This morning as I hailed a cab on East 79th Street, I carried with me my purse, a plastic bag of Heineken bottles and vanilla vodka that clanked as I slid into the back seat (long story), and an exquisite bouquet of aromatic spring flowers.
I carried with me reluctant anticipation of my morning run, happy that I had the time for it and unsure if I had the energy, but knowing I would try anyway. I carried a mental checklist of daily responsibilities, brewing excitement for upcoming events, and a tightly wound ball of love and concern for the special people in my life.
No sooner did my driver compliment me on the flowers than he launched into a sermon of his personal beliefs.
"Oh God, one of these," I thought to myself, hoping that cross-town traffic would be light. A few sentences in, though, I realized this was no fundamentalist tirade or nonsensical stream of consciousness. It was an honest attempt to share with me the basic, yet frequently ignored tools of personal enlightenment.
It started with philosophies and suggestions I've heard before. Find your strength within. Know thyself. If you spend life trying to win the rat race, even if you win, you're still merely a rat. Too many people succumb to spending their lives in search of success and once it is found, they have lost their soul. Inner truth, personal enlightenment.
And I didn't even mind him pushing his religious agenda on me since it was a religion in which I actually have an academic interest.
Half-knowing how naïve I sounded, I smiled and innocently inquired “Are you talking about Buddhism?”
“VERY GOOD!” he applauded, and I mentally patted myself on the back for being moderately well-read on the subject. This pride, this sense of accomplishment, however, was precisely that which he was arguing against.
"But it's so much more than that. Let me ask you a question: What is the fundamental problem with human nature?"
I didn’t know.
"Answer me this: what is our purpose for being on this planet?"
I considered saying something pithy- like, to love one another, to create something that lasts longer than we do.
Instead I said “I. Have. No. Idea.”
"And that is the problem."
He then persevered through broken English,
"We try to give our existence meaning through the material world, through accomplishments and education. Through money. We need to define our purpose for living through tangible successes. We define it with churches and gods, schools of belief that are limiting and render us untrue to our inner selves. The truth lies not in Lord Jesus, or Buddha - it is not written in the Bible or Koran or Bhagavad Ghadi. It can only be found within yourself. And once you know yourself, once you achieve that enlightenment, you can share it. You MUST share it. You must awaken the heart and soul of others. Share the knowledge, share the love. Devote yourself to selfless service. When you feed the birds on the street, you're feeding the creative power."
A hint of Zen, sure, but this had nothing to do with religion at all.
As we wove our way to the western edge of Central Park, I found myself wishing traffic would slow down.
He continued talking for the rest of the drive - pearls of wisdom pouring out at such a rate I couldn't re-articulate them if I tried.
His advice wasn't anything I hadn't heard before in some shape or form. What moved me about this was pure circumstance - the unexpected and rare gift of human connection and shared wisdom for no other reason that the fact that we are alive, breathing, and for the next 15 minutes or so - sharing this confined space. Let's learn from it.
"You are my sister," he said. "You are a child of the universe."
"Of course." I said. I smiled. "Thank you," he said.
"Right or left side?" Hello, reality. As I swiped my credit card payment, complete with 20% tip, he continued to implore me to search inside myself. And when I find it, whatever it may be...share it. Share it with my boyfriend who bought me the beautiful flowers that sparked the conversation to begin with. Share it with the people you love and the people you don't understand. It's universal and it's good and nobody can argue with that.
Because everyone, at the end of the day, has to answer to themselves.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
And she's back.
As I had hoped, the weekend in Connecticut was precisely what I needed to feel completely like my old self again.
Of course, credit is also owed to the phenomenal weather (showing no end in sight), the fact that my parents are back from the West Coast and my brother is blissfully planning his nuptials with a woman I adore, the Yankees' more-than-respectable showing in spite of their loss at Fenway's opening day yesterday (and the rapidly approaching opening at the House That Deej Built), and the fact that I'll be in Spain in exactly one month with the man I love. Credit where credit is due, friends.
But there is something about good old Wilton, CT...about cruising through the twists and turns of back roads you could swear were hundreds of miles from any city...about jogging a path that showcases the three schools I attended between the ages of 10-18...about being in my car with the windows down, flipping back and forth between z100 (and the same old morning show I listened to day after day throughout my entire adolescence) and 95.9 (better known as the station that made me fall in love with classic rock)...about kicking back with wine and friends under the strangely incomparable security of our parents' houses...about singing in the church that cured my stage fright...about hilarity-inducing reflection on the early days of the internet over belated corned beef at dining table that has seen so many holiday dinners...
It's impossible not to become swept up in a sea of sense memories, almost all of which awaken a sense of comfort, consistency, and overwhelming gratitude for the fact that some things will indeed never change.
Of course, credit is also owed to the phenomenal weather (showing no end in sight), the fact that my parents are back from the West Coast and my brother is blissfully planning his nuptials with a woman I adore, the Yankees' more-than-respectable showing in spite of their loss at Fenway's opening day yesterday (and the rapidly approaching opening at the House That Deej Built), and the fact that I'll be in Spain in exactly one month with the man I love. Credit where credit is due, friends.
But there is something about good old Wilton, CT...about cruising through the twists and turns of back roads you could swear were hundreds of miles from any city...about jogging a path that showcases the three schools I attended between the ages of 10-18...about being in my car with the windows down, flipping back and forth between z100 (and the same old morning show I listened to day after day throughout my entire adolescence) and 95.9 (better known as the station that made me fall in love with classic rock)...about kicking back with wine and friends under the strangely incomparable security of our parents' houses...about singing in the church that cured my stage fright...about hilarity-inducing reflection on the early days of the internet over belated corned beef at dining table that has seen so many holiday dinners...
It's impossible not to become swept up in a sea of sense memories, almost all of which awaken a sense of comfort, consistency, and overwhelming gratitude for the fact that some things will indeed never change.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Good Friday, Now That You Mention It...
Don't worry about things that haven't happened yet.
A simple yet invaluable pearl of wisdom - and one I have received more times than I can count. Be it from a friend, family, lover or stranger, it lands with varying degrees of impact and at times I swear on my very existence I'll never need to hear it again.
And, without fail, I'll feel the words wash over me again, as if for the first time.
In New York City, we are perpetually surrounded by people tormented by addictive lifestyles. Unable to relinquish the habits that imprison them. Their vices range from alcohol to sex to dieting to working to coffee to exercise to money to everything in between. And the lesson that seems to continually fall on deaf ears is that any thing - even that with the best intention - can be done to unnecessary excess.
As a genuine Libra, I pride myself on a delicate balance of life - work and play, comedy and drama, business and art, chocolate and salad, family and friends...it's an obvious and deliberate part of how I choose to live.
But like any addict - any habitual user of anything - I use all of the good I do, all of the well-meaning effort as justification for my sinful behavior. To award myself a sense of entitlement for my bad habit.
And, just like everything else, it's a habit that's hurting me first and foremost, with the people I love most deeply running a close second.
-
A necessary distinction to be made is that my worrying by no means renders me unhappy. If anything, it is the price I choose to pay for happiness - the lingering 'what if' question than can be applied universally as if to acknowledge that, yes, life is so fucking great - because xyz hasn't happened yet.
But what about deleting the 'yet' - three innocent letters loaded with implications. What about, without abandoning responsibilities, liberating myself from the minor potential that things will go wrong? Enough is enough.
Aside from biting my nails and diet soda, I've never failed to conquer a demon. Some times it's just a little more overdue than others.
A simple yet invaluable pearl of wisdom - and one I have received more times than I can count. Be it from a friend, family, lover or stranger, it lands with varying degrees of impact and at times I swear on my very existence I'll never need to hear it again.
And, without fail, I'll feel the words wash over me again, as if for the first time.
In New York City, we are perpetually surrounded by people tormented by addictive lifestyles. Unable to relinquish the habits that imprison them. Their vices range from alcohol to sex to dieting to working to coffee to exercise to money to everything in between. And the lesson that seems to continually fall on deaf ears is that any thing - even that with the best intention - can be done to unnecessary excess.
As a genuine Libra, I pride myself on a delicate balance of life - work and play, comedy and drama, business and art, chocolate and salad, family and friends...it's an obvious and deliberate part of how I choose to live.
But like any addict - any habitual user of anything - I use all of the good I do, all of the well-meaning effort as justification for my sinful behavior. To award myself a sense of entitlement for my bad habit.
And, just like everything else, it's a habit that's hurting me first and foremost, with the people I love most deeply running a close second.
-
A necessary distinction to be made is that my worrying by no means renders me unhappy. If anything, it is the price I choose to pay for happiness - the lingering 'what if' question than can be applied universally as if to acknowledge that, yes, life is so fucking great - because xyz hasn't happened yet.
But what about deleting the 'yet' - three innocent letters loaded with implications. What about, without abandoning responsibilities, liberating myself from the minor potential that things will go wrong? Enough is enough.
Aside from biting my nails and diet soda, I've never failed to conquer a demon. Some times it's just a little more overdue than others.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Re-Entering the Void
The approaching weekend (I use the term loosely as today is still tragically Tuesday) has served as a beacon of hope and strength for me for over a month now. Unfortunately, I have concluded that the universe wants the preceding week to be as unbearable as possible in order to ensure my appreciation.
But complaining about the comically varied incidents that have led to this conclusion would just add unnecessary insult to injury. So I will try to condense it into one, concise, unrelenting dilemma.
Where do I belong?
I have blessings in spades. Complaining about any part of my life, at this point, is just asking for the karmic pendulum to swing in the opposite direction and restore the balance. I'm not that stupid. But I am...confused. In flux. I sort of feel as if my wheels are spinning while I continue to go nowhere.
And I refuse to settle. The same reason I was single for the first 22 years of my life is the reason I find myself yet again teetering on the edge of professional blankness - more qualified, for sure - but nameless, homeless, and directionless. That I am capable is far from the question. I want to do what I want. And because I have played my cards right, lead a morally commendable existence, given of of myself - paid my dues, if you will - for so long at this point, I feel as deserving of a job I love. This is a rare confession for the girl who has trouble seeing herself as deserving of the many fortunate twists that brought her here in the first place.
So maybe that's the first neccessary step. Here's hoping.
But complaining about the comically varied incidents that have led to this conclusion would just add unnecessary insult to injury. So I will try to condense it into one, concise, unrelenting dilemma.
Where do I belong?
I have blessings in spades. Complaining about any part of my life, at this point, is just asking for the karmic pendulum to swing in the opposite direction and restore the balance. I'm not that stupid. But I am...confused. In flux. I sort of feel as if my wheels are spinning while I continue to go nowhere.
And I refuse to settle. The same reason I was single for the first 22 years of my life is the reason I find myself yet again teetering on the edge of professional blankness - more qualified, for sure - but nameless, homeless, and directionless. That I am capable is far from the question. I want to do what I want. And because I have played my cards right, lead a morally commendable existence, given of of myself - paid my dues, if you will - for so long at this point, I feel as deserving of a job I love. This is a rare confession for the girl who has trouble seeing herself as deserving of the many fortunate twists that brought her here in the first place.
So maybe that's the first neccessary step. Here's hoping.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Cheers to health.
Today is the first day this week - or dare I say, in over a week - that I have not been in some physical pain. Excuse the apparent melodrama - but it is a fact - I have done a lot of pain-inducing activities, been teetering on the edge of sickness, and had a nasty (but not uncommon) pinched nerve in my neck.
Unfortunately I'm no stranger to long-term bouts of pain (never utterly incapacitating but at times intolerable). But I have been recovered for a few years now, and it is amazing how quickly we forget our greatest trials, and revert to taking life's most basic necessities for granted.
So here's to today's absence of pain, an unbelievably freeing, essential gift. And a reticent 'thank you' to the universe, as well, for the unwelcome yet necessary reminder of lucky I am to be young, well, and alive.
Unfortunately I'm no stranger to long-term bouts of pain (never utterly incapacitating but at times intolerable). But I have been recovered for a few years now, and it is amazing how quickly we forget our greatest trials, and revert to taking life's most basic necessities for granted.
So here's to today's absence of pain, an unbelievably freeing, essential gift. And a reticent 'thank you' to the universe, as well, for the unwelcome yet necessary reminder of lucky I am to be young, well, and alive.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I don't care if the train runs late, if the checks don't clear, if the house blows down..
I'll be off where the weeds run wild,
Where the seeds fall far from this earth-bound town.
And I'll start to soar,
Watch me rain 'til I pour.
Catch a ship that'll sail me astray
Get caught in the wind, I'll just have to obey
Til I'm flying away...
-Craig Carnelia
They say that Saturday’s earthquake in Chile has altered the Earth’s distribution of mass ever so slightly, speeding up its rotation and thus decreasing the length of every day by some minute fraction of a second.
The latter part – the shortening of days bit – is inconsequential in magnitude. Besides, if you are like me and subscribe to the belief that time is purely relative, the claim that days have shortened smacks of scientific propaganda. But the notion that the entire world in which we live has forever changed a singular incident, in a singular country, on a singular continent is unnerving, to say the least.
This whole real-life manifestation of the Butterfly Effect is jarring enough – without inevitable consequence of applying it to our own lives.
If I had taken one step, uttered one sentence, formulated one thought differently- could it really have resulted in an outcome entirely different from the one I am currently living?
My answer is Yes. And the only way to cope with this devastating theory is to employ the ‘ignorance is bliss’ mentality – to plunge ahead with the comfort that we would never know the difference. Maybe life would be exponentially better. Maybe I’d be dead.
My life has been a bit off-kilter in the last week; a head-cold, a myriad of aches and pains, and a lingering sense of uneasiness have forced me to question what has thrown my own world slightly off its axis. Changes are occurring. They may be both good and necessary, but they’re still changes – and attention must be paid. Cruising through them without proper recognition could potentially backfire.
So with that I raise a glass to the express train instead of the local, stairs instead of elevators, March instead of February, a new home, a family who remains 3000 miles away, an ever-changing career path. An ever-changing sense of self.
It’s hard, and weird, and terrifying. Not in theory, not hypothetically, and not by some inconsequential fraction of a percent. In reality.
I don't know, maybe I'm just a fool.
I should keep to the ground, I should stay where I'm at.
Maybe everyone has hunger like this-
and the hunger will pass-
but I cant think like that...
Where the seeds fall far from this earth-bound town.
And I'll start to soar,
Watch me rain 'til I pour.
Catch a ship that'll sail me astray
Get caught in the wind, I'll just have to obey
Til I'm flying away...
-Craig Carnelia
They say that Saturday’s earthquake in Chile has altered the Earth’s distribution of mass ever so slightly, speeding up its rotation and thus decreasing the length of every day by some minute fraction of a second.
The latter part – the shortening of days bit – is inconsequential in magnitude. Besides, if you are like me and subscribe to the belief that time is purely relative, the claim that days have shortened smacks of scientific propaganda. But the notion that the entire world in which we live has forever changed a singular incident, in a singular country, on a singular continent is unnerving, to say the least.
This whole real-life manifestation of the Butterfly Effect is jarring enough – without inevitable consequence of applying it to our own lives.
If I had taken one step, uttered one sentence, formulated one thought differently- could it really have resulted in an outcome entirely different from the one I am currently living?
My answer is Yes. And the only way to cope with this devastating theory is to employ the ‘ignorance is bliss’ mentality – to plunge ahead with the comfort that we would never know the difference. Maybe life would be exponentially better. Maybe I’d be dead.
My life has been a bit off-kilter in the last week; a head-cold, a myriad of aches and pains, and a lingering sense of uneasiness have forced me to question what has thrown my own world slightly off its axis. Changes are occurring. They may be both good and necessary, but they’re still changes – and attention must be paid. Cruising through them without proper recognition could potentially backfire.
So with that I raise a glass to the express train instead of the local, stairs instead of elevators, March instead of February, a new home, a family who remains 3000 miles away, an ever-changing career path. An ever-changing sense of self.
It’s hard, and weird, and terrifying. Not in theory, not hypothetically, and not by some inconsequential fraction of a percent. In reality.
I don't know, maybe I'm just a fool.
I should keep to the ground, I should stay where I'm at.
Maybe everyone has hunger like this-
and the hunger will pass-
but I cant think like that...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
I am, therefore I blog.
This weekend, I lived New York City.
On Thursday night, the city caught me in a moment of vulnerability and turned my should-be 15-minute journey home into an hour long, cold and snowy mess. On Friday morning, I opened my front door to nearly 2 feet of snow piled atop the cars parked along west 91st street, which had been shoveled haphazardly by someone who presumed that, given the amount of snow continuing to fall, their efforts were futile. I begrudgingly plodded to work in a snow-day outfit not suited for the Fashion District.
Friday didn't get better for some time. The cable guy didn't show because, evidently, the idea of working during a snowstorm like the rest of us (or calling to notify me that he wasn't coming) proved too much for him. More enraging still is the fact that I will be without cable for another two weeks - a fact that infuriates me only on principle, as I am gleefully stealing internet at the moment, have the entire series of Sex and the City on DVD, and frankly don't have much of an interest in television these days. Still, the mere notion that I am at the mercy of Time Warner's total absence of customer service gets under my skin more than I should admit.
Fortunately, thanks to a handsome and strapping shoulder to cry on (and one who eagerly ventured to pick up a pizza when delivery was, let's face it, not a likely option), Friday did turn around eventually. A healthy dose of perspective and some spectacular moments thrown in there and, before I knew it, the weekend had been restored.
Saturday, I took a Krav Maga Women's Self Defense Seminar in Chelsea with (and at the recommendation of) my personal New York City guru (and bff), Alyssa Galella. For those of you like myself who thought that Krav Maga was simply the pseudonym of some hippie who gets paid to show women how to kick ass in her Chelsea-based studio, let's turn to wikipedia:
Krav Maga (pronounced /ˌkrɑːv məˈɡɑː/; Hebrew: קרב מגע, IPA: [ˈkʁav maˈɡa], lit. "contact combat" or "close combat") is an eclectic hand-to-hand combat system developed in Israel which involves wrestling, grappling and striking techniques. Krav Maga is also known as Israeli jiu jitsu, its philosophy emphasizes threat neutralization, simultaneous defensive and offensive maneuvers, and aggression. Krav Maga is used by the IDF Special Forces units and several closely related variations have been developed and adopted by law enforcement, Mossad, Shin Bet, FBI, SWAT units of the NYPD[5] and United States special operations forces.
If that isn't hardcore enough for you, try to pack as much of this little practice into a 2 hour seminar as possible, including a boot-camp style workout in the top 30 minutes that deemed my decision to go sans-sports bra completely insane. Add to that starting pilates classes this week, joining the gym, and moving into a 5th floor walk-up, and lets just say I'm cursing muscles I didn't even know existed. Still, the seminar provided a tremendous release and sense of empowerment that came perfectly on cue.
Saturday night brought a mind-fuck (in the best possible way) presentation at the Hayden Planetarium entitled Sonic Vision - a 30 minute roller coaster of images and music that makes you wish that LSD were legal, cheap, and had no potentially devastating long-term psychological effects. Until that's the case, I highly recommend this little $15 trip ($12 if you can snag a discount) as a way to kick off a night of stuff that won't be nearly as cool.
Our subsequent 'stuff' was sufficiently cool, though. A concert in Brooklyn, with at least two friends planning on attending, was enough to lure me and the beau to Park Slope - much, MUCH uncharted territory - to a gem of a venue called Union Hall - a bar in one of these converted warehouses that reminds us Manhattanites what breathing room feels like. With two Bocce courts awkwardly/endearingly situated front and center in the main room, and a cozy concert hall nestled in the basement, the place has an identity all its own and I think we were all too charmed by it to worry about the inevitable $40 cab ride back to the Upper West Side.
Sunday was, in short, a dream, and filled as it should be with coffee-drinking and Upper West Side exploring with a very special man, running into a beloved old neighbor on the street, and living fully, on my time, and my terms, without guilt or obligation.
It is this kind of life-filled life that had led to my waning frequency of blog posts as of late. But I'm rededicating myself, because life has never been more worth documenting. And we all know I'm not much for cameras.
On Thursday night, the city caught me in a moment of vulnerability and turned my should-be 15-minute journey home into an hour long, cold and snowy mess. On Friday morning, I opened my front door to nearly 2 feet of snow piled atop the cars parked along west 91st street, which had been shoveled haphazardly by someone who presumed that, given the amount of snow continuing to fall, their efforts were futile. I begrudgingly plodded to work in a snow-day outfit not suited for the Fashion District.
Friday didn't get better for some time. The cable guy didn't show because, evidently, the idea of working during a snowstorm like the rest of us (or calling to notify me that he wasn't coming) proved too much for him. More enraging still is the fact that I will be without cable for another two weeks - a fact that infuriates me only on principle, as I am gleefully stealing internet at the moment, have the entire series of Sex and the City on DVD, and frankly don't have much of an interest in television these days. Still, the mere notion that I am at the mercy of Time Warner's total absence of customer service gets under my skin more than I should admit.
Fortunately, thanks to a handsome and strapping shoulder to cry on (and one who eagerly ventured to pick up a pizza when delivery was, let's face it, not a likely option), Friday did turn around eventually. A healthy dose of perspective and some spectacular moments thrown in there and, before I knew it, the weekend had been restored.
Saturday, I took a Krav Maga Women's Self Defense Seminar in Chelsea with (and at the recommendation of) my personal New York City guru (and bff), Alyssa Galella. For those of you like myself who thought that Krav Maga was simply the pseudonym of some hippie who gets paid to show women how to kick ass in her Chelsea-based studio, let's turn to wikipedia:
Krav Maga (pronounced /ˌkrɑːv məˈɡɑː/; Hebrew: קרב מגע, IPA: [ˈkʁav maˈɡa], lit. "contact combat" or "close combat") is an eclectic hand-to-hand combat system developed in Israel which involves wrestling, grappling and striking techniques. Krav Maga is also known as Israeli jiu jitsu, its philosophy emphasizes threat neutralization, simultaneous defensive and offensive maneuvers, and aggression. Krav Maga is used by the IDF Special Forces units and several closely related variations have been developed and adopted by law enforcement, Mossad, Shin Bet, FBI, SWAT units of the NYPD[5] and United States special operations forces.
If that isn't hardcore enough for you, try to pack as much of this little practice into a 2 hour seminar as possible, including a boot-camp style workout in the top 30 minutes that deemed my decision to go sans-sports bra completely insane. Add to that starting pilates classes this week, joining the gym, and moving into a 5th floor walk-up, and lets just say I'm cursing muscles I didn't even know existed. Still, the seminar provided a tremendous release and sense of empowerment that came perfectly on cue.
Saturday night brought a mind-fuck (in the best possible way) presentation at the Hayden Planetarium entitled Sonic Vision - a 30 minute roller coaster of images and music that makes you wish that LSD were legal, cheap, and had no potentially devastating long-term psychological effects. Until that's the case, I highly recommend this little $15 trip ($12 if you can snag a discount) as a way to kick off a night of stuff that won't be nearly as cool.
Our subsequent 'stuff' was sufficiently cool, though. A concert in Brooklyn, with at least two friends planning on attending, was enough to lure me and the beau to Park Slope - much, MUCH uncharted territory - to a gem of a venue called Union Hall - a bar in one of these converted warehouses that reminds us Manhattanites what breathing room feels like. With two Bocce courts awkwardly/endearingly situated front and center in the main room, and a cozy concert hall nestled in the basement, the place has an identity all its own and I think we were all too charmed by it to worry about the inevitable $40 cab ride back to the Upper West Side.
Sunday was, in short, a dream, and filled as it should be with coffee-drinking and Upper West Side exploring with a very special man, running into a beloved old neighbor on the street, and living fully, on my time, and my terms, without guilt or obligation.
It is this kind of life-filled life that had led to my waning frequency of blog posts as of late. But I'm rededicating myself, because life has never been more worth documenting. And we all know I'm not much for cameras.
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