Today Joe and I went to a Yankees game up in the Bronx. Our seats were really good, in the shade just behind home plate. New Yorkers hold sacred a Yankee game. To hear their cheers, witness their rituals, and chant with them–what an experience. I felt kind of bad, being from Atlanta and experiencing some whipping from NY over the years.

After the game Joe and I caught the D train for a quick shot to St. Paul’s for Mass. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Mass there. The distinct aroma of the varnished wood pews, polished marble columns, and painted frescoes brought good memories of earlier this summer, when that church was my refuge from loneliness, fear, and heartbreak.

:::

In New Orleans, my friend Jamie said that some situations are so perfect, you can hear God saying things like, “white doves enter stage left, fly over palm trees towards setting sun.” Tonight could very well have been my perfect last night in Harlem.

Monday we primered the walls white. Tuesday I painted the outlines and the kids filled in the colors on the right side of gate. Wednesday the kids painted the left side of the gate. So all the colors are there, and tonight was the night for adding details and cleaning up some lines. Our drop cloth looks like a bootleg Jackson Pollock canvas. The rims of the near-empty buckets are clogged with booger paint, the foam brushes torn and floppy, barely clinging to the wooden handle. I made due with the tools and materials.

The mural has become quite the center of attention on the block. Everyone and their landlord has come by, admired our work, and congratulated us for our ambition. Kids on bikes and scooters pulled up every few minutes to ask a marathon of questions. They pointed out to their friends all the parts they had done. Their friends would get jealous and insist that I hand them the brush. lol. I had to keep chasing these boys off the sidewalk because their football kept rolling into my buckets.

Dusk darkened to night, but the block showed no sign of slowing down. The thugs at the corner threw dice for money a few feet from our mural. I would audit their game to figure out how it was played. There was a fourteen-year-old boy who ruled the whole scene, bullying kids twice his age and size. I didn’t know if I wanted to kick his butt or run from him. He “boogies.” When you boogie, you and a friend circulate from subway car to the next, dancing and entertaining for a couple minutes. Then they pass their Yankees hat for donations and move on to the next car. This kid made $200 today and was trying to double it by hustling on the corner.

Cars are furniture. Here there are no yards, just a street lined with cars. If the stoop is filled, cars are the only thing left to sit on. It still cracks me up seeing a dozen kids park their butts on a car that isn’t theirs. They’ll prop their bikes against the fender, put their Chinese food carry-out on the trunk. The old Buick made for pretty good stadium seating while I painted.

Across the street Master had his SUV doors swung open, letting the block dance and strut to the rap anthems. Every half-hour I would cross the street to join his crew for some advice and a drink. Varessa and Joi soon joined us, and so did Tory and his lady friend. It is so funny to see three hipster white kids hanging out with Harlem natives. You just have to giggle at the scene. Some kids would be doing the “Harlem shake” and I would have to show ‘em up. Everyone would laugh, clap, and holler at the twenty-two year old white boy battling young thugs in a shake off. lol.

So this is it–this is the last night in my apartment in Harlem, USA. This has been a phenomenal cultural, spiritual, and social experience. I think a pivotal part of my New York experience was learning to hang out and appreciate Harlem, not just sleep here. I will never run out of stories about living in Harlem. People like Masta, Varessa, Toni, Joi, Paul, Omar, Genera…these people will be etched in my memory forever. This is my neighborhood, and I am going to miss my neighbors.

I got up this morning, gathered a few kids, and told them our plan. We are going to paint the coolest mural in Harlem. And we are going to work together and it’s going to be a lot of fun. We had buckets of black and white, and a bucket of each primary color. Once one kid was painting, every building emptied into the street to help. Last night, lying in bed, I wouldn’t imagine my greatest difficulty today would be how to turn away help.

Kids love to paint, but they don’t like painting in the lines. God love ‘em, this is going to be a long week.

The community is so amped! I mean, when people see others making their community a better place, they aren’t afraid to tell you that you are doing a good job. I’ve met dozens of new kids and even more adults today. Man, it is looking good! I’m going to have to post the pictures on this page.

This evening Pat and I rollerbladed down the riverside. It was the perfect time of the day. The sun had set and everything but the sky and mirroring water seemed to turn a charcoal gray. There is such a peace at that time of the day. Maybe it is a sense of helplessness, a sense of humility that settles on us, knowing that we can’t keep the sun from rising or setting. Maybe it is the reality that the day has come and gone, whether we like it or not.

We ate dinner at on odd spot. It is like some sort of European ruins by the water. There were stone walls, stairs, arches, and fountains… Pat told me that this was a spot caught on the first “Real World, New York.” Julie spent the night here with homeless people. Ten years ago, this was a “Reagan Bill,” a village of government tents for the homeless of New York. Now it is a hip hang out for Upper Westside yuppies. It was so surreal.

Back at the house, Pat slid down the wall to sit down, and sliced his finger on a piece of glass. I recalled my Boy Scout knowledge and gave him a sock to apply direct pressure. After an hour, he insisted we go to the hospital to get stitches. The ER seemed to be entertained by “that kid from the Real World” and his bleeding friend. Pat’s hand stopped bleeding and we went home before Pat could sign in. I made him pay for the cab.

(…but, there is that wall on the street. That old beat up mural painted a decade ago. Now it’s battered and vandalized…)

“If you want to make a donation to painting the mural, I would accept that.” So I knew I had to repaint the mural, I had this guy’s money now. lol. Okay, so I’ve passed this wall every day for several months. Beneath the scrawled graffiti and dirt you can read some anti-drug slogans from the kids in the community. But it is almost like they don’t mean it anymore, that the wear and tear has erased those words from the wall and from the minds of the kids.

That was this morning. Now there is this newly white wall–a blank canvas–and I don’t know what I am going to do. What am I doing? lol. I am not from here, I don’t know who owns the wall, I don’t have any more paint, I don’t know what I am going to paint!

Before I go to bed in a couple hours, I will have a design. I will get up tomorrow and sketch it on the wall. We should be well on our way by tomorrow night. Ah man, it is supposed to rain all week. This is an act of faith. This is going to be fun.

This evening I pulled on my rollerblades and slipped in the Pete Yorn CD. Over the next hour, the music perfectly fit the emotions flickering inside of me. His music is so…so smooth, slightly melancholy, insightful, and cuddly. I road from 151st Street down to 110th, then through Central Park. I carved my way on the paths under the trees, around the lake, past the green fields mottled with people hiding from the skyscrapers. I was in my own little world, my music and my speed was my mask that let me stay away from those around me.

Central Park is such a remedy for New York. When the wailing sirens, honking taxis, and banging subways become too much, you run into the woods, hands clasped over your ears like a child. I’ve never seen anything like it. It is almost a sacred place. People live and die by this park.

My feet were hot and blistered, so I pulled off my skates at the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wow! This place is so huge that you almost need a three-day pass to absorb it all. The Egyptian collection alone is a museum within itself. I felt like Indiana Jones, passing from one section to the next, my own little adventure through ancient worlds. The atrium (I guess you would call it) is so expansive and expensive feeling. The musicians upstairs pulled their bows across their strings, saturating the air with timeless music. This place is cool.

(You know, I wasn’t sure if I liked walking around the museum alone or not. I enjoyed going at my own pace, but I wonder if I would enjoy it more with some one else. )

Pat, Tory, and I threw a party tonight at our apartment. Tory is moving back to Seattle, Pat is having a birthday and is going to Africa for a little bit, and I am moving to Phoenix. Our pad looked so clean and pimped out, begging for people to celebrate. The place quickly filled up with friends from around the city. The diversity of people there boggled my mind. It was like our own little Real World house brimming with eccentric personalities from unique backgrounds–New York is just like that. The life of the party was Master (Masta), the patriarch of the block. He is a Harlem native beyond belief!

I remember my first night in Harlem. I was tired, scared, and thinking, “What the hell am I doing here?” There we were, the three roomies: Tory, Pat, and me. Three white boys in Harlem. lol!

:::

(ah…she is so…so–I love her so much. It hurts that we can’t be together, that we weren’t meant to be together, that these emotions and feelings can’t be solidified with wedding vows. Am I young and confused? What aren’t we, why are we?)

Going away.

In between the honks and screeching buses, I told Pat about my date this afternoon. Meredith knew we were going to the park, but she wasn’t expecting the picnic I had made. Times like this afternoon make me hurt that we aren’t meant to be together, because sometimes it sure seems like it.

We met Joe (RW Miami) in SoHo for an off-Broadway show called Six Goumbas and a Wannabe, a story about a reunion of seven Brooklyn kids after years apart. Joe knew one of the actors because they are from the same neighborhood. Though I don’t remember which character he is, I know he is also on The Sopranos. It’s cool b/c they knew each other before they “made it” on TV. The show was great. But, had I watched this show five months ago, I wouldn’t have gotten any of it. Now that I live in New York, I laughed with the rest of them. It was kind of like a redneck joke, you really don’t understand it until you live around rednecks.

Joe went back home and Pat and I put on our rollerblades. I was in the fifth grade, visiting my uncle in Florida, when I first heard of rollerblades. I thought the whole thing was cool, but I didn’t get them b/c I figured the trend was well along and I would look dumb getting into it too late. (Oh…the mind of a fifth grader.) Here I am, deciding I’ve wasted ten years of fun.

We started out way down at the bottom of the island, and by 4:30 AM we were up at 151st. They say New York is “the city that never sleeps,” but it does. By one in the morning on a weeknight, the city is well into its slumber. It was like we had the whole city to explore, contending only with a few taxis and some eccentric night owls.

Pat is such an awesome guy. He is one of those people that you immediately feel comfortable talking with. Even after spending most of the day together, we still eagerly chatted as we rolled through the city.

It’s almost dawn, my legs are aching, and my eyelids are falling. Goodnight.

New York has been awesome. I’ve experienced so much in such little time. But, it is not wise for me to stay here anymore. It is kind of like being in a relationship that doesn’t quite fit. (Ah, the irony and the layers, parallels of my experience here.) As many good things that may be there in the relationship, there are those parts that I ignore with hopes that they will disappear. It is the puzzle piece that almost fits, that almost makes the picture perfect, but no matter how hard I pound it simply will not fit. My efforts can not change the fact.

It is time for me to take what I have learned, and go and apply it somewhere else. Hmmm…there are some little fortune cookie type wisdoms that can cause as much damage as good. One of them is this: “Make mistakes, learn from them.”

Yes, do learn from your mistakes, but don’t wait till you make mistakes to learn something. “You will mess up, but get up and keep going.” Yes, we will mess up, and yes, you must get up and keep going. But match the two of those mantras together and one can rationalize just about anything one does. It seems like you get robbed of the knowledge gained from a mistake if you go and make it again. What did you learn?

I’ve learned that I need to live around people with a vision like mine. I can not grow and blossom if the sun is blocked by dense skepticism and negativity around me. Eventually I will wilt. Having learned this, I obligated to take the next step, to surround myself with light.

I hear it is pretty sunny in Arizona.

We headed east to the Padre Pio Shelter at their South Bronx friary (where the brothers live and work.) Every night sixteen men are brought to the shelter adjoining the friary. You know it isn’t a shelter, it is a home. Everything about the Padre Pio home is super-nice and cozy. It is twice as spacious and clean as my own apartment. So sixteen men–guests–are bused in from a different part of the city. For the next twelve hours, each is given responsibilities for cooking and cleaning. Together, they assure that the home stays clean and welcome for the next night’s guests.

The homeless shelters around the city are hell. The men stand a good chance to get robbed or beaten by other men at the shelter. Gangs control the shelters and everything that goes on inside of them.

We gathered around two long wooden tables for dinner and prayed as a family. There was no ego, no pride at this table. There were a few Franciscan brothers and sixteen homeless men. It startled me…I am so used to dealing with monstrous egos, and now there are all these people that have no reason to be big and act big. Each of those sixteen men knew that I knew they had no home. They live on the streets. (For all they knew, I remembered one of them asleep in the subway station.) The men knew they needed help, and they were humbly accepting it…like a child.

These are grown up little boys.

Earlier I was hanging out with the kids on my street, playing games, popping wheelies, and doing magic tricks. There is one little boy, barely two, named Omar. He is the quietest, sweetest, most huggable kid! Where will he be in thirty years? We have free will, and we have an opportunity to paint our own future. But what becomes of those whose external challenges and internal dispositions shackle them to poverty and a broken home? How does one escape the cycle? I see the generations of brokenness and poverty turning over all around my neighborhood. (All this stuff spinning in my head…I didn’t get enough sleep and I am struggling pulling together all the emotions and thoughts…)

Though I’ve worked in homeless shelters often, I’ve never had my heart tugged quite like last night. These men were grown up little boys: they still long to be loved, held, and rocked to sleep, just like my little friend Omar. It is easy to hug Omar because he is so helpless, innocent, and lovable. These men are not as easy to love; in the back of my head says, “They did this to themselves.” Does that make them any less worthy of being loved? No. Perhaps they are more worthy of love. Every day these men deal with the sneers and cringe of others as they rattle their paper cup, hoping for a few coins. Many people deny their existence, and stroll on the sidewalk, Gucci bags tucked under their arm.

:::

I am at a loss. I can not package these thoughts in words; I am in disarray. I will simply close with the words of Mother Teresa, whose entire life was dedicated to serving the poor. She is my hero, and I wish I could be more like her.

“When we touch the sick and needy, we touch the suffering body of Christ.” -Mother Teresa

“What the poor need, even more than food and clothing and shelter (though they need these, too, desperately), is to be wanted. It is the outcast state their poverty imposes upon them that is the more agonizing.”

“Let there be no pride or vanity in the work. The work is God’s work, the poor are God’s poor. Put yourself completely under the influence of Jesus, so that he may think his thoughts in your mind, do his work through your hands, for you will be all-powerful with him who strengthens you.”

“Be kind and merciful. Let no one ever come to you without coming away better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile, kindness in your warm greeting. In the slums we are the light of God’s kindness to the poor. To children, to the poor, to all who suffer and are lonely, give always a happy smile – Give them not only your care, but also your heart.”

“God has created us to love and to be loved, and this is the beginning of prayer–to know that he loves me, that I have been created for greater things.”

(–Mother Teresa said something like this: Jesus is there, beneath the dirt, the disease, and the ragged clothes.)

I stepped out the subway car and walked towards the stairs. I saw an old man, head shaking uncontrollably. He lifted his nicked wooden cane, unable to hold it still before he placed it down again…as if the cane fought against him. His dark skin was wrinkled and hung low.

My walk to my apartment was quiet and reflective. I was shielded by my headphones, distanced from those I passed on the sidewalk. Having been scammed and taken advantage of, it was difficult to know that I am called to unconditionally love each of those people. It is easy to love your friends, loving your enemy takes an act of God.

I remember a quote by Mother Teresa from when I was young, but it is only now that I can appreciate the wisdom of the words. Perhaps I will read them again in a year and be intrigued all the more.

“People are unreasonable, illogical and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Do good anyway. If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway. The biggest person with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest person with the smallest mind. Think big anyway. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. People really need help but may attack if you help them. Help people anyway. Give the world the best you have and you might get kicked in the teeth. Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.” – Mother Teresa

I like going to clubs in New York. There is such a concentrated feeling of “cool,” it is really unbelievable. It is unbelievable because it is not real. It is a clubhouse that only lets in an elite few, usually based on your appearance, perceived wealth and power–how well you add to the club. But you know if someone were really that important, that cool, they would be doing something more important and cool: in the studio painting, recording, dancing, acting, writing, etc. They (I) would be making something happen, rather than just be at a place that is happening.

(Am breaking this apart to much? I am a good boy, and have a good time.)

Just like St. Francis brought his “day in the woods” to his “night in Assisi,” I talk freely about my morals and relationship with God everywhere I go. I can’t help it, God is too real to me, and He is especially real when I am surrounded by the unreality of the New York City nightlife.

One goal of this summer was to exhaust the nightlife out of my fascination. Coming from a small town with a limited palette of experiences, I’ve always been fascinated by the bigger and better. I’ve been going to clubs since I was sixteen years old…Athens, Atlanta, Los Angeles, New Orleans, New York. Now, I am about to get a real job where people depend on me. I am to that point where the nightlife doesn’t fascinate me anymore.; I am nearly twenty-three now, and it is time to move on.

But since I have another week in New York, I’ll be shakin’ my bon bon every night this week. Uh huh, yeah. (As my buddy Biggy said.)

:::

–who am I kidding? Where am I going with this journal? I think I tidied it up way before I could be totally honest. In two weeks, I am gonna be at every club in Phoenix/Mesa/Scottsdale. Maybe it is something in my blood. I am not tired of it. Livin’ la vida loca. I bang.

We began at 151st street and Convent, walking downtown past all the 100yr old brownstones (the New York mansions.) At 132nd street we pushed East to a Harlem anniversary festival. The whole street was blocked off for several avenues. Food, music, and craft vendors did their business under canopies on the street side. We smiled at each white person walking by, thinking, “what are you doing here?” They smiled back, thinking the same thing. lol

We ventured downtown on Lenox avenue, crossed 125/Martin Luther King and stepped in the historical Lenox Lounge. At night this is the most hoppin’ jazz bar in New York. It was mid afternoon, and there were just a few old people getting in some drinks before their evening around town. Wow…this place has history. The tiled floors, the weathered booths, the black and white photos framed, hanging on the solid walls. To think of the musicians and parties that have gone down in this place. Everyone has partied here: the Mafia, black panthers, jazz masters, and now a couple tourists and some white guys who live in Harlem (that’d be us.)

We ventured up and down 125th, in and out of art galleries, demolition yards, and fruit stands. This is the street where Bill Clinton is supposedly living/working. Everyone and their super talks about it, but no one has seen him. He is a ghetto/urban legend, doing nothing more than instilling a strange sense of pride in people unlike himself, and making rent go up about 10% in a thirty-block radius.

Tired and hungry, we pushed west and downtown towards Columbia University via Riverside Park. There are a couple BEAUTIFUL churches near Columbia. (These are the kind of places that make you want to get married, just so you can pass through the tall wooden doors with your stunning bride, rice sprinkling from the sky.) So we finally made it to Tom’s Restaurant.

Tom’s is famous for two reasons: 1) That song 2) “Seinfeld.” That song was really hot back in the early 90′s on Club MTV and all. On “Seinfeld” it just says “Diner.” The inside is different than from the show, b/c that part is filmed in a studio probably in LA. It was such a good time eating and laughing with Pat, Matt, and Maria. I met Matt a year ago in Rome; I met Pat six months ago in Central Park; I met Maria a few days ago. I’ll be moving out of Pat’s apartment in a couple weeks and into an apartment with Matt in Arizona.

The Thanksgiving-like feast at the diner made us pretty drowsy, so we grabbed some coffee to go and pressed on to Central Park. The park is a tall, skinny rectangle carved out of the middle of Manhattan. We entered the green island on the upper west corner. They say you can live in New York for your whole life, and never see all of Central Park. Just five minutes in, I could’ve been on the Appalachian Trail in the mountains of North Carolina. I couldn’t hear or see the city, just tall trees and bugs. It was dusk, and it felt like I was on a camp out, making my last run through the woods to get firewood for the night.

We stumbled along the dark lake shore to a place that Pat promised was worth the walk. We climbed up the rocks, looked out over the still lake and to the skyscrapers of Midtown. What a great spot, hidden deep in Central Park, hidden deep in Manhattan. The dark of the night quieted everything, us included. The water perfectly reflected the sparkling buildings, disturbed only by the ducks sliding across the surface. So cool.

We made our way out of Central Park, passing under arched rock bridges and along creek sides. We made it to The Dakota, the building where John Lennon lived and was murdered. Matt, a musician, is such a lover of music. You could tell he was moved. Just across the street from The Dakota is a small part of the park called “Strawberry Fields” that John Lennon wrote about.

Tired and hungry again, we bought the “Die Hard: 3″ DVD and headed back up to our apartment. The movie was filmed in New York, and we had a good time watching it, spotting scenes filmed at street corners we stood at earlier today. We indulged in lots of movie junk food and sprawled around our living room. What a day!

Days like today remind me how unique this city is, and how much I am going to miss it. There is culture and excitement around every corner, at every subway stop. My feet hurt.

In my rebellion, I sneered at the thought of mocking up a map for the next five and ten years of my life. How can you live when you are always looking down to make sure you are aligned with a plan you made as a freshman in college? I humored the professor and turned in the assignment.

By my sophomore year, I realized the importance in making a plan for my professional life. Just like a road trip, you have to have a good idea what you are going to do. Pulling out of the driveway with no destination seems like the first step in a journey filled with adventure, when in reality it is a road trip that’ll take a while to get exciting. Random excitement and adventure is an integral part of a well laid-out plan. Life is random like that.

So here I am entering the fourth year of my five-year plan. My half-decade got a severe spike when I stepped into the Belfort Mansion in New Orleans a year and a half ago. I can’t imagine picking up exactly where I left off. I also can’t let go of everything I had going on before I moved to New Orleans.

You know, I don’t really remember what I pulled together for that assignment. I couldn’t tell you how well I am living up to the aspirations of an eighteen-year-old Matt. I don’t know where I will be at the end of my five years, much less the end of my ten years. I know that if I remain prayerful and selfless, the Holy Spirit will lead me where I need to be. Where that is, I don’t know. But I am sure going to live life while getting there.

The wind is just enough to pull the moisture off my skin on this sunny day. It is a good day in New York. On my walk down to the park, I ran into my ballet dancer friend. It is a good feeling to run into someone you know in a city as big and anonymous as New York. She and I are going to hang out tomorrow night.

I’ll be joining the Franciscans in thirty minutes for their Holy Hour. It will be good to see them tonight. (It’s unfortunate that the word “good” is overused, b/c in its purest form, it is the perfect word for the perfect place.) It will be a nice primer before my date tonight.

Last night, Tory (now roommate in NY) and Matt (soon to be roommate in PHX) and I went out around town. This is Matt’s first time in NY, so I had a good time showing him the spots in the city. Oh yeah…I am listening to Matt’s new CD as I type. He is such an excellent singer and songwriter.

Matt had to get back to the recording studio to finish up a project, so I walked him to the Grand Central Station to catch the 11:58 train. It was a quick half-hour hike to the station, giving us just enough time to reflect on our night, and how I am doing here in New York. We had a good time at hip restaurant for dinner, then to the private party at a smooth bar/club. But we both knew we had to get out of there…it just didn’t fulfill us. It is almost like humoring the experiencing, rather bowing down to it.

Matt really helped me sort out things that have been spinning in my head. Here, I feel powerful, important, and cool; I experience a lot of unique fun and excitement. But none of those give me peace, nor do they bring light to my future. They are almost enough to pull me along, enough to convince me that things are good enough. But I know there is more. Matt put it succinctly, “When you’ve experienced the transfigured Christ, you can’t go back the same world–it just doesn’t compare.”

So there are plenty of things I have no trouble letting go. I didn’t care about leaving high school, nor did I sob at the thought of graduating college. I let friends pass in and out of my life…sometimes too easily. I don’t even mind moving away from my family. Without a doubt they are the most important thing in my life; they are everything! But, I know I must go.

Then there are those things I can’t let live in the past. It takes me a long time to get over romantic relationships and missed opportunities. I act like the opposite is my reality, but that is to undo the truth beneath those empty words. I try to convince myself out of it.

Those unlike me let the past be past, with no exception. There is no rethinking, doubting, or questioning. A decision is made and you go forward. Yeah these are the slogans we declare at the end of every dilemma; but deep down, do we own it? Or are we all convincing ourselves out of it?

(My brain is hurting because foreign epiphanies are stirring in me.)

I am an idealist and a dreamer. If there is any character traits that have tattoo-like permanence, it is that. I want the best, and expect the best. In light of that, graduating high school was memorable only because it was a step into my own life. Not having nostalgia or longing to memorialize anything there is b/c I just don’t need that anymore. It is done! –the same with college.

So why is it that the thought of a lost opportunity and a lost romance in the past can occupy so many thoughts in my present? I think the answer is simple–I am an idealist and a dreamer. I long to make the world a better place. I long to love my soulmate. These two themes scream beneath every word I offer up in this journal, the place where I make sense of my day, and of my life. When either of these dreams seem to be happening, my heart leaps with joy. I want them to happen so I sprint forward, sometimes jumping into a mirage. I hope the times when I have chased the wind have not brought me astray from what I am called to be. The thought of giving the world anything less than my best, disgusts me. The thought of missing her, devastates me.

Cars today create a living room on wheels, complete with a cozy chair, a side table for your drink and remote, and a even a Playstation. So life is comfortable slide from a climate controlled house, garage, car, garage, and house. That, and it’s predictable and boring.

So is that what our world is like today: we build comfort, luxury, and convenience around us as if our life depended on it. Then we undo the comforts so we can be really alive? We get jobs so we don’t have to do demeaning manual labor. We get fat behind our desks, exerting just enough strength to pluck our keys and squeeze our stapler. Then we pay ludicrous amounts of money to work (out) at a gym.

This afternoon was “The Fest” near Cleveland, Ohio. The Fest is an all-day Catholic youth party. Aside from the bands, speakers, and the Mass, there were tons of cool things to keep you entertained through the day. I can’t imagine a more perfectly planned event. Such a great summer day…it was a blast! It felt good to speak to the 2200+ teens there. I was so honored to be a part of such a successful day. I know the blessings are going to be big after this event.

It has been a long couple weeks. Getting back to New York will be good for me. Looking at my calendar, I see how soon Arizona is coming up! New York will only be my home for a few more weeks. Oh yeeeeeah…I’m going to get a bike!

Most of the day I’ve spent snuggled in my sleeping bag catching up on what I lost last night. After my nap, I took a short walk to the cliff’s edge. There was plenty of mist that didn’t get burned off from the sun, so there was no clear line between sky and water. Looking down the wind-carved cliffs a couple hundred feet below me was the wide and quiet beach. Far offshore I spotted a few surfers bobbing up and down, waiting for the perfect wave. I was a bit jealous of them, remembering several years ago when I would’ve been out there with them. The breeze is so strong coming off the water, it keeps the whole camp cool. It is just chilly enough to pull on your hood and sip a cup of hot chocolate in the evenings, just warm enough to play on the beach in the daytime.

I am here with 56 high schoolers for the next few days for their spiritual renewal week. It is actually a cool thing their parish has going on here. They’ve had this camp every summer for the past twenty-one years. Several parents prepare the food in the dining hall.; The priests will be here for Masses and the Sacrament of Reconciliation. The counselors all used to go to this camp while they were in high school. It seems like every member of the church finds a way to make this week a rewarding spiritual experience for the teens.

Tonight I shared with the group about my adventures with life and the Lord over the past few years. We were all gathered around the bond fire, snuggled up in their blankets and sleeping bags. It was so much fun talking with these teens, their bright eyes lit by the roaring fire behind me. After the talk we turned up some music and had a good time just hanging out in the sand, warmed by the snapping fire.

It is going to be a good few days here. This has been a great summer.

I was so happy to have them see me at a Life Teen event. I wanted them to see what I do. There were still a couple hundred kids lingering at the beach from the day’s events. We had several fires lit on the beach, each surrounded by smiling faces tanned by a long day in the sun. The guitars were strumming and praise songs were in the air. (Awesome God, Sometimes By Step, Shout to the Lord.) You know, it’s hard to make Smores on a fire that hot.

By the end of the night the three of us we were strolling up the boardwalk, telling funny stories and catching up on each other’s lives. We would peek through open doors of the hip beach houses, dreaming that maybe one day we’d get to live in one of them.

They decided to spend the night with me back in Montebello. With the lights off and each of us nestled in for the night, we followed our summer tradition and shared our dreams of where we want to be in a year. Listening to their ambitions showed how much we are all growing up. I was the last one to share. I told a pretty good story of where I would be, but what I said first was all that really mattered. The details that followed were expressed more out of obligation, not out of desire; where I lived, what I will be doing, what I will drive…I don’t really care right now.

–I want to be healed from this affliction inside of me. I want to be able to put things in my past and be on with my life. I want this anxiety, this hurt, and these pangs to leave me.–

I don’t visit this affliction often enough in this journal. Not dwelling on it every night in a journal is a solid first step in “moving on.” I’ve already put it behind me in my head, but for my entire existence to agree will take time. This affliction tears me up. That’s fine, because I can do it. I will heal, but before that happens, there will be dozens of nights when I accept things that are out of my control, hug my pillow, and pray myself to sleep.

This afternoon Jason and I got some lunch at the local hipster pizza joint. We were the only people in this place, but it felt so far from alone. I am used to eating with fifty other people in a cramped pizza parlor. I thought how I was having so much fun, how significant and appreciated I felt, and how this was all happening 45 minutes outside of LA, and thousands of miles away from NY.

As I was talking to Jason, I was so happy how un-New Yorker he is. I mean, it has been said that people from New York are cold and people from the South are kind. Neither is always true, but both are rooted in reality.

…I am still not used to how self-centered most young New Yorkers are. It is like a plague that has consumed the whole island of Manhattan, and no one really notices it because it is the norm. That is not to say everyone is mean, because a lot of New Yorkers are nice. Self-centered people can be nice, but then again who can’t be nice? Even the most trampy, back stabbing kid in high school could be called “nice.” A few days ago while Meredith and I were at the Statue of Liberty, I was wowed by how kind the people on the ferry boat were. They were all tourists.

Pat and I were talking last night about relationships here in the city. Pat believes that NY relationships are a thing of convenience, not of love. Rarely is a relationship based or sustained on a sincere concern for the other’s well being. I won’t believe this is the case with every relationship in the city, but I will say it is often true. It seems like people are concerned with the sex, the network, and the assets of a significant other. So if she is hot, knows a lot of important people, has lots of money, and a nice apartment, then she is someone I should be with. It is sick.

I wrote earlier this summer how it was difficult for me b/c I never felt loved here. Now I have a lot of friends, familiar places, and plenty of things to do. But I can’t guarantee I am loved that much more.

Maybe it is because there is so much going on; there is not much room to love. “I love NY.”

Maybe that is one of the reasons I am looking forward to leaving New York. It is not healthy to have a lack of young love around me. I am so young, and want to love and be loved. So am I the only one who feels this way, that NY robs you of some life? I only ask this because there are people here that I love, and I don’t want to see get lost here in this lack of love. I don’t want to see soul and character mangled by the allure of NY.

My friend Michael decided to move, and then left–all in a few days. He seemed like such a cornerstone of the NY social scene, and now he was leaving. I was embarrassed how I thought, “what would he do…is he allowed to leave NY…what are people going to think?” I never would have thought that three months ago. I would have immediately thought, “cool, it’s great to travel.”

Why do people live in New York? Isn’t New York the place where people go to live large? They moved here to establish an illusion of success. After college, do you move to Salt Lake City or New York City? I guarantee the latter will impress your Mom’s friends at the grocery store, while the former will bring a nod that tries to approve.

…the illusion of success. It’s kind of like going on “The Real World,” you are given the illusion of success. Others figure that since you’ve been on TV, you are doing well for yourself. Others think that when you move to NYC, you are doing well for yourself. Perhaps it is the discriminating nature of being on TV and living in NY–there is only so many spots.

I wonder if all the young people who moved here all want to prove something. It is kind of like the people who work at MTV, are they truly elitist hipsters, or people who always thought it would be cool to work at MTV. (Is there really any difference?) They grabbed an internship eight years ago, and called back home and told their Mom…now they are ‘rock stars’ calling the celebrities by their first name. It’s kind of like rich people scene: if you become wealthy, that means you are allowed to hang out with discriminating rich people, even if those people are really idiots. Or let’s say you are a celebrity who only hangs out with other celebrities. That is pretty lame, b/c the friends are drawn from a pool who’ve made it there by a lot of chance, schmoozing, talent, and probably a lot of work. Given a slight turn of events, your deck of celebrity “friends” would be reshuffled and dealt again, possibly leaving you out of the hand.

So what is this aimless entry about? Maybe it is a coming of age for me, having lived so distant from “cool” and “important people” in rural Georgia for 18 years of my life. Now I am surrounded by those people, places, and events, and I am left wondering where the cool people are.

I remember vaguely as a kid seeing Lady Liberty from a ferry with my family. But this is the first time on the island. It sucked b/c the park wasn’t letting anyone into the crown for some odd reason. We were really amped b/c a security guard recognized me from the RW and escorted us up into the crown. I felt kind of like a jerk b/c everyone had to watch us go up the stairs, but hey, it was a trip to the crown room.

Let me tell you, the stairs were so narrow and steep, and there are a lot of ‘em. It’s interesting seeing the inner framework that the metal is skinned around. I always imagined it was a big room up in the crown, but it is really tight. We stayed up there just long enough for the pain in my butt to cease.

Back in Manhattan, we walked through the Financial District to the South Street Sea Port. After dinner, we sat in the wooden lounge chairs on the pier. We had so much fun watching the party boats, barges, and yachts pass by the pier. Dusk set in and Brooklyn started to twinkle across the water.

Today was such a fun day in New York City. Though there are dozens of hip places to go in the city, I would much rather sit and talk with good friend enjoying the calm night.

So I am flirting with the idea of buying an Airstream…you know, those silver/tin can/airplane looking campers. I’ve always thought they looked kind of tough and slick in a retro kind of way. On “Extreme Homes,” this dude connected a few of them to make a home/complex of Airstreams. In high school I told my friends I would buy one and live “down off Unicoi.” (You’d have to be from Hiawassee to get that one.)

Let’s do some math. If I pay $700 a month for an apartment, that becomes $8400 in a year. You could buy a big Airstream from the 70′s for that much. I would decorate it all funky and pimped out, kind of like a “Real World” inside the belly of a small airplane. I could live in a trailer park with retirees and rednecks, it would be like going back home. Should I decide I don’t like my neighbors, I would move–in about twenty minutes.

On a long weekend I could drive out to the Grand Canyon and set up a camp for a few days. I could backpack, white water raft, and enjoy the breath-taking views. Or I could head down into Mexico to buy a dazzling sombrero and join a Mariachi Band. We would only sing Billy Joel covers though. For a week in the summer I would drive out to California and find good surf spots, from Tijuana to Santa Cruz.

And when I am tired of my tin-can bachelor’s pad, I would auction it off on eBay for $6000.

After a messy, messy day in airports, I made it to Hiawassee at 4am. I should’ve been there seven hours earlier, but that didn’t happen. I was bummed b/c I really wanted to hang out with my parents.

This morning I spoke to the Vera Jackson scholarship recipients from NE Georgia, where I am from. Though several years apart, I have a lot in common with the kids. More than anything I want them to excel in college and make something of themselves.

This time last year I was sharing a room with my buddy Paul George, telling him about this cool chic I had met a week earlier in the computer lab. Her name is Meredith Ware. I hadn’t talked to her, but we had shot each other a couple flirty emails, the last one with our phone numbers.

Lean into it.

I am at Steubenville Atlanta for the weekend. Today the MC shared a mantra he lives by, “lean into it.” Whenever you face opposition, you need to lean into it and keep going. I write that at the top of this page, b/c I’ve been typing for fifteen minutes, and I am too scattered and tired to do a journal.

Lean into it. I like the way that sounds.

Every month or so I’ll click back through my site to see what I was up to this time last year. It seems that I’ve gotten in a habit of self-renewal. Every day I look into the mirror and seek to refine my character. I want to respect myself. I do respect myself. Yes, there is much lying between those two sentences.

Someone shared an analogy that illustrates what I am going through. When you wash the dust and dirt from the windows, more light is let through. That light shows more blemishes and discolorations, so you scrub more. The more light, the more you see the fault. There is not time for guilt or self-hate, just an opportunity to become a better person.

Bright and early this morning I was downtown to shoot the cover of “Guidepost for Teens.” I figured it would be just a photographer and myself for the day. Much to my surprise, there was a six-person crew in a RV waiting for me. We shot in the industrial parks near the Chelsea Pier, then at a spot in SOHO. In between locations I made them crank up my new CD on their huge system. I proudly showed off my new dance moves to each song. We were nothing but a rolling disco on Sixth Ave this morning. It sure was a fun and glam way to start off the day.

After the shoot I met up with my friend Fr. Bill. He and I first met him in an elevator in Atlanta, then coincidentally sat next to him the next day on a flight back to NY. We stepped into St. Francis on 34th before heading to Rockefeller Center for lunch.

Fr. Bill is probably old enough to retire, but his love for people and for God will not let him stop. We ate at a nice restaurant underneath Rock Center. After a few minutes, I recognized the plaza as the place the VMA after party was held. Looking out the window, I laughed as I recalled the different celebrities I met there. I mentioned to Fr. Bill, “You know, I hit on Mandy Moore just a few feet behind you.” He smiled but had no clue who I was talking about.

Over the next hour and half, Fr. Bill and I shared our enthusiasm for being alive and serving Christ in our modern world. He is so gentle, encouraging, and loving.; Throughout our talk, I would put down my fork just to absorb how cool it is to be alive…to be truly alive, giving up everything to serve God. I told him about my deep admiration for St. Francis of Assisi and my experiences with the Friars earlier this week.

Fr. Bill told great stories about children of God finding peace in Him, serving Him with no fear. I was enamored by every word he said. But during my own words, my eyes would float over his shoulder onto the gorgeous hostesses. There is nothing wrong with that, but I was more embarrassed I couldn’t even pay attention to what I was saying. Am I that boring, or am I that easily distracted?

To my left was a couple in their late forties. His solid body filled his suit well, his dark hair nicely groomed. His date carried quite a figure for her age. Though her wide-brimmed sunhat and Hollywood sunglasses hid most of her face, she was unmistakably beautiful. Throughout my meal, I would unknowingly check up on my couple to see how their conversation was going. Each time, their expressions were dull, their words scarce. They put their napkins on the table, already cluttered with silver and china. She slipped her arms through the handles of her glossy shopping bag and they were out the door.

What did they talk about? What brought them there today? I don’t want to assume anything about either of their characters, I just hoped that they could experience joy. I hope that they experience joy. I hope that worldly pursuits had not left them empty as their life passes.

But what got me the most about my couple was my dwindling, yet still notable fancy for their lifestyle…to be beautiful and carry an air of prestige. I pulled my eyes to my coffee cup, my spoon melting in some sugar. …this is my life right now: my fascination for things of this world, and my love for what is not of this world. I looked out the window again, wondering if I could make it to this year’s VMAs. I looked back to Fr. Bill and smiled.

I will not let my fancy for this world derail my reason for existing. It will be my battle everyday, but I will just have to continue to look up to my Father in heaven every time I am tempted.

Fr. Bill and I hugged and said goodbye, two friends remarkably close after about four hours of being around each other. I stepped onto the sidewalk and began my journey home. Block after block, something he said to me kept resonating within me:

“Matt, in the end, the only thing that really matters is Jesus.”

I knew the Franciscan Friars lived within walking distance of my apartment. In need of a spiritual lift, I called and asked if I could join them for prayer and dinner. A quiet but smiling friar led me up the wooden stairs to the chapel. I was intrigued by his cloak and sandals, always a few steps ahead of me. He led me into chapel where a dozen other friars were kneeling for Holy Hour.

They had shaved heads, flowing beards, and dirty feet. All but one of them was under thirty years old. They were in absolute prayer and adoration the whole time. I tried to calm myself, clear my head, and offer up some prayers. The only sounds were the sirens and car alarms of Harlem and the creaking of the wooden floor under my shifting knees.

After prayer time, I introduced myself to the silent friars and soon they bounced back to their own personalities. It was funny seeing these silent figures come to life into…real people. Over a simple dinner of chili and rice, I answered their questions about what brought me to the friary. Since many of them haven’t watched TV in several years, I had to remind them of MTV, and explain reality TV. It was really funny having to tell them all the stuff.

A really young friar from London pushed up the sleeves of his gray cloak during dinner. I could see the tattoos all over his arms. Early in our conversation about TRW and MTV, in a strong English accent asked, “do the people at MTV, do they care about the kids?”

I was silent. I had never thought about that…do the people behind MTV care about their viewers? I know they entertain them, and feed them the “hot and now” music, but caring for them?

No. The people at MTV don’t care about the kids. They just want to make money.

After dinner we washed all the dishes and cups, none of them matching. Tomorrow they are going to have a house cleaning to make sure they are living up their vows of poverty. Getting rid of “stuff” for them means giving away a book they haven’t read in a month. I felt so cluttered.

Several of them came outside to see me off. As promised, one friar (maybe 24 years old) brought out the friary skateboard to show me his stuff. In my healed boots, I pulled a foot high olly. I smiled and handed the board to him. In his gray cloak and sandals, he landed a 360 kickflip. Then he did the same to a grind on the curb. Then he pulled a double kickflip! The Harlem kids smiled across the street, seeing the monklike dude erupt on the skateboard. I laughed, knowing I had just made dozen new friends.

I am listening to the Millennium Three album recorded live at Steubenville this year. “Agnes Dei” is such an awesome song. Last weekend when 2600 young people were singing this song…wow. I just couldn’t help but just sing at the top of my lungs, throw my hand in the air to feel the Holy Spirit.

You know I’ve always wondered what music in heaven would sound like. In the sixth grade we read “The Odyssey” as a class. I remember the part where Odysseus asked to be tied to the mast of the boat so he could hear the song of the Sirens, but not be able to be seduced away from his journey. So what is it like to hear an angel sing?

I am on the plane now, the people around me particularly interested in what I am typing. Hi guys! We’ll touch down in NYC–

Music evokes such emotion out of the listener. I wish, as a visual designer, I could stir emotion like a songwriter pulls out of their listeners.

–I’ll be in NYC for just under a week then off to Atlanta. I pay rent at an apartment that I rarely see. I pretty much update this website and do my laundry when I am in NY. That and play in the fire hydrant with all the kids.

Meredith is in London now. I checked my voicemail right before bed. It was one of those messages that was more like a conversation than a quick “call-me-when-you-get-a-chance.” I couldn’t talk with her, but I was felt by every bit of her through the minute of voicemail.

Next week is a big week for pop culture. Nsync will release their new album “Celebrity.” Last year “No Strings Attached” sold 2.3 million albums in the first week, outselling any other album in history. The sum total of all their album sales to date is 23 million. If this album fails to reach or break that record, media will declare that pop is going to drop. Regardless of whether you love or hate or don’t care about the music biz, next week is a big week.

For me, I am happy that I can finally listen to “Dirty Pop” on my laptop while I am on the road. “…if and when your body starts to rock…”

This afternoon we went “clammin’.” The wind whipped off the bay so we pulled on our sweatshirts before rolling up our pant legs and walking out into the water. Once we were a couple hundred feet out, we pulled our rakes through the sand with hopes of digging out a quahog. A quahog (pronounced: co-hog) is a clam-like critter that burrows a few inches in the sand. It took me a while, but pretty soon I was scooping out one quahog after another. The smaller ones you have to leave, so I skipped them across the choppy water. The bigger ones we layered in the wire basket until we had enough for a feast.

After a home-cooked swordfish dinner, we made it back to the shore to ride the boat. The battery was dead, and with that were our hopes of watching the sun set from the bay. But coming off the dock, I spotted several brown rabbits chillin’ on the lawn edge near some bushes. I thought they were so cool I tried to catch one. For the next twenty minutes, the five of us chased the wild rabbits out of the bushes into the lawn. It was SO MUCH FUN bouncing around the cushy lawn trying to corner a critter that we knew would win the game. I haven’t had such hysterical laughter in a good while. Eventually the rabbits got smarter than us and stayed in the bushes.

This has been such a great vacation. This week Jessica and I picked up some sandwiches and hiked a couple miles through the forest to the beach. She is such a cool girl. I am going to miss her. Another fun thing I got to do was drive the Jeep down a rugged road to a remote beach. I didn’t believe remote beaches still existed.

You know, I wasn’t too excited about having a week in paradise w/o a friend, and God promptly brought me so many new friends, I didn’t have enough time to spend with each of them. This won’t be the last time in Martha’s Vineyard.

Whereas folks in So Cal drive the surfer wagons, wear colorful beach clothes, and sport spunky sandals. Here, it is more like a J. Crew meets LL Bean or something. People drive their new station wagons, old school boxy SUV’s, or Jeep Wranglers or
Wagoneers. I don’t think I’ve seen a single bright colored sports car here. There is something cozy about this place.

Yesterday, Jessica and I went to Aquinna, to the Gay Head cliffs and beach. Part of the beach is nude, so we kept our distance. But apparently some of the nudies didn’t keep their distance. We were enjoying our leisurely stroll when I spotted an old pink hippo wading into the water. Her mate and their crew were right there on the beach, laughing and talking. Nothing could have prepared me for seeing two elderly couples casually lounging naked on the beach. Gross. But at the same time, it was pretty darn funny too! Needless to say, we enjoyed our giggles, but quickly turned around.

Fr. Nagle gave me his Jeep for the week. It is so much fun to drive home at night along the beach, listening to music with the top down. This kind of experience was something so distant from me, growing up in Hiawassee, GA. I have this laptop, and I imagined myself bringing it to the beach to get “some work done,” but that just isn’t happening. I barely can bring myself to type these journals at the end of the day.

My room has fireplace! It takes the drop of a match and the shreds of paper ignite into a blaze, bringing the logs to light in just a few minutes. Even though it is probably 60 outside, I have burned about four fires in the few days I’ve been here. Why is it I have all these romantic experiences all by myself?

It’s like I am a child hugging my pillow bubbling with smiles on Christmas Eve, wanting so much for the next day so I could play with the Legos and Transformers that I so hoped were waiting for me. Or when it was time for a family vacation. Dad would have the sleeping bags rolled, the coolers filled, and the van packed for a week and half on the road. By my bedside would be my backpack full of coloring books with crayons and my clothes ready for the break of dawn. Now I am almost 23 years old and I am experiencing that same joyful anticipation about life.

We stepped off the ferry this afternoon and tossed our luggage in the back of the truck. We made our way through the crowd of people ready to get the mainland. Man, I couldn’t believe how J. Crew these people were! Their hats, bags, shirts, sandals, dogs, and kids were straight out of a J. Crew catalog–and there were hundreds of them!

A short walk through the cozy, summery neighborhood brought us to the church. In the doorway of the cute, white church, Fr. Nagle stood, waving in his kids back in town. The Mass was so hoppin’ it felt like a black Baptist church in the south. Afterwards the congregation stepped out on the front lawn for a potluck cook out. The food and the company were the best.

The neighborhoods are filled with gingerbread houses. Each house is small, pastel, and has lacy trim. They don’t quite feel like tiny dollhouses, but they are nowhere near as monstrous as houses elsewhere. The yards are small, pushed right up to the sidewalk lined with lollipop trees. Sitting on the church steps looking out into the neighborhood, I felt like I was in a postcard.

This is going to be a great week. Fr. Nagle gave me his Jeep to explore the island. Some nice folks from the parish are putting me up at their oh-so-cute inn. I’m look up from my screen into the mirror and smile at myself because my hair looks so fluffy and tall. It has been quite a long weekend. It is time for bed.

I am not content with the gap between myself and greatness. My heroes St. Francis of Assisi and Pope John Paul II are not getting any more worldly, so it is up to me to get more holy. I’ve struggled so much b/c of who/where I am, and my sinful nature. It makes me mad that I do stupid things that I know are selfish and are not doing any good.

How do I regard the fact that I come from a great family, have not dealt with much tragedy, and have never really suffered? JPII carries on his heart the pains of the Holocaust, Communism, horrid wars, intense poverty, and modern secularism. I carry on my heart a couple lost relationships and affluenza.

So am I destined to live any less great of a life? Who says conquering tragedy is the only avenue for greatness? Could not conquering the call of a seemingly secure and complacent modern lifestyle be great?

Pope John Paul II is my hero. The sad reality is that there are not many heroes in the world today. Though many are admirable, few are true heroes. “When Pope John Paul II is canonized as a saint I will be there…flat on my face.”

For Christmas a few years ago, I gave my parents a book of photographs documenting the past couple decades of the Pontiff (Pope.) I didn’t wrap it until the last minute because I was so enamored by the magnificence of each snapshot; I just couldn’t stop looking at it. The Pope has such a holy presence that it can even be captured in a photograph. I was so intrigued by one photo that I actually painted it on a 3×4 piece of wood. I flipped each page of that big book and read of how much he has been through and how much he has done for the world in the past twenty years. Until then, I just did not realize what that hunched-over old man has accomplished.

It’s almost midnight, and I am on the third floor of a dormitory in Attleboro, Massachusetts. Looking out my window I see a glowing tent that could cover most of a football field. It is lit much like paper bag luminaries do at Christmas time. I can here a thousand girls in the tent singing and chatting after a supernatural first day of Steubenville East–

(Every few sentences that I type I’ll pause for a few minutes and stare at the blinking cursor, begging to be scooted across the page as thoughts solidify. Blink, blink, blink….)

…what will my path hold? I am such an ordinary guy and I want more than anything to become extraordinary. I am a mess. I am jealous of how Holy the Pope is. I mean, I know I am a mess b/c I am jealous. It doesn’t even matter if I am jealous of something good, it is still jealousy, and that is wrong. …I am a mess.

I know that this fire inside of me is instilled by God. It spins and burns everyday and everyday I pray that I would figure out how to deal with it. What will my path hold?

Sitting here at my little desk, I am thinking about what I blurted out an hour ago at the table. You see, when one accepts the vows as a priest, he lays flat, lips and nose against the floor of the church, a humble servant of Christ. I spilled those words not thinking anything of it: “When Pope John Paul II is canonized as a saint, I will be there in Rome…flat on my face.”

I remember this time last year was so odd/cool. I would watch MTV like I always had…I would listen to the groovy 10spot previews and see my face and hear my voice. Nothing can prepare you for seeing yourself in the MTV picture frame. The RW was my life with six strangers pushed through the editing room filter. What you get is juiced-up family video that everyone in the world can watch.

(Rachel is cute.)

Stepping back now and watching this show, I see how the plots are so high-schoolish. I knew it, but now I KNOW it. It is young people learning how to express their emotions, deal with differences, and define who they are amidst a group. People with new found or contrived confidence proudly gain importance by expressing their emotions. You don’t see educated adults telling each other like it is while their peers cheer them on. This hit me at the Real World 10-Year Reunion, when Kevin (RW1) yelled something at Puck. The cute black girl from RW Miami reminded Kevin, “you’re too old to be talking like that.”

–As if the guys in the club don’t know “that girl” is on the RW and he gets on TV when he talks to her.–

So this is the last day of my vacation. I’ve enjoyed playing with the baby, tinkering w/ my new computer, and visiting with my sister and her hubby. It is cool just to hang around a home. In NY I never stay in my apt for more than 12 hrs. Maybe it’s because so much is going on around town, or my apt is not quite my home. Either way, I am out of my apt as much as I am in it. But here I have been lounging around, napping, eating otter pops, checking my email, and reading about cool stuff online.

–”Undressed” is so sick. It is such a mockery of teen sexuality, but the teens eat it up and replicate it. It’s kind of like teens being fans of 2ge+her, a boy band made to make fun of boy bands.–

Rachel has a cute personality.

I’ve been watching MTV for an hour now. It is the first hour I’ve watched in several months now. I can see so many young people watching, entertained and left empty. They see these shows and videos and glam and rock-n-roll lifestyle. ..and this show “Becoming” solidifies people’s longing to live that life. A few lucky kids get to be their favorite star in a video. The kids at home turn off the TV because it is late and their eyelids are heavy. The room fades to dark, the humming fridge and the AC making the only sound. They slide into their sheets wondering “why can’t I live like that?”

Now that I think of it, people like Britney Spears, Limp Bizkit, and the Backstreet Boys don’t live lives like that. It’s not like Britney walks down the halls of her own house with dancers behind her. Destiny’s Child don’t have their living room coordinate with their outfits. J-Lo has to take Pepto sometimes. On this show, they don’t make the kid deal with a messed up girlfriend before he goes on the set. The kid doesn’t have to wonder how he’s going to deal with his manager when he gets a new one. The girl doesn’t have to delete half of her messages on her cell phone because she doesn’t even know who the people are. (This girl is crying now because it was the best day of her life, being Britney Spears.)

…you’ve just got to get out their and make it happen. I am not talking about becoming a rock star (though you can), but just making your own life happen. I’ve had fun lounging around here in Reno, but I am ready for life in NY again. This was a time to recharge my batteries, now it is time to get goin’ in life.

In this new world where connections seem to make up the greater part of your assumed value, people are constantly grabbing for anyone to add to their collection of powerful, influential, or popular “friends.” While I was in Atlanta attending Georgia Tech the past year, I didn’t deal with it that much. Only when I went out around town or when I traveled. But for five days of the week, I was a student doing his homework and checking his email.

Now that I live in NYC, those days are gone. New York is a place where people go to make things happen. Aspiring writers, actors, and models mingle with company startups, financial whizzes, and CEOs. With almost every interaction, each individual is sizing up another’s worth in their network. Just a few sentences into a conversation it all starts: “Oh, I am so worn out, I partied all week in the Hamptons…hold on I have a call from my financial advisor…I am joining my friend at his restaurant for dinner…oh don’t worry, I’ll expense that…I’ve got to pick up my stuff at the cleaners on the way to my place on the Upper Westside…my company pays for my membership at this gym…is a driver coming to pick you up?” BS BS BS BS BS.

The object of the game is to figure out if the person you are talking to could be a valuable connection. If they are, then make yourself sound more valuable so they will seek after your company, rather than you seeking their company. Then you do them a favor and hang out when you “find the time.” Then you mooch off of their scene. Some people are so good at this, they started out with nothing to offer (a talentless and hungry kid in a NY nightclub) and manage to convince their way into becoming valued by those who are valuable. They “succeed” in becoming a key player in an scene or an industry without any good reason.

The result is a social but venomous scene of selfish people pretending they aren’t selfish. Every phone call, lunch, and sidewalk conversation is a step in the direction of their goal. I wish I didn’t play the game, but since I am “that guy from The Real World,” often people want to add me to their collection. So I have to protect myself by playing the game. Then, I throw them for a curve and let loose some absolute humility: “I live in Harlem so I can save money…I do talks at a lot of churches…I know a lot of famous people but it is hard to get them to call me back.” Ha ha ha ha. This game is fun.

Moving to New York stirs up emotions and situations similar to moving to New Orleans last year. The friends are present but few, the places foreign but becoming familiar, and it is far from home. It won’t be long until this apartment becomes my new home and my evenings are spent out with new close friends, but for now it isn’t lollipop happy.

It is for this reason–knowing that these feelings will soon pass–that I dare not to even log this fleeting time of loneliness. I would feel more invincible and cool if I ignore these feelings, but they are too real. I think it all comes down to needing to be loved wherever I am. I don’t feel loved by anyone in this city. There is no one here that longs to hear about my day, come over my house to hang out, or to grab a cup of coffee and stroll through the park.

I braved the rain this afternoon and made it to St. Paul’s for Mass for a spiritual lift. Afterwards I was spinning their rack of prayer cards and found a prayer for those who suffer from loneliness. My security lies in knowing that this loneliness will pass. But for some people, there is no end to their loneliness. My gaze froze on the card, thinking about all the millions of people in this big city, and how many of them suffer from loneliness. For now on, I must remember those people as I offer up my prayers; after all, I am one of those people right now, and someone is offering up a prayer for me.

Yesterday (Saturday) was so pretty with a rich blue sky and wispy clouds. I spoke once before noon on “Relationships and God” and then one in the afternoon about my adventures before, during, and after The Real World. In between we prayed and played outside in the grass. It was an abrupt but fun jump from a posh hotel room in LA to a game of kick ball in R.I. We wrapped up the evening with a SOULFUL Mass with a full Gospel choir. I didn’t know white people could sing and get into it like that. lol.

Last night a couple priests brought me out into the bay for dinner on a ferryboat. We had the lower deck to ourselves while “Saturday Night Fever Bowling Club” rocked the upper deck with mullets flailing as bodies gyrated to cover songs of the Bee Gees and Springsteen. I had so much fun talking to the priests as the plates were cleared and we turned to appreciate the scenery. Though they are 15 years apart in age, they’ve both been priests for only a couple years. I was fascinated by their faith journey and what brought them to celebrating their life as priest, whether the decision was made at 25 or 35. One priest is a sailor/captain himself and brought us up to the captain’s deck for a more pure experience. It was such a flavorful experience…peering through the windows over a cup of hot coffee, chatting in the warm, dark room, as our boat bobbed through the icy water closer and closer to the land’s edge.

Fr. Codega saw me off a couple hours ago at the train station. I swear, when I get a girlfriend, I am only going to take trains. The whole scene is just too romantic not to share with a lady friend. +smiles+. Our train is now underground and the lights in the tunnel are zipping past our windows. In a few minutes we will emerge in the heart of NYC. It is good to be…home?

The filming, interviews, and photo shoots were such an ordeal. I sat on the couches and watched the rings of drama spin around the place, bumping into innocent bystanders, flinging off some players and absorbing more. A social psychologist would have a field day in this place. I enjoyed the drama and glitter of the day, knowing it would be a short-lived experience.

It was so fun hopping from couch to couch talking to the nine generations of kids. The New York cast is full on adults now (as could be expected) with kids, careers, and normal lives. It was surreal sitting with NY, LA, and SF casts b/c I watched those seasons when I was such a young impressionable teenager. I was like, “did you know my friends modeled themselves after you guys?” And now we are peers in some uncanny clique.

I am so glad I sent that videotape off to BMP/MTV two years ago. Trying out was something I always wanted to do, a door passed by but never knocked on. What a valuable lesson in life: to know that one never know where one can go, what one can do, and who one can become unless one tries. Life is such an adventure!

I have been called to be faithful and that has brought scattered worldly approval as being successful. Being on TV, associating with famous people, traveling the world speaking to young people…all these are the fruits of being faithful, not my striving for success. Being faithful to God’s will may mean that in two years I am asked to escape quietly to a small town as a youth minister of 10 high schoolers. This is victory in God’s eyes, even if the world sees that as being washed up or whatever.

Perhaps the easiest relevant modern analogy would be “keeping up with the Jones.” People spend years of their life trying to one-up the success with the neighbors down the street–prettier lawn, more luxurious car, more athletic and smart children, a bigger pool… And when one realizes life escapes them in the rat race, the veiled lifted and real happiness ensues.

So in this bustling city of nine million people, it is easy to measure one’s worth by where they live, what job they have, who they know, where they go, and who they associate with; this appears to be an accepted and encouraged social habit (though undoubtedly wrong.)

I am called to be in NYC and it will take daily effort not to get lost in this concrete jungle studded with money, fame, and elitism. The emotions that are stirred within me each day here are much like those I faced in New Orleans. While living in the Belfort Mansion I endured a setting foreign from my own, one festooned with countless distractions that could have lured me away from my true self. And just like in New Orleans, I eagerly jump into each day to experience each new adventure, but quietly guard the purity of my soul.

Normally when I go to speak at an event, I will get there late afternoon, do an hour-long talk in the late evening, and hang out with everyone that night. Then it is off to bed and up in the morning to catch a flight to my next spot or back home. This weekend I had three talks spread out over the retreat that offered a spiritual narrative for the teens to relate, reflect, and pray about. In b/w talks we had met in small groups and talked and prayed together.

Though at first I was anxious b/c of the responsibility given to me to guide this huge group. But after some intense prayer, I knew “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” The intimacy I experienced in the small groups really brought me back a year ago when that’s all I did at retreats. I didn’t have the MTV spotlight to draw so many people’s attention to me. I was just a crazy college kid that wanted to draw other young people to Christ. The reason is still the same, but the mission has changed. I am in one town and try to make some thunder before it is time to move on to the next place.

Yesterday I was sitting on the sand watching the seagulls hover and swoop in the strong wind whipping from the water. The South Carolina coast is so beautiful. The last time I was at the beach in Charleston was a year ago with Meredith, just a few short days after our first date. We kicked through the waves holding hands and laughing drunk with puppy love. I’ll never forget pulling up to the house, and hurrying out on the porch to look for her on the beach. Finally I caught her attention and she ran out of the water smiling so bright. She through her wet self on me and gave me a big salty kiss. (I am smiling right now.)

Ah those were the days… We were both just too happy to be with each other to stop and speculate on future. Not to say our relationship was reckless, but elated and young. Now a year later we are both living in NYC, seeing each other as friends as often as we can. I know it is best for me to be single, but I will always treasure the times we had as a couple.

Though my time on the beach last year was so pleasureful and pure, my time this weekend was that and more. I know that my weekend with St. Francis and St. Peter’s churches at the beach will with out a doubt bring great things in the future of those teens. I say this not because of what I did, but what the Holy Spirit did. I am striving to make each and every second of my present secure a better future, not just an opportunity to fulfill fleeting wants.

I drove up to St. Pius High School to say goodbye to all my friends there. Those kids are so rad…I am going to miss them so much. It was difficult saying goodbye to such a great life in Atlanta. Everything about my life in Atlanta is good, but it is time for me to move on. I sat down with Fr. Scott and shared one solid and heartfelt reconciliation before I started anew one plane ride away.

Now it is 10 PM or so and we’ll be setting down at Laguardia soon. There is a certain sense of privacy and coziness in a night flight. Most people sink into the darkness and sleep, others gaze down at the lighted cities and towns and trace the paths of highways so small, and a few turn on their lamps to quietly read. I pulled out my Bible knowing I needed some words of wisdom as I near the next stage in life.

First it was bits of Proverbs and Psalms, then the ever seductive and intense “Song of Solomon.” As my heart was tugged for love of God and His creation, I stepped into the book of Wisdom. Each verse resonated through out me so intensely, I would look around alert and eager at the world I was in, ready to apply these teachings.

For perverse thoughts separate men from God, and when his power is tested, it convicts the foolish; because wisdom will not enter a deceitful soul, nor dwell in a body enslaved to sin. For a holy and disciplined spirit will flee from deceit, and will rise and depart from foolish thoughts, and will be ashamed at the approach of the unrighteous.” -Wisdom 1:3-5

I am done with college–this is the beginning of the rest of my life. This summer I am seeking to banish lazy sin from my life. Energy will not be spent on schoolwork or anything else, but invested solely in cleansing myself of sinful selfishness.

I can’t believe I am at the end of my time in college. Soon I will have a Bachelors of Science in Industrial Design from Georgia Tech. I would say it seems like just yesterday that I unpacked in my dorm room my freshman year, but it feels like four years ago. I know I have learned, grown, and experienced a lot since the fall of â97. I feel better about myself, am more excited to be me in this world, and to go out into it and…live.

I am happy to be an adult, but it is funny becoming one. Adults do things like balance checkbooks, invest money, live by themselves, go to bed when they want, meet some one, fall in love, and start there own family. I have done, or am doing most of those. No, I don’t actually balance my checkbook. But I have met some one and am falling in…