Tag: Life

“Everything is hard in New York City” (Feb 5 2026)

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In which Our Hero prompts anger and ridicule. 

I’ve heard this said many times. Probably 3 times in the last 2 weeks, and many times before. And I… like… don’t believe it? 

Two days ago, my partner wanted to schedule a doctor’s appointment. She called the specific practice she desired, best in the country for the thing she cares about. They booked her for Thursday (9 days out). Then, she asked if they had a cancellation list she could be on to get anything sooner. The scheduler offered her the following day (yesterday) at 10am. She attended the appointment with great success. That doesn’t sound hard to me. AND, this is a medical function that NYC residents most say can be hard to get into. 

What do I think is actually happening? Options: 

  1. There is so much to do. The City is an endless treasure trove of possibilities. In a normal city, you might want to do 3 things aside from work on a given day. In New York, you might want to do 8. 
  2. Some things *do* take much longer. Yesterday, I moved a couch from a third-floor walkup. A third-floor walkup is not something that even exists in many parts of the country! Transporting the couch to my truck took ~50 minutes. Compare that to the ~15 minutes it took me to transport a much-heavier bedframe to that same truck. But the bedframe was in an elevator building. (Driving, too, can take forever. But most of the time, you won’t drive. And the subway is very speedy. (And most Americans are used to driving forever anyway.))
    1. Waiting in line can take forever. If you want to attend a specific show, you might have to get in line for tickets 3+ hours before the ticket purchase opens. 
  3. The people feel squeezed and stressed, so the difficulty of doing things becomes much more. When you work an intense 9-5 that really works you from 8-6:30 (or in some cases 7am – 8pm), you have brief evenings and weekends for both errands and all the life you want to squeeze out of New York. 
  4. Rent *is* really fucking expensive. Therefore, you are much more likely to feel squeezed. But that doesn’t make things themselves harder. It just makes you uniquely susceptible to 1) feeling like you can’t give up that 7am-8pm job, and 2) feeling like everything in your life is intense. 

Over the last week, these are things my partner or I have done with less than 12 hours from conception to completion: 

  1. Bought 4 slices of 4.5-star New York pizza for $5.99
  2. Scheduled and picked up for ~1/3rd of retail cost:
    1. A like-new minifridge 
    2. A robot vacuum & mop
  3. Scheduled and picked up for free:
    1. Bedframe with sidetable and drawers 
    2. Coffee table
    3. Desk
    4. Peloton shoes of exactly my partner’s size 
    5. Wheeled dolly 
    6. Vacuum
    7. Plates/cups/mugs/silverware
    8. Blender
    9. Microwave
    10. 2 large-size instantpots
    11. 3 plush chairs
    12. 1 plush comfy chair 
    13. 1 large L-shaped couch
    14. 1 desk chair
    15. 1 gaming chair

That doesn’t sound like it’s difficult to do things. That sounds like some things are difficult to do. (Getting into one of the elite public schools? Fuggaddabouttit!) And when the line at grocery checkout is 50 people long (as it sometimes is), you might think it’s hard to go grocery shopping. But there are 25 open checkout stations, so that line is really equivalent to only 2 people in front of you. 

So far, New York has been kind and hospitable. Yes, there was a threatening person in front of my building who followed me inside 2 days ago. But hey, isn’t that culture? 

Going Places (Jan 28 2026) 

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In which Our Hero voyages through space and time

Theo works nights at the front desk of the only hotel in this small French town. He works days at the car dealership, cleaning cars. He also works days on his talent management company. He wants to build the ROC Nation of France. He is 23 years old and wants to retire by 40. He prefers the American work ethic to the French one. I tell him to make sure to increase his hourly wage, not merely his number of hours worked. 

—

“You sleep when you can.” 

The businessman in the neighboring airplane seat says he lives his life out of suitcases, in identical rooms in identical towns. He changes time zones frequently: today Munich, tomorrow Mumbai. After years of struggle, he gave up on circadian rhythms. He sleeps when he sleeps and works when awake. One day, maybe he’ll have a partner. I wonder how old he is. 

—

Ilian is 21 years old, on an airplane for the first time. He’s snapping pictures out the window as the plane lifts off, and sets his phone to record video when he’s sleeping. “Comme un gros oiseau”, he says. Today he goes to Iceland. Next year, to Switzerland. Also on his list: Japan. I tell him Japanese pork was my surprising highlight of the cuisine. He doesn’t eat pork. “You’re Jewish?” I ask. His eyes widen in what looks to me like repulsion. “Muslim,” he corrects. He shares with me a breadstick he brought for the trip. We exchange phone numbers. When I return to Paris, we’ll go to a museum. Maybe one day I’ll tell him I was raised Jewish. 

— 

Somehow I became 32. I don’t remember 31 from 30. I can’t parse 29 from 28. I suddenly understand why my father takes a moment to isolate what year an event happened. “It was nineteen … (pause) eighty … (pause again) seven,” he’ll say, and then be proud he pinned it down. 

Six years ago I didn’t want kids. Five years ago I didn’t want a life partner. Four years ago I started taking exogenous sex hormones. Three years ago I flew to Australia to escape heartbreak. Two years ago I met my now-partner. One year ago I still lived in a van. 

Tomorrow, I buy a home. 

And the day after? 

A Homecoming of Sorts (Jan 23 2026)

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In which? In Étampes! 

Back in Étampes, the land of the Clown School. My mother and I are visiting for ~5 days. 

My mother asked me what it’s like to be back.

My answer, in anecdotes:

  • At the airport, waiting for the bus, my mother and I talked about our travels to France: hers through Portugal, mine from Spain. Perhaps its the German genes we share, but both of us have trouble with those local cultures of queueing. 
  • When the corner baker popped up from behind the counter and saw me, her eyes widened and her cheeks shined. “I thought you were gone,” she said. I told her about my broken foot and leaving for the holiday. She told me, “Before you leave, you must tell me!”
  • My mother asked, “What should we get in our croissant?”. I replied, “Oh you silly Americans. We are going to the best croissant in the whole town. We will eat it as it is.” And we did. And it was good.
  • “I’m glad I’m wearing my boots, because this is muddy!” (I don’t own boots.) 
  • The two cheeses in the fridge, untouched for 1.5 months, had me wary. One ages for 24 months before it gets to me; the other spends its adolescence stewing in musty caves, which are selected because they harbor fungicidal mold. Perhaps it’s no surprise they’re both not only edible but delicious.
  • The outer crunch of the baguette; the smear of blue cheese; the dollup of black truffle pâté; the slice of iberian ham. If I lived here, this would be my every day. When I lived here, this was my every day.
  • Three — now four — times, my mother and I have said “It’s so great to be with you.”

Going Whole Hog (Jan 20 2026)

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In which less risk it leads to less biscuit 

This upcoming Monday is the first day of spring term for clown school.

One student is going into immense debt for tuition.
Another student spent their inheritance to be here.
This school really must be something. 

I won’t be there. 

I’m not sure I committed to the school whole hog.
I committed with great intensity, sure. But underneath the intensity was an underlying “This isn’t my life. I’m not an actor/performer/clown. I’m here to learn the skills for myself, not for the purpose they’re teaching them.” 

This structure meant that some underlying part of me felt misfit.
The one course I was most intent on – Bouffon – drew me.
The foundational course Le Jeu also attracted.
The other courses I cared less for. 

Perhaps this disinterest led to a shallower relationship.
Pushing myself to achieve rather than it coming from an internal alignment. 

If my interests are aligned to my tastes and preferences,
Then my disinterest in some areas may not merely be cosmetic
But a substantive “go here and not there…” 

I’m most drawn to Bouffon for the outcast and grotesque.
First as a matter of my relationship to gender.
Later as a matter of my relationship to all. 

Greek tragedy: not so much. Melodrama, minorly. Vaudeville: sure. Mask play and clown: perhaps not. 

I don’t need to take everything or nothing.
I needn’t even take all the classes this year (as opposed to some the next).
That’s not the sort of whole hog I aim to be. 

Since all we ever have is now,
perhaps I align that way.

In the spirit of learning what kind of hog I am/I appear to others, I created an anonymous feedback form. If anything comes to mind, tell me!

Giblets (Jan 17 2026)

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In which Our Hero feels offal.

Just to the left of my navel, I learn a truth.
Not about facts or the world,
but about how a topic feels to me
I think this is what people mean when they say “follow your heart” or “speak from the heart”.
It troubled me for many years — still does — because that place is not my heart. It’s at least five inches below my heart, and two to the outside.

We also advise “trust your gut”. Is the place I found not my heart but my gut? Am I misusing each location for its maximally effective purpose? Follow your heart in love; trust your gut in business?

After casting about for a writing theme a few days ago, a friend suggested I write as the ideal version of me would.

Hemingway says write the most true sentence. Then the next true sentence.

The truth is, I feel scared. Not all of me, but a good 80%. I’m pushing and shoving toward the biggest financial decision of my life. I’ve capped my downside risk at an acceptable amount. I’ve run the numbers by family and friends more risk-averse than me. The answer is go.

Courage is not the absence of fear. It’s action while in the presence of fear. In this case, it’s encircling the fear with my flabby squeezers and hugging it while I jump the two of us jump into an abyss.
Most of the time, the bungee cord holds. Take a situation that would otherwise be frightening: if you add safety, it becomes thrilling.

The fear is not me. The fear is not anything. Both it and I are transient (that’s a pun).
I see why people turn to religion in times of stress.
God is what we call the experience of being healed. There’s something addictively reassuring – especially in our most fearful moments – in believing someone is looking out for you, sending positive outcomes your way.

Let us run then, you and I
As the sun surmounts the sky
The icy clovers frost with dew
Let us dive then: me and you.

I fear nothing, though fear is present.
Fear is my friend. I stand atop its shoulders.
Together, our future rolls out a carpet to greet us.

Roots, Post-Wings

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In which Our Hero plants a seed so grass may grow.

For the last 7 years, I’ve known my next destination only upon leaving my current one. The farthest ahead of time that I bought a plane ticket was one month, and I ended up changing that flight. More often, I’m choosing the next place less than a week ahead of time. 

In many ways, it’s magical: 

  1. Carrying everything I need on my back gives me complete self-sufficiency. Like a human turtle.
  2. Traveling light became a necessity. A dear friend has a tattoo that says “Travel light.” A good policy.
  3. I’ve learned to make friends quickly. When lost, I talk to strangers. When found, I do the same.
  4. I’ve shared small moments that mattered: teaching a baby to use an airplane tray table; splitting mangosteen with a man in Laos.
  5. Surprising reconnections: three people I knew in high school, all in northern Thailand. A man I met in Indonesia who later booked a room in my flat at clown school.
  6. Humans are the same everywhere. Then again, culture is real. 

In others, it’s tough: 

  1. Feeling unrooted. I’ve sacrificed depth for breadth. (Depth within breadth is its own type of depth. But it only goes so far.) 
  2. Insufficient community. The people you see every day or week are the people you build strong bonds with. 
  3. Lack of habit. I used to be a habitual person. Moving into a van really changes things. Selling the van without a new place to live changes things even more.  It’s hard to eat your normal daily breakfast when the monastery you’re visiting fasts until noon. 

Today I received the final document for my apartment purchase. I’d like to live there for a long time. I’d enjoy tacking my kids’ heights on the doorjamb until they eventually leave to find their own Laotian mangosteen. 

The deal isn’t done yet, and then there’s still renovations, so I’m hesitant to get too excited. 

But the yearning for stability is strong in me.

Clown School Break Day 51: Dumb, Dumb, Duh-dumb Dumb Dumb…  

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In which Our Hero, um, … um … um … 

I’ve been feeling dumber lately. Having trouble finding the right word. Finding myself thinking slower. What’s up with this?

Hypotheses: 

  1. Clowning makes one less intellectual
  2. The work that I’ve been doing has been effective, but not intellectually stimulating
  3. Something else

The first seems likely true. Does clowning make one less intellectual? Yes. Less intelligent? No. However, among the many types of intelligence, it does not contribute to improving one’s smartness. In fact, it teaches one to focus on pleasure and emotion to the detriment of smartness. Sacrifices must be made at the altar of pleasure! 

The second: also likely. I’ve recently been doing a lot of important and procedural, but not intellectual, work. (Among them: buying and renovating an apartment; writing articles that are squarely in my wheelhouse.)

The third: maybe it’s hormonal? The speed of my verbal fluency was stronger on œstrogen. ‘Twas notably stronger. And now, I have much more general go-go-go (whether that’s testosterone itself or simply my familiarity with the hormone, I’m not sure), but less verbal speed. I make fewer moves but each move is stronger.

Another option for the third: a life transition that requires adjustment. Selling my previous home. Buying a new one. Moving internationally. Building a relationship. All of these can wear you down. 

A final option for the third: lack of exercise. Since I broke my foot I have been a complete lazypants. The brain thrives on exercise. Perhaps it will return when the activity returns. This one seems very likely to be influential :!D

It’s an odd experience to feel myself being duller than I previously was. And the people around me aren’t noticing… or at least aren’t noticing enough to say anything.

Then again, would they notice? And if noticed, would they say? 👀

Clown School Break Day 48: On Culture & Correctness

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In which… “something, something, cultural relativism. But definitely only a weak version of it.” 

A while ago I wanted to play trivia at home with friends. I had stumbled upon a British trivia show that inspired this notion. We played together (i.e. watched the show while guessing along). The problem: we didn’t know the British popular culture.

I then went on a hunt for equivalent shows that we Americans might be able to enjoy. Ultimately, I arrived at… Jeopardy.

That’s right: I hunted around through around a dozen shows and ended up at the quintessential American trivia show.

Why?

Is the format familiar to me?

Is it coherent within my culture?

Does it have form that fits my expectations, simply because I was raised on it?

For a while now, I have been of the opinion that most human preferences are not real but learned. Your influential parent enjoys eating spicy food → you learn to enjoy spicy food. A leader of your country speaks with a lisp → people are still speaking with a lisp centuries later.

It really removes many beliefs about the meaning of “good”, doesn’t it?

Still, some things are clearly worse than others. 

I’m reminded of a friend who concluded (after much analysis) that “good” simply means safe and “bad” means dangerous. (Both in roundabout ways.) 

How do you branch out? How do you discover other good things? And when is it okay to go back to what you grew up with?

Tonight, my partner and I made enchilada casserole. She grew up eating it with green sauce and was hesitant to make it red. We ended up making two: one red, one green. It was a fun game to compare: the safety of the known alongside the adventure of the new. The verdict? Red won.

It’s fun to play games where even if you lose you win. 

I’ll take play for 300, please, Alex!

Clown School Break Day 46: Trivia ain’t Trivial 

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In which Our Hero leads a team to victory! 

My team won at trivia. Thirty percent of trivia is assembling the right team. Thirty percent of trivia is knowing the right answers. Thirty percent of trivia is accurately knowing your knowledge. And the last thirty percent is knowing how to give 120%. 

In the team-assembling category, my team excels at movies, science, games, literature, and mythology. We are weak at sports. This week, there was only one sports question rather than an entire sports section. That’s lucky.  

In knowing the right answers, we performed strong. We missed only 6 of the 22 questions. While that might sound like a lot (it’s almost a third!), our big advantage is in the next point… 

We know what we know. When one of my teammates says “I know this one”, we bet hard. Today’s trivia involves a point-wagering system: for each round of three questions, you assign one a small number of points, one a medium number, and one a large number. You submit your point wager when you submit the question, before you know what all the questions in the round are. So a team that gets only one third of the answers right can equal a team that gets two thirds of the answers right, so long as the first team assigns points correctly and the second does not. 

And then there’s knowing how to give 120%. When we know the answer is “Mississippi mud [something]” and my team is waffling between Mississippi mudslide and Mississippi mud pie, Your Humble Narrator (in his acting role as Team Captain) submits the answer as “Mississippi mud (pie)”. Ergo, when the answer is revealed to be Mississippi mud *cake*, Our Hero’s team receives the point. (Deservedly? That’s not mine to judge; I’m just here to get points.) This gamesmanship also manifested in Your Hero’s tracking of the points (so as to note that we were shorted 2 points in the theme round, and then get those reinstated). 

And I guess one final part: uniting people to a purpose. Trivia is not important. We’re fighting for a $30 giftcard when our table is spending twice that. This doesn’t matter. 

But it’s fun to try. 

Clown School Break Day 43: Patina (Guestpost)

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In which Our Hero shares a guest post with a beautiful finish. 

My partner wrote this personal essay yesterday. She insists it’s about countertops. I sense a clown-like metaphor. 

–

I’ve been learning about kitchen counters. I’m redoing the kitchen in the home I plan to raise my kids in. 

I enjoy cooking. I grew up with a butcher block kitchen island. The wood is soft, warm, and inviting. I haven’t gotten that feeling from granite; tile’s got awful groutlines to clean, and fake stone looks fake. The wood does require some babying. If you place a hot pan on it, it might scorch. It’s also liable to stain and isn’t really germ-safe if you don’t maintain it – bacteria from meat can multiply in the wood if it’s not sealed well.

Soapstone feels more idiot proof. The stone is soft, warm, and inviting. Chemistry labs use it since you can actually light it on fire with no ill effects. I’ve done it – accidentally. It doesn’t stain or etch and is too solid for germs to permeate. It does, however, scratch and dent. I was worried this would stress me out.

People call this wear a “patina.” Think of the way a leather wallet ages. There’s a darkening around the spot you keep your cards. There are a few lighter scratches from altercations with your keys.

The patina is only visual. It doesn’t affect the functionality.

I think unintentional staining of a butcher block countertop could be considered a patina, but it indicates that the surface isn’t sealed properly and may invite germs. That’s indicative of functionality. But, honestly, I don’t put raw meat straight on the counter anyway.

I’ve been trying to figure out which things matter and which don’t. Before you try to hyperoptimize a process, be sure you’re actually optimizing for the thing you care about and not a correlate. Most things might actually be patina.

I remember making a crepe cake with my sister a decade ago – layers of crepes and whipped cream. She wasn’t layering the cream on evenly, so the cake wasn’t going to be even. I got mad at her for messing it up. Honestly, no one was going to care that the cake wasn’t perfectly level. People enjoyed it just the same.

My partner has started cooking with me. I love it. It’s a great way to spend time together – a collaborative craft that ends with something tasty – if I don’t hold too tightly to perfection. He doesn’t chop the carrots to all exactly the same size. The stew’s still been delectable; the chopping: half the duration of doing it alone; the company: impeccable.

Some parts don’t matter. Some parts do.

When we made carbonara, he was afraid of the bacon grease. I told him the splatters would sting, but were unlikely to create a large enough burn that would matter. It might hurt, but you won’t notice the next day. I expressed appropriate caution and reverence for handling the pasta pot full of burning water: that could fuck up the rest of your life.

I’m trying to get better at separating functionality from patina. The parts that matter from the parts that don’t.

I got my braces off recently. They gave me an invisalign retainers. I take them out when I eat. For a while I wouldn’t put them back in until after I brushed my teeth. I was great about this for three days, then lazy and would just not put them back in. I didn’t want to get tartar on them. I wore them less. I could see that my bottom teeth were shifting. Keeping my teeth in place is more important than keeping my invisalign clean. I’m now wearing them more.

My one-year-old niece has gotten into stickers. It’s adorable to watch her pick them out, peel them off, and choose who to give them to. I’ve got a few favorites on my phone case. They remind me of her and make me smile. I forgot one on a shirt recently. Some combination of the washer and dryer have embedded the adhesive to the shirt. Now it permanently reminds me of her.

I’m learning to enjoy the patina. 

I’m interested in learning to visibly mend clothing. To make the holes and mistakes into something fun and creative. To make the whole piece beautiful.

I’d like my kids to ding up the counter as we learn to cook together. To make a patina of memories. I want them to make mistakes. Scratch the counters. Learn and improve.

If we need to sell the place, we can always sand down the counters so the new owners can start over. No permanent damage. No limitations in functionality. Patina.