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So tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and I can confidently say that I accomplished every one of my New Year’s resolutions. I don’t want to go into detail about each resolution, but I do want to share about the dedication and drive that it took to accomplish these goals.

Before I move forward, I feel like I need to give some context here. I was raised on a farm and I know what it means to work hard. Those formative years set a high standard for myself that has never wavered; I have always worked hard at home, school, or at work. For me, working hard and with passion brings elevated meaning to even the most ordinary tasks. Anyone who knows me will be quick to tell you that I work with purpose and fervor. This will never change.

But what set 2009 apart from each previous year of hard work was that I was more deliberate with managing the twelve months of the year and the five days in a workweek. In short, I always began with the end in mind. I was focused on short- and long-term goals through each day of the past 364 days of this year. It was my most masterfully executed calendar year since graduating college. This allowed me to accomplish each of my New Year’s resolutions plus my massive professional workload.

So was all that work worth it? I guess that’s the big question that deep down I want to find an answer for and why I’m writing about the subject. If all I wanted to do was to publish my accomplishments this year, it would be simple enough to copy and paste all of my completed to-do lists from the year. But at the moment I am heavy with exhaustion that’s entirely unpleasant. I’m burned out. It is hard to know if it was worth it.

Here are my thoughts:

1. I doubt that everyone on my team at work appreciates what I’ve given to our organization over the past twelve months. That’s okay, because everyone was busy with their own work and they didn’t have the time to stop and appreciate my effort. As with most things in life, I will just have to be patient to see the impact of my labor. The reward won’t come with a bonus (we don’t have bonuses) or a promotion (we don’t have promotions), but with seeing our ministry grow and excel.
2. Part of the reason I worked so hard this year was because I wanted to see if I could do it. I know that the professional athletes that I most admire succeed because of their legendary effort, and I wanted to see if I could apply the same drive to my own life. I can say without a doubt that I gave legendary effort in 2009. Unlike professional athletes—however–I have no post-season where my team enters the playoffs and primed to dominate other teams. There is no deciding game where the victors hold the championship trophy high above their heads. Nobody gets the MVP trophy in my world. This kinda sucks.
3. Working so hard can make you self-absorbed. I started to think that the only thing that mattered on this planet is the stuff that I had to get done. It was hard to spontaneously make time to help friends when my schedule was packed so tightly. Plus when you’re consumed with ambition for twelve straight months, you don’t have much to talk about other than the stuff you’re doing. I wonder if I was a bore to listen to for a whole year.
4. It’s hard to live in the moment. One example that comes to mind was when Candyce drove me to the airport. I had just finished my midterm at school the night before and was soon going out of town for a long weekend. I knew that as soon as I returned, I would be preparing for class assignments for another five days straight. So that 20-minute drive to the airport should’ve been spent just enjoying the company of my kind and beautiful wife. But instead I was completely consumed with the next seven days. I got on the airplane feeling lonely and unfulfilled.
5. Let there be no confusion here: getting a master’s degree while still working full time is difficult for anyone, but especially for a married man with a family. I know that many people have done it before me, so I try not to get too intimidated by the insane amount of work I have to do each day. But I’ve learned that an overbooked lifestyle starts to make you feel like someone else is running your life. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I started this whole thing so that I could get my control over my future.

So there you have it—a blog update from an exhausted man after a long year of hard work. I would like to come up with a clever way to pull this whole thing together, but I’m out of energy. The end.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, from Letters and Papers from Prison, 204-205:

It is in just such times that we should make an effort to remember in our prayers how much we have to be thankful for.  Above all, we should never allow ourselves to be consumed by the present moment, but should foster that calmness that comes from noble thoughts, and measure everything by them.  The fact that most people cannot do this is what makes it so difficult to bear with them.  It is weakness rather than wickedness that perverts people and drags us down, and it needs profound sympathy to put up with that.  But all the time God still reigns in heaven. 

On my ride home from work on Friday evening, I heard NPR’s Alex Bloomberg  story explaining the much-buzzed concept called the credit default swap. If you are like me and want to stay educated on the on-going finance drama, it’s worth your time to give it a listen: Unregulated Credit Default Swaps Led to Weakness

This year was the second full summer I’ve lived at the beach in Southern California. I’ve seen the full, unedited reality of “a day at the beach.” I know that each person at the beach goes home and tells about their magical day at the beach, but they’ll never tell the whole story.

Maybe it’s because other people don’t care to listen about the reality of a day at the beach, so giving the edited version of the story is not for bragging rights, but out of consideration for your listener. Regardless of why we don’t tell the whole story about the day at the beach, the reality is that none of us tell about reality.

Here’s a random list of what gets edited out of everyone’s story:

1. Parking sucks. You can spend an hour just getting in and out of the beach.

2. The morning after the party. When you are leveling out the sand to make way for your beach towel, you end up unearthing a fossil of last night’s ocean-side party: cigarette butts, bottles, random trash, and unmentionables. You feel dirty.

3. Bugs. Dry seaweed attracts fleas, and they hop all over you. It’s hard to look relaxed and beautiful when you’re swatting at invisible bugs on your legs.

4. The ocean is salty. If you are frolicking in the water and open you mouth for a 1/2 second, you swallow a quart of salt. If you spend an hour at the beach, you’ll see three people hunkered over and gagging. Gagging is not sexy.

5. There were other people there. Everybody loves the beach, so you’re likely to see quite a variety of locals trying to enjoy a perfect day as well. Everyone is invited to the party regardless of how good they look in a bathing suit. Whenever you hear the story, “…man there were these hot girls there that we were talking to…” know that they’re omitting the part about seeing women twice their age trying to be hot. Which is not hot.

6. This is not Bay Watch. We all know that Bay Watch wasn’t real, but you want to believe it draws from some reality. It does not. Lifeguards are not always sexy, and even if they’re good looking, there’s no chance of them flirting back. There are 100s of tourists bobbing in the water, only inches away from a rip tide or menacing creature beneath. Nobody gets saved from death if the tan folks on the tower are taking down your phone number.

7. Creatures Beneath. Okay, maybe you do have a chance of making a connection with a lifeguard. Jellyfish or stingrays can ruin an entire day at the beach because they hurt you. When I walk into the water, I don’t take steps anymore, I slide and shuffle my feet along the bottom. I’m told that I will only “bump” a stingray this way, and they’ll scoot out of my path. But if you take big monster steps and put your heal on their head, then you’ll get whipped with a razor blade. You’ll come limping out of the water with a leash of blood behind you. Women will scream and the lifeguard will drop out of the tower and sprint to your side. This is your only chance to become a player on the stage of Bay Watch and it’s not a pretty scene.

8. Surfers who can’t surf. I’m convinced that guys who “surf” are not much different than guys who “play golf.” Both groups like to dress and talk the part–it’s the lifestyle they are quick to adopt. Because they play the part so well, these guys can convince you at the bar that they are the best surfer or golfer in Southern California. But once they’re in the element and expected to catch a wave or drive the ball 300 yards into the fairway, very few come close. You’ll see a salty, tan surf dude skip down the stairs with a surfboard under his arm, but once he’s in the water, he’s as loosy goosy and clumsy as a Great Dane.There’s something else people don’t tell you about surfing: you have to share the waves. Because there are no secret waves in California anymore, a dozen other guys are eying the same wave.; Half of all surfers are very new to the sport, and they have no idea what they are doing. That’s okay, because we all have to start somewhere, but the collision of a rookie surfer and a salty pro is not a pretty scene. Everyday, somebody gets taken out by a stranger. It’s a zoo out there.

9. Jogging on the beach. This probably the most often told tale of the beach, “…it’s great. After work, I take a run and down the beach to clear my thoughts. I catch the sunset…” Let’s tell the full story of this magical jog on the beach. There are two types of sand at the beach: wet sand and dry sand. The dry sand is fluffy and usually claimed by people with beach towels, which is okay for the joggers, because it’s too unstable to run on. You might sprain an ankle.It’s wise to run on the water-packed sand closer to the water. Unfortunately, this is also where children make sand castles, complete with broken sticks forced into the sand to become gates and bridges. They dig big holes for miniature lakes and carve out trenches to serve as motes. You have to hop over these land mines or run around them. You never see this scene on television. You’ll also hop over clumps of seaweed, massive clumps that looked like dead animals. Another reality of the beach jog is the never-ending fear of getting T-boned by a crashing wave. It’s impossible to keep a respectable, athletic pace when you’re constantly two-stepping inland to avoid a rush of water.;Other clumsy realities of running on the beach is more sweat (from deeper humidity) and an occasional hit by a frisbee or football.

I’m okay with this unedited version of the beach. I’m amused by all the commotion, the collision of lifestyles and expectations. And somehow, nothing can deter the mob from traveling to the beach each day. Nothing can discourage a millionaire from buying a home next to this mob. Real or not, we love the story of being at the beach.

We all have dreams, and we all like to talk about them. Unfortunately, none of us like to listen when someone else talks about their dreams. If you didn’t know this already, as soon as you start talking about your dream, people will stop paying attention. They may be nodding their head, but they’re counting the seconds when you go back to talking about something that makes sense.

Why can’t we help but talk about our dreams? It could be that we understand that if you don’t articulate your dream, last night’s adventure will evaporate by the end of your first cup of coffee. This is an urgent matter. Plus, you may still have some emotion left over from the dream, and the only way you know to deal with it is to talk about it. Still, this doesn’t mean people want to hear about your dreams.

People tell others about their dreams because a rare moment where we can be outrageous without having to pay the consequences. Dreamland is a place where they can do and say things that don’t have to align with their daytime ideals. You can get in a fistfight with Michael Bolton in a dream, even if by day you are a big fan. But in reality, dreams are rarely interesting at all, and it’s all because of poor delivery.

Here’s some general rules I apply to my dream-telling:

1. Don’t expect a captive audience. You need to be okay with the fact that nobody will listen to your story from the beginning to the end.
2. It’s considerate to tell someone about your dream while they’re doing something else, like cleaning their kitchen. Never tell a “last night I had this dream…” story while out to lunch.
3. Never talk about your dream for more than 3 minutes. If you go on any longer than that, you have a good chance of being told to “shut up.” Or “shut the hell up.”
4. If you think your dream is entertaining, practice your story with a compassionate friend before you present it to a more discriminating crowd. A dream can’t be amusing to someone while you’re still trying to put together the pieces.

If you are telling your dream story because you hope to delight someone by giving them something interesting to think about, try to get to the facts. Here’s three examples:

This is Bad

If you are confused by the details, don’t expect someone to be able to follow your story. There’s no hope of a punchline. Try to suffer through reading this:

I had a dream I went back to Young Harris College to teach a class. Or was it a summer camp? I don’t know. All I remember was standing in front of the cafeteria, and there were all these people… They were wearing these dumb things and they were okay about it. I can’t remember what they were doing, but it was weird. Then I talked to my old professor. Have I ever told you about him? He was nice in the dream but didn’t look like who he is in real life… Somewhere in the dream I took a bus and ended up at a neighborhood that looked like that one in the magazine from yesterday, the boxy houses that look like they are made out of metal and glass. Accept it was in the mountains… I was playing basketball but I don’t remember actually shooting the ball. Then one of the guys from the Phoenix Suns came out…

(I’ll just stop there. I’m bored writing about it, and you are bored reading it.)

This is Good

You get to the point. You cut out a lot of the unnecessary pieces, although some still need to go.

I had a dream I was back at Young Harris college in the mountains of Georgia. I ran into the students I went to school with, except a lot of them had on silly hats. It was fun. I talked to old professors and eventually took a bus to a cool looking neighborhood. I toured a house and I really liked it. The next thing I can remember I was playing basketball and all the Suns players were on the court. I think they were playing the Dallas Mavericks, except none of the players on their team looked like they were supposed to.

This is Great

You only hit the most important points. Your matter-of-fact delivery makes the it seem like you are telling a real-life story, which makes the scenes in the dream more outrageous.

I had a dream I ended back up in Young Harris College in the mountains of Georgia. I found a beautiful neighborhood of modern homes in a hidden valley not far from campus. The community basketball court was the practice court for the Phoenix Suns. I sat down on a tree stump with my dad and watched the Suns play the Mavericks. Except Dirk Nowitzki was black.

Don’t say anymore. Leave it that and move onto a new subject.

Summary: I’m Serious

I didn’t write this because I have too much time on my hands. On the contrary, I have very little time, and I have to publish this and get the word out to people. I’m tired of hearing bad dream stories. I’m a friendly person, but I have my limits. If I hear one more bad dream story, I’m going to start hitting people.

(I understand it is unlikely that the word will get out fast enough. So I have tip for listeners out there. If you’re stuck listening to someone’s dream story and you are utterly bored, one way I keep myself entertained by losing track of the story and then react to their story like they are telling a real life story. This is funny only if you are subtle and act truly confused.)