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There’s Purpose in Now

The night’s getting late, so I don’t have time to beat around the bush with this very random mid-summer thought: winters in the midwest are rough. Especially the past several in Northern Indiana. It kind of makes my stomach turn even writing about this right now–in late July–with crickets chirping and fireflies glowing outside my office window.

There’s obviously nothing that can be done about the weather, so it’s fruitless and wasteful of time/energy to gripe about it. But this year was pretty miserable. What made it most…traumatic…was not so much the degree of cold and gloom, but the longevity of cold and gloom. By February, anyone breathing and feeling in the local population I reside is generally over it and ready for warmth and longer days with sun involved.

So when snow is falling down and piling up en masse throughout March and April, the pain cycle is very much in effect: Immobilization turns into denial. Denial becomes anger. Anger into depression. Some people never even get to acceptance…and move to Texas (Hi Mom and Dad).

For example, in late March, amidst mountains of snow in the parking lots throughout my hometown, below freezing temperatures, and a barrage of school and office closings, scores of high school and college students will return from their spring break trips in heavenly Key West, Cancun, San Diego, etc. Hit the mall some Saturday afternoon during this time of year and you’ll know spring break had just wrapped because it’s a walking sea of sun-kissed skin, beach-bleached hair and shorts-wearing. A PacSun with skinny, teen legs.

Oh, did you catch the ‘shorts-wearing’ thing?

Thirteen degrees outside with snowflakes the size of throw pillows, falling sideways from the Oh-I’m-going-to-lose-my-face freezing wind.

The situation is this: these kids–understandably–have just experienced a glorious climate for five to seven days somewhere not in Indiana and they’re now ready to experience a glorious climate back home. So they dress that way. Even in a markedly un-glorious season, where short-wearing outside the home or gym is nothing but physiologically regrettable.

When I watched this spectacle most recently, I thought: No matter how badly these kids want Northern Indiana to be warm, dressing for ‘warm’ wasn’t going to make Spring come any faster. They could wear short-sleeves all day in attempts to will the next season into existence, but until the current season’s over, they are only going to be miserable.

The concept of “seasons” has been particularly important for me to understand, identify and accept over the past few years. I’m learning to accept and respect the famous verse in Ecclesiastes about seasons and how they are all made beautiful in their own time. Not mine. Not anyone’s.

Over the past few years, I’ve sat in a couple of very painful seasons where I’ve had to live through hurt I’ve caused others (most notably to the extent of it ultimately leading to a very painful divorce), the hurt I’ve had placed on me, tremendous loss, loneliness, sadness, shame and guilt. I’ve wanted to do anything and everything to get out of those unpalatable places.

And I certainly tried. I hoped for and pursued more-than-platonic relationships with women; I tried keeping myself super busy (distracted?) with friends and activities; I poured myself into work and expected the fruit of a healthy income to pacify my voids. But I’d get into those things and realize–not only are they not giving me what (I think) I want, but they’re actually slowing me down from getting to the place my heart longs to be.

Not unlike the shorts-wearing kids in the mall, just because I was doing certain things to push a season along, those things didn’t force the next season to arrive any sooner.

In his book, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, Peter Scazzero writes:

I prefer the notions of seasons to stages when describing our life in Christ. We don’t control the seasons; they happen to us. Winter, spring, summer, and fall come to us whether we like it or not.

I tend to believe that the season I am currently in is a product of the season I came out of. And the season I am heading into (at some point) will be the product of the events — good, bad or otherwise — happening in the present. And though my decisions can sometimes affect the timing of my personal seasons, God’s best timing really is up to him (Act 1:7).

**As stated earlier and maybe a caveat to what Scazerro says above, I do believe if I can do things to slow down the process, when I’m living by my own desires/perceived needs and getting off the path that really would get me to where God wants me to go more directly. This is also why I’ve come to believe everything happens for a purpose–for what it was created to do or be. There are tons of things I do daily that are not purposeful, but a choice.**

This blog is named A Salient Season because one of the most critical things I’ve learned (especially over the past couple of years) is the importance of knowing there is purpose and value in every season of our lives. Salient means “notable, crucial, important, essential, vital, pivotal” and if we see the current place that we’re in as those things–preparation for our NEXT place–it’s a lot easier to not only take this time more seriously and intentionally.

And relax.

I’ve mentioned James 1:4 in previous posts because it’s a remarkably refreshing and inspiring promise to me: “Let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be [people] perfectly and fully developed [with no defects], lacking in nothing. (AMP)”

Patience isn’t exactly a great time when we’re ready to move out of an undesirable situation; but to know that a loving God who delights in us far more than we delight in ourselves is making things beautiful in his time (not ours) should be at least somewhat soothing. Especially when we look at it the way I just did.

Who knows what the next season looks like. It could be warm, cozy and sunny. Or it could be an even worse storm. Either way, what we are doing with what we have and where we are now is preparing us for where we’re going, later. And I have to believe (after trying and coming up short on a variety of other alternatives) that our decision to endure, trust, hope (I Cor. 13:7), pray, serve and wait now — without a self-mandated timeframe — will adequately (fully) prepare us for whatever lies ahead.

Put down the phone and watch the ninja

As a father to a pair of vibrant, young children, it’s not often I’m around them that they’re not asking for my attention. In fact, as long as they’re outside of alpha state sleep, they are guaranteed to have a request or proposition for me of some sort. Even if they’re not asking it this second, they’re working on something. A demand…is coming.

You know how when you drive a brand-new car off the lot, its value automatically decreases from 100% to 80% (Yeah, I’m making those numbers up)? My joke is, when the kids walk through my front door as I’m finishing up a day of work, even if my energy level’s at 100% at 4:59 p.m. (which is never), their mere, exuberant act of crossing the threshold into the house at 5:00 p.m. — therefore co-occupying my general vicinity — automatically zaps me down to, like, 70%.

It’s interesting that, even when I miss them and they’re back in my physical space, I have these moments when I quickly and urgently want to escape them. Kids are a lot. Especially in plural form. And if you’re raising them by yourself, you know that it’s especially taxing when Kid ‘A’ wants to hunt for toads and/or play football, while Kid ‘B’ is imploring me to help put the underwear back on her doll. Again. (Rhetorical question(s): Why does she keep taking them off in the first place?? Why the underwear and not shoes or sun dress? And why do doll-makers build the bodies in a way where the clothier must contort legs and feet in super-awkward Cirque du Soliel positions in order to put on the underwear…while his daughter’s watching?)

So, typically, when I come down with a (perfectly human) urge to withdraw for a bit of fresh air, I acknowledge a few options:

A) Stay in the mix and engage with the kids.

B) Stay in the mix and disengage with the kids.

C) Slip away for a period of time into another part of the house/property.

It probably goes without saying that Option ‘A’ is the best. The hardest…still, the best. There’s some “take up your cross” involved, but beyond even that, the time, the attention, the patient (I Cor. 13:4) EYE CONTACT — I’ll get to that more in a minute — is the best tangible measure of my love for them.

One thing…alright, two things…I’m sure of as a parent of young children: They’re never going to say this: “We’re all good over here, Dad (or Mom). Relax. Go check your email. Make some coffee and catch up on that list of Netflix documentaries.” And also, Parents need breaks. Which is why Option ‘C’ is OK. To be sure, kids can stand to play on their own — and also straight-up deal with their boredom — for a time period. Though, I’ll admit, it’s a fine line between taking a 10-minute break and a 180-minute break, sometimes. Time away from “parental mode” can be a slippery slope that can easily become more about laziness than about recharging. If you’re a stay-at-home mom and the kids are taking care of themselves for 3 hours, that’s awesome. But as a single dad who spends only every-other-day with my son and daughter, three hours is a huge chunk of valuable time that’s lost if I’m simply getting away because I don’t feel like being present.
What’s decidedly not OK is Option ‘B’. I see this played out by parents, constantly. And I do it often, myself. It’s a borderline classic situation for most parents my age. You know, when the Boy wants to show us his ninja trick in the backyard with his bow-staff (a stick) and karate headband. He assumes his position, waits for eye contact that confirms his audience’s attention and commences a series of flips, kicks and twirls across the lawn. It’s a ten-second performance, but what happens to us during that time? Our hand finds our pocket, which happens to be housing our phone, which serves as a portal into the “lives” of hundreds of different people’s current activities on display via social media outlets. And by the time the routine is wrapped and the ninja warrior composes himself for his reward (applause and encouragement), we’re locked into a screen, absorbing the activities of others. People doing cool, exemplary things like: Taking a walk. Eating. Watching their baby lay there. Photographing their just-not-attractive feet on a beach.

People who don’t matter to us nearly as much as the child ten feet away. But occupy our attention anyway.
I describe this somewhat hypothetically, but it’s an act I’ve been guilty of, way more than twice. There have been moments during legit playtime when I decided it was more important to respond to an email than ANYTHING ELSE. My kids–holding me to my end of the bargain that we are playing–will literally hang on my arms for my attention as I determinedly knock out a work email. Do I know that there are a couple of 45 pound children hanging on me? Of course. Do I realize that we are in unspoken agreement that this is our time to interact and play together? For sure. Do I care at the moment? Not enough to not do what I want to do. And what I want to do is write out this email that could most definitely wait until the next morning.

Yet, wow, does it make my heart hurt when I’m at the playground and see a dad absentmindedly swinging his child on the swing with his head bent down and eyes fixed on a screen. Or when a little girl is spinning round and round, making her dress twirl, glancing her father’s way to see if he’s watching her. And he isn’t.

There have been some sobering moments as a parent when I was verbally telling my son “We ARE playing!” while he’s watching me scroll and type on my phone. He looks at me, he looks at my phone and something in his eyes communicates with resignation that, if it’s a battle between him and my phone for my attention, he’s never going to win. I’m telling him we’re playing, but my actions are screaming way louder than my words.
To my knowledge, there haven’t been any studies yet on “Parents with smartphones and the direct affect on children therein,” but if/when such information is researched, I’m kind of afraid to know the results. I suspect it’ll be documented evidence of children who grew up experiencing loads of abandonment and neglect, but also witnessing an unhealthy dependency between their parents and an inanimate object that somewhat literally controlled their lives. And that’s only scratching the surface of the passing down of self-centeredness (“Look what I’m/we’re doing! Look at me! Listen to me! Be jealous of me!”) and performance-oriented-ness (“Do something cute! Be impressive to my social media followers!”).

So, my resolve? Take Facebook off my phone. Take Twitter off my phone. Take Instagram off my phone. It took 10 seconds to take care of a big problem — deleting the apps. If I want them back later, when the kids are away, it takes 30 seconds to reload them. It’s been over six months since I’ve had Facebook or Twitter apps on my phone at all. Do I still check my phone out of pure habit, even if there’s nothing to check? Yes. Do I still reload Instagram sometimes, even if the kids are around? Sometimes. But sometimes, the simple steps necessary to reload the apps give me enough time to pause and question if this is really the best decision at the moment.

My other resolve? Look them in the eye. They’re not always going to want my attention. In fact, soon enough, they’re going to only want me to leave them alone. So, from start to finish, I’m going to make sure my kids know I’m watching them. I’m going to look them in the eyes at the beginning and I’m going to look them in the eyes at the end. I’m going to literally get on their level and assure them that I’m watching. That I care. That they are, without a doubt, the champions of my attention.

This is not laborious. But it isn’t exactly natural, either. How often do we spend lots of time with the people closest to us and never really look them in the eye? Even with people we share living space with? I can only imagine the sense of satisfaction my son and daughter feel when I watch them dance; when I actively listen to their joke or story–from start to end; when I thoroughly admire their chalk drawings on the driveway.

And, for real–these simple parenting decisions make a difference. I see it in their disposition. In the way they want to crawl in my lap. To be closer. Not because they want my attention, but because they love me. Because they experience my love (attention) toward them. Again, it isn’t always that way and it won’t always be this way as they grow older. But I notice it now and I’m learning to cherish those moments when I see elements of a grateful heart in my children. Simply because I put everything else away and made them my priority. Hopefully, it’s training them to relate to others–including their own children–the same way (Prov. 22:6).

I’ve never stepped away from time on social media and thought, “I’m so glad I spent that time on Facebook.” But those intentional moments when I’m 100% in with my kids? That’s gold.

Pitching a way out of it

I’m not the sports guy I used to be, but I try to keep somewhat clued in on what my childhood team the Chicago Cubs are up to, when I think about it.

A story from the Cubs camp that has caught a lot of attentional nationally this past week has been the team’s ace pitcher (and former ND football star) Jeff Samardjzia. The dude has thrown close to perfectly from the mound and has THE best statistics of any pitcher in Major League Baseball. He’s been nearly flawless. And up until yesterday, he hadn’t won once in the past 16 games he started.

Yesterday, he broke a record-breaking streak of seven straight starts with a loss by finally recording a win. This streak started way back in 2013. When people were Facebooking about Miley Cyrus, listening to “Blurred Lines” everywhere and predicting that Anchorman 2 would be awesome (it wasn’t).

It had to be SO frustrating for Jeff to come off the mound after pitching so well and doing the best he could for his team and for himself and then watch his team basically make his work irrelevant by blowing the game. He was the best pitcher in the league and had zero wins to show for it. That changed yesterday when they beat the Giants 8-4. His first victory in 17 games as a starting pitcher. Last week, in the midst of his 16th straight win-less game, a former teammate of Jeff’s said this about a conversation the two had earlier:

“I told him: ‘It doesn’t matter, dude You play in Chicago. I was there and I lost 30 wins in three seasons. So it’s not your fault. Just pitch your way out of it…Keep your eyes focused. Keep your eyes straight ahead and just pitch. There’s nothing else you can do.”

Jeff could mope and moan and knock over Gatorade coolers in the locker room over his team not only letting him down by losing, but really, making him look bad. I mean, there are now records no one wants attached to this guy for losing so much. And the truth is, whether it was public or privately, he probably did do all of those things. He’s a naturally-competitive, professional-athlete human male with a spotlight on him.

But I’m struck by his former teammates advice, as simple as it was: Yeah, it’s a really crappy situation. And by now, you should be well past the point of being surprised by how crappy this is, because it’s gone on for so long and nothing major has changed–you’re still pitching alongside the same teammates. There’s nothing you can do about what your team is doing. But there’s absolutely something that you can do, and that’s concentrate on doing the best you can with what you have. And what you have is, clearly, a lot of talent. Don’t look around at the mess around you. Don’t listen to the people reminding you of your winlessness. Don’t blame the universe for putting you in this situation (because, ultimately YOU put yourself in this situation by joining the team…an entirely different point). Just stay on your path.

To me, the redemption with Jeff Samardzjia here isn’t that he finally won his first game yesterday and broke his streak. Remember, he’s still 1-16 and 1-4 for this season. Far from great.

The redemption is found in (if) he has taken up his friend’s advice and truly made the decision to stay the course and do the best he could, regardless of what was happening in the world around him. Because he’ll get through this and he’ll get through it as one the best pitchers in baseball.

As one who’s gone through a painful divorce and prays and hopes for a restored marriage with my former wife, I can identify with Samardzjia’s journey of loss:

It’s a crappy situation of tremendous loss, rejection and disorder. And by now–several years later–it should be no surprise that this situation is what it is because nothing’s really changed. Same former spouse. Same emotional distance and complete lack of communication about the situation on her end. There’s nothing that I can do to effectively change her mind.

But what I do have is hope (Romans 5:5). And increased wisdom (James 1:5). And faith that what God once joined together, He would love to see restored (Mark 10:9, Joel 2:23-25). So my best option is not to blame the elements: God, my wife, others who influence my wife. My best option is not to throw my hands up and give up on the whole deal because things just aren’t going the way I’m working so hard for them to go.

My best option is to “pitch my way out of it” and make constant decisions to do my best with what I have. And to keep getting better, regardless of what’s happening around me. To love stronger, even if it feels like I’m heading for another loss of some kind. To trust that staying on this path will increase my faith to the point that I’m not…claiming…God’s promises; I live like I already have them. Because I do.

To keep walking straight. Like Christ did, on his way to the cross. Never distracted. Never thrown off course.

Jeff Samardjzia knew he wouldn’t be in this position forever. He just needed to pitch and believe his team will turn around eventually…or he’ll get traded. There’s nothing else he could do.

I know I won’t be in this position forever. I just need to faithfully stay on my path and believe God’s doing a work in my heart and the hearts of people around me. There’s nothing else I can do.

The art of snapping out of “it”

Sometimes I just need to get out of the house.

I work here.

I sleep here.

A little more than half of my day-to-day life, I’m alone here.

There’s plenty of food in the kitchen; but tonight, after a particularly tough day of (mostly) self-imposed frustrations, I needed to buy dinner…away.

About two miles up the road, en route to my still-undecided-upon destination, I took a deep breath and exhaled aloud “What is wrong with me?” under the noisy guitar riff of a Colony House song playing through my stereo. I said what I said. But what I really wanted to know was, “What is going on with me?” Academically, I’m aware nothing about me is wrong. I have an arsenal of affirming scripture handy for that thought: I am complete in Christ (Col. 2:10). I have been redeemed and forgiven of all my sins (Col. 1:14). I am free forever from condemnation (Romans 8:1,2), et al.

What’s going on with me, though, is…I get stuck. So stuck that it’s hard to even know what to type next to start hashing it all out. (Which is what all of this is right now…me and God hashing things out)

***Just returned from a 15-minute social media space-out, which was actually 45 minutes***

I’ve been “stuck” most of today, and it’s draining. “It” affects (infects?) my mood, my conversations, my perception and my hopes. And because, again, academically I know what’s True (Rom. 5:2), it’s a complete waste of time on so many levels. Wasted fruitful, encouraging conversations. Wasted opportunities to find the good in things. Wasted time spent dwelling on stuff that doesn’t eternally matter. I get stuck because I become convinced life is happening in a way that I wish it wouldn’t. My life and all of its purpose therein is on this course for great things, yet I keep errantly veering off over the median and getting lost in a sea of angry oncoming traffic. It’s difficult to maneuver back into the correct lane when my energy and focus become so set on avoiding painful encounters in the wrong/counter-productive place I’ve wandered into.

What’s this wrong “it” lane look like? For example:

I need to make myself more desirable, so I need to perform better and do more significant things
They don’t seem to acknowledge me or my needs, so I need to perform better and do more significant things
I’m an uncomfortable person to be around, so maybe I should just create distance between us
They aren’t able to connect well with me, so maybe I should just create distance between us

Of course, the “right” lane directing anyone through their life’s divine purpose isn’t easy, either. Especially for anyone choosing to follow Christ (Matthew 7:14). The tough part — the part where I get stuck — is in that moment when the oncoming traffic (and all of its distractions) becomes more real than the prospect of getting back onto the course I know I’m supposed to travel.

I’ve taken this analogy about as far as it can go, so I’ll say it this way.

I work in the music industry and, as nature would have it, I was born with an ego. It’s a tall order to be any part of the entertainment industry and regularly defy the lower-case god of acknowledgement, significance and approval. Especially when my specific job is marketing and promotion. MY JOB IS TO GET PEOPLE’S ATTENTION AND THEN GET THEM TO LIKE ME AND THEN GET THEM TO THINK THAT WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER IS SPECIAL. For real, God? I mean, I like what I do. But how interesting is it that every day, I sit down at my desk, pick up the phone, send emails and face the biggest battle of my life. To live out and project to others the grace found in an identity cemented in Christ, rather than live and die by the moment, depending on how desirable a person or circumstance makes me feel.

But, man, how often do I find myself stuck an internal battle between who God says I am and the much-more-real-in-the-moment lie of what it seems like the world is saying about me — or what I’M saying about me? Literally? Every day. Every day I’m stepping up to the plate against “it.” It doesn’t help that I’m a recovering over-thinker. A friend of mine suggested this morning that I might be more fine than I think I am, but I analyze my way out of “average life” and make matters in my head unnecessarily worse. This insight is by no stretch ridiculous. I’m sure that’s another post in itself, later on.

Some might suggest I seek out another type of career path, considering what I’m up constantly up against in my heart and mind. I’m up for anything, if it’s clear this isn’t working. But there’s something clearly at work in my heart here and moving into something else right now as I work through all of this feels like…fleeing. I’d like to face this and experience victory, which looks to me like a lot of God’s demonstrated glory. I’d like to snap out of “it” on a daily basis. So much so that “it” is more like an annoying gnat to swat out of my face, not four lanes of oncoming semi-trucks. I’d like to experience (many, long) moments when “it” isn’t even a factor because my purpose is more clear and real than any perceived rejection or failure.

If “it” takes me to a place that’s the opposite of God’s best for me, and God is love (I John 4:8), then I can be assured that particular path is going to be impatient, rude, self-serving, proud, easily angered and despairing (I Cor. 13:4-7), to name a few. Today — many days — I get mixed up in all of that. There isn’t a neat bow to put at the end of this post, necessarily, but I do know that writing this stuff out helps me gain a more Centered, purposeful outlook on where I have to believe God is taking me. And although other things might seem more real than His Truth at times, I have to believe that will change as I stay focused on the path He has me on.

Which, interestingly, makes James 1:4, a verse that’s been my go-to for most of the past year, so fitting right about now:

“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

Guys at a table on Tuesday nights.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy and creativity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose, vulnerability is the path.” – Brene Brown (Daring Greatly)

For nearly three years, I’ve been part of a men’s group who meets on Tuesday nights. I could be neurotic (could be??), but the greater truth is, if I didn’t send a reminder text/email out the five other guys EVERY MONDAY of our 6:30 gathering tomorrow night, I’m willing to bet money I don’t have that the group straight-up wouldn’t meet.

Some would forget.

Some would think about it for a second, d0 a mental (or maybe physical) shoulder-shrug and continue getting lost down a rabbit trail of YouTube vids.

Some would fall into a psychophysical paralysis, unsure what to do in this situation, leading them to spend no less than 15 minutes staring at a nail hole in the wall and not moving.

Of course, I assume all of this, because these are things I have done historically in various circumstances. But not when it comes to this Tuesday night group. I tackle the administrative reins because it’s important that we make a meeting happen as weekly as possible. And everyone in the group knows it’s important, too. It’s just…hard to send meeting-organizing text messages. …I suppose.

What’s intriguing about this group of six dudes is this:

– 3 of us are over 35

– 5 of us have children

– 4 of us have children under the age of 4

– 2 of us are raising teenagers

– 5 of us are married

– 4 of us have been married for less than 7 years

– 3 of us are divorced

– 3 of us come from broken homes

– 4 of us have experienced infidelity in our marriages

– 4 of us have experienced months+ long seasons of joblessness

– 2 of us are enjoying our current career path

We attend three different churches.

We are able to identify in each other a pretty great skill that has little or nothing to do with their current line of work. One guy works at an airport, but would love to run his own bakery someday. Another works for an IT firm, but is a semi-pro photographer quickly en route to becoming totally pro, and is already dealing with a high demand for his business. Another is a great filmmaker and actor who soon plans to drop his job teaching English to Middle Eastern students at a local community college and move with his wife to NYC to become a sitcom star.

Noticeably, there are lots of overlaps in parts our stories but each one has twists/turns and a destination that is uniquely ours. We share our fears and dreams. Our mistakes and accolades. We’re working on being confrontational, but that’s tough, because no one likes to be seen as a jerk, even when a confrontation would be the most loving action. It takes a lot of trust to confront someone you love.

Typically, guys don’t like to be vulnerable. Or, really, even know how to be. The six of us are still trying to figure that out too; but after a few years together, we’re all growing more comfortable–and capable–sharing what’s really going on in our respective worlds. That kind of development requires time and trust–neither of which can be forced, as we all know. There are still moments when we’re tempted to do things that minimize our mess/sin and deflect our need for true relationship (and the gospel of God’s grace), like:

Fake
Defend
Hide
Blame-shift
Downplay
Exaggerate

All in a pretty depressing effort to look better to each other and/or feel better about ourselves. Sometimes we actually do give into the temptation–at least I do–but we each know better that doing so ultimately will never amount to a positive net sum. Sharing our stories without imparting the full truth is not only (of course) lying, it’s settling on being…boring, and wasting time.

I’ve found the experience of being known–even partly known, with the commitment to make myself as fully transparent as possible over time (at least within the confines of safe people) — and loved anyway, is transcendental. To become the person I want to be, I have to make choices to fully know myself. In order to fully know myself, I need to know (and accept) who Christ says I am. When I know who I am, I can make myself adequately known to those around me. And if they’re taking the same steps, I can know them.

One of life’s greatest satisfactions is to live it out with people choosing to take those steps, avoiding the natural tendency to wander around solo, and instead walk down the same path of clarity and purpose together.

Becoming true

Recently, I decided to get my hair cut by a male stylist in town who’s a good acquaintance and doing his best to launch a salon & spa alongside his wife, who’s also a stylist. I’d been content with the salon that took care of my hair-grooming needs for a few years; but when Ricardo offered me a good price for his work, I decided the salon world wasn’t a place necessary for establishing deep-rooted loyalties. And I don’t like to spend money on hair stuff. So, Ricardo and his yet-unquoted “good price” won my business.

Ricardo’s a fairly confident, Mediterranean man, who moved to the States a couple years back to start a new life with his equally-Mediterranean spouse, Elena. He prides himself on being the best in town — if not also the best in many towns neighboring this town. He spends a lot of time and money traveling to Paul Mitchell-endorsed “here’s what’s up in the hair world this week” workshops in New York City and Paris/Prague (one or both of those). He keeps no less than three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and, naturally, maintains a well-manicured beard.

So, as a guy who’s not living in Ricardo’s world of high-fashion and pageantry, I’ll admit: Ricardo’s pretty intimidating. I (still) haven’t managed to grow a presentable beard, let alone taken straight-ironing classes in Italy.

But I told him I’d visit him for a hair appointment and I’ve learned to stand by my commitments. Besides, from what I’d heard of this man, he was a sheer genius (that was bad, but I’ll let it go) and the idea of a new look interested me, after two years of the military-esque high ‘n’ tight thing, inspired by my re-visiting the Band of Brothers HBO series in early 2012.

Ricardo greets me at his salon with a firm handshake (I’m a hugger, but he’s a working man in his work space, so it’s all business), sits me down in his swively salon chair and drapes a cape over me. He proceeds to not ask me what kind of hair style I’m considering. That information’s irrelevant. I’m the one wearing the cape. I need to just…sit there…and let the artist work. Ricardo explains his game plan to me (I’ll try to do it in his accent):

“These es th’ most pupular men’s hair style in th’ wurl. These es how David Beckham styles hees hair. Right now.”

With charisma and aforementioned confidence, Ricardo uses hand gestures to paint me a visual picture of myself with Beckham hair. The look is a military-esque high ‘n’ tight thing with a part down the right side and the front hair kind of flipped up and back (I was unable to locate the technical jargon, but found this. It’s a real thing!).

“Oh…ok,” I say, with hesitancy. Remember, I’m a little intimidated. “This is essentially the same style I’ve had for awhile. Do you have any other ideas…or…?”

“These es the most pupular men’s hair style in th’ wurl,” Ricardo repeats. “I geeve these hair cut to all th’ men. Trahst me.”

He starts up the razor and does what he said he was going to do. Conversation over. I was getting the “David Beckham”. The accent probably had something to do with this, but it was impossible to not think of a less jerk-y, salon version of Seinfeld‘s notoriously eccentric “Soup Nazi,” as I sat there, taking orders from the merchant getting my (the customer’s) business.

The hair cut was fine. And I can’t argue that the look embodied what the fashion world says is currently cool. But that’s beside the much bigger point that came to me in that moment.

I wish this was an isolated situation of me allowing someone to assert on to me something different than what I really wanted. Especially considering the trivial-ness of getting Nazi’d into a “forced” hair style. But more often than I want to admit, I find myself being quite untrue to who I really am because:

I didn’t want to create a divisive situation
I didn’t care enough to fight for what I had initially purposed to pursue, because I simply wasn’t as convicted as I should have been in said purpose.
I didn’t want to project myself as (too) different — being different is “cool,” but we all know there’s a limit before cool becomes “weird,” even as adults
I didn’t know myself enough to really know what I want in the first place

Nearly every part of my office desk is laden with Post-It notes and 3×5 cards with reminders that I actually read, sometimes. Front and center-ish, is one that says in green Sharpie: “…Your task is to be true, not popular”, excerpted from the Message version of Luke 6:26. I’ve wanted to start a blog–or simply write what’s on my heart regularly–for years (and years), but I’ve never been convinced that I have anything of (enough) importance to communicate. And I’m realizing that I’m lazy (“So I really have to type out all of these thoughts into all of these words for free?).

It seems like God’s (been) telling me to start small and just start writing what I’m learning to be true in this season — and maybe beyond. Exploring the somewhat-universal concept of seasons themselves — the stories/lessons generated from them, and most vitally, where Jesus can be found in all of them.

While ~~it’s pretty easy for me to be vulnerable~~ I’m taking steps each day toward living more vulnerably, with some success, it’s tough to go at this knowing a lot of what I’m learning to be true isn’t popular. Shoot, I’m a walking billboard of having a hard time doing what’s true of myself.

My “pupular” hair cut is presently demonstration enough.