size matters

i was just saying that i take safety into consideration more than others might think.  i argued that sometimes safety conscience decisions lead someone to be "overly cautious".  they make the choice that seems prudent and adult at the time, but quickly realize that what they choose is not what they want.  what they want is most likely bigger, faster and stronger than what they have.  they are then in the position of replacing the safe choice with the real desire, or living with safety rather than enjoyment.  no matter what anyone tries to tell you, when it comes to enjoyment, size does matter.

there has been a debate raging in my head for the months.  i wanted to recapture a piece of my youth, but realized that i was past the point just leaping back on and going for it.  i needed to weigh the cost and benefits.  i needed to decide if the risk was worth the reward.  i wanted to do something which made perfect sense to me, but i was sure would cause others to question my sanity.

i wanted to buy and ride a motorcycle.  i could not get the desire out of my head, every time i was stuck in a traffic jam and watched the parade of local scooters flow by, i wondered why i was so old and protected in my mid-sized commuter mobile.  i imagined myself in the flow of traffic.  lane-splitting my way home, and cutting my commute time in half.  this "object desire" came close to being an obsession as i considered and rejected multiple plans to scratch my itch for speed.

i test drove a 500 cc royal enfield classic.  this was the first time i had been on a bike in ... a long time.  i was able to take the bike around the area, and get it up into third gear.  the feeling of power as it moved from zero to 60 km was amazing.  i was completely sold that i wanted to get a bike, but i was not sold on it being this one.  i did more research and found reviews that discussed low highway speed and shuddering that "felt like god had grabbed the handle and shook it".  this was not the experience i was looking for, i decided to do the adult thing and wait for another option.

i was still doing internet research.  the standard advice was to start smaller and then upgrade.  the memory of the 500 cc pulling itself off the line was there, the thill of the power and speed.  was it too much?  should i be more conservative?  would it be safer if i started with a 250?  would the smaller bike even make it up a hill with me on it.  let's be clear, a bike built for an asian frame does not sell in the US for a good reason.   we are bigger and used to speed.  would a smaller bike be a sad reminder that bigger is better; in the most negative way.

i test drove a 250, still enough power to be respectable.  but the size of the bike was cramped.  i could see it working, but knew it would be temporary.  it was also a cruiser, which was not what i wanted.  i have this old school image of riding a cafe racer.  all the rage now with a certain segment of the 40-something crowd; and for me a touch less annoying than the wild hogs of american chopper infatuation.  i love the idea of a bike that comes into its own by stripping all the extras away, by grinding pieces of the frame away and beating the gas tank into a tucked in shape.  beauty and power within the less is more metaphor.

and then i found it.  a local bike customized down into a japanese brat package.  close to the cafe image, in a small and tight asia implementation.  the test drive happened on the hill outside the condo.  my idea was that if it climbed the hill with me attached then there was plenty of opening power.  the 175 cc was surprisingly fun and more powerful than i expected.  it is a small bike, but it was passed the test by defeating slope and mass with acceleration.  there were two days of torment as i tried to decided; more worried about how i looked than how it felt.  how i felt won, and the deal was done.

i am now into my third weekend of ownership.  i am happy with the way the bike gets around.  it doesn't have the top-end speed that will allow it to be the one for the long term, but it is fun and is perfect as the training-bike i made the mature-choice to buy.  it was also 7% of the price of the bike that i really wanted.   i am riding at a deep discount to the original object of desire.  as i go from place to place, tucked into the bike to drive the speedometer over the 100km mark, it's more fun than i expected.  but this is not the bike for the longterm.  it gets me around the expat enclaves, and brought me into the city today.  but we are not going onto the highway; for that, we need to upgrade.

this was the right choice of conservative caution.  it ticked off all the boxes of need; but not all those of want.  if you see me on the bike and have a comment, bring it on.  but understand that i am happy with the choice.  i will also be happy with the next choice.  the next one will be bigger, faster and stronger.  it will scratch that itch to take on more.  it will be the platform for the customization that only an over-40 engineer/executive would take on.

i might be a spoiled little boy with too much time, money and lack of adult oversight; but i am also man enough to know that one-size does not fit all.

my little brat is just what i need.

/******
i know boys and girls who might want it, but maybe i will keep the brat anyway.  why give up on your first, even if the upgrade is even better in the corners.
******/

writer blocked

its nearly three months since i last wrote.  i have been far below the normal production level over the past year.  the last time i made the effort to consistently express myself was a year ago.  it happened when i was away by myself on my favorite beach.  i am back for another holiday holiday, and i have wanted to write, but after a week i am just now breaking out the air to try to let the thoughts loose.  i have had to accept that i find myself blocked, i am not sure how or why but i have not been able to share.

the past year has been one of change and impending change.  during times of change i tend to withdraw, which may be what has happened to me over the past twelve months.  but i have not found myself curled up on the couch, alone with my woobie.  as those closest know, that is the historical sign of my withdrawal.  more recently my version of withdrawl translates to a vacation seeking comfortable space.  but have you noticed that vacations also allow me to open up and write?  getting away drives my need to open up, and it enhances my crave to connect.

i see this as a positive sign.  rather than taking space to allow the inner devils to embrace the darkness, i have come to sit in the sun and strip layers off.  i have been needing to get away for months now.  finally the migration, the post-migration and the reorganization are all over.  strategic alternatives have lingered, but the need to be in the northern kingdom have slowed to the point where i can get away.  there is plenty of work left to do, but it will wait for the new year.  i have disconnected.

the underlying reason for the congestion of thought i have been experiencing is difficult to diagnose.  much like my allergies, what causes them is not always clear, the stuffiness comes when it comes.

in both cases, the causes are hard to pin down because they have complexity.  it is not one single trigger, they layer upon each other.  part of it i am sure is that circumstances have changed.  i have always talked about things happening around me, and given structural changes going on around me i have been less and less able to be open.  some of these blocks were cultural, some were familial or organizational, but some have been legal.  given the cross currents of demands to say less and protect information, i have imposed a "say nothing til you hear more" rule of thumb.  my other default compensation technique to reduce complexity and ensure simplicity.

i have also considered the fact that i have simply not had the space to sit and do this.  given the [overly long] style of my writing, i need time to accomplish this, and i have not felt as though the time was there for me.  but i have been here for almost 6 days, i had my laptop out for google/wiki/youtube and nightly fringe, i still didn't even attempt to send thoughts into the ethernet.

two days ago i spent the afternoon doing cold reads on two very nice new friends.  friends could be too strong a statement, i don't know their names, have no contact information and unless the winds of fate somehow drive us to the same line in an airport some day we will probably never speak again.  but as we sat and chatted over halal-beverages, there was a surprising level of sharing going on.  i learned things, some of which were not expected.  while i was there i realized that rather than writing, i was spending time with real people and talked rather than typing.

this morning i decided it was time to buckle down and cast some thoughts.  i had a 20 minute conversation concerning the correct location.  caffeine, alt-cafe tunes and armchair comfort are all key to my process, the much to long conversation sent me to the starbucks so close that my motorcycle barely warmed up getting here.  i struck up another conversation in line, and a third when i sat down.  going to a very american version of the worlds coffee location and talking to a surprising number of amercians took precedence over typing.  again, real connections over the semi-anonymous conversation this medium brings.

is that it then?  have i somehow found myself in a place where my extroversion has finally wiped away my need for distance?  rather than observing from a safe distance, i am directly interacting.  the nice couple from seattle who live in china ended our conversation by telling me "we come here every day... at 11:00 am".  that kind of specificity seems to invite further conversations.  still no contact information, still limited name exchange, but connection.

i am writing now.  funky christmas tunes are decking the halls around me.  i am watching the multi-cultural groups pausing around me.  an indonesian chinese couple and teenage son just moved from the sun warmed chairs to the shade-covered couch touching my chair.  a little too close for my american sense of personal space, and the dark sunglasses dad is wearing inside do not invite conversation.  mom seems nice and keep smiling at me; actually that is a little more sketchy than the shades in the shade.  i doubt this will turn into a blocking conversation.  good thing, i am typing again and want to keep the flowing motion.

the congestion has lifted, i am able to breath again.  the weight on my chest has gone, i can take a deep breath and feel the air filling my lungs.  i can touch the air and feel myself opening up.

hopefully you are not offended by the sounds of me clearing my blocked head.

prosecuting gandhi

when i was younger i considered a career as a lawyer. my liberal family would have hoped that i would become a defense attorney, maybe not a public defender, but someone who would stand up for the accused and provide them with the best defense possible. the problem i had with this was the collection of friends i had as an early teen. they had provided me with the insight that most of those accused were guilty. rather than getting guilty people off, i wanted to help put them away, protecting society from the mayhem.

growing up with near-hippy parents, and wanting to be the protector of the conservative social order could sound strange. but having lived in a chaotic situation, you begin to understand why rules are put in place. as one of my college professors said, "there are lions and there are lambs, you need to decide which you want your children to be". i somehow grew up with the shaggy hair, and protective demeanor of a shepard dog. sitting on the hill, watching the flock and ready to intervene to keep the lambs from the lion.

but when i came time to go to college, i did not find a pre-law track, i went education. i believed it would be better to intervene earlier, to teach the lambs to think for themselves rather than needing to be led through life through fear of the shepards crook. none of this turned out as planned, i never taught, i found a path that allowed me to design and build automation rather than social systems. but as the years have passed my desire to tightly control has been replaced with the original freedoms of the liberal environment i developed within.

spending 4 years watching the cloistered monastic communities of my university years struggle against the modern realities of the post-enlightenment years, trying to reconcile a conservative framework with the the entitlements and opportunities of the educated futures they were building, convinced me that closed was not the way for me. the portraits of human greatness ended with mahatma gandhi, the father of modern india and creator of non-violent civil disobedience called ahimsa. reading the material, brought into sharp contrast how a conservative regime can be overcome by allowing them to attempt to strangle freedoms from their people.

the intervening years have allowed me to learn much more about myself and the the world than i ever could have known during college. i have resisted change myself and felt the irrationality of trying to hold back the tide. i am currently witnessing change similar to the 1960s collapse of the conservative order of post-WW2 america. a country pushing itself in two directions at once, and feeling the tension of straining against itself.

i am very glad i didn't become the protector of conservative order i thought i wanted to be in my youth. embracing the liberalism of modern-life has given me the opportunities i have so throughly enjoyed. i once said i was not a role model. at the time i was quoting charles barkley without thinking about the new role i was taking on. a life and a half later, i recognize that i am a role model, but maybe not the one my early conservative self would have expected.

there was a story in the journal a few months ago that discussed a new book on gandhi. the title of the book is great soul, the message is that gandhi was a complex man who lived in a time when the modern world was evolving. he is also a man who embraced a celibacy while married to a woman, wrote letters to a man describing him as the love of his life, and who lost close associates from his inner circle based on his "experiments" of sleeping naked with young girls. the book only focused on these points by publishing gandhi's own words, and never drew conclusions. the book, of course, caused strong reactions from those who have put the man on a pedestal and refuse to accept him as a man with personal demons.

the issue with taking a conservative view, and attempting to defend it, is that new details come to light, and you are forced to square them with an out of date set of believes; this can cause intense pain. conservatism comes from the latin conservare "to preserve", while liberalism comes from the latin liberalis "of freedom". as the world opens up, and conservative threads continue to unwind, those who give themselves the freedom to learn and experience life are in a better, less painful, position. they are not trying to hold back the tide that is coming no matter how hard they resist.

gandhi more than the symbol, he was a man and lived a much more complex life than we were led to believe. that does not diminish what he accomplished or change the freedom he brought to his country. there is no reason to prosecute him today for the life he lived then, but there is also no reason to shy away from understanding what that life was. understanding is always better than ignoring, it gives you the freedom to adjust to the new realities.

why preserve an out of date view? its like last weeks fish, the smell isn't going away no matter how much you try to cover it up and if you continue to feed on it, sooner or later you are going to wish you were a vegetarian.

crisis averted

i am sitting in my favorite KL coffee shop, eating a grilled blueberry muffin, drinking a very well made 4 shot cappuccino; with a little dollop of whipped cream; because the life is better that way. i am getting on a plane tomorrow to one of my favorite places in the world, a week long holiday that comes right when i need it; a break from the craziness at a time when the teams have direction and should not need me looking over their shoulders. life is clearly good, more so because my morning started with the elimination of a looming crisis.

the crisis would not have been carried in the news. it would not have been as devastating as the japanese tsunami, or as disruptive as the iceland volcano, but for me it is something i am glad is not happening this year. it could happen in the future and when it does i am going to need to roll with it and accept, but for now it is something on the back burner of fear.

living on the opposite side of the planet comes with issues. small things like buying a bottle of ibuprofen to help manage the stress headaches comes with worry of import inspectors. buying sneakers involves internet orders, assisted shipping and month long delivery schedules. these are small things that most americans do by dropping into a mall on the way to somewhere else. i am somewhere else, and dropping into the mall is not an option. planning and logistics have become second nature, which is not easy for a "code, test, debug -- repeat" engineer.

the crisis that was averted was the delivery much more important to me than ibuprofen. it is actually the drug that i really need more than any other, it's the one i hold my breath for all year. it comes with even more negotiation and stress than any other. normally the planning begins in march, but i know i have been avoiding the conversation. avoiding not because i didn't want to ensure success, but because i was afraid of failure.

the planning began a few weeks ago, but no details were exchanged. at that point, i found that i could get 2/3 of my order immediately, with the hope of the final portion before the end of the year. this was a new option, previously it was one delivery a year. i like the idea of the order being split, but there were more details that needed to be resolved.

i woke up yesterday morning and made three international calls. the first was to guy that had no dates he could confirm and was in a rush to move onto the next thing he was doing. he asked me to call back today, and confirm plans with his chief of operations. the second was not answered, this is the hardest connection to make, but only involved the second order so it was not crucial for me to resolve the issues i needed to discuss. the final call was not really about the logistics, it was more of a general touch base that evolved into a discussion of dates and timing.

and that is where the rub was. it looked as though we would be under deep time pressures this year. it was strongly possible that the delivery could take place but that i would need to ship back much sooner than i hoped. when you go to the effort to plan your year around getting something, you do not want to send it back as soon as it comes. the discussion of timing was not clear and i decided to wait a day before worrying about it. but, worry i did. my life is pretty much about anticipation of looming crisis, and this was just one more thing to try to breath my way through.

when i woke up this morning, i was thinking about my favorite drugs and if i could get them or not. i miss having them, i miss the thrill of experiencing them, the way they open me up and let me laugh. they are the thing i miss the most when i am here, and they are what makes me want to go back to the US more than anything else. i like asia, but asia does not have anything like this and i know i need to go back if i am going to have more of it than i have now.

one final call this morning. they are going to do an early shipping date, and the abrupt return i was worried about is not a requirement. so rather than the less than two weeks i thought i would have, i will actually have close to 5. as i heard this, i let out a huge sigh of relief. one more year will pass and again i will have my kids here in KL with me. the junkie desire i have been feeling build is going to be satisfied, i felt my stress headache melt away.

so i am here for today, i am going to a quiet island tomorrow, i have everything i need in life and the time to enjoy those things. i have a series of new logistics to work out, and i am sure there will be bumps along the way, but at this point i don't care at all. my kids are coming to spend time with me.

they are my biggest high of the year, and their time is best thing i could ask for.

self driven

i was driving home the other night and looked over to see someone being chauffeured in a hyundai. because i also drive a hyundai, and are still regularly asked if i drive myself, i began to think about why someone would need a driver and what it says about the country where so many people expect that i would want one.

when i first came to malaysia, i took a cab to the hotel close to my meetings, then another into KL for a weekend of site-seeing. that was the end of my being driven in this country. while wandering around KL, i bought a map at a book store. next i rented a car and began to find my way around. a drive from cyberjaya to nilai, my first long drive on the highway while sitting in what had always been the "passenger seat", reminded me of the first long drive i did solo while a teenager. both trips were a rite of passage of sorts, moments of self imposed fear that allowed me to confront the emotion and take control of my independence.

i have a friend of a friend here who is over 40 and does not have a license to drive. he gets around on public transit and through the good will of others. this is really not as uncommon as i first thought. i can quickly come up with a list of people i know here who began to drive in their thirties, or are "getting ready to start driving". even the people who do drive frequently say "sorry, i can't go there, i do not know my way". being able to find your way, without requiring someone else to lead, is what being self driven is all about.

i used to stop into an expat coffeeshop on the way to the office. occasionally a black van would pull up outside and a pretty chinese woman about 30 would get out. she did not come in alone, there were always two guys who did not smile and took up protective positions at the front and back of the cafe as she was ordering. when she left, they would quietly follow and load themselves back into the van with blacked out windows. the driver who had been standing next to the van watching the street outside was the last to get in before they pulled away.

the second or third time i witnessed this, one of the baristas leaned over and whispered to me, "do you know who that is"? when he gave me a name, i had never heard it. then he said, "her father owns mid-valley, they are afraid she is going to be kidnapped, so she as a driver and guards". this is definitely a reason i can understand. but i wonder how many of the people with drivers are in a situation like this? maybe, they just want people to think they are.

asking why malaysian's have drivers i was told it's not the driving, but the parking that is the issue. given the state of parking here, i see some of the logic behind this. but you would think that after paying 3 times more for a car than it would cost in a country not using protectionist tariff policy to give jobs to proton workers, paying the added cost for jockey parking would not be a deal breaker. doing some quick math, i guess i spend an extra RM 200 (USD 65) on jockey parking a month. a driver would cost me 10 - 20 times that. jockey parking to save time and money, it might be a challenging idea, but only for the math-illiterate.

when i think of the conspicuous consumption of having a driver in the US, i think of mr. big, the role model who is carrie's soulmate in sex and the city. having a full time driver in the NYC will easily cost USD 200K a year. having so many of the scenes with big and carrie in his car is a constant reminder of his wealth and status. seeing big roll down the window is really enough, but having him say, "change of plans jimmy, let's take the lady down town" is the classic big moment where he changes his busy schedule just to do something nice for carrie. for big, time is more important than money, and that is what he gives carrie when he offers his driver.

but the person i saw being driven up the sprint was almost the opposite. being driven in a hyundai, reading the sports page to keep up on the EPL, and trying to look important enough to warrant a driver comes off as small, not the big that one might have in mind as they cut the monthly check. new rule: if you cannot afford the limousine, don't hire the driver.

i drive myself because i enjoy it. i use the moments behind the wheel as meditation, where my mind can wander as the driving moves to a semi-autopilot mode. i enjoy the experience of wandering in new areas, getting lost and finding my own way. i like having a map of the world in my head, that i can tap into and find a new way between two points. i am not sure why you would give these moments away to someone else. why would you delegate the adventure of experience to someone else? it is too easy to let life slip by unnoticed, all the more when you are in the back seat reading a newspaper.

being self driven is the only way to live life. it allows you to find new places, to take new routes and to learn as you experience the day. being in control of your vehicle and the destinations that you reach, teach you that you can accomplish anything you set out to do. without facing those fears, you would be forced to stay in the small space you started in, or where ever your driver was able to take you.

when i am asked if i drive myself, i smile and say:

"of course i do, don't you"?

in threes

i woke up early this morning and tried to decide what to do. i went to sleep with a fever and slept in a pool of sweat. i woke up sore, tired and hungry as the sun came up. i wanted to both start the day and go back to sleep. as i laid pondering the options, i sensed a feeling of dread. there was something wrong with the force. i hate when i connect with my yoda side, because it is normally a precursor to something bad that is about to happen. it's a bit past noon and i am well on my way to knowing why i wanted to stay in bed today.

the phone rang a few hours later. i had slept and woken back up. i was laying there trying to decide how to structure my day. i have an appointment later today that i wanted to cancel. i needed food and had no idea which of the limited choices to indulge. i listened to the conversation, by the third word i knew it was one of those calls you do not want to receive on a rainy sunday morning. actually, the feeling of dread lifted a bit when it turned out that the car accident that was being discussed was without personal injury. a mercedes coupe was broken, and a friend needed a ride, but the thoughts of hospitals and tubes were washed away.

i wasn't needed for this errand of rescue. this was a pick-up and drop-off. the first event was not over, but it was not a crisis.

that is when the second event came in the form of an email. the email was titled "tears" and included the words, "i took my life at 5 AM this morning". i looked at the time it was sent, midnight, just after i had fallen asleep. it was from someone who successfully accomplishes almost everything she tries. at that moment i believed i had found the dread of the day, my friend has been dealing with the crumbling of one commitment and had decided to commit to another direction. as i sat and looked at the words, i remembered my grandfather who took the ultimate control of his life, making a final statement, by controlling the time and place of his death.

i continued reading the words and found that the statement was made, but thankfully the act was not successful. the issue with friends who are overachievers is that you know they accomplish the things they set out to do. there was no regret, there was cold and hard analysis of the situation. there is clearly a desire to finish the project. overachievers learn from their mistakes, they get better at execution and they hit their goals. all thoughts that again remind me of my equally achieving grandfather.

the second event is not over, but the crisis is probably not going to be today. today is for the feelings of sorrow that someone i care about would want to select this as their next project.

the dread of the day has not abated. being a superstitious rationalist i am all too aware of the rule of three, and being a surfer i know that the last wave in the set is normally the largest. i am standing back and waiting for the last wave now. i am hoping the wave is not a tsunami, because i have no idea where the evacuation zone is. i would like to believe the wave is not coming, but as a long time rider of the waves i can still feel the set rolling in. now i know why my arms ached this morning,

my inner-yoda was telling me to paddle.

//*******************************************

people build walls to stop waves from washing them away don't they? like the walls in new orleans that collapsed and flooded the city. reminding us why walls need to be maintained.

********************************************//

saying nothing

it’s been months since i have published. the time has passed and i have had random moments and thoughts, but they have passed without being considered. i have been busy, i have written but allowed the words to be lost in a crash and unrecovered when restarting, i have gotten close and then reconsidered the desire to hit continue. something has stopped me from writing; i can’t seem to commit to the process. i need to figure out what, because my writing had become more than just a thing to do in a café.

i was given some advice last year. the advice was that my writing was too long. i needed to keep it short and get to the point. the advice was professional, and made sense coming from someone who read all my emails on a blackberry, but it has impacted this writing also. i no longer have the time to sit and craft a long message that no one is going to read. i enjoy the process, but it feels like a waste. i feel the muse moving away, pushed because she is impatient. she wants to get to the point, but it was never about getting to the point; it was seeing where the journey would take us. the muse has been driven away by the boredom and frustration of waiting and i remain on the wandering path.

i read a book a few weeks ago on a plane. the book started as a discussion of why talk therapy is a better solution to alternative psychological states than drugs. the basic premise was that talking allows people in need to get in touch with the deeper cause of their issues. when patients come in to discuss a recent tragedy, they tend to also discuss long ago events. they spend time passing through their lives one painful memory at a time. the author was advocating a culture of listening rather than medicating as a solution to finding solutions.

beginning to write was a way to talk things out. at a time when i was experiencing so many new things, and reconsidering many old, i found digital words to be therapeutic. capturing the moment, thinking through the entire thought, felt right. too many moments had simply passed away and were fading over time. it felt empowering to stop and remember, to realize that new moments were happening and would not just fade as easily into the past. events could be shared, if not immediately then someday in the future when someone took the time to listen.

but part of writing is about trust. trusting yourself to let go and allow yourself to open up, and trusting your readers to listen to your words and not filter then through their preconceptions. we all have cognitive structure bias, those thought patterns that allow us to skim along and make fast judgments in a chaotic world. we hear what we expect to hear, see what we expect to see and add or subtract as needed to fit the world into our comfortable pre-conceived forms.

the issues start when you realize that your readers do not have the same bias as your own. i had a college professor who did an exhibit the semester after i took his art appreciation class. i went to the exhibit with a friend and we stood in front of the work displaying willows on a snow covered field. my friend commented that the work was just about white trees, but i sensed something different. the professor had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident a year before, and as i looked at the center trees, i saw the blackness of the deep forest behind. the work was about the dark depth and the importance of the individual trees, two that i sensed to be missing from the stand on that cold winter day after a new snowfall.

other people’s biases impact our work, they stop them from seeing the truth, and after a while you wonder if there is any reason to keep talking. if they are just going to read their lives into the work, why do you keep making the effort? if you do work you may not publish; no risk of going public ruining it. you need to learn to stack your art in the corner and let it wait for a difference audience.

maybe i have been avoiding writing because i had nothing to say, or maybe because i didn’t trust myself to open up enough to make the process worthwhile. but it could also be that the thoughts are not ready to be added to the cornered pile.

then again, the real issue could be that sitting and doing nothing is easier than working on something that would be read through filters of bias.

/***********************

there is an old irish saying: "say nothing, till you hear more". sometimes, less really is more.

************************/

scar scared

before last year ended, i went into a place for the third time and scheduled an appointment.  i had been there with my daughter last year, and a second time to ask questions, but the last time i went to get an appointment.  the appointment was today, and i have been stressed increasingly as the date approached.  what the hell was i doing?  why did i want to make this choice?

the choice was to get a tattoo.  i have gone back and forth on this for two years now.  somehow, something i never wanted to do before had a strong draw.  it started one day at the pool with my, beautiful indian former girlfriend.  she had a tattoo on her back that looked wonderful on her.  it was a strange contrast to both her skin and her personality.  i still find it strange that the tattoo was the chinese character for tranquility.  given she was tamil and based on the symbol.

since that day, i have been considering today.  8 weeks ago i climbed three flights of stairs, made an appointment and walked away with a slip of paper that has been stuck on my refrigerator's door.  that scrap has been a daily reminder of the scheduled meeting with permanent ink.

my daughter was here last year, and left with a row of tattoos on her back.  she also choose chinese characters.  she called on the way home to tell me about them, there was excitement and satisfaction in her voice.  i could tell she saw this as the first act of her adulthood.  she had made a choice that was going to be her's to wear for the rest of her life.  she was happy that we had allowed it, and that she was capable of carrying out the decision.

i know, your saying "how can you allow your teenage daughter to do something like get a tattoo"?  you may not know my kids.  if you do, you also know they have strong and capable minds of their own.  besides, she was putting a needle with ink into herself, not one filled with drugs.  the thing that was going to stay with her was a row of marks on her back, not a child or an STD.  in the grand scheme of things, we were happy with this if it helped to eliminate something that would be worse.

why is being friends with your kids and letting them make their own choices considered bad?  best-case she loves it and you trusting her with the power of choice.  worst case, she hates it and and realizes that things can dumb; even those that seem like a good idea at the time.  the latter would be a valuable lesson, the former is what we ended up with that day.

so here i am; in a crazy way following in my teenager's footsteps.  i am going to a place full of chinese guys with tattoos all over them.  they remind you of a group of young yakuza on the way to a life of crime.  but spending even a few minutes with them shows you they are talented young guys who have somehow found the pleasure of using their body as a mobile canvas of self-expression.  impressionistic artists rather than violent crime members; but it is obvious how the mistake could be made.

finally today came, and i wondered if i would find a way to avoid going.  would i choose to not choose?  would i have a change of heart and construct some simple excuse to not sit for hours while ink is pushed into my skin by electrically controlled needles?  the time inched closer and i knew i had to move to make my appointment.

i walked in right on time, they looked at me and said, "you had an appointment with who?"  the artist wasn't even there.  my appointment had been lost.  there was a 10 minute search though manual files and a box of old registers.  there were two staff members, guys who were not brothers but looked a lot alike.  i was told it was just the duplicate glasses they wore that formed the illusion of siblinghood.  in the end, they proved i was telling the truth and was not just a walk-in trying to con my way into an quick artistic scarring.  

"boy" had made a mistake and not written the appointment down.  they offered to let me punch him in the face.  i appreciated the offer, but declined.  then again, these were people i was going to pay to stick me with needles, i didn't think giving one of them reason for retribution was a healthy start to the relationship.

i was vindicated, but i am still un-scarred.  i had waited for 8 weeks, and my time with virgin skin continues.  i feel like a teenager, anticipating something that adults warn to consider more than once before doing.  people have told me not to rush into this, others have suggested i should just get drunk and do it.  it makes me think about the first time...  hmmmm, let's not go there.  

now, there is a piece of tracing paper sitting on an artists desk, waiting to have my tattoo drawn.  i will need to build myself up, and walk up those stairs one more time.  all of this to do something i wondered if i would ever do. 

why do i want to do something haram?  well, it's not haram for me is it?  which is probably exactly why i am doing it.  (un)fortunately, there is no one to tell me not to do it.  i am making my own decisions, and if i make a bad one i will wear it.  this is an act of self expression, a statement to the world that i will not be able to simply cover up.  placement is key to this, but let's wait to discuss that.

just like my daughter's, my elected scar could be the first of my adult acts.

storm junkie

i told someone a few months ago that they were an adrenaline junkie. some people say it takes one to know one. they came back to me this week and confirmed i was right. also that not only did the adrenaline rush in the middle of the fight feel good, but that it had lasting effects. the rush of crisis driven adrenaline one day, improved overall balance and control the next.

for the rush, some will do things that i have never had to resort to. they will jump out of a perfectly good airplane or they will step off of a pedestal attached to a rubber-band. if you know me you might say that my driving is a search for a rush; honestly i am simply rushing.

to feel the adrenaline i need to feel that i am not in control. even when i am driving at double the speed limit the feeling of control is perfectly type-A. the one exception might be when my “top of the line” malaysian car’s breaks fire without me touching them. this only happens during torrential downpours that come with monsoon season. the rush does not come from the driving, but as a result of the storm.

to experience my rush, i need to be enveloped within a storm. is it a surprise that i made a game of watching lightening storms with my children? it is clearly not a surprise that i continue to find myself in the middle of storms, ones that i happily rush into. rather than battening down the hatches and riding it out hidden down below, you will find me up on deck holding onto the tiller and laughing into the wind. bring on the waves and lightening, it wouldn’t be a storm without them.

this week reminded me of a bright blue day during my college summers. i was sitting in a tower above the sand and was bored with the monotony of yet another clear day. this is when the radio made a sound and said the words, “this is an emergency weather advisory”. i looked north and saw the black clouds coming towards me, the excitement began. for the next 2 hours reports continued and the wall of clouds and lightening pressed closer. in front of me i had happy swimmers who had no idea what was coming, and behind me the storm was raging.

we cleared the beach as the squall came close enough to feel it's effects. the beach was empty, but i stayed in my tower. light drops blown forward were replaced by pelts of driven rain. the wall of clouds and falling water enveloped my world and i was surrounded by lightening strikes, one after the next. the sound of thunder and the spectacle of light was elemental excitement. i sat high above the sand and relished it, i was literally in the middle of the storm and it felt amazing; i had no control over the storm, the rush came from being part of something beyond control.

the squall line soon passed and continued it out to sea. it had come directly at us and drove right over the top. i watched the last of the lightening fade into the distance and the families come back onto the sand with their blankets. you could see the faces, upset that their day had been ruined and the sand was now wet. i sat smiling and happy, satisfied to have been part of the experience. why do people want yet another plodding and uneventful day, when they can have the rush of the spectacle? this was special and would be a lasting memory.

i watch for storms, and feel them approaching with expectation. i live and work where storms happen on a regular basis. i don’t go hunting for them, but if one comes towards me i am ready when it hits. if i hid inside i would miss the fun, so i get up and go enjoy the excitement. i want to teach my kids to not be scared or upset.

if they can learn to enjoy the rush of the storm, it might stop them from wanting to jump off a cliff.

giving up

i had a football coach that used to say, “if you can’t take the heat get out of the kitchen”. that is a bit of odd direction for someone whose job was to motivate young athletes to do the best they could, to dig down and perform at levels which they didn’t know they could reach. this coach was actually someone i loved, not because he was nice to me, or that he paid any special attention to me, but because i knew if i did not work hard he would find someone who would and i would be on the bench.

there was a game my senior year, the team we were playing was very good. we were on our home field, everyone in the school was watching, my parents were in the stands, and the team we were competing against was beating us. worse than that, the player(s) across from me were fast and strong. they were beating me, i was tired and was starting to think it was time to give up, maybe "get injured", pull a muscle and stop before i made a mistake that gave the other team an advantage.

this was directly against anything i had felt on the field before and it scared me. a year before this i had my hand stepped on and broke a finger during a game. at that moment i was afraid coach would realize I was injured and take me out. i set and taped my own finger and kept playing the game. there was nothing worse than being taken out of the game when you wanted to keep playing.

but here i was, thinking about quitting, just because i was tired and afraid. at that moment, i looked up and saw coach gibbons looking onto the field. he was not just looking, he was staring at me, he was looking directly at me and i could see he was considering taking me off the field. i knew, he knew I was unsure of myself and was not playing full pace. he wanted to pull me out, i was sure of it. the fear of that was worse than anything i could experience on the field. the thought of being asked to sit down, to have everyone i knew know that i wasn’t strong enough to finish the game was worse than losing, and worse than the pain i was feeling or could feel if i kept going.

at that moment, i decided there was no way i was going to give up. i was not going to let myself be taken off the field by anyone. i had worked hard to get here, i had been given the position that i loved and was not going to let anyone take it away from me. i took a deep breath, let it out slowly, stared at coach and knew i could finish the game. as I made this decision, i saw him smile and nod his head. he knew what i had just gone through, and he agreed i could do it.

as life passes, i have more chances to go through the same kind of experience. there are moments in life when i am tired, when i want to give up, when i just want to stop and walk off the field. i can take myself out of the game at any time. i can do it without many realizing or having any opinion about it. but i don’t, i keep plugging along. i make my blocks and hit the other guy as hard as i can. maybe the only ones that know this are me and the person on the other side of the line, but i don’t want either of us to know that i gave up.

we are shaped by our experiences, this is why its so important to have as many as you can. without these experiences we would never know what we are capable of doing. without this experience i could not know that even when I am in pain and afraid of more pain and defeat, that i can reach down and find it inside myself to keep going. who would I be without this?

there is a downside, as i get older and refuse to give up, i can no longer look up and see the clock, its too hard to tell how much time is left in the game. without this, it’s hard to know if i should go all out and try to force the win, or to save something for the end. i also can not look up and see gibbons staring at me from the side lines. there are times it would be very nice to have someone smile and nod their head to let me know they know i am still playing and agree i can make it.

i know there are times when giving up is the right thing to do. its when there is no chance to win, or when you realize the game is unfair and you never could have won no matter what you did. but today is not the day. i am going to keep playing, because being taken out of the game is still worse than losing; even if I break something, I know how to tape it up and keep going.

if you’re wondering, we did win that game that day, i made a block that directly helped us win. coach never mentioned that he knew i almost quit, that is one of the reasons i loved him.