Finishing tour for Practical Classics and a big announcement coming up. Stay tuned...
Finishing tour for Practical Classics and a big announcement coming up. Stay tuned...
"A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest men." -- Roald Dahl
"We are healthy only to the extent our ideas are humane."
-- Kurt Vonnegut
This is me in 2006.
I turn 40 years old today. This is what I look like now.
The difference here is around 50 pounds, or about 8 large college textbooks. I used to weigh 20 pounds more than that but I don't have any pictures from that time. When someone holding a camera would yell "Everybody look over here!" I'd leave the room. Photos from that time that did catch me were immediately rounded up and destroyed.
As of today I weigh 185 pounds, 70 lbs less than I did in my late 20s. I've long passed out of the range of my size being a health hazard, a dark promise to future me that I'd be living a shorter, more painful life as I aged. 185 had been a goal my trainer and I set at the beginning of the summer, to be reached by Aug. 1st. When I reported my victory, he geared our entire Aug. 1 workout around a 70 lbs. kettle bell. We finished with me carrying it, like a pail of sand, around the building.
A pail of sand weighs less than 70 lbs. This was more like 7 medium-sized bowling balls out for a walk. Those bowling balls used to be part of me, rolling under my the skin of chest, resting below my chin and under my eyes, assuring me, according to one doctor that the weekly occasions when I'd wake up unable to breathe would get worse and one day, could be fatal.
I did not do this for the noblest of reasons. Of course I wanted to be healthier, to not pant climbing a staircase, fall ill twice a month or sweat while standing still. Just as much I wanted to buy clothes without having to place special orders, have an easier time attracting women, and watch a movie without thinking everyone who looks like me ended up falling into a swimming pool or slow-clapping while the thinner hero made out with the pretty heroine.
And I didn't want to be scared of food. I love to eat, everything about it, around it, in anticipation of it. That will not change nor did I think it should. If food were only supposed to be glorified energy suplements, then clothing should only be glorified blankets and homes only glorified rainflys to keep out stormy weather. Food is a basic joy of life. Which means eating should be a both a joy in the present but not one that robs joy from the future.
There's no magic for what I did. I ate slow enough to know when I was full, then stopped and learned to see leftovers as the chance to eat a great meal twice. I stayed away from bread, grains and any other food than made me feel physically worse after eating it. Eating something tasty knowing you'd feel sick later is like buying a new car then throwing yourself out of it on the freeway. Every other food I said yes to but learned say "It'll be here tomorrow" and stop after two bites. I'd try not to eat out too many nights in a row. I considered exercise anything that kept me moving between 40 minutes and an hour. I drank water, didn't do drugs nor consume alcohol. Which came easier for me than most people. I haven't been interested in drinking for a long time now. When I had a special occasion coming up I ate as one does during a special occasion then booked time at the gym the following morning.
None of this should surprise you. Nor will it when I say that losing weight is not the answer to life's problems nor any promise of happiness. Look out any window and you will see average weight miserable people, fulfilled large people, the anxious skinny, the inspiring fat and every possible combination in between. Life's great challenge is to have the body you have be the truest representation of your mind and heart acting in union. The shape of that is your business.
Kevin at 255 lbs was an angry, self-righteous wounded person, a young man who used his large size to explain away why he couldn't achieve what we wanted and why that was everyone else's fault. My weight was not a simply matter of the parts I came with. It was a living, growing, aching manifestion of how certain I was everyone else got to be happy but me.
I needed to get far happier before I could do any of this, just to get out of my own way. I didn't have the fufilling career, the wonderful marriage, the unyielding support of friends and family back then the way I have it now. But I had enough to know that living that way wasn't what I was meant for, that by being this defensive, embittered person, I was not only consigning myself to sadness but laying waste to my own life in front of everyone who cared about me. I did it just as much as a thank you to them for caring when I clearly did not.
There's another way to go now. I'd like my body to reach newer athletic heights I never thought it would in middle age. I don't have any secret desire about competiting in a triathalon or something like that but living at my physical potential is a gift I didn't know I'd have and don't intend to let pass. I'd like to dance more, which I've loved doing since I was a child but always embarassed me. If you don't get that, try not giggling the next time you see a fat white guy bust a move.
Most importanly, I'm planning on living a good long time, thanks very much. And to do so, in pride and not shame, in gratitude instead of indignation, as this me, instead of some disfigured imposter ashamed of me.
If I can do this, it is all the birthday present I need. It is the gift that will keep on giving for the rest of my life.
This is me at 40. The real me. Forever. And now.
This is what a sheep looks like if it doesn't get shorn for 6 years. Enough wool to have made 20 men's suits. (via Fark).
Lots of weird things are names after U.S. Presidents including extinct lizards. Below is an artists rendering of an Obamadon, recently discovered, long gone and named after President Obama. (via NPR)
It's Joseph Mitchell's birthday today. Mitchell wrote for the New Yorker for nearly 60 years between 1938 and his death in 1996, chronicling the weird, forgotten corners of New York City as no one has before or since. His collection Up in the Old Hotel should be required reading for every aspiring nonfiction writer (via The Book Maven).
I have defended the tech industry (which has employed me, well, at times) and my chosen home to many a non-believer but this article, combined with several others lately, I fear is turning me cynical.
I hate being cynical. Cynicism means I'm lazily naysaying because to actually think the argument through makes me uncomfortable. Cynicism, to my mind, is for chumps.
That said, I can't ignore that bad feeling in my stomach, that the unparalleled success and cultural dominance of technology is coming at the expense of something. And I'm not talking about video stores, or the Yellow Pages or answering machines. I have no nostalgia for a less efficient way of delivering information/art/culture. Instead I wonder if the values it extols are blinding us to others, others that run counter to ideas like efficiency, speed and "disruption."
Put in a really, really dumb way: "What will your average successful software engineer/entrepreneur do when his best friend's mother dies of cancer?" I promise you the answer has nothing to do with speed, efficiency or disruption. It has to do with patience, uninterrupted time and giving someone you love hours upon days of your full attention as the world rolls on by without your participation for the time being. There's already been an app designed for this. It's called "Being Human."
I only learned this with age and maturity so maybe it comes to all of us eventually. Nor do I think the values we practice at work must mirror those we practice at home (Andrew Carnegie sure treated his kids different than he treated his competitors). But I also doubt we can be totally compartmentalized forever. Much of life is simply not elegant, efficient, frictionless or well-designed. A lot of it could be better. But those probably aren't the standards by which we should be judging our human relationships, our psychological and spiritual development, our place in the continuum of the human story. All of that stuff is messy on purpose. The messy part is called "being human."
Same dumb example: When the time comes, as it will for him, and for everyone, will Mark Zuckerberg and all who look up to him, know how to grieve, how to be present, how to sit with a sick person for hours at a time? Will they know how to comfort a scared kid during a thunderstorm? How to hold someone they love as they weep? Will they know how to be real instead of being better than?
Full attention is what makes us human. In this brave new world, Must we give ourselves time to learn that? Or do we no longer feel like we have to?
My POV 15 minutes before I went on KQED's Forum, the most listened to public affairs program in the region.
Afterward: Forgot to take a photo. Was craving the second half of that scone I did not finish.
I think I did ok. But you tell me.