Even in Kyoto

One of the things I deeply appreciate about scrottie is his strong drive to do work on projects. There's a piece of that drive that could be labeled "introversion," but it's more than just that. I relate to this aspect of S because after a certain point I grow weary of neverending parades and parties and social occasions and talking. Weary of sitting and watching movies, too. I have a higher tolerance of these things than he does, but the underlying sentiment is the same. Enough; let me go do things on my own, take time to think and not speak.

A couple of visits back, my uncle F and I had a brief conversation about projects. He pointed out a simple insight he'd had, that the thing that has kept him up and moving in the long term has been projects. If he didn't develop projects in his workplace, he said he wouldn't have managed to keep burning the rubber to get to work every morning. He went over one day to check out the activity happening at a retired neighbor's house, spying a group of guys hanging out and watching a construction crew, and they all knowingly glanced at each other and said, "Projects." Even in retirement, that's what keeps them going. If I'm kept too long from my stream of projects, I know I get anxious. But I know many other people who have been content with sliding into something of a mental vegetable state. Did they make that choice consciously? Is it the result of some sort of giving up? Are they stuck in a state of struggling to survive that makes it hard to think of much else?

For me, the projects are a piece of the Existential Crisis. It's important to be aware of that. In many ways, they're a struggle against many of the conveniences handed to us on a platter by modern socioeconomic circumstances present in the United States of America. I don't really need to finish making a quilt; it would be cheaper, easier, and far, far faster to just go to a store and buy one, especially if I'm willing to be completely blind to the conditions in which the quilt is made. The quilt also isn't even art in the Western sense, as it's being made for a small audience, and won't be particularly good or nice because it's my first quilt ever and I don't entirely know what I'm doing. But it's there, and I *will* work on it.

The projects are also not hustle and bustle in an attempt to cover up the silence. The silence still creeps through and sends me back to books like Man's Search for Meaning. We'll see about Goedel, Escher, Bach and whether or not it speaks to me at all. I want to go visit the silence, actually, on mountaintops or on lakes.

Is it possible to shift the national discourse away from happiness? It's written into the Declaration of Independence, and yet I'm inclined to agree with Man's Search for Meaning that happiness doesn't relate back to fundamental aspects of the human experience. Advertisers have long exploited the idea because it's an effective selling point.

Religious practice or spiritual development can be a form of project - for many, if not most, a very worthwhile one. Rowing, for me, has been a long-term project.

I remember, quite distinctly, waking up one morning while I lived in the Farmer House, the white light of the Arizona sun shining in through the white curtains, reflecting off the white walls, making the room almost impossibly bright. I had the distinct sensation that my arm, made up of its billions of tiny, metabolically active cells, wasn't fully a part of me, that it would one day return to dust. Then the inner demons compelled me to get up and get back to work.

Clearly, the trip over the weekend was wonderful, and yet it was one of those times when I really wanted to be enrapt but just wasn't. The landscape was beautiful, the company entertaining, and I love to ride my bike, but I didn't feel subsumed in the experience or the place. I talked to D about this deadened feeling a bit yesterday and the fact that she could relate to this experience was comforting--she has such a good emotional perspective (you do, D, you do).

Beyond that, I could recite for you a narrative of events, or a list of facts and figures, but reading text on the internet isn't the same thing as stepping outside, strapping stuff on a bike, and going, going, going.

The other thing that really stuck in my mind was conversations with one of my traveling companions, P. I should back up for a moment and mention my connections to the entirety of the group, because it was not a gang of the usual suspects. Well, one suspect was kind of usual, a grad student with a professed love of bikes and interest in touring. The other three are people who I have gotten to know through biking in various formats (the co-op, bike rides, biking-related events, bike shops)--it seems that K is right that like-minded people end up eventually finding each other here, whether through usual or unusual channels.

Anyway, one of the other riders is a "ships in the night" sort of person for me--even when we are in the same space, we can't quite talk to each other in a straightforward way, but look past each other and see mostly ourselves. I wouldn't ever expect to be able to really talk and don't necessarily want to be able to, but this slippery quality makes me think of other people with whom I've had transient connections but who have nonetheless had a disproportionate impact on me. In the present case, our infrequent contact and conversations give us interesting perspectives on each other. The previous time I had talked to him he said he was quite pleased with how his life was going, what with a switch to a new, stable job, and that he wasn't really looking to date anyone or make any drastic changes to his life--things were good. Subsequently, of course, he proceeded to start dating another biker, which is another great thing for him, and on the present trip he could not contain his joy about having a job that lets him do what he loves, a great girlfriend, and opportunities to do incredible things like go bike touring for a weekend through beautiful country.

As a transient outsider, I couldn't help but agree--his life does sound like it's going well. Yet something about the conversation bothered me, but not in any way I could articulate to him or myself (I don't really have to articulate the bother to him, but to myself, I must always articulate). I thought of my own life, which is also going well by many such standards--I do like the emotional rollercoaster of my academic profession, I have the opportunity to do the many things I love (rowing, biking, Scrabble, etc.), and I am surrounded by loved ones.

And yet--it is the "and yet" in my brain that makes me wonder and that reminded me of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs (read the entry for both definitions and criticisms--even if incorrect, the concept has utility). All of the things that he has described and that I have described for myself fill our basic human needs for a sense of security and even more "advanced" needs like a feeling of participating in a larger context and making a positive contribution to society. At least for me, though, there's no way for me to stop striving and seeking out more, more, more, and I don't mean the material more or the social more or the artistic more. I just mean the beyond. I could tell you that I accept this truth of myself, but I don't, always. Right now I think the "more" lies in a need for a connection to the land (is this "more" merely the restlessness described by Berry?), but I don't know for sure until I try the thing out.

Last night I went on another bike ride with a larger group of people--since it's a week before a major Christian holiday, we decked ourselves out in festive colors and played Christmas carols as we rode through the neighborhoods. I attached dangly snowflakes to my handlebars, where they twirled in the wind, and hung a Jolly Gnome Ornament from my saddle. In the darkness, riding my bike felt safely dangerous and fast, and as always the lights on the sleeping lake drew me in as we rode alongside.

Highlights of yesterday and today:

-Feelings of stability and constancy, and fun visiting with family and old friends. My best friend's mother mentioned that she has known my father for close to 40 years by now--she and my father attended Gonzaga U together. My parents and annikusrex's parents have been like family for each other. As time goes on, I'm ever more aware of how unique my life is in terms of the glue of family and friends that holds it together. This is why, no matter how far away I move or how long I am gone, I always feel like my life goes on pause the moment I am away from Seattle. I'd like to believe I can find the same sort of consistency and stability somewhere else, but it's taking a lot of looking and I haven't come close to finding it yet.

-Rowing on Lake Union/Portage Bay this morning. It has been YEARS. Ahh, I missed it so much. This is a huge part of why I'm drawn to return. Rowing on Seattle waterways is so different--the air is softer and easier to breathe, the scenery is so varied and interesting (houseboats, oh my!), and it's both familiar and different. One of my fellow Arizona Outlaws said that coming to Seattle felt like putting on an old, favorite pair of pants (he's from San Francisco, but the feel of the two cities is similar). The water, the air, the trees, they are in my blood. One of the poems that used to be on the Metro Buses had a line about Northwesterners that I have never forgotten--moss grows on the north side of our bones. My friends from elsewhere get tired of hearing me talk about Seattle, but I cannot stop. I can't expect them to really understand. I only hope that rowing this morning and again on Tuesday will be restorative enough to continue to inspire me in the months to come.

And I actually got some coaching! A whole five minutes of it. I think the coach was surprised by how rapidly my rowing stroke changed. But it was one of those moments where I knew I wasn't rowing as well as I could and only needed a few small remarks to adjust and expand my technique. It seems like coaches are often surprised by how adaptable my stroke can be--I think years of playing the piano taught me to be flexible where many rowers end up stuck with their bad habits. It also helped me when I realized, some years ago, that coaches are trying to help me row more comfortably and efficiently, so even if something feels awkward at first, it will feel so much better in the long run.

-Good times with gfrancie and the gang. People are so interesting and fun. It's neat to get to drop in and see in person some of the people whose thoughts and ideas I read so regularly.

And on a random note:
In the past two months, I think I've encountered more opportunities to ponder the phrase "sowing wild oats" than ever before in my life. (most of these opportunities stem from hanging out with the boyz too much) Seeing as I have only limited patience for getting involved in all of this oats-sowing business, I'm finding it quite amusing.

This is some of the stuff that keeps on getting a bit lost in my life. It's always nice to have reminders. I just have to keep on trying. The other day I *did* realize that I stopped gossiping about people around me about 3 months ago, and that felt like a really positive change. After all, how can I work on the stuff in my own head if I'm that focused on other people?

( Maslow's characteristics of self-actualized people )

Today has been windy, but cool, so we were able to keep the windows open all day. I did a number of chores that I have been putting off for a while. I'm still tired from yesterday, but at the same time I feel restless and don't want to do much in the way of work. I keep telling myself I shouldn't feel guilty for not working this weekend.