Glimpses

Drive is something which is always misperceived. Some people claim to be "driven," as if it's a quality requiring no context, and this seems to be a revered virtue. While passion is something which can be nestled deep within one's persona, drive isn't associated with a kinetic term without reason.

How can one be driven without a direction? In the same way, how can one be determined without a task at hand requiring perseverance? It seems impossible, because by definition it is. Drive seems to be a vector quantity; requiring magnitude and direction. Magnitude in that the intensity of one's desire can be quantitatively measured, and direction in that there is a specific avenue for this desire. While the goals may not necessarily be specific, they are finite and at least partially tangible.

I myself am examining my own drive. While the magnitude of it seems engrossing, the direction could very well be misplaced. I find that my obsession with my work could very well be my muse of highest priority, yet I feel like my veering in the direction of educational accomplishment could very well be a misplacement of passion. Not to say it isn't important to me to do well; if I succeed, then by transitivity my 110 students will as well. However, by submerging myself headlong into my work, I may not have necessarily satisfied the drive my soul clearly seeks.

A very good friend of mine visited me recently and in typical southern fashion, we went out for BBQ. During our lunch, I mentioned to him how it seemed like a burden was off his shoulders; he seemed himself in truest form. He told me that he felt like I was in a good place as well, and I replied by saying that I felt like I was in an environment where I could most succeed.

He never glared at me, or even put his sandwich down for that matter, but I felt something prick inside of me. I felt like he was reaching across the table and grabbing me by the collar. In my mind he was asking me something of great importance.

"Do you belong here? Do you truly believe that you are where you're supposed to be?"

Even typing that question is tough, because it forces me to face the question I have been frantically grading papers and planning lessons to avoid. While my work demands more of me than I thought possible I have been using it as a ploy to skirt the the question of greater importance.

Yes, I feel driven. Yet I feel like I have been staring at the road in order to avoid the driver. My magnitude has usurped my direction, and my passion has boiled over singing my ability to find God in Richmond. The question now isn't whether or not I'm driven, but rather who's driving me. And who should.

Knowing and Being Known

Today's church service yielded an unexpected turn of events. In the middle of the sermon, a girl one row up from me ended up passing out and crashing to the floor. For a moment those who saw it hoped it was just an awkward slip and she was fine, but she stayed on the ground. This created alarm. Seats were pushed back and the fleet of doctors in the congregation went over to care for her. After some time she got up and made her way out of the church to the street where she recovered and went on her way.

When the congregation first realized her fall wasn't accidental, the pastor asked a question which would later strike me:

"Does anybody know who she is?"

Obviously this was asked so people knew what was going on. Strangely enough, when the fray had subsided, that question continued to strike me. I couldn't get it out of my head.

By the time I got back to my car, I came to a realization which startled me: that question took me so because I don't feel like anyone can answer that about me. All this time I thought the toughest part of being out in this new world was not knowing anyone; yet today I discovered the real difficulty is not being known by anyone.

Back in Delaware, I had a network of people who understood me. They knew what made me tick. They saw my series of epic collapses, and my few victories. The people I put in my life back in Newark saw me through a great deal of personal extremes, and out here, people begin as all do, in gauging my pleasantness or wit. Some have thrown in with me to a certain extent, but if I had fallen and needed people to know me, the room would fall silent.

That is a tough realization to come to. While I know that patience will ultimately bring true friendship to fruition I struggle the most with fearing that people will never know me. Granted, the fear, like many others is irrational and not weighed up against experience or logic. However, I won't for one minute pretend that my mathematical nature (which is more labored than it is natural anyway) has disabled my irrational tendencies.

I am beginning to feel that the toughest part of starting life over has little to do with the paradigm shift of popularity, but rather with the lack of connection. While I do wish to know others in the way I knew my friends of yore, I truly seek to be known at this stage in my life, and I realize that won't happen until the time is right.

As a note: if the girl who passed out today wasn't alright, I wouldn't have posted this because it would seem incredibly selfish. Since she was fine, I didn't see any problem with airing out my feelings on the matter of being known.