I am often confused about what is personal or professional, and running two blogs, I am never sure what belongs where. My latest project really straddles the line. It was born on Intrepid Flame, but has since moved to my teaching blog. You can read the story here, but I wanted the video to also have a home on the Flame.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
What Passes Before
So often we complicated our minds with so much of the world, that we can barely feel our hearts. So often we complicated our hearts with so much of the world, that we can barely think.
No matter how convoluted we allow ourselves to become, it feels nice when a breath of fresh air reminds us of the beauty of simplicity. These lucid moments of clarity and joy need not be rare. All we have to do is open our eyes to the wonder of what passes before our eyes every single day.
No matter how convoluted we allow ourselves to become, it feels nice when a breath of fresh air reminds us of the beauty of simplicity. These lucid moments of clarity and joy need not be rare. All we have to do is open our eyes to the wonder of what passes before our eyes every single day.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Failure by Nature
A few days ago I received an email from a friend, which was an email he had received from another friend, Erik Heger. It is eloquently written and has had me thinking ever since. I asked my friend if he would ask his friend if I could post the email in its entirety:
"What would you continue to do if you knew EVERYTHING you did would ultimately fail?"
I have been thinking a lot about what exactly it is in my life that do for the pure sake of doing it. What are the things that I do intrinsically and not for want of reward? Here is my list in no particular order. (For many of the items on my list, I realize that I would most likely appreciate a reward, or recognition, or an occasional “Atta Boy,” but I know that I would do these things even if I would fail every time, because I have no choice to do them. They are wired into who I am. It is also comforting to know that I do fail at these aspects of my life on a daily basis.)
“What would you continue to do if you knew EVERYTHING you did would ultimately fail?"
I would write. Although I am currently writing a book, and somewhat obsessed about the number of comments I get on this blog and the size of my audience, I would write and continue to write despite never “making it.” Long ago, I gave up the dream of being the next Jack Kerouac or ever being published, but I write nonetheless- more and more these days. I would write and do write even if noone is reading or telling me it is any good. I would write and do write not for a reward, but because it is in me and has nowhere else to go. Because I am certain, I can never clearly articulate exactly what is in my mind merely by using words, I understand that all writing is ultimately a failure by nature. I fail every time I write, but I will never stop.
Everyday, I try to raise my girls to the best of my ability, but I know that no matter what I do they will become who they are meant to be. I will parent knowing I will fail. There is no reward waiting for me, and most likely they will blame me for many of their issues as I blame my parents, as we all blame our parents, but this will not stop me.
I will play my guitar. I have been strumming that thing for nearly twenty years, and I am not much “better” than when I started. Most people would say that I have failed at being a musician. I am not in a band, I cannot play in rhythm, I never sing in key, but I will never stop. I occasionally play in front of a crowd and I will continue to find opportunities to do so. I will find people to with which to play. I will record mediocre covers and spread them across the web. I will never have a record deal. I have already failed several times over, but I will never stop.
Teaching is much like parenting. So I will not say much more on the topic, except to say that like raising my own kids, no matter how hard I try to reach my students I will fail with more of them than with the ones I connect with, but I cannot imagine ever doing anything else. I will be in a classroom or working with kids in some capacity till they drag me away.
As I write these testimonials, I am starting to realize that the question itself may be flawed, because perhaps there is no universal definition of success or failure. The question is forcing me to see success as seen by society as a whole: A writer is only successful if on Oprah, a musician only successful with a hit, but perhaps true success comes from taking risks and looking to fulfill something missing in your soul. Whether you fill that void is irrelevant.
So often we force people, especially young people to set goals and shoot for success, but perhaps we should be asking them to embrace failure, or better yet we should be trying to move away from the dialectic all together and simply act. Simply do. Simply be.
“What would you continue to do if you knew EVERYTHING you did would ultimately fail?"
A few years ago I came across a greeting card with one of those inspirational quotes on the front. They've become quite popular these days. You know the ones -- they are usually a plain black card with White lettering or the vice versa and they have some famous or not so famous quote on the front that is supposed to inspire the person who receives this card. Sometimes the quotes are from some famous person and other times they are "Anonymous," which I suspect means that some employee at the greeting card company came up with it.
Anyway, I came across this one card that I quite liked. And I posted on my fridge on and off for years. The quote:
"What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?"
Its a wonderful thought. All the things we do not attempt because we fear failing at them. Think of it? All those things we don't even dare attempt because the odds are so stacked against us. And this quote is a kind of optimistic take on life... what if.... what if you COULD succeed at that thing? What if failure just wasn't an option? What if just sitting down to write that screenplay meant -- BANG -- the next Good Will Hunting and suddenly you are the next Jason Bourne!!!! Its a great thought.
But its also a bit crazy. Failure IS an option. And in fact, it happens A LOT. So while the optimism of the card is admirable, its a bit overkill. Yes, the quote serves its purpose: it points out that fear is a major force preventing us from achieving things we'd like to achieve. But its a fantasy to think that failure isn't an option. Like those coaches who say, "We WILL win. There is NO chance we will lose. I GUARANTEE you a win!!!" And then they find themselves in the press room 4 hours later trying to explain why they lost.... Failure is ALWAYS an option. Losing is ALWAYS a possibility. That's life. Optimism is good. But blind optimism may not be so good....
Tonight I asked a different question: "What would you continue to do if you knew EVERYTHING you did would ultimately fail?" hmmm...
The first question (the quote on the card) points out how fear of failure prevents us from even attempting things. What does this second question point out? What would be worthwhile doing even if it didn't have any tangible "success" as an endgame? It seems to me that so much of our culture has become about the achievement itself -- the trophy, the paycheck, the mountaintop -- and perhaps we ought to ask ourselves from time to time if the act of achieving -- the long hours in the gym, the early mornings in the office, the long grueling trail that somewhere miles away terminates on an unseen peak -- is the process itself enjoyable? Would we still do it if we never won the trophy? What if we never got promoted and the money never got any better? (or what if you got fired? ) What if the trail was just a long loop that never ended with a spectacular view, but rather put you right back where you started? would it still be worth taking the walk?
Perhaps the second question is the pessimistic side of the coin. I guess so. Do you see the glass half full ("What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?") or half-empty (What would you do if everything was doomed to failure?)?
The questions, as well as the general outlooks of optimism and pessimism, are just hypotheticals anyway. Ways of seeing the world. Neither are true. Is the glass half-full or half-empty? Well, who gives shit really... Its whats in the glass is what matter!
I like the two questions. They help me think about my life. One points out that I have a fear of failure that prevents me from even trying to pursue some of my dreams. That mountaintop looks amazing and the fear that I won't make it to the top makes me stay at home and dream about it rather than go do it. The other question reminds me that the act of going about my goals is also important.... perhaps MORE important. Think about it: What would you do if you knew everything you attempted would ultimately fail?
I'll bet a lot of people would quit their jobs immediately. I'm not suggesting that they should do so. I am merely pointing out that for much of our lives we are sold on the concept of crawling through a lot of shit in order to get to some pot of gold over there. And much of the time that pot of gold seems to just get further and further away. And you're left very tired, very old, and covered in shit, with nothing to show for it. And this is a possibility. And its important to take this possibility into account because it is a very real possibility (think Death of a Salesman).
I think I would stop auditioning for TV and Television. Perhaps I would stop auditioning at all. The entire process of auditioning is nerve racking, sometimes humiliating, and it is rarely artistically fulfilling. It takes a lot of time and there is no guarantee. If I knew, for sure, that I would never get another job from my auditions, I would stop tomorrow.
Will I stop tomorrow? Absolutely not. Its the shit I have to crawl through in order to get that job -- and the jobs are usually really fun. Or if not fun, and least worthwhile.
So perhaps the question will help us to look around and enjoy the view. To think of it as a very difficult trail rather than a trail of shit. And if it IS a trail of shit that has NOTHING redeeming at all about the process -- well, than maybe we ought to consider if the prize is really worth all that shit.... especially if there is no guarantee that we'll even get to it....
What if we asked ourselves these questions -- both of them -- more often. Maybe we would attempt more things that are part of our dreams and we would quit doing the things that don't match up with our lives. And in the process, perhaps we would also become more interested in the quality of our lives -- what is IN the glass -- rather than our status as full or empty or successful or failures. Our lives could be a trail that we experience more fully instead of rushing towards the top. Or instead of quitting too early because its hard. Perhaps we would find the mountains that WE want to climb, that are part of our soul's calling. And we would spend our time on those trails, laboring, loving, looking around, crying, yearning, and sometimes making it to the top. Other times ending up right back at the bottom with nothing to show for it but bruises, wisdom, and a bit of satisfaction and pleasure. No trophy....
I'll bet living this way would make the failures not so important. I'll bet that it would also make the trophies less important. And I'll bet that it would make our experience less IMPORTANT and more important. Less about the goals and less about the fears, and more about WHATS IN THE GLASS!
YOU, my friend, are the glass.... so what's in you? Fuck half-empty or half-full. What're you drinkin...
 |
| image by fireflythegrea |
I have been thinking a lot about what exactly it is in my life that do for the pure sake of doing it. What are the things that I do intrinsically and not for want of reward? Here is my list in no particular order. (For many of the items on my list, I realize that I would most likely appreciate a reward, or recognition, or an occasional “Atta Boy,” but I know that I would do these things even if I would fail every time, because I have no choice to do them. They are wired into who I am. It is also comforting to know that I do fail at these aspects of my life on a daily basis.)
“What would you continue to do if you knew EVERYTHING you did would ultimately fail?"
I would write. Although I am currently writing a book, and somewhat obsessed about the number of comments I get on this blog and the size of my audience, I would write and continue to write despite never “making it.” Long ago, I gave up the dream of being the next Jack Kerouac or ever being published, but I write nonetheless- more and more these days. I would write and do write even if noone is reading or telling me it is any good. I would write and do write not for a reward, but because it is in me and has nowhere else to go. Because I am certain, I can never clearly articulate exactly what is in my mind merely by using words, I understand that all writing is ultimately a failure by nature. I fail every time I write, but I will never stop.
Everyday, I try to raise my girls to the best of my ability, but I know that no matter what I do they will become who they are meant to be. I will parent knowing I will fail. There is no reward waiting for me, and most likely they will blame me for many of their issues as I blame my parents, as we all blame our parents, but this will not stop me.
I will play my guitar. I have been strumming that thing for nearly twenty years, and I am not much “better” than when I started. Most people would say that I have failed at being a musician. I am not in a band, I cannot play in rhythm, I never sing in key, but I will never stop. I occasionally play in front of a crowd and I will continue to find opportunities to do so. I will find people to with which to play. I will record mediocre covers and spread them across the web. I will never have a record deal. I have already failed several times over, but I will never stop.
Teaching is much like parenting. So I will not say much more on the topic, except to say that like raising my own kids, no matter how hard I try to reach my students I will fail with more of them than with the ones I connect with, but I cannot imagine ever doing anything else. I will be in a classroom or working with kids in some capacity till they drag me away.
As I write these testimonials, I am starting to realize that the question itself may be flawed, because perhaps there is no universal definition of success or failure. The question is forcing me to see success as seen by society as a whole: A writer is only successful if on Oprah, a musician only successful with a hit, but perhaps true success comes from taking risks and looking to fulfill something missing in your soul. Whether you fill that void is irrelevant.
So often we force people, especially young people to set goals and shoot for success, but perhaps we should be asking them to embrace failure, or better yet we should be trying to move away from the dialectic all together and simply act. Simply do. Simply be.
“What would you continue to do if you knew EVERYTHING you did would ultimately fail?"
Friday, November 19, 2010
Amid The Noise
It's Friday night and I am tired, but the good kind of tired, not the wheels spinning feeling stuck in one place kind of tired. The fatigue that comes from a week well worked. The kind of ache that comes from setting goals and achieving them. The kind of tiredness that allows for a night of not feeling guilty for not writing, or planning, or thinking too much about anything.
The kind of night you surf the web looking for mindless joy and watch TV with your wife. Maybe read a few pages of a book before you crawl into your bed and ponder how blessed you are to be able to sleep in such a beautiful, comfortable, clean bed, next to an amazing women and two beautiful kids.
Anyway, I was cruising the web, when I came across two items that helped bolster my already good mood and I would like to share them with you now.
There is not much that needs to be said about the words below:
Then there is this. Same idea different presentation:
I am not sure what I will do with these words or how they will inspire me, but I hope that in the coming weeks they will lead me some place great.
The kind of night you surf the web looking for mindless joy and watch TV with your wife. Maybe read a few pages of a book before you crawl into your bed and ponder how blessed you are to be able to sleep in such a beautiful, comfortable, clean bed, next to an amazing women and two beautiful kids.
Anyway, I was cruising the web, when I came across two items that helped bolster my already good mood and I would like to share them with you now.
There is not much that needs to be said about the words below:
Then there is this. Same idea different presentation:
I am not sure what I will do with these words or how they will inspire me, but I hope that in the coming weeks they will lead me some place great.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Could Have Been Something
Alright folks I need your help. I seem to be saying that a lot lately, but isn't that the nature of the collaboration game? Anyway, let's not waste time with pleasantries and verbosity. Let me give you the skinny and let's get started.
Over the last few weeks, a few Twitter pals of mine and I have been recording a very raw cover of Nothingman using Indaba Music, a collaborative music recording site. Leslie laid down the original Ukulele track and some harmonies, while I proceeded to do what I do best, sing out of key and out of time over her lovely voice. Then Keri Lee came in and added some lovely vocals. This is not a polished piece in anyway, but it is cool that we are working from three different countries and using music as a way to connect. In the future, perhaps we can create more polished pieces, but for now I was thinking we could take this one to another level. That is where you come in. I want you to help us create the video for this first song.
In order to keep it as raw and lose as possible there are very few rules, so here we go:
1. Take a look at the lyrics:
Once divided...nothing left to subtract...
Some words when spoken...can't be taken back...
Walks on his own...with thoughts he can't help thinking...
Future's above...but in the past he's slow and sinking...
Caught a bolt 'a lightnin'...cursed the day he let it go...
Nothingman... (2x)
Isn't it something?
Nothingman...
She once believed...in every story he had to tell...
One day she stiffened...took the other side...
Empty stares...from each corner of a shared prison cell...
One just escapes...one's left inside the well...
And he who forgets...will be destined to remember...oh...oh...oh...
Nothingman... (2x)
Isn't it something?
Nothingman...
Oh, she don't want him...
Oh, she won't feed him...after he's flown away...
Oh, into the sun...ah, into the sun...
Burn...burn...
Nothingman... (2x)
Isn't it something?
2. Spend some time with the song:
3. Take and send me any photographs the words and song inspire.
4. Shoot and send me any footage the words and song inspire. No more than 15 seconds long. As many as you want.
5. Share this post with as many people as you can.
Send all submissions to jabizraisdana@gmail.com We will share the video and song when it is all compiled. Let's set the deadline as December 1st. Happy image hunting.
Over the last few weeks, a few Twitter pals of mine and I have been recording a very raw cover of Nothingman using Indaba Music, a collaborative music recording site. Leslie laid down the original Ukulele track and some harmonies, while I proceeded to do what I do best, sing out of key and out of time over her lovely voice. Then Keri Lee came in and added some lovely vocals. This is not a polished piece in anyway, but it is cool that we are working from three different countries and using music as a way to connect. In the future, perhaps we can create more polished pieces, but for now I was thinking we could take this one to another level. That is where you come in. I want you to help us create the video for this first song.
In order to keep it as raw and lose as possible there are very few rules, so here we go:
1. Take a look at the lyrics:
Once divided...nothing left to subtract...
Some words when spoken...can't be taken back...
Walks on his own...with thoughts he can't help thinking...
Future's above...but in the past he's slow and sinking...
Caught a bolt 'a lightnin'...cursed the day he let it go...
Nothingman... (2x)
Isn't it something?
Nothingman...
She once believed...in every story he had to tell...
One day she stiffened...took the other side...
Empty stares...from each corner of a shared prison cell...
One just escapes...one's left inside the well...
And he who forgets...will be destined to remember...oh...oh...oh...
Nothingman... (2x)
Isn't it something?
Nothingman...
Oh, she don't want him...
Oh, she won't feed him...after he's flown away...
Oh, into the sun...ah, into the sun...
Burn...burn...
Nothingman... (2x)
Isn't it something?
2. Spend some time with the song:
3. Take and send me any photographs the words and song inspire.
4. Shoot and send me any footage the words and song inspire. No more than 15 seconds long. As many as you want.
5. Share this post with as many people as you can.
Send all submissions to jabizraisdana@gmail.com We will share the video and song when it is all compiled. Let's set the deadline as December 1st. Happy image hunting.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Inside Out
I spent my lunch period today working with a small group of Global Issues Club kids to create a quick presentation to inform our student body of a campaign we are running next week to help raise awareness and funds for the Jakarta Animal Action Network. This organization is working to help all the injured and abandoned animals in the volcano region here on Java.
We were in the theater, and I was joking with the girls as they were nervous, “Just don’t pee your pants and you will be fine,” when I heard my phone ringing. I was calm and loose, it was Friday and I was carrying a light laughter in my throat.
The caller ID said Mia. She is our nanny who was at home with our one year old. She never calls school, unless it is an emergency. The laughter vanished, taking the calm and looseness with it. I was frozen.
“Hello?” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Hello, Mia? Calm down.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Mia, you have to calm down. What is going on?”
“Skyelar! Mister. Come home now.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
I hung up and grabbed Mairin.
“We have to go home now. Mia called and is freaking out. I don’t know what is going on, but we have to go right now.” We both ran to the car and made our way home.
In the car, I am numb. Worse than numb I am folding myself inside out. The first and most obvious thought is that she is dead. Gone vanished. The very little girl who I wondered how I could love as much as Kaia, who I have ended up loving in the most gentle way, the little angel who is makes my life complete, the very being who is my reason for living is gone. Poof. Just like that. I enter a world without her for just one second and nearly vomit. It makes no sense, this place devoid of Skyelar. I try to comfort myself with the dead kitten tale I buried earlier this week, but find the idea ludicrous. She cannot be a part of the greater world. She is mine to hold and nurture and tend. She is mine to love and lose myself in. She is mine. There is attachment, her life is permanent, no way will I allow her to be taken from me. I see our life without her. The unraveling. The trying to be strong for Kaia. The horror of it is too much.
Next, I go to mass injury. She has fallen down the stairs and will be paralyzed. Gone will be the family Scuba diving trip and the climbing of Kilamanjaro when the girls are adults, but at least I can hold her and kiss her and sing her to sleep. At least her eyes will stay ignited and her skin will feel warm. At least her breath will touch my face and her smile will keep me warm. She may be disfigured, but she is alive.
The drive is taking so long. I look back at Mairin and know that her mind is looking for its own place to land. I try to hold her hand, but dealing with both our dread makes me nauseous and I jump to a more positive explanation. Mia just panicked. It can’t be a big deal. We will get home and realize that she over reacted, and while we may be a bit disgruntled by the fear she instilled in us, the gratitude that it was nothing serious will be enough to make us all smile and hug.
The car pulls up to the front of the house. I am out the door before it has stopped. The house is empty. What the fuck? Outside, I learn she has taken Skye next door, where she is handing her to Mairin. Skyelar is alive. There is no blood. She is yellow and covered in vomit, and moaning a bit, but looks intact. Her eyes are distant and tired, but filled with light. We race to the hospital. I take my first breath since we first heard the news and know it will be alright.
Long story short at this point. She has a bacterial infection, which gave her a fever of 104, out of nowhere. She was fine this morning. The fever gave her a febrile seizure. The doctor says it happens and is not dangerous. Mia didn't know what was happening and panicked and called us. Which, while I wish she would have been a bit more calm was a fine reaction. We are now monitoring her temps and keeping her fever down. She has antibiotics to get rid of the infection, and we go back to the hospital if her temperature goes over 102.
Once home, she smiled, ate a whole bowl of pears, took a bath, and is quietly sleeping. We both keep checking on her heavy with worry.
I did not write this post to scare anyone, but rather to remind you to keep the important things in your life in your heart. Let the bullshit go. Life is much more fragile than we think. At any moment, anything can happen. I am not saying that we should love our lives in fear of what may or may not happen to us, just the opposite actually. We need to live life like it could end at any minute and treat everyone who enters our lives with the passion and love they deserve. Of course we all love our children and show them in many ways, but we also sometimes lose sight of what really matters. I hope this little scare for us can be a reminder to you. Life is a gorgeous and perfect gift. I have had my share of near death experiences and somehow keep on going. I guess I need constant reminders to cherish this wonderful blessing that is my every breath and the breaths of my family and friends.
The world looks differently when you even consider the death of your children. I don't know how people can lose a child, because even the thought of it was enough to nearly destroy me.
Man, what a day! Can't wait to wake up tomorrow and snuggle with her all day, because really nothing else matters.
Note for Grandmas: I know you must be worried, but everything is under control. Perhaps I am still writing charged with the fear of the day, but we are keeping a close eye on her and her temperature is down and we are checking it every three hours and giving her fever reducer. It was just a scary episode for everyone, but she is fine. Are you listening mom? Don't panic, we have done enough of that today. I just wanted to share this story so that people see today differently and really enjoy themselves, not to worry you.
We were in the theater, and I was joking with the girls as they were nervous, “Just don’t pee your pants and you will be fine,” when I heard my phone ringing. I was calm and loose, it was Friday and I was carrying a light laughter in my throat.
The caller ID said Mia. She is our nanny who was at home with our one year old. She never calls school, unless it is an emergency. The laughter vanished, taking the calm and looseness with it. I was frozen.
“Hello?” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Hello, Mia? Calm down.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Mia, you have to calm down. What is going on?”
“Skyelar! Mister. Come home now.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
I hung up and grabbed Mairin.
“We have to go home now. Mia called and is freaking out. I don’t know what is going on, but we have to go right now.” We both ran to the car and made our way home.
In the car, I am numb. Worse than numb I am folding myself inside out. The first and most obvious thought is that she is dead. Gone vanished. The very little girl who I wondered how I could love as much as Kaia, who I have ended up loving in the most gentle way, the little angel who is makes my life complete, the very being who is my reason for living is gone. Poof. Just like that. I enter a world without her for just one second and nearly vomit. It makes no sense, this place devoid of Skyelar. I try to comfort myself with the dead kitten tale I buried earlier this week, but find the idea ludicrous. She cannot be a part of the greater world. She is mine to hold and nurture and tend. She is mine to love and lose myself in. She is mine. There is attachment, her life is permanent, no way will I allow her to be taken from me. I see our life without her. The unraveling. The trying to be strong for Kaia. The horror of it is too much.
Next, I go to mass injury. She has fallen down the stairs and will be paralyzed. Gone will be the family Scuba diving trip and the climbing of Kilamanjaro when the girls are adults, but at least I can hold her and kiss her and sing her to sleep. At least her eyes will stay ignited and her skin will feel warm. At least her breath will touch my face and her smile will keep me warm. She may be disfigured, but she is alive.
The drive is taking so long. I look back at Mairin and know that her mind is looking for its own place to land. I try to hold her hand, but dealing with both our dread makes me nauseous and I jump to a more positive explanation. Mia just panicked. It can’t be a big deal. We will get home and realize that she over reacted, and while we may be a bit disgruntled by the fear she instilled in us, the gratitude that it was nothing serious will be enough to make us all smile and hug.
The car pulls up to the front of the house. I am out the door before it has stopped. The house is empty. What the fuck? Outside, I learn she has taken Skye next door, where she is handing her to Mairin. Skyelar is alive. There is no blood. She is yellow and covered in vomit, and moaning a bit, but looks intact. Her eyes are distant and tired, but filled with light. We race to the hospital. I take my first breath since we first heard the news and know it will be alright.
Long story short at this point. She has a bacterial infection, which gave her a fever of 104, out of nowhere. She was fine this morning. The fever gave her a febrile seizure. The doctor says it happens and is not dangerous. Mia didn't know what was happening and panicked and called us. Which, while I wish she would have been a bit more calm was a fine reaction. We are now monitoring her temps and keeping her fever down. She has antibiotics to get rid of the infection, and we go back to the hospital if her temperature goes over 102.
Once home, she smiled, ate a whole bowl of pears, took a bath, and is quietly sleeping. We both keep checking on her heavy with worry.
I did not write this post to scare anyone, but rather to remind you to keep the important things in your life in your heart. Let the bullshit go. Life is much more fragile than we think. At any moment, anything can happen. I am not saying that we should love our lives in fear of what may or may not happen to us, just the opposite actually. We need to live life like it could end at any minute and treat everyone who enters our lives with the passion and love they deserve. Of course we all love our children and show them in many ways, but we also sometimes lose sight of what really matters. I hope this little scare for us can be a reminder to you. Life is a gorgeous and perfect gift. I have had my share of near death experiences and somehow keep on going. I guess I need constant reminders to cherish this wonderful blessing that is my every breath and the breaths of my family and friends.
The world looks differently when you even consider the death of your children. I don't know how people can lose a child, because even the thought of it was enough to nearly destroy me.
Man, what a day! Can't wait to wake up tomorrow and snuggle with her all day, because really nothing else matters.
Note for Grandmas: I know you must be worried, but everything is under control. Perhaps I am still writing charged with the fear of the day, but we are keeping a close eye on her and her temperature is down and we are checking it every three hours and giving her fever reducer. It was just a scary episode for everyone, but she is fine. Are you listening mom? Don't panic, we have done enough of that today. I just wanted to share this story so that people see today differently and really enjoy themselves, not to worry you.
Monday, November 08, 2010
The Kitty is a Flower
It’s a little after six am and the air is already weighed down by moisture. The sky hangs heavy; gray clouds tying to decided whether to launch a storm or disperse. I am standing in the garden wearing only shorts, short of breath. I have just hurriedly dug a shallow hole into the red soil, clumps of clay are stuck to the shovel, my shoes, and calves. I feel the tension in my shoulders and think about how I really need to start exercising this year. I like the way my thin muscles pulsate and throb. I look beside me and see it.
A underdeveloped pouch of skin and bones, made stiff, emptied, extinguished before any muscles could form. His mouth is snarled open revealing a set of tiny useless teeth. The two eyes encrusted with infection and sealed shut, seem to be miraculously staring straight into the newly dug hole. A mob of ants crawl, uncharacteristically about the hole, out of formation, as if they are expecting the body. I quietly monitor their sinister motives, until I remember their role. I go inside to get Kaia.
I want her to see this. I want her to be a part of this. I want her to understand that death is a part of life. I want her to understand. I will not hide the dead kitten and make up some clap trap about heaven and lie to her about the need of some mythical creator to have his kitty back. I respect her too much for that. There is nothing scary or sad about death when seen through the eyes and heart of mother nature.
Inside she is still asleep in bed. She is so precious lying amongst the sheets, her porcelain skin flush with life. I rethink my thoughts on the gravity and sadness of death as I see her lying there so full of life even when asleep. I don’t want to wake her. I don’t want to take her into the yard and show her the tiny kitten we rescued just yesterday. I don’t want her to see the lifeless body and process what that means in her tiny brain, but I know I must.
“Kaia? Sweety, it’s time to get up.” Nothing she is motionless.
“I have something important to tell you. Can you hear me? You really need to wake up. Okay?” She begins to rustle. A tight stretch. Rubbing of the eyes. Consciousness.
“Open your eyes and sit up okay? This is serious.” She springs up and releases a massive yawn. Her cheeks are stained red and scarred with pillow marks. Her hair a tangled wildness.
“Good morning Sweetheart! Are you awake? I have to tell you something that might make you sad.” She is instantly awake. Somehow exited by the possibility of sadness or an emotion that may overwhelm her. I am wondering if this is the best idea.
“Remember the kitty we found in the yard yesterday?”
“The one with the hurt eyes that the mommy left behind?” Her voice is pure and uncontaminated by anything that is not innocence.
“Yeah, that’s one. The one we brought inside, fed, and put in the box upstairs.” I try to hold her hand, but she pulls it away and looks to move upstairs. As if her running up stairs will assuage any anxiety that I may be creating. But she turns back, knowing that my explanation will be easier to understand than anything she may see up stairs in the box. I find this strange, because death is still a very foreign notion to her, so what could she possible think could have happened to the kitten.
“He didn’t make it through the night pumpkin.” Silence. I let the idea sink in. She is motionless. More needs to be said.
“Did he died?” She is looking straight at my eyes not for confirmation, but understanding.
“Yes he did. Do you know what that means?” She is motionless. More needs to be said. She shakes her head.
“It means that he will not wake up anymore. He is done with his body.”
“Where did he go?”
“Well that is the most amazing part. Do you want me to show you?” The excitement is building. Death need not be an ending.
We are standing outside near the hole and the stiff kitten. The shovel leaning against the tree. Her fuzzy white pajamas appear so foreign against the mud, the grave, and the dead animal at which she gazes. There is so much I want to tell her. I want to explain to her the notion of existence beyond birth and death. The power ot letting go of attachments, the beauty of impermanence.
“You see Kaia, nothing ever really dies.” She doesn’t seem to believe me. She looks at the corpse and back at me, as if to say that orange ball of fur looks pretty dead to me.
“Remember yesterday when we were talking about how some animals eat dead thing and poop.” Yesterday in the car we were talking about maggots and insects. Don’t ask.
“You mean the baby flies like caterpillars, but for flies not butterflies.” She is an excellent listener.
“Exactly! Remember we said that they are very important because they help move things through nature.” She is staring at the cat. I need a new approach.
“Let’s look at these roots.” I hunch down and grab a set of exposed roots from the mango tree at the base of which we have dug our hole. She gets down near the mud as well.
“Do you see these roots and these ants? “ She nods her head. Affirmative.
“They are all part of nature. Those flowers, the grass, the clouds, even the sun is all part of nature. Can you show me anything else that is a part of nature?”
“The mud?”
“Exactly, that is a very important part,”
“Are we part of nature?” She interrupts.
“Of course we are. Good one. What about the kitty?”
“But the kitty is died.”
“That is okay. Things that have died are still a part of nature. They are actually very important parts as well. You see, they help feed everything else. We are going to put that kitty into this hole so he can help feed our garden. His body will slowly become part of these ants and this tree. It will become part of the soil and some of those flowers.”
“The kitty will turn into a flower?”
“Exactly!” She is motionless. Nothing more needs to be said.
I place the kitten into the hole and quickly bury him beneath the dirt. We stare in silence as I pat down the mound with my foot.
“See, the kitty is not gone, he has just entered nature.”
“What does entered mean, daddy?”
“He is now part of our garden.” Silence.
“But I really wanted to keep him Daddy.” Her lip is quivering and her eyes tear up. The lesson on attachment and impermanence will have to wait.
“I know you did, sweetheart. I know you did.”
A underdeveloped pouch of skin and bones, made stiff, emptied, extinguished before any muscles could form. His mouth is snarled open revealing a set of tiny useless teeth. The two eyes encrusted with infection and sealed shut, seem to be miraculously staring straight into the newly dug hole. A mob of ants crawl, uncharacteristically about the hole, out of formation, as if they are expecting the body. I quietly monitor their sinister motives, until I remember their role. I go inside to get Kaia.
I want her to see this. I want her to be a part of this. I want her to understand that death is a part of life. I want her to understand. I will not hide the dead kitten and make up some clap trap about heaven and lie to her about the need of some mythical creator to have his kitty back. I respect her too much for that. There is nothing scary or sad about death when seen through the eyes and heart of mother nature.
Inside she is still asleep in bed. She is so precious lying amongst the sheets, her porcelain skin flush with life. I rethink my thoughts on the gravity and sadness of death as I see her lying there so full of life even when asleep. I don’t want to wake her. I don’t want to take her into the yard and show her the tiny kitten we rescued just yesterday. I don’t want her to see the lifeless body and process what that means in her tiny brain, but I know I must.
“Kaia? Sweety, it’s time to get up.” Nothing she is motionless.
“I have something important to tell you. Can you hear me? You really need to wake up. Okay?” She begins to rustle. A tight stretch. Rubbing of the eyes. Consciousness.
“Open your eyes and sit up okay? This is serious.” She springs up and releases a massive yawn. Her cheeks are stained red and scarred with pillow marks. Her hair a tangled wildness.
“Good morning Sweetheart! Are you awake? I have to tell you something that might make you sad.” She is instantly awake. Somehow exited by the possibility of sadness or an emotion that may overwhelm her. I am wondering if this is the best idea.
“Remember the kitty we found in the yard yesterday?”
“The one with the hurt eyes that the mommy left behind?” Her voice is pure and uncontaminated by anything that is not innocence.
“Yeah, that’s one. The one we brought inside, fed, and put in the box upstairs.” I try to hold her hand, but she pulls it away and looks to move upstairs. As if her running up stairs will assuage any anxiety that I may be creating. But she turns back, knowing that my explanation will be easier to understand than anything she may see up stairs in the box. I find this strange, because death is still a very foreign notion to her, so what could she possible think could have happened to the kitten.
“He didn’t make it through the night pumpkin.” Silence. I let the idea sink in. She is motionless. More needs to be said.
“Did he died?” She is looking straight at my eyes not for confirmation, but understanding.
“Yes he did. Do you know what that means?” She is motionless. More needs to be said. She shakes her head.
“It means that he will not wake up anymore. He is done with his body.”
“Where did he go?”
“Well that is the most amazing part. Do you want me to show you?” The excitement is building. Death need not be an ending.
We are standing outside near the hole and the stiff kitten. The shovel leaning against the tree. Her fuzzy white pajamas appear so foreign against the mud, the grave, and the dead animal at which she gazes. There is so much I want to tell her. I want to explain to her the notion of existence beyond birth and death. The power ot letting go of attachments, the beauty of impermanence.
“You see Kaia, nothing ever really dies.” She doesn’t seem to believe me. She looks at the corpse and back at me, as if to say that orange ball of fur looks pretty dead to me.
“Remember yesterday when we were talking about how some animals eat dead thing and poop.” Yesterday in the car we were talking about maggots and insects. Don’t ask.
“You mean the baby flies like caterpillars, but for flies not butterflies.” She is an excellent listener.
“Exactly! Remember we said that they are very important because they help move things through nature.” She is staring at the cat. I need a new approach.
“Let’s look at these roots.” I hunch down and grab a set of exposed roots from the mango tree at the base of which we have dug our hole. She gets down near the mud as well.
“Do you see these roots and these ants? “ She nods her head. Affirmative.
“They are all part of nature. Those flowers, the grass, the clouds, even the sun is all part of nature. Can you show me anything else that is a part of nature?”
“The mud?”
“Exactly, that is a very important part,”
“Are we part of nature?” She interrupts.
“Of course we are. Good one. What about the kitty?”
“But the kitty is died.”
“That is okay. Things that have died are still a part of nature. They are actually very important parts as well. You see, they help feed everything else. We are going to put that kitty into this hole so he can help feed our garden. His body will slowly become part of these ants and this tree. It will become part of the soil and some of those flowers.”
“The kitty will turn into a flower?”
“Exactly!” She is motionless. Nothing more needs to be said.
I place the kitten into the hole and quickly bury him beneath the dirt. We stare in silence as I pat down the mound with my foot.
“See, the kitty is not gone, he has just entered nature.”
“What does entered mean, daddy?”
“He is now part of our garden.” Silence.
“But I really wanted to keep him Daddy.” Her lip is quivering and her eyes tear up. The lesson on attachment and impermanence will have to wait.
“I know you did, sweetheart. I know you did.”
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Everyday I Write The Book
It has been my intention from the beginning to write about the process of writing my book, but the actually writing of it has superseded this meta look at the process. I started on September and I am only about 30 pages, 17,000 words in, but that is okay because I feel I have a good writing routine going. Like a good runner, I have a routine and am trying to stay on it. I don’t give myself too many outs, and I break up my training. I am writing everyday. This is what it looks like: During the week, I work on the book for at least an hour a day. I take a break from the book on the weekends to write blog posts. I hope to write at least one professional and one personal blog a week. The blogging has become like a treat for my dedication to the book. You know you are in a good place when you reward yourself for writing with more writing. ( I was just amazed how much faster my typing has become, another benefit of writing daily.)
Some nights are more productive then others, but I feel it is vital that I dedicate at least an hour a day. I may be over writing the first draft a bit at times, especially when I spend over an hour on one paragraph, but the sculpting of the words comes naturally, so I am going with it. I want to try to write more and faster for the next month to give the story some girth. I am starting to see some common themes emerging. Just today, I moved the manuscript from Word to Scrivner, which has allowed me to start sorting ideas into chapters, scenes etc…
The book itself is not a novel or a memoir, but something in between. As of now it is a series of first person, present tense scenes, images of various events in my life. I am a bit worried because many of the scenes are alone in my head, and need some texture and conflict. I am aware of this, though I am not sure how to add that in. The book is a look at memory and how the fleeting nature of our existence is often replaced by fiction. Basically, we don’t remember much, and what we forget we recreate and call it life. Basically, I am writing about the most important events in my life, call it a life, and then I want to go back and fill in the scenes with fiction. Perhaps add characters, change events, tweak it and see what happens. I want to rewrite my life. Basically, I am writing the skeleton based on facts, and muscling it with fiction.
At this stage, I not too worried about structure. I will wait until there is more there, but the move to Scrivner tonight helped me begin to see the book as a whole, and I hope to start identifying themes and motifs in the coming weeks..
I have really been enjoying this process. This routine seems to be working for me, because I never feel like the writing is a chore. My mind is constantly thinking of something to spew out. Every night after the kids go to bed, I strap on the headphones and lose myself in music, my words, my head. It can be a chaotic place at times, but the writing helps to give it sense and order. I have recently discovered The Social Network soundtrack by Trent Reznor; I feel this album was made for writing. It pulsates and pushes me to the limits.
Some questions:
Some nights are more productive then others, but I feel it is vital that I dedicate at least an hour a day. I may be over writing the first draft a bit at times, especially when I spend over an hour on one paragraph, but the sculpting of the words comes naturally, so I am going with it. I want to try to write more and faster for the next month to give the story some girth. I am starting to see some common themes emerging. Just today, I moved the manuscript from Word to Scrivner, which has allowed me to start sorting ideas into chapters, scenes etc…
 |
| image by Gonzalo Barrientos |
At this stage, I not too worried about structure. I will wait until there is more there, but the move to Scrivner tonight helped me begin to see the book as a whole, and I hope to start identifying themes and motifs in the coming weeks..
I have really been enjoying this process. This routine seems to be working for me, because I never feel like the writing is a chore. My mind is constantly thinking of something to spew out. Every night after the kids go to bed, I strap on the headphones and lose myself in music, my words, my head. It can be a chaotic place at times, but the writing helps to give it sense and order. I have recently discovered The Social Network soundtrack by Trent Reznor; I feel this album was made for writing. It pulsates and pushes me to the limits.
Some questions:
- Of course I think my life is interesting, but why would anyone else care? After a session,I am often worrying why anyone would care about my life:
- What aspects of a life, anyones, do you think are worth examining?
- Do you prefer being in the narrator’s head, or by seeing the world that surrounds him/her?
- Any other advice would be appreciated.
Thursday, November 04, 2010
Freedom a Review
It feels quite ostentatious of me, a lowly blogger and teacher, to review of a five hundred plus page novel written by one of my favorite writers of all time, but alas we are in the digitally communal age where everyone’s thoughts matter, and I suppose that also applies to me.
I can’t think of too many things I enjoy more than writing about books, unless you count music, so it is with pleasure and gusto I take on this task. For the most part my review of Jonathan Franzen’s latest novel Freedom is nothing but glowing, but I do afford myself the audacity to take a few jabs at the areas of plot. See what I mean? Feels brazen and sacrilegious doesn’t it? But let us begin:
Franzen’s novel is a return to the sweeping grand classic novels ala Tolstoy and Steinbeck, but set in the modern age. Characters as complex and complicated as any in Anna Karenina seep into the readers psyche and take root. Sometimes deadly accurate, sometimes distorted, these characters, like mirrors, reveal to the reader our collective human condition. Freedom is a case study in character development. It should be used at universities across the land as a manual on how to create story through character development.
From the start, Franzen creates characters that are both agreeable and dysfunctional. As each chapters passes, we learn more about each character and their relationships with each other, as well as their relationships to the world. This review is not meant to be a deep analysis or play-by-play of the novel; it is too wide in scope and depth for that. It is enough to say that there are few parts if any, in this book that leave the reader disengaged. Like a film, you never want to end, Franzen moves us back and forth through time to truly understand what motivates people to care or not care, to act or to stay static. He not only monitors and transcribes the evolution of the people in the story, but also sheds light on the frustrations of how families and individuals deal with regression and indifference.
His characters are at times fragile, tender, and approachable, but can suddenly show their human weaknesses and become shallow and petty. Each character is a pendulum swinging back and forth between a series of dialectics: happiness and grief; peace and rage; understanding and ignorance. In short, Franzen acutely illustrates the fact that none of us are truly ever the same. Human beings are creatures in constant flux. The instability of individual personalities becomes amplified when we are put on collision courses with each other, even in the most apparently stable of situations- family.
This is the type of book you can’t put down, but don’t want to read too quickly for fear of missing something or worse reaching the end. Well paced and skillfully written, Franzen keeps the reader engaged throughout the novel not only with his intricate characters, but also through the use of powerful imagery. These images are not painted form the traditional palette of setting, but rather brought forth in the guise of emotion. The reader becomes lost in the elaborate emotional landscapes that Franzen paints with his expert hand.
Surprisingly, it was the plot of Freedom that was the least interesting. It feels as if Franzen was trying too hard to create a novel that was making social commentary. His critiques on the current state of politics, the environment, and social media felt forced and clichéd. It read like a liberal handbook, and as a liberal, I had little use for it. It would have served him better to simply spend another 1000 pages allowing us to wallow around the heads of the characters. This trite use of current issues, however, should not discourage anyone to read this novel. I am sadden it is over, and I will miss the Bergulands terribly.
I can’t think of too many things I enjoy more than writing about books, unless you count music, so it is with pleasure and gusto I take on this task. For the most part my review of Jonathan Franzen’s latest novel Freedom is nothing but glowing, but I do afford myself the audacity to take a few jabs at the areas of plot. See what I mean? Feels brazen and sacrilegious doesn’t it? But let us begin:
Franzen’s novel is a return to the sweeping grand classic novels ala Tolstoy and Steinbeck, but set in the modern age. Characters as complex and complicated as any in Anna Karenina seep into the readers psyche and take root. Sometimes deadly accurate, sometimes distorted, these characters, like mirrors, reveal to the reader our collective human condition. Freedom is a case study in character development. It should be used at universities across the land as a manual on how to create story through character development.
From the start, Franzen creates characters that are both agreeable and dysfunctional. As each chapters passes, we learn more about each character and their relationships with each other, as well as their relationships to the world. This review is not meant to be a deep analysis or play-by-play of the novel; it is too wide in scope and depth for that. It is enough to say that there are few parts if any, in this book that leave the reader disengaged. Like a film, you never want to end, Franzen moves us back and forth through time to truly understand what motivates people to care or not care, to act or to stay static. He not only monitors and transcribes the evolution of the people in the story, but also sheds light on the frustrations of how families and individuals deal with regression and indifference.
His characters are at times fragile, tender, and approachable, but can suddenly show their human weaknesses and become shallow and petty. Each character is a pendulum swinging back and forth between a series of dialectics: happiness and grief; peace and rage; understanding and ignorance. In short, Franzen acutely illustrates the fact that none of us are truly ever the same. Human beings are creatures in constant flux. The instability of individual personalities becomes amplified when we are put on collision courses with each other, even in the most apparently stable of situations- family.
This is the type of book you can’t put down, but don’t want to read too quickly for fear of missing something or worse reaching the end. Well paced and skillfully written, Franzen keeps the reader engaged throughout the novel not only with his intricate characters, but also through the use of powerful imagery. These images are not painted form the traditional palette of setting, but rather brought forth in the guise of emotion. The reader becomes lost in the elaborate emotional landscapes that Franzen paints with his expert hand.
Surprisingly, it was the plot of Freedom that was the least interesting. It feels as if Franzen was trying too hard to create a novel that was making social commentary. His critiques on the current state of politics, the environment, and social media felt forced and clichéd. It read like a liberal handbook, and as a liberal, I had little use for it. It would have served him better to simply spend another 1000 pages allowing us to wallow around the heads of the characters. This trite use of current issues, however, should not discourage anyone to read this novel. I am sadden it is over, and I will miss the Bergulands terribly.
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