lesson from a pond

Well, it's early (7:23am..). But I never pass up an excuse to nurture my codependency with coffee, so here I am. I would usually have a different routine during the early hours before class. However, in respecting the authenticity of my current state, the former doesn't quite feel right at this time. So that brings me here.
This has been mulling around in my head for the past few days. I haven't entirely formulated the thought yet, but that usually comes as I write.
I am reading a book by C.S. Lewis called, "Surprised by Joy: The Shape of my Early Life." It is a sort of autobiography of Lewis' quest for truth, or as he prefaces it, "how I passed from Atheism to Christianity." I found myself associating with his transition from his familiar home life in Ireland to boarding school in England (unfortunately, my connection pertains to the metaphor, not the geographical reference).
He illustrates his ferry voyage, and what I believe, expounds on his cognitive dissonance...

"After some miserable strolling about the deck my father bids us goodbye. He is deeply moved; I, alas, am mainly embarrassed and self-conscious. When he has gone ashore we almost, by comparison cheer up. My brother begins to show me over the ship and tell me about all the other shipping in sight. He is an experienced traveler and a complete man of the world. A certain agreeable excitements steals over me. I like the reflected port and starboard lights on the oily water, the rattle of winches, the warm smell from the engine-room skylight. We cast off. The black space widens between us and the quay; I feel the throb of screws underneath me. Soon we are dropping down the Lough and there is a taste of salt on one's lips, and that cluster of lights astern, receding from us, is everything I have known. Later, when we have gone to our bunks, it begins to blow. It is a rough night and my brother is seasick. I absurdly envy this accomplishment. He is behaving as experienced travelers should. By great efforts I succeed in vomiting; but it is a poor affair- I was, and am, an obstinately good sailor." (pp.23-24)

That paints an accurate mental image for myself; leaving behind what was familiar, only to embark on a journey towards the unknown, and hopefully, the truth. It is a double dichotomy in that the journey evokes both excitement and emotional nausea, and at the same time challenges black and white truth with grey cognition. At the beginning of the semester, cognitive dissonance was an unknown concept in my life. While I've encountered it before, I never had an understanding of what it meant, or even an awareness that I was experiencing it.

Before I define it in simpler terms, let me attempt to illustrate it with my own personal metaphor..

This past Friday we had an invasion of spring weather which graciously lasted throughout the weekend, and even into this week. Me and my sweet friend Abby couldn't resist the weather's enticement to run outside. At the end of our run, we stopped to admire the partially frozen Lake Evelyn (for those who do not attend ORU, Lake Evelyn is a small duck pond on our campus. I consider it to be a pond, but then again, I live an hour from Lake Winnipesaukee). We have a fountain in the middle of the pond which prevents it from entirely freezing over. However, the outside edges looked solid enough to walk on and we could pretty much tell where the black ice began (which I have been indoctrinated to never walk on).
Being the daring, and sometimes overly-trusting, person that I am, I saw it as an challenge to test the limits and see how far I could go. (This may not seem too perilous of a venture if the ice broke, seeing as I would potentially only be falling into a pond, but consider the inhabitants, and therefore, the content within). I started off by gently testing the ice with one foot, keeping the other securely planted on the bridge. It seemed strong enough to hold my weight, and I cautiously shifted my other foot onto the ice. While still a step away from solid ground, I bounced a little to make sure it wouldn't crack. When it appeared to still remain intact, I slowly shuffled my feet farther towards the middle.

As the cracking beneath my feet became increasingly louder and more frequent, I couldn't handle the suspense and skated back to the safety I left behind. The closer to the shore, the safer I felt, which only makes sense, because my perceived safety existed prior to stepping on the ice. 

You can vaguely make out the line where the thickness of the ice begins to darken into thinner ice, and then melts back into a pond. A few more feet, and I would have been swimming with the ducks. I don't know the exact point where the ice would have cracked, but I wasn't interested in testing the limits. I chose the security of what I knew, what was familiar, both of which equated to safety. 

Looking back at Lewis' experience, I can't help but see the similarity. The difference resides in the outcome. Lewis didn't turn back. No doubt we both experienced a sense of excitement as we left behind what we knew and traversed the unknown. As the black space widens and the screws underfoot throb, I cautiously made my way back to shore while Lewis progressed forward. Needless to say, what he experienced wasn't all pleasant or even rewarding. Perhaps he fell through the ice. Or maybe he merely experienced terror over the prospect of breaking through, which can be a state that is sometimes worse than the fall itself. He encounters the bittersweet taste of this journey of discovery: the exhilaration of the endeavor, the tumult of the journey, the realization of self.. 

And the discovery? 

Well, I'm only on page 42.

photo credit: Michael Gammill

pardon the silence of the in-between

Well it has been a month since the last time I posted. A lot has changed in those 30+ days. For good or bad? I would say..for growth.


I considered documenting the journey here, but I needed to get on solid ground before I started expounding on my experiences. This past month could be likened to the travel phase of a globe-trotting expedition. Before your world exploration can begin, there is the transition between where you currently are and your first "port of call" (of which my parents are very familiar). It's that middle phase before your actual journey begins; the preparation stage. My Dad, in all his good intentions, is notorious for pre-vacation "stress" episodes. I, the free spirited maverick of the family, am completely content with packing the night before our escapades, be it a cruise or simply a weekend getaway. My father, however, insists on packing two weeks in advance...like I really have that much underwear to last me until vacation. Needless to say, you can imagine the slightly tense atmosphere in my house the night before our week of peace and rest. My Dad has two sayings we can count on hearing at least once during every trip we take:
1. The Bronx is the only city in the U.S. with the word "the" in its title.
and 2. Vacation doesn't begin until we pick up our luggage at baggage claim.
Both are tried and true. 
(side note: if there is another city in the U.S. containing the word "the," please don't inform my Dad, the cognitive dissonance could be fatal). 
The point I'm attempting to make is that while, in the big picture, the pre-expedition phase is a part of the whole journey, I believe that in the context of this "voyage of discovery" I have embarked on, the past month must be differentiated from the now. 
The combination of balancing school, work, social, and personal life can sometimes make sitting down and writing a little daunting and almost an impractical use of my time. However, I have realized that if I don't express my thoughts somewhere, they compound within my mind and the balance of my life falls apart. So although my psychology book may be faintly (practically inaudibly) insisting on my attention, ultimately my mind is in a much better condition to learn and grow when I am processing these new thoughts and experiences.


 *A heartfelt warning: I am being challenged in ways I have never experienced. I am grappling with ideas that I have never contemplated. I am being exposed to concepts I can barely confront because of the fear of what I'll discover. I am entertaining previously forbidden and disregarded. Most of the discoveries I am making are still incomplete and unformulated. Conclusions appear vague, ambiguous and distant. I have found myself fighting even the call of the journey itself. However, I cannot disregard this call, this invitation to abandon myself to the uncovering of truth. I would never want to be responsible for hindering or off-setting the journey of a fellow ragamuffin. This is the road I must travel upon. I welcome any companionship along this process, but I must ask that it not be out of a well-intended desire to control the outcome. Our destinations may be both reassuringly similar and stark in contrast. Or perhaps we never truly reach a destination, but simply add pages to what is our story. I cannot expect yours to be a duplicate of mine. What a hollow and barren library we would have. Hopefully my thoughts, inquiries, and discoveries will enkindle a desire to add new and exciting chapters to your own life. 
Then we can come together over a cup of tea, and marvel at the boundless depth, differences, and wisdom we have uncovered on this journey of discovery.                                                     

new years resoluteness

It is really January again?
On my flight back to OKC, I realized I hadn't even thought about what my New Year's resolutions would be. And then I realized, I don't think I've even made a New Years resolution in the past few years. I started thinking about why that was, and I came to the unfortunate conclusion that the task of coming up with profound, life changing resolutions is such an overwhelming endeavor, that it is easier to resolve to doing nothing. Similarly, I identify a new goal or hobby I'd like to undertake, yet I rarely pursue them out of fear of failure, discovery of weakness, or simple incompetency. For example: I read the blogs of others and am inspired, yet doubtful that I could render one of comparable ingenuity and artistry. If that's not the mark of a perfectionist..
So on New Year's Eve, at 30,000 feet in the air, I found myself traveling the familiar course of scrambling to come up with the perfect resolutions by midnight. As if the opportunity to think of resolutions would expire when the ball dropped (or rose, as is the case in OKC). 
Suddenly, it struck me. Who said that resolutions had to be made and established by the time the clock stroked midnight? Why couldn't I resolve to enter the New Year with an attitude of resoluteness? When did the promise of success and perfection become a prerequisite for new endeavors?
Hence, today's date of January 12th and my "New Years" post is just now making its debut. The whole concept of blogging is both odd and appealing to me. Odd in the sense that, as of now, it is sort of a public viewing of the inside of my mind. I am sort of dichotomous in that I flee from vulnerability, yet thrive off of communication and being understood. Ahh, to be a woman..I don't know why most people take time out of their day to process their thoughts and happenings on a blog. Personally, I do it for a multitude of reasons. The first being that my family and NH world are 1,631 miles (which equates to 1 day and 3 hours of driving...21 days and 10 hours if I walk) across the country from me and trying to keep everyone satisfied with the attention I afford them is about as possible as getting through this semester without purchasing a book (=impossible). Second, I do love to write and it has been said that something as simple as journaling can improve your writing skills immensely (which I'm sure will be of use this semester in my Comp 303 class). 
Lastly, I do not vainly presume that many people are interested in the ramblings of my mind and daily discoveries. Which is why probably the most significant reason I paste my thoughts on a page is personal gratification and necessity. Over the course of the past three years, I've witnessed a lot, and experienced more than I ever considered possible. One thing I learned is that no inspiration, encouragement, epiphany, or even devastation does any good if it is forgotten beneath the noise and drum of the everyday. While some memories and experiences should be let go and deposited in the past, there are always nuggets of value to be extracted and tucked away for future application. One of the things I dislike the most is when I allow a deeply profound truth to be overshadowed by distractions and complacency. 
In Proverbs, wisdom says: 


"keep my words, and treasure my commands within you. 
Keep my commands and live, 

and my teaching as the apple of your eye. 

Bind them on your fingers; 
write them on the tablet of your heart." 

I suppose this place is my tablet. I could write my thoughts and discoveries in a journal, but there is something about sharing it with someone else that inspires me to write and keeps me accountable to doing so. Of course, there's always the hope that somehow I might accidentally ramble something you can relate to or be encouraged by, which is my ultimate motivation. I'm learning that life is all about the process, the journey, and we are never meant to walk it alone. Nor are we ever meant to fabricate or conceal our true self (weaknesses, failures, and insecurities included). I spent far too long hidden behind what I thought everyone wanted to see, only to discover I had completely lost myself and all that was real in the process. 
Even if I were the only one to read my own thoughts (which I know wouldn't be the case...my Mommy is an avid fan of all things that pertain to my life), it would be worth the effort and time. Ultimately, this is a piece of the tablet of my heart. There is too much that I've learned that I am not willing to forget. What better way to live it out than by sharing with whoever happens to stumble upon it. 
My New Year's resolution? Well, I resolve not to burden myself with unrealistic and legalistic resolutions. Instead, I choose to adopt an attitude of resoluteness, with the aim of a being a person of purpose. 
Imperfect? yes. 
Inconsistent? undoubtedly. 
Prone to growing weary, discouraged, and burnt out? sometimes daily.  
This is the way of the ragamuffin, of which I am self-professed and of which this blog is named after. Ragamuffins know they don't have it altogether. I used to think I did and I'm glad God showed me otherwise.
Here's to a new year of resoluteness!