Dylan last night after the Peleton Photo Annual launch at the Rapha Cycle Club
Remember Warheads, if you grew up in the 90’s just thinking about Warheads will probably send your saliva glands into overdrive. On the way to work today, I stopped in at Economy Candy on the Lower East Side to get something for the office and there, in the corner, was a display of hundreds of warheads. I grabbed a handful, shot into the office, and had everyone line up, pop one in and take a 10 second trip back to their childhood.
It was all coming down, yes, but they watched it together.
The man saw the storm, he kept walking. That made all the difference.
I was pretty quiet here on Tumblr over the holidays, but I spent it around people I love here in New York City. Here is a look from Instagram
One of my favorite tables in New York is the window seat at The Smile
You can learn a bit about life by running in the snow.
If you have never done it, running through a snowstorm forces you to change the way you run. Specifically, the only way you can stay upright is to keep running fast and light, minimizing the amount of time your foot stays on the ground and never trying to slow yourself up. Putting on the brakes will only cause you to slip and so you are stuck in a purgatory of speed. Your only option is to go faster, and while your brain yells, “Slow down!” over and over you have to shake it away and watch your shoes kiss the snow covered roads ever so gently, over and over.
Running a business is really not too much different, you look at the road and it’s full of treachery and danger. You want to slow down, but you can’t. You’re already in the storm and so the only thing left to do is go a little faster.
I always loved Orham Pamuk, sure his writing is a bit slow, but the effort he asks of the reader is always repaid with a bounty of wisdom and beauty. In my favorite of his, “Snow” he starts the book with a line that has stayed with me since he wrote it.
"The silence of snow, thought the man sitting just behind the bus driver. If this were the beginning of a poem, he would have called the thing he felt inside him the silence of snow."
I think about that as I walk through New York, the wind forcing snowflakes to stick, then melt on my face. I think about the freezing peacefulness of it all. I think, “if this were the begining of a poem, I would call the thing I feel inside of me the silence of snow”. I think about that, then I think about nothing at all.