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.