Bruised pride can still feel proud. It just hurts.

Just because it has always been does not mean it always has to be.

Today I count blessings.

Today I count blessings. Today I thank the Universe for my health, my supportive family and my amazing friends. Today I remember that there is only ever this moment, this “now”. Today I am grateful for the gifts that I have, including the perspective that allows me to see beyond my own immediate situation and glimpse how my decisions and actions effect others. Today I thank the stars to have the honor and pleasure of knowing the beautiful, effervescent Jacquelyn Boutureira who is presently fighting for her life in a coma in a Hong Kong hospital. Today I thank you for including her in your hearts, thoughts and prayers. Your positivity, kindness and intention are deeply appreciated.

That you would give unsolicited advice is, most likely, the reason your advice goes unsolicited.

Saying you're "just kidding" doesn't change the fact that you're acting like a dick.

Happiness: The Logical Choice

A professor once asked my class 

"Why should we be nice?" to 

which I quickly and incredulously 

responded  "Because It's nice to 

be nice!".  Condescending 

existentialist chuckling ensued.  

I was being sincere.  The 

instructor proceeded, "Do we 

have a moral obligation to be 

nice?  Or good?  Why should 

someone be a good person"?  

A religious person might respond

with a choice quote from his/her 

scripture of choice.  There 

were no religious people in 

that class.  The people 

in that class were atheists or, 

at most, agnostics.  All of them.  

Filthy philosophy majors.  

They had also, apparently, all
considered these ideas before.  

I had not,  thus my lame-ass response to the professor's original question.  I honestly didn't get
that his question was - at least a little - rhetorical.  I was young and a wide eyed optimist.
What can I say?

I had always liked myself more when I was nice to people verses when I was mean.  

From this, I developed into what you might call a "polite person" or "considerate".  

Beyond this, though, I had never actually considered why I ought to be good.  

It just seemed to make sense;  you get what you give, what goes around comes around, 

the golden rule; that sort of thing.   Again, a religious person could give reasons why 

to behave this way or that based on some cause and effect argument, for example, 

if you don't obey you will be punished or denied some reward after death.  This 

seems to be effective guidance for many people.  None of those people, however, 

were in that classroom back in 1992.  My class was populated with people who 

wanted to discover their own answers to life's questions, not to simply accept their 

parents' ethics or that of the rest of society.  They would use reason and 

logic to determine the most likely/best answer to a given question, 

even the biggest questions.  I wanted very badly to be one of them.

So I started to consider the question in this way and realized that my previous thoughts 

on the matter were, well, cute. You can read Kant to get a complete philosophical 

breakdown of exactly why we, as humans, ought behave this way or that.  He has a 

tight little theory in his Categorical Imperative.  I highly recommend it to any of you 

would-be philosophers out there.  My own theory on the matter is quite different, 

however.  My ideas about why a person might choose to be a "good" person vs. 

being a "bad" person were born out of utter agnosticism.  

In technical terms: I didn't know shit.  

One of the most important things I have ever learned is that it is possible to doubt 

everything and impossible to truly know (almost) anything.  Socrates' famous quote, 

'I know only that I know nothing' and Descartes', 'I think therefore I am,' are good 

encapsulations of this frustrating/liberating little paradox.  If you're not picking up 

what I'm laying down, consider this:  your senses can and have been deceived, 

at some point in your life.  Have you ever been to a magic show?  Your eyes were fooled.  

People sometimes have olfactory hallucinations for various reasons, smelling things 

that aren't there.  You have probably had a vivid dream that convinced you that you 

had a wide variety of sensory experiences only to wake to the reality that 

'it was all a dream'.  So, before you respond that 'I know the table is there because, 

I can see it, touch it, taste it, smell it',  remember that your senses are perfectly imperfect 

and you have examples from your own life that support this.  'Ever see The Matrix or 

that season of Dallas when Victoria Principle found Patrick Duffy in the shower in the 

last episode?  It could all be bogus.  Everything.  It probably isn't, but it could be.  

Long story short, we do not KNOW if there is anything after this life.  All that each one

of us can know is that we individually exist in this life.  So, living toward some other 

potential reality at the expense of this actual reality, to me, has always seemed, well, cute.  

Why then, should a person choose to be good in this life if not to receive eternal life or 

72 virgins in the hereafter?  Why not be a serial killer?  So many times, this sort of question 

is posed rhetorically or a faith based answer is the only acceptable response.  But I have an 

answer that is based on reason: I like people.  I like being nice to people.  I like when 

I do or say something nice and someone smiles or is appreciative.  It makes me feel 

good to make others feel good.  The inverse is also true.  I dislike making people feel bad.  

I hate it when I hurt someone, intentionally or otherwise.  It is, quite simply, unpleasant.  

I don't feel this way in order to be "closer to god" or so that I can reap the rewards of a 

"kind person" in the next life.  I'd rather be closer to people, here, now.  People, I can relate to.  

Also, in this approach, the gratification is instant.  I don't have to wait to die to be rewarded.  

Given the choice (which we are) of whether to be nice or nasty, I choose the more 

enjoyable of the two. Simple.  I don't need any promises or threats to encourage this behavior.  

It is its own reward.  

The same principle holds true for happiness as well.  I mentioned optimism earlier.  

At 38 years old, I am as wide eyed as ever.  I could worry about what will happen tomorrow, 

next month, December 21st, 2012 or I could feel great about it.  Since I can never know what 

is going to unfold with certainty, why would I choose pessimism over optimism?  Negativity over 

positivity?  Sadness over happiness?  Some do, and that's fine, but that's not for me.  

I find that my present is a lot more enjoyable when my future still has the potential to be 

amazing.  If I decide to believe that tomorrow is going to be awful, it most likely will be.  

Furthermore, all of the time between now and then will have been made worse (wasted) 

purely as a result of my outlook. Even if tomorrow turned out to be 'not so bad', today would 

have been worse than it had to be due to my negative energy and thoughts.  In a construct (Life) 

in which a major goal is to be happy (my premise, maybe not yours) it is logical to choose a 

more enjoyable way of existing whenever possible, free of irrational worry, regret and fear.  

In other words: if you choose to be happy you will create a reality in which 

happiness is possible.  Who knows?  Maybe you actually will be.  If, on the other hand,
you choose to be unhappy, you are all but guaranteed to be so.

Here's the best part: If I lived my entire life believing this and it turned out to be complete crap, 

I will have beaten the system.  I would have been misguided but happy, enjoying as many of my 

available moments as possible.  In this case, had I known "better" I would have come to the
same destination but the journey would have been much worse.  If it turns out I'm pulling the
wool over my own eyes by choosing to be happy, I'm perfectly comfortable with that. 

If, on the other hand, there is some gate where my life is reviewed and my 

passage is based on having been a good person, they're going to have to let me in.

If admission is based on something other than having been mindful & kind to others 

I probably don't want anything to do with it anyway. 

Coming Soon

It has been a few weeks since I've posted anything here and I just wanted to
give an update to those who seem to care.  It seems that there are people out there
who enjoy my stories & observational nuggets and many of them have inquired
about why they haven't seen anything from me in a while.  First, let me say that
it means a lot to me that anything I should put in writing has an effect on anyone.
A lot.

Next, I've been - shall we say - between jobs for a time now, and with the new
found time and liberty, had begun to express my inner Thingsayer.  In the last few
weeks, however,  I've been looking inward much more than outward and, thus, haven't
had much to share with the rest of you.  That is, until I got deep enough inside to realize
(re-realize) that the whole thing is one big interconnected circle of you, me, them,
us, everything.  Lo-and-behold I found what I didn't fully know I was looking
for - inspiration.   I've found it in books, music, friends, family, children, the elderly,
physical activity, The City, nature and most recently - in silence.

Long story short, I'll be picking up where I left off very soon,
once I've had the  time to organize my newly inspired notions and observations.
In the meantime, thank you so much for the support and ready yourself
for some more of whatever it is I'm doing here.
With gratitude, love and respect,
-tc

Time is the one true currency.

Need a hobby? Start collecting smiles.

The New York Bubble

I’m from a small town in Southwestern Virginia where people wave at each other from passing cars, say “Hi” to one another when passing on foot and are generally very friendly.  Now I live in Manhattan.  When I first moved here 10 years ago, I had to make some serious adjustments.  First there was the noise, the ever-present din of millions of people’s activities, conversations and the traffic & machinery of a city equipped to support them all.  Even when it is quiet in Manhattan, it is only quiet in relation to Manhattan.  It is never actually quiet.  Litter was the next issue to which I had to adjust.  I grew up in the woods, in the mountains, on a farm (2 different farms, actually) and have always had a deep appreciation for all things green and natural.  In college I was one of those people who stayed late and helped clean up the parking lot after a Phish/Grateful Dead concert.  Say what you will about hippies but they have a few things figured out.  Leave it the way you found it, maybe better.  Of course, the indigenous people of this land had that, and much more, figured out thousands of years ago.  For me to see, with my own eyes, people shamelessly discard their chip bags, cigarette pack cellophane or soda cans on the street was very difficult.  Adjusting to the noise isn’t especially difficult.  It happens unconsciously.  You just get used to it.  The litter, for me at least, was a different story.  I wanted so badly to stop each person I saw and remind them that the world is not their personal wasteland, that other people share this place and to please stop trashing our home.  Over time, I learned how to deal with the reality that not everyone else likes hugging trees as much as I do.  It also occurred to me that everyone has different sets of principals, ethics, priorities etc. and that it simply wasn’t practical to individually confront hundreds of people a week and attempt to convince them that their way of life was not jiving with my personal worldview.  Homelessness was another matter that was especially difficult to reconcile.  Like the noise and the litter, though, some things just are what they are and, unless I was prepared to dedicate my life to a crusade to address any of these issues, it seemed wiser to simply increase my level of acceptance for the reality with which I was faced.  By all means, I would do what I could to make the world a better place.  I would just have to recognize what was within my power to control and what was beyond.

The cultural difference that I was not prepared to simply accept was the seemingly unfriendly demeanor of the people of New York.  I refused to believe that the people of New York weren’t as nice as people elsewhere.  When you get into a conversation with someone here, you realize the same thing: people are the same everywhere.  Some people are nice - some are not.  Some people are smart - some are not.   And so it goes.  It wasn’t until my Mother visited for the first time that I started to understand the phenomenon that I have come to call The New York Bubble. 

My Mom is a southerner, a gregarious, chatty one.  We were walking through Little Italy/Soho along Prince Street in the early evening when I realized she was saying “Hi” in her sweetest drawl to everyone we passed.  Everyone.  Fortunately, it was a weeknight and the city wasn’t crawling with tourists so the number of people we passed was manageable.  After the fifth or sixth salutation, it dawned on me why New Yorkers were the way they were.  As a matter of sheer practicality, you simply can’t greet everyone you pass in New York.  In your hometown of 5000 people, when you walk down the street, on the way to the bank or the market, you may pass a dozen or so people and would probably offer a smile or a “hello” to each one.  In a place like New York, however, you will likely pass hundreds, if not thousands, on your route.  It simply doesn’t make sense to say "Hi" to everyone.  Rather than choose, then, to whom we ought to offer a greeting, we collectively agree to simplify matters and not say "Hi" to anyone, more or less.  It is the equivalent of suburbanites, on the freeway, on the way to/from work, waving at every car they pass.  You wouldn’t do that.  Yet, in rural places, that is done all the time.  Almost every time two cars pass on a country road, there is a wave or acknowledgement of some kind.

Having started thinking about it in this way, I realized there was even more playing into this perceived aloofness that people notice and/or complain about in New York.  Down south, out west, up north, almost anywhere else in this country, the principle mode of transportation is the automobile.  Everyone who drives can attest that your car is your cone of silence, your personal concert hall or your fortress of solitude.  Everywhere you go you have a climate-controlled protective shell around you, insulating you from the noise outside, the elements and other people.  New Yorkers, by and large, do not have this luxury.  Our fortresses of solitude are our overpriced, undersized apartments.  In most cases, there is just enough space for those who inhabit them.  Very seldom will you find places with outdoor space, let alone private outdoor space.  This means that the only time we actually have any real privacy is when we are at home.  From the moment we leave our buildings in the morning, until we return home, we are sharing space with other people.  We share the sidewalk with other pedestrians, the subway with other straphangers.  The aisles in the grocery stores are narrower and the lines are longer. We are constantly rubbing against one another and, somehow, maintaining our sanity through it all. 

The Bubble is the unspoken social contract to which we city dwellers adhere that makes this possible.  The subway is the best microcosmic example.  On a crowded train, with hundreds of people inches (if that) from one another, it is entirely possible that no one on that train is talking to anyone else.  Each person is in his/her own space and is respecting the space of everyone else.  Sure, there is sometimes eye contact and of course, from time to time, people do talk to each other.  For the most part, however, the bubbles serve their purpose so that no one has to talk to anyone else and can “privately” listen to music, read or zone out.  It is for our collective sanity that we adhere to this unwritten rule.  It stands to reason that people from other cultures, as close as 50 miles or less, would perceive this behavior as unfriendly or standoffish but it is not that at all.  This, like so many other things, is not about you.  This is about how things are in this particular reality.  It works for us and we mean no offense.  It is you, after all, who have come to our home.  Be mindful of that before you judge too harshly.   

To really see what I am saying, try this the next time you visit Manhattan: go to a busy corner and stand there with a quizzical look on your face.  Don’t say anything, just appear puzzled and look up and down the street.  If you have a map in your hand, all the better.  I predict that within 60 seconds someone will approach and ask you if you need directions.  New Yorkers LOVE to give directions.  It is an opportunity for us to connect with other people without breaching the social contract of The Bubble; don’t talk to someone unless they want you to talk to you them.  You may end up with two or three New Yorkers competing over the best route for you to take but that’s just fun.  Once the superficial membrane of the bubble pops you will find, as I have, that New Yorkers are just as nice and friendly as people anywhere else. 

With a little effort to understand another culture, by stepping outside of the box of our own limited perspective, we can very quickly understand why people are the way they are and appreciate them as individuals.  This is as true within our own country as it is throughout the world.  All cultures are different but people, not so much.

If you are worried about being cool, don't worry, you aren't.

Happiness is a choice.

Postponing judgement is the only acceptable form of procrastination.

Littering is a straight up character flaw.

Please be a good person.

Behold my new creation!

The Perspective Pill

One dose provides empathy for those less fortunate, relief from chronic complaining, and removal of head from ass.

Side effects may include momentary pauses for reflection, ability to laugh at one's self & sensitivity to the plights of others.  

In extreme cases overwhelming emotional epiphanies may occur.  Do not take Perspective Pill if you have an aversion to truth, including  the knowledge that the world does not, in fact, revolve around you.

Crackhead on the train

It was one of those really long subway rides.  The kind I really don't like.  I usually ride a bicycle to get around the city, mostly because I don't care for the subway.  Strange, really, because I love trains.  Just not the subway.  There's something about that "sub" part that bothers me.  I am a terrestrial being and being subterranean doesn't suit me.  I only mention all of this because, on the day in question, I was acutely aware of how long I was about to be underground on the subway.

It was the 2 train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.  I had about 20 stops before my destination.  I had no headphones and nothing to read.  I know.  Just as the reality of my situation began to dawn on me the doors opened, a few people got off,  some others boarded and the doors closed again. I was sitting in the left seat of a 3 seat row, facing an identical set of seats across the car.  One of the new passengers took the seat immediately to my right between me and another traveller.  As I looked up to acknowledge the new rider's presence I notice that he was clearly homeless, a junkie or both.  Upon making eye contact with the man he took the gesture as an opportunity to make my acquaintance.  I had only meant to offer a simple head nod, enough to say, "I see you're not the most savory character but I don't mind if you sit next to me.  We're cool."  This was all it took for his bony face to fill up with life, his sunken eyes brightening and his smile beaming at me, a foot from my face.  I smiled back and at this he extended his hand to shake mine.  I casually and quietly offered him a "fist bump" instead to which he took slight exception.  I explained, "Hey man, nothing personal.  You just look a little dirty, that's all.  How 'bout one of these?" I smiled, offering the fist bump a second time.  He accepted my offering and began to compliment me profusely.  He was clearly not used to being treated like a person and the slightest human connection meant the world to him, I thought.  "You got a cool style, man!"  he nodded approvingly, looking me up and down.  "Nice coat!"  He went on in that way for a few minutes as I blushed and thanked him to please not continue.  "You're a cool dude.  They're aren't many people like you around, man."  he continued.  "Most people just be hatin'.  But not you.  You got some love in you."  Again I smiled and thanked him for saying so, realizing how much my (minimal) kindness meant to him.  "You know what happened to me?"  Before I could manage a response he proceeded to tell me the story of how he came to be a crackhead on the train.  

He and his wife had been very much in love and, at some point, they started smoking crack together.  "But crack'll fuck you up!  Next thing you know, your fighting with each other.  She started fucking people for crack, I started beating her.  Crack'll fuck you up."  By now he was becoming visibly upset.  Without missing a beat in his story, tears started to fall from his eyes, hanging from and finally dropping off the cliffs of his emaciated cheek bones.  I was locked in a stare with him now.  I couldn't take my eyes off of him for fear that to abandon him - figuratively or otherwise - at that moment of vulnerability would destroy him.  Even more.  "She killed herself, man!" he blurted, sobbing now.  "And do you know what the last thing she said to me was?  She told me she hated me!  She said she hated me and she was going to kill herself because of me."  I was crying now too, still completely locked into his stare and every word he spoke.  At this he put his face in his hands and wept loudly.  Placing my hand on his back I whispered, "That's messed up.  She had no right to tell you that.  People do what they do for their own reasons, not because of other people.  That wasn't fair brother.  You have to let that go.  You have to let that go."  He kept crying, looking up now as he started to gather his composure.  He was done talking.  "I don't want to be rude but the next stop is mine bro.  I have to go.  You stay up now!"  I said, fist against my chest, wiping tears from my eyes.  "You stay up."  

As I stood to leave the train, I offered him my hand and he shook it finding a way to smile through his tears.  "You're one of the good ones,"  he said,  "thank you."  I couldn't speak anymore as I turned toward the opposite door to go.  I had been completely unaware of everyone else on the train and had no idea how full it had become.  Walking to the door to go I noticed three women sitting directly across from where I had been sitting.  Their eyes all followed me as they smiled sweetly and wiped tears from their faces.

The path you're on is less important than who you are walking with.

One way to be less annoying

If I ask you about your day, I really just want to know if it was a good day or a bad day.

I am not interested in every mundane event that occurred.  If something remarkable happened, 

by all means, tell the story.  If, however, you just had another day in the coal mine, tell me it

was just another day in the coal mine and be done with it.  I had a day of my own, full of
unremarkable events that constitute everyday existence.  I'll spare you mine if you spare me yours.  

I don't pretend to know what the meaning of life is but I suspect it has something to do with being happy. Try that.

3 Ways to Know if You are a Racist

1 - You have an opinion about a race or ethnic group that you would be uncomfortable verbalizing in the presence of a member of that group.

2 - When telling a story, you mention a person's race when it is, in no way, germane to the story.  

3 - When telling a story and mention a person's race (whether relevant to the story or not) you look over each shoulder, whisper the person's ethnicity, then continue speaking in a normal conversational tone.

These aren't the only ways to know, but they are a good start.

Tip for the day: Be less Racist.

It is entirely possible to be simultaneously poor and happy. I've seen it. I've done it. Think about it.

Sensitivity Tip Tuesday

If you are feeling a little fat today, don't mention it to your obese friend.  If you feel like you
spent too much money on vacation, don't mention it to your poor friend.  If you noticed a little hair
came out in your comb this morning, don't mention it to your bald friend.  If you had a bad day
at work, don't mention it to your unemployed friend.  Do you see where I'm going with this?

pretty yellow sundress

It was a gorgeous spring day as I walked west down Union Street through the historic district of Park Slope.  I was having one of those moments when you're perfectly aware of how nice a day it is and how lucky you are to be alive when I spied the cutest little girl on the side walk in front of me.  She was walking  toward me, with her parents, maybe a block away.  What caught my attention at that distance were her pretty yellow sundress and her exaggerated movements.  It seemed that she was also having one of those 'lucky to be alive' moments; spinning around, dancing with her hands over her head.  I mean, really feeling good!  From the cover of my sunglasses, I was careful not to let on that I was watching every second of her performance.  Her parents, holding hands and engaged in pleasant conversation, were no doubt used to her theatrics and appeared neither bothered nor entertained as she pranced in front, behind and all around them.  As we drew closer, I'd say within 10 paces, the little ball of life leapt forward in front of her parents, looking me squarely in the face with a HUGE smile.  Landing squarely on two feet with knees bent, she leaned forward slightly, hands on knees, holding my gaze all the while.  I was compelled to slow my pace as she had obviously captured my attention.  As I did, her two little hands grabbed the bottom of her pretty yellow sundress and, thrusting her hips forward, in one punctuated movement, whipped it strait up over over her head!  I had just been flashed by a 9 year old.  Her mother snatched her by the arm, whipping her around in a barrage of "what are you doing?"s & "what is wrong with you?"s.  By that time I had passed them, concealing one of the biggest smiles of my life.  As I walked farther along and the sounds of her mother's chides faded in the distance, I laughed aloud for at least a block at the moment that little girl and I just shared.  I guess she saw the same thing in me that I saw in her, but she felt like she should acknowledge it.  

What's the opposite of living vicariously? Do that.