I like learning about how things work. I love the back story. I adore sub-cultures. I have a tendency to try to read everything and then pull out the funniest, most insightful, cleverest, pithiest items for the people that I love. Instead of dealing with my onslaught of gchats and tweets and emails- consume on your own time. And then lets talk about it. Preferably over beer.
If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
The devastating truth, as told by Tim Kreider in the NYTimeslibawr)
Maybe that’s not true for everyone, but I basically forgot how to be treated as a person over the last seven years here. I forgot the wonder of being in a room where everyone is an equal, another charm on the bracelet of an evening that’s just as wonderful and unique as the next. I felt grossed out by myself. I admittedly lean toward self-consumed when weirded out by my surroundings and had no problem taking my sadness and discomfort out on those that I love as a result of constantly feeling weirded out. Yeah, there were external factors that were contributing to me slowly turning into a miserable person with zero patience for anyone or anything, but a lot of it was that I had zip perspective. I’d completely forgotten a life that wasn’t full of people that just wanted to suck my soul dry.
We organize dinner parties and concerts and raves and adventures and launches and pop-ups and on and on and on. It’s an extraordinary world where we talk about things that matter, build innovative companies and create amazing experiences.
Words like “epic” and “crushing it” are used regularly with the utmost sincerity as if everything in the world can be experienced with flushed face and wide eyes.
I realize how fortunate I am to live this life. There’s a Gatsby-like wonder to the revelry and adventure. My world is dizzying and exhilarating.
But every once in a while, I’m concerned that this always-on way of connecting with people is numbing a reality that should be dealt with