Lost Texts

My grandmother wrote a poem once that was published in her high school yearbook. I remember reading it with her when I was young–from a hard bound volume with old fashioned script embossed on the cover (it would have been published around 1930). As I recall, the poem was about the changing of the seasons–winter to spring. And my grandmother’s name appeared alongside it–her maiden name which was strange to see in print.

She was as proud of writing the poem as she was of having studied Latin. I studied Latin in high school to be like her, and there was one year that I failed to capture the Latin award at my school’s honor ceremony. The next day I told her about the other awards I’d won, Chemistry, Creative Writing, top student in my class, and then my grandmother asked, “What about the Latin award?”

Unlike the Romans whose texts I studied in high school, this summer at the Louvre I learned about the Phoenicians, who were instrumental the development of the alphabet, but whose writings we have barely any record of because their papyrus manuscripts did not survive the perils of time.

This summer I also read Virginia Woolf’s essay “A Room of One’s Own” about the historical plight of women writers and women who might have been writers if circumstances had allowed them. The essay ends with Woolf encouraging modern women writers to write for the women who came before them who did not have the opportunity so that these women could live on in them.

My grandmother wrote her poem within a few years of the 1929 publication of Woolf’s essay. I’m not sure if my grandmother wrote any more poems after the one that was published in the yearbook. Or how many she wrote before. I don’t know when she might have started writing or when she stopped. If she had any other poems or manuscripts, my guess is they’ve gone the way of Phoenician papyrus.

Which is too bad because I would have liked to have read more of her writing. Or what she would have written if circumstances allowed.

Tearjerkers

For the past few years, I’ve had two default options I could turn to when I wanted to cry: (1) watching Sarah McLachlan’s ASPCA commercial about animal cruelty and (2) thinking about the plot to Liane Moriarty’s novel What Alice Forgot. (After suffering a head injury, Alice can’t remember the past decade of her life or how she and her husband, who she’s in love with, have come to be on the brink of divorce.)

This week I came across a third thing that brought me to tears–upon reading it and in trying to describe it later to David. It was a set of guidelines for socially isolated older adults looking to increase enjoyment at mealtimes. It included tips like starting an eating club, dining by a window, and giving a table a special touch by adding a decorative vase.

The guidelines struck me in a few places. First, in my grief for others–the many seniors out there in the world whose loneliness seemed palpable to me in the moment. And then again in memories of my own college lunches–when I’d buy food at the campus center and take it back to my house to eat alone. There were many groups dining on campus–lots of people I knew–but they seemed to belong to each other and not to me.

I also ate breakfast alone in college. I did this at the campus center. A fraternity guy who was in some of my economics classes was often there at the same time eating by himself. I enjoyed watching him discretely because he was handsome in a cartoonish way with big eyes and a broad mouth. We ate nearby each other many times but I never spoke to him–in the cafeteria or in class.

The third place the mealtime advice for older adults struck me was the present. In the longing I feel for close friendships (beyond my marriage). I’ve made some progress since college, but establishing friendships and feeling a sense of belonging are still things I struggle with. And things I hope to improve. Because I enjoy being alone but I want to stave off loneliness–especially as I age.

Giving Up the Good

About a year and a half ago I sensed it was time to make some changes. Things weren’t in a bad way. I was happy with what I was doing–devoting my time to comedy and other creative pursuits. But I wanted a new challenge. A new area to uncover. A new skill to learn.

This yearning for something new was constrained by what was old. Most of my time and intellectual energy were already spoken for. Taking on something new meant making cuts to activities I enjoyed doing. Giving up places and positions where I felt comfortable.

“Don’t be afraid to give up the good to go for the great.” -John D. Rockefeller

I came across this quote from Rockefeller in a productivity journal I was using at the time. Looking at my situation from this perspective made me more willing to change–to cut back on what I was doing so I could try something new.

I started another productivity journal recently and came across the same quote. Seeing it again satisfied me because since I first saw it I’ve learned a new skill (personal training) and started a new job I’m enjoying.

I do miss what was good, but I’m grateful to have had the courage to pursue the great.

My Favorite Parks are Cemeteries

I was on my fourth or fifth visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris when I overheard another American tourist, a young woman in her twenties, make this statement about the cemetery to her friends:

“I guess it’s a park…if you’re morbid.”

I didn’t know whether to fight her on it or thank her for her observation. Because I’m not sure whether I’m morbid.

The dictionary that pops up on my Google search defines morbid as “characterized by or appealing to an abnormal and unhealthy interest in disturbing and unpleasant subjects, especially death and disease.”

I’m definitely interested in death. I wrote a dissertation about it. And I’ve made no secret about my love of cemeteries. Check out my updated cemetery recommendations page that now includes Père Lachaise!

But I wouldn’t I characterize my interest as unhealthy or abnormal. I think that I think about death a healthy amount. An amount that lets me reflect upon what I want to do with my life and how I will handle change. An amount that lets me better understand the past by studying the lives of the deceased.

My favorite parks are cemeteries. And cemeteries are often the places I am happiest and the most at peace.

On the Occasion of our 8th Anniversary

In the year before our wedding, our sixth year together, David and I took dancing lessons. These were weekly private ballroom lessons with the occasional local swing or salsa night thrown in for practice. Our instructor helped us choreograph two dances for our wedding–a fox trot and a hustle. We spun and dipped and generally wowed our wedding guests. And to this day, we’re still able to bust out these moves learned long ago when the occasion calls for it (mainly other people’s weddings).

While we touched on it in our year of dance lessons, we never really learned how to tango–something I came to regret this summer when we found ourselves on the sidelines of tango nights by the Seine in Paris. I’d long associated tango with sexiness but hadn’t appreciated how much so until I witnessed dozens of French people dancing it simultaneously. There’s a closeness to it–the physical proximity between two people–and then there’s a stillness to it–pauses in the music where two dancers are just holding each other.

There was one pair I observed at the Seine who danced together all night. The woman, dressed in a short white dress and heels, clung closely to the man leading her, who was dressed in black pants and a black t-shirt. Through all their dancing, the woman’s eyes remained shut so tight lines formed at the corners. I’m not sure if they were married, but their movements seemed to me to embody marriage. Moving together through a familiar pattern, holding close, leading and following (sometimes blindly)–hoping you’ll be able sustain each other with what’s between you.

I hope David and I will have the opportunity to learn to tango someday (and return to Paris), but I know now is not the time for it. I’ve found there are seasons to our marriage and some are for having new experiences together (traveling through Europe) and some are for cultivating and maintaining what we already have (a house with a yard). Some seasons we are close together working toward a common goal (learning to dance) and others we spend more apart building individual skills (comedy, competitive gaming).

Growth has been a common theme throughout our marriage, and I’m proud of the ways that we’ve grown and changed together over these past eight years. And I’m excited for what’s to come.

If you can finish a dissertation

When I was in graduate school, there were a couple of students in my department who ran marathons. They were a few years ahead of me in the program, and I remember distinctly the advice one of them received from their advisor: “If you can finish a marathon, you can finish your dissertation.”

I’m set to run my first marathon tomorrow (the Publix Atlanta Marathon), and I’m going to use the converse of that statement as a mantra during my run: “if you can finish your dissertation, you can finish this marathon.”

Obviously the marathon requires it’s own set of prep work which I’ve done through training. I’ve followed a plan that’s given me a sense of how tough it’s going to be physically and mentally to finish 26.2 miles. I’ve gathered my gear and put together a racing strategy. When people ask me if I’m ready, I answer affirmatively. But I have doubts.

There was an occasion when I definitely wasn’t ready for the physical task at hand–during my first year of grad school when I went running with the marathoners. At the time, my regular running routine consisted of a mile or two in the flatter sections of Berkeley near the bay. I ran with the marathoners in the opposite direction–up into the hills behind Berkeley’s campus.

Less than a quarter mile into the run, I was already finding it difficult. I’d overdressed and was having trouble talking while the rest of them chatted comfortably. The incline grew steeper, and about a mile or so in, we came to a hill that looked like a wall. I excused myself while the rest of the group ventured forward on the trail.

I jogged back down to the department humiliated. I never tried to go running with the marathoners again although I continued to admire them from afar as they ran their marathons and finished their dissertations. I hoped to be like them one day, and perhaps tomorrow I will.

Committing to Change

When I signed up to run my first marathon (which I’m planning to do this March), there was one registration question I found odd. It asked about my relationship with running and whether I considered myself a casual or committed runner.

“I’m signing up for a marathon,” I thought. “This is my demonstration of commitment. What more do you want from me?”

Despite my initial reaction, I selected casual on the form. And in the months that followed, I found out what they meant by commitment. Starting with the week I was set to begin my training when it rained every day in Atlanta.

Commitment is scrutinizing weather radar maps hoping you can sneak in a run between showers.

There was the time I spent with my family over the holidays. One of my favorite things to do when I’m home is walk with my mom in Spring Grove Cemetery. But I needed to get my runs in while I was there so instead we’d go to the cemetery together and she would walk while I ran.

Commitment is asking the people in your life to give you the space and support you need to accomplish your goals.

This past week traveling to Baltimore I needed to get a long run in, and I was excited for it going into the trip because I love running by water (and don’t get to do a lot of that in Atlanta). But then the weather in Baltimore turned out to be cold and dreary.

Commitment is gearing up and getting out there anyway.

When I did make it out for a run, there was a lot of stopping and starting because of traffic lights and looking at my map to see where I was going and needing to find a bathroom and a disjointed route that followed the rectangular piers along the shoreline. Eventually I had to cut the run way short to make it back to my hotel in time for dinner.

Commitment is trying again in the face of failure.

When I made it out again on a cold Saturday morning in Baltimore, I was rewarded with less traffic, clearer paths, and better views. Looking out over the harbor from Federal Hill Park was a mountaintop moment in the figurative sense (and a hilltop moment in the literal sense). Beautiful views and a sense of connection to a city that’s not mine—this is why I run.

Commitment is slogging through the tough moments, spending a lot of time in neutral, and relishing those mountaintop moments when you get what you came for.

Costs and Benefits of Change

Change requires investment. Today I want to talk about the different types of costs we face when we look to make change in our lives and how we can compare these to the benefits we might accrue from making change.

MONEY. It’s the most obvious cost we pay for change and the feasibility of making a particular change is easily quantifiable in this area. For example, last year I wanted to be better about my finances so I paid for YNAB, a budgeting app. The price for the app is currently $6.99/month, but I know I’ve saved a lot more than that by using it so it’s a worthwhile investment. I’d love to solve my current cleaning dilemma by hiring a professional, but thanks to YNAB I know this isn’t feasible monetarily right now. So instead I paid a one time fee for a cleaning app, and I’m prepared to invest my own…

TIME. It’s such a finite resource when you get down to it. So any change you’re looking to make, you have to ask yourself if it’s worthwhile enough to invest your time. Keep in mind many changes require a lot of time up front to plan, learn a new skill, etc., but the time costs sink dramatically once you’ve acquired the skill and the change becomes routine. For example, when David and I moved in together, we spent a lot of time learning how to cook by watching food shows, making recipes from cookbooks, and going to one awesome class on sausage and bacon making in San Francisco. We’re no longer as “into food” as we were when we lived in the Bay Area, but we can easily pull together a nice dinner now because we invested that time long ago.

SOCIAL. There are a lot of elements to this with the most obvious cost being that change might mean disassociating with certain people in your life. Perhaps they’re not supportive of the change you’re making or your new routine doesn’t allow you to spend time doing the social activities you engaged in with them. Remember, though, change can also bring new people into your life and improve your current relationships. For instance, I’d say that gaining a better understanding of our finances over the past year has improved my marriage by 3%. I’m hopeful establishing a better cleaning routine results in another 3% improvement this year.

OTHER OPPORTUNITIES. Choosing to make a change in one particular area can leave us without enough money, time, energy, etc. to make changes in other areas. An easy example–I love taking classes, but there are only so many classes I can afford and have time to take. I have to consider what’s most important for me right now. Is it becoming a better on camera actor? Learning to rock climb? Improving my photography skills? Being clear on what change you’re making and what changes you’ll have to forgo for the time being can help focus your efforts and make success more likely.

EMOTIONAL. I’ve saved this variable for last because it’s complicated, difficult to quantify, and the cost I find most overwhelming when I’m looking to make change. The challenge I’m trying to take on this year is a perfect example. I have so much baggage around cleaning that engaging in it involves not only physical labor on my part but emotional labor as well. When I go to clean my tub, I’m not just cleaning the tub–I’m confronting past decisions and fears. It’s exhausting, and in the past, the mental toll has felt like too much. But now, building on success in other areas, I’m hopeful I can take my cleaning from sporadic and driven by necessity to routine. And I’m hopeful that by engaging with it more cleaning will become less emotionally taxing for me.

To summarize, when you’re looking to make a change it’s important to ask yourself these questions:

How much will this change cost monetarily? How does this monetary cost compare to the anticipated gains?
What time investment is required to make this change? Will making this investment save me time later on once I’ve acquired the skill, made this a habit, etc.?
How will this change affect my relationships? Will I lose touch with certain people? Will new people come into my life? Will making this change improve my relationships?
By choosing to make this change, what other changes will I not be able to make? Is this change more important to me than those changes?
Am I emotionally ready to make this change? If not, are there other changes that I can make that will help me prepare for this change? How will I emotionally benefit from this change?

The Token Start

January 1, 2019 I tackled two tasks in my kitchen: cleaning out my refrigerator and replacing bulbs in the overhead light fixture which had been down to one bulb out of three for far too long.

My intention in taking on these tasks was to jumpstart progress on my New Year’s resolution to declutter and develop a more consistent cleaning routine around my home. I figured Day 1 I’d take on something small, a token gesture to signal my enthusiasm, and then Day 2 I’d really get to work.

But Day 2 came and my schedule shifted unexpectedly as it often does. So instead of cleaning the living room, dining room, and bedroom as I’d planned, I took on another token gesture–clearing the clutter from my bedside table and wiping it down.

Now here we are at Day 3, and I’m hopeful I can make a dent in the living room tasks listed as overdue on Tody, an app I’m using to keep track of what needs cleaning. Even if I don’t manage to finish everything listed on the app, I’ll still have made progress.

Three days into the new year my house isn’t as clean as I’d like, but my kitchen is brighter and the fridge feels fresh. My bedside table is clear and calm. And I’m hopeful that by being consistent and tackling something daily I’ll be able to develop the cleaning routine I’m aiming for this year.

Every entrance is an exit from somewhere else

I just wrapped up a six-week acting class with Tim Phillips focused on Building the Physical Life of the Character. I learned a lot in the class about how to take time with a script, be patient, and discover a character. I’m grateful for the process Tim shared and also for the bits of wisdom he sprinkled into the class.

“Every entrance is an exit from somewhere else.”

This was a note Tim gave to some other students regarding the top of their scene when their characters were returning home. It’s one of those obvious statements that nonetheless blows your mind.

Of course the character is influenced by where they’ve just been! How can I use this to start the scene in a dynamic place?

Where you’ve been matters. This is true for characters on stage, and I think it’s also true in life. Whenever you enter a new situation, your attitude and desires in that situation are influenced by where you’ve been and what you’ve gone through.

On a day to day basis, this can be as simple as coming home grumpy after a long work day. On a broader time horizon, this can be wanting a new stage of life to be different from what came before (e.g., college to be different than high school).

I’m in a phase of life right now where I’m trying to pivot and change what I do day to day so I can make a bit more money and keep pushing myself creatively. Unlike my last major career change (leaving academia), I’m not trying to abandon what I’ve been doing, but I’m trying to build on it in a more clear direction.

I’m finding the pivoting process challenging because I’m bringing to it baggage from the past few years. I think about moments of disappointment and want to change the direction I’m going and do a 180 shift again.

But this isn’t practical or sustainable. Every situation I could put myself in will come with its own problems. All I can do now is recognize where I’ve been and how that’s influencing my current state of mind and where I want to go next.

Because I’ll leave this stage too and enter somewhere else.