"When I Was a Boy" Dar Williams
If below, then above.
I look back fondly at more youthful times. I smooth out actual history with a romanticized one, tempering rigors and diminishing challenges and somehow rounding out the edges. What I'm left with is a false memory of what it meant to be 26 having just begun working, 24 and traveling the world, 19 and the independence of college, 12 and taking walks at night around my neighborhood, 10 and eating cereal while watching the Jetsons.
What I seem to casually forget in these moments are the fighting, the uneasiness with being me, the car accidents, the knee injuries, the awkwardness of age 13, the hunger, the deprivation.
At age 45 I will look back at age 33 and remember only the promise of business school, the simplicity of working at a company with a gym, the relationships, the financial independence and good fortune.
But tonight, you are sleep deprived, with a broken Samsung TV, wondering if you're overweight at 154 lbs., having a room mate across the hallway, the ringer volume of your iPhone isn't loud enough, and you're wondering if you can get Dar Williams tickets at the Largo.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Monday, October 24, 2011
"Virus" Bjork
It has been some time and this song is the reason I am here. I would like to describe what this song makes me feel.
I feel I am floating in space, but am not cold. And I swim through asteroid belts unharmed and wave my hands through comets' tails. And around me are glass shards, remants from some faraway explosion, glistening and shimmering and reflecting light from the millions of stars around me. And I smile and think nothing and remember nothing. I wait for nothing and came from nowhere. I just am there being and sensing.
Goodnight now.
It has been some time and this song is the reason I am here. I would like to describe what this song makes me feel.
I feel I am floating in space, but am not cold. And I swim through asteroid belts unharmed and wave my hands through comets' tails. And around me are glass shards, remants from some faraway explosion, glistening and shimmering and reflecting light from the millions of stars around me. And I smile and think nothing and remember nothing. I wait for nothing and came from nowhere. I just am there being and sensing.
Goodnight now.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
"Leyendo en el Hospital" Gustavo Santaolalla
Tonight I miss my old life. This movie brought me to tears because it so captured the feeling of the road and of travel. Itcreated that pain in my stomach that signifies a visceral need to seek adventure, or was it, that whole time to shed this life. To shake things off and rediscover parts of you that remain latent in this normal life. Parts that this normal life just don't require. Like feeling secure in the company of strangers, or knowing that within a 3000 mile radius, nobody knew me or communicating needs with hand signals and gratefulness with a real smile. Of course things have moved on and my life now resembles what those people on the road--perhaps myself too at an earlier age--believe to be an unlived life. What was i looking for all those years? Have I found it? if I am still writing this, perhaps not. Perhaps it's just one of these complicated biorhythmic cycles, predicated on a very ancient urge to explore your terrain. Living on the road is unsustaintable--those who do it end up dirty and always give off this impression that their lives back home in the UK or France or Germany presented something to them so overwhelming that the only way to cope was not to--and that living a life defined by strangers in strange places provided the safety and comfort they otherwise could not find. Where do we go now? Are the last adventures inside my head?
Tonight I miss my old life. This movie brought me to tears because it so captured the feeling of the road and of travel. Itcreated that pain in my stomach that signifies a visceral need to seek adventure, or was it, that whole time to shed this life. To shake things off and rediscover parts of you that remain latent in this normal life. Parts that this normal life just don't require. Like feeling secure in the company of strangers, or knowing that within a 3000 mile radius, nobody knew me or communicating needs with hand signals and gratefulness with a real smile. Of course things have moved on and my life now resembles what those people on the road--perhaps myself too at an earlier age--believe to be an unlived life. What was i looking for all those years? Have I found it? if I am still writing this, perhaps not. Perhaps it's just one of these complicated biorhythmic cycles, predicated on a very ancient urge to explore your terrain. Living on the road is unsustaintable--those who do it end up dirty and always give off this impression that their lives back home in the UK or France or Germany presented something to them so overwhelming that the only way to cope was not to--and that living a life defined by strangers in strange places provided the safety and comfort they otherwise could not find. Where do we go now? Are the last adventures inside my head?
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Sunday, February 17, 2008
"Stop this Train" John Mayer
Tonight, I am in an apartment that I imagined I might have one day. Large windows, and shiny floors. Exposed brick and new chrome appliances. A couch that took 6 weeks to customize. I am packing for a business trip I thought I might get a chance to do one day. I've run out of cologne, but may pick some up at the airport. I look at the counter and see photos on rotation: This is me in Vietnam being led on a hike, and that is the Eiffel Tower of course, and this is a beach on the north side of Bali and this is a view of the Mediterranean from Alexandria. What a beautiful city that was. I played tennis this morning with an old friend, had breakfast and didn't look at the price. I earn more money now than what my parents did when I saw their tax returns once when I was in college. They raised six children with this money. My career is great. I have traveled the world. I was reminded last week by a good friend that I am loved. Even when all these things are in line and I see the trend lines inching up nicely, I am scared.
No need to be scared, he said. You've done well this far.
I know, I know, but aren't we moving a bit fast here? I'd like to know where I'm headed before I go.
He put his hand on my shoulder.
I knew when I was in Marakesh, despite the heat of that rooftop broom closet (converted into a bedroom) that I smiled for a reason and said to myself, "You'll think of this in the future, and wish for this simplicity." I had woken up much earlier, and took a walk before the city got up, smelling the cool air, breathing deeply in the silence of the emptied streets. Marakesh doesn't stay cool and silent very long. I was preparing myself for a life--this one--that I might have.
You know, this is the way it goes.
I know, I know things will be fine. Please understand, I trust myself, I know I can and I know it'll turn out fine. I have everything I want.
So what's wrong?
Things are changing so fast, I just want to take a deep breath.
I used to run around my house during the summer, throwing all sorts of jagged objects at my brothers. Then we'd scream until we voted for somebody who'd cook lunch. Spam and rice on most of those days, we'd eat it together watching Reading Rainbow on PBS. And in the afternoon before my parents came home, I'd go outside and just lie on the grass and look at the sky and wonder what might happen to me as a grown up, would I ever eat anything besides Spam and rice and Campbell's chicken noodle soup, would I ever see Paris?
Tonight, I am in an apartment that I imagined I might have one day. Large windows, and shiny floors. Exposed brick and new chrome appliances. A couch that took 6 weeks to customize. I am packing for a business trip I thought I might get a chance to do one day. I've run out of cologne, but may pick some up at the airport. I look at the counter and see photos on rotation: This is me in Vietnam being led on a hike, and that is the Eiffel Tower of course, and this is a beach on the north side of Bali and this is a view of the Mediterranean from Alexandria. What a beautiful city that was. I played tennis this morning with an old friend, had breakfast and didn't look at the price. I earn more money now than what my parents did when I saw their tax returns once when I was in college. They raised six children with this money. My career is great. I have traveled the world. I was reminded last week by a good friend that I am loved. Even when all these things are in line and I see the trend lines inching up nicely, I am scared.
No need to be scared, he said. You've done well this far.
I know, I know, but aren't we moving a bit fast here? I'd like to know where I'm headed before I go.
He put his hand on my shoulder.
I knew when I was in Marakesh, despite the heat of that rooftop broom closet (converted into a bedroom) that I smiled for a reason and said to myself, "You'll think of this in the future, and wish for this simplicity." I had woken up much earlier, and took a walk before the city got up, smelling the cool air, breathing deeply in the silence of the emptied streets. Marakesh doesn't stay cool and silent very long. I was preparing myself for a life--this one--that I might have.
You know, this is the way it goes.
I know, I know things will be fine. Please understand, I trust myself, I know I can and I know it'll turn out fine. I have everything I want.
So what's wrong?
Things are changing so fast, I just want to take a deep breath.
I used to run around my house during the summer, throwing all sorts of jagged objects at my brothers. Then we'd scream until we voted for somebody who'd cook lunch. Spam and rice on most of those days, we'd eat it together watching Reading Rainbow on PBS. And in the afternoon before my parents came home, I'd go outside and just lie on the grass and look at the sky and wonder what might happen to me as a grown up, would I ever eat anything besides Spam and rice and Campbell's chicken noodle soup, would I ever see Paris?
Friday, February 15, 2008
"Harrowdown Hill" Paul Wilkinson
Work continues at a nice pace, and the self-consciousness that defined most of the first few months is slowly dissolving. I realized that effective management isn't about the rigid adherance to policies, nor is it passive aggressive wrist-slapping, or even creating a tide of change. Some of these--in the right doses--are necessary elements, but managing is actually pretty simple: Just make sure your team is good.
Alright, what does that mean?
A good team is one that:
Work continues at a nice pace, and the self-consciousness that defined most of the first few months is slowly dissolving. I realized that effective management isn't about the rigid adherance to policies, nor is it passive aggressive wrist-slapping, or even creating a tide of change. Some of these--in the right doses--are necessary elements, but managing is actually pretty simple: Just make sure your team is good.
Alright, what does that mean?
A good team is one that:
- Uses the right tools and resources
- Believes in the value of their work
- Trusts their leader to act as their advocate
That's it. Focusing on these three things has helped guide my decisions. My decisions should support these and cannot jeopardize or even compromise any one.
Monday, January 21, 2008
"Claire De Lune" Claude Debussy
Years removed from Ms. Stark and 5th grade--the handball courts, the passing of love letters, the math games with numbered tiles--I'd occasionally revisit the school. The immediate sensation was smallness. How small these doors seemed. How could such tiny rooms hold such hyperactive, reckless children. The grounds themselves, which once seemed Saharan in their expansiveness, became a swath of grass and asphalt. I'd tried a few times to use the handball court to accommodate my burgeoning interest in tennis. If jelly balls, hammered as hard as possible, were still kept within the concrete boundaries, a tennis ball surely wouldn't give it any fits. I was wrong. I'd hit the ball and it'd bounce beyond the court, hitting the grate of the drain, or a rough patch of dirt. The ball would spin off in an awkward tangent. It did little to develop consistency in my stroke mechanics and I soon learned I had to go elsewhere if I was going to learn Agassi's forehand; I had outgrown the court.
I am not where I was last year. I am not where I thought I would be. I have made a series of decisions that have drastically changed my landscape and my habits. I went to experience what was once familiar to me this past weekend. And by virtue of contextual contrast, I now see that I have changed.
Perhaps when your surroundings change enough, you change along with it. Perhaps it's a matter of one's survival instincts that implores adaptation. Perhaps circumstances that come upon us, inasmuch as they are the product of design and chaos, also portend our futures.
Years removed from Ms. Stark and 5th grade--the handball courts, the passing of love letters, the math games with numbered tiles--I'd occasionally revisit the school. The immediate sensation was smallness. How small these doors seemed. How could such tiny rooms hold such hyperactive, reckless children. The grounds themselves, which once seemed Saharan in their expansiveness, became a swath of grass and asphalt. I'd tried a few times to use the handball court to accommodate my burgeoning interest in tennis. If jelly balls, hammered as hard as possible, were still kept within the concrete boundaries, a tennis ball surely wouldn't give it any fits. I was wrong. I'd hit the ball and it'd bounce beyond the court, hitting the grate of the drain, or a rough patch of dirt. The ball would spin off in an awkward tangent. It did little to develop consistency in my stroke mechanics and I soon learned I had to go elsewhere if I was going to learn Agassi's forehand; I had outgrown the court.
I am not where I was last year. I am not where I thought I would be. I have made a series of decisions that have drastically changed my landscape and my habits. I went to experience what was once familiar to me this past weekend. And by virtue of contextual contrast, I now see that I have changed.
Perhaps when your surroundings change enough, you change along with it. Perhaps it's a matter of one's survival instincts that implores adaptation. Perhaps circumstances that come upon us, inasmuch as they are the product of design and chaos, also portend our futures.
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