There is a big problem in my life that I have been ignoring for years. Or, just papering over and pretending to deal with. It’s one of those things that is private and if I chose to never mention it then noone would ever have any clue about it. It is easily hidden and even easy to ignore. Sure, there are a couple of times a day when I am confronted by this issue and am forced to deal with it. But the soon evidence of it is shoved back in a drawer, or hidden under other things. I’ve spent money to try to fix it. I’ve thrown things out, I’ve tried to just live with it, but it never fails to come back and bother me again. I know for certain that I am not alone in dealing with this problem. But I wonder, for those who’ve dealt with this issue successfully, how do they do it? Is it will power, is there some magical solution?

Some of you may have already guessed what I’m talking about. For those of you who haven’t, read on…

Yes, I am talking about mismatched socks. It seems every year I spend a small fortune buying new tube socks, new gym socks, new dress socks, new hiking socks. But it doesn’t seem to matter. Soon enough, the perfectly matched and specially purchased fall into the same old rut – only one sock remains. Who knows where the other one went? I don’t.

There are, of course, those rare pairs that somehow manifest a mystical ability to stay intact for many years, no matter how often they’re worn. For these gifts from the universe, I am greatful, and from them I am given hope.

But for the vast majority of socks, it is inevitable that sooner or later they end up orphaned. A single sock, trying so hard to fit in with other similar but not quite identical socks. Black socks with different patters. White socks with different toe details – yellow, grey, logo’d, blank. Brownish/greenish socks, all desperately searching for their sole-mate, but condemned. Their fates sealed: perhaps they’ll eek out a few bottom-of-the-drawer-no-other-choice mismatched wearings, or they’ll sit their, sometimes for years, unworn, in a desperate but ultimately futile longing for their match. And I, their equally forlorn conspirator. Deluded, pretending, that perhaps, maybe, one day the long-disappeared pair will crawl out from some corner, emerge from hiding, and re-appear through the eternal black hole of sockdom.

But nay. Mismatched socks to not spontaneously re-combobulate.

And as for me, the human manifestation of the orphaned pair — on the one hand I cannot find the internal strength to accept the reality of a lost sock, and on the other hand I abhor the thought of donning two that do not mimic each other in each detail: color, material, thickness, pattern, and logo. And thus I’ve doomed myself to a drawer, and a life, full of unmatched socks.There they sit, unusable. Unwearable. Unbearable.  Yet I’ve not the heart to dispose of them, clinging ever to the stupid, foolish idea that one day I’ll find a pair for at least one of them and for that — a faint and futile hope — I keep them all.

take off, eh.

Even though life doesn’t exactly adhere to the calendar,  I can honestly say that 2008 did have a unique personality, different than any year I’ve experienced before. Here’s a look back at some of the new discoveries in my life that made a positive difference.

A. Podcasts

2008 was the year I really started subscribing and listening to podcasts. Podcasts are neat because they offer fresh content to your earbuds on a daily basis, at no cost to you! Plus, you have an archive of news or music that you consume as you please – not according to a broadcaster’s schedule.

During the peak of the campaign season, I found a handful of entertaining and informative political and news podcasts. Some of them are good enough that I still subscribe, including these:

• The Young Turks, hosted by Cenk Uygur, is a hilarious and smart show for the progressive audience. Cenk has a knack for highlighting the absurd and offensive antics of the right (or left, when appropriate) and presenting them in a  humorous way.
• Rachel Maddow is the single smartest pundit on TV. A brilliant addition to cable, but her podcast is a better way to consume the show.
• On The Media from WNYC – the smartest media  analysis show. Awesome segment this week covering Bush’s final press conference. Classic shit.
  

Beyond politics, I also found these podcasts to rule:

• Tiesto’s club life podcast offers up a fresh dose of trance each week. Tiesto is considered one of the top 3 trance DJs in the world, so you know that his music selection is strong. Only negative is sometimes he talks a bit too much. Perfect for the gym, or for the pre-party.
• More Apple nerdery than you can handle on The Talk Show with Gruber and Benjamin. Last new episode came out in October. But, it was great while it lasted.
• Real Late with Peter Roseberg comes from uber-station Hot 97 in NYC. Rosenberg is the quixotic DJ who finds – and plays – the real deal hip hop. Not the BS MTV/BET/KMEL stuff. And, he’s funny.
• Edge of Sports host Dave Zirin brings together the people from the sports world and politics. So, I guess it is kind of politics-y, but not really. Intellectual for the sports fan.

B. Other Stuff

I discovered some non-podcast things, too:

• Traveling lunges transformed my lower body workout routine from average to BLAU!
  
• Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz was easily the best book I read in ’08. A book unlike any other I’ve come across.
• Cambria. I had always imagined a town like this  – the quintessential central California beach town – exisred, but never knew that it actually did. In reality, far more magical than I could have hoped. A real treasure.
• The wonders of Yelp on the iPhone ensured I never got lost or ate at a third-rate, overpriced restaurant, no matter what city or neighborhood I was in.
• Keyshia Cole, Immortal Technique, Milosh, and Dining Rooms were the new artists I heard for the first time in 2008 that I played the most.
• Honey Crisp apples. Holy mackerel, where have these apples been all my life! They are sweet, they are crispy, they are perfect. Oh, and they’re organic at my local Whole Foods. Yum.

C. The Main Thing

The discovery of the greatest significance, though, was when I realized how much drinking was affecting my sleep. Since my college days, I had suffered from ‘transient insomnia’ and for many years just lived with it. Today, I have no such affliction. Why? Well, thanks to something I discovered during my first alcohol fast, last May: a crash course in the power of sugar. Prior to the fast, I was drinking easily two drinks a night before bed. Sometimes, more. And, almost without fail, after crashing, I’d wake in the middle of the night and then toss and turn, unable to return to deep sleep.

Once I began the fast, I regularly experienced nights of uninterupted sleep. It did not take long to figure out what was going on: the sugar content of the alcohol had been messing with sugar levels in my blood and, thus, my sleep. Wow. That revelation reinforced my motivation and efforts to cut way back on drinking.

The consequences of both of these changes (less alcohol, more sleep) are hard to overstate. I feel better, I look better, I spend less. And there is nothing that can replace, or make up for, a good night of sleep. Psychologically, emotionally, and physically, there is no subsitute for rest.

D. In Conclusion

There were other things, too. I finally listened to Getting Things Done, and instituted GTD principals at work and home. I paid off two huge loans, and discovered the joy of having money in my bank account. I didn’t discover, exactly, my drawing talent. But I did continue to develop it, and that has been a proud personal achievement, too.

All in all, not a static year. And that, above all, is what is important. Life, as they say, is a journey. I don’t want to be in the same place from year to year. To grow is to discover new things – some good, some bad – and evolve. And sometimes, a podcast is just the tool to do that.

Happy discoveries to you in 2009!

Ride the bus.

If the bus were cool, more people would ride it.
If the bus were cool, car drivers wouldn’t be frightened
of the “dangers” of sharing their motorized transit
with folks they don’t know – delinquents and vandals.

If the bus were cool, less gas would be wasted
If the bus were cool, admit it, YOU’d take it
You could take it to work or take it to practice
You might even like it, if you tried it.

Sadly, too many see the bus as a joke
Say these serious people and snobberly folk:
“The bus is for others, they’re not for my kind!”
“I am too busy, I am far too refined!”

But the bus, you see, is actually awesome
When people move together, the city soon blossoms
with texture and energy of those with whom you share
your ride as you ride the bus from here to there

Sharing your seat is not always grand
and sometimes, it is true, you may have to stand
Sometimes, though, you can offer a hand
And help someone in need, a mother or elderly man,

And there are times when your ride on the bus has a moment of fright:
someone clipping his nails, or a theft or a fight
and the bus – damned bus!  – doesn’t  always show up on time.
But give yourself cushion, and all will be fine

The bus saves gas, it saves you from searching for parking
It gives you a reason to do a little more walking
You can read a book, or the paper, or look at the sights
Buses are safe, economical, they run day and night

So the bus, you see, is not for the poor and “those fools”
The bus – like the train or the subway – is a wonderful tool
To take you shopping, sightseeing, to work or to school

The bus, it is true, is truly quite cool.

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This poem was inspired by Amanda’s post lamenting the total lack of public discourse on the many benefits of public transportation, in particular as  great means to get around when you are out drinking.

[...] buses aren’t being used as much as they should be, but a large part of the reason why is the mental block of growing up in a car culture.  Making it easy on people is only half the battle.  The other half if getting people to realize how easy it is, which sometimes feels like an insurmountable problem.

She posits that part of the problem is our cultural taboo on discussing potential good decision that can be made while engaging in ‘bad’ behavior. All of our drinking and driving discourse simply discourages drinking. But, why not have a parallel campaign that promotes public transportation as a viable alternative? After all, the bus is cool.

Without fail, each turning of the calendar year brings with it a sense of hope, in the form of (yet) another chance to start fresh, to make the important, profound changes – small and large – that will bring us closer to realizing our true self, no?

The cold January air, the short days, the damp skies. Any of these things, alone, might feel grim or depressing. But in the context of “the holidays” and of course of a New Year, they can instead feel wonderful and renewing: like the first day of Spring or first light after a bitter storm. I suppose inanimate things are always rife for whatever meaning we choose to instill into them, eh?

Here we stand. At the precipice of another opportunity. I have great dreams and hopes that this year – of all years – will bring those things that I’ve hoped for for many years: love, travel abroad, satisfying work, the discipline and focus required to meet my financial, fitness, and creative goals.

I know a lot of people who scoff at the idea of resolutions, and I understand the sentiment. I don’t even really think of my own goals as resolutions, although to a great degree it’s only a matter of semantics. Regardless, I do love the moment. So full of hope, so ripe with potential. As the rubber meets the road, though, it is not about the hopes (or planning), it’s all in the doing.

So here we go again, embarking anew on each of our own quests to wake up earlier, savor life more completely, strengthen our relationships, and on and on. It feels great.

I feel different this year. Rather than the sense of trying to turn around a large ship, I feel more like I have momentum, that the wind is at my back. Of course, there is lots of work to do, but you know what? I’m ready for it!

One more year in the history books and what have I got to show for it?

A few more wrinkles, a few *less* pounds (!!) and some wonderful memories. 2008  was a very quiet year for me. Very little in the way of dramatic developments or epic experiences. Lots of quiet nights and weekends. Lots of hours in the gym.

Perhaps most notable for me was the time I spent with my family. The entire month of January was spent in sandy eggo, an experience for which I am truly grateful, since it allowed me to “be there” for the birth of my niece, and to be around for a few weeks afterwards to welcome a beautiful new life into our family. A couple of visit north from the ‘rents and the ‘xachos, a couple of trips south in the fall, and the epic week in Cambria rounded out a particularly family oriented travel/vacation schedule.

Socially, there was very little of note. The political calendar kept me very busy for a while, and I did enjoy a lively spring and summer at many politically-oriented events, including attending the Netroots Nation blogger convention, which was a great experience. But once summer season wound down, and aside from campaign related things, I just didn’t seem to get out a lot. I dated a little, but mostly I was rolling solo. That topic probably deserves a post or eight of it’s own, but for now suffice it to say that this trend cannot be allowed to continue, lest I one day find myself turning into a cat lady. Blargh.

Aside from one somewhat exciting project early last spring, work was like a giant vat of vegetable broth on very low simmer: full of potential, very promising, but as it stands not very filling, devoid of any flavor, and quite forgettable. Meh.

The best development, personally, was my decision in late April to quit drinking for 45 days. Special thanks to my blogging potna, without whom that moratorium would certainly not have held, but since she joined in and stood strong in solidarity, we did it! It was a desperately needed, timely, and wonderful experience. It utterly refreshed my outlook on my eating and drinking habits, re-introduced to my life some badly needed self discipline, and set the stage for an ongoing series of additional moratoriums and other self-improvement efforts. It also set the stage for some of my goals I am now formulating for the oh-nine… to be revealed soon.

So that’s it. I still have the same dog, the same job, the same car, the same apartment. I’m still single. I still write in this blog sporadically. I still have a great relationship with my family. I’m in waaayyyy better shape physically.

2008 was a quiet year for me. I have a great feeling that 2009 will be a year of building on some of the solid foundation I have spent so many quiet evenings developing in 2008.  In a few short months I’ll be turning 35. I have some very significant goals … and hopes for the coming year. As I am sure you do! So, here is a humble but heartfelt toast to me, to you, and to all of our loved ones that 2009 will be a year full of achievement and positive growth.

¡Salud!

“The Holidays” are a unique time of year that bring together things like oddball schedules, long nights and cold temps, the social pressure of holidayism, hopping back and forth between work and vacation, and of course the end of the regular season.

I’m finding it hard to stay focused on one thing, no matter what it might be. From work duties to leisure pursuits gym routines to making travel plans, I feel that I have descended into a maelstrom of shifting moods, focal points, tasks, and goals. I have been able to do some things well, but other stuff seems to stutter-start or start and then fail.

It’s ok. I’m not really tripping off it, as much as trying to take stock in hopes that by doing so, I’ll be able to regain some sense of managability. As  my thoughts jump around  – from work and wireframes to snowboards and travel to music to… you get the idea – it feels like no matter what I am doing, I need to either devote more attention or put it down and do something else. Where did this feeling come from!?

It wasn’t a problem when I was on vacation. But ever since I came back from Cambria, and now that I am sensing a certain amount of pressure to pull things together, get back on the wagon, and in general be a productive person, the winds are growing ever more swirly.

I do have a slight suspicion that the radical mellowness of my vacation was a bit too intoxicating, and so the mental and emotional effort required to get back up to normal speed is greater than I’ve had to muster before. Such, I suppose, is the price of total relaxation.

That is not to say that I haven’t been able to get stuff done. In a few respects, I have been successful in corralling my brainwaves for long enough to do some very satisfying design and production work. Heck, I even made it to the gym yesterday. But overall, the storm is a bit heavy. I need some focus, yo.

I find that during this time of year I have more on my plate than feels comfortable. I subscribe to an ethos of less is more and during this time of year, I question my belief structure. Though I find that I do not have an emotional attachment to Christmas and I don’t feel a need to decorate my house, bake treats, buy gifts or splurge in the many ways that all the propaganda induces us to do. These are things I do all year long. I love fairy lights, baked goods, and find gifts as enticing as the next person, but I hate doing those things because of a certain time of year.  I cringe at cutting a tree to decorate my home when I think of how much more good that tree will do in the ground rather than spilling needles all over my floor. I buy gifts for my children all year long. I bake every week…

Here look at all this justifications as to why I do not participate to the fullest extent in the annual indulgence known as “the Holidays”. I must feel really defensive. Twas much easier before we had children. Now I just find myself in a muddle.

I look forward to spending time with my loved ones during this time of the year, but I also feel pressure to conform to customs that have no meaning to me. I think that we should do these things all year long: have family meals, make food and gifts by hand, send cards and notes, sing songs, feel full of love for humanity, help people less fortunate than ourselves, celebrate life, join together to create value. It seems that we drift during the year and then there is this big countdown to some mythical ‘moment’ that we always reach for and never attain. It seems meaningless to not do these things for ten months a year and then based on the calendar suddenly start doing these things. That is what fills me with dread. You know the feeling…when all the gifts have been opened and you’re still waiting for that one gift you wanted above everything and now you know you’re not going to get*.

Tis so much simpler to say “I despise Christmas” then to get into all this stuff because I don’t hate Christmas, I just dislike the rigamarole surrounding it and think that if it’s worth doing than do it all year, long otherwise I would rather be left alone.

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*This is not a reflection of a deprived childhood, but rather the fact that my baseline is discontent. Can be good or bad depending on how it manifests. Afterall, that’s probably how we came up with lots of imrovements historically. Ya know, “Well, fire is great and all, but we need something brighter, so we can see better.” & thus the birth of candles…

Lucas was all over the place, jumping, climbing, walking and I had my arms full of Quinn, so I was following Lucas around as he explored and played. We moved all over the play area and every now and again the woman would come over and start nattering away. She did this to almost every new person to come to the park and there were a few while we frittered away an hour or two. Off to the side of the play area there were some fallen trees and since I like for Lucas to play amongst “nature”, I cajoled him into climbing and playing by the trunks. The woman followed us over there with her grandsons and she started interrogating me. I was doing my best to send out “leave me alone” signals (single syllable answers, looking away, &c), but she was relentless. She started commenting on Quinn’s pale skin and reddish hair (here the warning bells were a claxon). Guess where this went? She said, “She’s so pale?…[Implying (and you're so dark)]…What’s your husband?”. At this I took total offense. My inclination was to revert to salty language, but I was so perturbed by her impudence, I gaped. She behaved as if she took my silence to mean that perhaps I wasn’t married. I told her irritatedly, “She has father. He’s like everyone else, a human being.” She continued in her ignorance, “I guess everyone’s a little bit of everything now a days, I mean there’s all races mixed-up, Scottish, Irish, German, Canadian…”. She went on in this vein, but I’ll spare you.

The next person who comments to me on my children’s skin color and my heritage is going to get an earful. For the record, I think it is totally rude to accost strangers and demand of them their provenance. I understand that people are curious, but I don’t see where their curiosity trumps my privacy. This is all about entitlement wherein the “white” individuals see themselves as the bearers of “regular” and everyone else has to justify themselves to them. I reserve the right to tell these people in whatever language I choose that they have crossed the line. In the past I might have felt just uncomfortable with these situations and left it at that, but the website “Anti-racist Parent” has given me the vocabulary to descibe my discomfort and the inherent problems with this level of human interaction.

At 11:30 this morning, twas just a December morning, people doing whatever they do in the course of day then within a half of an hour, this neighborhood suddenly becomes ground zero for an unthinkable accident. This is the reality that we block out everyday. Tis but a tenuous thread that keeps us here. Most of us will not see the end for many many years, but it can happen at any time anywhere when the thread snaps and we become another harrowing tale. There are times that my thoughts are darkened by the thought of “What if this is the last time?”. Fortunately it’s not an overwhelming preoccupation, but the thought comes unbidden and unpredictable. In those moments I try take a last gulp of whomever shares my physical space and appreciate the intricacies of the instant while navigating the living breathing moment.

Tis better not to become too focused on the rare chances because you can be limited by the statistics. For example, when you get on plane you don’t think too much about it crashing (oblique Weeds reference). But sometimes the thought of its tender vulnerability can cause you to slow down and see where you are and what really matters in the long run. Life is fragile and tough and its many contradictions give it a piquant and provocative bouquet, but it is better savored than rushed. My heart goes out to the people whose lives have been affected by this incident. This is one of those ‘unthinkable’ events that marks people for better or worse. Most of us will move on but for some the end is here and now.

Man, twas so tough working that much. I think one week I clocked close to 55 hours. Needless to say that week was not a productive week in terms of cooking, baking, baby-wearing, gardening, walking, cleaning, checkbook balancing, and dreaming. Twas a productive work week, but the shizzle hit the fizzle at home. How do people do it? There was night when I came home LATE and I remarked to Wade, “If I hadda do this all the time, we’d have to have help.” There is simply limited time in a week and keeping our house running requires major investment. (Although, I’m sure that if this were my gig all the time I’d have more methods for dealing with it, so it wouldn’t be exactly the way we experienced it, but, just WOW.)

Part of the reason that I have taken on more of the raising and rearing of the chillens is that I’d rather do it than pay someone else to do it. I also have the wonderful good fortune of having a job that is extremely flexible.  However, there are times when, due to deadlines and other responsibilities, I have to be flexible in order to make things happen for our little company. This includes 14 hour days (20 hour days pre-kids) on occasion. Pre-kid they were no problem cos it was just me and the partner. Now they are more challenging what with the 7 am wake-up call no matter what. As a result, some of my other responsibilities fell to the wayside. C’est la vie as now we are back in the saddle, but there were a few moments when the laundry was piled up high and the garden was dry that I wanted the luxury of having some help. Again, how do people do it with two parents working full-time and no help? What do people do?

The one good things about being forced to write (or forcing yourself to write) is that you have to sit with yourself and pause and reflect on what is happening in your mental mindscape. I found that I actually enjoyed sitting with myself. Finding myself in front of the keyboard with an objective made this meta-experience much more mindful than the spontaneous surfing (gawd, what a great metaphor!) that I usually do. In spite of my busy weeks, I found myself missing this space and the generous time I’d allowed myself here. So thank you for reading and thank you to my wonderful co-blogger who makes this all happen.

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Also, thank you to Ms. Elyse who nominated one of my entries for Five-Star Friday. What a great blog and a great honor. Thank you!