The roaring 20s

I turn 30 tomorrow. (Cue a sharp intake of breath.) I can be calm this year because I had my freak out session last year when I turned 29. Still, this birthday feels momentous in some way. 

Let’s summarize my situation: I am unemployed, I live on student loans, I was closer to getting married at 19 than I am now, I’ve still not figured out where home is and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up (I thought I did, but then I got confused when I started grad school).  

In short, I shouldn’t be turning 30. It’s irresponsible of me. However, I do have this to say for myself: I may look like I graduated from high school last spring, but I’ve had time to run around the proverbial block a few times. Here are six important life lessons my “roaring twenties” taught me:

1. I am a late bloomer. I’ve needed time to figure out what I think about things. I’ve needed time to figure out what I want. I’ve needed time to fight what I know is inevitable. Basically, I’ve needed time to figure out that everything my mother has ever said is annoyingly true. 

2. Life will never turn out the way I expect it to. Duh, right? But as with most obvious lessons, it’s taken me many years to learn this. Detours can be anxiety inducing. They can also be incredibly life giving. I choose which attitude to adopt. Also, a thankful attitude is really really helpful when you don’t know what the hell is going on.

3. It’s okay to be particular. I apply this principle in growing measure to every aspect of my life: boys, friends, jobs, food, hobbies, purchases, you fill in the blank. And I’m happier and more satisfied because of it. My theory is that when you are particular, you are less prone to make wasteful mistakes. 

4. Relationships are incredibly important. Another duh. But when I say they are important, don’t assume I mean all relationships. It’s easy to indiscriminately invest time in people who are only going to drain you. The older I get, the better I get at differentiating between those who will improve my life and those who won’t. I won’t ignore people, but I will not partake in their drama. You may call it antipathy; I call it relational triage. 

5. Do not grow weary in doing good. This is harder than it sounds. I don’t always like the world I live in, and when I say this I’m not referring to the big world crises that keep journalists buzzed. I mean the subtle attitudes and habits of people - our disgusting degree of consumerism, our quest for happiness in all the wrong places, our conformity to political correctness, our indecently corrupt political and financial systems, our entitled attitudes. The good guy rarely wins. The bottom line steers pretty much everything. I don’t wish to sound cynical, but the romantic idealist in me is feeling slightly deprived of oxygen. Despite this, the truth remains the same: It is always right to do the right thing. Good does win at the end of the story, but we haven’t gotten to the end yet. 

6. The advantages of handing over the reins of my life to my Creator cannot be overstated. The longer I live, the less I understand. The less I understand, the more I have to trust. Trust is not easy, but it is incredibly freeing. Every life plan I’ve ever made has veered into a pit stop and resulted in a change in direction. I’ve had to eat my “nevers.” But what I’ve gotten instead is an inner peace, a grateful heart, and a certainty that the best of life is still ahead of me. I don’t have to know everything. 

Back from Bosnia - Part 4

Put the Sarajevo Jazz Fest on your bucket list. Their slogan is “The best music is where you least expect it” and it proved truthful in every way.

I have been to Sarajevo five times now, the first four for work (see previous Back from Bosnia posts). I feel that with this fifth time I’ve finally put it to rest. The city is depressed and I would never want to live there (as Lina said at one point, this is the first time she’s not heard me say “Ooo I want to live there!” as I point to an apartment building in whatever city we’re visiting), but it is dear to my heart nonetheless. My love for this city goes far beyond strolling the streets and enjoying the sights. It’s tied up in the history of the place and the people I’ve met who call it home.

The point of this trip was to attend the Jazz Fest (which has been happening every November for 18 years). My friend Eldar is the stage manager (that feels awesome to say!) and he arranged for my friend Lina and I to stay at a friend’s mother’s friends’ empty apartment. We even got picked up from the airport in the VIP car that is used to shuttle the festival’s artists around. Incidentally, we arrived on the same flight as Håkon Kornstad, one of the artists we heard (we didn’t know this until we saw him on stage and realized we’d seen him in the passport line). I wonder what car he was picked up in….

Anyways, we’d bought tickets for three nights and each concert was better than the last. I can’t really transmit through words the tremendous music experience that it was. Suffice to say, if you love music it is well worth the trip at some point in your life. Friday night was Dianne Reeves. The woman has an incomprehensible range and vocal elasticity. There is nothing she can’t do. The concert was brilliant. You can get a taste of it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6G7K1nIPxE

Saturday night was Håkon Kornstad, a Norwegian saxophone player turned opera tenor (no joke!) who also plays the flute with a clarinet mouthpiece (who knew?). With his trusty old loop machine, he became a one man band. Lina and I even got serenaded in Swedish when he sang a beautiful old folk tune Ack Värmland du sköna. And he was just the opener! The main attraction was Avishai Cohen Trio, three guys from Israel who play jazz like nobody’s business. The pianist was insane, the drummer (who shouldn’t even be called a drummer because it sounds so unsophisticated compared to what this guy did) was brilliant, and Avishai, the contrabassist, was genius. With all of the amazing stuff they did together, the highlight for me was when he sang an old Argentine ballad in Spanish and an old Hebrew song written by a young poet from Odessa in the late 1940s. His voice and expression were so sublimely melancholy. It profoundly touched me.

Sunday’s concert was Ibrahim Maalouf, a trumpet player from Lebanon/France. I’d never heard of the guy, but apparently he is pretty popular in Bosnia because the crowd cheered at the mention of certain songs. This guy is the whole package: a versatile and humorous musician, a charismatic showman, a strong band leader, and a seemingly unpretentious guy. Even though the music itself wasn't my favorite kind (although the bagpiper rocking out to a Led Zepplin tribute was pretty awesome), the full experience was one I am so glad to have witnessed. It was more than music. He comes from a war-torn Beirut and he played in a war-torn Sarajevo. The full significance of the feelings transmitted through his playing is something I may never be able to fully grasp, but the audience around me did. It sounds so cliché, but music like that transcends time, history, conflict and pain. It’s all there in the notes, notes that don’t need words to be understood. In fact, words would just ruin it.

Ibrahim Maalouf

The drummer was an ongoing party

Of course we did more than just attend concerts. We slept till noon, ate our breakfasts on a “park” bench, strolled through the city, befriended a Bosnian tea shopkeeper named Hussein who spoke no English but did speak perfect Italian. He was a colorful character with his wavy long white-gray hair and ankle length black tunic. We ate some good food, saw a gallery exhibition with photographs from the genocide in Srebrenica and most importantly, spent some quality time at my favorite café of all time, The Goldfish.

The Goldfish café keeps bringing me back to Sarajevo. 

Reunited with my friend Eldar and made a new friend in Alfred (far left).

This may very well have been my last trip to Sarajevo. Or it may not have been. I don’t know. But I am certain that I’ve taken the very best of it with me.