01 1 / 2013
It’s New Years Eve 2012. I’m sitting at my desk in pajama pants and a hoodie, drinking honey mead by myself in an empty apartment. New Year’s Eve is the only night of the year I drink alone. I don’t have to stop myself the rest of the year — it’s never an impulse at all, which is good because that means I am not prone to alcoholism. But that isn’t the point of what I’m writing. This is my second New Year’s Eve in a row spent alone. At 11:50 PM, I’m going to take a short break from writing this. I’m going to sit on my floor and meditate for what feels like 15 minutes or so, and if I get it right I will open my eyes just a bit after midnight, and it will be 2013.
I was listening to music for a while, but now it’s quiet. There’s a bar across the street and I’m sure I’ll start hearing noises outside soon. But for now, I want to think in silence. In the weeks leading up to this night — hell, the months — I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to live. Two lessons in particular have been in the foreground of my thoughts.
Two summers ago, I met a pirate who taught me how to live. One summer ago, I met some Vietnamese nuns and monks who taught me how to live. These lessons could not have been more different. One involved simplicity, modesty, mindfulness, and laughter. The other involved alcohol, sex, dancing, and laughter. I’ll let you guess which was which.
I have forgotten both of these lessons, I think to myself, morose. Then I correct myself: No, you remember the lessons. You just haven’t applied them. You remember how to dwell on them, but you haven’t figured out how to embody them.
24 12 / 2012
What makes it fake? Their stories aren’t on the mainstream?
(Source: The Onion)