Today I tried a swimming class with my local chapter of Master Swimming. I find swim training an essential activity, part of who I am. The mood, however, is in the nature to “just get by”, rather than a complimentary activity that adds on to a cumulative ball of successes.
Something magical happens when you are in the water. All your problems disappear and all that matters is the water and you. And your teammates. It is almost spiritual.
This evening I watched the first episode of the series “Dance Life”: a documentary of dancers competing to make it to the “Jazz 1” cohort at the Brent Street studio in Sydney. At the end of watching the episode, I was full of zest. Watching those dancers express themselves on the screen rejuvenated my evening: it was an antidote that changed the mood of my day from the burn out of the job. Should I make space for a beginner’s class in ballet or other foundational dancing class? I read somewhere that dancing is one of the best activities, if not THE best, to keep at bay depression and other mental illnesses. I am intrigued by the idea of discovering unknown skills in me, while at the same time to be humbled by experienced dancers. New beginnings.
Today is the first day of classes at Penn. I decided to re-arrange my office. Few things have an effect on your work as the environment you are set in. It is now decluttered, so my mind can be decluttered too. Every morning is a fresh start: the promise of an opportunity, a tabula rasa. It is much more so if the space is left clean. I once read somewhere that tidiness and organization is just an elevated version of laziness. You can now find everything so easily!
I just spent my second night in my new apartment. I keep thinking of the precariousness of these first few nights. A new environment provides an opportunity to set new habits. The behaviors I set in place in the next few days will solidify in the course of weeks, like a river carving the earth that after years of activity form canyons.
I want this new home to be closer to what I consider the ideal home: a place for nourishment and replenishment. The hobbit Bilbo Baggins of The Lord of the Rings had nailed this aesthetic in his underground dwelling: warm lights, carpets, wooden floors, plenty of books, a fireplace, a kitchen full of baking and cooking… I would add to this a cat as companion, artwork, plants as deco, good chill music, and perhaps more importantly, an intentional absence of technology (phones, television, computer). All of the above seem doable to obtain, except the last one. Is absolute removal from sight the only option? Wondering what other alternatives may exist…
I just returned from a trip to Puerto Vallarta with a group of gay friends. I was invited at the last minute, and I decided to join because, why not? In this pod of friends we all share a professional background in addition to the gay label: an academic, a psychiatrist, a resident psychiatrist, a computer engineer, a business analyst, and a physician –if memory serves well. We all seem to lean towards the nerdy side of personality: we watched Lord of the Rings, played board games, and solved puzzles.
I often think about the influence that your group of friends have on you, and the influence you exert on them. It seems a bit odd on the presence of responsibility in friendship, and the pressure to keep up. During this trip I felt the least intelligent in the group, and I’ve learned to be increasingly comfortable with that. English is my second language, so I try to forgive and give myself some grace.
If you’re the smartest one in the room, you’re in the wrong room. You are better off surrounded by people more accomplished than you. Friendship provides a mirror of yourself: it makes clear your own limits and imperfections.
There is a passage from Robert Caro’s “The Power Broker” that describes the enthusiasm of young interns working for the Municipal Bureau of Research:
The students were filled with an espirit so strong that it seemed sometimes as if it must surely waft out the windows of 261 Broadway and melt some of the soot from the blackened granite of the Tweed Courthouse below. They believed in the importance of what they were doing; a half-century later, rheumy eyes would light up and smiles would curl corners of wrinkled lips as they talked about it, and they talked in terms old soldiers reserve for old battles. “How would I sum up what we were doing?” one would say. “We were fighting to make democracy work, that’s what we were doing!”
– The Power Broker, p. 63.
This passage makes me want to replicate the same spirit in the lab. “How would I sum up what we were doing? We were fighting to save old buildings and the planet itself!”
Yesterday I went to two plays: a Greek tragedy, and a musical adaptation of Cabaret. The first play recounts the Greek myth of Orpheous and Eurydices. The later was set in the decline of the Weimmar Republic. I was struck by how eloquent and charming, and handsome Orpheous was. The play featured screen projections that depicted the surreal transitions to and from the underworld.
The second play was my first time watching a cabaret. Cliff, the protagonist, is a writer from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, who has traveled to London and Paris on a journey to write a book. Cliff finds himself moving to Berlin in the hopes of finding fresh material.
In acting, it is your role to empathize with your character, put yourself in their shoes, and grow within it. But before you can grow in the character, you must experiment and know yourself: how do you come across, know how your audience perceives you, and in a constant feedback of how you act and how the world reacts to your acting.
I am writing from a nice coffee shop between 11th Street and Pine. I biked my way here this morning and already discovered so many things nearby: a cute queer bookshop, the Louis I. Kahn Park, and an appealing fancy barber shop that I want to give it a try.
I am trying to nurture a personality of exploration, discovery, and insight. I was riding my bike on my way to the coffee shop and was taken aghast by the beautiful brickwork and the shadows cast on the front marble stoops and the brickwork in the sidewalk by the Fall trees in the Gayborhood. It was a reminder that you get out of life what you put into it.
Yesterday I went to the Weitzman Happy Hour and made small talk with a second-year student in the City Planning department. It was Halloween weekend, so our conversation naturally gravitated towards spooky themes. I learned that in Chinese culture, the soul is believed to stick around mortals for 7 days after death.
On my second time to Tavern on Camac. The first had been with a date, but this time around I went on my own. I found myself enjoying a gin & tonic around the piano in the presence of a musician who expressed great confidence. I was dressing in a preppy-style –less rough with leather & boots attire that I think is required to go to places like The Bike Stop. I then went back home and chilled with a movie and popcorn.
I am writing from a nice coffee shop in Center Philadelphia between 11th Street and Pine. I discovered a cute queer bookshop nearby and want to go there to get a copy of The Leatherman’s Handbook II.
I was riding my bike on my way to the coffee shop and was taken aghast by the beautiful brickwork and the shadows cast on the front marble stoops and the brickwork in the sidewalk by the Fall trees in the Gayborhood. It was a reminder that life can be as rich as one is willing to pay attention. You get out of life by how much you put into it.
In that input of effort, one must also choose their friends and close acquaintances. I am making an effort to remove myself from people who vent, gossip, and are lazy. Being on the receiving end of those relationships and interactions are much like inhaling the second-hand smoke. It is poison.
An obstacle to become a daring leader is, besides being an egocentric lone wolf , being surrounded by the wrong wolves.
I am writing in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning. Penn undergrads are about to start classes. Noah Schnapp is the sensation on campus.
As soon as I start to write, my brain realizes that a state of mind is imminent and immediately wants to optimize the environment at the detriment of getting started. Odd behavior.
Yesterday was such a rich day. In the morning, I went to the Farmer’s Market on Clark Park and had a delightful time appreciating the warm colors and textures of arugula, kale, sesame seed bread, and peaches. Watching and interacting with people refreshes my mind.
Later that afternoon, I went to the Philadelphia Naked Bike Ride, an annual event celebrating body-positivity and cycling. I felt so many things. I first biked to Lemon Hill and joined a mass of naked Philadelphians of all walks of life socializing, drinking beer, smoking weed, painting their bodies, and getting busy with their bikes. When the race started, I did not anticipate the cheerfulness and jubilation of the crowds. It was a constant state of being of wholesomeness and joy. A celebration of life.
The experience was a metaphor for many things. I did not feel comfortable with fully-clothed individuals taking pics of the mass. This reminded me that it is much better to be in the arena than to be a spectator. I saw a lady in her 60s who projected so much confidence, depth, and character. I got a sense she has seen it all, and done it all. An acquisition of a character through great courage in life. She reminded me of Dog the Bounty Hunter. I can only aspire to live a life as hers: rich and ultimately rewarding.
Being comfortable with your skin is not only an exercise in acceptance and self-love, but also a radical honesty of who we are. There is nowhere to hide. I learned so much about myself in observing my reactions to an entirely new context. So refreshing. I think I’m getting addicted to new experiences.