Story

She cut me!? Really?

I was in a playful mood and she was pretty, so it was okay. I quickly corrected her, though.

"So because you're cute you think you can cut in front of us non-cute people in line?"

She laughed. I bought her drink. We talked for a good 30 minutes and the rest was history. Dreamworks picked up the rights to our story and Shrek 7 was born.

It's a pretty great "how did you meet" story. But it isn't ours.

Stephanie and I met....online. Eharmony to be exact. I clicked the "Start Communication" button and we started talking online (in a non creepy manner). I was quickly drawn to Stephanie for two reasons. Her church was "all up in my business" and she wanted overalls to come back in style. I could dig.

But it isn't a flashy story. There isn't anyone, save Eharmony, knocking on our door asking for the rights to tell our story. Don't get me wrong, I'm stoked that Eharmony brought me Stephanie. I joke that it was the best $45 I ever spent. She doesn't necessarily like that. But there isn't the story you dream of telling your grandkids about.

So when I knew 10 days into our relationship that I could and wanted to marry Stephanie, I started thinking about how I would ask her. I couldn't control how we met, but I could control the moment of how I would ask her to be my wife.

She knew it was coming. We had been talking about marriage almost since the beginning. She joked that I better not make her wait a year to propose. It was the kind of joking that a woman does when she isn't really joking. She's dead serious and you're seriously dead if you take her "joke" for a joke. I liked this, because let's be honest, she's pretty amazing. Although I'm not in any hurry to marry her, I don't really know why I would wait.

We had talked about proposing in the summer because it would give me time to save money to buy a ring. Stephanie's brother is also getting married in July, so it made sense in my mind to wait until after his wedding (not like 30 minutes after they say "I do"). So she kind of knew it was coming. In her mind (with my help), she was thinking August or maybe September. Over the last month that has been the song she has heard from me.

So while she was thinking August or September, I started to plan to propose on July 3rd.

In the first week of June I sat down with Stephanie's brother over a couple drinks. I wanted to get permission for two things: to propose to Stephanie and to propose a few weeks before his wedding. He was on board for both. I was stoked. Two days later, I went out Stand Up Paddleboarding with Stephanie's Dad, told him how much I loved his daughter, and asked for his permission. He said "yes." Things were moving. Stephanie had no idea.

Over the next week I found the ring setting and got approval from her Mother and Sister. I also got to planning the day...how I would surprise her and setting up a party with family and friends afterwards.

Over the next few weeks, while I was leading trips in Alaska, I tweaked the plan slightly and began to get all my ducks in a row. So here is how it all went down....

I flew into Long Beach airport at 8am on Monday (July 2nd) morning. Stephanie picked me up and we had an absolutely great day together. We did some hiking and had dinner and drinks at our favorite spot in LA. It really was a great day after being apart for three weeks. We were going to enjoy my week off of work. The next morning, we got an early start because we had to be at Saddleback Church at 10am. We had an interview.

We had looked at a wedding venue owned by Saddleback back in May. The church had so many restrictions that we decided to begin the process before we were officially engaged. Our "interview" lasted almost three hours and involved a 300 question test. Towards the end of the interview, I missed a call from a boss at Backroads and received a couple peculiar text messages about flights. I excused myself.

My boss had left me a message saying that another Backroads' leader had broken their arm in Yosemite and I needed to fly up that night to fill in immediately. They already had purchased me a plane ticket for 4:15pm. It was 12:30pm. This was all part of the plan. I had planted seeds weeks earlier in Stephanie's head that some of my off-weeks were "flexible weeks."Basically, I was on-call. This was one of those weeks.

So while Stephanie finished up the meeting, I sat outside and began to get sad. I almost cried.

"What's wrong?" - Stephanie
"I'm flying to Oakland at 4:15pm. I have to be in Yosemite tonight." - me
"Did someone get hurt?" - Stephanie
"Yah" - me

Commence the sad car ride.

She didn't ask as many questions as I thought she might. She didn't check the voicemail or ask about my flight number (I had a legitimate flight number and departure time).

She was sad, though, and I was quiet. I bit my tongue for the next few hours. I almost caved several times. I didn't like seeing her sad. Her mom later told me that I was the "weak link" to this plan. She was right.

But I bit my tongue. We drove to San Clemente to see her parents for a quick lunch. Stephanie felt she needed to show her parents that she really did have a boyfriend.

We arrived at their house and they joined in the play. They had known about the plan for a month, but they acted like they were just as surprised and sad as Stephanie was.

Her parents actually helped set the mood for the day. Ever since I asked for their permission, Stephanie's Mom and Dad hassled her whenever she talked about marrying me. They would say "he's only your boyfriend" or "well, he hasn't talked to us yet." She immediately relayed those messages to me in Alaska. "You have to talk to my parents. They need to know that you intend to marry me."

Stephanie pushed it on me again on this day...in front of her parents.

"You need to talk to my parents about marrying me. They think I'm crazy." - Stephanie
"Well, I want to marry your daughter" - Blake
"That's not asking" - Bruce, Stephanie's Dad
Dead silence

After an hour of biting my tongue, acting sad, and enduring awkward moments at her parents' house, we left for the airport.

The 30 minute drive to John Wayne was tough. She was sad...really sad. She said things like, "I'm tired of being Stephanie Erickson. I want to be Stephanie Naylor." Or, "I know it sounds romantic, but I was thinking that maybe you were going to come home a day early from Alaska and surprise me and propose."

She was setting me up so well.

She dropped me at the curb at John Wayne airport. We hugged. I walked in and she drove off. After pretending to go to the ticket counter and watching her drive away, I came back out to the curb. Ten minutes later, my roommate pulled up and I hopped in his car.

I had a small window of time now. I needed to change clothes, get my center stone set in the setting (I bought them separately and hadn't had time till now), and needed to get down to San Clemente. While this was all happening, Stephanie went home, washed off her makeup, put on sweats, and did some crying. I called her saying I had boarded the plane. I told her how I thought her Dad was angry at me. His tone wasn't how it normally was. She assured me he wasn't.

At 6pm, when I had made it down to the beach and my buddy/photographer was present, I texted her Dad and told him I was ready. I then texted her and told her I had landed in Oakland and told her to call me later. She told me that her Dad was taking her out. I again told her that "I hope he isn't upset with me."

Stephanie's Dad told her that he needed to talk to her and they should go for a walk. He drove her down to T St. in San Clemente. It's a sentimental beach spot for the Erickson family. It's a quick walk from their Grandparents' home. Stephanie has a childhood of walking down to that beach.

When they got out of the car, Bruce began telling Stephanie about the yellow flags he had concerning me. "Blake was right," Stephanie said in her head, "he is upset with him." As he expressed his concerns, she defended me. She talked about my work ethic and how much she loved and trusted me. As they walked down the path paralleling the beach, I stood awkwardly halfway between the water and the path on the beach.

I swore she would have seen me. I was standing alone, dressed up, and holding a rose. She didn't see me. She was defending me.

When Stephanie and Bruce got directly parallel with me, he stopped her and told her to look over her shoulder. Confused, she did.

She saw me.

She ran out to me.

"What are you doing here!? You're supposed to be on a plane! I'm so mad at you right now!"

We hugged. We kissed. She hit me. She pushed me way. I smiled.

"What's happening?" It's a common Stephanie question.

"The rest of our life is happening." At that point I think she realized what was happening.

Over the next several minutes I talked to her about our story and the things I loved about her. She repeatedly interrupted me to kiss me, or push me away, or when something clicked in her head about the events of the day. "This is why my sister wanted me to put make-up on!"

After about five minutes, I dropped to a knee and asked the question I intend to never ask again.She said "yes." People nearby cheered. She never looked at the ring nor seemed intent on putting it on. She just hugged me and kissed me. I had to remind her that this was the "part where you put the ring on." She did. She loved it. We went for a walk. We prayed.

We came back and took some photos with my friend, Ian. He did a great job.

We headed up to my car and I began to fill in the details of the day. She had no clue.

We went to her Grandparents and told them the news. We then headed back to her parents' house to pick them up to go to dinner. She was surprised once again when she walked in and found both of our families and some close friends. We celebrated. It was perfect. I couldn't have asked for a better day. I couldn't be marrying a more amazing woman.

I'm thankful.

Contentment

"I don't need you."

It stung a little bit. I had heard it before from a past girlfriend who, at the time, I believed actually really did need me to help her process her past.

I have my junk. There's more in my past than I would like to admit. Making mistakes, chasing illusions, and being controlled by my insecurities all shaped past relationships. I, however, was too stubborn to acknowledge my faults and work on them.

I have testosterone in my body. It's the chemical that makes a person desire to and believe they can fix another person. Little problems, big problems, no problems at all? Testosterone says " I can fix you." At times, I think I was drawn to girls who could provide me with the sense that I was needed to "fix" them.

I want to feel like I fill a void.

So when the girl, who over the course of a few weeks had gone from a person I enjoyed, to a person I really liked, to someone I truly loved, said she "didn't need" me, it stung. I was momentarily deflated not as much by the fact that she said, but by the reality that it was true.

I thought about it. She didn't need me. She's intelligent, intentional, mature, and independent. Sure she has her faults and has her share of regrets. But she identified them and worked through them on her own. She's healthy. It was a major reason why I almost didn't pursue her after the first date.

She doesn't need me.

And the more I thought about it. I don't need her either. As much as I spent most of my life desiring to fill another person's "void," I wanted someone to fill my void as well.

With the exception of a couple coffee dates, I have been in dating hibernation for the past two years. My last relationship was not the healthiest and it brought to light some of my insecurities and shortcomings. My "voids" were blatantly clear.

So I worked on them. I wasn't ready to date. I had to figure out myself. I had to be the right person before I could ever discern who the right person was for me.

And I became content. I became content with being single. It didn't matter that thirty was rapidly approaching. I was happy with myself...satisfied with who I am. Sure, I want to be married. But why rush?

And out of contentment with my singleness, she entered my life. And I almost missed her. After a great first date filled with brutal honesty and lots of laughs, I relapsed to my old self. She wasn't like the girls I had dated before. She was incredibly independent. I didn't think I could offer her much...she didn't need me.

I went home and crafted an email I would send to her. It was nice and honest. I talked about the things I liked about her, but ended with why I didn't think we were "right" for one another.

I almost sent it. But I was conflicted. I really enjoyed the date. I sent my buddy a text telling him about it. His response was, "get to know her heart."

So I called her up and I did just that.

We talked for over an hour the first night. The second night we talked for almost two. It was easy. It was fun. I was falling.

And here we are a month and a half later....a little ridiculous about each other.

It's easy and fun. A friend had told me a few years back that the dating stage should be easy, because marriage can be hard. This is easy. I know things will get tough. We will work through those things, but for now it's easy. There's no insecurities, no skeletons left hiding in the closet, no facade of fancy and fun dates. It's just been doing life together and it's been really enjoyable.

And, no, she doesn't need me. And I don't need her. But I want her.

I know I would have missed her if I hadn't worked through my stuff.

Only from a place of personal contentment can we enjoy another person for who they truly are.

Strength

It wasn't my fault. I was cheated.

When I came back to baseball after missing my 7th grade year as a result of a late sign-up, I experienced a miraculous transformation in my game. I went from being a kid who barely played and never contributed to an all-star catcher and a major part of the best team in the league. What happened? I don't know.

The next year I moved up to High School and joined the Frosh-Soph team. I went right back to riding the pine. This time, though, it wasn't for lack of ability. I was slotted as the backup catcher to the best player on our team. Chris Nelson, one of the few sophmores on the team, was also a catcher. For the first few weeks of the season I warmed the bench and practiced my seed cracking skills.

Then my chance came.

The catcher on the Junior Varsity team got injured and Chris was called up. Into the 8 hole on Coach Z's lineup card went my name. And I did alright. I was never a great hitter, but I was solid defensively. Then the varsity head coach pulled me aside after a game.

During the game, a runner at first got too far off the base after a pitch. I gave him a pump fake. He froze maybe twenty feet off of first base. I had a choice. I could throw it to second base which would prevent him from advancing, but also allow him to safely return to first. Or I could throw it to first, a more risky move. There's a better chance of getting the runner out, but also a better chance the runner takes off and beats the first baseman's throw to second.

None of this went through my mind.

I don't know why I threw to first and took the risky option, but I did. And we got the runner out. After the game, Coach Ruth came up to me and affirmed my decision and the guts I had to go after the runner. As a fourteen year old, I probably did a Beavis and Butthead, "Wow."

I felt good and played with more confidence and guts the rest of the year. I became a better hitter and a better catcher. The following year Coach Ruth took a job at another school and we got a new coach. As for me, I moved up to Junior Varsity, started every game, hit better, and helped my team win league.

The next year I moved up to Varsity. I assumed I was going to start since I had two good years under my belt. I was a solid defensive catcher and an average hitter.

I guess I was too average, because the new head coach decided to move our best hitter to the catcher's position. I busted my butt in preseason and tried to win the job from him. At the end, the coach went with the (much) better hitter.

From that point on, I started maybe a dozen games over the next two years. I made excuses, embraced injuries, and took to my role on the bench. I complained about the coach and pretty much inspired JT's "cry me a river."

I quit. That's the truth.

Sure, I could hang out at the local bar and convince my drinking buddies of how good I could have been if it wasn't for some (fill in the blank) coach. I could pass it off as not being my fault, how I was slighted. Frankly, I could probably convince some people that was true.

At the end of the day, I quit. I chose to sulk and not to fight. I chose to go to the pity party over going to work. I chose the easy way.

I run frequently. And I hate it.

It's probably less than 10% of the time when I go running that I'm excited about it. I get no more than 30 feet from my house and I begin a 20 second debate on whether I should turn back. "This is hard." "I think I'm cramping up." "I'm missing Wheel of Fortune." I make excuses for why I shouldn't endure the pain of the next hour. Most of the time I don't cave. Most of the time I run.

And that's why I do it. Running, for me, is more than a physical experience. It trains in me the ability to say no....to myself.

I say yes far too often. I say yes to to eating rediculous amounts of candy during Christmas and Easter. I say yes to avoiding the difficult conversation that should happen with another person. I say yes to to putting down the book and pulling up ESPN on my computer. I say yes to stopping at 8 reps when the workout calls for 10. I say yes to all sorts of temptations.

Basically, I say yes to the easy choice; to the choice that presents the least bit of resistance and discomfort.

When I was trekking in Nepal last month my friend told me that I was a strong hiker. After days of prideful giddiness over the comment, I began to reflect on what strength really is. What does it mean to really be strong?

Does it mean bench pressing 200 pounds?

Does it mean withstanding the urge to cry when Rose lets go of Jack's hand in Titanic?

How about beating testicular cancer, winning the Tour de France seven times, and leaving your family in the process? Is that strong? (sorry - tangent rant)

For some people, that stuff is easy. It comes natural. It's not difficult for Arnold Schwarzenager to lift a couple hundred pounds. Heck, he could probably do it if he had never touched weights before.

My conclusion, strength is the ability to endure discomfort.

Trekking comes easy to me. It's natural. I think my body was built for it. I have abnormally strong legs (though I never really work them out) and I have the lung capacity of an olympic rower. For some reason, I was built that way. So hiking long uphill distances at elevation isn't as hard for me as it would be for someone who might naturally have weak legs and poor lung capacity. Am I strong for being good at the things that come easy to me?

Real strength comes when we face those things that are hard and painful for us. Overcoming those things should not be easy. If you want to run a marathon and you've never run more than a neighborhood block, the road ahead of you will be tough. If you want to better manage your finances even though you have a Starbucks and Nordstrom habit, it's not going to be easy. If you want to be a better boyfriend/girlfriend even though you have made bad or selfish decisions in the past, it's not going to all of a sudden become easy. The finish line won't get closer. Nordstroms won't magically disappear. The perfect girlfriend won't all of a sudden make you into the perfect boyfriend. You have to work at it.

This new year, go to work. Overcome yourself. Avoid comfort and tackle the things that cause you discomfort. Don't make excuses. Don't look for ways out. Don't fool yourself thinking you can grow without discomfort. You can do it. It won't be easy, but you'll be stronger for it.

Organic

It should have been on my list. In hindsight, I want to add it. It is worthy.

I call it my "30 by 30" list. Thirty things I want to do before I turn thirty years old. It's not a complete list yet and I doubt it will be before I turn thirty, but there are some sweet things I hope to do on there. Like hike the John Muir Trail or rock a mullet or tip someone $100. Some I have knocked off, like learn to two-step and ask a complete stranger out. Most of them, though, will hopefully occupy my next 498 days.

Well, I experienced something totally awesome a week back and I want to add it to the list.

I rode a motorcycle in a 3rd world country.

It was organic.

I don't usually buy organic products. I know it's better for the environment, the plants, and for me. But I'm cheap and an organic potato costs as much as a 5lb bag of pesticide laced taters. Really when it comes down to it, that's it. You can explain the benefits and try to reason me, but at the end of the day, I'm cheap. Sorry.

But I did experience something organic....and I liked it. No, I'm not ready to buy organic fruit, join the Democratic party (nor the Republican for that matter), or talk to the Green Peace guy outside Trader Joe's, but it did open my eyes to something.

The last time I was in Nepal (2002) I worked at an orphanage/boarding school. It was a great experience for myself and, I hope, a great experience for the kids as well. It was during the middle of Nepal's decade long civil war and things heated up when we were there. So much so, that the organization we were working with decided to pull us out the country early. We were on a plane to Thailand in less than 24 hours. So, our goodbyes to the kids and the country was a blur.

So, being back in the country for the first time since then, I decided to pay a visit. The orphanage is in the town of Dhulikel, which is about 90 minutes outside of Kathmandu by bus. That was the plan...take a bus to the town and back on my one free day in Kathmandu. Then I had a stroke of genius.

These are rare so I try to take advantage of them. You never know when, or if, another one will occur again. So I acted.

Why not rent a motorcycle and drive there? Sure I haven't been on a motorcycle in over a year. Sure it's driving in a 3rd world country on the other side of the road. But it's only $7 a day to rent a bike.

Did I mention that I'm cheap?

I arrived at the rental building at 8am and traded my passport (security deposit) for a sport bike that boasted a 150cc engine and shiny blue paint. I strapped on the helmet I was given, flipped down the visor, and then flipped it back up. It must have been dragged along the asphalt. It was scratched like the underside of a teenage boy's skateboard. As I drove away through the tourist heavy area of Thamel, it dawned on me, they never asked for proof of a motorcycle license or even whether I knew how to operate one. I must project, "he's tough, awesome, and knows what he's doing."

8:15am on a weekday in a major city is not the best time to take your 15 year old child on their first behind the wheel experience. 8:15am on a weekday in the capital city of a 3rd world country is also probably not the best time to reacquaint yourself with driving a motorcycle. But it had to do.

As I drove through the narrow alleyways dodging potholes and people, I quickly realized that sidewalks, lanes, signals, and the horn were different from my previous experience with them in the states. For starters, there really aren't any sidewalks in Kathmandu. Where do people walk you ask? Yep, right down the middle of the street. And so, they are an obstacle. What about lanes? They're there. Maybe one day they were adhered to, but not today. Two cars can take up a lane or one car can take up two lanes. A bus can pass at anytime so there are times when your "lane" is being almost completely occupied by an oncoming bus. At this moment, the shoulder becomes your friend. Turn signals? I'm pretty sure they are for decoration only. The horn? Well, that puppy is gold in Nepal. If you're horn is busted you may as well take the bus. It's not an instrument to dispense anger, but rather a symphony of "hey look at me." It alerts everyone within ear shot of where you are. Passing a bus? Beep, beep, beep. Coming up on a crowd of people walking down the street? Beep, beep, beeeep. Enjoying too much silence and sanity? Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeep!

So, driving in Nepal is different. Organic? Yes.

Driving through the city and then the hill country of Nepal alerted all my senses. You become one with your bike as you feel every part of the road. There's no need to use your mirrors. Your ears becomes tuned to the constant horns around you. You're constantly scanning the horizon for people about to dart out and the road for craters to emerge. You can smell taste the exhaust of never smogged buses on your tongue (that was one I could do without).

Most of all, though, driving through Nepal was about sensing movement and motion. I never had to slam on my breaks or accelerate to avoid an accident. I had to anticipate the next movement of the bus, dog, and taxi. I had to watch and feel where the pedestrian, cow, or motorcycle would go. As I found my space in the throngs of other, I had be aware of all their slight movements and always be ready to adjust to fit myself in amongst them

And yet, it was totally fluid. It was completely natural. It was organic. And I liked it.

For a day, I was spiderman.

Dichotomy

India is a dichotomy in the purest sense.

I arrived home yesterday from my travels in Nepal and India. If it wasn't for compartitively cheap airfare out of Delhi, my travels would have been limited to Nepal. India was never on my radar. It was not a place I had much desire to visit. No real reason for that. It just never interested me.

My time in India was short, but full. In my three days in the country, I saw three major cities and had a variety of experiences. At the end of it all, my conclusion? India is....India. As far as I know, there is no place like it. It's a dichotomy from block to block and person to person.

Varanasi, arguably the holiest city of the world, is the destination of millions of pilgrims every year. Each day, locals and people from all over the world come to participate in the holy ritual of bathing in the Ganges river to wash away their sins. Holy water? Maybe. The water has 1.5 million faecal coliform bacteria per 100mL of water. In water that is safe for bathing this figure should be less than 500.

In India, cows are revered and monkeys are praised. Dogs? The only thing they are worthy of is a beating.

Shoes are removed as you enter homes, buildings, and places of worship to keep the area clean. If you need to relieve yourself, the gutter on the side of the street is an acceptable and common place to do so.

India is home to a third of the world's poor with over 40% of the population living on under $1.25 a day. India is also fourth on the list of countries with the most billionaires (USD) - behind the US, China, and Russia.

A local man told me that, "Nine out ten Indians are bad people. They are dangerous. The other one [Indian] is like Ghandi."

This is India.

Did I love India? Yes, parts.

Did I hate India? Yes, parts.

In the end, India is India.

Delayed Dreams

You should have seen me on the Annapruna Circuit and Base Camp treks. I was a machine. I jammed. Our group hiked fast, passed other trekkers, and never slowed down for hills. Additionally, we carried our own 30-40lb packs while most other trekkers employed porters to carry their gear. We crushed it.

When I booked my flights a few months back it made sense to stay as late as possible. I'm cheap and prefer to get the most out of my airfare. It didn't matter that I would be staying in Nepal on my own. It gave me the opportunity to pursue a dream that's been with me since high school. When I was forced to read Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air, an account of the 1996 tragedy on Everest, it lit a desire in me to see the monumental mountain in person. Almost a dozen years later, the dream was about to be realized. I could do the trek to Base Camp in my extra two weeks in Nepal.

The dream will have to wait. It might have been the stomach virus I got on the first day that caused me to regularly empty my bowels for the next 48 hours. It might have been the fact that I labored to hike at a snail's pace, repeatedly being passed by elderly people. It might have been that my body was just done with trekking after three straight weeks of it. Maybe my body thought we were done with this nonsense after three days rest, a half dozen movies, and four nights of steak dinners. Maybe it was the fact that all the cute girls were hiking down while I was among a rare few hiking up this late in the season. It could have been the fact that after hiking with friends for three weeks I was now hiking alone.

So, after a couple days on the trail, I turned back. Tail between my legs, I labored back to Lukla, boarded a flight to Kathmandu, and prepared to go home early.

And that's okay.

As much as I want to see Everest up close, I want to enjoy it. I didn't enjoy the first two days and I doubt I would have enjoyed the next 12 hiking alone. There should be more excitement about an adventure like this. But what I've been most excited about for the last couple weeks is coming home. I'm ready. I'm ready to play with Stout, see family and friends, coach baseball, find a job, hang out at church, waste time at coffee shops, line dance, not live out of a suitcase, and enjoy some sort of routine. I'm ready.

So I'm coming home...hopefully within the next week. For me, right now, that's exciting.

Perspective

When I was in second grade I landed the lead role in the school play. I was to be George Washington. For those of you who don't know, he was the first president of the US of A and, therefore, the best. How did I land this role you ask? Well, I took acting classes after school since pre-K and I straight studied the characters on Sesame Street. What made them so good, so funny, so real!? I had to know. So I went to work. And all that work paid off. I got the lead.

Okay, so it didn't actually happen like that. I never took an acting class and never paid enough attention to Big Bird to gain anything more than some laughs and the ability to say my ABCs. But I did land the lead in the school play. How did that happen? Was it a result of hard work? Nope. A great audition? Nope. Did I look the part? No, again.

I was selected for the lead role because when the teacher reached into the bowl the slip of paper she pulled out had "Blake Naylor" written on it (that's me in case you stumbled upon my blog by accident).

It was random, completely.

That doesn't seem fair, does it? When they read the first name most people assumed the last name would be Armstrong. Blake Armstrong was a fifth grader and he had already done some acting. He would go on to shoot commercials or BB guns or something like that. All that to say, he should have gotten the part. Not me.

Life's not fair. Admit it, you've said it. Maybe you were a kid. Maybe it was college. Maybe you said it recently.

Now, when you said it, was the "not fair" you were talking about in reference to yourself? Was life, at that moment, not fair for you? If you're like me (which you probably aren't because you are most likely cool and not awkward - why exactly are you reading my blog?), then yes, you say life's not fair most often when things aren't going the way you would like them to.

How often have you said it on behalf of someone else? Like life isn't fair, but it's not you who have been slighted, but someone else?

Media trains us to feel like things are out of balance and we are the ones in need of something to bring life back to fairness. We need, deserve, and are required to have certain "necessities" like lattes, lexus', and large screen TVs. We deserve it. We find a reason why we deserve it. Someone else has it and so we feel like it's only fair that we have it too. It's only fair. Why should they have it and we suffer?

One of the greatest things we can ever attain in life is perspective. Without perspective we are prideful, greedy, unsatisfied people. With perspective comes humility, generosity, and gratitude.

When I was eighteen years old I went overseas for the first time. It was in the slum in a garbage dump in Egypt that I began asking the question, "why me?" Why do I not wake up every morning to the stink of the rest of the societies garbage, to the prospect of hunting through this garbage for my own sustenance, and to the reality that my life would be incredibly difficult and probably very short.

For me, life hasn't been that hard. I've never really had to worry about food, my health, a place to live, or anything else like that. Life was unfair when a friend's parent's bought them a new car and I got a used car in high school (oh, the tragedy). It was unfair when my baseball coach selected another player to start over me. It was unfair when my friends went to the beach to tan and I went to burn (darn you Irish skin).

Placed in my own bubble of Southern California, I can find reasons for why life is unfair. Reasons for why I can sulk or buy something to "cheer me up." Life can always be unfair for me, if I want it to be.

But if I broaden my bubble, if I grow my perspective, I soon find out that, yes, life is not fair...for many others. Life has treated me more than fair. But others, in the states and abroad, face much tougher circumstances. People will wake up tomorrow and the first question that will pop in their head isn't "what will I have for breakfast", but "will I eat at all today." People will wake up and it won't be a test at school or a presentation at work that has them worried, but it will be their loved one who is deathly ill. A man will awake after a restless night on a cold winter street to face another day filled with humiliation and averted eyes. A woman will wake up and weep because her miscarriage yesterday was her fourth and she will see all around her parents unappreciative of the children they have and she desperately desires.

Perspective.

It changes how we look at our self. It changes how we look at our situation. It changes how we look at others.

We could all use some perspective, to step into the reality of those around us. It will help us appreciate what we have and allow us to respond to others with grace and humility.

After all, I had no part in landing the lead role in the school play. I also had no part in landing the role I have on Earth. I didn't choose to be born into a middle income family. I didn't have to work to have 3 meals a day, 2 loving parents, a good education, and a home over my head. I was...born. And, from my perspective, it was random. My name was drawn out of a hat and I got a pretty good role. But most of the rest of the world had their name drawn and their role is drastically different than mine...drastically more difficult.

May we gain perspective and with it gain humility, grace, and gratitude.