on my smallness

September 29, 2009 § 5 Comments

On Thursday night, I was sitting in the back of a room with people who, today, are relatively more important than I am.

May sound odd to admit, but if you were there, I’m sure you’d feel the same.  I was small in that room, surrounded by the giants of the world I want to help lead.  It was humbling, but I was proud to share the air with these people, these wind movers, my idols.

In a world like this one, I always find it heartening to see leaders who show unadulterated concern for our future. To see women who risk their lives to stop human trafficking.  Women whose voices carry a pervasive call to action.  Women who, against all odds, will strive for their inclusion in society.  Men who drive innovation and global sustainability.  Men whose creativity fuels life-changing microfinance and microinsurance mechanisms.  Men who spread knowledge and hope to the youngest and the poorest.  Believe me, there are people all over the world — and in that room — whose actions change it for the better, every single day.

So, I was small in that room.  Today, less important in that room.  But, for tomorrow, it was more important than ever that I see what heights I can someday reach, what tests I can look forward to overcoming.

I’ll not soon forget what it was to be there, behind movers, watching idols, and honoring the progress I will build on one day.  One day.

pathologically nostalgic

September 24, 2009 § 3 Comments

This applies to you.  And it always applies to me.

I do not let go. I am pathologically nostalgic, and for that reason, I am a pack rat of memory-related items.   In the way that I’ve not forgotten what it feels like to love someone, I find it hard to throw away a 6-year-old piece of paper on which hearts were scribbled around our names.  It’s really kind of pathetic.

I’ve kept every day planner I’ve had since early high school — so I can remember what I did that day, and the next. This is the day he and I first talked. This is the night I kissed him on my living room couch. This is when we went to prom.

I have a little box of old movie tickets.  Can you remember how he looked in the dim twilight of the theatre?  During the funny part, when our eyes met. What movie was it? I know, because I still have that ticket.

There’s a flattened flower that sits on my desk today. It’s from the summer afternoon I was standing outside of a leasing office near Washington Square Park. I waited for him on the stoop of the brownstone. A small white flower. I picked it up from a crack in the sidewalk cement, and slid the tiny daisy — a wildflower growing inside something damaged — over my ear. I was happy that day, and I wanted to keep that.

To top it off, I am a hopeless lover. When I love, I love fully. When I love fully, I never stop loving. When I never stop loving, I keep everything.  When I keep everything, I lose space for other things.

I’m growing older and taking new lessons in so quickly.  Every day, I add something to the collection, but I’m losing patience with the past.  Its clutter clogs renewal.  Its weight holds me down.  I’m starving for my spring.  Maybe it’s time to throw out the day planners.  Even so, I bet I won’t.

Apparently, I need a microphone.

September 23, 2009 § 1 Comment

When I was in college, I told myself I would one day be a writer.  Today, I am a writer by profession.

Yet, somehow, I haven’t written anything of personal value since my NYU days.  I guess, if you really consider what I do, it kind of makes sense because I am, in essence, a ghostwriter.  But it’s stupid to let my voice disappear, and, today, I decided to cut the shit.

So, here goes.

Where Am I?

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