I don't mind driving long distances. I actually like the experience of a long drive.
It allows me to think in peace, even with passengers in the car. There's something about the motion, I suppose. All of my best ideas have come to me while moving. And my whole life I've been a believer in the agito ergo sum adage i.e.: I move therefore I am.
The most recent trip however really opened my eyes to something. And that something is the ability to let things come to us. This way of thinking is foreign to someone who is wired for action and is generally a Type A. But I suppose, you live and you learn.
I got to spend time with someone that used to mean a lot to me a decade ago. The fast pace of life had sort of put a distance between us, both concretely and metaphorically. And when we decided to meet up for dinner, we were both sort of blown away by how naturally we came back to where we last left off. We even managed to reconstruct the last conversation we had in person, almost verbatim it felt like.
Time, I suppose, is indeed a human construct.
So, what I'm saying is, if you have people in your life that have truly left a mark on you, really get you, and from whom you learn a lot, make it a point to let yourself be impacted and guided by them.
Quality influences are not in high quantity in life. And when we're fortunate to get them in the first place, we need to make it a point to allow ourselves to let them come back to us.
I'm demonstrably better as a result of making time to connect with my special friend. We're both better as a result, I'm told. And life is too short to be deprived of the needed influence of quality people.
So, here's to fun, long road trips, the opportunity to think and reflect for a while, and the delectable dinner shared between special friends who share a great history. After all, and when dealing with true friendship, time never dilutes it. If anything, it makes it better!
So, cheers!
Showing posts with label politics of friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics of friendship. Show all posts
Friday, May 27, 2016
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Politics of Friendship
I've long maintained that the philosophy-inclined person is naturally likely to feel an affinity with the Greeks and Romans. After all, they gave us the blueprint for closeness and intimacy, things on which our enculturation rests.
The first time I heard of Derrida's work on friendship and politics was over a quick, friendly chat with one of my dissertation committee members. He said, jokingly, that one could expect anything from Literary Theory these days. Derrida, the pater of deconstruction, was working on friendship in the twilight of his years. I said that I wasn't all that surprised that he would choose to dedicate the last years of his research life to such a pursuit.
What else do we preoccupy ourselves with, anyway? Even the least attached of people, is consumed with thoughts of attachment. The latter looks different in different people. Whether we attach to people or the results of associations with people and/or sources of interest, human beings are burdened with the concern of attachment as we simply cannot survive on our own. Plato, by way of Aristophanes, tells us of the cravings we have to feel more empowered and less choppy and how they're rooted in our choppy natures. Our inadequacy, which often feels to be emotional and mental, is very much physical, according to him. Zeus and the gods chopped us up, says Aristophanes, and, as a result, we're perpetually looking for the missing parts so that we can fit again. Metaphorically, the more valid point that the Greeks were making is that association, or sociality at large, is not a matter of choice for most who choose to live, and live well, in society. Sociality is a matter of necessity.
True simbiosis is rarely present. Faux simbiosis, however, is the very cradle of sociality. Fake things are not always problematic, however. Nietzsche talks of collective lying and the decisions we've made to believe it as truth for the sake of living. The pretense of the real thing seems to become in time the thing itself. And therein lies the importance of such notions as friendship, attachment, loyalty of sociality, et al. Such tenets are important to civilized society as they are the unspoken agreement on which various channels support themselves.
In my own 398-page musings on literature and philosophy in the Middle Ages, I explored the concept of medieval friendship at length. Granted, I mostly wrote about its function and utility but, as much of the Western canon shows, we cannot comment on our culture and civilization without tipping the hat to the work of Plato and co., on the matter.
Many view Derrida's work in the twilight of his life as less substantial than his monumental contribution to Literary Theory i.e. Deconstruction I mean, the number of faculty hired as practitioners of his theory alone is enough to worship at his altar. At least, till tenure.
Derrida's musings on friendship are not novel, however. They're very much imitative of the Greeks. Plato's Symposium after all is nothing if not a collection of chats with friends over wine. In vino vertias as later on, their friends to the North would say.
You can read the rest of Derrida's comments on politics and friendship here. Below is a snippet from it:
"... the friendship grounded on utility and usefulness, and this is political friendship ... and on the lower level, friendship grounded on pleasure - looking for pleasure among young people, Aristotle says. So you see that we have a concept of friendship which is and is not political. The political friendship is one kind of friendship ... So, there are a number of problems in which you see love - not love, but philia or friendship playing an organising role in the definition of the political experience."
The first time I heard of Derrida's work on friendship and politics was over a quick, friendly chat with one of my dissertation committee members. He said, jokingly, that one could expect anything from Literary Theory these days. Derrida, the pater of deconstruction, was working on friendship in the twilight of his years. I said that I wasn't all that surprised that he would choose to dedicate the last years of his research life to such a pursuit.
What else do we preoccupy ourselves with, anyway? Even the least attached of people, is consumed with thoughts of attachment. The latter looks different in different people. Whether we attach to people or the results of associations with people and/or sources of interest, human beings are burdened with the concern of attachment as we simply cannot survive on our own. Plato, by way of Aristophanes, tells us of the cravings we have to feel more empowered and less choppy and how they're rooted in our choppy natures. Our inadequacy, which often feels to be emotional and mental, is very much physical, according to him. Zeus and the gods chopped us up, says Aristophanes, and, as a result, we're perpetually looking for the missing parts so that we can fit again. Metaphorically, the more valid point that the Greeks were making is that association, or sociality at large, is not a matter of choice for most who choose to live, and live well, in society. Sociality is a matter of necessity.
True simbiosis is rarely present. Faux simbiosis, however, is the very cradle of sociality. Fake things are not always problematic, however. Nietzsche talks of collective lying and the decisions we've made to believe it as truth for the sake of living. The pretense of the real thing seems to become in time the thing itself. And therein lies the importance of such notions as friendship, attachment, loyalty of sociality, et al. Such tenets are important to civilized society as they are the unspoken agreement on which various channels support themselves.
In my own 398-page musings on literature and philosophy in the Middle Ages, I explored the concept of medieval friendship at length. Granted, I mostly wrote about its function and utility but, as much of the Western canon shows, we cannot comment on our culture and civilization without tipping the hat to the work of Plato and co., on the matter.
Many view Derrida's work in the twilight of his life as less substantial than his monumental contribution to Literary Theory i.e. Deconstruction I mean, the number of faculty hired as practitioners of his theory alone is enough to worship at his altar. At least, till tenure.
Derrida's musings on friendship are not novel, however. They're very much imitative of the Greeks. Plato's Symposium after all is nothing if not a collection of chats with friends over wine. In vino vertias as later on, their friends to the North would say.
You can read the rest of Derrida's comments on politics and friendship here. Below is a snippet from it:
"... the friendship grounded on utility and usefulness, and this is political friendship ... and on the lower level, friendship grounded on pleasure - looking for pleasure among young people, Aristotle says. So you see that we have a concept of friendship which is and is not political. The political friendship is one kind of friendship ... So, there are a number of problems in which you see love - not love, but philia or friendship playing an organising role in the definition of the political experience."
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Identity Shmidentity
Every time I hear Polonius’s statement from Hamlet: Act 1 Scene 3 quoted, i.e.: “To thine own self be true” I unequivocally frown as a way of saying 'say what?!', without actually saying it. I do so because Polonius is usually quoted decontextually. Polonius, let’s be real, was pretty much an officious, sort-of hysterical, well, ok, imbecile. In nuce, he was a follower, at best, who lacked the ability to think for himself. Polonius was, metaphorically speaking, a little man, one who never saw his daughter, the much deeper Ophelia - who must have certainly taken after her mother - for what and who she was: cerebral, observing, and analytical.
But back to the often decontextually quoted “to thine own self be true” which, apropos, came up in a conversation I was a part of this evening with a couple of people. I did produce a "say what?!" by way of the face but that might have been because I didn't have dinner till later. Anyway.
Back to the topic at hand, i.e., identity. We can’t be the same in every situation and with everyone. Judith Butler generally maintains that we tend to ‘perform’ the many versions of ourselves situationally. The sum of our performances of identy(ies) make up our very social make-up. Granted, her identity notions as found in her seminal work Gender Trouble (1990) mostly applies to Gender Theory but the concept could still be applied more broadly.
I tend to think that a number of core traits are with us all the time. However, other things are added and subtracted. Certain traits get exacerbated and others get nigh muted depending on the context, time frame, and the influences we are exposed to. And, everyone is around influences. Nobody is immune to them. What was the adage again? Ah, yes, no man is an island. Right. No person is an island.
I had a thought tonight about another conversation I had with my best friend the other day. Every time we talk he inserts one of his usual, ‘Seriously, that would have been your idea of hell,’ or ‘that’s when you would have adios-ed the conversation.’ By way of context and making a point here, my best friend and I met as freshmen in college when taking a Linguistics course. We were both bored out of our minds in it. One day, the professor asked me an Italian-related question, I answered it and then after class he came to me speaking in flawless Italian. His mother is Swiss Italian, hence the proficiency.
In Phaedrus, Plato’s Socrates states that philosophy is: meletē thanatou. The phrase simply means — a diligent/educated practice of death. However what Plato means here, among other things, is that one of the ‘performances’ of philosophy is to helps humans better deal with their basic humanity. By extension, I would submit that philosophy/education or knowledge/information exist primarly to help us come to terms with the many versions of our fundamental humanity and why/how they actualize themselves they way they do.
My parents always say the following when we see one another during family events and vacations: “you’re the same you used to be.” And unequivocally I retort: “Who else would I be?!” Change, however, happens. It is bound to happen. And what counts is not what garrulous Polonius said i.e., “to thine own self be true,” but rather how the self can handle the many variables it encounters daily. The goal eventually is to stay afloat and not drown. The goal, as Plato’s Socrates points out in Phaedrus is to cope with mortality as well as one can. What else is there of more import, really? And if a version of self is not doing the job well enough, it can and should get laid off. There needs to be more where that, it, came from after all.
I’ve never been able to understand why anyone would take advice about life from Polonius of all people. It’s sort of like a priest going to Bill Maher with a Gospel of John question.
But back to the often decontextually quoted “to thine own self be true” which, apropos, came up in a conversation I was a part of this evening with a couple of people. I did produce a "say what?!" by way of the face but that might have been because I didn't have dinner till later. Anyway.
Back to the topic at hand, i.e., identity. We can’t be the same in every situation and with everyone. Judith Butler generally maintains that we tend to ‘perform’ the many versions of ourselves situationally. The sum of our performances of identy(ies) make up our very social make-up. Granted, her identity notions as found in her seminal work Gender Trouble (1990) mostly applies to Gender Theory but the concept could still be applied more broadly.
I tend to think that a number of core traits are with us all the time. However, other things are added and subtracted. Certain traits get exacerbated and others get nigh muted depending on the context, time frame, and the influences we are exposed to. And, everyone is around influences. Nobody is immune to them. What was the adage again? Ah, yes, no man is an island. Right. No person is an island.
I had a thought tonight about another conversation I had with my best friend the other day. Every time we talk he inserts one of his usual, ‘Seriously, that would have been your idea of hell,’ or ‘that’s when you would have adios-ed the conversation.’ By way of context and making a point here, my best friend and I met as freshmen in college when taking a Linguistics course. We were both bored out of our minds in it. One day, the professor asked me an Italian-related question, I answered it and then after class he came to me speaking in flawless Italian. His mother is Swiss Italian, hence the proficiency.
In Phaedrus, Plato’s Socrates states that philosophy is: meletē thanatou. The phrase simply means — a diligent/educated practice of death. However what Plato means here, among other things, is that one of the ‘performances’ of philosophy is to helps humans better deal with their basic humanity. By extension, I would submit that philosophy/education or knowledge/information exist primarly to help us come to terms with the many versions of our fundamental humanity and why/how they actualize themselves they way they do.
My parents always say the following when we see one another during family events and vacations: “you’re the same you used to be.” And unequivocally I retort: “Who else would I be?!” Change, however, happens. It is bound to happen. And what counts is not what garrulous Polonius said i.e., “to thine own self be true,” but rather how the self can handle the many variables it encounters daily. The goal eventually is to stay afloat and not drown. The goal, as Plato’s Socrates points out in Phaedrus is to cope with mortality as well as one can. What else is there of more import, really? And if a version of self is not doing the job well enough, it can and should get laid off. There needs to be more where that, it, came from after all.
I’ve never been able to understand why anyone would take advice about life from Polonius of all people. It’s sort of like a priest going to Bill Maher with a Gospel of John question.
Monday, May 23, 2011
And Then It Was about Change
"Let's talk about change," says the friend I went to grad school with.
The question came out of the blue which was not necessarily a big surprise to me. I'm told I'm rather decent at dealing with 'out-of-the-blue' statements/questions as I do dish them out quite easily, so reacting to them does not usually require much effort.
We started talking about new music, the Beastie Boys' new release, how some bands have to be seen live to be truly appreciated, ah, and why the creative class tends to cluster in certain areas as opposed to others. Then, all of a sudden, the conversation turned all change-y and philosophical.
I don't usually know what to make of 'change' questions. I seem to participate in a whole lot of discussions that deal with change, though. The answer I provide tends to follow the same tune for the most part i.e., change happens, so you do it. There's no way around it. Sometimes, when I feel jovial and generally at ease, I even get grammatical on one. The example I bring up is the German auxiliary verb 'sein' i.e., 'to be.' I didn't do so on my friend today as, well, he's fully privy to all sorts of verbal behavior. He's seen and done 'em all. In a nutshell, we're trained in the same thing so I'd be preaching to the choir. But, to complete a point, and for the sake of elucidating the idea in this platform, the verb 'to be' in German is happily married to change, and more specifically, change of state. One cannot form the perfect tense of change-signifying verbs were it not for this verb. It's that important a player. So, in German, one says 'I am fallen asleep' instead of 'I have fallen asleep', or 'I am gone' as opposed to 'I have gone' and, most greatly, 'they are died' i.e., 'they have died' and so forth. Right, you get the gist.
'Now' is all we have and if now is pregnant with change then you friggin' handle it. Idealizing the past and projecting too optimistically onto the future does not help anyone. Well, not if having a good grasp on reality is a priority and I tend to see it as one. I don't know, it seems to work out better this way for me and mine. But, I guess, that's how I happen to roll.
Clichéd, I know, but all we have is the present and living hard in it is the only way to do justice to it. I find, I'm keen on adverbs. They modify so well. See, 'well' - adverb. They're ubiquitous. "You're keen on adverbs" says my friend to me as well. Ha, funny, coming from one adverb lover to another. But I digress. I don't know why I'm keen on adverbs, though. I reckon it has something to do with my literary conditioning. We can't necessarily escape our respective upbringing fully. Especially if it's literarily fecund. This, I do believe. I actually know it to be thus. We are what we read or what our parents read when they had us, even. Ah, hold on. Let me backtrack. If the latter part of that statement were true, I'd be in trouble. I'd rather believe in the former, I think. We are what we read. Ok, that I can do. That I know how to deal with. But back to the adverb. The main function of 'now' is to attract one's attention to what truly matters, i.e. the moment at hand or - as I'm told I say often - contemporaneity. And therein lies my enamorment with it.
I'm often rendered wordless however, not philosophically necessarily but rather experientially as I don't share many of my interlocutors' belief that change is hard. I have a moderately good relationship with change. It wasn't always like that, however. It truly is an acquired reaction. One thing I find useful when dealing with utter novelty is to fuse it with already familiar and comfort-informed things. This is why I always bring familiar playlists, Curb, Wonder Boys, and workout outfits. Armed with familiarity and comfort, no change is too hard to conquer.
In nuce, it's not change that's hard but rather constancy. It's difficult (actually, I mean to write impossible but I'm in too sunny a disposition, I guess) to keep pace with constancy. Its gruesome at times and it requires constant work to keep. Change provides a bit of a breather, a chance to view things from another perspective and point of view. If it weren't for change, the processing of ideas and any life experience would be hard to accomplish.
The question came out of the blue which was not necessarily a big surprise to me. I'm told I'm rather decent at dealing with 'out-of-the-blue' statements/questions as I do dish them out quite easily, so reacting to them does not usually require much effort.
We started talking about new music, the Beastie Boys' new release, how some bands have to be seen live to be truly appreciated, ah, and why the creative class tends to cluster in certain areas as opposed to others. Then, all of a sudden, the conversation turned all change-y and philosophical.
I don't usually know what to make of 'change' questions. I seem to participate in a whole lot of discussions that deal with change, though. The answer I provide tends to follow the same tune for the most part i.e., change happens, so you do it. There's no way around it. Sometimes, when I feel jovial and generally at ease, I even get grammatical on one. The example I bring up is the German auxiliary verb 'sein' i.e., 'to be.' I didn't do so on my friend today as, well, he's fully privy to all sorts of verbal behavior. He's seen and done 'em all. In a nutshell, we're trained in the same thing so I'd be preaching to the choir. But, to complete a point, and for the sake of elucidating the idea in this platform, the verb 'to be' in German is happily married to change, and more specifically, change of state. One cannot form the perfect tense of change-signifying verbs were it not for this verb. It's that important a player. So, in German, one says 'I am fallen asleep' instead of 'I have fallen asleep', or 'I am gone' as opposed to 'I have gone' and, most greatly, 'they are died' i.e., 'they have died' and so forth. Right, you get the gist.
'Now' is all we have and if now is pregnant with change then you friggin' handle it. Idealizing the past and projecting too optimistically onto the future does not help anyone. Well, not if having a good grasp on reality is a priority and I tend to see it as one. I don't know, it seems to work out better this way for me and mine. But, I guess, that's how I happen to roll.
Clichéd, I know, but all we have is the present and living hard in it is the only way to do justice to it. I find, I'm keen on adverbs. They modify so well. See, 'well' - adverb. They're ubiquitous. "You're keen on adverbs" says my friend to me as well. Ha, funny, coming from one adverb lover to another. But I digress. I don't know why I'm keen on adverbs, though. I reckon it has something to do with my literary conditioning. We can't necessarily escape our respective upbringing fully. Especially if it's literarily fecund. This, I do believe. I actually know it to be thus. We are what we read or what our parents read when they had us, even. Ah, hold on. Let me backtrack. If the latter part of that statement were true, I'd be in trouble. I'd rather believe in the former, I think. We are what we read. Ok, that I can do. That I know how to deal with. But back to the adverb. The main function of 'now' is to attract one's attention to what truly matters, i.e. the moment at hand or - as I'm told I say often - contemporaneity. And therein lies my enamorment with it.
I'm often rendered wordless however, not philosophically necessarily but rather experientially as I don't share many of my interlocutors' belief that change is hard. I have a moderately good relationship with change. It wasn't always like that, however. It truly is an acquired reaction. One thing I find useful when dealing with utter novelty is to fuse it with already familiar and comfort-informed things. This is why I always bring familiar playlists, Curb, Wonder Boys, and workout outfits. Armed with familiarity and comfort, no change is too hard to conquer.
In nuce, it's not change that's hard but rather constancy. It's difficult (actually, I mean to write impossible but I'm in too sunny a disposition, I guess) to keep pace with constancy. Its gruesome at times and it requires constant work to keep. Change provides a bit of a breather, a chance to view things from another perspective and point of view. If it weren't for change, the processing of ideas and any life experience would be hard to accomplish.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Age Matters: Why Being the Youngest Lingers
Los Angeles, May 2010
My friend Lira (featured above, off of Santa Monica pier) mentions Gen X references in various conversations. Every time she does I think to myself, 'what the heck does she mean? Gen, what, the what?' My friend's cool. Timeless cool. There is a difference between cool and timeless cool. A lot of things I encounter are just cool. How a person smells to me currently is cool. Black nail polish against a kashmir sweater is cool now. A certain scent from a certain body wash is particularly cool now but I wonder for how long, and Jared Leto is cool. No doubt about that. And then there's Dante cool, Larry David cool, classic aesthetics cool, true friends cool, uhm, Mac cool, you know, proper cool.
I met Lira my first day in school. There we were. Both 14 and in a different environment. She was standing against a white wall, wearing pink shoes and tapping against the white wall, obsessively touching her hair and chewing her gum in an almost choreographed fashion. She became a favorite instantly. I mean, duh! On top of that, she liked Guns 'n Roses and Metallica and we were the only ones that gave a good damn about rock 'n roll and saw it for the thing of substance that it is: proper cool.
To me, Lira in connection to me exists outside of time. We're the same age, give or take a few months, we like a lot of the same stuff and time is always inconsequential when we relate. So, when she brings up time references I'm at a loss. What do you mean, there's younger people than us out there. So, what? We're just as with-it as they are. I mean, really, we've seen more, traveled more, been at more shows, and had more life than them. I mean, not to be too competitive, but come on! Yes, they're younger than us but only but a small number of years. We've only just embarked on a new decade, really. Count the years in one hand, that's hardly being removed from a whole generation, isn't it?
Being a word person, I tend to have some kind of reaction to most phrases I'm aware of. I know that I get irked when people resort to folk etymology and back formation and say things like, kitty-corner as opposed to cater-corner (I mean, try saying the latter, you'll get a good eye-rolling!) or "he must have saw, she must have went." You'll be happy you're not me. You're not I, to be accurate. You and I are both nominative, but who cares? (me, [I] for starters, but let's move on.)
I hear some say, "in our generation, people in my generation, we...." Wait, I think to myself, are they precluding me?! How dare you preclude me! "In your generation, you don't care about this and that, or your generation does things this way and that way?" I'm, what, 4 years older than you?
Or, sorry, yes, I'm antediluvian! I'm six years older than you. I couldn't possibly understand the existential dilemmas of Snookie and The Situation.
Mannaggia la miseria!
A few months ago, when we were about to see Bill Maher's Real Time live at the CBS sutdios on Fairfax Ave in Los Angeles and I was frantically trying to find a parking place so that we would not be late to get to the studio I distinctly remember getting mad at time. For moving so quickly. Or maybe I was mad at L.A.'s impossible traffic. Or both. Why does time have to move so fast?!
And then we're in the studio, siting in the second row. Dude, there's Salman Rushdie right there. And Sarah Silverman. There's Maher, a few steps away from us. Wait, how can it be over just now?! Didn't we just get here? Has it been an hour already?
I feel the way I feel after the first date with my person of choice. I'm acutely aware of time and I don't want it to move the way it tends to move in Bri-landia. I take in every single detail, the fabric of the shirt, the way the hair looks, the scent, the way the hands move when a photograph is being explained, and so forth. I want it to slow down so that I can remember it, a snapshot at a time. But then again I don't want to give the impression that I want to linger as I tend to take pride in the fact that I can always leave. Most expeditiously.
I didn't want the show to end. I wanted us to stay on longer. But we couldn't. We had to go, grab some Italian food, reminisce about what it meant to be in our 20's and I couldn't help but feel weird. I mean, dude, our 20's just happened. Good heavens, some of my clichéd indie outfits were purchased when I was in my 20's. I was just in my 20's. Being in the early 30's isn't so bad. I mean, think, we can travel more. We can say, "Yeah, let's meet up me in L.A., we'll go see Maher and then hang for a day. Or four."
I've given this some thought over the past few months. Thing is, I seem to have always had a rather particular relationship with time. I'm acutely aware of it on a small scale. Apparently, one of my high frequency phrases at home says, "I know what __AM/PM feels like." I do. I know what every minute of the day feels like. I have a clear relationship with time on this basic level. However, I do get rather confused, actually, I deeply resent, phrases like, 'it's a young person's thing, or old person's thing, or generation this and that thing.' What about, it's a human thing? Leave time out of it, people.
I think I know why I'm a bit testy about time.
I'm the youngest of three. My siblings are closer in age. I'm years behind. My whole life I was the late addition. I took time to come. And when I did come, my state kept being one of constant hurrying. And then my language contains phrases like, 'I was in haste when,' 'I seem to have fallen out of time,' 'Time's doing a number on me,' and on and on.
Being the youngest meant having the kinds of freedoms and access that the older siblings didn't get to have. I always did my thing and everything I wanted. When I wanted. Being the youngest also came wrapped up in a rather unique fabric of 'allowability' and accountability.
I don't know if it's my genetic makeup that primarily feeds my accountability. Some think it is. Maybe it is, maybe it is isn't. My allowability, however, i.e., allowing myself to jump, take any freedom I want to take, and experience things my own way and on my own terms (often without terms at all, I am told) is what renders my existence interesting to me. This, this 'allowability' thing, is what I find is utterly age-free. And it is utterly non-negotiable.
So, I wonder why I get so annoyed by phrases like, 'it's a young/old people thing. Our generation does this, you see?
Being the youngest of three and always being referred to as 'the young one' does play a role here. I've often factored age in my self-identity so I don't see why it should matter to me now.
I am proud of a few things I've accomplished at a younger age.
I was able to learn to function well when I was sent away to school at the age of 14. I did well in the new environment. I mastered it intellectually and socially. Then I was sent away to college. In an entirely different continent, which as luck would have it, also happened to be the one geography that ever spoke to me on a fundamentally honest level. I could just be in it.
Then, the achievements came.
Here I was.
28. With a doctorate. Dr. Ribaj, this and Dr. Ribaj, that.
And Dr. Ribaj took her and hers to rock shows with the same gusto she took them to see Verdi's Aida. She skipped while walking the way she would when roaming on a rocky beach.
Age does not matter.
I don't know why it bothers me. I mean, what does one mean when one says, "it's a generation thing, you see?"
No, I don't see. What, you get things better because in six years you'll be my age and I'll be embarking on a new decade all together? I mean, what? I move fast, faster than many more often than often, I've lived in different continents, I take active steps in 'changing it up,' I go from the business world to the academic world and back to the business world with the same effortless I go from Kings of Leon to Beethoven. I know 23-year-olds who are older than a 60-year-old and 60-year-olds that are, to quote a fellow 34-year-old, "hella cool!"
So, no, it's not a generation thing, it's a human thing.
Maybe being the youngest comes with a sense of entitlement.
I want attention but I demand anonymity and yet I've never not drawn attention to myself. Ever. In every setting. Whether I'm lecturing on Greek aesthetics and why Alexander was keen on Hephaestion or discussing the merits of The Killers 2004 album Hot Fuss. There's always going to be someone who will react positively to the words. And I'll always hear at home, "well, that's what you get for being "interesting." Because, of course, being interesting, it turns out, is more of liability (or maybe responsibility?) than anything. And it seems to an age-free one at that. Well, at least I have that. I'll have that.
So, no, age means nothing. I can relate to a 25-year-old the way I can relate to my best friend, a 34-year-old because I know what it means to me when it's 8:04AM and 9:07PM. I know exactly what time feels like, whether it's dawn or dusk. I get it. It doesn't do much to me. Yes, I started college when Nirvana was dominating the airwaves and I graduated when all the THE bands made it big, you know, The Hives, The Strokes, The Bravery, etc.
In sum, all the 'gen' talk is making me rather tired. And it's now 6:45AM and I know what that means to me. It means shower and hair straightening and driving up north and hoping that I don't get a ticket for wearing my seat belt underneath my arm as opposed to over the shoulder. But I digress.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Excellent New Podcast on the Politics of Friendship
I highly recommend this new podcast that comes to us from This American Life. Some friendships/relationships cause one to have high blood pressure, say the studies and the premise of this piece.
You know how on reality TV shows contestants say "I'm not here to make friends"? Odd notion, right? Well, there's a new interesting bit/study on this very topic that I'm recommending here.
Also, if you'd like to know more about the social/historical context of the word "frenemy," check this same podcast out. Apparently, the first time the word frenemy appeared was back in the 50's.
If you'd like to pursue all of the above-mentioned topics further, listen to the podcast.
You know how on reality TV shows contestants say "I'm not here to make friends"? Odd notion, right? Well, there's a new interesting bit/study on this very topic that I'm recommending here.
Also, if you'd like to know more about the social/historical context of the word "frenemy," check this same podcast out. Apparently, the first time the word frenemy appeared was back in the 50's.
If you'd like to pursue all of the above-mentioned topics further, listen to the podcast.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Expectations and "Ein zweiter Mensch erweckt neue Erwartungen"
As I was coming home from my trips for the summer, I experienced yet another sense of visitation. This time the experience hailed from the summer of 2000 when I consciously privileged existentialism with a good measure of happiness and when the literature that fell on my lap was, providentially, congruent with my self.
A common misconception, I find, regarding existentialism is that it is laden with sadness and pessimism.
No. I see it as a movement and philosophy that is clothed with a good measure of possibility.
The first time I read the following statement, "Ein zweiter Mensch erweckt neue Erwartungen" was in June 2000. My significant person was in Germany for the summer and I chose to stay behind and work conscientiously on a project. I found the decision fair and fairly aligned with my focus and desire. For a good partner, I think, is one who independently follows the dictates of duty rather than ego-centric desires.
Right.
However, while I would have liked to have been German-izing with my choice person, I enjoyed his absence quite a bit and I remember feeling happy feeling existential.
Feeling happy feeling existential: this coinage of mine was indeed an experiential truth which I have grown to sense quite often.
Yes.
I have always maintained that existentialism is conducive to creativity both cognitively and experientially and that summer was but the first example in which this notion of mine was concretely actualized.
When I came across Botho Strauss' play in two acts in which the above-mentioned German statement is found, i.e., 'a second person awakens new expectations' my summer made equal cerebral and emotional sense. While I didn't consciously enjoy the fact that I was not spending every single day with my chosen, abroad-living person, every day we spent apart I felt, in veritas, better and better about my newly chosen daily routines which consisted of watching 'Gladiator' repeatedly at the movies with a good friend of mine, listening to the film's soundtrack as I was reading everything I could get my hands on from Isabel Allende's La Hija de la Fortuna to Sartre and Nietzsche und so weiter.
"A second person awakes new expectations." I agree with that. And methinks it signals the subtle birth of the kinds of expectations that make some of us find unusual enjoyment in the dailies: the morning green tea drink, the walk in the park while reading the daily paper, the compulsive cleaning and organizing of the desk, the writing of sweet, little nothings to one's person of choice whose company is enjoyed more when in absentia, the going to the grocery store to pick up fresh apples, the sitting under the tree thinking about cute, little individual sentences you could share with those who get you, the morning shower, the riding of the bike, the walk to the local coffee shop, the talk with the barista who is aspiring to become a professor eventually, the insecure jamming on the guitar that's too expensive for your level of expertise, the compulsive washing, drying and color coordination of the clothes, the devouring of anything by Kundera, the evening shower, the sweet little nothings sent to your person over a text message, the immense pleasure derived out of watching any episode of "Curb your Enthusiasm", the revisiting of beautiful times, the applying of the new Bath, Bady, and Beyond's cucumber lotion on your humidity-filled skin, the gazing of the color-coordinated wardrobe, the touching of the Ben Sherman collection and the feeling of decadence that is spawend right after the intial pleasure is felt upon touching the unique fabrics, the going to bed and the desire to wake up the next day and repeat it all, again, activity by activity, minute by minute. Sweet, paced, happiness-punctuated existentialism.
A common misconception, I find, regarding existentialism is that it is laden with sadness and pessimism.
No. I see it as a movement and philosophy that is clothed with a good measure of possibility.
The first time I read the following statement, "Ein zweiter Mensch erweckt neue Erwartungen" was in June 2000. My significant person was in Germany for the summer and I chose to stay behind and work conscientiously on a project. I found the decision fair and fairly aligned with my focus and desire. For a good partner, I think, is one who independently follows the dictates of duty rather than ego-centric desires.
Right.
However, while I would have liked to have been German-izing with my choice person, I enjoyed his absence quite a bit and I remember feeling happy feeling existential.
Feeling happy feeling existential: this coinage of mine was indeed an experiential truth which I have grown to sense quite often.
Yes.
I have always maintained that existentialism is conducive to creativity both cognitively and experientially and that summer was but the first example in which this notion of mine was concretely actualized.
When I came across Botho Strauss' play in two acts in which the above-mentioned German statement is found, i.e., 'a second person awakens new expectations' my summer made equal cerebral and emotional sense. While I didn't consciously enjoy the fact that I was not spending every single day with my chosen, abroad-living person, every day we spent apart I felt, in veritas, better and better about my newly chosen daily routines which consisted of watching 'Gladiator' repeatedly at the movies with a good friend of mine, listening to the film's soundtrack as I was reading everything I could get my hands on from Isabel Allende's La Hija de la Fortuna to Sartre and Nietzsche und so weiter.
"A second person awakes new expectations." I agree with that. And methinks it signals the subtle birth of the kinds of expectations that make some of us find unusual enjoyment in the dailies: the morning green tea drink, the walk in the park while reading the daily paper, the compulsive cleaning and organizing of the desk, the writing of sweet, little nothings to one's person of choice whose company is enjoyed more when in absentia, the going to the grocery store to pick up fresh apples, the sitting under the tree thinking about cute, little individual sentences you could share with those who get you, the morning shower, the riding of the bike, the walk to the local coffee shop, the talk with the barista who is aspiring to become a professor eventually, the insecure jamming on the guitar that's too expensive for your level of expertise, the compulsive washing, drying and color coordination of the clothes, the devouring of anything by Kundera, the evening shower, the sweet little nothings sent to your person over a text message, the immense pleasure derived out of watching any episode of "Curb your Enthusiasm", the revisiting of beautiful times, the applying of the new Bath, Bady, and Beyond's cucumber lotion on your humidity-filled skin, the gazing of the color-coordinated wardrobe, the touching of the Ben Sherman collection and the feeling of decadence that is spawend right after the intial pleasure is felt upon touching the unique fabrics, the going to bed and the desire to wake up the next day and repeat it all, again, activity by activity, minute by minute. Sweet, paced, happiness-punctuated existentialism.
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