Introspective 20 | unobtrusive lucidity

Illumination by Laser

I grew up in a rural area. I have always wished that it were otherwise, but its one of those things in which you really have no say. While I wouldn’t trade my family environment for anything, there were parts of growing up in the 80’s that I always wanted to experience, but was only able to experience from a sort of peripheral perspective…the outside looking in, if you will.

When Laser Tag exploded onto the scene in the mid-80’s, I wanted little else than to own a set of the equipment and play with friends. I even got a strategy book complete with exercises to improve your skills, and different games that you could play with different sizes of groups. Ultimately, however, none of my friends’ parents would invest in the equipment, so, no matter how many of us wanted to play, it just wasn’t an option.

I became acquainted with Photon through the short-lived television series (not really such a great piece of small screen history, but it remains supremely exciting in my memory as it was viewed through middle-school boy eyes), and was even more enamored by having a set of equipment for that game. I was attracted by the large arenas, complete with mazes, catwalks, smoke and lights in which teams played tournaments of Photon, and the rougher, more swashbuckling aesthetic of that game. No such arenas existed anywhere near me, though, and this game was a bit too geeky for the area. No one else was interested. So, I pined in secret, watched the television program, and even bought the book series to read further adventures. Playing “capture the flag” with friends and fully automatic water guns just wasn’t the same. It missed the essential geeky ingredient.

Ultimately, I did what I frequently did and still do: I imagined wild stories based around my dream, and I wrote them.

Of course, Photon no longer exists today, but Laser Tag does, in various iterations. When an arena arrived in my college town, I jumped on my first chance to play. Since then, I’ve played various times, and attempted to recognize that its a nostalgic wish of my childhood that I’m now getting to fulfill, and attempted to resist the urge to make it a full-blown hobby.

Honestly, though, there are times when its more difficult than others. Recently, while playing for the first time in months at a local arena, I listed my name for the scoreboard as Bhodi Li, and was simultaneously struck by how easily I could do this every weekend, and how no one else understood my reference.

What’s always been missing from the experience for me, though…either in childhood or in the years since college…is that, in these sporadic encounters, I’ve never been around a group of people interested enough to play with any degree of regularity. The game still attracts mostly teens, and showing up solo at an arena to play when nearly everyone else there is in high school…well, I’ve never done it, but I imagine it would be awkward.

Since our move, I’ve played at a local arena once, and then discovered that a family member here owns some equipment. Its not the original Lazer Tag or Photon equipment from the 80’s, but neither is the equipment at any arena in which I’ve ever played, and here’s the thing: once you’re playing, it doesn’t matter. It’s about the experience.

So, last night, we went to the park after nightfall with a group of four of us, and played several rounds. We won’t discuss how I fared in these rounds, but what’s important is that I had more fun than I’ve had in a long time. I’ve never played outside of an area, before. It was very different, challenging in a different way, and I love both equally.

And, I’m even more dangerously close to making it a hobby if I thought for a moment that there were enough adults around who loved it as much as I do. I see how easily it would be more about the camaraderie than the game, which is the case with much of what geeks like me love.

When I’ve played, I sometimes become the kid who wanted to play the game so badly for a few seconds (this usually occurs in the briefing room as everyone is putting their gear on and getting ready to enter the arena). I wonder if, had I lived near an arena and played Photon seriously then, would I love it as much now? Would I love it in a different way? Is there a difference between re-living a nostalgic love and experiencing a childhood desire for the first time? I’m not sure what that difference would be, but I love every second of the random occasions when I get to play this game.

The light shines.

Rough Beauty

A few months ago, Karen and I were on a road trip, and Pandora was set to (I’m about to date myself and/or cause you to laugh at me…likely both) my Def Leppard station. Whether it is because she is genuinely interested or just wants to make me feel smart, I can’t tell, but my lovely wife, knowing that rock history is one of those strange interests of mine, will ask me here and there about bands and songs and that sort of thing. A lot of times we talk about lyrics, and, eventually, she’ll ask me to change the station. That last part is inevitable.

Periodically, I return to a specific collection of songs from my head-banging years. One of those is a classic ballad by Guns N’ Roses called Sweet Child O’ Mine. In my iTunes library, this song is classified as metal. I’m picky about my genres…another conversation that Karen and I sometimes have during road trips…but Guns N’ Roses’ work falls firmly under the broader heading of metal in my mind. What makes this odd to some is that I find this song to be one of the most beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. Slash’s guitar line is melodic, entrancing, and nearly brings tears at times (listen to the full-length album version, not the radio edit). The love for another person that’s contained in this song pours through those notes, even when the guitar work becomes more “dirty” and distortion-driven at the end of the song. Now, I certainly have a bit of nostalgia attached to the song: the memory of the music video…witnessed not long after my parents first got cable television and I had access to MTV for the first time, with Slash’s face completely obscured by his hair as he leaned into his monitor and let the passion flow from his guitar…is a very strong recollection for me.

I think, though, that, beyond that nostalgia, this song points out something about the way that I perceive beauty.

When I was in undergrad, I remember being drawn to plays that were different, odd…to playwrights that were quirky and raw. I like fiction that has a raw component to it, so raw at times that it is difficult to read, but that carries a poignancy that causes to you see something in life that is better, that rewards you if you force yourself through to the end.

I guess what I’m saying is that I see beauty in really rough places. Art that would often be considered rough, edgy, or even offensive to some, is the art in which I find these hidden moments of breath-taking beauty. I can’t articulate why…I suppose we could psychoanalyze my childhood insecurities, but I doubt that anyone, including myself, would really want to read that here. I just know that I do.

A little while ago, I was struck by one of those impulses to be spontaneously romantic. I wanted to let Karen know that I was thinking about her, and I decided to write a post on her Facebook wall. I could have said something poetic, or quoted a poem or something. Instead, I quoted four lines from a Warrant that I heard one afternoon on that same Def Leppard station, and that suddenly found new meaning at this point in my life as I thought of my wife.

This isn’t about old 80’s hair bands, despite my previous examples (and the fact that you really can’t beat those ballads). Just, for some reason, I find beauty in unexpected places.

Perhaps this is because I also often find Divine experiences more readily accessible in the rough moments of daily life than in intentionally carved, so-called sacred moments. Embracing the imperfect sometimes seems the only way to get a glimpse of the perfect for me.

The beautiful is sometimes hidden in the rough if we take the time to look for it…just as the princes and princesses of fairy tales were disguised as things that might initially prove repulsive…almost as if there’s a reward intended for the patiently seeking.

Autumn Recollections

I’ve had a lot of things on my mind as I’ve plunged into the weekend, one of which was that I was really intending to write this post on Friday, as I normally do. I’m glad that I waited, though, because there’s something that I was missing on Friday, and that was the realization that I miss things.

Fall is a beautiful season in New England. The oranges and yellows of the canopies of leaves are quite striking. I took some time late Friday evening to just stand outside under the tree in the back yard and appreciate how cool that was. The scents and warm breeze (uncharacteristically warm for this area in mid-October, which would have made it just about right for where I grew up) took me back to childhood memories of fall festivities. I had the good fortune of a big back yard when I was young, and there were many piles of leaves in which to jump and play.

I’m glad that I paused during the hectic, emotional race of a day that Friday turned out to be to let those sensory-experience-triggered-memories occur, because I think it’s very healthy to give ourselves time to have those moments. The appointments and to-do lists can wait for a bit as we let ourselves be taken back. Especially with our daughter growing so amazingly fast, I realize that my ability to provide secure, happy memories for her now are contingent upon my ability to recall my own safe and happy memories from my own childhood.

A beautiful fall day was a wonderful vehicle to take me back, and there are others waiting all the time, if only we notice. Here’s to hoping that I notice more. I hope the same for you.

Optimistic Considerations

In retrospect, my parents modeled a bit of an “us vs. them” thought process during my childhood. This showed up more profoundly in some spheres than others, and there a few ways that it was actually helpful. For example, my parents were careful stewards of our finances. Frivolous expenses were quickly identified and pro-actively prevented, and advertisements selling such wildly un-necessary items were painted as someone wanting to trick you into giving up your money to them for something that was far from worthwhile.

As I moved forward into the world and into various educational and professional pursuits, I found myself quickly disabused of this “us vs. them mentality” in most areas of life. It has unfortunately and persistently hung on in some ways, but most frequently its just a whisper in my head that tells me to not spend the money on something that I was considering purchasing.

Even there, though, I have to be careful. Being impulsive with one’s finances is never a good thing, but there’s such a thing as letting those same finances rule you, as well.

Last week, I had a break from class. I’m not on a large campus right now, but attending a small arts school that’s far detached from the parent university’s main campus. As such, I spend my time in one of two buildings that are across a pleasant Massachusetts street from each other, and nestled among various other small, local shops and restaurants. Immediately next to the building in which I have class, there’s an independent bookstore that I wandered into during my break. I love these types of bookstores… an environment that feels precarious in our digital marketplace. This one had a wealth of different books in different genres, ranging form political non-fiction to plays to current bestsellers. I paused and glanced through some acting books, and then flipped quickly through a book on dancing. I found myself wondering about the number of titles on performing arts, such as acting and dance. While I’m certainly no dancer, I’ve read my share of acting books, and I know that a very few of them would be classified as excellent books. I’ve become a bit wary, in fact, of such non-fiction, and found myself glancing dismissively through the dancing text. I could suddenly hear that old caution from my parents echoing in my subconscious…this was someone trying to trick a reader into paying for something that wasn’t worthwhile.

Now, before you look at me too judgementally, I stopped this thought process in its tracks quickly. I can’t judge the quality of that book, because, as I said, I’m no dancer (even though I did marry one). I think that the “us vs. them” mentality is harmful in this area, though, because a desire to be a good steward of one’s money can lead one to forego books with suspicion that may, in fact, be excellent books. I hold onto what may perhaps be a naive belief in other writers: most books aren’t written to take advantage of a marketplace in which they can make money for stringing together words. The vast majority of writers are honestly trying to contribute their thoughts to the public sphere, and we all benefit from this.

Now, of course, the opposite can be true, as well…readers that will buy any book because of its subject matter, with complete disregard to the fact that it may well be a poor book. I see this often in religious spheres, my own faith included, and perhaps specifically. This is an exception, though, and not the rule.

What this comes down to is my tendency to distrust others, which frequently isn’t a good thing. We are all better for hearing one another’s thoughts, and we can’t truly know if we disagree with those thoughts until we’ve heard them out.

I’m not saying I’ll buy that book on dance, but the next time I see a book like it, I’ll do my best to push down that nagging suspicion in the back of my mind.

Hello, My Name Is…

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had an issue with name tags.

It may have started in high school, when I had a summer job in a fast food place. You know: hot, lousy job, tacky uniform, managers who breathe down your neck, that sort of thing. Your name tags had to always be visible. That’s where it started, I’m guessing. I remember hearing a comedian somewhere around my senior year of high school doing a routine, and he said that, if you’re thirty and your job still involves wearing a name tag, you’ve made a serious error somewhere.

I don’t think that last part is true (many civil servants prove it to be incorrect), but his saying that reinforced my feelings somehow. My passionate distaste for name tags has continued to present day. On the rare occasion that I’ve had to wear an ID badge for work because I’m in a different building than usual, or when I’m attending a conference or that sort of thing, I practically tear it away as soon as I possibly can. I’ve been known to take my name tag from the registration table, shove it in my pocket, and be the only person in the room without one. I really do hate them that much.

Why, though? It’s difficult to believe that one or two bad jobs in high school and college turned me against name tags altogether. Besides, they’re such a common fixture in today’s workforce that it’s difficult to avoid them…although I’ll find a way if it is to be found. It’s sort of a small thing with which to have such a big problem. I mean, I’m picky, but not that picky.

Then, last weekend, I realized part of the reason. I was attending a welcome luncheon on Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting at our table with our daughter in my lap while Karen went through the serving line. There was one other guy who had returned from the line, and sat opposite of me at the table. I wanted to initiate conversation with him, but let’s face it…while I’ve been taught all of the social appropriateness necessary, I’m still a significant introvert, so finding conversation starters isn’t really a finely tuned skill set for me. My leading question is usually, “So, what’s your name?” And I go from there.

There was no point in that, though, because a quick glance down provided me with my table-mate’s name. Asking him was pointless. I already knew that he was “Kevin.” My strategy had been derailed, and I was left to improvise…which is far more energy than an introvert is typically prepared to expend.

I think that the underlying reason that I dislike name tags so much is because they make it that much more difficult for me to socialize. The underlying reason for that, I think, is because they remove natural conversation between two people. That, in it’s attempt to make it easier to get to know those around us, actually makes it more difficult to do so. Names, after all, are highly significant and powerful. Learning someone’s name and speaking that name is a profoundly spiritual, if everyday, experience. I think that having our names pinned to our chests rob us of that somehow…transforms the act of connecting two people into a mechanical experience.

There’s my reason for disliking name tags revealed. So, if I meet you at a conference or something like that, and I intentionally ignore your name tag and ask your name any way, it means I really want to meet you and know your name. And I really want to do that myself without annoying badges coming between us.