A poem by Christian Morgenstern

Just thought I'd share a whimsical poem with you today, written by the German poet Christian Morgenstern--in preparation for the weekend and for those of you (like me) who are in the process of fighting off a cold..........

The Sniffle

 

A sniffle crouches on the terrace

to catch a victim he can harass.

And suddenly he jumps with vim

upon a man by name of Schrimm. 

Paul Schrimm, responding with "hatchoo",

is stuck with him the weekend through. 

Some insights

We need to get away from the routines of daily life, not only to help us appreciate what we have so as not to take it for granted, but also to help us experience the periods of insight that we simply may not experience otherwise because a life of routines will often hinder that. The pause from work that vacation represents is important for body and soul, and the longer the pause, the better. Insights begin to surface when one gets away from routines that dull the mind and soul. A week’s pause may help, but better still if it can be two or three weeks, because to disrupt routines, one needs a longer time away from them. It is only then that we can begin to understand that if the house is not in perfect order, if the refrigerator is a bit on the empty side, or if the laundry piles up a bit, that these are not crucially important to the quality of our lives. No one is going to pass judgment on us; we are often our own worst critics. It is better to spend time together with family and friends rather than worry about whether our houses are clean enough to entertain guests or whether there is enough food in the refrigerator to serve a three-course dinner to guests.  It is often enough if a good conversation is accompanied by a cup of coffee; we don’t need to serve a gourmet dinner. I am not saying that we shouldn’t make the effort required to serve a nice dinner to those we love if we have the chance, just that not being able to do so should not be the determining factor for whether we choose to be together with them.  Routines may be comforting because if we don’t want to ponder the meaning of our lives, we can use our routines as a way of not doing so. I know I enjoy many of my routines; I like the lack of personal involvement in connection with performing them. It takes strength to reflect on the meaning of our lives amidst the routines of our daily lives. It comes down to choosing to want to do that, to deciding what we will prioritize or focus on. I come back to this theme often, because I see that the choice can be as simple as a walk outdoors or a bicycle ride versus the mind-numbing viewing of yet another reality TV show that leads to the creation of a passive state inside of us. But it’s not always easy or practical to choose this, especially when we are tired.

Some of my own insights from this summer’s wonderfully relaxing vacation: I have been given many blessings, among them, the good fortune to have been born in a part of the world where women have the right to speak, to think for themselves, to work, to travel, and to decide for themselves how they want to live their lives. I know I am loved, and I know that I love. I have wonderful friends, who are there for me no matter what; just knowing that gives me joy and a peace that I cannot adequately describe. I know that absence can make the heart grow fonder; that we can appreciate our spouses even more when we are not always together with them. I can travel, and am always humbled by the unique beauty of each new place I visit. I always think that someplace else couldn’t possibly be more beautiful than the place I am visiting, but I am always proved wrong. I want to travel more in the coming years. I am looking forward to that. I have discovered that upstate New York is one of the most beautiful places I know of, especially during the hot summer months—lush, green, and if global warming continues—semi-tropical; perhaps I always knew this, but it’s cool to rediscover it. The Hudson River is a big, long, beautiful and winding river that beckons you to explore it; the best I can do is to photograph it and even then I could not capture its beauty accurately. I marvel at the miracle of plane flight; being on a plane can make me nervous (especially if there is turbulence), but mostly I cannot believe that I am experiencing something that my grandparents never had the opportunity to experience. Who was it that thought the first thought that made aviation possible? Or for that matter, who was it that thought to create the huge ferries (almost like cruise ships) that manage to sail round-trip from Oslo to Germany with cars and trucks on board and us sleeping in cabins on the floors above them? These forms of travel are safe for the most part; despite the global financial problems and cutbacks, maintenance of planes and ships is still prioritized, thank God. I appreciate the fact that I chose to work in science after choosing to study it in college; I continue to marvel at the natural world, at the odd plants that are found in far-reaching places like the Amazon (we can see them courtesy of the different botanical gardens around the world), as well as at the pigeons that sit outside my kitchen window each morning waiting for a handout, or at the squirrels who rob the bird feeder at my friend Jean’s house. I continue to be amazed at the foresight of some of the rich families in New York who contributed money toward the city parks and botanical gardens that enrich our lives. I am grateful for their philanthropy. I have discovered that the media in the form of newspapers and TV have lowered their standards in many countries, not just in my own; so that it is surprising when they actually step up to the plate and report a story responsibly. I remain appalled by how low TV programming has sunk in the space of a decade. And as far as understanding the meaning of my own life; I am beginning to see the contours and perspectives of my life in ways that I never did before. A certain amount of years on this earth will probably do that --give you those perspectives and allow you to see your ‘place’ in the scheme of things, in the course of history. I don’t know yet how I have contributed toward making the world a better place. Sometimes people tell you that your kindness or thoughtfulness meant something to them in a time of need. It’s good to hear that, because I know that the reverse is true—that I have been the recipient of the same in times of need. In the end, it comes down to love and faith, and strangely enough, for all the mystery surrounding both of them, if we have them, they make life easier despite the difficulties that arise in this life.

Back in New York State

I’m in my home state of New York this week, on vacation visiting family and friends. It’s been a wonderfully relaxing visit so far, even though I’ve traveled here and there on planes, trains, in cabs and in a rental car. Some of my friends wonder how I deal with the stress of traveling. I deal with it, probably because I am not working and living in the New York City area anymore and don’t have to deal with it on a daily basis. I was in New York City yesterday and met a good friend for lunch. When I left her apartment at around 3:30 pm, it took me almost 45 minutes to get from the upper west side (88^th street) to Grand Central train station on 42^nd street because the streets were so congested with traffic. I had forgotten that it could take that long. Could I do that now each day—deal with this kind of traffic? No, not anymore. But I did at one point in my life—commuted into and out of Manhattan from my home in Somerset New Jersey. Two-hour commutes each way. I got a lot of reading done on the commuter buses; in fact, I don’t think I ever got so much reading done as in the space of the four years I commuted into and out of the city. But I had no social life to speak of in New Jersey—I got home too late each night, and on weekends, I was often back in Manhattan again with friends, going to discos, to the theater, or out to eat.

One of the reasons I love coming back to New York in the summertime is because of the heat. It’s hot here! The week before I landed at Newark, the temperatures were over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. My brother told me that it was so hot last week that many cars just couldn’t tackle the heat. In fact, his car’s air conditioning system collapsed. It’s not that hot this week (temperatures in the high 80s, low 90s), but it’s warm enough so that you don’t need a jacket when you go outside. That’s summer to me. Or sitting for a few hours on a white sandy beach like I did with another good friend out in Long Beach, Long Island, digging my toes into the warm sand and watching the waves roll in and crash onto the shore.  I’m sunburned and I don’t care; I so rarely lie in the sun that it can’t matter too much one way or the other in terms of all of the potential health risks. We ate paninis on the beach and fed some of the sandwich bread to the many seagulls that stalk the beachgoers. Sly little birds, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce on a piece of bread. I love them too. I love them in Oslo as well when we’re out on the boat, even though they poop on the boat to the great irritation of my husband. My friend reminded me that they poop on people too; this I know. It’s happened to me twice in my life; you wash it off and go on. I cannot imagine a world without them, or any bird for that matter. Incredible little creatures.

I was in upstate New York again too, this time in Highland Falls visiting my sister and her husband. We ended up at West Point and took some gorgeous shots of the Hudson River at that vantage point. The day we were there was also a scorcher; there were a lot of boats out on the river, and it was just a lovely sight. Such a beautiful river, the Hudson River. I know that I could photograph it at all angles and from all vantage points and it still wouldn’t do it justice. Its essence cannot be captured; you just have to ‘feel’ how beautiful it is. I will be posting some shots from my New York trip shortly; as always, I am taking many photos and enjoying snapping away.

It doesn’t take much to be happy in this life. A long vacation away from work stresses will do wonders. But it’s more than that too. You can start vacation feeling overloaded from work, and that feeling can just pervade and ruin an entire vacation. I feel free this year, entirely free, from all the negativity and confusion that has defined my work life and environment for the past two years. I don’t miss work. I know it’s there when I get home, but there’s no rush to get back to work. How I have changed. And I wonder how that was possible—me, the career woman for many years. But no longer. I still love science, the wonder of learning, I am still curious about so much in nature, but I am no longer interested in an academic career. I’ll leave that to those who are. I’ll do my level best to do a good job now, but within the confines of a forty-hour work week, and no more. My free time is my own. That is what has given me this newfound freedom; the knowledge that I changed my way of working and living. I work to live now, not live to work. Again the word grateful springs to mind; I am grateful these days for the changes, for the work difficulties of the past two years, for the learning processes, for the ‘divine choreography’ that is ever present in our lives as my friend Bernadette puts it. God is ever present and working in our lives, and sometimes we are granted an open window into ourselves or out into the world. We can look in or look out, or maybe even both. The window is our connection with the divine and when it is there, true happiness is there too.

Some photos from the Hortus Botanicus in Amsterdam

A few more photos from the Hortus Botanicus (Botanical Garden) in Amsterdam, where we spent a very pleasant afternoon. It is well-worth seeing, especially the Butterfly House. Check out the photo with the butterfly with eyespots, called an Owl butterfly according to what I saw on internet--way cool. Enjoy!

Butterfly with eyespots, an Owl butterfly

Amsterdam views

We were in Amsterdam last week, enjoying a short vacation. The first time we visited the Netherlands was in April 1998 when my husband took a microscopy course at the University of Delft. We managed to spend one day in Amsterdam before traveling on to Delft, which is southwest of Amsterdam. While he attended his course, I traveled a bit around the country by train and bus, visiting Amsterdam for a day, visiting Anne Frank’s house (a moving experience but also a claustrophobic one—how she and her family managed to live in such tight quarters plagued me no end) and walking around the city and taking in the lovely views of the canals (the Dutch word for a city canal is ‘gracht’).  I also spent a day at the famous tulip park called Keukenhof in the city of Lisse, which is west of Amsterdam; the park is closed during the summer so we did not get to see it this time around. I remember it being very easy to travel around Holland—the train system is excellent and most people speak good English so it wasn’t a problem to communicate with them or to ask for help or guidance.

While we were in Amsterdam this time, we walked quite a bit around the city as we are wont to do when we are in a new city; walking is the best way to get to know a place. We visited the Rijksmuseum with many of Rembrandt’s paintings as well as several paintings by Vermeer and van Dyck, the Van Gogh museum with a wonderful and moving exhibit of the artist’s life and works, and the Stedelijk Museum with its very unusual modern art. The ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’ by Vermeer was unfortunately not in the Rijksmuseum; it is located in the Mauritshuis gallery in The Hague. We visited the Madame Tussaud wax museum with its interesting presentation of Dutch history as well as of Hollywood actors and actresses like Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe and American singers like Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson. Who doesn’t want their picture taken with one of these people? It’s just a lot of fun, and where would the world be without American celebrities? We also walked around the Red Light District that is famous for its sex shops, museums and window prostitutes, and which is frequented by tourists from all over the world who walk through the district ogling the shops and the young women in the windows. This district dates back to the fourteenth century when sailors from all over the world arrived in the city of Amsterdam and went looking for female companionship. We also took the requisite canal boat tour that is always a lot of fun. We are boat people; no matter where we go, if it is possible to take a boat trip of one kind or another, we always do, since it is a relaxing way to see a city and to take some interesting photos. We ate lunch one day at the Café Americain which is located inside the famous Amsterdam American Hotel; this is a beautiful café with a splendid interior that just has to be seen. On the last day we were there, we visited the Botanical Garden (Hortus Botanicus) on the east side (the quieter side) of the city, with its incredible Butterfly House. When you walk inside the house, there are hundreds of butterflies of all kinds flying about, landing on the orange slices and sugar water that have been set out for them. The house contains many different kinds of plants, from coffee plants to sugar cane, and the butterflies alight on them and then move on, flitting from plant to plant. We rounded out a very enjoyable stay at a Dutch restaurant where we enjoyed typical Dutch-style food: pea soup (called ‘snert’) with smoked sausages and bacon for me and mussels for my husband; Holland is apparently world-renowned for its mussels. But I have fallen in love with ‘stroopwafler’, also called syrup waffles in English; these are to die for—a waffle sandwich made from two thin layers of baked batter with caramel-like syrup as the filling. Impossible to eat just one!

Amsterdam is rich in history, architecture, beauty, culture and tolerance. It is a city that has a modern feel to it without having sacrificed its ancient architecture and beauty. The canals are an amazing feat of engineering and were constructed in the seventeenth century; it is no wonder that the city is often called the ‘Venice of the North’. People live in the many houseboats that line the canals; they are considered legal residences since housing in Amsterdam is tight. The houseboat inhabitants seem to take tourists in stride; they are nonchalant about being stared at and don't seem to mind the tourist canal boats. We will return to the city at some future time, probably during the springtime in order to be able to visit Keukenhof park, and look forward to doing so.

The Queen of Holland in the Wax Museum

The singer Prince in the Wax Museum

Reflections on living abroad

The events of the past days have overshadowed all other things that have been going on in our lives. And that is as it should be. I realized yesterday that the two most horrific life-changing events that have occurred in my lifetime—9/11 in 2001 in New York and now the terror attacks in Norway on July 22^nd —happened when I was living in another country (9/11) or visiting another country (July 22^nd). They have changed my life nonetheless. They are life-changing events, just as being part of one or both world wars must have been to our parents and grandparents. 9/11 changed me forever; I have written about that earlier in this blog and I know that many friends and family members in New York feel the same. I ‘became’ an American and a New Yorker for all time on 9/11. That is how many Norwegians will feel about July 22^nd. I understand how they feel because I feel a bit that way myself. I criticize Norway from time to time because I live here now; I did the same when I lived and worked in New York. Somehow living in a place gives one the sense that one has the right to criticize it. But what if criticism simply means that the place has gotten to you, gotten under your skin to the point that you cannot shake it off no matter how hard you try? If that is the case, then I have become a ‘Norwegian’ in some way, after all these years here. Should that be surprising to anyone? Probably not. Probably it is most surprising to me. I know that whenever others who have not lived in Norway or New York City criticize either one of them, there is a defensive feeling that surfaces in me—as if to say, who are you to criticize a place you have never been to or never lived in? I or those who have lived here (or there) and experienced how life is here (or there) are the only ones who have that right. But I know too that people are human; just like me, they read the newspapers and watch TV and think that Norway is a pure socialist country (it’s not). Or they think that New York City and the USA generally are filled with gun-toting individuals who are not afraid to use them (not true). I always remind people that New York City has a larger population than the country of Norway, and that each day about four million people commute into and out of the city without any major problems. They are not attacked on the streets or mugged or killed on their way to and from work. All media forms have a responsibility to report the news in an objective, not sensationalistic fashion. It does no one any good to foist a false impression of a foreign city or country upon readers, because if you never travel, you could end up thinking that your life would be in danger the minute you stepped off the plane at Kennedy airport in New York. And then you might not choose to travel. Luckily, most people I know don’t think like this or if they do, they don’t let it stop them from traveling.

I have lived abroad, outside my birth country, for many years; in October it will be twenty-two years. I left New York the day before the huge earthquake in San Francisco (October 17, 1989) that caused such damage there and to the surrounding areas. It was odd to hear about what happened on TV in a new country whose language I did not understand, whose newspapers I could not read, and whose radio broadcasts were like Greek to me. So many years later, I have no problem understanding Norwegian. I even think in Norwegian now, and I have dreamed and talked in my sleep, and talked in Norwegian. The funny part of this is that my husband, who is Norwegian, can talk in his sleep as well, and he has spoken English. Apart from one year where we lived in the USA, in San Francisco in fact, we have been in Oslo for all these years.

We have traveled quite a lot in the space of twenty-two years. We are privileged to have been able to travel in Europe. I don’t say that lightly. We had very little money starting out, so our ‘chances’ to see the world lay in attending international scientific congresses that were held in places like Finland, England, France, Denmark, and Sweden. We have traveled to Italy on business. In many cases, we took an extra two or three days in the foreign cities we found ourselves in, and in that way got to experience a little bit of other European cultures. In later years, and with a bit more money in our pockets, we have traveled to France, the Czech Republic, Germany, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, England, and the Netherlands, to name a few countries. We have foregone luxury in many instances—cheap and worn-down hotels and bed and breakfast places, but it didn’t really seem to matter. What mattered to me most of all was to see these places, to really get a feel for them, to see the beauty that is found there.  We are privileged to have gotten these chances, and I am grateful for them.  

A City of Flowers--Oslo after July 22nd

We were in Amsterdam on July 22^nd when the madman who is Anders Behring Breivik put into action his evil plan—something he had been plotting to do for nine years according to news sources. This by itself would boggle the mind; the fact that he went after children and teenagers on the island of Utøya is something that no one can or should ever forget. Watching and hearing about what unfolded there is like watching a horror movie, only with the knowledge that it is for real. I cannot imagine what went through the minds of those who experienced this horror, only that I would like to reach out my hand with a magic wand to obliterate the images that the survivors will live with for the rest of their lives. My brother, who worked in the Twin Towers in NY and who lost colleagues and friends on 9/11, says that many of those he knows who survived suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder ten years later. He was fortunately spared—first in 1993 when a car bomb went off in the parking lot under the towers, and then in 2001 on 9/11—both times he was away from his office. But even for those of us who were not physically present in NY when 9/11 occurred, the images of the Twin Towers being hit by the planes and then disintegrating have engraved themselves on our memories for always. To this day I cannot watch video footage of this happening without falling apart. So I know it will be the same for many of the survivors of July 22^nd in Oslo and in Norway generally.

We watched the terror unfold in Oslo on a TV in a hotel room in Amsterdam. Minute for minute, hour for hour—updates, pictures, interviews, more updates. Shock and more shock. Stillness, deathly quiet—that is how the public’s reaction was described following the bombing in Oslo. That is shock. That is disbelief, horror, and sorrow. It is hard to believe that a huge car bomb went off in Oslo. It is hard to believe that a mass murderer mowed down so many young people on an island that is only accessible by boat. It is hard to fathom that it happened in peaceful Norway. And yet it did. It is hard to imagine that this society could have ‘grown’ such a person; that such a person could be the product of a free and democratic society. And yet he is. Norway in that respect is no different than other free and democratic countries. We pay a high price for our democratic philosophies and for our freedom of expression. But we must ensure that the price that both homegrown and external terrorists pay is even higher. What Breivik did is treasonous, and if it was wartime, he would be tried as a traitor. But it is not wartime. This is peacetime. So he will be tried as a mass murderer. He will go to prison for the rest of his life. But he goes to prison knowing that the families of those he murdered are in a prison of their own, of his making. They have lost their children or their spouses or their friends. This is the prison of death and sorrow. For some it is a lifetime sentence, for others it may not be so. But it is impossible to say what it will be for each person affected by this tragedy, because each person is an individual.  

We joined the huge numbers of people who found their way into downtown Oslo yesterday. We placed flowers in front of the Oslo Cathedral like so many others. The front of the church has become a sea of flowers, spreading out in all directions. We were there at 3pm; by 7pm the sea had doubled in size, both horizontally and vertically. There are layers upon layers of flowers, interspersed with lit votive candles. Many people circled the sea—just standing and reflecting, taking pictures, others explaining to their children what had happened. What they could not explain was why is happened. No one will ever really know why evil happens. But it does. Evil exists. Hate exists. Darkness exists. Sometimes the darkness tries to obliterate the light. But the sea of flowers is a symbol of compassion and love for the victims and their families, and really for all those affected by terror and tragedy. I remember the flowers and candles and flags that people in Oslo placed in front of the American embassy building after 9/11. People reached out, like they do now, with compassion and thoughtfulness, and I hope these feelings and emotions last and lead to a more empathetic world society. 

Attacks in Oslo and Utøya

It is very difficult to comprehend what happened today in Oslo. The city went from peace and order to horror and chaos in the space of a few minutes, and it is awful to see the destruction on the news. Also the horrific shootings of teenagers on the island of Utøya. My husband and I are on vacation in Amsterdam and are watching BBC news closely for new updates. I am also checking Facebook and internet news to stay updated. Family and friends are safe and that is good to know. Our hearts go out to the families who have lost loved ones in these attacks. We are tired--with that incredible fatigue that comes from trying to absorb such shocking news. My gut reacted just like it did after 9/11--with shock, sadness, disbelief, anger, rage--all sorts of feelings. I know we will experience many different feelings over the next few days.

A new poem

On my way back from Ireland, the first sentence of this poem was already forming itself in my mind. It's hard not to feel awe when you find yourself in the presence of literary greats, as I did when I visited the William Butler Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland. But I found myself inspired by so much more--so much of it just an intuitive response to a country that is rich in so many ways, in the ways that count, at least to me. 

I Walk in the Shadows of Giants

I walk in the shadows of giants

Stand in the splendor of kings

Mute in the presence of tyrants

Lost in the halls that sing

I roam the passage that beckons

Ancient the call that keens

Lithe is the fairy that reckons

Spirit remains unseen

I fly in the temple of sinners

Eat at the tables of saints

Join with the forces of winners

Scarce are the jabs and the feints

I reel in the smoke of the fire

That burns in the halls of the kings

Fly in the face of ire

Sail with the lords of the rings

I forage the future of time

Divine with the rod of the druids

All things about me sublime

All things about me are fluid

I stand in the shadows of giants

Walk in the presence of lights

Far out upon the horizon

Dancing about me like sprites

I speak in the tongues of the ancients

Keen with the songs of the dead

Free my soul from the dungeons

Of fear, of death, and of dread

copyright Paula M De Angelis

July 2011

A children's poem by Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson, of Treasure Island and Kidnapped fame, also wrote children's poetry. This poem was read to us as children and also sung to us--I believe there was an LP recording of his poems set to music. It was impossible not to imagine soaring out over the fields on a swing as we listened to these words. 

The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

River and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown--

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down!

from ‘A Child’s Garden of Verses’

A poem by Anne Elizabeth Fennell De Angelis

This cheerful poem was written by my mother in 1967 for her son who was seven years old at that time. My mother, like me, had an affinity for all things poetic. Both she and my father read a lot of poetry and passed on their love of poetry and literature to their children. What we did not know as children was that my mother also wrote poetry, albeit not much, but she wrote when she could as we later discovered. She did share a few of her poems with us, but she was very reserved about her talents in that area. Her life as mother and wife was the life from which she drew her inspiration. She was a real fan of children's literature. As I remember, she loved the poems for children written by Robert Louis Stevenson in his 'A Child's Garden of Verses', and this poem reminds me of his poetical style.
 

Dinosaurs in my Dishpan

I’ve got dinosaurs in my dishpan

Lions and tigers too

Lots of soldiers and sailors

A regular little boy zoo

All of them part of an army

Fighting an unknown foe

Climbing the walls of a castle

Or sliding around in the snow

Sometimes they’re part of the navy

Loading each gun with a shot

Then they’re out on a race track

Riding along at a trot

What a wonderful imagination

Fills the mind of a little boy

He can move a man or a mountain

Just by pushing around a toy

When the enemy is defeated

And the battle becomes extinct

Boy deserts his playthings

In my dishpan in the sink

So I pick up what’s left of the army

Rescue the dinosaurs too

Put them away in the toy box

Home for my little boy’s zoo

Written by Anne Elizabeth Fennell De Angelis

1967

Summer moon over Oslo

Just thought I'd share a couple of photos I took last night of an extraordinary summer moon over Oslo. The clouds kept passing over it and creating such interesting shadow effects. Yesterday was a gorgeous day in Oslo, sunny and warm. Perfect for a long bicycle trip, which is exactly what I ended up taking. Love being out on my bike, together with the warm breeze and the sun beating down. Nothing beats that feeling of being outdoors and being active.

Today is the opposite of yesterday--rainy, chilly, the wind is blowing, and nothing about today reminds me of summer. How unstable the weather is from day to day. I know from friends and family in New York that the weather is unstable there as well. So what is going on in the world? Is this all part of global warming? Or are these just fluke years in an otherwise fairly stable weather pattern in the context of a century or two? Whatever it is, I just want one summer to be a long uninterrupted stream of warm sunny weather punctuated by a short thunderstorm or two (but no more). Like what I remember from my childhood in New York. I never remember that we had so much rain.

Keeping up and catching up

I’ve been doing a lot of catch-up reading since I started vacation—a pile of magazines waiting to be read that have been sitting on my living room table waiting to be read for the past two months, maybe more. I am finally making a dent in the pile. Most of them are Time magazines, and what I’ve rediscovered is the pleasure of reading really good writing. Surprisingly, I’m hooked on the column of their economy writer--Rana Foroohar, the assistant managing editor in charge of economics and business who writes The Curious Capitalist column, and Fareed Zakaria, the editor-at-large who writes some really interesting essays about world politics and economics. They manage to make the American and global economic messes not only interesting from a historical standpoint, but understandable. God knows we need more writers like them, writers with a historical perspective. I also bought a recent Scientific American, which I haven’t read for years. It too was surprisingly interesting with its cover story about quantum mechanics—‘Living in a Quantum World’. Did I understand what I read? Yes, I actually did, even though I couldn’t really parrot it back to you in an intelligible fashion. But when I read the article, I had my ‘a-ha’ moments and then I know I’m in the presence of a good writer and an articulate teacher. When I actually begin to understand the meaning of the Schrodinger’s cat thought experiment, that is a little miracle, considering that the derivation of some of the equations underlying this experiment was one of three final exam questions in my college inorganic chemistry class. Most of the class failed the exam, including yours truly. This is the paradoxical thought experiment that asks the question--is the cat is alive or dead (quantum states)—in other words, when is the cat alive and when is it dead and when are these separate quantum states? The answer may depend on an earlier random event. Could I have written a similar article? No, and luckily I don’t have to. But I consider myself lucky just to be able to understand it a little bit now, after years of working in science.

I used to have more magazine and newspaper subscriptions than I do currently, to The New Yorker and to the Financial Times among others.  I had to give them both up; I just couldn’t keep up with the weekly and daily issues, respectively, even though I really did love The New Yorker stories and poems and cultural updates. Hope springs eternal, as the saying goes. I always thought I would have more time than I actually had to keep up with the weekly issues. I found out that you cannot prioritize everything and that for me to fit in all the things I want to do, writing, reading, working, reading for work, consultant work, time for family, a social life, etc. that I couldn’t do it all and I couldn’t read it all. I couldn’t keep up and in the end I couldn’t catch up either. The sad thing was that both The New Yorker and the Financial Times were delivered punctually. I never had to complain about late deliveries or no delivery.

The biggest myth that has been foisted upon us these past two decades is that we can do it all and have it all—pack it all into eighteen waking hours of each day. We can’t. We have to choose, we must choose, we must prioritize. We don’t like to admit that, but it’s true. No wonder we complain about high stress levels. If we don’t end up learning to (grudgingly) prioritize, we risk running ourselves ragged in an effort to keep up. And then all we end up doing is playing catch up. I’m giving up my membership to my health club for much the same reason. I am never there and I am paying a fee each month for the privilege of possibly attending the gym. Another myth shattered—that I will carve time out of my busy schedule to train. The thing I like best these days is to not be stuck indoors in a gym in order to train. I want to be outside breathing fresh air, running, biking or walking and taking in the scenery at the same time. I want to feel free, the freedom that comes from being outside in nature. I want that more and more these days. But when I am actually indoors, I want to be reading something good, something interesting, not wasting time watching TV. That aspect of my life I’ve actually changed. I have given up most of my TV watching. Do I miss it? No. So that’s progress. The rest of it will come with time. I am learning to prefer silence to mindless chatter. Good silence, the kind that makes you reflect on your life—both the practical and spiritual—and gives you the time to get to know yourself and to figure out what you really want from this life. I was told yesterday by an elderly woman I know and respect how much I’ve changed just this past six months. She hadn’t seen me since January, and meant that I no longer derived my identity via my work. She’s right. I don’t. I am happy because I have given up that heavy burden. I am ‘just me’ now, for all that’s worth.

So this is what vacation is good for too, not just for recharging the batteries, but for giving us the time to reflect on our lives and on what we want from our lives. Free time makes me appreciate silence, reflection, peace and quiet, relaxation, the art of ‘just being’, and the virtue of gratitude. We are lucky to have the time to reflect on our lives and lucky to be able to take some vacation. I’m focusing on ‘thank you’ these days. It’s a good way to start each day.  As Meister Eckhart said “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”

Dublin views

Riverdance at The Gaiety Theatre

Flower market

A Dublin street with very old row houses

Wall art

Blowing bubbles on Grafton Street

The Old Storehouse bar and restaurant in Temple Bar area

The Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland

Oscar Wilde statue in Merrion Square park

Just being

It’s not taking me too much time to get used to the idea of having a month off from work. Years ago, I would never have taken such a long vacation from work. The idea did not appeal to me at all. Now, having large blocks of time off from work is what appeals to me the most. How we change as we get older. Or is it the circumstances of work that change us? Is it that we realize that there is no real point in giving up most of our waking lives to workplaces that do not really notice our loyalty or dedication? You could be there for sixty hours a week or for forty hours a week and the workplace won’t notice or reward you. Or it will reward you regardless—meaning that you and all the other members of your union will be rewarded equally, with a three percent pay raise, and you might get an extra percentage point if your bosses think you did a good job. But unless you’re completely hopeless, everyone will get the extra percentage point, so it doesn’t really ‘count’. These days, it’s all fine with me. After a pretty disappointing and sad work year, I’ve accepted what I thought I never could accept—my limitations—and I’m fine with that. I’ve let go of my unrealistic expectations concerning my career future without resigning myself to the fact that it had to be this way. I chose this path I’m on now; no one chose it for me. I’ve accepted my limitations and I’m happy. I’m not a top scientist, I’m not a union leader or even a board member, I’m not a group leader, and I’m not really marketable to the work world at large anymore. I am a good person, a kind person, and I am a good boss. The people who’ve worked for me tell me that. It’s finally getting through to me. I was a good leader to those I had responsibility for mentoring a few years ago. I did the best job I knew how to do. I was available for my team and I worked hard with them and for them. I wanted them to succeed. And they have, just not in my sphere anymore. They’re on their own, making their own way, as it should be. And me, I’ve let go of my desires to want to keep them around me, to keep my team intact, to ‘grow’ a group. It was hard, it was sad, sometimes it felt like it was impossible to let go. But I did. Want to know something? I’m happy. I’m happy just being me. I like who I am. Kindness and compassion are at a premium in my profession; I'm glad I have both. 

Just being. It’s a nice expression. Peaceful, soothing, like listening to water gurgling in a running brook or listening to birds chirping and talking to each other. I find that I so look forward to the sounds of nature now—be it the birds, or cats, or dogs, or even insects. They are ‘just being’—just being themselves, chirping, meowing, barking or buzzing. They do what they do to the best of their ability, yet they are unconscious of their ‘being’. We are conscious of it, and we can choose to ‘just be’. We can choose to slow our minds down, to empty them, to fill them with peace and happiness, to shut out unhappiness and negativity (foisted upon us by others who want to dump on us, possibly because they want others to be miserable like they are). The media are great at the latter. Not a day goes by without them reporting a story that is bound to irritate, provoke or otherwise depress us. Whenever I see a ‘nice’ story, I gravitate toward it now. They are so few and far between. Sometimes I forget that the world is actually an ok place—that there are not murderers around every street corner, or terrorists at every airport, or robbers waiting to mug me at every turn. Does it mean I should not be careful? No. It just means that I can be careful and still have a smile on my face when I greet the world at large.

I look forward to ‘just being’ during my vacation. By that I mean, having no work expectations, no pressure, no stress, no grant or article deadlines, no phone calls, and no work emails. My free time will be spent reading, writing, taking pictures, walking, biking, cooking, boating, traveling, and visiting family and friends. Not a bad way to spend four weeks. We have a lot planned, but it’s all fun and it’s all good. And my attitude toward vacation and free time tells me that I won’t have a problem retiring early when that time comes. I will ‘let go’ of more and more with each passing year. I have a tendency to be that way—to see things coming and to try and be a bit preemptive, so that I know that I am ‘choosing’ my path. From here on in, that’s my path—to choose my path. And I am choosing to ‘just be’ in this world, in my world, in my life.