something permanent

yes, it's done. i am now one of those who are inked. the design is maori, the pain was less than i expected, the final result is not what i visualized; but it is something i like. the major question from people has been, "what does it mean?" getting to an answer that satisfies is not that easy for me. i suppose that's because the real meaning of the tattoo is not visual, it is not a function of the tattoo, but it is a function of what it represents.


i had said for years that if i found a design i liked, i would be fine with getting a tattoo. someone close to me would remind me that ink:

1. is not a common expectation for upper management types
2. is not something my preppy irish catholic style embraces
3. is known to be toxic; and can cause health issues
4. can not be easily reversed, even if it is later desired

this list makes me smile, both for the advice and for the ability to transpose these same reasons on other acts that people may choose to indulge and hide.

now the fact that i have done things like begin to shave my head for the pure reaction and enjoyment of it, or move to asia following a decision process lasting 3 seconds, its clear that i have the capacity to go in a direction that others don't expect. but shaving my head and living in the east rather than the west are both choices which i could reverse just as easily as i have made them.

as we were finishing the tattoo, my leaning artist asked why i didn't ask her to create a tattoo that told a story. the options she suggested were icons which represented my family, the kids and my ex-wife. i smiled weakly and decided not to explain that in many ways the images were tied to them already. but the language of the iconography is simply not something a travelling maori would be able to read. the ink is deeper than that.

i spent 10 years as a temporary worker, the day to day expectation that unless i excelled i would be expelled was the driving force to focusing on delivery. making sure i exceeded expectations so that i was in control of the decision on staying or going was core to my professional-life. we did it all for the passion of delivery, openly chanting to our clients, "it's all about the love!"

those days ended years ago, it is no longer all about the love. the love has grown old and passed. the ability to control the departure was removed. folding up shop and moving on was destined to happen. giving up the rooted life for one of travel and change was a reaction to the shifting of soil that had eroded and wasted down into the passing river of time.

now i live in a country that is not my own, i am learning a language that i will be able to use with almost no one outside this country, i have an apartment and car which are not the ones i own 12,000 miles away. i have added weight to the baggage i would now need to fill to move on, but books, t-shirts and guitars are individually light, even if the aggregate mass is not.

but, i now have something that i will carry with me. i was required to sign a contract saying i understood this could not be removed. i allowed a stranger to pierce my skin and inject permanence into me, creating scars that show. openly placed where i can not hide them from others, a signal that my time in asia has been real. i now have a dark band of scars on my arm which i might be able to cover, but which are clearly there any time i expose myself.

i have embraced the permanence that i have been unable to see as a part of myself. the clean white pallet has taken its first marks. these lines, curves and points may not be quickly readable by others, but they are for me. as my skin continues to leak excess ink, as the colors begin to fad with my personal pigment, as the image settles into its long-term state, i am reminded that not everything is temporary.

the next questions is where will the next permanent scars come from.

black buried

the very first thing i do every day is reach for my hand-phone. i am one of the uber-connected who have emails coming in almost around the clock, before my eyes are fully open i am looking for crisis emails that will start my day. my phone is my connection to the world, i do email while driving, i do google searches for words or answers to questions in the middle of a conversation. i love my phone, it is more than just a way for someone to call me while i am away from home or office, it has become my technological connection to the virtual (and largely non-virtual world). i lost a messenger bag full my favorite possessions, and my first thought was oh thank god i have my blackberry on my belt.


the model i have is the bold, it is easily the best computer i have ever carried. i remember thinking the first time i bought and used a PDA that someday, someone would get the form and functionality right. blackberry has years later finally done it. this "phone" lets me have push-driven corporate mail, personal mail, the ability to upload photos to facebook while i run across a beach, ability to google and wikipedia information on the fly and to beam images of helicopters to pre-teens half a world away while trying to motivate him to clean a playroom.


this "phone" also does the best job of keeping me warned about upcoming meetings, on going discussions and emerging emergencies of any appliance i have ever tried to use. the ADD i carry is both managed and stroked by this little black box. it invites me to surf for an answer when the question comes to mind, it vibes on my belt to whisper the need to communicate with people far away who work while i eat dinner and it captures memories digitally to be printed, pasted or posted as later reminders of art seen and not to be forgotten.


the downside is that this little device is the "crack-berry" that is is accused to be. you are never disconnected while you carry this task master of attention. you find yourself picking it up the way an alcoholic reaches for a drink. it has become my information drink of choice, i reach without thought, i sip the information in and savor its flavor. those around me either ignore my habit or say they accept it, but at times i realize i am the addict that my daughter has warned me for years i could become. i have a source of constant adrenaline rush, a way to never be disconnected from the game.


living without my laptop for weeks have made this addiction all the more pronounced. i have learned to survive on the limited form-factor of the bold. the ultra-portable i bought in AMS to allow me to move around without the shoulder pain of the big work laptop is now too big. the lack of messenger bag to carry my daily life has meant i am now working out of nothing more than a belt holster. no extra storage, nothing to swing over my shoulder. connected without the weight of a full life, i have found a way to live with the essentials. but are the essentials enough?


here are the downsides:

1. i am not doing personal email, the two fingered typing to limited for my communication style, i am falling behind in personal connections.
2. i am not writing for my blog. again, just too hard to type and edit a post from a 2.5 inch screen, so my ideas remain stuck in my head.
3. i am finding the world up close blurred for the first time. i wear glasses to see into the distance, for the first time things close to me are now cloudy and i find myself pushing them away so i can get a better view.
4. my new custom messenger bag is in asia and should be delivered tomorrow, meaning i now need to carry more of my life with me to show off the personalized image.

added together i know i need to stop allowing my addiction to my push device to continue. it will be no more than an arms length away, but just as i am typing this on a full keyboard and i feel the words flowing though my nine finger typing style, i appreciate the improvement of nine over two. it will take some time to get back to comfort of needing to carry the extra weight, but it does bring benefits. accepting the benefits of doing things the right way is the first step in stopping an addiction. the addiction feels good, but... sometimes its just time to admit that "just enough" is not enough.

in the end, i need to accept that less is not more, even when it just feels so right.

leaning perfect

i had a date with a strange {almost} chinese girl last night. we have been trying to get together for months. we kept scheduling, but one thing or another came up. we would discuss what we were going to do, i would go to her office to draw up a plan, later we would bump into each other in a DVD shop and the dates would change. we finally spent some real time together and although i really enjoyed myself, it was just not the night that i had hoped for (although it was better than i had hoped). the need for things to be perfect got in the way, at the last minute we pulled back and decided to get back together today and decide what to do next. every encounter leaves a permanent mark on us, so i would rather wait to make sure this one is the best it can be.


the night started by sitting on the couch and waiting for her to get ready. i was a few minutes late, and i thought she would be all set; but she decided to change at the last minute. she had friends sitting around on the couch, and the moments of politely sitting while they discussed betty and veronica cartoons in a rojak of english and chinese was surreal. i never really read the archie comics, i was more of a novella reader as a child, but here were a group of adults that clearly enjoyed the art and substance of a classically amercian comic. (note: veronica has the dark hair, and she "is" the hot one)


she finally called me into her room. she was smaller than i remembered her. but she had a strength and was fully in control of the situation. she talked for a few minutes as she began to work. i assumed it was to put me at ease when she opened by asking if i was worried, and used the word virgin as a friendly taunt. i thought that she might enjoy watching big guys who are used to being in control come to her and defer all control to her. i watched as she sized me up while we talked and noticed as she shifted her approach after quickly profiling me. she said she could tell i was not a square and wanted to make sure i was okay with the pain to come.


i was, i told her i was fully in her control. she needed to lead and i would simply relax and enjoy the experience. she seemed surprised by this possibly thinking i was just being stoic. maybe she was right, she is a professional and has done this many times. when she began to clean me up, and then rub some lotion on my skin i asked a question, which made her smile. she answered me with a bit of edge and asked if i was having second thoughts. second thoughts were behind me, i was committed to this. i was just hoping the experience would be something close to what i hoped for.


that was when her boyfriend came in, she had mentioned him as we had talked. he sat down and smiled at us. clearly he was part of the family, no different than "boy" who had been floating in and out of the studio as she had been getting me ready. by this time i was lying down on a bed in the middle of a brightly lit room, stretched out in a crucifix like pose with alcohol being repeatedly rubbed on my arm. she asked if i would take off my shirt, i told her i was comfortable if she was; again she was skeptically surprised at how comfortable i was for a virgin.


we spent three hours together. she brought the session to a close by admitting her frustration. she had been trying to make things just perfect, but decided it was time to stop so she could go home and reconsider the approach. i had thought things were great, but clearly she saw something i did not, and given she was the professional and this was my first time, i was more than happy to go with her vision.


it has taken months for me to get this far; years actually. there is no reason to push and accept something less than perfect. this will be something i need to carry with me for the rest of my life. once my leaning perfectionist is happy with her work, i will proudly be a different person. i will have the marks to prove it, marks i will either show or hide based on the situation, but this is something i will need to except and enjoy for the a long time.


we are getting back together this afternoon. there is a promise of two new designs, one iban and another maori. i feel a bit like a large piece of white marble with the little artist standing in front of me envisioning the sculpture within. i have a shaved arm, with exposed white skin showing the shadows of yesterdays free hand drawings. i have an artist who cares enough to get it right; to expose the dark lines hidden beneath the white skin. lines that only she can see until she brings them from where they are hiding within.


the fact that she spent three hours re-drawing lines on my body, while discussing relationships, addiction, parental expectations, teaching styles, bondage and personal hygiene... well, don't let her know that some of her customers might come for the conversation as much as the art-work.


in borneo, it's all about the conversations and the permanent marks it leaves.

running down

i realized something about myself this week.  i was trying to explain why i liked running so much.  i was in my office and had just gone 25 minutes, hard running after taking months off.  i was tired from the effort of pushing myself, i was dripping with sweat and i was content with the post-exercise euphoria i feel after beating on myself.  i tried to explain that people do the things that make them feel good, but as i was saying it i knew that wasn't really true for everyone.  running, cycling, swimming all give me the chance to push myself, and the harder it is to push myself the more i enjoy it.  the person i was talking to clearly didn't understand that need, and that's how i realized that what is good for me is not good for everyone.

i have a running machine in my office.  i bought it about a year ago because i wasn't finding the time to run.  when i first got to malaysia i would run during the late afternoon and on weekends.  as time as passed, late afternoons seem to be consumed with other things and on weekends i just want to have a pancake or be in a cafe with internet connection.  the heat and thunderstorms here have also limited my running.  it seemed like there was always something in the way; i had begun to wonder if it was just an excuse for not doing the right thing.  so i took bonus money and paid twice what i should have for the ability to run inside my office.  right after making the purchase, i took busy to a all new level and found more excuses for not running.

some people are very good at living so they never need to recover.  i am amazed by the people who never seem to gain weight.  they keep a rational and long-term view of life and make choices to ensure they never need to fix a problem they have created.  i on the other hand have a tendency to concentrate on the most pressing few items, and ignore the issues that can be dealt with later.  i also have the ability to indulge indulgence.  as i type i am enjoying a strangely formed carrot cake.  baking is an uncommon act in asia.  most houses do not have proper ovens, most kids do not grow up watching grandma make a cake for family events.  my carrot cake is more of a cooked pudding base, somewhere between cookie dough and steamed dumplings served as dim sum.  the fact that it tastes like carrot, has nuts and is topped with sour cream frosting makes it all the more odd.  the second fact, that i don't really like even good carrot cake is the an insight into the fact that i am eating it anyway.

as my weight has drifted upwards over the past few years i have worried about it enough to first buy an exercise bike for my apartment, then a treadmill for my office.  both have been used, but work has come first.  the weight has stablized, which was probably what i was after.  getting any heavyer would take away my ability to rationalize the belief that i am still athletic, losing the weight has never been the primary goal in my life.  work has comes first, relaxing in a cafe, writing or re-watching comfort DVDs has come before going out for that run that i know i should want.  i thought i simply didn't want it enough.  doing the right thing could wait for tomorrow; today it was okay to relax and enjoy being on or off.

but a few things have changed.  i went for a run in the rain a few weeks ago and realized how much i enjoyed it.  i liked the feeling of pushing myself, i liked covering the ground and feeling tired at the end.  i decided i wanted this more than i wanted to write, sleep or veg out in front of the TV.  i felt a new phase beginning, the desire has returned.  i also have an old friend who has challenged me to try something new.  this has given me a goal with needs to be met.  being publically judged brings this into focus as we motivate each other to win.

this is not the first time i have done this.  as i explained my love of pushing myself, i realized that i am just not good in maintenance mode.  i love to build, not to maintain the status quo.  personally this can come across as neglect; if not neglicance.  i am willing to have that peice of cake and ignore the need to burn it back off.  one peice is followed by another, until the task looks too big to fix.  but this is when the job looks interesting to me.  burning off one peice of cake is easy.  burning off a years worth is much harder, and for me a better and more interesting challenge.

when working i can go hard for long periods of time.  i can work while i am sick, i can push while i am tired.  i can crank out a project and do it faster than anyone expects; i can also do the same thing with myself.  i can push to fix something much better than i can work to not let it get broken in the first place.  some of my best memories are of beating myself into shape.  i proudly remember losing 15 lbs in five days.  i was playing football, and had not prepared for the coming double sessions.  the week of intensity that prepared the team mentally and physically.  i came out of that week almost 10% less than i went in, and i loved the experience.  i also remember almost blacking out from effort and being unable to walk without pain, but i kept going.

a few years ago i spent a spring and summer experiencing loss.  it started at the top and worked its way deep into every part of me.  people worried at the cause, and were afraid to ask.  i told myself that i was working to avoid future loss, but i was really just tired of being tired.  i needed to be able to move again, i had built up too much inertia and needed to break free.  the opportunity cost of being static outweighed my ability to grow.  the pendulum had swung, and the feeling of racing to the bottom of the arch was almost as good as that of pushing the last few strokes to come to the top.  the prize was not what i expected, in the end moving again only reminded me how much i enjoyed the act of movement.

things have changed again, i feel it.  i ran every day last week; something i haven't done for over a year.  my boss called friday night after 6:30 PM, i answered my phone on the third right, out of breath.  he asked if i was exercising, i said yes and realized i had a smile on my face.  when he asked if i was still in the office, i said yes again and smiled even wider.  it feels good to be back in rebuiling mode.  running myself down means something different this year than last.  i am sleeping well, i am exercising and i have a goal.  

i remember my last losing summer, but it's behind me.  it's time to spring back into shape by running myself down again.  this is what i have been waiting for all along, a challenge that was worth pushing myself hard enough to feel the pain.