teatro alla scala by ~di-a-na

Walking into Teatro alla Scala brought back childhood memories pushed away and almost forgotten. We would gather around at the playground at the observatory. We talked about different things and imagined the world that we didn’t have. In the summer, we would stay out past midnight, looking at the stars, talking, thinking, being children. We must have been no more than ten or twelve at the time. (I wonder what my kids will remember about their childhood.)

One of us whose grandparents were from Serbia seemed to have more interaction with the outside world and liked to talk about culture that we could only try to imagine. She would say that the best opera was La Traviata and the best place to see it was the La Scala. Impressionable kids… we had no idea what La Scala, or La Traviata were. We thought that since we were so inseparable, we would always remain together sharing in each others lives. Who would have thought we would end up so scattered around the world…

The walk toward the castle brought forth thoughts of experiences being completely meaningless unless they were shared. Travel has been a chore for me recently but I only feel this way about business travel. If I were here with my beautiful wife instead, the place would take on a whole new meaning. If one thinks of life as a bank account, this trip is a withdrawal. The “account” has a negative balance because the last few months have been almost completely devoted to work … work that in a few years will appear meaningless in the rear-view mirror as our good friend recently reminded me.

Next week’s surgery is almost a blessing in disguise since I’ll get to stay home and be closer to those who matter most without the constant barrage of the urgent and unimportant of this life.

Mirror Mirror by `Fredy3D

A few weeks ago, I had a fantastic meal with my good friends at Massimino’s, a nice little Italian place in the North End where we gather once a year to catch up and remember the past. This is a group of truly special people.

Eight, maybe nine years ago I was assigned to help implement a financial system at StateStreet. Little did I know about the true complexity of the project and the history prior to my assignment to the project. To sum it up, it was a mess! A multimillion dollar implementation on the brink of failure, this project seemed impossible and probably would have been scrapped. Multiple weekly status meetings with 40-50 people (at least 30 consultants @ ~$300 /hr), half dozen project managers with their assistants, an entire floor in the most expensive building in Boston, the best hardware costing over a million dollars, and much more didn’t seem to matter enough. Yet somehow this team of special folks managed to successfully roll out its piece of the project. It’s a nice annual surprise to hear that the system is still in use globally.

Even though  I have worked on many projects since then, I haven’t been in a similar team. It is even more troubling to see some of the latest currents that seem to sweep across this great society. Here are some observations.

We have all of the great communication technologies yet we’re less connected. I am certainly not talking about efficiency of transactional communication or the productivity gains from instantaneous dissemination of information. We seem to be less connected with transformational life-long relationships. At work, many of us stare at computer screens all day long with little time to actually talk to people outside the transactions we conduct. On Facebook, as a close friend pointed out, we see status updates that scream of loneliness and boredom. Instead of bowling or golf, many have the living room computerized “equivalents.” We have everything yet we have nothing.

To contrast this, I remember life back in Armenia back in the dark days when we had no electricity, no telephone, no running water, nothing! My father would joke that of all systems of communication/infrastructure only the sewer system worked (and even that froze one day in the dead of winter). We had hardly any food and I had to go for a daily fight for a loaf of bread. Yet in that environment we were (incredible to imagine) happy, never bored or lonely. The space/time for those days is no longer; only memories remain.

Today we are well connected exchanging / processing hundreds of e-mails, instant messages, text messages, tweets, phone calls, video chats, blogs posts and comments yet so many seem to be lonely, alone and feeling completely disconnected and alienated. TV commercials scream about depression and insomnia drugs and other remedies to address anxiety disorders. Netflix, OnDemand, and YouTube bring thousands of channels of passive “entertainment” yet it seems people need even more despite some of the videos and programming being pure trash.

The industrial revolution has ruined our external environment. Technological revolution seems to be ruining our internal environments. Or is it just a mirror?

yin yang by ~kristuzhe

I had to drive to Albany to meet with the State of New York folks. The two hour drive each way provides ample time to enjoy the scenery and reflect. For the mathematically inclined, I have an important once in a lifetime date to celebrate on November 16th, 2009. On that day, I will have lived the first half of my life in Armenia, and the second half in America (not counting minor temporary absences) where I arrived on Henry Ford’s 130th birthday. The more time I spend in America, the less I want to go anywhere else. Strange… The more I live in Massachusetts, the less I want to travel to other states. Crossing the border on I-90 to New York seemed like I had entered a different country for some reason.

But I enjoy the ride on I-90 West. It brings back memories of my childhood when we would pretend we were heroes from the The Last of the Mohicans, a story that was what Star Wars is to my son. I feel bad that our children do not have a chance of experiencing a childhood similar to mine but maybe that’s what every parent thinks. The trees, the road, the scenery bring back thoughts of times past when people had to actually survive the harsh winters in these areas without the conveniences of today. How did they manage to do it? Life seems so hard at times yet the early settlers managed to live and with each generation make this country a better place. Then the mind wanders… how many people had to work to build a road like the I-90? How about all the roads in this country? Smooth and flawless, straight, with clear signs they stretch from coast to coast, from state to state. I drive some more and notice houses not too far from the highway. How do these people live? Where do they work? I drive some more and notice the McDonalds plaza. Didn’t I just pass one? Then I start to notice the NPR static, time to find the NY station. Ah.. I forgot that Marketplace is on in the morning here. Gloomy news about the economy, or no wait, it’s good news, no wait… Ah.. forget it.

Every time I drive on a long stretch of highway, I remember my mother. She once mentioned to me how much she liked going on long rides. The only long ride I can remember with her was the trip to New York City. What a wonderful time we had…

I am back now. The meetings went well. Next week I will spend a day and a half flying to Canada to speak for 20 minutes. How does that make any ecological sense?

With 10.2% unemployment, I better go drum up some business. Even if a few folks are hired as a result, maybe it’ll have been worth the effort.

God by ~SoundArt

In response to a recent post from Jeff Watson, I said “I don’t believe markets can be accurately predicted. I have not yet seen any evidence that proves me wrong and would appreciate learning from those who have access to such science or methods. Markets are not subject to natural laws. My objective is to lose as little purchasing power over time as possible. I have not found a way to accurately [and consistently] predict even a single future price.”

Rocky Humbert, the legendary speculator and curmudgeon, promptly responded with “I tend to agree with you, but your statement as composed could also be applied to the existence of G-d. Based on your blog, I know you to be a man of faith. How does one reconcile (”using science or methods”) the lack of faith in the predictability of markets with a faith in G-d? Or perhaps is this logically consistent?”

I am happy that my faith has come through my previous posts and thank Rocky for asking this question.

1. I have not seen any federal funding for research into existence of God in recent times. Basic science research goes nowhere without massive funding. I certainly do not propose adding yet another line item to the already gargantuan federal budget that the government believes we can finance but how can one begin to answer profound questions without much scientific study? Perhaps this is like living in the second century and trying to prove the existence of electrons and protons and the genome.

2. I have no irrefutable way to prove the existence of God aside from the miracles in my own life. Some of my reasons for having faith in God are documented here. Having faith and having proof are two different matters. Did everything happen a certain way for me by mere coincidence? Some may say that random events can line up perfectly and repeatedly. Others may say that hard work or luck is the cause. I find it easier to believe that an omnipotent God whose reasons I may not understand has arranged everything for a certain purpose. I have no internal struggle about my faith in God despite the lack of scientific verifiable proof.

3. Penn State Clips mentions interesting “Books like Gerald L. Schroeder’s The Science of God: The Convergence of Scientific and Biblical Wisdom, Francis Collins’ The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief, and the various works of Josh McDowell and Lee Strobel.” Then continues with a very nice point “I agree with you that the beauty of nature is, to me, a proof of God’s existence. It strains credulity for me to believe that the beauty and complexity of all of creation came about by chance. And we only get to see the tiny fraction here on Earth!”

4. I believe that market cycles can be understood by humans who take part in such cycles. I also believe that in the long run people will benefit from diversifying their postponed expenditures in different asset classes. Beating the markets every single year or month or quarter or in the long run probably matters little. Furthermore, I have little faith that the current binary computer models can reliably predict the complex interrelationships in ever changing markets. An interesting read may be the uncertainty principle.

5. Since I am not on a mission to prove anyone anything, I can write my thoughts at the current time based on my limited life and experiences. Some may believe that markets are completely predictable and may even be able to “win” with their systems. I wish they will choose to share their “proofs” as those works may become cornerstones of new and amazing human discoveries and progress. Others may feel God’s love and grace are the “opium” the simple ones like me need to get through life. Certainly evolution will not be quick enough in that deep hole at the time of greatest despair or in the moment of amazing joy to revert the species to the mean. When I read what I wrote last year, I laugh. Maybe a year from now I will laugh about this post.

6. I welcome all thoughts, opinions, debates and proofs. I accept everyone the way I hope God will accepts me with all my flaws, opinions, and thoughts.

I realize that this is probably not the rock solid evidence or reconciliation that Rocky may have been expecting but felt it was better to post rather than have it in the draft folder forever.

Down is Up... by ~Dsva

I was the summer intern at Eaton Vance, in the Strategic Income Fund team a few summers ago. Taking my job very seriously, I did everything to make sure that my duties were carried out to absolute perfection with attention to every detail. After a few weeks, the team got used to having everything in order; and I realized that I had created a process where I could have a few hours free at the end of every day to ask questions, check the markets, read the hundreds of research papers that came to our group, and learn. I tried to learn as much as I could from this small group of very bright people who managed two mutual funds.

At the end of the summer, I received Victor Niederhoffer’s book The Education of  a Speculator as a farewell gift. In addition to all the wisdom in the book, there are a few notes inside the front cover and the farewell card.

“From one amateur speculator to another…”

“I’m sure you’ll succeed in your American adventure…”

…

“I hope you’ll know what Victor means – come back and visit when you’re rich…”

“I expect you to surpass the achievements of George Sorosanian without cutting corners like Michael Milkenian…”

“Just remember the market could go up or it could go down…”

Over the years, I have often remembered these last three parting wishes. I have not visited them yet and will probably not visit for quite some time. I’m still working on the achievements but having just read The Crisis & What to Do About It by George Soros, I have a long way to go. And there’s not a day (especially today) when I don’t remember the last reminder…

Different varieties of Lavash sold in Yerevan market

Before I continue my story, I need to tell you about an Armenian cartoon called կախարդական լավաշ which means “the magic lavash (flat bread)”. It gives me great pain that this superb work of art loaded with life’s lessons can only be understood by Armenians. In many ways, my life is the story of the little boy in the cartoon who decides to explore the world to find his destiny. His mother gives him her blessing along with the magic bread which replenishes itself during his journey. I had received $500 from my parents which I used as a security deposit to obtain my first secured credit card. Each time I used the card (my rainy day fund) to buy something, I’d work hard to pay it off and the “lavash” would be whole again. There are many other parallels…

I boarded the jet promising myself to only look forward and came back to live with my American family and attend St. Petersburg College. I will be eternally grateful for everything that they have done for me throughout the years.

My first semester at the community college was about to start but I did not have the tuition money or a way to get back and forth to school. My Armenian “cousin” from Florida without hesitation wrote a check for $1,638.52. I keep the receipt in my valuables along with two other pieces of paper: copy of $500 check from my Armenian friends in Boston (who are now my in-laws) to buy a car to get back and forth to school, and a receipt for $145 from the other Armenian family in Florida for car insurance who also did so much for me in the next few years. I must also mention our high-school friend’s mom (again without mentioning names) who drove me back and forth to school along with my American parents for months until I had a driver’s license and a car. In Independence And Interdependence, when I wrote “others around me understood how much help I really needed and were there to help” I had in mind these and a few other wonderful people.

The first semester at school would have been impossible had it not been for all these folks coming together to help me. My parents were thousands of miles away and had already given me all the money they had.

Today, I do not appreciate hearing anyone say negative opinions about Americans. As far as I am concerned, these people are America, from different backgrounds, different levels of education, different levels of income and wealth, with different values, yet all coming together at a time of need to help a foreign kid stand on his own two feet.

letters by ~noox

As I mentioned previously, I called my friends in Boston to let them know I was heading to Armenia after a wonderful year in America. They told me that if I had not already booked the tickets, I should fly through Boston and spend a couple days before going back. It sounded like a good idea since I did not know if I would ever see them again. During this detour, I met their daughter (I had no idea they even had kids). I had absolutely no idea that she would become my best friend and my wife a few years later but that’s a topic for another day.

A few days later I arrived in Armenia determined to return to the US to attend college. The US authorities required a valid passport with an exit visa before they would consider my application. Getting the permission to leave Armenia was extremely difficult. I am still disgusted when I remember the effort it took to get that stamp. Armenia is 1/10th of what Armenia was couple thousand years ago exactly because of this. I am convinced that “Կգա մի օր, որ կարթնանա, Ժողովուրդն իմ մոլորված,” but now I pray that the culture does not disappear until then. Losing the beautiful Armenian culture would, after all, fulfill the dreams of those who organized the Armenian Genocide.

After receiving permission to leave Armenia, during my US visa interview, I looked straight in the eyes of the US consul and said in English “According to article … of … Act, you are the only person in the world who can authorize a student visa for me. I have read that you are instructed to reject such applications in almost all cases. I hope the dozen recommendation letters from Americans who got to know me during the past year have given you a sense of my character. Right now you are holding a life in your hand, my life, and all I ask is that you let me go and pursue my dreams.” The conversation took no more than two minutes. Half an hour later, an embassy employee asked for my passport for the visa stamp. I will never forget how I was shaking, I had to grab the embassy fence to remain standing for the next fifteen minutes.

Months later I found out that although a number of kids from the original thirty-two had submitted similar applications, mine was the only one accepted. I was humbled yet again.

I write this to express my deepest gratitude to all those who wrote the letters I mentioned. I have saved these letters as a reminder of where I started and I value them above most material possessions one can have.

Florida - holga10 by Pauline Celle

Spring of 1994 was as full of hope as the spring of 1993. I had applied to a few colleges in the US but the question of financial support still remained unresolved.

At school I had a friend whose parents had emigrated from Poland. He used to be in my physics class. During one of the labs he offered to drive if I’d be interested to go check out the international fair in St. Petersburg. A few days later, my friend and I were walking around in the giant arena where people with ancestry from almost every country had setup booths showcasing whatever they considered representative of their culture. Having met no Armenians in Florida, I thought the probability of seeing an Armenian booth would infinitely approach zero. I hadn’t even finished my thought when I came across a huge area representing Armenia. After months of culture shock, being homesick and not seeing anything Armenian, I was stunned. I must have been standing there for some time to provoke a nice lady and her husband to approach and start a conversation.

It was wonderful to find the Armenian community in Florida. We went to church together, I shared with them my experiences, they told me their stories. I got close to two elderly couples who always called and invited me to all kinds of gatherings helping me become a part of the community. This, in hindsight, was something I really needed at the time. Their friendship helped me balance the cultural transfusion I was undergoing. Little did I know that they would help me tremendously in the next few years as if it had all been perfectly planned for me.

One day, they invited me to a small gathering. Suspecting nothing whatsoever, I arrived at a house full of the members of the community gathered to celebrate my birthday. Later I found out that my Armenian friends had arranged this party to help fund my return to America. My birthday present purchased the return ticket to America later that summer.

These two couples have helped me tremendously during my initial years. I will not mention names to respect their privacy. Their support will always be remembered and they will always be honored and loved in my home and in my heart for everything that they did. They have not only helped me financially but also provided much needed moral support. Moreover, they told me many stories from their lives and shared lessons they had learned which have helped me deal with my own situations. These are gifts that for me are worth far more than anything sold anywhere.

One of the papers that they signed to become my sponsors had a field for relationship. “What should I write here?” I asked. “Cousin” was the instantaneous reply. I remember I was so proud of that word probably because cousins are considered brothers and sisters in Armenian culture (much closer relationships than the word represents in the American culture). But I also knew that what he did was something very few cousins would ever do for each other. I have saved those papers and look at them periodically to remember and honor their support and friendship.

Years later when I asked them why they helped a stranger who could have turned out to be anything? They reminded me that people had also helped them in their early days and that I would probably do the same.

My year was coming to an end, I had been accepted to a few colleges but had decided that I would attend a community college if I was able to return because that would place the least burden on the people who had offered to help me. My research showed that only the US consul in Armenia could approve my return; therefore, I had to have all my paperwork in absolute order before I could even begin to hope for yet another dream to become reality. I knew that if I did not return to the US, I would miss my new family very much. They had made the year as perfect as I could have ever dreamed. I had learned a lot from them and had become very attached to them.

As a final step, I called my friends in Boston to let them know that I was returning to Armenia and wish them all the best and hope that I would see them again some day. The rest of the story leaves me humbled by God’s amazing powers.

Culture shock by ~yarry

I don’t remember exactly how long the honeymoon period of textbook culture shock lasted but soon I found myself dealing with the resentment, rejection phase during which I couldn’t believe how terrible American education was, how tasteless American food was, and how wonderful everything back in Armenia was. This is the first time I understood and felt the physical pain from longing (Armenian word “կարոտ”). I’d become close friends with this pain. We would get to know each other well as it would frequent me for a few years.

I attended high school during this year and mainly learned English, American history and the culture. All other subjects were nowhere near what I had already completed in Armenia. If they hadn’t been in a foreign language, I could get excellent grades without listening during class or opening a single textbook. In hindsight, this year was not about academics. Instead, I went through a difficult cultural adjustment, learned the language, and worked on ways to attend college in America. Throughout the year, my American family supported me in so many ways that when I look back as a parent, I wonder how they actually managed to do it. I am sure it was not easy at all for them.

In many ways, I am very fortunate to have experienced a new culture and a new family. We tend to have lens through which we view the world, but in my case, I had been given an extra set to see it in different colors. The result has been a fascinating experience. Transitions from Armenian culture to American culture, from my family to my new family, from being a kid to growing up, from helping out to being helped, from wanting to leave to wanting to stay all took place at roughly the same time. Amazingly, there were many people who supported me in this process. The librarian at the high school was one of the most encouraging and supportive people ever and played a very key role during that year. Many of the friends and family of my new family also were very supporting and wonderful people.

I hope that over the years, I can come back and add to this post all my memories. Normal teenagers go through so much at the age of sixteen. I had chosen to go through it all in a foreign country. Fortunately, my host family was there to help. The hardest times were the holidays. December 31st was a really difficult day away from family and friends. I would have never thought that I’d be writing about it almost exactly fifteen years later. Around the holidays, I had already started working on getting accepted into an American college or university. I had taken the standardized tests and had discovered that my English was far weaker than my math. However, the main hurdle remained the financing as I had no more than a couple hundred dollars saved up. But as I had come to expect, an unexpected, unbelievable event made it all possible.

Bentley University

After overnight stays in Paris and Philadelphia, we arrived at Bentley. Who would have thought at the time that five years later I would graduate from this great institution with a Bachelor’s degree in Finance? The three-week immersion program was perfect for a novice English learner like me. But the amazing part of it was the chain of events it triggered which in hindsight seem surreal. Perhaps the lives of others are also chains of interconnected, interrelated events but looking back, to this day I am amazed and consider these to be God’s expressions.

There were seven of us Armenians from the group of thirty-two who were advised to attend the program. I don’t remember exactly the order of events but upon hearing about our arrival, one of the local Armenian priests who lived five minutes from the school came to visit and let us know that if we needed anything, he was there to help. Years later, the same beloved priest conducted our wedding ceremony, then years later christened both our children. He had also conducted the wedding of my wife’s parents a few decades before and had christened my wife. However, the day we met him, I simply knew that it was wonderful to find a reassuring person in a foreign country who shared our Armenian heritage.

On one of the hot summer days during the three weeks, we went on a boat trip to George’s Island. On the boat, I heard some folks speaking the beautiful western Armenian dialect, approached them and started talking to them. I had no clue that I was talking with my future family. The nice man who is now my friend and my father-in-law said that an Armenian picnic was coming up and he’d like to take us there. A few days later, he pulled up in his stretch limousine (years later I drove that car to ear a few dollars) to pick us up. I remember the faces of the other students in the program when the Armenian kids were being picked up in a limo.

My English certainly improved noticeably during the program. With so many new fond memories, impressions of Boston and Cambridge, new Armenian friends, further cultural awareness, I thought that the three weeks flew by quicker than three seconds. The honeymoon period of standard culture shock was well underway as I arrived at my final destination (temporarily final) in southern Florida, the sub-tropical state where nothing from humidity, atmospheric pressure to people and their culture was anything I had ever experienced before.