Missouri is For Lovers

I have a friend visiting my college town right now. I’ve spent the last few days giving her advice on where to get coffee, custard or a drink. In return I’ve received pictures, hilarious rambles and a longing to see a place I haven’t considered going back to in a long time.

You see, I left there for a reason. Going back now would be the geographic equivalent of clawing off fresh skin. I made my peace with the city that changed me completely and I’m not sure it would welcome me again. For five years I called Springfield my home. My constant. My undoing. I was a different person to everyone in that city. To some I was a worship leader at their church. Others, the guy that was really bad at beer pong. To even more, I was an indefinite, something completely in-between.

I remember late night conversations with Cayla, John and Jackie at Potters House, Mondays at the Mud drinking exotic beers with Nate and Danny. There were plenty of trips to Imo’s with Byrd and Erin and late night trips to Chopsticks with Anna, Delacey and Kenny.

But I believe in the nostalgia that Midnight in Paris talks about. The kind that keeps us looking back instead of forward, romanticizing things just because we know how they turn out. That’s why i like to remember the un-rosy things from Springfield. The cold days stuck in my apartment with no heat in the middle of an ice-storm. The random frat boys and metal-heads that seemed to inhabit every single corner of the city. The constant feeling of settling.

This balance is Springfield. There’s a handicap in all of this. I moved from Springfield and ended up in Paris shortly there after. Not many towns can compete with an apartment in the 16th and easy access to the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, let alone a mid-sized town in the Ozarks.

Since Springfield I’ve travelled to London, Paris, Los Angeles, Seattle, Las Vegas, New Orleans, Chattanooga and am still residing in Houston. I lost my first money gambling, stepped foot in the Pacific Ocean for the first time and contemplated life in a coffee shop right off Puget Sound. I’ve spent nights out with Germans in London and dodged an angry mob of Marseille fans while wearing a PSG jersey.

All of that is well and awesome, but I wouldn’t have had any of those chances if it wasn’t for Springfield.

For all the good and bad that happened there, I remember it as my springboard. It’s cramped streets made me long for little cars on Parisian roads and crowded Metro’s.

So here’s to meeting random people at The Mudhouse and smoking hookah at The Albatross. Now to keep moving forward.

On Finding Peace

I’ve tried to rationalize lots of things in my life; not studying enough in college, not moving to London in 2007, taking a job I didn’t really like. But as I switched over to CNN on Sunday, I was met with a whole different category.

Violence.

My fathers generation remembers where they were when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. I remember sitting in my living room alone as the second plane struck the Twin Towers. Zach, Sarah and I were driving back from The Cheesecake Factory as a stunned reporter kept fumbling to tell everyone that Osama bin Laden had been killed. I sat in my little yellow truck outside a pool supply store as they announced the first bombs were being dropped on Iraq. I was in a theater in Houston when 12 people were killed in Aurora, CO.

There’s something about violence that stays with us, quickens us to the core and makes us take note of life. So as I heard the news of the people that died while worshipping in a Sikh temple, my heart broke. Just about every Sunday I show up to a house of worship in a similar fashion and to think that someone would bring violence into such a place of peace is beyond rationalization.

While I was in London I had the chance to visit the Gurdwara Sri Guri Sing Sahba, Southall, the leading Sikh Gurdwara outside of India. A truly magnificent building with a massive, open hall for worship throughout the day, I found great peace sitting and listening to a language that I had no hope of understanding. Even though Sikhism is vastly different than my own Christian religion, I found something compelling about the ethics and motivations behind it. The people were all welcoming of the curious Westerners that observed there worship service. I sat on a padded floor with a crude bandana wrapped acting as a turban as I tried to grasp at what I was witnessing.

The thing that impressed me the most on my visit was the Langar, a community kitchen that serves vegetarian meals to anyone who comes. It was in the Langar that my religious education was turned upside down. Just like in Christianity, the Sikh worshipers understood the importance of meeting peoples needs, physical and spiritual. Compassion and love aren’t virtues that live in isolation inside a religious institution, but in people.

I felt peace in that Gurdwara, just like I’ve felt in various churches in the Midwest, a Bob Dylan concert, a home for the elderly and sitting along the Thames.

I think this is why violence leaves such a mark on us. We are people built for peace but bent on corruption. Different religions explain it many ways, but I recognize it through a Christian lens as the fall and depravity of man.

After the tragic spike in shootings that have plagued our country, and our world, its inevitable that people will blame guns, mental illness and political systems. In some ways they may even be right. I think the problem is more personal. For starters, I’m the problem. I believe in peace, non-violence, harmony and finding a better way. Yet so many times I find myself just going along with the current climate and rationalizing violence like it was my choice to not move overseas. It was Thomas Merton that said “If you yourself are at peace, then there is at least some peace in the world.”

I need to learn to be at peace with myself before I can truly understand what peace in the world can look like.

My Favorite Things pt. 2 (Geography)

If there’s one thing in the world that I live for, it’s travel. Nothing fascinates me more than diving into a city and experiencing it’s history, triumphs, demons, and joys. I have trouble being a tourist. When I go someplace new I like to experience the mundane, trivial things that would happen if I was a local. For this reason, I rarely travel with people. I have a feeling I’d be a handful to put up with.

Moving on, here’s a few of my favorite’s from around the world.

Spot in Paris – It’s hard to nail down a favorite anything when I think of Paris. No matter what I pick, i’d be leaving out countless amazing spots. I could easily say the overlook in front of Sacre Couer or standing under the Eiffel Tower as it sparkled in the night. All of these would be very valid choices, but when I think of my time in Paris, I think of The Highlander. It wasn’t even close to being glamorous. A Scottish pub with an Irish bartender tucked into a side alley just down from Pont Neuf. Nothing fancy, just familiar. Between watching my friend Thomas Brun hosting the weekly Open Mic Night and standing in a crowded cellar to watch Barcelona beat Manchester United in the Champions League Final, that little pub made me feel at home. I met people sitting at the bar that I still talk to to this day. So I know I should say something glamorous like a cafe in Montmarte or Pont des Artes, but for me, The Highlander is Paris.

Place I’ve Never Been – This may sound like a weird category for a favorites list but I think it’s important to set goals. The next spot in the world that i want to find myself in is Berlin, Germany. I’m utterly fascinated with the history of Berlin and the multiple transformations it’s gone through in just the past 70 years. I’ve always wanted to walk the streets of Berlin while listening to U2’s Achtung Baby. I don’t think there are many cities in the world that can compete with Berlin when it comes to history. From world wars, Communism, reunification and through to being an integral part of the European Union, Berlin is truly one of the world’s greatest cities. I can’t wait to visit.

My Favorite Things pt. 1

I’m feeling particularly blessed these days. This happens every once in a while and usually leads to copious amounts of contemplation about the direction of my life and what I can do to make it even better. This time though, I’m remembering. The good times, friends, hardships, experiences and daydreams.

So instead of just letting them float around in my head for a while, I think I’m gonna share them. Little by little.

My favorite sunset – There’s a little dock just down from a small cluster of houses on the island of Eleuthera in The Bahamas. It’s mostly concrete and hasn’t been used for boats in years. The smell of seaweed and shells seeped into my pores as I sat there next to my cousin Julie and my friend from high school, Josh. We were there on a work trip, helping repair a house for a missionary. The days were long and a bit treacherous as we had to mix cement by hand, paint and lay tile in 110 degree weather. The nighttime was when the island came alive. It was the first time I’d been off mainland USA and away from all the hustle and bustle I was used to. The three of us slipped away after dinner to go lay down on the cool concrete by the water. Rays of pink, yellow, and magenta washed over us as we sat with our backs on the wet stone. The bright orange disc slowly sunk into the Atlantic taking my breath with it. Thirty minutes later came act two. Above was a sight I’d never seen, the cosmos. I’d seen plenty of stars, but none like this. The heavenly creatures were giving birth to other stars and seemed to be playing with each other on an endless dark blue canopy. I felt God in that moment, for the first time in a long time. He was the stars, and I desperately wanted to play among them.

My favorite meal – I had many good friends in Paris, but David took the cake when it came to living. He was one of those that wasn’t content until he’d squeezed every last little drop out of the day. Only then could he rest his head for a moment. We made plans to go outside the city a bit and spend a day like normal Parisians would. After jumping a few turnstiles in the La Defense Metro station, we were on our way There were eight of us in all; My group of four, David, Liz, Kourtnee, and our new friend Tricia. First things first, we went to the local market and grabbed a ton of fresh ingredients. David was the chef for the night and had something fun in mind. After walking for a pretty long while, we arrived at Liz’s host family’s house, a slightly idyllic country house just north of the bright lights of Paris. We began to make our own homemade pizzas. Dough flew everywhere, as did the jokes laughter. We ate pizza and drank wine until the sun went down and then capped it off by watching Beauty and the Beast on a projector. I don’t remember what was on my pizza, but I do remember it was one of the most memorable meals I’ve ever eaten.

Untitled #24

I dreamt of London tonight,
those wicked times
stumbling with the angels
to catch the 11 home.
The Queen slept
as we danced the night
deep into the darkness.
“Tu me plais beaucoup”
but off you go
leaving me lost on
Liverpool, cold and
exhilarated.
Tonight I sleep happy,
coddled with memories,
Hollywood belles,
Bridget Bardot,
and your eyes
slowly pulling
me under.

Memorybilia – Sportsday Megaphone & London

Everyone has a playlist for when they travel. Normally when I’m on airplanes I listen to acoustic style stuff with a little Bruce Springsteen or maybe Coldplay thrown in for variety.

For every city I visit, especially in Europe, I make a mix to walk around to. Paris was full of Phoenix, Bob Dylan, Razorlight, and Ryan Adams. For some reason Ryan Adams captures the nighttime walking along the Seine perfectly for me.

I had a killer mix for London with Amos Lee, Travis, David Gray, Manic Street Preachers, Keane, and U2 in heavy rotation. That all changed when I ran into Sportsday Megaphone.  I know I’ve blogged about his music before but when I think about the city of London, his songs are constantly playing in the background.

After my first encounter with Sportsday at The Social I put his album in pretty heavy rotation as I trekked through the old streets of London. I was there in the summer so it wasn’t as dreary during the day as most people lead you to believe. I had my trusty headphones slung low on my ears and as I ventured into the city, the 16-bit beats of Sportsday Megaphone made the entire city come alive. I’ll never forget walking across the Millennium Bridge from the Tate Modern with St. Pauls Cathedral sprawling in front of me with the sound of “Less and Less” looping in my head.

Whenever I hear “One Small Page” I can’t help but think of Evelin in Barcelona and how its been so much longer than 9 days since I’ve seen her.

So if you haven’t ever heard Sportsday Megaphone, here’s your chance. Make your own memories.

To Make a Mixtape, Vol. 2

As I sat on my couch a couple of nights ago putting together Mixtape #2 I realized something. As the track list came together I found myself getting very emotional and nostalgic. Without even thinking about it, I had put together the most personal mix of music that I had ever made.

To give some background, this was a Folk themed mix. I love me some rock and roll and Pop. I cut my musical teeth as a musician listening to Blues and trying to be Buddy Guy. But I’ve never felt more musically alive than when I put on Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks or listened to James Taylor’s Carolina in my Mind. To me, folk style music is just in my blood. No matter whats going on in my life, I can count on folk music to help regulate my mood and calm me down.Not everyone likes  sappy acoustic love songs or harmonicas and banjo’s but I just can’t get enough of folk, especially the new Americana like The Civil Wars and Mumford and Sons.

So what’s so personal about this mix. Here’s a little sampling of what a couple of these songs mean to me.

Somewhere North of Here – Caedmon’s Call

I can’t count the number of times I listened to this song as I drove from Missouri to Texas. I often wondered if Derek Webb followed me around and listened to my thoughts as he wrote that song. I was dating someone that lived in Texas while I was at school in Missouri and this song was the only way I made it back home safe  many a times.”I’m driving till my eyes just can’t see straight” is one of my all time favorite lines ever.

Hymn #101 – Joe Pug

As I went through some serious life storms in 2010 I ran across this gem from Joe Pug and I can safely say that it helped me get to sleep at 4am in the morning more than any sleeping pill could. “The more I buy, the more I’m bought. Yeah and the more I’m bought, the less I cost” is one of the most profoundly simple yet amazing lines that’s been written in the last 10 years. It changed how I perceived things and that’s exactly what I needed.

3×5 – John Mayer

If you know me at all you know I love to travel. This song sat in the back of my library for a long time until it randomly got put on my iPod as I was walking by myself down by the Thames in London. It was a very dreary summer day and it was the first day into my 1 month trip that I actually felt alone. I had just finished writing a poem while listening to Amos Lee when John sang “today I finally overcame, trying to fit the world inside a picture frame” and it hit me. I wasn’t lonely in London, I was just lonely. I’ve still to this day never traveled to my favorite places with a significant other and that’s easily one of my biggest regrets. I made plans to a couple of times but could never follow through. So here I am, still stuck by the Thames and wondering who’s gonna walk up next.

Sure I left some songs out because of time constraints. I probably would’ve added I Love You in a Song by Jim Croce if I had more room on the disc, and possibly Ryan Adams’ Come Pick Me Up. So is this mixtape really me? Probably too much so.

The Events of My Life: The Long, Eerie Walk

I’ve toyed with writing this post for a while now. Honestly, it’s not the easiest subject for me to put into words but I really think it’s a moment that impacted me greatly.

The date was June 29th 2007 and I was right in the middle of a one month vacation in London. It was my first time in the UK and after 4 weeks in Birmingham I was ready to get out and experience all that the capital had to offer. On the agenda for the evening was a concert at a little place called Barfly. After hearing a couple up and coming punk bands I decided to head back towards Trafalgar Square to catch a night bus out to Bethnal Green to my hostel. It was a nice night out so I figured a long walk would do me good. My path led me right into the Haymarket District where I had eaten a very gourmet version of Fish & Chips earlier in the evening. The stars were out and it was just beautiful. After a long bus ride I was finally sitting in my tiny room when I decided to check some e-mails.

That’s when everything changed.

As I browsed through some messages the newshound in me went straight to CNN where the top headline caught my eye, “Bomb Found in London”. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. No more than 20 minutes after I had walked through the Haymarket District a car bomb was found and defused outside of the Tiger Tiger nightclub. As I pulled up the map on the site I realized that I had walked right past where the car full of petrol, and nails was found.

My body went a little numb as I read the reports of how many people they estimated would have been killed if it had detonated like it was intended to. Here I was in one of the worlds largest cities, by myself and scared. I read some more accounts and theories on the night and then finally drifted off to sleep around 4 am.

The hostel I was staying at was in Hackney in East London and after piddling around the grounds for a while I decided it was time to venture back out into the City Centre. I hopped the tube and within minutes I emerged at Oxford Circus. A typical London fog had taken over the day with a steady mist of rain falling pretty much all day. The big event in the city that weekend was Pride London and there were lots of people dressed brightly and filling the streets. The problem was that I had never seen the city so quiet, especially right before a big parade day.

People were just shuffling along with shocked looks on their faces, staying close to their friends and huddling under umbrellas and rain coats. A day that was initially meant for celebrating and revelry was suddenly marred by a haze of sadness and sorrow that I couldn’t quite explain. No bomb had gone off and no life had been lost during the incident, but it seemed as if the people of London had once again lost their innocence. Their anguish was painted on their faces just as clear as the rainbow flags that hung on every street corner.

After a couple of hours of walking around I finally pieced together the courage to head back towards Haymarket to see if I could find where the car was. Sure enough, I had walked directly past it. I can’t really explain the feeling that came over me when I realized that if something had actually happened the night before, I very much could have been right in the midst of it. I try not to think about my mortality much, but that day it was the only thing in my head. I wanted to call my parents and tell them that I loved them. Suddenly my choices over the past year felt stupid and trivial.

The rest of the day was pretty surreal and sedate. I shopped a little bit and then headed back and watched Big Brother with some of the other students at the hostel. Still, I couldn’t shake this feeling that the city had changed somehow, suddenly and overnight.

Then the morning came.

It was a Saturday and the sun was shining brightly on the Thames as I made my way up by the Houses of Parliament. Crowds were already forming for the Pride London parade and the beautiful weather made it a perfect day for a party. Just as suddenly as the city had slipped into its gloom, it shed it’s coat for a sunny summer day of optimism and hope. I still don’t understand what had changed but all the sorrow on people’s faces the day before was nowhere to be seen. It’s as if London was saying “You can’t hurt me, you can’t bring me down.”

I left some of my innocence there in Haymarket on a dreary London day, but promptly found hope amid a group of smiling superheroes celebrating in the streets on a beautiful day after. London moves on.

The Events of My Life – Toronto to London

The second time that I ventured to the UK I decided to take a little different route than I had before. The plan was to meet up with my group in Birmingham but I decided I wanted to head to London first so I booked a cheap flight with Air Canada and started packing. The whole reason for the short stop off was to try to get a ticket to the England/USA soccer game that was going to be played at the new Wembley stadium, but unfortunately I couldn’t. Instead I was just gonna take a quick coach ride up to Brum.

This was my first time flying Air Canada and so I didn’t really have any expectations for the flight. As long as I could take my pills and fall asleep fast, everything was gonna be alright. That was not the case.

When I boarded I made my way to what was the very last seat in the back of the airplane, you know, the one where you can sit and chat with the stewards and stewardess’ the whole flight. I would say I wasn’t thrilled but for the price that I got the ticket I should have expected something like this. Determined to make the best of my circumstances I quickly introduced myself to Paul the Steward and asked if I could have an early bag of peanuts before the plane took off.

As I was munching on my five unsalted peanuts a young girl came and sat down in the window seat next to me. She was about 5′ 9″ and had gorgeous blond hair down to the bottom of her neck. Suddenly the trip began to look more bearable. She introduced herself as Ivana,a twentysomething that had been studying in Toronto but was on her way back to her native Czech Republic. Her English was hard to understand partly because of her thick accent, but at least she was pleasant.

As we took off I slid my headphones over my ears and waited for my Dramamine to kick in. After a short time of sleeping I felt a gentle touch on my arm and awoke to find Ivana staring at me. She had pulled a book out of her bag and was eager to show me some different pictures and facts about the Czech Republic.

I feel I should tell you my routine before long flights. Basically, I deprive myself of sleep and then sit down in my assigned seat and crash into slumber until we arrive. Theoretically, this approach should work perfectly but has only been executed to perfection once. So when I step onto an airplane I’m usually exhausted and excited at the same time.

So as Ivana opened her book and began to show me some of the beautiful sights from Prague and the surrounding countryside, I was less than amused. I could barely understand what she was saying to begin with and even though the pictures were intriguing, I just wasn’t in the mood for story time.  After paying attention for way too long, out food came and was a welcome distraction. The next couple hours passed smoothly with little interruption but just as I began to doze off again I could hear Ivana’s voice calling my name. I tried desperately to ignore it but I’m just not that rude of a person. As I looked over toward her I could tell she was staring intently out the little window. I leaned over to see just what she was so interested in.

Glaciers. Ice. Frozen Beauty.

I had always flown the southerly route from Newark to the UK and had never seen the vast expanse of ice and glaciers in the Northern Atlantic. I imagine what I was looking at was part of the edge of Greenland and, eventually, the area around Iceland. It was truly astounding and I couldn’t stop looking out the little piece of glass that we both were stuck behind.

The rest of the trip went rather quickly with just a handful of words spoken between Ivana and I but I can’t help but think of what I would have missed if I would have kept pretending to be asleep.

Once we got to Heathrow, I walked with Ivana into the main terminal where we talked for a little bit until she had to catch her connecting flight. We shared a quick hug and I wished her good luck and safety as she flew on. She smiled and then strolled off quickly with her little picture book in hand.

I wish I had that kind of enthusiasm for where I’m from. She was so proud of her little country that she kept a piece of it with her in her carry-on, a little reminder of who she was.

She took some pictures of the glaciers that we saw that I’d love to have seen. I hope she remembers sitting next to some punk American kid and staring out a little window at ice as much as I remember her telling me stories about her homeland. Turns out that Ivana means “God is gracious” and that’s exactly what I remember when I think about flying from Toronto to London.