Musings on Potentiality

               I have not posted in a while. Since a couple of my friends have threatened me with physical violence, I figure that I should post something. I have plenty of ideas, none of which are formulated very well. My ideas are vague and ephemeral –much like the public’s views on spirituality-. The possibilities are near endless. I want to express how much I love rain, how much I fear fire, how much of a not-good Catholic I am, how Christianity isn’t mindless… The list goes on and on.

               My philosophical training tells me that a thing in actuality is better than a thing in potentiality, and so I conclude that I better start writing. Potentiality is a funny thing. People say that I have a lot of potential. Nobody pays anything for potential. I often wonder if I am wasting my potential. I think that I should develop more of my talents. I should invest more in my relationships. I should study like there is no tomorrow. –this is ironic because if there was no tomorrow, studying is the last thing I would be doing-

               Somebody insignificant once said something very similar to the following: “the most common substance in the universe is wasted human potential.”  I am ignorant as to whether or not this insignificant person was quoting someone more significant. –please note that I do not believe people have greater and lesser significance.  Humans are like buckets.  These buckets are rarely full, but are incredibly wonderful when they fill up.

               I love my faith because, contrary to popular belief, it is not mindless or stifling, but my faith is a wonderful, living thing that challenges me to become a better person. I am excited at the paradox of Christianity which makes a person strive to become more, and yet, at the same time, completely affirms who you are right now. Is that not exciting? Or do I just delight in random thoughts?

Friends

               People say that you lose your high school friends, but college friends are ones you keep for life. The seminary is an odd situation for making and keeping friends. The seminary is a place where it is easy to make friends, but the permanence of those friends is always in question. People discern out of the priestly vocation on a monthly basis. An extremely small percentage of seminarians are 100% sure that they will become priests. The rest of us fall out of formation at often unexpected times.

               I am in a strange although common position for a seminarian. I have ceased formation and, as a result, am removed from the vast majority of my closest friends. A few of my classmates will return to Oklahoma for their ministry, but most will be spread out across the United States. The chance for extended interaction with all of my friends is quite slim, and as a result, causes a rift in any relationships that I did have at the seminary. While I was at school, I often wondered what it was like for the people who left. Now I have first-hand experience, but I don’t know how to describe it.

               Friendships are incredibly powerful and complicated things. I tend to attempt to retain my old friendships despite geographic distance. I want all my friendships to be lifelong and deep, but I am not so sure this should be the case.

               Circumstance dictates friendships. I have not tried to keep up with any of my fellow seminarians because of the distance between us. I personally need to be sure not to neglect present relationships. One needs to be present to the community he or she is with. The shortest, the simplest, and the most basic human interactions are equally important as the most intimate friendship. Sharing a smile and offering thanks for a cup of coffee can be as important as keeping in touch with an old friend.

                

              

Unimportant Words about Words

               Words are funny things. Having studied philosophy, I have a deep appreciation for words. It is truly an amazing thing to be able to communicate with another person. One must marvel at why speaking is humanity’s primary mode of communication. It is interesting to think that, if things had been a little different, we might have communicated more through sight, electrical impulses, or even through some specific frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum.

               It is easy to forget that words have specific meanings. There usually is a right word for what is meant. In high school I was taught to vary my vocabulary. After all, one should not repeat the same word over and over again. Philosophy taught me that you should pick a word and stick with it. Substituting in synonyms is detrimental to the real meaning because synonyms, no matter how similar, mean different things.

                I am amazed at how a person can make a statement and the audience infers a meaning which the statement does not contain. Not only do people have the uncanny ability to understand what is meant, they also have a great capacity for misinterpreting what is said. Since society does not consistently uphold language standards, anything you say can be construed as meaning something entirely different.

               Words have layers of meaning. Not only does a word have a defined meaning, but it also carries with it an emotional charge. These connotations allow the reader to relate to an author on an emotional plane as well as a mental one.

               I both enjoy and despise how language rules do not apply unequivocally. For example, why is a breadstick not called a stick bread? After all, in the English language, descriptors precede a noun. If this is the case, a bread stick should denote a stick that resembles bread whereas stick bread would denote bread that resembles a stick.  Of course there is probably some rule that grants exceptions to breadsticks because breadstick is one word and delicious.  

               Similarly, I find it ironic that sawdust is categorized by the tool that creates it. Why is this rule not consistently upheld? Why is dust created from a sander not called sander dust? More importantly, why is the dust not categorized by the material it is made from? Iron bits can be sawdust. Stone can be sawed into dust, as well as dirt, but when someone says sawdust, one automatically presumes that it means wood dust.

               When I mention such concerns to my boss, he just rolls his eyes, hands me a circular saw, and tells me to go make wood dust.