The Yellow Brick Road

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, talented, gorgeous, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

---Marianne Williamson (albeit frequently misattributed to Nelson Mandela)

When I was little, I could never understand why my father looked so drained and defeated when he came home from work. Because I had been to his office. And there were swivel chairs! And candy bowls! Not to mention an endless supply of pens and printer paper for drawing pictures and writing stories. It seemed like a pretty good gig to me.

As of Wednesday, I will have spent two irretrievable years of my waning youth in a cubicle. Suffice it to say, The Mystery of the Long Face has been revealed. Work ain't workin,' and I need to leave. But I'm scared.

I'm freaked out by little details like rent, and health insurance, and food. I'm also worried about the unknown. Assuming that Gig the Next materializes (and that's a big assumption), who's to say that it won't be even more heartbreaking than Gig the Current?

So I think I know how my dad felt (feels?). But unlike cher papa, I don't have a spouse and children to think about. Which is a pretty damn lonely state of affairs most of the time, but it also means that the only thing standing between me and a much-needed leap of faith is courage.

Which way to the Emerald City? I need to speak with the Wizard...stat!

Somewhere in the Amazon, A Lawyer Roams...

Last weekend, my college alumni magazine landed in my mailbox. I hardly ever take the time to read the articles---I always go straight to the back of the magazine to look at the alumni notes, where I greedily devour updates from the Classes of '98 and '04. (Yes, I was a member of two graduating classes, although I only made it to commencement once. But that's another tale for another post.)

After I check in on those two classes, I go back and read all the class notes, from 1928 through the present. Each era has a kind of gestalt, which can usually be boiled down to a single question:

• Who has died? (These grads have fabulous old guy names and nicknames. Eads. Whitelaw. Sperl. Sport. Knobby.)
• Who has retired from a long and illustrious career in law/medicine/white collar crime?
• Whose child has been accepted to Fancypants U.?
• Who got engaged/married/had a baby? (Again, the names here are interesting. What do upper middle class parents call their swaddling babes? Julian. Eva. Ainslie. Averil. Yates.)
• Who is starting/finishing their M.D./J.D./M.B.A. ?

Really, only the shining lights of each class send in notes---the war heroes, the world travelers, the double-doctor marriages. Those of us who are leading humdrum lives in Bedford Falls, holding it down at the old Building and Loan, tend not to contribute such humble news as we have. The litany of victories can actually get kind of tedious. But sometimes you stumble on something unexpected and wonderful. Like this news from a '99er:

"I'm leaving in three days for the Peruvian Amazon to study with Chipibo Shamans for three months. During the past several years I've been living in collective artistic community spaces---one called "Wonderland" that I founded in NYC with several other [alumni] and one in San Francisco...I got a J.D. in 2004 but have decided not to practice law, and am going to study neuropsychology when I get back from Peru, hopefully sticking to the criminal justice field...but who knows? Anything can happen."

And it's true. Anything can happen. It's good to be reminded that life is filled with wonder and possibility. If law school doesn't work out, the Peruvian Amazon will still welcome you with open arms.

Salad is for the Beautiful People

I've never been able to get very jazzed about salad---it just never seemed like a stand-alone meal to me. And whenever I ate it paired with an entree, it felt like a lame afterthought. An also-ran. A space filler.

But I've been putting away a lot of burgers and pizza and frozen treats lately.(And not even frozen yogurt or juice bars, people. I'm talkin' about full-fat ice cream and gelato.) So I'm going on a little salad and smoothie kick until I stop feeling like the Michelin Man.

There's a very chic salad spot near my office, and the line has been out the door ever since it opened. But it's not your typical assembly of FiDi schmoes grabbing lunch on the go. No, it's more like a queue of supermodels waiting in the wings at a Karl Lagerfeld runway show. I kid you not. Just about everyone in there is scary-beautiful. Even the chefs who sling the romaine look like something out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog.

I am intrigued. Does the regular consumption of leafy greens promote pulchritude? Is organic produce the natural prey of the wily Downtowna hotticus? I may have to eat a lot of salad to find out. Scientific progress demands sacrifices.

Grit

I'm a sucker for triumph-of-the-human-spirit stories---hence the name of this blog. This morning, as I was eating what may be my favorite breakfast of all time (Wheat Chex, with organic sugar, vanilla soymilk, and fresh blueberries), I came across this story about Tour de France contender Floyd Landis. I don't follow sports closely, but the articles that catch my eye tend to involve pain, perseverance, and sudden reversals of fortune. This one certainly qualifies.

Floyd Landis has grit, or as they say on the rodeo circuit, "try." I gotta get me some of that.