Why Spontaneity Pays Off (Sometimes)

I'm a creature of habit. Everyone who knows me knows this. Or, rather, I should say that I'm a creature of planning. I plan everything out -- my days, my clothes, my workouts, my expenses, my travels. Everything gets plotted out and charted down to the decimal point!

In general, I hate jumping into a situation completely blind. I need to have all my options choreographed first, with chances of failure appropriately weighed, and with plenty of back up plans or failsafes in place in case failure does occur. Only then do I act.

Yes, I'm serious. I do this for everything, and especially when important decisions need to be made.

But lately I've been thinking about the few times in life I have made important decisions out of spontaneity -- that is, without having my course pre-routed for me or any measurable back up plans to cover a failure.

One such time was my first job out of college. I hated that job. I had been at it for 19 months and really wanted to quit. Me being me, however, I couldn't do so until I first had another job lined up to land at when I jumped ship. It was tough being able to go on interviews and still do my day job, but I managed it. For months I went on several interviews in the publishing industry here in New York, but to no avail. I had no leads.

Then one day my difficult manager was being difficult as per usual. She pushed my buttons one too many times on this day, however, and I decided right then and there that I was done! I went to her boss and presented my resignation. I announced I would give them two weeks to find my replacement, but that I was out after that. When asked if I had another job lined up, I replied that I did not. The director seemed taken aback by this, and assured me that I could take all the time I needed to find a new place of employment before I left.

I resolutely held my ground and replied that, whether I found another job or not within that two weeks, I would still be leaving at the end of it. It was just a feeling I had deep in my core, that this was the right step to take and -- more importantly -- that things would somehow all work out if I give in to fate.

So I left the company after 2 weeks with nothing new lined up. I then spent the next 2 weeks afterward interviewing at various places. And just like that, I found myself starting a new job at a new company on the 3rd week. This place was better structured than the last, my reporting manager was the nicest person I had ever interviewed with, and best of all -- I was getting paid a LOT more!

I remember thinking to myself: Wow! Had you not gone for it and quit, you might never have had the free time to even go on this interview, let alone land the position!

It was a lesson that taught me not everything needs to be *safe* before you make a life change. Sometimes you just need to read the situation and understand that it's time to move on. You need to act when you feel that it's time to act.

Yeah, lately I've been feeling this again. Not just at work, but in my personal life as well. It's starting to feel like as if it's time to move on. Which scares the hell out of me, because I have no alternatives lined up. I do want to switch to another job opportunity, though. I just don't know exactly what to do right now. Do I simply look for a change of scenery within the same field? Or do I reinvent myself entirely and try for a field that is totally different from what I do now, but which would make me happier? Something involving photography, perhaps? Or freelance writing, maybe? Because I'm starting to feel the boredom of my current job.

Then, too, I'm wondering: Should I leave New York City? Where would I move? I would love to move back to Vermont where I went to college, but I would imagine my chances of finding work there would not be as favorable as they would be in another big city. Or should I move to Texas where my current company has its headquarters in the Dallas area? My brother lives in Houston -- should I move there, perhaps?

Honestly, sometimes I wish I could just take that blind leap of faith and simply GO! Leave everything behind in my current life and completely change my situation.

Who knows?

But on a much less serious, yet oddly connected note .... just recently an acquaintance of mine from years ago contacted me out of the blue. I hadn't heard from her since then, but she had been an aspiring actress and model at the same time that I had begun exploring photography. We had helped each other out back then: I taking her headshots, and she ... well, posing for 'em! Fast forward to earlier this year, and this same woman texted me wanting to know if we could meet up again and do another photoshoot. I told her "sure, of course!", although truth be told I wasn't feeling all that confident in my abilities to take good photos of anyone. I didn't want her to think of me as a *real* photographer, you see? Too much pressure on me! Because then her expectations would be so high, and the end result would not live up to the imagination.

Still, she had loved my headshots of her, and I did explain that photography is just my hobby and not my actual living. Trying to downsize her expectations, you know?

But then months went by, and I realized I just didn't want to put myself out there like that. To set up a meet with this woman, go over how I wanted to shoot her, and then execute the shoot.

Then one night a couple of weeks ago, out of nowhere, I sat up on my couch while watching tv and said: Hey, why not do it tomorrow?!

It was a crazy idea and totally spontaneous and on such short notice ... but I reached out to her and asked her if she would be willing to do the shoot within the next few days. She told me she was free in the morning if I wanted to shoot something quick; otherwise, it would have to wait until she got back from a trip out of town 10 days later.

I leapt at that and said: bet! So we set up a quick street shoot outside her building the following morning. Basically, in less than 12 hours from the time we texted until the time we saw each other face to face. Hey, that can be a lifetime in this city!

Anyway, I'm happy to say the shoot went very well. Far better than even my best expectations. It was a quick affair, and we made a quick decision on what she should wear. Something casual for sure since it was stifling hot and humid this July morning in New York City. At first she wanted to wear a summery dress, but then thought she'd rather wear something she would normally wear and feel more comfortable in. I dubbed it her "Boho chic" look!

And so, for an hour that morning while the light was still soft and dappled, I shot her on the front steps to her apartment building. These were just a few of the photos I made:

As I said, this ended up being a really great shoot for me. And best of all, my client loved her photos! She squealed with delight and high-fived and hugged me upon seeing them on the viewscreen. It was a great feeling.

And I was very happy for taking the chance, completely out of my comfort zone, and simply DOING IT rather than pre-planning and second guessing and talking myself out of it. Coming as it did while I'm in the midst of this current existential funk, I have to say it gave me a lot of food for thought concerning the direction to take my life next.

Maybe I really should just go out there and take the plunge. Make a change, and to hell with the possible risks. Maybe life is all about risks, no? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Hmmmm .... I wonder about that, though.

Panama Trip - Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime. A trip to Panama's steamy tropical province, Bocas del Toro.

Now, before this year I had never heard of Bocas -- as it's so lovingly referred to by travelers to this jungle paradise -- but I was searching for someplace exotic to take myself that year, and frankly I had plenty of options. A cultural exploration of the mountainous region of Romania's back country? I really wanted to do that. Or how about a photography tour of Western Ireland? Oh man, oh man!

But then I came across this guy's account in Condé Nast Traveler of his 2012 solo trip to Bocas del Toro in Panama, and suddenly I knew that this was the place I just had to go to. It spoke to me on so many levels!

This is my account of that 7-day adventure.

DAY 1: Here There Be Balboas!

I was so excited the night before I was to fly out to Panama. I checked and double checked everything, went through my suitcase to make sure everything was still there, and most importantly I made sure that my camera equipment was safely stored within my carry-on bag. This was going to be a big trip for me, and a perfect opportunity for which to practice my newfound hobby.

So with that in mind, fair warning: From here on out -- all pic are mine!

The flight from New York City to Panama City (there are no direct bookings to the capital of Bocas) is straight forward and painless -- that is, if you book with the country's premier carrier for International flights, Copa Airlines. It's a 5 hour direct flight between the two cities, and I had made arrangements to spend a day and a night in the country's capital before boarding a local flight to the province of Bocas del Toro, my ultimate destination.

Luckily the country has a 1:1 monetary exchange with the United States, what with its deep historic and economic ties to the U.S.A. and all. So this means the US Dollar and the Panamanian Balboa hold identical value there, and in fact the USD is accepted as legal tender throughout the country. So, there was no need for me stop by the Currency Exchange bureau on my way to the taxi stand outside of the airport. I simply grabbed my bags and hailed the first cab that pulled up to the curb.

And I was off to my first destination just like that! Which, in this case, happened to be the historic "Old Town" of Panama City known as Casco Viejo -- aka, Casco Antiguo. You'll find both names used for the district, although the latter seems to be used more by locals. All the cabbies know how to get there, however, as it's practically tourist central.

My cabbie spoke almost no English, and I speak only a little Spanish. But between the two of us we managed to cobble together a weird Spanglish shorthand for conversation during the 45 mins ride. He enjoyed very much that I was wearing my NY Yankees baseball cap, since after all baseball is the No. 1 national sport here, and the legendary Yankees closer, Mariano Rivera, is their native hero. No, seriously, this country is quite obsessed with their local boy turned sports legend. Mariano could probably run for president there and win handily.

Anyway, the drive through Panama City that early afternoon was quite a sight. The poor areas are extremely poor and rundown. It pretty much looks like the back towns of Mexico. But the more well-to-do districts where most of the corporations have their offices and the big chain hotels cater exclusively to tourists -- you would not be out of place thinking that you were driving through downtown Miami!

Tourists using downtown Panama City as their selfie backdrop.

This city definitely has a southern FL vibe going on if you stick mainly to the affluent areas. So, yes, the differential between rich and poor in this town is HUGE to say the least. It's quite disconcerting to the outside visitor, this stark contrast.

Panama Trip - Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really)

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the link below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!


And now for the continuation . . .

DAY 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).

After taking another leisurely stroll around the Old Town in Panama City where I was staying, it was time to pack up my things from the day before and commence the second leg of my trip; to fly west northwest into the tropical jungles of Bocas del Toro!

Flea market abutting the sea wall in Casco Viejo.

I bid farewell to the hotel staff and Ubered my way over to the local airport for domestic flights (Albrook) -- which is separate from the international airport (Tocumen), and located almost on the opposite side of the city. For some reason, my cabbie didn't even know where this airport was, and so it took a little longer (and a few frantic exchanges in broken Spanglish) than it should have to reach the place.

But once there, I was greeted with one of the smallest airports I've ever been to. Not as puny as the landing strip on North Eleuthera island in the Bahamas when I stayed there a few years back -- but still pretty tiny. And laid back! There was hardly any security, and people were just walking in and out of the terminal from the street with no luggage or anything. There wasn't even a terminal, to be honest. Just a waiting room and an announcement over the PA system alerting you (in Spanish) when a plane was arriving on the tarmac. Basically, it felt more like a train station than an airport.

When the plane that would take me to Bocas did arrive, though, I noticed a ton of American and European tourists were suddenly joining me. It seemed like they came out of nowhere! This reveal actually helped to put me at ease, because in that moment I knew for sure that I was on the right flight. I don't think white people travel from Panama City to anywhere else in the country *except* to Bocas del Toro. I may be wrong, but probably not.

As you would expect, the plane was one of those small commuter type deals and we were all crammed tight in there. Luckily, the flight from Panama City to Bocas Town is just under one hour long, so it was hardly that big of an ordeal. And anyway, I just couldn't wait to get there!

Unfortunately, I had no idea of what would be in store for me once I reached this tropical province. A near catastrophe totally of my own making, but which almost ended up ruining my trip before it really even got started!

I'll get to that soon enough.

Panama Trip - Day 3: Making the Best of Things

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).


And now for the continuation . . .


DAY 3: Making the Best of Things.

Despite the rather crummy circumstances of losing my bag the previous afternoon, I woke up to a much better mood on the day I was set to depart Isla Colón and head across the bay to Isla Bastimentos. But since I wasn't getting picked up until late afternoon, I decided while the morning was still young to do as much as I could on this, the much more populous, island in the Bocas del Toro archipelago.

I had heard about a beach way out toward the northernmost point of the island called Boca del Drago. And in particular, a very nice stretch called "Starfish Beach," a 15 minute walk away from Drago. I planned to find my way there and just hike the shore with my camera in tow.

I ran into the owner of the hotel who inquired into how I was feeling. I mentioned that, despite being out $800 hard cash, I was strangely much more relieved that I had been returned my expensive electronics (chiefly my new iPad, which was thankfully fingerprint locked) and travel documents. And, to be sure, I was also happy that not all of the cash had been discovered. At least they hadn't taken the $400 as well!

I mean, hey, that's just the kind of person I am. Always looking for the brighter side of things. The important thing was that I had recovered the bag, and that everything *except* for some cash had been returned. The owner agreed and mentioned that it was "just money," -- a casual flippancy I couldn't exactly duplicate, I must confess -- and recommended that I have some breakfast at her restaurant while the receptionist (a different lady from the day before, but equally nice) tracked down their favorite personal driver to take me to the other side of the island. It was a 30 min drive there, and the public bus in town could take me for $5 if I so desired -- but a private cab would be far more comfortable and leisurely, and I could also take better photos along the way. It was only going to cost me $25, so I said: hell, why not? Don't have to sell me twice!

So after a perfectly normal American-style breakfast and coffee, the driver Rolando showed up and we were off to the beach!

Panama Trip - Day 4: .... We Have Fun and Games

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.


And now for the continuation.


DAY 4: ....We Have Fun and Games.

I'm awaken by the sound of something large growling in the dense jungle beyond my open-air cabin. It's one of the howler monkeys whom I've yet to see, but who I can hear perfectly fine moving through the dark trees surrounding me. I imagine there's a family of them in there, watching me, plotting. During the early pre-dawn hours I think one of them jumped on my roof, scurried across it, then jumped back into the trees on the other side. Probably the same one who just woke me from a fitfully earned sleep; or maybe his sister or an uncle. Great fun .... for them.

Me? Maybe not so much. Truth be told, my first night at La Loma Jungle Lodge and Chocolate Farm was a frightful one for a kid from the inner city. I, of course, am accustomed to sleeping through such fracases as late night fights and shouting matches in my neighborhood of the South Bronx where I live: the rummaging of garbage cans below my windows, the odd gunshot ringing out from the rooftop across the street at 3am, or through a cacophony of honking horns and sirens flying by the nearby intersection just before midnight. I sleep through all that like a boss!

So what could possibly have kept me awake for most of the night in a nice little hideaway jungle oasis deep inside Panama's tropical rainforest province?

Bugs. Lots and lots of BUGS!

Thankfully, much in part due to the reams of thick mosquito netting cocooning my bed, no bugs actually crawling on me. No. But, rather, what felt like every insect under creation was out there flitting by in the night, bumping into my nets and trying to get at the sweaty, hot, stinky human full of delicious hemoglobin who they could sense lying there just beyond their tiny grubby grasps. A whole heap of 'em rubbing legs and wingtips together, chirping, clacking, or otherwise producing an alien-like chorus of sounds that took a long time to get accustomed to for someone who, yes, may have hailed from a jungle of the urban variety -- but not the jungle; ancient, primordial, green and alive. I mean, the night air was thick with these suckers inhabiting this very real jungle around me. And boy, they were LOUD!!!

Partial daytime view of my bed with much welcomed netting!

Added to this was the reality that nighttime temps in Bocas del Toro in June seem to bottom out at a not-so-bottom 88-degrees F. And the humidity is easily north of 90%!!! So when they say "you're in the thick of it" here in Bocas, they really mean it.

Then there's this other fun tidbit of wholesome knowledge: Because the lodge I was staying at prides itself on being off the grid (mostly) and eco-friendly, there are no ACs in this place. Which is perfectly fine and understandable, as the cabins only have one wall and are otherwise largely open to the elements, but what this means is that the only thing you have to combat the oppressive jungle heat with is a high speed fan above your bed. And perhaps a silent prayer to the rain gods to send a fast moving low-pressure system in to scrub the atmosphere away -- albeit temporarily. It always returns, though, the humidity. And your choice is to either: 1) Accept it; or 2) Take a cold shower .... and accept it.

I ended up doing the latter quite frequently during my stay.

Panama Trip - Day 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.
Day 4: We Have Fun and Games.


And now for the continuation ...


DAY 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons.

I awoke on this morning to more muffins and coffee delivered to me by some unknown porter of miracles just as the sun was beginning to rise. It had rained for most of the night in drenching, heavy sheets of water sluicing off the roof of my cabin and curtaining down the sides. At times I was awaken by such tremendous lighting and thunder that I thought the entire hillside was shaking. And then I fell soundly back to sleep when the rest of the storm went on its way to parts unknown. Apparently my body had become quite accustomed to the peculiarities of the rainforest, as unlike the night before I was barely fazed by it all. And once the storm left, it ushered in a refreshing, almost mountainous, cool breeze onto the farm that dispelled all that wretched heat and humidity. At least for a few hours.

As I carefully descended from the hilltop on this fine morning, I stopped a few times at strategically placed landings along the way to admire the actual crops being grown on the downward slopes.

Plantains, potatoes, tomatoes ... and a few other "'oes" (such as mangoes -- yum!!!) I spied as I gently arrived on flat ground near the main lodge of La Loma Jungle Lodge and Chocolate Farm. I had yet to see the actual cacao crops, but was assured by one of the friendly farmhands that it was being grown at a lower elevation in another section just behind the big house. What a wonderful place of untold splendors to explore!

I had a delicioso breakfast with my fellow travelers at the large communal table in the main lodge, and we all seemed eager for more adventures of the day. After so much fun snorkeling and beach combing the day before, the consensus ruled this day to ... do more beach combing! Hey, why not? I mean, when in Rome right? One of the older couples staying at the lodge that week opted out of having more fun in the sun, however. They had taken quite a beating on the previous trip, and really just wanted to laze about on the farm doing -- well, you know: not much of anything at all. Hey, I can appreciate that! And I would have joined them in fact, had I been on this vacation with someone else along. As it was just me, I didn't see much value in staying cooped up alone in my cabin on a sunny day.

And so, off to the yet another fantastic beach we sailed!

Panama Trip - Day 6: To the Bat Cave!

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.
Day 4: We Have Fun and Games.
Day 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons.


And now for the continuation ...


DAY 6: To the Bat Cave!


By now I had mastered all there was to master about jungle living.

Okay, let me cut the crap. I wasn't truly "roughing it" out here. Not really. Aside from the atrocious heat and humidity (high 90s for both) that made all my clothing remain forever damp no matter how long I left them out to "dry" ... the most disturbing thing I had to deal with were the monkeys in the trees watching me and occasionally jumping onto my cabin and, well, monkeying around. Hey, at least now I truly understood where that expression came from in the deepest, most profound way.

All that aside, I actually did have a great daily game plan going by now. Wake up around 6:15 in the morning; retrieve the enclosed tray of muffins and coffee left on the stoop outside my door; read a book on the making of the film The Princess Bride (one of my favorites!) as I ate this small *snack*; take a much needed and refreshing cold shower in the outdoor stall attached to my room; pack up my day bag for whatever adventure awaited me; apply SPF 50 sunscreen (I wasn't all that far from the equator, after all); lather on the max strength bug juice; and then finally, around 8am, make way down the many flights of steps to the main cabin for breakfast with the other guests. It was a nice routine.

Where everyone gathers to eat and hang out -- sometimes literally!

And this day was going to have something special in store for those of us willing to take on the challenge. We were going to boat and hike our way deep into the Panamanian rainforest to reach the Nivida bat cave for some underground climbing and exploration. Ho-lee shit!

So those of us going -- which was just myself and a nice family from Prescott -- piled into the boat, and off we went again. We left La Loma behind for the day, but provisioned with the same packed lunch of gourmet goodness as per usual. I was getting too used to this kind of pampering!

Panama Trip - Day 7: It's Closing Time

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.
Day 4: We Have Fun and Games.
Day 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons.
Day 6: To the Bat Cave!


And now for the continuation ...


DAY 7: It's Closing Time.

I had been in Bocas del Toro for almost a week now, and yet not one of these days had been a washout.

Until today, the day I had to leave.

The morning actually started out pretty and sunny. Because it was our last day at the lodge, and because we would have to leave in the early afternoon, our hosts suggested that we all participate in a tour of the actual farm we were staying on. In particular, to finding out more about the chocolate making process.

Hey, you don't have to twist my arm where chocolate is involved!

Dragonfly watching us with about a hundred eyes!

Of course, somewhere in the middle of the tour when we were deep afield where the cacao was being grown, dark clouds rolled in and the skies opened up. A trickle at first, and then the veritable deluge. A non-stop, hard pounding rain that would let up only later in the day when we reached the airport back in Bocas Town.

So those of us on the tour agreed to continue on with it. We were already packed, after all; our bags wrapped in protective plastic and lined up at the dock waiting to go. And we all had our ponchos with us, too, just for the inevitability of rain that had been forecast for the day. So, once again I found myself repeating the mantra: When in Rome, eh? Except in this case Rome was a rainforest, and tropical downpours came with the territory.

Happy July!

Ugh!

So here we are, in the thick of summer. My least favorite season. And as a new month begins, as if to really hammer the point home, we've had one of the hottest days here in New York that we've had in quite some time. It reached 100 degrees today. Arrghhh!! I'm so mad. That is just not civilized weather for this part of the world. And this was actually the 3rd day of 90-degree+ temps here, with two more still to go. It's official: we're in a heat wave!

Yay.

Still, I'm trying not to let it get me too down. Luckily our Independence Day is this Wednesday, so that's nice. The holiday will help break up the week, plus I'm taking an additional two days off after to give myself a really long weekend. That helps improve my mood greatly. Although, it will still be ass-crack hot in this city during those days, but at least I can go to a movie or something. Someplace indoors with copious amounts of AC.

Anyway, how are you all doing? Pleas let me know. I hope you're off enjoying holidays of your own, wherever you are.

I'm going to try to use this month to do more writing on my spare time. And, sure, I'll get in a little photography here and there. I'm debating whether I should splurge to upgrade to a new camera. It's going to cost me over $800, and I'm just procrastinating over pulling the trigger on such an expensive purchase. I mean, I already have a camera, right? I've been using it pretty heavily for the past 3 years, but alas I just feel I've maxed out its limitations. It's really meant for an amateur, and I feel that my skills have taken me beyond that level by now. I guess I have a few weeks with which to make a decision. Dilemma, dilemma.

Speaking of which, I took this photo of myself in my apartment just to test out a few new editing techniques. Pardon the flexing, I'm not great at posing myself and I didn't really know what to do with my hands. Also, I had just finished watching the new season of Luke Cage on Netflix, so was feeling a little "extra" with myself, LOL!

Stay tuned this week as I'm working on a long travel piece about my trip to the rainforest of Panama. It will basically be a day-by-day account of all the fun I had and adventures I went on while vacationing alone in the province of Bocas del Toro. There will be plenty of pics!

So anyway, that's going to be coming here to this space soon. But in the meantime -- I hope you're all having a great summer so far!

I Don't Remember Who I Bribed, But -- I'm In Print!!!

Yes so, as I alluded to in my last post, it's now official: My short story "The Collector" is appearing in the most recent issue of the speculative fiction magazine, Space and Time (Spring '18 issue #131).

This is indeed a big milestone. I've had a tough road these past 5 to 7 years ... lots of personal problems to deal with, mostly of the failed marriage variety and trying to piece together my life in the aftermath. I've mostly kept quiet about this aspect of my personal emotional makeup, especially on other social media platforms outside of Blogger, and with good reason. Yet perhaps the most regrettable fallout from all that was my lack of writing output during this time. I've tried to write, and in fact did pen several short stories from start to finish (with "The Collector" being one such result), but to be honest it's been like pulling teeth. I used to look forward to writing each night after returning from work, or on the weekends when I could truly devote most of my day to it. I was content, and gratified by the noticeable progress I was making. I had even sold a few stories to several token and online markets back when I was married. Nothing big, but I was still proud of that progress all the same. And when it all came crashing down around me, and my lost of self confidence -- and all that doubt -- would gnaw and eat away at me?

Yeah, I hate to say that I succumbed and just could not go on writing. And yet, that yearning to be creative and express myself was still there. Hence, why for a time all I wanted to do was get lost in my photography. Making pictures allowed me to get out into the world and walk around, clear my head, and see things around me instead of within me. More importantly, it allowed me to still create.

Does that make sense?

And in all that time in which my photography started to improve greatly, and I was getting more opportunities to shoot, I was still shopping around what stories I had already written. I've received numerous rejections, let me tell you. So many that I could say I've lost count. I haven't, because I actually keep a spreadsheet of all my submissions and when, where, and how they were rejected. But the point is: I still held on to that writing bug in whatever way that I could. And now something good has happened that I cannot let go to waste. After so many years, I've done it. I finally sold another piece. Why is this so important? Well besides the fact that it marks the first time my work will appear in a physical, solid printed medium that you can honest to god hold in your hands ... it reminds me that I haven't lost the ability to write something meaningful. Meaningful to anyone else? I'm not being that pretentious, no. But meaningful to myself? Yes. "The Collector" is a story I'm extremely proud of. I don't think that it represents the best of my talents, but it does illustrate to myself first and foremost that I can indeed write for what speaks to me. I can pull myself out of that doubt and self-pitying misery and write just for the fun of being creative, of expressing a poetry of the soul that hearkens back to the man I've always been. Before, back when I was married; and after, when I was divorced and had to find my own place to live. I'm still both people -- the same person. I shouldn't let external shortcomings affect that joy to be found in doing something fun and special and creative. I shouldn't forget to just write, dammit!

And that's what I intend to do. If I never sell another piece again, that's not really the point. If no one visits this blog anymore or comments on anything I put up here. That's not the point. The point is that I need to simply be me, that I need to shut up and. just. write.

And in the meantime to enjoy, however briefly, this one big moment that I will never forget. It's a small thing to most, but it's a milestone all the same. And I'm happy about it!

For those who have been asking me about where to purchase this issue of Space and Time, Issue 131 should be hitting magazine racks this week. I don't know for sure, but that's what I suspect. I've already received my contributor's copies, but I plan to visit a few Barnes & Nobles in the city over the next several days to see if I can spot any "in the wild." Having purchased the magazine from there before, I know from experience that the publication is often in the "Literary" category of B&N's magazine section. Most often it's grouped with other like-minded mags such as: Asimov's, Analog, and Fantasy & Science Fiction, but also other speculative rags like: Mystery and Romance. If you see these titles, then Space and Time will be somewhere among them. Right now, last winter's issue is still in good supply, so if you happen to see both that and the Spring issue on offer, do yourself a favor and pick 'em both up!

Alternately, you can simply go to the website's subscription page, scroll midway down, and order the current issue to be shipped to you in the mail. That's an option, too!

You're Not Seeing Things

Yes, it's me. That's right . . . I'm back! And I'm still alive as you can see. It's been a very long time since I've posted -- since August 2016, in fact. Almost two years ago! Blame it on whatever you want: life's obstacles, ennui, creative black holes . . . the death of blogging. I don't rightfully know. I guess blogging just didn't hold much appeal to me for a while there.

And you know what? I can't honestly say that the draw is back, or that blogging is really worth my time right now. However, I do want to try at least. Maybe I can get back to my old ways of simply putting out there whatever's going on in my brain at any given moment? I know, right -- ACK!!! But I promise, I'll try to tone it down a bit. Heh, heh, the operative word here is: try. So, yeah, I'll not be back to the old output of 6 or 7 posts per week anytime soon; more like only 1 or 2. If that. We'll see.

But in the meantime, how have things been going for you all? Please reconnect with me in the comments below, if you're so inclined. Health-wise, I'm doing great at least. I've never felt better. Despite getting older (I'll be 42 at the end of the summer. HOLY CRAP!), I definitely feel young in spirit and body. That's always a good thing. And on the career front, I've actually been promoted to manager and am a heck of a lot busier at the office than I used to be. I was also able to get in quite a bit of travel over this time period, with some very exciting international trips to both Panama and Morocco last year. What a time I had visiting both exotic locales! And I'll get to them, separately, in other posts still to come in the near future. Don't worry. On the personal side of things, the divorce from several years back still hangs over my past like a dark cloud . . . but I've mostly moved on now. It's really remarkable how much has changed over these past 5 years since my life hit rock bottom. Thanks, mostly, to my family and my closest friends. And maybe even, yes, to VIEWERS LIKE YOU!!!

Ha ha, sorry 'bout that. I couldn't resist.

As for my creative endeavors, well I've admittedly been very lax on this part of my life on account of the daily 9-to-5 and a few interpersonal issues I won't go into at the moment. Perhaps at a later date. I've tried off and on to get back into writing, but so far I never seem to be able to gather up enough steam to make it through a project anymore. It's something I'm actively working on, however, and in fact part of the reason I wanted to return to blogging was to get back into the groove of things. Flex the old writing muscles, so to speak.

Although, I do have one other bit of good news on that front:

About Those Ancestry Results . . .

So, my results from the DNA ethnicity test I took 6 weeks ago found their way into my inbox this morning. If you recall, I detailed the decision to have this done in my previous blog entry titled, "Who Do I Think I Am." In that post, I speculated about what my own ethnicity might be. Go check it out if you want some context.

Or, I suppose I can just rehash those guesses below:

European: 52%
African: 38%
Native American: 8%

I based this on the fact that my father is from the Dominican Republic, and that Dominican people are usually blessed with a healthy dose of both African and European influences in their genetic makeup. I say "blessed" because, in my frank opinion, mixing is the best! Yeah, I said it. I want the whole world to just stop with the ignorance and MINGLE already, yo!

Also guiding my guesswork is the relatively new knowledge that my maternal grandmother comes from a mixed African American/Caucasian background herself. And although she would end up marrying an Anglo-Scots-Irish man from North Carolina and having my mother and aunt with him, I figured that my grandma's African-American roots combined with my father's Afro-Caribbean roots would reveal to me somewhere between 1/3rd and 1/2 of my total ethnic makeup as hailing from West Africa.

My lovely maternal grandma, Frances.

And while I assumed that more than half of my makeup would be European, I thought it would be barely above half. I know my father's side wasn't completely African-descendant, and that because of Spain's influence in the Caribbean, that I would naturally get a lot of Spanish or Iberian markers in my test results. But I figured that the African side of my ancestry would still be rather sizable.

Turns out I guessed rather poorly on both accounts!

Who Do I Think I Am?

So, recently I went through with it and ordered my DNA testing kit through Ancestry.com. It arrived speedily in the mail, and I then spat into a tube, mixed in some blue preserving liquid, capped it off and shook the tube like the Dickens -- and then dropped it off in the mail.

Now, apparently, I wait around 6 weeks to receive my results. What am I expecting to get out of all this? Well, it's mostly to satisfy my curiosity.

I Watch Them Grow . . .

In my previous post, I observed how wonderful children are in their ability to learn new things; and, more importantly, their ability to divine from context the meaning of strange or new concepts to their young, agile minds. Children really do exemplify the hopes of our race.

I'm reminded of this each time I watch children at play. No matter how sad I'm feeling, or lonely, or just downright dejected at the events of my life, sitting off to the side in a large social gathering where children are present, observing them interact and play with one another, I find myself so happy and feeling alive in spite of things. It's truly remarkable!

Try it sometime.

Children are the most beautiful achievements we humans are capable of creating. Nothing else equals the seemingly simple act of procreation, the process by which we pass on our genes and ensure the future survival of our species. And although it now appears as if I will never get to experience the joy of having my own children--something that has recently provided me with a great source of unending agony and misery--I can't deny that I love children. I'm one of those people that find babies beautiful no matter their superficial features, and am always on the lookout for their well-being and happiness. I loathe anyone who can harm a child, or bring to them sadness.

I especially hate it when I see parents mistreating their kids in public. It gets me so angry! At those times I feel that these are people who do not deserve to have children. Cursing kids out and ridiculing them in public? What kind of man or woman are you that you would treat your own issue in such a way? Fucking despicable!

For me, it seems profoundly unfair that such people are allowed to have children, and yet someone like me cannot. At least, I don't think I will in this lifetime. Perhaps someday I might meet that special someone willing to go through this journey with me, and hopefully I am not too old for the process by that time. I'm turning 40 later this year, after all, so I still have around 10 - 20 more years for it to happen. Don't think I will want to by the time I'm 50, though---but who knows!

Still, in the meantime, I'll continue to be the doting "uncle" of several of my friends' own children. A position I cherish and honor, and love being in, but which gives me endless opportunities to regret the turns in my own life that have prevented me from experiencing parenthood the way they have.

As I watch children at play, I think of all their potential. I see in them all the ways they are living a better childhood than the one I had. All my friends are doing standout jobs of raising their children in the most loving and nurturing manner possible. This makes me so happy to see! And I vow to always protect these children in my own special way, too. I love them as if they are my own, and will never allow harm to come to them. And if my plight is to watch the children of my friends grow up to adulthood while never having any of my own ... it is my privilege nonetheless. They have taught me so many wonderful lessons about humanity, and continue to do so. In their eyes I see the endless possibilities of their futures unfold. I see that they will achieve far more than I ever could, and this I feel is as it should be.

You know, I'm reminded of that one song by the great Louis Armstrong. You know it, too. It's called "What a Wonderful World." Listen to it by clicking here, if you'd like.

Whenever I hear this song, one particular passage manages to elicit tears each and every time. I swear, it's like clockwork! I don't know why, but it always hits me right in the feels. This part right here:

"I hear babies crying,
I watch them grow.
They'll learn much more,
Than I'll never know . . ."

Oh my god -- waterworks!

Am I just a great, dumb fool for getting so emotional over this? I don't know. But although they're tears, they are happy ones. For me, nothing makes me happier than witnessing little ones gradually becoming not so tiny, smarty pants people! Watching children, you can sometimes--almost!--literally see their minds learning and becoming better. The rate at which they assimilate new concepts and observations about the world around them is astonishing. Truly a wonder to behold.

And this is why I say we ought to cherish our children. I know that's a corny line somewhere, but it happens to be no less true. They remind me of the greatness in us all. They make me want to believe in humanity and all that we have yet to achieve.

Children bring hope for the future.

The Learning Mind Stays The Fittest!

Children are wonderful! Their minds are so flexible, effortlessly learning and expanding in order to make as much sense of the confusing world around them as possible. Of course, as a species our survival dictated that our young learn as much and as quickly as possible to adapt to a dangerous world and live to pass on such skill to their own offspring. But on a social level, it is no less miraculous how kids represent the best and purest expression of what makes us so uniquely human!

I was thinking this today because I recall a specific trend in my writing workshops of a long time ago. See, I have this tendency when I write to not force feed the reader too much information. Perhaps I rely on this trick too much, but I've always found it more interesting to have my readers derive meaning from the context of a situation rather than to have to spell everything out. But this tendency has gotten me in trouble more often than not. Whether due to laziness or to this persistent need among workshoppers to find something--anything!--wrong with a particular story, I find that a lot of people like to be *told* rather than to *infer* the meaning a particular scene, passage, or even word.

Case in point: I wrote this story once that used quite a few Chinese phrases in it. I speak Chinese, and my fellow students in my workshop knew that I spoke Chinese. And in one particular scene in this fictional short piece I wrote in college, my Chinese character used the term "yang guizi" while berating a bunch of white guys bullying her. Wouldn't you know it, quite a few people in my class had an issue with my use of the term.

Now, for those who don't know what the term means, I'll spell it out right here unlike in that story. Yang guizi is a strongly derogatory term used by Mandarin speakers to insult or express displeasure at foreigners, and predominantly "white" foreigners at that. The term means "foreign devil." It really translates to "foreign ghost" -- but in Chinese culture, ghosts are far less passive and more insidious (i.e., demonic) than Western ghosts. Then of course there is the case of equating the white skin of Caucasians to that of ghosts as well, and the phrase becomes even more apt. So if you are reading this and you are what most of the world considers "white," ... now you know what it means if you ever hear this phrase while in a setting with lots of Chinese people. I jest, of course. It's considered quite rude, and most Chinese people would not care to use it lest they portray themselves as uncouth. But among less scrupulous individuals . . . . ?

Anyway, in this story my Chinese protagonist uses the term in a completely unconscious act of reflex against her attackers. And, no, I didn't have my narrative voice break through in that moment to explain for non-Chinese readers what it meant. I figured my character's anger, the exclamation mark at the end, and the ensuing circumstances of her current predicament in being bullied for being Chinese, would provide the adequate context needed to understand the spirit of her epithet if not the literal translation.

But what so many at my workshop said to me in their admonishment was: Hey, nimrod, why don't you explain what this girl is saying so that the rest of us can understand?! I'm paraphrasing, of course, but I think you get the gist. And to which I replied, more or less:

Oh really? You mean to tell me you couldn't figure it out for yourselves? Or are you just using purposeful ignorance in the place of true criticism? Because I really couldn't tell.

See no . . . monkey???

But this brings me back to my opening remarks. It has me pondering this recent realization: That somewhere during the transition from childhood to adult, some of us lose this ability to simply accept one's ignorance on certain matters, and therefore forget to exercise the ability to infer meaning from the context surrounding a confusing or inexplicable occurrence.

In other words: kids know they don't know everything, and so they actively seek enlightenment in other ways. Mostly by asking a billion questions a day, sure. But at least they demonstrate a questing, ever-learning mind. Adults, on the other hand, seem to operate on the assumption that they should know EVERYTHING by now ... and therefore do not have the patience to seek out for themselves the meaning of something new or foreign to their sphere of specialty knowledge.

I recently read a bedtime story to some cute and precocious grade schoolers I know. And although the book had some words or phrases that may have been a little too complex for their age range, they didn't interrupt me every few seconds wanting specifically to know the meaning of these things. I could see that they had accepted what they didn't know, and used the context of how the confusing words were being used with which to inform themselves instead. Nifty trick, hey!

More of us adults need to keep our minds learning like kids do so effortlessly. When you do, you accept that not everything is going to make sense. You accept that sometimes you may have to do a little more work in order to understand an experience outside of your comfort zone. Or, if dealing with a culture foreign to your own, to not flash your privilege and assume it is the *other's* responsibility to educate you.

So, the lesson here is: keep learning, kiddos! (A phrase my Mandarin professor used to say to us all the time in class. No, seriously.)

Impostor Syndrome

Over on his blog, Whatever, popular SF author John Scalzi talks about a phenomenon he's been experiencing a lot lately among fellow writers while attending conventions and other social-professional gatherings: Impostor Syndrome. In his own words, here's how he describes the term:

"Impostor Syndrome, briefly put, is the feeling that one’s achievements and status are a fluke, and that sooner or later one will be revealed as a fraud. Anecdotally speaking, it seems, Imposter Syndrome affects a lot of writers, editors and other folks in the publishing life. I think this is in part because the writing life is a precarious one, financially and otherwise, and also in part because people in publishing seem to be a generally neurotic lot anyway. Imposter Syndrome is just another log on that particular fire."

As a struggling writer myself (struggling in that I'm constantly trying to improve my craft and "get better"), I'm certainly no stranger to crippling self-doubt. But I'm not sure I would classify myself under suffering from this particular syndrome. Then again, I have not yet reached the level of professional accomplishment within the field of SF publishing as the folk Scalzi is referring to in his piece. Yet I get the feeling that even when I do reach such a level, I probably will feel as if I worked my ass off to get there, and probably won't have much time to wonder if perhaps I am an impostor.

I mean, like I said before, I have my own level of self critique/doubt that is always in the back of my mind as I write. But I have a peculiar realization when it comes to that nagging voice telling me that I will never amount to anything, ever.

It's there, truthfully, only because I'm strong enough to have that voice there.

In other words, that self doubt does not trouble me. It is not my disability, because I cannot be harmed or hampered in such manner. That voice is more like that of an aggressive high school coach, or perhaps boot camp drill sergeant is more accurate. It berates me, it yells at me, it tells me that I'm no fucking good and that no one will ever love me, maggot! But it does so because deep down that voice just wants me to succeed. See? It wants me to develop a thick skin and to shrug off such negativity and continue pushing myself forward. To be the best me I can be because that's all I can be!

And because I'm actually very well grounded and come from an upbringing of constant positive reinforcement -- from, first, my mother; and then later, my grandmother and aunt -- that the opposite of such positivity really has very little effect on my ego. I hear the voice loud and clear, yes; but I never allow it to truly reach me.

I do, however, know a few people who are the opposite of myself. Who try their best to convince everyone else that they suffer no such voices in their heads. That they've always known they were meant for great things, and that it never once even crossed their minds to ever doubt themselves.

And, great. That's awesome! More power to you, sister. But, honestly? I suspect that most of them are quite delusional. At least one guy I know personally is most definitely full of his own shit. He likes to talk a big game about how good he is at his craft, but yet never really puts in the real work it takes to actually be good at it. How can that be?

Well, as they say: the BS is strong in this one!

This person never likes to hear me talk down about my own work. He gives me a look as if I'm committing artistic suicide. He claims that he never doubts himself. But, really? Never? How is that even possible? For me, self doubt is how an artist perfects himself. Or, at least, motivates himself to keep going and improve. A person who does not possess even a modicum of this self-critique . . . well, how can he ever get better at his craft?

No, what I suspect is that such a person is in fact quite insecure in their abilities. Ironically, he lives in constant, neurotic fear of failure. Moreover, he may even suffer from great personal depression. The type of person who truly *needs* to believe that he is the best thing that has ever happened to his field of practice, or else he has no reason for being. In his mind, that voice is quite crippling indeed! And so, to hide this perceived weakness, he protects himself behind aggrandized claims to greatness and braggadocio. By promoting a persona that is above such things as doubt and uncertainty.

And that to me, my friends, is the true Impostor Syndrome. It is not when one questions one's right to be in a position to receive recognition and accolades for one's artistic achievements. Perhaps, instead, the real impostor is the artist who feels he should be handed such platitudes based simply on the God-given genius he was born with, and to which he never really needed to work at.

Such people are the true enigmas; the doppelgängers, if you will, of artistic merit.

Model Spotlight: SONAL CHAUHAN

Sometimes you have to go back into the past before you can spotlight a present day beauty. In this case, I first saw Miss Chauhan in the brainless, goofy, but stupidly endearing action dramedy, Legend, way way back in 2014. I remember at the time thinking that she was heart-achingly beautiful, if perhaps a little too vapid in her role. And then, quite frankly, I forgot all about her. Until last week, when a friend of mine posted a video clip from that same movie on Facebook. And then it was love at first sight all over again! Honestly, I had forgotten how seriously gorgeous this woman is! So with that in mind, I'd like to formally introduce you all to my latest Bollywood hottie (Bolly-hottie?) crush.

Name:  Sonal Singh Chauhan
Age:  28
Profession:  Model/Actress
Hometown:  New Delhi, India
Accolades:  Miss World Tourism (2005); Filmfare award nominee for "Best Female Debut" on the 2008 film, Jannat.
Best Known:  As Zora in the breakout Bollywood megahit, Jannat (2008).
Current:  Finalized filming on Dictator, a Telugu language action drama just released this week. She shares a leading role in the film alongside Nandamuri Balakrishna and Anjali.


Sonal Chauhan was born on May 16, 1987 in New Delhi to a Rajput family originally hailing from the state of Uttar Pradesh to the east. In her early teens, Sonal's face graced magazine covers and won her a slew of beauty contests, but she always maintained good grades in school. In college she studied Philosophy with top honors at the nation's capital, but was propelled into the world of fashion modelling almost immediately when she became a Miss World contestant at the time, and then later won the crown as 2005's Miss World Tourism in Malaysia.

The win--a first for India--led to many runway and photo op gigs, as well as appearances in several music videos for top hits of the time in her home country. But Miss Chauhan's fate was to be tied to the big screen when she was "discovered" by a film director while eating at a restaurant in Mumbai. The film he would place her in as co-star was Jannat, and it became a huge international success, garnering Sonal a nominee for "Best Female Debut" artist at the 2009 Filmfare awards (which she lost to the equally stunning and talented Kollywood actress, Asin Thottumkal).

Since then, Sonal Chauhan has appeared in numerous films from various industries throughout the sub-continent. Most recently as Nandini in the film, Sher; and as Simran in Size Zero. The latter of which is one of my personal favorite Tollywood films of 2015.

But, really, if you need to determine the honest truth behind my crush on Miss Chauhan, I'll simply submit these stunning photos below as further proof:


Sonal Chauhan

Previous Model Spotlights:
Deepika Padukone
Nazneen Contractor
Priyanka Chopra
Riya Ray
Asal Soltani

Awkwaaaard!

So, I went to the movies the day after New Year's. Here's what happened at the concession stand:

Cutie Cashier: "Here's your change. Enjoy the movie!"
Me: "Thanks, you too."
CC: *laughs at me*
Me: *laughs at me, too*
Me: "I mean ... heh ... You have a good day, too. I mean, er ... Happy New Year?"

*smacks forehead*

Don't you hate it when that happens? Funny thing is, I wasn't even flummoxed or anything. I didn't stammer because the cashier happened to be extremely hot. To be honest, with the mood I've been in as of late, I barely even acknowledged her hotness. I just get so accustomed to blanket responding with "Thanks, you too" to every non-personal human interaction I have out in public. It's a bad habit I need to break.

On the plus side, cashier girl did say I was cute. That kinda, sorta made my day. And this time, I did *not* say "Thanks, you too" by way of response. Although--damn it! I totally should have, right?

Well, let no one confuse me for being suave.

Anyway . . .

HAPPY 2016, people!!! I hope you have a good one!

As usual, my New Year's Eve sucked big time. I spent it at home all by my lonesome. It's always a sad time for me since it is the 30th anniversary of the single most tragic event to happen in my life, and that means the holiday will never be the same for me as it is for everyone else.

But, you know, some day this decade I would like to spend it with someone special. That's all.

In related news ... yes, my love life sucks. I've been dealt a severe blow in that department this holiday season (why do all such bad things happen then?), and it's forcing me to reevaluate my priorities. Or, more specifically, to reevaluate ME!

What have I come up with so far? Well, not much really. But I'm starting to get the feeling that I might need a change in scenery.

I'm not there yet, but I'm currently contemplating whether I should look into picking up and moving to another part of the country. I recently visited my brother in Houston, and I have to say it's left me with a lot to think about. I never thought the day would ever come that I would seriously consider Texas as a place to live, but H-Town left a good impression on me. I mean, sure, I seriously cannot deal with hot weather and humidity -- but isn't that what AC was invented for? Like I said, I'm not quite packing up the moving truck and putting in notice at work just yet. But who knows . . .

Met a long time online blogger friend while in H-Town.

Or, I could just move to Vermont like I always wanted to. That would be nice. A state more in keeping with my seasonal climate needs. I'm very comfortable in that state, being that I lived there for 4 years during college. But unlike Houston, I have absolutely no family there in VT. Or friends, for that matter.

So, I'm not sure yet where I should go. But I do know that I might have to leave New York someday soon. More and more my ties here are weakening.

But enough of that (for now).

I'll leave you all on this one happy note. My photography seems to be getting better and better with the more practice I commit to the hobby. Just recently this particular photo has been garnering a lot of praise and attention in online circles:

I shot this back in mid-October whilst practicing my nighttime photography skills (again) in the Brooklyn Heights section of the city (again). This is the Manhattan Bridge, and I took it while standing in the freezing cold (for October) and what seemed to be gale force winds. I had to struggle to keep the tripod stable long enough for the super long exposure I needed to achieve this shot.

But hey, pretty nifty, eh? I mean, if I do say so myself! What I really love about this photo--besides the awesome color palette and that super shiny, creamy looking water surface--is that you can spy the very tip of the Empire State Building peeking out of the skyline there in the background. It was lit up purple on this night, but I have no idea why. The ESD lights up with different colors depending on which noble cause or person the city is commemorating on any given night. Or perhaps the lighting person in charge likes the artist, Prince, a lot?

Who knows. But, yeah ... so apparently a lot of people love this particular photo. And that makes me feel all tingly proud inside! I'm thinking of having it blown out to hang on my wall at home. What do you think?