I am an overestimator of people. Time and time again I give them far too much credit and place way too much confidence in their integrity, honesty, intelligence and talent. I suppose because I see the glass half-full that I am susceptible to this chronic overestimation. Not only do I give people the benefit of the doubt, I actually esteem them higher than they deserve. It’s like I'm on a Kool-Aid diet when I first meet people; but then I get to know them for who they truly are and my sugary elixir is suddenly taken away and I am left disappointed and disillusioned... and a bit sour. I thought them way too precious. It’s not their fault that they are flawed and dumber than I thought.
I have a gift for making people feel really good when they first cross paths with me. Because I put them on a pedestal. This makes them feel special and important. And they are… but not nearly as wonderful as I estimated them to be in the beginning. Once my perspective changes, I see them for who they really are: fairly plain, fairly normal, fairly boring and fairly average.
And when they too realize that I am now seeing their true selves—flaws and mediocrity and awkwardness—they fall back to ground level or perhaps even lower, sinking deeper than they were before they were overestimated by this overestimator.
Introversion should not be confused with shyness. Two different concepts. One can identify as a loner yet feel quite secure interacting with others both in familiar and novel environments. Shy folks feel insecure in social settings. They feel inadequate—like they are lacking the necessary skills to navigate and converse successfully. Sadly many of them are extroverted—desiring to be a part of the group. But fear restricts their agency. Whereas introverts never want to join the group. They simply aren't joiners. They don't get the energy of the crowd—the thrill of meeting and greeting. They prefer to be alone with their own thoughts and noises. Others are a distraction, keeping them from remaining comfy in their heads. Of course the introvert will occasionally wander outside themselves for external inspiration and stimulation. They may even go to a party. But oftentimes you will witness them wandering off by themselves. Don't be alarmed. This is them being themselves—doing what feels natural and necessary. Coping is having a clear escape route—both physically and mentally. If they need to leave the setting it is about self-preservation not snubbing. Though the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.
Sounds brutal. I know. But it is true. And the truth can hurt... both the introvert and the folks who love them. There is a sense of shame the introvert experiences for not fitting in with the crowd and guilt for being greedy with one's time and presence. It's not easy to understand and accept the introvert for who she is and how she acts. It is not easy being the introvert who feels misunderstood like she is speaking a language that cannot be understood by extroverts.
I can picture a small group of extroverts discussing introversion over a cup of coffee or glass of wine. Each is speaking and listening—sharing their thoughts, enjoying the banter, the community. Funny, you'll never see introverts discussing introversion with other introverts in a bar or coffee shop. Introverts keep these ideas to themselves. What is the point of sharing them? They aren't up for debate. Case closed.
Tomorrow morning I am flying to Seattle with my mom! This will be our first trip there. Both of of have traveled extensively throughout the US but never farther northwest of California.
We are home.
Here is the link to my Seattle Pics: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/...073741828.100000714625640&type=1&l=904e74531a
The trip was wonderful. We ate the best oysters, mussels, cherries, crab, and omakase I have ever had. The weather was perfect--sunny for six of the seven days, no rain. We did all the touristy things: the Needle, Cihuly Gardens, Pop Museum, Pike's Place Market, Harbor Cruise, the Aquarium, Gum Wall. Ballard Locks, Gas Works Park, Fremont Troll, Bite of Seattle, Central Library, Alki Beach. We rented a car. Mom drove and I navigated. We made a great team. We visited every neighborhood and by the end of the trip were quite familiar with the city.
Our cottage was roomy and located in a residential neighborhood in West Seattle. There was a wonderful organic garden with beans, chard, tomatoes, raspberries and blackberries. I ate more berries that week than I have had in my life.
If Seattle were sunny and warm all year long, I would move there in a heartbeat. It is by far my favorite city in the world. Next trip is a long weekend in Scottsdale in early August. Next summer we are planning to return to the northwest: Vancouver and a cruise to Alaska.
My mom is the perfect traveling companion. She's easy going, energetic, playful, curious, intelligent and loves all the same foods as me.
Forgive me I'm out of practice. I haven't written much here or anywhere in the last few years. I blame it on Prozac. My desire or need to express myself out loud, in words, has been stifled. I'm just not that inspired, compelled, or motivated. I think my open-ended drug prescription has been a prescription for mild numbing of my emotions and a physical laziness which makes keeping it all inside less taxing. It is the price I pay to feel safer and saner. But don't think for a second that the thought treadmill has slowed down; it hasn't. It just doesn't want to be witnessed in action as of late. Today is an exception.
It has been almost a week since famed travel and food anthropologist Anthony Bourdain took his last breath—by choice. Or was it really a choice? That is debatable—at another time, in a separate blog entry, with a different state of mind.
Anthony's suicide ruffled my dormant feathers, stirred my still pot of stagnant soup stock—reviving it to a vibrant simmer. I haven't been able to brush-aside thoughts of what he meant to me: how he inspired me and changed my perceptions of foodways, foreign cultures, hospitality, and what it means to being a gracious guest. (Wish I had that last one down before travelling to Europe in the early 90's. What a ninny I was back then. What is the common phrase? Oh yes: an ignorant, arrogant, spoiled American.) I'm not the only person to share these sentiments, of course. Millions caught the Bourdain virus. We became a collective of foodies, chefs, travel enthusiasts, social scientists and common curious folks who loved and respected this snarky, creative, talented, hilarious, insightful genius.
Like many, my love of all things Bourdain began with his best selling book, Kitchen Confidential. It was the starting point. It captured my imagination and forever cemented my space in his global fandom. I thought, "Who is this guy? What insight! What wit! He became my intellectual hero—along with the late Christopher Hitchens. Both had chutzpah and charisma, could hold court, make one laugh out loud and cheer with utter gratitude to both for having the kahunas to unapologetically articulate human truths with such clarity and originality. Although Bourdain chose the destination and context, we were always involved in the adventure.
I can't claim to know why Anthony Bourdain decided to leave a party he was hosting. Even those closest to him are left with questions without answers. And so we'll keeping searching for these answers until we become comfortable with ambiguity—if we ever do. For his family and friends, this may take years—hindered by what ifs and guilt and possibly even anger—at him for taking his life and at themselves for failing to prevent this tragedy. The French detective in charge of the case stated he thinks it was an impulsive act—not premeditated—as if to ease the burden of the survivors who failed to see the warning signs. But truly, all suicides are premeditated. Perhaps no note is left behind, no weapon of choice purchased weeks in advance. But my reasonable mind informs me that all suicides have a modicum of preparation—of forethought. What evidence do I have to substantiate this claim in the case of Bourdain's suicide? Two things: he wanted to die in France and he wanted Eric Ripert to be the one to find his lifeless body.
France is where it all began. Tony fell in love with food and adventure while on holiday there as a child. It was with his first taste of a fresh-from-the-water oyster: "It tasted of seawater...of brine and flesh...of the future." "...I'd learned something. Viscerally, instinctively, spiritually—even in some small way sexually—and there was no turning back. The genie was out of the bottle. My life as a cook, and as a chef had begun." (From the opening pages of Kitchen Confidential.) And as where it all began for Tony, it also ended.
Why Eric Ripert? For one he is French—able to navigate France's laws and mores surrounding death procedures. Secondly, he was Tony's best friend—his confidant, his colleague, the person he trusted the most who loved him unconditionally—the one person whom he felt would protect his dignity and privacy after his death. Believing this so, makes me feel slightly less troubled knowing Anthony was not alone. Not really. He was loved, cherished, respected and best of all understood by at least one other person. Is that enough to keep one living? Apparently not. But it does offer my mind some peace. Comforts me. Calms me. Lets the feathers relax again and the soup return to a stillness—for now.
My grandson Liam at 4 months with his mom.
When you're older you are no longer a victim of your sexual hormones--a slave to your libido.
When you are older you aren't expected to look sexy but rewarded highly if you do.
When you are older you impress with your strength--feel no shame for being vulnerable.
When you are older you have meaningful relationships that have ripened over time.
When you are older you have a wealth of knowledge at your disposal--plentiful experiences and memories to comfort.
When you are older you are comfortable in your own skin--even if it's not as taut as it use to be.
Meet Liam. Born 2/8/18. He is amazing. So happy to be a grandma.
Liam 0n 2/24/18. Photo taken by his aunt in Phoenix.
‘Lady Bird,’ ‘Call Me by Your Name,’ ‘I, Tonya’ Screener Copies Leaked to Piracy Networks.
Three of my top fave movies of the year out of 9. That is one-third. Happy New Year!
Call Me by Your Name is a must see. My fave movie of 2017--by a landslide. First movie that's transported me and made me feel something, anything, in a long time. Will rearrange you and change you. Your dreams will shift. You may just want to fall in love again. You will without a doubt fall in love with Armie Hammer and Timothée Chalamet. No matter your orientation, gender or age this movie will resonate with its timeless and universal themes of first love, passion, desire, longing and loss.
The six (of nine) other good films I liked this year are: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, Holy Hell, Brad's Status, Paris Can Wait, John Wick 2 and Jeremiah Tower: The Last Magnificent.
Still plan to see: The Trip to Spain, The Disaster Artist, The Florida Project, The Shape of Water and Downsizing.
Tonight's the night baby! Me. Mom. Moz. Marquee. Leaving work at 3:30 PM. Will check into hotel in Tempe, go out for some drinks and tapas, then head to the venue. Don't need to be the first folks there. Not sure what kind of pics I'll get. Nothing worth posting on the tour thread, I'm sure. But I'll share what I get here.
Soon Mom will find out what all the fuss is about.
BTW, it's 86 F in Phoenix. I bet Moz is loving it!
Touchdown! Airport in Honolulu.
Holy Waikiki that's cold!
Ok, I'm good now.
Windy! Diamond Head in background.
Rented a car and drove up the coast to North Shore. One of the stops along the way.
Best son ever!
Update 2 pic: at Tiki's on Waikiki Beach Thursday 5 PM.
Updates at Bottom.
Wasn't sure I was up for a concert after the Manchester and Las Vegas tragedies. But I have been listening to Moz's new tracks all day at work-laughing my tail off. And I am in a good mood so I decided, what the hey, I am gonna take David to see Moz at the Marquee in Phoenix on November 16. Heck he lives there and I am only an hour and half away. I can leave after work, spend the night in Phoenix, then go into work later the next afternoon.
I am meeting him in Sedona this Sunday for his birthday brunch. I am going to wrap the tickets in a giant, empty, air fryer box. And give the adventure to him for his birthday--includes dinner, drinks, parking, souveniers. (The joke being I was thinking about getting him an air fryer as I just bought one (thus the box) and love it. But he wasn't too impressed with the idea. He's gonna think the gift is an air fryer. I am so mean.)
Update I: David is thrilled about the tickets. We saw him in Vegas ten years ago. Had a blast then. Should be a great time.
Update II 10/17: Oh no! David may have to work in Tucson that week. My mom says she ill go if I twist her arm. Reserved a hotel near the venue. May be taking mom instead. We shall see. Either way it will be great fun.
Update III: Mom is going to see Moz. David may be going as well. Three generations! Awesome. Am a bit worried about the MIM video. I don't think my mom will be too impressed. Restroom break? At the bar with our heads on the bar?
My bucket list is short. One of the things is to become a grandma. Wish fulfilled. My first grandson will be born early February.
In just a few hours I will be on a flight to North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Can't wait to feel the cool water between my toes and hear the sound of waves as they kiss the shore. But most of all I am excited to see my dad--it's been over ten years.
Update 8/23: I am back. Had a great, peaceful, much-needed vacation. Was great to see my dad and stepmom. Their condo on the beach is to die for. Will post pics soon. Watch this space.
Separate names with a comma.