standing in an alleyway
broken yellow bicycles and spewing
air conditioning units.
a warm brown beer in a plastic cup
leftover from last night,
talking climate change
and the end of the world.
we’re genetically programmed
to eat the weak he says
right after he points out a few
planets on an app on his phone.
we eat.
we drink
we laugh.
discuss the encroaching darkness
as if it has not already devoured us.
out of a cab. alone on a sidewalk.
that sad song that keeps me tethered
to the loneliness at my core.
i feel a warm pulse of love
a gentle whisper of hopefulness.
the moon in chunks behind some mist.
we are here and breathing
and dreaming toward peace.
there is nothing we won’t overcome.
there is nothing we won’t outlast.
beyond the alleyway
the sidewalk leads home.
Showing posts with label Happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Happiness. Show all posts
December 16, 2021
350/365
June 23, 2021
174/365
the warm sun melt
on his arm as he carves
images from the clouds.
a cycle to the latest local
place for corn fritters,
grilled halloumi,
and a latte that could be sweeter.
an effortless conversation
with his wife:
what else is there to say after
seventeen years? the familiarity
comforting and not suffocating
on this monday morning in june.
let the influencers
name the latest trends,
find the most extreme adventures,
fill the gaping holes.
he’s got an appointment
to remove a cyst from his face
at two, an hour with a novel,
pool time, a nap, another meal,
a few stolen hugs and kisses
from his growing girls
and another night in the warm
embrace of domesticity
and a comfortable bed.
this life-
an unrealsitic fantasy
for so many,
just another facile routine
at forty seven.
March 21, 2021
80/365
spoke to a friend in korea
this morning, it was time
to move beyond idle chit chat
texts and animated gifs.
later my mom called
on her usual sunday call,
it was persian new year,
and her hair is longer
and looks cute,
and i told her so.
grabbed a beer and two gin and tonics
with a friend at happy hour,
he just had surgery,
i caught him up on work,
and we talked about students.
my dad called in the evening,
he’s finally retired but still
engineering from home,
he’s watching nature shows and
contemplating a new drawing.
“how are you?” each one of them asked.
“what are you up to?”
reading everyday.
watching lots of movies.
getting better at guitar.
trying to sprout avocado plants.
monitoring the hummingbird nest.
singing in a band.
loving my students and what I teach.
being lazy with the running.
tracking free agency.
wondering if the beard is out of control.
trying to come to terms with peace
and domesticity.
safe.
healthy.
happy.
“not much,” I say.
“life is pretty good.”
February 13, 2021
44/365
cycled to the
neighbourhood italian place
to share a bottle of wine
with friends,
while nursing a headache.
chit chatter
and lemonchello,
a cool
breeze
the perfect companion
home.
how many moments
of joy must we collect,
before we call off the search
and confess to a lifetime
of happiness?
middle aged
contentment and equanimity
have seldom been
the muse for worthwhile poems.
but they keep falling into my lap
and all i can do is gather them
in my pocket,
until the day i might need
things as simple as:
wine.
breezes.
bikes.
placid platitudes
and peace.
December 18, 2016
Spriral
People like happy pictures of happy people doing happy things. You go out. You spend time with your loved ones. You take photos. You post them. People like them and everyone is happy and festive and all life is good.
There is nothing wrong with this. On the contrary happiness feels good and is contagious and it is a breath of fresh air when you are tired and unhappy. You laugh. You smile. You tell stories. You drink a Bloody Mary for brunch. You nap. You have margaritas at dinner.
This was my day. Kids opened presents. I got over my anxiety of kids opening too many presents. I let it ride this time and absorbed my discomfort, until now when I let it out in this small burp-like complaint.
We looked at flowers. We ate. We walked around. I read. I slept. Every few hours I reminded everyone that we were on holiday.
I have a bit of a head ache and a low range buzz at the moment. The good parts of the day were wrapped in The Wall (I’ve got wild starin’ eyes…) and that is the nature of reality. It is good and bad and everything in between, like a spiral every minute, every day.
There is nothing wrong with this. On the contrary happiness feels good and is contagious and it is a breath of fresh air when you are tired and unhappy. You laugh. You smile. You tell stories. You drink a Bloody Mary for brunch. You nap. You have margaritas at dinner.
This was my day. Kids opened presents. I got over my anxiety of kids opening too many presents. I let it ride this time and absorbed my discomfort, until now when I let it out in this small burp-like complaint.
We looked at flowers. We ate. We walked around. I read. I slept. Every few hours I reminded everyone that we were on holiday.
I have a bit of a head ache and a low range buzz at the moment. The good parts of the day were wrapped in The Wall (I’ve got wild starin’ eyes…) and that is the nature of reality. It is good and bad and everything in between, like a spiral every minute, every day.
December 11, 2016
Season of Love
Because I can’t yet drive and because Mairin’s parents are here and because our car is small and because we are out-and-about all over town, Skye has been sitting on my lap in the front seat. Our cheeks are very close and all day long I have been stealing kisses. She has been burying her head into the crux of my shoulder, and the soft skin on her cheeks reminds me of when she was a baby. I subtly inhaled her smell and squeezed her as we drove from meal to meal.
As I was petting the cat on the bed today, I noticed that her front tooth was brown and chipped and aged. I always thought that she was indestructible and ageless, but further investigation revealed that she is missing quite a few teeth. She is fourteen (72 in human years) and so it makes sense that he body is deteriorating. Mairin immediately went out and bought her some soft wet food. She scarfed it down and seemed to enjoy the novelty of something new at her age. We could all wish for something little like that to bring us joy.
The afternoon was quiet and grey and ended with an early dinner at Chjimes. The weather was cool for Singapore, the lights festive, the food satisfying. I had few expectations for the day and it lived up to them. Slow and steady. Undemanding in its nonchalance.
Sometimes it might be best, when the world is upside down and spiraling out of control, to hunker down and hug the middle, somewhere near the centrifuge and hold on for dear life.
August 30, 2016
Stretch of Hours
“She was tired of her journey through a day, the limitless moods contained in any stretch of hours.”
Dave Eggers
There is the dread of waking- the act of being birthed from the darkness into more darkness shocks him every morning a new. Could this be the day when his body quits, the heart stops, the brain seizes and refuses to move forward?
No. This is not that day. His thoughts begin to churn as soon as the sleep is wiped away, and he checks his stats. A few emails. Some likes. A love. A text from Jason. A scan of Time Hop makes him feel good about his past wisdom. Maybe all his thoughts, ensnared and enslaved after all these years will amount to something resembling a body of work. Or maybe, he should put the phone down and stop thinking for validation. He clears the little red notifications from his phone and slogs out into the world.
He sets the table and gets the waters as his wife, who has been up for almost an hour, finishes making breakfast. He thinks about her devotion as a mother and wife and friend and quietly nurses his appreciation. He thinks that he should tell her more often that he loves and appreciates her, but even thinking about it makes him feel awkward. He will write about it tonight and hopefully she will read it. He knows this is not enough, but he has always felt more comfortable sitting behind the wall of words. He can write anything. Project it to anyone, but a simple thank you for making breakfast everyday to his wife, feels forced and strange. He is not proud of his behaviour. He tends his slight shame as he heads off to wake the kids.
They are tired and still sleepy, but they know the routine. They will sit at the table and need to be done by six-thirty for showers. He reminds them to eat or take a bite every 5 minutes while he gently strums his guitar. "This one could be a song," he says, finding a groove. His youngest starts to sing a melody and he is blown away by her love of music. It feels like this love was passed down from his father onto this tiny child and now it has exploded exponentially. He knows that even if he has done everything else wrong in the parenting of his children- they love music and books, and this is enough. Breakfast done. He washes the dishes and is off to the shower.
This is one of the only times in the day that he is alone. He takes time to enjoy the smell of the lavender soap and shampoo. He washes his face with peach facial scrub. The grit of the pit exfoliates his face. His face is often covered with black-heads. He wishes his face was cleaner. Perhaps a facial, but really he doesn’t care that much. He has started to wash his face and after forty-two years this feels like a feat.
Getting dressed, he is disappointed in his ability to shop. He wanted to buy a more expressive work wardrobe this summer, but his hatred of shopping made him ineffectual at the factory outlet stores. He puts on a pair of red Gap khakis and a plaid shirt. A pair of vans caps off the professional yet “young” look that he settles for. He wishes that he paid more time, money and attention to what he wears, but at this point in his life his wardrobe is a routine. Cargo shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops on the weekends. Khakis, plaid shirt and Vans for work.
Then he waits. The rest of the family showers and gets ready. He reads on the couch and waits to see if the little one will tantrum today. She doesn’t. She is in a very good mood and pleasant and the day starts on good note. They leave the house on time and no one is stressed by being late to a meeting. The car ride is quiet. No music. Little conversation. He admires the sunrise and the greenery on the Singaporean freeway. This really is a beautiful city he thinks to himself, as he curses a driver who refuses to acknowledge his turn signal.
At school, he jokes with some kids. Says hello to peers. Smiles. Prepares the mask and starts his day. He wonders if other people could be crumbling inside at any moment of the day. He is actually in a great mood, so the professionalism is sincere. In his room he lights the lamps and explores his calendar. This looks like a manageable day. No surprises. He covers a mentor class and has fun with kids. No matter what else might be happening in his life, he knows that the time he spends with young people will always nurture his spirit. There is nothing better than spending time with kids in a classroom.
He talks to eleven year olds about the Political, Environmental, Economic and Societal lens with which they might look at the events of their lives. He shares the stories of his life as mentor text, and they seem surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. He tells them about his parents divorce and his inability to make friends in middle school. He prides himself on his ability to cut through bullshit and say what needs to be said. He knows that we are all boomerangs of emotion on the inside and even within the hour we can be burned alive only to rise from the ashes.
Lunch is quiet and fast. Salad again. The giant bean sprouts add a crunch that he enjoys, but they do not take place of the Jalapeño peppers, the salad bar hasn’t had in a week. Lunch duty on the field. This might kill him. It is hot and humid and he fights to stay awake. The boys play soccer and he thinks about how much he hates that game. He would rather watch them do anything else. Running back and forth, how can they get so much joy from something so inane?
Back in his room, the lights are low and the music helps him get through a To-Do list- set this week’s meeting agenda, write the eBrief, create next week’s mentor presentation, start thinking about the parent coffee morning, answer emails. Check. Check. Check. This isn’t teaching, but he convinces himself that it is benefiting learning. He actually likes it. He likes it a lot. Could he be a principal someday? Is that something he wants? Is it too soon to think such foolish things? He’s pretty sure he is doing a good job. People tell him he is, but he is not so sure himself. Next class. More kids. He will find is flow. His balance.
After school, he designs an activity on Pages. Making sure that the colors look good and the fonts are right. He prides himself on making pretty, useful things. His daughter does her homework as fast as she can and then reads.
He knows he will not run today, even though he should. He promises himself to get started next week, or the week after, after all the craziness of going home settles down. Instead, he shares some fries, a coke and apple pie with his daughter on the way home. He feels gross, but filled with joy as they drive home.
On the bed….rest the eyes a bit. oh no. Get up. Set the dinner table. Eat. Everyone is pleasant and has had good days.
This is life. This is family. This is all there is and it is more than he ever dreamed he deserved.
Bed time goes smoothly. Kaia is working through sleep issues, but has a good night. He finishes off a few things from the to-do list like a machine. Copying and pasting, opening and closing tabs, creating- emails, agendas, presentations. Click. Click. Write. Done.
And now…Iron and Wine feels too slow for the pace of his clickity clackity fingers, but the AC is blowing sweet cool air and the one glass of wine taste perfect. He will go to bed before ten and read the latest novel by one of his favorite authors. He loves the language and the things that it motivates him to do.
Then he will live tomorrow.
Dave Eggers
There is the dread of waking- the act of being birthed from the darkness into more darkness shocks him every morning a new. Could this be the day when his body quits, the heart stops, the brain seizes and refuses to move forward?
No. This is not that day. His thoughts begin to churn as soon as the sleep is wiped away, and he checks his stats. A few emails. Some likes. A love. A text from Jason. A scan of Time Hop makes him feel good about his past wisdom. Maybe all his thoughts, ensnared and enslaved after all these years will amount to something resembling a body of work. Or maybe, he should put the phone down and stop thinking for validation. He clears the little red notifications from his phone and slogs out into the world.
He sets the table and gets the waters as his wife, who has been up for almost an hour, finishes making breakfast. He thinks about her devotion as a mother and wife and friend and quietly nurses his appreciation. He thinks that he should tell her more often that he loves and appreciates her, but even thinking about it makes him feel awkward. He will write about it tonight and hopefully she will read it. He knows this is not enough, but he has always felt more comfortable sitting behind the wall of words. He can write anything. Project it to anyone, but a simple thank you for making breakfast everyday to his wife, feels forced and strange. He is not proud of his behaviour. He tends his slight shame as he heads off to wake the kids.
They are tired and still sleepy, but they know the routine. They will sit at the table and need to be done by six-thirty for showers. He reminds them to eat or take a bite every 5 minutes while he gently strums his guitar. "This one could be a song," he says, finding a groove. His youngest starts to sing a melody and he is blown away by her love of music. It feels like this love was passed down from his father onto this tiny child and now it has exploded exponentially. He knows that even if he has done everything else wrong in the parenting of his children- they love music and books, and this is enough. Breakfast done. He washes the dishes and is off to the shower.
This is one of the only times in the day that he is alone. He takes time to enjoy the smell of the lavender soap and shampoo. He washes his face with peach facial scrub. The grit of the pit exfoliates his face. His face is often covered with black-heads. He wishes his face was cleaner. Perhaps a facial, but really he doesn’t care that much. He has started to wash his face and after forty-two years this feels like a feat.
Getting dressed, he is disappointed in his ability to shop. He wanted to buy a more expressive work wardrobe this summer, but his hatred of shopping made him ineffectual at the factory outlet stores. He puts on a pair of red Gap khakis and a plaid shirt. A pair of vans caps off the professional yet “young” look that he settles for. He wishes that he paid more time, money and attention to what he wears, but at this point in his life his wardrobe is a routine. Cargo shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops on the weekends. Khakis, plaid shirt and Vans for work.
Then he waits. The rest of the family showers and gets ready. He reads on the couch and waits to see if the little one will tantrum today. She doesn’t. She is in a very good mood and pleasant and the day starts on good note. They leave the house on time and no one is stressed by being late to a meeting. The car ride is quiet. No music. Little conversation. He admires the sunrise and the greenery on the Singaporean freeway. This really is a beautiful city he thinks to himself, as he curses a driver who refuses to acknowledge his turn signal.
At school, he jokes with some kids. Says hello to peers. Smiles. Prepares the mask and starts his day. He wonders if other people could be crumbling inside at any moment of the day. He is actually in a great mood, so the professionalism is sincere. In his room he lights the lamps and explores his calendar. This looks like a manageable day. No surprises. He covers a mentor class and has fun with kids. No matter what else might be happening in his life, he knows that the time he spends with young people will always nurture his spirit. There is nothing better than spending time with kids in a classroom.
He talks to eleven year olds about the Political, Environmental, Economic and Societal lens with which they might look at the events of their lives. He shares the stories of his life as mentor text, and they seem surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. He tells them about his parents divorce and his inability to make friends in middle school. He prides himself on his ability to cut through bullshit and say what needs to be said. He knows that we are all boomerangs of emotion on the inside and even within the hour we can be burned alive only to rise from the ashes.
Lunch is quiet and fast. Salad again. The giant bean sprouts add a crunch that he enjoys, but they do not take place of the Jalapeño peppers, the salad bar hasn’t had in a week. Lunch duty on the field. This might kill him. It is hot and humid and he fights to stay awake. The boys play soccer and he thinks about how much he hates that game. He would rather watch them do anything else. Running back and forth, how can they get so much joy from something so inane?
Back in his room, the lights are low and the music helps him get through a To-Do list- set this week’s meeting agenda, write the eBrief, create next week’s mentor presentation, start thinking about the parent coffee morning, answer emails. Check. Check. Check. This isn’t teaching, but he convinces himself that it is benefiting learning. He actually likes it. He likes it a lot. Could he be a principal someday? Is that something he wants? Is it too soon to think such foolish things? He’s pretty sure he is doing a good job. People tell him he is, but he is not so sure himself. Next class. More kids. He will find is flow. His balance.
After school, he designs an activity on Pages. Making sure that the colors look good and the fonts are right. He prides himself on making pretty, useful things. His daughter does her homework as fast as she can and then reads.
He knows he will not run today, even though he should. He promises himself to get started next week, or the week after, after all the craziness of going home settles down. Instead, he shares some fries, a coke and apple pie with his daughter on the way home. He feels gross, but filled with joy as they drive home.
On the bed….rest the eyes a bit. oh no. Get up. Set the dinner table. Eat. Everyone is pleasant and has had good days.
This is life. This is family. This is all there is and it is more than he ever dreamed he deserved.
Bed time goes smoothly. Kaia is working through sleep issues, but has a good night. He finishes off a few things from the to-do list like a machine. Copying and pasting, opening and closing tabs, creating- emails, agendas, presentations. Click. Click. Write. Done.
And now…Iron and Wine feels too slow for the pace of his clickity clackity fingers, but the AC is blowing sweet cool air and the one glass of wine taste perfect. He will go to bed before ten and read the latest novel by one of his favorite authors. He loves the language and the things that it motivates him to do.
Then he will live tomorrow.
July 26, 2016
Celebration
The story of today will not, cannot, be written in one night, and especially not tonight. One could only live it right the first time and leave the writing of it for a later date. So this post is a promissory note of telling the story of today at some point in the future.- and of course that is what every story wants: retelling.
There were mountains and coffees and intersecting eco-systems. The squealing of kids and the shaking from snow. Long windy roads and roadside tree stops. A brewery called Wander with a food truck that had a wood pizza oven.
Went on a long hike with Ari where we discussed things that need too be discussed between friends after six years apart. We witness an epic sunset. Came home had a beer, some chocolate cake and now sleep.
It was a pretty spectacular twelve hours.
Grateful and feeling celebratory.
There were mountains and coffees and intersecting eco-systems. The squealing of kids and the shaking from snow. Long windy roads and roadside tree stops. A brewery called Wander with a food truck that had a wood pizza oven.
Went on a long hike with Ari where we discussed things that need too be discussed between friends after six years apart. We witness an epic sunset. Came home had a beer, some chocolate cake and now sleep.
It was a pretty spectacular twelve hours.
Grateful and feeling celebratory.
April 1, 2016
Sun Deck and Below
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I posted several photos of our amazing day today, but I like to think that nothing says a thousand words better than a thousands words, so here we go-
I am not sure what inspired me to become a certified diver. It is not like I was on some tropical holiday and was suddenly overcome by a whim to start a course. No. It was actually November. San Francisco was cold and wet and rainy and since this was the period before the Internet, I must have used the Yellow Pages to find a dive school, somewhere South of Market. As a student and a waiter, I was not in the habit of spending $500+ on anything let alone some weird hobby, but nonetheless I signed up for the Open Diver course and on a drive home from Tahoe with Jason we stopped at a dive shop in Terra Linda and I bought a mask & snorkel and a set of fins, ready for my first pool class a week later.
I remember riding my bike in the cold wet rain only to crawl into a full wet suit for pool sessions. All the classes were at night, and I seem to remember being alone for most of the sessions. The final dives were in Monterrey a few weeks later and just like that I was a certified diver. None of my initial dives were particularly fun or even interesting, but there was something about neutral buoyancy and the ocean that had me hooked. I quickly added some fish/bird ink on my arms and I was ready to head to Peace Corps and Mozambique. Little did I know that once in African, I would experience some of my best diving- seeing whale sharks and mantas rays. I would earn my advance certification which included deep and night dives in Lake Malawi.
I took a bit of a diving break while we lived in NYC, but Mairin and I were quickly back in the ocean as soon as we moved to Malaysia. We dove on Costa Rica, Mauritius, Sipadan and every other island holiday we went on.
Until the dive holidays came to a halt on July 8th 2006. With two kids, diving felt like a selfish all day activity that only one of us could enjoy. But today, I saw into a window to our future. One where in just a few years, not only can we return to diving holidays, but we can dive as a family.
Kaia was a natural. After some initial nervousness, she was social on deck talking to her instructor, as well as the salty tanned tattooed German diver telling her about the sea life in the area. I watched on deck as she made her way around the boat. I watched from above (I was snorkeling) as she dove with her instructor. And I listened to her on the sun deck on the ride back as she told me how much she wants to live the island life and lead dives. It was great to see so many young women role models as instructors. I always love when she sees confident women doing what they love.
From here on I can let the photos do most of the talking. I hope they show that today was one of the better days I have ever had in my life.
I am not sure what inspired me to become a certified diver. It is not like I was on some tropical holiday and was suddenly overcome by a whim to start a course. No. It was actually November. San Francisco was cold and wet and rainy and since this was the period before the Internet, I must have used the Yellow Pages to find a dive school, somewhere South of Market. As a student and a waiter, I was not in the habit of spending $500+ on anything let alone some weird hobby, but nonetheless I signed up for the Open Diver course and on a drive home from Tahoe with Jason we stopped at a dive shop in Terra Linda and I bought a mask & snorkel and a set of fins, ready for my first pool class a week later.
I remember riding my bike in the cold wet rain only to crawl into a full wet suit for pool sessions. All the classes were at night, and I seem to remember being alone for most of the sessions. The final dives were in Monterrey a few weeks later and just like that I was a certified diver. None of my initial dives were particularly fun or even interesting, but there was something about neutral buoyancy and the ocean that had me hooked. I quickly added some fish/bird ink on my arms and I was ready to head to Peace Corps and Mozambique. Little did I know that once in African, I would experience some of my best diving- seeing whale sharks and mantas rays. I would earn my advance certification which included deep and night dives in Lake Malawi.
I took a bit of a diving break while we lived in NYC, but Mairin and I were quickly back in the ocean as soon as we moved to Malaysia. We dove on Costa Rica, Mauritius, Sipadan and every other island holiday we went on.
Until the dive holidays came to a halt on July 8th 2006. With two kids, diving felt like a selfish all day activity that only one of us could enjoy. But today, I saw into a window to our future. One where in just a few years, not only can we return to diving holidays, but we can dive as a family.
Kaia was a natural. After some initial nervousness, she was social on deck talking to her instructor, as well as the salty tanned tattooed German diver telling her about the sea life in the area. I watched on deck as she made her way around the boat. I watched from above (I was snorkeling) as she dove with her instructor. And I listened to her on the sun deck on the ride back as she told me how much she wants to live the island life and lead dives. It was great to see so many young women role models as instructors. I always love when she sees confident women doing what they love.
From here on I can let the photos do most of the talking. I hope they show that today was one of the better days I have ever had in my life.
December 11, 2013
Make The Grid Work For Me
I've been thinking again. Damn. Will it ever stop? Been thinking about creativity and nature and kids and toughness and grit. Been thinking about how to teach and learn about life while knowing that life can never be taught or learned. Been thinking about climbing mountains and escape, about digging-in and living. Been thinking about the state of my soul and the embarrassment I feel when I use the word soul publicly-- as if somehow the romantic sentimentality of the notion of an inner-spirit will lose me whatever elusive street-cred I falsely feel I have accrued.
These errant thoughts have roots in other fleeting thoughts. Like a cluster of tangled floating kites, my mind tries to untangle from itself, I hope that maybe someday soon I might land. Maybe take some time to unravel the lines and set them free. Free to float and become ensnared again.
Some knots I have been trying to untie: Can I fully live in the present moment, in the situation I have created and not perpetually be waiting for some alternative future? Can I enjoy nature in a city? Can I be creative while working a full-time job? Can I feed my sense of adventure and wanderlust with a family? I have been thinking about many of these things since the beginning of this term, but things have been coming to a head after reading The Circle by Dave Eggers, a student trip to Chiang Mai and most recently after watching 180 South.
Take a look:
After sharing my now predicable (cyclical) boredom with the Internet and humanity in general, Adrienne, suggested I take a year off and do something about my need to.... I am not even sure I can name it. The idea of taking a six month trip to (insert anywhere) sounds about as plausible as taking a trip to the moon.
So what? I just sit and stew?
From pretty early on in my childhood I have had contact with the Green Gulch Zen Center. And for just as long, I have admired and respected the beautiful kind people who live and work there. I have often contemplated what my life would look like, if I lived at a Zen monastery working on a farm and meditated every morning. And now, after watching 180 South, I am left contemplating what my life would like if I was some bearded mountain climbing, surfing adventurer. If I was single and had made some very different choices, perhaps I too could enjoy life affirming freedom and adventure by surfing off the coast of Easter Island, but that is not my reality.
I am the proud and happy father of two amazing kids, I have a job that I absolutely love and a wife and partner who loves and supports most of what I do, think and feel. My point being that I cannot just drop everything and move to a monastery or take a six month trip to Patagonia. Part of me has always thought of those lifestyles as a sort of cheating. I mean, anyone can be Zen master when surrounded by a sangha. But what about those of us, that for whatever reason are living "normal" lives? Are we to be deprived of the marrow of life, if we simply go about our business and raise families and do our jobs?
More questions: How does one bring Zen to daily life? How can I be adventurous while living in a city? How can one satiate a soul while bound my the trappings of a life consumed by materialism? Important questions? No? I have friends who are quitting their jobs to become Dive masters or Outdoor Ed facilitators. And I have nothing but respect for them and their choices, but apart from radically changing my life what can I do? I do not want to live off the grid, so how can I make the grid work for me?
I thought I had some ideas and more answers, but this post might just be a series of questions. Looking forward to some of your suggestions and thoughts. The comments are yours. Let me know what you think or wise friends.
These errant thoughts have roots in other fleeting thoughts. Like a cluster of tangled floating kites, my mind tries to untangle from itself, I hope that maybe someday soon I might land. Maybe take some time to unravel the lines and set them free. Free to float and become ensnared again.
Some knots I have been trying to untie: Can I fully live in the present moment, in the situation I have created and not perpetually be waiting for some alternative future? Can I enjoy nature in a city? Can I be creative while working a full-time job? Can I feed my sense of adventure and wanderlust with a family? I have been thinking about many of these things since the beginning of this term, but things have been coming to a head after reading The Circle by Dave Eggers, a student trip to Chiang Mai and most recently after watching 180 South.
Take a look:
After sharing my now predicable (cyclical) boredom with the Internet and humanity in general, Adrienne, suggested I take a year off and do something about my need to.... I am not even sure I can name it. The idea of taking a six month trip to (insert anywhere) sounds about as plausible as taking a trip to the moon.
So what? I just sit and stew?
From pretty early on in my childhood I have had contact with the Green Gulch Zen Center. And for just as long, I have admired and respected the beautiful kind people who live and work there. I have often contemplated what my life would look like, if I lived at a Zen monastery working on a farm and meditated every morning. And now, after watching 180 South, I am left contemplating what my life would like if I was some bearded mountain climbing, surfing adventurer. If I was single and had made some very different choices, perhaps I too could enjoy life affirming freedom and adventure by surfing off the coast of Easter Island, but that is not my reality.
I am the proud and happy father of two amazing kids, I have a job that I absolutely love and a wife and partner who loves and supports most of what I do, think and feel. My point being that I cannot just drop everything and move to a monastery or take a six month trip to Patagonia. Part of me has always thought of those lifestyles as a sort of cheating. I mean, anyone can be Zen master when surrounded by a sangha. But what about those of us, that for whatever reason are living "normal" lives? Are we to be deprived of the marrow of life, if we simply go about our business and raise families and do our jobs?
More questions: How does one bring Zen to daily life? How can I be adventurous while living in a city? How can one satiate a soul while bound my the trappings of a life consumed by materialism? Important questions? No? I have friends who are quitting their jobs to become Dive masters or Outdoor Ed facilitators. And I have nothing but respect for them and their choices, but apart from radically changing my life what can I do? I do not want to live off the grid, so how can I make the grid work for me?
I thought I had some ideas and more answers, but this post might just be a series of questions. Looking forward to some of your suggestions and thoughts. The comments are yours. Let me know what you think or wise friends.
June 15, 2012
The Honeymoon Stage
When people tell me they can't (don't) blog because they don't know what to say, or because they don't know where to start, I often flippantly riposte, "Don't worry too much. Just write." How rich that I have been in Singapore a few days, and still awkwardly teetering on the brink of my first post from The Lion City. Can't seem to find a starting point.
Trouble is that I want it to be just right. I want to be in the perfect mood. I've been waiting for the words to spill forth from somewhere inside me and dance into place. The longer I wait, however, they are becoming jumbled and congealing in the parts of my brain that need to be aired out for the summer. It's time to heed my own advice and let the words go.
I am happy. Simple. Right? The days are sunsoaked and everything flashes through bokeh tinted lenses. The days are long and warm and cloudless and melt into one another. It is summertime. It is perfect. I am happy. I can see some of you shaking your heads already--yes I imagine you individually and collectively reading these words--oh here he goes again-- painting the grass on his new side of the fence as green and verdant as we allow. Your accusing tone, may be hushed and whispering, but it is pronounced nonetheless, "He is projecting his needs onto a reality he has constructed to make himself think he is happy, but really he is choosing to ignore elements of Singapore that are similar to Jakarta or Doha, or all the other place he has griped about in the past."
I hear you. You are probably right, but I am happy. Did I mention the length and temperature of the days?
Trouble is that I want it to be just right. I want to be in the perfect mood. I've been waiting for the words to spill forth from somewhere inside me and dance into place. The longer I wait, however, they are becoming jumbled and congealing in the parts of my brain that need to be aired out for the summer. It's time to heed my own advice and let the words go.
I am happy. Simple. Right? The days are sunsoaked and everything flashes through bokeh tinted lenses. The days are long and warm and cloudless and melt into one another. It is summertime. It is perfect. I am happy. I can see some of you shaking your heads already--yes I imagine you individually and collectively reading these words--oh here he goes again-- painting the grass on his new side of the fence as green and verdant as we allow. Your accusing tone, may be hushed and whispering, but it is pronounced nonetheless, "He is projecting his needs onto a reality he has constructed to make himself think he is happy, but really he is choosing to ignore elements of Singapore that are similar to Jakarta or Doha, or all the other place he has griped about in the past."
I hear you. You are probably right, but I am happy. Did I mention the length and temperature of the days?
Don't get me wrong, I don't want my girls living in an unrealistic world, where they think the world is all perfectly manicured streets and efficient city planning, but at this point in their lives, I want parks and buses and sunny summer day walks. Am I petty for wanting these things for my kids? It sometimes feels like it. Happiness has always been the most awkward emotion for me. I have a difficult time de-tangling guilt from joy. Hard to smile when you feel like the spoiled expatriate roaming the world looking out for his family. What makes it worse is that said expatriate paints himself as some kind of champion for the oppressed. I never feel I deserve to have so much, when others have so little, but then have no qualms about enjoying it all anyway. Joy and guilt are so intertwined. Ahh....and this was going to be a post about happiness and contentment.
So what the hell am I trying to say? Honestly I have no idea. Maybe I should have waited until my thoughts were better sorted, before I started blabbering online. All I know is that every night, I sit at this machine, listen to some tunes, and listen to my mind as it begs to be heard. Most nights it is cheering and singing and smiling. Tonight was no different, but as you can see, once I got started I became side-tracked with the doubting, questioning, and dealing with guilt. I wanted to document this moment of joy as it is happening, but ended up tainting it with the other stuff too. Here is what I know at this moment: It is early June, summer, 2012, I am nearing my thirty-eighth year on this planet, and with all I have seen and done and felt in my life- I am happy.
So what the hell am I trying to say? Honestly I have no idea. Maybe I should have waited until my thoughts were better sorted, before I started blabbering online. All I know is that every night, I sit at this machine, listen to some tunes, and listen to my mind as it begs to be heard. Most nights it is cheering and singing and smiling. Tonight was no different, but as you can see, once I got started I became side-tracked with the doubting, questioning, and dealing with guilt. I wanted to document this moment of joy as it is happening, but ended up tainting it with the other stuff too. Here is what I know at this moment: It is early June, summer, 2012, I am nearing my thirty-eighth year on this planet, and with all I have seen and done and felt in my life- I am happy.
The colors feel vibrant.
The water tastes clean and the sun shines.
Everywhere I look this is what I see. (It is all painted with a golden brush)
Am I writing from the Honeymoon Stage? Of course, but please allow me at least a few days to swallow it all up. There it is- the first report from Singapore!
How do you deal with the guilt of being happy?
July 9, 2011
Primetime
I think I may be in my prime. I have felt this way before, like the time I was bungee jumping off a crane in a crowded Mexican square as Hell’s Angles types cheered from down below, or the time I was doing my deep dive in Lake Malawi, or maybe the time I was cruising the coastline of Southern France on a scooter--just wed and Asiabound. There have been many times that everything in my life has felt like a runaway zenith, but never before this summer have I felt so comfortable with the man staring back at me in the mirror.
Despite the good times, I can also recall the many moments where he was ill at ease in his skin. Sagging rings under his eyes, too thin and pale. Scratching so hard to get to the surface. Lying to himself that the bottom wasn’t so bad. Pretending the loneliness was romantic and the angst turned rage just another head of the muse.
But not today. Not this now. Everything seems to be swimming in flow. The ebbs surmountable. Even enjoyable. It feels as if everything up to now has been a direct path to this moment in time. A moment where the direction is clear--it is all just a spiraling circle. I realize now that life is not linear and there really is no destination. We wake up every morning and try to maintain the high. Not in the form of escape or even enhancement, but rather a clear awareness of reality as it is.
I used to think that everything in life could be better if I had one more drink, ran a little faster, was a little more adventurous. Life doesn’t need to be any better than it always is. A warm safe bed. A gentle breeze. The hot sun. A budding sense of humor. Her scowl as she becomes a person. A soft tune. Rubbing her back as we escape in fiction for a brief moment each night. A carefully crafted paragraph of prose. Satisfaction from work. A teachable moment. A lesson learned.
I take back what I said earlier. I am not in my prime, because such an assumption presupposes that there is a limit. An apogee to our lives. I am merely at a clearing on my path. A spot where the past is bathed in the sweet summer sun and the future summits and valleys are made obvious. Perhaps being in one’s prime is the realization that there is no prime. There is no, this is how it should be. No successes. No happiness. Just a meta-aware existence that can look into the mirror of the present moment and not shudder with anxiety or fear, but smile, nod, toss the hair out of its face and carry on.
Despite the good times, I can also recall the many moments where he was ill at ease in his skin. Sagging rings under his eyes, too thin and pale. Scratching so hard to get to the surface. Lying to himself that the bottom wasn’t so bad. Pretending the loneliness was romantic and the angst turned rage just another head of the muse.
But not today. Not this now. Everything seems to be swimming in flow. The ebbs surmountable. Even enjoyable. It feels as if everything up to now has been a direct path to this moment in time. A moment where the direction is clear--it is all just a spiraling circle. I realize now that life is not linear and there really is no destination. We wake up every morning and try to maintain the high. Not in the form of escape or even enhancement, but rather a clear awareness of reality as it is.
I used to think that everything in life could be better if I had one more drink, ran a little faster, was a little more adventurous. Life doesn’t need to be any better than it always is. A warm safe bed. A gentle breeze. The hot sun. A budding sense of humor. Her scowl as she becomes a person. A soft tune. Rubbing her back as we escape in fiction for a brief moment each night. A carefully crafted paragraph of prose. Satisfaction from work. A teachable moment. A lesson learned.
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| by Adcuz |
October 31, 2010
In The Light
Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family; the kids screaming, the car packed with arguments, and every minute of the day weighted down by the disillusionment of bedlam, you close your eyes and for a few seconds from behind your sunglasses as you maneuver the mini-van down the highway on the way home from brunch, you see yourself at twenty-two in San Francisco: you are wild and free and swaying in and out of bars, with random women; the nights are endless and the days quiet; you highlight your way through a litany of manuscripts that justify your behavior. You see yourself at twenty-three in New Orleans: passed out on Bourbon Street watching the sun come up on the Mississippi. Twenty-four and New York City: snow in the Village, Paris, Maputo, Bangkok, Chicago, you see yourself all over the world. You see yourself. You see yourself. You see yourself…
You may entertain, however briefly, that something has gone wrong. You may feel for a few seconds that perhaps you have made some errant choices. You may lose yourself in erroneous reminiscing. Confuse the perfect reality with imprecise fantasy. If this happens to you:
Look deeply into your childrens’ eyes and tell them you love them. Watch as their faces light up and they squirm with the knowledge that they are truly loved. Watch as they say I love you too daddy. Squeeze them until they scream and lose yourself in their laughter. Have meaningful conversations after the yelling has stopped and feed them ice cream. Tell them you are proud of them, constantly. Forget about who you were and focus on who you are. Who they are, who you will both become together as a family. Sing in the car and be silly. Make them dinner and wash their hair. Dry them off and kiss them good night. Read them stories. Blow gently into their faces and kiss them on the lips, on the stomach, and on the cheeks. Point out the light from the sky as it bounces of the trees as often as you can. Teach them vocabulary and metaphors. Point out the giant snail and the injustice of the dog tied up next-door and the bird in the cage. Remind them that birds belong in rainforests and not cages. Remind them that being polite is the first step to compassion and compassion leads to peace. Be patient with them, even when they drive you crazy. Brush their teeth and hair with love, even when they scream and fight you every step of the way. Remember to stop and kiss your wife too and rejoice in the family you have created from scratch.
Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family, sit back in the quiet of the night after they have all gone to bed, play some tender songs and spill your thoughts on an empty page and blow them out into the universe. You will feel better about the whole affair. You will remember that when you were twenty-whatever and free, you were also lost and miserable. Running from darkness to darkness, you banged your head into every wall that stood in your way. You are here now, in the light, moving forward with the most beautiful family in the world.
Please leave a little poem of your family moments in the comment section.
You may entertain, however briefly, that something has gone wrong. You may feel for a few seconds that perhaps you have made some errant choices. You may lose yourself in erroneous reminiscing. Confuse the perfect reality with imprecise fantasy. If this happens to you:
Look deeply into your childrens’ eyes and tell them you love them. Watch as their faces light up and they squirm with the knowledge that they are truly loved. Watch as they say I love you too daddy. Squeeze them until they scream and lose yourself in their laughter. Have meaningful conversations after the yelling has stopped and feed them ice cream. Tell them you are proud of them, constantly. Forget about who you were and focus on who you are. Who they are, who you will both become together as a family. Sing in the car and be silly. Make them dinner and wash their hair. Dry them off and kiss them good night. Read them stories. Blow gently into their faces and kiss them on the lips, on the stomach, and on the cheeks. Point out the light from the sky as it bounces of the trees as often as you can. Teach them vocabulary and metaphors. Point out the giant snail and the injustice of the dog tied up next-door and the bird in the cage. Remind them that birds belong in rainforests and not cages. Remind them that being polite is the first step to compassion and compassion leads to peace. Be patient with them, even when they drive you crazy. Brush their teeth and hair with love, even when they scream and fight you every step of the way. Remember to stop and kiss your wife too and rejoice in the family you have created from scratch.
Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family, sit back in the quiet of the night after they have all gone to bed, play some tender songs and spill your thoughts on an empty page and blow them out into the universe. You will feel better about the whole affair. You will remember that when you were twenty-whatever and free, you were also lost and miserable. Running from darkness to darkness, you banged your head into every wall that stood in your way. You are here now, in the light, moving forward with the most beautiful family in the world.
Please leave a little poem of your family moments in the comment section.
September 29, 2010
Every Little Thing IS Alright
It’s been a while; I know. Funny how easy it is to rant and rave and complain and vent and gripe and share your woes, but when asked to jot down a few positive thoughts I can’t seem to make the time. I am more than happy to stay up untill midnight scribing a venomous rant about the Tea Party, but can’t seem to carve out five minutes to say life is good. Life is more than good; life is great. All systems go. Living as I should be.
I was gently reminded that however small, I have finally after three years created a small loyal audience here at my blog. Comments like the one below do wonders for ones self-esteemed, especially when said self-esteem is unhealthy wrapped up in need for attention and validation, but I digress.
This post was meant to be a quick pop in to say:
I am happy. I feel physically good and comfortable in my skin. Work is going well, and I finally feel like I am on the right track now that I am back in the classroom. (Spent the first few weeks setting up the program) I am doing cool things with technology and my students are responding and performing well.
My own kids are amazing. Skyelar is almost one and really becoming her own person. She growls when annoyed, but otherwise she is usually all smiles. She is a few weeks, maybe days away from walking and babbles non-stop. She is an eating machine who devours blue berries by the bushel. Kaia, well she is Kaia. Her tantrums and irritability have died down a bit and she is usually quite pleasant. She counts and sings in Bahasa and Chinese. It amazes me how big she is getting. Sometimes I can’t believe how much of a little girl she has become. She is no longer a baby or a toddler. She has entered girlhood for sure and this excites me to no end.
See this post doesn’t feel right! Who cares about these things? Why would anyone read about this mundane contentment? But I guess it does a body good to sometimes just step back and say, “My life is running pretty smoothly at the moment." Maybe when it derails and I fall back off, I could look to these times, to these posts and see what was going right. After all aren't these fleeting moments of joy the very thing we search for our entire lives?
So what is going right? I am simply living day-to-day and trying to do the best I can and enjoying the little things. I am working hard on a variety of projects: book, blogging, mentoring, etc…and I am trying to be as involved as I can with my family even though I am often exhausted. There is a trip to Singapore in my future and time is moving at a comfortable pace. Not to slow and not too fast.
I was going to delete this post, but thought what the hell…the positive vibe might help some one out there. Hope it holds you over until I can piece together something a bit more substantial.
On second thought, let's not discount this post altogether, maybe we can turn this into a conversation. What are the little things that keep you happy? The things that help you feel like things are alright? What are the little things that you cherish? And why do you forget them when life gets tricky?
I was gently reminded that however small, I have finally after three years created a small loyal audience here at my blog. Comments like the one below do wonders for ones self-esteemed, especially when said self-esteem is unhealthy wrapped up in need for attention and validation, but I digress.
This post was meant to be a quick pop in to say:I am happy. I feel physically good and comfortable in my skin. Work is going well, and I finally feel like I am on the right track now that I am back in the classroom. (Spent the first few weeks setting up the program) I am doing cool things with technology and my students are responding and performing well.
My own kids are amazing. Skyelar is almost one and really becoming her own person. She growls when annoyed, but otherwise she is usually all smiles. She is a few weeks, maybe days away from walking and babbles non-stop. She is an eating machine who devours blue berries by the bushel. Kaia, well she is Kaia. Her tantrums and irritability have died down a bit and she is usually quite pleasant. She counts and sings in Bahasa and Chinese. It amazes me how big she is getting. Sometimes I can’t believe how much of a little girl she has become. She is no longer a baby or a toddler. She has entered girlhood for sure and this excites me to no end.
See this post doesn’t feel right! Who cares about these things? Why would anyone read about this mundane contentment? But I guess it does a body good to sometimes just step back and say, “My life is running pretty smoothly at the moment." Maybe when it derails and I fall back off, I could look to these times, to these posts and see what was going right. After all aren't these fleeting moments of joy the very thing we search for our entire lives?
So what is going right? I am simply living day-to-day and trying to do the best I can and enjoying the little things. I am working hard on a variety of projects: book, blogging, mentoring, etc…and I am trying to be as involved as I can with my family even though I am often exhausted. There is a trip to Singapore in my future and time is moving at a comfortable pace. Not to slow and not too fast.
I was going to delete this post, but thought what the hell…the positive vibe might help some one out there. Hope it holds you over until I can piece together something a bit more substantial.
On second thought, let's not discount this post altogether, maybe we can turn this into a conversation. What are the little things that keep you happy? The things that help you feel like things are alright? What are the little things that you cherish? And why do you forget them when life gets tricky?
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