Obstacles

For me there was a time when it used to be playing WarCraft3. I would stay up into the midnight hours playing and playing in efforts to feel tired, feel fulfilled, and to have completely avoided whatever it was I was trying to hide from.

There were other times when it was homework.

Other times still it was work. (ProPix anyone?)

I think there are things we all hide from. Change is a big one. People don't seem to like that one. Like how it's now around 0 degrees outside, I don't like the change from the 40's that it was at today and yesterday to the 0 it is now. Now I'm hiding inside a nice warm house, much warmer than the chilly air outside.

I'll not lie, there have been times when I've hid from things through the use of game systems, or rather, a game system, the Xbox (or it's revised younger brother, the Xbox 360).

Sure some times the things being hidden from are family, or homework, or religous responsibilities, civic duties, personal hygeine (like flossing twice a day every day, or once for that matter, it hurts!).

Surely I'm not alone in these matters. In fact, I can personally guarantee countless hundreds of thousands who live this every day, and will for most of their lives.

I was watching a movie. It made me question why we hide from these things, these changes we face, and/or the responsibilities of civic, personal, and familial origins. It talked about taking baby-steps into the changes and challenges we face in our lives.

I realized that facing things is called responsibility. I wish I had a better word than "things" but they take so many faces it's difficult to call a plethora of possibilities anything other than things. So keep in mind when I say things I'm referring to these challenges, duties, responsibilities, options, choices, that are available to any given person on any given day. Not facing these "things" is called irresponsibility.

The funny thing.

Most of them aren't that hard.

Most of the time conquering the issue leaves you feeling more whole and complete. Feeling good.

If I were to set a particular "new year resolution" it would be to get over my "things" that I hide from, whatever they may be and by so doing: to move on in my art, to better my relationship with my family, friends, and wife, and to get my body back into better shape like I've been meaning to for the last 5 years.

An observation in closing.

Memories are a funny thing. They get the best of you. Some times they're held in the most inconspicuous places, and others (like journals, blogs, etc) they are much more apparent and obvious to everyone. When Sister was moving her room downstairs I was helping dad to move his office out of that bedroom. In a few short months he'd covered the walls, the floors, the desks, with everything. There was "stuff" all over the place, just like there's been stuff all over his desk and things, for, well, as long as I can remember. It was really hard for him to get rid of some of the stuff, some things are very near and dear to his heart. Like a broken lamp. It was made by the one of my brothers, the woodsy slave-driver type ;) and he gave it to dad, whether he made it with him in mind or needed a father's day present and it happened to be handy I really don't know. It broke but dad fixed it, ish, and it's been on his desk ever since. It brings so much joy to him though, who it came from, the love that was put into it when it was made, and he can't get rid of it even though it's not the greatest, and very obviously has been repaired.

I began to realize how many things dad has connections to. How much joy he has in the memories of the objects, they're representational to him of events, memories, experiences. So when he was packing up it was difficult for him. I can relate. I had to pack all my crap up out of that room not a year before when my wife and I had gotten married and I finally moved out. There are so many memories that I had that I relived as I put things away and prepared to move out. It took weeks for me to pack up. One suburban load took almost everything I had, even though it took me so long to pack everything up. I remember crying. A lot, and many times, knowing that things wouldn't ever be the same way that they were, knowing that the memories would carry with me in the objects, but I was leaving the location where they were made. It was very difficult. I think dad relives experiences in much the same way. Though, I think for him it's a more regular thing, and he has more memories to relive.

It's funny. He has an astounding memory for someone who can't keep a name straight... ;) I think a lot of times he isn't given credit to the amount that he deserves. Part of it might be that he's non-confrontational. Which isn't a bad thing, if the person who is working with him is willing to be patient in helping him to feel comfortable to release the information. In the past couple years he's been opening up more and more to me, perhaps it's because I'm older, maybe it's because I started asking questions and waited for him to respond (some times silencing others who may have chimed in to respond for him) and I have begun to realize how similar I am to him in so many ways. See, my wife some times will want a response from me, but she pressures so much, so frequently, that right when I'm ready to respond she pressures again, I feel uncomfortable, and clam up, not wanting to share as I feel I'm being attacked. We've come a long way with that, it's not nearly what it was a year ago, and we communicate much much better in so many ways it's not even funny. Relating my experience to my father's however, I begin to wonder if he isn't responding in the same way that I was, clamming up and turning inwards when he felt pressured or "attacked", obviously compounding the problem but not feeling "safe" to be able to speak and shortly shutting-down on the person.

Maybe my father looks inward like I do, maybe he doesn't. I like to think. I like to think about my behaviour (the u in behavioUr is deliberate, it's more coloUrful), the reactions people give to my behaviour, their responses, my own personal feelings toward how I handle situations. I don't know why I think about things, mulling things over and over trying to understand them better. I blame that for my opinions of Love, and what Love really is, frequently I find people asking me about love, and other things, and being surprised by my responses (maybe it's because of the blonde hair, though one sibling seems to feel it's brown {it's getting there, sadly}) but I think it's the side of me that analyzes things, for whatever reason, it's part of me.