practice makes imperfect

At my cello lesson yesterday, my instructor Irina noted that, unlike some of her other students, I am very receptive to changes.

Her comment took me by surprise.  

I have enough self-awareness to know that I am open to constructive criticism, but it never occurred to me that others might not.  That's the part I don't understand - if you could improve something about you, why wouldn't you do it? 

Now I'm not talking about going to a plastic surgeon to get a face lift (at least not yet, ask me in 20 years; maybe 10), but simple things like improving the way you hold the cello bow, the way you hit a forehand on the tennis court, or the way you approach an eligible bachelor to ask him out on a first date.  If you could learn to do things better, why not?

Sure, it isn't always easy.  Often very difficult I should day.  But still - isn't that what life is about - finding ways to learn, to improve ourselves?  The corollary to all this is that it makes my life a bit more challenging - meaning I would never be satisfied with myself and that I would always feel that there is more to achieve, more to improve.  That's where the concept of the imperfect human comes in - I need to remind myself that my goal is improvement, not perfection.

Last year I read a book given to me by a colleague at Kaiser.  She has a strong interest in hypnotherapy and the concept of reincarnation.  An idea proposed by the author is that the purpose of each lifetime is to find and overcome a character flaw.  I must admit that it is quite easy to find my character flaw(s), but overcoming it is another story, as it is with most people.

But again, the issue here is change - finding that which needs improvement and addressing it.  Maybe that's why I'm so restless...  Maybe I'm closer to Nirvana than I know...

...Maybe I need to practice the cello a bit more today.

veni, vini, vici

This afternoon at 5 pm I was sitting in the Taube Tennis Stadium at Stanford University.  I don't know how many seats there were at the stadium - a few thousand would be my guess.  I was the only person there.

Over the past four days I attended the US Gay Open, a tennis tournament organized by the Gay & Lesbian Tennis Federation.  I wasn't there as a player; I was a volunteer - I didn't think I had enough match toughness to be in a tournament like this.  I thought it would be embarrassing if, instead of serving properly, I had to toss and retoss the ball because my left arm couldn't follow my brain's orders.  So the only other alternative to experience this tournament for the first time was to volunteer.  I had a blast.

I set up courts, prepared drinks, bought breakfast.  I even managed (very successfully I might add) the consolation rounds on a cool Sunday morning.

But more importantly, I met lots of people.  I saw them.  And I heard them.  Then I appreciated them.  

I saw how players competed at all levels, many higher than my own, but also many below.  I saw amazing points that ended after a series of unbelievable volleys, overheads, slices, topspin forehands.  I saw doubles partners hugging each other after a win or a loss and encouraging each other.  I saw people having fun no matter how they played.

Then this afternoon, when the regular matches had finished and all the spectators had departed, only the players of World Team Tennis and a few members of the organizing team remained.  They were playing on the outside courts, leaving me alone to reflect on the past few days in the stadium.  I heard screams.  I had laughter.  I had cheers.  

I left my solitude in the main stadium and ran up to check out the matches.  

I saw players wearing outfits that would probably send Queen Elizabeth to the cardic cath lab if they were ever to appear at Wimbledon.  There were tiaras, tutus, one-piece skirts.  Most of these were worn by the guys.  Watching them close up, you would laugh at how funny the guys looked.  Watching them from far away, you would laugh because you saw people having fun.  I noticed that I couldn't tell if the laughters I heard were male or female voices.  Then I realized it didn't matter.  They were tennis players who loved what they were doing at the moment in the Taube Stadium at Stanford University in Palo Alto, California.

So I decided I would play at next year's tournament.  So what if I couldn't get my serves in.  So what if some of my forehands would go long.  So what if I would dump the easiest overheads into the net.  I'll just keep hitting the ball and keep loving it.

I came.  I saw.  I heard.  I'll conquer.

the russians are coming

Well, not exactly.  But changes are coming.

Sometime last year I had this feeling that 2009 would be the last year that I would practice medicine.  It has been seven years since I finished residency, and it is now more than just a seven year itch:  it has become practically a wound.

To make the long story short, I've found a job as a medical consultant.  No, it isn't filmmaking.  I'm quite aware of that.  The teleplay that I'm working on with my friend in New York is coming along nicely, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  In the meantime, I'll start my new job in September - seven years and one month after I began working at Kaiser Permanente - five years and one month longer than my residency classmates and I had estimated I would last in medicine.

Last week I met a ballet dancer.  A Russian ballet dancer.  As expected, he was in perfect physical shape, charming, handsome.  I was intrigued to hear his story, his life, his plans.  In turn, I told him of mine.  He then mentioned that he had an idea for a dance-based theater project and that it might be fun for me to write it with him.  When I shared with him that it would be "incredibly, incredibly, incredibly" amazing if one day I would work on such a project and also work for a film production company, he immediately corrected me, saying that it would be at most "incredible," not "incredible, incredible, incredible."

I confessed my ignorance.  So he proceeded to remind me that if I work on something really hard then ultimately achieve the desired result, then there isn't much there that is incredible.

Well, of course he was right.  I don't know if I was misusing the word incredible, if I never understood its meaning in the first place, or if I was not giving myself the credit I'm due.  This isn't a multiple choice question - I already know the answer.

I remember that when I working in Santa Rosa as a full time primary care doctor, I had imagined how amazing it would be if I could one day work just a few days a week and spend the rest of my time pursuing the things I loved.  Well, that's exactly what happened.  I spent three years in Santa Rosa searching for my passion, I found it in filmmaking, and I moved to San Francisco to work part-time while learning about the art, playing tennis, going to Paris for months at a time...

Then during this period of hedonism, I imagined how amazing it would be if I could one day not be a doctor any more, then be lucky enough to find some job related to filmmaking while working on various writing or photography projects.  All this is slowly coming true.  I've worked hard to make it come true.  So what's so incredible about that?

Nothing.  Absoultely nothing at all.  So I'll march on to my own little symphony and keep exploring opportunities that take me to my dreams.  What once seemed amazing will one day be what I'm living.

Changes are coming.

come

I'm no longer going to wait for the future to arrive.

Instead, I'm going to bring my future to me.  

today is friday

Today is Friday.

On Monday, I wanted an apple.  I didn't see one.

On Tuesday, I saw a beautiful apple, but I didn't want one any more.  

I did nothing.

Wednesday came and gone.

Thursday was when I felt like wanting an apple again.  I couldn't find one.

Today is Friday.  I haven't come across an apple yet.  I still want one.

Tomorrow will be Saturday.  Already.  

From now on, I will keep my eyes open and take the apple when I see one.  

Because I don't want to miss it again.

i once saw...

This is my fourth day in New York.  Already.

I'm lazier than I thought, it turns out.  The purpose of this trip, other than seeing my brother and friends, is to work on the script with my writing partner.  We've finished the first draft of all 15 episodes, and now it's time to rewrite, rewrite, and rewrite.

But it's soooo hard.  Sitting down in front of a computer and letting my fingers fly and translate whatever ideas I had in my head into words was one thing; rereading these words and then fixing all the necessary changes is really something else.  I know that this one particular part isn't good enough, it simply doesn't work; but I don't want to delete it or revise it - it's like you bought a new home (some of us need to really pretend on this one), it's not exactly how you thought it would be after you move in; there are things you need to fix, but you just don't want to.

Maybe I'll learn to love it.  Probably not.

On the subway today.  I saw this seventy-year old Chinese woman.  In pigtails.  Just like Pippi Longstocking.  She was adorable.  Immediately I think that some people would ask, "why doesn't she get a haircut more appropriate for her age?"  Whether or not I am one of these people is beside the point.  (I'd like to think I'm not, but then if I'm not, why would I have thought of it in the first place?)  Wouldn't it be nice if people never have to act their age?  I want to see fifty-year olds playing hide and seek.  I want to hear a sixty-year old sing whenever and wherever she wants to.  I want to find a seventy-year couple on a see-saw, talking about stories of their past and envisioning plans for the future.

And I don't want to see or hear anyone judge them or laugh at them.

Only admire them.

no caution

Earlier this week, I saw the movie "Lust, Caution" for the second time.

I didn't like it the first time.

I liked it more the second time around, but that wasn't the only difference.

Ang Lee was there.  In the auditorium.  In front of me.

I like movies that make me think.  I like movies that let me think.  Ang Lee's movies do both.

During the Q & A after the movie, as I watched and listened to Ang Lee up on stage, I saw myself up there.  I was comfortable, funny, engaging, and more importantly, I was a movie director.

That's my lust.