Einstein's Theory of a Good Life

I often wonder what the key is to life. I sit in cafes or on sidewalk benches (like now, in front of BookCourt in Cobble Hill) hoping to glean good advice or even just glimpse bits and pieces of what others do for clues on what to do myself. I have taken, lately, to reading (or at least scanning) big biographies of genius thinkers, writers, artists, the great minds, in hopes that the ways they chose to live might provide some salient insights.

Last night, flipping through Walter Isaacson's tome about Einstein, borrowed from my father-in-law, I came upon a bit of advice Einstein gave to his troubled son and thought it worth sharing.

"People who live in society, enjoy looking into each other's eyes, who share their troubles, who focus their efforts on what is important to them and find this joyful -- these people lead a full life."

I agree wholeheartedly. I have, even without knowing Einstein's urging to do so, been doing this. I look into people's eyes every day, many times a day, I make a point of it in recent years, putting my own insecurity aside to really see others. Often, of course, such eye contact leads to a gold star giveaway.

Take yesterday, for example. Checking out Eli's many books at the Brooklyn Library at Grand Army Plaza, I smiled at the man behind the counter. I thought he had some new device that would allow him to check out all the books in one fell swoop.

He laughed. "No," he said, "if it were that easy I'd be out of a job..."

"True," I said, "so I guess we can be thankful modern technology isn't better than it is..."

I gave him a gold star for doing the job that we still, mercifully, need done by a human.

"Wow," he said, taking it gratefully, "I need to get my girlfriend some of these so that she can give me gold stars when I do something good!"

I smiled. "Yes. Or maybe you should give them to her when she does nice things...See, it can work both ways!"

Sharing, recognition, focus...these are the important things, the keys to life, if only we can keep them in mind.

Finding What You Need From Your Neighbors...

I am looking for a web designer. I could, of course, go through normal channels, post something on Craigslist, look online...but, no. I have this idea of serendipity, of things happening by seeming "chance" only because they're supposed to.

So, instead of more active endeavors this morning, I sat in Parco. Sometimes, it turns out the person next to me can offer up what I'm looking for, whatever it might be. Not today. The girl sitting next to me shook her head when I asked her if by any chance she was a web designer or knew of any...

"Amazingly, I don't," she said. "I should, but I don't."

I thanked her for her effort to help, and headed out the door to yoga thinking, still, that there must be some way to find a web designer easily, today.

"Excuse me," I said, walking up alongside two young bearded gentlemen. The beards offered better odds, I thought, that they might know web designers or even be web designers. I didn't beat around the bush, I just asked them, point blank:

"Are either of you web designers?"

They seemed only slightly surprised to be asked the question but, alas, they both shook their heads, no.

"But we know a million..." one said.

"I figured," I said, explaining my facial-hair theory. Even before they knew they'd receive gold stars in exchange, Anthony and Dave graciously offered to take my information and pass it along to one or several of their million or so web-designer friends.

"See," I said, "I write a lot about trying to build community, and part of building community is talking to people who live around you to find what you need."

My new friends, clad in their gold stars, agreed. We'll see what happens. Hopefully, I can find exactly what I'm looking for just by stopping strangers on the street and putting them on the case. It should be just that easy, especially in Brooklyn. 

A Smattering of Special Souls

I am sometimes overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people around me, all trying. I cannot decide who gets a star and who doesn't. Who I am to say? It is a small gesture from a single person, not nearly enough. There are so many stories. Here are a smattering of the special souls I have connected with over the last few days.

Kim was just trying to have a conversation in Parco, but little Gael was having none of it. I love it when people like Kim put the stars smack dab in the middle of their forehead, wear it proudly like a third eye, like a special power. Gael, nappy in his cap,

was nonplussed by his star. He wanted only the attentions of one woman: his mother.

I complimented Saskia on her beautiful turqoise necklace as we were crossing the street for more free food during Park Slope Restaurant Night. "Thanks!" she said with a big smile, "I made it!" Turns out she is a jewelry designer, trying to sell her wares online at http://www.sdvdesigns.etsy.com/ and all around. It's not easy. Just coming up with what name to use is a challenge. She's selling at the Brooklyn Flea today and at the Atlantic Antic on Sunday between Bond and Hoyt. "Good luck!" I said, as I gave her a gold star.

With necklaces on my mind, I turned and noticed Sue's amazing dragonfly. When I complimented her on it, she fingered it lovingly and got a funny look on her face.

"This is very special," she told me. When my mother was sick, she gave it to my daughter to give to me and said, 'When I'm gone, this will be me...'"

Wow. I love that. It is a lovely gift to give a loved one, a single object that can stand as a reminder of your continued presence in their life even when you cannot be around anymore. I gave Sue a gold star for sharing with me her special story.

It's funny that the necklace should be a dragonfly, a perfect symbol of the fleeting time we have on this earth, a reminder to follow our own path and pay attention to those we find along the way.  

What We Don't Need...

I love Brooklyn stoop sales, don't get me wrong. But passing them with kids is impossible. Despite having bagged up five full loads of little plastic things for the garbage, another three big Ikea bags for our own stoop sale and, somehow, still retaining a full complement of useless &*%4, the kids still wanted dollars from my wallet for more.

I met the gaze of the seller, whose eyes apologized, just as I do when I have my own sale.

"We all just have WAY too much stuff!" I said.

She agreed, which is why she was here, after school, sitting on the steps surrounded by things, not nearly enough of the things she needed to get rid of.

"I had too much stuff with me on vacation for two weeks, then I came home and realized it was only a small fraction of what I have and don't need..." I shuddered. "It's disgusting."

I gave Karen a gold star for her efforts to de-clutter. It is a crucial effort, especially in the cramped quarters most New Yorkers live in, without basements or attics to put things away, out of sight, out of mind. It is a good reminder, though, to be surrounded by all you have so that you don't get too carried away. My new rule is that something has to go out before something else comes in. I have a weak spot for sidewalk finds--books, shoes...I did pass on a bikini recently, although it looked promising. But enough is enough, even for free.

"Simplify," a friend advised me not too long ago when I said I felt overwhelmed taking care of all I had. And he is right, of course. Stoop sales are a good start, although with them comes a little guilt: your neighbor likely doesn't need this stuff either. Oh well. And so the world's stuff goes round...

Rejecting Perfection...

I walked in, even though I shouldn't have, to Eric Shoes on Seventh. I was in a mood for change, a fresh start, a mood that often leads me to looking for new shoes. Don't ask me why, it's a complicated equation I have never quite figured, but I often feel that new shoes offer me a new perspective, a new vantage point from which to view the world.

"They're perfect," I heard a woman say to her friend as she sat down and started pulling off a pair of boots. Quickly, though, she amended. "Well, they're as perfect as they're going to get..."

I laughed out loud, causing the woman and her friend to look at me.

"Sorry," I said, "but that's great, I love that, and it's so, so true."

In life, like in shoe stores, sometimes we have to be satisfied with nearly perfect, realizing that the extra angst and effort it might take to find the really perfect thing (if it exists at all) is hardly going to be worthwhile, will likely make you loathe and resent the "perfect" thing should your arduous journey ever connect you with it.

Ah, if only I could acknowledge this more often with a smile, make my peace with it like this other Stephanie, who accepted her gold star happily, as happily as she was planning to head out of the store with her new perfect-as-possible boots.

Eric, the owner, always loose with a laugh and wry commentary, got a star too, for making people like us Stephanies happy girls, granted, at a price.

As I looked around, past the many pairs of boots I did not need, I lighted upon the one pair of shoes I had already decided I "needed" this season: high-heeled clogs that just so happened to look perfect (yes, PERFECT!) with the loose hippy dress I was already wearing. I had paired it, a little too early in the season, with new vintage cowboy boots. The shift was an easy one. I could, and did, wear them right out of the store. I would look fabulous for grocery shopping at Fairway. One never knows who one might see, or meet...

I didn't even balk too much that the price was far more than I ever spend. I often find shoes on the street, a fact that led me to average out total shoe expenditure and come up with a great rationalization for the purchase. That and the fact that my upcoming birthday is a milestone only such sexy shoes as these might help me endure.

When I wear them, I will be reminded to remind myself not to be such a perfectionist. To try is paramount, to push oneself always further, past the point of reality, is a fool's pursuit. There is something to be said for being satisfied, or so I'm told.

Fearless Orange

"I love your shirt" I said to a woman I was pressed against on the subway yesterday, headed to the city for the second day in a row of doctor's appointments, check-ups to check that I am headed to 40 in good health.

The shirt was a bright orange, ruffled, fabulous. (The crowded subway car, sadly, offered little opportunity for picture-taking.)

"Thanks!" the orange-wearer said, smiling and pulling out her headphones. "My boyfriend says it's garish, and the only reason people compliment me is because it stands out..."


I shrugged. "But that's the point...you are bold enough to stand out, to not give a #@$% what other people think. People admire that."

She nodded, boyfriend be damned. "It's refreshing, right?"

"Absolutely!" I said, looking around at the morose faces. "Especially on the subway..."

My fellow orange lover smiled and put her headphones back in, got re-absorbed in her book. I didn't want to bother her by continuing the conversation further. I, did, though, quickly hand her a gold star as she stepped off a few stops later. "Thank you!" She said heartily.

I didn't have time even to thank her back. The boldness embodied in her shirt was a good reminder on a strangely fear-provoking morning, on what turned out to be a strange tornado-filled day, to try to push back the panic and move through the day on my own terms, to face head-first whatever came my way.

Conversations abound around me all morning about bedbug infestations, time-sucking train delays, preparations for impending storms, and the worries had started to creep in. In reality, I've had a bedbug scare before on which I spent roughly $1,000 on extermination and dry-cleaning of imaginary bugs, so I know all too well what to do should it actually happen. (Frankly, I refuse to stop picking things up off the street, it gives me way too much joy.)

As for train delays, the woman ahead of me's dire warning of "massive problems with the train" as I walked into the normal-for-rush-hour crowd on the platform was, as I'd guessed, totally unfounded. The train came within a minute.

And the rain? My husband and younger son's warnings to "be prepared" for the storm that blue skies in the morning did not at all foretell, proved fruitless. A rainjacket or umbrella would have done nothing to protect me had I been out in the gale-force winds that hit Park Slope. Luckily, using my brain, I "prepared" by staying inside my friend's house, away from the windows, as all hell broke loose outside, all around us.

Gold stars go out to those who suffered losses during the storm, the likes of which I've never seen except in the movies, in The Wizard of Oz.

"God is not happy with us," my little orange-shirt-clad Oscar said, shaking his moppy head as we drove through the tree-strewn streets of Park Slope filled with shocked people.

Hard to know who or what's in charge. But one thing is for sure: There is so much outside of our control, and there is often very little we can do except try, try to stay calm and cool-headed, try to develop our own certainty, our own boldness, our own orange-shirted bravado, in the face of uncertain circumstances.

A Puppy's Potential for Community Building

The little pug came scrambling along the sidewalk toward us excitedly, pulling its owner along. I love puppies and, of course, so do my kids. As we all stopped and stooped down to give and receive love and hugs from the little fur-ball, I looked up at its owner in apology.

"Sorry," I said, "You never get very far very fast with a new puppy, do you?"

She just smiled. "No, but it's okay. It's fun actually."

I was glad to hear it. Sometimes, puppy owners in a hurry can seem mildly if not aggressively annoyed at the attentions poured on their new charges. But Tricia relished the opportunity it afforded her.

"I've lived in this neighborhood for two years, and I've never met so many people," she said. "Eddie is a big rock star."

I shook my head. "That's amazing," I said. "People want to connect in a community, but often they don't know how. A puppy makes it so much easier."

Tricia nodded in agreement. I often think about this, wandering as I do in search of people to reward, people who might reward me with insight, that it can be a serious challenge sometimes to break the ice, to make the bold move of looking someone in the eye and saying even so much as a friendly hello.

Sadly, in our society, especially in a big urban setting, doing such a thing can often be construed as strange unless you have a reason to engage. And, even then, when people are supposedly engaged,  ordering something from a waiter or a barista, or coming across people who want to pet their cute dog on a leash, they often seem to miss the opportunity to remember that they are being offered a gift in that moment, a chance to interweave with another human being, a real living breathing body with whom even a brief connection can be magical, awe-inspiring.

As Oscar dangled a rubber snake over Eddie's head, Tricia warned him: "He'll chew that up..." She laughed. "He chews everything, including my hair."

Clearly, it was a small price to pay for all that Eddie has brought her, all that he--and she--have brought to the community. I gave Tricia a gold star for having the guts to take on the responsibility of her little bundle, and to take full advantage of her role of puppy owner and use it to establish a stronger sense of belonging in her community.