Life, Death, and Taxes.
I have a procrastination problem, as many (if not all) of you know. This entry very well may merely be another method in that procrastination from writing a paper that I should have been working on all semester, yet have barely begun, which is due on Monday. Oh, and it's 30 pages long and on a topic that I haven't researched very much as of yet.
This paper is supposed to mean a great deal to me, but it simply doesn't, and I don't know why. I want to do great things, but I'm having a hard time getting off the ground. I promised myself that I would diversify my life, and I have.
I'm taking violin lessons, I'm doing photography more--and in a more serious capacity. In that vein, on Wednesday night, I bought a new (very expensive, professional) camera. I've already used this camera to take pictures that I sold to a local daily newspaper--the Brooklyn Eagle. Yes, in less than 48 hours, I bought a professional camera, took pictures of an event, and sold those pictures to a newspaper. My photo hobby is starting to look like it might be more than that, and I'm excited about that.
Through music photography, I've been able to make friends with a wonderful new group whom I've really started to care a lot about. Many of them live in my neighborhood, so I can see them frequently, and almost all are involved in bands or the music scene. This has allowed me to hang with both old and new friends, take more and more pictures, and start posting to a music blog with friends: http://kidswhogotoshows.blogspot.com/
I'm also starting a non-profit with another friend that will raise money to buy electronics for schools and small towns in rural Armenia. I got a job working for the Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund for this summer. I work for another non-profit through school, and just helped pull off a very successful auction (I think we raised over $50,000). With that group (Brooklyn Law Students for the Public Interest), the National Lawyers Guild (a leftist lawyer organization), and OutLaws (the LGBT group at law schools across the country) I've helped organize an event for the Race and the Law Conference and another for the Sex and the Law Conference, both occurring at my law school in the next two weeks. I also still work for the EEOC a couple of days a week, where I'm able to handle interesting and worthwhile cases.
Additionally, I am still a nanny for Ari, who is finishing 8th grade and will no longer need a nanny soon. She's a bright, caring, open-minded kid who has a huge amount of potential. She's become the little sister I never thought I'd have, and her mom has become a close friend, adviser, and confidant.
I've finally started to achieve a balance in my life. I'm achieving my goals in regards to art (photography), music (learning more and staying involved in the NYC indie music scene), and community activism (work with the non-profits, the EEOC, and school groups).
But something is still missing. When I sit down to write my paper, I just can't focus. And, honestly, I haven't done much of any work when it comes to law school all semester, notwithstanding the fact that I really do like my classes.
I'm starting to think that "diversifying" has been accomplished, but at the cost of really doing anything to the best of my ability, or well. While there's not much I can do about this for the current semester, I have realized that I need to better choose what things to commit to for the summer and next semester.
This summer, I'll be working full time. I want to also do photography, and hopefully continue practicing the violin. I also want to get this non-profit up and running before the school year begins. I think that I should really leave it at that--I might also plan a benefit concert, which I hoped to do this semester but got no response from venues, but only if I really feel as though I have the time to take that on.
The fall semester, however, should be better, as I will no longer be babysitting--Ari will be in high school and won't need a nanny. I'll still see her, but not as her nanny--more as her big sister and friend. So, next semester will be about classes, MAYBE an internship, and ONE role within a student organization (rather than, like, the 4 I am doing this semester). I'll also be doing photo jobs, but that won't be as stressful once I set up more steady work during this coming summer.
So, that's the plan.
Something else that I've been thinking a lot about is the fact that a friend, Steve, passed away last Sunday. I hadn't known him long, only just a couple weeks, but he was a part of that new group of friends I've been spending more and more time with. He was a great guy, early twenties, special ed teacher, just finishing a Masters degree in Special Education. He was a great friend to a mutual friend of ours when she really needed him, and he made everyone laugh. He was funny, smart, witty, and caring. He was walking between subway cars, tripped, and got run over by the train.
I took a mental health day on Monday to think about this, and to deal. I didn't think it would really affect me that much because I didn't know him well. However, I realized that it deeply bothered me.
I'm an existentialist--death doesn't seem like something to be incredibly scared of, nor something to shy away from. While I obviously don't embrace death and would do anything possible to prevent it, I'm not terrified of it when it comes to myself. When other people die, I obviously miss them, but, again, it doesn't bother me all that much. I don't believe in heaven or hell, I don't believe in an afterlife. I believe that when someone is dead, they're dead--that's it. I'm not saying that God definitely does not exist, nor am I saying that heaven and hell (or something else) definitely doesn't exist. I'm saying that I operate and live with the assumption that those things don't exist, with the realization that I can never be absolutely sure of whether or not this assumption is the absolute truth (if such truth even exists).
I believe that our lives are only valuable because they end. If our lives never ended--if we had a limitless amount of time in this world or another--time itself would have no value. If time had no value, what we did with that time would be equally worthless. Therefore, by seeing death as an absolute necessity to give live value, it's not something to be afraid of, but embraced.
Steve died. His death highlighted the value of his preceding lifetime. The fact that he died is sad because it means that he won't have a longer lifetime. It's sad because it means that people who loved him, who chose to spend their time with him, won't have another opportunity to do so. It's sad because he won't have more time to positively effect other people, which he did almost constantly.
However, that's not what made Steve's death effect me the way it did. After a great deal of thought, I realized that his death bothered me for several reasons, including the ones above, but mostly because of the way that the community responded to his death.
When I was 16, a 19 year old friend passed away. I was living at home in New Jersey, and Raven died at college because of a drunk driver. Her death was upsetting for the same reasons that I outlined above--her time on Earth was over, and she hadn't had much of it in comparison to the general population. She was using her time well, and she had friends and family who would miss her very much. The entire town, and even the surrounding ones, were aware of her death. It was on the news, it was spoken about in schools, bars, and places of business. Family, friends, even people who had only met her once thought of Raven and mourned her death--each in their own way. However, even those who had never met her became aware of her passing.
This area of New Jersey was not "small town" America, but her death was noticed by the community. Here, in Brooklyn, in New York City, Steve's death went basically unnoticed.
Here, people die everyday. Just watch a Law and Order episode, and you'll realize that life in this city, and in any other city, is constantly being cut short.
Every death is sad, but only a few are tragic. Tragic losses, to me, are those that cut short a life that hasn't been completed. When older people die, it's an end to a life well lived. Sometimes, even younger people have lived full lives in a short time. Raven was not one of those people, and neither was Steve. They weren't done with their work here, but they died and didn't have the chance to do more.
The tragic loss of Raven was noticed, was recognized--even briefly--by the entire community. Steve's loss passed with barely a news report. Just another person killed on the subway--a casualty of city living.
But our (and I mean humanity's) loss of this person, Steve, was a tragic one. The city should have stopped. The community should have mourned. But life simply went on. His friends cried, those who knew him were sad, but, really, life must go on.
So it does. But here, in New York City, it went on too quickly. The city, borough, neighborhood, street, or building didn't even pause for a moment. The subway kept running, people kept working, everything just...sped on.
Death in the abstract, and usually not even in the particular, doesn't really bother me. It happens, it's what makes our lives meaningful. However, the meaningfulness of our time here should at least be recognized by the community when it ends--and especially when it ends tragically.
Steve is dead. He contributed to the world, and then he died. He died before he was able to contribute more, before he was able to fulfill most of his potential. His life was not full, his life was not finished. His death was tragic. Anyone's death is worthy of recognition, but especially ones like this.
But the city just kept moving.
Without him.
And it felt like no one noticed.
THAT is what bothered me about Steve's passing. THAT is what bothers me about this city. THAT is what bothers me about humanity.
So, lives go on, made meaningful because of their future deaths, and all those people can think about are the details...like taxes. Life, death, and taxes.
This humanity thing can be really troubling, sometimes.
This paper is supposed to mean a great deal to me, but it simply doesn't, and I don't know why. I want to do great things, but I'm having a hard time getting off the ground. I promised myself that I would diversify my life, and I have.
I'm taking violin lessons, I'm doing photography more--and in a more serious capacity. In that vein, on Wednesday night, I bought a new (very expensive, professional) camera. I've already used this camera to take pictures that I sold to a local daily newspaper--the Brooklyn Eagle. Yes, in less than 48 hours, I bought a professional camera, took pictures of an event, and sold those pictures to a newspaper. My photo hobby is starting to look like it might be more than that, and I'm excited about that.
Through music photography, I've been able to make friends with a wonderful new group whom I've really started to care a lot about. Many of them live in my neighborhood, so I can see them frequently, and almost all are involved in bands or the music scene. This has allowed me to hang with both old and new friends, take more and more pictures, and start posting to a music blog with friends: http://kidswhogotoshows.blogspot.com/
I'm also starting a non-profit with another friend that will raise money to buy electronics for schools and small towns in rural Armenia. I got a job working for the Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund for this summer. I work for another non-profit through school, and just helped pull off a very successful auction (I think we raised over $50,000). With that group (Brooklyn Law Students for the Public Interest), the National Lawyers Guild (a leftist lawyer organization), and OutLaws (the LGBT group at law schools across the country) I've helped organize an event for the Race and the Law Conference and another for the Sex and the Law Conference, both occurring at my law school in the next two weeks. I also still work for the EEOC a couple of days a week, where I'm able to handle interesting and worthwhile cases.
Additionally, I am still a nanny for Ari, who is finishing 8th grade and will no longer need a nanny soon. She's a bright, caring, open-minded kid who has a huge amount of potential. She's become the little sister I never thought I'd have, and her mom has become a close friend, adviser, and confidant.
I've finally started to achieve a balance in my life. I'm achieving my goals in regards to art (photography), music (learning more and staying involved in the NYC indie music scene), and community activism (work with the non-profits, the EEOC, and school groups).
But something is still missing. When I sit down to write my paper, I just can't focus. And, honestly, I haven't done much of any work when it comes to law school all semester, notwithstanding the fact that I really do like my classes.
I'm starting to think that "diversifying" has been accomplished, but at the cost of really doing anything to the best of my ability, or well. While there's not much I can do about this for the current semester, I have realized that I need to better choose what things to commit to for the summer and next semester.
This summer, I'll be working full time. I want to also do photography, and hopefully continue practicing the violin. I also want to get this non-profit up and running before the school year begins. I think that I should really leave it at that--I might also plan a benefit concert, which I hoped to do this semester but got no response from venues, but only if I really feel as though I have the time to take that on.
The fall semester, however, should be better, as I will no longer be babysitting--Ari will be in high school and won't need a nanny. I'll still see her, but not as her nanny--more as her big sister and friend. So, next semester will be about classes, MAYBE an internship, and ONE role within a student organization (rather than, like, the 4 I am doing this semester). I'll also be doing photo jobs, but that won't be as stressful once I set up more steady work during this coming summer.
So, that's the plan.
Something else that I've been thinking a lot about is the fact that a friend, Steve, passed away last Sunday. I hadn't known him long, only just a couple weeks, but he was a part of that new group of friends I've been spending more and more time with. He was a great guy, early twenties, special ed teacher, just finishing a Masters degree in Special Education. He was a great friend to a mutual friend of ours when she really needed him, and he made everyone laugh. He was funny, smart, witty, and caring. He was walking between subway cars, tripped, and got run over by the train.
I took a mental health day on Monday to think about this, and to deal. I didn't think it would really affect me that much because I didn't know him well. However, I realized that it deeply bothered me.
I'm an existentialist--death doesn't seem like something to be incredibly scared of, nor something to shy away from. While I obviously don't embrace death and would do anything possible to prevent it, I'm not terrified of it when it comes to myself. When other people die, I obviously miss them, but, again, it doesn't bother me all that much. I don't believe in heaven or hell, I don't believe in an afterlife. I believe that when someone is dead, they're dead--that's it. I'm not saying that God definitely does not exist, nor am I saying that heaven and hell (or something else) definitely doesn't exist. I'm saying that I operate and live with the assumption that those things don't exist, with the realization that I can never be absolutely sure of whether or not this assumption is the absolute truth (if such truth even exists).
I believe that our lives are only valuable because they end. If our lives never ended--if we had a limitless amount of time in this world or another--time itself would have no value. If time had no value, what we did with that time would be equally worthless. Therefore, by seeing death as an absolute necessity to give live value, it's not something to be afraid of, but embraced.
Steve died. His death highlighted the value of his preceding lifetime. The fact that he died is sad because it means that he won't have a longer lifetime. It's sad because it means that people who loved him, who chose to spend their time with him, won't have another opportunity to do so. It's sad because he won't have more time to positively effect other people, which he did almost constantly.
However, that's not what made Steve's death effect me the way it did. After a great deal of thought, I realized that his death bothered me for several reasons, including the ones above, but mostly because of the way that the community responded to his death.
When I was 16, a 19 year old friend passed away. I was living at home in New Jersey, and Raven died at college because of a drunk driver. Her death was upsetting for the same reasons that I outlined above--her time on Earth was over, and she hadn't had much of it in comparison to the general population. She was using her time well, and she had friends and family who would miss her very much. The entire town, and even the surrounding ones, were aware of her death. It was on the news, it was spoken about in schools, bars, and places of business. Family, friends, even people who had only met her once thought of Raven and mourned her death--each in their own way. However, even those who had never met her became aware of her passing.
This area of New Jersey was not "small town" America, but her death was noticed by the community. Here, in Brooklyn, in New York City, Steve's death went basically unnoticed.
Here, people die everyday. Just watch a Law and Order episode, and you'll realize that life in this city, and in any other city, is constantly being cut short.
Every death is sad, but only a few are tragic. Tragic losses, to me, are those that cut short a life that hasn't been completed. When older people die, it's an end to a life well lived. Sometimes, even younger people have lived full lives in a short time. Raven was not one of those people, and neither was Steve. They weren't done with their work here, but they died and didn't have the chance to do more.
The tragic loss of Raven was noticed, was recognized--even briefly--by the entire community. Steve's loss passed with barely a news report. Just another person killed on the subway--a casualty of city living.
But our (and I mean humanity's) loss of this person, Steve, was a tragic one. The city should have stopped. The community should have mourned. But life simply went on. His friends cried, those who knew him were sad, but, really, life must go on.
So it does. But here, in New York City, it went on too quickly. The city, borough, neighborhood, street, or building didn't even pause for a moment. The subway kept running, people kept working, everything just...sped on.
Death in the abstract, and usually not even in the particular, doesn't really bother me. It happens, it's what makes our lives meaningful. However, the meaningfulness of our time here should at least be recognized by the community when it ends--and especially when it ends tragically.
Steve is dead. He contributed to the world, and then he died. He died before he was able to contribute more, before he was able to fulfill most of his potential. His life was not full, his life was not finished. His death was tragic. Anyone's death is worthy of recognition, but especially ones like this.
But the city just kept moving.
Without him.
And it felt like no one noticed.
THAT is what bothered me about Steve's passing. THAT is what bothers me about this city. THAT is what bothers me about humanity.
So, lives go on, made meaningful because of their future deaths, and all those people can think about are the details...like taxes. Life, death, and taxes.
This humanity thing can be really troubling, sometimes.