Same street, different days.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Got reminded of this at work today.
It’s been nearly 20 years. Yet, every time I listen to U2 while working, I’m transferred back to 10 SFR in 2002-03 with that small gang of optimists.
The time machine works even better if its sunny outside and I’m coding.
I like this :)
One guy in a complicated, high-tech face mask.
One guy wearing two(!) face masks, one over the other.
Everyone else going about without a care in the world.
Everything about this photo is … ❤️
The strength in her left arm. Her erect posture, and core strength; no sinking hips.
The heels on her shoes. The wicker basket. The way she’s balancing the basket with her knee. And so how her right heel is so slightly lifted to help bend the knee.
The baby, unbothered by her state but keeping an eye on something. Sharing the carrier bag with the produce, nonchalance.
The clean, but not western supermarket clean, produce on display. Pedestrians all around.
The birthmark, or otherwise, on her right forearm. The angle of bend in the right arm. The strength, and maybe stress, in her shoulders.
The handsome guy with the dark red suitcase. He’s either checking her out, or the produce. His suitcase!
The guy, dressed like my dad in photos of his 20s & 30s, carrying a wire mesh bag.
The white shoes of the woman in the background, sharply in contrast with her well tanned legs.
So much more… but I keep returning to the first thing I see every time… the strength in that arm, those shoulders and her core.
SS, my first proper crush, appeared in a dream last night.
In the dream, I was travelling to Bombay and we ended up standing next to each other at the baggage belts1. We both faintly recognised each other, started talking, and then remembered fully. She didn’t like me much, for good reason, by the time we lost touch last time. So she was surprised to still be talking to me after she remembered who I was. I met her husband and her kids too. I think there were 2 or 3 kids, all nearly S’ age2. That was all there was… just a brief, friendly meeting at the airport. Yet, it was really, really nice to have met her after more than two decades3. I’ve been quite happy since :)
I tried looking her up on Google, but she doesn’t seem to have a public searchable profile. So, there’s no chance of actually reaching out to her and saying hello.
I hadn’t seen anyone from my old triathlon club—Pheonix Triathlon—in over six months. In the last week, I ran into three of them! The cooler weather and beautiful autumn colours must have drawn the Phoenixes out of hibernation (aka the gym :) )
Chewie and I met Kate Fargus last Sunday at the far end of Sandy lane. I didn’t recognise her, but she called out to say hello to Chewie. It took me a few minutes (after I left her) to remember her first name. I only remembered her last name after Koldo helped me out later in the week.
Saw Graham French on Wednesday as he flew down the hill while we were running uphill on the trail home from Sandy lane. He lives in my part of town, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see him running our trails.
We met Koldo Loidi, one of the friendliest Phoenixers, on our backyard gravel path during Friday’s run. It was about 5°C and he was running in a thin tee and shorts; I was clad in my new full-sleeve running jacket. He admired Chewie, and suggested catching up in town sometime. It was his 50th birthday that day, and he seemed to be enjoying it out on the beautiful trails.
Hope to catch some more of the friendlier Phoenixers out on the trails as I increase the miles over winter.
I did a taster read of Mark Manson’s book on not giving a fuck. In the first chapter he goes on about how people give too many fucks and become overwhelmed and unhappy, or give no fucks and become uncaring assholes.
I thought about it on Chewie’s morning walk.
Sure there are people who fall in one of those two catagories—too many fucks given and not enough fucks given. But I don’t think most people fall in either of these. Most people give just the right the amount of fucks that they can afford/handle.
The problem isn’t with how many fucks we give, but what do we give a fuck about.
Often the choice is between giving a fuck about things/people that are
- important but hard to satisfy, and
- easy to satisfy but peripheral
In such a choice, easy wins most times. And that’s what causes the unhappiness.
As an individual choice, giving a fuck for something easy results in an easy win, and provides a nice emotional boost. But when the life becomes full of too many easy wins, and none of the important ones, that’s when the trouble starts. That’s when the heart starts hating even the wins. That’s what leads to the unhappiness.
[ Perhaps the book will move on to this distinction. After all I’ve just rushed through the first chapter for now :) ]
There’s no trying new things without letting some things go.
There’s no new life, if there’s no death.
There’s no bandwidth to explore new books, genres, TV shows, people, if we’re not ready to abandon the ones that turn stale, or we grow out of, or finished.
Bandwidth is finite. Cognitivo capacity is finite. Time is finite.
A core constraint on growing, changing, exploring, is our reluctance to let go of some of what we have and are.
Create space by letting some mediocre stuff go. Then fill it with something new, untested, unusual. If it fits, great. If it doesn’t, chuck it and try again. Something new, untested, unusual.
Warm beer, cold pizza, comforting company.
Chilled beer, sizzling pizza, alone.
No beer, no pizza, no people.