David Andrew Jaffe's Blog, page 12

A Confrontation with the Past

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I was at a wedding this past year, and I had an odd dilemma.

My wife and I were asked to MC the wedding, and while we were going over all the details, I noticed I would have to introduce someone with a very memorable last name from the past.

Now, I’m going to be intentionally vague with a lot of the details here. They are extremely sensitive and being too explicit could be very uncomfortable and embarrassing for many, many people.

So I apologize if this makes a lot of what I’m going to speak about seem disjointed or unclear. As always, I’ll do my best.

A Name from the Past

Anyhow, I recognized the name immediately, and started to shiver a bit.

This was the child of someone I had some very unfortunate run-ins with a few decades earlier. And even though I never forgot the experiences, they were buried deep within my psyche, not to be considered too much or too often. I’d really come to terms with the level of antipathy I had toward his father, and even though it will never go away, there were aspects of my hatred that I never really considered.

I refuse to let the faults of a terribly unsavory individual affect how I think about his offspring. Well, at least in theory. In practice, it’s impossible to really control how you feel in such a situation.

And I found myself bothered by the notion that I would be saying this person’s name out loud. That I would be standing near this person, who never did a thing to me short of sharing a last name with someone I found reprehensible.

But I have trouble just letting the past be the past. I can’t just sit around stewing in these feelings. I need to take action.

And dozens of times throughout the wedding I contemplated what a conversation might look like if I faced my fears and confronted the person standing within a few feet of me.

Letting the Past Go

I’ve been advised before to get better about not holding on to things from long ago. I don’t like to have problems with old friends or damaged relationships that just sit there floating in space, never getting resolved. I hold on to past emotions very powerfully. And I don’t let go until I can figure out ways to try and get to the next level.

It sounds good on paper. And has been good many times in my life, but it’s also painful. It’s like having an old, nagging injury that still causes discomfort and I cannot shake it without addressing it properly.

In addition, I still fault myself for mistakes I made a long time ago, sometimes as a child. I have trouble just forgiving and forgetting my own deeds from before I was truly self-aware enough to be able to make a difference. Rather I still feel like I need to continue to work hard to resolve old issues.

So it’s no wonder I stood at the wedding dwelling.

It’s no wonder I wanted to feel some level of resolution.

It’s Now or Never

And as our time at the wedding was coming to a close, I knew my chance for a healthy resolve was about to fall out of my grasp. I told Devorah the problem I was facing, and she brilliantly asked: If you don’t speak to him, will you regret it later?

With absolutely no hesitation, I said that I would.

And before I knew it, I found myself in the danger zone. Confronting a dark piece of my past. Panicking, having no idea at all what to expect.

I approached this young man… and proceeded to have a lovely conversation.

It was brief. And to be fair, we may have both been a bit on the tipsy side.

But when you tell a person you’ve been jumping out of your seat the whole evening to confront someone whose father you find revolting, what’s the kind of reaction you expect? How does that scenario normally play out?

Well, certainly not how it happened.

And the Conversation Rages On

There was pleasant chit chat. And several hugs of camaraderie and understanding. And after a brief but meaningful talk, we exchanged contact information and agreed the conversation needed to continue.

I walked away from the wedding feeling like a million dollars. Feeling like a giant and oppressive weight had been lifted from me.

The conversation did continue, later on at a coffee shop. We both wondered if each other would be equally as friendly and gracious if the setting were changed and the alcohol wasn’t invading our thoughts and feelings. Those worries were unwarranted, and everything was equally lovely.

We sat for quite a while, exchanging stories and countless deep and emotional pieces of ourselves more often than not kept buried, more often than not left unspoken.

And we are so much better off now.

The Past Takes Up Real Estate

Those who suggested I bury my past have a point. You can’t change the past, so if it’s holding you back, you need to learn to move forward. You need to not be shackled down by something completely out of your hands.

Nevertheless, the past isn’t going anywhere. It sits in your soul and takes up precious real estate in your mind and emotions.

Ignoring it is always an option. Sometimes it’s even the best option.

But when you have an opportunity to confront and conquer your past, I think it’s an opportunity well worth taking.

That day I stared the devil in the face. I had encountered pure evil earlier in my life, and even though I knew somewhere in my heart that I hadn’t fully closed that chapter, I also had no idea when it would resurface.

And when it did, I had choices. And thanks to a drive for closure and a healthy push from my wife, that day I became a better person.

What’s done is done. The past can never be erased. But how I choose to deal with it, and how it affects me everyday henceforth, is a decision. And I decided not to let that past burden me any longer.

And I’m a stronger person for it.

I hope that I continue to have the strength to fight rather than run from the nightmares of days long gone.

When you have an opportunity to confront and conquer your past, I think it's an opportunity well worth taking.
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Your Health is in Your Hands

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Before I get started, I’m just going to say that I’m not about to tell the world my full medical and health history. Some of it’s gross. Some of it’s terribly embarrassing. And frankly, it’s no one’s business but my own. In fact, my whole life is no one’s business but my own… but then again, I have this here blog. So sometimes it’s hard to figure out what to say, and what should never leave the walls of my home.

And when I do decide it’s time to talk about something, how far do I take it? Obviously, I have no intention of causing harm or discomfort to the many people in my life I care about. But when a message is so important that I’ve decided to write about it, then figuring out what to say and not say becomes a big part of where I go from there.

Quite the Medical Resume

I am not the poster child for medical issues. But in 45 years, many of which I really did not take care of myself, you can build up quite the medical resume. And build one up I did!

Growing up, I suffered from violent chest pains. They went undiagnosed for most of my life, and continued into my late twenties. When I was eighteen, I tore my kneed to shreds. Twenty years ago, I was diagnosed with diabetes. And several years ago, I stopped being able to sit down because I somehow developed an uber-painful, crippling case of sciatica.

And this is by no means a full list of everything I’ve gone through or am currently going through!

Sadly, that would take up a lot of room.

And some matters would leave the average person cringing with discomfort.

But I’m not here to complain. Nor am I here to garner sympathy.

Complaining won’t make pain go away. And save your sympathy for people who have it far worse than I do.

My Health Journey

Fact is, I have come a really long way.

And that’s what I wanted to talk about today.

My journey into fixing my health started way back when with my diabetes diagnosis. I had eaten myself into a corner. You can’t outrun a Twinkied. Or several hundred. And I realized I had messed things up and needed to now play defense to try and keep myself at minimum health, and preferably alive.

So I started exercising. And eating a bit better.

But I knew nothing. And I had a long road ahead of me.

So there I was, an overweight diabetic, with a torn ACL, asthma, a deviated septum, and a pile of new health concerns that would start getting overwhelming as the years would pass by.

Getting to the Other Side

Fast forward nearly two decades and you would barely be able to tell I ever was suffering as much as I was.

I’m thin. Don’t even look so bad in the mirror. My diabetes is so under control, I might actually be in remission.

Please note that the majority of the medical world doesn’t believe you can cure diabetes. But my research has shown that it is possible. Not easy, but possible. And the evidence is in their favor, since I’ve been doing (almost) everything right for long enough now, so much so that my last tests may have been impressive even for someone with no blood sugar issues whatsoever.

My cruddy knee plays virtually no role in my life. I go to the gym, lift heavy things, and jump all over the place, pretending as if I don’t have a completely demolished ACL. Why? According to my trusted sources, the human body is ridiculously complex and self-correcting. And if you don’t have the right ligaments, the surrounding muscles step up to the plate and take over additional roles. So, I may not have an ACL, but I have muscles surrounding my knee that took over its job.

Despite two years of not being able to sit for a few moments without violent pain, I now function completely normally. In fact, as a kid I was diagnosed with asthma and a deviated septum. And as an adult, I was diagnosed with GERD, finally explaining the violent chest pains. Now I breathe normally, through both nostrils, and I virtually never have any chest pain.

How Did We Get Here?

So how did I get from point A to point B? And why in the world am I telling all this?

Well, the answer to the first question is not simplistic. In some cases I fixed things by finding the right medical professional to help me. Other things were diagnosed by doctors, and I took the reins from there, doing everything I could to solve the problem at hand. In other cases, I researched like crazy, found the right natural solution, and took care of everything from the comfort of my living room. And some situations required a combination of all these things.

There was a whole lot of trial and error.

But if I was strong enough and patient enough, I always made it to the finish line.

These were major trials. And there are a few more left, to be sure. But the main point here is that they are winnable. There really can be a light at the end of the tunnel.

You Can Get Here Too

I recall vividly lying on the floor in such pain from my sciatica that I would rather have had my leg chopped off than go through that for another minute. And yet, here I am, running and jumping and squatting and living my life like any other active person. Because I fought and persevered.

I thought my life would never be high-quality again, because of dietary mistakes I made in my past. But look at where I am now! With numbers that would make most non-diabetics jealous.

Anyone can do the same. Will it be easy? I cannot say. I’m not you, nor familiar with your unique situation.

But life circumstances robbed me of the confidence that things could get better. And perseverance restored that confidence. Struggle and success put me back on the path I needed to be on.

I can be in charge of my own health. I can conquer any health challenge life throws my way.

And you can too.

The post Your Health is in Your Hands is featured at Jaffe World.

Some People Should Be Ashamed

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I can’t hold in my feelings any longer. Some things just need to be said.

The last few years have been tough. For everyone. Super stressful.

And yes, difficult situations can bring out the worst in some people. But all the pain in the world doesn’t justify mistreating others. Nor does it absolve people of their guilt. And the need to own up to their words and actions, and apologize accordingly.

Vaccines, Vaccines, Vaccines

In my lifetime, I never felt something like this.

Not long ago, so-called vaccines were introduced into our society. We were told they were 100% safe. We were told they worked, and worked well for all people, of all ages.

And we were told there was damn near a zero percent chance you’d get Covid if you had the shot in your arm.

We were also told it would last for quite a while.

Naturally and understandably, some were skeptical.

After all, we were being told all this by groups of people we’ve learned to distrust repeatedly. The power hungry government. The attention-obsessed mass media. The greedy and immoral pharmaceutical industry.

Things seemed rushed. And matters were politicized. Somehow a vaccine was a problem when Trump was in office, but moments later it was the greatest thing in the world.

And anecdotal evidence was trickling in that maybe it wasn’t as great as people thought. Or even potentially dangerous for some folk.

Justified Skepticism and a Divided Society

I can go on for pages about why some people might be skeptical.

And you know what? Being skeptical about taking a chemical and placing it into your system is natural. Personally, I read ingredients before buying all food products. If I see something odd, I’m reluctant to buy it. Why? Because I don’t want garbage in my system. If you do, that’s your right. I think ever human being alive should try and eat healthier… but I support your right to eat crap. That’s how freedom works.
But that wasn’t how freedom worked for a period of recent history.

I watched something I didn’t really think I’d see in my lifetime. A divided society, in which one group felt superior to another, and was willing to mistreat, deride, and discriminate against another group.

No, there was no race, religion, or gender involved. Anyone was capable of converting to the privileged group. Hell, I did it just so I could go to the gym. Countries were willing to create passes that allowed some people to behave one way, while others were not granted such privileges. And it was all based on a very underwhelming science.

I think ever human being alive should try and eat healthier... but I support your right to eat crap. That's how freedom works.
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Our Eyes Told a Different Story

At first we were told that this thing was like an impenetrable wall. Covid was no match for Pfizer! You get that shot, ain’t no Covid finding its way into your bloodstream. And it would last indefinitely… and then a year… and then six months. And it was no longer a wall against Covid, but something that “lessened the severity”.

And we looked around. And we saw people getting Covid, with or without vaccines. And some people had it bad, others not so bad. And yes, some people without vaccines got a nasty case here and there. But then again, some had no symptoms whatsoever. And some people with the vaccine had far worse symptoms than those without it.

And the news was saying one thing. But our eyes were telling a completely different story.

And then one day, it was as if Covid just ceased being important. The world collectively decided the newer strains were no big deal. The formerly ubiquitous masks were becoming exceedingly rare. It had been months since you heard the words “social distancing”. And we long abandoned wiping groceries, smothering ourselves with hand sanitizer, and constantly shoving long q-tips up our nostrils.

And a large swath of the population backed away, and pretended what happened didn’t just happen.

But some of us remember vividly.

We Still Remember What Happened

We remember that you tried to split the world into two distinct populations: The vaccinated and the unvaccinated.

We remember that you felt very sure of yourself as you wrote scathing condemnations of those whose opinions differed from your own.

You arrogantly utilized your green pass privileges and whatever other societal rights were placed upon you because you chose to do what the government said you should do. And you happily discriminated against those who feared placing an experimental drug into their bloodstream.

And you know what? I’m not ready to forget.

If you at any point along the way you mistreated someone because they disagreed with you, you should be ashamed of yourself.

If you felt superior, because you were willing to get a shot because someone told you it would save the world. Or because you wanted privileges, and you then looked down upon others who didn’t have such privileges. Or you tried to shame others into doing something they did not want to do, because you believed the hype and the hyperbole of an unscrupulous and money-hungry pharmaceutical industry.

Some People Owe Some Serious Apologies

If any of this describes you, you owe a whole lot of apologies to a whole lot of people. You pushed away friends and relatives, and have nothing to show for it. Your precious vaccine didn’t bring Covid down to its knees. Likely it was more because of a new strain that was nothing more than a nasty flu or a bothersome cold.

So you behaved this way and literally have nothing at all to show for it!

You did all of this in the name of science. And you did all this pretending like you were the good guys, mistreating and discriminating against others for the betterment of the population around you.

And it turned out you were wrong.

It turned out your precious vaccine was mediocre and overly hyped. But your words and actions have long-standing and devastating outcomes, whether or not you yet recognize this.

But it’s not over. Ignoring your behavior won’t make it disappear. Only acknowledging. And then, of course, making amends.

If you thought you were better then someone else, or you pushed away a friend or a family member, pick up a phone and make things right.

It’s the least you could do.

The post Some People Should Be Ashamed is featured at Jaffe World.

Umbrella Academy: What’s the Vector, Victor?

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I was walking my dog just the other morning, and good ole Frank got so excited when he saw another dog. Frank’s gotten a bit on the antisocial side as he’s aged, and he won’t play with just any dog. So it was really lovely to see him so happy and eager to play with this little fella.

I asked the owner his dog’s name and he said “Vinny”. I was surprised that I never met him before, and equally surprised that Frank was acting so familiar with him. That’s when the owner expressed that we may have all met before. He had recently acquired a local dog from a neighbor named “Venom” and renamed him. And then it all made since, since both Frank and I knew Venom and knew him well.

Something Felt Off

For the next ten minutes or so the dogs played with each other, and on occasion I called out to Vinny. But something was wrong. I felt like I was pretending. I felt like something was off or didn’t quite make sense.

Like I was playing some acting game, calling someone I knew by a phony name. And the whole time, I felt a little unsettled.

And then it all hit me. Everything that bothered me about the last season of Umbrella Academy started becoming just a little clearer for me.

The Umbrella Academy

For those who are unfamiliar:

Umbrella Academy is a witty, comical science fiction/superhero show on Netflix, and probably one of the best shows on the platform.

One of the actors on Umbrella Academy (breathes deeply as he knows one out of place word will offend somebody) is Elliot Page, playing the enigmatic Victor Hardgrave.

Now for the first two seasons of the show, Elliot was not Elliot and Victor was not Victor. Elliot was Ellen, and Victor was Vanya. But between the second and third season, the actor transitioned. And thus left many wondering what would happen in season three of Umbrella Academy.

We speculated. One thought was it would be glossed over, and they would make the character male without anyone explaining anything. Another thought was that Vanya would stay Vanya, since actors often play folk different from themselves. It really shouldn’t matter where you fall on this debate. Why can’t a male actor just continue to play the female role portrayed in the first two seasons?

But neither of those two scenarios occurred.

I Was Always Victor

Instead, Elliot page was Vanya for one episode, donning a completely ridiculous and unflattering wig. And in the second episode (spoiler), Vanya saw some pictures of short hair, chopped off the ugly wig, and went and told the family he was Victor now. He always was.

And everyone accepted everything without question. No one had a single problem or struggle or even a mild curiosity about what their sibling was thinking or feeling or had been experiencing for the last few decades.

It just was.

Now, you may say this is progressive. You may say this is the way it ought to be. You may applaud the writers for taking a complex situation and making a bold and inclusive statement.

And I respectfully disagree.

Why It Bugged Me

No, not because I’m a right wing monster or wish to deny people their basic human rights.

Neither are true.

I’ll be completely honest (with myself and anyone else around me): I’m confused. I don’t know what to think. The modern world is very perplexing, and I’m an open book trying to make sense of the world around me. I am listening and struggling and changing my opinion all the time.

But one thing is for certain: All people deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. There are no exceptions. Politics, science, and social expectations aside. People are people. They shouldn’t be mocked or mistreated. And they certainly shouldn’t be harmed in any way.

No, my objection to the show’s presentation was not because of some anger toward the actor or the transgender community.

Rather, my objection was because it was fake. It denied true emotions. It spat in the face of the ultra-complex reality of the situation at hand.

And I found it bothersome.

One thing is for certain: All people deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. There are no exceptions.
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The Struggle is Real

I had trouble calling a dog by a different name. And I stood there feeling like I was doing something wrong. Yet you’re going to tell me that when someone transitions and just bursts out the news all of a sudden, not one person in their life will have even the slightest struggle with that moment or afterwards?

I think the show betrays the struggle countless people are going through. Whether the struggle is through societal rejection, familial rejection, or just an ongoing conflict with who they were and who they are now, one thing is for certain: It’s not easy. It’s not simply looking at a picture on a wall and making a brief announcement, and now everything is exactly as it should be.

Maybe it’s that way for an A-list actor who will end up praised by society, can dictate terms of a contract, and gets featured on magazine covers for their bravery. But it doesn’t represent the real and present struggles of the community they should be representing.

Bothered by Oversimplification

Again, I am a thoughtful adult who is trying to make sense of a complex topic and a progressively more complex world. I don’t know where I stand in this fight, or if I need to stand anywhere. I find myself vacillating all the time. And I see no shame in that. These are matters I didn’t consider at all until just a few short years ago, and words and opinions are flying at me from all angles. People are angry. People are passionate. And they’re all very sure of themselves. But I’m not.

Not yet, anyway.

And I don’t expect to be anytime soon.

And that really is the point here. I can nearly guarantee you that the most liberal, open-minded person in the world would give at the very least a slight pause when finding out their sister of twenty years is their brother now. They may or may not express this verbally, but to deny the confusion or struggle is to deny reality. It’s to pretend the world is something other than what it really is. And that’s not fair or accurate.

So no, I’m not offended at what happened in Umbrella Academy. I’m bothered by the oversimplification.

But alas, I’ll still watch it.

Because damn it, it’s a really fun show.

The post Umbrella Academy: What’s the Vector, Victor? is featured at Jaffe World.

Giving: The Many Elements of Generosity

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This past week was a big milestone for me, as I learned another life lesson about giving.

I think being generous is a cornerstone of being a decent human being. And I say that knowing that it’s always been rather difficult for me.

This isn’t easy to admit. I struggle with the concept of charity. It’s challenging for me to take something that legitimately belongs to me and give it to another. If I worked for several hours so that money could be in my pocket, why should I sacrifice those earnings and hand them over to another person?

My trouble with parting ways with money is all the more confusing because of my ability to give just about everything else I have.

Giving Blood and More

I just gave blood recently. I’ve done it several times. No money exits my bank account, but I’m literally giving my own blood! And this doesn’t bother me, even though I find it extremely challenging. In one of the most embarrassing moments of my adult life, I passed out shortly after giving blood.

But I give freely. Of my time. Of literally the blood within my system. I risk short-term discomfort. I even recently found out that giving blood could interfere with the results of an important blood test I need to monitor my Diabetes. And despite all that, I will do it again in another few months. Hopefully consistently throughout my life so long as I’m medically permitted to do so.

In fact, I even prefer giving blood specifically because it forces me out of my comfort zone. I used to get nauseous from just a routine blood test. So what’d I do? I forced myself to give blood in Baltimore. I don’t like fears and discomfort standing in the way of doing what I want to do!

And it’s not just blood.

Giving Time and More

Before leaving Kansas, I used to volunteer weekly. I did everything from clearing out a warehouse at a school for autistic children to serving food at a church-based food kitchen to creating bundles of diapers for distribution to underprivileged people who had trouble affording them.

I could have been doing anything those evenings. It’s a wild world out there, filled with bars and karaoke and YouTube and the movies and my super cozy bed. But I enjoyed using my time for volunteering. And I miss it a ton!

My space is for the world, hence my hundreds of couch surfers. I love having guests and cooking for folk. And giving of my time and my very own blood.

Yet for whatever reason I still have that odd block against giving money, which I’m fighting against.

Gave vs Gives

I used to tell my students that they should give a small amount every single day, rather than a large amount at once. Even if the small amount is overall less money than the large amount. Why? Because someone who gives a donation did something undeniably good. But someone who makes giving a habit, and does so all the time, has made an indelible mark upon themself. They’ve become a giving person. Not just someone who gave, but someone who gives.

And this is a message I have since been trying to burn into myself as well.

I recently chose a cause and I make sure to give a small donation monthly. It’s a kibbutz that houses lone soldiers and helps them with this challenging time in their lives. A lone soldier is anyone serving in the Israeli military whose parents are living abroad (or in some cases, those who are estranged from their parents). It’s a cause near and dear to my heart, since I was a lone soldier way back when, and it was a small taste of hell. Things are much better nowadays, but not anywhere near perfect. So I want to do what I can to help.

But it does not come easy at all.

Giving is a Unique Challenge

And every single month when I go ahead and click that button to complete the transaction, there’s a part of me that’s crying out to not go ahead with it. To keep the money for myself. I worked hard for it. It’s mine!

It’s not the person I want to be. And I’m striving hard for a higher ideal.

But I recently dabbled in another world of charity: Patience.

Giving money’s a challenge for me. Giving blood or kindness or time or a warm bed to sleep in are not. Easy as pie, at this stage.

But they’re all instant. If someone needs a place to stay, they come over and crash. If they need a favor, I can get right up and do it for them.

But what my son and I recently dabbled in was a whole new world of understanding who I am and who I want to be.

After nearly three years of growing our hair out, we donated our beautiful locks to a local charity that makes the hair into wigs, mainly for childhood cancer patients.

Giving through Patience

That’s three years of waiting for hair to dry, getting hair in your face while trying to eat, digging hairs out of shower drains, and the average non-inquisitive person assuming you’re a wacky hippy, rather than assuming you’re trying to do a good deed.

But we stuck it out. We pushed through. And in the end, we did a fabulous deed that very few people will ever do, especially men.

And it feels absolutely amazing!

And I’m more than ecstatic I got to go through the whole process together with my incredible son. For nearly six years we’ve been watching each other grow and develop as people. The amount of adventures we’ve been through have been off the charts, whether it be jumping out planes together, him being the best man for my wedding, or looking like a couple of neanderthal hobos for a few years, the sky truly is the limit. And I can’t wait to see where the next phase leads us both!

One thing is for sure: I may not be where I want to be yet as a “giving person”, but this was a big step for both of us to become better people.

What more can anyone ask for?

The post Giving: The Many Elements of Generosity is featured at Jaffe World.

Farewell Staten Island…

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Closure.

That’s what I want to speak about for my final post about my recent trip to the States.

I want to preface my comments by saying I do not like Staten Island. If I ever did, I’ve long forgotten.

Staten Island is Not My Cup of Tea

Staten Island is the place where I was attacked at age 15. It’s a place where I attended my thoroughly mediocre high school, where despite there being thousands of students, I never could find my place. Where the only person who helped guide me to find out the person I wanted to be, also crippled my self-esteem by telling me I wouldn’t get into the college I ultimately attended (and graduated Summa Cum Laude).

I looked at Staten Island as a place most known for a gigantic garbage dump and for an admittedly lovely ferry ride, whose primary purpose is shuttling people along to see the skyline and the Statue of Liberty… before hopping right back on so they can spend as little time on “the island” as possible.

Possibly my most vivid memories of Staten Island are the myriad trips I took out of there, often spending up to two hours walking, taking a bus, then a ferry, then a train, just to get to someplace I actually wanted to be. It was like I was trapped in outer space somewhere, and if I wanted access to civilization, it would cost me dearly.

Because of these massive schleps, I developed years of a bad relationship with time. I found myself ridiculously early for things, always paranoid that if I didn’t leave really early, I would be massively late. And, of course, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of punctuality. But I had no clue that later on in life I’d move to a country in which absolutely nothing runs on time. I can’t tell you how many weddings I showed up to early, only to be waiting hours for any of the festivities to begin.

Saying Goodbye to My Childhood Home

Clearly I have no real attachment to Staten Island. I did not attend my high school graduation. I haven’t been back for any reunions. And when I visit my parents, I’m either in their home, shopping, or taking the big journey to Manhattan. So when my parents told me the time had come for them to close up shop and move to Florida, I shed no Staten Island tears. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back again. Thirty year high school reunion? Perhaps. Outside of that, I think I’m settled parting ways for good.

But I didn’t just say goodbye to Staten Island on this last trip.

I said goodbye to my childhood home. The only place in the world I really think of as “home”.

Yes, I have an apartment in Jerusalem I’m very situated in. But I don’t own it. And I don’t feel at home in my city or necessarily even my country. So I’m hard pressed to think of it as my “home”.

And sure, I loved living in Kansas City, but I’ve been gone for some time now, and 90% of the people I knew there have since moved out. From what I understand, if I were to visit, I’d barely recognize the place.

And even though I haven’t lived in my parent’s house in nearly 30 years, it doesn’t change the fact that it has always been a safe place for me. It’s a constant. It’s base.

My Safe Place

There’s a room that’s hardly “my room” anymore, that I will nevertheless always think of as my room. I walk in the front door and start feeling like I belong again, like everything’s back to the way it was. Simpler times. My parents can redecorate or paint or whatever to the house hundreds of times, but the feeling of returning to your home base never goes away. Not even a little bit.

And I’m still wrapping my head around the idea that I’ll never have that feeling again.

It’s jarring. Unsettling. I have very few constants in my life. Very little that I look at and I can say it’ll be exactly the same way if I were to return in ten years. And for someone who thrives on stability, I feel like another piece of me keeping me sane has just been wrestled away.

When my grandmother passed away nearly twenty years ago, I remember thinking that it didn’t seem possible. I mean, Grandma Ann doesn’t go anywhere. She’s a permanent fixture in my life, and will always be there to bring light into my life. I felt this so strongly that even as I type this, I’m still having a level of struggle accepting the idea that she’s no longer a part of my life.

So it’s no wonder I’m struggling so hard with this.

I mean, the decision is logical. The house is too big and not structured appropriately for my parent’s needs. And New York is just not at all what it used to be. And, of course, they are moving closer to a whole slew of beloved family members. But there’s that small piece of me that feels something between anger and disappointment that this rock in my life is going to be removed.

But Then There’s the Other Side

And on the complete other side of me, there’s only what I could describe as total indifference.

Like this was a long time in the making, and I’m completely glad to sever ties with Staten Island. I haven’t lived in that house for any measurable amount of time in nearly three decades. And those decades were packed with so much. Marriages, children, university, jobs, career switches, love, joy, pain, tears. All happening as this house, this inanimate fixture, just remained on the sidelines as a side-point in my life.

If anything, separating from my childhood home is yet another opportunity for a bit of a rebirth. A new and fresh start. Another chapter closed to a long and complex several decades on this planet.

When I stepped out of my childhood home for my last time, I expected sadness. Maybe a tear here or there.

But instead I felt something I never imagined I would have felt: Absolutely nothing.

I truly hope I’m able to keep with me all the good times. All the fondest memories.

And I can move forward to this next stage in my world with nothing but positive thoughts as well as great aspirations for the bright future ahead.

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When Dear Evan Hansen meets POTUS

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So we set out to see two different shows in the city, and we conquered those goals.

Getting tickets for Dear Evan Hansen was pretty straight forward. It’s what we wanted to see, we went to TKTS, stood in deadly heat for an hour, and then trotted our way off to the theater for our big return to Broadway.

Now, personally I try to go into all entertainment experiences with as little information as possible. I want to be shocked or surprised. I want everything to be brand new for me. It enhances the experience.

So if you’re the same way, and you think there’s a chance you’ll see either of these shows, then you might want to call it a day for this article. I suggest this one instead. If you already know about the shows, or you don’t care about knowing or you even prefer knowing what you’re going to, or you just don’t think you’ll find your way to see either show, then please read on.

Dazzled by Dear Evan Hansen

So I went to Dear Evan Hansen as a blank slate. Ready to be dazzled at the greatness of high-quality theater. I expected to enjoy the music, marvel at the dancing, and laugh a few times.

But I had no idea that I’d have tears streaming down my face for half the show.

Dear Evan Hansen deals with many important and complex topics, including depression, anxiety, challenges of parenting, and suicide. And much of it made me terribly emotional. I couldn’t help but think of the five (!) suicides that have touched my life. I couldn’t help but think of all the hardships I’ve endured over the years that were being portrayed brilliantly on stage.

Yet the show was so wonderfully written and executed that the sadness never lingered too long. Every time I thought I couldn’t take it, in a moment Dear Evan Hansen was there to yank me back in with laugh-out-loud hysterical moments. The show was never tasteless. Just a brilliant weaving together of the sad and the silly.

Dear Evan Hansen, Musical vs Movie

I liked the show from start to finish. I love how it didn’t have a Hollywood ending, and how the “hero” of the musical got essentially penalized for his misdeeds without an ability to recover and get everything he’s ever dreamed of in life. And I also enjoyed the presentation of the complexity of social anxiety. It manifests itself in many different ways, with some characters doing a better job of masking it to the world, and others having just about no coping mechanism whatsoever.

But most of all, those eight brilliant actors entertained me from start to finish. I laughed, I cried, and my thoughts were provoked. That’s a very successful evening!

I should mention that on the plane ride back from the States I decided to watch the movie (and four others…), which was a really tremendous dive into the creative choices of those who adapted for film.

There were many, many small differences, like making one character a step-parent and another character gay. I can’t help but contemplate every choice and try and figure out its motivation. To be honest, I thought the film was mediocre. And as much as the music is enjoyable, it gave me a “Why the heck are they singing all of a sudden?” vibe. But just to be able to contrast with the stage production and discuss the differences with the wonderful wife was reason enough to experience both.

How We Got to POTUS

The second show we saw comes with a story.

It was our last night in the city. We were itching for a positive experience, especially considering my earlier description of New York City in 2022. But it would seem, at first, like the stars weren’t aligned for us.

We decided to take a bus from Staten Island to the city, since we no longer had the patience for the crazy two-hour multi-part schlep to the city. But about ten minutes into our ride, we found ourselves trapped behind a downed power line. Our 45-minute long trek took us three full hours!

Well, we had plenty of time to discuss what we wanted to see during that time. And finally we decided upon a plan and a backup plan. But things didn’t work out for us so well. We got to TKTS just after 6:30PM, a mere half hour before closing. Our first choice us was no longer available and our second choice would only be possible if we quickly ran to the theater, risking not seeing anything at all that night, and paying full price if we did.

Or there was choice number three. Which was choosing something available quickly, slapping down the cash, and crossing our fingers that something will salvage what seemed like quite the lackluster final night in New York.

We went with choice three. And we were so pleasantly surprised to find everything fall into place so perfectly.

Laughing Like Crazy at POTUS

POTUS was an all-women comedy production that was immensely funny from the very first word all the way until the curtains closing. The star-studded cast included from Saturday Night Live and Lea DeLaria from Orange is the New Black. We knew nothing about the show, and would have never chosen it unless everything up until that moment went wrong. And how happy we were that the day was such a bust until 7PM. Because the show was perfect. It was exactly what we needed!

The premise of POTUS was the president (completely un-featured) was a buffoon who had many women in his life whose basic purpose, either professionally or personally, was to make him look good. But they all knew there were many others far better suited for the role.

POTUS both subtly and not-at-all subtly touched upon political topics, but always tastefully, and always leaving you with tears streaming down your face from laughter.

The Perfect Show for that Night

Before that day, neither of us had ever heard of POTUS. And to be honest, going to a regular play on Broadway seemed unthinkable. Yet it was perfect. It was exactly what we needed at exactly the right time.

And it didn’t hurt that the next step of the evening was an absolutely fantastic steak at Le Marais!

Yeah, New York City is not what it used to be. It has found so many ways to disappoint. But thank goodness, Broadway is still there to dazzle us at every turn.

We’ll always come back for more!

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It’s the end of New York City as we know it…

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The world shut down over two years ago, and in those two years I didn’t go on a plane. I didn’t step foot in New York or even the United States of America. And my only visits to my parents were via Zoom.

But we’re back…

Sort of.

My wife and I have just wrapped up another visit to the old country. And boy oh boy do I have a lot to say!

Florida Snatches Another

Our trip was planned hastily. The reasons were many. As I wrote about last week, it was hard to build up the motivation to even get out the door, with all the fears and discomforts accompanying flying in this wacky time in history. Plus we were trying desperately not to miss anything important happening on this side of the ocean, such as two of my kids’ graduations. But the biggest factor affecting time was making sure to get to the other side before my parents permanently vacated my childhood home.

My parents have been living in this house for 48 years! It’s the house I grew up in. And to this day, it’s basically the only place in the world I think of as “my home”. And that’s all coming to an end… as Florida manages to snatch up two more retired Jews, like some type of devious troll that lures them away with lower taxes and more consistent warm weather.

But I’ll talk more about the home in a different post.

Florida manages to snatch up... retired Jews, like some type of devious troll that lures them away with lower taxes and more consistent warm weather.
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New York City in 2022

For now I’d like to talk about New York City in 2022.

I grew up in New York. Interestingly, my entire life no one ever guessed I was from there. And because I was a proud New Yorker, I used to get offended by all the weird states they’d guess I was from. That is until adulthood settled in alongside the biting realization that when people say, “I never would have guessed you were from New York,” what they were really saying this whole time was, “But… but… you’re friendly.”

So what I thought was a gross insult was actually an odd, roundabout compliment.

Nevertheless, I remained a proud New Yorker. I’ve often quipped that true New Yorkers don’t think they are from the center of the world. They are 100% absolutely certain of it.

That all being said, this latest New York adventure left me more than a little disappointed.

The Big Wormy Apple

Let’s put aside the fact that we mistakenly took our trip in July, a recipe for feeling gross just about every single time we stepped outside. That was on us for forgetting that a sweater in a New York winter will always beat the nasty, muggy New York summer. Anyhow…

During our illustrious journey, we experienced two amazing Broadway shows; however, I’m sadly convinced Broadway is the only thing left in New York worth going to. The Big Apple has more than a few worms crawling their way through it. And it’s so sad to see this monumental fall from grace.

However, the timing couldn’t be more fitting. As I say farewell to my childhood home, perhaps it’s better that I walk away not longing for a memory of New York that seems to be long gone.

So what’s so bad about New York at the moment?

Rats, Homeless People, and Prices… Oh My

Well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that New York has always had its faults. The problem is, those faults were a lot easier to overlook in the past. Everything that was complicated before is exaggerated now.

We saw more rats in these two weeks than in the rest of our lives combined. Homeless folk are everywhere. The prices are through the roof. I actually walked past someone shooting up heroin! And the city seems to be dominated by only two scents: Urine and pot. And trust me, regardless of how you feel about pot or its odor, under all circumstances it is far preferable to the alternative.

And you know what? For the city we used to call the one “that never sleeps”, it really didn’t seem to ring true anymore. It’s more like “the city that’s slowing down by 11:30 and snoring away by one in the morning”… but that’s not nearly as catchy.

But seriously, what a letdown. It feels like New York is the equivalent of a man in his forties who can no longer stand all that loud music anymore.

Goodbye New York

But this trip wasn’t about enjoying the city. Sure, it was important. And it was something we’ve been longing to do for some time now. But the main part of the trip was to see my beloved parents, and to say goodbye to Staten Island. Forever.

Having a New York City adventure was just supposed to be the icing on the cake of another amazing trip abroad.

And, much to my dismay, I got to see firsthand why so many people I know and love have left or are leaving. And why the city in general seems to be clearing out. New York, you disappoint me. You are not what you used to be. You are a mere shadow of your former greatness.

And what you were will be missed.

But at least… DOGS

I will say, however, New York City has made one noticeable improvement that should not at all be overlooked. It looks like everyone and their sister has gotten a dog since last time I was there. Another fringe benefit of Corona! And you know what? They’re all adorable and calm and I literally just wanted to stop and play with every single one of them!

Their owners? Less cute and friendly, but kudos to them on getting really lovable companions.

So yeah, New York still has ultra high-quality theater and scores of adorable canines. But that isn’t enough to sustain a city. New York, my beloved homeland, I’m honestly worried about your future.

But thank goodness, we made it out to Broadway. Yes, affording tickets might mean for a brief period you won’t be able to feed your kids. And the only way to make tickets even remotely reasonable involves standing outside in the sweltering heat endlessly (for us, it was a full hour). But the results are still the same. You might have more understudies than usual, as the days of Corona still linger behind, but you are nearly guaranteed to have a remarkable and unforgettable experience.

In my next post I’ll review the two shows we saw: Dear Evan Hansen and POTUS.

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The Flight Experience: The Evolution of My Hatred

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I’ve hated the flight experience for quite some time now.

No, not the flying itself. You go up, you sit around, you come down. I’ve never had any fears, and with the exception of one terrible Frontier landing, flying has never caused me any uncomfortable moments of panic.

But everything else drives me nuts.

The Flight Experience

Long lines, outrageous prices, dehydration, waiting forever for luggage, seats leaning back into your lap. These problems with the flight experience have never gone away. In fact, some of the aforementioned have gotten worse in recent months.

And despite the rapid advancement of just about everything in the world, the flight experience has only seemed to make two improvements: Personal movie screens and the abolition of smoking.

It’s hard to even remember a time in which there was only one movie showing, on one screen for everybody. But it’s even harder to remember a time in which I had to suffer through other people’s nasty habits for the duration of the flight. It still shocks me they ever allowed this! Or that people pretended like the smoke didn’t fill up the entire plane. Or that sometimes you got stuck sitting just one row in front of smokers and were supposed to pretend like that was somehow a different section.

But alas, those relatively minor improvements have graced the flight experience. The other miserable aspects seem locked in place.

But they got worse…

And I couldn’t imagine a world in which things got worse… but then some asshats decided to use airplanes as a weapon in the worst terrorist attack in history. And now a bunch of hopefully well-meaning people have turned a difficult experience into a caricature of the flight experience. One moment you’re taking off your shoes for no particular reason. The next you’re chugging your water bottle. And a few moments later, you’re panicking that your scissors are not regulation length.

And for a good one to two hours before you are trapped in an uncomfortable chair for several more hours, you feel like you just paid a boatload of money in order to be treated like a criminal.

Last time we flew, we had some expensive fake cream cheese in a carry-on that we were told we couldn’t bring (you know, because of the infamous Vegan Cream Cheese Bomber), but we were told that if we spread the cream cheese on the bagels in the bag, then it would be OK. Because as we all know, explosive cream cheese loses its potency upon contact with gluten. Ha, jokes on you TSA! These bagels were gluten free! Those fools didn’t anticipate our dedication to foiling their ironclad security.

But I digress.

And even worse…

I honestly couldn’t imagine the flight experience getting worse. I mean, getting frisked by TSA employees during your three-hour wait before listening to your pilot tell you the altitude while you’re trying to sleep was bad enough.

But life never ceases to amaze me.

Somehow or other after several decades of dreading travel for all the aforementioned reasons (and more), I finally found the right travel partner. And I caught a bit of the bug that people talk about. People actually want to do this and enjoy it. And a small part of me was finally starting to understand.

And then the world shut down.

And here I stand. Inches away from stepping into an airport for the first time in over two years. And we have all the initial problems that never went away. We have all the post 9-11 security measures that could make travel a nightmare for just about anybody. But 2022 has brought new concerns and heightened concerns.

Before, flying was expensive. Now it’s uber insanity expensive. Prior to this wacky time in history wait times could be hellish… and now they’re a bit longer. There was always a fear of delays and cancellations, but now those fears have jumped to the next level.

So for a mere small fortune, I get to be uncomfortable for twelve hours, after waiting around and being treated like a common criminal for the four hours that precede the twelve hours. All with a fear lingering in the back of my mind that there’s something like a 30% chance the flight’s not even going to happen at all!

Before We Take Off

All of this combined with the ever-pressing and daunting Covid concerns… of which getting Covid isn’t even one of them! Been there, done that. Got a fever and some night sweats, and then just a couple of days later, everything went back to normal. No, as usual I don’t fear the illness. I fear quarantines and lockdowns. I fear harsh and hasty governmental decisions.

I fear getting stuck in quarantine and having to miss my flight to the States. Or getting stuck in quarantine and thus getting trapped in America, unable to return to my life. I fear the return of restrictions that I’ve enjoyed saying goodbye to. Am I going to be stuck wearing a mask during my flight or during a Broadway show or in an Uber? Am I going to show up in the States only to find they’ve shut down everything I want to do when I get there?

Hopes and Prayers

So, here I am, writing about my feelings before I head out to the airport… yet publishing after I’ve already returned. I hope to God it turned out these fears were all irrelevant.

I hope to God none of my flights were cancelled or delayed. No luggage was lost. I spent my entire trip out and about, free as a bird to enjoy all the fun that New York has to offer, without any of the annoying 21st century frustrations that could make for an uncomfortable day. I hope the TSA were courteous and didn’t grab me for a random invasion of privacy.

And I beg and plead with the universe that I returned back to my home, my kiddos, my dog, and my normal everyday routine with only positive stories about our epic adventure in America. Since I last saw you, a whole crapload has happened over there! I miss you a bunch, beloved homeland. Hope we still get along.

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Kids and the Ultimate Second Chance

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A major life milestone has been unlocked: My first child just graduated high school.

This comes with lots of emotions, tons of thoughts. Some of which I’d like to unpack today.

Having kids has a unique effect on the mind.

Regret of Days Gone By

Someone like me has trouble not regretting life. With each passing day, you see opportunities that might pass you by. I’m not saying I’m over the hill, or that I even subscribe to such a concept. I’m just saying, there are things out there that are hard if not impossible to start over. And there are other things that do have an inherent time limit.

For example, I chose a degree in college that hasn’t been very fruitful for me professionally. And that led to other choices along the way, ultimately leaving me halfway to 90 with countless degrees and certifications, but still working as a customer support monkey, answering questions from my living room for 40 hours a week.

If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t make those same choices. I would set myself down an entirely different path. But life doesn’t really give do-overs. And even if it did, it’s not even close to the same. You can never be a starry-eyed 20-year-old in college again. With age comes exhaustion, responsibilities, aching joints, and a thoroughly jaded attitude. So you can try and change your life from scratch, but you’ll be fighting an uphill battle, with few guarantees of success.

Another example: If you choose later on in life to learn an instrument or a second language or a new sport, you can grow greatly proficient, but you might lack the time and freedom to really dedicate yourself to your newfound craft. And it’s so easy to give up knowing full well your 50th birthday is right around the corner. You might wonder if this is really a good time in life to start playing the oboe, learning Urdu, or mastering rugby?

Fact is, starting over is a challenge. And one most of us are unlikely to face head-on.

But there’s an alternative, of sorts.

Second Chance via Kids

Having kids is, in many ways, a second chance to live the life you would live as a child, if you could start all over again.

It’s not exactly the same. But if you’ve been an active parent, and you’ve had an impact and an influence on their lives, their accomplishments are your accomplishments. And it’s almost like getting that redo you thought just didn’t exist in this world.

You wished you could have gotten into fitness younger and more intensely, while your body was ripe for building muscle memory and burning fat. You wish you had spent hours practicing on the piano when your life wasn’t as hectic as it’s become. You wish you focused your studies differently, and now weren’t so worried about paying the bills because you were on a path with potentially serious dollar signs in your future.

You can have it all… it just won’t be you.

In walks these energetic bundles of joy into your life. They have all the energy and time you wish you had. And when they start accomplishing things you never had the chance to, it’s like your second opportunity to thrive. And it’s better in some ways. They get to grab on to the myriad of opportunities that weren’t even realities when we were growing up, usually due to the endless opportunities modern technology has given us.

And we get to sit back and soak in the pride! For everything they accomplish, big or small, we get to jump with joy at this unique second chance the universe has given us.

Having kids is, in many ways, a second chance to live the life you would live as a child, if you could start all over again.
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But Kids Must Still Be Kids

There does exist a danger in this. Because kids are and will always be kids. I understand that if I hadn’t eaten like an animal as a kid, I wouldn’t have Diabetes now. And I for certain should let my children know this important fact. But what happens when they don’t listen? And guess what: They very likely will not. They’re kids, and they’re always going to love cookies and candy and ice cream. And you’re fighting a wild war if you think you can prevent this.

But what a grand opportunity to try!

And it’s borderline flawless, so long as you don’t get frustrated or angry if your attempts fail. Kids will always be kids, just like you weren’t controllable in this way when you were young, your own flesh and blood won’t be either.

IDF, Here He Comes

So now my oldest has finished high school. He’s off to the next big adventure, whatever it may be.

And for me, I’m as nervous as if I were stuck going to the Israeli Army again myself. My experience was less than exhilarating or meaningful. For approximately 15 months of my life, I withered away supervising a recreational computer lab. My days consisted of telling dopey kids how to switch to typing in Hebrew and kicking people out of the room for looking at porn.

I tried to reach for something special. And I fell into a giant pile of excrement.

And now my son is reaching for the stars. And I hope to God he gets everything he could have ever wanted and more. A small portion of people go to the IDF and walk away proud of what they did, basking in the enormity of their accomplishments for years to come. And the rest of us, well, we’re just glad it’s over.

Me 2.0

But the second chance has arrived. The new, updated version of me is inches away from serving our nation. And I’m watching from up close, helpless, with one eye closed. They have every reason to give him everything he desires. Yet they are notorious for plopping people into positions willy-nilly without any careful, calculated thoughts.

And so my ambition is alive and well. And it is not bound by time.

I get to not only bask in my own accomplishments, but I get to enjoy those of my children like they are my own.

And as I love to point out: The best is yet to come. For both of us!

There’s going to be a lot of reasons for celebration. This I can guarantee.

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