We would have done it, but unfortunately

We would have done it, but unfortunately, once again we had to spend the weekend putting the house back in order after tearing it up all week. After that there were the bills to be paid. Usually, we forgot to water the plants until the leaves began falling off as we brushed past them on our way to nick a pen from the jar or open the refrigerator door. At which point, we would fill up the water can a few times as we made the rounds. Then there was the business of keep clean and feeding ourselves. It seemed like to was always time to shower, brush our teeth, or make a meal. It was our usual best practice to clean up the dishes right away, until it wasn’t and they piled up and began to smell until we had to set aside time on the weekends when we were putting the house back in order to do all the dishes. When weeks were going really well, we would take up exercise again. Don sneakers and fill up our water bottle. These were only on the weeks when we had made it work on time most days and did not have to stay late any of the days and did not have to use lunch to “catch up with a colleague.” We had usually checked off the majority of urgent priority things off the chccklist when we sat down to catch up on the television show that everyone had been talking about, pouring ourself a glass or three of red wine as we then bounce around to a few other shows we had once watched back when we had more time. It was often after watching these shows that we would remember how long it had been since we last chatted with the gang or a particularly close friend and how we had been meaning to call, email, and/or get together. We would spend time the next day gently threading back together all the connections that had begun to sag a little or become frayed, pulling them tighter or re-enforcing the cord with some plans. There were the times before, when much of our time was devoted to finding that special someone. This seemed to happen in a cyclical fashion: we would search for our special someone, find him or hear, and get to bask in the luxury of holding on to our special someone through careful attention to his/her needs and occasionally planning special events that went above and beyond. We used to enjoy the holidays and birthdays, but now find both occasions to be a little overwhelming as it really is now just the additional chores of present hunting, meal-making, and travel-planning. However, much like the four year political cycle, they did give us something to talk about so we could stop pretending to be maintaining all the hobbies we had long since neglected. And then there were the days where time was like the carton of favorite ice cream from the expensive grocery store, in a power-outage. And we sat at our kitchen tables, spooning bite after bite into our mouths, determined to taste as much as we could, our mouths tightened in a line that the spoon can barely slot through.

So, yes, we would have done it, but you know, life…

Have these people never used a stove before?

Somewhere along the way, I learned about the four burners’ theory. The four burners represent great health, close family, success at work, and good friendships. The theory goes that you can’t have all burners going at full blast at once (which doesn’t really make sense as an analogy because, of course, you can actually have all four burners of your actual stove turned up to high at once).

Doing versus Being

If you ever went through (or are in) an activist period in your life, then I bet you know that Gandhi said “Be the change you want to see.”

This morning during my daily meditation this phrase floated into my head. Reflecting on it afterwards, it took me back to two things I’ve encountered in recent weeks.

In Alan Lew’s book, “Be Still and Get Going,” Lew lays out five steps when encountering difficulty:

1. Don’t be afraid
2. Collect yourself
3. See
4. Be Still
5. Just get going

Lew explores the apparent contradiction between “be still” and “just get going,” by explaining Wu Wei. “Wu Wei is doing what must be done next. it is action in perfect alignment with the next.” Lew explains that we can only discover the necessary action (just get going) through being still.

Similarly in an Audio Dharma guided meditation, the speaker explored the difference between doing and being; saying that its akin to love. We don’t “do in love” we “are in love.”

Until today, even though he literally says “be the change,” I have read the Gandhi quote as a call to take action, to step forward and create change through doing. I think this is in part because doing comes easily for me. Being, strangely, is very difficult.

New Granta and Author to Look Out For

The newest issue of Granta arrived in my mailbox today!

I’ve been getting it for about six months now and with each issue I find a new author I have to add to my “to read” list. (The most frustrating issue was the Young Brazilian Authors. So many amazing authors, so so hard to find English translations.)

I’m going to be keeping an eye out for Lauren Wilkinson‘s book after reading her short story “Safety Catch” in the Betrayal issue of Granta.

Marlene turns to face her and says something Marie cant hear over the plane engines screaming out on the tarmac. Marie moves to the guard rail.

“Feel that,” her mother says again in French, taking Marie’s hand and putting it on the rail. “The engines are making it vibrate. Because sound is just energy, you know? That’s all anything is. All we are. Nothing dies because you can’t destroy energy.”

Marie nods and, without saying goodbye, begins walking towards the stairs. She’s hurt by what her mother has said. Her mother, who should be able to understand her grief, who should be feeling as bad –worse– should know better than to talk about the universe or whatever hippy bullshit it was that she was trying to drive at.

In the parking lot she sits in her father’s car for awhile with her eyes closed.Thinking: she doesn’t know me. And: she didn’t now Helene. She feels let down by this and so exhausted by everything else that she briefly considers taking a nap, but opens her eyes instead and puts the keys in the ignition, thinking: I’m eighteen now. I’m an adult and I can’t just sit here in a goddamn parking lot all day long.

You can only deal with the hill right in front of you

I am on day 14 of my 90 day goal to run everyday. I’ve run a total of 24.8 miles so far.

Some of you may remember that I ran everyday for 60 days last year. My goal at that time was to parlay those 60 days into a life-long habit of running everyday. I didn’t manage to do that, but this year around I thought I could length my goal.

I have written before about how long I have been running, but it still amazes me to think that I was 13 years old when I started running cross-country. Over the years, running has taught me many different lessons that probably read like cliches. I think sports tend to lend themselves to cliches because as you’re learning the fundamentals of any sport, things have to be broken down into really digestible, repeatable chunks. So what is fundamental knowledge become mantra.

I thought, over this 90 day period, I would share with you some my favorite personal mantras that running has taught me.

Dinner Date: Portobello Mushroom Salad and Curried Rice with Shrimp

In the new year, John and I started alternating cooking dinner for one another once a week. Sitting down to home-cooked a meal together has not always been the easiest: cooking can tend to fall off the radar and we have different schedules (I’m a morning person and John’s a night owl). It really seemed easier to go out on date nights when we wanted to eat dinner together. But I’m so glad we’ve decided to do this. For one thing, John is a really good cook. For another, it’s nice to have a low-key tradition to count on every week.

Recently I made this Portobello Mushroom Salad and we both agreed it was one to repeat. Here are some changes I made to the recipe: I used a spring mix instead of just spinach, I left off the cheese, and I marinated the Portobello mushrooms overnight. If cooking isn’t your thing and you live in Charlottesville, I picked out this recipe after being inspired by a delicious Portobello salad at Bizou.

As a bonus: the week earlier, John made us Curried Rice with Shrimp, which was amazing. I recommend doing as he did and substituting broccoli for the onion.

El Bulli: The Madly Creative Scientist

El Bulli is a documentary about chef Ferran Adrià and his staff broken into two parts: the six months they spend experimenting with food in their lab and the six months they spend with the restaurant El Bulli open to the public.

The opening shots of the documentary set the view up for a  multi-camera, shifting perspective documentary –an interior shot with the din of dozens of staff hard at work, moving fluidly through the steps of their process cuts away to a camera outside, looking through the lit up window, seeing the white coats moving surging and swinging, as if peeking in on a single living organism. From there we move to the, dismantling of the kitchen of El Bulli to transfer all the equipment to the lab, to watching the head chefs test new dishes, shop, and record their efforts, and then back to El Bulli, where the chefs begin breaking in their new staff with a management style that is both kind and strict.

Adrià, in introducing a new dish and asking his staff for the concept behind the dish, tells them that avant garde eating is about “creative emotion.” People, he says, eat this way to feel something.

Perhaps, but this is not a documentary about food or even cooking. Instead, it is a documentary about working life in pursuit of a creative vision through the scientific process. For those of us whose professional life includes things that are a matter of taste, there are many familiar struggles: Is this a one star, two star, or three star dish? Do we wait for the boss’ opinion or forge ahead with our own opinion? What to do when we’ve lost our data? Have we forgotten our original vision? The pleasure, too, of working hard on matters of taste is apparent to: the delight at accidental discovery, the camaraderie of being in the creative trenches together.

There are no “talking heads” moments in the documentary where the audience is addressed directly. Like the clientele of El Bulli, we are beside the point. Just as they are lucky to get a taste of the food, we are lucky to have a vantage point from inside the kitchen. It could be otherwise — we could be looking in, through a lit window, silently watching the flow and swing of the white coated organism, a perfect hybrid of art and science.

Verdict: Worth Watching (streaming on netflix)

Play on Player

When I was a little girl, I often fantasied about being an adult. To me, I’m not sure that adulthood meant much more than “independence” and I had little idea of what that meant. I knew I liked to be alone and that I liked to have my own way, but that was about it. I had no idea that being an adult would be working during the week and trying to cram many many different things in over the weekend, from chores to set my up to the next week to the majority of my socializing.

Lately, I have been feeling like I miss unstructured time. I know there’s research out there about the importance of play which has lead me to this documentary from The National Institute for Play. (I’m only on the second installment, but so far so good.)

Earlier this year, I went through a mini-crisis where I felt like I could no longer recognize what was fun to me. There were things that felt enjoyable or relaxing, but things that other people seemed to find fun, just weren’t doing it for me. My friend Lauren recommended that I think back to my childhood and what I found fun then.

I was reminded of that this morning and spent some time remember the many hours I spent walking around outside or lying down in the grass making up completely imaginary worlds. I remember playing dress up. I remember loving to nail pieces of wood together. I remember playing neighborhood tag games with the other kids and four square. If I go way back, I remember loving to finger paint. And swing. And roll down the hill. I remember writing and illustrating short stories. Ordering my parents about in “plays” I was creating on the spot. Reading. Lots and lots of reading.

These memories created a feeling of really expansive joy in me and made me realize that I need to spend time in my adult life recreating them.

What do you remember about childhood play?

 

Saturday Music: Merge Records: Lou Barlow

Bonus: Churchill “Change” from A&M/Octone Records

doing to avoid being: consuming and discussing tragedy

I woke up at 230am last night after a series of vivid dreams. With my phone right by my bed, I reached for it to get on Twitter and record what I had dreamt. And then I went to my feed. Those of you who were awake at a similar hour or are reading about it this morning know what I found there: people giving a blow by blow account of what was happening in Boston. For the next two or three hours, I would read my feed for twenty minutes, try to sleep for twenty minutes, but then go back to the feed. This morning I continue to compulsively check in with what is happening.

The bombings this week in Boston and this subsequent fall-out has affected me more than other recent global or national tragedies. And there is no rhyme or reason to that as far as I can tell.

The compulsion I have to check for updates on what’s happening is matched by an even deeper compulsion. As I read more and more about what is going on, I sit, looking at the cursor blinking in that “compose a tweet” or “update your status” or the compose an email field and I feel the need to say something, anything about what is happening and what I feel about it. It’s made me aware that our cultural practices have not caught up to the instantaneous nature of national and global communication. In many communities there is a practice of public mourning, but, as I watch us police one another on Twitter and Facebook, it becomes apparent that no one is sure of the social norms of public mourning on social media.

So I say nothing.

This twin compulsions, know what’s happening and join in the public mourning, feel a lot like doing to avoid being to me. For those of us who are not in immediate danger or who’s lives are not being actually disrupted by this occurrences, what would it mean to stop and sit with ourselves? To let our feelings rise and pass away? What might we discover there? And do we avoid it because we are afraid or merely because we aren’t in the practice of examining this?