Noticing Now that He’s Gone

January 22, 2010

I woke up 18 months ago on this day, the 21st of the month, and knew a radical change in my life was necessary. Still, as usual, I procrastinated. A slow three weeks later, I eventually stepped into a sobriety room and saw him sitting in the front row. His eyes sparkled clear-clear blue, a soft translucent color that looked into you with compassion.

His build was slight and he dressed meticulously even if mostly he wandered into the room in clean blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Not quite balding, he sported a short army buzz cut for peppered grey hair. Despite a red-tipped nose, he appeared handsome for a man probably in his 70s. He was careful with his appearance and with his words. When he spoke, the room of thirty, forty, or fifty folks–whatever size we were that particular evening 6 p.m. on Saturday after Saturday–sat still, listening, absorbing, and learning.
If I remember right he had around 25 years of sobriety and he would share that strength in specific stories. Each one would recount a person’s miraculous transformation from drinking to not drinking by the grace of something, somewhere, and somehow. He called this down-to-earth spirituality. He claimed that just sitting next to someone could heal. Or walking with them to grab a cup of coffee and listening. He listened so well in the rooms. Every meeting he would stay after and fix those cystal clear eyes on the person who needed to talk.

Over indulging in any extreme behavior is a type of insanity that the world suffers from in spades today. This gentle man reminded us all of the specific wording in Step Two that people suffering from extreme behavior might grow to believe that a power greater than ourselves, could restore us to sanity. He would highlight that the suggestion is not to discover a power in which to believe but just to spark enough curiosity that such spiritual magic might exist in the world. I believe. In my own life, serendipity has been playfully at work all my adult life–when I am present enough to notice.

Today this kind man, who presented me with so many supportive, careful words when I first grew to know him, passed away comfortably in a hospice in the Castro. Funny twist that this same hospice used to remain packed with AIDS patients and today an ordinary straight man chose to die there rather than a hospital.

And the woman who mentors me in sobriety lost her mother a few weeks ago. Death clarifies. If I knew I only had a short time left, I’d stock the freezer with ice cream, rent my favorite films, and invite those who I love over to watch films and over indulge in sweets. I have made a pile of amends, so I’m decently spiritually free, but probably would need to repeat some just to clean the slate for sure. Alright, alright, I’d also throw in freshly home-made popcorn done on the stove top. Anybody ever do that any more or did this comforting ritual to share with family die away?

In a way, 2009 was so much about passing away. By experiencing intense loss, all those little new births can happen. That’s how 2010 feels so far. By witnessing others leave the earth, I celebrate each and every day, sweeping dusty bull-shit behavior out the front door. I have been cleaning house and the furniture is starting to have that shiny glow, a clear reflection, maybe a touch similar to the clarity I saw in my friend’s eyes when he stared at me. He’s gone for good, but I’ll always carry his compassionate spirit with me–what a blessing and a gift.

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Thriving on Uncertainty

January 18, 2010

I drove a few blocks away this morning in the rain, parked in front of a meter that does not kick in until 9 a.m., and then stumbled into a Valencia Street cafe. Yes, the time was five minutes before 7 a.m. A small group met to listen as an old-timer–someone in sobriety with a few years stacked up–took us carefully through what is known as the Big Book. So much to learn! Yet the effort to arrive was nada since right now I’m staying with a friend who lives on 16th Street, very close by. With energy to burn these days, I’m all fired up on uncertainty.

Returning from Hawaii, I needed to share gratitude with the woman who offered me a place for a few months, and then move on down the road, closer to work and all things caffeine related. Nobody steps between me and my elitist appetite for connoisseur coffee. I moved Saturday and began working full-time on Monday. That Saturday morning I sat on an empty box when my cell phone rang. A friend who I hadn’t heard from in several months called to ask if she knew anyone who could help her share the rent. Sure, I knew someone, or, at least, I’m getting to know her real well for the first time, and that woman would be me. So, I steered the Volvo all packed up to a different apartment than I had originally intended–that set of friends understood, especially since they have three cats and I am allergic. The plan was to turn the fan on, but who knew which direction the fur would fly, as they say.

On 28 October 2009, I finalized the sale of my condominium (read: the money truly arrived) and now I’m happily sofa-surfing. I’m actively involved in the process of becoming a full-time parent, working full-time, and re-engaging in the world of cinema. What else could I ask for? Alright, why did you have to go there? Sure, I feel a little tear in the paper-mache of my heart, but even a suave, debonair, hipster like me (those who know me, this is the cue to chuckle, heartily so) doesn’t always reach the woman she hopes for.

That’s called faith, knowing in this uncertainty I will be just fine even if all my little plans and designs do not come to fruition. Turns out I don’t have the final say–on anything. So, I just wake up and stumble into the day as comfortable with uncertainty as if she were an old winter sweater–warm, cozy, inspiring, and protective.

I knew this was a message to hear loud and clear when this morning I took a quick cat nap only to hear water gushing through the living room window–no joke. The window had a leak big-time. My friend has lived in this apartment for 18 years and this is probably the second time she has had to call the landlord. I called my cat-friends right away and they happily agreed the sofa was available if need be. Turns out the landlord stopped by and the area is all patched for today…temporarily. He will take this week to fix the gushing-water-onto-my-cot challenge. What’s that about every day presents an opportunity of uncertainty?

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Leap Year (2010)

January 16, 2010

If a fire were to burn your home quickly, what would you take with you in 60 seconds? This is the question that drives Anna (Amy Adams) to ponder her superficial life as a real estate stager in Boston, involved with a cardiologist, Jeremy (Adam Scott), four years running and no marriage proposal in sight.

Superficial might be too quick a word to judge her with. Anna stages not just empty apartments so they sell quickly, but also her life to appear coiffed when really inside she’s driven by the fear of guessing wrong. She learned to protect herself against uncertainty while navigating as a youth through her father’s hapless business decisions. Her father was always living by the phrase, “Oh well, everything will just work out.”

So, she evolves intro a successful control queen who treats friends and her clueless boyfriend with needy honesty. Without them by her side, she might feel like losing control and this means she maintains the status quo. Until one day, ironically, her father arrives late to a seedy bar just so they can spend some time together and reminds his daughter of Grandma Jane asking her future husband to marry her–inspired by Irish tradition that as the leap year arrives every fourth year on February 29, women have the chance to pop the question. And so Anna flops herself on a plane to find her man–Jeremy, who traveled to Ireland for a conference.

Problem is she finds the wrong one in Declan (Matthew Goode), a jaded fellow who owns and now just bartends a classic Irish pub because his chef aspirations disappeared when his girlfriend left with his business partner. In walks Anna to this moody place looking for a taxi to escort her to Dublin where her fiance awaits. One storm already downed her airplane and then a fisherman-boat-ride-for-hire. She is stranded. And so these two pair up since Declan needs to earn the exuberant taxi fare she is offering to pay an old kitchen equipment bill the local thug intends to collect on.

The storyline does not woe you in complexity, but I will say this good-old fashioned predictable romantic-comedy felt wonderful to watch. Why? Because for the $8.75 matinee price, you could watch an uptight urban woman fall in love–with the incredible nature around her on the Aran Islands (three small ones off the coast of Ireland). We see a narrow road where only one Mini car fits and that’s good enough because probably one car travels down the lane in an hour. Green hills unfold one after the other. Stunning coastal sunsets over those amazing Irish cliffs, romance the viewer entirely. In one scene, Anna stands with her potential beau and stares out from the castle where they climbed up to and witnesses a stunning hillside rolling forever green and into the ocean view.

Also, Irish weather notoriously changes in a blink, so Anna experiences sudden hail that drives them both inside to a church wedding. Or rain storms from no where drench her quickly. Under the influence of nature’s colors and weather, Anna’s tightly controlled emotions finally start to loosen. Yes, she agrees to marry the conservative Jeremy and return home to Boston, where they have been accepted into a prestigious by-invitation-only condominium.

But at their party to show off the new digs, Anna learns through Jeremy’s bragging that he asked her to marry him because that was the final clincher to receive the green light on the apartment. A calculated marriage proposal for sure. So, she pulls the fire alarm. And while everyone scrambles out, her fiance grabs all the material goodies he can: camcorder, lap top, i-phone, and more.

In contrast, Anna simply disappears and winds up on a plane back to a small Irish village. She sits at a table in the now bustling dining room of Declan’s pub, and when he appears, she makes a proposal. She asks him if he would like to join her in making no plans together. She has changed enough to trust uncertainty. The moment is sweet, and I believe–real. We plan and plan and plan and plan–even the spark of romance. How can you plan and control those moments?

This is a gushy film that doesn’t completely falsely sugar-coat Hollywood style an early romance. Declan has been burned and so is wise to life. He appreciates cooking good food from the bounty of a garden outside his front door, and he shares this slow-food appreciation with Anna. In turn, she starts to slow down too. The beautiful Irish nature surrounding them both creates a thoughtful presence for them to open up and take new emotional risks.

He questions Anna’s motive to ask Jeremy to marry her; he laughs at her that if anyone wished to marry anyone that after four years the question would already have been asked since it’s the most important one to ask in a lifetime. In his questioning of Anna, she can finally start to see herself. Yet the Irish environment stands as a third character to open up their romance as they turn to simple beauty blanketing them as a way to heal and change, so they can finally join each other after she says yes to his marriage proposal. See? Didn’t take lucky leap year magic at all.

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Playing for Real

January 16, 2010

I traveled to the fourth floor at the gym today-usually the second floor is as high as I go because the sauna is there. Up here, though, is a beautiful brand new gym where impromptu basketball games happen all the time. Mostly the big guys mix it up, but if I wish an invitation is extended. Grabbing a random basketball rolling around, today I just took some practice shots at an empty basket. Felt so damn good to move on the court. I love playing basketball.

While growing up, my older brother would practice for hours on the outdoor concrete court just across the street from our house. We all had our go-to outlets that youth need to cloister themselves independently away from the family. Younger bro’ discovered surfing when he was 13-years-old and I launched into reading. But I also learned basketball, too.

At first I was truly crappy. My dribbling was so weak everyone stole the ball from me. I could barely shoot. And passes were always intercepted. That is, I played like a girl. Thankfully, while learning I played against boys. Looking back I realize that’s how I got so good. Ooops…those bragging rights are more for you to assert, yet I’ll say that during most playing time, I can at least create flow on the court–a pass here, a steal there, and sink a bucket or two.

During elementary school, my energy on the court was feisty and I remember a referee giving me a technical foul–in fifth grade. This is when a player throws such a temper tantrum that the other team gets to shoot a free throw as a penalty. Angry is what you could call me. But I played outdoors all the time and over the years it’s true that finally I got game.

Still, I was absolutely surprised when in eighth grade I made varsity–a team level reserved for juniors and seniors in high school. Our family moved in 1978 to Bangkok, Thailand, where all three of us kids attended the International School of Bangkok. Startled that I made the basketball team, I was even more taken aback when we traveled to Singapore and Hong Kong for tournaments. What a blast we had on that team and the older players resented but also took care of me.

I can still hear my older brother bouncing the basketball outside on the driveway pavement, the sound echoing inside to the living room. That was the year John Travolta’s smash hit film “Saturday Night Fever” came out and the Bee Gees were alive–or, at least they titled one of their song hits, “Staying Alive.” A small boom box played these disco tunes while geckos chirped late into the humid night and a basketball kept pounding, pounding. Sometimes older bro’ practiced too much and would find it difficult to play in the actual games. Mostly this happened because of the deceiving Thai heat–relentless, thick, and damp. I remember the only time not sweating was in the shower.

That was a year we would make many diverse friends. Over the years I often recall their names and faces. For example, the current United States Secretary of the Treasury Timothy Geithner was a lanky kid who also played basketball on the same boy’s varsity team as older bro’. Even compared to the diminutive Thai players, Tim was petite. He would often need to circle the key as a point guard rather than mix it up with the big guys down low. I saw his name several months ago and wondered if my memory of this Tim matched the real-guy in finance. One day I watched a youtube clip and within a minute, I knew the two were one and the same. Physical gestures stamp so indelibly on our memories of each other. I recognized his instantly. Similar to how my muscle memory kicked in pronto today when I started shooting hoops. Took no time at all for me to remember how to play.

A friend from that year in Asia found me on Facebook the other day, sending me a note to confirm I was me. Turns out I am. What a delightful surprise to hear so many catching-up life stories from her. We travel so many directions in life that to look way, way back and see the house with the basketball court outside–one in California and another in Thailand–creatively helps to recognize those moments were just as real, too. Foggy behavior doesn’t erase that. When I missed a shot today here in San Francisco and the rim clanked grimly, I could hear the rim on the Bangkok hoop sag, too, even more so, and this familiar sound transported me in time to right now, enjoying the memory and then letting go, so the very present sweaty moment felt like I was playing for real, more real than in a long time.

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Youth in Revolt (2009)

January 12, 2010

What strikes me as odd is this film’s title. Why? No youths revolt! The teenagers simply behave as any ordinary American youths would as they are raised by incredibly poor parenting. As a backdrop to trying and adventure away from any real family time, the fantasy of behaving badly by wanting sex is a teen’s dream world. But it ain’t. Imagining sex as freedom in this film is actually just watching the youths imitate their parents. How predictable–no revolution here at all.

Nick Twisp (Michael Cera) watches day after day as his mother Estelle (Jean Smart) hooks up with one my-beer-goggles-work-fine-and-this-guy-looks-great after another. One stumpy bearded troll chugs a beer in one gulp, burps, and then lures this “mother” into the trashy area of an RV trailer–sliding plastic folding door and all. Apparently her son is supposed to listen and this doesn’t bother her.

Later in the film, when Nick’s alter ego–the supposed bad boy of the film, Francois Dillinger–asks a different boyfriend what all that noise was last night, he’s told to watch his mouth. Kids speaking up to parents’ bad behavior ain’t allowed much. Let the “acting-out” phase of teens begin. Again, are youth acting or imitating? And his biological father, George (Steve Buscemi), sleeps with a young blonde-thang half his age. Nick laments in a scene early in the film that everybody around him is getting some except for him.

Twisp longs to find a mate of his own. One sunny morning, on his way to the trailer park shower, he does. Now, the opposite of Nick’s parents who will bed most moving objects without question, are parents who profess that sex is the work of the devil. His new girlfriend, Sheeni (Portia Doubleday) endures being raised by this “parental” type. Devout church goers, they attempt to seclude their daughter indefinitely. But Nick finds a way to reach her through many trials and tribulations, which comprises the entire film’s storyline. Surprise! In the end these two youths don’t revolt at all, but instead consummate their relationship. What could be more natural?

What strikes me as edgey, however, is the film’s writing. I sat in an audience of young adults at the movie theater and laughed away in counterpoint to their silence. The one-liners are clever and damn funny. For adults. The youth sitting near me were too close to the material to laugh at themselves. So, I’m less sure what audience the movie targets. Also, the director Miguel Arteta inserts some colorful stop-animation that I find intriguing. Maybe that artistic touch connects with teens.

Ultimately, though, this film makes for an excellent video night at home–funny, sweet, and sleepy action. Gotta love that the daring-do male lead finally makes it with his gal–and, yes, in a dress posing as Carlotta.

Yet Nick utters one poignant line that covers all of us striving to find love. Here he’s gone through so much to land the security of a relationship, and as they haul him away to jail for some of these efforts, he admits that he just had to play the role of himself. That just Nick Twisp was enough for his amour. What a novel idea–being you in all the glamorous ordinary that implies is more than enough to find love.

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Take What You Need and Leave the Rest for Another Day

January 8, 2010

When you arrive, the land belows looks so mysterious.

Funny how a vacation paces itself. I took this photo from my airplane seat and could feel how calmly ecstatic I was to have some down time once we landed. And not just in any old place but in Hawai’i, where I return to so often. My first girlfriend and I would travel twice a year or so. The island blends gaudy tourism, easy nature, ono (delicious) food, ancient myths, lullaby weather, and warm people. Every voyage trips me out and this time was no different.

My second day after an adventurous swim the day before (see the previous post), I headed for more mellow waters. My brother kindly loaned me his pick-up truck because several beaches are only accessible on unpaved “roads”–meaning the bigger lava chunks are cleared away. Bumping up and down in the truck cab for fifteen minutes or so I finally reach a secluded beach. I perch myself on a fallen tree that makes and excellent bench. A man and woman walk by me and I absent-mindedly watch them saunter by.

He stops and points eagerly way out in the ocean. His girlfriend turns her head to scan the horizon. She’s still looking but I don’t see anything, so I return my gaze to the couple. The guy is on one knee. No, I think. Truly? This one I must see. She turns around busy to chatter and stops in her trackes. I’m waiting–clandestinely spying on the moment best I can without gawking. She’s floored.

“Oh, Dave,” she shouts and wraps herself around him. “Yes!” They hug and kiss for a few minutes. Then he places the ring on her finger. She shows it off to herself by stretching out her hand. They retreat to the picnic bench behind them and bundle together–she elongated in his lap and he wrapping his long arms around her. They sound and look super happy. Now they have New Year’s Day on a Hawaii beach as an engagement memory.

Ever since I first started traveling to Hawaii, I always thought this small cobalt blue church right on Ali’i Drive–the road that parallels the ocean in Kona–would make an awesome place to partner up. If I’m blessed lucky enough to experience that moment in my life, I hope the future wife might agree to a small ceremony here. Inside are maybe ten pews that seat a dozen folks across. Dreams, dreams, and more dreams–Hawai’i is made of them all over.

Up this high, you can nearly reach out and touch the clouds.

Up this high, you can nearly reach out and touch the clouds.

The warm thick weather creates an atmosphere where you feel like free-falling. One afternoon my brother and I plunked down a small chunk of change to parasail. This picture from the boat shows another tandem yet we also flew this high. A crystal clear day in blazing heat and–poof–up we air lifted into the sky in a few seconds to enjoy ten minutes of amazing coastal views and diverse shades of ocean blue. The boat captain even let the line go slack for a minute so we could literally free-fall. Yes, the parachute quietly glided us through the air but the heat even this high felt like a pillow as if we could sail through the sky on temperature alone.

By my third day, the work I brought with me to prep for teaching full-time again in a few days, became a distant memory. Now I simply woke up, drank buttery smooth Kona coffee, equipped the day bag with essentials and stumbled outside to discover. That’s my lesson this trip. Next time I go back, I won’t pretend and bring work. Why bother? Checking e-mail felt like an intrusion on my free-fall into leisure time. The island in her charm grabbed me and I gave in–with a wide smile on my face. One day was snorkeling to witness fish that seem artistically drawn so vibrant are their colors. But no. They are not imaginary because you can see them a feet from your hand.

Another day I walked the coastline absorbing energy in the air as local surfers paddled out to storm warning size waves. Sure, my brother taught me some surfing basics and I had a blast. I’m not good and was happy to simply stay on the board and paddle. Sweet jesus, though, to watch some of these surfers is stunning. Acrobats in the water, male and female, surfers truly lean into nature in sync with the ocean’s swift power. Because make no mistake–the water can turn on you in an instant. I learned that my first day. The locals, too, fearfully measured the waves before stepping one foot off the lava stones on the shore. But once in the water, surfers seem to accept, or perhaps free-fall into the moment–alert, light, joyful and full, a little like being in love I suppose.

Precisely just that whole sensory-experience is the source of Hawaii magic. On a ritzy resort grounds, I read a sign that advised those who wished to fish to “take what you need and leave the rest for another day.” Please kokua (help) keep the balance. Yes, Hawai’i is a land of extremes but at heart its magic is to remind you how little you need for a happy moment–sun, water, friends, beverage–and good to go, yeah? We need so little to discover joy in a single day; all the rest is for, well, another day.

Ocean water on the Kohala Coast line travel in every direction.

Ocean water on the Kohala Coast line travels in every direction.

A playful ocean and its tide pool for keiki to splash in.

A playful ocean and its tide pool for keiki to splash in.

The ocean likes to play and splash around too.

The ocean likes to play and splash around too.

Just another day at the beach admiring this wave that looks so pure in its geometry.

Just another day at the beach admiring this wave that looks so pure in its geometry.

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Gotta Love Those Waves Kona Style

January 3, 2010

Most days I am a pretty good swimmer. I just swipe my gym card, receive two fluffy white towels, don my swim suit and dive into the pool. No problems. That is until I take BART to the Oakland International Airport at 5:30 in the morning after three hours sleep, slip onto an airplane, exit, and then rent a cheesy rental car (pics to follow) that I drive to the ocean. See, they don’t take my gym card or provide me towels at Kua Bay in Kailua-Kona on the Big Island Hawai’i.

No, here the locals are either in the water expertly riding waves to their crescendo finish and then turn around to do it all over again…and again. Why? Because it’s fun, yes? Or these locals stand on the beach scanning the water to altruistically make sure all yahoo tourists surface again once a wave blindsides them. That yahoo? That’s me. The muscular tan sun bleached hair local guys started to approach the water’s edge as they waited for me to surface again–because it took a while.

After hiking on lava rock a short distance to the beach, I slowly climbed down to the sandy area packed with a fair mix of yahoo tourists and local wave experts, probably around sixty people all basking in the Hawaii sunshine. The captain announced a balmy 85 degrees when we landed.

Calmly I watched the water first before taking a leap. Even I know to do that. The break pulled sharp left and sets were rolling in around eight waves at a time. I guessed their height around five to seven feet, so not too bad. But the break was sharp so that once the curl went up, it slammed down fast and hard. Still, my confidence felt good and so off I went, making sure my belongings were in a safe spot.

The water felt awesome so cool and refreshing from the heat; just grabbing a cup of pure Kona Joe and tuna poke (raw marinated fish in sesame oil and spices) and sitting outside, I broke a mean sweat. Hawai’i heat is simply relentless. I will say that this winter sun is far more mellow than the heat I’ve experienced other months.

I dove under several strong waves and sprung up strongly on the other side. Not the same as a swimming pool for sure, but lately I’ve been exercising often so a little bit of shape has happened on my flabby body. So far, so good.

Genius that I am, I get the bright idea to swim past the breaking line of waves. What I would later learn from my younger brother and the volunteer beach monitor is called the impact zone. And for good reason. A little bit to my credit, I’ve done this before. When the waves were two feet high, that is. I swim out to where the waves are not breaking and then swim from side to side for exercise. But what delusional confidence pure Kona coffee–not the 10% blend we buy on the mainland in Safeway–and fresh poke can give you.

So, I start to make my way through the impact zone. I dive under two tall and fierce waves–all is fine. Somehow I am pulled sharp to the left and this time I misjudge a wave by just a few seconds–literally. The monster crashes right on me. I’m somersaulting under water all over the place and counting my breathes–one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four, one thousand five–shit, I better pull my way up, I thought. I do and burst to the surface only to see another wave, the first one’s cranky toddler brother, crash on me again. No joke.

I spin around again as if in a washing machine, but this time I’m losing my breathe. I surface quickly and turn to see what vicious water awaits me. I’m lucky. I have a ten second break to start paddling towards shore. I’m looking behind me often. Problem is I’m headed right for some lava rocks. For the third time, a wave pummels me under water and I start to pray that my head doesn’t hit rock. I’m calm but praying fast. Lucky enough only my right knee scrapes the lava while my left bruises into the sand.

A few feet more and I can stand. I plop down in the water’s edge and start to gasp for air. A chunky white girl has beached herself. I’m breathing so hard my chest hurts. The locals who had been watching me give me some space because they had been approaching.

That’s the aloha spirit on this amazing island. I’ve traveled to so many nooks and crannies on Big Island Hawai’i over the years; this is probably my 15th visit. Yet the energy of people is simply that if you need our help we are here. This natural paradise is our home and you are welcome to it. If it gets rough, just reach out your hand for help. That’s a type of mana (energy) that emanates from mother nature herself–inviting, threatening, and loving.

You simply need to know how to read her. This month is the sad anniversary of the Indonesia tsunami that took around 250,000 lives in 2004. How strange, though, to see that very few wild animals died. They could read mother nature’s signs. I’m not at all saying that humans could have saved themselves from this terrifying natural event. Yet it is interesting to watch how animals supposedly less intelligent than us figure out the warning signs.

On a good day, I’m reasonably bright. (Try not to ask me what happens on a bad day; it’s not pretty.) But there I was reading the water signals all wrong. Funny how that pesky old ego of mine surfaces time and time ago. Time to go back to quiet meditation on the beach while the sun sets, which is what I did the following day when I took this picture. Notice the tide pools–around three feet deep and far, far away from crashing waves. I chose to swim these waters for today. Tomorrow is another day though, so stay tuned.

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