If this isn't nice, what is?
Yesterday, I broke my traditional morning routine of having my first cup of coffee on the couch while reading by first strolling around the block to see what’s up.
Quite unexpectedly, I encountered a beautiful hillside just a few blocks from my apartment, covered with a kaleidoscope of blooming flowers, truly a delight to behold. I spent 2 minutes just staring at it, awestruck, until a lady walked by me, glancing at me staring at the hill. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I told her, to which she responded with a mischievous smile and a “They sure are, I wonder who planted them.”
10 minutes later, I learned the entire story of this wild garden: how a new neighbor moved into the apartment building above the hill, tore out all the old flowers because she didn’t want to deal with the gardening labor, and how this lady I just met, a new friend really, decided to wage war against this woman by throwing random wildflower seeds all over the hillside to spite her. The flowers bloom, the new neighbor hires the gardener again, my new friend throws more seeds. “There’s no way she’s beating me”, she remarks. “That bitch doesn’t have the motivation I do.” Based on the vibrant hillside I encountered, I’ll certainly say my friend is winning.
These days I often find myself experiencing these little moments of awe and interestingness. This morning I felt this feeling deeply, sitting on my couch, coffee in hand, eating my yogurt and reading Machines of Loving Grace. I looked up to take a sip and felt this profound feeling of awe and gratitude, reading something written well in a room I spent hours decorating, in a city I love. Later today I’m off for a bike ride with my family, spending the afternoon hanging out with my sister, before finishing the day off watching Rango with my girlfriend.
When moments like these happen, I’ve started saying, literally out loud, “If this isn’t nice, what is?” It puts things in perspective, makes me appreciate what’s happening around me, and reminds me that the good ol’ days, as they say, are happening right now.
A common side effect of our ambition, I’ve been reflecting, is to neglect enjoying the moment and always think about what’s ahead. Being present, it seems, is often collateral damage on the path to progress. Perhaps it’s just the circles I’ve been in the past few years - insecure college students striving for the best clubs and internships, where people are focused on what’s next rather than what’s now - but I’ve found myself significantly happier taking the time to really take stock of my surroundings and appreciate what I have now.
Now that I’m firmly in the “post-grad” camp, I’ve found that the most content version of my existence is periods of intense focus and effort, so-called “locking in”, followed by ample amounts of rest and leisure time to recover. This past weekend, for example, I spent ~20 hours in my roommate’s WeWork office building my personal website, and am now sitting on my couch and writing this blog. I’m not sure why, but this system tends to work the best for me; to be honest, I don’t really think the reason even matters.
Perhaps I’m an especially good productive procrastinator. Perhaps my panic monster is particularly capable. Perhaps I love the thrill of knowing my exam is in three hours and I have to, have to, finish these last 8 lectures before then. I show up to the exam hall, score a 95, and leave victorious. Could I really just be… him?
There are plenty of people who live life in these intervening periods of intensity and leisure: the Hiking Guy works for three months straight out of the year and spends the rest of it backpacking around the world with nothing but what he can carry. Andrew Skurka graduated college with an investment banking job, but decided to backpack 8000 miles across America and win the Adventurer of the Year award instead. In a similar vein, I chose the latest possible start date at BCG after I graduated from UCLA and spent 5 months backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail - now that I’m working full-time, it’s that expedition that makes me stand out to others.
My experience at my first full-time job as a management consultant has been exactly this - periods of extreme intensity punctuated by periods of remarkable calm. The weeks I spend on projects are the most intense of my life, full of long hours, insane stress and learning. Growth through trials and tribulations. Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. Yet the project inevitably ends, life becomes normal again, and I’m left wondering if those weeks of insanity even really happened.
If I can try to describe how I want to live my life, I suspect the most accurate way is that I want to maximize the interestingness of it. I want to be able to regale myself and those around me with tales of a life well-lived, of adventures and daring undertakings against all odds. Shackleton’s expedition to Antarctica, facing certain doom and destruction. Remarkable lock-picking skills up to high roofs. Hitchhiking close calls where I entered the car tired and hungry and left with a new friend and blog subscriber. I think I’ve always admired these kinds of people because, in a way, they do have memorable lives. If I can live something that is memorable, why wouldn’t I want to? Why would I not want to make my own life interesting?
The curious thing is that these memorable things are what people remember, even if it’s the superficial things that get their initial attention. I can count on one hand how many people have truly admired me for being a management consultant, even if that is the thing that drew them to me initially (BCG name pedigree, am I right?). When visiting my friend a few weeks ago in UCLA’s college town, Westwood, I had many coffee chats with people who obviously found me online because I was a BCGer, but reached out because of my blog and writings. Recently, I got coffee with someone who told me she felt she connected with my personality through my writing and found it refreshing. There was another guy who emailed me after my consulting and recruitment advice blog, saying he wished he had read it sooner.
On my last day in Westwood, I continue my time-honored tradition of hammocking on Janss, watching the population of UCLA move, meet, and mingle. I invite my friends to pull up and slowly but surely, they trickle over from around campus to hammock avec moi.
Jack brings a mocha from Westwood, cold from the long walk up to campus but warmed back up by his smile. Martina shows up with a giant pizza to share. Ariv comes by with his friends, new homies of mine now. I tell a long joke my roommate’s dad taught me involving your hand and three people (iykyk); Jonathan cackles with glee, Ashita shockingly embarrassed, then laughing herself.
Elizabeth shows up and we talk about strippers named Ruby and moving to London; Dylan regales me with Mt. Whitney ascents and JPL research. Mariachi music is playing in the background. A volleyball rolls down the hill, chased by a group of girls who have more enthusiasm than skill. We talk about life but really talk to be with each other. Golden threads of light dance through the trees; the hammock creaks and swings. The bells on Powell chime once, then twice, then three times. Hours pass by in bliss. If this isn’t nice, what is?
Later, I meet up with one of my first mentees, whose name shall remain hidden but she, of course, knows who she is. I’ve watched her grow up from a confused, uncertain freshman into a confident leader herself. I frequently find myself amused at her problems and biggest concerns in life, which she inevitably grows past the next time we chat, just like I did myself years ago. This time it was another existential crisis: having secured a prestigious investment banking internship, she was unsure of what to do with her extra time now. Should she get a leadership position in her club? Join another one? Take more classes? Add a minor?
I just looked at her and laughed. I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the grand expanse of people enjoying the lazy afternoon sun. This is the point, no? To spend more time doing this, with people you admire and care about? All we really want, deep down, is love and connection. If this isn’t nice, what is?
Some might call this kind of existence work hard, play hard. A younger Dennis might have called this work hard, chill hard. But I think this current Dennis, who has spent the past 6 months in either periods of extreme locking in or relative chillness, would just say that this is the way to truly live life.
Cheers,
Dennis :)
Nice writing, I too want to live a life of interestingness.
reading this was nice :)