I just remembered a t-shirt I had in junior high. It was black with white lettering that read: “Sometimes b-sharp, never b-flat, always b-natural” (apparently there are no ascii codes for music notation). Yes, I was a band geek. First chair clarinet. Yes, status mattered. If you were gonna be in the band, you had to at least be good. Aside from knowing better than the teacher whatever software we were being taught in school, practicing that clarinet was probably the hobby I put the most focus & energy behind in the history of my life. I’m not even sure I liked our 6th grade band instructor, but I practiced my little heart out the entire summer before band practice began. By 7th grade, we got a new teacher who I adored, and so I practiced even more. We had to fill out practice sheets for how many hours we practiced. I always did the max. I wanted that damn gold star next to my name each week. In fact, I think I did it more for that star than because I actually enjoyed playing. Not that I hated it. There’s an energy when you’re playing music with a large group of people that just cannot be replicated elsewhere. I couldn’t play 1812 Overture for the life of me, but while I stood there faking it amongst all the other band members of the county schools, with canons going off in the background, it sent chills all up & down me. I’ve always loved that song, but being in the middle of that sound just took it somewhere higher.

And that story has absolutely nothing to do with what I was going to post about, but that shirt popped in to my head and out came the words. The subject of this post is the name of the book I wish I had but thankfully don’t need thanks to the internet. I’m taking small steps towards being a healthier person, which meant trying dried fruit for the first time this week and picking up some grapes & raspberries instead of crackers. I just tried a raspberry but hit what I thought were seeds, forcing me to consider if there were something beyond washing I should have done to these berries before eating them. So I literally googled “how to eat raspberries” which delivered a list of 8 ways to enjoy fresh raspberries. Awesome. It seems I was on the money by just tossing some sugar on them. Funny, the more sugar I put on, the more I liked them. You know, I’ve never had anything with raspberries. I’ve always gotten my cheesecake plain and steered away from fruit cobblers and tortes. I even picked raspberries back home…for my brother to sell but it wasn’t until just now, at age 26, that I grabbed a berry and ate it. But so it goes, that when you avoid doing something for so long, even the most trivial events become a huge deal. So I’ve had craisins and raspberries all in one week. Look at me.

I’ve also been taking the stairs at work for a straight few weeks. Six flights up & six flights down and some little errands between floors 4 & 6 throughout the day. I know they are little things. But bunches of little things add up to big things. Oh, look at me, the optimist.

Next step is breaking out my Hip Hop Abs dvds again. That one hasn’t so much been an issue of motivation, so much as a debate on how to do it quietly on hardwood floors. The jury is still out on that one.

My biggest fear right now is that I’m going to run out of Emerson to read on the bus. I started underlining sentences that I found profound, but realized, I technically wanted to underline the entire book which defeats the purpose. I’m reading through some essay selections. I’ve mentioned The Over-soul, but I’ve also read through Experience, Montaigne; or, the Sceptic, and Circles. When I run out of Emerson, I shall track down some Montaigne. I also read some of his poetry. I especially liked these stanzas from Waldeinsamkeit (German for ‘forest isolation’):

I do not count the hours I spend
In wandering by the sea;
The forest is my loyal friend
Like God it useth me.

In plains that room for shadows make
Of skirting hills to lie,
Bound in by streams which give and take
Their colors from the sky;
Or on the mountain-crest sublime,
Or down the oaken glade
O what have I to do with time?
For this the day was made.

I’m really uncertain why I didn’t pursue literature/writing more seriously all these years it’s obsessed my mind. I think it was because I hated The Canterbury Tales. Reading those ruined reading for me for a long time. I’ve never dreaded a reading assignment more in my life. In fact, I just didn’t read some of them. But give me some Emerson or Thoreau and I could read until the end of time. All of these Emerson writings are a difficult read. I re-visit every line, seeking to understand its meaning, and I know that when I read these all again I’ll discover even more. My English professor thought me crazy for tackling Nature & Emerson for a series of papers, but those assignments forced me to dig even deeper. I just read my old papers, and I think my understanding of Emerson has evolved significantly since writing those, but I was still pretty impressed at some of the explanations I offered. Funny how old words can seem so foreign, as if written by a perfect stranger and never before seen. One paper called out a mention of a quote on the back of the book:

“A man or woman today might not want to imitate Emerson, but if he did, at least he would know what it meant to be fully alive”

I don’t know enough about Emerson to imitate him, but I feel myself evolving towards a like-mindedness. Having his thoughts in the back of my mind continue to provide a new foundation for my outlook and evaluation of events in my life.

(3 hour break to read old English papers and feel inspired to send a huge email to my HS English teacher)

I think I used up all my word magic for the evening. I don’t even remember what I was writing about here, but after 2 weeks of reading Emerson, my sentence structure is changing. If the email I had just written weren’t completely personal, I would so share it. I want to write like that here, but life is too busy. I could spend an entire afternoon writing up a beautifully written post, only to have even fewer people read it due to length.

I’m sleepy but I will say, being inspired feels wonderful. I walked almost the entire way home from work last night and about 1/3 of the way tonight. The city looks new from every angle. My zen moment for today was waiting for the bus on the steps of the Pacific Stock Exchange. I stared up at a building which seemed to have a tower that looked like a miniature sears tower. It was beautiful. I’d never noticed it. As I was locked in on it, I noticed clouds rushing behind it. I’ve seen clouds move, but usually by their shadows on the ground. But this day, the clouds were visibly flying up and over me, faster than I had ever seen (or noticed) before. It was incredible. With each movement, they carried closer a cold breeze that chilled my skin. It was all too beautiful for me to mind.

Goodnight.