Journal: #283 Stay the Course

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Bit of a blah day today. I feel queasy and sleepy. Fortunately, work is in a bit of a lull, with no serious projects on the horizon. (By no serious projects, I mean most of my work is day-to-day marketing tasks- emails, project management, ad reviews, etc.) I did misspell the word restaurant in a tweet, which was caught my the CEO. That’s not good. He’s a good man, but there is a limit to such mistakes. I prefer not to make it again.

As for today’s post, I don’t have much. I made the decision to change my writing schedule, which will happen in July. The main goal is to improve my writing. After that, I want some time back. What it will look like to my readers is Monday-Wednesday-Friday will be journal days, while Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday will be poem days. This new schedule will give me the opportunity to write and properly edit my posts. Currently, I scan each post before I post them, but not as I should.

Writing everyday is a slog I enjoy. I didn’t understand what I was doing when I decided to write 330 journal post in one year. I’m glad I set such a big goal. Turns out 330 journal posts is a lot of posts. So last week I thought about changing my posting schedule now. Why wait till July? Well, because. I set a goal, and I love myself too much to give in now. This is blog post #283. Holy cow. That’s a lot. I owe it to tomorrow Nik to keep the chain going. No change, not until July.

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Abstract: Learn to Walk

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Before we learn to speak, add, or subtract,

and years before we are burdened with knowledge,

or the tyranny of opinion,

the first lesson we learn is how to rise from our failure (even more so for those without the use of their legs.)

It’s one of the hallmarks of being human,

the ability to walk,

and yet a skill very few remember,

once learned.

It’s a cold irony too,

the most important of human wisdom,

used and forgotten so quickly,

to be learned once more at another time- if at all.

But, let my words serve your ears,

if you exist,

if you hope,

you have the ability to rise too.

You did it once before,

and more than that,

You can rise again,

each one of us a born champion.

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Journal: #282 The Return of Confession

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I did it again. I treated my mother poorly- not as well as I would like. And, I don’t want to admit why. There is no good reason to mistreat someone, especially my mother (or yours.) Thusly, I have no good reason to be a dick. But, a reason exists nonetheless. I decided I’m out of time for this post. Today is the reckoning.

From an outside perspective, I know I look like a dick. Internally, I justify my words because I need to stick up for myself. Boundaries are a new concept to the Curfman family, one we’ve all learned in the last decade. Naturally, some of us are more apt to use boundaries. Mainly me. My parents are often concerned with how I (or my siblings) will respond. It’s a valid concern, although it only serves to continue the status quo. I firmly believe one has no right to complain about what they are unwilling to change.

Back to me and my parents…

I’ve hidden behind “setting boundaries” as an outlet for my disappointment. Somewhere between December and March I lost my patience, and I’m embarrassed to admit it. Over the last few months, I lost my ability to “let it go.” Of the many examples, I give this one: whenever I see my dad eat sugar despite his health issues, it drives me nuts. What I should do is let him eat the sugar. What I do is stew in my indignation. What is he doing? Life without sugar is 10x healthier.

I love my heart for my dad to live a long healthy life. What is not my place is to henpeck his life choices, or even be offended by them. Same goes for my mom. She’s a good mom, wants what’s best for me, and always has my back. It’s not that they deserve better, but they do deserve grace. We all do. Everyday. My life will become mush less meaningful if I go around trying to correct every stupid offense. It’s not worth it. I’d rather enjoy my time with my parents.

The cycle is not new for me- offense turns to anger, which turns into dickishness. I recognize it from last year. It’s how I treated my old business partner. His inability to validate my self-worth drove me nuts, but it wasn’t his job. It’s my job to let shit go and validate me. If I feel like shit no amount of outside validation helps. And if I validate me, no amount of shit hurts. See how that works?

This moment is in line with many from the last year. The Lord is good to repeat Himself and surround me with people who love me. Grace and more grace, the endless love of God. I’m sorry I waited this long to confession my anger and resentment. Waiting only gives the devil time. And, I’m about that free life.

Momma, I love you.

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Abstract: To Be Honest

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What is honesty?

How does it work?

Indeed, does it work?

By work, I intend when does honesty provide value, and where is it limited?

The classic answer is honesty is the best policy,

a liberating sentiment for the preacher,

our minds unburdened by fake reality,

and its imaginary details.

But what if honesty bring unwanted attention,

discussions thrust upon the author,

to rehash topics and words,

left behind.

It’s a silly notion,

to question the placement of honesty,

based on the reaction of the receivers,

who merely want to be part of the discussion.

As truth tellers,

it is incumbent on us,

to continue to speak the truth,

and hone our ability to communicate it.

If you don’t like the feedback,

don’t yell at the audience,

rather see it as the opportunity it is,

a moment to grow and expand our reach.

For, there is a difference between speaking the truth and how we say it,

tone, words, phrasing, and pace,

all contribute to how our truth is received.

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Journal: #281 The Perfect Enemy

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I don’t regret my career in the food business, but I do wish I ended it before last summer. Currently, I feel like an amateur in life as I try to learn new skills in marketing, making art, and investments. In the food world, I am in the top 5% of people world-wide when it comes to knowledge and experience. My areas of expertise* include food science, the anthropology of cuisine, and flavor theory. In the world of marketing I am entry-level (at best). Art? Same. Investments? I’m more aware of what I don’t know, and it’s tons.

In addition to my general feeling of inadequacy, this week also reminded me how young I am in the Lord. I was so totally engrossed in my short-comings and failures, I stopped living out of a place of gratitude and trust. And once my head is lowered, the enemy sent in the big guns: self-pity and judgement. I hate feeling sorry for myself. It’s immature and shameful. Fortunately, God is good, and prayer works. I’m thankful I established healthy habits- praying, hiking, writing- last year, because they are paying dividends this week.

The word I continue to hear in my thoughts is perfection. It’s a word I hate, like genuinely hate. It’s the excuse of the immature and afraid. The pursuit of it, of perfection, has robbed me of life and relationships. And lately, it’s made a bit of a comeback in my life. Last summer I didn’t give a rat’s ass about being perfect, but the last month, I have. I see it in my lack of social media posts or subject matter for this blog. And, it’s most obvious in my lack of artistic endeavors. \

Perfection is a prison, a self-imposed prison. It’s corrupts the creative gene, ruins relationships, and locks us into patterns of mediocre bullshit. It’s a sad irony, how most of us wait for a more perfect opportunity only to spend our lives waiting. This is the goal of perfection, to hold its victims in a state of anxious inertia. I can’t imagine a more satisfying outcome than to torture a victim without lifting a finger? Tis the life of perfectionist devil.

My truth is I’m glad I’m facing my issues. I’m not months or years down the road, trying to perfect myself in the corner. I know I’m learning and pushing my boundaries. There’s no need to run from my issues or failures, because they will be a part of my life as long as I’m alive. I will make bad trades and forget what the Lord taught me. Yes, I’m embarrassed when I feel like a whinny asshole. However, I’m not stuck there. I can and do move on. Again, this is what progress looks like. Thank God.

(*I called myself an expert, and I use this term in a comparative sense. I know more about food than most people, but not more than top chefs, academics, or dedicated cooks.)

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Journal: #280 God With Me

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Today is a hazy day. I slept in until after 10am, and I’ve been in a daze since. It’s as though I could fall asleep at any moment. I believe the lack of rest in contributing to a generally sour disposition for me. On my morning hike I cried. I cried, cried- sloppy tears, snot, and spit. Thankfully the trail was empty, and my emotional outburst escaped notice. I feel like crap, yet unable to break through it.

To be blunt, my mind is offering solutions such as find a cannabis shop. I know if I buy a cookie I’ll be high for hours. My emotions will dull, but that’s it. Marijuana is not a solution. Experience taught me drugs are pacifiers. Nicotine, THC, alcohol, sugar, all of them. They offer brief moments of pleasure, and possibly heighten an experience. But, they are never a cure. No amount of weed or alcohol will love me. No measure of sugar helps overcome rejection or insecurity.

I hate that I’ve indulged alternative ways to combat anxiety and sorrow. In moments like today- an emotional pit- it’s easy to want to run to what I know will give me a result. It’s easy to ignore the Lord, forget to love myself, and slip into cycle of self-medication and denial. Today, I write this blog to expose myself, but also uncover the lies still haunting my heart. I know drugs are bad. I don’t need a refresher. I’m also aware of the signal a desire for chemical happiness is.

I’m hurting, and now is a time to reach out to the Lord. On that trail today I asked the Lord to “carry my heart.” (It’s tactic the Lord gave me last year- a way to combat confusion and anxiety.) Within seconds I saw the Holy Spirit put my heart on her back, and proceed to parade through the woods. She danced and laughed. I wept as the Lord celebrated. It as good.

Feelings are real, and not rooted in reality. They are merely the product what we believe is true in a given moment. I am sad because I believe I am shit. I am sad is a true statement, because I am shit it not. All of my anxiety or sorrow comes from such beliefs, and I feel like a douche just for saying it. Still…this is a moment of opportunity.

The last year I was stripped of girlfriend, business, a few friends, a few family members, etc. But, I grew in other areas- how to love myself, marketing, investing, drawings and painting, etc. Most importantly, I grew in my relationship with the Lord. Whenever I am in the fight- like today- it helps to remember just how far I’ve come in the last twelve months. Pretty far, a complete life overhaul.

Some days will be a struggle, and that’s ok. I repented. I live my life before the Lord, and He has met me. Every single day, He is there. No matter what thought derails my day, He’s by my side. Forever Immanuel. God with me.

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Abstract: Believe

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Question: What if I crash into the ground?

A spectacular blaze of incompetence and foolishness.

Answer: I will likely survive the ordeal.

Embarrassed, tired, and yet aching to move onward.

Last Question: Why do I plan to fail?

Obsessed with the worst of outcome.

Answer: Because, I judge myself.

I don’t believe I will succeed.

Ah. This is our problem.

with an obvious fix.

Believe in you Nik,

to fight,

to scrape,

to get back up after a fall.

How many times do you need to do it- your pattern of rising from defeat,

before you see it as the mark of success?

You are a winner, a champion,

your soul tested by life,

and found to be in excess of resolve and grit.

Believe in that Nik.

Believe in you.

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Abstract: Better In Person

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Disconnected by distance and electricity,

the game moves too slow to endure.

A sponsored narrative and quick cuts,

switch my attention without my permission.

The glass cannot describe the smell of the ballpark,

of beer, cheap meat, and Tuckahoe bluegrass,

Or fill my ears with the low hum of optimistic tension,

proud fans ready to for the show.

No.

Baseball was meant to be a sensory experience,

bathed in anticipation,

each pitch a separate act,

of an untimed play.

The catcher and pitcher conspire to fool the batter,

(who- if he be a wise batter- has scouted his enemy,

and is prepared for the attack,)

knowing a mistake can be fatal.

Each pitch changes the dynamic of act,

and the result is never sure,

until the last pitch from the last pitcher and the last batter,

lands safely in a glove or on the grass.

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Journal: #279 Imposter Syndrome

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Last week I listening to marketing guru Seth Godin discuss the craft. If you don’t know, Seth Godin is to marketing what Beatles are to music in the 20th Century. He helped turn Yahoo into one the most trafficee websites in the world. He’s the gold standard, and what he says about the trade is insightful and challenging. If I could recommend a daily read for my customers it is Godin’s blog.

What I love about Mr Godin is he gets it. He understands products and services need to serve people. And better the product the more happy customers ate created. From this perspective, business becomes flexible and mimics a true relationship. Marketing isn’t about slamming slogans and features. Marketing is a feedback loop.

The most difficult part of marketing is the creative aspect. How does a brand communicate its story and purpose, especially small or new businesses? Where do we capture the attention of a potential customer? What methods and style does our marketing respond to? It’s a dizzying dance. I was once a team who spent a month revising a few facebook. The discussions unloved such topics as “should we use animated copy (letters that move)” and “which shade of fusia is best for women 24-38 in metro areas?” I wanted to crawl in a hole, mostly because I didn’t like the campaign approach. And, after listening to Seth speak, I think he’d agree with me.

Toward the end of his talk Mr Godin spoke on the topic of creative in marketing. My ears perked when he touched on the subject of Imposter Syndrome. Since last summer, nearly every work day, that’s me. I’m a newbie in the marketing world, but I want to deliver a healthy return for my clients. Thankfully, I work with a supportive team. They get it.

There’s one line from Seth’s brief discussion of feeling like a fraud: Imposter Syndrome is proof your pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone, and doing the work. To be vulnerable, that’s how feel about most of my life. I’ve been pushed and stretched, and the Lord challenged me to stay the course.

If you read this blog you know I’m up and down. But, I show up. I write even if I have nothing to say or my words fail sense of perfection. I write anyway. I pray anyway. I journal and diet anyway. What a gift. By that, I mean to say, what an opportunity.

This morning I wondered what my life would’ve been if I were still in a relationship. It’s impossible to say. Would I be on the verge of being a full-time investor? Would I have found the courgage to write? To dive deeper into the Lord? It’s possible. But I’m thankful for the chance to start over. I got to reset my life with minimal impact to a wife or family. If anything, I owe myself, my future family, and the Lord my best effort. The more I push myself through imposter syndrome now, the more I will be able to focus on them later.

What a gift.

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Abstract: Hiking Mt Hood

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Through the lush redwoods I hiked,

deep into the wood south of Mount Hood.

Road noise replaced by chirping robins and sparrows,

a welcome divergence from my norm.

Further still I remembered the words of Uncle Rob,

his timeless exultation to cut a new trail,

away from the slog of routine,

and I longed to be brave, to explore.

At the next fork I chose the path unworn by my fellow hikers,

until my feet eventually ran out of trail,

the end of where I was supposed to be,

to where I wanted to be.

The comfort of the road worn disappeared,

as each step required more thought than before,

the brush ever chaotic and thick,

and no obvious route presented itself.

My ears strained to recognize new sounds,

the scurry of a small creature beneath my feet,

a reminder I am not alone,

and I haven’t a clue what lay ahead.

My nerves frayed by too many unknowns,

won the moment,

and I turned my back on the adventure,

back to the path of less resistance.

For a short hour I lived,

I ventured into the mystery of the wood,

dared to be alone on my journey,

and it was Good.

Defeated for the moment,

but not for my life,

my feet will find my way back to where to safety ends,

and life begins.

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Journal: #278 Every Single Day

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The poem I wrote today came from a very raw place inside me. God is not who I thought He was. He’s greater and more wonderful than I was taught or shown. I read about a miraculous God. I memorized “For God so loved the world.” But, as happens in American Christianity, the inevitable happened. God is an angry God. His wrath is coming. Avoid hell by trying to be perfect, and get other people saved. This is the Christian culture of my youth and early 20’s. It is the Christianity I rejected in my late 20’s, in search of Him. The Gospel is The Father Loves You, not don’t fuck up.

Not every American Christian has pagan views of God. (By pagan I mean something akin to the Greek gods: petty, tyrannical, and small.) But, I am lost among those who do. I ache when I see a fellow Christian trying too hard, taking the world on their shoulders, or tied down by fear. It’s a shitty reality to be trapped in. I remember the days when I thought I was doomed to a life of penniless masturbation and obesity. I’d hit a low point, find God, and rebound. For a while. The hi/low cycle kept me in check. Whenever my life blossomed I waited for the collapse. And, it always did.

At the core of my being I believed I must earn grace and love. As a result, I spent most of my life trying to prove myself worthy, mostly to me. As an eager ministry school student in 2001 I latched onto Matthew 23:11. I drove co-workers across town after our shifts so they wouldn’t have to take the bus, gave away money like I owned money tree, and moved to West Virginia to serve the people there. None of it mattered. I jerked off in West Virginia too. Regardless of how hard I tried to serve other people, I was as broken as ever.

The Holy Spirit never left me. I have proof in the form of my journals. They are my record of the Lord’s constant favor over my life. I laugh when I read them now, because the Holy Spirit asked me the same questions and gave me the same answers for damn near twenty years. Only last year, when I broke through the wall of fear and insecurity did I finally understand what the Father has for me. It’s not what you think.

The Lord gave me no master plan or revealed my future. He keeps me closer than that, in step with Him. The point- I believe- is to learn how to trust Him. To do it requires my commitment. In fact, I believe that’s the only formula worth preaching to my fellow Christians. Show up. Read, pray, and listen. Everyday. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Read the Gospels everyday, proclaim the promises of God over your life, and listen until He’s done speaking. Without question it’s difficult, especially when life is a suckfest. Show up anyway. That’s what I’m gonna do.

In my darkness, I found the light. Jesus is no angry god. He’s God, eternal and patient, forever kind. I break when He says “Nik, I love you, and I’m proud of you.” I want Him to be proud of something I accomplished or rank I achieved. He’s not. He’s proud of me, because I exist. What a God and King.

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Abstract: Who My God Is

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A picture is painted in the mind of every young American Christian,

of a God, a white God with a long gray beard, seated on a gleaming throne.

He welds a gold scepter in His right hand,

and His flaming wrath in His left.

This is not the God of Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob.

Nor, Ruth, Mary, or her beloved son Jesus.

This is a picture of the gods of Greece, the Vikings, and Incas.

Their gods are petty, ill-mannered, and mortal.

Unfortunately, the indoctrination into the pagan view of God does not end here,

Aside from the laughable comparison to Zeus,

We are taught to appease our angry God with sacrifices and good behavior,

and in this pack of lies are sown seeds of disappointment and resentment.

Our consumer culture molds us to believe grace is a feeling,

faith is measured in possessions (which is why we treat God like Santa Claus),

hope a marketing slogan,

and love is a form of ethereal magic.

In this construct, the anxious and depressed are cast out as inconvenient,

the poor are rebuked as lazy,

the optimistic are mocked as foolish,

and those who choose love over tribalism are lonely.

This is American Christianity:

God is angry, so you better act right.

If you act right He will give you what you want.

If you do not get what you want,

There is something wrong with you.

If there is something wrong with you,

God is angry.

It’s not true,

This is the Lord:

“Blessed and loved are the anxious and depressed, for God is with you in your darkness. Reach for Him and He will answer.

Blessed are those are mourn, the humble, the thirsty, the merciful, the peaceful, the lonely, and those daring to love as the Father loves.”

He’s the God who runs after lost sheep wherever they wander,

who gave Himself up for us,

who welcomes us back once we realize what a shit we’ve been,

and lives in us regardless of how we feel.

I thank God the picture I held as a boy,

the narrative I believed as a young man,

the lies strangling my heart,

are all false.

Grace is His favor,

without end or price,

steady and sure,

from the beginning to very end.

Faith is a trust,

whatever the outcome,

our heart and minds are His,

and He knows best.

Hope is the sign of endurance,

the mark of a Believer,

it holds onto the highest good

as He does in all things.

And love…the most glorious of His presents,

is everything good-

endurance, patience, kindness,

peace, joy, hope, faith, righteousness,

and more.

This is the God of Adam, David, and Elizabeth,

the Father of Jesus,

the one who gave His only Son,

and the God whose throne is cold, because His desire is to walk with us.

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