hippie bullshit
While I was reading Jaganath Carrera’s commentary of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, there was section where the image of Peter Pan trying to reattach his shadow jumped out at me. After 20 minutes of drawing it and posting it here, I can’t remember the point. “Almost like an allegory for something.”
Last week was a doozy. I’m down to myself and one other designer at work, my six-person team destroyed by burn-out, attrition and furlough. After MK and MQ left last week, I knew it was time to start looking. Or rather, after nothing changed in ask volume or scope from the rest of my co-workers, I knew it was time to start looking. I applied at a couple spots, and another reached out to me. This place that reached out to me is sort of dream gig, while a place I applied to that replied eagerly is a perfect fit. I spent last week in over 8 hours of interviews at both, and have as many this week. I’m… on a fast track to burn out myself. But if I can get away from my current place… it would be a dream come true.
We spent this last weekend in Idyllwild, hoping to escape for a minute, and get out of the heat of the city. As we drove away they announced we were in for a record heat wave: 114 F in Los Angeles, 104 in Idyllwild. Our cabin didn’t have A/C, so while it was nice to get away, I felt like I was painted on the air: a papery and kiln-dried husk. I woke up nightly with blood in my nose, my feet and hands felt like sand paper, my mouth like fly trap.
Each night, after it finally cooled off, we piled into the hot tub, turned down to a balmy 96 F — warm enough to be comfortable, cool enough to bring the heat out of our bodies. The cabin came with a telescope and I busied myself nightly with dialing in Jupiter, its moons faintly visible; or the face of the moon, its details razor sharp. Jon and Danny sat with us, our necks relaxed back against the rim of the tub, scanning the sky for satellites, tracing the cloud of the milky-way.
On our last night, John said “I just want to see a shooting star — not some little flash but one that streaks across the whole sky.” We saw plenty of the former, hairline slashes of moon-white lasting a split-second, gone if you blinked. We saw the occasional space-x orbiter, marching purposefully, if dimly, through our field of view. We saw, from time to time, too low and too close, the frenetic, silent silhouette of a bat dipping towards the water. And suddenly, just past 10, starting at the horizon and blazing across the whole span, forcing us to turn our heads as we gasped aloud, we saw a golden, snufffed-wick and still-smoldering ember of a meteor break up in the dark above the trees.
This week I start a year long certificate program in the philosophy of Yoga, a gnarly series of courses taught by a handful of PhDs and professors of religion from around the country. I’m excited, already exhausted at the thought, but eager to get going.
Went to my first group breathwork session last night, after a bunch of self guided/follow-along with audio sessions. Sort of knew what to expect going in, but ultimately just resolved to “go with it” and “surrender” to whatever happens.
These bullshit hippie phrases. Jason says “oh boy. LA has ENTERED YOU.” And that is… fair and true and real and I’m fine with it. Vibes, or whatever. LA is a place where everyone has largely made peace with the fact that most of its expertise is completely self-claimed, made up, and ephemeral — that everyone is just throwing shit at the wall hoping something sticks. I wish the rest of the world, especially SF, would own up to it.
But yeah, so here I am. I moved from SF where I’d been listening to a whole bunch of hippie shit podcasts, and then when I settled here and realized I was living four blocks from everyone who I knew from these hippie shit podcasts. That felt like something. Started going to classes with them, and vibed. That felt like something. Was looking for something to do that was IN my body, for my body, and out of the blue options present themselves. That felt like something.
The last couple months have been about figuring out that I need to be honest with myself. With my Self. I’m making peace with the fact that my job, the day to day UX and management of it all will not, cannot, has not fulfilled me in the way that drawing and design did. It’s quietly devastating that the people I spend 40 hours a week with do not know that I have like… a rich history with art and design. Not knowing what brings me joy. That their perception of me is colored almost solely with one crayon: tech management. A factotum. How did I fuuUUuuucKKinnnGG get here? Doesn’t the rest of my life, everything before whatever I’m doing now, count for something? How do I keep that fresh?
Spent time with Brandon, my tarot teacher, talking about the year ahead, as it pertained to What I Do. Two of Wands, 9 of Swords (reversed). Always the fucking 9 of Swords when it comes to work, followed closely by the 5 of Wands. My stalker cards. I laughed out loud. Spent the last two weeks thinking about it a lot. Last night, before we got to the studio to do breathwork, Ryan, our teacher, told us the theme of the night’s session would be “Your life is your curriculum.” And… that felt like something. So yeah, spent the session in the dark just really being open with myself about what I want. What I’m supposed to be doing. What’s important.
In the past I’ve done 15 minutes or so of breathwork, last night I did 30 minutes straight, followed by 20 minutes of come down. Some big moments in there, very, very intense.
Weird moments of clarity: your fucked up teeth are fine, and you have to decide between being embarrassed and swallowing your smile or choosing to laugh, openly — both literally, and figuratively. You need to have a practice that ties you to tradition, rich inheritance, a lineage.
I felt reaffirmed over and over again that the stuff I’ve been focusing on in my off time: drawing, drawing, drawing was important, and worth while. That there is there there.