If suffering alone taught, then all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added understanding, compassion, patience, love, openness, and the willingnessto remain vulnerable.- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I've said it before: I'm nineteen years old, what the fuck do I know? I say this a lot when I offer advice as a word of caution. Roughly translated, in Jake-speak it means "I want to help you out with what I've learned in life but I'm afraid to commit to it because I might be wrong". I want to be wise. Make the smart choices. Minimize my fuck-ups. Make it seem like I'm less of a fool than I actually am.

My parents have taught me two things. One, respect is earned, never deserved (despite my father's insistence). Two, age alone does not make one wise. Then what does? What magical elixer would transform the beliefs of a nineteen-year-old fool into something meaningful and lasting? I thought suffering was the answer. That posed a bit of a problem for me, since I didn't feel I had suffered at all.

Sure, I was tormented as a kid, maybe a bit more than most, but I know one or two guys who were right there with me getting tormented just the same and I know it didn't make them any more wise. My parents...my parents used to always be fighting. I don't want to try to go back and remember all of it. I can see my dad sleeping during the day in that massive bed with the black padded edges. Me and my brother had to be very quiet because my dad worked the graveyard shift. I can't remember whether he quit because he could't take the hours anymore, or if he was, like he often was, laid off again. I remember my mother's dread spreading to me and my brother whenever we'd here is truck pull in early from work, afraid he'd lost another job. My mother would cry a lot. My grandparents would always bitch about him, about how my mother should just get up and leave him. I had heard the bitching so much it stopped phasing me, all except for a mild discomfort I could never shake. My father had a tendency of smashing things, to this day the sound that makes me jump the most is shattered glass, and there was one pretty bad night when my dad went about smashing things, I think it might have been my parents wedding picture, and my mom was screaming at him and my dad was shouting back, and I ran out of the house crying. Fortunatly my neighbor, Jason, my best friend back then, was up, and the two of us went to hang out in our joint back yard (we lived in a duplex). I remember crying and him telling me that his parents got a divorce and it all worked out, and I think from that point on I wanted them to get divorced.

I don't remember when, but things seemed to get better between them. They still seem miserable with each other, but after they got better jobs and we moved to Waterbury I don't hear them shout the same at each other. My dad's not the family problem anymore, though, I am. For the past few years I've been nothing but lazy, arrogant, disrespectful, and an ungrateful burden to this family according to this family. I'm not even sure what's true and what not. For instance, over this past break I've taken to lying on the couch because it does't hurt my back. The bed in my room kills my back, it has for years, I've even been taken to the family doctor because of the pain it would cause. My parents have had three years and they still haven't replaced the bed. My dad, however, wants me in my room. I asked him why and he just shouted at me, telling me he was the law of the house as he slammed the door on the way out of the house. The other day I woke up by hearing my parents shout about me, my dad saying "I don't care, he's nineteen he can get his own place. I don't want him in my house.", my mom replying "you're crazy", my dad saying "he has no respect for me. I told him not to sleep out there and he basicly said 'screw you'"(for the record, I said "Why can't I sleep out here? My bed kills my back.", although he might not have heard the whole thing as he stormed out of the house). Apparently from the snippets I've gathered he doesn't have a reason other than its his house, his law.

Respect is earned, not given.

*sigh* I've ranted a bit, and it doesn't really fit in this post but I rather post it for people to read than not. Maybe my parents are as bad as people tell me. People aren't actually here for what's going on, and they're only hearing my side of the argument. I always have the doubt.

Enough of that, the point of this post is that I thought suffering alone validated my beliefs, that pain would guide me true. The above quote made me think about that, and how wrong that belief was. I can be patient I suppose, and this post seems a good indication of openness. Love and compassion...I used to be very compassionate individual, very empathetic, but it feels like that's changed. I've really gotten caught up in what I want, caught up in me. While playing Call of Duty 4 the other day I realized how awe-inspiring and admirable it is that people really do put their lives on the line for something greater. I don't think I'd do the same currently, I seem to value my own life much more of others. It feels wrong. In my quest for wisdom it feels like I've lost track of that part of myself. I've become more distant, less idealistic.

And finally I've tried to make myself more vulnerable for life, but I don't think I really understand what it means. I've been taking more risks, pushing myself outside my comfort zone and what not, but I don't think that's what it means. At least not entirely. There are still things I don't seem willing to accept: being wrong, being unremarkable, being weak.

I feel better now, and if you've gotten this far then I thank you. It means a lot to me to know people read what I have to say, more so than it seems. I feel like I've gotten to the bottom of something, but charging at it and trying to champion it like I do with so many other things is a mistake. My gut tells me so. I just have to try to life better I guess. It all seems to come back to that.

Thank you,
Jake

I haven't posted in a while, and I feel bad about that. I've tried writing a few posts but haven't followed them through. Break has been a bit of a blur. There were a few great thigns, but one thing definatly stands out. Something very good.

I started talking to someone I had met over the semester, and I all I can say is I'm really happy I did. And hopeful. I haven't been that in a while. Looking back on it, it seems like only chance that we really started talking. I had forgotten my wallet in my dorm as we were leaving and convinced my parents to turn back around. After getting it I suggested getting somethign to eat at McMahon, happened to see her there, and we realized we weren't friends of facebook. It snowballed from there.

Things are working out. Things are working out really well.

Goodnight, and thank you all for reading.