city snapshot 2: afternoon at The Plaza

It was the coldest Saturday afternoon of the season and we had a mission: Operation Move the Bags. It is likely that we would not have been as excited to Move the Bags were we not moving them to a suite at the Plaza Hotel.

I admit to feeling more than my fair share of entirely unwarranted smugness as we walked past all the gawking, snapping tourists craning their necks to see further inside the storied establishment.

We found our way to the surprisingly unostentatious check-in counters and without much adieu landed in a small-ish ornate elevator that took us away from the craning crowds. The carpet in the hallway was thick and had such a lovely design I couldn't stop looking at the ground. It was quiet.

We're sure we were being spied on as we made our way to the last room on the left because just as we entered, a butler popped up out of nowhere and asked us for permission to enter to “Explain The Room” to us. And would we like tea or coffee? I was so distracted by the carpet again, the graceful pheasants on the matching chairs, the fine magazines on the credenza, the elegantly designed tile formation of the bathroom and all the toiletries, that I said No Thanks.

We learned a lot. Like that the bathtub takes 40 minutes to fill and 19 or so to drain. That if we so requested, the butler could be available to wake us up gently at our requested wake-up time. Too bad he didn't know that we were merely the Bag Movers and would not get to enjoy the fine services he was so attentively describing.

We think there was a changing of the guard, as forty minutes later, after we had explored as much of the hotel as we were interested in, another butler popped up out of nowhere and offered us tea and coffee again. I'm pretty sure he was faking an English accent, but who was I to judge? We enjoyed some fine tea and coffee and left to go eat at Whole Foods at Columbus Circle where the stars were lit up for Christmas.

city snapshot

I'll admit it's somewhat melodramatic to begin mourning our eventual (and maybe temporary?) departure from New York.

But as Toni Morrison put it, "It's sheer good fortune to miss someone long before they leave you." So, I don't see it as a necessarily bad thing that I'm already missing New York. And in this early stage of 'missing', I've started to think of little moments experienced here and there that make me smile, or think, or drive me cuckoo about living here. One such moment:

I left the office one night unprepared for rain. The sidewalks along Broadway were crowded with the usual blend of tourists, fashionistas and the general mid-town rank and file. I braced myself for a quick and determined march. I'm excellent at weaving my way to the front of a crowd.

As I was walking, an African-American man tilted his umbrella slightly towards me. Curious and a little surprised, I inquired: “Are you trying to share with me?” “Sure, why not?” Since it was coming down pretty hard, I suppressed the faint, faint echoes of my mother (who I fear will never, ever be able to give up warning me to about having conversations with male strangers).

It might have been one of the most pleasant conversations I've ever had with a male stranger on the streets of New York. We shared weekend plans: he was going to Home Depot to get some parts to fix a broken toilet. I was—I can't remember. We got to the 34th Street station right near Macy's and said goodbye. It was totally unsketchy. And for some reason, made me thankful.

"...gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder."
~ G.K. Chesteron

(I made an apple pie for the first time! But it doesn't look quite like this one.)

totoro!

I know I'm not the only fan of Totoro or Miyazaki or the saving of forests out there! We will definitely be visiting the Cartoon Museum in San Francisco this Christmas.

Totoro Forest Project

cards from africa

Please allow a rare advertisement on behalf of some social entrepreneur friends:

Banyan Paper sells some lovely Christmas (and all kinds of) cards made by Rwandan orphans affected by the genocide (see ad below). The cards are made from recycling office materials! Check it out!

news news

Since all major parties have been notified already, I can now share some of our News News. And earnestly request prayers.

If all goes according to plan (and really, who knows what can happen in 8 months) , we'll be moving in July 2009. Again. D has an offer to do Pediatric AIDS work in one of six potential African countries. Terribly scary. And terribly exciting.

No, I don't know what I'll be doing there yet.
No, we don't know which country yet.
No, our parents are not exactly thrilled.
But they should be kinda used to this by now.

In case anyone is interested:

Time Article

Baylor Pediatric AIDS Corp

to me and my ENFJ friends

We *like* and wholeheartedly agree with what they say about us:

"ENFJs focus on others, feeling a glow when those around them are happy, and troubled when something is amiss. They are natural cheerleaders, often expressing support, gratitude, and encouragement, and heaping praise onto those they appreciate.

They take note of what is being done and what needs doing, offering their assistance wherever necessary. ENFJs enjoy organizing group activities and tend to take their commitments seriously. In general, they are reliable and do not like to disappoint others." (from Wikipedia)

But unfortunately, as we all know, it also means we are extremely sensitive to criticism. And we mull over negative feedback for a long time. And we go back and forth from being defensive and angry and hurt, to gritting our teeth and accepting that critics may be right after all so we roll up our sleeves and try to make the (sometimes) painful changes.

Take heart! This connection might seem random, but I'll make a mini case for it anyway:

Augustine says,

"Love God, and do as you please."

So, let's keep focusing on the loving God part and then do our thing, and worry a little less about the noise.

I'll say it again, let's focus on the loving God part, so we can love people better without getting tripped up and bogged down by their opinion of us.

jerusalem windows

"When I am finishing a picture, I hold some God-made object up to it - a rock, a flower, the branch of a tree or my hand - as a final test. If the painting stands up beside a thing man cannot make, the painting is authentic. If there's a clash between the two, it's bad art." ~ Marc Chagall

Hmm...

(We went to see "Chagall's Bible" at the Museum of Biblical Art this weekend.)

autumn in new york

"You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands." Isaiah 55:12

The Visitor's Center

A few of us turned 30 this year. Even with all the talk about "30 being the new 20", I know it's easy to be afflicted by some kind of early-adulthood-existential-crisis. What did I do with my 20s? Where is my career going? What have I done with my life so far that I can be proud of? Why am I not where I thought I would be? And worst of all--why is my life not like __________'s?

I've been doing a lot of thinking about this, out loud, to some, but mostly by myself.

One story that I've been mulling over is from Gary Haugen. I think it's a worthwhile read whatever age you are or level of existential angst you may be experiencing. I hope it can be encouraging to some. I did have to hack his original talk to bits because it's really far too long to post anywhere. But you can read the whole thing here.

"One of the saddest regrets of my life is having gone on the trip but missed the adventure. One summer when I was a young boy of about 10, I was camping and hiking with my Dad and my brothers up in Mount Rainier, this massive volcanic dome of rock and glacier that goes 14,000 feet up into the sky outside Seattle.

One particular day I just didn't want to go on. [I saw] these large warning signs that indicate that you're now beginning to get on the trail that leads up to the summit. The sign warns of every possible catastrophe that could happen if you went on beyond the sign.

Now, my Dad suggested that we go up to the base camp from which the summiteers go to the top. My brothers, of course, they eagerly accepted and off they were beyond the sign and up the trails. My dad assured me. He said, 'You can make it', that he would help me, and that the view and the triumph would be more than worth the effort. But I was worried. What if Dad is wrong and I can't make it?

With all kinds of mounting anxieties beating within my little chest, I responded really the only way a 10-year-old boy can to such a situation, I just said, "No, that looks boring to me." I suggested I'd like to hang out at the Visitor's Center. My dad tried to woo me up the mountain, but then after a while he relented and explained that it would be a long day at the Visitor's Center with them climbing the mountain.

I scurried back down the back, back into the Visitor's Center, and quickly found myself feeling pretty pleased about myself. The Visitor's Center was warm and comfortable with lots of interesting things to read and to watch. Judging by the crowd, this was really quite the place to be.

As the afternoon stretched on, however, the massive Visitor's Center started to seem awfully small. The warm air started to feel stuffy and the stuffed animals seemed just dead. The inspiring loop videos about the extraordinary people who climbed the mountain just weren't as interesting on the 6th and 7th time. They just made me feel like, I wish I was one of those people going up the mountain rather than just watching others. I felt bored, sleepy, and small. And I missed my dad. And I was totally stuck. Totally safe but totally stuck.

After the longest afternoon in my 10-year-old life my dad and my brothers returned, flushed with their triumph. Their faces were red from the cold and their eyes were clear with delight. They were wet from the snow, they were famished, they were dehydrated and nursing scrapes from the rocks and the ice. But on the long drive home they had something else. They had stories and they had a remarkable day with their dad upon the great mountain.

I, of course, revealed nothing insisting that this was my favorite day of the entire vacation. But, truth be told, I went on the trip but I missed the adventure, and 34 years later I still remember the afternoon in the Visitor's Center. Moreover, it's my sense that many of my fellow Christians are starting to suspect that they are stuck at the Visitor's Center. And they are traveling with Jesus but missing the adventure.

In different times and in different ways our heavenly Father offers us a simple proposition: Follow me beyond what you can control, beyond where your own strength and competencies can take you, and beyond what is affirmed or risked by the crowd, and you will experience me and my power and my wisdom and my love. Jesus beckons me to follow him to that place of weakness where I risk the vulnerability of a child so that I might know that my Father is strong and how much he loves me."

drum major instinct

In Mark 10, James and John ask Jesus for ultra exclusive VIP seats beside Him in eternity. The other disciples are furious. But only because they were probably hoping to ask Jesus the same thing and James and John beat them to it.

On this election day, I humbly submit Martin Luther King Jr.'s take on the passage:

"Before we condemn [James and John] too quickly, let us look calmly and honestly at ourselves, and we will discover that we too have those same basic desires for recognition, for importance. That same desire for attention, that same desire to be first...there is deep down within all of us an instinct. It's a kind of drum major instinct—a desire to be out front, a desire to lead the parade, a desire to be first. And it is something that runs the whole gamut of life....

We all want to be important, to surpass others, to achieve distinction, to lead the parade. Alfred Adler, the great psychoanalyst, contends that this is the dominant impulse. Sigmund Freud used to contend that sex was the dominant impulse, and Adler came with a new argument saying that this quest for recognition, this desire for attention, this desire for distinction is the basic impulse, the basic drive of human life, this drum major instinct..."

And let us consider this, in our own exercise of leadership and use of what power God has granted us:

"If you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter. I won't have any money to leave behind. I won't have the fine and luxurious things of life to leave behind. But I just want to leave a committed life behind.

Yes, Jesus, I want to be on your right or your left side, not for any selfish reason. I want to be on your right or your left side, not in terms of some political kingdom or ambition. But I just want to be there in love and in justice and in truth and in commitment to others, so that we can make of this old world a new world."

Full text for The Drum Major Instinct

playing hooky!

To take the Upper East Side snobbery even further (I SAW THAT Brother Schawel!)--this is what I'm going to do today instead of going to work:

Chanel Mobile Art

And then I'm going to yoga class, take a trip down to Soho to pick up some Uniqlo winter wear and find a recipe for healthier apple pie. My goal is to learn to make (healthier) apple pie by (American) Thanksgiving.

pre-election musical musings

I've been an-out-of-control election news junkie the past few months. And as I watch both candidates' last-ditch efforts to become president I keep thinking of the appropriateness of Coldplay's Viva la Vida:

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemies eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt, and pillars of sand...

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in.
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People could not believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries Wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?
~Coldplay, Viva la Vida

Who would ever want to be king?