In Defense of Being Dull

Earlier today, as I was having the get-to-know-you conversation with Group Tour Media’s newest editorial intern, Carly, I informed her that, in my exact words, “I’m actually pretty dull.”

She tried to tell me (though she knew me not at all), that surely I must be mistaken. Dullness, she seemed to think, is a bad thing. Many people believe this.

I’m not one of these people.

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It isn’t always that simple…

Simplicity has been a recurring theme in my life lately. Through books, movies, conversations, t-shirts, and bumper stickers, I’ve been relentlessly pursued by the gentle insistence that I need to simplify. In some regards, this is nothing new. When Becca and I were house shopping a few years ago, I told her, “I want something nice, and big enough for the family we hope to have — but modest.” No ostentation for me, thank you very much.

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Already and not yet

I’ve come across the concept of “already, but not yet” often enough recently that it’s stuck with me. I’m pretty sure that it has theological significance (the kingdom of God is both “already” and “not yet” here, or something like that), but I last thought of it while showing a friend my garden earlier this afternoon.

To be honest, my garden is an embarrassment. Sure, it has been yielding a fair share of crops — a zucchini the size of my thigh, for example, and grape tomatoes that are so sweet when you bite into them that they almost taste like candy — but the edges are overgrown with weeds, my corn stalks are pathetically thin, and my pepper plants have been eaten by pests of some sort or another. It was clear to me, and to my friend, that I don’t have the time to maintain a garden.

This is where the already and the not yet come into things. I already have a garden, but I’m not yet ready to take care of it properly. And it isn’t just the garden: as a general rule, I have an already/not yet understanding of most of my life.

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Back in the game

I hate myself.

That is to say, I hate people who Announce their Return To Blogging in a blog post, which is exactly what I’m doing here. Ergo: I hate myself. The truth is, I’ve needed to blog for a while — I’ve got things to say (I think), my wife and a handful of friends have been encouraging me to get back into it, and I’ve realized that any self-respecting writer has his own blog (I’ve realized the same thing about Twitter, but I’m not sure I want to go there again).

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