Greek muses

At some point back during university – I think I was 20 or 21 at the time – I wandered down to a tattoo parlor on the drag in Austin and got two Greek phrases stenciled into my arms. I had been immersed in a Greek mythology course for the previous few months, and had a copy of Plato’s Republic lying around, which for some time had hooked me on the Delphic maxims so central to the ancient Greek mindset: “know thyself” and “nothing in excess.” They came out great, simple crisp black lettering, and I’ve always been happy they were there even as the space they occupy in my head has morphed with the times.

The Temple of Apollo, located on a hillside outside Delphi, served as an oracle since around the 8^th century BC, and for centuries accepted gifts from all across the Hellenic world. The phrases, which according to Plato, were carved into the temple walls, are distinctively Greek, emphasizing a world of moderation, reflection, truth and reason. I've always been fascinated with these tenets as they apply to an oracle. It’s as if saying, “before you can receive this guidance, before you can know the answers to your life, you have a few basic things to work through first.” That’s a feeling I’ve embraced countless times over the years, and sitting in front of an ancient oracle like however many have before, it felt especially relevant in the context of this European summer ushering in so much change.

It’s still a holy place, Apollo’s Sanctuary, at least it was for me. Always wanting to avoid crowds and loud voices, I climbed up a trail above Delphi and sat on a cliff looking down on the theatre, the treasury, the temple and the gymnasium. Edith Hamilton’s The Greek Way was my expert guide, coupled with a few of the old citizen philosophers well ahead of their time. There is a reason the classics are still around. 2400 years on they can put everything from the Parthenon to Donald Trump in perspective, and certainly make us ponder the ebbs and flows of humanity.

The Greeks were firsts in human civilization, and when I think about it, I see them embodying much of my idea of true men. The same people who celebrated physical prowess and military victories also reveled in good poetry and long winding conversation that hoped to establish truth. They admired beauty, created art. They were, in my mind, in that wonderful state of balance, where Apollo's reason and restraint leveled out Dionysus' fits of mindless release. This while the rest of the world was so dark, clouded in magic and mysticism and fear. For a brief moment in ancient times, this little city was a bright spark that ignited all that humankind would become. As Hamilton puts it:

“Civilization, a much abused word, stands for a high matter quite apart from telephones and electric lights. It is a matter of imponderables, of delight in the things of the mind, of love of beauty, of honor, grace, courtesy, delicate feeling. Where imponderables are the things of first importance, there is the height of civilization, and if, at the same time, the power to act exists unimpaired, human life has reached a level seldom attained and only seldom surpassed.”

On the way to the airport, my taxi driver – his name was, I'm not kidding, Socrates – talked with me about Greek philosophy, the economic crisis, and a new generation ignorant to its heritage. I carried with me a little trinket of Apollo holding his lyre and a small marbled head of the tragedian Sophocles. I imagine, somewhere, some future time where I'll place them both on my shelf by a stack of books and look up at them while I read. They are reminders of a different time. And as I wander through the world staring out at the many excesses of our day, it is something I can't help feeling wonderful romanticized nostalgia for.

Arabian Sands

I didn't get out much in Abu Dhabi. I didn't make many friends or do many of the things you are supposed to do, yet I was there a year, and looked back on it favorably during the last morning sunrise, watching that golden desert sun light up the tall flashy buildings on Reem Island, the sprinklers flood the grass of a soccer pitch adjacent to my hotel. It often perplexed me, often made me feel stagnant and like I was running in place, but now I find myself en route to Washington DC one marathon richer, knowing the Arabic alphabet and an assortment of words, better traveled and better read and better loved, and being able to afford one of the best degrees money can buy. That too is Abu Dhabi, one of the great enablers of my life.

I find many parallels in perspective in Wilfred Thesiger's Arabian Sands, which chronicled his travels across the UAE's empty quarter in the late 1940s. He did falconry with the country's founding father, endured an almost incessant hunger and thirst, and found himself multiple times in the middle of tribal feuds. He was also remarkably prescient when it comes to what the region would become once infused with oil wealth and cars. The fast food joints, the child obesity, and the general excess are things I feel would break his heart if he were alive today. His account is a tribute to a dying way of life, now dead, a Bedouin heritage the many Emirati children of today will never know or understand.  

For him it was a grand open space to be, and I too found great comfort in the desert and its great expanse, rolling dunes as far as you can see. A recent trip alone out into the empty quarter - via the comforts of a car as opposed to Thesiger's camels - was one of the better days spent in the UAE. On the way back in the middle of the night I many times stopped on highways and looked up at the stars, just listening to the quiet in my head and engineering my goodbye.

It's possible I'll look back from Meridian Hill Park or the National Mall and say I should have stayed longer. But I expect I'll look back on these conflicting times and see an urgency to create something new and sturdier, to create more, to realize the possibilities I know are there. In the background, my mind drifts back to hot summer runs along the corniche, the strange pubs that drew all kinds of shady patrons, the hazy sunsets clouded out by sand and dust, the calls to prayer in the earliest morning hours. It also drifts back to the many temporary people that call Abu Dhabi home, the countless who struggle there to an incomprehensible degree, but also those whose lives have been enabled from their own brief sojourn in the gulf, like mine. 

Little belated reviews

Every year when filing my taxes, I am forced to establish what they call "physical presence" by proving all my travel overseas. It is one of the more pleasurable aspects of the tax filing process, if indeed there is such a thing. Looking back through e-ticket confirmations, I'm reminded of a progression of events, the full depth of a year, that is easy enough to forget. Now in February it already feels a very long time ago.

In going through this process recently, I was reminded of a lovely little island in Malaysia, for instance, which led to snowy views of Pikes Peak. An absurd bachelor party in Toronto came to mind as well, alongside familiar walks on New York City streets. I remembered wandering a few campuses in Washington D.C., before settling in for lively happy hours. And I can still feel the weight of gut wrenching decisions, tearful calls, and painful nights awake alone with jet leg, dictating what would or what wouldn't come next when all the buzz came to an end.

My best friend got married in Italy just a few months later, and I am reminded of watching love swarm in a garden on a perfect day in June. We drank wine, smoked cigars, and listened to kind words, relishing moments that could only ever end too soon. It is a great honor to be invited to witness the most intimate and sentimental moments of life, and I was honored to be there, as the groom put on his suit and tied his shoes, as he drank a last beer in the piazza prior to his vows, as he said those vows that sent an entire garden to tears, and the many moments of quiet in between.

The sunsets, there were more than a few, a few last ones by the sea in Colombo, a glorious one over the hills around Petra, and all those many days after work where it lights up the desert sky above Abu Dhabi. And the beers, there were many of those too, craft beer in West Jerusalem, hoppy beer at a strange factory in Austria, Lion Beer by the water in Sri Lanka, or Shiner Beer in Austin that perfectly complements some spicy Tex Mex.

I remember Donald Trump getting elected President one morning under the covers later on in the year, and felt sad, at people's willingness to be aroused by fear and by hate. I don't know why people choose these things, in their own lives, or in their elections, but I am reminded by all the ancient ruins of this last year, that empires rise and fall. Indeed, wandering the Forum in Rome on a quiet morning, or stumbling across some marble columns in the middle of Beirut, force these thoughts upon you. I wonder if 100 years from now people will look back at this moment, and see some significance in it all.

I welcomed 2016 at the Intercontinental Hotel in Austin with a bedazzling kiss and an intoxicating night. I wandered my old city and drove across my old state, before bidding it farewell again. A year later I waved 2016 goodbye in the middle of the Alps, looking up at snowy mountain peaks lit by fireworks, staying warm but enjoying the cold, held by a familiar hand.

While there is plenty to be uncertain about, things that often spoil my mood or leave me wide awake in the night, I cannot help but feel gratitude in these tallies, for the simplest of things: to see the world in its many shades, to love, and to be free.