Time, It's Time

I have been in the midst and throes of a rather long-winded move, which was a bit complicated for several reasons, and has been drawn out over the span of the past month or so.

Every day I always felt that I had to be "doing something" with regards to the move, and at times I would just stand amongst the boxes and papers and rubbish heaps of things I needed to get rid of, and would just stand and stare, overwhelmed, feeling that "it would never end." Though this was small in comparison of scale to the move that I did when we moved across the Atlantic, it felt rather draining all the same.

Tonight is the first night then, that I don't have to be "doing something" for this move, as for all intents and purposes, it is done. Some blank spaces on the walls to be filled in, but for the most part, it is done.

As my daughter is with her mother this weekend, I am alone, sitting at a desk that I bought many, many years ago, in the hopes that it would be my "writing desk." Sadly, it has not been for those many, many years, until now. Because of the new configuration of my apartment, I have a splendid view out the window of colorful tree-lined boulevards and a true sense of space.

I remember having this feeling in Austin when I was settled into an apartment there as a student. Though it was not my first apartment, it was the first one that I felt that sense of Space, which I do now. I remember just sitting there in my couch, listening to music all evening, doing absolutely nothing, but like the king figure in Depeche Mode's Enjoy the Silence video, I just enjoyed it.

Another song that makes me feel this way is Talk Talk's "Time, It's Time," because, well, it is Time that I feel this sense of Space again. Though I enjoyed my last apartment, it was not my Space.

This is.

It is Time.

Take the Time to just listen to the Autumnal song...like the butterflies and moths on the picture, it has a hypnotic effect.

Fashion Goon Squads

If you know me, or rather, if you have known me long enough, you will see that I don’t have a specific “style” of dress, in fact, it is rather an antithesis to having a style, and that has been true all my life.

Currently I am wearing a white linen “hippie” shirt cut low enough to have my Buddha necklace pop out from my chest hairs, with 501 jeans and leather sandals. Yesterday I was wearing cords, a “rodeo-style” button-down, long-sleeved collared shirt with rather conservative leather walking boots. Or, I might one day be wearing lululemon shorts and work-out t-shirt, or another, a hand-made silk paisley shirt from India with hemp pants, or if formal, an Ike Behar silk tie, Hugo Boss shirt and Brooks Brothers’ slacks with rather expensive hand-stitched Italian shoes from Bologna. This is not to pat myself on the back, but rather to say, depending upon the day that you meet me, you may get a hippie, a yuppie (though I am pushing the “y” on that one…) a jock, or a fashionably dressed man.

In Jr. High and High School, I was considered both the best and worst-dressed person, at the same Time! My nickname was “slob” on the swim team as I would wear my Uggs (as in the original ones, 25 years ago) down to holes in the sole, and toes sticking out and ripped shirts and sweats to swim practice at 5am, though also wore a skinny tie and parachute pants with spiky hair later that day to High School.

Am I fashionably schizophrenic then?

I have known people for decades who look exactly the same every day, in every picture, and yet, when I look back at pictures of myself, it is literally like looking at someone different every time. Although I have been somewhat conscious of doing this, though not as a “statement,” but now that I am in my fifth decade of life, I have left quite a wake of fashion mistakes and triumphs behind me.

My facial hair is no less dramatic. I have had a Nietzsche-style moustache that looks like I have a hamster on my upper lip to a quite unassuming soul-patch, a Van Dyck goatee, a full “grizz” beard (already in 11^th grade, getting yet another nickname…) or a pencil-thin John Waters-esque moving to a Salvador Dali twirl-able stache as well as being clean shaven for years at a time.

Hair? From shaving it down to the scalp with a bandana when I took my PhD comprehensive exams (freaking most of my colleagues out when I walked in) to have a ponytail when I played college water polo at UT-Austin. Spiked, gelled, and even bleached with peroxide at one time out of vanity.

Body hair? I like to think that I have “just enough.” Luckily I did not inherit my dad’s hairless chest, but rather from my maternal side where all the men have a decent v-shaped shrubbery, though not excessively, and thank god, no real back hair save for some stray hairs that I bend into contortions to pluck out every now and then.  When stressed or excited, I can literally “flash” a 5 o’clock shadow within the span of a day, so my shaving patterns can be adjusted within a few days to have a goatee, beard, or clean. And, being a swimmer, I have been shaved my body from head to toe numerous times…

So, who the hell am I?

If it came down to fashion, hairstyle, facial hair, or what?

The Goon Squad is definitely coming for me I fear if it comes down to the Fashion Police.

It makes me wonder then, how do others “see” me on any given day? Given Malcolm Gladwell’s concept of “Blink” I could be a million different people to anyone whom sees me, and who wishes to make a snap judgment, they might get quite a different blink from day to day..

So, what stays the same?

The Eyes, I guess.

When I was in college, on the swim team, there was a contest on campus for the “eyes” and I was voted “Mr. Eyes” for the team and my “eyes” were used to represent the team on campus for the contest. Though I did not “win,” I guess that is the one thing that really has not changed on me. I have gained weight, lost weight, changed fashions, but, the windows to my Soul, I think, really are my Eyes.

And, if you know me, or as before, if you know me long enough, you know that when I look you in the eyes, I am present, and I am listening to you, and it really doesn’t matter what I am wearing, or what my hair looks like, or if I have a beard or clean shaven, the true test of a person is simply, can you “look someone in the eye?” If someone can do that with me, then I really could not care less what you look like. Next time you talk to someone, really, deeply look into his or her eyes, and try to forget being part of the Fashion Goon Squad.

Be-ing Human.