Mixing it Up

I have always been an avid "journal-er."
 [At this point I automatically recall a conversation between two TV characters:
"Do you mean your old diary?"
"Mike, it was a journal."
"Ed, Lewis and Clark had a journal.  You, my friend, had a diary." Digression ended]
I have written down my thoughts since the concept was first proposed to me in high school.  While some might tease me about the diaries I have kept, even if I were forced to call them that name I would still be glad to have them.  It's both fascinating and entertaining to look back at events and feelings from 15 years ago.

But sometimes I like to mix it up.  On days such as this I record my thoughts straight to the blog.  It's a bit more public, so some content is not appropriate, but for general updates and more amusing anecdotes it is great.  I have also been known to post completed paintings on my blog.  However...nothing has been completed for a long time.

The painting you see here is one that I did finish recently.  Only it's not mine.  I mean, the execution is mine, but the concept is that of Charlie Harper.

 Such work reflects a love that I have for good design, mathematical precision, and the beauty of simplified forms.

It reminds me a great deal of another fantastic designer you should check out.

This painting now hangs in my kitchen.  I love to see the still night, the autumn leaves (which match with orange walls within the house), the birches...it's a brilliant image.  But again...not mine.

Painting is hard work.  Of all my "hobbies" or "pastimes" it is by far the most taxing.  My friend Jon used to say that good painting is like brain surgery, and he's right.  It's extremely difficult to simultaneously monitor form, value, color, composition and all the little things that go into making them perfect (paint mixing, brush control, etc.).  If only I were an abstract expressionist like Pollock who believed in Jung's collective unconsciousness and the need to tap into it!

So although I find myself (periodically) with a bit more time on my hands, I find other ways to fill it.  I am just exhausted, so it's easier to work on tiny, mindless projects.  I'm sure that someday soon I will return to the place I was at the end of the summer and just paint for hours on end each afternoon and evening.  But imagine going to work, caring for the kids...and doing it all while feeling completely spent--could you paint?

Betrayed By My Body

Working out without a goal has always seemed futile to me.  I mean, the general goals of looking good and feeling healthy make sense, and those are things I desire.  But eventually, motivation runs out and monotony sets in.  Unless I am resolved to hit some mark, I can find plenty of excuses to stop lifting.  

Following my bicycling accident last May, I lost nearly 25 pounds.  Some of it was due to change in diet before, but a lot was due to inactivity during my recovery process.  Since mid-July, however, the leg has been feeling good enough (and needing rehab) to allow me to start lifting again.  

In college I had a goal of bench pressing 225 pounds.  Not as a one rep max, but as multiple repetitions in a set.  I found a plan, followed the plan, and was successful in meeting that goal.  But where do you go from there?  I didn't want to become a power lifter.  And now I don't really care about how much I can lift--I only care that I look a certain way (vain, I know).  And I want to look big.  So I've set a goal to put on 30 pounds of muscle in the next 3 months.  I know it's impossible, but if it weren't audacious it wouldn't be worth doing.  Since July I've regained the weight I lost and added 10 pounds, so that I'm now 180 lbs.  I've tried to do this two other times in my life--once in Minnesota when I was about 24 or 25 and once a few years back.  Now I'm 32 and I know that if I don't hit the mark this time this will be my last try.  I don't really care if I even hit it.  In Minnesota I only made it to 185 lbs.  At least I have a goal, and that motivates me.  

Anyway, I'm telling you all this because my body is starting to rebel.  In August, while swinging the weights to my shoulders for incline bench press, I strained the muscle/tendon of my left bicep.  I've tried to lay off it, even taking a whole week off of everything, but I guess I didn't wait long enough.  

Yesterday was my first back and biceps day under my new program.  I did concentration curls...and I'm pretty sure I tore my bicep.  Maybe not a big tear.  Perhaps a tiny little rip.  It's not a big deal, I don't think, because my arm doesn't hurt.  It's just that when I woke up this morning I saw this:

After doing some internet searching, I found several discussion boards and one informational site that said such a bruise could be a result of straining or tearing your muscle.  So I guess I'll be taking it easy on that arm for the next couple weeks.  

I should have known, though.  I'm getting older--I have to keep reminding myself of that fact.  My hair is trying to help me remember.  I've kept it short all summer, but now that I'm growing it out (for a glorious, well-thought-out plan, I might add) there is a white stripe that is visible above the left side of my forehead.

But that's life I guess.  You get older and your body breaks down on you.  I can't really complain, though.  It's held up pretty well so far.  My left leg is mostly healed (I feel the screw poking into my tendon now more than I feel the site of the break), and I hope to get an "all clear" report at my appointment in late October.  I'll just try and slow down a little bit and not do any more breaking than I need to.

You Named Your Blog What?

I'm always on the lookout for a good band name.  Keep in mind that I do not have a band.  But when a good name strikes I find it's always best to tuck it away for later.  You never know when you'll meet a drummer and a bassist, right?  

When I lived at BGSU, "Apartment 11" (our address) seemed like a great band name.  Looking back, it may not be as cool as I thought then.  I am very confident that in no time at all I will think the current title of my blog to be lame, but for now I think it's interesting.  Let me tell you why.  

First of all, Kid Icarus was one of the first home video games I ever played.  It was at Sam Powers house.  We pronounced it "Kid e-CAR-iss" or "kitty CAR-us."  But none of that really has anything to do with why I chose the name.  

It all has to do with the myth.  In Greek mythology, Icarus--with the help of his genius father, the inventor Daedelus--escapes an island prison.  Everyone remembers what happens in the end: his wings, made of wax and feathers, fall apart and he crashes into the sea and dies.  Sad story.  

But the Greeks used this story to teach a message.  In an often forgotten portion of the story, Daedelus also warns his son not to fly too low.  The sun might melt his wings, but the waves might grab him if he drops too far in altitude.  

This story illustrates the idea of the Greek virtue sophrosyne.  We have no modern equivalent, but familiar Greek phrases like "Everything in moderation" are statements about sophrosyne.  It is the notion of balance or perfect equilibrium.  As I understand it, it's a bit like Aristotle's golden mean from Nicomachen Ethics.  It's the most beneficial and good position between two extremes.  For example, between cowardice and wrathful vengeance is defending the right and the just.  

The opposite of this virtue is hubris.  We have heard this terms used a bit more widely.  Hubris is excessive pride.  As Scripture says, "Pride leads to a fall."  

If you have ever read my former blog, Hopelessly Uncool, you will understand that I lean toward hubris, rather than sophrosyne.  In fact, the title of that blog really was sort of tongue in cheek; saying I wasn't cool but really thinking I sort of was for coming up with such a great title for a blog.  Uncool is my cool. As my friend Taylor says, "It's thought out.  You may wear weird clothes, but you do it in such a way that it's interesting and you pull it off."  

So in trying to think of a new title, I wanted something that would capture not just the current state of my life, but would also indicate some of the major themes of my life.  I have always dreamed of flying.  Literally.  I wanted to be Superman.  But I also want to soar figuratively; to achieve dizzying heights in my life.  In my hubris I have thought that I must be bound for greatness or to do great things.  And in thinking this, I have often caused my own destruction.  To quote Brave Saint Saturn: 

"Did you see me falling down from heaven

trailing wings of melted wax?"

Thankfully I have avoided the extreme of despair, and the waves have not pulled me under.  But that is hardly a virtue, especially if every other day I attempt to climb too high and scorch a new pair of wings.  

But for this I will always glorify God and thank him for his grace: He has always kept me from plunging into the depths, and he has always allowed me "to soar on wings like eagles" again.  "What matter wounds to a knight errant?  For each time he falls he shall rise again and woe to the wicked!"  "If the Lord delights in a man's way, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand" (Psalm 37:23-24).  I may have crashed and burned in my life, and I'm sure huge disasters and fiascos are still to come, but I am grateful to God that he has preserved my life and has given me the strength to pick up the pieces and try again.

So here's to a new blog and new things. 

Here's to flying high on borrowed wings.

In soaring with Christ there is no "too high."

I'll follow past sun, and clouds and sky.