Soft sounds from another planet

Many of my conversations with my wife, and with others tend to land on career discussions, or about their jobs (usually dissatisfaction).  Maybe it's a function of my age and the age of my peers.  "I question my role everyday, I have no idea what I'm doing anymore..."  seems to be a common refrain.  My sister is also thinking about drastically changing her work situation to spend more time with her kids.

I know that I am actively pulling back my efforts, and being more measured in what I contribute to at work.  I also know that this is the prime of my career, a time in which I should seek aggressively to ascend.  There's a dissonance there, but I can't find a reason to justify the effort to further myself professionally.  I've been questioned at work about my motivations and why even decide to come in, when the perception is that I can be doing more elsewhere.  It's an enviable position, but I struggle to explain, and the words won't come.  I fear that I am lying to myself about my situation, and building complacency with what comes easy.    

I had a recent chat with my mentor about jobs and careers, and it focused on potential.  What happens to unrealized potential?  Is it considered squandered if efforts are not directed towards the most efficient return, but it generates some measure of happiness?    

Japanese breakfast - Soft sounds from another planet.

Transatlanticism

On the return from Portland, my wife thought it might be a good idea to ease back into New York City, so we went to Governor's Island for a bit of nature and remoteness from the city.  We came to a city still caked in a heat wave (though the temperatures on the island were moderated by the surrounding waters) and traversed by a declining transportation infrastructure, but at least on Governor's Island, we traveled on bikes, and from a distance, things still appeared to be magnificent.  Perhaps both of us, and me certainly, are looking for a way to reconcile with our current location.

Death Cab for Cutie - Transatlanticism.

Intermission

On the presumption that this page gets very few eyes, and even fewer readership, this is more of a note and commitment to myself.  I will be using this space to handle a few edits, a Cabalist re-work of previous posts to string them together, to seek a better revelation. 

In my favorite book, Foucault's Pendulum, Eco wrote this:  

"Not that the incredulous person doesn't believe in anything. It's just that he doesn't believe in everything. Or he believes in one thing at a time. He believes a second thing only if it somehow follows from the first thing. He is nearsighted and methodical, avoiding wide horizons. If two things don't fit, but you believe both of them, thinking that somewhere, hidden, there must be a third thing that connects them, that's credulity."

As I re-write, I ask for your understanding and credulity. 

Nobody

A non-NYC post, and a bit of a pause, as I travel through Portland.

Mitski - Nobody.

Dance slow decades

Photography has been more of a casual hobby - I've always felt more comfortable in the space of words and prose rather than creative visuals.  I am, however, finding photography suitable as an outlet.  

In the past, I've hopped from one pastime to another, not finding quite the right fit, or when it becomes too involved.  With photography, I'm on that cusp of deciding whether to make more of an investment.  More mental focus, better equipment, endless decisions.  I will try not to overthink it.

Angel Olsen - Dance slow decades.

Swallowed

I do not have any great affinity to having a career in finance or accounting.  I do not consider it a calling, though it comes easily enough.  Job-wise, I have been happy to find adjacencies and nooks that allowed me to do other things under that banner; instead of auditing, forensic accounting and investigations, in place of forecasting and planning, analysis.

I worked a short stint in a data management function - the topic appealed to me primarily because I thought it an interesting exercise to codify data in order to make appropriate use of it, and in so doing, explore and overcome observational bias.  Defining things to a level of specificity required to enable proper usage was a bit of a challenge, particularly when you introduced a second person to evaluate that definition.  A four legged domesticated mammal that wags its tail is an apt description of a dog, until you have encountered a horse.  Additional complexity is introduced, until the act of definition feels exhausting, and the image of the subject you once held so clearly is now obscured.

I feel the same way about other aspects of my life, and about New York.  Where once it may have been difficult to think about leaving or how I or it could exist without one another, the introduction of other places befitting that description of home obscures the strong feelings I once had about this geography.  Without me, despite me, New York will persist, offering those stolen moments that I thought were only for me to new players.  There is a strangeness in that estrangement, and an impermanence.  Perhaps looking back, it will be a tangential point in my life after all, significant only to me because I was in it at the time; I was a direct observant of the daily events in the city play out. I wonder if this is how one feels about their hometown after having lived lives separate from it. 

My marathon training and biking have been an opportunity to explore the way I feel about the city.  Repeated revisits to the same locations is allowing me to refine the definition of how I feel and develop nuanced views (e.g., Chinatown at dawn is positively tranquil, but a cacophony of locals and tourist soon after).  I am developing new intimacies with New York by exploring new areas. Idiosyncracies, both positive and negative, start to appear.  I have been documenting them, some through photgraphy, to aid in a mental tallying of the pros and cons.

Bush - Swallowed.

Somewhere down the road

I attended the last performance of the Momix Dance Company at Joyce Theater.  While waiting for the show to start, I struck a conversation with an older lady next to me.  She introduced herself, and stated that she has never missed a run by the dance company when they are in town. This is because, she explained, she was at the inaugural show for the group some thirty years back.  It was a blind date, and he was from New Jersey.  She had heard about the dance company, newly formed, from a friend at a teaching college in Connecticut.  Figuring it might be a fun event, she asked him to drive her to Connecticut for the show.  The date was a bust, and she couldn't even remember his name.  But the show, and the dance company she would never forget - she could recall the dancers' movements, their graceful arcs, and sinuous bodies.  She pledged to herself to see their shows whenever they came back to town, and has been followimg through that promise ever since.  I asked her name.  "Leela," she responded.  "Maybe I will see you at their next show."

Feist - Somewhere down the road.

Keep on lying

Despite attending NYU as an undergrad, I never spent too much time looking at the monument in the park.  Wandering through early Friday morning, I met a man meticulously photographing the structure from different angles.  I ask why he picked this subject today, and a smile beamed across his face - "Not many folks know there are several hundred bodies buried here..." he explained, "so I'm working on a project to document it."  We spoke for a bit about his project, and why he was pursuing it.  I acknowledged his subject, "A potter's field, right?"  He nodded, and I mentioned that I will keep an eye out for his project once it is published.  It was a great conversation, and I was grateful to witness the passion he felt for the subject.

Jessie Ware - Keep on lying.

Sea of love

Wading through the humidity in the Village, I wandered past Luke at the window a few days ago.  There was a sign there that read, "This is Luke.  He is friendly, and you are welcomed to pet him."  There were a few people already partaking this offer, having a conversation while idly stroking his paw.  I waited till there were no other prospective masseuses, and got in on the action myself.  I wonder how many folks he has met, how many he has touched and interacted.  I am envious of his casual confidence and openness to connect on first meeting; my social interactions are much less fluid by comparison.

Cat Power - Sea of love.

Pink lemonade

In his memoir, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running," Haruki Murakami observed that "No matter how mundane some action might appear, keep at it long enough and it becomes a contemplative, even meditative act."  This is how marathon training feels like to me - the continuous act of running has become a meditation of sorts; I let my mind go blank, and just focus on breathing.  I've been trying to train in specific heart rate zones too, to extend my endurance.  This is turning out to be a bit of a zen koan, in which I am exercising, but careful to not to let my heart rate spike too deep into over-exertion thresholds.  It is a silent rumination on my limits, a personal calculus.  I run early in the morning, and every so often I am jolted back into reality, as I encounter other joggers, and wonder why they are also here at this ungodly hour.  We smile, and nod before heading back into our own heads.

James Bay - Pink Lemonade.

Manhattan

A slight reprieve from the heat yesterday, and stars aligned as I stumbled on an outdoor book reading in the park nearby my home.  I took this photo shortly after the event in the midst of a lazy sunset.  The subway lately has been an exercise in frustration and stifling heat, so I am eager to experience Manhattan merely as a spectator from across the river.  I've been trying to keep busy and occupy myself; Thankfully, there are a lot of events in my neighborhood - a benefit of living in a retail/tourist corridor.  Though I am incredibly lucky to have the means and the leisure time to enjoy my surroundings, I do often wonder if my focus on seeking out a more purposeful life creates a blindspot for these sweet interludes - perhaps the summation of these moments is what gives one's life meaning.

Blossom Dearie - Manhattan.