Renew the New

man of no reputation

Instinct and Intuition

Recently, I picked up a book called The Social Animal. A key argument of the book goes like this – our subconscious is the most powerful part of the mind, and through it we make our decisions; the consciousness of the why comes later. It says the reason for this is because our emotional faculties are our decision makers. In the end, purely logical decisions do not exist. And then it goes on to prove this using some test cases.

I think it’s absolutely true. When people fall in love, they can’t explain it right away. They come up with reasons why they fell in love later, but in the moment, “We just knew.” …My problem is, “I just know” way too often. I’m tempted to feel like the research in this book validates my decision-making process–I live and die on instinct–but in reality, that predisposition leads to impatience. I have an over-active decide-o-matic.

One friend of mine said that she thought I was hyper-intuitive. She was one of those friends who had an uncomfortably accurate picture of me, so I took that “compliment” to mean that my intuition was like my mutant power, always nimble, always right. Of course, that’s not how it works. Rather, she meant that I rely on intuition well beyond what most would consider “good reason.” …You would think that a few break-ups, unnecessary expenses, and near death experiences would teach me a little self-restraint, yet I remain the fool who rushes in.

All that to say, I’m thankful that wisdom is built on the knowledge of one’s weaknesses!

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Death is Coming

“For of the wise as of the fool there is no enduring remembrance, seeing that in the days to come all will have been long forgotten. How the wise dies just like the fool!” – Ecclesiastes 2:16

Ecclesiastes teaches that we must look at death to learn how to live.

There is nothing proud about a corpse. At times, I found it pitiful the way the Egyptian kings were buried in great tombs with their treasures, hidden within tremendous, golden-peaked pyramids. I found it pitiful, because these are all the trappings of a rotting corpse. They are vain attempts to dodge death’s sting and hold on to kingdoms that have already slipped through cold fingers.

One king did not have his body embalmed, nor did he request a tomb of treasures. He submitted himself to death’s greatest assault. And then, rising from the grave, he conquered death. Of all the kings of the earth, only Jesus Christ could say, “Oh death, where is your sting?”

This world is full of vanity. Death comes, and that is the guarantee. Count on being forgotten. Do not live with great ambition for your name on this earth; it will not last. Even the earth is dying.

With that in mind, do I love God, or do I love money? Because too often do I dream of the next acquisition, and when I die, my vain treasures will burn.

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“Over My Head” by A. Peterson

I love these lyrics by Andrew Peterson. I hope you do too.

Well I live in Nashvegas and I sing and I play,

And everybody thinks that I write my own.

There’s a fellow named Guido who lives in Inceno,

Who wrote song every song that I know.

Well he sends MP3′s for a nominal fee,

And I sing them and play them and tell them that it’s me.

I’m in over my, over my, over my head,

If they knew I was nothing but gold-painted lead,

They’d stone me, dethrone me, and leave me for dead,

I’m in over my, over my head.

I’m in over my, over my head.

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Overconfident

Lessons learned are sweet indeed. Even the painful ones, the wake-up calls.

In 1960, a poll was conducted among high school students, asking them if they thought they were “special.” Twelve-percent said yes. In 1980, over eighty-percent said yes. The United States of America is now home to the most overconfident people in the world.

Child development research indicates that if you praise a child for “being such a hard-worker” when they solve a problem, it promotes an industrious spirit that sees problems as obstacles to be overcome, whereas if you praise a child for “being such a smart kid,” they come to believe success is an inane trait, and they avoid difficult problems out of a fear of being seen as a stupid person. Time and time again, my teachers always told me how smart I was. And this is exactly how I took it – “I’m the chosen one. I will always succeed, because hey, it’s me…

As school became more difficult, I became more adept at making grades without exertion. In my psyche, success was measured in a perverse, inverted effort/reward ratio. The most successful ratio favored the highest reward divided by the least amount of effort. Geniuses shouldn’t have to try, and if I had to really put my back into it, then what would that say about my intelligence?

Thankfully, college taught me how to work hard. You can’t B.S. your way through a film production. I know because I failed. And yet, when I do succeed, I am still tempted to interpret that success through a fatalistic lens. “Hey, it’s me… it’s what I do.” When I take this entitled attitude, I deceive myself, handicap myself, rob my Lord of his glory, and withdraw from his abiding love.

Here is the wake-up call: I am not special. I am not the chosen one. I am not destined for a greatness that others will not share. Our greatness will be shared, as God’s risen children.

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