so as you can probably see from the new widget over yonder in the sidebar, i’ve been sucked into the world of twittering, tweets, and tweeple.

i’ve been reading a lot about social networking media lately: articles that posit their popularity is due to some kind of pathetic psychological transferrence mechanism and quest for identity; articles warning against the “dangers” of next generations losing social skills in real life; and articles that wonder what the fuss is about, and if it’s all just much ado about nothing.  after all – what’s so compelling about what someone had for dinner?

the thing is, they all miss the point.

i recently said the attraction to twitter rests largely on the notion that at any given point in time, what you’re doing is probably of interest to someone else.  somewhat narcissistic – but also true.  the reason twitter (and other networking media) are so successful, so addictive, is precisely because they allow people to share the boring minutia of their lives, with everyone else who’s also living out the boring minutia of their lives.   think about your friends – when you talk on the phone or get together for coffee, you don’t analyse sartre, or ponder the larger mysteries of life.  what you do is share the minutia of your lives – you bond over teething babies, and silly office politics, and pet care.  and in many ways the more you know about the mundane intimacies of someone’s daily life, the closer you feel.  reading about someone’s root canal on the internet is really only one step removed from talking about it on the phone.  except that the internet allows you to share this experience with people you might not ever get a chance to meet in real life.  it broadens your ability to connect to people, rather than narrowing it.  if i were restricted to talking about the start of baseball’s pre-season with people i met in real life here in london (who in general neither no nor care about baseball), i’d feel incredibly isolated.  yet i can send out a tweet to the world at large that says “baseball’s preseason starts today, woot!” and get an answer from someone who has the same interests.  and that may lead to talking about our favourite teams – or it may not.

because in essence, the explosion of social networking media has turned the world into a giant cocktail party.  you mingle, you chat, you move on.  and like any cocktail party, there will be some wallflowers, and some social butterflies, and a lot of people in between.  no one would advise spending your whole *life* in a virtual cocktail party, but in reality, few people ever do.  in other words, it is what you make of it – it can be light fun, it can be business networking.. or it can lead to real friendships, with real people. and far from being scary, there can be real value in that.

just watch out for the loud drunken guy wearing a tie around his forehead and doing the macarena, and you’ll be alright

(postscript: literally, as i was finishing writing this, russell brand tweeted, “twittering is the new wanking.”  never let it be said i didn’t present an alternative point of view! )

private message – weezer

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

i watched revolutionary road last evening. it portrays the quiet small time dramas of a young, ambitious couple who find themselves smashed up against the limitations of the settled life, and chafing against both the restrictions of circumstance, and the traditional expectations of traditional society.

for the couple who live on revolutionary road, they get caught in the web of the trappings of suburbia that smother the life out of their hearts’ aspirations. they consider themselves different, special – and yet, seven years later realise how common and dull they’ve become.  they discover the ugliness the belies the appearance of perfection: that so many of us invest ourselves in the pretense of happiness, the shellac of smile…all the while searching for answers, a different version of reality we hope to find in someone or someplace else. hoping that with enough energy behind the lies, with enough paint on the facade and alcohol to dull the pain, we can turn the lies into truth.

and yet, like crabs in a pot, what frightens us most is when others come close to realising their dreams – because the strength of their conviction only highlights the fragility of our own.

i found myself wound up in the story, identifying so strongly with those longings for escape and those feelings of struggle and panic that find you beating your fists against the invisible walls that box you in. because while for many people, families and houses and security are their version of the american dream, i’ve never wanted any of that. the serene and placid lives in the chocolate box houses on revolutionary road are the stuff of my nightmares, and the existence which the wife finds so soul-deadening would make me want to flee for my life.

this is my greatest fear: that i too, could somehow unknowingly find myself trapped in a life of my own making. that i too, could wake up one day and wonder where all my hopes have gone. it sounds terribly melodramatic, but i have this impulse to pre-emptively rail against expectations because i dread one day wondering if this is all there is, and didn’t i always want something more out of life? i am terrified of leading a life of quiet desperation.

in the end, she takes the only avenue of escape left to her – she is determined to have her freedom at any price.

and i never, ever want to feel that way. but given her choice, her life, i imagine i’d do the same.

death cab for cutie – cath…

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

today was a day of organising and decluttering, long overdue. those who’ve been to our flat in person will find it hard to believe – because our place is so small, we’re constantly tidying up. and yet, look below the surface clean, and there is chaos.

it’s so strange to me, this instinctive human impulse for accumulation – in spite of all our best efforts, we acquire layers of possessions, nests of debris. like shed skins, we pile up these papers and mementos, tchotchke, odds and ends, bits and bobs. things past usage, things saved for future. piles of bills, old cds, random wires, singular socks, wrapping paper, plastic bags. spatula handles, popped lightbulbs, class notebooks, cat fur, bedraggled scarves, important newspaper clippings. stray mints, plug adapters, lip balm, couch cushion change, empty shampoo bottles, dead plant leaves, damp towels.

i’ve completely purged my belongings twice in the last 6 years. and yet somehow, i have so much *stuff*.

i have a theory that most people can be categorised as “savers” or “throwers”, and that the two types tend to end up pairing off in couples. i am a thrower, j is a saver. between us, somehow we strike a kind of uneasy balance.

and yet, even as ruthless as i can be about getting rid of random *things*, they collect. they gather in the back of drawers and closets. they pool in the hidden corners of the room, conglomerating through the magnetic attraction of dust and static. creating small planets of mass which exert a gravitational force on other free-floating loose ends. gradually intruding ever so stealthily on the clean, open spaces. the accretion of detritus, cluttering up the fringes of everything.

until i can stand it no more, and am forced to spend the entire day with shredders, brooms and bins, scouring the dark nooks and crannies, mercilessly cleansing and exorcising. and then the cycle begins again.

zookeeper – i live in the mess you are

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

“If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”

I’ll admit to being a bit overcome with emotion as I watched Barack Obama stand on the steps of the Capitol and take the oath of office yesterday.  But even through the tears, I, along with everyone else, was taking mental notes on what he said.  Here then, is what stood out to me from the inaugural address of the man who is now the 44th President of the United States .

“We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and nonbelievers.”

I can’t remember the last time I heard a political speech in America which explicitly acknowledged atheists. Time and time again, (and particularly so in the past eight years as fundamentalists held positions of power), we “nonbelievers” have had God and religion and prayer shoved down our throats.  The curtain separating church and state in the US has become threadbare and all but a thin wisp of a notion in many places.  References to America and God go hand in hand, to the point where it’s nearly impossible to mention one without in the same breath mentioning the other.

And yet, though lots of good people do not believe in any “higher power”, we’re seen as a freakish anomaly, and less “American” than properly godfearing citizens.  How dare we postulate that the bountiful wealth and strength of our country is anything other than pre-ordained?  How dare we insist on removing the ten commandments tablets from state buildings, or prevent the bible club from meeting during school hours?  What’s the harm in teaching “intelligent design” alongside evolution?  And our refusal to say the “under god” in the pledge of allegiance is seen as practically a slap in the face.  For many people of faith, atheism the antithesis of patriotism.   For politicians, then, when grappling with the thorny issues presented by a national constitution with a prohibition on federally endorsed religion, and a citizenry who are largely religious… well, it’s much easier to pretend we don’t even exist.  Which means that every single time a politician says America is a nation of many faiths, they leave out a whole segment of the population by omission.  So that shout out is particularly welcome; a reminder that we’re Americans too – and no less than the President says so.

“…we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals”.

I literally leapt up and shouted “yes!!” when I heard him say this.  Too long we’ve been told that we had to surrender our domestic civil liberties, and sacrifice our innate human rights in order to secure peace.   Too long, we’ve been submissive to invasion of our personal privacy, and the erosion in our collective consciousness of that bright, clear line dividing right from wrong.   Too long we’ve been fed that false dichotomy: you’re either with us, or you’re against us.   A new leader is calling “bullshit” on all of that, and acknowledging out loud, for the other leaders of the world to hear, that we can no longer hypocritically stand on principle while taking the shortcuts around the moral high ground.   More than that, “ America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.” We know we’ve effed up.  We know we can’t achieve peace by acting unilaterally.  We’re starting over.

“This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.”

There, then, is the race issue in a nutshell.   His campaign was in large part successful because it transcended race – but people in America were craving a direct acknowledgement of the profundity of this moment in history.  An acknowledgement of the efforts of those who came before, that made this moment, *his moment*, possible.   A hearkening back to those who, “for us… endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.”  That his presidency is a symbol of “what free men and women can achieve”.  He never had to say he was the first black president – the monuments he stood in front of said that.  But it was monumentally important that he acknowledge it.  With deftness and grace, he did.

“To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you … we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders.”

And finally, a president that understands and takes to heart, the concept of noblesse oblige.  (For those that thought Obama was a socialist, that should send them into a right tizzy!)  That isolationism hurts us as well as them, and that in the age of globalisation, we are all interdependent upon each other.  There is no longer “first world” and “third world” societies – there are only developed and under-developed countries.  We with “relative plenty” have both a moral and self-serving imperative to help those who do not.

Wow.  Can you believe we actually elected such a man?

Yes, it is, after all, just a speech – what is delivered remains to be seen as he undertakes the most difficult job on the planet.   Even if he falls short, he has lofty aim.   But when you stand up before the world and set out your intentions – the benchmark against which history will ultimately judge you – you’d best be clear about what you’re standing for.  And by that measure, he has set high standards.

Let’s hope the next four years measure up.

Like this post

Unlike

the other day i was chatting with my new boss, and happened to mention my ex-husband.  she was surprised to learn that i’d been married before, but even more so that i was proud of having been divorced.  it may sound strange to hear someone use the word “proud” in relation to having been divorced, but it’s the only way to describe how i’ve come to feel about it.

g and i got together in 1991 when we were both 19.  we got engaged after only a few short weeks of knowing each other, but didn’t actually get married until 5 years later.  i was 24.  four years later, we were divorced.  i was 28, and we’d been together nearly one-third of my life.  we parted as friends who still cared about each other, but we went our separate ways.  he took the cats and i kept the dog.

what went wrong?  the old cliche  – we were too young when we got together, and we grew up to be different people than we’d expected.  it was no one’s fault -though i was the one who initiated the divorce- but that didn’t make it any less painful.  my parents had divorced very bitterly after 20 years of marriage, and i had sworn that would never happen to me.  i would never get divorced.  i would never allow my marriage to crumble.

and yet it did.  no amount of therapy or force of will could stop it – we changed, and our relationship changed.  as committed as we were to staying together, we couldn’t make it work.  it felt like a deeply personal failure.

and that’s exactly how i viewed it initially: a colossal failure.  i’d chosen wrong.  i’d been unable to fix it.  i’d wasted 9 years of my life.  i’d invested 9 years in something which was fundamentally broken, then had nothing to show for it except heartache and a decree absolute.  i was desolate.

and then at my 30th birthday, something shifted.  g came to my birthday party as a surprise, and brought me a lovely kaleidoscope as a gift, knowing that i collected them.  i remember looking at him thinking: this is a good man, someone kind and caring.  after everything we’ve been through, how could i say my time with him was wasted?  for nearly nine years, i’d loved him and he’d loved me – how could i ever consider that a failure?  expressing regret was like wishing i hadn’t had that experience.  and while there were some unhappy times, there was a lot of good, too – memories that i wouldn’t trade for anything.  and even for all the pain of our breakup, there was also a strength that i’d found that i didn’t know i had.  how could i possibly be sorry for any of that?

it was a turning point.  for the first time, i was able to shed the shame i’d associated with being divorced, the guilt that i’d been carrying around that somehow i hadn’t been a good enough wife to make it work.  the fear that i was faulty and doomed to loneliness.  granting myself that acceptance allowed me to let go of the sadness and bitterness.  i began instead to think of my relationship (and its end) in term of the lessons i’d learned about myself and marriage, and not just about the mistakes i’d made.  i began to measure the growth i’d gone through – i’d figured out so much about who i was, and who i wanted to be.  more than that, i was able to acknowledge that my relationship with g had had a profound impact on me – that those years and experiences were a part of me that i could not, and did not want to, divorce myself from.  they made up part of who i was – and when it came down to it, i really liked who i was.

eight years later, g and i are still in touch to this day.  he’s engaged to be remarried, and i’ve been remarried for a few years now.  i credit much of the solidity of my current relationship to what i learned from being with g – and in that way, i view my first marriage as a success.  we may not have been right for each other, but i am glad for the years that we were together, because both our marriage and our divorce truly did make me a better person.  and so i say these days that i am proud to be divorced.  while i wouldn’t wish for anyone else to have to go through it, ultimately it was good for both of us.

we didn’t fail at marriage – we succeeded at finding a new future that was right for us.  as corny as that may sound, i wouldn’t have it any other way.

wolf parade – grounds for divorce

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

today is the fifth anniversary of jen’s den, and i’m probably more surprised than anyone.

given the number of short-lived, aborted blogs floating around the ether, blog years have become a bit like dog years.  in the five years since i first began writing this shortly after i returned to the uk for the long-term, i’ve seen two presidential elections, two red sox championships, two family weddings (including my own), and the birth of a new niece.  i’ve been around the world, walked on hot coals, fallen in love, become a dual citizen, jumped off a bridge, and had three jobs.  in many ways, i created a new life for myself from scratch, one that i’m happy to say is full beyond measure.  and i chronicled much of it here.

a project that started out as a whim, has grown into a repository for so much of the most important stuff in my life.   my imagination, my experiences, my disappointments and fears.  whenever something good or bad happens in my life, i immediately turn to share it in this place and space.

this blog has become an archive of many of the things and thoughts that matter most to me.  the more i add, the richer and more cherished it becomes.

important things happened before i started this blog, and important things will happen long after it ceases.  but in the here and now, this is my record.  if i were to die tomorrow, there would be friends and family to tell their stories of this time.   but this, this is mine.

and that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things – but it has come to matter an awful lot to me.

everything absent or distorted – a form to accommodate the mess

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

with only 18 days to go, i’m having a hard time getting into the christmas spirit.

i’ve written in years past how my mum set quite a high bar when it came to celebrating.  when i was recently home visiting, my brother brought out a bunch of pictures from when we were kids.  year after year, through different decades and different haircuts, in front of different trees opening different presents, those pictures reflected a special kind of happiness that christmas brought.  in many ways, the christmases of my childhood were pretty idyllic. and even well into my twenties, christmas still had that patina of wonder.  pine scented, glowing, moving.  with my birthday falling on christmas, that importance was multiplied.

which is why it’s so dispiriting that in recent years, it’s been so difficult for me to enjoy. it started with my move over here, and seems to get worse with each season.  it gets harder and harder to immerse myself in the cheer, to allow myself to get caught up in the festive mood.

a large part of it has to do with the fact that the deep sense of peace and joy that the holiday used to bring me, has been lost since i suddenly found myself an atheist.  whatever connection i felt with a greater universal energy was abruptly severed a few years ago, and i no longer get that stirring emotional response to the spiritual chords of the season.  i still enjoy the traditions and themes of christmas, but not with the intensity and inner reverence i used to feel.  i miss that.  without it, the tree and gifts and food all feel rather more shallow.  and no matter how i try, i can’t shake that surface tension.  at times, i feel a bit numb to it all – then sad for the numbness.  but the more i try to fake it, the paler it all seems, and the bright images fade like old photographs.

it doesn’t help that jonno never really celebrated christmas much as a kid, so my attempts to recapture the enthusiasm i used to feel are mostly lost on him.  i try to get him to participate in the things that are important to me like trimming the tree, or playing christmas music – and he’ll take part trying to humour me, but i find myself continually disappointed because i know in my heart that he’s just mimicking what i want to see.  i want it to *mean* something to him, because it means something to me.  and the fact that it doesn’t isn’t his fault, or due to any lack of trying on his part.  but it’s disheartening nonetheless, because it never really satisfies – i want depth and poignancy and schmaltzy sentimentality.  and instead we go through the motions, with me desperately hoping that if it looks right, maybe it will start to feel right.

and then there’s the expat factor.  while the uk loves christmas, none of their traditions really resonate with me.  i don’t care much about the queen’s speech, or the christmas number one, or going to the pub on christmas eve.  i don’t care much about christmas crackers and yorkshire puddings, and if i hear slade or the pogues one more time, i’ll go mad.  all the things that used to get me in the spirit are missing here.  charlie brown specials and candy canes and bing crosby and santa shaped sugar cookies and snow and garlands of cranberries are all missing.  i know it sounds trivial, but these things trigger something inside.  because even if i can no longer feel any connection to the spiritual, i still have a wellspring of memories to draw from – yet when nothing is the same, you can’t just tap into that on demand.

all of which adds up to a big giant “meh” so far this year.

i long for that feeling of joy and wonder again.  yet i’ve learned through experience that you can’t manufacture it through carols or tinsel.  so in deciding to go to morocco this year, where christmas isn’t even largely celebrated, i guess i’m giving myself permission to let go of expectation, to stop trying.  perhaps in the future, that feeling will return.  or maybe the holiday will become something new and different for me.

i don’t know.  i just know that as hard as it is to let go of something that was once so important to me, it’s harder still to let it become diminished by trying to cling to the past.

departure lounge – christmas downer

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

this must be the newest stage of expatting. the stage where you stop trying to replicate what you’d do at home (and never really coming close enough to satisfy anyway) and just do something completely different instead.

tomorrow is thanksgiving in the states. brits here have a hard time comprehending the importance of this holiday, but it’s one of my favourites because it remains relatively “pure” – family, friends and food. it’s not yet been turned into an obligatory gift-giving occasion, or wholly commercial enterprise. and while the roots do, of course, harken back to a time when we mistreated and exploited the people and land that were here first (and in many ways still do), the theme of the holiday itself is about gratitude for what we have in our present day lives.

we cannot change the past, nor predict the future – but here and now, on this one day, if we have people in our lives that we love, and enough food to fill our bellies for this meal, then that is something to be grateful for. if you believe in a god, then you give thanks to that god. if you believe in mother earth, then you give thanks to her. if you simply believe in family and friends, then you give thanks to them for their presence in your life.

nothing more is required – a meal shared with loved ones, and thanks. so simple, yet so profound. it’s that which i love most about thanksgiving, but is so difficult to communicate to those that haven’t grown up with it.

each year here so far, i have been lucky enough to have fellow americans join me in my celebration. people who “get it”, who understand the emotion that thanksgiving conveys, and how difficult it is to be far away on a day when others are drawing near. and there’s a shared acknowledgement that while we try to recreate the holiday in our own way as best we can, we also know that it is never going to be quite right, simply because we are here… and so many of our loved ones are there. people back in the u.s. are coming together, and we are far away.

this year, through a variety of circumstances, the thanksgiving meal with fellow americans just isn’t going to happen. i thought about moving the date around, or trying to change the venue… but in the end, i decided to stop trying to put a square peg into a round hole. it’s never going to be right, because it’s just not right. i’m here, and they are there. it’s an american holiday, and i live in the u.k.

so we’re going out. to an american themed restaurant, that promises turkey and pumpkin pie and football and sam adams beer.

i used to think that going to a restaurant for t-day was sacrilege. but i think i’ve finally come to the realisation that no matter how i juggle the turkey and side dishes in a teeny british oven, no matter how i search out the traditional tinned pumpkin and cranberries and stovetop stuffing, no matter how many americans i gather together to celebrate with, no matter how hard i try to make everything the same as it would be back home, thanksgiving will never be the same, because it’s different here. my life is different here. and somehow this year it seems fitting to finally embrace that by doing something different. maybe i should be depressed about that, but somehow, i find myself relieved – like i’ve finally given myself permission to be okay with it all.

so i’ll be sitting in bodean’s tomorrow evening, with loved ones, a meal, and thanks.

in the true spirit of the holiday, nothing else is required.

Like this post

Unlike

when i was home visiting, i spoke to my uncle bob on the phone. i hadn’t spoken to him in a few years and he immediately said, “wow, you sound really british.” while no brit would ever mistake me for british, i am aware that to many americans, i now sound rather foreign. funny then, that during that same visit, particularly around my brother who has a very pronounced boston-area accent, i found myself elongating my a’s and slipping off r’s. even stranger since, despite growing up in the area, i never had a real boston accent to begin with.

for those who don’t know me well, i suppose it all this sounds deliberately put on, like i’ve made a conscious effort to change the way i speak or appropriate dialect. in fact, nothing could be further from the truth; i have always slid easily into regional accents, slang and mannerisms, without any purposeful effort at all – and sometimes in spite of attempts not to. i can’t help it, it seems – i just absorb them without trying or thinking, for better or for worse.

my speech has gone through several incarnations because of this. as a young adult while in university for a couple of years in montreal, my speech noticably became flatter, more enunciated, and i incorporated the everpresent “eh?” into my daily lingo. (all these years later, i still say it far too frequently!) then after spending the next seven years in new york, my speaking mannerisms became a bit harsher, a touch more nasal, and definitively louder with a tiny dash of abruptness. even now, i continue to say things like “can i get” or “lemme have” as a shortcut for asking politely. after leaving new york and moving back to boston for four years, i eased back into some of the familiar sounds of my childhood – loose vowels and overemphasised ah’s with scattered r’s in strange places. though i’ve never “pahked the cah in hahvad yahd”, i’ve been guilty of slinging around the ocassional dropped ending and subbing d sounds for t sounds. and now, after being in london for nearly six years, i have inculcated the pointedly sharp t’s and sing-songy inflections of british speech, along with a penchant for using the word “sorry” nearly every other second of the day, describing even the most superlative things as “nice”, and phrasing negatives like “did you not?” instead of “you didn’t?”.

what do i sound like now? a strange mish-mash of all of the above. i’ve retained certain elements of all the places i’ve lived, and as a result sound like nowhere i’ve lived. i’m a melange of indistinct accents, peculiar vocabulary and odd cadence. i’m a syntactical mutt with wierd articulation. i can be halfway through a sentence and accidentally say “elevator” even when i have only said “lift” for years. i go back to the u.s. and have to eliminate “queue” from my brain, but still slip up with “car park” and putting “tit” in the middle of everything (”lovely day, isn’t it“?) i am both overly abrupt and overly polite at the same time. and throughout it all, i constantly use “eh?” as if it were a form of punctuation.

so when uncle bob said, “you sound british”, i had to laugh. i do sound british…and also bostonian, canadian and new yorker. all the places i’ve lived have left their mark on me in more ways than one, and i love them all for different reasons. i wouldn’t trade any piece of my life away, and they’ve all profoundly influenced the person i’ve become.

it’s my own unique version of a native tongue – a linguistic reflection of who i am and where i’ve been, every time i open my mouth.

school of language – rockist part 1

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

in elementary schools all across america, we ask our children what they want to be when they grow up. we encourage them to dream big. we tell them they can be anything. we tell them they can be president of the united states.

last night for the first time ever, that became truth – for every child.

i was celebrating with a dear friend that i’d also celebrated the turn of the millennium with. she reminded me how on that hopeful morning, with a new dawn breaking, a small group of us climbed to one of the highest points in boston. we stood looking out over the cold city, and we read a poem to mark the occasion, to signify that we were witness to something momentous.

yet for some moments in history, even the most expansive breadth of our language cannot quite encompass it all. last night, there were no words. only jubilant, exhilarating hope mixed with tears. lots of tears.

but this morning, with a new dawn breaking, that same poem seems to fit once again. if there are words that can capture this moment, surely they are these.

THE ROCK CRIES OUT TO US TODAY
(Maya Angelou – 1993 Clinton Inaugural Poem)

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers–
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot…
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours–your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes,
Into your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Like this post

Unlike

running along, i feel compelled to stop and pick them up, glossy and perfect, littered as they are across the pavement, celebratory confetti rained down from the broad branches above.

i can’t help myself. even as a kid, i used to collect them every autumn. line them up to decorate the rungs of my bunkbed. fresh out of their shell, they’re so tactile – the burled skin as slipperysmooth satiny as sleek polished marble, shining brightly like wet lacquer. so smooth they almost feel moist to the touch. the warm brown marbling giving a deep resinous glow, like antique wood. i used to oil and burnish them to a high sheen, then arrange them with care – a plethora of nut tchotcke festooning all the ledges and sills.

even now i am drawn to them. holding one as i run, feeling the satisfying weight of it, caressing the soft smoothness with my thumb, like a worry stone. inexplicably soothing to the touch.

they will soon shrivel and dry and lose their lustre, roll off into the gutters and cracks, and winter will come. but for now, they glitter against the bright autumn leaves underfoot, little golden embers winking at me invitingly, as i pass by.

the acorn – dents

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

believe it or not, once upon a time, i was actually stylish. living in new york kind of forces it upon you – in a city chockablock with model/actresses-in-waiting waiting tables, artists looking to make their indelible mark, rich sophisticates, and teen rebels without a cause, you have to find your own way to stand out from the crowd. there’s a creative energy that seeps into your skin.

and so being a twenty-something gen-xer at the centre of (then) fashion universe, it was impossible not to feel inspired to try new things and different looks. mind you, i was often more concerned with looking unique than with looking *good*, but i was rocking early-alternative tattoos, piercings and multi-coloured hair long before they became de riguer for indie-wannabes. the fashions were atrocious, of course, but they were playful and, who cared if i looked silly, because at least i looked different. i wasn’t trying to be cutting edge, so much as avoid blending into the sea of millions around me. suddenly spending more money and time than you would have thought possible with a head full of bleach and a closet full of accessories seemed like a way to tell the world something about who i was. being twenty-something, it’s like some genetic switch gets flipped – not only is it expected that you will try to break the mold, it’s almost a biological imperative.

these days, though, it all seems so much harder. i see kids with their hideous puffy high top trainers, carefully sculpted hair, and ridiculous white plastic sunglasses, and they look so *tired*. like those throwback ray bans are covering dark circles under their eyes. i want to give them a hug and tell them, “hey, we lived through day glo precisely so you wouldn’t have to!”. i read about hipsters who reject labels like cool even as they desperately seek to *be cool*, yet find themselves always trying to stay one step ahead of that catch-22… of being too cool to yet be considered cool (and therefore immediately becoming uncool). trying to always be a trendsetter even as that same trend is blowing up into a phenomenon twenty seconds behind you.

the articles say things like:

An artificial appropriation of different styles from different eras, the hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture lost in the superficiality of its past and unable to create any new meaning. Not only is it unsustainable, it is suicidal.

it all looks and sounds like exhausting work. and when fashion becomes unfun, what’s the point?

yet, you *have* to be part of it when you’re young – rarely can one deliberately abstain from being caught up in the culture of their era, the treadmill of continually creating and discarding the norms which will come to define you and your cohorts long after you become boring fuddy-duddies like every generation before you. it’s a necessary part of the ritual of growing up.

and so i feel sorry for those kids i see, with the “members only” jackets, the skinny jeans, the long, weary faces. having to constantly remake yourself afresh takes a lot of energy, and i feel sorry that they have to put in so much more effort than i ever did.

mostly, though, i feel sorry that (if what i witnessed in gap the other day is anything to go by) they’re doomed to repeat the tragic error that was pleat-front jeans.

of montreal – suffer for fashion

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

j and i watched “the wackness” last night. set in nyc in 1994, the plot centres around the relationship between a newly-graduated, dope-dealing teen, and his dope-smoking, bipolar psychiatrist as they both grapple with the disillusionment and angst of growing up.

but as intriguing as this unusual pretext is, what really made me fall for this movie was the backdrop. from the first dropped beat, the music transported me straight back to a time when new york was the detonation point for the culture bomb that was rap/hip-hop. biggie smalls, wu tang, tribe called quest, krs-one… those formed the soundtrack of some of the best years of my life. in 1994 nyc, i was completely saturated with the haze of 40 oz malt liquors and blunts, the insistent vibe of bumpin’ rooftop parties and bass-heavy hip hop, the raw edge of scraping by and living cheap, and the pure adrenaline of being young and alive and in love in the greatest city in the world.

it was absolute intoxication, an irreplicable speedball concoction. and like any drug, that space and place and time brought some of the highest highs, and lowest lows – yet through it all, only the music and friends and dreams mattered. boiled down to the bare essentials as you can only live when you’re 22, the distillation of that experience changed me completely and turned my heart and head inside out. i would live in new york for many more years before moving on, but none was more seminal than that.

singing along, the music in the film resonates deeply – but at the end what the viewer finds is that, in spite of all the strange characters, “the wackness” is, at its core, a classic coming of age story.

and new york in 1994 was mine.

notorious b.i.g. – juicy

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

i recently caught up with some old friends on facebook. they’re friends from back in a time when we were living 5 to a flat (8 with significant others) in brooklyn, new york. early twenties, finishing university, working, partying, creating art, paying bills, owning pets, getting married. we we so certain that we had arrived as adults. no one could tell us any different.

we drifted, as young friends do. life takes you down divergent paths and you wind up places you never could have expected – as much as folk try to warn you that *you too* are fallible, you never believe it will happen to you. there is a certainty and hardheadedness that comes with that age, a kind of protective bravado that sweeps you along in its inexorable current.

inevitably, of course, things change. relationships crumble. you make costly mistakes borne of inexperience. jobs dead-end, distances grow and friendships fade. if your early twenties are all about bravado, your mid-twenties are about learning the painful lessons that come when the shield of invincibility falls away.

and here we find ourselves now, more than ten years since last speaking. most settled, with ties to homes and families and careers. solidly mid-thirties and heading upward – a little thicker in the middle, a lot more staid. it’s humbling to see just how human we all turned out to be, how very ordinary. in those heady years, we passionately believed we would be the ones to set the world on fire. bright, young and blazing – how could we not?

but for all the days that have passed since then, as much we’ve left behind, i can’t help but feel we’ve gained more than we lost. for along with the extra padding on our bones, we’ve gained experience, and with the healthy sprinkling of grey hairs, comes stability and perspective. our certainty is that of wisdom, our settling that of maturity. looking back, i think we’re all much happier now than we could have ever hoped to be back then.

our younger selves would have derided the us of today, would have sneered at this post.

but what the hell did they know anyway?

peter bjorn and john – young folks

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

it always kicks in about this time of year, like clockwork. triggered by cooler mornings and shortening evenings – perhaps a little earlier this year as the summer has come crashing to a wet and chilly end – my stomach fills with longing for my new england autumn. *my* new england autumn – it is embedded in my bones and sinew, as much a part of my dna as my brown eyes. that ache rises within me like a swelling tide, in rhythm with the wax and wane of the harvest moon. it pulls on me, tugs on the ties of my heart that cross the ocean like long distance telephone wires, anchoring deep in chilled beach dunes and jewel-coloured woods. anchoring in the smell of crisp leaves underfoot and bonfire smoke. anchoring in the deep golden sunlight playing off the water. those visceral sense memories… i close my eyes and the waves of yearning for home wash over me, saturate me, and i spill over.

regina spektor – the call

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

today has been one of those days when i just want to be anywhere but here. that itch – that incipient compulsion to *change* that cannot and will not be ignored – has begun to crawl beneath the skin. at a certain point, once the idea of change has gained purchase and taken root, it only becomes more and more insistent – twitching at the edges of consciousness, presenting its shimmering mirage of alternatives every time frustration and annoyance arise. “this is what *could* be, if only…” and in comparison to the dream, everyday reality becomes even more disappointing, becoming a looping cycle which only amplifies itself, like feedback from a microphone. until finally, you have to just yank the plug.

the dream is never as dreamy as imagined, of course. but try telling that to the heartsick and weary soul looking for escape. i live in one of the biggest, most vibrant capitals in the world. yet every day, i feel myself retreating from this city – mentally and physically. more and more often, I find myself happy only when curled up at home, with my husband, in our cozy flat, with our cozy cat. and that’s fine every once in a while – but it’s no way to live.

for a long time now, i’ve held the practical plans of our projected move at bay, content merely to know that it was going to happen at some unspecified point in the future. no longer. j has enrolled us in french classes, our savings is slowly growing, the cat has an appointment for a microchip, and i’m ready to do whatever is necessary to bring this about as soon as possible.

some internal tipping point has been reached. let’s get this show on the road.

frisbie – let’s get started

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

i’m a champion of the underdog.

i’m not quite sure how or why this came to be, but it’s indisputably true. it’s part of my fibre. if there’s a no-hope candidate, i’ll vote for it. if there’s a lame horse, i’ll bet on it. if there’s a sure-fire losing proposition, i’ll back it all the way.

i was thinking about this at work the other day. i’ve recently changed jobs, from a chronically underfunded, overburdened inner city one, to a full-coffers, white upper class, leafy suburban one. as part of my new starter intro, i had to attend a corporate induction, where they paraded in a few veeps to talk about the corporate “profile”. and when they started talking about how little grant money they get from central government, i could barely hold back a guffaw. when they started talking about “pockets of deprivation”, i nearly laughed out loud.

and i realised that the reason i have a hard time taking such hardship claims seriously is because i identify so strongly with the underdog. organisations trying to achieve so much more, with so much less. teams who have to surmount huge obstacles just to get on the same playing field as everyone else. people who face the kind of daily challenges most of us never encounter. they’re the ones i always gravitate towards and ally myself with. perhaps it comes from a childhood where i was always the last selected for the side, always the quiet overlooked one, always the one left out, left behind. after all – there’s no one else who knows better how it feels to be lonely in a sea of people, than someone who’s been there.

it’s a theme that permeates all areas of my life – from the political causes i identify with, to the sports teams i support. i’ve invested years of emotions rooting for a baseball team that was synonymous with “runner up”. when i went to the animal shelter, it was only the dog with the bum leg and medical problems that i wanted. i drifted into a career in a field working for some of the most ignored and devalued members of our society. there’s no coincidence there.

so it should come as no surprise that the olympics play upon my bleeding heart tendencies. i vividly remember the performances of Eric Moussambani, the jamaican bobsled team, and even “eddie the eagle”. if there’s an athelete who hasn’t a prayer of winning, but has the courage and spirit to show up anyway, you can bet i’m behind them.

and so it was yesterday, when jonno and i found ourselves watching the lowly ranked kerry lee harrington from south africa, against the number 8th ranked badminton player in the world. it was one of the first qualifying rounds – inconsequential, really. the result was a foregone conclusion, 21-4 21-4. but somewhere in there was a 41 second rally – a stretch where ms. harrington ran down every shuttlecock in every corner, returned every shot her opponent threw at her, and left it all out there on the court. we were on the edge of our seats, willing her to win at least this one hard-fought point.

she lost it, of course.

but for a brief moment, it almost seemed like the force of our wishing could make it so.

that’s the love of the underdog. siding with the let down and left out. taking on the unpromising odds and seeing them through. celebrating the small personal triumphs in the face of overwhelming defeat. and sometimes, wishing for the impossible.

i don’t think i’d trade it for all the gold medals in the world.

spoon – the underdog

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

it’s funny that even after all this time, i can still be surprised by the little things that make the u.k. different.

for example the other day i used the phrase “it’s like comparing apples and oranges”… only to be told that the customary phrase here is “apples and pears”. how did i not know that? how did people not tell me? i must’ve said it a million times before, and nobody thought to mention.

yesterday, someone described themself as a “data entry clerk”… only they pronounced it “clark”. how could i have gone all this time without having heard that word spoken? yet i’ve known for a long time that they pronounce the word “derby” as “darby”, so it shouldn’t have been such a shock. but what i was astounded by most was the fact that such a common word had somehow escaped my notice for so long.

like some sort of alien, or person living in a bubble, these things are as new to me as if i’d just got off the plane.

and the not-infrequent usage of racial terminology that is (generously) considered archaic and (less charitably) ignorant or insensitive still blows me away. my hyperawareness of all things race-related – a truly american trait if there ever was one – has not yet dulled, though by now i should be used to some of this stuff. just today, in fact, in an official training for my new job, the trainer used the common-but-grating term “chinese whispers”; this is what americans would call the game “telephone” or “gobbledygook” to describe when people miscommunicate, but the phrase “chinese whispers” really pretty insulting if you stop to think about it. i’ve heard it lots, and it still never fails to make me wince.

but you could have knocked me over with a feather when he later said, “of Negro descent” to describe black people. i mean, i was truly *agog*.

and for the record, there were no black or chinese participants in that particular workshop session.

(i did make a point of writing on my course evaluation form that the instructor should probably refrain from using such terminology in the future, and that while i’m sure he didn’t intend to cause offense, he should be aware that some might find it inappropriate. as a representative of the local authority, he should be more careful about such things.)

sometimes i really do feel like i’m from another planet. after more than five years, that i’m still so surprised, is in-and-of itself… well, surprising. i get the feeling that if i were to be here for another 20, i’d still be discovering new things and remarking on oddities. because i will still be the new one, the odd one. it interjects a startling moment into what would be an otherwise routine day – i don’t think i’ll ever get used to that.

this expat life is sometimes funny, sometimes shocking, always weird.

dr. dog – ain’t it strange

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

i recently finished a book called children of the revolution, by dinaw mengestu. it turned out to be one of those books that i began to ration towards the end, wanting to draw out the last pages, prolonging the ache…that deep down ache of an expat that comes from being a square peg in a round hole. the protagonist of the book is an ethiopian refugee who has spent 17 years living in the u.s. – to all eyes outwardly assimilated, but unable to find the settled peace that comes with truly being at home. the unease of always being the outsider caught between two worlds, belonging fully to neither, stuck in a perpetual limbo… he captures it here brilliantly, in all its sad beauty.

over at nicole’s blog, she talks about the range of mixed feelings that come with being an american who no longer fits in america, someone who can no longer call the place where they were born “my country”, and the muddle of emotions that comes with that love/hate relationship.

and i found myself saying: being an expat is a bit like being a war veteran – no one ever tells you when you leave, that you really can never go home again. not as the same person, anyway.

we are, and forever will be, changed by the shift in perspective that stepping permanently outside our country of origin brings. and because of that, we can never see it or love it in quite the same way again.

no one ever tells you that – and you probably wouldn’t believe them if they did.

Like this post

Unlike

woke up today with the strangest feeling in my stomach – a gnawing sense of purposelessness. my first day of unemployment, and i couldn’t even bring myself to have a lie in.

instead, i filled my day with errands and phone calls and cleaning. the kind of cleaning you never really have time for – re-organising drawers, sorting through old clothes and shoes, and cleaning my jewellery. (how strange, i just typed and re-typed that word, but it still looked weird…turns out, the american english version, “jewelry” now looks too odd to my eyes. go figure.)

going through my jewellery always makes me a bit wistful because it so tangibly reflects different periods in my life. my jewellery is so readily demarcated by age and personal era. my turquoise collection is from my late teens, my amber from my early twenties, my garnets from my later twenties, my peridot and glass beads from my early thirties – the infatuation with different stones paralleling different phases of where and who i was in life at that time.

stirring through all these pieces also stirs up memories of relationships. more than most other objects, jewellery is so often a physical representation of the emotional ties we once had. the gifts of past lovers, long lost friends, family members now gone, their history now memorialised by the holding onto. the pink heart earrings that were a valentine’s day gift. the grandchildren’s charm bracelet. the gold wedding ring from a dissolved marriage. the silver bangle from my foreign exhange parents. the garnet ring i exchanged with my lost friend beth. the amber earrings from my university girlfriend. no longer jewellery i wear, but mementos of the past that i can’t bring myself to part with.

intermingled with them are the loved treasures of those still much missed. the miniscule diamond from my brother’s first christmas. the coyote pendant my dad gave me when i left home. the souvenirs from cambodia, new orleans, amsterdam. the coveted kaleidoscope necklace from my mum for my birthday. the tin bubblegum-machine ring from my dear friend jo. the blue quartz earrings alex made for me as a going away present. the delicate stringed bracelet my sister gave me when she was 12. the red glass dangles from my first weekend with jonno. reminders of people and places held dear to the heart, the little trinkets and presents presence, that make me feel close to those so far away.

and so i spent several hours today cataloging this old mish-mashed collection of recollections. sorting through tangles, polishing away the tarnish, pairing up twos. and as i did so, i let the twinges of sadness and longing play at my heart, unboxed old aches and ghosts, brought good memories back to gleaming bright, turned them over in my hand and mind, letting them catch the light…

then nestled them carefully back in their velvet, put them neatly away, and closed the drawer.

my morning jacket – golden

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike

what is it about big changes that makes everything seem different? it’s like suddenly seeing the world through a different set of eyes. everything shiny and bright around the edges with newness.

i forgot how much i enjoy change. i thrive on change. change is one of the few constants of my life.

and yet somehow i’d forgotten that. this job was the longest job i’ve ever had. london is the second longest place i’ve ever lived.

how could i forget how exhillarating change is?

i hate leaving people behind – i have left good friends behind with lumpy throat and wet eyes more times than i care to remember.

and yes, it’s a bit nervewracking. more than a bit sometimes. but i never regret it.

and somehow i ended up in this rut, where it seemed all i could see were the high, nondescript walls of the groove i had fallen into… and i forgot what it is like to have a view of all options spread about before me like a lush landscape thick with new greenery.

a clean break, fresh start. heart thudding, nerves awake, eyes wide.

i’ve missed this.

eels – fresh feeling

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Like this post

Unlike