The realization that submission, for me, is only a way to retain power, not to surrender it, as I once thought. This false surrender to someone else is a way of refusing to surrender to who I am, holding everything at such a distance, even my own thoughts and feelings. I am get so worked up in my abstractions, trying to convey my inner experience, a life of metaphysical ideas, that I neglect the simple embodied experience, where most of the truth lies, and all the portals to the infinite that cannot be found by looking. I would like to simply be in my body for a while. This may require action.

The anger of being asked to describe a physical sensation — I can only produce one or two words (warm, nice) that are obviously inadequate but safe for the reason. If I really tried to describe the sensation, the description would never cover it, would produce the wrong idea, would even replace the memory. And yet, once forced to say something, anything, it feels wonderful to have the listener agree — yes, that feeling feels something like those words for them, too.

I wish I could say more and more about such sensations: how putting my hand on your skin feels like dipping it under running water, like the surfaces are pierced with tiny holes and there is light and fluid passing through, back and forth as the surfaces sink into one another, and it seems that I am touching you from the inside and after a while there is no accounting for the direction of flow or whose skin is whose or where the warmth is coming from.

Having dreams where I am accidentally propelled much too high in the air, so high that I know I will die when I hit the ground, but after accepting certain death, the feelings of floating and lightness are incredible, and there is nothing terrifying about the view of the city below me, even as I am rapidly plummeting toward it. Somehow, after all this, I always manage to land softly, even though it is impossible.

Things I have learned in the last few days:

Regarding party girls: Karaoke is the easiest way to get completely trashed on cheap beer. It is possible to wake up the next morning and not be hungover because you’re actually still drunk. Every single woman my age is looking for an excuse to scream along with Alanis Morissette and Liz Phair songs in public. You should check to make sure the cup is right-side-up before pouring the coffee. Nightlife in New York is more expensive than you ever imagined. If, at 10:30 pm, you are embarrassed to wear your outfit for the animal-themed party on the train, because you are afraid of being mistaken for a furry/hooker, do not fear, because by the time to you arrive at the club, surrounded by people in full-on fetish gear, you will realize what a cute innocent stuffed animal you are in comparison. By 2 am, you will need food so badly you will not even care if the people in the pizza place think you are a furry/hooker. There is no such thing as being too hungover to go to Mass. It’s okay to stay home on the Internet all night; you’re not really missing that much.

Regarding jewelry: The 4 C’s are cut, color, clarity, and carats. A diamond can be “induced,” and that is not a good thing. In order to get jewelry appraised at IGI, you have to go through a series of locking doors without anything really in between them, like in a movie where someone’s accessing an underground vault or a secret room at the FBI or something. Your gemologist will answer her cell phone at least 5 times while assessing your bling. When you write down your address for them to send the report, she will know what street you live on. She will say, in her thick Jersey accent, the one with the pagoda house! You will say, I live in the pagoda house! You can only get about 25% of retail value by selling diamonds in the diamond district, which is on 47th Street.

Here I am dressed up as a wolf in the Lower East Side circa 2:30 in the morning, standing in front of an apartment building next to Crash Mansion. This picture was taken on my girlfriend’s iPhone in the dark.

I have moved to Brooklyn, where I’m living in a beautiful, historic home in the unique neighborhood of Prospect Park South. The house was built in 1903, and in 1997 the New York Times real estate section devoted an entire article to it, though sadly the photographs are no longer up (here’s one). The owner, Gloria Fischer, is a wonderful presence; she’s in her 70s but just as on-the-go as I am, which is really saying something. I’m taking care of her labradoodle, Grover, and she also has two birds, one of whom is a talking parrot named Latke. I can’t get over how much higher the quality of food is in this neighborhood than both Astoria and the West Village, where I’ve previously lived in NY.

I busted my knee up so badly on the way up the walk when bringing in one of my suitcases on the day I moved in that it resulted in my first trip to the emergency room in my entire life. Mitsu says this is yet another reminder to be more careful when things are going well. The house is now christened in blood, and I’m healing up well.

I got a lot of great feedback on my draft Statement, namely that it’s too long and personal, which I already knew. The new draft is under way.

I have been talking with Heather Anne and Mitsu about their startup, The Lived Body, which I’m really excited to help out with in any way I can. It’s not just that I’m excited about the project, though it really is one of the most exciting projects I’ve ever heard of, and it could one day totally change the way both you and I live our lives. It’s also that I’m excited (yes, now, in 2010) about the whole idea of startups.

I feel like this should have always been obvious to me, that there are smart, motivated people out there starting their own companies, building things, making things happen, doing work not because they want to get paid but because they want to give something to the world. But it actually took me a very long time to approach work in this way. This is the same issue I was hinting at in my statement. For such a long time, I was in the lab, doing science, writing papers, having some success, etc, but I always coded it as “my job,” something I was only doing in order to finish my BA, or in order to afford to live in the Village, or in order to please my boss or my family or someone else. I almost always completely refused to admit that I actually enjoyed my work, or that it was in any way offered as a gift to others. Taking this year off and coming back, and being so very, very glad to be back, makes me realize that most of that was just a story I told myself, and under there I actually do have the intrinsic motivation I always felt that I lacked. So it is with Heather Anne and Mitsu, who are both such brilliant people. The very fact that this can even happen, that like-minded and talented folks can find each other, often from far-off places, connect, and collaborate, with real results that benefit society at large, is such a miracle. It gives me hope for us all, even in dark times.