I had lunch with my father yesterday.
Have you ever been part of a conversation where one person suddenly strikes upon a deep and unpleasant truth – unpleasant because it’s the truth?
The room freezes, it seems, suspended in stillness as the false silence of truth permeates the air. False because while vocal chords cease productive movement, internal voices rage on, hustling to prepare for conflict and defense should it become necessary.
Sometimes it never does.
The last thing my father said was “I don’t give a shit.”
Then silence took over, and save for a few brief exchanges with the waiter, it maintained hold.
I kept waiting to defend my assertion, but the need never arose. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t care to either.
At moments like these, everything in the immediate vicinity seems fucking stupid. Irrelevant. Mere trivialities.
The distinct hues of Buffalo Wild Wings décor. The practiced courtesy of waiters and waitresses. Vacuous commentator talk on the flatscreens hanging from the restaurant walls (shoutout to the Australian Open).
All bullshit in relation to your world, in relation to the gripping of a nascent truth on your conscience.
Then my father, uncharacteristically, broke the silence. He, again uncharacteristically, told a funny story. (Will is my 6-year-old brother)
So the other day Will was really mad with me. I couldn’t figure out why. Then finally he said to me, “Daddy, I had a really bad day…I told my friend my secret – I told him I peed in my pants – and he told everyone. He is a bad person. He can’t be trusted.”
Six-year-old drama is hilarious. (Sorry, Will, for immortalizing yours)
After that story, I heard a bit more, something about how a girl has a big crush on Will, and how she always wants to sit next to him in class, and how she keeps asking him if he’s Jewish…
At all of this, I laughed in spite of myself. I stopped being righteous and just let go.
The thing about humor in these kinds of situations - it doesn’t change anything.
But it softens the harshness, and sometimes pain, of unpleasant truths. It creates brief moments of joy to fill the silences.
Call it a defense mechanism, a distraction, a weakness – call it whatever the hell you want.
Humor works. It helps you keep on keeping on.
With all this in mind, I’ve decided to start a series of posts on Humor, of which this is the introductory post. I guess I have a lot of room for expression in this one…
Check back in for more!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
On Dance – Intro (Hip Hop w/Chio at Broadway Dance Center)
A week ago Wednesday I took my first ever dance class, at the Broadway Dance Center in NYC.
I’m pretty coordinated when it comes to sports, simply because I’ve played them (a lot of them) my whole life. But when it came to dancing, I’ve always felt just plain dumb (physically).
So, being that I want to learn to master my body as much as possible for purposes of being a good actor, I enrolled in a beginner’s Hip Hop class.
The thing about these kinds of classes is, you really need to have someone legit teaching them, or you run the risk of feeling stupid (at least that’s how it works for me).
Chio, our teacher, was bloody brilliant. She had skills, she had style, and she had a dynamite personality.
And she was one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. Which, right away, is pretty much the first thing I look for when I try to get a sense of who someone is. I’m not very particular when it comes to this and that, but if you’re genuine, and you’re passionate, and you have the courage to trust in and be yourself, you’ve already scored mega cool points with me. But I digress.
Most of all, she loved dancing, and that showed through every second we were there. Even before class started, she was leaning in against the window to observe the previous class’ choreography, like a kid ogling ice cream flavors.
Her choreography wasn’t spectacularly dumbed down, I don’t think (can’t really say, given my zero prior experience).
Her teaching style: drill-sergeant dictatorial, but affectionately so, and in an incredibly encouraging way. Every once in a while she would make fun of us with an exaggerated caricature of an imitation to illustrate how ridiculous our moves looked sometimes, but she’d always follow with an, “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
With simple instructions (sometimes incorporating street analogies) and temporarily isolated body motions, she broke it down for us.
I’m not gonna lie, I still sucked. Majorly. Dancing is incredibly difficult for me, and I think it’s because I think too much.
I live too much up in my head.
The writer in me is constantly noticing everything around me. I pick up the vibes, the individual struggles and triumphs, the flow of the session. And so on.
But with dancing, at a certain point it’s not about intellectualizing things, or finding a rational explanation that underlies it all. That’s largely useless, in fact.
Just dance.
Trust in your body’s intelligence, your body’s smarts. Remember, we are creatures of the mind, yes, but we’re also just animals, to some degree.
“You and me baby ain’t nothin’ but mammals
So let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.”
-Bloodhound Gang
Alright, the subject matter is a bit different, but the point is there. Actually, if you’ve seen “Shall We Dance,” you might then make this connection:
“The rumba is the vertical expression of a horizontal wish. You have to hold her, like the skin on her thigh is your reason for living. Let her go, like your heart's being ripped from your chest. Throw her back, like you're going to have your way with her right here on the dance floor. And then finish, like she's ruined you for life.”
-Jennifer Lopez as hot dance teacher Paulina
I mean, it was a pretty absurd movie, but JLo did give some pretty good advice to lawyerly Richard Gere:
“Leave it. Leave the light. Don’t say anything. And don’t think…And don’t move, unless you feel it.”
You see? Sometimes we should shut up (verbally), shut down (mentally), and just express ourselves.
I believe dance holds enormous potential for helping people overcome depression. With this in mind, I've decided to start a series of posts on Dance, of which this is the introductory post. Check back in for more in the Dance series as I explore this potential, and as I (hopefully) learn how to dance!
Status update: I went back for my 2nd class yesterday night, and I made exponential progress.
I still suck, significantly, of course.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
I’m pretty coordinated when it comes to sports, simply because I’ve played them (a lot of them) my whole life. But when it came to dancing, I’ve always felt just plain dumb (physically).
So, being that I want to learn to master my body as much as possible for purposes of being a good actor, I enrolled in a beginner’s Hip Hop class.
The thing about these kinds of classes is, you really need to have someone legit teaching them, or you run the risk of feeling stupid (at least that’s how it works for me).
Chio, our teacher, was bloody brilliant. She had skills, she had style, and she had a dynamite personality.
And she was one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. Which, right away, is pretty much the first thing I look for when I try to get a sense of who someone is. I’m not very particular when it comes to this and that, but if you’re genuine, and you’re passionate, and you have the courage to trust in and be yourself, you’ve already scored mega cool points with me. But I digress.
Most of all, she loved dancing, and that showed through every second we were there. Even before class started, she was leaning in against the window to observe the previous class’ choreography, like a kid ogling ice cream flavors.
Her choreography wasn’t spectacularly dumbed down, I don’t think (can’t really say, given my zero prior experience).
Her teaching style: drill-sergeant dictatorial, but affectionately so, and in an incredibly encouraging way. Every once in a while she would make fun of us with an exaggerated caricature of an imitation to illustrate how ridiculous our moves looked sometimes, but she’d always follow with an, “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
With simple instructions (sometimes incorporating street analogies) and temporarily isolated body motions, she broke it down for us.
I’m not gonna lie, I still sucked. Majorly. Dancing is incredibly difficult for me, and I think it’s because I think too much.
I live too much up in my head.
The writer in me is constantly noticing everything around me. I pick up the vibes, the individual struggles and triumphs, the flow of the session. And so on.
But with dancing, at a certain point it’s not about intellectualizing things, or finding a rational explanation that underlies it all. That’s largely useless, in fact.
Just dance.
Trust in your body’s intelligence, your body’s smarts. Remember, we are creatures of the mind, yes, but we’re also just animals, to some degree.
“You and me baby ain’t nothin’ but mammals
So let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.”
-Bloodhound Gang
Alright, the subject matter is a bit different, but the point is there. Actually, if you’ve seen “Shall We Dance,” you might then make this connection:
“The rumba is the vertical expression of a horizontal wish. You have to hold her, like the skin on her thigh is your reason for living. Let her go, like your heart's being ripped from your chest. Throw her back, like you're going to have your way with her right here on the dance floor. And then finish, like she's ruined you for life.”
-Jennifer Lopez as hot dance teacher Paulina
I mean, it was a pretty absurd movie, but JLo did give some pretty good advice to lawyerly Richard Gere:
“Leave it. Leave the light. Don’t say anything. And don’t think…And don’t move, unless you feel it.”
You see? Sometimes we should shut up (verbally), shut down (mentally), and just express ourselves.
I believe dance holds enormous potential for helping people overcome depression. With this in mind, I've decided to start a series of posts on Dance, of which this is the introductory post. Check back in for more in the Dance series as I explore this potential, and as I (hopefully) learn how to dance!
Status update: I went back for my 2nd class yesterday night, and I made exponential progress.
I still suck, significantly, of course.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
“The Expressive Body” – Intro
Actions speak louder than words.
-Anonymous
Right now, I’m reading the expressive body: physical characterization for the actor by David Alberts.
If you’ve been reading this blog up until now, you know how highly I value taking action in the struggle to overcome depression (and many other problems).
You may also remember that I’ve touched on the importance of finding a connection between physical and emotional states, and using that connection to your advantage (see my earlier post “On Forgiveness – Intro (Having the courage to forgive yourself).”
After reading the introduction to “The Expressive Body,” I’m more convinced than ever that taking action through acting training holds enormous potential for helping people overcome depression.
Stay tuned as I draw insights from this book and filter them through my “fight depression” lens. You’ll get to learn a bit (of theory, at least) about acting too!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
-Anonymous
***
Right now, I’m reading the expressive body: physical characterization for the actor by David Alberts.
If you’ve been reading this blog up until now, you know how highly I value taking action in the struggle to overcome depression (and many other problems).
You may also remember that I’ve touched on the importance of finding a connection between physical and emotional states, and using that connection to your advantage (see my earlier post “On Forgiveness – Intro (Having the courage to forgive yourself).”
After reading the introduction to “The Expressive Body,” I’m more convinced than ever that taking action through acting training holds enormous potential for helping people overcome depression.
Stay tuned as I draw insights from this book and filter them through my “fight depression” lens. You’ll get to learn a bit (of theory, at least) about acting too!
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Monday, January 25, 2010
On Perfectionism – Intro
Perfectionism is one hell of a force to reckon with.
On the one hand, it can propel you to greater and greater heights, leading you to accomplish things you never imagined you were capable of. Cross the tipping point, though, and it can drive you to hold yourself to insane, unfair, and unhealthy standards.
There is a time and place for unreasonably high standards. For instance, I would demand and expect perfection from any surgeon who was about to cut me open. Here’s a monologue I love from the movie "Malice":
Jed: The question is do I have a God complex?
Man: Dr. Kessler says yes.
Jed: Which makes me wonder if this lawyer has any idea as to the kind of grades one has to receive in college to be accepted at a top medical school. If you have the vaguest clue as to how talented someone has to be to lead a surgical team. I have an M.D. from Harvard, I am board certified in cardio-thoracic medicine and trauma surgery, I have been awarded citations from seven different medical boards in New England, and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you; when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that their wife doesn't miscarry or that their daughter doesn't bleed to death or that their mother doesn't suffer acute neural trauma from postoperative shock, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Bible, Dennis, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in operating room number two on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God.
-Alec Baldwin as Dr. Jed Hill
In general, I highly value perfectionism when it comes to one’s work because I believe “work” is the truest expression of love. (It doesn’t need words)
But the type of perfectionism that indiscriminately manifests itself throughout one’s life – that’s deadly. The kind that beats you down to the depths of cynicism, then kicks you around in your own self-doubt - that’s unnecessary, and frankly unacceptable.
Unrelenting omnipresent perfectionism, whether directed externally towards others, or internally towards oneself, does nobody any good.
It kills relationships, for one thing, when you notice every stupid little flaw, every little human imperfection.
But most importantly, it chokes your own spirit and suffocates your vitality.
As someone with a long history of severe perfectionism, I understand pretty well how debilitating it can be to constantly feel like you fall short of expectations.
It’s entirely possible to reverse an innate tendency towards perfectionism. I know because I did it.
Not only do I no longer seek the elusive and all-consuming illusion of perfection, I strongly embrace my imperfection. I see imperfection as something very human, and because of that, something very beautiful.
This shift in my perception has manifested itself in all areas of my life, from the way I relate to others, to the way I motivate myself, even to something like the way I read.
These days when I read, I (mostly, depending on the situation) stop trying to read for anal perfection, and instead read for inspiration. I read fast, efficient, and in large quantities, and I trust that if something is truly important to me, it will burn itself into my conscience for drawing upon later. The result is that I am often unable to hold “intellectual” discussions on many topics, but I am able to actively use what I do remember.
Which is fantastic by me. I’d rather own one idea to the point that I can use it in many different situations than be able to recite entire novels.
I’ve even learned to identify the feeling of imperfection, if that’s legit to say. This is somewhat hard to explain, but sometimes I’ll be walking in the street, and suddenly I’ll realize just how incomplete I am, how utterly unprepared I am for the things I want to do. And I’ve realized I actually tremendously enjoy that sensation now. It keeps my mind sharp and alert for opportunities to “remedy” my imperfections – to learn.
All this being said, I continue to struggle with perfectionism. People tell me I am incapable of relaxing. I definitely belong to the “kick-your-own-butt” school of thought, and I constantly feel I’m not doing as much as I could be doing.
Even writing the entries of this blog can be a pain in the butt for me sometimes, as I try to strike the balance b/w quality and expediency. I’m aware that there’s a certain finality that is born once you hit “Publish” on Wordpress, but I try to not to psych myself out.
With all this in mind, I’ve decided to start a series of posts on Perfectionism, of which this is the introductory post, where I will share my thoughts and stories on perfectionism.
Check back in as I continue to search for my personal sweet spot b/w perfectionism and (in)sanity.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
On the one hand, it can propel you to greater and greater heights, leading you to accomplish things you never imagined you were capable of. Cross the tipping point, though, and it can drive you to hold yourself to insane, unfair, and unhealthy standards.
There is a time and place for unreasonably high standards. For instance, I would demand and expect perfection from any surgeon who was about to cut me open. Here’s a monologue I love from the movie "Malice":
Jed: The question is do I have a God complex?
Man: Dr. Kessler says yes.
Jed: Which makes me wonder if this lawyer has any idea as to the kind of grades one has to receive in college to be accepted at a top medical school. If you have the vaguest clue as to how talented someone has to be to lead a surgical team. I have an M.D. from Harvard, I am board certified in cardio-thoracic medicine and trauma surgery, I have been awarded citations from seven different medical boards in New England, and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you; when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that their wife doesn't miscarry or that their daughter doesn't bleed to death or that their mother doesn't suffer acute neural trauma from postoperative shock, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Bible, Dennis, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in operating room number two on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God.
-Alec Baldwin as Dr. Jed Hill
In general, I highly value perfectionism when it comes to one’s work because I believe “work” is the truest expression of love. (It doesn’t need words)
But the type of perfectionism that indiscriminately manifests itself throughout one’s life – that’s deadly. The kind that beats you down to the depths of cynicism, then kicks you around in your own self-doubt - that’s unnecessary, and frankly unacceptable.
Unrelenting omnipresent perfectionism, whether directed externally towards others, or internally towards oneself, does nobody any good.
It kills relationships, for one thing, when you notice every stupid little flaw, every little human imperfection.
But most importantly, it chokes your own spirit and suffocates your vitality.
As someone with a long history of severe perfectionism, I understand pretty well how debilitating it can be to constantly feel like you fall short of expectations.
It’s entirely possible to reverse an innate tendency towards perfectionism. I know because I did it.
Not only do I no longer seek the elusive and all-consuming illusion of perfection, I strongly embrace my imperfection. I see imperfection as something very human, and because of that, something very beautiful.
This shift in my perception has manifested itself in all areas of my life, from the way I relate to others, to the way I motivate myself, even to something like the way I read.
These days when I read, I (mostly, depending on the situation) stop trying to read for anal perfection, and instead read for inspiration. I read fast, efficient, and in large quantities, and I trust that if something is truly important to me, it will burn itself into my conscience for drawing upon later. The result is that I am often unable to hold “intellectual” discussions on many topics, but I am able to actively use what I do remember.
Which is fantastic by me. I’d rather own one idea to the point that I can use it in many different situations than be able to recite entire novels.
I’ve even learned to identify the feeling of imperfection, if that’s legit to say. This is somewhat hard to explain, but sometimes I’ll be walking in the street, and suddenly I’ll realize just how incomplete I am, how utterly unprepared I am for the things I want to do. And I’ve realized I actually tremendously enjoy that sensation now. It keeps my mind sharp and alert for opportunities to “remedy” my imperfections – to learn.
All this being said, I continue to struggle with perfectionism. People tell me I am incapable of relaxing. I definitely belong to the “kick-your-own-butt” school of thought, and I constantly feel I’m not doing as much as I could be doing.
Even writing the entries of this blog can be a pain in the butt for me sometimes, as I try to strike the balance b/w quality and expediency. I’m aware that there’s a certain finality that is born once you hit “Publish” on Wordpress, but I try to not to psych myself out.
With all this in mind, I’ve decided to start a series of posts on Perfectionism, of which this is the introductory post, where I will share my thoughts and stories on perfectionism.
Check back in as I continue to search for my personal sweet spot b/w perfectionism and (in)sanity.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Considerations of a Nomad
Among my friends, the joke is occasionally made that I am “homeless.”
Technically, this isn’t true – I do officially have a permanent residence, and if it were absolutely necessary, I could probably stay there for as long as I needed. But for a combination of strong personal and logistical reasons, I live a nomadic lifestyle, shuttling between friends’ places in MA, NJ, and soon NY.
I write on this topic today because being nomadic often involves being alone/lonely (2 separate but intertwined states), and because it often involves a feeling of misfit, of feeling like you’re the outsider – all of which are highly relevant to someone struggling with depression. Lastly, I write on this because it is a current issue in my life.
Living on the move definitely comes with its share of logistical difficulties. Luggage-wise, you must stay lean because there’s simply no room for excess. Commuting can be wearisome, as you battle road fatigue and what seems like dangerously too many incompetent drivers. Travel food is horrendous, but sometimes a cinnamon melt and medium OJ from McDonald’s are the only things that will keep you going. In general, I sometimes get the feeling I’m shaving years off of my life, but then I remember I’m young and therefore invincible. Well, at least for a few more years…
Really, though, none of this is all that bad. The nature of the human spirit is such that, given strong enough motivations plus sheer necessity, it will rise admirably to meet most challenges.
What is more difficult to deal with, at least for me, is the feeling that you just don’t belong anywhere.
Now, I happen to be someone who doesn’t get particularly attached to the places I live in. I grew up in a lot of different neighborhoods, and for a host of reasons, I guess I often never really even felt comfortable in my own home. Sleeping regularly on couches/futons doesn’t bother me in the slightest, and to some extent I even like them for their informality.
Really, it’s not the physical environment that affects me most. It’s something far more important.
When you live in one place for an extended period of time, that place becomes a part of you. It’s woven into so many of your memories because memory is so heavily tied to location. If you have roommates/friends you’re living with, the time you spend together day in and day out creates a common understanding between you all, an understanding that manifests itself in the conversations you share, the jokes you exchange, the language you use, the references you make, even just the way you treat each other.
It’s really in the small moments, and over an extended period of time, that you really get to know someone.
Being a nomad makes this damn near impossible. You miss so many moments, small and big (and everything in between) and you constantly get the feeling you’re just dropping in on other people’s lives for a few days, before taking off once again to do the same thing w/another group of people.
Most devastatingly of all, it makes it hard for you to be a good friend, or at least a consistent friend. And consistency really may be at the core of friendship. At the end of the day, it’s the people who you go through shit with, and who go through shit with you, that count as your friends. Being a nomad significantly precludes this. Sometimes you can feel your very sanity being threatened by a constant nagging “outsider-looking-in” feeling.
The fact is, it’s not just nomads who experience these difficulties. I imagine a LOT of people find it difficult to really connect with others, people who don’t have a strong sense of home. There’s a reason they talk of the “loneliness epidemic” these days. For instance, when I worked briefly in the ER as an EMT-B trainee, I heard stories about how some people would come in just to have someone to talk to.
To combat some of these difficulties, one thing I like to do is to try to find bits and pieces of “home” wherever I happen to be. All this takes is a bit of observation.
Let me give you an example.
A few weeks ago I was sick with a mean chronic cough. I was sitting in the Brandeis dining hall, hacking away, when Yen, the Chinese woman who mans the front desk, walked over and offered me a mint. When I declined, Yen expressed her concern for me, then offered to make me some hot water with honey.
Now, I don’t actually know if honey water is a “thing” in the US. I know people put honey in their tea, but putting honey in plain hot water is something I’ve only ever seen one other person in the US do – my father.
But people in China do it all the time, at least in my family. One way my grandmother shows affection for me is by offering me honey water, often in a tone of voice that suggests that if I don’t take it, one or the both of us will immediately drop dead (it always seems she’d be heartbroken if I were to decline).
When Yen offered me that glass of honey water, it took me home, first to my early youth, and then to China, which of all the places in the world I think of most as home.
You see how powerful memory can be, and how you can use it to find bits and pieces of home wherever you find yourself?
Ultimately, this amounts to nothing more than recognizing the universality of individual experience, and that regardless of outer trappings, we’re all pretty much the same when it comes to the basics. Even idiosyncrasies often share a common denominator.
When you really come to this conclusion and believe it, the world seems like much less of a barren place, much less hostile, much less indifferent.
And you feel less alone. Even if you’re constantly uprooting yourself and can’t let yourself develop emotional attachments to places/people.
Lastly, before I cut out, I would like to take the time to thank the guys in Ziv 129-304 for taking the risk to house me for the past few months. It’s a hell of a lot to ask to put up with a random stranger for an extended period of time, but you guys have made me feel incredibly welcome.
So Andy, Benjy, Evan, Sean, Steve, and Toly – whether or not shit goes down in the future, just know that I really appreciate, beyond words, everything you guys have done for me.
Thanks.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Technically, this isn’t true – I do officially have a permanent residence, and if it were absolutely necessary, I could probably stay there for as long as I needed. But for a combination of strong personal and logistical reasons, I live a nomadic lifestyle, shuttling between friends’ places in MA, NJ, and soon NY.
I write on this topic today because being nomadic often involves being alone/lonely (2 separate but intertwined states), and because it often involves a feeling of misfit, of feeling like you’re the outsider – all of which are highly relevant to someone struggling with depression. Lastly, I write on this because it is a current issue in my life.
Living on the move definitely comes with its share of logistical difficulties. Luggage-wise, you must stay lean because there’s simply no room for excess. Commuting can be wearisome, as you battle road fatigue and what seems like dangerously too many incompetent drivers. Travel food is horrendous, but sometimes a cinnamon melt and medium OJ from McDonald’s are the only things that will keep you going. In general, I sometimes get the feeling I’m shaving years off of my life, but then I remember I’m young and therefore invincible. Well, at least for a few more years…
Really, though, none of this is all that bad. The nature of the human spirit is such that, given strong enough motivations plus sheer necessity, it will rise admirably to meet most challenges.
What is more difficult to deal with, at least for me, is the feeling that you just don’t belong anywhere.
Now, I happen to be someone who doesn’t get particularly attached to the places I live in. I grew up in a lot of different neighborhoods, and for a host of reasons, I guess I often never really even felt comfortable in my own home. Sleeping regularly on couches/futons doesn’t bother me in the slightest, and to some extent I even like them for their informality.
Really, it’s not the physical environment that affects me most. It’s something far more important.
When you live in one place for an extended period of time, that place becomes a part of you. It’s woven into so many of your memories because memory is so heavily tied to location. If you have roommates/friends you’re living with, the time you spend together day in and day out creates a common understanding between you all, an understanding that manifests itself in the conversations you share, the jokes you exchange, the language you use, the references you make, even just the way you treat each other.
It’s really in the small moments, and over an extended period of time, that you really get to know someone.
Being a nomad makes this damn near impossible. You miss so many moments, small and big (and everything in between) and you constantly get the feeling you’re just dropping in on other people’s lives for a few days, before taking off once again to do the same thing w/another group of people.
Most devastatingly of all, it makes it hard for you to be a good friend, or at least a consistent friend. And consistency really may be at the core of friendship. At the end of the day, it’s the people who you go through shit with, and who go through shit with you, that count as your friends. Being a nomad significantly precludes this. Sometimes you can feel your very sanity being threatened by a constant nagging “outsider-looking-in” feeling.
The fact is, it’s not just nomads who experience these difficulties. I imagine a LOT of people find it difficult to really connect with others, people who don’t have a strong sense of home. There’s a reason they talk of the “loneliness epidemic” these days. For instance, when I worked briefly in the ER as an EMT-B trainee, I heard stories about how some people would come in just to have someone to talk to.
To combat some of these difficulties, one thing I like to do is to try to find bits and pieces of “home” wherever I happen to be. All this takes is a bit of observation.
Let me give you an example.
A few weeks ago I was sick with a mean chronic cough. I was sitting in the Brandeis dining hall, hacking away, when Yen, the Chinese woman who mans the front desk, walked over and offered me a mint. When I declined, Yen expressed her concern for me, then offered to make me some hot water with honey.
Now, I don’t actually know if honey water is a “thing” in the US. I know people put honey in their tea, but putting honey in plain hot water is something I’ve only ever seen one other person in the US do – my father.
But people in China do it all the time, at least in my family. One way my grandmother shows affection for me is by offering me honey water, often in a tone of voice that suggests that if I don’t take it, one or the both of us will immediately drop dead (it always seems she’d be heartbroken if I were to decline).
When Yen offered me that glass of honey water, it took me home, first to my early youth, and then to China, which of all the places in the world I think of most as home.
You see how powerful memory can be, and how you can use it to find bits and pieces of home wherever you find yourself?
Ultimately, this amounts to nothing more than recognizing the universality of individual experience, and that regardless of outer trappings, we’re all pretty much the same when it comes to the basics. Even idiosyncrasies often share a common denominator.
When you really come to this conclusion and believe it, the world seems like much less of a barren place, much less hostile, much less indifferent.
And you feel less alone. Even if you’re constantly uprooting yourself and can’t let yourself develop emotional attachments to places/people.
Lastly, before I cut out, I would like to take the time to thank the guys in Ziv 129-304 for taking the risk to house me for the past few months. It’s a hell of a lot to ask to put up with a random stranger for an extended period of time, but you guys have made me feel incredibly welcome.
So Andy, Benjy, Evan, Sean, Steve, and Toly – whether or not shit goes down in the future, just know that I really appreciate, beyond words, everything you guys have done for me.
Thanks.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
On Action – Checking in with your body and letting go
Check in with your body.
***
We live too much up in our heads. So check in with your body every once in a while. Here’s (one way) how:
***
When it comes to breathing exercises, every acting studio ever will (supposedly) start you out on the floor. Why? Because you don’t have to do shit when you’re on the floor, except be there. And stay awake, of course.
I recommend a beautiful hardwood floor, and white walls and ceiling to help w/the imaginative process, but it’s not really that important. Any floor will do.
Now, normally when we breathe, we breathe w/our chests, simply because it’s immediately available. Chest breath is easy to draw. But it’s shallow. That’s why you always hear that spiel (from choir directors, band teachers, etc) about breathing from the diaphragm, from the belly. You should really be able to feel your belly expand when you breathe in.
And it’s true – breathing from the diaphragm is immensely more powerful, and just plain better for you. And guess what? Babies do it naturally. (And a lot of the time they’re a lot wiser than us older people)
But to get back on track: You’re on the floor, supine (that’s back to the floor, facing upwards towards the ceiling). Now, what you’re trying to do is,
Surrender to the floor.
That’s right, surrender. Give up on trying to control everything, on trying to control your body. Release your tension. Let go.
And first, just pay attention. Try to locate spots of tension, where you feel tight and tense and anally controlling. Feel your breath moving in and through and out of your body.
Each breath that you draw from the room – that breath is yours. You own it.
Think about that.
Each breath really belongs to you. So give it a personality, in your mind. Imagine your breath as having character to it. Give it a color if you want. Do whatever you need to do accomplish this.
As you feel each breath traveling through your body, imagine it cleansing you of tension. Imagine this very specifically. Breathing from your diaphragm, feel and imagine it rising up to fill your chest cavity, all the way up to your shoulders and beyond.
As you slowly exhale, feel your breath course through each part of you body. Feel it run through individual muscles. Feel it run through your right bicep, down your right forearm, all the way to your fingertips in your right hand, and beyond. Feel it do the same for the left side of your body.
Feel it flow through your lower body. If you truly breathe from your diaphragm, you should be able to feel it in your pelvic floor. You can actually feel it in your crotch. Feel it caress your hip sockets as it passes through, softening the very bones it touches. Feel it run through your quads, your calves, your ankles, all the way to your feet. And beyond.
***
Do you see what I’m getting at? There are so many directions you can go with this, but the important thing is to find what works for you.
***
Imagine it freely. Experience it exquisitely.
Check in with your body.
Let go.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
On This Blog – Update (Oscar Wilde week)
Recently a reader (shoutout to my friend Steven) commented,
“Quick question. You keep saying that you’re starting a series on X (details, acting, etc.). But you rarely explicitly ever do.”
To address this and other concerns of my own, I’d like to give you guys a brief update and share w/you some of my “behind-the-scenes” thoughts on the blog:
1 MYRIAD CATEGORIES
I’m serially starting new categories to lay the framework for the future. I won’t always have time to write longer intro posts, but I have a HUGE backlog of posts I’ve jotted down notes for w/in the existing categories, and I should be able to knock them out pretty quickly. In general, starting new categories helps me orient my thinking, so I can filter my experiences relevantly, and for the long run. This thing’s not going away anytime soon.
2 SCREW THE CATEGORIES, I DON’T LIKE THEM ALL THAT MUCH ANYWAY
That being said, while categories have their uses, I’m increasingly feeling the limitations they impose. The fact is, everyone organizes information differently based on their own life experiences and preferences, and they make connections in their mind accordingly.
3 RENEGADE POSTS
With this in mind, expect to soon see a lot of “uncategorized” posts – material that will still be relevant, but that doesn’t necessarily fit tidily under labels. And when I say relevant, I don’t mean boring. There’s going to be a lot of stuff that may be “out there” (but still relevant), simply because I love free-form thinking and drawing from disparate sources for inspiration.
Who says you need to exclusively study depression/XYZ to best understand depression/XYZ? Hell, I’d say that’s a terrible way to go about it, and a terrible way to go through life. Realize that a lot of what I’m trying to do is to get you to think more creatively, to imagine. Break free from stale thinking!
4 SHORTER POSTS – SNAPSHOTS
Very soon you won’t have to slog through my verbosity to pick up insights. Partly because of emerging time constraints, and partly because I think it’s better, soon many future posts will just be snapshots of life as I live it, and I won’t be so despotic about framing those snapshots in a certain way.
The fact is, things are complex, and I’m no authority on anything.
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
-Oscar Wilde
So I’ll put down what I think is valuable raw material, filtered slightly through the lens of my (rapidly evolving) worldview. Then you can piece together the snapshots and draw your own conclusions. I hate dogma anyway.
5 READER RESPONSES
I owe two – I haven’t forgotten, just give me more time! Sorry!
6 READER (YOU GUYS!) INTERACTION
We’re working on it, give us a month (likely less) and it’ll be there.
7 OSCAR WILDE
I’ve chosen my first monologue for acting class from Oscar Wilde’s work. I’m utterly not suited to play Oscar Wilde, and all the authorities say it’s a bad move to choose like this, but I dig his stuff and think it’ll be a great experience for me as an actor, even if I mangle it horribly (it’s incredibly hard to find good monologues for Asians anyway). Plus, I think his forward-thinking ideas hold enormous potential for helping those who struggle with depression.
So, I’ll be immersing myself in Oscar Wilde this week, and you can pretty definitely expect to see that trickle into this blog.
And that’s what’s up for now, blog-wise.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
“Quick question. You keep saying that you’re starting a series on X (details, acting, etc.). But you rarely explicitly ever do.”
To address this and other concerns of my own, I’d like to give you guys a brief update and share w/you some of my “behind-the-scenes” thoughts on the blog:
1 MYRIAD CATEGORIES
I’m serially starting new categories to lay the framework for the future. I won’t always have time to write longer intro posts, but I have a HUGE backlog of posts I’ve jotted down notes for w/in the existing categories, and I should be able to knock them out pretty quickly. In general, starting new categories helps me orient my thinking, so I can filter my experiences relevantly, and for the long run. This thing’s not going away anytime soon.
2 SCREW THE CATEGORIES, I DON’T LIKE THEM ALL THAT MUCH ANYWAY
That being said, while categories have their uses, I’m increasingly feeling the limitations they impose. The fact is, everyone organizes information differently based on their own life experiences and preferences, and they make connections in their mind accordingly.
3 RENEGADE POSTS
With this in mind, expect to soon see a lot of “uncategorized” posts – material that will still be relevant, but that doesn’t necessarily fit tidily under labels. And when I say relevant, I don’t mean boring. There’s going to be a lot of stuff that may be “out there” (but still relevant), simply because I love free-form thinking and drawing from disparate sources for inspiration.
Who says you need to exclusively study depression/XYZ to best understand depression/XYZ? Hell, I’d say that’s a terrible way to go about it, and a terrible way to go through life. Realize that a lot of what I’m trying to do is to get you to think more creatively, to imagine. Break free from stale thinking!
4 SHORTER POSTS – SNAPSHOTS
Very soon you won’t have to slog through my verbosity to pick up insights. Partly because of emerging time constraints, and partly because I think it’s better, soon many future posts will just be snapshots of life as I live it, and I won’t be so despotic about framing those snapshots in a certain way.
The fact is, things are complex, and I’m no authority on anything.
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
-Oscar Wilde
So I’ll put down what I think is valuable raw material, filtered slightly through the lens of my (rapidly evolving) worldview. Then you can piece together the snapshots and draw your own conclusions. I hate dogma anyway.
5 READER RESPONSES
I owe two – I haven’t forgotten, just give me more time! Sorry!
6 READER (YOU GUYS!) INTERACTION
We’re working on it, give us a month (likely less) and it’ll be there.
7 OSCAR WILDE
I’ve chosen my first monologue for acting class from Oscar Wilde’s work. I’m utterly not suited to play Oscar Wilde, and all the authorities say it’s a bad move to choose like this, but I dig his stuff and think it’ll be a great experience for me as an actor, even if I mangle it horribly (it’s incredibly hard to find good monologues for Asians anyway). Plus, I think his forward-thinking ideas hold enormous potential for helping those who struggle with depression.
So, I’ll be immersing myself in Oscar Wilde this week, and you can pretty definitely expect to see that trickle into this blog.
And that’s what’s up for now, blog-wise.
-David
[nsn_quick_feedback]
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