The Perverse Irony of Trying...

By nature I'm a planner. My lists are legendary and I often let them run - or "ruin",  says my wife - my life. While not everything goes according to plan there is still a great sense of comfort in knowing I have one... 

When things don't work out I bunker down and plan harder, refining my strategy, my objectives and, of course, my list-based tactics. Do I sound like a good time or what?  I'm OK with failure or disappointment; I don't particularly like it but it doesn't kill me. 

What does kill me is when things I don't actively plan work out - no matter how good the consequence. And while this doesn't happen a lot it's worth exploring.  Two wonderful albeit frustrating examples include "How I Found My First (And So Far Only) Wife" and "How I Found My Current (But Not Only) Job". Both happened when I Honest to God wasn't looking or trying. Why is it that when I play it cool and/or don't really try I get what I want despite not necessarily being adequately prepared for it? Why is it that when we actually lead with passion and put ourselves out there it often does not?

What is so attractive about indifference? Are people so insecure that they want what they can't have? I'm insecure but don't feel that way: if I feel something is out-of-reach then I simply reach for something a bit closer.  When I'm on the receiving end I want someone who is both highly qualified and highly desirous of whatever asset I'm selling. If they are not "into it" then it's over because I demand both competence and commitment. One of these attributes alone is simply not enough. 

Does it mean that trying is out because it's not 100% fail-proof? No. It must mean - at least for me - than one must optimize a strategy and tactics around a quest with a reasonable amount of time and preparation and then execute it with a reasonable amount of passion. Enough passion to keep those who want intrigue intrigued and those who want more with more. Turn it up, turn it down for for God's Sake, man, don't you ever turn it off!

Crazy for Arsenal...

I've never been much of a sportsman and, frankly, I've always felt bad about it. 

Like most American boys I grew up on the field. I played baseball and basketball though never football (wasn't allowed) and the less traditional sports, too: hockey, soccer, skiing, and lacrosse. I was a pretty decent athlete (and still ski) but when the final whistle blew, that was that. Zero sentimentality and, moreover, zero time wasted watching TV save the occasional Olympics or Olympic-like Super Bowl or World Series.

Over the years, I would overhear sports-related conversations and would spy commuters immersed in the sporting pages. I'd be jealous of this passion and the bond between fans and wonder why I could never catch the fever. After all, sports have the power of being able to unite, to divide and, always, to provoke emotion. 

In England, a friend took me to see Arsenal, a top-flight North London football club play Liverpool in the English Premier League. While I don't recall the score, I do remember feeling my heart race yet somehow, back in the States, the experience was forgotten until years later.

Channel surfing, I saw Arsenal on TV. I put down the remote and watched. What happened is hard to explain but is worth trying: it's like the first time you drive a standard without abusing the clutch; it's like the first time you feel yourself being stared at by someone you want to be staring at you. You feel glee, elation and when the goodness stops, utter dejection.

I now follow Arsenal religiously. On weekends I watch them play. On weekdays I read the press and the blogs to keep abreast of their ups/downs. I care about them as if they were a part of my family because for me, they are. Just this week, when my family left the lunch hall to resume skiing (it was a ski vacation after all) I stayed behind to watch the Gunners take out Milan 2-0 in the 2008 Champions League semi-finals. As the final whistle blew, I stood up and clapped loudly enough to win unwanted stares and most likely, silent jeers. It didn't and doesn't matter, anymore, because whistles notwithstanding I am now a sportsman...