I've never really liked fishing.

I want to start this off by saying, "I know that the only opinion of me that matters is God's. I know my validation comes from Him alone. As much as I like them, my value does not come from what my friends think about me. My value is not determined by what I can do or give to the world. And, I most certainly am not validated by being in a relationship with a female." Now that's out of the way, I'd like to rant for a little bit.

"You're such a great guy. One day a girl's going to be lucky to have you. You're gonna make such a great husband."

That's a very nice statement. It's also one I have heard many, many times. Sometimes it comes from my family and I roll my eyes and walk out of the room. Some times it comes from old/middle aged women who just "wish they had a daughter they could pair me off with" and I smile and nod politely until they leave me alone. And sometimes it comes from friends, classmates, and coworkers. I'm sure they always mean well when they say it. I'm sure that should make me feel good about myself, but, honestly, there's not really a statement that makes me feel much worse. 

I think it's like fishing. After all, when you don't get the girl you want they always tell you not to worry about it, there's plenty of fish left in the sea. And so, I've developed an analogy to represent how I interpret statements like this when they come along.

"You've got great equipment. Your pole and reel are top of the line. You've got the perfect kind of bait and the fish are hungry. Even better than that, you're sitting on the best fishing spot in the world. Why haven't you caught any fish? If it's not the pole and it's not the bait? If it's not the reel and it's not the location, it has to be the technique right? Your equipment and location are fine, but the user is broken.

Okay, okay, so maybe the problem is I'm not the fisherman. Maybe I'm the fish. Well then, I'm a pretty good fish. I've got great scales, and I look pretty tasty. I could probably feed a small family for days. Any fisherman would be lucky to catch me. But, if I'm such a great catch, why hasn't anybody tried to reel me in? Why do I keep having to play the game of catch and release?"

I feel like a defective fisherman. I feel like a smelly, unwanted fish. I've seemingly got everything going for me and it doesn't matter. I try my hardest, follow all the guides, devote all my energy and it's still not enough. It's not a fun feeling.

(By now, I think it may be good for everyone to read the first paragraph to remember that I do know where my value is and I'm not trying to throw a pity party. This is just a rant.)

Now that we're back:

I was in my car on the way home developing this analogy and I was reminded of a book that has one or two stories about fishing in them. In one particular story, these guys are out in their boats fishing all night. These men are fishermen among fishermen. Their father's father's father was a great fisherman and it has continued in the family ever since. These men know the waters, have the equipment, and have perfected their technique: there's no way they ever go home with empty nets. Well, except for this night. Whatever the reason, they just can't get a thing. As they're headed back into shore (I'm sure feeling like complete failures) a strange man asks if they've caught anything. Of course they haven't. The stranger obviously can see that. Maybe he's being nice?

When they reply in the negative, the stranger asks them to try the other side of the boat. Certainly frustrated, maybe looking for a reason to get angry at the stranger, the men lower their nets and, low and behold, the ships almost sink from the size of the haul.

Maybe one day I'll get to be like these men. After my long night of fishing is over and I'm ready to give up, a Stranger will ask me about my catch. When I tell Him (in what I'm sure will be a very frustrated tone) that I've tried my best and clearly He should be able to see that maybe, just maybe, He'll ask me to lower my hook somewhere else. And, even though I'll be skeptical, hopefully I'll obey, only to be overwhelmed but what appears on the end of my line.

Maybe, but maybe not. The Stranger may just invite me to His campfire to share in His catch and the company will make me forget all about the fish.

Either way, I really hope the Stranger decides to appear, because this fisherman is ready to put up his tackle and retire the pole: fishing really isn't his thing anyway.

I'm tired of being selfish.

About a lot of things really.

I'm tired of not sharing my full self with others. 

I'm tired of not giving more of myself when an opportunity presents itself. 

I'm tired of only doing what's necessary in friendships. 

I'm tired of hoarding the physical, relational, and intellectual gifts God has given me.

There's a lot of things that I want to be less selfish about, but I feel the need to expound upon one in particular.

It's been nearly a year since Emily and I broke up. Two long, confusing, and stressful semesters plus most of a summer later, I've made a lot of progress, but it's still hard some times. Most days I can think back on it, laugh, smile, and be grateful for everything that happened. But, on occasion, the only thing I want to do is lay in bed, curl up with my pillow, and weep. 

And that confuses me. I thought I'd been over this. I thought I'd completely given this up. It's hard to ignore the evidence to the contrary. Whenever I think about it or talk about it with someone else, I generally say something along the lines of, "I'm really happy for her but. . ." 

But what? What about me? How could she move on and I can't? Why does she get to be happy and I don't? Why is life so unfair to me?

I was just laying in bed thinking and it really hit me. I'm being so selfish I want to vomit.

I'm glad that I mean the first part of the statement. I really, truly am happy for Emily. I'm glad she's found a guy she likes and who treats her well. I'm glad she's happy. And, I am grateful for the friendship and relationship we shared. A large part of who I am now has only been made possible through our time together: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am glad I have realized and truly taken these things to heart. I detest the fact that I can't stop there.

I want to be happy for her, but I also want to be content with me. I want to lose the ellipsis. I want that to be the end of it. I want to care more about someone else than I do about myself.

I'm freaking selfish, but I don't want to be.

In order to not be a liar. . .

This post has to be about my semi-crazy evening. I have a lot of other stuff I want to post about but I can't until this is out of the way.

So, Aaron Morrison texted me to see if I wanted to go dumpster diving at Taylor. I had never been and I wanted to get out of the house so I agreed. When I got in the car, it was Aaron, Phil Cranmer, Bram Johnston, and David L. Herring. Much more than I anticipated. We got to Taylor and went in dumpsters. Found a lot of cool stuff. I found a bra in one dumpster and Aaron, being the sheltered child he is, freaked out about it and jumped out of the dumpster. I tried to find a way to sneak it back into his car, but no dice.

My favorite find was a bag of what appeared to be Easter candy. It was all still wrapped so I took it and ate it. I was judged by all, but I really didn't care because it was delicious. There was also a baggie inside containing $5.00 in quarters. Double win.

After that, we returned to Marion and a few of them wanted to get a drink so we went to Beatniks, a local bar/hangout place. It was my first time there. Didn't drink anything but went for the company. I ended up running into a co-worker there and he came by our table. Criz Vaun was already pretty intoxicated at this point, but he's a cheery enough fellow so it was okay. At some point in the conversation, he found out that I wrestled in high school. He challenged me to a match and that was that.

Being my first time in a bar, I didn't realize those sorts of things were frowned upon. We got up and began our match. It lasted about 5 seconds because I am both more skilled than he is and had no alcohol in my bloodstream. It's good it was over quickly though because the owner was getting ready to mace us for getting into a bar fight.

After that, some random couple made a Taco Bell run for everyone. It was very sketchy, but my Volcano Burrito was delicious.

And that's how I dug through dumpsters and got into a bar fight for the first time, all in the same night.