wisdom tooth

It’s kind of a big deal.

Change.

It really screws up your perception of what is and what was and makes you incredibly vulnerable to the eerie realization that we are far more fragile than we think. Or, maybe that’s just me. And the gaping hole that for 24 years was home to my upper left wisdom tooth.

Today was the big day. It was the day that the oral surgeon in his pale blue gown came at me with the dreaded needle, knife and blade or whatever unimaginable extracting instruments one uses to yank someone’s tooth out. And to be fair, the whole procedure was far less frightening than I imagined thanks to those three hefty shots of Novocain leaving me good and numb. But what I find more disturbing is what remains: that hollow space in the back of my mouth which my tongue persistently continues to graze itself against almost as an ominous reminder that something that was by nature an integral part of me is now, well, gone.

Ok, sure, I am steering a little bit on the dramatic side. After all, almost everyone I talk to seems to relate their own personal horror stories about parting with not only one, but all four of their precious impacted wisdom teeth at the same time. I, on the other hand, seem to have taken the easy way out. Or, perhaps, the more unpleasant since in due time, the other three will most likely cause me another special trip to the oral surgeon.


It’s not really just about my tooth though, although tell that to my roaming tongue.

Having a wisdom tooth pulled out extends far deeper than the roots (pardon the cliché). There is something so ghastly permanent about it all. So finite. It seems that as we get older, more and more sweeping changes begin to take place. Diplomas acquire dust in their frames, friends pick up and move away, careers get started, relatives get sick and the fleeting fragments of childhood seem to faintly disappear.

Time forges ahead whether we are ready to quicken our pace or not and as hard as I keep fighting against the uncertainty and bewilderment concerning the future, the clock refuses to wait for me to catch up.

The removal of my first wisdom tooth today may have symbolized one traumatic change, but this event surely will be overshadowed by the more pressing changes propping up in the next several months; changes in terms of moving out, finding jobs, navigating my path, my future. During this year alone, I have watched a myriad of friends move in with their significant others, begin their second or third job and even acquire real estate. While they are all off accomplishing these very grown up feats, I am, well, getting my tooth pulled knowing that my parents are loyally sitting in the waiting room.

So, I suppose it’s my turn to hop on the mid-twenties band wagon, take the plunge and while we are on the subject of teeth, open wide.

AHHHHH.

red kite

Everyone wants an upgrade.

Upgrade. It has become the infamous word of my generation casually tossed around from one conversation to another. In today's day and age, if it's not bigger, better, faster or sleeker, it's certainly not performing at its most potent potential. Let "it" stand for all the latest technological gadgets I still struggle to name correctly- the ipod nanos, mini cellphones, digital cameras, laptops, blackberries (i.e- any feasible mode of technology which appears to be complicated yet compact, efficient and ever so upgradable. I often fear jumping on the newest technology bandwagon for the simple reason that by the time I have actually acquired the newest, fastest, trendiest, most enviable object of other's consumer minded fancies, the manufacturer will produce something ten times more powerful and desirable than the original purchase and I will be back at square one, painstalkingly in need of an upgrade.

It's not that I ascribe to the "upgrade it" mentality. I would almost go as far to say I actively attempt to avoid, ignore and retreat at all costs on an almost regular basis. Case in point, I haven't changed or shall I say, upgraded, my dentist in about 15 years and unless the three-year-old patient reading "Highlight" magazine in the office waiting room physically pushes me out the door, I will continue to prop myself up in the plastic covered reclining dental chair of the rainbow striped corner room decorated with a masterful portrait of Ernie and Bert gazing wistfully at my aging teeth.

But I digress.

I am most definitely the last of my friends to identify the latest technological gadgets. The fact that I actually own an ipod (given to me as a gift) is quite frankly a miracle and I still adamantly refuse to believe that my beloved Walkman is forever debunked as an all but extinct memory of the 90's.

There are those moments though; those few and far between glimmering moments where my mind is transported away from the buzzing, ringing, vibrating and clicking of gadgets and replaced with images or ideas revolving around the small yet monumental pieces of life that really matter. Several months ago, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the figure of an elderly man gripping the string of a red kite in the midst of a solitary baseball field. Although my short glimpse from the bus window could have exceeded no more than several seconds, the image of that wistful aged man serenly gazing up at his red kite flying above in the overcast sky was genuinely priceless. As countless blindfolded New Yorkers equipped with the latest technology do their best to constantly block out the trials and tribulations of reality, it was comforting to spot someone in tune with the sights and sounds of everyday life.

One man, one kite, one field. I can't help but imagine he was content.

In a recent conversation with a new friend, I learned that there are those who will heed the extra mile to escape the hustle and bustle of the latest, the fastest, the trendiest technology. A frequent attendee of Buddhist retreats, my friend described to me a memorable weekend away from the city. Armed with just the clothes on his back, my friend alongside a group of strangers spent a quiet weekend deep within the confines of the woods, sans cellphone, ipods, email, even idol chatter. All were instructed not to speak until nightfall each day allowing the mind to roam freely without interruption, reflect intuitively and fully experience the surrounding natural beauty of the woods. At the end of the weekend, my friend learned how to value and appreciate the depth of nature, minimalism and silence.

I am not advocating that we all retreat to the woods and celebrate an end to technology, nor am I officially ready to dramatically part with my ipod/cellphone/email- yet, everyday, I try to envision the face of that man with the red kite blissfully captivated by an inner tranquility.

If we could all worry less about upgrading to the next level, maybe we could find a deeper appreciation for the things in life that should really matter: the stars above us, the people around us and a deep sense of peace within ourselves.