No Spoilers

Last weekend, Avengers: Endgame made history by becoming the first movie to earn $1 billion on its opening weekend. Among others, it also broke the records for highest-earning domestic weekend and for the most ever ticket sales for showings the night before its premiere. (Haven’t you heard that movies actually come out on Thursdays now?) Because it was the culmination of a huge film series that’s garnered the adoration of so many people, the premiere was a really big deal.

And no movie release of that scale could come without some level of controversy. The biggest problem Endgame and its fans had to face? Spoilers.

Even before the film debuted, the cast and directors themselves were reaching out to fans, begging them not to ruin the experience for others by talking about the big plot reveals in public. The hashtag DontRuinTheEndgame trended on and off all week. As critics were allowed to post their reviews, each had to clarify whether or not their review was spoiler-free. And fans went to great lengths, including total social media blackouts, to avoid any and all details about what they were about to see.

You see, nothing can ruin a movie more quickly than being told beforehand how it ends. When we go to see a movie (or read a book or watch a TV show), we usually want to go in without any foreknowledge of what we’re about to experience. A big part of enjoying the story is going through the journey in the way its creators intended. If you already know the big twist, then its impact will be severely diminished. What fun is that?

When it comes to the fictional stories that we enjoy as entertainment, spoilers are treated like a poison. We avoid them at all cost because we don’t them to ruin the experience for us. Maybe we would do well to apply that same logic and level of commitment to our own lives.

Here’s what I mean: I am a planner through and through. No matter what I’m doing, I have to go into it with a course of action in mind. Whether it’s something as simple as cleaning dishes or as important as considering the direction of my life, I have an innate desire to know what’s coming next. And I imagine I’m not the only one.

Left unchecked, this compulsion to plan leads down some unhappy roads: impatience to get to the next step, frustration when life doesn’t go according to plan, resentment about what could have been, and so on. If our lives are grand stories unfolding—and they are—then we’re the ones angrily mashing the fast forward button and trying to see what comes at the end.

The desire for what comes can ruin the journey. Because life isn’t just about whatever we’re looking forward to. It’s about what’s happening right now. If we’re not enjoying the journey now, then there’s really nothing down the road that can satisfy us. We’ll find ourselves constantly looking ahead to the next big thing instead of savoring the path that leads us there.

And isn’t that how spoilers ruin movies? By moving the focus away from the journey and onto the end? If we already know what happens, then what’s the point in going through it all? But really, the conclusion doesn’t mean much at all unless it’s earned. We recognize the importance of the journey when it comes to movies, but if we’re not careful, we can completely miss it in our own lives.

In the trailer for Avengers: Endgame, Tony Stark points out that, “Part of the journey is the end.” And that’s very true. But on the flip side, the end is only part of the journey. And the rest of the journey has value, too. Endgame wouldn’t be such a payoff if we hadn’t started with Iron Man more than ten years ago. The end is worth it because of the journey, not in spite of it.

So it is in our own lives. We don’t need spoilers to enjoy the journey of life. We don’t need to be constantly searching for what comes next. Because if we’re always looking toward the end, we won’t be able to enjoy the middle, which to be honest, is where most of us find ourselves right now. And that isn’t a terrible place to be.

The big payoff will come in its time. But for now, why don’t we just kick back, enjoy the journey, and not try to spoil the ending for ourselves? We know it’ll be worth it, but only if we embrace the journey first.

Normal

Katherine and I have been married for six months now, and probably the most surprising thing about marriage thus far is just how normal it feels. I don’t mean that as a bad thing; actually, it’s quite the opposite. I thought that such a huge life change would come with a good deal of discomfort and even some growing pains, but actually, it’s felt completely natural.

The move. The new rhythm. The chores. The whole “sharing a bed with another person” thing. All of it has felt perfectly normal every step of the way, and I love that.

Truth is, I can’t imagine my life being any different than it is right now. I love my routine. I love where I live. I love what I do. I love everything about it. This feels like the way my life should be.

Of course, I could have said the same about my life a year ago. Back then, I was content. I loved my life, and I couldn’t imagine it being any different. It felt normal to me.

But looking back on it now, I can’t imagine going back to living the way I did then. It’s hard to believe that I ever did. A year ago, I was living with my dad. I had two monthly bills I was responsible for: Netflix and my phone. The most valuable thing I owned was my movie collection. And I was waking up early every morning to pick up my then fiancé from her dad’s house for work. That life feels so abnormal to me now, but it felt right back then.

Katherine and I hope to someday have children, and when we do, we’ll look back on this time of life and think about how weird it seems. Parenting will feel normal, and this care-free, newlywed life will be completely foreign to us. We’ll wonder, “What did we do with all that free time?” and then we’ll remember we spent most of it binge-watching TV.

I think our brains are (for the most part) really good at adjusting to our current circumstances and convincing us that they are normal. I’m grateful that our brains do this for us, because it allows us to face reality and to function within it. Better to live out the life you have than to spend all your time dreaming of another, right? This is a wonderful tool for human resilience.

But it comes at a cost. Because if we’re not careful, it can take away the awe that our lives should inspire within us.

In reality, no phase of life is normal. Each one is special, unique, and wonderful in its own way. And if we don’t take the time to recognize that and appreciate where we are, we’ll soon find that it’s too late. Life will have moved on, and us with it.

Our lives are meant to be more than just a series of phases that pass us by like a blur. They’re meant to be rich, full, and fully lived. That’s not to say that every moment is easy; it’s certainly not. But no matter what phase of life you find yourself in, there are opportunities for joy, for growth, and for fulfillment. Choosing to pursue those opportunities is what makes each phase enjoyable.

As mundane as it may feel, your life is not normal. It’s one-of-a-kind, it’s ripe with prospects, and it’s yours to do with what you will. In a word, it’s awesome, meaning that it has the ability to inspire awe in you if you’ll only let it. The choice is really up to you.

I’ll say it again: I love my life. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be right now. And that is a very reassuring feeling. But that doesn’t mean that my life will always be this way, so I’m trying to be intentional and enjoy this phase for all it’s worth. I’m sure the next phase will be just as wonderful—if not more so—but for now, I’m just living my “normal” life and loving it. I hope you are, too.

Masculinity

I think I’m just getting to the age where I can truly process my adolescent experiences. I don’t dwell on those days often, but when I do, I find that I can approach them with a clarity and emotional detachment that I simply wasn’t capable of before. I’m not sure why. Maybe my frontal lobes are finally done forming; or maybe those feelings just aren’t so raw anymore. Regardless, it’s made for much more healthy, productive reflection than I’ve had on this subject before.

In high school, I was a bit different from other people my age. Well, mostly just the boys. I fit in with the girls just fine. But other guys never really accepted me as part of the group, because I didn’t fit their description of what a guy should be.

My voice was a little higher and more nasally than theirs, with just a hint of a lisp to it. Whereas other boys tended to keep their feelings to themselves, I had no problem expressing my emotions openly to anyone who would listen. I wore skinny jeans long before they were popular. And I loved to feature bright colors in my outfits, whether it be a purple wristband, a neon tie-dye t-shirt, or bright yellow athletic shorts. (Yes, really.)

Growing up, I was expressive. I was eccentric. And I was a little too much for my male peers to handle.

It may not be true everywhere, but where I’m from, people have a very narrow definition of masculinity. Men are supposed to be strong, independent, rugged, and tough. And boys are taught that if they want to be “good,” then they have to exhibit these traits as well. They’re indoctrinated with rules from a young age that are meant to reinforce culture’s gender norms.

• Boys play rough.
• Boys don’t cry.
• Boys take charge.
• Boys compete—and win at all costs.

These expectations are placed on boys and men as a standard for them to live up to. But I never bought into all of that stuff, and I paid a heavy price for it.

I wasn’t raised with those kinds of expectations. I was never told I had to act a certain way or play a certain way or be a certain way because of my biological sex. My parents simply allowed me to be myself, and that included buying me the doll I begged them for one Christmas when I was little. That included allowing me to dress the way I wanted to. That included showing up to my sports games and then showing up to my choir concerts and musical performances when I realized sports weren’t for me.

I’m thankful that my parents never tried to force me to fit into some outside standard of masculinity. But I wasn’t immune to those expectations. They simply came from somewhere else: my peers.

I didn’t fit my male classmates’ preconceived notions of what a boy should be. I didn’t play sports. I didn’t date a lot. I didn’t act tough or repress my feelings. And based on those observations, my peers came to the conclusion that there had to be something about me that made me so different.

The explanation they landed on was that I must be gay. And they had no qualms about letting me know about their theory. “Bullying” is probably too strong a term for what I experienced, but I was consistently referred to as gay (and many derogatory terms along those lines) by my classmates.

Of course, they meant this not only as a way of explaining my non-conforming behavior, but also as a means of punishing me for it. Where I’m from, being labeled “gay” is considered an insult. And I had that label hurled at me every single day of high school.

To be clear, I wasn’t gay. And I wasn’t too bothered by the accusations because I knew that they were wrong. But the way the other boys treated me did make me wonder why I wasn’t like them, and just as they did, I sought an explanation.

Which is what led me to identify for a long time as a metrosexual. The term is still somewhat elusive, but it basically refers to a straight man who cares about his looks. In my mind at the time, it was a way to explain how I was seemingly effeminate without being gay. I felt like I owed the world an explanation for who I was, and that was the only way I could find to do it.

Once I got out of my hometown and went to college, I was exposed to a much broader understanding of the world and, with it, a broader understanding of masculinity. No longer was I tied to the legalistic definition of manhood that was forced upon me growing up. Instead, I was able to see what real, healthy masculinity looks like: things like being a good person, being there for those you love, protecting those in need, and using your gifts to make the world a better place. That’s what being a man is about.

It took a long time, but eventually, I came to the realization that I am a man. I’m the man that I am meant to be. And trying to live up to someone else’s standard of masculinity for so long was only preventing me from truly being me.

Looking back, it seems ridiculous that I ever relied on a label like “metrosexual” to understand myself. Although I would never devalue the peace and meaning someone else may gain from identifying as such, I’ve come to realize that it is not for me. I know now what I couldn’t know back then—that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I am a straight man with my own personal mannerisms, interests, and forms of expression. I am exactly who God made me to be, and no one can ever make me apologize for that.

Society tried to force me into its narrow understanding of what masculinity should be, and I pushed back against it. When I did, I was made to feel like I was the problem, and I had to come up with new language to reconcile my own experience with the lies I was being fed about what it means to be a man. Although I came out the other side secure in who I am and willing to forgive the forces that wronged me, it is my goal to ensure that my own children don’t have to face the same pressures and struggles that I did.

When it comes to other people, we get so caught up in the shoulds, in trying to define how others should live their lives. But when we spend so much time forcing our expectations on people, we never get a chance to know them for who they really are. Sometimes, we don’t even give them to chance to find out who they are themselves. And when we do that, we’re doing them, ourselves, and the world a disservice.

As far as I’m concerned, the only thing people should do is be themselves and work to become the best version of themselves that they can be. We are each created different for a reason, and we each have something unique to offer. Why would we stifle that by trying to make everyone else look just like us?

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be me. And I want you to be you. And I want my nieces and my nephews and my future children to be themselves, too. I don’t ever want my preconceived notions of who they should be to get in the way of who they truly are.

So I’m committing to root out the shoulds in my own worldview. We all have them, whether they be cultural gender norms or something else. And we all try to force them on other people, but we don’t have to. So let’s stop. Let’s allow people to be who they are and simply appreciate them for it. I’m thankful I’ve always had at least a few people willing to do that for me, and I want to do that for others. How about you?

Attachment

A couple of weeks ago, Apple announced the revival of the iPad Air in a 10.5” form factor. For most people, that news was moderately interesting at best, but as I read up on the announcement, I felt something unexpected: joy. I was legitimately happy about a company far away selling something I would never buy. So happy, in fact, that I couldn’t hold it in.

The fact that it lives on, and now at a price point that non-power users might actually consider, makes me incredibly happy.

— Devon Michael Dundee (@devondundee) March 18, 2019

I tweeted about it. I texted about it. I talked on and on to my (wonderfully patient) wife about it. I was so excited that I just had to tell people. And now, I’m left here to wonder why. Why was I so ecstatic about something so seemingly trivial?

It’s not like I’m going to buy the thing. In fact, I had one just like it, and I got rid of it last year to upgrade to a new one. The most interaction I’ll ever have with this iPad Air is casually looking it over the next time I walk into a Best Buy. Maybe one of my non-techy friends will take my advice and invest in one for their personal computing needs, but even that won’t improve my own life in any measurable way. This device has nothing to do with me, and yet, it still had such a strong effect on me, and I’ve been trying to figure out why.

I think the answer lies in the fondness I have for that old iPad I mentioned above. In 2017, Apple released their first 10.5” device, then called the iPad Pro, and I bought it on day one. I loved that thing. I originally thought it would make a great device for reading articles and watching videos, but it became so much more.

Over time, I moved almost every single one of my daily computing tasks over from my desktop to my iPad, and I found them to be much more enjoyable on there. There was a magic to it all that was just so compelling. From checking emails to completing church tasks to podcast editing to writing for this very blog, I did everything on that iPad.

Katherine and I even did most of our wedding planning on it. I remember sitting next to each other browsing venues, picking out items for our registry, and designing our invitations on that 10.5” screen. We used it to look over floor plans for our house and even to buy furniture. It may seem silly, but the warm feelings I have for those moments are forever inexorably tied to that piece of glass as well.

That iPad was my main computer. My mobile office. My creative studio. My sidekick. It went everywhere with me. During a time of huge change in my life, it was always there with me, in my bag, ready to go at a moment’s notice. No matter what I was trying to accomplish, I knew I could rely on it to help me do it to the very best of my ability.

The truth is that I got attached to the thing. Can you imagine? Me—emotionally invested in a physical object. It’s ludicrous.

I don’t get attached to anything in the physical world. My friends, family, and coworkers even like to joke with me about it. If someone hands me a piece of paper, the first thing I do is scan it and throw it in the trash. When Katherine and I were preparing to move, I sorted through my stuff and gave away bag after bag of it without batting an eye. I don’t even think twice about upgrading my phone every year because I don’t have any attachment to it whatsoever.

For a myriad of reasons, though, this one physical thing locked me in. And so, when Apple last year announced that they were discontinuing it and coming out with a new version, my heart sank. I almost didn’t have it in me to upgrade. But I did, and I found a good home for my old iPad with my brother at school. And I thought that was the end of it, until news of this new iPad broke, and all of those emotions came back to me.

The truth is that despite my hesitation to become attached to physical things, I’m happy that this one is out in the world. It’s meant so much to me, and I believe it has the ability to play that role in the lives of others as well. Because we all eventually find a thing or two that we become attached to, and I’m starting to learn that it’s OK. As long as we’re attached to the right things for the right reasons, they can actually help us enjoy our lives rather than pull us away from them.

I don’t know that I’ll ever love a physical thing the way I loved that iPad. I’m pretty fond of the one I have now, but it’ll never be tied to the memories I have of that old one. I’m secretly hoping I can get it back from my brother one day when it’s chipped and cracked and the battery doesn’t work anymore. Because even then, I’ll still love it. And I’m choosing to embrace that rather than resist it.

I’m still trying to steer clear of becoming attached to too many things in this life, because ultimately, they’re all going to go away. And most of the things we invest so much of our emotions in simply aren’t worth it. But if you find something that is, don’t be afraid to hold on to it and love it for all it’s worth. I’m lucky to have found something so meaningful in my life, and I can only hope that if you do as well, you’ll find as much joy in it as I have.

Thanks for reading, friends. I’ll see you next week.

Discernment

Last Wednesday at church, Katherine and I ran into someone we’d been trying to connect with for a while. We started talking about making dinner plans for later that week, but finding a day that worked for everyone proved to be difficult. I was ready to give up and try again another time, but my wife was smarter than that. Thinking quickly, she said, “We could go right now.” I was stunned, because the idea hadn’t even crossed my mind. But we did, and it turned out to be a great time.

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself indecisive, but I am a ruminator. When making a decision, I take time—sometimes lots of it. I overthink things to the point of exhaustion. I do make decisions, but not without a great deal of effort and difficulty. And even once the decision’s been made, that doesn’t mean my brain slows down. Did I make the right decision? What are other people going to think? The cycle never ends.

A good deal of my decision-making effort is put towards being sensible. Taking a logical approach. Thinking through every detail and its consequences before actually doing anything. But that’s not what discernment is about.

The point of discernment isn’t to make good decisions. It’s to make wise decisions. And a formula for the latter simply doesn’t exist.

I think that wise decisions can come through a great deal of consideration. After all, we don’t want to just float through life doing whatever we feel like doing in the moment. God gave us our brains for a reason, and we’re meant to use them. But just like any other tool, if we rely too much on logic in decision-making, it can become a crutch and hold us back.

Discernment has other tools in its belt as well, many of which I am guilty of neglecting when I face a decision. Tools like scripture, accountability, prayer, community, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. How often do we turn to these sources of wisdom when thinking through something? If you’re like me, the answer is, “Not as often as I should.”

That’s not to say that all of my decisions have been bad. I’d like to think that I’ve done more things right than wrong, because I do try to practice discernment well. But I’ve also made some pretty big blunders, and when I reflect on them, I can see in each of them a lack of discernment on my part. I imagine that most of us could do the same if we’re being honest.

Thankfully, I was saved from making that sort of blunder last week when making dinner plans with my friend. Sometimes, discernment comes in the form of spontaneity. Or in simply listening to your wife. Other times, it looks different. But it always requires some combination of the tools God has given us. May we never neglect any of them, and may we always rely on them to help us make wise decisions.