A better "Bob".

Chic-o-sticks and fun dip delivered from him. Seedy in a sea of cigarette smoke and dirty shelves, a new face in a small town; how was it always a new face? That was the cycle at Decker's depot. We're talking about 18 years of it. I grew up there. Not at Decker's per say, but I grew up in a town where such a place could not only exist but actually become a staple of functionality.

Recently - an odd word to define. Well, it seems recent anyway that the reflection of the past is not recognizable in the glass of the new surroundings. Decker's is still there; I am not. Hence the new reflection in this blog.

From white bread to free range crickets, from dusty trails to dusty trails, from humidity to... surroundings give context to understanding. Some things are different here. Some things are the same.

One of my friends says that "people don't change. they just get closer to center."

Grasping at a collection of memories that seem to paint a different picture, change seems pretty obvious. (insert json formatted aside) {"soliloquy" : "you might not know me; I choose the word 'grasping' to describe the access issue. Being conversationally on point is easy when we're standing in the stream - the present doesn't flow by, it's always right there. But standing in a stream means that at some point in time, one had to get there, and that's why I'm grasping. Fishing out a penny that was dropped along the way, well, that's laughably (if you like me) difficult. Maybe that's why I used to hang out with the Christians; they could forgive me when I lost my keys." , "meta comment" : "using the word penny? Hmmm...I wonder what kind of priority I place on a change/fix for such 'minor' things. I mean honestly, to others this penny is a rare gem, a monumental story, life's most important material good. I'm just trivializing the challenge or significance of entertaining it. Just thought that I'd admit that fact to you."}

The point is that memories, however shattered, can make individualism seem like a recycled dream or possibly a stunning turn in a memoir that no one will ever read. The Christians used to answer my questions with responses that boiled down to, "God works the big picture and you don't see it", but either did they. Saying that "people don't change [because they drift towards actualizing a static state of identity]", well, this seems like a similar response. A question starting with "how" is probably the wrong direction: how could we ever know when we're moving towards or away from center? That would be nice to know. I just doubt that answering that question is as important as recognizing the major premise: center exists.

I'm sure that you won't let me lay down a claim without a battle. You'll at least stop me and stay, "Well, maybe." I'll do the same for you.

So I'm going to start an argument. Ready?

The big picture isn't obvious when we're making claims like "people don't change". We can't see that centralized concept of self with it's gravity pulling us through awkward changes, releasing us from anxiety when it's alignment is satisfied. You could argue that we can feel it, but if there is a center, maybe it should be battled like any other dull whim that doesn't deserve a creative licence in this world. I reckon this situation to being a "Brian" with an center that craves to be a "Bob." I don't want to be a freaking "Bob"! =]

Seriously though, assume that center exists. It's existence may not be predicated on goodness and as such we shouldn't necessarily steer our lives to reconcile it's needs.

Ok, now let's back up. What I'm suggesting might be impossible.

Let's stay that center exists. I've suggested that we can fight against it. However, it's also quite possible that center may be cloaking itself in our intuition. As such, the "Bob" would be completely undiscoverable yet always active. We couldn't help but drift towards center.

Shoot. At this point, my two pronged conclusion might need some Fun Dip from the newest form of Stranger Danger at Deckers.

1.) Center is not inherently good. [I'm going to leave this claim and let someone prove otherwise]

2a.) If it is recognizable, then it's desires should be carefully judged even at the risk of increasing levels of internal discomfort (heaven forbid!).
2b.) If it is not recognizable, then give in to "Bob" simply because it is my internal compass against which I just all things. Battle is not possible.

So I have a question about changing "Bob". Let's say that I can't recognize my "Bob". Maybe other people can recognize him. Eh? Maybe, just maybe, that's why community is so important. Again, eh?Well, actually, community won't matter unless one thing is true: community needs to be able to be part of "Bob" alteration or else it's just finger waving at a brick wall. So then, I wonder:

Can community be the key to adjusting an unrecognizable internal compass named "Bob"?

We are now at the point of this post. I value friendship. The presence of 'community' gives friendship meaning (for me). And I miss you all.

To all of my friends who try to help me drift towards a better "Bob", I love you.

ROAD to wear

Golden to Denver seemed like a much more interesting ride when suddenly this thought occurred to me. What if capitalism morphed into a choice driven opportunity that focused on rewarding those who most rewarded others?

Let's assume a state takes on this idea. I'm now curious. Given my affection for biking, what quality of bikes will this state produce? I'm serious (think about the larger implications of this discussion). Furthermore, how will we determine who is most rewarding others?

On my short drive from Golden to Denver, I think that I went from wanting to change capitalism to understanding its necessity. Unless we're going to make communism a reality such that we focus on trying to make all distribution of wealth equal without regard to effort, then I think we're doing ok.

So I must ask, why is my government shutting down if we're doing ok? Something must be really screwed up in the philosophy that our economy breads if we can shutdown a government during already difficult economic times.

movedly

We love what we do, so we do it well.

It can be quite a risk to take that statement and let it invigorate my decision making.

My goal: let it happen.

STATUS: Q13

Comics can create cavelike chaos in the shadows that they cast. On the way into my office, one newspaper comic, among the many taped on my office door, caught my eye. The humor was as apparent as the meaning.

Man says: "...You can only feel alive and whole when other's are listening to you. What do you think?"

His friend: "About what?"

I have a friend who once told me that when he dies, he wants others to look back on his life and say, "Oh, I get it..but not all of it." This friend is an artist and he does some pretty wild things with his interactive art (including placing live piranhas in a kid's swimming pool so students can fish for them by wrapping meat around toy soldiers tied to the end of fishing line). He has much more abstract moments than the piranhas, but even then he seems to have some sense of wanting to be thought about, considered, and maybe not fully understood, but at least someone is making an effort. I like him for his creativity and consistent friendship. Hopefully, I'll make an effort to listen to the lyrics of the song that his artwork plays.

In my own life, it's fascinating to recognize truth. Sitting in the shadow of my own self, not for the sake of being acceptable, is more common than not because of the difficulty in sustaining the energy required to give more than a barley listening conversation. It hurts to participate in this act as much as it does to receive it. This past year, I got hit square in the jaw by what felt like a 300lb non-communicative fish taco. I put myself in the line of fire, but seriously, it was more than just a minor misunderstanding. Both of us produced the end result: a real absence of listening. I've been rethinking my actions ever since and recognized a little truth; the shadows can become home even when it's the last place that you want to live.

It's time to stop counting 13 ways to keep dawn's dim daylight at a distance. Turn around and watch the sunrise with me. We'll let the light showcase our full faces...and just maybe, we can learn to love what we see. If that's too vague, try this on: LET'S TALK. ALL OF US.

Pa-shun

For the long days at work that should have been lived outdoors on a bike, I handle a friendship for growing up in those frustrations that breath life into a now altered existence. For who can forever groan in pains of labor? There's a train traveling through my house, destroying all I thought that I held dear. Carbon frames, King bottom brackets, and a kit that screams "I am;" it all got laid to waste in this dream that found the shores of a lonely tide rolling in screaming streaks of moonlit wonder. I could see the reflection of my youth standing right in front of me and it reminded me of me. "There will be an answer, let it be." So I sat back and stared into the clouds designed to eerily paint the only light in the sky. Whispering now, it came through with a religion that left nothing to measure. There was no comparison to be made, just a simple tug at my voice. Who am I apart from the rest of the world's chalk line snapped high on a slippery overhang? Impossible to be, then my voice became. I heard it roll through the night like a hungry wolf howling for something beyond itself. The mood seemed to wrap itself around the orchestra passionately playing for the right to recreate a perfectly timed melody. Out of my shoes and onto the sand running so that time could not find me, the last ounce of strength was spent tearing out all that seemed to resist the freedom of embracing a measureless pride.

This, my friends, is how it feels to race for a cause. Come ride a bike with me and I guarantee you'll discover your passions. Together with good people, a team is being formed that will turn bikes into a curiosity that makes a wake worth noticing. You should be on this team.

tucked home

History, even that of personal experience, can be lost. This trip home has already reminded me of missing what I did not know that I miss. I miss my mother's home all the way from the tree filled backyard to the stuffed animals that accent the mommy decorum. Quite frankly, I miss my mother. She drove through the night to love me with hospitality that only a momma can give. I am staying in a home who knows nothing of me, yet I feel like my entire childhood lives in the walls. I feel at home; what a strange thing to forget. Home: what a wonderful thing to find again. I am thankful for my momma.

Translating antiwar heros

Who wants war? I find myself undereducated on the necessity of war; however, even in my bliss of ignorance, I know that I would prefer to vote a president into power that would go to great lengths to avoid war.

Without an expert to aid me, I'm going to conclude that the cause of all wars is perspective. The lack of at least one party's effort to understand why the other party thinks or acts a certain way, this my friend is the beginning of war.

If you don't want war, how do you live? All of my friends seem to accept as truth the statement that war is not a good option. If you're like me and think that war generally sucks, consider your options the next time that you face conflict. It's one thing to be opinionated and another to avoid understanding (not just knowing) the perspective that others take. Take perspective!

To sit down with a foe and look them in the eyes while listening to their take on life is to see them as they are: lovable, like me, like you.