When was the last time you closed your eyes and imagined you could take flight? Do you remember the feeling that you were soaring through the sky, maybe with a cape or wings, but never on an airplane? As a child these moments were easy to find – a sunny day, a jump off the trampoline or diving board, that simple jump into make believe – and you were flying without even trying. Flight, feet far off the floor, wind whisking over your body, gravity non-existent.
As an adult, that feeling is hard to find. Actual flight is what takes you from one point to another. Procedure, lines, baggage, fees weigh you down. Your ideas of flight are encumbered by fears of what happens if something goes wrong – when you’re that far in the air, gravity is sure to set in at some point, what if you lose control? Safety tips are restated, you are protected by steel and people who know what they are doing at the wheel.
As an adult, there are few times that you can fly with your feet still on the ground. Only speed and remarkable experiences send you into flight. Maybe jumping off a cliff, or out of a plane, maybe, but the fear factor is there. Definitely driving down an empty highway on a semi-cold night with the windows down and a favorite soulful song in the speakers sends you into orbit. Standing on a sidewalk on a blustery British day, just standing, with the wind whirling between your legs so that at any moment you are sure that takeoff is near, and then you close your eyes. Flight.
These moments are rare, and easily missed. Close your eyes. Imagine. Believe. And maybe, maybe wings will sprout, for a short time at least. Maybe we spend too much of our waking hours with our eyes open and our minds focused. I am seeking to find flight again – breathtaking, unprotected, fearless flight.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
A Dog's Life
Every now and then I look at my dogs and think, “Man, wouldn’t it be nice to be a dog?” I mean, to play and eat and sleep all day with no worries about the future or what you should do. Even if you do something wrong you’re too darn cute for anyone to be mad at you for too long.
Yes, maybe it’s silly to long for a dog’s life. What is their impact on the world? What is the extent of their emotions? Their experiences are in fact very limited. They have little options of what to do with their lives. They are at the absolute command of others – forced to entertain with monotonous tricks and being cute on demand. It’s not exactly enviable.
BUT, beyond that, if you belong to humans like my family, it really is a pretty good life. And we might even learn something from the way our pets live their lives. They pursue only the things that make them happy – food, a toy, or the most comfortable place to lie. They get excited by the most simple of joys. They forgive without thought; their loyalty is beyond compare. The sole purpose of their days is to love their people and to receive love in return, no questions asked.
Of these things, perhaps we could only try to achieve the last. Perhaps that would make our lives more meaningful.
Yes, maybe it’s silly to long for a dog’s life. What is their impact on the world? What is the extent of their emotions? Their experiences are in fact very limited. They have little options of what to do with their lives. They are at the absolute command of others – forced to entertain with monotonous tricks and being cute on demand. It’s not exactly enviable.
BUT, beyond that, if you belong to humans like my family, it really is a pretty good life. And we might even learn something from the way our pets live their lives. They pursue only the things that make them happy – food, a toy, or the most comfortable place to lie. They get excited by the most simple of joys. They forgive without thought; their loyalty is beyond compare. The sole purpose of their days is to love their people and to receive love in return, no questions asked.
Of these things, perhaps we could only try to achieve the last. Perhaps that would make our lives more meaningful.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
A few of my favorite things
Sex and the City, Season 4, Episode 1, first café scene. Everyone has favorite books and TV shows, movies and songs. I have favorite episodes, favorite scenes, favorite lines. I read the last sentence of any book before I begin it. I love particular glances shared between characters, the delivery of a line that induces a certain truth behind it, descriptions that emote. I have an obsession with moments that I’m pretty sure I’ve transferred into my real life. This is good, and bad.
I developed a love of everyday photography studying abroad in Britain, where every day was an exploration. Photography feeds my obsession; it allows me to stay in a moment long after it has passed. I’ve told people for years that I don’t like posed pictures, my favorites are the snapshots that capture personalities and emotions. Emotions that are fleeting.
“Carpe diem.” But what happens when that day, and the next, and the next are not to be seized. What happens when you have nothing left to do, nothing but wait. I’ve been told that I’m a free spirit, that I have nothing holding me back; I can do whatever I want. But in this moment, there is nothing to do. And for someone who is obsessed with moments, that’s like torture. I have to wait, be patient – aahh.
I get stuck in moments, and some linger longer than others. I string moments together to make up my existence. The experiences that are defining and memorable create a life. I cherish the moments that I encounter (they help to inspire my blogs), but it makes all the lapses between them dull and unbearable. I suppose patience is a good thing to learn. And resilience, if necessary, but I’m clinging to hope.
“This is your one opportunity to do something that no one has ever done before and that no one will copy throughout human existence. And if nothing else, you will be remembered as the one guy who ever did this. This one thing.” - Garden State
I developed a love of everyday photography studying abroad in Britain, where every day was an exploration. Photography feeds my obsession; it allows me to stay in a moment long after it has passed. I’ve told people for years that I don’t like posed pictures, my favorites are the snapshots that capture personalities and emotions. Emotions that are fleeting.
“Carpe diem.” But what happens when that day, and the next, and the next are not to be seized. What happens when you have nothing left to do, nothing but wait. I’ve been told that I’m a free spirit, that I have nothing holding me back; I can do whatever I want. But in this moment, there is nothing to do. And for someone who is obsessed with moments, that’s like torture. I have to wait, be patient – aahh.
I get stuck in moments, and some linger longer than others. I string moments together to make up my existence. The experiences that are defining and memorable create a life. I cherish the moments that I encounter (they help to inspire my blogs), but it makes all the lapses between them dull and unbearable. I suppose patience is a good thing to learn. And resilience, if necessary, but I’m clinging to hope.
“This is your one opportunity to do something that no one has ever done before and that no one will copy throughout human existence. And if nothing else, you will be remembered as the one guy who ever did this. This one thing.” - Garden State
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Nature
I am no nature buff, far from it. I know little about plants. I seldom camp (though I wish this wasn’t true); I probably couldn’t start a fire without a lighter and some accelerant. But I do appreciate nature; I sometimes crave the outdoors.
I want to hear the rustle of decomposing leaves uncompromised by concrete. I long to feel the mud slide underfoot, ever so threatening. To be lost in the woods, not in the “what am I going to eat, who’s going to eat me” kind of way, just to lose yourself in the sounds of the birds chirping without visibly seeing a living thing. The muddy river flanked by bare and dying trees is void of all beauty but for its movement – water flowing not from a fountain, but seemingly from nowhere, moving trees and land as it passes. This sandy bank I’m sure was brought by man to protect it, but still it’s nice to see, to feel the grit in your fingertips. The red dirt nearer the water seems to bleed from the earth.
The only signs of life are the footprints of rodents and deer mingled with birds’ nests and the wind. The only verdure apparent is the moss and the budding saplings, excepting the evergreens. The sunlight through the leave-less trees shines like an angel appearing in an old forgotten movie. The river rushes, the branches sway, the squish beneath, unhampered by anything. I sometimes crave the smell of nothing but dirt; no pine scented air freshener or vanilla aroma candle can compare.
I went for a long walk in the woods yesterday..I may have gotten a little carried away. I felt refreshed, until I stopped to get my computer and cell phone repaired on the way home.
Also, I would never dream of taking up running, think how much you would miss.
I want to hear the rustle of decomposing leaves uncompromised by concrete. I long to feel the mud slide underfoot, ever so threatening. To be lost in the woods, not in the “what am I going to eat, who’s going to eat me” kind of way, just to lose yourself in the sounds of the birds chirping without visibly seeing a living thing. The muddy river flanked by bare and dying trees is void of all beauty but for its movement – water flowing not from a fountain, but seemingly from nowhere, moving trees and land as it passes. This sandy bank I’m sure was brought by man to protect it, but still it’s nice to see, to feel the grit in your fingertips. The red dirt nearer the water seems to bleed from the earth.
The only signs of life are the footprints of rodents and deer mingled with birds’ nests and the wind. The only verdure apparent is the moss and the budding saplings, excepting the evergreens. The sunlight through the leave-less trees shines like an angel appearing in an old forgotten movie. The river rushes, the branches sway, the squish beneath, unhampered by anything. I sometimes crave the smell of nothing but dirt; no pine scented air freshener or vanilla aroma candle can compare.
I went for a long walk in the woods yesterday..I may have gotten a little carried away. I felt refreshed, until I stopped to get my computer and cell phone repaired on the way home.
Also, I would never dream of taking up running, think how much you would miss.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tired
Every once in a while I leave the house without looking at myself in the mirror. At some point I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in something shiny. Have you ever looked at yourself and not recognized the person staring at you, not one bit? The eyes, once bright green, are faded with blue-black rims and covered with weighty spider webs that pull the lids down. The redness, too, from the lips is now a shady blush. The once sun-kissed cheeks and freckles now appear moon-slapped. And everything is deeper, more pronounced than I remember. This can’t be my face.
But I look again. What seems to have happened is that Tired has finally moved in. He’s visited before, usually just a stopover, after late nights or trauma. But this time he seems to have brought all his bags and is planning a long, if not, permanent stay. Tired lay his bags in the tight storage area under my eyes and has turned off the lights to conserve energy. The luggage is heavy, pulling the skin there further away from where it belongs.
Maybe it’s just leftover makeup that didn’t come off when I washed my face. But scrubbing doesn’t help, and it’s been two days since I wore mascara – two showers and washing my face should have rid that. No, it seems the darkness is tattooed under my lashes. Concealer helps. Smiling, though, seems to accentuate the baggage.
Maybe it’s part of growing up, this reinvention of your facial structure. Maybe there’s a reason adults learn to appreciate the bitterness of coffee; children don’t quite understand it yet, don’t need to taste the things they know, need the caffeine to keep them awake.
I suppose coffee, along with moisturizer and sleep, is the answer, but it seems that I should just wear makeup more often. Or maybe not recognizing yourself is ok. Maybe rediscovery can actually be invigorating. Maybe it’s invigorating enough to chase away Tired, show him he’s not welcome here for the moment.
But I look again. What seems to have happened is that Tired has finally moved in. He’s visited before, usually just a stopover, after late nights or trauma. But this time he seems to have brought all his bags and is planning a long, if not, permanent stay. Tired lay his bags in the tight storage area under my eyes and has turned off the lights to conserve energy. The luggage is heavy, pulling the skin there further away from where it belongs.
Maybe it’s just leftover makeup that didn’t come off when I washed my face. But scrubbing doesn’t help, and it’s been two days since I wore mascara – two showers and washing my face should have rid that. No, it seems the darkness is tattooed under my lashes. Concealer helps. Smiling, though, seems to accentuate the baggage.
Maybe it’s part of growing up, this reinvention of your facial structure. Maybe there’s a reason adults learn to appreciate the bitterness of coffee; children don’t quite understand it yet, don’t need to taste the things they know, need the caffeine to keep them awake.
I suppose coffee, along with moisturizer and sleep, is the answer, but it seems that I should just wear makeup more often. Or maybe not recognizing yourself is ok. Maybe rediscovery can actually be invigorating. Maybe it’s invigorating enough to chase away Tired, show him he’s not welcome here for the moment.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Holidays
Ever wonder why all the holidays seem to culminate at the end of the year? Whoever decided to place all major religious and national holidays could have easily placed them in June or August, couldn’t they? I think that someone, somewhere realized that we needed a holiday season, an entire season. I know that people complain about the added errands, the extra costs, and the lack of time this time of year. But really, what is so bad about shopping and baking and making people and places sparkle and glow when the rest of the year we deal with life without the shimmer and good cheer.
We’ve been good all year, or at least we try, we deserve a few dozen cookies by now. By the time October rolls around, the doldrums of daily life put us in a haze that make the days go by. We are in need of a peppermint coated sugar high to help us to finish the year. We need to hear happy-go-lucky Christmas beats to fa-la-la-la us through the cold nights. We need the sparkle in the evergreens to remind us of joy. We need excuses to see our loved ones as much as possible for us to realize the beauty of life, accompanied by an appropriate amount holiday flavored cocktails of course.
We all realize that life goes on, that we will still feel sad and angry, worried and dull, but the cinnamon and people all around help to curb the pain and loneliness and stress of life. And it couldn’t come at a better time. Because by the end of the year, it seems that you’ve had more than your share of bad days, weeks, months. You can’t help but to characterize this year by all the hard times and frustrations and can’t wait to toast it away. Even though all the happenings of the previous year don’t really flow away with champagne on December 31st, the hope of a new beginning is nice.
Renewal. The sense that we can start fresh by choosing to do so, resolving ourselves to be better people and willing good things to ourselves and others. I think that’s the point of this season, all sixty to ninety days of it – hope, with undertones of faith and joy. From giving thanks to looking forward, we do it with good wishes and peace in mind. We do it to endure; someone knew we needed hope to endure.
May the remainder of the season lead you to hope for good things in the new year. With love.
We’ve been good all year, or at least we try, we deserve a few dozen cookies by now. By the time October rolls around, the doldrums of daily life put us in a haze that make the days go by. We are in need of a peppermint coated sugar high to help us to finish the year. We need to hear happy-go-lucky Christmas beats to fa-la-la-la us through the cold nights. We need the sparkle in the evergreens to remind us of joy. We need excuses to see our loved ones as much as possible for us to realize the beauty of life, accompanied by an appropriate amount holiday flavored cocktails of course.
We all realize that life goes on, that we will still feel sad and angry, worried and dull, but the cinnamon and people all around help to curb the pain and loneliness and stress of life. And it couldn’t come at a better time. Because by the end of the year, it seems that you’ve had more than your share of bad days, weeks, months. You can’t help but to characterize this year by all the hard times and frustrations and can’t wait to toast it away. Even though all the happenings of the previous year don’t really flow away with champagne on December 31st, the hope of a new beginning is nice.
Renewal. The sense that we can start fresh by choosing to do so, resolving ourselves to be better people and willing good things to ourselves and others. I think that’s the point of this season, all sixty to ninety days of it – hope, with undertones of faith and joy. From giving thanks to looking forward, we do it with good wishes and peace in mind. We do it to endure; someone knew we needed hope to endure.
May the remainder of the season lead you to hope for good things in the new year. With love.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Southern Seasons Greetings
I like being from the South. I enjoy country music. I can appreciate the alternate English language. And there’s nothing that compares to Southern fried chicken with a kick. And a very intricate part of the South is being laid back, taking it slow. We talk slowly, we walk slowly, we aren’t in any rush. I like that too, most of the time.
Picture a very crowded mall at Christmas, place it in the South. If you haven’t experienced this first hand, you probably think that all crowded shopping malls are frustrating at the holidays. That all malls are filled with people who browse through the items you are wanting to buy, who stand in long lines and can’t find their coupons once they get to the cashier, who stand in the middle of the walkway with their ten relatives trying to decide if they want to go to this store or that or do they want to eat now, who follow that pedestrian to their parking spot even though you are behind them. Ok, sure, but add at least ten minutes to each of these things when you are in the South.
Because browsing is an art form. Because we add about seven extra syllables when we are apologizing to the cashier for holding her up, but we know that “coo-pawn” is in this big bag somewhere. Because, bless his heart, Uncle Bob is just starving, though that store is on the way out? Because, did I mention, we walk soo slowly. Not that I’m in a hurry, but my goodness, when everyone is moving so slowly it’s a bit overwhelming.
Patience has its limits. You have to pass by people. You learn to do so with finesse after twenty years of experience. You learn to park in the obscure parking lot or in the last row, only to avoid the slow moving cars.
The upside though, everybody is polite. If you bump into someone, you definitely hear “excuse me” or “oh, I’m sorry.” That is something that doesn’t happen everywhere. And if you take a few minutes to sit on a bench and watch, that family trying to decide what to do can actually be amusing, when it’s not you that’s navigating around them.
Merry Christmas y’all. Take time to enjoy the things and people you love, slowly.
Picture a very crowded mall at Christmas, place it in the South. If you haven’t experienced this first hand, you probably think that all crowded shopping malls are frustrating at the holidays. That all malls are filled with people who browse through the items you are wanting to buy, who stand in long lines and can’t find their coupons once they get to the cashier, who stand in the middle of the walkway with their ten relatives trying to decide if they want to go to this store or that or do they want to eat now, who follow that pedestrian to their parking spot even though you are behind them. Ok, sure, but add at least ten minutes to each of these things when you are in the South.
Because browsing is an art form. Because we add about seven extra syllables when we are apologizing to the cashier for holding her up, but we know that “coo-pawn” is in this big bag somewhere. Because, bless his heart, Uncle Bob is just starving, though that store is on the way out? Because, did I mention, we walk soo slowly. Not that I’m in a hurry, but my goodness, when everyone is moving so slowly it’s a bit overwhelming.
Patience has its limits. You have to pass by people. You learn to do so with finesse after twenty years of experience. You learn to park in the obscure parking lot or in the last row, only to avoid the slow moving cars.
The upside though, everybody is polite. If you bump into someone, you definitely hear “excuse me” or “oh, I’m sorry.” That is something that doesn’t happen everywhere. And if you take a few minutes to sit on a bench and watch, that family trying to decide what to do can actually be amusing, when it’s not you that’s navigating around them.
Merry Christmas y’all. Take time to enjoy the things and people you love, slowly.
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