Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!

     The namesake of this post is a quote from the wonderfully dark and introspective film, Donnie Darko. This cult classic, starring Jake Gyllenhaal along with Drew Berrymore, Patric Swazzy, and other notable actors, is one of my all time favorite movies. Besides the unique medium of a psychological thriller to address some very flawed ideals within society, this film provides a unique adventure, or at the very least involves common motifs in an idiosyncratic fashion. While many quotes from this movie give me pause and beg me to contemplate them in depth and with sincerity, this 'very-funny-to-me-in-context' quote has been making the seen quite a lot today. Here is a clip from youtube of the quote from the movie, with a little bit of context surrounding it:



     Most of the time, I feel the strong urge to quote this (in the similar grating, melodramatic style of Beth Grant), when somebody remarks with uncertainty or the word "sure" in regards to one of my ideas or propositions for adventure. Today however, I felt as if I was on the receiving end, and the expression I felt my face making each time was just like that of Mary McDonnell here- what I would describe as shock spliced with regret face spliced with defeat face.
     *Just to point out as an aside, notice in the clip above the masterful subtlety of the score as Mrs. Darko begins to offer reasoning against going on the trip. "I don't know kitty, it's a bad weekend."As the words leave her mouth, an eerie tone faintly enters the scene, very cleverly foreshadowing. Back to me.

     While this conversation is very humorous for many reasons, more specifically to those who have seen the film in its entirety, likely many times over like myself, when I have heard it today it has been with an overlaying tone of seriousness as well as that sense of foreshadowing I alluded to. This leaves me to think, "Am I committed to Sparkle Motion?" In truth, not particularly. But here now, perhaps that is not the point. So, I think of when today that popped into my head. ::strains for memories of today::... it seems so far away. Still, as I examine the larger, more substantial parts of my day individually, I think there is a theme- in every distinct activity I can remember the feeling of dread, followed by determination. This leads me to believe that, for such a change in attitude, something must have encouraged, if not catalyzed this transformation. Could it be here that I was barraged with judgment as to my commitment? Well, yes.
     I will leave it at this: Commitment must not be overshadowed by means nor end, but rather strengthened by the genesis for which it is consummated. Be assured that an end will be achieved, and the means will make you stronger, but the commitment comes from the heart of purpose.

This puddle should feel humbled

I feel like posting this little story I wrote of a run I went on some time ago. I think that I'm hoping that by posting it and re-reading it I may yet be inspired to get back into this exercise thing whole heartedly!

     I gathered my determination, pulled it down over my ears, and gracefully performed a warm up lap around my housing complex. A little rain in 35 degree weather was just what I needed to get energized, colliding stingingly with my face and bare hands. Time to stretch like a pro- success! Now its time for the run. I ventured back out into the icy downpour (drizzle/mist/what have you) with a tempered plodding, which within seconds broke out into a full on light jog accompanied by heavy breathing. Off to a good start. The great thing about the route I chose to take was that before even a quarter mile, there is long strenuous slight decline, broken up by stairs that you can only overcome by bouncing down. Little known cardio gem: bouncing down stairs.

     I deftly execute my arduous decent, barely sweating any more than I already was from donning my ‘even-though-it’s-spring-time-I-need-a-snowsuit-to-go-running’ outfit. As I traverse a parking lot set beneath the conquered step-laden hill, an assuming puddle gleamed conceitedly in the distance. I noticed it, despite its obvious attempt to remain hidden and ensnare passersby unawares. Of course I noticed it, the ripples from the rain gave it away- I could practically smell the pretentiousness evaporating from this stink hole in my bedroom that morning; and now I found the source of the stank. It was definitely the puddle that stank, not my bedroom. So, with drop-dead-gorgeous determination in my eyes, I stared ahead unblinking, forcing the puddle to assume I had not noticed its smelly trap. I gained on the puddle with unprecedented speed (considering I was going for a ‘run’, you might think I’d be going faster at the time- all part of the mastery, I assure you). With all the grace and wonder of a gazelle fused with falcon, and the stunning intensity of a rhinoceros bred with a entire flock of narwhale-anteater hybrids, I leapt the pooly chasm in a single bound! Or that is what the puddle assumed I would do. Mid arch, with the wings of the horrifying creatures I proposed carrying me what seemed to be several hundred feet above the earth, my foot exploded through the center of the shimmering frigidness below: a fatal blow, followed by my second foot for good measure. “That puddle should feel humbled,” I considered to myself. Anyone observing might have thought to laugh at the feat, perhaps thinking I had accidently landed in a puddle, and after feeling the soaking shock attempted to bound awkwardly to dry land, only to find myself plunging my last dry foot into the underestimated wideness of the puddle. Yet what that person would not have seen through their haze of ignorance was the horror that puddle felt as I beat it at its own game. Nor would they have seen the satisfaction and glory radiating from my face as I sloshed onward speedily into the woods (just in case anyone actually had seen).

     Here comes the genius of my design- now my feet were soaked and freezing, my left sock had found its way half way down my foot, and blisters immediately began to form as the soggy fabric of the ancient socks I was wearing steadily removed the skin from my arches. Resistance training! I had just begun my run and I decided to add weight, pain, and frustration to the effort! Fast forward half way through the run: I’m soaked and still a pro. I think to myself, if I make it all the way through this run, I am going to feel so good! …. If I make it all the way through this run, I’ll have to match this every time from now on… and if it’s nice out I’ll have to at least half it again. Stopping sounded like a good idea at this point… alas I pressed on, and succeeded.

     The next day, it was colder, snowing, and I had an eyelash in my eye from the start of it, but I was determined to run regardless. Unfortunately, while searching for something I may or may not have been searching for in my bed, I succumbed to a 5-hour coma. Dreadful, I know, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be much warmer, and sunny. While I’m out there running on dry ground, suffering through the sun on my face, and not having to wear extra warm clothes, I will sincerely regret not having made it out today.

Research

As defined by Google Dictionary:

noun /riˈsərCH/ /ˈrēˌsərCH/  

researches, plural

1. The systematic investigation into and study of materials and sources in order to establish facts and reach new conclusions

This is the "World Authenticated" stamp, categorizing my life. I have recently begun the journey into the scientific world of graduate school in the Life Sciences, and as such, have assumed the label inherit with this microcosm. The aforementioned stamp might read something like, "Graduate Student: 98% lean, 2% fat." The meat of research is the drive to discover, an aspiration to contribute to an ever growing academic body, the insatiable hunger for knowledge: the "lean". The "fat" then, is that flavorful bit of the individual that incorporates all of his hobbies, skills, mannerisms, and uniqueness. That's not to say of course that the lean meat cannot participate in unique modes of expression. Just as the flavor of beef differs from pork or chicken, an individual may taste different... so to speak. Not only that, but preparation of the meat delivers multiple facets of flavor that may in other recipes go undetected. Nonetheless, the point at hand does not require such an elaborate examination of this analogy. This stamp is how the world perceives as one in my situation, more or less. To relate what I perceive as my voyage makes way, the stamp I would ascribe to those in my situation would be this: 

"Graduate Student: 100% lean, 15% fat." Scary, right? Yeah, operating at 115% at all times is something I cannot even imagine... Because here's my stamp:

"Graduate Student: 20% lean, 80% fat." So it would seem that there is at least 78% of me that could use a little trimming- and that is terrifying. I do not want to be cut to fit the mold of the World's perspective on perfectly packaged poultry; I want to be the bacon grease that fills the air with saliva inducing scents and plays the viola like a virtuoso often disguised as a novice (for the humor of course), like I am! Still, trimming is extremely necessary, and I want it. I want it, and need it more so. However, I would never leave that dissection up to a definition decided by the molten mass of human intellect. I leave that up to Yahweh. Alignment with Him, bringing the Worlds perspective in line with my perspective in line with His perspective. Then I might transcend these stamps to "Graduate student: 100% Me in Him," changing the definition of research that I function in to:

noun /riˈsərCH/ /ˈrēˌsərCH/  

researches, plural

1.    Just a piece of me of me-in-Him.