And So It Is

The other day I found myself driving along, accidentally thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong with anything (oops), my new job, the future, parking garages, the freeways, merging, crashing (etc. ad nauseam), and after a while I just had to laugh a little and say to myself out loud, “God, you can’t be afraid of everything.” 

And for me, after the laughter dies down over how ridiculous I am because I’m always afraid and panicking all the time, I have to remember something. I don’t want to miss out on any of this. Because everything feels like it has some sacred value for being just what it’s been. And somehow, I feel like I need to welcome and protect even the most painful pieces and hold them tight somewhere because they are some integral part of the total beauty. 

So I hold on to it all by finding ways to keep going forward into this world and moving, moving. 

Like last week, Z and I went downtown and got egg sandwiches at Grand Central Market and walked around and took pictures of the buildings and dreamed of buying one of the defunct ones with broken windows that was so beautiful and had lion parapets or some thing or another and we sat out on the sidewalk drinking iced coffees in the sweltering heat.  And I was not afraid of anything.

And the other day we went up to the Getty for a long time letting the art flood into us like it does when it just speaks to you and feeling all of the things there are to feel about the world and life and existence and just being here. And I was not afraid.

And one night it started to rain on our way back from a comedy show and we got home and ran upstairs. And we stood on the rooftop barefoot in the warm summer rain, quiet and happy, just looking around at the city and breathing it all in, and I just thought, here we are, and so it is. And I was not afraid.

Here’s what I think sometimes: I want to remember everything. Palpably. Especially the ache of experience. Because every time, in the moments when I feel so much peace and beauty and happiness, it’s only because I know more than that, it’s because I know the ache of life. In some strange way I don’t want to forget about that the most. And in some way, I’m lucky, because I can’t.  

And here we are, and so it is.

Brunch and Everything

Well, another day, and I still don’t have the answers to the big questions. (So don’t go getting all excited).  Mostly, I just look around and watch everything and I’m pretty baffled still.

Now the park is covered in cotton from the big tree.  And I think about all of these days.  The different mornings and the chapters.  Everything moving by.  What I’ve done.  What I will do.

Sometimes I’ll be wondering what this is, all of this, and then I start thinking so much that I start to miss just about everything. Everything I’ve ever done and everything I’ve ever been and then I start thinking about everything I'm going to have to do but I don’t know how I can possibly manage it all. Well, now, that sure is the kind of thinking that can get you into trouble. How am I gonna pull the rest of this off?  Oh, boy.  

The flower shop next to my store moved.  That’s kind of sad for me.  Even though it’s not really a big deal.  It’s just that, kind of the only two people I've really connected with over in Venice work at that shop and they give me flowers and we chat on our breaks and it’s been nice.  And I don’t even know their names.  And there they go.  And that was that.  Their stories marching on.  All of these lives crossing paths and all of these things.  And you just can’t hold on to any of it, I guess.  I don't know.  

Well, I know a few things. Like, I know there’s kind of nothing like going to brunch. Z and I have decided: More brunch! Here’s our favorite places to go:  Stella.  Blu Jam.  Chateau Marmot. In no particular order, except: Favorite. Second favorite. Special occasion because a little too pricey favorite.

It’s just so peaceful having a nice long brunch.  And then all of my worries are gone and I’m smiling and just enjoying whatever this is and even if I am thinking, at least it feels productive or worth while or something because it’s not bad to think, it’s just that you can overthink sometimes.  Or, well, it’s just that I can overthink.

But brunch.  It feels like something really good carved out of this strange ordeal and all of the little ordeals.  And at brunch we tell stories and contemplate and wonder but mostly just enjoy it.  It’s quiet and close and savored.  And there’s eggs and stuff.  And, for me at least, it’s like you just sort of feel life and being in life, just sitting there, time kind of stopping for a little while and you don’t worry about aging and money and what if you get MERS and where are all the ambulii going and if that one beggar at the corner is going to throw something at you because he’s always throwing things at people or if the overpass is going to collapse when you’re under it waiting for the light to change.  

It’s good, brunch. Just being in the world like that.  Where it’s all pretty nice all of a sudden.  

So that’s something.

What is all of this? I have no idea.  No idea at all.  But I know it’s a small part of this big humungous thing.  And even though we’re a small part of that, we are a part of it.  That’s like scientifically proven.  And it’s a pretty great thing.  

And we meet and interact and we are everything we’ve been and everything we will be and everything we’ve done and everything we will do.  And, for now, I guess, we tell stories at brunch and keep moving and find moments to be still. Me, the flower shop guys.  We just keep doing this.  

So there’s something too. 

Waking up Laughing

The other day was kind of the best day.  Mostly because I woke up laughing and then Z and I were kind of just laughing all day.  And we didn’t really do anything but go to the market and stuff, but still.  It’s just that I woke Z up by telling him about how I used to pass Bob Barker and his dog in the mornings when I went hiking and then I said, “Do you know what Bob Barker’s dog’s name is?…It’s Dog Barker!” only I was laughing hysterically halfway through the joke and could barely make it to the punchline because it was so funny and Z started laughing at me for laughing so much at my own joke and also because it was a really good joke, if you ask me.

Then I said, in defiance of all responsibility, “I’m not doing anything until I go on vacation!”  Even though there is no vacation planned any time at all.  And then we laughed some more.

Then we decided, as we sometimes do, that we were going on strike from everything, especially work.  But sometimes when Z goes on strike by himself, he ends up working anyway, since he’s his own boss and he doesn’t want to throw tomatoes at himself when he crosses the picket line the next day.  When I go on strike, it just means I have a day off.  But that day, we woke up and we were both on strike, which we also refer to as a snow day because we can do whatever we want.  Which means we sometimes just order pizza and watch movies.  Which I guess is kind of just a regular day off. If you're not always thinking about trying to do something important all the time.

But I guess, it’s just really nice to not have to do anything.  Because we’re always asking ourselves such big questions and trying to do so much and life is so heavy sometimes and we think too much and why are we here and how do we do this and what’s it all about and how can I do something that matters and when can we go on a vacation?  And then we start sounding like Woody Allen monologues with all of our existentialist problems and we can get pretty brooding and forlorn so it’s good to just laugh about things sometimes.

And then, another day, we went up to his sister’s new place on a hill.  It was a small gathering in the afternoon and when it got darker and colder I made a fire in the fire pit on the hillside and it was nice to remember how to build a fire and everyone seemed happy and then we went inside and played piano in the living room.  And it feels like there’s so much meaning in days like that.

And then I think, everything’s important. We’re all doing different things and none of us knows what we’re doing. 

And we laugh in the morning, and we play piano in living rooms.

Parrots

Went up to the Getty today.  Which is always kind of the best place.  The grounds, for one, but there’s that one room.  That’s what gets me.  And there was a new Degas. It was so peaceful looking at that, and I felt all of the things I hope to feel.  

Like about all of life and how these things happen and mean so much.  Seeing one of my very best childhood friends the other week and just getting to sit with her, and when we’re together it’s like my life is with me, and something really deeply understanding, and it makes sense, and how Bethany came over to Venice to visit me at work the other day and we went to Gjelina for lunch which is the place to go and it’s no wonder, that was just too good, like how do you make cauliflower make me melt and food nourishes the soul type of good.  Even though I always feel a little bit like I’m-in-sixth-grade-and-not-quite-cool-enough-because-there’s-something-I-don’t-know-but-I-can’t-figure-out-what whenever I go anywhere in Venice.  

And it was just good to go out and eat with Bethany again.  Explorer friend.  

Sometimes, I think, we just don’t have enough time for all of this.  Like, practically speaking, maybe eight times of ten, eighty years.  And then, so, we’re very young until ten.  That’s the first part.  Just being very young.  And that’s the best time.  Pretty much.  Well, for me, because you’re just not thinking about it all so much.  Running around in the yard and trips to Illinois on the train to my grandparents' with that funny basement with a pool table and stationary bike and some big dead fish on the wall with a really sharp pointy long nose sword thing.  Maybe a swordfish?  And the summers in Corona del Mar, beaches and relatives and mom laughing and boardwalks and dancing to jazz with dad.  And ice cream bars melting and falling in love with running around. 

And then the next ten. They go to twenty.  All of the ten to twenty years that are probably the most confusing (you think. Oh lord, but you don’t know.) and pretty beautiful and activity and trees and snow and summers and falls and winters and jumping in the rivers and dancing and birthday parties on the hillside and books and tears and parents and falling asleep by the fireplace and wondering about everything (like stars) and middle school and high school and pizza and running around still and college and stuff.  And thinking you know, somewhere toward the end of it.

And then twenty to thirty.  Thinking you know by now and not knowing anything still, really.  And love.  And everything.  Then just everything.  And questions and sadness and loss and beauty, still beauty, maybe more, because it means more, because you recognize it.  Beauty just to live.  Chomping at all of these things and work and gathering living and I don’t know.

And then it”s cloudy and the little green parrots are chirping in the trees. 

Then it’s another morning and it’s one more day behind me and it’s I get scared again at how fast it's going. 

Little Dances

I misheard a quote the other day as "You agree to die to live" and it just struck me, like, significant business.  Suddenly, all that I really deeply feel about this life came to me in those words.  I've always said that no matter how hard this is, I would never trade it in for anything else.  If I'd had the choice, before living here as this person in this world having to go through this life, I'd choose it.  Even if I knew that I would never really know anything and just have to live and keep going and persevere because it just seems like you've got to.  Even if I'd been told how rough it is at times and how there's no manual whatsoever and so many systems seem ridiculous and how you just get flung into this place and there's no established goal and it's all pretty bizarre and heart breaking mostly, even the most beautiful things.  I'd do it.  Because, well, you agree to die to live, and in that idea, somewhere, is something I love…I get to be here.  I get this.  I get to wake up and feel sleepy and feel the cool cloudy day outside in the early mornings and make coffee and drive to work and even hate the drive and wonder about things.  I get to hold the hand of my lover on the sidewalks and giggle and cry and burn toast and miss things.  

And I don't know if this is the first place or the last place or the only place, but as far as I really know and can prove, it is the only one, and in that, well, in that, everything is kind of amazing and worth feeling and existing in.  And it's weird and sad and so much confusing and somehow always touching.  And I am grateful.  Because there will always be those little moments, just waiting.  

Like my whole childhood. Like dragging sleeping bags across the dirt road to camp out in the trees with my sister and watching meteor showers and running around in the garden of tulips and watching my dad mow the lawn that was a whole hillside and he made patterns and art out there, just for fun, and just because it was him. 

And coming home to Z and we always do little dances together, because we're just happy to see each other and probably also because we're pretty impressed we made it this far at all here in this world and we're still going and for some reason we still know everything's going to be all right even though neither one of us has any clue at all how we're supposed to do any of this.  

That's reason for a little celebration.  Just a small jig of joy.  Blessed are those who do little dances from time to time.

And we made carrot cake and Thanksgiving in August, just because.  And went to the Hollywood Bowl to see Lyle Lovett and Willie Nelson and then, also, we just have the most fun when we're washing the car, spraying each other and smiling. There are so many things, there are so many parts that I love so much, and everything that's hard.  I kind of love that too, in a way, because it means I'm here.  

Pink's

Lately, just, everyone seems so mad and sad.  When I'm driving to work.  I see so much.  Every corner of every light, there's someone with a sign asking for money and help.  And then the rest of the way it's just honking and swearing and shaking of fists.  And that's hard for me.  All of it.  Because I just kind of wake up and am in love with the world for no particular reason except for that there are clouds in the sky and I can feel and laugh and, I mean, even get sad, I guess.  I don't know how it goes.  And I don't know what I'm doing either, ultimately.  I don't know.  But trying to be here.  In the best way that I can. 

Because I know it wasn't what we expected it to be.  But, I just wonder, why did we expect it to be any way at all? That's what I wonder.

This world is kind of pretty crazy most of the time.  To live in and to decipher.  I don't know.  

Well, and so I stick to the small parts of it.  Cling, sort of.  Because I don't know how else to do it.  So I stick to the clouds, and to the laughter.  

And there was the most amazing day when Zooey and I went to Pink's for hot dogs.  Well, now that's certainly something you're supposed to do when you live in LA.  And it's kind of amazing in it's own little way.  Standing in that line at Melrose and La Brea, with everyone else.  No one seems to be thinking about the bigger stuff.  Which, thank god, is so nice.  Those are kind of the best moments.  When we stop thinking about all of this craziness and just go and get hot dogs.  

That was a really nice day.