Traveling Light

So I'm going to San Antonio to spend a week with my friends Jesse and Julie. I'll be flying on Southwest Airlines courtesy of the Kanner Lubbering Foundation for Peace, Love and Happiness which is hosting an event up in Kerrville, Texas called: The Total Eclipse of the Sun.

I'm excited. I haven't been on a plane since 2016 when Danielle and I flew from NYC to Los Angeles to see M83 at the Greek Theatre. I'm opting for the window seat since I'll be flying during the day which presents the perfect opportunity to playact the role of Helios looking down at all the mortals gazing skyward (on April 8th, the day of the eclipse), which I consider an appropriate prelude to my pilgrimage. I revel in dramatic flights of pretending, especially if they are inspired by the spirit of symmetry.

Pretending is manifest in a variety of fashions: such as the spontaneous improv, or the long contemplated ruse, and the most common pretense of all—the godforsaken habitual. I like to be equitable and taste everything on the appetizer tray, so I might start my 7am coffee ritual with a harmless bit of operatic wailing performed for a family of mice bickering in the laundry room, and naturally, I'm accompanied by Yo-Yo Ma who is all smiles as he encourages a skosh more soprano even though he knows, damn well, I'm a tenor. But honestly, I'm grateful for his nudging. And after lunch (grilled cheeses with a side of kosher dills), I'll lace up my sneakers with the intention of walking my requisite 2.5 miles yet inevitably I end up in bed reading another chapter of The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich and just as I contemplate a nap I bust out the iPad and start writing a new blog and debate whether I should sit by the window or the aisle because they both have their pros and cons but I end up convincing myself the window is better because I can be Helios, and it's settled. Then night rolls around and I think about weed and how I haven't had any gummies or hit the pipe since the start of the year and I say, good for you, and wonder where I ended up hiding the stash even though I know it's in the bin I tucked deep inside a dead closet so I wouldn't think about it—the "it" being whether or not I'll convince myself that weed helps me sleep better and eases my chronic-itis—but instead I'll get on the yoga mat and do my three sets because I'm reborn and I've put my hurts in the same bin with the weed and then tomorrow night I'll turn on the purple light and I'll think about how there is no way just one puff will make a difference. And these are the ways I pretend.

As my friend Doug would say, "We all got to be something."

I think I'll be a good listener when I get to San Antonio and I'll bring my camera even though I have a tendency to use the viewfinder as a doppelganger. But I know that somewhere between me and my pretense is the spiritual balance that I speak of and trust.

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Dawn Patrol

I saw a familiar face in the park; I couldn't remember her name, but she was approaching. It was early afternoon and I was lounging around some picnic tables; in the distance her gentle eyes looking at me, walking my way. I noticed something on the table covered in aluminum foil, the remnants of a small gathering, perhaps. I was curious but I didn't have time to poke around because she arrived sooner than I expected. She told me it was a Jewish holiday and this was food to eat; then she gestured (with a sweeping hand) for me to enjoy. I was hungry and excited about the feast, but I don't recall tasting what appeared to be a creamy pasta salad. Heather, that was her name; we met in 2000 on the TV show "Madigan Men" which was produced in NYC at Kaufman Astoria Studios. Heather was a writer's assistant. She was always nice. It was Heather that offered me the food. Soon after she arrived: I awakened. I looked outside my bedroom door and tried to guess what time it was, the quality of the light; I had no idea, I didn't really care, but I knew I was happy and relieved that I finally got that good sleep, which is my number one self-care goal at the moment.

I attribute my delicious rest to a few things. First, I only had three hours of sleep the night before; I closed my eyes at 3am and woke up at 6, then I stayed in bed for two hours reading Trust by Hernan Diaz. I thought I would doze off after several chapters of incredible financial success followed by crushing personal loss but I dreaded the thought of waking up at 3 or 4pm and having to restart my sleep cycle again. So I begrudgingly got out of bed, but at least I was happy to look out my window and see people doing morning things, like the police on horseback patrolling the trails of Woodberry. You see, I had recently texted my friend Jesse and asked when his household awakened. Rise at 7, shine at 8. Ok, that was my new goal, to wake up at 7am so I could be social with my San Antonio family. Jesse and his wife Julie recently bought me a Southwest Airlines ticket to visit them for a week in early April to watch the solar eclipse in Kerrville which meant I had around six weeks to get my sleep schedule correct. But today I woke at 11am, hungry with thoughts of pasta salad glossy in the sun, which was a bit of a letdown in regards to the hour, but I knew I was making up for the previous night of near sleeplessness so I wasn't really mad, in fact, I was thrilled to feel this alive and positive and the only thing on my mind was a fresh cup of coffee: a delicious medium roast from Mom's called Dawn Patrol (DP). As I walked into the kitchen and greeted my Chemex I reflected on my buoyancy and was thinking my new haircut followed by the nice hot shower I took last night probably contributed to my heavenly slumbers, along with my prolonged yoga session with all the doors and windows wide open to air out the cooking smells from the apartment below despite it being just 28 degrees outside. I was still dressed in the four mitigating layers of various types of fabric (cotton, microfibers and a baja hoodie) as I vigorously stirred dark chocolate and raw honey into my pint of DP while admiring the inside of my refrigerator which I had thoroughly cleaned the day before chased by a solid hour trying to figure out how to reinstall the shelving and the crispers. But today—nothing but sparkling glass and shiny apple skins, a loaf of sourdough begging to be grilled cheese and a glistening jar of sliced kosher dills. Yes, I had worked myself into a tizzy yesterday, yet I haven't mentioned the best thing I did, the one prescient moment that might have morphed my pathological nightmares of disorganization into thoughts of Heather's smiling face: sending an email to my friend DML asking if the trip to DC in late April (to admire the orchids) was still on the table, which was a long shot considering she moved out of our apartment 48 days ago, but the mere inquiry lifted a sadness that had been lingering for weeks.

My mind and body was at peace, for the moment, and tomorrow I might set my sights on 7am, but for now I would sip my coffee and enjoy the sounds of garbage bins emptying on the streets.

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Mama Always Said I Would Be a Student for Life

Near the beginning of this year I was asked to teach some classes up yonder at Randolph College. I briefly chronicled my experience here. Part of teaching, and part of living for that matter, is to be self-critical. I basically struggled as a professor. But as my anecdote details, I wasn't given much prep time. I jumped in anyways because it was something new and different. At the end of it all I thought, hmm, that's part of my legend now, I can move on. But I didn't. I often mused about how I would go about it differently if I had another chance. My mentor at Randolph, Jennifer, was big on the "if you had another chance" mantra. So I adopted her wisdom and applied it to self. Although I had taught a lot of young adults how to be showbiz accountants, I never formally learned how to be an educator. I was ok with the subject I was teaching, photography and filmmaking, because I had decent experience and I was always practicing. But I never felt at peace in the classroom. I never felt comfortable being an authority, a phenomenon that I recently learned is called, impostership. I needed to fortify this aspect of my experience. I needed some teacher training. So I enrolled in this online course offered by Columbia University called, "Inclusive Teaching: Supporting All Students in the College Classroom." In general, the course was about establishing and supporting an inclusive course climate; setting explicit expectations; promoting diversity and inclusion through course content; designing all course elements for accessibility; and cultivating critical self-reflection. It was perfect. I guess my main takeaway was learning to not universalize my experience. Oh, and that teaching is a process. As my good friend Jesse often says, "Relax hotshot." Good advice. So I'll just keep learning stuff along the way. Mama was right. And btw, Jennifer sent me an email asking if I'd like to teach again in the spring.

I said, sure, I'd love to.

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