Regarding Innocence

Innocence is truly a beautiful thing when not confused with naivety. Naivety is pure out of sheer ignorance. It falls short of virtue from the simple fact that it has not yet had the opportunity to fall. Naivety is pure out of the simple fact of youth.

I wonder if naivety is a fine as any point to start. All children, I suppose, begin with naivety. Even the most jaded of us were there at some point.

The beauty of innocence grows as one sees the world, witnesses and gains the capacity to sin, knows intimately the choice and temptation of falling. And abstains.

Methinks innocence is undervalued.

Regarding trails and Tatooine

In high school one of my favorite pastimes was jumping on a mountain bike and going riding. There was something about the freedom it entailed, journeying into the unknown, completely dependent upon oneself for both direction and momentum. The one standard for defeat on a ride was having to turn around and go back the way you came. To this day I hate turning around, my one comfort being the wise words of Lewis,  with my rough paraphrase, "If one is going the wrong way, the quickest way home is to stop what you are doing and go back".

Still, Lewis aside, the purpose of mountain biking is the journey itself, and so with my single law in place, the ride would begin.

The second guide wasn't so much as a rule, but more of a preference: when the path divided, take either 1) the one that leads farther from the known, or 2) the one you have not yet traveled. Frost knew what he was talking about. At least in the context of mountain biking.

Pulling back to the larger context, its somewhat frightening how my temperament in a temporary hobby serves such an accurate overlay for the path life has taken me.

The predictable life has always seemed contemptible to me. In part, I blame my parents, who never seemed to place stock in doing that which people expected, or falling in step to rhythm set by the drum of society. The rest of the blame lies in Luke Skywalker, and after living in Elkton of Tatooine, the contentment of the rooted seems, well....rooted.

Bleh. I've got no point to this, other than the fact that I haven't written about it before. Hence the name of the blog I suppose.

Regarding Glaciers and Dice

Its ironic that we live in a world where the one constant is change until we look at our own character. It is there, in the predispositions and outlook on life, we see a glacier-like race toward becoming something different. When we tally the enumerable amount of life experiences: grocery shopping, playing with children, riding to work, eating a meal, and compare them to the moments where a change in our fundamental being takes place, the rarity of change is highlighted.

Think back on the things that actually affected your life, the events that you can say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, placed you at a crossroads where a choice was made that would never have been predicted given your past history. This, however, is not what is most interesting.

What fascinates me is when I gather those events and analyze them, it is difficult to see any real correlation between them. Some moments of change were extremely painful moments in my life - those of great suffering. Others were simple conversations. Yet even just taking those critical conversations there seems to be little they have in common. Some were in moments of stress, others were passing comments. While some involved people that were near and dear to my heart, others were with complete strangers. Some were climactic moments that could have been anticipated, while others took place in the quiet, uneventful peace of home.

Upon reflection I pity the behaviorist who views change to be the result of the correct amount of ingredients placed in the correct situation. Life change, in my personal experience, is rarely planned, and would be impossible for me to duplicate in the life of someone else.

At the same time, those key moments always took place at just the right time. A conversation, a book, a sudden realization - all took place at just the moment with my perspective and context set perfectly to ease me to the edge, so that the insight could be appreciated for its newness and integrated into being. To hang it all on chance is equally absurd, for who believes the future of their very nature belongs to a roll of the dice?

Regarding Stairs

So my little girl is learning to walk.

I think that is actually incorrect, so let me try again.

So my little girl has learned to walk. She just likes holding peoples' hands.

In this process of learning to walk, she has a growing obsession with stairs, fitting into the pattern of her attraction to anything that could kill her. If it has sharp edges, moving parts, that is where she wants to be.

Electrical outlet? Heck yeah.

A dog three times her size? Perfect.

Stairs present a unique fascination for her, holding both a challenge for her newfound ability to walk AND can kill her at the same time. My daughter will blithely walk forward to the edge of the stairs, holding my hand, and fearlessly take a step into the toddler equivalent of the abyss. All done while cooing contentedly. The puzzling thing for me is that it is not what is at the bottom (or top) of the stairs that holds great appeal for her. It is the journey of holding the hand of her father in the face of the new danger. Attractive because its an adventure. Safe because Dada is holding my hand.