My Favorite Poem

Several years back as I was thumbing through a magazine I came across a poem by the playwright, Tennessee Williams who is probably best known for his renowned drama, A Streetcar Named Desire.

I'll be the first to admit I don't read a great deal of poetry, nor do I write it. (trust me when I say you'd be very underwhelmed)

But the vulnerability and humanity in his work, Your Blinded Hand spoke to me in such a delightfully inexplicable way I eventually cut the page from the magazine and framed it. 

For years it hung precariously on my dinged apartment wall, staring me square in the face before I'd hastily dart into another unpredictable New York City day.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Your Blinded Hand 

Suppose that               everything that greens and growsshould blacken in one moment, flower and branch.I think that I would find your blinded hand.Suppose that your cry and mine were lost among numberless cries               in a city of fire when the earth is afire,I must still believe that somehow I would find your blinded hand.               Through flames everywhere               consuming earth and airI must believe that somehow, if only one moment were offered,     I would               find your hand.I know as, of course, you know               the immeasurable wilderness that would exist               in the moment of fire.But I would hear your cry and you’d hear mine and each of us     would find               the other’s hand.                              We know               that it might not be so.                              But for this quiet moment, if only for this moment,and against all reason,               let us believe, and believe in our hearts,               that somehow it would be so.               I’d hear your cry, you mine—                              And each of us would find a blinded hand.

Kindness Matters

Years ago, I walked into a card store a few block from my apartment in Manhattan. The woman working behind the desk was personable and we struck up a conversation as I paid for a birthday card I was picking up for a friend. "You're so polite," she said. "I need you to hang around my kids." 

Not long before a store clerk up the street said more or less the same thing offering me a complimentary kit bag before I made my way out the store. "Why?" I asked. "Because you said please and thank you."

The fact that both incidents happened in New York City may imply more about the makeup of this fast-paced community, but I think the broader point is being kind really matters.

During my last few weeks in Central America I've seen people go above and beyond for me simply because I've taken the time to really listen and take an active interest in their lives. I've asked questions, tried to speak less, and praised them for their hospitality. I made new friends, learned a great deal about a culture I knew little to nothing about, and in the process deepened my understanding of what it means to be human.

So be kind whenever possible. Not because of what you’ll gain but because of who you’ll become. 

The Blame Game

One of the interesting things about riding a cab in New York City is taking note of how your perspective on the world immediately changes the minute the meter starts running.  Suddenly everyone else on the road seems like they're out to get you.  It’s as if everyone in Manhattan with a driver’s license plotted ways to add potholes, broken down cars, and  nonstop gridlock in an effort to make your commute a living nightmare.

Of course, when you're pounding the pavement you think every taxi driver is out of his mind. “Why is he driving so fast?!  Where is he going that’s so important?”  

In other words, you're playing the “Blame Game,” and  It’s one of the most popular games you can play. You only need one person and it’s awfully convenient when you’re frustrated.  

Unfortunately, it’s terribly unproductive and completely liberates you of any personal accountability. And not much good every happens when fail to hold ourselves to a high standard, even amid a challenging landscape where we'd be forgiven for doing so.

Figure out What You Want and Ask for It

Make the call. Most people don’t take initiative. Steve Jobs said no one he ever reached out to for help ever refused. He simply asked.

Years ago as I was sitting on the sofa of my cramped New York apartment my friend was pounding away at my laptop. He was make inquiry after inquiry looking for opportunities to get in his foot in the door. Just as he was about close shop he checked one last email before mumbling something under his breath, "You'd be amazed what you can get out of life if you just ask." That inadvertent piece of advice has become the single most influential insight of my life. And to think, I wasn't even supposed to hear it!

Here's my brief track record of simply asking:

-- Worked as an intern at a major news station in the San Francisco Bay Area and got to interview several members of the Oakland A's and San Francisco Giants. I was only 19.

-- Volunteered for a New York City Council Member and was allowed to attend meetings and events not open to the public. I learned a great deal about the nuances of city government.

-- Became a casting reader for major television networks and Broadway, reading opposite stars of the stage and screen.

-- Spent time at an orphanage in Haiti.

-- Spoke at a TEDx Event by asking the coordinator if they still needed speakers.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSAgO3sPBog&t=517s

-- Acted in a feature film I was only supposed to be a production assistant for

Figure out what it is you want and ask for it. The worst that can happen pales in comparison to what doors may open if you make the call.

Let Your Mortality Be Your Ally

I recently heard someone discussing a documentary they'd seen about the history of our planet. To illustrate mankind's relationship to the overall existence of the earth the filmmaker framed time as walking from San Diego to New York City, or 14.6 million steps. Our history would span a mere 3 steps out the Empire State Building. (And remember, that's just the planet earth. It's not even taking into account the infinite number of galaxies) In any event, it's a very humbling explanation.

As far as I can tell, there are two ways to interpret this information. We can either be discouraged, or liberated. We can feel insignificant, that what we do is trivial, and that we're a mere speck of dust just passing by. 

OR, we can learn to not take ourselves so seriously and allow the fact we won't be here very long to propel us to do the things we find important. The latter seems like a much more appealing option.

Actor and producer Keanu Reeves once said, "You're doing to die. Make stuff." Having a close, but healthy relationship with your own mortality can drive you to see, learn, listen, and say the things you feel are of value. Mortality can teach us the importance of being bold, but not reckless and learning to go to the fear.

When you truly appreciate your time's finite nature you begin to protect it in a way you never have before. An awakening to your potential arises, you suddenly feel less fatigued, and you find creative ways to "make each day a masterpiece."

SLOW. DOWN.

Travel writer Pico Iyer once wrote, “In an age of speed, I began to think, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. In an age of distraction, nothing can feel more luxurious than paying attention. And in an age of constant movement, nothing is more urgent than sitting still."

We live in a time of remarkable velocity, speeding through the very moments we'll be sure to miss some day. And when we actually take the time out for a little personal inventory, we rarely ask ourselves why we're going so fast.

I certainly got caught up in the hustle and bustle that is New York City, often dashing across an intersection a mere second after a cab flew by, or racing to make a train. But when I think about it, I rarely, if ever, was in a true rush to get to where I needed to be.

As I get older, I'm trying to find ways to allow my drive and ambition to live in harmony with stillness and silence. It's in the moments when there is quiet, true quiet, that the most interesting thoughts pop up. There's a peace of mind that accompanies an environment catered to simply being. 

The trouble is we rarely take the time to cultivate that space.  

Own Your Weird

Live in New York City long enough and your ability to be shocked by anything gradually dissipates. The city is packed with so many colorful and unique people. Street artists vie for your attention as you make your way to a cross town train, creative marketing techniques are used to win your business, and several avenues make you feel as though you have a front row seat to a fall fashion show.

I think one of the many reasons people love New York is it's a community where people aren't afraid to own their weird. Perhaps it's because most feel there's a prevailing sense of ambivalence of what you're doing anyway, but whatever it is, a sense of originality has been beautifully cultivated by many.

What if we dared to speak the ideas out loud we so fear others would ridicule? What would it be like if we took pride in our sensibilities and predilections? How about if we weren't ashamed of being ourselves in the most compelling ways?

My guess is you may come up against some judgment, but that it would be based on the fears of those doing the judging. Perhaps, your impulse to be uniquely you would ruffle some feathers because your living out what others so desperately want to do too.

In the long-run, other's may not "get it," and that's just fine. On the other had you may start a movement. 

The latter makes it worth the risk. 

Focus as If You're Only in Town for a Week

Whenever I come back to New York I make an effort to see as many close friends as possible.

There's usually a great deal to do when I arrive but it's also important to see the people I care about, so I make a very focused effort to schedule my priorities and make the rounds.

Nine out of ten times I end up seeing all the people I want to, while attending to what needs to get done because I make them "musts." I'd even argue that my level of productivity is heightened because the stakes feel higher and there's less time.

What if we all focused on our goals with the same intensity as one might if they were only in town for a week? Cut out the distractions, only attended to what was absolutely essential, and prioritized your non-negotiables? 

It'd be a good week. 

Square Peg into a Round Hole

Stephen Hawking once noted, "Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change." A poignant observation from a very intelligent man. 

I arrived back in New York City yesterday after several months away. One of the most exhilarating times of my life was moving here to attend drama school many years ago. Everything was out in front and the possibilities seemed limitless.

For a long time, each time I returned I tried to recreate that experience - that same feeling. But as I've gotten older I've realized how important it is to move forward with the times. 

People change, cities change, and our relationships to everything evolves over time. Trying to hold on to the past is like forcing a square peg into a round hole. It just doesn't work that way.

The beauty of all this change, as scary as it might be, is it allows for growth as long as we're open to it. The shininess might have worn off, but there's also great value in having a little life under your belt and applying what you've learned. 

Of course, lending a hand along the way to those traveling the path you once trotted is also deeply rewarding.