12minds

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
This summer has me crisscrossing the country from DC to NYC, New Orleans, Chicago, and Seattle. From weddings to new friendships and old friendships rediscovered. Here’s to beaches, trails, new paths, new experiences, and glorious sunlight.
[Southern Honduras outside of Sabanagrande - alberto238]

On May 29, 2012 at 2:09pm

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

This summer has me crisscrossing the country from DC to NYC, New Orleans, Chicago, and Seattle. From weddings to new friendships and old friendships rediscovered. Here’s to beaches, trails, new paths, new experiences, and glorious sunlight.

[Southern Honduras outside of Sabanagrande - alberto238]

4 notespermalink

#Honduras#Me#F. Scott Fitzgerald#Summer#photography#fiat lux

So how was Vegas?

The question is innocent enough, but how do you really express what you’re feeling? Goethe (or Biggie Smalls, I forget) once said—and I’m paraphrasing and translating (both Biggie and Goethe were fluent in German) here—if you don’t feel it, you’ll never get it.

So how was Vegas? In some respects it was a gamble. After all, I knew 4—admittedly, awesome—people going into it, but that meant that that there were 55 BiSC strangers I didn’t know. And then What Ifs invade like the seasonal locusts. But who are we talking about? This is me, after all. Locusts of doubt (bunnies of insecurity?) are sortof my thing.

But in most respects, it was a foregone conclusion. There was no real gamble or chance; indeed, it was the logical progression of guy who starts blog after a breakup to guy who tweets during law school to guy who becomes fast friends with other DC twitter folk. It was the inevitable transition from guy who felt like he didn’t belong to realizing that not only are there tons of other people similar to him, but that they were incredible and wonderfully distinct in their own ways. Not only were you not alone, but there were people with which you could laugh and drink and dance and, most importantly, grow and learn.

Two examples:

Our flight had Brad and me going from DC to Houston to Vegas. In Houston, at our gate going to Vegas, Terra and Stace came up to us and simply asked “BiSC-uits?” and that was that—We were friends.

On Saturday, we were all seated alphabetically and I was sitting next to Alana, who I knew from twitter but never had met prior to this weekend. We exchanged pleasantries, she gave me vodka to put in my orange juice, and next thing I know I had agreed to go spend the day with her, Dominique, Laura, and Kelly. One roller-coaster (yeah, it’s there, I checked), two ice drinks (from an amazing Narnia-esque ice bar, Minus 5), and several hours later and I felt like all of us were great friends.

And that’s how Vegas was. Except with 59 or so other stories like that. Moments in which you stay up talking until 5am, moments in which you bond over the fact that there’s a guy at a club dressed as a weird horse thing, moments in which you cheer your friend hoping she wins a booty-shaking contest at the pool (she did, and she did it with class and awesomeness), moments in which you bump into the group on Sunday and spend the evening watching the water/light show at the Bellagio. And during the entire time you can’t really help but think: This all makes sense. This all fits. This is as it should be.

And as we landed back in DC and were walking to our cabs to go back to our respective apartments and lives, I asked Brad if we’re doing this again next year. His answer was pretty on point: “I think I don’t have a choice.”

So how was Vegas? In a word? Wonderful.

Wherein We Discuss Las Vegas And BiSC

On May 27, 2012 at 4:36pm

3 notespermalink

#BiSC#Me#Las Vegas

On May 2, 2012 at 10:42pm

I bought my first piece of art a couple of months ago. It’s a small thing, but it’s beautiful, it speaks to me, and only one exists in the world. It shows the back of a nude woman with her knees curled up against her chest and her arms enclosing into herself. The blue hues are accented with such strong, heavy brushstrokes that the paint itself looks as if it it’s reaching out in some kind of stormy-ocean-toned supplication. Aren’t we made of waves, after all? “Life is the just the progression toward, and then a recession from, one phrase—‘I love you,’” or so says Fitzgerald.

Art matters to me a great deal because it begets a conversation. I appreciate people who strive to not only see the world from a different angle, but to convey that message—people who try to re-examine truths and tell the story in a way for you and I to understand and to feel. And that causes us to think about what we feel and why, and just like that we’re not the same as we were a moment ago. Now we have awareness. Fiat lux, and all that jazz. Be it polka or hip-hop, a Picasso or Klimt, Hamlet or Hunger Games. You end up different and I love that.

But more importantly, it means that we’re always in a process of change and evolution. Maybe it’s a process of refinement, or maybe we really are waves in the ocean—tides moving toward and away—trying to reach beyond the shore but never quite making it. It means that the us of today will be distinctly different from the us of tomorrow or 10 years from now and that life is one conversation in which we’re all trying to find our voices. I believe that there’s grace and beauty in that.

But seriously, that piece is going to look amazing once it’s framed.

14 notespermalink

#art#me#F. Scott Fitzgerald#fiat lux

On April 10, 2012 at 3:56pm

I dreamt of autumn’s decay and stone bridges worn by time and wind. I dreamt of a single kiss that tasted so real and so true that the heart ached and broke when I awoke. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past two days.

[Hike to Tooth Rock, Josh Boes]

1 notepermalink

#me

On March 21, 2012 at 2:23pm

One of my tasks at Borders was to organize the myriad books people would take out and forget to replace (or completely misplace). It was one of my favorite parts of the job; indeed, as frustrating as dealing with misplaced books may have been (which is to say nothing of the general sloppiness of people), there was a nice quality in seeing all the different kinds of books that other people read and found interesting. What was going through person X’s head as they left a sports book by the self-help section? How did a poetry book end up among the WWII shelves? There’s also my OCD self who really enjoys that sense of satisfaction and completion when a messy pile of disorganized books were transplanted back to their neat and logical homes among the ordered shelves.

Near the end of my time with Borders I was shelving downstairs in this section that was a miscellaneous mixture of books about art, photography, crafts, television, and music. Among the mess of books to be shelved was one of the postsecret hardcovers. I started to flip through this collection of anonymous, yet universal, secrets and feelings and a page torn from a loose-leaf notebook fell out onto the floor.

I set the books I was carrying aside, I bent over to pick up the paper, and saw writing on it. I saw writing and my heart stopped for a brief moment; I read it, paused, and read it again; and I then looked around as if the author were among the stacks watching me read what they had written. There was the secret thrill of having seen this secret note written to everyone, no one, and myself.

While I don’t believe a new place can change all of my struggles and things I don’t like about myself—I hope this move is the start of a new me, in many ways.

Today I’m reminded of this quote attributed (albeit incorrectly) to F. Scott Fitzgerald: I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

I don’t know what happened to this person, but I know I hope and wish and pray that they gained insight from their struggles; that they could distinguish that which they could control and change when it came to things they didn’t like about themselves; that they had the strength and self-confidence to accept the things they didn’t have control over; and that they have built something of a life for themselves wherever they are now.

I don’t know if I believe that moving to a new place really provides a new start to life. Except that, be it a physical or mental or emotional move, it’s the only thing that ever does. It’ll never be clean nor even clear, it’ll never be easy. But having the strength to move? Having the strength to start again? That’s the only thing that makes us grow.

8 notespermalink

#Me#growth#growing up#F. Scott Fitzgerald#changes

“

Yeah, we’ll see. Maybe she’ll be all “Wow, he’s handsome and cute and funny and witty. And we’ve had a bottle of wine so we should probably make poor decisions involving being pantsless.

L asked me to describe what I hope the girl is thinking when we’re on a date.

(I don’t get out much.)

On March 16, 2012 at 5:08pm

2 notespermalink

#More Wine More Wit More Pantslessness#Dating#Me

On March 7, 2012 at 10:00am

GPOYW - I used to be a dirty blond (with a bowl haircut) edition.

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#gpoyw#me

On March 2, 2012 at 12:23pm

GPOY 2009 Edition

slaughterhouse90210:

“I’ve tried to be forgiving. And yet. There were times in my life, whole years, when anger got the better of me. Ugliness turned me inside out. There was a certain satisfaction in bitterness. I courted it. It was standing outside, and I invited it in.”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

445 notespermalink

#These are just ghosts that broke my heart before I met you.#Me#GPOY#Love#Heartbreak

On February 22, 2012 at 10:22am

The Lenten season is among my favorite parts of the year. At its core, it’s about self-reflection, meditation, prayer, and being able to filter out the distractions or temptations in one’s life. It’s about acting deliberately and making the movements count. It’s about the realization that while we are all connected and make up this broader web of humanity and grace, we are also distinct individuals.

The Church teaches us to abstain from something for the next 40 days—a distraction or temptation in emulation of Christ in the desert. I like to not only give something up but to also add something in my life. Something that lets me center myself more and act more deliberately. Another thing I like about the 40-day time period is that it’s enough time to break down old habits and build up new ones. It’s not as general as new year’s resolutions which presumably extend out for the next 365 days. Indeed, 40 days is just long enough to be a challenge and require sacrifice, but short enough to have an end in sight.

So, this year I’m giving up meat and alcohol in order to be more deliberate about both my health and what I put in my body. But I’m also adding ways to be more deliberate about my body and mind—yoga and daily mass.

Here’s to 40 days of living deliberately and consciously and, one hopes, ending up more centered.

[sharlala]

16 notespermalink

#lent#Yoga#Me