The Joy of Bicycling

A joyful ride through Manhattan (2022)

Bicycles emerged on the scene relatively late in human existence. In fact, the first bicycle was introduced by the German inventor Karl von Drais in 1817, a full 13 years after the introduction of the first locomotive in Britain. And it wasn't until 1885 that the "safety bicycle" was introduced, the first bicycle design resembling modern bicycles.

Throughout its history, bicycling has experienced alternating boom and bust cycles. It boomed when the safety bicycle first came on the scene, only to bust when the automobile was first introduced – and for many years following. It experienced a resurgence with the environmental movements and gas crisis of the 1960s and 1970s, only to see its popularity wain once again heading into the 21st century. Most recently, the bicycle has seen a resurgence once again as citizens become more concerned with a changing climate and see the bicycle as an excellent substitute for short car journeys. For more on the efficiency and usefulness of the bicycle, see our previous post "A Primer on Bicycling."

Towards the end of our post "A Primer on Bicycling," we examined how centering urban design around the bicycle really brings the urban space back to a human scale. In this post, I want to examine another, often overlooked, aspect of the bicycle: joy. Think back to when you were a kid and the feeling of freedom at being able to propel yourself around on your first bicycle, far outstripping the distances you could cover on foot. Even as an adult, riding a bicycle provides the rider with freedom of movement and natural exercise, but it also allows space for what I can only describe as a "bicyclist's high." 

It's that feeling of euphoria that comes about from racing down a hill, the long-awaited payoff from the struggle to the top. It's that feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment that you propelled yourself around town rather than relying on an engine (and can now pig out for the rest of the day). It's the recognition of the simplicity of the machine, marveling as the mere pumping of your legs – the pedaling of your feet – drive the bicycle forward. It's the space to let your mind wander in the midst of an otherwise chaotic world. 

With these euphoric feelings in mind, let's take a look at what others have had to say about the bicycle and their experiences with it throughout the years.

"It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of the country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle."  
→ Ernest Hemingway

"Ever bike? Now that's something that makes life worth living!...Oh, to just grip your handlebars and lay down to it, and go ripping and tearing through streets and road, over railroad tracks and bridges, threading crowds, avoiding collisions, at twenty miles or more an hour, and wondering all the time when you're going to smash up. Well, now, that's something! And then go home again after three hours of it...and then to think that tomorrow I can do it all over again!"  
→ Jack London

"Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race." 
→ HG Wells

"I came out for exercise, gentle exercise, and to notice the scenery and to botanise. And no sooner do I get on that accursed machine than off I go hammer and tongs; I never look to right or left, never notice a flower, never see a view - get hot, juicy, red - like a grilled chop. Get me on that machine and I have to go. I go scorching along the road, and cursing aloud at myself for doing it." 
→ HG Wells

"Get a bicycle. You will not regret it, if you live." 
→ Mark Twain

"When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking." 
→ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

"Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride." 
→ John F. Kennedy

"After your first day of cycling, one dream is inevitable. A memory of motion lingers in the muscles of your legs, and round and round they seem to go. You ride through Dreamland on wonderful dream bicycles that change and grow." 
→ HG Wells

"Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel. It gives a woman a feeling of freedom and self-reliance. It makes her feel as if she were independent... the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood." 
→ Susan B. Anthony

"Meet the future; the future mode of transportation for this weary Western world. Now I'm not gonna make a lot of extravagant claims for this little machine. Sure, it'll change your whole life for the better, but that's all." 
→ Salesman in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

A joyful ride through Central Park (2022)

A Primer on Bicycling

A mass of bicycles
Cambridge Train Station, Cambridge, United Kingdom

Riding a bicycle is something that feels fundamental to modern humanity, but is perhaps more accurately described as an acquired taste. It is apparently also a polarizing topic these days. Cycling has become one of many de facto stand-ins for the rhetoric surrounding climate change and political differences. It's often considered liberal to ride a bicycle; I think a more appropriate term would be progressive. Riding a bicycle gets you out of your comfort zone, it requires you to see things differently – it quite literally moves you forward. That is progress; that is progressive. But not everyone sees it that way.

Take a gander at the comment threads of articles covering myriad topics from greenhouse gas emissions to the automobile industry to gridlock to street safety and you will find opinions voicing both support and malice for the humble bicycle. The vitriol is all rather baffling. Yes, we've no doubt all witnessed a cyclist rolling through a red light at one time or another (though the Idaho stop – which alters allowed behavior at stop signs and red lights – is legal in several states); it really is a case of a few bad apples ruining the whole bunch. Additionally, there is no shortage of driver complaints about the slower and more exposed cyclist occupying the same lane or an adjacent lane on public roadways, an arrangement that is decidedly unsafe for the cyclist, unless he is protected by a physical barrier of some sort.

There can be no denying, though, the benefits of cycling. Cycling is low-impact, and therefore contributes to cardiovascular health without damaging effects to the joints. Health benefits also include general fitness as well as reduced stress and anxiety. A further benefit of cycling is reduced traffic congestion, which may explain the corresponding reduction in stress for the rider who is no longer caught in traffic.

From an emissions standpoint, motor vehicles produce an estimated 30% of total carbon dioxide emissions in the US, and of this total it is estimated that 60% is produced early in the trip when the vehicle is operating inefficiently. Cycling is an excellent replacement for these short trips. The efficiency of bicycles could be a gamechanger in the transport industry if only we can bring it to scale: a person on a bike can go approximately 960 miles on the same amount of energy required for a car to travel a mere 20 miles. It is critical, then, that we increase cycling rates to combat climate change; a prospect that appears to have broad public support if only we make it safer. 

There also appears to be sufficient interest in locations with varied climates and political systems, with the percentage of people using bicycles as their primary mode of travel for short distances in China and Japan slightly outstripping the rates seen in places more traditionally considered to be bicycle friendly such as Germany, Belgium, and Sweden. In the United States, a slight majority contends that infrastructure projects should prioritize cars rather than bicycles, though the United States has generally been more reactionary to cycling demand rather than a visionary driver of it. This hasn't always been the case, though. 

The League of American Wheelman, a cycling organization, was an instrumental early proponent of The Good Roads Movement, an advocacy group that sought to update and improve rural roads around the United States in the late 19th and early 20th century. Alongside these efforts, bicycle specific roads were built on each coast, including the 5.5 mile Coney Island Cycle Path in 1894 in Brooklyn (still maintained to this day) and the 18 mile Santa Monica Cycle Path in 1900 that connected famously car-centric Los Angeles to the beach. Unfortunately, the success of the Good Roads Movement would lend a hand in the downfall of the humble bicycle, as road surfacing and road maintenance techniques were already substantially improved when the automobile came along.

And therein lies the rub. It was perhaps inevitable that the automobile – given its convenience, ease, and comfort – would eventually overtake the bicycle in popularity as a practical means of transport. But car-centric infrastructure is not built for humans or at a human scale – it's built for cars. It depersonalizes our cities and the individuals operating the machines (yes, cars are heavy machinery). Operating a car distorts our psychology to the point that we see other cars on the road as objects, not as a machine with another human being inside. It insulates the operator from the surrounding world. Anyone who has ever driven a car knows this to be the case.

When things are built at a human scale, though, this connection to other humans is not lost. On a bicycle, you are exposed to the world around you as well as to other humans. While technically qualifying as a machine, a bicycle allows the humanity of the rider to be preserved. We therefore behave as a human and treat others as humans. The scale is more manageable, the speed more reasonable. It's a shared struggle and a shared joy to see others walking or cycling, exposed to the elements just as you are. To return to the opening sentence of this post, this is what makes riding a bicycle fundamental to modern humanity: it preserves our connection to the world around us that we otherwise ignore in our technologically saturated day-to-day lives. It provides us with genuine experience; it gives us joy. 

It's to the joy of riding a bicycle that I will turn to in my next post.

The Joy of Puzzles

Western culture is geared toward solving problems or providing pleasure, not pondering questions or experiencing wonder. We have a natural tendency toward optimizing productivity and output. Recently, I rediscovered the wonder and joy of doing puzzles, which I shall refer to as "puzzling." 

I used to do a puzzle about once a year, typically with my mom over Christmas break. This past year, we – along with my girlfriend – ramped it up and did four or five puzzles. Part of it was driven by a near-term and new-found obsession with puzzles. But part of it was driven by the mindset created while doing puzzles.

Puzzling offers a simple and straightforward path into flow, that now near-ubiquitous term made famous by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. There is next to no worry or anxiety created by puzzling, while selection of a properly difficult puzzle will keep you above the threshold of falling into boredom or simply feeling relaxed. There is something titillating about seeking out that oddly-shaped or uniquely-colored piece, and a sense of satisfaction at locating it. As simple as it may seem, puzzling offers a sense of accomplishment.

At the same time, puzzling is fairly passive in what it requires from you mentally. In a sense, I would equate it to walking, where the simple act of moving at a pace made familiar through countless millennia of  human evolution can prime neural pathways for pondering ideas. If walking allows us to follow the rhythms of our bodies, then puzzling allows us to follow the rhythms of our minds. Puzzling (or similarly, doodling, coloring, art, generally, or walking) lets us move and think at our own pace, a pace conducive to pondering thoughts and ideas in a manner that is often lacking in our modern world. What each of these activities shares in common is that they all force us to slow down. We intentionally create space and time for depth. Often, this depth can be explored alongside another person, as well.

Even though we adore the trope of the singularly genius creator or self-made man, it should be obvious that no one creates in a vacuum. We are constantly subject to outside influences, both positive and negative. Puzzling, as with walking, allows your mind the space to take stock of those influences and begin to put the disparate pieces together. Now this is not to disparage the idea of self-reliance (particularly the notion of it written about by Emerson), but merely an acknowledgement and appreciation of the influence of environment and, frankly, all of humankind. 

The benefits of walking to stimulate thoughts are well established, but it turns out that walking in nature is even more beneficial for the brain, as it results in lower levels of brooding – that is, ruminating on negative thoughts, as we so often are prone to do while sitting in traffic, for instance. Working on puzzles, it turns out, has a similar effect, as puzzling promotes mindfulness, creativity, and even spatial reasoning. In much the same way that active navigation promotes improved spatial memory, the act of remembering a shape or color and then locating the piece to fit it also benefits short-term memory and awareness.

Beyond the health benefits of puzzling, I just enjoy the freedom to let my mind wander, while still feeling as though I am focused on a task. Time spent doing a puzzle also offers time to listen to an audiobook or podcast, while having sufficient bandwidth to accomplish both. 

Furthermore, puzzling offers a respite during the long, cold winter months when it can be difficult to get outside and walk or into nature. Instead, we can sit down to a puzzle of a forest or a beach and temporarily get lost in the scenes materializing before our eyes. Whether or not such a scene depicted in a puzzle has the same effects as actually being in nature is secondary; we can still immerse ourselves in the often bucolic images and feel the stresses of life melt away.

Let's Talk About Productivity, or The Elephant in the Room

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Productivity is an oversaturated topic. I get that. Nevertheless, I wanted to enter the fray and chime in on the grand productivity discussion. In some sense I feel as though I wouldn't be a proper American if I neglected to weigh in. It wouldn't be productive to refrain.

In a recent New Yorker article, author and computer science professor Cal Newport offered his thoughts on the topic, suggesting that our use of the term "productivity" is in some sense misguided. He chronicles how productivity has moved from a simple measure of output to an optimization task for the modern knowledge worker. Not only must the modern worker remain productive in terms of output, but he must also constantly optimize processes and procedures to find ever more efficiency. 

Streamlining processes used to be in the purview of the employer (think Henry Ford and the assembly line), but has now been thrust upon the individual (think writing internal white papers and spearheading the roll out of new software). While the assembly line may have been a soul-crushing, creative-killing innovation, it at least came with clear expectations. Theoretically, leaving optimization up to the individual opens opportunities for creative flourishing. In practice, it often results in ill-defined goals and an impending sense that one is never finished.

Beyond increased efficiency, the only way to greater productivity is through increased effort or time input. And an increase in time input is precisely what the modern worker is experiencing. An increase in working hours for "high earning" individuals (re: knowledge workers) was chronicled as far back as 2006, and persists to the present day. Not only is it mentally and emotionally draining, but working long hours is rather hazardous to your health, even to the point of premature death. 

We can argue whether marginal incentives – such as the possibility of a bonus – drive this practice or whether checking and responding to emails outside of work really counts as work (it does), but the fact remains that white collar Americans are working longer hours than they did pre-1970. And any decrease in working hours for "non-high earning" individuals could probably be attributed to what I will refer to as predatory scheduling, whereby employers deliberately limit hours to avoid paying benefits that would be owed to full-time workers.

But to return to white collar work, whatever happened to John Maynard Keynes's predicted 15-hour work week? Some attribute our sustained or increased working hours to competition, as though envy of the neighbor's Mercedes keeps you at the office longer. Others attribute our working hours to lifestyle inflation. This feels like an age-old trope at this point, especially to a member of the tired Millennial generation, as our collective lack of wealth has been blamed on anything from a love for lattes and avocado toast to alleged laziness. Yes, of course, people would collectively be wealthier if they would just stop trying to keep up with the Joneses.

Never mind that the cost of housing increased by 18.6% year-over-year as of September 2021, compared to a roughly 5% year-over-year growth rate from 2014 to 2020. And for renters, the median asking rent in the US in the third quarter of 2021 was $1203. And these increases occur against the well-known backdrop of real wage stagnation, as purchasing power remains stubbornly flat despite tremendous gains in productivity through the decades. 

Given these statistics, can we honestly say that we think it's merely competition or lifestyle inflation that has kept people working long hours? That returning to a flip phone instead of a pricey iPhone plan (which now is needed to pull up a QR code menu at most restaurants and is a de facto requirement of modern life) will really make the difference? As skyrocketing housing costs account for an ever larger percentage of individuals' incomes, not to mention rising healthcare costs, it seems facile to attribute our working hours to competition when the fact of the matter is that it simply costs a lot of money to live these days. 

Is it any surprise that in our rent-seeking culture (think literal rental properties with skyrocketing prices, as well as subscription services, professional licensing costs, hedge fund managers, favorable oil leases on public property, etc.) that entrenched systems of employment seek further rent, in the form of renting your time? Our economic system pays you for your time rather than your productivity. And this turns out to be an excellent deal for the established system as the collective productivity of workers has outpaced wages by a factor of approximately 3.5 to 1 since 1970. By my count, divided by a factor of 3.5, a 40 hour week becomes 11.4 hours, even better than Keynes's predicted 15 hours.

Now let's bring it all back to the topic at hand: productivity. I do not mean for this to be an anti-productivity post, not in the slightest. What I am advocating for is balance. 

Let's take a quick example. I love writing, and one of the outlets I have for my writing is this blog, among other projects. However, I was past my own self-imposed deadline for this post, in part because so much of my time is taken up by work. Even when not at work, the mental toll that a long week can have can make it difficult to prioritize the activities that you want to do outside of work, even when you know that those very activities will rejuvenate you. What a twisted, negative-feedback loop we can find ourselves in.

So push back. Establish boundaries. Work hard at your job – even optimize your processes – but then leave your job at work. If you are fortunate enough to make a livable wage, don't fall into the temptation to work longer hours because of a vague notion of competition or of lifestyle escalation. We are more efficient than ever, and with continued technological and productivity gains, that trend is likely to continue. It's past time for those gains to be reflected in our control of our time, as well.

What Action Looks Like, or Why We Don't Do Anything Anymore

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Let's talk about language. This necessarily requires a disclaimer: I'm not an English major, I studied engineering and climatology. However, it's not so much the intricacies and structural aspects of language that I'm after. Rather, I want to talk about the proliferation of our use of nouns as verbs, a process known as verbification. (And yes, I fully appreciate the irony of the word "verb" being turned into a verb.)

I'm not a Luddite of language. Language changes and evolves over time, often in helpful ways. Words come and go, get adapted to our changing needs, fall out of use to promote a more just society, and so forth.

But sometimes changes in our language indicate something else is going on. Language reflects culture at large, and in this current cultural moment, perhaps we are "verb-ifying" our language because we don't actually do anything anymore. The verbification of the word becomes a stand in for the action itself.

The cascade began with "texting" and "google-ing." These uses streamlined our language and made a fundamental sort of sense. It is much more fluid to say that you "googled" something, rather than to wade through the unwieldy construction of "I conducted a google search," or "I searched for it on google." (I am omitting capitalization to reflect the use of google to refer to online search in general, rather than the specific use of the Google platform. See how language reflects our larger culture?)

But the story now is changing. Adulting. A new way to Chipotle. Dialogued. Venmo me. Summer safely. This is how you money. For the most part, these new verbifications seem to fall into the realm of cheeky taglines, clever marketing, relatable phrases that will stand out in the ever-expanding competition for our attention. In fact, the first link of Google search (as of this writing) turns up an article citing the (dubious) claim that our attention spans are shrinking and the subsequent challenges that alleged phenomenon poses for marketers. I would argue instead that we are still able to sustain attention just fine, but that there are ever more competing claims being made on our scarce attention. 

Enter in the verbification of words. In a world where competition for attention is being ramped up, individuals seek ways to distinguish themselves from the crowd and companies seek ways to better engage with potential customers. It's done in the name of individualism, being a trend-setter, or being cute. But really, it's just sad.

Follow me. Ok, I get it. Follow is actually a verb. Jesus even exhorted people to follow him. But Jesus's invitation entailed actually doing something. Now? Just a click or a tap. And you've "done" it. And herein lies the problem for modernity. A search of verbified words turns up several webpages guiding one in the practice or explaining its history; other search results offer an indictment of the practice. I, however, want to examine instead what the practice says about us from a broader standpoint.

Much has been written about how much activity – and rest – was involved in a standard day for our ancient hunter-gatherer ancestors, notably by Yuval Noah Harari in Sapiens. Movement and action were indelible parts of the hunter-gatherer's day. If one didn't move, one didn't eat or survive. 

Contrast this with our modern day experience where one needn't leave the house for days on end. Food, groceries, gadgets and items from Amazon and the like, and all manner of things can be ordered and then delivered right to our doors with only a few keystrokes on our part. This is undoubtedly helpful when we're sick and need or ought to stay in; it is not my intention to demonize modern conveniences. 

But beyond those rare circumstances, it is simply a form of luxurious convenience that allows us to reap rewards without consideration for the true cost of our lack of action. Inaction is not quite the right term to describe this phenomenon since an outcome is actually being produced, so let's instead call it "un-action." Such un-action results in isolation from others, treats the underpaid people involved in the delivery industry with indifference at best and contempt at worst, has a negative impact on the environment, and requires no meaningful effort. There can be no sense of accomplishment when one has, in fact, not actually done anything. Even for those of us in white collar professions, most of our day is spent clicking, typing, and moving virtual objects about on a screen. 

There is a counterculture, however, that would have us take back our sense of accomplishment, and a long list of articles examining the joy and mental health benefits of the flow state that can be achieved while working at a self-determined physical task. From Shop Class as Soulcraft to the classic Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, we humans seem to know intuitively that joy awaits us when we are allowed self-determinacy and when we work with our hands. The human body evolved to move, and we are denying our bodies a core part of being when we cease to do physical things. 

I think that we sense – subconsciously, at least – that action is missing from our lives. So we create it with our language. We verbify words and allow ourselves to be sucked into the digital vortex and we convince ourselves that we are ok with it. Our capitalist system then embraces the trend and jumps on board with verbified advertising, as with the Chipotle example above (not to mention countless others). 

But what if we could push back? Set down the phone; walk to the store; interact with other people; cook at home; garden; make something; do art; go for a run; find rejuvenation for your body and mind through movement. It will take a conscious effort, but it just might be necessary. Better yet, it just might be an action worth taking.

Seek What Can Be

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The tagline "Seek what can be" adorns the top banner of this blog. I wanted to take some time to explain what I have in mind with that motto.

To "seek what can be" connotes a notion of possibilities and fulfilled potential, of reaching out and grasping at an idea and turning it into a reality. As noted on our About page, being Deliberately Aimless is about desiring that which cannot be and embracing life's contradictions. And so, with a motto imploring you to "Seek what can be," I present you with another contradiction: a blog rooted in the notion of grasping at unattainable things in life that is, surprisingly, defined by a motto of attainment.

Why the contradiction? Because while we want to take on life's big – and sometimes un-answerable – questions on this blog, we don't do so in a pointless or meaningless way. For instance, when asking the question What is the meaning of life?, it's not enough to just say that we don't know or that there are many interpretations. While this statement is true to a degree, we also want to examine all the different perspectives and practices that have been produced through the ages of our shared and collective human experience. Just because a question is difficult or even impossible doesn't mean that it isn't worth taking on. In fact, we view that difficulty as the very reason to engage with it.

To seek what can be involves looking beyond the mundanities of everyday life to see the bigger picture. Life is hard, but it does us no good to cower in fear or to run from it. We must instead meet it head on. Confront life and let it take your measure, and may it not find your measure wanting. 

But neither is this meant to be a rah-rah, puff out your chest anthem. There's a reason that I relate more strongly to Henry David Thoreau than to Theodore Roosevelt, though I greatly respect them both. And as I write this I am struck with the thought that perhaps there aren't such great differences between the two men as a cursory glance would suggest. 

When life dealt TR the worst of blows and took his wife and his mother from him in the span of a single day, he entered into his journal a somber and simple statement: "The light has gone out of my life." To deal with his grief and this great tribulation, Roosevelt sought solitude in the Dakota Territory where he became a rancher for a time and hunted and rode on the high plains. Roosevelt did not run from his trauma. He merely sought out a place of solitude wherein he could work through it. Solitude – as Jesus informs us numerous times through his actions – is a great teacher and can be a place of strength.

To seek what can be can also refer to this sort of seeking. The seeking of solitude, of re-centering, of greater understanding, or the realization that one simply cannot understand what has transpired but that it is possible to keep moving forward. That the light may have gone out, but that it can also be re-ignited.

As someone who deals with bouts of despair – and who doesn't these days? – I think it is this secondary definition that is the more important. Sure, by all means, seek what can be in the sense of following your dreams and making great things happen. I want to encourage that heartily, as well. But I think it is in the quiet moments, where we are unsure, downtrodden, beaten down by life, that seeking what can be can really be a mantra to carry us through. 

In the words of beloved author EB White, "I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day." To seek what can be is the hope that some day one need not choose between these desires, but that they would be one and the same.

The Meaning of Value

The Konza Prairie, Kansas
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Value

Value is a complex subject that encompasses several meanings. There is what we value, there are our personal values, and there is the value we place on things, to name but a few. I want to focus on a combination of these.

If it is true that big data is the way of the future, I suspect then that big data will have something to reveal to us about value and the nature of human beings. An image search of the term "value" will, once you have gotten past the infographics about the topic, produce images showing money, watches, cars, and gadgets. Our increasing reliance on big data hints at a notion of value: the more the better. Except when that's not the case. In some instances, it is the opposite, and we assign greater value as rarity increases. It all depends on what is being valued.

Perhaps, for this discussion, we need a definition of value, then. In my view, value stems from three main components: skill, scarcity, and utility.

→Skill

We tend to assign greater value to tasks or accomplishments that require more skill. This seems reasonable enough. Lionel Messi possesses a great deal of skill in soccer. He is subsequently compensated at a very high level: with money, fame, assumed credibility, etc. We take it in stride that possession and practice of such a skill can and should be compensated at a higher level than unskilled positions in the food service, waste management, or hospitality arenas, to name but a few.

But why does his immense skill on the pitch carry greater value than someone who is similarly skilled in a cognitively-demanding field such as dentistry? Each field undoubtedly has a vast array of methods, techniques, and baseline knowledge that must be mastered. To answer that question, we must examine the second component of the value equation.

→Scarcity

Not to harp on the professions of soccer and dentistry, but is mastery of one rarer than mastery of the other? I would argue that the answer is no. Soccer – and other skill-focused professions that place a premium on coordination, muscle memory, or athletic ability – may simply provide a more obvious arena for sussing out the highest levels of mastery than in cognitively demanding fields. So while mastery of soccer may in fact not be rarer than mastery of dentistry, it is easier to determine who is "better" at soccer than at dentistry.

Furthermore, soccer is fun. Dentistry is (generally) not considered to be so, at least not in the same way. People like to watch soccer, broadcasters subsequently pay for rights to show soccer matches to more and more people, advertisers join the fray, fans buy tickets, and the spoils of this vast machine cascade to the best and most popular players and teams. We prefer grand mountains to simple prairies, dramatic waterfalls to meandering streams, and large estates to humble abodes. Soccer is a grand mountain. Dentistry – and similar cognitively demanding fields – are simple prairies, associated with the day to day, and therefore, unremarkable. More on this later.

→Utility

Utility is where a wrench is thrown into the equation. It is doubtful that, if asked to rank the top one hundred most useful professions, any two people from a reasonable sample size would produce a list of the exact same order. Even producing agreement ranking the top ten most useful professions would be difficult. 

However, we can reasonably hazard a guess that soccer would not be on that list, and dentistry would be. Dentistry has a much more direct, practical application to day to day life. It is necessary; soccer is not. Most jobs that we everyday people do are necessary. They fill a need to keep the world moving. Things like soccer – sports, in general – and other performance professions, are entertainment. They provide a diversion from the tedium of everyday life. In this sense, those everyday professions are far more valuable than something like soccer, even if that's not summarily represented by compensation.

The Disconnect

So what is missing from our equation? Is it impressiveness? Is it desirability of the job or action being performed? Remarkability? Perhaps it's this last one, remarkability. Remember the mountains and prairies comparison? In reality, neither mountains nor prairies are more unique or rare than the other. But mountains are usually looked upon with more awe than prairies because of their remarkability. 

Humans live in a predominantly horizontal world, and so we are more attuned to something in the vertical plain. It catches our attention. The day to day jobs that you and I work are in the horizontal; jobs of athletes and entertainers are in the vertical. This seems to be a differentiating factor in determining subsequent compensation and interest. This may not be entirely consistent with the other factors influencing value, but it is understandable, dissectable.

Worth

Sometimes, however, we conflate value with worth, which is a problem. The vertical is no more "worthy" than the horizontal, any more than the mountain is more worthy than the prairie. This is why I chose a picture of the Konza Prairie in Kansas as the header of this post. Kansas (my home state) is often the subject of dismissal and disdain, usually regarding its lack of vertical features. But this in no way makes it "less than." 

In a similar vein, you are of no less worth than someone else simply because you earn less or because the world values their dreams more than yours in a monetary sense. As complex as the notion of value can be, worth is even more so. Do not conflate the two, for we are all of equal worth, and, simultaneously, "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23 NKJV). Develop the components of value to your benefit and as you are able, but remember that we are all equal in a cosmic lens, even if that can be a difficult thought to maintain in the day to day.

The Ancient Paths

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This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, 'We will not walk in it.'" 

Jeremiah 6:16 (NKJV)

How often we stumble. And I'm not even speaking in a strictly Biblical sense. We let our friends down. We do not give our family the time they deserve. We don't give an honest effort in our pursuits. We prioritize money over time, and find when it's all over, it was the wrong choice. We seek things that will not fulfill us. 

We distract and drown ourselves in technology and plans to the extent that if we came to a crossroads in life, we might not even be aware of it. We would blaze on past, never stopping to consider that there is an ancient path, let alone what it might hold. And it is all to our detriment. It is our loss.

It seems that we have forgotten how to be present, how to take it all in. Life can be simple. We simply choose not to allow it to be. God promises rest to us if we will only walk in these ancient paths. But we must ask. We must stand still. We must prioritize listening over speaking, for only then will we find direction.

Perhaps we don't even know what the ancient path would look like. Perhaps we are just aimless, though not deliberately so in this instance. Is an ancient path a craggy, twisted trail through the woods? Is it found in making a literal pilgrimage along a trail, such as the Camino de Santiago? Or is it more a matter of finding our purpose in life? Is it found by fulfilling some nebulous but unexplained "destiny"? Or is it simply listening to that still small voice that guides our thoughts and actions, if only we would heed its call.

Probably it's some combination of the above. It undoubtedly looks different to each person. What I suspect each ancient path has in common, though, is a commitment to truth. But what truth, exactly?

There are certain near-universal truths found among humanity. In general, most cultures hold that one human being should not kill another. Humanity's basic needs of water, food, and shelter do not vary across different groups. Studies have found that facial expressions are recognizable and understandable across cultures. We all collectively use languages to communicate, call one another by some identifying name, develop a system of management or governance, and engage in various forms of art.

Further, research shows that while values vary from individual to individual, relative prioritization of values within and across cultures displays a remarkable level of agreement. For instance, most cultures give "honesty and other prosocial values" a high degree of importance. Meanwhile, "wealth and other power values" are given a lower degree of importance. These findings, while remarkable in demonstrating the agreement across cultures, are what we might better call common sense. Or values that your grandparents would teach you out of the wisdom of their age. 

It goes back to the fundamental notion that at the end of our lives, we tend to think back to the good times shared with others rather than sit and count our money or think of the perceived power that we used to have. We instead ruminate on what it means to be human. What it means to have lived a good life. A life full of love and gratitude and relationships. That is what is to be found on the ancient paths. And we all receive the call to walk in them, to find rest. The question is, will we?

Quiet, or The Art of Listening

https://unsplash.com/photos/e4ING8JYKgI

Listen. Do you hear it? No, no, sit still and really listen. 

What sounds surround you? The chirping of a bird. Conversation at the table next to yours. The sound of an air conditioner or heater running. The snow falling light upon the ground. The voice of the still small voice inside your head. Someone telling you about their day, sharing their experience with you. Perhaps it's some combination of all of these. Or perhaps it's nothing at all, and you can bathe in the silence.

It's a topic that's been addressed so often that it has become a trope, but still, it's worth discussing. And better still, it's a perspective worth listening to. It's a topic dear to me, perhaps because of a propensity for silence that one might attribute to my introverted nature. 

Regardless, examples of the importance of prioritizing listening abound, especially in a source as veritable as the Bible. In James 1:19-20 (NKVJ) we find: 

"So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God."

First, James says that we must be "swift to hear, slow to speak..." James calls upon his "beloved brethren" to behave in this manner. We can surmise that James wished only the best for those close to him, and therefore, we can surmise this to be advice supplied lovingly to induce a positive outcome.

And we should look to James as a model on this topic, as a brother of Jesus who at one point did not believe in Him (John 7:5). Obviously James listened to the witness of his brother, for he went on to be a devoted follower and martyr for the cause. As Proverbs 11:14 (NKJV) states:

"Where there is no counsel, the people fall;

But in the multitude of counselors there is safety."

We can presume that part of what brought James to belief, in spite of doubts or differing opinions he may have held, was the steady counsel of his brother, Jesus. Listening can indeed do wonders.

 

Even devoid of specific examples, ask yourself whether it is better to be quick to hear and slow to speak, and you will intuitively feel it to be true. When we listen, we open ourselves up to hearing and experiencing truth, novel perspectives, and stories of others, all of which can help us to better navigate this world.

Notice also how James progresses from quickness of speech to wrath. It is unclear whether this is intended as a progression of states of being, but it seems a fair way to interpret it. The implication is that speech is closer to wrath than is the act of listening. When we are quick to speak, we risk drowning out the calming influence of measured thought, silence, and quiet, and can work ourselves into a fury. 

When we do not listen, but only speak, we do not lend credence to the experience or perspective of others. Being adamant of speech insists that what you have to say is of more value and importance that what someone else might contribute. In this way, speech casts judgement; it can lead to wrath. If we are not careful, an insistence on our own perspective as inherently more worthy can even indicate the belief that you as a person are more valuable than others, not just your speech. This is dangerous, for once these feelings begin, it is difficult to learn from others as instincts lead us to become defensive.

Now I'm not advocating that you should never speak; that is not at all my intent. I am asking merely that we all learn to better weigh the benefits of speaking versus listening. Let's each examine the ratio at which we practice speech and silence. When we listen to each other, we can learn much and everyone can be lifted up. Take if from one of America's classic authors, Ernest Hemingway: 

"When people talk, listen completely...Most people never listen."

Thus, in listening intently, we set ourselves apart from the crowd. We mark ourselves as different. And we make for good friends. As Sherlock Holmes remarks to Dr. Watson in one of his sleuthing adventures:

 "You have a grand gift of silence, Watson...It makes you quite invaluable as a companion."

Sometimes all that we need is for someone else to listen. In listening, we share in others' triumphs, joys, fears, irritations, concerns, and lives. We allow each other to ask for advice, to reason through problems aloud, and to generally make sense of this complex world with each other. As Sherlock continues from the quote above:

"'Pon my word, it is a great thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant."

The power of listening cannot be overstated. Taking the time to listen allows others to feel heard. It is an act of empathy, it is a humane act, it is an act of love to listen to another. For in listening, what we are really doing is showing respect to a fellow human being. We become not just participants in, but observers of, the world around us.

On Tolkien, or The Nature of Wandering

"Not all those who wander are lost."

I can practically hear it in Gandalf's voice, though this particular quote did not find its way into the movie adaptations. It's a wonderful phrase from the venerable Mr. Tolkien, though it perhaps has been diminished in our day and age, repeated ad nauseam as it has been on coffee mugs, t-shirts, satchels, bags, and so forth. But don't let its ubiquity diminish its meaning.

From the man who wrote the much beloved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, he should know a thing or two about wandering, even if by many accounts he rarely ventured far from his Oxford residence in his elder years. His stories are by their very nature about wandering. In The Hobbit, we follow Bilbo and a band of dwarves as they wander their way to the Lonely Mountain to reclaim that which was lost – taken, rather, by Smaug the dragon. In The Lord of the Rings, we follow Frodo and Sam as they venture forth with the One Ring on their wandering way to Mount Doom, a task that they believe themselves entirely unfit for.

Wandering, perhaps, does not convey the right meaning here. Or, at least, it is misunderstood. These characters were, more accurately, seeking, which is to say that they were wandering only insofar as they did not always know precisely where they were going. But they did not lack for purpose. 

Bilbo's task as the burglar may have been unclear to him at times, when he was wandering through the forests of Mirkwood or riddling with Gollum in the depths of the Misty Mountains; but his purpose was quite clear: to help the dwarves reclaim their homeland, a rather noble purpose. In a similar vein, Frodo (and Sam) may have wished to not have the burden of the ring, losing their way often and being caught up in a quest far greater than themselves; but that added weight is precisely what gave their journey purpose. Without the task of destroying the ring, they would have had no greater purpose and would have been reduced to mere wanderers.

And so it is with life, though the difference may not always be as obvious as in literature. Many of us appear to be wanderers and hopelessly lost, when we are, in fact, seeking. Someone fresh out of college, dispirited in their job search and wondering – not for the first time – whether they chose the right major, takes a job at the local golf course until they can find the opportunity they are looking for. Are they lost? Or merely seeking? The answer is not always clear. 

To some extent, nearly all of us seem to be seeking in our own imperfect ways. It's just that one man's seeking appears to another as idleness. And, conversely, one man's seeking appears to the other as desperation. Some wish to keep up with the Joneses, while others have different aims. Neither is wrong. Too often we believe that there is a narrow path to success which must be adhered to, without acknowledging that success looks different to everyone. Different paths cannot simply be written off as wandering.

Some of us are indeed lost, but not all of us. And that does not mean that lost wanderers, once lost, cannot again be found. At times, one must go with the current. At others, one must take the bull by the horns. But either of these actions will take time, and we must do our utmost to be patient along the way. And, as Tolkien's characters demonstrate, the purposes we unearth are rarely focused solely upon ourselves. Sometimes our purpose is to be found by looking to a higher power (or trusting to fate, as some would have it), and striving to be deliberate in our actions but aimless in our direction, so that we may better discern where we are being led. And so we wander, but are not lost. We are deliberately aimless.