As it turns out, my New Year's Eve ended up fairly low-key. I made it to two of the three parties I intended to go to, spending most of my time at my house with a small bunch of friends. There were others on my heart and mind though, that I would have loved to be with for my favorite holiday of the year.
At the stroke of midnight, Dick Clark ushered in the New Year as he has every year for decades now. Successor Ryan Seacrest performed main duties as master of ceremonies. Dick still had the honor of counting down the final seconds, but age and a stroke have made it difficult for him to speak as freely. Afterwards, Far East Movement kicked off the after-party concert. FM used to hang around REHAB/Scratch Academy and help man the registers. They've come a long way. It was one of those moments realizing things have changed.
It is with mixed feelings that I ring in this new year. I say farewell to the last year Hideo lived to see, but also welcome in a new year of the changes that have happened since - both in my own growth and in the relationships around me. People - like the years - have come and gone, and will continue to do so. I think 2011 will be about regaining my footing on things that last, finding a new way to hope.
Though a bit more melancholy than in years past, I welcome this new year as a gift that will unfold all the way through December 31. I think I'm a bit more ready for this one.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Monday, October 25, 2010
Miracle of a Baby
Last week I had the delight of meeting Gabriella Grace Lowe. She was born just one month ago, and is about the size of a large football when she's curled up.
I have never been much of a baby person. They are cute, I like to hold them for a while, and then I'm fine giving them back to Mom. But Gaby arrived into the world at a particular moment for me. This year has been marked by death - 3 loved ones of my house passed away within 6 months. I am still working through my own grief (as are my roommates), and not a day has gone by without my thinking of my friend.
So when I met Gaby, I was amazed by this tiny little girl, created by God - the giver of life. She's beautiful and helpless and already so loved. God breathed life into this girl, formed her in her mother's womb, and knows all of the days of her life that are before her. And according to scripture, there is no death, only inevitable departure from this world for another reality.
Aside from the dear friends her parents have been to me, Gaby will be special to me for reminding me in painful death that God is in fact the life-giver.
I have never been much of a baby person. They are cute, I like to hold them for a while, and then I'm fine giving them back to Mom. But Gaby arrived into the world at a particular moment for me. This year has been marked by death - 3 loved ones of my house passed away within 6 months. I am still working through my own grief (as are my roommates), and not a day has gone by without my thinking of my friend.
So when I met Gaby, I was amazed by this tiny little girl, created by God - the giver of life. She's beautiful and helpless and already so loved. God breathed life into this girl, formed her in her mother's womb, and knows all of the days of her life that are before her. And according to scripture, there is no death, only inevitable departure from this world for another reality.
Aside from the dear friends her parents have been to me, Gaby will be special to me for reminding me in painful death that God is in fact the life-giver.
Friday, July 30, 2010
3.6 Miles
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. --John 12:24
This week, I went on my first good run since the half-marathon in March, since I went to Spain and most notably since Hideo passed away. I strongly believe that distance running is 90% mental, 10% physical. Anyone with two functioning legs can run. Whether you want to or for how long depends entirely on state of mind.
For 3 months, my state of mind has been stuck. Reeling from the shock of losing a good friend much sooner than I was prepared to sent me into a tailspin.
But as I move through my grieving process, I have mysteriously been met by God. It became clear that the loss of Hideo was the final straw in a series of emotional losses over the past couple of years. I had managed to put those others away on a shelf. But when Hideo died, there was no putting it away. Even still, there's not a day that goes by without him crossing my mind multiple times. All of my deepest fears about life, the people I love, my future, and God came flooding to the surface. Was there really life after death? What hope is there for my friends who have chosen different life paths? What hope is there for me, either here or beyond? What's the point of it all?
I always applied that scripture from John in the context of people in ministry who are suffering for the sake of loving other people. But Hideo never knew Jesus in his life here, and yet somehow his death has born a harvest of gratefulness and love in those that knew him and resulted in what may be the most significant breakthrough in my own relationship with God. Through the course of digging up those emotions I had put away for so long, and truly being honest with God about it all, I have let him talk to me for the first time in a long time. And for the first time in a long time, I listened.
I wish Hideo knew what a significant impact he's had on my life, both during and after he lived. If he was here, I'd tell him what a joy it has been getting to know his sister and other close friends. I'd want him to know how much he's grown my hope in the kingdom of God, and my understanding that no matter what or who I lose, my true home will always be with Jesus. I'd thank him, and I'd tell him I miss him.
3.6 miles is not a long distance compared to what I could do just a few months ago. But after many recent attempts to get through short distances and still feeling utterly wiped at the end, I finally got my runner's high back. I'm turning a corner, I hope...
At the Beat Swap Meet, selling items from the personal collection of DJ Hideo.
This week, I went on my first good run since the half-marathon in March, since I went to Spain and most notably since Hideo passed away. I strongly believe that distance running is 90% mental, 10% physical. Anyone with two functioning legs can run. Whether you want to or for how long depends entirely on state of mind.
For 3 months, my state of mind has been stuck. Reeling from the shock of losing a good friend much sooner than I was prepared to sent me into a tailspin.
But as I move through my grieving process, I have mysteriously been met by God. It became clear that the loss of Hideo was the final straw in a series of emotional losses over the past couple of years. I had managed to put those others away on a shelf. But when Hideo died, there was no putting it away. Even still, there's not a day that goes by without him crossing my mind multiple times. All of my deepest fears about life, the people I love, my future, and God came flooding to the surface. Was there really life after death? What hope is there for my friends who have chosen different life paths? What hope is there for me, either here or beyond? What's the point of it all?
I always applied that scripture from John in the context of people in ministry who are suffering for the sake of loving other people. But Hideo never knew Jesus in his life here, and yet somehow his death has born a harvest of gratefulness and love in those that knew him and resulted in what may be the most significant breakthrough in my own relationship with God. Through the course of digging up those emotions I had put away for so long, and truly being honest with God about it all, I have let him talk to me for the first time in a long time. And for the first time in a long time, I listened.
I wish Hideo knew what a significant impact he's had on my life, both during and after he lived. If he was here, I'd tell him what a joy it has been getting to know his sister and other close friends. I'd want him to know how much he's grown my hope in the kingdom of God, and my understanding that no matter what or who I lose, my true home will always be with Jesus. I'd thank him, and I'd tell him I miss him.
3.6 miles is not a long distance compared to what I could do just a few months ago. But after many recent attempts to get through short distances and still feeling utterly wiped at the end, I finally got my runner's high back. I'm turning a corner, I hope...
At the Beat Swap Meet, selling items from the personal collection of DJ Hideo.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Remember the Time
Corinne Bailey Rae released an album this year - her first since her successful debut in 2006 and since her husband suddenly passed away from an accidental overdose three years ago. In the first song, she says: "Are you here? 'Cause my heart recalls that it all seems the same, it all feels the same."
It is strange to me that though a person may be gone, we can so clearly remember things about them -- so much that it can seem for a moment they are still with us. I'll never forget the sound of Midi's voice or her laugh, or Hideo's huge smile and his way of finishing sentences with "ya know'I mean?"
As I am putting together a memory book of Hideo for his daughter, I am reminded of the many things about him that blessed other people. And I'm glad to remember, as much as it pains me to be reminded of his absence. I've felt a sense of urgency to remember and not forget -- to not lose the only things I have left of him: memories.
I love that in scripture, to remember is such a big deal to God. He remembers a prayer and answers it, or saves a loved one, or blesses a nation. He says over and again, "I will remember..." and calls us to remember what he's done as well. He knows that our memory is a powerful thing. It can sometimes paralyze us in some traumatic experience, or it can give perspective to our present and give us the strength to keep going into our future.
In the meantime, it's hard not to think about where those loved ones are now. Are they in a state of sleep? Have they entered another realm? Are they able to interact with others who have passed on, or are they confronting only Jesus, face to face? Have Hideo and Midi met and bonded over their Japanese last names, then discovered they both grew up in Torrance and both knew me? Have they met Grandma, or Sam's sister, or Debbie's father, or 2Pac?
There is no answering of these questions until I get there myself. Perhaps someday we'll look back and remember this distant time here on earth -- the lessons learned, the things we had no idea about, the experiences of joy and heartbreak and grieving and longing. I think for some of those memories, I'll be okay to let go.
It is strange to me that though a person may be gone, we can so clearly remember things about them -- so much that it can seem for a moment they are still with us. I'll never forget the sound of Midi's voice or her laugh, or Hideo's huge smile and his way of finishing sentences with "ya know'I mean?"
As I am putting together a memory book of Hideo for his daughter, I am reminded of the many things about him that blessed other people. And I'm glad to remember, as much as it pains me to be reminded of his absence. I've felt a sense of urgency to remember and not forget -- to not lose the only things I have left of him: memories.
I love that in scripture, to remember is such a big deal to God. He remembers a prayer and answers it, or saves a loved one, or blesses a nation. He says over and again, "I will remember..." and calls us to remember what he's done as well. He knows that our memory is a powerful thing. It can sometimes paralyze us in some traumatic experience, or it can give perspective to our present and give us the strength to keep going into our future.
In the meantime, it's hard not to think about where those loved ones are now. Are they in a state of sleep? Have they entered another realm? Are they able to interact with others who have passed on, or are they confronting only Jesus, face to face? Have Hideo and Midi met and bonded over their Japanese last names, then discovered they both grew up in Torrance and both knew me? Have they met Grandma, or Sam's sister, or Debbie's father, or 2Pac?
There is no answering of these questions until I get there myself. Perhaps someday we'll look back and remember this distant time here on earth -- the lessons learned, the things we had no idea about, the experiences of joy and heartbreak and grieving and longing. I think for some of those memories, I'll be okay to let go.
Monday, May 24, 2010
LOST, for now (spoiler alert)
Last night was the series finale of LOST, the six-year saga of castaways from a plane crash to an island shrouded in mystery. Over that time, almost every episode brought about a whole new batch of questions: What was this mysterious power of the island? Why were these seemingly random people oddly connected before they even boarded the plane? How would the skeletons in their closet of broken relationships, personal failures and tragic disappointments get resolved?
The conclusion left much unanswered. But what does get revealed is a parallel reality for the main characters, where they are given the chance to make the choices they couldn't make in real life. And specifically, we understand that almost the entire complicated story of supernatural beings, time travel and lonely people were all side stories to that of the main protagonist, Jack. When the show ends, he is finally able to let go of his disappointment in himself and his failures in a last act of self-sacrifice for those he loves. As he is greeted by his dead father and the people he loved into some sort of eternity, I watched and cried like a baby.
It has been one month since Hideo passed away, and I've thought about him everyday since. Over the weekend, his loved ones celebrated what would have been his 43rd birthday with an old-school party, the way he would have loved. I have felt more and more peace and acceptance of this life without Hideo, but I don't think I'll ever not feel that missing part in my heart.
Coincidentally, Hideo first lent me season 1 of LOST a few years ago and introduced me to the show. As much as the show had its share of ridiculous plot turns, we learn in the end that the fantastical world of the island was all in fact real. I wonder what reality we live in right now, that often feels so much like the only one that could exist because it's the only one we've known. We live with our day-to-day joys and pains, and we fall in love with the people around us: our dear friends and family. And when we lose them, there's no way to not wonder what all of the carefully placed chaos and joy and people we encounter are all heading towards.
What I appreciated about LOST -- the finale being no exception -- was that creators Jeffrey Lieber and Damon Lindelof thought to imagine a world outside of ours, and a reality much greater than what we can control. Though there is no mention of God, their imagination asked what the answer might be to the damage about our world. In Paul's letter to the Ephesians, he calls God "able to accomplish abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine." What they could ask and imagine is one day letting go of this reality and reuniting with lost loved ones, the prospect of which I can't even imagine the joy I might feel.
I hope for that new day when all of the mourning is over, and I'm blown away by a reality none of us could imagine possible.
The conclusion left much unanswered. But what does get revealed is a parallel reality for the main characters, where they are given the chance to make the choices they couldn't make in real life. And specifically, we understand that almost the entire complicated story of supernatural beings, time travel and lonely people were all side stories to that of the main protagonist, Jack. When the show ends, he is finally able to let go of his disappointment in himself and his failures in a last act of self-sacrifice for those he loves. As he is greeted by his dead father and the people he loved into some sort of eternity, I watched and cried like a baby.
It has been one month since Hideo passed away, and I've thought about him everyday since. Over the weekend, his loved ones celebrated what would have been his 43rd birthday with an old-school party, the way he would have loved. I have felt more and more peace and acceptance of this life without Hideo, but I don't think I'll ever not feel that missing part in my heart.
Coincidentally, Hideo first lent me season 1 of LOST a few years ago and introduced me to the show. As much as the show had its share of ridiculous plot turns, we learn in the end that the fantastical world of the island was all in fact real. I wonder what reality we live in right now, that often feels so much like the only one that could exist because it's the only one we've known. We live with our day-to-day joys and pains, and we fall in love with the people around us: our dear friends and family. And when we lose them, there's no way to not wonder what all of the carefully placed chaos and joy and people we encounter are all heading towards.
What I appreciated about LOST -- the finale being no exception -- was that creators Jeffrey Lieber and Damon Lindelof thought to imagine a world outside of ours, and a reality much greater than what we can control. Though there is no mention of God, their imagination asked what the answer might be to the damage about our world. In Paul's letter to the Ephesians, he calls God "able to accomplish abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine." What they could ask and imagine is one day letting go of this reality and reuniting with lost loved ones, the prospect of which I can't even imagine the joy I might feel.
I hope for that new day when all of the mourning is over, and I'm blown away by a reality none of us could imagine possible.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Westside 'Til I Die
On Friday evening, during its 2-hour traffic time block, KDAY 93.5 FM aired a tribute to DJ Hideo: his last recorded set. I made sure to leave work at 4:55 so as not to miss a minute of this. I started my car and immediately I heard a brief summary of Hideo's influence on the hip-hop music scene in LA and on the airwaves at 100.3 FM The Beat. And with the very first song, Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack," I suddenly felt as though he was right there in his element: spinning his favorite party jams and West Coast favorites - a set he would be remembered by. I could see him so clearly in my mind doing it, picturing his way of adjusting the platter, scratching and immaculately transitioning songs, adjusting his EQ, moving with grace and joy to the music. Heavy D, Lighter Shade of Brown, SWV, LL Cool J, 2Pac, Biggie, DJ Kool, MC Breed, Naughty, By Nature, Paperboy, Soul 4 Real, the list goes on. It was a classic Hideo set. He loved the old skool.
I texted a few friends I thought would be interested and who might be on the road to listen to notify them of the set, and got responses back: "Listening now!" "I never met him, but I feel myself tearing up." One friend tuned in with family, and updated me that they were dancing to the music. In addition to the many DJ friends I had who I knew were listening to every move of the set, tweeting their emotions through it to the rest of us, my own close friends were listening because they knew what a rough week this has been for me, and have carried this burden with me the last 14 months.
In that moment, I felt God comforting me through the music I knew we were all both mourning and celebrating to at once. I felt a strange mix of happiness and heartbreak. I remember Hideo mentioning a couple of months ago that he had been recording a bit, which I couldn't even imagine in his condition. I think he was preparing for this time, and somehow knew that this would be a comfort to his friends and his own reminder to us of what DJ-ing is all about: the love of the music. It has been a rough week, but suddenly I felt inspired to spin again. I spent a good part of today just putting songs together that I love. I wanted to honor my friend and his heart for music.
I'm so grateful that in a week of grieving, God has surrounded me with the amazing people I get to call my friends. A special shout-out to Jason, Gregg, Carlos, Pastor Ken, Debbie, Eric, Helen and Jade. Most of them have never even met Hideo, but God has given them a heart to pray for him and his family because they love me. Though I must accept that I will not see Hideo again in this life, I have felt God reminding me through these guys that he is real and with me, and that the reality of something better awaits. I have a road ahead of me as I continue to accept life without Hideo, but I won't be doing it alone.
I texted a few friends I thought would be interested and who might be on the road to listen to notify them of the set, and got responses back: "Listening now!" "I never met him, but I feel myself tearing up." One friend tuned in with family, and updated me that they were dancing to the music. In addition to the many DJ friends I had who I knew were listening to every move of the set, tweeting their emotions through it to the rest of us, my own close friends were listening because they knew what a rough week this has been for me, and have carried this burden with me the last 14 months.
In that moment, I felt God comforting me through the music I knew we were all both mourning and celebrating to at once. I felt a strange mix of happiness and heartbreak. I remember Hideo mentioning a couple of months ago that he had been recording a bit, which I couldn't even imagine in his condition. I think he was preparing for this time, and somehow knew that this would be a comfort to his friends and his own reminder to us of what DJ-ing is all about: the love of the music. It has been a rough week, but suddenly I felt inspired to spin again. I spent a good part of today just putting songs together that I love. I wanted to honor my friend and his heart for music.
I'm so grateful that in a week of grieving, God has surrounded me with the amazing people I get to call my friends. A special shout-out to Jason, Gregg, Carlos, Pastor Ken, Debbie, Eric, Helen and Jade. Most of them have never even met Hideo, but God has given them a heart to pray for him and his family because they love me. Though I must accept that I will not see Hideo again in this life, I have felt God reminding me through these guys that he is real and with me, and that the reality of something better awaits. I have a road ahead of me as I continue to accept life without Hideo, but I won't be doing it alone.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Goodbyes
I spent the last 9 days in Barcelona, Girona, Madrid, Toledo and Segovia. It was a marathon whirlwind of delicious food, charming cityscapes and extremely hospitable people. Yesterday morning (which in Madrid was more like 30 hours ago), I said goodbye to my friend Michelle who would be returning to Bangkok for at least another 2 1/2 years. I may see her if she visits the states in between, but her address will remain on the other side of the world for now.
At the end of this week, my friend Lisa will be moving up north to live with her family and work for at least a year. Lisa and I have become much closer in the last several months, and I've been so grateful for the wholehearted way she has welcomed me into her life. I will miss her much, and hope for frequent visiting.
On route home from Spain, I regained connection to my world here and the first thing I learned was that my friend Hideo had passed away 2 days before - on Saturday, April 24. In less than a month he would have turned 43.
I have known Hideo has had cancer since the doctors discovered it last February. Though it was an advanced stage 4, there was some hope at the time that he might overcome the disease, as he had a lot going for him - his youth and his infectiously hopeful spirit. Just a couple of weeks ago, he texted me that he didn't plan on leaving this life anytime soon, he just needed to get his energy back. I think I let myself believe it because the alternative was too painful.
But as time went by, I knew deep down that it was likely he wouldn't last through this calendar year. His cancer was continually growing, and the different chemotherapy treatments ineffective. Perhaps he knew as well, as his expressions of gratefulness and love to his friends grew more frequent with each visit.
Words can't express the effect Hideo had on my life. He was one of the most unselfish, humble and caring people I've known, only the more remarkable for his being a well-known, highly skilled and experienced DJ. He never considered himself above anyone else, and was all about giving and enjoying life. As the disbelief melts away, I find my heart breaking at the loss of my good friend.
Still, knowing that the physical pain of the last few months of Hideo's life is gone is something I do feel glad for. Though Hideo didn't know Jesus, I do believe I'll see him in the Holy City one day again, and that even now he is in a much better place than this world. God, remember me for Hideo.
I miss you, my friend. And it will be very hard for us to learn to live life here without you.
At the end of this week, my friend Lisa will be moving up north to live with her family and work for at least a year. Lisa and I have become much closer in the last several months, and I've been so grateful for the wholehearted way she has welcomed me into her life. I will miss her much, and hope for frequent visiting.
On route home from Spain, I regained connection to my world here and the first thing I learned was that my friend Hideo had passed away 2 days before - on Saturday, April 24. In less than a month he would have turned 43.
I have known Hideo has had cancer since the doctors discovered it last February. Though it was an advanced stage 4, there was some hope at the time that he might overcome the disease, as he had a lot going for him - his youth and his infectiously hopeful spirit. Just a couple of weeks ago, he texted me that he didn't plan on leaving this life anytime soon, he just needed to get his energy back. I think I let myself believe it because the alternative was too painful.
But as time went by, I knew deep down that it was likely he wouldn't last through this calendar year. His cancer was continually growing, and the different chemotherapy treatments ineffective. Perhaps he knew as well, as his expressions of gratefulness and love to his friends grew more frequent with each visit.
Words can't express the effect Hideo had on my life. He was one of the most unselfish, humble and caring people I've known, only the more remarkable for his being a well-known, highly skilled and experienced DJ. He never considered himself above anyone else, and was all about giving and enjoying life. As the disbelief melts away, I find my heart breaking at the loss of my good friend.
Still, knowing that the physical pain of the last few months of Hideo's life is gone is something I do feel glad for. Though Hideo didn't know Jesus, I do believe I'll see him in the Holy City one day again, and that even now he is in a much better place than this world. God, remember me for Hideo.
I miss you, my friend. And it will be very hard for us to learn to live life here without you.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Why I Need God
So why did I run the half-marathon?
About a year ago, my friend Candice ran her first marathon. She wrote about the experience afterwards and described something that felt so familiar to me: the arduous, seemingly never-ending road of hard work, tiredness and physical pain that can only be gotten through by enduring it. But her story ended with a finish line.
The last few years have been sprinkled with tragedy and disappointment, either for myself or those I love. I began this blog 5 years ago, with an unspoken hope at the time that by now I might not need it. Loved ones have passed away, jobs lost, hearts broken. What I desperately wanted was a finish line. I believe that's what brought tears to my eyes in reading Candice's race recap, and I'm pretty sure that sums up what made me do such a thing as enter a 13.1-mile race. I had to taste that joy of the finish.
Today I spoke to my friend Hideo for what very well may be the last time. A year ago, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and has been fighting an uphill battle ever since. He is now bedridden, with barely the energy to have a conversation on the phone. After crying my eyes out, I did the only thing I knew would bring me any kind of solace. I called my best friend and asked her to pray for me to remind me who was in control when I wasn't, who had a better plan designed for us all than the broken life that we must all labor through, who would remember me for my friend and for the things that break my heart.
These last few years, I've had to ask myself why I follow Jesus each step of the way -- whether consciously or not. There is something about suffering that forces you to decide what really matters to you in the end. I'm beyond the point where I ask why bad things happen. But I've had to ask what I would do without the hope of God, which I have felt so desperate for in the face of grief. It's not a blind hope, or a band-aid hope to deny what's really happening. It's a hope that has to be bigger than all of the mess I see around me.
My reason for running that half was the same reason I need God. Like a long-distance run ridden with hills, life is pretty hard. But God has promised that it's all going somewhere amazing -- that there is actually a finish line that awaits. So whatever happens today or tomorrow or 5 years from now, the best is yet to come. And I keep going for that day.
Hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what he already sees?
- Romans 8:24
About a year ago, my friend Candice ran her first marathon. She wrote about the experience afterwards and described something that felt so familiar to me: the arduous, seemingly never-ending road of hard work, tiredness and physical pain that can only be gotten through by enduring it. But her story ended with a finish line.
The last few years have been sprinkled with tragedy and disappointment, either for myself or those I love. I began this blog 5 years ago, with an unspoken hope at the time that by now I might not need it. Loved ones have passed away, jobs lost, hearts broken. What I desperately wanted was a finish line. I believe that's what brought tears to my eyes in reading Candice's race recap, and I'm pretty sure that sums up what made me do such a thing as enter a 13.1-mile race. I had to taste that joy of the finish.
Today I spoke to my friend Hideo for what very well may be the last time. A year ago, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and has been fighting an uphill battle ever since. He is now bedridden, with barely the energy to have a conversation on the phone. After crying my eyes out, I did the only thing I knew would bring me any kind of solace. I called my best friend and asked her to pray for me to remind me who was in control when I wasn't, who had a better plan designed for us all than the broken life that we must all labor through, who would remember me for my friend and for the things that break my heart.
These last few years, I've had to ask myself why I follow Jesus each step of the way -- whether consciously or not. There is something about suffering that forces you to decide what really matters to you in the end. I'm beyond the point where I ask why bad things happen. But I've had to ask what I would do without the hope of God, which I have felt so desperate for in the face of grief. It's not a blind hope, or a band-aid hope to deny what's really happening. It's a hope that has to be bigger than all of the mess I see around me.
My reason for running that half was the same reason I need God. Like a long-distance run ridden with hills, life is pretty hard. But God has promised that it's all going somewhere amazing -- that there is actually a finish line that awaits. So whatever happens today or tomorrow or 5 years from now, the best is yet to come. And I keep going for that day.
Hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what he already sees?
- Romans 8:24
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Marathon, Not a Sprint
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. -- 2 Timothy 4:7-8
The first three months of 2010 have gone by in a flash. Though days can sometimes feel long, somehow, like laps on a track, only when they are over does the time seem much shorter.
Where have I been the last few months? I have been training for a half-marathon that is to finally take place this coming Saturday morning, bright and earlier than I normally care to be awake (let alone running). After two months of training, I look forward to the day and dread it at once. I'm excited and nervous. I anticipate the relief of the finish, but dread the pain that will start the minute the race begins and evolve for about 3 hours until the finish.
As I've been training for this marathon, the parallels to life are almost cliche, but have become much more real to me. In the midst of a run, every moment my mind is calculating how much longer I have until the end. There is a constant negotiation of how much more my body can handle until the next break. A 13-mile run is only accomplished as a 3-mile chunk, then 2.5 mile chunk, then another 2-mile chunk, and so on. Then somehow, miraculously I find myself at the final lap. I think this half-marathon finds me at a point in my life where it reflects how I feel: You just gotta keep going.
Today my best friend's father passed away after more than a decade of on-and-off health complications. I heard the news and wept, though I've only met him a few times and last saw him years ago. It was partly knowing the loss my friend was feeling, or had been feeling through the years as her father's health declined. Perhaps all the time in my head while running has made me soft. Hell, the other day I found myself tearing up at mile 8 when "Bizarre Love Triangle" played on my iPod. I suppose the reward at the end of a hard-run race tastes that much more rich and real to me these days.
Either way, I feel sure that Lionel Hapuarachy has moved on to a better place. May he rest in peace.
The first three months of 2010 have gone by in a flash. Though days can sometimes feel long, somehow, like laps on a track, only when they are over does the time seem much shorter.
Where have I been the last few months? I have been training for a half-marathon that is to finally take place this coming Saturday morning, bright and earlier than I normally care to be awake (let alone running). After two months of training, I look forward to the day and dread it at once. I'm excited and nervous. I anticipate the relief of the finish, but dread the pain that will start the minute the race begins and evolve for about 3 hours until the finish.
As I've been training for this marathon, the parallels to life are almost cliche, but have become much more real to me. In the midst of a run, every moment my mind is calculating how much longer I have until the end. There is a constant negotiation of how much more my body can handle until the next break. A 13-mile run is only accomplished as a 3-mile chunk, then 2.5 mile chunk, then another 2-mile chunk, and so on. Then somehow, miraculously I find myself at the final lap. I think this half-marathon finds me at a point in my life where it reflects how I feel: You just gotta keep going.
Today my best friend's father passed away after more than a decade of on-and-off health complications. I heard the news and wept, though I've only met him a few times and last saw him years ago. It was partly knowing the loss my friend was feeling, or had been feeling through the years as her father's health declined. Perhaps all the time in my head while running has made me soft. Hell, the other day I found myself tearing up at mile 8 when "Bizarre Love Triangle" played on my iPod. I suppose the reward at the end of a hard-run race tastes that much more rich and real to me these days.
Either way, I feel sure that Lionel Hapuarachy has moved on to a better place. May he rest in peace.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Miracles
Since the miraculous Laker win on Friday, two friends have told me about good, interesting men initiating with them in totally normal, enjoyable ways, one friend has found the love of God in the midst of healing from a painfully broken marriage, and my boss agreed that I have too much work on my plate. Thank God for the signs of hope all around me. Duly noted: Anything is possible.
Friday, January 01, 2010
2010: A New Hope
When I was a kid, Halloween was my favorite holiday. Soliciting free candy at every door in the neighborhood is like a child's wild fantasy come true. Then I got a little older and that favorite holiday became Christmas. I wish I could say it was because of the true, deep meaning of Christmas in celebrating the birth of Jesus, but it wasn't. It was because it was the one day of the year I might get the things I had been begging for year round as presents under the tree.
But in more recent years, my favorite holiday has become New Year's Day. This is not just because of the long-standing tradition that has developed between me and my best friend, of throwing the best house party of the year (though that is certainly a part of it). It is because the closing of the year and beginning of a new one provides a natural moment to reflect on the year that was, breathe, and think with new hope and expectancy of the year that will be.
Today I initiated the new year at Staples Center. Just 5 minutes from my house, I've only been inside the resplendent bastion of downtown once before. But today, I got to go to my first Lakers' game. The first half, the boys were cold and barely able to keep a 15 point deficit to the Sacramento Kings. Outlook was not good. But by midway third quarter, Lakers were back in the game having narrowed the gap to 6 points. After teetering too and fro through the fourth, the score was 108-106 Kings with just 4 seconds left in the game. Victory seemed unlikely, especially with 2 free throws just given to the Kings.
But by a small miracle, those free throws missed and a 3-point shot from Kobe just .1 seconds before the buzzer, the result was a very unexpected win for the Lakers. The crowd was screaming, confetti flying, for about 5 minutes straight. It was a great way to start the year.
In 2009, a good friend was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, my parents went through a financial crisis for the first time in their lives, my mother went on anti-depression medication, and I found myself nursing a rejection wound for the second time from the same guy. But I'm learning to let go of the control I never had, to believe in the things beyond this world and the incomprehensibly good God behind it, and just plain how to hope -- for real. Damn it, if it wasn't one great year.
As I think about my hopes and resolutions for the new year, I can sum it up in tonight's game. The outlook may have been downright bleak at points, and even to the end, no one could be blamed for calling it a lost cause. But I believe the 3-point shots happen when you least expect it. And God knows how I can least expect it. So as the game for this new year begins, I've got my game face on for the seeming lost causes before that 3-point victory shot. And I plan to let myself enjoy it when it comes.
But in more recent years, my favorite holiday has become New Year's Day. This is not just because of the long-standing tradition that has developed between me and my best friend, of throwing the best house party of the year (though that is certainly a part of it). It is because the closing of the year and beginning of a new one provides a natural moment to reflect on the year that was, breathe, and think with new hope and expectancy of the year that will be.
Today I initiated the new year at Staples Center. Just 5 minutes from my house, I've only been inside the resplendent bastion of downtown once before. But today, I got to go to my first Lakers' game. The first half, the boys were cold and barely able to keep a 15 point deficit to the Sacramento Kings. Outlook was not good. But by midway third quarter, Lakers were back in the game having narrowed the gap to 6 points. After teetering too and fro through the fourth, the score was 108-106 Kings with just 4 seconds left in the game. Victory seemed unlikely, especially with 2 free throws just given to the Kings.
But by a small miracle, those free throws missed and a 3-point shot from Kobe just .1 seconds before the buzzer, the result was a very unexpected win for the Lakers. The crowd was screaming, confetti flying, for about 5 minutes straight. It was a great way to start the year.
In 2009, a good friend was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, my parents went through a financial crisis for the first time in their lives, my mother went on anti-depression medication, and I found myself nursing a rejection wound for the second time from the same guy. But I'm learning to let go of the control I never had, to believe in the things beyond this world and the incomprehensibly good God behind it, and just plain how to hope -- for real. Damn it, if it wasn't one great year.
As I think about my hopes and resolutions for the new year, I can sum it up in tonight's game. The outlook may have been downright bleak at points, and even to the end, no one could be blamed for calling it a lost cause. But I believe the 3-point shots happen when you least expect it. And God knows how I can least expect it. So as the game for this new year begins, I've got my game face on for the seeming lost causes before that 3-point victory shot. And I plan to let myself enjoy it when it comes.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The Rejection Pill
Physician's Note: The following side are side effects of the rejection pill.
- Insomnia
- Initial and sometimes prolonged nausea
- Loss of appetite
- Chest pains
- Depression or lethargy (anywhere from 1 week - 2 years in worst cases)
Studies have shown that each time the rejection pill is taken, certain side effects may lessen. For example, depression is typically experienced at its longest upon first dose and should lessen with each subsequent dose.
Experts recommend swallowing the pill in it's whole dose, as opposed to spreading out one dose in multiple takings. Though effects may be more potent, they are swifter to heal. WARNING: Rejection pill can cause addiction. Patients should only take this pill under doctor prescription, and remain under close care while under the influence of the pill.
NOTE: The rejection pill should never completely lose its effect on the chest. If no chest pains are felt and the patient appears free of all symptoms, they should call the doctor immediately.
- Insomnia
- Initial and sometimes prolonged nausea
- Loss of appetite
- Chest pains
- Depression or lethargy (anywhere from 1 week - 2 years in worst cases)
Studies have shown that each time the rejection pill is taken, certain side effects may lessen. For example, depression is typically experienced at its longest upon first dose and should lessen with each subsequent dose.
Experts recommend swallowing the pill in it's whole dose, as opposed to spreading out one dose in multiple takings. Though effects may be more potent, they are swifter to heal. WARNING: Rejection pill can cause addiction. Patients should only take this pill under doctor prescription, and remain under close care while under the influence of the pill.
NOTE: The rejection pill should never completely lose its effect on the chest. If no chest pains are felt and the patient appears free of all symptoms, they should call the doctor immediately.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
The Battle of Head and Heart
Sometimes you don't know how you feel about someone until it is too late. Your heart tells you so after some news that makes the truth unavoidable. He's dating someone else.
There's a scene from my latest TV obsession, "How I Met Your Mother," season 4 - where Ted confesses to ex-girlfriend, Stella, his envy of her happiness with her fiance, and the happiness and security he recognizes in the unions around him. "I want that," he says, "and I'm tired of waiting."
One of the reasons I love this show so much is because of how much I relate to Ted's search. As much as I try to deny it, I think there is a hopeless romantic somewhere in me. And although years of waiting has made some of those dreams of finding someone I'm excited about grow dim, deep down I want to believe that it's still possible. Might there be someone I can connect with and laugh with and feel excited about? My head has told me to be prepared for something else. But there are moments where your heart exposes that vulnerable hope that you have tried so hard to protect. And it gives one pause to wonder -- Did I miss the boat? As I figure myself out and am a slow learner in this area, will there be anyone left? And of course, the most tempting question of all: What's wrong with me?
My head believes that there is someone out there. It even believes that I'm right where I'm supposed to be right now, and that all of this is preparing me for the realization of all of those hopes in a way beyond what I can conceive at this moment. But my heart's hope is not there yet. And as a soldier must continue to fight even with fresh wounds, I know my call is to keep pressing forward. Someday my heart and head will be in the same place.
Meanwhile, I want to believe that he, whoever he is, is getting here as fast as he can.
There's a scene from my latest TV obsession, "How I Met Your Mother," season 4 - where Ted confesses to ex-girlfriend, Stella, his envy of her happiness with her fiance, and the happiness and security he recognizes in the unions around him. "I want that," he says, "and I'm tired of waiting."
One of the reasons I love this show so much is because of how much I relate to Ted's search. As much as I try to deny it, I think there is a hopeless romantic somewhere in me. And although years of waiting has made some of those dreams of finding someone I'm excited about grow dim, deep down I want to believe that it's still possible. Might there be someone I can connect with and laugh with and feel excited about? My head has told me to be prepared for something else. But there are moments where your heart exposes that vulnerable hope that you have tried so hard to protect. And it gives one pause to wonder -- Did I miss the boat? As I figure myself out and am a slow learner in this area, will there be anyone left? And of course, the most tempting question of all: What's wrong with me?
My head believes that there is someone out there. It even believes that I'm right where I'm supposed to be right now, and that all of this is preparing me for the realization of all of those hopes in a way beyond what I can conceive at this moment. But my heart's hope is not there yet. And as a soldier must continue to fight even with fresh wounds, I know my call is to keep pressing forward. Someday my heart and head will be in the same place.
Meanwhile, I want to believe that he, whoever he is, is getting here as fast as he can.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Letting Go of Sherbatsky
In season 1 of "How I Met Your Mother," there is an episode where character Robin Sherbatsky begins dating a seemingly great guy: He's handsome, attentive, easygoing and totally into her. Throughout the epidsode though, we see Robin struggling. She feels cramped by his eagerness to do things together, and uncomfortable being part of a couple. There is one scene in particular that captures this. After a pep talk with her best friend about needing to let go of herself a little and embrace the "togetherness" of couple-dom, Robin takes the giant step of deciding to share an ice cream sundae with her boyfriend. But throughout the conversation, she keeps qualifying all of his "we" statements back into "you" and "I"s. As Robin attempts to share the sundae, she finds herself pulling it for herself, until finally she creates a diversion to distract her date so that she can finish the sundae off.
From the first time I watched this plot unfold, I felt like I was watching myself, all the way down to the cherry on the sundae. I have become very comfortably independent. And if I were to be honest, I like that at the end of the day I call the shots on my life and there's no complication of another person's needs, preferences or issues to consider. I give myself gladly to my friends and those I love, but if I need my alone time or have other things to tend to, in the back of my mind I know I can just leave. I like my own sundae with the flavors and toppings just the way I like them.
The problem is, there's not much room for someone else in Sherbatsky land. And more recently, I've become aware of how used to it I've become, and protective of losing myself to someone else. But in the world of real relationships, you must create room for someone else, as they create room for you. Their cares become yours, their needs become your concern, their issues become things you must work through -- together.
Like many other singles, I like the idea of dating and becoming a "we" with someone else. But deep down, the thought of letting go of my single comforts makes me a little anxious. At least I know it must be done. It has made it to my to-do list.
From the first time I watched this plot unfold, I felt like I was watching myself, all the way down to the cherry on the sundae. I have become very comfortably independent. And if I were to be honest, I like that at the end of the day I call the shots on my life and there's no complication of another person's needs, preferences or issues to consider. I give myself gladly to my friends and those I love, but if I need my alone time or have other things to tend to, in the back of my mind I know I can just leave. I like my own sundae with the flavors and toppings just the way I like them.
The problem is, there's not much room for someone else in Sherbatsky land. And more recently, I've become aware of how used to it I've become, and protective of losing myself to someone else. But in the world of real relationships, you must create room for someone else, as they create room for you. Their cares become yours, their needs become your concern, their issues become things you must work through -- together.
Like many other singles, I like the idea of dating and becoming a "we" with someone else. But deep down, the thought of letting go of my single comforts makes me a little anxious. At least I know it must be done. It has made it to my to-do list.
Monday, November 30, 2009
The Weight of Glory and A Pair of Shoes
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. -Romans 8:18
As a student in college, now more than 10 years ago, I loved this verse. At the time, I think I loved the idea that nothing in this world could get me down, because God's redemption was so complete it covered even the bad stuff. Of course, at the time, "the bad stuff" consisted of unrequited feelings from boys I liked or an argument with someone in my family.
Fast forward to present day. I drove home today with 3 pairs of shoes in my car that used to belong to my friend Midi, who died almost 2 whole years ago now. Mark, knowing we wore the same shoe size, let me know he was starting to clean out the closet. Along the way, I talked to my friend, Hideo, who's cancer is now at least 12 times the size it was when it was found early this year, and who has now been told by more than one doctor that there is very little they can do. Friends have been married and divorced, family and friends' families have passed away (some tragically) and the world of present sufferings can feel downright overwhelming.
But the weight of glory has proved its worth as well, as only time and suffering can truly test. It's funny -- I always understood the glory to be a future thing, like one day when we all die and go to heaven, we'll get to see this awesome glory and it will make it all okay. But I realize now that this glory is formed and revealed in us as we suffer today. And the more we suffer with Jesus (and not in isolation of him), and the more you see the difference when others suffer alone, the easier it is to recognize the amazing weight of that glory that is anchoring me through whatever may come.
When Mark first called about the shoes, I felt a little weight in my heart and almost told him I just couldn't do it. But I realized that Mark - and Midi were she here - would be glad to have her belongings go to those she loved. And if I believe that Midi is not dead in the eternal sense, which I do, then her old belongings were only temporarily hers anyway - just as all of our things are borrowed in the end.
Still, I cried my eyes out for about 10 minutes when I got home. The thing glory will not do is make you numb, and I'm glad for that. As I went about getting ready for bed, I thought how much I look forward to the end - when all of this present suffering will fade away and I'll get to see all loved ones I've lost again. And in the meantime, there's still more glory to be revealed.
As a student in college, now more than 10 years ago, I loved this verse. At the time, I think I loved the idea that nothing in this world could get me down, because God's redemption was so complete it covered even the bad stuff. Of course, at the time, "the bad stuff" consisted of unrequited feelings from boys I liked or an argument with someone in my family.
Fast forward to present day. I drove home today with 3 pairs of shoes in my car that used to belong to my friend Midi, who died almost 2 whole years ago now. Mark, knowing we wore the same shoe size, let me know he was starting to clean out the closet. Along the way, I talked to my friend, Hideo, who's cancer is now at least 12 times the size it was when it was found early this year, and who has now been told by more than one doctor that there is very little they can do. Friends have been married and divorced, family and friends' families have passed away (some tragically) and the world of present sufferings can feel downright overwhelming.
But the weight of glory has proved its worth as well, as only time and suffering can truly test. It's funny -- I always understood the glory to be a future thing, like one day when we all die and go to heaven, we'll get to see this awesome glory and it will make it all okay. But I realize now that this glory is formed and revealed in us as we suffer today. And the more we suffer with Jesus (and not in isolation of him), and the more you see the difference when others suffer alone, the easier it is to recognize the amazing weight of that glory that is anchoring me through whatever may come.
When Mark first called about the shoes, I felt a little weight in my heart and almost told him I just couldn't do it. But I realized that Mark - and Midi were she here - would be glad to have her belongings go to those she loved. And if I believe that Midi is not dead in the eternal sense, which I do, then her old belongings were only temporarily hers anyway - just as all of our things are borrowed in the end.
Still, I cried my eyes out for about 10 minutes when I got home. The thing glory will not do is make you numb, and I'm glad for that. As I went about getting ready for bed, I thought how much I look forward to the end - when all of this present suffering will fade away and I'll get to see all loved ones I've lost again. And in the meantime, there's still more glory to be revealed.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
My 5
Tonight I had a conversation with my pastor about my dating life.
Among topics, I asked him for thoughts and advice about male vs. female initiation in dating. As usual, he gave me a well-thought out response that comes not from memorizing rules or mastering a particular argument, but from years and years of counseling couples in real life.
He challenged me to think not about the dos and don'ts, but to think about what I really want. He encouraged me to think about my top 5 deal-breakers, and think about what's actually going on in my relationships, rather than seek a formula for relationship success. When put that way, it cuts the crap and gets right to the point.
It was a helpful conversation, and by the end of it I realized he didn't necessarily tell me anything I hadn't already in some way concluded myself. But it was empowering to remember the responsibility I have in solving my own dilemma. Yet at the same time, I felt him unknowingly call my bluff. My excuses have generally been sung to the tune of, "all of the attractive, interesting guys I'm interested in will never ask me out." But what are my 5 deal-breakers?
I have to admit, I can't say that I know for sure. And I feel a bit of discomfort at the thought of figuring those out. Just a little bit.
Among topics, I asked him for thoughts and advice about male vs. female initiation in dating. As usual, he gave me a well-thought out response that comes not from memorizing rules or mastering a particular argument, but from years and years of counseling couples in real life.
He challenged me to think not about the dos and don'ts, but to think about what I really want. He encouraged me to think about my top 5 deal-breakers, and think about what's actually going on in my relationships, rather than seek a formula for relationship success. When put that way, it cuts the crap and gets right to the point.
It was a helpful conversation, and by the end of it I realized he didn't necessarily tell me anything I hadn't already in some way concluded myself. But it was empowering to remember the responsibility I have in solving my own dilemma. Yet at the same time, I felt him unknowingly call my bluff. My excuses have generally been sung to the tune of, "all of the attractive, interesting guys I'm interested in will never ask me out." But what are my 5 deal-breakers?
I have to admit, I can't say that I know for sure. And I feel a bit of discomfort at the thought of figuring those out. Just a little bit.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
I Heart This Show
...not just because it has both Jason Segel and Neil Patrick Harris, or because they acknowledge things like the girl with crazy eyes or unspoken rules between bros, but because it's fun watching people on TV go through what every single person goes through (well, more or less).
Marshall rules.
Hot Insecure People
I don't think we will ever fully understand the phenomenon. We all know the hot guy who only goes for crazy women, and the hot girl who only goes for losers. And what about those of us who go for that hot guy? Does that make us the crazy in that equation?
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? And where are all the normal people?
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? And where are all the normal people?
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Farewell to John Hughes
When the news broke that John Hughes died a few days ago of a heart attack at the age of 59, news articles across the internet have been accompanied by testimonies of former Brat Packers and other stars who were put on the map because of him or were admirers from afar: Matthew Broderick, Molly Ringwald, Jennifer Grey, Jon Cryer, Steve Martin and even Roger Ebert.
If Michael Jackson's music was such a part of the soundtrack of my youth, John Hughes was by far the filmmaker who helped me fall in love with movies and influenced my sense of identity and humor. He had a true affection for the underdog -- or in high school terms, the geek. Although our hearts throbbed for Jake Ryan and Ferris Bueller, the real heroes of his movies were Farmer Ted, Cameron Frye and Keith Nelson (I had to look up that last name -- I don't think they even mention Keith's last name in "Some Kind of Wonderful").
At one point, I think I had all of the words memorized to "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty In Pink," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," and parts of "The Breakfast Club." I admit, I wanted to be Molly Ringwald. When my classmates all wanted Acura Integras, I wanted a purple Karmann Ghia. And I will always remember a day in junior high when I proudly went to school in a funky-styled outfit I had put together myself only to get made fun of by the popular girls. Though mortifying at the time, in looking back I suppose it was a true Andie Walsh moment.
Hats off to the man who championed us off-beat kids and teens, who ever needed someone to validate our cause. Thanks, John. We'll miss the screwball jokes interlaced with profound moments of tenderness that were your films.
1. You can never go too far.
2. If I'm gonna get busted, it's not gonna be by a guy like that.
If Michael Jackson's music was such a part of the soundtrack of my youth, John Hughes was by far the filmmaker who helped me fall in love with movies and influenced my sense of identity and humor. He had a true affection for the underdog -- or in high school terms, the geek. Although our hearts throbbed for Jake Ryan and Ferris Bueller, the real heroes of his movies were Farmer Ted, Cameron Frye and Keith Nelson (I had to look up that last name -- I don't think they even mention Keith's last name in "Some Kind of Wonderful").
At one point, I think I had all of the words memorized to "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty In Pink," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," and parts of "The Breakfast Club." I admit, I wanted to be Molly Ringwald. When my classmates all wanted Acura Integras, I wanted a purple Karmann Ghia. And I will always remember a day in junior high when I proudly went to school in a funky-styled outfit I had put together myself only to get made fun of by the popular girls. Though mortifying at the time, in looking back I suppose it was a true Andie Walsh moment.
Hats off to the man who championed us off-beat kids and teens, who ever needed someone to validate our cause. Thanks, John. We'll miss the screwball jokes interlaced with profound moments of tenderness that were your films.
1. You can never go too far.
2. If I'm gonna get busted, it's not gonna be by a guy like that.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Fireworks and The Man in the Mirror
Just over a week ago, Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed King of Pop, danced his last signature steps in a rehearsal on the grand stage of the Staples Center, then went into cardiac arrest and breathed his last breath not 24 hours later. I was at work running from one meeting to another when a co-worker alerted me to the news before CNN or the LA Times had confirmed it: Michael Jackson was dead.
Since then, DJs have dusted off old LPs of album cuts or singles not played in years, radio stations have created tribute mixes and dedicated days to all-Michael play, television specials on his life and music have been popping up with a quickness only possible for someone with such a prolific career of music and video volume over the 40-year career of his 50-year life. And I, in my own car, have had "Michael" and "Jackson 5" as my two most played artists on my iTunes, processing the death of the man who provided much of the soundtrack of my youth. Videos from the "Thriller" album bring me back to watching Video 1 with Richard Blade in elementary school, songs from "Dangerous" were the anthems of my high school dance production numbers, and the list goes on.
As a DJ, I mourn the death of one of the greatest musical talents in history. Though he hasn't produced a hit in a few years, the finality that Jackson's distinctive, soulful vocals will not appear on any more new releases is a sad thought. As a Gen-Xer, I mourn the closing of a genre -- in a way, Michael was his own -- so closely tied with the development of my musical taste and love of dance growing up. But as a human, I mourn the downward spiral of his life over the years. Growing up literally remembering nothing but being in the public eye, and with a fiercely applause-hungry, over-critical and crazy stage parent of a father, Michael confessed once that the only place he felt safe was on a stage before thousands of people. As impressive as his presence was on that stage of dancers and flashing lights, there appeared to me to be a child who never grew up, and struggled with self-hate and was scared to death of people and relationships. All of this culminated in child molestation charges, excessive plastic surgery and increasingly frequent public displays of weirdness.
Michael's music may have been big enough to cover the multitude of his deep issues, and many will remember his glorious laundry list of #1s over all of the freakishness. But as many thousands there are mourning Michael the King on Tuesday's memorial service at the Staples Center and Nokia, I could bet the number of individuals who actually knew Michael the man could be counted on one hand.
Still, as I watched fireworks celebrating the Fourth of July tonight, my friends and I were sitting too far from the show to hear any music. And in my mind, the silent, spectacular show - like many things - would have been perfect set to some good ol' MJ.
Since then, DJs have dusted off old LPs of album cuts or singles not played in years, radio stations have created tribute mixes and dedicated days to all-Michael play, television specials on his life and music have been popping up with a quickness only possible for someone with such a prolific career of music and video volume over the 40-year career of his 50-year life. And I, in my own car, have had "Michael" and "Jackson 5" as my two most played artists on my iTunes, processing the death of the man who provided much of the soundtrack of my youth. Videos from the "Thriller" album bring me back to watching Video 1 with Richard Blade in elementary school, songs from "Dangerous" were the anthems of my high school dance production numbers, and the list goes on.
As a DJ, I mourn the death of one of the greatest musical talents in history. Though he hasn't produced a hit in a few years, the finality that Jackson's distinctive, soulful vocals will not appear on any more new releases is a sad thought. As a Gen-Xer, I mourn the closing of a genre -- in a way, Michael was his own -- so closely tied with the development of my musical taste and love of dance growing up. But as a human, I mourn the downward spiral of his life over the years. Growing up literally remembering nothing but being in the public eye, and with a fiercely applause-hungry, over-critical and crazy stage parent of a father, Michael confessed once that the only place he felt safe was on a stage before thousands of people. As impressive as his presence was on that stage of dancers and flashing lights, there appeared to me to be a child who never grew up, and struggled with self-hate and was scared to death of people and relationships. All of this culminated in child molestation charges, excessive plastic surgery and increasingly frequent public displays of weirdness.
Michael's music may have been big enough to cover the multitude of his deep issues, and many will remember his glorious laundry list of #1s over all of the freakishness. But as many thousands there are mourning Michael the King on Tuesday's memorial service at the Staples Center and Nokia, I could bet the number of individuals who actually knew Michael the man could be counted on one hand.
Still, as I watched fireworks celebrating the Fourth of July tonight, my friends and I were sitting too far from the show to hear any music. And in my mind, the silent, spectacular show - like many things - would have been perfect set to some good ol' MJ.
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