High Altitude Dream

I had the following vivid dream while in Montana over Thanksgiving. I will credit (blame) the lack of oxygen due to the altitude for it. It really was this detailed, perhaps more so.

I walk down a narrow street, lined with row houses, as one would find in Europe. A clean-cut Indian man, probably in his early twenties, dressed in khakis and a blue polo shows up on the street behind me. He walks in a crooked line, seemingly trying to not look conspicuous, though failing miserably. He walks up and grabs my purse. "What are you doing? You cannot steal my purse!" I yell as I grab for my purse. He looks at me and stutters "I wasn't going to steal anything," as he dumps the contents of my purse out on the street. I scream at him while I crouch down in my high heels and pencil skirt to pick up the items strewn about the street. A black, mid-60's Chevy Impala pulls up next to me. "Hey beautiful." It's my husband. He is a cop. If you know of the show "Supernatural," he is like Dean, with some Brad Pitt mixed in. I get in the car, reciting what just happened to me. We drive for a bit, night falls, and pull into a broad gravel driveway in front of a derelict victorian house. There are people hanging out front. Out of habit, I get out of the car. Oh, no, this is one of the crack houses my husband visits in his role as a drug liaison. He develops relationships with users and dealers of drugs to keep an eye on them, keep them safe, and hopefully create goodwill between them and the authorities (it is a dream afterall). Why did he bring me here? He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around me, and drags me toward the house. We walk into a room, I guess a living room, with a ratty couch, a coffee table, lit by a bare bulb floor lamp in the corner. The wood floor is rough, like what you would expect in an old wild west saloon. There are several people in various states of being high, all unkempt, lounging on the couch, the floor, against the wall. My husband lets go of me and greets what seems to be the leader of this den. "Give your wallet to her," my husband tells me. I look down at my hand and realize I am still clutching my wallet; I never put it in my purse. I look at him questioningly, concerned, and he repeats the command again. I hand my pink wallet over to a skinny woman, wearing a short dress with pockets at the bottom. She puts my wallet in one of those pockets, amongst other wallets already there. "I will get it back from her tomorrow," my husband whispers as he walks past me to flop down on the filthy couch with others. I look back at the woman with my wallet. She nods. She works undercover in this house. I stand there frozen as my husband chats it up with the druggies. The room is remarkably lively, full of conversation, despite everyone being high. My husband eventually drags me onto his lap on the couch, laughing. I imagine fleas, mites, and all sorts of dirt being attracted to me. After a bit, my husband decides it is time to go home. I kindly cast a "goodbye" to the room as we left. We get back in the car, which had been left unlocked and was untouched. I look over at my husband, "Why did you bring me here.... today?" He looks back at me, smiles somewhat deviously, and then looks over his shoulder to back the car out of the driveway. You might be thinking he is a selfish, cocky ass. But, I know differently. I know his core. We are together because I had seen through the air of coolness and beyond the achingly handsome face to find the smart, good man inside. He really is a good man who adores me. There are days he comes home from being in the field, silently takes my hand to pull me away from doing work (I am a good lawyer and I enjoy the work, particularly as I am good enough to dictate what cases I work on) and makes me curl up on the couch with him. I know then he has had to deal with something horrific that day and holding onto me wipes away the memories of the day and gives him the strength to go back to work tomorrow. I am glad he showed me part of his world today. And hmm, bet we will have some good sex tonight....

Sun Setting

The lowering sun turns the farm land gold,
reminding me of the life I will never have.
I fly down the highway, back to my life in the city.
Back to the abusive grip of "the man."

Running from Failure

I don't try to succeed; I try not to fail. To some this may seem the same, but it is not. It is the difference between running toward something versus running away from something. Despite this approach, I have found success. At least what could be viewed as success.

But this strategy can only take you so far and I am starting to see the edges of it. I am starting seeing beyond "not failing," for I have acheived that, and looking to something perhaps more akin to a goal. I have a good job that pays me well and I could continue to not fail at it. Or I could follow those fledgling thoughts of wanting to contribute to change in our world, to do some good. To jump in the water, ignore my fear of drowning, and keep my eyes on the far shore. To balance trying not to fail with trying to succeed. Can I aim to dreams, rather than avoid overblown nightmares? I'd better try. Or I may end up pretty, wealthy, intelligent, but alone, renting, and have contributed more to the wealth of others than the good of society.

The Only Answer

This is a song by Mike Doughty that is like a short story. You can see the images as he sings of them and easily imagine the full story.

upon the rails
among the weeds
I had a moment of
serenity
I saw you stand
in all the green
upon the rusting rail
balancing

you were
the only answer
my plans
spun all around you
five years in the wrong, I am assured
my name to you is just another word

and in your bed
in morristown
you had magazines
thrown around
from under them
the phone it rang
and in the margin there
you wrote the number down

you were
the only answer
my plans
spun all around you
five years in the wrong, I am assured
my name to you is just another word

another word
another word
the only answer, another word,
the only answer
the only answer
the only answer

Looking back

Humans have limited ability to collect and process information in the moment. Sometimes we do a pretty good job of assessing our reaction, our emotions, etc. right away. Even with this, it is unlikely when we look back at that moment (even at little as an hour later), we will recall the event or our reaction the same.* What is the valid experience then? Or is the moment and each recall of that moment equally valid experiences in our lives?

Seven years ago, after a year of not riding, I went on a horse drive in the Mammoth Lake region of California. I recently I returned to that experience, both in memory and in reality. This time, I was in fine riding shape and took a friend with me. As we headed out, I was stunned by how clear my memory was of the details of the trail. I hadn't thought of the previous trip much after I went on it, but undoubtedly had taken in and held a great amount of information from the ride. This time, I wanted to be struck with an overwhelming sense of "this is so great, I am having a great time" during the trip. Yet, if you have ever ridden the trail for 5-6 hours a day, you know there is no way to say such in the moment. It wasn't until that I got home and thought about the trip, did I feel the saturating beauty of the experience. Like sitting with my friend under the shade of a juniper, sipping a beer and gazing upon the mountains. Or watching him ride a ridge to bring down some stragglers. Hanging out on the back of my borrowed steed, holding the herd, waiting for the back of the train to catch up. Or the blistering headache brought on by riding through dust and sagebrush. I had had such a miminal emotional reaction at the time because I was taking in so much information. That had to come in looking back.
*See "Stumbling on Happiness" by Daniel Gilbert for more

Stuff of Songs

I recently starting putting together some of my favorite artists to form radio stations on Pandora (www.pandora.com). I like products like this that clearly demonstrate the brillance of their creators. Pandora doesn't just take the artists you pick and play their music, but through some musical/mathematical magic finds music that is similar to your artists to build a whole channel. So my favorite station was set up with Lifehouse, Train, Matchbox Twenty, and Third Eye Blind. I have been listening to it for several days now, along with some other channels I set up. What has struck me in my listening, is how love is so often the theme of songs. Yes, I suppose if I listened to rap or hip hop, I may have a different perception. Why love? Not worries about money, not about crappy-ass days at work, not dealing with morons? Lyrics and music come together to desperately capture the feelings of love or its aftermath. Try to explain it, try to deal with it. Do we keep demanding these songs because we are junkies for the feelings associated with love? When we are in it, the songs make us fly higher. When we are falling out of it, the songs painfully draw out our tears for love lost and put words (or a tune) to the wrenching mass of emotions within us. And if we are healed, it takes us back to those good and bad emotional times associated with love, reminding us what we have lived through. And keep us hopeful for our next hit.

Goodbye, Leo

As soon as my eyes shut, the slide show begins,
Yesterday is gone now and panic sets in,
With a weight upon my chest and a ghost on my back
And the numbing sensation of everything I lack
That leaves me dreaming, dreaming, dreaming
Your real world away.
-Brandi Carlile "Late Morning Lullaby"


How many times in life do people, animals, jobs, love, and good times leave you or perhaps more challenging, you have to leave them? Sometimes it is sudden, other times it is planned. Sometimes you have to leave good things behind to reach other goals, to find other happiness. This is what I face now, with my horse Leo finding himself a new home. I gave him up to open the opportunity of not being locked into my current job and/or perhaps buying a house. I put my faith in the possibilities the future to get me through the pain of saying goodbye. I know he will be fine and make his own happiness in his new place, seducing treats out of people with his nickers. Oh, but for me, I see on the horizon more change, more saying goodbye, to things I love dearly and to things I don't, but just cannot seem to pull myself away from.

Smacking into Trees

Imagine you are flying low over a field sparsely poplulated with trees. Across the field runs a pack of people, apparently blindfolded, as you watch a few run into the trees (there is a similar scene in a spanish movie, the name of which I cannot recall). Some may miss many of the trees, only to smack into one very close to the end of the course. We could also turn this scene around and the people are not blindfolded, but trees and walls pop out out of the ground randomly, taking out some while others are able to dodge at the last minute. In all cases, the people survive, stumbling around for a few minutes, then run off again.

The more I live, the more I see the limited capabilities of man. I still don't know why I am so surprised by this and why I thought we could be closer to "perfect" than is really possible. You think you are doing just fine, doing your work/family/relationship well, then *SMACK* you hit a tree or maybe luckily just trip on a root. All the planning, obsessing, monitoring, working in the world will not prevent this. You will hit boundries of your and others capabilities. And this boundries may no be consistantly placed. There are a myriad examples of times in life where even with intent, effort, or careful reasoning, you cannot avoid your own weaknesses (that you may never be able to overcome), others weaknesses, or other bumps in the road. I think that it comes down to accepting that we will run into trees. And in the end, perhaps the greatest capability of man is to keep going, in spite of the trees.

Economic Stimulus Package

You cannot turn on the news or read the paper without having "economy" or its derivatives mentioned. Yet, how many know what "recession" really means? Or why we have a stock market? Oh, and to think about what our politicians DON'T know about economics scares me as they are making "economic" decisions for us. So I believe the next economics stimulus package should not be billions of dollars, but an emphasis on the teaching of economic principles in K-12 education. Economics should not just be a high school elective or something only taught by Junior Achievement volunteers. It should not be the largest major at the top universities because of the screwed up belief in this country that if you know something about money systems that you will get lots of money. Those top university programs should be training the next leaders in economic thought not the next Madoff's. Damn, I would be ok if they were just training the next politicians!

In our K-12 education, we are given a a survey of all topics; math, chemistry, biology, art..., but not economics. At least not in my experience. In my high school, the meat-head athletes took the business classes, which were taught by a teacher that slept with students. In 6th grade, we had a mock stock investing experience, but the teacher never told us why there was a stock market, why the prices of the stocks we picked fluctuated. We were only taught that some people make lucky picks and win big. The economics education of today's children should be more than this. Maybe it is and in the coming weeks I will be proven wrong. If not, I have found my cause.

Obama and the Spirit of Change

"On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord."

"The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness."

These are my favorite lines from the inspiring, eloquent speech President Obama gave today at his inauguration. It was honest, not avoiding the troubles of our current world, but still carried a tone of idealism. He inspired hope as he reminded us of the good parts of the American spirit: the determination, the hard work, the ability to enact change, and make dreams reality. His words made me believe that change was truly possible. Profound change making this nation better. And that I had a responsibility to contribute to this change.

As I looked at those 2 million people gathered at the Mall, I wondered how much they were filled with hope, how much that they believed that healthy change would occur quickly in the coming years. Did they see that they are a strong part of righting the overturned America? Or are we so accustomed to being victims and will continue to leave it to others? And in four years will we be disappointed that all our hopes for change were not met?

Obama will not save us on his own; his power will reside in inspiring us to change and create change. Values and preponderance of belief are what have brought us down and a change to these is what will turn this world around.

It Goes Without Saying...

It is remarkable how quietly people have taken the economic downturn. Starting in the financial and mortgage sectors, the rest of the economy has slid downwards. The only information one could get from the media was "things are bad;" no clear simplified discussion to actually educate anyone properly. Holding a degree in economics, even I was hard-pressed to get a coherent story of the causes and actual and anticipated effects. So the masses were fed hysteria and the preponderance of belief seemingly made fears become reality. As the stock market plummeted and people's savings disappeared, as jobs have been lost and businesses shut down, we have remained quiet. Where are the protests? Where are all those Washington Mutual employees who got screwed over by the greedy executives? Why are they and the shareholders not demanding back the millions earned by those "leaders"? There are likely many parties who benefited from the whole mortgage and mortgage-securities industry. I anticipate many who benefited the most were not the ones who were affected the most when the scheme unwound. Yet, if there is outrage, it remains boiling below. Or we just feel like victims again. Because, really, what could we do? Believe me, there are plenty of us smart, passionate people who don't need to be victims.