To Be Home

What does it really mean to be home? How and when do we qualify the existence and understanding of home? What is involved in the explanation of home?

There are times I don’t think I have a home. I am in no way homeless, but when reminiscing about the ‘home’ in the contemporary sense, I feel that my life has a sincere void. I do not feel that the home in which I grew up is really home, nor do I feel that the house in which I claim residence is my home either.

Is it where I keep my things? Where my dog sleeps at night? Where my bills are sent and my taxes collected? It is tough to be young and not have a home. I suppose I am not really that young anymore, nor is it truly accurate that I don’t have a home.

Time for some context:

I am posting today from my parents’ couch in New Jersey. Unfortunately, this is a couch I spent a lot of time on when I was younger. Many Saturday nights in high school were spent on this couch watching tv, reading, or just staring out the window awaiting the freedom of college. Now, as I spend a weekend home in the same house I was raised and reared, I wonder why there is no sensation of home when I am here. There is a sense of familiarity, but no sense of home or comfort. To be clear, I don’t necessarily have this same feeling when I am in my current house in Denver, but my sensations when I am on my couch, or on my bed, or in my bathroom in Denver is different than it is today (it could be that my dad has taken over the bathroom my sister and I shared, making it just an extension of my parent’s bedroom). I have no sensation that there is a home for me.

It is a depressing notion. If home is, ‘where the heart is,’ would my home be near my sister, some friends, ex-girlfriends,and/or in a park? Would my home not exist in the classical sense? Am I philosophically homeless? Should I be concerned about this?

I can remember other people’s homes rather clearly, the smells, the layouts, the quirks, etc. I think about the opportunities missed to go to other people’s homes and see what that life was like. I think about that more than you can imagine. Though, when I look at my own life, it doesn’t cross my mind to think to invite people in my adult life to my childhood home. Why is this?

I suppose that since I am going to be here for a few more days, I will have an opportunity to think and post more about this, though at the same time, I may just leave this as it is and see what I think about it when I return to my current ‘home’.

The lesson I am trying to take from this experience is two-fold: 1. Don’t eat paella on Saturday night as it may ruin your Sunday (man my stomach hurts). 2. Be happy where you are, don’t force a title for it. Home can be a temporary existence or a long-term committment, but in the day-to-day existence, home is truly wherever you make it.

Go home and be happy.

 

A Poem

I wrote you a poem. It was supposed to explain how I felt and the things I was going through. It was to stand for all the instances in which I was unable to tell you face to face. The poem was supposed to make the world better. It got stolen.

The irony is that the poem would have done nothing. It wouldn’t have changed the world, it wouldn’t have erased the pain or sadness. The poem would have just shown you how much I thought about this, how in-tune with my feelings I really am, and how the thoughts and emotions were all for naught.

In all actuality, the poem being lost is representative of our collective future. Gone. Not to be rekindled or found. Something in the past that cannot be recaptured. A simple memory that glows bright within the dark recesses of my soul and being.

It is odd that art can hold both possibilities. It can create and it can terminate. The success of art, in this case poetry, can actually be more tangible when the art fails. When the art remains hidden, when the intent and/or message is lost forever, the poem may hold greater substance. We live in a world where sometimes the unknown is more powerful than the perceptible.

People are tormented by their emotions, feelings, and thoughts. Stay up through the night, run every situation through their head as they try to grasp the reality of their life. Re-living the good, the bad, the ugly, just to get closer to the true emotion is a tormentor, a teaser, a siren in the misty fog of our consciousness.

We do this for a multitude of reasons, none more important than the other. It is a part of our existence to come to terms, to cope, to build, to move on. How we accomplish this is entirely personal, completely unique and not always successful.

The physical reality is that you are surrounded by your past. Whether it is regularly running into the physical form or having moments everyday in which to reminisce, our past exists as a shadow as we walk down life’s busy streets on a sunny day. It casts its own existence on the things we see, meet, pass and miss during our daily lives.

To embrace this reality, to be aware that our past is with us, part of us, is a tough accomplishment. We need to know that we have not done wrong for ourselves, not purposely done wrong onto others, but have given our best to be the best. If it doesn’t work out, there is a reason, if it does, there is also a reason. These reasons may not seem sensible, not at the time they happen or years later, instead, they are merely reasons, instances in which something caused something further. They should be accepted for such, no more no less. To drag the situations that cause us pain and heartbreak through the mud daily does nothing to help us grow. If anything, it stunts our development like and 8 year old lifting weights. It may seem to work, it may seem smart, but in the long run we have done nothing but curb our ability to flourish in the way we ought to have.

I will write more poems. One may even one day be for you. I may or may not lose it. What is brilliant in this world is that the emotions behind the poem are not fleeting. The moments won’t die or relent, it is just an opportunity to catch them in a glass jar and watch them flicker as the oxygen slowly runs out.

Let life be your greatest master. Let your education come from within, from the people you meet, love, miss, enjoy, and you will find yourself much smarter than when you began.

The journey of life is a journey. An incomprehensible series of events meant to test, challenge, inspire, and motivate us to become all that much more for the next day.

For all of your tomorrows I wish you not to forget today.

 

Because of you

Because of you it all changed. Because of you it became what it is today. I can not attribute it to you, it is what it always will be.

Polarity is what we use to measure all things. If not something, than its opposite. If not for the other end of the spectrum, arguments would not be so easy.

I have said countless times that people get married so they will always have someone to argue with, so they will never be void of an adversary. It is a really dark view of marraige, but humorously, I suppose there is some validity.

Getting back to the first paragraph, it is because of ourselves that all can be attributed. It is easy to think that things change because of something (causality), but in reality, it is our allowance of these changes that permission life to take a different course.

I suppose the notion of always replacing ‘change’ with ‘course’ could be its own post, but I will try quickly to open that up. Life cannot change. In the most obvious of ways, life, since it is a recognition of something in the present, how can one be so audacious to think that something happening is change. In fact, it is a differing course. Change would require foresight into what something ‘ought’ to have been. We are not equipped with any way to actually know this, so all attempts to do so are ego-centric and for naught.

So, we can only thank or fault ourselves for the world we live in. We can attribute things to lessons, people, happenstance or other ‘occasions’, but in no way can we put this responsibility on an outside source (outside of self). If we were reluctant to allow these course changes to happen, no external force would have a hand in the course we have/will take in life. It is easy to say, ‘well, because of ‘x’ I am now what I am’.

Honestly, we are ‘x’ because we allowed ‘x’ to happen. If we rejected the external element from having an effect on us, ‘x’ would never exist. It is something we inherently control.

So, it is because of you, that you exists in the way you see it. No more, no less. That being said, what in you do you like and want? What in you would you like to be different? Only you can make the change, take care to make the right one.

 

Talking points

Grammy never speaks to me for more than one minute, thirty-seven seconds. I never really figured out why. Even when I ask her, the answers always seem dodgy, which pretty much defines her character. I love the woman, talking on the phone to her grandson will never be her forte.

What is great though, is in that minute to a minute and a half she can cut me to the core. She can extract a concern, issue, doubt or problem that I am ignoring during the call (do you have a girlfriend? are you going to Law School? did you get a haircut? are you telling your parents the truth?) . Hell, she can pull that off and tell me about her day, a neighbor, Pop-pop, my Uncle Burt and Aunt Dot and even ask about my sister and be done before a show comes back from commercial. It is actually an art, I don’t know anyone who can accomplish this and still have people want to call them.

In all seriousness, Grammy has been a great influence in my life. If for nothing else, here is a woman who still sees my mom as a child. As a rather brat-ish boy, it is always powerful to see that everyone deals with suspected lunatic of a mother. (though I can make claims that at one point or another we had just cause to have both of the matriarchs of my family committed to an insane asylum…but that may just be the snotty little boy-child talking). They get along in the same way that I get along with my mom (sometimes), the same arguments and frustrations abound in their relationship…it shows that evolution takes more than 2 generations too!

I may be 27, but I will never be ashamed to call her Grammy. I realized how odd that my post would have such a casual reference. Not, my grandmother or my mother’s-mother, or even Muriel. Nope, she is and forever will be Grammy and I hope in her eyes I will always be that adorable little boy (about 12 hours before I uttered my first word…I think that was the high-point of my existence, cute and mute…).

Grammy may be a bit ill. I got some word today from my mom that she may be sick. It is incredibly sad. I have no real idea what it is, how serious it is, what we are even really talking about. I am the last to find these kinds of things out and I am never told details…I think internally my family hates telling me these things — I am the dramatic, sensitive one. These things don’t go over well with me…I worry.

But instead of dwelling on the sadness, the confusion, the fear and everything else that ought to be plaguing my head (okay, my dog just started bobbing her head to Stevie Wonder’s harmonica solo during “For Once in My Life“…adorable!), I will focus on the brighter side of life and the immense joy that has resulted from my relationship with Grammy.

I mean, can you understate the incredibly cool notion that when I was 19 and visiting my grandmother one spring that she turned to my sister and I, during a commercial break from Jerry Springer, and said, “the first time I ever saw a porno was in your father’s house. I think he left it in the player.”? No matter who says something like that, regardless if it is from an 80-something year old Jewish lady from Providence, RI, it is priceless. Still funny to this day.

My grandmother’s art pervaded my entire existence. I don’t think I have ever realized how much art of hers has been in my parent’s house, my sister’s house and in my house. I know there is plenty just lying around too. I had to barter with my sister to get “the mushroom oil painting” about 3 years ago. I think I got her down to a ceramic dish and one from the ‘ribbon’ series…I can’t remember…either way, I have a pretty good feeling that the mushrooms will be displayed in my home for many, many years.

At my grandfather’s funeral last spring, when he passed just moments before my entire family (which consists of my parents and grandparents) were to fly out to Denver for Passover with my sister, brother and I, Grammy turned to me and said something to the effect of, “Leave it to your Pop-up to do this right before a trip…he knew I was leaving.” In no way were we dealing with a tragedy (Pop-pop was 94 and lived an complete existence), but her ability to create levity (and reinforce her dominion over the poor guy…and rest of us) will forever astound me.

I have always wished I was able to completely capture the existence of others. Document ad nauseum the beings that have left us. There is such depth to life, and when we look back on it, we only get a miniscule portion to call ‘memory’. Even in our own lives if we were asked to encapsulate them for the annals of history, how much would we actually recall? What would we leave the world with even if we had the opportunity to decide what was important to us.? What we leave behind that is completely forgotten is more than the combined memories of all who know us…I think that just blew my mind a bit.

This is not a morbid post. This is not an intent to lay out a sentence for Grammy. Sometimes it only takes a short phone call to incite thoughts and emotions that ought to be heeded. I think a lot of times we are too busy to let our emotions wash over us. We are constantly, emotionally adapting to the world around us. Here was a chance for me to spend some time writing about my Grammy, who as much as she plays an active part in my life and played a large role in my entire existence, may never have been mentioned here.

That didn’t/doesn’t seem fair. It isn’t fair. This is an incredibly important person, influence, family member.She taught me now to make her a 7 and 7 when I was barely the sum of the two ingredients!

Need I say more?

 

Walk Tall

As I have stated in the past, there are many moments when the physical world that envelopes us is actually mirroring the psychological world that lives within us. There is spillage of sorts where we project inwardly the world around us. The weather can affect us. A disgruntled driver who cuts us off and then flips us off can change our day. We can use our physical being to impact our daily lives.

“Walk tall.” “Stand up straight. “

These were commandments sent down to me from above (mother) daily when I was growing up. A constantly slouching posture drove this otherwise congenial woman insane. How could a boy be comfortable in such positions? How could he walk so hunched over like the weight of the world burdened his pre-pubescent shoulders? Well, I have no idea, I think it was just easy.

So as to not embarrass her any further, I have taken to forcibly walking tall, standing up straight, and sitting upright in chairs. In no way is this easy. Years and years of slouching in everything has made the notion of constant verticality scary, in practicality, quite difficult.

But, in a quest to give everything a try, I have been at it for 3 months. It has gotten better, the searing neck and back pains have relented like the tide following a storm, and yet, I actually feel better about it.

I know, nothing surprising about a physical change affecting a emotional/psychological entity. It happens all of the time. Think of all the work-out freaks who need to lift, run, pull, push, stretch and elongate just to feel better about themselves. Whether it is related to endorphines (Oh, I am sure some scientist/doctor would agree to that) or if it is related to habitual performance, there is a positive effect of being outwardly happy that is tied to our internal happiness.

I don’t necessarily know what the advice is today. Whether I am encouraging people to go to the gym and become addicted to physical effort and vanity or if I am asking people to be cognizant of what they show the world and understand that their happiness is complexly tied to the world around them and their perceptions.

Well, this rambling event must end. But the journey is worth the lack of result. No destination in mind, just another attempt to get to the elusive notion of doubled happiness.

Happy travels to all…

 

All in due time

It has been a while, I have traveled, I have left poor Penelope behind. Unlike Odysseus, I returned promptly and her feeling of loss was overcome by my appearance at the door a mere five days later. Yes, my dog is a constant reference to The Odyssey. No, there are not many parallels between Odysseus and me.

But there are some similarities worth mentioning. Similarities that exist within all of us. We all work for change and for the betterment of our lives. We will do what it takes (within a personally defined notion of ‘within reason’) to get to this point. Whether we decide to physically move to greener pastures or work within our lives to get to a different point in life.

When Odysseus went out to fight in the Trojan Wars, his intent was to make the world a better place. He wanted to return promptly to his life, but knew he had work to do. So he went.

We have all left things behind for the sake of a better tomorrow, many of us long to return to those things.

As much as Odysseus returns to Penelope, he returns to find a different person. See, we can’t just go back, we can only go forward and hope to find same-ness ahead of us.

I have been lost at sea at times too, I have heard and followed the Sirens song as well. But what I have learned is that my return is not a return at all.

I come and go, but never return. Life moves with and without us. Be happy that we are on board and when you get to your next port of call, well, feel blessed.

That is all for today, rather short, but the message is clear. Let’s all take steps to move forward and know that what we love will embrace us and what loves us will wait for us too.

I will never leave my Penelope…she is too damn cute and I don’t want her to pee on my carpet.

 

Parenting a dog

I am not concerned with the toilet seat being up as I live alone and don’t mind seeing the entire commode with no cover. That is, until I got Penny. Now I am the over-protective Dad who makes sure she can’t hurt herself by drowning (yes, I had a thought this was possible) in the toilet. She is already 40 pounds, rather nimble, and not much of a trouble-maker, but 7 blocks from home, I pulled a U-turn and went back just to put the seat down.

Parenting is brilliant. It is more agita than I have ever experienced before. She is just a dog, I am already 27, yet I feel this is the most serious undertaking of my life (college was never taken seriously). I can’t imagine what an actual child would do to me. Yet I am oddly interested in the challenge.

My dog is new, she has been in my life for 3 days. I feel like a lifetime has already been spent together. I love to tell people, “get used to seeing her, she will be with me wherever I go for the next 10-15 years.” I am happy beyond comprehension, yet we’ve only just begun our relationship. Nothing can guarantee moments of pure joy like a dog. She is smarter and cuter than I am, which may not be so good in the long run, but she is a joy to be around and seems to feel the same way about me.

So what do we learn from this? How do we apply these feelings/emotions/happiness to the real world? It is tough. A dog is relatively easy to predict and make happy. It would be hard to say, well, if you keep treats in your pocket (mini Snickers or gum, I suppose) people will be happy to obey your wishes. That would be tough to sell as possible.

What is possible though, is to learn from this example that our happiness is tied to a lot of the world around us, not just the things we think we can control. Work, relationships, family are all good examples of things that can pick us up or bring us down, but do they speak to all the possibilities? Is there not some other thing(s) that can be affecting our happiness? Could it be more basic?

Being caught in traffic, realizing you want to make new friends, having a desire to move to a new place, a change of scenery, wanting to try new things, realizing some of the things we do are not as much fun, and so much more can be curtailing our ability to be truly happy.

The entrance of a dog in my life has made so much of this secondary. We can do this without getting a dog (though it is really a good idea to have pets). We can put these small things aside and focus on the immediate to conquer our quest for happiness. Control what you can control, let the rest go.

I have spent a lot of time contemplating happiness and what it really means. Is it ignorance? Something that is tangible? A gift? Predetermined? A result of money?

I have concluded that happiness is the basic understanding that the world it was it is, the only variant is how you see it. If you see happiness, you will find it. If you look for problems, trouble and depression, you will find it.

Make your life happy by seeing the happiness available in the world. Everything else will work itself out. The litany of things people want to change (some mentioned above) will all work out in the end if you look for happiness in the world —- not from it.

The world won’t make you happy, it won’t wag its tail when you come home. But the world will let you find the happiness, find it inside you, waiting to come out. Be patient, be creative, be happy with what you have right now, and you will see how pleasant existence can be.

“I can gather all the news I need on the weather report, but hey, I have nothing to do today but smile.”

Make each day a happy one, not just Fridays.

 

A Poem

I wrote you a poem. It was supposed to explain how I felt and the things I was going through. It was to stand for all the instances in which I was unable to tell you face to face. The poem was supposed to make the world better. It got stolen.

The irony is that the poem would have done nothing. It wouldn’t have changed the world, it wouldn’t have erased the pain or sadness. The poem would have just shown you how much I thought about this, how in-tune with my feelings I really am, and how the thoughts and emotions were all for naught.

In all actuality, the poem being lost is representative of our collective future. Gone. Not to be rekindled or found. Something in the past that cannot be recaptured. A simple memory that glows bright within the dark recesses of my soul and being.

It is odd that art can hold both possibilities. It can create and it can terminate. The success of art, in this case poetry, can actually be more tangible when the art fails. When the art remains hidden, when the intent and/or message is lost forever, the poem may hold greater substance. We live in a world where sometimes the unknown is more powerful than the perceptible.

People are tormented by their emotions, feelings, and thoughts. Stay up through the night, run every situation through their head as they try to grasp the reality of their life. Re-living the good, the bad, the ugly, just to get closer to the true emotion is a tormentor, a teaser, a siren in the misty fog of our consciousness.

We do this for a multitude of reasons, none more important than the other. It is a part of our existence to come to terms, to cope, to build, to move on. How we accomplish this is entirely personal, completely unique and not always successful.

The physical reality is that you are surrounded by your past. Whether it is regularly running into the physical form or having moments everyday in which to reminisce, our past exists as a shadow as we walk down life’s busy streets on a sunny day. It casts its own existence on the things we see, meet, pass and miss during our daily lives.

To embrace this reality, to be aware that our past is with us, part of us, is a tough accomplishment. We need to know that we have not done wrong for ourselves, not purposely done wrong onto others, but have given our best to be the best. If it doesn’t work out, there is a reason, if it does, there is also a reason. These reasons may not seem sensible, not at the time they happen or years later, instead, they are merely reasons, instances in which something caused something further. They should be accepted for such, no more no less. To drag the situations that cause us pain and heartbreak through the mud daily does nothing to help us grow. If anything, it stunts our development like and 8 year old lifting weights. It may seem to work, it may seem smart, but in the long run we have done nothing but curb our ability to flourish in the way we ought to have.

I will write more poems. One may even one day be for you. I may or may not lose it. What is brilliant in this world is that the emotions behind the poem are not fleeting. The moments won’t die or relent, it is just an opportunity to catch them in a glass jar and watch them flicker as the oxygen slowly runs out.

Let life be your greatest master. Let your education come from within, from the people you meet, love, miss, enjoy, and you will find yourself much smarter than when you began.

The journey of life is a journey. An incomprehensible series of events meant to test, challenge, inspire, and motivate us to become all that much more for the next day.

For all of your tomorrows I wish you not to forget today.

 

Sounds of ‘doing’

I have so much work to do that my only recourse is to do none of it and post. So much testing, documentation, note taking, training to prepare and yet all I can do to combat this onslaught of work is to post. It is a shame that I can only focus on myself amidst all the work I have to do for others (including the company that pays me as an ‘other’)

Why do they make bread with Sesame seeds? I can’t digest them whole, they are little and many just pass into my stomach. Is this not similar to someone putting pellets in my stew just to see me pass them hours later? I know the corn in poop joke has gotten old, but how much more of the consumption in my life is merely along for the ride? What percentage of food actually gets broken down? Should I be concerned? A doctor once told me that I would only digest 10-15% of the mulit-vitamin that I was taking, so when I went to the pharmacy and instructed them I only wanted to pay for the part that would actually end up in my body and not in the sewer, they told me to bugger off.

Oh well, I guess sometimes you get a lot more than you pay for too. In this case though, not so much.

I am convinced that my overall happiness is tied to the minutae in the world. The smallest things make me smile. If I focus on the incredibly small parts of my existence, I could be inordinately happy with anything. How weird. I suppose since I can’t control the universe (yet) and there is so much (if not all) of the world that is larger than me, I just focus on what I can control. Today I biked to work without having to stop once. No red lights, no cross-traffic at stop signs, my brakes were there as a warning, but not used. I wasn’t rushing in to work today, but it was nice to have such a smooth cruise.

Yeah, I am supposed to do a lot of work today. I am also supposed to shower before work too. Let’s just say that it was an early-season snooze fest in bed this morning. When it came time to shower, I felt that Headline News was a more important aspect of my existence to pay attention to than being clean. No one can smell me, there is no one that close to me in my world these days (alas, I await that to change…less patiently everyday). It was nice when I was actively being smelled. I mean it. Not in the disgusting way, but it was always nice to know that someone in the world actually cared that I was clean, well-kempt and occassionally shaven. Now, and for the past 4 months, it has been up to me. For the record, these responsibilities should not be shouldered by me only. It is not good.

My new music arrived today…how exciting. Some replacements for stolen music (you can only go so long without having Sinatra on the iPod), some new additions to library, some music that has since been left from my life (When was the last time I listened to the entire “New Jersey” album by Bon Jovi?). It is all a gift from heaven (or DC, depends on how you look at it)…if only I had this all before the past two weekends’ road trips…oh well, I will just have to take another one soon (once I save enough money for another tank of gas).

Being upbeat has been a new challenge for me. For so long, moroseness and defeatism has been part of my identity, part of my writing, part of my day-to-day. This has been tough. It is hard to be a happy writer, it just doesn’t make sense. It is inate in my existence to whine, complain, bitch, moan and find fault in the world. Now, going against that trend, I am trying to find the small joys in the world and let the larger negatives wash over me.

Look at it this way: I had tickets to a great concert last night. I was very excited to go. No one wanted to go with me (though after serious prodding I was able to ‘convince’ someone to tag along…but it was guilt), I had to sell some tickets and was probably going to eat one of them. I was upset, but still excited about the show…At about 5pm I found out it had been postponed for a month. The show, at the last minute, was changed to a random Friday next month. It sucked…all of a sudden I had nothing planned for the night.

I could have looked at the downside of this entire situation. I should have. Instead, I am now the possessor of 2 tickets to a great show on a Friday, I was able to spend time at home last night cleaning and re-organizing my life, I am well-rested for this important Thursday.

Now it will be a challenge to find that special one person to take to the show. I have 4 weeks to find, locate, and convince the person that it will be a blast. I have the time to make sure I am sharing this experience with the right person. As much as this could be seen as a daunting experience, a challenge of myself, it will end up being fun. I will have my pick of the lot.

Hard to be happy: Sure. Impossible to find some highlights in a day of moderate lows: No.

Back to work, or at least, back to something that makes it look like I am working.

 

Reheated Pizza

The uphill ride seems to be downwind today. The midday sun hidden by the canopy covering most of the journey. The television on from the morning, Champions league matchday 1 beggining as if scheduled into my day. Refrigerator door gives way to three triangular aluminum gems to be toasted individually for a mid brown white bread equivalent. Camping comfortably on the couch with a plate of the first slice of last night’s pizza, it awakens a sense of contentment and joy.

Such an easy journey to relish in the splendor of the simplist existence, moments from the drudgery of work, relaxation and removal appear as the toaster rings out it’s next scheduled service.

No lines present in the culinary world of reheated pizza, no waiting, incorrect ordering, nor a snack that has become too cold. As the crispy slice of pizza melts the tongue just slightly, a reminder of the night before’s indulgences and lack of patience warms the heart to the feast in store.

Three paragraphs on the fun lunch that I had today. Looking forward to something fail-proof, something easy, something pure and simple is a great way to guarantee at least one genuine smile during the day.

If we were to discuss the digestion of this meal, well, we would end on a much different note. But to combine moments into one is a trick of the mind, not a fact of reality. The moments are beautiful without regard for moments at a later time. To connect is to dilute. The lunch was in itself a series of great moments, it is fallacy to think that its connection to indigestion is always mentionable.

Maybe I am wrong, this took an odd turn, it wasn’t supposed to have self doubt and judgment in it…it was just supposed to be about reheating some pizza and watching live Champions League soccer (completely a coincidence that it was playing on the tv I left on as a result of being robbed — maybe they will think I am home all day?) for my lunch today.

There is always tomorrow.