Loved Despite of Great Faults

In my quest for a title, I typed the world "fault" into the search bar of my iTunes, and only three songs came up, the first of which became the title of the post you see before you. I'd like to say it sums up the remainder of this post, but that would be a stretch. Still, I like it. Because really, any one who is loved by another is loved in spite of their faults, yeah?

I've figured a little something out about myself. I'm not a sports guy by any means, but I'm familiar with a superstition apparently common among baseball pitchers wherein if it looks like they may have a no-hitter in their immediate future, they won't talk about it, and they don't want their teammates to talk about it to them, a communal silence held intact by fear of The Mighty Jinx. As if giving breath to the looming possibility of something great is to ensure its certain demise. In some cases, I'm sure it's just an issue of maintaining focus and concentration, but come on; we all know sports are as riddled with superstitions as a back-porch conversation between old southerners.

As much as I hate to admit it, I think I carry something akin to this sort of jinx-based superstition deep within me. I am afraid to talk very much about a good thing that looks like it might happen, for fear that it won't. But it's not so much that I'm afraid of jinxing it. It's more that I dread the idea of getting my hopes up, of exciting others with my news, only to have to come back later with a disappointing update. And to dig a bit deeper than that, it's not the sharing of bad news that makes me cringe, but rather the thought of how that bad news reflects back upon me.

I absolutely do not believe that the only reason bad things happen to people is because they somehow deserve it. Sure, sometimes people bring shit on themselves, but when you start saying things like, oh I don't know, that an entire city was leveled by a hurricane because the people who live there were BAD, well then you're an idiot. And you're stupid. A stupid idiot. Oh, and mean. A mean stupid idiot bad person. Who will be punished! Oh wait, uh...

But all that aside, it seems that somewhere along the way, probably very early on, I internalized the idea that bad things happen to people solely as a result, be it direct or indirect, of their own moral wrongdoings. I don't believe it consciously, but below the surface, there it is, a completely unfounded unfair untrue wrong hateful judgmental proven-wrong-a-billion-times-over idea. Perhaps it was some of the hellfire and brimstone brand of religion that I was exposed to as a boy, the kind that sees sin and damnation in even the most beautiful that life has to offer. Plus I grew up in a family that routinely discussed a variety of superstitions, most of which seemed to call out strange events as the results of even stranger, seemingly unlinked actions. Like for example, if both of your shoes were untied, it meant that you'd either been telling lies or peeing in the road.

Whatever the cause, it seems that I have become a person who is hesitant to discuss good things that might happen, things that might go my way for fear that, if they don't, that if the scales tip the other way, then it will become apparent to all that I must have failed somehow. Whatever bad news I have will be a great big giant banner proclaiming to the world that I must have done something wrong to place myself in a position out of favor with the cosmos.

Which is just fucking stupid.

So in a challenge to these foolish little superstitions of mine, and in an attempt to pry them loose from that which makes up myself, I'm going to talk about the good news that just might happen for us. It's actually a pretty certain thing at this point, but the final bits of paperwork haven't been signed yet. I'm referring, of course, to the house we're buying. The link is to my wife's blog where she posted about this a few days ago. Even though the news has been out there for a little while, and many of you who know us in the flesh are already aware of this, I still get this giddy risk-taking feeling by putting this out there. Which is okay with me. But yes, we're buying a house, one that we've fallen absolutely in love with, one which meets all of our requirements, and falls well within our budget.

Like I said, it's a pretty certain thing at this point. But more importantly, it feels good to challenge this notion of mine that when things don't go my way, it's some indicator that I'm a failure and now everybody knows so cue the pointing and laughing. If you must point and laugh, do so because my fly is open, which of course is a sure sign that I've either been stealing fruit out of the farmer's orchard or playing with matches.

The Mundane And The Magnificent

It's funny, the post I'm about to write has been bouncing around in my head for a few days, and then I noticed today that I've got Carnival of the Mundane hosting duties coming up this Friday. It is as if the mundane has made itself a theme 'round these parts. Hopefully that's not the norm, but that's mine neither to decide nor to fret over.

But the mundane, yes, it would seem life is full of it. The typical ordinary unexciting experiences. This series of inconveniences and problems and appointments, tasks and to-dos, coping mechanisms and incomplete lists. Basically all the shit, you know? It's easy to get mired down in it and start to believe, albeit subconsciously, that the mundane is all there is, that life is little more than hum-de-dum-ho-hum-bumbledy-bum. Or some such nonsense.

But is the mundane really all that, um, mundane? I hate using the same word twice in a sentence.

But to answer the question, yeah, it sure as fuck can be. I'm not the guy who's here to start talking some self-help babblety-bub about squeezing all you can out of every second you're alive, and how every moment of life is a precious moment worthy of commemoration in porcelain statuary. Not that I don't sort of believe those things sometimes, at least on some conceptual level, but the truth is I don't have the talent for actually living that way most of the time, and I'm really amazed by people who do. Life may have its thrills, but most of the time, there are bills to be paid and errands to run and problems, big scary serious problems hanging over your head that won't go away just because you ignore them. Oh, and then I gotta go to work. And it's this stuff that I tend to get bogged down in, and I forget that there's more to life than all that, all the stuff.

It's the things and the people that pull me out of that kind of autopilot mode of living that I'm truly thankful for. And the beautiful thing is, it can be damn near anything. One day last week it was a Coldplay song. This weekend it was an afternoon nap with my son asleep on my shoulder. It can be a conversation, or laughing my ass off with my wife, or a great blog post, sometimes an inspirational sermon or a stranger's unexpected kindness. Whatever. Hell, sometimes I think that's all that a spiritual experience really is: something that yanks us out of ourselves for just a moment, just long enough to remind us in so many words, images, and/or sensations that we're more than just our weaknesses and strengths, our virtues and vices, our accomplishments and failures.

I don't really know how to conclude this collection of thoughts, so I'll just leave you all with wishes for a good week. Oh, and get those Carnival entries in!