Everything is Beautiful in its Season

At first, when I went home for Christmas with my new camera, I didn't know if I would get the time to do any shooting. I am not a professional photographer, so I hit up my favorite nature spot, Watkins Mill, just to see what kind of shots I could come up with.

My philosophy when it comes to photography is to keep it simple. There are a lot of different styles and filters and effects that can all be appropriate in a given setting, but I personally like to go no filter (without the hashtag). One of the reasons is because I love nature. When I go outdoors and take in all the freshness and goodness of the world around me, it is often a very peaceful and spiritual experience. I cannot add anything to God's creation to make it better, so my objective is just to capture it.

Though it might be common to view winter as the most dull and dead season in terms of nature, I like to think of it as the antecedent of the bursting forth of new life that we witness with great joy in the spring time. Everything happens in cycles and seasons. So it is in our lives.

Here is a sampling of my humble beginnings as a photographer:

"He has made everything beautiful in its time..."

-Ecclesiastes 3:11, ESV

Want versus Want

In "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens, we learn some of the most profound lessons in human empathy, humility, charity, and want. Yes, it's still July, but I have been struck by some of these concepts recently and it has really made me evaluate my life and how I should live it. My favorite version of this tale is by far the Muppet Christmas Carol, but if you want the full effect, you need to read the book. If you recall the ghost of Christmas present (the large, absent-minded spirit), he is always so gleeful, spreading Christmas joy and cheer from the parties of the richest socialites to the dirty and dank parts of town, to the most remote lighthouse. When Scrooge inquires why they would visit such shabbiness on a seemingly bright occasion, the spirit replies, "It's Christmas here, too, you know!" Does it ever seem to be a foreign concept to us that people, no matter what their experience or current situation, are deserving of even the least bit of happiness?

There has been a recent fad on social media which has drawn my ire (as many tend to do). It primarily consists of obnoxious and unnecessary comparisons which are typically material in nature. For example, "My boyfriend is better than yours...my day is better than yours...my sack lunch is better than yours," are some sentiments that might be expressed. Dangit, people, of course you are better off than others! But what is there to brag about in that? The problem is that you just don't know how good you have it. The people you should be comparing yourselves to are not your friends on Facebook. In fact, they are people you will probably never meet - the homeless 30 year-old I saw yesterday, begging with a sign that said, "I WON'T BUY CRACK," The single mother of three, four, or even more children who takes too long in the checkout lane in front of you because she has to decide which groceries she can actually afford, or maybe you should just take a selfie with the group of homeless people, dressed in tattered clothes and every last item they own stuffed in plastic bags or bearing down on their backs in a large backpack, waiting for the Salvation Army truck to come by with food to provide temporary relief to their misery. Would that make you feel better?

This utter selfishness has got to stop. A few months ago, I was humbled by the opportunity to do some good. I was toward the end of my route at work, walking along the sidewalk to my next pickup destination, when I stumbled upon what I thought was a large sum of cash just laying there, waiting to be snatched up. My honest to goodness thought was, "I didn't earn this money, so I can't keep it. Let me try to figure out who it belongs to, and at the very least, I'll give it to a few people who need it." I tried to call the security group who was in charge of the area, but they had not received and news about missing money. Consequently, it was time for the next step in my plan. The next few days at work, I picked out a few opportunities. One was in the form of one of those street beggars, holding up a cardboard sign and braving the elements for a glimmer of hope that someone might take pity on him. Well, I did. I beckoned to him with money in hand, cautiously shifting my attention from this man to the traffic in front of me, in case the light should change. He sincerely thanked me and said that my gift would help a lot. I felt great, but I can't help but wonder how much it really did help. And frankly, I couldn't care less if he did buy drugs or booze with the money. It was my gift to him, and his to do with whatever he desired. My real gift was compassion, and that's what made me feel the way I did. Another opportunity presented itself at work. It was later in the day, and my work was just about done. I passed a homeless man going down the street. He was just sitting there, huddled up. I knew I would be headed back that way, so I hoped and prayed I would find him there again. He was there, and I quickly turned on my hazards, reached for my wallet, and hopped down out of the truck. I thought for a minute about what to say, but I believe the words just came to me.

"Hey," I said. He remained undisturbed in his huddled trance.

"Do you have anything to eat tonight, man?" I continued. After this sentence, he slowly raised his head to reveal a big, bushy beard, a forlorn face, and very sad eyes.

Raising his hand and pointing a finger at what seemed like a great effort to him, he mumbled, "Maybe we could get some pizza," obviously referring to the Papa John's right across the street.

At this point, I recognized from the stutter and hardness with which he pronounced the words that he suffered from some kind of developmental disability or brain injury, or something of the sort. This made me even softer in my approach toward him.

"Look," I replied, "I need to get going, but I have this money. You can get some pizza, whatever you want." He mumbled something else, but nothing I could recognize. I added, "I wish I could do more." Neither of us said anything after that, and I walked away slowly.

Now, I definitely do not say this to say that I am a saint. If anything, I am just telling you what needs to be done. I'm trying to make you think. My generation has cultivated such a sense of feeding their wants, exercising and encouraging consumerism to the utmost, that it has become deeply ingrained in our culture, its lifeblood, almost. It's addictive, it's done often out of a sense of duty, and it's a sickness, plain and simple. I often struggle with the tug-of-war between want and want in my own life. What can I do to achieve the things I want in life, and what can I do without? I don't know how accurate the following statement is, but I once heard someone say that If you own a fridge, a car, and a bed, you are more rich than 90% of the world's population. Once again, don't quote me on that. But what if it were true? And what if we realized that we'd be much happier thinking about what we have to give than when we think about how we feel when we have nice things?

Now back to Dickens. The ghost of Christmas present is waning, and Scrooge is beginning to realize what joy he might have had, or perhaps what joy he will find going forward, as he applies what he has learned about the meaning of Christmas. Then, the most somber moment in the entire book occurs. The spirit starts scolding Scrooge...hard! He makes Scrooge see the awfulness of his mistakes and unloving nature. He says that in the eyes of God, there may be millions more fit to live than Scrooge himself. And Scrooge realizes that his hardness has caused him to overlook the "poor in spirit," those that are in fact richer than he could ever dream. He then introduces two wretched beings, Scrooge's "children" - ignorance and want. The trait that we almost immediately think of when it comes to Ebenezer Scrooge is greed. The only natural offspring of greed is ignorance and want. Ignorance, the selfish, domineering beast that is spawned when all we do is take and take, and want, the cold, empty feeling that comes from only looking inward, are both products of the other want. It's like a runner's high, where you feel like all of your efforts have culminated in this joyful feeling, that you have somehow broken through to this existential plane of achieving happiness and success. Only you soon find out that it fades, and you are left exhausted, gasping, still reaching for something that is fleeting or that doesn't even exist.

Do good. Be kind. Remember those who are less fortunate. If you have love in your heart, you have enough.

Remember, it's not what you have, but what you have to give that counts.



image source: http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Observer/Pix/pictures/2009/11/6/1257502413421/disney-christmas-carol-001.jpg

Let's Talk About This Pill and What it Does

Every morning for the past several months, I have woken up, rolled out of bed to fetch a crying toddler, taken him downstairs for breakfast, peeled open a banana for myself, reached into the fridge for my water bottle, and cracked open my bottle with these little pills inside. This is Cymbalta, and it is used to treat my depression. It is a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor, and 60mg of my own personal heaven/hell. What exactly do I mean by that? Well, let's rewind a little bit.

I find that it might be difficult to articulate my thoughts and feelings about depression to an audience that may not be able to empathize with the intense emotional experiences of myself and others who suffer with depression, anxiety, and other psychological disorders. However, I somehow doubt that most of you who read this have been completely unaffected throughout your whole lives. Maybe you have yet to experience depression, but will sometime in the future. Remember, my goal is to uplift, so please try not to feel gloom and especially not pity as you read this post. Depression happens. If I can somehow help you learn and deal with an issue like this, I will have done some good.

When the day came for me to meet with Dr. U, my psychiatrist, for the first time, I honestly didn't want to get out of bed. I felt the weight of my impending visit like a child who is dragged kicking and screaming to his house after a trip to the park that ended much too soon (not that I, um, am speaking from experience or anything). I came up with excuses in my mind and out loud as to why I should not have to go. "But I've been feeling better lately. Maybe we're close to the end of this phase." That was a lie. First of all, I would not consider depression to be a phase. Though it can certainly come and go in waves, it is a sickness, not something that you can shrug off or something that will work its way out of your system. Also, I had been dealing with symptoms of depression steadily for about five years previously. "We don't have the money for this right now." This is pretty much my go-to excuse for a lot of things, mainly because it usually is the truth. My wife, however, being the loving and caring woman that she is, was stubborn enough not to let this excuse fly. "Jonathan," she said to me, very gently, "I can't force you to do anything, but these kids need their daddy, and I need my husband. I don't want to think about what would happen if you weren't here." So I went.

When I met the doctor, he was pleasant, yet very business-looking. He wasted no time in starting my treatment. He asked me very plainly what was going on in my life and how I felt. I answered him very plainly. I felt like a burden on my family. I felt like I was distant and unable to make an emotional connection with those whom I truly love with all my heart. I didn't feel like going to work, but would force myself to do it because of the duty I felt toward my family and the responsibility of providing for them. I felt like the sky wasn't as blue, the grass wasn't as green, and there was nobody in the world who knew what I was going through, or would even care. I also felt lost. Things that normally bring people joy were just things to me. I felt no pleasure in pushing my own child on the swing, going to church, basking in the beauty of nature, or any number of other activities. I felt dark. I felt lonely. I felt that something was wrong, but barely had the willpower to even attempt to fix it.

Dr. U asked me about my past experience and treatment. I told him that in 2012, I spent four days in a psychiatric hospital (a horrible place that I hope everyone stays as far away from as possible, was what I thought at the time). I was prescribed an antidepressant and a sleeping pill when I was released. I took the medicine until it ran out and then stopped. I received six weeks of counseling, which helped, but was not really a long-term solution for what I was dealing with. He asked me why I had stopped seeking professional help and didn't continue taking prescriptions. I cited money, but that was just a cover up. The truth is, I never wanted any help. I, too, was once under the impression that a positive attitude and a whole lot of grit and determination would get you through just about anything. I was defiant, misinformed, not at all humble, and it nearly cost me my life. Even while I was in the hospital, I would spit out some of the medicine in the sink in my room, so that the nurses would mark that I had taken it, but I wouldn't have to deal with these strange chemicals trying to mess with my body. I still don't like taking medication, by the way. It feels different and wrong. It feels like my brain is being taken over and my body is resisting. It really is difficult to describe.

The fact of the matter is that when suicide becomes more than a nagging thought, when it presents itself as a real option, that is one heck of a wake up call. Up to this point, I haven't used the "s" word, because talking about it still scares me. The closest I ever came to ending my life was when I was in my room, holding a CO2-powered metal bb gun to my head, thinking, "This is the end. It will be over, and I will be relieved." For a brief moment, I did truly feel that relief would come through my actions, but something grabbed a hold of my thoughts and convinced me otherwise. In truth, I don't know what kind of damage I could have done with a bb gun, but in the height of emotional anguish and excruciating internal pain, the thought of physical pain simply pales in comparison. On another occasion, I was driving home one night and thought how simple it would be to swerve to the left or to the right, in front of traffic, off a bridge, or perhaps into a ditch. It would probably look very innocent to others, like there was some kind of accident, or perhaps I had fallen asleep at the wheel. Sometimes you fall into that stupor of dark thoughts and are miraculously awakened, thinking, "Where in the world did that come from?!" But, sadly, it doesn't go away. Honestly, recounting other times when I had suicidal thoughts is quite a blur, but I can tell you that I had imagined suffocation, stabbing, and other horrid methods as means of escape.

Now, back to my recent appointment with Dr. U. I was prescribed the minimum dosage of Cymbalta and told to come back in a month. Given my history of avoiding treatment, he sternly asked, "Will you continue seeking help and come back to see me in a month," and seemingly adding, "I want to help you, now will you do something to help yourself?" I very seriously and determinedly agreed. The first day I took the medicine was the heavenly part. I've never been high, but I imagine that it feels a little bit like my experience, minus hallucinations and stuff. I went through work that day feeling blissful. It didn't necessarily make me happy, but I seemed to be immune from the bad, and that was good enough for me. When I got home, I told my wife, "I think the medicine is working. I feel so chill right now, like you could punch me in the face and I would totally be okay with it" (yes, those were my exact words).

But other days have still felt like hell. Sometimes I take the pill and I get the shakes really bad. I feel nervous and scared, to the point where all I can do is lay down and wait for it to pass. Other days I feel very tired and lethargic. I have also taken my medicine sometimes and not felt a thing at all. No change. I still feel hopeless and unmotivated. I feel like running away to a far off place, or just breaking down and crying. The thing is, I know that I am making progress. We are experimenting with the dosage, talking about what helps, getting feedback from those I closely interact with, and putting forth a strong effort to make things better. As much as I hate taking baby steps at times (I can be a very impatient person), two steps forward and one step back still feels like an achievement when you used to be in a deep, dark abyss. Progress comes when you try. You know what, failure comes when you try, too. But the greatest failure is when we fail to try.

Remember, always hope.

"Be believing, be happy, don't get discouraged. Things will work out."
- Gordon B. Hinckley

A dream is a stepping stone on the pathway to success.

Hello, and welcome to my blog. While I familiarize myself with the blogging world, and while you familiarize yourself with me, I hope that we can all enjoy ourselves and grow a little as people. My whole purpose in sharing the things that I share is to be uplifting (because everyone can benefit from kinds words and a smile). I want my life to be fulfilling, to bring happiness to others, and, in short, to make a difference. One of my favorite quotes is from Teddy Roosevelt, who said,

"Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing."

For my first post, I thought I would dive into something very philosophical and deep - dreams. Dreams can be strange. Dreams can be funny. Dreams can be scary. But all in all, I am of the persuasion that dreams are what we thrive on. As my title suggests, I don't believe that dreams exist simply in the interrogatory, "What if?" When they come to fruition, dreams are real. They offer a concrete look at who we are and what we wish to become. Let me share a few suggestions on how to follow your dreams until they blossom into something beautiful, tangible, and real.

1. Learn to find beauty in the small things. Every day on my way to work, I pass lots of buildings, cross railroad tracks, and travel on busy highways. These, for some, are symbols of economic fortitude, a constant reminder that life never stops or lets up, and that there is much work to be done. And every day on my way to work, very near to the strip of industrial warehouses that neighbor my place of employment, I pause to look at this vast field. There is no concrete parking lot, no massive building that houses scores of automotive parts or trucks or cogs of invention. No, there is simply one towering tree, shooting up majestically and proud in the midst of this empty field. When I think about it, the tree is actually quite ugly in its appearance. Its branches are contorted all about, and the lower portion is in much need of pruning. But something about the whole setting of this lonely tree is very appealing and very beautiful to me. So it is with our dreams. Whatever you seek, it may take a long and difficult journey to get there. So don't just focus on the end goal, enjoy life along the way.
2. Persevere. Don't get caught up in the present either. When you get bogged down (and unfortunately, you will, my friends), get back up. Nothing can stop a man or woman with a heart full of purpose and a head full of steam. There is another, lesser-known quote which I enjoy by Robert Browning, "Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?" Just think about that for a minute. Let it marinate in your mind.
   
3. Share your dreams with others. True happiness is found when you share the best moments of life with others you love. Dreams are not a lonely conquest. Find someone that can help you find your dreams. Hold onto that person. Hold onto your dreams. Learn to love. Learn from your mistakes. 

Well, there you have it. Short and sweet. That's a wrap for June 1, 2015. I'll see you next time!