The Sky Is Mine / Floating on like in a dream…


Notes:

    • Daybreak. December 12, 2020. 6:30 to 7:00 am. 39° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford CT
    • Post Title: “The Sky is Mine” by David N. Degnan – excerpt:  Head in the clouds, / Living without doubt. / That life is good and / Control is mine. / In that serenity, / That’s where I’d love to be. / Floating on like in a dream. / And in that peace, / I think I could see / Just what living truly means.

Riding Amtrak 2151-2172: Baltimore.

Five days gone. 4 memories remain. Freeman Dyson’s memory: Unreliable. Selecting. Rearranging. Forgetting. Embroidering. Inventing.

Scene 1: 

My assistant. So grateful to have an assistant. So grateful for her. Two introverts in well plowed furrows. “Are you sure, you want to go there and back same day? 7 hours on train, in 10 hours?” I look up. She knows the answer. There. Back. Exhaustion traded for sleep, sleep in my own bed.  Book it.

I’m waiting on the platform for Amtrak 2151 leaving at 7:54 am to Baltimore. It was for Dickens, and it was for me:  “One of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.”

Scene 2:

She boarded at Penn Station. Student. Maybe 20. She’s determined, bangin’ away on an old model MacBook Air. Wireless white earpods pumping in music, she’s bobbing her head. The cover of her notepad: Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. Biomed? Engineering? Medicine? She snaps the laptop lid shut, turns her head to the window, leans back, closes her eyes and lets the morning sun warm her face. Confident. Ivy leaguer. At peace.

It’s Thursday, three days later, and I’m deep into Irvin Yalom’s Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist’s Memoir. I wouldn’t be caught dead seeking therapy, but this, ‘this’ memoir is well within bounds.  I’m back on the train, Ms. Johns Hopkins sitting across from me, and me, I’m so Irvin Yalom, so wanting to repeat that trip: [Read more…]

When that happens, you do lose some of the white-hot intensity of your younger years

KwangHo-Shin-art-painting

Ryan Avent has a lovely essay about the reasons modern professionals tend to put in such long hours. As he says, it’s not just drudgery: for many people work is satisfying, a source of a lot more than just money. It can, of course, also be a form of avoidance, a way to avoid the messiness of real life. But anyway, for those lucky enough to have the right kind of work, it’s much more than a paycheck.

I just thought I’d add a note from further down the pike, as someone who’s a quarter-century older than Avent: the nature of the reward from work does change as you get older, although it doesn’t necessarily go away. The phrase that runs through my mind is “the end of ambition.” At a certain point you realize that it’s not about winning another prize, literally or figuratively, getting a promotion, whatever. (And yes, it’s easier to reach that state of mind if you have been lucky enough to get all the prizes you wanted.) Instead, it becomes about the craft, the service, just doing well what you hope you do well. When that happens, you do lose some of the white-hot intensity of your younger years, and (in my case, at least) start trying to make up at least a bit for other things you didn’t do. (Music!) But there’s still plenty of work to do, and plenty of reasons to do it, with — maybe — some new-found serenity.

~ Paul Krugman speaks Truth in: Work, Life, and Everything


Notes:

Big Blue

big-sur-pacific-ocean-blue

When Big Sur copies Mark Rothko
Pacific Coastal Highway, CA
iPhone 6


Source: Annelise Moore

Serenity Now

David-Walker-art-spray-paint


Vitry-sur-Seine by David Walker. 

Street/urban art. What this man can do with a can of spray paint is astonishing.

Find more here: art of David Walker


Call it up. Do it. At Will.

black and white, portrait,photography,man

Here it comes again.
Inexplicable really.

How many flights?
Hundreds.
How many times?
Many.
And yet again,
at 1:30 pm this afternoon.

The Big Steel Bird reaches maximum altitude.
Floating.
Floating above fluffy pillows of whiter than white.
Sailing below the Heavens’ bluest of blues.

Your Life resting in the hands of the trusty pilot.
Your Body in a straightjacket.
Your knees butting up against the seat in front.
Your arms tight to your body. Tight to your sides.
You exhale.
Your tension giving way. [Read more…]

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