Saturday, June 13, 2009


"If you lose your mind, you risk having it eaten."

Video game Plants vs Zombies is reviewed today in the New York Times. An excerpt:

"Even when you lose, frustration never seems to set in. And besides, it is impossible to take too seriously a game dripping with so much visual humor. The Afro-sporting, red-and-black-clad Dancing Zombie is accompanied by four backup dancers..."

Friday, June 12, 2009


The Joy of Less
- Pico Iyer

“The beat of my heart has grown deeper, more active, and yet more peaceful, and it is as if I were all the time storing up inner riches… My [life] is one long sequence of inner miracles.” The young Dutchwoman Etty Hillesum wrote that in a Nazi transit camp in 1943, on her way to her death at Auschwitz two months later.

Towards the end of his life, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “All I have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen,” though by then he had already lost his father when he was 7, his first wife when she was 20 and his first son, aged 5.

In Japan, the late 18th-century poet Issa is celebrated for his delighted, almost child-like celebrations of the natural world. Issa saw four children die in infancy, his wife die in childbirth, and his own body partially paralyzed.

I’m not sure I knew the details of all these lives when I was 29, but I did begin to guess that happiness lies less in our circumstances than in what we make of them, in every sense. “There is nothing either good or bad,” I had heard in high school, from Hamlet, “but thinking makes it so.” I had been lucky enough at that point to stumble into the life I might have dreamed of as a boy: a great job writing on world affairs for Time magazine, an apartment (officially at least) on Park Avenue, enough time and money to take vacations in Burma, Morocco, El Salvador. But every time I went to one of those places, I noticed that the people I met there, mired in difficulty and often warfare, seemed to have more energy and even optimism than the friends I’d grown up with in privileged, peaceful Santa Barbara, Calif., many of whom were on their fourth marriages and seeing a therapist every day. Though I knew that poverty certainly didn’t buy happiness, I wasn’t convinced that money did either.

So — as post-1960s cliché decreed — I left my comfortable job and life to live for a year in a temple on the backstreets of Kyoto. My high-minded year lasted all of a week, by which time I’d noticed that the depthless contemplation of the moon and composition of haiku I’d imagined from afar was really more a matter of cleaning, sweeping and then cleaning some more. But today, more than 21 years later, I still live in the vicinity of Kyoto, in a two-room apartment that makes my old monastic cell look almost luxurious by comparison. I have no bicycle, no car, no television I can understand, no media — and the days seem to stretch into eternities, and I can’t think of a single thing I lack.

I’m no Buddhist monk, and I can’t say I’m in love with renunciation in itself, or traveling an hour or more to print out an article I’ve written, or missing out on the N.B.A. Finals. But at some point, I decided that, for me at least, happiness arose out of all I didn’t want or need, not all I did. And it seemed quite useful to take a clear, hard look at what really led to peace of mind or absorption (the closest I’ve come to understanding happiness). Not having a car gives me volumes not to think or worry about, and makes walks around the neighborhood a daily adventure. Lacking a cell phone and high-speed Internet, I have time to play ping-pong every evening, to write long letters to old friends and to go shopping for my sweetheart (or to track down old baubles for two kids who are now out in the world).

When the phone does ring — once a week — I’m thrilled, as I never was when the phone rang in my overcrowded office in Rockefeller Center. And when I return to the United States every three months or so and pick up a newspaper, I find I haven’t missed much at all. While I’ve been rereading P.G. Wodehouse, or “Walden,” the crazily accelerating roller-coaster of the 24/7 news cycle has propelled people up and down and down and up and then left them pretty much where they started. “I call that man rich,” Henry James’s Ralph Touchett observes in “Portrait of a Lady,” “who can satisfy the requirements of his imagination.” Living in the future tense never did that for me.

Perhaps happiness, like peace or passion, comes most when it isn’t pursued.
I certainly wouldn’t recommend my life to most people — and my heart goes out to those who have recently been condemned to a simplicity they never needed or wanted. But I’m not sure how much outward details or accomplishments ever really make us happy deep down. The millionaires I know seem desperate to become multimillionaires, and spend more time with their lawyers and their bankers than with their friends (whose motivations they are no longer sure of). And I remember how, in the corporate world, I always knew there was some higher position I could attain, which meant that, like Zeno’s arrow, I was guaranteed never to arrive and always to remain dissatisfied.

Being self-employed will always make for a precarious life; these days, it is more uncertain than ever, especially since my tools of choice, written words, are coming to seem like accessories to images. Like almost everyone I know, I’ve lost much of my savings in the past few months. I even went through a dress-rehearsal for our enforced austerity when my family home in Santa Barbara burned to the ground some years ago, leaving me with nothing but the toothbrush I bought from an all-night supermarket that night. And yet my two-room apartment in nowhere Japan seems more abundant than the big house that burned down. I have time to read the new John le Carre, while nibbling at sweet tangerines in the sun. When a Sigur Ros album comes out, it fills my days and nights, resplendent. And then it seems that happiness, like peace or passion, comes most freely when it isn’t pursued.
If you’re the kind of person who prefers freedom to security, who feels more comfortable in a small room than a large one and who finds that happiness comes from matching your wants to your needs, then running to stand still isn’t where your joy lies. In New York, a part of me was always somewhere else, thinking of what a simple life in Japan might be like. Now I’m there, I find that I almost never think of Rockefeller Center or Park Avenue at all.

Published in the New York Times blog, "Happy Days". Pico Iyer’s most recent book, “The Open Road: The Global Journey of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama,” is just out in paperback.

Thursday, June 11, 2009


"Phil Irish has been asking people to draw maps for him. Participants diagram a place of personal significance: perhaps where a decision was taken, or an accident happened, or a place of solace returned to again and again. Irish follows these maps, full of curiosity and empathy. At the destination point — significant to another but new to him — Irish draws, takes photographs, and takes time to explore. The map and Irish’s response to the place are fused as one artwork."

- today's feature from Artist a Day, to subscribe:

Wednesday, June 10, 2009


Thousands of Liberian women - mothers of fighters, dead and alive - ordinary mothers, grandmothers, aunts and daughters, both Christian and Muslim — came together to pray for peace. They then staged a silent protest outside of the Presidential Palace while militants and governors waged political ware inside.

Armed only with white T-shirts and the courage of their convictions, they demanded a resolution to the country’s civil war. Their actions were a critical element in bringing about a agreement during the stalled peace talks.

See "Pray the Devil Back to Hell" and you will be inspired to achieve anything.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


Keep in touch with yourself during challenging times, during the New Now, and afterwards.

Three Beautiful Things

1. Leaving home with John to meet an old colleague of mine for lunch on a rainy CT day, and realising during dessert what a lovely, smart, clever and charismatic man I married.

2. The 25 wild daisies I picked on the pathway down to the lacrosse field were dead by the time I drove home -- but after 12 hours in a vase with water, they look as fresh as if they were still on the vine.

3. My two kids alighted from the bus after school, and as they walked down our hill, 2 deer darted across the road cutting the distance between them in two.

Inspired by the very original blog written by Clare Grant in Tunbridge Wells, Kent, UK; a very clever woman.

Monday, June 8, 2009


"... If you don't die of thirst, there are blessings in the desert.

You can be pulled into limitlessness, which we all yearn for, or you can do the beauty of minutiae, the scrimshaw of tiny and precise. The sky is your ocean, and the crystal silence will uplift you like great gospel music, or Neil Young. In it, you can hear better than you've ever heard before -- labored crow wings, your stomach gurgling. Maybe no one will make you get out of the car -- which would be my preference -- but if they do, boy are you going to be paying better attention than you have in awhile.

These days cry out, as never before, for us to pay attention, so we can move through them and get our joy and pride back.

Everything in the desert is intentional: Underneath your feet is something that definitely struggled to be there. A lot of it is too voodoo-ey for a nervous type like me -- the skulls and skeletons and snakes. But there are also columbine and fern, hawks and kestrel. The water is so hidden and surprising that when it finally rains, all the creatures come out, and it is like the Rapture. "

- Anne Lamott, "The Dark Side Rising Diet", September 2004

Sunday, June 7, 2009


In order to create, you have to close your eyes - and you never, ever know what'll be standing in front of you when you open them up again.