Synergy
Dear reader(s),
I’m late this month. I know. But I have a good reason.
My wife and I went on vacation. We flew to San Diego, drove up to Los Angeles, and spent the last few days of our trip in a cabin near Sequoia. The trip was beautiful, inspiring, and full of the right little coincidences that synergized into a much-needed recharge and time for reflection.
Like all vacations, it was over too quickly, and my little world in the greater Chicagoland area blipped back into reality just as quickly as it blipped out of existence.
That’s one thing I love about air travel. While I hate navigating busy airports, shuffling luggage through the TSA terminal, and fighting for carry-on space in cramped air buses, there’s no more satisfying start to a vacation than takeoff.
When the plane lifts off, the world you once called home shrinks. It reaches Hot Wheels size. Then Micro Machines size. And it keeps shrinking until it’s so microscopic, you can no longer see it. It’s like that world you inhabited no longer exists, or to put it another way, it’s as if that world and all of its troubles exist in a microcosm that you no longer need worry about, as you’ve set off on adventures in faraway lands.
When I was a teen, my parents’ house jutted up behind a cornfield, and I often walked out into the field at night. I’d grab my iPod and some headphones, then head out to greet the stars. The experience was incredible. The same song would loop on repeat over and over again — “Ilia’s Theme” from Star Trek: The Motion Picture. It’s a deeply moving melody by Jerry Goldsmith if you’ve never heard it (perfect for stargazing).
I would simply walk, listen, and stare up into space. Feeling small and insignificant. My worries would flow out of me, and first relief would swell in my heart. Then wonder. Finally, a sense of love and openness would fill me, and I’d go back home, ready to deal with whatever event seized hold of the next day in my small microcosm of the globe.
I say this because I think it’s important that we have our escapes, that we find ways to drop our baggage and allow something else, something out there in a world just beyond our own, to fill us up with what we need to create. The word “inspiration” comes to mind.
The book I carried onto the plane was one I had been meaning to read for years. It was Life Itself by Roger Ebert. For those who don’t know, Roger Ebert was one of the most well-known film critics of his era, and as a personal point of pride, he was a local to the Illinois (and Chicago) area.
Prior to reading it, I had heard such positive reviews of the book. It was more than just a memoir, people said. It was life-affirming, sentimental, and dug at something deeper than one’s career retrospective. It was about the nature of human existence in a way, about life in our modern world and what it feels to live.
I can attest that there’s a lot of that in there. Life Itself is easily one of the best and most thoughtful memoirs I’ve read. It inspired me, filling me with a sense of kinship and love and inspiration that I used to get from one of those late-night walks under the stars.
Paired with such incredible sights at Sequoia and in two very beautiful cities, I’ve never wanted to write harder.
This trip, my wife and I decided to spend more time checking out local book and game shops. I was in heaven at Mysterious Galaxy in San Diego and didn’t want to leave Book Soup in Los Angeles. Walking into Geeky Teas & Games in Burbank felt like I had stumbled into a lost wonder that the world needed to know about (it’s a game shop, tea shop, and cat cafe!).
I say this because on the flight home, I was near the end of Life Itself. There’s a chapter where Ebert talks about his love of the 1957 Golden Hawk, and as he relays a story about how he found an ad to purchase a restored Golden Hawk in Santa Monica, Ebert mentions that he was in Book Soup in LA.
It could just be a coincidence that I read this passage right now, days after my wife and I stumbled upon Book Soup, or it could be something else. Synergy, maybe. Something more?
To me, it means I am where I need to be. I’ve found the recharge, the Holy Grail, needed to replenish my heart, and I hope you find it too.
I want you to have little coincidences this year. I want your stress, your worries, and your baggage to get left behind at the airport, so your heart can be filled with creative energy that every other person on this amazing planet will marvel at.
I want to find your painting at an art gallery. I want to discover your book in a faraway bookstore. I want your music to capture my attention while I’m waiting in line somewhere. Most importantly, I want your ideas, musings, and wonders to echo for decades to come.
Roger Ebert passed away in 2013, two years after the publication of Life Itself. Nearly 10 years later, it’s still echoing, and I heard it at exactly the right time I needed to.