June 7: It’s not quite 6 am as I start this. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes noodling around with two ideas. One was an imagined conversation with a therapist in which I’m told to be kinder to myself. It’s filled with phrases like, “give yourself permission” and “start using could instead of should.” I tried to imagine the moral obligations of historical and mythical figures that might have played out differently if they had been advised to think of life as a choice. Odysseus decides not to go on his adventure, great battles never happen, different empires fall because someone swapped out “I could” for “I should” and decided to go back to bed instead. The other idea I was playing with was about the physicality of transitions – estuaries to be specific… They are places where salt water meets freshwater and they are teaming with diversity. I like this concept of “in between” or transition. It seems like it’s where interesting things happen…. but I was also imagining some grizzled and wise basketball or football coach yelling at his team to always be wary of the transitions – that’s where mistakes are made. I have no idea if this is true, but it felt like the type of wisdom a coach might impart. I briefly thought, “I should look it up” and then gave myself permission not to do that.
On my drive in to work yesterday, I listened to an interview with author and thinker Pico Iyer. By the end, I was ready to quit my job, travel the world, and be a writer. When it comes to quitting and doing more writing, I’m highly suggestible. Of course, what I’m missing is the deeply spiritual and philosophical upbringing, the Harvard and Oxford education, and the decades of practice and study. Of the handful of interviews I’ve listened to, this was one of the first where I felt that his privilege (as a child he attended school in England while his parents lived in California – frequently flying back and forth by himself) occasionally overshadowed the content. He would talk about his usual day of writing for five hours, reading for an hour, going for a walk, taking a nap, answering a few emails… and I kept thinking – that’s not the life most of us ever get to lead. I did it briefly when I was unemployed and living in Memphis. It was glorious.
I wonder about the early lives of writers and the early careers of writers. I think many of us have this romantic notion that they’re just good (talent) and probably look past the dedication and work that’s involved – the hours spent reading and writing. We glance over those things because they’re the less sexy aspect of the craft (or because the writer’s own ego downplays the “work” they’ve put in). I think we’d all like to arrive without having to put in the sweat equity. If I strive to be a better writer, and maybe a published writer, I can safely say that it has nothing to do with a desire for fame, but is partially influenced by the desire to have the freedom to spend my time thinking and writing. If I have a desire to be a writer, it’s because it’s one of the few areas in life where I think I might have the chance to make a difference or a contribution. But I don’t know where I’m going to get an uninterrupted five hours out of the day for writing and another hour or two for reading, plus naps, and walks, and maybe a relationship, and the dog and work.
June 8: I’ve been listen to interviews with a few of these spiritual thinkers (like Iyer). They all preach being in the present moment. They all preach practicing stillness and mindfulness… spending time in nature and slowing down. I’ve been trying to slow my mind down or regain focus or shut out chatter for years. Almost a decade ago (I think), I registered the name of this blog/website because I recognized the need/desire to slow down – to fight for my attention in the world of Twitter and Facebook. What I struggle with, almost every day, are the countless minor annoyances and slight pulls towards doing something (anything) other than what I’m doing in the present moment. Where I get frustrated with the various “gurus” is that the successful ones, the ones who are interviewed on podcasts, don’t seem to (or need to) participate in the rat race like the rest of us – which, I suspect, makes it a lot easier to preach mindfulness. One of the speakers said as much – when your worried about being hungry, you don’t spend any time worrying about being present. I remember reading Eat, Pray, Love and later learning that the author had gotten a significant advance payment on her book which allowed her to travel for a year “finding herself.” It is a luxury. I’m not saying I’m capable of doing what they do, writing or thinking as deeply or cogently as they do. For starters, that would discount the years or work they’ve put in… what I’m registering minor complaints over is that even if I wanted to attempt it, I have neither the space nor the time to do it (and maybe that’s just an excuse).
Maybe, what I’m longing to hear is the interview with Steve from accounting who would like to write, or paint, or play piano in a fusion band, and is looking for a girlfriend, and hates how busy his life gets at month-close-out time, and curses the owner of his company for not learning his name. He’s been there for six years… For Fuck’s sake Gary, it’s Steve, not Josh. He tries to be mindful and in the present moment, which he finds hard to do on his commute when people drive recklessly. He’s not so naive to think “if only I had this… then my life would be great” but he would like to travel more and spend more time in nature… but on most days he’s just tired. I want the interview with Steve because, well… my life is more like Steve’s than it is like these brilliant, deep thinkers who live the kinds of lives that allow them to be brilliant and deep thinkers. I very much appreciate what they are able to put out into the world, but it doesn’t seem within reach for me (much less, Steve).
I was thinking about these things on my drive home from work yesterday. I was trying to be present and enjoy the music and the hills. As I drove, I became acutely aware of when my attention was pulled away by road conditions or a nearby driver – usually zooming up on my tail at 90 mph as I’m passing someone at 80 mph, or swerving into my lane. I curse at them a lot and almost immediately chastise myself for not being kind or for being impatient with others or for “losing my cool.” I suppose there’s a reason people meditate while sitting still and not on the highway. But this is the practice that Thich Nhat Hanh recommends – zen in everyday life: smile while cutting carrots, smile while being cut off in traffic.
On these drives, I’ll also find myself in a circular argument. I don’t particularly like this long commute. But if I practice being present, I can notice the hills. But sometimes I’m tired of noticing the hills and want something else. Desire is the root of suffering – ok, I can accept that. Learn to be in the moment and appreciate the present – sure, should probably do more of that – these are some nice hills. But in this moment, I want something else, I feel a longing for something else (more time, love, a shorter commute, a less needy dog, a cheesesteak, a day off, help around the house, a morning of long quiet, good coffee, a nice cafe) – shouldn’t I acknowledge my desires? Maybe make some of them happen? How does one move through the world or do anything if one eliminates desire? Everything we do stems from either a need or a desire to change the present moment. Take a job, fall in love, make new friends, go to a concert, go to work, get groceries – they all are a type of movement and represent a change from the status quo. They all require some sort of action on our part, and action is very much in opposition to being still and in the present moment.
On my drive home… in addition to trying to be present and noticing when I wasn’t, I told myself I was going to run on the treadmill before dinner. It had been a long day at work (not so much in the actual hours) in which I focused on one project with very few breaks and still hadn’t finished. I knew I might not want to run, but I felt a little out of sorts (physically) and that I should run. When I walked in the door, the dog was especially bonkers to see me. In the five to ten minutes between settling him down, letting him out, and feeding him, I lost all motivation to exercise. I suddenly became very hungry and tired. I found myself saying, “I just want half an hour to myself.” I honestly don’t know how single parents do it. I don’t know how my wife and I raised a child or how we had any energy to do anything else. I took the dog for a short walk, made a frozen pizza, and melted into the sofa scrolling the news, dating apps, and social media – easy escapes that require no thought, no energy, no presence of mind.
I recognize that, in some respects, I’ve fallen into a type of mindfulness / enlightenment / awareness trap. Not that I am terribly mindful, enlightened, or aware. The trap I find myself in is that the more time I put into these things, the more time I want (almost need) to put into these things. The more aware I become of how my attention gets pulled in various directions, the more I seem to resent my attention being pulled away from where I’d like to direct it. I’m not suggesting this is a bad thing. If anything, I suspect it’s a step on the path to some type of happy acceptance or growth. The first step is always awareness. I suspect I used to be just as frustrated at traffic (I know I was) but I didn’t have a name for it or understanding of why it bothered me. I’d show up at my girlfriend’s place frustrated or tired, and she’d come home frustrated or tired, and I’m not sure either of us had the ability to say “my attention has been pulled in a million different directions today, and I’d like a few minutes to regain some control over that.”
Almost all of my frustrations are tiny battles of not being able to put my attention where I’d like to put it. Dog walks can be draining because I have to pay constant attention to his actions and the outside world of people, dogs, squirrels, cars. Traffic can be draining because I have to pay attention to everything else around me. Work can be draining because there’s always more to do and sometimes little progress for the effort that’s been expended. The trap, is being aware of it, being aware of some of the escape routes, but never quite fully arriving at Nirvana. This trap has existed for as long as we’ve been cognizant of our own thinking. In some respects, it’s echoed in Plato’s allegory of the cave: once we recognize that the “real world” is just a bunch of shadows, we need to figure out our responsibility to others and the self. This trap is very much a part of Buddhism and other spiritual practices – it is among the great paradoxes of the mind…
June 9: So what is one to do in the “real world?” What is one to do when they’ve been trained to be a dutiful and productive worker, they might have gotten reasonably good at a few things, and they begin to realize (or knew all along) that there might be more important things? Thoreau wrote extensively about this (he was a hermit in the woods at Walden – and also had financial support when he needed it). The vacations we want are always put off for lack of “finding the time” or having the money. The houses we want slip out of reach because the market has gone up or our savings have gone down. The loves we pursue become filled with arguments because the busy world demands our time and attention. To what end? Where and how can we say we made a difference, if we didn’t do it with kindness or grace or some internal fulfillment? All pretty high-minded ideals that I, admittedly, have the luxury to think about.
There’s a belief in Buddhism that stilling the mind and practicing kindness at the individual level is the only way to change the world. If you’ve ever tried it, it is incredibly hard work. It’s hard because this isn’t how we’re trained to think. It’s hard because our default setting (at least here in the US) is this other type of thinking that is anything but still. It can also feel like very selfish work – always focusing on the inner self. For significant chunks of my day, I operate on autopilot. I go through my routines. I have my meetings and conversations. I do some work – which is sometimes hard to define, or which starts to seem meaningless in the big scheme of things. Did we really just spend twenty minutes talking about the graphics to use on a Facebook post in order to sell tickets to an event? I seldom ask myself, was I kind or good in that moment or was I really present in that moment. Did I give myself to others as a boss, colleague, mentor, partner, friend, or family member? I’m not accustomed to asking myself those questions, though I’m becoming more aware of opportunities to ask myself those things and I’m becoming more aware of the moments when I’m not kind or not present (calling another driver a jackass) or when I am making assumptions about other people’s motives.
It’s almost 7:30 am. I need to stop here and pack my lunch and head in to work. I’ve already gotten 3 or 4 work emails that can wait until I arrive (though of course, I read the notification). This has been three days of an ongoing conversation (a half hour here and there, mostly in the morning when I’m not yet tired of myself). Much of the underlying conversation is about these unfulfilled desires of place, companionship, and pursuit of something with a little more depth of thought. Much of the underlying conversation is the difference between “should” and “could” or the estuary in my mind that says pursue those other desires and also stay still and do it all without any expectations of how it will play out.