New York and the Bungee Jump

New York, by nearly anyone’s standard, is overwhelming. Every cliché about it is pretty much true. It is filled with people from every walk of life. It does have something for everyone. It does have pushy people. It’s alive, exciting and diverse. And, of course, it’s expensive.

In many ways, New York is like the bungee jump (or the sky dive, if you like). It’s an experience that in some ways is grueling and in other ways exhilarating. In the end, one is glad they did it, but also aware of the amount of money spent. Almost everyone who has bungee jumped says that they loved it, but wouldn’t necessarily pay the same price to do it again, which makes actually a lot of sense. With almost all goods, there is a diminishing utility in consumption.

But bungee jumping is much more than just bouncing up and down. It’s an exercise in will. The nervousness of arriving and watching others do it and suiting up and getting to that ledge and actually jumping off the ledge is nothing less than absolutely intense.

Overcoming this anxiety and having courage, for lack of a better word, is largely what the jump is about. One needs to be the type of person who is able to do it in order to actually do it. Like a college degree or a medal, the jump is a badge that proves one has a little more something than everyone else.

Though visiting New York is hardly a badge, people do use living in New York as a badge. Just as people enjoy being able to tell others about how they love spicy food and don’t sleep more than four hours a night, people like living in New York. Taking the intensity day in and day out gives them a feeling of worth. They tolerate the rush, the crowds, the pushiness, the dirtiness and the noise. They deal with the long commutes, the small apartments and long workdays. Even more impressive, somehow they overcome the costs of living (some even are able to do it without help from daddy or their rich spouse). For Christ’s sake, the “New York, New York” song even lauds this feat.

But, to be fare to New York and the bungee jump, even if we ignore the illusion of self-worth created by doing an arbitrary action, they are still fun by themselves. This, I suppose, gives them an edge on the marathon.

The Flow of Lives

As each of us blazes our trail through life, we encounter individuals who are headed in various directions. Some people are on our trajectory and, so, keeping in touch with them is an easy affair. Often they live in the same city, have the same career path or are part of the same social circles. Other people, though, are heading in different directions and maintaining a relationship with them takes more effort. Unlike the first group who are convenient, the later group requires get-togethers, phone calls, visits and even major efforts like a change in job to maintain the relations.

For example, my friend Matty Potter moved into a house he found on Craigslist. He started dating the girl in the next room and eventually married her. They both like their careers, like where they live and have no plans on leaving DC. Logistically, there is perhaps nothing easier than their situation.

My friend Matt Yeti, though, had a tougher time. His relationship with his eventual wife involved large periods of time in different cities due to law school, internships and work. The shuffle back forth, the time apart and job changes were grueling.

Both Matt and Matty seem to have equally functioning relationships. Yet, Matt had to put in a lot more effort than Matty. Was Matty just luckier than Matt? Did his wife just happen to be on the same trajectory?

Well, one could argue that Matty is luckier or somehow more tapped into some sort of cosmic plan. Maybe he just happened to move in right next door to his soul mate who also happened to never want to leave DC. Doesn’t it seem like people occasionally run into each other as if its destiny? I mean, just yesterday, the Express had a picture of a war protester holding the name of a dead soldier that my roommate randomly had tattooed on his arm the week before (that’s a 1 in 4000 chance). Maybe there is destiny and people are spiritually connected. I’ve definitely had my share of countless “crazy” connections and reconnections with people that have left me stunned.

But, the Dilettante is a realist. He understands that it’s a small socio-economic class and these connections and run-ins aren’t really so miraculous. He understands that for every important person that one connects or reconnects with, there are dozens, even hundreds, that one doesn’t connect and reconnect with. No one remembers the important person one missed by five minutes because one missed them. And, as for meeting “the one,” haven’t we all ironically had that experience several times? That feeling of finding a perfect match is almost certainly subjective emotion rather than cosmic objective fact.

In reality, luck may have played some role in Matty Potter’s life, but there are many, many women out there who are compatible with Matty. Having one in the next room isn’t really that lucky.

But if finding a mate isn’t that hard, why are many of us single and why was Matt Yeti so unlucky? Why would he put in all of this effort when there are other women who are easier to deal with and more on his life’s trajectory? Well, maybe he got locked into a series of ever-increasing obligations, but most likely he just really likes his wife. He is discriminating and does not feel there are other women around of a similar quality. To him, his effort is worth it.

The real difference between Matt and Matty is that Matt Yeti is more choosy and
discriminating. This isn’t to say that Matty Potter would take anything, but Matty P is certainly more open-minded, accepting and compromising. Matt Y was looking for a particular woman and unwilling to settle for anything else. When he found her, he put in the work to make it work with his wife. While Matty worked with the flow of lives to find his mate, Matt fought them

The Utility of History and One's Bad Memories

It was Lord John Dalberg-Acton who said “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Ironically, his most famous words were a side note to his larger point. Acton believed that position and time period were irrelevant when judging a crime. In direct opposition to Machiavellian thought, Acton once wrote to a bishop:

“There is no worse heresy than that the office sanctifies the holder of it. That is the point at which the negation of Catholicism and the negation of liberalism meet and keep high festival and the end learns to justify the means.’

That is, he believed judging leaders or historical figures differently than everyone else went against both the universal morals of Catholicism and the liberalist goal of an improving society. In fact, Acton even takes it a step further:

“You would hang a man like Ravaillac [a religious zealot who killed Henry IV of France]; but it what one hears is true, then Elizabeth asked the gaoler to murder Mary and William III ordered his Scots minister to extirpate a clan. Here are the greatest names coupled with the greatest crimes. You would spare these criminals for some mysterious reason. I would hang them higher than Haman [a Persian who was hanged for plotting against the Jews] for reasons of quite obvious justice, still more, still higher for the sake of historical science.”

Acton says, we should, in fact, judge people in higher positions and those in the past harsher than plebs and contemporaries to serve the function of history. I’m assuming Acton is saying that a liberal society learns from history. Thus, focusing on past injustices with great scrutiny would lead to improvement.

Acton makes a valid point and I can’t help but think of my own life. For some reason, a couple of moments in my life really stick out and give me guilt. When I was maybe 8, I smashed some phessant eggs after someone told me that the mother would no longer return after I touched the eggs (turns out that’s not true). Also, one year at camp when I was 14, I implied a girl was fat and made her cry. Now, I’ve done many things worse that these things, but for some reason, these ones really stick and annoy me with shame and embarrassment.

Now, many would say to move on. Many would say I was young and I should forgive myself. But, like Acton is saying, isn’t the whole point of history (in this case my memories) to learn from the past? Does not the shame and the embarrassment aid me in being a better person? Boy Dilettante is a criminal of sorts. Why should he be spared for mysterious reasons? Should he not be hung higher than Haman for the sake of improving Adult Dilettante?

Society, though, seems to disagree with Acton. Leaders are often pardoned or get off easy. Historical figures are mostly forgiven for their murders, enslavements and pedophilia. And, with regard to the Dilettante, children are almost always spared the full punishment of crimes.

Loving Art

Recently I was asked if I loved art and I’ve been mulling over this question for nearly a week. First indecisiveness over Obama and Clinton and now this. Perhaps I wouldn’t make a great surgeon after all.

Sure, the question is bit undefined (okay, maybe more than a bit). What is art? Though, there’s a million answers to that one, I’m going with the answer from that skit on the The State—after spending a good deal of time introducing a dozen highly acclaimed artists and art critics, the host asks “what is art?” to which one critic responds “like, paintings and stuff” and ends the show.

And then there’s the even harder question of love? I had an argument a year ago with a girl who claimed she didn’t like water. “Who likes water?” she asked. “I LOVE water!” I insisted.

So, let’s talk about like versus love. I would say I like something when it simply pleases me with its presence. I would say I love something when it produces an overwhelming positive emotional response. The emotional response is so large that I don’t think I could cope very well without the hope of experiencing it again. Things I like, I can do without and easily replace. Things I love are things that, if gone, I would severely miss and, when they are gone, I crave. For instance, I like peanuts and I even like them a lot, but if someone said “no more peanuts, ever” I think I would be okay. On the other hand, if someone said “no more milk, ever,” I would panic.

I really like going to museums. I certainly like it more than most people. I find art very powerful. And I would really like to say I love art. But, honestly, if I never saw another painting or I never saw another sculpture, I think I would be okay.

I cannot say that about other things. If I lost the ability to see, I would immediately mourn the loss of sunsets and clouds and the sky and trees. I would miss the horizon and lakes and mountains and snow. I would miss eyes and freckles and ears and lips. But, far down the list would be art, certainly below birds or fish or even my own reflection.

My feelings on art is different than, say, music. With the loss of hearing, I almost immediately think of the loss of music and how horrible that would be. Given the choice between never again hearing music and never hearing the sound of wind or the sound waves crashing, I would probably choose nature over music, but it would be agonizing decision and recovering from such a loss would be difficult.

Of course, many people really do love art. They study it and devote their life to it. They can’t get enough it and surround themselves with it. Without it, many of them would be empty and lost.

Perhaps artists enjoy art because they have to work harder to be great. Michelangelo spent 40 years, off and on, on the Sistine chapel and it captivates people for five, maybe ten minutes. Richard Berry spent five, maybe ten minutes writing “Louie Louie” and it’ll be stuck it my head for a lifetime. Art is certainly a difficult medium to use to communicate. People spend hours and hours creating something physical to communicate emotion. With speech, we can communicate it in seconds. Humans may not be hardwired to take in art like they do with other media.

Then again, maybe those that love art are hardwired for it. Maybe they just get it like Bobby Fisher gets chess. Or maybe they learn to love it like academics learn to love their discipline.

All I know is I simply really like art, which may be subject to change.