Strange Day

Today was the title of this post. That is to say, it was a strange day indeed.  I’m not sure why, as by most empirical and external measures it was fairly standard.  It was just that, for the majority of the day, well, from the moment I woke until the drive home from work, it felt as though there was a curtain hanging in front of my face, if that makes sense. The accompanying mood was somber. Immediately, I diagnosed the problem. Immediately thereafter I was proven wrong. It was not a lack of caffeine. After 3 cups o’ joe the curtain stood unmoved. Nor was it boredom. Nor lack of conversation. Nor food. Nor the weather. Nothing I could quite put my finger on.

Then it hit me. You know how sometimes during the course of the day, something will happen, or you will see some image or object and the next thing you know it brings to mind your dreams of the previous night? That is exactly what happened this afternoon.  I saw one such trigger object and suddenly remembered the upsetting dream I was having when I woke up to this morning, and that I had forgotten about in the shower.  It must have stayed with me slightly behind my consciousness all day.

I thought that once I established the root cause, the playmaster in my head would give the order to remove the surrounding veil and let merriment commence once more. Wrong again.  This was beginning to annoy me. I had identified what was bothering me, but no obvious solution presented itself.

But then it did. 

Exercise. Running and Yoga. Brilliant combination. I don’t often do yoga, but the idea was planted in my head when discussing the subject at last night’s Wet Wednesday (literally and figuratively named). So I did. Ran three miles from Hell’s Kitchen to St. Marks, Yoga’d for an hour, and ran three miles back. And would you like to know the result?

Blissful calm. But it came at a price: I was made fun of mercilessly by the Yankee fan of a roommate I have when I told him what I had been up to. Small price to pay for peace of mind (also, Peace of Mind by Boston was the Pandora station I was listening to while running. Excellent choice).

Now I find myself laying in bed, exhausted and about to pass happily out, ready to ward off any untoward dreams should they have nerve to come again.  Lesson of the day: Exercise is like butter. It automatically makes everything it touches that much better. 

On that happy note, I bid you goodnight! Until next time,

Ian

Talking to Strangers

Exactly what your parents told you not to do as a child. 

When I was a kid, and actually, until halfway through high school, I was one of the shyest people I knew. Especially when it came to talking to girls. I would freeze up, mind would go blank, amid awkward, meaningless sounds would escape my lips. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but that's exactly how it felt from my point of view.

 How things have changed.

 Thanks to some great friends and good insight I now have the opposite point of view. I love talking to new people now, and have even been reprimanded for making conversation on the subway. Anyway, I didn't consciously think of this fact until this weekend, when I surprised my siblings by coming home to Kansas for Chris' graduation (way to go man!).

On the flight from Chicago to Manhattan I sat next to a very cute girl about my age who was also going home to visit her family. At first, we sat there in silence, flipping through the Skymall or Waiting for the plane to take off. At last I could take it no longer. "So what brings you to manhattan?"

A full flight and an hour and a half of chit chat later, it turns out that the world actually IS a tiny place after all. We had several mutual friends from the high school days and knew several of the same families around town. It was very enjoyable, but got me thinking afterwards; how many times have I passed up the opportunity to talk to someone where a similar experience could have taken place? As I well know, great things can come from a simple "hello" or "good morning", but these are often the hardest part of a conversation. And I don't know why. I believe it's a subconscious fear of rejection, that whomever you try to talk to will react adversely and make you feel like an idiot. This is what I'm trying to get over, because I think that fear is greatly overstated in our/my own mind(s).

Thus, on the way back to NYC (this time a 3.5 hour flight), I sat next to an Australian woman who had travelled all over the world teaching English and meeting people (much like my good friend Jason Connolly) and generally having a ball. And as a result of this flight, I now know the rules of Cricket, spoke at great length of the psychology and neuroscience behind learning languages, learned what it was like to grow up in Saudi Arabia and Kenya, and in return taught and quizzed US geography. It then turned out we were going to the same part of the city upon landing, so I invited her to share the car that I had booked back and ended up splitting the fare and thoroughly enjoying the journey  back.

I suppose the lesson of all this is A) talking to people is awesome B) it's something that does not come naturally (at least not for me) C) airplanes are a great place to practice!

 Also, this was originally split into paragraphs. If it doesn't appear to be so now, I blame apple. That is all for now, goodnight! This went on far longer than I had anticipated. If you finished this, you finished this. Until next time!

Ian

What a week!

This week I:

Got new golf clubs

Tested new golf clubs

Ran 25 miles

Cinco de mayo-ed

Got a raise

Got an awesome apartment

Decided to get a car

Went to a Knicks/Heat playoff game

Went to mass

Met at least 6 new people

And...

Went on a date!

All in all, Couldn't have asked for much more! 

Working out

Good [time of day]! Do you ever stop, look around you, take everything in, and ask yourself just how you got to be there? I had a surreal, almost out-of-body experience like this last week. So there I was, in the middle of suburban New Jersey, in a hotel conference room surrounded by about fifty middle aged, suit-wearing men, discussing renewable energy policy and how to structure investments therein most efficiently.  All of a sudden a thought struck me: how on earth did I come to find myself here? The present is the product of a chain of serendipitous (in the end) events in my life. It all started with graduation, which, as you know is a normal step in the progression of things. This was followed by a job that I hated, then a job that I liked a bit more, then no job, and now a job that I love. Looking back and at where I am now, I wouldn't change a thing.  This experience (combined with the rest of my life) only serves to bolster my confidence that no matter how crazy life gets, it always has a way of working out for the best in the end. I've always intuitively believed this to be true, and lo and behold, things have always worked themselves out. Sometimes it's because of what you do, and sometimes it takes a little luck and prayer.  Anyway, by now I've forgotten how I came to be here, either physically or on this subject. But more importantly, I know I'm meant to be here.  Where are you meant to be?

Anonymous Angel

I was in the presence of an angel today. I arrived early to the 5:15 mass after a nice stroll across central park. I took my seat in one of the middle pews, closed my eyes and sat in silence as the church filled up around me. Presently, mass began, the choir took off and the congregation joined in. I was just about to utter my first note when I heard the voice behind me. It was a female voice, and strikingly beautiful. I wanted to turn around and see just what the source of this heavenly sound could look like. But then I stopped. I didn't turn around. Not for the entire mass. I simply stood there listening to this angel the entire time. And I haven't a clue what she looks like. Now I have a perfect, unspoiled memory that is impossible to tarnish.  And now do you know what? That voice could belong to anyone, to any of the millions of girls walking the streets of New York. And that, is awesome.

"Glowing with happiness"

Today started much the same as many others do – I rolled over in my sleep, contacted the hot water pipe, yelped, and was awakened for the day. Let me tell you, this is a far superior way to wake up than the harsh ring of an alarm clock. Despite the initial shock, all vestiges of the fog of sleep are immediately and permanently erased for the day, and the desire to remain in bed deserts one completely.  And so it was I leapt out of bed with great enthusiasm, swallowed my antibiotics, and embraced the day to come!

Some 30 minutes later, after I had my breakfast and was relaxing on the couch, my roommate Geoffrey entered, the sleep still apparent in his hazy gaze (he hasn’t a hot water pipe near his bed).  I decided the moment was ripe for an exchange of pleasantries. “Good morning!” said I.  Stunned, he froze. He took it in. He looked again. “Did you know that you are glowing with happiness?” he responded.  I was unaware, I have to say, as I felt pretty normal this morning. Perhaps I’m returning to my default state of being nothing short of a ray of sunshine! Then again, perhaps I only looked sunny in comparison to the overcast, gloomy day peering through the window behind me. Regardless, it was very pleasant to hear, and definitely started the day off on the right foot.

Then, to go from good to great, my other roommate Jonathan decided to make eggs Benedict for us all, and in exchange all I had to do was sweep the floor, a trade I will take anytime!

Now, post eggs, I find myself in Starbucks, avoiding the rain and enjoying a quiet afternoon before mass this evening. Altogether an excellent Sunday if I do say so myself. I hope yours has been similarly enjoyable! Until next time,

Ian

Art thou Sm(art)?

Hello there and welcome back! It seems like we’re in the midst of some sort of record-setting writing performance here. This marks the third straight day that words have been taken and recorded in a combination and order never before seen with human eyes! Think about that! No one, and I mean not one person during the millions of years of existence has seen the words you’re reading right now, in this very order (well, with the exception of those few souls who visited this blog before you did).  I suppose by the same logic, every time you read something that is not plagiarized you can make the same claim with the same authenticity.  How many of you though, stop to think about it? 

I had this realization just today, and you might even say it floored me. Indeed, it floored me.  When you do stop and think about it, how many experiences in your life are truly unique? Is there anything you have done, (or even thought!) that hasn’t already been done (or thought!) by someone else?  In a way, it’s a little bit depressing, knowing that the path you’re on is most likely a well-worn one in the scope of humanity. 

I suppose that this makes a nice segue into a newfound, slightly improved appreciation for modern art.  I have tried to understand, and many have tried to explain, the appeal of modern art.  I have none of it, however.  I don’t think it takes much talent, and I believe art should require some sort of talent (at least the kind that makes the cut at MoMa, or the Met, or my living room), not simply access to materials and adhesive.  When modern art ‘speaks to me’ so to say, it very often says something along the lines of “Some sap threw this together, and THEN came up with a very deeply profound, soulful explanation for what he was trying to do”. To me, it rings hollow. Portrait painters will sit down in front of their subject with a concrete goal in mind; namely, to reproduce the likeness before them with some degree of recognizeability on the canvas. Rarely, I think, does the modern artist set about with a goal to express feeling [X], and then go about doing it to a similar degree of recognizeability.  Hogwash.

Though I will give it credit in the aforementioned regard; with every piece we are seeing something truly unique, no matter how bad it might be.  Perhaps this is the end goal, just to create something that has never been created; to allow people to see something that none of the preceding generations ever had the chance to see or to imagine.  In this regard, I think I now appreciate modern art slightly more, if only because it makes me think.

If you are an art expert, or brave enough to put forth any defense of modern art, please do so. I’m completely aware that I may be ignorant of a massive aspect that could change the way I think entirely. If so, do not hold back!

On that note, I bid thee adieu until next time,

Ian

Kaizen!

I stumbled, or rather, restumbled on this word the other day. The word is Kaizen, and in Japanese it means continuous improvement. The first time I heard this was on the trading floor at Nomura, but, that being a Japanese bank, I heard many Japanese words and this one did not stand out amongst the swearing.

I’ve been mulling it over, and I really like the concept.  The way I see it, every day is an opportunity to improve yourself.  And so I shall.  It can be anything, as long as at the end of the day you can look back and say ‘I did [x] and am now a better person for it’. 

It doesn’t have to be big, the idea is that the sum of lots of little things will eventually make you a more complete, well-rounded person. And the beauty of it is, it never stops! Nobody is perfect, and thus there is always room to improve some aspect of your life. 

Just today, this has motivated me to clean my room, go to church, workout and write down this blog post. I could very easily have just sat on the couch and watched TV or some other slothful activity, but now I can look back on the day and know that I’m happy with the choices I’ve made. And in the long run, isn’t that the exact feeling we all want on our deathbed? To be satisfied with the choices you’ve made in your life, and not to regret a thing. I think that starts with the little, day-to-day activities, and there’s no time like the present to acknowledge that.

I leave you with some food for though: are you happy with what you’ve done today? If so, great! If not, why? What can you change?

Goodnight and enjoy!

Ian

Mt. Yoga

It isn’t often I find myself in an uncomfortable physical situation; I like to think that I am capable of doing whatever is asked of me, beyond the normal call of duty.  Walking, even double time, or whilst chewing gum, fails to challenge me.  Running, at distances up to ¾ of a mile, barely breaks a sweat. Dancing, it seems, is what I was born to do.  However, ask me to assume a stationary pose and hold it, and you ask me to push my limits to the brink. 

Thus I felt while at yoga class the other day.  I had gone to clear the mind after a day of work, and to sweat out some of whatever it is you sweat out when you sweat.  Grace, it seems, deserted me in my hour of need.  The yogi (Bear, I couldn’t help but think), made everything sound so easy and relaxing, when in reality it was anything but.  I contorted myself into various shapes meant to resemble dogs, ninjas and planks.  Several times, the instructor had to come over and actually adjust my positioning, implying that my alignment was wanting. Meanwhile I found myself surrounded by a sea of superhuman flexibility. No doubt my surplus testosterone was a great handicap. Not being one to give up, even in the midst of humiliation, I put on a brave face and endured the torment to the bitter end. 

Afterwards, I experienced the sort of euphoria I imagine an inexperienced mountain climber would feel upon summiting Everest. The hill had been conquered, the adversity overcome, a great trial of mind and body laid to rest.  It can only be that the alleged peace and relaxation gained from doing yoga results from the endorphin release from having survived the ordeal in one piece. I now better understand the psychology behind the ‘living on the edge’ sorts, who claim to feel most alive while willingly knocking on death’s door.

Having counted this as a productive day, I retreated to my lair to recover and considered myself stronger for the experience.  If you regularly do yoga, any tips or hints would be greatly appreciated, as I may subject myself to this again.

With that, I call it a day. Goodnight and enjoy!

Ian 

Eye of the Storm

A hiatus, and a lengthy one at that, it has been since I last greeted my innumerable readers with a new update. Well, wait no longer my friend, for the creative juices have returned, and the fingers have found the keyboard once more.  As has been the case before, I find myself here now due to illness.  It strikes me that illnesses are particularly conducive to writing, because they open up the entire day before you.  In an alternate universe, you would have remained the picture of health, labored at whatever it is you labor at for the length of the day, and returned home to eat, read, perhaps relax, converse with loved ones, or even a workout for the more ambitious among us. Before you know it, the day is gone and the next is about to begin.

When you are sick however, this rhythmic cycle grinds to a halt.  A bar of lead in the spokes, we shall say.  All of a sudden the hours of the day stretch out before you like the Atlantic before Columbus Now usually, I am inclined to be passive, to watch TV, or movies, or lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, artificially prolonging my life. This time, however, the case is different. I have been reading the blog of a great friend of mine, Jason Connolly, and it has inspired me to put pen to paper once again.

In the course of this wretched illness, the idea struck me that a breath of fresh air would do the soul a bit of good.  Converting thought into action, I threw of the blankets and sallied forth into the wild blue yonder.  In more specific terms, I took a book, navigated both Park and Fifth Avenue, and found myself parked on a bench in Central Park.  Now, let me tell you, if ever a place was created for the purpose of soothing the stormy mind or body, Central Park would not be first to pop into mine.  I suppose though, that if you think of the city as a sort of static, perpetual hurricane, Central Park would be the eye.  It is calm, it removes you from the chaos, and it is green.  And so it was here that I’m quite convinced I overcame the ailments of the body, and started to feel better almost immediately. 

Not only physically, but no matter what mood you’re in, I find a stroll in the park can improve it substantially.  It makes you take a step back, slow down, and appreciate the moment, which I often find myself failing to do.  Having reached a Buddhist’s tranquility, I decided to take my profits, so to speak, and legged it for home, whereupon a dose of airborne, a good night’s sleep and sound breakfast rendered me once again my usual invincible self.

With that, I will bid thee adieu, and wish you the best,

Until next time,

Ian