Tipping Point

Late November 2011. My plane touches down at Moscow’s Domodedovo airport and I fast-track through Russian border security using my frequent entry passport. I rush past a crowd of tourists, my mind anticipating a million things that need to happen on this trip.

My local Russian business partner picks me up in Arrivals and during the taxi ride to Moscow city center I have a heated conversation with him over the sales results which are not what I like them to be: “What do you mean our biggest deal is slipping to the next quarter? You know I have committed this order, we cannot back out now!”.  I hear myself raising my voice with all the pent-up stress accumulated on the flight over here. I know I should not be angry at him. The Russian government has stopped funding this particular project and there is absolutely nothing anybody can do about it. But I clearly need to vent and I take it out on him. When I’m done yelling, I feel anxious and uncomfortable. This job has been getting to me lately. The travel has me in a constant state of jet lag. My blood pressure is high and I have been drinking way too much.

I try to make amends: “Andrei, let’s have dinner tomorrow night at that great place on Tverskaya just off Red Square. Bring your wife. I am buying.” He nods and drops me off at my hotel on Prospect Mira. I can tell that he is boiling inside but he knows better than to retaliate. I stand for a moment in the freezing cold, watching Moscow traffic, glad to be out of the car. I try to take a deep breath but I smell gasoline so I quickly step inside.

I am queueing to check into Russia’s largest hotel, the two thousand-room Cosmos. I treasure fond memories of this Soviet-era establishment where I spent a memorable week with my Graduate Class ‘88 just before the USSR fell apart.

The look and feel of the place have not changed much over the last 20 years. It is 8 pm and the lobby is Grand Central Station, with a confusing mix of Russian business men and Chinese tourists. Heineken neon signs flash over the many hotel bars where stunning Ukrainian girls are still offering their enticing brand of seduction at democratic prices.

The check-in clerk is surly and curt, with a face like a boxer’s, affirming my stereotypical memory bias. While waiting in line, melancholy overwhelms me and I lose myself in bittersweet retrospection.

July 1988. Along with two hundred of my fellow International Economics Majors, I land at Moscow’s old Sheremetyevo airport. The mood of the group is elated. With four years of University under our belts, we are masters in the dynamics of the capitalist free market and we are intrigued to meet with its exact opposite, the infamous Soviet plan economy. Especially the renowned Moscow black market fascinates us and I personally plan to test it to its limits. Guts and glory.

I am wearing a ‘Maverick’  flight bomber jacket just like the one Tom Cruise is sporting in Top Gun, this year’s hit movie. I have been advised by trustworthy sources that I can sell this trending gear for a great many Soviet Rubles on the streets of Moscow.  And so it happens. That first evening  out, I don’t need to look far for a buyer. People approach me nervously and whisper in subdued voices:  “I give you Rubles” while tugging at the sleeves of the jacket. After a hurried negotiation, I settle on an incredible amount of currency, leveraging the scarcity of Top Gun bomber jackets in a city starved for Western symbols. A sellers’ market if there ever was one.

With a thick wad of 100-Ruble bills, I proceed to rent the hotel Ball Room for the night and throw a legendary party for my fellow graduates, sparkled with plenty of Sovetskoye  Shampanskoye, the Soviet brand of sparkling wine. A night not easily forgotten, with friendships sealed for life.

At the end of our stay, the Cosmos presents me with a bill for the damaged hotel property. It seemed a great idea at the night of the party to fire Champagne corks straight up and through the ceiling panels of the Ball Room. I paid that bill with the  remainder of my Rubles, money well spent on a new ceiling, I guess. As they say: “Don’t trust a brilliant idea unless it survives the hangover.”

Thinking back about that trip behind the Iron Curtain, I can still taste the adrenaline rush of us roaming around like savages through an economic wasteland where the normal rules do not apply. The memory stings though because I am now in the exact same place but no longer have that sense of excitement and endless possibility. Ironic because you could call me successful on all counts that mattered to me as a student and yet I feel only pressure. Guts and glory without the glory.

My consciousness returns to the here and now when it is finally my turn at the check-in counter. Without a smile, the clerk says: “Dobro pozhalovat' v Kosmose.” Welcome to Cosmos. This strikes me as very funny as if I just landed on another planet.  The receptionist clearly does not see the humor in this and proceeds inspecting and stamping my passport for the next fifteen minutes as if to say: “The USSR came and went but this is still Russia.”

The wear and tear of the journey have me wondering whether it is all worth it as I wait for the elevator to take me to the twentieth  floor which houses the Russian version of Executive Suites. While the elevator is going up, a heavy weight presses me down.  As if everything relies on me while at the same time I have very little control.

In my room, I take a Baltika beer from the minibar and lay down on the bed with the cold bottle unopened and my eyes closed. I hesitate. I am aware I am using alcohol to calm my nerves and this has become a steady pattern. I‘ve read it’s an addiction when you want to stop and you cannot. If you do not want to stop, it is not an addiction then? Well, I am torn and powerless when it comes to alcohol. Nowadays, it is more and more difficult to hold out even until noon for my first drink. I realize this is bad and panic grips me.

I open the bottle.

Several beers later, I drift into an uneasy sleep. As if my subconscious cannot wait to tell me something, I am propelled into a dream:

I am fast approaching a tipping point. The tipping point of what exactly is not clear. What I know for sure is that as I come nearer, nothing can be done, and once past it, nothing can be done about it either. At the same time, I have the strangest sensation that I am not just heading toward the future, but the future is coming towards me with increasing speed. I accelerate down a tunnel until everything suddenly stops and I am in Slow Time. I have never heard of Slow Time but somehow I know this is the time that existed before my birth and the time that will continue after my death. I feel very calm as if this is part of a rite of passage I have been preparing for all my life. A sense of well-being  covers me like a warm blanket.

I wake up suddenly with a tremendous sense of relief. The hairs on my forearms and neck are standing out and my heart is beating fast. I have a cathartic sensation of reawakening:  

I am alive and this is my time.

I feel an urgency to capture this essence before it evaporates. Thoughts come in rapid succession:

It’s in my genes to constantly scenario-plan and to think contingency. What I expect from the future affects my actions in the present and, therefore, impacts the future. I am in a closed loop. I should let go of this illusion of control. Just let things be. Accept loose threads. Embrace imperfection and insecurity.

I breathe slowly and deliberately to calm myself down. I rearrange my thoughts like books on a shelf.

I see a picture in my minds’ eye of a mountain top with a sign stuck in the snow that says: 2 pm on Everest. I realize this is something I read about on the plane over. Top mountaineer  Ed Viesturs said:  “Getting to the top is optional, getting down is mandatory”. He instituted a life-saving rule: “Regardless whether you have reached the top or not, by 2 pm you turn around to make sure there is enough daylight left on the way down to reach a lower level camp before the evening cold kills you.”  

It occurs to me that in every situation, I seem to build in a turnaround point to avoid a point of no return that may or not be there. It has become a way of life and it makes me anxious because full control is impossible. The meaning of my dream slaps me in the face.  No need for a 2pm turnaround every single day of my life. Why don’t I just live a little on the days that I am not climbing Everest.

I look out my window, high over Moscow city. The sun is reflected in the golden onion-shaped domes on the many churches I see. Smoke is circling up in the sky and is touching the clouds. It looks like it will snow tonight, as if nature has decided to mercifully cover up the man-made mess down below.

I am tired and lay down on the bed again. I fall into a deep sleep with no dreaming at all, at peace with myself and the cosmos.

Author's Note

New version uploaded, thank you all for your constructive feedback!

Reviews

[LilyVice]

This is frustratingly good but leaves the reader hanging without any real conclusion or release. We are sent into the writer's whirlwind, dizzying along the corridors of an airport and through the dinge of an alcoholic sleeplessness with no sense of respite. Is there to be a continuation? Is this one of many harried pieces created to thrill our anxiety? Yes, you've put me to the tempo of this poor man, you've put me through his restless sleep but now what, what now?

[Philip Muls]

Good question!

[Philip Muls]

I have started a book. Kind regards Philip

[Sophia]

I loved reading this. All the details make it feel so real and the language you used is beautiful. Will be reading a lot more!

[SoberBunny]

I think this is the read request but I'm not entirely certain because I got logged out right when I clicked it and hadn't been back sense.

But that's not the point. The point is, I like the idea of just letting go. Things are going to happen whether we like it or not, and it's a waste of our precious time to try and control every aspect of every possibility. I thought the dialogue in the beginning was a little bit rocky, perhaps give it its own paragraphs? Just a little easier on the eyes. This story brings to mind 'Bill's Story', the travelling, the rising to the top, the partying, and the sense that life is going to be an exciting and joyous ride. Only to have it crashing down into the bottle, a sense of the future rushing at you with no hope of defense or deceleration. Then of course the jumping off point: it's going to be okay. Need not worry so much, no 2pm turnaround no anxiety no worry. Plus the use of the word cosmos was a neat flourish. Great peace :)

[Philip Muls]

Thank you for the straightforward feedback.

[RomaJ]

I always enjoy reading all the detailed descriptions in your pieces. It's stunning. Really brings the reader in with you. Seeing what you see; feeling what you feel. It was an emotional and even spiritual experience; going through this journey of life, through your vision. I chuckled at this "Don’t trust a brilliant idea unless it survives the hangover.” so true.
This was very meaningful. As I see how it relates to my own experiences. I think I've reach that point: where in my younger years. Things...events...etc...that would've greatly disappointed me. I now come to accept and would easily move on. Such is life. Everything's always in motion. And the world continues to turn...Although it is always good to never lose your sense of wonder. The "feelings" when everything was still new...exciting..life would be boring. I enjoyed reading this. It was very insightful and profound.

[Philip Muls]

Thank you for your kind feedback RomaJ. I am glad you enjoyed it.

[Ruth]

There is something meaningful within your stories, I enjoy them...they have a moral embedded and your prose like telling carries a warmth :)

[Avinash]

"I should let go of this illusion of control. Just let things be. Accept loose threads. Embrace imperfection and insecurity. Failure is ok." - These are incredible lines.

[Philip Muls]

Thanks for the kind feedback Avinash.

[A. Amos]

I have been to Moscow, so while reading you story i was back in Red square...enjoyed the read!

[Nigel Newman]

Philip, apart from a 'passed' where there should be a 'past' in the Arrivals lounge, I thought this read very well indeed, and I'm struggling to suggest improvements. A couple of comments rather than suggestions about writing expertise
- as a Brit, I found the flashback section slightly too much waving of the US flag. It makes perfect sense to have globally innocent confident youngsters from anywhere descend on an alien place and act in a culturally insensitive way that screams of boorish arrogance. It also makes sense to have a young guy with entrepreneurial flair do what your subject did. So I'm not entirely sure why I was uncomfortable - as a related aside, I'm reading an old Tom Clancy novel about the time Harrison Ford / Jack Ryan was president, and it really sticks in the craw to hear the arrogance seeping through the lines when they have page filler (staff writer????) sections where the virtues of the Constitution or US position on things is promulgated - anyway I get a slightly similar (much more diluted) feeling in your flashback section
- Second comment is I don't get your end. I'm OK with the mountaineer analogy, which makes perfect sense. But to me that says 'something unpredictable will probably happen on the way down, and this is my way of providing contingency to maximise my chances of successfully overcoming whatever arises'. I don't see this as being in control. It's improving the odds. By all means live life further by going beyond 2pm but you're not losing or lessening control - you're just lengthening the odds. Maybe this is me, but for these reasons I don't see your final paras as some great breakthrough, so the story, for me, ends weakly. Also, I'm thinking, isn't he meant to be taking the agent and his wife out to dinner?

I seem to be swimming against the tide on my thoughts about the end, so maybe you should just recognise that not everyone will 'get' your message. Spelling it out more MAY be an option, but risks patronising folk, especially those who get what you had in mind already.

Cheers
Nigel

[Philip Muls]

Thanks for the constructive feedback Nigel. Funny that you should read American arrogance into it since I am Belgian. I will think deep and hard about your comments on the ending. Many thanks indeed. Regards Philip

[Nigel Newman]

Philip, don't worry too much about my comment. For some people there is no doubt a time when after years of trying to control everything they realise it's good and liberating to 'let go' because, hey, what's the worst that can happen? So I get that, and if that's what you're saying, then that fits with the change of heart from the main character.

I think what I'm getting at is what businesses sometimes call risk tolerance. If you ask 10 of your close neighbours how long they allow to get to the airport to pick someone up or catch a flight you'd probably get at least 5 different times because they each have different risk tolerances. So the mountaineer's 2pm is driven from their personal risk tolerance - other mountaineers may be more or less risk averse.

And I've just re-read the story looking for the US arrogance I referred to - it's not there!!! My comment was wrong, in hindsight, so please disregard. Sorry for any alarm this may have caused.
Regards, Nigel

[Philip Muls]

No problem Nigel, I appreciate the candid feedback. Kind regards Philip

[Angelique]

This is amazing, love the way you write about the moments as well very captivating and very inspirational.

[RT]

After reading this, I am still fascinated at the way you weave your words to express such human moments. I love the idea that this is one more piece of your novel.

Suggestions:
The dream would not be in quotations. I personally would put it in italics instead.

Keep writing. I can't wait to read more of your work.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Great story, Philip. Your English is impeccable. I guess you have to talk and write it that way if you're travelling around the world.

Heb dit met grote interesse gelezen, Philip. Je schrijft duizendmaal beter Engels dan mezelf. Je vertellerskwaliteit mag er zijn. Proficiat met dit prachtig kortverhaal. :) Rudi