The Art of Learning

I've gotten in the habit of using Google Calendar, mostly because it's easy, colorful, syncs well, and displays pretty images.  If anyone was curious, I just discovered the complete list of Google Event Images, like these:

This is what I do with my "fun" employment these days.  However, here is the thing: how often do you take the time to actually figure out the ins and outs of an ap, device, program, game, etc.?  How often do you sit and read the instruction manual or actually learn about what you're using?  My grandfather does every time he buy something new (which is once a decade).  He sits with the instruction manual and reads every single word.  I'm not advocating that everyone do this, but maybe think about it.  In my lifetime, technological advancements have transpired so quickly, it has become normal to roll our eyes and sigh, "Ha - I have no idea how this works."  But my grandfather will explore and ask questions that I can't answer with asking Google first.

I believe that it's not expected that we go deep with knowing, unless you're getting your PhD - and even then, how much of learning is skimming?  But let's go back to just our present lives - there are so many devices that I use daily which I am no master of: my car, computer, iPhone, refrigerator, water heater, septic system, speaker, or my camera.  No wonder it's easy to feel a sense of disconnection with our world - we may hardly know much about how it came to be or operates.  We are often far removed from the process and receive the final product in our hands.

I recently purchased At Home by Bill Bryson.  The premise of the book is that he is going to explore history without leaving his home.  He contends that houses are, "amazingly complex repositories... whatever happens in the world, whatever is discovered or created or bitterly fought over, eventually ends up - in one way or another - in your house... We are so used to having a lot of comfort in our lives, to being clean, warm, and well fed, that we forget how recent most of that is."

I sometimes think that the idea of knowledge is often too easily blended with the practicality of getting a job.  What about knowledge for the sake of knowledge, and exploring the backstory of the modern world we live in?  I wonder if that would help us become better stewards of it.  I know for myself, when I take the time (or am forced to take the time) to learn about something, I come away with a different appreciation of it.  I had never fully appreciated Ansel Adam's photography until I realized the camera he was using to capture these images, not to mention he himself developed the film and "filtered" the images in a dark room.  It wasn't until I saw a photo of him hiking - in what looked like sneakers - up a snowy mountainside with a huge camera on his back that it occurred to me the technological context of his photography.

Autumn Moon, the High Sierra from Glacier Point September 15, 1948

Moon and Half Dome 1960

Recently, we saw the Oscar Nominated Short Films for Animation.  Thinking about how we are born so blissfully open to the future reminds me of this character from World of Tomorrow by Don Hertzfeldt:

I imagine we walk around like the little girl does, in the face of complicated technology, stating, "Cirrrrcle" and "Wiggle wiggle wiggle!"  Imagining everything within our grasp being a result of history, makes me wonder where to begin learning about it.

What a rich, comfortable, and fascinating world we live in.

Mountain Winter

 I wrote a lot about Winter last year, because it was right in my face for months.  It was so cold and debilitating - freezing our driveway, caking up on my car, piling on the sidewalk, and breaking one of our pipes.  I was not a fan.

Having Winter stay in the mountains, is one of the most wonderful aspects of living in Bend.  I don't want to speak too soon, because it can certainly creep into our valley location as well, but for now, it is in the mountains.  We went for a jog today on the clear sidewalks.  I can take the dog to the park where there is grass and we can throw the ball.  There is a lack of 20 foot high piles of snow in the parking lots or muddy slush on the sides of the streets.  All of it is sitting in the mountains where we can visit it and then go home.  

The other day, I think I actually began to enjoy Winter.  Winter sports have never been a part of my life; I grew up without skiing, snowboarding, ice skating, snowshoeing, etc.  My extent of Winter athletics consisted of me sledding down the hill in our front yard.  Staying outside felt like survival of the fittest before we could finally head indoors for hot chocolate.  We would push through to make snow forts or tunnels, but then spend the rest of the day recovering and letting our sopping wet snowsuit, socks, mittens, and hats dry out by the fire while our faces defrosted.  Enjoying Winter felt like a great effort both physically and financially: the gear, the stamina, and the ambition.

I have often heard in the West, when discussing winter warmth, "Well, if you have the right gear, you'll be fine."  I have been very curious to see how this opinion holds up.  In the Northeast, Winter seems to seep right into your bones, no matter how many layers of cutting edge outdoor gear you may be wearing - whether the sun is out or not.  I pretty much never feel warm when outside, unless I have loaded my boots with foot warmers.

However, Monday on Mt. Bachelor was blue skies and sunny.  I was so warm - in fact, sweaty - as I learned to snowboard for the first time.  It was tough and fun, but mostly hard.  Partaking of Winter culture was new for me - the lodge, the lift ticket, the people in their snow gear.  It was a whole new world.  And concerning the weather, from what I can tell, it may be true - if you have the right gear, you will be warm.  But we'll see.  There's still a lot more Winter to feel here.

I like you, Mountain Winter.

Winter Solstice

New England Open Air goers and the field at The Browne Center which hosts a mowed Labyrinth in the grass

In all the cultural hubbub of the holidays, I have found - in recent years - this has become a time of quiet.  I find my life tends to slow down to about 5-ish mph, where half the day is over by the time I've finished my coffee, I'm taking showers in the afternoon, eating chocolate for breakfast and spend most of the morning petting my cat.  December happens to be the season where I have the least amount of money and most amount of minutes.  The outdoor season has dwindled, school is done, and the weather outside is... well, mild this year, actually.

Coming home is the best because I am actually warm.  We do not watch TV in our coats and hats and I do not even need my snuggie, or socks.  In fact, sometimes we actually have to open a window because the house gets too warm as the wood-burning stove powers on.  After years of living in drafty New England spaces, I realize I grew up spoiled.

Walking through the labyrinth (think path in the field, not David Bowie) of the Browne Center for New England Open Air last weekend, I contemplated the amount of time it takes to get into something and out of something.  Fairy tales and commercials promote this idea of an instant change or fix - a sudden rescue - but in real life, it takes time to walk in and out of experiences.  Experiences linger, grown on us, change us, and we slowly learn to walk with them.

This particular labyrinth is a path mowed on a small portion of a field, where I walk through twists and turns until I find myself in the center of this cerebral-looking grassy maze.  Once I arrive in the center, I stop and sit down, taking in the 55 degree day and the golden green color of the field and grass surrounding me, before I walk the same path out of it.  Ellen Langor talks about mindfulness this way:

"And so, mindfulness, for me, is the very simple process of actively noticing new things. When you actively notice new things that puts you in the present, makes you sensitive to context. As you’re noticing new things, it’s engaging. And it turns out, after a lot of research, that we find that it’s literally, not just figuratively, enlivening."

I think emotions have a way of pulling us in, better than thoughts might do.  They are motions to slow us down enough to notice ourselves and how we are affected by everything.  My dad showed us the video of Carson and Ernie the UPS deliverer... and well, if you don't think you're a particularly emotional being, try watching that.  Langor goes on to talk about what stress is:

"...when there’s stress, there’s an assumption that they’re making that something is going to happen — number one — and that when it happens, it’s going to be awful.  Both of those are mindless.  You want to open it up, both ways.  First, the belief that it’s going to happen.  All you need to do is ask yourself for evidence that it’s not going to happen.  And you always find evidence for whatever you ask yourself."

"I think that it goes back in some sense to Epictetus, who said, not in English, and not with my accent, but that “Events don’t cause stress.  What causes stress are the views you take of events.'  ...almost everybody is mindlessly driven by these absolutes and part of these absolutes are these evaluations of good or bad.  If it’s good, I feel I must have it.  If it’s bad, I must avoid it.  When it’s neither good nor bad, I can just stay put.  And just be.  So we get a lot more control by recognizing the way we’re controlling our present and our future."

Why wrap presents?  We're just going to throw the paper away.  I venture it's because we value the present (double-meaning intended).  We are bringing attention to that present moment, inviting surprise - creating space for joy.  My mom still loves watching us open presents. 

What I love about this season, is that humans decided to invite celebration, merriment, and gift-giving into the darkest days of the year (well.... if you live in the Northern portion of the Northern hemisphere).  To me, it is somehow reflective of the the human spirit's need for community.  We allow ourselves this time to connect with others, value those relationships, check in on people, and delight in giving.  Even if Adele is really what brings us all together, at least we are making an effort. 

The shortest day is upon us and it will take a few months to fully lengthen that light again. 

Time to take a shower. 

Then We Broke the Internet

Based on Real Events

A world without Internet... what?  Luckily, Jaclyn and I grew up in the 90s, so we are familiar with how to live without it.  Remember those days of phone calls, landlines, TV antennas, Blockbuster, letters, and film cameras?  Us too.

At first, we thought, "Oh no! I was going to do a million things..." and in the next breath, we thought, "Oh... I don't have to do a million things."

So we made ourselves some whiskey ciders and sat down.

There are a million reasons why I love the Internet, the first one being that we were looking forward to watching the most recent episode of Fargo.  This world wide web makes my life as a graduate student, long distance relationshipper, photographer, and just plain human navigating Christmas shopping a million times easier.  We can keep up with others, endlessly socialize, and explore the world.  And, at the same time, when it goes out, I appreciate the reminder that I don't need it for connection.

In Wilderness Therapy, a client might ask, "What do you want me to do out here?" or "I don't think I'm making progress out here.  I want to go home to all my normal coping mechanisms." What is hard for them to do, is to sit with themselves.  "I want you to sit with these emotions," the therapist might say, "To me, that is progress."

And it's so hard to do - particularly in the everyday - especially when combined with the amount of guilt one may feel in certain contexts - for not doing anything.  In a culture that equates not taking your vacation time with being a more promotable employer, it can almost feel awkward and vulnerable to admit how many naps you take (and wonder if you're depressed?).

In a world with so many comforts often at our finger tips, you'd think we'd typically feel really good.  But it seems if you want to prove your value, you may feel a push to speak to a stressfully busy life (often I wonder if this is particularly in New England).  I can see how anxiety and depression have become so pervasive.  Setting up boundaries and saying no is such an art.  I admire those who can truly do it well.

I often try to view these dark Winter months as ideal for slowing down, enjoying a meal with a friend - or tea, or drinks - and indulging in the comfort of my space heater.  Somehow the low-lying sun sets a tone of contemplation.  I imagine I have bonded more with the people I've lived with in these moments when we are forced together, inside, and to sit face-to-face.

And so, Jaclyn and I shared our drinks together, and did nothing.

(And the world did not fall apart.)

Finishing Things

I have a friend who used to say he was good at finishing things, and that this is a skill (finish the bathroom, Dad!).  This was in the context of finishing artwork (graphic novels).  As I am nearing my graduation from graduate school (praise be! hallelujah!) I find myself thinking about finishing things - finishing this piece of work I have been working on for a long time.

I realize that I’m not just finishing graduate school, but I’m moving away.  I’m moving away from the Northeast - this region of the country where I have grown all of my community, from childhood through now.  This is where I grew up, went to camp, went to college, worked, and endured graduate school.  Not only that, my skip across the Atlantic to Scotland will now become a double skip across a country and then an ocean.  I can no longer easily hop the Canadian border to visit my brother.  I am making it harder for myself to see the people I know so well and love. 

Why do we do this?  I know I’m not the only one.  It’s funny how you can feel out of place in a place - how you can travel elsewhere and think, “I like this elsewhere” so much that you move to live there.  That’s how I feel about the West.  I love living there.  And I’m probably idealizing it and romanticizing it - of course.  Because you don’t know a place until you truly live there - and to live there is different than visiting.  We all know that.  

And so, I will finish my time here.  For now.  

Me and my Gloucester friends

Winterrrrrr

Lobstah

Hey Rockport

Hey!

Family Portrait Time

Setting Up

To the Prop Shed

Ropes Course Mornings

My CAT

Montreal <3

Dear Friend and Her Dear Alice

Tribute to the Ropes Course

It's 8 AM.  I'm standing with a few people, next to a tree - a few trees - waiting for the sound of a big yellow bus - or two, or three - to fumble its way down a tiny dirt drive.  We're talking about activities you can do with foam rings, or two drum sticks with colored tape, or how education paradigms are changing (or need to).  Foam pool noodles, hula hoops, yarn balls, bandanas, and of course, rubber chickens, pigs, and fish, clutter and stick out of our backpacks.  We're drinking coffee, eating a snack, and gathering ourselves before the energetic 6th graders run out from their bumbling yellow and black striped container.

Run away!  Run away! (I joke or think to myself)

The busses arrive.  "Welcome to Project Adventure!"  Little faces peeking out of brightly colored jackets bob their heads up and down from inside the school bus.  Sometimes their arms.  Sometimes their mouths.  I stick two widespread hands up in the air, "Group 10 over here!"  12 of them find me through the sea of little humans with their neon footwear and water bottles.

"I like your blue jacket!" (one says)

"Are we doing the zip line?" (says another)

"My name is Zack!" (says he)

"I'm so EXCITED!" (one exclaims)

We walk up a large hill.  Once in a circle, a voice booms, "Stick your finger up in the air! Ah ha!" The facilitator continues, "This represents a good idea.  Now flatten out your other hand and place it in front of the person next to you.  This represents an open mind.  In a moment, I'm going to invite you to place your good idea in the open mind next to you.  Sounds are strongly encouraged."

"Doodledoodleydooooooooooop!"

"Whrrrrrrrrppppp!"

"Booooommmmrrcchchchchch!"

"You have entered into a game of capture and release. When the word 'Gotcha' is said, simultaneously escape from the person on your right while trying to capture the person on their left."

After the tone is set, these energetic participants are invited to play: escape from a noodle by saying the name of someone else; try to step on the moving spot; steal the rubber pig; get your team through a turning rope; swing to the other side without touching the ground; appreciate the person next to you; find the clothespin; balance the 10x3 platform; walk across a cable 30 feet in the air while your team belays you.

"How did challenge, communication, respect, trust, or support show up?"

At the end of the day, we meet back in a large circle.  Everyone is encouraged to shout out something they would like to celebrate and we all pat-pat our legs, clap-clap our hands, snap-snap our fingers, and say, "Oh yeah!"  We funnel down to the busses.  We wave them off and on their way.

***

The sun sets on the ropes course.  Deep orange November light cuts through the trees creating long dark shadows on the ground.  I am walking with colleagues and stepping onto a platform that we balance together in a circle.  We celebrate the day.

"I'm so thankful that in light of such terrifying world events, I am part of a community that is trying to make things better."

"I want to thank everyone for showing up today, reminding me that we're not alone in the work that we do."

"I want to celebrate the people in this community - the ones I know and the ones I got to meet today.  I hope to see more of you."

We feel warm and fuzzy in our warm fuzzies.  Inspiration appears as golden air lining all of the world surrounding us.  Extending our arms over each other, we give each other and ourselves pats on the back.  Covered in evening light, we begin to exit this space which has held so much meaning.

Goodnight, ropes course.  Thank you for another beautiful season.

Crazy Maisy

I'm not really a dog person.  I think someone told me that once:

"I see you as a cat person."

It's true.  I am.  Absolutely.  However, I have been spending my lazy graduate school days with a dog; by the name of Maisy.

I'm not really the throw-the-ball type of owner.  I'm more of the attach-you-to-a-leash-if-you-bother-me type of owner.  I feel no guilt.

I like to think Maisy respects me for this.  I think she has realized that her pleas go nowhere.  She relinquishes herself to the couch and rests all day until the fun owners come home.  Then she pounces on them and begs them to play with her.

That being said, I like to think that we're closer because of it.  I heard once that "boundaries are connections".  I can't remember who said it.  I feel this way with Maisy.  My boundaries are also my connections with her.  When I decide to throw the ball with her, it means something.

I believe she understands me now.  She has learned to accept her restful fate on the couch and carefully chooses her moments to ask to go play.  She knows me.

And isn't that the most we could all ask for?