The only way to be sure of catching a train is to miss the one before it. - G.K. Chesterton





Pseudo-Locked,
but I'm willing to share it to anyone who cares enough. I doubt you belong in that category, but from time to time, people like proving other people wrong. You can do that, and perhaps, ( I'll be happy about it. )

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I think it would be the most appropriate thing to say that this age makes me feel both invincible and powerless. Like I can do absolutely anything because I know I really can but without knowing how.

We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail. - John Green, Looking for Alaska

I used to wonder what the difference between 18 and 21 is. They are not so far apart from each other but 21 sounds so legally grown up, and 18 trails behind like a 3-year trial period version. But this is exactly where they differ —

You're 18 and mighty. You can conquer the seven seas. Through what means, you don't know, but there's a bright light in the back of your mind that tells you you will figure it out and it doesn't flicker.

You're 21 and wondering. The light flickers, but you are no less than hell bent on getting to sail the vast oceans of your own world. It is the baseline, the point where you feel like you should have already figured out the how. But most of the time on your 21st year, you're as clueless as when you were 18. Sometimes, the light goes out.

But this, this is the folly of youth. Failure is not an option; it's necessary. You learn the how through trial and error. You come through rivers first. Find yourself stuck in a barge full of baggage and heavy goods. You sail seas. Fiddle with the riggings and learn the ways of the wind and the water. Brave your way to the ocean. You are wiser, but nonetheless foolish. But know this: go when you can. You will never be ready.

She had always wondered at the bravery of it. The sparrows jumped before they knew how to fly, and they learned to fly only because they had jumped. - Lauren Oliver, Liesl & Po

An hour before everything changes, I just want to bid version 20.9 farewell and welcome the next.

When you wake up dear, everything will have changed. Here's to the new beginnings you have always hated and, eventually, loved.

There should be a lot of fun and no more sadness than absolutely necessary. - David Nicholls, One Day

During the early days of high school, this blog was named fairydust8. Somewhere along the way, I was itching to change it because as much as I believed in sugar, spice, everything nice and fairy dust, it wasn't me anymore. This blog used to be me, a mirror of how things went and how things were. It used to be my nest, a place I can rest my head in when all else turns to noise. I'm not sure if age really changes things, but it seems to have done that for me. I used to be able to pour it all into writing; now there's just nothing.

I just want to go home.

A year and a month past the working mark, I sit at home with a frost feeling. I am moving closer to the future I once thought was too far. And now I'm here in the present that was once the future, and on the outlook of what comes next.

8 years ago, I was a terrified high school freshman. Stuck in a new school enveloped by a socially awkward aura, I barely remember how it all went. 8 years beyond that is now, and all I could think about is wow, it's been 8 years since I was so clueless, so lost. I'm older, but it still feels that way sometimes. I wonder if 8 years from now, I'll barely remember this too.

I was reading 163 pages of Levithan's fictional 9/11 via Love is the Higher Law without realizing that it's a few days before 9/11 turns 10. With devastating, world-changing events like that, you always talk about where you were and what you were doing when it happened. It was all over TV channels. You channel surf, but it's the same thing. It's the movie we thought would never happen in real life, but reversed. We see movies about catastrophes and we turn to ice the day it actually happens... but it's the other way around with this. Movies were made out of 9/11. Words were written, songs were played, and people remembered. The whole world tried to cope, tried to wrap their head around something we never imagined possible.

This isn't even something I've feared, because I never knew it was a possibility.

So much was lost, and so much was to be remembered. We will always have shadows of 9/11, always praying there won't be any more shadows to haunt us. We couldn't even begin to rationalize how humans could also plot out to eradicate thousands of their own. And just when all faith is lost in people, we remember the higher law. How on that day, there were no strangers. Everybody shared something, and we felt even more knitted, like we're stitched on the same blanket.

The terrorists-those nineteen people, with hundreds or maybe thousands behind them-did the worst thing you can possibly imagine. But tens of millions people did the right thing... On 9/11, all the hatred and murder could not compare with the weight of love, of bravery, of caring.

It might have been a reaction... that this was how it should have always been. If this was how we've always felt, it wouldn't have happened. They wouldn't have the courage to do that. But the reaction was late. The world coped by doing something that should have been there in the first place. If we were close, if we were never strangers... but it takes something big to get the world to feel that. It's not our choice, but we get distracted so it took something so much bigger than all of us to get us back on track. And we're sorry.

And I wonder if maybe we needed to be hurt. I don't mean that I wanted it to happen, or that it should have happened. Bt I think we were walking around like we were invincible. And maybe that's a bad way to live your life. Because you're not invincible. Nobody is. And maybe now that we've learned that, we'll be better.

With 9/11 in mind, I remember that there's so much of my life I haven't lived yet. And sometimes I feel selfish because all I could think about is the hollow spaces in my life that I forget that there's so much to be grateful for. And tendency is, when you forget about that, the memorial you will build when you lose it will weigh you down like an anchor, another shadow to follow you around when the light shines bright.

This is what a memorial is: Standing still, staring at something that isn't there.

And I don't want to wait for that.

Some days I feel invincible.

Like I can crack the sky open, change the color of the sea to a heavy shade of teal, or paint rainbows on the soil and hang them on the clouds. It feels like I have wings that, even without, could take me past stratospheres of nostalgia and desire.

And when it's over, a second splits and I'm left with the memory of what it feels like, without knowing how to bring it back.

It's been quiet for quite a while, but that's not exactly how it is inside my head. I am in shambles, and I won't even try to hide it. Although I am on this standstill, it keeps me moving. There's that force that makes me keep on pushing, wanting to get away from the very thing that's stopping me. It's been an empty three months here, and here.

Three months have come and passed for 2011 and although several things have happened that shaped the direction of what happens next, I am still as puzzled as ever. I do not know at what point in my life I am currently in or where I am heading. I'm still just figuring it all out, writing plans on clouds and tracing letters on moist window panes.

I used to have it so clear in my mind. You'd think I was crazy for having it all figured out, like a map so intricate with detail. What I didn't know then is that you can get lost in your own city, a city you built.

And once that happened, I was struggling to find my way back and it didn't get me anywhere. So now I'm letting myself get lost, soaking up the unfamiliarity of what I thought was mine. And if I finally find my way through, that would be great, but right now, I'm taking my time.

Tonight it's quiet, but I'll patiently listen.

That's what I've been waiting for all along — a sound.

Just a week ago, I said this:

"I want to read or watch something incredibly beautiful."

I still haven't found the time to go through my stack of books so I am currently searching for blogs instead. If you could suggest some, that would be great. I used to have this favorite blog. I remembered it just the other day but I can't find it anymore. When I found it maybe a year ago, or years ago, the owner was past the point of updating so it was probably deleted. I ache for the loss of something beautiful, never getting to read those beautiful words again.

I remembered another favorite and got to read one of the posts just earlier. I remembered why I loved Jack's Mannequin so much. It's not just about making great music with them; it's also about real emotions and stringing them altogether with words and melodies. Their songs are art. Andrew McMahon has always been one of my favorite writers.

So, I'm just putting 2 of his beautiful blog entries here:

Summer, The Earth, or Mars
For as long as I can remember the Pacific Ocean has been my lifeblood; the place that I go to gather inspiration and energy. When I really think about it, so many of my fondest memories are set against the backdrop of that blue water and the towering bluffs above. Towards the end of last year I began making regular trips home to the beach towns where I grew up, and it was there, in a little back house cottage overlooking pch that I began writing my next record. In a lot of respects this was the place I hid out to process so many of the changes that had taken place over five, very strange years. Living in Los Angeles it's easy to forget who you are. For so much of my stay in LA I have had one foot in the door and the other in the deep blue sea just southwest of town, and those are words I am not proud to write. As I wrapped up my time down south I became convinced that the beach was in fact home and a move was in order. I was certain that I was drying up quickly amidst the concrete and taillights of the city, and I began preparing my escape.

With the plan in motion, I took my ocean songs to the studio and began recording. I was so close to home, or at least I thought I was. As I continued to work though, something changed. I would return from the studio each day, pulling up to the house I would soon be leaving, and my heart would grow heavy. Over time the words of my cottage masterpiece began to lose their meaning. The truth was starting to slip, and for a moment I was lost again. I have always aspired to live moment-to-moment as the greatest livers do, but here I was with my heart and my head a million miles from my body. I panicked and ran as I tend to do when I panic. I stopped making music and started traveling. I put everything I could on hold, and in a truly rare moment I chose my personal life over my piano. I saw Alaska with my grandmother, sang on a beachside bandstand at a wedding in St. John, drove across The United States from east to west, crashing wherever I could find a friend who would have me. Somewhere around South Dakota things started becoming clear again, and after a night in a cabin outside Yellowstone National Park, I began making a new plan and a new record. I started over. My drive now had a destination. Los Angeles. Home.

When I returned it all looked different. The hills, the traffic, the bungalows, the people. It was as if I woke up to the life I made in the middle of some downpour and with the clouds now parted it was beautiful. I spent the days exploring the city and visiting with friends, and at night I would write freely in a quiet that seems strange for LA. The snowball was rolling now in the hot sun. I knew this would have to be a different kind of album and the approach would need to be a departure from anything I had done before. The time I spent driving and my return home left me feeling bold and excited for the change. After a series of inspired phone calls and stirring conversations about songs, life, and the philosophy of recording honest music I brought in legendary engineer/producer/mixer Jim Scott to help us navigate the waters for this new adventure. Jim has worked on some of my favorite albums by some of my favorite artists, including the Chili Peppers, Tom Petty, and Wilco. Rather than jump right into the studio though, it felt important to live and breath these songs first. So the Mannequins and I opted out of the typical rehearsal space hatch and into something a little more livable. That brings us to now.

10:45 am, the sun climbing high over the desert mountains with speed. This ocean man turned Los Angeleno is now holed up in the California high desert bashing around in hopes of returning home with songs that will be loved. In the light of day this place could be Mars, at night it's like the surface of the moon, and for the next two months it is my shoreline. That is the beauty of the desert, it is what you need it to be. There is truth in this nothingness. Maybe we'll find some of that truth and wrestle it to the dusty earth.

---

America Through A Bug-Stained Windshield
Sometimes I wonder how my wife reconciles loving this wandering mess that is me. The unspoken fear of so many artists is the discovery of true love. Not the kind of love that burns hard and fast, but the kind that smolders with no end and wouldn't let you go if you tried. I can't speak for all writers, but I know I speak for many when I say that it is a secret fear amongst us that with this smoldering comes the death of an atomic dream. New love is easy art. In the stirring of discovery poetry grows from seed to sunlight in short blistering days. In the light of the unknown the mystery of another makes anything seem possible. In love we are reborn in a frenzied blaze of hyper existence. In the dissolution of love we are blown to pieces. Some pieces we collect in the fallout of moving on and others we leave behind; thumb tacks on the great maps of our personal histories, showing us all the places that we have been.

Last Friday, in search of something I began to drive. The preceding Wednesday, my band and I flew the old metal bird from Los Angeles to Richmond in the spirit of rallying behind a fallen friend. I have known illness, as most of us have, and sitting in a hospital room with a sick man's family is to know love. Not blistering love but real love. We spent two nights playing music and drinking, visiting on porches and watching nights turn to mornings, always reminded by the wages life can take from us in the moments we don't expect. In those days we couldn't stand to be alone, as if we were clinging to each other and the blessing of these long nights that we sadly could not share with our imprisoned friend. In the heat of a Virginia morning, on the heels of these sleepless visits, I rented a car and began my travel; one that would eventually lead me to this hotel room in the California/Nevada mountains from where I am now writing you.

What I ended up finding was a vision of America that I always knew existed, but never truly opened my eyes to. We live in a time so confused by the messages fed to us by our television sets and computer screens, that we so often lose sight of what is real. We live in a nation divided by our allegiances to politicians who often care nothing for us as individuals unless we've lined their pockets and bought the advertisements that lead to their election. Still though, for all our differences, we are simply people and the thread running through all of us is so very much the same. Where we are raised and what we see as children inform our futures in ways that leave some of us so lucky and others so wounded. The things we are told and the things we see as we're pulled from the ground like flowers, broken and beautiful, are so often are the things we become. Still what most of us seem to be searching for is love; this complex connection to another strange traveler. A wind that wakes us in the gloaming as the sun fades behind the hills and reminds us that some nights aren't meant to be slept through. To know another is to know a universe of others, and as I smolder here alone the words could not leave my fingertips fast enough. Sometimes a soul must wander to truly know it is home.

I swore off New Year's Resolutions for a couple of years now because I had this big tendency of breaking them and feeling generally bad about myself and my lack of commitment. I did, however, planned for changes; I just didn't write them down or called them new year's resolutions. For 2011, I'm resurrecting NYR's in my life, with the intention of both pushing myself to be better and believing that I am more self-regulated. Here's what I came up with so far:

1. Maximize the use of my planner for the whole year.

When it comes to annual planners, I tend to go through this chronological scenario: look for a pretty planner, buy the pretty planner, write down birthdays and important dates on the pretty planner, hate myself for having ugly handwriting, get over the self-hate, write down schedules and deadlines, fail to consult my planner, feel lazy to write down more notable things, let planner rot in the corner of the room for the remaining half of the year.

I love my planner this year. I got it from Barnes and Noble sometime in June (early planner shopping for 2011, I know) but I couldn't resist buying it because it was on sale and it's just really pretty.

I love the cover design.


And the envelope at the back.

2. Be less cranky and be more nice.

I have instant negative reactions when people talk to me when I don't want a conversation. I have also grown to be less thoughtful and grateful in exponential degrees. And, I have arrived at the conclusion that I haven't really been giving people what they deserve and I have been taking a lot for granted.

3. Say yes more to worthy causes.

I wouldn't really know if they are worthy but if it looks like it, then it must be it. If not, then at least I learned something new. Well, this just really means stop being lazy, get your ass off where it's supposed to be, stop whining, and get out of your disintegrating box.

4. Spend wisely.

It's such a usual self commandment, but I really want to be able to save up for things I want next year so I don't want my money going places it's not supposed to go.

5. Learn to reduce the Me vs. Myself battle to a damage-free state, if not end it completely.

This is a pretty bleak point to note down since it must look like a win-win situation but it's been an ongoing battle that is maybe 8 years in the making so I would absolutely love it if I could tone this one down. Or finally declare a truce.

This week and a few days of next week's are a lot like going back to college, only it's a celebration of leaving college. It's about letting go of it, facing the fact that we are no longer in it and moving forward. So it's us, a bunch of fresh graduates and finding our common ground in something that we're supposed to have given up, or giving up. It's not really to be taken in such a negative perspective because after all, they're giving us this period to properly say goodbye and remember. Like a funeral, but not sad. Just the acceptance of something that has passed and the welcoming of something that is... this.

For tomorrow, we were given the assignment to have a story. They didn't say what it would be for. Just have a story, fictional or not they didn't care. And now I'm stumped because I'm betting on my life that it would be stories that are going to be told. And I have problems with that. I couldn't think of any relevant story in my life worth telling because the ones that I think are worth telling might sound like bragging, and the others might just sound plain worthless. And I couldn't make up a fictional story I'm willing to share to a bunch of people I barely know, unless it's required.