberal environmentalists who snub their noses at gas-guzzling pick-up trucks.

Who am I to offend my new community?

So, in an effort to join my new culture, I have rebuffed the automobile and adopted the bicycle. Yes, I am now a bike commuter, saving energy, trees, oceans, the climate, and human life.
I've purchased a 1968 Raleigh SuperCourse that I found on craigslist.com, stripped it down, and converted it to a singlespeed (not a full blown fixie, but close - with my flip-flop hub, all I need is a fixed cog and I'm ready to go!). Ah yes, I'm already learning the language of my new culture!

Zipping in and out of downtown traffic is a much different experience than lazily rolling down wide country roads, yet some things have not changed - I still throw on my old ballcap...and I'm still riding with a smile.

Here's my 40-year old beauty:



((for anyone wondering what a singlespeed bike is (and probably no one is, but I'm going to tell you anyway b/c I think it's cool stuff), it's a bike without gears, so there's only one "single speed." Taking vintage steel bikes and stripping them of excess parts has become a huge craze in the Seattle community. The reason is that it's a purer way to ride - too much unconscious mental energy is used thinking about what gear to use, and removing this choice liberates the rider to simply enjoy the ride. Plus, it saves weight and it's easier maintenance (less moving parts), but these reasons are secondary. One day, when I get daring enough, I'll moved to the fixed gear - the gear is "fixed" to the pedal, so if the wheels are moving, so are your legs (no coasting) - it's a crazy way to ride, but bikers are obsessive about it.))

Mustache or Beard?

tough call.

I think the verdict is that they're both pretty bad (especially with parted hair)

Maybe the question is: mustache, beard, or parted hair?

aren't mustaches lovely?

snowshoeing

This winter, I discovered a new hobby - snowshoeing. Basically, it's plain ol' hiking, but much better. These pictures are taken from a few different trips to the Cascades (about 45 minutes east of Seattle). The crazy thing is that the Cascades will have over 100" of base snow while Seattle will get absolutely nothing all winter. I have no idea how it happens, but I love it. Living in the snow stinks, but driving 45 minutes to play in as much snow as I could possibly want - that's just fantastic.


I love the way it settles undisturbed on every rock or branch, no matter the size.


This is a frozen lake up in the mountains

stopping for a bite to eat

for some reason, this picture makes that ledge look narrow and perilous - it wasn't. I think we actually jumped off that ledge - the snow is so deep and soft that it's like landing on a big, fluffy bed.

Getting close to the top!

Hit and Run

About a week ago, I was driving through downtown late on Saturday night. I was in the right hand lane on a one-way street. The light was green, but the car in front of me was waiting on pedestrians before turning right. I had only stopped for a second or two before I got nailed from behind.
I immediately thought the rear was completely destroyed and that I was going to have whiplash, so I stayed in the car and called the cops. A few moments later, the other driver came up to the window and said, "you ok?"

"I think so." I responded.

"What are you doing?" he then asked.

"I'm calling the cops."

He returned to his car while I reported the accident, only to be told that they didn't need to be involved if there were no serious injuries (this was my first accident, so I didn't really know what standard procedure was).
About 10 seconds later, he pulled up to my left and said, "Hey, let's pull around the corner so we can get out of traffic and exchange information."

"Alright" I replied.

He pulled through the light, and I followed. No more than a half-block later, the guy sped off through the traffic. It doesn't take long for adrenaline to kick in, which I guess had a natural affect on the weight of my foot, because I immediately sped up to chase him.

"Get the license plate. Get the license plate. Get the license plate." repeatedly ran through my head.
Then, after I caught up to him and read it, "118-VRN. 118-VRN. 118-VRN." I did not want to forget this.
To complicate the matter, I called the police back to inform them that I was now chasing a hit and run car through downtown. So, the adrenaline is flowing, I'm driving with one hand as I talk on my cell phone, I'm answering questions, and I'm desperately trying to remember a 6 letter/number combination.

After the 6th or 7th block, the other driver cut across three lanes of traffic, pulled into a parking lot, and then turned down an alley in the rear of the lot. Of course, I followed, almost getting T-boned by a taxi in the final lane. Thankfully, he was an alert driver on the lookout for "crazy drunks" like me and braked just in time.

By the time I pulled through the alley and back into the street, the driver was nowhere in sight. I lost him.

But he didn't lose me and my trusty internal device called my memory.

The dispatcher told me to wait where I was until the police arrived to report the incident. While waiting, I decided to get out of the car and check out the damage. A few moments of grueling anticipation passed as I walked to the back of the car, but...

"What?!!! There is nothing!! No damage? anywhere? Oh wait, there's something - a tiny nick smaller than the size of a dime."

Thankfully, Mars Hill has given me the resources to recognize and acknowledge my anxiety and shame, which I felt in abundance at that moment. Yet even this was nothing compared to the moment an entire firetruck pulled up with about 4 firemen hopping off to rescue me - the dispatcher had asked if I was ok, and being overly cautious, I had said, "I think so, but my neck is a little sore." Which it was, but not sore enough to warrant 4 firemen and a firetruck! Unfortunately, they felt the same sentiment, which made me feel even more shame. There's nothin' like looking like a pansy in front of 4 tough firemen...

In the end, our car ended up with an estimated $1000 worth of damage due to a slight shifting of the unibody frame.

It's completely functional and driveable, so I'm tempted to let it go. Yet I also want to get it fixed, so they go after the guy who hit me.

So now I'm wrestling with the dilemma - grace or justice?

Experience MHGS

This weekend, I helped out with a student recruitment event called "Experience Mars Hill." In conjunction with one of 3 interview dates, the admissions department put together a schedule of events that provides a taste of the Mars Hill experience. However, since the actual Mars Hill experience is nothing short of putting your mouth over a fire hose and then having it turned on full blast, nothing can adequately be summed up in 2 days.

But this weekend provided an opportunity for me to pause and reflect on what has happened over the last 8 months. Even now, I cannot fully describe the significance of this experience or how it is shaping and impacting me, but I know that I am no longer the same person I was. I guess a more accurate statement is this, "I am more myself now than I've ever been before." In other words, I understand myself more, and I am accepting myself - all of me. My anger, my hurt, my confusion, my desire, my hope. My sorrow is magnified, yet so is my joy. Often, my emotions are boiling just beneath the surface, where I can gain access to them at any moment. Emotions that I have found too anxiety-provoking to acknowledge before, I am now willing to experience.
I feel tender towards myself. The callouses are wearing away and exposing rawness - a rawness that is painful and that requires kindness towards myself.
I am more myself now than ever before because I'm letting all parts of me be present, and I feel more connected to each part.

Have you ever been in a conversation with someone where you just didn't understand what they were saying? Or maybe you thought you understood, but you really didn't? This was so familiar to my own connection to my life.
But what about a conversation where you really connected with the other person, where everything they said seemed to be real and true, where you knew the interaction was something unique, something deep and mysterious, the connection profound and beyond comprehension?
This has been my experience thus far at Mars Hill. I am discovering Troy - not the Troy that I've always wanted or hoped to be, but the Troy that I am, in all my glory and in all my depravity, in all my disappointments and in all my desires, in all my cowardice and fear and in all my courageous faith.

And this, regardless of the degree or any academic information, this personal discovery and transformation, is well worth the price of tuition.

Moving Stinks.

Being a student at Mars Hill Graduate School requires that you have an affinity towards entering pain and chaos. I doubted that this description fit me - until last week when Ashley and I decided to move for the second time in 8 months.

Moving stinks. There's no way around it. It is simply unpleasant.

Lifting heavy furniture, packing up cardboard boxes, and cleaning all the dust and lint that collects in every unseen nook and cranny. Nothing about it is fun. And just when you finish the process and get everything out of your place, you realize you're only half done. Now, you have to move it into your new place. Ridiculous.

For 8 months, Ashley and I lived the urban Seattle life right down in the heart of it all - 2 blocks from school, 1/4 mile from the space needle and pike place market, and within walking distance to just about everything downtown Seattle has to offer. It was incredible fun and quite possibly the coolest place we'll ever live. But money is tight when you're a single income family paying for graduate school with Seattle rent and a mortgage in Arkansas, so we decided to move out of the heart of the city and save a few hundred bucks.

Fortunately, we found another great couple that was looking to do the same thing. And what would be more natural than getting a place together, right?

So, last week we moved into a townhouse with Jeremy and Jenny Dew. We figured that single people enjoy communal life, so why stop once you're married? ...makes sense to me... I still laugh at the craziness of the whole thing, but I think that's why I love it too!

I don't have any pictures yet (of the house or the Dews), but i'll try and post some soon.

Object Relations

I wish I had some clever anecdote to share, but I have nothing.

I've been consumed with my first research paper - D.W. Winnicott's contributions to object relations theory and how this compares to the interpersonal psychological tradition.

Problem is I don't understand object relations.

It's like writing about Freud's id and ego - you may be able to read about it and potentially understand it, but the level of comprehension needed to compose a graduate level research paper is another obstacle altogether.

However, if anyone would like to engage in a casual conversation about the facilitating environment created out of the primary maternal preoccupation for the explicit purpose of establishing an illusory hallucination of omnipotent control in the pre-oedipal infant, then I'm game!

Roommates

My sister called me this morning. A friend of hers had found a blog written by a Taylor grad for his wife, who has/had cancer (she's also a Taylor grad). Traci clicked on the link and as she read, she noticed a picture at the top of the page of the wife and their little son. The caption read, "Mommy and TJ at Uncle Tad's wedding."

Traci knew Uncle Tad. Tad went to Taylor too. Tad was the brother of Tyson.

Tyson was my roommate.

Tyson and I were never good at phone calls (we were only good at talking every night until we drifted off to sleep), and over the last few years, we had lost touch. I have not known what was going on with he and Leslie, and their news hit me like a brick.

I love Tyson dearly, and I'm hurting deeply for him and Leslie. Please pray for her; pray for their family.
Even though you may not know him, you're probably reading this b/c you know me. I can't express how much Tyson means to me - so please pray for them.

Here's their blog:
http://forleslie.blogspot.com/

Political Duality

Thanks for great comments on that previous post!

Honestly, I really feel inadequate to engage in any proficient political dialogue, so attempting to respond to your comments raises more anxieties than thoughts for me... :) However, the great thing about politics is that any conversation can be valuable and stimulating - we all have more to learn! (that exclamation point felt kind of cheesy - the voice inside my head hollered, "Yea for learning!").

So, here's what's more central to my thoughts right now:
Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of politics is that we only have 2 viable choices: democrat or republican.

Every issue then gets placed on one side of the fence or the other. Then, when we're forced to make a decision which side we support (in order to vote), we have no choice but to take the bad with the good.

The vast array of issues and their inherent intricacies are complex enough - now, we have to divide every one straight down an immutable line of red and blue?
In this partitioning, you'd think it would make your choice easier - you only have 2 options! Shoot, if you really don't know, flip a coin. But life is way too messy for this duality to be adequate.

So, I'm stranded in the middle of opposing tensions. Both sides, Democrat and Republican appeal to me depending on the issue.

What if I want to be for the environment, pro-life, support the firefighters (that's for Ashley-like all good southern gals raised on grits and Reaganomics, she took a job with the union. please don't miss the heavy sarcasm there), against socialized health care, anti-war, but for the right to bear arms, not really 'pro-the US being the biggest, best, and baddest nation for all eternity,' yet still be patriotic and see our freedoms maintained, oh yes, and believe that the rich should have as much money as they can get in their pockets (I still love ol' George, Sr.'s "trickle-down" economics)????

What choice do I have? ...looks like I've got a dilemma...

My opinion should could for nothing.

So, I realized that I was misspelling Barack Obama's name.

It's one r in Barack, not two like my previous post.

Geez, I try to give my opinion on a guy, and I can't even spell his name correctly...

Washington votes today!

Yesterday afternoon, I went to see Barrack Obama at Key Arena (Sonics stadium). I always enjoy being a part of "history" in the making, so I thought it'd be fun.
Besides, I love being the only conservative in a crowd of thousands of liberals. (seriously, I should have a therapist analyze that...)

Unfortunately, he packed the house way before I got there, so I stood outside of the arena with several thousand other people and listened to his speech over loudspeakers.

Now, I have to admit - I like Barrack Obama. There really is something about him that I admire. He just seems to be a guy that would really be enjoyable to sit and talk with over a cup of coffee. Truly, I would love to see the next President have a personality like him (at least my perception of his personality).
And with McCain leading the way for the Republicans, I had actually begun to consider voting for Obama (maybe this liberal town is really getting to me??!!).

I thought of voting for him, that is, until I listened to his speech. Finally, I heard a candidate say what they really thought about the issues. They spend so much time during the race (at least what the media reports) saying absolutely nothing that you never really know what or who you're voting for. I guess in a safe, friendly crowd, he felt more free to speak his mind. As the speech wore on, I became more and more convinced of my conservative values - and his liberal policies.

Now, I still like the guy (I would never turn down an invitation for a cup of coffee), and I think he wants to do good things for this country, but we just have different opinions. For example, he wants to raise the minimum wage or provide health care for everyone. Brilliant! I love his concern for people that struggle every day to get by. I just don't think his policies are the way to do it.

Barrack actually said these words yesterday, "I am a capitalist." Please, tell me why any presidential candidate of the United States has to affirm the fact that they are a capitalist? I guess only if you fear people may think your policies are bordering on socialism. Sometimes, I hate being a ruthless, greedy, money-hoarding capitalist - I would love to believe in economic equality, but I just don't think it's a better system.

So, when the polls open in one hour, as much as I like Barrack, he won't be getting my vote.

Dreams are WEIRD!!!

The following is a true story:

In my History of Therapeutic Perspectives class yesterday morning, we had a conversation about dreams. We had just read about Carl Jung, a psychotherapist who had a particular theory on dreams, so the prof had a few people share a dream they had recently experienced.
One woman stood up and said something like, "I dreamt that I was with some Native Americans and Rambo (the Sylvester Stallone character) and they were fighting over territory. I knew it was the year 1967, but I don't know why...." Then, she continued reciting other strange details that I no longer remember.

Afterward, as the class was talking about the dream, she commented that she was confused about the year 1967. "I have no idea where that came from. I wasn't even born then, and as far as I know, there's nothing significant about that year to me."

To which the teacher responded, "Yes, but I wonder if there's something significant in Native American history that happened that year. It's called 'Synchronicity' - sometimes, our unconscious minds are aware of things that we don't even know is there, and it is manifested in dreams."

The class moved on to another dream, but I was fascinated with this idea of "synchronicity." Fascinated, that is, in the way that says, "I can't believe people actually believe this stuff - that's insane!"

Yet, for some reason, my curiosity was sparked. And thanks to the technological advances of the information superhighway, I was able to due a quick bit of research - I googled "Native American History 1967."

Six links down, I found an interesting page. As I began to read, I found my heart-racing, my hands shaking, and a huge lump creeping up towards the top of my throat. I raised my hand, and when the microphone was passed to me, I said to the class, "I was a bit skeptical of this idea of synchronicity, but then I found this...

"In the 1960s and 1970s...Native Americans became more aggressive in pressing for their own rights. A new generation of leaders went to court to protect what was left of tribal lands or to recover those which had been taken.... In state after state, they challenged treaty violations, and in 1967 won the first of many victories guaranteeing long-abused land and water rights."

WHAT???!!!! Native Americans! 1967! fighting for territory! The only thing missing was Rambo!

Somehow, I'm convinced that even Sylvester Stallone, at that time an idealistic youth, was probably marching down some city street holding a picket-sign campaigning for Native American land rights.

You may think I'm crazy, but you never know...

Therapy 101

One of the most valuable experiences I've had at Mars Hill has been my involvement in a "class" called Practicum. For lack of better words, it's group therapy that's designed to teach us about ourselves, our style of relating, and the opportunity to practice basic counseling skills. Last semester, each of the nine members took a week and shared a story from our lives. We would then respond to the stories, hopefully in a manner that would challenge the student to engage their life and their story more deeply.

This semester, we added to the practicum experience what we call a "triad." It's a group of three students that begins practicing therapy with each other. So, I am the therapist for one student, who acts as a client. They become the therapist for the third student, and that third student becomes the therapist for me. It's a great, non-threatening way to begin to practice basic therapeutic interactions.

However, each week, in our normal practicum meeting of nine students plus two staff, one student counsels another student during the practicum meeting while everyone else observes. Today was the first meeting, and I drew the short straw and was the first 'therapist.'

Now, it's bad enough that we really have no idea what we're doing yet - I'm only 9 credit hours into a 66 hour program. But now I am expected to be the 'therapist' for another student while 7 other students and 2 staff scrutinize every possible thing about my interaction: how I sat, how I began the session, how I looked at the time, what questions I asked, what questions I avoided asking, the tone of my voice, my facial expressions, directions I avoided taking, my body posture, how much time I left silent before I asked a question!!! Everything is fair game. Worst of all, there's no right or wrong answer to any of these things - since there is no formula, I cannot just 'follow the book' and be fine - I must read the 'client' and read myself at all times. Where are my anxieties? What are they saying about me? What are they saying about the client? Am I uncomfortable with silence because of me? or because of something with the client? Am I bored? Why? Because the client is boring? or because the client is completely disengaged from his or her own story so I'm disengaged too? Is he or she being honest about his or her feelings? Is the client testing me? Is the client taking care of me? Do I need to be taken care of? Or is he or she avoiding something?......and the list goes on....

So, not only am I listening to the client, but I'm supposed to be listening to the questions in myself. And then, I'm supposed to respond in a helpful way - all while 9 other people are critiquing everything I do, say, don't do, or don't say.

Oh yeah, and then we spent an hour processing how I did, what I could have done differently, and what would be helpful for me to think about in the future.

Talk about NERVERACKING!!!

Now that it's all said and done, the one thing I know for certain: it's over and I don't have to do it again :)

Kite Runner

Recently, I've seen several incredible movies that have almost inspired me enough to begin blogging again, but I just couldn't seem to drag myself back to my page.

I guess this changed tonight after seeing "Kite Runner"

I knew the book was popular (it's on my never-completed list to read), but I had no idea what the story was about, other than a guy goes back to the middle-east to do something with his friend's son.

I'm glad I knew nothing before watching this movie, and for your sake, I'm not going to say much about it here.

I will say, "Go to the theater and pay whatever outrageous price theaters are charging in your town - it will be worth the price, whatever it is."

I would love to say more about my thoughts and emotions, but I'm really hesitant to spoil the free and pure experience you will have if you don't know anything about it.

I watched the movie with some classmates and a thought-provoking professor who we all deeply admire. Afterwards, we went to a coffee shop to process - I could have sat for hours and discussed the many layers of this film and its characters.
I don't know the author's name, but that guy is brilliant.

Seriously, take a night and go watch this film.