‘N’ London is ON

output_nCB76V5.56PM. TODAY I AM GOING THROUGH THE DIP. The one that they tell you is important to ‘push through,’ as my favorite guru-watching, Headspace-listening friends and colleagues like to tell me, when I am not wanting to hear it, when I am not-wanting-to-hear-it and wanting to just sit and think, alone, quietly, all day. With internet. Because with internet you can write and type and skype and talk and chat and feel like something is happening. Something is moving. That if you keep on pulling the loom and knitting in yarns and patches and bits and so on, there will become, eventually, magically, a pattern. A tapestry. A thing that is the beautiful thing. Because of the labor, the labor, the labor, the WORK. Where is all this coming from? Too much internet. Toooooooo much.

2.45PM. All morning I was thinking about how to do it. Write to everyone I have contacted so far in London and tell them that, yes, after all this time, after more than a year of some of the guests there bearing with me, trusting me that yes, this WILL happen, it is starting to do its thing. It is starting to happen. It is. It really, really is. Magic moments, making spaces, holding the rooms for dialogue to happen, in the salons and roundtables and workshops in cafes and libraries and parks and light bars that don’t press you to buy things if you just want to engage in esoteric conversation, all of those things are where I start to notice things. The good stuff, for example. The good magical place where we can connect, eye to eye and, let’s be really open here, if we may, and talk about it: heart to heart. Internet is missing something. It is. You know that, though, right? That it is? It’s missing the spark that makes us human beings. I am seriously tired today from writing so much email and wondering if anyone cares as much as I do about the magic moments that happen in the space framed by the bounded box, held with care. When 16 vectors converge for one MOMENT in the space of time, when we can design for that, when we can angle it so that it WILL happen, will it matter to anyone else besides me? And yes, the very good people who have said ‘YES’ to ‘N’ so far. (41/482 so far). There are more things to say but those are for sharing privately, with the 41 people, because not everything that is good is for public consumption, and sometimes the very best of the good stuff happens when it is by design meant to be shared with only a very small set of people, a very tiny scale of a few. In our case, 16 per city. SixteenN. Sixteen x Sixteen, for the magic set of 256 in the whole wide world. The colors. The boxes. The spaces. The making of space. The holding of it. None of this would be happening if people weren’t saying yes. *thank you* *you know who you are* *to be continued* We want to connect. To engage. To do this is human. Isn’t it?

NOW. Today I’m cleaning my new flat of its clutter. Putting all the right papers in their containers, sensing the story that is the ultimate centroid of my life work: making space for connections between people who don’t know one another; discovery through serendipity and chance; growth through these kinds of experiences that, while ultimately extremely basic (who are you? let’s talk?), are so very hard to find in our fragmented world of illusions, spectacles, and yes, if I sound jaded, I am. Today I reconnected with everyone to whom I’ve ever sent an invite for ‘N’ in London. Tomorrow I start hitting the internet again to keep querying. More than 485 invitations for ‘N’ events in four cities so far, yeesh. But last week I found renewed enthusiasm for this when I got off a skype with #28327a, who was the first to join ‘N,’ like a year ago. It was his idea to reframe ‘N’ as a challenge, and he said it: ‘Don’t wait for better options! Be a bold human being and pick a date and show up!’ And we were off, then, taking all of this much more seriously. Lamenting, together, the decline in opportunities to engage, connect, share, and discover. New and different others. new ways of thinking, new people. Curiosity! Oi. If art is all there is that can save us, isn’t curiosity its prerequisite? Is there hope for art, for newness, for intrigue, the universal quest to ask, ‘What is this, and let me just see now…’? I’m looking for the right people, so it’s taken some time, and I still have a month, so here we go. Here we go, here we go, here we go.

Care to comment?


PS They are playing some seriously nice violin-y stuff today here. I am feeling all on a roll.


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