“A sack of sugar must be sliced open that the sweetness may spill forth.”At times I feel as though the very fabric of space were tearing open, and all the stellar energy of the cosmos rushing through my body, my thoughts, my existence, my being. It is a fierce, frenetic, agonizing sensation, one of tremendous bliss, agony and tenderness spun together like the colors of a dancer’s dress, violently blending into one as she whirls. I imagine myself a whirling dervish, only still, more still than “the still point of the turning world” that T.S. Eliot described.

Since Michele and I got back to Providence on Tuesday, I’ve been extremely busy, to the point that I still haven’t had a chance to catch up on the sleep I lost the night of New Year’s. We arrived in Boston on Tuesday afternoon, after a 6:00 AM wake up call to make the 8:30 AM flight. The flight itself was a little dicey, with enough turbulence to unsettle me (I kept thinking to myself “I can’t die now. . .things are going so well!).

In War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy argued that history is an inexorable process, and that indivudals are but actors shaped by the unrelenting march of time and circumstance. Well, it so happens that I only agree with Tolstoy on one of those two points; history most certainly is an inexorable process, but my entire life is predicated on the notion that individual actions shape and define history. I therefore violently disagree that history simply shapes individuals, and as another new year begins, I resolve to act with wisdom and integrity as I move into the working world. So yes, another year has come and gone, but my struggle to bridge the gap between who I am and who I long to be, continues.As part of that struggle, I am about to enter my second semester as a graduate student in Environmental Studies at Brown University.

While it may sound odd, I found it very difficult to make the decision to go to graduate school after completing my B.A. in Spanish Language and Culture. The fear was that by going to graduate school I would somehow be turning my back on the longing to lead a passionate, idealistic, and adventurous life. Of course, I have come to see that, to the contrary, being in graduate school has made it possible for to me to do something truly great, namely, take my ideals and apply them to the real world in practical and tangible ways. Still, I always take on new challenges with trepidation, as I am forever wary of the potential for “losing my ideals.” That fear has its genesis in when I was in 8th grade and was first becoming idealistic.

This morning I find myself disappointed with myself. I spend so much time trying to bridge the gap between who I am who I would like to be, yet so often the bridge I build is structurally unsound. I find that rather than focusing on my projects, I focus on whether or not I am engaging the projects properly. By properly I mean “in accordance with my expectations.”

Given that my expectations are consistently lofty it isn’t uncommon for me to feel the stress of not living up to myself. I don’t fully understand why I turn every little endeavour into a life-or-death struggle between greatness and mediocrity, but the fact that I do is problematic. I don’t know how I will ever do the things I want to do-write books, undertake innovative projects, etc-unless I get over this constant need to turn everything into something amazing. Not that I am misguided in my longing for greatness; rather, I am misguided in how I go about pursuing greatness. I have to learn to relax more, enjoy the process more, be more confident, and so on.

A NY Times article today entitled “Ending Famine, Simply By Ignoring the Experts,” ties in perfectly with some exciting news just announced by my good friends and colleagues, T.H. and Sybille Culhane. The NY Times article discusses the fact that for years the World Bank has urged poor African countries such as Mallawi to reduce or eliminate subsidies for fertilizer and seeds. The hope was that African farmers would plant cash crops and use the extra income they generate from them to import food. Unfortunately, for Mallawi and other countries, the situation is rarely that simple.

From now on, not only will my writing be available for everyone’s enjoyment on the greatest website on the internet (andyposner.org) it will also be available on the 15th most popular website on technorati (http://www.treehugger.com). Yes, that’s right, I’m now a Cars and Transportation writer for treehugger! I get paid between $16 and $20 per post, plus I get bonuses depending on how popular my post is. I will be posting on Mondays, Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. My first post can be read athttp://www.treehugger.com/files/2007/11/honda_unveils_fuelcellcar.phpBe sure to “digg” my posts: that’s how I make more money! The cool thing about the job is that it forces me to become more economical in terms of my use of words.

The posts aren’t long (generally 200-500 words) and they obviously have to get people’s attention. Beyond that, I have to learn more about the latest trends in transportation.Of course, the only downside, aside from the fact that I will have to be spending about an hour to an hour and a half per post, is that I have to personally approve all the comments, and so far I have gotten about 5 in the first hour since my post was posted! Oh well, I’m pretty excited about the job. If nothing else, it seems like a great way to network, get my name out there, and add something to my CV.So, check out my writing on treehugger, but don’t let that interfere with your obsession with my website. After all, mine is the greatest website on the internet!

At first glance, my body seems to be a paradox: I have a very strong immune system, yet I get sick all the time. What can explain this most intractable of problems? Well, it turns out that my frequent bouts of illness are not related to germs, viruses or infections and, therefore, have nothing to do with the strength or weakness of my immune system. I get sick because I get overly excited. It’s that simple. Nearly every time a cascade of ideas, plans and projects washes over me, my body shuts down and starts to ache; my head begins to throb; my eyes get dry and scratchy; and my throat gets sore. It’s gotten to the point that I can predict when it will happen-and still be powerless to stop it.

The onset of these symptoms wouldn’t be so bad-and they aren’t that bad, since, as they aren’t symptoms of a real cold, they go away much more quickly-if it weren’t for the fact that they are part of a larger cycle that goes from idea to excitement to sickness to exhaustion to disappointment. But let me back up for a moment. I should mention that the underlying cause of this cycle is that I demand greatness of myself and, if i feel I am not achieving it, I push myself beyond my limits. I do so for the simple reason that ever since I “discovered” the idealism of the Romantics when I was 16, I have heard people tell me that idealism is but a phase of my life that I would grow out of. I understood even then that it’s not that the ideals are bad, but rather that most people choose not to live up to them.

Kurt Teichert, my thesis mentor, asked that I write a statement of purpose as part of early research into my thesis. What follows will, after some more refinement, serve as a kind of calling card for what I hope to do. In other words, whenever I contact someone that might be a valuable resource, I will attach this 1 page essay so that the person can get a sense of what I am looking to do and what kind of framework I am looking to make use of.

Statement of Purpose

Wednesday, November 14th, 2007
Sometime today, 23 years ago, I was born. 23. There is something about that number that is so much more mature sounding than 22. Maybe it’s the loss of that second hard “T” in “twenty-two:” alliteration smacks of youthful insouciance, does it not? Until now I have always been able to claim that I was young for what I was doing; I started college when I was 17, and I started grad school at 22. Now that I’m 23 people pretty much expect me to be where I am. In other words, my age has lost its luster.