Time flies when you're having fun. It flies more quickly when you're working hard.
The thing is... I haven't been working hard these past two months. Not as hard as I should have been, anyway. Two months ago, I got knocked down a couple rungs on my Jacob's Ladder of Life Progress when I let myself get too comfortable and consequently got in serious trouble with the law and my school. An impending court arraignment, more money owed in fines, a meeting with the Dean of Students, multiple scheduled drug tests, probation to last the rest of my academic career at OCU, and one family intervention later, I finally realized that it's time to get serious.
But realizations take time to settle in for me. It's a daily struggle. When it comes down to it, I'm my own worst enemy. I can either choose to be strong, stay positive, and keep believing in myself, or I can abandon those ideals and fall victim to the deadly trio of lethargy, apathy, and self-criticism. When I get down in the dumps, I still wear a smile on my face when I'm around the people I love, but it's only a half-smile, masking the pain I hold inside that I think I'm hiding from everyone else, when in reality it's written all over my face for those who are fluent in the language of Luke to read clearly.
I remember talking to my sister after my first DUI charge, when I admitted that I had driven drunk since the arrest. She laid it out plain and simple for me: "You obviously haven't learned your lesson, then, Luke." She was right. I hadn't. I got a second one less than a month later.
It hurts to be honest with yourself when you're trying to make up for past mistakes, but I've discovered that the only way to get better is to be brutally honest with yourself as well as with those around you, because they're the ones who most deserve the truth. The hardest part about recovery is remembering how far you've come while still remembering how far you have to go. It's all part of this tricky balancing act we call life.
Strangely, I feel more like my high school self now than ever before since I've been in college: constantly sulking, wearing out my social mask, and running around in circles of self-pity. Such things don't allow creativity to flourish. They don't foster peace. They don't celebrate life and anticipate the wonder of change. They don't let you be truly happy.
I have to go now. My brain is telling me to stop looking back and start looking forward.
That way, I don't have to think about being happy. I just am.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Scientific Creatures
This entry is inspired by an e-mail sent to OCU upperclassmen by our academic adviser. She asked us to explain, in a short 15-20 sec video response form, what we wish we had known as freshmen, so she can, in turn, show the responses to the incoming music students at their freshman orientation.
Great idea, Rachel. I applaud this endeavor toward helping the freshmen get the most from their college experience. I think it's plainly optimistic, but I'd be a plain hypocrite to label it futile.
Getting back to the question...
I haven't made my video yet because I'm still formulating a compelling response in my head.
"What do I know now that I would have wanted to know as a freshman?"
Well I'm only a junior. In fact, I haven't even got through my first full day as a junior yet. I'd say I'm more of a recovering sophomore. Still, my first two years of college taught me MANY things about myself, about others, and more importantly, about life.
Hindsight's 20/20, no doubt. Anyone can tell a freshman that. I could talk for days about what I wish I had known beforehand or what I wish someone would've told me. I could try and draw inspiration from all my past mistakes--my broken promises, drunken hookups, wasted time, wasted money, wasted behavior, failed endeavors, general pissed-off-edness, shallow relationships, and overall not-so-smart life choices, but that would be pointless.
I think back to high school, before I had ever touched a drop of alcohol, before the thought of smoking anything had ever crossed my mind, sitting next to my best friend in a dark auditorium full of half-asleep teenagers watching a 15-minute tearjerker about the dangers of drunk driving, and I can remember how surprisingly unaffected I was.
Out of fear, authority figures invest so much time and energy into warning their future leaders of America that they hardly give them time to experience life in all its terrifying glory. No parent wants to see their child ruin his/her life because of one bad decision. I get that. But doesn't it stand to reason that, no matter how difficult this may be for a parent (or any other authority figure) to accept, the most effective way for an individual to learn is through trial and error? Let's be honest, 99% of the time, kids are going to do what they want regardless of what their parents tell them. The same is true for freshmen in college. It's like we're all born with this inner antagonistic drive to behave completely opposite of how we're told we should. We're all rebels at heart.
The most valuable piece of advice I may have received to-date was from a girl named Katie, who was a senior musical theater major when I was a freshman. I accompanied a couple of her senior recital rehearsals, and as a thank-you for my piano playing, she gave me a handwritten card with a beautiful nugget of wisdom inside:
"Cherish your time in college, because it will fly by before you know it."
I'm paraphrasing, but you get the gist. This simple adage applies to more than just college. Sometimes I feel like replacing "in college" with "on Earth" just to better integrate the idea into my daily thinking. Because it's true. While I've made some fantastic discoveries in the past two years, like how to shower in a space the size of a coffin or how to make lifelong friends, I've also wasted fantastic amounts of time engaging myself in dead-end experiments, one after another.
So if I could tell my freshman self one thing, it would be this (The final quote of this blog entry, I promise!):
"Find out what makes you the happiest and pursue it with a vengeance."
No person has tangible control over another person's actions, thoughts, or opinions. All anyone can ever do is offer their words, be they harsh or harmless, and wait. Humans are notoriously strong-willed; we do what we want to do when we want to do it. And that is what the freshman experience is all about--finding out what works and what doesn't.
They don't call it experimenting for nothing.
p.s. About that final quote statement I made earlier... I lied. Here's the actual clincher, from the mouth of Therese Hofferber, my AP Literature teacher in high school, when I tried to argue the value of naps.
"There's always something to do."
Great idea, Rachel. I applaud this endeavor toward helping the freshmen get the most from their college experience. I think it's plainly optimistic, but I'd be a plain hypocrite to label it futile.
Getting back to the question...
I haven't made my video yet because I'm still formulating a compelling response in my head.
"What do I know now that I would have wanted to know as a freshman?"
Well I'm only a junior. In fact, I haven't even got through my first full day as a junior yet. I'd say I'm more of a recovering sophomore. Still, my first two years of college taught me MANY things about myself, about others, and more importantly, about life.
Hindsight's 20/20, no doubt. Anyone can tell a freshman that. I could talk for days about what I wish I had known beforehand or what I wish someone would've told me. I could try and draw inspiration from all my past mistakes--my broken promises, drunken hookups, wasted time, wasted money, wasted behavior, failed endeavors, general pissed-off-edness, shallow relationships, and overall not-so-smart life choices, but that would be pointless.
I think back to high school, before I had ever touched a drop of alcohol, before the thought of smoking anything had ever crossed my mind, sitting next to my best friend in a dark auditorium full of half-asleep teenagers watching a 15-minute tearjerker about the dangers of drunk driving, and I can remember how surprisingly unaffected I was.
Out of fear, authority figures invest so much time and energy into warning their future leaders of America that they hardly give them time to experience life in all its terrifying glory. No parent wants to see their child ruin his/her life because of one bad decision. I get that. But doesn't it stand to reason that, no matter how difficult this may be for a parent (or any other authority figure) to accept, the most effective way for an individual to learn is through trial and error? Let's be honest, 99% of the time, kids are going to do what they want regardless of what their parents tell them. The same is true for freshmen in college. It's like we're all born with this inner antagonistic drive to behave completely opposite of how we're told we should. We're all rebels at heart.
The most valuable piece of advice I may have received to-date was from a girl named Katie, who was a senior musical theater major when I was a freshman. I accompanied a couple of her senior recital rehearsals, and as a thank-you for my piano playing, she gave me a handwritten card with a beautiful nugget of wisdom inside:
"Cherish your time in college, because it will fly by before you know it."
I'm paraphrasing, but you get the gist. This simple adage applies to more than just college. Sometimes I feel like replacing "in college" with "on Earth" just to better integrate the idea into my daily thinking. Because it's true. While I've made some fantastic discoveries in the past two years, like how to shower in a space the size of a coffin or how to make lifelong friends, I've also wasted fantastic amounts of time engaging myself in dead-end experiments, one after another.
So if I could tell my freshman self one thing, it would be this (The final quote of this blog entry, I promise!):
"Find out what makes you the happiest and pursue it with a vengeance."
No person has tangible control over another person's actions, thoughts, or opinions. All anyone can ever do is offer their words, be they harsh or harmless, and wait. Humans are notoriously strong-willed; we do what we want to do when we want to do it. And that is what the freshman experience is all about--finding out what works and what doesn't.
They don't call it experimenting for nothing.
p.s. About that final quote statement I made earlier... I lied. Here's the actual clincher, from the mouth of Therese Hofferber, my AP Literature teacher in high school, when I tried to argue the value of naps.
"There's always something to do."
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Book of Love
How to create your own religion:
- Try a new pattern of drying off when you step out of the shower.
- Expand your vocabulary.
- Phone a friend you've fallen out of touch with.
- Recycle.
- Watch something on TV that interests you the least.
- Revisit your hometown.
- Study the way strangers walk.
- Understand why something makes you uncomfortable.
- Take a moment to listen to the radio station you usually skip.
- Take something apart and put it back together, just to see how it works.
- Take a detour.
- Pick a memory, embrace it, and let it make you laugh.
- Create a new alter ego with each new day. (Don't be afraid to laugh at them, either.)
- Try a new pattern of drying off when you step out of the shower.
- Expand your vocabulary.
- Phone a friend you've fallen out of touch with.
- Recycle.
- Watch something on TV that interests you the least.
- Revisit your hometown.
- Study the way strangers walk.
- Understand why something makes you uncomfortable.
- Take a moment to listen to the radio station you usually skip.
- Take something apart and put it back together, just to see how it works.
- Take a detour.
- Pick a memory, embrace it, and let it make you laugh.
- Create a new alter ego with each new day. (Don't be afraid to laugh at them, either.)
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The In's and Out's of What's In and What's Out
I don't think people give pop music enough credit.
While the industry is, like any other business on the planet, fueled by the all-powerful dollar, I contend that there are just as many authentic artists expressing themselves just as creatively in the pop music scene as any underground neo-soul electro house indie alternarock setting.
Just because something is popular doesn't mean it doesn't have depth.
Michael Jackson. The Rolling Stones. Cher. Stevie Wonder. Eminem. Bono. Alicia Keys. The Beatles. David Bowie. Enya. Foo Fighters. Ke$ha. No matter how you feel about any of these artists, it's impossible to deny that, at one point or another, they've all been considered popular music. Why? Because they were so damn.... popular.
But why were they popular? Rock & Roll Hall of Fame aficionados, step down now; I'm no expert. One could argue that people like Ke$ha become famous merely by chance and good looks and don't deserve stardom at all, while others, say, John Mayer, who have "worked" for their fame fully deserve it. The bottom line is, you don't become famous by doing nothing, unless you happen to be born with your legs fused together like Mermaid Baby on the Discovery Channel. You have to DO something in order to earn success.
Ke$ha actually wrote songs for musicians like Taylor Swift, Britney Spears, The Veronicas, and Miley Cyrus before any casual radio listener knew who she was.
I'm not saying that pop music doesn't have its bad eggs. In fact, the entire shiny golden scale of the music industry is full of them, constantly weighing bad egg against good egg trying to find the hottest and most popular sound for mainstream listeners. I'm not trying to convince anyone that "Drop It Like It's Hot" will go down in history for its exceptional contributions toward society, nor am I saying that Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night" is about anything more than laying in bed, hungover, shuffling through the leftover fragments of one helluva party the night before.
What I'm saying is that everything and everyone deserves a fighting chance. Arguably, one of the trickiest tasks a consumer can complete is to judge each and every bit of music, literature, art, fashion, film, controversy, or all of the above for him/herself, as independently as possible.
The world is quick to judge and even quicker to move on, which leaves social figures in the same sinking boat of trying to please the masses. Pop culture, if nothing else, represents a sort-of "fun house mirror" outlook on society. Throw progressive movements, trend-setting fashion, front page news, nationally syndicated television programs, public controversies, and chart-topping pop songs into one giant blender, and you'll gain unedited insight into not only your own life, but the lives of everyone in your neighborhood, school, state, and country, a vivid picture of who we are collectively, because we truly are the same from sea to shining sea.
What catches our attention is what evokes our emotion... good, bad, or strange. If something fails to do that, then it isn't pop.
While the industry is, like any other business on the planet, fueled by the all-powerful dollar, I contend that there are just as many authentic artists expressing themselves just as creatively in the pop music scene as any underground neo-soul electro house indie alternarock setting.
Just because something is popular doesn't mean it doesn't have depth.
Michael Jackson. The Rolling Stones. Cher. Stevie Wonder. Eminem. Bono. Alicia Keys. The Beatles. David Bowie. Enya. Foo Fighters. Ke$ha. No matter how you feel about any of these artists, it's impossible to deny that, at one point or another, they've all been considered popular music. Why? Because they were so damn.... popular.
But why were they popular? Rock & Roll Hall of Fame aficionados, step down now; I'm no expert. One could argue that people like Ke$ha become famous merely by chance and good looks and don't deserve stardom at all, while others, say, John Mayer, who have "worked" for their fame fully deserve it. The bottom line is, you don't become famous by doing nothing, unless you happen to be born with your legs fused together like Mermaid Baby on the Discovery Channel. You have to DO something in order to earn success.
Ke$ha actually wrote songs for musicians like Taylor Swift, Britney Spears, The Veronicas, and Miley Cyrus before any casual radio listener knew who she was.
I'm not saying that pop music doesn't have its bad eggs. In fact, the entire shiny golden scale of the music industry is full of them, constantly weighing bad egg against good egg trying to find the hottest and most popular sound for mainstream listeners. I'm not trying to convince anyone that "Drop It Like It's Hot" will go down in history for its exceptional contributions toward society, nor am I saying that Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night" is about anything more than laying in bed, hungover, shuffling through the leftover fragments of one helluva party the night before.
What I'm saying is that everything and everyone deserves a fighting chance. Arguably, one of the trickiest tasks a consumer can complete is to judge each and every bit of music, literature, art, fashion, film, controversy, or all of the above for him/herself, as independently as possible.
The world is quick to judge and even quicker to move on, which leaves social figures in the same sinking boat of trying to please the masses. Pop culture, if nothing else, represents a sort-of "fun house mirror" outlook on society. Throw progressive movements, trend-setting fashion, front page news, nationally syndicated television programs, public controversies, and chart-topping pop songs into one giant blender, and you'll gain unedited insight into not only your own life, but the lives of everyone in your neighborhood, school, state, and country, a vivid picture of who we are collectively, because we truly are the same from sea to shining sea.
What catches our attention is what evokes our emotion... good, bad, or strange. If something fails to do that, then it isn't pop.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Cause You Got A Big Ego
The funny thing about impatience is, you have to understand yourself to get over it. Just like any other stumbling block in life, I guess.
Tonight I'm too awake. I made the mistake of taking an extra nap after taking my sister to work this morning, and of course I ended up sleeping until 6:00 p.m.
All I wanted to do tonight was drink. Not go visit and spend the night with my grandma as my sister and I had planned, which we postponed for tomorrow. Not mentally peruse through the leftover wreckage of countless selfish decisions of my sophomore year of college. No, my one track mind decided it would be best if I could just somehow manage to get my hands on an ice-cold beer or two.... or ten. Sit around with friends. Meet someone new. Talk, laugh, and most importantly, drink myself into communal bliss and a half-buzzed congenial recourse that would serve as a scapegoat to my real world problems.
Because I'm underage and can't buy alcohol on my own, because I didn't have any real plans or parties to attend, and because I knew my sister would most definitely serve as the faithful watchdog to my alcoholism if she caught wind that I wanted to get my drink on tonight for absolutely no good reason other than to escape, I got angry.
She asked me, "What's wrong?"
I said, "I'm pissed for no reason. I'll get over it in a sec. Don't worry."
Then, not half an hour later, I dissected the problem and found the answer I was looking for: I was frustrated because my ego wasn't getting its way. Simple as that. I was angry because I wanted someone to give me a reason to escape the things that are just as real and present every day of my life as the couch I sleep on. The root of my predicament, as is the case 98% of the time, was selfishness.
I reminded myself that not only did I NOT have to drink to forget about my two failing grades plus a failed voice jury last semester, but I could in fact stare my problems in the face and consciously refuse to worry about them. Because, let's be honest, what good does worrying do? The fortune cookie expression I drew from this experience, among many others I could stereotypically churn out for the sake of witty blog writing, is that the more you try to escape your problems, the more power you give them over your well-being.
Life is a Pandora's box of the unexpected. Each day I'm reminded that no matter how hard I may try to weed out or simply avoid the bad, the ugly, and the bothersome in my life, there will always be a little here and there that I have to deal with. Everything's coming up roses, though, for those of us who decide that our life is ours to steer and develop, to create and move forward, to better ourselves so we can better the world around us. It's not just about me. It's about you too.
Who's that calling? Oh, it's Adulthood, and it feels healthier than ever before.
Tonight I'm too awake. I made the mistake of taking an extra nap after taking my sister to work this morning, and of course I ended up sleeping until 6:00 p.m.
All I wanted to do tonight was drink. Not go visit and spend the night with my grandma as my sister and I had planned, which we postponed for tomorrow. Not mentally peruse through the leftover wreckage of countless selfish decisions of my sophomore year of college. No, my one track mind decided it would be best if I could just somehow manage to get my hands on an ice-cold beer or two.... or ten. Sit around with friends. Meet someone new. Talk, laugh, and most importantly, drink myself into communal bliss and a half-buzzed congenial recourse that would serve as a scapegoat to my real world problems.
Because I'm underage and can't buy alcohol on my own, because I didn't have any real plans or parties to attend, and because I knew my sister would most definitely serve as the faithful watchdog to my alcoholism if she caught wind that I wanted to get my drink on tonight for absolutely no good reason other than to escape, I got angry.
She asked me, "What's wrong?"
I said, "I'm pissed for no reason. I'll get over it in a sec. Don't worry."
Then, not half an hour later, I dissected the problem and found the answer I was looking for: I was frustrated because my ego wasn't getting its way. Simple as that. I was angry because I wanted someone to give me a reason to escape the things that are just as real and present every day of my life as the couch I sleep on. The root of my predicament, as is the case 98% of the time, was selfishness.
I reminded myself that not only did I NOT have to drink to forget about my two failing grades plus a failed voice jury last semester, but I could in fact stare my problems in the face and consciously refuse to worry about them. Because, let's be honest, what good does worrying do? The fortune cookie expression I drew from this experience, among many others I could stereotypically churn out for the sake of witty blog writing, is that the more you try to escape your problems, the more power you give them over your well-being.
Life is a Pandora's box of the unexpected. Each day I'm reminded that no matter how hard I may try to weed out or simply avoid the bad, the ugly, and the bothersome in my life, there will always be a little here and there that I have to deal with. Everything's coming up roses, though, for those of us who decide that our life is ours to steer and develop, to create and move forward, to better ourselves so we can better the world around us. It's not just about me. It's about you too.
Who's that calling? Oh, it's Adulthood, and it feels healthier than ever before.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
My First Nephew
God delivered a very special gift to my family early in the spring. My older brother James and his girlfriend Saisha had their baby February 25, 2011, making Fynn Hendrix North the first male North of his generation. Some of my family were confused by my brother's choice for a name, thinking the better option would have been to name him James Franklin North IV, next in line after my older brother, Uncle Hank (whose real name is James), and Grandpa Jim (whose real name is also James).
I think it's perfect.
James is a sucker for anything related to our Celtic/Nordic ancestry, so it only seems natural that he would choose a Celtic name for his first child. And Hendrix as homage to James' undying devotion to rock.
I haven't got a chance to see him yet, but I've seen plenty of pictures and all I have to say is that he's beautiful.
In other news, we have one month left of class. Then, onto the magical fantasies and hallucinations of summer! I'm more than ready. I'm already in my swimming suit.
I think it's perfect.
James is a sucker for anything related to our Celtic/Nordic ancestry, so it only seems natural that he would choose a Celtic name for his first child. And Hendrix as homage to James' undying devotion to rock.
I haven't got a chance to see him yet, but I've seen plenty of pictures and all I have to say is that he's beautiful.
In other news, we have one month left of class. Then, onto the magical fantasies and hallucinations of summer! I'm more than ready. I'm already in my swimming suit.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Laws of Nature
School has been cancelled the past three days. This winter weather has been, at the very least, three things: untimely (but appreciated, nevertheless), prolonged, and dangerous to anyone who doesn't own hiking boots or an SUV. On top of this blanket of snow and ice is the added joy of having sewage pipes burst in my dorm building last night. Thankfully, my room was spared of any damage and/or unpleasant scents. I didn't have to throw my shit (no pun intended) into the hall at the last minute, and I didn't have to worry about finding a place to sleep that night. Not to mention the fact that I heard the university only covers $2,000 worth of damage to personal property due to weather.
Everything has been kept in an ironic state of karmic equilibrium. Yes, my friends and I have had ample free time to watch Zodiac, drink heavily, and throw empty insults at each other, but raw sewage leaking down the walls doesn't exactly bring any warmth or comfort to a certain number of unlucky on-campus residents when it's been and is forecasted to be below freezing well into next week.
Despite the enormous amount of flights that have been delayed or canceled across the country and the OKC airport completely shutting down, something tells me the Super Bowl isn't going to be canceled this weekend.
As if there weren't more important things to worry about than football, I still have yet to understand what's happening in Egypt. It's almost embarrassing that the first hint of news I heard about the turmoil was that Anderson Cooper was injured at some point. Sometimes I feel like I live in a self-induced bubble. Other times, it's more like an unintentional snow globe.
Everything has been kept in an ironic state of karmic equilibrium. Yes, my friends and I have had ample free time to watch Zodiac, drink heavily, and throw empty insults at each other, but raw sewage leaking down the walls doesn't exactly bring any warmth or comfort to a certain number of unlucky on-campus residents when it's been and is forecasted to be below freezing well into next week.
Despite the enormous amount of flights that have been delayed or canceled across the country and the OKC airport completely shutting down, something tells me the Super Bowl isn't going to be canceled this weekend.
As if there weren't more important things to worry about than football, I still have yet to understand what's happening in Egypt. It's almost embarrassing that the first hint of news I heard about the turmoil was that Anderson Cooper was injured at some point. Sometimes I feel like I live in a self-induced bubble. Other times, it's more like an unintentional snow globe.
Friday, January 21, 2011
So Many Words To Live By
My feet keep pulsating. I feel blood coursing through them more so than usual in the midst of my body's efforts at ridding itself of this pesky flu bug. Kudos, God, on creating a magnificent and self-sustaining machine.
School has been ongoing for two weeks now but it already feels like a month. Not that I should be or have a right to be complaining. Time going by quickly is just another sign that I'm staying busy. Always a good thing. The last thing my restless mind needs is ample free time to brew unhealthy thoughts, foster worry and stress, or manufacture its own personal brand of over-the-counter negativity.
In the past few months I've managed to make unbelievable mistakes and effectively disappoint the people who care about me. It sickens me to think that I let myself hurt the ones I love.
Now I have a compulsion to redeem myself and let time heal what I foolishly broke. Let God take over and repair the wounds. Let simplicity govern and love propel me. Let perspective guide my actions. And most importantly, stay focused. Tie all these special ideas together with a ribbon called prayer and refuse to let go of what I know to be true.
Well.... I've reached that point in my blog again where I my feet start lifting off the ground and my words become more and more generic but no less personal. I doubt anyone minds if, for once, I don't write about things like my dorm building flooding or seeing Cirque du Soleil over Christmas break or buying the new Kanyé album or loving the fact that Miss Arkansas did ventriloquist yodeling for her talent in the Miss America pageant.
School has been ongoing for two weeks now but it already feels like a month. Not that I should be or have a right to be complaining. Time going by quickly is just another sign that I'm staying busy. Always a good thing. The last thing my restless mind needs is ample free time to brew unhealthy thoughts, foster worry and stress, or manufacture its own personal brand of over-the-counter negativity.
In the past few months I've managed to make unbelievable mistakes and effectively disappoint the people who care about me. It sickens me to think that I let myself hurt the ones I love.
Now I have a compulsion to redeem myself and let time heal what I foolishly broke. Let God take over and repair the wounds. Let simplicity govern and love propel me. Let perspective guide my actions. And most importantly, stay focused. Tie all these special ideas together with a ribbon called prayer and refuse to let go of what I know to be true.
Well.... I've reached that point in my blog again where I my feet start lifting off the ground and my words become more and more generic but no less personal. I doubt anyone minds if, for once, I don't write about things like my dorm building flooding or seeing Cirque du Soleil over Christmas break or buying the new Kanyé album or loving the fact that Miss Arkansas did ventriloquist yodeling for her talent in the Miss America pageant.
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