Back To The Duck

My head cleared up a lot after that last post.

Earlier last week, I had seen a documentary on NetFlix called "Jim and Andy". In it, Jim Carrey tells about the change that took place in him when performing stand-up. He referred to it as "Mr. Hyde coming out". This is the version of himself that would do physically unusual comedy. He viewed it as a good Mr. Hyde, but still a Mr. Hyde nonetheless. There were times at which he would worry that he let Mr. Hyde take over too much, that he lost control. I have felt that I have that Mr. Hyde in me, suppressed by an academic lifestyle. Unlike Jim Carrey, I have always imagined the Mr. Hyde to be perhaps the truest form of myself.

Thanksgiving was pleasant. Instead of the feared topic of politics, my dating life (and extreme lack thereof) was the focal point of conversation thanks to the spearheading efforts of my drunk and loud aunt. My mother, through what I believe to be a subconscious effort to make the siblings choose between her and my dad in this post-divorce world, essentially made my sisters skip Thanksgiving dinner to go to San Antonio a day earlier than any of us had previously been told (the dinner's timing was announced well in advance so as to avoid such issues).

As I began my drive to Arkansas the following day, I found a sort of release happening. Between the urgent compulsion to process my transition through writing, and the acceptance that my crush was likely not the one for me, but was at least, for the moment, a stimulus for positive change that I could appreciate, I could just sit and drive. Taking a day off from studying was also certainly a help as well.

So I arrived in Arkansas. I had an hour before friends would arrive, so I visited a pub. I ordered a pint and the gentleman a few seats down advised me to avoid closing my tab so early, as I would be charged less for subsequent drinks because I was using my cards. I appreciated the advice and introduced myself; we conversed for the next half-hour. We did not speak of God, but with appropriate intentionality on my part, I am sure that such a task would have been easy. Instead, we spoke of women (I said that looks were important, but he informed me that cooking was the most critical thing). In any case, this encounter convinced me once again that this was a ministry opportunity that many churches are avoiding for little reason aside from legalism.

Once my time there was complete, I met up with a dear friend who had also been on moving journeys over the last few to several years. This was the friend who knew his theology but also drinks like me (quite a bit without a significant impairment in judgement). He is also my friend whose music will absolutely be a success if he can get discovered. I went bar hopping with him and his family, and on a rooftop bar on Dickson Street in Fayetteville, I looked up and out. I wondered if I could accept this as me, given the version of me that I had attempted to dip back into in weeks previous.

The following day, I drove to Tulsa, where the first friend I made in college, who has embraced a life filled with even more travel than my own, had a sister who was getting married. I was naturally quite late, having thought that the event was not to start for several hours. There are few friends I know who have pushed me to question my faith so deeply while still believing, and unlike me, he does not have the benefit of growing up with a surrounding of a manifestation of supernatural happenings in his presence.

The reception was heavier on the beer, which is a poor way to intoxicate this Irish liver, so it was all sober dancing to songs that seemed selected for energetic car rides rather than for a dance floor. We improvised and tried to remember dance moves from years past. Following this, I (after others were foolishly hesitant to do so) smuggled a nearly full bottle of wine for our private consumption at another friend's (who I had met mere days after my other friend) house. We drank and played board games to which I was just then learning the rules.

At various points throughout this, I wondered whether this was where my personality should settle. My crush had mentioned that she did not care for board games; the longevity of many of them was more than her patience was looking to bear. I certainly did not feel a particular affinity for the games, but the company and conversation were so pleasant that the game was hardly the point. That night, I slept with the added benefit of our hosts' cat who was kind enough to fall asleep upon me at various points. I had missed cats, and this one exhibited a personality that was markedly different from most cats that I had known, living the contrast of avoiding affection but being quite drawn to any form of play.

When I awoke, it was Sunday (which was fortunately the day that I was expecting it to be). I drove from Tulsa back to Arkansas, killed time in the best liquor store I have yet known (Macadoodles in Springdale), and then proceeded to a photo shoot.

Aside from a clown-themed photo shoot this summer, I had not modeled in quite some time, and certainly not without the theme and setting being from my own inspiration. The reflexes appeared to remain, and she complimented how I posed. She told me that she did not have enough males to photograph, and I replied that I would let her know when I visit, because I most certainly wish to do this more frequently. I also thought about how this was a version of me that I had truly missed.

This occupied weekend with some of my favorite people and places reminded me of what my goal had been throughout college. I wished to be well-rounded. I once had a dream in high school that I was a duck. The dream stuck with me to such a degree that I considered it to be "a God dream", one that was meant to teach me something. Ducks are awkward creatures, technically meant for the sky perhaps, but spending much of their time on land, or on water, or wherever. They do not have a real fit, yet they manage so many terrains.

Searching for which version of myself to become is a good journey, but in the end, I am beginning to think that I am meant to be all of these versions of myself. The biggest mistake I could make in any of this, in my opinion, would be to try to be rid of any version of me that I have become. Poor habits may be dropped, of course, but even those have led me to a point at which I am more able to relate to others.

I have always felt divided within myself. Such seems to be a trying consequence of remaining outside of formal ministry for so long. That being said, it may be the closest I can manage to genuinely becoming all things to all men, to the extent that a given human like myself is able. And when it comes down to it, I suppose that the internal conflict of identity found within these reachings of consciousness are worth it for the sake of saving as many of those humans with the gospel as possible.