.010 The Question and Space of "Why"

I spend a large portion of my week taking care of children. Just over two months ago I was learning from slideshows and lecture notes, and now I've gone straight back to the basics. These smart, wild, hilarious little humans have a way of opening my perspective through their raw honesty and mistakes. They always surprise me with their perceptive questions and the way I learn about life when I spend time with them.

I'm trying to teach one of these boys that other people can't read his mind. He has a very distinct vision of how he thinks things should go, mostly in the world of his imagination, and if we unintentionally mess with that, the world crumbles. We go from carefree bliss to emergency situation in less than two seconds. It keeps us alert, to say the least. We're working on it.

It reminds me of myself, sometimes. In my head I have all of these dreams and goals and I have a general plan about how to get there. I can get ahead of myself, though. I can write out my future like it is fact, rather than remembering that life is unpredictable and, really, nothing goes exactly according to plan.

It is easy to get upset when your plan changes, though. When you think you are on one track and suddenly it seems to swing completely off course, it is easy to switch into emergency mode. When you are so focused in one direction, it is hard to imagine that another way can possibly exist. When we're stuck in that place, the first question to hit the air is usually "why."

 Why me? Why this? Why now?

Why. Why. Why. It can drive your mind in circles.

The space of "why" is a tough one because there aren't really any rules of how to navigate it. I've been thinking over this one for a long time. The other day (and this is going to completely expose the nerdy, boring things I sometimes do in my spare time) I was reading through one of my English criticism textbooks, and I came across a chapter that talks about how to read intelligently and critically. Suddenly, the dots connected and I realized that what I was reading directly related to working through the space of "why."

So lesson #1: do not discount the wisdom of your textbooks. They have a reputation for being dry and boring but once in a while they contain slices of profound truth.

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In English criticism, we talk about three ways that we can interpret meaning from a text. One way is to try to guess what the author is trying to communicate, as if there was another hidden layer to the text. This angle tries to come up with some deeper meaning to the text based on what the author might be indirectly saying.

The second way we can read a text is to create our own meaning. We all have experiences in our lives that sometimes connect to something we are reading and, because of that, the text can mean something very individual to us. The author probably didn't write it thinking of your exact situation, but the way you read it is interpreted through the lens of your circumstances or your life or however you are choosing to personalize it.

The third way is to just look at the text itself. We don't cloud things over with trying to figure out what the author was trying to say and we don't add our own experiences into the text. We take it at face value. The text is the text in its raw form.

What I mean by all the above is that there are three things involved when we encounter a text: the author, the reader, and the text itself. In the same way, when we are analyzing our life circumstances- and I'm going to talk from a Christian perspective, here- there are three things involved: God, you, and the situation. You can take this to three different extremes if you follow one singular approach.

1. God (in place of the author): We can try to understand God too much. We can overanalyze and attempt to tease out a metaphysical reason for what we are going through. We wrestle with pinpointing exactly what God is up to. We sometimes chase "signs" or assign a deeper meaning to mundane instances. In this place, we say things like: "maybe God is doing this because of..." or "if this happens, that must mean...." We don't know God's mind, though. We can only see what we are given in the present circumstance.

2. You (in place of the reader): In this extreme, the focus is all on you. You must have done something to deserve this. You made a mistake. It's all your fault. This circumstance is happening specifically to you because it is a punishment or a consequence. You burden yourself. You turn all the connecting incidents into some kind of link in a chain. It's all on you.

3. The situation (in place of the text): This is where the situation becomes everything. It is all you can think about. It blows up to an overwhelming and disproportionate size. Suddenly everything is affected by what is happening. You can't see God and you can't see yourself or anything else properly beyond what is happening to you in the moment.

So what are you to do? You're hashing through the nasty space of "why." How do you get through it?

Two things. First, I'm a person who values balance and I think that one approach, both in literary criticism and in life, can be restricting. I think that we have to learn to develop a balance of looking at God, you, and the situation as described above. That means building up a layer of prayer and talking to wise people and looking deeper at yourself. It means asking hard questions or maybe allowing yourself to grieve or listen openly. You, God, the situation- you've got to circle the angles to grasp a full picture.

Second. In my textbook, I came across a list of questions to consider when we, as students, approach a reading. Two questions seemed appropriate to ask while working through a tough spot in your life as well. I substituted the word "situation" for "text":

Question #1: Is the piece of the situation you are looking at the whole of the situation?

Often we start to ask "why" while we are in a period of waiting. We don't know the outcome yet, so we frantically try to build up something solid to stand on. We like security. We fear the unknown. We try to create stability through probing for understanding. This is where the "why" question is rooted.

When the boy I'm babysitting has a meltdown, it is often because he only sees a part of the whole. He only sees a slice of the overarching picture, whether that is because of a narrow perspective or intense emotion or whatever. He often gets so wrapped up in a detail that he cannot see beyond the present moment or what he is feeling at that second. If he would quit locking onto the little thing that is frustrating him, he would probably see that we're not all against him, or that the situation is actually fair, or that he's just hungry and that is why he's in a bad mood.

So maybe you are only seeing a part of the whole right now. Yes, that part can be absolutely painful sometimes. You might have to pause and grieve or yell or breathe sometimes. You might feel like you are crawling through. At that moment, someone telling you that "this too shall pass" might not sound helpful. The truth is, though, that you are where you are and you are probably not at the end yet. That end might make sense and reveal a reason for the situation, or you might get to the end and still not really understand why it happened. You might understand more about yourself or about God because of it, though. That doesn't exactly make it better or always worth going through, but it can develop you as a person. There is much of the road to walk, still.


Question #2: Do aspects of the situation have obvious connection? (parallels, contrasts, irony)

This question might not help you find out why, but it might help develop your character through the "why" season. The way this happens for me is that usually when I go through hard situations, it teases out a part of my character that I need to work on. (Examples: assertiveness, leadership, integrity, relationships, self-confidence, trust, etc)

As time goes on, I'll notice that I keep coming up against places where these weaknesses get tested. These are the parallels and contrasts- and I have the choice to figure out how to become better in these places, or to sit back and stay the same.

For example, in grade 12 I knew that I had leadership skills that I was simply allowing to stay dormant. I also knew that I was letting myself be quiet and shy in a very selfish way. Then I was voted to be co-editor of a student literary journal near the end of first term. That prospect absolutely terrified me. It meant speaking up and making decisions and having opinions and managing teams of people. I wanted to stay in the background with all of my heart. I almost laughed when I found out because it was the exact thing that I didn't want to have happen to me (irony). The situation presented itself at the same time as I was wrestling with some of my own (directly related) insecurities and I knew that it couldn't be just a total coincidence.

I could have said no. However, I knew that this was an opportunity to develop my character. I knew there was potential there, as terrifying as it was. I knew there was a high risk of failure. I also knew that, realistically, I'd probably make some mistakes, learn from them, and make it through. So I said yes. That experience changed me in profound ways. It was uncomfortable and stretching and stressful at times, but on the other side I gained confidence, a better sense of how to be a leader, new friends, and so much more.

Of course, I had a choice in that example. Sometimes we find ourselves tossed into places that we never would have signed up for voluntarily and we can't get out of it. But you can find a way to get through it. I refuse to say "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" but there is a reason that phrase is as cliche as it is. There is a wisp of truth in it.

In some situations, though, that phrase is almost insulting. In the middle of deep grief or a disaster, it doesn't help to think that this is all for a reason. You don't need reasons or rational answers at that point. You need people to surround you and you need space to allow yourself to grieve and heal.

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Finally, aside from those questions, a little wisdom for the journey from English criticism, slightly paraphrased by me.

"It is probably best not to interrupt your reading to work more mechanically through a checklist of questions. Better, in such circumstances, to refer to such a list after. At a later stage in your thinking, you may be able to fill out your ideas by comparing the viewpoint you have developed with other perspectives..." (18)

What does this have to do with anything? Well, usually we ask the question "why" when we are right in the middle of a hard place. We stop and want answers. We demand clarity. The problem is that we aren't at the end yet. Usually things make more sense when we look over our shoulders. Sometimes we just can't know why at the time because it would just confuse us or overwhelm us more. We don't often get clarity through banners in the sky, as nice as that would be. Usually "why" gets answered "at a later stage" when our perspective has changed enough to understand it.

To gain understanding, you must move forward. You might be sprinting or limping or even crawling. You might even have to pause and be still or get yourself together, but you must move forward somehow. Clarity will come: although sometimes the clarity we want isn't the "clarity" we get in the end.

"Finally, how can you deal with having no information with which to answer a given question?

First, you should not see this as a permanent setback; a question in need of an answer identifies something specific to look into, and there are many ways of finding things out.

For many questions we ask, no single, definitive answer exists; only a range of answers put forward by other people who have asked and investigated the same questions before. Such answers may be immensely informative and insightful.

Reading for 'meaning' is a matter of interpretation rather than tracking down a single correct answer" (18-19)


Sometimes there is no reason why. Sometimes bad things simply happen. It's not you. It's not God punishing you. It is simply the ugly, broken, unfair world we live in. I mean that with the deepest sympathy.

"There are many ways of finding things out." It might be a phrase you read. It could be a picture or an event or any kind of epiphany. "Why" isn't a bad question to ask. It just isn't the last question you should ask. There are many ways to gain an answer. There are many questions other than "why."

There are older, wiser people who have walked the road before you. Seek out those people, ask honest questions, and value their responses. It might not give you solid answers, but it can give you an idea of how to move forward, or even just the comfort of solidarity. It is community that helps us through these hard spots.

What this all comes down to is that the answers are not always the most important thing. Answers aren't always the comfort we are seeking. The journey is the substance.

Sometimes the answers come quietly, ushered in with the small grace of today.


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When you ask "why," what you really want is a road map. You want to see what is next. You want to know you'll be ok. You want to grab onto something solid while the ground is shifting and rocking underneath you.

In a way, we're all like the seven year old having a meltdown when something doesn't go our way because, when we are reminded that security is often an illusion, our lack of control scares us. Instead of dissolving into a panic, though, what is more helpful is learning how to work through the situation. Just like the seven year old who needs space and time and discipline in order to work through the problem, we might need to learn to be flexible, or change an old habit, or simply allow ourselves gentle space to process what is going on and make a new plan.

I've always been taught to take things one day at a time. So today, look at what you have and start there. The "why" will work itself out as the days stack up, and one day in the future you'll look over your shoulder and realize that you made it through.

Sometimes, in that place, "why" doesn't even matter so much anymore.






The textbook:

Montgomery, Martin, et al. Ways of Reading: Advanced Reading Skills for Students of English Literature New York: Routledge, 2013. Print.

.007 Codes

A lot of life is like trying to break a code. We're all trying to make things fit, trying to make things add up, trying to unhook what works and what doesn't and assemble our own little theories and philosophies according to personal experience. Sometimes we come across people who blast us with pointed opinions, or people who offer deep truths, and you can bet that something in their story taught them that. Something about it fits into their code and offers an explanation or clarity to them.

I'm not good at math, but some days I'd like a solid formula or two for life. Relationships, for instance: they are tricky, sometimes, with few concrete, overarching rules because relationships deal with two different people coming from two different stories with two different codes of life. If there were pre-set formulas to use in particular situations, there would be a lot less music in this world, fewer books, less art in general. Art helps us work through the code. It offers a sense of: "hey- I feel that too!" or "I understand" and it is all a journey of connecting pieces and lessons learned the hard way into a mosaic of healing and direction.

I think that community is sometimes a gathering of people who have certain matching aspects of their life codes. Some people, for example, cook or bake for therapy and this is why we have cooking clubs and cooking blogs and cookbooks and Pinterest boards dedicated to food. It is a way of gathering people who know that this is something that offers meaning and expression and a way to connect. It adds value to their life, and therefore it is part of their personal formula. Their code includes cooking because, for them, it has to. It is an essential, soul-filling practice that colours in one of those empty spots in life. When something fits into your code in that way, it means that it is important on a deep level. It means that this makes you a better person and that this gives you a sense of your purpose. This happens with book clubs and farmers and Engineering professors. We all operate according to our different codes. We're all attempting to understand the world with the interests and talents and spaces and relationships that have been given to us.

This is the best thing that I have learned in University so far: my way is not the only way and that isn't a bad thing. University is a garden of people, a zoo of ideas and opinions and my own have opened and shaken here. University is, in a sense, a really expensive way of becoming yourself through encounters with other people and their codes of life. Sometime you stumble upon a gem in someone else's code and it helps you understand something in your own code that didn't work before. This can happen in a lecture or late-night chats over pizza or overhearing a stranger's conversation. I don't think that University is the only way or the best way to grow into yourself, necessarily, but it is one way and, since I've been here, I appreciate how it has shaped me.

Although I discovered this whole code metaphor in University, I really think that this can be applied anywhere in life. We learn as much as we allow ourselves to learn. Some of us are more diligent or creative in solving our codes than others. I think that ignoring the code, or pieces of it, can lead to dissatisfaction and restlessness. It can happen when you get stuck on a formula that makes sense for other people, but just doesn't work for you. It is easy to feel overwhelmed by all of those blank spaces in your code, and it can seem too hard to draw meaning from it all. Your code can be daunting, possibly because of the potential for you to make a mistake, or maybe you just don't know where to start. Instead of exploring potential answers, we can sometimes latch onto certain things that offer escape or the illusion of meaning for us. These things can eventually look like addiction or chasing approval or constructing a false identity because figuring out the real one is scary.

We assemble our codes through art and community and science and personal experience. Sometimes we have to find it through a risk or a move or just by stopping and noticing. We solve the code by asking questions of ourselves and of others or maybe opening ourselves to new experiences and new ideas. Some mornings we wake up and just know that something is wrong on a fundamental level; something in our code needs to change and that is allowed to happen. You are allowed to make a mistake, to do a little guess and check, to admit that you were wrong about something important. You are allowed to acknowledge that your perspective is shifting or that you are growing up and it is time to change something that used to work but just can't anymore.

To work on the code, you have to take all the aspects of yourself into account: personality, abilities, interests, beliefs, relationships, talents, health, and fill in those blanks with truth and what lines up best with who you are. Solving the code is a journey of discovering what makes you whole and purposeful and then living as close to that version of yourself as you possibly can. The important part is the journey, the growth. The adventure of solving the code is what teaches you. It offers clues and metaphors and stories to collect and examine. Assembling it all is like a scavenger hunt of discovering your potential and purpose and how you aren't the most important thing that ever happened to the world, but maybe you can add a little colour or hope to your corner of it.

Call the code your life philosophy or mission statement or value system, but we all have one. It is the individual vision and unique combination of practices and priorities and principles that construct our "self" and, in turn, how that "self" interacts with others and engages with life. This code is dynamic and flexible through different seasons, but it is grounding and important to think about. I know that part of my code right now includes writing, stretching myself, talking to people even when I don't always feel like it, praying, drawing healthy boundaries, and staying present.

What are the practices, priorities and principles that are important to the code for your season right now? What is on your list of things that you need to remember to focus on, fill with, grow in, or learn from? What is the mantra or theme or pattern growing out of the place that you are living in at this time? What is your personal code?

.006 Defamiliarization {Or: Why I am Withdrawing from University}

When I dove back into school this September, I was expecting the transition to be smooth and easy. I thought I would pick up where I left off in first year, except this time I'd go to bed earlier and manage my time more effectively and eat more salad. I wanted to have a quiet semester: no spotlight, no major life decisions, no pressure. The healthiest thing, I thought, would be to live at a mature, steady pace for the next few months with intentional focus and direction.

That's what I thought.

In reality, rather than gaining healthy habits, I found myself walking around with a sense of aimlessness and feeling a little bit sick all the time. I played the piano for two hours a day, went on extended walks or runs, took pictures, made abstract sketches, wrote vignettes and bad poetry, and more: all on top of the other work my six courses gave me. It felt wrong, like something was constricted or cramped up and all of those extra things were my attempt at gasping for air or massaging out a tight spot.

Generally not one to make impulsive decisions based on a whim or emotion, I thought it was a phase. It would pass, I told myself. It had to. Despite this attempt at a positive mentality, however, I would still go to class and wonder what on earth I was doing there. I'd try to slide it away, hoping that this season would end quickly and that I'd start feeling fulfilled by my studies. September was almost over when an acquaintance asked me how school was going and I answered with a blunt: "I hate it," which took her slightly aback and surprised me even more.

At some point I started thinking about dropping out. I'd talked about it before, jokingly, but suddenly I began thinking about it seriously. I, the one who competed for grades, the one who followed the rules, was contemplating dropping out. This forced me to look at the situation and ask myself some honest questions: ones that, frankly, I really did not want to ask.

The next week of my life looked mostly like me having extended conversations about life with some very wise people and sketching out some other possible life plans. After much contemplation, I decided not to drop out. It seemed like the logical conclusion and the safest plan. I told those wise people not to let me talk about dropping out anymore. I wanted to stop shifting my allegiance and changing my mind. I wanted to stick to my decisions.

Essentially, this didn't work out for very long.

The reality is that trying to become someone you are not will almost always come up short, somehow. My massage therapist originally went to school to be an Engineer. I asked her how she went through all those years of school to become something she knew she wasn't. She told me that, somehow, you always end up coming back to what you were made to be. It might happen very late in life, the realization, or you might catch it early and turn things around, but eventually you'll explore, whether in thought or in deed, in hobby or in occupation, the person you were created to be. You'll come back to yourself: your story may just unfold in a more unconventional way.

Once I finally made the decision to withdraw, I fully committed. I cut ties, cancelled interviews, officially withdrew, wrote a proposal, and backed out of a contract. It was a huge hassle and it hurt at times, but every step felt closer to freedom and my motivation slowly returned.

My time at this University is coming to an end. My plans (and most of my back-up plans) include returning to school in September, studying the one thing I probably should have been studying this whole time, but I wouldn't allow myself to pursue (which is another discussion entirely). This means, though, that I have a huge empty space between now and September that did not exist before. I have some ideas of how it will be filled, and they mostly include people and writing and art and work. Beyond that, I don't know. It all feels terribly risky and irresponsible, but there's a freedom attached to it and doors continue to open for me, unwarranted.

There's a term we use in English Criticism called "defamiliarization." Essentially it is the idea that one of literature's functions is to show us a truth that exists unseen by revealing it from a different angle. It means that it usually takes something to knock us out of our "familiarized" state, out of our numbness, to shift us into a teachable posture. That's how I'm thinking about this space, this season. I'm in a defamiliarized state and I'm trusting that I'll grow more into the person I actually am as I take a few risks and learn old truths from new places.

.005 Watch for the Signs

I've noticed a pattern forming in my life, lately. It is one of those rhythms that forms subtly and seems to reflect my head space. It has to do with direction. I was scrolling through recent pictures that I've taken on my phone, and I noticed that there is a distinct theme of "going" threaded through them all. Tunnels, stairs, doors; they are all side-glances. They are all a motion from here to there.

One of my English profs constantly says: "watch for the signs!" Watch for the signs. Trace the repetition. Catch the hints. I'm seeing this principle carving itself into my daily life. If I'm reading the signs correctly, I'm in a phase of "going." I'm in one of those dynamic seasons where change and opposition seems to flare up with every step.

One of these changes is that I've decided to withdraw from University for a time. From December till September, I'll have a haze of empty space to fill and some days that is exciting, some days it is intimidating. I want to fill it well, educate myself outside of the classroom, use the freedom to reflect and to try some new things and to work. I want it to be a place of re-assembling and of laying low. I want to use it to prepare and to stretch and to catch my breath.

I'm always going. Moving and change and I are old friends. Now I'm cutting a huge hole of open, semi-stable time into the next year, which is something I've never done before. It is a little uncomfortable, to be honest, and I've been reflecting on it in quieter moments. This weekend I spontaneously took a bus home and during the trip, the middle ground, I thought about this motif of journey.

I love transformation. I love to push myself to do more, to make mistakes and learn from them. I love looking over my shoulder at where I've been. I'm always attempting to become someone better. That is usually a good, healthy thing. But what happens when I look up and notice that the space I'm in is not where I should be?

We're all on a journey of transformation, of becoming. Sometimes, however, this journey is not an exploration. Sometimes it resembles running away more than anything. There are pieces of ourselves that can be uncomfortable and scary. These are the things we know about ourselves, but would rather avoid. We'd rather stuff away this dream or this talent or this issue that we know exists within us but for whatever reason it comes wrapped in fear or hurt or insecurity. Maybe we're supposed to be running toward these things, pursuing healing or an edging open of ourselves, but instead we're running in the opposite direction and calling that our "journey."

These are the signs. Right now I'm closing doors and taking a new path. I'm changing directions and I think that is ok. It is ok to pause and check the map and be honest about the fact that you might be trying to follow a trail that isn't going to lead to the destination you thought it would. It is ok to take a break, re-evaluate, and chart a slightly new course.

Sometimes we grow out of our spaces. Sometimes we're trying to squeeze ourselves into a place we don't fit. Sometimes we place expectations on ourselves and need to be honest and admit that we'll never measure up to that constructed ideal in our heads. Sometimes we're just blindly blazing forward out of fear or a binding tunnel vision. What path are you actually on? Do you need to change directions?

Watch for the signs.

.004 Sometimes Making the Decision is the Hardest Part

I'm standing on the edge of a new threshold right now; the kind of place that knits fear and possibility together and smudges expectations. My future direction, the one I had so clearly laid out in my mind, has warped once again. I'm in a messy place full of decisions and I spend so much time wondering if I will do the right thing.

My sense of adventure and my sense of fear is split right down the middle right now. I'm taking a crazy step forward. I'm taking a calculated risk that could return great reward, but the road to that place looks tangled and ambiguous from this point of view.

I'm reminded again that I fear what I don't know, or what I think I can't do, and I wonder how often I've allowed this fear to govern me and cinch me into a place that was comfortable, but not necessarily right, or vice versa. There are many places that might not necessarily be noticeably damaging for us to live in, but it may not be the best place: the one we thrive in, the one where we are challenged and stretched and embraced and alive in.

In this place, I'm realizing that deviation and sketching out a new, and perhaps unconventional, path for myself is daunting.

Am I making the right choice?

Will I regret this?

Regret. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don't often deviate from the norm because I'm ducking away from potential regret. I cringe away from mistakes. They are uncomfortable. They uncover weakness and often force me to admit I was wrong. Past mistakes have a way of sneaking into everyday thoughts like a constant hum in the background, and sometimes they rise up and pinch.

What I'm learning here in the process of making decisions is this: everything leading up to the decision is often the most exhausting part. Flopping between "should I?" and "shouldn't I?" is mentally exhausting. I catch myself in the tension of whether to listen to my head or my heart. I run in circles with my thoughts, trying to uncover the "magic" solution.

Sometimes all of that back and forth confusion is a sign that you just need to make a decision. You might need to go to a quiet place and and get really honest, or sleep on it overnight, and then ask yourself "what do I really want on a deep, real level, even if I know it is hard or crazy or unpopular?" or "is all of this back and forth just fear?" You might actually know what the "right" decision is, but you may not be admitting it to yourself because finality is weighty and commitment is just scary sometimes.

What if you regret it?

Sometimes it seems easier to stay in that place of back and forth because you're afraid of making the decision. You're afraid that going ahead and taking the step might be the wrong thing to do when, really, the restlessness you are choosing to live in is the very signal you've been praying for. It is the sign that is telling you that this is the wrong spot. You've grown out of it. You're restless because you aren't content here.

Maybe it is a sign that you need to make the very decision you thought you would never seriously consider.

Maybe it is a sign that you just need to make a decision and stick with it.

I often find that when I brush up against uncomfortable situations or issues or choices in my life (especially if they come up repeatedly) it is almost as if God points and says "ok- we're going there. I didn't make you to shrink away in fear."

That could mean staying where you are or diving into a completely new space. That could mean taking responsibility or handing responsibility over to someone else. That could mean dusting off an old dream or saying no to a new one. That could mean sticking it out or it could mean letting it rest. That could mean saying yes or it could mean saying no.

Sometimes the road to the decision is the most difficult part but the actual decision, even if it seems like the hardest way, might surprise you with freedom and beauty and possibility. It might offer blessing in the last place you expect to find it. Yes, it might be hard. You might wake up with huge questions and a wave of fear might roll over you from time to time. It might even seem like the "wrong" decision sometimes. However, there is a long, scenic road ahead and someday the knots will be kneaded out. Someday you'll look over your shoulder and notice the difference between here and there and, perhaps, you may even feel grateful for the journey.

.003 Work:Rest

This week has been pent up with stress and work and somehow we're still smiling over here.

It might have been the extra course (or two) that I took on this semester, but I'm suddenly finding that my workload has exploded and I'm applying to jobs for co-op like nobody's business and I'm attempting to have some kind of social life beyond my isolated desk chair at the risk of losing touch with the substance and beauty of the outside world.

Yesterday I took a walk in the sun, absorbing as much natural vitamin D as possible before winter closes in and really locks us indoors, and it felt indulgent and freeing and human in a centring kind of way.

I think that is what I'm re-learning this week. There is a balance of work and rest in life and we're called to both. Investing in work and detail is essential to finding purpose and meaning in life, but when that work:rest ratio becomes distorted, so do you. So does perspective. You will feel it when something inside feels a little bit shaky and restless and your thoughts start to circle and tighten up like they are being squeezed into a space that is a size too small. You'll feel it when the knots in your neck remind you that you've been staring at your computer screen for too many hours in succession without a break. You'll feel it when something about the day starts feeling stale or blunted, as if you've overstayed your welcome.

We know this, but we all need a reminder, too, now and then. We can't continue to produce high-quality output without investing in rich and fulfilling input. This is a lesson I've had to re-learn multiple times over. Somehow, I always forget.

A friend called me yesterday: a friend I haven't seen or spoken to in far too long. I had been working all day, sunk in details and resume building and thinking too much about myself, when my phone rang unexpectedly. I was pleasantly surprised and I picked it up and we had a simple, honest conversation. We were filling moments rather than letting them slip past, unnoticed. Redeeming time. It was like a breath of fresh air. When the conversation ended and I turned back to my work, I had a fresh vision and a little more energy to run on.

So, when you get to that stuck, stale place, go take the occasional walk in the sun or talk to a person or water a plant. Read something that isn't required or play a musical instrument and don't forget to laugh about nothing sometimes.

Remember that mindlessly looking at your phone or scrolling through Facebook or whatever probably isn't the best way to re-charge. Yes, it isn't work, but it isn't actual life, either. We reclaim and refill through experience and brushing up against what is real and true and substantial, not by tapping glass or gazing at a screen. What will probably fill you more is engaging with life, somehow. Aim for active, not passive. Tap into an emotion other than stress or seriousness. Massage some of those knots out of your neck.

I was talking to another friend today about how physical space and mental space are so easily intertwined. In school, it is easy to get stuck in my room all day long: studying all day, and then sleeping. We were talking about how we want our rooms to be places to go back to, places that indicate rest rather than all the work we've done that day. To separate work and rest in our minds, we need to separate work and rest in our physical spaces. For me, this means finding other places to work during the day, to avoid holing up in my room for hours on end, and let it be a place to unwind and shift away from assignments and rubrics and required reading.

I'm still learning how to keep my work:rest ratio in check. I'm still a little more stressed than I'd like to be and sometimes I forget to stop being so serious, so concerned, so self-focused, and to look outward more often. It is coming, though. The more I remind myself, the more I remember, and, slowly, I steal back my time.

.002 Creating Space

It has become a routine, now, that a friend and I meet in the chapel three mornings a week to pray.

Eight-thirty. The sun rests at the optimal height to stream through the stained glass windows, throwing colour all over the carpet where we sit.

We sit down, maybe read some scripture, share some joys or worries we're experiencing, and then we end off with prayer. This whole process takes all of twenty minutes, but it shifts the entire tone of the day.

The reason we began doing this stemmed from a conversation about carrying our faith over into university and how to live it out practically. There are choices, time constraints, assignments, voices telling us who we should be and how we should conduct ourselves, and other noise to wade through daily, constantly, and in the juggle and balance of it all it is easy to let faith blend into the din. It is easy to become distracted by all these other things to the point where priorities and perspective warp and prayer becomes an afterthought.

I've made a conscious effort this semester to be responsible with my time. First year I went to bed late and slept in late. I procrastinated too much and chose social activities over work priorities more often than I should have. This year, I wanted something different. I wanted to use my time and resources well. Part of this decision included intentionally and consistently getting up earlier, and this morning chapel prayer offered a meaningful reason to do that.

It is one thing to pray on your own, but praying together is enriching in an entirely different way. Faith is a journey, and not one to stumble through alone. These morning prayer sessions are a connection point, a crossover of two journeys and a way to acknowledge that we're walking together; we're not in this alone. We pray for each other and people we know and we wrestle with the question of how to live with purpose and mission where we are here as students.

This "lesson" really is a journey of creating space. Carving out time to be still and connect in a meaningful way, even if it is for only twenty minutes, or ten, changes me in subtle, small ways that stack up into bigger change. I find myself a little more focused, a little more hopeful, a little more peaceful, a little more content, and slowly my perspective shifts.

There is really no planned structure to this morning prayer and the time length varies, but it allows for a kind of inner breathing room and an openness with another person. We share hopes and worries and truth and we learn through this process. We've learned that sometimes God says "no" to things we think are good for us and opens other, different doors for us to explore. We've learned that sometimes finding God's will looks a lot more like taking a step in faith than searching for banners in the sky.

So in answering this question of how to live with purpose as a student, I'm learning that one of the starting points is how I view and capture my time. I have influence over how I fill it, whether that be the specific task or activity I engage in, or simply the attitude I walk in with. Time is my canvas and this purpose is found in how I choose to colour it in.

The World Isn't as Bad as You Think .001

School has started and I'm venturing into another four month stretch of study. Normally I'm all wrapped up in the newness, squinting at the blank slate with so many plans of how to fill it.

This year, though, I'm strangely indifferent. I'm in a bit of a "been here, done that" mental state and excelling academically isn't my driving goal. Another term, another essay, another assignment: they blur together into numbers and lately I've been thinking of new questions. I'm scratching out some of my lists and reorganizing some of my priorities.

How do I live with purpose as a student?

I know that I live as my best self when I'm serving or caring for other people. In that place, my motivation is sharpened and I live with more meaning and intention. As a student, though, it is easy to slip into the rut of routine and due dates and hashing through abstract questions in stuffy classrooms.

I know I'm investing in my future and I enjoy what I study, but I need more than that to fill my days. I need something to spark my imagination and challenge me to grow and offer meaning in a place beyond myself.

How do I get there?

My challenge to myself this semester is to live with intention and awareness. There are so many creative ways to extract meaning from the day. I want to use this space more often in that process of untangling.

One of my broad goals this semester is to legitimately learn something new, if not every day, then at least every week. This could be classroom learning or life learning, but I want to open my definition of education and glean as much out of this university experience as I can.

Maybe I'm making assumptions, but this exercise shouldn't be difficult. Often it is just the practice of noticing and naming something that pulls it up from slipping between the cracks and often that is enough to tilt perspective or refresh vision or offer purpose to an otherwise empty or flat day.

Lesson .001

Last week I was running to class and uncharacteristically stopped at a bulletin board to skim over the explosion of papers stapled haphazardly all over the wall. I moved one piece of paper and found this note hiding underneath.

It caught my attention and I smiled. Sometimes the very truth we need to hear is stapled to a bulletin board and we rush past it because we're locked in on time and responsibility, or we're too focused on the crazy mass of advertisements and other notices vying for our attention to see the honest humanity of a scribbled note.

The world isn't as bad as you think. Collect those bright spots in your days, in your weeks, and cling to them like treasure. Yes, the world can be a dark and scary place. Yes, the world can wring your heart and leave you with wounds and questions, but there is beauty and good as well. There is meaning to be found. The more I learn, the more I find that this is a truth. The more I learn, the more I understand that this truth is often difficult to find.

However, sometimes all I need to do is stop for a minute and look at a bulletin board.