My Own Worst Enemy

This one might read more like a journal entry. If you are expecting an article you'll probably read this and assume that I'm a crazy narcissist. I believe one must only talk about ones self (to such an extent) in the context of a biographical journal entry. If this were an article I would have thrown in an extra amount of self deprecation in order to assure you of my humility. (I'm only sort of joking.) I apologize in advance if I ramble as I let my mind wander.

I grew up third of six. Our family adopted my two younger sisters (number seven and eight) when I was about eleven, so for the most part I was smack dab in the middle. Like most middle children I felt somewhat overlooked so I acted out in order to receive the attention I craved (or at least thats what they told me I was doing). If anyone challenged me I would fight them back as if my life depended on it. Often times my weapon of choice was a handful of the smooth rocks from the playground at Quilchena Elementary School in Richmond, BC. Because of this I spent most of my lunch hours across the desk from our lovely principle, Mrs. Thorton. She was terrifying. She must have been well over six feet tall, and her stature and spirit made her the most intimidating creature this second grader had ever laid his eyes on. With her white hair pinned back tight against her scalp and her gigantic, unblinking eyes penetrating deep into my soul, she'd stare for what seemed like hours before articulating a very sinister, "Do you know why you're here, Matthew?" I always knew why, but I could barely speak. I was afraid to. My lips would shake and my tongue would get twisted. A huge lump would well up in my throat and I would feel like crying. I couldn't look at her without wanting to cry, so I would glance away. "Look at me!" She'd scowl. This would go on daily. Some mornings I'd fill up with dread and fake sickness to get out school, because I knew I would end up in that chair, across from 'the witch' as she attempted once again to steal my soul. It was probably all my fault, but I never saw it that way. I was just defending myself. The punishment was never on the kid who threw the first stone, it was always on the kid who threw back. That was me, in my mind anyways.

I remember one of my most recent victims found me at recess and jumped on me, pinning my shoulders with his knees and pummeling my face with his fists. A teacher broke it up and told me to get back to my class. My attacker didn't even have to go to the office. It seemed there was no justice for me. I was almost heartbroken with humiliation. For weeks I tried to get him to fight again. I wanted a rematch. I wanted to win. Instead he befriended me which was even more disheartening. He didn't want to fight, he was sorry. "Let's be friends," he'd say, which was something very hard for a middle child to turn down. It was terrible. He was the hero, and there was nothing I could do to win.

I was looking to be at the top of a hierarchy. To get respect and attention through violence is probably hard-wired into a lot of boys, especially boys who have brothers. I saw myself as 'Defender of the Weak' but I think teachers just saw me as a tyrant. I remember in 5th grade having to see the school counselor on a weekly basis. I think having to be called out of class for counseling is one of the most humiliating things a kid can go through. She (the counselor) would talk about how life is a road and there are speed bumps in it, and I would laugh because I thought she sounded crazy.

As I grew I slowly realized I could get attention by being good at things. My family is naturally competitive, so when it came to life as a contest I just decided that I was going to win. Anything that impressed people I would learn to be good at. As a kid, it was drawing comic books. To this day I have eight notebooks full of characters and stories I created (I do believe this was a sincere passion of mine, but I know it was partly to impress my older brother). I had dreams of becoming like my hero, Jim Lee, a famous comic book artist (not to be confused with Stan Lee, who's art is sub-par in comparison). My friends would be impressed with my work and I would feel gratified. I collected sports cards, coins, pogs and miniatures and would organize them meticulously. I would do anything to obtain a certain sense of worth and wealth.

I remember one summer in 6th grade I decided I was going to be like Michael Jordan. I spent hours in the driveway shooting a basketball. To this day, I'm terrible at basketball. I love to play it, but I'm not so good. I don't know where it came from, this delusional self confidence, but I had it. For awhile, I was king of the nerds collecting and creating comic books, websites and playing online games. When that wasn't enough I became an athlete. I was always pretty limber, I think growing up with a trampoline in the back yard helps, but I remember for a few years in my teens I really focused on sports. I went to State in swimming and Districts in track and field. My delusional self-confidence eventually became haughty arrogance, which you can read about in my blog post titled "One Small Story of Regret." The contest academically became how much work can I NOT do and still maintain a good grade? I had set myself up to be pretty good at everything that seemed to matter to people. However, my motives weren't entirely pure. Until I found music.

I always loved to sing, and when I was twelve my mom decided she was going to get me real voice lessons. The guy who gave them was in a nineties Christian pop band called The Suspenders. I was a huge fan. He taught me how to warm my prepubescent voice up and make weird noises. After about 4 lessons I had tracked vocals and harmonies to a very cheesy rendition of, "I Swear" by John Michael Montgomery (Or All 4 One, which was the version I preferred). I remember free-styling the harmonies, and Ashley (my instructors name) would laugh and say, "Wow! That was jazzy!" I had no idea what he meant, but I took it as a compliment.

I think the first song I wrote was when I was thirteen or so on my moms classical acoustic guitar. It was when I was in my early teens that I discovered rock music. On my 16th birthday my mom bought me my first electric guitar: a blue Fender Squire. I still have it. On it I learned to cover numerous songs, but that bored me quickly so I went back to writing my own. They sounded a lot like Blink 182. Sorry if I'm rambling as I remember, there is a point to this I promise.

What was different about my musical talents was that I didn't know if I was good, and I wasn't about to show off to people just in case I was laughable. For the most part I continued writing songs alone, showing them only to my brother or my close friends when they implored me to entertain. They'd smile and say it was good, but I wasn't sure I believed them. Music was different than anything else I had attempted. It was personal. My motives weren't to impress anyone. I didn't need people to hear it. I didn't need approval. I needed to write because I needed to express myself through this new outlet. I needed it's comfort. I lived for the sound of my voice over the guitar chords and the instruments that swirled around in my head along with the song. I would sometimes spend the hours at school playing songs in my head, and then run home and figure them out with the guitar (I still do this now, except I sing them into my phone so I don't forget). I could hear these songs done, every part working together to create a symphony of wonderful music. In retrospect I was ambitious, uncultured and my songs weren't very unique, but I FELT them. I needed them.

Two things made me cool at parties in my late teens. The first was that I could do a back flip off of a car. The second was that I could play the guitar and freestyle songs about peoples moms. They loved it. You don't even have to be clever. Whenever you sing made up words in a catchy melody to chords, people tend to find it genius. These were essentially the two things that set me apart from my friends who were all athletes, nerds and artists to some extent. I was one in five guys in my class who played guitar, and one in two who wrote songs. I felt unique in that sense. Music started to define me socially as well as something personal that I relied on. So after being a delinquent, a nerd, an athlete and a stoner (I left that part of the story out), I decided I was a going to be musician.

The point of that long recap was to describe a picture of myself that I believe is at war constantly with my other half. My first half is this compulsion to get better, to learn more and be the best at whatever lies before me, something I probably developed out of insecurity but something inherently 'me.' I think everyone has this to some extent, and for the most part it is a productive attribute, although sometimes it can be consuming and destructive. My other half is for the most part self-involved, complacent laziness. "I don't CARE!" Is what this half of me childishly screams. Those are the three words Kristie hates to hear. While we were dating in my teens I said them a lot. They helped me detach, but oh, how they are deadly. Sometimes I am truly surprised as to how she put up with me for so long.

Half of the time, I would much rather watch TV than write songs, record music, or spend quality time with people I love (i.e. do productive things). Even though I understand the latter is an incredible source of joy, it seems I'd much rather fill my time with nothingness. I get easily caught up in pointless, mindless hobbies like playing Mafia on Facebook, games on my iPhone, or marveling at Bob Ross' wizardry on PBS. On one hand I want to be good at everything, and on the other hand I'm much to lazy to do the work. I settle for the cheap thrills that always leave me empty. In this sense I'm my own worst enemy. I've heard it said, however politically incorrect, that there are two types of people: indians and Chiefs. There are those who read the news and those who make the news. Those who are envious and those who people envy. The thing about being a Chief is that it takes hard work, responsibility, dedication, commitment. Even when it sucks and you don't feel like it. It's trying and failing and trying again. Those who lead aren't those who are smarter, it's those who have an abundance of motivation, positive outlook and the compulsion to vacuum the heads of those smarter than them. One half of me wants to be this better person, and the other half isn't concerned in the slightest. If my life was Pinocchio I'd be a half-donkey with one foot in Pleasure Island.

This is part of what they call the 'duality of man.' Good and evil. Ecstasy and enmity. Inspiration and desperation. For every peak there is a valley. The only thing that is going to hold me from my potential is myself. I can stay in the valley for as long as I wish, because its always a forced decision to climb back up the mountain. Man, the valley sucks too. Whenever I spend too much time filling myself with nonsense I self-destruct. Whenever I cut the nonsense out I feel a lot better. Why is it that I cannot make that decision every time? It's such a no brainer. Half of me says, "This will not fill you," and the other half says, "Might was well try anyways."

I love this quote from the Apostle Paul, who struggled openly with the same issue in Romans 7 (The Message):

^4-16I can anticipate the response that is coming: "I know that all God's commands are spiritual, but I'm not. Isn't this also your experience?" Yes. I'm full of myself—after all, I've spent a long time in sin's prison. What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can't be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God's command is necessary.

^17-20But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time.

Paul is talking about this in reference to the Law, as in the Jewish Law. He's basically saying that humans can't follow the law perfectly, they will always fall short, so we need Jesus to clear our names where we fall short. He's saying its good to know the right thing, but its not enough to know it, because even if you know it it's impossible to do all the time: I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway.

I guess the struggle is inspiration and focus. Acting on the inspiration of your conscience saying, "This won't fill you" and then focusing on the things that will.

I have a feeling that I will never master that.

Blessed

I apologize if I ramble in this one a bit, my mind is all over the place. Lately I've been feeling blessed. It's not that things are going any better for me, or that my future looks brighter based on current projections, it's just that I've felt a random wave of gratitude and I need to write about it so I don't forget. I need to record this feeling so that when the wall of despair comes I'll have some C4 to blow through it.

I've come to find lately that life isn't about the haves and the have-nots, its not about your wants or even about meeting your goals. It's about enjoying the process of living - the failures and victories that inevitably lead to growth and a better perspective. It's about having the peace that surpasses understanding. The peace that doesn't come with the ownership of more materials. So many times have I glanced in envy at my neighbor, be it other more successful bands or well-adjusted professionals, and I've craved their success. I would ask: Why not me? When is it my turn? Have I wasted my earning potential?

This only brings unrest.

There is something in a man that makes him feel inadequate when he is unable to provide support and stability to those around him. The ability to provide financial security, comfort, protection and opportunity is something that I have not yet been fully awarded with, so at times, I've felt the pang of regret. Have I wasted my gifts?

But then, once in awhile, something happens. I don't believe in Karma, necessarily, and I don't think that God is cause-and-effect or easy for humans to wrap their heads around. So I'm not saying I did anything to deserve this feeling, but sometimes when my life feels like it is in right-standing spiritually, when I am giving back, I start to feel blessed. It's funny, because I have absolutely no worries. Regardless of the circumstances (they rarely change), I know that things will be okay. My perspective changes, and I am overwhelmed with a calming sense of peace.

Some would say that I am foolish and that I have no basis for any sense of peace, I mean, look at my situation, what am I really doing to "protect my financial future"? Regardless, I know that I am taken care of. Kristie and I have three meals a day, reliable transportation, a comfortable roof over our heads and a place to call home. I don't mean to brag, but we even have iPhones (=D). In my weak moments I've felt weighed down by our debt, but in better moments I've felt peace that we have the freedom of not being burdened by major investments. We have dreams of a house someday, and kids. Just like my band has dreams of a bus, and fans*. But it's not about the end result anymore.

What if our band blew up off of our first record? I often shutter to think about how much I would have squandered that blessing. The fame with the credit would have probably gone straight to my head, and the influx of money would have inspired ideas of how to spend it - ideas which would have become idols. The blessing would have been a waste. I wouldn't have learned any of the valuable lessons I've taken to heart over the past four years. I would have squandered any real growth. In fact, I'm not so certain I wouldn't squander it now if it happened. My current goal is not to be at the ever elusive "top" anymore (If it exists, I've never seen it). I'm happy to enjoy the process, because in the trenches of war growth happens, and that's what really matters. Material success will pass and ultimately never satisfies, but what you learn about the things that matter is eternal.

I'm happy to be in love with my wife in a world where true love is rare. I'm blessed to have family and friends who pray for me, who really care about my well being. Making close to the poverty line every year isn't a struggle, living in a small one-bedroom apartment isn't a struggle, not being able to afford fixing my dented bumper isn't a struggle, shouldering debt is not a struggle. I am BLESSED! I have not struggled at all on any level that means anything. Peter talks about sharing in Jesus' suffering with Him and what a blessing that is. Keep in mind his audience was truly struggling in terrible ways:

For what credit is there if, when you sin and are harshly treated, you endure it with patience? But if when you do what is right and suffer for it you patiently endure it, this finds favor with God.

-1 Peter 2:20

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you; but to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ, keep on rejoicing... if you are reviled for the name Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you.

-1 Peter 4:12-14

I have not struggled. I have not suffered! If when I see Jesus some day all I have to tell Him about my struggle was that I couldn't afford nice things I WILL WANT TO SHOOT MYSELF IN THE FACE (sorry for lack of a better term, and the caps-lock).

I won't starve to death, die of malaria, aids or lack of clean water. I am blessed to live here in this country at this time. I won't get sawed in half, burned at the stake, filleted alive by knives or crucified upside down for being a Christian as the disciples were. I wont even get thrown in prison. It's quite the opposite. By claiming Christianity I can get elected president, sell out high-paying church concerts or make a lot of money by duping nice old ladies on TV. Of course this isn't the real form of Christianity (the Christ-movement), it's a bastard form that creates religious drones enslaved to their practice whose only struggles have to do with lacking the one thing they should be characterized by: Love. They're great at judgement and discernment, but how convicting is this passage by Paul:

And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I surrender my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing.

1 Corinthians 13:3

If there are any Christian martyrs in our country they are those who are attacked by the so called "Christians" who have no love. Our oppression as American Christians comes from within the Church, and so our struggles come from living inadequately in the eyes of the extremely religious. The roles in our country are completely reversed. The church no longer suffers, the church is responsible for inflicting suffering. The Bible says the world will hate you if you live correctly, and I say a dead church and a dead Christian will hate you just as much. The Pharisees who knew the prophets could not see that Jesus was the Messiah. They hated Jesus and His movement of love that flew in the face of their religion. Their religion blinded them and they missed the boat.

We have not been chased from our homes and into hiding, we have not been separated, abused, tortured and devalued, but we have been scrutinized by our own church family. We are blessed, and should choose to bless in return. Not out of duty, but out of gratitude for how much we've been spared in comparison to those who came before us.

Sometimes I think the fact that we've been spared any real oppression is more of a curse than a blessing. Faith lies dormant in so many lives, even in my own, and it could really be awakened by a healthy fear of persecution!

Alas, I've stumbled into another topic. My point is that I feel blessed and I have no reason to fear tomorrow. I have no good reason to worry. As long as I am obedient in my faith I know that I will be taken care of. The next time I worry, I resolve to punch myself in the face with this blog post.

*being a little jocose here, I know that we have some.

Worship

If you were raised listening to Christian sermons you've probably heard someone tell you that mankind was made to worship. Makes sense right? Why else would there be so many different faiths? Worship plays a major role in many religions, and the desire to worship almost seems to be the impetuous behind the beliefs of the religious. Lately I've been thinking about worship on a broader scale. I used to "lead worship" at a church a few years ago, but I think really all I was doing was singing songs. I think the church mistakes "worship" for music too often, and although music is a great avenue to share your gratitude, as a fundamental practice I feel like the singing of songs can sometimes fall short (Especially if the songs are poorly written, but that is another topic). That might be surprising to you, me being a musician and all, but like I said I've been thinking about this and I guess I just want to share what I've come up with.

This isn't a new idea, in fact it has been talked about by many folks much smarter than l for hundreds of years. The fact isn't that you were made to worship and so you should do so to fulfill your purpose. The fact is that you DO worship, every day, and you don't really have a choice in the matter. Every day of your life there is some goal, some throbbing need or desire that propels you through your day. Whatever that is for you, that is what you worship. Examples are a need for more money, fame, respect, love, freedom, self-actualization or inner peace. It has symptoms like overworking, people pleasing, greed, laziness, emptiness, pride and longing. It manifests itself in excessive behavior with drinking, video games, drugs, working, reading, traveling, eating, watching TV or movies, promiscuous relationships, obsessing over things. If your sole motivation is characterized by any of these things, or anything else you can think of, then that is what you worship. That is your idol.

I've heard it said that an idol isn't necessarily a bad thing. I believe that statement. An idol is usually a good thing made into a God thing which then becomes a bad thing. Money can be used for good, but when you worship it people suffer. You suffer. People can also make idols out of their kids, acts of service or charity and good works. These are all good things, but the problem is that man-made idols never fulfill, because man himself is flawed. If you worship your deeds, you worship imperfection. If you idolize a person, you worship something that will never fill you completely, something that will always fail you and leave you empty. When you idolize flawed things, you become even more flawed. Sin is not a generous boss. Loving your kids is not a bad thing, making idols out of them will probably not only cause you suffering, it will cause the suffering of your kids as well. We all do it to some extent though. We have this longing to be driven, to be obsessed, to worship something. We were all built to worship.

So where have we gone wrong? Why do we make idols out of such petty and insignificant things? Why do we choose to worship empty gods? The answer is that perhaps we were not made for this Earth. Perhaps the Earth is not how it should be. Maybe our world can never satisfy us.

C.S. Lewis says in Mere Christianity, "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." He also says in Encounter With Light, "If you are really a product of a materialistic universe, how is it that you don't feel at home there?"

We long for more, we long to be in relationship with something amazing, to worship absolute goodness and be in communion with it. We long so much for this that when goodness is not fully apparent we find things to take its place. Bono says, "I have this hunger in me…everywhere I look, I see evidence of the Creator. But I don’t see it as a religion, which has cut my people in two. I don’t see Jesus Christ as being any part of a religion. Religion to me is almost like when God leaves – and people devise a set of rules to fill the space."

We choose things we do, things that define us, things that serve as practical idols that may or may not be disguised as good things. We create a religion when we are out of communion with the pure goodness of God. This is no new phenomena.

In the Old Testament the Israelites couldn't be left alone for more than a few days before they would create an idol to worship. When Moses came back with the Ten Commandments, he came back to his people dancing around a newly fashioned golden calf, which they had quite quickly decided was the new god that they were going to worship. It was a physical god, made of gold and things found precious in the eyes of man, but a man-made god nonetheless. A lifeless, meaningless, dead god. Yet we all do this. As Christians we spend some time apart from really seeking God and suddenly these idols start creeping back. The career, the family, the tasks at hand, those things that fulfill only temporarily. Like a crack addict living for their next hit, worshiping the pipe and the temporary relief it provides, however devastating to their life, soul and welfare.

Out of the Ten Commandments, number two and three are about having no gods before God and not worshipping idols. God is a jealous God, for sure, especially when people worship empty pieces of scrap metal over the God of Creation, but I think it's more than that. It's because God knows we were not designed to worship anything other than Him. He wants us to choose the best option for our lives. We are so quick to fill the void with garbage and we self destruct when we do so. Sometimes it takes fifty years for people to learn this, and some people never do. They die bitter and alone. A perfect picture of that is Daniel Day Lewis' character in There Will Be Blood. His idols greed and lust for money became so powerful that they eventually chased away anyone that ever cared about him. He ended up a broken down, bitter old murderous drunk.

What is incredibly sad is that many so-called Christians these days choose many gods before God: acts of service, judgement, principal, religion, pride. These things enslave Gods people, only damaging them and those around them. So when I enter a church and see all these people who worship money, family, religion and status singing songs, I find it hard to believe that those songs really mean anything. True worship is when God is first in your life. Only when that happens can you have perfect love for your family. Only when you worship the True Goodness can True Goodness flow from you. When God is first, you wont have greed, judgement, anger, bitterness, laziness. Your sufferings will only be short-term in light of the peace that comes from community with the Creator. I've been blessed enough to experience this on occasion in my life. I am terribly flawed in my own right, and am guilty of everything I've spoken against, but I've experienced Truth in a way that brought overwhelming peace, and I just want to share with you so that you might have that same opportunity.

Honesty Breeds Integrity

It's true we all lie, even the most honest of us. I personally believe in full disclosure and I pride myself in being an honest person, but even so I'll lie. You know those questions you get asked in small-talk conversations. Those "Have you seen...?" and "Do you know...?" and "Have you heard of...?" questions. Sometimes I'll just nod my head "yes" when I have no idea what the person is talking about. It's mostly for the sake of expediency, to allow the person to get to the point without having to further explain themselves, but it's a lie nonetheless. Don't act like you haven't done this. I think partially we want to be included - we want to be in-the-know - and its an easy lie to tell, especially since it's a one word answer. I feel silly when I find myself doing this. Maybe it has something to do with how much I hate small talk. I think honestly I just want to skip all the who-knows-what and get to the good stuff... or just get away depending on the situation. This habit of course pales in comparison to the addictive and compulsive habit of telling flat out lies about ones life, but if left unchecked who knows how it could grow. A tiny seed can become a giant tree - it's natures way for things to grow, however bad or good. The point is we all have the propensity to fib, and when we do it can really take a toll on our character.

When I was a teenager I used to lie a lot. I was pretty good at it too. I would make sure that everyone had the peachiest picture of me, even though I wasn't so peachy. I used to withhold truths from Kristie, things I knew she would have liked to know. She always found out about these things at a later date, which made the truth that much harder for her to deal with. Anytime the truth has time to marinate, it will always hit harder. Contrary to meat marination, truth always tastes much worse over time. It will always hurt more. The thing about Kristie finding things out after the fact was that it hurt our trust, and trust is the most important ingredient in any relationship. Without trust, you will fail. Because of my betrayal of her trust she would end up scrutinizing my every decision, passing it through a field of questions, wondering if it was truth or if I was covering something up. I guess she was hoping to unveil anything that might hurt sooner, so that it wouldn't have the chance to hurt more later. Turns out the withholding of the truth to "protect Kristie from being hurt" (which was really a selfish justification) only made things worse for me. She would get hurt anyways, only making it a bigger mess to clean up. When she inevitably found things out it would hurt the both of us - myself more deservedly so. However, without those hurtful lessons I wouldn't have learned anything. I'd still be a schmuck.

Without trust it took a lot more effort for me to do anything without suspicion. I was a slave and it was terrible, so I did something dramatic. I decided to start telling her the truth. Pretty soon I learned that I had to tell Kristie everything - especially things that I knew she would like to know -if I wanted to be free from the burden of suspicion. She would like to know who I was with, if I drank too much, smoked something funny or did something stupid. It was absolutely freeing. What's wonderful about Kristie is that as I disclosed things I was ashamed of she offered immediate grace (Of course, it helps to have a partner who understands Christ-like grace). I know that grace would have turned to righteous criticism if I had waited to disclose the information, so I continued to be honest. The thing about that practice, the honest one, is that I started to NOT want to do things that would hurt her. Wierd, I know. No longer would I justify my actions with things like: I'll think of something to say. If she found out she'd only be upset. She doesn't need to worry. Instead I would be in a situation and I would think, I'm going to have to tell Kristie this, and then she's going to forgive me and give me that sweet-but-hurt-at-the-same-time face and I'll feel like a jerk. So I wouldn't do it. The thought of that started to stop me in my tracks. I'd think about my actions, and because of my trend of being honest I was forced into rethinking my lifestyle. Honesty breeds integrity. Suddenly, my word started to mean something. What I told her became exactly what I did, and vice versa, because of my new habit of honesty.

The story I was telling about myself became the true story of my life. No longer could I hide behind the "peachy picture" I used to paint. I wanted a good story, and I had to learn to live one instead of just telling one. Once my "peachy picture" was exposed for the ugly truth, there was no turning back, I had to paint a real one.

Ten years later, I can think of countless admissions of guilt and struggle that were met by grace each time. It is easy to extend grace for her admissions as well. The thing about Kristie is that she is to the core a fundamentally honest person, so I've never had to fish anything out of her. This is probably due in part to the fact that she's a terrible liar. She doesn't even try. Even a surprise purchase on the credit card gets broadcasted with a loud and sheepish "Nothiiiiinnnng" when I walk through the door. I always find it hilarious, so it's hard to be mad. Of course, it is also incredibly manipulative to play on my weaknesses with cute voices, and I've been meaning to talk with her about this, but every time I try she puts on this really cute baby voice and I'm rendered useless. All jokes aside, and to risk making a fairly obvious statement, honesty has built our individual characters and strengthened the trust between us. There is ultimate freedom in our trust, which (to be obvious again) is the great reward for being trustworthy.

If you want to develop character - to be a leader or see your dreams come to fruition - you have to be honest. Familiarize yourself with your weaknesses. Consult people who know better than you if you must, but be real about who you are. Honesty breeds integrity, and people with integrity are extremely rare these days.

Tragedy: Tom Pfaeffle

A few days ago I learned that my friend and former teacher at the Art Institute of Seattle had been shot and killed at a hotel in Twisp, WA. Apparently he had been trying to use his room key on the wrong door and the suspect, a 57-year-old man, shot him through the door. Tom Pfaeffle was 49, and is survived by his wife and four children. This is a terrible loss on so many levels. Death never ceases to shock me with its abrupt and unfair delivery. My mind reels with how senseless this crime was.

Tom was a unique individual. I first met him in 2003 while in a class at The Art Institute. I'll never forget his zeal and magnetic delivery. When he spoke, people listened. He was a dynamic instructor, weaving stories of working with great bands like Nirvana, The Black Crowes, Queensryche, Candlebox and Heart. When he taught he spoke as someone who had experienced what he was teaching. He had lived it to the fullest extent. His lessons seemed more like intense movie narratives than the unintelligible droning I received in my other classes. He would spend as much time as needed to insure that the students asking the questions understood the answers. He was passionate about the information he was conveying, and it was clear that he wanted to make sure it clicked before he moved on. I believe because of his techniques many of his students went on to have careers in the music industry. One of these students (Casey Bates) was my classmate at the time and has gone on to produce a laundry list of signed bands. He also produced our first EP, which was never commercially released.

In 2007 I met Tom Pfaeffle again, only this time as a client. We had just released our Seattle Sessions EP and were playing a release show at the Showbox in Seattle. Tom was there to record an opening bands performance, but he told me that since the equipment was already set up he would be happy to record our set at a discounted rate. About a week later I took my hard drive to The Tank - the studio he built next to his house - to get the live tracks from him. As I was there I recalled out loud his conversations with the class four years prior about building the studio, so we reminisced about that for awhile. I met some of his children, who came into the studio to see what daddy was up to. He was very sweet with them. We talked for a few hours while the data was transferred, and I couldn't help but be impressed with how honest and sincere he was. He was a great listener, and listened intently to what I was saying. When he spoke there was a calming wisdom to his words. He told me about the struggles he had faced as his successes. A few he was most proud of were Wild Orchid Children and K.K. And His Weathered Underground, which were a few bands made up of local musicians from other bands.

Tom was very well known in the Seattle music scene, and had the unique ability of using his wealth of experiences to work with the musicians on the front lines. Many engineers and producers fade into obscurity and have trouble relating to new scenes and climates, but Tom had the tenacity to push forward and remain relevant. He was as good a learner as he was a teacher, and that is a rare quality to find in someone who had already seen so much.

I had hopes to work with Tom on projects in the future, and it just seems weird that now I won't get to. I didn't know him extremely well, but I knew him well enough to miss him.

So heres to you, Tom. You made a difference in my life and I will miss you.

Link to the news story: http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/musicnightlife/2009501190_twisp20m.html

Friends Are What You Like

You make good friends by having things in common them. You can bond over things you dislike, but in order to make it really work I think you have to enjoy the same things. Your friends are dictated very much by your definition of fun.

I see this in myself and with the people I make time for. I like long, meaningful conversations, so generally I like to spend time with people who like to converse. Sometimes I don't make friends very quickly, and I’ll admit that until I trust someone I will not go very deep with them. It can be hard to develop meaningful relationships with random folks in my line of work. For some, the bridge between fanship and friendship is short. For me, for whatever reason, it can be longer. It could take me minute to trust you, or a year, it all depends on how the conversations go. I like good conversations. I used to think house parties and keggers were fun, and thus my friends seemed to be people who enjoyed that same lifestyle. The point is, my definition of fun has changed, and so it seems my prerequisites for good friends.

I like people who are aware of their surroundings, who can take the temperature of the room and can engage in a conversation without being distracted. I like people who don't overtly break the rules, but don't necessarily follow them either. I like people who are impulsive. My idea of fun now just involves a handful of good friends. I no longer wish to roll the dice with strangers at a bar or a club. I want to meet people one at a time and have more focused relationships.

I was thinking about this recently as Kristie and I spent some time with a couple who are good friends. Jason and Jen are a few years older than us and have three kids. Lifestyle-wise we have very little in common, but somehow we still seem to connect on that deeper level. I think it has something to do with our idea of a good time. Both couples love good conversations. After everyone else leaves they stay, sometimes for hours, just to talk (It's the same when we go to their house, we can never get out of there at a decent hour). It’s as if they too are searching for a chance to experience one of those conversations that leaves you feeling energized and inspired. They relish the same things we do. Their definition of fun is consistent with ours, so when they visit, we expect a 2 A.M. departure. Sleep, work and the priorities of the morning become secondary and unimportant compared to our visits. Sometimes during these conversations we expose truths about ourselves that we wouldn’t otherwise expose, we laugh, we cry, you know, we say things that make us feel vulnerable. Without trust and friendship, doing this would make us ripe for injury and embarrassment, but in this case it just causes us to love each other more. It's been said that the greatest fuel for hate is ignorance. If that is true, would that make the greatest fuel for love awareness? How many of us are really aware of our friends struggles? How many of us make our friends aware of our own? I think "relational ignorance" is too common these days and it can really limit true friendship and love. It starves people of their life bread! How does one survive without a confidant or two?

Some people don’t want to be exposed, its uncomfortable, so they keep their friends at arms length and remain ignorant themselves. To be honest, I’m kind of tired of those people.

I'll be really honest here. I am extremely tired of people who are my age but maintain high school mentalities. I am tired of those whose passions come from gossip magazines and reality shows. I'm tired of those who think they know everything and have bought into the idea that life is ultimately about serving themselves. I am tired of those who seek their own comfort at the expense of everyone around them. I can't be friends with those people, because those people don't need friends. They need their friends to abandon them so that they can hit rock bottom. They need to hit rock bottom to find what life is really about. I am tired of selfish motivations. I am tired of fake, fickle, flakey "friends." I believe in the statement that life is about more than struggling to accumulate money to purchase things you don't need to impress people you don't even like. I know everyone needs love, perhaps these ones need a lot of love, but for a time I think these people need pain, and a hefty dose of it, otherwise they'll just die unhappy and alone. That's me being honest.

Back to the part about your friends being dictated by what you like. When I was thirteen, I got into online gaming and my friendships were formed mostly around that. When I was sixteen I got into partying, and thus, my friends became those who enjoyed that activity. It was the same with sports, drugs, music, church, etc. For the last six years most of my friends and I have shared the common bond of music. Good conversations, however, are one of my favorite activities, so regardless of the lifestyle inconsistencies I can enjoy a friendship with pretty much anyone who gets the same kick out of discussing things that matter. I'll go so far as to avoid situations and environments that are not conducive to quality conversations. Nowadays, when the bar is too packed, people are too drunk and the music is too loud, I'll start looking around for the exit sign. I don't even have to think about it, I'll just want to leave suddenly. I think thats why sometimes I am tempted to pick up smoking again. I used to have the best conversations outside and away from the noise. Those good old one-on-ones with a smoking buddy. Now I'll just shiver and check the time... when your body doesn't need to smoke, its hard to motivate yourself to stand outside and mingle.

It's always good to make yourself define the things you enjoy the most. Make a list. Your relationships, your identity and your personality are all things will be influenced by that list. That list will define you. Friends will enter your life because of that list, and nothing will have a greater effect on you than people. Someone once said, "Show be your two best friends and I'll show you your future." You may be a strong person, but spend enough time with a person and you'll find yourself on the same path. Be careful of your priorities, and be careful of the things you start to like. Make them good things, so you have good friends, so you can live a good life.

These are all things I was told by my parents and mentors, and most of these things I disagreed with. My friends accepted me, I loved them, what was so bad about that? To this day I love all of my friends dearly, past and present, but I am very thankful I did not continue down some of the avenues I travelled with them. I'm the exception. By the grace of God my lifestyle today is productive as opposed to destructive. It is only because of my wife and a few others that I am not an addict or in rehab or prison or worse. Where I am today is dramatically different than where I was headed because of a few who invested time, prayers and positive energy.

So, be honest with your friends and invest in your relationships. Expose yourself when the timing is right. Be vulnerable, it builds trust, and trust is the most valuable thing between two people. Define the positive things you enjoy. Make a list of the goals you want to achieve and surround yourself with like minded people. There's my fortune cookie wisdom for the day. I'm done now.

Things Right Now

I apologize that this blog has been devoid of updates for the last few weeks. I have nothing specific on my mind at this point, so I guess I'll just take this opportunity to divulge the shape of my current life.

I recently moved down to the base of Queen Anne Hill in Seattle into a pre-World-War-II brick building with plenty of old world charm. I like it here, I can walk to anywhere I need to go. Elliot Bay and the Puget Sound are just a short walk away, and I enjoy the sun and the sea breeze at the Olympic Sculpture Park down by the water. Kristie loves it because her work is just a short bus ride away and the bus stop is only a few steps from our front door. We've always dreamed of experiencing the hustle and bustle and the culture of city life, and I think we're finally feeling it. The suburbs seem like a distant memory of a time and place where we felt like we didn't really belong. Maybe someday we'll move back with kids in mind, but for now we are happy.

Summer in Seattle is refreshing. I always find it funny when Seattle-ites complain about the heat. It's like they're so used to complaining about the rain that they have nothing to talk about in the summer unless they complain about the sun. It'll be 75 degrees with a cool breeze and I'll hear them complain, "It's soooo hotttttt!" Seriously? Try enjoying Miami this time of year. I don't think I've ever been as uncomfortable, sticky and sweaty, as in Florida in the summer time. Seattle is the greatest place in the world to spend your summer and if you don't agree, I will fight you.

Portland and Vancouver are pretty good too.

But don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm a mountaineer, braving the terrain of our great state on a daily basis. Especially right now as I've just returned from tour. I suffer from some of the symptoms of Tour Mode. Tour Mode is a mental state that naturally takes precedence when a person who has spent much of recent years on tour returns to the road after a long break. As some of you know, we recently did a week with Owl City and Relient K, and on Saturday we head out to headline some shows on the way to some summer festivals. So I'm at home, still in Tour Mode, not knowing how to cope with this week in between. My symptoms are sleeping in, lack of direction, wearing only my underwear, strumming cliche chords on the guitar and overall laziness. All of these can be summed up in one symptom: Home Madness. 

Home Madness is different from Road Madness. Road Madness is what happens after about six weeks on tour, but can vary depending on the frequency of quality sleeping arrangements and overall tour hygiene. It's when the shows and towns start to blur, and when the artists start to lose focus of the real world. Every day becomes groundhog day, at which point it is tough to maintain any sense of conviction. After all, does whatever you do tonight matter if tomorrow night you'll be 3-5 hours away and have to do it all over again? Personal hygiene falls by the wayside, and the artist finds him/herself laughing uncontrollably at things completely irrelevant and un-hilarious. Garbage will fall out of the van when doors open, and nobody will have the conviction to pick it up. Instead we laugh with a glazed look in our eyes at disgusted onlookers. One symptom of Road Madness is the "Cobain." Its a blank expression; a glossy, tired look in an artists eye, usually as they stare at a point just past their peers heads. All in all, it can become a savage place on the road if the entire band and crew are suffering from acute Road Madness.

Home Madness, however, is the result of culture shock. It's the effect of an abrupt transition from road life to home life. On the road, you have to be somewhere every day; there are errands, schedules to keep and priorities to maintain. There is a daily purpose. Your mind forms a routine, and then suddenly the bottom falls out. You wake up in your bed at home and its 12:30pm, and you have nowhere to be. All your friends are at work and the world outside is alive with people who continue their routines. And you are inside, alone and completely forgotten. This might have something to do with the contrast from stage to van, or fantasy to reality (or ego to humility), which is another phenomenon deserving of research in itself. Either way, as Home Madness takes it's toll, you choose to spend your days inside in your underwear, watching TV and cursing the outdoors. This is where I am. You see, my mind is in Tour Mode and I have no routine here, I am not working on any projects, I have no where to be, and the song writing part of my brain is like a bike with a flat tire. So I sit and wait for Saturday, when my mind will once again ski down that familiar slope and feel the comfort in the groove that it creates for itself.

With that said, I've decided to combat my symptoms. I'm going to put clothes on, put my contacts in, and go walk down by the water. After all its a toasty 72 outside and I can't wait to hear people complain.