So much of our venture hinges on social connections, and that’s because social connections are crucial to happiness, and to both mental and physical health.
Some people are blessed with a strong social environment – they have close-knit families, a group of supportive friends, and coworkers who share the same passions. These things go an incredibly long way to promote wellbeing.
But many of us don’t have quite so many people supporting us. You hear terms like “Loneliness Epidemic” tossed around these days, and really it’s abundantly clear on its own, w/o journalists having to declare it, that too many people struggle to find companionship.
Let me be clear: To be alone for any extended period of time, whether physically or mentally (or both), can cause real pain.
This is not a weakness – it is simply a product of human nature to desire and seek out company.
And while being alone can teach you volumes about yourself, and can give you great strength, ultimately it’s not good for you. We can’t all be expected to be Zen, and frankly it’s just not necessary. The desire for rapport should and must be expressed.
In just a few days, I’ve already seen this very strongly in the modeling world. Many models seem to have an irrepressible desire to connect – to bond with each other, if only briefly. Outside in waiting rooms, we share small talk and sometimes life stories and well wishes, and we comfort each other when we’ve been treated coldly by the people who hold the purse strings. (Of course, many models also seem to be utterly cutthroat and self-absorbed, and won’t even look at you)
Yesterday, after one swift rejection, I randomly bumped into another model who’d been rejected right before me, out in the street.
“Well that was brutal, huh?” he joked.
“It happens.”
“You going to the other one right now? There’s one in 20 minutes, we can walk together.”
“Which one? Oh you mean ReQuest? I already went to that one, they let me go early. Good luck man.”
Outside an agency in Boston, I met a 16-year-old triple threat (shoutout to Tori and best of luck) who also figure skated for the Hungarian Nationals team. This girl, her mother, and I talked for about 15 minutes while waiting for the director of the agency to see us. Over the course of the conversation, I discovered they were from Deep River, CT. Coincidentally I’d been in Deep River for the first time just days before our meeting. They were shocked to hear I knew about the Cumberland Farms and the Da Vinci’s pizza place there – Deep River’s (ever-so-modest) claim to fame. Before we parted ways, the mother offered me free room and board anytime I was in Deep River.
I’ve come to realize the incredible value of connecting with strangers, if only briefly.
It fills the emptiness that can loom and threaten to crush you if you’re taking a path that’s outside of the mainstream.
And it really inspires and refreshes your faith in humanity.
With all of this in mind, I’ve decided to start a series of posts on Camaraderie with Strangers, of which this is the introductory post, where I will chronicle the brief connections I make with random people that cross my path.
I hope to show you just how good most people are (despite an overwhelming pessimism I encounter in many people who seem to believe that most people suck), and to show you how you can enrich your life by stepping outside your comfort zone and introducing yourself.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
On Rejection – Intro (New York Model Management)
Many problems that revolve around self-worth (among them depression) seem to stem partly from the inability to deal with rejection in a constructive way.
From the words you read on this blog, I may come off as confident and determined and able to brush off anything, but you should know that for the overwhelming majority of my life, I was quite possibly the most insecure person I’ve ever known.
Again, it is very important for you to understand that although I now have the strength and the willingness to put myself in very uncomfortable situations for the sake of getting things done, at one point in my life I was painfully unsure of myself.
A lot of that had to do with perfectionism and the intimately related fear of failure, and for several other reasons too, but for now I will focus on the inability to handle rejection.
Rejection-sensitivity, whether in the form of fear beforehand or a negative reaction afterwards, is one of the biggest inhibitors to success. This is the case when it comes to personal successes, yes, but also the more tangible successes, like making money, for instance.
If used properly, rejection should educate you of your shortcomings while simultaneously fueling your desire to succeed.
That is, it first gives you some of the tools you need to succeed (self-knowledge and awareness), and then the motivation to succeed (“I will prove wrong everyone who doubted me, even myself if necessary”).
The only costs to making full use of rejection are courage and the willingness to suspend your ego.
Both of these can and must be practiced.
You could probably, if you tried hard enough, artificially create the psychological circumstances that would allow you to practice the skill of commanding rejection. But I’d strongly advocate you skip the training wheels and just put yourself in real situations right away. Why slow the process down?
To illustrate a little of the kind of mindset I’m talking about, let me go personal-anecdotal for a moment:
Late Monday afternoon, I finally procured my comp cards from Model Club Inc., the modeling agency that represents me in Boston (a comp card is sort of like a photo resume). For the first time, I finally (I guess) earned the right to meet the director of the agency. He told me I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding jobs in Boston because I can pass for a wide age range – from late teens all the way to late twenties.
Well, given that I’ll be spending at least my weekends in NYC for the next few months, I figured I’d take my comp cards to modeling agencies in NYC and try to model there too. On the DL, of course, although it’s actually allowed according to my contract, since as a model I’m technically considered “self-employed” even though I (and the agency) have certain obligations.
Anyway, immediately after I drove back from Boston, I checked online for open calls in NYC. It turned out New York Model Management would be holding one the very next day from 10:30 to 11:30 AM.
Not one to wait (time = jobs = money), I called up a friend (shoutout to my good friend Andrew), asked if I could crash at his place, then drove the 5 hours back to Princeton, arriving late at night and bone-tired from the day and the commute.
Bright and early next morning, I was on a train to NYC. About twenty minutes before 10:30, I got to New York Model Management on the 7th floor of 596 Broadway, and rather quickly I realized I was out of my league. I knew this because according to some of their literature, they represent Sports Illustrated Swimsuit models and lay claim to the #1 male model in the industry (whatever that means).
Needless to say, I was rejected. I did make it farther than some of the (much better dressed) models, though. People w/o comp cards were straight out turned away, and frankly some of these hawt guys were just too arrogant for their own good.
But I didn’t even make it through the opaque glass walls, to the area where you could hear the VIPs were contentedly chatting about what sounded like absolute horseshit.
That’s one thing you may be interested to know about hot shot modeling agencies: to cover up what sounds to the objective outsider like a bunch of elitist assholery (maybe there’s more to it when you peel the onion), they hire the nicest guy possible as the front-man. That guy was nice…softspoken, and polite, and brotherly, and the antithesis of what the other people seemed to be like.
But I digress.
The very kind front-man went in with my comp card and my application, and ten seconds later came out with my (rapid) rejection, blunted ever so slightly by his softspoken voice. He then repeated this exact same process with 4 other models – only one of us made it through, at least during the first minutes of the open call, and I have no idea if he actually made any progress beyond that. (Judging by the photos that lined their walls, they were going more for either dangerous hipster, or Euro-sophistication w/Nordic features…that kind of feel…no Asians in sight)
But here’s the important part: after our rapid succession of rejections, he offered to give each of us a list of legitimate modeling agencies in NYC, and their numbers.
Some of my fellow rejects rejected this peace offering. Others took it (seemingly) lackadaisically, glanced at it, then shoved it away.
I looked at this thing like it was a big nugget of gold.
Alright, it wasn’t that precious, but it really was a lot more convenient than having to individually research agencies online. Turns out there are some bogus agencies out there, and sometimes they even purchase real estate and hire people to set up a front and con people. It would be a pain in the ass to have to check the Better Business Bureau for the legitimacy ratings of every single agency you stumble upon.
So in short – HOW I HANDLED MY REJECTION:
I stood just outside the waiting room of New York Model Management and called up every single modeling agency on the list (36 of them), and found out the dates and times of their open calls (many don’t do open calls, and many don’t represent men).
It’s 6:30 AM right now, and in half an hour or so, I’ll be in my car, on my way to Princeton Junction to catch a train to New York Penn Station.
And I’ll be doing this every single day for the rest of the week.
Do I really care about modeling? No.
I hardly ever treat my pursuits this lightly, but in the long run I honestly don’t give a shit about modeling (what blasphemy). In the short run here and now, I badly need the money, but to some extent, I even vehemently resent the whole industry for what it represents and for what it encourages, both in its models and in society as a whole.
Still, I recognize that it’s an art form, and that some people derive value from creating it or from looking at/wearing its products. I see modeling as an opportunity to make some much needed money, to network with people who might one day help me, and to possibly gain attention that I can leverage to my advantage. Above all, I see it as a chance to learn – to acquire a deeper understanding of myself, to better understand other people, and to apply this knowledge to our venture and anything else I will ever choose to pursue. You never know whom you might meet, or what you might learn, that will give you an epiphany of understanding, or an incredible opportunity. So don’t nix those chances by fearing rejection, or handling it negatively.
The point is, I embraced my rejection and turned it into opportunity, and eventually into a story.
After it's all said and done, that's what everything becomes - just a story.
And at the end of the day, that’s all you’ve got – your memories. Strip away everything I have, and I’ll still have my memories to keep me company. Throw me in solitary, and I’ll try my damn hardest to cling to my memories as an anchor to keep me sane. That’s how Sirius survived Azkaban, is it not? (sorry, but my generation = Harry Potter)
Some of the best stories come from rejection. Rejection stories are battle scars, and you can learn from them and even use them to entertain.
So with all of this in mind, I’ve decided to start a series of posts on Rejection, of which this is the introductory post, where I will chronicle my (sure to be) many rejections and draw out the humor and insight in them.
Hopefully you’ll learn a bit about what it’s like to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and go at it again…and again…and again…and again.
Keep in mind that through time and practice (and to some extent necessity), I’ve fully 180ed my strong innate tendency to doubt myself. At some point, I will almost certainly share with you more stories from my past, to fully illustrate the full extent of this reversal.
And I absolutely am nothing special – anyone can do the same.
So check back in for more of my rejection stories! Feel free to share your own stories too!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
From the words you read on this blog, I may come off as confident and determined and able to brush off anything, but you should know that for the overwhelming majority of my life, I was quite possibly the most insecure person I’ve ever known.
Again, it is very important for you to understand that although I now have the strength and the willingness to put myself in very uncomfortable situations for the sake of getting things done, at one point in my life I was painfully unsure of myself.
A lot of that had to do with perfectionism and the intimately related fear of failure, and for several other reasons too, but for now I will focus on the inability to handle rejection.
Rejection-sensitivity, whether in the form of fear beforehand or a negative reaction afterwards, is one of the biggest inhibitors to success. This is the case when it comes to personal successes, yes, but also the more tangible successes, like making money, for instance.
If used properly, rejection should educate you of your shortcomings while simultaneously fueling your desire to succeed.
That is, it first gives you some of the tools you need to succeed (self-knowledge and awareness), and then the motivation to succeed (“I will prove wrong everyone who doubted me, even myself if necessary”).
The only costs to making full use of rejection are courage and the willingness to suspend your ego.
Both of these can and must be practiced.
You could probably, if you tried hard enough, artificially create the psychological circumstances that would allow you to practice the skill of commanding rejection. But I’d strongly advocate you skip the training wheels and just put yourself in real situations right away. Why slow the process down?
To illustrate a little of the kind of mindset I’m talking about, let me go personal-anecdotal for a moment:
Late Monday afternoon, I finally procured my comp cards from Model Club Inc., the modeling agency that represents me in Boston (a comp card is sort of like a photo resume). For the first time, I finally (I guess) earned the right to meet the director of the agency. He told me I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding jobs in Boston because I can pass for a wide age range – from late teens all the way to late twenties.
Well, given that I’ll be spending at least my weekends in NYC for the next few months, I figured I’d take my comp cards to modeling agencies in NYC and try to model there too. On the DL, of course, although it’s actually allowed according to my contract, since as a model I’m technically considered “self-employed” even though I (and the agency) have certain obligations.
Anyway, immediately after I drove back from Boston, I checked online for open calls in NYC. It turned out New York Model Management would be holding one the very next day from 10:30 to 11:30 AM.
Not one to wait (time = jobs = money), I called up a friend (shoutout to my good friend Andrew), asked if I could crash at his place, then drove the 5 hours back to Princeton, arriving late at night and bone-tired from the day and the commute.
Bright and early next morning, I was on a train to NYC. About twenty minutes before 10:30, I got to New York Model Management on the 7th floor of 596 Broadway, and rather quickly I realized I was out of my league. I knew this because according to some of their literature, they represent Sports Illustrated Swimsuit models and lay claim to the #1 male model in the industry (whatever that means).
Needless to say, I was rejected. I did make it farther than some of the (much better dressed) models, though. People w/o comp cards were straight out turned away, and frankly some of these hawt guys were just too arrogant for their own good.
But I didn’t even make it through the opaque glass walls, to the area where you could hear the VIPs were contentedly chatting about what sounded like absolute horseshit.
That’s one thing you may be interested to know about hot shot modeling agencies: to cover up what sounds to the objective outsider like a bunch of elitist assholery (maybe there’s more to it when you peel the onion), they hire the nicest guy possible as the front-man. That guy was nice…softspoken, and polite, and brotherly, and the antithesis of what the other people seemed to be like.
But I digress.
The very kind front-man went in with my comp card and my application, and ten seconds later came out with my (rapid) rejection, blunted ever so slightly by his softspoken voice. He then repeated this exact same process with 4 other models – only one of us made it through, at least during the first minutes of the open call, and I have no idea if he actually made any progress beyond that. (Judging by the photos that lined their walls, they were going more for either dangerous hipster, or Euro-sophistication w/Nordic features…that kind of feel…no Asians in sight)
But here’s the important part: after our rapid succession of rejections, he offered to give each of us a list of legitimate modeling agencies in NYC, and their numbers.
Some of my fellow rejects rejected this peace offering. Others took it (seemingly) lackadaisically, glanced at it, then shoved it away.
I looked at this thing like it was a big nugget of gold.
Alright, it wasn’t that precious, but it really was a lot more convenient than having to individually research agencies online. Turns out there are some bogus agencies out there, and sometimes they even purchase real estate and hire people to set up a front and con people. It would be a pain in the ass to have to check the Better Business Bureau for the legitimacy ratings of every single agency you stumble upon.
So in short – HOW I HANDLED MY REJECTION:
I stood just outside the waiting room of New York Model Management and called up every single modeling agency on the list (36 of them), and found out the dates and times of their open calls (many don’t do open calls, and many don’t represent men).
It’s 6:30 AM right now, and in half an hour or so, I’ll be in my car, on my way to Princeton Junction to catch a train to New York Penn Station.
And I’ll be doing this every single day for the rest of the week.
Do I really care about modeling? No.
I hardly ever treat my pursuits this lightly, but in the long run I honestly don’t give a shit about modeling (what blasphemy). In the short run here and now, I badly need the money, but to some extent, I even vehemently resent the whole industry for what it represents and for what it encourages, both in its models and in society as a whole.
Still, I recognize that it’s an art form, and that some people derive value from creating it or from looking at/wearing its products. I see modeling as an opportunity to make some much needed money, to network with people who might one day help me, and to possibly gain attention that I can leverage to my advantage. Above all, I see it as a chance to learn – to acquire a deeper understanding of myself, to better understand other people, and to apply this knowledge to our venture and anything else I will ever choose to pursue. You never know whom you might meet, or what you might learn, that will give you an epiphany of understanding, or an incredible opportunity. So don’t nix those chances by fearing rejection, or handling it negatively.
The point is, I embraced my rejection and turned it into opportunity, and eventually into a story.
After it's all said and done, that's what everything becomes - just a story.
And at the end of the day, that’s all you’ve got – your memories. Strip away everything I have, and I’ll still have my memories to keep me company. Throw me in solitary, and I’ll try my damn hardest to cling to my memories as an anchor to keep me sane. That’s how Sirius survived Azkaban, is it not? (sorry, but my generation = Harry Potter)
Some of the best stories come from rejection. Rejection stories are battle scars, and you can learn from them and even use them to entertain.
So with all of this in mind, I’ve decided to start a series of posts on Rejection, of which this is the introductory post, where I will chronicle my (sure to be) many rejections and draw out the humor and insight in them.
Hopefully you’ll learn a bit about what it’s like to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and go at it again…and again…and again…and again.
Keep in mind that through time and practice (and to some extent necessity), I’ve fully 180ed my strong innate tendency to doubt myself. At some point, I will almost certainly share with you more stories from my past, to fully illustrate the full extent of this reversal.
And I absolutely am nothing special – anyone can do the same.
So check back in for more of my rejection stories! Feel free to share your own stories too!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
On This Blog – A new vision for the new year
In preparation for a few moves we’re going to make to massively publicize this blog (and our venture) to college students, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I can best use this blog to help people.
To some extent, this brings me to the same dilemma many writers (not just bloggers) face – how to best strike the balance between writing for myself and writing for my audience? And who is my audience anyway?
Make no mistake, I write this blog partly for myself.
The fact is, nearly everything I’m “doing with my life” right now is high risk, and repeated “failure” is virtually guaranteed. Any returns that might come will come much later, way down the line, at least from the perspective of “achievement.”
Truthfully, I don’t really view it this way – I see the journey as the greatest reward.
But I won’t lie, I do care about “success” to some degree, and to the extent that “success” means helping people realize their potential, I care immensely. I’ve pretty much staked my life on it.
And I’m fine with all this. After all, I chose it. And in the long run, I think of myself as pretty much unemployable (in terms of holding a 9 to 5), and I like to at least pretend that I thrive and grow best under enormous do-or-die pressure.
But know that when I say that I write this blog partly for myself, I don’t just mean I write in a style that appeals to me. It goes way deeper than that.
This blog does nothing short of keep me sane, and it serves as an anchor for me in a highly unstable life. Seeing my words on the screen, and knowing that somebody gets something out of those words – that’s incredibly meaningful to me, and it’s about the only instant gratification that comes my way these days. For these reasons, I treat any comments I get from you readers as nothing short of soul food.
But at the same time, I make a very conscious effort to write with my readers in mind. When I tell a personal story, I try to draw out what I see to be important insights, and if I don’t outright say it, I try to place emphasis or hint at things to achieve the same effect.
Still, I recognize that so far, this blog has been pretty long-winded (among other things) and therefore may not be optimally effective in helping many of the people I most urgently want to help.
With this in mind, expect to see some pretty substantial changes to this blog in the coming month or so.
My team and I (shoutout to Hari and Colin for their invaluable role in envisioning the future of this blog) will be introducing several new features, both format-wise and content-wise:
Expect there to be more opportunity for you to directly contribute to it – for it to be much more interactive.
Expect that to some extent we’ll be “going commercial” and packaging the content in much more concise ways – ways that might make it more manageable for someone struggling with depression to use it.
Expect that there will be much more material directly relevant to someone struggling with depression.
Above all, we truly hope to offer real value to those who struggle with depression, but of course we hope that everyone who reads it will gain something from it.
For those of you who like the style and content of the blog as it is right now, have no fear! I’m not going anywhere with the long personal entries – they just might be moved to a separate section of the blog. Don’t drop out on me!
The fact is, even if you all abandoned me, I’d probably still keep writing those kinds of entries, if only because it’s a good habit for a writer to keep – it’s good practice.
Anyway, this was just a heads up – the truth is, even we don’t really know how this blog will evolve in the future.
So keep reading, and give me a shout every once in a while to let me know how I'm doing!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
To some extent, this brings me to the same dilemma many writers (not just bloggers) face – how to best strike the balance between writing for myself and writing for my audience? And who is my audience anyway?
Make no mistake, I write this blog partly for myself.
The fact is, nearly everything I’m “doing with my life” right now is high risk, and repeated “failure” is virtually guaranteed. Any returns that might come will come much later, way down the line, at least from the perspective of “achievement.”
Truthfully, I don’t really view it this way – I see the journey as the greatest reward.
But I won’t lie, I do care about “success” to some degree, and to the extent that “success” means helping people realize their potential, I care immensely. I’ve pretty much staked my life on it.
And I’m fine with all this. After all, I chose it. And in the long run, I think of myself as pretty much unemployable (in terms of holding a 9 to 5), and I like to at least pretend that I thrive and grow best under enormous do-or-die pressure.
But know that when I say that I write this blog partly for myself, I don’t just mean I write in a style that appeals to me. It goes way deeper than that.
This blog does nothing short of keep me sane, and it serves as an anchor for me in a highly unstable life. Seeing my words on the screen, and knowing that somebody gets something out of those words – that’s incredibly meaningful to me, and it’s about the only instant gratification that comes my way these days. For these reasons, I treat any comments I get from you readers as nothing short of soul food.
But at the same time, I make a very conscious effort to write with my readers in mind. When I tell a personal story, I try to draw out what I see to be important insights, and if I don’t outright say it, I try to place emphasis or hint at things to achieve the same effect.
Still, I recognize that so far, this blog has been pretty long-winded (among other things) and therefore may not be optimally effective in helping many of the people I most urgently want to help.
With this in mind, expect to see some pretty substantial changes to this blog in the coming month or so.
My team and I (shoutout to Hari and Colin for their invaluable role in envisioning the future of this blog) will be introducing several new features, both format-wise and content-wise:
Expect there to be more opportunity for you to directly contribute to it – for it to be much more interactive.
Expect that to some extent we’ll be “going commercial” and packaging the content in much more concise ways – ways that might make it more manageable for someone struggling with depression to use it.
Expect that there will be much more material directly relevant to someone struggling with depression.
Above all, we truly hope to offer real value to those who struggle with depression, but of course we hope that everyone who reads it will gain something from it.
For those of you who like the style and content of the blog as it is right now, have no fear! I’m not going anywhere with the long personal entries – they just might be moved to a separate section of the blog. Don’t drop out on me!
The fact is, even if you all abandoned me, I’d probably still keep writing those kinds of entries, if only because it’s a good habit for a writer to keep – it’s good practice.
Anyway, this was just a heads up – the truth is, even we don’t really know how this blog will evolve in the future.
So keep reading, and give me a shout every once in a while to let me know how I'm doing!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Sunday, January 3, 2010
On This Blog – Depression Resources (Intro)
There are many good resources out there for those struggling with depression - guidebooks, memoirs, literature, etc. However, there doesn’t seem to be one place where someone could go to and find them all.
There’s no doubt about it, it’s a difficult task at hand – how to distill and package an immense amount of information into manageable form for the “average” sufferer of depression?
Still, I think it can and must be done better.
We need more creative people tackling this challenge of bringing available knowledge to the masses. And packaging this knowledge in memorable, and even entertaining ways.
I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to do this in the future (and I’m quite sure I’m not the most credible person to do this), but I promise to do my part whenever I can.
With that in mind, you will soon see my concise (and hopefully palatable and memorable, and most of all useful) reviews of “depression resources.”
And just so you know, I consider depression resources to be anything from memoirs to science textbooks to art to music to movies…and so on. I firmly believe more medical professionals involved in treating depression should be watching more movies and reading more literature and in general consuming more culture with the following frame of mind: What insights can I draw here that could help my patient/friend/family/etc overcome their depression? Hell, it might even be more useful than studying Orgo, or reading scientific papers.
Anything I stumble across that I think may be useful, I will (attempt to) recap in hip conversational form, and I’ll organize it all into the categories of this blog. Eventually, I hope to move them to an entirely separate section of the site, but that’s a task for another day…
Check back in soon for these personalized resources!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
There’s no doubt about it, it’s a difficult task at hand – how to distill and package an immense amount of information into manageable form for the “average” sufferer of depression?
Still, I think it can and must be done better.
We need more creative people tackling this challenge of bringing available knowledge to the masses. And packaging this knowledge in memorable, and even entertaining ways.
I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to do this in the future (and I’m quite sure I’m not the most credible person to do this), but I promise to do my part whenever I can.
With that in mind, you will soon see my concise (and hopefully palatable and memorable, and most of all useful) reviews of “depression resources.”
And just so you know, I consider depression resources to be anything from memoirs to science textbooks to art to music to movies…and so on. I firmly believe more medical professionals involved in treating depression should be watching more movies and reading more literature and in general consuming more culture with the following frame of mind: What insights can I draw here that could help my patient/friend/family/etc overcome their depression? Hell, it might even be more useful than studying Orgo, or reading scientific papers.
Anything I stumble across that I think may be useful, I will (attempt to) recap in hip conversational form, and I’ll organize it all into the categories of this blog. Eventually, I hope to move them to an entirely separate section of the site, but that’s a task for another day…
Check back in soon for these personalized resources!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
On Joy – The gift of gab (New Year’s in Chester, Connecticut)
One of my all time favorite pastimes is engaging in conversation, particularly with people I haven’t seen in a long time, or with complete strangers.
Two days ago, I drove to Chester, CT to spend New Year’s day with a friend of mine, Rob. I hadn’t seen Rob in a year or so, and he’d recently been dealing with a blood clot in his left calf. I had no idea what to expect from the visit – all I knew was I wanted to see him to make sure he was doing okay.
Pulling off the highway, I could see that his place was sort of tucked into the wilderness. Everything was covered with snow, the woods blanketed with delicate white. I’d always wanted to see what these places were like up close.
He lived in a modestly sized grey duplex, back yard (also the parking lot) right by a stream (it’s auspicious to live by running water in some cultures). I parked my car next to a black Volvo that had seen a quite a few seasons, careful not to scrape the snow-covered canoe that lay by the house, then walked up the steep wooden steps that led to the entrance.
When Rob greeted me at his doorway, the feeling of familiarity hit me pretty strong. A lot had changed about him in that year, even just physically. He’d grown a full beard, whitish-grey, and the power of his voice seemed diminished. But it was still Rob, no question.
He welcomed me into his home, and I immediately liked the vibe. An assortment of paraphernalia lay around the place, out in the open – a glasses case, quite a few empty beer cans, books on boating and fishing, maps, a bag of vials for blood thinner injections, packs of cigarettes and accompanying ashtrays…
The place looked lived in – that’s what I was most fond of.
After the obligatory quick tour, he took me into the basement to show me his latest project – he was restoring a 100-year-old canoe. The cedar wood he worked with was absolutely gorgeous, with streaks of pure white running through the deep red wood, and seeing the planks of wood bent in unison to form the frame of the canoe was awe-inspiring.
Afterwards, we walked back upstairs and to the second floor, shoes still on (Rob being, among other things, a woodworker, it’s pretty standard for there to be dust on the floor).
He led me to what is now one of my all-time favorite rooms.
If you took a casual glance at it, it’d probably appear to be nothing more than an office. But at one point or another, that room has been a photography studio, a music recording studio, and an incubator for incredible conversations. That room holds a hell of a lot of memories.
And if you strip it down to its essence, the setup is really just two chairs facing each other. Sure, there’s a sound system, a guitar, some recording equipment, a chest, a computer, a mirror, some paintings, some framed photos, and a bunch of other miscellaneous paraphernalia.
But at its heart it’s just two chairs facing each other.
For the rest of the day, we engaged in un-interrupted conversation. Don’t get me wrong – there were silences. Sometimes long periods of silence, or perhaps with music on. But silence is just as much a part of conversation as talk is.
Kicking back in those chairs, legs crossed, uncrossed, parted, whatever – mano a mano, we shot the shit. For hours.
I admit, I’d only known Rob for a few days prior to this meeting, and under very unusual circumstances. Some would say I took a stupid unnecessary risk in visiting him.
But sometimes you can feel like you know someone very well, even after just the briefest of encounters. Sometimes this hunch turns out right, and sometimes it turns out wrong. This time I trusted myself, and I was right.
We talked about just about everything. The beautiful thing about conversation is that (and this will sound familiar) you realize the universality of individual experience.
I’d guess Rob is at least 30 years older than me. We’re from completely different backgrounds. He grew up on a boat – he’s a “boat man.” He’s been an engineer, a boat captain (for longer than I've been alive), a tech writer, a professional photographer, and a woodworker, among other things. He’s been married, and he’s loved and lost.
I love nature and the outdoors, but I see myself as a city person. There’s an incredible energy I draw from being around tall buildings and masses of people that I can’t match anywhere else (I also draw an incredible almost transcendental energy from being alone in the wilderness, but it’s a very different quality of energy). I’ve been a lawn mower, a coffee shop barista, a mail courier, an EMT-B trainee, and briefly a tutor for Chicago youth, and I’ve just done my first photoshoot as a model in Boston. I’ve never been in a relationship.
You see how different we are? But we’re both self-taught men, and we both have a lot of life experience. And I firmly believe that as long as you make the most out of your life, and live life consciously and vigorously, paying attention to all that it has to teach you, the particulars don’t matter all that much.
I learned a lot from Rob (most of which I won’t put down here, because I’d see that as a violation of an important trust). I’m sure he learned a lot from me too.
I learned about what it’s like to deal with self-injections of blood thinners through the stomach, while constantly struggling to breathe from COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease – long-term from smoking and woodworking dust).
I learned about boating, about music, about modeling, about satisfying and unsatisfying jobs, about serendipity, about fishing. I learned that you can fly fish with the most intricate of “flies” made from duck feathers and animal hairs – it can take hours to create the perfect bait. I learned that with a little bit of work, you can make an $80 dollar guitar play and sound like an $800 Washburn.
I learned about loss – and how it’s possible to lose that which is most important to you, and still survive without remorse, if you do it properly.
I learned a lot from nonverbal cues too – intangibles, that I’ve stored in my memory, and that I’ll have with me forever to draw upon.
I learned about patience – as I observed his lifestyle, it hit me just how strong having to wait can make a man.
At times, our conversation would trigger powerful memories for him, and he’d briefly be taken away to another place, almost leaving me alone in the room, save perhaps a deep hearty laugh or a drawn out sigh.
At a certain point, some friends of his came over to visit – Jimmy and Jimmy’s son Adam – and we continued our conversation with company. Jimmy was one hell of a character, toothless (couldn’t afford the dentures) and free-spirit, with worn cap, lumberjack hoodie (grey chest hair poking out), dirty jeans, and scruffy shoes. Cigarette in one hand, and beer can in a cupholder in the other, he was a master storyteller, and he showed me a whole new world with his words.
A sampler of our conversation:
ON WOMEN AT BARS
“She was a real high-energy chick. Looked almost country western, with the big tits and ass, shaking it on top of a table. Oh, we enjoyed her. She was something to watch.”
ON CRITTERS
“What type of critters do you get in China?”
I told him about the tortoises we ate there, and how they were (rather gruesomely) prepared for a meal.
“We used to go after the snappers (a type of turtle) with a hatchet and a hammer. Those things will dig through anything to lay their eggs – even rocks. I’ve seen ‘em lay eggs, but I’ve still never seen ‘em hatch. I saw ‘em bite straight through an oar once. Those suckers will take out a toe, or a finger.”
In this last warning, I recognized the same delight my uncle in China took in giving this same warning to me. It seems warning the naïve is a pleasurable pastime for people of all races and backgrounds.
Then he told me how beavers will deliberately follow you and slap their tails against the water to splash you if you intrude on their turf.
ON THE DRUM CORPS
“Can’t play a whole set – I just wanna hit ‘em all. No, just give me one damn drum, I can work with that.”
“This one time, I was doing this drum corps gig with a bunch of guys, they were filming us for some parade or something. The director was an asshole. We’d be jamming when we got bored, and he couldn’t take that, started telling us to shut up. I told him if he really wanted us to shut up, he should go buy us some fucking beer. He did it, and we shut up real nice.”
By the end of our conversation, I felt a real camaraderie with these people – even though they’d been complete strangers just hours earlier. These were my kind of people – straight-shooters, with a passion for life, and a knack for storytelling.
Right before he left, Jimmy shook my hand and asked me, “You like floatin’ Dave?”
“What’s floatin’?”
“You know, being on a boat. Come this summer, you should come out here, and we’ll take you and show you some things you’ve never seen before.”
I cannot wait for this summer to swing around.
And I cannot wait to stumble my way into many many more interesting conversations in the future.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Two days ago, I drove to Chester, CT to spend New Year’s day with a friend of mine, Rob. I hadn’t seen Rob in a year or so, and he’d recently been dealing with a blood clot in his left calf. I had no idea what to expect from the visit – all I knew was I wanted to see him to make sure he was doing okay.
Pulling off the highway, I could see that his place was sort of tucked into the wilderness. Everything was covered with snow, the woods blanketed with delicate white. I’d always wanted to see what these places were like up close.
He lived in a modestly sized grey duplex, back yard (also the parking lot) right by a stream (it’s auspicious to live by running water in some cultures). I parked my car next to a black Volvo that had seen a quite a few seasons, careful not to scrape the snow-covered canoe that lay by the house, then walked up the steep wooden steps that led to the entrance.
When Rob greeted me at his doorway, the feeling of familiarity hit me pretty strong. A lot had changed about him in that year, even just physically. He’d grown a full beard, whitish-grey, and the power of his voice seemed diminished. But it was still Rob, no question.
He welcomed me into his home, and I immediately liked the vibe. An assortment of paraphernalia lay around the place, out in the open – a glasses case, quite a few empty beer cans, books on boating and fishing, maps, a bag of vials for blood thinner injections, packs of cigarettes and accompanying ashtrays…
The place looked lived in – that’s what I was most fond of.
After the obligatory quick tour, he took me into the basement to show me his latest project – he was restoring a 100-year-old canoe. The cedar wood he worked with was absolutely gorgeous, with streaks of pure white running through the deep red wood, and seeing the planks of wood bent in unison to form the frame of the canoe was awe-inspiring.
Afterwards, we walked back upstairs and to the second floor, shoes still on (Rob being, among other things, a woodworker, it’s pretty standard for there to be dust on the floor).
He led me to what is now one of my all-time favorite rooms.
If you took a casual glance at it, it’d probably appear to be nothing more than an office. But at one point or another, that room has been a photography studio, a music recording studio, and an incubator for incredible conversations. That room holds a hell of a lot of memories.
And if you strip it down to its essence, the setup is really just two chairs facing each other. Sure, there’s a sound system, a guitar, some recording equipment, a chest, a computer, a mirror, some paintings, some framed photos, and a bunch of other miscellaneous paraphernalia.
But at its heart it’s just two chairs facing each other.
For the rest of the day, we engaged in un-interrupted conversation. Don’t get me wrong – there were silences. Sometimes long periods of silence, or perhaps with music on. But silence is just as much a part of conversation as talk is.
Kicking back in those chairs, legs crossed, uncrossed, parted, whatever – mano a mano, we shot the shit. For hours.
I admit, I’d only known Rob for a few days prior to this meeting, and under very unusual circumstances. Some would say I took a stupid unnecessary risk in visiting him.
But sometimes you can feel like you know someone very well, even after just the briefest of encounters. Sometimes this hunch turns out right, and sometimes it turns out wrong. This time I trusted myself, and I was right.
We talked about just about everything. The beautiful thing about conversation is that (and this will sound familiar) you realize the universality of individual experience.
I’d guess Rob is at least 30 years older than me. We’re from completely different backgrounds. He grew up on a boat – he’s a “boat man.” He’s been an engineer, a boat captain (for longer than I've been alive), a tech writer, a professional photographer, and a woodworker, among other things. He’s been married, and he’s loved and lost.
I love nature and the outdoors, but I see myself as a city person. There’s an incredible energy I draw from being around tall buildings and masses of people that I can’t match anywhere else (I also draw an incredible almost transcendental energy from being alone in the wilderness, but it’s a very different quality of energy). I’ve been a lawn mower, a coffee shop barista, a mail courier, an EMT-B trainee, and briefly a tutor for Chicago youth, and I’ve just done my first photoshoot as a model in Boston. I’ve never been in a relationship.
You see how different we are? But we’re both self-taught men, and we both have a lot of life experience. And I firmly believe that as long as you make the most out of your life, and live life consciously and vigorously, paying attention to all that it has to teach you, the particulars don’t matter all that much.
I learned a lot from Rob (most of which I won’t put down here, because I’d see that as a violation of an important trust). I’m sure he learned a lot from me too.
I learned about what it’s like to deal with self-injections of blood thinners through the stomach, while constantly struggling to breathe from COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease – long-term from smoking and woodworking dust).
I learned about boating, about music, about modeling, about satisfying and unsatisfying jobs, about serendipity, about fishing. I learned that you can fly fish with the most intricate of “flies” made from duck feathers and animal hairs – it can take hours to create the perfect bait. I learned that with a little bit of work, you can make an $80 dollar guitar play and sound like an $800 Washburn.
I learned about loss – and how it’s possible to lose that which is most important to you, and still survive without remorse, if you do it properly.
I learned a lot from nonverbal cues too – intangibles, that I’ve stored in my memory, and that I’ll have with me forever to draw upon.
I learned about patience – as I observed his lifestyle, it hit me just how strong having to wait can make a man.
At times, our conversation would trigger powerful memories for him, and he’d briefly be taken away to another place, almost leaving me alone in the room, save perhaps a deep hearty laugh or a drawn out sigh.
At a certain point, some friends of his came over to visit – Jimmy and Jimmy’s son Adam – and we continued our conversation with company. Jimmy was one hell of a character, toothless (couldn’t afford the dentures) and free-spirit, with worn cap, lumberjack hoodie (grey chest hair poking out), dirty jeans, and scruffy shoes. Cigarette in one hand, and beer can in a cupholder in the other, he was a master storyteller, and he showed me a whole new world with his words.
A sampler of our conversation:
ON WOMEN AT BARS
“She was a real high-energy chick. Looked almost country western, with the big tits and ass, shaking it on top of a table. Oh, we enjoyed her. She was something to watch.”
ON CRITTERS
“What type of critters do you get in China?”
I told him about the tortoises we ate there, and how they were (rather gruesomely) prepared for a meal.
“We used to go after the snappers (a type of turtle) with a hatchet and a hammer. Those things will dig through anything to lay their eggs – even rocks. I’ve seen ‘em lay eggs, but I’ve still never seen ‘em hatch. I saw ‘em bite straight through an oar once. Those suckers will take out a toe, or a finger.”
In this last warning, I recognized the same delight my uncle in China took in giving this same warning to me. It seems warning the naïve is a pleasurable pastime for people of all races and backgrounds.
Then he told me how beavers will deliberately follow you and slap their tails against the water to splash you if you intrude on their turf.
ON THE DRUM CORPS
“Can’t play a whole set – I just wanna hit ‘em all. No, just give me one damn drum, I can work with that.”
“This one time, I was doing this drum corps gig with a bunch of guys, they were filming us for some parade or something. The director was an asshole. We’d be jamming when we got bored, and he couldn’t take that, started telling us to shut up. I told him if he really wanted us to shut up, he should go buy us some fucking beer. He did it, and we shut up real nice.”
By the end of our conversation, I felt a real camaraderie with these people – even though they’d been complete strangers just hours earlier. These were my kind of people – straight-shooters, with a passion for life, and a knack for storytelling.
Right before he left, Jimmy shook my hand and asked me, “You like floatin’ Dave?”
“What’s floatin’?”
“You know, being on a boat. Come this summer, you should come out here, and we’ll take you and show you some things you’ve never seen before.”
I cannot wait for this summer to swing around.
And I cannot wait to stumble my way into many many more interesting conversations in the future.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Saturday, January 2, 2010
New Year’s Resolutions - 2010
Not sure I’m entirely comfortable doing this, but it seems like a bloggy thing to do, and it might prove educational, so here goes. Here are my resolutions for the coming year (and beyond):
1 Aggressively market this blog to college students (hint: you guys can help me do this! Tell everyone you know about this blog! Tell them to do the same!). Now that we’ve got our idea, we need people to know about us – you never know who might help, or want to be helped.
2 Get to know our “domain” (college students who struggle w/depression and other related mental health disorders) to an extent that nobody in the world has ever done before. We will do this via a combination of “hitting the streets” in-person stuff and social media (hint: at some point I’m going to ask you to help me with this too!)
3 Find a network of mentors/awesome people for our venture.
4 Make a name for myself as a slam poet in NYC. I will leverage any attention I get to do numbers 1-3.
5 Break into the NYC modeling scene. If successful, I will use the opportunity to gain insight into depression in the modeling world (it’s a big problem), and apply that knowledge to our venture. Again, I’ll leverage any attention I get to do numbers 1-3.
6 Learn how to act. I’ve interviewed and been accepted to a weekend program w/the Stella Adler Studio for Acting in NYC, and hope to one day break the mold of Asian actors being typecast as either ninjas or nerds. I also hope to one day shatter what I’ve long seen as an oppressive binary for bright young Asians – “hardcore academia” or “you’re a failure.” We’ve got a lot more to offer to this world than book smarts. Again, I will leverage any attention I get to do numbers 1-3.
So there it is. Some of this stuff may sound a bit absurd – I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I believe depression is, to some extent, a failure of the imagination. You fail to imagine the possibility for recovery, and instead become fixated on misery. To counter this, you must strong-arm these deadly mental loops and let your thoughts break free.
THINK BIG, imagine the possibility, and then take action to make that possibility reality.
I wish you all the best for the coming year!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
1 Aggressively market this blog to college students (hint: you guys can help me do this! Tell everyone you know about this blog! Tell them to do the same!). Now that we’ve got our idea, we need people to know about us – you never know who might help, or want to be helped.
2 Get to know our “domain” (college students who struggle w/depression and other related mental health disorders) to an extent that nobody in the world has ever done before. We will do this via a combination of “hitting the streets” in-person stuff and social media (hint: at some point I’m going to ask you to help me with this too!)
3 Find a network of mentors/awesome people for our venture.
4 Make a name for myself as a slam poet in NYC. I will leverage any attention I get to do numbers 1-3.
5 Break into the NYC modeling scene. If successful, I will use the opportunity to gain insight into depression in the modeling world (it’s a big problem), and apply that knowledge to our venture. Again, I’ll leverage any attention I get to do numbers 1-3.
6 Learn how to act. I’ve interviewed and been accepted to a weekend program w/the Stella Adler Studio for Acting in NYC, and hope to one day break the mold of Asian actors being typecast as either ninjas or nerds. I also hope to one day shatter what I’ve long seen as an oppressive binary for bright young Asians – “hardcore academia” or “you’re a failure.” We’ve got a lot more to offer to this world than book smarts. Again, I will leverage any attention I get to do numbers 1-3.
So there it is. Some of this stuff may sound a bit absurd – I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I believe depression is, to some extent, a failure of the imagination. You fail to imagine the possibility for recovery, and instead become fixated on misery. To counter this, you must strong-arm these deadly mental loops and let your thoughts break free.
THINK BIG, imagine the possibility, and then take action to make that possibility reality.
I wish you all the best for the coming year!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Update - Tech difficulties
Hey all,
Just wanted to apologize for being MIA the past couple of days - Colin (on my team for our social venture) will be introducing some new features soon, and we had some technical difficulties while playing around w/the site.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Just wanted to apologize for being MIA the past couple of days - Colin (on my team for our social venture) will be introducing some new features soon, and we had some technical difficulties while playing around w/the site.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
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