80/20

What happened to me? I used to have interesting things to talk about. I think the cosmos wanted to send me that message by randomly resending a post out the other day, one that I originally posted in January of 2010. Crazy machine. It got me thinking: the last book I read all the way through was "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. That was over a year ago. I used to devour books, reading some over and over again. I used to watch TV. I used to read the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, Wired, Fast Company, People. Last few months?Nothing. Thank God for Facebook and Twitter or else it would nearly be caveman-like living in my world.

Well, that's not entirely true. I've been socializing up a storm, but I've spent a ridiculous amount of time talking about...what? I don't know. The men in my world? Likely. Divorce? Probably. My daughter? Certainly. It made me laugh recently—I was having dinner with people I really adore, but nearly the entire conversation was about wine, private airplanes and travel destinations. I can't tell you how much I love to enjoy said wine, said private airplanes and dreaming about said travel destinations, but at some point I had an out-of-body experience where it dawned on me how checked out I was. It's easy to scoff at the conversation and snub it because maybe it's the kind of conversation 'only rich people have,' but honestly, it's just the kind of conversation that people with very defined interests have. It would be no different than sitting with another group of opinionaters (my word) who might talk for two hours about composting and organic ovo-lacto vegetarianism. Another scenario in which I eventually might check out.

I don't think it's so much that these things don't interest me, I think I'm just the queen of moderation. I like to talk about a lot of things. I have a lot of interests. I am curious as to how a busy family of four composts in-kitchen without it smelling up the place and ruining the ambiance of oft-crowded marble-slab-island conversations. I am curious as to why someone feels so strongly that there be two pilots, even in smaller planes, where one is FAA approved. I'm curious why someone won't do flesh, but will do eggs, which is embryonic tissue. Hmm, I might go vegan after typing that line.

It's like the 80/20 rule (which applies to basically everything, right?) With probably 80% of things in general, I want to dive in only about 20%. I'll kill it in the remaining 20 (to round out the 100, if you are doing 'New Math'), but I think overall this makes me pretty average and...I'm ok with that.

My daughter is heading into the 8th grade in a little over a month. We will spend a big chunk of the next four months looking at high schools. I've been somewhat torturing myself with this topic for a few years. She currently is in a private Catholic school and has been for seven years. In theory, she has four private school choices and one public. Realistically, it will likely come down to two. When my brain gets all lit up on this topic, I have to remind myself that at the end of the day, wherever she ends up, she will be fine. It's just that sometimes having a choice feels like a nightmare. I can't believe I wrote that, but it's true, at least with me. All the options, the second-guessing, the questioning about the 'best path.' It's 50% stupid, and 50% incredibly important. (Just putting in percentages to keep on point.) Regardless of how much I over-think this topic, I have one goal that consistently floats to the top: I want her to have as well-rounded of a high school experience as possible. Go figure, coming from me. But does this make a person a jack of everything, master of none? Will this make her average or adaptable or both?

A friend's daughter just graduated from one of the above-referenced high school choices that is considered academically arduous. She chose to forgo, what I would consider, more of the same (ie: Stanford) and is heading to a southern SEC school with a strong Greek system. I've never met her but from conversations with her father, I take it she's ready for some new experiences, maybe a little more 80/20. A completely new environment on every level—a different part of the country and a very different social culture, but also a place where she can keep her remaining 20 sharp, a place where this is a definite value on academic and sports achievement. I'm excited for her.

In my own life, my 80/20'ness means I'm an average skier, but I absolutely love it and thank God I can participate. I haven't read all the Classics, but I devour books. I can't write a manifesto on why the financial market collapsed, but I can offer ideas on how to keep money coming in. I can't rewire my house, but I can install a new faucet. I am fiercely proud of my averageness (wow, no auto spell-correct on that one) because I think it's given me the freedom to be available to new things, keep my mind open, have enough interest in most things to learn something and participate. I know just enough about enough things that I can start and stay in a conversation with just about anyone. I know just enough about enough things to have the confidence to try new experiences. I know just enough about enough things that I can see when a door opens. I guess I would say that my averageness has allowed me to be in markedly non-average situations and I'm grateful.

This is what I want for my daughter: take 20% of things and go for the throat—be passionate, focused and engaged. Do well enough in school and work to have choices, do well enough in whatever activities interest you to be able to participate, give time and interest to your family and friends. With the other 80% be flexible and adaptable enough in life to see open doors. Doors which will inevitably lead to new things to be passionate about, things to include in the 20%.

As for me, I got the cosmic message and I'm back on the horse*. I read the Wall Street Journal cover-to-cover the other day. I cracked open this month's Consumer's Report and I even caught an episode of "Khloe and Lamar" right after a double-header of "Real Housewives of New York." Hey, I'm not ashamed. I am pretty sure both will come up in conversation someday soon.

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*A few things I read last week that might be of interest:

"14 Ways to Save America's Jobs" by Bill Clinton, Newsweek, June 27

http://www.newsweek.com/2011/06/19/it-s-still-the-economy-stupid.html

"Harnessing the Power of Feedback Loops," Wired, June 19

http://www.wired.com/magazine/2011/06/ff_feedbackloop/

"City vs Country: Who is Healthier?," Wall Street Journal, July 11

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702304793504576434442652581806.html?KEYWORDS=urban+vs+rural

A documentary that I watched this week that was heart wrenching and beautiful: "Steal a Pencil for Me" http://www.stealapencil.com/

walking a tightrope.

About six weeks ago, I was sitting at a friend's apartment enjoying a lilac-scented breeze blowing through their sunny second floor windows. Late afternoon, dinner and friends coming together. Amazing homemade guacamole (with red onion — great addition!), a coriander-infused cold beer (interesting) and easy conversation rolling from one subject to another.

On the south wall of their living room is a framed poster of the New Yorker magazine cover art from September 11, 2006. An artistic and interesting cover, regardless of whether you understand the significance of it or not. It's an almost all black and white depiction of a man walking skillfully holding a long balancing pole. As such, you assume the presence of a tightrope, but none is to be seen, and you assume the presence of anchors, but again, none are to be seen. The reason? The cover served as the magazine's five year anniversary remembrance of all that was lost on September 11, 2001. It artfully used Philippe Petit's unauthorized tightrope walk between the 111th floors of the Twin Towers on August 7, 1974, removed the towers, removed the rope, and reminded us of what can disappear into thin air.

Philippe Petit calls himself a tightrope artist and a world-class pickpocket. He's been quoted as saying, "I am someone who lives in the clouds and have no respect for the way humanity organizes society on earth. I don’t have a bank account, don’t have a car, don’t have a little box full of money." He is a life-long street performer and in 1974, he became, as the New York Post describes, "one of New York's most beloved curiosities." He has been interviewed hundreds of times, books have been written about him and in 2009, the documentary chronicling his famous walk, "Man on a Wire" (http://manonwire.com), won the Academy Award for Best Feature Documentary. Today, he is a curiosity still, but a powerful voice for independent, artistic thinking and for choosing to live a singularly unique life.

Since laying my eyes on that poster, Petit has been on my mind. I find it wildly interesting that the New Yorker brilliantly chose him as a beacon of remembrance. The visual depiction is profound, no doubt, and maybe a little obvious, but I think ultimately his endeavor is a powerful example of the indelible grace of one individual soul, of 3,000+ souls. Six years of planning and dreaming for 45 minutes 110 stories off the ground, dancing across the wire. I think his act reminds us that there is profound value in the manifestation of the individual soul. A powerful subtext to the visual used by the New Yorker.

Also since that sunny Sunday evening, the hosts, my friends, have also been on my mind. Shortly after that dinner, they shared with me the profound struggle that they are now engaged in. They are battling time, opinions, treatments and physical and mental exhaustion, and a host of other things I can't even wrap my brain around. I am struck by the similarities between the artwork on their wall, and their battle. An invisible tightrope, a unknown path. When I think of them, I am reminded that you cannot choose timing and fate, yet these are hugely defining forces in our lives. I imagine they are trying not to fight it, but to challenge themselves to learn how to live boldly with what is in front of them and be fearless about the outcome. To walk that tightrope with confidence and verve. Honestly, I don't have to imagine it, I know it to be true. They are soulful and strong, methodical and wise, and I know they are tapping into each other's energy to face all that is now their new "normal." I deeply admire them as individuals and as a couple. What I find incredibly fascinating about fate is that Cancer (capital 'C') might have always been lurking in their future, but fate brought these two individual souls together to face it as a united front. I am holding onto that thought, because I want to, and have to, believe that there are slivers of good that can be embraced when trying to boldly challenge yourself to dance across a tightrope to the other side.

"To me, its really so simple, that life should be lived on the edge. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to tape yourself to the rules...to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. Then you will live your life on the tightrope." - Philippe Petit