So Anyway, to Reiterate...

It has been more than two months since I last graced (?) you, my dear readers, with a post on the ongoing adventure that is my life, and in reality, have never actually transcribed my experience in Seattle to written word. Much has transpired in these recent months, and I have been eager to restart my dying blog. I think my blog always falters at the first of the year. I don't know why. Perhaps it goes along with my theory that January 1st is the biggest letdown in the entire year. See, Jan 1st doesn't excite me. Generally, I'm just tired and cranky. Especially this winter, with the massive amounts of snow, I'm feeling trapped and stir crazy. I need some new life. So it is with great joy (and great effort) that I strain the muscles of my mind to retell my most recent foray into the educational world, and the experiences I had on either end.

I arrived in Seattle to light mist and rain. Not surprising, if you are at all familiar with the NW United States. After a hectic drive down Snoqualmie pass, which leads I-90 out of the Cascade Mountains, to a 3000 foot steep decent towards the west coast, we crossed a bridge across lake Washington, drove though a final tunnel, and finally emerged to daylight, and a breathtaking view of the Emerald City.

I don't know exactly how to explain Seattle. It is an anomaly of sorts. I have often heard it said that Seattle is the best-kept secret in the United States. And for good reason. The city rises out of the ground like a metallic flowerbed, in the midst of an emerald green earth. To the East, the royal blue olympic mountain range rises like jagged cliffs from the ground. Unlike the soft foot hills of Colorado that I am used to, these mountains are rough and wild, beautiful but intimidating. To the south, Mount Rainier rises like a modern Atlas, high above the city, overshadowing the sky with it's might and power. It is a living rock, occasionally shaking the ground around it, to remind all who live near that it is an active organism, just as it's softly curved peak indicates. To the West, the cascades provide the mirror image of the olympics. Towering high and ominously, both mountain ranges surround Seattle like walls of a fortress.

The city itself is certainly able to hold it's own among the natural beauty surrounding it. The Seattle center, with it's 70's retro crown masterpiece, the Space Needle rising high in the air, the Seattle Public Library, with it's eleven stories of glass and steel shaped deftly into a veritable maze of architectural elegance, even Pike's Market, with it's quaint, crowded streets and european style vendor booths, so many elements come together to make Seattle strange and wonderful. It is architecturally a living contradiction; 21st century condominiums are popping up everywhere like rabbits in mating season, and the WaMu bank building downtown is a soaring testimony to the achievements of modernity. And yet, the preposterous monorail track still winds from the Seattle Center to downtown like an ugly stain marring the otherwise impressive landscape. The viaduct circling the city rattles and shouts in dismay as it waits for the next earthquake to topple it, even as the poor of the downtown district seek shelter beneath it's faltering legs of concrete and steel. Seattle is a bit like an old gentleman; living its life in stately elegance, but failing to hide the fading years and lingering past. Seattle was once known for it's modern innovation and futuristic aspirations. It now struggles to hold on to the life it once knew, while still trying to keep up with the world around it, flashing by with dizzying speed. That is why it is the best kept secret. The world will see it, and walk merrily on its way.

Only two miles north, along the edge of a canal spilling out into the sound, is Seattle Pacific University. It is a small school, barely a few hundred feet from each end. The fact that it is built on the steep slope of Queen Anne Hill makes it appear even smaller. But what it loses in size, it makes up for in character. The minute you drive up, the quaint red brick buildings surrounding a small grassy knoll provide for a lovely first sight. Many towering oaks and pines soar over the buildings in glorious northwest majesty. The very fact that each structure is so close together makes for a warm and secure environment. There are small coffee shops and resturants on the side steets, providing for rewarding walking excursions. Right across the road, a small bike trail follows the canal for miles and miles.

As I took all of this in, I went to my dorm, to unload into my new home. I was pleased to step out into a world of people and excitement, with everyone around me also participating in the joy of getting into their own living quarters. I quickly met the rest of the guys on my floor, and began to form friendships. Also that day, as a tempering to my excitement was an incident in which a Hummer backed into my car. It's tire was so tall that the bumper went over the hood of my meager economy car! But that's for another time and place. Needless to say, I was able to resolve the matter.

Anyway, I settled into my new home, and began to prepare myself for a new life. The next two-and-a-half months were a conglomeration of many experiences. I should emphasize the world experience, because this autumn was a time for me to "experience" new events and friendships. I think that my life is spent living in a metaphorical hat shop. I tend to walk down the long isles, waiting patiently until one hat catches my eye. I'll then get the step ladder and reach up high to grab it, and try it on. If it meets my fancy, I'll go and look at myself in the mirror; if not, I'll simply put it back in it's box. You see, the problem is, I have a very specific taste in hats, and I don't feel that it is the right hat, I'll simply move onto the next one. I'm so sure that somewhere in that hat shop, a nice cap, or perhaps fedora is waiting just for me.

To tie that back in with my point, I think that Seattle was one experience in the midst of many where I tried on a "hat" that was very popular; go to a private Christian university, get a degree in communications, and have a good, Christian experience. And as far as that could take me, I enjoyed it. I stumbled upon intricately scrumptious discussions about old English books like Beowulf and Canterbury Tales. I saw a massive amount of movies, and one screening that blew my socks off (the Queen. I REALLY liked it). I had a lot of firsts: Sushi, Sufjan Stevens, Indiana Jones, Bubble Tea (!), Ice Blocking (!!), The Great Gatsby, and much more. Every experience was new and exciting.

My time at SPU was indeed characterized by a string of experiences. Aesthetic satisfaction in buying stylish, chic clothing, going to all the right places for a young 20something, seeing the most hip movies. It was all so enjoyable. But throughout my time there, I began to feel an uneasiness, something creeping up the walls of my soul. I was having such a stellar time, that I couldn't put my finger on it at first. But slowly it started to come to me. I started to remember. I remembered that I'm called to bigger things than to live a successful cultural life and do everything expected of my by that culture. That I have a rich soul, a heritage of literature and discussion and great art, that I have a stewardship to continue to cultivate, and look for environments where it can flourish. I remembered that the kingdom of God calls us to more than fun experiences, but that everything I use my resources on will build toward my legacy. As soon as I got home, it all started to crash down, the realization of the actual monetary cost of SPU, and this loss of direction that I had come to. I even started to realize that every church I went to was filled with young 20 and 30 somethings looking for meaning amidst the empty rock and overblown aesthetics. Nothing in this land of Oz kept it's luster that long. I soon realized that the very impressive and alluring figure in front of me, was no more than smoke and mirrors, and that the man behind the curtain was really feeble, unable to uphold my thirst for true life, in the midst of emptiness.

This isn't to say that I dislike SPU, or regret my time there. I think that SPU is still an excellent school. I know few places so well formed for Christian students to study. With SPU taken alone, apart from the rest of my Seattle experience, it really is a wonderful place to study and grow. It offered me a lot of resources that were very helpful to me in my journey. I was finally able to taste community like never before, and I loved it. I still desire to find it in my own life. I expanded my mental capacity substantially through the classwork and study. Two professors especially contributed to my learning experience, and opened my world to new ideas and works of great literature. Christ really was front and central at the school, even if it was hard to figure out how to follow that realization up with practical applications. Many of those experiences I spoke of earlier will continue to be wonderful memories, that I look back on fondly. Many of my friends were thoughtful, intelligent, and worthy of the best of the best. I've rarely met such well-formed people so focused in one place. I truly wish them the greatest joy in life, and success at SPU. I am sure I will continue to maintain friendships with them in time to come. It wasn't that all was wrong. I grew a lot at SPU. But there were so many elements at play besides the wonderful SPU experience: My heritage, my future plans, my spiritual condition, I personally was under conflict from some of those things. I was also losing something. It's taken me this long to figure out what. But I know now finally. I had to step away from the experience to see it.

I think, that I lost some sort of innocence. I traded an experience I was told was the right thing to do, for the God-given joy of living freely with my eyes wide open. It has been a long silence between moments of artistic and spiritual euphoria, rising up within me and spilling out. I used to breathe deeply of life, live in constant wide-eyed wonder. I used to feel a breath of air on my face, and take it for more than an annoyance. Yes there was sadness and loneliness; but at least I could feel those emotions freely. I have become a bit numb and stale as of late.

Life comes at you fast. For me, car payments and work, study and, most likely, sleep deprivation, stole something frank and poignant from my soul. It is easy to forget; it is far harder to relearn and remember. I forgot that the joy of the Lord is my strength. I forgot that the wind at my back and the sun on my face were more than just elements of a nice day, but were profound statements of the spirit of God pouring life upon me. I was so caught up in aesthetic experience, that I gave up the truth of beauty and imagination, of a calling larger than any one institution, for something temporal and menial. The experience cost me not only a large sum of literal money, but also threatened to steal away the rich treasure within my soul. Classes, staying active all the time, and never stopping, all this led to me filling up my life with duties and responsibilities, rather than beauty, truth, art, and every soul enriching thing I have cherished in the past.

So I put my foot down and stepped away. I closed the door. It was an extremely difficult decision to make. I agonized over it, if not only for all the wonderful friends I made. Based on feelings alone, I probably wouldn't have left. But something was pushing me to consider more than just my feelings. You know when you are asleep, and the alarm clock goes off, and everything in your body says, "go back to sleep, ignore it"? But you know that you have to wake up, and fight against every feeling that says not to wake up? That is what it is like. I'm slowly waking up again. But I'm fighting every impulse in my being to do so.

I'm afraid I'm a still a bit drowsy, and will be so for a while. I'm not good at waking up. That metaphorical sleepiness will probably remain with me for a long time to come. I am at home once again, seeking the will of the Holy Spirit, trying to remember how to hear His voice. I've been deaf to it so long. I'm afraid that just as in these most recent two posts, my journey towards becoming awake again will be a slow, oftentimes clumsy one. But I hope that you, my dear readers, will take hope with me in the future, that goodness and joy awaits, and that you will be patient with me as I open my eyes to all I have lost in the last couple months, and allow me to find my wide-eyed wonder once again.