A couple of days ago, I read this article (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/20/magazine/20wwln-lede-t.html) by one of my favorite authors, Micheal Pollan, and I keep thinking about it. The article begins with Pollan working through this question of why bother about trying to save the environment - there seems to be too much to do, and not any reasonable assurance that others will join in on the efforts that need to be made, and we are not sure that it would not all be too late anyway.
I think it particularly speaks to me because I really struggle with this question - "why bother?" - not exactly as he describes it, not so much at the beginning of the effort, but more in the middle. I find that I can easily get myself worked up to make changes and save the world, yaddayaddayadda, but that in the middle, when the sacrifices and challenges are no longer novel and all I want is to just eat a cheeseburger and get on with my life, or not spend 3xs as much on the fancy green light bulbs and instead get the regular ones and have enough left over to buy a pretty new skirt. I find myself wilting at that point - find myself standing in the aisle with a light bulb in either hand, talking myself into buying the cheap one. But I think Pollan is right - I believe that it will take one person after another making all the changes they can, it will take one person after another calling for technological, legislative, and truly, moral, change. I do believe that.
And I believe something that Pollan doesn't talk about directly, but opens the way to with his discussion of "living as if". Pollan uses Vaclav Havel, a Czech politician who was instrumental in the overthrow of communism in Czechoslovakia, as an example of what can happen when people go ahead with what they believe is right even when all but sure that those attempts will be futile if not personally dangerous. I think that what Pollan doesn't explicitly say, but is exceptionally true, is that there is something very pure and valuable about doing what you believe is right, regardless of surrounding situations. That in a very direct and simple, yet somewhat elusive way, there is value in doing all the little energy saving, emission reducing things you can - whether or not they lead to others following, to legislative changes, or to technological advances. I believe that there is something valuable in doing what you know to be right, even if that action is ineffective or fruitless.
Additionally - I also wanted to point you towards Pollan's comment about observing Sabbath - I kinda love this idea - it's so simple and direct. I've been thinking about implementing it in my own life, perhaps with the modifications of allowing for use of lights and food-related devices.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
When You Get What You Ask For
One of my girlfriends here is a woman who is significantly older than the rest of our little group, a woman who went through some major change and upheaval in her life, and moved down here for an indefinite period of time, looking to really find fulfillment for herself. She subscribes to a somewhat more “new-agey” vision of the world than I do, but I love to hear her talk about her process in moving here and staying here and planning the next stages of her life now that she’s substantially altered its course and is no longer on a traditional path. Recently, she was talking about how hard it has been for her to get her career set up here, how she has had to do so much waiting, and being patient. She said that she has been using the time to do a lot of writing, both personal and work-related, but she was becoming increasingly frustrated with all this waiting, until recently she remembered that before moving here she had been thinking over and over and saying to all those around her that she just wanted time to write. She wanted to just write and write, and look! Here she was with so much time to write! How funny, then, that she had been seeing this period with so much impatience. She was using this as evidence that the universe is listening to you, that you will receive what you ask for if you can keep asking for it and keep moving towards what seems like the right destination.
As much as I scoff at the idea of the universe “listening” to you, and delivering what you ask for if you can only keep the faith, I realized that something very similar has happened to me over the past year. This time last year, as I am sure some of you will remember, I was telling anyone who would listen that all I wanted to do was to go sit on some beach somewhere, to just go stick my head in the sand and sit still for a year. I kept asking ironically, “Does anyone pay for that?” I was sitting in my carrel at Firestone Library, staring at the putrid green walls feeling awash with how low I felt my inner self to be, with how exhausted and depleted and done I felt, not just with my thesis but with the world as a whole really. I was not really feeling all that excited by the wonderful job opportunities revealing themselves, or able to power through the writing process, or coping all that well with what were my responsibilities and obligations. I was flailing a fair bit, and very very scared.
I have had about 8 months of a paid semi-vacation. I’ve struggled with the fact that it isn’t quite a vacation, but that there isn’t really much in the way of real work either, and I’ve struggled with the culture and my place here, and with disappointed expectations. But I have done a lot of sitting in the sun, and waking slowly in my own rhythm, with no classes to run off to, panicked because I was late, a lot of swimming and reading and watching TV even!, a lot of talking with friends and going out for drinks. Someone has paid me to do all these things. I got what I asked for. Look at that.
And it feels pretty good. The first part of the year was difficult, but ever since I accepted what this was, I’ve felt (for the most part) happy. The happy isn’t always effortless or easy, but I’ve managed to find it and to continue to find my way back to it when I fall off the horse. This happy is about a number of things: finding friends whose company I enjoy and who I can share my true self with, finding pieces of this culture that I can love, finding ways to block or ignore or simply brush off some of the pieces I cannot find a way to love. But even more than all of that, I think I am beginning to come to see that some of the deep, bubbling happiness I have been feeling recently is about the replenishment of myself that I was doing even when I was not aware I was doing it.
I have been quiet. And not even in a spiritual, open, questing way – just quiet. As me. I have let my brain stop thinking all its thoughts for brief spans. I have Sat Still and have not attempted to unduly enrich myself. I have read some books, but not that many, and probably 60 or 70% non-classic, non-revelatory novels. I have watched a lot of TV. And not great documentaries, or news, or even film.
I feel like the little kid who has spent the summer running and swimming – tan, more flexible, muscles exercised again, head emptier, full of easy grace and easy smiles and the confidence of mastering all the nooks and crannies of the woods on my bike.
As much as I scoff at the idea of the universe “listening” to you, and delivering what you ask for if you can only keep the faith, I realized that something very similar has happened to me over the past year. This time last year, as I am sure some of you will remember, I was telling anyone who would listen that all I wanted to do was to go sit on some beach somewhere, to just go stick my head in the sand and sit still for a year. I kept asking ironically, “Does anyone pay for that?” I was sitting in my carrel at Firestone Library, staring at the putrid green walls feeling awash with how low I felt my inner self to be, with how exhausted and depleted and done I felt, not just with my thesis but with the world as a whole really. I was not really feeling all that excited by the wonderful job opportunities revealing themselves, or able to power through the writing process, or coping all that well with what were my responsibilities and obligations. I was flailing a fair bit, and very very scared.
I have had about 8 months of a paid semi-vacation. I’ve struggled with the fact that it isn’t quite a vacation, but that there isn’t really much in the way of real work either, and I’ve struggled with the culture and my place here, and with disappointed expectations. But I have done a lot of sitting in the sun, and waking slowly in my own rhythm, with no classes to run off to, panicked because I was late, a lot of swimming and reading and watching TV even!, a lot of talking with friends and going out for drinks. Someone has paid me to do all these things. I got what I asked for. Look at that.
And it feels pretty good. The first part of the year was difficult, but ever since I accepted what this was, I’ve felt (for the most part) happy. The happy isn’t always effortless or easy, but I’ve managed to find it and to continue to find my way back to it when I fall off the horse. This happy is about a number of things: finding friends whose company I enjoy and who I can share my true self with, finding pieces of this culture that I can love, finding ways to block or ignore or simply brush off some of the pieces I cannot find a way to love. But even more than all of that, I think I am beginning to come to see that some of the deep, bubbling happiness I have been feeling recently is about the replenishment of myself that I was doing even when I was not aware I was doing it.
I have been quiet. And not even in a spiritual, open, questing way – just quiet. As me. I have let my brain stop thinking all its thoughts for brief spans. I have Sat Still and have not attempted to unduly enrich myself. I have read some books, but not that many, and probably 60 or 70% non-classic, non-revelatory novels. I have watched a lot of TV. And not great documentaries, or news, or even film.
I feel like the little kid who has spent the summer running and swimming – tan, more flexible, muscles exercised again, head emptier, full of easy grace and easy smiles and the confidence of mastering all the nooks and crannies of the woods on my bike.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Long Way Around
In 2006, after my study-abroad program in Prague ended, I took a trip to Croatia with one of the girls I had been living with. Michelagh and I flew into Dubrovnik, on the south-eastern coast of Croatia, and were flying out of Split, on its north-western coast. We had a loose idea of the places we would like to see, and the idea was to make our way up the coast, traveling from place to place, and arriving in Split the day before our flight back to Prague. One of our last destinations was the city of Havar, located on the island of Havar, one of the largest islands right off the coast.
Because of the way that this type of travel goes however, when we went to get our bus tickets to Havar, we discovered that because of the length of the trip, we hadn’t left ourselves enough time to both see the city and make it to Split in time to catch our plane. The woman at the bus station suggested that instead of taking the most common route, we take a bus to another port along the coast, and then take a ferry to the island. The catch was that the ferry would take us to the opposite side of the island from the city of Havar. The woman assured us that there must be a bus that would take us to the city however, and so we happily set off. The bus ride was hours and hours shorter than it would have been had we been traveling the regular route, and the ferry was located in a tiny town full of Croatians on beach vacations. We got gelato and Michelagh bought a pair of flippers and a snorkel mask and by the time we got on the ferry we were ecstatic with how beautiful everything was and what ingenious travelers we were, to find the hidden routes that would get there faster and would let us see what was off the beaten path to boot!
I’m sure you can guess where this is going. We got to Havar the island, and disembarked from the ferry, only to find ourselves in a one-street town which did (!) have a bus, but since it was (groan) SUNDAY AFTERNOON, the next bus wouldn’t leave until 5am the next morning. We spoke with the town’s only taxi driver, who would drive us to Havar the city, but for just over $200 US. Since $200 US was about what we had combined to last us the rest of the trip, this was not an option. We tried to hitchhike, but to no avail, and ended up sitting for a few hours in the sweltering shade of an old abandoned brick building at the crossroads where the road that led into town left the road that served the island. Finally we gave up and found a room to rent for the night.
At 5am the next morning we were groggily standing outside of the house we had been staying in, backpacks on, waiting for the bus to drive by. When the “bus” showed it was a small white van full of Croatians commuting to work. We climbed in and stowed our packs as well as possible (read: on our laps) and the van took off, flying across the deserted road which climbed and wove through the hills.
Havar is famous for its lavender, which grows both wild and cultivated across the island. This is not lavender like you are used to – that powdery, stuffy smell infused into soaps and constituting overwhelming perfumes. This is another element altogether and as we sat in that small white van that morning, clinging to our seats as the van flung itself around curves in the road, the smell of wild lavender blew through the wide-open windows. Havar, like the rest of coastal Croatia, is all rocky cliffs plunging into the indigo sea, and as the van drove the scenery would abruptly change from green, rocky hillside, strewn with lavender bushes and white stone houses, to impressively tall and steep cliffs falling away into the sea.
I predict that this will be one of the abiding memories of my life and it certainly was not part of any plan or recommended by any travel guide. I did not set out in search of it and in fact would probably have avoided it if I could have. It was the most indirect way to get to where we were going, and it cut down on how much time we had to spend there for sure, but knowing what I know now, I might make sure to stay overnight in that little town on a return trip to Croatia, just to re-experience that bus ride.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For awhile now I’ve been ruminating on the idea that I don’t really know exactly what I’m doing or where I’m going. I think I used to, in that childish way where your dreams are formed by half-imagined pieces of things, and never really involve work. You were going to be a firefighter, but when you saw it in your mind’s eye you were wearing the suit, and climbing down a ladder, holding a child who was clinging to your neck, the crowd below clapping. Paradoxically your firefighter’s suit was crisp and clean, and there was no similar dream of crawling through the flames, sweating and hot, scared that the fire-damaged building might collapse around you at any moment.
I think one of the reasons it’s so hard not to know is because I used to. I used to have these ideas about what I was going to do and who I was going to be when I was a “grown-up”, but now that I find myself here, at the precipice of adult-hood, I find that all the things I have learned over the years have worn away at those dreams. I am still holding firmly on to the honorable intentions so many of my dreams proposed to follow, but without the framework the dreams provided, the intentions can start to feel more like anchors than buoys.
I sort of kinda maybe have some half-formed ideas, and the knowledge of a few pretty concrete things that do or don’t make me happy. A couple of moral values I’d like to hold onto, a few financial goals I’m shooting for, a very loose 5-year plan. Or whatever. You know? And even those things I’m calling concrete or “plans” – well, I’m pretty convinced that they would give way under the sweetest of breezes.
I have been pretty worried about this. Well, I suppose worried isn’t quite the right word. I’ve been panicked by this a little. Ok, a lot. Not knowing where or what or when or how? I find that difficult. Challenging. Recently however, more days than not, I am not so worried. Not so worried, or concerned, not panicked.
The thing is, looking back, I think it’s often taken an indirect route for me to get to where I was going.
And I’ve been pretty fortunate with where I’ve ended up.
I feel relatively confident that I’m going to get somewhere, even if it’s not where I once thought it would be. I’m pretty convinced of the fact that there are a million ways to lead a satisfying and meaningful life, and recently I’ve been able to keep that in the forefront of my mind.
It’s very cliché all this – this idea that life is the journey (the bus ride) not the destination, the idea that the most amazing moments are those we could never plan for or anticipate, that the road less-traveled is the road to take. I don’t know that it’s always true - I definitely have had amazing moments that have been planned out, that are in every guidebook, and learned things I needed to know from the most conventional of sources – but I know that like in the story above, I have in the past been truly blessed by the fact that my plans were laid to waste or that I didn’t have plans in the first place.
And at some point, it’s clear to me that it doesn’t really matter whether or not I agree to this reality of my life. I can fight it with my wide-eyed panic if I like, but that won’t fill in all these blank spaces I am so thrown by.
I am just going to have to take The Long Way Around. And just trust that it will get me where I need to be going.
P.S. Full disclosure: “The Long Way Around” is a song. By the Dixie Chicks. I know. I know.
Because of the way that this type of travel goes however, when we went to get our bus tickets to Havar, we discovered that because of the length of the trip, we hadn’t left ourselves enough time to both see the city and make it to Split in time to catch our plane. The woman at the bus station suggested that instead of taking the most common route, we take a bus to another port along the coast, and then take a ferry to the island. The catch was that the ferry would take us to the opposite side of the island from the city of Havar. The woman assured us that there must be a bus that would take us to the city however, and so we happily set off. The bus ride was hours and hours shorter than it would have been had we been traveling the regular route, and the ferry was located in a tiny town full of Croatians on beach vacations. We got gelato and Michelagh bought a pair of flippers and a snorkel mask and by the time we got on the ferry we were ecstatic with how beautiful everything was and what ingenious travelers we were, to find the hidden routes that would get there faster and would let us see what was off the beaten path to boot!
I’m sure you can guess where this is going. We got to Havar the island, and disembarked from the ferry, only to find ourselves in a one-street town which did (!) have a bus, but since it was (groan) SUNDAY AFTERNOON, the next bus wouldn’t leave until 5am the next morning. We spoke with the town’s only taxi driver, who would drive us to Havar the city, but for just over $200 US. Since $200 US was about what we had combined to last us the rest of the trip, this was not an option. We tried to hitchhike, but to no avail, and ended up sitting for a few hours in the sweltering shade of an old abandoned brick building at the crossroads where the road that led into town left the road that served the island. Finally we gave up and found a room to rent for the night.
At 5am the next morning we were groggily standing outside of the house we had been staying in, backpacks on, waiting for the bus to drive by. When the “bus” showed it was a small white van full of Croatians commuting to work. We climbed in and stowed our packs as well as possible (read: on our laps) and the van took off, flying across the deserted road which climbed and wove through the hills.
Havar is famous for its lavender, which grows both wild and cultivated across the island. This is not lavender like you are used to – that powdery, stuffy smell infused into soaps and constituting overwhelming perfumes. This is another element altogether and as we sat in that small white van that morning, clinging to our seats as the van flung itself around curves in the road, the smell of wild lavender blew through the wide-open windows. Havar, like the rest of coastal Croatia, is all rocky cliffs plunging into the indigo sea, and as the van drove the scenery would abruptly change from green, rocky hillside, strewn with lavender bushes and white stone houses, to impressively tall and steep cliffs falling away into the sea.
I predict that this will be one of the abiding memories of my life and it certainly was not part of any plan or recommended by any travel guide. I did not set out in search of it and in fact would probably have avoided it if I could have. It was the most indirect way to get to where we were going, and it cut down on how much time we had to spend there for sure, but knowing what I know now, I might make sure to stay overnight in that little town on a return trip to Croatia, just to re-experience that bus ride.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For awhile now I’ve been ruminating on the idea that I don’t really know exactly what I’m doing or where I’m going. I think I used to, in that childish way where your dreams are formed by half-imagined pieces of things, and never really involve work. You were going to be a firefighter, but when you saw it in your mind’s eye you were wearing the suit, and climbing down a ladder, holding a child who was clinging to your neck, the crowd below clapping. Paradoxically your firefighter’s suit was crisp and clean, and there was no similar dream of crawling through the flames, sweating and hot, scared that the fire-damaged building might collapse around you at any moment.
I think one of the reasons it’s so hard not to know is because I used to. I used to have these ideas about what I was going to do and who I was going to be when I was a “grown-up”, but now that I find myself here, at the precipice of adult-hood, I find that all the things I have learned over the years have worn away at those dreams. I am still holding firmly on to the honorable intentions so many of my dreams proposed to follow, but without the framework the dreams provided, the intentions can start to feel more like anchors than buoys.
I sort of kinda maybe have some half-formed ideas, and the knowledge of a few pretty concrete things that do or don’t make me happy. A couple of moral values I’d like to hold onto, a few financial goals I’m shooting for, a very loose 5-year plan. Or whatever. You know? And even those things I’m calling concrete or “plans” – well, I’m pretty convinced that they would give way under the sweetest of breezes.
I have been pretty worried about this. Well, I suppose worried isn’t quite the right word. I’ve been panicked by this a little. Ok, a lot. Not knowing where or what or when or how? I find that difficult. Challenging. Recently however, more days than not, I am not so worried. Not so worried, or concerned, not panicked.
The thing is, looking back, I think it’s often taken an indirect route for me to get to where I was going.
And I’ve been pretty fortunate with where I’ve ended up.
I feel relatively confident that I’m going to get somewhere, even if it’s not where I once thought it would be. I’m pretty convinced of the fact that there are a million ways to lead a satisfying and meaningful life, and recently I’ve been able to keep that in the forefront of my mind.
It’s very cliché all this – this idea that life is the journey (the bus ride) not the destination, the idea that the most amazing moments are those we could never plan for or anticipate, that the road less-traveled is the road to take. I don’t know that it’s always true - I definitely have had amazing moments that have been planned out, that are in every guidebook, and learned things I needed to know from the most conventional of sources – but I know that like in the story above, I have in the past been truly blessed by the fact that my plans were laid to waste or that I didn’t have plans in the first place.
And at some point, it’s clear to me that it doesn’t really matter whether or not I agree to this reality of my life. I can fight it with my wide-eyed panic if I like, but that won’t fill in all these blank spaces I am so thrown by.
I am just going to have to take The Long Way Around. And just trust that it will get me where I need to be going.
P.S. Full disclosure: “The Long Way Around” is a song. By the Dixie Chicks. I know. I know.
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