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I raced a Corvette. I did well to 45 miles an hour, then he left me behind. I could’ve kept up the race, but why get ticket? I did well, considering he had twice as many cylinders as me. That means it costs him twice as much every time he fills up for gas. Over five years, that’s almost enough to buy a new car. I win.

I am antsy right now. Candyce sitting across from me doing her homework while I sort out my feelings on this computer. Candyce handed me a card she picked up at the doctor’s office. One side is dedicated to good feelings, the other side is dedicated to negative feelings. I was disappointed to find out that “dominating” is a negative feeling. Well, no. In such a materialistic and shallow society, dominating is almost always a negative thing. I want to dominate with good.

I don’t want to be here.

I drove for three hours with a stranger. Our flight up to Duluth had been canceled, and we were both standing in line to rent a car. Why not drive together? We sized each other up, as if with one glance you’d see the probability of getting murdered. We shook hands and walked through the parking lot to get in the car.

It’s a three hour drive from Minneapolis to Duluth. After an hour of driving, the fog became so thick it felt like I was drowning in skim milk. Landing a plane in this would be impossible. So we drove slow and talked.

He travels overseas to repair machines that make paper napkins. I guess there is a whole paper-napkin industry that I know nothing about. So I tried to learn as much as a could. Then it was my turn. I confessed I was on “The Real World.” In an average ten-minute conversation with a stranger, I can void this fact. But after a couple hours of bantor, you just have to say it.

On either side of the road, there was a a thick blanket of snow on the ground. It gave a blue glow to the foot of the white fog. It was beautiful. I started this day watching the sun rise in the red desert of Arizona.

I dropped him off in Duluth and drove on to the church. I ran inside and grabbed the mic. The talk was going rather well because I’ve had a good Lent. The pews were filled with high schoolers, listening intently. Then dozens of old people mosied their way into the church. I guess they came early for Mass, and they were perturbed there was no seats. It was hard to stay focused on my talk when an old lady with a walker is demanding she have her seat back.

:::

It’d been a long night. I sat in my car in the church parking lot, waiting for my escort to the hotel. After fifteen minutes of watching the rain, I put my car in reverse, cocked my steering wheel, and pressed the gas. It was hysterical.

I didn’t know where I was going because I was driving backwards. All I could see was my headlights carving out a tight circle in the dense fog. From a distance, I could’ve passed as a light house. I kept doing that for a half hour.

:::

That was last night. Now it’s 7:30 AM and I am sitting in the Duluth airport waiting for my flight to Minneapolis. This morning I walked out of my hotel and looked out over one of the Great Lakes. I had no idea my hotel was on the lake.

My life is so bizarre.

It’s hard to love people closest to me. Sometimes I’d rather fight a war for someone than give them a hug. I just read a quote by Mother Teresa, and I can’t stop thinking about it: “Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time, and always start with the person nearest you.”

About a year ago I read about a man who had ferocious love. I don’t even remember who he was or where I read it. I just never knew that you could have a ferocious love.

“You know well enough that Our Lord does not look so much at the greatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, but at the love at which we do them.”

This morning I spoke at the fourth annual Abbey Youth Festival outside of New Orleans. A few years ago I was invited to speak at the first youth festival when there were only 1400 people. So it was cool to take the stage this morning and see close to 4000 people in the crowd.

Four years ago we were filming the Real World here in New Orleans. Being on the show was months of parties, prayer, and adventure. I’ve never had to look so painfully at who I am, and who I am not. The whole experience blew my mind.

I was at a night club when a drunk girl came up to me and asked me to come by her hospital to spend time with kids suffering from cancer. She scribbled a phone number on a napkin and stumbled away. The next week I met her at the hospital. She introduced me to the kids who were fighting cancer. I went week after week.

Each time I visited, I made an effort to visit a middle school boy. Others came and went, but he was always there. (You don’t ask why someone is gone…you just pray they went home with there families.) His parents were always there loving him…they were so tender and dedicated. I sat by his bed and tried to make things better in whatever way I could. That was four years ago.

This morning that little boy came back stage to say hi. I hardly recognized him…he’s a teenager now. He did go home to his family. I gave him a hug.

I am nestled into my bed at St. Joseph Seminary, north of New Orleans, Louisiana. Tomorrow morning I am going to speak at the fourth-annual Abbey Youth Festival.

My plane landed in New Orleans at eleven tonight. A seminarian named Mike from Baton Rouge picked me up. It was late and we didn’t have much time to bang around the French Quarter or swing by my old Real World house.

We drove across the 25-mile Causeway Bridge over Lake Ponchatrane. When we were filming the Real World, Jamie borrowed a Plymouth Prowler and cruised over the bridge one sunny afternoon. With the top down and water everywhere, he had to feel like he was on a boat.

The bridge is perfectly straight for all twenty five miles. So use your cruise control and prop your knee against the steering wheel, and you don’t have to do anything for the next half hour. There are actually signs that demand, “No Reading While Driving.” You’d have to see it to believe it.

We arrived here at the Abbey tonight at midnight and I had a plateful of New Orleans food waiting for me. After not having a meal in 30 hours, it could not have tasted better. It’s the kind of meal that you want to eat with your eyes closed.

I had dinner with four seminarians. They were such genuine, fascinating people.

This place holds a special place in my heart. It’s a seminary where young men discern whether or not God is calling them to become priests. There is such a vulnerability and openness with each guy you meet. They are putting it all out there. It’s heroic.