tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1783543409627900662024-02-07T17:02:07.267-08:00myke lewisMykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-43889586902151652192016-07-24T19:26:00.000-07:002016-07-24T21:45:52.242-07:00if you can't take the heat<p align="justify">I’ve spent the last few years struggling to find satisfaction in my career. I can’t say I ever loved working as an accountant, but trappings of it felt safe to me. I liked working in a comfortable office. I liked the good pay, paid time off, and benefits. In short, I liked that it provided a very comfortable lifestyle. While I’ve had great opportunities with some great companies, that didn’t always translate to overall job satisfaction.
<p align="justify">A couple years ago I was working for <a href="http://www.philosophy.com/">philosophy</a>, a skin care company. I enjoyed some aspects of the work I did, but felt apathetic at best about the rest. Overall, though, I loved the company, its culture, and its values. Looking back, I don’t know if I could have found another company in corporate America that was better suited to my personality. (And it didn’t hurt that it was down the street from <a href="http://www.littlemissbbq.com/">Little Miss BBQ</a>.) After I had been there for just over a year, our parent company announced that they’d be packing up philosophy and moving it to North Carolina. It was likely that I could have transferred but moving across the country didn’t make sense at the time. So I started a job search and almost immediately I was offered a position in external financial reporting at a real estate investment firm in Phoenix. The job prospect didn’t excite me, but with my marriage on its last leg, I felt like I had something to prove in taking this job that seemed like a stretch for me. And honestly, it just felt good to be wanted. I accepted the job.
<p align="justify">I settled in well at first. But after a while, my marriage deteriorated and ended, and my desire to be successful with this company seemed to crumble with it. The harder I tried to convince myself to stick it out, the more I grew to resent the work I was doing and the company I worked for. I felt like I was living a lie — like I wasn’t being honest with myself or the company about what I wanted. I wanted to quit but I didn’t know where to go. I worried that if I moved to another accounting position at a different company that I would be just as unhappy. I knew I wanted to change my career and I knew I wanted to work in the restaurant industry. But I was so afraid to make that leap because I knew of no restaurant job that would pay as well as the job I had, nor were there any guarantees that I would like it or be successful.
<p align="justify">Instead, I spent the last three or four months of my time with that company worrying almost every day that I would be fired. I’ve never had anything resembling a panic attack, but on the day of a major deadline at the end of March, my anxiety about getting fired felt near panic-attack levels. So I told my manager I wasn’t feeling well, left, and joined some friends for a movie.
<p align="justify">The next day I was fired. Having imagined the scenario in my head a million times, it was a little surreal. I arrived at work and sat down at my desk. I was there for a couple minutes when I got a call from an HR manager. She asked me to meet her in a conference room on the first floor. I was prepared for this: I stuffed my personal belongings — a phone charger and some earbuds — into my pockets and made my way downstairs to the conference room. I was greeted by the HR manager and the head of my department. I sat down. The HR manager told me they had decided to terminate my employment. I stared back blankly as she and my department director rushed over some paperwork. She asked if I needed to go back to my desk to collect any belongings. “Nope. I’ve got everything here,” I said. I handed my badge over to the security guard who had slinked into the room at some point. He walked me out of the building to my car and badged me out of the parking garage.
<p align="justify">During my drive home I listened to one of my favorite podcasts, but what I heard in my ears didn’t register my brain. I turned it off and drove in silence. At some point during the day I realized that I never had to return to that building, to that job again in my life and there was a wash of relief.
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">Unemployment is awesome, but it also sucks. Suddenly, I had all the time in the world, but nothing to do with my time. I would’ve loved to take a trip but I needed to save what money I had. I would’ve loved to spend time with friends but they were all at work.
<p align="justify">There was a lot of Netflix. I burned through eight seasons of The Office in a flash. Some days I felt empty inside. After a while I realized that I needed to spend part of my day exercising and part of it with friends or family. When I did I felt a lot better about life. I looked for work, albeit passively. I had interviews for accounting positions with two companies that seemed compelling, but I could only muster lukewarm enthusiasm for either.
<p align="justify">After about a month my money started running out. During that time I had been spending my Friday nights baking with my friend Jared to prepare for the Gilbert Farmers Market on Saturday morning. In addition to baking, he also managed the restaurant attached to his bakery. One day I asked if they needed any kitchen help at the restaurant. They did. He hired me.
<p align="justify">On my first or second day on the job, I remember thinking to myself, <i>Wow. It feels like I’m doing</i> real <i>work</i>. It was something that had been absent from so many of the other jobs I had throughout my accounting career: the ability to see, touch, smell, hear, and taste the output of my labor.
<p align="justify">Some days are really hard. By the time we close, the kitchen looks like a disaster site and dishes are piled a mile high. But most days — after learning a new cooking technique or knife skill; after completing order after order after order and nailing each one; after having customers tell me how much they loved their meal, how they’ve found a perfect sandwich — I feel like a badass.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-24423547287562408202015-10-04T21:06:00.003-07:002015-10-04T21:06:43.972-07:00Thoughts For Now<p align="justify">When I was a little kid, my older brother told me that I was fat, and that is something I've always believed about myself. Throughout my life I have almost always been embarrassed by my weight and my body. I have rarely liked how I looked. A few weeks ago I was perusing photos from around six or seven years ago when I was attending BYU—Idaho. I was almost shocked to look at some of them because I remember being so self-conscious of my body at the time. I remember believing that I was overweight. I remember disliking myself, and not only because I thought I was overweight. I just didn't consider myself very likeable.
<p align="justify">When I look at these pictures of myself from that era, I think to myself, Hey, I like that guy. He's alright. He's got some really good friends. He's really likeable. He's not a bad looking dude, and he is <i>not</i> fat.
<p align="justify">When I look in the mirror today, the following thoughts are not rare: This guy is overweight. And he keeps gaining weight. He really needs to exercise and change his eating habits. His hair is getting too long and it's balding in the back. He's really let himself go. He needs to get his crap together or he'll never be worthy of having a deep, authentic connections with other people.
<p align="justify">The hard thing about these statements isn't the truth or untruth thereof; that's pretty easy to discern on a surface level. The hard part is the judgment — what it means to me to be overweight, to be gaining weight. It's the shame I've attached to those statements that buries me.
<p align="justify">What's funny about this (or maybe sad) is that in six or seven years from now when I look back at pictures of myself from this time, I suspect it will be through a lens of compassion, love, and gratitude. I'll think to myself, Man, look at that guy — he's trudging through some dead serious shit. I'm so grateful for the hard work he did during that time. He was worthy of what he was up to and he was worthy of the people he surrounded himself with. And look at those people. He chose wisely when it came to those he shared his life with. Man, I'm really grateful for the hard work he did. I like that guy.
<p align="justify">When I imagine how I will feel about myself in the future, it makes it a little easier to feel good about myself now. It makes it easier to appreciate what I have now, and I begin to wake up to the fact that right now — like it has always been — my life is pretty rich.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-79305656434635613002014-11-06T21:35:00.000-08:002014-11-06T21:45:54.546-08:00I don't need this<p align="justify">When I was a little boy my brothers and I called it biggin juice. I'm assuming this name came from my dad telling us it was for big people only.
<p align="justify">As a teenager I called it pop. In fact, a heated debate on the proper label of that sweetened, carbonated, often caffeinated beverage ended in pop and soda factions that still exist today.
<p align="justify">A few years ago I began switching between pop and soda interchangeably. This came about when Jeremy and I topped off a trip to Stinkweeds with a visit to their former neighbor Smeeks, a bygone candy shop that boasted a decent selection of bottled beverages. While my high school self and fellow pop factioneers would be upset by my toe-dipping into soda territory, I can't lie to myself by saying that "bottled pop" sounds better than "bottled soda."
<p align="justify">Whatever you choose to call it — because — and this was my argument in high school — whether you call it pop or soda is simply a matter of opinion — pop and I have had a pretty unhealthy relationship over the past couple years. As my trips to Stinkweeds with Jeremy became a regular occurrence, so did my soda purchases at Smeeks. From there I sought out restaurants that served my new lesser-known soda favorites: Boylan's Ginger Ale at Joe's Real BBQ. Lime Jarrito's at Filiberto's. During my first trip to Kansas City when we were merely boyfriend and girlfriend, I was particularly excited when Sarah took me to Blanc Burgers and Bottles, whose bottled soda selection is the best of any restaurant I've seen (try the bacon Gouda fries)*. And I soon discovered that most Mexican restaurants in the Phoenix valley and, really, any self-respecting restaurant, served Coca-Cola in a bottle, sweetened not with corn syrup, but with far superior cane sugar**.
<p align="justify"><font size="1">*We ate so well that weekend.
<br>**There are few things that have the singular, iconic taste of Coca-Cola sweetened with sugar.</font>
<p align="justify">I began looking for specialty sodas wherever I could find them: BevMo has an excellent selection and World Market carries a few favorites, like Bundaberg's Ginger Beer. I found a decent selection of Mexican sodas at Food City. I didn't hoard these beverages, but it wasn't rare to find two or three bottles waiting in my fridge.
<p align="justify">Around this time, I noticed something about myself. I was gaining weight.
<p align="justify">I have since attempted to quit drinking pop several times, and fewer times did I see any sort of success with that. One such success came a year ago, when I swore off pop for a couple months. I decided to indulge one evening while sitting with Sarah (who was then 24 hours away from becoming my fiancée) at Port Fonda in Kansas City. As I sipped a Mexican Coke I thought to myself, <i>This is great. But I don't need this.</i> And I felt great knowing that I didn't need pop in my life.
<p align="justify">In my <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2014/10/earlier-this-year-i-came-across-one-of.html">last blog post</a> I talked about how I began drinking Mt Dew every morning as a way of dealing with a constant buzz of anxiety that crept in almost every morning. The sugar helped kill the anxiety. Well, initially anyway. After a few minutes, I seemed to lose control over most of my thoughts. This didn't help the anxiety, of course, because it allowed anxious thoughts to creep in and multiply unfettered. So in the end, that concentrated daily dose of sugar and caffeine made me feel worse.
<p align="justify">I don't remember the circumstances, but I remember a period over several days where I didn't have any Mt Dew. Headaches ensued. I decided it was time to stop. No more soda or caffeine for me.
<p align="justify">I kept that up for a couple weeks. Then I switched to Coke. Now most days I have a can of Coke in the morning and in minutes I notice the same effect: diminished control over my thoughts. I've noticed the same thing when I stop at QT for a donut on the way to work or if I grab something from the vending machine after lunch.
<p align="justify">So here I am, typing this blog post, swearing off soda once again (and while I'm at it, swearing off morning QT stops and vending machine trips). I'm not giving it up for my entire life, but for a season. I don't know how long this season will last. Perhaps until the time when I can take a sip of Coke and say to myself and actually mean it —
<p align="justify"><i>I don't need this.</i>Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-61533807531803807262014-10-12T01:35:00.000-07:002014-10-12T01:36:23.088-07:00Depression, Medication, and Vitality<p align="justify">Earlier this year I came across one of the best best definitions of depression: "The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality." That's from Andrew Solomon in a TED Talk, "Depression, the secret we share." Given the pervasive nature of depression — whose family has not been affected by it? — why not give it a watch:
<p align="center"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/-eBUcBfkVCo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p align="justify">I try not to be shy about the fact that I sometimes struggle with depression and anxiety and that I have done so throughout a great deal of my life. It's strange how unpredictable depression can be, how it can strike even when life seems to be going well. A bout of depression hit me pretty hard last year just before Christmas. While wading through it all I told Sarah how awful I felt and we had a short talk about trying medication, which I had never done before. I had been working with a therapist, and through all that work, I had been able to make some progress with my mental and emotional well being. But here it was again — depression — and I had no idea how to deal with it. Given the amount of therapy work I had done up to that point, medication seemed like a logical step. A couple weeks later, in mid-January, I walked out of my doctor's office with a prescription for Lexapro.
<p align="justify">Still, I was afraid to take the meds. I was afraid I would lose part of myself. Sure, I had just lost part of myself to depression, but I was worried that I would lose myself in some unrecoverable new way, and I worried that I would lose the complementary strengths that accompany depression. In the TED Talk mentioned above, Andrew Solomon posed the questions I was then asking myself: "If I have to take medication, is that medication making me more fully myself or is it making me someone else? And how do I feel about it if it is making me someone else?"
<p align="justify">Having never tried meds, I knew I'd never know how to answer those questions if I didn't try, and I didn't know which aspects of my life I would lose out on in remaining depressed. So I gave it a go. The first few weeks were pretty rough, which is normal. The first few days <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nrs-lyhcXmA&spfreload=1">I was trippin' balls pretty hard</a> and those feelings were exacerbated by my existential fears of losing myself.
<p align="justify">And then — I felt OK.
<p align="justify">I didn't feel depressed and I didn't feel like I had lost myself. In some ways I felt better, in some ways I felt the same, in a few ways I felt a little worse. Overall, it was a net gain. The medication was working. There were side effects. There always are. I was more tired than usual and my right eye twitched if I didn't get enough sleep or if I ate sugar (read: it twitched often). But again, the medication was working.
<p align="justify">A couple months in — I think it was in March — I noticed a slight buzz of anxiety that seemed to come and go arbitrarily throughout the day. (My doctor had told me that anxiety could be a side effect of Lexapro, which, yes, is a strange side effect for a medication often used to treat general anxiety disorder.) Maybe it was from the meds, maybe it was from the stress of adjusting to marriage (which happened in March), maybe it was something completely unknown. Whatever it was, I found myself using sugar and caffeine — a Coke or Mt Dew when I got to work in the morning and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in the afternoon — to try to dull the buzz. I knew this was a bad idea — sugar and caffeine only make my anxiety worse — but in the moment of consumption, the sugar helped me cope.
<p align="justify">It wasn't long before I found myself wanting to go off the meds. But I didn't want to try another one and I worried that quitting the meds would plunge me into a deep depression. So I kept taking them, figuring that one day I would know when the time was right to try something else, whether that was quitting the meds or trying a new prescription.
<p align="justify">Then one Friday afternoon a couple weeks ago I found myself at Walgreen's during my lunch break to refill my prescription. The pharmacy wouldn't refill it. The pharmacist supposed that the doctor wanted to see me before giving me another refill. So I called my doctor's office only to find out that they close at noon on Friday. I was without medication until Monday at the earliest.
<p align="justify">I had missed taking my meds before — although for no longer than a day — and I could always notice a difference in my moods and feelings. Part of me was worried that I would become angry, despondent, or hopeless, but mostly I was just curious to see what those few days without medication would be like.
<p align="justify">Saturday was interesting. I had DVR'ed a Bruce Springsteen concert that had aired at 3:00 am that morning so I spent my day watching Bruce while wandering in and out of the kitchen to bake a few loaves of ciabatta. For the most part I felt good — way better than I had expected — although I was a bit surprised when I found myself crying when Bruce and the band played "Bandlands." I guess the lines "We'll keep pushin' till it's understood / and these badlands start treating us good" seemed apropos given what I was going through.
<p align="justify">I felt even better on Sunday, although by late afternoon I was feeling pretty dizzy and weak. Monday was about the same. Tuesday morning I told my doctor about my weekend (I left out the part about crying during "Badlands") and told him that I wanted to go off the meds. He was cool with it so he gave me a plan to taper off.
<p align="justify">After reducing my dosage for about a week, on October first, right before bed, I took Lexapro for the last time.
<p align="justify">As the days passed, my mood didn't dip or soar, but I found myself increasingly dizzy. Saturday the fourth was the worst of it.
<p align="justify">Overall, I feel more in touch with myself and more capable of sorting out my feelings and being honest with myself. I've also been crying at the drop of the hat. Despite that increased honesty, it's difficult to tell if this is a well of sad energy leaving my body, if there are lots of hats dropping, if it's something else entirely, or all of the above (the likely scenario).
<p align="justify">Here is what I believe about depression: I don't know if it will ever totally disappear from my life. It will most likely be something that continues to resurface here and there. While I am not currently at my most vital, I have the motivation, desire, and ability to care for myself in ways that will, I hope, help me increase my vitality. I can communicate with God, connect with family and friends, look for ways to love and serve others, make pizza, bread, and cookies, cook meats on the grill, read books, write, and do my best to love myself and remember that I'm a good guy who wants good things. Or maybe I can try another medication. There are a lot out there and I've only tried one.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-64244719142622403592014-01-05T08:48:00.002-08:002014-01-05T09:15:14.646-08:00Creed<p align="justify">It's sometimes quite hard for me to stay true to myself. I've developed many theories as to why that is (some accurate, some absurd, like much of my deep thinking). What it boils down to is this: I just haven't had much practice at it. It's not something I'm used to doing. So, in effort for me to be more true to myself — which is essential if I want to be true to others — I've drafted the following creed as a reminder of who I am, something I can refer to and modify throughout the year and hopefully throughout my life. The old Myke would hope that you like it; the more true Myke hopes that you like it but doesn't take it too personally if you don't.
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<blockquote><p align="justify"><i>"One of the laws of paleontology is that an animal which must protect itself with thick armor is degenerate. It is usually a sign that the species is on the road to extinction." — John Steinbeck</i></blockquote>
<p align="justify">I allow myself to be vulnerable because to live otherwise is to suffer. Vulnerability is an antidote to apathy. Vulnerability opens me to joy and pain. I graciously and gratefully accept joy. I don’t place myself in harm’s way, but I accept pain as a natural part of living life fully and allow my Savior to heal my pain.
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<blockquote><p align="justify"><i>"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." — Marianne Williamson</i></blockquote>
<p align="justify">While I am sensitive to the insecurities of others, I don't allow those insecurities to keep me from speaking, acting, or being true to myself. Being true to myself allows me to be true to others. My fears and insecurities belong to me and the fears and insecurities of others belong to them.
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<blockquote><p align="justify"><i>"There is no passion to be found playing small — in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living." — Nelson Mandela
<p align="justify">"Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men's blood and probably will not themselves be realized." — Daniel Burnham</i></blockquote>
<p align="justify">I live my life with love, passion, and integrity. I dream big and I act in proportion to the size of my dreams. I’m more inclined to follow to an <i>I want to</i> and less apt to heed a <i>you're supposed to</i>, <i>you need to</i>, or <i>you should</i>.
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<blockquote><p align="justify"><i>"Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter." — Yoda</i></blockquote>
<p align="justify">I am not a victim. I am not an object to be acted upon. I am friend, brother, son, husband*, and father*. I recognize, acknowledge, and honor the great power and strength I possess, and I recognize, acknowledge, and honor the power and strength in others. I have the potential to become like God but I am not Him. I take responsibility where I can and where appropriate. I allow others the privilege of responsibility. It is a privilege and pleasure to lend help and support, but I leave the duties of rescuing and saving to God and to the Savior. I do not control or manipulate the choices of others, nor does God.
<p align="justify"><font size="1">*Coming soon.</font>
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<blockquote><p align="justify"><i>"In the world ruled by tigers with ulcers, rutted by strictured bulls, scavenged by blind jackals, Mack and the boys dine delicately with the tigers, fondle the frantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea gulls of Cannery Row. What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate, and bifocals? Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who are in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys." — John Steinbeck,</i> Cannery Row</blockquote>
<p align="justify">My wants, needs, and desires are not unreasonable nor are they out of my reach and I am open to receiving what I want, need, and desire from others. My heart is good and I want want, need, and desire good things. To want, need, and desire makes me part of the human community. I am proud to belong to several communities: a community of family, a community of friends, a community of worshipers, a community of co-workers, a community of humans, and a community of God’s children. God has given me purpose within each community and I am happy to give to and receive from each. I trust God, that He knows me intimately and perfectly, and that He sees that my needs are met, by Him, myself, or someone else.
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<p align="justify">I am good, not perfect. I reserve the right to modify this document as I discover more Truth. In my quest to recover from the unhealthy habits and ways of being that I have adopted by birth, inheritance, circumstance, and choice, I know that slips, breakdowns, and mistakes are inevitable, OK, and even healthy; failure is a judgement and nothing more. I feel what I feel — happiness or sadness, joy or pain, love or hate, excitement or depression, calmness or anxiety — knowing that my feelings aren't always a true reflection of who I am, what I want, or what I am committed to.
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<p align="justify">P.S. I really did try to work in some Creed lyrics into my creed but they just didn't fit.
<p align="justify">P.P.S. And yes, I'm aware of the irony of referring to so many quotes by <i>other people</i> in a document about being true to me. Like I said, I'm somewhat new to this.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-45244925023046241502013-11-10T08:55:00.000-08:002013-11-10T08:55:42.254-08:00Please consider the environment before printing this email<p align="justify">At work, every now and then I receive an email with words "Please consider the environment before printing this email" written just below the signature line.
<p align="justify">And so my thoughts are drawn toward the complexities of our natural world.
<p align="justify">I reflect on the majesty of the towering redwoods, the lofty grandeur of the Rockies, the arid beauty and harshness of Arizona's Sonoran desert.
<p align="justify">My mind reels as I acknowledge the mysteries of the deep and the sheer variety of creatures that inhabit our mighty oceans — from the tiniest plankton to the giants of the ocean: whales, sharks, and whale sharks.
<p align="justify">I reflect on the giants of the past, the terrible lizards that occupy our imaginations and Mother Earth's fossil record: the tyrannosaur, the brontosaur, and megalodon.
<p align="justify">I consider our Earth's myriad weather phenomena, from the raging hurricane to the benevolent rain shower.
<p align="justify">The eyes of my mind envision sunrise and sunset and my thoughts are called to the heavens, to our extraterrestrial environment: meteors, moons, asteroids, trans-Neptunian objects, galaxies, quasars, and nebulae.
<p align="justify">I take a moment to marvel at the regality of our natural universe —
<p align="justify">— and then I print the email.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-46696217517455586452013-08-11T12:39:00.000-07:002013-08-11T16:37:46.255-07:00Mack and the Boys<p align="justify">"A Praise Chorus," the live-in-the-now anthem from 2001's <i>Bleed American</i>, has always been one of my favorite Jimmy Eat World songs. If the economic law of diminishing marginal utility states that a good or service — or in this case, a song — will decrease in utility or usefulness as a result of additional consumption, then "A Praise Chorus" seems to defy that law; I still sing along to "A Praise Chorus" with as much gusto as I did when I first fell in love with the song about 12 years ago.
<p align="justify">This song is, among other things, a road trip staple so it was natural choice for a road trip mix I made for a recent trip to Utah, a mix that I played during my recent trip to Monterey. As I drove I considered the lines I had heard dozens of times before:
<blockquote>Are you gonna live your life wondering
<br>Standing in the back looking around
<br>Are you gonna waste your time
<br>Gotta make a move or you'll miss out
</blockquote>
<p align="justify">These lyrics hit me hard because I have rarely considered myself as someone that has any semblance of control over his life. In what seems like a constant struggle to create the life that I want, the idea of these few lines — taking a stand for my life and finally following my dreams — has been a source of inspiration for me throughout recent years.
<p align="justify">I remember one summer afternoon in Rexburg, Idaho, running through town with this song blasting in my ears. Approaching my 25th birthday, the line "Even at 25 you gotta start sometime" was particularly stirring. I remember vowing to myself during that run, that it was time to start living my life, time to start chasing down and living my dreams.
<p align="justify">Easier said than done. I knew how to dream, but rarely did I know how to do.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwH6o_C9ij_socnGSiN-NorGXXn1Jyi-zfCr2MI5ZXQNv9xIgAfzuBEtZcPOrJ0NSTchbbCxhUAIdnUdFewvhVvPMM0lR3Z-BQQlV0FygtvGRilbHYgquwZRYihBXGe6J7OvPk-yFCNY/s1600/2013-07-24+19.18.12-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwH6o_C9ij_socnGSiN-NorGXXn1Jyi-zfCr2MI5ZXQNv9xIgAfzuBEtZcPOrJ0NSTchbbCxhUAIdnUdFewvhVvPMM0lR3Z-BQQlV0FygtvGRilbHYgquwZRYihBXGe6J7OvPk-yFCNY/s400/2013-07-24+19.18.12-1.jpg" /></a></div>
<p align="center"><i>A somewhat relevant photo (because it was taken in Monterey) that I'm only including to make this post more attractive visually. (And because it's a photo I'm proud of.)</i>
<p align="justify">During that same drive to Monterey, I encountered a voice that seemed to be in direct conflict with the familiar refrains of "A Praise Chorus." During our drive, my friend Angie read out loud from Steinbeck's <i>Cannery Row</i>. As we would be at Cannery Row later that day, it seemed appropriate. A passage from the first chapter introducing the characters caught my attention:
<blockquote>
Mack was the elder, leader, mentor, and to a small extent the exploiter of a little group of men who had in common no families, no money, and no ambitions beyond food, drink, and contentment. But whereas most men in their search for contentment destroy themselves and fall wearily short of of their targets, Mack and the boys approached contentment casually, quietly, and absorbed it gently.
</blockquote>
<p align="justify">Those words stuck out to me, and over the past couple weeks the following <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08k1Ds3A1gE">Sméagol-Gollum-esque conversation</a> has played out in my head:
<p align="justify"><b>Sméagol-Myke:</b> "...approached contentment casually, quietly, and absorbed it gently." Wow. That sounds like a much easier way of living.
<p align="justify"><b>Gollum-Myke:</b> But wait! What about "Gotta make a move or you'll miss out"? You don't want to miss out, Myke. You've already missed out on enough.
<p align="justify"><b>Sméagol-Myke:</b> Yeah, but —
<p align="justify"><b>Gollum-Myke:</b> Don't you "Yeah, but" me! I invented "Yeah, but" —
<p align="justify"><b>Sméagol-Myke:</b> — but "Gotta make a move" doesn't work. I've tried it, it doesn't work.
<p align="justify"><b>Gollum-Myke:</b> Sure it does. You just gotta be consistent and follow through. You never follow through on anything.
<p align="justify"><b>Sméagol-Myke:</b> I'm tired of living my life in such a frantic manner. In trying to "make a move" I've smothered too many people, I've expected too much from others.
<p align="justify"><b>Gollum-Myke:</b> It's not your fault other people can't handle your intensity.
<p align="justify"><b>Sméagol-Myke:</b> I know, but —
<p align="justify"><b>Gollum-Myke:</b> Besides, casually, quietly, gently — you don't know <i>how</i> to live like that. You just don't.
<p align="justify"><b>Sméagol-Myke:</b> ...
<p align="justify">I knew there was some kind of message for me in that phrase — "...approached contentment casually, quietly, and absorbed it gently" — but I didn't know how that fit, if at all, into my previous ideal of living — "Gotta make a move or you'll miss out." And like Gollum-Myke said, I don't know <i>how</i> to live like Mack and the boys. I've lived my life so deliberately and strictly, how could I learn to approach something <i>casually</i>, with a certain degree nonchalance?
<p align="justify">Because life <i>is</i> short. Life <i>is</i> urgent. Life presents you with opportunities that if you don't seize them, they will pass you by —
<p align="justify">— and that's when it clicked. That yes, life is urgent and short, but life being short and urgent does not mean that it's frantic and hurried and overbearing. Rather than making my life a frenetic quest for contentment, why not take step back and let life come to me? This seems like a much more passive approach, but it's not. Because when a $100 bill flutters at your feet during a casual stroll down the street, you don't let it pass. You "make a move" — but not a frantic one. The move is simple: you stop, pick up the bill, and put it in your pocket.
<p align="justify">(For the sake of honesty, let's assume that $100 bill fell out of Bruce Wayne's wallet when he was buying a hot dog from a street vendor. When you try to return it to him he perceives your need and says, "Thanks for your honesty. Keep it." This scenario also assumes that you live in Gotham City and that Batman is real, which is pretty awesome.)
<p align="justify">While I'm sure such people exist, I personally don't know anyone who makes a living by running around town looking for $100 bills that have fallen out of the wallets of billionaire playboy vigilantes. If I have absolutely no control over $100 bills falling out of wallets, why does it make sense for me to live the rest of my life that way?
<p align="justify">The key to living life like Mack and the boys lies in the understanding and replacement of the word "seize." <i>Seize the day</i>, some have said. The word "seize" has such a violent tone — grab a hold of it tightly and don't let go. And so <i>seize the day</i> becomes <i>strangle the life out of the day and hold onto it even after the sun has risen on a new day</i>.
<p align="justify">I don't know about you, but I'm tired of seizing the day. I'm tired of hanging on till my knuckles turn white and my grip shakes, and when I let go because I've exhausted all my strength, my fingers ache with weariness from having held on so tight. I want to <i>accept</i> the day. I want <i>receive</i> the day.
<p align="justify">Too often I've seen acceptance as some sort of settling. Settling for less than what is good enough for me. In being unwilling to accept life as it is, I've pushed away the good in almost everything. As I've failed to accept myself, I've failed to recognize and appreciate what is good about me and what I am good at — that I am unfailingly nice and that I can make a mean batch of chocolate chip cookies without even glancing at a recipe.
<p align="justify">Living like Mack and the boys — approaching contentment gently — means accepting and receiving and loving people and miracles and opportunities for what they are. To accept and receive the adventure that life throws at us requires a great deal of gratitude, faith, love, openness, and grace. Seen from this point of view, much easier said than done, life transforms into something greater than a quest for contentment. It becomes a quest to acquire and radiate those attributes necessary to accepting and receiving.
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<blockquote>
In the world ruled by tigers with ulcers, rutted by strictured bulls, scavenged by blind jackals, Mack and the boys dine delicately with the tigers, fondle the frantic heifers, and wrap up the crumbs to feed the sea gulls of Cannery Row. What can it profit a man to gain the whole world and to come to his property with a gastric ulcer, a blown prostate, and bifocals? Mack and the boys avoid the trap, walk around the poison, step over the noose while a generation of trapped, poisoned, and trussed up men scream at them and call them no-goods, come-to-bad-ends, thieves, rascals, bums. Our Father who are in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys.
</blockquote>Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-71100950033843595522013-07-29T22:54:00.002-07:002013-07-29T22:56:58.132-07:00Steinbeck Country<p align="justify">There's a Death Cab For Cutie song I really like, "Bixby Canyon Bridge," wherein Ben Gibbard pays homage to his favorite author, Jack Kerouac. In the song, Gibbard retraces the footsteps of Kerouac in Big Sur, California, hoping for some sort of manifestation of being or truth only to be disappointed:
<blockquote>In the silence it became so very clear
<br>That you had long ago disappeared
<br>I cursed myself for being surprised
<br>That this didn't play like it did in my mind
</blockquote>
<p align="justify">While I have visited Steinbeck Country — Monterey County in California — twice before, I've often thought about Ben Gibbard's experience in Big Sur, a region often associated with Kerouac, a region that also appears in Steinbeck's body of work. And I wondered when the time came for me to visit Steinbeck Country, would I leave the countryside of my favorite writer disappointed, like Ben Gibbard?
<blockquote>And then it started getting dark
<br>I trudged back to where the car was parked
<br>No closer to any kind of truth
<br>As I assume was the case with you
</blockquote>
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">We arrived in Salinas, California, late Wednesday afternoon and drove straight to the Garden of Memories Cemetery. The air was fresh and damp with a breeze — perfect after 10 hours in a car. Having been to the cemetery twice before, it took no time to find the Hamilton family plot where John Steinbeck's ashes rest. (Hamilton was Steinbeck's mother's maiden name.)
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffAPhsyb4n8Fnehyb7-IiOqJEi46Xo2_2IUSqVA7l8-dA_3677RQQGH2BIStqy9U8y6GVnFwfY13oH73Mx2pWaBDeiAEUYLRnJ868gd8cVViQsQxqMMSXSq7SHT67ae2txS1KdT2vDEU/s1600/2013-07-24+16.50.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffAPhsyb4n8Fnehyb7-IiOqJEi46Xo2_2IUSqVA7l8-dA_3677RQQGH2BIStqy9U8y6GVnFwfY13oH73Mx2pWaBDeiAEUYLRnJ868gd8cVViQsQxqMMSXSq7SHT67ae2txS1KdT2vDEU/s400/2013-07-24+16.50.23.jpg" /></a></div>
<p align="justify">My travel mates, Brian, Angie, and Anna, and I stood around the grave. We took pictures and chatted and wondered about the significance of the pennies on the grave. Angie found a small booklet with notes written to John and his family behind the Hamilton family headstone.
<p align="justify">And after a few minutes my friends began wandering among other graves and I was alone with John and his family. I pondered a line from <i>East of Eden</i> that has meant so much to me over the past couple months, "And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good."
<p align="justify">I added my piece to the booklet behind the headstone, joined my friends, and we drove to foggy Monterey to meet up with our friends, Danny and Jacquee, who would be hosting us for the next two nights. (Danny is one of my best friends from high school. He recently joined the Army and is studying at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey. By coincidence, Jacquee is one of Angie's best friends.)
<p align="justify">The next day, after a morning drive along 17-Mile Drive in Pacific Grove and Pebble Beach, we made our way back to Salinas for lunch at the Steinbeck house.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tPy4F52drzSaDgPxD-jWhihHE-eL3X6rbGBV8oN_0aIrzR7JJQ8lBQ8O4BKtzA4JGjRkS2OzEGYSxzPEDfZdl_pobY5tnypi9uLIvd9rXCiLXoS6TDUNilsx5NKGTnbewXAFGN8XMZM/s1600/2013-07-25+12.37.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tPy4F52drzSaDgPxD-jWhihHE-eL3X6rbGBV8oN_0aIrzR7JJQ8lBQ8O4BKtzA4JGjRkS2OzEGYSxzPEDfZdl_pobY5tnypi9uLIvd9rXCiLXoS6TDUNilsx5NKGTnbewXAFGN8XMZM/s400/2013-07-25+12.37.21.jpg" /></a></div>
<p align="justify"><a href="http://www.steinbeckhouse.com/">The Steinbeck House</a> was built in 1897. As you enter, to your left is the room in which the man himself was born (the bed on which he was born is downstairs in the Best Cellar Gift Shop). From what I gathered, most of the fixtures are original as is much of the furniture. The Steinbeck House is operated by volunteers and serves lunch Tuesday through Saturday.
<p align="justify">After lunch we drove back to Monterey where we met <a href="http://www.katilda.com/">Katie</a>, who drove down from her new home of Palo Alto, as well as Jacquee and her daughter. Jacquee scored free passes to the Monterey Bay Aquarium on Cannery Row and we spent the afternoon there (thank you, Jacquee). (It's worth mentioning that before our visit Katie possessed a phobia of aquaria.)
<p align="justify">After the aquarium, we walked a couple hundred feet down the Row, where we encountered Pacific Biological Laboratories, a lab once operated by Steinbeck's friend and one-time collaborator, marine biologist and renaissance man, Ed Ricketts. (Ricketts appears as a character in many of Steinbeck's novels under different names; the most obvious character is <i>Cannery Row</i>'s Doc.)
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjvSqd04rBsSl8C7S5zol6H1SU4CqhBf0OU6J4vSkXRoUWBtq3Ehy39vlXpW057ip5kbWpDtAoQ1xO09Hx1K_33rSpDVny3uqHQjF9UjntmrYsTp2VmSU2xraSUmoNHny-yJTCyWxNAY/s1600/2013-07-25+15.52.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjvSqd04rBsSl8C7S5zol6H1SU4CqhBf0OU6J4vSkXRoUWBtq3Ehy39vlXpW057ip5kbWpDtAoQ1xO09Hx1K_33rSpDVny3uqHQjF9UjntmrYsTp2VmSU2xraSUmoNHny-yJTCyWxNAY/s400/2013-07-25+15.52.26.jpg" /></a></div>
<p align="justify">On May 8, 1948, Ed Ricketts' car was struck by a passenger train as he was leaving his lab for dinner. Ricketts survived for three days before passing away. There is now a life-size bust of Ed at the site of the crash. We made our way slowly from the lab to the sculpture, stopping for ice cream, and unknowingly walking on a path where the fatal railway once existed.
<p align="justify">Upon reaching the statue, as I posed for a photo, words that Steinbeck wrote of Ricketts after his passing came to mind, "Once Ed said to me, 'For a very long time I didn't like myself.' It was not said in self-pity but simply as an unfortunate fact." These words bounced around inside of me as we walked back to my car, bought sandwiches and groceries for dinner, and ate dinner on the beach at Carmel-by-the-Sea. (You can read more about why I love Ed Ricketts <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2012/09/who-knows-why-or-should.html">here</a>.)
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVqSNdFhPlxHtAA4HHInMYZB3bA1ogK9PfJLsXkAuNIwXdufCVpeWPAKoHAyAzndagQIHFPXsO9kVL65vssi8NJA9eqSxjpF7lYwD2dC3GpdjHI4TOXWgxwvXtI6HfRuYLgjYIoYJU0k/s1600/2013-07-25+16.32.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVqSNdFhPlxHtAA4HHInMYZB3bA1ogK9PfJLsXkAuNIwXdufCVpeWPAKoHAyAzndagQIHFPXsO9kVL65vssi8NJA9eqSxjpF7lYwD2dC3GpdjHI4TOXWgxwvXtI6HfRuYLgjYIoYJU0k/s400/2013-07-25+16.32.44.jpg" /></a></div>
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">I once thought that upon visiting Steinbeck Country, I would encounter some sort of ephemera, something I could not take home with me. True, Monterey County possesses a certain magic I haven't felt anywhere else. But as I walked where Steinbeck and Ricketts walked, where they came to life and where they came to death, where they still live, I felt something familiar and concrete and real and useful. I felt gratitude.
<p align="justify">Gratitude to these men who told me that I don't have to be perfect, but that I can be good — that I <i>am</i> good.
<br>Men who, like me, didn't like themselves.
<br>Men who showed me <i>how</i> to like myself, not in narcissism, but in a way that made it comfortable for <i>me</i> to be around me.
<br>Men who followed their improbable dreams, not for accolades or wealth, but for the simple intrinsic pleasure of doing what they enjoyed.
<br>Men who taught me that in being good and wanting good that I am whole and complete.
<p align="justify">And I learned that I don't have to be in Monterey County to rediscover that gratitude. All I have to do is pick up a book.
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">Thank you, John. Thank you, Ed.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-51635073609504762952013-07-09T09:30:00.000-07:002013-07-09T09:30:10.073-07:00Spokane, Washington<p align="justify">The summer after I graduated high school I began working for a painter. It wasn't an easy job because, let's face it, no job in the construction industry during an Arizona summer is easy.
<p align="justify">This was also the summer when, for a few weeks, the air conditioning in my truck refused to function.
<p align="justify">During those hellish weeks, I remember driving home one night from a jobsite. With my windows down, I slowed to a stop at a red light. A man in a car pulled up next to me. His windows were down too. I looked over and our eyes met.
<p align="justify">"Hey," he said.
<p align="justify">"Hi," I replied.
<p align="justify">"It's hot."
<p align="justify">"Yeah." I wasn't in the habit of conversing with strangers at stoplights.
<p align="justify">"I'm from back East so I'm not used to this heat," he continued.
<p align="justify">Curiosity got the best of me and I love geography so I inquired, "Where are you from?"
<p align="justify">"Spokane, Washington."
<p align="justify">The light turned green and he drove away.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-48598674185545968732013-06-28T11:24:00.000-07:002013-06-28T11:24:05.035-07:00Killer Taste<p align="justify">If I had to come up with a list of the Coolest People on Earth, I imagine Ira Glass would end up somewhere in the top three.
<p align="justify">This short video is on storytelling and creative work.
<p align="center">
<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/24715531" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe>
<br><i><a href="http://vimeo.com/24715531">Ira Glass on Storytelling</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/thedak">David Shiyang Liu</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</i></p>
<p align="justify">This is <i>exactly</i> where I feel I'm at with my pizza. I know what amazing pizza tastes like — I have that "killer taste," as Ira puts it — but there is a disparity between what I create and what I want. My pizza is good, and every now and then I'll pull a pie from the oven that tastes amazing, but I know I haven't achieved the greatness that I want.
<p align="justify">And I don't expect perfect pie at this point. But it still can be disappointing when I do create one that isn't as good as I want it to be. And so I'm grateful for Ira's encouraging words. More so, I'm grateful for friends who come over each week for Pizza Club and support me in what I'm trying to create.
<p align="justify">I have a friend whose bucket list includes high-fiving Ira Glass. I think I'd like to add it to mine. Thanks, Ira.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-69572178993059399112013-06-25T14:05:00.000-07:002013-06-25T16:24:39.510-07:00On Foot<p align="justify"><i>"One day Samuel strained his back lifting a bale of hay, and it hurt his feelings more than his back, for he could not imagine a life in which Sam Hamilton was not privileged to lift a bale of hay."</i> — John Steinbeck, <i>East of Eden</i>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p align="justify">Last Thursday I drove north to Utah to spend the weekend visiting family and friends and relaxing. When I woke up Friday morning at my aunt's house, my agenda consisted of two items: find a French bakery near downtown Salt Lake City my aunt told me about and spend some time reading outdoors. I left my aunt's house somewhat early and found a parking spot a block or two away from the bakery. With a book in hand I set out for the bakery. I ordered a <i>pain au chocolat</i> and a Mexican Coke. I crossed the street and walked a block and found myself sitting on a bench beneath a formidable shade tree in Washington Square at the foot of this building:
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/9126777109/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2876/9126777109_fdf37debc6.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Untitled"></a>
<br><i>The Salt Lake City and County Building</i>
<p align="justify">I ate my breakfast, drank my Coke, and walked to the Salt Lake City Public Library. But the weather was so nice and I couldn't stay indoors for long, so I made my way back to Washington Square, to another bench under another tree to read <i>East of Eden</i>.
<p align="justify">An hour later I was on my feet again, on my way to find a used book store, Ken Sanders Rare Books, a few blocks away. They had the book I was looking for, <i>Illusions</i> by Richard Bach, as well as three Steinbeck early editions I didn't know I was looking for, <i>America and Americans</i> (a first edition), <i>A Russian Journal</i> (a first edition), and <i>Steinbeck: A Life in Letters</i> (not a first edition, but a nevertheless very cool early edition). Not wanting to carry the books around with me, I took them straight to my car. From there I took a scenic route back to the library (I had to use the bathroom) before meeting up with a friend.
<p align="justify">During all this time my car didn't move an inch.
<p align="justify">I woke up that Friday morning feeling somewhat anxious. About what, I don't know. I can't pinpoint the moment when that anxiety left me, but at some point during that morning I felt free of it. I wondered at that. And I thought about how different this day was from the day before, a day spent entirely within the confines of my car. I thought about how much ground I covered in my car — a good 700 miles — and then I think about how little I covered on foot — maybe a mile or two. Yet, that mile or two, that miniscule distance by comparison, was so much more satisfying — even therapeutic — than the great distance I traveled the day before.
<p align="justify">I've always enjoyed walking and running for its own sake. But traveling by foot with a purpose or destination seems to calm me in a way few things can, even if — especially if? — the destination is something simple: a bakery, a library, a bathroom, a tree to read under, a meeting with a friend. A couple years ago I came across an article that cited a study claiming that <a href="http://content.usatoday.com/communities/greenhouse/post/2010/12/walkable-neighborhoods-happy-people/1#.UcnKf_m86So">people who live in walkable neighborhoods are happier</a>, and after this weekend, I'm starting to see why that is.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<p align="justify">I consider that quote above by John Steinbeck about Sam Hamilton — "[Sam] could not imagine a life in which Sam Hamilton was not privileged to lift a bale of hay." And I think about how I neglect my body and its purpose. Bodies are made to jump, dance, run, walk — to express love — to take you new and exciting places — to create — to taste, hear, smell, see, and touch — to live. So why don't I <i>literally</i> jump out of bed each morning?Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-67218683417014698082013-06-12T11:02:00.001-07:002013-06-12T15:48:47.388-07:00Maybe Even Epic<p align="justify">I don't know why I started following <a href="http://anthonybourdain.tumblr.com/">Anthony Bourdain</a> on <a href="https://twitter.com/Bourdain">Twitter</a>. I'm a big food guy and I love traveling — two things Bourdain has mastered — so I guess it was inevitable. So when Bourdain started tweeting about the premiere of his new food/travel show <i>Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown</i> on CNN, I figured I'd set my DVR and watch it later. I guess I didn't have much to do that Sunday night because "later" happened to be an hour or so after the premiere aired. I was hooked, instantly.
<p align="justify">Bourdain is no stranger to culinary travel television. <i>Parts Unknown</i>, however, is a bit different because, as the name would suggest, Bourdain's travels include destinations that are well off the beaten path, some of which might seem quite unfriendly to Americans, outsiders, and even their own citizens, locales like Columbia, Libya, Myanmar, and Congo. I'm particularly partial to the Quebec episode, having spent some time there as an LDS missionary.
<p align="justify">When the newest issue of <i><a href="http://lky.ph/">Lucky Peach</i></a> — an awesome, well-designed quarterly food magazine — arrived in the mail on Monday the first piece I read was a short essay by Bourdain called "Even The Jungle Wanted Him Dead." The first paragraph really stood out:
<p align="justify"><blockquote>As I've come to learn over the last thirteen years of near-constant movement around the globe, travel at its best — and its worst — is a journey of discovery. The destination is not nearly important as the process of getting there, or the friends one makes, or the experience of local cultures and foodways, or the way one is changed by the distance where you started and where you end up.</blockquote>
<p align="justify">Not only is that true with traveling, but it's a perfect metaphor for life and for any friendship or relationship.
<p align="justify">Here's an example: last August my friend Devyn and I flew up to Washington to help my friend Jeff drive his minivan from Everett to Boston (we picked up Whit en route in Montana). On our first day of the trip, as we neared Spokane, Jeff had me find the nearest Coscto so we could pick up a bag of chips he really likes. I was annoyed. I shared this annoyance in a text message with my then-girlfriend. Her response echoed Bourdain's sentiments, "It's about the journey, not the destination."
<p align="justify">I tried to embrace that attitude, but when we left the van and walked into that busy Costco — it was noon on a Saturday — in a dingy part of Spokane, I nevertheless felt it my duty to be sure that we spend as little time as possible inside the store. As we passed the lady at the exit who checks your receipt and walked through the parking lot, my mood softened a bit and I started to appreciate this city in which I had never set foot, surrounded by people who were likely to be as interesting, or maybe even more so, as the ones I knew back home.
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/7848167694/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8437/7848167694_c0cc12a32f.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Untitled"></a>
<br><i>Whit on the left, Devyn on the right. At the Little Big Horn National Monument in Montana.</i>
<p align="justify">As I look back on that pit stop, I shake my head at my annoyance. What negative impact did that 30 minute detour have on a six day, 3,000 mile road trip? Or yet, what <i>right</i> did I have to be annoyed at any point during a six day, 3,000 mile road trip that spanned 11 states and one Canadian province, with three of my oldest and closest friends, friends that I have known for longer than I have <i>not</i> known them? We had planned and anticipated this road trip — a dream road trip, a trip that I now think about several times a week — for eight months and here I was being a crybaby.
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/7848164770/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7278/7848164770_14a075a7b1.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Untitled"></a>
<br><i>Some famous dead guys.</i>
<p align="justify">And still, I have to go easy on myself because I wonder if I didn't know how <i>not</i> to be annoyed. I come from a family whose road trips were very much about the destination. You try driving from Phoenix to Salt Lake City every summer in a sweaty van full of five grumpy kids and tell me you don't want to get there in a hurry. And when residing at the destination were grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles that you didn't get to see often enough, then yes, the destination was a priority. And I <i>do</i> have good memories from the journey of those drives, even if for my family the journey itself wasn’t always a focal point — the park in Kanab, Utah, where we would play at while my mom took a quick nap, and that trip where we listened to nothing but Peter Cetera's <i>World Falling Down</i> because the stereo in our old van could not eject tapes.
<p align="justify">There's nothing wrong with speeding toward a destination — as long as you realize that there is life to be enjoyed while on that speedy and perhaps brief journey.
<p align="justify">And yet, as someone who has spent a great deal of time trying to speed through life, I look forward to and search out and maybe even ache for those journeys — literal and metaphorical — that are slow, meandering — and maybe even <a href="http://threechordme.blogspot.com/2011/07/appeal-to-speakers-of-english.html">epic</a>.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-50896407845786505702013-05-22T16:32:00.001-07:002013-05-22T17:09:21.869-07:00Pizza Club Week #3<p align="justify">As <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2013/05/pizza-night-pancetta-soppresatta.html">set forth earlier</a>, each week I have been hosting a weekly pizza night at my place. But I've hated calling it that because <i>pizza night</i>, while apt, sounds a bit underwhelming. So henceforth, pizza night is now called Pizza Club.
<p align="align">I have to say, last night's Pizza Club went particularly well.
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/8782228413/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5339/8782228413_f02a086f2b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Untitled"></a>
<p align="justify">We started out the evening with the pizza above, a white pizza with garlic toasted with cumin, mozzarella, goat cheese, serrano chilies, and cilantro. I purposely held back on the mozzarella and goat cheese as not to overwhelm the pie; I will be increasing the amounts next time. I thought the serrano chilies might be too hot but they gave the pizza a perfect kick. I can't wait to try this one again next week.
<p align="justify">In effort to master the general basics of pizza-making, I kept my remaining three pies simple: two pepperoni pizzas and one cheese. Out of these three, the cheese was the best.
<p align="justify">This batch of pizzas was my second round with my new <a href="http://bakingsteel.com/">Baking Steel</a>. The concept behind the Baking Steel is that steel transfers heat better than a traditional pizza stone. Better heat transfer means a crisp, chewier crust. (Read more about the Baking Steel <a href="http://bakingsteel.com/our-inspiration/">here</a> and <a href="http://slice.seriouseats.com/archives/2012/09/the-pizza-lab-the-baking-steel-delivers.html?ref=search">here</a>. I foresee this thing becoming my new best friend.) The crust on the goat cheese-chilies-cilantro pizza was the best I've ever made — light, airy, and crispy with a slight chew (if I can figure out how to to bring out that chew, texture-wise, it will be near-perfect). Because I was worried about burning the cheese*, I pulled the remaining three pizzas out of the oven before the crust was done cooking. Next time I might just have to burn the cheese (or cover it with foil or something).
<p align="justify"><font size="1">*This, in spite of freezing the cheese about half an hour before baking, <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/10/new-york-style-pizza.html?ref=search">as Kenji Alt-Lopez recommends</a>.</font>
<p align="justify">The turn-out was great, 11 people showed up. I wasn't sure if four pizzas would feed that many, so I was grateful for the awesome salad Emily brought and for the drinks Al contributed to supplement the meal.
<p align="justify">So far, Pizza Club is off to an amazing start. I'm flattered by the amount of people who have taken interest in my pizza. Every week leftovers are sparse if there are any at all. And I'm grateful to my awesome roommates who allow me to commandeer the kitchen (and fridge and house) for a night (and then some). I hope to one day be as good as making pizza as I am at choosing friends. Thank you all.
<p align="justify">Afterword: With the name Pizza Club I am not hoping to create any kind of exclusivity; all are welcome. Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-28560254527635510542013-05-17T08:54:00.001-07:002013-05-17T08:54:13.787-07:00Act Fast<p align="justify">[Warning: Spoilers Ahead]
<p align="justify">I was genuinely surprised at how much I loved last night's series finale of <i>The Office</i>, and surprised at how moved I was at times. (Did anyone else get all emo when Erin discovered her birth parents?) At the end of the episode, Pam (played by Jenna Fischer) had a moment alone with the camera where she reflects on the past nine years that the documentary crew has spent filming her workplace (and life). What she said struck a deep, resounding chord:
<blockquote>I didn't watch the whole documentary. After a few episodes it was too painful. I kept wanting to scream at Pam. It took me so long to do so many important things, it's just hard to accept that I spent years being less happy than I could have been. Jim [her husband] was five feet from my desk and it took me four years to get to him. It'd be great if people saw this documentary and learned from my mistakes. Not that I'm a tragic person, I'm really happy now. But it would just, just make my heart soar if someone out there saw this and she [he] said to herself [himself], Be strong, trust yourself, love yourself, conquer your fears. Just go after what you want. And act fast, because life just isn't that long.
</blockquote>
<p align="justify">When I heard that I immediately thought, <i>Holy crap, I'm Pam!</i>
<p align="justify">It's only been during the past year that I have begun to feel that I am actually worthy and deserving of the life that I want. And only a few months ago did I really feel that on a deeper level. And I struggle to maintain that because I have 30 years of living during which, for the most part, I have believed otherwise.
<p align="justify">Upon hearing Pam's words, I found myself sort of convinced that she was a real person, that <i>The Office</i>, at least from her perspective, was an actual documentary. I wanted to reach out to her and say, "Thank you for those words of inspiration. Thank you for being brave enough to face the fears and obstacles that stood in your way of getting what you want." (I won't lie, I'm now slightly disappointed that she's not real.)
<p align="justify">Reality or not, the words Jenna Fischer spoke as Pam still ring true for me. I would echo her sentiment, in hope of passing on Pam's inspiring words, but hugely as a reminder to myself: Life is short and life is urgent. Don't wait to get what you want and what you deserve. Knowing what you want can be incredibly hard and getting it can be harder. If you don't know how to get it, find help: resources exist in the form of family, friends, strangers, books, uplifting entertainment, and YouTube tutorials. I've been so surprised at the amount of people who want me to succeed, many I barely know. Put on the armor of God but toss aside the armor of invulnerability; destroy that armor with the utmost haste — burn it and bury the ashes — and know that God will take care of you if you let Him.
<p align="justify">Don't forget that, Myke.
<p align="justify">And thanks, Pam.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-91925261814697448382013-05-15T15:21:00.001-07:002013-05-15T15:21:55.512-07:00Jodi Arias's Glasses<p align="justify">Today while scanning my Twitter feed I came across this photo of Jodi Arias:
<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEd-C-bCcvSPmuLZreLAQjXtVWtms2kfREwllUFp7BiNxq0Dg30k3XWAY-2PttzKDVrT0IHdFTzyO4GNPxMEA9nUCyjyTrW5t7sQCv-Y7ZsUKaLPNaJEBwbnR5doVzLlZ4xyh_BUavckA/s1600/arias.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEd-C-bCcvSPmuLZreLAQjXtVWtms2kfREwllUFp7BiNxq0Dg30k3XWAY-2PttzKDVrT0IHdFTzyO4GNPxMEA9nUCyjyTrW5t7sQCv-Y7ZsUKaLPNaJEBwbnR5doVzLlZ4xyh_BUavckA/s320/arias.jpg" /></a>
<br><i>Image from <a href="https://twitter.com/photomeisterAZR/status/334767014562369537/photo/1">here</a>.</i>
<p align="justify">I saw this photo and thought pleasantly, <i>Hmm. I like her glasses</i>.
<p align="justify">I don't know why, but I started thinking about the process she must have gone through to purchase them. She likely had an appointment with her eye doctor. Did she pick out the frames at her optometrist's office? How many pairs did she try on before she settled on these ones? Or did she know at first glance that these were the right pair for her? Or maybe skipped that process entirely and ordered them online.
<p align="justify">I don't know the answers to those questions. You probably don't care, and frankly, neither do I. I don't know Ms. Arias and, beyond this particular blog post, her choice of eye-wear has very little impact, if any, on
my life.
<p align="justify">But for that moment, she wasn't crazy and she wasn't a murderer.
<p align="justify">I don't condone murder. I nevertheless felt that it was worthwhile to consider Jodi Arias — a fellow human being — in a light different from the one in which she has been most recently cast.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-18718116433440284112013-05-10T13:56:00.000-07:002013-05-10T14:01:45.736-07:00Pizza Night: Pancetta, Soppresatta, Margherita<p align="justify">In my pursuit of perfect pizza—making and eating it—I decided that I'm going to have pizza night once a week at my place. This will provide me with consistent pizza making practice and with an environment where I benefit from the feedback from others. This post is about the pizzas I made last Wednesday.
<p align="justify">For the past year I've been using a great dough recipe that I found in an issue of <i>Cook's Illustrated</i>. Lately I've been following J. Kenji Lopez-Alt's pursuits of making great pizza at home on <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/">seriouseats.com</a>, so this week I tried his <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2012/07/basic-new-york-style-pizza-dough.html">basic New York-style pizza dough</a> instead of the <i>Cook's Illustrated</i> recipe.
<p align="justify">I think I like the <i>CI</i> dough a bit better, but because they're so similar, I'm going to keep trying Kenji's dough and tamper with that till I can get the crust I want. Both doughs require mixing in a food processor. My food processor is too small to handle a lump of pizza dough so I used my stand mixer. <a href="http://slice.seriouseats.com/archives/2010/10/the-pizza-lab-how-to-make-great-new-york-style-pizza.html?ref=search">According to Kenji</a>, prolonged exposure to oxygen during kneading will adversely effect the flavor of the dough. For most doughs, the kneading process to develop gluten can take quite a bit of time. A food processor is recommended because the fast-spinning blade can knead the dough in 30 seconds. I might consider purchasing a larger food processor in the future.
<p align="justify">Like the <i>CI</i> dough, Kenji's dough requires a rise in the refrigerator of at least 24 hours. I kept my dough in the fridge for the minimum time period. I'm going to let my next batch of dough ferment a little longer, maybe two or three days.
<p align="justify">My first creation was a white pie:
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/8725342321/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7342/8725342321_6ae52bf723.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="Untitled"></a>
<p align="justify">I topped this guy with a bit of olive oil, roasted garlic, a ton of mozzarella, rosemary, lightly sauteed spinach, and pancetta. Pancetta comes my favorite part of the pig, the belly. It's almost the same thing as bacon; where bacon is smoked, pancetta is not (it's sometimes referred to as Italian bacon). I prefer pancetta to bacon, especially on pizza. I'm not sure how much the spinach adds to this pizza so I will reconsider that the next time I make it. This pizza turned out great.
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/8726460780/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7351/8726460780_e292415fcf.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="Untitled"></a>
<p align="justify">I have yet to make a tomato sauce that I totally love. I wanted to keep the sauce simple, so I processed a can of whole San Marzano tomatoes with salt and fresh oregano. I added some sugar to temper the acidic tomatoes, but ended up adding too much, which killed much of the sauce's brightness. The oregano didn't add much unless you bit into one of the small leaves and then it was almost too flavorful. Next time I will use an actual recipe (like <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/10/new-york-style-pizza-sauce.html">this one</a>) and add or subtract to that instead of winging it.
<p align="justify">I topped the pizza above with tomato sauce, mozzarella, and soppresatta (salami). The soppresatta had a great flavor but I sliced it a little too thick, and as a hard salami, so it was tough to bite through. Next time I'll try to find a pre-sliced soppresatta. I wanted to throw some olives on this pie but I couldn't find any that looked like the right quality. Again, something else to look for.
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/8726460444/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7410/8726460444_a4ba26c35b.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="Untitled"></a>
<p align="justify">This one was my attempt at a Margherita pizza: tomato sauce, mozzarella, and basil. It was my least favorite. Just too bland. Besides getting the crust right (which I didn't on this pie), I feel like the key to a good Margherita is the sauce, which as I explained, was not the forte of this week's pizza making.
<p align="justify">All three pies were baked at 500°F on a pizza stone on the top rack of the oven. (Really looking forward to trying my new <a href="http://bakingsteel.com/">Baking Steel</a> next week.)
<p align="justify">Other notes and things to try next time:
<br>— Look into investing in a large food processor.
<br>— Leave the dough in the fridge for two to three days.
<br>— Using the same dough recipe, make four or five smaller pies instead of three large-ish ones. I had a hard time making the dough consistently thin. Smaller pies will make this easier until I get better at it.
<br>— Find some pre-sliced soppresatta.
<br>— Go easy on the cheese. I didn't think the phrase "too much cheese" had a place in my vocabulary. After these three pizzas I was sad to discover that it does.
<br>— Keep the pizza in the oven longer and rotate earlier for even browning.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-22564791770169737352013-05-09T08:46:00.000-07:002013-05-09T08:48:39.732-07:00Thirty-One<p align="justify">About a year and a half ago I came across this quote by Steve Jobs: "There's an old Hindu saying that comes into my mind occasionally: 'For the first 30 years of your life, you make your habits. For the last 30 years of your life, your habits make you.'"
<p align="justify">On the cusp of turning 30, that quote scared me. Although they're not as lofty and ambitious and real as they are now, I had plans for those 30 years and the the 30 years beyond those (I do plan on living till I’m 90), and I didn't want some habit, good or bad, that I acquired in my first 30 years of living to determine how I passed the 60 years of life I had left.
<p align="justify">In the year and a half since I've read that, I feel like I've grown in tremendous ways. I wish I could share the account of how all that happened, but so much of it is a story that is still happening, a story quite personal. At this moment I don't know which pieces are complete enough and appropriate to share.
<p align="justify">This growth has been both subtle and dramatic, and as I see it though, I realize that for 30 year-old Myke, Steve Jobs' Hindu saying is a load of crap. (I have no problem with it for folks younger than me if it inspires them to create habits that will allow them to get what they want out of life.)
<p align="justify">I have three months and some change before I turn 31 on August 24. I plan on using the momentum of the last year and a half to accomplish, do, and create that which I have struggled with in the past. Here are a few examples of what I aim to complete before my 31st birthday:
<p align="justify"><b>Lose 45 pounds.</b> That's a lot to lose in a short amount of time. I started counting calories a week ago and I've lost four pounds so far. Most of that came off in the first few days. I don't know how to maintain that momentum (is that even healthy?) but I don’t have to know how to keep trying.
<p align="justify"><b>Develop a concept and menu for a pizza restaurant or food truck.</b> I know that I love making pizza and sharing it with others. I would love it if people found my pizza so delicious that they would want to pay me money for it. I don't know if that will translate into owning a restaurant or food truck, and I don’t know if I would even like owning a restaurant or food truck. But if that's what it turns into, and if that's what I want, then I want to be ready.
<p align="justify"><b>Travel to Northern California.</b> I've been aching to return to Northern California, specifically Monterey County—Steinbeck country—since my last visit there a couple years ago. I'm finally heading back in July with some friends. Our plans include lunch at the Steinbeck House (John Steinbeck's boyhood home in Salinas), a trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, a day at the Gilroy Garlic Festival, a hike through Muir Woods, and much more.
<p align="justify"><b>Celebrate my birthday.</b> I turned 30 last year but didn't do much to celebrate. Partly because I was traipsing around this fine country of ours for a good part of the month of August and didn't have time to plan anything. Photographic evidence of said traipsing:
<p align="center"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mykeolsen/8291633771/" title="Untitled by myke5k, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8214/8291633771_79cb300dde.jpg" width="500" height="333" alt="Untitled"></a>
<br><i>Just four best buds, somewhere in South Dakota.
<br>(Photo courtesy of <a href="http://www.ourmidcentury.com/">Whit</a>.)</i>
<p align="justify">So this year, as I complete my thirty-first year, I plan on celebrating my birthday like I never have before. I have no idea yet what I will do but I have no doubt that I will come up with something fitting.
<p align="justify">Three and a half months early, happy birthday, Myke.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-18664124141136011602013-05-02T16:24:00.002-07:002013-05-06T14:02:51.798-07:00Pizza Quest: Pizzeria Bianco & La Bocca<p align="justify">This week's installment of <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/search/label/pizza%20quest">Pizza Quest</a> took me back to two joints I've visited before: the superlative Pizzeria Bianco in downtown Phoenix and La Bocca on Mill Avenue in Tempe.
<p align="justify"><b><a href="http://www.pizzeriabianco.com/">Pizzeria Bianco</a>:</b> Tuesday afternoon <a href="https://twitter.com/ShatteredArm">Jeremy</a> texted me, "Any thoughts on getting pies tonight?" I always have thoughts on getting pie, so we made plans to meet up at Pizzeria Bianco at 8:30. In the comments of <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2013/04/pizza-quest.html">last week’s Pizza Quest post</a>, Jeremy listed 15 pizza places we haven't tried yet. But rather than go for something new, we chose to revisit Pizzeria Bianco. We figured a reminder of what the best pizza place in the country is supposed to taste like would provide a good benchmark for the rest of our quest. More importantly, they have really awesome pizza.
<p align="justify">I went with the Rosa (red onion, Parmesan, rosemary, and Arizona pistachios) and Jeremy got the Sonny Boy (tomato sauce, fresh mozzarella, salami, Gaeta olives). I loved the complementary nutty flavors of the Parmesan and pistachios. The red onion sweetened it up and the rosemary rounded the whole thing out. What I loved about this particular pizza was that the toppings and the crust seemed to meld together to produce one complete flavor. Sometimes pizza toppings, cheese, and crust compete with one another instead of complementing each other. This is not a bad thing; in fact, experiencing the different flavors and textures can be one of the most exciting things about pizza. On the other hand, something has to be said for Bianco's ability to blend toppings and crust into one unique taste. I imagine this is partly why this pizza is ranked among the best.
<p align="justify">Upon leaving the restaurant, Jeremy and I agreed that while Pizzeria Bianco may serve the best pizza in a technical sense, it's not necessarily always our favorite pizza, similar to how <i>The Empire Strikes Back</i> is technically the best <i>Star Wars</i> movie but sometimes I prefer <i>Return of the Jedi</i>. (If Pizzeria Bianco is <i>The Empire Strikes Back</i> of pizza, does that make Il Bosco <i>Return of the Jedi</i>?)
<p align="justify"><b><a href="http://laboccapizzeria.com/">La Bocca</a>:</b> On Wednesday, I met up with my friend <a href="http://brookewoolsey.blogspot.com/">Brooke</a> to try out La Bocca in Tempe. My first and only trip to La Bocca was a good three years ago, which was long before I started acquainting myself with great pizza, plus, my palate doesn't have the best memory, so a revisit was definitely warranted. I tried the porco (pulled pork, serrano chilies, mozzarella, caramelized onions, and herbs) (say "porco" aloud and it will have you thinking about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orko">a certain He-Man character</a>) and Brooke got the truffled mushroom (mushrooms, tomatoes, goat cheese, mozzarella, and spinach with balsamic vinaigrette and white truffle oil).
<p align="justify">There's something about pulled pork and serrano chilies that just does me right. It's a combination that works well on tacos and sandwiches and, why not, pizza. Looking back I don’t know how necessary the caramelized onions were, as pulled pork is usually sweet enough by itself—perhaps if their flavor was more oniony and less sweet. The crust reminded me a lot of Humble Pie: Neapolitan-inspired and somewhat bready. While that style is not my favorite, if that’s what they were going for, they pulled it off well. If I go back, I really want to try the Bocca trio: San Marzano tomatoes, pepperoni, salami, sausage, mozzarella, Fontina, Queen Creek olives, and fresh herbs.
<p align="justify">This has been a great week for pizza, and it’s not over yet: tomorrow is pizza party night with friends.
<p align="justify">(Maybe one day when I have a better camera on my phone or if I have my 50mm lens repaired, I'll start photographing the pies for your visual enjoyment here. In the mean time, get out there and eat some pizza yourself.)Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-27931991547808382042013-04-26T10:05:00.001-07:002013-04-26T10:09:42.845-07:00don't let it go to your head<p align="justify"><i>"It requires a self-esteem to receive—not self-love but just a pleasant acquaintance and liking for oneself."</i>
<br> — John Steinbeck, "About Ed Ricketts"
<p align="justify">That sentence has been ricocheting around my brain for the past year as I've made efforts to grasp and digest it. It's one of the most profound things I've ever read.
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">"Don't let it go to your head." At some point in our lives we've all been cautioned against doing that. So when someone pays you a compliment, where does it go?
<p align="justify">Don't let it go to your head. Let it go to your heart. That's where the good things we think about ourselves and others reside.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-24554704598812076362013-04-25T15:44:00.002-07:002013-05-02T15:41:54.610-07:00pizza quest<p align="justify">For the past couple months, my friend <a href="https://twitter.com/ShatteredArm">Jeremy</a> and I have been on a search to find the best pizza joints in the Phoenix area. While I don’t consider myself a pizza expert (though one day I hope to be), I feel like I’ve acquired just enough pizza knowledge, experience, and taste to sound like a snob while talking about it. So please excuse the tone of this post in advance. Here are my favorites, in order:
<p align="justify"><b>1. <a href="http://www.pizzeriabianco.com/">Pizzeria Bianco</a>:</b> Touted by many critics to be the best pizza in the county, it may be the best pizza I’ve ever had. (It’s been a couple years since I’ve been to Frank Pepe’s in New Haven, Connecticut, so it’s hard to say for certain. Side note: If someone put a gun to my head and made me start a pizza place in Phoenix it would most like be New Haven style). My first and only trip to Bianco was on a date last December. I hear two or three hour waits at this place are typical. We went on a Friday night and within 30 minutes, they had us sitting at the bar. (It was rainy that night, perhaps that kept people indoors.) We split a Biancoverde (mozzarella, Parmesan, ricotta, topped with arugula). I can’t wait to go back.
<p align="justify"><b>2. <a href="http://www.ilboscopizza.com/">Il Bosco</a>:</b> Jeremy discovered this gem, not far from his condo, last January. It’s a small joint, maybe 40 seats inside and out, with a small menu. This place is super simple with zero pretense. I had the Carmella; I could have eaten the caramelized onions on this thing without a pizza, they were so good. Whenever my pizza-loving friends mention their favorite restaurants, I always insist they go here. They also serve Boylan’s bottled sodas—a huge plus in my book.
<p align="justify"><b>3. <a href="http://www.pomopizzeria.com/">'Pomo Pizzeria Napoletana</a>:</b> Because it's the "first and only APN (Associazione Pizzaiuoli Napoletani) and VPN (Verace Pizza Napoletana) certified Restaurant in Arizona," 'Pomo tries very hard to give their customers an authentic Italian dining experience. And by "very hard," I mean "too hard." Tone it down a bit, 'Pomo. I mean, I appreciated our server’s gratitude as he took our order and brought us our meal, but hearing him exclaim "Grazie!" every five seconds got old quick. Really great pizza, though.
<p align="justify"><b>4. <a href="http://www.federalpizzaphx.com/">Federal Pizza</a>:</b> Jeremy didn’t like this place as much as I did. While I was let down by our server’s ginger ale suggestion (Canada Dry from a fountain?), I loved my pizza. I had the Gemini, which was an interesting combination of potato, fennel, radicchio, gorgonzola, and rosemary. I want to say that Federal serves Neapolitan-inspired pizza (more emphasis on inspired than Neapolitan), but with a pizza oven that burns both gas and wood, Federal might be trying to do their own thing (truly authentic Neapolitan pizzas are cooked in an oak-fired pizza oven). The ambience definitely caters to the hipster crowd.
<p align="justify"><b>5. <a href="http://www.cibophoenix.com/">Cibo</a>:</b> I was a bit let down by Cibo, as I had heard so many great things prior to trying this place a month or two ago. Not only did our pizza take way too long to get to our table, it just wasn’t that great. Maybe I got the wrong thing, or maybe they were having an off night. I’m willing to try it again because so many people seem to love this place. The restaurant itself is a converted 1913 bungalow in downtown Phoenix, which I dig. As someone who doesn’t drink alcohol, I appreciate that they have a few bottled sodas on their menu, even if it is just Henry Weinhard’s (a tasty but commonplace root beer and cream soda).
<p align="justify"><b>6. <a href="http://www.humblepieusa.com/">Humble Pie</a>:</b> Jeremy, Brian and I dined here last night. I had the roasted mushroom pizza, which was topped with mushrooms (duh), mozzarella, pancetta, and green onions. I would have loved to taste more of the mozzarella; it was a bit overpowered by the mushrooms (this wasn’t totally a bad thing). The pancetta was a bit chunkier than I like, but at the end of the day it was pancetta, and I love pancetta. The crust had a good flavor but was a bit too soft and bready; I prefer <a href="http://www.barrypopik.com/index.php/new_york_city/entry/pizza_bone/">pizza bones</a> that are crisp, chewy, and light. Like Federal, this is a less-authentic Neapolitan-style pizza. But that’s not a bad thing because authentic doesn’t always guarantee tasty (although it really helps, espectially when it comes to pizza). While they serve great pizza, I don’t know if I’d go back since I can score a superior pie across the street at ‘Pomo.
<p align="justify"><b>7. <a href="http://www.lagrandeorangegrocery.com/">La Grande Orange</a>:</b> People go crazy over LGO’s roasted corn pizza. It seems to be their signature pie. (Which is why I didn’t order it.) Despite the hype, I was skeptical of LGO because they don’t have a wood-fire oven. Not that that’s necessary for a great pizza, but it does go a long way. I went with the Fallen Angel (sausage, fennel, roasted peppers, cheese, and red sauce) and Jeremy tried the Gladiator (sausage, pepperoni, cheese, red sauce). My pie was great. We swapped slices at the end of the meal. Jeremy’s was pretty disappointing. How do you ruin a pepperoni and sausage pizza? By overloading it with pepperoni, I guess. That said, I will return to try the roasted corn pizza.
<p align="justify">Jeremy has compiled a list of about a dozen other spots to try over the coming weeks. Any other pizzerias we need to try? What's your favorite pizza place?
<p align="justify"><i>You can read Jeremy's Yelp reviews <a href="http://www.yelp.com/user_details?userid=xwXw5HW3Y6Gr37V0KxX8sA">here</a>.</i>Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-32385799198300801482013-04-22T11:16:00.002-07:002013-04-22T13:40:16.503-07:00the dry years<p align="justify"><i>"And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way."</i>
<p align="justify">John Steinbeck, <i>East of Eden</i>
<p align="center"><b>2012</b>
<p align="justify">Last November I tweeted the following:
<p align="justify"><blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p>So far, I'd say 2012 has been the best year of my life. <a href="https://twitter.com/search/%23justsayin">#justsayin</a></p>— Myke Olsen (@threechordmyke) <a href="https://twitter.com/threechordmyke/status/265701403698270209">November 6, 2012</a></blockquote>
<script async src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>
<p align="justify">As the year came to a close on December 31, 2012, that statement had remained true. Because attitudes and values and perspectives can change, it’s difficult for me to say with absolute objectivity that it was the best year of my life (best is so subjective anyway). But it was without any doubt whatsoever, one of the best years of my thirty and one half years of living.
<p align="justify">Interestingly, 2012 was also one of the most difficult years of my life. The biggest difficulty I had to face was myself. Through a series of events and circumstances—too lengthy, and some too personal, to chronicle at this moment—brought about through the unexpected and undeserved (so I thought at the time) grace of God and others, I was able to challenge myself and grow and learn more about myself than I have been able to do in years. It was really hard. So hard.
<p align="justify">Last fall I heard this quote by Helen Keller: "Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing." I’ve thought quite a bit about that word, adventure. And when I think about that word, my mind tends to think of the personification of adventure. That’s right, Indiana Jones.
<p align="justify">Take any Indiana Jones movie. Let’s go with <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i> because it’s the best one. I will assume you have seen <i>Raiders</i>. If you haven’t, stop reading this and go watch it because if you’ve managed to make it this far in life without seeing that movie I don’t know if we can continue our friendship.
<p align="justify">OK, welcome back. What did you think?
<p align="justify"><i>Raiders</i> is an extremely fun movie to watch. But I don’t think I’d want to <i>experience</i> it. I don’t know how I would fare in outrunning boulders in Peru, dodging bullets in a burning bar in Nepal, being trapped in a pit full of snakes in Egypt, all while being chased by Nazis (although all that travel sounds nothing short of awesome). As fun as it for us as an audience to watch, experiencing all that could be pretty miserable (for me at least).
<p align="justify">But that’s what adventure is. It can be downright unpleasant, dangerous, and even life threatening. But it’s also exciting. And there is something so rewarding about adventure. The prize at the end—the girl, the Ark of the Covenant, fortune and glory—is part of what make the ups and downs so worth it. The greatest reward, though, comes when you recognize that you have the power and strength to survive and triumph over the obstacles of adventure.
<p align="justify">The blessing (or problem, depending on how you look at it) of the adventure of life is that it does not end. It’s not a movie you turn off after two hours. Real-life adventure is more continuous than discrete.
<p align="center"><b>2013</b>
<p align="justify">At the beginning of 2013 I was on top of the world; my life had many uncertainties but I was on a very steady track to making them certain. Then, only weeks into the new year, anxiety set in and that led to depression. It was a pretty heavy crash.
<p align="justify">When I try to describe what that anxiety and depression was like it’s hard for me to find concise English words with the right imagery. One French word comes to mind: <i>épuisé</i>. It means "exhausted" or "spent" and it comes the noun <i>puits</i>, which is a well where you draw water. The word <i>épuisé</i> evokes the imagery of a dry well. And this well isn’t just dry, it is completely sapped, wrung out, baked, and parched. Only a skeleton of the well exists, with none of the blue and green life that might normally surround it.
<p align="justify">My well isn’t empty now but there are days where it feels far from full. When my well is full I am happy and more present to the joy and blessings that surround me. When my well is full it is self-replenishing, so others can come draw water from me as needed. I might even let some of them swim in my well (and that sounds pretty weird but I really wanted to keep with this well analogy).
<p align="justify">Although I can't quite explain it yet, I think I know <i>how</i> to fill my well. So <i>what</i> do I fill it with? <a href="http://www.boylanbottling.com/product/ginger-ale/">Boyan's ginger ale</a>? Gasoline? No, I think filling it with anything but clean and pure water would be unhealthy and dangerous. (Plus, a well full of Boylan's ginger ale would go flat and it would a true shame to waste such a superlative beverage.) Now it is a question of where: <i>where</i> do I find that clean and pure water?
<p align="center"><b>the dry years</b>
<p align="justify">I believe that the spring that fills my well with clean and pure water lies within myself. It <i>can</i>, but will not always, be replenished by those that I love and those that I will love.
<p align="justify">I reject the idea that my years will either be wet or dry. My years are just that, years, and how I qualify them lies in my language and actions and heart.
<p align="justify">I know that there will be moments where I don't enjoy the continuous adventure that is my life. In spite of this, I hope I will always choose adventure over nothing because life without adventure <i>is</i> nothing.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-38263637622386734152013-04-08T16:25:00.002-07:002013-04-08T21:00:53.866-07:00choosing happiness<p align="justify">In a <a href="http://picsoandrea.blogspot.com/2013/04/depression-does-not-define-me.html">blog post</a> my friend Andrea posted today, she mentioned the frustration that lies in the phrase, "Choose to be happy." From the first time I considered these words, I’ve agreed that, yes, individuals are responsible for their own happiness and that, in theory, happiness is a choice.
<p align="justify">This statement is misleading because it makes it sound like choosing to be happy is a discrete, singular, and/or recurring event. I'm not sure if that’s true. Rather, happiness is a result of choice, or an amalgamation of choices<sup>1</sup>.
<p align="justify">I know that when I'm depressed I'm completely incapable of choosing to be happy in any given moment. <i>Be happy, Myke,</i> doesn’t work. And when I’m not depressed, when I’m simply sad or angry, deciding to be happy in that moment may not be the best idea. There’s a quote from <i>Weakness Is Not Sin</i> that explains this better than I can:
<blockquote>When we accept our own emotional states with calmness, curiosity, and compassion, we can learn from our feelings and let them go. When we get ashamed of our feelings and go overboard trying to suppress or get rid of them, we often make them worse. People who can feel, name, and reflect on their emotions tend to be much better at accepting them, learning from them, and then releasing them. (p. 81)</blockquote>
<p align="justify">When I’m sad or angry, I find that when I acknowledge and experience that emotion—to do what’s necessary to really feel it—to cry, hit a punching bag, go for a run—I can then let it go and be happy. (Granted, letting myself experience an emotion and knowing when to let it go is so much easier said than done.) If I tell myself, <i>Just be happy, Myke,</i> I end up shoving those feelings into some recess where they fester, multiply, and return with vengeance.
<p align="justify">Do I want to be happy? Absolutely. But perhaps more than that, I want to experience—and I mean <i>really</i> experience—the normal range of healthy human emotions, feelings, and senses: anger, sadness, joy, awe, grief, excitement, wonder, love, frustration. Feeling those emotions, being present to those senses, means that I am living my life. And living <i>my life</i> is how I choose to be happy.
<br>
<br>
<p align="justify"><sup>1</sup>I am certainly not an expert on happiness and would not be surprised to see myself modifying this statement in the future.
<p align="justify">P.S. I'm not saying that others can't choose to be happy in any given moment. I'm only sharing what works for me.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-88856938526968622832013-04-03T11:45:00.001-07:002013-04-03T11:52:00.329-07:00Weerez<p align="justify">You Weezer fans out there might think that I have misspelled the title of this post. I haven't. Weerez is the name of my Weezer cover band. Is it presumptuous for the name of your cover band to be a permutation of the band's actual name? Probably. Do we care? No. (Honestly, it'd be awesome if we got some kind of cease-and-desist from <a href="http://www.weezerpedia.com/wiki/index.php?title=Jamie">the band's lawyer</a> and had to change our name.)
<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ggZj_syDljJKiUq_2sgMphhe_efq0FSJ5vjBZXhqkHtj6ZT0nTHipVKSwFYqdSIqDQwbspKmRKeWFjy6loHk7wAXw8TbBBFCqzaNgHkIa0bxfJKVQDrAWjTMh4bq6tmHCD-vaQHsJU8/s1600/Weerez.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ggZj_syDljJKiUq_2sgMphhe_efq0FSJ5vjBZXhqkHtj6ZT0nTHipVKSwFYqdSIqDQwbspKmRKeWFjy6loHk7wAXw8TbBBFCqzaNgHkIa0bxfJKVQDrAWjTMh4bq6tmHCD-vaQHsJU8/s320/Weerez.jpg" /></a>
<br><i>Shadows, left to right: me, guitar and vocals; Devyn, drums; Jon, bass guitar and vocals when I can't sing and play guitar at the same time; and Tyson, guitar and vocals. I stole this photo from my friend Katie. Her blog is one of my favorites, visit it <a href="http://www.katilda.com/">here</a>.</i>
<p align="justify">We have been rehearsing in our garage (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWymbWBpqsg">how appropriate</a>) for the past couple months, and last Saturday night we played a pre-show/house party for a small audience of close friends and family so we could work out any first-show bugs. We played a short set consisting of six Weezer staples:
<p align="justify">"My Name Is Jonas"
<br>"The Good Life"
<br>"You Gave Your Love To Me Softly"
<br>"Say It Ain't So"
<br>"El Scorcho"
<br>"Undone — The Sweater Song"
<p align="justify">I've said this a millions times: Weezer has had an enormous impact on my life. They were the first band that made me love music. I learned how to play guitar by teaching myself Weezer songs. Those skills served me well as I have played in bands in high school and beyond. The shy, timid teenager I was, playing in bands meant making and having friends and meeting so many like-minded people, people whose friendship and positive influence I enjoy today. In a real way—very real to me—Weezer provided a foundation for friendship and an outlet to express and be myself. While that may sound unhealthy—having used this band as a social crutch instead of learning real social skills—it was so important to me at that age. And really, music helped me learn social skills. What's unhealthy about that?
<p align="justify">We don't have any big plans for the band. Right now, we're just four dudes who have a great time playing some of our favorite songs together. At some point—sooner or later—we will abandon it in pursuit of worthier endeavors. In the meantime, I will relish the opportunity of getting on stage and playing these songs that have meant so much to me while friends and family and strangers shout the lyrics back at me.
<p align="justify">P.S. The name Weerez appears in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okthJIVbi6g">this music video</a> at the 0:14 mark.Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-6046402677352608522013-03-14T23:42:00.000-07:002013-03-21T22:39:43.294-07:00making a miracle<p align="justify">There’s a lot I want out of life that in this exact moment I don’t know how to get. There is so much I want to do, so much I am capable of: finding happiness in my career, starting my own family, <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2012/10/no-little-plans.html">making the best pizza in the world</a>, making new discoveries in my family history, traveling the world. I believe that it is within my abilities to accomplish these things. Moreover, I feel that some of these things are what God wants for me<sup>1</sup>. While I know how to inch my way forward in their pursuit, I don’t know how to achieve them with any sort of velocity<sup>2</sup>.
<p align="justify">To accomplish any one of these items would be, for me, a miracle.
<p align="justify">I’ve never <i>not</i> believed in miracles. I know they exist and I have seen plenty in my life and in the lives of those I love. I just have never taken time to pause on the nature of miracles until about a month ago when I came across the Stephen Tobolowsky story I wrote about briefly in the <a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-antidote-to-fate.html">previous post</a>. The questions he asks near the end of the story have caused me to ponder:
<blockquote>What happens if miracle and catastrophe are not these two events that happen on the edge of probability? But what happens if they are actually part of the same fabric? And that they’re not outside of nature but they are a primary element of nature itself? What if a miracle is an antidote to fate?</blockquote>
<p align="justify">The LDS Bible Dictionary’s definition differs slightly from Tobolowsky’s succinct thesis ("a miracle is an antidote to fate"): "Miracles should not be regarded as deviations from the ordinary course of nature so much as manifestations of divine or spiritual power."
<p align="justify">It’s interesting to look at what these two definitions have in common: miracles are "a primary element of nature itself," and part of "the ordinary course of nature."
<p align="justify">If miracles are indeed a natural occurrence, how does one create a miracle?
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">While recovering from a broken neck, Tobolowsky asked his doctor, "How do I heal?" The doctor explained that after a period of time the bones get sticky and eventually fuse together and are whole. Tobolowsky responded, "That wasn’t the question really I was asking. The question I was asking was, how does all that happen, not how long does it take me to heal, but how do I heal? And he said, 'Well, nobody knows that. That’s a mystery.'"
<p align="justify">I’ve thought about this question—"How do I heal?"—in great depth over the past month or so in regards to mental illness, specifically depression. It’s interesting to juxtapose something like depression with a broken neck, or even with something more common and simple, like a broken arm. Suppose I break one of the bones in my forearm. I go to the doctor, he sets the bone and sticks my arm in a cast for eight weeks or whatever is normal for a broken arm. After that time, my arm isn’t necessarily as good as new but if the fracture was simple and cared for properly, it’s likely that my arm will function as it should.
<p align="justify">It’s amazing—dare I say miraculous?—how the body heals itself this way. Sure, it takes some intervention on the doctor’s part to set the bone, but once it’s in a stress-free environment, the bone seems to take care of itself<sup>3</sup>. If I am depressed, how do I heal? What needs to be healed, my body, my mind, or both? Which of these, if not both, needs to be kept in a stress-free environment to foster healing? And once isolated, how do I set that healing in motion?
<p align="justify">Perhaps the biggest question of all is, <i>can</i> I heal?
<p align="justify">The other day I came across a short quote by Caroline Myss that simplified those questions: "The soul always knows how to heal itself. The challenge is to silence the mind."
<p align="justify">If Ms. Myss is to believed and we assume that my depression<sup>4</sup> requires healing of the soul<sup>5</sup>, then the what and how of healing take care of themselves, the same way the body does. So the question now becomes, how do I silence the mind?
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">I’ve thought about Tobolowsky’s miracle—that the arthritis in his neck deflected injury to his spinal cord and saved his life when he broke his neck—and I’ve wondered, how do I produce that sort of miracle in my life? My life doesn’t need saving, at least not in a physical sense, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t use a miracle to help me accomplish what I desire, even if that miracle is more patience and a greater tenacity to plug away at what I have already set out to do.
<p align="justify">Tobolowsky’s perspective is part of what interests me the most. Rather than bemoan the fact that he broke his neck and could have died, he gave credit to his arthritis—something he had referred to as a curse—as the means of his salvation. Others might not have the insight to recognize the miracles in their lives<sup>6</sup>. That means an important part of living a miraculous life is being able to actually perceive miracles when they happen.
<p align="justify">While, yes, this recognition is important, it doesn’t explain the how or the why of the miracle, and it doesn't give me much help on how I can produce miracles for <i>me</i>. Other than declaring what I want and need out of life, and simply being open to them (in other words, having faith), I don’t know how to produce my own miracles. I can only trust God to give me what I need.
<p align="justify">But what about producing miracles in the lives of others?
<p align="justify">I love the quote by Spencer W. Kimball, “God does watch over us and does notice us, but it usually through someone else that he meets our needs.”
<p align="justify">It can seem presumptuous or arrogant to think that I could be a miracle or produce a miracle for someone else. Yet, there are instances when something I have done or said was the answer to someone else’s prayer. And I know that others have been answers to my prayers. Even more significant, I know that people have been the answer to a question I wasn’t asking—a question that I didn’t have the words or experience to articulate—the question that God knew was deep in my heart.
<p align="center">== == == == ==
<p align="justify">As I ponder miracles, as I consider with gratitude those who have wrought miracles in my life, as I search for strength, humility, understanding, tenacity, as I seek to silence my mind in order to give expression to my soul, Stephen Tobolowsky’s words of discovery become my words:
<blockquote>I started to get it. That the miracle I’ve been looking for was me, or part of me. … I thought all of my life that the great access to miracles I was going to have was either through telescopes, microscopes, I had no idea that all I really needed was a mirror. So then I ask this: if we are the miracle and the purpose of a miracle is to change the course of fate then it means the next question is, what’s going to happen today?</blockquote>
<p align="justify">
<br><i>Notes, Asides, Post-Scripts, and Acknowledgements:</i>
<br><sup>1</sup>I think God couldn’t care less about whether or not I make the best pizza in the world, but I know He does want me to have my own family, make discoveries in my family history, and serve those that I love (and don’t love).
<p align="justify"><sup>2</sup>I realize that if these things are God’s will then they will be accomplished in His time. Patience might be one of the miracles I need in order to keep inching forward. Still, I can’t help but wonder, why do miracles exist, in addition to being the antidote to fate, if not to move life forward with velocity?
<p align="justify"><sup>3</sup>I realize there is much of which I am ignorant in the medical process, and I might be mistaken on a few points (I've never broken a bone). The bottom line: the body the amazing ability to heal itself.
<p align="justify"><sup>4</sup>Keep in mind that I’m not talking about depression as a whole here. I’m simply referring to my depression and that’s it.
<p align="justify"><sup>5</sup>I don’t know how Caroline Myss defines the word "soul" but I like this definition, and it’s what I mean when I refer to the soul in this post: "And the spirit and the body are the soul of man" (Doctrine and Covenants 88:15).
<p align="justify"><sup>6</sup>It’s interesting that Tobolowsky’s doctor helped point out the miracle of his survival. How do others help us recognize the miracles in our lives?Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178354340962790066.post-23774073246328186282013-03-10T21:43:00.005-07:002013-03-12T13:19:54.245-07:00The Antidote to Fate<p align="justify">In his book <i><a href="http://mykelewis.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-dangerous-animals-club.html">The Dangerous Animals Club</i></a>, Stephen Tobolowsky mentions more than once that he had broken his neck while on a horseback riding trip in Iceland. But in the book he never tells the whole story. I thought it was strange that he would leave out such a huge life event—how did he survive this harrowing, potentially fatal accident?—and I've been wanting to hear about it since.
<p align="justify">I was excited when over a month ago I came across a podcast on <a href="http://www.pri.org/tobo.html">PRI</a> called "The Afflictions of Love" wherein Mr. Tobolowsky relates the story of his neck injury. The podcast has been taken down from the PRI website but I found a video of Tobo performing the story for an audience. It's 20 minutes, which seems long and I'm sure you didn't plan on spending 20 minutes on my blog, but I promise it's worth it. If you listen and you sincerely feel like you've wasted your time, I'll buy you your favorite candy bar. I'm serious.
<p align="center"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/CBwMOgApNaw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p align="justify">His comments at the end of the story have been stewing in my mind for the past month (again, watch to the video for full effect):
<blockquote>What happens if miracle and catastrophe are not these two events that happen on the edge of probability? But what happens if they are actually part of the same fabric? And that they’re not outside of nature but they are a primary element of nature itself? What if a miracle is an antidote to fate?
</blockquote>
<p align="justify">How do you define your miracles?Mykehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09656533609061854359noreply@blogger.com1