There and Back Again

It's been a week.  A week ago, ew left Singapore.  Not just for a business trip, but permanently.  It feels a little weird.  I guess I know she's relocated, but in the back of my mind, it's almost like I expect her to come back soon.  Like it is a business trip.  I'm supposed to follow in the next month or so, but for now, I feel like I'm in limbo, not really in one place or the other.

This move is a good thing.  At least that's what it's supposed to be.  An opportunity to move back to the Bay Area, to move "home."  But I just can't seem to wrap my head around it.  I keep fighting it and fighting it, even though I know there is nothing left to fight.  It's done.  It's been done for over a month now, in progress for many more.  There are moments now where the emotion explodes, where it becomes difficult to keep in the frustration, the anger, the tears.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  I've moved before, many times in fact.  I've always prided myself on being adaptable and flexible.  Is it just another quarter life crisis?  How many of those can one have?

 Maybe it's leaving Singapore.  Have I really grown so fond of this place?  Where after struggling and struggling and finally finding some footing here, I feel like it's all crumbling beneath me?  Where ew and I have developed some relationships, settled in to our "usual" spots, and generally built something real, only to suddenly have to tear it down.  But I'm not the sentimental type.  I don't usually care about things like tradition or holidays.  I don't get nostalgic about leaving things behind.  I like looking ahead and seeing what is to come.  I didn't care about leaving Christmas, sports, or friends behind when I came to Singapore.  And it's not like I'm even in love with Singapore.  Ew and I had been contemplating leaving for a while now.  It's too small of a place.  Small job market and neither of us saw a lot of potential in our current roles.  Not a lot of culture.  Still don't have great relationships here.  I've always believed that home is wherever we want it to be, depending on our bonds of fellowship.  And being in Singapore has only reinforced that feeling.  I remember thinking earlier this year that I'm ready to go back to California and hang out with my closest friends.  To continue growing up with these guys I've known for the past 10-15 years.  To be closer to my family, particularly my dad in his current condition.  That I was tired of being alone here, of not having anyone other than ew to randomly do things with.  All of this rationalization went into the decision to make this move.  To support ew and the decision to go back.  It's all been processed.

Maybe it's the fact that I don't have a job in the Bay.  Or that I haven't seen anything that gets me excited.  Despite all my complaints about my role and company in Singapore, I do feel that I am working on something meaningful and interesting.  I've had the privilege to spend a lot of time in a developing country, to interact with the bureaucracy and governance, and to be frustrated with it, dejected by it, but at the same time, invigorated by the prospect of actually achieving something.  It's almost a reflection of my life abroad--the constant struggle to get somewhere solid, one step forward, two steps back, and maybe the illusion that I can rise to the challenge.  I don't believe I will ever get such an immersive experience again in the near future.   My colleagues and I always talk about how we can write books based on our time working on this project in India.   Maybe the transition from this to a culture dominated by social media and opt-in apps leaves me a bit bitter.

Maybe it's just the fact that I'm a misfit.  There's a New Yorker article that talks about how there are three types of people who live abroad: mercenaries, missionaries, and misfits.  I'm definitely not the first two, and I didn't initially think I was a misfit, but what if I am?  Unlike most American expats here, I seem to relate most closely with locals.  I mean it took time and effort, and it wasn't really that natural by any means, but my palate is almost completely Asian at this point, I work only with locals at a local company, and my colleagues have now told me I speak more locally than before.  And Americans just seem to be bother me now, with the arrogance and all-knowing attitudes.  How do I fit in a place like San Francisco?  For someone who doesn't even have Facebook, who is almost anti-technology, who is analog in a digital time.  For someone who spent the past three years dealing with the Indian government on trying to build an infrastructure project, only to face a smug techster that claims he is doing more to change the world through the Internet.  I know there are normal people there, but how do you avoid the rat race of new gadgets, skinny jeans, and $5 cups of fair trade organic coffee?  It almost makes me feel like Frodo going back to the Shire.  Has my world prism changed so much that I can't even go back to a place I called home for 7 years?  Where things like second breakfast and elevensies lose the charm they once had?  How do you go back?

Maybe I'm just scared.  Scared of being back in a city I already know, of facing the thought of settling down.  I guess in the back of my mind, I always knew that San Diego and Singapore would just be sojourns.  San Diego was a stopping point to wait for ew to finish her PhD.  So even though I was pretty much a townie during that time, it was just to be with her, and we would move on together.  And similarly, Singapore was just another experience for ew and I to have, the abroad experience I always craved.  Maybe in my mind, I was always open to an open-ended stay, but I knew ew always wanted to go back to the US at some point.  Her agreement was really only for the length of her postdoc, 3 years.  Singapore was never a place where we envisioned ourselves long-term, even if we were here an indefinite amount of time.  And though we both became more open to staying longer than 3 years, it never really became the place to stay.  But in the Bay, there is a sense of finality to it.  I know that doesn't have to be the case, but there is no next plan.  No postdoc to finish.  Nothing pulling us to another place.  We've talked about being open to other opportunities abroad, but we've also talked about settling down.  And while I've faced this prospect in my career, this is the first time ew is facing it in hers.  There's no milestone anymore.  Her career is open-ended, with no real cutoff points for decisions on what to do next.

Maybe it's that last part that scares me the most.  In my last diving trip, a guy said to me that he can't understand local Singaporeans who settle down in their 20s and then they inevitably cheat on each other in their 30s because they've changed so much.  I think he was just giving an excuse for being single still, but it made me think that ew and I fit this mold.  We've been together almost 10 years, and we both just turned 30.  We have changed a lot from when we first got together.  And maybe we are much different from when we first fell in love and maybe it is harder to get along sometimes.  But then I think how we've changed together.  We've gone through all these experiences together.  And our love has changed in that way too.  But maybe her career is the wildcard now.  For the first time, I'm scared that we're growing separately.  That her career will pull her in different directions, and that she will grow and change, apart from me.  I think a part of me feels that way already with the way this move has come.  And maybe in the future it continues down this path.

It feels hypocritical to feel this way, as I've always tried to encourage her to keep going, to keep pushing.  But maybe I'm more wedded to tradition than I thought.  Where I feel resentment for having to give up my career choices and dreams for hers.  Where I feel the sacrifices are no longer done together, but by me.  It's funny, because I've always joked around and told people that I would love to be a house husband.  But I guess I've always wanted it on my terms.  And maybe I've deceived myself into thinking that I was doing things on our terms.  That my move to San Diego was for us, that the move to Singapore was for us.  When in fact, maybe it was all for me and what I wanted out of my life, my career.  And that ew was doing it for me, for us in that respect.  That once it became inconvenient for me, I exploded and fought and fought.

We can't stop the world from changing and evolving; we can't stop us from changing and evolving.  As much as we fight it and never want to let go, sometimes we have to.  Ew and I are different from when we came to Singapore  She does have a career now.  I can either keep hoping things are the way I want it and watch us continue to grow separately, or I can try to do what ew did, and try to grow together.

This I Promise You

St recently asked me if I had a copy of the vows I wrote for my wedding.  I didn't think I had kept it anywhere, but somehow I found it in my gmail inbox.  To ew:

It took me a really long time to think about what I wanted to say in these vows.  I contemplated whether I should talk about how we met and fell in love.  Or if I should talk about all the things I love about you.  Or if I should tell you what exactly it is I am vowing to you.  But no matter what I thought about, it always came back to a single theme, and that is what love really means to me.

People love good stories.  Love at first sight.  Meant to be.  Stories you read about or see in movies.  Destiny and serendipity finding a way to bring soul mates together.  Our story has never really been like that.  We were friends, then good friends, then boyfriend and girlfriend, then best friends.  We had chemistry from the start, but I don’t think either one of us could honestly say upon first meeting that we knew we were made for each other.  But you know what?  I think those stories have it backward.  You don’t just happen to meet your soul mate, you find your soul mate.  Because I do believe we are meant to be, but not because of some unexplainable magic, but because of our love for each other, because of what love means to both of us.

It’s easy to be in love.  I think most people who marry have good intentions and that they love each other.  But you constantly hear about how people fall out of love.  And I think that’s because love isn’t easy.  Things don’t magically work out because you love each other.  I know this, because many times in our relationship I’ve tried that approach.  I will admit this to you now, but after some arguments where I thought I was right, I would intentionally close up hoping you’d magically see my viewpoint.  I’m not sure this ever worked.  You know what did work?  Open communication with each other, and a desire to see things from each other’s perspective.  Also, I’m not sure we would have made it through long distance if we just counted on love pulling us through.  It took lots of effort, from arranging visits every month, to balancing our time with each other, family, and friends, to talking through problems late into the night, even when we were exhausted from a long workday.

What I’m trying to say is that being in love doesn’t mean anything unless you act on that love.  To take the time and effort to communicate openly, to show affection, to compromise, to trust, to take chances together, to support each other, to want to pursue the other one’s happiness.  And that is how I know we are soul mates.  Because you make me want to do all of those things.  From simple things like eating healthier and proper skin care, to much more complex and difficult things like understanding and supporting a Ph.D. candidate who is also planning a wedding and interviewing for jobs.  I know that we are very different people.  You’re more nervous than me.  I’m more adventurous.  You’re more compassionate and kind.  I’m more mischievous.  But I know that we both love each other in a way that makes us always want to understand each other and pushes us to become better, more complete people.  And I know that our love and marriage will be incredible because of that.  I love you.

Do The Right Thing

For some reason, I can't seem to get the recent death of the U.S. ambassador in Libya out of my head.  Being in Singapore, this topic is not even on the radar in the news cycles.  But I felt deeply affected when I heard of the circumstances involving the anti-Muslim video, the subsequent rioting, and ultimately the tragic death of innocent people.  In fact, ew and I had a heated discussion on it where we agreed to disagree, which was probably the first time that I can remember in our relationship where we were not able to meet each other halfway.

I do not condone the violent actions of the Libyans, actions that resulted in several deaths.  But at the same time, I do not condone the actions of the anti-Muslims who produced and distributed the video, particularly since there had been prior history with these people doing sacrilegious things, like burning the Koran.  And I think a lot of the narrative that will surround these events is that it was only a video, that there is freedom of speech, and that people should not react as the Libyans did.  That narrative is correct, but I believe it is also idealistic and not reflective of how we actually interact with each other in a global world.  It reminds me of the movie Do The Right Thing, and how accurately that film portrayed race relations--nothing is really that black or white.

Full disclosure: I have not actually seen Do The Right Thing.  But for some reason (probably because of Spike Lee's most recent release of Red Hook Summer), I read the plot summary and critical analysis of the film.  In the film, long-standing racial tension between blacks and whites (and Koreans) ultimately leads to violence after a series of escalating events.  And I think this is what is missing when we talk about this Libya incident: the long standing tension that exists with Muslims and Americans.  Full disclosure again: I am not Muslim.  But let's walk through how a Muslim may process things.  First, there's been an ongoing conflict with Christians for hundreds, if not thousands of years.  Second, post-September 11, there's been a huge backlash against Muslims, particularly from the United States, with aggression into Iraq and Afghanistan.  Third, with Arab Spring, there's been a lot of instability due to a disaffected population, exacerbated by United States involvement in trying to influence these new democracies.  From this perspective, someone in the United States has created a video that is hateful to who you are as a person (a Muslim), and from your perspective (where such speech against Islam is not allowed), the release of this video in the United States is seen as an approved video.  Perhaps you didn't intend to kill anyone, but when mobs gather, things tend to get out of control.  Just look at the Rodney King riots.

Ew claims that I am being sympathetic to the Libyans.  I believe they did an inexcusable act.  I don't think just saying something allows anyone to act violently.  But I think we need to acknowledge that there is more complexity here than simply saying, "There's no place for violence in response to a silly video."  Let's go back to Do The Right Thing.  Did anyone do the right thing?  Radio Raheem plays his boombox at deafening levels and drives everyone in the pizza shop crazy.  Sal smashes his boombox to pieces, prompting him to act angrily.  The cops see an intimidating figure and attack Radio Raheem.  Small things can escalate to big things when there is that much history and tension.  Sal is correct in saying he's free to put pictures of whoever he wants on the wall.  Radio Raheem is correct in saying Sal should acknowledge that his store is mostly patronized by black people.  These are the freedoms people have and in an ideal society, it stays at this level of discourse.  But words are hurtful.  And they can incite, particularly with sensitive topics like race and religion.  At the end of Do The Right Thing, Spike Lee puts two quotes: one by MLK advocating non-violence and the other by Malcom X advocating violence "if necessary."  People need to understand that we all need to do the right thing.

There's an advice column that I'm a bit addicted to called Dear Prudie.  One of the things that Prudie is very adamant about is the fact that woman need to take precautions and protect themselves when going out and hooking up with guys.  She advocates not drinking to the point of losing control, such that women put themselves at a higher risk of rape.  A lot of people respond by claiming that just because a girl goes out and has fun, that doesn't give guys the right to rape her.  And Prudie wholeheartedly agrees.  She does not condone rape in any manner and acknowledges that the girl is still the victim.  However, she makes it clear that she does not believe the world works in such a way.  Guys don't act like that.  We can all hope that they change and every guy becomes respectful of a drunk girl, but if not, then the girl also needs to take responsibility.  That's kind of how I feel about this Libya situation.  I don't think we live in an ideal society.  I believe we should strive to MLK's ideal.  But we also have to recognize that the world doesn't always operate the way we Americans think it should (nor does the United States for that matter).  I honestly believe the United States is the most tolerant country in the world.  It is an amazing place where most people can speak freely and not worry as much about discrimination.  But we have to understand that our American ideals and principles don't necessarily translate globally.  And that requires us to take responsibility to do the right thing, to understand that there may be consequences to things we would tolerate domestically.  Like a video condemning Muslims.

This article may be better at capturing the thoughts I have tried to express: http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/09/the-contradictions-of-diplomacy/262271/

Vietnam

Back when I was working in California, the stretch between President's Day and Memorial Day was always tortuous (though I did work for some companies that actually gave Good Friday).  It's 5-day workweek after 5-day workweek, and even weekend trips couldn't break the grip of the monotonous grind.  In Singapore, that stretch is from Vesak Day in May to National Day in August.  To celebrate finally having a 4-day workweek, ew and I made it a 3-day workweek and visited Hanoi.  We realized that we hadn't taken a trip together since April actually, though each of us had gone on several trips for work (and ew even went on a few for pleasure without me).  So it was a welcome respite to get away from Singapore together, as our relationship was suffering a bit from island fever.

Whenever ew and I talk about where we should go visit, we inevitably talk about where we've gone in the past.  So in discussing Hanoi, one of the topics was how Asia had no romantic cities (well, other than Kyoto).  In thinking about it, this isn't really that shocking, as Asia is mostly filled with developing countries that have a sense of chaos to them.  There are beach destinations, but for some reason, there isn't that same sense of serenity to those places; it's more of an exoticism that draws people in.  Yet, when we thought about Hanoi, we thought about an Old Quarter filled with remnants of French colonial architecture and a vibrant blend of European and Asian cuisine.  People sipping dark Vietnamese coffee while eating banh mi and pain chocolats.  A quaint town full of cyclers along the lake, with rolling rice paddy fields on the city outskirts.  I'm not quite sure why we thought Hanoi would be like that.  No, Hanoi was pretty much like most Southeast Asian cities we've been to.

It's a bustling, small city filled with cars and motorbikes.  In a way, it feels like it's somewhere in between India and Thailand.  A little more developed than India (and seemingly more crowded), but more of the wild west than Thailand.  When ew and I went to Chiang Mai last year, it was relaxing because it's such a sleepy place, with nothing really to do (except cycle and take cooking classes).  Hanoi is similar in that it's small and there's not much to do, but it's definitely not sleepy.  There are tons of people in traffic--I'm not sure a second goes by in Hanoi without someone honking their horn.  And even though most places are walkable if you're staying in the Old Quarter, it's not very pleasant since the sidewalks are blocked off with people selling stuff or parked motorbikes.  And if you're off the sidewalk, you're playing frogger with the traffic.  Ew and I basically walked in a single file at all times.

So a non-sleepy, chaotic town with not much to do is not really the best place for a weekend getaway.  But there are two parts of Hanoi that are quite nice: art and food.  Around the lake, there are several art galleries showcasing local artists' works, and ew and I actually bought our first piece of art together.  It's quite affordable and it definitely adds a cultural feel to Hanoi, particularly since Singapore is not exactly an arts hotspot.  And the food, well, some of the best food I've had in Southeast Asia.  I think what surprised me the most about the food was how light it all was.  It's definitely in stark contrast to the heavy use of oil in Chinese cooking, or the spice and curry needed in Malaysian/Singaporean/Indonesia/Indian cooking, or the salty miso/soy sauce based Japanese cooking.  A lot of the food was just lightly seasoned soups or noodles with fresh herbs.  It was freshly made pho ga or bun thang, which tastes like the best homemade chicken soup.  The bun cha or cha ca, both of which pair vermicelli with oilier grilled pork or grilled fish, both served with fresh herbs, like spring onion, mint, basil, and even dill.  The xoi, a simple sticky rice dish with thinly sliced Chinese sausage.  Or my favorite dish, banh xeo, an egg pancake with bean sprouts and pork, packed into a rice paper with mint and basil, and then dipped in some fish sauce.  If anything, Hanoi is worth a trip just for the food, particularly Quan An Ngon, Cha Ca La Vong (the original, don't get tricked like ew and me), and Xoi Yen.  For places like Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum or the war museum (which apparently is almost all in Vietnamese), I'm not sure it's worth wandering to if it's 36 degrees out.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts

A couple weeks ago I finally caught the series finale of Friday Night Lights.  I've been meaning to write something about it, but every time I try to formulate my thoughts, I can't quite seem to grasp what I want to say.  The book (and movie to some extent) is a searing commentary on the state of small town America, with an in-depth look at how values are misplaced for the sake of football glory.  It seems somewhat topical to be recalling it now, given the scandal that has recently rocked Penn State.  But the TV show is a bit different.  I've actually only seen the last three seasons (out of five), but it's not quite as bleak as the book.  Despite the hardship and difficulties people like Matt, Tim, and Coach face, there's a sense of hope in the show.  Maybe it's faint, but it's there.  And I think that's why I've been struggling to figure out what I want to say about the show, because maybe the show is how I want life to be, but the book is how life really is.

I asked ls, an avid fan of Friday Night Lights, what he thinks the main theme of the show is.  He said community and family.  And to some extent this is the recurring undertone.  The show centers around Coach and his family, and how they navigate the world of high school football in a small Texas town.  It shows the resiliency of a town that bonds together over a common cause, of the happiness and joy that is achievable, of the boundaries that can be broken by having a dream.  But it also shows the consequences of not always believing and abiding by this dream, of being a misfit in this closed community.  It shows that while community and family may lift some of us up, it may also suffocate and bring some of us down.  Maybe this dichotomy is what Friday Night Lights is about.

I think two scenes capture this concept in an understated way.  The first, from season 4, is when Julie goes for her college interview.  She tells the interviewer that all her life she wanted to get out of Dillon.  That each book, each accomplishment was a step toward that direction.  But upon leaving, she's realizing that she has been shaped by her town, and that her viewpoint is different from every other person.  This is the strength that community can give us: identity.  But only if we are aware enough that our views and opinions are based in that identity.

Growing up in California, it's always easy to read articles about the Midwest or South and wonder what is going on in that part of the country.  How can people care so much more about football than education?  How can people be so closed-minded about things?  Maybe that's the question Friday Night Lights the book was asking.  But in moving to Singapore, I've begun to understand what diversity actually means.  And what it means to really understand another person's viewpoint.  We're all a bit like Julie.  While some of us think that California may be the best place ever (rather than wanting to leave), our viewpoints have been shaped by our community.  Most of us surround ourselves with people who have similar thought processes.  For me, it's an open-minded, highly educated, free spirited thought process.  Growing up in affluent, conservative San Diego and then going to hippie, liberal Berkeley didn't really change that fact.  There may be different opinions, but I'm used to people thinking in rational, logical steps.  Even for people who travel a lot, and even for expats in foreign countries, they still don't quite grasp this concept.  Most travelers don't have to deal with the day in/day out of the country they're visiting.  They enjoy some local culture and talk to some locals, but it's difficult to understand the true pulse of a place without putting down roots.  Similarly, even for expats, they tend to gravitate towards people with similar backgrounds, because it's often difficult to relate to the local culture.  This has been mostly true for me in Singapore as well.  But I've also had the opportunity to work in a local company, where I deal with Singaporeans, Indians, Japanese, and Chinese, and there are distinctly different ways they approach problems and make decisions.  And it's easy enough to say that they don't get it, that they don't understand how things work, but in reality, my version of how things work is based on the community that I'm from.  And maybe that's why I can't understand a community that places football above education, but it also prevents me from trying to understand.  Unless I embrace the limitations of my identity. And that's the second scene.

At the end of season 5, in the midst of playing for a state championship, Luke is debating whether he should keep playing football at a Division III school or join the army.  He asks Tim and Tim tells him to enjoy state, to embrace it, and then to let it go.  This is especially poignant coming from Tim, who tried to keep playing football at college, then ended up back in Dillon and is at a stage of his life where he's a bit bitter about how everything has turned out.  Football was Tim's identity.  It is Luke's identity.  But if they keep holding on to that limited view of themselves, they'll never move forward in life.  It's easy to get caught up in what we've established.  A steady job.  A comfortable home.  A group of friends.  An idea of how we should live life, how we should spend our money, how we should start a family.  And we tend to try to hold on to all this.  But if we keep holding on, we'll never move past that limited scope with which we see the world.  Maybe we have to be able to let go in order to avoid letting our identity trap us.

The iconic phrase from Friday Night Lights is "clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose."  We always say people are more alike than they know, but we don't really understand what that means.  Sure we may have similar problems, similar wants and desires, but that's not how we approach our interactions with each other.  We frame our opinions and views through the lens of our own community.  Our eyes are blurred by our homogeneity, no matter how diverse we may think we are.  Our hearts only carry our own identity.  But there's that glimmer of hope, that we can let go and have clear eyes and full hearts.  And that's when the world becomes beautiful, and no one can lose.

I Never Felt This Way Before ...

Last weekend ew and I ended up seeing the Amazing Spider Man.  On its own, it's actually a decent movie, but given that it's pretty much the exact same story as the first Spider Man (which is only about 10 years old), it's a bit superfluous.  The trailers hyped up the secret of Peter Parker's parents, but the movie really only touches on that aspect to set up a sequel.  Regardless, there's a wonderful scene in the movie, where Peter Parker (played by the very likable Andrew Garfield) discovers his acrobatic abilities by skateboarding in an isolated industrial area.  It's paced to Coldplay's Til Kingdom Come and I think it poetically captures everything about adolescence and self discovery.  That sense of loneliness we all feel in our youth, searching for something to define us, searching for that feeling we've never felt but want to feel.  That slow discovery of something meaningful, of something worthwhile, of feeling alive.  And finding moments of peace amongst the turbulence of life.

Maybe that scene resonated with me because as I've gotten older, I've begun to listen to less and less music, and hearing Coldplay brings back memories of my adolescence.  Not quite high school, but definitely college, and in particular, my relationship with ew.  And I recall that feeling of alienation, of cynicism, but also the exhilaration, impetuousness, and spontaneity.  As we age we think we need to be more responsible, more mature, more stable, and that is true.  We've gone through more life experiences and don't overreact to situations.  We don't run as hot and cold as we did when we were younger.  But to some extent, maybe this evenness takes the edge off of life.  It reminds me of scene from Cold Mountain.  Jude Law's character is the experienced war veteran who is at a standstill with a younger guy.  Jude Law is trying to implore the youth to walk away since the youth doesn't even understand what he is fighting for.  But the youth says he has something on his side: the confidence of youth.  I think we shouldn't underestimate our need to recall that every now and then.

Why Do We Want It All?

Recently, there's been a lot of debate on the Atlantic's cover story of women having it all, or rather the inability of women to have it all ( http://www.theatlantic.com/debates/women-workplace).  Reactions have ranged across the spectrum: those who approvingly nod, those who deride the backward step for feminism, those who think it's ridiculous for people to even expect to have it all.  Regardless of which view one takes, I think most people acknowledge that there's this concept of having it all.  It's just a matter of defining what "it all" means.  Some people take it to mean a great career and a great family life.  Some people will take it to mean finding happiness with what you have and acknowledging that life has a balance.  But this got me thinking: Why do we want it all?  Can we ever have it all?

I think it's a bit misguided to classify wanting it all as a problem for only the 1%.  It's easy to say that most people only care about paying their mortgage and feeding their kids, and that they don't have the illusions of having it all.  That those high-powered people complaining about not being able to spend enough time with their kids, despite having the perks of great pay with flexible hours, are just asking for too much.  Maybe to some extent it is true, that this is a problem for privileged people, who have the luxury of choice.  But I think most people want more.  From the highly-educated tenured professor who wants a power position in D.C. to the college graduate who wants to be more than a cog in the machine at a big corporation, to the single working mother who wants to do right by her children, to the children of the slums who want to escape poverty.  I don't think people ever stop wanting more.  Wanting it all.  There's always some hurdle to cross, some new challenge, something to cross off the list.  There are those who rationalize that they've done enough, that they've seen enough ... but does this rationalization mean that they have it all, or does it just mean they've accepted what they have?

Maybe this acceptance is the best we can do.  But it's what creates that nagging feeling within us that makes it seem like we are just trying to be happy because we've reached our limit.  I think when people blame wanting it all as a 1% problem, they are overlooking the power of this feeling.  They think, "The rest of us would be happy with what you elitists have, why can't you?"  But everyone wants to believe that they can achieve more than their limit.  We see the whole world now--people within our group, below our group, above our group.  Technology connects us so that we can constantly compare, whether it's through social media, international business, travel.  We see what is possible.  We don't realize that it's not possible for everyone.  We try to convince ourselves that it is, that we went to as good a university, that we're just as good looking, that we're just as capable.  It's easy to say that we shouldn't care about measuring ourselves against others, and that we should only care about what makes us happy.  But I think what makes us happy is largely tied to what we perceive is possible, and I don't know anyone who is capable of just shutting that off.  Maybe the most awesome person in the world doesn't have this problem.  But I like to believe that people like Obama and Merkel still have this nagging feeling.

I've touched on this before, but I think it has a lot to do with our need to find purpose.  To know that we matter.  To know that we have a reason for existing.  To validate our belief that we are unique, that our souls are special, that we make a difference.  We keep working, we keep expanding our circle of family and friends, we turn to religion, we pursue happiness.  We're constantly looking for something to validate us.  But ultimately, no amount of wealth or success or love can do that for us.  It may just be that we're on a self absorbed quest with no answer, and the best we can do is live with that nagging feeling.  Until someone says we are David, we are Ruth or Tommy or Kathy, we may never be able to find that peace.  That scares me a little.