The Stars

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." - Oscar Wilde

I've been making quite the effort lately to be as busy as possible.  This is mostly for selfish motives: keeping on my feet all day leaves little energy for developing my more narcissistic traits (this blog excluded, obviously).  The fact that the past couple of weeks has seen sunny weather in the 70s only helps matters.

My week began with me staring out over the bay for an hour, one of my favorite activities when the sun is out and the temperature is just right.  Even as a little girl, I preferred not really going *in* the ocean water (the water's really cold, after all), but instead just staring at it and making myself feel really small in the world while asking myself the tough questions like, "Who is at the opposite end of this ocean, staring back at me?" and "How many people are picking their nose in Asia right now?"

Most people do some measure of this same exercise, only while looking up at the stars.  I do it with the ocean.  My way's easier since it doesn't involving neck aches.  Either way, I highly recommend this practice.  Not only is it a necessary, humbling experience that I wish more self-important people would partake in (especially the rude, pushy people I come into contact with on the Muni), but it's also inspiring.  I see it this way: I have a choice to feel either small and insignificant and - inevitably - bitter, or I have a choice to realize how big the universe is and how much there is to explore.

I choose the latter, not only because this is the far less depressing option, but also because I'm alive in this crazy place we call Earth.  That already makes me pretty darn lucky.  I used to focus more on the "small and insignificant" portion of that thought, but then I realized it's far more fun to look at the stars and see endless opportunity and adventure.  Now, when I see people stuck in the small and insignificant mindset, it just makes me feel so sad.  Life: you're wasting it.

Anyway, the week ended yesterday with an entirely different kind of ocean: the ocean of thousands of sweaty, drunk, dirty concert-goers at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park.  Trying to see above 800 different heads to catch a glimpse of Steve Martin pick at his banjo is also an exercise that will make you feel really small.