momentum

All of a sudden my head is whirling with possibility, body longing for grass and sky, mind for creative outlet. There is still next to no free time but I can almost see the light of the end of the tunnel, and all of a sudden I can think of a million things I want to do...

Get up early on Saturday to make homes and plant things in the ground. Slap on some sneakers and go on a hike. Take museum trips. Go to shows and get lost in the music. Make snowflakes. Learn to surf, rejoicing in surrendering myself to the waves. Read War and Peace, lying in the sun. Build a window seat. Strum my uke 'til my fingers hurt. Take a hoop class and dance in the park on a Sunday afternoon. Dip my toes in nerve-numbing ocean. Bust out my long- neglected acrylics and paint, colors exploding like fireworks in my mind, spilling onto blank canvas as synapses spark.

And suddenly, I feel rejuvenated, because through the exhaustion and the confusion, I feel inspired. I am alive. The world rocks me gently, whispers: "Be well, go forth, create."

keeping it together, keeping it real

I think I had a minor nervous breakdown the other day, and it wasn't pretty. But I think maybe it helped me realize some things. Let me start at the beginning. See, I feel like for the past month or so I've been sitting in a giant pressure cooker of an office, mind and body growing ever more tired as the clock ticks on and 12 hour days and 60 hour weeks and even my dreams start to blend together in that wondrous time we in the world of political advertising euphemistically call an Election Cycle.

And then a funny thing seems to happen: the stress of work and the deprival of things you love to do, the things that make you feel good that you have give up in order to sit in an office all day, start to combine and morph into a fear of losing the people in your life you care about--alienating them because you never have time, driving them away because when you do you're tired, or cranky, or just brain-dead and probably not very interesting to be around. I think this is the worst part, the anxiety of losing the people who help to make you happy and keep you sane in the first place. And I know that for the most part it's an irrational fear, but when you're living in Crazy-town and not really feeling like yourself, it can be damn hard not to believe.

I feel like I've been kind of a loner for a large part of my life, and mostly relied on myself. I don't take a lot of people into confidence, and I seem to be allergic to asking for help. But I have learned over the years to trust and let people in, and I know how important it is to have those people, few as they may be, who really get you and will be there for you, to laugh and cause mischief with in good times, and to remind you to breath and steer you back to something resembling sanity in the tougher times. But I also know that it's ultimately up to me to keep myself afloat; to have the insight to know my limits and to remember that I have the strength to finish what I start. And most importantly to remind myself that my life is good and the world beautiful, despite the chaos of the current moment.

Yesterday one of our freelancers came into my office, clearly distraught, to tell me he had to leave for the day. Later that day I found myself responding to his apologetic email explaining that he wouldn't be in the rest of the week with the reassurance that "there are more important things in life" than mail pieces, and I suddenly realized that I haven't really been living this philosophy myself. Yes, I take pride in my work; in doing the best job I can and following through on my commitments, and for that to happen work has to pretty much dominate my life and take up most of my time for the moment. But that doesn't mean it has to define me, or defeat me.

In a post at the beginning of the New Year I resolved: "to make the choice to take control of my life and exercise my free will to be happy. To not let anything or anyone take the joy out of me, not let anyone make the sun seem less bright or the world less beautiful through my eyes." I think that I need to remember that resolution now more than ever, to practice what I preach and apply it to my current situation. To keep my wits and my sense of humor, and not let my job and all its pressures dim my view of life or make me an anchor to drag myself and others down. I just need to have the mental fortitude to cling to this philosophy, and faith in the saintly patience of loved ones to not abandon me in my occasional times of anxiety or delusion. And maybe a rock garden.

And if I manage to make it out of this election cycle in one piece, I also resolve to finally get the tattoo I've been wanting for almost a year now (sorry mom): the word "timshel", as a more tangible reminder of the free will that gives me the power over my life; the choice that only I can make to be live well, love well and see the beauty in everything always. Because though you may not know it to spend 5 minutes in my office this fall, there are more important things than mail pieces.

serendipity-dooh-dah-day

Oh, Life. You are just full of surprises, aren't you, you cheeky, sneaky bugger? You've got to love the way life sometimes just sweeps you off your feet when you least expect it; knocks your legs right out from under you and then sets you right back up at a slightly different angle, and suddenly your world is just a little different. It can be a scary feeling, I think especially because we humans tend to like comfort, keeping the status quo. We generally like to know what to expect out of our day, out of our jobs, our friends, our life.

It's crazy to me how happening to be in a certain place at an exact time can determine which way your life goes, change it for good or bad. You happen to go to a certain bar and meet the love of your life. Take a different route home and run into an old friend. Transfer into a class and change your entire career path. Step into a car and lose your life. You just never know when and how all the factors will line up to slightly shift your perspective or completely alter your existence.

So along you go, walking down the street minding your own business, when the forces of the universe suddenly swoop in and do their thing. I'm not saying I necessarily believe in fate... I like to think that for the most part we are in control of our lives and make our own destiny. But I can't help thinking sometimes that there must be some sort of deeper cosmic balance that mixes in with the massive web of seemingly random happenstances that shape our lives.

I know that life is full of coincidence and random tragedies, but as corny as it may sound, I also truly believe that the energy you put out into the universe is the energy returned to you, and that when you open yourself up, opportunities present themselves. But you have to keep an open eye and open heart. "When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it,” Paulo Coelho writes in The Alchemist, and maybe that really is true. Maybe even when you're not exactly sure what it is you want, the universe can step in with a little nudge and a wink to help you find your way.

This I know: we humans are complex beings. We're used to struggling. We're used to having to deal with challenges, and we have a natural instinct to compete, often viewing life as a game to win or a puzzle to solve. And I think that because of this we often become jaded into thinking that all of life is hard, that everything must be a struggle. We become suspicious of anything that seems too easy or too good, and often make things hard for ourselves. So I'd like to think that sometimes the universe also gives us a little push to remind us that just maybe, occasionally, things can be easy. Happiness, love, life. So goddamned beautifully, simply easy that it just bowls you over.

a short essay on bullshit & the meaning of life

I know, I know, I have been terribly neglectful. Some may have thought I had completely abandoned this poor blog. Some have apparently even dared to think that I may have acquired this thing that I hear they call a "life". Well put your fearful minds at ease, I assure you this is not the case.

No, I would like to explain my absence by telling you all that I have in fact, for the past few years (although it appears to have been a mere few months for you all here on earth) been living a beautiful and thought-provoking existence on a faraway planet whose name I'm afraid I have never been able to pronounce, which I was brought to by some lovely new friends who were kind enough to have beamed me up to their ship, sometime... well, it looks like shortly after Earth Day 2010, what do you know!

To those of you who may interject here that you have seen me blatantly roaming the streets of San Francisco, may have in fact sworn you've spoken with me, I must explain that my earthly body was for this time replaced by a strikingly life-like hologram. And as we all know, holograms are terrible typers. Perhaps one day I will share some of my adventures, but for now I will simply leave you with this thought of the day:


A Short Essay on Bullshit & the Meaning of Life

This is how I see it: every day of our lives we are surrounded by bullshit. Big Bullshit. Little Bullshit. Funny Bullshit. Ugly Bullshit. And downright mean Bullshit. I mean, that's a whole lot of bullshit. It's finding a way to wade through all the bullshit to what's good and what's real--and the sense of humor we keep while doing so--that gets us through. Because if you get bogged down by it, you drown.

le fin


Oh, and luckily I haven't aged a bit! Life is good on planet what's-its-name.

in honor of earth day & national poetry month...

Knowledge is a wonderful thing. It's fascinating to learn how something works, to see the driving force of science in nature, broken down into little pieces that fit perfectly together in the solid, irrefutable truth of an equation or formula. And it is important, too, to gain knowledge of ourselves and our world; how it works and how we can work together.

But sometimes... sometimes I think we can become too wrapped up in the dry facts and mechanics of things to see the beauty of them, plain and simple, letting textbooks and manuals rule our world. Or always needing answers, preoccupying ourselves with definitions and explanations, trying to make everything in our lives fit into perfectly ordered boxes and categories.

I think that sometimes in our lives we need the divine mystery, the childlike sense of wonder. Sometimes we need to forget about the how and the why and the where, and merely celebrate the is. To throw away the map and revel in being lost, knowing that eventually we'll reach the destination, in our own way, with only our heart and the stars to guide.

I think Whitman understood this.

When I Heard The Learn'd Astronomer

-Walt Whitman (1819-1892)-

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much
applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

when more is not enough...

For years I've heard the complaints about Starbucks and their confusingly pretentious, culturally ambiguous drink sizes. Venti, Grande... Tall? Well what the hell is this, Englitalian? Are these cups Spanish? Italian? Second-generation Mexican-American growing up in Little Italy? Just who the fuck do they think they are, anyway??

But never fear, my darlings! Now to continue on in the fine tradition of caffeinated conundrum emerges the "Trenta", a 31-ounce iced drink size currently being offered at Starbucks locations in Phoenix and Tampa. The very thought makes my bladder cower in fear. And yet I have this unshakable feeling that the monstrous beverage option will be embraced by a disturbingly large section of the American public.

I would like to think, as a fairly reasonable person generally believing in moderation, that 31 ounces of coffee or tea (or 30 if you count out the ice, I guess), would be an appallingly ridiculous excess; the size an epic failure. But then again, this is America, the Land of More, where Bigger is always Better. After all, according to reports, Starbucks came up with the mammoth Trenta in an attempt to compete with the popular demand for much larger (also usually much cheaper!) drink sizes provided by places such as McDonald's and 7-Eleven.

The really unsettling thing as far as I'm concerned is this: even discounting the disturbing levels of caffeine unleashed into the consumer's bloodstream, just imagine the massive amount of sugar that must go into a sweetened version! I would think that would be a job for about half a bottle of classic syrup each.

But even worse--and come on, you know it's only a matter of time--just think of when 31 ounces becomes so popular that the next logical step is to offer Trenta mochas, Trenta hazelnut-vanilla-extra-vanilla lattes, Trenta java-choco-loco frappuccinos. In fact, I'd be willing to bet they've fielded customer requests already. Try as I might I cannot shake the ominous image of hordes of mall-rat tweengirls, tourists and middle-aged businessmen alike shuffling out of Starbucks stores nation-wide, holding an entire week's worth of empty, whipped cream-topped calories in their hot little hands. And we wonder why obesity is such a rapidly growing health crisis in our country.

It's times like this that make me want to grab the entire United States of America by the shoulders, give 'er a good shake, and say "What are you doing to yourself, dude? Have you no shame?" Seriously, put down the giant cup of slow liquid death, and back away slowly . Your nerves and cholesterol levels with thank you. As will your bladder.

And hey, whaddaya know... it looks like Ellen agrees with me! You tell 'em, sister.

it's all in your mind

Last evening the sky was like an impressionist painting. A painting in motion, turquoise swatches peeking out from between big jaunty puffs of cloud, slowly turning color as I walked from Market Street to Divisadero; darkening cumulonimbus encroaching upon the last strains of sunset and reminding me somehow of early summer nights and gently tumultuous seas... and something else, a persistent feeling I could not pin down, floating just out of reach on the late evening breeze and lingering on my mind.

I have these moments when I encounter an inexplicable sense of abstract nostalgia, triggered by something so subtle, so obscure that I can't quite seem to put my finger on it. It may be the color or cloud pattern of the sky, the route taken home, a faint whiff of incense or wood smoke, even just a certain intangible energy in the air. I don't know what it was the other night that evoked in me this feeling, just as I can't account for why a year ago, wandering alone down strange streets on my first trip to Chicago, I found myself overcome with an odd sense of familiarity almost akin to deja vu. And it wasn't the first time it had happened.

I can't explain how a place I've never been before can awaken nostalgia in me, or how I can suddenly be transported to a completely different time and place while walking down the same streets I see every day. And I'm not sure whether this is a common phenomenon or not. It's a very curious and slightly spooky sensation, this feeling somewhere between nostalgia and deja vu and yet not quite either. But it's also actually quite pleasant, if at times in a bittersweet way. I can only describe it as feeling very alive, very aware and present, and yet at the same time with a slight shift in consciousness, caught up in a vague ephemeral ghost of memory or mood.

It's the kind of experience that makes me believe that there could be such a thing as reincarnation, and leaves me marveling at the complexity and mystery of the human brain, that tiny subtle cues of sight or smell or sound can somehow trigger connections that we didn't even know were there, or that seem impossible, that we can't even explain in words.

Perhaps serendipitously, this morning on NPR I happened to hear a story about a recent study published in the scientific journal PNAS. The research in this particular study found that "the emotion tied to a memory lingers in the mind even after the memory is gone." So maybe this is what I've been experiencing all along. Perhaps even after long forgotten events and days have faded into the distant depths of mind and heart, their ghosts linger on to haunt us at an unexpected time or place, leaving us slightly shaken or strangely comforted. I wonder if some of us are more prone to this than others, and if so why. Either way, I find it fascinating to ponder the possibilities.