Rusty.

Your sword's grown old and rusty,

Burnt beneath the rising sun.

It's locked up like a trophy,

Forgetting all the things it's done.

And though it's been a long time

You're right back where you started from.

I see it in your eyes

And now you're giving up the gun.

-Vampire Weekend

The chorus of this song is really hitting home right now.

Also, the video for it is great - show that Jake Gyllenhaal who's boss, Kirsten Dunst-looking lady!

Ready to start.

A couple guys I know from work have a band. They're really good, but at the rate they're going, you'll never, ever get to hear them. They've been recording their demo for at least as long as I've worked at Bethel (over a year now), with no sign of finishing anything. Whenever I ask about the recording, the response always falls along the lines of "Well, we WERE getting really close to putting the finishing touches on this song, but we still have some ideas to make it better, so we're doing some more recording." These dudes have a home studio set up, so they have all the recording time they could ever want - often times a huge stepping stone for a young band with little cash on hand.

Granted, there are a lot of benefits to a situation like that, but I wonder if it's not actually as ideal as one would think. No financial limitations on studio time, and no fans immediately clamoring for more. They have all the time in the world to make an amazing record, but it may not happen at all.

What could be interpreted as having an unwavering attention to detail and nuance could just as easily be a crippling fear that this will never be as good as I want it to be.

As I mentioned awhile back, I used to be (okay, still sort of am) a perfectionist. I didn't even know how to start when I began work on a project, because I didn't think it would be good enough in the end. There is always the worry that once others see it, the jig is up and people know what I really am, or at least my limitations.

Sometimes I get so tied up with wanting to be at the front of the pack that I don't even bother entering the race.

I need to love what I'm doing first - this can't come from anyone else. In some ways, I don't even want to factor what others are doing into how I perceive my own work. It would be far more desirable to sail out towards the horizon and risk crashing into a wall at the end of my abilities than to consign myself to a certain distance, because that's all I perceive myself to be capable of.

"A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for." -John Shedd

Awake, my soul.

Many times in life does one come to arrive at a T, that intersection that does not allow him or her to simply continue through on the same road that brought them there; a change in direction is required.

I was reminded tonight of several specific events in life that presented the dilemma of arriving at a T. Wherever I was at that point in time, the road would take me no further unless I changed course.

Many of these events revolved around relationships with others:

Do I see this friendship aligning with who I want to become?

Do I break up with her, or take the relationship to the next level?

Should I hold on and try to ride these changes in leadership out, believing that it could get better soon, or is this my cue to jump ship and head someplace else?

Others have been more about personal choice, but typically the common thread running through has been a call to either fully commit or move on to something else. If I'm going to give my music a real shot, then I need to be 100% sold on it - otherwise it's just going to be frustrating. See also: blogging, working out,... Stuff like that.

When I reflect on the times that I've been presented with a T, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of the choices I've made. I'm disappointed at the times that I've chosen the quick way out instead of thinking long term, but the ones that haunt me are the times I've chosen the way of inaction - not making any solid decision, but letting things play out, knowing I will have only myself to blame for my current state.

When you don't choose, opportunities for growth just look like dead ends.