Maybe I'm just drawing false connections, but sometimes it seems as if there are these clusters of meaning or themes that coalesce into something that begs to be divined. The tea leaves are spelling something out, and while I don't know why exactly, it seems foolish to pass them by without pondering them for a bit.
This time, I think the key term here is "mission statement," or some approximation of it. For one thing, tomorrow we're going to start working on defining our office's mission at work during a group retreat (part two, actually). For another thing, I sat down for crepes and chai with my friend MS for a couple of hours yesterday, and among other topics we talked about how she is sure to make a list of things that are true about herself, so that whenever she's not so sure or she's in danger of losing herself, she can look back at that list and gain a little more confidence and a firmer grasp on who she wants to be. We both talked about what our lists look like. I've never been one for seeking out inspiration in anything but a modest way, but I did find it interesting that, while I'd focused more on what I want out of a job, her statements had a lot more to do with herself without the job, without other people, and with little to do with time or place. It was as if she stripped everything away and then added the essentials back in. My job has definitely helped me define a lot of what I want, but I guess it's not the whole picture. It's about what's important to me.
So let's see here (I had some help from SM)...
- I think I'd rather be doing good than promoting good. And I don't mean that in a halo-earning sense, but rather in an actually-benefiting-someone sense. Even that is pretty broad, though, and I interpret that benefit pretty loosely, albeit as directly as possible.
- Authenticity is important to me, and thus try to put myself in as few inauthentic moments as possible. This leads to really enjoying time with people I actually like, and trying to minimize time with most other people. I don't want to spend time lying to myself or others; it's draining and pointless.
- My friends are very important to me. It's a given that I will always do what I can to be there for them, whether it's showing up at their events or listening to them.
- I will pretty much do anything for my family. I will always do what I can to support them.
- Learning means a lot to me. I like being informed, but I also like the act of learning. I also like learning about others learning and helping others learn in the best ways for them.
- I'm no fun sometimes because I take life too seriously, but that's okay. I think someone has to take life seriously because otherwise we wouldn't accomplish anything.
- I like understanding how things work and using that knowledge to get things done and make things work better. Practical application is fascinating (and necessary).
- Being resourceful and exploring the best way to do something means a lot to me. Taking the initiative to look for the best method is commendable and also efficient in the end.
I think that's a start. I'm not very happy with the list, actually, because it seems so narcissistic, but I think the concept is sound and certainly helpful if you ever feel so buried or disconnected from yourself. Do you think I'm missing anything from my list? What would you have on your list?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Speaking of getting older...
The older I get, the more I find myself fulfilling my destiny to become the kind of person who writes formal complaints. I've written one to Amtrak, and I had a mind to write one to the CTA about a certain route before a few bus drivers got a clue. As AL brought to my attention, though, I'm "sending them to the wrong sources in those examples since those are gov't run to varying degrees." Alas. Maybe once we move out of here I'll mellow out a bit. Until then, though, the sentiment is definitely there. Watch out. You've been warned. I know how things are supposed to be run, dammit! I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore! Hey, at least I'm moderately liberal.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Another Year, Another Imminent Thanksgiving
This weekend I went to two different birthday parties where two of my friends were turning 27. You know what's weird? I remember my mom's 27th birthday party. I was 5.
My parents got married at 21 and 20 years old. They're not terrible people by any means (well...), but there are some things that don't need repeating, so in some respects I want to take their model and set it on its head. When I turned 21, I said to my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get married. Should be pretty simple. It was. Check. My mom had me when she was 22. Out of the question. On my 22nd birthday, I told my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get preggers. A little bit riskier, a tad harder than last year's goal, but certainly doable. I passed with flying colors. With those two hurdles cleared, each subsequent birthday diverges more and more from the model. In a month I turn 25. I was 3 years old, reading, and almost off to preschool by this point in my mom's life. At 25, my mom had 2 kids and was on her way to the third, so as long as I don't have twins or triplets in the next year, I'll be golden.
But seriously, though, I'm getting to an age where I not only existed but actually remember existing when my parents were at the very same point. So many things are becoming clearer, so many of their choices demystified, so much of our financial woes justified. As much as I joke about not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps, I have to give them mad kudos for raising me and my siblings, maintaining a home for us, sending us to private schools, etc. I certainly couldn't have done it. Imagining me sending a kid off to school every morning in the next year of my life seems beyond belief.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be the young mom who had a lot of energy for her kids and was still very much in touch with her younger years, like my mom was for me. As I grew older I realized how ridiculous that was, how different my circumstances had to be, and how insane it was for my parents to have found each other ready and willing to go forward with such a life, fully believing that they would succeed. (Together they lovingly dreamed of having 10 kids! WTF. Imagining having a similar conversation with SM is laughable on many levels.) And succeed they did (for the most part). They raised 6 great, smart, mostly obedient kids with very little money, many hard times, but always high expectations. They both had guts and determination and instinct that I will be lucky to ever possess. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful that they did so well for all of us. And I'm grateful I don't have kids.
My parents got married at 21 and 20 years old. They're not terrible people by any means (well...), but there are some things that don't need repeating, so in some respects I want to take their model and set it on its head. When I turned 21, I said to my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get married. Should be pretty simple. It was. Check. My mom had me when she was 22. Out of the question. On my 22nd birthday, I told my friends, alright, all I have to do is not get preggers. A little bit riskier, a tad harder than last year's goal, but certainly doable. I passed with flying colors. With those two hurdles cleared, each subsequent birthday diverges more and more from the model. In a month I turn 25. I was 3 years old, reading, and almost off to preschool by this point in my mom's life. At 25, my mom had 2 kids and was on her way to the third, so as long as I don't have twins or triplets in the next year, I'll be golden.
But seriously, though, I'm getting to an age where I not only existed but actually remember existing when my parents were at the very same point. So many things are becoming clearer, so many of their choices demystified, so much of our financial woes justified. As much as I joke about not wanting to follow in my parents' footsteps, I have to give them mad kudos for raising me and my siblings, maintaining a home for us, sending us to private schools, etc. I certainly couldn't have done it. Imagining me sending a kid off to school every morning in the next year of my life seems beyond belief.
When I was younger, I always wanted to be the young mom who had a lot of energy for her kids and was still very much in touch with her younger years, like my mom was for me. As I grew older I realized how ridiculous that was, how different my circumstances had to be, and how insane it was for my parents to have found each other ready and willing to go forward with such a life, fully believing that they would succeed. (Together they lovingly dreamed of having 10 kids! WTF. Imagining having a similar conversation with SM is laughable on many levels.) And succeed they did (for the most part). They raised 6 great, smart, mostly obedient kids with very little money, many hard times, but always high expectations. They both had guts and determination and instinct that I will be lucky to ever possess. As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful that they did so well for all of us. And I'm grateful I don't have kids.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Social Network [Spoiler Alert]
By now I think it's apparent that I view the inability to stop thinking about it as one of the markers of a good movie. The Social Network is, for better or worse, the latest addition to my list of hearty cinematic fare.
One of the things I find most striking about the film is not necessarily the plot, but all of the questions the making of this film brings up: where is the line between fiction and reality? What are the facts on which this story is based, and where do they align with the plot points of the film?
As far as the plot of the film goes, one of screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's best moments of construction and a testament to Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall's' editing was the juxtaposition of the two key lawsuits: one from a group who believes Zuckerberg stole their idea, and another from his "only" friend who was shut out of the company. There's the business side of things, and there's the personal side of things. The business side is pretty clean cut, and it's made clear in the film that the group suing him doesn't really have true case, but it's viable enough to question how a jury would react, and so they settle. The personal side of anything is going to be a lot more complicated, and this case is no different. Digging up the details of the case is painful for both friends, and more evidence turns up of their friendship (and Zuckerberg's supposed awkwardness) than of a reason why Zuckerberg did what he did. The question is actually never answered: it remains an inexplicable open wound. Sorkin parallels these two stories to highlight the corresponding sides of Facebook: the money and the business and the facts are cleaner cut (and lame by comparison) than any of the strange new bonds people maintain on the website.
Sorkin's black and white view of the social platform is well-executed, but certainly cause for concern. It's clear that he doesn't know anything about social media, and as you can read in countless places, facts aren't his chief concern either. It was thus that much more interesting to compare and contrast the film with the timely profile of Zuckerberg featured in the New Yorker. My first impression was that, from the author's description, Eisenberg nailed Zuckerberg's personality -- a feat, considering the star of the unauthorized picture has most likely never had the chance to meet his private, introverted, and self-proclaimed awkward non-fictional counterpart. Unlike some dimwits out there likely to take the story as fact and exposé, I think I have the sense to see a film about any origin story as sensationalized at the least, but reading the article brought Facebook's founder into the mix as well. After completing the piece, I had to admit there was more to this than getting a character's quirks down or at least exaggerating them to the perfect degree on screen. I started thinking about how it would feel to have a movie made about me: of course it would frustrate me that a) it existed in the first place, b) any grain of truth in it was most certainly going to be exaggerated, and that c) it would be possibly sensitive parts of my life portrayed onscreen by people who have no idea who I really am. But perhaps most of all, it would bother me that people out there would actually believe it. They wouldn't think twice. I really found myself pulling for Zuckerberg in all this, not necessarily because of the truthfulness of the facts or the level of acting, but because he's a guy who did some great things and some not so great things, just like everybody else, and we should just leave him alone.
One fleeting moment of the film SM and I spent a lot of time talking about was Rashida Jones' lawyerly explanation (if caught, for the benefit of the viewer, moreso than for Zuckerberg) that settling doesn't imply guilt, rather it admits defeat in the face of inescapable perception of guilt. All the prosecution has to do is convince the jury that theft was merely possible. He could have been thinking it, so he could be guilty. That's all it takes. As much as I might think I would react differently to any of the situations Zuckerberg faced, this was what it came down to: sometimes it doesn't matter what you do, people are going to extrapolate what they wish and judge you accordingly. I saw it as kind of concession by Sorkin for Zuckerberg, tucked away among the drama and the sometimes-harsh characterizations.
Is the goal of a film based on reality to tap into that reality for answers, for truth? Or do we watch these films as a mirror into the distant past, just to reaffirm that it happened, like clicking through a Facebook photo album? After watching this film, I would hope that Sorkin and Fincher were going for the latter. The former is just too fraught with incomplete truths and funhouse-reflected moments in history to do any justice to a real investigation. Maybe it's just too soon, or too much altogether. I thought the same of Oliver Stone's W: why am I watching this? What's the point of this exercise? He was a young guy who started a game-changing website, or a president who made some questionable choices...so what?
Overall, I think the movie was well-crafted, but ultimately a hollow experience. I found thinking of Facebook outside of Facebook for a while was the interesting exercise, regardless of the contents of the film. While waxing philosophical about the "power of social networking" is annoying to me, I do know that I joined the website before I was even a first year, in the summer of 2004. I knew that University of Chicago was the second tier of schools added after the Ivy Leagues, but I had never put that timing into perspective: Zuckerberg rolled out Thefacebook.com in February of 2004. When he was 19 years old. 19. The rate of growth of his consumer base was absolutely ridiculous, and he didn't have to advertise. It is word of mouth and desire to be involved that continues to drive the whole beast. That is pretty powerful, whether you like the (portrayal of the) guy or not. And I think what really sells him to me, though, is that he's not in it for the money. He enjoys building things, like so many of the other unknown developers and hackers in Silicon Valley, and he will continue to build it out until he moves on to something else, if ever. I can respect that from afar without having to know the ins and outs of his personal life, Sorkinized or no. I just hope this dramatization of him and the founding doesn't get in the way of other people doing so as well.
Further reading:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/04/business/media/04portrayal.html?th&emc=th
http://www.slate.com/id/2269250/
One of the things I find most striking about the film is not necessarily the plot, but all of the questions the making of this film brings up: where is the line between fiction and reality? What are the facts on which this story is based, and where do they align with the plot points of the film?
As far as the plot of the film goes, one of screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's best moments of construction and a testament to Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall's' editing was the juxtaposition of the two key lawsuits: one from a group who believes Zuckerberg stole their idea, and another from his "only" friend who was shut out of the company. There's the business side of things, and there's the personal side of things. The business side is pretty clean cut, and it's made clear in the film that the group suing him doesn't really have true case, but it's viable enough to question how a jury would react, and so they settle. The personal side of anything is going to be a lot more complicated, and this case is no different. Digging up the details of the case is painful for both friends, and more evidence turns up of their friendship (and Zuckerberg's supposed awkwardness) than of a reason why Zuckerberg did what he did. The question is actually never answered: it remains an inexplicable open wound. Sorkin parallels these two stories to highlight the corresponding sides of Facebook: the money and the business and the facts are cleaner cut (and lame by comparison) than any of the strange new bonds people maintain on the website.
Sorkin's black and white view of the social platform is well-executed, but certainly cause for concern. It's clear that he doesn't know anything about social media, and as you can read in countless places, facts aren't his chief concern either. It was thus that much more interesting to compare and contrast the film with the timely profile of Zuckerberg featured in the New Yorker. My first impression was that, from the author's description, Eisenberg nailed Zuckerberg's personality -- a feat, considering the star of the unauthorized picture has most likely never had the chance to meet his private, introverted, and self-proclaimed awkward non-fictional counterpart. Unlike some dimwits out there likely to take the story as fact and exposé, I think I have the sense to see a film about any origin story as sensationalized at the least, but reading the article brought Facebook's founder into the mix as well. After completing the piece, I had to admit there was more to this than getting a character's quirks down or at least exaggerating them to the perfect degree on screen. I started thinking about how it would feel to have a movie made about me: of course it would frustrate me that a) it existed in the first place, b) any grain of truth in it was most certainly going to be exaggerated, and that c) it would be possibly sensitive parts of my life portrayed onscreen by people who have no idea who I really am. But perhaps most of all, it would bother me that people out there would actually believe it. They wouldn't think twice. I really found myself pulling for Zuckerberg in all this, not necessarily because of the truthfulness of the facts or the level of acting, but because he's a guy who did some great things and some not so great things, just like everybody else, and we should just leave him alone.
One fleeting moment of the film SM and I spent a lot of time talking about was Rashida Jones' lawyerly explanation (if caught, for the benefit of the viewer, moreso than for Zuckerberg) that settling doesn't imply guilt, rather it admits defeat in the face of inescapable perception of guilt. All the prosecution has to do is convince the jury that theft was merely possible. He could have been thinking it, so he could be guilty. That's all it takes. As much as I might think I would react differently to any of the situations Zuckerberg faced, this was what it came down to: sometimes it doesn't matter what you do, people are going to extrapolate what they wish and judge you accordingly. I saw it as kind of concession by Sorkin for Zuckerberg, tucked away among the drama and the sometimes-harsh characterizations.
Is the goal of a film based on reality to tap into that reality for answers, for truth? Or do we watch these films as a mirror into the distant past, just to reaffirm that it happened, like clicking through a Facebook photo album? After watching this film, I would hope that Sorkin and Fincher were going for the latter. The former is just too fraught with incomplete truths and funhouse-reflected moments in history to do any justice to a real investigation. Maybe it's just too soon, or too much altogether. I thought the same of Oliver Stone's W: why am I watching this? What's the point of this exercise? He was a young guy who started a game-changing website, or a president who made some questionable choices...so what?
Overall, I think the movie was well-crafted, but ultimately a hollow experience. I found thinking of Facebook outside of Facebook for a while was the interesting exercise, regardless of the contents of the film. While waxing philosophical about the "power of social networking" is annoying to me, I do know that I joined the website before I was even a first year, in the summer of 2004. I knew that University of Chicago was the second tier of schools added after the Ivy Leagues, but I had never put that timing into perspective: Zuckerberg rolled out Thefacebook.com in February of 2004. When he was 19 years old. 19. The rate of growth of his consumer base was absolutely ridiculous, and he didn't have to advertise. It is word of mouth and desire to be involved that continues to drive the whole beast. That is pretty powerful, whether you like the (portrayal of the) guy or not. And I think what really sells him to me, though, is that he's not in it for the money. He enjoys building things, like so many of the other unknown developers and hackers in Silicon Valley, and he will continue to build it out until he moves on to something else, if ever. I can respect that from afar without having to know the ins and outs of his personal life, Sorkinized or no. I just hope this dramatization of him and the founding doesn't get in the way of other people doing so as well.
Further reading:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/04/business/media/04portrayal.html?th&emc=th
http://www.slate.com/id/2269250/
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Audacity of Certainty
Since I was pretty young, I've had a real affinity for Jewish religion and culture. One of my very first friends from preschool on up is Jewish (now living in Israel, actually), and since then I've had the privilege of participating in various Jewish traditions with her and her family. From Chanukah to Passover to Rosh Hashanah to Shabbat dinner with her Bubby and Zaideh, those times had a huge impact on me, and I enjoyed every minute. On top of that exposure, I went to an Episcopalian school whose amazing religion program made ample room for learning about both Judaism and Islam. There weren't any outspoken Muslims in my school while I was there, but the Jews in my class (my friend JK included) actively bolstered the curriculum with input about their knowledge and experiences. Additionally, my parents (mom especially) were the kind of Christians who embraced Jesus as a Jew, never failing to remind me that the Last Supper was a Seder, and fully acknowledged the overlap between the two religions. I never understood how any Christian could hate (anyone, especially) Jews.
Back in high school and early college, I was thinking somewhat seriously about converting to Judaism. My mom wasn't very happy about it, not at all because of any feelings about the religion itself (see above), but because doing so would full-on negate everything raising me (pretty hardcore) Christian was all about: at the very core, either you believe the Savior's come already, or you don't. For me, it's never been that simple. Forget all of that hogwash about who killed whom; it really means nothing to me, and it makes no sense to hold an entire people accountable for something that supposedly would already have been planned for by an omniscient God-figure, right? Among many other things. But I guess at this point, I have to concede that my attraction is a lot more cultural than religious. I personally have no problem making a sort of land bridge of logic between the two religions in my mind, but the actual particulars and holes waiting to be poked in my own convictions is a lot harder articulated than believed, not to mention I don't even have a hard and fast religious take on anything. I have no answers. And maybe that's what's attractive to me about it after all: (not to go totally overboard with this, but I am a cinephile and a Coen Bros fan...) in A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers attempt to sum up the faith this way:
Larry Gopnik: I don't want it to just go away! I want an answer!
Rabbi Nachtner: Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.
Larry Gopnik: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not gonna give us any answers?
Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.
Perhaps this is why the Catholic funeral I attended just a few days after discussing this with SR was so disturbing to me. Even in talking things out with her then, I noted one thing I hate about organized religion: "I just wish religious people would stop the whole right/wrong thing, though," I said. "They put stakes on your soul which doesn't seem fair. But to some people, that's the whole point." While questioning everything (without necessarily finding all the answers, while at the same time placing meaning on things we do know) is a core part of who I strive to be and something I see in Judaism, Catholicism struck me as the exact opposite.
I'd heard about Catholic guilt, but I hadn't really been in the same room with it during my last and only Mass experience about 7 years ago, Christmas. This time, the air was ripe with it. I don't want to get into details about the heart-wrenching service, but I was angered by the opportunities that were taken by the Church to further their agenda. Mrs. L. had lived in New York for over 20 years, so the staff at the church didn't know her. The priest and his helpers (whom we met at the wake the night before) were just so impersonal, reading from binders without looking up, and calling her a "woman of God." I didn't know her, and I don't want to take anything from her, but they didn't know anything about her, how she lived her life, or if she'd even been to Mass in the last 10 years. They proceeded to talk about how those who are saved will be consoled, phrasing it as an ultimatum, a trade of a soul for relief from grief. The service felt so routinized and cold, and I couldn't relate sitting and standing periodically to consoling my friends.
Maybe a Jewish funeral feels the same way, but it was striking how much my feelings on religion in general had swung the opposite way in a matter of three days. Part of what I'd liked so much about my Jewish experiences growing up was their strong associations with family. I see it in the traditions, I see it in my memories, I see it in my friends. In such a crucial time for someone and something to lean on, I didn't see Catholicism doing any of that. Instead, it just felt like they co-opted the situation for the propagation of their own ideas. It's the very sentiment that's pushed me away from the protestant upbringing in which I was raised. So many of my friends are atheist or agnostic, and over the years I've gradually kept my own beliefs to myself. In reality, I don't think it will ever be an option for me to believe that there is no God, but I respect others' desire to do so. In keeping to myself, I've had a growing feeling that religion and spirituality is only what you know and feel it to be, and I don't spend much time trying to explain myself anymore. Coupled with my University of Chicago education, the only thing I'm sure of is that I don't know anything. The most impressive nature to me is one of questioning and humility, and I want that in my faith too. To barter souls for peace of mind assumes one holds the key, that they know, that they are confident and sure, that they are done searching. I don't think I can stand for that.
Back in high school and early college, I was thinking somewhat seriously about converting to Judaism. My mom wasn't very happy about it, not at all because of any feelings about the religion itself (see above), but because doing so would full-on negate everything raising me (pretty hardcore) Christian was all about: at the very core, either you believe the Savior's come already, or you don't. For me, it's never been that simple. Forget all of that hogwash about who killed whom; it really means nothing to me, and it makes no sense to hold an entire people accountable for something that supposedly would already have been planned for by an omniscient God-figure, right? Among many other things. But I guess at this point, I have to concede that my attraction is a lot more cultural than religious. I personally have no problem making a sort of land bridge of logic between the two religions in my mind, but the actual particulars and holes waiting to be poked in my own convictions is a lot harder articulated than believed, not to mention I don't even have a hard and fast religious take on anything. I have no answers. And maybe that's what's attractive to me about it after all: (not to go totally overboard with this, but I am a cinephile and a Coen Bros fan...) in A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers attempt to sum up the faith this way:
Larry Gopnik: I don't want it to just go away! I want an answer!
Rabbi Nachtner: Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.
Larry Gopnik: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not gonna give us any answers?
Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.
Perhaps this is why the Catholic funeral I attended just a few days after discussing this with SR was so disturbing to me. Even in talking things out with her then, I noted one thing I hate about organized religion: "I just wish religious people would stop the whole right/wrong thing, though," I said. "They put stakes on your soul which doesn't seem fair. But to some people, that's the whole point." While questioning everything (without necessarily finding all the answers, while at the same time placing meaning on things we do know) is a core part of who I strive to be and something I see in Judaism, Catholicism struck me as the exact opposite.
I'd heard about Catholic guilt, but I hadn't really been in the same room with it during my last and only Mass experience about 7 years ago, Christmas. This time, the air was ripe with it. I don't want to get into details about the heart-wrenching service, but I was angered by the opportunities that were taken by the Church to further their agenda. Mrs. L. had lived in New York for over 20 years, so the staff at the church didn't know her. The priest and his helpers (whom we met at the wake the night before) were just so impersonal, reading from binders without looking up, and calling her a "woman of God." I didn't know her, and I don't want to take anything from her, but they didn't know anything about her, how she lived her life, or if she'd even been to Mass in the last 10 years. They proceeded to talk about how those who are saved will be consoled, phrasing it as an ultimatum, a trade of a soul for relief from grief. The service felt so routinized and cold, and I couldn't relate sitting and standing periodically to consoling my friends.
Maybe a Jewish funeral feels the same way, but it was striking how much my feelings on religion in general had swung the opposite way in a matter of three days. Part of what I'd liked so much about my Jewish experiences growing up was their strong associations with family. I see it in the traditions, I see it in my memories, I see it in my friends. In such a crucial time for someone and something to lean on, I didn't see Catholicism doing any of that. Instead, it just felt like they co-opted the situation for the propagation of their own ideas. It's the very sentiment that's pushed me away from the protestant upbringing in which I was raised. So many of my friends are atheist or agnostic, and over the years I've gradually kept my own beliefs to myself. In reality, I don't think it will ever be an option for me to believe that there is no God, but I respect others' desire to do so. In keeping to myself, I've had a growing feeling that religion and spirituality is only what you know and feel it to be, and I don't spend much time trying to explain myself anymore. Coupled with my University of Chicago education, the only thing I'm sure of is that I don't know anything. The most impressive nature to me is one of questioning and humility, and I want that in my faith too. To barter souls for peace of mind assumes one holds the key, that they know, that they are confident and sure, that they are done searching. I don't think I can stand for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)