Eggs and Adulthood

This morning, I had breakfast with a few of my co-workers and the minds and voices behind Radio Lab.

I ate a plate of eggs. They’d just won a Peabody award. It turned out to be quite a productive morning.

“We’re adults now,” they joked, as we congratulated them on their win.

And we laughed, partly because it felt true.

Maybe they’re right, maybe the only adults in this world are actually Peabody winners. Or at least people who’ve achieved something big.

 And the rest of us are just in-between. Wandering around, hoping that we’ll find someway to achieve all the things we believe we can. Desperately trying to figure it out. Or, maybe it was only a joke and I should learn to think less when eating eggs for breakfast.

 Regardless, this isn’t about a fancy award or what I ate for breakfast. This is about creating something meaningful. Something made not because it’s necessarily profitable, but because it’s believed in. Something that reminds people it’s okay to be human.

 Last night we were lucky enough to see  Radio Lab live. They talked about the relationship between people and symmetry—the desire to connect, our sympathy toward stories, the difference between a mirror-life and an actual one.  They examined all of this in front of a sold-out audience. An audience mesmerized by what was going on in front of them.  

 It was incredible, although incredible doesn’t fully do it justice. Because, really, it’s impossible to fully articulate what it feels like to be moved by something, like really, insanely moved.  It’s as if everything inside you— your mind, your body, your fingers are just consumed by this crazed wonderment—this insanely creative, inquisitive energy. Like you’ve just had 1,000 cups of coffee without feeling like you’ll die.

You’re just straight up giddy.

 So maybe they’re right. Maybe winning a Peabody award does mean you’re finally an adult. An adult who sits you down, pats you on the head and reminds you that it’s okay to be human. Actually, it’s pretty fucking great. 

buses and blogs

I hate blogs.

Which makes me a hypocrite, as I’ve had far more than most. 

 Although, up until this moment I’d been trying desperately not to start anymore. 

But, that wasn’t working so well. 

I caved, and this lovely new blog is the by-product of my caving. 

Be warned now though, this could get dreary. I’m prone to find pretty lame shit wildly exciting. Making pretty lame shit totally blog worthy in my book. TOTALLY blog worthy.

So now we’re over that, lets talk about the bus.

I know what you’re thinking. 

Dude, I don’t even want to RIDE the bus, so I sure as hell don’t want to hear your stories about it.

To which I’d like to say, DUDE, YOU’RE TOTALLY MISSING OUT.

Because, I spent three months living in the land of no buses, or more importantly no need for a bus. Instead I spent my days casually walking to work with hardly a grumble from anyone. And when that’s all you get, it’s only natural to assume you yourself are probably insane. That maybe, if you aren’t actually running into people crazier than you, you are actually the crazy one. For three months this seemed logical.

Then, I started riding the bus.

The other morning, in the POURING rain, like really hardcore, winter, Oregon rain, a man got on the bus wearing cut-off denim shorts. I was in awe. It was incredible. And, when I looked over at the woman next to me for a little agreement nod— the whole, “man I also saw that guy in those shorts” sort of nod, I realized she was probably a step denim shorts man. As, at nine in the morning this woman was eagerly plowing through what looked to be an entire marionberry pie. And plowing is a pretty realistic description.

It was all around her mouth and hands which didn’t seem to slow her down. Lets just say, if i hadn’t actually seen the fork, I would have easily believed that she didn’t have one. 

I reveled in my obvious sanity for a moment. 

Although ever since, I’ve been strangely craving pie.