Finding Joy in the Ephemeral

"Beauty is its own excuse for being."

That's what my teacher Mr. Dove taught me in my creative writing class back in high school.  Here I am, more than a decade later, and the quote remains true as I ponder the fullness of what it means. At face value, I get it -- beauty needs no pretense, no excuse, no functionality. Beauty speaks for itself. I want to synthesize that mentality, though, and bury it deep down in my psyche.

All things are ephemeral.  Your relationships, your most valued possessions, your body itself -- all of it will one day fade into obscurity. The universe itself will one day cease to function. Every person who has looked mortality in the eye has had to wrestle with their own finite nature. Nonetheless, beauty exists in these temporal structures. Expiration is not damnation.

Just because something is temporary, doesn't mean it's not valuable.

Lives begin and lives end. One of my goals during this season of introspection has been to find joy in the ephemeral. It requires a degree of courage to accept loss without painting the past with a negative and remorseful brush. You can bid farewell to the past without burning it to ashes. You can accept the path behind you.

Everything you hold dear will once cease. I think about this in simple terms to remind myself of its simple truth. Think of one of your favorite belongings for a moment. I, for one, am very attached to my guitar. I find joy in it -- it helps me to relax and find peace in a hectic world. One day, it will no longer function properly. One day, its existence will reach a conclusion.

The conclusion does not nullify the beauty of the narrative that precedes it.

The same could be said with friendships, job experiences, and so much more. I want to learn how to find joy in the ephemeral, because life requires us to say many tearful farewells along the way. I want to reflect with gladness as I mouth each goodbye. As loved ones pass away and time takes its toll, join me in the search for joy in the ephemeral.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

Damnation.

It seems tempting to envision a world where people are truly free to believe their own truths and pursue their own paths. However, the reality before us is this: people care about what you believe, because the consequences of disbelief and doubt are supposedly quite severe. Your beliefs are a matter of heaven and hell.

In light of this realization, I understand that friends and family mean well when they wonder about my beliefs. Nonetheless, in the past year I have become dreadfully concerned with the concept of damnation itself, because it strikes to the heart of God's nature. Our thoughts about damnation reveal profound truths about ourselves and how we relate to the divine.

A great deal of religious thought is predicated upon a simple notion:

You're not just flawed -- you're evil. 

The Christian worldview, among other religions, demands the adherent to accept their own filthy nature. It is a prerequisite for all that follows. It is the cost of admission to the entirety of the real church experience. And it troubles me, as a human being and as a father.

This mentality is not necessarily reflected in a child's church experience, though. It's a curious phenomenon that the tone of Christian teaching in a church tends to change dramatically as the participants grow older.  Young children are taught innocuous concepts like "God loves you!" and "teamwork is good!". However, by adulthood, the self-deprecation begins to be woven through each and every message.

You are broken. You are guilty, from birth.
And what is your crime?
  Existing in the second degree, I guess.

I don't know if I can look my children in the eye and tell them they deserve to be tortured eternally.  I don't know if I can embrace that paradigm as I behold their sleeping bodies, laying peacefully in bed at night. I don't know if I can purchase that ticket. I don't want to... and I don't feel sorry about it either.

Now, not all Christian denominations believe in eternal Hell, or in the naturally damned state of man -- but many of them do. That's what scares me.  The majority of the Christian world believes that man is created in a damned, evil state, and that he is on the wide path to eternal torment... and you're telling me the problem is humankind?

Why is Hell eternal, and why is the road so wide and often-travelled? How can my existence be both pre-ordained and inherently evil?

If you believe that God is going to sentence me to harm for BILLIONS or TRILLIONS of years because I am exercising my natural skepticism right now, perhaps you should bring your questions to him. Is that harsh? Maybe... but so is damnation. After years in the Christian bubble, I am re-calibrating what mercy, justice, and love really means. I have daughters to raise and a world to change, and I refuse to despise either for the sake of tired dogma.


Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

The Sympathizer

Millenials love being categorized. That's important to keep in mind for the remainder of this blog post. They seriously adore being defined by shallow labels. Don't forget it.

Every person on Earth is covered in name tags. These stickers remain unseen, but they dictate so much about our lives. Christian, white, southern,  married, democrat, athlete, musician, leader... the list goes on.  Although my generation (millenial and proud, deal with it) has taken great strides to peel off these labels, they remain... and they matter.

People, by and large, distrust and despise atheists. A variety of statistics flesh out the fact that atheism is considered one of the most toxic labels one can wear. Even in our Islamophobic post-9/11 nation, studies indicate that the average citizen have less faith in an atheist than a muslim.

I find this phenomenon particularly baffling considering that, most people tread the path of the atheist (or at least agnostic) through their daily lives. Practically speaking, most humans live their days as atheists, claiming religious allegiances for the sake of family pride or social connection. They do not consult the gods regarding what to wear everyday and where to go -- they live a decidedly humanistic and material existence. They're just... people.

In light of this, the demonization of the unbeliever is a particular kind of travesty. Here's the thing -- I'm not an atheist*, but I am the atheist's sympathizer. I am the atheist's advocate. Bear with me on this one before you violently chuck your laptop in anger, OK?

Here's the deal... In the corners of the internet where I often dwell, atheist thought abounds. Scientists, skeptics, you know the type. I don't always agree with their assertions... but I do understand. That's what I want to embody in my life and that's what I want to see: more understanding and less pious categorization.

Perhaps one of the most commonplace philosophical arguments against God as we know it comes from the Greek Epicurus. He stated:

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?

Now, Christian, I am not asking you to agree. I am asking you to understand. Can you fathom a life wherein a person reaches the same conclusion? I can. If I lived in some war-torn country where I watched my children wither from starvation, yeah. I'd agree. I'd feel incapable of believing otherwise, probably. That's just one simple scenario, but we could unravel a multitude of similar ones.

We are all learners, gathering evidence about God's nature from the life we live and the things we witness, both beautiful and horrifying. Who am I to insist that someone should bend their conclusion to fit into my contours? This is the height of audacity -- discounting the human before you in favor of your own preconceptions.

So when I read an atheist meme on Instagram or Facebook, or I see a quote from Dawkins online, I seek to understand the human dynamic within it. People of every faith must do the same if they have any hope of serving the people they adamantly insist that they love. If you love the "lost", listen to them. They have stories to tell -- tales of heartbreak and skepticism, belief and disillusionment.

This is not to say that all atheist thought is borne out of suffering or bitterness -- I certainly don't think that. Indeed, skepticism is a cornerstone of intellectual thinking in general, and every person of faith should test their own beliefs to determine if they are worthy of believing.  If you must plug your ears to avoid the claims of the skeptic, perhaps your paper-thin doctrines deserve to be destroyed.

In any case, my general approach with all trains of thought regarding belief and truth are to seek first to understand. I'm letting go of the partitions that I used to build around my heart and mind. I want to grant the basic dignity of listening to those with whom I disagree. I want to seek truth in a manner that is profoundly curious and unrelentingly compassionate. 

*how I categorize my faith is none of your business. Enough with the labels!

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

Lessons in Music: The Ostinato

   The arts can be revelatory -- we can learn about the world and about ourselves through music, films, and books. As a musician, I also find insights and revelations in the creative process as it unfolds. The creating experience itself can be a mechanism for introspection and self-discovery.

Lately, I've had one particular idea on my mind -- the ostinato. In music composition, an ostinato is a continually repeated phrase or idea.  It is a motif, a common thread or theme that prevails throughout the entire composition. I've come to realize that our lives and the grand arc of our families can sometimes contain these repetitions and themes as well.

In light of this realization, one question beckons for an answer:

    How do we break the generational patterns and cycles that ensnare us?

Think about your family history. So often, the same frustrating patterns repeat over and over. In my family, suicide has been prevalent -- my mother and both of my grandfathers took their own lives. This knowledge can be heart-breaking to reflect upon, but I have to go beyond mere thought and step forward into intentional action. In the wake of this tragic history, I must embrace two critical steps:

1) Realizing the reality of this generational burden...

2) ...and choosing to defy my past on a real and daily basis.

Whether it's substance abuse, or chronic health problems, or self-destructive tendencies, we must face the repeating motifs of those that came before us. We have to dissect and understand the motivations, the deficiencies, and the missteps that perpetuated this ostinato. This may look vastly different to each person, but the underlying truth remains the same:

We must face the burdens of the past to overcome them effectively. 

I'm still unraveling what it means to defy my family's past. As I continue to discover and unpack these ideas, my hope is that I can press forward with intention and consistency.  I may be powerless to alter the past, but I still want to change my future -- I want to rewrite this grand and overarching melody for the benefit of my children and my community.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

The Story of Your Life.

"Are you happy with your life?"

This central question is so simple, but it casts a long and chilling shadow.  Everyday, people traipse through their lives, yolked with a heavy burden regarding what could have been.  Each person wants to feel that they've reached the height of their potential, but how many of us actually achieve this?

I just celebrated my 29th birthday (woohoo), and whenever my birthday approaches, I get this heavy and introspective feeling in my chest. I examine myself and what I've done with my life so far. I measure myself against my own (often unreasonable) expectations. I pick myself apart. I feel overwhelmed with the sound of ticking clocks as they wind down and drown out my surroundings. Does that sound crazy? Yeah, maybe, a little bit, but here's the thing:

I've decided to let go.  I've resolved to overcome this mindset.

One of the most important revelations of the past few years for me is so simple: learning to accept your life as you've lived it. What does this look like on a daily basis, though? It means acknowledging and observing the path you've taken to this point, and coming to terms with every choice, both good and bad. It means recognizing where you are and where you've been. It means accepting what's happened to you -- your scars, your trauma, your neuroses.

This manifests itself in many ways -- creative, relational, spiritual -- but one clear example is in the workplace. Sometimes I feel incredibly out of place, like I've missed my exit sign miles ago.  "I can do more than this, I was made for more than this," I think to myself. That's part of why I'm aggressively pursuing a college degree now, to make up for lost time and lost opportunities along the way. Nevertheless, I must remind myself to stop criticizing, and start recognizing the path that I followed to this junction.

Without a doubt, I'd be in a more challenging and rewarding place professionally if I had gone to college earlier. But doing this would've likely meant staying under the thumb of my narcissistic and cruel father, subjecting myself to years of his mistreatment and gaslighting while my schooling was paid for.  So I made a choice -- I decided to preserve my dignity and forfeit my funding. In doing so, I had to carve my own path. Did it set me back considerably? Yes. Was it the right choice? Absolutely.

Perhaps if parallel universes exist, there's some iteration that stayed close with my dad.  Ray 2.0 was a college shoe-in and a close adherent to his father's opinions. He's a republican and an obedient church goer. He doesn't understand BLM and all the kneeling at football games. He think there's a War on Christmas. He does what he's told. I don't want to be that Ray, and I'm glad that I diverged from that path. I am genuinely and profoundly glad.

This is but a snapshot of the grander trajectory that led me to today, but it proves an important point -- your life is the summation of many elements: fate, luck, choice, chance, and the blessings or cruelties that others dole out on you. We do a disservice when oversimplify the complex and compound formula that is life itself.

Each and every person on this planet has a story to tell. Our lives are a series of crossroads and intersections, and with every successive choice, we write our own plot lines. I'm learning to accept the story of my life -- where I've been, what I've done, and what's been done to me in return. In the face of my past, that's all I can hope to do.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

The Trigger Pulls You.

"A perforating gunshot wound to the head."

That's what my mom's death certificate says. Sometimes I ponder on this and I wonder if that's what life amounts to -- a cold, clinical sentence on a government form. When the sun sets and the curtain closes, we become short stories. We become words on a page.

But this post isn't about that. Maybe we'll save that existential crisis for another time. Tonight, I'm fixated on the gravitational heft of a loaded firearm, because the statistics around suicide seem to confirm one idea:

you pull the trigger, but the trigger pulls you too.

There is a silent epidemic of gun violence in our nation, and it conceals itself in bedrooms and among the hushed conversations of traumatized family members. Beyond the drug-related shoot-outs and the accidental misfires, we have missed an entire world of victims -- those who commit suicide with a bullet.

I can already hear the clamor of objections in my head. "If a person wants to commit suicide, they'll find a way!"... right? Well, the facts seem to indicate otherwise. Studies show that firearms present a uniquely convenient method for self-harm, and in the absence of this opportunity, at least some people will choose to not go through with it at all.

Simply put, gun control has the capacity to save the lives of those who have suicidal thoughts.

There are many readers who will vehemently refuse to believe this idea no matter the evidence, and this phenomenon itself is a tragedy. In the last several years, our nation has faced a crisis wherein people believe their own imaginations before they believe the work of scholars or journalists. I pinpoint the racist birther movement (AKA "Obama is a muslim foreigner") with the rise of this mindset. That movement was the beginning of the end for critical thinking.

One would be wise to tread carefully anytime the words "I imagine..." could be used to support your case. (I imagine) a mass shooter will always find a way to inflict harm. (I imagine) that a suicidal person will go through with it no matter what. (I imagine) that Sandy Hook was a false flag operation. Ideas lacking in evidence are products of your imagination -- you must recognize that to embrace any semblance of rational thought.

But I digress. The facts seem to indicate that the specter of suicide is aggravated by the presence of firearms -- so what do we do about that? Well, other countries have seen a marked decline in suicides by gun after enacting stricter legislative controls on firearms, but that seems to be a totally lost cause in our country. If the myriad of violence we've witnessed hasn't moved our leaders, nothing will.

In essence, we have to be the change. We have to take action.

Our government won't protect us or preserve us; we must act on our own. The need for family intervention is critical -- if you detect that someone in your life may be in danger of harming themselves, do something about it. It's unfortunate that both mental health and gun ownership are such sensitive topics, because they intersect in such a tragic and profound way. Nonetheless, we must have the courage to approach this issue with compassionate and proactive dialogue.

If you know someone who may be at risk for suicidal behaviors, and they have easy access to a firearm, talk to them. Ask them if they need help finding psychiatric services, or ask if they think their firearm should be temporarily locked up or taken away. Offer to meet up with them regularly to talk about their struggles. Encourage honesty and transparency regarding self-harm. Do not let the awkwardness of the moment overtake the urgent need for action.

We may not be able to change the world, but we can change our world. With open, observant eyes and a willingness to speak up, we can prevent another life from being lost. The dire state of our surroundings  and the tragedies of yesterday beg us with two simple words -- do something.


Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

Humanity First. (Part 3)

There are times when a church pew can feel like a prison cell.

I have been there. I have found myself frozen in place, trapped beneath the watchful gaze of a preacher who has veered far from the path of reason or basic decency. And no, I am not referring to a long-winded preacher or a person prone to tangents. I am talking about the multitude of tiny tragedies that occur when a pastor values the faith of a person over their very human existence.

Before I go any further, I just want to say this: you don't have to keep reading. In this post, I am going to criticize ministers and the church in general. I realize that many people have a deep abiding affinity for a pastor somewhere, and that's okay. Please bear in mind that this blog is a place for me to dissect the misgivings of my own history. You don't have to make your case for why ministry isn't so bad, and if you feel the unstoppable urge to play Pastor's Advocate, please look away now.

Still with me? Great.

Because it's about to get real.

A woman commits suicide. A friend overdoses. A teenager dies in a car accident. No matter the sorrowful circumstances, pastors are often the ones that our community turns to for answers. Tragically, many clergymen compound the wounds that we receive by fumbling through a half-baked eulogy or an ill-timed altar call. They lose sight of the person because they're too busy seeking the believer. Why?

Perhaps it's because pastors often live in a bubble, wherein their entire world consists of professing believers and Bible scholars. Or maybe it's because they're not actually equipped to be counselors or therapists, though they often try to act the part. Regardless, here's what I know: in the wake of tragedy, the average person does not need platitudes or hollow religious gestures. They need you to see the fractures that run deep through their heart. They need someone to recognize the human in them.

After my mom took her own life, I didn't need to hear a pastor clumsily explain why God probably didn't damn her to eternal torture in Hell. I didn't need theology, I needed empathy. In those initial moments, I wasn't concerned with eternity. I was overcome with the trauma of the moment and the heavy burden silently and continually crushing me.

Look, I get it. Prayers and proverbs are the currency of the Bible Belt, but after my mom committed suicide, here's what I would have loved to hear from a pastor or someone similar.

I'm sorry that happened to you. That's fucking horrible. The universe can be so cruel sometimes. You didn't deserve this, and it's not your fault. (and if you find fault in the use of profanity in that circumstance, you're part of the problem.)

Instead, hurt and lost people congregate at memorial services and church gatherings, looking for answers, and they are smothered with superficial calls to the altar. Teenagers are brow-beaten in a flimsy attempt to be "scared straight". It doesn't work; it never works. These methods fail because they lose sight of the humanity in a desperate hope for more congregants.  In the wake of a tragedy, many pastors cannot disengage from their duty to expand the flock, even in the face of unspeakable horror.

Pastors and clergy are placed in a position where they can speak to the hearts of wounded and traumatized people, and so often, they fail. Perhaps it's a matter of training, or priorities, or insular church culture. Regardless, I know this: I want to recognize the profound and intrinsic value in every person.  I long to see a world where people are known for their innate worth, instead of their potential as a future disciple. So next time, let's drop the altar call and have a real conversation.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

Humanity First. (Part 2)

I spent the vast majority of my adolescence and young adulthood in a band. Overall, I look back with fondness over those years -- I met plenty of wonderful people (including my marvelous wife, Hannah) and crafted a heart full of fond memories. However, I reflect on all of this with some remorse as the season progresses.

This autumn marks a bittersweet anniversary.  You see, I was in a Christian band called The Avenger. We broke up about ten years ago in the fall. We eventually re-formed off and on, but it was never the same. Through our history, our group's interactions and motivations were colored with religious pretenses, and this particular dynamic played a role in our demise. In hindsight, I feel a sense of regret for losing sight of the humanity of my bandmates in the pursuit of holiness, or zeal, or passion. I should have been a better friend, embracing the humanity of my colleagues. (I discussed this Humanity First perspective in my last post... read it!)

There's a saying about losing sight of the forest for the trees. Sometimes, I think believers lose sight of the human for the Christian. Looking back, I realize that the people in my world needed an advocate, a person ardently championing their strengths and celebrating their virtues. A person cheering them on and deeply hoping for their betterment. They didn't need another pastor.

This frustration is a theme that has carved its path through virtually all of my musical experiences. I've been in many bands, and each one was unduly burdened with the expectation of faith adherence. We spent so many nights in The Avenger, arguing about smoking cigarettes or making out with girlfriends. We debated the rights and wrongs. We ostracized otherwise-valued friends. We detonated our connections with one another in pursuit of righteousness. Tragically, This pattern didn't end with The Avenger -- it followed me for years.

The drummer for The Avenger was my grade-school best friend, Ben Evans. I lost actual years of our friendship to a pathetic, legalistic line in the sand. That's not okay. It'll never be okay. I never want to do that to someone again.

I realize it's not fashionable to regret things... but I regret that. I feel sincerely disappointed about how religious obligation has skewed and strained my friendships with musicians for the past decade. It may seem petty to ponder such things, but the facts are simple... real people got mistreated; real relationships were fractured. All of these wounds were accumulated in the pursuit of God's hypothetical favor.

So, on the tenth anniversary of The Avenger's dissolution, I'm letting go. I'm letting go of the mindset that burns down friendships for the sake of the intangible. I'm letting go of my right to scrutinize and embracing the human in front of me instead.

BONUS -- Look up the album "To Cast Ourselves Aside" on Spotify. That's us. 

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

Humanity First. (Part 1)

Throughout history, people have tried their best to organize themselves in tidy little categories. I used to see the boundary lines -- I used to heed the demarcations. Now, I long to see the human that's buried beneath a multitude of nametags.

Every person on Earth is a human before they are a _______. I left that blank so you could insert whatever you hold sacred there -- "Christian", "heterosexual", "Caucasian".  Whatever, pick one. Beyond these identities, people are generally compelled by the same biological drives. They are more like you than they are different from you.

Psychology resonates with this same idea.  One look at Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs reminds us that people need to survive and feel a sense of basic safety before we can ponder much else.  We can furiously demand "holiness" (whatever that means to you) from society, but the simple fact is that unmet needs beat nebulous moral constructs, every time. We have to serve the human in others before we can expect to speak in lofty terms of theology or divinity.

Everyone you encounter is a human, first and foremost. I'm going to keep returning to this refrain because I think it bears repeating. We have to do more than acknowledge this as a fact; we must synthesize  it as a framework of our worldview. If you can connect with the inner humanity of others, you can learn to understand faiths, practices, and cultures that are different from yours.  Look past the veneer to the vulnerable person within.

Seek first to understand the humanity in others.  The woman wearing a hijab at the grocery store, or the man speaking Spanish at the bank may seem so utterly other to you.  They're not.  Their lives are governed by the same instincts and impulses as your own.  They grow hungry, tired, and lonely.  They want to survive and thrive.

Perhaps this concept of humanity first has become so prominent in my mind because I have seen it mishandled so profoundly, both in my life and in the lives of others. I used to be so judgmental, so certain of my place in this great cacophony. I used to be so preoccupied with the partitions between people. Now, I simply want to see past them.

I want to understand the humanity in those around me, regardless of the labels they've chosen or the ones that have been thrust upon them.  I have a lot to say on this topic because it is so near to my heart, and I have some stories to tell. I'll tell them soon. For now, I simply ask for you to reflect on the common personhood that transcends every boundary in your world.

PS -- I think "humanity first" sounds kind of like a populist presidential candidate's slogan, in some far flung year like 2092 when the robots have taken over. Humanity First!

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

Joy as a Discipline

Stop me if you've heard this one. 

It's been a tough year/decade/life. It's been a busy holiday season. You're sleeping less and working more. Whatever the reason, you've started to notice that your clothes fit a little tighter and you're moving a bit slower than you used to. The burden of a hectic schedule and a heavy workload is taking a toll, and it shows in your waistline.

We've all been there. What I find fascinating, however, is that our society is permeated with a distinct knowledge of how to overcome this plight. Virtually every person of sound mind knows the steps to improve their physical health -- move more and eat less. Make wise dietary choices. Sleep more. We have the answers to this state of physical disrepair, even if we choose not to follow them.

The same cannot be said for mental health. What do you do when you are depressed, or anxious, or overcome by irrational thoughts? What if you find your mind embroiled in something even more tragic, like suicidal ideology? Can you simply will yourself into wellness? We struggle to identify the problem, let alone the solution. Despite our society's progress, mental health is still highly stigmatized and misunderstood. We are not ingrained with a sense of caring for ourselves emotionally, spiritually, and mentally.

I have reflected upon this lack of emotional preparedness quite a bit lately. As I audit my own mental well-being, I have recognized the patterns of my daily and weekly behaviors and how they influence my mental state and my overall wellness. This means that, in some respects, mental and emotional wellness is a matter of daily practice.

So much of life is dictated by what you regularly do. Whether it's weight loss, or learning an instrument, or earning a college degree, self-discipline is the deciding variable in it all. As the saying goes, "we are what we repeatedly do." After what I've been through in the past few years, I want to pursue joy as a deliberate discipline in my daily life.

With all of that being said, here are a few ways that I have tried to interweave emotional wellness into my daily life. They are admittedly small changes, but that's the point -- they're reasonable in their ambitions. I'd love to hear about what works for you. Also, please bear in mind that these suggestions are minor behavioral tweaks that are meant to supplement a generally healthy mind. If you are wrestling with more profound mental issues, it may be imperative to seek professional help.  Anyway, here are my suggestions...

1.) Exercise

The science speaks for itself -- regular exercise releases endorphins in your brain that literally make you feel better and more at peace. Furthermore, when you begin to see results, you start to feel a fundamental sense of control over your life. Life is not just something that happens to you, and I believe this lesson is learned well as you pursue your physical wellness.

2.) Podcasts

The connections we make with people we don't know are curious, aren't they? Whether it's a group of guys on a popular Youtube channel, or a celebrity talk show host, we begin to feel connected with others even if they don't know us by name. Humans are biologically wired for community. Podcasts provide an interesting long-form connection with thoughts and ideas from around the world. Furthermore, many of them are genuinely hilarious and thought-provoking. I highly recommend the dark comedic fiction Welcome to Night Vale and the political comedy show Lovett or Leave it, just to name a few.

3.) Cheesy music

I was sitting in a therapist's office and I overheard another client, in an adjoining room, talk about how she had to avoid certain songs because of the emotional toll they took on her. As obvious as it may seem, this made me realize that the vast majority of music I listen to is neither fun nor joyful. In light of this, I've tried to steer myself into the direction of generally more upbeat music. A lot of classic rock, for example, has a kind of undeniable cheese factor to it -- and that's okay! Whether it's old tunes, comedy albums, or god-awful 90's pop hits, embrace the cheese. I bet it'll make you smile.

4.) Catharsis

I am passionate about writing and music, as you probably know. These creative avenues can provide a profound therapeutic benefit -- in fact, that's one of the reasons I started this blog. However, you do not have to be a dyed-in-the-wool artist to pursue cathartic experiences. Journaling, for example, can be a simple and effective means to explore your thoughts in a new medium. If you are interested in the arts, I would implore you to pursue them as a continuing discipline in your life -- these efforts will pay off over time.


Again, these have helped me immensely, but the daily pursuit of joy and wellness may look different for you. The question that must be answered is this: what does your path to joy look like? What brings you a sense of wellness and wholeness?  Find that path and pursue it as a deliberate discipline. We must all grasp a fuller picture of what it means to be mentally and spiritually well -- we need to understand our daily struggles and the road to recovery from them.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

The Audacity of Certainty

What do you know to be true... and how do you know it?

In the aftermath of our experiences over the past few years, Hannah and I have re-calibrated our worldview from virtually every possible angle. As I consider our journey, I find myself less concerned with the specifics of what people believe, but instead how they came to these conclusions. It's the process that matters. Every person needs to understand the mechanisms that drive their core values.

Most people live their everyday lives without even glancing at the internal machinery that drives them. Right vs. wrong, good and evil... we all have basic presuppositions that guide our behavior. Often, our values are some indistinct conglomeration of how we were raised, who we spend time with, and where we get our information. A Muslim raised in northern Africa has been imprinted with a certain impression of truth that may conflict a great deal with the opinions of a Southern Baptist child in Alabama. So... who is actually right?

I'm not here to make that call.... I just want to understand myself and the world around me. I want to recognize the components of the machinery.

Looking back upon my former self, I am astounded by my prior sense of certainty. I was sure of so much, and I continually reinforced so many baseless conclusions in my mind. Now, I've come to find that the notions I once considered stone-cold facts will easily disintegrate under the slightest scrutiny. Especially when it comes to the unseen and intangible, certainty is often a kind of audacity.

As I mentioned in My Daughter's Revelation, I believe we could spend a lifetime searching for the big answers: is God real.... is He good... does He care? In that light, it seems downright audacious to assume moral high-ground on the more minor issues. If we believe that honesty is a basic moral virtue, we have to first be honest with ourselves. 

When you examine the truths about faith or morality you hold dearest, ask one question: how do you know? If you cannot quantify, measure, or observe this concept that you're so sure about, then perhaps it's not as rock-solid as you think. It's time for reasonable people everywhere to parse the difference between knowing and believing, between theory and reality.  False certainties build a partition between us and the dreaded other. We have to bridge that divide.

My outlook is simple now: I want to be sure of the certain things, and I want to be open-minded about the uncertainties.  Anything less would be profoundly dishonest. As I tread the path laid out before me, I want to be a person in continual pursuit of knowledge, instead of a fool who hoards the scraps he's already found.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

The Infernal Seed

Sometimes I think the four most damning words in the English language are

             what could have been.

This idea, like a seed, implants itself inside our minds. It can take root in any soil -- your family, your career, your passions -- and once it buries roots within, it drains you. It steals your joy and warps your perspective. It damns you to a life spent wondering "what if?". If you're not careful, it can leave you as a hollowed husk, pining for another life that never came to pass.

I can sometimes feel that seed blooming in my mind. You see, I wasn't close with my mom. Therefore, it would be dishonest to summarize my reaction to her suicide as merely grief or missing a loved one. It's more complicated than that. Instead, I'm left wondering what I could have done or what signs I missed.

My mother spent her life wrestling with deep and abiding issues. She had mental health issues, and I believe she may have had some substances issues too. Where is the line between the two? It's hard to say. This massive weight on her shoulders was composed of two parts, but indistinct in terms of where one ended and another began.

In light of this, we grew distant. I had two young children, and I often felt wary of getting too close to my mom. I knew she lived an erratic lifestyle and maybe, subconsciously, I knew something like this was possible. A sudden departure. Imagine what would happen if my children had been truly close to her?

This is the dilemma that haunts me. This is the seed taking root. I feel like I've been yolked with a heavy load, a question that cannot be answered. I ponder what could have been. If I had been closer to my mother, would she have spared herself? Would she still be around? If so, the decision to be distant was a dreadful one.

But what about the opposite? What if we had been close? What if my children knew her on very familiar and affectionate terms, and then she took her own life anyway? The devastation of having a grandparent kill themselves.... the toll that would take on a 5-year-old and a 7-year-old. That would have been unforgivable.

Indeed, I feel like the entire dilemma I was placed into is unforgivable. That's the word I keep going back to. Whether it was genetics, or happenstance, or fate... I have been forced into a scenario where I had two potentially life-ruining options. That's unforgivable.

And yet, as I consider all of this, I don't want to be robbed of my future by the misery of my past. I don't want to become a hollow imitation of myself. I have to uproot the infernal seed that longs to leave me mesmerized with notions of what could have been. I have to press forward with the path I've taken and the conclusions I have seen unfold. I have to accept life as I've lived it.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

My Daughter's Revelation

Children, in their relative innocence and earnestness, can be a source of great insight.  I've had so many ideas simmering on the back burner of my mind for months and years.... and yet, something my younger daughter Maebry said awhile back has proven to be all the clarity I need.

Let me tell you a little story.

We used to have a wonderful cat named Baymax. He was a beloved pet and a welcome addition to our family, until he was killed by a neighborhood dog in our yard. This traumatic experience was deeply unsettling to our children, but Maebry took it the hardest. She cried off and on for months. She brought it up constantly. One day, when she was perhaps 3 or 4 years old, I asked her why she couldn't get past this loss. This is what she said:

"I loved Baymax, and God let him die. So God's not good."

In that moment, I was at a crossroads. How would you respond to that? Perhaps the proper Christian(TM) response would be to chastise her for this reckless and freewheeling thought process, but I recognized the sorrow in her words. It's a place many people have visited on their journey of faith. I was not going to admonish her for thinking, concluding, reacting. I want my daughters to be, above all else, rational and well-reasoned students of the universe. I'd rather raise my daughters as rational thinkers in search of the truth, than mindless adherents who are convinced they've already grasped it.

In her simplistic statements, Maebry discovered a much deeper revelation. We could spend a lifetime answering these questions: God, are you real? Are you good? Are you listening? And yet, churches, scholars and pastors spend so much time fretting over the minutiae of belief.

 Maybe belief is, in part, the product of circumstance. Maybe faith is a privilege for those who haven't been crushed by life's weight.  Maybe every person has a breaking point, a fault line running deep down in their soul. I am convinced that there's something that could happen to each person that would shatter their preconceptions.... it just hasn't happened, if you're fortunate.

This line of thought has captivated my attention so many times when I consider the scope of world history. Whether it's thousands of years of women being oppressed, or the North Atlantic slave trade -- which was really a form of genocide -- it seems audacious to demand belief from someone who has seen the profound darkness of this life. How can I insist that God is good, or even real, to someone who has lost their loved ones, or watched their homeland turn to rubble? How can I condemn a person for what they've concluded from the totality of their evidence?

It is a moral imperative to afford others the latitude for doubt and disbelief. And If I can grant them the space to think freely, I have to do the same thing for myself. So I have resolved to no longer feel ashamed or guilty about what I believe or where I am in my journey towards the truth. I am, above all else, a learner, hoping to make sense of everything I've witnessed.

I am in a place of uncertainty, and that's okay.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

A Tragic Misdealing

The universe is cruel.

We often take for granted this simple truth. We bundle it in mundane trappings, repeating phrases like "life's not fair", as if this is something to be easily understood and waved away nonchalantly. For anyone who has seen the pitch-black core of a traumatic experience, "life's not fair" is an oversimplification. This trite phrase should be wrestled with, pondered, taken apart and put back together. It should make us pause for a moment in reflection.

I don't like playing cards. I don't like the chance that's involved in it -- so much of your success is dependent upon pure probability. You can be dealt a bad hand. There's a lot of talk about nature versus nurture... but what about choice versus chance? No matter how good you are at poker or spades, one thing is certain: it's not purely a game of skill. Neither is life.

In cards, we recognize the idea of the misdeal. Misdeal is defined as "a hand dealt wrongly". I'm haunted by the fact that I've witnessed this phenomenon in life, as well. I've seen a tragic misdealing in my mother -- her afflictions and her burdens. That's why I can no longer just accept that life's not fair.

I don't just mourn my mom's death -- I mourn her life. A hand dealt wrongly. Certainly, she made a series of poor choices, as we all have, but she was also dealt a criminally atrocious hand. By God, by nature, by the universe. Whatever you want to call it, I'll call it a miscarriage of justice.

The complexity of existence, the probability of life. These are the things that occupy my mind. These are the shadows that pace back and forth in my head. My feelings about my mother's suicide are like a tangled ball of yarn. I wish they were simple notions like "I miss her" and "I wasn't expecting this". Those things may be a component of the truth, but there's so much more... and I can't untangle it all.

For now, I know this: the universe is cruel, and whatever mechanism that doles out the cards must be questioned, examined, considered. Those of us who have been privileged with a sound mind and favorable genetics cannot shield our eyes and preserve our precious ignorance. We have to face the reality of life's injustices.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. Click here for information on how you can find mental health resources for yourself or a loved one. 

A Series of Implosions

"What the hell happened to you?"

This is a question I've been asking myself a lot lately. It's a curious phenomenon when you feel jarred by the reflection in the mirror. I suspect many people are wondering the same thing -- what's going on with Ray and Hannah? The changes of the past two years have been precipitous, to say the least. I am not blind to the drastic about-face that has occurred in our lives. My wife and I used to be treading an utterly different path.

I am not ignorant to the fact the we used to be highly visible people. We were the ones with stances, opinions, feelings, and callings. We bore our hearts on our sleeves and we fleshed out our convictions for the world to see.  Naturally, friends and family would be curious as to what happened to spark this sudden shift.  Honestly, I want to grasp some understanding too.

Our life has been altered by a cascading series of implosions.  From my vantage point, I can identify three pivotal moments that foreshadowed the collapse.

1.  The death of our ministry aspirations

     We spent the better part of a decade relentlessly pursuing ministry, both as a passion and as a vocational path.  We hinged our life's trajectory upon it.  We toiled, we gave, we wore ourselves down... and then, one day, it all caved in on us.  It wasn't our fault and it wasn't our doing.  And yeah, we were pissed about it.  We were crippled both logistically and spiritually.  This event caused us to recalibrate our entire perspective of church, faith, and "calling".  The entire experience left us drained and infuriated.  This institution we had leaned upon was suddenly absent.

2.  Our awakening to the wider world of suffering

     We have always followed politics as a matter of intellectual curiosity, but we began delving deeper into the morass that became the 2016 election cycle.  With that, we also awaekened to the reality of gender and racial disparities in our nation.  As we removed our optimistic church goggles, we found a world history littered with harm.  Millions of people suffering. Injustice abounding through the ages.  This left us with a host of principles and values that were formed by the truth of human history and factuality, instead of dogma and Christian orthodoxy.

3.  My mother's suicide

     About eight weeks ago, my mother took her own life.  We had a complicated relationship, and she had a very troubled journey throughout her time on Earth.  Because of this, sentiments like "I'm sorry" and "I'm praying for you" just don't cut it.  My mind has become filled to the brim with intrusive thoughts about the cruelty of the universe.  The levy has been breached, and I am no longer afraid to doubt, to question, to reinent my opinions of God or mankind.

We have seen the tragedy of existence in our personal lives and in the grand scope of history.  We've seen our dreams burn and our preconceptions went up in flames along with them.  In light of these implosions, we have emerged as something totally different... and I am at peace with that.

In these pages, you will find questions without answers. You will find doubt. You will watch as I unravel my prior opinions and presumptions, dissecting them piece by piece.  I don't want your pity -- I desire something much more lasting: understanding.

So this blog is for the person who's been cast astray by the unforeseen collision.  This blog is for the person who's picking up the pieces.  If I write something that offends you, know this: I am not here to burn down your beliefs, I am here to sift through the wreckage of my own.  Don't look away -- stare steadfastly and search for a deeper truth. If nothing else, you will discover the raw honesty of the human experience.