I don't remember the very first time I ever went for a run. I do remember the days we ran the mile in gym class, and boy was that rough. There was something dreadful about changing into shorts, trekking out the quarter mile oval surrounding the football field, and slowly starting to jog around for four laps, all while watching the star football player literally running laps around you. The goal was 12 minutes for a mile, and dang that was tough.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
50 State Challenge
As usual, its been a long time since I've blogged. I could put together a string of excuses or talk about the things that you've missed in the time that's passed, but mostly all I can say is that I've been a bit lazy and unmotivated to write. True, there are always interesting things happening, but nothing that seems, blog-worthy.
But, alas, I found an idea. Recently I was taking a look at the Milwaukee Mini-Marathon website. I'm running this race on September 28 and wanted to see what kind of course it was. It never really matters to me, but I always like to do a quick streetview to see what I can expect.
The Milwaukee race is part of my quest to run at least a half-marathon distance in every state before I turn 50. A 50 by 50 challenge or a 50 states challenge or just a silly and idiotic goal that I want to complete. As I looked at the race, I wondered what others have done who run lots of races. I would have been shocked if I were the only person who ever thought of running in all 50 states.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Tennis: An Analogy for Life?
It isn't often I get to serve up a tennis analogy. It isn't often I get to use puns either. Today is a special day.
Back in high school I played tennis. I loved it. All of it. I loved going to practice. I loved hitting tons of forehands and backhands and serving for hours. I had a hopper filled with tennis balls that I would take out on hot summer nights and serve to no one until I could no longer see the lines due to darkness.
Tennis was fun. And I loved the sport of it. I never dreamed of becoming a state champion or being the best player in the school. And neither of those things happened. I simply enjoyed tennis and wanted to play as much as I could.
Back in high school I played tennis. I loved it. All of it. I loved going to practice. I loved hitting tons of forehands and backhands and serving for hours. I had a hopper filled with tennis balls that I would take out on hot summer nights and serve to no one until I could no longer see the lines due to darkness.
Tennis was fun. And I loved the sport of it. I never dreamed of becoming a state champion or being the best player in the school. And neither of those things happened. I simply enjoyed tennis and wanted to play as much as I could.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Perfection and Patience
Every Tuesday evening since early January I have rushed home from work, snuck in a quick run, and gobbled down a leftover dinner so that I could make it to the local community college for choir rehearsal. Yes, it's true, I joined the Dearborn Community Chorus. It has been 5 weeks or so and it has certainly been an adventure.
Like any good community chorus, the majority of people are older community members looking to keep singing. When I say older, I mean anyone under 60 years old is considered a spring chicken. That makes me a regular baby.
The chorus requires no audition, all you need to do is come to the first rehearsal, pay some dues to the city for rental space and music purchase, and then you hop into whatever section you sing. For me this is a section filled with older gentleman who like to over-sing, complain about notes above the middle of bass clef, and who almost always sing under the pitch. This is the bass section in a community choir.
My first day at the choir was an interesting one. I arrived and was immediately greeted by a very friendly tenor who introduced himself as Alex. He was the only other guy there that didn't have grey hair (or hair dye.) The room is a typical choir room, raised platforms with chairs, music posters all over the room with do, re, mi and a blank staff on the board. The piano sat in the middle of the room with the accompanist and the director who reminded me a lot of my high school choir director.
We started without warm-up and jumped into the music- jazz standards. For these men and women, jazz is not something they know. Their church choirs are generally songs that require straight singing, none of the fancy stuff in jazz. (Do we sing the full 'doot' and 'dot' when doing this scat section?) Imagine listening to Ella Fitzgerald enunciating her 't's. Its just comical to think about. Its comical to hear too.
After that first rehearsal I was a bit skeptical about the group. I chalked it up to the first rehearsal and decided that as time went on, we were bound to get better. As each week passes I've come to realize that the group struggles a bit. We've learned about what eighth notes and eighth rests are. We've talked about swing rhythm and how a flat is only a half step lower than the pitch that is written.
As I sat bored with the music, wondering when we would worry about breaths and phrasing and vowels and intonation, I began to realize that this choir just might not be as good as I remember choirs being. The community choir in Hillsdale had the elements of over-singing and basses under-pitch, but we could still make some pretty nice music. This choir seems to really struggle.
This past week was nearly the kicker for me. I sat listening to the director and listening to people in the choir who were doing all the things he asked us not to do. I listened to the bass behind me who reminded me of the kid in high school that was always at least 10 pitches under the real pitch. I found myself singing louder in places where I heard the bass section was wrong. I found another musician next to me who helped lead the bass section.
It was then that I realized I was back in high school choir. Instead of my friend Isaac next to me, it was this man Ray anchoring the basses. The kid behind me was that red head in my class who could never hit the pitch. The soprano who would always correct the director was that one girl who thought she knew more about music. And the mistakes that we had corrected a few weeks ago were still showing up this week when we returned to the music, counting errors and incorrect pitches and consonants in the right spots.
I was frustrated. And then I remembered that back in high school it wasn't about perfection in music. It wasn't about getting it right in the fifth rehearsal. It was okay that sometimes rehearsals just kind of sucked because you knew we'd get it in time. Music is always about the experience. Its always about spending the time working and working and doing things again and again and knowing that when the concert comes you're still probably going to make mistakes, but you were able to share music with others.
Recently I've been reading about living in the moment, experiencing the process, and sharing a moment with others. While I think this applies in so many aspects of life, this is especially easy to identify in this chorus. We won't be perfect. There will be a lot of things that I wish we could do a bit better. But right now, I'm enjoying singing again. I'm enjoying being a part of a choir and making music, even if it isn't always that great. Its fun to have a section of music that is tough because one day it will click. When it does, that whole process was worth it.
It isn't about being perfect. And it isn't about being patient for perfection to appear. Its about being patient with the fact that right now, at that moment, I am enjoying the music that we are making. I am enjoying the people I am with. I am enjoying the process of making music. And that process leads to a kind of perfection that we should all strive for in every moment of our lives. The fact that where we are and what we are doing is exactly where we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to be doing. Often it is difficult to figure out what that is until after the fact, but one day, it will all make perfect sense.
Like any good community chorus, the majority of people are older community members looking to keep singing. When I say older, I mean anyone under 60 years old is considered a spring chicken. That makes me a regular baby.
The chorus requires no audition, all you need to do is come to the first rehearsal, pay some dues to the city for rental space and music purchase, and then you hop into whatever section you sing. For me this is a section filled with older gentleman who like to over-sing, complain about notes above the middle of bass clef, and who almost always sing under the pitch. This is the bass section in a community choir.
My first day at the choir was an interesting one. I arrived and was immediately greeted by a very friendly tenor who introduced himself as Alex. He was the only other guy there that didn't have grey hair (or hair dye.) The room is a typical choir room, raised platforms with chairs, music posters all over the room with do, re, mi and a blank staff on the board. The piano sat in the middle of the room with the accompanist and the director who reminded me a lot of my high school choir director.
We started without warm-up and jumped into the music- jazz standards. For these men and women, jazz is not something they know. Their church choirs are generally songs that require straight singing, none of the fancy stuff in jazz. (Do we sing the full 'doot' and 'dot' when doing this scat section?) Imagine listening to Ella Fitzgerald enunciating her 't's. Its just comical to think about. Its comical to hear too.
After that first rehearsal I was a bit skeptical about the group. I chalked it up to the first rehearsal and decided that as time went on, we were bound to get better. As each week passes I've come to realize that the group struggles a bit. We've learned about what eighth notes and eighth rests are. We've talked about swing rhythm and how a flat is only a half step lower than the pitch that is written.
As I sat bored with the music, wondering when we would worry about breaths and phrasing and vowels and intonation, I began to realize that this choir just might not be as good as I remember choirs being. The community choir in Hillsdale had the elements of over-singing and basses under-pitch, but we could still make some pretty nice music. This choir seems to really struggle.
This past week was nearly the kicker for me. I sat listening to the director and listening to people in the choir who were doing all the things he asked us not to do. I listened to the bass behind me who reminded me of the kid in high school that was always at least 10 pitches under the real pitch. I found myself singing louder in places where I heard the bass section was wrong. I found another musician next to me who helped lead the bass section.
It was then that I realized I was back in high school choir. Instead of my friend Isaac next to me, it was this man Ray anchoring the basses. The kid behind me was that red head in my class who could never hit the pitch. The soprano who would always correct the director was that one girl who thought she knew more about music. And the mistakes that we had corrected a few weeks ago were still showing up this week when we returned to the music, counting errors and incorrect pitches and consonants in the right spots.
I was frustrated. And then I remembered that back in high school it wasn't about perfection in music. It wasn't about getting it right in the fifth rehearsal. It was okay that sometimes rehearsals just kind of sucked because you knew we'd get it in time. Music is always about the experience. Its always about spending the time working and working and doing things again and again and knowing that when the concert comes you're still probably going to make mistakes, but you were able to share music with others.
Recently I've been reading about living in the moment, experiencing the process, and sharing a moment with others. While I think this applies in so many aspects of life, this is especially easy to identify in this chorus. We won't be perfect. There will be a lot of things that I wish we could do a bit better. But right now, I'm enjoying singing again. I'm enjoying being a part of a choir and making music, even if it isn't always that great. Its fun to have a section of music that is tough because one day it will click. When it does, that whole process was worth it.
It isn't about being perfect. And it isn't about being patient for perfection to appear. Its about being patient with the fact that right now, at that moment, I am enjoying the music that we are making. I am enjoying the people I am with. I am enjoying the process of making music. And that process leads to a kind of perfection that we should all strive for in every moment of our lives. The fact that where we are and what we are doing is exactly where we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to be doing. Often it is difficult to figure out what that is until after the fact, but one day, it will all make perfect sense.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Lost? in the suburbs
My best friend in my office is a 57 year-old Hawaiian woman with a huge heart and a hearty laugh. She and I have tons of conversations about life and the way to live and the hot topics of the day. We chat about Detroit and the future of the city and we chat about politics. We even dabble in the spiritual realm sometimes, but our opinions differ and we don't ever wish to offend each other.
My friend has a loud voice that carries and she talks a lot. Usually she makes sense and has a point, but sometimes her message is lost. I always listen patiently and massage the message because usually she always has an important message to say.
A lot of people in the office think she talks too much and spends too much time with appointments. I think she speaks when she has something to say and is by far the best person in our office when it comes to forming relationships with students and staff. No other counselor is requested nearly as often as she is.
We had dinner on Friday night at the Green Dot Stables in Corktown, a place known for their sliders and truffle fries. It was crowded and the night was snowy, but we had a great time chatting about life, as we always do. Today she told me about how she told our co-worker about the restaurant. Our co-worker had never heard of the place and my friend said, "If you want to know anything about downtown, you need to talk to David."
This statement was profound to me. It wasn't shocking, by any means. I pride myself on getting involved with Detroit and knowing the city. But, I think back to when I wrote the title of this blog: Lost in the Suburbs.
The title was very intentional. When I started this blog I had recently moved to Dearborn unsure of myself, unsure of my place, unsure of my future and figuratively and literally lost. I had gained so much confidence and millennial pride after having a great college experience only to have my confidence shattered over a year of unemployment and living at home. While friends ventured off to grad school or AmeriCorps or full-fledged jobs in full-fledged cities I was stuck in Kalamazoo and Hillsdale and everywhere but where I wanted to go.
I searched aimlessly for a job in higher education or adventure education or politics and government only to find that rejection emails and letters were polite and in most cases it was standard to never hear from a place at all. My confidence was shaken. Was I good enough to make it? Did I do enough in college to prove worthy? Was I just a big fish in a small pond?
When I arrived in Dearborn I was wounded. I had finally landed a job, but I quickly realized that entry level paychecks don't go as far as we would like. I vowed to live a simple life, but still desired to have a cool apartment and new gadgets and a nice car. And worst of all, I was stuck in Detroit, a place that seemed to have perpetual gloom and depression hanging throughout every undefined suburb.
It was in this moment of misery that I started this blog. Mostly I wanted to prove to my friends that Detroit had something going for it; my friends who seemingly had it all in exotic locations like Chicago and St. Louis. I was stuck in a city that people didn't want to be in, that people didn't want to visit, that people didn't want to care about and I was stuck in a place that I fell into because I needed a job. I constantly remind myself that at one time in life I wanted a graduate degree in higher education.
After having been involved in college with organizations with built in friendships, I found that breaking into a city like Detroit is a hard thing to do. When you're the youngest person in your office and mistakenly identified as a student constantly at your place of work, it became hard to find friendships. If the office is filled with people you can't relate to and the community is filled with students I should maintain a professional distance from, what am I to do?
And I worked furiously to maintain relationships with my friends from college who now lived all over the country. I even put their names on a map on my wall so that I knew where I could go to escape my imprisonment.
One day when I was reading my blog I realized that it was incredibly depressing. Things were never cheery or funny, just constant complaints about how rotten things were. And it was at that moment that I decided I needed a new topic to write about. I determined that I should discover the city I was living in. I should write about places I discovered, good or bad, and work to find the character of this city. As I said earlier, I was determined to prove to my friends that my life was cool too.
As I started this project, I started by sharing experiences at attractions and restaurants. I decided to take alternative routes to get places, just to explore the roads. I liked to drive to new neighborhoods to see if things were really as bad as they say. I worked to find the closest locations for things like movies and pizza and tried to find my favorite bars. I talked to people in these places and scoured blogs for tips on where to go in the city. And slowly, I discovered there were cool things happening.
When my attitude started to change about Detroit I recognized that I needed to make a few things happen. First, I removed everyone's name from my map. The names only caused anxiety in me as I felt that I should be somewhere else or doing something else or that someone, somewhere was having more fun than I was. Second, I deleted my facebook. I was completely exhausted with trying to maintain a profile and I found I was always watching to see where people were that I was not. Third, I embraced the city I was in. I recognized that I was on my own, living in my own place, never having to fear about where my next meal was coming from and with plenty of cash to explore the city.
Through all of this I discovered things about myself that I only now have the chance to reflect upon. I discovered that I am in fact okay with being alone. I like myself enough that I have a good time being a bit naive and exploratory and talking to strangers. I found that when I waited for friends to do things, they often cancelled or didn't want to do the things I wanted to or took weeks to respond. I was wasting so much time when I could have been out doing things on my own.
I discovered that I enjoy Detroit and I enjoy simplicity. A fancy apartment does not give me happiness. New gadgets do not give me happiness. A new car does not give me happiness. I am happy when I discover something new. I am happy when I talk to someone about deep subjects. I am happy when I can sit and enjoy the peace of a warm summer day.
As this transpired I began to understand my place. For too long I spent time pining for the past, wishing things could go back to the way they were. And even if I wasn't wishing for the old days, I was still holding on to old friendships and memories that were long gone.
I realized that I had no vision for my future. I was not always thrilled about my job or my apartment or Detroit, but I had no alternate vision. I wasn't sure what I wanted. As quoted from "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland:"
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."
"I don't much care where –"
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go.”
I understood from this experience that I was exactly where I needed to be and that I needed to let go. I needed to let things happen and experience things. I needed to find what motivated me and what I liked. And ultimately I found that I was excited by Detroit. I was excited by progress. I was excited by potential in leaders and in neighborhoods and in people. It drove me to envision a future for myself. It is a vision that is constantly changing, mostly because it isn't here yet. Yet I now have a drive and can both be reminded of the past, appreciate my present, and prepare for the future.
While I have no plans for changing the title, I can, at this time question, whether I am still truly lost in the suburbs.
My friend has a loud voice that carries and she talks a lot. Usually she makes sense and has a point, but sometimes her message is lost. I always listen patiently and massage the message because usually she always has an important message to say.
A lot of people in the office think she talks too much and spends too much time with appointments. I think she speaks when she has something to say and is by far the best person in our office when it comes to forming relationships with students and staff. No other counselor is requested nearly as often as she is.
We had dinner on Friday night at the Green Dot Stables in Corktown, a place known for their sliders and truffle fries. It was crowded and the night was snowy, but we had a great time chatting about life, as we always do. Today she told me about how she told our co-worker about the restaurant. Our co-worker had never heard of the place and my friend said, "If you want to know anything about downtown, you need to talk to David."
This statement was profound to me. It wasn't shocking, by any means. I pride myself on getting involved with Detroit and knowing the city. But, I think back to when I wrote the title of this blog: Lost in the Suburbs.
The title was very intentional. When I started this blog I had recently moved to Dearborn unsure of myself, unsure of my place, unsure of my future and figuratively and literally lost. I had gained so much confidence and millennial pride after having a great college experience only to have my confidence shattered over a year of unemployment and living at home. While friends ventured off to grad school or AmeriCorps or full-fledged jobs in full-fledged cities I was stuck in Kalamazoo and Hillsdale and everywhere but where I wanted to go.
I searched aimlessly for a job in higher education or adventure education or politics and government only to find that rejection emails and letters were polite and in most cases it was standard to never hear from a place at all. My confidence was shaken. Was I good enough to make it? Did I do enough in college to prove worthy? Was I just a big fish in a small pond?
When I arrived in Dearborn I was wounded. I had finally landed a job, but I quickly realized that entry level paychecks don't go as far as we would like. I vowed to live a simple life, but still desired to have a cool apartment and new gadgets and a nice car. And worst of all, I was stuck in Detroit, a place that seemed to have perpetual gloom and depression hanging throughout every undefined suburb.
It was in this moment of misery that I started this blog. Mostly I wanted to prove to my friends that Detroit had something going for it; my friends who seemingly had it all in exotic locations like Chicago and St. Louis. I was stuck in a city that people didn't want to be in, that people didn't want to visit, that people didn't want to care about and I was stuck in a place that I fell into because I needed a job. I constantly remind myself that at one time in life I wanted a graduate degree in higher education.
After having been involved in college with organizations with built in friendships, I found that breaking into a city like Detroit is a hard thing to do. When you're the youngest person in your office and mistakenly identified as a student constantly at your place of work, it became hard to find friendships. If the office is filled with people you can't relate to and the community is filled with students I should maintain a professional distance from, what am I to do?
And I worked furiously to maintain relationships with my friends from college who now lived all over the country. I even put their names on a map on my wall so that I knew where I could go to escape my imprisonment.
One day when I was reading my blog I realized that it was incredibly depressing. Things were never cheery or funny, just constant complaints about how rotten things were. And it was at that moment that I decided I needed a new topic to write about. I determined that I should discover the city I was living in. I should write about places I discovered, good or bad, and work to find the character of this city. As I said earlier, I was determined to prove to my friends that my life was cool too.
As I started this project, I started by sharing experiences at attractions and restaurants. I decided to take alternative routes to get places, just to explore the roads. I liked to drive to new neighborhoods to see if things were really as bad as they say. I worked to find the closest locations for things like movies and pizza and tried to find my favorite bars. I talked to people in these places and scoured blogs for tips on where to go in the city. And slowly, I discovered there were cool things happening.
When my attitude started to change about Detroit I recognized that I needed to make a few things happen. First, I removed everyone's name from my map. The names only caused anxiety in me as I felt that I should be somewhere else or doing something else or that someone, somewhere was having more fun than I was. Second, I deleted my facebook. I was completely exhausted with trying to maintain a profile and I found I was always watching to see where people were that I was not. Third, I embraced the city I was in. I recognized that I was on my own, living in my own place, never having to fear about where my next meal was coming from and with plenty of cash to explore the city.
Through all of this I discovered things about myself that I only now have the chance to reflect upon. I discovered that I am in fact okay with being alone. I like myself enough that I have a good time being a bit naive and exploratory and talking to strangers. I found that when I waited for friends to do things, they often cancelled or didn't want to do the things I wanted to or took weeks to respond. I was wasting so much time when I could have been out doing things on my own.
I discovered that I enjoy Detroit and I enjoy simplicity. A fancy apartment does not give me happiness. New gadgets do not give me happiness. A new car does not give me happiness. I am happy when I discover something new. I am happy when I talk to someone about deep subjects. I am happy when I can sit and enjoy the peace of a warm summer day.
As this transpired I began to understand my place. For too long I spent time pining for the past, wishing things could go back to the way they were. And even if I wasn't wishing for the old days, I was still holding on to old friendships and memories that were long gone.
I realized that I had no vision for my future. I was not always thrilled about my job or my apartment or Detroit, but I had no alternate vision. I wasn't sure what I wanted. As quoted from "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland:"
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."
"I don't much care where –"
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go.”
I understood from this experience that I was exactly where I needed to be and that I needed to let go. I needed to let things happen and experience things. I needed to find what motivated me and what I liked. And ultimately I found that I was excited by Detroit. I was excited by progress. I was excited by potential in leaders and in neighborhoods and in people. It drove me to envision a future for myself. It is a vision that is constantly changing, mostly because it isn't here yet. Yet I now have a drive and can both be reminded of the past, appreciate my present, and prepare for the future.
While I have no plans for changing the title, I can, at this time question, whether I am still truly lost in the suburbs.
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