As with many things in my life, I view clothing and footwear as practical matters of necessity more than as vehicles for much personal expression. I wear the occasional funny t-shirt, and I’ll dress up for a dance now and then, but those are the exception. As items wear out, they are tossed with little thought; a dwindling wardrobe is replenished as necessary.

But this pair of shoes is different. They will be retained as backup for some time, I expect, but here and now at the end of their useful life, they deserve a modest eulogy. In their two years of service, they’ve seen a lot of floors in a lot of cities—it’s time for a few shout-outs.

Traveling has become a way of life for me now. I enjoy seeing different places and people; the variety and adventure is thrilling. But this is not something of my upbringing—indeed, perhaps it was the stability of having lived in the same house my entire childhood and youth that mentally prepared me for moving about later on. That later, though, has a very specific starting point, and the shoes have been with me since exactly that date. Read on…

A passage this morning at Community was from the letter of James, about looking to our futures:

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil. Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins.

I always feel kind of conflicted about these kind of messages. Waterloo charges me a ridiculously high tuition, but I also make a lot of money working on co-op. Even though I’m basically a pretty typical broke 21-year-old student, I have a larger cash flow and less debt than many my age.

But in saving during work terms and spending during school, where’s the line between attentiveness and worry? What constitutes reasonable planning for the future, and what is man’s folly in making his own plans? King David, in Psalm 33 says:

The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples. The counsel of the LORD stands forever, the plans of his heart to all generations.

Read on…

A year ago, I wrote:

Could my high-school self have ever predicted that he’d soon develop an irrational love of cooking, social dance, and his Apple computer?

I had no more idea then than I do now of what lies ahead. But remembering the big changes in the recent past serves to keep me open-minded about the future.

Hilarious. Could myself of a year ago have imagined he’d shortly be invited to an internship in glamorous New York, working on one of the most advanced JavaScript codebases in existence, with some of the most interesting and knowledgeable people in the business?

As another year ticks by, it’s another sobering reminder to remain open-minded to the future and at peace with the present. Everything’s in the Lord’s hands anyways.

Around the end of the summer, I titled a post “Five Resolutions” and began drafting some pledges for the upcoming school term. Looking at it now, I realise that there were only ever three, and I’ve really just kept the easiest one of them.

What’s to say? It’s back to school: studying, cooking, hanging out, cycling, and dancing, but less of each than I feel like I’d like. It’s not that I’m wasting huge tracts of time either; there’s simply a lot going on.

One of the byproducts of being busy is that it seems to make the mind a fertile breeding ground. It’s frustrating to feel full of interesting notions and project ideas when I have the least amount of time to explore them.

These days are just packed.

I surprised myself in senior year when I signed up to take Writer’s Craft. I’d never liked the writing process; my so-called poetry was a disaster of fictitious emotion, my stories seemed to launch grandiose plots that went nowhere, I regarded essay composition as the sort of suspicious art mastered by those whom I felt sure would vault themselves directly from business school to corporate management.

But I did take Writer’s Craft, and I enjoyed it; when inspired, and not under duress, I could enjoy writing. I’ve always been good at explaining things to people: teaching and tutoring are incredibly rewarding activities.

So in some ways it’s perfectly understandable that I’d have spent the two intervening years writing on a website and writing a book. And in others, it’s very strange. Read on…

My birthday is fast approaching. Turning twenty is a pretty major milestone, but it’s hard to feel particularly emotional about it.

The curtains are being drawn on my adolescent years—my last chance (for about fifty years) to use age as an excuse for irresponsible behaviour. Should I get smashed and burn something down, channelling years of unspent teen angst into a single concentrated act of catharsis? Read on…

I’ve developed the utmost sympathy for babies who cry at night from the pain of their new teeth cracking through the gums.

Like everyone’s, my wisdom teeth are enormous chunks of bone that show up late for the mouth-party. There’s also the distinct probability that they are appearing in the wrong position and/or orientation.

Feeling around ‘back there’, I can tell that on my lower-right tooth, one of the four corners, turrets if you will (my sincerest apologies to oral professionals), has broken through. The other three hover directly beneath a thin layer of gum, stretched taut, and raw to the touch.

If I could leave them alone, I’m convinced that they’d hurt less than they do now. But the activity of computer programming, which I engage in all day long and most evenings, requires a fair amount of intellectual flexing and cogitation. Flexing the Brain Muscle means nervous activity. I explain that by saying that an inconsequential distraction such as eating carrot sticks or rubbing gums with the tongue protects my concentration from being shattered at its most fragile moments.

In short, I’m facing the probability of having to get my wisdom teeth extracted.

I’d be hearing ominous music, but I’m listening instead to Terry S. Taylor’s delightful Imaginarium — Songs From The Neverhood.

Mike

I don’t take sick days.

Anyone who knew me in high-school will tell you this. I probably spread more disease by coming to class clutching my cough syrop and Kleenex than everyone else combined. Once or twice, I got really, really sick, like, unconcious… but if I was mobile, I was at school.

Rest is an important part of illness recovery. But rest doesn’t have to mean drooling on a pillow all day long and breathing stale bedroom air. For me, it means hitting the sack early and getting nine hours of sleep instead of seven.

Psychologically, I feel more in control if I’m still flexing my brain and being useful even away from the office. Besides, the projects I’m working on are interesting and captivating.

Having a cough doesn’t prevent fingers from typing. If I laid in bed, I’d think about the algorithms I’d otherwise be coding. So I might as well just be doing it.

Mike