Granite State of Mind

I shared this on Facebook, but figured you should see its genius here, too.

Opening Day! (of Allergy Season)

Friday night, I went over to my parents' place (because I like to party) and immediately started sneezing when I walked in the door. This isn't at all unusual -- my parents still have two dogs and a cat as a ploy to ensure I never, ever move back and only visit for short periods of time, sporadically at best.

The thing was, after I left, I didn't stop sneezing. Not in the few hours after, not the next day, nor the day after that. It just went on through the entire weekend. Now as I type, my eyes itch, my breathing is wheezy, and I have a box of Kleenex next to my desk. Hmm... it must be allergy season.

Oh joy.

Let me tell you, I absolutely love springtime. For anyone who lives in the Northeast, you know how great this time of year can be. The snow/sleet/rain/hail/ice cubes from heaven have stopped falling. You can't see your breath in the morning and you fingers don't feel like they're going to fall off in the time it takes to walk from your front door to your car.

Up here, spring is an event. People start wearing shorts and flip-flops once it hits 50, even though it's still probably about a month too early. Red Sox jerseys and sun dresses re-enter as wardrobe staples. Bikers pull their motorcycles from storage (note to Sonja: think how glorious it would be to take that first scooter ride of the season? Can I PLEASE get one?). Everyone gathers outside to hang out in driveways and on front porches while soaking in the sun's rays. It's glorious. It's a total "winter's over" reawakening, and I love it. I celebrate it. I flip-flop and short it. I even played nine holes on Saturday (so I could repeatedly four-putt it).

Everything would be perfect if I could just breathe.

My goodness, is this time of the year awful for fellow allergy sufferers. The majority of you won't get what I'm talking about, but with the flowers blooming and trees budding, it's like two weeks of hell on earth for people like me. The worst thing is that I shouldn't be outside, but it's so nice that I just can't avoid it. I want to swing the clubs. I want to run 15-20 miles a week. I want to go for walks downtown and sit on the side porch. And, ideally, I'd like to do it without feeling like my head is going to explode.

Still, it's a small price to pay for spring. See you out there! I'll be the guy with the surgical mask on.

Photo from Kleenex.com

Going to Haiti

It seems like every year or so, the news cycle stops hovering around elections, politics, and personal finance to spend two weeks focused on a natural disaster. In 2004, it was the tsunami. Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast in 2005. We caught a break in '06 and '07 before 2008's earthquake hit the Sichuan province in China. And early this year, we all know about the massive earthquake that devastated Haiti--the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere.

To be completely honest, these events never resonated with me. Oh sure, I watched the news and maybe contributed a few bucks to the Red Cross, but once the news cycle moved on, so did I. Katrina probably had the most impact on me, but that's only because I visited New Orleans for a conference a year later and saw the city still struggling to recover. Even then, I wasn't really moved to do anything more about it then tell a few people what I saw.

The earthquake that hit Haiti, though, was different. Like most of us, I watched the news coverage--but it grabbed me the way other stories didn't. I saw the devastation, watched the Haitian people scream and cry in the streets for help, and my heart absolutely broke for them. I really couldn't tell you why. Maybe it was a combination of things:

• These photo essays from The Big Picture, which captured the pain and suffering and reality of what happened: Earthquake in Haiti, Haiti: 48 Hours Later, and Haiti: 70 Days Later
  
• The fact that Haiti is only 600 miles from the U.S. (about the distance from Boston to Buffalo) and yet malnutrition and poverty run rampant there.
• Some of my earliest memories of church involve listening to a Haitian congregation sing, laugh, and pray noisily as their congregation met in a room below the sanctuary in our building.
• A slow realization that I had a chance to really do something to show love and help those in need.

So a few weeks ago, when my friend Doug asked if I wanted to go to Haiti, I immediately said, "Yes."

Plans fell into place and I can now let you know that this May (the 23rd to the 29th), Doug and I will travel to Haiti with Adventures in Missions--an organization that's dedicated to helping deliver support and relief to some of the most impoverished areas of the world.

We really don't know what to expect. The country, which was impoverished before, has been completely devastated in the capital city of Port au Prince and surrounding areas. There are so many needs--food, water, medicine, rebuilding, rehabilitation--that we don't know yet what area we'll be helping in. All we know now is that we're going and we're going to help however we can.

But we can't do it alone. We need help. Maybe help from you.

1. We need prayer... neither of us have ever done anything like this or put ourselves into a situation like this one.
2. We need awareness... not for what we're doing, but that Haiti needs help. Recovery will take years, but the news cycle has already moved on. Please don't forget.
3. We need help... again, not for us, but for Haiti. If you want to help support our trip, you can do that by donating through eventbrite or directly. Know that we plan to use any money we raise beyond our own costs to buy supplies to send to Port au Prince in advance. (Other great organizations you may want to support include CharityWater.org, the Red Cross, and Yele Haiti)

I'll keep posting on this blog with trip updates, news from Haiti, and everything else. So stay tuned.

Thank you for listening and thanks in advance for helping.

(Here's a video Doug sent me from the blog WhyIsMarko. It was shot recently in Port au Prince.)



(I wrote this post while listening to "Blood Bank EP" by Bon Iver)

You Might Die Today -- Scared or Inspired?

I'm reading Crazy Love by Francis Chan (my good friend Doug Tappan) picked it out. I just started it and have only read two chapters, but already the book's gripped me and got me thinking.

This morning, I thought about death. Good times!

I wanted to share the chapter's intro with you and see if you started thinking about mortality, too. And, if you did, how do you feel about it--scared or inspired?

"You could die before you finish reading this chapter. I could die while you're reading it. Today. At any moment.

But it's easy to think about today as just another day. An average day where you go about life concerned with your to-do list, preoccupied by appointments, focused on family, thinking about your desires and needs.

On the average day, we live caught up in ourselves. On the average day, we don't consider God very much. On the average day, we forget that our life truly is a vapor.

But there is nothing normal about today. Just think about everything that must function properly for you to survive. For example, your kidneys. The only people who really think about their kidneys are people whose kidney's don't work correctly. The majority of us take for granted our kidneys, liver, lungs, and other internal organs that we're dependent upon to continue living.

What about driving down the road at 65-mph, only a few feet away from cars going the opposite direction at the same speed? Someone would only have to jerk his or her arm and you would be dead. I don't think that's morbid; I think it's reality.

It's crazy that we think today is just a normal day to do whatever we want with. To those of us who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money,' James [the brother of Jesus] writes, 'Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes' (4:13-14)

When you think about it, that's a little disconcerting. But even after reading those verses, do you really believe you could vanish at any minute? That perhaps today you will die? Or do you instead feel somehow invincible?

Frederick Buechner writes, 'Intellectually we all know that we will die, but we do not really know it in the sense that the knowledge becomes a part of us. We do not really know it in the sense of living as thought it were true. On the contrary, we tend to live as though our lives will go on forever.'"

Sorry guys, I don't mean to be a total downer... but when I read this, it got me thinking: what if today really matters? What if we lived every day as if it were a gift or our last one? What would we do differently?

(And would we blog about it?)

Photo credit: CrazyLoveBook.com

A Moment of Joy

I subscribe to NY Times' emails and along with daily headlines, an afternoon update and news alerts, I also get the opinion section. Typically, I scan the first couple of editorials and delete the email (it comes in midday and I'm usually caught up in whatever I'm doing to go in depth if it isn't a new Friedman column), but this piece from the Happy Days blog caught my eye the other day.

Averted Vision, by Tim Kreider, started out as a piece about travel, which is why I read it (I've been back from Italy for six weeks and already I'm ready for the next adventure). In the article, Kreider nailed something that I've thought about quite a bit:

"I wonder, sometimes, whether it is a perversity peculiar to my own mind or just the common lot of humanity to experience happiness mainly in retrospect. I have of course considered the theory that I am an idiot who fails to appreciate anything when he actually has it and only loves what he’s lost...We do each have a handful of those moments, the ones we only take out to treasure rarely, like jewels, when we looked up from our lives and realized: 'I’m happy.'" - Tim Kreider

Happiness -- however you define it -- is elusive. And those moments of perfect happiness, what Kreider calls "jewels" and C.S. Lewis details in his memoir Surprised by Joy (one of my favorite books), come rarely if at all.

There are those, I believe, who spend their entire lives searching for these momentary glimpses of joy, to feel their heart leap within their chest and the fates align, only to have the experience of a moment of perfect happiness slip away.

But there are others who know what it means to view the world on pause. They have felt time slow, a smile spread, and have known they have found -- or been granted -- a moment meant only for them at that time and in that place. Like the sun breaking through the clouds and illuminating one small patch in a beam of warm light, joy invades their soul and lingers there. It only comes for a moment. A moment only. Then, it is gone, but its kiss remains. Forever.

Perhaps this is why we (I?) travel? We're searching for the sublime. We press on, visiting cities, tasting food, sampling life, always pushing further, hoping that by turning the next corner or taking the next step, we'll get a glimpse of that brief moment of joy. It's not something that the travel books tell you where you can find your personal share (although that's why we buy them). It's something you can only find yourself.

When Sonja and I visited Florence, I knew there was one place we had to go. I'd been there once before, seven years earlier, and had taken with me an image when I left. I had kept a picture in my mind of Italy ever since that first visit, knowing it was a place I'd somehow return, and when I did, I knew where I'd go.

Eventually.

The Piazza Michelangelo overlooks the Arno from a point high above and just south and east of the city's center. Though it's not far from the river's edge, it's a steep climb to the top, first through winding Florentine streets, then up several staircases. The cobblestones are uneven, the steps spaced too far apart, and if you visit in the summer like we did, you'll be sweating and thirsty when you reach the top.

But when you do, you'll be rewarded by what is possibly the greatest landscape view in Western Europe. As you stand atop the Piazza, all of Florence spreads out below you -- walls of earthy yellows and browns and burned red tile rooftops. Towers poke up here and there, with the Duomo's massive dome dominating the city scape. Beyond the city are the rolling, green hills of Tuscany. To your back is a tall stone tower where bells chime out the hours. Past that roll more hills, one after another, criss-crossed by lines of olive trees and grape vines.

There's a staircase there that points almost directly west. On a summer night in June, the marble steps are warm from a day spent in the sun, and so are you. I remembered from my first visit to Florence that people gather there every evening, talk softly, and watch the sun go down. And I knew that's where I wanted to be.

We climbed the hill and found a spot on the stairs, just a few feet away from a young Italian man gently strumming an acoustic guitar. On our way, we had stopped at a small grocery store and bought cups and a bottle of wine. I pulled the cork and poured each of us a glassful. We sipped, the thin plastic of the cups crinkling under our fingers, talked in low tones about the day, and listened to the guitar. We clapped after ever song, not loudly but politely, exchanging smiles with the guitarists and the other couple dozen people on the steps.

I don't remember what we talked about, exactly, what we said or how we said it. I just remember never wanting to leave and that though the sun set slowly, it wasn't slow enough. And I can recall, in complete clarity, the feeling of perfect contentment -- the warmth of a heart at rest -- that overwhelmed me in that moment.

It only lasted a few minutes. The sun eventually set and we walked back down the hill, holding hands and heading back to our hotel. But I know there's a part of me still on that hill, still watching the sunset with the music in the background and Sonja sitting next to me.

I'm baaaack!

Oh man, does it feel good to be back or what? Let's jump right in and get caught up...

What the Heck has Mike Been Doing?

Getting Married
I'm sure you've seen the pictures on Facebook (Speaking of, I'm now at www.facebook.com/nagel.mike - the other itinerations of my custom url had been taken by Mike Nagel's with far fewer friends and way more time on their hands. And I'm mad about it.). Please do take the time to soak in the glory that is a tailored tuxedo worn with white Chuck Taylors, while you're at it. We do promise to post pics of our own as soon as we get the digitals back from our photographer.

As I was remarking to a co-worker the other day, the process of getting married is pretty much like having a second, full-time job. One that's a lot of fun, but also takes a lot of work, a lot of time, a lot of patience, and you have to pay half the salary of your other job to work there. Oh, and when the job's over, there's no exit interview. There's just half a cake left and a car ride to a court-mandated, two-week vacation where you're left to wonder, "Did that just happen?"

I do want to write more about the wedding in the near future, but for now I feel guilty about mentioning it at all since Sonja and I have yet to post a single thank-you in the seven weeks after the Big Day.

Honeymooning
If you have about six hours to spare (like, you know, when you're at work reading this), you can check out the pictures of our two-week trip to Italy: Rome, Florence, a quick stop in Pisa, a day trip via bike through Tuscany, and Venice. As you'll see, the trip was absolutely amazing... and I'll write all about it coming up. Suffice it to say, we have a whole lot of souvenirs hanging on the walls of our place.

Moving In
Speaking of, did you know when someone moves in with someone else it takes them twice as long to do it as it would if just one of them moved? Yeah, we're still finding places to put all of Sonja's stuff and others places where we can donate mine.

More importantly, when you get married, people give you a lot of stuff. And they give you a lot of money. We're enjoying refurbishing the kitchen and the non-existent linen closet.

Work
Yup, back at it. Moving on!

Reading
Okay, so I'm not reading that much, but I am reading a little. I'll even tell you what I'm reading - Team of Rivals - in the hope that the next time one of you asks what I'm reading I'll have finished and moved on to something else. If not, I'll lie and say I've been buried up to *here* in literary magazines and haven't touched any book-length work in ages, darling.

Music
So, here's what it's my iPod of late that you should totally check out... MuteMath's Spotlight EP - fantastic single from an album that drops on 8/18, Our Lady Peace Burn, Burn if only for nostalgic purposes, The Devil Wears Prada Dear Love: A Beautiful Dischord suggested by a dude from GYG, and Michael Jackson Off the Wall because it's great to remember when the King of Pop was still royalty.

And While I was Writing This Post...
I learned how to pop popcorn on the stove without a JiffyPop exploding foil bag.

Waiting for the Bus...

I never could understand the propensity we have toward standing in line. We'll run from one place just so we can wait in the next and stare at the back of some stranger's head. It's the very definition of "hurry up and wait."

Right now, I'm waiting for the bus, seated on an uncomfortable wooden bench. But even though it's hard, unforgiving and isn't really angled well at all for lumbar support, it's way better than standing in the line that's ever-growing in front of me. It now snakes its way past the men's restroom entrance, pushes beyond Honey Dew Donuts and threatens to block the doorway to the women's commode.

This bus, by the way, doesn't leave for another 20 minutes. And it leaves every hour, on the hour. it's not like it's anything exciting or it'll get so full that you'll miss it. Rush hour doesn't even hit full swing for another hour. And by then, the transportation company will be running three buses every hour to handle the demand.

It seems a lot like amusement parks, waiting for the bus. We'll gladly shell out $60 for a day's worth of getting sunburned while waiting upwards of 90 minutes for less than 90 seconds of pleasure. We'll then take a half-dozen heart-pounding rides in 12 hours, then call it a day—but not before buying the obligatory t-shirt to proudly proclaim, "I rode the XXX!" The underlying statement of said t-shirt being, "I waited two-and-a-half hours to do it. Aren't you jealous?"

Back in the terminal. There are even more people in line now. Each maintains a nice, safe distance from each other, not speaking, not making eye contact. They're jealously guarding their respective spaces, though. The posture of each potential bus-rider says, "This is MY place, MY spot. I am 5th. I am 8th. I am 12th." and so on. Some have even dropped knapsacks, positioning them between feet, building an even more solid foundation to their unspoken, and heretofore, unchallenged 2-foot by 2-foot plot of line land.

I wonder if the business woman in heels' feet hurt? Do the shoulders of the backpacker ache? And, why, pray God, would you try to make a 6-year-old stay in one space for 45 minutes before boarding a bus that'll make him sit still in his seat for another hour?

Lines suck.

On top of all of it, when they move, they never go fast enough. I'll join it when they start taking tickets and passengers begin heading into the idling bus, single file, shuffling for seats. But if I've neglected to take my ticket out of my bag or if I get my rolling suitcase caught on a stanchion, then I'll be subjected to rolled eyes, muttered curses, and my nearest neighbor standing ominously close. All because of a few seconds delay.

My line on lines? They're overrated. Get in late, get out early and cut wherever possible.

Note: I wrote this a couple weeks back, in a notebook, while waiting for the bus. Forgot to upload it here... and, by the way, I will try to update more often than ever two months.