All the jobs I've ever wanted.

Some people seem born with their calling, finding a passion for their chosen career path at a ridiculously young age.

For the rest of us, we search. Hopefully we find the thing that brings us satisfaction as individuals.
Hopefully.

I haven't found mine yet, although maybe I stumbled over it along the way and kept on going.

This is an inventory of all of the professions I ever wanted, as far back as I can remember:

Monkey doctor (that's the first I can remember, back when I wanted to change my middle name to Orangutan, because it had a better ring than Amanda)
Scientist
Veterinarian
Nurse
Talk show host
Marine biologist
Musician
Artist
Writer
Poet
Photojournalist
Radio personality
Photographer
Professor
Cook
Baker
Sex educator
Midwife
Doula
Massage therapist
Yoga instructor
Publisher
Editor
Art director
Graphic designer
Interior designer
Visual merchandiser
Art handler
Curator
Gallerist
Exhibition designer
Set designer
Stylist

I'm still trying to figure it out.

Naked with a mocha

I snuck out to Manhattan this morning for a little quality time with myself. It's different now, feeling naked without the baby attached to me, a reminder that I am an individual unto myself.
Not mother.
Not sister.
Not daughter.
Not wife.

Just me.

I resist the urge to make lists and be productive. For now, it's just me and a cafe mocha at City Bakery.

Love.

The known universe

The Known Universe by the American Museum of Natural History

Pattern

This is thanks to IFLS again.

Selenga River delta / Human kidney angiogram
Fractal image / Deciduous tree in winter

In five billion years, our sun will expand and engulf our orbit as the charred ember that was once earth vaporizes.

 Quote by Neil deGrasse Tyson, one of the greatest minds in science today.

Why do we fear death?

Why do we fear change?

Is it fear of the unknown?
Fear of pain, discomfort, suffering?
Is it the fear of what lies beyond?



I'm afraid to fly and I know why; it's not the potential end, but rather the fall. The moment you realize there's something wrong until.... I try not to think about that too much at 35,000 feet.

It's an uncomfortable conflict with my love of travel. They take turns for who wins. It's been a while since I've taken a trip. 

  

In my neighborhood, there are four funeral homes within about a dozen blocks of each other. It may be macabre, but I find them beautiful:

Wallpaper

It's so easy to be busy.
To keep ourselves running here and there. Errands, groceries. Pick up this. Buy that.

And it's so easy to lose perspective.

 

It's so easy to just dwell on the details, on the mundane, the day to day activities, without taking a step back to see things for what they really are.

 

It's so easy for our perspective to get lost. Lost in the attention to everything else. 

And in the process of always looking out- at everyone and every thing else- we lose ourselves. Our dreams. The person we wanted to be. Or thought we would be.

 

But it's in the process of doing and seeing- of observing, looking and listening- where we find perspective. 

Maybe it's there also where we find ourselves. 

Image: IIT Mies Wallpaper (2004)
By: 2x4, Inc. (est. 1994 by Michael Rock, Susan Sellers, Georgianna Stout)

Today we went to the MOMA. I love that place. I could have stayed there for hours, but we had the little man in tow. He was amazing but doing a museum with a 7-month old isn't a day long experience. Plus I like the shorter trip, and with a membership, we can always go back.

Regardless, it's inspiring.

If nothing else, inspiring to
go and
do and
see
MORE.

Octopus

This is a re-post of an article I read last month and am still thinking about. Thanks to IFLS. She does excellent work, sharing information that blows my mind once or twice a week.

These are octopus eggs.

Octopus reproduction is fairly uniform across species. When a female is ready to mate, she releases a chemical into the water that attracts males. They follow this chemical to the female, where they will often fight one another for the right to mate with the female. Sometimes the female will mate with more than one male. The same chemical that attracts the males stops the males from eating the female - cannibalism is common amongst octopodes.

Once it has been decided who will be mating, the male transfers packages of sperm called "spermatophores" to the female using his third right arm (which typically has no suckers). The female stores these, and then builds a den. She then seals the entrance. Once this is complete, she lays the eggs and fertilizes them as she goes using the spermatophore. A female octopus can lay tens of thousands of eggs, and they all hang from the roof of her den. Once laying is complete, she settles down and spends the next few months (up to six and a half, depending on the species) caring for the eggs. She ensures that bacteria and algae do not grow on them, and she blows water across them to ensure a constant oxygen supply.

The eggs will then hatch, and the mother removes the rocks sealing the entrance. The offspring swim to the surface, and the mother crawls out of her den and dies.

 
Interestingly, octopodes are known to be incredibly intelligent. Read more about octopus intelligence here in Orion Magazine.

"Researchers who study octopuses are convinced that these boneless, alien animals—creatures whose ancestors diverged from the lineage that would lead to ours roughly 500 to 700 million years ago—have developed intelligence, emotions, and individual personalities. Their findings are challenging our understanding of consciousness itself."


Fascinating.

The origin of the Perfect Container

This is Bea.

It only makes sense to start here since she is the originator of the concept of "The Perfect Container".

An avid cook, Bea always took an odd pride in her ability for spatial relations, being able to select the perfect sized plastic container to fit the food to be put away. Call it a quirk, but she was good at it. After putting away said food, she was quick to announce to anyone within earshot "Look, the perfect container!".

Bea was my grandmother. She died last year, on June 9, 2012, just a couple weeks before the birth of my first child. We knew it was the end, but I couldn't bring my round self to go and see her. Already a hormonal emotional mess, I was afraid to face her- not because of any sort of guilt or family issue, but because I knew that I would have to say goodbye, much like I did with her husband, my grandfather, seventeen years prior.

But she was already gone, having slipped away for years into the nebulous world of dementia.

I saw her three months earlier when I was just beginning to show the first signs of the real pregnant belly. By that time her world had reduced to just a few inches in front of her. She was barely aware of my presence while we sat and ate ice cream together, my mother feeding her gently. It was all I could do to hold in the tears. I had seen her before, but not like this.

Not like this.

And so I was afraid to see her even farther inside of herself as she slipped away from a blood clot that began in her leg and slowly traveled to her heart. The same way her mother died some sixty years earlier. We were almost relieved when she developed the clot, finally seeing a possible exit for her. Despite the loss of her mind, her body was still exceedingly fit and healthy. She broke her hip a couple years earlier at 90 and was up and moving around just a few short weeks later. Not that she had any idea where she was going.

Bea.

Maybe this is my homage to her. The perfect container. Not just for leftovers, but for all that life can contain. We will see where this road leads.

Welcome.