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IDEO

Everything Fits Together

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Everything Fits Together

I'm sitting on the wood steps of my new house. It's been almost a week now since I've come home. Yes I can talk about it and I can tell stories but as I discussed with Josh last night nothing in my mind is settled. I hope it's still processing there in my subconscious behind the scenes cause when I had that FaceTime call with Tammy all I could do was stare at the ceiling and I couldn't say anything, I could hardly even say the words "I Don't Know."

 

 (What can you say after an experience like that?)

 

I came, I saw, I conquered, I freaked out, I conquered again.


I came home.


The reason I'm out here is because the more I tried to put my stuff away in my room, the more I wanted to take a flamethrower to all of it. Who I am now is not who I was in April when I packed up all that stuff. Yes this is my town but I would rather have gone on far far away with a brand new place and brand new things so I could keep moving forward, cause today when I sat in the computer lab the dusty electric scent of the air and the familiar dimmed quality of light felt like whiplash, like I had gone back in time. Not that there was anything wrong with who I was before but you can't have traveled and lived and worked like that and not have become a different person afterwards, and I want to go forward.

 

This summer everything I owned fit in one and a half suitcases and I liked living like that quite a bit. When I carried a shameful amount of stuff out of my storage unit yesterday I vowed to get rid of a third of it. There is no reason one person essentially without a fixed abode should have that much stuff. But as I stand in my whirlwind disaster of a room, throwing clothes and books and paper into the sacrificial pile—should I be getting rid of all that? should I be getting rid of more? Like I said I want to take a flamethrower to everything I own but I know it's no good to burn who you used to be in pursuit of who you're trying to be. Every time I've tried to be something I am not, I learned that I can only be who I am.

 

So what do I throw out? And what do I keep?             

 

When I came home the colors were more vibrant than I ever remember seeing. Today I went up to the mountains and everything smelled like sunlight and dust.

 

Yes Germany was beautiful but I was raised on this stuff.

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I woke up this morning from dreams of Europe just like every other day. I can't believe I've been gone for a week now but things always change so fast. I'm amazed at how quickly the mind can adjust to something, how after only a day or a week or a month a place can seem so known and familiar, or so far away.


This isn't what you were expecting from my Post-IDEO Retrospective. Yeah come talk to me if you want to hear the stories, you know I like to tell them well enough. But this is what's happening now, sitting on the wood porch smelling like summer in the air thinking about who I was and who I am and who I'm going to be.


Like most of us I'm often a nostalgic but I tell you there was a moment at the end of this summer where I stood alone in the white light of my room and saw my life for what it was, a series of overlapping experiences that come and go and are allowed to end. Of course like everyone else I cling to the beautiful things that are gone but for those few hours I was able to let go and see everything fit in its perfect frame of What Is, not What Could Have Been or What Could Be.


This summer I found an artist named David Shrigley on the walls of the modern art museum in München. On that evening standing in the white light his piece came into my mind again, because I think that I get it now—

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Missive From the Bohemian Forest

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Missive From the Bohemian Forest

Or, more specifically, from Red Morning Street.

Silver bike and gray skies down to Kellerstraße.

It took me three months and three days, but finally, I Have Arrived.

Your Storyteller is a storytella, and par excellence.

I’m living in the moment entirely by accident

(And if I do it by accident, then it's par excellence.)

It’s the confidence and the comfort I was promised,

The confidence and comfort that three times I was promised,

And anything You promise, it’s Par Excellence!

 

 

(Thank You.)

 

 

 

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IDEO, or, The Dream.

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IDEO, or, The Dream.

I told you all I would blog all of this. Maybe you’ve been wondering about my radio silence from the sky.

But here’s the deal. I realized that Paris was my magnum opus. My baptism by fire into international travel experience. I had never pinned all of my thoughts and emotions and hopes to a place as I had to that city. That was the one place in all the world that I wanted to go. And so when I did, after seven years of waiting, I wanted to capture every moment in words. It was a labor of love—and it was completely exhausting.

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How to Get an Internship at IDEO During Finals Week—A Comprehensive Guide

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How to Get an Internship at IDEO During Finals Week—A Comprehensive Guide

It’s finals week right now but I’m telling you a story that happened four months ago, during finals week in December. This happened four months ago but it still doesn’t seem real. Intern at IDEO—who does that? You don’t get internships at IDEO. It just doesn’t happen.

But apparently it happened.

So how did this happen? How did this happen? I am leaving in less than one week.

Here's a comprehensive guide.

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Lights (Dec 19)

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Lights (Dec 19)

This year I've seen the lights on the mountains, the lights behind the mountains, and the shadows at the tops of the mountains when the air turned them blue. 

I always end up in the air watching roads snake through the trees. I saw the sun set and rise in a blazing red bead above Greenlandic ice sheets. I guess there's not a part of this world that isn't touched by human beings—the sky is so criss-crossed with contrails that our eyes must have passed over every inch at this point—

(Never Cry Wolf—what do we change by seeing?)

I had a sandbag in my chest for a month straight until the 28th day of November. I think all that weight may have crushed something inside of me—I was manic for a week with my loves in that computer lab, and my current level of disengagement seems uncharacteristic but I guess I got tired of worry. 

In 2015 my favorite hobby became compulsive writing and my second favorite hobby became reading articles on the Internet. Maybe I don't have enough patience to read books anymore but I've still found a way to contribute to my professional development and ways of being. 

Some people when they get older lose their spark and fire. Mine has been flaming higher for years and years but it hasn't overtaken me yet, at least not permanently. Maybe that flame inside me is getting tamed and controlled, I can send it through my fingertips rather than it raging through my body and consuming me. Those people at IDEO know I've got a fire in my blood and they said no to everyone else and yes to me. 

The skin behind my eyelids is red like all those days on the bus as a kid. Things like this happen to me all the time lately, memories of things that used to be such a part of my being but I’ve since forgotten flash across my brain. I think I can understand what happened to me now in Europe and Paris because I've had enough time to sit back and look so that I can see. 

The sky out there is blue and white, that's how it always seems to be.

Don't make me go by myself, Father. This is unbelievable to me.  

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