Month: April 2017

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a tight fitting shirt.

The maestro steps up. He speaks gently to his orchestra before picking up a delicate baton with his right arm. With every movement, his arms flex effortlessly.

The baton makes soft and swooping loops to his left and right to awaken the violins and cellos. Melodious magic. His arms jerk and create violent upward movements to increase the tempo and introduce the drums.

All eyes are on him.

$20 is a bargain for the rehearsal. A part of me feels fear of missing the full-priced evening event, but I’m glad I’m here.

Not only am I hearing the music as they are created, but also the way the orchestra functions. The Conductor’s baton commands the musicians to dance, and they breathe life into their instruments.

Everything I hear is the orchestra’s execution of his delicate command.

Intermission

A piano is placed front and center, hiding the conductor from audience view. The power shifts to slender fingers of the man sitting in front of the grand piano. He is a world renowned pianist. His name is Jonathan Biss. The orchestra is no longer the main act.

The melody is complex; a cacophony of high-pitched chaos. My mind shakes into disarray. I feel a stir. It’s beautiful in its dissent.

The conductor stops the orchestra to correct a nervous violinist. She brings her clenched fist to her mouth. Few minutes later, it happens again. We can hear the Conductor’s every word. I’m sitting in the Mezzanine. I cringe.

After the first set finishes, the conductor shakes the pianist’s hand before giving a courteous feedback on his performance. He’s inaudible.

Life is just like the orchestra. Everyone plays his or her part. The conductor ensures the right tempo and mix of play. But even the Maestro may not be the main act from time to time. Based on the power dynamic, our engagement and interaction model changes to cater to the more powerful and well-known.

What we create today could have long lasting impact. L. Frank Baum’s wizard of Oz has been made into a movie and served as the muse for Wicked.

Glinda the Good vs. the Wicked Witch of the West. Glinda the glittery, beautiful, and all-around adorable is popular lady. Alfaba the Wicked Witch is green, ugly, malicious and evil to the core.

The musical questions our view of good vs. bad. Glinda is only ostensibly good. Alfaba is misunderstood.

Let me get back to Mr. Baum. Of the stories I’ve read, his has the most number of female heroines. Dorothy. Glinda. Even the Wicked Witch. Princess Ozma. The Evil Swan. Because his original story is full of women, Wicked is also full of women characters today.

Another buzzfeed titled, “29 Cheap Things To Treat Yourself To Right Now” comes across our news feed. This article is another reminder of our addiction to super consumerism, not living the life with intention and self-control.

1. Buy ________ because we’re worth it! We derive self-worth from the cheap consumer goods not who we are and what we do.
2. Buy ________ to give our hands something to do when we’re feeling nervous because its’ better to distract ourselves instead of dealing with the problem head on.
3. Buy ________ that will leave onlooker completely spellbound by our worthless crap because integrity and kindness cannot be worn on our sleeves.
4. Buy ________ with a dash of something totally ridiculous for snack emergencies because without it, we’ll die of malnutrition. 

Retail therapy doesn’t work. It drains our wallet and robs us of our time.

What we really need is true therapy. We need to fulfill the need to talk to ourselves. Contemplate. Let our minds wander. Eventually, we’ll need to talk to someone else. A professional perhaps. A good friend. A stranger. Someone who would listen and remind us to be kind to our worst critic: ourselves.

Instead of ignoring or finding coping (masking) mechanisms, let fear, resentment and shame wash over us. Try to understand why. Why we constantly feel this way, and ascertain the source of discomfort.

To dig deep, we need to eliminate distraction.

Stop shopping and start living.

“Trust me” He demanded, and refused to move.
(But I don’t even know you…)

I always book aisle seat whenever I fly and had the ticket stub in my hand: 27C. The legend on the bulkhead corresponded.

“Ask the flight attendant”, he demanded.

The flight attendant confirms the truth.

He moves without apologizing. Mumbles something about always requesting aisle seats.

I get a glimpse into his life. A bully who’s not used to being challenged. A bully who gets his way no matter what until someone steps up to question him.

It takes just one person to stand up to a bully.

My fingers were blue because I was cleaning out a Mont Blanc pen. It had been washed and tumble-dried by mistake by someone who got it from someone else. I cleaned it up for her. I’m not rich. I also can’t believe the pen costs $500!!!

In South Africa, where I live, we tip a flat 10%. I thought 20% would be appropriate… but I was wrong. I didn’t know that 20% is the bare minimum in New York! I’m sorry! I wanted to leave you an awesome tip for your stellar service!

You’ll do well in whatever you do.

Juliana’s is top 10 pizza joints in the USA. I can see why. Thanks for great service and yummy pizza.

Perception versus reality. What is the space in between? It could be anywhere from zero to infinity. Who do we surround ourselves with? To help check our blind spots and call us out on our bullshit? Tell us the truth that causes active discomfort?

Or do we run away from them? Into the safety net, to get tangled up into our web of lies?

We leave Manhattan to pay you a visit. I don’t see any tourists here. Yay.

I enter a Vevo recording venue, courtesy of a concierge that also doubles as thoughtful sister. A free venue with free booze. Brooklyn, you’re too kind.

The band of four women enters the stage. Their excitement is contagious and the crowd is kind. The bassist wears thick black eyeliners with grey t-shirt tucked into her tight blue jeans. The Lead Singer wears her fringe with effortless style. Maybe not. A lot of effort to look that way.

The drummer bangs away in the back, hidden from the crowd.

The lead singer steps to the edge of the stage to pat a spectator’s head.

Another guitarist wears a loose, checkered shirt. She looks out of place. She stands out from the rest.

Their spirits are high despite London jetlag combined with booze.

They’re out here making their dream come true. I applaud them for pursuing their music despite likely resistance from parents and society. Well done, ladies.

I enter the World Trade Center Mall and am confused with heavy security detail. One of them greets me and asks how my day is going. I smile. He smiles too. He makes my day.

I walk another 15 steps.

A tiny lady stops me and asks, “Donde esta el departomento de edificio”?

My mind tries to search for the meaning of edificio… City Hall? I am not sure. I am not from here. She looks confused. She is late to her appointment.

She has the address written down on top of an envelope with the direction, “última parada”

I speak a bit of Spanish. I have nowhere specific to go. I stop a man in reflective vest to ask for help. He tells me the directions in English. I translate into Spanish.

We talk. We walk. Her name is Julia. We eventually figure out how to get to 280 Broadway.

Random encounters are the best gifts of our present. I intend to talk to at least one stranger during my ten days in New York.

I look up to admire your buildings carved out of marble, granite, glass and material I can’t name. Your skyline is unique as your inhabitants. Sunshine razzle and dazzle on the surface. Wind tunnels between them provide much-needed space to let the air lift up our spirits and take away the heaviness.

I look ahead and see tourists, hustlers, street performers, and average New Yorkers. Some can’t wait for the walk signal to change before they cross. Some won’t cross until the lights turn green with no sign of cars. Everyone moves as if they’re late to a fabulous destination. They move as if their life depended on speed walking. I can taste the rush in the air. Not everyone is moving of course. Some are sleeping and some are holding up their cardboard signs with a catchy phrase to get your attention. To beg for money. To be seen. To feel like a member of the society.

I want to ask everyone. Where are you going? Why do you look like you’re late? You look really young… how did you become homeless? Aren’t you cold? Can I stop you to talk to you for few minutes?

I look down. Vibrant, healthy and full of life tulips have been planted with care. They are red. They are yellow. They are pink. Some are closed while most are open to bask in the gift of sunshine from above. Every stem and petal is filled with the elixir of life.

You are full of energy. Full of life. Full of possibilities.

I walk around in awe and smile at everyone I see. I am happy to be here. I feel happy to be alive.