Real Reality

Knives can be sharp. That's a reality, right?
Usually, it's quite an advantage when you're trying to use them. Dull knifes are good for spreading, I suppose, but unless the spreading is happening with the icing on that cake you just made me, I have no need for dull knives.
But, the cuspidated knife is not always advantageous. But it did teach me a lesson today. Most people have pricked themselves with a pin, given themselves a paper cut, and I will venture to say that, yes, a great majority of us have cut ourselves with a sharp knife.
You guessed it, my roommate cut off his thumb with a sharp knife. A very sharp knife. Okay, so he didn't cut his entire thumb off, but he sliced a juicy piece off just fine. While at work. Preparing food that you and I would probably eat.
Today's lesson, however, was not that I should be wary when judging the deliciousness of food at my favorite restaurants. No, that wasn't it. Rather, as he was showering this morning, screaming bloody murder as he cleaned it, waiting for me to come apply the dressing, I started thinking about reality. My reality, his reality, yours too.
Our reality.
Where does reality exist? I'm not trying to get existential on all of you, but I find it a valid question. I've always been fascinated by perspective, but really, perspective is just our interpretation of what's going on...our perspective is our reality. And that reality goes through our personal filter: our brain.
The pain from the knife exists solely in our mind, which tells us the pain is in our finger. When we touch something, it feels solid, even though we know 90% of it is empty space--the "solidness" is in our brain.
We talk about sunrise and sunset, even though we know the earth is not the center of our solar system -- and nobody ever thinks to correct it. Why have we not officially renamed "sunrise" to reflect the real dynamic, which is earth-turning-morning? We readily accept and live with ideas and experiences we know are false, and as a collective, we perpetuate this shared and realized ignorance.
We don't see color, we don't "see" anything at all, but rather we have sensors that perceive radiation in certain wavelengths, and our mind tells itself what that radiation pattern might look like. Our mind filters out more than it accepts.
Which begs the question...what, really, is reality? I'm talking the reality outside of our brain. Does it exist? Are we simply projections on that reality? What does it mean?
Either way, my mate's missing his thumb.

Disclaimed

I like flying. I don't mind it at all. Honestly, I think I prefer longer flights than shorter flights, simply because to me, the long ones mean that I'm going somewhere.

This flight is long. I am definitely on my way somewhere. Exotic. Yes, that's how most would describe it, I suppose. To me, it's another destination. Another point of view. The things I have learned travelling the world are indescribable. I tried to write them down once, but I realized that to truly describe something that transcends to so many levels required a vocabulary that surpassed even my own. 

It's like describing the way magnetism works, in a way. If you don't have a vocabulary to understand and describe the mechanism, then the only way to properly apply any description to is to accept that it simply is. It simply does.

Unfortunately, I do understand that I'm incapable of describing the things I've experienced. But I've accepted that. An accurate representation of the window to my soul would be misinterpreted by most anyhow, and I understand that too! 

So many times, I've boarded with a knowledge of where this hunk of metal would transport my physical body. I've never known where my spiritual self would land, and how it would affect me, but I absolutely thirst for it. 

I have friends who travel too, you know--I don't pretend that I'm the only one on this flight. I don't know their purpose, and I don't know their intentions, but I'm glad they choose to come with me. We all know that the flight may be cramped--first class is expensive!--but we also know there is always a way off the plane. If you can even call it a way off. Parachutes are not my favorite cup of tea.

The flight attendants know that I prefer a nice rose tea, or maybe, if my stomach is particularly upset, a chamomile just to settle things. Not that it's their fault or anything, but it is mighty unfortunate when I have to settle for a ginger ale. But it has its own advantages. Oh, and no ice, thanks to you very much.

Did you know that by flying, we force our bodies to endure an insane amount of radiation? Radiation that surpasses radiation experienced during the Three Mile Island incident. No nuclear storage facility or power plant pose as much danger to our radiation-sensitive bodies than flying does. But I accept the risk. Easy cost-analysis shows me that the rewards always exceed the possible cost. 

Really, why does anybody order their drinks with ice?! It's bothering me now, and when things irk me in the air, they grind away at my patience until I land. There is no advantage to ordering a drink with ice, now, is there? In actuality, the airlines are getting away with murder. You see, ice is one of the only materials that expands upon freezing, so not only are they taking away precious fluid volume, by they are substituting it with arguably less liquid than you otherwise would have received! Shirk the ice, man!

The thing about me flying is, that I still have my own rules. I never turn off my phone, and I only use airplane mode because I'll be able to watch an extra movie because of the battery life I save. Also, no seat belts. This one is almost as absurd as the ice--almost. Trust you me that life--I mean, airplanes--are much better experienced without the seat belt on. No seat belt will save you from a 30,000 foot nose dive going 600mph. Not a one.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I make the rules of my flight. I look to my left and my right and realize that the inexperience my fellow passengers exhibit is par for the course; I'm just happy they got past security. I get on the plane because I know that I will be enlightened on the other side. I factor in this world's uncertainty. I understand that there is no such thing as absolute knowledge. I get that I'll possibly never understand how I, a man without wings, is soaring at heights that the birds can only imagine.

I'm okay with it all.

Luckily I can tune out right now with my iPhone. Wake me when we land.

Our Boys

World Cup.
Two words that are ominous, dramatic, heartbreaking.
For the USA Men's National Team, the 2010 World Cup will ultimately be remembered more tenderly than most. More tenderly than 1998 when they went home ranked the worst of the tournament. More tenderly than 2006 when, after the best run in modern history (2002) we went home from the tournament early after tying the eventual champions. But ultimately, I think, in the end, this year will be remembered as a disappointment.
Stay with me here.
I realize that 2010 brought us our first win out of group play, even over England. Yeah, I get that. I understand that 2010 showed us how resilient our boys were, coming back and beating (yes, I said it) Slovenia, overcoming Algeria in the final minutes, and fighting back to force Ghana into extra time. Point taken. I can see how US Soccer will be forever changed with immense support from the homeland. These are all amazing feats, and they are really something we have to recognize and applaud.
But, when it comes down to it, this 2010 World Cup showed how much the USMNT has to grow.
England and USA. The favorites of the group. We overcame adversity, sure, but that adversity was self-afflicted. It does show a strong team psyche when you did what we did, that's a plus, but it shows weak character when the mistakes are committed over and over again.
You see, we can compete with any country in the world. Don't believe me? Look around! We beat the world number ones 2-0 last year (Spain), we fought down to the wire for a draw against the inventors of the game (England), and we held a 2-0 advantage to the men who perfected the game in our first international final last year (Brasil).
So what the hell is the problem?
After Our Boys ruined my weekend (the result seemingly had no effect on other fans watching the game), I think I've realized one of the issues. In all of our (U.S. soccer supporters) efforts to bring the joy of the game to more and more people around us, I think we've become soft towards the 'Nats results. Nowhere in the country will you read a newspaper tomorrow with interviews criticizing the poor performance out of the gates. You will read of how the U.S. has played "dramatically" and with "resilience." There will be no talk or rumor of a manager change (if there is, it will be soft), and overall, I believe the supporters will pat the boys on the back and say, "Well, done, men, you made it past group play, it was exciting, and maybe you'll have a better go at it in four years!"
(And no, MSNBC/Lovgren, this should NOT be considered a success.)
It's repulsive.
I'm not saying that we should all react like the French or the Italians after their (in my eyes, fitting) early departures. But maybe a little bite would help. We should be questioning Bradley's choice of Ricardo Clark after a fantastic performance by Maurice Edu. We should be asking ourselves why Edson Buddle, arguably the hottest American player on the team at the moment, saw 20 minutes of playing time out of the entire tournament. We should be wondering out loud why Carlos Bocanegra didn't electrify and fortify our back four. Why did Jozy Altidore perform so poorly? Why didn't he finish any of his chances? Why is Salt Lake's beloved Findley missing a 1v1 with the keeper? This is the world stage, and while we had a dramatic run, it was rather embarrassing the way Ghana was passing around us while we all stood around today. It was embarrassing that we finished and played with aggression only when we were cornered into it. It was embarrassing that we are going home today.
Look. Landon, Tim, Clint...every single one of you: I loved watching your enthusiasm. I loved seeing your heart when it came out on the field. I loved watching every game you all played. I love our boys. But it's the hardest love there is, and the fact that we're out at 16 makes it that much harder.
U.S. supporters: we have a job to do. No more cheering at results that were great 4, or even 8 years ago. We must come to expect solid play. We must expect precision finishes. We must expect glory. Each and every game we play, we must expect to win. There's no reason for losing anymore.
We have become the force of CONCACAF. People laugh at the weakness of our conference. They should laugh no more, because we should give them reason to be quiet.

The Sun is Shining

Wow. I don't usually wear my emotions on my sleeve, and I definitely don't usually use my blog as a place to share them. I try to make my blog about things: politics, art, life--things we can all talk about. But I take advantage of the fact that anyone who reads it is voluntarily here. I try my hardest to post things that are honest. I put a lot of effort in verifying anything I put on here. I encourage people to discuss and show me my weaknesses and my mistakes. But if you don't like what you read, you're welcome to ignore it and leave. You won't hurt my feelings, and I hope in the short time we shared I didn't hurt yours.
Recently, I've had to make a lot of difficult decisions. I've been placed in situations where before I would have avoided. I realized, however, that if I continually refused to respond to these situations, I would simply continue to be placed in them. They're uncomfortable, they're life-changing, but they're important.
Not all of these situations are bad. In fact, I would argue that most are good experiences, and I'm sure many of you have been in the same position before. True, some were more difficult than others, but as soon as I decided to go headfirst into a few, I knew I had to go headfirst into them all or I would never have felt as though I conquered my fears of them.
For all the difficulty I've endured, I've been offered great opportunity for happiness in return. My mom e-mailed me today with a story I felt I could share with everyone. It's a story that's very dear to me, although I'm sure the people involved have no idea of its impact--just as I was unaware of the impact I had on them before.
She shares:
"Talked to V M this morning.  She was telling me about a New Beginnings for Young Women [a program for teenage girls that teaches about the purpose of the LDS Young Women's program] that she attended last night  in which a girl who is 13 talked to the girls about her trials with cancer when she was 7.

She went on and said that the moment things started to look up for her was when the Fremont [High School] Boy's Soccer team all shaved their heads for her that day, when she was at her worse. Her mom then talked and said that, that moment was the best time for her. And when V heard that you were part of that, she wanted me to share that with you."

This is so cliché, but I don't know how to describe the feeling I had when I read that. I'm relatively young, but I've been granted so many opportunities to serve people and help them be happy. The pain I feel when I see people focusing on the negative in life and in others to the point that they cannot posses an honest happiness for themselves and others is so visceral that I physically shake. I don't know how else to explain it, and I'm not sure I understand why this is so. 

It's funny, this morning was dreary and on the drive to work I though to myself, "Wow, the weather is acting just how I feel." And I'm looking out the window and now the sun is shining.