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Thoughts for 12/17

"It’s hard to find anything to say about life without immersing yourself in the world, but it’s also just about impossible to figure out what it might be, or how best to say it, without getting the hell out of it again." -Tim Kreider in a New York Times opinion piece

Transformation of a Stranger

There's always an excitement associated with starting over in a new town—a cliched blank canvas with its multitude of exciting paints in the form of new friends, new sights, new restaurants, new museums, new dance partners, just waiting to be colored in.

But what about the old paintings? The ones that took you years to create, beautiful mixtures of purposeful and non-purposeful strokes that was "your life" one plane ticket ago. What about those? Do they get thrown out, moved to the side, forgotten?

I'm struggling with these old paintings. Sure I helped paint them, but they didn't stop when I left the project. I know that they are continuing to evolve, and I know that my other lives don't stand still just because I switched area codes. It's scary. I'm terrified beyond belief that I'll return someday and not recognize my own work.

Take for example my sister, a senior in high school. The same sister that I got called out of Mrs. Kennedy's first grade class to see for the first time in the hospital. The same sister that used to hum like a motor while she ate her vegetables. The same sister that dressed as an old lady for Halloween even though all her friends were dressing as princesses.

For the last year, I've felt completely disconnected. I don't know how high school is going or where she is looking at colleges. I haven't asked her what music she likes or what movies she's seen recently. I'm turning into my worst nightmare. I'm the absent brother.

I found myself going through Facebook photos to find out the broadest details of family life back home, and it really bummed me out. I talk with my mom on a pretty regular basis, but a phone is a tough medium to connect over (though it is better than nothing). Even then, my sister jumps on the phone for a second and before we can even warm up, we part ways. It's a strange dance that ends all too quickly.

I could go on and on, but complaining to a computer screen is a piece of my problem to begin with. If I'm going to be more present in my sister's life, I need to rehang that picture in a spot where I can see it and stop making excuses. I need to start calling her more often, even if it's just to say hi, or how proud I am of her for everything she's doing (and she's doing a lot). Hopefully she feels the same way, but even if she doesn't, I'm going to be obnoxious and persistent until she just accepts that I'm going to be around. Right now it's all talk, but I have to start somewhere. All I know is that life is short, and that I owe my sister a big hug.

Nothing here is what it seems

I still remember watching The Naked and Famous for the first time. My friends Eric and Lange had showed me them while I was still interning in Utah, and I'd immediately become a fan. When I got back to Boston, Lange had grabbed tickets to an outdoor show of theirs on Landsdowne Street, and I couldn't have been more pumped.

 I stood on Landsdowne, the iconic Fenway Park looming over my shoulder, watching these guys kill it on a sunny May afternoon. Awesome performance, fueled by an electric crowd and amazing weather. Every time I hear them my mind wanders back to that Boston block party, so even as the rain pours down in Seattle today, this song has me back in Sox Nation with one of my favorite bands.


Enjoy beezys.


 

Just a thought

It's true that my vocabulary was better when I was ten. Somewhere along the way, my path deviated.

Instead of learning the big words, I'm dedicated to understanding the small ones.

Post Father's Day

Well, I've been mulling over how I'm going to put together some posts about my most recent trip to Cuba, and time has been slip, slip, slipping away. Enough of that, it's time to drive the stake in and hold tight.

Yesterday was Father's Day, and I was lucky enough to have a good chat with Papa Krich. Ideally I'd be doing that from across the table, but across the country will have to do for now. There were plans for a rendezvous over the 4th of July, and I really hope we can make that happen.

Since being back in the States it has been sensory overload. SO much to smell, taste, touch, and, most importantly, HEAR. Here is a group from Seattle that is making some pretty decent rap over delectable beats. Always appreciate some old school instrumentals, so thanks Brothers From Another. Vibe out to this, and look forward to some Cuba in the near future! B EZ, and shout out to them girls on the bus...