I was talking with a friend who has long since left our shared Christian faith. There was at times the usual awkwardness that occurs when one has moved forward and the other is left behind. But we tried not to put the other one on the spot.

There was a moment where we both discussed a desire for rebirth and reformation. This is summer 2021: we both had attempted various protective measures and odd rituals to stay afloat during the last pandemic year. We both needed a refresh.

She was looking for a non-religious way to such rebirth, while I had a more mixed approach. But the truth that came out of our discussions was that we both wanted to somehow schedule this refresh, to time our rebirth, to be in charge of the revitalization process. But the frank truth is that we can't necessarily engineer being reborn. It takes the right stranger, the right meeting, the right book. We can sit there and talk about our need for change as much as we want, but I think it's difficult to be one's own savior (lower-case s on purpose).

I hadn't posted a photo of myself in a while, so here you go. This is from the Los Angeles conference in 2021. What are your updates, gentle reader?

I've thought about the last few years, and what led me to decisions. For the most part, the voice inside my head, which I hesitate to call God (out of respect) but sometimes has felt spiritually discerned, has been right about most things. While I'm a Pentecostal Christian who believes that God can lead us by talking to us and giving us signs, I've been somewhat cautious about going too far into this realm. I still think it's extraordinarily easy to convince yourself that your own instincts and whispers are that of the Divine, or to mistake noise for signals. I also had a horrible situation here on Xanga years ago where I felt the voice inside me was trying to lead me to marry someone who was a pathological liar. I trusted my logic, thankfully, but it was an experience that left me shaken.

However, I've been wondering what would happen if I do take the voice as truth. If I tell people things that the voice seems to lead me to, would I be ranting in the dark? Or, am I committing a greater fault, of not trusting my instincts and my feelings, of being so logical I'm not open to my own heart?

It's a weird problem, but I'm curious: have you followed your own inner voice and/or what you felt your mind/God telling you for long periods of time, and what did it mean for your life?

It's a rare privilege, to be able to dance as if no one is watching. To not be self-conscious, to launch your final shot in the game as if fans aren't screaming and cheering to distract or encourage you. We should all have the ability to conduct our lives unbothered by the antics of others, right?

However, on social media, having an audience of one (yourself) is an indication that you may just be doing something wrong. I've been considering lately what it means not to have an audience, and what one should do as a result.

On the one hand, look, living in a way to be commended by history will always leave many people behind. Being anti-slavery in, say, 1850 wasn't a great public opinion to have in most states. Having a small audience can be a compliment, that you are a lead user, adopting the tools and techniques of the future ahead of time and...

...but let's be honest, friend, it may be unlikely that you or I are either technological marvels or ideological martyrs. At a certain point, shouldn't one go where the people are? Not all the people, but some people? If one's preferred discourse and presentation falls on deaf ears, isn't that an indication that the ears or the presentation are wrong?

I'm not sure, honestly. I've contemplated withdrawing from social media for 2022: there's an argument that social media itself has so warped our idea of an audience that we can only find our voice by leaving it. But I couldn't resist getting my page re-opened (thanks Eugenia!) and launching one more last return, even if this ventures on the tragicomic, haha. Keep in mind that if I lose comment access, you can email me at xangagreek at the usual place if you need to.

A few weeks ago, I went to Mexico for a job interview. I do not speak Spanish, but I am trying to be more adventurous on this job search. Too often, instead, I've been safe in my career choices.

My father worked the same job for 30+ years and then ended up taking early retirement from there. Growing up, I thought I could do the same, working in a factory as some kind of engineer or manager for decades on end, never leaving Ohio. Guess what, that hasn't happened. But I still somewhat dream of stasis, of becoming a fixture at some small university and teaching several generations of families.

But I don't think that is the right way to live anymore. I think that I take more risks in my personal life precisely because I may be more bored than I realize at work. Perhaps I need a more varied job, a more frightening job. So there I was in Mexico, trying to use translating apps, trying not to just stay in my hotel room. I was trying to at least be a brave coward, ha. Sometimes I couldn't quite fulfill my dares, as when I tried to head to a local mall, and couldn't quite convince myself to go. But I at least have an idea of what life there would be like, and they'll send the job offer next week, and then I'll decide.

I've seen the meme floating around about "Name 3 accomplishments for 2018." My problem is that accomplishment indicates that I did something in 2018. As if!

No, the truth is that 2018 was more about subtraction. My circle of friends got smaller. My job will be changing, as will my location. My hobbies? Spending? Other nice coping mechanisms acceptable to Western white Christians? Heh, all needing to decrease.

I'd like to think that the fire of 2018 is done burning, and that 2019 will be a year of abundance. I'm tired of writing melancholy-tinged blog posts, tired of complaining. But the fact is, I had a long-term girlfriend and a good future at my workplace on December 30, 2017. I now have neither.

I have indeed enjoyed the positive coverage of "Thank You, Next," as pop culture did need to be reminded that ex's can often serve as lessons and inspiration. Too often we've been taught to see ex's as mistakes or dead ends. Plenty of people could bless us and yet not be the one for us. And nostalgia can be a healthy drug. Why burn bridges out of spite? That's more the actions of an immature person than an adult.

But sometimes there is no meaningfulness to something. This is now my fifth year in Pennsylvania. I'm 95% sure I'll be living elsewhere by summer of 2019. And what's true (and sad) is, once I'll leave, I'll probably never come back. There's not really anyone or anything to come back for here. No, I did make some acquaintance friends, and found nice places to hang out at: I'm not angry or bitter. But there's just no reason to be sentimental about this area, and this is coming from someone who loves to be a sentimental slob.

This summer, I ran into a bit of a hard time. You know how it is when you're running a certain distance, and then you find out you need to run "just a bit more" right at the point where you thought you could stop? That was me.

So I found people to support me: a close male friend here, a female friend who just happened to be going through something similar there. And I managed to get through the summer. And I got through that extra mile.

But I find myself oddly resentful about it all, that I couldn't carry my own burdens, that I couldn't run my own race. There's a certain hidden narcissism in martyrdom, in wanting to sacrifice yourself for a cause or others. There's an odd sense of shame that someone else might want to give themselves for your sins, even if merely in reciprocity. I'm being forced to confront my own weakness at the very point that I thought I could move past such things, and I don't care for it. Humph.

Had an odd experience tonight. I've been rethinking my career lately. I remember in the old blog days, I tried to hide what I did. That made sense at the time, but by now most of you know I work as a professor.

The problem I'm running into is the scary thought that maybe I don't want to teach anymore. That the will and desire to do so has left me, perhaps even for several years now, but that I'm so stupidly dutiful, beholden to the past, or stubborn in habit that I haven't confessed it to myself.

I was watching a movie tonight, and the main character admitted that maybe he was going out of business because he didn't really want to do that work anymore. And it resonated with me, to the point that I teared up during this not so serious, not so sad movie.

I am not ready to stop being a professor, yet. I gave five of my best years, 22-27, to chase the dream of being a professor. I went on one (1) real date in 5 years, and yes, some of that was my choice/their choice, but that is how dedicated, how passionate I was to my field. (And I looked a lot better then, heh, although my sense of fashion was...what's the word for worst than abysmal?).

But some dreams must die, and I'm trying to get myself used to the idea now. My career has become a part of me, it's part of my introductions to others. Here's a frightening stat: since I turned 5, I have spent 0 years without going to school, or working for a school. So please, wish me the best, as I try to figure out (sigh) WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT (sings song in head).