As my last full day of y old life draws to a close, it’s just so easy to reflect upon all that has happened which has managed to get me right here from where I began. I won’t say from where I began, for it’s an arbitrary line, but for those who just can’t let it go why don’t we say the period beginning on June 11th, 2007 and running until right now. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out the fallacy that is both beginnings and ends; thanks to the continuity of our experience I can no more say I’m done with the past or have divided the now from the future than I can say that my wallet has been married for the last 10 years to its life mate Lee, Massachusetts.
That’s not to say that today has been in way humdrum. Today was a day of firsts – the first last full day at a job I was quitting, the first work lunch in my honor, the first company gathering to wish me well. It was my first farewell speech, excluding the end of High School or National Young Leaders Conferences, and more importantly the first lucid moment since I can remember where I understood so greatly and so clearly the effect that a little bundle of atoms like myself can have on the world. I’ll toot my own horn (or “Punch the Clown” as I heard on TV recently) some other time because the whole situation and the prime understanding have little to do with me other than my outstanding ability to do be myself and be willing to suffer both the glory and consequence for it. The important idea is just how much we shape the world and the people in it when we aren’t paying attention.
All of the trials and tribulations, all the days spent metaphorically banging my head against all the walls of my cube and all the windows I couldn’t see. All the terse and blandly vitriolic interactions with a detractor whose motives I could never understand. The eyestrain, the tired nights on the couch, the frustrated rumblings of ideals in a cage, the dead ends and dead-bolted doors of opportunity, they were all worth it. Why? Little had I realized that to a far greater crowd than I had infuriated, I had inspired.
Like infinity and overcoats, inspiration comes in different sizes, and every reply slowly blew all of the fuses in my mind. From “I’m so happy for you, words cannot describe,” “I’ll miss you” to “Why are you leaving me, you were the only one I could...with, asshole” to “I feel like I’m losing my best friend,” and “I simply don’t feel like I’m understood here, but you did.” There were other comments sure, some delivered with all sincerity yet limited by their perfunctory banality, and I’m sure that some would rather thank me for my time by bludgeoning me with the heaviest thickest product we sell, but this was me. For better (mostly) or for worse it was my life, the one in which I take all my faults out on myself tenfold, the existence that recently has been preoccupied with the wake of destruction it has at times caused, the being whose ego, when it flares, worries that it’s not good enough to live up to the expectations that have been set.
Beware of veiled images and half the story, to be sure. Mostly unbeknownst to me, I had also been up to some good. I had been mostly kind, and it turns out that stubborn refusal to accept anything less than the world as I see it was a reminder that there was some still some faculty, function and efficacy to those who took the less common route in reply to a wise quote by a wise man (a painter, Doug. Talk to the painters if you get a chance, they’ve had a long time to get some thinking done), “When faced with that which we don’t like we have two options, to change reality or change ourselves.” There is intense wisdom in being able to roll with the punches in the same way that the lake rolls with its waves, and further profundity locked in the notion that we can change reality.
We can change reality, and if fact we do so with every waking moment, every decision. It was in the moments that I hadn’t earmarked as weighty, a smile here, a conversation there, a joke when it’s needed or a bit of unintentional sympathy. It has to be, because as I initially added up the sum of my moments, I couldn’t come to any whole greater than the sum of its parts. Perhaps that’s the idea: those thoughtless minutes, the ones which act as filler for the punctuated peaks, are truly as important as the ones destined for the memory books, what we do when we put ourselves on autopilot and live according the script that we have written to carry ourselves from day to new day. We aren’t fully aware, yet we get no breather from perception and change, we live on the whole unconsciously yet this spottily conscious life leaves a permanent imprint on both the awareness and ignorance of everyone we come into contact with.
It seems like a grave responsibility, and it is, but it’s underpinnings of our ability to be the change we wish to see in the world make for such hope for both ourselves and others, our present and future that we must pay mind. If we can shape someone’s world so, then we are never powerless – we are changing matter everyday, matter which contains more energy in each atom’s nucleus alone then the stars in the sky. We are constantly shaping and being shaped and reshaping in turn, and it is from this that we can hopefully understand that since every moment has equal potential, that this moment could be the one that alters someone else forever, isn’t this a perfect e moment to start over? While each person consciously grabs the reins of their lives at different times, reforming their perceptions dreams and actions, remembering that like it or not we are already and always at work shaping the future with every thought. I can only hope that this will encourage right now as the moment to live as though we are already the person that we wish to be; you never know who may be picking up your signals.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
A Preamble to Life Cocktails
What makes a good day? What makes a good week? What about a good life? Vogue questions, but what about it’s contrast? What makes for a good moment to moment? It seems that in the same vein as General Relativity and Quantum Mechanics, we will end up needing separate theories for each system. Before we can however, we should really frame the problem as it stands today.
Since ancient times, the question of a good life has pervaded society. Eudaemonia, a popular study of Plato’s , concerns itself with the study of “human flourishing.” I’m generally loath to equate concepts (there are no synonyms damn it!), for my purposes we’ll assume that the good life is a “flourishing life”. What then is this eudaimonic existence? On the grand scale, what form can we put to this concept? Some would argue that it is living the golden rule, others would contend the answers lies in the service done to others. If you’re a capitalist it’s most likely who dies with the most toys and if you’re a Buddhist most likely you think that there is no question to be asked: the overwhelming joy of existence and thrill of opportunity to push aside the atmosphere we walk though for a few more minutes is plenty, even when expanded to the timeline of all existence.
I’ve pondered this question more than once in the travels of mind to the fuzzy area between philosophy and spirituality, and I’ve come to a few scenic conclusions, but unfortunately I don’t find them relevant. Not today, not here. It’s not because these aren’t important or urgent queries – otherwise there would not be a multibillion dollar self help industry. It’s not that these aren’t interesting questions, or else the philosophers and the clerics would not have concerned themselves with them. It’s not that they aren’t deeply personal – for the definition of a flourishing life touches not only an individual’s perception of the world, but also her or his actions in it, the dreams that arise from it and the goals that create those ephemeral yet addicting feelings of success and failure as we move about within it. No, the only reason to say “to hell with it” is that when we take a look at a compressed timeline, a moment or two, we realize that the questions to be answered in the minutiae are of a completely different kind.
How so? What could possibly be the difference between the two? The disparity lies in the experience of the moment, how we perceive our needs. The eudaemonic ideal changes here: it becomes not about what the soul needs but what the body needs, not what the mind needs but this body must have. I need to treat everyone with the same respect because it is what I believe – it is not only what I believe is right, but it is the world that I would like to live in (I would argue that a flourishing life is nothing more than creating the world that you would like everyone else to live in; an “if everyone behaved this way all life would be ideal” kind of thing). I’m drinking another glass of wine now because I like feeling the wrinkles of my mind relax, hopefully coaxing some inspiration from the electricity of my brain to the electricity running through the mac to the electrons holding together the server at blogspot to the photons encouraging your eyes to stimulate the thought and word identification centers of your mind causing your own circuitry to fire (just imagine how much is lost in translation!).
We simply want different things from both levels of analysis. I won’t worry about feeding the science club after school if I’m more concerned with my desire to be entertained now. When I’m trying to live a flouring existence, I know that the 4th glass of wine is not contributing to that end; it’s not conducive to my success. To attempt to compare the two is to deny their fundamental incompatibility – the stimuli that help us achieve the best “now” are entirely different than those that help us achieve the best “ever”.
Perhaps it’s just me. Perhaps there are those who truly align both their moment-to-moment ideals with their concepts of the overarching élan, and to you I say “phooey”. Think of all the urges that the body has throughout the day. Not in the gross sense of the word, but consider the flash of longing as the attractive coworker glides by, the itch to run outside as we see the rays of the setting sun glint off of any surface that will reflect, the itch of intrigue and titillation at being left speechless, (by 8:45 am, it was a good day today). The body and its immediate experience seeks the most vivid flash of stimuli, while the life lived seeks the highest ideal (whatever that ideal is changes by participant, I do not judge). I admit that this requires accepting the idea that our immediate experience is run by the body. It requires admitting that our immediate needs and wants must be treated separately from what we need and want from life. We all feel it, yet modern ideas of how to live marginalize, even demonize these impulses, the very things which make us feel most alive, right now (which I would say is the flourishing, good life in the purest sense of the notion). It’s a bit of a mind stretch to see that we have two different systems at work in the holism of our animation and beyond, but once we abstract our concepts from our reactions, I think the view becomes clearer. I realize now that this can of worms is too stuffed with annelids for one nights exposition: as always I hope to spark some debate, let me know what you think. In any case, the next time you get the itch in the moment, try scratching it and see if you aren’t better for just saying yes.
Since ancient times, the question of a good life has pervaded society. Eudaemonia, a popular study of Plato’s , concerns itself with the study of “human flourishing.” I’m generally loath to equate concepts (there are no synonyms damn it!), for my purposes we’ll assume that the good life is a “flourishing life”. What then is this eudaimonic existence? On the grand scale, what form can we put to this concept? Some would argue that it is living the golden rule, others would contend the answers lies in the service done to others. If you’re a capitalist it’s most likely who dies with the most toys and if you’re a Buddhist most likely you think that there is no question to be asked: the overwhelming joy of existence and thrill of opportunity to push aside the atmosphere we walk though for a few more minutes is plenty, even when expanded to the timeline of all existence.
I’ve pondered this question more than once in the travels of mind to the fuzzy area between philosophy and spirituality, and I’ve come to a few scenic conclusions, but unfortunately I don’t find them relevant. Not today, not here. It’s not because these aren’t important or urgent queries – otherwise there would not be a multibillion dollar self help industry. It’s not that these aren’t interesting questions, or else the philosophers and the clerics would not have concerned themselves with them. It’s not that they aren’t deeply personal – for the definition of a flourishing life touches not only an individual’s perception of the world, but also her or his actions in it, the dreams that arise from it and the goals that create those ephemeral yet addicting feelings of success and failure as we move about within it. No, the only reason to say “to hell with it” is that when we take a look at a compressed timeline, a moment or two, we realize that the questions to be answered in the minutiae are of a completely different kind.
How so? What could possibly be the difference between the two? The disparity lies in the experience of the moment, how we perceive our needs. The eudaemonic ideal changes here: it becomes not about what the soul needs but what the body needs, not what the mind needs but this body must have. I need to treat everyone with the same respect because it is what I believe – it is not only what I believe is right, but it is the world that I would like to live in (I would argue that a flourishing life is nothing more than creating the world that you would like everyone else to live in; an “if everyone behaved this way all life would be ideal” kind of thing). I’m drinking another glass of wine now because I like feeling the wrinkles of my mind relax, hopefully coaxing some inspiration from the electricity of my brain to the electricity running through the mac to the electrons holding together the server at blogspot to the photons encouraging your eyes to stimulate the thought and word identification centers of your mind causing your own circuitry to fire (just imagine how much is lost in translation!).
We simply want different things from both levels of analysis. I won’t worry about feeding the science club after school if I’m more concerned with my desire to be entertained now. When I’m trying to live a flouring existence, I know that the 4th glass of wine is not contributing to that end; it’s not conducive to my success. To attempt to compare the two is to deny their fundamental incompatibility – the stimuli that help us achieve the best “now” are entirely different than those that help us achieve the best “ever”.
Perhaps it’s just me. Perhaps there are those who truly align both their moment-to-moment ideals with their concepts of the overarching élan, and to you I say “phooey”. Think of all the urges that the body has throughout the day. Not in the gross sense of the word, but consider the flash of longing as the attractive coworker glides by, the itch to run outside as we see the rays of the setting sun glint off of any surface that will reflect, the itch of intrigue and titillation at being left speechless, (by 8:45 am, it was a good day today). The body and its immediate experience seeks the most vivid flash of stimuli, while the life lived seeks the highest ideal (whatever that ideal is changes by participant, I do not judge). I admit that this requires accepting the idea that our immediate experience is run by the body. It requires admitting that our immediate needs and wants must be treated separately from what we need and want from life. We all feel it, yet modern ideas of how to live marginalize, even demonize these impulses, the very things which make us feel most alive, right now (which I would say is the flourishing, good life in the purest sense of the notion). It’s a bit of a mind stretch to see that we have two different systems at work in the holism of our animation and beyond, but once we abstract our concepts from our reactions, I think the view becomes clearer. I realize now that this can of worms is too stuffed with annelids for one nights exposition: as always I hope to spark some debate, let me know what you think. In any case, the next time you get the itch in the moment, try scratching it and see if you aren’t better for just saying yes.
Monday, November 10, 2008
The premier brumal broadcast
The coming of the cold. The first hint of nip, the first thought of dusting off the drunk coat and determine which style will be the fashion of the season. Will it be Bourbon? Or whisky? Some enjoy the Porter or the Stouts, while the brave few use regular old wool without the rosy sheen of potent potables. It’s the season where decreased daylight is the least pernicious of the reductions to our lifestyle. It’s a little known fact that holiday cheer was created by early Minnesotans (especially those from International Falls) as a means to distract settlers from the fact that they were in what is what is obviously the true depiction of hell.
Now before I take a rogue hotdish® upside my increasingly cold dome, I need to clear up some misconceptions of hell. The Barnhart Concise Dictionary of Etymology (1995) is kind enough to theorize that the etymology of hell seem to spring from the old Norse word Hel, which itself derives from Proto-Germanic *halija, which means "one who covers up or hides something", which itself evolved from Proto-Indo-European *kel-, meaning "conceal". And what about winter in the North Star state isn’t concealed? Conceal seems to be the Minnesota model, from all the living things that must so tightly conceal themselves from the harsh seasons to the stereotypical passion-aggression to our beloved Conceal and Carry laws.
I might not be doing myself too many favors with the Midwest crowd here, except for the Packers fans, but I promise there’s a veiled complement in there somewhere. It’s the same reason that I migrated here a starry eyed eighteen and have remained, approaching a decade from arrival and about 5 years over schedule for departure – I am always surprised. This state, for all it conceals, is really just playing hard to get. I know few on the coasts who know just how fantastic uptown actually is in the summer. Who can forget the first time we laid on our backs in the middle of a newly seeded field, watching the meteor shower overhead in a 360° panorama, or read the stars by the 7th Street Entry, waiting to spend an evening in the house the Prince built, or drinking the blackout Becks at the Cabooze? How about being able to use the weather as a platform for more than just small talk? Or sitting by the lakes with downtown sending their protracted reflections to me I a form half way between fireworks and the northern lights? Touché MN.
As much as I’m down with geography, I’m not normally one to talk about my current state (not my state, but my state, you know what I mean) but as I begin preparations for the next phase in my life, I realize that I haven’t always taken the time to appreciate all that I have here in hell? Is that what I’ve learned? Is that really the wit and wisdom? Absolutely: Minnesota is hell, and I enjoyed my time in hell. All it takes is the time to get to know it. Know the mythological Sirens? Think of the opposite. You’ve got to look past the cacophony, ride the psychotic horse toward the burning barn and brave the -40° and the 100°+, the liberal city and blisteringly conservative fringes. “Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the company” Mark Twain once informed us, and I cannot agree more, but don’t spread the word too much, it’s getting crowded in the Lake of Fire as it is.
Now before I take a rogue hotdish® upside my increasingly cold dome, I need to clear up some misconceptions of hell. The Barnhart Concise Dictionary of Etymology (1995) is kind enough to theorize that the etymology of hell seem to spring from the old Norse word Hel, which itself derives from Proto-Germanic *halija, which means "one who covers up or hides something", which itself evolved from Proto-Indo-European *kel-, meaning "conceal". And what about winter in the North Star state isn’t concealed? Conceal seems to be the Minnesota model, from all the living things that must so tightly conceal themselves from the harsh seasons to the stereotypical passion-aggression to our beloved Conceal and Carry laws.
I might not be doing myself too many favors with the Midwest crowd here, except for the Packers fans, but I promise there’s a veiled complement in there somewhere. It’s the same reason that I migrated here a starry eyed eighteen and have remained, approaching a decade from arrival and about 5 years over schedule for departure – I am always surprised. This state, for all it conceals, is really just playing hard to get. I know few on the coasts who know just how fantastic uptown actually is in the summer. Who can forget the first time we laid on our backs in the middle of a newly seeded field, watching the meteor shower overhead in a 360° panorama, or read the stars by the 7th Street Entry, waiting to spend an evening in the house the Prince built, or drinking the blackout Becks at the Cabooze? How about being able to use the weather as a platform for more than just small talk? Or sitting by the lakes with downtown sending their protracted reflections to me I a form half way between fireworks and the northern lights? Touché MN.
As much as I’m down with geography, I’m not normally one to talk about my current state (not my state, but my state, you know what I mean) but as I begin preparations for the next phase in my life, I realize that I haven’t always taken the time to appreciate all that I have here in hell? Is that what I’ve learned? Is that really the wit and wisdom? Absolutely: Minnesota is hell, and I enjoyed my time in hell. All it takes is the time to get to know it. Know the mythological Sirens? Think of the opposite. You’ve got to look past the cacophony, ride the psychotic horse toward the burning barn and brave the -40° and the 100°+, the liberal city and blisteringly conservative fringes. “Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the company” Mark Twain once informed us, and I cannot agree more, but don’t spread the word too much, it’s getting crowded in the Lake of Fire as it is.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Version 2.0
Getting the gears oiled again, returning to the fray, throwing the cap back into the ring, flipping the bird to indecision and malaise; call it what you will – I prefer to think of it as a rebirth, and boy is it nice to revisit what I have previously called my “hopefully fertile little web plot of ideas.” As I sift through my postings, a glance here and a glance there, I am reminded of two things: (1) with the passage of time my work almost doesn’t seem like my own and (2) a couple years of cube life and television is the swiftest way to drive all creativity deep into the recesses of the mind (I think it’s currently hiding next to my raison d’etre, but most likely it’s having tea with my insecurity talking about my days when tubby and awkward were charitable phrases). As with any balanced perspective, my wonder comes from the realization of both how far I have come and the places of myself I simply refuse to leave. I have no doubt dear reader that both arenas will be thoroughly touched upon, but will mostly have to wait until another day
When I first started sending thoughts to the e-page, I was terrified of what people might think. Not that much has changed, although I realize now that the opinions of others is less important then the catharsis and imperative of being true to and doing what we love. It is these drives and loves that must be treated as though they are the only real things in this world, for they are the component pieces of our dreams, and it is these dreams that allow us to remember that the world is so much more than the sum of its physical parts.
But what is my overarching dream? To be simple (stay tuned, its expansion will hopefully show in every word over the coming ever) my dream is release. With each passing moment I accumulate new experiences, think new thoughts, feel new feelings, all of which constantly meld, separate and recombine to form an irrepressible urge for outburst. Not tantrum, but outburst – half joyous yelp and half earnest plea to anyone that might be near enough to pay attention – adding my own swath of color to our paint by number reality. But from where does this come? I have never felt compelled to draw or sculpt, although they are both wonderful distractions. While I enjoy helping others, volunteering never brought me true joy. Neither has cleaning, woodworking, gossiping or Sudoku. So what does? What brings that release, what is it that helps the bottled up facets of the soul spill out, what provides that channel for all the anxieties and worries that society tells me I should have? How might I flip the switch, to become a conduit for the transmission of the beautiful yet complex world that I see rather than a receiving antenna for what we are told daily from media, friends and family?
I’ll spare you the conclusion, not only because you will hopefully watch the answer unfold with each word and phrase as this little train again gathers steam but also because I believe that we need not be spoon-fed every punchline, that a little thought and imagination might be just what the doctor ordered. Well, that and hopefully it’s obvious, but I digress…
Thank you to all those who have read and appreciated this one sided conversation in the past – I hope that it lives up to the standard you were once accustomed. Thanks to those who visit for the first time – may you find it an escape from the expected and the mundane. To everyone and everything else – thank you for providing the structure and color to a world of endless possibility and interest, without you there would be no good topics to treat. I hope for and encourage feedback and discussion so that I can do my part to prove the old adage: “Simple minds talk about people, and average minds talk about events. It is the great minds that talk about ideas.” Here’s to it friends, it’s good to be back. Cheers!
When I first started sending thoughts to the e-page, I was terrified of what people might think. Not that much has changed, although I realize now that the opinions of others is less important then the catharsis and imperative of being true to and doing what we love. It is these drives and loves that must be treated as though they are the only real things in this world, for they are the component pieces of our dreams, and it is these dreams that allow us to remember that the world is so much more than the sum of its physical parts.
But what is my overarching dream? To be simple (stay tuned, its expansion will hopefully show in every word over the coming ever) my dream is release. With each passing moment I accumulate new experiences, think new thoughts, feel new feelings, all of which constantly meld, separate and recombine to form an irrepressible urge for outburst. Not tantrum, but outburst – half joyous yelp and half earnest plea to anyone that might be near enough to pay attention – adding my own swath of color to our paint by number reality. But from where does this come? I have never felt compelled to draw or sculpt, although they are both wonderful distractions. While I enjoy helping others, volunteering never brought me true joy. Neither has cleaning, woodworking, gossiping or Sudoku. So what does? What brings that release, what is it that helps the bottled up facets of the soul spill out, what provides that channel for all the anxieties and worries that society tells me I should have? How might I flip the switch, to become a conduit for the transmission of the beautiful yet complex world that I see rather than a receiving antenna for what we are told daily from media, friends and family?
I’ll spare you the conclusion, not only because you will hopefully watch the answer unfold with each word and phrase as this little train again gathers steam but also because I believe that we need not be spoon-fed every punchline, that a little thought and imagination might be just what the doctor ordered. Well, that and hopefully it’s obvious, but I digress…
Thank you to all those who have read and appreciated this one sided conversation in the past – I hope that it lives up to the standard you were once accustomed. Thanks to those who visit for the first time – may you find it an escape from the expected and the mundane. To everyone and everything else – thank you for providing the structure and color to a world of endless possibility and interest, without you there would be no good topics to treat. I hope for and encourage feedback and discussion so that I can do my part to prove the old adage: “Simple minds talk about people, and average minds talk about events. It is the great minds that talk about ideas.” Here’s to it friends, it’s good to be back. Cheers!
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