The Saga Continues

Anticipation is the joy of the journey.

(I don't know if anyone smart ever said that, but that's what I say.)

So much of my life is spent pursuing things, objects, that don't matter. I can spend hours surfing eBay, looking at things I know I will never bid on. I can spend hours at a bookstore or music store, just browsing. (Why is "bookstore" one word but "music store" two? Someone answer me that.) I can spend hours tracking down back issues of comic books that were never collected into trade paperbacks.

The search itself is an adventure of sorts. When I'm on the prowl, hunting for something I yearn to possess, my energy is focused on obtaining my heart's desire. Digging through dusty longboxes in a stereotypical comic book dungeon is the closest I ever feel to being a treasure hunter. (Well, either that or digging through the bargain bins at Green Apple.) I lack the vocabulary to sufficiently describe the feeling of anticipation, the anticipation of finding what I want. But I think everyone knows this feeling. It feels exciting to know how close you are to discovering treasure, to obtaining it, to winning it once and for all.

The funky thing is, when I find something and buy it and take it home, I am usually no longer as enticed by it as I'd imagined I would be.

The actual sense of anticipation leading up to the possession of the prize is more vibrant and meaningful than owning it. And I know this. Been through this process so many times, mulled it over in my mind countless times. I know this.

But like a sucker - no, like a chump - I keep on living the same way. I keep on searching and searching for more treasures, thinking they will satisfy me, telling myself that after I own just this last one, I can stop and rest. But I am such a chump. It's like I never learn; or maybe I do learn, but never apply what I learn. Either way, it's pathetic. And that is the very definition of a chump. I honestly think it's one of the most denigrating words in the American language.

You come to my house, you can look at all the books and comics and CD's I've hoarded over the course of my lifetime. I can look at most of the things I own, and still kinda remember when and where I got them, and maybe what I was feeling at the time, and generally what was going on in my headspace. But there are just stacks and stacks of books and comics I haven't even read. I spent so much time looking for that stuff, trying to find great, cheap deals, just wanting more than anything to HAVE them for the right price... And what's the point? Sure, I know that if I ever get trapped in my house during a heavy snowstorm, I won't be bored. I have an arsenal of things with which to entertain myself. But beyond that? What?

Even armed with this knowledge, I still go out and seek cheap deals, trying to satisfy the bargain-hunter within. My stacks of (unread) books and comics get larger every month. Let me put it this way: I have a lot of issues. Literally. (And possibly figuratively.)

Psychologically, I think most people enjoy the pursuit of happiness more than they enjoy obtaining what they think will bring happiness. I probably do. Thus, I simply continue to chase after things that I think will make me happy, not really comprehending that such a lifestyle is a vicious ouroboros.

Every day I chase the wind.

Why do I constantly look for the rush of seeking something? What is the point of desire for its own sake? I wish I could overthrow all the false idols in my heart.

I know that the prize I should long for is not something worldly. I know that I ought to press on, not dwell on the past and bygone failures or even victories. Worldly things can't satisfy my soul. Even if I do enjoy the things I possess, they don't redeem the blackness of my heart. And that makes the pursuit of such things so utterly meaningless.

There are two dogs in me. They battle constantly. One represents my willful lust for the wind. The other represents my desire to submit to Christ. Which dog wins? The one I feed the most.