Traveling Thoughts

On my late flight into San Francisco, I anxiously awaited my first glimpse of the city from my airplane window. Out of the black world finally came my first gratifying sighting of the city. That California bay seemed to stretch out into the sea with embracing arms in a way that I felt expected. My heart was unable to process exactly the feeling. A juxtaposition of forgotten memories and renewed hopes, perhaps.

On the nighttime streets of San Francisco between the cramped apartments, one feels. The flare of a cigarette in a silhouetted face. The flash of a television in a high bay window. The sheen of a silent biker’s keys. The mournings of a leftover street musician. Perhaps for the first time in a routine world, I feel alive. Like an infant’s lungs who inhale life for the first time or a butterfly’s wing uncrumpling with sounds of which we are bereft.

And now I sit safely away from the madness inside an apartment with a glaring computer monitor searching my pathetic vocabulary for the ability to speak. I am staying up late to write at the risk that you will find the ramblings of an idealistic 23 year old who has become inebriated with his first false taste of freedom in the morning; yet would be risking more if I let sleep come to erase thoughts in a morning’s muddle of coffee and email.

Celebrated philosopher and my great friend, Tyler Durden, once said,

“You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis.”

Fight Club and the Chronicles of Narnia are currently in contention for the most influential pieces of media in my life. The character of Aslan taught me more about who Jesus was than any Sunday School teacher. Tyler Durden taught me more about what I want than any rehashing of my list of life goals. (Here I must point out that I realize I may begin to sound like a cliché political propagandist bent on revealing conspiracy theories to an ignorant American public. Very “stick-it-to-the-man”. However, this is not my intention as I hope to clarify.)

My generation, our generation, means something. Many leaders in the church believe that it is this generation that will begin a revolution of the church. Already we have signs of change with movements like the “Emergent” or “emergent” and “postmodern” churches. Despite what disagreements may be had with these ideas, the point is that people are thinking. Christians are evaluating. We are rethinking the thoughts of our fathers and beginning to rebuild what has in many ways become an outdated and outsourced faith in the face of modern life. I have seen many friends change from southern Baptist churchgoers into people who are no longer bound by the implications of the title ‘Christian’ into people who are desperately hungry for Truth. And they are not frightened about what that may mean for them.

There is something about San Francisco that makes me feel a little bit crazy. Not crazy like I need a sedative, but crazy enough to wonder. I begin to wonder about how crazy and over the top this generation of people could get about the Truth. About finding Truth and finding what exactly our identity is inside of that Truth away from all fears and expectations. About what it would look like to live like a poem, redefining our happy endings. There are several points in the Chronicles where a comment is wisely made about Aslan.

“He is dangerous, but he is good.”

Aslan is big and unpredictable. He told people to do irrational things and believe where no belief should be expected. Obviously, this is no epiphany for many of you. However, for me, this statement has real implications in my life. Despite knowing this, a year ago I was ignoring the tugs on my spirit in order that I might experience a financially stable life, have a family, drive my Jeep, etc. Luckily, Aslan wouldn’t have any of it. The proverbial rug that I had begun to weave under my feet was swept out from under me in a way that I had no choice but to follow the part of my spirit that I felt was crazy. Now, I can clearly see the hand of God in that. I have been free to follow God with no expectations or hopes. I have been able to follow what I felt “called” to do. Travel. Learn. Observe. Reflect. Listen. Speak. It has been uncomfortable and exhausting at times, but wildly fulfilling. It has made me wonder about what my life would look like if I continue to experience this itch that I have accepted as a part of my psyche. How deep does the rabbit-hole go?

I am afraid to share these thoughts. I am afraid that when I do return to everyday life and experience a routine again that my romanticism will fade and meld into a simple memory of good times. But it could be so much more, right? I am afraid that I will become enamored with a paycheck. I am afraid that my own need to be needed will cause me to fall for the first pretty girl that shares my ideals distracting me from what I deem to be a bigger picture. Because there is a joy in being exactly where you are supposed to be and looking out of the backseat window.