Embracing Chaos

I've mentioned before that I have a tendency of playing things safe. I suppose we all are predisposed to keep doing the things we’re comfortable with, to be complacent with our routines and expectations. But the truth is, as good as we get at managing our outcomes, there’s always a margin of error, an element of risk. That bit of information overlooked, misunderstood, or simply unknowable that suddenly reveals to us that order is an illusion. We are often steps away from unexpected chaos.

For a play it safe kind of guy, you’d think my response to chaos might be to try to prepare for it, to have that emergency fund, that earthquake preparedness kit, a solid plan B – like most rational people, especially a rational hedonist, would. And, I do – to some extent; though perhaps not as completely as I might like...

After almost 30 years in the same business I’m now unemployed. I’m anxious about what I’ll do next, where I might live, how I might have to adjust. To be sure I’ll be doing what's traditional and expected. I'll update my Linked-In profile, network with peers, keep up with industry trends, etc.. But in this moment of chaos, I’ll also cast a glance to other far off options. What else can I do? Could I start my own business? Is that philosophy store even possible? What would it look like? What other imaginary lives can I entertain and make real?

I’ll fantasize about pursuing these options, turn them into thought experiments, always weighing the risk.

Rational as that might seem, I can’t help but look at my risk aversion as one of my flaws.  A flaw that might actually be preventing me from living as fulfilling of a life as I might otherwise. As a rational hedonist I ought to be willing to take a few more risks.  So, as much as I like to play it safe, I secretly welcome this sort of anarchy and chaos. It destroys my excuses, makes me vulnerable, but also opens me to possibilities I might never allow myself. “That which does not destroy me, makes me stronger, “ remains a favorite Nietzsche quote.

Is it any wonder that the worlds of myth and folklore often have some god or hero associated with Chaos and destruction? Loki, The Trickster, Shiva – they all play a role of disrupting order. They humble us reminding us that we are not always in control of our destinies. Truth is, these are the characters whose stories I most enjoy. They shakes things up and challenge the status quo. Their disruptions often make the unimaginable possible.

When faced with the frustration of choosing the right “key words” to get past the robo-gatekeepers of corporate HR, a friend suggested I use the terms, “Hedonist, Mixologist, Existential Detective, Philosopher, and Aesthete.” I quickly made business cards with those titles. They have become my affirmations. I look at them and am reminded who I really am. What I value. Who I really want to be. Something to look at while I create and market my “brand” – that distilled “safe-for-work” version of myself carefully crafted to fit into the resumes and cover letters designed to secure gainful employment.

Chaos to me is a gift. When I am unwilling to take that leap, I'll invite chaos comes along and gives me a good shove. I’m still afraid during my free-fall, worried about my potential crash, but I’m given a chance to land on some different ground and explore the new territory I had only dreamed about before. Sometimes a world must be destroyed to make way for a new world to be created. 

I look forward to exploring this new world.

My Tasmanian Cousin

Families can be an odd collection of individuals. We think of them as some unified entity but while there may be some strand of shared genetic code among its members a family can have a stunning amount of diversity.

My family has always been a bit of mystery to me. My parents, both German, left the country shortly after the war and while my mother kept contact with some of our family members, I don’t think my father ever looked back. If two of his brothers had never joined him in Canada – my parents first stop in their multinational journey – I doubt he would have made any effort to see them.

In fact looking back over my own life most of my experience with my extended family could easily be fit in a fortnight with several days to spare – three trips to Germany and Switzerland (one of which as an infant) and a couple afternoon visits from aunts and uncles on their way to vacations in Vegas.

So it came as a surprise to get an email from a cousin I had never met before – both of us in our 50’s. He described a whirlwind trip from Tasmania to Nicaragua that included a brief overnight stop at LAX. “Could we have dinner together?” I was filled with excitement, and I confess a little fear.

My parents both gone, I had come to accept the mythology of their stories, my own social/intellectual origins. I was going to meet someone with stories and probably facts that intersected with my own. They could verify or discredit them – yes leave it to me to overthink things into a potential existential crisis.

When we finally met, I think a dance unfolded between us. Yes somewhere in our cells were that shared strand of DNA, but could we “like” one another, make a social as well as biological connection? We traded quick summaries of our lives – but 50 years in maybe 20 lines of text? In his favor, I knew my Australian cousin was well traveled and an academic – both plusses for open mindedness, curiosity, and a sense of adventure. Still there are things we filter from our families, perhaps thinking them more sensitive than they really are, but also sometimes a way of steering clear of unwinnable confrontations of beliefs, politics, and propriety.

My wife and I sitting next to my cousin in a Westchester dinner, I realized that I was the “American Cousin” and what trepidation that must cause. I’m sure a few Google searches eased my cousin’s mind enough to have dinner, but lets face it despite the flag waving bravado my countrymen may have for our land of opportunity and rugged individualism – that can come across a bit cocky. Many – rightfully – look at us as arrogant and opportunistic, often with a reckless disregard for others shrouded in a righteous self-serving belief system. Yeah, there’s a reason the “ugly American” is a “thing”, hopefully I could show my cousin that I wasn’t a part of that.

So we danced, sharing stories of our most recent ancestors – my father finding the heart of the Großherzog lost in the war, his desertion, and his bookish nature that attracted my mother to him. When my wife left the table for a moment, my cousin turned to me, “You know,” he said with a confidential tone, “our grandfather had a bit of a reputation.” “I know,” I responded, “I have a few pictures of his girlfriend in the Schwarzwald – my sister had a great time when she visited them so many years ago.” And with that step, we knew we could speak more freely about our family, it quirks, its dark sides, its flaws – as all of them do.

I brought along my father’s journal that he penned when he was 19. Written in German (of course) my father also included many photos of the family and people he knew at the time – especially, or so it seemed – the women he had loved. I doubt my father ever expected to have his diary read by his nephew and son, but it brought him back to life for me, and charmed me with it’s romanticism as well as it’s bluntness. “She and I had many love adventures,” read one such caption – "Liebesabenteuer" – perhaps that’s a common German phrase, but its translation delights me. So many of our stories really are our Love Adventures.

As the dinner closed we took my cousin to his Hotel and decided to have a nightcap and see the pictures we had brought along to share. The lobby was full of activity, and the bar filled with patrons dressed mostly in black with a preference for lace, leather, lycra, and latex. How could this nondescript corporate airport hotel be such a magnet for LA’s fetish scene? And, oh what a hilarious backdrop as we recounted more family histories, full of elopements, rekindling old flames, affairs and remarriages - love adventures indeed.

As we crossed the midnight hour, my wife decided that to really commemorate the evening we should take a picture, not just of ourselves, but with some of the fellow hotel guests in their slinky, sexy finery. As she left to find some volunteers, my cousin asked, “Do you think she’ll be successful?” I retorted that knowing my wife, and my experience with people who dress to be seen, that I had no doubt she would be. What I failed to say, though probably still evident, that this is certainly one of the reasons I married her.

Before long we were joined by Mistress Precious, Sir Nick, and their entourage. Mistress Precious was dressed in an elaborate latex bodysuit complete with black latex ruffled collar. She asked my cousin if he wanted to touch, offering her knee. Sir Nick, a tall lanky gentleman made taller and lankier by his 6” heals, offered up praises of Australian whip makers, thanking my cousin’s countrymen – and perhaps revealing an untapped market for the Australian whip industry.

Suddenly we were retelling our stories, showing off my father’s journal and grandfather’s medal. In turn, we were told about DomCon – the conference of professional dominatrices celebrating its 11^th year - as well as common misconceptions about the BDSM lifestyle. Sir Nick even invited us to stick around and check out the next day’s workshops.

My cousin charmed them all. His simple statement, “I am a scientist,” the ultimate flirtation – the Aussie notes in his voice friendly and inviting, while the German undertones gave it a certain veracity and authority. And to be honest, he charmed me too. The existential fears evaporating and leaving me thinking about the over 50 years of familial diaspora and how crazy it was to let it last so long.

Now I dream of traveling, to an old homestead in Germany and a mysterious green box containing still more stories, to Tasmania to continue our conversation and dance, and to elsewhere on the globe to hear more stories of shared histories and of course, Love Adventures.

Playing it Safe

Despite claiming to be an enlightened hedonist, I’m probably less of a risk taker than I’d like to be. I’ve recently been confronted with this fact as the safe corporate job I’ve had for nearly 29 years is about to come to an end. I find I am left with the same existential angst I experienced when I left college and had to get a job "in the real world.

At that time I had a friend who helped score me a temp job so I could start paying on my student loans – and unpaid tuition. To be frank, I never went to college expecting it to be part of a career path. I majored in Philosophy after all. My joke at the time was that upon graduation I would open a philosophy store. In reality my secret desire was to be a writer – and what better a basis for storytelling than that of exploring the very meaning of life? Such was my justification at the time anyway. 

I got lucky college-wise. A smart kid with immigrant parents, father disabled, living on social security and acceptance at a Liberal Art college which believed (and had an endowment to fund) that anyone accepted should have the necessary aid to attend. Riding the last crest of the baby boom, I was in the last class that was able to take advantage of that policy and the grant money and loans behind it. So why not be a philosopher? 

Unfortunately the economics were changing. I managed to graduate a semester early, which was good since I already couldn’t pay for the last semester. But also meant my transcripts and diploma were held till I could pay up – delaying and ultimately canceling my bids for grad school. I had thought I might become a Philosophy professor, and eyed the University of Chicago as my possible next step. Instead I went home to my parents, now living with my sister, her husband, and five kids in a 4-bedroom house. 

I needed a job. I needed money. The temp gig was perfect, paid well, and oh so much easier than reading Kant. So I played it safe, staying way too long in most positions, taking small promotions along the way with a few low risk opportunities along the way I ended up I a profession I never knew existed, with its own social networks and connections. Twenty-six years later and I’m running the program for the entrepreneurial subsidiary. Two years later they are bankrupt. After a year in bankruptcy their assets are sold, and I’m on a 3-month temporary assignment to help to clean up what’s left. 

I suppose no one ever escapes certain life-changing events. For me though, loosing a job is so new, and very frightening - despite the encouraging words of my friends, or my own reasoned knowledge of the industry. There are opportunities out there. I know it – but I still can’t shake my fears. 

I re-enter the workforce at age 52. Many of my colleagues deeper in the boomer years have opted for early retirement. Companies view me with an eye on how I might impact their insurance group plans and would rather me be a contractor than on the payroll with benefits. I also cannot miss the Gen X and Y colleagues talk about their older luddite peers, technology averse, and reluctant to embrace innovation. I know that doesn't describe me, but my age carries its own stereotypes to overcome. 

I catch myself looking in the mirror wondering if shaving off my grey beard might enable me to pass for post-boom. I’m looking for ways to play it safe, to court another big corporation to pay me a salary in the range I’ve become accustomed to Preferably one with those Cadillac health benefits I only recently came to value. 

I also worry about my digital footprints. Certainly everyone has similar sets of photos from college? CEO’s now go to burning man – so I can’t possible be afraid of some of the things I did, photographed or wrote about? But I fear it just the same. I recently cam across this quote from Sarah Kendzior (@sarahkendzior), "careerism is the most powerful form of censorship in America...self-censorship rooted in fear of the future." It describes my feelings completely. I'm not purging my social media accounts, but I've become more aware of my privacy settings, trying to find the balance of maintaining my authenticity while curbing potential career-harming presumptions. 

Part of me looks back to the college graduate I once was, and says – why not open that Philosophy store? Why not pursue the dreams you once had 30 years ago – after all, you may not get another chance. So the hand wringing begins as I go through the hedonistic machinations trying to determine what will yield the more fulfilling life – find a job that can finance my other pursuits and desires, or just pursue my desires and be creative in how I make them happen? I will likely play it safe (old dogs/new tricks) but the current situation may force me to take a few risks and leaps of faith I might otherwise eschew. 

In the end I'll fall back on my hedonistic principles and craft, from whatever my existential circumstances I end up with, the most fulfilling life I can conceive. That is to keep my mind in the present, surround myself with the people I love and respect, and maybe share glass of cognac as we contemplate the universe together. 

Cheers

Still Waiting

Lately my life seems to be in a prolonged intermission. I’m waiting. Soon my current job will come to an end and I will either get an offer for a new job in a new location, or I will be searching for a new job. I thought I would know which by now, but instead, I’m still waiting.

The waiting takes a toll. It’s hard to be a hedonist as waiting is hardly a fulfilling activity. Perhaps if I were waiting as some sort of deferred gratification, some hedonic reward I could feel good about this situation. Unfortunately this particular situation is one that prevents me from planning any future pleasures. “Oh that looks like a great show, when is it?” “Oh, April – I’m not sure where I’ll be in April” and so on.

Fortunately as an enlightened or rational hedonist, I can invoke a bit of the serenity prayer and come to terms that this situation of my employment is, at the moment, beyond my control. All well and good, but it took an evening of contemplative late night ocean gazing (one of my preferred methods of hedonist meditation) to get me to accept it. 

So next on my agenda, is to begin answering the internal questions of “just what can I control” and “what can I do to feel more fulfilled in my life.” There is still plenty of pleasure to be had by engaging with my friends and perhaps flexing a little creative muscle that have nothing to do with my job.

I have 8748 days to live.

Hedonist Year in Review

Perhaps it’s because I have a January birthday, but I tend to push my time of reflection on the past year in the space that comes just after New Years but before my Birthday.

I have to say on the surface It was a difficult year to be a hedonist. I lost a few things – partial hearing in my right ear, my gall bladder. My job almost got added to this list but that will go in 2014. Clearly I spent way too much time in medical offices this year, first with the hearing loss, then the gall bladder attack where pre-surgical tests forced me to confront my mortality in a new way. It seems I have an irregular heartbeat. It amuses me that I should of course live at my own and irregular rhythm - it only seems right. Unfortunately it seems an irregular heart beat is also an indicator of having had a “Silent Heart attack.” Personally I thought if I had a heart attack and didn’t realize it, I’d just be dead. Which quickly distilled to the thought - "oh, I should be dead already - the next time, I won't be waking up."

During the time before finding out I actually did not have a silent heart attack, I did some serious hand-wringing over how much shorter my life seemed to have gotten. At the outside I gave myself about 10 years - forget about that retirement thing. Some things didn't seem so important anymore. On the plus side of this psychic hand-wringing, it got me motivated to start putting my things in order and create a “death file” – A place Lisa could go to point the way to various documents, accounts, and other resources she might need in the event I should go and die on her. Having no kids it’s an easy thing to overlook, but I’d hate to make anyone wade through all my crap in the hopes of finding the important stuff. 

Work wise this has been a year of waiting and speculation. With the bankruptcy much of my work assignments went on hold  - and as the new company takes over I’m not certain there is a place for me. This has lead to some ambivalent job searching and somewhat obsessive networking. Without any workplace funding, I took a chance jumped in my car to crash a professional conference in Vegas last October. I got to chat with my industry peers, and touch base with many of my professional colleagues. I don’t know if this will pay off in any material way but it was good to feel a part of my industry - even if soon to be an unemployed member of it. It also felt good just to be on the road driving across the state. A stale metaphor perhaps, but I was moving and had some direction which otherwise has been lacking in my work life this year.

Travels remained close to home this year, but Lisa and I had an exceptional time turning a nephew’s wedding in Salinas into a two-week California adventure. Road trips with Lisa are among my favorite adventures. We rarely follow a plan, taking detours and stopping at any unusual place along the way that catches our eye. There’s a certain hedon-inducing giddiness that comes on exploring new places and making accidental discoveries. We drove along the Monterey bay and then heading east into the Sierras. Yosemite may have been closed due the Government shutdown, but nothing was more fun that crossing the state through roads we’ve never traveled on before. 

Familiar trips to Joshua Tree and Palm Springs were also made. These desert retreats are always great for recharging and getting fresh perspective. We go with a familiar cadre of friends and it’s like taking your personal support group along on vacation. The intent has always been to make some space to fill with creative activities, but honestly for me they have become opportunities to clear my mind to enable the creativity to come.

It seems my main creative endeavor this year was creating a tumblr account taking pictures of things “seen on my dog walk.” I thought I’d do this sporadically but it turns out I managed to take over 300 pictures this year – clearly some are better than others, but the activity itself kept me in a creative frame of mind. Otherwise I was happy to contribute to my friend's creative projects. I continued to appear in  Roger’s Scavenjester videos - amateur clown, collaborator, and co-conspirator.

Of course thanks to Roger, we found our way to many great performances this year. We started in January attending the New Fangled Opry – a vaudeville burlesque review that we quickly fell in love with, now miss, and hope will soon return in some form or another. As I recounted in an earlier post, I attended an Alien Fight Club workshop with Butoh Masters Koichi and Hiroko Tomano.  We also managed to see three Lucent Dossier performances, including two private parties where our pleasures were certainly indulged. Thanks again Roger.

Music this year was limited, to a few old favorites – Stereo Total the band I never tire of seeing live, Exene, the Blasters, Pere Ubu – and the Godfather of Welsh soul himself, Tom Jones. Thanks to the attentive eye of our friend Heidi, we were treated to seeing Mathew Bourne’s Sleeping Beauty, but I think almost as fun was the evening after where we re-expressed our feelings of awe and delight taking in a rotating 360 view of LA at the Bonaventure – nothing quite like cocktails, conversation, and art.

Speaking of Cocktails, 2013 was the year of Rye, as we returned to the Carthy Circle at Disney’s California Adventure to enjoy numerous classic Rye Manhattans. Unfortunately, this was the year that we were finally priced out of Disneyland’s annual passports – so we’ve expanded our horizons to hotel lounges, restaurants, bars and occasional speakeasy. But the love of Rye has made the standard Maker’s Mark Manhattan unpalatable, as well as anything with a cherry that isn’t Luxardo. The year spoiled us, but we are all making much better cocktails.

Some things that have excited me this year include photographer David Gueringer and his portraits of LA personas "A Curious Collection of Uncommon Individuals"– of course knowing a number of them has it’s own appeal, but I love how they are captured just as I’d expect to see them at a Lucent party, Art Walk, or some other vaudeville burlesque – in other words the places I would love to be.

My other discoveries seem to flow out of Brooklyn, starting with photographer Clayton Cubbit – whose infamous Hysterical Literature videos caused a bit of a stir. I love his work, and am intrigued by the creative ways he’s using photography that challenge the erosion made by the ubiquity of camera. From him it was easy to rediscover Molly Crabapple who’s “Dr. SketchyAnti-art School”  I once followed in the MySpace era. Now turned graphic journalist documentarian, I find her opinions fresh, intriguing, and right on – she’s become a curator to my intellectual core as I follow most of her links on her twitter feed to find still more exciting discoveries.

Looking to the future, there is still so much uncertainty. I don't know who I'll be working for, or where. So far though, I'm comfortable with their foreseeable outcomes, we will do well, if its an adventure in a new place, or rediscovering our old home. I’m still focused on my mortality as that keeps me focused on the things that really matter. I even acquired a nice little ap (thanks to following a link from Molly Crabapple to Chelsea Summers) that reminds me of how many days I have left to live (8779 on the day this was published). You think differently when you put a finite number on the days you have left on this earth (see the third paragraph above) I’m not really worried about my job. The possibility of a move, means a focus on getting rid of clutter and shedding the objects that have no special meaning to me. A psychic move is already taking place regardless if a physical one follows. Here's to 2014.