the flying dead.

As I it in an uncomfortable plastic chair at Gate L6A, catching up on season 2 of The Walking Dead, I begin to notice a disturbing resemblance between the reanimated corpses on the screen and my current state. Same blank stare, same determined forward motion, same lack of normal human interaction. Hopefully I don't end up with a crossbow bolt through the eye though.


Is anybody else a travel zombie or is it just me?

As soon as I set foot in an airport, travelling alone, some part of my humanity is checked along with my bags, to be collected upon arrival. Here comes my social skills, rolling down the baggage carousel.

There's something about being in the purgatory of travel; neither here nor there. It's like your soul is un-tethered for a brief time, with no anchor of familiarity, no home. Now, I've done my share of travelling, but even though I can get through security in one pass and know that moving walkways are for rookies, I still seem to float above it all, never letting my guard down, never risking the vulnerability of genuine humanity.

I hear lots of people talk about how they get into deep, life-changing discussions with their seat-neighbor every time they fly or take a bus, but that just never happens for me. Granted, I don't actively try to engage them in conversation, but that's typically because they're reading or sleeping or tending to their annoying children.

Here's the thing. As annoying as the security checkpoints or the hard seats are, it's the people that are friction. Without engaging anyone, I can glide effortlessly from gate to gate, seat to seat, but at the end of the day, those are wasted hours. The only thing I have to show for it is a couple hundred miles, same as the inanimate object that carried me there.

Maybe humanity is friction; the things that slow you down, the things that take a little effort, a little intention.

braaaaains....

a hell of a thing.

You should probably go watch this exclusive premiere while it's still up.

Ed's Story - Part 1

A story about hope. Can't wait for the next 6 parts.

simple | seasonal

A lot of people talk about the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, and how 12 out of 10 Americans will go into debt from holiday shopping, and how we all need to rediscover the true meaning of blah blah blah. But when it comes down to it, most people I know still go about the whole gift thing in the same old manner.

"What do you want for Christmas?", log into Amazon, credit card info, submit order, send, receive, unpackage, repackage, unwrap, temporary happiness. Repeat.

The first problem is that what I want, isn't always what I need, or even something good for me. When I have to ask someone what they want for Christmas, I feel guilty, because it means I haven't spent enough quality time with them to know what they're interested in and passionate about. Seeing someone open your gift, and knowing that it's just the right thing is pretty great. And you usually don't get that response from a video game or a gift card.

In recent years I've used ministries like Heifer International and World Vision to make donations to specific causes in someone's name. Organisations like Mocha Club and Light Gives Heat and many others work in a similar way, so that your purchase means something more than a quarterly sales figure, it means a livelihood for someone in Africa who won't get ANY presents this year. You get to share the gift of making the world a slightly better place, as cheesy as that sounds.

Gifts that grow. Gifts that help someone grow. Gifts that give back. Gifts that mean something.

But sometimes when it comes down to it, convenience wins out and I have to hit that "submit order" button. Guess there's always next year.

www.adventconspiracy.org/

[thanks for the pictures, Emma]

simple.

Lately I find myself desiring a simpler existence.


This isn't groundbreaking by any means; I think most people experience the draw of simple living, whether in the form of living in a smaller house, or making/growing more of their own food, or any of the other frugalities (probably a real word) that have become trendy in the "current economic climate". So why can't more people achieve the lifestyle they claim they want? It should be as easy as a visit to goodwill, and some canning lessons from your great-aunt Thelma, right?

I guess I can't speak for anyone else, so I'll be content in pondering the foes I face in achieving a simpler life.

As far as I can remember, I've always been a pack-rat, like my father before me. The "junk" I've salvaged over the years would serve to finish ten times over the projects I've started and never finished. I could totally tear down those pallets and build something out of them. I should probably save these wine bottles too, they'd be perfect for some project. Don't throw that away, I could re-purpose it into something!

Supply far outweighs demand. There are never enough "somethings" to turn the junk into. Either that, or I don't have enough of an attention span to finish projects that don't turn out to be as fulfilling as I'd dreamed when I saw that [fill in the blank] sitting on the corner. It would seem that I hate waste, not for any altruistic reasons, but for a selfish fear of of being without a free solution should the need arise. And so I hoard, cluttering my home and life with materials and projects that I can't let go of. The surface intention may be a self-sustaining simplicity, but that's just an excuse to surround myself with social flotation devices like neat little hobbies and "Did you see this cool thing that Daniel made?"

There's nothing wrong with wanting to carve spoons, but with so many things dividing my attention in this fast-paced world, there isn't time to devote to these crafts without sacrificing something for them. The lie I tell myself is that I can add as many projects as I want by paring down these activities smaller and smaller until I only have 15 minutes on a Thursday between 5:00 and 5:15 to work on project #264 (and more than likely I'll spend that time on Facebook anyway).

So what do you do?

Awhile ago I decided that I wanted to read more books, so I grabbed one off the shelf, sat down, and made it through about 15 pages before I got distracted by something and put the book down. Half my books still have bookmarks in their first 30 pages. I began to ask myself what it was that was getting in the way of finishing a book, and it very quickly became apparent that it was the available distractions of a computer/tv, and the sleep-inducing comfort of my "reading chair". Easy solution: go read somewhere else. I've managed to finish a stack of books since this revelation, but it wasn't easy to devote the the singular goal of reading. Sitting on my couch with my computer at hand gives the illusion that I'm seconds away from building some project, trying some recipe, or picking up some book, but the allure of the mindless entertainment via the internet is a difficult gravity well to escape.

Some might say, "But Daniel, you're so industrious, you build stuff and garden and bake things and so on and so forth..." And they're right, I collect hobbies like anything else, but without adequate time to devote to any of them, I become familiar in all, and excellent in none. Is it wrong to want to be a jack-of-all-trades? I don't know, but I would venture a guess that Jack had to be pretty competent in those trades if he had any intention of getting work.

I guess this is as close as I get to fear of commitment. I can't settle on one hobby/skill, for fear of being found wanting in another. This is probably rooted in a fear of dependence on anyone else. If I know how to weld and woodwork and cook and garden and make my own clothes, I don't have to rely on anyone else. But the freedom of independence isn't worth missing out on true community. Living a simple life seems to be (perhaps counter-intuitively) easier in community.

Well, kinda got into a ramble there, but whatever. Time to get off the computer and start doing something. Excellently.