The Watch I Already Have

My Dear Heidi,

Yesterday, I tuned in to the Apple keynote, mostly out of innocent curiosity as to what new technology was going to be introduced. But I'll admit, as a sometimes compulsive consumer of gadgets, a small part of me was tuning in because I was ready to buy and just needed to be pitched.

So when they unveiled the Apple Watch, I had heard the rumors and expected that I would be interested. But they didn't even come close to convincing me. And you know why?

The whole time they were introducing the Apple Watch, I kept glancing at the watch I already have:

My watch is simple, unique, and slightly stylish but nothing too fancy. No touch screen, no hidden functions.

But it does more than just tell the time. It tells a story. The story might sound familiar to you:

I first saw this watch on Amazon and put it on my wish list so I could come back to it later.

Then you bought it for me as a "surprise" gift to celebrate 18 months of being together.

I found out about the "surprise" because you used my Amazon account to buy it.

I wore a green outfit the day it came, so the colors coordinated when I took a picture and sent it to you.

There's nothing too grand about this story; it's simple but sincere. But it means much more to me than any new technology could ever give me.

This watch lets me revisit these memories every time I put it on. This watch lets me share this story every time someone compliments it.

And every day, this watch reminds me of your thoughtfulness, your love.

Thank you, dear, for this story and the many others we have.

Love,

David

Someone much wiser than me

Driving through the rain tonite, I was hit with just the right combination of peace and inspiration to post this poem once again and share how it speaks to me now in my present circumstance.


(This is my 5th in a series of reflections I've written, all on the same poem at the onset of a storm. I hope that this collection continues to grow over the years. Feb. 27, 2007 / Nov. 3, 2008 / Oct. 13, 2009 / Nov. 20, 2010)


There will be storms, child
There will be storms
And with each tempest
You will seem to stand alone
Against cruel winds

But with time, the rage and fury
Shall subside
And when the sky clears
You will find yourself
Clinging to someone
You would have never known
But for storms.

--"Storms", by Margie DeMerell

This time around, what speaks to me is the fact that there is nothing we can do to control the storm. We see it coming; we forecast it days in advance. Yet when the storm hits, it runs its course and doesn't go away until it's finished, regardless of what we do.


All we can do is prepare. We wear raincoats and hold umbrellas to protect ourselves. But I can't say I have that wisdom every storm.


There are many times when I give up at the thought of having no control over the storm and just walk right into it, without any preparation...and I foolishly hope for the best. When I do this, I choose to face the storm alone, and although I undoubtedly get through it, I emerge unhappy and tired.


I guess then my foolish hope is that someone, much wiser than me, finds me and shares an umbrella...shelters me through the storm as we face it together.


And perhaps this person would then inspire me to prepare for the next storm. That way, if this person ever decides to face the storm alone, then I can be the wiser person and share my umbrella.

Faith, Grace & the Theory of Everything

If you believe that everything you experience in this world has a whole and complete explanation...well then, good for you. You live in a far more simple, peaceful world than me.

For I live in a world where things happen, sometimes, without any explanation. I ask a question which is only answered by exponentially more questions...or in contrast, can only be answered with a heavy silence. When this happens, I have trouble finding peace, I get frustrated, both with myself and with others.

Some might say that the answers to every question are out there, that I just lack the knowledge needed to articulate a sound and logical reason. Well sure, I guess I can always dig deeper and learn more, but increasing how much I know does not necessarily increase how much I understand. And peace comes from understanding, not knowing.

So in a roundabout way, let me share with you how I try to find peace when I reach the limit of what I can understand...

In physics and chemistry, we observe phenomena and then create many intricate theories to help us organize our thinking and make predictions. Some say that these separate theories can be united in a larger Theory (with a capital "T"), the "Theory of Everything", from which all theories can be derived.

Now, I argue that the motivation behind forming this Theory does not lie in science and logic. More than just external facts and figures, I argue that the desire to form this Theory comes from the belief that there must be a higher order in this world. And although this order is currently beyond our understanding, we have an undoubting belief that on that level, everything makes sense.

This yearning for a higher order beyond our understanding is certainly not unique to physics. The undoubting belief of the existence of a higher order is often called Faith.

The "Theory of Everything" is just one name for this higher order, but there are others more common: God,  Tao, Karma, etc. The details relating to each are different, but all have that same underlying principle, that somewhere beyond our understanding, everything makes sense.

So when nothing makes sense to me, my ability to understand reaches a wall, and I can no longer push through the barrier, I find peace by simply looking up...and "surrendering" myself to that higher order. The courage to look up, the humility to surrender...I call that Grace.

With Grace, my individual problems are swallowed by the Universe. With Grace, my personal anxieties become plain and insignificant.

When faith is strong and grace overflows, that is when we are most alive. We can transcend the limits. Even if the wall of understanding blocks the view in front of us, we can always look up, lose ourselves in that higher order, and find peace.

Relationship Inertia

I'm not saying it should be easy. I'm not saying it doesn't take effort.

But I am saying that all relationships, including friendships, have their own inertia. So sure, each one needs an initial push to get moving, but there comes a point where relationships (the ones worth having) should keep "rolling" under their own momentum. This way, when you put in that work and effort to keep your relationship going, you have that momentum to help, and you won't have to feel like you're doing it on your own.

Isn't that a beautiful thing? I mean, once it's going, you and your relationship work together and give energy to each other. And you get so far...

So when I spend all that energy pushing, on my own, and nothing gets "rolling", I take it as a sign that I've probably been trying to push uphill. And that is not worth the effort.

I'm better off climbing the hill alone...

Storms, a Reminder of Hope

The rain is falling, and as is my personal tradition, I'd like to share with you, once again, this small bit of inspiration:

"Storms" by Margie DeMerell

There will be storms, child
There will be storms
And with each tempest
You will seem to stand alone
Against cruel winds

But with time, the rage and fury
Shall subside
And when the sky clears
You will find yourself
Clinging to someone
You would have never known
But for storms.

This poem usually reminds me that times of despair actually help us fully appreciate joy and happiness. This, of course, is the optimistic perspective. This time, though, I'd like to offer something a slightly less warm. This time, let's take a colder, more realistic approach (than my previous posts I just provided links to).

There will always be storms...we cannot escape them. And yes, it's hard to be appreciative and optimistic when storms can make us feel plain nasty.

But just as there will always be storms, the skies will always clear. No matter how nasty you feel, it doesn't take an optimist to admit that no storm lasts forever. That, my friends, in one of its more obscure forms, is what you call HOPE.

And that's the type of Hope you can't lose. It's undeniable.

So don't let being lost in a storm make you believe that you've lost all Hope. Storms remind us that Hope exists.

Metaphor #7

I think love must be kinda like...
 
I've been singing in the UC Berkeley Gospel Chorus for just over 2 years now. Someone recently asked me, what keeps me coming back?

When we learn a new song, it's a kinda frustrating (sometimes painful) process. One by one, each section has to learn their part...and some parts are less intuitive than you might think. So we spend a lot of time repeating phrases over and over, seeing how it all fits together, making mistakes, correcting mistakes...all the while thinking about the song.

But there comes a point when it all clicks, and we really know the song. We've learned it not just in our minds, but we've also internalized it, dare I say, in our hearts. We no longer have to think about the song because the words and harmonies just flow out...it feels like "learning" the song was really just uncovering what was always a part of us.

When that happens, when it clicks, I lose myself. I'm still aware of everything else in the world...but it just doesn't matter. I feel like whatever happens to me after this, I will always have this moment.

And so there's nothing left for me to do but close my eyes and keep singing as if the song will never end...

This past Monday, I moved out of my home of four years, 2330 Blake St. (aka "LPG"). There is no way any reflection of mine can encompass all of my experiences there.

So instead, let me share with you a letter that one of our neighbors actually distributed throughout the neighborhood a few years ago, regarding our Sunday nite rooftop concert series.

Although he is speaking about music, I believe this letter can be further generalized to be an accurate expression of this chapter of my life.

September 24, 2007

Dear Neighbor,

I own 2324 Blake Street just up the street from you. My wife and I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce ourselves and speak with you regarding the young people singing in the neighborhood.

I have been a resident of Berkeley, on and off, for more than 50 years. And, among other things, I have been an instructor at UC Berkeley.

We think adults have both an ethical and moral responsibility to support and encourage younger people, particularly, in our neighborhoods, who make the effort to engage in song and the creation of music that, in a neighborhood context, is not excessive in volume.

Though it might be considered a little noisy at times, it is a happy noise. They are not drunk or disorderly. They are expressing joy and love of life, something we tend to forget as we get older. As mature thinking adults, we appreciate and value them for reminding us of this. They are never singing or playing music on the streets for very long, and we have never heard them on the streets at an unreasonable hour.

We trust to your intelligence and maturity to agree with us that culture - in this case, musical expression - is a key to the health of society and community. Cultural expression enriches and gives vitality to a neighborhood.

The young people who have been singing and making music up the street from you and next door to us have brought people out into the street, gathering, meeting each other, discoursing, and enjoying being "serenaded". Let us join together, when and where we can, to give praise and encouragement to these young people who have the courage to get out in the street and create music and vitalize our street. We have even noticed that their singing and musicianship is improving.

Cordially,

Joushua Reichek

Elizabeth Baker