Today I Heard a Story

It's by Spencer Johnson, M.D.

The Precious Present

Once there was a boy who listened to an old man. And, thus, began to learn about The Precious Present. "It is a present because it is a gift," the contented man explained. "And it is precious because anyone who receives such a present is happy forever."

"Wow!" the little boy exclaimed. "I hope someone gives me The Precious Present. Maybe I'll get it for Christmas." The boy ran off to play. And the old man smiled. He liked to watch the little boy play. He saw the smile on the youngster's face and heard him laughing as he swung from a nearby tree. The boy was happy. And it was a joy to see.

The old man also liked to watch the boy work. He even rose early on Saturday mornings to watch the little laborer mow the lawn across the street. The boy actually whistled while he worked. The little child was happy no matter what he was doing. It was, indeed, a joy to behold.

When he thought about what the old man had said, the boy thought he understood. He knew about presents. Like the bicycle he got for his birthday and the gifts he found under the tree on Christmas morning. But as the boy thought more about it, he knew. The joy of toys never lasts forever. The boy began to feel uneasy. "What then," he wondered, "is The Precious Present? What could possibly make me happy forever?" He found it difficult to even imagine the answer.

And so he returned to ask the old man. "Is The Present a magical ring? One that I might put on my finger and make all my wishes come true?" He was told, "No."

The Precious Present has nothing to do with wishing.

As the boy grew older he continued to wonder. He went to the old man. "Is The Precious Present a flying carpet?" he inquired. "One that I could get on and go any place that I liked?" The man quietly replied, "No."

When you have The Precious Present you will be perfectly content to be where you are.

The boy was becoming a young man now, and felt a bit foolish for asking. But he was uncomfortable. He began to see that he was not achieving what he wanted. "Is The Precious Present," he slowly ventured, "a sunken treasure? Perhaps rare gold coins buried by pirates long ago?" The old man told him, "No young man. It is not."

The richness is rare, indeed, but...the wealth of the present comes only from itself.

The young man thought for a moment. Then he became annoyed. "You told me," the young man said, "that anyone who receives such a present would be happy forever. I never got such a gift as a child." The old man responded, "I'm afraid you don't understand."

You already know what The Precious Present is. You already know where to find it. And you already know how it can make you happy. You knew it best when you were a small child. You have simply forgotten.

The young man went away to think. But as time passed, he became frustrated and finally angry. He eventually confronted the old man. "If you want me to be happy," the young man shouted, "why don't you just tell me what The Precious Present is?"

"And where to find it?" the old man volleyed. "Yes, exactly," the young man demanded. I would like to the old man began. "But I do not have such power. No one does." The old man continued, "Only you have the power to make yourself happy. Only you."

The precious present is not something that someone gives you. It is a gift that you give yourself.

The young man was confused, but determined. He resolved to find The Precious Present himself. And so, he packed his bags. He left where he was. And went elsewhere. To look for The Precious Present.

After many frustrating years, the man grew tired of looking for The Precious Present. He had read all the latest books. And he had looked in The Wall Street Journal. He had looked in the mirror. And into the faces of other people. He had wanted so much to find The Precious Present. He had gone to extraordinary lengths. He had looked for it at the tops of mountains and in cold dark caves. He had searched for it in dense, humid jungles. And underneath the seas.

But it was all to no avail. His stressful search had exhausted him. He even became ill occasionally. But he did not know why. The man returned wearily to the old man's side. The old man was happy to see him. They often laughed out loud together. The young man liked to be with the old man. He felt happy in his presence. He guessed that this was because the old man felt happy with himself.

It wasn't that the old man's life was so trouble-free. He didn't appear to have a lot of money. He seemed to be alone most of the time. In fact, there was no apparent reason why he was so much happier and healthier than most people. But happy he was. And so were those who spent time with him. "Why does it feel so good to be with him?" the young man wondered. "Why?" He left wondering.

After many years, the once-young man returned to inquire further. He was now very unhappy and often ill. He needed to talk with the old man. But the old man had grown very, very old. And, all too soon, he spoke no more. The wise voice could no longer be heard. The man was alone.

At first, he was saddened by the loss of his old friend. And then he became frightened. Very frightened. He was afraid that he would never learn how to be happy. Until, he finally accepted what had always been true. He was the only one who could find his own happiness. The unhappy man recalled what the happy old man told him so many years ago. But as hard as he tried he could not figure it out. He tried to understand what he had heard.

The present has nothing to do with wishing...

When you have the present you will be perfectly content to be where you are...

The richness of the present comes from its own source...

The present is not something that someone gives to you...

It is something you give to yourself...

The unhappy man was now tired of looking for The Precious Present. He had grown so tired of trying, that he simply stopped trying.

And then, it happened! He didn't know why it happened, when it happened. It just...happened! He realized that The Precious Present was just that: THE PRESENT. Not the past; and not the future but THE PRECIOUS PRESENT

In an instant the man was happy. He realized that he was in The Precious Present. He raised both hands triumphantly into the cool, fresh air. He was joyous...for one moment....

But then, just as quickly as he had discovered it, he let the joy of the present moment evaporate. He slowly lowered his hands, touched his forehead, and frowned. The man was unhappy-again. "Why,"he asked himself, "didn't I see the obvious long ago? Why have I missed so many precious moments? Why has it taken me so long to live in the present?"

As the man remembered his fruitless travels around the world in his search for The Precious Present, he knew how much happiness he had lost. He had not experienced what each special time and place had to offer. He had missed a great deal. And he felt sad. The man continued to berate himself. And then he saw what he was doing. He observed that he was trapped by his guilt about his past.

When he became aware of his unhappiness and of his being in the past, he returned to the present moment. And he was happy.

But then the man began to worry about the future. "Will I," he asked, "be able to know the joy of living in The Precious Present tomorrow?" Then he saw he was living in the future and laughed - at himself. He listened to what he now knew. And he heard the wisdom of his own voice.

It is wise for me to think about the past and to learn from my past. But it is not wise for me to be in the past, for that is how I lose myself.

It is also wise to think about the future and to prepare for my future. But it is not wise for me to be in the future, for that, too, is how I lose myself.

And when I lose myself, I lose what is most precious to me.

It was so simple. And now he saw it. The present nourished him.

But the man knew it was not going to be easy. Learning to be in the present was a process he was going to have to do over and over... again and again... until it became a part of him. Now he knew why he had enjoyed being with the old man. The old man was totally in the present when he was with the younger man. The old man was not thinking about something else pr wishing he was somewhere else. He was fully in the present. And it felt good to be with such a person. The younger man smiled at himself, the way the old man used to smile. He knew.

I can choose to be happy now, or I can try to be happy when... or if...

The man choose NOW! And now the man was happy. He felt at peace with himself. He agreed to savor each moment of his life...the apparently good and the apparently bad... Even if he didn't understand. For the first time in his life, it didn't matter. He accepted each of his precious moments on this planet as a gift.

I know that some people choose to receive The Precious Present when they are young. Others in middle age. And some when they are very old. Some people sadly never do. I can choose to receive The Precious Present whenever I want.

As the man sat thinking, he felt fortunate. He was who he was where he was. And now he knew! He would always be who he was where he was. He listened again to his thoughts.

The present is what is. It is valuable. Even if I do not know why. It is already just the way it is supposed to be. When I see the present, accept the present, and experience the present. I am well, and I am happy.

Pain is simply the difference between what is and what I want it to be. When I feel guilty over my imperfect past, or I am anxious over my unknown future, I do not live in the present. I experience pain. I make myself ill. And I am unhappy.

My past was the present. And my future will be the present. The present moment is the only reality I ever experience.

As long as I continue to stay in the present, I am happy forever: Because forever is always the present. The present is simply who I am, just the way I am...right now. And it is precious.

I am precious.

I am the precious present.

It was as though he could hear the old man talking. And then he smiled. And his smile widened. And he laughed. He felt a great joy. He knew he was listening, not to the old man... but to himself! It felt good for him to be with himself - just the way he was. He felt he knew enough. He felt he had enough. He felt he was enough. Now. He has finally found The Precious Present. And he was completely happy.

Several decades later, the man had grown into a happy, prosperous, and healthy old man. One day a little girl came by to talk to him. She liked to listen to "the old man," as she called him. It was fun to be with him. There was something special about him. But she didn't know what it was.

One day the little girl began to really listen to the old man. Somehow she sensed something important in his calm voice. He seemed very happy. The little girl couldn't understand why. "How could someone so old," she wondered, "be so happy?" She asked and the old man told her why.

Then all of a sudden, the little girl jumped up and squealed with delight! As the girl ran off to play, the old man smiled. For he heard what she had said..."Wow!" she exclaimed. "I hope someday someone gives me The Precious Present."

Little Instructions

Back in the day, when I was a wee lad, I used those little tear-away-by-the-day calendars. I was also quite a pack-rat. Which is why I recently found two consecutive years of these tear-away days in my closet.

One such year was a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar year.... I'm glad I saved those. The following year I was given a Life's Little Instruction Calendar (Volume XI in case you're wondering), and I'm even more pleased that I saved these. Here are gems of instructions. Take 'em or leave 'em.

On Relationships
Really go out of your way to see to it that anyone invited to your home has a wonderful time --- Ask friends who they'd choose to play themselves if a movie were made of their life --- Write a personal note in every book you give --- Remember, even the most sincere apology can't erase harsh words said in haste or anger --- Take a walk in the woods with someone you love when it's snowing --- Unless you're at the beach, remove your sunglasses when talking to someone --- When conversing with others, remember you expose not just what you know, but who you are --- Contentment is found in relationships, not in places or accomplishments

On Yourself
Write twenty poems and have them bound in leather --- Buy an expensive bottle of wine and compare it with a cheap one; you might be surprised by which you like best --- Never underestimate your abilities. You are capable of things undreamed of --- What qualities do you most like in your friends? Acquire them. Practice them. Make them your own. --- Keep your mind curious, your heart pure, and your enthusiasm twelve inches taller than you are --- Your potential is determined by your dreams; your value is determined by your actions --- Wave at couples sitting on front porches --- Your mind is the muscle that most needs exercising --- Carry authority and confidence in your posture and voice --- Maintain a touch of mystery

On Growing Old
On your birthday, try something you'd do if your age were your shoe size --- Compliment all women with beautiful gray hair --- Don't die muttering "if only..." --- Leave precious memories alone and undisturbed; trying to relive them often results in disappointment --- Go back to the house where you grew up and ask the owner if you could just look around.

On Random Betterness
Support your local diner --- Winning is simple, take just one more step when all the others have quit --- Don't waste time trying to reason with a dog --- Don't hurry past beauty --- Be different. Be fair. Be first --- Carry authority and confidence in your posture and voice --- Don't attend every argument you're invited to --- Life is hard; don't get soft --- Be willing to attend to the small details that make the difference between "done" and "well done" --- To discover good, reliable people, undertake a difficult task with a group --- Don't weaken the power of future compliments by telling someone (especially children) he or she is doing a good job when they're not --- Be the reason someone smiles today

Currently Carrying the Most Meaning for Shawn (yes I enjoy referring to myself in the third person)
Having a good idea is like holding a quart of ice cream on a hot summer day; you've got to do something with it right away or all is lost --- The happiest you'll ever be is when you're working hard for something you really care about --- For somethings to make sense, you have to live a long time --- Learn to accept praise without suggesting you don't deserve it

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life...

6/3/2009

Today just started off bad. I awoke much earlier than expected to the sound of screaming German children in the campsite next to mine. Then I went to charge my camera and discovered it's dead. The lens won't even extend from the camera itself. The battery is fully charged but the lens is no longer willing. 

Ok, no big deal. I have another, yet much crappier, camera that can take some decent pictures of me spelunking. A quick breakfast, a sink shower, and I was on my way to meet with my tour guide. 

We met on the back porch of the visitor's center. Ranger John started describing the journey ahead of us twelve. As he described how we would have to inhale to get around one rock and exhale to pass another, I couldn't have been more excited. Then he said, "let's check over all of your gear." 

He glanced and me and said, "This fellow has the ideal outfit for spelunking. Cargo pants, long sleeve shirt, and sturdy shoes. Right now I'll have all of you hike your pants up so I can inspect your shoes." Then he checked out my shoes and said, "Oh, doesn't look like these will work out." I had the rest of the ensemble right, but not the shoes.

Apparently, it is an unbendable rule that you must have hiking boots that come up over the ankle. Mine stopped just short. I even brought soccer shin-guards that covered part of the ankle, but apparently that wasn't enough. I wasn't allowed to go. The trip I had booked a month in advance and had been looking forward to just as long, wasn't going to happen. 

As one of the rangers stood explaining my options, I was just fuming. He said, "here are the other tours you can take today.....blah, blah, blah." I didn't hear anything else he said. Other tours? I didn't want another tour. I wanted the Wild Cave Tour, the tour that has chest diameter requirements, the tour that takes 6 hours, the tour that made other people in the visitor's center say, "you have to be nuts to do that." That's the tour I wanted. I didn't want to walk around where the other tourists and people with bad back's walked. I wanted a challenge. 

I sat weighing my options. Finally, I decided any tour would be better than no tour. I went with some other package. As I walked away from the ticket counter with my new ticket in hand and the difference of the two tours refunded, I was still rather upset. I thought of how I wouldn't be satisfied until I really spelunked that cave. 

And it dawned on me, just go tomorrow. I'm not on any strict schedule. What's another day in Kentucky? I walked back up to the ticket counter, asked to go on tomorrow's tour, and asked where I could purchase the proper hiking boots. 

Sadly, the nearest place was Wal-Mart. Barf. Whatever. The boots were only $35.00 and I'll probably return them tomorrow. So, here I am at Arby's. Using their free wi-fi. (Ohh yea, that fast food rule ended before it began. It seems that fast food rules the highways.)

At 10:05 this morning, once I was booted off the tour, I was ready to pack up camp and hit the road with all the rage I could muster. I was pissed. But after taking a few moments to really assess the situation, I settled down and made the best of what I was dealt. I'll be on my way back to Mammoth Cave National Park now, maybe take in a bike ride. Either way, I'll have had a great day. I'll have an even better one tomorrow.

Blogging: Scrap-booking on Roids

Yes, I scrapbook. I am a heterosexual male, and I scrapbook. At least I used to / hopefully will be in the near future. In my closet I currently have three grocery bags, each containing a scrapbook which is either empty or near empty and all the "scraps" that I intend on adhering to the pages. Allow me to digress and reminisce for just a few paragraphs before I get to the point.

One bag consists of all the pictures, brochures, ticket stubs, and other junk that I didn't throw away from the summer of 2005, when I worked as an entertainer at Idlewild Theme Park in Ligonier, Pennsylvania. I played three guitar sets, two small group shows, and three nightly main stage shows a day. Plus every so often I had to do "live action" theatre with kids in the "Wild West" section of the park. We made the wee ones into deputy sherifs and had them help wrangle up some bank robbers. There were about twelve of us entertainers. We all lived in a ski chateau on the highest peak in the state. We were all in our early 20's and enjoyed a good time, so a good time we had.

Another bag contains all the accouterment for completing a scrapbook from the next summer which I spent in Maui, Hawaii. I worked as the arts & crafts director at a Boy Scout Camp in the West Maui Mountains. This little gig snuck up on me unexpectedly. The job was mentioned to me in passing by a scouter in the Wisconsin area. A completed application and a few emails later, I was on my way to Maui. Granted the job didn't pay the best, but after a couple months on Maui, I had completely broke even, including the flight. Not bad. The best part of the summer, though, was hanging out with my old friend and first ever boss, Scott, as he is now living on Maui with his wife and daughter. The beauty and attitude of this island is intoxicating. As is the feeling I get when I tell people, "yea, I lived in Maui...."

The third bag is even heavier than the first two, but it's content spans twice as much time. During college, when I moved into my first house at the beginning of my junior year, I began a scrapbook to document all the good times and a few of the bad. It's a great representation of the hard work I did at UWSP as well as a look into the intense amount of fun my roommates and I had at 1525 Briggs. This scrapbook is more complete because I tried the "create-it-as-it's-happening" approach. This method worked wonderfully until, just like my blogging at times, I got way behind. I have catching up to do.

Now, even though I have a little extra time on my hands, I do not feel compelled to complete these books of memories. The reason why is this little site of mine.

I took out the "college years" scrap book last week and attempted to put a dent into it. Nothing happened. I am now much more interested in this digital version of my life/memories. Paper, scissors, and glue no longer tickle my fancy like they used to. But it's easy to see why.

Lately, I've been reading a lot of blogs, friends' and some randoms as well. It seems to me that a blog has so much more to offer than a big book of scraps. Not only can you post your thoughts and words, but pictures, video, and audio as well. I'd like to see a book that holds all that (besides a MacBook....ha, get it?) A blog is also viewable by whoever you want to see it. Which for me is all the more motivation to do it. Sure, you can share a scrapbook with guests when they come over. But more often than not, I think that a guest feels obligated to look through my memories and he/she doesn't necessarily enjoy it. With a blog, on the other hand, whoever can read it whenever he/she wants, and if no one reads it, really that's fine too. But in the meantime, I'll just keep writing as if someone out there actually is reading.

So there, I love blogging. Is that the thesis statement I was aiming for with this post.... I'm really not sure. That's the other thing about blogging, well for me at least, it's total stream of conscience. For that, I apologize, but that probably won't change.

Though, I will add that I'm not completely giving up on the art of scrap-booking. I'll find the motivation to do those three books sooner than later. I think it's important that everyone keep in mind the physical world that we all once functioned in, whether it's completing a scrap-book or sitting down and actually writing a letter. It weirds me out sometimes this think of all the time and effort I've put into this digital life of mine, and to consider that with one server crash, it could all be gone. However a wise man once said:

What takes a lifetime to build can be destroyed in a night, build anyway.

Coincidences

Throughout college, I never did much pleasure reading. If I had the extra time to read, I felt extremely obligated to review for that biology exam, re-read the chapter on chord voicings, or review that German lieder for tomorrow's performance just once more before I went to sleep. Reading for my own enjoyment just didn't happen for close to four years of my life. Sad.

Within the past year and some change, however, I always seem to find myself immersed in a book that more than coincidentally coincides ridiculously well with wherever I am in my life. It all started with an anonymous stranger handing me Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist.

On October 12 of 2007, I spoke as the student body representative at the naming ceremony of our newly renovated University Center. The student body chose to name it after former Wisconsin Governor and former UWSP chancellor, Lee Sherman Dreyfus. He was known as the students' chancellor, a man who could always be found walking around campus with his bright red vest, willing and ready to talk with students about issues important to them. He was truly on their level. When he first came to the University in the late 70's, his inaugural address to the student body started: "Hello, my name is Lee Sherman Dreyfus. Yes, my initials are LSD, and I'd like you all to come on a trip with me."

Due to his rapidly failing health, he wasn't able to attend the ceremony. But it was imperative that we held the ceremony while he was still alive. My speech addressed Gov. Dreyfus and what he had done for the University and the state, as well as addressed the student involvement in the planning of this multi-million dollar project.

At the reception following the ceremony, an older gentlemen walked up to me. He said, "I worked closely with Gov. Dreyfus during his time here. He would have been extremely proud and touched to had heard your speech today. I want to give you this..." That's when he handed me a copy of The Alchemist. "I can tell from that speech that you'll be going places. That's what this book is about." He signed the inside: "Shawn, listen to your heart, MC Graw, Colorado.

I placed the book on my shelf with all the other I'll-get-around-to-them-someday books. There it sat until December when I started packing for my trip to Thailand. A group of 13 UWSP students were about to embark on a month journey to work with at risk Thai children. I was on my way out of my room when I looked at my bookshelf and hastily grabbed the book. "Meh, I need something to read during this 22 hour flight." Having no idea what this book was even about it turned out to be the best read for a globe trotting adventure.

It's about a shepherd boy named Santiago and his journey. Throughout the read, I couldn't help but compare myself to the boy, as I too was making an incredible journey at the time. Besides the cliche "the journey is the reward message," the book is full of lessons that I will carry with me forever:

"I don't live in either my past of future. I'm interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you'll be a happy man. Life will be a grand party for you, a grand festival, because life is the moment we're living right now"

"The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. No heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams"

"You don't have to understand the desert: all you have to do is contemplate a simple grain of sand, and you will see in it all the marvels of creation."

"Time is another of these things we need to help ourselves to go through life, but it does not exist"

The most relevant part of this book for me and my journey was it's talk of a universal language. A way the world communicates with one another, not via tongues and sounds but via a fabric we are all woven into. Working with the children at DEPDC, I truly heard this language, as none of us students spoke Thai, yet we came to develop some of the tightest bonds with the Thai children over the short time we were there.

My other book coincidences aren't quite as deep, yet still just as relevant to my life.

I came home from Thailand and literally the next day was thrown into the classroom. Culture shock. I just returned from a month in a country that no where near resembles the states, teaching at a school where the children would otherwise be in forced labor or sex slavery. What is the point of sitting in this classroom when there are real problems in the world which my time and effort could be going towards? I couldn't stand the thought of pointless classrooms, until I found myself studying close to the exact same thing in two completely different classes.

Geography and journalism. I used to think they had nothing in common, besides the fact that one can write about the other. My journalism class was topic specific focusing on food and travel writing. Here's where the liberal thinking of UWSP got the best of me. My geography class basically revolved around how the spread of humanity has desecrated our planet. One such issue is the over-production of, well, everything to sustain, well, everyone. Food production ties in of coarse. From over-fishing to over-farming and depleting nutrients in the soil, humans are using more than mother earth can give us. While I was learning the technical side of this from my geo class, my journalism teacher had us reading Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and The United States of Arugula by David Kamp, both of which addressed food production on a more personal level.

Now, I've always been a closeted anti-establishment kind of guy. But these two classes simultaneously bombarded me with a "here's how shitty the human race is" kind of mentality (in geo we screened some incredible documentaries, including Who Killed the Electric Car, it'll make you hate corporate America, if you don't already). So if you want a discussion sometime on capitalism, our environment, and the food we eat, I'll be happy to share some heated opinions.

On a more positive side though, my journalism class also got me to read Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl. As a New York Times food critic, her incredible writing has me thinking about food more than I ever thought I would. Plus, her writing really inspired me to write more. Now, I have this blog that I feel obligated to write on all the time......

Kidding, this is kinda fun.....

Following that spring semester, I immersed myself in The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. As if Ruth hadn't inspired me enough to write, Randy was the writer who started it all. While this book of little short lessons should not have taken me all summer to read, I wasn't in a hurry to get through it. I tried to take each little lesson to heart.

Getting around Europe, I let Rick Steves enlighten me to the places I was visiting. Better than a text book, but not quite a leisure read, but rather informative in a fun way. This book wasn't so much a coincidence as it was an "ok, I want to know about the places and things I'm going to see." However, my next read was coincidental all over again.

I kept seeing subway posters for The Whole Truth by David Baldacci, and being stranded at Luton airport for six hours finally brought me to buy this international thriller about a second cold war. This read was extremely fun because the action takes place all over Europe, particularly in the places I had just been on my continental tour. It was the first time I could say "sweet, I've been there." Since being back home, I turn on the telly or read an article and say "sweet, I've been there" quite often.

The tube and bus rides get long without something to read, and sometimes you just can't stand those evening newspapers. So as soon as my flatmate was done with The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini I snatched it up. Again, having no idea what it was about, I dove in. The book takes an in depth look into the life of modern Afghanistan while following a boy from childhood to his adulthood exile into America. This book opened my eyes to the lives of the people around me while I worked in the London neighborhood of Harlesden, where I was one of the only white people. The food, lifestyles, and all around culture described by Hosseini mirrored what was going on all around me.

After The Kite Runner, I stuck to my iPod and evening newspapers to entertain my commutes.

Finally, to what I'm reading now: Gods Behaving Badly by Marie Phillips. This saucy little tale is about Greek gods living mortal lives in modern day London. Yet again, another pleasant surprise. As I was reading last night at a little coffee shop in Green Bay, there was a scene that took place "somewhere between Euston and Kings Cross." For a visual, I pulled the Tube map out of my jacket pocket, as it has been there since my return home. Just like in The Whole Truth, I can read along and say, "sweet, I've been there." 

I try to look for these little coincidence in life, however lately, I haven't had to look hard. They are in black and off-white on the pages of the books that I happen to come by. The word coincidence, though, has such a benign connotation. I feel they are little messages, reminders, or signs from the universe around us...from God, if you will. As I learned from The Alchemist, there is a fabric that binds us all, the world and the universe it exists in. If we can learn to listen to this web of our lives, I think we'd be all the better for it.

And speaking of coincidences, I was thinking a lot today about what I am doing, where I'm going in the next few months. Then in the middle of writing this I received a message from a friend wondering if I wanted to work with him in Alaska.... I'm listening and the message is coming in loud and clear.

Rich People Live Here

11-25-2008

Since the first day we moved in on York Terrace East, I could tell lived in a nice area of London. But it took me a few weeks to realize how nice it was. The flats across the street from MTH and to our right and left are millions of pounds.

My first clue was Regents Park. It’s the most beautiful park in London and to have it in your backyard must not come cheaply.

My second clue came from my walk I take just about every day to ISH. In my walk, I always pass by a flat that has it’s lower window lit up as if they are proud to display what disgusts me. A zebra pelt rug laying on the floor ears attached, neck mane draped to one side, and clearly is not an imitation. On the couch next to this unjust death rug is a blanket made of raccoon pelts with the tails decoratively dangling from the edges. This one could very well be a fake, but judging from how much money these people must have, it’s probably not.

Another clue that really solidified my knowledge of where exactly I was living came from two east Londoners. Joe and Ben came to west London just looking for a little night out and ended up running across the ISH bar and the Wisconsin ladies. These guys were awesome though because they didn’t discriminate. They bought just as much alcohol for us guys as they did the girls. Eventually we got around to the topic of where we live and we said, “well, we live here.” Their jaws dropped as they said, “do you realize where you are?” They continued to tell us how Madonna has a flat not far from here and that millionaires are the only ones that call the Regent’s Park area home.

So, am I a millionaire? No, far from it. But the International Students House is subsidized by the government and allows for students to live cheaply where they would otherwise only dream of living. It’s a sweet deal for ISH, because they also house a club in the basement that carries big name acts. So essentially, they have a government subsidized club. Talk about bank.

The last and final clue I have for knowing where I live is the reminder I pass by every day that is written on the size of the International Students House:

And while we are students scraping by here in London, we are living in London. So that statement holds quite a bit of truth.

"The Day America Became Cool Again"

11-4-2008


My dad left this morning, but truthfully I had more to be excited about the day rather than sulk in the fact that my visitor had left. IT'S ELECTION DAY.

Being in the United Kingdom during this historic election has completely changed my views on America and my feelings about being American. Ever since starting the continental tour in September, Europeans have been asking me what my political views are. I knew that the entire world kept it's eye on America, but I had no idea it would be like this.


It seemed many Londoners cared more about the election than some US citizens I know. My boss told me multiple times how unfair she thinks it is that people in the UK, and all over the world, have no say in an election that affect them so much. I completely agree with her.


With the "credit crunch" as it is called here and the world in an economic crisis, a war, and environmental systems at the breaking point, our election does matter to everyone. America is the superpower. I've heard that time and again in the states, and I always thought it was an egotistical statement that held some weight but couldn't be 100%. I've learned here is is absolutely true. The direction America takes will dictate the direction of the rest of the world.

That day at work I wore a suit with one of those little "I Voted" stickers on my tie as I had sent in my absentee ballot the week before.

I have never been more proud to wear a sticker in my life.

My co-workers applauded me saying they hoped more voted like me. I hoped the same. It was a long day awaiting the night that would dictate the future of so much.

I got home around 6pm and was so energetic for the night ahead. But I knew it wouldn't last, so I would have to nap. But I had all this energy, what to do? Run.


I ran 4 laps around Regent Park's inner circle all on pure adrenaline. This is going to sound ridiculously cheesey, but I felt like I was running with hope for a better tomorrow... I told you, cheesy. But seriously, every time I hear Obama speak (mostly on Youtube), I feel that many things which upset me about America can change, like tomorrow is going to be alright. I was having a great run just thinking about the future, about the hope that could come. I kept passing by two groups of cyclists, since we were heading opposite directions around the inner circle of Regents. Around the 3rd or 4th pass we started cheering each other on, giving a little "keep it up" shout. I could have ran all night, but I had more important things to do that night.

Like celebrate the future direction of America by partying on election night!

ISH Dean Kevin Coyne opened the bar from 11-3am for an election party. American flags were the decor of choice and for one night in London, it seemed everyone was from the states.... and it seemed all of them were democrats. Every time Obama took another state the bar would erupt in shouts of joy. Many were biting their nails earlier that day. My fear was that the young generation Obama had campaigned towards for the past two years would drop the ball, not make it to the polls. All I could do what hope for the best. Can I use the word hope more in this post?

As it turns out Obama supporters, young and old, showed up to the poles. I'm proud to say I sent in my vote via proxy, and while I wasn't able to be at the voting booth that day, I supported Obama in a different way:

Every time Obama took a state, we took Vodka Red Bulls. Which is probably why I didn't make it to his official victory around 4:30am GMT. But I was coherent for when he dominated Ohio and as far as I'm concerned that's when Barack Obama won the presidential election.

An ISH bartender gunning for Obama.

The title of this blog was a headline that one of the London evening newspapers ran the morning of November 5th. It's funny but it seemed the UK hated America a little less the next day.

Just Another Day in Paris

9-18-2008

I awoke at 6 this morning in order to meet Jenny and Cody at 6:30 to make the walk to Notre Dame for 7am mass. Upon arriving, the beautiful cathedral was all locked up and we were made aware that mass didn’t start until 8am.  Thanks Jenny for the hour of sleep that I will never get back. Anywho, It seemed that’s when the rest of the town wakes up as well, because we walked around the church looking for a place to grab a light breakfast and it was slim pickings.

However, we did stop into a bakery that was just waking up. There I ate the most delicious croissant as it came almost right from the oven to my mouth. The bakery wouldn’t let us eat in the shop since he was still getting thing set up, so we had to bare the cold for a bit longer until they opened the cathedral. The mass was behind the alter in an intimate setting. I believe we were the only tourist there as the rest of the crowd looked like regulars who would be on their way to work right after mass.

Following that early morning experience at Notre Dame, we went back to the hostel, grabbed some breakfast, and then I needed a nap.

At 11:00 the whole group made the two block journey down the road to the Lourve, the place where art magic happens. Here I was able to take in more art than my body had room for:

Battle to the Death

This dude just reminded me of my dog

Yup, hieroglyphics

 

My imitation, ancient Bob Marley

 She's even more beautiful in person than I imagined she would be

No, I did not take a picture of the Mona Lisa. Rather, I took a picture of all the people trying to take a decent picture of the Mona Lisa. Yet because of the protective glass over her, no one ever gets a decent shot. She is much smaller than I  imagined her though.

Four hours in the Lourve later, I was getting some hunger pangs so we got some Chinese to go. I played it safe and got the sweet and sour chicken, but it was quite different than other sweet and sour I’ve had before, mostly because it wasn’t breaded. I almost preferred it. I love those little unexpected differences. They’ve been coming at me a mile a minute since I’ve started these past two weeks of Euro madness. But the little surprises that make you say, “ohh, I wasn’t expecting that” engrain the roll-with-the-punches mentality into your every day. Once you can confidently say “I’ll take each day as it comes and not sweat the details,” you days get much more enjoyable.

After a short nap, Jenny and I attempted to take in the Lourve around two. However, it was closed. The gift shop was open however and I purchased the best children’s book of all time My Little Louvre.

We watched as the night began to consume the Paris sky. We walked along a park by the Louvre watched the fountain and made up stories about the statues with we knew nothing about. For example, this fella is doing the morning-after walk of shame. 

We watched the sunset over the city from a high point in the park. We ate our first Nutella Creepe.  We walked down the Avenue Kleber to the Charles de Gaulle Etoile Arch. From the top of this famous Paris landmark you can see all the city in all of it’s splendor.

Following that we went to an extremely untouristie part of town where we each got a fabulous panini sandwich. By this time, it was midnight thirty, so we decided to make the journey back.

Once we got out of the underground station, Jenny and I spun around like a couple of lost tourists, because at that moment we were. Just then a kind woman came up behind us and said, “excuse me, I help you. Where you need to go?” We were blown away. This kind lady saw some confused American tourists and stopped to help us without our even asking.

She pointed us back in the direction of Notre Dame. We knew once we got there we’d be able to find our way back. What we didn’t know was that at 1:00 in the morning a film crew would be setting up for the shooting of what we assumed was a hip hop music video. At first, we thought they were sending off weather balloons. But it turns out the large balloons were for lighting. We saw a group of hip hop dancers warming up and watched as the crew set up their monitors, cameras, lights, and all the accoutrement needed for a film shoot. We didn’t get a chance to watch the filming, as it was getting cold and time for bed.

On to Salzburg

9-7-2008

This morning we had our last breakfast at the Euro Youth Hostel. I’m going to miss that warm milk on my bland flakes every morning. But I’m sure the hostel in Austria will be just as classy.  Currently, I’m back on the bus after a stop at Dachau where we saw the ruins of a Nazi Concentration Camp….I’m pausing, hesitating rather, to find the words to describe that experience and they just aren’t coming to me.

I’m glad I saw it. But at the same time I feel odd and strange that I felt I had to see it, that anyone has to see it. As if the stories and accounts of that dark time aren’t bone chilling enough.

Do we need to see with our own eyes before we will believe? Or even worse, do we need to see and experience in order to feel?

We will never forget. That phrase has come to encompass a lot of meaning in recent years and has almost turned cliché. So while I’m glad these pieces of history exsist, a part of me wants it gone… 

Until Salsburg.

There's a Bird in My Garage

...... and it has been there for well over a month. Sitting, rarely moving. A mother, no doubt, keeping her eggs safe and warm. She sits relaxed in the tranquility that is our menagerie of a garage, as chipmunks, squirrels, bats, and I think even a small kangaroo come and go as they please.

Even when I rustle through her area to take out the trash or roll in late at night with the car's headlights on, she sits, calmly yet with a watchful eye. No matter the ruckus or the apparent danger, she sits, protecting, just waiting.

Poor thing. Just sitting there. I understand the necessity for parental sacrifice to ensure the safety of her young, but how mundane. Sitting, sitting, sitting, and our garage is really not all that much to gaze upon. How she must long to be free, hop off that nest, spread her wings again, and fly.

I finished my final summer course today, and with it's completion, I've reached the finale of my classroom purgatory. I am a college graduate. As I sat today in those unforgivingly uncomfortable desks drowning out my professor with my thoughts, I could not help but to feel like that bird. The end of my wait was a couple hours away, I could already feel a draft under my wings.

The past four weeks of sitting in that classroom had been the longest classroom hours I have ever suffered through, and I've had some professors who can make an hour seem like you're the one strapped to Ixion's wheel. The way I see it, if I did not gain anything from the crappiest of classes, it's my own fault, my own waste of money. Well, my parents money in all honesty. But that is all the more reason why I knew I had to take advantage of every opportunity over the past four years. Because the past four years truly have been an incredible opportunity, and whether I slept through a class or strived for success, a sacrifice was made for me to be there.

Once those eggs hatch, mama bird will teach her young lings to fly, then off they go. All that sitting. Then one day she is left watching their tail feathers as they all flap away. I'm spoiled, bottom line. But I give myself some credit because I know it, and I will never take for granted the amount of time my parents spent warming my egg, catching worms and regurgitating them into my mouth... well, none of their cooking was really that bad.

Huh, I started writing this blog thinking I was that bird, and in a way I am. Freed from iron bars of term papers, grade point averages, and exams and ready to get caught in a wind current that will take me God knows where.

But that bird is also a glance back 22 years ago, when I had to be protected and kept warm. Thanks mom & dad, I'm ready to fly.

The Things You Own....

I helped my dad move this past weekend. It seems the end of May always brings about many moves, as the college students head home or at least out of the dorms for the summer. No matter who moves or where they're moving to, I can't help but to remember a quote from the movie Fight Club. .

For those of you who have not seen this masterpiece of cinema, or even better read the book, Tyler Durden, played by Edward Norton, is tormented by his alter-ego, played by Brad Pitt. At one point in the movie, Durden's alter-ego creates a gas leak in his apartment which sets it ablaze and destroys everything that, he claims, makes him who he is. Later, Durden is venting with his 'other half' over a pichter of beer about his Pier 1, catalog-ordered-life being ripped out from underneath him. Pitt's reply:

"The things you own, end up owning you."

After you've spent days, or weeks even, putting 'your life' into boxes, moving it to a new location so you can unload 'your life' to start a new life in a new location, how can you disagree with that statement? I'm not saying that my father or the friends I've helped move recently are all pack rats with a bunch of junk. Really, it's an American epidemic. We want more and more because we feel it adds to our prestige or that it defines us. Perhaps some of you reading this do define yourself by what you own, and to an extent, I can see where one could make that argument.

I'm a musician, as are many of my friends. Around the music department at my university this conversation isn't an uncommon one:

Hey do you know blah-blah?"

"Ummm blah-blah doesn't sounds familiar"

"You know, blah-blah the cello player."

"Ohhh right, him".

A good friend of mine is currently studying for his masters in oboe performance, and another percussion performance. For these people they may define themselves by their possession. However, if I had to categorize it, I'd say it's a tool. They define themselves by a tool used for their craft. The same as an astronomer may hold tight to her telescope, a writer to her pen...or laptop, a carpenter to his saw or hammer, or a priest to his bible. This kind of obsessive possesion I can handle.

Other material worths, I feel, can also define you. What you wear says a lot as a first impression. However, I also feel you can dress one fashion and act in a completely different manner than that of what your wardrobe portrays. For example, I've met some amazingly friendly goth people, but when you walk past them and make eye contact, they look like they are ready to bite your jugular.

Jewelry or art you have in your home can also define you, as can your car, your home itself, your....wait, ok, so almost any material thing can help people know who you are. So what am I getting at?

For me, I guess, I want to be someone who is defined by me. I want to be perfectly happy with just a backpack and it's contents as my possessions. The 'American Dream' as it is called is far from my dream. The white picket fence with a huge house full of pointless consumer products, not for me. How can I keep this in check? Just ask, "does what I own, own me?" Right now, sadly it does...

Chlorine Headaches

A waste of time. I remember when I loved life guarding. Now that's all I can think of it as, a waste of time. Back when I enjoyed it, I was guarding at Boy Scout Camps. One was on a pristine lake in northern Wisconsin, Bear Paw Scout Camp (http://www.bpsc.org/). I was also employed at Camp Maluhia in Maui, HI (I know, it was a hard job but someone had to do it) and this past summer I was in charge of my own waterfront at Camp Rokilio in Kiel, WI.

Guarding at these camps was a blast. Outdoors all summer long, the other staff members became my brothers, and I was able to teach eager children how to swim. Those summers were about only one thing for the scouts, the staff, and myself: having fun, which is precisely what I did.

So when did I turn into such a pessimistic prick about doing a job that is supposed to save people's lives? When I began working at an indoor pool where everyone knows how to swim and I am employed to be an insurance policy.

What is the value of human life....apparently it's $6.50 an hour. Which if one does the math of 24 hours in a day, 168 hours in a week, 8,736 hours in a year, with an estimate lifespan of 90 years: leaves you with 786,240 hours in your life. Now factor in the $6.50 an hour I get paid, that estimates to a human life value of 5,110,560 American dollars...so an American's life is currently worth about half of a European's right now with the exchange rate factored in. That cost is just about right according to what my economics professor told the class earlier today, as we were talking about the economic value of performing an expensive colon test. "It's disturbing to think people do this, but they have put a value on human life, and it's somewhere between 1 and 7 million dollars."

I really am not much of a numbers person, but as I was guarding today I was contemplating the whole idea of life guarding, from the cost to personnel performing this responsible task.

I began guarding when I was 14...sweet Jesus. To think, I was no more than four years older than some of the 'kids' I was supposed to be keeping alive. Even now as a 22-year-old college graduate who last summer had to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation on a middle aged woman, I question my ability to really save some one's life. (The woman I did CPR on lived, however not without the help of a volunteer fireman who just happen to be there at the time and wasn't shitting his pants like I was, and the AED that was on site helped too).

Experiences like that one help keep things in perspective. Today, I had another one of those experiences. No one drown, or even came close to it, but Don scared me more than I would have liked him to. Don was cognitively aware, yet mentally handicapped...wait, let me wikipedia that to make sure that is politically correct...mentally challenged, I guess, is the preferred term. He came in with his roommate who was also his care taker. They were having a blast. Don swam by himself for a bit while his friend did some lap swimming, which made me watch him even more carefully than I already was. Every once in a while, Don would lean far enough forward so that his personal floatation device couldn't keep his face out of the water. He made me flinch plenty of times. But he always pulled himself out with a humongous grin on face and a laughter I won't soon forget.

How amazing. Simply splashing his face in the water brought him so much joy. If I went to the pool tomorrow and had as much fun doing what he was doing tonight, patrons would surely ask, "does he have special needs?" If only we could all let go of our inhibitions and have as much fun as Don was...

Watching Don have fun reoriented many values that have drifted from me as of late. The first: have fun! No matter what the situation or what people might think, have fun. Don didn't care that he wasn't like the rest of those in the pool. He was having a blastie splashing around and enjoying the weightlessness the water provides. He was simply enjoying life.

Second, even the simplest, most mundane of tasks are important, such as life guarding. As soon as Don entered the pool, my eyes locked onto him. I scanned the other patrons in the pool every few minutes, but Don needed my utmost attention. When he entered the pool deck, I removed my sandals and got ready to jump in at any moment. In practicality, I should do that this with every patron. Don helped me realize that.

There are always moments in our life that help orient our decision making. We need to keep ourselves aware them. They can come a mile and minute, or only once every so often. But if we miss them, they are gone. I wrote this one down to try and make up for the hundreds that I've forgotten over the years.