The semester is disorganized. Maybe even a mess, so far. But that’s okay, it seems to be working. Shandy is getting walked on average three or four times a day. I am enjoying teaching. I am enjoying class. I am writing (although not quite as much as I could). The house looks great. And I have enough time somewhere in it all to sit here and write this. There is lovely ’80s artwork from the eastern (i.e. communist) bloc hanging on my walls. I am not totally broke. Things are working.
Things are f’king working. 😀
I am sitting here listening to old music and thinking about life and liking it and maybe misting up a bit. Life is so short it’s alarming. I can’t believe I’m this old. I can remember when my parents were the age I am now because I had already been born long enough to have things like age explained to me. I am well behind where they were at at my age and I’m still nowhere near that level of living.
The living room is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Shiny hardwood floors, a 500-pound sold wood coffee table, a green suede papasan chair, a Polish film poster featuring a lovely woman, and some bamboo. Life could not get better, I think. I just need to be sure not to take anything for granted—to remember that it cannot get much better than
– Large apartment in New York
– Right against the Hudson river
– Alongside a park and underneath a scenic bridge
– Getting paid to get a Ph.D. at a famous research university
– Teaching social theory at the university level
– Writing for a New York Times company
– Earning money on the side from photography
– Engaged to a beautiful, amazing, spectacularly intelligent Polish woman
– Walking an absolutely handsome, tremendously fit, loving puppy every few hours
– Working at an international research institute
– With great friends that are still talking to me even though I am stupid busy
Damn life is good. And it’s true, I am busy. Busier than I’ve ever been before in my life. Everything—literally everything—is going on… life is opening up to me, becoming mine in a way that I never thought would happen. All I have to do is ride the wave and keep my head.
I haven’t listened to The Verve’s “Lucky Man” since December 31st, 1999. If there’s a moment to do it, this is it.
Yeah, okay, she’s right, I’m a mythomaniac. The mythologies of the self, however, are those that turn the world on its head, that make servants out of kings, that bring walls tumbling down and keep the possibilities flowing.
Life is short. There is nothing to do but build legend in time to become one, because otherwise… you won’t.