Sailing Through Life

Fair warning: much like the wind itself, this post is going to meander about a bit.

You don’t need to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

—Bob Dylan

Kites rise highest against the wind – not with it. 

—Winston Churchill

Some gnats came from the grass to speak with Solomon.

“O Solomon, you are the champion of the oppressed.

You give justice to the little guys, and they don’t get

any littler than us! We are tiny metaphors 

for frailty. Can you defend us?”

“Who has mistreated you?”

“Our complaint is against the wind.”

“Well,” says Solomon, “you have pretty voices,

you gnats, but remember, a judge cannot listen

to just one side. I must hear both litigants.”

“Of course,” agree the gnats.

“Summon the East Wind!” calls out Solomon,

and the wind arrives almost immediately.

What happened to the gnat plaintiffs? Gone.

Such is the way of every seeker who comes to complain

at the High Court. When the presence of God arrives,

where are the seekers? First there’s dying,

then union, like gnats inside the wind.

—Jelaluddin Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

I’ve been thinking about the wind a lot lately, largely because about a month ago I took a part-time job as a crewman of a sailboat in NY Harbor. The way I got the job was a bit like sailing itself.

Yes. I am indeed On A Boat.

 

The amazing thing about sailing is that while you can’t control nature in the slightest, you can control your relationship to it. If the wind is going west, it’s going west. And yet you can still use nothing but a few pieces of fabric to steer yourself anywhere you want to go. Even the one direction that seems impossible, east, can be done. It’s just not quite as straightforward.

The trick to sailing east is by something called tacking. It’s true that sailing directly in the wind is a useless venture. But you can sail fairly close to the direction of the wind. It’s not as easy, and it’s not as fast. But it can be done. And sometimes in sailing, just like in life you need to sort of zigzag your way to your goal. Tack northeast. Tack southeast. Northeast for a bit again…

And sometimes in life, much like in sailing or with the gnats from the Rumi poem above, there are circumstances outside your control. And working directly hard on the problem, no matter how earnestly, will get you nowhere. There’s no denying that the “weather conditions” in the world today are more against us than they’ve been in a long long time. And that’s how I found myself in front of this boat one day with a catering order in my hands for an event that had just been canceled.

Some time ago I had finally gotten tired of trying to force my way directly into the wind and being open to opportunities as they came up. So as I stood in front of this boat, remembering how much I used to love being on the water (and full disclosure: looking for a good excuse to chat up the young lady in question), I asked the question. “Say… are you guys hiring by any chance?”

It turned out they were. And much to my own surprise, about a week later I started my part-time gig as a crewman of this beautiful Gatsby-era schooner. Three sails per day in the NY harbor, waving hello to Lady Liberty each time.

 

Hello, Lady Liberty!

 

It’s not just the best part of my week, it’s been the best part of my summer. Maybe the whole year. I’m unbelievably grateful for the trust the captains have shown in me, and their willingness to train me even as the season is ending.

And it wouldn’t have happened if I had simply thrown up my hands and drifted downwind, or tried to fight directly against it. So if there’s one lesson in all of this, it’s that you can’t always resist the forces of life. But you can still find your way through it, and love the process along the way.

See you on the water, mateys!

 

A Bike’s Eye View of NYC

Early last spring I became a member of one of the fastest growing segments of the New York population: I became a biker.

For the most part, this involves my commute. Depending on the routes I take, my average round trip is about 16 miles a day. I won’t get into all the controversy surrounding the bike lanes and the whole car/bike/pedestrian conflicts (though believe me, I have a lot to say about them!), but I will say that biking has expanded my point of view, as well as my experience of the city itself.

When I used to commute by subway, my experience was relatively small. A short walk to a station, hope I get a seat, alternately stare at the floor or ceiling for a long period of time (because obviously it would be wrong of me to check out the attractive women on the train *ahem*), and suddenly pop out in a new part of town. Apart from the last one on that list, every ride is pretty much the same unless you have construction, stalled trains, etc.

But that all changed when I started biking. Suddenly I’m part of the lifeblood of the city. The different neighborhoods flow into each other in a way they never do by train. And every ride is a little different, even if I’m going to the same places. Check it out:

 

 

In this one ride, I pass through or right next to:

–Three boroughs

–Various completely different residential neighborhoods

–An industrial zone

–Those big metal onion-looking things, you can see from Manhattan (a sewage plant which almost never smells)

–A film shoot

–McCarren Park

–The Williamsburg Bridge, with great views of the city

–Chinatown

–For the history buffs: the park off Worth Street where Five Points (the neighborhood from “Gangs of New York”) used to be

–The courthouses and City Hall

–And finally, my destination

 

But it’s not just the sights that I’m taking in. I managed to lose some things along the way as well. Specifically, I lost about 20 pounds, and my previously diagnosed sleep apnea. In fact, a recent study by the British Medical Journal showed that the overall health benefits of biking in an urban environment outweigh the health risks by a 77:1 ratio. And that’s not even getting into the fact that local community boards around the city are continuing to approve more and more protected bike lanes.

I also stopped spending $100/month on Metrocards, which admittedly is offset a bit by the cost of the bike itself, accessories and repairs. But I’m still coming out ahead. And much to my surprise, even coming all the way in from Queens, my commute is about 5 minutes shorter. And no need to spend an hour at the gym if I don’t want to. The workout’s already taken care of.

I know winter is just around the corner, and I wouldn’t expect most people to start riding right now. But spring won’t be that far behind. And for anyone that’s ever thought about leaving the MTA behind, take this as a little encouragement to start thinking about it now. You’ll be glad you did.

 

Maybe someday you'll even wander into New Jersey.

 

*Special thanks to my friend Rik from “The Click Heard Round The World” for planting the idea of the video in my head.

 

The Quest for Penelope

Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey are two of the most enduring and beloved books in history. And with good reason. This one man’s 20 year struggle to first conquer his enemies and then find his way home strikes something deep within us. Whether it’s the monsters and gods he encounters, the suitors he impossibly overcomes, or the idea of the struggle itself, everyone has a different reason to love them. But the one that has been most on my mind lately doesn’t come directly from the books themselves, but largely from the stories surrounding them. And it concerns the two most prominent women: Helen and Penelope.

Helen, of course is known as the most beautiful woman in the world. Being the daughter of Zeus will do that for you. But one thing to bear in mind is that when the ancient Greeks spoke of beauty, they didn’t just mean the surface. It goes deeper than that. “Beauty” referred to an ideal of something which is higher, and “the most beautiful” means it actually is the best. And with Helen, it shows. When she appears in the Odyssey, she is utterly magnificent, gracious, and surprisingly enigmatic. It’s not hard to see why all the kings of Greece sought her hand in marriage.

 

Helen is the ultimate woman on a pedestal.

 

Penelope, on the other hand is something entirely different. She is also described as being beautiful enough to drive her own suitors wild, despite her relatively (for that time) advanced years. But she’s not considered the most beautiful. However, she is brilliant. And cunning. And faithful to the end. In her own way, she is fighting just as hard for him during those 20 years as he is for her. Whether she’s the “most beautiful” or not, she clearly is the perfect match for a man like Odysseus.

 

Penelope is the woman in your arms.

 

And that’s where the story gets interesting.

Turn the clock back to just over 20 years before, and we’re at the time when all of Helen’s suitors are gathered around her. Helen’s father – not Zeus, the human one (it’s complicated) – is Tyndareus, the king of Sparta. Now Tyndareus was understandably nervous about all of these other kings marching in and vying for the hand of his daughter. It seemed like an impossible choice. No matter who he chose, the other kings would invariably end up going to war.

But while this was going on, the brilliant Odysseus happened to notice Helen’s cousin, Penelope. He instantly recognized in her a kindred spirit. His true match. So he broke away from the dazzling Helen and came up with a plan. “King Tyndareus,” he said. “What you must do is ask all the kings here to swear an oath that no matter who you choose, they will defend that king from anyone who would try and take Helen away. And just so none of the other kings will accuse me of trickery, I will officially withdraw myself from the pursuit of Helen. All I ask for in return is the opportunity to woo your niece, Penelope.”

Tyndareus was amazed at the idea and agreed right away. Peace was made between the kings. And Odysseus got what he really wanted. Of course, nobody could predict that the gods would intervene, and this very oath would be why the Trojan War happened and Odysseus would become separated from Penelope for 20 years. But that’s another story, which Homer does a good enough job of telling that there’s no need for me to go into it here.

I suppose the point to all this is pretty clear. Sometimes simply because something is “the best,” doesn’t mean it’s the best for you or for me. Whether it’s in relationships, careers, or anything life has to offer, my wish is that we all find it in ourselves to look past what we “should” want and find the quest which is truly our own.

And don’t forget, your own Penelope is out there fighting just as hard for you as you are for her (or him).

 

The Unarmed Bandit

I’ve never particularly cared for gambling. Which admittedly is kind of funny since I do love the idea of casinos and many of the symbols surrounding gambling. I even have a pair of poker themed cufflinks, as well as a beautifully framed set of cards and chips from various Las Vegas casinos surrounding the famous picture of the Rat Pack at the Sands on my wall. And on the other side of this equation, I have been known to dabble in a video game or two over the years.

That may seem like an odd pairing at first glance, but bear in mind my first real exposure to casinos was the slot machines on a cruise ship when I was a kid. You drop a coin in, pull a lever, there are lots of flashing lights and noises, and if you’re lucky you win – which means you get your coin back as well as a whole mess of others. Unfortunately, being a kid I wasn’t allowed to play the slot machines.

But… it was perfectly acceptable for me to play a different kind of machine, which was literally on the other side of the wall: The video game!

 

Cue angelic choir sounds.

 

And even as a kid I could see there was something strange about this. I never understood how it was just fine for me to pump quarter after quarter into a machine that gave me no chance of getting my money back, but I’d have to be at least 18 years old to pump quarter after quarter into a different machine which did give me the chance to get my money back. To this day it doesn’t really make sense to me. Pay us: cool. Pay us and get a chance for a refund: only when you’re growns up, kid.

And that’s where the question sat in the back of my mind for years, until it was called up again recently by one of the most evil video games of all time:

 

Oh sure, it looks harmless NOW...

 

Ok, maybe Bejeweled Blitz isn’t really that evil. But what it is, is addicting. Oh, so very addicting. For those fortunate enough not to be familiar with this particular game, all you really need to know is A) it’s addicting (I may have mentioned this before), and B) each game only takes 60 seconds to play. And that’s where the real problem comes in. While lots of games can be addicting, when each one is just 60 seconds it’s just so much easier to turn “Ok, just one more game” into another hour or two without you realizing it. And part of the addicting factor is that it acts very similar to a slot machine. You get game after game of things not quite falling in order, and suddenly, randomly, you get one HUGE game where you score 10 times your usual amount of points. And just like with slot machines, the addict is really just chasing that big score.

Yes, I realize of course that a true gambling addiction has the potential to be much more damaging to the addict. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t dangers to a video game addiction either. It may not result in you blowing your kids’ college tuition or losing your house. But it’s so easy to see how you might be losing something that is in itself very valuable: time.

And that’s where I found myself one night at 3am, with no idea how many games I’d just played. People tend to toss around the expression “wasting time” with little thought about what it actually means. For someone like me, part of why I’m not that into gambling is because the thrill just isn’t worth the money it costs, especially when I can think of so many more fun ways of spending that same money. But what about the time? Can’t it also be said that there are so many more fun ways of spending that time?

So why are we so quick to pass by a slot machine, but have a bit harder time passing by the 50th game of Bejeweled Blitz? The inevitable conclusion is that, at least when we’re in that zone, we value our money more than we value our time. And that’s the real tragedy of addictions like these. On the one side, you can lose a lot of money. On the other, you can waste a lot of time.

But unlike money, time is the one thing we can’t make more of.

 

A Question of Height (and Boobs)

Having spent a good portion of my adult life as a Dating American, I’ve been noticing something for a long time. I’m sure everyone reading this has noticed the same thing. To a large percentage of the population, a whole lot of emphasis has been placed on the height of the different sexes.

It seems to be widely accepted that the “correct” order of things is for the man to always be taller than the woman. Sure sure, there are lots of exceptions out there, but nonetheless you can’t argue that the exceptions are almost always noted. There was a good chunk of time when, even if you actively avoided gossip columns and the like, you were bound to stumble across some headline stating that Katie is taller than Tom (gasp!).

 

Warning: laws of universe violated. Pat Robertson declares a state of emergency.

 

It’s even more clear in the online dating world. When it comes to online dating, one of the few places you can actually count on people being honest in their profiles is when they describe what they want. And though it’s far from the majority, one of the things that you’re bound to see every now and then is, “must be taller than me,” or the even more extreme, “must be taller than me in heels” (I’m assuming she means she’d be wearing heels, not him).

Now, just to be clear, I’m not questioning why this might be preferred. My question is why is it that for so many people it’s a total deal breaker? And not just for the women, a lot of men would never consider going out with a woman taller than him as well – though admittedly not to the same degree. I myself used to have a similar attitude that “it would be weird,” until one day I found myself dating a woman who was about four inches taller than me. And suddenly it became clear how ridiculous an issue it is.

“Taller than me” isn’t something like “Wants children” or “non-smoker.” At best it’s a secondary sexual characteristic. Not nothing. But not vital to a relationship. That being said, let’s take a look at some of the reasons it makes sense for taller men to seem more desirable:

Evolutionary: Regardless of your views on science, I think few can argue that we have an instinctive desire to be with those we believe will be better caretakers and create stronger children. This is what secondary sexual characteristics are all about. Taller guys can see the lion from further away, are probably stronger for when they have to deal with the lion up close, and are better able to dunk a basketball when the lion is running an effective zone defense.

“It Just Feels Better”: On the most basic level, this is about hugging someone. Since men tend to be larger, It just feels “more natural” for the man to be taller when locked in an embrace.

The Arm Candy Effect: I’d like to give the fairer sex the benefit of the doubt and say that for most, this is the least important aspect of the three listed. And yet I doubt many could argue that how we look in public isn’t at least a factor for many of us. There’s a really wonderful story about Sir Gawain’s wife on this subject, but it’s too much of a digression to go into here (here on the other hand…).

I’m sure there are more reasons, but it seems to me these are the big ones. And to be clear, I’m not actually arguing against any of them in terms of attractiveness. It’s a matter of deal breakers. Why is “taller than me” a deal breaker on the same level as “wants children,” while at the same time being totally accepted to the point of being expected. Whereas something like “no fatties” sounds rightfully offensive?

…but wait. This article isn’t about children, non-smokers or “fatties.” I promised you boobs, and boobs ye shall have.

 

As always, I defer to my friend Weird Al.

 

Imagine for just a moment that you’re flipping through a bunch of profiles on a dating site. And along the way you stumble across a guy who is pretty good looking, shares a lot of common interests with you, has a good job, and while describing his perfect woman tosses in one sentence saying, “Must have at least size C breasts.”

I think it’s a pretty safe bet that the overwhelming majority of women would be offended by this. Even those who actually meet the “Size C” requirement would think he’s a pig. The cries for his head would echo all over the Internet. And yet, is it really so different from the height question? Let’s look at our qualifiers again:

Evolutionary: This may come as a shock to some people, but breasts are also capable of producing sustenance ideally suited for babies. They’re also a visual cue from nature regarding fertility in general. Hey it’s science, people!!!

“It Just Feels Better”: Hugging… um… yeah.

The Arm Candy Effect: Do I really need to post an image for this?

 

Ok, if you insist.

 

And in my ponderings, I would add another one for both:

They both matter less when “lying down”: Whether you tilt your head up or down when kissing only matters, at most, when you’re standing up. And most of the men I’ve spoken to about this agree that whether they prefer larger or smaller breasts, the actual size matters less once they’re exposed to the light (or dark, as it were). Nude beaches really aren’t as interesting as people think.

Now take a quick look at the article I snipped that last pic from. Who on Earth would look at that picture and write a headline and three-and-a-half paragraphs about her height, show the image itself, and then way at the bottom add, “…it was impossible not to notice the 32-year-old actress’ very visible cleavage?” And why is it that the article on Tom and Katie I showed above is considered par for the course, whereas something like the following would be considered bad taste:

 

To think, he almost destroyed a couch for this woman.

 

I put it to you, gentle readers. Setting aside the more understandable deal breakers like, “She thinks The DaVinci Code is the most amazingest book EVER!!!” why are some more arbitrary deal breakers considered perfectly acceptable by society, and others are considered absurd or offensive?

And if any of those gentle readers know of large-breasted taller women, be sure and send me their information as well. You know… for science.

 

Sir Gareth, Winston Churchill and Me.

A long time ago, a teacher told me a story. It was the type of story that seemed small at the time, but stuck with me through the years. It was about Winston Churchill.

Winston Churchill was the leader of his political party. A man not to be trifled with. Most people know this. What is not so well known, is that after climbing to this tremendous height, he suffered a gigantic political defeat. The kind of thing that many people don’t recover from. He took it hard, and he left politics completely. And though he easily could have done so, he didn’t just pack it in and rest on his laurels. He did something much more unexpected.

He became a brick layer.

No really.

He actually went out and learned the craft of brick laying. How to mix the mortar. How to place the bricks evenly. And when he was ready, he got the proper certification by showing that he could lay the proper amount of bricks within the necessary time frame.

This previously great man knew what he needed to heal. Though I won’t pretend to know what was going on in his mind, leaving the complicated and generally insane world of politics in favor of something simple and very real is the type of thing many people dream about for themselves. And though I have little doubt he could have continued on very happily as a bricklayer, he did eventually return to the world of politics.

And oh yes… he then went on to become Prime Minister and save Europe from the Nazis.

And then there’s the story of Sir Gareth. Anyone who’s ever attempted to read Mallory’s “Morte d’Arthur” knows that it can be a pretty tedious tome. The stories tend to meander about, and though the book is great in its entirety, it’s still a pretty tough read. But out of all of this, Sir Gareth stands out. Not only is it a fun story, but it’s one of the few that has a clear beginning, middle and end.

It begins when Gareth, a younger brother of the famous Sir Gawain, first arrives at court. And though he has every right to simply ride up, show his lineage, and demand his seat at the table, he comes in disguise. And in this disguise he asks King Arthur for a place to sleep and a lowly job in his kitchen, both of which the king grants.

So the noble Gareth takes this job, scrubbing pots and preparing meals for an entire year. All the while, Sir Kay (who’s presented as a bit of a jerk-off through most of the book), mocks him mercilessly and gives him the name “Beaumains.” But Gareth takes it all with humility and grace. At the end of the year, a young damsel comes to court with an urgent need for someone to battle a knight with the strength of seven men. All the knights of the Round Table are afraid. But when Gareth hears of this, he leaves the kitchen, walks into King Arthur’s court, and demands this adventure. “For it belongeth unto me,” he says.

"Ok, maybe he is more than a kitchen boy afterall."

The story goes on from there, and Sir Gareth eventually becomes one of the greatest knights of the Round Table. But for my purposes today, that’s enough. In my mind, both the story of Winston Churchill and the story of Sir Gareth have always touched the same place inside. Both were great men of high standing. Both took seemingly lower positions for a period of time. And both raised themselves up to even higher places than where they had begun.

As I look at myself these days, I can hardly think of two better examples to emulate. There are so many parts of my own story which I can easily see in both of theirs. Like Sir Gareth, I was born into a good family that afforded me many opportunities others don’t have. And like Churchill, I had built a pretty successful career before the economy brought it crashing down around me. I’m now working at a job which many people with my background would (and do) scoff at. And not surprisingly, I also take quite a bit of abuse from people who tend to present themselves as jerk-offs. Like Sir Gareth, I have learned a great deal from my time in the “kitchen.” And like Churchill, I have healed from my “defeat” and am ready to rise up again.

The only thing that remains is to recognize my quest and declare, “It belongeth unto me.”

…and then I’ll see about saving Europe.

 

Nothing to see here…yet

 

I’m not really sure why you’re reading this. Afterall the headline already explained the situation. But since you insist on continuing for three sentences (and counting), I guess I’ll go into a bit more detail. I’m just starting this blog. I have several things already written which I’m planning to put up. I’ve got ideas for a few more. But for right now I’m still just learning my way around this joint, and until I have a basic idea what I’m doing, that’s how it will continue. See, now don’t you wish you had believed me at the headline?