When the sun sets to the east...

In A Million Miles In a Thousand Years, Donald Miller talks about creating memorable scenes. Those moments you're likely to remember forever. Yesterday I was sitting at home and it was a very plain Sunday. Except that I had a delicious pork butt ready to be braised, nothing would be memorable. Someday, I'll probably braise a better pork butt, and that will be forgotten also. So, what to do...

I live about a mile and a half from the Golden Gate Bridge, and if I leave a window open in my bedroom I can fall asleep to the rhythmic cooing of a buoy and crashing waves. I love that. I found myself relishing in these blessings and I had an idea. I would book it over to the bridge and watch the sunset from somewhere in the middle. Brilliant... sort of. This is also where I would encounter a flaw in this "memorable scene." You see, pedestrians are only allowed on the east side of the bridge. I realized this on my way to the Bridge, but decided go anyway. The GGB is big, the ocean is big, the sun is big... I'd probably be able to see it. Except there is also a big railing; right over the sun. You can see it (because it is big), but it isn't fun because the railing gets in the way. So I decided to enjoy the walk, the freezing wind, and a great view of San Francisco. That's when I realized something that changed everything... sort of.

I like to think about perspective a lot; a lot referring both to frequency and my level of enjoyment. Sometimes I'll look at a random object and imagine it from an impossible angle, if I were inches or millimeters tall, if i were a spider on the wall, or what the world would look like if I were the thing itself. Now that I think about thinking about this, that might be something fun to write about sometime. Anyway, perspective. I looked to the east, because then there wasn't an orange vermillion railing in the way. Facing east, I saw a beautiful sunset. I realize this doesn't make a lot of sense, but it does. I promise.

When considering the sun simply, it is a GIGANTIC BALL OF LIGHT, which means the light it projects must be reflected. We see this everyday it's light outside and the last time I checked, this was everyday. So I forget about it. Until one Sunday evening when I was walking across the Golden Gate Bridge and I happened to look east and the hillsides were sparkling. Windows of buildings I couldn't see reflected such a pure golden color. The sunset to the east was not a gigantic glowing orb but tiny, fragments of light moving slowly, gently upward and becoming a thousand lightning bugs graciously making a heavenward ascent.

---

Truthfully, I've never seen a lightning bug, but I imagine that its incredible. Someday I want to sit somewhere on a hot summer night and wonder at them like I would if I was six years old; like nothing in the world mattered or existed except those glowing bugs and the jar I was going to collect them in.

P. Jones

After parking my car and walking toward work, I often see a friend of mine. He usually has something to eat or is trying to find something to eat. Unlike a lot of the personalities on the street, you know he's there and you know he wants something, but he's never intrusive or pushy or rude about it. If you have something to give, he'll gladly accept and appreciate it.

Who are we kidding? P. Jones is the kind of guy who is actually pretty shy. He doesn't like eye contact and hates getting in others' way. Like I said earlier, you know he wants something, but he's always trying to be inconspicuous about it; almost in an obvious sort of way, but he doesn't know that. P. Jones is special. Watching him can bring much joy, but you have to be in the right mindset to really appreciate him. Maybe one has to be hungry before P. Jones can become more than a curbside annoyance. Children almost always love him, but in a malicious sort of way.

The other day I did a terrible thing. Blood is on my hands and I feel no remorse. Actually, I feel pretty good about it. Maybe better than ever before in some kind of sick way. Anyway, here is the story and why P. Jones has anything to do with it.

It was late in the day on a Sunday, one of my days off. And as usual, I was hungry and wanted to go out for something to eat, but what? Feeling social, I thought I would go sit at a restaurant bar and order food in the midst of strangers. I parked my car a few blocks from a place I had been once before. Beginning the short walk toward soon-to-be biochemical peace, I found myself lulled by the echoing saxophone of a street musician. In fact, I didn't even notice the music until I realized I was humming along because it fit the evening so well. When I saw how busy the bar was, I immediately felt less social and thought it better to choose an option that would take less social confidence and certainly less of a wait. But, finding it better to eat now rather than later (which usually makes sense, I think) I walked inside. Turns out, I would have no wait- there was one seat left at the bar. This is where the story begins to take a turn...

Sometimes, we are given choices, but some choices are like selecting a card from the deck of a musician with a deft hand. You see "choices" but have only one real option. I knew as soon as I saw friend/relative/colleague/whatever of P. Jones what I had to do. It almost seemed instinctual, so primitive, so wrong, yet so right. Taking the card forced upon me, I slid that sharpened steel into his leg, muscle tissue tearing as my blade glanced off bone.

---

Without fear of sounding like a crazy person, sometimes I like to think of the pigeons on the street as my friends. I like watching them, their seemingly erratic movements in some kind of calculated harmony like a concerto of some composer I would sound smart if I could mention by name. But I can't. Anyway, now when I see P. Jones, I have a secret that I can never tell him, but it is a delicious, delicious secret and I wouldn't have it any other way.

---

Squab with creamy farro, brussel sprouts, arugula, and pomegranate at Nopa.
560 Divisadero (at Hayes), San Francisco, CA 94117
415-864-8643

2 months, 8 days.

Or something like that. What do I think? Did I make the right choice? I don't know the answer to those questions. Am I where I'm supposed to be? Yes. But, this is as awesome and harder than I expected at the same time. My job is the best job and the hardest job I've ever had. San Francisco has more fog than I ever saw in Oregon. More than anything (except my adoring family and awesome friends) I miss grass between the sidewalk and the curb. And good, hard rain. None of this misty bullshit, I want rain that almost hurts when it hits you in the face. I want to be soaking wet after the trip from my car to my apartment. I want to feel alone in the pounding of the rain, the presence of God in the solitude of a rainy night. Something familiar. Something horrendously mundane and boring and irritating like cold, hard rain. Not cold, hard cash. That's stupid. I want grandma's short ribs on a Sunday afternoon. Or spaghetti. Or the best overcooked roast you can imagine, with ketchup. Those are the things that can never be taken from me.

Running across the street.

A few days ago something beautiful happened. I was in a hurry on my way to work, as usual when EVERYTHING STOPPED. I was a few cars back from the crosswalk at a stoplight, patiently waiting for the light to turn green. It finally changed, but nobody was moving. A little irritated, my hand moved for the horn but I stopped when I realized what was happening. The sun was shining bright as a man had begun the journey that was the crosswalk. Dignity was granted as he was allowed step by painstaking step through the crosswalk without anyone impatiently swerving around him. A cane in each hand and groceries dangling in plastic bags he slowly made his way across the street. I'm sure to him, this was running. Moving as fast as he possibly could. For everyone else, this was patience. And, it was graciously granted to the man in the crosswalk. Human dignity lived for a moment and it was beautiful. The signal changed twice, but for a moment an old man was young again, running across the street.

I hope food on time machines is better than on airplanes.

Have you ever had an orange popsicle and all you could think about was being 5 and wearing sandals and short and being at grandma's house and playing with the dogs, oh yeah, and the popsicle?

Or what about that time you had scrambled eggs somewhere and you remember the time you and your dad woke up early to go fishing and make breakfast along the shore with a propane stove?

Or what about that perfect cup of coffee that makes you think of the times you spent in college doing "homework" at a coffee shop? (homework = Facebook, email, and youtube)

How about the time you had jello salad at a potluck and you remember eating so much jello one time that you threw up? Oh, maybe that one is just me...

What about finding somewhere with shawarma or shwarma or shaorma (depending on who spelled it) and you immediately teleport across oceans to that place? ....no idea where it is and it would be impossible to find it again, but man, that was some good sh('awa', 'wa' or 'ao')rma.

Or finally, what about that time you had egg salad, but it had sat out just long enough so it wasn't chilled all the way, and the mayonnaise or something made it ooze some kind of gray colored juice and it made you think of the time you tried balut? Oh, god.

Anyway, food has this mind-blowing ability to take us from one place to another, to remind us of the past, to give us visions of what could be, or take us outside of our day to day lives. Let the journey begin.

Check the line.

(From 4/22/10)

Eight years after receiving your Oregon driver's license, you have to renew it. DMV isn't open on Mondays so Tuesday is their Monday which also happens to be my Saturday and also the most convenient day for me to go. Of course, there was a huge, gigantic, no good, way-too-big line. Trying to be positive, I waited patiently. I knew I just had to get it over with so I could go along with my day.

Sometimes I get so caught up in the motions of life that I forget to look around, to observe, and to realize somehow we're all in this together. At the DMV, they had a lady going through everyone in line to make sure we had all the right documents and pieces of identification to make the process go as smooth as possible. A couple people had to leave because they wouldn't be able to do anything for them without... whatever necessary thing. She asked me, "What are you here for?" and I told her. Being my father's son, I had everything perfectly ready to go (except I didn't go right when they opened as he would have). There was a pleasant man behind me in line who made some small talk, mostly about the line, and funny little things about DMV or people in line. He was asked the same question as me, and was also prepared, but his response was one that caused the world to stop for a moment. The noisy atmostphere suddenly dulled to what I remember as silence as the man said, "Well, my wife passed away so I'm here to take her off the title." Ugh. We all have hard things even when we forget because we can't see beyond our own.

Twenty-four.

What is this mid-twenties thing all about? Just a couple years after graduation, I thought I'd have some things figured out. But maybe that's the point. We think we should, but when we don't it seems a fair amount of disappointment creeps in. Life isn't what we thought it was twenty-four hours ago. The world is going so fast, and everything in our lives is constantly changing. We have been the victims of a vicious sleight of hand. Except, we are the ones who bought into it. We were sold one thing, and took home something else, knowing the whole time but without the willingness to admit it to ourselves.

That's the part that bothers me about having a vision for something. Whether its the vision of some entrepreneur for a hot new company or an 18 year old's vision for their future. We are sold one thing, only to discover that thing is a little more hypothetical than we expected. The company isn't as great as it could be. College... well, it just wasn't what you thought it would be. That dream job, the burgeoning success that you think you're on the verge of, the house, the wife, the two and a half kids, they're all just

out of reach.

Just like that. Plain, courier font because I don't know how to change it. It didn't turn out how I expected. Which makes sense because this is only 24 no matter how much the ol' bait and switch might suck. Really, it doesn't suck, we just don't understand it. Or, I don't understand it. Maybe this is what its about though. Not understanding. Just living and breathing and trying to figure it out. The struggle and tension constantly shaping us, making us stronger, perhaps even preparing us for something. Maybe I'll look back and everything will make sense. Maybe none of it will. I guess that's why it is important to live the adventure.

.esreveR

Sometimes all I can do is think about moving forward. What's next? Where will I be in 5 years? 10 years? Tomorrow for that matter. Sometimes people ask, if you could take back anything what would it be? Or, they ask about regrets. My barely post-adolescent brain that's still idealistic tells me to live without regret, and usually I can. Don't think about the past, think about the future and the direction you're going. Of course, you should remember where you came from, but you would never go backwards in a progressive, forward thinking kind of world would you? Sometimes you don't realize how important going in reverse can be until the little R on your shifter suddenly means... nothing.

P
E
R
S
P
E
C
T
I
V
E

is everything.

Its a bit drafty out.

I'm standing in the kitchen making some breakfast at 2:30pm and I realized that so much of my life feels like a rough draft. I'm trying out some ideas and when they don't work or its not as easy as I expected, I scrap it and start over. A new topic, a new direction and probably a little overthinking. Then it happens again. It feels like 3am the night before a paper is due and suddenly I realize that I don't have anything done for it. But what is it that's due? I don't even think I remember the assignment. Shoot, now I'm questioning myself.

You know when you're cooking a fried egg and the pan is too hot and there are those nasty little brown edges that aren't really crunchy and aren't really chewy, just somewhere disgusting between the two? And since the pan was too hot either the yolk is overcooked as well, or the white is still gooey and mucus-like. Its too bad there aren't more important things in the world to be concerned about.

$200 for passing GO. That what it feels like. You wake up, pass by a few places that are yours and then people who seem friendly but are really trying to screw you and eventually you pass go and get your $200. Its cyclical and a bit cynical. Sometimes its fun... when you're winning. But then either you or people around you get screwed really bad. Then it isn't so much fun. But its supposed to be a game right? Is it okay to keep playing when there is career making/blowing backstabbing taking place? Obviously this isn't about the game anymore. It's serious. People are getting hurt. What should I do? Can I do anything? I'm comfortable with Marvin Gardens and the railroads though...

Switchfoot has a song called Company Car and one of the lines says, "I've become one with the ones that I've never believed in." I think it's a song about dissonance and knowing that we are meant for something more. Then one day we realize it, but we have a company car and we're winning monopoly. But for what? Is our soul worth it? Shouldn't we live for things that matter and not the system?

A friend of mine, Anne Lamott, says in her book Plan B: Further thoughts on grace, "Be where your butt is and breathe." (Btw, Anne doesn't know I exist, but we've had a lot of conversations in coffee shops over the months it took me to finish the book). I forget so much just to slow down and take a breath, to be where my butt is and breathe for a minute. Maybe this is a point in my life that is so significant and important to what is next that it feels like its going to take forever. Like maple syrup on the kitchen counter. Its sticky and it feels like its going to take forever to clean up, but in the end, your counter will be clean and something magical can happen. For now, there just seems to be a lot of maple syrup.