Thing a Week – Just for Starters

Jonathan Coulton’s Thing a Week blog was a great idea. I’m gonna try it this year starting with the first full week of January, beginning the third. I am not in possession of a great recording studio, nor can I claim to have great music-making talent. Hence, I may write a poem or a serial instead of a song each week. I will post whatever I feel like, be it a single sentence or a lengthy diatribe. I like having a blog. Funny that it seems I only come back to it every time I fall in love…

III. The Importance of Butterflies

Imagine, instead that the outside of his cape is a royal blue, and you will be in possession of a better knowledge of how the little prince was in actual appearance.

In the sidebar to the right is a link titled “The Little Prince.” (This is a link to a website containing the FULL TEXT of the book in numerous different languages). The little prince is a book written by French aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupéry while he was in the United States. You can read the Wikipedia article about it here if you really care that much. I found this book for the first time when I was in sixth grade, and since my first reading it has never ceased to amaze me with each subsequent run-through. Written like a children’s book, its message is counter-intuitively adult. Read it as a child, or read it as an adult, it makes no difference. It is a surprisingly short book with easily readable chapters, but by the end of it I feel every time as if I had just finished the undertaking of a great journey of sorts. The book propels the reader into the strata of moral dilemma, bringing into striking contrast the livelihood of a child and that of an adult.

My favorite is chapter 21 (XXI) when the little prince tames the fox. At the end, when the two must part, the little prince is disdainful of the time he spent taming the fox because the fox begins to cry at his departure. What the prince does not at first understand is that because of their friendship, every time the fox looks at the wheat fields, he will be reminded of the golden curls that crown the little prince, and it will be as if they had never parted.

Reading this book put a lot of things into perspective for me at the end of high school. What is really important in life? Consider this quote from chapter four:

When you tell them [grown-ups] that you have made a new friend, they never ask you any questions about essential matters. They never say to you, “What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies?” Instead, they demand: “How old is he? How many brothers has he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make?” Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him. . . .

Just so, you might say to them: “The proof that the little prince existed is that he was charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists.” And what good would it do to tell them that? They would shrug their shoulders, and treat you like a child. But if you said to them: “The planet he came from is Asteroid B-612,” then they would be convinced, and leave you in peace from their questions.

In my own life, I have found the underlying message of this passage to ring true in all circumstances. Very infrequently are numbers or statistics about a person worth more than a shiny river rock (unless you’re into fantasy football). In focusing so much on the numbers and figures, we completely forget about the person! How many wonderful relationships have I missed out on because I was focused on unimportant things like “He’s good at basketball,” or, “She can match pitch like a pro,” instead of “Despite his imposing height, he’s really a softy at heart,” or, “When she sings, I can almost hear the rustling wings of the angels that have come down from heaven to listen.”

After I read that passage from The Little Prince, every time I met someone new I never asked stupid questions, like: “What’s your name?” “Where are you from?” “When’s your birthday?” “Are you a cat person?” Instead I’ve taken to asking questions along these lines: “Do you like butterflies?” “When was the last time you jumped in a pile of leaves?” “How far do you think I can slide down this hill on this tray I stole from the cafeteria?” “If you had someone to sit with that you didn’t mind being with, and all you did was lay out at night every night and watch the stars, would you ever get tired of it?”

Figures do not make a man. Take the “Adult Dispositional Hope Scale” for example. It has proven again and again to be a more accurate representation of a student’s success in college and future life than G.P.A or any standardized test. My friend Betsy said, “It’s because it doesn’t ask you what you think you’re good at, it asks you who you think you are.”

So it’s rude for me to think of other people in terms of what I think they’re good at. Instead I try to relate to them as one person to another, one real breathing luminous being to another. That’s what Jesus did, right?

-One more step, LORD, one more step. Soon I’ll cross over, soon I’m going home.

II. How the French Horn Saved My Life

(or at least my character)

I’m a flute player at heart. I love the flute, and I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it. Everyone in high school thinks they’re pretty good at what they do, be it sports, music, drama, student government, or whatever. But it’s really easy to get a big head about things. I met a kid at college this year who was fresh out of high school who thought he knew everything about his chosen area of study. He came off as crass and arrogant, and not at all cool to me. Maybe the reason for that was he reminded me so much of myself.
When I was a freshman, I could have been the same way. I was impatient, I was important, hold the presses, I’ve arrived. But when I came in to sign up for classes, the band director asked me to play french horn. Of course I couldn’t say no, but I had never played the french horn before. Never. My perceived level of ability was exceptionally low in that area. I spent a full year fumbling around on the wrong partials, trying to coax the right notes out of that labyrinthine instrument with varied levels of success.

So what. I suppose in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn’t even merit a second glance. And it wouldn’t ever had meant anything to me if I hadn’t met that cocky freshman this year. Because I was forced to do something I wasn’t any good at, I didn’t feel that I had to be the best flute player to be accepted into the community. I was just one guy, doing my best to better the band. It was humbling.

And that’s really what this is all about – humility. I learned that I don’t have to be anything special: I don’t have to be the next James Galway; I don’t have to play like a professional; I don’t have to expect outrageous things from others; and best of all, I don’t have to fake anything.
I’m free to be myself. I’m free to speak my mind without having to justify myself. I’m free to love again.

-One more step, one more step. Someday I’ll cross over. Someday.

I. Inspiration

Dispatch
 Walk With You  

and I will walk with you
using the stars as guides
on a homeward path we go
knowing our time is nigh
I, I will walk... to be with you
so put your hand in mine
and lay your head to rest
we'll light the candles now
they won't be lit for long
we'll know our day was blessed

[CHORUS]
and I will walk with you
using the stars as guides
on a homeward path we go
knowing our time is nigh
I, I will walk to be with you
all that I've done, and all I say
to be with you...