vignettes

Split

I once knew a man who claimed he was in love with two different women. Equally. One was his wife, and the other, his soul mate.

Each day that would pass, he held this conflict inside of him. I watched as it ate through him from the inside out. Every morning he would leave his first love at home (his wife) to spend the day at the office with his second love (his colleague). And at the end of each day he would do everything in reverse.

The next day he would start all over again.

He asked me once to tell him what to do. But I wouldn't. Because I couldn't. My heart just doesn't work that way. I have never been so fortunate (or perhaps, cursed) to have two "equal" loves. One always feels a bit closer to the Truth. One always feels a bit closer, a bit more true, to me.

It took me a while to see that his heart didn't actually work the way he thought it did, either. The conflict that tormented him was not the conflict between two "equal" loves. The conflict was between the man he thought he was (a man of duty) and the man he wanted to be (a man of will).

I find that when I am having to make a (seemingly) difficult decision, I am always best served by consulting the feelings in my heart. In the quietest moments, I know they will guide me in the direction that best serves the person I am becoming. The person I want to be.

When deciding how to live, how much of you is shaped by duty and how much by will?

Truly

"Every person is destroyed when we cease to see him."
—Marcel Proust, Within a Budding Grove

I once knew a woman who lost her sight. I cared for her one or two afternoons each week as I paid my way through college.

I helped her read her mail.

I helped her make tea.

I kept her company.

I watched her, and she "watched" me.

I remember the day she shared with me her story. She woke up, looked out the window, and said to her husband with a sigh, "what a grey day." His silence confirmed what she had long been fearing. The day was bright blue and sunny.

They say that when one sense falters, we rely more on the others to help us perceive our world. So what we may first consider to be a weakness, could actually be the very thing we need to build our strength.

Every so often, I think of Mrs. Zelditch and her journey of learning to "see" again. Her journey of building new strength.

Through her hands as they held your own and as they studied your face, finding the truth in you.

Through her ears as she listened to your words and the spaces between them, looking for hidden messages that you weren't even aware you had.

Through her heart as she felt the weight of your presence, measuring the mood you were in — your level of joy or worry or sorrow.

In other words, Mrs. Zelditch only had room to take in what really mattered: the essence of you.

A little more than two years ago my days went grey, figuratively speaking. I realized that I had forgotten how to see. So I bought a camera and I went on a journey.

And 100,000 shutter clicks later, I have learned (once again) how to see. People, mostly. People I love. People I respect and admire. People I meet in cafes or on the subway or on the street. People pursuing Truth and Beauty. People who inspire me.

And when I am with them, I look for clues. To who they truly are.

I look for their love.

I look for their joy.

I look for their passion.

I look for their purity.

And when I see it, I click.

When you look at your world and the people in it, what do you see?

What if

What if we took as much time to grow up as we took to grow old? That, as children, we would be encouraged to be children, with clean faces and pony tails and hide-and-seek and keds, instead of being seduced way too soon by the provocative (and often misleading) promises of adulthood.

What if we learned to live our lives whole, leaving no part out? That we valued our setbacks and failures as much as we valued our triumphs, and realized that we hold within us the power to create an even better future by bringing forward everything that we learned and experienced in our past. That it is our whole story that makes us interesting and authentic, not just the carefully edited highlights. That we could just be ourselves, in every moment of every day, and regret nothing.

What if we learned to see in each other art and possibility instead of rank and commerce? That we would separate the substance (who we are) from the window-dressing (what we do and what we have) and stand before each other — equal, naked, vulnerable, exposed — with only the feelings in our hearts and the ideas in our heads to bring us together. That we would make room for each other, creating a world where each individual is visible and valued for who they uniquely are. That we should each feel a deep sense of belonging to this world, and to each other.

What if we learned to stand still? That we valued the journey as much as we valued the prize. That we learned to hold this one moment — step inside of it, even — and honor it above the one that comes before and the one that comes after. That we allowed it to stretch and grow and carry us with it wherever it goes.

What if we all got quiet? That we stopped speaking to be heard, and spoke only when we had something meaningful to say.

What if we valued the possibility as much as we valued knowing?

What (kind of world would it be) if?

Why we love the underdog

"It's only after we've lost everything, that we're free to do anything." —Tyler Durden, Fight Club

I love the underdog. And I know I'm not alone.

Some of the most famous and beloved stories are based on the triumphs and tragedies of the outranked, the disenfranchised, the social misfits: David and Goliath, Oliver Twist, Rudolph. These stories are translated and shared around the world, and passed from generation to generation, because they hold in them a universal desire—we all want to believe that good will ultimately win, no matter the odds.

And while the made-up stories entertain and inspire us, it is the true story that actually gives us hope, for it provides evidence of something that feels very much like a miracle, telling us that we, too, can author our own possibilities: James J. Braddock (The Cinderella Man). Robert Kearns (Flash of Genius). Ernest Shackleton (The Endurance). Susan Boyle (Britain's Got Talent). Barack Obama (President of the United States).

We love the underdog because they take the risks that we won't. Inspired from within, they demonstrate extreme levels of courage, braving the unexpected and making themselves vulnerable to other people's judgment and ridicule. They fight the good fight, and they will continue fighting long after we've all gone home. They do this because they believe that what they have to gain is far greater than what they have to lose.

Security can be a double-edged sword. The more we have, it seems, the more we're afraid to lose. Whereas the underdog is motivated by love (of an idea), the rest of us are motivated by fear (of failure).

What motivates you?

Boots and wings

Julia and Paul. Lucy and Ricky. Lois and Clark. Thelma and Louise.

What makes a duo great?

Whether it's romance or friendship, great duos are like a see-saw. When one person is in the air, the other is on the ground. And every so often they meet in the middle.

Great relationships seem to give each person equal time in the sun.

How do you duo?