Tag Archives: personal blog

We’re Alright

I’m listening to Twenty-One Pilots ‘Level of Concern’. One of the lyrics is “Tell me we’re alright, tell me we’re ok”. Thus arrived today’s title.

And it’s true. All in all we are alright. We are ok. We’re not great. There are horrors taking place within our world. As there have been ever since we’ve been around. But we’re also not totally in the shit. There are things to be grateful for. There are people in our world raising their voices and taking actions for the better. As there have been ever since we’ve been around.

And on a personal level, how are you? I’m alright. I’m ok. I’m not great. There are things that could be easier. People that could be kinder and softer-hearted in my life. But I’m also not in the shit. There are many aspects of my life to be grateful for. I have an amazing and loving family, both the one I was born into and the one that I’ve created with my most lovely wife. I’ve got a more than decent job that allows me to enjoy life – both financially and from a work-life balance perspective. I’ve overcome severe chronic pain and have major depression under control. I’ve got a passion for writing and art that allows me to express myself. Yes, I’m doing pretty damn alright.

And we all live in this extraordinary world. Designed for us to love each other and be loved by our creator (however we envision them). There is no need to await a miracle…we’re already here. Along with the diversity of life that we share this world with.

Be well,

Monty

Cinco de Mayo

I studied Spanish in high school. I was the only student in my school at the time who took it all four years and I had 1:1 study with Senior Jaime in the final year (in Northern Vermont, French was much more common as a language to take due to the proximity to Quebec). Despite this, I didn’t learn enough to really communicate in Spanish. I could blame the lack of immersion, but I also slacked my senior year on practicing. In college, I didn’t take any language courses. There wasn’t enough room in my schedule to accommodate even if I wanted to. So by the time I arrived in Japan the summer after graduating college, my Spanish was rusty to say the least.

That didn’t stop me from trying though. My first night in Japan, we went to a Brazilian bar and I decided (after a few drinks) that it was time to break out my Spanish. I wasn’t so ignorant that I thought Spanish was Portuguese, but I was ignorant enough to think that Spanish would be good enough. So there I was in a Brazilian bar in Japan speaking broken Spanish. If it had been caught on video it would have been worthy of a scene in “Lost in Translation”.

What I found interesting, though, is that as I started to learn Japanese, I learned that the pronunciation of Japanese is remarkably similar to Spanish. All the vowel sounds are the same. And as I learned Japanese it felt like I displaced the little Spanish that I did know. I recall calling a friend that was in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica from Japan and inadvertently speaking Japanese. Despite the similarity in sound, though, there are very few shared words between the two languages and the call didn’t go so well.

Today being a Mexican holiday, the plan is to go for Mexican food. Mexican food in Shanghai. Another opportunity to film a scene for “Lost in Translation”, haha. I’ve never been to Mexico so I’ve no idea what is authentic or not, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed both Japanese and Chinese takes on Mexican food in the past. I hope today proves to be as delicious as ever. Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Be well,

Monty

五月三日

May Third. It just looks cooler in Chinese characters.

I was about to write that the sun is shining but a cloud just interrupted my train of thought. I got out to an early morning walk and am now sitting outside in the garden (under an intermittent sun). To state the obvious, I’m writing again. This time to pop music. Whatever Spotify throws at me.

Benson Boon sings about being afraid of losing someone’s love (“Beautiful Things”). It’s a beautiful song. Catchy. But also sad. For many years I lived a marriage where I was always afraid of losing my partner. I lived in fear. Insecure. Scared to be myself and express my feelings openly. It led me to have a lot of underlying resentment. And to a broken marriage where I almost did lose her. Today, I’m grateful that ‘we broke’ only because it helped us get back together in a much stronger and more honest and open relationship. I certainly feel regret and guilt over some of the things that I did during those broken times. I’ll never forgive myself (nor do I believe I should), but I do accept myself for who I am and all I’ve done. And I can say my love is more true and powerful than ever. I’m blessed.

Be well,

Monty

Mayday

I’m writing to the tune of modern folk music. Not paying attention to the words. Just tapping the keys along to the guitar strings strumming. Compelled to write despite lacking any specific inspiration. I feel a need for a new writing project. A focus for my creative cravings. A direction to point the figurative pen. I wonder if I’ve caught up on all the stories to be told? Do I need to venture from the autobiographical to explore the wider written world? But whose story to tell if not my own?

What becomes of a writer without words? Do I simply disappear? Fade into irrelevance like the dusty paperbacks on my shelf? Or do I transform into something else? Do I shed my nom-de-plume and emerge myself?

I ponder these questions as I’m sitting here with my back to the window and the sun that’s shining through. Words slightly blurry due to age. There is a world out there under the sun’s light. More stories to live?

Be well,

Monty

Playing with AI

So I finally found the time to explore the available AI tools and I have to admit, I’m impressed.

I’m pretty favorable towards adopting new tools that enhance the way we work, even if there are potential pitfalls, but I’m a slow adopter for AI as it’s been hard to access here in China. But now that I’ve gained access and started to play around it’s clear to me that using AI to enhance my work will be a huge game changer.

I’m particularly excited about how the image creation function, in the hands of a skilled prompter, can help those of us that are not visual creatives communicate our ideas in more compelling ways than ever before. I work with many scientists and engineers that have brilliant ideas but they aren’t able to express them effectively to marketing and they get lost in translation. Now it doesn’t matter if you can’t draw – you can still “show” your idea with example AI generated imagery. It won’t be perfect and will still require a human touch to refine, but it greatly increases our ability to communicate visually.

I recognize that AI will impact some people’s jobs directly. In our case we used to hire sketch artists to join our innovation workshops to help visualize ideas. I see AI as replacing this need. However, we will still need artists to refine final concepts and work with our scientist/engineers to make sure the output is technically and scientifically accurate. In fact, I expect we will have more work for artists to refine as we democratize access to visual creation through AI generation. We’ll have more ideas that need to be fully realized. Perhaps, I’m being naive, but I see more upside than down at this point.

I’ve done less playing around with written content generation. I asked Microsoft CoPilot to generate a PowerPoint deck all about how to use AI for creative inspiration and design. The output was OK. Not very compelling but a good base to start with. I took the output and worked interactively with it to develop a final product that I can actually use that was probably 50% AI generated and 50% human supported. One interesting finding was that the original AI generated content didn’t include any of the watch outs or negative aspects of using AI. I had to specifically ask this to be added. After I asked it did make some decent points although I still augmented it with my own thoughts.

At this point, you would think I should include some example of my AI play here in the post. But I’m hesitant to introduce AI content in my blog. This is my place to be creative. My place to be human. To be vulnerable and fallible. I’m not yet comfortable to bring AI into this affair. Perhaps I’m not as open minded as I like to think.

Be well,

Monty

Lugu Lake, Yunnan

This is my first trip to western China. We took an early morning flight out of Shanghai when the sky was still dark. A four hour flight plus three and a half hour drive later we arrived at Lugu Lake in Yunan province in the peak of the afternoon with the sun bright and warm.

Being China, there is only one timezone aligned with Beijing, so the days start and end much later in the west. When we arrived at 3pm the sun was high. The mountains surrounding the lake stood out from the bright blue sky, which was reflected in the ripples of the lake.

We have a beautiful view from our room. Mrs. Monty did very well well to select the inn. We’ll be here for a week. I’ll be working remotely most of the days, while Mrs. Monty and her sister will do the sightseeing. I’m quite happy to relax with the beautiful view.

The elevation here is quite high so it’s taking some adjustment to get used to the thin, dry air. Hopefully the headache and dizziness will pass in a day or so. This serves as a reminder to take better care of my cardiovascular health.

Although I’ve lived in China for about 15 years, I’ve done relatively little domestic travel. There always seemed to be another priority when it came to using my annual leave. I’m hoping to do more now that my life and career are settling down a bit.

Be well,

Monty

On Reading

I’ve been trying to read a novel these days and I can only get a couple pages in at a time. I’m not sure if the issue is the writing style, which is fairly eccentric, or my lack of attention span. Probably both. But I keep trying. I feel like I need to read to grow as writer. I used to be an avid reader. I was one of those kids that read past their bedtime under the covers with a flashlight. I loved finding an author with a large body of works so that I could enter their world for a while. I read through the entire catalogue of Agatha Christie during one summer in middle school. Regardless if the books were written as series or stand alone I always liked to read an author’s works in the sequence they wrote them. First, it helped me keep track of what I’d already read. Second, it made me feel like I was on the same journey as the author as they wrote their books. Now as a writer, my works often take the form of a journal. I wonder if there is a connection. After I had finished all of Agatha Christie’s stories, I then read her autobiography. It was the first autobiography that I’d ever read and I found the parallels between her written stories and her lived life very compelling. I’d always assumed fiction was a complete fabrication. It was eye-opening to see how one could weave their life’s experiences into their fiction so seamlessly. Now I think that the act of writing from one’s personal experiences, whether in fiction or non-fiction, is a big part of what makes the story compelling. A touch of truth adds just enough relevance to pull me forward. Perhaps that is what is missing from the novel that I’m currently reading. I’m not yet seeing past the eccentric language and world-building to find the interesting ‘real’ nuggets that spark interest. But perhaps the next couple of pages will be more inspiring…

Be well,

Monty

The Wandering Lamb

I left home. Drove across the continent, meandering from coast to coast. A 10,000 mile trip to see what there was to see. There was plenty. Toronto’s international district brought me my first mango to share. Chicago’s Ethiopian food. New Orleans cool and brassy jazz. Summer snow in Colorado. Beasts of beauty in Wyoming. The quieter northern rim of the Grand Canyon. Las Vegas’ night of lights. California’s seaside cliffs and towering trees. Waterfalls and mountains of Oregon, then on to ferry crossing the Puget Sound.

Beauty wasn’t all there was to see. The pick-up trucks with gun racks revving their engines threateningly on my tail in a Michigan campground. The echos of gunshots and the shattered car window from our night in New Orleans. The imposing cop’s sirens in the remote Texas expanse. The pimp and his charge arguing in the alley below our hostel room in Denver. Being stuck behind a slow and gassy mule train on the narrow paths of the Grand Canyon. The homeless of San Francisco. Not beautiful, but all memorable insights into America.

Then I left. I flew across the Pacific to new, curious lands. They felt foreign. But I was the foreigner. First a gaijin. Then a laowai. The names not unkind, just descriptive. To them I represented America. Not the America I’d just traversed, but the America of Hollywood and TV. In some ways I lived up to expectations. I made goofy mistakes in both words and actions. I once made a peanut butter sandwich using miso paste instead of peanut butter — a salty error to say the least. It earned me a spit take. Another time I upset my boss by talking to him like a Japanese girl — a lack of respect that did not go unnoticed. Then there were the times that I asked my mother-in-law to have shit for breakfast and tried to complement an aunt’s sweater by saying she looked good in her pubic hair. Yes, I swear, all true.

Other times I didn’t fit the mold. I was invited to a bbq at a colleague’s home and once we were fully lubricated he announced that I was not an American, but rather Japanese. I politely expressed my gratitude to him for such a deep expression of admiration, but corrected him to say I was defined neither by American nor Japanese, but rather just me. In hindsight given the state of my language skills I probably said something much less eloquently phrased, but I managed to get my point across and we proceeded to drink and converse deep into the night. It was one of the most memorable times during my stay in Japan.

When I met my future in-laws to ask permission to marry their daughter (more of a convention than anything else because it was always going to be her choice, but her choice was influenced by their acceptance of me), they took one look at me and knew their daughter had me wrapped around her finger. They had worried about meeting an older, bigger man. Instead they met me, barely older than a teenager and looking the part. They were right, Mrs. Monty always has had the upper hand. Their instincts were right, but they were based on me not fitting their expectations.

Almost 30 years have passed since I initially took that road trip and then crossed the Pacific. To this day I remain a foreigner. Not just because of where I came from or choose to live. But because I never quite belong. It’s not bad. It’s just a description of my state of being. I’m ok with it.

Be well,

Monty

Enter the Dragon

It’s the eve of a new year, a year of the dragon. The cycle repeats every 12 years. Where were we 12 years ago? The last dragon year. I recall it being the year just before I moved back to China. My job was disappeared on one day and the next day they offered me another…in China. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Literally. It’s not that I didn’t want to move back to Shanghai. But, with my daughter in the middle of high school, it didn’t feel like the optimum time to pick the whole family up and move halfway around the world. It turned out to be a great time. My daughter successfully navigated the transition, finished high school in Shanghai and then went off to college. Today she is in the final stretch of a PhD degree. Not bad. Not bad. Our son also managed the transition well. He stayed in touch with all of his US friends by playing co-op games on the X-box and slowly built his own network of local friends, started and finished high school and went off to college. He’s now in the final months of his undergraduate program and thinking of going to law school next. Not bad. Not bad.

My wife and I have now fully settled in Shanghai. We even applied for and successfully received permanent residency status. Our home is comfortable – a rare villa in the suburbs that is quickly becoming urban. A metro is being built to join us to the city network and should be up and running in the next couple of years. My job is reasonably stable and gives me the flexibility to continue with my writing and other interests. Not bad. Not bad.

I’m not sure if this year will bring another big transition. A decision that seems hard. But if it does I think I can take it in stride. Things seem to turn out not bad. Not bad.

May you all be blessed with peace of heart and mind. Happy Dragon Year!

新年快乐！

Be well,

Monty

The Catalyst

I read my latest book, Seeking the Light, from front to back today. I admit I’m quite proud of the work. Some of the pieces feel as if they were written by another, more capable, poet. I did discover a number of typos, overuse of the word ‘perhaps’ and some formatting glitches, but on the whole it’s my best work yet.

I’ve not been productive writing lately, so it was exciting as I read along to feel the itch. My own writing acting like a catalyst, sparking a glimpse of inspiration (or at least intention). I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed the revelations and discovery that comes from the process. I’ve missed the peacefulness of time passing by unnoticed as the words form into thoughts. Writing is as much an act of healing as it is of expression. It’s very therapeutic.

I think part of my challenge is rising expectations. I’ve grown in my writing and I now judge myself too strictly. It hinders the free flow that is an essential part of my writing process. I need to learn how to write with a softer heart toward myself. Allow myself the space to create (for better or worse). I can always decide not to publish the piece (or work on it further before I do).

My earliest published works were raw. My words clumsy. My illustrations simplistic. But they were the best expressions of my thoughts at the time. I can already see improvement areas for my latest book. But, why be judgmental now? Why shy away? Yes, strive to be better, but I hope I can choose to appreciate the journey I’ve been, and continue to be, on.

To embrace this sentiment, here is a silly little play on my apparent infatuation with ‘perhaps’.
I literally had at least five instances of ‘perhaps’ in the first 8 or so pieces in the book. Sheesh 🙄.

Perhaps

Perhaps this, perhaps that;
Perhaps I’ll buy a new hat,
Or perhaps pet a black cat.
Perhaps its me, perhaps its you;
Perhaps I’ve not a clue
Why I say perhaps so often.
Perhaps, my vocabulary is so rotten,
Full of synonyms forgotten,
That I can’t get by
Or give an alternative a try?
Perhaps yes, perhaps no,
Or perhaps we’ll never, ever see
Me write with more certainty!

Be well,

Monty