Mediocrity

I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning. Maybe it's the hot weather, being sore from body boarding this weekend, or because it's Monday. When my alarm went off at 6:45am, I snoozed it until about 8:15am. I know why this is. Besides the fact that I was having a really good dream about crispy spring rolls wrapped in lettuce and dunked in fish sauce, I know subconsciously that when I get up today and start my day, there will be no one setting a deadline on me, no one telling me to sit down and practice, no co-worker or boss to check up on me. I just have to work on stuff because I have to. Mondays I have no students to break up the day, so it's just me. And Aiko. But mainly just me.

Somehow the heat is the greatest reminder to me of the work I need to do also known as practicing. This is mostly because the dry, hot Southern Californian heat reminds me of my summer in Italy in 2005, which I still hold on a pedestal in my memory as one of the best summers of my life. That was the summer I attended a guitar course in Siena and spent my days sitting in hot, sweaty master classes and practicing in the sweltering heat (somehow, AC never caught on in Italy), pushing and pushing myself to master my scales, fingerings, pieces, and interpretations. I was motivated mostly by being around so many phenomenal guitarists, but also by a certain drive that came upon me by being so inspired by that environment. It could have been the Chianti, the pasta, the rolling hills of Tuscany, or the simple love of the guitar that came over me. Whatever it was, I crave that feeling of having an unquenchable drive for excellence. I crave the desire to push myself beyond limits. I crave the desire to work harder and longer despite sweating all over my guitar and having my fingers turn black and blistered from practicing.

Lately, everything feels "good enough." Everything seems like it's passable or alright, or ok. In fact, I can't help but think that this is also a part of being in Southern California that has rubbed off on me. I saw a mural on an elementary school near Pacific Beach painted in big bubble letters that said, "Just take life easy." This was not so surprising considering that the school was less than half a mile from the beach. But still, it made me stop and think. That's what we're teaching children here? Just take it easy? It wasn't, "The sky's the limit!" or "The world is your oyster! Go for it!" Sure, there is truth to not taking life too seriously. But a little motivation would be nice.

In the end, I know I can't blame anything on my surroundings or my environment. Work is a part of the curse that resulted in the fall of man. It's supposed to be hard. Our flesh opposes it. I believe this because I feel it in my physical body every day. I know that my flesh is by nature lazy and undisciplined. But there is something about working when it is dramatically uncomfortable to do so, when everything in your flesh tells you that you want to do otherwise, that ends up producing such enduring fruit. Thinking about the apostle Paul overwhelms me- that he approached his work with such vigor, working to further the gospel and running the race, pressing on, despite all of the physical ailments and challenges that came his way. Surely I can spend a few uninterrupted hours with my guitar if Paul could carry Jesus' story across a continent after being shipwrecked, beaten, tortured, and sick?