Impracticality
#12 Take Risks: Choose Passion Over Practicality Whenever Possible
(From Moraga to Antioch to Beverly Hills)
At the start of every book talk I give, always unscripted and off the cuff, I find myself voicing what has really become my life mantra, “my life is a series of impractical decisions.” It’s true. I make ridiculous choices, I cram more things into a day than could every realistically fit in. As a result, I always run late. I use the coffee cup hooks that came with the kitchen wall of my apartment to hang all of my colorful bangles that I collected in India, Sri Lanka, Uganda and Qatar, rather than my mismatched coffee cups. I have a practical job at a college by day and a barter telecommuting position at a high-end magazine, (where in exchange for serving as the editor and senior writer, my book got designed). To fit into the high-end, fashionista-esquire world I live in while keeping enough funds in my account for my next travel adventure, I frequent the consignment store and purchase the second-hand items that my rich counterparts wore once, twice or not at all. (I purposefully don’t own a credit card, to ensure that I don’t spend more money than I have and also because the interest becomes deadly if you forget to pay your bill.)
This Saturday, I pried my eyes open as my clock struck 6am, as I said out loud, “I don’t want to get up.” Mind over matter, though. I walked to my kitchen started my pot of chai—half rice milk, half water, a black tea bag, a pinch of tea masala and a dash of cinnamon and headed to my room to get ready. It was a little trickier than usual. I had to choose an outfit that was proper enough to greet the teachers at the Barnes &Noble early morning educators special in Antioch, durable enough to survive a few hours of driving and plane ride from Oakland to LAX and classy enough to cloth me for the Vijay Amritaj Gala in Beverly Hills. I settled on two dresses layered on top of each other, an all black, simple, fitted dress for underneath and a Bebe red dress on top. By the time I figured that out, I could hear the sizzling in my kitchen that is music to my ears—the sound of ready-to-drink, freshly boiled-over piping hot chai. I drank my chai, threw a few articles into a suitcase, took a breath and I was off.
Once I arrived at the Antioch B&N and settled into my table in the café, along with teachers from every discipline (who had come to partake in the educator appreciation event), I was humbled. An algebra teacher and mother wearing a baseball hat shared how she ended up in the field of math, an English teacher talked about her recent and first out-of-the country adventure to Brazil to volunteer, a special ed teacher came to grab a book with no time to chat because she had another engagement at a pumpkin patch. A 12 year-old girl named Lindsey, who had purchased my book at an earlier signing and stayed in touch, showed up with her two sisters and her father. Lindsey began sharing her story about what it was like growing up with a hearing impairment, about navigating life as her parents divorce, about aspiring to go to Africa to change the world. Maybe it’s because I’m the daughter and sister of teachers, or because I am in the field of education or because the person who most changed my life was a teacher; but the day reaffirmed my belief that though undervalued, teachers are among the most committed, dedicated and important people in the world. That the world, when viewed through the eyes of students like Lindsey, is am amazing place where endless possibilities. By 1pm, I had met dozens of people—soft spoken, outgoing, kind and even a few abrasive ones—but in spite of my sleep-deprived state, I felt alive, alert and ready for to launch into phase two of my day.
“You can do this,” I told myself as I took a breath and stepped into my messy silver scion and began driving to Oakland International Airport. As my plane approached the runway, I heard the words that I am least fond of. “Folks, the generator is acting a little finicky, so we are going to turn around.” I couldn’t help but calculate the risk and contemplate getting off the plane. As it was, the best-case scenario would have had me arriving at 6pm in time for an event that began at 6pm. A few minutes later, the pilot made another announcements, “Well folks, the plane has two generators and one that is there just as a back-up..so we went ahead and disconnected the back up generator and we are ready to go.” Not necessarily comforting, but what’s meant to be will be, I told myself.
We landed. I ran through the airport in my black slip-on heels, pulling my little suitcase behind me, and grabbed the first cab and headed to the Beverly Willshire Four Seasons Hotel. Shiny black limos and town cars with celebrities and entrepreneurs filled the entryway. The driver of my yellow cab opted to drop me off around the corner, and I walked up the driveway to the posh five-star ($600/per night) hotel. I had my suitcase with me, but only because I hadn’t yet checked into my Quality Inn room in the slums of Hollywood. Once inside, I was delighted to find a host of familiar faces—my Turkish American friend Metin, otherwise known as the Hollywood Artist or the man who paints the backdrops of ER and a number of other shows, my publisher and his wife, high end entrepreneurs that I met the previous year—mixed in with brand new faces like the latest winner of The Apprentice, the owner of India West and India’s chart topping singer Sonu Nigam. As the night began, I could see that the economy had in-fact taken its toll on even some of the richest folks in California. Sets of jewelry, five-star luxury vacations and other items that normally get $20,000 bids, sold for anywhere from $5-10,000. When Sonu Nigam’s band began, the room transformed. Men in suits stood up around their tables with their hands in the air, getting their Bhangra groove on, women in saris did the same thing. The properness of the evening was over and people were ready to kick off their shoes and groove. The beats of the dhol and tabla lured me onto the floor too. In the moment, I realize that the world truly does become a more beautiful place, when people from every background drop their inhibitions and dance. My inhibitions dropped so much that I decided to walk up to the man behind the night, Vijay Amritraj for an on-the-spot interview. By the time, my cab driver dropped me off at my N. LaBrea Ave. hotel, after expressing his concern for my singlehood and sharing his availability, the clock struck 1am.
As I settled into my humble, less-than-tidy room, I was physically exhausted but mentally rejuvenated. I knew I’d sleep well, knowing that I had truly made the most of my day. Sometimes it’s the impractical, spur of the moment, serendipitous decisions that make life the most beautiful.
