My Christmas

I had a Wonderful Christmas.

I saw all my family and caught up and made some memories. I may be 25, but I still believe in Santa Clause and me and my little niece – who is only about 13 months old – got all caught up in the blissfulness that Christmas brings.

Be a kid. Be joyful.

I got all I asked for and I’ve always gotten all a boy could ever want. My birthday wish, however, has still not come true. I do not anticipate that it will, but I wish for it still out of that purely optimistic part of my heart. One shouldn’t expect to get all one wants. But what’s the harm in wishing for something unrealistic every now and again?

Probably the best Christmas gift was not at all a surprise, but nothing could have prepared me for it. I brought back a painting from Paris this summer. When I was there the second time around, at the end of my journey before I was to fly out of Charles de Gaulle Airport, I started getting tremendously sentimental and I bought all kinds of souvenirs.

I bought my niece a pink stuffed Eiffel Tower. How could I resist?

So yea – I picked out a painting of the city during sunset. Looking out over the Seine, the Eiffel Tower prominently watching over its city, the sun casting this uniquely beautiful glow over the buildings. It’s a great scene and I’ve been dying to get it matted and framed.

I have other art projects from Europe that need framing, but they will have to wait.

So for now, I have this picture frozen in time. Anywhere I go, anywhere I move to, this thing will come with me and it will remind me of that unforgettable journey. I have so many things like that – things that take me back in an instant to a beautiful memory from my life.

I am a rich man, to be certain.

However, yesterday we encountered a road bump. My family’s cat, Oreo, had to be put to sleep. He was very old and had experienced no health problems until now. His bladder stopped working and when pressed, blood would come out of it.

I cried when my dad and I went to the vet to see Oreo one last time. I had no idea how much I’d grown to love him. My dad cried twice as hard as I did and I think I realized at that moment just how alike he and I are.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and I get that directly from him. We both can be emotional and we cherish some of the most simple things in life.

Some sons hate the idea of being like their dad. It’s a curse and if anyone ever says something about it, they fly off the handle.

For me, being like my dad would be a great compliment.

I had a Wonderful Christmas – I hope you did, too.

I have posts written out. Perhaps they need editing, but they are written.

There are things that I want to talk about and tell you about and discuss. But they will have to wait for a little while.

It’s Christmas and I’m going to enjoy it. I’m going to spend time with people in my life that I love. All of you guys are wonderful and my life is richer for knowing each and every one of you. But let’s all slow down for a while and enjoy the people in our lives. Enjoy this time of year and all the special moments that it brings.

I am going to be with my mom and dad and my sisters and my precious little niece. I’m going to spend time with my Mamaw – whose health has been declining of late. And Grandaddy and Grandmamma. I want to savor every moment as if I’m not guaranteed to have anything like it again. Because I may not.

This is a special time of year. I love to anticipate its approach and I hate to see it pass. I take pleasure in putting up Christmas lights and trees and decorations. I listen to Christmas songs at home, at work, and in the car. I immerse myself in it and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Step back and enjoy it all.


To Everyone:

Merry Christmas.

May God Bless You and All That You Love.

On Monday, around 11 p.m., this Unknown Man will have been on this Earth for 25 years.

Some days, I feel like I've lived the richest and fullest 25 years of anybody who ever existed.

Other days, I feel quite the opposite.

Here's to hoping that on this day, I feel the former.

A Little Town

It’s Christmas time.

The air is fresh and it’s brisk. You are not suffocated by the heat or heaviness of summer. Instead, the cold invigorates your skin and fills your lungs with refreshing purity.

Every year, my family comes together and we visit this very small town about an hour away from home. This weekend, we continued that tradition and it was a truly great weekend. At Christmas, this town lines its streets with luminaries and all the little shops put up lights and make cider and cookies for their visitors. It’s almost something out of a storybook.

Christmas music emanates from a variety of sources and can be heard while you walk the streets of this place. The town is home to a very old restaurant and lodging establishment. This is where we eat dinner when we visit. Food is prepared and served in very large portions – family-style. You order one of five or six meals and get unlimited amounts of not only that, but also potatoes, cole slaw, and the best damn biscuits you’ve ever put in your mouth. This year, I chose Chicken and Dumplins.

It’s a classic and wonderful scene. And with all the little kids that are now present in my three sisters’ families, well – it’s always full of life.


There is something very romantic and mysterious about winter. Girls aren’t strutting around in short skirts and tight shirts that are showing more cleavage and more stomach. And guys aren’t gawking at them. Not that I don’t appreciate a hot woman dressed in flattering clothing – don’t get me wrong. But there’s something very special about a woman who looks amazing when she’s bundled up against the cold.

Her true beauty shines thru and some things are left to the imagination. It’s better that way, if you ask me. Maybe her whole body is completely covered, and therefore her hands become the center of attention and you notice how small they are.

Or perhaps she’s pulled a hood over her head, in an effort to protect her ears and neck from winter’s chill. Her eyes shine a little brighter than usual and you suddenly realize that they are the most amazing thing about her.

It’s funny how things are brought to light. By darkness. By cold. By affliction.

I love Christmas.

Movie Trivia

Below is a quote from one of my favorite movies. It's one that I often forget about, but literally every time I come across it on T.V. - I can't pass it by.

It is a wonderful tale of a luminous man following his dreams despite the most crippling of setbacks. Full of imagery. My dad introduced me to this film and I will surely introduce it my son - whenever he comes along.

Let's see who can guess the title...


“Ya know...my mother told me I outta be a farmer.”

“My dad wanted me to be a baseball player.”

“Well, you’re the best one I ever had.
And you’re the best damn hitter I ever saw.

Suit up.”

On the Road Again

Sevilla Cathedral at Night
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

A lot has happened over the last month. I have been preoccupied and distracted and maybe even a little lost. The last post about my journey this summer had me meeting Amanda in Malaga, Spain. Let's pick back up...


48 hours passed and I was leaving Malaga before I even knew I had arrived. My time with Amanda passed quickly but it was reassuring – what we had experienced in Valencia and Granada was not a fluke. It was real.

I missed her immediately but picked myself up by the bootstraps and jumped on a bus to Sevilla. Traveling between cities was, oddly enough, one of the best parts of my trip. I think it was the transition of it all. Sailing smoothly from one place to the next – physically, emotionally, spiritually. It gave each new place a context – a meaning.

Granada was more than a beautiful city. It was where Amanda and I were together. It was where my heart refused to be silenced. Cinque Terre was not simply the most amazing natural landscape I’d ever seen. It was my purification.

And so Sevilla was next. Abby had studied there for a semester. She sent me postcards and emails making claims of its beauty and splendor.

You don’t know who Abby is and you won’t find out, because she’s another long story to be told on a very lonely day. She got married this past summer while I was in Europe. Perhaps while I was visiting her city. It seems as if they’re all getting married.

Every time a destination was reached, an excitement rose inside of me. Excitement for something undiscovered. It must have been something of a glimpse of what Columbus or Ponce de Leon felt as they uncovered The New World. Or perhaps Lewis and Clark.

On a smaller scale, certainly. But isn’t it similar? All these places were new to me. They had yet to be discovered and searched and explored. Maybe others had already seen them. But I had not.

It was a feeling of being alive. Of truly living.

By now I was becoming quite adept at finding my way around these places. Maps were second nature and I’d grown unconcerned about whether people were around while I checked my maps. I’m a tourist – I am not ashamed.

Despite my failure to routinely do this, calling ahead to secure a place to stay was a really great idea. Thankfully, I had made this call back in Malaga and knew where I was going once in Sevilla. The hostel was run by an old but kind lady that spoke just slightly broken English. I found that places like this – hostels that weren’t big and commercial, but rather, small and locally run – gave much more of a true flavor for the place. They intensified the experience and I preferred it that way.

The weather gods had blessed me so far and continued to oblige. While America was battling her worst hurricane season in recent history, I was a million miles away under some of the bluest skies I’d ever seen. Sure, it was hot. But I’d rather sweat a little than be holed up inside while the rain and wind whip around outside.

As was my custom, I dumped my stuff in the room, took a breather and then headed out into the unknown. It was Sunday and the cathedral was open with free admission. I love free.

It is only the largest Gothic edifice ever constructed and the third largest cathedral in the world. Pause for a second and think about that, will you? Save for St. Peter’s in Rome and St. Paul’s in London – this cathedral is the largest in all the world. It took more than a century to build.

I love being awe-struck. When you’re awe-struck, you know you’re witnessing the pinnacle of something.

An astonishing athletic performance – Jordan’s 38 points in Game 5 of the 1997 NBA playoffs, including the 3-pointer that won the game. The night when, 5 minutes before the game, he was still lying in a dark room with a bucket nearby to handle his puking from food poisoning. The whole game, he looked as if he were on the verge of fainting.

Physical beauty – The most perfect smile you’ve ever seen in your entire life. So perfect, that the beauty of Cinque Terre pales in comparison. The way a girl’s ears fade into her neck. And her neck into her shoulders.

A feat of man – A structure so immense and intricate that you can’t help but wonder how a modern builder would go about creating this thing, much less a group of men in the year 1401.

Awe-inspiring. Beauty.

I love it.

Living to the Hilt

Steven made a comment the other day in response to a post of mine. He said we should "live life to the hilt - a great swordfighting metaphor, but living to the hilt means getting seriously stabbed now and then."

Immediately a passage from a book came to mind. Again, I reference "Wild at Heart" by John Eldredge. Eldredge does such a masterful job at drawing from others' commentary about whatever subject he's dealing with.

We're entering the story towards the end - one of the last chapters. Eldredge is speaking about how to fight; what happens when a man resolves to become a warrior. And he draws from another author's insights -

"The most dangerous man on earth is the man who has reckoned with his own death. All men die; few men ever really live. Sure, you can create a safe life for yourself...and end your days in a rest home babbling on about some forgotten misfortune. I'd rather go down swinging. Besides, the less we are trying to 'save ourselves,' the more effective a warrior we can be. Listen to G.K. Chesterton on courage:

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die. "He that will lose his life, the same shall save it," is not a piece of mysticism for saints and heroes. It is a piece of everyday advice for sailors or mountaineers. It might be printed in an Alpine guide or a drill book. The paradox is the whole principle of courage; even of quite earthly or quite brutal courage. A man cut off by the sea may save his life if he will risk it on the precipice. He can only get away from death by continually stepping within an inch of it. A soldier surrounded by enemies, if he is to cut his way out, needs to combine a strong desire for living with a strange carelessness about dying. He must not merely cling to live, for then he will be a coward, and will not escape. He must not merely wait for death, for then he will be a suicide, and will not escape. He must seek his life in a spirit of furious indifference to it; he must desire life like water yet drink death like wine."


Nothing needs to be added to that. Nothing.

I wish to God that I could make everyone happy. There are many, many people in my life who I care about dearly and I wish I could make all their pains and fears vanish into the wind. I wish I could carry their burdens for them and ease the weight on their shoulders.

I have tried in earnest.

It is not possible. And although it is not possible – I will likely continue to try for all the days of my life. Maybe it’s not necessary. Maybe that’s not the way to live one’s life. But this is how I am built.

I’m an optimist. I’m a romantic. I’m a dreamer. I wear my heart unabashedly on my sleeve.

And today, I have been beaten. I’m worn and broken and spent. It feels like I’m being taken out by snipers.

But Tomorrow – tomorrow the sun will rise and a new day will come upon us.

"You are more authentic when you appear to be what you dream you are." - Pedro Almodovar

Indeed

People, more times than not it seems, have ulterior motives. They want to influence others to better suit their own needs and desires, and perhaps, fears. They lie – they deceive. I have encountered too many of these people. They are pathetic. Now on to my post…


Saturday night brought me another dream. The girl with the perfect smile wasn’t smiling this time. No…she was trapped beneath a crumbling house. She needed help. She needed someone to save her.

And I went in after her. Crawling under the house towards her, I was intensely aware of my feelings for her – and her apparent lack of them for me. In this moment, though, it mattered not. I clasped her hand in mine and pulled her to safety.

Standing to clear us of the danger, she stumbled into my arms. Although her hands were gripping my biceps with urgency, they felt light as feathers. My eyes gazed into hers and hers into mine, as if the danger just a few feet away simply did not exist. But something broke the moment and we moved off into the distance.

A flash elapsed a few hours and I found myself walking the girl home. She was bumped and bruised but she was walking by my side with her arm thru mine. Of all the amazing things in this world – a girl walking with her arm thru mine is easily in my Top 5.

Her door stoop appeared quicker than I anticipated and my courage swelled up enough to speak.

“You don’t have to pretend to like me just because I saved you”, I said in a self-deprecating way, fully expecting this luminous creature to breathe a sigh of relief and reply “thank God”.

“I am not pretending, Jonathan.”

The words hit me like water to the lips of a man lost in the desert for years and years.

Our eyes locked again, as if the moment from earlier had never been interrupted.

The dream started to fade here, but a very pale image of our lips meeting is burned in my mind’s eye. Perhaps it’s my optimistic imagination kicking it. Perhaps it actually happened that night.

Either way, I would say it’s part of the Dream.

"Enough. Enough now."

Cinque Terre Sunset from Riomaggiore 2
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

My heart has ached and perhaps it aches still. None of you know the situation I’m in and what exactly has caused this swell inside of me. Yet you all have offered support and encouragement and words of wisdom – for that, I am a grateful man. And an extraordinarily lucky one.

Thank You.

However, that will be enough public aching. Enough now. I will recall the girl’s fantastically perfect smile many times, I am sure. Bellissima. Perhaps the dreams will continue. Agonizing they may be – but I would savor them.

It hurts, yet I do not regret being in this position. I do not want to be fearful. I would rather be one of those people, as so eloquently put by Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, “who know the great enthusiasms…and who, at worst, fail while daring greatly...so that their place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

I want to take every single shot that I’m ever given in this life. Because we get but one chance. No one can live their life 2 or 3 times in order to make right what went wrong; to take chances that passed by the first time.

I do not want to try to convince you, or worse still, myself, that I need no one. Well, perhaps “need” isn’t the right word. I suppose that physically, all I “need” is food and water. But what about psychologically, emotionally, spiritually?

My soul craves companionship. And I’m not ashamed to admit that. No, I am proud to admit it. My life is not going to be defined by how much education I receive, how many books I read, how many pictures I take, or how much money I have.

The people who I cross paths with – people I influence and who influence me – will define my life. I do not remember what grade I was assigned on my Principles of Marketing research paper during second year of business school. But you better believe that I can recall every minute detail of that wonderful spring night I enjoyed with Abby – the night I was supposed to write that paper. We didn’t do anything naughty. We didn’t even kiss.

But she and I danced out in that gazebo like nothing else existed in all the world.

I do not remember how much money I had to loan Amanda after she lost her passport and credit cards. What I do remember is the color of the Granada sky that night we sat up at the Mirador. And the way I felt sitting beside her.

“Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.” – Marcus Aurelius

Dreams

I hardly ever dream. 2 or 3 times a year, tops.

So the fact that I’ve had 3 dreams over the last couple of weeks is astonishing for me.

My first one, a few weeks ago, had me standing in the midst of hundreds and hundreds of scorpions. I was not alone – someone was standing with me – but I was the focus of these creatures.

There were 2 kinds of scorpions. Your typical, garden-variety scorpion that kept attacking me. And I kept standing there getting stung.

The second group was classified to me, by my companion, as “suicide scorpions”. These creatures would pull the tail over their head, but instead of stinging an enemy or attacker – they would sting themselves. They were killing themselves.

And instead of allowing this very odd of phenomena, I protected them. For these “suicide scorpions”, I would place my hand in between their bodies and their tails. I would take their attack, rather than allow them to sting themselves. I offered myself for their protection.

A friend made the observation that perhaps the scorpions in my dream represented women in my life. A keen interpretation, perhaps.

However rare it is when I have a dream – it is 10 times as rare that I dream about a girl I know. Within the last week, though, there have been 2 such dreams.

It has been hell.

Monday night was the first. Her face – more vivid than any photograph I have ever taken. The sensations – returned from the depths of my memories. Every detail was present.

The second one showed up Thursday night. I am haunted by her face – by her smile - by the memories that I myself have locked safe within my soul.

Sleep has come to me with some difficulty since I got back from my vacation. I lie awake and play situations out in my head. Actual situations; hypothetical situations; vastly unrealistic situations.

None of it matters.

“I didn't ask for it to be over, but then again, I never asked for it to begin. For that's the way it is with life, as some of the most beautiful days come completely by chance. But even the most beautiful days eventually have their sunsets.”

Oh, how I wish the sun hadn’t set quite yet.

“Sometimes...when you hold out for everything, you walk away with nothing.”

Yeah, that and I'm a total LOSER.

You know how over there on my little profile, it says "I want to go down swinging"?

Well, I'm sure as hell going down.

Obviously

Your results:
You are Superman

Superman 95% Green Lantern 70% Robin 62% Supergirl 55% The Flash 55% Spider-Man 50% Wonder Woman 50% Hulk 50% Iron Man 50% Batman 40% Catwoman 20%

You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...


Would you expect anything less???

Control Vanishes

The most unexpected things happen in the most unexpected ways and in the most unexpected places. Don't they?

My vacation has brought me to a place where I never would have guessed I'd be. It's funny, really, how events play out and unfold - regardless of whether you want them to or not.

Somehow, the things which simply must happen, do. They are brought to light because that is as it was meant to be. We have far less control over this thing called life than many of us want to believe.

I'm again reminded of a quote that I have already spoke of on this blog a while back. I think it defines quite a lot about my life - and perhaps, a lot about yours, too. It is simple and short yet it speaks volumes. The best kind.

"You Don't Choose What You Love. It Chooses You."

I Know Not

My travels have taken a bit of a hiatus lately, I know.

I am preoccupied - with a vacation that I am on, with things that I have encountered, with new, unexpected feelings that have made themselves known in far too dramatic fashion.

I walk around the streets of this big city which I am visiting lost in thought; lost in other people's faces; lost in memories of experiences not from long ago, but from just the other day.

One of my favorite books of all time is John Eldredge's "The Journey of Desire". This book has been read by me more times than I care to count, and it has also been thrown against walls, floors, doors, whatever, by me.

Anyone who's curious about new ways to look at God - read it.

One of my most loved passages in ANY book is this:

"Simone Weil was right; there are only two things that pierce the human heart: beauty and affliction. Moments we wish would last forever and moments we wish had never begun."

To be honest - I've encountered many, many of my favorite passages in Eldredge's writings. So this is just one of several.

But My, how this is true. I have experienced more of each of those types than I deserve. I am going thru one right now, as I write this.

Beauty and Affliction.

I know not what to do with it.

Do You Know What It Means?

The words were written on the inside wall, above the front door. So that it was not blatant. You did not read them as you entered the home, but rather, as you were leaving it. As if that were meant to be the lasting impression - the most important impression.

Formed in a style that was flowing, rounded, soft. Almost in a way - feminine. Which contrasted quite distinctly with the actual words.

"Freedom Is Never Free"

It resounded with me immediately and it resounds with me to this day.

Someone, somewhere, paid the price for your freedom. And mine. A soldier stands on a wall with a gun, protecting you and I. Protecting our lives. Our liberties. Our freedoms.

Many, many have gone before. And many will go after.

They protect us from the Evil that exists in our world. Evil that has existed since the beginning of Time. It will be here until the end of Time. Evil in the form of Hitler, Stalin, Mao Ze-Dong and Hussein.

Too many people do not understand what that means. "Freedom Is Never Free." What it entails. They take it for granted and they criticize those that provide the very freedom which they live under.

I know what it means.

Every man and woman that has ever served the side of Good - you have my respect, admiration and support.

And for those that have specifically served America - it is your Greatness that defines us.

A Man Who Knows...

I'm sick of reading about all this apology stuff. Blah.

Here's one of my favorite quotes of all time. I came across it years ago when I was home from school one weekend. It was in the local paper, so I cut it out and pinned it up on my corkboard at school - among many other things. I still have that cutout to this day.


"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life."
- John Muir


And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is a man who knows what he's talking about.

I invite everybody to comment with any and all of their favorite quotes. List them all and I might just post some up later.

Apologies

I'm not sure why my previous post was offensive to some people.

But it was.

If you know me, then you know I would never want to offend someone. So if I have, then I am sorry.

A Brilliant Idea

I allowed myself a bit of weakness the next morning when I cried in the shower. Not long ago, my reaction would have been to tell myself that this girl didn't matter. Useless to me. A bystander.

But I was finally beginning to understand that if you go thru life with that perception, you will face years of regret down the road. I refused to do that any longer. For all intents and purposes, I was devastated. However, all was not lost - for I had enjoyed days alone in Paris and I would enjoy them again. The day was filled with keeping to myself and hiking high above the city.

The heat was suffocating and the sweat was dripping, but that day was - in a way - cleansing.

After dinner I settled down at the Mirador once again. To watch the sunset, the sky turn thru its spectrum of colors, and get lost among the locals. Writing in my journal, my thoughts wandered and God began to speak to me. It was the first time in a few days that I heard His voice.

I wrote questions in my journal and then felt the need to stand and take a walk. I will not relay what He said to me that day, for it would be slightly embarrassing, and because what was said was meant for me alone.

But that conversation changed me. He gave me an insight into my life that I had not planned on ever receiving.

Later, I thought about where the path was taking me next. Ryanair was flying me from Sevilla to Milan in a week - but what to do till then? I could feel that it was time to leave Granada so I had a few days to play with.

When was Amanda getting into Malaga? Malaga was only a few hours south of here, and only a few hours away from Sevilla. Actually, not a bad spot to spend a few days.

Almost like a child, I sprang up, ran as fast as I could down the path that leads to the city and back to my hostel. An email was written before I could think of what to write and now all I had to do was wait for her response.

"What a brilliant idea!" I thought.

Well, her response didn't come quickly and it was the following day before any correspondance could be made. But I was to meet her in Malaga, at the bus station. She booked a room and we were to see each other again.

Logic, in case you were wondering, had been tossed to the curb. I was taking this by the seat of my pants and unsure of what I was doing.

And it could not have been more fun.

Looking back on all of this - I can't help but feel blessed. I went to Europe alone. Sure, I knew Jeremy and Bridget were already over there, but I was not tagging along and would only see them a few times along our travels.

So being alone for the majority of the trip was therapeutic in ways I didn't even know existed. But meeting Amanda, I gained a companion.

I knew I was blessed. And I was thankful for it.

We Said Goodbye

Granada Alhambra Gardens, originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

Jeremy and Bridget left the following morning. It was Tuesday and they were on their way to San Sebastian to watch the running of the bulls.

Amanda got up early and went downstairs to get a bite of breakfast to eat. She was leaving today to get a new passport in Madrid. Then she was traveling south to Malaga to fly back into England.

I didn't know what to do. Not wanting her to leave, but not knowing whether this was where the road was supposed to end or not, I was frozen.

And I had been there before.

It's only been a few years ago, but it seems like much longer than that when I broke up with Nicole. 16 months was a long relationship for me - the longest certainly that I have ever had. We had our problems, for sure, and there were reasons for my actions. Good reasons. But when you're young and immature you often miss the forest for the trees.

Not long after we broke up, I regretted it. A series of circumstances and mistakes on my part led me to begin to doubt myself. And I don't just mean doubt my interactions with girls.

I doubted everything.

What to eat for lunch, what classes to take, when to take them, whether to believe in God, whether to believe in myself, whether to ever try having a relationship again, what girl to try it with. A constant series of self-doubting questions left me broken and spent.

It took a long time for those to stop lingering and were even brought back by another relationship gone bad, but that's another story for another day.

So here I was, with this girl, amidst a spectacle of circumstances, and I didn't want to watch her walk away.

But there's nothing I can do - we choose our own paths and she had to choose hers. I suppose in many ways her hand was forced, but I'm a believer in making things happen - if you want them bad enough.

I went to the bus station with her - my stuff still spread out in our hostel, for I was staying another day or 2 - fully expecting her to leave that morning.

Her eyes danced back and forth - toward the sky, toward the floor - as she studied the bus schedule.

"When should I leave?"

"That's your decision - leave at whatever time will put you into Madrid when you want to get there."

If she left immediately, the bus would pull into Madrid early in the evening. Or she could take the night bus, save money by not paying for a hostel, and spend more time with me. Her call.

The eyes danced some more and then she bought the ticket. Night bus.

I was happy and she knew it. We spent the rest of the day together acting like we had all the time in the world to be together. We shopped. We ate. We took a siesta.

The setting for dinner was a plaza underneath the changing colors of the evening sky. Afterwards, we meandered to a dessert-only eatery where the 4 of us had visited a few days before.

A lot can be said for a full Spanish meal. But the Spanish do desserts like I have never seen.

A man carrying a guitar sang to all of us out in that square that night. Eating one of the best desserts of my life, sitting there with the girl, listening to the singing man - I had another one of those moments.

I forgot about the fact that she was leaving in a few hours. I forgot about the fact that I was going to be alone and lost once again in this foreign country.

And I felt content. The feeling from that night in Valencia came back to me - it came and surrounded me on several occassions during my journey.

We made our way back up to the Mirador for a bit and sat in each other's arms. Simple.

When it was time to go, we hadn't planned on the city buses not running. A taxi would have to be flagged down.

A white and green car stopped and Amanda had to leave. We said our goodbyes and stood there facing each other.

You would of thought we were the leading characters in some classic romance movie - the kind that were prevalent long before I was born, but seem to be a lost art in today's world. Hollywood is too busy trying to impose its political views on America to make any quality movies anymore.

But that kiss was the stuff of legend, I swear to you.

And that's all I'm going to say about it - because words will not do it justice.

Walking back to the hostel after watching this girl ride away, emotions overcame me.

I was confused, trying to get answers from God about where this path was going. He was not willing to answer me.

Not yet.

The Day After

The following day nothing was made of the night before. Monday was upon us, so finally things would be done about Amanda's money and passport situations. Later in the afternoon Western Union had "my" money ready, since I was the one who had to pick it up, since I was the only one with a passport.

The girl got us lost on more than one occassion and I got us found just as many times. By now it was pretty obvious to both of us that something was happening between us, but it seemed as if neither her nor I wanted to talk about it.

With Amanda's departure becoming more and more inevitable, we both savored the time we had and enjoyed all the moments. We ate dinner at a small restaraunt up above the city after watching the sun set slowly and poetically across Granada from the Mirador.

We met Jeremy and Bridget that night for a Flamenico show. I paid my 10 dollars, er, Euros, and walked thru the doorway and down a declining hall. At the end of the hall was a room no larger than 30 feet by 12 feet. A tunnel.

This is where the show is?!?

The place had room for maybe 30 people. Somehow much more than that crammed in there in addition to the performers. This was not a place to hold any type of performance. Space was tight. Sight lines were obstructed. It was a million degrees. Literally - I stood there, not moving a muscle for 2 or 3 hours and I never stopped sweating. EVER.

Towards the end of the show I felt like I was going to lose it. Hot. Claustrophobic. Annoyed. Bored.

I had to get out and I did - I walked out without telling any of the others. The show ended soon after and we met outside. Relief.

Amanda was leaving the following day so that night she and I went to our spot from a night ago. But not before being kicked off the roof terrace. We talked and flirted some more, only exponentially more so than the previous night.

Things escalated and a kiss was only the beginning of what happened that night. Privacy is obviously difficult to come by in a hostel, so improvisations were made.

But I'm not one to kiss and tell. I'll only say this - we perhaps did move a little too quickly given the short time we'd known each other. But things could have escalated a lot more than they did. Facing the reality of our situation, I realized that I was not ready for her to go. But what can you do?

Sometimes, there is nothing to do. Only to accept the things to which fate binds you.

Something's Shifting

Alhambra from Mirador de San Nicolas 4, originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

It was Sunday. And it was hot. Brutally hot – I lost track of how many times the temperature hit 40 degrees Celsius while I was in Spain. Not good for a man who doesn’t like to be hot. But My God, was it beautiful. (For my fellow Americans out there – 40 degrees Celsius is 105 degrees Fahrenheit).

The sky was that perfect shade of Carolina Blue – the shade I was so used to seeing while living in Chapel Hill for 5 years. That’s how I know God is a Tar Heel.

But now, I was in this foreign land, seeing foreign structures and experiencing foreign things. Granada was beautiful upon first sight. And today we were going to discover the crown jewel of the city – The Alhambra.

It means “the red one” in Arabic and looks like nothing short of a fairytale castle you read about as a child. The palace rests among the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and appears almost plain and faded from below. Once you enter its beauty, however, that appearance morphs into one of intricate detail and elaborate architecture. A collection of water, light, stucco and ceramics fuse to create an aesthetic grandeur that few structures can match. It is beyond words.

Jeremy, Bridget, Amanda and I spent several hours wandering around The Alhambra’s gardens, squares and courtyards. We came across a couple dressed in wedding attire. What an enchanting place to hold your nuptials.

The ensuing days would be filled with Amanda and I getting to know one another. Politics. Religion. Dreams. It seemed as if nothing was too personal for us to discuss. Interesting.

If you ever find yourself in Granada, be sure to visit Europa II. This became our tapas bar of choice and a routine stopping point during our days exploring the area. Daytime turned to nighttime and somewhere along the line something shifted between Amanda and I.

Back in Valencia, while eating at “The American Restaurant”, the girl had asked me point blank why I had not tried to kiss her already.

“Already??” I thought. We had known each other at that point for maybe 3 days. The question in and of itself threw me off, and that’s saying nothing of the fact that I thought the idea of kissing someone that soon after meeting them was terribly odd. Perhaps I’m not like most guys – I don’t know. But after finishing our meal, I allowed that interaction to slip from my mind, unconcerned about the potential situation.

But like I said, something was shifting in Granada. Amanda and I were spending a lot of time together and we were growing close. On this Sunday night, when we came back to our hostel after the day’s events, we slipped out onto the patio to converse and be alone.

We talked. And flirted. Then we flirted some more.

Somehow we found ourselves sitting very close to one another – feeling each other’s presence. It was late and sleep was calling to both of us.

Unexpectedly, she kissed me. On the lips.

Like a businesswoman upon securing a big contract, she then stood up and walked away as if she had just suckered me into signing away my soul. At that moment, I was beyond confused but stood up and followed her as if I knew precisely what I was doing.

What the hell was going on? What the hell was she thinking? Who does that?

I had no idea – and I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn’t going to get answers. So I did what any respectable man would do. I brushed my teeth. Then I went to bed.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing – and I wasn’t going to worry.

Kudos

I do not care what end of the political spectrum you sit on.

I do not care how you feel about the Iraq War.

Nor George W. Bush

Nor America.

Kudos needs to be given to the People of Iraq - for standing up to terror and proclaiming to the world that they are brave and that they want Freedom and Democracy. For Voting.

They have my utmost respect.

Expect the Unexpected

What was about to happen during the coming day made me truly realize that something deep was going on here. It’s difficult for me to comprehend, even to this day.

The man driving the bus must have had a thing about sitting in a pool of his own sweat. He was not about to turn on the A/C, regardless of whether it was 90 or 100 degrees inside that rolling sauna. For that reason and that reason alone, I got absolutely zero sleep that night. Well – if we’re being perfectly honest – the girl sitting in the seat next to me did have her legs strewn across my lap, which did little for my comfort.

However, I had told Amanda to stretch her legs if she needed to. So I’m not complaining.

Despite being tired and dirty and hungry, it was nice to pull into the bus station in Granada. Excitement filled me inside in anticipation of seeing Jeremy and Bridget. Seeing a new city. Introducing them to Amanda.

Amanda and I separated to hit the restrooms and freshen up. It reeked of urine. I splashed some cold water on my face; brushed my teeth; changed my clothes.

We met back out in the lobby and made our way outside to the bus terminal. Pulling out the money necessary to get us to downtown Granada – a look of trepidation came over Amanda.

“What is it?”

“My money belt – it’s not here.”

“What all was in it?”

“Everything.”

That one word meant big trouble. Euros. Credit Card. Passport. I led the way back into the station, down the stairs. I asked her if she had it in the restroom. Maybe it had fallen out in the bus?

No, she remembered pulling it out while freshening up. She went back to the restroom and looked around. She walked back out. Nothing. Well, this was obviously a problem and Amanda was freaking out. Rightly so.

We looked around some more and checked if there was a lost and found – nothing. We had someone radio out to the bus that we had taken to Granada – zilch. Giving up on actually finding her money belt, the girl borrowed some money to call her sister and parents. They would know what to do. Things were put in motion. A temporary passport would be available, but in Madrid. Credit Cards were cancelled. Money would be wired. Today was Saturday, so nothing more could be done. She was with me at least until Monday.

One problem – money could not be collected from the wire service without some sort of official identification. And as we all know, the passport was gone. So the money was wired to me.

Now the girl was dependent. Whether she liked it or not – fate had dealt her a hand that meant she had to totally rely on me. One can only wonder whether or not there was a deep lesson being taught here. A girl who wants to rely on no one for anything – was now reliant upon me for everything. Without me, she has no money. Without money, she can’t rent a bed for the night. Without money, she can’t get to Madrid to replace her passport. Without her passport, she can’t get back into England. Without her passport, she can’t get money. Without me, she has a problem.

I assured her I wouldn’t leave her. I would take care of her. At the time, I think I had already realized the point of the situation.

We had some troubles finding the hostel, but were pleasantly surprised when we did. A very relaxed and fun-going atmosphere gave us some ease. Jeremy and Bridget showed up and were informed of the situation.

No worries – we quickly made plans for the night. A bar that served 1 Euro shots. A wild dance club. And to top it off, a relaxed pub where the beer was waaay too thick. This was exactly what Amanda and I needed. Curiously enough, I got no positive vibe from her. No flirting. The question of why she was here started to creep in my mind.

On our way back to the hostel, we stopped off and got a schawarma to eat. I was disgusted.

Amanda and I had a little tiff outside the hostel. Upon walking into our room, I asked her what was wrong.

“Nothing.”

“Right…well why did you get all weird outside?”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever.”

She knew I was irritated – rightly so or not. She walked up to me and lightly touched my upper body. Her lips kissed my cheek. Whatever it was that I was upset about – it was erased from my mind.

We got ready for bed. The day had been full of excitement and surprises. But it had been long. Rest was needed.

And this was getting interesting.

Something Random Speaking to Me

We all have our favorite T.V. shows and movies.

For some, they allow us to escape reality – to join an adventure or a tale far removed from our daily lives. They give us excitement and fulfillment that are otherwise lacking in this place we call “the real world”.

To me, these shows and movies fill me with a mixture of emotions. Yes – I love becoming encircled in these great stories and sagas that I wish were part of my actual life. But there’s a yearning deep inside. A yearning that is called to the surface by these tales.

I want to act.

I want to be part of the story telling. I want to step into different characters; feel what they would feel; experience what they would experience; react how they would react.

A dream. It’s a dream and it’s unrealistic. I know that – but I can’t help it. I’m reminded of a quote I once came across that really hit close to my heart.

“You don’t choose what you love. It chooses you.”

If I could choose not to want to act, I would. I would choose to want to be a doctor. A family doctor – that way you don’t have the craziness of working in a hospital, but you still get paid. However, it just doesn’t work that way, does it?

Somehow, someway, you become exposed to painting, writing, medicine, or acting. And you fall in love with it. Sometimes I lose this yearning. Whenever I get caught up in something like work or school.

Then I’ll randomly come across one of those movies or shows or characters that I love. And it just starts all over again. I love the legend of “Superman”. I know, I’m sure some of you think it’s just a cheesy comic book character. But it’s so much more than that, I promise.

He’s an outsider. Lies surround him because of who he is and what he is destined to do. The weight of the world is on his shoulders. He’s different and he knows it. His destiny is larger than even himself – it’s larger than anything else in the world in which he inhabits.

It’s one hell of a story and I love it. I love the story of Maximus Decimus Meridius. William Wallace. Kal-El.

A long shot – at best. But if you were to kill the yearning…what would happen?

Would you even be alive?

For the Unknown Man

This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. Please, check out christa's blog at Purpose Driven Life

read "For the Unknown Man"

you'll love it

Chance?

The ticket in my hand read “13:00 – Valencia a Granada”. I awoke early in the day eager to get to Granada, see a new city and meet up with Jeremy and Bridget. Amanda passed me in the hall and said that she would go to the bus station with me. If there were seats still available on my bus, she would go to Granada.

“Fat chance”, I thought. But at least she was willing to give it a shot. I wanted her to come.

Why not? She had several days before needing to be back in England for her sister’s wedding ceremony. It was either stay in Valencia and wait until her flight back or go with me. The decision was easy, the way I saw it. But in what I have found to be typical among the fairer sex, she was quite guarded – unwilling to open up, to allow herself to rely on others, to want, to desire.

I wanted her to not be afraid.

Now, my thinking was quite logical with regard to what local bus we needed to take us to the city bus station. But logic, as we all know, often fails. We boarded the bus that had taken me from the station to the hostel. Obviously, the same bus would take us from the hostel to the station, right? I could not have been more wrong. That damn thing traveled all over Valencia and only at the end of the route did it stop at our destination. The clock read “14:00”. Nice – 30 Euros down the drain.

No worries – it’s only money and at least now Amanda would have no excuse to not go with me. I bought a ticket for the night bus in an effort to save money that would otherwise be spent on a hostel. Fully expecting the girl by my side to follow suit – she folded. Backed down. My spirits dropped.

We each grabbed a baguette and plopped down at a table. Not trying to reveal the fact that I really wanted her to go with me, but also not trying to appear like I didn’t care – I made a case for her to come. A few minutes passed and her eyes looked as if she were wavering. Eventually, she got up and walked to the ticket window. Now we were on this journey together, if only for a few brief days.

We burned several hours wandering around the city. We ate at “The American Restaurant”. I found that funny. During dinner, a local came by offering roses for purchase. I asked how much they were.

“3 Euros”.

So I gave the man a 5 Euro bill – Amanda needed a rose, for sure. Instead of handing me 2 Euros back (again, logic fails), the man handed me 2 roses. A laugh came over me while Amanda took the roses. Whatever – 2 roses are obviously better than 1, right?

Somehow we found ourselves on the roof of a ritzy hotel just around the corner from the bus station. The view of the city stretched on for miles. Music was playing softly and white linen-clothed tables were set up. Not wanting to watch the roses wilt while on the bus, the girl picked the petals and dropped them over the side of the building. Our bus was leaving soon, so we walked inside and hopped in the elevator.

“Not yet”, I thought.

The closing elevator doors were stopped by my hand. What am I doing? Her small hand settled in mine and I pulled her back out onto the roof – saying that I had forgot something. I am no dancer – but I wanted deeply to dance with her. Out on the roof; on top of this city that brought us together; under the sky that watched us grow closer than 2 people have any right to in such a short time.

I found myself holding this girl in my arms and dancing with her.

At that point I was sure of one thing – I was meant to miss my bus earlier that day. Amanda would never have been able to get a seat with me. But God had this whole thing figured out, apparently.

No, this was something much more than chance. This was planned.

Before We Go Any Further...

Let me just apologize.

I'm not a writer. I don't write poetry. I don't have people demanding that I write, sharing it with all the world.

I wish I were - then I would be a better man. But it's not a gift I was given.

So don't think that I'm sitting here, all presumptuous, thinking that I do this well - that I'm writing for the sake of the people reading because they need something beautiful in their life.

No - I'm writing mainly because I experienced this great big fairy tale this summer. Sometimes something pops into my head that I need to spit out, but not often.

So I'm sorry.

The travels continue tonite.

And I Have Been Tagged

So Crazy Ol' Steph over at Manic Mom's Mental Myriads has tagged me - so I'm it

Here she goes...


1) Shampoo and Conditioner – Whatever’s Cheapest

2) Soap – Old Spice Body Wash

3) Colors – Red, Black, White, Carolina Blue

4) Soda – Cheerwine, Dr. Pepper, SunDrop, Coke

5) Foods – Chicken Pie, Pasta, Steak, Any Chocolate-Based Dessert

6) Movie – Gladiator, Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Shakespeare in Love, Great Expectations, Braveheart

7) Band – Lifehouse, Coldplay, Three Doors Down, David Grey, Remy Zero, Simple Plan, The Calling, Train, Weekend Excursion, AC/DC, Pachelbel, Alan Jackson, Garth Brooks, Lonestar, Rascal Flatts, Tim McGraw, The Beatles, Nelly, P. Diddy

8) Disney Character - Ummm?

9) Actor – Russel Crowe, Will Ferrel, Tom Welling

10) Actress – Kristin Kreuk, Jennifer Garner, Gwyneth Paltrow

11) Video Games – Halo, Halo 2, ESPN College Hoops, NCAA Football

12) Computer Games – None

13) Store – Express for Men, Zara, Best Buy, Barnes & Noble

14) Alcohol – Long Island Ice Tea, Rum & Coke, Jager Bombs (HA!)

15) Number – 9

16) Car – Aston Martin Vanquish, Aston Martin DB9, Aston Martin V8 Vantage, Jaguar E-Type, Lamborgini Gallardo, Pagani Zonda, Ford GT

17) Book – Wild at Heart, The Journey of Desire, The Greatest Salesman in the World, Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead, Look Homeward Angel

18) T.V. Show – Smallville, The O.C., Alias

19) Website – www.insidecarolina.com, www.kryptonsite.com, www.sprintusers.com, www.flickr.com

20) Condiment – Ranch Dressing, Ketchup, Pepper

21) Fruit – Pear, Orange, Granny Smith Apple, Banana, Canteloupe

22) Vegetable – Lettuce?

23) Restaurant – Outback, Olive Garden, Maggianos, Macaroni Grill

24) Blogger – www.oneunknownman.blogspot.com

25) Place – Chapel Hill, Asheville, Granada, Venice, Paris, Sevilla, Cinque Terre, Brussels, Bristol, Brighton, Breckenridge

A First Date

Takes quite a woman to get me to put a flower in my hair
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

And so dinner was set. I was going to find a place to eat in this unknown city with this unknown girl. Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing. Only that something about it felt right.

She spoke some Spanish, so I named her the official “dinner orderer” for the night. Me being the dumb, simplistic Southerner that I am had no idea how to say anything in Spanish. So in what would turn out to be a common occurrence, I relied on her and trusted her from the beginning.

Dinner went well. Actually, we walked around the narrow streets of Valencia for a while before settling on a place to eat. As we passed by the deep culture of the city, conversation was steady. We both ate paella and it was tasty but dry. Afterwards, the girl mentioned she had overheard some others at the hostel talking about a Cuban band playing in a park just south of our hostel. Sounds good.

The Cuban music wasn’t quite my bag, but I’m in a foreign country, trying to find myself and I wasn’t about to bail on the night. This girl was attractive, we conversed well, and the others who went with us to the park were chill. At one point during the concert the girl and I lied down under the stars that were hanging in the Spanish night sky.

Drinks and conversation followed on our way home. I was asked whether I voted for Bush. Yea, I did. She seemed appalled. The others were from Britain and appeared like they expected that answer. (For the record, I like Tony Blair, too) Figuring that she would react like some crazed French citizen, I kissed off any possibility of a future relationship right there, assuming that was the end-all circumstance for her. Thankfully, I was wrong.

Our conversation continued long after the others had gone into the hostel. It continues to this day.

The following morning I awoke and headed out into the city for one last day of exploring, for tomorrow a bus would take me into Granada. I did not see the girl and she was staying in another room so I went alone. The Spanish heat drove me back to my hostel early in the afternoon. Walking into my room and turning the corner – the situation from a day ago was reversed. The girl was lying on my bed. On her stomach; reading a book; legs slowly wandering past each other as she rocked them back and forth. She looked for all the world like an angel waiting for me.

I hadn’t realized it until then – but that’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted to see her and I wanted her to have to make an effort to see me. We spent the rest of the day together and found ourselves back at the park we had been in the night before. The music was still playing, but on this night it was about her and I. We listened. We talked. I sat on a bench and she lied next to me.

A few moments passed where all was still. Stars shone brightly. A breeze kissed the back of my neck. The scent of flowers brushed my nose. Sitting there with her – I was content. I wanted for nothing and all was right with the world.

It lasted for a bit longer than you would expect it to – as if God himself was granting me a little extra time to savor one of the best moments of my life.

“This is it, Jonathan. This is what you are here for – this is why I made you.”

“I have no right being this fulfilled. I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes you do. Breathe it in. You will remember this for all the days of your life. You are alive.”

I cannot remember the last time I felt like that, before then. None of this made any sense. She lives 4000 miles away from where I do. We are halfway across the world from our respective lives and our travels will soon separate us.

I invite her to come with me to Granada. She says she will think about it.

Again, we talk into the night. Early morning descends upon us and we take to our beds.


Goodnight, Amanda.

Meeting Up With Destiny

Valencia Plaza de la Virgen 2
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

It felt good to get an early start for Valencia. To have a direction. A destination.

In Spain, the preferred method of travel by most people is by bus. They are more frequent. And cheaper. Cheap is good. I caught the bus around mid-day, for the trip was only about 4 hours.

The night before, I had secured a place to stay in Valencia for 3 nights. It looked nice and it sounded cool. Rooftop terrace. Weekly parties organized by the hostel. Part of me was looking forward to it. But part of me dreaded it. I just wanted to get to Granada and meet up with Jeremy and Bridget again. Valencia would be a layover. A breather before another series of crazy days in another big city.

How wrong I would be.

Directions given to me by the hostel were impeccable. Although I still got lost once, it took no longer than 30 minutes to actually get there from the bus station. It was warm - no, it was steamy. The hostel was attached to the side of a cathedral. Odd.

It was a 3 story building. 5 rooms per floor. Upwards of 150 beds in total. The guy behind the desk handed me the key. Told me "thank you - enjoy your stay. And leave the key here when you leave."

With 30 pounds strapped to my back, I climbed the (luckily, only one) flight of stairs to the first floor. Walked to the very end of the hall and opened the door. Mixed room. 6 beds.

2 beds were occupied, and the bed in the farthest corner was untaken. Now, it was mine.

Dropping those 30 pounds upon my new place of rest, I sat down and gave a sigh of relief. For the next 3 nights, I was secure. No worries - no plans to make.

Walking in, I had barely noticed her. A quick "hi" was all the attention I gave. But taking a few seconds to soak in my surroundings - she looked for all the world like a porcelain figurine. Sitting upright in bed. Journal on her lap. Eyes closed as if cleansing herself from the day's toxins.

Quite unlike myself - I lost all train of thought, my eyes fixated on her. Realizing I was staring, I intentionally started fumbling with my pack. Unzip. Zip. Unbuckle. Buckle.

My shyness setting in, I went to the restroom to freshen up. The sun was still casting its glow upon the city. Shoot, I still had nearly 4 hours of daylight left. So in an attempt to avoid making a fool of myself in front of the girl in my room, I left to do some preliminary exploring.

When I had arrived, the guy at the desk had told me about some party the hostel was throwing at a bar. And a free drink. I thought nothing of it, until I got back to the hostel that night. The girl was still in the room. She asked me if I was going to celebrate the 4th of July. For a brief moment, I actually thought about going. Then images appeared of me dancing very, very badly. And stumbling trying to make conversation with her.

I said "no" - I was too tired from traveling. I wanted to go with her.

She came back early that night and we talked for a few minutes before retreating to bed. The next day, she had to move rooms. I could not gather the courage to ask her to dinner, so I left that day not knowing if I'd ever see her again.

The day and the night went by without a sign of the girl. I woke up the morning of my 3rd day there. I walked around the hostel, hoping to run into her. The floor restroom. The kitchen. The common area. The computer room. Bingo.

She was getting up as I walked in, but we said not a word to each other. Sitting down, I put money in the machine. 30 seconds went by. I stood up. I was going to ask her out.

"What are your plans? Where are you going from here?"

"I'm not sure, really. You?"

"Well...if you were going to be here tonite, I was going to see if you wanted to get some dinner or something."

"Oh, okay. Well, we'll see."

Uhhh. What? "We'll see."????
What the hell does that mean? I walked away from that "conversation" feeling like a moron and positive that I'd never see this girl again.

I wandered around Valencia for several hours that day. I saw every corner of the city. Getting back to the hostel in late-afternoon, I plopped on my bed, exhausted from the day's explorations.

My journal needing writing in, so I obliged. Not 5 minutes into my writing, the door to my room opened up.

That porcelain figurine turned the corner and was standing at the foot of my bed. I was stunned.

"So...do you still want to eat dinner?"

Night Train into Barcelona

Taking a night train into Barcelona helped save some money. Which was good, because the train itself was 138 Euros. Damn, that one hurt.

Rain was soaking Paris as I waited in the station and rode out into the night. It was a perfect time to be traveling, as the evening would have been a waste sitting in a room watching rain drops fly by. I was hesitant to say goodbye to that great city, but I would see her again. And excitement filled me with the thoughts of seeing Jeremy and Bridget in Barcelona.

On the train - 6 beds in a coach. A young Frenchman, a Frenchwoman and her daughter were sharing my coach with me. The sleep wasn't bad, but the women had brought cats with them. Cats. And they meowed like there was no tomorrow. A full night's rest I did not get. But once I was in Barcelona, the life and passion of the city infiltrated me and I was immediately ready to take it on.

I found my way to the meeting spot for the hostel I had booked the night before. With about an hour to waste until I could check in, I found a Dunkin' Donuts. Thank God for American companies in foreign countries. I hadn't eaten all day and it was already pushing 4 p.m. so those 2 donuts were about the best thing my mouth had ever tasted.

Finally the check-in person from the hostel got there and rounded about 6-8 of us up to head to our rooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone swipe my small bag off of the concrete sidewalk. The bag with my passport in it. And my credit cards. Shit.

But when I looked up to catch a glimpse of the prick who was stealing my stuff - it was Jeremy. He and Bridget had been out shopping, knowing I would be where I was because they had checked into the same hostel just a day ago. A sigh of relief came out and I hugged the 2 of them. Happy to see some familiar faces and converse in English, we immediately made plans for the night.

After settling in my place and showering, I was off to meet the 2 of them and kick off the evening. Well, it took all of 2 seconds after I walked thru the door of their room to be stopped in my tracks. One of their roommates - a girl from America - stunned me. Average height, dark hair and mysterious eyes. Great body. Almost a 7/8ths Jennifer Garner. Everybody was pregaming for the upcoming evening, including her. However, I am notoriously shy around girls and just couldn't muster up any courage to talk to her before she and her 2 friends were off. I kicked myself.

Then I drank some more.

Take all the stories you've ever heard about clubs in Europe. Put them together. That's where we spent our night. The place literally backed up to the sandy beach of Barcelona. Long, flowing curtains. Areas of flat, bed-like cushions. Hypnotic techno-beats. Crazy lighting. Amazing women.

I loved it.

The following day brought sight-seeing and shopping. La Sagrada Familia. Park Guell. Zara. H&M.

Barcelona is a thriving city that never sleeps. Las Ramblas is like a human being's jugular - cutting right thru the center of the thing, carrying that which is vital to the rest of the city. Street performers. Animals for sale. Souvenirs. Food. Everything.

Another night had gone by. A nice dinner with Jeremy and Bridget. I was a 3rd wheel. Tomorrow, they would be on their way to San Sebastian. And me? I had not a clue. Originally the plan was to skip across the French Riviera and find my lost love - Italy. But they were going to be in Granada, where Jeremy studied for a semester in college, in a few days. Torn, I made a decision. A decision that would soon prove to be quite instrumental in the way the rest of my travels would play out.

Instead of going to Marseilles and Nice and St. Tropez - I was going to Valencia? Valencia had never entered my mind until that day. But it was about half-way between Barcelona and Granada. Along the Mediterranean coast. It seemed like a good stopping point for a day or two.

Little did I know.

Drops of Water

The beads of water falling across the glass simply erased all my other thoughts. They reminded me of tears.

Tears falling from sad eyes.

Tears rolling down sad cheeks.

Tears being wiped away by sad hands.

My, how I know those tears well. But then I began to realize something about these water droplets. They were cutting paths across the glass - leaving trails behind them. Trails that were impeccably clean.

No distortion. No obstructions. Behind them, a clean slate. A fresh beginning.

Tears may come from sadness. But they heal wounds. They cleanse and leave behind a cleared path.

Funny how washing your car can be the most profound of experiences.

A New Day

Eiffel Tower after Sunset 2
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

A night's rest brought not only rejuvenation for my body - but also a deep thirst for my soul. Although I probably could have slept through the afternoon, my body rose early, overwhelmed with the things that I knew the day would bring me. As I sat in the kitchen eating my breakfast (free it was, but good it was not - little did I know bread and jam would soon become my friends), 3 people conversed in front of me, intertwining a little English in with mostly French words. I savored the excitement of what was new.

Securing a place to sleep that night brought a sense of relaxation. After moving my 2 packs to the new room - I set out to explore this great city. I wanted to uncover every part of Paris. I wanted more than to simply navigate my way around this place and her attractions. I wanted to know her. Halfway through the day, I had visited Notre Dame and The Louvre and Tuileries. It is difficult to describe either the architectural triumph of Notre Dame, or the sheer immenseness of The Louvre. You can take pictures all day, but nothing will encapsulate any of these places better than actually studying them and searing them into your memory. And some people really did take pictures all day. It got to the point of being annoying. Are these people here for any reason other than to be able to tell everyone they saw Paris or Rome or Barcelona? Why totally miss the experience of the trip, only to relive it through pictures that you can't even remember taking?

Me - I'd rather soak in every second of this journey. Don't just see Notre Dame. Allow yourself to be in awe of it, to stand in wonder of its brilliance.

By mid-afternoon my feet and legs were hurting. More importantly, the Achilles of my left foot was throbbing and my pride was shattered after paying 3 euros for a Coke. I mean come on - a bottle of Coke is 99 cents in the good ol' US of A! But I was in America no longer, and I had to play by their rules. I explored this city for 9 solid hours. And I ended up in the most obvious of places - the lawns of the Eiffel Tower. It is not the tallest structure in the world. It certainly is not the prettiest. But something stirs inside of you upon seeing this thing.

And when the sun starts to bid the city adieu - My God. It's as if the sun knows exactly where to go, what angle to set at, in order to kiss the structure in the most beautiful way.

I hated to see that sun go down, but at the same time I was filled with an immense joy. For I knew those moments were going to be some of those that you never forget. Memories that would never fade for me no matter how many years go by.

A friend of mine was waiting for me in Barcelona. So I was set to take a train in the following day to meet him. Sad to say goodbye to the city that I was just getting to know and fall in love with - a sense of calm came over me. Paris was my arrival city. Likewise, it would be my departure city. In 7 weeks, I would ascend back upon this wonderful place like 2 old friends who have missed each other for decades.

Already I was experiencing moments of introspect. I did not feel like I was 6 time zones away from home. But I found myself on multiple occasions filled with one thought - that this is life as it was meant to be.

I was coming alive.

The Beginning...

I sat in the airport for what seemed like forever and a day. It couldn't have been more than 2 hours in reality. But there I sat. Scared. Confused. Overwhelmed.

Up until that point, I was feeling pretty damn good. However, I was not anticipating the immensity of what I was attempting. I had navigated my way around Charles de Gaulle International Airport fairly well. Found the bathrooms to freshen up. Found the payphones. Found the RER train that takes you into Paris. Now aside from that - I had no idea how to actually use the payphones. Nor did I know how to buy a ticket for the RER. Nor where I was going.

I thought to myself - "You're going to starve here, on the floor of this airport. That will be your legacy."

Looking at all the maps and instructions I could find - none of it made sense. Fortunately, the lady behind the ticket desk spoke "a leetle" English. In what I would eventually find to be a fairly common occurrence, the person I simply had to communicate with spoke some English - and I was grateful beyond words.

On the RER - I met my first fellow traveler. He was more experienced and gave me some pointers to help me better fit into my new surroundings. I remember being nervous - and hot. No A/C on any train in Paris. The RER stays above ground for about the first 3/4 of the trip. After that, it ducks into tunnels as if trying to avoid being caught by the city.

Nothing can prepare you for those first few seconds as your head rises out of the station stairwell. The smell and aura of the city surround and infiltrate you. You think you know what Paris is like. "Sure, the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame and all that..." European History class and travel books in Borders do not give it justice.

The city is beyond description. It is romantic in ways that even Shakespeare would be envious of. However, it is just as modern as New York. The metro can get you within a couple hundred yards of any point within the city. It is picturesque - every turn you make is another opportunity to break out your camera. Every structure is detailed and designed in ways "modern" architects would never think of. And the city is better for it.

After getting lost for about 2 hours looking for a hostel, I settle on a hotel. More money, but I have a single room with my own full bath and free breakfast in the morning. I change places the next day, but for now - this is exactly what I need. Although I am tired from the 36 hours of travel and walking around in the searing sun of the summer - the city calls me out into her warmth and beauty.

So after my shower, I head out into the unknown. The unseen. The undiscovered. This is the beginning of my journey. This is the beginning of my Life.

I Must Be a Bore

Well, since no one is posting comments, then one would have to assume that no one is reading my pointless drivel. Although I got a nice comment (my only one!) from jennifer. Jennifer - send some backup, cause my ego's taking a beating.

Actually I jest. Kind of. I didn't start writing here in order to get attention. This isn't life or death, but it would be fantastic if I could get some steady feedback coming. I'm sure my writing is just horrendous according to all the Lit majors out there. Well, that's fine - but I'd like to get better. I guess that's kind of why I'm here.

I'm also here, maybe because I'm lonely. Who knows? This thing we call life is one great big dance. We start off with the tango, mix in a little slow dancing, maybe some salsa, then comes the grand ball room dancing. And all the while, we're switching partners, choosing partners - looking for someone to love - someone to make us complete. We dance to these different tunes and different rhythms, quietly hoping that somewhere, somehow, someone perfect is searching for us.

While in Spain, I met a girl. She's from Vancouver - a million miles and many different cultures from here. But we connected on a level that no 2 people have any right to connect on within a matter of days of meeting each other. She's in school - I'm wandering right now, enjoying the journey instead of worrying about the destination. Whether or not to go to her is a question I've been asking myself perpetually for the last 3 weeks now.

She has a great big life surrounding her. She says she wants me to come; she wants to be with me.

Would that be smart? Would it make sense? Should it make sense?

I don't know - all I know is that I wish people would make more comments...

What Do You Want?

What a question.

It's not easy really answering that question. Not just what do you want to eat, or what do you want to go buy yourself. I mean, what do you desire? During certain quiet times - when some of the noise shuts down and you are able to just be...what does your heart call out to you?

You know what I'm referring to - and it scares you. If you don't know, then you're not listening close enough, and you never have. The world tells us to shut out desire. To work at a job that will pay us a lot of money, so that we can build up our IRA's and our portfolios and plan every little step along the way. Meanwhile - we kill ourselves. We kill our desire, we kill the things inside of us that make us come alive. We try to plan out everything that will happen along the way. Well, it doesn't take much for God, Satan, chance - whatever you wanna call it - to throw those plans out the window.

We are not guaranteed anything. So what do you want? Do you want to save lives? Do you want to teach children? Do you want to bring Christianity to a lost world, or pursue knowledge until all is found?

Me...I want a lot. My heart calls to me in ways that I cannot describe. And my journey across Europe awoke some things that I did not even know where there. I want to travel. I want to see as much of the world as I can. I want to learn about different cultures and their histories. I want to study architecture and design buildings. But I also want to build those buildings. I want the materials in my hands and to feel the purity of doing something with just the tools God gave me. I want to love like no one's ever loved before. I want to take chances and risks and dare greatly. For it is the ones who dare greatly who are greatly rewarded.

If you live in that dark place of safety and isolation - then you will not know the riches of this world. I dare you to live otherwise.

So...what is it that you want?

Placing Blame

Today is September 11. I'm sure everyone who writes "blogs" is writing about this unforgettable moment in our country's history. It's difficult to forget.

Looking back, I am reminded of the pure rage that I felt that day. I woke up to the first tower burning in the sky. And then the second being pierced by an airplane - as if a knife were flying into its heart.

Back then, no one was criticizing political policies, or reaction times to national crises. Now, there are countless people - sitting on couches, making peace signs with their fingers - throwing blame everywhere they can find someone they don't like. It's sad, really. And the best part of it is, is that none of them have any answers. They can criticize and crap about issues all hours of the day, but none of them have any better solutions. Oh sure, some will say "Get out of Iraq!" or "Rely more on diplomacy!" That's all well and good - but are those answers??

How do you reason with the modern bad guys of the world? I don't know - that's why I don't throw blame everywhere I can find. I read a blog somewhere this morning where a guy was blaming Religion - of all things. I mean, good grief - if you actually want to blame religion, then perhaps you should read the teachings of those religions. I'm fairly certain the Bible doesn't advocate killing innocent civilians. Or suicide bombings. I can't speak for Islam or Buddhism or any number of other religions. But Christianity is not at fault - so therefore, religion as a whole is not at fault. That's a narrow-minded point of view.

Anyway - 9/11. Watching some specials on T.V. late last night, a feeling rose up inside me that almost overwhelmed me. I had a desire to go man up with Al-Zarqawi. Just me and him - with nothing but our fists as defense against the other. Beating the living shit out of him, until he was an inch from his life, would have brought me great pleasure. For all the innocent people he has killed and the pure chaos he is trying to bring out for no other reason than the chaos itself.

And then I was brought to tears as I watched replay after replay of the planes flying into the towers. Those hijackers deserved to die. And all the men who were involved in bringing that tragedy to the light of day deserve to die as well. Actually, they deserve to be tortured and tortured and tortured some more. And then killed.

Listen, I'm just as much of an idealist as anyone. But idealism is impossible in a situation like this. Drastic times call for drastic measures. My prayers are with all those families that lost on September 11, 2001. May the United States of America bring justice to those men that committed that great atrocity.

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Silly Canadians

You know what the strangest thing was that I found in Europe? Well, perhaps it wasn't THE strangest - but unquestionably odd. Every single Canadian that I ever came across had some sort of Canadian symbol on the back of his or her pack. All of 'em. Either a flag, or "British Columbia" or "UBC" or "CANADA". Something, anything.

It's as if they are so desperate for their own identity, that they have to try really really hard to get others to see where they're from. Do Canadians have any sort of international identity? I'm not sure - but the more I've made myself aware of this little situation, the more I doubt it.

I almost found myself embarrrassed for them. Why would anyone have such a need to identify themselves to all who walk behind them? Then a feeling began to rise up in me - a desire to get "AMERICA" embroidered right across the back of my pack. In big frickin' bold letters. And in red. But I began to realize that this was simply a reaction to all the Canadian symbols. It wasn't really a true desire to embroider that on the back of my pack - but rather a swelling of pride amongst the other national identities.

We are not perfect - we Americans. Our political system gives us only 2 choices for president every 4 years. But we do vote. And we vote for the majority of our government's members. County, City, State and Federal. We may be a country divided by politics in the current era. But when a tragedy like 9/11 happens, or Hurricane Katrina, we pull in together - as if a group of wild animals protecting each other from a predator.

God gives the strong their strength so that they may protect the weak. I think that's one of the things I like most about America. It doesn't go perfectly every single time - nothing ever does. Sometimes the planning is faulty, sometimes the execution. But we try to protect the weak.

God Bless America.

What Difference Does It Make??

I mean, really. The problem with most people is that they say one thing, but DO another. Words become meaningless to them. They can spew out some blathering prose - perhaps to a friend, or a family member. Or maybe even a lover. And it means nothing. Their actions will then contradict their words.

This has been my experience - in particular with women. Perhaps they are all just so jaded by now. So many men don't know how to treat women, and so they start playing the game, too. Women become stuck in this rut of having to play along with all the bullshit, that they start their own bullshit.

What makes it worse is that I actually care. And I still believe them. I have been able to resist playing the games - joining in the bullshit that has become such a common occurence in today's world of relationships. It has been tough - as I have come across some of the worst that women have to offer so far. Maybe I'm just a moron. Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic. Or maybe I'm just an optimist. Whatever it may be, it's happening again right now. I think.

Every now and then I actually break thru to the woman. The game-playing mentality crumbles and I get to glimpse into the real soul of her - the person she really wants to be if someone would just allow her the opportunity. I have also been stabbed in the back. Thinking that I had broken thru all the messiness, the girl one night pulled a 180 on me. Blindsided.

And so this current girl I am unsure of. We met amongst a whirlwind of circumstances and although it's been over 2 months now - it seems as if the winds have yet to die down. She has built up quite a wall over time and it has been difficult to actually get to her. Perhaps she does not want to been gotten to. Who really knows?

Her words tell me that her walls are crumbling. However, when the chips are down - it seems as if she is folding. Over and over again. Like I said - words mean nothing if they are contradicted by actions.

If you love someone, and you are seperated by a vast distance, what would you do?

The fight is getting tiresome, especially with no end in sight. But maybe that's the point. Just maybe, the girl is there to test you. What if, all along, she knew what she was doing? That she knew she loved you, and it was she that was doubting you? She thinks you're going to leave her, so in turn, she tests and tests and tests you in order to see if you'll still be there.

I don't know - my mind is weary from the setbacks. The tests just may be too much this time.

What am I doing here?

That's a great question - one I am unsure of. 3 months ago, I never would have thought about doing something like this - writing my thoughts out. Not even in a journal, much less online for all who meander across it to read.

3 months ago, I didn't write much of anything. Ever. Since then, I have written in a journal quite a bit and written a few poems as well. Now this. We'll see if I keep it up.

2 months backpacking across Europe can change a man. I know it almost seems cliche now - backpacking across Europe. It's as if every 18-24 year old college kid with Abercrombie & Fitch written across his shirt is taking this journey. One must wonder - do they even get the point? Are they doing this simply to see how many cities across the globe they can get drunk in? Or maybe, for the guys out there - how many girls of foreign descent can they sleep with?

I saw too many tourists taking too many pictures of too many places without ever really absorbing where they were at. People take pictures of the Colosseum and then walk on as if they are at a museum of some sorts. Have they ever wondered how that awe-inspiring structure was even built? Did they ever consider how fantastic the whole place was - what with putting on gladiator matches, filling the floor with water and recreating sea battles, and God knows what else?

Those people started to irritate me. I was on this journey to recover myself. To look deep down and find out what I was really made of - what burned deep inside and what, exactly, was to keep me going for all the days of my life. The journey was unlike anything I had ever done. And it is not over. Well, the physical trip through Europe is (at least for now), but the journey of my heart and soul is not.

And so I am back home - not knowing what to do with my life at this point. The world calls to me as the deep blue sea calls to a whale. There is so much to explore and discover and experience. I have thought about teaching here in the states - so that my summers would be free to journey across this great big playground we call Earth. Or perhaps teaching English as a second language in Spain or Italy or Greece is the right path. Architecture has always been a love of mine - grad school?

My mind flashes between each path that sits in front of me, and I am reminded of a quote that a girl I once knew sent me. We fell in love and back out in a very brief, violent period of time. I don't know her any longer. Here is the quote:

“Listening to your heart, finding out who you are, is not simple. It takes time for the chatter to quiet down. In the silence of ‘not doing’ we begin to know what we feel. If we listen and hear what is being offered, then anything in life can be our guide.”

I know not where my life will lead. Perhaps the chatter is quieting down...