"Pearly lips and cherry wine
Moonshine in your hair
Just keep staring at the sun
Pray for summer's end"
Foo fighters. Find me someone that genuinely dislikes the foo Fighters and I'll show you someone that is angry for no reason. But this isn't about Foo. This is about a line in one of their songs from their most recent CD that used to bother me. I love the song, but the lyrics bothered me for so long. I once followed my brother's friend's band, at one point named Summer's End. I had a Summer's End patch clothes-pinned to my backpack. But I still disliked the idea of the end of summer. Summer's end evokes such a saddened and melancholy feeling that I reject the very notion of it. Summer is bliss. Summer is the little boy or girl in all of us. The season pool passes and bike rides and vacations. And no school. Even us working folk feel like school's out for the summer when June comes around. I can't think of one legitimate negative for the days between the summer and fall solstice. Except black leather cars. But seriously, this is one of the easiest sells. Summer: Buy in. Okay!! Yet after all of that, all the boat rides and long weekends, the short skirts and long nights, I can honestly say that I am ready for summer to end.
Now I don't believe that Dave Grohl's words really correspond to my place in the world. Mainly because I don't know what pearly lips look like. But after my recent trip to New York City, I also am praying for summer's end. This has been one of the more memorable summers in my life. Which doesn't say a whole lot, since none of my previous summers were really too memorable. But over the last 3 months, I feel like I've lived a year. My first summer on my own, in the city, with a rooftop deck. I can't even begin to round out a list of events and happenings that encompassed my summer. But I did achieve my goal: Don't waste it. I don't think I let two days go by without *something* to do. I forced plans when there weren't any. I booked my days weeks in advance. I did what i could to piggy back plans so i could cram more into one night. I met new people and went on new adventures. I didn't sleep enough and went out too often. I put summer into a juicer and squeezed it for every drop it had. And I loved about 98% of it (sans Black Wednesday). And after all of that being said, I can still honestly say that I am ready for summer to end.
Now I get to nestle into a time of cooler weather and relaxed mindsets. I will be in a new apartment in less than three weeks, and will have time to spend in my new place. I will have a new neighborhood to explore and enjoy. I will have writing time to increase. I will have a new bed that I will look forward to getting a chance to lay in. I will have an in-unit washer/dryer, so I might be doing laundry twice a week. Mainly, I get to slow down. It will soon be full blown recovery mode. I'll be taking a lesson from the bears. Not those bears. The ones that hibernate to restore the body and avoid the cold. But speaking of those bears, I get to have lazy Sundays of watching football. I get to give my wallet a break. Give my body a break. My mind a break. (I shouldn't be so self-centered, you all get to do this too, but stay with me). And so after all of this, I believe, even though we're still 10 days away from the summer officially being over, I'm ready to throw in the towel.
But after all THAT being said, I'm about 8 weeks away from wanting Old Navy flip flops and Bud Light Lime......
(Funny story: I listened to 'Summer's End by Foo Fighters the entire time I wrote this.)
So I just got back from three nights and four days in New York City. The city that never sleeps. Pretty close.
I'm not going to run down a list of events or even the sequence that things happened. Frankly because it would be hard to remember. But there are a few thoughts I can share about my first trip to the biggest city in our country.
First of all: Lots of cabs. Seriously, like 80-90% cabs. Crazy cabs. Everywhere. And they take credit cards. It's not even worth owning a car. You walk. Sometimes. Usually its cab, or sometimes subway. I guess it makes sense, when you lay it all out, but I was just a little shocked.
Second: Big. Manhattan covers more ground than I thought I could cross in one night. The traveling we did during the day, fine. Some sightseeing, some subway rides, a Mets game, whatever. But looking at the connect the dots between the few nights we went out, the place we stayed, sources of food, and everywhere else we touched... I was blown away.
And that wasn't the only way it was big. When you get ~5 miles north of the loop in Chicago, roaming around Wrigleyville, the tallest building is, well, Wrigley field (sans lakefront condos). But in Manhattan, specifically miles away from some of the hottest and busiest places in the city where my friend lived on the Upper West Side, you'd be hard-pressed to find a building less than 5 stories. The majority of them are twice the size. Everything goes up. Everything. You feel small everywhere you go.
Third: There was a notion of being slightly larger than life there. Now, bear with me. I didn't walk with any added importance, mainly because I was either too drunk to pay attention, or I was in a cab. But there was an aspect of New York that I only saw on TV, which was all of it. It seemed there were traces of fame at every turn. Like I was treading on notorious ground. There was a history. A nostalgia. Something palpable on the streets that I don't feel in Chicago. I hate describing non-real things, but that's all I can really say.
Lastly: It's fast. I came from the suburbs to the city. The city of Chicago is fast compared to the burbs. New York = faster. In every way.
And with all that, give me Chicago every day of the week and twice on Sunday. This weekend was one of the most fun and memorable weekends I've ever had. Top 5 all time. Seriously. But it felt great to be home.
I seem to know a lot of quotes in relation to this topic. But my goal isn't to give you those. Look them up yourself. But after another bout with restlessness amounting in a horrid night of lack of sleep, I realized that is it time for a change.
While my last month begins along side the rattling, screeching tracks of the EL, I am choosing not to choose public transportation as a source for my nightmares and gappy sleep. I may be proven wrong come October, but we'll see about that.
And with the turn of a new lease bringing an early birthday gift from my parents, I am also choosing not to blame my less than comfortable, squeaking, sagging bed. It may very well change my sleeping patterns, but that isn't what I want to focus on. (I realize that the combination of a new bed and no train eliminates the 'control' for the ensuing experiment. But this isn't science class. This is my life. So any success will be welcomed.)
So ignoring the train (ha) and bed, I addressed something that has been a relative constant in my life, thus a problem that will not change with my residence or nightly resting place. I have an active mind. It's fast paced. It's a product of our generation. It's a product of high speed internet and immediate text messages. My generation has an attention span that can only be measured in nanoseconds. And all that training keeps my thoughts rolling through more often than the locomotives at Belmont Station. When I lay awake, and I've said this before, my thoughts plague me. Things I wanted to say but didn't. Situations that get played out in my head. Scary influences from TV shows or movies (Side note, I'm sick of watching True Blood before bed. Messed up 'dreams.') Blasts from the past. Jarring conversations. Extreme heat. Everything. These things follow one after another. a high turnover rate procession of jagged images and upsetting thoughts that do their best to keep me awake. My brain is too active for my body to rest. This past Sunday was the worst. And so it lead me to try and fix this. Here's what I came up with.
I have been reduced to laying on my back, repeating long inhales through my nose followed by slow exhales through my mouth, trying to, and I quote, 'find my breath.' It's Always Sunny fans, rejoice. This is what I found on the 'internet' and was the closest mixture of yoga, meditation, zen, and humorous TV show references that I could scrounge up. My way of doing this was to actually imagine air particles as something of color that you can see. And I imagined these little green particles entering my nasal cavity, flowing down the back of my esophagus, and circulating into my lungs. Then I watched those particles calmly exit my body and disperse in front of my face. I felt better. I felt relaxed. And I slept better. I still had a long, complicated dream involving old friends, upcoming events, and people still on my mind, but at least I wasn't too tired when I woke up. And it wasn't a nightmare that startled me awake. I guess that's a good start. Maybe in October, I'll finally be able to enjoy a full night's sleep.
This weather blows. Besides that...
I have lots to write about. And I've taken some good notes. Lots of ideas flowing. Just don't quite have enough time to dedicate to a fully flushed out post. I promised I would be better in August than I was in July. And I lied. But to be honest, I've been filling my nights with people and experiences, combined with looking for a new apartment, so free time is currently at a premium. Maybe next month it will slow down, maybe it won't. But as for now, I'll do my best to get at least one legitimate thought strand down a week. My goal is two. We'll see how it plays out. Thanks for all that have been reading this discombobulated mess. Don't plan on stopping soon, cuz I know I won't be.
In a time when it has never been easier to keep in touch and stay connected to people in your life, are you? Consider this a challenge.
I have spent almost 5 hours logged into facebook tonight. I spent another hour in and out of gmail. I have chatted, emailed, wrote on walls, and commented on pictures. I have browsed the lists of other online facebookers, seeing who I could entice for an evening conversation. Besides doing laundry, going to look at an apartment, and eating a quick dinner, it's been a pretty boring night. But while I sat here, seemingly intertwined in the lives of hundreds of people I once knew, I began to realize how isolated social networking has made me. Has made us.
In sometimes desperately trying to maintain relationships with anyone that was, at one time, important in our lives, we have desensitized ourselves to the true meaning of connection.
We've substituted coffee shop conversations for chatting online. We've substituted phone callfs for texting. We've substituted drop-bys for emails. And in doing so, we have lost the essence of what it once meant to grow a bond between two people. I'm the first to admit, for much of high school, college, and probably up until right now, I always considered online communication my friend. I was able to be deliberate, thought out, structured, manicured, even strategic. But what I gained in electronic skills, I wasted in personal skills.
And with the means increasing, the portablenes of devices escalating, and the capability to 'always be connected,' I have lost something which should be valued like diamonds. I don't care how many pictures you see of me, how many friends I can link to, or how many times you've read my profile, it is almost impossible to keep up with an other's life unless you're in it. Not just as a name and a 200kb image. Which is why it was so important to me to make dinner plans with someone that I haven't seen in a long time. My news feed couldn't possibly be enough.
So that's where I challenge you. Don't be complacent with the expanding technology involved with online networking. Take a chance one day and go for a walk. Go buzz someone's apartment and hope their home. Give someone a call and meet at a coffee shop. There's a saying 'let your fingers do the walking.' Well stop letting your fingers do the talking too. Take what you think you have, and make it personal. It will make you a better person, and it will keep you close to people that may have otherwise faded into the technological abyss, this digital masquerade.
It's funny. Sometimes when you're 'down,' you want to stay down, simply reinforce the reasons for being down, and not deal with any sentimental, forced flowery from a friend's attempt to pick you back up.
That will be the focus of this.
When you receive something, or hear something, or read something, or find something out that spins you into a new realm of pissed off, depressed, or simply hurt, you fall into a moment of complete purity that is often impossible to recreate. For me, the feeling is like a heavy heart. Sounds 80s cliche, but it's honest. For whatever reason, when I hear that gut wrenching news of something I wasn't expecting, my heart feels too heavy to hold, like there's a weight tied onto its midsection, and it can't do one more dip. So instead of pumping back up, it just slowly sags to a rest.
But that immediate future is a pure, raw state of your body. And one of the few, along with sneezing, crying, bleeding, and getting the chills. But we all know how I feel about the chills (purist form of human behavior achievable).
Sidenote: Writing the word future reminded me of a George Carlin line: There is no present, only the recent past and the immediate future. So true.
Anyway, the curious part of a heart-sagging episode is the response. Like i opened with, sometimes you want to stay hurt. Maybe for the attention, maybe for the rage, maybe because you're bored, but there's some part of each person that doesn't want words of encouragement when bad news hits. Sometimes you feel like the Narrator and want to destroy something beautiful. Nothing settles your stomach or slows your thoughts. In fact, the buttered up lingo people sling around only makes things worse. They become part of the problem.
But what's funny, is that funny works. Wallowing, self-reinforcement, forced heartache, it's all fleeting. It's all avoidance behavior. It's a cop out. A disguise. At the end of the day, will this 'news' make or break you? Unless it's a diagnosis of cancer, I think you'll live. And as hard as it is, your friends are there to pick you up. And make you laugh when you don't want to. You ever laughed with tears coming out of your eyes? It's a weird feeling, but one that I'm sure you've experienced. Because you're in a state of reaction. No planning. Nothing safe. You're exposed. And it feels, great.
Didn't quite know where this was ending, but now I've found it. Laughing while crying, in my book, has now surpassed the chills as the single most pure emotion your body can produce. But it takes the weathered shoulder of someone that cares about you to get there. Never forget them, those that lift you up. They are the ones that earn a heavy heart if weighted news ever travels about them.
This disjointed mess of a post slightly resembles my state last night. I'll be cleaner in the future, i promise.
I'm a sap. Most of you know this. So how was I able to 'keep my cheeks dry' when I had to say goodbye to a friend who's moving away? I have a theory.
For me, tears are not hard to come by. Movies and TV shows have their way with my tear ducts. For some reason, watching paid actors pretend to be devastated evokes such a strong feeling from me. Shows like Scrubs will get me going. Series finales have always affected me. I even got teary-eyed listening to Mike and Mike in the morning on my way to work. That's a sports talk radio show. They were raising money for the Jimmy V Foundation, a foundation for cancer research, and reading emails and texts that listeners were sending in. The unprecedented appreciation for every dollar donated, and the stories of family members that have passed, and the ones that survived, I don't know, it just plucked at my heart string.
Hell, even hearing Sugarland cover REM is giving me the chills. Knowing how much passion is behind the every word of the 'the one i love' makes me shiver with emotion.
But when I was faced with an emotional and depressing real life situation, someone standing in front of me, someone I've grown very close to over the last 12 months, someone moving on and moving out, I barely felt an ounce of sadness. Why? Because I was genuinely happy. Happy for my friend exploring a new opportunity. Happy for the last year that we've had a chance to get to know each other. Happy for the bond that was formed. And happy that the situation was being played out by real people, so there was no heart shattering music, no camera tricks, zooms, cuts, there were no trained facial expressions, no reaction shots, no second takes, direction motivation, no false forced feelings. Just the raw, pure, and genuine appreciation for the happiness I had experienced with her, and the hope and promise that the future brings.
So I guess it takes fiction to get me choked up. And I'm pretty okay with that. Let's me appreciate the best of my own life for what its worth. Not a bad place to be.
We've all been hurt. Physically, emotionally, financially..... Pain comes in many forms and in an array of severity levels. As has been common with my recent entries, I don't feel a need to go into much further explanation and flowery prose about how and why we feel pain. Honestly, the human body amazes me in its reaction to something damaging. It's really quite an impressive little contraption, our bodies. But we all know about bruising, swelling, aching, and any other means that our bodies and minds use to warn of us injury and protect us from anything more. And why am I prefacing this post with another rant of things we already know? There's something regarding pain that I want to discuss. Obviously.
I really have no idea what anyone else feels. Absolutely none. And there is no way that anyone else can ever know what I feel or how much pain I am in.
Now I know that some things are relative, and that there should be some sort of hierarchy of pains that can classify how someone should be feeling. I would hope that if a friend of mine has the same injury, to the same extent, that I have had, that we are feeling somewhat of the same thing. I would hope. But I have no idea. Maybe my dislocated finger hurts me far more than someone else. Maybe my headache is pounding and severe, but I deal with the pain better than others. Maybe my body is reeeally good and making things not hurt as much.
So with that in mind, you can't even put yourself in someone's shoes in order to try to understand what they're going through. My friend just fractured his collar bone, and struggles mightily to even put on a shirt. Maybe he shouldn't have taken his shirt off in the first place, but the roof was sunny and the beer was flowing, so I can't really blame him. But it was quite a little show, the 5 of us watching him inch a shirt up his arm to a point where he could swing it over his head with his one functional arm. The point being, if i had been practicing bicycle kicks before a soccer game and fractured my collar bone in the exact same spot to the exact same extent, I would probably act differently.
So where does that leave us?
I guess it means that with pain, you pretty much always need to give someone the benefit of the doubt. I'm a bit of a naturalist, meaning I try not to take medicine when I'm hurting. The closest thing I do to medicate is eating a banana when I'm hungover. I like to make my body heal itself while I get to feel the pain, because I trust my body. Pain is felt for a reason: you're not supposed to use whatever is hurting. So why would you dilute that feeling, risking further injury... But that means that I deal with those ripping headaches and queasy stomach pains and stinging arm soreness on my own. Maybe the things I feel just aren't that severe, and people that take medicine feel things way worse than I ever have.
Without ever knowing what someone else is capable of feeling, it makes no sense to judge them for how they act when under the distress of discomfort.
I helped out a friend tonight and played on his 4 v 4 sand volleyball team on North Avenue beach. We were slotted for the 7:30 time slot, and somewhere between the lake, the beach, the sky, and the skyline, I was caught between bliss and perfection. I don't care how many times I see this place, and how long I live here, there is something truly awe-inspiring about Chicago. Everyone should get a chance to experience it.
And somewhere between that thought, and my little cousin saying "staying up late because i never want this day to end," I have a pretty heavyset appreciation for everything that life can be, which is sometimes overwhelming, but always finds a way to once in a while, leave you breathless.
Somehow I don't think exploring this topic will shed any more light on what I'm trying to say, so there it is.
So this weekend, I spent three nights on the banks of Lake Redstone near La Valle, Wisconsin. In case any of you missed me. Sorry. But 12-16 of my nearest and dearest accompanied me to the lower intestines of our bordering state to the north, for a stretch of bliss and debauchery that rivals I've been around. Good people. Good times. Good weather. Good food. Good scenery. Good memories. Good luck. So what were the highlights? What will I remember? What will I be forever indebted to my friends for experiencing with me from July 9th-11th? Well let's see what I actually do remember...
Morris' car ride up there: Morris, Nelli, and myself, the least amount of people in any car the first night, but probably had the most fun. Karaoke like woah. Pink - Just Like A Pill. Circus.
The first night feeling of the crew without work on Friday: Ride the Bus. Beer pong. Wrestling. A picture of cooper on my shoulder. A mild case of the choke holds. A depletion of all the beverages we traveled with. Good night.
Bags: Started Friday and pretty much went the entire weekend. Three different people 'signed' the boards. RJ and Costy only lost two games on Friday. Cassie and Mallory trying to get off the beginner boards. Playing too late and starting too early.
The dock: Getting shoved, and in mid-air, snatching my cubs hat off and hurling it back over my head towards the dock, landing it perfectly and safely. Before Socki kicked it off. And before I stood up to a bloody nose. Running fly patterns and launching into the water to catch my perfectly thrown passes. And the pictures Whitney took of them. Someone sprinting full force towards the dock and biting it two steps onto the aluminum dock. Locked armed guys jumping backwards. Morris looking like he's walking on water. Gay fish.
The shenanigans of Friday late night: Welcoming two more members. I was around for some of it. Most of the rest was around for the rest. I don't think it's fair to get into any of the details, but for those who were around, I don't think the events will be forgotten anytime soon.
Welcoming the last two members of the gang. Not much of a story, just needed to make a mention.
The barrage of water balloons. Again, not much of a story. Just saying.
Offending our neighbors: Apparently the guy's 18 year old daughters were too young to hear swearing.
Kicking out the young ones: Even though Adam loved them and showed them a tour, the four 15 year old guys were just too young to allow around. Luckily we had Morris to regulate.
Mike Nelli and his outfit. Enough said.
But the one thing that I will remember the most is the night sky on Saturday night. Don't get me wrong, I love this city. I love Chicago and all it has to offer. But the glow of the city extinguishes the brilliance of a true night sky. Sprawled on the dock, gazing upward at an array of stars that I haven't seen in years. I was absolutely blown away at the vastness of starlight sky and the sheer crispness of every dot that encompassed me. It was awe-inspiring. It was on the verge of breath-taking.
And while the entire weekend was pretty much perfect, with lasting memories and closer friends, I can close my eyes and take myself back to that view, that moment, and be truly happy.
Thank you, to all my friends. It was truly an amazing weekend that will always live among the best memories of my life.
Last night, I had a dream. I'm not going to go into detail about it, because, as Dennis from Its Always Sunny so eloquently states, 'Dee, other people's dreams are like a stack of photos... if I'm not in them and no one's having sex, I don't give a shit.' So the moral of the dream was someone broke into 'my' car and was waiting for me in the back seat. Now this thought alone doesn't scare me. But the moment I woke up, I had a thought that maybe this dream or nightmare happened as some sort of spiritual warning and I was in some sort of danger.
I was home alone when this happened, at 3 in the morning, in an eerily quiet Wrigleyville neighborhood. I couldn't hear a train, a car, a drunk, a bottle, nothing. No music. No creaking floors or spinning fans or even air conditioners. All I had was a dark, empty, silent apartment, in a dark, empty, silent city, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw somebody waiting for me.
This got me thinking (since I obviously couldn't fall back asleep, and was reminded of this around 2pm today), and I have continued thinking about what truly scares us. I have been known to go on a marathon of question exchanges, and I commonly ask 'what is your biggest fear.' I usually say being alone. In every essence of the word. Sometimes it's when it's dark and scary out. Sometimes it's thinking about being 45 years old and alone. Sometimes it's dying with no one around to care. But I claim that to be my greatest fear. I like it because it's thoughtful and a little deeper than scorpions or bees. Even if I just flat out hate scorpions. I just don't get them, and they're creepy.
But I guess why I kept thinking about this is because I'm not scared of the logical things. I'm not scared of not having enough money, or getting into a car accident, or losing a family member to cancer, or saying goodbye to a friend, or getting fired from my job.
And I'm not scared of being alone, because I don't believe I will be. Confidence can overcome a fear.
I'm not scared of heights. I'm not really scared of drowning. Fire doesn't keep me up at night.
Not even the vast unknown of my life can scare me. The night. The silence. Those things that kept me up last night, those things aren't scary. Those are easily overcome with logic, and maybe a quick trip around the apt with all the lights on.
You know what scares me? My thoughts, and their potential. They're endless potential. The ability of my mind to convince me that I was in danger, even though I was safely under my covers, albeit restless. What else can my mind convince me of without my conscious realizing it? Does my mind have a mind of it's own? How many parts of me are acting on my life? Do other organs do stuff like that? Probably not. Besides my liver just flat out quitting. But other than that, the vast potential of my mind terrifies me. Because apparently, it's not always something I can control.
...and scorpions. seriously wtf. become extinct.
So what scares you?
Current Obsessive Thought: Availability.
The idea that committing to plans automatically shields you from any other option, even if you realize that the plans you made were the best decision to make.
This is something that I have not been able to escape for much of my life. And it applies in almost every situation. It doesn't necessarily keep me from making my decisions or choosing a certain set of plans, but it leaves me with a helpless and restricted feeling when I do. There are a lot of obvious explanations and reactions to this, but I don't feel like I'm alone on this topic. It's so weird the way our brain makes us feel. I could make plans to watch the fire works from the top of the ferris wheel on Navy Pier, but will be jealous of those watching from the beach. This is a long-standing idea of the grass always being greener, the fear of commitment to anything, and an attempt to never feel excluded or left out. All of things I see happen in my life. But what's the solution? How do we get to a state of just being happy with where we are and what we've decided?
Apparently I recognize the problem, so there has to be more than just identifying it. What's the next step?
...But never from my thoughts." (I:SCINTILLA)
I guess it's easy sometimes, as writers, and as speakers, to take for granted how your words are perceived. After all, when you say them, or type them, or however you choose to convey your point, there was probably a thought structure behind it. There was some sort of scheming or planning before you unleashed them on the world, or just to one other person. Whether these schematics were constructed out of an uninvited reaction or out of a fit of constant thoughts, there should have at least been a realization that while clear as glass inside your head, the release tends to smudge your true intentions.
It is this thought that should get you to pay a little more attention to what you communicate. If it means you pause an extra minute before you let your impulse react, or if you put yourself in someone else's shoes to receive your comments, there should always be a chance to take a step away from something you want to convey, as passionate or personal as it may be.
This is not a warning to hold back what you feel or to cover up your honesty. That would go against a lot of what I believe in. Just understand the danger of the tool you hold. You know all that sticks and stones BS. I'm not saying that calling someone a whore is going to hurt more than taking a conglomerate to the dome. But depending on the situation, a simple comment can be much more severe. So be respectful. Thoughtful. And honest. The rest will figure itself out.
Money is the currency of the world. (Sorry. Just really wanted to write that)
Money is a tricky thing to put your finger on. (This one might be full of double meanings and puns)
There have been a lot of theories and quotes and comments and ideas about money, money being evil, money not equaling happiness, money making life easier, etc. In the recently referenced movie the Pursuit of Happyness, Will Smith tells his son to 'make as much money as you can. Everything is a lot easier with money.' Money is the driving force behind our society, money is responsible for professional sports, for government. I don't even know why I gave 'examples' of what money influences when in reality, it is pretty much everything. Whether you have it or you don't, it's on your mind. The ones that don't need to find ways to get it. The ones that do need to find things to do with it. So while it may have its 'evils' and 'happiness isn't something to be purchased, this last paragraph basically states that an absolute necessity of life is the care, maintenance, and constant effort of gaining money, right?
That's what we're supposed to do. That's what we've been planted for... like a field full of crops. Born and raised for the same goal. Go to school and get good grades? Why? To prepare yourself for high school? Why? So you can do well enough to get into a good college (assuming you can afford it). Why? The better the college, the better chance at getting a good job. Why? The better the job, the more money you will make? Why? So when you have a family of your own, you can provide from them, put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Why? So you can give them the same chances that you were given. Why? Because that's our only goal. Right? That's what the instructions on the back of the box say. That's where the dotted lines lead you.
So far I have been a model of that formula. Yay.
Fergie just came on my iPod (save the comments). The song opens with 'If you ain't got no money, take your broke-ass home.' Pretty appropriate. I love when that happens.
ANYway. Money is a funny thing. And maybe my opinion of it is jaded because to this point, I have it. Well, obviously my opinion is jaded because of that. I'm living pretty much independent of outside (parental) support and have found myself nestled in pretty decent full time employment. But who's to say what is the right thing to do with our money? Some people want to buy their own place. Some people want to travel to Bermuda. Some people want to inflate their bank account. Some people want to live dime to dime and night to night, hoping things work out.
But some people want to try and not think about it. Some people want to know they have a cushion right now. But they still want to save a little. Add on a little at a time, but don't let the scare of a price tag stop you from truly enjoying something. Sometimes you just want to live like celebrities for a night, just because it seems like a reasonable thing to do on a Thursday. Sometimes you want to walk through the aisles of the grocery store, only buying things that have 'preferred savings.' Sometimes you want to buy your best friends a round of shots because you know, eventually, it will come back to you. Sometimes you want to book a flight to a city you've never been because the experience will be more valuable to your life course than the price of the ticket. And sometimes you want to deposit an entire paycheck into an account you know you won't touch. Sometimes you'll sacrifice designer jeans for $15 jobs from Old Navy, but you won't sacrifice a car that makes you enjoy driving.
I guess the point of all this 'anonymity' is to show how much gray area there really is when it comes to maintaining your money. At the end of the day, you need to be able to sleep. If you can sleep being thousands of dollars in debt, borrowing money and continuing to spend it, then for now, you're surviving. And if you can sleep because you never go out at night, knowing you funds are continuing to pile up, then for now, you're surviving. But for everyone else that bounces between the logical, safe path and the risky, careless path, you should be able to sleep because you're worn out from everything you've done, and excited for everything else that's going to happen.
"It was right then that I started thinking about Thomas Jefferson on the Declaration of Independence and the part about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And I remember thinking how did he know to put the pursuit part in there? That maybe happiness is something that we can only pursue and maybe we can actually never have it. No matter what. How did he know that?"
This was a cool thought to me. It's from The Pursuit of Happyness. The idea, though, of never actually attaining what we all desperately search for: being happy. Something in that quote and that idea draws me in. And it continues to do so until I actually think about it. That's where the rest of this goes...
First of all, there is a point in the movie where Will Smith says, "This part of my life... this part right here? This is called 'happiness.'" So disproves his own theory. But that wasn't the point of writing this.
There is some truth to the theory. It takes some distinction between ideas, but the state of being happy is not a plateau. There's never a point you can reach where you just become happy. There's no job, no spouse, no car that can bring you to stage of eternal bliss. Marrying the love of your life might be a big part of it, landing your dream job, driving your dream car, these are all very big parts. And most of us are thankful for the health we have, the friends we share, and the experiences we've come to endure that add up to equal each and every one of us. But at the end of the day, there's no achieving happiness. Why? Like Dennis Leary says, happiness comes in small doses. Happiness is a constantly revolving series of acts, thoughts, moments, and people that positively impact your life and cause you to feel some sort of appreciation for life and the way that you're living it.
And it's that idea that makes this whole topic a shade of gray. Who's to say that the pursuit of happiness isn't the part that makes you happy. Of course, that would depend on the path. Obviously, Christopher Gardner's path was one of absolute crap, and I would imagine there wasn't a lot of the no money, late payments, moving from an apartment to a hotel to a subway bathroom, the parking tickets, the sink baths and bus fares, none of it left him with a warm feeling of happiness. But for everyone who's ever heard the cliché of the destination is not important, it's the journey. The same idea applies to this happiness debate.
So no, on my journey towards unequivocal happiness, I am not 'happy' with it until you have some time to reflect. I don't wake up every day smiling to be alive. I don't fall asleep to pleasant dreams every night. I don't say hi to everyone or feel peace on my drives home from work. But at the end of it all, and the end of the years, the months, the weeks, even at the end of most days, I can look back and say that while there are parts of my life that I wish were different, where there is room for improvement, where there is room for companionship, for competitiveness, for something bigger or better than what I have now, I cannot say to anyone that my pursuit of happiness does something besides make me happy, thereby disqualifying the theory, while at the same time, keeping it alive in order to drive further pursuit.
Who says I like run-ons? 101 word sentences with 13 commas happen all the time.
You got a dream... You gotta protect it. People can't do somethin' themselves, they wanna tell you you can't do it. If you want somethin', go get it. Period.
On a similar note, I just got inspired by a Chivas Regal commercial.
I had a very slow day, thoughts are hard to come by.
This was an response to a friend that sent a very challenging email with phenomenal perspective on me and how I act. Thought I would share a little bit of self-explanation instead of sharing my thoughts on everything else, for a change...
It's taken me a long time to figure out who I am. A big turn happened junior year of college. And a lot of what was started there has culminated into who you see now, gallivanting around town and dance floors like I actually know what I'm doing. But as we all know, or should know, we can't do anything more than cast out an educated guess and hope that we stepped with the right foot. Which of course is to say, no one should be convinced that their path is made in stone. You don't pour cement for the sidewalk of your life, you just clear a trail wide enough to be changed without disturbing the environment. Since, in the end, all we're doing is guessing. It'd be foolish to put all your chips on the table for a guess. Then again, I was never much of a gambler.
in the same way that the first paragraph directly influences the direction of the rest of the essay, the grounded thoughts and morals and ideals that I pride myself on actually knowing, continually influence pretty much every decision I make. And many of these foundation bits don't necessarily directly impact my daily life, at least not obviously, there are aspects of them that lead me to a certain way of living life. And I'm pretty sure the idea of being a perfectionist lists pretty high on one of those 'how you affect my daily life' type of things my life has been constructed around.
Perfectionism should really only apply to the things I do or that affect my life, which, as you appropriately pointed out, the way you text would not fall into that category. But obviously there are more parts to this equation besides my eager desire for everything to be perfect and make sense. There is definitely an aspect of 'well, i knew this, why didn't you know this. my IQ is higher than you.' Most affectionately seen when baseball is brought up, since, and this may not be an exaggeration, even if I've been known to exaggerate as well, but I might actually know more about baseball than anyone i know, ex-coaches excluded. At least some of them. But baseball aside, I do believe that my perspectives tend to be not necessarily always right, but always considered and intelligent, or at least logical. There are very few things that I've only looked at from one angle. And I may see it as trying to help the person I'm talking to, but I'm sure they're just standing there thinking what an asshole I am because I think I know enough to run the world (I would have some good ideas though).
So I guess there is a notion of trying to help, but unless someone is willing to listen, or change, I end up just pissing people off. And there are ways to point these things out constructively, and obviously I struggle in that territory, but a part of me really doesn't have an interest in changing this habit. Bear with me... Being this way keeps me challenged. Of course I don't listen for a mistake, but I'm pretty committed to listening to everything I hear, and it keeps me sharp to hear inaccuracies and attempt to correct them. And I don't always intend to do it in a combative tone, it just comes out that way. I find myself arguing a point I don't actually believe, just to get people thinking about the other side of the argument. I play devil's advocate why? I don't know, I guess I find it fun to get engaged in persuasive conversation. (see 'Heated Argument')
So explaining all that makes sense, but looking at this as a form of a defense mechanism is also a factor. Confidence never ranked very high on the 'traits that chris lazzerini possesses' list. In fact, until very recently, I had none. Not one shred. And even now, if we're comparing this to rivers, Brad Pitt being the amazon, I'm probably like the Illinois River. Definitely not a stream anymore, but I'm not capsizing cargo ships anytime soon... So yes, I resort to humor. I resort to proving my 'quick wit' and being a little antagonistic, a little sarcastic. I want to prove myself as full proof. Impregnable. Without holes. So I fight back at any point, thinking anything less would be a chink in my armor. And as much as I don't believe that, it doesn't stop me from doing it. Trust me, I know I'm flawed. The idea of 'not trying hard' is an awesome one. And I could reel off a plethora of quotes that I try to live by. But I still fall into the same traps. While I consider myself an open book, void of secrets, the part of me I try to cover up more than anything is my past. No one wants to talk to a sad sap that spent most of his high school on aol. ...and you wonder how i got good at typing what i feel. I make people laugh because it saves me from engaging in legitimate conversation. Maybe because I divulge too much, too fast, or because if I keep talking, I'll probably just end up insulting them, or arguing with them about some trivial, I still tend to lean towards a hefty spoonful of sarcasm when put in social situations. And I've said some terrible things for the cause of a laugh, when it's not aways appropriate to be funny. And obviously I feel strain to change eeeeverything I just talked about. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't working on it. But just like in golf, you can think that everything you've learned over the last week is going to change the way you play, but once you're back on the course, your swing falls into those same habits. Why? It's natural, and it's safe, even if ineffective.
I'm a strange kid. If you hadn't already noticed. No opinion or example could ever be more halved, two-faced, di-chromatic, or whatever other dual-thinged comparison I can make, than me. And that probably isn't the best way to describe it, since I'm more than just two different things. I'm like 20 different things. I'm like a rubix cube. Lots of related colors that tend to line up, and lots of different colors that keep screwing everything up, especially when you're so close to figuring the whole thing out. And as much as this garbage pile pulls me in different directions and keeps me from fully achieving any accomplishment in one direction, I still believe that pure nature of the sum of many different parts puts together a balanced human being. Something I may have mentioned before. Sometimes I feel like I'll never truly be a part of something because there's always something pulling me in a different direction. But most of the time I feel good that there's something to keep me away from the extremes. And you know how much I hate extremes. I want to listen to country, and metal, and rap. I want to ballroom dance and play softball. I want to write a blog and watch a movie. I want to drink wine at the park and slam beers at the bar. I want to wear ripped up jeans and shirts and ties. I want to tell jokes and sad stories. I want to laugh and cry. I want to have fun and feel pain. I want to hang with the guys and chill with the girls. I want to go on vacations and enjoy my home town. I want to stay close to my friends and meet new people. I want to hook up with girls and find my true love. But the only thing I'm sure of is I want to enjoy life, get the most out of it, and bring joy to other people. Which, as of recently, I'm beginning to see the areas of my life where I can improve a little more clearly.
I challenge you to do the same thing. You never know who's life you're affecting. Strength has more faces than people realize. But real eyes need to be able to see their own strengths, and know what force they can be deployed at. Or, if they're even strengths at all. For there is nothing more dangerous that a weakness being thought of as a strength.
This weekend I had the privilege to attend the U.S. vs Honduras World Cup Qualifier game that was held at Soldier's Field, Chicago, IL. It's hard to contain my thoughts and emotions to a blog post. And this might have a little different tone than I'm used to. But this was one of the top 5 most memorable experiences in my life.
Some friends and I made a hefty walk from the Roosevelt EL stop to the field, over a mile in total before we got to the parking lot where the rest of my friends were. I knew there was a chance that Hondurans would be well represented to the point of possible majority, but I never thought this: Every car that was not a cab > Honking Hondurans; 90% of the people on the street > Flag-toting Hondurans in jerseys, honking back. 100% of the people in tunnels under LSD and various other bridges > Chanting Hondurans with drums and horns. 100% of the people on the steps of the Field Museum > Chanting Hondurans with a flag the size driveways.
I don't think I've ever been so outnumbered in my life, while at the same time, feeling absolutely no immediate threat. Everyone was there to support their country. It was peacefully raucous. Poetically unnerving. Epically counter intuitive. They had us outnumbered 4-1 for the 55,000 people that attended the game. Plus... the horns. They all had horns. I've been to the loudest and fastest and heaviest metal shows in arenas smaller than high school gyms, and the noise coming out of these tunnels was worse. On the verge of intolerable. But impressive.
While we meandered through appetizers and dips and grilling and bags and beers and mixed drinks and music and rain, we tailgated in a predominantly U.S. area. Masses of people marched through the aisles, chanting for their country. Flags were worn by the hundreds. But seemingly no hostility. Just excitement. And passion.
Then it was time to go into the game. We rolled to the gates with about 15 people, screaming the national anthem like we majored in being tone-deaf. Every American group of people we passed joined in our singing. We started take 2 while walking down the stairs to the lower level of the parking garage, and our voices echoed endlessly from wall to wall of the structure. I honestly cannot think of a time in my life where I have felt more American. Or, realistically, been more proud to be American.
The game itself was amazing. I spent a large majority of the fall of my senior year of high school watching my best friends play soccer, and this brought a lot of those memories back. Except I was sitting 10 rows back from the best players in my country, surrounded by 45,000 Hondurans. I screamed my lungs out for as long as I could. I yelled at Honduras dives and bad passes and every foul called. I felt like I'd been watching this team for years. And even though I hadn't, I hugged and screamed like I had been, and when the game was finally signaled over, one of the greatest moments of pure elation flooded over me. As insane as this sounds, it was almost surreal beyond explanation. The setting, the emotion, the beers... it was special. And I appreciated all I could.
I'm not sure how much you can get a picture of what it was like to be there just by reading this, but I can honestly say it was one of the best 6-7 hour spans I've had the joy of experiencing. I don't usually seep national pride, but on Saturday I was bleeding red, white, and blue, and felt very comfortable doing so. Can't wait to watch them in the World Cup next year. And am I actually considering traveling to South Africa to see them???
Birthdays happen every day. - FACT
Over 140,000 babies are born every day around the world. - FACT
I share a birthday with Brett Favre and Mario Lopez. - FACT
My birthday changes who I am every year. - FALLACY
In the same way that Juliet frustratingly soliloquies (kinda) that a name does not define who a person is, neither does the number of years we've been alive that accompanies that name. Actually, that's not entirely true. Apparently I'm walking my balance beam a little earlier in this post than usual... Obviously there's some relevant aspect to an age. Under 18, for example. But looking past that, I'm taking this down two different, but related routes: One, the arbitrary nature of claiming an age just because you're exactly 365 days x however many years older. Two, the seemingly uncorrelated relationship with one's actions with the number of their age (not the age itself). And I already see some self-doubt forming, so let's just Dora for a while...
My first thought is aimed at people who believe the day before their birthday is somehow less significant because you don't get to say, 'I'm ____ years old,' and be completely accurate. There seems to be this idea that we're only full numbers of ages after about the age of 12, and all the stuff that falls in the middle is just the gray area before your next birthday. Why are we so caught up in living life twelve months at a time? Our lives are so broken down into organizable segments that we tend to miss transitions and phases and transformations, reflecting instead as if things happen when we're sleeping.
'Wow, I was so different when I was 21 compared to when I was 22...'
Unless you lived the 365 days after your 21st birthday in a drunken haze, and suddenly woke up on your 22nd birthday sober (which some people do...), I'm going to guess that the change was defined by blurred boundaries and fluctuating time lines. So stop referring to your life in 12 month portions and start realizing that the ebb and flow of life is as wispy as swept up clouds sneaking across a low mountain sky, not meant to be contained, straightened, or organized.
My second point is losing steam. I wanted to write about it not mattering what age you are. Your actions, your maturity levels, the way you react to situations and plan your thoughts and convey your points, all these things seem independent of age, meaning not everyone progresses at the same speed, and that you don't need a number attached to you to be able to pull off being you. I've typically been considered slightly more mature for my age, and could pass for someone 4, 5 even 6 or 7 years older than what I actually am. This would imply that while my age might have restricted me on when I could legally drive, when I could legally vote, and when I could legally drink, it did not define who I was. I lived as an independent person, void of the shackles of age. And this is a cool idea.
But to say that age has no effect on people... There are some people that wake up 30 years old and go 'shit, I need to get my ducks in a row.' There are people that wake up 40 years old and think, 'it's now or never.' There's even people that wake up 70 years old and go, 'I guess I have to start wearing a diaper.' And for these people, the age is what matters. The number is what matters. The exact timing that 30, or 40, or 70 years ago, to the day, their life began. And according to their thought structure, and their life blueprint, something needs to be happening. And at 29 and 362 days, and 29 and 363 days, and 29 and 364 days, nothing changes. But on that 365th day, boom goes the dynamite.
I'd like to hope that I will continue to live my life void of age constraints. Void of fearing a new number next to my facebook birthday. But who knows what the future will bring? All I know right now is I've thoroughly enjoyed living a portion of my life, and I hope the rest of it continues down this path.
I really struggled for an appropriate picture about age. Any suggestions?
So last night, I experienced one of the most disheartening sequence of events that I can remember. Now I'm not saying this was the worst act of human display I've ever heard of, but as far as witnessing, this might take the cake.
So after a long, tired day of work and some bad luck timing with the rain, I pulled into my parking spot under the EL, next to my building. I grabbed the ten or so plastic jewel bags of groceries out of my trunk, along with 2 pairs of shoes and my computer bag that were in my backseat. A mildly suspicious group of about 8 or 10 black high school guys were walking south down the alley, approaching my direction from the other side of Newport. Unfortunately, given the nature of the situation, I fell into a brief sate of worry, but then calmly put my car cover on and started loading up my arms to carry everything in as the kids seemed to disperse.
Well by the time I got to my stoop, every one of the kids was sitting on my front steps, completely blocking the entrance. They said hi to me, I said hi back, motioned to them I need to get in the door, and they kindly and enthusiastically got out of the way and apologized. As I was struggling to open the door and get in with everything on my arms, I heard the kids behind me make some noises. When I turned back, I saw one of the kids standing in the middle of the street, on his cell phone, starting to walk behind an older white man that was diagonally crossing the street. Once the older (maybe 45?) got to the sidewalk, I watched the kid punch the man in the back of the head, push him into the fence, knocking him to the ground. He laughs, grabs his hat, and starts walking back to his friends, who were laughing.
An older woman that also saw it started yelling at the kid, and they all ran off towards Clark. And I walked inside.
This happened at 5:30 in the evening, broad daylight. About 200 feet from a large 3-way intersection. On the 'classy' tree-lined street, nice enough looking for a movie to film there. So I guess it doesn't matter where you live. And I couldn't open my mouth. My arms were completely incapacitated. They knew where I lived. They knew where my car was parked. I was defenseless. But ignored.
And the whole situation didn't leave me scared, just sad.
Sad because I watched a young black kid punch an older white man for no reason, and he just laughed about it.
Sad because my initial 'fears' of seeing a group of black kids walking my way was more or less confirmed, and what that might say about me.
Sad because the state of our society is still this bad, even if some people want to call it 'kids being kids'
Sad because it doesn't matter where you live, what street you live on, how light it is outside, or what safety precautions you take, it can still just come down to wrong place, wrong time.
And sad because there was next to nothing that I could have done about it, as it happened.
I didn't think I needed a reminder of all those reasons to be sad, but I got one. June decided to welcome me with a giant slap in the face. Hope this isn't an indicator on how the rest of summer will go.
