26 December 2010
19 December 2010
15 December 2010
14 December 2010
29 October 2010
15 October 2010
14 October 2010
Thoughts on a rainy Thursday
Just a few thoughts, freeflowing, something to come back to:
I am 23. Things are starting to gain a strange type of momentum now, the kind that I wish I could control, but which -- inevitably -- I can't. That's what real momentum is, though. So maybe what I was experiencing before was but a wayward tug. This is true release, I think, what I've needed to have all this time but couldn't. I scramble about so much in my daily life, trying to balance a set of priorities and people that just ask for too much of my attention and responsibility. And not to say that I don't genuinely care about each and every one of these pieces of my life -- but Mom knows best (and somehow she always gets the timing just right) -- in saying that I can't have everything.
Grab for too much and you risk losing what you already have.
And maybe that's a generational thing -- I'm not sure. But I've been raised to expect the world, to reach for the stars, to -- any number of trite sayings to fill in the blank, phrases that tell of pushing limits, expanding, growing, breathing. And I've always believed that the only person standing in the way of your success (however you might define that) -- is you. Just. You.
What most everyone wants and needs in life is not material. This much I know. The pursuit of happiness, that's something more tangible to me than chasing money. Money -- it's a concept. It's paper. It's the luxury and the status and the illusion of exclusion that's appealing. All because, really, those ideas are so tied up in the concept of happiness. It's become assumed that money will act as a catalyst for better things. A push in the right direction.
And so when I sat in a cab, homeward-bound, at 5:30 in the morning earlier today (yikes), heading home from work as the rest of the city shook itself awake, I had an epiphany. I need to once again embrace this feeling of trust that I can't control my circumstances, but I CAN control what I make of it. In a world of stumbled-into, accidentally-met happenstance, I want to know that after an initial push, I have to let things be. Steer, but only when I need to.
The one area of my life that I am wholly in control of is my mind, my mentality, my hyper-awareness of my own thoughts. I think I need this jolt of irregularity, strange schedule, a weird kind of isolation, in order to really see what I value and where I put in my time and effort.
My days are so much longer now. I wake up on my own accord, spend time with myself, my body (hello, gym and yoga) and my mind (hey now, NYTimes) because I know that this entire experience will make me that much mentally stronger. So much of society today is cast in a glow of interactions, outside reinforcements, chasing signs that we're okay, and I want to look deeper into that.
We bump into people, update our status feeds and blog about our days because it means that we're alive, that someone out there will think of us, talk about us, remember us.
I was once told that humans are born with one fear -- a fear of falling. This was meant in the literal sense, about the kind of falling that endangers our lives and develops into a fear of heights and vertigo. But in a broader sense, fear of falling means fear of failing, of tumbling from the social consciousness.
We blog because we want to stay relevant. We tweet because we want to reach out -- listen to me, see me, hear me. This is what I want to share with the world.
But what happens when the world stops listening? Radio silence.
What happens then?
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear or see it fall, has anything really happened?
We focus externally, look outward because sometimes (most of the time) that's so much easier. I want so much out of life, but I really want, more than that, to know why. Why am I constantly filling my days answering emails, meeting up with aquaintances, blogging (HA) about my thoughts to an anonymous audience?
Solitude will be my best learning tool.
It's easy to get lost in New York City. But last night/this morning, as I glanced over my shoulder at bedroom lights flickering on in high rises as I crossed the bridge, people starting the day just as I was about to end it, I felt found. Their dawn is my dusk. My reality is only, really, in my head. And I was very much aware that I was coming home -- on my own terms.
I am 23. Things are starting to gain a strange type of momentum now, the kind that I wish I could control, but which -- inevitably -- I can't. That's what real momentum is, though. So maybe what I was experiencing before was but a wayward tug. This is true release, I think, what I've needed to have all this time but couldn't. I scramble about so much in my daily life, trying to balance a set of priorities and people that just ask for too much of my attention and responsibility. And not to say that I don't genuinely care about each and every one of these pieces of my life -- but Mom knows best (and somehow she always gets the timing just right) -- in saying that I can't have everything.
Grab for too much and you risk losing what you already have.
And maybe that's a generational thing -- I'm not sure. But I've been raised to expect the world, to reach for the stars, to -- any number of trite sayings to fill in the blank, phrases that tell of pushing limits, expanding, growing, breathing. And I've always believed that the only person standing in the way of your success (however you might define that) -- is you. Just. You.
What most everyone wants and needs in life is not material. This much I know. The pursuit of happiness, that's something more tangible to me than chasing money. Money -- it's a concept. It's paper. It's the luxury and the status and the illusion of exclusion that's appealing. All because, really, those ideas are so tied up in the concept of happiness. It's become assumed that money will act as a catalyst for better things. A push in the right direction.
And so when I sat in a cab, homeward-bound, at 5:30 in the morning earlier today (yikes), heading home from work as the rest of the city shook itself awake, I had an epiphany. I need to once again embrace this feeling of trust that I can't control my circumstances, but I CAN control what I make of it. In a world of stumbled-into, accidentally-met happenstance, I want to know that after an initial push, I have to let things be. Steer, but only when I need to.
The one area of my life that I am wholly in control of is my mind, my mentality, my hyper-awareness of my own thoughts. I think I need this jolt of irregularity, strange schedule, a weird kind of isolation, in order to really see what I value and where I put in my time and effort.
My days are so much longer now. I wake up on my own accord, spend time with myself, my body (hello, gym and yoga) and my mind (hey now, NYTimes) because I know that this entire experience will make me that much mentally stronger. So much of society today is cast in a glow of interactions, outside reinforcements, chasing signs that we're okay, and I want to look deeper into that.
We bump into people, update our status feeds and blog about our days because it means that we're alive, that someone out there will think of us, talk about us, remember us.
I was once told that humans are born with one fear -- a fear of falling. This was meant in the literal sense, about the kind of falling that endangers our lives and develops into a fear of heights and vertigo. But in a broader sense, fear of falling means fear of failing, of tumbling from the social consciousness.
We blog because we want to stay relevant. We tweet because we want to reach out -- listen to me, see me, hear me. This is what I want to share with the world.
But what happens when the world stops listening? Radio silence.
What happens then?
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear or see it fall, has anything really happened?
We focus externally, look outward because sometimes (most of the time) that's so much easier. I want so much out of life, but I really want, more than that, to know why. Why am I constantly filling my days answering emails, meeting up with aquaintances, blogging (HA) about my thoughts to an anonymous audience?
Solitude will be my best learning tool.
It's easy to get lost in New York City. But last night/this morning, as I glanced over my shoulder at bedroom lights flickering on in high rises as I crossed the bridge, people starting the day just as I was about to end it, I felt found. Their dawn is my dusk. My reality is only, really, in my head. And I was very much aware that I was coming home -- on my own terms.
04 September 2010
Inside. Out.
There's this very big concept that you learn to navigate as you grow up, known as "inside vs. outside." I mean this in the sense of not just "indoor voices" vs. "outdoor voices" -- though, also an important thing to know when you're older -- but also in the sense of who is in your inner circle and who is in your outer.
Complete strangers: outer.
Family: inner.
Friends: this is where it gets tricky. Your closest childhood friends you pretty much regard as family, and therefore, it's pretty safe to say that they're inner. But friends of friends, former friends of friends, exes, frenemies -- the list of layered friendships goes on and on. And determining whose side to take in an argument or whose relationship takes "priority" over another is just a bad situation to be in. But it happens.
And sometimes in the process of trying to sort that out, you start to wonder about everyone else's onion-like relationship layers. Where do you fall and how does that match up with where they fall into your own set of layers? It's a strange thing to think about, but then again, if life's riches lie in relationships, isn't it important to figure out which ones are false gold and which ones are real?
Complete strangers: outer.
Family: inner.
Friends: this is where it gets tricky. Your closest childhood friends you pretty much regard as family, and therefore, it's pretty safe to say that they're inner. But friends of friends, former friends of friends, exes, frenemies -- the list of layered friendships goes on and on. And determining whose side to take in an argument or whose relationship takes "priority" over another is just a bad situation to be in. But it happens.
And sometimes in the process of trying to sort that out, you start to wonder about everyone else's onion-like relationship layers. Where do you fall and how does that match up with where they fall into your own set of layers? It's a strange thing to think about, but then again, if life's riches lie in relationships, isn't it important to figure out which ones are false gold and which ones are real?
01 September 2010
The Beat of New York
"Sometimes it really takes a visitor to capture the essence of home."
THE BEAT OF NEW YORK from tim hahne on Vimeo.
29 August 2010
Hustle and Flow
It's only been a brief two weeks since I've been back in the flow of, vibe of, feel of the work pace of life in NYC and it's a pretty stark contrast to the relatively lackadaisical days I've been having for the last three months. This isn't to say, of course, that the change hasn't been welcome, just that there is such a distinct difference between residing in New York and really living here.
Summer was filled with sun-lit afternoons pounding the pavement, lounging in parks, being drawn into the beat and pulse of living in a -- pardon the trite phrase -- urban jungle. Given the number of tourists who flock to the city, cameras and maps in tow, trying to haphazardly match their footsteps to those of the stiletto-heeled women around them, it's no wonder that the buzz of the city was particularly pronounced in the summertime. But more than that, the crowds that positively melted into place in parks, at cafes and on subways were somehow more vibrant than the standard monochromatic workweek fare.
The only responsibilities I had during the week were to myself; my appointments were my own. I operated on my own daily schedule, and any deadlines I set and met (or didn't) would be of my own volition. Study for the GREs, search for jobs, work on freelance assignments, develop my knowledge and skills by reading everything I could lay my hands (fingertips?) on and by writing constantly. There may never be a time again in my life where I have the luxury of only worrying about, well, myself.
Now the weather is cooling down, summer "lasts" are plentiful, and the reality of bracing for another go at the NYC work life is rearing its daunting head. But though I will miss summer and all the mental acumen it provided, I'm equally excited by the prospects of a new season and its consequent shift of energy.
Autumn is soothing because it marks the do-over, restart phase of the year, a grounding calmness with a running stream of conversation underneath. It's the perfect kind of weather for a little hustle, a little flow. So it begins again.
Summer was filled with sun-lit afternoons pounding the pavement, lounging in parks, being drawn into the beat and pulse of living in a -- pardon the trite phrase -- urban jungle. Given the number of tourists who flock to the city, cameras and maps in tow, trying to haphazardly match their footsteps to those of the stiletto-heeled women around them, it's no wonder that the buzz of the city was particularly pronounced in the summertime. But more than that, the crowds that positively melted into place in parks, at cafes and on subways were somehow more vibrant than the standard monochromatic workweek fare.
The only responsibilities I had during the week were to myself; my appointments were my own. I operated on my own daily schedule, and any deadlines I set and met (or didn't) would be of my own volition. Study for the GREs, search for jobs, work on freelance assignments, develop my knowledge and skills by reading everything I could lay my hands (fingertips?) on and by writing constantly. There may never be a time again in my life where I have the luxury of only worrying about, well, myself.
Now the weather is cooling down, summer "lasts" are plentiful, and the reality of bracing for another go at the NYC work life is rearing its daunting head. But though I will miss summer and all the mental acumen it provided, I'm equally excited by the prospects of a new season and its consequent shift of energy.
Autumn is soothing because it marks the do-over, restart phase of the year, a grounding calmness with a running stream of conversation underneath. It's the perfect kind of weather for a little hustle, a little flow. So it begins again.
03 August 2010
Artistic streak
I've been thinking a lot lately about the written word as an art form -- and so it was only fitting that I came across this passage today while reading "Linchpin":
Art isn't only a painting. Art is anything that's creative, passionate, and personal. And great art resonates with the viewer, not only with the creator.
What makes someone an artist? I don't think it has anything to do with a paintbrush. There are painters who follow the numbers, or paint billboards, or work in a small village in China, painting reproductions. These folks, while swell people, aren't artists. On the other hand, Charlie Chaplin was an artist, beyond a doubt. So is Jonathan Ive, who designed the iPod. You can be an artist who works with oil paints of marble, sure. But there are artists who work with numbers, business models, and customer conversations. Art is about intent and communication, not substances.
An artist is someone who uses bravery, insight, creativity, and boldness to challenge the status quo. And an artist takes it personally.
...
Art is not related to craft, except to the extent that the craft helps deliver the change. Technical skill might be a helpful component in making art, but it's certainly not required. Art doesn't have to be decorative; it can be useful as long as the use causes change.
...
By definition, art is human. A machine can't create art, because the intent matters. It's much more likely to be art if you do it on purpose.
A cook is not an artist. A cook follows a recipe, and he's a good cook if he follows the recipe correctly. A chef is an artist. She's an artist when she invents a new way of cooking or a new type of dish that creates surprise or joy or pleasure for the person she created it for.
Art isn't only a painting. Art is anything that's creative, passionate, and personal. And great art resonates with the viewer, not only with the creator.
What makes someone an artist? I don't think it has anything to do with a paintbrush. There are painters who follow the numbers, or paint billboards, or work in a small village in China, painting reproductions. These folks, while swell people, aren't artists. On the other hand, Charlie Chaplin was an artist, beyond a doubt. So is Jonathan Ive, who designed the iPod. You can be an artist who works with oil paints of marble, sure. But there are artists who work with numbers, business models, and customer conversations. Art is about intent and communication, not substances.
An artist is someone who uses bravery, insight, creativity, and boldness to challenge the status quo. And an artist takes it personally.
...
Art is not related to craft, except to the extent that the craft helps deliver the change. Technical skill might be a helpful component in making art, but it's certainly not required. Art doesn't have to be decorative; it can be useful as long as the use causes change.
...
By definition, art is human. A machine can't create art, because the intent matters. It's much more likely to be art if you do it on purpose.
A cook is not an artist. A cook follows a recipe, and he's a good cook if he follows the recipe correctly. A chef is an artist. She's an artist when she invents a new way of cooking or a new type of dish that creates surprise or joy or pleasure for the person she created it for.
02 August 2010
On wealth
Original posting found here.
Wealth is what happens when luck meets opportunity. Or is that success? Or was it that luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity? The infinite combinations and equations that make up these cross-concept building blocks ultimately all point to the same thing: in our society, wealth, or something like it, is attainable by anybody. Hard labor, combined with the right dose of perceptiveness, charisma and yes, luck, have proven to be enough to promote any citizen from one tax bracket to the next. This is, at least, the promise of America, a land where opportunities are here for the taking.
Having grown up with parents who immigrated to the States in their mid-20s, I am always acutely aware of this perception, and the consequent implications. The idea of social mobility is something that isn’t as encouraged in Taiwan — whatever “class” you are born into tends to be where you stay, even in the advancements of your career. And hence, the draw of a country like the U.S. where “anything is possible” is pretty hefty. If it is true that wealth springs from luck and opportunity, and luck itself is composed of preparation and opportunity, then, in the immigrant generation’s mind, hard work (preparation) is the only part they’ll need to contribute, now that the other controllable variable (opportunity) is present.
And hence the immigrant mentality stands: work hard, and you can succeed. And by success, I mean of course in monetary and materialistic terms. I’ve always looked to this model as part of the reason why children of immigrant parents tend to place a different emphasis on the value of wealth (read: money) than either their parents or their American counterparts. To second generation Americans (those born in the States, but whose parents immigrated from another country), there is a balance to be made.
Their immigrant parents insist that attaining wealth — working hard and forfeiting enjoyment in many cases — is the justifiable ends to a life of just getting by. Because the opportunities are here, it is unwise to throw them away — and for immigrants, all opportunities point toward monetary stability and development.
American society itself is filled with contradictions, but the overarching theme at present seems to be that money can’t buy you happiness, and it is therefore almost insulting to the Constitution to “sell out” and do things just for the money. (At the same time, of course, we observe the lives of the rich and famous and aspire to reach that level of social acceptance and wealth. Oh, the irony).
Somehow consolidating the two viewpoints into one coherent view on wealth is near-impossible, but it’s somewhere in the struggle that the third piece of the equation falls into place. Luck. Because even with a rigid mindset regarding the value and definition of wealth, we always find success (however we define it) at just the right time, don’t we? And if that can’t be attributed to luck, then what can?
27 July 2010
I don't even know...
What do you say, how do you respond...when someone tells you they've discovered a cancerous tumor in their brain and don't think they want to live anymore if it means being an invalid?
20 July 2010
14 July 2010
On success
My post for this week's Avocado Jungle. Thoughts?
Success is one of those topics that can spark a countless number of debates, conversations and discussions — with others, but more importantly, within ourselves. Trying to define this amorphous concept is the root of both ambition and manipulation, the reason why some of us are able to be content without external reinforcement and why others who are superficially successful will never have peace of mind.
The truth about success, in my view, is that it is more about personal goals and drive than it is about finding a place in the human rat race. We’re taught at an early age that there is such a thing as winners and losers — labels that are ultimately arbitrary, since the process is more valuable than the end result. This black-and-white rationale can act as blinders for how we view personal achievement, and it takes some unlearning to even begin to define success.
Take something as simple as a marathon, for instance. I recently ran a 10K race through Central Park as part of my preparation for the full New York City marathon. Without a doubt there was a runner who finished the race first, and by definition, he or she was the “winner” of the run. Likewise, there had to be a person who finished last, and by definition, was the “loser” of the race. But you would be hard-pressed to find somebody who wouldn’t agree that each person who crossed that finish line was still successful in his or her own right. The mental endurance and emotional poignancy that is associated with training for a marathon is blatant proof that success is an individual experience.
How is it that this very literal example, however, often fails to translate into other areas of life? If the workforce really is the rat race we believe it to be, then why worry about finishing ahead of other people, about making more money than, owning more things than, having more power than others? It should matter more the lessons we learn, the skills we acquire, the positive changes we see in ourselves in our quest toward a finish line. Having a goal and working toward it and actually embracing all the experiences along the way — that is success.
Blindly reaching for institutions and social levels that we’re told are benchmarks of success is the surest way to ensure personal frustration and failure. It is only when we learn to let go of external expectations and begin to enjoy the process of life itself that we can truly grasp what we personally define as success, be it raising a family, giving back to the community, or even just learning a foreign language.
It’s not so much what we do that makes us successful. It’s how we go about striving toward our goals and why we choose to do them. Everything else is just details.
07 July 2010
Mao's Last Dancer
Just screened this in my first section of NYU's Movies 101. Absolutely fantastic film and can't wait to spread the word -- out in the States in August. Really well-cast (male lead's quite the looker...) and such an intricate, multi-dimensional true story. Schweet.
06 July 2010
Awkward Things, Part I.
Things that I've been noticing in the past few days, all pretty dang awkward (and good for a chuckle -- maybe even two):
1. That first moment when a movie ends in the theatre and the credits start rolling. Instinct says to turn to the person next to you and say something witty or thought-provoking or critical, but if your fellow movie-goer is the silent type, you end up feeling like a douchebag.
2. Making as though to exit an elevator just as it stalls -- you end up walking toward a closed door in a confined space, looking pretty foolish. And then instead of just chuckling at yourself, you pretend like it didn't happen and insist on facing straight forward anyway, avoiding eye contact.
3. Doing the two-step with an elderly person while trying to cross each other on the sidewalk.
4. Saying "You too!" when the waitress tells you to enjoy your meal.
5. Holding an awkward smile while a kind passerby tries to figure out how to work your camera. Especially awkward when you're among a giant group of people, and yours is the only camera that decides to be difficult.
That is all. Random thoughts, consequent parts to follow.
1. That first moment when a movie ends in the theatre and the credits start rolling. Instinct says to turn to the person next to you and say something witty or thought-provoking or critical, but if your fellow movie-goer is the silent type, you end up feeling like a douchebag.
2. Making as though to exit an elevator just as it stalls -- you end up walking toward a closed door in a confined space, looking pretty foolish. And then instead of just chuckling at yourself, you pretend like it didn't happen and insist on facing straight forward anyway, avoiding eye contact.
3. Doing the two-step with an elderly person while trying to cross each other on the sidewalk.
4. Saying "You too!" when the waitress tells you to enjoy your meal.
5. Holding an awkward smile while a kind passerby tries to figure out how to work your camera. Especially awkward when you're among a giant group of people, and yours is the only camera that decides to be difficult.
That is all. Random thoughts, consequent parts to follow.
02 July 2010
Wordplay
Heard something yesterday that kind of tickled my fancy (HA) and made me stop and think.
We should stop asking how we can get out of a challenging situation and instead ask what we can get out of the experience.
So concisely put but so true -- I think, regardless of whether the medium is religion, psychology or a blurry mix of the two, this truth, when delivered, has such a sobering effect. This is taking a given set of circumstances and understanding that nothing that has taken place is positive or negative; only our minds make it so. The concept of a person with "bad luck" versus someone who seems to have been born into good fortune -- that's all perception.
In navigating my way (both literally and figuratively) through New York City, I see that part of the reason why people can burn out here so quickly is that they fail to see the big picture, the impermanence of their situations. Stressful though a project at work may be, it too shall pass. Time waits for no one, and therefore, it's silly to assume that a bad situation will continue to be bad. The truth is, a bad situation stops being bad the instant you decide it's not. It's really that simple, and really that complicated.
Having a constructive attitude is something that I'm working on. The most valuable resource we have is (perhaps second to time) our psychic energy, and where we focus that really does determine how our days, weeks, years, and eventually, lives, turn out. Expanding focus is something like growing a plant, though. Leave it untouched and untended, and it becomes just a pile of dirt and rubble concealing a few kernels of potential.
Pretty unfortunate, ya know what I mean?
We should stop asking how we can get out of a challenging situation and instead ask what we can get out of the experience.
So concisely put but so true -- I think, regardless of whether the medium is religion, psychology or a blurry mix of the two, this truth, when delivered, has such a sobering effect. This is taking a given set of circumstances and understanding that nothing that has taken place is positive or negative; only our minds make it so. The concept of a person with "bad luck" versus someone who seems to have been born into good fortune -- that's all perception.
In navigating my way (both literally and figuratively) through New York City, I see that part of the reason why people can burn out here so quickly is that they fail to see the big picture, the impermanence of their situations. Stressful though a project at work may be, it too shall pass. Time waits for no one, and therefore, it's silly to assume that a bad situation will continue to be bad. The truth is, a bad situation stops being bad the instant you decide it's not. It's really that simple, and really that complicated.
Having a constructive attitude is something that I'm working on. The most valuable resource we have is (perhaps second to time) our psychic energy, and where we focus that really does determine how our days, weeks, years, and eventually, lives, turn out. Expanding focus is something like growing a plant, though. Leave it untouched and untended, and it becomes just a pile of dirt and rubble concealing a few kernels of potential.
Pretty unfortunate, ya know what I mean?
29 June 2010
Finding balance
A little excerpt that struck me in the last reread of "Flow":
More and more, we seem to bury our heads in the sand to avoid hearing bad news, withdrawing into gated communities protected by armed response. But a good personal life is impossible while staying aloof of a corrupt society, as Socrates knew and those who have lived under recent dictatorships have found out. It would be so much easier if we were responsible only for ourselves. Unfortunately, things don't work that way. An active responsibility for the rest of humankind, and for the world of which we are a part, is a necessary ingredient of a good life.
The real challenge, however, is to reduce entropy in one's surroundings without increasing it in one's consciousness. The Buddhists have a good piece of advice as to how this can be done: "Act always as if the future of the Universe depended on what you did, while laughing at yourself for thinking that whatever you do makes any difference." It is this serious playfulness, this combination of concern and humility, that makes it possible to be both engaged and carefree at the same time. With this attitude one does not need to win to feel content; helping to maintain order in the universe becomes its own reward, regardless of consequences. Then it is possible to find joy even when fighting a losing battle in a good cause.
More and more, we seem to bury our heads in the sand to avoid hearing bad news, withdrawing into gated communities protected by armed response. But a good personal life is impossible while staying aloof of a corrupt society, as Socrates knew and those who have lived under recent dictatorships have found out. It would be so much easier if we were responsible only for ourselves. Unfortunately, things don't work that way. An active responsibility for the rest of humankind, and for the world of which we are a part, is a necessary ingredient of a good life.
The real challenge, however, is to reduce entropy in one's surroundings without increasing it in one's consciousness. The Buddhists have a good piece of advice as to how this can be done: "Act always as if the future of the Universe depended on what you did, while laughing at yourself for thinking that whatever you do makes any difference." It is this serious playfulness, this combination of concern and humility, that makes it possible to be both engaged and carefree at the same time. With this attitude one does not need to win to feel content; helping to maintain order in the universe becomes its own reward, regardless of consequences. Then it is possible to find joy even when fighting a losing battle in a good cause.
28 June 2010
Just for now.
Seriously, such an amazing show. Let it be known, I did NOT film this, but thinking back on the experience, this is a smidgen of what it was like to be there that night. (:
Imogen Heap -- Just for Now
Imogen Heap -- Just for Now
24 June 2010
AT LAST.
Finally updated. This is the start of some new self-discipline, so might as well kick it off right!
http://manhattaneater.wordpress.com/
Enjoy!
http://manhattaneater.wordpress.com/
Enjoy!
22 June 2010
Self-promotion
Part of my "job," if you will, for this next month and a half, is to really rediscover my voice as a writer. Easier said than done, right? I've been sorting through old clips and pieces in order to compile them into one easy-access site for future reference, and I think doing this has brought about several conclusions.
First, I have a long way to go to get to the point I want to be at (story of life, right?). And the first step on this unpredictable path toward voice is practice. I'm going to try to push myself to write and produce more than I have before, take a more active role in the process.
Second, the reason why finding my voice is so important is so that I can better communicate my ideas; what good are thoughts if you can't share them and bounce them off others? What use is a concept that isn't brought into fruition? A thought is a thought is a thought if you never do anything about it.
Third, and perhaps most important of all -- this break in the past month has caused me to reevaluate a lot of things, chief among them, what skill set I can bring to the table. I admire so much people who've created for themselves an entire library of "Things I can do" and am just now starting to realize that I've spent too much time on the bookshelves and not enough time on the books themselves. I'm preparing but not doing, and while luck favors the prepared mind, I want to be sure I can take that next step once luck comes a-courtin'.
All this to say -- I'll be updating a lot more regularly from now on, and keeping my word too. Count on it!
P.S. -- If you can spare a moment, several of my pieces for The Avocado Jungle. Thoughts, in ordered format.
First, I have a long way to go to get to the point I want to be at (story of life, right?). And the first step on this unpredictable path toward voice is practice. I'm going to try to push myself to write and produce more than I have before, take a more active role in the process.
Second, the reason why finding my voice is so important is so that I can better communicate my ideas; what good are thoughts if you can't share them and bounce them off others? What use is a concept that isn't brought into fruition? A thought is a thought is a thought if you never do anything about it.
Third, and perhaps most important of all -- this break in the past month has caused me to reevaluate a lot of things, chief among them, what skill set I can bring to the table. I admire so much people who've created for themselves an entire library of "Things I can do" and am just now starting to realize that I've spent too much time on the bookshelves and not enough time on the books themselves. I'm preparing but not doing, and while luck favors the prepared mind, I want to be sure I can take that next step once luck comes a-courtin'.
All this to say -- I'll be updating a lot more regularly from now on, and keeping my word too. Count on it!
P.S. -- If you can spare a moment, several of my pieces for The Avocado Jungle. Thoughts, in ordered format.
17 June 2010
Sepiatone loving
I've been spending a good part of my three-month work hiatus at home in LA with family, and more recently, in Taiwan with the extended family. Even through college, getting to spend this much time with fam was such a rarity, and what I was mostly able to salvage through those years were only bits and pieces of a larger picture. So I've considered these last few weeks a real treat in terms of quality down-time with the people who know me best.
Admittedly, being out in New York and away from my immediate family hasn't always been the easiest thing. On the surface, I embrace the independence and freedom that the city has to offer -- but it's both a blessing and a curse to be so easily accessible to everyone and everything in the vicinity. I'm lucky to even be able to experience life on a different coast, I know, to pursue my passions at a time when practicality might seem the better path.
But realistically, the pace of life can be pretty dang draining. I put myself on a two-week communication silence while I was in Taiwan, and I feel like I learned so much more and used my time so much more efficiently not being bound to the tether of technology. No email, no Internet, no Facebook, no phone. I spent more time living in the real "now" than in the demands of a contrived "now" made up of updates and Tweets and email counters. I wasn't running to catch up all the time; I could set my own pace.
Rather than living vicariously through other people in other time zones, I was actually taking part in my own life and really getting to see beyond the distraction of the Crackberry screen.
It was refreshing.
I've always said that health and family are the only two things that anybody needs. Everything else is extraneous and will fall into place somehow. My entire family made this trip back to Taiwan because my grandfather recently passed away, and in those two weeks, nothing else really mattered. I knew the job hunt would still be here when I got back. The emails, they would pile up. But nobody needed to get to me so urgently that it couldn't wait two weeks while I spent time with family.
My grandfather was 100 years old when he passed. He'd gone from living in the countryside to training to be a physician to being a surgeon to being a husband, father and grandfather. That's a lot of years of life. That's a lot of life in his years. But I don't think he ever would have (nor would anyone in his life) defined himself by just any one of those labels. He was human, and therefore multifaceted, and I think being there at the funeral really caused me to think a lot about mortality and death and, truth be told, life.
I titled this blog "quarter-life musings of a life in transition," and taken literally, that means I'm already (almost) a quarter of the way through with this thing called life. It's pretty terrifying, really. It's not that this means I have the sudden urge to grow up, necessarily, only that I'm more conscious of my thoughts and actions now, and how it'll all make for a projected "later."
The crazy thing is that the people that I've surrounded myself with now are the ones who'll be able to help piece together the bits of my life later on down the line. They're the ones I'll be reminiscing with and sharing memories with and the ones who'll become characters and names in the story I call my life. And these things I'm doing now, they're all leading to a big unexpected place called "the future," and as unpredictable as that place might be, I've got to pay better attention to the now in order to trace back my deliberate steps to wherever I end up.
Hearing so many stories about my grandfather, learning about the intricacies of the family -- politics and history and all that -- is inspiring. I don't think I'm alone when I say that I want to live a life worth telling about. And so I begin. Now.
Admittedly, being out in New York and away from my immediate family hasn't always been the easiest thing. On the surface, I embrace the independence and freedom that the city has to offer -- but it's both a blessing and a curse to be so easily accessible to everyone and everything in the vicinity. I'm lucky to even be able to experience life on a different coast, I know, to pursue my passions at a time when practicality might seem the better path.
But realistically, the pace of life can be pretty dang draining. I put myself on a two-week communication silence while I was in Taiwan, and I feel like I learned so much more and used my time so much more efficiently not being bound to the tether of technology. No email, no Internet, no Facebook, no phone. I spent more time living in the real "now" than in the demands of a contrived "now" made up of updates and Tweets and email counters. I wasn't running to catch up all the time; I could set my own pace.
Rather than living vicariously through other people in other time zones, I was actually taking part in my own life and really getting to see beyond the distraction of the Crackberry screen.
It was refreshing.
I've always said that health and family are the only two things that anybody needs. Everything else is extraneous and will fall into place somehow. My entire family made this trip back to Taiwan because my grandfather recently passed away, and in those two weeks, nothing else really mattered. I knew the job hunt would still be here when I got back. The emails, they would pile up. But nobody needed to get to me so urgently that it couldn't wait two weeks while I spent time with family.
My grandfather was 100 years old when he passed. He'd gone from living in the countryside to training to be a physician to being a surgeon to being a husband, father and grandfather. That's a lot of years of life. That's a lot of life in his years. But I don't think he ever would have (nor would anyone in his life) defined himself by just any one of those labels. He was human, and therefore multifaceted, and I think being there at the funeral really caused me to think a lot about mortality and death and, truth be told, life.
I titled this blog "quarter-life musings of a life in transition," and taken literally, that means I'm already (almost) a quarter of the way through with this thing called life. It's pretty terrifying, really. It's not that this means I have the sudden urge to grow up, necessarily, only that I'm more conscious of my thoughts and actions now, and how it'll all make for a projected "later."
The crazy thing is that the people that I've surrounded myself with now are the ones who'll be able to help piece together the bits of my life later on down the line. They're the ones I'll be reminiscing with and sharing memories with and the ones who'll become characters and names in the story I call my life. And these things I'm doing now, they're all leading to a big unexpected place called "the future," and as unpredictable as that place might be, I've got to pay better attention to the now in order to trace back my deliberate steps to wherever I end up.
Hearing so many stories about my grandfather, learning about the intricacies of the family -- politics and history and all that -- is inspiring. I don't think I'm alone when I say that I want to live a life worth telling about. And so I begin. Now.
25 April 2010
Finding Flow
"To overcome the anxieties and depressions of contemporary life, individuals must become independent of the social envinronment to the degree that they no longer respond exclusively in terms of its rewards and punishments. To achieve such autonomy, a person has to learn to provide rewards to herself. She has to develop the ability to find enjoyment and purpose regardless of external circumstances. This challenge is both easier and more difficult than it sounds: easier because the ability to do so is entirely within each person's hands; difficult because it requires a discipline and perseverance that are relatively rare in any era, and perhaps especially in the present. And before all else, achieving control over experience requires a drastic change in attitude about what is important and what is not."
- "Flow," by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyl
- "Flow," by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyl
23 April 2010
18 April 2010
Mind over matter, matter over mind
The last two weeks have been a little bit chaotic, to say the least. In the span of less than a month, I've learned so much about myself, what makes me tick and perhaps most importantly, that the sludge that had built up to prevent said ticking was a congealed result of...me. I had let my thoughts, and my perception of how others might interpret my thoughts, take over. Rather than being confident in my abilities and constructive about my shortcomings, I was slowly filling with doubt and unease, two things I have worked so hard to avoid.
But avoid no more. Doubt and unease are two things that make us all human, and by trying to suppress them, I was essentially trying to fill an always-bottomless cup. Denying the existence of the two is, basically, going against nature and really only fooling myself. As such, I've figured out, life is more about embracing those thoughts briefly and letting them go rather than ignoring them altogether.
Two weekends ago, I ran my first half marathon. Thirteen point one miles. I'd been training for it for a month and a half, and lo and behold, it couldn't have come at a better time. Riding the subway deeper into Queens early that Saturday was such a heartening experience, with other racers casting sideway grins at each other with their telltale orange tags flashing from their shoes. It was like a secret sign, a kind of signal we were all giving each other, an acknowledgment that we were all bracing for impact. Thirteen point one miles. I think, had I been in a different mindset, I would have been more doubtful of my ability to pull it off.
But in the end, it was mind over matter. My one goal (aside from finishing, of course) was to never stop running. And this was all fine until mile 10, when everyone around me started to slow down to a jog and then a walk. I felt a fleeting moment of discouragement. Well, if everyone else is giving themselves a break, why push myself so hard?
But as luck would have it, there came a sign. A young-ish guy, maybe around 30, jogged past me, clearly exhausted and panting, but with his feet bounding off the pavement. What energy! I was encouraged. Then I looked down and noticed that he was hitting the ground at an uneven rhythm. He had a prosthetic leg. Really? Really. How was I thinking of slowing down when this guy was just picking up speed? I sped up.
And I finished all 13.1 miles, no stopping, no walking, just pure adrenaline. And it felt so good, to know that my mind had overcome my body's weaknesses, that I had succeeded in my own race, at my own pace.
Then last week, I embarked on a very different personal journey, to upstate New York for a three day silent meditation retreat. No reading, writing, email, phones or talking. And it was glorious. One would think that a retreat like this would be all about the mind, but in fact, it was more about the body. Matter over mind. The focus was on the body, on being aware of breath and footsteps and small subtle movements that we take for granted. And by focusing in on the tangible, the intangible, the mind, started to clear.
In the silence of the retreat, I heard my own thoughts louder than I had ever imagined them to be. There was so much noise, so many stray thoughts, no focus. And no distractions. So I sat and I meditated and I learned about connecting my breath with my mind and stilling my thoughts not with force and suppression but with gentleness and calm. And I was soothed.
These past few weeks have been a little chaotic. But I wouldn't have had it any other way, else I wouldn't have learned to feel so deeply, hurt so openly, or think so freely. The thing about lessons, though, is that they should always be followed by change. So I'm working to change the patterns of my life to make way for an existence that fuses matter and mind, taking care to pay attention to both. It's the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end.
But avoid no more. Doubt and unease are two things that make us all human, and by trying to suppress them, I was essentially trying to fill an always-bottomless cup. Denying the existence of the two is, basically, going against nature and really only fooling myself. As such, I've figured out, life is more about embracing those thoughts briefly and letting them go rather than ignoring them altogether.
Two weekends ago, I ran my first half marathon. Thirteen point one miles. I'd been training for it for a month and a half, and lo and behold, it couldn't have come at a better time. Riding the subway deeper into Queens early that Saturday was such a heartening experience, with other racers casting sideway grins at each other with their telltale orange tags flashing from their shoes. It was like a secret sign, a kind of signal we were all giving each other, an acknowledgment that we were all bracing for impact. Thirteen point one miles. I think, had I been in a different mindset, I would have been more doubtful of my ability to pull it off.
But in the end, it was mind over matter. My one goal (aside from finishing, of course) was to never stop running. And this was all fine until mile 10, when everyone around me started to slow down to a jog and then a walk. I felt a fleeting moment of discouragement. Well, if everyone else is giving themselves a break, why push myself so hard?
But as luck would have it, there came a sign. A young-ish guy, maybe around 30, jogged past me, clearly exhausted and panting, but with his feet bounding off the pavement. What energy! I was encouraged. Then I looked down and noticed that he was hitting the ground at an uneven rhythm. He had a prosthetic leg. Really? Really. How was I thinking of slowing down when this guy was just picking up speed? I sped up.
And I finished all 13.1 miles, no stopping, no walking, just pure adrenaline. And it felt so good, to know that my mind had overcome my body's weaknesses, that I had succeeded in my own race, at my own pace.
Then last week, I embarked on a very different personal journey, to upstate New York for a three day silent meditation retreat. No reading, writing, email, phones or talking. And it was glorious. One would think that a retreat like this would be all about the mind, but in fact, it was more about the body. Matter over mind. The focus was on the body, on being aware of breath and footsteps and small subtle movements that we take for granted. And by focusing in on the tangible, the intangible, the mind, started to clear.
In the silence of the retreat, I heard my own thoughts louder than I had ever imagined them to be. There was so much noise, so many stray thoughts, no focus. And no distractions. So I sat and I meditated and I learned about connecting my breath with my mind and stilling my thoughts not with force and suppression but with gentleness and calm. And I was soothed.
These past few weeks have been a little chaotic. But I wouldn't have had it any other way, else I wouldn't have learned to feel so deeply, hurt so openly, or think so freely. The thing about lessons, though, is that they should always be followed by change. So I'm working to change the patterns of my life to make way for an existence that fuses matter and mind, taking care to pay attention to both. It's the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end.
17 April 2010
Underground
And another! I swear, I'm just posting these for easy reference later on down the line but MAN does this bring back memories.
Underground bars, please.
Underground bars, please.
Anger management
Hilarious. Am going through all my clips to compile for my site (ETA TBD), and found this online.
It's been a while, but I do miss the days of snagging empty offices instead of having my own as an intern at LAMag. Whenever a writer would return unexpectedly to the office, I'd be given the polite nod and be expected to grab all my stuff and slink back into the hallway to find another empty office to occupy.
Classy.
It's been a while, but I do miss the days of snagging empty offices instead of having my own as an intern at LAMag. Whenever a writer would return unexpectedly to the office, I'd be given the polite nod and be expected to grab all my stuff and slink back into the hallway to find another empty office to occupy.
Classy.
04 April 2010
True words.
“I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.” —Bill Cosby
02 April 2010
13 March 2010
Proof vs. faith
Seeing is believing. Believing is seeing.
You know the idea of proof? The concept that in order to fully buy into a thing, a person or a feeling, you'd have to find some way to substantiate its very existence? These past few weeks have shown me that, in fact, needing proof -- alongside being realistic -- are perhaps the two biggest roadblocks to creativity and self-contentment. I know it sounds a little far-fetched, naive even, but two very important concepts came to my attention recently that made this revelation clear: the balance between knowledge and creativity and the balance between inner and outer validation.
Seeing is believing.
The saying refers to the idea that one must be doubtful of a claim until there is some form of tangible, visual, or audio validation that it is, in fact, true. We can't trust that it's raining until we step outside and feel it on our eyelids or hear the pitter patter on our rooftops; the weatherman never knows what he's talking about. She can't possibly be pregnant unless we see it with our own two eyes; anything otherwise is heresay. And we can't know that we're making the right decisions unless we are reassured enough or have seen people succeed traveling down the same path.
But even that's not a guarantee.
That's the past. That's history. Doing things in a conventional way won't bring us new, innovative results; that's just illogical. Doing things in a conventional way does, however, serve as a way to reaffirm what we already knew would happen; that's knowledge. When we speak of someone who is very knowledgeable, we're usually referring to his or her stash of facts, his or her ability to recite proven facts. And while knowledge is something undeniably necessary in becoming a better (insert noun here), it shouldn't be the only thing. It's a foundation, not the whole creation.
That's where creativity steps in. When we have a solid grasp of the past (knowledge), only then are we able to reinvent and push boundaries and really learn. We learn by mistakes, by chances and by blind faith. Seeing shouldn't be necessary to believe.
Believing is seeing.
Rearrange the phrase and you would, upon initial glance, just get an alternate reading of the same concept. But look again. Believing is seeing. Once we begin to trust our own creativity and believe in our visions, sans precursors or safety nets, we start to really open up and see. Having faith in our own abilities is what makes for the best results. Were we to constantly worry about what other people thought of our progress or, heaven forbid, us, then we would be too afraid to try different things.
Inner validation is about trust. It's about having a solid basis of knowledge and from that, constructing a creation that hasn't been attempted before despite whether or not it garners others' approval. That's what sets those who love life and carve their own paths apart from those who mildly enjoy the pre-trodden roads -- neither is a bad place to be, but wouldn't it be better to be in a great place?
Faith > Fear
You know the idea of proof? The concept that in order to fully buy into a thing, a person or a feeling, you'd have to find some way to substantiate its very existence? These past few weeks have shown me that, in fact, needing proof -- alongside being realistic -- are perhaps the two biggest roadblocks to creativity and self-contentment. I know it sounds a little far-fetched, naive even, but two very important concepts came to my attention recently that made this revelation clear: the balance between knowledge and creativity and the balance between inner and outer validation.
Seeing is believing.
The saying refers to the idea that one must be doubtful of a claim until there is some form of tangible, visual, or audio validation that it is, in fact, true. We can't trust that it's raining until we step outside and feel it on our eyelids or hear the pitter patter on our rooftops; the weatherman never knows what he's talking about. She can't possibly be pregnant unless we see it with our own two eyes; anything otherwise is heresay. And we can't know that we're making the right decisions unless we are reassured enough or have seen people succeed traveling down the same path.
But even that's not a guarantee.
That's the past. That's history. Doing things in a conventional way won't bring us new, innovative results; that's just illogical. Doing things in a conventional way does, however, serve as a way to reaffirm what we already knew would happen; that's knowledge. When we speak of someone who is very knowledgeable, we're usually referring to his or her stash of facts, his or her ability to recite proven facts. And while knowledge is something undeniably necessary in becoming a better (insert noun here), it shouldn't be the only thing. It's a foundation, not the whole creation.
That's where creativity steps in. When we have a solid grasp of the past (knowledge), only then are we able to reinvent and push boundaries and really learn. We learn by mistakes, by chances and by blind faith. Seeing shouldn't be necessary to believe.
Believing is seeing.
Rearrange the phrase and you would, upon initial glance, just get an alternate reading of the same concept. But look again. Believing is seeing. Once we begin to trust our own creativity and believe in our visions, sans precursors or safety nets, we start to really open up and see. Having faith in our own abilities is what makes for the best results. Were we to constantly worry about what other people thought of our progress or, heaven forbid, us, then we would be too afraid to try different things.
Inner validation is about trust. It's about having a solid basis of knowledge and from that, constructing a creation that hasn't been attempted before despite whether or not it garners others' approval. That's what sets those who love life and carve their own paths apart from those who mildly enjoy the pre-trodden roads -- neither is a bad place to be, but wouldn't it be better to be in a great place?
Faith > Fear
07 March 2010
02 March 2010
Energy, much?
I've gotten way too complacent. Being comfortable means I'm not pushing myself enough, so looks like I'll have to haul some major you-know-what. To be young and in the City doesn't mean a thing if I'm okay with being just that: young and, well, here.
I need to shake things up. Winter's over and hibernation just isn't an option anymore.
Big things are going to happen in 2010, I can feel it.
I need to shake things up. Winter's over and hibernation just isn't an option anymore.
Big things are going to happen in 2010, I can feel it.
23 February 2010
Olympic fervor
I love love love watching the Olympics. There is so much passion and so many narratives packed into each sporting event, and the stakes are always high. The underachieving kid who opened up through skiing, the skater whose win will justify her coach's losses, the athlete who will champion on just two days after her mother's death -- there is something so human and relatable about the people who compete. Nations band together to support their athletes, but even if the competition is fierce, the general sense of goodwill is ever-present.
Watching the Games also makes me a little bit wistful, though. The reason why kids love athletes and look up to them so much, George Clooney's character said once upon a time, is because they went after their dreams.
The reason why athletes are so revered in society is because they're doing what most college grads working in cubicles can only dream of doing -- they made their hobby the main event. They train for 48-hours weeks. Stretching, sprinting, skating -- that's their job. How incredible does that sound?
In running into people from all different backgrounds in New York, working in a myriad of fields, I feel so fortunate to be able to respond immediately when people ask "Do you like what you do?"
I do.
I think being surrounded by journalists and writers all the time can blur my concept of what it means to do what you love. Journalists may have chosen their profession for a number of reasons, but money wasn't likely one of them. This automatically means that the vast majority of journalists aren't at their job just to "pay the bills" -- they must (and usually do) get a great deal of joy from their work.
It sure isn't on par with Olympic athletes, but working in the journalism field is a little bit like making it into that small demographic of dream-catchers. You put up with the instability, the long hours and the insane projects because you love every minute of it, and realize that living your dream is a most indescribable rush. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to tell others (by means of stories, written or told) how amazing and exhausting your job is.
It's a pretty great narrative.
Watching the Games also makes me a little bit wistful, though. The reason why kids love athletes and look up to them so much, George Clooney's character said once upon a time, is because they went after their dreams.
The reason why athletes are so revered in society is because they're doing what most college grads working in cubicles can only dream of doing -- they made their hobby the main event. They train for 48-hours weeks. Stretching, sprinting, skating -- that's their job. How incredible does that sound?
In running into people from all different backgrounds in New York, working in a myriad of fields, I feel so fortunate to be able to respond immediately when people ask "Do you like what you do?"
I do.
I think being surrounded by journalists and writers all the time can blur my concept of what it means to do what you love. Journalists may have chosen their profession for a number of reasons, but money wasn't likely one of them. This automatically means that the vast majority of journalists aren't at their job just to "pay the bills" -- they must (and usually do) get a great deal of joy from their work.
It sure isn't on par with Olympic athletes, but working in the journalism field is a little bit like making it into that small demographic of dream-catchers. You put up with the instability, the long hours and the insane projects because you love every minute of it, and realize that living your dream is a most indescribable rush. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to tell others (by means of stories, written or told) how amazing and exhausting your job is.
It's a pretty great narrative.
15 February 2010
14 February 2010
Plans, A-Zed
Having a Plan B is more harmful than helpful in the long run. True or false? I've been thinking a bit about this, and about whether my conclusions to this query are even valid given that I'm coming from a (largely) unrealistic mindset, one wherein I have the privilege of having a "rich man's troubles."
By this, I mean that having the option to pursue something I want to do in life is a luxury. I realize this all too well. Not everyone is blessed with the opportunity of choice. For most of the world, it's sink or swim. If you don't like what you're doing, tough noogies because someone has to make money to support the household, and your happiness comes secondary after security.
But in the grand scope of things, does having a back-up plan actually harm you, regardless of whether or not it's practical? Having a back-up to anything is like subconsciously telling yourself that the first option won't work out. Why would you need a second choice if the first one is the right one?
Choice, I think, can seriously hinder our ability to adapt (and I can't tell yet if this is a good or bad thing...am currently trying to think through it). Our Plan A is always going to be that dream, that almost-out-of-reach goal that we strive to attain. It's our Plan A because it's what we would want in a perfect world, be it a career, a relationship, or a life path, and moreover, it's that thrill of the chase that makes it a Plan A. Our Plan B is always something that we're willing to settle for, that we agree upon with a "Well, that wouldn't be so bad."
And not to say that this is necessarily a bad thing, but realistically speaking (ha!), this is like saying that you didn't have the persistence, the passion or the patience to see Plan A all the way through. You opted to take an easier path and will likely spend your energy justifying it to yourself. Having options means never having to change and adapt, and if life isn't about changing or adapting, then what is it about?
Learning is never supposed to happen in comfort. Plan B represents stability, safety and sometimes...stagnation. Growing up and being in your 20s is about pursuing Plan A. I remember that line from "Up in the Air," when Clooney's Ryan Bingham told his firee (guy he was firing, I'm sure that's a word somehow...) that the reason why kids admire athletes so much is because they followed their dreams. There's a dignity and a drama to that.
When people tell me to be "realistic" or ask about whether or not my job is "real," I never know how to respond. I am being realistic. So were and are all the people who have been able to create their own definitions of reality. If you don't like something, change it. And to me, having a "real" job is not tied to the definition of clocking in and clocking out as per "standard." A "real" job doesn't have to be one that you're miserable at -- I think the idea that someone would actually like going into work is counterintuitive to most; it was also considered abnormal to "like" homework, wasn't it?
But in moving to New York, I meet people who love their work just as often as I meet those who detest it. And to me, I know which group I want to fall into. The goal was never to settle into something comfortable. The goal was always to learn and live fully every day. Maybe this is naive, but that's my Plan A.
And I don't know or really care to have a Plan B past that.
By this, I mean that having the option to pursue something I want to do in life is a luxury. I realize this all too well. Not everyone is blessed with the opportunity of choice. For most of the world, it's sink or swim. If you don't like what you're doing, tough noogies because someone has to make money to support the household, and your happiness comes secondary after security.
But in the grand scope of things, does having a back-up plan actually harm you, regardless of whether or not it's practical? Having a back-up to anything is like subconsciously telling yourself that the first option won't work out. Why would you need a second choice if the first one is the right one?
Choice, I think, can seriously hinder our ability to adapt (and I can't tell yet if this is a good or bad thing...am currently trying to think through it). Our Plan A is always going to be that dream, that almost-out-of-reach goal that we strive to attain. It's our Plan A because it's what we would want in a perfect world, be it a career, a relationship, or a life path, and moreover, it's that thrill of the chase that makes it a Plan A. Our Plan B is always something that we're willing to settle for, that we agree upon with a "Well, that wouldn't be so bad."
And not to say that this is necessarily a bad thing, but realistically speaking (ha!), this is like saying that you didn't have the persistence, the passion or the patience to see Plan A all the way through. You opted to take an easier path and will likely spend your energy justifying it to yourself. Having options means never having to change and adapt, and if life isn't about changing or adapting, then what is it about?
Learning is never supposed to happen in comfort. Plan B represents stability, safety and sometimes...stagnation. Growing up and being in your 20s is about pursuing Plan A. I remember that line from "Up in the Air," when Clooney's Ryan Bingham told his firee (guy he was firing, I'm sure that's a word somehow...) that the reason why kids admire athletes so much is because they followed their dreams. There's a dignity and a drama to that.
When people tell me to be "realistic" or ask about whether or not my job is "real," I never know how to respond. I am being realistic. So were and are all the people who have been able to create their own definitions of reality. If you don't like something, change it. And to me, having a "real" job is not tied to the definition of clocking in and clocking out as per "standard." A "real" job doesn't have to be one that you're miserable at -- I think the idea that someone would actually like going into work is counterintuitive to most; it was also considered abnormal to "like" homework, wasn't it?
But in moving to New York, I meet people who love their work just as often as I meet those who detest it. And to me, I know which group I want to fall into. The goal was never to settle into something comfortable. The goal was always to learn and live fully every day. Maybe this is naive, but that's my Plan A.
And I don't know or really care to have a Plan B past that.
12 February 2010
09 February 2010
Corrective vision
One of the simplest, but most poignant questions I've ever had posed to me was this:
"How do you SEE the world?"
At the time, I was sitting in an auditorium full of admitted students in SGM at USC, all 17 and 18-year-old seniors looking to leave the constraints of high school and eagerly tromping ahead into the next big chapter of their lives.
"How do you SEE the world?"
At that point in our (still-young) maturation, sight had everything to do with what you saw and not how you interpreted it. I remember thinking, when the professor at the front of the room planted this kernel of thought in my brain, that I didn't understand. I SAW what was set before me. Isn't that what sight is all about? From a young age, you learn to see and appreciate the details of the things you come across -- ask any high school graduate to describe for you a wintry scene, write a paragraph about the intricacies of the human heart, or dissect the strokes of a Monet painting, and (with much grumbling) it can be done.
But ask that same student to tell you HOW they see the world, whether it be in pockets of patterns, numbers and figures, or abstract concepts, and he wouldn't be able to tell you. Until I heard that question thrust so casually into the air, I hadn't ever stopped to think about my own frame of vision.
"HOW do you see the world?"
The significance of this question was, of course, many-fold, but perhaps the most important reason she posed the question was for direction. In answering, or attempting to answer, that question, we would each gain insight into our talents, our expectations, our future; what made us tick.
Those who see the world in terms of numbers and figures -- measuring days in minutes, achievements in points -- would be well-suited for careers in engineering, accounting, finance, something wherein their measure of success can be determined by a given point system.
Those who see the world in patterns, series of events, would probably fare best in history or literature, a profession wherein their contributions would come from a big-picture mentality.
And those who think in abstract concepts, pinpointing various elements of their everyday lives as significant and looping in philosophy and sociology -- those are the crazies, the revolutionaries.
So many paths, all beginning with a renewed definition of sight. I think about that question a lot these days, about how I SEE the world, because I know with each new experience I take one step closer to an as-yet fuzzy definition of sight. How I see the world will determine how I can contribute to it, though I can't truly see the world until I've become a part of it.
It's a paradox, that.
"How do you SEE the world?"
"HOW do you see the world?"
"How do you SEE the world?"
At the time, I was sitting in an auditorium full of admitted students in SGM at USC, all 17 and 18-year-old seniors looking to leave the constraints of high school and eagerly tromping ahead into the next big chapter of their lives.
"How do you SEE the world?"
At that point in our (still-young) maturation, sight had everything to do with what you saw and not how you interpreted it. I remember thinking, when the professor at the front of the room planted this kernel of thought in my brain, that I didn't understand. I SAW what was set before me. Isn't that what sight is all about? From a young age, you learn to see and appreciate the details of the things you come across -- ask any high school graduate to describe for you a wintry scene, write a paragraph about the intricacies of the human heart, or dissect the strokes of a Monet painting, and (with much grumbling) it can be done.
But ask that same student to tell you HOW they see the world, whether it be in pockets of patterns, numbers and figures, or abstract concepts, and he wouldn't be able to tell you. Until I heard that question thrust so casually into the air, I hadn't ever stopped to think about my own frame of vision.
"HOW do you see the world?"
The significance of this question was, of course, many-fold, but perhaps the most important reason she posed the question was for direction. In answering, or attempting to answer, that question, we would each gain insight into our talents, our expectations, our future; what made us tick.
Those who see the world in terms of numbers and figures -- measuring days in minutes, achievements in points -- would be well-suited for careers in engineering, accounting, finance, something wherein their measure of success can be determined by a given point system.
Those who see the world in patterns, series of events, would probably fare best in history or literature, a profession wherein their contributions would come from a big-picture mentality.
And those who think in abstract concepts, pinpointing various elements of their everyday lives as significant and looping in philosophy and sociology -- those are the crazies, the revolutionaries.
So many paths, all beginning with a renewed definition of sight. I think about that question a lot these days, about how I SEE the world, because I know with each new experience I take one step closer to an as-yet fuzzy definition of sight. How I see the world will determine how I can contribute to it, though I can't truly see the world until I've become a part of it.
It's a paradox, that.
"How do you SEE the world?"
"HOW do you see the world?"
07 February 2010
06 February 2010
Excerpted: An 18-Year-Old Looks Back On Life
From Joyce Maynard's 1972 piece for the New York Times magazine:
"When my friends and I were little, we had big plans. I would be a famous actress and singer, dancing on the side. I would paint my own sets and compose my own music, writing the script and the lyrics and reviewing the performance for The New York Times. I would marry and have three children (they don't allow us dreams like that any more) and we would live, rich and famous (donating lots to charity, of course, and periodically adopting orphans), in a house we designed ourselves. When I was older I had visions of good works. I saw myself in South American rain forests and African deserts, feeding the hungry and healing the sick, with an obsessive selflessness, I see now, as selfish, in the end, as my original plans for stardom.
Now my goal is simpler. I want to be happy. And I want comfort -- nice clothes, a nice house, good music and good food, and hte feeling that I'm doing some little thing that matters. I'll vote and I'll give to charity, but I won't give myself. I feel a sudden desire to buy land -- not a lot, not as a business investment, but just a small plot of earth so that whatever they do to the country I'll have a place where I can go -- a kind of fallout shelter, I guess. As some people prepare for their old age, so I prepare for my 20's. A little house, a comfortable chair, peace and quiet -- retirement sounds tempting."
Time for some reflection and reassessing, no?
"When my friends and I were little, we had big plans. I would be a famous actress and singer, dancing on the side. I would paint my own sets and compose my own music, writing the script and the lyrics and reviewing the performance for The New York Times. I would marry and have three children (they don't allow us dreams like that any more) and we would live, rich and famous (donating lots to charity, of course, and periodically adopting orphans), in a house we designed ourselves. When I was older I had visions of good works. I saw myself in South American rain forests and African deserts, feeding the hungry and healing the sick, with an obsessive selflessness, I see now, as selfish, in the end, as my original plans for stardom.
Now my goal is simpler. I want to be happy. And I want comfort -- nice clothes, a nice house, good music and good food, and hte feeling that I'm doing some little thing that matters. I'll vote and I'll give to charity, but I won't give myself. I feel a sudden desire to buy land -- not a lot, not as a business investment, but just a small plot of earth so that whatever they do to the country I'll have a place where I can go -- a kind of fallout shelter, I guess. As some people prepare for their old age, so I prepare for my 20's. A little house, a comfortable chair, peace and quiet -- retirement sounds tempting."
Time for some reflection and reassessing, no?
04 February 2010
Thoughts.
Things I think about when I cannot sleep:
- Sometimes I try to imagine what buskers and panhandlers looked like as carefree children, before shame and wrinkles and pleading settled into their faces.
- Does frozen bread really go bad by the expiration date, or can it stay edible for double the amount of time?
- How much of an impact does being raised by a nanny have on a child?
- Does every generation assume that it's a watered-down version of generations past or is that just ours?
- Why do fears evolve from the tangible to the intangible over the years? What's more mentally draining -- missing the past or worrying about the future?
- Does monetary compensation make a passion less valid or less rewarding?
- Why can't I sleep???
- When you enjoy what you do as a profession, why does that make people feel like they're entitled to ask you when you'll get a "real job"?
- The only thing you have control over is quality of life, not quantity.
END random thoughts. Now to attempt to sleep.
- Sometimes I try to imagine what buskers and panhandlers looked like as carefree children, before shame and wrinkles and pleading settled into their faces.
- Does frozen bread really go bad by the expiration date, or can it stay edible for double the amount of time?
- How much of an impact does being raised by a nanny have on a child?
- Does every generation assume that it's a watered-down version of generations past or is that just ours?
- Why do fears evolve from the tangible to the intangible over the years? What's more mentally draining -- missing the past or worrying about the future?
- Does monetary compensation make a passion less valid or less rewarding?
- Why can't I sleep???
- When you enjoy what you do as a profession, why does that make people feel like they're entitled to ask you when you'll get a "real job"?
- The only thing you have control over is quality of life, not quantity.
END random thoughts. Now to attempt to sleep.
24 January 2010
Wisdom
Came across this randomly and had to share. The best line in the whole clip:
"Being realistic is the most commonly traveled road to mediocrity."
"Being realistic is the most commonly traveled road to mediocrity."
23 January 2010
19 January 2010
15 January 2010
Part of home: part one
So I don't usually like sharing too many personal tidbits about myself on my blog (Thoughts, I share. Self, a little less), but this is something that had a big impact on me and I just wanted to put it out there because in this case, self trickled into thought.
My neighbor back home is now 72 years old. He and his wife have been an integral part of my childhood, whether they realize it or not. He is of French and Filipino descent, a Korean War vet, an ex-gangster from a time when zoot suits and chains meant something. His arms are crawling in tattoos, his graying hair in a ponytail he refuses to chop off, a pair of aviators are perpetually balanced on his nose -- the only way he can keep people from staring at the lazy eye he has from shrapnel gone awry.
He was my art teacher.
For more than 10 years, I lived next door to him and spent a good number of Fridays in his garage with a group of about seven other kids, painting. We first learned to paint simple sketches, patterns that he'd drawn for us -- a flower in a vase, a house and trees, a bowl of fruit. Basics. We learned how to blend and fade, add shadows and creases to make the paintings look real. Then we'd graduate to more difficult subjects: animals, a skyline, people. Faces.
We weren't allowed to take shortcuts, ever. I learned how to stretch expensive watercolor paper (made of the best French rags) across canvases, soaked for hours in water to loosen, smoothed against corkboard to set, left out in the sun to dry. I learned that taking the time to sketch and not just trace made the end product more worthwhile, the creation more your own.
And I learned that with watercolor, you can never completely paint over your past mistakes -- done correctly, you can see every layer of a finished product, and that's what makes the medium so unique.
The last piece I did in collaboration with my neighbor (he lent me his study, so I could keep the project a secret) was a painting I did from a wedding photo for my parents' 30th anniversary. It took weeks and months but is still one of the best things that I've ever been able to produce to date (or so I'd like to think!).
Because you know your parents, he said. Because you know them, you can capture their essence.
I visited him when I went home for the holidays this time around, and we've emailed a few times since. He's working on a book, an autobiography, because he's had such a rich and complex life. And because he's dyslexic, he uses a program that allows him to dictate and have the computer type for him. This is what he last wrote:
My neighbor back home is now 72 years old. He and his wife have been an integral part of my childhood, whether they realize it or not. He is of French and Filipino descent, a Korean War vet, an ex-gangster from a time when zoot suits and chains meant something. His arms are crawling in tattoos, his graying hair in a ponytail he refuses to chop off, a pair of aviators are perpetually balanced on his nose -- the only way he can keep people from staring at the lazy eye he has from shrapnel gone awry.
He was my art teacher.
For more than 10 years, I lived next door to him and spent a good number of Fridays in his garage with a group of about seven other kids, painting. We first learned to paint simple sketches, patterns that he'd drawn for us -- a flower in a vase, a house and trees, a bowl of fruit. Basics. We learned how to blend and fade, add shadows and creases to make the paintings look real. Then we'd graduate to more difficult subjects: animals, a skyline, people. Faces.
We weren't allowed to take shortcuts, ever. I learned how to stretch expensive watercolor paper (made of the best French rags) across canvases, soaked for hours in water to loosen, smoothed against corkboard to set, left out in the sun to dry. I learned that taking the time to sketch and not just trace made the end product more worthwhile, the creation more your own.
And I learned that with watercolor, you can never completely paint over your past mistakes -- done correctly, you can see every layer of a finished product, and that's what makes the medium so unique.
The last piece I did in collaboration with my neighbor (he lent me his study, so I could keep the project a secret) was a painting I did from a wedding photo for my parents' 30th anniversary. It took weeks and months but is still one of the best things that I've ever been able to produce to date (or so I'd like to think!).
Because you know your parents, he said. Because you know them, you can capture their essence.
I visited him when I went home for the holidays this time around, and we've emailed a few times since. He's working on a book, an autobiography, because he's had such a rich and complex life. And because he's dyslexic, he uses a program that allows him to dictate and have the computer type for him. This is what he last wrote:
Joyce,
Good to hear from you I really enjoy our little talk I said to myself is this the little shy girl who wouldn't talk? It took you years before you would communicate with me and now you are a young lady who really wants to communicate with the world. You are in New York City where everyone really wants to go because it offeres so much to so many for so long that anyone who is anyone has to go to their because it becomes a Mecca for people to gather who wants to gain knowledge from the past,pres. And future and a young person so eager to learn shows that you gave great thought to expose yourself to this opportunity. (Smart girl)
It has taken me a while to answer your mail because we had emergency. My son who works in San Francisco but family lives in Ventura had to have emergency surgery but when he would came out for rehabilitation no one would be in San Francisco to care for him. So we had to get him home to have surgery in Los Angeles. His heart valve was deteriorating and had calcium buildup around the valve was causing malfunction he belong to Kaiser hospital in San Francisco was one of the best in California and the other hospital that's good for heart surgery is kaiser in Los Angeles so we were confident that the best thing to do was to move him home. He had his surgery Thursday and came through it okay we are having family constant visitations to make sure that he's cared for properly.Dot and I went to see him yesterday since I don't drive anymore and Dot is recovery from surgery I had Trina take us to visit him we were so happy to see him sitting up with a smile on its face.
It is so important to keep in touch with people and things that are part of your life who understand who you are and what life means to you . When I thought the possibility of losing one of my loved ones I could hardly stand it, don't neglect to express every chance you get how much your loved ones mean to you let them know that you care and( don't just think it) let them hear it.
As you grow in New York at a level that's beyond most of your friends comprehension you will be exposed to a series of life steps that you must climb and no matter what happens you must continue or you will not reach the few moments of satisfaction and contentment that life offers to so few.
I don't know how to send my paperwork to you other than e-mail a sheet at a time I will try to find a better way and as I've been reading my papers there are a few things I would like to change so bear with me I have to do some adjusting.
Tony
14 January 2010
13 January 2010
Why she writes
So. I don't even remember how or why I came across this, but I somehow ended up enraptured by this Joan Didion piece titled "Why I Write" while at work today. I've read bits of it before, but never the piece in its entirety.
I've been thinking a lot lately about WHY I want to pursue journalism (especially in this financial, and let's face it, social, climate), because my answer used to be pretty basic. Because I love to meet new people, and I love to write. I feel more comfortable expressing myself through writing than speaking. I'm not a math whiz, and my desire to have a standard 9-5 is negligible at best.
But those aren't good enough reasons, really. I'm still trying to figure out a more solid answer, but until then, these are the bits that really gave me pause:
"During the years when I was an undergraduate at Berkeley I tried, with a kind of hopeless late-adolescent energy, to buy some temporary visa into the world of ideas, to forge for myself a mind that could deal with the abstract. In short I tried to think. I failed. My attention veered inexorably back to the specific, to the tangible, to what was generally considered, by everyone I knew then and for that matter have known since, the peripheral."
"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want to what I fear."
"Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the year the rules were mentioned. All i know of grammar is its infinite power. To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning ofthe object being photographed. Many people know about camera angles now, but not so many know about sentences. The arrangement of words matters, and the arrangement you want can be found in the picture in your mind. The picture dictates the arrangement. The picture dictates whether this will be a sentence with or without clauses, a sentence that ends hard or a dying-fall sentence, long or short, active or passive. The picture tells you how to arrange words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what's going on in the picture Nota bene:
It tells you.
You don't tell it."
"Who was this narrator? Why was this narrator telling me this story? Let me tell you one thing about why writers write: had I known the answer to any of these questions I would never have needed to write a novel."
I've been thinking a lot lately about WHY I want to pursue journalism (especially in this financial, and let's face it, social, climate), because my answer used to be pretty basic. Because I love to meet new people, and I love to write. I feel more comfortable expressing myself through writing than speaking. I'm not a math whiz, and my desire to have a standard 9-5 is negligible at best.
But those aren't good enough reasons, really. I'm still trying to figure out a more solid answer, but until then, these are the bits that really gave me pause:
"During the years when I was an undergraduate at Berkeley I tried, with a kind of hopeless late-adolescent energy, to buy some temporary visa into the world of ideas, to forge for myself a mind that could deal with the abstract. In short I tried to think. I failed. My attention veered inexorably back to the specific, to the tangible, to what was generally considered, by everyone I knew then and for that matter have known since, the peripheral."
"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want to what I fear."
"Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the year the rules were mentioned. All i know of grammar is its infinite power. To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning ofthe object being photographed. Many people know about camera angles now, but not so many know about sentences. The arrangement of words matters, and the arrangement you want can be found in the picture in your mind. The picture dictates the arrangement. The picture dictates whether this will be a sentence with or without clauses, a sentence that ends hard or a dying-fall sentence, long or short, active or passive. The picture tells you how to arrange words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what's going on in the picture Nota bene:
It tells you.
You don't tell it."
"Who was this narrator? Why was this narrator telling me this story? Let me tell you one thing about why writers write: had I known the answer to any of these questions I would never have needed to write a novel."
10 January 2010
Educational assessment
What is the value of education? Of universities and schooling and this abstract concept we like to term "higher education"? Several things have been happening recently that have me thinking about education and WHY it (dumb assertion, I know) really does impact everything you do later on in life.
The obvious answers are there - school teaches you a skill set, the building blocks with which to construct a career and hopefully, a life. Basic math, writing, vocabulary, reading comprehension - SATs and GREs would have you think that these are the things that guarantee success or job placement down the line. But what about those brain teasers, the logic puzzles and different games that we used to play in grade school, the ones that actually taught us more about creativity and problem solving?
I know that with the way the economy and the job market is now, the higher-ups are looking for ways to restructure the education system to better prepare students for the challenges of the real world. And likewise, students are turning toward more practical means of existence; better to sacrifice a dream now in favor of some stability and monetary compensation for the future. This is practical. This is the kind of mentality that will help graduating young adults grasp a more tangible reward for their years of schooling.
But call me impractical, but I think this is the kind of mentality that will hurt us in the long run.
I read an article in the New York Times that mentioned a change in curriculum at several universities, including the elimination of philosophy as a major because it lacks "practicality." My thoughts when I read this were varied - yes, "practially" speaking, it doesn't make sense to major in something that won't yield an immediate skill set.
But if you don't have those courses to learn to THINK and only learn how to do "practical" things, then you wouldn't ever question and invent and see the world in a different light, and then where would humanity as a whole be?
Kant? Utilitarianism? Will these words cease to have any meaning? Social engineering will become a kind of trade. Artists will create for a cause or a cost, but not just for the sake of creating. Writers will be funneled into law schools and textbooks, and psychology will give way to psychiatry. Meds over meditation. Hollow substances over concrete thought.
And then how will decisions be made? This all sounds a little too oddly Giver-like. Kids set into certain jobs early on, learning how to perform a duty in society, taught NOT to think outside the box except for a designated Giver...an elimination of feelings and color and difference. Smooth operations oiled by cooperation and standards of living.
If we don't think for ourselves, we cease to exist. We might have money in the bank, but we'll have lost purpose and drive. When we work for others, we'll not have the capacity to question the why or the how; we'll be too focused on the what.
The value of education is that it provides a solid foundation for creativity. We learn the rules to break them, know the fundamentals to build upon them. Looking back at college, I know for a fact that the classes I got the most out of inspired me to think in ways I wouldn't have thought to think (tongue twister) otherwise. Skills, I can adopt as I go. But thoughts and questions, I need to develop at the get-go.
Classrooms are only vessles, after all. It's what's in them, in the minds within them, that count.
The obvious answers are there - school teaches you a skill set, the building blocks with which to construct a career and hopefully, a life. Basic math, writing, vocabulary, reading comprehension - SATs and GREs would have you think that these are the things that guarantee success or job placement down the line. But what about those brain teasers, the logic puzzles and different games that we used to play in grade school, the ones that actually taught us more about creativity and problem solving?
I know that with the way the economy and the job market is now, the higher-ups are looking for ways to restructure the education system to better prepare students for the challenges of the real world. And likewise, students are turning toward more practical means of existence; better to sacrifice a dream now in favor of some stability and monetary compensation for the future. This is practical. This is the kind of mentality that will help graduating young adults grasp a more tangible reward for their years of schooling.
But call me impractical, but I think this is the kind of mentality that will hurt us in the long run.
I read an article in the New York Times that mentioned a change in curriculum at several universities, including the elimination of philosophy as a major because it lacks "practicality." My thoughts when I read this were varied - yes, "practially" speaking, it doesn't make sense to major in something that won't yield an immediate skill set.
But if you don't have those courses to learn to THINK and only learn how to do "practical" things, then you wouldn't ever question and invent and see the world in a different light, and then where would humanity as a whole be?
Kant? Utilitarianism? Will these words cease to have any meaning? Social engineering will become a kind of trade. Artists will create for a cause or a cost, but not just for the sake of creating. Writers will be funneled into law schools and textbooks, and psychology will give way to psychiatry. Meds over meditation. Hollow substances over concrete thought.
And then how will decisions be made? This all sounds a little too oddly Giver-like. Kids set into certain jobs early on, learning how to perform a duty in society, taught NOT to think outside the box except for a designated Giver...an elimination of feelings and color and difference. Smooth operations oiled by cooperation and standards of living.
If we don't think for ourselves, we cease to exist. We might have money in the bank, but we'll have lost purpose and drive. When we work for others, we'll not have the capacity to question the why or the how; we'll be too focused on the what.
The value of education is that it provides a solid foundation for creativity. We learn the rules to break them, know the fundamentals to build upon them. Looking back at college, I know for a fact that the classes I got the most out of inspired me to think in ways I wouldn't have thought to think (tongue twister) otherwise. Skills, I can adopt as I go. But thoughts and questions, I need to develop at the get-go.
Classrooms are only vessles, after all. It's what's in them, in the minds within them, that count.
In the Heights
Just saw In The Heights yesterday and it has by far the best soundtrack, best performances, best storyline...ever. Okay, well that I've heard in a while. Check it:
07 January 2010
Who will comfort me
Amazing voice, even more amazing personal story. Melody Gardot fell into music after being struck by a car at 19 - she turned to music therapy as a way to cope with her recovery, and this voice is just...haunting. Part jazz, part soul. All spirit.
06 January 2010
A purpose-driven life
There's a reason why we're not born colorblind. Life in black and white, and even shades of grey, would be undoubtedly dull. And yet, why is it that so many elements in our lives seem to be defined by just this - a lack of color, a seemingly resigned sense of dull monotony? Where's the vibrancy, the pop of hue that makes each day worth waking up to?
New York City is known for its corporate culture. Reading the paper on the subway, staring at a screen all day, eating nondescript sandwiches for lunch, vegging out on the subway ride home and passively watching TV before falling asleep to do it all over again. Not exactly the most impressive showcase of the romanticized City so many non-New Yorkers aspire toward, the one wherein each day is fresh and inspiring and different. It's easy to fall into the daily grind of working just to live, to make money, to save up, to be practical.
But I read a few of the "Most Emailed" headlines on the New York Times website today, and that got me thinking. The articles that have been circulated and shared the most are about retirement, old age, mental health and career changes. Clearly, there is a trend. People spend many of their waking hours worrying about their careers (how to get one, if they don't have one; or how to get out of one, if they do have one), thereby literally worrying themselves sick. Stress leads to a weakened immune system (and probably sleepless nights and accompanying pills), which leads to illness and disease and other stress-triggered problems.
This concern over what to do with life, how to apply our skills, never ends. That is, until it really does end, when we retire. At that point, according to the NYT headlines, we start to worry ourselves over what to do with all this free time now that we've just gotten into the groove of work-life balance. How will I while my time away, stuck in the house with a spouse, having been too busy during my work years to cultivate my interests and no longer young enough to enjoy some of the activies I used to? It's a legitimate concern.
It seems as though once one phase of life ends - the bustling 20s, the strategic 30s, the settling 40s, the midlife 50s and the retiring 60s - another begins; there is no overlap. Black. And. White. And a great portion of each phase is spent worrying about the next phase. Hence the monotomy for some semblance of "living in the present" while really panicking over the future and mulling over the past.
A few weeks back, I spoke with Jason Reitman, the director for Up in the Air. He was telling me about the inspiration behind the film, which follows Clooney's character around the country as he detachedly "eases" recently laid off employees into the "rebirth" process of job hunting. He told me that he went into the film with one goal in mind: to convey the importance of purpose by showing a general lack of it in the screenplay.
"My biggest fear isn't waking up one day and having no money," he said. "My biggest fear is waking up one day and having no purpose."
Because where's the motivation then? If you don't genuinely do the things you love, then life will fly by pretty quickly and if something comes a-trotting into your straight-and-narrow, black-and-white path, you'll be completely sidelined. You'll have a map and a place to go, but no reason to travel anywhere. And then you're really lost.
You. Are. Here.
And then you color outside the lines.
New York City is known for its corporate culture. Reading the paper on the subway, staring at a screen all day, eating nondescript sandwiches for lunch, vegging out on the subway ride home and passively watching TV before falling asleep to do it all over again. Not exactly the most impressive showcase of the romanticized City so many non-New Yorkers aspire toward, the one wherein each day is fresh and inspiring and different. It's easy to fall into the daily grind of working just to live, to make money, to save up, to be practical.
But I read a few of the "Most Emailed" headlines on the New York Times website today, and that got me thinking. The articles that have been circulated and shared the most are about retirement, old age, mental health and career changes. Clearly, there is a trend. People spend many of their waking hours worrying about their careers (how to get one, if they don't have one; or how to get out of one, if they do have one), thereby literally worrying themselves sick. Stress leads to a weakened immune system (and probably sleepless nights and accompanying pills), which leads to illness and disease and other stress-triggered problems.
This concern over what to do with life, how to apply our skills, never ends. That is, until it really does end, when we retire. At that point, according to the NYT headlines, we start to worry ourselves over what to do with all this free time now that we've just gotten into the groove of work-life balance. How will I while my time away, stuck in the house with a spouse, having been too busy during my work years to cultivate my interests and no longer young enough to enjoy some of the activies I used to? It's a legitimate concern.
It seems as though once one phase of life ends - the bustling 20s, the strategic 30s, the settling 40s, the midlife 50s and the retiring 60s - another begins; there is no overlap. Black. And. White. And a great portion of each phase is spent worrying about the next phase. Hence the monotomy for some semblance of "living in the present" while really panicking over the future and mulling over the past.
A few weeks back, I spoke with Jason Reitman, the director for Up in the Air. He was telling me about the inspiration behind the film, which follows Clooney's character around the country as he detachedly "eases" recently laid off employees into the "rebirth" process of job hunting. He told me that he went into the film with one goal in mind: to convey the importance of purpose by showing a general lack of it in the screenplay.
"My biggest fear isn't waking up one day and having no money," he said. "My biggest fear is waking up one day and having no purpose."
Because where's the motivation then? If you don't genuinely do the things you love, then life will fly by pretty quickly and if something comes a-trotting into your straight-and-narrow, black-and-white path, you'll be completely sidelined. You'll have a map and a place to go, but no reason to travel anywhere. And then you're really lost.
You. Are. Here.
And then you color outside the lines.
05 January 2010
03 January 2010
New. Year. Thoughts.
Time for the all-encompassing, reflective blog entry that speaks of lessons learned, progress made, goals reassessed in my time at home over these past two weeks. To a large extent, I was hit with a lot of things at once - returning to L.A. for the first time in six months (nay, almost 6.5?), going home for the holidays, ringing in a new year (and decade) and ultimately, figuring out what type of relationships I was establishing with my loved ones now that I have the experience of this tricky thing called "distance."
This wasn't quite the same as London, simply because that had a timeline, an impending deadline so that it was permissible for me to fall out of contact or let things ride out their course overseas because I would be back in the States in a countable number of days.
But because I've now moved to New York and made this my primary residence, I can't rightly just assume that it's okay to let relationships fall through. I realized this break just how terrible I am at keeping in touch with people - and that it's inconsiderate on my part to just hope that other people will make an effort to touch base.
Being busy isn't an excuse, and my not getting back to emails, calls and texts asap translates as exactly that: an excuse. Not only do I need to organize my life - I need to maintain it. I let so much maintenance of my living fall to the wayside in favor of just getting by day-to-day. This is the easier route. And I know that nothing that's worth it is ever easy, so why not act accordingly?
Something else I've rememberd over break (thank you, psych classes...):
In the short-run, people regret the things they've done.
In the long-run, people forget about the stupid things they've done and regret the things they haven't done.
The reasoning makes sense - you realize in retrospect that you learn from dumb mistakes. You move on and endure the consequences. But when you don't do something, you'll only learn one lesson, which is that if an opportunity arises next time, you grab it. You'll always wonder "What if?" otherwise, and that's just exhausting.
Being home really affirmed how blessed I am, to be in NYC doing what I love at such a young age (yes, I'll still call it young...); I really can't live life with excuses. Now is the time to hustle, to learn to live life through the ups and downs and really explore all your options. The 20s is the time for roadtrips, heartbreaks, marathons, new jobs, bad jobs, too many commitments, no commitments, solitude, too many people, new ventures. Settling into your life - well, you can always do that later.
This isn't to say that life needs to be lived recklessly, but there are definitely things that you can get away with when you're younger. Like dreaming. Life is short. One of my mom's dear high school friends passed away just a week ago from a 15+ year battle with cancer. She was just past 50. A month ago, my great-aunt passed away after five years of being extremely sick. She was 80. A family friend recently had three heart attacks and died suddenly on Christmas Eve. He was in his 40s. Not to be morbid, but life. is. short.
And they all lived good lives, but I wonder about the different phases that they've each experienced in life, the multiple lives they've touched, the tasks they've left unfinished. At the end of the day, isn't quality of life most important, since quantity is never guaranteed?
Life never has to get stagnant. It can, of course, all too easily, but it doesn't have to. The system. Comfort. Security. These are the things we're always taught to abide by. Living a life by a certain structure - people who deviate don't exactly fall into the categories of success we have set before us. Some rare few make the crossover, blazing their own trail and accumulating a following enough so that they end up leading the pack.
But these are the exceptions. Because while schooling teaches us to think independently, creatively (well, depending on what field you were schooled in), it also focuses on teaching us about guidelines.
Organized chaos.
Writing with lines. Art inside a structure. Jobs that follow a preset path. And while I know it would be naive of me to lambast these standards and call them foolish - that would be ignorant, for that kind of structure and system lets society function properly - while I realize this, I also know that the reason why fantasy and rebels and criminals and celebrities fascinate us so much is because they have so much abandon.
Artists, musicians, risk-takers, they live the life that we all want. They have the kind of freedom I'm sure most of us simultaneously envy and fear. But why does there have to be a separate them and us? Why can't we live these lives? Take the best of the worlds that we know and really have a hand in shaping our existence?
I like labels. On food condiments, hair products, items that I purchase. Mostly becuase this gives me a way to judge the standards of the product and item. I know a brand like Sara Lee will have quality bread. I know the store-brand bread might be just as good but will cost me less. I know about brand loyalty.
But I also know that if you remove all labels and preconceptions, these items can taste identical. So why not apply this to people? Why not stop trying to fit the mold of what it means to be an engineer, a law student, a journalist, a guy, a girl? Why not try to create an identity and avoid the labels altogether? It's scary because there are no means of comparison that way; no means, that is, except to yourself. But sometimes this is the best way.
By doing something so dramatic, you're willingly isolating yourself so you can self-examine, have no one to live up to, no expectations to meet but your own. This is what New York has done for me. It's stripped me of my labels, allowed me to figure out my own constitution, my strengths and weaknesses and how to deal with them.
Going home this holiday season showed me that life is too short and too precious to wait on the sidelines, to keep a distance between them and us. I can honestly say that I'm growing and changing every day that I write more, read more, talk more, observe more. And tradition and structure are great and all - you can't break the rules until you know them - but they're not the only way to form your existence.
Life is for living, and part of the game is figuring out on whose terms you're playing.
This wasn't quite the same as London, simply because that had a timeline, an impending deadline so that it was permissible for me to fall out of contact or let things ride out their course overseas because I would be back in the States in a countable number of days.
But because I've now moved to New York and made this my primary residence, I can't rightly just assume that it's okay to let relationships fall through. I realized this break just how terrible I am at keeping in touch with people - and that it's inconsiderate on my part to just hope that other people will make an effort to touch base.
Being busy isn't an excuse, and my not getting back to emails, calls and texts asap translates as exactly that: an excuse. Not only do I need to organize my life - I need to maintain it. I let so much maintenance of my living fall to the wayside in favor of just getting by day-to-day. This is the easier route. And I know that nothing that's worth it is ever easy, so why not act accordingly?
Something else I've rememberd over break (thank you, psych classes...):
In the short-run, people regret the things they've done.
In the long-run, people forget about the stupid things they've done and regret the things they haven't done.
The reasoning makes sense - you realize in retrospect that you learn from dumb mistakes. You move on and endure the consequences. But when you don't do something, you'll only learn one lesson, which is that if an opportunity arises next time, you grab it. You'll always wonder "What if?" otherwise, and that's just exhausting.
Being home really affirmed how blessed I am, to be in NYC doing what I love at such a young age (yes, I'll still call it young...); I really can't live life with excuses. Now is the time to hustle, to learn to live life through the ups and downs and really explore all your options. The 20s is the time for roadtrips, heartbreaks, marathons, new jobs, bad jobs, too many commitments, no commitments, solitude, too many people, new ventures. Settling into your life - well, you can always do that later.
This isn't to say that life needs to be lived recklessly, but there are definitely things that you can get away with when you're younger. Like dreaming. Life is short. One of my mom's dear high school friends passed away just a week ago from a 15+ year battle with cancer. She was just past 50. A month ago, my great-aunt passed away after five years of being extremely sick. She was 80. A family friend recently had three heart attacks and died suddenly on Christmas Eve. He was in his 40s. Not to be morbid, but life. is. short.
And they all lived good lives, but I wonder about the different phases that they've each experienced in life, the multiple lives they've touched, the tasks they've left unfinished. At the end of the day, isn't quality of life most important, since quantity is never guaranteed?
Life never has to get stagnant. It can, of course, all too easily, but it doesn't have to. The system. Comfort. Security. These are the things we're always taught to abide by. Living a life by a certain structure - people who deviate don't exactly fall into the categories of success we have set before us. Some rare few make the crossover, blazing their own trail and accumulating a following enough so that they end up leading the pack.
But these are the exceptions. Because while schooling teaches us to think independently, creatively (well, depending on what field you were schooled in), it also focuses on teaching us about guidelines.
Organized chaos.
Writing with lines. Art inside a structure. Jobs that follow a preset path. And while I know it would be naive of me to lambast these standards and call them foolish - that would be ignorant, for that kind of structure and system lets society function properly - while I realize this, I also know that the reason why fantasy and rebels and criminals and celebrities fascinate us so much is because they have so much abandon.
Artists, musicians, risk-takers, they live the life that we all want. They have the kind of freedom I'm sure most of us simultaneously envy and fear. But why does there have to be a separate them and us? Why can't we live these lives? Take the best of the worlds that we know and really have a hand in shaping our existence?
I like labels. On food condiments, hair products, items that I purchase. Mostly becuase this gives me a way to judge the standards of the product and item. I know a brand like Sara Lee will have quality bread. I know the store-brand bread might be just as good but will cost me less. I know about brand loyalty.
But I also know that if you remove all labels and preconceptions, these items can taste identical. So why not apply this to people? Why not stop trying to fit the mold of what it means to be an engineer, a law student, a journalist, a guy, a girl? Why not try to create an identity and avoid the labels altogether? It's scary because there are no means of comparison that way; no means, that is, except to yourself. But sometimes this is the best way.
By doing something so dramatic, you're willingly isolating yourself so you can self-examine, have no one to live up to, no expectations to meet but your own. This is what New York has done for me. It's stripped me of my labels, allowed me to figure out my own constitution, my strengths and weaknesses and how to deal with them.
Going home this holiday season showed me that life is too short and too precious to wait on the sidelines, to keep a distance between them and us. I can honestly say that I'm growing and changing every day that I write more, read more, talk more, observe more. And tradition and structure are great and all - you can't break the rules until you know them - but they're not the only way to form your existence.
Life is for living, and part of the game is figuring out on whose terms you're playing.
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