The Rebirth of Cool

In 1957, Miles Davis released an album entitled Birth of the Cool. I’ve always been a fan of jazz and Miles Davis. It wasn’t just about the music, as good and soulful as it is, but the way it made you feel. When you heard jazz it was like you felt this sort of sophistication, a touch of class. You’d always see Miles in those pictures, big cheeks blowing the heck out of that trumpet, and think that was cool.

But I wonder if we ever ask ourselves what is cool. I mean, who gets to determine this formula and concept? The only thing I knew was that being cool in our culture meant something. As Don Miller says, if you know how to make something cool, you’d be able sell it to anybody and make it big.

When I was younger I used to think cool was something like James Dean, the rebel without a cause riding his motorcycle in a dark leather jacket against the furious wind. He gets into trouble with the law, smokes Marlboro's till his lungs burn out, and whispers to the ladies in town. Is that what it is — a call to remake ourselves into a new sort of James Dean?

Bob Goff Taught Me Love Does

A couple weeks ago I got to meet one of my heroes, Bob Goff. He's a hard guy to miss. A 6'4 giant with an infectious smile and laugh, Bob can light up any place — even a funeral. When I walked up to him and extended my hand, he declined. He went in for a bear hug instead. "I don't do handshakes, only hugs," Bob said.

That one gesture really encapsulates the way Bob does life. He doesn’t settle for anything — he goes all in, all the time. I mean, just look at his life. He works as a lawyer and a college professor. On his “spare” time, he serves as the Honorary Consul for Uganda and also oversees Restore International, a non-profit founded to combat injustices against children in different parts of the world. Shaping the next generation of leaders and saving the world at the same time? No big deal.

Ride a Cow, Find a Horse

There’s a saying in Chinese that, loosely translated, means “Ride a cow while finding a horse.” I heard this for the first time over dinner, when my parents and I were talking about jobs and doing something you really enjoy. I was doing a stint at this dental lab at the time, and I told them how it wasn't exactly my dream job to watch videos of teeth all day.

After hearing me voice my displeasure, my parents responded with this Chinese proverb — ride a cow, find a horse. They said that back in the day, before cars were invented, people either walked or rode animals to get around from place to place. Horses were the fastest and most prized possession for their journeys, but they were harder to come across. More often than not, they would come across cows that were much slower and burdensome.

Take the cow, they'd say. Sure you want the horse, that's the goal. But it is much better to be riding a cow, as slow as it may be, instead of walking to get to your destination. That proverb has stuck with me ever since.

How I’m Spending My Twenties

Several months ago, I was passing time in a local bookstore scanning through random books. I remember picking up a woman’s memoir or self-help book of some sort, and I caught a quote from the back cover that has stuck with me ever since.

The days are long, but the years are short.

The words are simple but they sunk in heavy. It encapsulated how I felt for most of my twenties. The years are short. I still remember my first day at my first job out of college. I remember all the other jobs after that. Yet I find myself here in 2014, and I can’t tell you how I got here. 

Oddly enough, when I’m catching up with old friends, I often find myself muttering the same words. If you were to ask me what’s new in my life, I’m not sure what to tell you. I’m kinda slow in the milestone department. No wife. No kids. No house. “Just work, that’s it.” The days seem long.

New York, Stop Haunting Me

I’ll be honest with you.

I woke up right now in the middle of the night and I can’t go back to sleep. I turn over, the clock reads 5:47. I had just gone to bed three and a half hours earlier, and dreamed about a conversation I had with a friend about New York. My mind is running ahead of my body. I stare long into the dark before my eyes take in the scene of my bedroom. Odd. It was once familiar.

I say once familiar because all of a sudden, my room seemed just a little too big, like it should be spliced into thirds, and it felt unnerving that there was so much space—emptiness—that would have been filled up if this were New York. Then it hit me. This sort of inconsolable pit within me because I was no longer in New York. I ran through all the lovely and fascinating people I had come across. Some old friends, others new, all coming together like best-of scenes from TV shows. I couldn’t get them out of my mind.