“We're sitting on the most perfect beach in the world, and all we can think about is...”

Star Wars. Right now, all I can think about it Star Wars. I know some might say, “Wait, I thought you were way into World War II or Special Agents?” No, I was obsessed with World War II two months ago. And special agents were like 3 weeks ago. No, now I am yet again consumed by the science fiction universe crafted by that storyteller of my youth, George Lucas. Saturday Heath and I sat down and watched the Clone Wars, a cartoon series produced for the Cartoon Network. The episodes are 3-5 minutes in length and the first two seasons are 20 episodes in total. So we decided to let them play as we unwinded from a day at the water park and prior to an evening of pizza and movies with the girls. As I watched Mace Windu break droids with the force and Anakin Skywalker give into his anger and rage, in order to beat a foe; like my 44 oz at the local 7-Eleven, I was refilled with a new flavor of passion. Star Wars.

“I can't get married - I'm a thirty-year-old boy.”

Anyone who knows me at all or has even seen my room, laughs at the amount of toys and gadgets I seem to possess. I own a cowboy gun and leather holster, a half dozen plastic lightsabers (some light up, some look real, others are just sturdy for actual sparring and personal accessory), action figures, stacks of video games (some legally acquired, others…also legally acquired), a shoulder and thigh holster for my realistic looking BB guns, a fake moustache, random action figures, legos and the list goes on. Why such a large collection of toys for an aged college student? Because I never know when I will get on a western kick or in army mode. Because sometimes I get consumed with a theme, or genre. And I run with it, because I like to have a thematic life

My themes or genres are usually brought on by some sort of event. The release of a new super hero movie can instantly send me into obsession with the world of superheroes and comics. I watch every movie, play every game, think of the world in terms of how I would use my mutant powers of rapid regeneration and telekinetic strength to defeat a foe. A mini series on World War II takes me to watching Saving Private Ryan over and over, wanting to get myself a real green metal helmet and trying to figure out what the best strategy would be to take control of the German held “Wash-hut” south of campus. And then when a new sneaking, covert special forces games comes on the scene, I start to plan on the handgun and martial art classes I’ll take, trying to sneak up on my roommates or brothers in the dark, and thinking about the fastest way to clear the room and secure the hostages in the BYU Independent Study office area. Without warning, without regard, these themes sweep in on my life. They become my passion, they become my addiction.

“Hehehehe! I’m also addicted to boobies!”

But why? Why do I become obsessed or consumed by these thematic elements. Why does this 23 year old man still clutch his plastic lightsaber with the same intensity and glee as he did as 4 year old? (The same 4 year old that slept with a He-Man sword down his shirt for almost a year.) I don’t really know. Maybe it’s what I do to make my life more interesting, more exciting. Some people just park their car. I look for the best position for my car for a fast get away in case “the deal” goes sour. Some people go camping. I go on a survival weekend with my special forces unit, testing our ability to survive in the wild. Some people go to work. I go to a job to maintain my alter-ego, allowing me to better fight crime by night. Some people just live. I have adventures.

“There are too many ideas and too many people. And too many directions to go. I was starting to believe that the reason it matters to care passionately about something, is that is whittles the world down to a more manageable size.”

Perhaps that’s just it. In order for me to be able to deal and function in this world, I have to break things down and rebuild them into environments and situations that I can deal with. Or maybe that I want to deal with. Driving my Jeep across the bare wasteland of eastern Oregon is not nearly as fascinating as imaging I'm maneuvering my Landspeeder across the desert of Tatooine in order to find my R2-D2 and rendezvous with Obi-Wan Kenobi. Maybe I'm an escapist, but that’s how I cope, it’s how I deal. Some people just blast music, go drinking, or maybe do some drugs. I buy toys, play video games, and for a while I pretend I'm just a simple man, trying to make my way in the universe...a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

“I’ll tell you a story. I once fell deeply, profoundly in love with tropical fish. I had sixty fish tanks in my house. I’d skin-dive to find the right ones. Anisotremus virginicus, Holacanthus ciliaris, Chaetodon capistratus. You name it. Then one day, I say "Screw fish." I renounce fish; I will never set foot in that ocean again. That was seventeen years ago and I have never since stuck so much as a toe into that ocean. And I love the ocean!”
“But why?”
“Done with fish.”

...and then just as fast as I started, I'm done. On to the next genre, onto the next passion.