Devotion

People die every day, everyone dies eventually. Methuselah, purported oldest man ever, eventually died. Even Jesus died, at least in the flesh. But it still feels so terribly tragic. Especially if they were killed. Something in me, perhaps in everyone, especially distresses when people are attacked in malls, at the gym, at school, at work, on the street, in their home. Even for our men and women in uniform serving in theater, I still think we expect most of them to come home. Our losses there are heartbreaking in part I think because so many are killed while engaged in the mundane. Not in a drawn out gun fight but rather driving back and forth from work. Not shooting down a plane in a Top Gun gun fight, checking ID's at the front gate. Not rolling over the terrain during a tank battle, working out in the gym.

I'm not sure if they have changed since I left but when I served, the core values of the Air Force were: Integrity first. Service before self. Excellence in all we do. I hope the person or committee that developed that got their obligatory commendations and recognition because those are fantastic core values. I think those should be America's core values. Regardless of how or if you worship, regardless of what goes down in your bedroom, irrespective of how you feel about abortion, immigration, privacy laws, political parties or whatever else can alienate us from one another, if we embraced those core values and at least collectively tried to live them, what kind of amazing would result?

But even I, someone who their whole life sought to attach themselves to something bigger, to answer high callings, to serve, am growing tired and more selfish with age. But it is still hard when people are dying to take a day off. Even if there is nothing you can do. It doesn't feel right to press on with my ordinary worries and to-do lists, my ambivalency about my own work and whether it actually matters, any attention I give to the posturing and maneuvering of career, my sleeping in because I'm tired and have bad cramps. But that is life and I think I've sought safety in demanding careers because it gave me an excuse for not tending to my own life. Something, everything was/is always more important than getting a haircut, going back to school, visiting a friend or family, going to the gym. Institutions glorify sacrifice, denial of self, full-on consumption of the mission. Even taking care of your body and mind is encouraged in the context of being more available for the mission and better at it. I'm not entirely convinced one must have passion for their career or whatever it is they do to afford the life they want. I think it is a luxury to love your work AND have it support your lifestyle. And I think there are far more pragmatists than fully consumed patriots under any ideological banner but something in the human soul still seeks and responds belonging and belonging to something transcendent. Even if it is never as cool in practice as it is in principle.

I don't know. I'm just tired and conflicted. Maybe it is time to take that break I sought almost 10 years ago. Move back home, go to school, see what happens after that. Or maybe it is time to get serious about coupling, making 2010 the year of men so I can backburner these thorny questions on my sense of purpose and hope to consume myself in marriage and procreation. Or maybe I just continue on. I'm starting to consider that perhaps I can question, examine, evaluate things without abandoning them every time I find a wart. After all, there is no perfection this side of heaven so seeking it is a fools errand and a surefire path to a largely unhappy life.

A morose and brooding way to end the year but that's who I am sometimes so for at least the next 3-5 minutes, I'm going to be okay with that. Happy New Year and thanks to everyone still reading (all 2 of you), especially through these last few months of sporadic and often heavy posts.

Prologue

As my clothes smack around in the dryer, I'm thankful for wake-up buddies, for snowstorm adventures and kind dentists who give stranded strangers a much needed ride. I'm thankful for an introduction to an old jazz standard, Open the door Richard, and for the Amtrak adventures that accompanied my journey back to Philly from Washington last weekend. I still recall fondly the mirth with which we greeted the Amtrak conductor's apology for the short delay (over 3 hours) and after an additional 30 minutes on the static train, the admission they were still waiting for an engineer to show up so the train could actually leave. I still regard with wonder all which had to come together for me to end up in the car and the seat that made such a crap-tastic set of circumstances such a joy. I am thankful the night ended after 1 am with a night owl bus ride through the snowy city with the quietly menacing types that make up the night owl bus riding crowd. It was a perfectly magical and ridiculous weekend and it starts with a dear friend, an epic snowstorm, and a Mini Cooper.

Before launching in the windy disjointed narrative I suspect this story will become, I feel I should introduce the players. One of the most important people, the Amtrak engineer, I never even met but he seems like a Steve to me, so that's what I'll call him. The others are*:

Issa: A dentist in northern Virginia and a great Samaritan

Joy: A Phillipino nurse who was stranded with me when the buses shut down

Mini Cooper: My dear friend who drives a cute but impractical car, who spent Saturday morning assessing the storm and periodically clearing a trench around the Mini Cooper though it was increasingly clear the car would not see service that day. Hope springs eternal.

9 Cookie/Meal Ticket/Trustfund/Georgetown: Probably going to make my top 10 most annoying humans alive. Nice enough guy but mentioned his ability to have unlimited meals at the Georgetown cafeteria no less than 8 times. Also the first one to mention he went to Georgetown and the only one to repeat it at least 3 times. Seems to operate from an assumption that people are paying attention to him and actually care what he's up to.

Seattle: His traveling circumstances were completely tragic. He wasn't with us long, needing only a ride to BWI where he was likely going to spend the night. He spent most of his short time on board in the cafe car and I got a feeling he wanted no part of our reindeer games though he was not at all snotty about it.

Yea Something Like That: Large slightly menacing man who slept most of the ride with his headphones on which must have been turned all the way up because when he made a phone call, it was in loud deliberate Spanish which was already funny enough. When he finished the conversation in English with 'yea, something like that,' it was all I could do not to laugh.

Betsy: A nice older lady. I liked her hair and her overall chic-ness.

Tim: Last but not least, the charming Tim. I liked him immensely for the short time I knew him. He had a great way about him and I felt he would be successful at whatever he put his hand to. He was easy going, light hearted and affable, but seemed at his core to be kind of a serious young man, inclined toward introspection and thoughtful consideration of the world around him. He gave me his e-mail address as we were pulling into Philadelphia and said he'd like to read my account of our crazy adventures which is of course why he's considered so favorably in this prologue. :-) I'm sorry if 9 Cookie is your friend. Tim was unabashedly into hats and had at least 4-5 hats close at hand. Tim changed hats at least 3 times during the trip, though to be fair, one was a festive Santa hat adorned with his name written in glitter.


*some names have been modified

Le Beer, Le Sigh

My pleasant face-numbing buzz is leaving me and my belly is full of delectable lamb burger. *sigh* I hold out for these days because it just feels so good when I let myself have them. One beer had me thinking maybe Ed the bartender does have kind of a bar crush on me. My sister felt he was feelin me when we had dinner there and I dismissed her but he definitely recognizes me and I could swear his eyes lit up. Can't see anything coming of it but it's a nice feeling. Going to the bar alone is almost always more fun than going with a group of girls.

I want you to want me, I need you to need me...

All this time

I was talking to my mother tonight and out of the clear blue sky she said she had been thinking about me recently. She said she wasn't sure if she ever told me how much it meant to her that I gave her my kidney. She hadn't, and a part of me has felt guilty and feared she resented me because it did not work. I forced her to take it and then she was miserable for 2 years and back on dialysis. She said it was huge what I did and that she was almost moved to tears recognizing her daughter was walking around with one kidney because she sacrificed one to give to her mother. I could not help being kind of amused that she was almost but not quite moved to tears. Mom rolls hard. What she said meant a lot to me even though I don't really consider it a huge sacrifice and think more people should do it. It's not altruism as much as pragmatism that drives my world view as it concerns organ donation. It is amazing when you consider what you can give of yourself and never miss that can save, prolong, or improve someones life. Frankly it is more trouble and sacrifice to love one another well than it is to share what you can safely give from your body.

Returning to my conversation with my mom, as much as I was pleased to hear her say it, I quickly tried to make a joke or otherwise deflect further conversation about it. I often wish we could start over again and I had another kidney to try swapping with a stranger in return for one that might have worked better for my mom. I know if that scenario had ended the way this kidney did and my kidney was still working in some other person, I would be very happy for that person but also deeply resentful for our loss. I would be filled with the same questions about whether a different approach would have yielded different results. I honest to God have a hard time watching the George Lopez show because he had a kidney transplant that worked (that, and he's not very funny to me). I don't even like seeing his healthy looking face. Natalie Cole, same thing but even more so because she needed one as a result of a Hep C contracted through drug use and she got one from a fan. Someone who didn't even know her. Someone who could have found at least 5 people within 5 miles of their house that needed a kidney. People who don't have the resources Cole has. It's not fair for me to resent her, I know. It's misdirected energy, it's wasted energy, and I don't wish her or anyone illness or the tether and complications of dialysis. Just being honest about how I feel after all this time. Maybe a little like some people felt when Mickey Mantle got a liver.

Well that was a steep climb down from the soapbox. Feelin' a little light headed, the air up there is a little thinner.

Dog Vomit

Nothing tickles a maternal instinct like recognizing when the puppy is sick and comforting her while she throws up at your feet. Few things test my devotion and gag reflex like cleaning it up.

It was pretty rough.

How can you stay outside

The abridged lyrics to the song below (by Yael Naim) gave me comfort tonight. They let me know I am not alone which is one of the reasons I write.
--
Far far, there was this little girl
she was praying for something to happen to her
everyday she writes words and more words
just to speak out the thoughts that keep floating inside
and she's strong when the dreams come cause they
take her, cover her, they are all over
the reality looks far now, but don't go

How can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside


Far far, there's this little girl
she was praying for something good to happen to her
from time to time there are colors and shapes
dazzling her eyes, tickling her hands
they invent her a new world with
oil skies and aquarel rivers
but don't you run away already
please don't go

How can you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside
how an you stay outside?
there's a beautiful mess inside

Take a deep breath and dive
there's a beautiful mess inside
how can you stay outside?
There's a beautiful mess inside
--

Beautiful.

My second winter in Philly approaches and I lament how little I have taken advantage of this opportunity to live in the city, to meet more people. I lament my complete lack of interest in doing so now. I've no momentum for the energy needed to mount that kind of assault on the inertia that has seized me. There is too much else to do and no one to help me do these things, these things I actually want to do. I'm not depressed in the sense I lack interest in doing something fun, I just lack energy to try to have fun, it's not guaranteed after all. Oh I don't know...I'm just in a funk. Tired of being alone, longing for luxury of having someone to complain about. Having a hard time seeing a future for me at work, imagining on the way home, a conversation years from now, explaining my strange journey home to the place I always belonged. I don't even know where it is but it felt like an awesome place. I felt secure, confident, free. I felt like it mattered that I was there. I had something to contribute that could not come from anywhere else. That I was actually gifted at what I did instead of merely adequate.

Don't get me wrong, adequate will probably see me comfortably retired in 25 years but God, how long to spend at something I have to curse, cajole, and drag myself into every day. I don't know what is missing and I'm not sure that some of my daydreaming isn't just frivolous escapism, romanticising things I would grow to dread as well. I certainly would not want anything that would drive me to consider present circumstances with rosy retrospection of the good old days. But life proffers no such guarantee. I make a move, and it either gets worse, gets better, or stays the same. I think if I ever stop trying to be a part of something bigger than me, something that espouses such high ideals and demands a devotion just shy of worship, then, then I might be on to something. I've always been looking for something to give my life to. But I think I've also kind of resented that the jobs I've chosen would expect, demand, and willingly take my life and offer me only baubles, trinkets, and money in return. It's never enough. For either of us. The job always wants more and I want more in return. Not because I need it but because something in me refuses to work harder for less than the numerous drains on space and oxygen I've come across. Because perhaps deep down I have a price, what I will put up with for health insurance, pension, and other trappings of security. Yes, I could dip out and all my days could be available to my whims, at least until I ran out of money. A part of me feels like I need something like that to figure out if I just need a break from work or a more literal break with my life as I know it now. I could try to moonlight another life but I'm a serial monogamist.

Oh. My. God. The dog just lit up the space underneath my nose. It smells like hot garbage.

Time to go outside until the beautiful mess inside of her comes out.

Gold Star

Even as I browse the internet seeking receptacles for my disposable income, I think of tomorrow and wonder if it is time for a vacation or a new job. I think it is a cry for rest or change when my greatest accomplishment is getting to sleep without struggle, and arriving at work on time showered dressed and presentable. I've got to be honest, I really think it's so awesome that someone should give me a gold star or something. If working out against yourself burned calories and built muscle, I would be freaking ripped.