So I'm a Grown Up. But, Middle Aged? Yikes!

According to Studio 360, a show I heard on NPR, I am middle aged.




WHAT? That can't be! But. by their standards middle age is between the ages of 33 and 50. And in truth the fact that my source is NPR should have been a big clue, although I've been a listener for at least 15 years. None the less, here I am, smack dab in the middle of middle age.

The title of the show was "I realized I was grown up when..." This got me to thinking. When does anyone really become a grown up? When did I become one? I have a few litmus tests that I go by, but these things are not in the least one size fits all, so sing along where you know the words:

I realized I was a grown up when...

1. I started getting excited about election day
2. I realized that lying, in general is just lame
3. I started to become exceedingly annoyed with people who use the word "like" more than one time in a sentence
4. I was more interested in connecting with people on an intellectual level than a physical one
5. I could moderate my drinking to get a desired affect: buzzed, happy, happy drunk, stupid drunk
6. I learned to quit drinking before getting stupid drunk
7. I started reading labels of every food I buy for calories, sodium and saturated fat
8. Analgesics became a regular item on my shopping list
9. I could be proud of my gray hair, but color them red or purple anyway
10. I realized not only do I not know everything, but in the great realm of things I don't know shit
11. I became comfortable with the fact that I don't know shit, and decided to do my best to know as much as I could
12. I embraced who I am, not who I wanted to be, and interestingly I then became the latter
13. The highlight of my day was getting hugs from my kids
14. I started to recognize my parents' mortality
15. I started realizing my own mortality

Soundtrack to an Independent Life

I’ve been on my own a lot lately. One of the nice things about being on my own is being able to do things I want to do. So when I get a chance like this, I take full advantage and enjoy it while I can. At present I have full control of the TV remote, meal choices, and free time activities. This Sunday that freedom meant hearing some good Jazz with a nice lunch followed by creamy vanilla ice cream and fresh fruit.

A good four-chord progression is laid out like four easy rules to stay within. Jazz compositions are like saying here’s a big box for you to play in. Have fun, and it’s ok if you color outside the lines a bit. In fact it’s encouraged

I’ve also been on my own in another way recently. In preparation for a change of domestic venue, I’ve been freelancing as a consultant and news writer. Freelancing is always better than it sounds. It requires a lot more discipline and motivation than a regular job. I still have to get up to go to work, and to make that task more real I tend to work away from home a little every day. Usually this means a café or some other establishment offering free wifi. I generally go prepared with my computer power cord, my own travel mug and enough cash to keep me in snacks for the day. Sometimes a change of location is required. This is usually happens when inane talkers or giggling teens manage to overpower my headphones. That only happens once or twice a week.

Jazz is the perfect sound track to my temporary independent lifestyle. The players play for each other but also for themselves. And when listening to live jazz I can’t help but feel like a kid on the playground watching the coolest, most fun game, wishing I could jump in. There’s also something uniquely intimate about Jazz because of it’s improvisational nature. It yields a kind of intellectual pastiche that makes me feel less alone and more in tune with the dynamic world that surrounds me.

Date Night

I've been on my own as of late. Being solitary isn't a bad thing from time to time. I begin to notice things around me that maybe were previously ignored due to the distraction of others around me. I've taken up crocheting again, finally have time to read my stack of New Yorkers cover to cover and enjoy the company of my four cats.

OK, being on my own has some slippery slopes. So instead of staying home making sweaters for my cats on Saturday, I decided to take myself out on a date.

After a typical Saturday of running errands and doing chores, I took a shower, dressed, put on nice-looking but potentially painful shoes, shaded my eyes and headed out for dinner, a movie and drinks after.

Armed with a back-issue of the New Yorker, I opted to sit at the bar of a local Italian chain restaurant, where I was able to fully engage with a very clever article about a teen fashion blogging phenom. I've learned that having good reading material is a must when going out alone. Reading a well written article is the equivalent of hearing a great story from a witty conversationalist. Add a good glass of wine and Pellegrino, and well, you have great dinner conversation, even if it is only between you and the writer and only in your head. On this night, I was so engrossed in my article that I agonized putting it down when my salad arrived, after my entree. It may have been an American chain, but I still order in the Italian way.

Checking the time, I paid my bill and made my way to the movie theater. Normally, I opt for German train time, but for this date, I was OK with being just a little atrazado. I entered the theatre just as the previews began, found a good seat and pulled out a container of Trader Joe's dark chocolate covered cherries.

Had I listened to that inner voice that said, "go home now, it's been a good night," I could have saved myself for what came after the movie. A cold California night hastened pain that pierced my brain as I walked to the car. I contemplated going home instead of for a drink, but decided I could tolerate one more venue if I took an Excedrin.

It was a bad gamble. The pain medication dulled my headache but couldn't cure the absolutely suck-tackular cover band that I paid a five dollar cover to see. Before I could finish my bourbon, I ordered a tall glass of water to quicken my exit. When the singer felt it necessary to preface, Jesse's Girl, I took that as my cue to leave. It wasn't a total loss though. I got home just in time to see the pilot episode of Firefly.

Overall it was a good date. I had a nice meal, saw a movie of my choice, and was able to end the evening without any "it's not you, it's me" awkwardness. And when I came home, the cats almost seemed happy to see me. If nothing else I'm sure they were happy to not have to wear an embarrassing sweater.

To Geek or Not to Geek

I'm a Geek. It took me years to accept it, but now I embrace it. It's who I am and I wear the badge proudly.

What is a Geek? That depends on your definition. We're not exotic enough to be misfits, extroverted enough to be mavericks nor malleable enough to be with the in-crowd. We are creative, thoughtful, curious and brave. We deconstruct, figure out, re-imagine, and innovate for fun, seeking out knowledge, appreciating insight, and doing our best to understand the world around us.

The best of us realize this early, and understand that having the will to stand alone with your imagination, thoughts and beliefs takes a special kind of fortitude. These are the bravest among us. They are the ones willing to take the risk of not trying to fit in early. Perhaps it's because they realize that fitting in is just a slick slide down to status quo and the boredom that suck a life implies.

I wasn't one of those. Even though I was flute playing, theatre performing, documentary watching twelve year old, I made great pains to separate myself from the kids who hung out by the library at lunch. I liked those kids. They were nice and thoughtful, and accepting and funny. There was even a boy I liked there. He was tall, cute and very sweet. We slow-danced at a school dance, but when a friend told me that she heard he had wet his pants at school, it was too much for me to brave. I never talked to him or went back to the library for lunch again. I wanted to be cool and these kids weren't cool. They were brave. But, I couldn't see it.

So I sought out a different crowd. I started smoking, drank some, cut school, did other nefarious deeds. After a few years of escalating trouble I landed in catholic high school. I had a few friends there, but by then we had learned how to at least not get caught doing naughty things. There were some odd flirtations with religion there as well, and though I was much kinder to geeks then, I still refused to see myself as one.

Twenty-plus years and several lives later, I realize I was a geek all along, and wonder why I ever denied it. It's one thing to learn to be comfortable in your own skin...it's another be comfortable in your own mind. And now, by the power of the information age, geeks rule and it's pretty awesome in a lot of ways.

Truth in Advertising and Easy Solutions

Well, a new year is upon us, with its predictable round of advertisements for diet plans and exercise programs. It seems the beginning of the year is an ideal time to begin new regimes and disciplines that help us to be better individuals. For some reason in January it is easier to imagine ourselves as more athletic, thinner and with fewer bad habits. Be it electronic cigarettes or fast food, in January everything is somehow geared to make us better people. Among advertisements in this trend I noticed that one fast food chain is now offering "natural cut fries with sea salt," as if being naturally cut with sea salt actually makes them good for you.



Of course, one wonders what exactly is a naturally cut potato? Is it grown in a special place where naturally formed crystals share the soil and through some special happenstance of circumstance the ground apple emerges pre-cut like a honey-baked ham? And even if this were the case, it doesn't change the fact that once saturated in hot boiling oil, and covered in salt from sea or table, it's both a tasty treat and potentially deadly foe. But it's January after all, thus even french fries can somehow be good for you when cut naturally and covered in something as natural as sea salt, right?

I suppose we can't blame advertisers who take advantage of our annual desire to be better people. What we can blame is our willingness to be taken by easy solutions. Solutions can be simple, but seldom easy. The former requires creative and elegant thought that choreographs effort with willingness and imagination. When such a circumstance is achieved one imagines that a great number of problems we encounter would be simple to solve. The latter simply calls for a desire to achieve goals with little effort, implying a lack of genuine will.

I don't really make New Year's resolutions. It seems that for me, resolve comes once I've decided to act on my contemplations, and that comes in its own time. And as much as I desire easy solutions, I know I have to have patience enough for my imagination and will to allamande making a perfect geometry that will show me how everything eventually ends up in its rightful place.

Oh, Happy New Year.

Decompressing

Decompression is a term Burners use to describe the process of re-entering what we call the Default World. You see, Burning Man, can feel like an alternate universe. We do things there we don't do in regular life. We make eye contact with everyone we meet. We celebrate sun up and sun down. We hug like we mean it. We give, we get, we live.

Someone reminded me this year that time spent on the Playa, like dog years can be multiplied by seven. Using that math, I spent the equivalent of about 10 weeks in that universe. So yeah, it takes a bit to adapt from that.

Unfortunately, I had just as hard a landing in the Default World this year, as I did on the Playa. It just seems that hard landings are my new MO. So, it's taken until now, the week of San Francisco's actual Decompression, essentially a block party-after party for the Burn, to get my bearings.

Funny thing is, I decompressed from camping in the desert, by camping in the California hills near a reservoir with friends. It's amazing how much easier camping is without blistering heat, 40 mph winds, and the constant threat of dehydration. And it occurred to me that by going to Burning Man, a place of impossible conditions to escape norms that stymie creativity, that maybe we appreciate expression that much more when we are there. And by the same token, maybe I appreciate how much easier some things are in the default world, so I can remember I don't have to be in a challenging environment to be creative.

Sanctuary in Work - Burning Man 2010

For me, work often cures a myriad of ills. Work distracts me. Work occupies me. Work is one of the things I do best.

After a very stressful, and very expensive trip to the Burn, I was actually ready to turn around and cut my losses. What was I thinking coming out to the desert for 10 days? I wanted to be in the default world, with my family who couldn’t come.

But I decided to continue on as planned, to my first shift with the Gate Crew. I got there, checked in, got my t-shirt and hoodie, got my laminate, and then sat down in the Black Hole to take in the scene.

Old couches sat upon old carpet laid to keep the dust down. Camping chairs left in a circled formation from the night before, continued to hold council around a still smoldering burn barrel. A crewmember slept in a hammock strung between two beams of the shade structure, as others came through looking tired but motivated.
The first shift with Gate includes an hour-long orientation. We learned do’s and don’ts, safety, what to look for, what to expect. Before long, we were on a bus headed to the gate where we were paired into teams and put to work.

Gate crew is responsible for every person that enters Black Rock City. We take the tickets, make sure folks aren’t bringing in forbidden items: guns, explosives, fireworks, dogs, live plants, feather boas, people without tickets, and then send them on there way down gate road to get hugs and excitement from the Greeters.

Working Gate is a dangerous job. There are a lot of vehicles, driven by weary but excited drivers, in various states of cogency. Exhaust combined with dust and beating sun, make for challenging work conditions, as does early morning cold when working the overnight shift. But there’s nothing like seeing a horizon that begins to glow with the earliest hints of day light before the sun rises.

Working the event changed my perspective about the Burn. I realized that I was no longer merely a participant. I was now one of many who help make it all happen.

After my first shift, I felt better, more like I was Home again.