There is a sort of cyclical pattern to what I may blog about, and I know “home” is one theme that has come up time and time again. There are numerous definitions and quotes from people explaining just what home is. It truly is one difficult concept to put words to, yet it seems so easy to use the term and understand the meaning. In any event, I can easily now call Denver home. I’m almost scared to say that I went to Red Rocks for the first time tonight… but it was the experience of coming home (to my house) that briefly got me thinking, I know this city. I know as well as any other that Denver isn’t all that large. I also know that after living here for nearly five years, I really should know the city… but there’s something special about driving around or getting around that makes me feel pretty good about it.

One of my favorite aspects is knowing neighborhoods, and not only knowing neighborhoods because I have one friend that lives there, but in many cases it may be a neighborhood where I attended church a few years back, and then had one friend that worked around there. Or perhaps it’s a place where I first went out for a good meal, and now nearby is an apartment for a friend. I love this, I love that I can drive through the city and know it well enough to show it off to people. Moreover, I love that it is home. 

Throughout my life, I’ve had such a large variety of friends who have spanned social groups, classes, activities and given the title of the post, someone’s age. What is so interesting is that it’s often made into such a big deal by many, and from the time that one is really young. I had two sets of siblings as friends prior to grade school, Jonathan and Christian, and Savannah and Audie. In both cases, one was a year older, the other a year younger than me. At that age, I knew how old they were, but it didn’t have much bearing on my interaction with them. In grade school, I had a good bunch of friends who were in my grade alone, but as I got involved in activities outside of school, which encompassed students from other grade levels, I became friends with a larger group, one or two years older than me, or younger than me. Into middle and high school, I had more friends who were a good bit older, and younger, and certainly in college, it became much more comfortable to have friends who were three or four years older. 

Essentially, there seems to be a societal threshold for age. A person can have friends between one age or another, and can date within a different range. I had a conversation with a group of college-friends tonight about the standards of dating. One of the guys I was talking to is dating a girl six years older than him, another friend would never date anyone younger than her. I’ve often told myself that I have these rules, but when it comes down to it, I don’t. If I disregard age completely, if it finds no bearing in the equation of who  I can or can’t date, or who I can or can’t be close friends with, I have a much better chance of making some great friends.

I have a good number of friends who I with whom I graduated from college. I have a large number of friends from my jobs – including managers and bosses. I have quite a few friends who are family to some other friends. The way that I typically meet people produces a large variety of friends, and I love every bit of it. To know that I have a good friend substantially older than me, or that I might date someone who is a bit younger than me, should it actually matter? I think there’s so much more to be concerned with than that stigma of age sameness or difference. Everyone embodies a different maturity level, a different level of intellect and understanding of the world. Everyone has a different perspective and way of thinking of the world. I know I will match up with some better than others, but keeping an open mind about those with whom I spend my time has showed such a great importance. 

When it comes down to it, I love all of my friends, whether they’re 17 or 35. Every last one of them have something brilliant to contribute to my life, and I can only hope that I have the same to offer. For me, whether I can show a hint of maturity, or bring someone to understand how they’ve learned from the place I currently am, I’m glad that those different perspectives have an opportunity to let them play a role. 

I care about age, but I don’t want to. It puts unnecessary limits onto what I should or should not do, and rather superficial limits at that. Knowing how old you are may give me a preliminary gage on how someone might act, or where they may be in their life… but everyone is on such a different path, that I don’t think it’s often accurate at all. I’m preparing myself to be amazed, regardless of your age… it’s often your experiences that matter.

I had the fortune of spending an evening with some good friends over the weekend. There was no plan aside from spending time together. What resulted was having a few drinks, great conversation and a light supper – all of which are greatly enhanced by those who spend that time with you. In any form of remote familiarity with how I conduct myself, I believe it’s quite apparent that I love conversations, as the intensity of a conversation grows, I tend to grow, thus I find myself thriving off of them.  When it comes to the majority of my beliefs, I’ve learned to not put them out on the table, lest they be attacked, so I typically take a stance and stick with it, aside from what my beliefs may be. This was not the case this last weekend, whatsoever. I stuck my neck out, I had some ideas challenged, and I’ll be left pondering for weeks, months, years to come, I’m certain. 

The most powerful thing within this realm of conversation, where I invest something that is dear to me – I thoroughly enjoy having it challenged. Why shouldn’t I? I tend to do it with everyone I encounter. How could I not expect the same in return? I often come across people who do agree with me, without the intention of sounding arrogant. I know that I am often assertive, and whether the agreement is an avoidance of conflict, I’m not sure. Perhaps I can pose an argument that for the moment makes the most sense to someone, causing agreement. There’s truly no way to be certain. What I do know, is that when I am challenged, and I guess some may say “bested” it’s by far the most important aspect to a conversation for me. I’m pushed a step or two further in my thinking.

I am delighted that I have such a variety of friends who are in my life. If only to continue to contribute story after story after story – and in conversation give me yet another perspective to consider. For those who can show me an argument to my belief that I may agree with, they are something to be treasured. 

Being vulnerable and letting it out is interesting. WIth some of the things that I’m currently feeling, I’d imagine that it’s stuff that would cause alarm in most, which is what keeps me from writing about it in any public way. Precursor to the rest: don’t be alarmed.  Beyond all things I know that there’s always hope, there’s always a time that it will get better, and chances are that will come sooner than one might imagine. I rarely find myself hopeless, and when I do, I’m typically surrounded by the love of those around me, so truly, no need to worry. To not process through the thoughts, emotions and nature of my current state, would be to slight myself, so I will do so with the utmost consideration to those who will be reading it, and definitely with more to myself who is feeling it all out. Essentially there’s a calm, quiet, yet somehow tumultuous thought process going about my existence. The thoughts running through my head are poetic, yet troublesome (not that they are mutually exclusive). There’s this one part of me that has a strong desire to lay in bed in fetal position, if only for the comfort of it – yet there’s a side of me that screams of doing something productive. I want nothing more than to spill my guts, but no words can possibly be expelled when my mouth opens. It can perhaps be compared to being hungry, with no desire to eat, or tired, with no ability to sleep. I’m feeling, and no way to express it. At least not acutely. 

There’s something isolating about my train of thought. There’s no possible way that I can be the only one to feel this way, and there are those times in which you feel you’re the only one to be/say/do something thus inspiring an extensive feeling of loneliness. Yet this is somehow different. My thoughts simply take me elsewhere. Taking a walk tonight allowed me to sort through a few things. Sitting at home tonight allowed for a couple of others. Taking a nap today gave me a break from becoming overwhelmed. I’m alright with this happening once in a while. I’m alright with every aspect of it, actually. The simple act of thought, however, can cause the beauty of this world to torment me. Seems ironic. So, I allow it for a bit, and for a little bit I’ll get caught back up in the actions of my daily life, and then at some point – I’ll feel it all in some way, and that will give me something to hold on to until that next swing to the next monkey bar where I’m just ever-so-slightly afraid of falling for those few instants. 

I don’t necessarily need respite, and true to what I know of myself, I don’t really know what I need. If only to expound on what’s going on about me for these few moments, I believe that is enough.

One of my favorite moments of the last week was walking into the new house of my sister’s college roommate and her husband. I met this couple about 10 years ago, when I visited my sister at school, and they were fantastic then, just to hang out with when my sister was in class or at some meeting she had to go to (they remain fantastic now). When I walked into their house for the first time, with my brother-in-law, they weren’t home. Given their personalities, and the contact I’ve had with them over time, I figured the self-tour was well called for. So that’s exactly what I did. Based on how I knew them, I made myself at home immediately. I had absolutely no hesitation. Soon after I realized this (rummaging through the cupboards to put away some dishes to make room for flowers), I came to the conclusion that a home is indeed what you make of it, and it becomes a part of you. Now, if this were the home of a variety of other people, I’d likely sit at the dining room table and allow someone else to take initiative, someone who had explicit verbal direction to make themselves at home (not the implicit instruction I felt on account of their personality). I love this about people and their spaces. I love that I get to fill a friend’s ice trays when I’m over for a party. I love that I know I can grab a glass from the cupboard and help myself – all based on the familiarity and understanding of a person.