here's looking at you, kid

New specs! Thank you good times insurance. What do you think? I was trying to go for a good blend of hip and professional: hipprofesh or hipressional if you will.

(Though I feel slightly guilty taking advantage of this policy during the only 11 week internship, I sort of justify it given that the last great pair of glasses I got, I lost in consulting recruiting. It's sort of like it all maybe evens out. Net-net)

my brother where art thou

Tonight I celebrate my brother. I am so so happy to have him come back to the United States this year. Already planning sibling bonding for the fall.

I would not be who I am without his input, influence, and love.

soul food

Perfect end to the weekend: beach, volleyball, friends, blueberry peach cobbler. Yum.

spoiled

Though the hours are bad, I think I still am luckier than most. I fly first class, I move quickly through the airport, I stay at a luxury hotel, I eat good, fairly healthy food in a city I like and even have people around I love if I ever have time to see them.

I must remember this bounty though, since I've started noticing signs of being spoiled, even in just the few short weeks I've been working. Food is bought and wasted, or just tasted. First class becomes the norm; economy scorned. When everything is covered, you begin to not appreciate anything at all.

It is a side effect of the job and manifests in all sorts of ways. As I left work on Friday, my colleagues left a mess in the room. I inquired, they said, don't worry about it; it will be cleaned up. Yes, indeed, but by whom? Are we so privileged that we have no concern about the mess we leave? On Thursday we changed flights to take a later one and were therefore in middle seats in coach. Not a big deal (though significantly more difficult to work), but the norm of first class has already set in, and I felt a twinge directed toward my seatmates. This is not ok.

During my first days on the job, one of my colleagues was shockingly honest about what it feels like to work for the company--about how it lends a special feeling of privilege, honor, exclusivity, to know you're an employee there. A confidence or secret code that inspires your walk through office corridors or down the city street. This shocked me at the time--not so much because of the sentiment, but because he voiced it. It's completely true, of course, and is the benefit of being part of any elite organization, association, etc. The struggle is in suppressing that, to push down the entitlement, to not take the privilege for granted. I mean, it's just a job, afterall, and, in my mind, a painful one at that. Though I'm susceptible to external validation, I've worked hard in the past not to define myself by my workplace, at least not wholly (this is actually worth a whole other post).

This feeling of exception may (and I say may because I honestly don't know) be ok as long as it is kept in check. From the first day of orientation there was the decree: treat well the hotel staff, the support admin staff at the company, the airline, your fellow passengers, etc. The very fact that it has to be repeated, and repeated so often, is concerning. Does this position inspire such deep-felt privilege that you begin to expect others to bow, to serve; that you begin to expect what is not yours deserved?

I have some snobbish tendencies, but I have worked (and been worked on) my entire life to remember service and, above all, gratitude. Real, heartfelt gratitude; not the pleasantries and casual thanks. No thank you, please give me my coach seats back, please make me pay my own way. I will appreciate what is offered now, but please make it just that--appreciate, not expect or take for granted.

UPDATE: Flying Sunday gave me a whole new perspective on this. Whoa nelly, I love me that first class, priority access, etc., etc. Traveling like a normal person is stresssssssssfuuuuuuuuuuulllllllllllllll.

saturday morning happy

It is far past morning, but I didn't exactly experience Saturday morning happy this week. Instead, a sort of pervasive melancholia. I'm glad to be going to the company of old, good friends tomorrow. Home-cooked food, the ladies, a bottle of wine--these are all things that are soul-refreshing, particularly as I start the new week.

These gray days are not common to me, but they are much more so when I feel alone, as I do in this city (is the hotel even more home now?). It's part of my perosnality to get pulled up and out by others and by shared experiences. I've gotten better about doing things myself--museums, movies, etc., but on gray days like this, I become paralyzed. I can't do anything and end up in a cycle of further paralyzation and subtle self-loathing (I am not one to get caught in the downward spiral, but I am never happy with myself when I spend a day like I did today).

I pulled myself up, which I think is reason enough for Saturday morning happy, but there still are other things to remember to celebrate today:

Lightning storms/city on fire, showers as a fresh start (even at 8PM), Imogen Heap, love and affection from those who are far away, tenderness in the face of adversity, knowledge of self.

I feel it now, but I must always hold it close:

There are days I drop words of comfort on myself like falling rain & remember it is enough to be taken care of by myself.

addicted to love

I was 20 years old when I first experienced the narcotic crazy-making effects of love. I was deeply ensconced in a great, easy, supportive partnership with an amazing man--someone who loved me with all his heart. He was my first love, my high school boyfriend, and I truly believed I would be with him the rest of my life. The summer I was 20, we were counselors together at the camp I attended as a child, and someone else caught my eye and in fact, totally caught me up. Drama ensued, ending in a break of the relationship and a reshifting. It was terrible. Truly truly selfish, terrible behavior on my part. The two men were co-counselors. Can you even imagine? It was a drama that rocked all of our worlds yet I was on a trajectory I couldn't stop.

In the midst of it all, I received counseling from many, perhaps most importantly my mother. She told me: attraction to someone new is like a drug, it's addictive. You just want more and it's hard to detach yourself from the situation. Take a step back, don't do this. Reign it in.

Being 20, and being caught up, I couldn't. It was addictive being around this person--as much about the way it made me feel as any of his intrinsic qualities (which I learned later, were quite limited). In the aftermath, my mother wouldn't speak with me for weeks and refused to let me bring the new beau home. Though she has long put it behind her, I'm not sure I've ever forgiven myself for how I acted that summer.

Each of the major loves in my life hence, plus some of the minor ones, has been characterized by early intensity. Part of it is the nature of the beast--all of us want that connection--but part of it is me. I carried this cartoon (from The Economist, I believe) with me for years, hanging it in each new place I moved, as a reminder to myself of the dizzying effects of falling in love--both positive and negative. For a long time, it was mostly humorous to me.

I create and am drawn to intensity, hopefully usually of the positive variety, but as with anything, also of the dramatic or damaging variety. I'm not interested in casual (this year was the first time I ever successfully dated casually...and even then it was mostly a device) and moreover, I tend to advance situations...patience is not a virtue I possess in abundance. Let's get on with it and really get to know each other--let's get down to it. Let's try it out, even if I don't know the end-state.

Recently, though, the cartoon and recent articles describing the narcotic effects of romantic love have taken on a more sobering effect. I'm more suspicious of the quick burn, particularly of its acceleration to burnout. Let's figure it out--let's not waste our time, let's have transparency (the dance around it is of course always fun, but really, for me, for a limited time), but let's also keep the drama out. Steady now.

Plus, how do you ever recover from the heady days of early euphoria once that intensity fades? Of course, then the love is much more multi-faceted, more complex, far deeper, and those depths are equally intriguing. But I wonder sometimes if I spent five years with the ex trying to recover that unbelievable joy and intensity experienced in our first month. I made him promise to marry me on what, week 2 or 3, completely without guile? Sometimes you just know...but sometimes, you are mistaken. I don't want to make that same mistake again.

An excerpt on the addictive effects of love from The Economist article of the above cartoon:

The results were surprising. For a start, a relatively small area of the human brain is active in love, compared with that involved in, say, ordinary friendship. “It is fascinating to reflect”, the pair conclude, “that the face that launched a thousand ships should have done so through such a limited expanse of cortex.” The second surprise was that the brain areas active in love are different from the areas activated in other emotional states, such as fear and anger. Parts of the brain that are love-bitten include the one responsible for gut feelings, and the ones which generate the euphoria induced by drugs such as cocaine. So the brains of people deeply in love do not look like those of people experiencing strong emotions, but instead like those of people snorting coke. Love, in other words, uses the neural mechanisms that are activated during the process of addiction. “We are literally addicted to love,” Dr Young observes.

Another from a great WSJ article on the physical and mental effects of  love (many of you will have read this before, I sent it out Valentine's Day in 2007; worth a reread even then, since it also has good advice on how to maintain some of those euphoric feelings of romantic love).

Compared with the neutral photos, a lover's picture triggers the dopamine system in the brain -- the same system associated with pleasure and addiction. But the brain images of those scorned in love also give us clues as to why the breakdown of a relationship can trigger serious health problems. The subjects dealing with failed relationships showed activity in the dopamine system -- suggesting they maintained intense feelings for their loved one. But they also showed activity in brain regions associated with risk taking, controlling anger and obsessive compulsive problems. Notably, the scans showed activity in one part of the brain linked with physical pain.

the long night

Last night I had a date with the dancefloor. I have to say, it was magical.

And then this happened:

That's Lil' John (who I instead called Little John all day today, oops; hey, I didn't even know who he was until a month ago). He is rapping at the club in the hotel. Where I was staying and dancing. He was also pouring Grey Goose into people's mouths. I did not participate in that.

The club crowd was unbelievable--I could not keep my eyes focused all night because of the characters around--good bad and ugly. There were two particular older blode women that really got to me. Hollywood. [also Puck, from Glee, some very tall basketball players, some other rapper, you know my facility with pop culture]

Even with the celebrity sightings and unexpected Rihanna after-party, the dancing took the night.

Though I've always loved to dance, it was seldom practiced for a few years there. Inhibited and not knowing exactly how I wanted to conduct my life, dancing became one of those things that was sidelined and neglected, particularly given my partner and lifestyle during these years. There were a few moments of extreme catharsis through dancing mixed in there (joy in Florida with Caitlin, Magali, and Anne--coming together after some tough conversations; crying in the San Francisco dive bar a few summers back on the madonnahotties trip to NoCal; sadly, all that difficulty surrounding the ex. I should have known).

Now I dance for joy. Because of the long lapse, I want to dance often and freely to experience this joy. I get the itch if it's been too long and anyone who has spent any significant time with me will know it's hard for me to hear music and not start tapping and shaking. The hands go up, the hips start shaking.

Dancing can be potentially the best foreplay, but it can also just be pure unadulterated fun, especially when you're dancing with someone who knows what they're doing.

I had a great partner last night.

the kiss of ground

As the plane surfed over the city tonight, I couldn't help but think of that first touch of ground like a first kiss...a little awkward, with so much anticipation and approach.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to fly the same way again.

wash away all of my tears

This makes my insides feel funny. It is so beautiful--so many allusions, so much surrender, so much tenderness.
 


Thank you, David Rager, who always has impeccable taste. DRage is going to get more shout-outs on this blog than anyone/thing else at this rate.

Interestingly (to me at least), before starting to write here, I was resolutely uninterested in a lot of video content, even though I know this is where the world is heading. People would always send me videos and I would be like, eh, I am not interested in watching that. I think video content preferences are so unique--and because video requires a time investment that print does not, they come out more strongly. I wonder how this will affect marketing and content production in the future, or the ways it already has. Or maybe my analysis of the situation is wrong, or generational. Maybe other people are more omnivorous video consumers.

Regarding viewing now, I've becoming more adventurous and interested, by baby steps. It always helps me to know the source is good--I know DRage and a few others will always serve me well.

art in the morning

There's been a big rush of public art--both permanent, temporary, and completely ephemeral--in the past decade, likely the biggest explosion since the large metal sculpture that proliferated starting in the 1960s and last through the early '80s. Much of this new guard is good and it used to be what excited me most in contempoary art--the site specificity, the opportunity for unique engagement outside of the whitebox, the potential unexpectedness. Though my perspective has changed now (perhaps because of the proliferation?), really good pieces are still environment and vision-changing.*

I drive past this piece often while in LA and I just love it. I love it in the morning and I love it at night. It's hard to keep driving straight as I crane my head to catch it from multiple angles. It is among the most outstanding pieces I've seen.

Chris Burden (of shoot yourself fame)
Urban Light, 2008
202 restored cast iron antique street lamps, 320 1/2 x 686 1/2 x 704 1/2 in.
The Gordon Family Foundation's gift to "Transformation: The LACMA Campaign"

*I need to write a whole post on MIT's amazing job Percent for Art program, where a percent (1-3%, I believe) of the budget for any new building is put toward a new site-specific commission for the Institute's public art collection. New pieces by Cai Guo-Jiang (for Sloan!), Anish Kapoor (Stata Center), and Richard Fleischner (Media Lab) will be unveiled this fall. YAY! There's much to say here--there are a few existing pieces I just love (hello Sol Lewitt) and am paritcularly excited about the new Cai piece (such a good conception of public space and how the piece can change over time)--but it will wait.

too much?

When you're most introspective, self-reflecting friend writes this and this blog:

perhaps tending towards too much self-assessment and reflection (because yes, there is such a thing), but to those of us who tend towards the same thing, it's like a guilty pleasure. like my bag of doritos in the middle of day.

...maybe you've gone too far. Let's keep this healthy, kids. A little lightness all around. Doritos are bad for everyone. (Speaking of which, I ate one bite of a churro last night that literally tasted like chemicals. Ew, disgusting. I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth for hours. So not only was I working late on stupid slides, listening to my team nit-pick one thing after another, I had the taste of chemical donut in my mouth. Gross.)

Also, the spirit of awesomeness, let's all take an afternoon break to get up and dance to this song:



It's my song of the summer--for running, driving, dancing, and any other sort of activity...

[Also, um, her dancing, is...and awesome]

Afternoon snacking

I've been eating entirely too much but I couldn't resist this: cukes,
jicama, and mango with lime, salt, and spice. Yum.

dance-floor maniacs, architecture love, and a boat that floats

Miami was a quick trip, but had some inspiring moments.

I made a boat. Or, more accurately, I decorated a boat, the good ship The Backpack [go team Dora the Explorer]) . You like those pink flags, I know you do.


Our baby looks good coming and going.

Mostly, this: I fell in love with a parking structure:

1111 Lincoln Road

Hezog & de Meuron

Mixed use parking structure, retail, event space (genius way to get around zoning laws). 

All muscle, no skin. A parking sculpture.

Dying to meet the developer Robert Wennett.

 

 

 

 

After the love affair, I had a proper Miami evening: the W pool bar (downpour, hanging with the Israeli mafia) and then the old classic Mynt with dance party seriously underway. I was up on the couches. We headed up to the DJ booth. There may have been some booties shakin'.

 Windswept, waiting for Lebron.

At 4:30, I looked at my watch. Uh oh, supposed to be at the airport in 1 hour. Still at the club. Have no shoes on.

Hop in a cab, bust a move back to the Ritz, quick change, back to waiting cab, bust a move to MIA. Make flight, pass out in first class (totally don't belong). Awake surrounded by children. Feel like a crack whore, last night's makeup down my cheeks. Still smelling smoky.

Rental car in San Diego, refuse to take off sunglasses, perpetuate cracked out exterior, straight to grandmother's--you look like hell! (or, rather, politely, you look exhausted). Shower, change, lie down 5 minutes, socialize. Argh. Funeral, socialize, Mormons. Family, eat, wild turkeys (not Wild Turkey, I wish, remember, Mormons), cousins, mausoleum so white. Succulent garden for Mary and Jesus. Compound, eat, pregnant cousins!, boulders, inland views, California I think I love you. Back, crash, New Yorker fiction, Friday Night Lights (any tears left?), quiet in my grandmother's house my grandfather built. Quiet quiet quiet. Sleep. Finally.

If that's a work event, this place might just be ok...

(nope, nope, still not ok, even if there are some like-minded dancefloor maniacs)

playing the edge of sentimentality

I read Postsecret every Sunday (apparently Sunday is my day of sentimentality...). My brother first initiated me into the club and often I find what's posted cloying, or just plain uninteresting: our banal secrets. But sometimes I find what people share inspiring and uplifting and true. As the project has become more and more of a pheonomenon, I think it's become less powerful, in a way. Or perhaps, in another way, it has become more so--look at this intense and widespread need to connect and share, to free ourselves of our burden.

Anyway, this past week, this one got me:

Isn't this what we all wonder about former loves, even as the memories slip from pain to past? Maybe more interesting: what recalls you to me, but has no meaning to you? How do we find ourselves in such symmetry/assymetry? Was it always a step on/a step off all along? Oh, to understand how the heart ticks...

the target list

Autumn targets:

• Emily Rafferty (President, Metropolitan Museum of Art; Met lifer)
• Thomas Krens (former Director, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, NY; current senior advisor Guggenhim Abu Dhabi; expansionist extraordinaire)
• Jeffrey Deitch (Director, LA MOCA; former downtown gallerist monopolist)
• Maddy Briggs (Principal, Genzler; let's explore this architecture thing)
• Eli Broad or Joanne Heyler (Director, Broad Art Foundation) -- first one scheduled! (August 7)
• Robert Wennett (Developer, 1111 Lincoln Rd.--photos coming later today)
• Strategy, Lincoln Center

One down...let's see how many others I can convince to meet with me. Some heavy hitters here.

Any additions welcome. Let's set some goals people! Let's see what's out there.

sunday evening center

Flying out again tomorrow morning and feeling free.

Looking forward and looking back, wistful, but settled. Clarity gives me peace so that my mind is not so forward focused, but can work hard to evaluate the present and prepare and be open for what comes next. I get distracted by sideways tangents and inventions of the future world, but there is nothing sure in my life right now so better focus on what is at hand.

It is not always easy for me to be alone like this, but it is something that makes me strong and focused. It is not easy for me to always establish a routine, but it's what makes me centered and at peace. This week: back to the regular workouts, establish that discipline. Keep myself sharp. Don't let this slide, Rya. This is an opportunity.

There are big changes afoot. I don't know what they are, but I sense they are coming, and I sense this is all part of my preparation. I must make sure not to disappoint. I will see through what I have started.

saturday morning happy

More like Saturday afternoon happy, brought to you and to me via my brother JtotheCtotheB.

In response to my current gchat status message, one of my favorites of all time (I know, Storypeople is a theme...I'll start finding other sources of inspiration...maybe):

i read once that the ancient egyptians had fifty words for sand & the eskimos had a hundred words for snow. i wish i had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.

He sent me this, a treatise on Eskimo words for snow, and this:

have I explained turkish has two words for love? sevgi and aşk? and that sevgi is what you have for your family and that aşk is like the pure romantic love? (Also the love Sufis have for God, go figure) Anyway, aşk can only last three years I think and then afterwards fades to sevgi. The grammar is even interesting. I love you (also I like you) is "Seni seviyorum" which is the same way you would say "I like soccer" (Futbolu seviyorum). With aşk though, its different. Its not usually said to someone, but about how you feel about someone. You say "aşık oldum" or literally "I became in love". Instead of in the present tense, its already in the past. It's already something that happened.

I always love love love how language changes meaning. Two favorite parts of literature, courtesy of Milan Kundera: the description of the difference between compassion in English and its closest Hungarian synonym, which is closer to "co-feeling" in The Unbearable Lightness of Being; the unpacking of "nostalgia" in Ignorance.


In response to who knows what since Jewel is not exactly my favorite, but still this video is totally awesome.

Undercover Karaoke with Jewel from Jewel

I may have teared.

strength and love

We had a workshop on women and leadership today, led by the same woman at the firm who wrote the book I've been reading on the topic. She is hilarious and irreverent and the workshop was a great correlary to what I've been thinking and experiencing this summer. In the workshop, we were forced to quickly and swiftly name our core strengths from a list provided (in the 5 buckets I've mentioned before). I scanned the full list, few jumped out. Some I was sure of...the others, less so.

I learned today that there is an assessment test [register, then go to survey of character strenghts] to go along with this framework and it was actually created by one of the very impressive psychology centers at Penn (go Quakers!). Given my predilection toward self-assessment and reflection, I of course took the test tonight. My gut check was largely correct:

Your Top Strength
Capacity to love and be loved

You value close relations with others, in particular those in which sharing and caring are reciprocated. The people to whom you feel most close are the same people who feel most close to you.

I can't imagine a strength I'm more proud of or one I seek to cultivate more.

[I also love that appreciation of beauty and excellence is considered a strength. It's my #3, second being perspective. The only strength I think they missed in the quite interesting list or strengths is resilience--a quality that is shown to be increasingly important to success and one I was either born with or developed.]

immediacy and oversharing

I had a total overshare moment last night and I woke up this morning feeling the same way I've woken up after nights when maybe I didn't make such good decisions. Both physical and emotional sharing must have boundaries.

The conversation was with a colleague...a younger, male colleague and was likely a result of a lot of things--loneliness, transitions and my need to talk right now, but also some sort of immediate connection where I just knew it was safe. The overshare mostly involved work-related motivations and goals, but stemmed from the question, "why Chicago?," one that I have yet to find a good answer to. Nothing's independent, I guess, and I have a need to tell the whole of stories; parts left out feels dishonest. Not necessarily a good tendency if you want to respect boundaries--your own and others'.

I get off on connections, particularly those that are characterized by immediacy, and I push them, taking risks to transgress some of those boundaries. My closest friendships are with those where I literally can step right back in where we left off and there are no taboo areas (though of course, always places to tread gingerly). [Interestingly, it's different in romantic relationships, especially now as I get older. That immediacy is important, but so is caution and a slight detachment, perhaps almost to a fault these days. Also there are places not to tread there. Just do not go there.] With friends, that sense of intensity and immediacy (leading to the complete and blissful state of just being your whole self) is why I've been able to maintain such good friendships with people spread all over the country and, indeed, the world. I love love love that feeling of sitting over a glass of wine and just dishing--just getting it all out there and laughing and laughing and laughing (or crying, depending).

If I think the connection is there there, I'll often throw my whole self out there--or maybe even an exaggerated version of myself, just to test. And this is why the in-person is much better than any other interaction. Because it's a real test. Phone, text, email--everything else is just slightly different.

The overshare was over gchat and gchat offers some false sense of immediacy (hence the feelings of really exposure and vulnerability upon waking when I was like uh oh...I don't even know this person, this young chappie). In typically fashion, I then shared my feelings of oversharing with the young fellow, and true to his nature and my gut feeling, he was completley reassuring, complimentary, and reciprocal. Reassurance, compliments, and reciprocation--pretty much the best thing ever. Not bad for 23 years of age.

[People, do not worry, despite the dancing, this is not going to turn romantic.]

girls on bikes

What is it about girls on bikes in the summertime that makes the boys goes wild? The hipster boy fantasy. Let's add stripes, a basket (and a bell!), long hair...you're gonna make a killing, girlfriend.

[eating turkey jerky [TJ's organic] this morning...strange and delicious]

all my friends

I have fallen in love with my friends all over again this summer.

I have been trying to write this post for a week now and I just can't get it right. There is so much to say, yet of course nothing to be said. This arrived last week in my inbox (Storypeople again) and maybe just about sums it up:

Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, What have you done with your life? & though there are many moments I think I will remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us.

For this support, for this group, to be one of you, to be so inspired and so loved, and to be allowed to be so free and to love so much, I am eternally grateful. You each hold a part of me, and I a part of you. We can never fail so long as these hands support each other.

personal style

Browsing through the fashion blogs in my reader today, I remembered being struck by an image from The Sartorialist some months ago (October 29!)

This was a personal style I loved, a look that really spoke to me.

It spoke to others about me, too: Meredith sent me the picture and said, "Thought you'd like this."

It's funny, when I look at it now, it doesn't inspire me nearly as much as it did. She is undoubtedly a beautiful woman, and I'd still likely wear that dress and those shoes. I love the effortlessness and the simplicity and I still wear outfits reminiscent of this (likely with a few more bracelets).

Just as I've been working this summer on creating a life I want, I've spent time thinking about creating the personal style I want. I have always been clear what I like and am very particular about clothing--fabric, silhouette, color, styling. There are some pieces that are just me and others, well, no way.

I've been particular since I was a child: my mother wanted to dress me in overralls and sweatpants and I insisted on dresses and skirts, all of which had to have pockets, and preferably were in the sophisticated colors of pink and purple.

My love of distinct style is part of my love of aesthetics and also of quality. I also credit the affinity to my close relationship with my paternal grandmother. She was an extraordinary seamstress and never left the house less than perfectly put together. She designed and sewed many of her own clothes and worked as a furrier when she first moved to New York from Vienna. I so clearly remember the smell of her vanity and the sound of her silks and furs rustling in the closet. That smell still reminds me what it's like to be a lady and the dresses she bought me on our yearly trips to Macy's remain hanging in my parents' attic--long outgrown but too precious to relinquish. My paternal aunt encouraged the tendency, too: my favorite activity when I went to visit her in Brooklyn--going to A&S (a now defunct department store where she once bought me a pink poodle skirt combination; I was maybe 10 or 12. Tragic).

In fact, pain points and aberrations aside (that blue lycra halter and pink poodle skirt combination are only a start), my person style is ever evolving as I grow and trends change. I love being a grown up now where the expectation of jeans/t-shirt casual is behind me. I love having the income (shhhh, business school loans) to invest in good pieces, especially jackets, shoes, and bags (though, come on, who can resist Forever 21 sometimes). I love having the confidence to experiment with clothing but still develop a look that is all me.

Even amidst this experimentation and development, though, I have never been able to point point or exactly define my style. I put time and effort into it and I know I dress well, or well enough (just the littlest effort gets you noticed, it seems). I am inspired by a lot of things but drawn to very particular looks (Giovanna Battaglia, Diane Kruger, Rachel Bilson, Olivia Palermo, though she also makes me want to vomit, Resese Witherspoon, sometimes) and designers (Bottega Veneta, YSL, Dries Van Noten, Prada, Helmut Lang, Costume National, Lanvin, Isabel Toledo).

So I asked Kira today, one of my most fashionable friends, what she thought, especially after rediscovering the above photo and feeling strangely disappointed. I think she nailed it: "You have a vintage vibe that is feminine but not flirty. It is that kind that has a sexy maturity to it. You are true to color and not one for the loud pattern but make a statement with unexpected shoes and accessories."

Once something is articulated, it is so much easier to start to develop around that idea.

Other inspirations: my most fashionable friends, Meredith, Jane, Kira, Liron, Magali, David R., and many people I used to work with, including both my boss and my mentor, my maternal grandmother's 1950-60s old photographs. I steal things from all of them sometimes (ideas, not articles of clothing).

I have to say, and I know this is terrible, but dress is one more reason I'm just not sure the corporate world is for me. At the museum, I came to the realization that there was simply no reason for me to buy work clothes: I could either wear party clothes or casual clothes to work. In fact, it was encouraged. Here, it's a different story. I get comments on my clothes every day (and I'm being fairly conservative, at least as much as I feel comfortable with) and they are complementary, but the essence is also--you stand out. I'm not sure that's in the job description; best to blend in.

I may be asking too much of work, of life, to want to be inspired and have creative license even in this way, but hell, it certainly makes each day more fun. Isn't it just better when you know you look good?

"You are unique, and if that is not fulfilled something has been lost." --the inimitable Martha Graham
(Lifted from Naked Cowboy Vintage)

lunchtime shenanigans

I may have sung karaoke in the client's cafeteria today.



It was for charity. Here's to living life with just a little bit of crazy.

soccer I can get on board with

Now this the World Cup I can care about:



I can't understand exactly what he's saying, but here's what I love: his smile at the beginning of the interview (those smile lines!), avoiding eye contact when he starts to thank people, the pause and the look as he then zeroes in on her, the sigh (that sigh!), the grab.

(Spanish goalkeeper Iker Casillas kissing her girlfriend, reporter Sarah Carbonero)

for a time

There are some things, some people, who come along exactly when you need them: a catalyst, a reminder, a symbol. They are right for just a certain time, no more; pulling it longer only ruins it, sours it, but letting go is also painful.

We want things to last forever, to be in love, to connect and to build. As someone I respect immensely said recently, we long for the day when the heartache is over.

I'm not sure it ever will be. We are always choosing to leave something behind. We will always feel the twinge of nostalgia, the pinch of letting go, the pain of choosing the other path, of forsaking what might have been.

And even with near certainty, we always wonder, what if...

This is what Dan Gilbert, one of the inspirations of this blog, said leads to unhappiness. Instead, we must be content in what we have, if we just learn to satisfice. I'm beginning to wonder: there is a sweetness in this, too. And without pain, without the heartache, how will we ever recognize, truly, the joy, the love.

somewhere

I'm not a die hard fan, though I admire what she does. She has an uncanny ability to pinpoint emptiness. Impossible to watch this and not feel it.



via Cheri, scout holiday, also a master at pinpointing.

saturday morning happy

Missed Saturday morning happy because I was Saturday morning recovering* after a night out in Miami. Summer conference was a good chance to see good friends and colleauges, let loose a bit, push a few boundaries, and remember to take it in and sit with it a little. No need to always be thinking. Let's dance a little too.

Written a lot of half posts in the past few days. Sometimes things need to simmer.



*Recovering on first class flight back to Cali, not bad. Would have been better had I realized just before we were about to land that the seats reclined back all the way. Maybe if I hadn't gone straight from the club to the airport, I might have had my faculties with me a little more. More details on the weekend later, including boat building, creatives in the box, and the best parking structure of all time.

up in the air

the conversations about points are not a thing of fiction: 48,000 until executive platinum, almost gold--hey, it's good to have apsirations, right?

[apologies for the meldorama and aggression last night. today is better. somewhat. hugs still appreciated.]

sex

I've recently spoken of my gut reaction upon viewing to the room full of my summer cohort: the whole lot of them don't like sex. People who have worked there know exactly what I mean (and this is something I only share with those I know well), but those who don't know the corporate face look at me a little strangely, like: 1) well, that makes no sense, who doesn't like sex? and 2) what, do you go around proclaiming/exuding how much you like sex? It's not exactly professional [you oversexed hussy (ed. note)].

Well, thank you Camille Paglia (and Adah for sending it along) for elaborating my point (which is expressed to its fullest potential at the most professional analytic organization in the nation):

In the discreet white-collar realm, men and women are interchangeable, doing the same, mind-based work. Physicality is suppressed; voices are lowered and gestures curtailed in sanitized office space. Men must neuter themselves, while ambitious women postpone procreation. Androgyny is bewitching in art, but in real life it can lead to stagnation and boredom, which no pill can cure.

Camille certainly has a way with words, and though I think the article is a strange conglomeration of generalizations and stereotypes conducted as an extreme sport and connected with fog, the woman does at least have a point with this. [OMG, the Beyonce comment, really?!!!! And the whole second half of the article--is she really invoking jungle-ism?]

Let's live life a little less sanitized, thank you very much. I'd much prefer it raw (life, you filthy scoundrels, though, now that you mention it, maybe sex, too) and a little gritty. We can make it interesting, I promise. Please, notice my butt and Pilates stomach (again, Camille, you are off here) and I will admire your shoulders and hands and recognize that you are a man and remember that at our core, we are animals. Animals with a brain and a conscience--no you can't touch--but animals nonetheless who eat, shit, and fuck.

it was bound to happen

First cry from the job tonight. You can't have my time from 7am through midnight and expect me not to break. I just can't do it. I'm bristling at the reins. I don't want team dinners--I want time to work out. I don't want to go over pages, I want to sleep or talk to people I love, or hell, even people I like, people I can really laugh with or snuggle into. I want to read The New Yorker fiction issue and The New York Times. I want life outside these Powerpoint pages.

I will come and I will work and I will give you my time from 7am-8pm. I can even care from 7am-9pm. I was fine until almost 10 tonight. I can give you that. Is 14 hours not enough? Please, give me the rest. Is it a contest to work more? Because I will gladly lose. I feel the resentment building, and the corresponding apathy. It is week four. It is too early and I don't know how to turn it around. I don't know what self-administered pep talk is going to work. 

There is so much else I want to do and so many things I don't want to miss. I wanted to take that drive tonight. How can I stay patient, centered? How can I turn this positive? How can I find some control?

I need someone to see this fraying and give a hug and squeeze and a you can do it and a you'll be fine, just keep going, just keep going, you'll be fine, I'll be here, I'll be here, I'll be here. Pull me back together where the seams are loose.

[post-writing: This post makes me feel melodramatic and a little pathetic and more than a little whiny. It's day 1 after a relatively work-free long holiday weekend. They pay me extraordinarily well. The team is nice, they care about my success. The hotel, food, everything is free. It's only 10 weeks. Many others would take my place. Many others can hack it. What am I complaining about?

Then again, as two good friends reminded me again and again this year (thank you Amanda and Kira): Rya, it's ok not to be fine.
You never quite know just how much you value your freedom (or choice)...or, hey work, you're fucking with my abililty to plan.]

one of the lucky ones

I can't help but share this email from my father.  

Hi Rys,

Thanks for sharing and including us. This quite an undertaking, full of insight, questions, introspection, personal takes, and interesting observations. It took quite a while to get to the end, sort of going down a Rya rabbit hole. A fascinating and pleasant journey. I was particularly taken by 'competitive advantage' and your discussion of creativity (I have thought a lot about that one as well and could share some of my own experiences with that). I'm a terrible story teller too, but a pretty good analyst (which has held me in good stead).

Much love to you as you continue your life dance with the world. I'm happy to be in love with you everyday.
love,
dad

I have had many a conversation about my relationship with my father. He was the primary parent when we were growing up and it was my relationship with him that I think inspired my comfort in the world, ease and trust of the opposite sex, and confidence to be both serious and silly. As I've gotten older, my relationship with him has changed (my relationship with my mother has also changed--we've become close almost as peers--it's wonderful, but a post for another day), but I am still, through and through, a daddy's girl. He cheered me on at soccer games (and coached the team), read countless papers, helped me through all my mercurial back and forths, and has always always given me unconditional love, support, and unfiltered feedback. I am one of the lucky ones.

[Thank you for all of your support and love, inner circle. It's nice to have you here.]

in the spirit of independence day

...i opened it up to the inner circle. yikes!
in the spirit of independence day, a peek into how we celebrated:

good friends, good views, just the right amount of learning, festive attire (rwb, fireworks, american denim)




 
 
 

 

"murdered out" Americana truck in Burbank

crawfish boil: country music, ping pong, corn and potatoes, special caramel popcorn, general hilarity

multi-channel communication

I'm a terrible storyteller.

I am a big communicator, but sometimes I forget to put in context in conversation. I don't know why it's such a problem, but I often just start up a conversation as if I were already halfway into it, make oblique references, bounce around topics from line to line, have no clear antecedent to half my pronouns, get distracted in the middle of thoughts, etc. (This is true across all channels as anyone who has ever conversed with me multi-channel can attest.)

Communication was always something I thought I was good at. It was literally the only skill I thought I entered b-school with: I'd given a lot of presentations and participated in a lot of meetings, management, etc. Hell, I love to talk and share!

Of course, it turned out to be my worst grade first semester. I learned that I am in fact a shit communicator, in part for the reasons mentioned above. I bring grit and I bring enthusiasm, but I also bring lack of structure, multi-headed tangents, and hell, you know, sentences that start in the middle. [I also bring extra words, unclear or unparallel sentence structure, etc., but at least those things I already knew.]

In addition, I realized how roundabout many of my communications are. I am not always direct about saying what I want, what I think, or exactly how I feel. This is something I especially tried to improve upon this year. There is of course a time and a place for ambiguity, but so much time is saved (and anxiety or confusion avoided) when you say exactly what you mean and ask for exactly what you want. Plus, you learn so much more.

i recognize your face

Facial recognition--the science of reading people's thoughts by their facial expressions--is an idea I am fascinated by. I love the thought that there is some underlying universal expressions that we share as humans that belie what we're truly thinking: the disgust before the platitudes, the disguised happiness, whatever we feel, our face tells and these tells are universal across nationality, language, gender, class, race, etc. Amazing.

I'm not usually a Gladwell fan (though his New Yorker articles are actually genuinely good--he should stick to long-form pieces like that instead of overblown books based on well-accepted and understood ideas) but this article (The New York, 8/5/02) on the practice is fantastic.

I'd like to become a better face reader. I've been caught out myself a few times lately...

brotherly advice

JCB: "You are one mercurial motherfucker, Ry."
RCB: "No I'm not. Oh wait, yes I am. It used to drive [the ex] crazy."
JCB: "Yeah, I bet."

[re: a conversation about career]

home

Independence day: hike, brunch, Griffith Park, sucking spicy crawfish, country music, murdered cars, fireworks (on TV--not ideal), good friends, good laughs, good day, good to be a citizen of this country--I think I like you LA.

"Welcome home" from the W staff reminded me of one of my favorite songs of the year and made me think about home, of which I have none--or multiple--right now.

Ahh home. Let me go home.
Home is whenever I'm with you.
Ahh home. Let me go home.
Home is when I'm alone with you.

That last line is clutch, even better than the second--when you find it, make it your own.

Feeling nostalgic for so many things tonight, home, wherever that may be, primary.

[note: I watched a number of performances before posting this one. They are all unique and often quite amazing. She is fantastic, so adorable--she dances exactly how I want to dance to this song. The one posted above is an early performance; I also love this one--look how much they bring even when no one's watching (radio show). Also interesting, they alter the last line of the song in later performances (above lyrics are recorded version): "home, you are me and I am you." I like the first better.]

[note 2: The original meaning of nostalgia: nostos=homecoming; algos=grief, pain, distress. Created in the 17th century to express the German heimweh. The pain of longing for home. Literally, homesickness.]

grandmotherly advice

"Well, don't think too much, Rya. Your head might explode."

[re: a conversation about careers]

making the choice

I always read the NYT's Modern Love columns, though recently they've been more disappointing than inspirational. Still, there are many that have had siginificant impact. This week's was great. Regardless of the situation or origin, staying in a marriage, in a relationship, is a choice. One made and renewed regularly.

My father always said he only wanted to be married to my mother for as long as they both wanted to be (of course, they actually only got a marriage certificate this year, which I can't help but tease them about, but paper is only one proof of marriage). Witnessing how divorce affected my mother's life and those of friends, I think this commitment, this choice, is one of the most important things we can accomplish. They don't call it work for nothing...

thinking big

How amazing would it be to get in on the ground here?

I'm trying to start to think big. What could the future look like? There are some names there...and some more here. Starting to craft the pitch...

merci

congratulations, david! let's start thinking beyond crate & barrel.

merci registry

david is one of the most talented graphic designers i know. i ocasionally write stuff for him and am always inspired by his work.

Yum

It's a gummi bear type of afternoon and movies in bed with the besties.

saturday morning happy

a clean face, dancing in the house last night, wearing red white and blue, good friends, pooooooooooooollllllllllllllll.

reasons i'm writing, part 3

I over think. I need to work things out. I seek to understand. I need transparency, clarity, and, often times a plan. Sometimes I can get that from or with other people, or from a situation, often times I can't.

I write here to work it out, to do the work, so I can exist and engage in real life more fully and more freely: find clarity for myself, make my own plan, know what I want or what I'm willing to risk, where my boundaries are, and then be happy however the chips fall.

It's me trying not to get in my own way.

competitive advantage

Being single for the first time in years has gotten me thinking about competitive advantage.

I've always figured my competitive advantage is the brains. There are a lot of hot girls in the world. And a fair number of cool ones, too. There are certainly many women who are nicer or sweeter than I am. It follows that I have generally been in relationships with men who prioritize for smarts and that those relationships tended toward the analytical.

It also follows that these dudes were not always particularly adept at appreciating other qualities in me or in life. But there's a lot else out there, and there's more to me. I usually consider myself a particular or acquired taste, and I realize there are many qualities people select for or are attracted to. Futhermore, there are other complicating factors: timing, life situation, geography.

For someone who is so preoccupied with considering her life right now, you'd think I'd have a better idea about my inidividual qualities--both positive and negative. But I'm also learning that I don't necessarily see myself as well as I perhaps once thought I did. 

I want to understand--what makes people like each other? What is it in particular that we each optimize for and when does it become not so much an intellectual exercise but an emotional one? Where is that tipping point?

That switch from weighing, evaluating, to just being--I love that--and I'm finding it's both easier and harder to accomplish as I get older.

wandering

I don't put too much stock in astrology, really. But I have always liked systems that are supposed to explain yourself to you.

As a cusp Sagitarius, I never understood what pop-astrologer meant by sign's wanderlust. Which, in retrsopective, is ridiculous. How many places have I lived in the past 10 years? How many moves have I made? That would be 6 and 11 (not including the apartments where I lived for less than three months).

It's funny, because I value the notion of home so much. I love going home, but I have also found a way to make many places home.

I wonder what it would be like to live someplace for more than two years. I wonder where I will be. There is so much choice! All I know: I don't want to be anywhere where I don't have at least one really good girlfriend to call at 10pm when all I want is to get a drink and dish.

Too bad

I had big plans for tonight.

It was almost worth it

To get to spend the afternoon at the pool. My bathing suit matches the
decor.

the power to unsettle

Why does this article still have the power to unsettle?

I gave up that dream a long time ago. I knew and know it wasn't the right one for me. I should be happy for others' success.

But it's still hard...it was once my dream.

[It may also be the competitor in me...]

the large hadron collider

The header picture is an image of the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, near Geneva, Switzerland.

I was first enamored with it years ago when I read about it in the same article that first enamored me of The New Yorker (both affections persist).

1. What an amazing name. Right? So evocative!
2. It is beautiful. I mean unbelievably beautiful. And it is designed to do the most complex difficult process on earth (split atoms).
3. The people working on it (profiled in The New Yorker) are just hilarious; or at least I recall them to be (then again, this may be mixed up with some terrible Dan Brown book I read that referenced CERN around this same time--fiction informs life).

The header image is pilfered from an amazing set of photos from The Boston Globe. There is something so majestic about this complex machine. And so so ambitious. I love when form follows function.

[I am still at work. I am checked out. I refuse to do more. Which literally means I am being held captive.]

too much beauty

One of my favorite Storypeople stories:

I have heard too much beauty to ever go back, he said & in that moment, I knew there was no way the children of our world would fail.

I have seen too much beauty to stay at work until 1am twice a week. It is like I am being held captive. I'm not sure this job is for me. Bring me back to beauty.