No Return

Once upon a time people had lost touch with the planet. Maybe it was the result of the millennia-old doctrine that the human species should “...be fruitful and multiply” by filling the Earth, subduing it, and achieving dominion “...over every living thing that moveth upon on the earth.” Of course if “dominion” meant the kind of destruction they had wrought there would be nothing left to have dominion over. Maybe then it was the result of a self-centered unwillingness to make decisions with the future well-being of all living things in mind. Or, perhaps it was the result of the unintended consequences of countless individual and collective decisions that had been compounded and distorted over generations, regardless of their intent. Whatever the reason, people found themselves facing numerous existential threats. That their scientists recognized and labeled the uniqueness of the time as the Anthropocene was a sad endorsement of the profound global impacts they had caused. Signs of ecological collapse were everywhere: from the invention, use, and proliferation of nuclear weapons; to the encroachment of civilizations on sensitive habitats and resulting mass extinctions and loss of biodiversity; to the introduction of synthetic materials and their pervasive use affecting human and non-human living organisms with unforeseen synergies; to the unchecked extraction and combustion of fossil fuels and the associated release of heat-trapping gases that insidiously permeated and altered the functioning of the natural systems upon which all life on the planet depended. While many had raised alarms as habitat was consumed or contaminated, species went extinct, waste accumulated in vast manmade islands in the sea, and global temperatures rose, it took the climate change protests of a 15-year-old girl named Greta sitting outside her country’s Parliament building rather than attending Friday classes to capture the world’s attention. Sadly, by that time five key opportunities to step aside from their self-destructive ways had been missed and those people had lost their way.

The first opportunity to turn back might have occurred shortly after any of their numerous errors were made. Had they acknowledged the consequences of their actions soon after they were observed, they could have managed course corrections. It’s to be expected that people will digress from an ideal path from time to time, everyone makes course corrections. But for an entire society to deny that so many fundamental flaws in their interaction with the natural environment were occurring and instead proudly and defiantly march along with blinders firmly affixed, speaks to a collective mental illness. Those with the greatest control over the collective rudder were too enamored of their dominion over the planet and too greedy to admit how dangerously far they had strayed. Correcting one’s mistake and turning away from the negative before it is too late cultivates one’s virtue.

A return to a virtuous path could have been achieved quietly and without fanfare had leaders listened to and acted on the advice of those who were observing and documenting the hazards. Had they learned the lessons of past civilizations or listened to modern science, the necessary course corrections could have been made sooner and easier. Ancient civilizations had come and gone, but the simple truth was that humanity had survived for at least 6,000 years before the Anthropocene era of existential threats became apparent within a single lifetime. And when the truth of the situation was documented by science, the knee-jerk reaction was to deny the facts, tighten the blinders, and spread misinformation and doubt so the masses would not listen to the lessons of the past or the facts of the present. Sadly, the lifeline of wisdom was not grasped. Tough decisions are made easier by following the example of good people.

Repeated attempts to return to a path of virtue did occur. Moments of clarity flashed and segments of society moved in a positive direction but inevitably the special interests of the powerful thwarted meaningful course corrections. Society was enticed by material goods and comforts into ignoring the negative consequences. Misinformation about negative consequences was spread by those with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo for material gain. Schizopocene is a more apt historic label for that period when societal was plagued by the collective mental illness of materialism. There was a disconnection from long-term value and an infatuation with illusions of value derived from ephemeral objects of adolescent entertainment. Society waffled between times of urgent concern and mobilized action only to slip back to the convenient bad habits of indulgence and waste which led to widespread depression, uncertainty, alienation, impotence, and apathy. Seek stability to overcome the dangerous position of repeatedly being lured from the light by uncontrolled desire.

Solitary returns to a virtuous way were achieved by some. Despite a collective societal illness, there were those who recognized the insanity of the path being marched upon and who made the bold, difficult, and painful choice to step aside from the madness. They of course were labeled by their former compatriots as the mad ones. Estranged from their former comforts, without societal support, and unwilling to succumb to the enticements of the familiar patterns they were escaping, they sought refuge in solitude or small pockets of enlightened self-interest. They were outcasts, weirdos, and misfits who knew that another path was necessary and attainable and sought to brighten their own corners of the world.  Surrounded by bad influences, one seeks the light alone.

The noble-hearted among them were willing to stand up and admit that mistakes had been made. For many, it took children protesting on behalf of their collective futures on what they saw as an increasingly impoverished and inhospitable planet to shake their collective minds out of their stupors,  heed the warnings, and take action. A critical step in attempting to right the ship and chart a course to a more equitable and sustainable future was to acknowledge the error of society’s way and make the tough decisions needed to correct past mistakes that trailed behind in their wakes having untold unintended consequences. When they began to accept that something is wrong, they enabled themselves to discuss the mistakes they had made and collaborate to find solutions. One objectively examines one’s faults, confesses mistakes, and resolves to overcome them.

Unfortunately, the sad reality is that people of that time missed their opportunities to turn back from the brink. As their world continued to break one extreme heat record after the other and deniers of its human-caused reality continued to hinder societal action, they charged farther and farther toward their unsustainable future. Society’s world view was out of sync with the existential threats they faced and they had missed opportune times to correct course. Collectively, their ignorance, obstinacy, closed-mindedness, suspicion and arrogant self-centeredness had superseded their noble virtues and they found themselves on the verge of relegation as another failed experiment in human history. One has missed the opportunity to turn back and must suffer the consequences.

All the signs pointed to impending ecological and societal collapse. How long would it take for the cycle to end and present another chance to effect positive change? Could they endure that long and if so, what would the world and humanity look like after the march had steadfastly continued until then? If the Schizopocene ended and people came to their senses, would they rediscover freshly scoured beaches where footsteps could not be seen or tire treads in asphalt?

The Equalizer of Fairview

During my wanderings I had heard of a saintly woman who lived in the distant city of Fairview on a high plateau. She was known as The Equalizer because she had devoted her life to the fair distribution of food, shelter, and other basic human needs. After many years of wandering, my path led to her city. As I gazed up from below, it seemed to float above the world amongst morning clouds that shrouded its walls and towers. I climbed the road to her aerie and traversed eons with every several strides. By the time I’d reached the city walls, the clouds had dissipated. Below me mountain ranges piled up against the horizon. I imagined them being weathered, eroded, and carried into river channels and eventually to the sea where sediments would form over millennia only to be lifted to continue the cycle. While mind-boggling, that geologic story of equilibrium was one I could fathom. In contrast, how a person had managed to make her vision of societal equilibrium a reality was a story I had to hear. I had so many questions to ask when I finally had the opportunity to sit and talk with the Equalizer of Fairview.

I asked her to start at the beginning. “As a little girl,” she began, “I would stand here by the garden wall and offer our surplus produce to passersby. My parents encouraged me because there was only so much we needed and the fields were bountiful. I always enjoyed seeing the smiles when I offered free food. When I got older and went away to university, I found myself drawn to questions of social equity and fairness. I knew in my heart that it was right for everyone to have their basic human needs met and I struggled to understand how there could be such huge disparities in modern society between the haves and the have-nots. I recognized that technologically, civilization had made huge strides, but socially, we were still in the Dark Ages. From my studies it seemed that people had forgotten that the path to sustained happiness wasn’t through the manic acquisition and hording of land, wealth, and material but through enduring acts of kindness, generosity, and cooperation. I knew that I would be attacked, criticized, and challenged by those who were afraid to holster their competitiveness, but I needed to see those smiles so I kept a low profile and went about my business. I didn’t need attention nor did I want any critics undermining my resolve in those early times – I just wanted what was fair for everyone.”  Difficult undertakings are easily and quickly achieved when no claims or boasts are made.

“How did you go from making people smile to creating a community?” “The summer after completing my studies I was working the garden when a traveler like yourself stopped right where you did this morning. I could tell she was tired and hungry so I offered her water and some food, and sure enough, the smile appeared. It made me feel so good to help another stranger that I convinced my parents to let her stay. She stayed for a couple weeks but then went on her way and I didn’t think much about it until others started to arrive. Soon, we were enjoying a steady stream of visitors, some who stayed for a couple days and others who stayed for months. Living on a farm, there was always plenty for everyone to contribute and plenty of room to spread out. We never asked for anything from our guests other than their mutual cooperation in being helpful to everyone else. Before we knew it, people were coming from all around to live and work here. The joy of living and working together amongst people who were focused solely on being helpful to one another was as contagious as a virus. Over the years we expanded the gardens, built a school, and provided meaningful work for an entire community who live together and share nearly everything. Inner modesty finds expression in one’s behavior which brings good fortune.

“How did you deal with your fame?  Your reputation has spread around the world, you must get visitors like me all the time?” “Yes, before long, the press arrived,” she laughed.  “There were interviews and documentaries. Fairview was called a new utopia and I was asked to travel and speak to large groups about what we were doing and how we had achieved such a harmonious lifestyle. But, it seemed to me that people wanted to laud and celebrate our achievements more than emulate what we were doing in their own corners of the world. I repeatedly told them that it really wasn’t anything special, we just all shared a common understanding of the value to helping each other and an addiction to that wonderful feeling of seeing the happiness that came from working together to help each other.” I asked her what it meant to have had international prizes and recognition bestowed upon her for her achievements and she replied, “I was happy to receive their gifts and share them with others but I urged them to stop obsessing with what we had done and start brightening their own corners of the world.”  Remaining modest despite recognition achieves further support for one’s continued efforts.

“But, this farm is only so big,” I thought out loud. “How have you managed to sustain so many?” “Yes, you’re correct,” she continued. “We eventually reached the capacity of my parents’ farm but people continued to arrive. We had to make a decision: would we limit the influx to a sustainable balance – effectively creating a waiting list of those who wanted to join us? Or, was there another way?  No one wanted to close the gates and simply maintain what we had created, so we got creative. We created craft guilds and engaged in commerce with the local community. As those interactions grew and strengthened, our neighbor’s recognized the merit in what we were doing and our footprint expanded. People saw the benefits of taking responsibility for each other’s happiness through cooperation and sharing in contrast to the myopic self-centered fixation on individual gain that has plagued society and harmed the environment for so many years. Eventually, what had been a collection of individual homesteads on a remote plateau became the thriving city of Fairview.” Step beyond modest individual behavior and cultivate balance in mind and duty to society.

 

I’d listened to the Equalizer’s story well into the day with admiration but something nagged at me about it all sounding too easy. My question was just that, “If it’s been so easy to achieve here, why isn’t everyone doing this?” I asked. “'Easy' is a relative term of course," she laughed and showing me her palms said, "these calluses attest to 'hard' work, not 'easy,' but I’ve thought about that a lot too,” she said. “That's the crux of the matter, right? The way I see it, the people who made up the original core of Fairview came here seeking something different and were willing to invest all of their belongings and energy to create something that they could share in with others. That’s a lot different than convincing people who are content in their individualistic bubbles of relative comfort that they should do something completely different. We’re not seeking to convert the world to this way of living, we’re simply demonstrating that it is viable, sustainable, and enjoyable. People need to discover for themselves that the value of giving and sharing happiness and cooperation is greater than material satisfaction. Unless they are forced to step out of their narrow-minded reality by a catastrophe, collapse, or other crises and find a different way of living, they may never discover the joy and contentment that is possible.” Corrective actions must be taken objectively and in fairness to all.

“I guess that brings me to my final question then,” I said. “What’s next?” “I’m old and not as energetic as I once was,” she replied. “But I will never tire of the joy of causing a smile to appear on another’s face. I face criticism from many who accuse me of subverting economic prosperity and the way of life that has put humans on the moon, harnessed the atom, and cured horrible diseases. I never cower from those debates and humbly submit that that same way of life has decimated cultures, destroyed ecosystems, eradicated species, and now threatens the survival of humanity. I submit to them that there is another way and I and those who understand that way will continue to demonstrate that it is possible. “Only through having the courage to objectively see ourselves in the mirror will meaningful change be achieved.”

 

It was a lot to take in. The next day before heading back down from the plateau, I sat on a bluff and gazed across the distant countryside. I thought of all the thousands of people going about their individual lives in their separate little homes with their separate joys and concerns. They were all parts of neighborhoods, communities, cities, counties, states, and farther beyond nations. The common threads being that they were all people, they all depended on the same earth, and we all had the same basic needs. I’d seen from The Equalizer that it was possible to achieve a productive and sustainable societal order through the sharing of material, energy, talent, and care. The common thread binding the the people of Fairview was collaboration. I wondered how many of those my eye surveyed had experienced the joy of creating something bigger than their own households. I worried that having never experienced that joy, people would never conceive of the ability to achieve anything other than personal consumption and subsistence. And, that through the struggle for that subsistence, humanity would continue to compete, fight, and harm rather than cooperative, love, and heal.  I imagined the mountains beyond eroding into a level uniform plain where extremes were equalized and a balance was achieved between all things.  Wishful thinking perhaps, but I’d seen the enthusiasm that humbleness and equity could achieve and I went in search of more.

Trekking

Prologue

Any good journey starts with a long pull of a worthy ale.  That time a bottle of Sierra Nevada’s Torpedo Extra IPA did just fine.  It’s a calibration of sorts – a bitter benchmark that mingles with the sweat from my brow to infuse the jerky and soda bread with a familiar tang.  My lips caressed the smooth mouth of the bottle with a seductive familiarity.  I reminisced about past intimacies for a moment but checked the sentiment.  Such revelry at the start of a journey can only spell trouble.  I reminded myself that those delicacies had been left behind as I savored the dregs, released an acidic belch, and shouldered my pack.

I’d resupplied, posted some correspondence to ensure the few friends and family who’d be wondering about my whereabouts in lieu of real-time tracking, and sniffed enough of the national idiocy to reaffirm my decision to distance myself from the offal and seek fresher breezes in the wilderness.  Admittedly, this was partially a journey of escape as well as a quest.  On the one hand, I sought to escape the absurdities of 21^st century America.   On the other, I sought a state of mind that would permit me to rise above the petty and ephemeral day-to-day concerns of the world and find that rare and refined summit where one has not a care in the world.  I call that state “bliss,” that other-worldly realm where everything is right in one’s world, where one’s footfalls are a dance not a march, where everything is peaceful and serene.  It’s more than contentment and more than satisfaction.  Awe and ecstasy do it justice but perhaps they overstate the simple essence of being happy.  Surely we needn’t all reach nirvana to find happiness.  No, I wasn’t in search of that rarified state of enlightenment.  I simply sought that unnamed haven of mindful peace where I might someday doff my boots for good.  

Why should you care about this journey dear reader?  You should not.  You should get back to your own life and your personal amalgam of departures and arrivals, running away, running toward, or running in place.  Better yet, focus on your fun and games, dancing, dreams, and discoveries rather than concern yourself with my solo trek in search of something that sages would tell me I could only find within.  Perhaps though, you’ve settled in for the night and are in need of a tale to help you nod off.  Maybe you’re in a sick bed with nothing but this sorry story that you stumbled upon.  Maybe you too have wondered if you would be happier if you’d never known happiness?  Regardless of your motivation to journey with me, I promise to do my best to give you something to think about.  

A journal entry from that evening reads, “Perhaps one day I’ll find the realms of joy, elation, ecstasy, awe and bliss but such thoughts are a distracting fantasy now.  Hard work, lonely days, and many obstacles lie ahead.”

Chapter 1 – The Mudflats of Misery

I passed along mega-mansions standing shoulder to shoulder along some of the most beautiful coast in the world and wondered if all the residents were happy living in such splendor.  No doubt they feel joy in varying degrees at the accomplishment, luck, or other circumstances that landed them in such beautiful homes.  But happiness is only skin deep.  As with all mortals, each one will be susceptible to individual trials and tribulations that produce their own personal forms of unhappiness.  Happiness is the collection of experiences that have meaning for us.  It's not a singular item that we can possess.  It’s a collective and cumulative outcome that is constantly recalculated and reassessed.  There are variables in the equation that have different weights and there are constants.  The joys of one’s life remain fixed and will ever after weight the outcome positively.  At the same time, the sorrows and losses one has suffered will similarly weight the outcome negatively.  How one balances the equation actively (some would say the pursuit of one's destiny) versus how it is influenced by random fate may speak to one’s desire to seek happiness or conversely to succumb to the Mudflats of Misery.

Mired in the Mudflats of Misery.  What a dismal state to be found.  I feel fortunate to have had few encounters with the stinking clinging muck that one must occasionally slog through.  It weighs down each step as the sucking sound of each footstep ushers a waft of disgust, remorse, and regret.  Many find themselves trapped in those odious regions; out beyond the Rivers of Resignation and the Sands of Sadness.

What is one to do when life’s choices and uncontrollable circumstances land one in such a state?

One approach is to not fight it.  Eventually the muck will dry up or wash away.  If we can wait it out patiently we will conserve energy and not make matters worse.  We will also afford ourselves the time to focus on inner pursuits.  One might meditate, fast, pray, or simply observe the physical world from that vantage point.  A review of the circumstances that led one to be entrapped in that muck may be instructive as a means to avoid recurrence.

The drying process will take time and one will be exposed to extreme conditions which may also be uncomfortable or painful.  Fortification is needed to reduce the desiccation, solidification, and ossification of the entrapping conditions.  It will require the endurance of the mountain that waits patiently as change swirls around.  Perhaps help is needed to endure?  Seek nourishment from those who care and can provide love and support.

Conversely, the process of washing the muck away may happen dramatically and severely.  Will it be a hurricane or a flood?  Both will batter the body and threaten to wash you away with the muck you wish to escape.  What will anchor you as the reminders of your misery are washed away?  Friends?  Family?  Social structures like church or work?  These and other external aspects of normality can serve as anchors while you endure the turbulent cleansing of a storm.  Without anchors of some sort you may get swept up in the flood of painful memories that have trapped you as the maelstrom uproots and brings them to the surface or the sun bakes them out only to have them blown in your face.

Perhaps this life’s journey requires such lessons.  Or, for those who resist the notions of fate and predestination, perhaps you will resist and fight.  That’s certainly another tactic.  How will you conduct that exercise?  Will it be planned or reactionary?  Have you training in such enterprises or is it your first such challenge?  Having the desire to fight suggests a will to change and defy the circumstances.  One has assessed the situation and made the conscious choice that – “to hell with this place, I’m out of here!”  How one goes about actively ridding oneself of the offending muck will be influenced by one’s life experiences, knowledge, ingenuity, endurance, resources, and time (for starters).

Recognizing the situation and assessing the options is a necessary 1^st step.  When we’re embedded in the muck, we often don’t realize it.  It may have gradually spread and surrounded us like morning fog.  One’s behavior may have slowly changed in response to the situation without obvious effect – at least from the inside.  Here again, counsel from valued parties can help us recognize the situations we’re in and help us see the need to break free.  Through friends, photographs, writings, and other recollections, one gains perspective and is reminded that it is possible to live in a more pleasant state of mind.  Those memories can serve as navigation beacons away from the Mudflats of Misery.

If it’s a battle that must be waged we must be clear on what we’re fighting and what weapons are appropriate.  More than a physical adversary, we’re more likely to be fighting a battle for survival.  It may be more of a rescue mission than a fight.  Is there a grappling line that can be tossed to firm ground, a solid stone, or a nearby tree?  Better yet, perhaps another soul is within earshot and can be hailed.  When tired of the situation and in need of help, reach out and seek the aid of whoever happens to be nearby.  Chances are that aid will be provided rather than aggression, indifference, or mockery but if the latter has been one’s past experience, it’s unlikely one would wish to risk repeating the situation.

No one nearby?  No grappling hook?  How stuck are you really?  Perhaps you’ve exaggerated your predicament.  It’s an honest mistake.  People have drowned in a foot of water out of ignorance or inopportune orientation.  So assess your options fully and honestly.  This may take some time and perspective.  Observe how things are changing.  Do creatures come and go?  Does debris get washed by?  Is there anything of value within reach?  Are you truly stuck or can you wiggle a bit?  Can you dislodge a foot and make gradual progress towards a change in orientation?  Perhaps there’s something just behind you that’s been overlooked?  Perhaps there’s something buried in the muck that could be of use.  Reach around, dig, explore, work.

Struggling is hard work.  When we struggle it needs to be for a well-defined purpose otherwise we’re wasting energy and hoping for dumb luck.  Some random struggling is inevitable – especially when we’re angry and have the energy.  Some flailing about may have unexpected positive outcomes, but we can also injure ourselves.  At a certain point it may become a fight against fate and success by happenstance may be the only hope so give it a shot, what’s there to lose?

Active effort directed at extraction from the Muds of Misery can help balance the equation.  One is invigorated by action and action leads to hope.  If there were no hope, one would give up (which is different from waiting).

Hope and desire to leave the Mudflats are essential to enduring.  We gain that hope through the recollection that it’s not always been this way, through the observation that others are not universally stuck in the same situations, and through the encouragement of others – either those coincident in time/place or those who have played a significant and positive role in our lives – either personally or indirectly (as I hope this may be).

Extraction can be a long process and entrapment may occur repeatedly but hopefully with practice, each extraction will get easier or we'll avoid the mudflats entirely.

Dances with Cords

I was always a reel mower guy.  Each year I’d remove the wheels and pinions, switch the position of the pawls in the reel shaft, switch the pinions from one side to the other, replace the wheels, and with a thin film of lapping compound on the blades, spin them backwards against the cutter bar to put a clean edge and polish on for the start of the season.  Slight adjustments of the cutting bar and some elbow grease would result in a shiny edge across all of the blade surfaces.  After putting it all back together the way it was to start, I was good to go:  low tech and dependable.  The only thing that gave out after about 10 years was the handle which I fixed with the section of some steel pipe I’d saved for just such a need.  Stuff eventually wore out that was beyond my skill at repair so I eventually bought a second.  I believe that was the extent of my capital investment in lawn moving technology since about 1986 when we bought our first house.

Not that I was uncomfortable with a Briggs and Stratton.  Hell, I took one into shop class in high school and put it all back together.  Sure, it didn’t run but I learned how to gap a sparkplug!  My folks had two acres when I grew up so we always had a push mower.  I was no stranger to small gas engines and the flying debris a six-horsepower engine generates.  I just never cared for the noise, the gasoline and oil, the steel blade whirring at 3,000 rpm that could easily remove a toe, and the bits of rock that could scour the chrome off a bumper (back when bumpers were still made of chrome).  No, I opted for the quiet whir of a man-powered spinning reel of sharpened steel that stopped when I stopped, that didn’t pitch stones at my neighbor’s kids, that was easy to swing around with one hand, and did a nifty job on my postage-stamp 1/8^th acre just fine, thank you very much.

What a surprise it must’ve been to my neighbors to hear the hum of my new electric Green Works mower one weekend after Father’s Day last year.  I’m not sure if it was more my wife’s decision or the kids’ – I think they all felt a bit deprived over the years about not having a “legitimate” lawn mower in the garage.  Not that the reel didn’t do a swell job, but ok – it did take several passes to conquer the errant tall weed, and yes twigs did tend to jam the mechanism, and yes it was “old fashioned.”  So, I decided – ok, I’d give it a try.  I already had the extension cord for use of an electric trimmer, so I figured this would be a similar exercise.  Plug it in and away you go.  Well, yes and no.

Yes, it’s a suitably powerful electric motor and I must admit that the spinning blade flying at thousands of revolutions per minute does an equal job to most perfectly sharpened reel mower.  And yes, the bagger attachment and the mulching option are both helpful – heck I can use the thing as a vacuum when leaves are on the driveway.  And twigs?  No problem – chops them right up like nobody’s business.

Then there’s the cord.  Managing the extension cord with an electric mower is a bit of an art – well, more a dance.  The trick of course is to not run over the cord while the blade is spinning.  There is a safety handle that will cut the power when released, so the chance of damaging something by running over it is lessened if you’re paying attention, but it is still possible.  The awkward bit is arranging the cord so that the action of running up and down the yard is as efficient as possible.  Think about it.  You have to work away from the cord.  I keep the cord on my left and work to the right.  I run up one row with the cord on my left so that when I turn and come back the row to the right the cord is now on my right (toward the cut grass).  I continue to work away from the cord always keeping the cord to the cut side as I move toward the uncut.  Sounds easy enough and for the most part it is.  Complications arise when I have to traverse steep grades that require some back and forth movement or return to an area that’s been cut.  It takes a bit of finesse to keep the cord out of the way on the steep front grade of my yard.  I wrap the cord over my left shoulder, use my right foot to whip the trailing cord aside, and grip the safety handle with my right hand while doing my best not entangle my feet all while working to avoid shaving the grass too closely at the border between the steep bank and the sidewalk.

I imagine my neighbors watching the dance from across the street.  I figure they’re ready by the phone waiting to dial 9-1-1 or they’re filming for an episode of American’s Funniest Home Videos since they know the powered mower is a novelty in my yard and that the tangle of orange extension cord around my feet can’t be intentional.  Now into my second season with the machine, I feel like I have the choreography down though.  I flip the cord aside with a flourish as I make my turns and enjoy the speed with which I can complete the task as well as the tidiness of the finished product as I dispose of the cuttings.  I’m guessing the neighbors appreciate the improved quality of the cut as well.

Still, powering up a 13 amp 120-volt electric mower can’t compare to the nostalgic metallic snicking of the reel blades against the cutting bar.   Of course, after all those years with the trusty red Great States I wasn’t about to send it to the metal recyclers.  It’s still waiting in the garage for another chance to show its stuff.  No doubt it’ll reclaim the position of glory when the new-fangled machine has electrical problems that are beyond my ability to repair.

On Separation

I wonder if my dad tasted a sweet lump of separation in 1981 when he realized it might be the last time he and I would spend an extended period of time together in his professional environment.

It happened to me earlier this month.  The ride to work, the walk into the office, the agreement that my son and I would catch up to talk about the day’s activities after we’d settled in, and the knowledge that he’d be around to fulfill his duties as an intern were all in the past.  In their places were the quiet emptiness of the passenger seat, the absence of his soft footfalls up the stairwell from the parking garage, and the fading memory of his bleary morning smile as he strode off toward his cubicle around the corner and I to my office down the hall.  As I settled into my routine, I found myself recalling the many ways that he made my job easier this summer and how special it was to have someone so close to me there to lend a hand wherever he could.

Seeing my son make a significant contribution in my professional environment made his absence more acute.  When he started, I was worried that I’d be able to find enough work for him to do and that it would be interesting and relevant to his studies.  But before long he was fully engaged with other young engineers in the office.  He made friends easily.  He demonstrated a knack for data analysis.  And he picked up the rhythm of the office and worked independently.  Weeks before it was time for him to head back to school I realized it was going to be a tough adjustment back to office life without him.

With my dad it wasn’t a matter of working together, but there was a longer period of time when I was a part of his professional life.  All four years of my undergraduate education were spent at the university where he was a professor.  I’d drop by his office to say hello, we’d grab a bite to eat at the student union, on weekends I might go home and ride back to school with him on Monday, and best of all – I was able to enroll in one of his classes.

At the end of those four years, I’m sure there was a period of adjustment for him too.  He probably missed the rides to work together, the shared walks from the parking lot, and the occasional lunches.  I’m guessing that he would have missed our classroom time as professor and student the most.  As a person who loved the college experience so intensely that he chose to never leave that setting, I’m certain that he relished the opportunity to share the teaching experience with me in the classroom.  Maybe it hit him hardest during the final hour of that last class when I was happily looking forward to the next semester and he was anticipating seeing another student sitting in my seat.

I wonder if he felt like I do now.  I’d rather retain the ache of separation than let it fade.  It’s a good ache.  It tells me that the memory of working with my son is still fresh.  Soon I know that the details will blur as time passes and memories of other events accumulate.  I’ll recall the broad strokes of working together, but not the intricate details of specific projects, the subtle inside jokes about co-workers, or the specifics of his accomplishments.  As often happens, the generic memory will likely be one of a happy and special time that we shared together.

Maybe the broad strokes of our time together at work will be strong enough to elicit that lump in my throat years hence.  In the case of my memories of life at the university with my father the events of four years seem like a movie reel labeled, “university days with Dad.”   When I think back to those times, special events pop up like still photos in my mind as the film spins along and I attempt to focus on the details.  For me, the memories elicit nostalgic feelings of happy times past but not a lump in the throat.  Would that I could ask my dad how memories of those times affect him all these years later, but that opportunity was lost with his passing some 23 years ago now – a loss that still elicits its own unique ache.

One never knows what events will have a lasting impact on others.  We don’t know how our words or actions will be perceived or remembered or what influence they’ll have on others.  What we do know is how we feel when we recall significant events – either good or bad.  For me, memories of hurtful things said or done to a loved one can elicit a lump in the throat similar to happy times.  Whether associated with the memory of my father’s passing, the return of my daughter around the world to Shanghai after a visit home, hurtful things said to a loved one, or the conclusion of my son’s internship, I think the poignant emotion that exhibits itself as a lump in my throat is one of departure, distance, and separation. 

I’ll try to hold onto the sweet aches of separation associated with happy times so as to recall the positive influences that those events have had on my psyche.  And, I have no choice but to also live with my mind’s insistence on recalling those unhappy events when I’ve created bitter separations as life lessons for how to be a better person.

On Reality

Each generation offers its own interpretation of reality.  Each contributes bits of wisdom and pieces of confusion born of experience and imagination, observation and creativity, fact and fiction to the ever-accumulating puzzle that constitutes our shared reality.  The artist’s interpretation helps us to see from a different perspective, another angle, another dimension.  The scientist applies observations of the past and present to codify and document measurements in support of new applications and theories.  Combined, they help to define what is real.

Meanwhile, the seasons continue to change, the tides continue to ebb and flow, the sun continues to burn, the galaxies continue to spiral.

We seek meaning in that awesome puzzle through our unique experiential perspectives.  The moment passes and we turn to our wakes, contrails, footprints, and memories for understanding. 

We ask: 

Why did that happen?

What have I accomplished?

Were those good decisions?

Have I made a difference?

Why did I do that?

What was I thinking?

Who cares?

“How did I get here?”

Naturally, our individual perceptions temper all subsequent interpretations, but each individual construction of reality is by definition limited.  Not even by assimilating and deciphering all human perspectives could one completely comprehend this reality.  The overwhelming magnitude of the incomprehensible forces us to focus on the pieces we can grasp.  We empathize, we celebrate, we laugh, we love, and we engage in the dynamic process within which we’re all inextricably entwined.  We find meaning in these shared experiences and then we might ask: 

Who will I help?

How will I help?

What shall I do now?

Where will I go?

How will I do more?

How can I do better?

When I find meaning, I don’t ask why, I just bask in the glory of a clear mind, a passionate heart, and an active body.  I “just do it” with confidence.

Our reality is defined by the limits of our senses and our ability to manipulate the world around us to deepen and broaden that awareness.  The senses filter our perception to a finite suite of inputs that we have the capacity to assimilate and apply.  Most of us do not understand the spiritual or psychic dimensions of reality so, despite evidence and intuition of their power and importance, we focus on the material plane of existence – objects, experiences, places, and feelings.  With the aid of technology, we augment our limited human perceptions with subatomic, intergalactic, and mathematical explanations.

Is a subatomic particle real to me?  No.  Quarks and such are abstractions that are "real" to Fritjof Capra and his ilk (although he's noted that "subatomic particle do not exist but rather show 'tendencies to exist,' and atomic events do not occur with certainty at definite times and in definite ways, but rather show 'tendencies to occur.'" (The Tao of Physics)

Well then, how about the Horsehead Nebula?  Sure – we’ve seen the photos:

There it is, thanks to the Hubble Telescope for us all to see.  It’s out there in the cosmos and a part of our vernacular along with quasars and supernovae.  And, they influence our world by simply being a part of it – by being pieces of that multi-dimensional puzzle we build moment by moment, day by day from the myriad fragments, tidbits, and morsels that we stumble across, intentionally seek out, or have thrust upon us day in and day out. 

How are you interpreting this reality?  What pieces do you fit into your puzzle today?  Do you collect them through song, dance, athletic achievement, innovation, discovery, love or pain, through cooperation or competition?  What lens do you use? 

I find meaning in the laughter of my children, the caress of my wife, a hug from my mother, the memory of my father.  These provide sustenance and are indeed real and essential ingredients of my reality.

I experience the breath of cool autumn wind on my cheek, the ache of sore muscles after a bike ride, the aroma of hot coffee in the morning, the smell of freshly cut grass in the summer, the squeak of sub-zero snow under foot, the bliss of freshly-baked Christmas stöllen in my mouth.

I find meaning in the balance of night and day; the aging of my children; the graying of my mother’s hair; the spreading of the oak tree’s branches; the deterioration of my driveway’s concrete; the release of a Frisbee from my fingertips and its graceful arc to the hands of my running friend; the warmth of my child’s embrace and the ache in my throat that missing it produces.

What trajectory will your life follow?  What echoes will your life reflect?  Will they be consonant or dissonant?  Yes.

Will they reinforce or cancel?  Yes.

Will they produce cheer or dread?  Sorry to say, yes – even a saint crushes a blade of grass every now and then.

Unfortunate though it is, we cannot control how our actions may be interpreted – either in the near term or distant future.  Spouses of 27 years miscommunicate.  Families are unable to find common ground.  Friends are alienated by misunderstandings.

How then can we expect to confine the interpretation of one’s actions and words to that narrow intent from which they originated?

We can’t.  But you usually get more than one chance so keep trying.

Will we recognize all the opportunities?

Will we take all the chances?

Will we learn from our mistakes?

Which paths will we follow?

Where will those paths lead?

When will we step from one path to another and why?

Does it really matter?

Each choice we make sets us along another dimension of this reality – toward unchartered territory as an individual and a member of the community.

When do your actions influence those of your fellows?

When do they not?

Is it possible to have no influence?  Or, is that called death?

No, not even in death will we have no influence - we will continue to have profound influences for simply having lived.  Having lived, we have altered the course of history.  Imperceptible though that alteration may be today, the compounding ripples of one’s life will continue to resound through the ages in profound, subtle, and untraceable ways.  No wake, no contrail, no footprint, and no memory can define the influence of a lifetime.

Life – it’s a huge responsibility.