Lessons from Icarus
Just another WordPress.com site#50: Let tomorrow barrel through yesterday.
On New Year’s Eve, I found myself rocking out to a Jamaican cover band who proudly embraced its mission of ensuring that we wayfaring tourists counted down the New Year right. As the music pulsed, we surrendered ourselves to both the night and the tomorrow around the bend. Earlier in the afternoon, I noted the massive tents going up and wondered about the considerable wedding party that must have ventured to the island for celebration. The eventual realization that the preparation was actually to ring in the start of the next great chapter was lovely indeed.
Jamaica became the first stamp in my renewed passport because of a wedding. A wedding chosen to be on that particular day when we officially shed the past and dive into the future. It was held at the local Catholic Church; a circular polygonal structure with exterior windows open at every side though noticeably absent behind the alter itself. Instead, a painted ocean backdrop flanked the sides of the monsignor’s chair. My friend, who decided a beach and a wedding were the perfect ways to ring in the start of 2014 and came along for the ride, pointed out that if the windows had been left uncovered or exposed, the congregation might have spent more time focusing on God’s oceanic masterpiece than on the words his representative spoke.
Nonetheless, what I appreciated about the church was its form and openness. My favorite shape has always been the circle. I love the idea of everything continuing until, one day, it meets its yesterday as it forges yet another iterative layer upon an already beaten path. The church, with its messages of forgiveness and rebirth, seemed a fitting programmatic answer to this particular building. With the sea on one side and the town on another, it was a lovely intermediary between God and Man.
I believe just over thirty of us gathered there that day. We ventured from across the US to stand witness as two people said good bye to a small part of their former selves and embraced the next incarnation of whom they knew themselves to be. To say that it was moving would be an understatement.
As the doors opened and the bride took her first steps into the church, I could not help but stifle a laugh as she noted a couple complete strangers sitting to the side, basking in the air of a tourist yet beaming with the pride of an old friend. I do not know how long they watched but there was something about their attendance that I thought to be rather perfect.
I want to believe that we can all understand love and that its appreciation extends beyond those whose presence is officially requested. Perhaps that couple returned to their home up the street and sat along the beach recollecting their own wedding day. Or maybe they traveled back to their home country and are sharing the story of the afternoon wedding they stumbled upon as a ‘travel memory.’ Might they actually not know each other and never speak of it again but find themselves years later smiling as they recall that pronouncement of love they just so happened to witness.
In Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, the stage manager puts out the following:
“I’ve married over two hundred couples in my day.
Do I believe in it?
I don’t know.
M… marries N… millions of them.
The cottage, the go-cart, the Sunday-afternoon drives in the Ford, the first rheumatism, the grandchildren, the second rheumatism, the deathbed, the reading of the will, – (…with a warm smile…)
Once in a thousand times it’s interesting.”
As I rocked out on that dance floor as the singer belted out that she had ‘a feeling…’, I thought of how fabulous it was that we were all there for that once in a thousand times.
Soundtrack: the sound of cars racing through slushy snow
#49: And the phoenix will rise again.
Someone once told me that I am too idealistic. I replied that I much prefer that to the alternative.
I recently sat across from someone at dinner and listened to him tell me that we will one day destroy ourselves. Nuclear warfare will act as the proverbial nail on a coffin of humanitarian inquietude. People cannot see beyond their immediate vicinity and have neither desire nor need to truly consider the world at large. He summed it up by pointing out that the outcry surrounding shark fin soup is due more to celebrities shunning the practice and the masses rallying behind the celebrities’ causes than to people actually caring about the issue. And then ordered dessert.
But there are those in the world who see beyond one’s three feet diameter of personal space.
As an idealistic realist, I believe in possibility; that the world is more than the sum of its apparent parts.
I don’t know why people choose not to consider the person next to them. Rather, why people are afraid to consider the person next to them. Why tunnel vision is considered ideal.
It’s an interesting idea, you know. Going through life as though we are simply these nonsensical beings “engaged” in life without considering pretenses, repercussions or, um, reality; unconsciously living as though the person next to you is nothing more than a vacuous conglomeration of instigations and reactions…going along with no capability of actually being present to life and acknowledging the surrounding presences.
We attract those whom we feel mirror who we are and who we believe ourselves to be. When we despise someone, a majority of the time it is because we are afraid of the reflection that we see. We don’t appreciate seeing in them what we know to be true about ourselves…or having to reflect upon what our reaction to them says about ourselves.
Perhaps we don’t always realize it. Perhaps we do. I like believing that we are evolved creatures not only capable but willing to address and acknowledge.
I sometimes look around at the world and cannot help but feel an immense, overwhelming weight of sadness. I feel as though there is so much to do…so much to be…so much joy surrounding and simultaneously waiting to be discovered…and yet the world struggles. God only knows what the hell motivates Assad and I cannot wait for the day the wrecking ball kisses North Korea’s multitude of prison camps. I’d like to believe that one day an electoral race will have less to do with sexual proclivities and just plain stupidity and more to do with actual policy and representing the issues of constituents. I’d like to believe that dinner topics of nuclear warfare will actually be its own fantasy story.
I occasionally wonder how the world might be if the idealistic realists chose not to be. I think of the path I am setting in motion for myself and how I cannot imagine living a different kind of life. At the end of my days, I know who I will be…I am happy that I will be and am that person. And I try to live every day accordingly…meaning that I engage with those around me in a way that I can stand behind and claim and I force myself to be honest with myself even when it might temporarily be easier to not. It’s quite important.
In retrospect, I suppose my answer to the assignation of too idealistic would be, “I do believe in the Phoenix, you know.”
Soundtrack: Kings of Leon. My God, I do love them so.
#48: Steps and miles and journeys all continue.
A few weeks ago, I came upon my blocked off street adorned with orange and white police cones decorated with “caution” garland. Police cars lined the way and vehicles scrambled to find another route home. I asked a passerby what happened.
“A girl was hit by a truck. She died. It’s terrible.” He stated each line matter-of-factly as he looked over his shoulder. We stood there quietly for a moment.
I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a dead body other than at funerals. I wondered if the tarps are standard issues.
“Well,” he said. I watched as he went on.
“Well,” I thought for a minute more as I stood.
I went on. I wondered about the family on the receiving end of that phone call.
I don’t know why any of this happens. I just know that it does…that life is, in a sense, the only constant in life.
I like to think that there are reasons…that we create our destinies and chart our own path. But, obviously, one has to allot for that which appears random.
I have friends and family getting married this fall and winter. I think of how happy each of them are…how confident they are about the journey upon which they’re embarking. I like to hear their stories. I wonder if one had chosen a different church group…if another had ventured into a different salon…if the other had stayed in that night. Would it all have turned out differently?
Ultimately, I think they would have still found each other.
Sometimes I entertain the thought that our lives have already been set in motion long before our time. Though, we rock on as though it’s a “choose your own adventure”, perhaps the guy who will be playing Monopoly with me as we age ever so gracefully is just cruising along until unbeknownst to us all, our respective cues are called.
And then I think back to this girl. I wonder what has been set in motion because of that night. Of course, there is more. So much more than I or you or anyone else, may ever realize.
Soundtrack: A little of this…a little of that
#47: Sometimes a hello is all that’s needed.
“We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars…everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings.” Thornton Wilder, Our Town
And just like that, Death greets another.
But, this time, it was not quite Death making the call. That’s the hard part.
Time and time again, the indefinable truth that connects us to each other is the pervasive desire to love and to be loved…to know that we matter…to know that our existence brings joy to another.
I don’t understand Life sometimes.
I don’t understand the way in which things unfold, the way people react to circumstances, the way in which some choose to go forward. I don’t understand why the reality exists that not everyone in this world will find what they seek. That at the end of the day, the pain and angst will prove too much for some.
I don’t understand why love and happiness can be so elusive and how their lack can prove so unbelievably catastrophic.
At moments, I wish there was a way to turn back time…just for a moment. Just to ensure that the other realizes that they do matter. That the world is alight because of their presence within it.
I’ve spent the day pondering the hows and whys.
I’ve asked myself how it is that something as mundane as loneliness can be allowed such control. That instead of being relegated to the background with occasional fleeting moments across the stage, loneliness can command the spotlight in a way few emotions can. I’ve asked myself why it is that some, no matter how hard they try, no matter how hard they want things to be different, just can’t shake the loneliness off so that they are free to embrace the love and happiness that truly is around them.
I don’t understand.
There is a precipice that some of us will meet. I hate to think about that but it is a reality. When we do, perhaps we ask ourselves what this is all for and if we matter. And I suppose it is the answer we give ourselves that determines our next move.
Today I showered. I brushed my teeth. I checked the mail. I dodged an errant biker. I cleaned a closet. I ate lunch. I lied on the grass. I watched mesmerized crowds photograph a rare owl. I spoke on the telephone. I spilled soup. I typed at my computer. I thought about those not doing this…or anything like this, today.
Soundtrack: Silence.
#46: Nature and Nurture were formally named Cain and Abel.
Recently, I stood on the subway platform waiting for my uptown train, straining my ears for the last notes of Saint-Saens Le Cygne – a beautiful piece I can play and listen to for hours. My eyes wandered through the crowd of people transitioning from day to night and I lingered on some, here and there. I often think of how we know nothing of each other but we share these few minutes of our day together. Perhaps our eyes cross paths for a brief, lingering moment before we quickly kick ourselves into formality and focus our attention straight ahead…above the head of the guy next to us…beyond the train car to the whirling subway walls racing by…
I laugh sometimes at how hard we silly people work to maintain a disconnect.
Last Sunday I sat at brunch and unconsciously found myself in a stare-down contest with a toddler. This baby had me pegged but she had no idea with whom she was dealing. “Alright, kid,” I thought, “two can play this game.” I failed to take the typical course of action and subvert my eyes to ignore the child. And this poor little girl had no idea of how to handle such a thing. She defiantly stared at me, she shook her head, she banged the table, she screamed out. Her mother apologetically mentioned that her daughter wanted me to hold her. Perhaps.
There are some lovely social conventions that we as a society hold dear. I must admit that someone staring at me can send shivers down my spine. But, there is also something to be said for being open and actually seeing what is in front of you…holding someone’s glance long enough to say, “I see you. I know that you are here.”
As I linger on the subway platform listening to the local artist hawking his wares, rocking out to the genius kid who realized being a DJ in Union Square is beyond brilliant and stealing glances with my fellow riders who seem to share my same quest for a little more conversation, I wonder if it all just comes down to that driving passion of mine to understand humanity as deeply as I can. I want people to come together. I want us to realize that a shared beauty envelops us and that we can help and encourage each other with the only motivation being that it’s the right thing to do.
The whole concept of connection blows my mind. It’s just so simple and yet…it’s sometimes more than I know what to do with. We steal glances…we banter…we share smiles of common experience…and then we keep going. For two or three days, two or three hours, two or three minutes, two or three seconds…we dance in and out of each others’ lives.
And then again…maybe not. Perhaps we decide to not be afraid of realization and acknowledgement.
We let go of supposition and predisposition and everything of yesterday.
We join hands with the person standing beside us and say, “Hello you. Hello world. Here I am. Here you are. Here we are.” We smile at each other, squeeze our hands tighter, laugh in shared joy and then step off together for one helluva ride.
And beauty happens.
Soundtrack: A little Radiohead sprinkled with Smashing Pumpkins and silence.
#45: Rethink Monday nights.
I have been in desperate need of a jolt.
God knows that monotony and I seldom see eye to eye.
I feel him creeping up behind me and I take off in a frenetic sprint darting in and out of perceptions and expectations. When I feel his breath along my neck, I shiver. I shiver and turn to blast right through him. He is gone.
The next thing is calling my name. Actually, it’s not quite calling. It’s screaming out sporadically from a crowd of competing energies smothered by deafening noise and maddening silence. And in that annoying manner that fails to concretely say anything of easily understood substance, it taunts. It taunts and I turn to confront it head on. It is gone.
Patience and confident perseverance are weaving along beside me. Sometimes, it drives me crazy that they flirt in and out, pulling me back and forth. But, the small voice inside reminds me that they are necessary. I glance back at them from time to time. Other times I trip over them as I run headfirst as fast as I can towards anything and everything.
As monotony and the next thing engage in a deliberate battle of wills where the end is more than a simple routine game of chance and circumstance, patience and perseverance temper the overworked exhaustion and serve as fascinating reminders that tomorrow is today.
Soundtrack: Antlers and Lana del Ray battling it out. What can I say?
#43: Dance it out.
There is something so incredibly satisfying about unabashedly surrendering yourself to music. Just letting yourself melt into movement in such a way that, before you know it, you will forget everything else around you and it will just be you…the music…and you. The you, who you really are.
I remember when I realized I couldn’t dance. I was fourteen. In a new school with a bunch of kids who had known each other for years. I was in the community musical and…I just couldn’t dance. No matter how hard I tried, it just wasn’t working. I looked like a clutz and natural ease and grace were simply nonexistent.
But over the next couple of years, I learned how to dance. Rather, I realized that I always knew how…that I simply had to let myself remember that I knew.
I had vivid memories of dancing as a child. I remembered the music carrying me to places unknown and songs gleefully dancing up and down my body. I remembered the exhiliration of thrilling surrender and the soundtrack of laughter harmoniously joining in.
And then, for some silly reason, I let myself forget for a moment. I forgot the feeling. I forgot the freedom. I forgot the happiness that always comes with truly dancing.
By the time I entered my senior year of high school, I started to remember.
Thank God.
Knowing how to dance has led to one helluva ride. I shudder to think how my life might have turned out if I hadn’t.
Would I have had the courage to go “far away” to college though neighbors thought my parents and I had lost our minds? Would I have backed out of my dad’s driveway with an old car on its way out, $600 in cash, a newspaper clipping promising a room with a bed for $400 a month, and the unfailing belief that I’d have a job in no time? Would I have gone to architecture school, unable to name a single architect other than the ubiquitous Frank Lloyd Wright and knowing that the only thing I knew about architecture was that I loved designing houses? Would I have ventured to Brno just to see a house?
Would I have let myself see the world that I have seen? Would I have jumped on a plane to Korea where my life would be nothing like it was before…and nothing that I could imagine since?
Would I have listened to my brother when he said, “He’s only five.”? Would I have let myself love as deeply and as passionately as I have? Would I have made the friends, the unbelievable friends, that I will fight for til death do us part?
Would I have moved back to the insanity that is New York with no job, no money, and no place to live? Would I have had the unflinching knowledge that it would all be okay?
And now, years later, I am sitting in my apartment too exhausted at the moment but desperately needing a dance party. I cannot take it anymore; my body is simply not made to sit still. Some people are fine going through life suppressing every urge to move and stubbornly attempting to convince themselves that they just “don’t dance.”
I’m not one of them.
I’ve been wondering why some people forget how to dance. Or never let themselves learn. I suppose everyone has their reasons. Is the end result the same? I don’t know.
When I think of how unbelievably amazing it is to just let yourself go…when you realize that none of it matters…that the only thing that matters is you, in that moment, rocking out and living it up…
I am so ready for a dance party. Anyone with me?
Soundtrack: The Lumineers
#42: The smile is okay.
Transitions can be a funny thing. Ideally, they flow smoothly. Thoughts move forward and relationships evolve.
As I get older, I think I get more set in my idealistic ways. I say that with a somewhat sad smile. As I get older, my understanding of people expands…while simultaneously contracting. It is what it is and my embracing of the rational world has long actually supported my ideals. I still truly believe that if – and it’s a very big if – people could step back from the emotions, life would be a million times clearer and better for us all…and this is coming from one insanely in touch with her emotions.
It’s time for a rock out.
Soundtrack: a medley of movement
#41: It’s hard but necessary.
It’s funny how something can happen to you in an instant…that might irrevocably affect you until that moment when you can let it go.
One moment everything is fine. The day is another day…as lovely, as insignificant, as meaningful as yesterday and tomorrow…presumably. And then you’re wondering what the hell just happened.
Shock, perhaps, settles a little too comfortably.
Pause.
I am not much of a “why me-er.” So, in my case, that step along with self pity gets skipped. Anger though, anger takes over for a bit. And, I suppose disgust at the source of all the angst rears its ugly head.
Really, though, that all can only go on for so long.
Then, at some point, it has to be let go. What’s done is done and life…life goes on regardless of whether or not you decide to be present. That’s the part where I return again and again.
It doesn’t matter how hurt you might be. Moments of fragility and anxiety are just…moments. That part is hard to remember sometimes but it is true. They don’t actually have to be you. They can just be how you felt at a particular time…nothing defining. I’ve always believed that one never apologizes for feelings…only for what one chooses to do with said feelings. And, with that being the case…
Something can happen to you in an instant…and you are fine.
And then, time later you realize the extent of its effect or, rather, that it has affected you in ways not initially considered or realized. And, at some point, the emotions have to be let go because…in the scheme of everything, does it really matter?
The answer, ultimately, at the very end, is always no.
Something can happen to you in an instant…and you really are fine.
Soundtrack: Mumford & Sons with a little Antlers thrown in for good measure.
Lessons from Icarus 