Humility, New York Style

First off, if I’m encouraging others to get their blog on, then I better do the same. So here I am, getting my blog on.

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Second off, I’ve been in New York for 5 days meeting with dreamers. People who are striking out on their own. They’re like prospectors of old. Packing up all of their shit and heading West to see what they can see, do what they can do. I’ve met artists, designers, filmmakers, musicians, and healers. I talked to a guy starting a social media platform, a woman running her own cleaning company, and a charming, clairvoyant professional organizer. Each one of them had something unique to give the world. Each one of them had a defining vision about how to fit in and help others be amazing. This, I think, is how we start to fix each other. Or, maybe, this is one way we start to fix ourselves. We dream big, and give back. This, I think, is what makes New York so amazing:

Confidence and grace. Belief and humility.

That’s right, I said it (about New Yorkers): HUMILITY.

See, they believe in themselves and that they’re capable of doing some pretty punk-rock things, but they know that they can’t do it alone. They know what they know and look to others for advice and help on the stuff they don’t know. That, my friends, takes some wisdom to figure out. So much of our success is dependent on others: present, past, and future friends, lovers, acquaintances, family, strangers. We are a mashup of the people we have known. They are a part of our success. And that is an attitude worth stealing.

That, my friends, is something we need to practice.

Little Black Submarine by The Black Keys

Little black submarines / Operator please / Put me back on the line / Told my girl I’d be back / Operator please / This is wreckin’ my mind / Oh can it be / The voices calling me / They get lost / And out of time / I should’ve seen it glow / But everybody knows / That a broken heart is blind / That a broken heart is blind / Pick you up, let you down / When I wanna go / To a place I can hide / You know me, I had plans / But they just disappeared / To the back of my mind / Oh can it be / The voices calling me / They get lost / And out of time / I should’ve seen a glow / But everybody knows / That a broken heart is blind / That a broken heart is blind / Treasure maps fallen trees  / Operator please / Call me back when it’s time / Stolen friends and disease / Operator please / Patch me back to my mind / Oh can it be / The voices calling me / They get lost / And out of time / I should’ve seen a glow / But everybody knows / That a broken heart is blind / That a broken heart is blind / That a broken heart is blind

Poetry: Problem Management

Here’s the deal with poetry and why it’s worth practicing, even if you’re bad at it (like me): it makes us listen. You have to get quiet in your own skin. You have to work through it, even if you end up nowhere special in the end. It doesn’t give us answers. It gives us material. It gives us something to work with. We need stuff to work with. Here’s one of my recents:

Problem Management

Sweetie, I’m afraid I have no more figs.
I have no more coconut.
I have misplaced the dishes,
my favorite cups.
I stopped searching for my missing sock;
I’m going to convince you
argyle doesn’t matter anymore.
I don’t want–
wait–
I don’t need answers.
I only want one answer:
smooth like spring skin, bright, light,
but filling like milk after chocolate.
Something to share, to grasp, to eat.
But Sweetie, the figs are gone,
the coconut is dry,
and you need me and I need you
like milk after chocolate
and skin in spring
and jumping in the ocean when we find it.

And that’s what I have to work with. Now it’s your turn. Try it. If you can sit, if you can listen, if you can be as honest as you can, you’ll come up with something that works. And work is worth it.