Chaos in equilibrium

Nothing is guaranteed in life--not happiness, not stability, not confidence, not satisfaction. This past week I paid over $300 for a professional inspection of the house that I had foolishly begun to think of as the one that I belonged in--the one that I would rehabilitate and breathe new architectural possibilities into while gradually fulfilling my tenure as a visionary neighborhood pioneer. The nearly four-hour up-and-down of that unassuming, neglected little aluminum-sided antique with sagging floors confirmed my worst suspicions and fears: there isn't one component of that house, as far as I can tell, that is not in dire need of repair or total replacement. (Okay, maybe the bathroom sink can stay...) So much for crusading on a woefully low income and borrowed funds. So much for instinct! I certainly do not trust my own, although I am at least honest enough to admit to myself that my own gut feeling is rarely correct--so rarely that its very incorrectness is consistently proven. This was a lesson worth learning the hard way, however; I gained a tremendous amount of insight from the inspection--enough to know not to delude myself in the future, to vigorously scrutinize future property prospects, and to rest assured that I chose one hell of a good inspector. (Tim Raufer of VBInspect, in case you're wondering.)

If you were to ask me to summarize the year 2011 so far, insomuch as it pertains to the particulars of my own life--my own experiences and perceptions of life--, I'm not sure that I could. I do not know whether I'm winning or losing. I can't say that I'm necessarily gaining ground or falling short of a modest vision with cautionary tendencies. I doubt that my integrity, my sensitivity, my conscientiousness, or my good intentions are getting me anywhere. I crave validation and praise; I yearn to be loved. I need a fucking hug. I am surrounded by people who have the things I cannot have--not empty material goods but genuinely life-enriching things--, and I cannot escape the suffocation stoked by their effortless contentment as it casts such an unflattering gray-sky light on my own pathetic struggle for dignity. Every triumph comes with an accompanying disappointment. I'm beginning to think that I ought to lower my standards, stop expecting so much, and shelve any prospects of greatness--or consensual late-night pleasures--to be exercised in another lifetime.

All this being said, I offer a new (and so far unrevised) poem that, hopefully, succeeds in capturing some of what I'm feeling and striving for. Its title is most appropriate--the subtitle of a book of collected essays that I'm currently reading.

Architecture In the Age of Uncertainty

Check the earthquake death toll--
     has it topped ten thousand?  Check around

for a better house, not one that's begging
     razing.  Oh, you joke, I saw the perfect home

floating off the coast of Japan on CNN,
     red tile roof and window panes intact.

The monstrous tsunamis put it there, voyaging
     alone like adventurous architecture

hoping to reach California by next week.  You know
     its owners are likely dead, damn lucky

if they're not.  Here in Pittsburgh we're browsing
     real estate, lamenting our limit of seventy grand,

whining we don't earn more.  Check the news again--
     in Japan these people have nothing left but sea

replaced by debris and leaking radiation.
     Search your heart, buddy--you feel their pain?

You sympathize?  Embrace a cottage economy,
     that's a good start.  Sell art for extra income.

Save, waste nothing, let go of what's not needed.
     The Japanese would be proud.  Patience, honor:

prouder still.  You know they don't riot and loot
     and kill and hoard like the desperate do here.

Find your perfect little starter house, bless it
     with incense, clean and silence.  Plant plants

and get a cat.  Pray your place stays away from
     earthquakes--lucky it's not near the beach.