----------
Sent from the Verizon network using Mobile Email
...I hate my job. and because it appeals to the Generation Xer in me. enjoy!
When your time comes, what moments will you look back on and remember feeling fully alive? impossibly fragile and human? loved and embraced? humbled? inspired? moved?
These were the last words (memories? thoughts?) of a man who was in a car accident, as he lay dying on a bridge, contemplating the world he was leaving:...Great Bear Lake. The Mississippi Delta. Stromboli. The old houses of Charlottenburg.
Albert Camus. The morning light. The eyes of a child. Swimming by the waterfall.
The spots from the first drops of rain. The sun. Bread and wine.
Hopscotch. Easter Sunday.
Veins of leaves. The billowing grass. The color of stones.
The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream about the house inside the house. The person asleep in the next room.
The peace and quiet of Sunday. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight.
Riding a bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger.
My father. My mother.
My wife.
My child.
My travels, readings, life intersections and photographic explorations in the last year have all helped create a deeper sense of our shared humanity, equally drawing from and filling a well of empathy, joy and sometimes sorrow. My capacity to be touched and moved, to be inspired and called to action, and to embrace and push through my fears has been on an upward trajectory, continually surprising me with where it leads. For years, I've imagined there must exist a place, a situation, a state into which I would feel I'd "arrived"...and yet, today more and more, I feel as if I'm traveling down a path that has no end, no signage pointing me toward a destination, no guarantees of a safe journey - but oh what an interesting one it's become.
I've never thought of myself as a spiritual person, in the traditional sense, so it was with some surprise that I found myself so moved by a film I saw recently - Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire, which offers a life-affirming testimonial of what it means to be human - as well as a glimpse into a more spiritual realm, one that is both painfully separate as well as inextricably entwined with our material world. For a far more erudite analysis than I can offer, I highly recommend reading Eric Mader-Lin's essay: http://www.wim-wenders.com/news_reel/2003/jun-angels-and-the-modern-city.htm -- but save it until after seeing the film. I continue to be touched by the thoughts of one of Wenders' angels, who acknowledges that while it's wonderful to live as a spirit:I don't want to always hover above; I'd rather feel a weight within...to be fixed to the earth...to live in the now...
to take the empty seat in a card game and be greeted by the others, even if just with a nod,
to come home at the end of a long day and feed the cat like Philip Marlowe,
or to have a fever,
or to get your fingers black from the newspaper.
to be excited by a meal, the curve of a neck, an ear,
to lie! through one's teeth!
to feel your bones as you walk along,
to be able to say "Ah!" and "Oh!" and "Ouch!" instead of "yes" and "amen",
to be a savage,
Or to feel what it's like to take your shoes off under the table, and wiggle your toes barefoot, like this...
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." - Mark Twain
I wonder how it feels to be her.
Fiercely independent, recalcitrant and unapologetic for most of her life, my grandmother, less than a year away from being 90 years old, is now forced to rely upon a son who claims to love, but in reality can't stand, his mother. While I don't know their full history, its impact has lasted nearly a lifetime. My father's resentment from feeling abandoned to an abusive, alcoholic father during their divorce, his emotional scars from her selfish refusal to return his letters as he soldiered away his innocence in Vietnam, his inability to deal with a woman whose stubbornness infuriatingly surpasses his own...all contributing factors not to be taken lightly. These thoughts run through my head tonight as I try to put today's events in perspective. My grandmother has another son who barely speaks to her -- who's distanced himself from his family and his past, hiding behind a bottle and suffering from one failed relationship after another; her daughter lives across the country and has endured her share of fighting the family demons as well. Last night, she called to invite my parents and I to lunch today. My parents, while they talk to her every other day and make sure she takes her pills, has her groceries and a home-cooked meal once a week, fulfill their obligatory role with barely concealed resentment and resignation. Sometimes I try to put myself in their shoes, to recognize that my grandmother has been a difficult and in many ways unpleasant woman to deal with at different points in their lives. And yet, she's now in her late 80s -- her memory fades by the day, her frailty is more evident each time I see her. I think of the stories I've heard about her days as a chef...her travels in Europe...her brazen streak that would inspire her to take a road trip alone across country in her late 70s. Imagine how it must feel when all those things that once gave your life vibrancy and meaning have been lost or taken away. How it must feel for a woman who was once so in control of her destiny to no longer be able to cook her own food, drive her own car, and make her own choices. And to have to rely on a son whose treatment of her is not only disrespectful and rude, but frightfully intolerant and impatient. Actually, in a way, I do know what it feels to be her. I had to endure many years of being spoken to in the same harsh, condescending and vitriolic manner. I have known what it feels like to lose your voice and be too afraid to find it or use it. And yet I had a lifetime ahead of me to learn how to protect and save myself, while she's nearing the end of hers. What a horrible way to spend your last years, being dutifully cared for by a son who doesn't care for you. My heart breaks for her, again and again.Seemed like every conversation I overheard today started with, "I got..." Look, Aunt Barbara, I got [insert xxxxxx numbers of toys, games and other crap my cousin didn't need]...", "See what Jim got me...", "What did you get..." Even in the airport lounge yesterday, I overheard two parents chatting with their 4 year old, saying "you got $20 from Uncle so-and-so, and you got $25 from Grandma so-and-so, and how much did she get from Aunt..." The kid was already being indoctrinated into the cult of I-Gotsville. While I recognize that I was as much about 'getting' at their age as these kids were, I still am left wondering what kind of example their parents are setting today. Pretty much everyone I know already has more than they *need* -- and yet so many continue to buy into this ridiculous materialism that this holiday begets, whether by choice or dictated by tradition.
I've tried to bring charitable giving into the holiday equation in the last couple years, to no avail. The flocks of geese and chicks given in my parents' names to needy families through Heifer International meant nothing to my mom and dad. They perfunctorily read the cards, muttered how 'that's nice' and continued to plow through other presents. I am so sick of this annual tradition. While it's great to spend time with family -- catch up on each other's lives, enjoy wonderful meals together, and generally slow life down for a little while -- I am very seriously considering taking a pass on Christmas next year. I know my parents won't understand -- and will think I'm ungrateful if I utter a word of any of this to them -- but there's just no joy in this obligatory season for me anymore.
After a rather tumultuous couple of years filled with major life changes and upheavals - multiple moves, a serious breakup, new jobs, separations from long-time friends - I finally decided that it was important to take a break, thinking that a bit of distance could provide more clarity, as well as fulfill that wanderlusty part of me that's been yearning to get away. So I settled on a trip to Morocco. Flights were booked; the first night's hotel was booked; and the rest was left to fate or whimsy - a new and surprisingly welcome way to travel for a planner like me. I can't say I had any great expectations for this trip, nor preconceived notions, nor really any particular reason for going to Morocco specifically. I just decided one day that it was time. For something.
I'm one of those people who's always felt that I never quite fit -- into my job, my home, my family, my life...having this vague yet persistent notion that you don't belong is perhaps what makes it so comfortable and easy to 'not belong' somewhere else. Not belonging allows you to maintain a certain, safe distance from the world - less chance for being rejected, hurt, disappointed, etc. - and yet, ultimately, what can one really gain from this approach? I wonder how many opportunities have I missed by preemptively closing myself off? Until I went on this trip, I don't think I realized just how long I'd been 'traveling' with these blinders on --- to witness another culture (and life generally) is one thing, but to truly participate and be present in it is quite another. How long have I been sitting on the sidelines and operating from this place of fear and distrust? It seems I've managed to build this protective wall around myself in some futile attempt to hide my vulnerability -- and yet has that stopped me from being hurt? taken advantage of? of course not. If anything, this walling off of myself has likely contributed toward those very things happening that I was hoping to prevent, particularly in my romantic life, as too many relationships have either ended or never gotten off the ground perhaps because I haven't been able to be free enough to fully share and experience the joys of life with another person. While chatting one morning in Fes with my new friend Rashid, he told me that I reminded him of himself -- always searching for something but never quite finding it. He questioned why I don't open up more about my feelings and why I leave it up to the other person to be vulnerable first --- "you are smart, strong, and know your own mind - what do you have to lose?" He has a point - can there truly be reward without risk? Spending time on my own in Morocco and Spain really forced me to engage with people in a different way than I typically do in my everyday life at home -- to take chances, to push aside the fears that would normally threaten to dampen any possibility of real exchange and connection. I hope to carry this lesson with me, and when I catch myself slipping into that well-worn role of distancing myself from others, I will remember my time with my new Moroccan friends Rashid, Abdoul and Farid - and how they helped me step outside myself into a world that I'd like to inhabit."...Never forget that whatever your destination, you always take yourself with you. Finding yourself is your true destination." more
searching, seeking, discovering a higher purpose
