Last Saturday night I found myself staring into the etchings of an original Dali, contemplating whether the painting or my own life were more surreal. I developed a rather cliche appreciation for the Spanish artist during college (as one does), and while I have seen Dali’s (with whom I share a birthday) works in person before, never in such an intimate setting.
I was at a private art exhibit put on by the good people of the Harvard Club of Singapore, where the curator was displaying her private collection of human body themed art to a group of no more than 20 members of the Distinguished University Alumni League. I looked sharp and my date looked stunning. I made strange, quirky friends, in strange, quirky lines of work that I have already seen again.
Later that evening I met up with the CEO of a South African marketing company who had flown to SE Asia to pursue a business interest I had introduced him to. We had dinner and drinks on Arab Street, a very hip, sort of low key area of Singapore. Among the topic of conversation was how my previous situation unraveled, how Asia and Africa could do business together and how great it was to have great friends.
At the end of the night, I walked into the dorm style apartment I have since moved into and hung up my Hugo Boss slacks and my Ralph Lauren sports jacket, relics of a richer time, almost hilariously out of place in my new setting. I lay in bed and contemplated the meaning of my life and could not help but smile a bit.
I guess I am a guy who is ok not being where he wants to be. It’s commonly preached that one should always be happy with where they are in that very moment, that each moment is a perfect gift in time. I believe this is true, but I also believe that in the real world we cannot always be happy, but if we can at least be happy with sometimes being unhappy than that is a pretty damn good place to start.