The Trinity of Manliness

   Authority: He acts like he knows what he’s doing, because he actually does know what he’s doing. He’s too awesome to view himself as your big brother, so he views himself as your father. He is constantly going through what can only be described as the opposite of a midlife crisis. He gets respect from everyone, and has the ability to inspire confidence in everyone he talks to.

   Time: He is never late. He arranges his life so that he effortlessly spends time with people he wants to spend time with. If he doesn’t want to spend time with someone, they know why. When he says, “Call me anytime,” he actually means it. If circumstances stop him from spending quality time with someone, he informs them about it right away, and lets them know they can go to work with him or crash at his house if they want. When he is spending time with you, he asks fearless questions that get to the heart of conversations in record time. A one hour talk with him is the equivalent to a one-year relationship with anyone else.

   Hugs: If you go for a handshake, he will go for a hug. And he will not be ashamed about it.

The Loving Embrace of Unshakable Habits

   I love my habits. They are the imaginary guidelines that my imaginary father has set forth for me. If I stray too far from my daily routine, I will get scared and stressed out. Which unfortunately happens a lot.

   When Subway runs out of meatballs . . . momentary flash of fear as I try to figure out what to order now.

   When a professor changes the format in which homework is due . . . indignation as I mentally prepare myself for this new system.

   When the person who always sits in the same study room as me in not there . . . instant depression as I feel like they might not like sitting in the same room as me.

   I cling to my habits like my life depended on them, but there is one thing that can make me let go of them right away. There have been two cases in my life where I’ve stopped biting my nails. Both involved me meeting someone I loved. I stopped because I knew that those people wouldn’t like me biting my nails. But then they moved away and I started again. Same thing happened at Subway. I’d always get American cheese until someone I really cared about forced me to get Pepper Jack because “Pepper Jack Cheese is the best kind of cheese.” Now I always get Pepper Jack cheese.

   You too can be like the Pepper Jack Cheese guy. Because if there’s one habit that I can’t break, it’s the habit of loving things that people that love me love. Now read that last sentence over again. I promise it makes sense.

Give a Little Love (Noah and the Whale)

   The chorus and the title are so simple, but so hopeful. Plus this song has one of the best non-official videos.

 

Gay Friends are the Best Friends

   To start things off, I just want to say that some of my best friends are homosexually gay. This post includes them, but it is directed more toward my heterosexually gay friends.

   You’re probably thinking, “What in the world do you mean by heterosexually gay?!!”

   Well, in the previous phrase, the word gay does not describe a sexual orientation. It describes the way certain people behave around members of the same sex. For example, if you’re a guy and you’re comfortable enough around your friends that you regularly “Qaddifi” each other, then I would call that gay. But it would not reflect your sexual preference at all. Well, to me at least.

   So, using our new definition of “gay,” I am unashamed to say that I love living in an environment where everyone is super gay. Around gay friends, there is nothing awkward about hugging or saying “I love you” or . . . dare I say . . . spooning. You know for a fact that when you’re around gay friends you can be yourself and talk about what’s on your mind without having to worry about being viewed as weird. And conversations can and will end in a hug.

   You may or may not be thinking, “This guy probably has a weird obsession with hugs cause he was neglected and unloved as a child.”

   You may or may not be right. But I stand by the title of this post. Gay friends are the best friends. And they’re the only ones I’ll really open up to.

The Cycle

   People usually give me advice at twilight . . . those moments right after the sun has gone down. That’s when most of my counseling sessions were, and its usually when I talk with the men from church who try to help me. Actually, we usually start talking to me around lunchtime, but I don’t really open up until it starts getting dark. But when it gets dark it becomes time for us to go to our respective homes, and they have no clue about the cycle of certain group human beings.

1) The cycle starts with the human’s first most vulerable point: the moments when he is waking  up. It takes him a while to process who he is, where he is, and what he is supposed to do. This usually happens in the morning.

2) It continues with a human taking action. He will usually encounter obstacles, whether big or small, and develop the determination to overcome then or live with them. This usually goes through the afternoon.

3) Then, he will become callous to the world and rebellious against people who stand in his way as he strives to accomplish what he determined to do earlier. This usually goes until the night.

4) The cycle ends with the human’s other most vulerable point: the moments before he goes to bed. He contmplates his day, wonders about the things he did wrong, and grasps for a hope that will power him through the next day.

   Of all the people who have counseled me, only one or two have ever been there for the two most vulnerable points of the cycle. The rest keep imparting the same information during point 3 – the point at which I am the least receptive. If any of them stuck around through point 4, their wisdom and care would leave a lasting imprint on my soul. And, if they were still around when the cycle started again, then they could change the way I go about my life.

Hopeless Wanderer (Mumford and Sons)

   Many stories has a moment where the main character has no real clue exactly where he will go or what he will do next, but he has trust that everything will work out. I feel like that a lot in real life. And this song is always a reminder that there’s always God or someone who knows the way, even when I have no clue what I’m doing.

#1 Fan

 After a few weeks of touring for the first time, a small band acquired their first devoted fan. He followed them across the Midwest, and stood front and center during every show. He clapped when they wanted him to clap. When the band begged the audience to shout the words of a chorus and no one responded, he was the only exception. The band’s music and lyrics touched his soul, and for that he consistently gave his undying gratitude. He didn’t care where they played. He followed them everywhere, even when they had to play at a venue in the middle of a drug infested park in the middle of the night with only a couple dozen people in attendance.

   The fan grew to enjoy the smaller, more humbling venues. They hurt his soul because he loved the band so much, but they also lifted his spirits, because he knew that when there were less people, there would be less competition for the band’s attention when the concert was over. The fan was not very good looking or charismatic. But he was shy. So no matter how few people there were, he never had the chance to have a conversation with the band after the concert. It killed him inside, so one night he made up his mind to introduce himself to the band.

   The conversation went something like this:

   “Hi, my name’s Fred.”

   “Nice to meet you man, I think I’ve seen you at a couple of our concerts.”

   “All of them actually. . . I mean, I’ve been to all of them since the tour started.”

   “Wow, really? That’s awesome!”

   “Thanks.”

   “No, thank you. Hope to keep seeing you around. Bye.”

   At the next concert, the lead singer gave Fred a shout out between songs. Fred’s heart filled with joy. Maybe the band would invite him backstage to talk after the concert. Maybe they would invite him for dinner. Their songs always spoke of reconnecting with friends and past loves. Fred let his dreams take hold of him, until the concert ended and everyone went home. Before he fell asleep in his car that night, Fred shook his head in disbelief.

   I gave up everything to follow them. They weren’t even that big, and they still don’t care to spend time with me.

   God is even bigger than this band. And has so many more fans, why would he even spend time with me?

   Fred fell asleep. He knew that God wasn’t like that but he felt that way anyway.

The Father’s Wife’s Name

   Once there was a boy who, for the point of this story, shall remain nameless. He spent much time in school, studying, where he felt most comfortable. There, all the adults were smarter than him, and expected him to treat them as such. Therefore, he referred to them all as Mister or Doctor. The boy had a 4.0, so he knew his academic standing was excellent. He treated the teachers with respect, so he knew they thought well of him.

   One day in the library, the boy began a chapter in a history book, but he could not focus. Shivers crawled up the back of his brain, and he raised his head from his studies. He looked around, and realized that this academic world was not what he wanted. This academic world had built him a mansion of wealth and knowledge, but left the inside of the mansion devoid of warmth and happiness. At that moment, he would have cried, but he had also been robbed of his emotion.

   He closed his book and wandered out of the library. He started running down the street while devising a plan in his head. He would find a family that loved him, and he would find this family before winter’s cold crushed the last semblance of warmth left in his soul. Through a miraculous chain of events he could have never predicted, the found the family. He stayed in their home until his soul was warm again.

   However, the parents of this family were not teachers. They were smarter than him,  but preferred not to be called Mr. and Mrs. They were family, and they preferred more personal terms, but they never told the boy what those personal terms were. Over time, the boy learned to call the father by his first name. But he  could never bring himself to do the same for the mother. She was a woman, and he felt that a term for her should be filled with respect, no matter how personal it was.

   The boy tried to ignore this problem by not addressing the father’s wife directly, but he grew tired of it. So he turned to you, the readers of this story and pleaded with the questions that had been nagging him for several years: “How do I know what to call her? And what might I ask to find out?”

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A Brand New Toilet Seat

   Story #1: Yesterday, my stepdad got a brand new toilet seat.  I went to the bathroom, and I was like, “Whoa, a new toilet seat! Am I the first one to use it?” Then my stepdad yells back, “No, I already used it.” I couldn’t see cause I was in the bathroom, but I’m sure he was laughing at me.

   After I used the bathroom, he was like, “How come you’re not afraid to use the toilet seat, but you’re afraid to use my deoderant?” Which brings me to story #2.

   Story #2: I didn’t take deoderant with me home for spring break. I thought I had more in my house. I didn’t. When my stepdad found out, he offered me his. However, his deoderant isn’t the spray kind. It the gel kind that you have to put directly on your skin. The thought of using his deoderant was enough to make me believe in cooties again. And, my stepdad being the weird person that he is, still doesn’t see the problem with it.

   My stepdad’s probably right, but I still have this hangup with things that are liquid. I’m not germophobic or anything. In fact I love coming home after a long day of working hard all covered in dirt and whatever else I’ve been doing. However, when it comes to things like drinking from a cup someone else has used, I become extremely hesitant. I’m getting over my hangups with liquid though. And I think that once I can get over it with my stepdad, I’ll be over it with everyone else too. Oh, and I still feel like being the first person to use a toilet seat.