Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Northern European Sunlight in December:

On Thursday I had my hairs cut; the act of which is always refreshing. It's as if a whole new you emerges after the hour or so long process is over. I don't have much hair to begin with, as I am male with short-er hair, but the hair that I do have is now sculpted, so that its taper dissolves as my head nears the sky. It had been some time since I had had one–a haircut that is–and I now feel quite sartorial. So symbolic, these haircuts. So, full of potential for metaphors, or so they prove. I happened upon a new hair dresser, and hair dressing space, on Spuistraat in Amsterdam's center, called Wild Romance. They're fabulous people, and they space is fab, too. While, indeed, departing from my former preferred stylist, I opted for a new location, an unknown face (the new stylist), and an unknown space. All so intriguingly delicious and so overtly tempting. So I did it; I left my former stylist behind for a new, unknown yet to me–having so much blind-faith in a pleasant name I picked at random–I now have a new monthly partner in my grooming routines. And I like the way that feels. I most often have my hair cut, about once a month. Yet there is so much that happens in between each. The hum-drum of the everyday is something that, since I knew possible, I try to avoid at all costs in order to transcend it. Though I do stop for 'those small moments', as Dominique Browning so affectionately states: low golden rays of winter sun, a tiny beautiful berry on a coniferous tree, or the modernity of light paths that sweep throughout and illuminate this city's streets from above–these beautiful, healing moments are periods of time that I always allow, to take my breathe away.

Daily life continues to be a swirl of early mornings for me: these days I wake around 6:30 and immediately go for a 5-10K run around Amsterdam, mostly around Flevopark, the Oostelijk Havengebied, Funen Park, and nearby the Plantage–aka the city's zoological gardens. These early morning runs, the experience of which I value so greatly, for some deep unconsciously appreciated way, are so integral now to my daily life that it feels as if I run almost every day, these days. In fact, over these past few weeks I have run almost every day, with perhaps only two or three days of rest. That is terrible for my body, I'm sure. While running yesterday–a run of only 4K–my legs were screaming up at me, from below: 'Abuse!', they shouted, furious toward me for their overuse. And indeed I am slightly exhausted. I must remember to allow my body, and mind, rest. Lately this city seems to have taken on the status of infrastructure; onto which the ever luminous Northern European sunlight is projected throughout the day; the low, early morning, and evening light being the most spectacular. At other times, such as this past Sunday, the sun can be completely blotted out by the cumulous and so distinctively Dutch clouds, which hang so low and are so omnipresent. So much of the horizon can be seen, at almost all times, in the Netherlands; that's what happens when a country has little to few hills. On these lazy winter days, which are full of dark gray, the city slips into its hungover state–it's been more glamorous and seemed much sexier. If only summer were here. But unfortunately it's not; it's the dead of winter.

The solstice had its appearance earlier this week, as the northern hemisphere began its ascendancy toward its lengthier days of sunlight. Because of the Earth's rotations, and the snapping of the seasons–hello, winter!–the sunlight is spectacular. It's just another of the many reasons that I so revel in calling Northern Europe home. Earlier this week, while cycling toward the studio were I spend my weekdays, the views that permeated my vision were quite literally breathtaking. I was cycling over the Toronto Bridge, which crosses over the Amstel–Amsterdam's river and the main body of water that slices through its center–the sky was half filled with clouds, which left just enough room for a slight sliver of the sun's rays to pierce through; the ways in which the reflections from those rays danced and glittered off the façades of the seventeenth century houses that so stately align the river Amstel was, I'm convinced, one of those rare occurrences of natural beauty. It will never happen again, and certainly not in the same way that I previously experienced. It's not very often that the sun, or a building, or even a moment, can tear me from my bike in a vain attempt to capture it through the lens of my camera. Most often when this occurs when I explicitly go cycling, to no where in particular, for the sole purpose of reveling in such moments. All experiences, it would seem, are fleeting; just as Susan Sontag states in 'On Photography'.

In many ways I still feel as if I am learning to grow up. However, according to all standards, I am already grown up. I am an 'adult' and support myself financially; earlier this year I married my love. Perhaps I am, and always will be, young at heart; a little kid deep down, looking out at the world with an insatiable ferociousness, the appetite of my curiosity forever leading me to my next adventure. Yet at the same time, I have changed. I have grown, and I certainly do feel older and wiser. However, more so the latter than the former. Wise beyond my years I am, I have always been told, and have always told myself. Because shouldn't we all think of ourselves as fabulous? If we were to all just go around thinking of our lives as mediocre, or (gasp!)–unfabulous–then what's the point of waking up each day? I overheard myself telling someone–at the very fabulous holiday dinner I attended last Thursday–that, 'I'm not sure where exactly I'm headed. But I know that I'm going in the right direction.' Totally true.

At the fine age of 28–wise and yet young; spirited and yet experienced; hopeful and yet honest and realistically reflective of my abilities. Perhaps all that one can hope for, when going forward, is being confident in the present, knowing where you came from, and knowing where you'd like to go (or are currently going). As I grow, I experience and I learn. I refine and re-polish; I subtract and I add; or I re-add pieces from a previous subtraction. As I grow older I look forward to life more with every day, as I become more conscious of myself, and my rightful place in the home that is the planet Earth. My body and I are also continuing our ever evolving relationship: I love and accept it more and more each day, as reciprocity for its agreeing to let me listen in on a few of its inner workings. Sometimes my body feels very sexy; other times it feels glamorous–often it feels confident and… handsome; other times it feels contorted and unattractive. Though I've come to love it more; it's inseparable from me and me from it. And, this body is the one thing that, no matter what, will never leave me–it and I are forever one. So I better become fully acquainted with it now. And so I have, and continue to do. We are doing just fine. It cares for me and I care for it.

Going forward into 2014 I hope to further bring peace and confidence into the decisions and actions that propel me through life. These are not qualities that I have lost; they have been only dampered throughout periods of this past year. Going forward, with confidence and love as my alibis, I know that 2014 will prove to be resounding to me, just as 2013 proved fruitful beyond all expectations. Perhaps it's just that then: letting go of expectations in order to: 'Go forward confidently, energetically attacking problems, expecting favorable outcomes.' That can't be too difficult, I imagine, and a sudden boost of energy at the beginning of December has increased my eagerness to check off every box on my to-do lists: a reorganization of my life's bundles of 'important' papers recently took place, and all my digital files are now neatly organized and wonderfully out of sight. It is remarkable–how productive I can be sometimes–if I let myself become overtaken with passion for my task at hand. My stamina is strong, and there is confidence within my stride. I must remember to balance the stamina of my actions with the stamina of my voice, so that both are equally as strong. Going forward, in 2014, I am eagerly anticipating the propelling forces that I've brought together in 2013, to enable and sustain my crescendoing future. Going forward, I know there are so many great places, spaces and faces, that are all yet to come. Going into 2104, I am happy.