Connor Geroux Writing

Tag: life

  • Prayers From Jonah

    Prayers From Jonah

    God of the Universe. 

    I apologize for swearing the last time we spoke. I understand that I must hold these conversations to a standard greater than myself.

    The truth, God, is that I am an impossibly weak man. I am weak in all the ways that matter most. I am weak to temptation, I am weak to pride, and I am weak to self control. And it is because of this weakness that I find myself cracking every mirror I find myself looking upon. I numb the pain that comes from the shattered glass with an endless stream of everything possible. Good news, bad news, loud noise, impossible silence. Meaningless discourse about the state of the world that I use to harm myself without using a blade. And this constant numbing makes me weaker than I was before, so yes I am a weak man. 

    Perhaps the truth that makes me this weak is my insistence that I can stomach the weight of the world on my own. Your ministry on Earth revolved almost exclusively on the idea that we are made strong through our relationships, first with yourself, then with the others around us. Yet I live in the constant fear that the weakness and pain will shatter these relationships, rather than grow stronger. This is because I am a cruel person, one who tires from having people come to me with their own burdens. When I am given the opportunity to pull someone else out of their gutter, I instead turn away and focus on myself. The reality is that as I whine and complain about my problems, even now, I do this, often to the people I care about. 

    So, if I am too cruel and selfish of a person that I dread the idea of loving my own neighbor, why should I be deserving of my neighbor’s love for me? And more importantly, why should I ask for a reprieve from the all powerful Jehovah-Rapha if I am cruel in this way? Perhaps, then, this is a fitting world that I live in. A world with ceaseless, monotonous noise from places I don’t want to hear from, and absolute silence from the ones that I do. 

    In short, I have a hard time loving myself, sin and all. And because of that disdain I do not attempt to reach my hand out from the sinking ship and rather find myself sinking into the Sea, without a door to float on and only the icy waters to sink into. 

    I find my mind is a boat in the ocean, constantly creating cracks that must be patched up. And on that boat is a creature who I ignore. It is a small, furry thing with a bushy tail and bulbous cheeks. And it has the task of scouring throughout the entire boat, plugging holes into the cracks that form around it. It does so with truth: truth it has gained throughout its life. Sometimes, when the creature speaks, its truth shudders over my back, and it seals the crack it was formed out of. Other times, the creature will speak and the crack will deepen, releasing more of the torrential ocean water and swiping the creature away. I often ignore the furry beast, not because it intends to hurt me, but because of the fear I have whenever it opens its mouth. And so I ignored the one thing that was trying to patch my boat together. 

    I did this until one day, where I was out on the sea. The beast was patching holes in the boat when I found myself gazing at the water, hoping I may be ignored long enough to plunge into the depths once more. And in that moment, as I stared into the sea, I could see two large eyes staring back at me. And before I knew it, a beast even greater than the one in my boat emerged from the depths. Its eyes were cold and unfeeling, and it had scales and fins that shimmered from the reflection of the sun upon the water. And the fish opened its gaping mouth and swallowed me whole. 

    I couldn’t breathe, and I could hardly move. If I were to move any bit, the acids that made up its stomach were sure to swallow me whole. My boat was completely fractured, sizzling under the fish’s horrible gullet. 

    And I thought to myself that this was a fitting punishment for one like myself. One who appears so holy, yet crumbles under the weight of their own flesh. Perhaps this is a fitting world that I live in now, where the noise of the acid is ceaseless and relentless and the silence of everything else is unbearable. And I thought of all the choices that led me to this moment: the doubts, the pride, the arrogance, the shame. Perhaps if I invested in a larger boat, or a competent crew, or tracked the weather better I would have known that great fish come out at this time of year. 

    And perhaps if I had chosen to go to Nineveh in the first place, I would never have met the fish at all.  

    “Why are you afraid?”

    The voice called out in the belly of the beast. I turned and found the smaller creature had followed me within. Its small claws are set atop a plank of wood, and its sharp, black eyes gaze at me, creating a light that should be impossible in this dark stomach. And it asks me again:

    “Why are you afraid?”

    “Creature, we are in the belly of a beast. I have every right to be afraid. And even if we were to leave by some miracle, the boat that is our safe passage will never be how it once was. We will surely die.”

    And the creature responded:

    “Where is your faith, Jonah?”

    Around us, a plank of wood sinks into the stomach acid, and the sizzle is the only thing that echoes in this hellish place. 

    “Faith has no place in the lungs of those who God turns away from.”

    The small, furry thing looked upon me. And you said:

    “Jonah, I have been with you every moment.”

    And I froze. For the truth had washed over me, and a crack was healed. And in that moment I found myself truly looking upon the squirrel, and seeing your face within it: and inescapable truth of love and salvation. And I began to cry. 

    The truth, God, is that I am an incredibly weak man. I am weak in all the ways that matter most. And yet, in my weakness, you are both the squirrel and the fish, repairing my wounds with you undeniable truth and bringing me exactly where I must go. And that truth is what allows me to be strong, for you and the noise around me. 

    So I pray now to receive those gifts again, Lord. As I find myself departing to the seas again, repair the raft I find myself on, and let the winds guide me to where you desire. And more than all these things, let the love you have for me be echoed through every row, every wave, and every storm. 

    Amen. 

  • A Letter from March 3rd, 2020

    A Letter from March 3rd, 2020

    Hi Connor!

    The day I’m writing this is March 3rd, 2020. You probably don’t remember this, but [REDACTED – TEACHER] has given you an assignment to write to your future self, five years from now. I’m not sure what everyone else is writing about, but I have a pretty good idea as to what to ask you. 

    Connor, 

    First of all, you need to invest in a calendar app. I’ve had one for a while and it actually changed my life when I started really using it. But since I didn’t have one it took a Google Drive deep dive for me to rediscover this doc, now in the year 2026. So I apologize for being a year late to your response. I hope the mail you receive through the timeline doesn’t catch you off guard. I’m happy to answer your questions. 

    Are there flying cars in the future? I’m just kidding, I’m guessing there aren’t. But it wouldn’t be a future question if I didn’t ask that. 

    There have been flying cars for a few years now, but that’s hardly an investment people want to pursue. Flying cars mean flying car laws, and I don’t trust that that won’t cause some mass hysteria. So nobody’s made a flying car that is commercially viable. Self-driving cars are the hot thing right now, but you’re not quite ready to get in one yet. 

    By the time you’re reading this, you should be wrapping up your first year of teaching band! How did your first show go? My guess is probably not great, but you’re still learning! I hope that the students like you at least. I made regionals this year again on bass clarinet, but I won’t be doing all state since I’m going to be out of town for a vacation. I wish I could say I wasn’t bummed out about that a little bit. I’m super excited for the vacation though! It’s just my last chance to make it. I wish I could do both, but everything’s been all set up and doing it online wouldn’t be fair.

    You are going to realize that band was a terrific way to make friends, but when it comes to the art of teaching it, that isn’t a path that you have an interest in pursuing. No spoilers, but something is about to happen that is going to reframe a lot of your perception on this stuff. I am comfortably at a point to say with complete certainty that I still have no idea what I want to do with my life. And I can confidently say as well that what I want to do matters less than what I am called to do. I often fight God on this fact, but he’s the one making the circumstances, I simply walk through them hoping that I come out the other side better for it. And it’s often that I do. 

    You’re probably laughing at how silly my problems are. I get it. I can’t stop my feelings about it, but I can focus on the cool things ahead. How did the trip go? You’ve already experienced it by this point. 

    You are just as complete of a person as me. Meaning, your problems hold the same weight as mine. In hindsight, you’ll realize that most drama in the world comes from people who don’t understand this fact. The trip was a great one, you’re going to love Florida. 

    Do we still talk to [REDACTED]? Or anyone from high school? I hope so. I’ve made a lot of new friends this year alone. Being a drum major and a senior has its perks I guess. Did [REDACTED] do well after you graduated?

    You consistently talk to one person from high school, though it’s probably the last person you’re thinking of right now. When you reconnect with him, be sure to hold onto that friendship as long as you can. He may be the most reliable person you know. And by now, you know a lot of different people. 

    As for the others, they seem to be doing fine. You catch up with a few every now and again, but it’s nothing like it was before. And I know hearing that will break your heart more than anything else I could tell you. You see these people more often than you do your own family at the point you’re writing me in. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold onto those people tighter. Time has a way of loosening grips. It probably won’t be the last time. 

    I know I’m bombarding you with questions, I’m sorry about that. I hope you remember these people, I could be talking complete nonsense. My wish is I’m not. I can’t see a future without these people in it in some capacity, but I’m sure you have a lot of new friends. GCU ended up being our choice, so we’ll see how that ends up. The band program seems great at least. 

    Spoilers on that last point. But yes, my current friends are awesome. You see them at least once a week, and often you’ll at least hear from them multiple times a week. I’m mature enough to know that I’m moving at a different pace from them though. I often fear that when they take flight, I’ll still be growing my feathers. That thing that’s about to happen that I told you about earlier? I’m still learning to trust things to be consistent since that happened. 

    Life often looks like a natural disaster more than a guided path. You’ll find yourself in a sinkhole a couple of times. Honestly, as I write this, you might be in the deepest hole you’ve ever found yourself in. But luckily you’ve surrounded yourself with people who are experts in climbing ladders, and they’re happy to guide you through the process. 

    How’s Mom and Dad? I’m guessing Tyler’s still with them. How is he? Has anything big happened since when I’m writing? Do they still drag you to church, or did you end up going somewhere else?

    I’ve come to realize that family’s really the main thing holding me above water most days. I call my parents practically everyday, and see them at least once a week. Tyler’s doing a lot better. He’s the most independent I’ve ever seen him. He’s probably got more of a social life than I do at this point, which you probably don’t believe. 

    You eventually find a church you can call home, at least in this stage of your life. You eventually drag your parents to that church as well. I know finding a church you fit in sounds like an impossibility. You had a hard time fitting into your youth groups, and I’m sorry that that happened. You didn’t deserve that. And you still doubt, all the time. Because that is a normal thing to do. But at the end of the day, you figure that Heaven has to exist. It’s much more convenient that way. 

    And I guess my biggest question is this: are you happy? Selfishly, I hope you are. I hope everything worked out, even though I know it probably didn’t, at least not how I think it will. But I hope, no matter what, you’re happy on the other side. I’m writing you at 17 years old, when you read this you’ll be well into adulthood. There’s too many sad adults out there. I hope you’re a happy one. 

    There are days where it is easier to be happy than other days. That is because happiness, like all emotions, is a sandy thing. There are days where I can pick up sand in my hand and have it stick to me so much I have to wash it off. And there are days when the wind comes through, and with it, the sand is swept away. I find that chasing after any emotion in particular is about as feasible as putting the wind in a jar. 

    Though, it doesn’t stop me from trying. And what I’ve found is that I am at my happiest when I pursue people, places, and things that actively bring me joy. So I make a space in my heart, so that no matter what wind comes through, I still find time to pursue those things. And because of that joy, I find myself with more happy days than sad ones. 

    Adulthood doesn’t really make you realize anything new. It just reframes things you already know. Most days I have a hard time believing I am an adult, though I have been one for six years now. I suppose I will be convincing myself and others that I am an adult until I die, a long way from now. 

    Thank you dearly for writing to me, Connor. You’ve made this day a happy one. I hope to see you soon. 

    Much Love,

    Connor Geroux

  • Shut Up and Say Something

    Shut Up and Say Something

    Everyone wants to be an influencer. 

    It’s a fact of life at this point. Morning Consult reports that in 2023, 57% of Gen Z polled stated they have an interest in social media influencing as a career. And who wouldn’t? Look at the lifestyle. Travel as a must, and you’re your own boss? Not to mention that if you’re really lucky, you can do most of it in pajamas. Who wouldn’t want that life?

    But more than that, there’s a deeper hunger in there, deeper than all of those mainly vapid (though exciting) reasons; everyone wants to be seen.

    It’s hunter-gatherer motivation, right? Humans don’t do well alone. Give a human a couple of days in isolation and their brain begins to scramble. In many old cultures, to be exiled was worse than being dead, for even in death there is a chance of people caring about you. Our brains are programmed to crave acceptance because tribal acceptance is how we evolved to survive. 

    So imagine this: a career where all of your basic needs are met and then some, where you can provide for people that you deeply care about, and for the duration of that job, your success in the field is direct confirmation that people accept who you are and what you stand for. 

    That’s the life of an influencer, at least how it’s advertised. 

    Sheesh. When you put it like that, I’d want to be an influencer too. 

    And though this term “influencer” is a relatively new one, at least in the way it’s used today, this group has existed for as long as society has. Politicians, poets, playwrights, and prophets alike have all gained some level of influence in their time. But with the smartphone’s camera and the swarming of different social feeds, the barrier to entry in this once very exclusive group has truly never been lower. What used to require a team of twenty people can now be done by a team of ten fingers. 

    And with the impending tsunami of Generative AI, that barrier continues to get lower. Now you don’t have to even be the one with the ideas.

    Now it can look something like this:

    “I am in the ______ industry selling _______. You are a top social media marketing strategist in that same industry. Generate 20 captivating topics for Instagram Reels within that topic, along with a script for each. Keep the script 250 words or less. Use a cheerful, friendly tone.” 

    Put those scripts into a text-to-speech voice mod, add some stock footage over it, play some lo-fi in the background, and you’ve made a technically perfect batch of Instagram Reels. 

    This is the modern reality of the life of an influencer. And before I go into a greater point that will generally go against this way of doing things, let me talk about why this can be a good thing. 

    The good news is this: Anyone can be an influencer. 

    The age of the gatekeeper in pop culture has long been over. Because record labels and agents and publishers are more suggestions than requirements now, anyone that wants to say something has the ability to say it, and previous factors that would prevent them from not being heard have begun to dissolve. Am I saying that those limiting factors have entirely disappeared? Absolutely not. But in this new way of doing things, if you have a voice, more likely than not, someone will hear it.

    There has never been more of a space for diverse voices than now. Hard stop. That diversity is a good thing. Hard stop.

    The good news is this: Anyone can be an influencer.

    The bad news? Anyone can be an influencer. 

    Social media is a constant flood. And while there has been endless talk of the negative actors on social media, we hardly talk about how neutral most things are. Inane posts of sports takes or Get Ready With Me routines or Stranger Things discourse. The entirety of social media is designed not simply to enrage you, but to dull your senses. Because a dulled mind is more likely to keep scrolling, even more so than an upset one. 

    And while many big companies have a hand in contributing to that system, some even being the ones who designed it in the first place, it’s our ability to contribute to it that makes these algorithms churn in the first place. 

    And I don’t blame people for going this route! Heck, I’ve gone that route myself. There are plenty of old YouTube channels that I own that I care not to think about (13 year old Connor has a video online of him eating cereal and doing nothing else. It has 100 views). Our brains crave it, our algorithms reward it, and when you’re successful at it, the money speaks for itself. 

    Influencing is not in it of itself an evil thing, or even an inherently wrong thing. My issue is and always will be whether or not you use your influence to say something

    Too often I come across people desperate to be influencers, with no real conviction as to what they want to influence. They like the idea of being an influencer rather than the actual reality. They want to look nice for a camera, but don’t have anything to say to it. 

    This is most people online, and with the advent of AI, that group has only increased in volume. People’s entire livelihoods are now determined by if their editing software can cut up Family Guy clips rather than if they actually have something to say. Put a text to speech description of the movie, and suddenly it’s okay to post. 

    This is the modern reality of the influencer economy. It’s a lot of stuff. Not good, not bad, just stuff. And when that stuff becomes the flood it is not, it takes up space from the diverse voices still here.  

    So what now? What do we do about this? Do we throw away the influencer economy and start over? No, that’s not what I’m saying. Primarily because that puts me out of a job to start. 

    My greater encouragement is this: we need to be aware of the value of our voice. 

    In our quest for acceptance and the modern influencer economy looming over us it can be difficult to remember that you are an individual. It can be so easy to fit into the standard of what everyone else is talking about; to fit into trends, to let programs figure it out. And yes, the ones who do this can find some success. 

    But anyone who is in the influencer space will tell you that most of the time, the ones who truly succeed are the ones with voices strong enough to be heard through the flood.

    IShowSpeed made videos at 16 yelling at video games. Now he educates people on the world by traveling it. But through all of his content is himself. It’s his personality, his own unique voice that makes people drawn to what he does. 

    Thomas Sanders made Vines about Disney and musicals. Now he runs a channel dedicated to positivity and lifting up marginalized voices. And people follow him because he himself is distinct. His artistic voice is everywhere in his content. And people want to listen to what he has to say. 

    The good news is this: Anyone can be an influencer. 

    The bad news is this: Anyone can be an influencer. 

    The best news is this: Anyone can be an influencer. 

    So what do we do?

    If you are thinking that diving into the influencer space is something you want, consider first why it is that you want to do it. I truly believe that you don’t need to get into the content business if you don’t feel you have something to say with it, despite what gurus online may say. If you don’t need to do it, then don’t. 

    But if there is something in you that you need to share. If there’s nothing else you can do. If you’re willing to jump into the shark tank of stuff, slop, and senseless hate because you can’t help but share your voice. 

    Then your answer is simple. Shut up, and say something.

  • “Deceiver”

    “Deceiver”

    I am a deceiver.

    I live a life with a veneer of righteousness. I say the right thing, give people the right advice. I ask people what they need help from, and what starves them. And when I learn the answer, I give them the fruits of my labor to ensure their strength.

    But I am a deceiver. For this is an act. 

    I bear a mark of Cain so prevalent that often people find themselves slipping away without any realization of it. The only reason people do not point it out sooner is that the mark is embedded within my chest, underneath my ribcage, and imprinted onto the source of my blood. 

    I am a deceiver, for I have convinced others I am not this way. 

    I suppose I do not tell people of my mark for the shame I leave myself with when I take off the shirt. Shame. I find that I lean into shame the same as I lean into my bed; the exhaustion of my hate wraps me up in a comforter too hot for an Arizona summer, and I plant myself in the mattress, letting myself grow numb to the sensation of burning heat around me. 

    I am a deceiver, for my shame allows me to be. 

    I am given time like currency, and it comes in allowances. I find myself spending that allowance on a familiar cycle: Give, Save, Spend. 

    I must give my time to others. But this must be the most important time. I must be on my best behavior this time, for that is what makes this time most valuable. So I don’t curse. I don’t speak in a way to turn a nasty eye. I give this time with the understanding that the ones I give it to don’t have an obligation to give it back. 

    Then I save my time. For the moments out of reach and not far at all. I save a piece of time managing the pieces of my life that I must hold onto. I pretend to have hobbies. I wipe baking soda off the stove and miss a spot. I forget to take out the trash. I then sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and dread the moment I have to wake up. I’m cheap with my time, for I save it all for my sheets and my comforter. 

    What I have left after doing the first two, I am allowed to spend. But by this time, the clock has only so many hours to give. And I have given all my most valuable time, saved myself in the jaws of sleep. So with the remaining time I have to spend, all I can find myself to do is to hate. It’s hatred for the ends of the earth, Sumeria, Judea, and myself. And this hatred I spend my time on has branded me with a Mark of Cain. For I have hated, and therefore I have killed. 

    The Lord, in his kindness, looked at the first deceiver and cursed him to crawl on his belly for the rest of his life. The snake never had legs to begin with, and he chose the form for himself. I suppose the ultimate punishment was allowing oneself to stay just the way they’ve always  been.

    I am a deceiver, but I hope one day, I may grow a pair of legs.