Find My (own) Voice

I have zero recollection of what it was like learning to talk, not to mention learning the ins and the outs of the English language at such a young age. Thinking about it now, it’s pretty crazy that an 18-month-old can begin to learn sounds and words while stringing together basic sentences. Trying to learn a language now at the age of 28 seems almost impossible, so the idea that a small human can do that and not yet find the toilet is really impressive.

I remember mispronouncing a lot of words as I was learning - “Escalator” was “alphagator,” “Weed eater” was “weed heater” and “Houston” is *still* “Youston.” As a kid, I was finding my voice, and now as an adult, I feel like I’m back in the exact same place.

For the last eight years, I’ve spent a lot of my time learning other people’s voices, mostly for work. When you’re a content writer drafting verbiage for an employer, you’re taught to adopt a company voice, an image of sorts, and to stick to that voice. It’s what you do, and through that, I’ve found that it’s been really easy to lose the voice that I once worked super hard to learn (as an 18-month-old).

Reading content does funny things to you, whether it be in books, online, social media, whatever your outlet of choice is. You spend so much time looking at what others post, what others think and what others say that it makes it really hard to separate what’s yours from what’s theirs. It’s so easy to look at other brands, businesses and people for inspiration and to take rather than adapt, losing what’s your own and replacing it with their own. The situation usually plays out like this: I start trying to write a blog or a post, I can’t seem to process what I need to convey in my own words, I look at another’s content for ‘inspiration,’ I copy and paste the verbiage they’ve created onto what I’m trying to create, and then I try to cut, manipulate and change what’s theirs into something that can be mine. The result? A weird blend of multiple voices that aren’t streamlined, aren’t my own and lack the depth of thought and creativity that I’m capable of. And that’s frustrating.

I don’t think the point of social media, blogging, content creation or any sphere of writing is ever to create a culture of comparison. I think its intent is to provide a space that makes it comfortable to express oneself as oneself. A place the encourages and challenges creativity and self expression. That’s how we get better. That’s how we learn who we are and learn how to form our own thoughts ideas and options. It’s where we discover and learn our own voice.

That’s where I want to get back to. I’m ready to ditch the fear of comparison in my writing and ready to once again pursue my own thoughts, ideas, beliefs and creativity, regardless of what others, no matter how close they are to me, think - not selfishly, but in the most self challenging way possible.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Write.

Living to Leave the World Better, But Still Destroying It

Months go by fast these days. I feel like I’m writing consistently again, and then I look down at the date and realize it’s been almost four weeks since I took the time to create something and take it from inside my mind to outside of it.

Things fill my time, without me even realizing it. Work, recreation, reading, relationships, all good things, but all things that take seconds, minutes and hours. Something else that takes up my time? Social media. And today, I saw something on it that, quite frankly, sparked a fire deep in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve noticed that it’s become a common theme amongst my generation to (pardon my verbiage) shit on how our parents, families and role models raised us, particularly in the Christian demographic, which I am part of and quite accustomed to. I do this myself, often. I take all the negative things that happened to me as a young person growing up in a Bible-Belt, Christian culture, and I demonize the entire experience. I pick it apart, filleting negative memory after negative memory, until I create a cynical soul inside my being toward everything and everyone that tried only to love me.

Here’s the thing:
people are not perfect. Parents are not perfect. Pastors are not perfect.
People hurt. Parents wound. Pastors are human.

And guess what? The people who raised us - their people, parents and pastors were not perfect either, and people still hurt people, parents wounded their children, and despite popular belief, the Saints were humans too.

I’m really tired of my personal droning and others’ droning on and on about how messed up we are and how messed up our world is because of those who raised us. This is not a specific generation’s fault. This is the human experience: we are raised, we grow, we are wounded, we learn, we teach, we wound, we die, only to leave more wounds, while trying to mend where we were wounded once ourselves.

As a human, it is our only hope that we leave the world a better place for those coming after us than it was for ourselves, and while we do that, we are bound to do a lot of damage. Just as our parents, grandparents and others have done.

I remember all of the rules I grew up around in a Conservative, Christian culture: “Don’t read Harry Potter; it’s full of witchcraft.” “Don’t watch Rugrats; Angelica is rude and has no manners.” “Don’t dance, drink, swear or smoke; you’ll rot in Hell.” The list goes on. And now, I am beginning to see why it does.

These rules, while looking back, seem silly, savage and detrimental to being ‘Saved,’ but I am starting to understand not why they were rules, but more of why those raising me felt like they should be. They were trying to protect me, love me and help me grow up in a world better than the one they knew, and I cannot hate them for that.

I have been hurt. I have been wounded, and I am part of the human experience, which guarantees me of one thing: I will hurt, I will would and I am going to impact others around me with these traits. I only hope there is grace. . . and that they somehow don’t hate me for it.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Process this piece. Take it as a rough draft - not as a finished thought. As a wounded, try to understand the wounder.

What I've Learned About Goals

What does a soccer ball flying through the air at 80mph have in common with a goal? It scores, and they both terrify me.

I wish I liked goals, because you know, they get you places, but to be honest, I don’t like them much at all. They stress me out. Personally, I don’t set very many for myself, not in stone at least, and If I do set a goal, it’s a big deal. If I set a goal, it means I’m bound to something. If I’m bound to something it means I have to do the damn thing, or else I fail, and as a perfectionist, failure is worse than just about everything. Except stepping in puddles on the bathroom floor in your socks. Those are still the worst.

Goals terrify me, and for some reason, they always have.

The first goal I ever remember setting was in the fifth grade, and it was a lofty one. I was going to make 10 free throws - IN A ROW - to win our local Knights of Columbus Free Throw Competition. I remember going to the gym to practice my j’s and my free throws every day after school with my mom leading up to the big event. I’d stand at the line in my red and black T-Mac’s, brush the hair from my bowl-cut out of my eyes, take two dribbles before spinning the ball in my fingertips, and then I would stroke shot after shot up until I made ten in a row. When I missed, I would start over from the beginning and try again until I got my 10 for the day. I worked super hard to win that competition, and (humble brag) I did, but even more than that, I faced the fear I had deep down in the pit of my stomach that I was going to waste all of the hard work that I had put in over the previous few months.

Even as a fifth grader, I was aware of what it felt like to fear failing at something I cared about.

A few years ago, I set another goal. I told myself that I was going to write 100 blog posts over the span of 100 days.

When I set that goal, I didn’t have 100 topics in my back pocket that I was raring to write about. Sure, I had 15-20, but definitely not 100, which meant that more than half the time, I would sit down at my computer with no idea of what I was going to write, and I would just start typing. Eventually, words would come and slowly start to make sentences that formed the thoughts that were hiding deep in the back of my mind. It was a grueling goal to purse, but I managed to finish it. I had my busy days and late nights making sure that I wasn’t going to let myself down, and in the end, I learned a lot through the process, but I’m not sure that the thing I learned most had anything to do with writing. It had to do with goals.

Goals aren’t bad. Goals are good. I’ll fail at them, and so will you, and that’s totally okay. The most important thing is to just do them. Even after you fail. Keep doing them. Do the Whole30. Write a book. Do 5 pushups a day. Don’t kill a plant. Do the things and tell other people you’re doing them too, so they can hold you accountable and encourage you when you need it.

Don’t fear the failure. Feed the future.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Sit down and do it.

Hi, My Name is What?

Hey -

It’s me, Austin.

Oh, you forgot who I am?

That’s okay; I did too.

Let me tell you a little bit about myself these days:

I’m 27 now. I’m 27, and I’m still a Christian, but that’s been about the only consistent thing in my life throughout my 20s. Faith is important to me, as it’s about the only thing that’s kept me somewhat grounded when everything else flies up in the air in a gigantic tornado and lands about a thousand miles away from me. I go to church, read the Good Book and am fascinated by the concept of being a fallen creation with a story to live and tell.

The unspeakables are as follows: I follow the teachings of Jesus. I’m a democrat. I make enough money.

My day job consists as working as a screen printer and marketer at a local business in the heart of downtown Oklahoma City, Okla. I ended up there by chance on my journey into learning local business because everything else I have tried doing hasn’t worked out so great. This is the first job I’ve ever actually looked forward to doing day in and day out, and I’m grateful to be surrounded by encouragers, creatives and folks who want to make a difference in the community they’re in.

By night, I try to chase dreams. I want to be a writer (still), and I am learning to play the guitar cowboy chord by cowboy chord. I go to the gym, swim and listen to loads of music along the way, and I try to hit up a microbrewery for a trivia night every so often.

Relationally, I’ve got some of the best friends I’ve ever had, though they live 90 miles away, and I’m trying to make even more here in the current city I’m in. I’m trusting myself in a relationship again, after having made some major mistakes in the past, and things are going great as she challenges me, laughs with me and trusts me. I have a church home that I want to get to know more as they get to know me more, and honestly, I think that’s going to work out just fine.

My hobbies include going to coffee shops, absorbing as much music as I possibly can, following my alma mater’s sports programs, playing board games, dabbling in landscape photography and taking in stories that I can relate to.

I’m not the same as I was five years ago, and I won’t be the same five years from now. I mostly just wanted to write this so that you would know who I am today… because it’s my biggest fear that you don’t.

Cheers to breaking fears.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Know yourself.

The 26-Year-Old Identity Crisis

Last week, I had a personality evaluation with a company called Hogan Assessments. I was selected to participate in a study they were doing on young professionals, and with that, I was required to take a series of three personality tests and be a part of a one-on-one feedback session following the tests that went over my results. It was in this feedback session that my evaluator told me something point blank that I had known for a while about myself but that I hadn’t told anyone:

“You’re not necessarily a creative of the visual arts; You just appreciate the visual arts.”

The other day at work, I looked out the window to see a what looked like a 15-year-old kid operating a DSLR camera on his own in downtown Oklahoma City. He was out with his friends taking portraits, photographing the cityscape around him and executing a flawless photoshoot . . . as a 15-year-old. When I was 15, the only thing I could execute was mowing our backyard, and even that got a little dodgy around the edges. Here this kid was handling a piece of equipment worth thousands of dollars and probably getting some great experience, and he probably had to have his parents drop him off downtown to do so.

As I watched he and his friends, I couldn’t help but wonder how the sales of cameras have trended since the development of Instagram and other photo sharing outlets. I wouldn’t know if they would have increased or not with everyone, as well as their dog, owning a camera phone, but either way, 2018 feels like a time when everyone has the chance to be a photographer. As a guy who, up until recently, thought of himself as a photographer, a world full of photographers seems weird.

As of late, photography, among other things, has been a part of a weird identity crisis that I’ve been having. For example, up until recently, I held the job title of ‘Graphic Designer.’ I took on that identity. However, here’s the catch - I didn’t feel like a graphic designer because in my mind, even with the title, I was not a graphic designer. I know my fair share of graphic designers, and according to the calculations I was running in my head, what they were and what I was were not matching up.

To break that down a bit more for the sake of example, in my mind, a graphic designer is a creator - one who is able to make something out of nothing. One who can take what’s in the mind and turn it into a tangible piece of art that communicates feeling, meaning and beauty. Now, what was it that I was doing? I was replicating. I could look through designs, find one that I liked and use a design program to replicate what was done before me in a manner that fit what I needed, but I was never able to create from scratch. I felt more like a graphic replicator, not a designer. In other words, I felt more like I had been making pre-made frozen dinners in the microwave, rather than creating my own recipes for homemade meals. 

It’s hard to place when I started having my weird identity crisis, but I think a good place to look back to is when I started following epic photographers on Instagram. These folks had thousands of followers, captured spectacular imagery and traveled to the coolest places. After following those accounts, I made sure to follow some great graphic design accounts as well because photography and graphic design go hand-in-hand, right? (right? . . .) Anyway, the more I looked into these accounts and the lifestyle of these artists, the cooler it seemed. The work seemed cool, the people seemed cool and all of the Insta-cred seemed groovy too.

For a long time, I think I got confused and lost through social media and in the lives of others. I found myself trying to conform to a lifestyle that others might deem cool, and I even went to the lengths of taking on new identities to do so. Would I have ever liked photography without Instagram? Probably not. Would I have ever strived to achieve the title of graphic designer if I hadn’t seen a lot of cool hipsters online carrying that title? I kind of doubt it. Falling into comparison is a scary trap to get snagged in, and you can lose who you are and what you like along the way.

Now, I’m in the process of trying to get back to what I like, what I want to do and who I’m supposed to be. Now more than ever, I’m terrified of falling back into the trap of comparison and into another identity crisis along the way, and while this current, mini identity crisis has had it’s wake-up calls, it’s also had it’s perks.

For one, I appreciate art now. I appreciate design and its process, I appreciate photography and those who do it for more than a double-tap, and I appreciate aesthetic more than I could have ever imagined. I have learned to appreciate what I’m not, rather than to covet it, and I have (hopefully) learned to embrace who I am, rather than compare myself to what others are.

While living in a world full of photographers may feel weird at times, it’s also pretty cool because I know it’s giving others the chance to appreciate things they never would have appreciated before. It’s giving folks new inspiration and the chance to find a new hobby and new art, just like it did for me. Chalk it up to a new lesson learned, a new chance to be vulnerable and another chance to write.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Comparison is the thief of joy, so don’t covet what we aren’t, but appreciate it.

Why Don't You Chase Your Goals?

Not having goals may make life feel meaningless, but having goals and doing nothing to achieve them makes it feel damning.

It never fails, the hardest thing for me about writing has always been sitting down to write. I’ll do just about everything under the sun (i.e scroll through Instagram, taxes, iron my socks) to avoid starting the writing the process. I’ll tell myself that I want to write, but I’ll then find every excuse not too.

A few months ago, I was sitting in my room one afternoon living in the middle of one of those excuses not to write, and I fell down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos from the TV show, ‘The Office.’ It was in this hole that I found something, a kick in the pants that I needed to hear. There was a video that featured interviews from the selected cast of ‘The Office’ reading lines from their future characters. In it, the actress who plays Pam, Jenna Fischer, read this line regarding her job on the show as a receptionist:

“I don’t care if they get rid of me . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do, but whatever it is, it’s got to be a career move, not just another arbitrary job. Jim’s advice was, ‘It’s better to be at the bottom of a ladder that you want to climb rather than halfway up one that you don’t.’”

That last line, the one about being halfway up a ladder that you don’t want to be up, really got to my 26-year-old self.

It’s a weird place to be in, having goals, dreams and aspirations, but not doing anything at all to pursue them. It's like looking out over something beautiful and turning away from it like you had just looked at the back of your hand for the hundredth time. It’s a realization that’s not only sad, but even more so, self-deprecating and hostile.

I have goals; They’re aspirations that I set for myself over the years based on my gifts, skill set and passions. I want to write a book one day. I want to start my own business that funnels a communal environment into a town that lacks it. I want to invest in the lives of individuals who are younger than me who are seeking the same types of things that I sought. I want to make a difference, and to be living a life that doesn’t pursue any of the differences you want to make is living a life without purpose.

There are a lot of reason why I chose (choose?) not to pursue my goals. Pursuing goals isn’t safe, and there’s risk. There’s a great possibility of failing, and is there anything scarier or more demoralizing than failing to achieve one’s goals or having others criticize your dreams?

I think not.

For a long time, I’ve felt halfway up a ladder that I didn’t want to be up. I was climbing up a series of safe steps that were comfortable and provisionary, but while they were safe steps, they were also dangerous. They were steps that were turning my hobbies into career moves and turning my goals into unachievable dreams due to lack of pursuit and experience. I was scared of failure, and I was scared of lack of provision.

Recently, at my church in Tulsa, we went through a sermon series that covered the book of Judges in the Bible. In this book, there’s an overwhelming pattern of God’s people repeating a pattern of sin and failure over and over again that looks like this: The people serve God, they fail and fall into sin, they become enslaved, they cry out to God to save them, God raises up a Judge to deliver them, they are delivered, and then the entire cycle repeats itself over and over again. The funny thing about the book of Judges and this cycle is that it’s really easy to focus on the repeating failure of the people in the story, rather than the repeating pattern of God’s redemption.

I don’t want to take this Biblical narrative out of context, but I think there’s something to be said for God’s redemption in people’s failures - even in regards to pursuing the goals and passions that He has instilled in us. It’s one thing to fail in choosing to follow our own, self-preservation narrative in rebellion to what He has put in our hearts. It’s another thing to fail at trying to follow God and the dreams He’s given us - in that, I believe God has endless patience and endless grace, and that is a good realization to believe in.

After taking a hard look at the ladder I was standing on, I’ve stepped off of it for the time being, and I’m standing at the bottom of a new one with the same old fears of failure and lack of provision. I can’t see to the top of this ladder, and I’m not exactly sure what’s supporting it; however, I feel like this is a ladder that’s made up more of the steps that lead to goals - goals that make life feel meaningful and a lot less damning.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: It’s never too late to look at what ladder you’re on.

Why We Coffee

I spend a lot of money at coffee shops- probably too much money, and you know what? So do all my friends- even the ones who don’t like coffee.

What is it about a coffee shop to a 20-something-year-old that makes it so special? Why do we ‘coffee?’

I’m one of those people that basically pays rent to a local coffee shop that I go to. I’m here all the time, and each time I go, it’s a $2 - $5 out of my pocket, depending on what I order. Some would say that’s a poor use of my money and time, and that’s why I’m writing this post- to process why a person, like myself, would pay money to have an experience they could essentially have for free.

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting in a crowded room full of strangers in an old bucket chair from the 1970’s while Creedance Clearwater Revival’s ‘Fortunate Son’ plays over the house speakers. I’ve just finished my second cup of drip coffee, and I’ve got the caffeine shakes. Somehow, this whole experience is lightyears ahead of the experience I would be having at my own house where I could practically be doing the exact same thing for free. So, I pay to have this experience here. At a coffee shop. Where I can’t take my shoes off, where I can’t ‘make myself at home’ and where I may or may not have the best wifi or seating option. 

It’s not just me that’s paying for this experience either- it’s families. Right now, there’s a mom, dad, son and daughter all sharing one couch together, drinking the beverage of their choice and pointing out the art on the walls and talking about it. It’s an experience for them. They could probably spend time together at home and do the same thing for free, but instead they chose to spend $15 - $20 to come here instead. Why?

Here are some questions on my mind:

• Why do we spend hours at these places every single week?
• Why are we spending money on an experience that we don’t need to spend money on?
• Is it the music? The lighting? The seating? The decorations? The coffee itself?
• What makes these places so different than making a cup of a coffee at home and doing work there?

Whenever I go into a coffee shop and sit down to work, my mind goes into another world. My creativity increases, I’m way more aware of my surroundings, and I can reflect on things more clearly than a mirror that just got a fresh Windex treatment. Surely, it can’t just be because of the caffeine? I can’t do this in other places; I’ve tried. Whether it’s at work in the office, at home on the couch or outside in nature, nothing seems to be able to get my mind to the level it’s at in these shops that simply serve a hot, black beverage that tastes terrible to some and like manna to others. I’ve had people tell me that doesn’t make sense- that coffee shops aren’t really that special, and maybe they aren’t to everyone. But to me and others, they are.

These are truths:

Coffee shops are places of community. People come to them to meet with other people and commune.
Coffee shops are places of art. Every single one has a unique vibe, unique art and a unique clientele. 
Coffee shops serve an ancient beverage. Coffee has been around for ages, and it’s always been a drink that people can receive and experience together.
Coffee shops are successful. There’s a reason cities can support multiple coffee businesses.

So, why do we coffee? Lots of reasons I’m sure- Lots of reasons that I don’t know and that I’m not mentioning. But if I were to try to answer that question with an answer that isn’t one of ‘the third place’ nature, it would be this:

We coffee because we want to experience the kind of rare and unique community that has been experienced for thousands of years in a place that inspires us and surrounds us with other people facing the same kind of life that we ourselves are experiencing. 

One day, I want to own one of these places that people spend a third of their week in. One day, I want to create a space that lets people come in as they are and experience a sense of community, all the while getting to know each and every person that comes in. I want it to be unique- tree house seating options available outside the building. I want it to be a place where social barriers crumble- diversity is a must. I want it to bring life- a place that sparks creativity and a place that someone actually wants to be themselves. 

Hopefully that dream can come true someday, and hopefully that dream comes true in a place that has yet to experience coffee because then they’ll know why we coffee.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: We don’t coffee for the coffee; we coffee for the coffee. 

Why Seemingly Unimportant Questions Are Important

Going to a new school for the first time is a hard thing to do. No matter if it’s college, high school, middle school or elementary school, any time you start your first day in a new place full of new peers, it’s a big deal and takes at least a small amount of courage.

When I was in the fourth grade, I went to a new school for the first time after having gone to another elementary school in the same town for Kindergarten through third grade. At my new school, my teachers saw it fitting that I was qualified enough to be in an ‘enrichment’ class, and on the first day of that class, I sat in a group with two other students- a guy named Bryce and a girl named Laura. I remember it like it was (almost) yesterday.

Both of them seemed like really cool kids, and they both seemed like they’d been at the school for a long time, so in my mind, it made total sense to try to be friends with them. I gave it my best go, and here’s how it went:

Me to Bryce: “Hey, so do you like sandwiches?”

Bryce to me: “. . .Leave me alone.”

We’ve been the best of friends ever since.

Sixteen years ago around this same time of year, I brought a peanut butter & honey sandwich to a new elementary school where I knew relatively no one, and that historic sandwich got me a lifetime friend. I knew what I had in my lunchbox, and I knew that most other kids probably had sandwiches in their lunchbox too. If I could forge some sort of commonality based on that guess with at least one other person, it could be the ‘Start of Something New’, as High School Musical puts it. (Note: Bryce did not have a sandwich in his lunchbox that day, but that’s okay; it still worked out.)

To paint a simple picture of what happened, I asked a random kid if he liked sandwiches because I knew I liked sandwiches. It was that foundation that started a conversation (kind of?), which, in turn, started a friendship. Bryce became one of my best friends, and weird questions, outlandish conversations and inside jokes no one else can understand became a staple throughout that friendship- all because of one seemingly unimportant question.

I was talking with another friend the other day about what it was like to meet people and connect with someone for the first time, and she made an interesting point: “It’s the seemingly unimportant questions that mean the most- how else are we supposed to forge connections with people?”

It was a side comment in another, broad conversation, but it was that comment and question that I’ve been thinking about most of the week because

1. it’s so true
   and 
2. that’s how I’ve met a majority of my best friends

When we ask seemingly surface-level questions, it gives us the opportunity to ask deeper questions in the future, not as a means to an end, but because you always have to break the surface to get to the depths. All questions are important in their own way, and how people respond to those questions, surface-level or not, speaks to who they are (i.e. do they answer genuinely, sarcastically, etc.). What questions do you ask?

-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: Always ask if they like sandwiches- you’ll make a friend if you do.

If I Write About Being a Millennial, Does That Make Me a Millennial?

This past Monday, Georgetown University hosted ‘Millennial Day’ at their soccer match against UCLA.

It’s 2017, and this is now a thing.

‘Millennial Day’ at #georgetownsoccer featured:

• Participation trophies for 500 fans
• A dabbing-friendly safe space
• A cable-cord-cutting station
• Stadium-wide naps during halftime
• A D.C. area Juice bar gift card raffle
• Pregame selfies with ‘Jack the Bulldog’
• Greetings with words of praise upon entry into the game
• A millennial communication section (verbal conversation prohibited - cell phone use only)
• Tickets available for just one half for those who did not want to commit to a whole game
• AND free admission if you held 3 different jobs over the last 3 years (upon showing LinkedIn profile)

Not only do I feel like this was a genius and bold marketing move to hit their target audience perfectly, but I also feel like I fit into every single one of those stereotypical categories that they were targeting… and I’m not sure how I feel about that because these marketing slogans assume at least four big things at the most basic level: Millennials are lazy, narcissistic, struggle with commitment and lack confidence. I don’t know about you (said one millennial to another), but I don’t really want to be assumed to be any of these things right off the bat.

It seems like more often than not, I hear the term ‘Millennial’ (in reference to Generation Y) in a negative connotation. Millennials are lazy, need words of affirmation constantly, can’t take losing without getting their heart broken, don’t know what they want in life, jump from job to job, only live off of their parents or off of loans, are too wrapped up in their phones and technology, etc, etc. . . the list goes on. There’s a lot to say about the generation I’m a part of, and there’s been a lot written about the generation I’m a part of- both the problems and the strengths of the generation, and this is article may just be added noise; however, this is an article about me, and about how I am (narcissism?). Maybe you can relate.

Sometimes in the workplace, I’m introduced as ‘Austin, the typical millennial,’ and as much as I’m proud of my generation and who I am, sometimes I wonder what exactly that introduction is leading me to be and what it means. Yeah, criticism can be hard for me to take, I’ve easily had three jobs in three years, I’m not sure what I want in life a lot of the time, I blog and like to travel and words of affirmation are my love language, but does that really make me like every other person in my generation? Are we all fitting into this mold that’s becoming a marketing tool to pull people into college athletic events? Or are we more than that?

Personally, I know of a lot of millennials who are doing some super amazing things. I have friends living overseas in some of the most hostile nations on the globe trying to make a difference in the world they see, I know guys running one of the most successful and thriving businesses in the city I live in, and I’ve seen friends my age start and run their own businesses like well-oiled machines with the expertise of Henry Ford. I’m not claiming to be anywhere on this level, but still, there are some pretty incredible things that people from generation Y are doing.

It seems strange to me that an entire generation (not just ‘millennials,’ but any generation for that matter) can develop a negative stigma based on they way they are. After all, each generation was brought up by a previous generation, so it seems silly to demonize a generation for being one way and not another. If anything, I’d like to believe that generations learn from the generations before them and try to do the right things they were taught and try not to make the same mistakes that were previously made. I’m not so sure that America has had its ‘Greatest Generation,’ but rather that each generation in America is brings its own unique successes and struggles. That’s what makes not only the place we live so great, but also the people have the lived here before us.

Maybe this article is millennial of me to write because it’s on a blog and because it’s about the millennial stigma, but at this point, who cares because I was born in 1991, and that’s just the way it is right now, right, wrong or just different. When I told my friend I was writing about being a millennial, I asked her if it made me a millennial. She responded with ‘L O L O L what doesn’t make us millennials?”

I agree with her. It’s who we are, and we’ll continue to write in all caps acronyms with spaces in between each letter. *Inserts ✌️ emoji*

-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: Don’t confuse millennial with hipster- no matter how easy it is to do sometimes. 

America’s Got Talent (And So Do You)

I like people watching, and not the kind of people watching that you do at the airport (though, that’s pretty good too).
Really, I like watching people do the things that they excel at.

I used to live in Seattle, which is a city crawling with people who aren’t afraid to display the things they excel at. You see talent everywhere. You see it in the mundane because artists turn roadblocks into murals. You see it in the people on the street asking for money because they’re usually playing some sort of instrument or reciting some sort of poem. You see it in the businesses, restaurants and stores because many of them have expanded to be the most successful companies in the world; however, despite seeing it all these places, I’ll never forget how seeing it in the place I lived completely changed my perspective on life.

While I was in Seattle, I lived in the Capitol Hill area of the city in an old monastery with about 20 other 18-25 year olds from around the country. These people are amazing. They taught me a lot, but one thing I’ve really been reflecting on lately is how much these people taught me to appreciate one another’s talents and how much joy there is in appreciating those talents. It wasn’t uncommon to walk through the door and see someone writing a poem, drawing a mural on the giant chalkboard or serving someone in a remarkable way. It was like watching the ’92 Dream Team in action, but probably better.

Not only was there writing, drawing and serving, but there was always, and I mean ALWAYS, music. There would be someone singing, someone playing guitar and then in another room, probably someone playing cello or something crazy like that. It was everywhere, and at one point there were at least 8 guitars that could be found laying around the house- one of which belonged to my good friend, Zack (Sack, as we liked to call him).

Zach is an awesome dude. We were roommates and slept about three feet from each other, but we never actually talked to one another much until about six months into living under the same roof. It was after this six months or so that I realized just how much I enjoyed the fact that Zack literally took his guitar anywhere he went around the house.
You saw Zack, you say Zack’s guitar. You saw Zack’s guitar, you heard Zack’s guitar, and what a lovely sound it was to hear.

That’s when I remember it hitting me: people are talented, and I really enjoy when people share their talents.

There’s just something transfixing about watching a person execute what they’ve worked hard at all their life. It’s more than a state of being entertained, and it doesn’t have to be on a grand, extraordinary stage; It’s about tuning into someone’s God-given creativity and soul and sharing an experience with them. It’s something deep that can connect you to a person’s core, and it’s amazing when you think about it.

People, as in the entire human race, are talented- like really, really talented, and we should enjoy that, share in that and encourage it. The world is full of crafters, business people, artisans, athletes, geniuses, storytellers and more, and we all have something like that engrained into our core. Which one are you?

-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: Don’t take for granted someone’s ability to do something special, in any sense of the word.

Joe Nichols & The Genius Behind the Like Button

Heartbreak sucks, especially middle school heartbreak. 

The first time I ever experienced what I thought was ‘heartbreak’ was in seventh grade, and I thought that I had found the girl for me. We were young and went to different schools, but still, things were going to work out because we went to the movies together nearly every weekend, and we even held hands.

Then, things didn’t work out.

I guess we thought differently because after a couple of months of movies, MSN Messenger conversations and phone calls, this girl destroyed my world. I remember that instant messenger conversation like it was yesterday. All it took was one quick message from her friend to let me know that she wanted to break up, and after that, my seventh-grade world crumbled. I’m not sure what it was that did it- maybe it was my sweaty palms, the fact my voice hadn’t changed yet or because I hadn’t had braces to fix my overlapping two front teeth, but whatever it was, we were done, and I felt like she’d ripped my beating heart out of my chest and ran over it with her friend’s golf cart. 

You may be wondering what that experience drives a brokenhearted, seventh-grade boy to do. Well, let me tell you. It drove me to listen to Joe Nichols’ ‘Brokenheartsville’ from a fresh new copy of ‘Totally Country 4’ on CD. I remember sitting in my dark bedroom late at night trying to go to sleep while listening to that song on repeat because my 13-year-old self felt like it could empathize with the chorus so much: 

I think the devil drives a Coup de Ville
I watched them drive away over the hill
Not against her will. I’ve got time to kill
Down in Brokenheartsville.

Obviously, there is nothing at all in that chorus for a seventh grader to really empathize with (mostly because seventh graders don’t drive and because the devil probably drives a Chevy, not a Coup de Ville), but I sure felt like the guy in that song at the time, and I imagined that Coup de Ville was the same golf cart that had run over my heart. The truth is, at the time, heartbreak feels like it’s the end of the world- especially when all you want is someone to like you; however, isn’t that what we always want? Want folks to like us. 

Now a days anytime I feel like I’m unliked, society has created an absolutely magnificent invention to numb the pain: the like button. 

Honestly, i’m not sure why it’s taken me this long to write about the significance of this sweet self-esteem boosting sidekick. After all, the like button has been on the social media scene since February of 2009 (!!), and it’s been there for me ever since. It’s like that friend you have that never lets you down- you know, the one that goes to Taco Bell with you at 2am even though you both know what it can do to your body. On the real, any time I’ve felt unliked, whether it was missing an invite to a party, things not working out with a girl or just sitting around bored with no plans, I can post something to social media (like this blog), wait 10-15 minutes, and more times than not, at least someone will throw a self-esteem boost my way with a tap of their finger or mouse. It doesn’t take much, after all- Two seconds of their time to acknowledge my post (that took way more than 2 seconds of my time), and I feel a million times better.

Give me all the likes
Make me feel good
Tell me you like me
Put it in my veins

Doesn’t that sound so much better than listening to a sad country song written in 2002 that’s impossible to empathize with? I sure think so. Where was this thing at in seventh grade?

The like button is a genius invention for a generation that seeks to be validated by our peers, role models and society as a whole. It’s a numbing medication for the unliked, a crutch for the crippled Saturday night plans and an addiction for the unvalidated. It serves its purpose and more; however, it does have its letdowns, just like anything else, because just as it takes only a couple of seconds to ‘like’ something, the effects of those ‘likes’ only last a couple of seconds themselves.

This isn’t a post to bash social media, discourage posting on social media or call out a generation’s enjoyment of social media and its interactions; it’s a post to express the way I’ve used it personally to medicate and treat my unliked wounds. Social media is an ocean I’ve fished for likes on for a long time, and it’s a medium that I’ve caught a few on. I love sharing what’s going on in my life with others, my writing and my creativity, but sometimes I wonder whether or not I love the getting ‘likes’ part more.

I hope I don’t.

But odds are as soon as I post this, I’m going to be trolling through my notifications hoping someone will like me. 

-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: Likes drive a Coup de Ville too. 

I'm the Judge. I Probably Won't Set You Free.

In my last blog, I talked about my fear of judgment from others. This time, I’m going to talk about my fear of judging others because honestly, it’s terrifying. 

Like most people I know that go to Church, I’m a part of a ‘small group’ (Connect Group, Core Group, Life Group, Gathering Group, Adults R Us Group, F.I.S.H. Group (Friends In Service To Him) . . . throw whatever kitchy group name you want in there). It’s in these small group settings that internally, I morph into the biggest judge the world has ever seen. Think Judge Joe Brown (but bigger). From the moment I walk into the room, I start my evaluation process typically using the ‘Who, What, When, Where, Why’ process. It goes something like this:

Who’s that? What are they doing here? When are they going to stop talking so I can talk? Where are the people I actually care to talk to? Why are there no good snacks this week?

These are just a few of the questions I start asking myself that begin the trial in my mind that lasts the entire evening. After all, judging 8-15 people and their thoughts and presentation, the food and the group material all in one night takes a lot of work.

As I sit there selfishly trying to determine my verdicts, I do the one thing all great judges do: I take shelter. I hide behind my internal podium and let the lawyers go to work so I don’t have to say anything. I cover up all my own thoughts, feelings, ideas and personality because, back to last week, I’m terrified that everyone else is doing exactly what I’m doing- judging me. I’m scared they’re holding their own court, while I’m the one on trial. No joke- last year during a small group I was in, I didn’t say a word during a discussion for 9 WEEKS because I was so scared other people were going to be judging me the way I was judging them. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say; it was that I didn’t want to sound ridiculousness to them. Isn’t that so interesting? That at what’s supposed to be a ‘Christian’ gathering, aka: a judgment free zone, the only thing I seem to do is judge. And I can’t seem to figure out how to get my mind to stop. At the heart of it all, the biggest reason I’m scared of being judged is because I’m the biggest judge of others. As soon as I meet someone, something or some situation, I’m evaluating it and determining whether I think whatever it is is good enough.

Now, here’s the reason this is a fear of mine. Not only is being a judge when you’re not a judge completely unwarranted and wrong, but being a judge steals the very thing I treasure most. I’m scared of judging others because judging others robs community of its entire purpose, and I need community. Judging others steals vulnerability, authenticity and true relationship, and it’s community that brings friends, faith and accountability. Three things I (we?) all need.

This fear is a fear I’m glad I’m finally aware of, and I hope it’s a fear that dethrones me from my judgment seat. I wouldn’t mind losing my seat. After all, I didn't even go to law school, and I think the world has enough judges without my gavel in the mix.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: If you aren’t a judge, don’t try to be one. 

* authors note:  this is a post of honesty.  please do not feel judged or like i'm judging you next time we interact. i'm working and praying hard to resolve the above mentioned issue. thank you for your patience with me as a human. * 

If Fear Leads to the Dark Side, Am I A Sith?

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a bench on the west side of Guthrie Green Park in Downtown Tulsa. This happens to be the same bench that I ripped a hole in my pants on nearly a year and a half ago- a hole that ripped down the entire crotch of my pants in the middle of my work day on my lunch hour.

At that time, I was new to Tulsa and didn’t really have anyone to go to lunch with, so I swung by Jimmy Johns on my own and thought I’d head down to the park to eat my sandwich because what better place is there to eat a sandwich (sadwich?) by yourself? Anyway, as soon as I got out of my truck and went to sit on a bench to enjoy my delicious Turkey Tom, my pants ripped, sending me on an emergency run to Gap for a new pair of khakis and sending me back to my truck to eat my sandwich in the confines of closed doors because that’s what you do when you have a hole in your pants that’s the same size as the hole in the ozone layer.

Not much has changed since that afternoon a year and a half ago; however, at the same time, so much has.

-This same bench is still sitting here, and I’m still sitting on the same bench.
-I still don’t know many people in town.
-I’m still pretty shy and nervous about what people will think of me eating alone.
-I’m still dressing the same( though I try to buy sturdier pairs of pants).
-I still like the same food, same music and same sports teams.

All of those things seem the same. But at the same time, my entire world looks different.

I’m not wearing ripped pants, and I don’t have that same truck that sheltered my holy pant shame a year and a half ago. Come to think of it, I don’t even have those replacement pants. I have a new job, live in a different house and have covered my body with a few new tattoos to remind me of where I’ve been and why. I have a few new friends, and I’ve sadly lost a few old ones, and each one of these small, but big things, really has the scenery around me looking differently than I ever could have imagined it back then.

Since the last time I sat on this bench, I’ve made a lot of mistakes- most of which everyone around me is aware of, yet at the same time, I’ve done a lot of things to try to fix those mistakes and make sure they don’t happen again. Through some counseling, accountability and growing up, I’m a different person than I was then, and I’d like to think so for the better. But what if I’m not. What if I’m just a different person?

-Last time I sat here, I was more confident.
I was more confident because no one knew my mistakes.

-Last time I sat here, I was more sure of who I thought I was and who I thought I wanted to be.
I had goals, and those goals were shaping how my world looked.

Now, I lack confidence, care astronomically more about what people think about me and about what I create, I have almost zero goals, and did I mention I care way too much about what people think of me? It’s the soul reason I haven’t written a blog in 8 months, haven’t posted anything related to my personal life in more than a year on any social media outlet, and honestly, the reason I spend so much time behind a camera rather than in front of one- you can’t see me. Fear is the root. What you see (or don’t) is the stem. I don’t want to see what kind of plant that could bloom. 

Everyone says perfect love casts out fear. All my Christian friends say that if you know God’s love, it’s perfect, and therefore, I shouldn’t fear. I guess maybe I’m still trying to understand that love because Lord knows, I’m still living in a lot of fear- At least over ripping my pants, anyway  

In the mean time, it’s nice to write again, folks. Cheers to you.

-Cliff

Cliff’s Note: Writing without fear of judgement feels great; do it more often. 

Super 'Bowles'

In seventh grade, I played football. 

I know it's easy to look at me now and think, "He doesn't look like he used to do anything," but it's true; back in my middle school days, I played football, and I was your typical seventh grade football player with hopes, dreams and aspirations to one day be playing football in college and eventually the NFL. Looking back now as a 25-year-old, if those hopes and dreams had come true, I could very well be playing in today's Super Bowl, which is kind of unfathomable (Yes, the title of this post is a pun on my last name). Just think about that right now as you're reading this; you're reading the words of an almost Super Bowl player . . . kind of. You're basically in the presence of a celebrity.

Anyway, back in seventh grade football, I played quarterback. I wasn't the starter, but during the second game of the season, our starting quarterback got hurt within the first quarter of the game, so you know what that means- I became the starter.

It wasn't long after I'd gotten into the game that we came to a third down and short situation from our opponent's 40-yard-line. Our coaches decided to call a play called a "quarterback sneak." If you're unfamiliar with football, this is a play in which the quarterback immediately takes the ball from the center and chargers forward with the help of the offensive line, and it's a play that usually guarantees a short yardage gain, but nothing more than that. It's a great third and short play call. Anyway, the coaches called the play, I relayed it to the huddle, and we lined up at the line of scrimmage. I called the signal for the snap, and then things began to unfold very slowly . . . What was a play designed to gain a yard or so slowly but surely evolved into a 40-year-touchdown run. After I took the snap, the defense didn't even flinch, so I just ran (not very fast) right by them toward the end zone in complete shock of what was happening.

This was the first touchdown I'd ever scored in a regulation football game, and it was a complete fluke. I was in shock, my adrenaline was pumping and I'd just sprinted as fast as I could 40 yards down a football field all while hearing, "That's Austin Bowles of Duncan with the touchdown" blaring over the field's PA system. Usually this results in a celebration for players and teams; however, for me, it resulted in puking up all the red Gatorade I'd indulged in earlier on the bench when I thought I wasn't going to play onto my wristband that had all the plays listed on it. This ruined for the rest of the game and made play calling for the rest of the afternoon quite difficult. 

This story is quite memorable, not so much because of the touchdown, but more so because of the throwing up, which is seemingly the worser of the two moments (obviously). It's funny how that's often the case in life; it's always easier to remember and reflect on the bad moments more so than the great moments. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because we tend to learn more lessons from bad moments than we do good moments. 

Good moments are great, but it's the bad moments that we learn and grow from. From the example above, I don't know that I learned a lot from scoring that touchdown, other than maybe that I should cut to the outside the next time I break free from a quarterback sneak play; however, I did learn a lot from throwing up all over my priceless wristband. I learned to never drink two bottles of red Gatorade before a game, and I learned to always be ready to go because you never know when you'll have your number called and have people counting on you.

It's funny when you can look back on stories from your life and still find lessons you learned x-number-of-years-ago applicable to life today. Sure, maybe the Gatorade lesson isn't one that I learn from each day, but I can definitely still learn from my 7th-grade self on being a reliable team member, even when I'm riding the pine. 

What's a lesson you learned as a kid in a weird way and what's one way you can apply it now?

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Limit: 1 red Gatorade/athletic activity 

There's No Safety on a Tightrope

If you've ever seen a tightrope walker perform, then you know that it might be one of the most stressful things the human eye can watch. If you haven't, just imagine watching your favorite sports team play the final seconds of a game in which they have the ball down by one and have to score to win the game- and then multiply that stress level by about 20. That's what it feels like watching a tightrope walker perform. 

Yesterday, I was working an event at work (Cirque du Soleil), and there just so happened to be a tightrope walker in the act. But he wasn't just any tightrope walker; He was THE tightrope walker- the one and only one in the performance. And he was good. Really good. He was so good in fact that not only did he walk on the tightrope, but he also did: headstands, flips, jumps, balanced contortion and, last but not least, unicycling- all on the tightrope.

Watching this portion of the performance brought me out of my 25-year-old self. I felt like one of the kids in the audience as I watched. I ooh'd and ahh'd. I cringed and gasped. I even found myself subconsciously moving in my seat trying to will the performer into balance with my own movements. Needless to say, he didn't need my help. 

Watching tightrope walkers perform is stressful for a the obvious reason of not wanting them to fall to serious injury or their death (depending on height). Anytime there's a slight lean to the left or right, it's only natural to lean the opposite direction yourself to try to will them back to the center. It makes sense, but sadly, it doesn't really help them out much. They're pretty much on their own.

It's funny how much I've felt like a tightrope walker these past few politically-charged months in America. I've felt like I've had to walk on this narrow, straight line without leaning too much to the left or to the right because if I do, I'll fall to serious injury or death. As I've tried to walk this narrow rope, I've had people to both my left and my right, each trying to will me to their side of of the rope and away from the other side for fear I may fall victim to what's on the other side. On both sides of the rope are people I respect and trust, but yet why can these people on each side say such awful things about the people I respect and trust on the other side? I have to admit, it's been stressful. Like watching a tightrope walker. Except I am the tightrope walker.

Picking a side isn't safe- much like tightrope walking isn't safe. Holding an opinion isn't safe- especially in a cultural that's so quick to label one as "hating" the moment there's disagreeing opinions. Voicing an opinion leaves you vulnerable to fall to one side or another and to be scorned by the other side for doing so. There's cultural risk involved and a risk of upsetting someone you may respect and care about because it might not be the side that they lean to. However, is tightrope walking really the best way to live? Is it best to go through life keeping your thoughts to yourself and trying not to fall to one side or another so as not to step on any toes?

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But one thing is for sure: to really love people and stand up for them and for what you believe in, it often requires picking a side. Otherwise you're silent. And when you're silent, much like I have been as I've tried walking my tightrope, you're watching the problem grow, and when you just watch and do nothing, you become part of why the problem is a problem in the first place. Loving people isn't safe and safe isn't always best.

With that, I want to end this post with a poem my friend Landry Harlen wrote a few months ago for This Land Press. In his words, "Safety is never worth hate."

Safe

Added a padlock to the fence,
I am safe,
nine different passwords,
I am secure.

New model with crash sensor,
we are safe,
no needles for my kids,
they are secure.

No secondary colors,
no strangers with strange names.
Let’s just play it safe.

Pistol under the pillow,
pistol in the purse,
pistol in the pocket,
semi-automatic in the safe.

No more movie theaters,
no more marathons,
no more Bible groups,
no more company parties.
Safe.

More SPF,
more insurance,
more check-ups,
more pills,
more cages.

WE ARE SAFE.

-Cliff

Landry's Note: "Safety is never worth hate."

The Best Vacation Ever

I know what you're thinking. You saw the title of this post and immediately thought, "Oh, wow. That's why he hasn't written in so long; he's been gone on 'the best vacation ever.'" I know that was your immediate thought, so I'm really bummed I have to break your heart and tell you that's not true. Sadly, I didn't just stop writing because I was on an epic vacation. however, I did hear about the best vacation ever the other day, and I'd like to tell you about it. 

Last Thursday afternoon, I met up with a friend for lunch at a small, downtown grill. He's one of those 'new' friends that I'm still in the process of getting to know, so there were a lot 'get to know you' questions going on, which I totally don't mind at all. He asked about my work. I asked about his wife. So on and so forth. . .

Eventually, the conversation got down to swapping stories about what our most memorable family vacations were growing up. I told him mine, and then he told me his. I listened closely as I finished mopping up my remaining chip crumbs. His was good, really good. But not for the reasons you might think. His wasn't about a trip to New York, Universal Studios or Europe; it was about a day-trip to Canada.

This friend of mine spent some of his childhood growing up in the Great Lakes Region of the U.S. with his parents and three siblings. At the time, his dad was working for a church and going through seminary classes. That being the case, he told me they obviously weren't the wealthiest family in town; in fact, at the time of this vacation, they didn't really have much of anything as far as money-standards go. They had $2.

It was a holiday weekend, and his dad wanted to do something special for the family to celebrate, so they settled on making the drive to Canada for the day. They took the car they had with the gas they had in it, drove up to an area just across the border that was on the water, and they spent the day together. They went to a Canadian McDonalds, shared two hamburgers amongst six individuals, and then they headed home. That's it.

In my mind, that was the best vacation ever.

I don't want to put any words in this friend's mouth or add any falsity to his story, but in my mind as he told me this story, I couldn't help but imagine what this vacation was probably like in my head. The car ride conversations, the games being played at the water's edge, the fighting over who's turn it was to take a bite of one of the hamburgers. . . it was just all so real. And so great. 

It may seem crazy to think that. It wasn't an extravagant vacation, it wasn't expensive, and it wasn't extensive. Rather, it was quite simple and didn't really cost more than $2. There was something about hearing that story, though, that made my heart the happiest it had been all week. I can't tell you why, and I can't tell you why I think it was the 'best vacation ever', but I can tell you this: It was a story that was simple, raw and full of a family's love at its finest, and it was a story that I hope one day I can rewrite for my own family if I ever have one. Next stop, McDonalds.

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Maybe there's a reason they're called 'Happy Meals'. 

The Thanksgiving Holiday Feels

The holiday feels aren't being felt. 

It's Thanksgiving, yet this might be the most removed from a holiday I've ever felt. I've been so busy with work, life and everything else, that the fact it's the holiday season hasn't even begun to set in with me. It's like I haven't had time to even think about feeling thankful, but when I do try to think about it, the more it seems to jump out to me how weird of a word Thanksgiving is. At the root of it is the word, "thanks," and at the end of it is the word, "giving." Looking at it this way is funny because rarely does anyone, myself included, say thanks after they give or feel thanks. 

I realize the actual word is meant to represent the "thanks we give" for all that we're thankful, but still. It's a funny thought to give to someone and say thank you, rather than to say thank you just upon receiving something from someone; however, giving is a blessing, and I think it's good to be thankful for opportunities to give, just as it is to be thankful for opportunities we've received. As the Proverb says, "The generous will themselves be blessed, for they share their food with the poor." Not only is the blessing of receiving something to be thankful for, but so is the blessing of giving. 

Even though the heart behind Thanksgiving is being thankful for all we have, maybe it's important to be thankful for all we have gotten to give, as well. After all, it's better to give than receive, and where things are better, things call for more thanksgiving.

Another issue I'm having with feeling thankful this Thanksgiving is being self conscience about where the thankfulness I do feel is coming from. I feel thankful that I have a warm car to drive in. I feel thankful that I have a home to drive to, and I feel thankful that I have family and friends surrounding me to see every time I open a door. No matter where I turn, or what I do, I'll always be able to find someone to support me, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. It's definitely something to be thankful for, but in reality, why I am thankful? Am I thankful for what I have been blessed with or am I thankful that I'm not in someone else's shoes- someone else's shoes who might not have shoes, someone who is in need.

I’m not the young man sitting on the corner in Downtown Tulsa holding a sign that says, “I take smiles.” I’m not the girl that’s been abused so many times that she can’t even look a stranger in the eye. I’m not the man trying to take care of his young daughter day by day always trying to find somewhere safe to sleep. By comparison, I’m thankful because I’m not in any of these positions.

I have friends. I have family. I have food, clothes and shelter. I'm blessed beyond measure. “Look how much God has blessed me,” I think to myself.

I have become thankful from comparison rather than from compassion. The moment I start to compare myself to others, I begin to feel boastful or “better than."

Jesus was the opposite. Jesus “felt compassion on the crowds” when he saw them. He empathized with people and served them.

“When we are in the presence of others who are better, we become discontent, yet when we are in the presence of God, even our minds will find gratitude.”

When we dwell on God, we switch from feeling inadequate to feeling gratitude and thanksgiving. We don’t begin to compare ourselves to God, but we, in our smallness, begin to wonder that God would even care for us in our smallness, and we can certainly take joy in that. Hopefully the thought of that will start sparking some holiday feels. 

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Sometimes you have to think to feel and feel to be thankful. 

Another One 'Fights the Dust'

I don't want to start this post off by bragging, but I'm going to. I'm probably one of the cleanest people you'll ever meet. I know that "cleanliness is next to godliness" isn't in the Bible, but by the way I live, you'd think it was.  

Ask anyone who knows me at least somewhat well, and they'll tell you I'm one of the cleanest, most organized guys they know. From the closet in my bedroom, to the desktop on my computer in my office at work, everything seems to have it's spotless space, and everything is right where I've organized it to be. My bosses will even come into my office at times, gaze upon my glimmering, spotless desk and ask me why I don't have any work to do or why I'm not working. It's become somewhat of a running joke now, but at first, I really believe that they didn't think I was doing much of anything because of the lack of work looking items on my desk. After all, who could blame them? My workspace does look like it came straight out of a Mr. Clean commercial (dusts off shoulders). Some might call it OCD, others might call it being a perfectionist, but whatever you call it, it is what it is, and it's very, VERY clean.

This morning, my parents came over to my house for a quick minute before we went to breakfast, and of course, before they arrived, I had to make a point to make sure everything was clean and in its place. This entailed me waking up at 7:20 a.m., starting laundry, cleaning my kitchen and bathroom, and vacuuming the house. I knew they were only going to be here for 5-10 minutes, but still, I had to make sure everything was spotless. I'm a freak right?

Yes. Probably.

I'm not sure why I always have to have everything perfect and in order by my standard. In fact, although it may be clean, it probably drives my roommate and others around me crazy at times. They probably get tired of having to try keep things clean on my account, and they probably get annoyed with the weirdness I have of keeping things clean. But despite all the cleanliness and despite all the effort I put into making things look clean, there's still a lot of dirt, and not even my roommate and the people closest to me can see it.

There's something about vacuuming the floor, dusting off the shelves and cleaning the kitchen that makes a home feel clean, especially on the surface. Those are the areas that are visible to the naked eye. But what about the areas that aren't? What about the drawer in the kitchen that's crammed so full of kitchen utensils that they're all in tangled knots? What about the space under all the photo frames that's collected dust for months because they haven't been picked up and dusted under? It's easy to shove something in a drawer or a closet and make things look clean on the surface, but it takes work to do a deep clean and get all the hidden dust, dirt and mess. The same is with life.

It's easy to go through life looking clean on the surface. It's easy to shower, be well groomed and dress the part, but it's hard to get clean what's underneath the surface of the skin. It's hard to detox the soul, cleanse the spirit and get rid of all the messiness that's in the mind. It takes work to clean these things, and they're things that anyone looking at the surface wouldn't know need to be cleaned. Most everyone I know looks just peachy on the outside (minus guys like me trying to get through no shave November when they have no business trying to grow a beard), but I think we all have some mess that we hide on the inside that could use some cleaning.

What's hidden in your closet or stuffed in a drawer? What on the inside needs to be picked up and dusted under?

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: There's always some dirt; even when you can't see it. 

Why Saying 'No' to Popcorn at the Movies is Hard

Every time I go to the movies, there's a commercial that comes on the big screen following all of the upcoming movie previews. You may have seen this commercial too. It starts out with a blank white screen with a voice over that tells you to turn off your cellphones. Then, immediately following the voiceover, you start to hear popcorn being popped, and the image of perfect, buttery popcorn kernels start to fill the screen. Slowly, the popcorn begins to fall from the bottom of the picture revealing text that tells you the theatre is equipped with the best DLP Digital Projection. That's when the ice drops, and things get real. Ice cubes begin to fall from what appears to be Heaven, and the sights and sounds of Coca Cola filling up the screen take over your senses. After that, it's game over for me and at least three other people in their theatre. We all shamefully shuffle our way out to the concession stands to get over-priced popcorn and a giant ice-cold Coca-Cola because of the ridiculously unfair advertisement's use of the best DLP Digital projection and because we just can't deny ourselves. 

As a marketing and advertising professional myself, I can't hate on or deny good advertising when I see it. That movie theatre's advertising to get people to buy some last minute popcorn and soda-pop is some of the best advertising I've ever experienced personally, bar none; however, there's something else about me absolutely having to HAVE  that popcorn and coke that speaks more to the human existence than to that advertisement: Self-denial is the apex of human difficulty.

For me personally, some of the hardest things in life are waking up early instead of sleeping in and saying 'no' to that movie theatre popcorn. It's not that sleeping in on occasion, getting good rest and eating popcorn at the movies are bad things, they're just examples of things that I have a hard time controlling. These things tend to control me and point out the real struggle I have with denying myself and the cravings I have that I know I won't be happy about later. These are my self-denial woes, and though your self-denial woes may look different than mine, I think we all have them. We all have a hard time sometimes saying 'no' to our in-the-moment cravings when those cravings might not always be what's best for us or what we really want in the long run. 

Most of us can say that in the long-run, we all want to look good and feel good; however why is it so hard to look good and feel good? One could blame pizza. After all, pizza sure looks good and sure feels good to eat, but too much pizza is counter to that deep long-run desire of wanting to look good and feel good. It's difficult to look good and feel good because we all have in-the-moment cravings that distract us from our long-term desires and goals. Self-denial takes a back seat, while the craving creature rears its ugly head. Its like what our bodies want, our minds don't, and what our flesh craves, our spirits want starved. 

When I write, I tend to write in stories and metaphors. While there's truth to these stories, metaphors and examples, there is often something deeper to the stories and examples. In this case, I really do crave popcorn, sleep and pizza (who doesn't?) and, I really do struggle denying myself those things in the moment. That's why it's easy to write about; however, there are other things I crave more that distract me from what I want in the long-run in life and in my relationship with my Creator. It's the problem of self-denial that sometimes gets in my way, and I think sometimes, in humanity's way. It comes down to this question: Are our minds and our spirits stronger than our bodies and our cravings?

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: What our bodies want, our minds don't, and what our flesh craves, our spirits want starved. 

"Help!" Cries the American Millennial

Imagine for a quick moment that you, not being a nuclear physicist, are sitting at a table drinking coffee with Albert Einstein, Ernest Rutherford, Isaac Newton, Marie Curie and Niels Bohr as they discuss nuclear physics for a couple of hours. How much do you think you'd have to contribute to the conversation? Do you think you'd say anything, or do you think you'd just sit there trying to take it all in and keep up with a dumbfounded look upon your face?

- - -

Today, I sat at a table with five guys, all of whom are close friends of mine, over brunch, and I didn't say a word for more than an hour and a half. We had fresh biscuits and gravy, eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, coffee and mimosas, a brunch for the ages, as we celebrated one of our friends being back in town from grad school. Now, you might ask, how does someone sit at a table with five friends over a celebration brunch like that and not say a word the entire time (Aside from because of having a mouth full of food)? Easy- the person, in this case me, has no opinion or idea of how to communicate or keep up with the topic of conversation being discussed at the table- kind of like the situation illustrated above, except the topic of discussion wasn't nuclear physics and my five friends aren't nuclear physicists; the topic was politics and the U.S. government, and they're just American citizens.

The only C I ever received in school was in my U.S. Government class that I took for college credit my junior year of high school. This was in 2008, an election year, making it a perfect year to take U.S. Government. There was always something to to talk about in class, and there were always some heated debates between the students; however, It was in that class that I really understood that I didn't understand politics, and it was in that class that I began to learn that I had a really hard time learning the American political system. At the time as a 17-year-old, it was easy to use the excuse, "I just don't like politics," as a way to explain my below-normal C grade that I'd received for my lack of class participation and terrible exam scores; however, now that I'm 25, that excuse does not and cannot work anymore. I've gone from simply not understanding politics as a 17-year-old to the extreme of not even being able to hold a political opinion or discussion of any kind as a 25-year-old fully-functioning member of American society. That's not okay.

At today's brunch with the guys, political terminology so simple as "taxes," "foreign policy," and "house of representatives" was being discussed, and I couldn't even define what those things were in my head, much less provide some sort of opinion or insight into the concepts themselves. The truth that I didn't and don't understand democracy or the U.S. government as a whole was never as real as it was today at 12:15 p.m.

But what can I do, and am I alone in this as an American Millennial who grew up thinking I didn't like politics when in reality I just didn't understand them? 

This year's election is one of the craziest elections to have ever taken place (so I hear), and sadly, it's the first election I've actually tried to form an opinion around and follow closely in order to make a justified decision on November 8th. It's an election that's frustrated me, made me scoff and made me laugh because I didn't know what else I could do.

Who can I trust? What media outlet is least biased? What friends or family am I going to offend when I have to try to justify why I voted the way I voted in two week? These are the questions that keep my mind racing and make politics and having an actual political opinion hard for a person like me who hates conflict and doesn't understand government (a terrible combination, if I do say so myself). In a day in age that's quick to peg someone with the word "hate" the moment there's disagreement in the picture, it can be scary and overwhelming. 

It's a year where it feels like the pressure is on our country, our leaders and the people electing those leaders to make justified decisions, and I simply want to be one of those people. I desire to be an informed and educated American voter who's heard both sides of the argument, qualifying me to make a justified decision, and I desire to care about and to understand the ideology of our leaders and the policies and procedures they want to lead our country with. There's no way this election comes out with everyone understanding why people voted they way they did or with everyone being happy with the end result, but regardless, like any election, it must come out with a UNITED States. I think that's something we can all care about.

-Cliff

Cliff's Note: Never not like or care about something just because you don't understand it, especially when that something runs your country.