I’ve been through a lot listening to John Mayer. He’s one of those artists that I can say not only have I seen grown and become more dynamic, but I can also identify my growth and dynamism with his path as an artist.

I eagerly await the arrival of the new album next week. It can already be streamed from Rhapsody, and I started to listen to the first track, but I felt like I was being unfaithful to the process. When it’s a new artist that I don’t have a lot of history with, I feel just fine getting a teaser stream of the album. But, with John, I want to get the album and listen to it once straight through in full quality.

I feel I owe that to artists that I truly follow, obeying the process, trusting the artist. John is one of the few I can classify as such.

One of the things that truly has made this time leading up to this album more personable has been following John’s tweets (@johncmayer). He has been painstaking about artistic transparency on this record. He’s done a wonderful job with it; it doesn’t feel anything like voyeurism or crowdsourcing. It’s just open honesty about what he’s doing with the album from writing to tracking to pressing. I’ve had the opportunity to see it all for an artist that I truly admire in so many ways.

As it goes, I don’t condone everything he’s done, but I don’t have to. He hasn’t done it for me or for any of his other millions of fans. He’s done it for himself, and he’s been up-front about it the whole time.

With all of that said, here’s the video for his first single, called “Who Says,” off the new album, “Battle Studies.”

The title of this post is part homage to my finals present to myself (a headphone amp) and part homage to the arrival of the new quarter tomorrow.

It’s been probably the best Waco weekend I’ve ever had. Among the great activities: dinner at George’s then a night in with friends at my apartment; breakfast at Harold Waite’s Pancake House, catching up on TV, then a beer tasting in the evening; church today followed by a good lunch at Olive Branch. Though I liked my down time in Waco, I do hope to visit my family before Thanksgiving rolls around.

This quarter will be intensely Intellectual Property most of the time. I’ll finish all of the credits needed to complete the Intellectual Property concentration. I’m excited, but I know I will be very busy. Being very busy will make this quarter fly by. Then I’ll go through the most difficult exercise in my entire life. And, finally, I’ll achieve the end goal of becoming an attorney.

I still feel very young, but these very adult milestones are arriving. And, as time goes on, my life becomes more inextricably intertwined with Sara’s. It’s exciting and humbling, as it should be. Sara has been such a great confidant for me, especially when I am under immense stress and pressure. I take comfort that I’ve been the same sort of refuge for her in her trials.

God has been most gracious; for this, I am incredibly grateful.

I never quite experienced this feeling in undergrad. I was over-scheduled and I had many places to be back to back. But, I never had an intellectual marathon anywhere near my “easiest” quarter here.

Nevertheless, an intellectual marathon is upon us. That’s what these nearly two weeks are for us law students. It’s an intellectual fatigue that manifests in all forms of discomfort, malaise and eventually, absentmindedness toward everything except neat factor-tests and chunks of case law and statute. I notice that, during the marathon, I’m more prone to spill things, and my eyes are more squinty. My deplorable posture sinks even further as though the very laws of gravity are changing to my detriment.

Nothing really heals these wounds but time and sleep. And, that won’t come until Friday for most of us–when we’ll want to celebrate as a conscious reward for our minds and sleep as a unconscious reward for our bodies. As life becomes more clearly about measuring humans by the amount and quality of work they do, it seems only to become more convoluted. (“Wait! I thought there was more to it than this!”) I know there is (or think I do), but at this point, I don’t see it. I don’t see anything separating a myopic carpenter from an enlightened student. Each one, in his own time and right, will have to answer to labor. Every man has to earn his keep. And, I’m more convinced that there’s nothing more or less glorious about a scalpel in the hands of a surgeon or a hammer in a roofer’s hands or a book in a student’s.

We all have a debt to pay. And, most of us are doing the best we know to keep up with the terms of our loan on life.

If I weren’t a student of the law (and one with an artist’s conscience at that), I would stream this song in this blog post. [Nevermind, like for most things, there's a YouTube video for this. My artist's conscience is appeased because Google has deals in place with most rightsholders. If they don't, the onus is on the rightsholder to initiate the DMCA takedown process.]

This song (ignore or embrace the “video,” as is your preference), resonates with my finals soul right now. I’ve really been enjoying this song over the past two days, and I just wanted to share it with as many people as possible.

It’s a strange time, as finals always are, and this one is different but the same. For one, I’ve got more motivation on hand than in quarters past (excluding the first two). Another thing is that, leading up to finals, I’ve had lots of quality time with friends, and school has been the primary topic less and less. Finally, I’ve got Sara near and dear to me. She is a constant light at just the right time. But, for all my present effort at feeling like a real person and not a study drone, I feel the mechanism pulling me in.

Just now as I am embracing being more of a person than a student, the siren call of finals entraps me. I just hope that when I snap out of it one week from Friday, I can remember the positive path that I was beginning to forge in my conscious mind. If I don’t, I suppose I can start from scratch. For now, though, I’ll just study and listen to songs (and visit with my shining light, Sara) to keep my heart and soul from atrophy.

It’s a still night after a fairly exhausting day of work, of feigning work and discipline until the real thing comes.

What’s important-aside from the fact that I actually did accomplish my goals for today-is that I relished in my downtime. I didn’t mix work and play as I am wont to do. Sure, I let distraction seep in periodically, but all in all, I rose to the occasion.

It had been a while that the lights were flickered to signal the imminent close of the library with me in it. Even longer that it was a Saturday. It’s strangely quiet, but it’s not surprising how empty the place is. It’s you, 1Qs, and PC students. What a miserable lot!

And yet, I leave and breathe the cool night air. It’s Fall, late October, and I have done the most I could muster today. There’s nothing glorious about it, and yet it brings a quiet satisfaction.

For now, since work is done, I rest. I rest and tune into the silence.

Quiet. And I am still enough that I can almost hear through the silence. Gentle accomplishment. The smallest of victories. The best Assurance.

Coming to the undergrad library (UGL, for code) is an experience I look forward to.

Why?

I’m not certain. I’ve thought about it in a number of ways. There’s some sort of fishbowl quality that’s alluring. All these quibbles and trivialities come to surface. There’s talk of dorm life. There’s not near as much as studying as there is socializing.

And, there’s a café in the basement. Sunlight peers in. People move in and out. There’s a tad bit of noise, I’d say it’s about an airport most of the time–somewhere in the middle–on the scale of the hallowed Library of Congress Main Reading Room being the quietest place I’ve ever cracked a book and your busy metropolitan Starbucks being the loudest place I would think to attempt reading.

There’s very little problem with coming here. There’s anonymity. I only run into people I know who wanted to hide out, anyway. It’s like the old joke that Baptists never recognize one another in the liquor store. A simple “hello” or wave will suffice, but it’s not necessary. Some people might later whisper that they saw you there. Maybe not. We came over here to avoid the omen shadowing over BLS 2-3 weeks before exams.

For now, there is no omen in my studies. Hence, I blog. But, as I finish this post, I return to updating outlines and hoping that I can keep up the good work. This quarter and the next are my best prospect for the best grades I could possibly make in law school.

I’ve got less than 10 months left of this journey. It’s been a ride, to be sure. The ride will pick up soon, then it will be over.

Well, I should get back to doing what I came here for: trying to make sense of large quantities of law-related information, interrupting every now and then to look up and marvel at the revolving door that is the UGL.

Music is a catalyst. It’s amazing how easily this is forgotten in the midst of many other things. It actually took an intimate evening concert to pull me back to this truism of mine. And, then I rediscovered The Beatles. Now, I move back toward a rate of absorption of music that I tend to think is normal for someone such as myself.

I collect more and more, dig for artists further on the fringe, for the hopes of the same feeling. That newness of old. That vintage that feels so fresh. It recalls a language that is untarnished by all this professional training and the penchant to be concise and to the point.

If artists were charged with the same tasks as politicians and lawyers, what a terrifying condition we would be in. A song has no form that must be taken to. Lyrics are incredibly malleable. Where lyrics are lacking, complexity (or simple complexity) in a melodic structure can take the reigns. Where the music appears simple, lyrics can form quite a dramatic thesis. There are no hard and fast rules.

I sit on my balcony in this heavy, moisture-laden air, and I think beyond law school. I don’t forsake friends or time in doing so. Instead, I think more to the core of who I am and what it is that I feel that drives me. Sure, there is my love for another human being. But beyond that, there is something that truly resonates within me that is my identifying point for even my love of Sara. It’s not even as macro as God Himself. It’s what I feel has been placed into me, what is my very origin of thinking, sensing, feeling as a human being.

It is that fundamental yearning for being, that essence that would have me cry were I not so compelled to do otherwise as a showing of my purported strength and mental soundness.

As complex as I pretend to be in this great masquerade, I’m so simple I cannot yet understand my fundamental vantage point in living. When I strip away these alluring distractions, I’m left with very little. I’m left with lots more questions than be-settles me.

There’s no existential crisis here, not any more than there ever has been. I don’t fear the big picture as I should. Instead, I focus my life, my lens on the small trifles of the day-to-day. Fortunately, there are instances where I am plucked from my mere concerns and I can think outside my small self. I can look to Sara and be her aid. I can give timely advice to a friend in need. And, those can reciprocate. It all seems so small when reduced to this, but it is what it is when it’s distilled like this.

It’s too natural to let myself steep into routine, into rote. And, I haven’t the mind about me to remind myself that it’s commonplace, that it’s congenital, that it’s a fundamental failure of my unquickened spirit. I am ill-equipped to combat this myself. But again, I do not wage this war on my own. It is a uniquely human condition that is shared by all humankind. We are so many negative things when put under a magnifying glass as one. But somehow, through some Miracle, our messes put together can be something quite spectacular. It can be encouraging, invigorating, compelling for all good things. It sounds incredibly humanist because it is. Theoretically, one man could survive when put to his own devices, but the fact is, he would most certainly die trying.

It’s not necessarily fair. It’s certainly not grandiose. But it is. And for now, I’ve come out of my gopher hole to recognize this for just an instant. And, as it has been, I’ll slip just as easily back into the norm. I’ll be just as I typically am–self-consumed. And so that is. It’s not promising. It’s most certainly foul and dirty. But it is. And, when I’m not at my best, I know other people out there are just the opposite. And so this is. Is it a zero-sum game amongst the whole lot of us? I’m not so sure. But it is. Life is certain, and we are not. But it is.

My home life has most certainly changed since I last wrote. I’m house-sitting for one of the most senior attorneys for the remainder of my stay in Roswell. I have been incredibly blessed with this opportunity. I’ll have to take a picture of what my rent is for this place. I will, I promise.

My adventure last weekend was a trip to Carlsbad Caverns. It really was something else to be so far underground–to see the natural cathedral burrowed so deep in the earth. And all around–above-ground–there’s just open desert, some rock formations and some really wowing 360º views. I love my home state, but this portion of New Mexico has a good reign on natural wonders being within a day-trip of one another.

This weekend I went out to White Sands. I really have no grand idea what to expect when I venture out to these places. I just look them up on a map, check the hours, pricing, etc. Then I load up the car and drive on. The drive to White Sands was just as it had been described by one of the attorneys in the office. He said, “You drive up into the mountains, you’re winding around them at a pretty high altitude, then all of a sudden, you see the sands.” It was just like that. It’s one of those times where you could put the car in neutral for several miles as you make a rapid descent into this valley, this big expanse of sand sandwiched amidst mountain ranges.

The sands were intriguing. It was hot, but no hotter than the surrounding parts of New Mexico (Roswell included). It felt like it was more dry, but that may have been the psychological effect of being surrounded by sand for miles and miles. I did get thirsty much faster. I drove the whole 8-mile circle they have set up at the monument, slowly. I got out to walk some trails, then I forged my own by climbing to the top of a larger dune. The sand shifted underneath, not unlike loose powder does right after a good snow.

After time at the sands, based upon a wise suggestion, I drove through a mountain town named Cloudcroft (elevation: 9,000 something, my ears were popping). It was very charming, and I drove through a tunnel in the mountains. No snow or anything, unfortunately. The air was cool, though. And it was nice to be back in the mountains after having been in the desert not even 2 hours earlier. I had some pizza at a local shop with odd combinations on their sign (Cappuccino, Espresso, Latte, Pizza, Subs, Ice Cream).

I started to venture back toward Roswell. But, my TomTom was misbehaving a bit. It took me on the strangest route to date. A dirt and gravel road turned into washed out mud road. Then, no road at all, just an off-road vehicle path. Eventually, I had to cut my losses. After a 25-point turn-around and more than a few large rocks pummeling the car’s underside, I made my way back, somewhat terrified that I might make another wrong turn in what was very isolated wilderness as far as I was concerned.

I made it back to the main highway–and insisted that TomTom follow my lead. Eventually, our wills met and I was taking the main highway back to Roswell, down and out of the mountains. Several miles, very few car spottings, many deer and jackrabbit spottings, and a local apple purchase later, I was back in Roswell.

My weekends have been quite the adventure. I’m already looking forward to next weekend (no plans yet).

I am thoroughly convinced that I will mention the weather in a complimentary fashion for the remainder of my stay here. Even when it rains, it is truly refreshing. The humidity of the rain only lingers for about an hour. No rain canopy here.

Regarding the title, there’s a part of town where there’s an open field where some development might go up. From this vantage point, you can see pecan groves for what may be miles and you can see the range of mountains that are probably 50-60 miles off. It’s a pretty spectacular view. And, about the pecan groves, I’ve been told that the arid climate is ideal for the pecan trees, which are prone to disease in places with less dry climates. It’s a paradox, though, because the trees require a lot of water in this desert climate, but they need the dry air to ward off disease. So, in Southeastern New Mexico (Roswell in particular), I come across many pecan groves that stretch way across this huge horizon.

I’m currently listening to John Mayer’s “Where The Light Is.” I’ve been an avid John fan from his early days–and I’ve enjoyed watching him grow into new projects while still embracing his acoustic/pop roots. He has matured nicely just as my tastes in music have grown. In “Where The Light Is,” he has separated his concert into three independent sets: Part One is acoustic, just John. Part Two is blues, John Mayer Trio. Part Three is full band, John old and new. I put it up there with Jason Mraz and his “Tonight Not Again” live album as far as modern artist’s live albums go.

I went to Pasta Cafe last night for a glass of wine and to hear some live music. I ended up meeting the owner, Andre, who kindly introduced himself and chatted with me briefly, then bought me a follow-up glass of wine. I will make it a point to return there at least a few more times over as many weeks. I like the vibe. I like that there is live music on Saturday. This is one of the bright spots of Roswell.

At the same time as these times I’m having in Roswell, the recurrent “she” of my blog, June, has moved to Waco. She is settling in nicely, I know. And I will look forward to going back to Waco just a little more (or a lot). This summer has already been so gracious, and I can only hope for the times to get better as the summer months drive on. I turn 23 in July–so little time before I’m in my mid-twenties and a young associate somewhere.

Happy Monday to all of you who are reading this.

It’s a place that I never thought about–at all–before walking into an interview last fall. And, even after that, I still didn’t know anything about this region, this place, before I actually moved here for this temporary period.

It’s lonely, yes. But, it’s not bad. The weather is incredibly moderate. I haven’t spent too much time outside midday, though. Right now, it’s a perfect evening temperature, making me wish I had a large patio to sit on and enjoy the gift of a cool, dry evening.

I don’t have much else to say tonight. I’m thankful that this is such a short week, since I really haven’t given myself adequate time to rest in the evenings. I did cut out some time today to read a little fiction. Maybe when things settle down for the weekend, I’ll play a little on the small keyboard I brought along for the ride.