On Saturday friends of mine were moving.
Having had to move by myself once before,
I try to save others that personal hell
of feeling overwhelmed with such an endeavor.
Usually after completing the process
(mine or another’s)
I have the overwhelming urge to shed
anything obviously extraneous I own.
When it comes to books,
I like to think myself old-school.
There’s something special
about musty old pages.
The 3 usual booky fates (upon completion):
1) it’s kept for sentimentality or reference.
2) it’s given away for another’s enjoyment.
3) it’s sold online.
Few books are read more than once,
usually due to time management
and more and more I use technology
to peruse what once was paper.
Whether trusting that Amazon and Apple
will outlive and outlast me or my parchment.
But if I’m honest, the advent of eBooks
spurs me on to read more often…
But I wonder whether I would someday regret
making the full leap to digital
when I wouldn’t be able to hand over
a good book I’ve read with another.
…and whether that is worth lugging heavy boxes
with me every place I move to.
What do you do with your books?
Are you a collector? A seller?
Do you prefer the rasp of pages
or the clean swipe of glass and e-ink?
vcD,
-R
[video]
When we moved to Nashville,
I asked my wife if
she wanted to go by Ella,
since she says Sarah is so common.
Moving to a new town
where you barely know anyone
used to be a good opportunity
to pick who you were going to be.
Sarah & I both did that (to some extent)
when we went to college,
and definitely wound up better for it.
But, it occurred to me that
social media makes it difficult
to reinvent oneself
to any major degree.
You leave a trail of photo tags,
comments, notes, lists of favorites,
or any other info you’re fine
with having the world know.
Your new acquaintances
can easily dig up who you were
to save time on getting to know
who you are presently.
I guess in the end
it’s important to remember
that who you were has a large part
in who you are becoming…
…and who you are becoming
is altered by every decision made
regardless of public posting.
But some days when I look in the mirror,
I don’t recognize myself for a moment,
and I’m still trying to figure out
what that means.
vcD,
-R
Lately I’ve been finding myself in a state of minor panic.
For whatever reason it’s hitting me how valuable time is.
It’s a resource one can’t recoup,
and when I look back at all the time wasted,
spending my time hunched over my phone,
launching digital birds at pigs*, I begin to worry.
I look at myself and ask:
“Am I a better person than I was yesterday? Last week? Last year?”
So I decided I would finally do something about it.
It may sound idealistic, and I don’t list these things
as a way to announce some sort of self-superiority
or even a “look at me” mindset.
I’m just realizing the finite quality of time,
understanding how important other people are,
and how we won’t have them around forever.
It’s just when one has a personal epiphany, one feels inclined to share… especially when one’s quality of life drastically increases because of said epiphany.
After starting to live life like this,
I feel much more at peace,
knowing that I did what I could
with my God-given time,
Almost to the point
where if I were to die today
I could look back and say,
“At least I went down going full bore.”
I’m also realizing how this has been on my mind pre-epiphany when I look back to the short film we made in 2010.
12:01 from Ryan Dunlap on Vimeo.
The last important bit is that I realized there was so much that could be done… possibilities felt near endless, which made me worry over whether my new found zeal to better myself wasn’t just being misplaced in the wrong areas… so I needed to make sure I was on the right path, and staying in tune with God is the key to the peace and equilibrium.
Life in this new mindset has been wonderful,
I find myself more loving, more patient,
better equipped to handle events,
and over twenty pounds lighter.
(which is nice for self-esteem)
vcD,
-R
*I believe entertainment has its place, or else I wouldn’t be in my chosen industry… but when my goals include spending countless hours to get “3 Stars,” I know I’ve managed my personal time poorly.
I check my phone every ten minutes if I am bored. Sometimes more. I look to see if anyone has e-mailed me or touched base with me on Facebook or Twitter.
My phone has provided me with things that make me feel better connected so I don’t feel lonely.
I am paying for a service (internet) to have connection with friends. I don’t feel this is inherently wrong, but as with all things moderation, and even that too.
But why do I check my phone? Validation?
Do I seek out validation online because of the law of averages? If I have, say, 1,500 friends, someone must affirm that I’m not just speaking into the wind…
…that I’m not alone.
But, what happens when we purposefully validate those around us instead of only allowing people to find it at arm’s length, even if arm’s-length feels safer for both parties?
vcD,
-R
(note: I’m an avid social media user, and appreciate the relationships it allows me to have that I wouldn’t have otherwise… I just want to make sure I don’t fall into the habit of not validating those around me proactively instead of using social media to feel validated myself)
After reasoning (and peer pressure), health is my latest obsession goal.
Utilizing my obsessive-compulsive tendencies
I’m leveraging calorie counting apps and gambling
to work in my favor.
.
I started a “12% Challenge” with a couple co-workers.
First to drop 12% of their weight wins the pool.
$20 buy in, plus $1 paid to the winner for every week
you don’t meet your target.
$20 is much cheaper than a personal trailer
and smack-talk at the office is enough peer-pressure
to get me going to the treadmill as often in a week
as I did with my 2 year gym membership in OK.
Plus excel charts with our accumulating weight loss totals
excites me far more than it should a normal man should.
Current status: 21.54% of the way there
Besides, what fun are statistics if you don’t live long enough
to pour over the charts and data?
Updates forthcoming.
vcD,
-R
Reflective and transparent.
The Ocean is frightening.
To define: We live our early lives in a fairly linear fashion, ascending grades, going through high school, and then maybe college… all the while we have the next year on the horizon mapped out with a goal in sight.
I liken it to riding down a river with familiar landmarks where the current keeps taking your further down your path. You don’t have to look at the end of this proverbial ride (death) directly, because you’re not looking at the horizon, you’re looking at the next logical step.
After college, I started looking for a job. The linear, river-like nature of life had dropped me off in The Ocean… so much possibility… I could meander wherever I wanted to go within reason, just paddling along.
I began working for a big corporation. I started to imagine working for them for 40+ years… which was a long look at the horizon.
.:Movies
I think one of the reasons working on films appeal to me aside from the artistic side is that they begin, live, and conclude within a reasonably short span. They don’t take 40+ years of your life, and you have something literally to show when you’re finished.
As I’m reaching the end of Greyscale, I’m also reaching the end of the currently untitled feature documentary I’m doing for work… after 7 months it will have begun and finished, and I will in the foreseeable future move on to another project.
Granted, I don’t know what that next project is, but I am blessed to have the security of a full-time job to either develop it or have it handed down to me to complete.
Even with that in mind, I’m looking out at The Ocean of possibilities, not knowing what the next segment of my life is going to hold…
…which is a little frightening.
I know I’ll get to the end of the ride when I’m supposed to, and I know I’ll eventually grow enough as a person to not let projects define and measure my life, but if college was college, then Greyscale was grad school, and this documentary is… law school?
I’m running out of school analogies… probably because I haven’t really been in school for 5 years now and need to stop missing the boundaries of the lazy river and remember that my ship has nice big sails.
vcD,
-R
Fascinating!
(via wnstn)
Having survived to the age of 27, I have somehow managed to avoid a trip to the emergency room. I used to say that with pride, listing it among my other “have nots,” such has having never gotten a speeding ticket, been in a car accident (whilst driving), or having broken a bone (unfortunately, not having a cavity slipped off that list a couple years back…).
But many good things come to an end.
Two days before my first showing of Greyscale (and 3 before my trip to Israel), my right eye had become so pained that I could barely keep it open for more than 2 seconds at a time, which is not conducive for driving to work or even editing a film… It is conducive for sitting alone in the dark like the stereotypical mother waiting for her grown son to call (“He never calls…”).
I never got it checked out and it cleared up just in time for the showing.
Then again, I was still new enough at my job that I didn’t have health insurance. I chalked it up to having worn my contacts too long and bit the bullet and bought new ones. I had only been employed for 1 month after 10 months off and Sarah hadn’t found a new job yet so I was trying to be frugal in ways that one should not be frugal.
This time I went to the MinuteClinic at CVS and the nurse that looked at me almost recoiled after looking at my eyes, fearing it was Iritis. She said I should go to the ER, and soon.
Sarah drove me there and after a slightly comical mixup of going to the Veteran’s hospital (right next door) where the lady at the front desk gave me a once-over and as politely as possible asked “You are a veteran, right?” to the long-haired, cord and fingerless-glove wearing man in front of her.
I get the feeling that happens often enough.
So, long story short, I sit in the ER for 5 hours, have 5 different people look me over, two of them doing the exact same tests that involve eyedrops and poking my eyes with the same eye-pressure reader that didn’t work well for both people, and two rounds of dialation eyedrops and at least 5-6 times of a blaring light being shown in my light-sensitive eye for almost a minute at a time… It was guessed that I had irritation from my contact and smeared some ointment that made my sight hazy and sent me home.
2 days later it still hurts a little and my left eye is till a little red, but not enough to scare small children or make people think that I’m self-medicating for glaucoma…
I’m grateful yet sheepish that my malady was probably self inflicted (I do adhere to the length of time one should wear disposable contacts) and not sight threatening.
Then I began to think about what would happen to my career (and life) if I were to go blind… but that’s another blog post entirely.
vcD,
-R
Extraordinary story about a woman whose beautiful photography was discovered at an auction.
(Thanks Glo for sharing!)