The Definition of Success

I recently finished The Sudden Appearance of Hope the World Fantasy Award winner from last year and it's very captivating. The central conceit is that the main character is forgotten, anyone she meets, once she leaves their presence she fades from their memory. The villain of the piece isn't an individual but this app called "Perfection" which is a combination of social media, life coaching, and conformity. "Perfection" tells people what to eat, where to work out, what to wear etc. and is based on a point system and only the wealthy can afford to achieve high scores. It creates a new elite, an aristocracy for the 21st Century. It exploits the desire for Hollywood-esk standards of beauty, fame, and influence. One of the major themes the book gets at through the lens of this perverse app is success. What is it, who is it for, by what standard is it measured. And that's something I've been thinking a lot about recently.

I've written recently about my frustration with my current professional situation. Certainly not terrible but more a low grade of discontent which is increasingly draining. I'm looking for other options and making some progress but still feel a little trapped, stagnant, static. On top of that a couple weeks back Jimmy, one of my best friends in comedy and in recovery, decided he'll most likely be moving next year. The compounding effects of the first situation and the surprise of the second kind of sent my mind racing. Raised that age-old and futile existential questions- what am I doing with my life. And I think it really boils down to feeling like a failure, not with respect to my actual actions, achievements, and goals but with respect to what other people are doing and expectations not set by me but by some weird unattainable societal amalgam.

If I'm not making X amount of money I'm a failure, if I'm not married I'm a failure, if I don't have kids I'm a failure, if I'm not famous I'm a failure, if I don't look a certain way, weigh a certain amount I'm a failure, if I stay in Chicago I'm a failure etc. etc. When these thoughts come the slope gets slippery awful quick. But the reality is these thoughts, these feelings are all just expressions of fear and ego. I can be happy/content by doing those things which make me happy/content, by living my life with conviction and integrity, by being of service to my friends, family, and employer. My happiness/contentment has nothing to do with what other people are doing. Has no place in comparison to, it is independent from.

Sometimes it feels like there are certain boxes to check in order to be happy, in order to be or achieve success. And that's simply not the case. Success is not defined by social media attention, bank balance, or professional advancement. It is defined by love and honesty and hope and connection. At least to me. And that's the thing, the world, society, does not get to define what success in my life looks like, does not get to define the parameters of my happiness. I do. And perhaps right now my work life is a bit unbalanced but I'm working on changing that and I know it won't last forever. Yes, come next year my life will look pretty different when my best bud leaves town but I have tons of friends and acquaintances, that loss will open up opportunity. If there are things I want to be doing, goals I want to achieve, I can take the small actions which lead toward those things, and whether I attain them or not I can take satisfaction in the trying. In the living. Because if I look at the present, the here-and-now not the hypothetical future(bleak only because my imagination has made it so), I have so much to be grateful for- health, passion, friendship, romance, family, fiction, cinema, granola, a motorcycle, cool new DSW boots. If I take the time to think about it the list goes on and on.

Daily Practice

Over the past couple years it seems like the tide of self-help has been displaced, pejoritized, the implication of "help" perhaps to close to weakness which it is, evidently, detrimental to admit. It's seemingly been replaced by self-care, which is essentially just a repackaging of the same concepts and ideas but without the same level of inferred humility. Whatever you call it there is always the danger of perceived egoism when people talk about or refer to working on themselves. But the reality is it can be a necessity especially in this our modern age of acidic social media and apocalyptic politics. However you term it I think it boils down to letting go of those things you can't control and taking action on those things you can and by doing those things achieving and maintaining some kind of balance, some kind of contentment.

The past several weeks I've felt off, anxious, weighed down. A bit overcome with how chaotic life can be. I think it started when Nicole and I had to unexpectedly move a couple months back and just kind of gradually gained momentum from there. Not to say I've been in a constant state of misery or anything, these things never work quite like that but its been kind of a steady waxing then waning then waxing of unpleasantness, discomfort. I found myself dreading going to work and when I was there maintaining a low grade unjustified panic. My thoughts racing with those kind of standard existential questions(what does it all mean? what's the point of it all?) that serve nothing save apathy and impotent nihilism. I figured my job was the problem, and it is chaotic and ultimately not the best fit for me however, telling my friend Jimmy about it he asked "what's changed" as I've had the job for two years now. And it set me back and really made me think. The answer is nothing. Nothing has changed about the job, the only other part of that equation is me. The real question I needed to answer was what was wrong with me.

The only thing I can control is myself. My actions and reactions. The world, life, my job, other people, all of it is outside of my control and when I attempt to control those things, attempt to will them in line with my wants and expectations I fail and am miserable. So what can I do. I can let go of desired outcome. I can apply for new jobs. I can build those things into my day that I know make me feel good. I can establish a routine that I can rely on independent of the chaos or influence of my job or the disparaging cultural and political landscape.

I've started a new creative project. I've started to wake up early. To work out and pray and meditate and take some time in the morning to find balance and whatever peace I can. To take some action against those feelings of restlessness and futility that had been plaguing me. And its working. I'm feeling better.

This is not something I came up with obviously, it was suggested and taught to me by others. But the point is a daily practice, whatever it may look like, can help. Small actions and routines can help with mood and racing thoughts and feelings and perspective. The world in 2017 may still be bleak and brutal but it is easier to face, easier to handle, easier to move through when we are doing the next right thing day-to-day, taking action where we can, and letting those things go which are outside our grasp. Which for the most part is nearly everything.

Affluence

I wear my jeans, black t-shirt,
and denim jacket like armor
amidst all the cargo shorts,
flip-flops, and tommy bahama
short-sleeved button ups
straining over large and swaying
bellies

Here in this Wisconsin resort town
I'm surrounded
by a thoughtless, bloated
American opulence
where all immensities are expensive
but have no real quality
(the food down right repulsive)

I feel like the only human
in a crowd of alien lemmings
all shoving intoxicants
and flavorless fuel
inside their maws
squawking their elitism
and entitlement

The idea that this place
is some coveted
well-to-do vacation spot
is sickening
all these bumbling, mumbling,
pleasure seekers
models for dystopian drones

I can't wait to leave and hope never to return.

Tranquil Or Meek

Last night Nicole and I went to Willie Nelson at Ravina, all-in-all a nice evening. A great venue, cool to see Willie, old but still playing, good to get out and do something a little different. However the night started with an odd, potentially night-killer type interaction.

For a long time I had quite a temper, unable or unwilling to put up much resistance whenever I felt anger, justified or otherwise. It got me into a lot of trouble over the years and strained or alienated a lot of people I had relationships with. When I got sober it's something I worked(and work) a lot on. Not lashing out, feeling and processing emotions rather than stewing, letting go as opposed to fostering resentment, communicating rather than arguing. And for the most part I'm successful, most things don't bother me much anymore, things pop up but I'm mostly able to pause and let go and not react. But that's the thing, sometimes letting something go isn't the right thing to do.

A couple months back Nicole and I had an interaction with a door guy where he made some inappropriate comments, totally out-of-line, and neither her or I really reacted, just felt bad, were made to feel small by this guy. Afterward we talked about it and we felt like we should have said something, as difficult as it may have been it was important to say something and we didn't.

So, we took the Metra up to Ravina and while we were getting off the train this guy and the woman he was with were behind us. I heard him say "Get over it hon, it's the weekend" and then something else, more aggressive and sharp in tone. Nicole was behind me and I wasn't sure who he was talking to, remembering our interaction with the door guy I thought if he was saying these vaguely threatening things to Nicole it was important I say something. I turned around and said "Are you talking to us?" Clearly drunken, with blood-shot eyes the guy said "I'm not talking to you. But I can be." I felt a crash of adrenaline, nerves electrified, ready to fight, an old but familiar feeling. I knew that if I said anything else the situation would escalate needlessly. I turned and we kept walking and he said something else under his breath. After we were out of the train and separated from the disembarking passengers Nicole told me he was talking to some lady on the train and then the poor lady he was with. Ultimately it didn't matter and I didn't really need to say anything to him in the first place. The guy was drunk and irascible, rude and unpleasant looking for an altercation but not worth engaging with.

Point being there are times to pause and be silent and let things go, most times I think. The potential for violence or confrontation almost never has any value. But there are times when it's important to stand up and say something, when threats or denigration or abuse are not to be tolerated. The trick is knowing the difference, something I continue to try and figure out.

Fear of Flying

Visiting with some friends over the weekend I found out that a couple of them were afraid of flying. Like it really bothered them and they had all these particular things they did to get through it, had tried sitting all over the plane, different rituals, in order to make it bearable. Which is all well and good, but ultimately I think its kind of silly if not totally irrelevant, along with most fears or phobias.

What is fear of flying really about, control and death, both tangled up together. One is illusion, the other is an inevitability. I've written about this stuff relatively frequently so I won't belabor the point. But it bears repeating control is an illusion. Life is spontaneous, varied, and mercurial. Anything, good and bad, can happen at any time. Wondrous discoveries as well as accidents or hardships. And that's OK, that's just how it is. Accepting that can bring a lot more happiness then the constant striving for, but never attaining, of control. As far as death, we all know we will die some day, but we all have various ways we deal(or don't) with it. For me its something I've accepted, I don't worry about it, try to live each day as it comes on its own merits. For other people it can be a more immediate or pressing concern depending on the situation.

Now here's the thing. After talking with my friends I got the sense that there is perhaps some benefit to being afraid to fly, to phobias/fear in general. That it in turn gives a person more drive, more ambition, more momentum. That if you are pursued by this or that fear with the looming specter of death hanging over you, you may get more done. It, inversely, provides urgency. Provides, perhaps, the potential for more relish, more variation.

After letting go(for the most part) the idea of external control and accepting(for the most part) death as inevitable I found myself(generally) calm and content. And its a great feeling. I now have a sense of comfort in my own skin that I didn't have for a long time, an ease with life.  Relaxed and capable in most any situation or place I find myself. However. There's a fine line between calm and complacent, between satisfaction and inaction. And perhaps fear, although mostly unpleasant, can be a motivator, a clarifier. Something to disrupt pleasant tedium.

I don't fear flying but perhaps it has its benefits.

Why Do I Exist?

I was talking to someone yesterday who was down, who said they were plagued with this question. At first it struck me as sad, I don't like seeing anyone I know depressed, but as the conversation progressed I became rather baffled and somewhat put off. Not by this person's feeling but by their inability or desire to take no action because of it.

Question: Why do I exist?

All pseudo-intellectual drug-experimenting undergraduates grapple with this question and perhaps in this uncertain and trying socio-political landscape despair and ennui and futility are seductive. But existential malaise has no real value, only has meaning as a momentary stop on the way to an actual destination or discovery. But its boring. Railing against aging, birth itself, existence, is petulant, immature. Sure, sometimes this feeling is natural, sometimes the pressures of life can be overwhelming, but this should be fleeting. It's not that surrendering to this idea, this void, this perspective, is weak it simply serves no purpose.

Answer: You do.

That's it. You do, so what now. Faith and spirituality can provide answers, purpose, and meaning but belief isn't for everyone, barring that it is up to us. Up to us to individually give our lives, life, meaning. And the thing is, perhaps existence is absurd but even so it retains meaning, retains whatever meaning we inject into and derive from it. Whether its a particular passion, family, friends, a profession, physical fitness, mental alacrity you name it. It can be anything and the glorious thing is we can dictate what it is.

Why do I exist? Pick a reason. Pick a purpose. If life is lived with meaning, it has meaning. And that can be something as lofty as spiritual enlightenment or as banal as good coffee. And it can be a myriad of those things, big and small.

The question is, in essence, immaterial. It's a non-starter. To quote Robin Williams paraphrasing Whitman:

O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish;
What good amid these, O me, O life?

                                       Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Paranoia

It can be infectious.

Our neighbor
in the wake
of our post-Thanksgiving
burglary
has become increasingly
fearful
of innocuous
pedestrians
and comes knocking
jittery and wary
to warn,
her panic
contagious.

And so
in preparation
for Xmas travel
I stash valuables
in nooks and crannies
at the back of drawers
draped in laundry
and in the toolbox
in hopes of foiling
wouldbe
holiday hooligans.

Best to be prepared, some say.
Better still to live fearless.
Burglars and robbers be damned.
For, terrified or tranquil, the winds of winter blow.

The Fragility Of Belief

I'm currently reading Stephen King's meditation on horror Danse Macabre and one of the themes he returns to repeatedly is the idea of belief, the suspension of and the ability to. How important but tenuous belief can be in relating a tale, how as we age the more difficult it can be to give ourselves over to a story. But how important imagination and narrative are for us as kids but also, maybe even more vitally, as adults.

The sentiment echoes a lesson I learned when I was an angsty and unagreeable middle schooler. Every year from 5th to 8th grade I went to Camp Loan Oak which was a week long sleepover camp. A couple years I went there my sister was a counselor and I got to know the staff pretty well. One of her closest friends there Ted was my counselor one week when I was going into 7th grade. One night we were sitting around the camp fire roasting marshmallows for s'mores and telling ghost stories. The foreboding mood was heightened by the parks proximity to a graveyard.

After I and some of my fellow campers fumbled through paraphrased versions of Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark Ted told a "true story" about a counselor who, walking by the graveyard one evening, came upon a lost camper and gave her his sweatshirt, it being a cold evening, and as they cut through the graveyard on their way back to the lodge the camper disappeared. The sweatshirt was on a nearby grave, a kid who had died some thirty years before. Spooky. I was genuinely shaken and in an effort to bolster my non-existent courage I said "that didn't happen!" and made some joke which effectively deflated the eerie delicious atmosphere. I think some of us were relieved by my outburst but there was also a feeling of regret, something had been dispelled. Ted looked at me and said "No Steve. No it didn't." with such sarcastic scorn, such reproach and disappointment I felt like I'd been slapped. I was ashamed.

The next day Ted let it go and we were friends again but it stuck with me. Thinking about it Ted's story had cast a spell on us, we anxious and posturing 12 year olds, and I had broken the magic. And not because it was a bad story or poorly told but because it was successful, because I was truly scared. And had shied away from that precious precarious manifestation of imagination fearing as opposed to relishing how truly miraculous and fleeting it was.

Stories are not only entertainment they are solace and signpost, escape and enlightenment. And the belief we feel while watching a movie, reading a novel, or hearing a tale around a campfire is fragile and should be cultivated and respected. For without stories how would we face the bleak and mundane realities of life.

The Necessity of Hope

Wrote this for Quenchers tonight.

Regardless of who you support this political season, regardless of your desired outcome, it is inarguable that it is toxic. Defined not by policy or ideals but baseness, negativity, and disdain. It calls to mind the 2008 election by comparison, which although certainly contentious, carried with it the promise of hope, the pledge of change. The idea that we could be better.

We live in a postmodern era. Culture and the arts predominantly defined by irony and detachment. Morality sacrificed for self reference. Heroism traded in for ambiguity. This movement is especially prevalent in this our Chicago comedy community. Not to say that it doesn’t have its place or isn’t entertaining. But absurdism, irony, breaking the fourth wall, anti-comedy, these things certainly have value but they, almost by definition, lack heart. They offer a safe reserve for the artist, a shield, from which to comment behind without risk. If everything is stupid, if you don’t put any real belief or idealism into your work, if you don’t put anything on the line, you can’t be judged. Can’t be ridiculed. Sincerity and faith, hope and optimism are dangerous because they can so easily be undermined. But in our world which is increasingly chaotic and cruel we are in need of these things more than ever. In need of inspiration to lift our spirits, hope of a brighter future to look toward. Faith that, perhaps, there is goodness in the world.

Here’s the thing despair is easy. Watch the news for ten minutes or spend $10 at the liquor store for rot gut and you can know futility. I’ve been to the darkness, I know what it is, there was a time I thought it wasn't worth it, conceded that the world at large was broken and my life as I knew it lost. Apathy is cheap. Misery cheaper still. If you’ll excuse the oft used metaphor. Falling down was easy. Getting back up took actual effort. There came a point where I made a decision. Enough. I clung to the small sliver of faith that I had that things would work out. I gathered all the shreds of hope I could muster that maybe I could have a better life. And over time I did. And it was not irony that helped me but hugs, companionship, and the liquid gold of sunrise on the lake.

Recently a friend was robbed at gunpoint. Irony, detachment, and moral grayness did not help them navigate the encounter or help them after. It was bravery that allowed them to endure and the love and support of friends that helped them get back on their feet. Another friend is seeking treatment for addiction and mental illness, absurdism does not help bolster their courage. The kindness and understanding of the ones they love does. Another relationship problems, another stress, another professional displacement, and another and another and another. We all have problems and face challenges on a daily basis. But we also have kisses, soft hands lovingly held, ice cream, unexpected gifts, and snorting laughter. The doctrine of our postmodern society does not fuel our perseverance, does not provide examples of grace, does not instill in us hope or offer the promise of joy, only persuades us from participation, only offers the safety of indifference. In the moment, perhaps, this is enough- escape. But in reality, in life, this is a recipe for dissatisfaction. Without emotional risk there is no reward.

When you hear words like hope, faith, love, truth, sincerity you may think them cliche or sickly sweet. It may call to mind Lifetime movies or family friendly entertainment. You may shy away from them as precarious or uncool. And I understand. But these ideas are not only what make life worth living but allow us to keep living it. In our world where terrorism, murder, and bigotry are on display every day it is the artist’s job not only to entertain but to move, not only to amuse but to inspire, not only to divert but to enliven. To remind us that while there is heartbreak there is also the glory of new life, of fears overcome, of first kisses, of ferris wheels, of warm embraces, of bedtime stories, of good conversation shared over hot coffee, of triumph.

Recently I was in the Target checkout line and the person behind the counter asked me my profession I replied “Insurance” they then told me they had recently had a fender bender and had some coverage questions. We talked for a couple minutes and I think I somewhat assuaged their claim related fears. We connected. And perhaps this interaction is mundane when compared to the striking majesty of nature or the symphony of true love but none the less there was a beauty to it. Two strangers for a moment sharing space and time.

I am uninterested in the absurd for its own sake, I am unaffected by witty remove, I am bored by non-sequiturs and quasi-surrealist presentation. I am unimpressed by deliberate and winking lack of commitment. I want to know what you think and need and believe. I want to know who you are. I want to know what thrills you what angers you what brings you joy. I want to know your pain because I will recognize it and together we can heal.

If you are called to irony stylistically I suppose I cannot fault you. But if you use it because its easy, to avoid judgement, as security, you are acting out of fear.

I believe things will work out. I believe, although flawed, most people are good. I believe that, given time, empathy is possible with almost anyone. I believe everyone deserves kindness and an attempt at understanding. I believe if we all made a concerted effort to treat each other with respect the world would improve faster than we could imagine. I believe my art should promote these beliefs.

We live in trying times. Tragedies and threats a daily occurrence. Now more than ever we must have hope. Cultivate it in ourselves and inspire it in others. Remember the joy of the apple orchard and pumpkin patch, the delight of friendship, the exhilaration of romance. We are the ones that shape tomorrow.

Endurance

Some days survival is a win.
When tasks
become challenges
become insurmountable barriers.
And every human is a leering
needy
petulant
bully.
When bones are replaced with thinly coiled steel wool
electrified by low voltage-
pulsing,
thrumming,
buzzing- never crossing the line
into outright pain
stress hovering incessantly around unpleasant.
When the mind is plagued by the what ifs
and the security of control becomes alluring
and although you constantly grasp for it,
wrestle with it,
it alludes you
leaving you more confounded than when you began.
When the clock is the master,
slicing the day into not enough.
And every breath is tainted with the stink of unmet responsibility.
On those days the goal is simply to get through it.
To stay in the moment, to live every hour, every minute of those bad days.
To get in bed after its all over and say "I tried"
not even "I tried my best" because those days have no room for best.
On those days it is all struggle, all defeat.
On those days
Survival is a victory.

And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Sound and Fury

The internet is counterfeit
this has been true
since its first blush
of fanatic popularity-
AOL chat rooms were clogged
with baseness and dissimulation-
and since its grown in scope
and proliferation
but still maintained
its paradoxic uselessness
for, although it provides near
boundless information
and news' dissemination,
time and time and time again
the residue of its use is but
emptiness, despair, a sense of
failure and frustration.
The truth is Digital
only offers illusion,
neither action
or inspiration,
its flesh and sun and
physical conversation
that fosters change
and collaboration.

Facebook is a hollow husk
parasitic, a cannibal,
it is pretense, ego, masturbation
at its best distraction more often
nauseating, self involved, flagellation.

Atrophy

Nightmarish
may be an
overused descriptor
for what event
can truly capture
the fluid terror
that comes to us
in troubled sleep
when sucking shadows
besiege our psyches
with such maligned fervor
when we lie
at our weakest
 and yet
there are times
when we find ourselves in situations
whose construct and conceit
could not be more trying
more painful
more testing
when our deepest fears
are splayed out
leering and jovial
in front of us
when our past
confronts us with toothy rapture
daring us to panic
or react with hostility
and gradually
after prologned discomfort
our vitality is drained
and all we can hope
is to endure.

Little Mysteries

A small bouquet of tulips taped next to the exit turnstile. Perhaps in memoriam. Perhaps a lovers secret message. Perhaps some anonymous kindness. Whatever its genesis, while exiting the train, I was struck by the image and it warmed my heart. A simple gesture, a small beauty.

Life can be a grind, full of worries and anxieties. Sometimes weighted down by obligation and responsibility. Stress can take us out of the moment and cast us into potential pitfalls where we wallow in what-ifs. But you can only be so prepared for adversity, only so ready for the challenges of tomorrow.

The reality is there is only this day, this hour, this moment. And in this moment the path is relatively clear, life relatively simple. The concerns of next year or next month or next week need only be addressed when they reach the present. Certainly there is some benefit to planning but there is a fine line between preparation and obsession, between caution and fear.

If we are able to exist in the present, devoid of past guilt or future expectation, we open ourselves up to a richness and quality of life that is not hamstrung by apprehension. We can find contentment not in some distant success or prospective opportunity but in the now. We can find happiness by relishing the countless small things in any given day we enjoy- a friendly hug, a good book, dappled sunshine, on and on. We can begin to develop awareness beyond the self, begin to notice the world's tiny miracles, its little mysteries. And perhaps, over time, we become a part of them.

On Death And Dying

Some years ago I was in a dark place. After unsuccessfully battling alcoholism for two years I had been dumped by my girlfriend and fired from my job and threw myself entirely into the bottle. As the days of isolated inebriated misery went by I began to be plagued by suicidal thoughts. I consumed as much as I could and laid plans. I got into rehab before things went too far but it was close. Maybe another day, maybe a couple hours and by alcohol poisoning or my own hand I would have died. And in that limbo, in that darkness, I did not find answers, a white light, or a glimpse of the beyond. What I did find was certainty. Death was waiting. And that certainty changed my perception everafter. I relate this not for sympathy or recognition but to let you know- I know what it is, I’ve been there.

We all owe a death. Whether you believe in some cosmic creator or mere biological happenstance we are all ticking clocks counting down to the inevitable. Some will have longer than others, for some it will go on longer than wanted, some will be snuffed out far too soon, but no matter your particular situation life is finite. The price of life is death. A definitive ending to our time in this world. You cannot escape it, you cannot avoid it, you will die. That is the first thing.

The boundary between life and death is paper thin. It is tissue, gossamer, scrim. Vulnerable to a light wind or mere whimsy. Accident, catastrophe, illness are possible at any moment. Potentially around every corner. The world is full of threats. Both overt and oblique. All outside of our control. Life is incredibly fragile. That is the second thing.

 Death is nothing to fear. That is the third thing.

Acceptance of the inevitable can be difficult, understanding of our frailty demanding. Nothing facilitates this shift in perspective quicker than a near death experience. As anyone who has had one can confirm it brings with it some substantial clarity. You realize how precious life is. And for some this may sound like a cliche, a platitude more appropriate for an inspirational poster rather than anything actually applicable. But if you’ve been to the threshold, if you’ve knocked on Death’s door, you know it is not some proverb but a reality. With this realization the world takes on a sharp and compelling beauty.

We will all die. This is not something to regret or fear. It is simple fact. Like the blue sky or the piss stinking Red Line train car. Don’t fight against this inevitability, accept it. Acceptance can provide a boundless freedom. That is the first thing.

Death could come at any moment. There is not a day that goes by that there isn’t an epidemic, shooting, terrorist attack, plane crash, car accident, on and on. The possibilities are endless and can cause anxiety and dread. But that it is but wasted time and energy. Cruelties and injustices, both actual and metaphysical, are perpetrated regardless of any of our individual worries. So worry serves no purpose. Yes, there is despair but there is kindness. Yes, there is menace but there is hope. Which brings with it more contentment? Which allows for the richer existence? That is the second thing.

Our time is fleeting. How we spend it is our choice. You can be ruled by fear, irritation, paranoia, and a laundry list of other acidic emotions which function only to limit and bind. Or you can choose to relish this capricious gift we were all given. That is the third thing.

Given all this I have some suggestions. Be present in your own life. Don’t dwell in the past or worry about the future. Tell your friends and family you love them whenever and wherever you can. If you have a purchase you want to make, an activity you want to do, a place you want to visit. Do it. If you have a job you hate- quit. Focus on and go after what you want and need and believe. Make compromises but don’t give in. Talk less, do more. Curb expectation. Enjoy. Savor. Seek. Live your life.

To quote Robin Williams in the criminally maligned classic Hook. “To live, what an awfully big adventure.”

One Down, Three To Go

After the Chicago comedian exodus of last year a lot of the people that remained were forced to assess where they were and where they wanted to go. I didn't and don't have any desire to move to one of the coasts to try and make it, but I realized I wanted to take my shot, take the next step forward and to me that meant grad school.

The past month and a half I've been getting together various items for applications to poetry MFA programs. It's been an intensive process- selecting poems, revisions, writing statements of purpose, securing letters of recommendation and transcripts. It's an odd experience, trying to represent yourself in an honest and succinct way in an effort to be accepted.

The application process lends itself to second-guessing and doubt, I've found that trying to anticipate and cultivate the image of a good applicant is tempting but ultimately useless. I don't know what these various institutions are really looking for and the truth is just as likely to get me in as something fabricated.

Today I submitted my first of four applications. Even if nothing comes of it it feels good to have set the goal and to follow through on it. Sometimes taking the action is more important than the result.

Tech Savvy

It is an increasing expectation
to surmount the phone and its distraction.
To relate in the real
one must circumvent the digital.

What promise do coffee lines
and commuting hold
when compared to CG designs
and simulated adventure.
Endless information
near boundless influence
unrestricted interaction-
a prospect difficult to question.

But careful how far you recede
don't mistake facsimile for deed.
Plugging in can become a habit
barriers increasingly elaborate.

Deactivate

This past week I deactivated my Facebook account. In most respects I'm not an opponent of the digital(love instagram) but I just found myself upset by it while also compulsively checking it. The world can be a cruel place, this isn't anything new, every day there are small and large scale tragedies happening and I think its important to be informed. However.

Overtime I've found the echo chamber, grandstanding, toothless nature of Facebook to be truly off putting. I agree that important information needs to be spread but posting and sharing takes so little effort and even less understanding that it lacks any real meaning. There is also this element of posturing, of narcissism about it all, cultivating a "compassionate" and "informed" digital persona, an element of "look at me I'm so enlightened" that is just exhausting. It propagates the illusion of involvement, of influence, of progress.

In my experience even if the content that is being shared is good and the sentiment accompanying it genuine it does not incite change, it is not actually participation in a political or social discourse. Petition signing, monetary donations to organizations, actual in-the-flesh protests/demonstrations, those have some actual stakes. Sharing a Huffpost article with your circle of friends who have the same beliefs as you doesn't actually do much.

Our culture is more partisan than it has ever been, beliefs more ingrained. There is little ground given in debate and discussion, minds rarely changed. This is no where more apparent then on Facebook where huge threads will develop from that one antagonistic conservative/liberal friend you have from high school/former co-worker/family member who tenaciously comments and uses incendiary language. No one is persuaded, everyone is angry. It's a zero sum game.

This all coupled with the fact that my checking Facebook had become habitual. Whenever I had downtime at work, at home, while commuting, a spare minute in line at Starbucks I'd check it even though it almost unilaterally intensified my boredom and caused me frustration. I couldn't stop I had built it into my muscle memory.

Now I don't say all this out of a sense of self-righteousness or superiority I just got tired of it, it made me feel bad. Social Media and digital technology is suppose to be helpful, make life easier, streamline communication, bring people together. At this point with it so ingrained in our day-to-day lives we have to police how successful it is for us, how much we get out of it, and decide if it is, in fact, useful.

It's important to remember that true change, inspiration, and tolerance are found in reality. Not in a What Disney Villain Are You quiz or 14 Vital Things You Don't Know About Syria article, as diverting as those things may be.

Expectations

A week or so ago someone reached out to me on FB to be in a video for the iO Comedy Network. I was a bit hesitant because I didn't know anyone involved. I've found blindly committing to projects can sometimes lead to frustration, creative compromise, and/or a usurping of time. But it seemed like it would be fun, require minimal commitment, and videos are not something I typically do.

For the past couple days I've felt nervous about the shoot, concerned it wouldn't be a good experience and would eat up most of the day. I did my best to curb my fears and adjust my expectations. Go into it with an open mind and a positive attitude.

It turned out great. I was there for about an hour, everyone was very nice, proficient, and professional. It was a fun experience because I was able, for the most part, to go into it without a bad attitude or preconceived notions of what it would be. Something I need to try to practice more in all aspects of my life.

The Wellness Institute Presents: Health Gala! A Celebration of Astral Healing

Tonight Nicole and I went to the CIC Halloween show, an interactive high-concept theatre experience. The audience members were welcomed to the "wellness retreat", separated into groups of three, given masks and a card with various symbols on it which corresponded to different stations throughout the theater. All the actors were dressed in white and had scars on their faces. It was very immersive. While people went through the various stations, which were unsettling in and of themselves, there were ongoing "scenes" in the space, yelling and screaming from various rooms. The night culminated in someone being indoctrinated into the cult.

My favorite station was the one where we were taught a chant. It was very affecting, even though I knew it was all pretense it was oddly convincing, the "wellness institute" held a bizarre allure.

I submit.
I give myself unto it.
I willingly receive
and it comes.

Storm Trial

Lo
Mother Nature
discards prayers
and rains torrents
on we hapless
motorcyclists
voyaging west.

She generates
a real adventure
for her unprepared
pilgrims,
something to
endure.

With gritted teeth
pleas go out
to all the gods-
of motorcycles,
interstates,
and weary wanderers.

Each drop
like a bullet
made of ice
pounds
into exposed limbs
and will is tempered.