Regeneration & Reconnection

I don't know that I have anything profound, moving or even revelatory to share, with this post. It has been two weeks since my last missive; two weeks of centering, focus and gaining and re-gaining perspective. The reality of the rebuilding that lies before me continues to clarify...and magnify. This is big.

I knew I'd need this, so I'd planned on spending a weekend in Oregon with my very close, longtime friend and his family. We've known one another, been close friends, for nearly 40 years; he's seen me through every climb, dive and loop on the rollercoaster of my career(s) and life...and remains my friend. That is testament to his fortitude, in itself.

Since they were born, I've been "uncle" to his two kids...kids who've now both completed their education and launched their own lives; remaining close to me emotionally and increasingly intellectually. Being able to immerse myself, to bask in the genuine, authentic love that permeates this family and their home, is probably the most effective salve for the wounds that may not quite have closed, the edges that remain raw and sharp...

So, I spent three days with this family. Long talks with Youth of Aspiration and Hope, longer talks with my friend about what constitutes Success or Failure. His unrelenting faith in and support of me does work regenerative magic on my soul and being. I continue to wrestle with the disparity between classically acknowledged "success" and the more esoteric rewards of making a difference in the world, on a personal level.

I know I've made a difference with the work I've done...and expect yet to do. At times like this, though -- undermined by the complete loss of every secure component of my life through my venture to and in Australia -- I do tread ice that is thin with respect to self-esteem and the prospect of a productive and profitable future. Though I surprise myself with the level of calm and equanimity with which I approach my life, these days; I also notice that nightmares are not infrequent. So, there is angst, somewhere in there; I am fortunate to have the fortitude - or the discipline - to not "live" in it.

Beyond that; simply being in this greenest of states, breathing in the clear freshness of the air - full of scents, smells and aroma from field, forest, flower and flowing water is, for me, re-centering. I lived my youth in Oregon, and I suppose that, if anywhere, these are my roots.

San Francisco will always be my hometown; though, I am from Oregon. It was good that I could spend some time, there.

...And, from there I went on to participate and present at a conference in Orlando. The SATE Conference (Storytelling Architecture Technology Experience) is a powerful gathering of creative, architectural, design and technical professionals that walks the line between practical information sharing and high-altitude philosophical conversation in the context of place-making and experience design.

I was chuffed to be invited back to participate in this program, again; I'd hosted the Experience Sessions for the inaugural conference, two years ago. What surprised me, more, was the enthusiastic welcome I received from my peers and colleagues who make up the body of the conference and the program. I was approached and welcomed by many whom I hold in high esteem, telling me how happy each was to have seen my name on the program and how glad each is to know that I am in the country and back on deck.

I've been asked to participate in the planning for substance and format for 2010...all this is most good to remind me of where I do stand in my own industries. We each can use a little affirmation and approbation every now and then...

So, onward. These next few weeks contain some portentous meetings, some potential projects, as well as the initial pass through the retail establishments of the city, submitting applications for everything from barista to waiter to host to retail guy. Gonna have to ensure that the food keeps coming in, the gym membership remains current, my health insurance (such as it is) remains intact and my phone connected. Beyond that, my overhead remains small and my hopes remain high.

That being said, feel free to light candles and pray, or draw pentagrams and behead chickens; whatever you feel has the most power of Spell.

On a side note; as part of the Orlando Experience, we had a reception at Sea World and a private experience on "Manta," the new rollercoaster. Greeted by nocturnal flamingoes, we turned the corner to see a magnificent iron sculpture of rails. Looking at this, one understands that "Manta," in the lost language of Atlantis, means "The Course of Kile's Life." Quite the coincidence, hm?

Gracing the queue are some namesakes and denizens of the deep...

Never seen a polka-dot manta ray, before...

Nor, a Dragon-Seahorse...

And, finally, the magic of an aquarium to the child in all of us. Reminding oneself of the wonder that so much or this work can create is a powerful way of re-centering one's focus on what is truly important.

And what is truly important is what resides or exists at the Heart of any Matter.

...but, you knew that.

Departures...Prescience

Ten days after my fifth birthday, my father died.

Joe Ozier was a test pilot. A former fighter pilot in the Air Force, he had become a civilian, working for Lockheed out of Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California; moving his young family first to a ranch, then later into a nice ranch-style house in then-remote Palmdale, he was testing the F-104 Starfighter - "the missile with a man in it."

With Dad at the controls, he piloted this jet to altitude and speed records (more than twice the speed of sound) for his time. He loved what he did, and he did it assiduously and passionately. My mother never wanted him to do anything else, and I must acknowledge that she instilled in me a like passion for and commitment to pursuing what fulfills me and striving to be the best at that thing no matter what the cost or consequences.

He used to leave for work, long before the rising of the sun, and drive through the high desert to the testing fields. He might fly to Iceland and back before we'd even had breakfast; or zoom up to get a clear look at the stars in the profound and airless, cold vacuum of subspace before rocketing back down into the desert heat for lunch and another run.

An engineer, he knew everything about how his craft worked, and he had a reputation that surpassed the other pilots for treating his support team with respect as peers; knowing much of how each man's job was done without presuming to tell him how to do it garnered him a deep respect and admiration from pretty much all who worked for and with him.

He always had time to chat with his crew members and remained naturally, eminently approachable. The result was a camaraderie amongst his team that became legendary, after his death.

I have come to realize a similarity, a parallel between us in our interactions with and motivation of the teams I build or on which I participate in the work that I do. I call it, "working on the same side of the table," though what it is is simply respectful, open and complete collaboration. Trusting others to do their best, maintain commitment, keep one's word and embrace responsibility and accountability. If we're all doing that, collaboration can become almost thrilling in its magic and in the results that are achieved. The buck stops where it stops; but when all are trusted to do their jobs the best they can be done, that buck stoppage simply becomes the team's safety net.

How did I learn this; was it from my father?

He used to come home at the end of his day, driving his 1955 Thunderbird, pick me up and we'd go for a Drive.

According to Mom, he'd drive off with me standing on the passenger side, one elbow on the dash, looking across at my Dad as we drove off to "...talk about things." I had a deep, deep bond with my father that I simply accepted as the Way Things Are.

I have no memory of what we talked about, only images and impressions of the turquoise-blue two-seater, my father's smiling profile and gentle, rumbling voice, of me standing and talking to him. Did I learn about being the best I can be, then? Is that when I began to understand the value of appreciating the inherent value in others, in bestowing respect, up front? Was that the moment when I came to understand that respect is not something that is earned, rather something that can only be lost?

As I write this, what comes to mind is my experience as I watched Jerry Mitchell build the choreography for the Gay Games in 1994. The job of Producer and Director of the Ceremonies, that year, was the biggest and most public and internationally visible project I'd undertaken, to date, and I could not have been more serious about it. Jerry was, already, a well-known and respected name on Broadway, and had graciously accepted the responsibility of building the choreography for the Ceremonies with a huge cast of dancers comprised of everything from broadway gypsies to dreamers with a bit of rhythm.

I vividly remember going to an early rehearsal and watching Jerry work. I had expected him to show up with all the choreography in his head and begin directing the dancers to conform to what he'd pre-conjured. That's not what happened. Rather, it was as though he opened up his virtual toolbox and gathered his team of talent around him and went to work on the realization of a concept he'd embraced and made his own.

"Let's try this..." "Let's try that..." he would say. Suggestions would come from his core corps of dancers and they'd try that. Gradually, inexorably, the show began to form. Jerry was in control, he stirred the pot, but all were welcome to offer ingredients or input until what seemed right to Jerry was decided and he moved forward.

I was startled, thrilled and enlightened to this revelation that one didn't need to have all the answers in advance to be successful at developing, at Directing an idea or show. Rather that it is the guiding of the collaborative process and taking responsibility for making the ultimate decisions but not being held back by preconception wherein lies the true magic of creating wonder, excitement and awe, successfully.

I suddenly realized how freeing it was to share one's process, openly; not defensive about how one gets to where one is going, confident in the sense that one is guiding a group or a process to the best possible goal or result. This moment of enlightenment I have kept with me, ever since. And, as I have written the above, I see the parallel between how I strive to build, inspire and manage teams toward the realization of a goal and the way my father treated, respected and worked with his own teams in his own context.

How did this become a part of me...?

His jet crashed the day after Valentine's Day, and he was 33; far younger than I now am. I remember awakening in the early morning, a bit before I usually did, and wandering into my parent's room.

I can see this as clearly, now, as though it were yesterday. My mother was lying on her back on the bed; clothed in a housedress and simply lying there, quietly, looking up at the ceiling... She was bathed in that golden glow of early morning, streaming through the sheer curtains on the far side of the bed; almost like a princess awaiting the kiss of her prince; now, a prince who shall kiss, no more.

I went over to the bed and, without saying a word, climbed up and crawled over to her; snuggling up and putting one arm across her clasped hands at her waist. She didn't look at me, and it was very, very quiet for a few moments...

Then, I looked up at her and said, "...has Daddy flown up to Heaven?"

Towers of Light & The High Line

Outside the window of S's apartment, where I am sheltered these next two weeks while he is out of town, the crews are building the structure for this year's 9/11 Memorial. Complete in their simplicity, these two Towers of Light will punctuate the sky, next weekend, in a resonant and moving display.

I have seen and been deeply touched by this memorial in years past, and was startled to look out this window, yesterday, to discover its proximity. From this window, as from many such windows, those soaring, multistory testaments to the accomplishment of mankind and the power of the human mind served as the iconic representation of this City to the rest of the world. Long before I knew S, these twin structures completely dominated the view from this window; inspiring and motivating and communicating to each new arrival that s/he had arrived at the Center, this was the metaphorical launching pad for millions of hopefuls to pursue their individual dreams.

Since I have known S, we have rarely and barely talked of the events of that day. I know he lost friends in that conflagration, and I can only imagine the void that the prominent absence of those towers from this window represents to him. He keeps that to himself; I believe the pain runs very deep.

Next week, those lights will pierce the sky over Manhattan, right outside these windows. I will be here, awash in their radiance.

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This week has been a bit rougher than the first two since my return. The breadth and scope of the Reality I face continues to unfold before me. Rebuilding one's life, while exciting and full of potential, occasionally becomes daunting; these are tough times everywhere, and with each outstretched hand on the sidewalk or in the subway I see a potential reflection of my own possible future, mere weeks or months away. There have been days when I have waxed deeply despondent.

My only choice is to continue to sail ahead; navigating the currents and embracing the winds with an eye on the horizon. My body of work speaks for itself, yes, and through these writings I have reconnected with some who've been inspired or motivated alongside me in the past... Hearing from them reinvigorates me; reminds me that mine is not a wasted life.

I have been accused of living a "transformative life." That may or may not be the case, but I know that with the surmounting of each obstacle, with the completion of each production or project in my history, with the building and dispersing of each team of professionals with which I have had the good fortune to work, I have learned something.

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Speaking of transformation: with the idea of lifting myself out of the doldrums, yesterday, I finally took a walk on the new High Line that runs through and overlooks parts of Chelsea and the Meatpacking District.

The Destination

What was for years a derelict railway spur that runs over the streets of this area - formerly for delivering raw materials to and shipping products from the factories in this district before the advent of the US Highway system and the proliferation of trucking over railways - has recently been transformed into a mile-long pedestrian walkway and park. Fantastic.

Underneath

The final steps...

Railway and Parkway

Once up top, the difference is amazing. Strollers, vendors, sunbathers...it seems much akin to the promenade deck of a ship, in some respects. Everyone was walking a little slower (even me), and smiling! Seriously, smiling with nothing to prompt them other than the atmosphere of the place. One can see the Hudson, just off to the West, and buildings of multiple era of architecture add texture to the view. But, mostly, it's sunshine and greenery and pleasant, low chatter amongst passers-by.

Some of the greenery is tailored, some is "natural," giving different tones to different sections of the walkway.

An "idle" spur

Strollers, into the distance...

Here is an entirely new take on "street theatre." The street IS the theatre...!

Well-conceived, too, as the structure is such that the audience is watching the traffic whoosh away from the "stage" rather than toward them. Otherwise, it might prove a tad distracting to drivers. But none of them even realize they are "performing" as they zip uptown...

If you live in New York, you should check out this wonderful realization of a creative vision on the West Side. Brilliant and worthwhile, I'm sure that those who own property in the area are thrilled at the enhancement to their property values. Beyond that, though, this is yet another thing that makes this metropolis so welcoming and comfortable.

All in all, it is tremendously good to be Home.

(You know that clicking on these photos make's 'em big, don't you? I thought you did.)

"Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (how'd he know?!)

sent to me by my dear friend, Astrid