Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Leap Year


It’s a leap year, which means we’re stuck with an extra day this month. February is normally the shortest month of the year. And 28 days is about all we can take from a month where a groundhog has so much “power” over future weather conditions (just to clarify, Marmota monax has only been accurate about Spring’s arrival 37 percent of the time for the past 30-40 years; I personally wouldn’t trust the little rodent with choosing winning lottery numbers let alone making climate predictions). But thanks to a calculation adjustment, February is not going to be as short as it should be this time of year. If you’re like me (and I hope for your sanity you’re not), then you’re probably starting to suspect we’re getting saddled with a day we don’t really need. I mean, take a look outside your window. Pretty uninspiring, huh? February is hands down one of the cruelest and most depressing months in any Midwestern city. The skies are usually grey and overcast. The temperatures refuse to budge from frigid territory. Summer is nowhere in sight and you’ve just about had it with layering and hat hair. Chicagoans are a hardy bunch and we’re used to erratic and unpredictable weather. We rely on beer and a warm body to get us through the worst of winter. At some point though, usually around February the 1st, even the levelheaded among us start to panic when we realize we still have unreliable March and frivolous April to endure. The last thing we need right now is an extra day courtesy of a leap year! But there’s no way around it. Trust me, I checked. The Western, or Gregorian, calendar is the current standard calendar used in most places of the world. We have grown to cycle and organize our every day lives around such a civil system. Weddings, birthdays, periods, holidays, these are all events we plot on the Gregorian calendar. Pope Gregory XIII first introduced the Gregorian calendar back in February (of course) of 1582. And it’s ironic to note why he felt compelled to do so. For Pope Gregory understood the importance of balance and alignment.

In a perfectly proportioned mathematical universe, there can be no room for error or inconsistencies. The universe relies on order and balance, even amidst apparent chaos and instability. Yet a tiny error was made on a calendar that was threatening to set the whole universe off balance! All right, so I don’t think Pope Gregory uttered those words but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t occur to him. You see, it turns out the year was too long in 1582. “By how much,” you’re wondering and how was this miscalculation affecting the cosmos? By 11 tiny minutes. Julius Caesar got it wrong way back in 46 BC when he introduced the Julian calendar (which had been in use for centuries) and Pope Gregory set out to reform his cosmic mistake.

You’re still baffled. I can tell. And I don’t want you to stop reading. What does a calendar have to do with the universe, Maria? Everything! Think of it this way: if your perception of your place in this universe is heavily dependent on time and patterns, then how can you be sure of anything if the calendar you use to organize your life is wrong? That’s pretty deep stuff people. I wouldn’t have tolerated a mistake of such grand magnitude either. The Julian calendar mistakenly assumed that the time between vernal equinoxes was 365.25 days (365 days and 6 hours), when in fact it was almost exactly 11 minutes shorter. As a result, the calendar year gained about three days every four centuries compared to observed equinox times and seasons. Furthermore, the equinox was occurring on March 11 (that’s an accumulated error of 10 days) and moving steadily earlier with the Julian calendar.  

How could Julius have done such an insidious thing? Easy: the calendar year was intended to approximate the tropical (solar) year. But here’s the damning part: Greek astronomers had known, at least since Hipparchus, that the tropical year was a few minutes shorter than 365.25 days. Whoa, wait a second. You mean lots of people (well, the smart ones anyway) knew the calendar did not compensate for this difference, yet somebody went ahead and changed it anyway? Yes, you see, Julius REFORMED the Roman calendar that had been in use prior to the Julian calendar. Yet another ironic revelation falls into our lap. With all these reformations, you’d think at least one person would have gotten it right. And Pope Gregory did when he stepped forward in 1582 with his calendar modifications. But these important modifications were met with much resistance. The vernal equinox had drifted back into a time that was over—it had lapsed into some unforeseen vortex where events had already taken place. Who knows what was happening to it out there, driven off course as it had been by one tiny error?  

Clearly the vernal equinox needed to be saved. It doesn’t matter if Pope Gregory’s reasons for setting the equinox straight were for strictly practical purposes. Since the Spring equinox was tied to the celebration of Easter, the Roman Catholic Church considered the equinox’s retreat to an earlier date undesirable. An alteration to the calendar was the only recourse.

I don’t know about you, but I consider Pope Gregory’s bold move (sidenote: he was largely aided by Jesuit priest and astronomer Christopher Clavius; the man didn’t do it alone) quite heroic. The switchover was bitterly opposed by much of the populace. They feared it was an attempt by landlords to cheat them out of a week and a half's rent. Uprisings were threatening to erupt! Actually, no. Yet there was indeed a world of confusion and resistance. I mean, I'd get a little standoffish too if I thought money was involved in calendar changes.

But Pope Gregory pressed ahead with reformations to the Julian calendar, as well as alterations to the lunar cycle used by the Church for calculating the dates of Easter. The Julian calendar’s regular cycle of leap years were also affected. I’m sure you were starting to think I had forgotten all about the main subject of this post. With the new and improved Gregorian calendar, every year that is exactly divisible by four would become a leap year (except for years that are exactly divisible by 100; the centurial years that are exactly divisible by 400 are still leap years). More importantly though, the mean length of the calendar year changed from 365.25 days to 365.2425 days (365 days 5 hours 49 minutes 12 seconds), a reduction of 10 minutes 48 seconds per year.

And there you have it. A leap year is as necessary to the cosmos as the sun and gravity. Can you imagine how our lives would be playing out right now if the Julian calendar were still around? 11 minutes might not seem like much but accumulated over the course of several centuries, they would add up to several years lost and relived in a different dimension. Today might be five years ago! Would I even be the “me” that was the “me” back then, or would I be the “me” that is the “me” today but forced to relive the past due to one tiny error? Stop. I can’t even handle that idea. As it stands today with the Gregorian calendar, we gain one day in February every four years but at least we don’t lose time that we should be experiencing in the present. Living in the past sounds like such a romantic but ultimately destructive notion. Who doesn’t want to relive their best days and memories? But at what point do you achieve growth and equilibrium if you remain rooted in the past? The past is never far but it should never be a replacement for the present. As I continue to fight for balance and happiness in this dimension, I flip to February 29th on my Gregorian calendar and realize it's something to celebrate.       

Friday, February 24, 2012

Ups and Downs


A couple of weeks ago, I was riding high and feeling quite pleased with this chapter of my often uncertain life. Then I came crashing down. And why not, right? For what goes up must eventually come down. Such is the defining and pernicious nature of life. I was a freshman at Amundsen high school when I first started reading Shakespeare. My third period English teacher was a humorless and acerbic middle-aged lady whose wardrobe consisted mostly of garish prints and plastic jewelry. When you stood too close to her, she smelled of vinegar and dark secrets. Since "The Odyssey" failed to inspire the poets within us (I’m referring to the 25 or so fourteen-year-old students who would nod off when she recited line after line of hexameter verse), she decided she’d had enough and launched us into the world of Shakespeare. The gesture did not go unnoticed. Most of the students would sit around with blank expressions on their faces or brows furled in utter confusion wondering what the hell this Shakespeare dude was writing about. “Iambic pentameter? Metaphors? Double entendres and puns? Look teacher, we don't even know how we made it to class on time.” She disregarded our insolence and solecisms. The girls were predictably enthralled by the whole star-crossed lovers tragedy in “Romeo and Juliet,” while the guys where busy trying to determine the best candidate to cheat from on the next quiz. I sat quietly near the front, furiously taking notes, probing every line, reading slowly and painfully until I could understand what I was reading and visualizing. Although the impetuous and passionate love between Romeo and Juliet was compelling in and of itself, especially because of their tragic outcome, I was more intrigued by the references to the wheel of fortune. What was fortune? Surely it was more than “luck” as we understood it. Was it fate? And why did Juliet curse its fickle nature? I needed these questions answered! Thus began my love affair with Shakespeare and my unwavering attempts to understand what this unpredictable wheel of fortune represented in my life and how I could gradually accept there was very little I would ever have full control over. 

When Shakespeare compares life to a wheel of fortune in his plays, he undoubtedly references that unforeseen element fate. When I first came across the allusion, I pictured myself running around in circles, aimlessly seeking some unattainable goal and foolishly believing I could somehow attain it. What were circumstances to me? A mere annoyance. I would alter circumstances and the course of my life to reach an imaginary end goal that would bring me true happiness and fulfillment. Yes, naivetĂ© and inexperience inspired such optimistic thoughts. My life was cruel and tiring as a teenager. I wanted life to be more than suffering and violence. I’ve mentioned several times before on this blog how I saw and experienced things no human being should ever behold, let alone a young girl. I couldn’t make sense of anything in my world, and I was desperately searching for meaning in places where none was or would ever be granted. I read so I wouldn’t go crazy. I read so I could find solace and answers. I read because I didn’t know what else to do. I read because I felt like my humanity was being stripped away from me in strips, and I needed to hold on to it because that was the only thing keeping me going. To me, Shakespeare was the ultimate verbal artist: a master at language and compelling stories. His 37 plays and 154 sonnets have allowed me to think about life, love and humanity in refreshing and pragmatic but contradictory ways.    

But the more I read Shakespeare and the older I got, the less fascinating this wheel of fortune appeared. In fact, I too like Juliet began to curse this circular, capricious and obscure force influencing events in my life. Every time I set out to accomplish a goal, my plans would get foiled in the process. From an early marriage that came crashing forcefully down, to strained relationships with family members despite the best of intentions and of course, struggling to finish school ten years after I started, nothing I ever embarked on ended favorably. Change and the inevitable grief that came with losses and setbacks were swift and sudden. It seemed like for every two steps I took, some invisible force picked me up by the collar and launched me several feet back. And now I’m at the threshold of yet another fork on the road, and I’ve never been more afraid or unsure of anything.  

I recently resigned from my job due to a hostile work environment. I thought things were going relatively well at the small publishing firm that hired me last summer, but the owner begged to differ. In fact, she was quite dissatisfied with my performance and humiliated me in front of my colleagues. It was an incredible blow to my ego and one of the worst moments in my professional career. I immediately realized I could not stay in such a demoralizing environment.

As if the stress of being unemployed wasn’t enough, I am also sick with worry over my mother. Our family received some bad news this past Christmas regarding her health. I am currently unable to get her the care and treatment she needs. Of course, I feel useless and impotent, like I’m failing my mother when she needs me the most. To top it off, my brother is also weathering a serious illness.     

I was staying positive and facing these pressures courageously despite the precariousness and uncertainty of the future. But on Valentine’s Day, the man I had been dating and fallen deeply in love with flew out to Colombia to start a new chapter in his life. When we started dating, he was candid about his plans to move to South America for an indefinite period of time. At the moment, it did not occur to me I would ever care about his upcoming voyage because I wasn’t sure we’d make it past a second date. However, we made it past the second date and fell in love in the process. What is it about love’s sudden and irrevocable absence that shatters your composure like no other event? It’s quite shocking and astonishing to do without love from one day to the next. It’s a swift and disorienting transition—one that I was not anticipating.

But the wheel of fortune has more swift revolutions in store for me and it doesn’t care if I’m mentally or emotionally prepared. It continues to spin out scene after scene of adversity and trying events. I turn to Shakespeare once again because he’s always inspired me to be more engaged, authentic and responsive with everyone around me. Even though I accept it, I don’t understand pain. Not the way I understand Shakespeare’s rhyme schemes and his lyrical albeit, ornate, language. It hurts brutally and immensely to wake up every day without love by my side, especially as I confront yet another overwhelming chapter in my life. Yet I acknowledge his decision to leave had nothing to do with me. It had been forged before our paths converged at a small point in time. I merely entered his life during a lull- an intervening period before the wheel began its revolution.

I know as much today about the wheel of fortune as I knew sixteen years ago when I couldn’t drown out all the clattering voices around me. But I’m also more familiar with it. I’ve witnessed the wheel of fortune spinning of its own accord, at times smoothly and methodically, other times unevenly and recklessly. It has always and will forever remain indifferent to the supplications of its passengers. Fate is such a demanding and ruthless force. It demands that you accept the twists, turns and uncertainties of your journey without much resistance. Well, you can resist, but you’ll only take longer to get “there.” Your best bet is to go with the flow of your revolution, even if you’re in pain and tears.    

Would Shakespeare assert that my tragic flaw was thinking I could disconnect from the distasteful aspects of reality and somehow escape from love’s grip unscathed? Where did I err? Was it my hubris? I don’t have the answers. I’m just on the wheel of fortune.

Monday, February 20, 2012

25 Things I Miss About Love

  • My hand tucked securely in his palm 
  • Waking up next to him on a frigid winter morning. Sans clothes. 
  • His halting smile 
  • Dancing the night away in a room full of friends and strangers—all eyes on us 
  • Listening to Marvin Gaye, followed by some Eastern Blok tunes 
  • Sitting quietly on his sofa, right next to him, while sipping on a hot mug of green tea 
  • Watching X-Files and laughing at Mulder’s sharp one-liners 
  • The sound of his soothing voice 
  • Brunch at CafĂ© con Leche 
  • Vodka tonics fixed by him-- never too heavy or light 
  • His sweet kisses on top of my head 
  • Feeling sheltered 
  • Venting about a long stressful day at work without being interrupted 
  • Showing off my lacy undergarments 
  • Removing them slowly (or swiftly) for him 
  • His fingers deftly strumming the strings of a guitar 
  • Late night conversations about the things I could never tell another soul 
  • Falling asleep in his arms 
  • Sinking further and further into his essence
  • Not giving a damn if I was on my period 
  • Two entrancing golden eyes staring at me with longing and always something more 
  • Being serenaded and feeling like the most important person in the room 
  • His coat over my shoulders when I’d start shivering outside 
  • Saying I love you 
  • Hearing it back