Fish Out of Water

The 9th of June, 2011, started as many other days are wont to do; the sun rose, followed by people, and finally by myself.  I customarily swung myself from the bed, satisfied the stomach and had a drop of the restorative brew before setting off to join the workforce.  Not once did the intention of embarrassing myself enter the mind in the morning.  Indeed, should such thoughts present themselves, I would be very concerned.  No, it was not until a good three-quarters of the day had expired that the day itself decided that it had been wholly unremarkable up to that point, and set out to rectify the situation.  Unfortunately for me, I was to be the victim of a tragic comedy.

Four O'clock hurtled towards me. Four O'clock arrived. Four O'clock hurtled away from me.  Several minutes shortly thereafter, I was posed a seemingly innocuous question "How'd you like to play volleyball tonight?" Being of a competitive disposition I readily accepted.  I consider myself to be somewhat athletic, and figured that my leaping ability would be all I needed to dominate middle aged men, even in a sport with which you could not even call me casually acquainted. "Great" I replied, "I'll see you at 6".  This time too, came to pass.  I imagined myself playing the position of spiker, where one need only jump and drill the ball with all possible force approximately straight down, as long as it goes on the other side of the net. Not much to it, after all, if it can be done in sand, it must be twice as easy on a court right? Wrong. When I showed up, to my horror, I was greeted by only three other people.  And these were no ordinary people, let me tell you.  These people have played volleyball religiously for the past ten years.

Not thirty seconds into the first game were my greatest flaws exposed; when a serve came at me, I was like a deer in the headlights. I froze. Then, too late, I blindly thrust out an arm or two.  I hoped for the best. The best was not often to be found.  With alarming regularity, the ball ricocheted off my outstretched arms in almost unimaginable angles. This was not the only problem; judging the size of the court must take some experience.  Several times I watched the ball whistle past my head as I stood motionless, absolutely convinced that it would land out of bounds.  It most certainly did not, and I looked like an idiot.  In two-on-two, my liabilities were magnified beyond the level of comfort. Many chances to look like an idiot present themselves, and I wasted few of them.

This went on for a good two hours, during which I improved in every aspect except making the ball go where I wanted it to go.  By the end, fatigued, physically and emotionally drained, I decided I had had enough.  The crazy thing though, is that not a singly lesson was learned.  I stupidly agreed to show up regularly on these Thursdays. I expect things to deteriorate rapidly.  If anyone would care to share tips to prevent this kind of atrocity from repeating itself, or, more importantly, so you won't have to read such a recollection, it would be greatly appreciated.  With that, I call it a day.

Goodnight and enjoy,
Ian

Trouble

The word says it all.  Trouble came at me in the form of a train conductor today.  Not a common medium to be sure, but still quite effective.  I was standing on the train, peacefully minding my own business when this burly fellow sporting a dark beard and a not-so-dark Che Guevara hat forcefully made known both his presence and his displeasure with my having brought a bike onto the train.  I could see the steam coming from this mans ears and if my ears were better I'm sure I would have heard a whistle.  I was taken aback, to put it lightly.  He let me know in no uncertain terms that I was to disembark at the next station.  This being my destination, unhappy man or not, I willingly complied.

Once I arrived at 125th St. my next objective was to ride the bike to work. Easier said than done.  What should have taken 20 minutes ended up taking 45.  I got lost thrice due to various roads and parks ending abruptly and got a much better workout than I had planned because I did not study my topography maps beforehand. As it turns out, upper Manhattan is a wilderness, and they still have hills there.  Once I finally got to work, I was in dire need of a shower.  This too, proved troublesome.  The building I had counted on being open was not open, and I had to ask several people where I might find a locker room.  This was met with quizzical glances at best and repulsed stares at worst.  At long last a shower was found and all ended well.  Needless to say, this adventure was not worth the $5 it saved me on the subway.

That about wraps it up for tonight. Goodnight and enjoy,
Ian

Day 1

Welcome one and all to the commencement of blogging activities.  I'm sure they will be wandering, erratic, various and sundry.  With the formalities out of the way then, I direct your attention to the below, where I have dug out some pieces from middle-late of last year.  Circumstances were quite different then, and I shall expound upon the finer points of the differences at some point in the future.  In the nearer future, I am going to bed. Goodnight and enjoy,

Ian 

Wednesday 3, 2010

This is it, this is the day I finally start recording my thoughts (wandering and whimsical) and opinions (firm [but not so firm as to be closed {entirely} to reason]).   If all goes according to plan, which I’m sure it won’t, then this document should serve as a sort of journal, if you will, of my existence.   Why someone like you should care to read along, I haven’t the foggiest.  But who said this was for you anyway?

Well, we’ll start with the journaling part of the story.  By this, I mean to explain what I did to occupy the hours between awakening and the present.  With that, settle down, fetch yourself a cup of tea, droop the eyes (not all the way, mind you, just so that you’re comfortable and can still read), and enjoy.

The blasted alarm goes off at 5:40 on the dot.  There are few things I hate in life, very few actually, but this alarm and this prisonesque forced rising fits the bill with room to spare.  I am violently yanked out of a peaceful slumber and thrust unexpectedly into consciousness.  The subsequent hot water running down my back is enough to bring me ‘round to ~85% functionality.  With that, I toss on my corporate uniform, plug in the earphones and am out the door. The epitome of efficiency.  From alarm to front door, total time elapsed is 12 minutes. And that’s not even the record. 

At this point in the day, my viewpoint is typically quite negative.  This strikes me as odd for several reasons.  First of all, I am unaccustomed to regularly scheduled feelings of negativity.  Those who know me would peg me as a perpetual optimist, not one to be brought down in quite so regular a fashion.  The second reason I find this odd is that, to the best of my knowledge, a great many of my peers would kill to be in my position (22 years old, devilishly handsome, stunning girlfriend, working on Wall Street and living 50 stories above New York).  I have regularly tried to think about this perspective when feeling like this, because in all seriousness I am blessed far beyond what I deserve.  However, today I am in much lighter spirits.  En route to work I checked my phone and discovered that I had a lovely email from Aly from the night before.  It’s these small acts of love that can transform what would normally be a frown into a beaming smile.

This day carries on much like any other at work.  I faithfully bring up the two Starbucks venti coffees for my boss and myself, settle down in front of my four screens and wait for the bell of the New York Stock Exchange to ring at half past nine.  The interim hours are filled with light trading, coffee runs, and locker room humor.  Such is life on the cash trading desk.  Today differs from the norm in that I briefly step outside to visit a doctor, who informs me that I have the flu and gives me a Z-pak (To avoid any confusion, this doctor did not try to cure a viral infection with an antibiotic.  I asked so as to avoid a secondary infection).  When I returned to the desk, the fed had announced yet another $600B in bond repurchases, designed to stimulate the economy and keep the long-term interest rates down.  We shall see how this goes.

When the closing bell rings I tidy up, wrap up for the day and am home before I know it.  These are the best hours of the day, because they are the ones where I can spend time with myself.  As an introvert, it’s exhausting spending 12 hours a day in close proximity to highly energetic people.  But when I get home, I can shut it all off, read a book, watch tv (any sports for the night), or, even more productively, start a journal.  I can tell you one thing; you’re awfully lucky I did too, because then where would you be now? Certainly not settled in, drinking tea with droopy eyes and being entertained? I should say not. Probability has it you’d be staring out the window with a forlorn look on the face, wondering what could be, a sense of absence gripping the heart. 

Well, jolly good thing the alternative is available eh? And with that, allow the eyes to close the rest of the way, the teacup to fall to the floor, and the wheels in the head to come to a gentle rest.  I can only imagine that these entries will become much improved as time goes on, and it’s your responsibility to see to it that they continue. 

Thursday November 4, 2010

Picking up where we left off not 12 hours ago, I find myself shackled to the bed. My chains? The flu.  Curse this small virus (of the orthomyxoviridae type, for those interested).  So here I lay, the day stretching before me like a foggy road, endless books, tea and winks in sight.  Were it not for the headaches and nausea that invariably accompany our virus friend, I’d say I’d rather enjoy the day.  Which brings me to the question of the day: enjoy now, or enjoy later, or how about both?

This is a question to which I have been giving much thought recently.  It stems from the larger question of what does one do with one’s life, but let’s not chomp off a bite that big on only the second day.  So, do you enjoy what you do now, or are you tolerating and persevering through the present so that you may one day enjoy the future?

In my current case, I would definitely lean towards the former.  Though not for long.  It’s kind of an accident that I wound up here in the first place.  You see, during my senior year of college, at the ripe old age of 21, I did not know for certain what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.  Hold the laughs please; I trust you can see how unsettling this could be.  That being said, I chose not to commit to applying to medical school just yet.  And then I ended up here, working at an investment bank.

Now, this is quite an obvious trade-off.  If one works here you will doubtless make a lot of money, retire at an early age and have few to no worries.  That is, after you retire or change jobs, enjoyment will be abundant.  However, is this trade-off worth it if one does not particularly enjoy the work that must be done in order to reach that point? Conversely, what if you enjoy what you do now, but are not assured of the same security in the future?  Would that be worth it when age 50 comes around?

Not that I have any answers, but it would seem obvious that the optimal situation would arise when one finds what they truly enjoy, and can continue to do that thing for a lifetime, or close to it, without counting down the days.  Because even in the first situation, I have a feeling that once the end is reached, for example, retirement after an unfulfilling career, that sudden enjoyment or happiness would not immediately set it.  In which case it would have been a waste to begin with. 

In short, is the idea of delayed gratification a good one? That is the question of the day.  Moving on then, to less severe topics – today was mostly enjoyable and somewhat productive (I did write this, validating that claim).  Especially the constant texts from Ms. Aly Pont, my wonderful girlfriend who I hope never realizes that she is way out of my league ;).  The four-hour nap on the couch was the main event, followed by a one-hour encore nap on the couch.  Talk about an exciting day.

Anyway, it is fast drawing to a close, whereupon I must down some NyQuill and get to chat with the aforementioned Aly Pont (whose nightly conversations I treasure more than anything!).  With that goodnight world, it has been a pleasure conversing with thee once again. Not to mention cathartic.

Saturday, November 13

It’s been some time since the last update, eleven days to be precise, and in that length of time, an almost unheard-of series of events has occurred.  Well, not unheard-of, but many various and entertaining things.  I believe I’ll start with sort of a recap. Now, where did we last leave off? Ah yes, I remember, I was being held prisoner by a sickness that would no doubt have killed a weaker man.  That being a Thursday, it was followed by a Friday, and then seemed to skip the weekend and go straight into Monday.  Or that’s how it felt anyways.  In actuality, I took a trip down to Princeton to see Miss Alys (sa) and her team’s final soccer game and banquet.  I must say, neither she nor I will miss dealing with the spectacle that team has become, and I’m very glad that that experience has come to an end.

Post end-of-soccer celebration we immediately boarded a train and made our way to New York for Nathaniel’s twenty-second birthday party.  It was held in a club called China One and was very entertaining indeed, until we were turned away from Katz’s Deli due to a change in the time (daylight savings).  Anyway, fast forward to the middle of the week, and you would have found me down in Princeton yet again, only this time on a Wednesday evening.  Deutsche Bank was having a recruiting event, and I came down to see Aly, which was just as amazing and you may imagine, and then took a black car back to New York that evening.  Can you tell I prefer writing from the micro perspective? All of this macro viewpoint of describing an entire week’s events does not appeal to me.  If it’s not captured during the day it might as well not have happened at all. 

2/10/11

After a length hiatus, I once again resume my writing activities. I find this to be quite cathartic. You see, it is 10:30am on a Thursday morning. Why am I not at work, slaving over the keyboard you ask? Why am I in a café in the lower east side mingling with the students and hipsters? The answer, I’m afraid, is a tragic one. I have now several days off because a friend of my brothers recently took his own life.  Needless to say I am quite rattled by this and can only imagine the heartbreak the St. Amand family is going through right now. 

On a lighter note, I am in otherwise good spirits.  I have recently been offered a job at Columbia Medical Center developing treatments for autism.  I am in the process of jumping at the opportunity, provided all the logistics (and by that I mean finances) of the deal work out. I will be taking a hefty pay cut from the near stratospheric Wall Street salary I’m currently earning.  The strange this is that this does not bother me in the slightest. Well, let’s be honest, it is cause for some concern, but in the long run I think this will be a much better situation, as it will most likely bolster my chances of acceptance in to a medical school of my choice. And that, to put it mildly, would be freakin sweet.