Rebel at the Cliff's of Moher

Back in May I had been writing a novel which incorporates quite a bit of traveling, and my friend Don, having read a few pages, said to me, “That’s so American, to travel not for the culture but for introspection.” Well of course, I thought, civilizations have been either have looked to nature and mother earth for answers to life’s difficult questions since the dawn of time, why shouldn’t I? I had never considered that it was a distinctly American thing.

Still pondering this discussion, I asked some of my international traveling buddies, and the consensus that I got was, “Yes, when I travel I find it easier to gain perspective on my life.” Statistically speaking, my data gathering and analysis means nothing as it is severely skewed towards people who are like myself. Wondering souls. But it was enough for me to know that if not the majority, a few people around the world were just like me.

I wouldn’t say that I have been running around the world in the pursuit universal truths (though I have found many), but I will admit to a curiosity geared more towards myself than my particular surroundings.

If you look closely at the photo above captioned, “Rebel at the Cliffs of Moher” you will notice a tiny figure walking along the cliff’s edge. That’s me. I arrived at the Cliff’s to find that a 4-foot high cement wall had been built to protect tourists from plummeting to their deaths.

Being that I am very American, I hopped over that wall and ran down to the cliff’s edge. I tried to hide around the corner, but couldn’t get to a place where concern about my suicidal state of mind wouldn’t be questioned, so I had to come back up. A few other tourists had been watching and my friend got a proper scolding from some Portuguese gentlemen who pointed at the “danger” sign. As far as repercussions though, that’s where it ended.

My reasons for doing it were two-fold: 1. I knew with 100% certainty, that barring any suicidal intent, it was perfectly safe. They had postcards in the gift shop with tourists standing on that very edge! and 2. I had something to prove to myself.

I didn’t know it at the time, but that leap over the edge symbolized just how far I was willing to go in order to live out my dreams. I live for moments, experiences, red letter days, whatever you want to call you’re fondest memories. And yet, I had spent every single moment of my life, following the rules, taking no for answers and never pushing the boundaries of success because my fear of failure trumped my desire for something more. Not anymore.

Something changed that day, and I wasn’t going to let a tiny sign keep me from fully experiencing the danger that is life. Don’t get me wrong, I am not condoning leaping over the cliff’s and possibly getting thrown into an Irish jail, but what I am saying, is that sometimes breaking the rules is what pushes us to do better, to be better.

Read the biographies of anyone who has achieved greatness and somewhere in there you’ll find that they not only broke a few rules, they pushed down barriers. Take Steve Jobs for example (Yes, I know people are sick of hearing about him, but bare with me here). He said, “Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.”

I just so happened to come across that quote today, but he isn’t the only one to have said it. Nothing great comes without taking a risk.

For me, leaping over that wall was just the gateway to getting past barriers that I might otherwise have been too afraid to attempt.

Nothing great comes without taking a risk.

Helping Hand by ojtamojtam

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” ~Plato

Ever since elementary school, I have had a built in network of friends, family, and colleagues who make up my rock solid foundation of support.

But recently, I’ve been struggling with being alone and desperate for human interaction—more specifically conversation and affirmation; and conversation that includes affirmation of my creative choices would be the holy grail of friendship.

Two months ago I moved to a new city where I knew exactly two people; one was my cousin who I hadn’t seen in over 15 years and the other was an old co-worker’s sister (which come to think of it doesn’t really count as knowing someone does it?).

Both have become wonderful companions, who I see every other week or so, and share many commonalities with; but I wanted a deeper friendship, someone to tell me that, yes, I had gained a little weight and tomorrow we’d go the gym.

Normally I shied away from strangers, skeptical of their intentions; but if I kept that up I’d meet no one. So, in a bit of a social experiment (forged by pure desperation), I decided to strike up a conversation with someone new every day.

So far, about 90% of the conversations end with a simple thank you and us parting ways, never to meet again. But the other 10% of my attempts have been eye-opening.

Today for instance, while at the gym, I met this stunning woman, whose legs were reason enough for me to hate her. But I smiled sweetly and asked her how she was doing. Ten minutes later I had learned that she ate extremely healthy and worked out every day (hence the amazing figure), but also that she was the mother of a 5 year-old girl.

I told her I was a writer, working on my first novel, and her eyes lit up as she said, “I was at the park the other day and I thought to myself, I should bring my daughter out here to color or paint or something. Just to get her creative juices flowing.” She loved the idea of seeing her little girl as an artist.

As someone who’s walked the creative path, I know that I wouldn’t be here without the people who love me having made some sacrifices on my behalf. And I saw reflected in this stranger, with a permanent furrowed brow of worry, the willingness to be that sacrifice.

We’re taught as kids that we should dream big and follow our dreams regardless of the number of obstacles put in front of us. Yet, when we grow into adults the world seems to shift and the dreams we once had get lost in logistics and practicality.

So the legacy is passed on to our children until luck reaches a generation whose dreams really do come true.

Because of my age, (I’m 26) I often meet people who are in transition or just plain lost. Two days ago, I asked the guy sitting next to me at a bus stop what he did for a living and he sheepishly looked to floor before telling me that had just passed the bar in Chicago, which as he put it, “makes me an unemployed lawyer.”

I smiled sympathetically because what else could I do? But when we both simultaneously stood up to exit the bus at 8^th street, I blurted, “Let me buy you a drink.”

He accepted because the role reversal was interesting but argued that it felt strange to let me. There were no romantic feelings, just a stranger lending an ear. Twenty minutes later, he thanked me for giving him a break from himself, and we parted ways without so much as an exchange of names.

Complex lives are what make us three-dimensional, and no two people that I have met share the same story; but everyone has problems.

Maybe it says something about our society that happiness is always fleeting. But in my exchange with the lawyer I got to be one of those moments.

A few years ago, a lady in her mid forties, brushed past me in the grocery store knocking the basket I was carrying over and causing its contents to spill about.  I was livid, as I too was having a particularly bad day, so I let out an exasperated profanity (or two) and bent over to start picking things up. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m just having the worst day.”

I looked up ready to rip her a new one, but my anger was diffused almost immediately when I saw the look on her face. I’d seen it in my own reflection so many times—pure defeat.

Making light of the situation, I said, “It’s okay; I’ll just tell them the eggs were already broken.” She laughed, offered to pay for my groceries (including the broken eggs, which the manager was not amused about) and we had coffee at the little Coffee Bean inside the store.

She had just been diagnosed with stage-4 breast cancer—something I would’ve never known had I stormed off in anger.

“You have my full permission to knock over anyone you want coming through that door,” was what I said, and she smiled.

I regret not asking for her information, but that one incident is the reason I no longer get angry when someone bumps into me, or cuts me off in traffic, and it’s also probably why I am so intrigued by strangers.

No one carries a sign around on their back advertising their problems. So I can’t ever know what someone’s life is like unless they tell me.

But if an act of kindness has the ability to shift someone’s bad day into a better one, then why not try to be that change?

Often I have wondered why a compliment from a stranger causes an instant eruption of smiles; yet, when my friends tell me how talented I am, the response is always, “Do you really think?” or “I hope so.” And now I know.

It’s because people I don’t know have no reason to go out of their way to tell me something they didn’t believe was true.

I started out being nice as a means to build friendships, but found a gratifying connection in my everyday interactions with strangers instead.

Everyone has a battle that they’re fighting and as people who occupy the same traveling spaces we should try to treat each other like neighbors, because for that moment while we’re standing next to each other, that’s exactly what we are.

Note: This is an article that I had posted on TinyBuddha that I’ve decided to archive here. The original article can be found here: http://tinybuddha.com/blog/the-benefits-of-kindness-what-we-get-and-what-we-give/ read more

Everything comes from nothing and the darkness is the nothing that manifests everything in our minds.

Since my arrival in Houston a few months back, and my subsequent leap into the art community, (because well, when you don’t have a job, you hang out in museums), I had been asked in passing if I’d ever been to the Rothko Chapel. Now, I’m not a church going person (don’t tell my parents) but this question became such a recurring motif that I felt compelled to take a look.

At first glance, the chapel seems to be nothing but an empty octagonal room with natural sunlight and deep dark paintings covering the walls. What’s so special about that? I opened up the brochure to see what the hype was about and learned what I needed to do in the chapel: sit down and shut up.

I sat on the floor in the middle of the room, and before I knew it, I found myself with my eyes closed and my legs crossed. When I go quiet my mind always tends to go to dark places. Feeding on facets of my life that are unfulfilled. But this was different. It felt scary and safe at the same time. I do not know how to meditate so I can tell you right now that I was probably not doing that. I was simply being still because the stillness in the room caused a stillness in me.

Void of color, shape, or content, the darkness cut through all distractions and then offered up a mirror that reflected only myself.  Everything comes from nothing and the darkness is the nothing that manifests everything in our minds. The room was designed to lend us a hand, in case our will power wasn’t strong enough to keep our eyes closed during meditation.

When I opened my eyes, I saw just this little sliver of color, a brightness if you will, that trumped my pessimism. What happened next was unexpected. I didn’t just see Rothko’s color field paintings, I saw inside of them. Black paint metamorphosed into waves of black, each one a symbol of untold stories.

For me, I saw past and present swirling around before me. If the universe is circular, then the octagon is its cartography. In thinking about everything: our jobs, our families, our friends, our significant others, etc. and our fears associated with each of them the process is overwhelming. But break it up into 8 categories, paint them honestly onto the walls, and watch as truths you never saw before move to the forefront of your canvas. And the great part is, if you’re not ready to deal with any aspect of your life, you simply move on to the next panel and circle back when ready.

The Famous 6th Street in Austin, TX

Two days is definitely not enough time to spend in Austin if you want to see it all (esp. if you go on Halloween weekend) but it is a city to be reckoned with.  My first night I actually stayed in Milano, TX, which is about an hour and a half outside of the Austin’s city center.  The grandparents of an old roommate of mine owned a cabin out there and we thought it would be nice to stay and relax outside the city before entering the mayhem.

I fully admit that I am a city girl, so when her grandparents told me that the only things in the town were the Church and the Post Office, I laughed. I had heard once that the only thing you needed to be recognized as your own town was a post office, but I never thought towns like this existed. It was awesome! At 10pm we went on a night hike through the hills where I saw not only the brightest constellations (Cassiopeia, Orion’s Belt, and Ursa Minor to name a few), but also millions of other constellations that I had never seen before.  We walked for about 2 miles and then turned around and came back to homemade pudding with ice cream. They weren’t my family, but it felt like home.

That was the calm before the storm. Austin is a mixture of intellectuals and artists in a combination unlike anything I’ve ever seen. We started (drinking) at a restaurant called Cedar Door where I discovered that Austin does not tax alcohol. Trouble had arrived.

A couple of beers and a bus ride later, we found ourselves on 6^th street. The most popular street in Austin for, well, pretty much everything. Before I go any further I would like to say that I am not ugly, but I’ve never been considered “hot” either. But the moment we hit the strip, free drinks came flying at us from bar promoters and I felt like a million bucks.

Our journey in and out of bars can only be described as speed dating on crack, except it was with both men and women. Everyone was friendly and complementary in such a way that we never once felt uncomfortable.  I’ve never been in a city before where total strangers felt like acquaintances.

The next day our friends took us to a secret spot along the Colorado River where we wadded waist deep and watched people kayak downstream. We were smack dab in the middle of Austin and yet it felt like another city. Our shoes off, we walked along the river learning about each other until we stumbled upon a scene that reminded me of Venice Beach. Glow sticks, circus acts, hoola hoop girls, elaborate costumes, puoy balls, and glitter – a day time rave.

With our busy 9-5 schedules and mapped out lives, it’s a rarity to happen upon something cool by accident. Yet, so many of my most amazing memories were found created in unexpected places.

So maybe the lesson here is to loosen up and break as many daily habits as you can, as often as you can. If you walk down Potter St on your way to work, maybe go one block further along a parallel street and check out something different.

My time in Texas has been a bit of a social experiment since nearly everyone I come in contact with is a stranger. And Austin was no different. In a span of 2 days I probably talked to 10 different people (not counting the drunk debauchery) by catching their eye and smiling or answering a simple “hello” with genuine interest.

Ask questions, lots of them, all the time. Ask someone what time it is, or to help you out with grabbing something out of reach. Ask someone for his or her opinion. Ask, because if you do, strangers can quickly become acquaintances who morph into friends.

While I’m living in Texas, Austin has become my home away from home. A taste of the eclectic world I used to roam. Delicious restaurants can be found in abundance and pretentious d-bags are left at the door. If you’re looking for a young, cool, hip city that is bursting with creativity and economic growth, this is the place to go.

Take the day off and spend it alone...

I spend a lot of time in my own head, and occasionally I need a break. This past Thursday was one of those days. I had just written the middle section of my book, which was an uphill battle, so I decided to take myself the Museum of Fine Arts Houston (MFAH).

To be completely honest, I was trolling for inspiration.  I needed new ideas to propel my characters forward in an interesting way. What I found was exactly that, but not just for my characters, but for myself as well.

I had walked into an exhibit showcasing the art of Islam and on the wall was this quote:

“I have spent a fortune traveling to distant shores and looked at lofty mountains and boundless oceans, and yet, I haven’t found the time to take a few steps from my home, to look at a single dewdrop on a single blade of grass.”

- Rabindraniath Tagore (1861-1941), Nobel Laureate

It was the perfect analogy for my life in the past 3 years. And so it set the tone for my day.

Though I moved to Houston just 3 months ago, I had already fallen into a slump of what I call “the everyday cycle” where everyday of the week seems to bring on the same thing. But today I was going to check out my own backyard.

Standing in the middle of the exhibit, and looking at a larger than life painting of Mahatma Gandhi, I was content in my solitude, when suddenly I heard a yelp to my left. Two lady’s were hovering over an art piece made out of silver kitchen supplies. I stared at it for a long time, but couldn’t figure out what was so funny. Was there a spoon hanging in a suggestive way? Curiosity forced me to ask the woman and she excitedly pointed at the artists information bio. It turned out at this particular artist who prided himself of using found objects had gone so far as to use “cow dung” in some earlier installations! Gross. We laughed for a bit longer together and for a moment I had found a friend.

I took a left after exiting the exhibit on Islam and found myself in an empty room with just one sculpture: a gold plated sitting Buddha. He was small, maybe 2 feet wide by 3 feet tall and protected by a glass case but what struck me most was how powerful he felt in the room. I have visited many Buddhist temples on my travels through Asia and yet, this small figure had a greater impact on me than all of those temples combined. The emptiness of the space around him was peaceful, quiet and real.

To the right of Buddha was the entrance to another room, where I was greeted by a museum guard who asked me if I’d like to watch a video. I did. So he pushed play on a large touch screen monitor and I watched Ting Tsung and Wei Fong Chao as they created an Explosion of Art, literally. Large canvases were laid out in a huge auditorium and then stencils were created and lain down. Gunpowder was shaken loosely over the openings of the stencils, and then oiled string was strewn through the painting with bricks holding it place, until we reached the end where Ting Tsung lit the ends of the string and I watched as the work erupted in an explosion. The end result was an installation designed specifically for MFAH, which lined the walls of an entire room. What it felt like to me was a Chinese version of Monet’s Water Lilies. Who knew that something as treacherous as gunpowder could yield an end result of tranquility?

I used to think of art as just something to look at, because I had never had an experience with it that made me feel anything. But in one day that all changed. The Chinese painting made me believe for the first time in the possibility of world peace. But I also found love in a Mexican sculpture of a couple embracing. Anger, in a installation that just had speakers with audio of a civil rights leader preaching about inequality. Sorrow, in an installation titled “With Me…You” that expressed the pain of loving someone who no longer loved you. And loneliness, in a moving installation showcasing a day in the park with just a few solitary people walking through.

In a day of wandering, I learned that art can make you feel a multitude of emotions and that what’s unique is that because so much of what we feel is our own personalities projected onto the artwork and bounced back at us, everyone’s experience is different.