perfection

perfection has it's price. the saying is used over and over again. what does it really mean, though? i'm not perfect, so i am not paying any price. my friends and family aren't perfect, so i can't ask them. stella artois claims to be perfect, so you literally have to pay a price for it. but i don't like stella, so i have never paid for perfection. that is, until last sunday.

it was like any other sunday during the fall. i was wearing slippers, eating spinach artichoke dip, and gazing intently at the tv screen. but unlike other sunday's, i was feeling the price. two season's ago, the patriots went undefeated in the regular season, only to loose the superbowl in heartbreaking fashion to the new york giants. they were perfect in the regular season, and almost perfect in the post season. the only way to improve was to maintain the perfect regular season and improve to win the superbowl.

i was finally feeling the price of perfection. instead of looking for the best in a situation, i was only focusing on the worst. the price of perfection comes from comparison to perfection. it means never appreciating the good, and always highlighting the bad. as a person, there is always room for improvement. in perfection, there is only room for decline. a one loss season is a disappointment when comparing to the previous previous season.

the only way to stop paying the price of perfection is to stop comparing to previous success. instead, success and failures should be measured against potential. is it reasonable to expect this patriots team this year to go undefeated? no. therefore, one loss is not a disappointment. one mistake is not a failure. it is a learning experience.

clichés

one of the biggest pieces of advice i have heard to survive the working world, and the world in general, is "don't sweat the small stuff." often, it is amended with "...and it is all small stuff." i understand this sentiment. it is so easy to get caught up in our petty problems and spend too much time worrying about things that are of little to no importance in the grand scheme of things. in practice, though, i prefer to work the opposite way for two reasons.

if i choose to skip caring about small events, i would miss the bits of humor that make work, and life, entertaining. when the office mail guy sent an email out asking if anyone had seen his missing hammer, i could have deleted it without a second thought. instead, i spent a few minutes day dreaming about which co-worker was most likely to steal the hammer--any why. i could have brushed off one co-worker's interest in the timed deodorizer that is in our bathroom instead of spending a few minutes google-ing the TC 9000. i would have missed that this handy device is called the "microburst" and cost upwards of $100. these are not really important events that, at first glance, would be worth my time. but those bits of irreverence are what add up to an enjoyable day.

secondly, if i choose to skip the small events that annoy me, i miss out on any opportunity to grow as a person. it is easiest to see my own personal growth over long periods of time, but the only way that growth is achieved is through small, seemingly unimportant decisions amassed over a period of time. i have an idea of the person that i would like to be. that person is not just going to arrive in a few years. everyday, i have to choose to be that person. when someone sends me a passive aggressive (or just plain aggressive) email, instead of returning the passive aggression, "don't sweat the small stuff" wisdom tells me to blow it off, send a bland response, and move on. instead, wouldn't it be better to take a moment to recognize what the email sender is doing, and choose an appropriate response based on what the person i would like to be would say?

so when it comes down to it, while it's true that it is all small stuff, it turns out that the small stuff is exactly what i want to sweat.

headphones

riding the bus home today, headphones securely in my ears, i zoned out. i thought about the work i left undone, the dinner i was going to make, and the baseball game i planned to watch. it wasn't until halfway through the ride that i realized i couldn't actually hear the music that was playing.

i looked around at the others on the bus wearing headphones, each zoned out in their own way, and wondered if they were using the headphones for their intended use -- listening to music -- or using them for the same reason i was -- to create an illusion of solitude.

living in a city, you are never alone. even when i am at home in my apartment by myself, there are the people on the street outside, or people in the apartment next door watching t.v. everything in a city is a communal experience. when i am walking down the street, riding the bus, or reading a book in the park, distractions are constantly around. i people watch, i eaves drop, i look around for people that i will need to avoid.

wearing headphones is the excuse to stop. it started simply enough. using headphones meant i was listening to music, and therefore it was something to do other than people watch, eaves drop, or be on the look out. somewhere along the way, it became more about avoiding typical city street distractions than about listening to the music.

the headphones do mean that i am tuning out the rest of the world. but it is not to listen to music. if you see me walking down the street, headphones on, eyes glazed over, don't ask me what i am listening to. ask me what i am thinking about. i may say dinner, or baseball, or food. but i may say happiness, or compassion, or minneapolis.

Dear Minneapolis

As a New Englander by birth and at heart, I had no idea what to expect from your Midwest city. I’ll be honest, the main reason I went was because I was going to be in the area in Chicago. I wanted to see baseball played in that glorious Metrodome and thought a couple of days in your city would be more than enough to keep me entertained.

Let me tell you, I was wrong. Friday night, you caught my interest. I ate at the taproom on 8th Street, walked some Skyway, ventured over to Loring Park and the sculpture garden, and meandered back downtown. I didn't have a map, but could find my way around based on loose directions, commonsense, and a well laid-out street plan.

Saturday, I fell in love. I walked a block over to Nicollette Mall and hopped on the bus to the state fair. The helpful bus driver was able to sell me the day pass I had read about online, even though he wasn't quite sure what I was asking for. When I got to the fair, I realized I was in for an experience like no other. I have been to carnivals, I have been to street fairs, I have been to rodeos, and I have been to show rooms, but never before have I seen all of those things in one place at one time. What got me, though, were not the copious amounts of corn dogs, or the alligator that I tried, but rather the character the fair exhibited through its people.

I imagine the first Saturday of the fair is a pretty busy day to go, and I thought it was packed until I heard someone in front of me say "Oh, this isn't bad, you have room to breathe." It was then I knew I was in for a fun day. Everyone in the crowd seemed to have that laid back attitude, which meant we all moved as one, strolling through the fairgrounds, taking in the sights. I saw families, teenage couples, middle-aged friends, and senior couples all have the same look of excitement in their eyes as they turned each corner to behold what came next.

Forty minutes, a bus ride and a clean, efficient light rail trip later, I had made it out to the most intriguing stop I had passed on the light rail coming in from the airport, "Minnehaha Park," and heard someone on the train explain joke I had been thinking in my head, "Try to say Minnehaha without laughing." Back downtown, dinner revealed more charm as the waiter gave me my dessert for free because my traveling companion and I were "so nice." I then made it to the baseball game where I saw a proposal, bear mascot, and, oh yeah, a baseball game.

Sunday morning it was time to go, and I couldn't help but thing of everything I hadn't been able to do. There were museums to see, St. Paul to visit, and the nightlife to explore. Minneapolis, you seem to have it all: a convenient, walkable downtown, cultural excursions and dining galore, and useful mass transit options. But most of all, you have character. You have people you enjoy spending an afternoon crammed together with their fellow Minnesotans, who give free desserts to people who are nice, and who make an outsider feel at home.

So, Minneapolis, in case you take it for granted, I wanted to let you know why I think your city is so great, and I wanted to say thank you, from a New Englander who found a second home in the Midwest.

compassion

today, the convicted lockerbie bomber was released from prison on compassionate grounds. i am pretty disassociated from this, being only 3 when the plane bound for new york was blown up by a bomb placed in a suitcase, killing 270. while the decision has sparked outrage from many, including president obama, it has sparked a very different emotion in me: intrigue.

i am intrigued by a society that considers having compassion for convicted murders. i have always erred on the side of anti-death penalty, without really knowing why. something about killing another person bothers me, but there are so many practical arguments for the death penalty. it is cheaper than keeping someone in prison, and there is always the fear that this person could hurt someone else in prison.

the thing that hit me most about the scottish compassion clause is how much sense it makes. in a civilized society, showing compassion for people who have done the unthinkable is the ultimate forgiveness. the death penalty doesn't make any sense, because it is saying it is wrong for you to kill, but okay for us. showing compassion to the worst criminals is the only way to prove to ourselves what society should be.

america's pastime

growing up in portland, me. meant easy access to baseball games. the AA sea dogs sold out a couple times every season, but i could basically go to live, professional baseball game whenever i wanted--and for cheap. now in boston, i miss that. i live two blocks away from fenway, but on a nice night when i have nothing to do, i sit and watch the game on tv instead of in person. i have attended numerous red sox games, but never had an experience like those relaxing summer evenings in portand until i decided to investigate the mystical red sox day of game tickets.

this did require some planning. a friend and i picked a game we wanted to see a week in advance. some simple legwork on redsox.com yielded the rules. tickets go on sale 2 hours before game time at gate e, fans can line up 5 hours before game time, and your whole party has to be there at the time of purchase because you are immediately escorted into the park.

i went with low expectations. even on a tuesday night against the detroit tigers, this was the red sox after all. we planned to meet a little after 5 in kenmore after we both got out of work and walked up to find the already-formed line past the sausage cart and souvenir vendors on landsdowne street. it moved at a pretty quick pace, and after about 20 minutes we arrived at the box office window. not knowing what kind of tickets to expect, i was shocked to learn that there were three different types available. while we went with the cheapest option ($30 in the right field grandstand), i might come prepared to pay a little more ($90 for infied boxes) in the future.

a friendly ticket taker also acted as usher to explain where our seats were ("a five minute walk that way"), and we took a detour along the way to get some sausages and sodas while taking in the sites along yawkey way. by the time we got to our seats, it was 20 minutes to 7, and almost game time. in the end, the red sox won 7-5, with a bases clearing brawl, three ejections, a one hour rain delay, and two very satisfied ticket buyers along the way.

in our city, baseball games have become an event. you buy tickets months in advance, wait the whole season, and constantly fret about making the most of the one chance you will have at fenway this year. day of game tickets, however, bring boston baseball back to what it should be. last night's game was not an event, but rather a pastime.

goals

from childhood, we are forced into having goals. my answer to the "what do you want to do when you grow up question?" has always been something to do with writing, though it has varied over the years. my answer to "what do you want to be when you grow up?" has remained the same: i want to be happy.

now that i am in the phase of my life where i have to realize my goals, i am having trouble figuring out what it means to be happy. while reading the leon uris book trinity, i stumbled across the following quote from a man discussing the idea of heaven equaling eternal happiness. it sounds good in theory, he supposes, but it could get pretty dull after a while. He continues:

"It seems that we have to have moments of turmoil to contrast to moments of peace in order to truly understand and appreciate that peace....What we have confused is the belief that heaven and paradise are the same. So long as we are capable of moments of paradise here, we ought to cherish them."

life's greatest moments wouldn't be as sweet if there weren't a little despair to juxtapose it against. a happy life does not mean being happy at every single moment. it means that the happy moments - the moments of paradise - more than make up for the moments of despair.

so why is it so hard to come to that conclusion with a job, as well as with life?