Sean Durham

As Deep as We Need To

Nov 012011

So, last year I challenged myself to write some kind of coherent blog post for everyday in November. I’d been slacking in my literary/editorial pursuits and decided, like all truly distractible ideaphiles, that if I was going to get anything done, it’d have to be in the context of a regimented, disciplined every-damn-day-or-not-at-all dynamic.

So, I did. I wrote everyday, and a few friends joined me and it was profound.

This year, finds me less inspired. The momentum has slowed and I’ve found myself a heavier object to move. Used to be, words sat somewhere just below the earth’s surface. And and I’d just scrape a hand across her dusty face to find them. Nowadays, I have to dig.

Maybe, it’s because I actually do quite a bit of writing – so the words feel more diluted than they have before. Now I have to push the poetry uphill, but maybe that’s the way it should be.

When I think about it, about writing, the times its meant the most to me have never been when words have just danced themselves into order. I’m thankful for those times, to be sure, but I tend to forget about them.

It’s when I’m out of breath and out of hope, when the pen has dried and Plan-B has failed – I think it’s in that place where I most remember writing. So, in these times, I’ll try to write myself out of it – whatever it is. I write angry and fall asleep cold.

Then, I read it a week later. Mostly, I don’t discover that I’ve somehow channelled my inner-Fitzgerald. Usually, I find a bunch of angry verses thrown at the feet of a sober God. But, in those words, read in the context of the week’s healing, I find a beautiful, simple kind of grace.

So, I’m excited and already exhausted for these coming November nights. I’m praying that we’ll all come up empty a time or two and I’m praying that we remember to dig as deep as we need to. Maybe we find some words or maybe they find us – maybe, we find a good God in the middle of it all.

Wake up, you’re going to war.

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Sep 112011

I was 18 years old and it was my first week of Junior College.

“Wake up! You’re going to war!”

She burst through my bedroom, the door swinging into the wall. Wake up, you’re going to war! She shouted again in a kind of teary confusion.

I remember walking out of my bedroom into the loft that overlooked the family room. The TV was loud with breathless news-anchors and “this-just-in” reporting. Mom raced ahead and I rubbed my eyes clean of their sleep. She composed herself and looked at me.

“Two planes just hit some buildings in New York and now I think we’re going to go to war and you’re going to have to go.”

I remember sweating but not much else.

And, in what was probably the most selfish moment of my life – my next thought turned to the Selective Service card I’d mailed just a week before. The government sends out a notice to all males turning age 18. Returning the card is an acknowledgement of the possibility of forced military involvement (and my eligibility for it) should the US need to implement a draft. My birthday is in March, but they give you 6 months to return the card. September 2001 was month-six.

In the weeks before, dad and I would joke about my getting drafted and going into the army. He said I was a prettyboy and we’d both laugh at what kind of soldier I’d be. The army, I thought, was either for guys who want to be in the army or guys who’d knocked up their highschool sweetheart and I was neither. And, there was no war, so there was room for these kinds of jokes.

The news replayed their footage and I watched as their cameras filled with dust and fire and running people. My heart was consumed with a kind of numb curiosity. What would happen now? Were they coming to California? Who are they? Are we going to war? Am I going to war?

It doesn’t feel like that was 10 years ago. I think of everything that’s happened in the past decade, and the clarity with which I recall that morning, I confess that it feels like a film I saw once. The kind that moves more into your memory than into your heart. The numbness of the thousands of miles between California and New York, and the insolation of my selfishness had protected me from fully experiencing the reality of the day.

So, as the years stretched on, as country singers, clothing companies and candidates used the event to move units and gather votes, 9/11 had become a source of shame for me. The way I thought of myself before I thought of the thousands of buried people and broken families.

It might not feel like a decade ago (what’s a decade supposed to feel like, anyway?) but it was, and I’m proud to say that whatever’s happened since then – I’m a little less selfish than I was at 18. I’ve got a long way to go, but because I was in California 10 years ago rather than in one of the Twin Towers, I’ve had a decade’s worth of grace to work with. I’ve known a lot of forgiveness and I’ve given some of it, too.

For me, mom’s benediction still rings, though “wake up, you’re going to war” doesn’t mean a jumpseat on a military plane headed to Iraq. It’s a call into community rather than consumption, it’s a call to cover your exposed skin before my own. It’s an invitation to war against the numbness that so quickly gathers. “Wake up, you’re going to war” means everything to me, because I didn’t have to.

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Jun 232011

Christianizing Creativity (A ‘Reluctant Brilliance’ Response)

Thoughts 4 Responses »

Jun 212011

Brian asked for my thoughts on affixing the title “Christian” to a product, service, artist or work of art. As in, being a “Christian band” or a “Christian company.” I’ve certainly got my opinions, but I’ll let smarter people discuss the theological implications of the whole idea – what I’m most afraid of are the motives behind the labeling and the potential for greatness we’re squandering as a result.

1) Profit – . The American Christian church is a strange, beautiful, messy, rich and sometimes terrifying group of people who are incredibly good at homogeny and continuing their (our) way of life (be it financially, spiritually or socially.) And, I understand how tempting it is to jump in and swim with its strong, profitable currents. The truth is – you can make a lot of money in the Christian industry. There is a real, predictable market available and ready to embrace almost anything with marginal substance so long as it’s identified as “Christian.” But, this is why lots of Christian music is passionless and redundant. This is why most Christian movies are awful. This is why a Christian company struggles with greed. In any other realm, your genre is not your credential. The product being sold must also have merit, be valuable. You don’t buy an iPod because it’s an “MP3 Player” – you buy it because it’s the best. It’s a risky thing to trade identity for income.

2) Protection – My parents were good parents and they were deeply (to my adolescent frustration) involved in the music I was listening to. If you were to scour the 10 freeway roadside, you’d probably find small bits of my Gin n’ Juice cassette tape which was thrown from my mom’s speeding Honda when she realized just how articulate Snoop Dogg could be. They’d read the lyrics inside every CD I brought home, scanning for expletives or lewd references, my Mom’s eagle eyes could find a spelling mistake in the New Yorker. To avoid these inspections, I learned to just buy CD’s from the local Christian bookstore. Sure, it cost roughly twice as much (see point #1) but my parents trusted the endorsement of “Christian” bookstore and they didn’t need to harass me about my purchase.

So, some protection is good. But the cost of protection is a diminishment of progress; you can’t wear armor and run quickly. When the Christian market is so consumed by protecting its fundamentalism, creativity is stalled. I think there’s unlimited potential for greatness in being strong, talented, creative, fearless, loving, agents of creation. And I believe we do more to usher in the Kingdom of God by participating in that creation than we do in burying our talents in the sand, making sure it stays put and stays the same.

So, do I think there’s a problem with the “Christian” genre? I’m not sure. While I don’t think it’s a leading cause of atheism – it might be a leading cause of atheists making fun of us.

Hey, Do You Like Owls?

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Jun 172011

I think we need to talk about this.

WATCH: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmwbz75kVR1qfjjglo1_400.gif

Let’s dissect the holocaust that are these owls. Beginning from least heinous to most.

1) Wolfman owl. Owls are raptors, which means they are essentially dinosaurs with feathers. Plus, they’re nocturnal which makes them the same as serial killers, so we shouldn’t be surprised when we realize that they eat a LOT more rodents than Tootsie Pops. Still, it’s hard to watch the wise sage of the animal kingdom SWALLOW A RAT.

2) “The Twins” As young owls, their owl parents used to give them one rat each evening and watch them as they fought for dinner. Put it this way, they used to be “The Triplets.” There’s nothing good about these owls; there is only evil in their hearts. The way the bottom owl (Tony) looks up at the camera after he makes his move is the most horrifying moment in animal cinema to date.

3) Chatterbox AKA Joker AKA Deathmouth. He wants you to think that all is well – that the slaughter to his right and the murderdance to his left are just standard owl operating procedures. The truth is, he’s the choreographer of carnage, the maestro of murder and just one truly bad owl. FACT: Christopher Nolan required Heath Ledger to watch 30 hours of this clip in preparation for his role as The Joker.

I’m sorry to have done this to you. Happy Friday.

For more awful animals, click here.

On Giving Ideas Away

Writing 7 Responses »

Jun 132011

Used to be, I’d capture some idea and immediately (literally) scan the entirety of my phone book looking for someone to share it with. I’d sell them the idea like it was the best idea I’d ever had, that this was the most important phone call I’d ever make, that they’d ever received. And I’d present the idea proudly, like Jesse parading his sons in front of Saul, hoping one would be picked to be king.

Sometimes, they’d get adopted. A friend would share my vision and we’d share approximately 3.8 caffeinated conversations and 114 textual transmissions before he or I realized that the idea was too big or too small or too self-indulgent or too… already being funded by one or several venture capitalists. Sometimes, they were truly great ideas, but our timing or leadership or vision didn’t sync and we’d call it a cat’s-game. Or sometimes, we just needed to get out of the coffeeshop.

So, we’d concede the conspiracy and go back to being “friends” instead of billionaire internet pioneers or world-saving ministry partners. The idea remained dormant.

But now, I’ve got an idea within an idea (You were just incepted.)

What if we gave ideas away?

To be sure, there’s a lot of money in not giving ideas away. Good ideas can be pretty valuable pieces of intellectual real estate. I would never admit to the amount of time I spend (hours) day-dreaming about what I’d do if I sold some idea and what I’d do while living off of the fat of the acquisition. (I would buy barrels of great wine for all of my friends, I’d have them delivered to their house – it would be the best, most cumbersome gift ever.)

But, it’s also a lot of fun to watch an idea change shape and change ownership. So, for the first of hopefully many given-away ideas, I’d like to give:

Paragraphobia.com

Right now, it’s a clever name but little else. There is no business plan and there is no defined market. I don’t really know what it could be or what it should be – a suggestion would be something to do with writing and/or writing related fear. I figure I’ll leave that part up to you, though I do have a few conditions.

1) It can’t be slanderous.

2) It has to be about the larger Story. That is, it cannot be the name of your next personal blog.

3) If you ever make some money with it, we’ll have to discuss the split (I have wine barrels to order.)

Feel free to pass this along. If someone or group of someones wants a cool name and a push into a story bigger than their own, have them contact me. If “paragraphs” aren’t your thing, I’ve got a few more ideas I can’t wait to give away.

In every motion and joint of your body

God, life No Responses »

Jun 072011

I’ve got a beautiful friend, Shawnte. I had the honor of calling her a colleague for a few years, a few years ago. She’s since moved her life to Portland to work with Don Miller and The Mentoring Project and she’s living a really good story.

Sometimes I’m crushed under the weight of knowing so many gracious people. I feel guilty, almost – as though I’ve a responsibility to them, or maybe to God, to be a better man, and the kind of friend to them that they are to me. I’m proud to know such well-written characters and I’m glad for the opportunity to have shared a page or two with them.

Anyway, I found this Whitman passage on her blog and I think it’s just perfect.

This is what You (and I) shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence towards the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, reexamine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

From Walt Whitman’s preface to Leaves of Grass

Five Man Moves to Make (Or Quit) Today

life, manhood 5 Responses »

Jun 062011

Masculinity is slipping. As we move into an age dominated by weak men consumed by social media and tethered to their iPhones, we’ve got a beautiful opportunity to model excellence. And, given the current state of mainstream masculinity (see: MTV) – it’s actually not that difficult.

Holding the door – Two points to make about holding the door for someone.

1) Do it.

2) Always.

Side note: There is some debate over the length of time we’re expected to hold the door. To err on the side of politeness may mean that you’ll get stuck holding the door for a large group of foreign tourists, or – say, a Mormon family rolling twenty deep. Such are the hazards of doing what a man should do. It’ll be tiring, but you can guarantee that Elder Smith and his brood of blonde children will be grateful.

Burp/mouth/blow (sorry, gross)– You know that “Burp in your mouth and expand your cheeks like a trumpet player before slowly releasing your mouthbowels into the atmosphere” thing that has somehow become the polite way to belch? Can we just stop doing that thing?

It’s fun, and (admit it) satisfying at any age… but burping is actually super disgusting. And, at what point in history did burping get a pass? Why are other bodily “movements” considered social hari-kari, while we shrug off someone’s burp/mouth/blow like it’s just Thursday afternoon? If anything, burping should be higher on the filth-scale since it comes out of your mouth. James agrees, “Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing (some translations show “burping”. My brothers, this should not be.”

Talking with your mouth full – This might be acceptable among spouses, blood brothers and fraternal twins (NOT IDENTICAL TWINS), but it still requires plutonium-grade caution. There can be NONE food in or around your central or lateral incisors and you must take tremendous care to keep the contents of your mouth a perfect mystery to the rest of us.

Waving to someone who let you cut in front of them. – I move that you should be able to pop a quick cap at the person in front of you if they fail to throw up a friendly gesture when you let them in in traffic. Just shatter the window, no bodily injury. Statistically speaking, traffic-stress is tantamount to childbirth, so any extra grace you receive during such suffering is Lazarus giving water to the rich man in hell. Throw up a wave. It’s a good thing, and it’s what a man should do.

Shaking hands like a man- I don’t know what age each of us grew out of embarrassing ourselves with the “swipe-and-pound” – but make no mistake – we did. What we do now is called shaking a hand. Like a man. Like a real person. Like a man. Watch an old movie (or ANY movie) and study the way two men greet one another. My dad taught me to drive deep towards the wrist and grip firmly, but not violently. You’re a man, not a murderer.

Side Note: When shaking hands with the fairer sex, it’s not necessary to cradle her hand like an iPhone without a case. Give her the same treatment you would a man – but scale it back approximately 50%. Don’t do that weird half-hand finger-clasp thing either. You’re a man, not a molester.

Side Note: Unless you have a French accent/are royalty/are playing a creepy guy in a movie, it’s the riskiest of business to try to to kiss the top of her hand upon first meeting a woman. Very few moves say “I’d love to wear your skin” better than this one.

I’m not a perfect guy, that’s obvious. I wrestle everyday with being a better man, and I’ve got a long way to go. But while we can debate the finer (higher) points of masculinity, let’s get some small, easy to change issues out of the way.This list is by no means exhaustive- there are plenty of other under-the-radar man moves that need addressing.

In your day-to-day observation of the animal, Man, – what do you think we need to add?

On Connecting and Compelling and EverydayMay

everydaymay 1 Response »

May 312011

I read a lot of blogs.

As someone desperate to write, I scan each blog for content. Why do I like this one and not that one? What about this sentence feels real to me? Is this interesting because it’s fancy or is it interesting because it’s interesting? What is the author saying, and what is the author saying?

What I’m coming to find (really, what I’m coming to realize) I think, Is a truth universal. We cannot compel unless we connect. And wanting people to connect with you is dramatically different than wanting to connect with people. Connection is everything. Marketers work tirelessly in research farms and force-feed babies in focus groups all looking for better ways to “connect” to their market. They pore over demographic data; your income, your weight, your purchasing habits all dictate and determine the ways in which they want to connect with us. And we let them, don’t we? Would any rational being buy a KFC double-down on their own?

And as readers, we have a keen sense of false living. We’re so inundated with media that we know when an author is posing, we know when a writer is condescending, or puffed-up or full of ego. We know when they’re faking it. I’m willing to bet your favorite author, your favorite book or song or painting means more to you than aesthetics. I’m willing to bet that it plucks a string of yours, your favorite string (or maybe your most wounded string) and it resonates throughout your body – echoing down to the deep parts.

Which is why I’m so thankful to have joined a group of writers who wrote plainly, honestly, truly every day this month. It’s been encouraging and inspiring and humbling to have walked (semi-faithful) with a group of such beautiful people. It’s been an honor to have played a small role in starting this thing and I’m way beyond excited to keep the journey going.

Andrew is suggesting a Jellyroll June – which I think is about burning all of the calories we collected over the last month sitting down to write. I may join him.

For the rest of us, we’ll write and we’ll connect and we’ll continue in community. What I’ve learned this month is that the words… are just words. They’re small vehicles and I’m so thankful to have found connection in them this month.

A Memorial Day Thanksgiving

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May 302011

This teacher deserves all of the attention she’s getting. Today, I am thankful that my sister isn’t doing shooter drills with her 2nd grade class. This is happening one country away and the reason most of us will never need this kind of bravery is because we’ve got rough men at the ready – guarding our borders, keeping America’s house in order.

“People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf”

We aren’t perfect and I believe we’ve got a long ways to go. But as I type these words into a computer I own, with wealth I haven’t earned, I am reminded of my undeserved nationality. And as you read this, your mind shaped into literacy by American public schools, I’m hoping you remember yours as well.

It’s memorial day, and I’m a thankful man.

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