The lustre of youth, the ocean at my feet

The pre-Christmas drive back to Chicago was without incident. I committed a rare act of wisdom and took the southern Kansas-Missouri-diagonal-thru-Illinois route, which was dry and sunny, with snow and treachery appearing later, at about Bloomington, IL, only 2 hours from my destination. All told, this decision added 140 miles to my trip, but was totally justified given the cold and snowy roads on my usual northerly route.

Arriving home, the first order of business was – well, to eat. A lot. You cannot understand the fervor with which my mom feeds guests in her home, especially when it comes to her sons, and – as I can only imagine – even moreso when it comes to her 1000-mile-away son. Simply amazing and wonderful, yet at the same time numbingly dangerous and sinful, technically.

At any rate, the intended first order of business was to finish some revisions to a paper draft I’d been working on, which happened over the course of two mornings at local strip mall coffeeshops. Remember folks, this is the Chicago suburbs. Then there was the Christmas shopping I’d yet to do, and more strip malls. All purchasing was executed within the famed four corners of 75th and Main/Lemont in Darien, IL. The hairiest of it involved the acquisition of materials for a crafty shadow box thing I made for my nephew, involving 1) the shadow box, 2) a bunch of scrapbooking and calligraphy items I dare not mention, 3) a blank CD and 3) a song I’d written for the little guy, recorded with my band here in Denver, backed with an alternate, jangly, acoustic version featuring myself and singers Emily and Jenn, all in a real studio with a real engineer. Spent an entire evening on the final, physical product, mostly on perfecting my penmanship.

Christmas Eve was tame. Now that my brother has a family of his own, we get a full house only on Christmas Day. So the night before, it’s me and my folks bumming around, watching James Bond movies. Kind of nice, in that slovenly, gluttonous kind of way. On Christmas Day proper arrived my fantastic 20-month-old nephew, as well as my younger cousins. Pretty golden and blissful, albeit eye-opening in terms of life events and the family dynamic. I’m taking the opportunity to reflect on issues related to the family, and my role in it – as it is easy for me to blow off such things given the geographic distance I place between us. I’m learning, clumsily, that there is yet much room for kindness and understanding – especially when such brief visits home demand that I make things really count while I’m there. Far too easy to fall back into the trappings of adolescent detachment and disdain, back in that old house, sleeping in that same old bedroom. How lame.

But there’s also a joyful side to being reminded of oneself. On this trip, I had my own car, meaning I was completely mobile and able to roam Greater Chicagoland freely. Uncharacteristically seizing the opportunity, I set out for drinks with a cast that spanned my entire adolescence and adulthood: in the city with my junior high best friend; in the suburbs with high school folks I’d not seen in years, as well as the ones I usually keep track of; and then all over to see old college roommates and our associated cohorts and comrades. Kee-rist, I even drove down to Indianapolis to spend an evening catching up with a dear grad school friend, with whom I’d lost all contact since leaving there 7 years ago. In turn, each of these fine people afforded me glimpses of myself in more optimistic and innocent times. Yet, I am still very much the person they knew back in the day, and in these reconnections are glints of my own optimism and innocence, still vibrant and true. Renewal.

Often I’ll get to thinking that I’ve managed to spread myself too thin, without having much to show for it in the way of…well, accomplishments. While others have taken what they had going for them, and dived into one tidepool or another, I’ve chosen instead to comb the long shoreline, knowing that the sea exists, but failing to recognize it. Has the lustre of youth given way to a dull and silent agnosia? And is this confusion merely the logical outcome of an elegant self-sabotage?

But that’s the good thing about renewal: such questions are rendered meaningless. What, really, did I learn my from my visit home? Not sure, but perhaps it’s better to talk about the things that I really liked about it: that I was reminded of myself, perfect in my many flaws, and that I am indeed alive, which means anything’s possible.

A new year is about to start, and it’s looking like I’ll welcome it alone. But I’ll do so feeling a bit more whole than I have in recent times. I begin to remember myself, just as the ignorant beachcomber is reminded of the living sea beneath his nose. And maybe – this fine, new year – maybe someone shall love me for it.

[7]

Stages

Apologies for this way tardy update: it’s done. The thesis defense last month was an oddly pleasant experience and the committee passed me with a handful of revisions to the paper. They asked a few tough methodological questions, which I handled decently enough, and – in the end  – they were rather complimentary of the biostatistical and data managerial depths I went to for this project, as well as the off-the-cuff handling of the epidemiology quiz questions thrown my way. Thanks, all, for your support during this angst-ridden and overdrawn process. Perhaps, now, when you ask me how I’m doing, you’ll hear something else come out of my mouth besides, “Oh, school stuff…” – like maybe, “Oh, job hunting stuff…”

Anyway, since the defense I’ve been spending a lot of time with friends, and with my damnself, reflecting on a few things. The upshot of which is something I’ll now refer to as resigned optimism, which should be distinguished from the cautious and blind varieties of optimism. Resigned optimism, as I’m experiencing it so far, has to do with exhausting your reserves of doubt to the point of accepting optimism as one would accept death. Hit me, Dr. Kübler-Ross:

1. Denial – “There’s no way I’ll fashion a satisfying career out of these two mildly related master’s degrees.”
2. Anger – “WTF, optimism? I’m in my mid-30′s and I’m STILL talking about fashioning a career!”
3. Bargaining – “Okay, just let me devote a couple more years to finishing that doctorate I started 10 years ago, then it’s back into the doubt-free pipeline!”
4. Depression – “What’s the point, expectations are premeditated disappointments.”
5. Acceptance – “Maaaaan, if I can’t carve out some awesomeness for myself, I’m truly a moron.”

I guess that last one assumes that I don’t really think I’m such a moron. Certainly, I criticize myself for a lot, but it might be a stretch for me to adopt ‘true moron’ as a personality characteristic. Errrr, how about I close out with another list.

Ten things that have made post-thesis resigned optimism all that much better:

1. Amazing night of bad sweaters and acoustic music with extended band family
2. Another great Thanksgiving weekend in L.A. with Jeff and Liz involving late evening gang-walk of Hollywood Hills, Brazilian lunch next to Casey Affleck, Venice Beach clusterfugg, my first Wii-ing, and hysterical pictionaries
3. Insanely fun rehearsals and bombastic performance with Andrew, Trevor and Colin as backing music for local fashion show
4. Re: local fashion show, being amongst some beautiful hipsters for a night of laughter, flirting and escapism
5. Finally figuring out how to get my ailing bass rig to sound good (i.e., put a good speaker in the old cabinet, ignore the impedance ratings and let it roll)
6. Driving stick in my German automobile (hecho en Mexico)
7. The internet: streaming TV, epidemiology/statistics/science writing blogs, Huffingtonpost, Slate, Economist, New Republic, BoingBoing, Lifehacker and associated Gawkery, FunnyOrDie, the Onion…
8. The return of lost roommates and felines
9. Movie nights, beautiful friends
10. Feeling like myself again

Not bad; I can think of worse ways to close out the year. In store the holidays: road trip to my homeland, Blagojevich territory, for nephew-time and old friends.

[7]

On feeling like all that education was worth it

I’m defending my thesis next week. And though I can have only a measure of confidence about its outcome, I’m more certain that any remaining analyses and revisions to my paper, from this point forward, will be done little more lightness, and little more breath. The job hunt has begun; so for posterity’s sake, allow me to make another list:

Things that really should be part of my next work situation

• More reading, analysis and writing
• Less computing and data managing
• Social value
• At least as much time spent working with people as is spent in front of a computer
• The absence of others doing the same job, but with way fewer credentials
• Being sent places to talk about the work we do, and to learn about the work of others
• Some meaningful supervisory duties
• A hot salary and benefits
• Some sort of realistic career advancement infrastructure

Oh, and a couple of things that would be nice, but are not absolutely necessary…

• Funny, smart, loud people
• And more dudes…who are somewhat close to my age
• International travel
• Not a cubicle farm
• Some sort of realistic career advancement infrastructure…that doesn’t involve going to school AGAIN

And a couple of things that are likely in my head…like

• Knowing I’m not too old to be where I’m at
• Feeling like all that education was worth it

Let’s just see.

[6]

The Class of ’92

A confluence of high school friends online lately. It’s comforting to see how established and stable everyone seems to be as adults. There are teachers, doctors, lawyers, scientists, businessmen, parents, husbands, wives and the like. There are even a couple of rogue single people. Hot stuff! Also, that thing I’d expected where everyone evolved wholesale into overweight, complacent and unhappy adults, to the best of my knowledge, did not happen – thank goodness – preserving the overall soulfulness of my cohort. Used to be that I thought I was born a year too early. That there was a pronounced generational rift between people my age, and those just one year younger than me. That a snapshot taken today would depict the former as resigned, clock-punching suburbanites, and the latter as vibrant, clever adventurers. I hypothesized some sort of cultural, technological, and likely spiritual split that somehow placed itself definitively between classes of ’92 and ’93 nationwide. And though I suspected such a dichotomy to be grossly oversimplified, which it is, I never really sought to refute it. Perhaps my problem was – and is – that I just don’t hang out with enough people my own age.

Yes, then there’s me: over-educated, under-experienced, and ever so slightly out-of-focus. Nevertheless, I can say in earnest that I’m satisfied with the kind of person I’ve become, which is no small thing given the state of affairs back in 1992. Back then, there was certainly much potential, but there was also a complete lack of identity and vision, which I’ve often attributed to the distraction of an unwelcome betrothal. Easy for me to blame it all on a girl, right? At the very least, I can say the dynamics of that doomed relationship set in place some strange cognitive and emotional barriers that took me far too long to clear away. Lesson learned.

For my part, I’m working once again, this time as an epidemiologist for the state. A two-month period of joblessness afforded me the time to finish my thesis analysis and do the bulk of the necessary writing. The layoff, really, was a blessing. My previous job, while gainful and often challenging, distracted me from the mantle of ‘radical careerist’ I’d ostensibly taken up when I decided to obtain these various graduate degrees (this is bit of revisionist history, but indulge me for the moment). Turns out I needed something to cleanse the palate, as it were. So here I am, thinking of crosshairs and big game. And getting down with remembering how dangerous I am when I’m focused.

So it is with both great nostalgia and anticipation that I welcome old friends back into my daily consciousness, because they remind me that the 18-year-old me has some unfinished business.

Go Hornets!

[7]

p.s. A fall afternoon at home in Colorado beats just about anything.

Dream: the ticket

I was with my ex on the grounds of a large private estate, near a concert venue. Some other people were wandering about, but we were alone, for the most part. So she confided in me about something distressing about her current life (I can’t remember what) and, sobbing, crept into my arms to be comforted – which never happened in the real world. This made me fall back in love with her. Suddenly, it was time for the group to board a shuttle to go the show, but I could not find our tickets. Searching frantically among my belongings in one of the rooms inside, I found only one and ran outside to give it to her. She took it from me, but handed it to a nearby stranger who did not have his own, saying that she wanted to stay there with me.

[6]

July is a pivot

In store for July 2008:

• Completion of thesis data analyses
• Write-up and defense of paper
• Interview in Milwaukee
• Investigation of neuropsych work in Denver and Chicago
• Vacation planning and logistics
• Completion of final two songs for Army of Summer
• Recruitment of drummer (almost there!)
• Booking of August 9th show
• Hellacious and efficient practices and awesomeness
• Reuniting with little-man Kz
• Lots of riding, including the Courage Classic
• Cute girls and other miscellaneous bad-assery

I go about this town, already nostalgic for it. And, lately it seems like I’ve recaptured some of my former self. July is a pivot.

[7]

The Army of Summer

Something happened to me while driving home from work on Friday. With a Soundtrack for Leaving Colorado in mind, and the sweet bombast of Rufus Wainwright’s “Beautiful Child” on car stereo repeat, I decided that before long, I’d have to make some noise of my own; I decided that if I really am to leave Denver, then I need to leave behind something brand new. I decided that – as thanks to this fine city, which has treated me well in sum – I would form a summer band and give one or two final performances of elegant rock music.

It would need to be simple but highly nuanced, something big but light on its feet. It would have to reek of musicianship. It’s only Sunday, and I’ve already managed to recruit over half of the people I’d hand-picked to help me with this project. So begins the Army of Summer: eight people, seven songs, and two shows by the end of August.

Whether or not this is all just exquisite smack-talking remains to be seen.

[7]

A soundtrack for leaving Colorado

In a few days I’ll be traveling to Milwaukee to catch up with an old friend, and to have her show me around the neuropsychology department of this big-time med school, where she’s been on faculty for the last few years. She’s sent my CV around to her colleagues, and basically, I’m gunning for a straightforward psychometrician job (i.e., doing testing), with hopes of gaining some supervised assessment hours and getting involved in developing research projects. She says I’m overqualified, which I actually believe, but we agree that it would be the most efficient route for me to edge my way back into neuropsychology and the scene attached to it. That’s right, after seven years in the wilderness, with a few new tricks up his sleeve, the boy is coming home.

Ostensibly.

The position is far from guaranteed at this point, and I’m still searching for similar opportunities here in Denver. Thus, with the lease at Peachtree House ending this month, I’m lucky to be able to move into an empty room at Ellie’s place, with some great med student-types. It will be good to have the company of good people day-to-day. Solitude is important, but I’ve had way too much of it lately. It’s far too easy to view this shell of a home as a place to hibernate, and there’s no loving roommate to distract me from all of this useless pining I’m so goddamned good at.

I kind of hate the idea of leaving Colorado. There is certainly a life for me here, as well as an army of irreplaceable friends and innumerable fond memories. But I would by lying if I said I haven’t accumulated some very prominent not-so-fond memories as well. Indeed, there are things about this city that are haunted: a few too many places attached to this empty heartbroken feeling, a few too many faces that remind me of some failure or another. Still, those are rarely good reasons to skip town; it’s something else that has me eyeing storage spaces and moving vans: the idea that I’ve done what I needed to do here, and that my time in Denver simply needs to come to an end. And when it comes to this notion of dusting off an old dream, and of seeing once again a familiar vision of myself as a man, and of paying attention to some unfinished business – well, let me just say that I’ve never felt more right about anything in my entire life.

So, I’m starting to build a soundtrack for leaving Colorado, just in case.

[6]

A movie scene in real life: “I’m taking a survey…”

INT. TOM’S WORKPLACE, 5:00 PM

TOM SLINGS ON HIS MESSENGER BAG AND BEGINS TO LEAVE HIS CUBICLE, BUT ABRUPTLY CHANGES HIS MIND AND DIVERTS HIMSELF INTO HIS BOSS’S OFFICE.

TOM

Got 30 seconds? I’m taking a survey.

KRIS LOOKS UP FROM HER WORK, PUZZLED.

KRIS

Sure!

TOM

Imagine I’m a character in a TV show or a movie. Knowing what you know about me – my likes and dislikes, my work performance, what I’m good at and what I’m bad at – knowing all of that, what would this character do for a living?

KRIS

Obviously, he’d be working right there.

KRIS POINTS TO TOM’S CUBICLE.

TOM

So…he’d be a data analyst at a health care foundation. Well, that makes it easy.

TOM STARES SIDEWAYS AT KRIS.

TOM

This is going to take more than 30 seconds, isn’t it.

KRIS

Heeeee’d…be doing something more involved with people. More than what you do over there in front of that computer. You are truly excellent when it comes to people.

TOM AND KRIS STUDY EACH OTHER FOR A FEW MOMENTS.

KRIS

We should probably talk some more about this, soon, huh.

TOM

Yeah, yeah we should.

TOM LEAVES THE OFFICE FLOATING AN INCH ABOVE THE GROUND.

[6]

Your own worst enemy has come to town

Life-course freakout. I’ve found myself here too many times in my adulthood to date. I’m again noticing a few extra jitters and a few lost appetites. And the mild sting of loneliness I feel from time to time is, these days, more a crushing hollowness. And the satisfaction and security of my work, having recently proven itself fleeting, yields to the somewhat frantic process of planning my next moves, not to mention another sour evaluation of the moves I’ve made to get myself into this predicament once again. Indeed, how easy it would be to fall into those same old trappings: pessimism and doubt, loss of self-efficacy, and yes, even panic attacks and clinical depression.

But something is different about this time. Used to be that, despite my ability to observe and narrate my self-sabotage as it happened, I’d be powerless to do anything about it. This time, it’s no longer the quicksand legs of a bad dream. This time, I can run, and bend, and pivot, and make important sidesteps. This time, I engage in the battle without losing myself.

Maybe, this time, the curse is lifted.

[5]