If you've got Tedrepil's, I've got Rewansur's

Things have been too serious lately, and no one has posted any comments. So today is crazy day.

The last two security challenge words I had to type in to comment on other blogs have been "rewansur" and "tedrepil". So, your mission (I don't really care if you choose to accept it or not, damn it), is to respond to this post with your suggested definition for these two words, which I've decided to adopt. I'll pick my favorite and start using it obsessively, so you really want to get in on this.

Ok, go!

Also, this was me today:

Books Worth Dying For

Is a book worth dying for?

Perhaps a better question might be, “what makes a book worth dying for?”, since a long list of men and women throughout history, both famous and obscure, have died for a book. Looked at in a certain light, it seems profoundly irrational, or at least profoundly un-Darwinian, which is what makes it such an interesting question for me. For a long time I've been fascinated by certain uniquely human passions that are as difficult to describe scientifically as they are undeniably compelling. What is it about music that stirs us so powerfully? Why do we inhabit imagined worlds in stories and film so eagerly? And, getting back to my initial question, what makes a book worth dying for?

It seems to me there are two things that make people willing to die defending or disseminating a book: either the ideas it contains or a commitment to the universal right of other people to read it. The first is more obvious. People have often proven willing to die in defense of a compelling idea that gives their life meaning. But if you boil it down the book itself is really just the vessel for the idea. In most cases any vessel would suffice, as long as it preserved and spread that idea efficiently. The second is more elusive. Some few individuals who have died in defense of books seems to have been doing so more in defense of what access to that book represents than what it specifically says. Namely, freedom. Not just the freedom of the author to say what he or she will, but the freedom of every person to bring themselves face to face with challenging ideas on their own terms, to wrestle with them, to accept or reject them as they will, regardless of whether or not that process is convenient to those in power.

Taking it out of the philosophical realm:

I believe that 12 year olds in Quattar should be able to read cartoons and comics from America.

I believe high school students in Boise, Idaho should be able to read blogs and diaries written by their peers in Syria.

I believe that citizens in Myanmar should be able to read CNN and BBC, even if those networks are reporting unfavorably on the abuses their government keeps inflicting on them.

I believe that farmers in the Chinese heartland should be free to carry on an email dialog with their counterparts in France without fear of the government punishing them for the tone of their questions.

On October 6th in 1536, William Tyndale was publicly strangled and then burned at the stake for insisting that every man, woman, and child in England had the right to read the bible in their own language, even as King Henry VIII was fighting viciously to consolidate religious control in his own hands. In high school I was taught that Tyndale was a martyr because he died in defense of the bible. That is certainly true. But I believe Tyndale would deserve that title if he had died defending the people's right to read a one act comedic play. When it becomes a question of the freedom of information and expression, either every book becomes one worth dying for, or none of them are.

The Next 100 Days

President To Face Down Monster Attack, Own Demons In Action-Packed Schedule

I think it's really cool of the White House to finally give us a more detailed look at what President Obama will be tackling within the next 100 days. It's comforting to know that when disaster strikes, he'll be ready.

Vision

It's been a very full and intense week. I've grown a lot.

It's always strange to look back and realize how inherently selfish one's perspective had become. I've been realizing over the past few days that most of my sense of disorientation, lack of purpose, even panic lately is due largely to the fact that my vision had imperceptibly narrowed. Everything I was focusing on related to my own life. It was all important and significant stuff (it always is), but it wasn't enough.

I'm dreaming bigger dreams at the moment. I've been pushing out a frighteningly big idea for a non-profit digital publishing enterprise. I don't want to talk specifics yet because it's such a fresh idea, but it's single-handedly pulled me out of my recent funk.

I'm excited and nervous like I haven't been in months. I'm feeling a compelling sense of urgency again, like every minute of each day is important and meaningful. I'm scared again, in a good way. I've decided that life isn't worth living unless you're pursuing something so big that it scares you a little, but so important that the thought of not pursuing it is much more frightening.

So - once again - here's to the future, whatever it holds. At the very least it should be a very wild ride =).

Lonely

I thought I understood loneliness.

I thought it was the feeling of being by yourself when the people you wish you were with are miles away. I thought loneliness was the overwhelming awareness of distance, but it isn't.

Loneliness is the overwhelming awareness of the irrelevance of distance. It isn't missing someone, it's not having anyone to miss.

Even if I could go anywhere on earth right this minute, I would still be lonely. That's a strange thought. It isn't that I don't have great friends, I have some of the best friends in the world. But sometimes being with people makes this feeling worse, and I don't know why...

Sorry, I know this is melodramatic, especially since I haven't posted in a few weeks. My holidays were great. Now I'm coming home to a home that suddenly doesn't feel like one anymore. Everything has shifted, and I have nothing tangible to center myself on. I've felt this way since last monday when I got back to Virginia. Most of the time this feeling of disorientation feels almost fun. I can appreciate the freedom, the closeness with God as we drift together in this. But sometimes it just feels scary and endless, like right now. And when it does, I think of calling someone, just to hear their voice. But there isn't anyone to call.

That is lonely.

Florida Bound

Really early this Sunday morning my family and I are headed down to Florida for the holidays! Well, technically we'll be at sea for a week. Mom and dad found an amazing deal on a Christmas cruise through the Caribbean.

It's pretty amazing to me, almost hard to believe it's actually happening. This will be the first Christmas in 15 years that our family has the freedom to decide to be somewhere else for the holidays, and can afford to take a trip like this. Usually we have to be here taking care of Inn guests. It's just another sign of how quickly this season is shifting. And I can tell that I'm really ready for it, because I'm actually looking forward to sun, sand, and salt waves over snow and fireside Xmas presents. It's going to be a really fun change of pace.

I'll post up some photos and updates once we land again, but internet on the ship will be pretty expensive, so I won't be online much. Honestly, I'm kind of looking forward to that too. I plan to find a lounge chair, settling in with my notebook, and write...a lot. That sounds like total luxury to me.

I've realized that I'm still not ready to be in a serious relationship. It's a little surprising, because I'm doing ok emotionally. It feels like a lot of time has passed since Jackie and I broke up earlier this year. But I've realized over the past few days that I still have some issues to work through.

I don't think I've ever really forgiven myself for how that relationship progressed, or how it ended. I'm honestly afraid of someone else being vulnerable to me again, because I don't really trust myself. The crazy part is that nothing all that bad happened, even though I'm making it sound like I did something horrible. I just realized that the relationship couldn't go any further, and I ended it, even though I knew she didn't understand.

Anyway, it's complicated...I don't exactly know what it is I'm trying to say. If emotions were physical, and that past hurt is a wound that's healed over, I discovered this weekend that there is more scar tissue there than I realized. But, at least now I know where to start looking.

FINISHED!

5 seconds ago I just sent off the 5th and final DDQ Expedition, and it feels amazing! DDQ: The Journey is now content complete. After 10 months of learning curves and hard work, I'm actually almost dizzy with relief.

I still have another round of work to do polishing and refining the content, combining it into a single book, embedding DRM, cleaning up the website, etc. But today is the last day I'll ever work on the content of a new DDQ Expedition.

I'm already getting excited at the thought of working on new projects. I'll be taking the next few weeks to plan the first quarter of 2009, but I already have some ideas of what I'd like to start working on next. It feels like things are really starting to come together.

So, if you happen to see some crazy looking nutcase running around outside whooping and hollering and running in circles...I'll calm down eventually :)

Lunchtime

I just had lunch with my grandpa.

I've been holed up in my room, working and eating out of my freezer mostly, so this morning I suggested we head down to the local Italian place for lunch. We just hung out, catching up and chatting. Nothing earth shattering.

And then it hit me: I am eating lunch with my grandpa. We're talking. He's involved in my life. I know a lot of people who would absolutely kill to be able to say the same thing.

It was a bit overwhelming actually. This might sound morbid (I don't mean it to), but I was very aware in that moment that someday when I'm sitting at his funeral, I would remember this lunch we were having. There was nothing in the content of our interaction that particularly stood out, but I'm so so so so grateful that I've had the opportunity to spend times like that with him over the past year or so that I've been home again. It feels like a simple but wonderful gift.

Expectations

Expectations can be very dangerous.

It seems strange to say because we all have them, about everything. But I'm discovering just how much of my life has been defined by unfounded expectations lately, and it's sobering.

I always look forward to mom and dad's trips, not because I like having them gone (although they always pretend to think that), but because in the silence that follows, anything I'm not really at peace with comes to the surface pretty quickly. I have whole days during which God is basically the only person I talk to, and He always seems to have something important to say.

Over the last few days, He's been showing me how unfounded expectations lie at the root of all of the points of frustration or disappointment in my life right now, every single one. And the truth is, it's just no way to live.

You can't be disappointed in people or relationships because they aren't becoming what you had hoped they might become.

You can't be frustrated or restless with the circumstances of your life because they don't look like you had imagined they would by now.

It isn't fair to read into the words of the people around you, and then be surprised when it turns out they actually just meant what they said.

I've had several conversations with Jordan about the important difference between expectation and expectancy, but the truth is I'm an idiot when it comes to this important truth. I don't know why, but it's damned near impossible for my mind and heart not to run with all the little moments of life and spin them into a story that seems real. But, I think I'm learning to tune in more quickly, to adjust back to reality more easily, which I am very grateful for.

I'm starting to think of expectancy and expectation as two children watching their fathers paint them each a mural. The first one waits excitedly, bouncing around and laughing as each new detail is revealed. The second one picks up its own brush and tries to sneak in its own lines and colors, tries to change the shapes that emerge to suit its own little-kid preferences, and then throws tantrums when its little squiggles get calmly painted over.

Its ultimately a futile and frustrating way to live, and it spoils the simple enjoyment of watching a masterpiece unfold on its own.

I'm sorry if I've tried to repaint you lately.