Creation and Destruction

Background story: So, I began a quick email to Greg, a friend of mine with whom I attended college. You see, Greg and I had many very late night runs to the 7-11 across the street from my dorm on the way home from the bars, with only one purpose - to gorge ourselves on 7-11 nachos. And because of that, I started to write a quick email to Greg saying that I went to 7-11 late the other night, and got some nachos, and thought of him. But this is how the email turned out...

Last night I went and got WORD REDACTED with a friend in Arlington, and as we wandered around aimlessly in the entirely unfamiliar Clarendon area looking for our car that we misplaced somewhere in the middle of the evening, we happened upon a 7-11. Freezing cold, we became quickly distracted from our search by the comfort of the familiar orange and green sign - a 24 hour front porch light inviting us to come home. Upon entering our sterile, couchless living room through the knobless glass doors, we knew our destination without even having to discuss. A quick and painless conversation with a nervous Nepali housemate behind the counter pointed us in the direction of the most incredible home appliance known to man and the little plastic packages that sit next in anticipation of assistance.

As I ripped open the surprisingly strong outer wrapping, I smiled devilishly like a 9 year old boy with a water balloon as the cute girl slowly approaches from around the corner. But the true joy began as my friend and I together depressed the first of a series of two red buttons on the ingenious apparatus, and the not quite solid but not quite liquid earth-brown substance found its temporary home on the rolling hills of corn below, seemingly flipping the horizon in the miniature world I held in my hands.

But from the below which was now the above, a force of wonder was brewing. This phenomenon, millions of years in the making, was just one more finger press from being unleashed on the new inverted continental crust formed by the previous, almost perfect union. And like an earthquake that unveils a fault reaching to the depths of the core, the electronic signal following the depression of the second button shook the countertop steel appliance, and a flow of violent yellow lava was unleashed on the unsuspecting field below.

And as I stood in awe at the beauty of the creation of our little universe, I had the brief understanding of how God felt at the end of the third day. But my time of creation had ended. Inside of me the pre-determined shift to destruction had already begun. And while I gave myself a brief moment to admire what would soon no longer be, the devilish boy inside raised his water balloon with the target both in his sights and within striking distance.

Ecstasy.

As my friend and I used our fingers to finish the cycle of creation and destruction, completing the disappearing act with the last trickle of the now semi-cool lava, we knew this was but one cycle in the endless circle of life. While this cycle had come to a close, and we said our goodbyes to our new Nepali friend, we had no regrets and no lamentation. Instead, we left with a sense of belonging, a sense of meaning, a sense of purpose. For a brief moment, just before we re-entered the cold, car-less world outside, we knew the universe around us as we had known the universe we had just created and consumed, and we felt - peace. And I thought of Greg.

Openness and Designed Encounters

I headed to the train station in Orange County to head north to LA during a torrential downpour about 10 days ago. The plan was to meet up with Greg, go get some dinner with him and Annette, and perhaps have a chance to see an adorable girl for an hour before she had to head to her graveyard shift at the clinic where she works. Of course, this is jumping into the middle of a larger story, which I'll share next.

But here's a great story within a story - the train never came. In fact, about 30 minutes before it was meant to arrive and take me to LA, the ticket agent told me she would have to refund my ticket fare because the train was stuck in San Diego due to flooding. Next train was almost three hours out. Ouch.

I scurried to find another way, but it was looking unlikely and dinner with Greg and Annette, and perhaps an hour with the adorable redhead, looked like it might have to be postponed. Until a sweet 45ish Latina woman walked through the front door, also quickly finding out that the northbound train isn't going to make it. "Fine, I'll just drive home then," she said. And of course, I overheard, or I wouldn't have written it here. "Excuse me, ma'am, umm, where exactly is home? Is it here in Orange County, or do you mean it's up in LA." "LA, why, do you need a ride?" "YES, please, that would be amazing, thank you so much." "Where are you headed?" "I don't know, but anywhere in LA would be great." "Hop in." Wow. WOW.

But here's the amazing part. I began to tell her about me, and the obvious question quickly came up. "What in the hell happened to you?" I don't think she actually used those words, but she would have if she wasn't being polite. And as I explained my spiritual transformation in March 2008 and the following dramatic changes in my personality and how that really led me to be in California right now on this pseudo-business trip, her eyes started to kinda well up, especially as I spoke about how angry I was beforehand and how (relatively) free I am of anger now. And she looked at me, and asked if I believed in God. I said sure, probably not in the way you believe, but I'm sure we're not that different.

And she said - "I've never really believed this before, but I think God brought us together today. I've been getting angrier and angrier every day. I can't get it out of me. I believe you are here to help me let it go."

And you know what? I think she's right. I shared my experience, and we talked about hers. I simply shared - forgiveness, giving up control, acceptance of yourself and others, watching your experience instead of identifying with it, love, laughter. And SHE shared - her work, her mother, her stuck life. And while I'll never know whether or not our hour conversation had a lasting impact on that wonderful woman, when I left the car I tried to give her some money for the trouble. And with a hug in her eyes, she said, "Absolutely not. You can't ever understand, but it is I who owes you."

And of course she doesn't. Because here's what's wonderful about it... It was free. It cost neither of us anything. Sure, she went a little out of her way to drop me off at the original train station I was headed for (which I actually arrived before the train would have if it hadn't been stuck in SD), but neither of us were really taxed. Instead, we JUST shared. Openly.

Openness. First mine in reaching out to ask a stranger for a favor. And then hers to offer a stranger a favor. Openness to the possibility that there's something out there looking out for us. Openness in sharing our feelings, experiences, problems, failures, guilt, shame, and love. Simply being open. That's all it took.

It's wonderful how much we can get for so little input if we just allow ourselves to be open to the world. Which, by the way, is actually a good segue into the larger story, which I'll write about, umm, tomorrow. Perhaps after I share a short meaningless metaphorical email I accidentally found myself writing to Greg the other day, the end result of I found quite amusing. Even amusing enough to share.

NYC NYE 2009/10

WOW.

Okay, it's now been two weeks since New Year's Eve weekend, so I've had some time to process (and sober up). Here's a brief recount (obviously, this is the online version of events - PG-13).

I've had a lot of fun with over the past several years. Awesome times like Ranch Party Weekends, Friendsgivings, Beer Golfs, Roadtrips in Costa, Night in Ecuador come to mind.

Ranch Party Weekend - circa 2006

And while each of those were absolutely amazing, and I mean AMAZING, New Year's Eve this year deserves to be on that list, and perhaps in a different list of its own.

You see, it's all about synergy. Yes, I used the word synergy there. Somehow there was a great collision on NYE of people from Oklahoma, from DC, from Virginia, from Jersey, and from New York. And with that collision came some sort of synergistic (yes, I used the word synergistic) explosion followed by a mass of such great density that it pulled in free-spirits from California, Indiana, Florida, Massachusetts, Puerto Rico, Ireland, Spain, and countless other communities from across the world. And what resulted was magical.

To add some quick highlights, it all started with, well, Doug. Maybe. And Brad. Doug and Brad were old friends - perhaps grew up together. And Doug at one point decided to visit Brad in DC, with the idea of going to visit Brad's cousin up in New York for NYE. Doug made the mistake of telling me, which was the final straw in my decision to move to DC in the first place. Doug was eventually joined by Jon, and the four of us embarked in the morning of the 31st to the Jersey Shore for Part 1: Awesome.

You see, by the time we even got to our hotel on NYE, before we had even had dinner or gone to a great club on the beach, we had had a successful NYE. In fact, we had already had an incredible NYE. Maybe the ride wasn't quite as awesome as the NYEs we used to spend in Aspen, but it definitely beat my last one with dengue in Costa. Just non-stop laughter, seat dancing, and roadside pee breaks. You see, we grabbed some 40's of Hurricane and some Mad Dog, and the fun began. And the laughter began. Oh, by the way, this is me before we even went out on NYE...

I just wrote a lot about that first night, and decided I was not going to do all this justice. I'll just enter some highlights for my own personal entertainment:

• Seven.
• Free entrance.
• No numbers.
• Five AM nachos with Doug and Brad in 7-11. IN 7-11.
• Doughnuts - in parking lot and as table in 7-11.
• Wake and run.
• Rally.

Skip skip skip. Brother Jimmy's on the East side, the start of Part 2: Awesomer: The Real Start. I'm showing this picture again, because this was the epitome. It leaves out three of the seven, but includes some of the most fun and loving people we had the pleasure of laughing with.

While we had met Danny the night before, it wasn't until Friday afternoon that the synergy really kicked in. With the introduction of Kevin, previously in the NFL, and Lauren, the coolest girl in NYC now that Alex has moved to Long Island, the crew was put together. Danny seemed to call the plays, Kevin led in running them, Jon ran in front wearing down the defense, Doug hammered the ball through the line, Lauren in the cheer section kept us all motivated, Brad took 'em by surprise with his sneak plays, and well, I just did my best to pick up fumbles and maybe fill in for one of the others on an as needed basis when he or she got lost in the cheers of the crowd. All time offense.

But somehow we were rockstars. Perhaps this perception is partially alcohol induced, but I've been inebriated before, and this was different. Something about the seven of us lit up the world around us. From the moment we walked in to a bar, people wanted to be part of us. Rooms full of immediate best friends. Everyone taking pictures, waitresses doing shots, guys raising glasses, barbacks working double-time to wash glasses, and bartenders celebrating. We were IT. From 30th and 3rd to Hoboken to Chelsea, we left in our wake a lasting image.

We could do anything. The amount of confidence grew and grew. And at no point did it become arrogance. There was never a better-than-thou attitude. No, instead, the more confidence we got, the more amazing everyone else seemed. We loved EVERYONE. Guys, girls, Americans, foreigners, outgoing, introverted, lovers, and even haters (I think there was only one, from Princeton, by the way).

It wasn't just about us, it was about EVERYONE.

Living on thousands of calories of alcohol, a couple hundred from the food we could stomach, and a few short hours of sleep a night, we ran the most inebriated weekend of my life. And it was glorious. And while Brother Jimmy's was incredible, it only picked up momentum from there. That place down the street from Danny's. That other place down the street from Danny's. That place that starts with Green. That place after the place that starts with Green.

That place in Chelsea near the Pink Elephant. The Pink Elephant. Flashes, shots, eyes, foggers, laughter, dancing, fist pumping, singing, hugging, more flashes, gloves, hair, plaid, tattoos, bouncers, credit cards, ATMs, more shots, phone numbers, a whirlwind of highs and highers, bottles, tables, thousands and thousands of dollars. More laughter. More laughter. And more laughter.

Love.

Part 3: Awesomeness. And in the end, more than just memories and amazing friends from coast to coast. More importantly, for me anyway, a change. A change in the way I view strangers. A change in the way I experience new friends. A new openness to people I've never had before. A new understanding of myself - an awareness of the love I can experience in any place in life, whether in a shack in Latin America or a club in New York City. So much of life exists, and I can love it all. I find myself chatting with the guy selling tickets for the IMax theatre. I find myself hugging a stranger at a bar, joining into groups that aren't mine in favor of the people I went with. I find myself - open. To the world.

Perhaps it seems superficial, and god knows it was. But in the end it left a deeper, meaningful impression. I feel like in spite of being a child for the weekend, I gained a little wisdom, a little maturity, and found just a little more of me. And for that, I am just thankful.

And I still can't stop laughing.

Pessimism and Courage

I'm reading a book given to me by a dear dear friend, Stumbling on Happiness.  That's the name of the book, not the friend.  It's brilliant and brilliantly written, I suggest it to everyone.  But I wanted to start with a passage that was particularly concerning - and exciting - to me last week.  It seems that the author at one point makes the argument that people tend to get actual happiness today from delayed gratification.  He points to a scientific study where people were told they won a free steak dinner, and then asked whether they would like the steak dinner right away, or whether they would prefer to wait for a bit.  Generally, people wanted to wait.  And he argues that this is because people literally get pleasure from thinking about the future.  And generally, people imagine the future to be filled with wonder and happiness.  Of course, not for all of us, but for most he says. 

And then it occurs to me - holy shit - it's NEVER that way for me.  And that's a frightening thought!  I can't remember the time I REALLY looked forward to something.  Sure, I look forward to eating when I'm hungry, or using the bathroom on road trips, but I couldn't remember a time that I was really excited about something in at LEAST the last year!  

No, instead, when something exciting comes up, I feel a rush of excitedness and eager anticipation, but by the time it actually comes around, somehow I've gone from "I can't wait" to "God I don't want to do this."  Even things that I should REALLY look forward to - like a first date or a roadtrip to NYC with some friends for New Year's Eve (we'll get there) - I actually start to dread as I get closer.  Instead of concentrating on the new experiences that await, or the fun I'm going to have hanging with my boys from Oklahoma in a wild new environment, I'm trying to figure out how and when would be most appropriate for me to come home.  

Yeah, and that's it.  My heart can't wait, and so I commit, and then my head takes over, basically says it's going to be miserable, and I wish that I can get out of it, and frequently come up with strategies to do so. 

But I don't.  Isn't THAT amazing?  I DON'T! In spite of my head telling me how miserable I am going to be trapped in South America with no money, no friends, and lackluster Spanish speaking skills, I GO!  And I cancel my return flight.  And I keep heading south on busses, further and further away from safety.  I go on the date, and I force myself into the Metro to go meet friends for the roadtrip north.  I fly out to San Francisco to see some of the most important people in my life.  

When I moved to Costa 15 months ago, a lot of people told me I had courage.  They were wrong.  I didn't overcome anything to move to Costa.  My mind had finally shut the hell up for a bit, and let me go.  I didn't fly down in the face of certain death, I flew down in the face of certain success!  How sweet that was!  For perhaps the first time in my life, I was doing things that I couldn't WAIT to do!  

But then something happened.  I went back.  Perhaps the misery of the first couple months when I became unexpectedly alone taught my mind a lesson.  Perhaps not.  But something happened.  The dark side returned.  And excitement - anticipation - for life vanished.  Somewhere.  Somehow.  

But I LOVE life!  I mean, I HATE the future, but the actual minutes of my life - I LOVE.  Ask me and I'll tell you!  I love today.  I love this minute.  I smile at freaking everything.  Even in pain, I love life.  Even when things have gone horribly wrong, like Saturday around mid-day, I laugh!  Even while vomiting in a public toilet at a restaurant across the street, I smile!  (Too much?) Yeah, as it turns out, I LOVE the present.  

But somehow I started dreading the future again.  I have to force myself to go to bed because the morning seems so treacherous.  Even on days when I have nothing but fun planned, I have trouble getting out of bed because of all the dire thoughts.  But I do.  Every day I walk through that door.  Every day I overcome.  For me, moving to Costa wasn't courageous, but I recognize now that, in spite of my dire outlook, I am ridiculously courageous.  No, BECAUSE of my dire outlook, I am FORCED to be ridiculously courageous.  EVERY DAY I walk through that door, in spite of the fact I have convinced myself there is a fire on the other side.  EVERY day.  And it's EXHAUSTING.  

But there's light.  I see now.  I can see what I'm doing to myself.  I can see that I'm imagining fire where there's nothing but water.  And, while it's only been a few days, perhaps there's even some improvement.  Perhaps this knowledge that I have LOVED life every time I thought I was sure to be miserable, I recognize that my future as I have seen it is FAR from reality.  And maybe again it won't take courage to walk out that front door.  Maybe I'll be giddy again for a first date.  Maybe I won't have to drag myself to Jersey kicking and screaming all the way.  

I just experienced the most fun I have ever had in a four day period.  Not the highest QUALITY four days, I guess, but in terms of purely outrageous, alcohol induced hedonistic FUN, this weekend won.  Hands down.  I'll probably give more details in the next post - when I can sort through and decide which pictures won't get me arrested.  The guys (and girl) we tore up the towns with, the girls (and, sure, guys) at the bars we set on fire (bars on fire, not girls), the drinks, the laughter, the PAIN in the mornings, the LAUGHTER, the confidence, the attraction, the dancing and singing and screaming and hugging and kissing and high fives and freaking Brad breakdancing!  I mean, SHIT!

On this weekend, I think I started to turn a page.  Maybe not even this weekend, but something feels different TODAY.  Something seems to be missing.  Some voice of dread seems like it's not there.  Maybe it was just the alcohol killing what little ability I have left to reason, or maybe this is real.  Maybe, just maybe, I can start to enjoy the future again.  Maybe I can love the unexpected tomorrow.  Maybe.  

I'm already looking forward to seeing if I can, which is a damn fine start. 

Right Now - 26/12/09 4:26 PM

I'm sitting on my bed, if you can call it that, on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC. And just now, I decided to start writing again.  I've decided not to advertise that I am writing, but instead let people find it, if they do, and if not, that's okay too.  But for now, this blog is for me.  It's my private diary, in a way, made public.  It's me being as honest as I can to myself, but keeping myself in check, still diving into reasons I might not share.  This is my life, again, as best as I can record it, in only the ways I want it recorded.  This time it will be for me.  

I've been reading a book about "Buddhist Psychology" given to me by Margo, my ex-girlfriend's mother, after finishing Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol yesterday.  I chose to spend this Christmas alone, and believe me, it's lonely.  I think, in the end, I'm fundamentally lonely.  I question why I've done so much separation lately, and I think it's because I don't feel like I fit in and I feel weak.  With the combination of the two, I don't follow myself, but instead lose myself and follow others.  

I think I did a good job of that in Costa Rica, eventually being too distant from myself to even enjoy the sunset without thinking about what people were thinking about me at that time.  I drank more and more, surfed more and more, and frankly had a great time - but didn't connect with myself.  

And I started waiting.  I sat by idly, positive that the next "it" would come along and sweep me off of my feet.  But it didn't.  

And so I waited.  I kept options open.  I came back to Oklahoma for the wedding, and brought all of my stuff, but left Jake.  I wanted to be ready when "it" came.  I kept moving - horseback riding in Moab and Aspen; hanging with Kris in Denver; a weekend trip to see my beloved friends in San Francisco.  But it didn't come.  

In San Francisco I finally decided to move back to Costa.  It had been far too long since I had seen Jake, and the states were getting colder.  I wasn't welcome anymore where I had been staying, rightfully so.  I hadn't started working.  And damnit, I missed the surf.  I missed my Costa Rican family.  At the very least, in Costa people don't judge.  They are generally all just wonderful and supportive.  And as long as I was waiting for "it," I might as well be surrounded by love and waves.  

But something was missing.  I'd been waiting at this point for perhaps five months, and nothing.  Now, I had had some amazing adventures: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Colorado, California, Oklahoma - mountains and beaches, snow and surf.  But it was all just killing time.  It was all just waiting until it came around.  And in the meantime, waiting for Hazel to be born, and for Christmas to come around.  All waiting.  

And then Megan found out I had planned on moving back to Costa.  Before I could buy my return ticket, she forced me in the car to go to Doug's office so she could sign some papers.  It took the two of them in Doug's conference room for me to realize - I found it.  

It was right here.  It is right here.  I had just been to blind to see!  My purpose, my meaning in life, my everything was right here before my eyes!  So simple!  It is...

Wait... Taking a step back, the biggest part of my problem was not that I was lazy - certainly my life's adventures showed I was willing to get up off of my ass.  No, my biggest "problem" was that I could find no reason to do anything.  In a way, my journey had taken away all purpose, all meaningfulness.  I now no longer saw "good" and "bad" - I just saw things as they were.  I definitely saw suffering, but it was far beyond me how I could alleviate it, and if I could, whether that was a worthwhile endeavor.  I knew I had found nothing worth teaching, because what I had actually found was just that - nothing.  

And so I had become, well, dormant.  Nothing mattered, so why should I do anything?

But then it hit me.  When faced with no meaning in life, when faced with no purpose, there are two roads.  The first, which I had been on, is to despair.  To sit idly and stare at the world.  Wait.  Which was horrible.  But in that little office, it hit me.  In a way, what I had been waiting for came.  It.  

Purpose.  Meaning.  Life.  It.  

So simple!  And here it is. Without it, there can be no other purpose, no other meaning, no other reason for living than to search for it.  It, for me, right now, simply put, is the search for it.  

Oh, but don't think for a second I need to find it!  Because I already have.  I don't need to find anything, because it's right here.  But what I do need to do is search.  Because the search is my purpose.  

Perhaps some day that purpose will change.  Perhaps I will find another it in this search.  And when I do, this it will become the it of the past.  Perhaps not.  Perhaps I will confine myself to the search for it for the rest of my life.  And that will be wonderful too.  

And so I sit.  Alone.  On this unmade bed with Jake on the floor by my side.  Many have asked if I have found it yet on my search.  They ask whether working for "the man" in Washington is part of it.  They ask whether closing down Nova with Doug is the it I was waiting for.  How much people want me to be something other than who I am.  My answer is "yes."  I have found it.  Yes, working here in Washington is part of it.  Yes, having ridiculous, sinful fun is part of it.  Christmas alone.  Pain, pleasure.  Happiness, sadness.  It's all part of it.  Learning thai, relearning SPSS, talking politics with fascists, sweeping the floor, throwing snowballs at Jake.  

Am I satisfied?  Not really.  But at least I have found purpose again.  Am I following it at all costs?  Absolutely not.  And I'm not any happier.  In fact, I'm probably sadder.  I'm practicing.  I'm warming up.  I'm stretching.  

It's all part of it.  

Last Post

This will be my final post, at least for some time.  I find that blogging limits my freedom to be authentic, and so I'm going to stop it.  

Free Will

Don't read this if you are really interested in seeing Angels and Demons or reading the book.  This doesn't spoil the ending, but I describe a scene at the end which may ruin it for some of you.  

I finished watching the movie Angels and Demons the other day, which I downloaded from the internet to my computer and watched on this beautiful afternoon from a hammock on my porch here in Costa Rica.  At the very end, the cardinal that was in charge of the enclave says, "Thanks be to God for sending you to save our church."  Dr. Langdon replies, "You know I don't believe that he sent me."  And the cardinal says, "Oh my son, of course he did."  The newly elected pope is then shown giving Dr. Langdon a nod and before being presented to the awaiting public.  

I think what got me more than anything is the lack of appreciation shown directly to Dr. Langdon.  He was given a small gift by the cardinal, and only a nod by the new pope.  It's as if it awakened a part of me that I had lost in the past few months.  The cardinal and pope did not thank Dr. Langdon because they do not believe Dr. Langdon had a choice in the matter.  Dr. Langdon was just doing as God had determined.  And interestingly, I feel the same way - or at least have felt the same way, but have recently forgotten.  

Part of my spiritual transformation has been giving up the sense of control.  At the retreat I went to in Northern California, they have a saying that "everyone is at fault, but nobody is to blame."  Basically, it's an understanding that because a person is made up of his experiences, genetics, education, one can not give blame to that individual for any action.  Any negativity in the world is caused by something we have learned, some reaction that is not of our own making but instead some process or pattern that lives inside of us, but is not us.  If I get angry because you are late, I am at fault for my anger, but I am not to blame for my anger because it is a pattern I learned perhaps from my parents as a child when I witnessed my mother getting angry at my father for being tardy.  I was not in control in that reaction, but instead that pattern that lives in me was in control, and therefore I can not accept the blame.  

So, that's a concept that's relatively easy for me to grasp.  But can we then take credit for positives?  The cardinal and the pope both seemed to believe a human can not take credit for even extraordinary actions.  Our lives are in the hands of God, and we can not take credit for something over which we have no control.  And I agree!  I believe we are all acting as humans, through learned responses over which we don't have control, or on behalf of our spirits, which I don't see as separate or individualized.  Really, I feel our differences are human, but are spirits are all one.  Individually, therefore, we actually have no control, and therefore no blame or credit.  Blame for negativity can be given to the collective human experience, and credit for positivity can be given to the collective spirit.  

Really, this is a discussion of an individual's free will, and it also touches on responsibility, I guess.  I tend to believe that things happen the only way that they can, but I still believe in free will.  When looking backwards, it's easy to see that there was only one way possible, because the past can not be changed.  It happened in just the one way it could have.  But when looking at the present, I still have the feeling of free will.  Very strange.  

But because I look at the past and recognize that things happened the only way that they could, and tend to believe nobody is to blame or deserves credit, I find it very easy to forgive (I never really even have to as I don't really assign blame) and I have gratitude not to individuals but to the universe as a whole.  

For everyone, that is, except for myself.  I find it a lot easier to take blame and credit away from others than I find it to take away from myself.  I am struggling with decisions right now that seem enormously important, and I act as if my choice will be judged at some point in the future as good or bad - and I too will be judged based upon my choices.  And I'm pretty sure I know who that judge will be - because I have had feelings overwhelming guilt lately - judging my past actions as if they could have somehow been different than they were.  Hating myself despite the fact that I was blind.  Acting as if I know good and bad - acting like I can see clearly now.  Pain instead of compassion.  Hate instead of love.  

I guess it's time to find my way back to love.