I tend not to overthink things. It is usually not until I am well-committed to doing something that the real thinking occurs. Some would consider this a character flaw. In my case, it is just a flaw. All of my flaws lack character.
Case in point: I recently saw a post from the brilliant Amanda Fortini that she would be having a conversation with Vanessa Prager, a talented artist, at the Diane Rosenstein Gallery in Los Angeles. I have been following Amanda on Twitter and Instagram for the past few years. I was “introduced” to her when I started following her husband Walter Kirn after seeing him on the Greg Gutfeld show on Fox. Both are smart, witty, insightful, and kind. (I am referring to Amanda and Walter, as I have observed them enough to make that statement. My guess is Gutfeld is at a minimum three of those four things.)
The gallery event just happened to align with my schedule, which has me at our place in Orange County, where I work two weeks a month. Our primary home is in Idaho, where I spend the rest of my time. I am a modern-day village idiot, and I have not made the permanent move yet. So, as I mentioned earlier, I don’t overthink things. I just RSVP’d. I had committed. Besides, it was only 56 miles away in Los Angeles. In Idaho, that’s 50 minutes or less of driving. In Southern California, I figured it would take me somewhere between an hour and fifteen minutes and two weeks. I have commuted here long enough to understand the special gift that is LA traffic.
The next thing I knew, it was Saturday, the day of the event. Time to overthink. What does one wear to such an event? (The majority of my “nice” Carhartt stuff was in Idaho.) What time should I leave? (I have the boomer habit of being early for everything.) Do I wash my car? Should I charge my car to 100% despite what the manual says? (I hide my Tesla in California. They are not as useful nor welcomed in Idaho.) Should I study up on the artist? What about the studio? I should at least know something before I stroll in blind. Should I check crime statistics in the neighborhood? Should I carry? What about my hair? Should I buzz it with a #2 or the wilder devil-may-care #3? After a quick bout of overthinking, I reverted to the inbred attitude I inherited from my dad, the Navy test pilot. Who cares? It is not a fashion show! (Or is it?)
Car charged, hair trimmed, dressed in acceptable clothes (in my opinion), comfortable shoes, “man purse” packed (the Idaho equivalent of a concealed carry bag sans the “carry”), Yeti drinking cup full of ice water, and the route plugged into the navigation system. Let’s do this.
Leaving at noon, the nav system broke the news to me ever so gently. I would roll up to the gallery by 2:43! A mild panic hit me. I am a finance guy. As artistic as I get is to instantly realize I would be averaging a tad over 20 miles per hour. I was unfazed. It will be nice to get out of my comfort zone, I convinced myself. Heck, I might not even be early. I can deal with that. These are artists, not CFOs or, worse, engineers. Autopilot engaged, I decided to enjoy the journey. And I did, nearly as much as I imagine Jonah enjoyed the belly of the whale.
The drive was uneventful. Almost. About 2 hours into the drive, my bladder started telling me the four full 30-ounce Yetis of water I had already had this morning was a misguided commitment to getting healthy. Once on surface streets, Highland Avenue to be specific, the pain became all-consuming. How was I going to solve this “problem”? I have had the good fortune of making it to 70 years old without a mishap of this nature. (Assuming we don’t count the years 1954 and 1955.) When driving between California and Idaho, there are numerous opportunities to deal with emergencies such as this along the side of the roads. Hancock Park, with its manicured lawns, did not seem a reasonable alternative. I can make it! Only 20 minutes to go.
Maybe it was a lowered pain threshold, but I couldn’t wait. Every red light was a new opportunity to practice the breathing techniques I had observed my wife use during the four natural births of our boys. I was certain she was not in as much pain as I was now experiencing. (I did mention I was a village idiot, didn’t I?). As desperation set in, I sought plan B. I slowly rolled down the window. The remaining water in the Yeti was politely dumped into the wide green median. To spare the details, let’s suffice it to say the Yeti actually makes a pretty good porta-potty. Three lights later, I was back in business. Pain gone, Yeti rinsed out, and 10 minutes to go to be there. I would be 10 minutes early. I felt like I was a winner on Urban Survivor, geriatric division. My comfort zone had just expanded. Not a drop spilled and now fully dressed, I had arrived with renewed confidence.
I was greeted by a kind lady at the back door serving water and snacks. I passed on the water. (I know how to make an entrance.) I meandered to the front to officially check-in. The young lady at the front desk made me feel welcome. There were a few folks chatting in small groups. A few others were walking the alcoves looking at the art. I could do this. I stood in front of a colorful piece. (Is that what they call them?) It was actually fun letting the art stir emotions in me. It was the emotional equivalent of a finance guy balancing the books! Just as I had the wandering down pretty good, disaster struck.
I didn’t see the glass on the floor full of water. (Sense a theme for the day building?) I kicked it over, and water and glass went everywhere. The only saving grace was that it wasn’t red wine, the floor was bare concrete, and the only folks that noticed were the ones that were there. I picked up as much glass as possible, and the host and her team swept in to clean up. They were very kind. The attractive lady whose glass it was that I knocked over attempted to make me feel better and take some responsibility. Mortified, I understood the concept of “the last clear chance of avoidance” that was beaten into my head in driver’s training 54 years ago and knew it was my responsibility. Off to a good start!
The conversation between Amanda and Vanessa started, so the chance of me doing any more damage was ameliorated. Although as I moved to my chair, I nearly knocked off a sculptured piece of coral.
Vanessa is a gifted speaker and conversationalist. The interaction was informative and wide-ranging. I can’t imagine anyone being better prepared than Amanda. Vanessa’s art is so unique and complicated. It was inspiring to peek behind her creative curtain.
The talk ended, and I had managed to avoid disaster number 3. (The chair I was seated in creaked but did not break!)
I did manage to have a brief conversation with Vanessa. What a sweet soul! We discussed her three boys and her one on the way. We had something in common. Her four kids would all be brought into the world within six years of each other, just as our four boys had several years ago. Vanessa has a youthful exuberance. She smiles constantly and means it. I shared how my wife and I of fifty years met when we were thirteen. She then said something very sweet. She said she regretted not meeting her husband earlier in life. It was touching the way she said it. (I thought to myself that I wished that I had met my wife sooner as well. Thirteen years was way too much time for her not to be in my life.)
I then went to introduce myself to Amanda. I hovered a bit while she flowed in conversation between folks, trying my best not to give off a psycho stalker vibe. The kindness I had read in her tweets was built into her nature. She is indeed a person that brings value to this world. This was confirmed when she introduced me to her step-daughter Mazie, a confident young lady with a sweetness about herself as well. The highlight was hearing the interaction between her and Amanda as she prepared to leave. “Goodbye, I love you!” The words flowed off of Mazie’s tongue as naturally as her breathing. It was a deep, full sentence. Not a cheek-pecking kiss but a full-throated sincere statement. Amanda replied in kind with an equal level of sincerity, “I love you too!”
That was the highlight!
I realized that the art I most enjoyed was the observation of His most complicated creation, people.
It’s nice to get out of your comfort zone. (Just go easy on the water!
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Dave, This was great and a definite fun read! I loved and related well to your comparison to “equivalent to a finance guy balancing the books” Could see myself being there doing the same!
Kori