An Aspiring Professional Everything

How Easy it is to Thank, How Hard to Trust

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 15:19:43 -0600

When our lives go well, it is easy to be thankful. If we know God, and we accept that it is by His will alone that things have gone well, we of course give Him our thanks, as is His due. Being thankful is easy.

What about when things do not go well? Here the road becomes pitted and treacherous, indeed. Even if one can refrain from "blaming" God for something that has gone wrong, the next – and hardest -- step is to trust that, through God and the sacrifice of His only Son, we will have happiness, perhaps during but without fail after our time on Earth.

This is a platitude (regardless of its inherent truth). When we face a tragedy or even an inconvenience, we and those we love say, "It's all part of His plan." That it is true does not make it more helpful to say or hear. It is worthy of being said, but until things have actually improved somewhat, we -- or at least I -- have trouble believing it. Then there's the matter of believing in a "plan" in the first place, but that is an entirely different subject. Suffice it to say that I have come to believe that He does not have a pre-plotted checklist of individual events that He will cause in our lives, but rather I believe that He knows every decision we will ever make and every consequence that will ever follow, and that His plan is, in truth, the method by which we may be reconciled to Him through His Son, which He would have each of us follow. The greater purpose for this discussion, though, is trust, more appropriately called "faith."

Gratitude is easy; faith is hard. Graciousness is the natural response of one who lives in love to the presence of goodness in his or her life. Faith is what's required of that same person even -- if not especially -- in the absence of goodness. Let me give an example from my own recent experiences.

My wife and I have been talking about having a child for years. It's something we've been excited for since we first began talking about sharing the rest of our lives together. On June 22nd, we found out we were 5 weeks pregnant. What joy! I talked to God routinely, giving Him my praise and thanks for this blessing of blessings. We met with the clinic on our Air Force base to begin the process of finding a doctor or midwife and start getting ready to welcome a new life into the world. Life was good. We were happy, and I was thankful to my God for His work in my life.

On June 30th, my wife called me from work and described pain so severe she couldn't drive home. The ER doctor confirmed a few hours later that we had miscarried our first child at no fault of our own -- it was just a natural termination of a pregnancy that was not healthy for one reason or another. That it was outside our control did nothing to ease the pain in our hearts.

What should my response have been? I can't imagine that I should be expected by God to be happy or grateful (except, perhaps, grateful for the sake of our child that he or she was not born into a painful, unhealthy life). Certainly, I think it is reasonable to mourn. Anger, however, is not a reasonable reaction: to whom should I direct anger? My wife and I did nothing to cause the miscarriage. No one but God Himself could have caused or done anything about it, but we know that God does not cause His children pain, and allowing pain to occur in nature or as a result of our own choices is not the same thing. It is entirely unreasonable therefore and, indeed, a profound display of a lack of faith to be angry with God -- He did not cause our pain.

I believe our only course of useful action here is to practice and observe true faith in our God. Not faith that next time will be the time, or that there will ever be a day in which we conceive and bear into the world a child of our own. Certainly we hope for that day and that the next time will be it, but hope and faith are not the same thing. No, I believe our faith should be in the promise of eternal life and happiness given to us by the death for our sins of Jesus Christ.

Now there's a thing easier said than done. It doesn't exactly address the problem at hand; in the midst of one of the most horrific events of our lives thus far, we are supposed to turn entirely to faith in the promise of the next, eternal life?

Yep. Here's why.

I said before that hope and faith are not the same thing, but they are related. My faith in eternal happiness in the presence of God is what allows me to be hopeful here on Earth in the first place. Because I am free from worrying about the part of me that will endure (one way or another), I am also free to enjoy the hope of happiness in this life. This means I am able to be hopeful that the next time we get pregnant will be the right time, but it also means, because I have faith, that even if we are never able to have a child, I am still able to be happy (after all, plenty of God's children are in need of a home through adoption, etc.). That's pretty neat, if you ask me.

To summarize (and probably clarify -- I have a tendency towards rambling): thanks is easy, faith is hard. Thanks is easy because there is almost always something real and concrete that we are thankful for. Faith is hard because it requires that we rely on a promise (albeit a great promise). It is because we have faith, though, that we are free to be happy and thankful in the first place.

May your faith be unshakeable, your hope profound, and may God bless and keep you always!

The Religious "Y" and Me

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 19:29:19 -0600

Below is an article I wrote in November of 2008, though my thoughts here are certainly -- I believe -- still relevant and accurate to my religious faith.

Generation Y – today’s 20-30 year old crowd – represents the new face of America. We were among the first “techno kids,” born with the internet, cell phones, social networks, and all the trappings of technology. We are referred to as the “look at me” generation, clamoring for attention and instant gratification. With all of this attention seeking and the rapid availability of information, how has our religious identity been affected?

According to a 2006 PEW study, 20% of 18-25 year-olds and 11% of those over 25 claimed to have no religious affiliation, to be atheist, or to be agnostic. This is up from a similar survey in the1980s in which 11% of 18-25 year-olds and 8% of those over 25 said the same. On attending church, only 32% of 18-25 year-olds said they attend once a week or more. Certainly it could be said that this generation in general is less focused on religion than those generations before it.

My own training as a scientist has colored my perspective on faith and not generally in favor of it. There also exists the effect of cultural influence, or peer pressure. But though I don’t consider myself swayed easily in most things, I am not representative of my entire generation.

What about technology? It has become almost a cliché, but the omniscient seeming entity that is “Google” has forever changed the way humans assimilate knowledge. This is at once a good thing and a bad one. We can hop onto our always-connected computers and have an answer to any question in milliseconds, even including, “What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?” (42).

We can explore any topic and find more theories, supports, and rebuttals than we can ever draw meaning from; this information overload has drastically undermined the ability of many people to think clearly about contested ideas. How can we consider something to be miraculous when thousands of other apparently legitimate explanations are only keystrokes away?

I cannot speak for all of my generation. What I can speak to is my own take on it all, and mine involves a deep sense of faith despite my scientific nature. I seek out provable results based on a hypothesis and ordered experimentation, but what happens when the science runs out and there is no explanation? That is when my faith takes over.

I don’t know that Christ healed the infirm at a touch or even a thought; I cannot prove it. I don’t know that he was in fact the one true Son of God. I can't prove whether Mary’s pregnancy was truly immaculate. I certainly can't prove that because I have accepted Christ, my sins are forgiven and that Heaven is waiting for me.

This is the dilemma that my generation and I face, perhaps more so than any before us. If we cannot prove something, how can it be?

For me, the answer is simple: I believe.

To stay in the Air Force or not to stay, that is the question

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 22:56:42 -0600

Well, I've been permanently disqualified from doing my job (nuclear missile launch officer) and so I (my wife and me -- same thing) face a decision: stay where we are in the... well... rather undesirable conditions of Montana for another 1.5 years, or retrain, hope I get the job I want (Office of Special Investigations, Computer Crime Investigation), move to another base, and remain in the Air Force for at least another 2 years, probably more like two and a half.

A difference of 2 years -- particularly considering the marketability I would gain if I got my job -- doesn't sound like a big deal. That is, it doesn't until you consider the trials and tribulations of our last two. In that time, we've lost two of our family members, nearly lost our marriage (though we're doing wonderfully now), moved across the country twice (somehow remaining 2000 miles from home), and now live in a state with winter 11.5 out of 12 months.

I know there are those who have suffered much more deeply than we have, and I apologize if I sound like I'm whining. We only discovered how "home body-ish" we are when we left home (really left) for the first time. Our family is everything to us, and being so far from them with no easy access -- particularly with the losses we've already experienced -- has been horrendous. I love the Air Force and being an officer, but not at the expense of those I love.

Now, here's the decision that, I think, we're slowly coming to. Two years (assuming the absolute, virtually impossible worst case) is at once an eternity and a blink of the eyes -- yes, it is two more years that we can't readily put a hand on our loved ones, but it's also, well, just two years. In that time, I will have put on Captain (and so gained a considerable salary increase to go along with the second "bar" and the new responsibility), I will have vastly expanded my depth of knowledge in computer science, and I will be prepared to enter the civilian job market with an outstanding resume', whether I join a firm or start my own as a consultant.

The weirdest part of growing up, for me, has been coming to the realization that it really, truly is no longer and will never again be just about me, or even just about my wife and me. We'll be adding a munchkin or three (five if you ask Sabreya) in the coming years, and we must, must consider that when making these kinds of decisions -- with the economy and job market in its current state, I have to reflect on what I'll be doing to put bread on the table and in the wife's wallet when the day comes that I hang the uniform up for the last time.

It is a strange thing, life, ain't it? How rare is the occasion that we may simply reach out and have what we want in whole? Very, I'd say, and so we're left to think and ponder and talk and decide, not only for our own well-being but for those in our charge. It is not easy, and I pray for guidance in the trials to come, but I have deep faith that we'll be happy in the long run.

Here's to the future!

- John

What a dog can teach about happiness

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 16:00:24 -0600

As I sat at my desk this morning, trying to decide which of my many responsibilities, interests, and whims to focus my efforts on for the day, I found myself once again overwhelmed by all that assails us on a daily basis. Our lives are so overloaded and overstimulated that we can find it all too easy to forget how to be happy. Then, as I headed for the stairs and a fresh cup of coffee, I saw my son puppy at the head of the staircase.

He'd found the "good spot" -- where the sun streamed through a window and warmed the soft carpet, the perfect place to curl up and snooze.

I, for one, spend far too much of my time worried over how I'm going to "make enough money to be happy" or "give my family the happiness they deserve," and I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Sometimes, though, it only takes a beloved pet to remind us that happiness is not in money or things, but in comfort and peace with one's self and lot in life; in other words, that "good spot" in the sunlight. Certainly money can sometimes provide or even be necessary for that comfort, but not always, and without question not nearly as often as we sometimes think it to be.

I spoke to one of my airmen the other day about the value of meditation -- calm, quiet reflection; ridding the mind of extraneous thoughts and worries; focusing mentally, physically, spiritually, or all three. What my puppy was doing, I think (and though entirely out of nature and habit rather than a conscious decision), was "meditating" -- just lying quietly, languishing in the warmth and comfort of that spot at that time. How wonderful a thing is that!

So, then, as I sat back down at my desk with coffee in hand, I did go about working on a few things and just enjoying my interests for a time. But I did so having found that "good spot," and I enjoyed the time rather than spend it worried and anxious.

Ah, the lessons we may learn from a sweet pet.

Here's hoping you find a warm place in the sun!

- John

I am remiss

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 10:32:53 -0600

I'm beginning to believe my wife when she complains that I overextend myself.

After opening The Aspiring Professional and spending a couple of weeks working out the little issues, advertising, and wondering why my advertising hasn't worked, I shifted focus to another of my projects, Web Game Friends.

After a couple of weeks working out the little issues, advertising, and wondering why my advertising hasn't worked, I shifted focus to another of my projects, an online game set in a popular fantasy world.

After a week or so trying to get back into the code for that project, wondering why things that used to work do not any longer, and trying to figure out where to go from here, I find that none of my projects are receiving the attention they deserve.

Then there's the family mission, Teach Them to Fish. My father and brother are working full time on it, and we actually have product to move from the fine folks of Honduras. That means some method (read, website) for wholesale-ing the products to retailers, but since my wife is going to be a retailer, it also means some method for retail sales (read, website).

Oh yes -- I also have training to catch up on and training materials to prepare for next month at work, an impending trip home in May to find money for, the possibility of another trip to Disney World in December to prepare for (gotta book Disney Vacation Club reservations early), taxes to prepare and submit, a book to finish writing, book and movie reviews to write, submit, edit, and submit again, and God only knows what else.

Hey.... Except for the whole screaming thing, that redhead's pretty cute.

Back on task! I find myself seeking a dark, cool room in which to wrap up in a blanket and forget my troubles. I also find that I complain about my problems too much. So what do I do?

I haven't figure it out yet, but something, somewhere has got to give. Alternatively said, something, somewhere is going to give -- I just need to take control over what that's going to be before the choice is made for me.

In any case, here's hoping it all works out!

- John

On Hope

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 14:57:16 -0700

Knowing only enough of what tomorrow may herald to be worried about its coming can lead a man to forget his hopes for today and, at the worst, many tomorrows to come. Hope is among the strangest of human tendencies I've discovered. It can blind us to reality in some instances. More often, I think, hope serves as the only thing to get us through adversity in one piece.

We harbor hope for things concrete and things abstract. One day we might hope to see a loved one overcome addiction, the next to see the global economy recover. Our hopes are many and varied, and the priorities we assign to them are sometimes thoroughly irrational. We rely on hope far more often than perhaps we should. We might call it faith or luck or dreaming, but we know it always for what it represents -- something we desire to be or to become true that is not.

Hope can be a dangerous thing. If we allow ourselves to be caught up in what we wish for, we risk forgetting to enjoy and be grateful for what we already have, even to driving that potential for happiness out of our lives because we've convinced ourselves that we need more. Perhaps it is a thing of our culture to always want more, to never be satisfied with what we deem to be "less," and it is unfortunate. I'll borrow a quote from the movie Bruce Almighty that stuck with me: "But since when does anyone have a clue about what they want?" I certainly don't, when it comes down to it.

In the opposite vein, hope can be the key to our survival. When times are truly bleak, when the world seems set against us in all things, we might have only the hope for it to improve left to us. Perhaps this stems from our earliest memories of childhood. When we scraped a knee or banged an elbow, we hoped only for Mom to be around the corner, waiting to kiss that pain away. Here's the strangest part, the thing that I think makes hope one of the most vital aspects of human existence -- it worked. When our mother or father did kiss us to ease our sorrow, it went, or at least seemed to. In truth, we may only have convinced ourselves that the pain was lesser -- we hoped it would ease, and so it did. What does this tell us about the nature of hope?

The perspective I've taken is that hope can be many things, but at its very best, it is the driving force for change. If we hope strongly and righteously enough, we can find within ourselves the motivation to make the hope a reality, to forge that new truth. Hope is, in these times, a source of the purest energy known to man -- willpower.

I read an article a few days ago entitled "The Opacity of Hope," and it was the title itself that got me thinking, the idea of assigning a quality of visibility to hope. The notion of hope being generally opaque -- that is, something we cannot see through -- is rather pessimistic and, frankly, dangerous. This would be the kind of "blind hope" that prevents us from comprehending or appreciating the reality around us.

What, then, about "transparent" hope, or that which we can see through? If we can see through our hope, we are able to perceive every detail of it, and it loses its value -- the chance to motivate and guide us towards a goal. If we can see everything about it, we can see also that our hope is a falsity -- something that we wish to be true but is not. This defeats the purpose of hoping to begin with.

A middle ground, then, would be translucent hope. We must be able to see and understand what it is that our hope represents, but not so much detail as to recognize it as false -- something that does not and therefore cannot exist (a falsity in itself). We must allow enough of the light of hope to shine through, basking us in the glow of a promise and at the same time lighting the path we must walk. Yes, translucent hope is the kind I would call good and worthy.

The problem is that not all hope is or can be made translucent. I most certainly do and will harbor hopes of each variety. I think, then, that I will seek out those translucent hopes and then pursue them. At the same, I will struggle to recognize opacity or transparency when I see it and not waste more of my time or energy on it.

I will try as hard as I can to appreciate what I have already. When I find that I hope for something that truly is worthy of pursuit, I will travel the path that the gentle glow of translucence illuminates for me, and I will do so without guilt or remorse or worry, because I will know it to be good.

Here's to translucent hope for us all.

Sláinte,
John

"East of Eden" by John Steinbeck

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 09:40:51 -0700

John Steinbeck is without dispute one of the great American treasures. A Nobel Laureate, Pulitzer prize winner, and prolific author, Steinbeck and his works are staples in English education and shining examples in American literature. To date, I have read three of his books -- The Grapes of Wrath, The Pearl, and now East of Eden -- and I intend fully to read the rest.

East of Eden is set in the late 19th and early 20th century in the United States. The story parallels the Biblical stories of Adam and Eve and their children, Cain and Abel. Set alternately in the Salinas Valley of California and a farm town in Connecticut, we follow through a sometimes rambling manuscript the lives of a number of characters and indeed whole families, including Samuel Hamilton and his wife and their many children, Adam Trask and his wife Cathy, and the Trask's twin sons, Cal and Aron.

This book has been a part of a great change in perspective within my own life. In particular, Adam Trask and his having served in the Army of the day touched me deeply. I find that I share some of his great intolerance for the taking of human life. I share, too, his adventurous spirit, even to a fault. I have never, in fact, felt so connected to a character in any story. Now, for those who've read the book, don't think that I mean my family life was anything like his -- these are the details that distinguish his personality from my own. In general though, it's truly been interesting to see how his path has unfolded and compare it to the way I think mine would have in a like situation.

The book has been interpreted in film as a movie in 1955 starring James Dean (focused only on the Trask twins' part of the story) and a mini-series in 1981 starring Timothy Bottoms and Jane Seymour. It is also slated to be made again in 2009 (not remade) with a focus on the entire story. I look forward to seeing all three of these productions and hope indeed that they can live up to the book.

Madness and joy, pain and pleasure, all the things we look for in a good story may be found in multitudes within the pages of this book. I will not disgrace the world with yet another full, detailed review or analysis of the author's writing and skill at doing so -- this volume has existed for long enough that I believe I'd have nothing to add worth considering. So, then, I'll leave it at this: East of Eden is a fabulous work of literature by one of the most prolific and talented authors of the 20th century, and I'd recommend it for just about anyone.

Some Favorite Quotes:

"Then the soldiers went to Mexico and it was a kind of painful picnic. Nobody knows why you go to a picnic to be uncomfortable when it is so easy and pleasant to eat at home. The Mexican War did two good things though. We got a lot of western land, damn near doubled our size, and besides that it was a training ground for generals, so that when the sad self-murder settled on us the leaders knew the techniques for making it properly horrible."

"It would be absurd if we did not understand both angels and devils, since we invented them."

See East of Eden at Amazon.com

This marks the first of what I hope will be a long-running series of posts on the books I read as I read them. I love discussing literature and the merits or downfalls of particular stories, so if you've got something to add, put it in the comments!

When Perspectives Change

Mon, 19 Jan 2009 09:41:02 -0700

When a movie or a book, a conversation or an idea or an event causes us to re-evaluate our perspective on life and our place within it, how are we to approach this momentous occasion? What should we do if the change is so great it's staggering, challenging certain fundamentals we thought unshakeable in ourselves?

I suspect that each of us has at one time or another experienced this kind of change. Sometimes, as in the occasion I now write of, the change in perspective is gradual in its beginning. Then some catalyst, like pure oxygen added to a gas flame, ignites the pace of the shift, whipping it to a frenzied sprint towards new and uncertain thinking. It is a wondrous thing, but frightening in its wonder. Sometimes this change is for the better, sometimes not. I'm not sure yet what it means for me.

I suppose it's pertinent to start at the beginning. As previously written, I've lately felt somewhat depressed, a thing I've never experienced before. The cause is almost certainly the shorter days of winter along with my work schedule, a combination which rarely allows me to see and enjoy and benefit from daylight for more than a couple of minutes in a day. Whatever the cause, this changed state of mind has allowed, or perhaps forced, me to examine more coolly the facts of my life and the moral and ethical codes that drive my existence.

I am a nuclear missile launch officer, or missileer, in the United States Air Force. I had to sign a document stating that, if directed by competent and legal authority, I will turn the keys to launch from one to fifty nuclear weapons. I signed this document without hesitation because I believed and still do that my job is necessary to the security and freedom of the American public.

It is a strange thing, to serve one's country. A more proud and noble and righteous calling can scarcely be found. We have a rich heritage of valor and heroism in the United States reaching back generations, from the American Revolution to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. My brethren and I have, from the birth of our country, sworn oaths and devoted our lives, even if only for a short time, to the defense of a constitution -- our Constitution. We sacrifice the chance to put down roots and so much more to be patriots in truth. I am proud to be an American Airman.

As I've said, I am proud to serve and I am proud to associate with all who've served with and before me. Let me also be clear: I have not deployed to a war zone, nor have I been forced to bear or employ arms at any time. The nuclear mission is, in a way, passive, though it is the deadliest man-made force on earth if employed. My point here is that my thinking has not been influenced by the horrors of battle, but rather by a more gradual realization of exactly what my profession represents.

The change, then, is that I know that I will not remain in the Air Force after my commitment is served, and, more than ever, I understand why.

What of the catalyst I mentioned, that new factor that accelerated the change? I suppose catalysts would be the more appropriate word, because there were indeed a couple of them that hit together. The first was the film adaptation of Into the Wild.

My wife and I rented and watched the movie in part because of my new-found fascination with one of the supporting actresses, but in larger part because it seemed simply a good story, and it is a good story. The book and film follow the true journey of a young man named Christopher McCandless, recently graduated from Emory University. Christopher gives up his worldly possessions to live as a "tramp," hiking back and forth across the US before heading north to the Alaskan wilderness.

It was this portrayal of utter freedom, the shedding of worldly possessions and so the miseries that accompany them, that took root in my heart. I have a family to provide for that will, if God grants it, soon be growing, and so I cannot follow the example to the letter. The idea, however, resonates within me. So much of our time is spent struggling with ourselves and one another that could be better spent creating or improving our world, and it seems a kind of blasphemy to waste that time. This was the first catalyst, the first breath of oxygen to flame that causes it to cough and sputter and flare.

The second was reading East of Eden by John Steinbeck, again and to my embarrassment discovered through that damned new fascination, but what a treasure this book has become to me! The story parallels the tales of Adam and Eve and their first sons, Cain and Abel. The tale is a familiar one, but it was Adam Trask, one of the main characters, that caught hold of me.

Adam, through circumstances vital to the book's story, served in the Army. Adam can be called a pacifist, and the horrors of war shook him when he could not inoculate his mind and spirit. Because I have never seen combat, I could not yet identify with this particular demon. For the first time, however, I have been able to examine through an entirely different lens my role as a missileer for the sheer power of destruction and death that it represents. It has left me, in a word, shaken.

I remember, in fact, the moment that the change was completed. I had just read a quote by the narrator of the book, and I reviewed it time and again. I e-mailed it to my father, I read it and repeated it in my mind's eye, and I tried to make sense of the change that had so long been building in me and suddenly was finished. Those words in East of Eden read:

There is nothing spectacular in the quote itself, nothing to shake a man's world -- only a brief recounting of the Mexican War and an allusion to the horrors of the Civil War. We all learn as school children in the United States of that war; we know at once its treachery and the necessity for change it served to meet. No, it was not historical fact that changed me. It was the implicit disdain for violence and the loss -- or rather taking -- of human life in those sentences that bounced within my skull.

And so did the flame turn a cool, steady blue, hot enough to melt iron.

I don't mean that before all of this I was anxious for or enjoyed the thought of killing a man, but rather that it was something I could and did and do accept as a possibility and part of my duty as an officer. I also do not mean that I won't kill if my duties require it of me -- I am not a conscientious objector, I strive to be a man of honor, and I will keep my word. My word, in this case, was that I would support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, and so I will.

When my time is served, I will return home. I will do so a changed man with a much clearer perspective on my role in this world. I don't know yet what my purpose is, but I know what it is not. I am and will forever be proud to have served with the best, noblest men and women on Earth, and I thank all those who will fill the need in serving to protect the United States and her people.

Though the cause is worthy and necessary, I do not believe I can make a career of armed service. I do not regret my time in the military, and when I return home I will seek and wonder and question and poke and prod until I've secured my place in history, no matter how small or large, but I know this -- my path will be a peaceful one in every way that it is within my power to make it. God bless.

- John

On being SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder)

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 12:38:50 -0700

Living in the northern US -- about as far as you can go before hitting Canada -- has its drawbacks. Aside from having a sense of "island fever on dry land," to quote one of my bosses, the extreme cold, snow, and short daylight hours can wreak havoc on an otherwise perfectly happy person. Like me.

Disclaimer: Neither this post nor I can be considered competent medical authority. If you or someone you know suffers from any ailment, seek proper medical attention through your doctor.

Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD (and someone should be punished severely for naming a form of depression such that its acronym is depressing) is a condition related to the changing of seasons, most often during the winter months. The lack of daylight and resulting change in circadian rhythm are, at least for me, the principle cause (though some people suffer from SAD during the spring and summer months).

I have never, that I know of, been depressed in a clinically diagnosable sense in my life -- I haven't had a reason to be, and I don't now -- but I have for a number of weeks and without question been "not right." Even with an exciting new project being released, a job writing book and movie reviews at an upcoming fiction website, a perfectly great marriage and talk of children, enough money to survive with wiggle room, and so much more, I have been inexplicably... well... sad.

I've even caught myself trying to turn to alcohol for relief. I rarely consume any alcohol at all except the occasional wine, but a glass of good bourbon has somehow found its way into an almost nightly routine -- I know better, and that's been nipped in the bud. My wife has taken notice and I can't figure out a way to broach the topic without her feeling somehow responsible. I need to tell her, and perhaps this post will help explain things, but the thought of making someone else sad makes things worse.

Aside from knowing something's wrong and discovering that I am more prone than I thought to turn to "alternative relief" (alcohol), I can't quite figure out how to articulate what or how I feel, and certainly not why. It's incredibly frustrating if for no other reason than the fact that I don't understand it and can't get through it myself -- not something that happens to me often.

What I can identify as a possible (partial) cause is my job. My work in the Air Force is done in secure environments, meaning no windows (and so no sunlight). I generally work a 12 hour shift from 6:45 AM to 6:45 PM, and so I come and go from work during the hours of darkness. Even if I work a night shift, I end up sleeping all of the next day away, so that's no help, really. Certainly this can be said to add to the problems of shorter days -- not only is there less light, but I rarely even see what sunlight there is in a day.

As for the solution, I suppose we'll have to see. If this continues, I will seek medical advice (assuming I can explain myself better than I have here). Otherwise, I think trying to steal away a few minutes at a time during the day to get some sun, when it's available, and -- put simply -- getting the hell over it are the best remedies for me for now.

If anyone else, though, is suffering from this disorder or any other kind of depression or even mania (apparently a rare, but possible, manifestation of SAD), seek out your doctor's advice. My case -- if it is a case -- is a mild one, but others can and do suffer much greater symptoms than these. Take care of yourselves, folks -- this is a life worth living and enjoying every second of.

God bless,
John

Celebrity Obsession Disorder is Genetic

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 02:35:59 -0700

It's 1:45 AM and I'm sitting at my desk, about to spill a dark secret about my mother, my wife, her mother, and me. This is why it's never a good idea to write tired, but there you go and here I sit. You see, I have become only slightly obsessed with a certain female star of a certain movie that might be about a human-vampire romance. Okay, okay -- it's Kristen Stewart, the leading lady of Twilight and love of my-life-that-doesn't-exist.

I can say that, mind you, only because my wife has confessed a similar obsession with Robert Pattinson, Kristen's counterpart in Twilight.

I can't understand it. I have never been so ridiculously consumed by unholy thoughts and dreams of a woman that I will probably never even meet, not to mention the fact that I am (quite happily) married. Oh yes -- before I continue, she is legal, and I'm only 24, so no cracks about me being a dirty old man.

I don't know how to explain it. As I stood outside tonight, looking up at the stars and asking God why I have developed so strange an affliction, a connection formed in my mind, sounding much like the satisfying click that the buckle of a straight jacket might make: I got it from my mother.

You see, my mom developed some years past an almost identical crush on a fella' named Christopher Meloni (Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle). My father, brothers, and I refer to him simply as "man-kisser" due to his role in the prison drama, Oz. All this time, I thought my mother to be just a bit crazy -- really, what's a grown, married woman and mother of three doing with a school-girl crush on an actor (and man-kisser)? Tonight I realized that she is indeed a bit crazy and, without question, so am I. At least I come by it honest.

My wife and her mother (God rest her soul) shared this disorder, as well. Her mother had a life-long obsession with Patrick Swayze (as did many, I suppose, after that infernal spawn of Satan, Dirty Dancing). My wife in her turn (and as already mentioned) has taken to Robert Pattinson. I found out one day when working on her laptop. I logged in and, lo and behold, found myself looking at the oh-so-dreamy hair of RPatt, himself.

Relieved to know I was not alone, I confronted my dear wife, who shrugged the incident off. "Just a cute guy," said she, but the disorder soon became clear in her, too -- I will forever swear that it was she who suggested we go see Twilight a second time and who tried to hide her swooning through the entire screening. Maybe it's viral and not genetic, but at least I'll never know which one of us gave it to the other if that's the case.

To any other folks out there who suffer from this condition, too, rest easy -- you are not alone! There are at least five of us, and that makes a crowd plus two! I think it high-time Congress invested a few tax-payer dollars figuring out what's wrong with us and how to correct the issue.

Until then, I suppose I'll just have to live with dreams of KStew and me, knowing well that my wife is dreaming similarly of RPatt and my mother of, eh, CMelon. I'm certain as well that my wonderful mother-in-law is dancing dirty-style with a heavenly conjuration of Patrick Swayze -- she certainly earned it.

And Kristen, if you read this, my wife said it's okay if you and I run off together, but only if you get Rob to take her away, too. Here's to hoping!

- John

On Possibilities

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 10:00:19 -0700

As I begin to think of reaching out into the various academic and professional communities on behalf of The Aspiring Professional, I am struck by one thing: that there are far, far too many possibilities for TAP than I am yet prepared to confront.

This is an exciting, wonderful thing. I have never before undertaken a project with such potential. It's also scary -- with that potential for greatness comes also the potential for dismal failure. Really, though, it's those possibilities alone that drive me to continue, and this is a truth in every aspect of my life.

I am a married man. I married my wife because I love her. I also married her for the myriad possibilities that lie ahead of us. The possibility of a long and happy future together was the first and greatest one. The possibilities for our children and grandchildren are the next.

I work with my father on an art education mission in Central America. Honduras is not what one might call the "land of opportunity," unless he knows where to look for it. The possibilities for us and for the people of those Honduran villages are boundless. We hope and plan to provide a tool for escaping poverty to as many people as we can through such a rich endeavor as the creation of art. That's a hell of a possibility.

For The Aspiring Professional, too, the possibilities are endless. I am currently planning scholarship programs for undergraduate, graduate, and professional students, sponsored by and supported through TAP. I am looking for partners around the academic and professional communities to combine our talents and resources for the good of our community members. I hope to foster relationships that might one day lead to cross-discipline research by providing tools and resources for the members of those disciplines. The list goes on and forever on.

In the end, it's all about the possibilities. What is certain is also nearly always boring. It's what might be that holds my interest. Here's to the possibilities, folks!

Sláinte,
John

Happy New Year!

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 15:49:22 -0700

I'd like to wish a happy and prosperous new year to all who will eventually be a part of this community.

I have high hopes for the coming year, including establishing The Aspiring Professional as an outstanding social network and resource for collegiates and professionals.

Many blessings on you and yours for 2009!

- John

To be an aspiring professional everything...

Sat, 27 Dec 2008 00:49:38 -0700

Is to be perpetually dissatisfied.

Perhaps it's an indication of my youth or even my generation -- the "look at me," never satisified generation. I suspect it's more to do with my parentage, and I mean my father in particular (though I've taken the "follow your dreams" ideal to new heights). Whatever the cause, I am the perfect example of a man who cannot stay focused on the task at hand (with rare exception).

I am currently -- and most importantly in terms of my professional life -- an active duty officer in the US Air Force. At that, I am a nuclear missile officer, one of the most academically rigorous fields in the service. I'm paid a good living (not great, mind you) to do what I do. Is that enough for me? Nah.

I've begun myriad projects on the web and off, including three distinct online games, only one of which still has the potential for being completed, and two social networks, one of which is The Aspiring Professional. Do these fulfill my needs for endeavor? Nope.

I'm the web developer for and soon will be an active participant in an art-education mission in Honduras, run by my Dad. There is plenty I could be doing for that. Does this fill the hole in my life? Uh-uh.

I have plans to get a private and then a commercial fixed-wing pilot's license as well as a hot-air balloon license. I want to teach student pilots between working on my projects, travelling to Honduras, and being a husband and, one day, father. I also plan to have a sail boat and spend days in the Gulf of Mexico at leisure. Surely these things are enough to make me happy, but you ought to know by now that I'm still dissatisified.

Oh yeah, I'm also a husband. I drive my wife insane with my constant shifts in life direction and goals for the future. I believe she has categorized me a "dreamer," which I suppose is accurate enough. It actually became a problem for our marriage at one point until I was wrenched back to reality and figured out my priorities.

Now, let me clarify -- when I say "dissatisfied," I don't mean it in the absolute sense of the word. I don't know that I could be happier with my life and the possibilities that lie open for me. I just mean that it's never, ever going to be enough -- there will always be something more for me to strive for. I count this among the good things in my life.

What does it mean, though, for my professional prospects in general? Well, in the traditional sense of building a career, I think it means I probably have no prospects. I cannot even begin to picture spending 20 years, much less 40 or 50, doing any one thing. This is a problem when trying to plan one's future and save for that elusive idea of retirement. How can I retire if I have nothing to retire from?

Unless I get stinking rich from one of these various projects, I don't suspect I ever will retire (as in stop working). I may have enough in various investments to take care of my family without having to work a full-time, nose-to-the-grindstone job, but I'll never fit succinctly into the category of "retiree."

And damn what a fun ride it's going to be.